Serge Lutens L'Eau Froide: fragrance review & draw

Inhale the icy ringing air coming from the thundra filling your lungs. Feel the chill of cold water in a silver-tiled pool where you anticipated warmth. Remember the surprising burning sensation on your tongue upon munching an ice cube against the hardness of adamantine. Feel the wet, clean feel of stones in a brook. And imagine a kiss from dead lips...
If De Profundis aimed to capture the scent of death, the cold tentacles of a serene end to all can be felt in L'Eau Froide, from the pristine white-lined coffin to earth's cool embrace. I personally find this philosophical attitude to mortality very peaceful and cleasing to the mind.

Icy, you say? 
The bottle and the box of L'eau Froide are inscribed with iterations of coldness...cold, icy cold, frosted, transparent, crystalline, calm, ice salt, large glass of water...

Cold? Yes, it is. But very pleasantly so.

I'm a firm believer in the cooling properties of unadulterated frankincense, the kind at the heart of L'Eau Froide, which I burn regularly: After all, the raw material shares terpenic, citrusy top notes in itself, which dissipate and volatilise quickly rendering that cool smoky ambience we associate with stone temples of old. But amongst fumeheads of northern latitudes, removed from the warmth & sun of the Mediterranean where frankincense use flourished, ‘frosty’ and ‘glacial’ are not adjectives we tend to associate with incense (rather pyrocaustic is, although on Perfume Shrine we have devoted a whole series to different   varieties and  nuances of incense fragrances). Nor is the association of niche orientals ~where incense notes are the bread & butter of perfumers fast becoming rock stars. But frankincense/olibanum, the par excellence incense note, is indeed cool: it can become very smoky and dense when in high concentration, but the more you dilute it the more it gains lemony, fresh facets that inspire deep breathing, the cleansing kind.

Serge’s press upon this newest fragrance is probably what matters anyway: ‘People only notice the pyrogen facet in smoky incense burners… but not the coolness, except for the church’s."

Inspirations
Before we jump into conclusions in how the maestro is doing atypical work, fandom-alienating possibly as in his first L'Eau,  let's remember, Serge Lutens is no stranger to cool incense in his impressive line already: Encens & Lavande takes on the ashen facets of lavender-nuanced smoke, while Serge Noire is the spicy, warm & cool contrast of meditation. Nor is he a stranger to gothic coldness itself: from the "Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" hard-as-nails menthol blast opening in Tubereuse Criminelle, to the perverse aloofness of Bas de Soie and the lavender-tinged greyness of Gris Clair, all the way to the bluish, dead lips of Iris Silver Mist... L'Eau Froide comes as the natural evolution of spermatic ideas in all these fragrances: the herbaceous top note that cools the sinuses, the chilling dampness, the resinous incense, the clean underbelly...

But we could be short-sighted if we didn't consider fragrances with a semblance outside the Lutens seraglio too: What L'Eau Froide reminds me most of is one of my favourite summer incense waters: Passage d'Enfer, composed by Olivia Giacobetti for L'Artisan Parfumeur. I must have gone through crates of it...
The terpenic, bright side of Somalian frankincense (reminiscent of crushed pine needles) is given prominence in Passage d'Enfer, much like in the Lutens 'eau' which unfolds the terpenes after a fresh mint start; this exhibits a hint of pepperiness (could it be elemi, another resin?) giving a trigeminal nerve twist. The effect is dry and very clean indeed (but unlike the screechy aldehydic soapiness & ironing starch of the first L'Eau), with a lemony, bitter orange rind note that projects as resinous rather than fruity and a projection and sillage that are surprising for something so ghostly, so ethereal, so evanescent.

