Procuring Ancient Arabian Essences

One of the delights of being a historian and a perfume writer is coming across excerpts which combine these two subjects. The Histories by Herodotus, the Greek "father of history", had been among my most beloved childhood readings; the wrapping of detailed cultural observations and travelogues (Herodotus was a great traveller) into the grander scheme of the clash of two civilizations and the ideals they represented had been especially exciting to my impressionable mind. Releafing through them for another project I again come across the passage about Arabia and the ancient aromatic essences produced in this most fragrant of lands.

Source: Uploaded by user via Nia on Pinterest

Let's hear it from the man himself:

"Again, the most southerly country is Arabia; and Arabia is the only place that produces frankincense, myrrh, cassia, cinnamon and the gum called ledanon. All these, except myrrh, cause the Arabians a lot of trouble to collect. When they gather frankincense, they burn styrax (the gum which is brought into Greece by the Phoenicians) in order to raise a smoke to drive off the flying snakes; these snakes, the same which attempt to invade Egypt, are small in size and of various colors, and great umbers of them keep guard over the trees which bear the frankincense, and the only way to get rid of them is by smoking them out with storax. [...]
When the Arabians go out to collect cassia*, they cover their bodies and faces, all but their eyes, with ox-hides and other skins. The plant grows in a shallow lake, which together with the ground about it, is infested by winged creatures very like bats, which screech alarmingly and are very pugnacious. They have to be kept from attacking the men's eyes while they are cutting the cassia. [...]
The process of collecting cinnamon* is still more remarkable. Where it comes from, and what country produces it, they do not know; the best some of them can do is to make a fair guess that it grows somewhere in the region that Dionysus was brought ip.What they say is that the dry sticks, which we have learned from the Phoenicians to call cinnamon, are brought by large birds, which carry them to their nests, made of mud, on mountain precipices, which no man can climb, and that the method the Arabians have invented for getting hold of them is to cut up the bodies of dead oxen or donkeys, or dead animals into large joints,  which they carry to the spot in question and leave on the ground near the nests. Then they retire to a safe distance and the birds fly down and carry off the joints of meat to their nests, which not bring strong enough to bear the weight, break and fall to the ground. Then the men come along and pick up the cinnamon, which is subsequently exported to other countries. [...]
Still more surprising is the way to get ledanon -or ladanum, as the Arabians call it. Sweet-smelling substance thought it is, it is found in a most malodorous place; sticking, namely, like glue in the beards of he-goats who have been browsing in the bushes. It is used as an ingredient in many kinds of perfume, and is what the Arabians chiefly burn as incense. So much for perfumes; let me only add that the whole country exhales an odor marvelously sweet. "
  ~Herodotus, The Histories, book III. (Translation in English by Aubrey de Selincourt)

*Cassia and cinnamon come from the same tree, the only difference being that cinnamon is properly the branch with the bark on, whereas cassia is the bark without the branch. Ever since the former ceased to be traded, the latter has usurped the name, therefore "our" cinnamon is the cassia of the ancients. Pliny's description of the cassia agrees with the real cinnamon. (Therefore the "cinnamon" mentioned by Herodotys if not altogether a fable should be the calamus, or aromatic reed, mentioned by Diodorus and in Exodus.) The Phoenician word was probably identical with the Hebrew, cinamom, hence the Greek κινάμμωμον,  and the Latin 'cinnamum'.
Samuel Bochart [Geographia Sacra seu Phaleg et Canaan (Caen 1646) II.iii] observes that all Greek names of spices are of Semitic origin. As the Phoenicians imported all those spices into Greece they would naturally be known to the Greeks by their Phoenician names.

Perfume Primers: Chypre Fragrances for Newbies

No other fragrance category is so shrouded in confusion and wrapped into such awe as chypres. From the pronunciation (listen to this file) to the ingredients constituting a classic chypre perfume, it all sounds too sophisticated for dummies. Or isn't it so? Chypre fragrances have an irresistible pull, making us appreciate perfumery all the more so, because they expertly hinge on both intellectual and sensual qualities. So let's make chypres easy for everyone!

