Too many launches? Some perfume history...

We have been saying it among ourselves -and hearing it discussed in perfume circles- constantly recently: there are just too many launches. Enough!

So it came as a mild surprise upon reading Le Parfum by Jean Claude Ellena in French (on which more commentary later on) that it might have always been so, actually...
In the span of Les Années Folles (the 20s) and a little later, the surgence of couturiers/fashion designers gave rise to the marketability of perfume as a means to consolidate the image of the designer, the unique positioning of each house. And thus it might have inadvertedly inaugurated the modern commerce of fragrance as a commodity to indulge as a final step in creating a "look".

Paul Poiret was on the vanguard: a true "dandy" of the Belle Époque who realised that it was vital to imbue everything produced under the umbrella of his name with his unique spirit and image. His line Les Parfums de Rosine is celebrated for the quality, although he commited the romantic error of not signing with his own commercially established name but with his daughter's; which might have cost it in the marketability stakes.
Poiret was the first designer to hire a professional perfumer-chemist, Maurice Shaller. Between him and Henri Alméras, la maison Poiret produced 50 original perfumes between 1910 and 1925. It bears repeating: 50 different perfumes in 15 years. The number is impressive, to say the least! Surely not that different than what most major houses do these days: one launch for autumn-winter and another in the summer (often a flanker of the previous one) and perhaps a male counterpart to satisfy that portion of the market as well.

The Callot sisters, couturiers themselves, also imitated the move and decided to create a fragrance line of numerous offerings that would be circulated exclusively for their esteemed clients. The evocative names range from Mariage d'Amour (=marriage out of love) to La fille de roi (=the king's daughter) to Bel Oiseau Bleu (=beautiful blue bird) and we are led to believe they were catering to the ever expanding desires of the bourgeoisie who were frequenting their boutique.

During 1925-1950 French couturier Lucien Lelong was ever prolific, producing 40 fragrances in a short span of years, before retiring in 1952. The first ones bore the cryptic symbols-more-than-names A,B,C,J, and N.
The number of launches though is impressive: almost 1 new fragrance every 7-8 months! Think about it.
The Guerlain catalogue is also rich in numerous launches, often in the same year. Case in point the multiple fragrances created within 1828, 1834, 1873, 1890, 1895 and 1922, to name but a few ~although they do have the difference that they were commissioned by patrons. But still, this shows that fragrance houses were prolific even back then.

In light of the above it is perhaps not entirely correct to accuse houses of producing too many products. What is more accurate is to realise that there are simply astoundingly more perfume companies, designers, niche perfumers, celebrities and various entities today, all tangled up in the dubious world of perfumery. Perhaps they have cottoned up to the fact that perfume is "the most indispensible superficiality", to quote Colette, and therefore have been producing fragrance as a quick means to make a point, consolidate a brand or simply to make a quick buck. But they have had illustrious paradigms to the practice: who can blame them, really?



Pic by TonyM/flickr

Optical scentsibilities: the Art of Composition

One of the first things that one learns at Art School is the mastery which is required in placing your subject in a composition that focuses on what you want to focus on and hinting at subtle references. The art of composition is not easy, alas. This is often the downfall of many advertising campaigns which opt for a too "loaded" approach or one that misses the target and diverts the eye from the focal point.
And then some others do brilliantly exactly thanks to their arresting placement of elements on paper. Like this advertisement for Paco Rabanne cologne for men from the late 70s. In a very clever composition it puts all the emphasis, through the use of light and shadow, on the central subject: the man in the background. The fact that he is a glamour photographer is hinted at by the equipment seen in shadow on the foreground and the two are joined by the ray of light escaping from the room that is seen at the back, while the man is apparently talking on the phone, casually -as hinted by his hand in his pocket- disheveled; perhaps arranging a tryst with a loved one. The message is smartly displayed: Paco Rabanne for Men is meant for men who don't have to prove anything and it challenges vision to be used in alternative ways: maybe through the aiding lens of olfaction, for a change.



