Announcement of a new Series

The Series on different scented subjects here at Perfume Shrine have almost become an institution.
From Incense to Orange Blossom to Jasmine, to Sadosmasochism in perfume and from there to Chypres Perfumes and the Dior Chypres in detail, they have proved to be one of the most beloved and most respected features of this venue.

Therefore in our desire to cater for the ever growing appetite of our discerning readers, we have prepared another Series: this time resting on one of those fragrant materials and classifications that is proving to always provoke a strong reaction.

So stay tuned for instalments to come shortly!

Optical scentsibilities: Neck Rings

Who isn't familiar with the Christian Dior advertisements for their feminine perfume J'adore? Before enlisting Charlize Theron and her fabulous physique, it was Carmen Kass and her graceful East European neck who adorned the pages of glossies. The gold hoops round her neck were shining much like those on the long, giraffe-like top half of the bottle iteself, elongating it, giving it a graceful line upwards. Very innovative, right?

And yet, when one looks back on advertisments from a previous era, one sees that that this is not the case. In fact, Jean Desprez, a perfumer who launched his own creations and not under the wing of another house ~a practice unusual for the second half of the 20th century~ had used this idea for his classic oriental Bal a Versailles, back in the 1960s. The advertisment of this one is more sketchy and less realistic, but the idea remains the same. The rings around the neck, the elongated line that hints at vulnerability. An idea of woman as a constricted being who is subject to the desires of some unattainable ideal, inflicted by men. One could write a whole treatise on this alone! However to revert to more arty rather than feminist issues, every little trait of the two images conspires to show that they both drew their inspiration from yet another source; a source much more in the real world than one would anticipate.

None other than the constrictive beauty ritual of the Giraffe Women of Thailand. In a practice that rivals that of the bound feet of Chinese women (Google the term only if you're brave), those women put rings around their necks producing an effect that although more of an optical illusion than real elongating, it has the unfortunate characteristic of seriously oppressing the collarbones and ribs into an unnatural shape in the long run.
Everything in the name of an unrealistic, unattainable beauty? Putting on perfume is so much easier comparatively. The rest is up to you...as always.

Pics of ads from parfumdepub, pic of giraffe woman from paradise tour.com

The origins of the olfactory theory of Shape?

If anyone is at all familiar with the theory of perfume breakdown and the notion of searching for how the sense of smell works, then that one is familiar with the conflict between the standard theory of Shape versus Luca Turin's theory of Vibration; the latter explained in Chandler Burr's book "The Emperor of Scent".
To make a long story short, the former theory which is accepted by most people in the fragrance business implies that odoriferous molecules are perceived by our nose through their shape variation, different shapes attaching to one another and producing different effects. Dr.Turin has proposed that it is the vibrational difference of various molecules that accounts for the difference in perception and not their shape. The odour receptors detect the frequency of those vibrations of odour molecules in the infrared range by electron tunnelling.
Of course the modern counterpart to the theory of Shape was the discovery of odorant receptor molecules by Linda B. Buck and Richard Axel. The two scientists were awarded the Nobel Prize in 2004.
The battle carries on still, however, as of yet there is not a complete answer to how olfactory perception is shaped.

But how did the theory of Shape come into being? Perfume Shrine delves in antiquity and elected to present the ancient reference to an allusion to such a notion to our readers. Of course the nature of smell had been debated by Parmenides, Democritus and Xenophanes prior to this, but it is in Lucretius that it takes...shall we say, shape.

Titus Lucretius Carus(96-55BC) proposed that pleasant smells -as well as sensations acting as a pleasant stimulus in general- are composed of smooth particles, while the reverse phenomenon -unpleasant smells and sensations- is due to the hooked nature of the particles that form the material. This was of course intergrated into the research into why the universe is made of pleasant and unpleasant things to man.
Lucretius says:

"Thou traverse through, thou wilt discover thus
That in their frame the seeds of many things
They hide, and divers shapes of seeds contain.
Further, thou markest much, to which are given
Along together colour and flavour and smell,
Among which, chief, are most burnt offerings.
. . . . . .
Thus must they be of divers shapes composed"

"For every shape, which ever charms the senses, has not been brought to being without some smoothness in the first beginnings; but, on the other hand, every shape which is is harsh and offensive has not been formed without some roughness of substance".

{from De rerum natura, book II}

Perhaps this ancient theory of tactility was what gave to rise the concept of smell being perceived through the shape of the atoms of the materials smelled. Or this is my theory in any case...



References: Bailey, C. ed. De Rerum Natura. 3 volumes with commentary. Oxford, 1947.
Buck, Linda and Richard Axel. (1991). A Novel Multigene Family May Encode Odorant Receptors: A Molecular Basis for Odor Recognition. Cell 65:175-183.