It's the scrubbing mitt of a monastery in the southern coastline, rather than the standard aquatic full of dihydromyrcenol and Calone coming out of the cubicle in an urban farm. Still this aesthetic is something with which the average perfumista hasn't come to terms with yet; it will probably take a whole generation to reconcile perfumephiles with "clean" after the horros that have befallen them in the vogue for non-perfume-perfumes in the last 20 years. I'm hopeful. After all being a perfumista means challenging your horizons, right?
The little human warmth in the deep drydown of the new Lutens comes from the refined, vegetal musks that hide in Voyage d'Hermès or Goutal's Musk Nomade (ambrette seed); eschewing too sweet and powdery for a slightly bitter, metallic edge reminiscent of the iron in blood. The whole projects with a mineral quality, like cool peebles at the foot of a lemon tree.

Who will like L'Eau Froide and who will not

Incense accolytes who appreciate the monastic qualities of Tauer's Incense Extrême, the coolness & pine of Zagorsk and the white lily whiteness of Passage d'Enfer are the prime target of L'Eau Froide.
So are those who like Eau de Gentiane Blanche and Voyage d'Hermès. I think L'Eau Froide will be more popular with men than with women who view this dry mineral facet as emasculating.
The cool customers of Chanel No.19 (especially the eau de toilette which is rich in vetiver) and Paco Rabanne's Calandre, as well as YSL Rive Gauche for women, might also be satisfied with the silvery sheen of this Lutens fragrance. If on the other hand you prefer for your incense fix the densely oriental mixes like Caron's Parfum Sacré, the rich balsamic formulae like Ormonde Jayne Tolu, and the sophisticated smoky warmth of Hotel Costes, you would be totally disappointed. Then  again you might be an omnivore, like me.
It's of note that no comparison can be effectively made with Etro's Messe de Minuit: Whereas the Etro is a chameleon, smelling in varying degrees of warm or cool according to your GPS positioning when wearing it, the Lutens is a la la la constant tune that doesn't waver much. 

Will I wear it? 
I was somewhat confused with last year's Lutens De Profundis and Vitriol d'Oeillet. Though arguably not the height of originality, I see myself dousing myself with L'Eau Froide each time I want to feel that chill on the small of my back that denotes either solace from a heatwave Med-style, or the exciting but safe thrill of peeking within the crypt when demons are hiding low on a snowy winter's day.

L’Eau Froide, a clear eau de parfum concentration of fragrance sees his previous L'Eau Serge Lutens joined by a similar-looking bottle. (1.7oz/50ml and 3.4 oz./100ml, 69 and 100 euros respectively at select doors stocking Lutens fragrances from March 2012).

For our readers an advance sample sprayer is offered. Please tell us your incense memories, if you have any. 
Draw is open till Sunday 26th midnight.

pic of the Dead Sea via english.al-akhbar.com 

Fragrance Industry Insiders: Veronique Gabai-Pinsky of the Lauder Group

“Sure the first purchase of a fragrance is linked to a concept—you buy a perfume because of the name, or the advertisements or the shape of a bottle,” she says. “But the second and the third and the fourth are all about your connection to the scent.”

Thus explains the hold of perfume Veronique Gabai-Pinsky, a creator behind market hits such as DKNY Be Delicious, Coach's Poppy and Michael Kors by Michael Kors, as revealed in a portrait at Forbes magazine by Meghan Casserly.

"Gabai-Pinsky’s presence is nothing if not welcoming. Her French-inflected English and tasteful Van Cleef jewelry are just what you’d imagine from a high-powered executive at one of the world’s largest and well known beauty companies, only without a shred of pretension. When I jokingly warn her I don’t have the vocabulary of fragrance, she reassured me that there isn’t and that no one should tell me otherwise. When I told her the fragrance on my wrists (DKNY’s Be Delicious) smelled like “college,” she seemed to understand entirely.

Veronique Gabai-Pinsky isn't exactly a perfumer alone, nor is she exactly just an executive: she combines worlds thanks to her background which started with business school and landed under the wing of a perfumer at L'Oreal in Paris. She's now Global Brand Aramis and Designer Fragrances at the Estee Lauder Group of Companies.
She reveals" “My role is to work with those wonderful designers to translate the value and equity of their brand into a different category of business that they may have an affinity for but not necessarily experience in,” she says, “And at the same time help them navigate the rules of engagement in the fragrance business.”

