The One (or another one?) by Dolce & Gabbana ~fragrance review

I really don’t know if U2, the band, is involved in the olfactory business at all and I doubt they would be (they seem like “serious people”, for Pete’s sake, and I say that almost straight-faced).
Their lyrics for their song "One" however seem very a propos to our subject today, Dolce & Gabbana’s The One.

“Is it getting better?
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you,
now you got someone to blame?”

No, no, I don’t blame anyone. It’s all good anyway.

Dolce & Gabbana have just come out with The One. A floral-oriental that they told us aimed to appeal to  a “real diva, an object of desire, like the woman represented by Brazilian top model Gisèle Bündchen as seen through the lens of photographer Jean Baptiste Mondino”. In that regard the perfume is going for sensuality, presence, passion. As Osmoz bombastically states quoting the press release: “Every woman is The Woman: (…) You want her to be unique, ‘the one’: spectacular, joyful, ironic, strong and passionate, and always – indubitably – herself’.
Taking into account that D&G’s leitmotif  is of a romantic inclination with interjections of “mama Italia” in Anna Magnani neorealistic style, it doesn’t surprise me that they have been quite successful. Their rich, mature and quite old-fashioned opulence that met with great success was named Pour Femme (codenamed “red cap”; reminds me of a Russian spy code or something in a bad B-movie about the Iron Curtain- practical though). Their smashing best-seller, especially in mediterranean countries, Light Blue turned my own personal lights blue from the ubiquity with which I encounter it on every single female of reproductive age come spring and summer. Sicily, their aldehydic soapiness of a sheer veil is getting discontinued I hear and it’s a pity, if only –as I never “got it”- because I won’t get to watch any longer the [[url=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7YkgNbYb9g]]glorious b/w TV commercials of Giuseppe Tornatore [[/url]] (click to watch)featuring the succulent tormented beauty of widow Monica Belucci weeping for her dead husband; her old-fashioned slip laced with Sicily taken secretly away by a young admirer.
The rest of the Italian duo’s line includes the dependable virility of Pour Homme, the playfull By permutations (surely not with a sexually charged undercurrent, I hope) and the lighter, younger D&G line with feminine and masculine versions.

A new launch was needed and The One it was. Featuring the long maned Gisèle Bündchen, poster girl of picture-perfect sensuality in   westernised standards, it promised to be diva-like. I can front out vouch for its un-diva, completely wearable and friendly character, nevertheless. Maybe the male dominating photographer [[url=http://grrrlcott.wordpress.com/2006/10/18/dolce-gabbana-the-one/]]in the ads [[/url]] is a pre-taste of its submissive character.

“Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?”
Assuredly not, honey. Just a taste of a déjà -vu. Just that.

Its great flaw, especially for something bearing such a moniker, is a lack of individuality, of uniqueness.
Oh, how I wish it were a case of
“Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus?
To the lepers in your head…”
But it wasn’t meant to be The One to end all others. After all I have found my personal One long, long time ago and I fervently believe that perfumes, like books, like art, like love, choose us and not the other way around.

The bottle is a designing success: very austere and contemporary, a spare squatty affair with a gold geometrical cap to accompany the light gold of the jus inside. Substantial and no nonsense. Luxury without ostentatiousness. The official notes are: Mandarin, bergamot, litchi, peach, jasmine, lily, lily of the valley, plum, vetiver, amber, musk

The opening stage of The One emits tangy sweet fruitness of discernible bergamot and mandarin, accompanied by lactonic interlays of peach, rendering the top very fruity indeed. Lily is the dominating floral force during the middle phase of the journey on skin, with its sweetness balanced by the tartness of the fruits. Jasmine also makes an appearence, but interwoven with the other notes. No vetiver discernible to me in the base however, which is redolent of the nuzzling warmth of a sweet vanillic amber coupled to the softness of a clean slightly powdery musk of average lasting power.
The whole has an uncanny way of reminding me of the very pleasant but not earth-shattering quality of the thankfully slightly drier Cinema by Yves Saint Laurent, launched just 2 years prior to The One. Has short-term memory loss become so prevalent in everyday life that designers and noses are inspired not by legends of the past but by products of such a recent crop?
The One is tarter in the first stages and lacks the almondy flower note, but they then segue on to comparable pathways, a sort of “Elective Affinities” for those who are too fluffy to study Goethe in the first place.
And come to think of it, I prefer Cinema by an inch.

