Autumnal Shift

I'm very much afraid that the coming of autumn is given over to the Greek calendars. For those unfamiliar with this expression it is used to mean that something is never going to happen at all, as Greek calendars never existed, in contrast to the Roman ones, which did.
And what is the reason for this ominous and pessimistic declaration? But the difficulty of rotating fragrances in a fragrance wardrobe according to season in this crazy global warming environment.

The transition from summer to autumn in terms of perfume choosing is not an easy one, especially given that nowadays this is mostly an issue of calendar advancement than actual weather change. The warmth and incadescence of autumnal perfumes lends itself to cooler temperatures, "seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness" to quote Keats. And alas it's tardy. And expected to be for quite a while still in our part of the world.

Personally autumn has always been my favourite time of the year. The rush of the beginning of the academic season managed to fill me with new hope even as a student, despite the fact that it meant the end of long summer vacation. It wasn't that it was the beginning of lessons, so much as the rejoining of old friends and the aftertaste of those languid summer days spent at the beach that left skin baked and memories of blissful indolent and idle existence aplenty to last for months. Autumn was and still is the beginning of the year for me.

However, as the indian summer persists well into November nowadays, my hankering for "mists and mellow fruitfuless" is left unsatisfied. My Mitsouko and Opium get anxious to make a grand appearence from their confines, only to be met with another hot dawn that promises to melt away at the edges of reason by noon. Other perfumes are even more shy: Angelique Encens, Fumerie Turque, Rykiel Woman, Boucheron femme, Rochas Femme, Ambra del Nepal, La Myrrhe, to name but a few. They all demand sturdy fabrics, angora or cashmere sweaters and black leather boots tightly encasing jambes d'une nature farouche. Les jambes, you see....they cannot be farouche (=ferocious) in the heat of summer. They mostly drag themselves along...

And so with the onerous duty ahead of me I must get down to sorting out my autumn collection without the actual capability of wearing those tantalising siren-singing scents that beckon me. Not yet, not yet...

And you, what are you longing to bring out of the mothballs? Give us pointers!

In the meantime I am leaving you with John Keats'(1795-1821) Ode to Autumn:

627. To Autumn

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Next reviewwill occupy itself with an amber that can actually lend itself nicely to still warm weather.


Poem courtesy of bartleby.com. Pic of grape-cutters originally uploaded by Parisbreakfast

Sarrasins by Serge Lutens: perfume review

~by guest writer Carmencanada

It is rumoured that soon Serge Lutens will relinquinsh the aromatic business and focus on his makeup line, hence the title of the review. Enjoy!


OVERTURE TO A SWANSONG

A la Nuit, launched in 2000, seemed so definitive a rendition that it was described on the Makeup Alley forum by Tania Sanchez (co-author, with Luca Turin, of a perfume guide to be published in 2008), as “death by jasmine”? It would seem as though Lutens had an afterthought about the way in which this headiest of the heady white flower notes could be treated. And why not? If it weren’t for the simultaneous release of Louve in the export line, itself a tamer reworking of the non-export 1998 Rahät Loukhoum, the issue of Lutens’s inspiration, now that his partner-in-composition Christopher Sheldrake has gone on to assist Jacques Polge at Chanel, wouldn’t be so worrisome. But, though Sheldrake is said to be pursuing his work with Lutens, there seems to be something seriously amiss in this pioneering, uncompromising, profoundly idiosyncratic house.

Sarrasins is quite a lovely scent, actually. First word on it alluded to a more saturated version of The Different Company’s Jasmin de Nuit, a spice-laced, transparent jasmine with notes of cardamom, star anise and cinnamon. And that seemed like a logical step for Lutens: to wed the soliflore to the spices he has been exploring in his recent, export-line Chypre Rouge and Rousse, as well as in the non-export Mandarine Mandarin.