Annick Goutal Eau du Fier: fragrance review

Embarking on Eau du Fier (2000), probably the most profoundly esoteric fragrance in the Annick Goutal perfume line, is like plunging yourself body & soul in the most smoky osmanthus-laced tea pot. It never really caught on, reverted quickly to the exclusive Parisian boutique salespoint and has been entirely discontinued now registering as very rare. A victim of its tough swagger and unconventionality. My own precious bottle was among the relatively older batches featured on the Parisian shelves from around 2005, but these shelves have dried up by now. The reason? Perfumer Isabelle Doyen had used a high level of natural birch tar, now banned by perfume industry self-regulatory body IFRA apart from its purified forms, and then in very small concentration.

But couldn't it be reformulated, mot clef du jour, using a purified grade of birch tar? Yes, it might. Sadly, the sales were never substantial enough to justify the trouble and cost of doing so. Eau du Fier, you see, is the most phenolic-smelling, the most tar-like, the most bitumen dripping on beautiful apricot-smelling petals evocative scent in existence.Though an unmissable must-smell and must-own for anyone (man or woman, it's technically marketed to men) who craves a dollop of tarry, leathery, pungent campfire scent in their perfume wardrobe, Eau du Fier isn't exactly a crowd pleaser, nor will it get you Miss Congeniality brownie points, here, in Paris or in the US. Like a song by songster Dionysis Savvopoulos says about Greece, "it forms its own galaxy". But it might get you attention from people who won't immediately connect it to perfume and that attention would be positive.

Fir (fier in French) and birch tar are at the core of Eau du Fier, a smell which concentrated at such a degree is so smoky, so acrid and so idiosyncratic in its intensely phenolic blast that it grabs you by the throat and whips you into attention. Phenolic scents (those containing phenols) are intense, smelling between black soot and barnyard; a horsey leathery pungency that is evident in natural essences of castoreum (a secretion from beavers) , narcissus and of course in birch tar, i.e. literally "cooked" birch wood that produces that famous waterproofing agent that was originally the source of Russian Leathe/Cuir de Russie. It's no coincidence Eau du Fier is like Russian Caravan tea (and Tibetan Lapsang Souchong, much like Bvlgari Black); associations work that way.

The opening of Eau du Fier can be likened to dry and decidedly non-animalic macho images of riders in the plains, cooking on an open campfire, much like in Sonoma Scent Studio Fireside Intense or Lonestar Memories by Tauer. Or a racing pit, hot with the scents of competition and tires melting. Less barnyard and more open-air atmosphere, here with a slice of orange peel to reinforce the resinous-smelling and dry/clean feel. It borders on the divisive smell of rubber with a serving of bitter orange reminiscent of pure frankincense.
But the initial smokiness in Eau du Fier is soon mollified by an apricot note that recalls osmanthus flower, a material with naturally fruity-peachy-lactonic facets. This stage is comparable in feel ~if not smell~ to the smoother, yummier intersection in the just recently discontinued Tea for Two fragrance by L'Artisan Parfumeur (also from 2000): the trick is done with gingerbread in the latter, giving a spicy-gourmand edge to the smoky black tea notes on top. In the Goutal, this fruity stage is pleasantly sweet, contrasting with the introduction and playing hide & seek on the skin with the butcher elements. Daim Blond by Serge Lutens reprises the suede and apricot trick, but whereas there the effect is a spilling off her cleavage alto, here it's a bone-vibrating bass.

