Daisy by Marc Jacobs: fragrance review and lucky draw!

If you doubt your eyes, you can never doubt your nose, it seems. It is unmistakeably capable of discerning that which the promotional material might deny. It has the ability to get not only molecules stuck in its receptive velcro but also memories, associations and musings. And it was thus that Daisy by Marc Jacobs entered my consiousness: as the memory of another scent.
Marc, darling, I know you have Sofia Coppola as a muse; you have made this clear many times from the bags to the shoes to the perfumes. I wonder does she use Light Blue by Dolce & Gabanna too apart from her other favourites? Because frankly this is what your latest reminds me of vividly; oh, so vividly!

At first I did a double take not willing to believe what I had read about it. I had even posted about its notes which come in quick succession; like a fussilade in the face of ugliness they read: top notes of wild strawberry, violet leaves and ruby red grapefruit, a heart of gardenia, violet and jasmine petals on a base of vanilla and musk.
And yet, if we compare with the notes for Light Blue: Sicilian Citron, Bluebell, Granny Smith apple, Jasmine Sambac, Bamboo, White rose, Cedar wood, Amber, Musk ....what do we get? Close to nil...
Because apart from jasmine and musk (which surely are in about 99.9999% of all feminine perfumes) I fail to discern what makes those two so similar. Granted, the citrusy burst of Light Blue and the woodiness of its base set it apart (and probably are to blame for the accolades it's getting right and left).
Basically a classic in the making, Light Blue has been selling crazily and especially in the Mediterranean countries it's something akin to putting on your instant personal gelateria with icy cold smoothies to enjoy all day long. It gives the impression that if you lick it off your arm your tongue will climax.

The tendency to follow in a bestseller's shoes is not new of course and the examples of perfumes who did just that is legion - like the Antichrist, one might humorously say. This is neither the space nor the time to talk about it, we have other posts to concern ourselves with that in the near future. It is enough that fairly recently Moschino came out with something that is also quite close to Light Blue: his I Love Love ~arguably one of the silliest names in the known universe, yet a decent enough little potion.
Of course if we compare notes, we see that it features: orange, lemon, grapefruit, redcurrant, tea rose, lily of the valley, cinnamon leaves, tanaka wood, cedarwood, musk. Ah...a bit closer. But still!
Marc in a rare confessionary mood divulged that

“I don’t want to get too artsy about inspiration, but there is a sense memory, a reference, in fragrances”

Uh huh...thought so.

Not that Daisy smells exactly like Light Blue because it doesn't. And what would be the use of it, if it did? This is of course perfume no man's land as no one wants to answer this question it seems. But give a well-known recipe a little twist and it will sell like cupcakes. This tendency has resulted in an homogenization of the market that is to its detriment, alas, yet perfumers and companies persist regardless.

The promotional material for Daisy reads:

"a sparkling floral scent - fresh and feminine, with a touch of whimsy. A modern vintage that embodies effortless charm."

I have to admit that it is a very nice, inoffensive, pleasant little scent that would be a lovely foray of a budding into womanhood young thing that loves to have an adorably pretty bottle on her dresser. Because Marc, really, you outdid yourself after those spartan Splash bottles of yours! This is sooooo cute, so girly, so fashionably whimsical that fans will come in droves to the stores eager to give you their cash for this.
Three little daisies of vinyl with a center of metallic gold adorn the cap, with a little matching "belt" underneath it. It's much better in person, because the petals are bendable and soft. And it makes me wonder why Marc was reportedly not content with it and thinking of changing it a bit. That would be miscalculation, Marc, I must warn you!

Of course daisies do not smell per se. But who gives a damn? This is fantasy land and Marc is saying it himself:

“Daisies don’t smell, but I wanted to evoke the feeling that you get when you see them — happy and youthful. My gardenia and jasmine scents [Marc Jacobs for women and Blush Marc Jacobs, respectively] are more singular and definitely more ‘designer’ scents. I don’t want to say they’re older, but they’re more sophisticated.”

I admit that Blush is my choice out of his mentioned scents for its crystalline transparency that weaves its spell to you despite your best efforts and his Winter Amber Splashwas powdery goodness to me. I don't know however if I would term them terribly sophisticated. It might have to do with different perceptions.
Daisy is abstract, beginning on a tang of berries -a very popular note in noughties perfumery- seguing on to a floral theme of indeterminate fugue that ascertains Alberto Morillas's artistry, but perhaps betrays his innovative spirit (his list of creations is fascinating: click here). The sustained note of light musk on a lightly vanillic bed stays on the skin poised for hours.