Pic of classic 5th century BC chalice depicting a Sphinx courtesy of theoi.com. Chosen for its allusion to a cryptic message, a riddle, and not its chronological frame

Anya's Garden Kaffir and Temple

We have dabbled in Anya's Garden, an artisan natural perfumery stationed in Miami Shores, Florida USA before, here at the Shrine. We were really taken with her wild-hearted Fairchild and consider Pan to be one of the most unique things to ever grace the market. {click on the names to read reviews} Tincturing goat's hair itself is indeed a great way of rendering an animalistic note. So when she announced she has issued two new perfumes, Kaffir and Temple, we simply had to sniff!

The perfumes feature new-to-the-market citruses, paired in unexpected ways.
Kaffir lime peel - which is also known as Thai Lime Leaf, or Makrud lime (ghost lime or funny lime) - sparkles in the topnotes of the eponymous scent. Kaffir lime made a rather more subdued appearence in Armani's Sensi, but it wasn't allowed to steal the show. Here it is taking center stage.
On another note, Kaffir might sound like an ethnic slur, but the intention is far from such. Inspired by an ingredient that is actually starring in South East Asian cuisine, whose leaves have a natural aldehydic character, the term is sparkling some controversy.

But none is necessary. The word kaffir or kahfir derives from Arabic for "non-Muslim". Therefore it is used in some Muslim countries as a totally non-offensive, descriptive term for people of other faiths. Much like the ancient Greeks used the term "barbarians" for people who didn't speek Greek but with no intention of demeaning them; the term was not derogatory then. In many cases, such as those mentioned in Herodotus Historiae (where there are great examples of respect and admiration for the Persian empire), the contrary is true!
However long after the Arabs who came to South Africa applied it to the natives, it was picked up by the South Africans of European descent for black South Africans as an ethnic slur. {it has been brought to my attention -initially by our reader Samira, but I looked it up myself as well- that although this sounds like the arabic word, in fact it might not be the same; spelled "kaffer", it is derived from "cafard", meaning cockroach in French. The afrikaans people translated it to kaffer,because the french phonetic for cafard sound like kaffer (ka`fa:r)}.
It's high irony that Christians calling people "non-Muslims" became such a controversial term. But history is full of those...


Back to fragrant parlance, two different agarwoods were used to anchor the citruses. Anya explained that the agarwood for Kaffir is much lighter, golden and spicy with nuances of leather and freshy-sawn wood. While in Temple there is a blend of Laotian and Vietnamese dark, deep, hypnotic Ouds, a specialty grade of agarwood that is very expensive. That last part necessitated the lack of available samples for this scent due to limited amount of the perfume produced. If one is interested in good, real oud, they have to order it.

However in a generous gesture Temple samples will be gifted to those who need them and write up to Anya's Garden to claim them. Let's see what Anya Mc Coy has to say about it:

For the Survivors: Special offer for Temple Perfume

Blended along both Ayurvedic and Buddhist systems, Temple is a limited-edition perfume that is specially made for all of the survivors of the many physical disasters that have wrecked communities in the USA. It is hoped it will give courage in the face of post-traumatic stress - I know, because I am one of them. I have lived in Florida since 1985 and my first hurricane was Elena in Tampa, and the last - hopefully for some time - was Wilma.[...] Temple is also being offered to anyone who has been the victim of domestic abuse, poor health or other challenges that have caused trauma and ongoing stress.


The first 100 readers that write me at Anya's Garden will receive a sample for free. Fifty percent of the profits from Temple will be donated to various charities that assist people and animals via their rescue efforts. The offer will end when all of the samples have have been claimed.

And how do the scents smell, you ask.

Kaffir

Fragrance Family: Citrus-FloraLeather-Wood

Kaffir is really a drop of sunshine in the gloom of November. The juiciness of hesperidia, the lime nectar and the aroma of snapped leaves is almost tangible as you spray the fragrance on you and you instantly get happy thoughts. It's playful, with a verdancy that grabs you by the nose and gets your attention. The green touch of galbanum, that striking note in vintage Vent Vert of which Anya herself is a fan, makes for an arresting beginning.
Flowery with the indolic loveliness of jasmine and what seemed to me like orange blossom (but in fact is not)it take you places: you are in a mirage of summery pleasures that spin around you. Jasmime is a favourite note of mine of course and when one is using natural essences and absolutes, it is even more of an indulgence. It's a sensuous experience to be cherished.
As the scent of Kaffir dries down you realise just how good it is: there is a woody edge, some pungency that lingers seductively, a lived-in feeling. Leather is not usually combined with citrus and here it is a touch that sets it apart.
I think anyone would feel a little brighter for experiencing Kaffir. And that's a blessing in its own way.