Bottom-line: Eau du Fier is probably the most tar-like smell this side of Tauer's Lonestar Memories and an uncharacteristic specimen in the typically airy & prettily feminine Goutal stable. Along with Sables, one of the most original and boldest Annick Goutal fragrances and a thouroughbred that should be featured in any self-respecting collection, even if you only occasionally put it on your skin.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Annick Goutal news & fragrance reviews, Definition: Phenolic, terpenic, camphoraceous smells.

painting Starry Night Over the Rhone  (1888) by Vincent van Gogh

Scent of the Vanishing Flora (2010) by Roman Kaiser: Perfume Book Review

“Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more. It's contrast.”

                        ―Virginia Woolf, played by Nicole Kidman in "The Hours" (2002)

by guest writer AlbertCAN

Perhaps the most peculiar aspect of the fragrance industry, in the current sea of familiarity, is its ever forward-venturing heart. Just short of fully channelling the great prophetess Cassandra of Troy, fragrance taste-makers are constantly asked not just Quoi de neuf? No, any top brass should be asked to envision what’s next five or even ten years from now, where people’s taste are migrating, how people see themselves in the foreseeable future. Strategizing vision, navigating instability. After all, as any good MBA school dictates, a business leader articulates not just the now but the tomorrow. Or so on paper.

Of course, I’m writing about a climate where almost anything could be copyrighted but the actual fragrance formula, at a time when the next fragrance launch is really a thinly veiled doppelgänger of non-descript best sellers. Promise everything but sell them run of the mill. And in the era of good enough it really takes a book such as “Scent of the Vanishing Flora” by Swiss fragrance chemist Roman Kaiser to remind myself that interesting works are being conducted beneath the seemingly boring façade.

Since 1968 Kaiser has been working for Givaudan, where he analyzes and reconstitutes natural scents for use in perfumery using the headspace technology, and after Douglas Stermer’s 1995 publication “Vanishing Flora: Endangered Plants Around the World” Givaudan began its aromatic exploration of endangered plants via eco-friendly, non-intrusive means. As of the end of 2010 Kaiser has analyzed 520 scented endangered plant species around the world; 267 are featured in this book.

The quality of Kaiser’s research is truly bar none, detailing each featured plant not just its ecology and history but also linking its scents to the major aromatic components. The book presents the flora with utmost respect, featuring large, high-resolution photos of nearly all the plants and gives very clear, concise descriptions of their conservation status at the time of writing. The scent profiles of each plant are equally thoughtful and concise, listing aspects of each scent not just by their characteristics, but also the aromatic components the scents are attributed to—not just their names in IUPAC but also the structural diagrams where applicable. To illustrate Kaiser’s superb ability to fuse the artistic with the scientific I have his account of the gorgeous night-blooming cereus:

"Equally spectacular in its flower and in contrast to S. wittii, more often seen in collections is Selenicereus grandiflorus, the famous ‘Queen of the Night’. The vine-like climber is native to Mexico, Jamaica, and Cuba, and develops large, amazingly beautiful flowers of the purest white surrounded by rayed golden petals. The flowers are also strictly nocturnal, moth pollinated, opening after sunset, reaching their maximum around mid-night, and already withering at dawn. They produce a very warm and rich aromatic-flower perfume backed up by white-floral facet which is quantitatively dominated by benzyl isovalerate [Kaiser’s diagram below], accompanied by a series of other isovalerates and esters of isomayl alcohol. These compounds, in part arising from the leucine catabolism, are, together with vanillin, olfactorily responsible for the vanilla and cocoa aspects, while linalool, (E,E)-farnesol, and high amount of (E,E)-farnesal including isomers contribute the white-floral and lily of the valley-related aspect. To protect this unique species at its natural habitat form overcollection for commercial puposes, it has been placed in CITES Appendis II. Among the 27 nocturnal species within Selenicereus, most have an equally stunning appearance but many have scents which correspond more to the so-called ‘white-floral’ concept often found among night-scented flowering plants".[Kaiser, 174]

              

vanillin

benzyl isovalerate

                                               

linalool

                                          

(E,E)-farnesol

             

(E,E)-farnesal

                             

If great natural scent variations are present within a plant, such is the case of a few orchids Kaiser would mention them as well. (Octavian has sampled a number of the scents featured in this book here so I shall not digress on that front.)

