Orange blossom week: part 4 - abstract brushstrokes

What is abstract and how it pertains to olfaction? Let's question ourselves. If we're talking about abstraction as the thought process wherein ideas are distanced from objects then there is a whole school of offerings that evoke some distant memory of something through the use of non-representational means, just like in art; especially in Lyrical Abstraction (a term originally coined by Larry Aldrich in 1969 to describe what he saw in the studios of artists at that time)or even Abstract expressionism, of which Pollock is a representative example, on to the geometrical stylisation of Yiannis Moralis.

In such a context it is not hard to see that the rendition of an aromatic note, even such a familiar one as orange blossom, can be sublimated in a way that exalts its effect without featuring its true characteristics. In fact without featuring the actual thing at all!
Aromachemical engineers have the additional ability to use a note that naturally is only a top or heart or even base accent and manipulate it in order to make it last longer or for a lesser amount of time. Therefore orange blossom, a note that in its form of "absolute" is a heart to bottom note may appear out of the vial as soon as we open to smell or indeed neroli (the essential oil from orange blossom) might be discernible throughout a fragrance's development.
It is also possible to use aromachemicals that evoke the essence of orange blossoms like the ghost of someone near and dear appearing out of a desire to see them much like Hamlet's father, in a composition that is centered around them yet contains none. Ingredients that could be used include Aurantiol, Methyl Anthranilate, and Oranger Crystals.
Primary examples of this technique would be amply illustrated by Fleur du Mâle the new fragrance by Gaultier, Narciso For Her by Narciso Rodriguez and Castile by Penhaligon's. Indeed those are fragrances that fine though they are feature such an abstract orange blossom that it is spectral in its appearence rather than physical and tangible, like in examples previously mentioned.

Fleur du Mâle by Galtier has already had a full review at Perfumeshrine. Suffice to say that it is the essence of a fluffy cloud, all hay-coumarin and ersatz orange blossom through the eyes of a master of abstraction and could be worn by women just as easily as men.

Castile by Penhaligon's on the other hand is in another vein. Technically also a masculine fragrance, yet highly asexual in its soapy nature, it soars on notes of clean neroli and bergamot at first to warm up just a bit later on with hazy orange blossom, all the while retaining a clean atmosphere of minimalism.
I have a confession to make at this point. When staying at european hotels -the luxurious kind; I avoid the cheap ones after one horrible experience not due to my choosing which however left me probably scarred for life- I love to enter the bathroom first. Gaze at the white clean towels, all pressed and folded, the bath acroutments, lined up for my using, little soaps on the sink, inhale the aroma of cleanliness and proceed to the pulverised sheets on the bed that are starchy and unlined like big sheets of paper on the desk of a writer longing to be filled with ink recounting thoughts and memories of ambiguous value.
This is what Castile evokes in me: staying in a luxury hotel, posing as some person more important than the prosaic historian that I am, halo of far away distance from mundanity fimly placed on my head and not a care in the world behind my aviator sunglasses. "Clean" in a minimal, austere, yet also friendly way without featuring one sharp or musky note.

Narciso by Narciso Rodriguez on the other hand goes into the other direction of "clean". It has been such an influential, seething discovery in my relatively recent perfume past that I have real trouble talking about it. This might sound like a hyperbole and an unsuccessful one at that, yet I assure you that the way it has sneaked its way into my heart with its wiles is astounding. The concentration in the admittedly confusing range that I am focusing on at the moment is the Eau de toilette, with its sexy ambience of clean musks at the background and the inclusion of an abstract orange blossom touch on the foreground.
Nary does a day go by when wearing it that the passing stranger (and a loved one) does not turn to sniff a little longer, lean a little closer, sometimes even comment on it in complimentary terms. Nary does a day go by when wearing it that I am not trasported in a place of contentment, of confidence, of feeling fresh and young and able to conquer the world on a wink or a smile.
To categorise it as clean or as sexy is doing it an injustice. Its erotic power hinges on the creation of a distinguished, sophisticated eroticism which is ethereal and distanced from heavy seductions that in reality repel rather than entice. The absence of saccharine girliness despite the assured overall youthfulness of the composition speaks highly of a sexual being who is ready to consumate the affair with a playful toss of the leg up in the air and not after losing its virginity at the school's prom dance. Whether that would be the net result in the end is fair game to its paws, but nevertheless this is not the iniative on which the fragrance operates. It hums of unmade beds in homes rather than hotels, where the warmth of humans and the life of lovers has found a nest out of the cold harsh mechanical world outside.
Narciso Rodriguez eau de toilette is said to include notes of honey flower, solar musk, orange flower, amberlyn, tactile musk, and tactile woods.
Amberlyn by the way is a petrochemical that is intended to smell a bit like ambergris. Honey Flower is an evergreen shrub (genus Melianthus)native to Cape of Good Hope.
Too abstract for words really in its aroma-synthetic marvel, this Francis Kurkdjian oeuvre is a masterpiece that has it own place in the pantheon of great scents. I am sure that the future will be kind to its beautiful visage.