The History of Chypre Perfumes in Simple Terms

Chypre means Cyprus in French, the island in the Eastern Mediterranean where the oldest perfume factory of the world was discovered in Pyrgos Mavrorachi (the name means "fortress on the black slope"  in Greek) dating to 2000BC, well before the Egyptian analogues. Cyprus has been instrumental in European history too: It has been a stronghold of Greek civilization since antiquity (the continuity of art styles and language suggests so) with a flourishing trade exchange with Egypt and later with the Roman conquerors; plus it has been the prime port of call of Eastern merchant routes between Europe and the Middle East, thanks to its strategic geopolitical position, and therefore supremely prized (and seized) by many foreign powers in the course of its millenia-long turmoiled history, starting with the Crusades and going...
But the name "chypre" (chypvra etc), apart from any geographical connotations, had travelled in aromatic stanzas throughout the Middle Ages, Renaissance and the Age of Enlightenment thanks to the vigorous commerce of the enterprising Cypriots who dabbled in a feminine product with an added scent: their famous "Cipria" powder, a cosmetic face powder -presented by various different local "houses"- which was further aromatized with the cypriot aromatic blends they had excelled at for centuries (And which, by all accounts, judging by the later specimens circulating into the 20th century, smelled not far off what we consider a chypre fragrance today!)

Source: flickr.com via June on Pinterest

The vogue for powdered wigs in western Europe in the 17th century made Cipria one of the most widely used cosmetic products and the name is still referenced in Italian to this day for cosmetic powder. Let's not forget Cyprus is the mythological birthplace of Aphrodite/Venus, so the connection with beauty & grooming rituals was there all along. What better place then to sprout forth a product appealing to women (and the men who smell them) everywhere?

Therefore Cyprus and its "Cipria" had created a solid scent tradition. It was that tradition that the legendary François Coty-a Mediterranean merchant himself, hailing from Corsica- decided to put to good use. It is neverthless a myth that the first modern "chypre" was Coty's Chypre in 1917. Contrary to popular perception, François Coty was not the first to associate the name Chypre with a particular perfume. Guerlain's Chypre de Paris preceded him by 8 years, issued in as early as 1909. Chypre d'Orsay was the next one to be introduced in 1912. We can only attribute these names to the tradition of the "Cipria" echoed in these fragrances.

However it was Coty indeed (also dabbling in cosmetics) who first realized the familiarity of the chypre aroma of the Cipria would help make a fragrance drawing inspiration from it a commercial success. Even Chypre's packaging utilized motifs of cosmetics. His Chypre really took off and became an instant hit that created traction and a vogue for such "heavy" "green" perfumes. The rest, as they say, is history.



What makes a chypre "chypre", though? 

In modern perfumery as established by Coty (and all subsequent chypres followed the scaffold he laid out) the basic structure of the chypre perfume is an harmony, an "accord", between 3 key ingredients: bergamot (a citrus fruit that grows all around the Mediterranean) - oakmoss (a tree lichen that grows on oaks mainly in the Balkans) - labdanum (a resinoid from cistus ladaniferus, or rockrose, a plant which grows in the Mediterranean basin, especially in Crete and Cyprus which was traditionally amassed off the hair of the goats that grazed on the bush). Three basic, common Mediterranean products, three Cypriot references for Chypre! Whatever other notes the sites/guides mention, those three must be in there for the fragrance at hand to qualify as a "classic chypre", a true descendant of Coty's Chypre from 1917. These "true/pure chypres" include such later perfumes as Carven Ma Griffe (1946) or E.Lauder's Knowing (1988)!

The tension between the fresh citrusy note and the pungent, earthy odor of oakmoss and of labdanum creates an aesthetic effect that is decidedly inedible (much like the masculine equivalent of fougère fragrances), denoting perfect grooming, always smelling "perfumey", polished, and often powdery. Which makes total sense given the background of the face powder it originated from! It also explains why chypres are extremely popular regardless of fashions in southern Europe as opposed to other countries.

