Musk Series 1: A Cultural Perception of Musk

Guy de Maupassant notes in Bel Ami:

"The old woman in her turn kissed her daughter-in-law with hostile reserve. No, this was not the daughter-in-law of her dreams; the plumb, fresh housewife, rosy-cheeked like an apple and round like a brood mare. She looked like a hussy, the fine lady with her furbelows and her musk. For the old girl all perfumes were musk."

In another story (One Evening) Maupassant attributes rather different connotations to musk:

"As for me, I was moved and powerfully interested, and in the darkness I could see that little woman, that little, fair, lively, artful woman, as if I had known her personally. I saw her selling her books, talking with the men whom her childish ways attracted, and in her delicate, doll-like head, I could see little crafty ideas, silly ideas, the dreams which a milliner smelling of musk attached to all heroes of romantic adventures".

Musk weaves its thick, ensnaring plot to even grace French roads with its sonorous name. In Greek the term "musk" is called μόσχος (MOS-chos) and it denotes (in both noun and verb form) any delightful aroma, from culinary to personal!
For all its rich history and ubiquity to the vernacular, musk remains a great mystery making even perfume lovers exasperate on its multiple facets and shady nature. Some, daunted by the odorant's sheer animal nature in some compositions such as Muscs Kublai Khan by Serge Lutens, reference "Post-coital genitals", "Caligula's couch", "balls' sweat", "the armpit of a camel driver who has not been near running water in a week" (the latter by Tania Sanchez in her early MUA days) and other highly entertaining descriptors. Kiehl's Original Musk, "wears its seductive intent on its sleeve" and Musc Ravageur tries to say it all at hello.
Those musks are generally termed "dirty" or "animalic musks", even "skanky" (both in reference to the little critter and the vulgar ladies thus called) in perfume-community-lingo; they tend to reflect the intimate aura of private parts and private acts and if you have any apprehension to smells that might offend your workplace or your conservative entourage, you might give them a miss. Nevertheless to a whole bunch of enthusiasts ~myself among them~ the smell is fur-like, cozy, intimate and transcedentaly primal. Not sweaty or fecal exactly, yet with a "lived-in" quality which is inescapeably delicious.

A vast array of different musks, termed "clean musks", are available for exploring for anyone afraid of the former, their scent often reminiscent of fabric softener, your laundry detergent or even shampoo and refined body powder. Serge Lutens has the polar opposite to Muscs Kublai Khan in Clair de Musc. Some of them often take the guise of "white musk", a code-name to signify a lightly floral musk "base", The Body Shop's White Musk being the most famous example. A reviewer at Fragrantica referring to Alyssa Ashley Musk (1969) notes:

"My perception of AA Musk is a very babylike, milky, powderish scent, completely non-defined by certain age or sex or the consumer."

Perfect Veil by Creative Scentualisation, a combo of citrus, vanilla, sandalwood and musk, is termed "a casual, clean-smelling-skin scent" on Makeup Alley, a huge review site. Noa with its sparse formula is "fit for virgins and nuns" per Susan Irvine, a sentiment due to the transparent laundry-day white musks at its base. Allesandro del'Aqua and Helmut Lang make for a fascinating study in musk in their respective eponymous creations.
In some cases musks in a well-rounded composition manage to smell at once dirty and clean, like a human being in various stages of disarray. Such is the case with Chanel No.5: Its intense accord of ylang-ylang and musk, boosted by the soapy ppssshht of aldehydes (a group of predominantly synthetics that were used extensively in soaps and go well with musks) along with classical rose-jasmine, is the very core of sexy. Modern musky florals with woody bases such as Narciso For Her and Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker utilize a cooler sensation, but with the same duality inherent. Imagine your dog and its own musky odor: Doesn't its true essence come out when just out of the shower?
But, herein lies the question, like a savvy member on Perfume of Life asked recently: "how on earth did musk, a term derived from the Sanskrit word for "testicles" because of its origins, come to be associated with cleanliness?"
What is musk in terms of smell and what accounts for its varied perception?
Musk of course originates from the Sanskrit muṣká meaning "testicle," coming as it did from the genital glands of the Musk Deer (moschus moschiferus); two pouches were extracted from the animal through cruel methods that resulted in its demise and the subsequent banning of the practice. The precious pods were opened to exude their aromatic effluvium, worth twice its weight in gold, and used as a powerful fixative and enhancer in perfumes & incense since antiquity. Musk odorants as a group however include glandular secretions from other animals as well, numerous plants emitting similar fragrances (ambrette seed being the most popular, highlighted beautifully in Musc Nomade by Isabelle Doyen for Goutal; also rosa moschata), and artificial substances with similar odors synthesized in the lab. But what perfumers refer to as "musk" is in realityits odorous principle, muscone (or muskone), or 3-methylcyclopentadecanone. Its chemical structure was first analysed by Lavoslav Ružička: Muscone is a 15-membered ring ketone with one methyl substituent in the 3rd position.