Painting "Young Girl" 1971 by greek painter Giannis Moralis courtesy of eikastikon.gr

Orange blossom week: part 3 - rich nuances

"A disturbing wind blows from the east, saturating the city of Seville with the scent of orange. Juan Antonios dark hair flies off his shoulder and whips against his face. The seductive aroma of the orange blossom surrounds him and the perfumed wind wafts past his ears, whispering secrets only he can hear.

Can you smell the orange blossom? murmurs the wind. I love that scent. Do you remember? The wind blows stronger over the Guadalquivir River, lifting with it the raw reminder of a time when spring smelled sweet.
Juan Antonio looks up sharply and stares out over the river, his hand tensing around the fret board of his flamenco guitar. He feels the wind crawling around his neck, blowing past his face. He brushes a strand of hair from his eyes, but the fragrant wind only blows it back.
I can still feel you, whispers the wind. Smell you . . . taste you. The wind tosses a burst of citrus his way. Your hands smell of horses and leather, your lips of chocolate. I will never forget your delicious scent. But, I fear you have forgotten mine.

An angry cloud of orange swirls over Juan Antonio, threatening to engulf him. He yanks a scrap of cloth from his pocket and ties his hair back with the tattered fabric. Then he shouts to the perfumed wind. Dejame! Leave me alone! Frantically, he clamps the back of his hand against his nose to block out the opressive sweetness, but it is impossible to block the scent that the wind lifts. The seductive aroma of the azahar, the orange blossom, lives inside of him . . . tormenting him . . . robbing him of the peace he longs to find."

The above is an excerpt from the novel in progress Azahar by Susan Nadathur.
It captures well the ambience that a rich orange blossom perfume evokes in me: the south, its passions, its over the top sensualism, bravado, cheesiness even, yet also familiarity, tenderness, childhood memories of car hops across country, blossoms that die slowly in my lap under the heavy sun, cut too soon from the tree.
The intense sweetness of a lush orange blossom that has peaked, in its prime, with honeyied tones and is ready to yield fruit is trully unforgettable.

If we try to deconstruct the etymology and nuanced meanings of the word "richness" we come up against:

1.Possessing great material wealth
2.Having great worth or value: a rich harvest of grain.
3.Magnificent; sumptuous: a rich brocade.
4. a. Having an abundant supply: rich in ideas.
b. Abounding, especially in natural resources: rich land.
5. Meaningful and significant
6. Very productive and therefore financially profitable
7. a. Containing a large amount of choice ingredients, such as butter,sugar, or eggs, and therefore unusually heavy or sweet.
b. Having or exuding a strong or pungent aroma.
8. a. Pleasantly full and mellow.
b. Warm and strong in color.
9. Containing a large proportion of fuel to air: a rich gas mixture.
and 10. Informal, highly amusing.

All this according to The Free Dictonary by Farlex.

I think for our purposes, all of those terms and definitions apply.
A "rich" orange blossom perfume can be wealthy in that it exudes luxury, costly, sumptuous because of its magnificent aroma, mellow and full, strong and abundant, suggesting lushness and opulence, sweet yet also amusing, playful and warm. It can be all these things. And it performs these tasks admirably.
This is why my heart aches a bit whenever I catch a whiff of the abundance of orange blossom in strangers' passing-by-scent. The trail of opulence...

