Serge Lutens Un Lys: surrendering to fate (fragrance review)

Lily is an unabashedly feminine blossom; lush, plush, deeply odorous, decadent, inducing a state of surrender.
The shape alone entices you to lean in your nose and inhale deeply closing your eyes.
It would be better to open them, however. Because past the loaded stamens of burgundy red, there is the waxy sight and smooth touch of the petals that is redolent of a woman’s skin.

Isabelle Adjani has such a skin, in the best possible sense. Alabaster or mother of pearl doesn’t begin to describe it. Flawless, pale and surrounded by the darkest frieze of ebony hair, she is a living Poe literary heroine. The romantic ideal exalted.
It is of gorgeous Isabelle that I think upon smelling Un Lys (=a lily) by Serge Lutens of Palais Royal Shiseido in Paris. Part of the exclusive range, after a brief limited time featuring in the line-up that is being shipped to the US, it was composed by nose Chris Sheldrake and is one of the fabulous florals that include the equally captivating A la nuit and the gorgeous Fleurs d’oranger.

Isabelle showed her romantic inclinations in many films; however the innocence of character along with the beauty depicted by Un Lys is best represented by her role in the Werner Herzhog film Nosferatu starring Klaus Kinsky (father of Nastasia Kinsky).
In this remake of the Murnau-directed silent film (which in turn was based on Stoker’s Dracula, but with changed names because of copyright held by Stoker’s widow at the time), Adjani lures in the lovesick vampire into her bed, enticing him until the “terrible dawn” rises and destroys the vampire, who literally dies of love.
Count Orlok, the vampire, was played by the actor Max Shreck in the original Murnau film and his name was borrowed by Tim Burton for the villain in his Batman II (a cinematic homage to German Expressionism visually) ; it figures…
If you still want to explore further, watch Shadow of the Vampire starring John Malkovich and a Willem Dafoe made-up to amazingly resemble the Count of the first film. (I couldn’t believe my eyes!)

Un Lys plays up on notes of lily and vanilla, a light touch that surrounds the petals and makes for lasting power on the skin. Upon opening the bottle the smell that emanates is velvety soft and mostly reminiscent of lilac, as witnessed by many devotees. Of course lilac is not listed as a note; neither does it yield a useful essential oil for perfumery, because the oil rendered does not actually smell like the living thing. Therefore an array of synthetics, such as Apo patchone, Lindenol, Nerol 800/900, Terpineol Extra and Dimethyl Benzyl Carbinol are used in substituting for it.

I have no gas chromatographer by my side, nor any conclusive testimony whether one of those ingredients goes into the production of Un Lys, but thought it might be a good idea to list them, as many people swear that they smell lilac when they experience Un Lys.
To me personally it is the slightly musky background, vibrant and fragile at the same time, which captivates me and contributes to my likening it to flawless feminine skin. The sweet backdrop of vanilla is just a touch, enough to make this cherubic.

Un Lys is the dying breath of an angel in heaven and you should encounter it with the proper respect and awe.

Fragrant news: from the spawn of Ricci, a new line

Romano Ricci, the grandson of the creator of the legendary Nina Ricci brand, and responsible for the candy-praline of the new Nina 2006 in the apple-shaped bottle is launching his own fragrance brand, Juliette Has a Gun Parfums; a name that brings to mind an Aerosmith song. The new line, inspired by Shakespeare's tragic heroine, will launch initially in Parisian high-end concept store "Colette" in December and the first two fragrances will be Lady Vengeance and Miss Charming. French perfumer Francis Kurkdjian of Narciso and Rose barbare fame (among many other creations) has been very busy behind those two rose-centered scents while designer Sylvie de France drew the bottles (opting for black for Lady Vengeance naturally and white for Miss Charming - cute concept to colour coordinate). The scents will come out in Eau de parfum concentration in 50ml and 100ml bottles, priced €60 and €85 respectively. The new brand is expected to launch in French department stores next year in time for Valentine’s Day at outlets undisclosed as yet. Ricci is so confident that he also plans to expand with a further three products sometime in 2007.

Scoop and pic via cosmeticnews

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