Perfume Primers: Orientals for Beginners (and not only)

Oriental fragrances draw upon the lore and mystery of the first perfumes used by man, full of materials derived from plants and tree resins, the thick and sacred unguents conceived and used in ancient Egypt, Greece and Cyprus, Mesopotamia and classical Rome. On the wall of the temple of Horos, at Edfu, perfumed mixes appear, among which the scared Kyphi, burnt in early morning and at evening. In Exodus God gives Moses instructions on how to compose a holy perfume for him and another one for his priests. The tear-shaped drops of the myrrh resin stand in Greek mythology for the tears of a girl transmuted into a tree by the gods. Leaning over my archeological notes, I'm never less than amazed by the wealth of scented concoctions used for sacred but also for purely hedonistic purposes by the ancients.

The invention of the "modern" oriental however is an olfactory trope of the late 19th century, made possible by the invention of two important synthetics: vanillin and coumarin. The coupling of ladbanum/cistus (a traditional resinous plant material from the rockrose, used since antiquity) and of vanillin produced what we refer to as the "amber" note. (You can read all the data on amber in perfumery on this link). Coumarin was synthesized from tonka beans; it has a sweetly herbaceous, cut hay scent.

The timing was crucial: The first oriental perfume to really capture the market was Guerlain's Shalimar although Coty's Emeraude is also a prime contenstant (In fact the two were launched in the same year, but Shalimar had a  legal battle with another firm, making the formula into a numerically-tagged bottle for the space of 4 years before relaunching with the original Sanskrit name).
The roaring 1920s were a decade when society in Europe was really taken with the orient. The East conjured up images of unbridled passion, exoticism, khol-eyed beauties and addictive substances. It was the time when Herman Hesse published Siddharta, the West's first glimpse of Buddhism, and F.Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby, a paean to the newly established American prosperity and its pitfalls. Theda Bara had already lain the path to cinematic vamps to follow, such as Pola Negri and Clara Bow with her bloody-red dark cupid's lips immortalised on black and white vignettes, while Paul Poiret had produced his own phantoms of the harem paving the way to modern fashions. It was the time of Les Ballets Russes, set to music by Stravinsky and Poulenc with sets painted by Picasso and Georges Braque. In short Orient was meeting Occident at the seams.

Historically modern oriental fragrances are roughly divided in two groups in terms of their formula: those that are based on the "ambreine" accord and those based on the "mellis" accord. An "accord" is an harmonious blend of fragrant materials that are smelled together, like a musical chord, producing a seamless, unified impression, something more than the sum of their parts. It's very useful for the perfumer to have at the ready a few thought-out harmonies as a building block for the composition they're working on.

  The "ambreine accord" is a harmonious blend constructed through the juxtaposition of fresh bergamot, sweet vanillin (synthetic vanilla; ethyl vanillin which is 4 times more potent can also be used, as in Shalimar), coumarin (smelling like mown hay), and warm civet (originally an animal-derived secretion from the civet cat with a very erotic nuance), plus woody notes and rose essences. The perfumes which are constructed on this basic structure include the legendary Guerlain Shalimar, Must de Cartier and Calvin Klein Obsession.

NB. Please note the "ambreine accord" is NOT to be confused with the ambrein molecule, i.e. the chief scent element of "ambergris", the material produced by sperm whales found floating in the ocean. [Refer to this link for details on ambergris.] Interestingly enough the ambrein used in perfumery is extracted from purified labdanum [1], hence the confusion between the scents of amber and ambergris for many people.  

  The "mellis accord" on the other hand is constructed through the tension between benzyl salicylate (a compound with a faint sweet-floral-veering-into-musky scent, often included in "beach/suntan lotion" smells), patchouli (essence of exotic patchouli leaves), spicy clove (via eugenol) and lily of the valley (traditionally via the aromachemical hydroxycitronellal). This is boosted with other spices (notably cinnamon), woody notes and coumarin (a crystal derived from tonka beans).
Perfumes composed around the mellis accord include Estee Lauder Youth Dew, Taby by Dana, Yves Saint Laurent Opium, Krizia Teatro alla Scalla and Coco by Chanel. Perfume professionals refer to this group as "mellis" perfumes, but since this is difficult to communicate to the consumer, and because the eugenol (sometimes communicated as clove and sometimes as carnation) and cinnamon give a spicy tonality, these oriental perfumes are classified into a sub-genre called "spicy orientals".

