Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Guerlain Chamade (1969) Fragrance Review Series Part 2: The Muses

~by guest writer AlbertCAN


The idea of la chamade floated wide in the Parisian psyche years before the Guerlain creation. Françoise Sagan (1935–2004), a French author best known for works revolving around the romantic lives of wealthy but disillusioned bourgeois characters, first published her novel “La chamade” in 1963. Set in high-society Paris in the mid-1960’s, the plot reads like an anti-fairy tale romance as the novel tells the story of Lucile, torn between Charles—twenty years her senior but rich enough to keep her comfortable—and Antoine, the more age-appropriate but broody young man she is attracted to. Classic Jane Austen romance would give Lucile a more determined heart, but alas, true to Sagan’s heroines she has a flighty soul:

“Life mostly made sense to me until I left my parents' home. I wanted to get a degree in Paris . But it was all a pipe dream. Ever since I've been looking everywhere for parents, in my lovers, in my friends, and it's all right with me to have nothing of my own—not any plans and not any worries. I like this kind of life, it's terrible but true.”*

Over the years Charles had a steady supply of mistresses at a salon he frequented, hosted by Claire. The arrangements would usually last a year or two, but Lucile turns out to be different as Charles doesn’t exactly have a trivial relationship with her:

What he couldn't say to Lucile was this: "All I care about is you. I spend hours and hours trying to fathom your psyche, I'm hounded by one single idea. And I, too, am frightened, just as you were saying, frightened of losing what I have. I, too, live in that perpetual state of despair and yearning you described."†
Antoine, a typical French 'intellectual' romantic hero of film and fiction, is kept by an older woman as he falls for Lucile. Thus begins a delicate social dance: people within this small circle are all aware of this attraction, even be pushing them towards it, but Lucile and Antoine do try not to betray those who love them. As Lucile notes, Charles "might be able to accept my sleeping with Antoine, but not my laughing with him". She eventually gives passion a shot, but life in the garret doesn't suit her one bit; worse luck, she finds herself pregnant but unfit to be a mother. Lucile’s solution to life thus requires funds, leaving no choice but to return to Charles, still loving Antoine but no longer loved loving him...

The imperfect love story might pale in dramatic intensity compared to Sagan’s magnum opus “Bonjour Tristesse” (1954), but Catherine Deneuve eventually gave her blessing in 1968 as she starred in the cinematic adaptation, continuing her wardrobe collaboration with Yves Saint Laurent along the way. Now here’s that movie in its entirety, complete in its original dialogues: I couldn’t negotiate English subtitles so unfortunately some would have to read between the lines.



Thus what exactly is this French word chamade? Unfortunately there isn’t a comprehensive English equivalent to capture all of its French nuances. Sure, the English dictionary recognizes its antique military usage, denoting a distinct beat in battlefields that signals the surrender of the troops, most notably used during the Napoleonic age. (La chamade would have been played prominently when Napoleon lost the decisive battle of Waterloo .) Now not many people have actually heard of the actual drum beat so here’s an enriched sample below.



Yet the French also have another usage of the word, the expression un coeur qui bat la chamade, a double entendre to our wild heartbeats when surrendering to the latest object of affection. It is this second meaning that plays a huge influence to the Guerlain fragrance―but to be precise, all of the influences above have contributed to the character of this fragrance, which I shall explore in detail in Part 3.

Photo: Still from the film La Chamade (1968)


* Unless otherwise noted all English excerpts are from “The Mad Ache”, the 2009 translation by Douglas Hofstadter

† The original text uses the French formal “vous” and the second person pronoun; normally a more intimate “tu” is applied in this context.

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Monday, March 12, 2012

Guerlain Chamade (1969) Fragrance Review Series Part 1: An Introduction

Now come’, thought Lucile, ‘he’s only holding my hand as we cross the park. It’s spring, no need to worry. I’m not sixteen any more’. But her heart beat wildly. She felt the blood drain from her face and her hands, and rush to her throat, choking her ... Son Coeur bat la chamade.

