Vetiver Series: 2.the Fascinating Material

Vetiver is one of those materials of perfumery that has a particularly interesting background, not least because of its exotic lineage from the Indian peninsula and the fact that the aromatic substance is derived from its rhizomes, making fragrances focused on it a sort of soliradix (in accordance to the term soliflore for fragrances focusing on one flower). Its stems are tall and the leaves are long, thin and rather rigid, while the flowers are brownish purple, but the aroma comes from the roots much like another fascinating material: iris!
Perhaps the most charming, intelligent and arresting characteristic of vetiver though is its ability to thus absorb the very essence of the soil it's been growing into, giving a vetiver adventurer a tour of exotic locales at the sniff of its deep, inviting breath.

Vetiver (Chrysopogon zizanioides) is technically a perennial grass of the Poaceae family native to India. The name vetiver/vettiveru comes from Tamil, in which vetti means cut and veru means root. In western and Northern India, it is more commonly known as khus, which resulted in the English names cuscus, cuss cuss, kuss-kuss grass, etc. In perfumery we often see the older French spelling vetyver used.

Often vetiver grass is referred to as an engineer's or architect's wet dream because of its ability grow up to 1.5 meters high and form clumps as wide, but unlike most grasses (which form horizontally spreading mat-like root systems), vetiver's roots grow downward up to 2-4 meters in depth making it an excellent tool in controling erosion; useful in both agriculture (rice paddies) and terrestrial management (stream banks), especially in tropical climates suffering from monsoons.

Vetiver is closely related to other fragrant grasses such as Lemon Grass (Cymbopogon citratus), citronella (Cymbopogon nardus, C. winterianus) and Palmarosa (Cymbopogon martinii), which is in some respect the reason why it is sometimes considered a leafy/green or woody note, despite it being an earthy/rooty substance.
The world's major producers include Haiti, India, Java, and Réunion. However each soil plays a subtle part in influencing the smell of the oil yielded, so it is an interesting exercise to get hold of different batches and comparing. Some varieties are earthy or smokey, such as the Indian or Javenese batches. These can have a slightly yeasty touch that might take some getting used to. Others are more traditionally woody, with none of the earthy smell we usually associate with vetiver (especially the Sri Lankan variety). And a couple are even considered "green", such as the Haitian Vetiver which has a cleaner, grassier (pine needles) to the edge of citrusy and lightly floral (rosy geranium); same with the oil from Réunion. Both of these are considered of superior quality to the Javanese. China, Brazil and Japan also produce vetiver aromatic products, but I haven't been able to sample those, nevertheless I am determined to do so in the future.
There is also a special variety produced in the north of India which is termed khus/ruh khus or khas and is distilled from wild-growing vetiver. It is untypically blueish green in shade due to its being distilled in copper cauldrons, the traditional way. The oxidation lends a metallic aroma besides the colour, making it unique. Considered superior to the oil obtained from the cultivated variety, it is unfortunately seldom found outside of India, because most of it is consumed within the country.

The essential oil of vetiver produced is darkish brown and rather thick, viscuous. Smelling vetiver oil you are faced with a deep, earthy, herbaceous and balsamic odour which has smokey and sweet nuances with a dark chocolatey edge to it.
Vetiver can be used to render a woody, earthy tone to flowers providing depth, tenacity and "opening" of their bouquet but it can also be used to admirable results in chypres for its herbaceous/earthy vibe (especially now that oakmoss use has been lowered), in orientals for its interesting balsamic-chocolatey nuances and in incenses or citrus colognes to provide a counterpoint of woodiness.
It's so intense on its own that vetiver compositions are usually solo arrangements, rather than full symphonies, which explains why so often Vetiver fragrances are called with one part of their name just that. Like Luca Turin pointed out, comparing it to the treatment of cacao in culinary explorations:

"The perfumer has two options: retreat and declare victory, i.e. add a touch of lavender and call the result Vetiver (black chocolate); Or earn his keep and compose full-score for bass clarinet and orchestra (Milka with nuts and raisins)".

Vetiver oil or khus oil is a complex natural amalgam that contains over 100 identified components. Typical make up includes:
benzoic acid
furfurol
vetivene
vetivenyl vetivenate
terpinen-4-ol
5-epiprezizane
Khusimene
α-muurolene
Khusimone
Calacorene
β-humulene
α-longipinene
γ-selinene
δ-selinene
δ-cadinene
valencene
Calarene,-gurjunene
α-amorphene
Epizizanal
3-epizizanol
Khusimol
Iso-khusimol
Valerenol
β-vetivone
α-vetivone

For ease of reference though, the main constituents are: Benzoic acid, vetiverol, furfurol, a-vetivone, B-vetivone, vetivene, vetivenyl vetivenate.
[Source: E. Guenther, The Essential Oils Vol. 4 (New York: Van Nostrand Company INC, 1990), 178-181, cited in Salvatore Battaglia, The Complete Guide to Aromatherapy (Australia: The Perfect Potion, 1997), 205.]