The composition merits its own lineage being revealed. It is none other, in my opinion, than this classic of classics: Las Meninas by Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez from 1656. Las Meninas means "maids of honour" in Spanish. The painting is a depiction of the royal family of Phillip IV of Spain and its entourage, in which the Infanta Margarita (the royal child-daughter) is posing at the center with her maids, her chaperone and two dwarfs. But in reality it is more a depiction of the shadowy silhouette standing at the doorway, seen through the lit "window" at the background that draws the eye upwards and through the painting. Again the trail of light travels from the back to the foreground, creating the tie that binds the composition into a whole. In the words of Silvio Gaggi, the painting is presented as "a simple box that could be divided into a perspective grid with a single vanishing point".
The iconic status of the painting is evident even more if we consider that Pablo Picasso as well as Salvator Dali interpreted the composition in studies of their own. Here is one of them by Picasso from 1957.
If one is interested in a more analytical approach of the painting, I would advise turning to Michel Foucault's Les mots et les choses ("The order of things", New York, Random House 1970), in which he devotes the opening chapter to this.

A innovative approach that has had an unforeseen lineage in perfume advertising.




Pic of Paco Rabanne courtesy of parfumdepub.
Las Meninas courtesy of allposters.com

Magicians and Pharaohs: Djedi by Guerlain (fragrance review)

Lore has shaped the imagination of many in reference to the secrets of the Great Pyramid of Egypt: hidden passages, curses cast upon intruders, mystical symbols and astronomical calculations far ahead of their times. More Sphinx-like than the actual Sphinx, the Great Pyramid still holds some of its secrets to this day.

Djedi by Guerlain ,"the driest perfume of all time" according to Roja Dove and the "tremendous animalic vetiver" for Luca Turin, is an analogous example in perfumery. And it takes its name after an ancient Egyptian magician related to the Great Pyramid. It is as magical, as soulful and as strange a perfume as entering an ancient burial place hidden behind rocks in a far away desert.
But you might need magical powers to have a bottle procured; or very deep pockets…Or better yet a dear friend like mrs.Kern who is so amazingly generous and kind that she sent me a little of her own.

Herodotus, the Greek historian, had visited Giza in about 450 BC, where he was told by Egyptian priests that the Great Pyramid had been built for the pharaoh Khufu (Cheops to the Greeks) second god-king of the Fourth Dynasty (c.2575–c. 2465 BC). It weighed 6 million tons, the weight of all Europe's cathedrals put together and it was the tallest building in the world up till the start of the 14th century AD.
Khufu and the Magician is a tale of Egyptian magic which appears in the Westcar Papyrus (Second Intermediate Period - around 1500 BC), housed in the Berlin Museum.
Pharaoh Khufu's sons are amusing their father by telling tales of magic:

“Djedi is a man of one hundred and ten years~the tale went. Every day he eats five hundred loaves of bread, a haunch of ox is his meat, and he drinks one hundred jugs of beer as well. He knows how to reattach a severed head and how to make a lion follow him with its leash on the ground. And he knows the number of secret chambers in Thoth's temple."

Khufu orders his son to bring the magician and then a prisoner brought, to lop off his head and see Djedi's magic in action. But the magician protests that he could not sacrifice humans for his magic. So a goose is brought on which Djedi could perform his magic on. The morale of the story is transparent: some things are just too sacred to be trifled with.

Khufu had wished Djedi to fashion his mausoleum under his guidance, but to no avail. In the words of Zahi Hawass, upon excavating the pyramid, courtesy of guardian.net:

“I never thought we would find anything behind the door discovered 64 metres inside the south shaft of the Great Pyramid in 1993 by Rudolf Gantenbrink . […]But when we used the ultrasonic equipment and learnt that the thickness of the door was only 6cm, I said that this was a surprise and there must be something there. […] We sent the robot into the second shaft, and as it traveled through we could see […] it stopped in front of another door with two copper handles: Some believe these doors have a symbolic meaning because it is written on the Pyramid Text that the Pharaoh must travel through a series of doors to reach the Netherworld. […] I would like to suggest that these doors hide Khufu's real burial chamber. […]
About 900 years after the reign of Khufu we have a story called "Khufu and the Magician". Djedi knew everything about the secret chambers of Thoth, but he did not reveal the secret. I therefore believe that the burial chambers were hidden behind these doors”.

The perfume itself is a strange and perfume-y mineral affair of dry leather and ambery, animalic decomposition that almost defies description. Its opening is jolting, disturbing, the weirdest thing; yet it beckons you to continue smelling till the end of the prolonged journey into the night. There is deep grief manifesting itself through bitter herbs, artemisia-like, and copious amounts of earthy vetiver with cold air which reminds one of the strange feelings upon first trying Messe de Minuit by Etro. Those elements fan out into feminine, yet dusty, almost musty rose and a powdery base. This is no opulent rose for a bourgeois eager to show off her wealth or powdery sweetness for an aristocrat who wants to keep her man in difficult times. This is a regal lament for the loss of a favourite son, perhaps lost forever in the cold waters of the battle of Salamis or the trenches of the World War I, no matter; this grief transcends cultures.
Pungent leather with its slightly sour edge and powdery musk act like whalebone does to underpinnings, supporting, exuding an image of bravery and humaness at the same time.
This is unmistakenly Guerlain, unmistakebly animalic with a rather fecal warmth at the end, exuding the grandeur of another, elegant era. Reminding me of my grandmother who had her clothes tailored in Paris and her jewels made in Smyrna and who always smelled ravishingly opulent.

