Nocturnal Demons ~Nombre Noire by Shiseido and Lutens: fragrance review

Have you ever lost sleep over the notion of an unattainable ideal? Have you longed and ached for that which you have not even experienced? Are you like the hero in Steppenwolf , a lone soul in search of the sublime revelation of self in the whirlwind of a crumbling civilization? Those questions might ring silly to someone who hasn't known the pang of desire that a beautiful perfume stirs in the soul. And Nombre Noir is one such beautiful but unattainable perfume.

In a revelation of Lachesis I happened upon a little stash of it out of the blue; the elusive Kooh-i-Noor that had been escaping me for long. Or so I thought. Years passed since the last batch of this black glove has been produced and I wonder how much of its initial beauty has been smeared like mascara after a hard night partying. I will probably never know. What I do know is that it was immediately and unknownigly admired by my discerning companion who proclaimed it “beautiful and haunting”. It is just my luck that he always loves the rare and expensive things, I guess. For what is worth I will cherish the little I do have and not break my neck in vain.

Nombre Noir was created in 1981 by nose Jean-Yves Leroy, one of the in-house perfumers for the Japanese brand Shiseido, under the artistic direction of Serge Lutens and Yusui Kumai, aiming to create their first "western" fragrance. Lutens chose an extremely expensive natural osmanthus and a synthetic aromachemical, a big-stock damascone molecule of rosy-woody with prune. In The Emperor of Scent, Turin called it "one of the five great perfumes of the world" and lamented its passing, creating a stampede on Ebay for the elusive golden juice of olfactory paradise.
The perfume became infamous for its breakthrough packaging designed in collaboration among Serge Lutens, Shuichi Ikeda and Masataka Matsubara. "The most unremittingly, sleekly, maniacally luxurious packaging you can imagine: a black octagonal glass Chinese bottle nestled in exquisitely folded black origami of the most sensuous standard."
Despite its high retail price, however, Nombre Noir was losing money because of the packaging according to rumours. And then it disappeared, to be lamentably discontinued shortly thereafter. The real reason seems to be because the high percentage of damascones contained contributed to the perfume being photo-sensitising.

Damascones are potent aromacemicals synthesized in the lab through a difficult procedure that is reflected in their price. Because of that and their diffusive odour profile they are usually used with restraint, except for cases when the perfumer wants to make a point, like in Poison with its exagerration of alpha and beta damascone or indeed in Nombre Noir. Alpha-damascone is rosy floral with a fruity aspect atop a camphorous note and winey nuances while beta-damascone has tobacco shades along with plummy sweetness.
Alas their deterioration upon sunlight is another reason they are usually kept in minute quantities in perfume compositions. Except for Nombre Noir. And that was the death toll on it.

The furore started with Turin's quote and perfume lovers the world over were losing precious sleep over not having experienced this ingenious marvel of nature and lab mechanics. Everyone who followed the perfume community had heard about it but they thought it exiled in distant Peoria. It made seldom appearences on Ebay, sometimes in a faux costume masquerading as the authentic thing, other times its true self in all its brilliance to elevated prices that could be brought back to their rightful culprit: Luca Turin.

But such pathos might have been excused in his case. As he revealed, it was no ordinary encounter:

“The fragrance itself was, and still is, a radical surprise. A perfume, like the timbre of a voice, can say something quite independent of the words actually spoken. What Nombre Noir said was ‘flower’. But the way it said it was an epiphany. The flower at the core of Nombre Noir was half-way between a rose and a violet, but without a trace of the sweetness of either, set instead against an austere, almost saintly back-ground of cigar-box cedar notes. At the same time, it wasn’t dry, and seemed to be glistening with a liquid freshness that made its deep colors glow like a stained-glass window.
The voice of Nombre Noir was that of a child older than its years, at once fresh, husky, modulated and faintly capricious. There was a knowing naivety about it which made me think of Colette’s writing style in her Claudine books. It brought to mind a purple ink to write love letters with, and that wonderful French word farouche, which can mean either shy or fierce or a bit of both”.