Still the fascinating reality is that human "reading" of musks differs widely. What is nectar to one can be anathema to another! Cast your mind back to Napoléon and Joséphine de Beauharnais: At the Directoire period the vogue for animalics (civet, musk, castoreum and ambergris) had given way to a new freshness, ushered in by the Revolution which stigmatised the "dirty" aromatics in relation to the decadent aristocrats who were guilotined. Only a defying elite, the Incroyables and Merveilleuses hung on to them, extravagant in style, wanting to emulate classical antiquity: Their nickname became les muscadins! Napoléon loathed musk and prefered to douse himself in Eau de Cologne and rosemary essence dilutions. His women, he preferred them in violets. The scorned Joséphine in an act of cunning revenge, when she was bypassed for another woman, doused her walls at Malmaison with her favourite musk essence, making her presence painfully unforgetable. Rumour had it that a hundred years later the scent was still perceptible! The Arabs knew a thing or two of musk's tremendous lasting power when they used crushed musk and rose in the mortar of their mosques so that the buildings would exude aromatic delight when warmed by the sun. But why the different reaction to musks?

The answer is twofold: Biological and psychological/cultural. In humans, odor perception phenotypes (MSHM1 and MSHM2) often account for specific hyperosmias (a heightened perception of odorants), the best studied examples being to musk and the sweaty odorant isovaleric acid. A great explanation why one's body odour might be inoffensive to one yet very repulsive/potent to another! Recent reseach going against established biology is that musk perception and sensitivity to it does not variate according to a woman's menstrual cycle like with some other odorants. Le Magnen in 1952 working with a dilution of Exaltolide (a synthetic musk) had found that women had significantly lower thresholds for it than men, 50% of the latter having difficulty in smelling it per se [1]
On the other hand, musk components (both natural and synthesized) are by their very nature very large molecules, bordeline undetactable due to that fact, making a large segment of the population anosmic (i.e.odor-blind) to some or other type. This is usually addressed by the perfume industry by employing an eventaille of various musk components of different molecular weights, so that if one doesn't click on the brain's receptor, another will. The most common anosmias are towards Androstenone (a sex pheromone possessing a musky facet) and Galaxolide (a very common synthetic "clean" musk), while there seems to be evidence of recessive inheritance for pentadecalactone sensitivity in humans; the inability to smell musk behaves as a recessive autosomal trait in a study of families.

