Perfumery Material: Cashmeran/ Blonde Woods

Thanks to its pliability, which fits like a glove many diverse compositions of different fragrance families, or thanks to its diffusiveness and tenacity, Cashmeran or blonde woods is a molecule which forms the core of many a modern perfume formula; a synthetic not found in nature but copiously used in products we use every day from soap to shampoo and deodorant.

Chemistry 
The proper name of Cashmeran is 1,2,3,5,6,7-hexahydro-1,2,3,3-pentamethyl-4h-inden-4-one. You might also come across it as "musk indanone" or "indomuscone". Though commonly refered to as "blonde woods" in perfume speak, the reality is that the ingredient Cashmeran (an International Flavors and Fragrances appelation) is actually a musk component with a yellow, trickly texture. Its scent profile takes over a vast sea between woods and ambers, abstract and indefinable. Not currently under the allergens list controled by IFRA it is used in a variety of products. There are som concerns that excessive use of polycyclic musks might do some liver damage, but we're probably talking massive amounts here.

The name Cashmeran derives from its tactile feel which recalls the smoothness and softness of cashmere wool.  Among the first perfumes to use it in a considerable degree were Loulou by Cacharel (1987) and Paco Rabanne Sport (1986).
as is Sexy Graffiti by Escada (2002). Tempting though it may be to imagine that modern best-seller Cashmere Mist by Donna Karan (1994) is full of it, in reality the powdery soft perfume doesn't use it.

Insoluble in water and hydrophobic, Cashmeran is therefore a prime target for use in functional perfumery too, since it won't rinse out: detergents, fabric softener, alcoholic lotions, deodorants, shampoos, you name it... But fine perfumery has profited of its advantages as well.

Scent Profile: Abstract, Musky, Woody, Concrete Hit by Rain
The diffusive, musky-woody scent is reminiscent of concrete (especially the abstract woody scent that concrete gives when hit upon by rain, a cityscape in the rain), also lightly spicy, lightly powdery. Though perfumers sometimes describe it to also have apple and pine facets I admit I haven't detected those myself. It is however used as a powerful floralizer as it aids the expansion and diffusion of floral notes, especially accords of jasmine, as in Thierry Mugler's Alien (it's also used in Womanity) or the lighter Flora Nerolia by Guerlain (where it's married to neroli and frankincense as well). Other cult fragrances to feature it prominently include the discontinued Feu d'Issey and Kenzo's Jungle L'Elephante and Jungle Le Tigre.
In Histoires de Parfums' Tuberose Trilogy, Gislain chose to include the note in the Tubereuse Virginale offering, where blond woods coexist with naturally cohabitating, heady white flowers on a base of patchouli and vanilla. Dans tes Bras by Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle contains a hefty dose of Cashmeran alongside the violet nuances and so does his Une Fleur de Cassie, while Wonderwood by Comme des Garcons, Diptyque's Eau Particuliere, Nasomatto Duro, Byredo La Tulipe and Al Khatt by Xerjoff Shooting Stars collection are a few more niche offerings exploiting Cashmeran's diffusiveness. Perfumer Mathilde Laurent, currently in-house perfumer for Cartier, has a particular fondness for it.

How to Incorporate Cashmeran into Perfumes 
Blending well with other modern ingredients (ambroxan, allyl amyl glycolate, damascones, ethyl maltol...) as well as natural ingredients (frankincense, clary sage, citrus, geraniol, linalool, patchouli, tonka bean, vetiver, etc.), Cashmeran presents a vista of options for the creative perfumer.

It can serve woody or warm musk compositions (see Miami Glow by JLo), formulae resting on rose and saffron, tobacco or oud masculine blends (see Nomaoud by Comptoir Sud Pacifique or Byredo's Accord Oud), even perfumes with jonquil or cassie. It can even aid aqueous olfactory scapes, such as in Armani's Acqua di Gioia Essenza!
Tocca Florence, Tom Ford White Patchouli, Step into Sexy by Avon, Philosophy Love, Blumarine Innamorata, Kylie Minogue Dazzling Darling, Hugo Boss Hugo (in the flask bottle), Anna Sui Night of Fancy, Oriflame Paradise and Burberry Body are a few more of f the fragrances featuring this musk-woody component.