All in all, Daisy is not a bad case of a fruity floral, if only because it is not overly sweet. And this is an achievement nowadays. It is sure to please and it smells good and will earn you compliments from people, most assuredly. If it comes in a too cute container, it's not its fault. It was drawn that way!



Daisy comes in an eau de toilette concentration at 1.7oz/50ml at 55$ and 3.4oz/100ml at 70$, as well as a shower gel (30$), a body lotion (32$) and a rich body butter (35$).Available from major department stores.

And for our lucky readers I have a very cute mini bottle of it available for one winner of a draw. Please post in the comment section if you want to enter the draw and good luck!!


Chypres will resume as scheduled later on...

Pic of eye from athinorama, pic of bottle from Marc Jacobs campaign

Packaging and Advertising for Coty Chypre

Advertising and presentation are icings on the cake of a great fragrance and in the case of Coty Chypre they evoke the lovely aesthetics of La Belle Epoque and the years that followed.
Considering the success it had on the market and the avalanche of fragrances it inspired, this is not coincidental. The outer shell must represent the inner beauty thought the ancient Greeks, attributing divine powers to the visually pleasing and uniting exterior beauty to inner goodness and fortitude of mind in their καλος καγαθος concept.

In the case of Chypre by Coty, it was especially in the 1930s that the art deco imagery materialised in wonderful examples of artistic merit, such as the interwoven letters of the name Coty spelled on the cylindrical box that contained the perfume bottle. This is a clever product signature that is even today imitated in style in the crests of many brands and to me is mostly reminiscent of the curved lines of Annick Goutal (as reprised on the round glass holders of her candles).
Another example of extrait bottle uses the popular white bakelite material of the 1920s as a cap on a square little container.

In later years the cap became metal, the bottle lost its round shape to become rectangular, while the box took on the image of a little green tree with orangey fruit, echoing the pale green label of the perfume bottle and perhaps bergamot rind, as befits the composition of a proper chypre.

Yet another incarnation of indeterminate vintage puts the bottles in unusual deep iridiscent blue with the familiar logo of chypre in slanted typeface on a medaillon emblazoned on it. This comes from Damosels Domain on Ebay.


The art deco aesthetics can be witnessed to its advantage on the picture of the beautiful outer box from the 1930s, on which bent girls -as if harvesting grassy plants- are placed on relief, lighter than the background, on a sage-coloured carton.

An ancenstor of Coty, who incidentally was a Corsican, had assisted Napoleon Bonaparte in the disastrous Russian campaign for which he was dubbed Baron by the Emperor and consequently awarded a crest to use as an emblem on his belongings. François Coty took this elegant and bold design of an eagle holding three balls in his talons, enscribed in an oval with latin inscription "omnia domat virtus" (=virtue conquers all things), resting under a crown; he used it on his legendary masterpiece, Chypre.
For a beautiful page on heraldry with images of carvings please click here.

Interestingly this advertisment from the 1930s had a Copintreau liqueur avdertisement on the reverse side!
The advertising copy for Chypre run thus:

Parfum
Chypre de Coty
Cette spécialité et ses accessories - creations COTY ont été soumis au contrôle d'usage, qui en garantit la qualité irréprochable. Les matiéres premiéres qui entrent dans la composition de cette spécialité ont été selectionnées avec le plus grand soin, ce qui explique la finesse et la grande réputation des products Coty. Toutes nos spécialités sont vendues sous le nom propre de "COTY," sans aucun prénom

Which I translated thus:

Perfume
Chypre by Coty
This product and its accessories -COTY creations, have underwent usage control that guarantees their irreproachable quality. The raw materials entering the composition of this product have been selected with the utmost care, which results in the finery and great reputation of Coty products. All our products are sold under the name "COTY" without any other front name.

In 1947 Coty announced the return of a world renowed perfume, his beloved Chypre of course, in an advertisement that makes us dream, featuring again the cylindrical box in a gorgeous green shade with curvaceous typeface in golden yellow. Have a peek clicking here.
An old-fashioned 1953 vintage British ad that evolved around hand kissing and being mentally trasported to Paris through the scent of Chypre can be found clicking here.