The perception of any odorant however has to do with CONTEXT, as proven by the associations of wintergreen in the US vs the UK, "beach" scents and household products in different cultures. Ergo, it's largely cultural rather than biological. Real musk (the best is Tonquin) from musk deer has a rather urinous smell in itself with pungent, borderline fecal tonalities in its raw state, NOTHING like what you encounter in perfumes termed "musk" (even by top brands). Yet diluted and mixed with floral essences (try it with rose) it becomes a warm underground murmur of intimacy. A caress...
Historically, musk synthetics were used en masse in detergents and fabric softeners, roughly at the middle of the 20th century and onwards, to mask the more displeasing chemical nuances, due to their superb hydrophobic properties (ie. musks didn't wash off) and their low price (they were synthesized on the cheap). Thus the association of the "warm" smell of clean clothes out of the washing-machine as well as the lingering smell on the clothes themselves became an association with cleanness itself! That warm "cotton" feel you like in clean laundry? Musks! Funny for a product that initially signified the glandular secretion of a rutting deer's improper parts, isn't it? There is a pleiad of synthetic musk ingredients in the market, not just one or two types (on which we will revert in detail) and therefore there is no blanket term or description for them (not even "white musk" is sufficiently accurate), as every one of those molecules has a different olfactory profile: some smel "cleaner" like dryer sheets, some more metallic, some powdery even, others still with a fruity overlay, some have a vegetal or animalic quality. Hence the confusion of the consumer, who doesn't know what to expect from a "musky" fragrance (or reporting liking some in certain fragrances and detesting others to their puzzlement).

The popularity of said scented products led to the introduction of those functional musk notes in fine fragrance: The increasingly lower percentage of real natural musk in them, resulted in a paloply of "musks" which approximated the feeling of musk rather than the smell itself. Such musks were popular in the 70s especially (following the hippy movement, as a natural progression). The "dirty" association that several Baby Boomers have with musk is not exactly related to musk itself: Talking with American independent perfumer Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, she intelligently proposed that often the association is to the dense patchouli-clouds and unwashed parts (body odor) of the hippies of their youth, as the (incidental) added layer of musk oil was par for the course for the Woodstock era and beyond. The 1970s musks tagged their product with animal magnetism: "It's what attracts!" proclaimed a Jovan advertisement progressing well into the 80s and 90s.

Functional fragrance musks were incorporated in several other types of products as the years passed: soaps, shampoos, powders, deodorants, you name it! 99% of fine fragrances today contain some type of synthetic musk to anchor notes down, especially now that the other animalics are absent; this happens whether the note is "perceived" as musk or not and regardless of being stated as a note or not in the official descriptions. Since most of them fall under the "clean musks" umbrella ~and what's more under a screechy variant of them on top~, we can expect that generation Y will have no mental associations with any of the "skanky" musks and will come to regard the symbol (musk) as the collateral signification (laundry day) rather than the primal one (animal magnetism). The most interesting mental path of them all, nevertheless, is how the companies have incorporated the latter illusion in their ad copy without including the scent of it at all, rather opting for the equivalent of a line of warm cottons drying in the breeze. "Clean musks" are marketed as attractants, as powerful aphrodisiacs, as sexually inviting, thus equating "clean" with sexy! In a culture where personal grooming is a trillion dollar business it somehow logically follows.

Perhaps it was Charles Baudelaire who saw the duality of musk best: fresh yet intimate, and dedicated it to his "dearest, fairest woman" in his Hymn in Fleurs du Mal: "Sachet, ever fresh, that perfumes the atmosphere of a dear nook; Forgotten censer smoldering secretly through the night; Everlasting love, how can I Describe you truthfully? Grain of musk that lies unseen, in the depths of my eternity."[2]


[1]D.M.Stoddart, The scented ape: the biology and culture of human odour
[2]translation William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954) Pics via wikimedia commons, parfum de pub, mongoose.wordpress.com, Nude Painting by Amedeo Modigliani via apolloart.com.