Although its strange, intense greeness and dryness have a passing relation to the classic Bandit eau de parfum, the closest to it that I have smelled is Vero Profumo’s Onda; although the latter is a tad warmer and sexier with its catty whiff and coriander/mace spiciness. However, while Onda has a certain modernity that puts it firmly into the realm of a contemporary piece of art, Djedi is stylistically a product of its time and recalls an era that is past us.

Djedi was created in 1926 by Jacques Guerlain and re-issued in 1996 for only 1000 bottles. Today the vintage is extremely rare and goes for astronomical prices rivaling the mathematical achievements etched on the pyramid walls itself. The re-issue, using the formula of yore, is also quite rare and costly.

But it lets one glimpse one into the abyss and back. If one dares…

Notes: rose, vetiver, musk, oakmoss, leather, civet and patchouli



Pic of Great pyramid by inderstadt/flickr. Painting "And there was a great cry in Egypt" by Arthur Hacker courtesy of art.com. Bottle of Djedi courtesy of Guerlain

Optical scentsibilities: the allure of the sofa

Many times a simple object holds a fascination beyond its functionality. Like sofas... They are lovely to cushion our derriere, but have we paused to think how they also suggest an atmosphere of nonchalance that is eminently befitting perfume images?
Not surprisingly the thought has crossed the minds of perfume photographers and illustrators for a long time. For Coco, the baroque oriental by Chanel an equally decorative sofa from the appartment of Coco Chanel on Rue Cambon has been selected to hold the porcelain curves of model Shalom Harlow.



While for Christian Dior it was Dioressence and illustrator Rene Gruau that took the sofa into the realm of the decadent and sybaritic. One can almost feel the feline look in the eye of the woman in the ad, as her face is partially masked by the big, colourful cushions resting atop a schematic sofa.

But there also less classical examples of perfumes that use the reclining on a sofa pose to very good effect....
Isabella by Isabella Rossellini, a warm powdery floriental


Still by Jennifer Lopez, a limpid floral


Byzance by Rochas, a warm and deep oriental

Perhaps one could trace this tendency way back to venues other than perfume. To art and its effect on the collective subconsious that tends to find similarities and recall familiar images, even if not consiously perceptive.
After the ball by Margaret Dyer uses an impressionistic palette and brushstroke to show the contemplation of the heroine, hand under chin, reminiscing about the highlights of the event; such a formal occassion should have demanded her best perfume, surely.


Natasha Gellman by Diego Rivera was painted in 1943 and is full of the usual clear, bright palette of Rivera in almost an illustration which depicts a glamorous lady of the times reclining on a sofa amidst white blossoms which seem to emit their own rich aroma.



But of course the archetype is probably Madame de Pompadour by Francois Bouchet, painted in 1757 and rounding off the theme of contemplation, elegance and languor, as expressed in the trails of beautiful essences that must have adorned her lavish clothes.





Pics of ads from parfumdepub and okadi. Paintings: After the ball by Margaret Dyer, Natasha Gellman by Diego Rivera and Madame de Pompadour by Francois Bouchet. Courtesy of art.com, allposters.com and madamedepompadour.com

Burr responds

The interview with mr.Chandler Burr sparked interesting commentary and gave a chance for all ends of the spectrum to be heard. It was refreshing to see and it gave Perfume Shrine great pleasure to read intelligent replies.

Mr. Burr himself wanted to comment, but since he is not really immersed in technology per his admission (perfectly valid! I was not either) and Blogger is not that welcoming anyway, he opted to email his response.
I thought it fair to publish it here in a seperate post, so that people might read it more carefully. He is replying to commentary published in this post (scroll for the readers'comments below the interview).

Here it is:

"Hi, guys.

OK! So I figured that when Helg did this Q&A ~her questions were perceptive, serious, and interesting ~ she’d get some interesting responses, and I (who am such an instinctive non-blogger, low-tech guy) am really glad to read these responses.