The production of the vetiver oil goes like this:
The best quality oil is obtained from roots that are 18 to 24 months old. The rhizomes are dug up and cleaned, then dried. Before the distillation, the roots are chopped and soaked in water awaiting for the distillation, a procedure that takes 18 to 24 hours. Afterwards the distillate separates into the essential oil and hydrosol, the oil is skimmed off and allowed to age for a few months to allow some undesirable notes which form during the distillation to dissipate. The yield is high making vetiver an economic building block, which explains its popularity in fragrance making. Additionally, the fact that nothing smells like the real thing yet, assures us of its continued popularity versus aromachemical alternatives for the time being; no mean feat in our times. Like patchouli and sandalwood essential oils, vetiver greatly matures with aging, becoming less yeasty-musty and more pleasantly balsamic, becoming a fascinating note.

Vetiver's exciting history and representation in perfumery will be the subject of the third part in our Vetiver Series.

References:
Julie Lawless, The Encyclopedia of Essential Oils
Mandy Aftel Essence and Alchemy
Christopher McMahon from White Lotus Aromatics, Ruh Khus (Wild Vetiver Oil)/Oil of Tranquility
Vetiver.org
Germplasm Resources

Pic of vetiver grass courtesy of vetiver.org

Perfumed Party at Versailles

Takasago perfumer Francis Kurkdjian has concocted three scented creations as part of Les Grandes Eaux Nocturnes de Versailles, a nighttime event at the chateau of Versailles through Aug. 23 involving fountains, fireworks, art and music. For the Salle de Bal, Kurkdjian created fragranced candles that waft strains of violet reminiscent of the scented powder worn by dancers during Louis XIV’s time. Some 600 are lit each day of the event. For the garden, Kurkdjian dreamed up the Préam-Bulles installation that blows bubbles smelling of pear, strawberries and melon - the Sun King’s favorite fruits. Elsewhere on the chateau’s grounds, there’s the Chutt D’eau project involving a mist Kurkdjian scented with a metallic rose.

Source: Woman's Wear Daily

Vetiver Series: 1.My Personal Discovery

My personal acquaintance with vetiver, a note I love, came through serendipity many years ago. Perusing through the antique shops in a picturesque corner of the city's center, there are several little consignment stores set up by expatriates from Russia; usually loudly and rather vulgary dressed in all the shades of the rainbow, yet the windows were displaying vintage fur coats, muffs and stoles of the most extravagant and expensive varieties: mink (mustela vison), sable (zibelline), white chinchilla and silver fox.
The sight of them displayed in the intense heat of summer was bordering on the surreal and I recall wondering how they kept them from fading in the intense blare of the sun and from the instects that were sure to manifest their presence in the warm cocoon. My mother was diligent in keeping her furs under high-thread cotton wraps in closets scattered with bars of olive-oil soap (it keeps the moths at bay but imparts a delicate "clean" smell to them). The answer was a revelation: they were using small sachects of vetiver roots, apparently a very old custom. Caressing the soft pelts and inhaling the earthy/grassy nuance lingering was a sublime epiphany: here was a combination of smells I came upon for the first time!

Ever since I have been hankering for vetiver. Of course I had surely smelled it in perfumes unknowingly, as it is one of the most popular building blocks, reputedly used in the vast majority of fragrances for both sexes (whether listed or not); it is excellent in lending tenacity and rather economical to procure. But the discovery of the pure material was an adventure I wasn't planning on missing on.

The uses of vetiver in aromatherapy center on its calming, centering, relaxing effect, which has been exploited in India for thousands of years. Vetiver is known as "oil of tranquility", due to its psychological effect in eliminating anxiety and soothing insomnia and depression. A couple of drops of vetiver essential oil in your bath water will make you feel relieved of all burdens and totally relaxed. Ayurvedic medicine prescribed vetiver for heatstroke, fevers and headaches in times when more advanced techniques were sorely lacking. Somewhat less talked about is vetiver's stimulating effect to the immunity system, an advantage that is welcome even in our state-of-the-art technological times.
The essential oil is viscuous, dark brown in colour with a very potent, thick earthy smell -sometimes and, in some varieties, even acridly yeasty- that shouldn't however scare you. Diluting it heavily (a couple of drops in 30ml/1oz of Everclear/perfumer's alcohol) should give you a liquid that can be used liberally to mix with other essentials or aromatic oils for enjoyable escapades into fragrant exploration.