A Titan of perfumery was born and his liver remains still intact all those years later. Treaure hunting has never felt so good!

Pics come from ebay,damosels-domain, the lightyears company.

Coty Chypre: fragrant pilgrimage and review

By guest writer Denyse Beaulieu/Carmancanada

When friends complained to Pablo Picasso that the portrait of Gertrude Stein he’d just painted didn’t look like her, he answered something along the lines of: “Don’t worry. It will.”

Though the famous portrait was executed in 1904, well before Coty even dreamt of his mythical Chypre – he’d only just come out with his first fragrance, La Rose Jacqueminot, well anchored in the figurative tradition of perfumery at the time – it is what comes to mind when I try to analyse his 1917 Chypre. Does it in any way resemble its long and illustrious line of descendants, from the me-too Millot Crêpe de Chine or Chypre Sauzé to Jacques Guerlain’s two-tiered answer to his rival, Mitsouko and Sous le Vent, the 1946 double-whammy of Germaine Cellier’s leather-laden Bandit and Edmond Roudnitska’s rich, mulled-spice Femme, on to Christian Dior’s masterful trilogy of Miss Dior (Paul Vacher), Diorling and Diorama (both by Roudnitska), culminating it the very épure of Chypre-ity that is Yves Saint Laurent’s first namesake fragrance, Y…
It would. It will.

Smell Coty Chypre as you would scrutinize the sepia photograph of an ancestor and, yes, you will find the bone structure: bergamot, floral heart, oakmoss and labdanum. But the expression of the face, the inscrutable screen of these eyes and what they were gazing upon, what film passed in front of them as the model posed, how can you penetrate that otherness, sunk in another time?

If Chypre had a gaze, it would have seen the last remnants of the ancient order falling apart. The 19th century rotting in the charnel trenches of the Great War still being fought as it was being composed, bottled and sold; as it adorned the wrists and napes of the last Belle Époque beauties.

Yes, with hindsight, Chypre would come to resemble the family to which it gave its name. But it is set in a world lost to us; a world where heavy blows had already been dealt to our vision of things; the blows out of which the 20th century would emerge. And so it hovers between the old, figurative, narrative order of scent and the invention of modern perfumery – of which François Coty can be said to be the father.

Cubism was already going full steam in 1917. Did Coty like the art? His social and political values would express themselves a few years later, when he bought the daily Le Figaro and used it to express his loathing of communism and his admiration for fascism, Italian style. Though Italian Fascism did, at the outset, attract Modernist movements in art and literature, it would repudiate them for the monumental, pompous art favoured by totalitarian regimes. Perhaps Coty, a powerfully instinctive man as well as a visionary industrialist, had no truck with the Cubists and the Fauves who were the toast of Paris but he did, thanks to his intuition, latch on to the same gesture as his artistic contemporaries. He went primitive; he exhumed the archaic to find the face of modern perfumery. Chypre is not a name chosen by chance: apart from being an island with a powerful perfume tradition (something that the Corsican Coty may well have known), it is the abode of the mighty Aphrodite. Neither the naughty philanderer of late Greek and Roman mythology, nor the slender marble nymph of Classic Greek statuary, or the pearly-fleshed shepherdess of 18th century boudoirs: but the old, stern, primitive, man-eating mistress of the spring renewal of vegetation, the impulse to spring life fed on the death of winter. She sleeps on a bed of earthy moss and pungent herbs, anointed with thick redolent oils of jasmine, bathed in the fumes of sizzling golden resin.

But the goddess is also absolutely modern, in the way that Picasso’s Demoiselles d’Avignon are modern, with their hybrid, primitive African masks and lascivious bordello line-up. François Coty was one of the first – not the first, certainly, for the Guerlains father and son had already used coumarin and vanillin – to fully use the properties of the new synthetics. What’s more, his Chypre is the first step towards abstraction in perfume, which would reach its full expression in Chanel N°5. It doesn’t represent a flower or any other natural odorant; it doesn’t tell a story – unlike its contemporaries, say Guerlain Pois de Senteur or Caron N’Aimez que moi, both launched the same year. Coty had already explored that avenue with his wildly successful L’Origan, mother of the floral orientals, with its methyl-ionone (violet) and dianthine (carnation) accord on an “ambréine” base made of coumarin and vanillin. Edmond Roudnitska called it (I paraphrase, having lost the original reference), “the first modern, brutal perfume”.