I realize that when what people know of you is only words that come out under your name in newspapers or magazines, you're both a very real person and, at the exact same time, a total cipher or come across at times like a prick. I’m not, I promise, but then that’s completely subjective as well, and if you met me, you could decide for yourself. I’m going to be flying around the country Feb 1-21 doing publicity for the book, so I hope to meet a lot of you guys.

First, there are the constraints I work under. Helg commented of my writing, “Sometimes, one (myself included) might perceive a limited-space laconic article as being less thought-out than it is,” and this could not be more true; I can’t give details because that would be unprofessional and my editors wouldn’t appreciate it—and my editors are doing their jobs, and ALL creation, including very much newspapers, is about constant compromise, constant negotiation, and sometimes last-minute, not-always-rational cuts and changes too—but I work under huge constraints. All journalists do. Please understand that not all of the time but certainly some of the time what I write is written to fit the space, to come in on time, to follow a theme I need to follow for the coherence of that issue, or date, or section, etc., etc. And that’s legitimate; that’s the way it works. But being a critic does not—not—mean I can write anything I want at any length I see fit or appropriate.

Second, the job of being a critic is by definition giving opinions, and being a journalist means expressing views and reporting facts, and there’s sort of no end to the amount of ways opinions can be disliked by those who (often quite legitimately) disagree with them and reporting can be interpreted.
IlseM wrote, “It's hard for me to believe that someone can be so rigidly opposed to natural ingredients in fragrance,” and I was just about to despair since it’s the exact opposite of what I believe when Joan gave exactly the right response: “I don't think that he is against natural scents, but feels that synthetics are just as valid and possibly less allergic.” Perfectly said.
Perfumer Michael Storer also precisely expressed my own point of view. Again, rather than write it in my own words, I’ll simply use his, since I agree with them completely: “[Burr] extolls the virtues of synthetics and the profound limitations we'd have without them. In my opinion, too, I find many ‘naturalists’ tantamount to religious fundamentalist in that they are simply incapable of hearing any other
viewpoint.”
Catherine says, “I find the growing discussion of synthetics in concrete term (rather than those vague, dreamy ad blurbs) refreshing and engaging,” and that makes me very happy. It’s true that my approach just isn’t going to work for people who aren’t interested in synthetics or the molecular components of perfume, and that’s fine; for others, it works great, and I write for people like Catherine.

Ilse: “[I]t seems [Burr’s] experience with naturals is limited to newly formulated scents. Could you ask him if he has ever sampled vintage fragrances.” My experience with the classics is indeed frustratingly limited, although it took a small change for the better recently; my next piece for T: Style magazine of Feb 24 is a piece about l’Osmotheque, the Paris perfume museum, and I spent an entire day
smelling the original formulas of classics. I’d of course have preferred to spend a month rather than a day, but there we are.

I love (and I know Helg loves) Carmencanada’s “dream of real schools of perfumery criticism, with solidly argumented controversies and discourse, as exists in other arts…. Maybe this is the beginning of something.” That is precisely the approach I’ve taken in “The Perfect Scent,” for example an analysis of Ellena’s work that starts on page 98. Because perfume is such an amazingly young art—the youngest of the
major human arts by far due to the fact that technology has only recently made it possible as an art form (though I suppose movie might compete with it for that title; Wikipedia says, “Mechanisms for producing artificially created, two-dimensional images in motion were demonstrated as early as the 1860s,” just before the first perfumery synthetics were being created)—and also because, by chance, it has been treated much more as a commercial product than an art per se, it has not yet had time to develop hugely deep schools, as has architecture —classical, gothic, Bauhaus, Tudor, Romanesque. But the schools are there, and I completely agree with Carmen that it’s incredibly exciting to start thinking about perfume in this way because it really facilitates the conceptualizing of perfume as an art.

That’s a macro approach. In other ways we need to take a micro approach. Michael: “I struggle everyday with trying to write profiles of my perfumes without using, for example, the word aldehydic. But in reality, it can't be done.” In my opinion, this is correct, and in order for perfume to take its place as a full-fledged art, our culture and the public need to learn and absorb perfume’s basic vocabulary
(which is the same for film, dance, and music). Brands hate aldehydic only because people don’t know what it means; if the public was familiar with it, there’d be no problem, and they’re going to have to be, sooner or later. Perfume should be taught in classes just like painting and literature. As Luca points out, what’s lacking is simply the vocabulary."

~Chandler Burr

Pic sent to me by mail unaccredited