Acqua Missoni: fragrance review

There is a time for everything and the time for “aquatic” fragrances, or at least fragrances with a moniker that plays upon this concept at least in name, are the dog days of summer. If you’re stuck in the heat in the city with your mind reeling crazily in thoughts of the Cote d’Azur or the Montacatini spa, then it’s bound to have happened to you, even if you are a devoted lover of orientalia. You crave something watery, droplets of icy cool liquid drenching your skin and olfactory nerve with the promise of the dewy solace of a fine mist of Evian spray on a sun-baked bodylicious beach experience.
Do perfumes aimed at capturing that aspect really deliver? Sadly usually they don’t.
Acqua by Missoni, the latest product from the Italian maglia brand, although pleasant and an improvement over their rather weird Missoni in the same style bottle, different colour from last year, is a case in point.
One might argue that it doesn’t set out to wow us into believing that a transatlantic flight of fancy to the eternal azure of the Aegean is hidden into the inviting turquoise of the fancy “boule” bottles since it self proclaims its fruity floral lineage of shame; yet it fails to be really interesting and to be perfectly honest with you, after about a thousand scents roughly in that category, one would have to possess Houdini powers to hide the uniform air those scents have. They are so close to each other in their odour profile, one has to really lean closer and pay lots of attention to discern nuances. Is this what you want your perfume to say of you? I didn’t think so.

And yet Missoni Acqua is not that bad. According to the press release it encompasses three stages:

‘Radiant Greens’ mixes bergamot, melon, grapefruit and narcisse. ‘Sparkling Blues’ blends violet, peony, blue freesia and crisp muguet. ‘Crystal Turquoise’ melts Tuscan iris, jasmine and solar notes.

More specifically

“Sexy, fresh, exuberant, Missoni acqua is like an energizing dive into the “mare azzurro”, the Mediterranean Sea. The scent evokes the joys of a sun-soaked holiday with friends and loved ones. The ad campaign, shot by Mert Alas and Marcus Piggot, was photographed at the family’s home in Sardinia. The image captures Margherita Maccapani Missoni, the eldest daughter of Angela Missoni, emerging from crystal blue waters with the warmth of the sun.”

(Quote from Osmoz)

The bottle replicates the lovely hue of the Mediterranean sea with a gold metallic cap adorned with a coral-coloured cabochon and it's really better in person than in the pictures.

The composition is typical of what might be considered the equivalent of hanging a reproduction of Chagall on your living room wall, instead of seeing it in a museum. The familiarity of the ersatz makes you believe this is the true nature of things. Therefore, I am convinced that it contains abstract materials of complex molecular structure that have nothing to do with living flowers (living flower technology is scientific-enrobed cheating if you ask me) or the ocean and the beach (as it doesn’t smell of either particularly) and quite a bit to do with the drydown of that perennial modern classic Angel by Mugler. Or rather his new acquatic patchouli named Eau de Star, which brings us back to my initial impression: plesasant, but like any gynaecologist might divulge ~ seen one, you’ve seen them all.


The range comes in Eau de Toilette 3.4oz/100ml, 1.7 oz/50mland 1 oz/30ml ; Parfum Rollerball 0.2 oz ; Body Lotion 6.7 oz/200ml ; Shower Gel 6.7 oz/200ml.
Available at major department stores.

Pic of bottles from Parfumflacons, pic of Greek sea sent to me by mail unaccredited

Whatever happened to Baby Jane? ~Andy Warhol Silver factory by Bond no.9

The great homonymous 1962 film starring Joan Crawford and Bette Davies is surely much more Machiavellian than the question I am asking today in relation with one of Andy Warhol’s stars of the 60s. Camp stars of the era have a way of disappearing into an incandescence of the mind that regurgitates upon a random twinkling provided by a seemingly irrelevant thing ~such as a new perfume by Bond no.9, called Silver Factory.