This is part of a series on the note of "musk" and its various types. Please also refer to: Part 2: Natural Deer Musk (Tonquin Musk), how does it smell and info on Synthetic Musk Substitutes and Part 3: The Many Permutations of Musk (Musk Types on the Market)

Guerlain L'Abeille: Bee transformed into a Luxurious New Fragrance

It's not just for Christmas that Guerlain had sculptress Géraldine Gonzales decorate their windows with crystal bees dangling and swaying from gold-plated trees in their Parisian boutiques this season. The bee, an iconic symbol for Guerlain, has a history that goes back to the 19th century: 1853 to be precise, with l’Eau de Cologne Impériale for the patrons of the Second Empire. Now it is becoming an extra luxurious, extra exclusive new fragrance as well! Rumour wants it to be called L'Abeille (although no official confirmation has been given this is the code-word to open Sesame so far), and to be a very tightly distributed parfum in the manner of Mon Précieux Nectar previously.

The price tag of 8000s Euros (!) certainly doesn't allow a stampede for its acquisition, especially in times of economic crisis, yet the luxury market hasn't really shown a budge; proving that those who collect these things always have a way to partake of the holy eaux! Expect to see this "bee-centered" L'Abeille fragrance issued in July/August 2010 in a flacon shaped like a bee, sculpted by a Place Vendôme designer and executed in Baccarat crystal. Insider info on the scent itself wants to be along floral arpeggios and very "sumptuous". The celebration of the bee in such a lavish manner unifies the Guerlain tradition: The famous "bee bottles" (flacons d'abeilles) are glass or gilded flacons with small Napoleonic bees on relief, wonderfully referencing French royalty and its history, bees being alongside the more traditional royal symbol, the eagle, the emblems of the First and later Second Empire. Guerlain has used them in their lineup of Eaux including some non-Eaux fragrances (Apres L'Ondee, Chant d'Arômes, Mouchoir de Monsieur), as well as Les Parisiennes more exclusive boutique line, while a more simplified version with plain glass and a golden overlay with a bee on the button spray is being used in the Aqua Allegoria line.
Edit to add: According to Octavian, notes include acacia, soft vanilla, floral honey, ylang-ylang and solar flowers.

Also, for those who missed it last season while talking with Madame Delacourte, the newest L'Art et La Matière fragrance by Guerlain is going to be Tonka Impériale with notes of tonka bean, amber, vanilla, rose, orange blossom and rosemary. A modern rendition yet à l'ancienne (style-wise) of one of the leading Guerlinade notes and perhaps a re-orchestration of some of the elements in Jicky. Olfactorum who sampled it describes it as "if Guerlain is an empire, then Tonka Impériale is one of its recent most beautiful adornments". We will return with a full review soon!

Related reading: The Symbolism of Bee & Honey Scents, Guerlain series (reviews & history of scents), Guerlain News , Upcoming releases


Thanks to Mr.G for some of the info. Pics of Guerlain boutique decoration with bees via Joyce.fr

Grossmith Hasu-no Hana, Shem-el-Nessim, Phul-Nana: fragrance reviews

It seems that the end of the year lately presents me with one stellar specimen of orgasmic olfactory experience: Two Decembers ago I was immersed in Leathers researching for my Leather Series and completely taken with Chanel's Cuir de Russie in extrait de parfum (fortunately, an obsession that doesn't seem to subside). Last year it was the verdantly lush Manoumalia by Sandrine Videault and Les Nez which turned the world on its head. This year I was taken with Tiare by Ormonde Jayne, the Scottish, bracing northern skies that shine their brightest in this intellectual yet also sensual, upbeat but also romantic scent. The common denominator in all three has been excaptional materials to begin with, seamless artistry in execution ~making the result seem effortless~ and the admirable trait of being at once original and echoeing familiar tunes from a distance.

But what an embarrassment of riches: Grossmith, the old English house revived by Simon Brooke, knocked on my door and I opened to see the most delicious, the most gorgeous fragrances imaginable truly classical in feel and redolent of the nostalgia of another time, overseen by Roja Dove, and fulfilling all above criteria into assigning them the best surprise of the year! So after a perusal of the history of the Grossmith house in part 1, Perfume Shrine tackles the Grossmith fragrances themselves with reviews for each one of them.