Perhaps as U2 would have said:
“I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing in her fingertips
It burned like fire
this burning desire.
But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for”.

Nice try though, Dolce & Gabbana. And I mean this?

You can see the whole range [[url=http://www.mistrys.co.uk/dolce-gabbana-the-one-for-women-eau-de-parfum-natural-spray-p-1625.html]]here[[/url]]. Bottles of Eau de parfum come in 50 and 75ml versions, there is also a shower gel, deodorant spray and body lotion.

Pic comes from osmoz.com

Serge Lutens Mandarine Mandarin: Mandarins and dragons, Fragrance review

The newest fragrance created by perfumer Christopher Sheldrake for Les Palais Royal de Shiseido and Serge Lutens,Mandarine Mandarin, has its place in the line-up of usual suspects for things weirdly appealing. A tradition that Lutens is keeping with religious zeal injecting a little je ne sais quoi in his compositions that keeps everyone guessing if this is an inside joke of a man of humble beginnings playing a nasty one on the bourgeois who flock in Palais Royal or the jarring string note of a genius quartet that is knowingly swayed by fervent feeling and not impeccable technique.
From the alarming menthol opening of Tubereuse Criminelle to the strangely pleasant unwashed intimates of Muscs Koublai Khδn, making a stop at the rough bitterness of dark chocolate and patchouli of Borneo 1834, his exclusive range especially is unconsolidated with weird notes of an alchemical nature that result in perfumes of distinct character and astute modernity.
Mandarine Mandarin has the edge smoothed a bit, making it an approachable and wearable exclusive for people who like oriental compositions as a rule.

An intelligent play on words, it alludes to both the succulent fruit with the tart aroma and the Chinese language/dialect of intellectual officials during the great dynasties of Chinese history and still spoken today. And indeed the fruit got its name because it was exploited by those high-ranking government officials in China (mandarins).
The limited edition bottle for Mandarine Mandarin depicts a blue Chinese dragon coiling around the familiar bell jar which is filled with a deeply orange jus. The official notes include Chinese orange, nutmeg, candied mandarin, orange peel, smoky tea, labdanum, tonka bean and ambergris.
It is available from Les Palais Royal Shiseido in Paris or on-line for people residing in Europe.

Mandarine Mandarin, a journey into the phases of a citrus, manages to evoke different stages in a mixed up sequence that defeats linear storytelling going back and forth all the while.
As the vial opens, it smells like scraping nails on the peel of a ripe mandarin, tart juicy aroma, lifelike in much the same way as L’artisan Mandarine tout simplement is, for the first couple of minutes. As you pick the fruit in your hand to unpeel it hungrily though the dark hidden side of it reveals it has spoiled, the particular rot of hesperidia left in a damp cool place for quite some time, matte green turning to grey-white skin smelling ammoniac-laden, almost repulsive. A dry tannic smell that subdues the candied peel which appeared in Le Myrrhe first (allied there to sweet honey, amber, jasmine, sandalwood, bitter almond and lotus, making it a sweet confection rather than the drier ingredient it is inspired of). The ambery depth of Mandarine Mandarin makes its presence known from the start almost and because it is very much an orientalised tale of places closer to the Middle East than the Far Orient the glorious addition of Arabian spices laces the vanillic fruity marmelade that ensues. And when you’re almost ready to think it’s really a play between sweetness and rot, life and death, maturity and old age, there comes the reminder of youth in the form of a radiant orange blossom note. Not wide-eyed innocent, nor inexperienced but with the mellowness of Fleurs d’oranger (notes of orange blossom, white jasmine, Indian tuberose, white rose, citrus peel, hibiscus seeds, cumin, nutmeg) and a whisper of its feminine seductiveness. It’s what remains on the skin poised for hours.


Pic is of the limited edition dragon bell jar courtesy of Autourdeserge.

Oakmoss, Treemoss and Chypre: you've come a long way baby!