So, to evoke those memories and associations I chose the following perfumes that smell as rich and sweet as orange blossom in Andalucia does in spring:
Zohar by Ayala Moriel, 24 Faubourg by Hermes, Poeme by Lancome and Boucheron Femme by Boucheron.

Ayala's Moriel Zohar uses the hebrew word for enlightment and brilliance to render a very fine, luxurious soliflore that sprakles like a fine jewel under a hot glaring sun. Centered around Orange blossom absolute garlanded with tuberose and jasmine that add to its white floral theme without veering it into the excessive headache producing effect that some other heavy "whities" produce, it is a true gem. The top notes of fresh citrus essences like the japanese fruit yuzu and the divine cleaner neroli note pierce your nostrils playfully giving way to the abundant heart of the nucleus that intermingles warm amber and honey in an arabesque worthy of Alcazar. The slight rubberiness of true, natural tuberose plays hide and seek all along with alluring results, much lighter than that featured in Fleurs d'Oranger by Lutens, like a princess hidden under a veil in one of the corridors of the palace.

You can sample or order clicking here.

24 Faubourg by Hermès , named after the eponymous address of the House, reminds me of a wealthy protagonist in a classic old Hollywood movie: dressed in a light beige belted trenchcoat, impecably coiffed hair under a heavy silk scarf bearing a prestigious signature, wrapped on her precious little head, lipstic in deep coral, complexion of peaches and cream, out in a sports convertible driving on the slopes of Monaco without a care in the world but always in control of herself. The brilliance of the sun and the warmth of late spring in the air, cinemascope colours melting in amber as the afternoon approaches. If ever there was a trace of the essence of wealth and opulence rolled into one this would be it.
Do not opt for the version Eau Délicate though: the above effect can only be achieved by the Eau de parfum or better yet pure parfum/extrait.

Poême by Lancôme was launched with the darling sensitive face of Juilette Binoche and with verse by Baudelaire which would make it endearing despite its smell to my artistic heart. However an overindulegence by women in their 30s all along the 90s along with the bestseller Trésor by the same house left me with apprehension and tentative in ever owning a full bottle. Touted to be centered on datura flower (a flower of the desert) and Tibetan blue poppy (a very rare blossom), it smells of neither particularly; instead it launches on wild, unmistakable orange blossom arpeggios that are supported by potent cassis and amber notes, further sweetened by the -needless in my opinion- addition of vanilla and tonka bean. This is certainly a rich smell; not however in the manner in which Lancôme intended it to be. Too sweet, maybe too strong, Poême appears to be a little heavy handed and suffers as a result from it, despite its lushful heart. Is it any wonder that Juliette Binoche is in reality a Cristalle fan?

Boucheron Femme by the jeweler Boucheron is last but not least on our list of rich orange blossom scents. Althouth this one is much more of a floriental with all that entails, it has such a sublime, sunny and warm presence that it yelled in french (these were no crude yells, tu comprends) to be included in this line up, like the usual suspect of wealth purveyor that it is. Balanced and poised on the beauty of benzoin and olibanum on a powdery base rich in sandalwood it infuses its rich aroma from afar and entices its victims to fall prey to your guiles, tasting apricots and mandarins and lapping their greedy fingers in delicately hushed licks. In a gold bottle topped with a sapphire top like the gems Boucheron is famous for, it evokes luxury the Parisian way: old style, top clarity, lots of carats, but never ostentatious.

Next post will be in yet a different vein.

Pic of Baños de Doña María de Padilla in Alcazar, Seville, Spain courtesy of quovadimus.org.

Orange Blossom week: part 2 - sexy aromas

What is it that links orange blossom to sexy aromas? Many of the interpretations of this note in perfumery take advantage of the naturally lush and sexual aroma of the blossoms and in our investigation of this subject we have come up against many interesting tidbits of information that might help elucidate why and how.