Hasu-no-Hana ~ “The scent of the Japanese Lotus Lily". "The exquisite daintiness and charm of the choisest flowers of Japan are embodied in this delightful perfume" which originated from 1888, a time in which the pioneering spirit of modern perfumery was accountable for giant leaps in the technology of scents; a year later Guerlain would issue Jicky, the world's first "modern" fragrance. The feeling of the re-issued Hasu-no-Hana is radiant, light and floral with a cool atmosphere and a very natural feel to it (a common trait in all the Grossmith re-issues; the brief must have been draconian on excellence of raw materials and Robertet -who are behind its creation- are not stingy with the precious naturals). Putting it on skin one is met with the bright, optimistic feeling of clawing one's nails on vividly hued hesperidia, the essential oils dripping down one's hands, such is the life-like effect. The floral heart with a murmur of chypre tonality isn't composed of lotus lily, rather giving the impression of one via the synergy of smooth rose, dewy jasmine and fleshy fruity ylang-ylang (and is there a soupcon of carnation too? Or clove?, i.e. eugenol in either case?); intense players stringed ever so finely. The longer the scent stays on skin the more it accumulates a very sensual, dry, almost powdery ~yet not quite~ orris-rich and woody-almondy base anchored by musks which persists delightfully. If I had to dress Hasu-no-Hana I would choose the choisiest silk kimonos in shades of ivory and dusty salmon.
Notes for Grossmith Hasu-no-Hana include bergamot, bitter orange, rose, jasmine, ylang ylang, iris, patchouli, oakmoss, vetiver, cedar, sandalwood and tonka bean.


Phul-Nana ~ “Hindi for ‘lovely flower’ takes on a more herbal/aromatic character, while still sweet floral and with a warm, cuddly base. The original came from 1891 accompanied with images of Indian princesses well ahead of Shalimar and its own abode of love. "From the Orient's wealth of fragrance the sweetest of all was captured and named Phul-Nana. It is wonderfully lasting and refreshing". The combination of hesperidic notes (rich bergamot, orange and the lightness of the neroli extract from bitter orange blossoms) allied to a rich, lush heart of intense white flowers (the decadent tuberose, the intensely heady jasmine-y bouquet as well as the rosiness that is aided to unfurl endless by the addition of patchouli leaves) leaves me with renewed admiration for the use of precious naturals: Anyone who has experienced the essences first hand can see how the thing is living, breathing and sighing its bosom like a woman in love. The milky base (woody and vanillic with equal lashings of resinous dryness thanks to the opoponax) is indeed a nod to the oriental genre as defined by Shalimar and people who love the latter will find a drydown to swoon over.
Notes for Grossmith Phul-Nana include bergamot, orange, neroli, geranium, tuberose, ylang ylang, patchouli, benzoin, cedar, sandalwood, opoponax, tonka bean and vanilla.

Shem-el-Nessim ~ “Arabic for ’smelling the breeze’, is perhaps my top pick, if I someone pointed a gun on my head urging me to choose only one among the excellent specimens in the re-issued trio. Rarely has a scent captivated me as instantly as Shem-el-Nessim did, reprising a well-rounded tune, that of literally earthbound orris (alas down-marketed in several mainstream releases these past two years) and exalting it to the heavens above via the use of a little lilac overtone and greenery. The original Shem-el-Nessim came out in 1906, signifying the fêted femininity of the Edwardian era, a nod to Europe's emerging love with anything oriental that would culminate in the Art Deco period. Named after an Arabian Springtime festival held in Egypt on the Nile, it was advertised with dark-haired sexy lovelies in salwar kameez, hair in a turban and the seven veils of Salome dropping one by one in our fertile imagination. The rebirth is a reworking of the floriental genre à la L'origan allegedly, or the triumph of the impressionistic suspension of time in L'Heure Bleue in my opinion~one could argue without blushing that it is the loveliest rendition of heliotrope and iris to be launched in the last decade! A clearly pyramidal composition, it dazzles with its economy of structure and the delight of its affluent feel, like a mink wrap in winter. The overture has all instruments murmur a soft muted tune signifying phase one (soft greenery, florals) . Then the aria of marzipan-like heliotrope emerges in all its glory, the leitmotif comes again and again for hours: luxurious, warm, inviting, powdery. The whole melts into an unctuous coda of orientalised elements in the base, almost ambery: sandalwood, musk and vanilla, amplifying the plush to the point of apotheosis. I am smitten!!
Notes for Grossmith Shem-el-Nessim feature bergamot, neroli, geranium, jasmine, rose, ylang ylang, orris, musk, patchouli, cedar, sandalwood, heliotrope and vanilla.