Exactly because they smell like perfume, i.e. an add-on in no uncertain terms, they project an image of luxury, sophistication, status. They can be cerebral, cool and aloof, a The Times reader rather than chic lit browser, or they can be womanly and intimate like effluvium wafting off the boudoir, but whatever the case chypres always remain steeped in their Aphrodite-originating beauty.

[pic source: hprints.com via Sue on Pinterest]

Chypre fragrances often include patchouli and other woody notes, or animalic essences, for added intensity and mystery, while the heart of the perfume is always more or less floral. Although patchouli is ubiquitously included in chypres, it is a very common raw material for other families as well (such as the Orientals and many florals) and is therefore non conclusive as to the classification of any given fragrance ~barring very recent ones, more on which in a moment).

Because chypres are the sophisticated fragrance family par excellence it's very tempting to overreach and classify just any elegant and perfume-y fragrance in the genre!

It is especially common to confuse them with heavily woody Orientals (parfums Babani was on to something mixing the exoticism of Egypt with the chypre coolness in Chypre Egyptien back in 1923!) or with green woody florals such as Chanel No.19 (which is really a separate case, to which I will come back with a detailed breakdown.) or Silences (Jacomo), its logical godchild.


Sub-categories of Chypres

The beauty of the chypre is that it's a strict fragrance structure, but on this basic scaffolding the perfumer can add accent pieces that make the perfume lean into this or that direction. Like a basic "little black dress", you can accessorize with heels or with boots, with pearls or with chunky gold chains, with a fur stole or a colorful velvet shawl and create dazzlingly different looks.

Add green notes of grasses, herbs and green-smelling florals (such as hyacinth) and you have "green chypres" (Diorella, Givenchy III, Chanel Cristalle Eau de parfum, Shiseido Koto, E.Lauder Aliage, Jean Couturier Coriandre, Balenciaga Cialenga, Ayalitta by Ayala Moriel, the Deneuve perfume for Avon). Emphasize the woodier notes of patchouli, vetiver, pine needles and you have "woody chypres (Niki de Saint Phalle, the classic Halston by Halston, La Perla, Aromatics Elixir). Wrap everything in the succulence of ripe fruits -such as plum or peach- and you get the historically important "fruity chypres" league (Guerlain Mitsouko, Rochas Femme, the vintage Dior Diorama, Nina Ricci Deci Dela, Yves Saint Laurent Champagne/Yvresse, Amouage Jubilation 25, Ayala Moriel Autumn, Balenciaga Quadrille, Lutens Chypre Rouge).* Smother lots of discernible flowers and you get "floral chypres"(Ungaro Diva, Zibeline by Weil, Antilope by Weil, Charlie by Revlon, L'Arte de Gucci, E.Lauder Private Collection, Guerlain Parure, Tauer Une Rose Chypree, Agent Provocateur eau de parfum, DSH Parfum de Grasse, K de Krizia, Germaine Monteil Royal Secret, Armani Pour Femme "classic" by Armani, Esteban Classic Chypre). Sparkling aldehydes on top can further the claim that Caleche by Hermes is an "aldehydic chypre" (it's really poised between two categories that one, aldehydic floral and aldehydic chypre). Put the growl of a cat-in-heat via copious animal ingredients and "animalic chypres" appear (Miss Dior by Dior, Montana Parfum de Peau, Balmain Jolie Madame, Paloma Picasso).
Finally, although technically a separate family according to La Société Française des Parfumeurs (whose sub-classification I follow above as well) called "cuir"/"leather fragrances", there are a few perfumes that mingle notes reminiscent of leather goods with the general elements of a chypre, such as Chanel Cuir de Russie, Cabochard by Gres, Piguet Bandit, Caron Tabac Blond, vintage Dior Diorling.

*Although Le Parfum de Therese by Edmond Roudnitska (circulating in the F.Malle line) has fruity elements on the basic skeleton of a chypre, it has been argued that it is in fact a proto-aquatic, therefore I do not include it in this category on purpose. 