Chypre belongs to the same brutal, neo-primitive aesthetics. In the flanks of the 1950s sealed flacon I was lucky enough to acquire, the time-distilled, resinous juice releases a scent that only hints to the later developments of the family. The hesperidic top notes have vanished decades ago, leaving the starring role in the “débouché” – to reprise Roudnitska’s beautiful term – to aromatic herbs, kitchen herbs, really: sage and thyme, and quite possibly vetiver. The floral absolute is jasmine, and it is weighed down with concentrated oils, further pulled into the unctuous base of labdanum, patchouli and oakmoss. In this version, and in the condition it is in, the labdanum’s honeyed, amber notes predominate to pull the composition towards the oriental end of the spectrum. But even in the more modern executions – the 60s eau de cologne, for instance – the amber has pride of place, reinforced by the the vanillin and the hay-like sweetness coumarin. The bitterness and fungus-earthiness of the oakmoss hasn’t yet reached the peak it would when exasperated by isobutyl-quinoline (as in Bandit); or perhaps the vanished bergamot provided the balance between tartness and earthiness. Aphrodite, she of the many guises, is a vegetal goddess: infinitely seductive with her sweet, dizzying fragrances, and willing to take on the adornments of modern chemistry to present a new mask. Her archaic ruthlessness is never far, however, from this attractive surface: Chypre is not a dazzlingly smooth composition like her tawny-flanked daughter Femme would be three decades on, but an assemblage of broad contrasting strokes, grounded on an oriental pedestal of remote antiquity. In a way, it’s amazing that she has given so very different children to so many brilliant perfumers… But she crossed the Mediterranean to visit François Coty in Paris. Perhaps, while kissing him, she bestowed the poisonous gift of hubris, the “sin” (though the term was unknown in Ancient Greece) of exceeding measure and reason through ambition… His disastrous far-right politics and catastrophic divorce ruined Coty, once one of the richest men in the world. He died a pauper. And his Chypre lives on only as a myth – the one scent the majority of perfume lovers dream of seeing risen from the mausoleum of discontinued perfumes – and through her abundant spawn. When you bow your head through time to inhale her essences, it is her daughters you seek. She will come to resemble them. But they can never go back to her utter, arrogant statement.
Pic of Maria Callas from the film by Pasolini "Medea".

Read on the rest of the Chypre Series on Perfume Shrine following the links:

Part 1: origin of chypre fragrances

Part 2: chypre fragrance ingredients and formulae

Part 3: "nouveau chypres" or modern "chypre" fragrances

Part 4: chypre perfume aesthetics

Part 5: chypre perfume chronology and the zeitgeist

Part 6: masculine chypres

Part 7: chypre fragrances time forgot

Marble image of Aphrodite, Artemis and Apollo from the Treasure of Siphnians in Delphi, Greece circa 525BC courtesy of arthist.cla.umn.edu

Chypre series 5: chronology and the zeitgeist

It has long been my opinion that fragrances do not merely reflect their makers' vision or the desire to attain beauty and harmony through an ethereal means such as the fume of a precious liquid. They are routinely shaped by the circumstances that define much of the popular culture around us; they take form from the spirit of the moment, the zeitgeist. Hegel would have turned in his grave hearing us applying his Philosophy of History term applied to fragrance, but nevertheless it always seemed appropriate to me. Because, if you really think about it, aren't scents the expression of cultural tendencies and the aspirational mores of the ethos of select segments in society?

Thus, chypre fragrances evolved through a particular cultural necessity that alternately dictated allegience to forces of cool earthiness, or feminine powderiness or elegant sophistication. Although chypres have been in existence since antiquity, as previously discussed, it is most fascinating to contemplate their evolution in the 20th century.