Another one of the advantages of this fairly inexpensive musky component is that it has a medium potency in volume projection, but a long trail that surpasses a full day's length. Being a mild sensitiser, its ratio is currently restricted to no more than 2% of the compound.

It's clear we will be seeing it more and more admitted as such in official perfume press releases in the years to come.

Frag Name of the Day: Elaborating on How to Pronounce French Perfume Names

I don't know how many of you have been familiarised with French names in perfumes and perfume houses. Probably most, since you're reading here, but there has been a big demand for a guide into the right pronunciantion, especially among the English language native speakers who are often at a loss in front of the vowels and accents and all the bells & whistles that other European languages possess; for better or worse.
In the past I had found one useful link for proper pronunciation of designers etc. names, linked here. Still, not everything was there and the completed phrase of a fragrance name might create its own intricate liaisons etc. which would alter the individualised pronunciation of each word. Those of you who know French as foreign language, as I do, understand perfectly well what I mean.

One French-born, UK-dwelling professional translator going by the name of Bela on fragrance boards has decided to provide just what was asked for: an actual pronunciation reference with audible files instead of just phonetics for most French names, updating regularly and taking demands from readers too. Her site is called Frag Name of the Day and you can find the link here.
Now, you can't have any excuses on mispronouncing, since correct pronunciation is but a click of the mouse away! So you can save yourself the embarassement of the protagonist in Paul Verhoeven's movie Show Girls when she pronounces Versace as "Ver-sayce". (Wait, that's Italian! Well, we can't have it all, I guess). Regardless...kudos for massive work done.

phonetics: not exactly accurate...

Further on: What does Bela think on fragrance names as someone who occupies herself with them as much, the French attitude towards perfumes vs. the British attitude, the rising Arabian-style perfumery with the names to correspond (will they eclipse the French?) and other assorted perfume questions? Here's a short interview she granted Perfume Shrine for your pleasure. Enjoy!

1. The website Frag Name of the Day began as the reply to the demand of MUAers and perfume lovers on boards questioning the correct pronunciation of French names. Is it very annoying having companies naming their fragrances in French though they don't have any business doing so or they're mixing up French and English (such as Miller Harris)? What would you say to them if you could?

I don’t mind foreign companies giving French names to their perfumes – as long as they are grammatically correct and follow all the rules about genders and adjective agreements, etc. This is not a new phenomenon. French companies do it too. They believe it gives their products a certain cachet. An interesting experiment would be to market the same juice under two different names and see which sells better. As for names that combine words from two languages, I find them moronic. English and French are both incredibly rich languages, it shouldn’t be too hard to come up with beautiful/witty/evocative names in either language without resorting to a mishmash/jumble/gallimaufry/hotchpotch. LOL! That’s what I would say to those unimaginative companies.

2. Do you think that simply put "a French name sells" when it comes to perfumes? (i.e. goes with the territory) Or could it backfire? How if so? 

I expect a French name sells otherwise companies wouldn’t carry on doing it, would they?  To a lot of people, France is synonymous with style so anything that sounds French is bound to be refined and automatically infused with elegance. Giving a product a French name in the hope that consumers will be influenced by it is lazy, but if that marketing strategy was going to backfire it would have done so a long time ago. The appetite for French names doesn’t seem to have been sated yet.

3. Do you believe – as I do – that the French have oversold their ability to corner the market on producing worthwhile perfumes? 

They’ve been at it for a very long time; do you really think they’re losing their grip? Even if they don’t actually corner the market any longer, it doesn’t mean they aren’t still a very important player. I’m afraid I lack the specialist knowledge required to answer this question effectively.

4. Do you ever correct Sales Associates when they mispronounce a fragrance name? 

You would expect me to, wouldn’t you? LOL! I never do. I pronounce names correctly and, if it’s met with an uncomprehending look, I repeat them with an English accent. The only time I correct SAs is when they try to make me believe some BS about the products they’re selling.

5. As a professional translator between the two languages (French & English) why do you think that the British often "mangle" the French language and the French often "mangle" the English language? Is it intentional? Is it historical reasons behind it? 