The most alarming aspect of the book, at least to me, isn’t about the far-flung, exotic plants featured in this book (which there are plenty) but the everyday, familiar gardening plants that are in fact on the brink of extinction due to over-harvesting. The ginkgo tree, as Kaiser informs, was thought to be extinct in the wild for centuries until “two small populations have been discovered in Eastern China” (pg. 37). Then the wide array of orchids due to a varying combination of deforestation and excessive harvesting: cattleyas, laelias, cymbidiums, dendrobiums—plants we see or even buy in garden centers and florists but in fact fast disappearing from the face of the earth. Or the gamut of trees due to their historical and cultural significance: rosewood, sandalwood, agarwood...I am beginning to see why the great Taoist writer and philosopher Zhuangzi often championed the non-descript, for brilliant things are often used and abused.

Still, the genius of this book is not based on just its multi-disciplinary approach or seamlessly fusing botany, ecology, organic chemistry, anthropology and even sociology. At the end of the day Kaiser presents a thoroughly researched, pain-stakingly detailed anthology of endangered plants. Readers from all walks of life can take away something from this book: for the average readers, the stunning photographs and stories; for the botanists and ecologists, the thorough research on the conservation of plants; and most importantly for fragrance chemists, the all too important scent readings that allow the future preservation of these plants, even only in their scents.

Some minor caveats, however. Firstly, for those who only wish to pick up a copy as a coffee table book, as chic as it might sound, they might be put off by the wide array of chemistry featured in this book. In fact having some post-secondary background in science, be it botany or organic chemistry, is highly recommended in order to fully comprehend the book. Still, to be honest the book is enticing enough even if you skip a few chemical names. On the other hand for those who are very chemically proficient: Kaiser did not include every single scent reading—the results on agarwood, for instance, aren’t shown (I’ve checked—several times) even though a sizable section is devoted to Kaiser’s findings. Minor grumblings compared to the overall quality of the work, however.

“Scent of the Vanishing Flora” by Roman Kaiser was published by Verlag Helvetica Chimica Acta, Zürich, and Wiley-VCH, Weinheim. I purchased my copy from Amazon.ca.

Photos: Book cover photo from Leffingwell; Selenicereus grandiflorus from patspatioplants.com; compound diagrams from Google.com

Reference: R. Kaiser, Scent of the Vanishing Flora, Verlag Helvetica Chimica Acta, Zürich, and Wiley-VCH, Weinheim, November 2010, ISBN 13: 978-3-906390-64-2, 400 pages.

Twin Peaks: Calvin Klein Secret Obsession & Oriflame Chiffon

Usually the Twin Peaks series, an album comprised of smell-alike snapshots, springs from the demand for similar-smelling perfumes, either less expensive homologue scents, alternatives when a specific fragrance doesn't quite work but you know you like the effect or substitutes when one's favourite is ruined through reformulations. The case of Secret Obsession and Chiffon by Oriflame (a Swedish skincare & cosmetics company that distributes its products throughout the world BUT for the USA) is neither: The former just immediately sprang to mind upon happening to smell the latter. And it needed documenting for posterity's sake, especially now that Calvin Klein's Secret Obsession is getting axed and disappearing from fragrance counters. Who knows, it might be someone's favourite and they might be desperate to find a replica!