The use of perfume as an enhancement and not concealement of genitalia and hormone odours has been in practice till ancient times. It was the knowledgable ancient Egyptian women who used Kyphi rolled in miniscule balls, placed in the vulva. They also used amber mixes and civet. The Hindus also used the smell of female genitalia as a classification point for women, in which no one is left unappareciated. In Shakespeare's times it was common for men and women to offer apples to the object of their affection that had been saturated in the sweat of the armpit. That was meant to be a signification of desire and perhaps an early attempt at judging whether the prospective lover's pheromones would intermingle well with their sensibilities.
In the Memoirs of Casanova, we come across an observation that there is a hidden something in the air of a lover's bedroom that would make it very easy to choose between it and Heaven itself. So much is the infatuation that a beloved's body produces in the soul. And on that note who can forget the infamous epistle of Napoléon to Joséphine when he passionately wrote to her: "Je réviens en trois jours; ne te lave pas!" (I return in three days, don't wash yourself)
Anais Nin and Henry Miller were no strangers to the alchemical nature of the odorata sexualis of a lover that can be enhanced by perfume and Nin's personal choice of Caron's Narcisse Noir (a fragrance rich in orange blossom)and Guerlain's Mitsouko shows an appreciation for blends that enhance a person's natural sexual aroma. Beaudelaire, Flaubert (who kept the mittens of his mistress on a drawer for sniffing purposes), Goethe and Reiner Maria Rilke are also literature figures that occupied themselves with the fragrant nature of seduction.
Even in our more pedestrian times the allure of the erotic has been used to great effect in advertising. From Schocking by Schiaparelli to Ambre Sultan by Lutens to Boudoir by Westwood, many perfumes have claimed to capture in fragrant droplets the odorata sexualis of a woman for seduction purposes. Last olfactory example of this being Tom Ford' attempt at it when he proclaimed that his last fragrance Black Orchid was supposed to smell of a man's crotch. I think not, but hey, you have been warned!

Of course like a plethora of things in life much of the effect of something relies on context. Meaning that leaving youself unwashed would not shill your charms to potential lovers necessarily if some particular smell is not pleasant to them or the sweat is rank. It all has to do with delicate proportion and adjustment. In a fascinating experiment by Paul Jellineck, recounted in Essence and Alchemy, people had been asked to smell versions of well-known frags such as Quelques Fleurs by Houbigant and a traditional eau de Cologne with and without the addition of neroli. In the former case the neroli just mingled with the other floral substances adding a fresh note and balancing them, whereas in the latter it seemed sultry and rich and therefore erotically nuanced. This goes to show that although there is a clear cut path to lust and sexuality, eroticism in perfume as in any other area is complex and subtle, dependent on context and associations that need a delicate hand in placing them there.

So how orange blossom is linked to all these exciting observations? Let me shock you a bit in case you were unaware of the fact. Orange Blossom (as well as jasmine) is filled with the fascinating indole.
According to Encyclopedia Brittanica:

Indole, also called Benzopyrrole, is a heterocyclic organic compound occurring in some flower oils, such as jasmine and orange blossom, in coal tar, and in fecal matter. It is used in perfumery and in making tryptophan, an essential amino acid, and indoleacetic acid (heteroauxin), a hormone that promotes the development of roots in plant cuttings. First isolated in 1866, it has the molecular formula C8H7N.

It is this base ingredient that is so abundant in white florals -among them orange blossom to a moderate degree- that apparently gives a nod to the human aspect of our existence and reminds us of our primeval objects in life: to have sex and procreate. In this context it is no accident that orange blossom is traditionally used in wedding wreaths, as discussed yesterday.
Therefore if a catcall to carnality is your objective, yet you want to go about it more discreetly than resorting to civet (the pungent extract of the anal glands of a species of the Viverridae shaped like a small fox and native to Abysinnia, Java, Borneo, Sumatra and Bengal and farmed in Ethiopia for perfume purposes), orange blossom can be a Heaven sent destined to confine you in the abyss of Hell.