As Perfume Shriners may recall, we had announced the new scent recently as the most intriguing thing to come out of the New York niche perfumery for quite some time. In fact it has picked the interest of Perfume Shrine since it made the first bleep on the radar, so there was great anticipation to test it. And then Bond had the courtesy to send a sample along and that anticipation was satiated. With good results I might add.

The idea for the new scent was the Factory, Andy Warhol’s studio; Warhol, whom one would indeed call "the pope of Pop".
The Factory has its own history, an illustrious ~if not notorious~ one. In operation from 1964–1968, Warhol’s original studio, hangout, and club central, it was located in a indifferent looking building on East 47th Street, yet it acquired visual uniqueness with its aluminum-foil walls. Those evoked silver-backed mirrors ~emblems of the narcissism that suffused the times, perhaps. The Silver Factory served as a galvanizing forum for artists, silkscreeners, actors, filmmakers, debutants, activists, hustlers, and misfits, all of whom somehow contributed to the creativity. It was here that Warhol emerged as an avant garde filmmaker, pop art progenitor, and all-around superstar.

Baby Jane Holzer had recently married real estate magnate Leonard Holzer, at the time only twenty-two. It was then that she first met Warhol ~when Nicky Haslam took Warhol to Holzer's Park Avenue apartment for dinner, at which the photographer David Bailey (immortalised in Antonioni’s "Blow Up" film) was also present. Baby Jane's first Warhol film was "Soap Opera" while she went on to such miraculously named things as "Batman Dracula". Of course anything might evolve by the person who made an entire film with someone sleeping for several hours! (which by the way won an award from the cult film magazine "Film Culture", so you know that there is someone out there who will appreciate anything one might do).

Still the allure of that period in time, amid Vietnam-war, post-Kennedy-assassination is tangible. The Factory people, Ondine, Billy Name, Joe Dallesandro and most notable in pop mythology -like the Atalante of a young pantheon- none other than the enigmatic Edie Sedwick who died tragically at 28, the subject of the film "Factory Girl" featuring Sienna Miller. Her style of black tights, paired with high heels, skimpy tops, anthracite eyes and the longest earrings she could find made her unique and worth emulating by droves of knowing girls who batted their eyelashes with all the gusto of a speed taking bad gal that doesn’t give a fig for propriety; yet has been raised a good girl by a proper family. And a slight androgynous edge intertwined through it all, befitting the boom of the unisex trend that forever blurred the bounds on which we defined male and female stylistically: the heritage of the 60s, one might say.

This contradiction survives in the new scent Andy Warhol Silver Factory by Bond no.9. The overall character is one of quiet androgyny that is hovering on smooth smoky accords of incense and the subtle warmth of amber. Much like a girl smoking something illicit back in the premises of the Factory or a modern day urbanite residing in a hip address burning incense to the sound of Jefferson Airplane on the speakers, the fragrance has a nostalgic beat drumming paired with a modern woody element that diffuses it somewhat to a soft trail of smoke rings through the air.

Upon sniffing it, a hazy lavender note paired with the greenness of a dry violet meet the nostrils to form an impression of dryness that is immediately met by the mysterious note of incense. Incense is usually associated with churches and crypts and in perfume-speak (which is a peculiar formulaic version of speech, alas) it is desrcibed as “smoky”. However just what the latter denotes here is not reminiscent of any church, but rather the abode of the avant garde who used it as a secret handshake among themselves. That and the drugs of course...
The inclusion of jasmine is not very apparent, so don’t expect a rich floral heart, despite what you might think judging by the notes, although there is the element of a whiff of powder mixed with the smoke, before a slightly sweet note settles down to round this off in a resin embrace.

The Bond promotional material talks of molten silver. I think not, but it does evoke the grey façade of an aluminium-foiled building in which pop mythology was etched for ever after. The visuals alone make it worth sampling.
And just WHAT ever happened to Baby Jane? You can read it here.