In the Michael Edwards classification system (inspired by Firmenich charts and his own consultant job in the industry), chypres fall mostly into the "mossy woods" category, as Edwards doesn't include a "chypre" family per se as per tradition dictates, but rather intersperses them between woods and orientals (and moving leather fragrances into the "dry woods" category in his 2010 edition following new studies in odor perception). It's one way of viewing things that is more accessible to the consumer.

If orientals have traditionally built on a rose floral nucleus to further create smoothness, chypres have been traditionally constructed around a white flowers core (jasmine, tuberose etc), with the all important lily of the valley "opening" the bouquet, just like uncorking a bottle of wine a few minutes prior to drinking lets the aroma develop better. Specifically the more traditional floral "core" was constructed around an impression of gardenia (Another Cypriot reference as the ripe, narcotic blossom grows well on the warm shores of the island). The classic reference for that is the original Miss Dior (from 1947), now circulating as Miss Dior L'Original.

Source: hprints.com via Perfume on Pinterest

'Modern chypres' that "don't smell like chypres"

Even though years have passed and chypres fell out of vogue in the 1990s and early 2000s, there was a renewed interest in them after Narciso for Her eau de toilette was introduced into the market in 2004 (launched as a youthful chypre) and became a modern classic that influenced every other house. Basically these fragrances, which I call "nouveau chypres" (read more on them on this article of mine) are NOT technically chypres, but "woody floral musks" fragrances, with a "clean" non hippy-shop patchouli and vetiver base standing in for the reduced ratio of oakmoss allowed by modern industry regulations in regard to allergens (oakmoss is considered a skin sensitizer and therefore greatly reduced, which accounts for the reformulation -and thus unrecognizable state- of many classics). These include Gucci de Gucci, Lovely by SJP, Guerlain Idylle and Chypre Fatal, L'Eau de Chloe, Miss Dior Chérie, Chance by Chanel and countless others. A few however do manage to smell credible such as the underrated Private Collection Jasmine White Moss by E.Lauder; although totally modern, it doesn't betray the genre and smells like true progeny. Issey Miyake A Scent is taking the greener, airier stance of green chypres.

Although the term "chypre" nowadays means little to nothing to the modern consumer, as attested by the countless questions I receive when consulting, the industry insists on keeping it. The soft pink shade of these modern juices does make us think of the soft powdery color referenced as "cipria". Femininity, softness, cosmetics and Aphrodite rolled into a modern packaging. Or perhaps it's because chypre has at least 4000 years of history behind it...

If your interest has peaked and you want to find out more about chypre fragrances, please refer to Perfume Shrine's extensive series on Chypres:
Part 1: The origins of Chypre
Part 2: Chypre fragrance ingredients & formulae
Part 3: "Nouveau chypres" or "pink chypres" (modern chypre fragrances)
Part 4: Chypre perfume aesthetics
Part 5: Chypre perfume chronology and the zeitgeist
Part 6: Masculine Chypres: Does such a thing exist?
Part 7: The Chypres time forgot

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfume Primers for Beginners & Beyond

For those who read French, a wonderful essay on the origins of the Cypriot strain of Cipria and chypre on this and that link.  Also refer to "Aromata Cipria - Cyprus Perfumes" by. P.Flourentzos, M.R.Belgiorno, A.Lentini (dbas.sciant.unifi.it)

painting: Herbert James Draper "Pearls of Aphrodite"

Chanel Les Exclusifs 1932: new fragrance

This is a tah da da ta da post, of the "I told you so" variety. Eons ago (actually a year ago, but it feels that way in perfume land) I had posted how "1932" was going to be the next Chanel Les Exclusifs fragrance. The perfume news are confirmed. Rejoice!

The new Les Exclusifs de Chanel 1932 fragrance is arriving at selected boutiques on March 1st 2013.
The scent is touted to be a powdery floral focused on jasmine. The new fragrance is reportedly made available for the first time to the general public as part of Les Exclusifs whereas the perfume was originally offered for purchase only to the customers of Chanel’s haute joiallerie line, specifically named to echo the new "Chanel 1932 collection". The perfume is named after the year in which Chanel launched its jewelry collection and bears NO relation with the vintage Ivoire fragrance by Chanel issued in the year 1932. It is a NEW creation developed by the Chanel house perfumers.