Acquaintances of Eastern and Morrocan lineage used to concot an aromatic red sherbet that was using vetiver as a lifting, cooling touch. I had also heard of the "vetiver water": Indians use a Kooja or Kujo, a clay pot with a narrow neck for storing water, much like the ones used by the ancient Greeks since glazed clay acts as a natural coolant and keeps the liquids fresh. Boiled water is poured into the kooja and a small bundle of vetiver root is added. The mixture is left to marinate for a few hours. Vetiver will thus impart a sweet smell and lightly citrusy taste like that of citronella to which it is related; it's an acquired taste but delicious once you become familiar with it. A similar epiphany must have befallen Celine Ellena, while tasting it at a friend's appartment in Paris, when she came up with the concept of her Sel de Vetiver for The Different Company.
The cooling effect of vetiver, apparent in fragrances too, is further used in scenting mats sprinkled with water to lend a light, refreshing ambience to houses, which acts as a welcome respite in the hot summer.

But the most divine use of them all has got to be the wonderful bed linens that are made with weaving vetiver threads into the fabric: cool, sweet-smelling sheets to caress your body in the warm days of summer, what could be more pamparingly decadent? Aida Duplessis of Mali has been working with West African cotton and vetiver (V.nigritana) to develop a whole line of linens. The company is Africatable (africatable@yahoo.fr, phone : 00 223 668 36 54).

I hope these personal reminiscences have inspired you to seek out vetiver and get familiar with its exceptional qualities. We will continue with more in depth focus on the actual material and the nuances of its varieties used in perfumery in the second part of the Vetiver Series...

Pic of Vetiver infused water courtesy of Enulagam blog. Pic of vetiver linen through Africatable.

Lancome Magnifique: fragrance review and musings

C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre. (It is magnificent, but it isn't war).
~Pierre Bosquet

Lancôme presented their latest fragrance Magnifique to the press featuring their new ambassador, actress Anne Hathaway, at the Grand Palais in Paris. Talented and pretty stars are nothing new in the Lancôme galaxy and their previous choice of Kate Winslet as new face of Trésor had me enraptured. Hathaway (who had professed a predeliction for Chanel's Chance) is equally lovely in a Snow White suit instead.
Magnifique set out to olfactively interpret the colour red, from the bottle, to the colour scheme of Hathaway's dress, to the admitedly cheddar-heavy US print-ad. Hence to avoid the latter factor, I chose a picture from the upcoming Peter-Lindberg-directed commercial, in which Hathaway poses as a cross between a Nikolaos Gyzis and Edward Hopper model.

Technically, Magnifique is a spicy woody floral, composed by Firmenich perfumers Olivier Cresp and Jacques Cavallier (a collaborating duo on many popular fragrances).
The inspiration, according to Woman's Wear Daily was Nargamotha/cypriol (Cyperus scariosus). Nagarmotha is a plant of the Cyperaceae family, also called Nagar Mustaka, which grows wild in the Madhya Pradesh region of India. Highly-prized for its roots, it is often used in compounding perfumes (especially since it acts as a fixative and is quite economical), in the manufacturing of soaps and incense sticks, as an insect repellent and for medicinal purposes. Associated with milkweed, Indian nard, jatamansi and fekhand, it appears in the spells of Vashikarana: It's said that a man applying it to his forehead is assured of a long series of successful love affairs!
Steam distillation of the tubers of cypriol yields 0.075-0.080% of an essential oil, the principal content of which is cyperine. The smell of nagarmotha is woody, earthy and quite lingering; it mostly conjures a hybrid between cedar, vetiver and patchouli, with fleeting touches of cinnamon and frankincense giving a churchy feel.
Reportedly, Cresp and Cavallier came upon it while in India and liked it so much that they opted to include its essential oil in their Magnifique fragrance. Somehow this is my first stumble: really? Such acclaimed and experienced perfumers were unaware of this old ingredient and just now discovered it?

What is naughty is that there is a perfume product thus named, produced by Innospec:

"A group of fragrance industry experts has given an enthusiastic review to three of Innospec's products- Cypriol, Vetimoss, and Verdirosa. The occasion was the British Society of Perfumery symposium, held last month [July] at Towcester. Lester Bowman, head of Innospec Active Chemicals for Europe, the Middle East and Africa gave a talk to the group, and Peter Whipps, a freelance perfume expert presented the three fragrances. Cypriol, which has a spicy floral fragrance, was presented in a linden blossom room spray and peach base, where it confers the rich, natural aroma of real flowers. As well as offering good odour of its own, Cypriol has a substantial floralising effect on any fragrance".