Oakmoss has got to be the most controversial ingredient in perfume in recent history. For years used for its mossy, sensual quality and an integral constituent of chypre compositions married to a citrusy top note, traditionally bergamot, it has gone under the strict scrutiny of European regulations and IFRA -the regulatory body for scent materials. And it became the controversial issue in relation to the alleged reformulation of classic Guerlain perfumes, resulting in brouhaha of gigantic proportions. Let's try to sort the mess out a bit.

Basically oakmoss is a type of light green to green black lichen, a fungus growing on trees found in many mountainous temperate forests throughout the Northern Hemisphere, including parts of France, Portugal, Spain, North America, and places in Central Europe (Yukoslavian oakmoss was very popular). It forms clumps of bushy thalli. The growth of such lichens indicates good air-conditioning in those areas, as the organisms abhor pollution.
Oakmoss grows primarily on the trunk and branches of oak trees, hence the name (mousse de chêne in French); but lichen is also commonly found on the bark of other deciduous trees and conifers (fir and pine). Technically oakmoss belongs to the genus Evernia and is named Evernia prunastri, differentiating it from its cousin tree moss growing on pines and firs, Evernia Furfuracea. Interestingly, this last ingredient has been found packed into Egyptian mummies.

In perfumery oakmoss has been prized for its aroma, heavy and oriental-like at first, becoming very refined when dried, reminiscent of bark, seashore and foliage. It imparts a wet forest floor aroma in compositions resulting in a naturalness and rich earthy, damp and creamy undercurrent when used with restraint. Its remarkable quality is its ability to render a velvety softness to floral bouquets, green fragrances and heavy orientals alike, also possessing fixative properties imparting longevity in the perfumes that contain it and anchoring the more volatile notes.

Francois Coty, contrary to popular myth, was not the first one to capitalize on its fragrant properties in his Chypre in 1917, which inaugurated a new fragrance family. He did make it popular though and is indirectly responsible for the birth of many wonderful spawns, so a belated huge thanks is in order.
Chypre means of course Cyprus, the greek island of Venus with the rich history, and this is where the composition originated, albeit in a less standardised form, even from the time of Romans who created a mix of storax , labdanum and calamus (ingredients also present in chypre perfumes) in the island of Cyprus; this gave rise to the Middle Ages and Rennaisance alloys with oakmoss at its base.
We learn from Ayala’s excellent Smelly blog that as early as the 12th century AD pastilles and “Oyselets de Chypre” (Chypre Birds) were made by mixing labdanum (a resinous material combed off the hair of goats grazing on cistus labdanum/rockrose), styrax and calamus, with the addition of tragacanth. This was burned as incense, alluding to the ancient ritual origins of perfume “perfumum” (=through smoke); while the birds served decorative purposes and scented the air. It wasn’t until the 14th century that oakmoss was added to these pastilles. Two recipes from 1777 for chypre compositions include oamoss as well as civet, ambergris, musk and various resins and plant aromatics, two of which are rose and orange blossom.

With Coty’s Chypre though a new direction emerged resulting in a plethora of variations with such prestigious members such as Femme, Mitsouko, Bandit, Jolie Madame, Tabac Blond, Cabochard, Cuir de Russie, Aromatics Elixir, Miss Dior, Diorella, Knowing, Ma Griffe, Paloma Picasso and hundreds of others.
The inclusion of oakmoss in those compositions was a foregone conclusion.

However the European Union allergens regulations have changed our understanding of that last part. Deeming oakmoss - and not only that one- an ingredient that has been tied to specific dermatological averse reactions they issued a list of restricted ingredients. The Colipa site and especially the 7th and 36th amendment are of great interest to anyone researching this issue.
More specifically the IFRA regulation states that

"Oak moss extracts (e.g. absolute, resinoid, concrete, etc.) obtained
from Evernia prunastri should not be used such that the level in consumer
products exceeds 0.1%. In the presence of tree moss extracts the level of oak
moss has to be reduced accordingly such that the total amount of both extracts
does not exceed 0.1% in the final product.
Furthermore, oak moss extracts
used in perfume compounds must not contain added tree moss. Tree moss contains
resin acids. The presence of resin acids can be detected by using a routine
analytical method available from IFRA*. However, traces of resin acids are
unavoidable in current commercial qualities of oak moss. As an interim standard,
these traces must not exceed 0.1% (1000 ppm) dehydroabietic acid (DHA).
This
recommendation is based on test data on the sensitising potential of oak moss
and tree moss extracts, their cross-reactivity and the absence of sensitisation
reactions when tested at 0.6%. In addition, it has been shown that oxidation
products of resin acids contribute to the sensitising potential. This adaptation
to the Standard aims at reducing exposure to resin acids, while waiting for the
final outcome of a current research program.”