But spices are never more than alluded to – the sweaty pong of cumin, perhaps, or the cold-hot burst of cardamom, clutched to death in jasmine’s cloying embrace. Sarrasins is essentially a big jasmine embellished by animalic notes – this is how the Lutens sales assistants characterize it when asked in which way it differs from A la Nuit. An extremely tantalizing, Dzing-like, dirty-salty whiff of the feline – civet, said the SA when I mentioned it – creeps out after a few minutes on the skin. Some ten minutes later, it is joined by musk, both the softer version developed in Clair de Musc and the skankier one that made the barbaric, iconic Muscs Kublaï Khan the king of the animal fragrances. But this hint of the feral never goes beyond the whiff; jasmine’s indolic leanings towards the shithouse, which should be exasperated by the claimed adjunction of a civet-like compound, are never assuaged. The big cat is shooed out by a note that could only be described as slightly petrol-like – characteristic of jasmine-saturated compositions like Joy – and that could be the “ink” note alluded to in the press release. The deep purple tint of the juice itself, perhaps a tribute to Arabic calligraphy, emphasizes the reference. But it doesn’t seem quite enough to do to jasmine what the ground-breaking Tubéreuse Criminelle did for its namesake flower: snatch the camphor-menthol notes of the tuberose absolute and push them to the fore in a jarringly seductive assault on the nose. The very knowledgeable perfume historian Octavian Sever Coifan, in his 1000 fragrances blog, states that he distinctly recognizes the same “very nice jasmine base” in Sarrasins than in other recent launches.

Granted, not all of the Lutens-Sheldrake compositions have been shockers: Fleurs de Citronnier, Clair de Musc, Santal Blanc, Daim Blond, to name a few, all conceived for the more commercial export line, are fairly tame, unlike the Palais-Royal exclusives and their flamboyant baroque style. The principle of Lutens’s most spectacular achievements was to exacerbate a note’s characteristics – the camphor in tuberose, the cold earthiness of iris, the dustiness of patchouli, the bitterness of oak, the piss-like ammonia of honey – until they nearly toppled over into ugliness. The Lutens wear you, rather than you wear them. They exist entirely on their own terms: like the mythical palace he is said to be eternally embellishing in Marrakech, and which almost no-one has seen (or had seen the last time I was in Morocco), they exude solipcistic aloofness. Olfactory exercises in the re-creation of a vanished Oriental realm, they are cruel genies in a bottle, hard to conquer – as American aficionados have long and bitterly complained of – and not rewarding to all.

Now it seems that Lutens, retreating further into the rarefied atmosphere of this realm, is unable to send his stately decrees all the way to the Palais-Royal. They reach us muffled, like afterthoughts – Gris Clair of Encens et Lavande, Louve of Rahät Loukhoum and now, in a puzzling reversal of the export/exclusive interplay, Sarrasins of A la Nuit...

Perhaps Serge Lutens feels that he has said all he had to say in his “chemical poems” (to quote Luca Turin’s beautiful expression). Perhaps the rumours are true, and he will soon conclude his masterful opus. Let’s just hope that his swansong is more definitive than the delicious, but not irreplaceable Sarrasins.

Pic of calligraphy by Iranian artist Hassan Massoudy with the caption "Don't spend two words if one is sufficient for you." (Arab proverb). It comes from perso.orange.fr

Fragrant news: new collectible Opium

Perfume Shrine worships at the altar of Opium. I am saying this in case some of you, dear readers, have not been aware of the fact yet (doubtful). So any news concerning the object of the Shrine's adoration is welcome and worth mentioning. So this September, Yves Saint Laurent is launching Opium Orient Extrême.This will be a luxurious collectible version encased in a sumptuous "vessel", inspired by traditional Chinese art. Of course the oriental theme has always been strong with Opium, from the flowers that form its lush heart to the exotic spices at its base to the bottle that is inspired by the traditional samurai inro.
And what is more Opium has been one of the precious few fragrances that have been lucky enough to have gorgeous renditions of themselves in limited editions and summer versions that trully do not betray its glory. More than I can say for so many other scents.