I don’t think the Brits mangle the French language or the French the English language intentionally. Why would they do that? Surely the primary purpose of learning a language is to be able to communicate and mispronouncing things creates obstacles to this communication. The British mouth is not made for the French language, and vice versa: English requires a relaxed tongue and loose jaws; French is a ‘stiff’ language. Anglophones have problems with French genders; French grammar is very difficult, etc. etc. They’re just so different. It could also have something to do with the way they are taught (I was very lucky: my first English teacher was a Brit. I learned to pronounce basic sounds accurately from the start. I never went ‘ze ze ze’.) That said, I’m not sure I agree with you about those two nationalities being the worst offenders. I’ve heard French being very badly spoken by a lot of people, and here in London I hear English being massacred daily by almost every foreigner I come across.

By the way, since one can only translate accurately and with flair into one’s mother tongue, I never take on work that involves translating into English. Also, translating into a foreign language is not the done thing – from an ethical point of view.

6. As a French-born living permanently in the UK, which nation has a "better" scent profile in your opinion? And what constitutes a "better" scent profile anyway? Is it education, personality, a familiarity with the sensuous world, what? [ed.note: I had presented my own views on this on this article called "Why the French (and other Europeans) grown up to love scents while Americans don't"]

You must know I’m going to say France. It’s to do with lifestyle. The French know how to enjoy life: good food, good wine, and other earthly pleasures. It probably has something to do with being Catholic too. Britain is still a Puritan country in many ways. The weather has a part to play too, I expect. British perfumes are so wishy-washy and thin.

7. Is the Arabic trend the latest thing because Europe has ceased to sound exotic to Americans (and maybe the British too)? And will we need an Arabic Frag Name of the Day soon? :-)

Has Europe ceased to sound exotic to Americans? I don’t think so. Yurp is still the destination of choice for most Americans, and thanks to the Eurostar it’s on Britain’s doorstep these days. Arabic names have always sounded exotic, haven’t they? Could it be that they’re more noticeable these days because wealthy Arabs are currently being courted by some companies? I really don’t know. By rights, we should be seeing more Chinese names soon too. An Arabic Frag Name of the Day would definitely be quite useful. Anyone want to emulate me? All you need is a computer, a microphone, a copy of Audacity and a blog where you can post sound files… oh, and plenty of time.

8. Which is you favorite perfume right now and why? 

Tubéreuse Criminelle by Serge Lutens has been my signature scent for the past six years. It’s like nothing else I’ve ever smelled; I can never get enough of the kerosene top note and the mellow dry down. I’ve tried to be unfaithful; I’ve had very short liaisons with other fragrances in those six years, but I always come back to it. I doubt I will ever find anything to replace it.

Hermes Equipage: fragrance review

If Calèche encapsulates perfumer Guy Robert's idea of a great taste feminine perfume, then Équipage is his idea of the perfect masculine; sober, handsome, restrained, graceful. These two Hermès fragrances embody both the house's easy, effortless elegance aesthetic (you can imagine them as "old money" contrasted with nouveau rich) and Guy Robert's idea that only a "lived-in" ambience about a scent makes it truly romantic; if you need more proof you can just test out Madame Rochas and his other marvels (Amouage Gold, Dioressence etc).

Scent Description 
Aromatic, spicy and woody, the brief for Équipage was based on the success of Monsieur Rochas, composed by the same perfumer (Guy Robert) just one year prior, demanding the scent of a "cold pipe".  Word has it that Jean Louis Sieuzac also worked on this one. The smokiness is there all right (I'm hypothesizing birch tar to give a smoked leather note, reminiscent of the Cuir de Russie type of scents), but there's pungent dryness instead of the usual rum casket fantasies of honeyed milky tobacco; such as the ones evoking languorous Turkish escapades that Lutens brings to his Fumerie Turque, to cite but one example.  Liatris is an interesting note: it possesses both a herbaceous facet on one end and a hay & tobacco facet with only a subtly vanillic undercurrent on the other end, so it balances off nicely the bitter, pungent top notes of Équipage, reinforcing the concept of a smoking pipe.