Grossmith fragrances are now available through Roja Dove Haute Parfumerie, Fortnum & Mason (who also carried the classic line!) and at Les Senteurs (Belgravia, London), all in the UK. Plans for expanding abroad are carefully being considered for the future. Grossmith Phul-Nana, Shem-el-Nessim and Hasu-no-Hana are available in 50 or 100 ml Eau de Parfum (£95-185 respectively, with the option of a coffret of all three in 50 ml for £310), also in 10ml or 100 ml Parfum (£110-425 respectively, a coffret of all 3 scents in 10 ml is £365), or in the 85 ml Parfum in the limited edition Baccarat bottle etched in pure gold for £5750.

Click on the pics to enlarge them.
Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Grossmith: the history

In the interests of full disclosure I was sent a trio of sample vials by the manufacturer.

The public's favourite critic is back...

There was lots of speculation on the whereabouts of Chandler Burr (we had given you some idea, you should have followed us more closely) as he hadn't written a column for his New York Times column in a while. Actually make that a long while: His last review was of Givenchy's boring Play ~please don't play with it~ back in July 2009! But here he is now: In good form to give grades to some popular and non-popular fragrances alike and ready to provoke discussion on the topic given by all and sundry. Feels good to own the game, eh? Enjoy your reading clicking the link!

Grossmith relaunched, part 1: the history

There's no other piece of news which brings a greater frisson of excitement through a true perfume-lover's veins than the relaunch of an old, historical house. Grossmith, an English perfume house originally established in 1835 in the coterie of influential perfumeries such as Penhaligon's, Guerlain, Floris and Creed (who were following the footsteps of Houbigant and Lubin), has been relaunched by the great-grandson of the original founder working in collaboration with Roja Dove. If you have clicked on Les Senteurs or read one of our Christmas Gifts Ideas post very recently you have seen their wares and marvelled at their elegant bottles of Baccarat crystal and the exotic sounding names... In fact the maison Baccarat has given specific license for the relaunched Grossmith to use the original moulds from 1919 for the range and only minor details have been modernised. But let's get first things first, tracing the Grossmith history together in Part 1 of our exploration of the brand.



J.Gorssmith & son Ltd. was founded in the City (London's business centre) in 1835 by John Grossmith, but it was his son, John Lipscomb Grossmith who developed the firm into a brand with commercial cachet involved not only in parfumerie alcoholique, but also in soaps, powders, toilet preparations and a hundred other scented products (much like Guerlain). Their tour de force? The Grasse-imported essences and the beautiful Baccarat crystal flacons employed. John Liscomb was trained in Grasse and his prolific imagination is reputedly responsible for at least 300 formulae, 96 of which are for fragrances, zealously kept in the company's archives.

