Many Wishes

Easter Eve

The Holy Week has slowly and majestically drawn to a close culminating to the midnight mass tonight.

Like last year, when I presented you with our Incense Series, I will be wearing Messe de Minuit, contemplating the secret pagan awakening of spring perpetuated in Christianity, and especially Orthodox tradition, in which Easter coincides with the beginning of the warm season, the fertility of the fields and the ourdoors lifestyle. The candle procession of sharing the holy light, from man to man, will be like a litany of hope for unifying all people, whatever they might believe in, and the sky will be filled with fireworks, pyrotechnics and gunshots spent for joy and festivity and not for warfare.

From our house to yours, may the spirit of hope eternal light up your lives and bring a smile to your lips.

Click to hear the song:

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Pic from Xeropotamos monastery in Athos Mountain Monastery Community in Greece, courtesy of Eikastikon.gr
Audio clip of "My Sweet Spring", the traditional hymn of Good Friday sung by Glykeria, courtesy of esnips.com, uploaded by Ειρηνη

Waiting for Tommy: a tragicomedy

“Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful.”

Two perfume lovers, let’s call them Vladimir & Estragon (together they sound like a Russian contraceptive!), are waiting for the revelation of the sublime through a bottle of Tommy Girl. Tommy Masterpiece is rather late to their appointment and they pass the time waiting, testing the fragrance.

Estragon struggles to extricate some substance out of the white box. He peers inside it, feels about, turns it upside down, shakes it, looks on the ground to see if anything has fallen out, finds nothing, feels inside it again, staring sightlessly before him.

ESTRAGON: Oh, there it is! Finally. Shall I spray it on?
VLADIMIR: (musingly). The last moment . . . (He meditates.) Hope deferred maketh the something sick, who said that?
ESTRAGON: Will you help me?

They spritz and sniff. Blank stare to the great unknown. They sniff some more.

VLADIMIR: Do you remember the Gospels?
ESTRAGON: I remember the maps of the Holy Land. Coloured they were. Very pretty. The Dead Sea was pale blue. The very look of it made me thirsty. That's where we'll go, I used to say, that's where we'll go for our honeymoon. We'll swim. We'll be happy.
VLADIMIR: You should have been a poet.
ESTRAGON: I was. (Gesture towards his rags.) I was writing honest perfume reviews. Isn't that obvious?
VLADIMIR: Well? What do we do?
ESTRAGON: Don't let's do anything. It's safer. Let’s place all our faith on experts.
VLADIMIR: Let's wait and see what she says.
ESTRAGON: Who?
VLADIMIR: Tommy Girl.
ESTRAGON: Good idea. Does she say anything to your nose?
VLADIMIR: No. But let's wait till we know exactly how we stand.
ESTRAGON: On the other hand it might be better to strike the iron before it freezes.
VLADIMIR: I'm curious to hear what Tommy Girl has to offer. Then we'll take it or leave it.
ESTRAGON: What exactly did we ask her for?
VLADIMIR: Were you not there?
ESTRAGON: I can't have been listening.
VLADIMIR: Oh . . . Nothing very definite. Just to be a masterpiece, five-star caliber creation.
ESTRAGON: A kind of prayer to be the perfect department store fragrance at an affordable price. The composition coincidentally happened to fall neatly into several blocks, each typical of a native American botanical.
VLADIMIR: Precisely.
ESTRAGON: A vague supplication.
VLADIMIR: Exactly.

Silence as they contemplate.

ESTRAGON: And what did she reply?
VLADIMIR: That she'd see. It’s not that she could be definite. She has been formulated 1100 times to arrive at this result with the tea accord inspired by sniffing the inside of Mariage Freres shop in Paris, no less.
ESTRAGON: She said that she couldn't promise anything.
VLADIMIR: That she'd have to think it over and get back to us.
ESTRAGON: In the quiet of her home.
VLADIMIR: Consult her family.
ESTRAGON: Her friends.
VLADIMIR: Her agents.
ESTRAGON: Her correspondents.
VLADIMIR: Her books.
ESTRAGON: Her bank account.
VLADIMIR: Before taking a decision to be an at least decent fragrance.
VLADIMIR: Say, do you smell anything of interest?
ESTRAGON: Other than belcher, fartov and testew?
It's the normal thing. To try to be an at least decent smell.
VLADIMIR: Is it not?
ESTRAGON: I think it is not.
VLADIMIR: I don’t think so either.
ESTRAGON: (anxious). And we?
VLADIMIR: I beg your pardon?
ESTRAGON: I said, And we?
VLADIMIR: I don't understand.
ESTRAGON: Where do we come in?
VLADIMIR: Come in?
ESTRAGON: Take your time.

VLADIMIR: Come in? On our hands and knees. Begging for the revelation to come on us lowly ones who cannot see the miracle behind the masterpiece.
ESTRAGON: As bad as that?
VLADIMIR: Your Worship wishes to assert his prerogatives?
ESTRAGON: We've no rights any more?
Laugh of Vladimir, stifled as before, less the smile.
VLADIMIR: You'd make me laugh if it wasn't prohibited.
ESTRAGON: We've lost our rights?
VLADIMIR: (distinctly). We got rid of them. The day we relinquished our faith for the one placed on experts.


*Tommy Girl is the ultimate McGuffin, as Hitchcock used to say: a plot device about which the characters care desperately, but the audience isn’t meant to give a damn.

With loving admiration of Samuel.



For other interesting takes on Tommy Girl, please check out Scent Signals and Perfume Posse.