(Source Innospec)

Cypriol has been rather popular lately: a component of the latest Musc Nomade by Annick Goutal as well as Dzongha by L'artisan (where it is noted as a Papyrus note, Cyperus Papyrus, a member of the same family), Rose Kashmirie by Parfums de Rosine, the newest By Killian Prelude to Love, and Tom Ford for Men ~latter claimed to be the first to use cypriol: "that slightly dirty, sensual, sexy smell...It's not the same as natural musk used to be, but it has a bit of something that some people would think slightly dirty...I think it's warm and sensual." That claim is of course an euphemism, to put it politely: they probably publicized the fact first, since cypriol use goes as far back as Xeryus, a floral woody semi-oriental masculine by Givenchy, developped by Firmenich, in 1986! And if I am not too mistaken in Eau d'Issey pour Homme too in 1994. They're seriously putting us on, it seems!

To revert to Magnifique and how it smells, Lancôme didn't veer off far on their use of their emblematic rose, a note used in most of their fragrances under one guise or another (with the exception of mighty crispy O de Lancome): many perfume lovers report a profound love for Mille et une Roses, while the peachy-rosy Trésor has its own ardent fans.
There is indeed a round rose nuance in Magnifique that veers into fruity-jammy; still, the fragrance is not considerably floral, less so rosy in the flowers-on-the-stem kind. Rather Magnifique starts as a lightly effervescent, spiked-soda sort of fragrance,with a light peppery bite and sweet fruity tonalities defying the listed cumin, as the fragrance does not present any sweaty side at all. Nor is it especially woody, which is a suprise after all the insistence on that aspect, although the nagarmotha essence does make a solid appearence; the woods are pale, pleasantly powdered but ultimately vacant-eyed and unchallenging, ready to smile and strike their best side for the camera (and yes, they do know which is their best one!). If you have watched "Diary of a Princess" with the lovely Hathaway, they're the "after" part, even though the "before" wasn't that wild either...

"The challenge was to work on wood", Cresp claimed nevertheless. Why challenge? Due to the slim number of woody juices aimed at women, since woody notes are traditionally regarded as masculine. There is of course a handful which are excellent and not masculine-smelling at all: the iconic Bois des Iles by Chanel, intent on sandalwood; the notorious Feminité du Bois by Shiseido or Dolce Vita by Dior, both focused on cedar. Then again there are fragrances that pose an androgynous spin such as the chic Sycomore, the latest in Chanel's unisex Les Exclusifs line, fleshing out vetiver.
A similar risk was taken by Lauder's newest feminine, Sensuous, a very similar to Magnifique ~albeit milkier and heavier~ composition which tries to change the demographic to a lower age group than the typical Lauder clientele according to Chandler Burr.
Therefore the challenge seems to be on the business side more than on the olfactory one!

There appear to be segments of other ideas in Magnifique: the sweet patchouli vibe of Attraction, Lancome's own less successful previous release from 2003 (which might illustrate the fact that discarded mods never trully get discarded ~and please consider the discontinued lactonic woody Feu d'Issey by Cavallier there too, will you?), or the fruity woodiness of Gucci by Gucci; maybe even the jammy earthiness of Rabanne's Black XS, as well as Dior's Midnight Poison or Elle by Yves Saint Laurent (latter two notably by the same noses).
Which brings me to an interesting question: what segregates some of the above as "modern chypres" in taxonomy, while Magnifique is a "woody"? The edges blurr in my mind and it seems to me that "woody" has now become just fancy jargon to denote edginess, a sort of fashionista It-term; I predict we will be hearing it often from now on, mark my words.
Furthermore, woody fragrances often cross borders in niche lines, being shared by both sexes, which brings me to my next point: The derivative aspect of mainstream brands trying to replicate niche trends is a manifestation of both the market's oversaturation with offerings that focus on tired vogues (the avalanche of fruity florals and trite gourmand vanillas for women, the conventional citrus woodies and screechy marines for men) as well as the desire to tap into the pool of perfume lovers who scout the micro-niche lines for something different, but cannot always have it readily accessible due to exclusivity.

Magnifique is commendable for turning its back on tired concepts. It can thus be viewed as a step in a good direction, but also as the height of cynicism in fragrance business in view of the above. I will give them the benefit of the doubt for now and hope that more companies in the mainstream sector try to diversify.

Official Notes: mandarin, saffron essence, cumin, cinnamon, Bulgarian Rose essence, absolute of Rose Mai de Grasse, jasmine, Australian Sandalwood essence, Indian nagarmotha, vetiver.