A prize medal for perfumery wasn't far behind: The 1851 Great Exhibition saw Grossmith the only British company to land one. Royal warrants followed suit: Queen Alexandra (consort of Kind Edward VII) as well as members of the Royal Courts of Greece and of Spain awarded Grossmith with this mark of recognition (The seal requires at least 5 years of supplying goods or services). The gesture of offering a custom-made fragrance for the wedding of Princess May of Teck and Printe George of Wales (they're best known as King George V and Queen Mary, grandparents of Elizabeth II) is aptly fit for romantic daydreaming. But they also made less expensive, more accessible scents like White Fire (Bouquet), a parfum in red with a pointed top, on of their trademarks from 1954 which lasted all the way through 1980.


But not everything was ~literally and metaphorically~ strewn with roses! Grossmith was family run for three generations (until 1924) but by 1970 it changed hands and trading came to a sudden halt in 1980. Like so many other old houses the modern needs and the ascent of the designer scent had hit hard the more traditional firms in the sector. The brand seemed completely doomed. But thanks to luck, the rising awareness of perfume history instigated by the Internet (and these very pages I should hope) and the business acument of the great great grandson of the founder, Simon Brooke, the idea to relaunch the house suddenly sounded great.

Now, I know several brands which had some "refreshing facework" and were ready for modern tastes and honestly they didn't even come close to resemble anything historical. And I admit I was sceptical myself before testing the scents. However mr.Brooke didn't cut any corners and seems to have invested money into a sound business model: true luxury with consulting by the best and prime materials from the experts in the field. Namely the Grasse-based house of Robertet, who is specializing in natural materials, took care of reproducing the formulae with high quality standards and Roja Dove, a well-known fragrance authority, has overseen the re-creation of the fragrances with attention to detail and featuring them in his Haute Parfumerie boutique at Harrods. Like Roja says:

"Grossmith played a significant part in the development of modern perfumery and occupied an important place as a fine English perfumery house at a time when English perfumery rivalled that of France. It has languished for many years and its revival is a welcome addition to the perfumery canon as their scents have a wonderful complexity and quality which I believe is totally in tune with the current trend for authenticity, legitimacy and indviduality".

The bottles and packaging, inspired by the original flacons, were designed by Holmes & Marchant, uniform for the three scents in elegant ribbed designs.


The limited edition Baccarat flacons, individually numbered and etched in pure gold, are available to order for serious collectors and they're truly as sight to behold: pure decadence!


And behold, three of the classic fragrances are relaunched: Hasu-No Hana (1888), Phul-Nana (1891) and Shem-el-Nessim (1906). Phul-Nana ~ “Hindi for ‘lovely flower’ is a fresh, sweet floral composition with aromatic fougère overtones on a soft, warm, woody base. Shem-el-Nessim ~ “Arabic for ’smelling the breeze’. from 1906, is a rich floriental take on Florentine iris. Hasu-no-Hana ~ “The scent of the Japanese Lotus Lily"~from 1888 is a bright, radiant floral composition with pronounced chypré and oriental facets on a woody, dry, very sensual base. I won't spoil it for you, as I will return shortly with seperate reviews on them, but it's enough to say they're completely gorgeous and choke-full of natural materials singing beautifully on the skin. So beautifully in fact that I fear for their IFRA-positioning later on! But let's not reveal too much right now, we will return with Part 2.

In the meantime, please watch the interesting videos on Grossmith on London Tonight. (clip makes pauses, it's not a glitch from what I can see)

Grossmith fragrances are now available through Roja Dove Haute Parfumerie, Fortnum & Mason (who also carried the classic line!) and at Les Senteurs(Belgravia, London), all in the UK. Plans for expanding abroad are carefully being considered for the future. Grossmith Phul-Nana, Shem-el-Nessim and Hasu-no-Hana are available in 50 or 100 ml Eau de Parfum (£95-185 respectively, with the option of a coffret of all three in 50 ml for £310), also in 10ml or 100 ml Parfum (£110-425 respectively, a coffret of all 3 scents in 10 ml is £365), or in the 85 ml Parfum in the limited edition Baccarat bottle etched in pure gold for £5750.

Click on the pics to enlarge them.