This ascertains that it is not oakmoss that is the culprit here, but probably its combination with tree moss. The issue however puts a spin on the reformulation of certain perfumes. Since the rise of the controversy it has been suggested that a warning label on the box of the perfume stating those specific ingredients included (more on that will be the theme of another article) might be the saving grace for those well-respected, nay treasured formulae of yore, especially the historic Guerlain ones. Mitsouko and Parure were prime candidates for a sweeping metamorphosis that would leave them harmed beyond any recognition. Lots of others as well. The official line of Guerlain PR had been denial of any reformulation up to a certain point in time, while in the last couple of years they admitted that the whole commercial line would be re-vamped by the end of 2005 to conform to IFRA regulations. No matter what solution might be suggested the result is that some amount of reformulation has indeed taken place (for the record, some people were in favour of the inclusion of the potential allergens with a warning on the box; others were championing the idea of including them only in parfum concentration or in the boutique exclusives, an idea that frankly reeks of elitism to me).

How could one preserve the use of oakmoss and where would one find it still then?
The “quenching” hypothesis is a fascinating proposition (Opduke as far back as 1976) and consists of the suggestion that inclusion of the anti-inflammatory azulene (naturally occurring in soothing chamomile) might cut down the risk of irritation presented by various objectionable ingredients.
However the odour profile of azulene coupled with its blue colour have presented the perfumer with a challenge as how to incorporate it in such a way as to remain in the wings.
The inclusion of eugenol and limonene at defined ratios to some other sensitising agents (cinnamaldehyde, citral, phenylacetaldehyde) is also worth exploring in regard to oakmoss.
It is debatable if the risk of a rash is so great a concern to warrant complete ban on specific ingredients for everyone. After all fyrocoumarin in elevated doses is also as much a suspect and even methyl eugenol which occurs in basil and rose oil has been called a systematic carcinogen. I do not see a ban on those however.
Many products still use Evernia prunastri (oakmoss) in their formula , they even state so on the box, often with tree moss also included in defined ratios, while others capitalize on the alluring notion of bringing out our inner dryad while using this sensuous forest ingredient still.
Master perfumerArcadi Boix Camps claims to have succeeded in substituting oakmoss for other combinations that produce a comparative smell, however there is not enough searchable info on what exactly that might be.
Natural perfumers are continuing to use oakmoss absolute rendered by solvent extraction and state its constituents as evernic acid, d-usnic acid, atranorine and chloratronorine. According to Robert Tisserand it is indeed a dermal and mucous sensitiser that should be avoided in pregnancy and epilepsy, but its risks for general use are in direct proportion to the manner of use and ratio in a mix.
Like with everything else, an informed choice is the way to go and hopefully some aspects of oakmoss have been highlighted here.
A newer crop of perfumes that assume the identity of chypre under the alias “mossy woods” in Michael Edwards' classification of perfumes has cropped up in recent years resulting in offerings such as Narciso for Her, Lovely by Jessica Parker, Lauren’s Pure Turquoise and Comme des Garcons White. Those pleasant perfumes substitute oakmoss with a grassy background of patchouli and vetiver that somehow does not smell distinctly chyprish like the classic ones. Whether this is the only way to go for the chypres of tomorrow or there is still a place for traditional oakmoss-laden chypres remains to be seen.

Pic of oakmoss growth from biopix.com

Givenchy: time for classics again?

According to industry rumours, Parfums Givenchy are scheduling the relaunch of many of their classic fragrances in limited editions to celebrate the house's 50th anniversary in 2007. Ultra elegant Hubert de Givenchy is no longer head of the house to rejoice, but I bet this would be good news all the same. In the last decade due to dubious launches, especially since the company was acquired by the LVMH Group, parfums Givenchy were seen as a poor relation to Christian Dior, Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent. The latest offering Ange ou Démon did not help in this regard, I'm afraid, although the reviews for Amarige Mariage are leaving some leeway of hope.