~Luca Turin, The Secret of Scent


Years later, the elusive was found again and the spark of this love was rekindled. But his feelings changed from infatuation to reverence upon meeting its true self:

“Nombre Noir was still beautiful, God knows, and I could see what I had loved, a sort of playful fierceness unequalled in fragrance before or since, but I was no longer in thrall. Egged on by the cruelty that makes us dismember what we cannot truly love, I sent it off for analysis. When I read the list of ingredients with their proportions, I felt as Röntgen must have done when he first saw the bones in his wife's hand: no longer the beautiful, but the sublime. At Nombre Noir's core, a quartet of resplendent woody-rosy damascones, synthetics first found in rose oil forty years ago. They break down in sunlight, hence the nastiness. But the secret was a huge slug of hedione, a quiet, unassuming chemical that no-one noticed until Edmond Roudnitska showed with Eau Sauvage (1966) that its magic kiss could put back the dew on dry flowers. Knowledge may be power, but power is not love.”

~Luca Turin, Perfume Notes





To me the fragrance of Nombre Noir is akin to a sonorous sonata that is echoed across a vast hall full of oxidised-metal (so as to look dark) chandeliers. There is the high ceiling of cedary notes, like those in Feminite du Bois but scaled a bit down, that keeps the atmosphere somber, yet the plush of the velvet cushions and the brocade curtains lend a baroque fruitiness to the proceedings, like dried raisins and prunes left out for all to savour, not unlike the hyperbole that is Poison by Dior. The sublime rose accord is laced with a boozy and tea-smokey note, restrained and not old fashioned at all, recalling to mind the unusual treatment that was destined to it in the exlusive Lutens scent Rose de Nuit. I can see how this could be worn like nocturnal ammunition against the crassness of a crumbling civilization.


In an unprecedented show of appreciation for perfume and generosity towards all those who do love scents dearly, I am offering you the chance to sample this elusive scent for free: the sample will be miniscule, alas, because I have little myself and because I predict that I will not be able to score some ever again. However it will allow one lucky fellow to not lose sleep over Nombre Noir anymore. And that my friends is priceless...

I will accept entries in the comments till the end of the month, so if you have friends you love, better be quick about telling them. The winner will be drawn on 1st February and announced shortly thereafter. Let the Moirae cast the dice!

Art photography by Chris Borgman courtesy of his site. Nombre Noir ad courtesy of autourdeserge.

Lucky Draw Announcement!

The winner of the Lucky Draw for Bandit is none other than Freegracer. Please mail me at perfumeshrine@yahoo.com with an address, so I can send a sample of the eau de parfum along to you!

Our next Lucky Draw will be a HUGE surprise, something unprecented on the whole blogosphere and proof positive that we do loooove perfume around here and value our readers ;-) Very soon, very soon; promise...
I hope I have tantalised you enough, because I would really love to make someone really happy.

So keep your eyes peeled and if you really care for some friend, direct them here, because it will be a-one-time-only chance!

Pic from Corpse Bride film courtesy of allposters.com

Optical Scentsibilities: the Hug

What better way to show affection, protectiveness and love than a hug? In that spirit, the pose of a woman hugging a perfume bottle has been used a lot in advertising and it is our study subject for today.

A hug can be maternal and protective of a precious entity, signifying tenderness. As in Fidji by Guy Laroche.


And the Mother and Child by G.Klimt.



A hug can also signify daydreaming, and in it the freedom to be what one trully is. As in Caron's tender and contemplative Fleur de Rocaille.



Or in this art print in 60s style.



A hug can also be slightly provocative, sensually tantalising and promising escapades of an amorous sort. As in this ad of Senso by Ungaro featuring Nastassja Kinski from the 1980s.

Or in this famous illustration by Mel Ramos Hunts for the Best (1981), where the model suggestivelly embraces the topmost of the ketchup bottle.

Additionaly there is the semi-hug, a way of displaying the fragrance bottle than actually bringing it close to one's bosom, which can mean that it is prized loot; like in this ad for Covet by Sarah Jessica Parker. If you had followed Perfume Shrine, you will remember the wonderfully witty commercial for the scent, directed by J.P Goude.

It can also signify contemplation of the value of what its true essence means to you, like once again in the exotic shores of Fidji. The perfume becomes you, as the tagline said: "Every woman is an isle. Fidji is her perfume".

It can be your true essence itself, the magical elixir that transforms the woman into a plummed bird such as the Coco ads with Vanessa Paradis as a paradise bird (ingenious). Thus hugging the bottle is embracing the last frontier of imagination...