Official notes:
Top: Kaffir Thai lime leaf, galbanum, French and Tropical tarragon accord
Middle: tinctures of eight jasmines, heritage oak extract, Grasse jasmine
Base: sustainable golden agarwood, musk seed, leather accord


Temple
Fragrance Family: Citrus-Incense-Spiced Wood


I have to admit that agarwood/oud is like a lumberjack of death to me and I usually cannot wear it on my skin. Some of the Montale ouds which receive so much accolades have proven to be simply unpalatable. And the irony is, they're not even that "real", since Perfume Shrine has indeed dabbled in smelling real oud thanks to the generosity of a friend who wanted to read my thoughts on some arabic essences from Yemen.
In Temple we have real, expensive, precious oud that would make lovers of this love-it-or-hate-it note jump with joy. The heart is truly like Zuko, the Japanese ritual powder, we found out. This exotic reference is further aiding in the centering and relaxation that oud would produce to those who love it. There is also warmth and roundness to the scent which is due to cassie and spices (some of which smell like star anise and cinnamon to me): it is as if it's tied to images of earth goddesses.

On Anya's coaxing, nevertheless, I tried putting a drop of Temple in a bowl of hot water to scent my home. And trully it subtly produced a serene mood and pleasant meditative ambience that was very welcome. This alternative use enthralled me and I plan on beginning to test more of my more "difficult" scents that way.
For the rest of you that find oud mannah from heaven, this is not to be missed.

Official notes:
Top : distilled orange juice, borneol crystals
Middle : aglaia flower, cassia, Ayurvedic herbs and spices
Base : sustainable Laotian and Vietnamese Oud agarwood, earth tincture




There is also a special voucher on Anya's Garden site for all perfumes and essences:

Through December 1st, type in the world natural in the voucher at checkout, and receive 10% off all purchases.

Sounds good!

Artwork by illustrator Rafal Olbinski courtesy of allposters.com. Pic with sitting woman from Anya's Garden site

L'air de Rien by Miller Harris: fragrance review

Jane Birkin piqued the imagination of thousands when she sighed heavily throughout “Je t’aime, moi non plus”, the Gainsbourg song that Brigitte Bardot had refused to sing and which the Vatican renounced as sinful. Her personality, her insouciance and her contradicting fashion sense, embracing tattered T-shirts alongside the Hermes bag which got named after her, made her an idol that contrary to most should be graced with a celebrity scent. And so it has: Lynn Harris, nose of Miller Harris, surrounded her aura with a bespoke which launched publicly to the delight of many.
Here at Perfume Shrine we were quite taken with it and decided to post our two versions of what it means to us.

Enjoy!

By Denyse Beaulieu

“I have never liked perfumes. I have always preferred to carry potpourri in my pocket. It was an interesting exercise in finding out what you don't like. All the things usually associated with heady, dark-haired women like hyacinth, tuberose and lily-of-the-valley made me vomit when they were enclosed in a bottle so this one is much more me – I wanted a little of my brother's hair, my father's pipe, floor polish, empty chest of drawers, old forgotten houses."

Jane Birkin’s quote in vogue.co.uk at the British launch of L’Air de Rien put me off trying the scent for quite a while. I love perfume, loathe potpourri, tuberose is one of my favourite notes and

never in a thousand years would I dream of smelling like Andrew Birkin’s hair – though I enjoy the films he wrote, such as The Name of the Rose and Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, his hair is not, frankly, his most appealing feature.
It took the combined pressure of Vidabo and Mimiboo, whose judgment I trust, for me to dig out my sample. Both were so taken I needed to know what, exactly, exerted such a pull – Vidabo compared it to what an avant-garde Guerlain could be.
It took several tests to “get” the elusive L’Air de Rien, which truly lives up to its name… In French, “l’air de rien” can be said of something that looks insignificant or valueless, deceptively easy (but could be the opposite). It can also be literally translated as something that “looks like nothing” – perhaps nothing we know. Something completely new, then, which, intriguingly, L’Air de Rien turned out to be.
Never has a composition behaved so capriciously in each encounter. The initial dab from the sample vial yielded nothing but a rather mild musk sweetened by neroli. Then a spray from a tester bottle was an outsize slap of oakmoss. Thinking my sample has gone off or come from a defective batch, I secured a second: musk again. Second spray, different tester bottle in a different shop: oakmoss redux.