For this purpose there is no better choice than the rich, sultry, lush and totally feminine with a capital F Fleurs d'oranger by Serge Lutens. Luckily a part of the export line, but also available in a beautiful bell jar in the exclusive Palais Royal for Shiseido line of scents, it is the essence of classy sexiness captured in a bottle. Like a woman of mature wiles sitting under an orange grove contemplating serious romance and seduction it is multi-nuanced with precious essences of white jasmine and indian tuberose that enhance the indolic aspect to magnificent proportions, laced with the sprinkle of fiery spice like cumin and nutmeg rolled in tangy citrus peel, all the while exuding aromas of muskiness and floralncy in alrernative overlappings like the tongue of a skillful lover. The inclusion of rose and hibiscus seeds consolidates the velours aspect of a base that never really leaves the skin, reminding you of happy romance even after it is just a distant memory in the farthest corners of your mind.


Next post will tackle another aspect of orange blossom.

Art photography by Spyros Panayiotopoulos, courtesy of eikastikon.gr

Orange blossom week: part 1- true renditions

Orange blossom is one of the most usual floral notes used in perfumery and its glorious slightly fruity, sweet and pervasing yet fresh scent has been brandishing its charms in traditional colognes and eaux de toilette for centuries.
Although an unmistakably floral in tone aroma it does hint of the fruit to come in a very elegant way that aromachemicals cannot mimic satisfactorily.

The word "orange" comes from Sanskrit "narang" or Tamil "naraththai". Another theory pertains that it is tied to a Dravidian root meaning "fragrant".
Oranges originated in southeast Asia in fact which is not unrelated to etymology (in India, Vietnam or southern China). The fruit of Citrus sinensis is called sweet orange to distinguish it from Citrus aurantium, the bitter orange.
Some languages have different words for the bitter and the sweet orange, and one of them is indeed Modern Greek which differentiates bettween bitter (nerantzi) and sweet (portokali which derives from Portuguese). The reason for these differences is that the sweet orange was brought from China to Europe during the 14th century for the first time by the Portuguese. For the same reason, some languages refer to it by "Applesin" meaning "Apple from China".
It is common to come across mentions of "arancia" or "arancio" ~deriving from latin~ on perfume bottles in italian as well as "zagara", "naranja" in spanish while in hebrew the name is "Zohar", also reflected in the portugeuse language.


Bitter orange is trully the pig of perfumery as it gives us so many aromatics for perfumes: the essential oil of the blossom, the heady and viscous absolute from the flowers that is rendered through a solvent extraction, cool neroli from a different method of manipulation of the flowers (distillation) that gives an aroma that is tangier, slightly more bitter and thus a little more atsringent and fresher, bitter orange oil from the rind of the fruit with its sweet-bitter scent, and the more masculine in tone, greener petit-grain from the distillation of twigs and leaves.

Orange blossom absolute is a miracle to behold both in terms of cost and its elusiveness. Some can even smell rank if not of the proper quality and only the real, quality thing can be the heady touch that turns heads and makes you weak in the knees as if catching a whiff of it passing a sunny orange grove in April.
The includion of orange blossom is de riguer in many oriental mixes, although its role is not limited to those: it features as a protagomist in many eau de colognes along with its sidekick neroli as well as in chypres and elegant florals.
Termed a white floral for its small white, slightly waxy petals, it is one of the loveliest blossoms to adorn a homemade bouquet and it has long been the state flower of Florida. The blossom is also emblematic of Riverside in California, famous for its Navel or Washington variety of oranges.
It is traditionally associated with good fortune and for that reason it was popular in bridal bouquets and head wreaths for weddings for some time. Even now in Greece and the Mediterranean it is customary for wedding taking place in villages or by the sea to adorn the head of the bride with simple small blossoms, which is very becoming especially on the naturally darker hair of those women. Folk songs have been composed drawing parallels between the bushy, fragrant head of a bitter orange tree with the head of a lovely lady.
The petals of orange blossom can also be made into a delicately citrus-scented version of rosewater, called "anthonero" (flower water). Orange blossom water is a common part of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean cuisine and it features in both sauces and in pastries. One such is the famous kourambiedes, an Easter and Christmas cookie that is made with rich butter and crushed almonds, rolled into dust sugar and gloriously eaten with coffee after meals. You can see a recipe for them here.
Orange blossom honey is a variation of honey that is not unusual in those areas of the world either: it is produced by putting beehives in the citrus groves during bloom, useful for agriulture as well as it pollinates seeded citrus varieties. Orange Blossom honey is highly prized for its peculiar, delicate like orange taste that differentiates it from aromatic honeys from thyme blossoms or pines.
Orange blossom even gives its touristic nickname to the Costa del Azahar ("Orange-blossom coast") in Valencia, a place that provides lots of orange fruit throughout Europe.