And finally, when something is as iconic and a mythos of its own, like Chanel No.5 is, it simply demands to be carried on the bosom as the insignia of excellence and the true arbiter of taste. Gigantic in its message as well as its physical size, it becomes bigger than life, fit to be hugged by only another living myth: Catherine Deneuve.

Which one is your favourite hug?

Pics from okadi, parfumdepub, ebay, allposters.com and art.com

Romancing the Scent 2

Is jasmine and powder seductive? In continuation of our previous post concerning itself with how a perfumer defines a romantic scent fit for seduction, Perfume Shrine today focuses on how Chris Sheldrake envisions such a fragrance. His comment appeared in the February 08 edition of Allure magazine.

Christopher Sheldrake, the nose rensponsible for almost the entire Serge Lutens line (with the exception of Iris Silver Mist by Maurice Roucel) and currently head of Research and Development at parfums Chanel, mentions that:

"in our industry, "bedroom smell" means the sensuality of jasmine, a powdery, musky soft entity - something that makes the wearer comfortable - and with a comfortable smell that pleases. It means not too violet or too rose or too animalic or too mossy."

He then goes on to suggest a romantic fragrance, naming Beautiful by Estée Lauder

"It has a powdery note and a fruitiness: a slightly jammy strawberry scent that as a perfumer I can appreciate."

Contrary to the infamous Alan Hirsch MD (of Smell and Taste Treatment and Research center in Chicago) study which states that men are aroused by the combined aroma of lavender with pumkin pie which facilitates penile blood flow, Sheldrake proposes a different combo: jasmine with a powdered musk.
For the record, the other arousing smells in the Hirsch study were doughnuts and black liquorice; or doughnuts and cola. (see more on the Hirsch study here).This had me rolling with laughter picturing cops in American movies eating doughnuts by the trackload. But I digress...

So, jasmine. A favourite flower for me, personally, and inexitricably linked to my childhood and growing up memories. The fascinating, presque suprenant facet of natural jasmine lies in its potent aroma of indole, a compound that is inherent in white florals and which we discussed on our orange blossom sexy scents post. Obviously, the familiarity of a smell so integrated to human existence as the fecal one breeds some form of recognition, if only very distant and not clearly perceived as such. The humanity beneath a fleshy smelling flower is therefore one of the aspects that account for jasmine's reputation as an erotogenic scent.

However there are many people who have trouble with jasmine: they find it too clotted, too dense, too sweet, too feral. Would its magic work on them as well? I do wonder. Perfumers use a wide variety of molecules in perfumes, natural or synthesized: jasmine absolute, jasmone, dihydrojasmone (less expensive than the former), methyl jasmonate, hedione, 2-heptylcyclopentanone... Sometimes the deciding factor on which to choose in a composition is the correlation betweem price and tonnage. Subtle differences account for a different perception among individuals who might respond with more pleasure to one than to another.
Musk is too complicated a matter to tackle in this short post, but it will be discussed shortly. Suffice to say that it is the par excellence essence prized since ancient times for its almost aphoridisiac abilities. The myriads of nuances in synthesized musks in the fragrance industry only attest to that effect: if there weren't a big demand, there wouldn't be as much industriousness in producing them. And some of them do smell kind of powdery: white musks, egyptian and "clean" musks especially.
Notice the reccurence of the powder element that was -arguably- so controversial in Sophia Grojsman's quote? Interestingly, baby powder does feature in the Hirsch study as arousing women! (men, please don't take this too seriously)

It is perhaps even more intriguing to note what Sheldrake denounces as appealing: an abundance of violet (green or candied? he doesn't specify), of rose (too old fashioned or pot-pouri-ish?), of animalic notes (too much stable-and-farm associations instead of basic instinct?) and of moss (too dirty/earthy or too musty-smelling? Again a definition would come handy).

And then what does dear Christopher do? He goes on to nominate Beautiful as a suggested romantic fragrance. A fragrance that has a tale made up about its name (per Lauder friends proclaimed it was "beautiful" upon smelling the mods when she was "creating" it) as it has had no less than five(!) perfumers working on it at International Flavors and Fragrances, as Chandler Burr reveals in his latest book.
A fragrance that supposedly has been composed of more than 200 ingredients, which to me doesn't smell of jasmine and powdery musks. A scent that has been reformulated to ill effect and which according to Susan Irvine is

"Extravagant, creamy, romantic and sweet. Ideal on a country and wester singer".