Curiouser and curiouser … I turned to specialists to explain just why the two star notes refused to sit down and play together. I first contacted perfumer Vero Kern. She ventured that the difference in result was due to the difference in application: spraying would produce a much more ample development. She also suggested I contact Lyn Harris directly, which I did. She promptly responded:

“As the creator of this fragrance, I do find it totally mysterious and magical. It almost seems to behave like a wine in the way it changes and evolves so much with age and on different skins. It is a very simple composition based around oakmoss, amber, neroli, vanilla and musk as Jane wanted and had to know exactly what was in it and I never wanted to deceive her. She completely loves oakmoss on its own so this had to come through the top notes as it does as you spray but also as the composition doesn’t have a lot of top and heart notes (…) Oak moss is the least tenacious material with the neroli and so this is most prevalent when you spray and then drops away on the dry down.”

Mystery solved? Hardly. Mystery is truly at the heart of L’Air de Rien –how such a short, simple formula manages to create such depth of resonance. Almost as though the stripping of most head and middle notes, to delve directly into base notes, echoed the depth of intimate memories – and Jane Birkin is nothing if not a repository of memory, that of her long-time romantic partner and Pygmalion, singer-songwriter Serge Gainsbourg, whom she left in 1980 but whose songs she still performs. Indeed, in the eyes of the French public, she is still predominantly known and loved as the quirky, immensely moving English ingénue muse of the greatest French-language poet of the late 20th century…

L’Air de Rien’s heavy sexual gravity belies the sweetness of the musk-neroli marriage. The balsamic bitterness of the oakmoss sets off the dark, almost medicinal facet of the musk that can be found in Middle-Eastern perfumery – say, in the Tangiers perfumer Madini’s Black Musk or Musk Gazelle blends. It is the polar opposite of the more fashionable clean white musks of Narciso Rodriguez for Her or Sarah Jessica Parker Lovely. The ingénue has aged and weathered: she may slip feet dirty from wandering in dusty rooms or moist, rich gardens into scuffed, well-loved boots, no longer willing to seduce with a bat of her gazelle eyes, but on her own, mournful, timeless, terms. Or not at all.

By Elena Vosnaki

I will always remember Jane Birkin in French film of the 60s La Piscine starring Romy Schneider and Alain Delon: an erotic thriller of sorts, in which she ~long haired and surprisingly young~ moved her lithe limbs innocently doe-eyed. Her French pronunciation hilariously Brit ackward as she asked “Laquelle preferez-vous?” while rolling little pieces of bread with moist fingers into miniscule spheres, averting her eyes from Romy Schneider. This faux innocence has served her well in other roles too, such as the underneath conniving, outwardly gauche heroine of who-dunnit Evil under the Sun. In that one she even dons some other woman’s perfume to make her con more believable. We are talking about a character with perfumista clout, obviously. A scent starring oakmoss no less: one of the shining ingredients of L’air de Rien!

It is with the same mock innocence that L’air de Rien fools you into believing it is a simple musk fragrance. Musks of course have been a love of mine from ever since I recall first sampling one, a rite of passage. It was thus with a sense of exaltation that I put L’air de Rien on my skin. If nothing else it proved as unique and contradictory as the woman who inspired it. Like she said herself of her life:

"I don't know why people keep banging on about the '60s. I was very conventional because I came from a conventional family and I didn't go off with different people - I rather wish I had now, seeing all the fun everyone else was having"

If her perfume is meant to be worn “like a veil over one’s body”, then it is with Salome’s subversive power of being driven by a higher entity that one would do it. Only Salome wore multiple veils and here we only have a few: the notes of the fragrance progress so rapidly that one is confused as to the denouement.
There is cosiness and snuggliness aplenty. A strange feeling of humaness, as if a living and breathing human being has entered a dark, forgotten room in an old abandoned cottage in the Yorkshire countryside or the scriptorium in the The Name of the Rose; coincidentally among my most favourite novels (the film of course necessarily excised much of the esoterica of the book by Eco).
Like old parchment there is a bitter mustiness to L’air de Rien that gives a perverse, armospheric sexiness to the sweeter note of amber that clutches on to shadowy musk and oakmoss for dear life.

If you have secretly fantasized about having a roll on the floor of the dark kitchen in the murderous monastery of the above-mentioned film with a handsome young monk, then this is your scent. Literally nothing lay hidden underneath Valentina Vargas’ dirty cloak as she silently seduced Christian Slater with all the rough innocence of their respective youth and all the postcoital regret of the eternally unattainable.
Lacrimae mundi, tears of the world...


Click here for the famous nude scene from The Name of the Rose. Warning: Not office-suitable!

Pic of Jane Birkin and Charles Gainsbourg sent to me by mail unaccredited. Pic of Andrew Birkin from The Telegraph 2003. Artwork by Polish illustrator Zdzisław Beksiński courtesy of BekinskiOvh.org