Contrary to popular perception, François Coty was not the first to associate the name Chypre with a particular perfume in 1917. Guerlain's Chypre de Paris preceded him by 8 years, issued in as early as 1909. Chypre d'Orsay was the next one to be introduced, in 1912. However it was Coty's that really took off and became an instant commercial success that created traction and a vogue for such heavy "green" perfumes. It was also the year when Caron launched their Tabac Blond, a daring concept at the time, encouraging women to smell like they smoke, considered terribly chic then.
It was the time before the Great War, when disillusionment had not set in and the introduction of the exotic, sensual mystique of the East hadn't budded yet. It would take legendary Mitsouko by, Guerlain in 1919, inspired by a Japanese heroine in the then best-selling novel "La Bataille" to do that. The success of Les ballets Russes under impressario Diaghilev's artistic baguette (who incidentally loved Mitsouko and used it on his hotel curtains) brought on the vogue for orientals in the 1920s, as manifested by the roaring success of khol-eyed Shalimar. Suddenly everything oriental hinted at abandon and sensuality, the forbidden territory in which "flappers", the independent women of the time, marched through with renewed confidence.
Chypres and tobacco scents provided also a backdrop for confidence and individualism that marked this new era in women's emancipation. Long pipes of ebony and ivory were often held in elegant hands that bore the glamorous manicure of the times and the dark lips that recalled Theda Bara. Molinard's Le Chypre was introduced in 1925 and in 1933 Jacques Guerlain launched Sous le Vent to capture the soul of artiste Josephine Baker, the woman who shocked Americans and mesmerised the Paris audiences. (You can read a full review of Sous le vent clicking here).
The leathery chypre of Chanel, Cuir de Russie, was brought out in 1924, using birch tar as the note that skyrocketed it into the realm of utter sophistication.

As the great Crash crashed hopes of affluence and resurgence for the masses,chypres lost some of their cachet in favour of more economical propositions, at least in the United States. However perusing lists of perfume houses from the perior 1919 up to 1949, we see that every one of them had some chypre fragrance listed in their catalogues. Obviously this was a family that was considered sine qua non for perfume makers. It was often that they married the classic chypre accord with flowers, such as rose, jasmine, carnation, heliotrope or geranium, to render a more feminine note.
Contrast this with today's world in which the name Chypre is associated with more obscure or niche fragrance marketers such as Vivienne, Scientex, Arys, Montale, E.N.Z., Peckinsniffs, and Patyke. They take the heritage of Coty's success with them, but they are not at the front row of fashion. On the other hand, maybe the lack of such identical nomenclature in commercial scents has to do with marketing strategies that point to the direction of more original names that would differentiate products from one another among brands (the fact that they are not that differentiated among the offering of the same brand, what with the flankers of 1, 2, light, summer etc. is fodder for another post).

In the difficult years of World War II, it was the genius of Edmond Roudnitska that saw the potential of a long forgotten vat of methyl ionone that smelled of prunes in the factory that he was working trying to find such exciting things as butter substitute and such due to the privations of war. Femme was the dense fruity chypre of 1944 that recalled an upscale confectionary shop and which became the first perfume of couturier Marchel Rochas, a wedding present to his beautiful young bride.
It is interesting to contrast this with the dyke-y creation of nez extraordinaire Germaine Cellier Bandit for Rober Piguet issued in the same year. An ox-feller of a leathery chypre, Bandit was inspired by the panties that models wore exiting the runway; which according to Cellier was "when they let out the best of their femininity". It is no secret that Cellier was a homosexual...
Bandit was a proud creation that unabashedly confirms the aloofness of intense vetiver and patchouli smeared on used leather and with the echo of moss and flowers in the background. One can picture it on an interesting woman or a daring man. They have to be so to begin with, though, and not hoping to graft the image onto themselves through perfume.

After World War II, chypres saw a reigning period again according to perfume writer Michael Edwards, this time in the guise of less orientalised variations that were removed from the mystery of Mitsouko and more into the powderiness or the couture elegance that was depicted in Ma Griffe and Miss Dior.
Ma Griffe was another post-War chypre, a true masterpiece by nose Jean Carles for the house of Carven. Very powdery dry and quite spicy thanks to the weird note of styrax, Ma Griffe managed to be assertive in its name (it means "my signature", but also "my talon") and supremely sparkly and feminine in its aroma. It marked the introduction of chypres into the arena of professional women. Those were not factory workers of the war or flappers; they were secretaries at the new firms; twin set in place, string of pearls and a slick of lipstick on impecably powdered faces. The psychology of those new chypres talked about women who earned their living by themselves, but did not manifest themselves as sexual predators. There is a sense of detachment and intelligence.