In this day and age the most prevalent products on Givenchy perfume counters and their best known perfumes for women are Ysatis, Amarige, Organza and Very Irrésistible. Recent attempts to spin a special yarn of quality resulting in the Harvest series of 2005 (issued however in 2006) for the above perfumes, highlighting the one pivotal flower in each of the compositions with an exceptional harvest of blooms for it -namely mimosa for Amarige, jasmine for Organza, and rose for Very Irrésistible- have met with some lovely results; my favourite out of those has been the Organza Jasmine Harvest, a trully deep floriental that is redolent of the jasmine bush. Ysatis Iris had preceeded them in 2004, but the marketing behind it did not focus on the wine-harvest connection, an aspect they have wisened up to.

In an effort to satisfy news-thristy department stores audiences the house has become tired and full of "flankers"; industry name for perfumes that follow in the wake of a previous successful release capitalising on the name and exposure of the original in order to generate more interest in the brand. Such a case it proved to be for Insensé Ultramarine (1994) Xeryus rouge (1995), Extravagance d'Amarige (1998), Amarige d'Amour (2002) , Hot Couture white collection (2001), My Couture (2002), Pi Fraîche (2001), Insensé Ultramarine Ocean spirits series for men (2002), Insensé for her (2004), Insensé ultramarine beach in Boy and Girl versions(2006) and countless others. All in all a staggering 61 perfumes in as much as 49 years, of which only 9 were issued in the first 30 years of the house's history!! That means 52 launches in the last 15 years!! (if we consider the fact that Amarige was the 10th, launched in 1991). Think about it. It's preposterous.

Many of those did not even register, not making one tiny bleep on the radar, which is quite natural when one is faced with such a wide selection of fumes to choose from. The mind boggles and the nose stops to function properly at some point. Not to mention that a perfume counter can accomodate only so many bottles before it looks like a bad case of a discount warehouse.

The most interesting and unique offerings yet have been discontinued or are very hard to find: Givenchy Gentleman, a sturdy leather/patchouli woody of 1974, and Organza Indecence of 1999, a deep cinnamon vanillic composition that proved very popular in the US, and of course the citrusy classic Monsieur de Givenchy of 1959, the one which was kept into production because it was mr.Hubert's personal scent, are all such cases. However such chic classics as the originalAudrey Hepburn favourite L'interdit (=the forbidden), a violet laced aldehydic floral from 1957 for a most elegant lady, Givenchy III a chypre of the most noble character coming out in 1970, and the even more elusive clean, aldehydic hesperidic Le De Givenchy (issued in 1957 -same year as L'interdit; something unheard of the time- and also linked to Audrey) are set to be among the new relaunches. Supposedly keeping the original formulae and issued as limited editions for fans and collectors, this is both an admirable task as well as a difficult one, what with the scarcity of certain ingredients and the lack of the bases of yesteryear. Hope springs eternal however and I can't find it in my heart to bypass such an effort. Let's see what happens.

The first to see the light of day is the original L'interdit, following its reformulation a couple of years ago which left its fans in rapt disillusionement (and yes, the oxymoron is intentional). It will be available next August. Hurray for Givenchy fans and hopefully a new begining for a house that seemed disoriented for quite some time.

Pic depicting Audrey Heburn and Hubert de Givenchy comes from Audrey1.com

Next post will be about a thorny subject in perfume making.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Fleur de Narcisse: fragrance review (Sleeper in the valley)

L’artisan’s new Fleur de Narcisse brought to my mind something I had read a long time ago. Joan Julliet Buck, editor of French Vogue, was for years addicted to wearing a narcissus poeticus absolute. She used to wear one drop on each wrist, it being so concentrated that it was all she ever needed. “Two in the bath were enough to send silver running down the walls; it set the world throbbing out of control when I wore it. It became a little weird. It was only years later that I read that inhaling too much of it can make you mad”, she has been quoted to say.
Madness, poetry, out of control: in short both mythology and the damned poets of the 19th centrury. Fleur de narcisse does nothing conventionally pretty and is so heart achingly multifaceted to warrant elaborating.
Narcissus poeticus, the asphodel of Greek mythology, the flower of the underwold; of oblivion and perdition. And yet, the daffodil (the common name for its brother, the pseudonarcissus) is botanically-speaking a purported cure for madness.