Starting our exploration of orange blossom, we focus on the more realistic interpretations of this heady and fresh note as attested by the following fragrances:
Fleur d'oranger by L'artisan Perfumer, Jo Malone Orange blossom Côté Bastide Fleurs d'oranger and I profumi di Firenze Zagara.
All of them explore the fresher, tarter aspect of the note, in various degrees and nuances.

The golden standard is indeed Fleur d'oranger by L'artisan parfumeur, based on a single harvest of Nabel in Tunisia, in 2004 and basing its exclusive and unfortunately very ephemeral success on the quality of that exceptional crops that yielded its sweet and light aromas into the embrace of a master perfumer such as Anne Flipo (who was responsible for Verte Violette and La Chasse aux papillons in the L'artisan stable of thoroughbreds).
It launched in 2005 for a very limited number of bottles for a very costly price, encased in a wooden box like a vintage of precious wine. And it is indeed precious in its single-minded loveliness that wraps you in cool cotton sheets of luminosity and joy. Its crystalline appearence shimmers in the light like a precious Baccarat ornament and it enslaves you upon testing as the truest soliflore on orange blossom created. Although light in tone it has good tenacity which adds to its charms. It is a pity that when the distribution ends there will be no more...

Jo Malone's Orange Blossom is a sweeter rendition which lacks the crystalline aspect of L'artisan, however it is quite close to the actual blossom and is very realistic, denoting a high percentage of natural essences used. The opening is a but fruiter and has a hint of the zest but it soon develops into the white floral that is so beloved by people of the South. The marriage of clementine leaves (a comparable species) and water lilies gives a limpidity and airiness that transports this into sunny climates and white clothing paired with silver jewels worn on a casual walk. It is unaffected, elegant and very popular in Greece, proving to be the bestseller of Jo Malone's line during the warmer months according to my sources in the company.

Zagara by I Profumi di Firenze is a citrusy gregarious thing based on the tart and cool elegance of bergamot that segues into notes of the white flower restraining the sweetness and injecting happiness and joy. It is deliriously happy and cheerful and it can be relied upon to lift spirits and rejuvenate on hot days.

Côté Bastide's Fleurs d'oranger rendition is also exceptionally true and light with a hint of citrus and green tonalities that lend a slight bitter edge that is again reminsicent of the living tree and the surrounding air. It is its greatest strength and its stamp of approval. Eminently wearable in summer and highly recommended for stuffy offices and homes.


Next post will tackle a different interpretation of the orange blossom note.

Painting "Man in Hat" by greek painter Nicolaos Lytras courtesy of allposters.com.

Eau de Star by T.Mugler: fragrance review

When a fragrance has been instrumental to producing a spawn of successors that try to emulate or imitate or at least to bear a passing affinity with, you know you’re in the presence of greatness and innovation, even if said fragrance is such a powerhouse as to produce feelings of either love or hate.
Angel by Thierry Mugler is such a fragrance: polarizing, powerful, combustible, sensual, decadent, even a little bitchy on certain individuals.
Its exclusively synthetic nature exploring facets of airy notes such as hedione and helional coupled with the hay of coumarin, the bitterness of chocolate and patchouli and the deviousness of caspirene was paramount to it becoming an instant sensation that rocked the perfume world when it came out in 1992 in an era of limpid, watery creations of which L’eau d’Issey was the contestant with the greater pull. It took a while, yet Angel prevailed, introducing a whole new category of scents, the gourmands: oriental scents that rely on foody notes to evoke images of childhood and comfort or a playful sensuality a la 9 ½ weeeks that interjects food into sexual play.
It is no accident that it is le numero 1 in sales in France, capital of perfume in the world, even giving a jolt at the ribs to the classic Chanel no.5 with its iconic status.