―Françoise Sagan, “La chamade” (1965), excerpt taken from “Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances” by Michael Edwards (1999)

~By guest writer AlbertCAN

chamade [ʃə’mɑːd]
n

 

(Military) A signal or an army’s surrender during battle, usually by drum or trumpet

coeur qui bat la chamade: French expression for heart beating wildly due to strong emotions (literally “heart who beats the chamade”)

[from French, from Portuguese chamada, from chamar to call, from Latin clamāre]


The heart perhaps is the most impossible of all. The untamed is virtually untouchable by a sound mind, marching to its drum beat, questing for only its desires. Logics and perspectives may temporarily girdle its mad gallop, only to let it rampant again once passion reigns supreme. Often mankind speaks of progress and civilization, how the likes of smallpox or polio are either eradicated or nearly so from the face of the earth. Yet no modern physician can ever cure a broken heart―and the latest gamut of anti-depressants only address the brain’s chemical balance―nor any vaccine can successfully prevent one from falling in love with the wrong person. Caesars and czars may come and go, inciting awes and fears with the might of the day, but the hardest thing to govern, as shown time after time, is still the heart.

Nowadays one need not to venture far to see the modern casualties of the heart: tabloid newspapers or gossip standards shall be evident of our fascination of its unpredictability, ranging from the latest indiscretion of the Hollywood stars du jour to the myriad of advice columnists dispensing hope to the unrequited. Or the plain crimes of passion, a plead of temporary insanity that allows one to walk away even from murder. The brain may be our largest organ, yet we speak from the heart when feeling amorous; when emotions run rampant we wear out hearts on our sleeves. We make a promise to our love by crossing out heart, and our hearts go out to anyone who loses their significant others. And when we know what we want? We set our hearts on it. Our intelligence may set us apart from a Darwinian point of view, yet it is our heartbeats that set us in motion, navigating through the illogics of it all.

The heart of Paris at the end of the Sixties was certainly beating wildly: a flourish of intellectual and artistic new waves, combined with a sound economic welfare, marked a full turn from the sobriety of the Fifties. Yet that few years of gaiety were "killed" by the 1968 Paris uprising: urban trenches were erected in the heart of Paris as street cobblestones were turned into medieval artilleries. Order, calm, harmony all gave way in that heated moment as everyone’s heart beat la chamade. It’s under this mixture of simultaneous cultural boom and bust, this combination of light and darkness that perfumer Jean-Paul Guerlain put his finishing touches on Chamade (1969), one of Guerlain’s fragrance masterpieces.

That’s the simple version of this story.

True to any Guerlain crown jewels cultural icons endorsing one another in Chamade, drawing upon references of different époques and interlocking them all in the most fascinating ways. Literature, cinema, military history all play part in its development; even a beloved Italian Renaissance masterpiece painting is involved.

In the next episode I shall explore the immediate cultural muses to Guerlain Chamade and answer an all-important question―What exactly does French novelist Françoise Sagan, cinematic icon Catherine Deneuve and Napoleon have in common?

Photo, from left: Guerlain Chamade poster and fragrance editions, via Google

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Maria Candida Gentile Exultat: fragrance review


Exultat by Italian perfumer Maria Candida Gentile is touching on both the contrast and the accomodating orifices between citrus and sacerdotal frankincense. The latter naturally possesses citrusy facets on top, making the combination register as an increase in tonality for a few minutes, an effect also explored in Etro's Shaal Nur. The ecclesiastical connotation of resinous frankincense (olibanum) couldn't go amiss: The story goes that signora Gentile was inspired by a visit to the church of Saint Lorence in Lucina during the hour of Vespers.

But in Exultat the hesperidic top note soon dissipates to give way to a very detectable and unusual in such a context violet leaf note; silvery, quiet and crepuscular, like linen purified in a wash of ashes and countryside lavender. This technique mollifies the natural smokiness of frankincense, rendering it purer, subtler and very wearable with the soft feel of Grey Flannel. We might have been conditioned to regard frankincense fragrances as reclusive, monastic and intellectualized, but here is proof they can be wordly, human and smiling as well, which is a feat in itself.