Daffodil or “Lent Lily,” was once white; but Persephone, daughter of Demeter (Ceres), delighted to wander about the flowery meadows of Sicily. One spring-tide she tripped over the meadows, wreathed her head with wild lilies, and, throwing herself on the grass, fell asleep. The god of the Infernal Regions (called Pluto by the Romans), fell in love with the beautiful maid, and carried her off for his bride. His touch turned the white flowers to a golden yellow, and some of them fell in Acheron, the underworld river, where they grew luxuriantly; and ever since the flower has been planted on graves. Theophilus and Pliny tell us that the ghosts delight in the flower, called by themthe Asphodel. It was once called the Affodil. (French, asphodéle; Latin, asphodilus; Greek, asphodilos.)

Narcissus, also enters the associations; the greek mortal who fell in love with his youthful image as reflected in the clear waters of a pond. It was his punishment for rejecting so cruelly the nymph Écho. The best known version of the myth is contained in Metamorphoses by Ovid.

And then more aptly than anything else, Rimbaud’s poem “Le dormeur de Val” (Sleeper in the Valley) enters my head. Of course the poem was written about war and the sleeper is a dead soldier...The arresting imagery of this exquisite poem written at the tender age of 16 was what Fleur de Narcisse evoked in my mind immediately.

C'est un trou de verdure, où chante une rivière
Accrochant
follement aux herbes des haillons
D'argent; où le soleil, de la montagne
fière,
Luit: c'est un petit val qui mousse de rayons.

Un soldat jeune, bouche ouverte, tête nue,
Et la nuque
baignant dans le frais cresson bleu,
Dort; il est étendu dans l'herbe, sous
la nue,
Pâle dans son lit vert ou la lumière pleut.

Les pieds dans les glaïeuls, il dort. Souriant
comme
sourirait un enfant malade, il fait un somme:
Nature, berce-le
chaudement: il a froid.

Les parfums ne font pas frissonner sa narine.
Il dort dans
le soleil, la main sur sa poitrine
Tranquille. Il a deux trous rouges au côté
droit.

by Arthur Rimbaud, novembre 1870

Here is an english translation by Lisa Yannucci (scroll down)

Spraying Fleur de Narcisse on the skin, the verdancy of rich vetiver married to pungent virile leather reminds me of the wet black earth and the oily old tar of a dirty forgotten road. Masculine soiled boots tread on a never ending journey through fields scattered with heady fatty asphodels into the great unknown. Poignant cries of the damned tear the heart strings. Sweet and salty grains of pollen fly into the air, reminding the joys of what cannot be had any more; the light, the sun, the warmth. Sad powder and wetness, warm cloth and cool dampened hopes; one last whiff of rich smoke before succumbing to the fate of us all...

Part of the new privée collection of millesime/harvests by L’artisan parfumeur, first of which was the crystalline floral Fleur d’Oranger made by Anne Flipo using the Tunisian orange blossom Vergers de Nabeul from the spring 2004 harvest and launching it in 2005.
This new one is also made by Anne Flipo using the exceptional harvest of narcissus blossoms from the volcanic area of Lozère, part of the Languedoc-Roussillon region in southern France during the days of June 6th and 7th of 2005.

The official notes are: narcissus, hay, hyacinth, blond tobacco, iris, blackcurrant bud, moss and leather.

Released as a limited edition in only 3000 numbered bottles of Eau de parfum 100ml encased in wooden boxes like a fine vintage of wine, foiled with silk paper, the bottle engraved with narcissus flowers, it will retail for 240 euros which is around 300$. Exorbitant price for sure, but narcissus poeticus is an extremely costly ingredient anyway.
Available fromFirst in fragrance/Aus liebe zum duft in Europe as we speak and soon in the US in November at L’Artisan Parfumeur Soho, Henri Bendel, and Madison Avenue boutiques, select retailers and the L'artisan boutique on-line.

Pic is "La Metamorphose of Narcisse" by Salvador Dali courtesy of perso.orange.fr