Magnifique comes in 50ml/1.7oz and 75ml/2.4oz of Eau de Parfum concentration (with accompanying Bath Cream and Body Lotion in 200ml containers) and has just launched in the US (initially as an exclusive to Bloomingdale's). It will be available around the world in September through major department stores.

For those able to read French, please visit my good friend S. on Ambre Gris for another view.

Pic of Anne Hathaway courtesy of I'm not Obsessed.Bottle pic courtesy of Fragrantica.

Dior-Dior by Christian Dior: fragrance review

Launched by Christian Dior in 1976, four years after the triumph of Diorella and composed by the same nose, the legendary Edmond Roudnitska, Dior-Dior was an astounding commercial flop resulting in its subsequent discontinuation and its firm positioning in the Pantheon of rarities.

It's hard to speculate après le deluge what exactly went wrong. Perhaps it was due to a discrepancy between zeitgeist and the character of the fragrance. By 1976 the advent of emancipated strident chypres as well as the progression from the hippy oils of the late 60s was not simpatico to a woody floral that had pared down the aromatic chypré piquancy of Diorella. And only fairly recently have woody florals for women known a slow resurgence with L'instant Magic, Bond no.9 Andy Warhol Silver Factory, Flower Oriental by Kenzo or the new Sensuous by Lauder and Magnifique by Lancôme.

However, it might also be attributed to the emerging ethos of the fledging perfume marketing: the importance of packaging and bottle being brought to focus much more assertively, the trade aspect getting seriously revved up, perfume being more of a lifestyle object than an objet d'art and copies of copies of things getting produced at a faster rate (although nothing like the alarming avalanche of more recent launches!).
According to Edmond Roudnitska, this resulted in a «olfactive cacophony», lowering of quality and debasement of creativity:

The choice of a perfume can only rest on the competence acquired by education of olfactive taste, by intelligent curiosity and by a desire to understand the WHY and the HOW of perfume. Instead, the public was given inexactitudes and banalities. The proper role of publicity is to assist in the formation of connoisseurs, who are the only worthwhile propagandists for perfume, and it is up to the perfumers to enlighten, orient and direct the publicity agents.

~L'Intimité du Parfum (En collaboration) Olivier PERRIN Editeur, 1974 (availaible at "Sephora" on Champs-Elysées, Paris)

My small, houndstooth-patterned, vintage bottle has a very slightly bruised top note that is neverthless heavy on the indolic, intense aroma of narcissus and white florals, adding the patina of a well-worn, waxed floor with the remnants of cat pee in its cracks . Narcissus naturally extols this aspect, giving a distinctly feral impression which I personally love: from the leathery-laced Fleur de Narcisse by L'Artisan to the paperwhites note in Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker. Mohammud called its scent "bread for the soul" and I can see why: taking in its heady emanation is on the border of pain, it's so intense!

Dior-Dior also serves as a commemorative recapitualtion of a perfumer's artistic path, a simile of olfactory soliloquy: A melon note which Roudnitska put in several of his perfumes (Le Parfum de Thérèse, Diorella) is discernible, although not in the context of the aquatic fragrances of the 90s: melon in a Roudnitska composition seems to serve as a memento of summery laughs in the autumnal mistiness that the chypre base juxtaposes.
And the fresh jasmine odour of hedione/dihydrojasmonate, first copiously used by him in Eau Sauvage, leaps through, with its verdant, metallic cling-clang, puffing out small breathless sighs everytime I move my arms around; the sort of thing that would naturally mingle with the surroundings of white-washed windows and stucco-ed walls in places where iron rust feeds potted gardenias and people eat feta cheese alongside their watermelon.
The last familiar touch comes from the lily of the valley accord that Roudnitska so intently masterminded for his soliflore apotheosis, Diorissimo. (Arguably the only hommage missing is the Prunol base of Femme and the peachy core of Diorama).
Although all the above "notes" sound "clean", in Dior Dior they are neither freshly showered, nor vacuum-sealed. They breathe and deepen into a very feminine and quite urbane fragrance, far removed from Laura Ashley summer dresses, which persists on skin for hours.

For all its charm however Dior-Dior doesn't talk to me the way Roudnitska's more luminiscent creations, such as Diorella or Eau Sauvage, do. Perhaps it's just as well. Still, my bottle is poised alongside its sibling houndstoothed gems with its regal brow highly arched.

Notes: narcissus, muguet (lily of the valley), woods

Please state your interest if you want to be included in a draw for a sample of this rare fragrance.

Ad pic illustration by Rene Gruau courtesy of Fragrantica. Houndstooth bottle pic courtesy of Musée del Perfum.