The new object d'art will be a refillable spray bottle (with 75ml/2.6 oz. eau de toilette refill) retaining the heavenly aroma of classic Opium fragrance with top notes of mandarin orange, bergamot and lily-of-the-valley; a heart of jasmine, carnation and spices; and base notes of vanilla, amber, opoponax and patchouli.
Elegantly lacquered in black with flowers over it, the box will be illuminated with gold and bistre floral motifs reminiscent of those on the Emperor and Empress’s of China embroidered robes and adorned with a black tassel. The refillable eau de toilette rests on satin inside, in black and gold. 75ml/2.6oz of Opium Orient Extrême will cost 119 €, available at major department stores The limited edition is brought out in only 10000 pieces, however. Sign up!

(info comes from osmoz and cosmetiquemagazine)

Suck it, you bitch!

Regular Perfume Shriners will be a little shocked by this undoubtedly vulgar display of bold title and accompanying advertising image, but not really surprised as they have come to expect some scathing commentary on fragrance advertising on numerous occassions in the past, recent and not so recent (Click here for part1, part2, part3, part4, part5).
So the news is mr.Ford is issuing a masculine sidekick to his Black Orchid for women scent this season called Tom Ford for Men and the advertising comprises the image above.

I know, I know...It is no secret that mr.Ford has been playing the "sex sells" card again. This is the only adage he has been exploiting for quite some time now. In fact as long as I can remember his pretty mug entering my consciousness. Mr.Ford had been exploiting a subtler aproach while at Yves Saint Laurent, although one would be hard pressed not to admit that it somehow clashed with the extraordinarily chic facade of the venerable house, a fact that brought him into direct confrontation with mr. Saint Laurent himself (the latter with genuine Gallic nonchalance selling his House and retiring, thus admiting there is little chic in today's designing world).

And yet one cannot find major fault with the images of the advertisements for Yves Saint Laurent perfumes while mr.Ford was in charge. From the infamous print ad for the masculine M7 which depicts an uncircumsized hairy male in all his nude glory (click here for a pic) to the daring suggestion of a menage a trois in the Paris ads ~which for a nano-second made me look upon this fragrance with quite a different eye (shame on me!)~, his stint at Saint Laurent was characterised by an aesthetic that was bold, daring but rather tasteful albeit in a Hollywood-sort-of-way.

The porcelain nude skin of Sophie Dahl for Opium stands among the most memorable ones and this one for Nu eau de toilette featuring director Roman Polanski's wife, french actress Emmanuelle Seigner, from 2003 is among the ones I personally find quite alluring. Of course Emmanuelle Seigner does have the heavy features that denote some sort of vulgar carnality that helps make her compelling despite her lack of serious talent in such films as Bitter Moon and The Ninth Gate. Still, the entanglement of bodies in amorous embrace in the print ad captures my fancy and makes me dream a little.
Which is not what the new ad for Tom Ford for Men does. And not for prudish reasons either.

Amorous couples in passionate embrace have always been at the heart of perfume advertising, since seduction we are led to believe is at the core of perfume wearing. Of course this is not always so and perfume lovers who appreciate perfume as an art form would have serious disagreement with this; however from a mass market point of view ~which marketeers aim at in the first place anyway~ this is true. Dolce & Gabanna accomplished this admirably in a series of advertising images that encompass both taste and passion and of which the accompanying image is my personal favourite.