Christian Dior had just launched the New Look in 1947 that took trainloads of fabric to new heights of spending, in an effort to maximise fabric sales but also to inject a hopeful touch into the hearts of women who had bid farewell to the rationed days of the war.( It is an old adage by Yves Saint Laurent that in times of economic shortage couturiers use a bit more fabric to boost the market, whereas in times of economic affluence -such as the 60s- the shorter length is king). Miss Dior became a best-seller and a crowd pleaser that managed not to sit on the fence, but to take an animalistic backdrop and smother it with soft flowers such as gardenia, narcissus, lily of the valley and green touches of galbanum and aldeydes. It spoke of a new elegance and a subdued sensuality that was not aggressive like that of the flappers, but more pedigreed and delicate, yet undeniably naughty underneath especially in the glorious parfum/extrait concentration.

Well into the 50s, chypres were popular. Jolie Madame was another product of Germaine Cellier, in 1953, that reprised the animalic, leathery theme; this time with very green and violety notes that cede to a big box of talcum powder. This is definitely a turn to the more restrained and professional as befited the times.
Cabochard for Gres by Bernand Chant in 1959 was more devil-may-care in attitude. Obviously there were different types of women to be catered for with the era's chypres and this one was destined for those who were powerful and dominant. Madame Gres said she was inspired by a trip to India. The bitter orange opening on spice and leather and the powdery depths beguiled and asserted themselves in the memory of anyone smelling it. Reformulated in later years, it has been irrecovably ruined, I am afraid. It is a pity, as it used to have a very individual character, hard to mimic, although it does bear some relation to another of Bernard Chant's offerings, Aromatics Elixir by Clinique.
In 1961, Guy Robert created Caleche for the house of Hermes, inspired by a fine type of carriage. The quiet resonance of this scent was completely in tune with the times, exuding copious amount of good taste while remaining tame with its sensuality under wraps; a cladestine affair was not in the programme, but should it ever happen it would remain a very well-kept secret. The sparkle of aldehydes mid-way between two trends, floral and chyprish, gave a fizziness that was also popular at the times, imbuing the whole with a feminine touch that was distinctly Parisian.

But the 1960s was a different time. Although they begun in the soft powdwery florals and the aldehydics, soon Mary Quant with the mini, the Beatles and the hippy movement and the ravages of war in Vietnam and the politics of the time swang the pendulum in another direction that meant another mentality in perfume. Nature and the smells of the body were explored in simple oils, headshop ones, such as straight patchouli and aromas that had a "pot" aroma to them. Clearly this was another page.

It was not until the 1970s when chypres dominated the perfume scene again, as a second wave of women's emancipation came to the fore. The kickstart was given by Chanel No.19, a fragrance that is traditionally classified as a green floral, created by Henri Robert for Coco Chanel herself (and overviewed by her from beginning to end), later to be publicly launched. However among the different concentrations one can feel a chyprish quality in the drier, more iris-vetiver rich eau de toilette, whereas the eau de parfum is rosier and more floral. In parfum/extrair concentration there is such dry depth that it re-affirms its position at the top of my list for elegant fragances for confident women. It seemed that it created an avalanche of chypres, dry, crisp and cerebral this time, echoing the new status of women who needed men "as much as fish needed bicycles".
Diorella was another legendary Roudnitska creation that remains enigmatic and minimalistic to this day. It begun as an attempt to capitalise on the trend of women wearing men's scents, which had started with yet another Roudnitska creation, Eau Sauvage for Dior. Diorella was to be the more feminine sister scent so that women could claim it as their own. Too crisp and fresh with its lemon opening and its fruity greeness for it to be really sensual, but an elegant insouciant fragrance for the young women who wore trousers and set out to rule the world. The latter image was best depicted by Charlie, that best-seller by Revlon (1973), which revolutionised advertising, depicting women in pants for the first time and focusing on the sheer power and confidence that it gave women who didn't need a man to be successful. It was trully revolutionary, at least conceptually!
Aromatics Elixir for Clinique and Alliage for Lauder (both in 1972), Coriandre by Jean Couturier (with the addition of a large percentage of magnolione, a material similar to hedoine but with more of a jasmine quality) and Private Collection by Lauder (both in 1973) and finally Halston in 1975; all saw this new trend take shape.
Interestingly Givenchy brought out Givenchy Gentleman in 1974, a masculine chypre full of pungent patchouli and a true masterpiece of calculated olfactory assault that married tarragon, vetiver and russian leather, showing that men could project the traditional assured image themselves still.