Pic of Baby Jane Holzer by Nat Finkelstein (1965) courtesy of Google images. Pic of Edie Sedwick from Vogue courtesy of audartgallery.com

London Calling...part 4: at Roja Dove's place

When one is faced with greatness it manifests itself in no uncertain terms. Awe, amazement and a feeling of having tingles down the spine greet you upon entering one of the sacred altars of perfume, Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie on the 5th floor of Harrod’s, the Titanic of all stores: impressive, astounding in fact and certain to lead you to your doom. Financially speaking, that is.

Roja Dove is no stranger to perfume and his very special place in that Mecca of shoppers is magnificent. Formerly professeur de parfums at Guerlain (a title he gave himself, when they were at a loss on how to call him, as he is not a “nose” ~meaning a practicing perfumer) he is in reality a Roger who spelled his name the way it is pronounced in a heavy-set aristocratic English accent.
Haute Parfumerie was a concept near and dear to his heart, as it is meant to work like a museum and a shop combined: among the myriads of vintage bottles in opulent Bacarrat crystals there are many recreations and infinitesimal versions of favourite smells for customers to pick and choose, so that they are guaranteed to find their perfect holy grail scent or just the latest fling with which to dance the night away. All subject to their taste.

The grand staircase that recalls an Egyptian tomb fit for a Pharaoh in a modern version of Liz Taylor’s "Cleopatra"is nowhere near possible to describe without being unjust and the evocative lighting of the space is akin to entering a shrine to the high priest of perfume indeed. Rows and rows of vintage bottles with impressive names stand in aloof poise, among them the Bacarrat rarity Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes (=sacred tears of Thebes ~fit for the Egyptian theme!), Nina Ricci’s discontinued classic Coeur Joie (=heart of joy), Ombre Rose by Jean Charles Brosseau with its rich powdery hay and oppoponax base or the individual Caron masterpiece of Ernest Daltroff En Avion, dedicated to aviation and its brave first steps. Indeed they do have many of the Caron urn perfumes: those are the pure parfum/extrait perfumes that the venerable French house only sells from big crystal “vats” at their boutiques by request.
They also have the rare gems of Christian Dior from the days of their illustrious past: Diorama and Diorling. They are too beautiful to dismiss in a single expletive, so they deserve their own space and time in the near future to which you will be treated shortly.

Additionally Roja has created some individual scents for selling there, as I found out for about £2000 a bottle. The price being prohibitive I was reluctant to even try them out for fear I might have to break down and put a little mortgage to acquire one of them. On the other hand he is also launching three more moderately priced yet quality superior feminine scents for the upcoming season (October to be precise). They are based around one fragrance family each and they are named Scandal (a rich white floral), Enslaved(an oriental) and Unspoken (a chypre).

Roja’s theory of why smell is so important to us is interesting though and worth recounting. He maintains that the part of the brain that deals with odour is empty when we are born and we spend the first years of our lives (well into our puberty and beyond, I get to understand) forming preferences and distastes. This might be the reason why babies and small children often do not have a notion of “bad” smells and they venture into skatole-filled adventures that would make us shudder. It might also explain why there are definite preferences in certain aromas when we grow up that we can’t seem to shake off: they just move us on a deeper level, reminiscing of our childhood experiences and memories.

Roja elaborates that this is what is called an “odour profile”, sounding very much like a special FBI agent intent on capturing a serial killer, and in a way, you might want to think that smell is a serial killer, the way it strikes again and again and again with shocking results every single time. This odour profile constitutes what we find appealing and what not and also pinpoints which fragrance families tend to attract us more, giving a glimpse into our personalities in the process. This also coincides with what Mandy Aftel has to say when creating a bespoke fragrance for a client, by the way. She maintains that you can judge somewhat the tendencies of a personality according to the basenotes they choose for their tailor-made fragrance: shy or conventional types go for vanilla; hell-cats go for hay or blond tobacco and so on.
It’s an interesting thought, to be sure.