Équipage is resolutely old-school and conservative smelling ~therefore probably anathema to anyone under 40, unless they have a perfume obsession~ and like an experienced acrobat balances between strength and finery, between the rustic herbs, the bitterness of the clary sage opening and the bite of cloves, on a base of smooth wood notes and a little sweet floral touch, a combination as dependable as a gentleman of the old guard. The florals cited in official notes description give only half the truth: the lily of the valley gives but crispness, the rosewood a profusion of linalool (that ingredient familiar from classic lavender), the carnation adds a clovey tint, as carnation composing was done by utilizing clove essence.
The true character of the fragrance evolves from the evolution of the aromatic, rustic and bitter herbal essences into rich woody, earthy notes in the drydown with a tinge of leather notes. In this it is in the same league as the equally magnificent Derby by Guerlain, which epitomizes the smooky woody fragrance genre; perhaps the Guerlain is a bit more balsamic and greener than the Hermès.

Who is it for?
I can vividly picture Équipage on a tweed-clad man out in the woods, lithe, supply riding his horse with his gun between horse bridles and saddle, leather lapels & patches on the jacket, having a good time only to return home when the sun is beginning to set. Perhaps it's so old-school that such a picture doesn't really seem ridiculous or overblown. Hermès at any rate likes to emphasize its "team player" name, showing the bottle over the photo of a rowing team. Cool, I get it. That's got to be some posh British college we're talking about, where the idea of a team spells dedication and loyalty and doesn't mess with anyone's individuality. Équipage smells perfectly individual nowadays, sticking like a diamond ring among graphite pencils, so perhaps my modern take is skewed. I suppose more men smelled in some variation of this liquid nectar back then....and oh boy, weren't those the times.

Équipage seems perfectly at ease on a smoker too, a heavy one at that, fusing with the remnants of the ashtray scent on the clothes into producing something delightful rather than repelling. No wonder in this age of cigarette demonisation Équipage looks like an outcast. Most interestingly this masculine eau de toilette works well in both the hot and cold season and lasts equally impressively, as it seems to morph to suit the weather. Winter brings out its crispness of sweet earth and woods. Summer heat highlights its cooling herbal, almost mentholated effect and its spicy kick.

I am a bit at a loss on how it would be possible to recommend it be worn by women, evocative as it is of virile-looking men like Sean Connery, however I have to share that I indulge myself in my vintage bottle more often than I'd care to admit. Perhaps there's something to be said about women embracing the idea of wearing a virile scent from time to time...

Vintage vs Modern Équipage 
The vintage versions of Équipage bear a light brown cap with a screw top design; the modern is sparse, black, architectural. The modernised version, available at  Hermès boutiques and department stores with a big selection of Hermès fragrances where you will have to ask for it by name, has attenuated some of the pungency and projection of this fragrance, without messing too much with its bouquet garni of herbs. If anything it's more citrusy and terpenic now than leathery, but not by much.

Notes for Hermès Équipage: 
Top: bergamot, rosewood, lily of the valley, clary sage, tarragon, marjoram
Middle: jasmine, carnation, pine, hyssop, liatris (a herbaceous perennial)
Base: Vetiver, patchouli, tonka bea, amber

Christian Dior Dioressence: fragrance review

The advertisements read: "Exuberant. Smouldering.Uninhibited".  It was all that and more. Mink coats, cigarette-holders, lightly smeared eyeliner after a hard night. Dioressence launched as "le parfum barbare" (a barbaric perfume); the ready-to-wear fur collection by Dior in 1970 was orchestrated to give a powerful image of women as Venus in Furs. Commanding, aloof, demanding, even a dominatrix. The fragrance first launched as a bath oil product, reinforcing the name, i.e. Dior's Essence, the house's nucleus in liquid form; Dior wanted to write history. It later came as a stand alone alcoholic perfume, the first composed by perfumer Guy Robert for Dior and history it wrote indeed. A new breed of parfum fourrure was born!

Dioressence: A Wild, Untamed Fragrance
The fragrance of Dioressence itself, in part the brief being a depart from Guy Robert's refined style, was the love affair of ambergris (a 100% natural essence at the time) with the original 1947 Miss Dior, a chypre animalic perfume, itself laced with the animal notes of leathery castoreum in the base, so the two elements fused into each other most compatibly. Ambergris is lightly salty and nutty-smelling, creating a lived-in aura, while leather notes are sharper and harsher, especially when coming from castoreum, an animal essence from beavers with an intense almost death-like stink. The two give a pungent note.
In Miss Dior this is politely glossed over by a powdery gardenia on top. The animalicistic eroticism is only perceptible in the drydown. In Dioressence the sexiness is felt from the very start, only briefly mocked by a fruity lemony touch, and it only gains from further exposure to notes that lend themeslves to it: rich spices, dirty grasses, opulent resins, sensuous musk. In a way if Cinnabar and Opium (roughly contemporaries) modernised the message of the balsamic oriental classic Youth Dew, Dioressence gave both a run for their money, being bolder like the Lauder predecessor, yet in a rather greener scale. 