Edit to update: Fragrance Notes for "Chanel Les Exclusifs 1932":
Top notes: aldehydes, bergamot, neroli
Heart: jasmine, rose, lilac, carnation, ylang-ylang
Base: vetiver, sandalwood, opoponax, orris root, coumarin, ambrette, musk, incense, vanilla, iralia*
*Iralia is a base with a pronounced iris and violet character patented by Firmenich

Perfume Classics & Future Classics (By Pierre Aulas)

I was reading some material by Pierre Aulas (the artistic director at Parfums Mugler) and came across a reference that I deemed interesting. In it he presents his views on classics and in what he predicts will go down as "modern classics" in the near future. Let's hear the man out:

by artist Michelle Bennett via decorpad.com

"In truth, very few products manage to become classics in both Europe and America. That said, on my list of the greatest perfumes for women are Angel, (not a surprise), Aromatics Elixir, Obsession, Opium, Hypnotic Poison, Féminité du Bois and L’Heure Bleue, while, for men, my votes go to Farenheit, CK One, Kenzo pour Homme, L'Eau d’Issey pour Homme, Aqua di Gio, Le Mâle and Dolce & Gabbana pour Homme.

Pierre Aulas via Elisa de Feydeau  

 Future classics? Coco Mademoiselle, J’adore, Chloé and, more specifically in Europe, Alien and Narcisco Rodriguez . For men, I think Terre d’Hermes, especially in Europe. "

Which do you think of the current fragrances on shelves will go down as "modern classics"?

The Diary of a Nose by Jean Claude Ellena: Perfume Book Review

Mηδέν ἄγαν (i.e. nothing in excess)
  ~oracular statement inscripted on the wall of the Delphi oracle in Greece, 440 BC

"We have exiled beauty; the Greeks took up arms for her." 
  ~Albert Camus 

'I was born in Grasse, and yet I do not feel Grassois by nature, nor Provençal, for that matter. [...] My attachment to the place is due to my paternal grandparents, who were of Italian descent and who set up home there. [...] I love the sea and its horizon, where my gaze gets lost as the blue of the sky and that of the sea merge. I appreciate the beautiful bodies, the drape of light clothing, the discreet elegance and restraint. I have never been able to truss myself up in suits; their restrictiveness denotes a rigidness of mind and disenchantment with life. I believe in happiness, in man, in a lay spirituality; I do not trust religions. I would rather have eye contact for a long time than chatter for a long time. And, although I like to seduce, I have a sense of propriety with words. As I write this, I am reminded in particular of Camus, who wrote in L'exil d'Hélène:

"Greek thought always took refuge in the idea of limits. It pushed nothing to its full extent, not the sacred, nor reason, because it denied nothing, not the sacred, nor reason. It took everything into account, balancing shadow and light".

I have never sought to impose anything. My research is driven by a constrant desire to find a balance between what can be felt with the senses and what is intelligible to the mind. I am Mediterranean. '

  ~Jean Claude Ellena, Cabris 26 August 2010

Santorini house, Greece. Source: moonlightrainbow.tumblr.com via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest

The thought that Ellena represents the Mediterranean prototype to a T (in itself a Classical prototype of meaningful, deceptive simplicity) has been at the back of my mind since forever. I had even posed the question to the man himself, to which he had smiled. I now see why most clearly.

"The Diary of a Nose" from which the above Ellena quote originates is the USA edition of the original French title "Journal d'un Parfumeur" (Sabine Wespieser Éditeur), printed by Rizzoli ExLibris, with the official launch date for the USA being 22 January 2013. As I was sent an advance copy I was able to gauge the differences with the French original which kept me engaging company for months on end. The main difference is right there on the cover itself: the odd usage of the word "parfumeur", as in "A Year in the Life of a Parfumeur" (as well as "exclusive parfumeur for Hermès" underneath it) in what is otherwise a 100% English-speaking tome threw me off a bit. It sounds tortured and odd. But that is the only flaw.