Is this your ideal of romantically appealing? I am really looking forward to your comments.


Top pic from eu zeen mag. Pic courtesy of Société Française des Parfumeurs, C.Sheldrake on the far left

Romancing the Scent

Love is in the air and the perennial question on what constitutes a romantically attractive fragrance and just how scents are perceived by the opposite sex.
The February 08 issue of Allure comes to the rescue, centering on fragrance and romance, as is usual in publications when St.Valentine's is around the corner. An article by Judy Bachrach, titled "Romance in a bottle", draws interesting opinions on the subject from famous people; two of which happen to be perfumers themselves: Sophia Grojsman and Chris Sheldrake. Their replies were so...what is the word I am searching for...that they merited their own commentary. Today we focus on the former.

I have never put great faith in the method via which Sophia Grojsman approaches femininity in perfume. I admit it in all honesty. Her creations from the bombastically pervading Tresor and the equally potent Eternity, to the luminous Paris, on to the oriental jam of Jaipur are so intense and extroverted sides of femininity that they register as caricatures in my mind: accentuating the characteristic traits that differentiate male from female in our perceived consious: The lush rose, the velvety peach, the intense floral sweetness...

Therefore when she suggests using baby-powder-smelling fragrances before jumping into bed (assuming it is with someone other than just your humble self!)as a nod to our subconsious limbic memory of getting our bottoms puffed with the stuff as babies and presumably associating the feeling of being loved and cared for with the aroma of baby powder, I am going a little "huh?"
First of all, because although this exact association is indeed tender but potentially anti-climatic in an amorous occassion (unless...let's not go there!). And secondly, because it has me wondering about how powder, and specifically baby powder registers in the mind of people in general and whether Grojsman is aware of this.

One of the most common complaints in the perfume arena of online discussion and reviewing boards, such as the hugely popular one in MakeupAlley, is that something smells of baby powder ~or baby wipes and similar products in general; clean ones it is assumed, mind you. The perceived image is uniformely unsexy. Still, there is a sinister trail of thought that goes into work here.

There is concern among some women who do have babies that it connotates tasks that remind them of burdening responsibilities and a period in their life when they felt unattractive. Therefore they would not associate those moments with a sexy afterthought. Understandable.

There is also the more sinister syllogism that babies and infants are off limits sexually (not that I disagree, of course), therefore finding an aroma associated with babies sexy is reminiscent of perverted pedophiles. Now being seen as a perverted pedophile -even in the context of merely favourite smells- is a stigma. You want to avoid that by all means.
This train of thought however takes one thing as a foregone conclusion: that perfume is first and foremost supposed to be sexually attractive and thus seen only in a sexually mature context (which is why lots of people object to kids donning fragrance). Ergo, if perfume is to be taken seriously, it must not smell of babies, or it is "sick".

To that opinion one might radically disagree, especially if one has a keen interest in olfaction in general.
And this is also one of the great divides between American and European sensibilities, as European advertisements do not hesitate to present talcum-scented products in appealing ways that suggest some tinge of sensuous allure. Whether that has to do with widespread pedophile circuits and infantilism, well...let's not go there. A can of worms that can't be opened with impunity.
Suffice to say that for Americans the baby powder connotation is smelling of Johnson & Johnson's citrusy, lightly floral vanilla, while for Europeans it is the orage blossom-and-light-musk of Mustela and Nenuco, as evidenced by the experience of Jean Claude Ellena.

However in typical paranoia and irony some baby powdery scents have proven to be huge bestsellers, eclipsing other scents that launched tagged as sexy. Examples of talcum-laced scents are Flower by Kenzo or Cashmere Mist by Donna Karan. Others have proclaimed their baby pedigree unashamedly, like Petits et Mamans by Bvlgari. And still some have become cult classics with their vat-of-talc odour, like Teint de Neige and Keiko Mecheri's Loukhoum. The choice is yours...



What is your opinion on this subject? I would be interested in reading your comments on this.



To be continued.....


Pic via Flickr