The intensity of the animalistic accord in Dioressence was boosted even further by the copious carnation-patchouli chord (much like in Jean Carles sexy Tabu), spiced even further with cinnamics (cinnamon notes) and given a glossy glamour with lots of natural jasmine. The greenery over the oriental-chypre basenotes is like the veneer of manners over the killer instinct. Still the Guy Robert treatment produced something that was totally French in style. You can't help but feel it's more tailored, more formal than any modern fragrance, perhaps what a power-woman of the early 1980s would wear to power-lunch, even indulging in some footie work under the table if she feels like it, but its wild undercurrent is almost foreshadowing the contemporary taste for niche.

Why Dioressence Changed...to the Worse
Alas the perfume after a brief career fell into the rabbit-hole of a teethering house (The Marcel Boussac Group bankrupted in 1978 and it was purchased by the Willot house, which also bankrupted in 1981). Not only had the vogue for big orientals been swung in a "cleaner", starchier direction in the meantime (Opium, Cinnabar, Giorgio), but the management hadn't really pushed the glam factor of Dior as much as Karl Lagerfeld had revolutionized, nay re-animated the house of Chanel (the effect in the mid-80s of that latter move was analogous to the miraculous push Tom Ford gave to Gucci in the late 90s; nothing sort of spectacular). Dior would need almost a whole decade to get its act together, bring out Poison (1985) and find its financial compass under the LVMH aegis. By then it was down to familiar LVMH accounting bean-counting and therefore marvels like Dior-Dior perfume and Dioressence were either axed (former) or given catastrophical face-lifts (latter). Same happened with the ill-fated, yet brilliant Dior masculine Jules, which had launched in those limbo years (1980 in fact).

Comparing Vintage vs.Modern Dioressence
I well recall the old formula of Dioressence, back when it was a mighty animalic-smelling oriental with moss in the base because it was alongside (vintage) Cabochard my mother's favorite perfume. She was neither particularly exuberant, not knowingly smouldering and rather inhibited, come to think of it. She was a real lady, through and through, and yet she loved Dioressence, le parfum barbare! (and her other choice isn't particularly blinkered either, is it?) There's really a dark id that is coming throuh perfume and allows us to role-play; what's more fun than that? The Non Blonde calls this Dior "Miss Dior's Casual Friday outfit" and I can see her point; it's letting your hair down, preferably for acts of passion to follow.

The modern version of Dioressence (at least since the early 2000s) has been thinned beyond recognition, the naturals completely substituted with synthetic replications, till my mother 's soul departed from the bottle, never to return. The new Dioressence on counters is a somewhat better chypre than recent memory, with a harsher mossy profile, a bit like a "cougar" on the prowl not noticing she's a bit too thin for her own good, all bones, no flesh. Still, an improvement over the catastrophic post-2005 and pre-2009 versions.
Dioressence first came out as a bath oil in 1969 (advertisements from 1973 bear testament to that) and then as a "real" perfume in the same year. Perfumer credited is Guy Robert, although Max Gavarry is also mentioned by Turin as implicated in the process. The newest version (introduced in 2010, reworked by Francois Demachy) is in the uniform Creations de Monsieur Dior bottles with the silver mock-string around the neck in white packaging, just like Diorissimo, Forever and Ever, Diorella and Dior's Eau Fraiche.