If you had only read Rachel Cooke's Observer review of the UK-edition of Diary of a Nose last summer, you might want to reconsider your impressions. Not because this new US edition of the Ellena-penned tome (with its fuschia jacket) is any different than the British version (with the beige-peach jacket), but because Cooke missed the point entirely, much as she should have known better, being an awarded journalist with lots of experience. But such are the perils of being a journalist in general rather than a fragrance writer per se. You get all in awe of the perceived authority of Turania (because you don't know any better yourself, I presume? what gives?) and you spend more time discussing them and their views (missing some of the praise they give Ellena too!) instead of focusing on the book and its author at hand! Not to mention that if this were a real life situation it would be exceptionally rude and inappropriate to describe someone only by way of comparing him unfavorably to someone else! How is that OK in a book review?

Lucia van der Post's jacket description of Ellena as the "Mozart of perfumery" in the Financial Times is quite apt, even though those of us who are musically trained might feel the "too many notes" of the ethereal musical garlands of the classical composer are contested by Ellena's adherence to "less is more" and the laconic simplicity the perfumer aims for. But the comparison is totally understood nevertheless: Ellena makes everything seem effortless -the prime constituent of elegance- even though reading the book one realizes that the process is anything BUT effortless! Like a "Cahiers du Cinéma" auteur, he chooses the word "author" to denote that perfume composition more than anything else is an intellectual work that requires thought behind each step and one which is uniquely personal to the creator who oversees everything about it.

Ellena takes the opportunity to show how ordinary situations form his creations: a standard air flight, when he recognizes one of his creations on a passenger whose smoke remnants surface beneath it; observing the Italian language teacher's way of scheduling his day, slow, observant & dreamy; discussions with friends and people in the field or business meetings (visiting growers of raw materials in Italy, appraising the heritage at Hermès) or more sophisticated/sensuous encounters (a purposefully arranged chef-guided dinner filled with gourmet appreciation or a Japanese Kodo ritual he attends).
All these occasions provide the stepping stone into pondering (instead of pontificating) about scents and of their artistic merits in a way that defies classification, but which indirectly draws upon the extensive body of western art criticism.

The book has the major advantage of being fit to be read out of order, taking the typical form of a diary, with places and dates of entry. I find myself leafing through, returning to a page when fancy strikes, pondering for a while for meanings that take on a different nuance once I have re-sniffed one of his creations, realizing that he doesn't aim to resolve anything (like an open-ended movie, this is a book to make you think for yourself!), just to communicate his thoughts, his questions, his own maturing process. It's an invitation to a dance for two, cheek-to-cheek, rather than a carefully orchestrated performance on video for all to watch in awe.

The final chapter "Summary of Smells", an index where the author reveals a few of his tricks into producing odors  from combining two or three simple raw materials, isn't meant as a chemical cheat sheet into how his perfumes are composed, nor to be parroted by bloggers and writers; it's a game he beckons us to play so as to gain insights and prompt us to experience things anew.
His entry for OLIVE for instance reads:

"This smells describes the Mediterranean single-handedly. From black olives to olive paste, via olive oil, my nose and palate find endless connections: smells of truffles, castoreum, human smells, smells I am drawn to.  

castoreum
benzyl salicylate 

To which you can add styrax resinoid and thyme if you want to produce the taste of olive paste."

Source: thenowbook.tumblr.com via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest

Ellena's prose is tender, unpretentious, ethereal like Giono's stories or Japanese ink calligraphy, and deeply personal. Because, beyond the "search for beauty", art is defined by the purposeful will to communicate something from creator to public, and that something can never be non personal. The more impersonal and all-encompassing that message tries to be, the less artistic the end result becomes. And this is the gist (and gift!) of Ellena's diary...

As the oracle would say "make your own nature, not the advice of others, your guide in life." [1]

The Diary of a Nose: A Year in the life of a Parfumeur 
by Jean Claude Ellena 
Rizzoli ExLibris, an imprint of Rizzoli New York 
ISBN: 978-0-8478-4042-7 
Hardcover 24.95$

[1] oracle given to Marcus Tulius Cicero by the Delphi oracle in 83 BC

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfume Books reviews & news