Notes for Maria Candida Gentile Exultat:
top: lime, bitter orange, orange and olibanum;
middle: powdery violet and fresh violet leaf;
base: woodsy notes, vetiver and virginia cedar.

photo by Sarah Rose Smiley

Friday, March 9, 2012

Top-20 Best-selling Fragrances for women in the USA (2011)

By popular demand, after the Top-20 Best-selling Fragrances for women in France for 2011, which many readers mailed me to say was an eye-opener, I decided to post what the popular choices (based on bulk of sales) during the year 2011 in the American market are. A sort of two-faces-of Janus project, if you wish.

I had prefaced my French post by saying that people with an interest in perfumes imagine the French to be wildly sophisticated when it comes to fragrances; perhaps it comes with the territory, having so many options, though to be honest the US market is by far more populated. And yet, it's more of a form of branding, a subject on which the French have excelled while Americans have languished. As one of my friends in marketing says "USA branded itself as star& stripes, hamburgers, NBA, Hollywood and big-tit tanned blondes from California". Not exactly premium, you'd argue. And yet, this is exactly why we love to dump down on American culture, even Americans themselves. The USA as an uber-democratic, nascent nation decidedly branded itself as catering to the mass, with their Walmarts and their Costcos and For All Humanity jeans, in constrast to the largely still medieval-farmer/bourgeois mentality of the French with their small boutiques. Both societies have their elites, socio-economic as well as intellectual, but whereas one of them is proud of it, the other is self-effacing, almost embarassed to see it mentioned. See where I'm getting?

Robert Redford & Jane Fonda in Barefoor in the Park (1967) via Mary Lou Cinnamon
The Americans also routinely receive flack from perfumefreaks because they're supposed to like "clean" perfumes, i.e. shampoo & laundry detergent smelling stuff we turn our noses on. (I assure you that that is better than smelling the bad breath of a typical Gitannes-smoking French, but that's fodder for another discussion). And yet, I can't erase from my mind Sarah Jessica Parker's comment, while explaining her layering technique of perfumes and how she envisioned her first perfume in her own name, Lovely. It was in Chandler Burr's The Perfect Scent, where Parker revealed that she loved the smell of body odor, strong sweet musk, and general all-around dirtiness and concluded that "Americans, we love our body odour"; she was already brainstorming for her "B.O scent for everywoman" (which turned out to be the quirky Covet).

To revert to perfumes in the real market perspective, as my reader Victoria commented: "I still think this [French] list is a bit fancier than the top 20 American scents would be. I'd imagine that list would be filled with Britney Spears, JLo, Pink Sugar, and other generic fragrances." But as Mals from Muse in Wooden Shoes says "Chances are, these are the things that your college roommate, your bank teller, your Aunt Becky, and the cashier at your grocery store are wearing, and they don’t smell so bad…"
So come with me, dear readers, to see which 20 perfumes really make America tilt (in no particular order). And if you want to contrast it with what happened an only two short years ago, check this 2009 fragrance best-sellers (US and France) list out.



Chanel Coco Mademoiselle (this tops the list, predictably as it was the US Chanel headquarters who insisted on its creation and is topping the list for some years now)
Burberry Body
Calvin Klein Euphoria
Chanel No.5
Chanel Chance 
Chanel Chance Eau Fraiche
Christian Dior J'Adore 
Clinique Aromatics Elixir
Clinique Happy
D&G Light Blue
Donna Karan Cashmere Mist
Estee Lauder Beautiful
Estee Lauder Knowing
Estee Lauder Sensuous Nude
Estee Lauder Pleasures 
Fendi Fan di Fendi
Justin Bieber Someday
Prada Candy
Taylor Swift Wonderstruck
Thierry Mugler Angel

thanks to Laure Philips for info

What we consider that should be popular in the USA presents its own interest, nevertheless. In that spirit, if you hadn't caught it when I first posted it back in 2009, please read Stars & Stripes: 10 Quintessentially American Fragrances.

But more importantly and I'm interested in opinions, rather than hard facts:  
What do YOU consider American-smelling? And why?

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