To revert to the subject at hand though, Roja continues by elaborating on how to choose an appropriate scent for oneself, using the odour profile. First there is some testing to determine which fragrance family is most appealing in general. For general purposes this is three-fold, encompassing floral, chypre and oriental. It is essential to clarify at this point that this is not meant to exclude one from the other or indeed disregard the nuances of cross-pollination that very often happen across families. It is simply a matter of simplifying a basic tendency that might produce more recommendations that would be most suitable. It doesn’t mean that a person can’t very well enjoy certain fragrances from all those families above.
Indeed after establishing a preference, one then goes through a process of elimination and specification that involves smelling separate notes. This is done through the use of scented candles, Diptyque it was from what I recall, and they let you smell the glasses they came in and share your impressions, as those particular candles are single-note based. My own preference for Oak, Oeillet, Jasmine and Pomander resulted in recommendations of Bellodgia, Mitsouko, Bal a Versailles and Coup de Fouet. Oh, dear, I already knew that…, I inwardly think.
Still, the process is fascinating, especially as there is no divulging of what you are smelling till after you have proffered an opinion. Which maintains the quintessential factors of a good test: objectivity and no influence by advertising or packaging.
I highly recommend the trip!

Pic "Favourably inclined" originally uploaded by cishikilauren /flickr

London Calling...part 3

If on the previous post I talked about the opportunity of a hand and arm massage being rather uncommon to encounter in a perfume boutique, it is with regularity that one encounters the practice at another bastion of British skinscentsa-experience, that of Jo Malone. That’s only to be expected of course from someone who began as a facialist working with her hands, mixing to the degree that seemed right to her, as well as coming from a lineage in the profession. And up until the acquisition of the firm by Estee Lauder, Jo herself was seen at the boutiques getting involved in the process.
Today only the flagship store is controlled by Jo, per info divulged by the manager.The rest of the boutiques are controlled by the Lauder Group, remaining nevertheless totally respective to Jo’ vision for the line.

What is most pleasing about the Jo Malone boutiques is the presentation and stylish interiors. The walls are painted in ivory reflecting the shade of the luxurious boxes and thick paper bags, etched in black, with grosgrain black ribbon to match. It just looks the opposite of ostentatious; it’s really stylish, unaffected, old money style yet with a certain modern worldliness about it that other brands aiming at such miss. I can see a young at heart, busy and self-fulfilled, about town woman carrying the little tote bags filled with gifts for family, the glorious candles for the home (which burn exceptionally well and do scent the whole house) and a couple of bath and body products for herself. The lotions do lend a new meaning to the notion of self-pampering, they’re so velvety soft.
The shelves in the stores are spacious and inviting, beckoning you to lean closer and smell the testers with the lovely scents. There is an apothecary style of presentation, done however in light and bright hues that give off the modern edge I mentioned.

Going into the cornucopia of scents comprising the line, one is spoilt for choice, as there is apparently something for everyone. The notion of combining scents to produce a third, personal one is at the core of the brand and it is something that allows individualism to an extent, always a good thing in my books.

The one basic gripe I often hear about Jo Malone scents is that they are not very lasting and that this is due to them being “colognes”. With that in mind I tackled the manager with a direct approach aimed at producing the “deer caught in the headlights” effect which might have made me persona non grata in the store had the British good manners not surfaced and a smart managing direction not prevailed. No, my question was not rude or impertinent, it seemed. This was often voiced and they had a perfectly valid explanation. The fragrances in the Jo Malone line are really of eau de toilette (and in some cases even eau de parfum) strength, however the eau de cologne tag was chosen to denote that the products are really meant to be shared, being unisex, so as not to alienate the male customer venturing into the store. Phrased like that it does make sense, although I have to admit that the lasting power is greatly dependent on the specific fragrance chosen, as some seem to go on for hours, while others vanish in a “puff the magic dragon” instant.

As the whole line is available where I live quite easily I wasn’t temped into actual purchases, so the whole purpose of the exercise was to really get the feel of the shop, talk to the manager and get info for our readers concerning aspects of the brand. To the interests of the latter issue I tentatively asked what the bestsellers are. The artsy types go for Pomegranate Noir, I was told, with its deep and brocade-like tapestry of rich hues and sweet and sour fruits, while the more traditional women go for Red Roses.