The Full Story of the Creation of Dioressence

In Emperor of Scent, author and scent critic Chandler Burr quotes Luca Turin: "The best Guy Robert story is this. The House of Dior started making perfumes in the 1940s. Very small scale. The first two, of which Diorama was one and Miss Dior the other, were made by Edmond Roudnitska, a Ukrainian émigré who'd studied with Ernest Beaux in Saint Petersburg because Beaux was the perfumer to the czars. So Dior approached Guy Robert-they invite him to dinner, they're talking over the cheese course, no sterile meeting rooms, this is a brief among gentlemen-and they said, 'We're doing a new perfume we want to call Dioressence, for women, but we want it very animalic. The slogan will be le parfum barbare, so propose something to us.' Oh boy. Guy can hardly wait. Of course he wants a Dior commission. And the challenge of mixing the florals of the traditional Dior fragrances into an animal scent (because this isn't just any animalic, this is a Dior animalic, if you can imagine such a bizarre thing) is just a bewitching challenge, who else would have the guts to attempt joining those two. So he gets right to work, plunges in, and he tries all sorts of things. And he's getting nowhere. Nothing's working. He's frustrated, he doesn't like anything he's doing.

"In the middle of this, someone in the industry calls him, and they say, 'There's a guy with a huge lump of ambergris for sale in London-get up here and check it out for us.' Ambergris is the whale equivalent of a fur ball, all the undigested crap they have in their stomachs. The whale eats indigestible stuff, and every once in a while it belches a pack of it back up[1]. It's mostly oily stuff, so it floats, and ambergris isn't considered any good unless it's floated around on the ocean for ten years or so. It starts out white and the sun creates the odorant properties by photochemistry, which means that it's become rancid, the molecules are breaking up, and you get an incredibly complex olfactory result. So Guy gets on a plane and flies up to see the dealer, and they bring out the chunk of ambergris. It looks like black butter. This chunk was about two feet square, thirty kilos or something. Huge. A brick like that can power Chanel's ambergris needs for twenty years. This chunk is worth a half million pounds.

"The way you test ambergris is to rub it with both hands and then rub your hands together and smell them. It's a very peculiar smell, marine, sealike, slightly sweet, and ultrasmooth. So there he is, he rubs his hands in this black oily mess and smells them, and it's terrific ambergris. He says, Great, sold. He goes to the bathroom to wash his hands 'cause he's got to get on an airplane. He picks up some little sliver of dirty soap that's lying around there and washes his hands. He leaves. He gets on the plane, and he's sitting there, and that's when he happens to smell his hands. The combination of the soap and ambergris has somehow created exactly the animalic Dior he's been desperately looking for. But what the hell does that soap smell like? He's got to have that goddamn piece of soap. The second he lands in France, he sprints to a phone, his heart pounding, and calls the dealer in England and says, 'Do exactly as I say: go to your bathroom, take the piece of soap that's in there, put it in an envelope, and mail it to me.' And the guy says, 'No problem.' And then he adds, 'By the way, that soap? You know, it was perfumed with some Miss Dior knockoff.'

"So Guy put them together, and got the commission, and made, literally, an animalic Dior. Dioressence was created from a cheap Miss Dior soap knockoff base, chypric, fruity aldehydic, plus a giant cube of rancid whale vomit[2]. And it is one of the greatest perfumes ever made."

[1] [2]Actually that's not quite true. Ambergris comes out the other end of the whale, not the mouth. Read Christopher Kemp's Floating Gold.

Notes for Dior Dioressence:
Aldehydes, Bergamot, Orange, Jasmine, Violet, Rosebud, Ylang ylang, Geranium, Cinnamon, Patchouli, Orris Root, Ambergris, Oakmoss, Benzoin, Musk, Styrax.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: The Dior fragrance reviews Series

ad collage via jeanette-soartfulchallenges.blogspot.com, Dior fur via coutureallure.com

Rochas Madame Rochas: fragrance review

"Give him Madame Rochas. A few drops at a time."
 ~New Yorker magazine vintage ad 27 November 1965

Madame Rochas was the signature scent of my grandmother in her mature years and lovingly picked by my own mother as well, when my grandmother passed away. They were unconsciously true to the wise words of a vintage ad: "Rule: Your perfume should change as often as your mood. Exception: Madame Rochas." It does make for a glorious signature fragrance...I well remember smelling the perfume on both women as a little girl, thinking it smelled simply wonderful. And it still does, transporting me to an elegant vision of old money class, beautiful restraint, no vulgar displays of anything, be it flesh or wealth. But that's not to say she's not sexy or femme either. Another vintage ad puts it well: "In France romance is a national passion. So is Madame Rochas". And it is indeed very much a "perfume in the French style".
Like classical art, this Guy Robert scented creation always felt like it was simply striking the right proportions.

