Two more articles belonging to the polemic on scent. Actually inferring a good point all the same, that having everything scented around us is contributing to a major sensory overload that means increased exposure to potential irritants and allergens. Too bad they're throwing the baby out with the bathwater too!
Plus there goes again the common misconception: allergy is actually an auto-immune response and a medical fact, oversensitivity to stimuli/sensory overload/sensitivity to scents is something different (though totally real, mind you).
The first heavy drops of rain fell on the thirsty ground yesterday after a hot, hot summer that scorched our conscience. It seemed like release, like tears falling after a gigantic pressure mounting inside that had overflown, ready to burst.
"With the first drop of rain the summer was killed. Soaked were the words which starlight had born. Words that were meant just for you." writes Odysseas Elytis.
This sweet melancholy of autumn is inextricably tied to the pit pat of the raindrops on the window pane, much as it sounds corny. Like many, I adore the ambience after the rain; when everything seems washed, purged, the green leaves and flowers shiny fresh with droplets hanging onto them refracted into myriads of rainbows in the emerging light; with the distinct smell of the earth that has soaked the water and brought out a scent at once musty and refreshing, a scent that is ancient and at the same time of the moment, galvanizing, a scent of the divine and the pagan. But what makes that delicious scent, popular enough to be first unapologetically encapsulated into a fragrance to sell by Christopher Brosius in his Fragrance Library for Demeter by the eerie name "Dirt"?
The answer is more enjoyably lyrical.
via http://lifeofpri.blogspot.com
Petrichor is the name of the scent of rain on dry earth, which aided by the compound geosmin contributes to that delectable ambience of upturned earth and musty deliciousness which walkers of the woods have been known to enjoy with all their might. Due to poetic justice, I suppose, and because everything is paid upon at the cashier eventually in this world, both words have a Greek origin: "Petrichor" literally means the fluid in the veins of the gods hitting stone (from the words πέτρα i.e. stone and ιχώρ i.e. the mythical lifeblood of the Gods). "Geosmin" is simpler, more to the point: from the Greek word for earth, γαία (deriv. γεο-) and οσμήν i.e. smell; simply put, "the smell of the earth".
The term "petrichor" was coined in 1964 by two Australian researchers, Bear and Thomas, for an article in the scientific journal Nature. In their article, it is argued that certain plants exude an oil during dry periods which is then absorbed by clay-based soils and by rock. The hitting of the ground during the rain releases this oil alongside geosmin, a germacranoid sesquiterpene or a trans-1,10-dimethyl-trans-9-decalol for the more chemically minded ~or simply a by-product of microorganisms, which acts as a metabolite.
Geosmin is produced by a number of microorganisms amongst which the mycelial soil bacteria Streptomyces. Geosmin is exactly that distinct smell that soil gives off when disturbed or just rained upon and its human detection threshold is so low (allowing almost all to savor it) and so pleasant, it is used to confer an earthy scent to perfumes! But careful: in flavor, by contrast, geosmin can turn a glass of water or wine (or fruits or vegetables) musty and unpleasant for consumption.
Even lightning contributes to the scent of the earth after the rain nevertheless; the presence of ozone is electrifying, producing that energetic, come what may, putting on boots and clutching a cane walk in the woods mood one doesn't know they had in them until it actually happens. This is the magic turn of the screw that makes fragrances such as Creed's classic Green Irish Tweed (with the infinitely matching name to this fervent desire) and the quirky enchanted forest of Ormonde Woman work so well.
It's interesting to note that geosmin doesn't just contribute to the smelly landscape but could be a way of promoting sporulation as it occurs where humidity is involved. "Camels may well smell out an oasis by sniffing the air for traces of the fragrant metabolite. While camels quench their thirst, hordes of Streptomyces spores will be supped with the water or will find a way to stick onto the animals’ hides. In this way, spores can be carried for miles. In the same way, some cacti flowers may also use the geosmin scent to fool insects, in a sort of fragrant mimicry. Indeed, insects are attracted to the plants in the hope of a little refreshment, and in their quest for water, they actually serve as pollinators!"[source]
As with everything involving smell, there's more than meets the nose...