As the decade was coming to an end, the hyber success of spicy oriental Opium meant a new direction that would take the carnal and affluent capitalistic 80s into new avenues of perfume exhibitionism. The sophistication and powderiness of chypres took a backseat to such bombastic examples as Obsession, Giorgio and Poison.
However they did not completely disappear, with cerebral examples that encompassed Ungaro's rosy bombshell Diva in 1982, Niki de saint Phalle (the 1984 creation of a talented sculptor famous for her snakes and bearing those on the bottle), Knowing by Lauder in 1988 (inspired by the smell of pittosporum smelled during holidays in the south of France) and La perla by luxe lingerie brand in 1986.
In the masculine field, Drakkar Noir by Guy Laroche was launched in 1982; a fougere scent (with borrowed elements off the very herbal chypres) that took the name of Viking ships to emphasize masculinity and which sported tangy verbena and lemon rind with a herbal heart of coriander, lavender and juniper berries on bottom notes of patchouli, sandalwood and fir balsam. It proved to be a bestseller in the corporate world of the Wall-Street-decade.
Nevertheless, the most memorable example of the decade in the category of chypres is perhaps Paloma Picasso, Pablo's daughter's foray into perfumery which was imbued with her unique, bold style and matched her Spanish roots and signature red lips: assured. It brought the animalic quality of castoreum into the vogue again interpreting it into a domineering personality that made Montana follow suit with his Parfum de Peau in the blue box in 1986, with its beautiful bottle inspired by the swirling fall of a winged sycamore seed as seen by a strobe light, designed by Serge Mansau. Magnificently intense and terribly potent it was perhaps the last chypre chronologically to make the aggressive mark.

By the 90s, things changed again as the baby boom took place and there was a regression to simpler things, a call to nature, a desire to leave urbanity behind and revel into acqueous and ozonic notes that promised the much longed for escape.
The chypres that came out then were mostly fruitier, tamer, sweeter blends such as the fizzy fruit salad of Sophia Grojsman for Yves Saint Laurent's Yvresse (originally named Champagne) or the underrated Deci Dela by Nina Ricci in 1994.
It was clear by then that chypres had had their heyday and consumers were opting for different things, terming chypres old-fashioned and almost archaic.

Yet this esteemed category has not uttered its final word. As discussed previously in The New Contestants article, "modern" chypres are out to take revenge for their illustrious ancestors and although they are markedly different than them, they are still a hope that the zeitgeist is again changing, favouring heavier, richer, more mysterious scents that demand a wink in the eye and a steely shoulder to cry upon. Let's hope that a return to truer chypres is not far off.

NEXT POST: a perfume legend gets reviewed. Stay tuned!


pic of Mitsouko ad from the 1960s originally uploaded on mua, pic of Diorella and Miss Dior ad from psine.net

Chypre series 4: aesthetics

Previously on this series we mentioned briefly that chypres have apparently fallen out of favour in late years, with the exception of the very new "modern" ones discussed. And we pointed out that this is due to the differentiation in ingredients listed, but it must be accounted to something else as well.
After all Jacques Polge attempted to create a new breed of chypre without oakmoss in his 31 rue Cambon for Chanel Les Exclusifs, using a novel accord of iris and pepper. We could mention in passing that this had been reported by dr.Luca Turin a long time ago and I seriously doubt that had it not (and consequently heavily discussed) most people would accurately discern the nuances of those exact two notes. Because yes, 31 rue Cambon is very well-crafted and it seams a textured veil of soie sauvage that is quite different than the orientalised brocade of Coromandel or the chiffons of the rest of Les Exclusifs. One or two of course might profer the opinion that it is not as revolutionary as lauded in its final result, which is what matters most to the wearer anyway, but that would divert us from the point of today's article.