It seems to me that mr.Ford has taken the place of sexual provocateur that Calvin Klein used to be in the 1980s, although with a much more agressive stance and ~dare I say it?~ less modesty and self-constraint. The above might seem ironic for someone who built a reputation for racy ads such as this one for his scent Obsession in 1988.
Simply put, the current ad for Tom Ford for Men lacks taste. But what is even more interesting is that it also lacks sexiness. That elusive quality that an image which possesses it makes you look, look away and then look again with renewed interest, much like a really intriguing woman on the street would have you double-checking instead of ogling at her openly displayed attributes. The supposedly orgasmic O of the red lips as a signal of availability, the distorted shape of the breasts with the talons painted in red holding them tight for a titty-fuck, the dominance of male over female in a position that reminds one of a porn flick: all these things debase the previous aesthetic of Ford efforts into the realm of the basest shock value attempts at capturing the interest of people by getting banned from major magazines. And this is coming from someone who wouldn't venture into what he is showing everyone else, due to his own sexual preferences. So, is this choice a deliberate attempt at a new form of exclusivity? In accordance to his Private Line of perfumes which supposesdly target a more daring audience? This is something for mr.Ford to answer and we can only speculate. I am trembling at the thought of what he might conceive next!

For the purpose of aimless exercise and because there is such a thing as collective memory, let's witness some sexy advertsing images that do not usually get mentioned. The following two are for the classic scent Ma Griffe(=my talon/my signature),

proving that older advertsing isn't necessarily less sexy or daring and the other one is from Lacoste pour homme which depicts a fetching specimen with a Y chromosome aimed at the discerning women that account for more than 70% of the sales of men's scents anyway.

But I guess mr.Ford missed that little factoid. On the other hand, as he is indeed a brilliant marketeer (as attested by his success so far) he might be privy to some information of greater magnitude, so I am keeping my mouth shut on more comments for now. Which is more than I can say for the woman in the ad!

Last but not least, he could have gone for the highly camp effect which would have earned him humorous brownie points, such as this one for Centaur Cologne. There, that's so much better!

Pics courtesy of wwd, okadi, imagesdesparfums and psine.net

Lepa Sela Lepo Gore (=Pretty Village, Pretty Flame)

One might argue that the title of this Serbian film from 1996 by Srdjan Dragojevic is about war (and civil war at that), while the recent bushfires in Greece have occurred in a time of peace. But I propose to you that it isn’t so. The smell of charred flesh and burnt wood knows no difference.

The unprecedented disaster can be likened to warfare. And the methods employed by forces unknown are warlike and fierce like nothing this sunny hard place has ever known. Through the millennia that Greek history spans, we have “seen” (if not with our eyes literally, through the tales of the elders and that elusive trait of deep seated knowledge that only people with equally long histories can understand) disasters of every magnitude possible: massacres, wild warfare, bombing and destruction of whole villages, invasions, slavery, civil conflicts, genocide, immigration, refugees and famine.

Yet never in a time of such affluent living, such peace and quiet, has disaster knocked upon our door with such vehemence and zeal.
Whole villages have been wiped out of the map, worse than what the Nazis did during WWII when they vindicated sabotage attacks by local guerilla troops (and they did kill the whole male population of several villages, some in the same regions….).
Opening my windows a gust of wind brings ashes scattering all around, whirling little embers mocking me.

173 blazes across the country, at least 63 people dead by now and the figures are rising…People mourning for their loved ones and the toil of a lifetime... A mother with her four children fleeing from the burning cars in front of her and into the olive groves where she soon got surrounded by flames to be consumed by the fire holding her children in her arms…the bodies of all to be found near her burnt cell phone, on which she made that tragic last call to her husband left behind to save their house, telling him "we're burning, where shall I take the kids?"...Old people unable to move, unable to get help, help unable to reach them due to the extra strong winds and the mountainous terrain…The site of ancient Olympia, birthplace of the Olympics, a site for peace and friendship among men for 2800 years, fortunately saved by the nick of time and the heroic efforts by firemen…and yet, the nearby grounds of the International Olympic Academy have been burned, as has the grove where the heart of Pierre de Coubertin, the founder of the modern Olympic Games, is buried…

We have been under undisputed attack. A modern greek tragedy. My heart is filled with sorrow.

Pic of actual events courtesy of flash.gr