Music clip "With the First Drop of the Rain", lyrics by Greek nobelist poet Odysseas Elytis, set to music by Manos Hadjidakis and sung by Dimitris Psarianos.
...for the Opardu sample is Liane. Congratulations and please email me with your shipping data using the Contact, so I can have this in the mail for you soon!
Thanks everyone for the enthusiastic participation and rest assured that anyone who missed their chance this time will have PLENTY of chances on the multiple giveaway organized by Puredistance on Perfume Shrine soon to preview the new fragrance of the line (talking about plenty of perfume flowing!). Stay tuned!!
Impossible Iris is like those beautiful raven-haired girls with big, sincere eyes that seem to engulf you and creamy, gorgeous skin that shines with the sheen of mother-of-pearl (like Liv Tyler or Anne Hathaway to bring modern examples); there's both a wholesome appeal (in the sense of "non-plastic") and a retro elegance to it all (in the sense their beauty ideal defies tanned, scrubbed, peroxided "nowness").
Iris can be like that, when excellent, with the added artistic bonus of a delectable melancholia that negates all the "shiny happy people" silliness that is pack and parcel of the "plastic" and "nowness" mantra. But iris can also be a fragrance note that can render itself rather too prissy and difficult for its own good; too many times it can be too starchy and earthy-raw (smelling like boiled carrots or turnips) or it can become too dusty or too creepy cold like the tomb (and there's no better reference than the chilly Iris Silver Mist by Lutens if you're after that sort of effect). Perhaps this is why the easiest, most popular iris on the market is Infusion d'Iris by Prada, a smashing best-seller and a modern classic; no guesswork there, the fragrance isn't an iris per se as the name would suggest, it's a sweet woody incense built on benzoin! Other times iris can be tilted into violet-heavy territory (with whom iris shares ionones, molecules with a powdery, dirt/earth feel) and land into Parfums Lingerie, a totally different sort of aesthetic effect, makeup reminiscent rather than upturned garden dirt.
Personally, I like irises, especially woody ones, such as Bois d'Iris by The Different Company and the stupendous Chanel No.19, so testing Impossible Iris wasn't a challenge by any means. Still, it exceeded expectations and has found itself firmly in my perfume rotation which is something when you take into account the jadedness of a seasoned collector.
Ramón Monegal went neither way between chilly or earthy for Impossible Iris, opting for an iris fragrance that is recognizably iris, yet projects with a delicate, mimosa-laced/heather hint of sweetness under the metallic opening; clean, elegant, slightly soapy fresh and very appealing! It's an iris to put you in a good mood, for a change, with subtle floralcy and woodiness in equal measure, if that was possible, with all the prerequisites to make you fall in love with it just as easily as imagining Iris as a girl's name. It stands as the perfect metallic/woody iris to encapsulate and recapitulate all we have come to expect from a prime iris fragrance; there is the delicate, shy beginning with the cool touch, then comes the touch of wooly mimosa with its hint of warmth to smile into the proceedings, while the quiet, bookish woody tonality of the aftermath with its pencil shavings nuance is enough to consolidate it among the richer in nuance irises.
Ramón Monegal has that rare talent: he has taken "difficult" notes (iris, leather as in Mon Cuir, patchouli, as in Mon Patchouly) and rendered editions that transcend the rougher aspects into smoothing them into compliance, making them melt with pleasure under the sprayer and onto the skin... Gaia, The Non Blonde, found it more floral in the beginning than I did, but we both loved it all the same.
I was impressed with the sillage (it's a perceptible iris that will get you comments, the positive kind) and with its tenacity and I find that though delicate and graceful, it can also be worn by men easily, thanks to its woody background and its slight tinge of fruitiness that adds just enough tart elements in the formula.
Notes for Impossible Iris by Ramon Monegal:
Italian iris, Egyptian cassiopiae, framboise, ylang-ylang, Egyptian jasmine, Virginia cedarwood
Impossible Iris is available as Eau de Parfum in a beautiful inkwell bottle of 50ml at Luckyscent.
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