The new Eau de Star is the latest feminine addition to formidable stable of Mugler, after the latest exploration of tinkering with the original formula in the forms of Garden of Stars, a collection of four exquisite bottles topped with a star with an angular point in various shades exploring the addition of a floral note to the singularly floral-less original Angel. Violet, Lys, Pivoine and Rose were the chosen blossoms and the results ranged from the almost pareil (Violet) to the friendlier and cozier cousin coming to visit for the holidays (Pivoine). Although the bottles were gorgeous as is always the case with the Mugler enterprise, none of the scents moved me enough to buy a new bottle for my collection, especially since I already had invested in the acquisition of the lovely Innocent: a softer take on Angel with the patchouli toned down and sugared almonds and meringues surfacing on an unexpected marriage of true minds lost in an everlasting reverie.
Incidentally, the Star association is not something out of the blue (pun intended) either. Mugler has considered stars his lucky charms ever since his first foray into designing those alien-like women with the sharp shoulder pads in the 1980s which had crimson lips and slashed lined eyes like amazones from Galactica. He wears the star symbol himself as a tattoo and a signature ring. However the lucky charm practice is not unheard of in the greater design world, from Christian Dior who put a lily of the valley blossom on every hem of couture to Coco Chanel who chose the number 5 as the one to signify her foray into perfumed business to coincide with her launching her couture on 5 May(fifth month)upon that fateful year of no.5's introduction.

Eau de Star comes now to make me re-consider whether I should purchase another one of that franchise of which Innocent has captured my heart for cozy and frolicky soirees. I haven't decided yet, as I think it merits more sampling first which I am planning to do in due time.
Not a limited edition, but a firm addition, to be followed by the complimentary Icemen for discerning males, Eau de Star is built around the word eau, aqua, water….The addition of such a word to something like Angel sounds like an oxymoron, as the denseness of the latter does not recall any body of the former in anyone’s mind. Yet the creative mind behind this new fragrance, namely
Louise Turner at Quest, managed to combine the limpidness of watery, aquatic notes -which usually make me shudder- with a floral heart and sensual patchouli base that is not the same as Angel yet retains a passing kindred spirit.
The fragrance begins on a tart and crystalline note of fruit that is intermingled with fresh notes like those used to render cucumber aromas in such scents as En Passant by Olivia Giacobetti for F.Malle. Although this might sound scary to perfume lovers of serious and deep perfumes, especially those who focus on classics, I assure you it is not something to make anyone run for the hills trying to catch their breath; on the contrary it makes for a sparkly, pleasant effect that upon spraying the new scent on my skin in the space of a couple of minutes two different individuals stopped and turned swiftly and asked me with some impatience what was that gorgeous scent I was wearing. (I call this a success. Don’t you?)
The succeeding stages do not disappoint, as the progression is to something vaguely floral coupled with unmistakable orientalised effluviums of patchouli and vanilla that manage not to become overwhelming but linger seductively with a sensuality that is reminiscent of the cuddly dry down phase of Innocent.
However the new scent is like neither, but holds its own ground. A flanker maybe (a term denoting the succeeding perfumes that capitalize on the success of one original scent), yet an individual creation that could be worn in warmer weather when Angel and Innocent do not often make one welcome in mixed company. A lighter, aqueous interpretation of a gourmand theme.

The bottle is a heavy glass affair of three sides with the signature star etched on the front, topped with a silver geometrical cap bearing the logo of the brand.
Eau de Star comes in Eau de toilette concentration in 25 and 50ml and a refillable bottle of 50ml (1.7oz)retailing at 41.8, 61.5 and 71.5 euros respectively.
Available at French Sephora and across Europe with plans to be introduced to the US later on alongside the masculine new scent Icemen (of which I will report later on).

The line is also accompanied by a transparent lipgloss that is called Gloss Lèvres Délicieuses (=delicious lips), perfumed with the notes of Eau de Star and encased in a rectangular tube with wand, retailing at 15.90 for 4.5ml at French Sephora. I haven’t tried this one yet, but if one is truly enamored with the scent I guess having it under one’s nose would provide their fix admirably.



Pic of bottle courtesy of Elle.fr and of gloss courtesy of Sephora.fr