Though Chiffon is not an intentional replica (i.e. a dupe), being neither marketed nor created as such, the case with Oriflame perfumes is that often they reprise the formulae of successful brands with minimal twists. Anyone who has ever smelled their perfume portfolio has noticed that Volare for instance is Lancôme Trésor's "décolletage over a peach angora sweater" less flamboyant sister. That's nothing new in the perfumery market of course, when big companies unblushingly flat out copy other big companies, but I digress. The reason in this case is because Oriflame fragrances are developed by the same company that develops brand fragrances for designers (namely Givaudan). Like with many Twin Peaks articles, a good formula is carried on by perfumers from brief to brief (see L de Lolita Lempicka and Musc Ravageur, both by Maurice Roucel, or Azuree, Cabochard and Aramis, all by Bernand Chant).
Oriflame isn't reticent on putting impressive images into their presentation either: they hired mega-model Natalia Vodianova for their Midnight Pearl previously in a clip that was eerily reminiscent of the Dior Midnight Poison commercial in all its sweeping drama. So looking down on them isn't always a wise move is what I'm saying; they have a few things worthy of further exploration.

Secret Obsession is presented as a floriental, created by Givaudan perfumer Calice Becker and art-directed by Ann Gottlieb who is responsible for many Calvin Klein successful launches. To me however it registers as lightly fruity-spicy-woody, much like the Lancome feminine fragrance Magnifique, with which it shares many facets. Poised between Lauder's Sensuous and Magnifique, along with its congenial sisters, it's part of the new vogue in feminine fragrances: namely woody, duskier notes.

The initial impression of spraying Secret Obsession is rum-like boozy with an alcoholic hairspray blast petering out quickly, plummy and ripe but not overtly sweet (a good thing!), especially compared with the overall sweeter Magnifique.
In Secret Obsession there is a distinct phase in which the resinous, intense aroma of mace provides a welcome surprise as the fragrance opens up on the warmth of skin.
The overall effect is tanned skin, cocoa-buttyric musky, cedary-woody, much of it accountable to Cashmeran (a woody musk of synthetic origin) and is less loud than the oriental monochromatic amber of the original Obsession by Calvin Klein or the fruity megaphones of Euphoria, but perceptible. Secret Obsession has a linear development that doesn't change much as you wear it: the initial scent becomes warmer and duskier, but doesn't change significantly over time. I wouldn't necessarily deem it too sexy or provocative (despite the advertising) and would prefer to see it in a body oil concentration where its shady character would shine.

Chiffon has a lovely name, evocative of a sheer, expensive material with a soft tactile feel and reprises the softest elements in Secret Obsession to project as a woody-musky hum with indefinable "clean" notes that translate as soft, powdery, whispery. It's accompanied by sensual advertising that is short of the overt sexual innuendos in the Calvin Klein scent. It's just a classier image overall. Typically for an Oriflame fragrance Chiffon is light in volume and not tremendously lasting (invariably they're eaux de toilette), though decently pleasant and wearable. The bottle is overall more innocent, less weird and more conventionally pretty than the Klein vessel. Incidentally, Chiffon is Oriflame's local best-seller, alongside Elvie, and comprises a body cream and body spray deodorant in the same scent.I guess it hits upon the local desire for abstract smells (nobody desires a straight vanilla or a flat out  fruit scent) , manageable price points and a hint of sensuality in the mix.
Tuberose is almost non existent in Chiffon, it's so minimal, but then the same happens with Secret Obsession anyway. The given notes do not mention mace, though the note appears the same as it does in Secret Obsession and is indeed the individual twist which differentiates them from just any woody floriental on the shelves. In fact while comparing the notes for both perfumes what jumps up to the nose is -for once- corroborated from what appears in black on white. Proceed accordingly. Just hurry, if you want to grab a bottle for yourself, because Oriflame is also known for axing fragrances right & left.No one's perfect!

Notes for CK Secret Obsession:
Top: exotic plum, mace, rose Damascena
Heart: French orange blossom, Egyptian jasmine, tuberose, plum, woods
Base: cashmere woods (=Cashmeran, a soft, woody musk), burnt amber, Australian sandalwood

Notes for Oriflame Chiffon:
Top: plum, ylang-ylang , iris
Heart: orange blossom, tuberose, plum, cedar, patchouli
Base: white musk, sandalwood