To the above "accords" other elements can be added to further emphasize the exotic and warm character of the composition. These include more ambery notes (based on labdanum), sweetly balsamic notes (utilizing materials such as benzoin, opoponax and Tolu balsam) as well as castoreum (another pungent animal-derived note, this time from beavers) and rose & other flowers' (jasmine etc) essences.

These are historically important olfactory harmonies that have resulted in classics and some modern classics. The combination of two accords within the same formula or the invention of new accords coupled with the previously used ones is producing novel experiences and pushes perfumery forward. This is how perfumers have come up with new sub-categories within the oriental family of fragrances, such as the gourmand perfumes etc. But we will tackle those in an upcoming perfume primer.

Ref.
[1] New Perfume Handbook, N.Groom 1997

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfume Primers: concise intros for beginners

The winner of the draw...

...for the Best Picks of the previous year goodie bag is Μαριαλένα. Congratulations and please email me with your shipping data, using Contact, so I can have this out to you soon.

Thanks everyone for the enthusiastic participation and till the next one!

Perfume Primers: Aldehydic Florals for Beginners

Perfume Primers is a new feature on the Perfume Shrine site, intended for beginners who cannot find their way through the tangled cosmos of perfume writing in print and on the web, but also insightful enough (and hopefully written in a non-condenscending manner) to appeal to more seasoned perfume fans as well. These primers go beyond the comprehensive raw materials/perfume notes articles (linked on the right hand column of the site) or perfume terms articles (the vocabulary of the perfume language, also linked on the right hand column); they intent to highlight issues that straddle categories and skirt central themes essential for fragrance comprehension and aim to be relatively short and concise. In short, if you're new to perfume, you're advised to begin here (and possibly the various How To guides, linked on the right too) and make your way through the other features.

I begin as requested by readers' emails with a somewhat "confusing" genre, aldehydic florals, which accounts for a vast amount of perfumes on the market, not to mention numerous historical ones. Not merely an allusion to including "aldehydes" materials in the formula of said perfumes (aldehydes can appear in any fragrance family, from chypre to oriental) the trope has particularities that need addressing.

The perfume term "floral aldehydic" applies to a subcategory of the "floral" family of perfumes (perfumes with an emphasis on the olfactory impressions of flowers) whose origins go back to two acclaimed classics, both emerging in the 1920s: Chanel No.5 and Lanvin's Arpege. "Aldehydic" refers to aldehydes, of course, a large group of usually synthetically recreated ingredients with varying scents  (more on which  on this link), but what "makes" a "floral aldehydic" is the presence of a significant amount of so called aliphatic aldehydes within the formula in combination with floral, woody and animalic notes.

Those aliphatic aldehydes or "fatty aldehydes" , (i.e. the string of aldehydes C10, C11 and C12, named after the number of carbon atoms contained in their molecule) present in Chanel No.5 have become "code" for this perfumery trope. They make up a staggering 1% of the formula of No.5, marking it as a milestone in modern perfumery. Issued in the 1920s, the era of modernism in the arts, this is the reason why they're classified as "modern style fragrances" in some taxonomies, after the Chanel pioneer. Lanvin's Arpege is invariably considered the second great example in the genre, different enough from the Chanel (woodier, creamier, softer) so as to put itself in a important historical slot.

These fragrances smell soapy, waxy, citrusy, a complex and abstract scent that we can pinpoint as decidedly "perfumey", often 'retro' in feel too, as many women of a certain age cling on to them faithfully as the scents of their prime (aldehydics were supremely popular in the 1950s and 1960s and in some part into the early to mid 1970s). Simply put, aldehydic florals smell unmistakably like one has put perfume on, rather than smelling of one's own "scent" (what is colloquially refered to as "skin scents"). They're supremely "manufactured", man-made in feel and therefore can be interpreted as the prime sign of "status perfume-wearing", signage for affording to buy and wear a luxury product; an effect purposefully sought after upon creating First by Van Cleef & Arpels, "the scent of a wealthy, tasteful woman". They stand for classic elegance, a pearly opalescence, what we'd picture Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly wearing in their classic mid-20th century films (Audrey did in fact favor one, L'Interdit by Givenchy, originally made for her). Aldehydic florals are invariably aimed at women, although men are free to experiment if they're daring and uninhibited.