Character & Attitude: A Grande Dame
To describe Madame Rochas feels a bit like ornamenting that which needs no ornament. Much like my maternal grandmother, she is a Grande Dame, never an ingenue, girl-next-door, damsel in distress or soubrette. This might be the reason this 1960 creation fell somewhat out of favor commercially in the last 15-20 years when perfumery reached its apogee of fragrance creation ideals focused on naive youthfulness, immediate accessibility or plain out weirdness for the sensationalist/witty effect. Much like on cannot imagine the generation of CK One approaching their elders' vanities with anything but a dismissed "pffft", one cannot envision Madame Rochas on anyone under 30. Unless of course we're talking a perfumista who dabbles in decades past.

On the contrary Madame Rochas is in a way Lanvin's Arpège revisited for the 1960s and the new jet set emerging, a sort of Parisian Mod, Jackie Kennedy shops French designers before becoming First Lady. Madame Rochas is also interesting as a milestone in perfumer's Guy Robert opus in that it set the stage for his Hermes Calèche to follow the following year, Madame Rochas' drier twin sister; the latter would would influence the market for quite awhile.

The fragrance was created specifically under the commision of Hélène Rochas, the young wife of the Rochas house founder, for whom Femme de Rochas was also made when she went into wedlock. She was only 30 when the perfume was officially issued, showing just how far and wide tastes in what is considered youthful have shifted.

Scent Description
The aldehydes open on a dewy but sunny April morning: Hyacinth, lemon and neroli are shining with green-waxy-lemony shades before an indeterminate floral heart opens with woody tonalities (tuberose, rose, narcissus and jasmine). The propelling provided by the muskier, mossier, lightly powdered (never talc-like) base extends the florals and woods on for hours. The complexity of the formula and the intricate structuring of its accords accounts for its radiance and tenacity.
The powdery orris feel is underscored by the fresh and at the same time musty vetiver; but the proportion is such that the end result doesn't smell musty at all.

This bright, vivacious, graceful bouquet gains subtly soapy nuances of corpulent lily of the valley with only a slight hint of floral sweetness; its delicious bitterness, almost chypré, lurking beneath the green flowers is its hallmark of elegance. Inedible, smelling like proper perfume with a surprising warmth, ambery-like, like honeycomb smelled at a distance, Madame Rochas is an aldehydic floral perfume in the grand manner and thanks to its perfect harmony, lack of uprightness and full on humanity it is among the most legible in this demanding genre as well, not to mention romantic and sensuous too.
If you thought you couldn't "do" aldehydic fragrances because you can't succumb to the most famous example Chanel No.5, maybe Madame Rochas will do the trick. It sums up good taste.

Notes for Madame Rochas:
Top: aldehydes, bergamot, lemon and neroli
Middle: jasmine, rose, tuberose, lily-of-the-valley, orris root, ylang-ylang, violet and narcissus
Base: sandalwood, vetiver, musk, cedar, oakmoss and tonka bean.

Fragrance Editions: Vintage vs. Modern & Bottle Design
The original Madame Rochas was introduced in 1960 and was re-issued 1982 in its second edition, re-orchestrated by Jean Luis Sieuzac. The original bottle design represents a replica of a 18th century bottle which was in the collection of Helene Rochas herself. The box is printed like a tapestry.
The new edition design was adapted by Pierre Dinand and is available in 30, 50 and 100 ml of eau de toilette.  The box is white with gold lettering.
The new version of Madame Rochas is somewhat lighter than I recall and less spicy- powdery, emphasizing green floral notes on the expense of balmy, woody ones. But it's still classy and collected at all times and a bargain to get.

Who is it for?
I would recommend this for all Calèche, Climat de Lancome, YSL Y, Guerlain Chamade and even Dioressence lovers. Climat is much more powdery and immediately aldehydic, Y is more chypre and Chamade relies more on hyacinths. Dioressence starts with sweeter notes in the openening and is much more animalic-smelling in the deeper notes, especially in the vintage orientalised verion. Madame Rochas could also be a great fit if you like things like Rive Gauche by YSL, Paco Rabanne Calandre, Revillon Detchema or Tauer's Tableau de Parfums Miriam.