Pics courtesy of hrc.utexas.edu and samuel-beckett.net

How the Gods trick us into hubris ~Alpona by Caron: fragrance review

I distinctly recall the first time I tested Alpona: it was the holiday season of 2006 and I had come very late to the cult, considering my perfume habit dates back to the time I was collecting minis and mixing (nay, ruining) my mother's expensive perfumes as a child. Having tested myriads of fragrances by then and having almost exhausted the Caron subject studiously and laboriously as most of them were not available to my country, with only a few sitting pretty on my skin, my nose and my sensibilities (the rose accords have to be a certain way for me to be moved) I had almost no hope of liking Alpona.
How the Gods trick us into hubris...

I had read of it described as a bitter chypre and I imagined it as very harsh and wasted a la Cabochard reformulated, one of the major disappointments of my perfume life because of the precious memories it had held for me personally.
Leafing through hefty tomes of arcane perfume lore I had come across authors describing it as fruity perfume as well and it was at that moment that I became convinced that I wouldn't like it in a million years, given my antithesis to such proclivities. Yet , the desire to test it even to formally and terminally "diss" it was persistent. I was a snob in reverse on the hunt of the elusive: Alpona had been created as extrait de parfum and those were only available through the "urns", Baccarat crystal fountains of liquid gold to be had at the Boutique Caron in Paris and New York City.

It was in a friendly exchange with a lovely lady that I had been able to procure some, opening the little bottle with trepidation not unlike the one shown by the bishop annointing France's Charles VII Dauphin upon his crowning in Reims with Clovis' Sacred Ampoule holding the Holy Oil.

And then.....I put it on! And it took only seconds for me to not only like it , but to positively love it for its peculiarity, its dry and sweet mingle, its character, its depth. Its weird grapefruit-rind note and the rich oakmoss marriage. These two elements dominate the composition. Another devotee was at that very minute approaching the Altar of Alpona, shyly skirting the edges of the marble, gingerly grasping the golden handrail, laying bouquets of piety at the Goddess' feet. And it solaced my soul that she forgave and welcomed me into the Order like a deflowered Vestal Virgin who has entered the priesthood of a secret cult.

Caron launched Alpona in 1939, in tandem with the New York Exposition, inspired by the Garden of the Hesperides. Hercules according to the Greek mythology defied the nymphs Hesperides, guardians of the garden, and stole from the Greek gods the secret of immortality, the "golden apples". Alpona was the first acclaimed fragrance to combine flowers with lemon and grapefruit inaugaurating the “Hespéridé” family. These tart citrus fruits (known as "hesperideans") give the perfume its modernity. Sun-ripened fruits basking in an orchard in the last foothills of the Alps with considerable darkness and richness underneath thanks to the inclusion of oakmoss and the infamous Mousse de Saxe base was at the mind of its creator Ernest Daltroff.
Alpona is recommended according to Caron "for immoderate indulgence by every woman who wants to get the juice out of life".

My fallacy that it would turn for the sour were dispelled by the reality of it unfolding its fruit rind swirls on skin. Alpona is actually quite sweet in the drydown, rich and full-bodied.
It has personality. Backbone!
Alpona smells like a weird holiday in the mountains, but not the snowy Alps, there is no cool snow theme here, despite the name. It's as if you are squeezing grapefruits and oranges for the morning juice, drinking it in a lichen-overgrown attic on the slopes of an autumnal mountain lodge; gorging the sunrays coming through the open window, basking in their warmth, with a little plate of candied orange and bergamot rind by your side, leafing through old textbooks of your granny who was learning Russian as a hobby. Decked in light woolies and breathing in the moist air, the trampled upon tree branches and just dead leaves, sighing with pleasure and abandonment, savouring the spicy dryness, Alpona is like discovering long-forgotten trinkets and family heirlooms in a cedar chest tucked away in the attic.

According to the official Caron site:
Notes: Lemon, Grapefruit, Bergamot, Rose, Orange, Jasmine, Orchid, Thyme, Patchouli, Myrrh, Cedar, Sandalwood, Musk, Oakmoss

I will never again say I won't like something just because. That's a promise Alpona made me give. I will sorely miss it now that they discontinuing it...
You can still get it at NYC boutique located in the Phyto Universe day spa on Lexington Avenue at West 58th Street, so take your chance while supplies last.
HOT FROM THE PRESS:
Paris Caron boutique representative refutes the rumours on discontinuation. Please note that this is not definitive and it might mean that they will keep it only in Paris or the plans are for later on.

Painting by John William Waterhouse, Diogenes

To distract...

Bad news don't have to be announced beforehand, they strike like lightning in a sudden summer storm getting you out of your comfort zone into the realisation that things follow their own course no matter how you think they're going. I was about to do a little article on Caron in light of the recent discussions pertaining to their reformulation by Fraysse and how this affects them or not, intending to procure samples of the current version to compare with my own older batches. All in the aim of accurate reporting, bien sûr!

Alas, at least one gem I was anxiously waiting to see if it had been altered significantly (at least from the version that I enjoyed) was Alpona, that weird beast which fascinated me. Yet, according to The Scented Salamander, Alpona is no more... Shed a loving tear for this individual chypre that would have celebrated its 70 years in 2009. Probably succumbing under the weight of oakmoss restrictions, it has been discontinued. An urn perfume no less, which is foreboding.
Your last chance to grab it before it goes away for ever is at the Caron Boutique for $100 for a 1/4 oz of extrait de parfum to $ 520 for 200 ml. The New York City boutique can be reached at (212) 319-4888. An Alpona review is in the works and will appear on Perfume Shrine shortly!

But enough with the fragrance world gloom and in a playful attempt to distract you from such sad occurences I am hosting a little contest.
Here is a clip that acts as a collage of perfume clips for several fragrances. The reader who identifies the perfumes seen in the correct sequence wins a decant of one of my spring perfumes.



(uploaded by arturdvm)

Check back again for review and surprise posts!