The matter is that chypres (and 31 rue Cambon among them, hence the inclusion) smell very different than the rest of the fragrant families. This is definitely a matter of aesthetics which might attract or repel anyone who tentatively opens this Pandora's box of perfumers' temperas; colours which they love to use, abuse and even distort to create nuanced recreations of abstract pictures that do not resemble anything in particular. If floral perfumes try to catch in some greater or lesser degree a glimpse of fragrant bouquets unfurling and fields in bloom, if citrus perfumes evoke the first bright days of summer and the joys of downing a frozen glass of sparkly, tangy liquid and if orientals make us visualise opulent maharanhis in their palaces adorned with heavy jewels and burning aromatic resins, chypres do not aim to offer a visual subtext to their message. Although they usually get described as mossy, earthy, deep and often damp -like the forest floor of an autumnal day- it is equally valid to note that they offer a smooth result in which none of the seperate notes raises itself in a high-pitched falsetto voice over the others, but they all work in a choral unison of unprecedented discipline and beauty. The notes blurr and blead into each other like watercolours on the canvas. But their finalised effect is usually not very much in tune with watercolours in their feel. They are more solid, substantial, offering great depth and dimension much like the oils on a J.M.W.Turner naval depiction. You feel the smoothness and sumptuousness of them as you apply them on your skin and this is their characteristic that accounts for profound and deep-seated love or hate towards them among perfume wearers.

Chypres also project a level of confidence in themselves. In this regard they share this quality with several orientals; but whereas orientals have a foot in Freudian notions of childhood attachements, since this is a category that is using elements that recall memories of comfort and nourishement (especially in recent years with the emergence of the subcategory of parfums gourmands) such as vanilla and culinary spices, chypres project a more cerebral attitude. They are frequently viewed as extremely sophisticated, whereas orientals might not be as much, and their wearer is often seen as a specimen of womanhood who would partake of The Financial Times on a regular basis. At least this is what the dominant perception is among the general and not so general public.
As Julia Muller in The Haarman & Reimer Book of Perfume notes:

"These perfume users {chypre users} view themselves as being harmonious, well-balanced individuals, who rarely have unhappy or depressive moods. All in all, they are satisfied with themselves and with their lives. They are realistic in their thinking and put less stock in their luck and more in their own deeds."

Perfume consultants attribute those characteristics to a group they term "Extrovert and emotionally stable", which if one dabbles in such things is represented by a special quadrant in the psychological test for perfume choosing known as the Colour Rosette Test.
According to Leffinwell (click here):

"In the color rosette test, the test subject selects from seven different color combinations the one that she likes best. If she chooses more than one rosette, she is asked to pick which of the two appeals most to her. A woman who picks the color combination of yellow, orange, red and pale green, for example, is not only extraverted, active, optimistic and positive – she’ll also tend to prefer fresh floral fragrance notes. Women with a preference for subdued, pastel-like hues like purple or colors like blue-black and mauve, on the other hand, tend to be introverted and pensive. They are likely to want Oriental scents. On the other hand, if the test subject has an equal preference for two color rosettes, she finds perfume creations interesting that unite both corresponding types of fragrances".

If nothing more, this generalisation is fun to peruse and might reveal some hidden aspects of psychology that might or might not bear any relevance to our psyche. There is even a section devoted to men!
For the full test click here.

There is also a more superficial element nevertheless to chypres and their perceived message. Often the very french word chic surfaces in conversations among people into perfume when discussing chypres. Perfume Shrine had discussed the concept of chic in perfumery previously and you can access the article clicking here. As you can see, chypres feature prominently in that notion, exactly because of their manufactured character that does not try to mimic nature but rather to interpret it through the lens of an intelligent human mind.
Sartorial choices therefore follow suit (and there is a pun in this!):

"In their desired lifestyle, these women do not have any interest in keeping up with fashion, in all of its varied manifestations. They love to look well cared for, and their clothing must always be suited to the occasion. In all matters, especially in the case of clothing, they display a pronounced sense of quality. Basically, there are not many very young women in this group of perfume users.”

(by Julia Muller)

Those elements discussed above might hold the secret to why recent years have been the tombstone on chypres. In a world revolving around air-headed celebrities who cannot read a book of chick-lit, let alone The Financial Times and in which low rise jeans stoop to down there revealing crass G-strings with fake Swarovski rhinestones, the attributes of classic chypre perfumes seem almost alien. And therefore shunned in favour of more complacent concoctions that might take shelf space at your local Sephora from those illustrious chypres of yore.



Stay tuned for a Titan of a legend reviewed in the upcoming posts and for analysis on the chronology of chypres in relation to the zeitgeist!

Pic of maison Dior courtesy of gettyimages, pic of Colour Rosette from Leffinwell