In Chanel No.5 aliphatic aldehydes are coupled with (at the time of creation) natural essence of jasmine and rose, alongside natural musk, ambergris and civet (the latter three being "animalic notes", more on which on the link). The sharpness, pike-through-the-nose effect of the aldehydes is smoothed by bergamot and ylang-ylang and sexualized by the animal-derived notes mentioned above.

Floral aldehydics make steady use of a standard triad of flowers ~rose, jasmine and lily of the valley~ while there might be lesser amounts of other flower aromas such as lilac, tuberose and carnation "notes" (the term is used in quotes as lilac and carnation are recreated through imaginative combinations and lab synthetics, the natural flowers yielding insufficient essence). The more tenacious notes perceived much later include woods (sandalwood was the #1 choice for this genre), vetiver (an exotic earthy-smelling grass with an extensive root system classified in the "woods" smells), the starch scent of orris, musks and amber. Whether there is much vanillin (i.e synthetic vanilla) or not in the formula determines a further sub-category with the genre of floral aldehydic, sweet or non-sweet.

pic via myfavoritememphispeople.com

Classic reference floral aldehydic fragrances include: Chanel No.5, Arpege by Lanvin, Chanel No.22, Worth Je Reviens, Caron Fleurs de Rocaille and Nocturnes, Lanvin My Sin, Madame Rochas, Givenchy L'Interdit, Rive Gauche (Yves Saint Laurent), Calandre (Paco Rabanne), First (Van Cleef and Arpels) and White Linen (Estee Lauder).
More aldehydic floral fragrances can be seen with links to fragrance reviews on this collective link (scroll for the list), alongside many modern aldehydic fragrance reviews found under the tab Floral Aldehydic.

It's common to hear people noticing that floral aldehydic perfumes give them an impression of soap and/or of functional products (toiletries, detergents etc) or sometimes a "powdery" feel (as in body powder). This is a cultural phenomenon, as the use of the relatively cheap aliphatic aldehydes meant that they were used in many of these products (especially bath soap) throughout the mid and late 20th century; the instability of the ingredients, alongside synthetic vanillin, wasn't too problematic in that type of functional perfumery, so their cost effectiveness and diffusion were advantages.

Floral aldehydics have also inextricably tied themselves to a French-style inclination (you can refer to the Perfume Shrine's article on "french style perfumes" for two directions on that), though they're by no means restricted to France; in fact numerous American fragrances are floral aldehydics, as it's a much beloved genre by US audiences. Last but not least, aldehydic florals are often -among some others- termed "old lady fragrances" by the general public; this fascinating and borderline disturbing cultural association is further explained in this link.

Yet to Come...

Source: clicparhasard.tumblr.com via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest

I want to take this chance to wish you all for a superlatively creative, loving and joyful New Year and to thank you for reading the Perfume Shrine. The delightful feedback from readers makes writing these pages especially gratifying and has been one of the most enjoyable moments of the past year for me.
In case you missed it, take a look at our Best & Worst in 2012 list and do take part in the giveaway!

All the best,
Elena

Perfume Quote: When All our Tears Have Run Dry...

Élisabeth, Comtesse Greffulhe, one of Proust's models for the Duchesse de Guermantes

"[Perfume is] that last and best reserve of the past, the one which when all our tears have run dry, can make us cry again.” ~ Marcel Proust

Especially poignant and funny when one considers that Proust had acute asthma and suffered from life-threatening allergies to pollen, mildew, smoke, dust and (yes) perfume...

And yet the constant reference to Proust in "perfume related writing" goes on. Avery Gilbert has a good post on why it might not be such a good idea to reference him and his madeleine so idly all the time after all.

But Marcel was a literary genius with no writer's block in sight. Here's how he describes asparagus giving pee its distinctive aroma:

"“... asparagus, tinged with ultramarine and rosy pink which ran from their heads, finely stippled in mauve and azure, through a series of imperceptible changes to their white feet, still stained a little by the soil of their garden-bed: a rainbow-loveliness that was not of this world. I felt that these celestial hues indicated the presence of exquisite creatures who had been pleased to assume vegetable form, who, through the disguise which covered their firm and edible flesh, allowed me to discern in this radiance of earliest dawn, these hinted rainbows, these blue evening shades, that precious quality which I should recognise again when, all night long after a dinner at which I had partaken of them, they played (lyrical and coarse in their jesting as the fairies in Shakespeare’s Dream) at transforming my humble chamberpot into a bower of aromatic perfume.” ~M.Proust, Swann's Way

quote source