Contrasted to my local boutique bestsellers, which the manager had revealed to be Orange Blossom and Honeysuckle & Jasmine (those are both very likeable and suited to warmer temperatures), I saw that there is substance to the notion of choices based on climate. However Pomegranate Noir is the perennial favourite for the winter season.
Men often go for the traditional Amber and Lavender and Vetyver. I think although the former is rather mainstream and not very exciting, it does blend pleasing sides of both notes. Vetyver I found not to my liking, I’m sad to report. Rather discordant.

From the choices before me I really appreciated again the slight spiciness of Vintage Gardenia, which makes it unique in the universe of gardenias, even if not as realistically accurate as the one by Yves Rocher or the new Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia by Estee Lauder. Blue agave and cacao is slightly salty and has a rather bitter edge that is very welcome in the heat.

One thing I came across that you won’t be coaxed into relying solely on the recommendations of the catalogue or the site is the marvelous combination of the woodiness of masculine 154 cologne and Red Roses: the effect is vaguely reminiscent of Voleur de Roses by L’artisan, with a different enough tonality to it, that is more sandalwood rich but with the earthy touch of vetiver instead of patchouli. Neat!



Next post will offer a glimpse of greatness...

Pics courtesy of Jo Malone site

London Calling...part 2

There is no greater endearment than the nostalgia of bygones. Sommerset Maugham would have plenty to say about this, I’m sure, in his usual fabulous style and poignant mood which would account for a frame of mind not unlike the one I had upon visiting the renovated Penhaligon’s store in London’s Wellington Street. There is also a Penhaligon's store in Oxford street, but Oxford street being quite unlike Oxford the town itself (if you have been to either, you do know what I mean), I never ventured inside.

There is an element of kitsch Sarah Key childish reminiscence in tiny pastel bows on ribbons and deep claret red hues that adorned the shop in days of yore when eager and just-out-of-bloomers so to speak (at least financially) I pressed my nose on the window pane to stare at the dark wooden luxurious displays and the bottles of perfumes and lotions stacked up in rows.

The whole setting was like that of a fairy tale set in the Victorian era, the scent of Violetta in the air like a powdery sweet candy that was sucked by Miss Havisham in an alternative universe where she does get her man after all and the spider webs on the tables and corners remain but a mere figment of an author’s imagination. It just exuded the kind of posh ambience of cognac sipped in the evening in front of a blazing fire.
Later this image was replicated (or so I thought at the time) by Browns of Melbourne which I scoured for lovingly back at home, at times when Penhaligon’s was unavailable for purchase so saccharine might as well stand for sugar. Alas the cutesy factor sometimes ruined it for me. The look of weirdly wonderful spicy Malabah was what I was searching for, you see.

The new façade is lovingly worked on, with pastels, pale colours that give a new lift, more airy, brighter certainly; but somehow lacking the deeper ends of the Victorian fairy tale, poignant Dickensian vagabonds with gratitude towards small children missing. Still, the boutique is magical and very worth a visit.

I reacquainted myself with their cherubic Lily of the Valley which rings wreath-like spring chimes in my ears and with daredevil Malmaison, a scent of carnation that is piquant yet restrained enough to make me crave it and finally put it on my to-buy list for next season. I refrained as the shop was rather expensive and the pound is still strong. However the obliging staff was making this very hard to do and I was enslaved by their lovely chat and their pleasing demeanor and had I purchased something I would have certainly opted for the promising hand and arm massage that involved the brand’s lotions and powders (that was also an option at Jo Malone, of which later on).

As it is, my hands and arms are left unPenhaligon-ed and I feel the poorer for it.
As Miss Havisham surely must have known, opportunities come once in a blue moon.

Artwork "A rubber at miss Havisham's": wood engraving by Marcus Stone, courtesy of victorianweb.org. Pic of Penhaligon's products courtesy of their site.