Perceptions of Freshness in Perfumes

No term is more brandished in perfume ad copy than "fresh", with the possible exception of "sexy". Quite often the two are intertwined in such memorable pop culture images as the "just out of the shower sexiness" in the advertorials for JLo's Glow. But fresh can mean a lot of things, when talking about fragrances, and not everyone agrees on quite what makes something smell "fresh". What IS fresh anyway?

via reinkingprojekte

One could argue that like other, more objective and qualitative perfumery terms, such as agrestic, aromatic, resinous or powdery, fresh denotes specific qualities, immediately recognizable, effortlessly translated into multiple cultures. Take dry citrus or mint, with its mental association of toothpaste and chewing gum. A fragrance like Eau d'Hadrien with its lemony tang or the minty coolness of Herba Fresca by Guerlain are undeniable "fresh" as opposed to "ripe", an adjective we'd reserve for things like Femme or Feminite du Bois with their prune and plum notes that evoke harvest, autumnal maturity, a delicious decline. But from then on freshness as related to smell descriptors takes on odd, unforeseen nuances.

Fresh is sometimes confused with "light", as in lacking heft, since freshness is so often related to the uplifting feeling of a spring renewal, when green and tangy scents fill the air with the promise of resurgence. Fresh can also sometimes mean "contemporary" and "modern", the opposite of old-fashioned, therefore gaining a cultural and time-sensitive connotation which is more complex than anticipated at first; this is where it gets really interesting. Cast your mind back to Chanel No.5. Coco Chanel -and perfumer Ernest Beaux for her- created it as a "fresh" scent, something totally modern, to break with the tradition of the Belle Epoque and its contemplative, demure and prim fragrances.

via theowlsare.fr

The link with modernity also hides another thought: apart from "fresh new", it can also mean "fresh" as opposed to "stale" or "musty". Since many of the classic chypres and grand florals are worn by older women because of the fond association they have with them from the time of their prime, the perception of staleness in regards to perfume gains a perverse but powerful mental image, that of the decay of old age associated with the decay of flowers, of leaves, of animal matter. No, eschew these depressing connotations in favor of an eternal spring, of budding rather than maturing, of awakening rather than somnambulant, bring on the "freshness", is what the industry is telling us to. And we heed to it, because we're defenseless before its guiles, as they're never consciously registered.

Chanel No.5 is also fresh in another sense: it smells of cleanliness, as Chanel wanted it to, appalled as she was of the ladies of high society who "smelled" of impropriety; well, at least it smells of cleanliness on the marquee, as the sexy with its musky and civet-rich backstage is another matter...And here to come to that other tangent on which freshness in fragrances works: the "clean", just out the shower, attribute.

After Chanel No.5 many aldehydic florals gained a fresh connotation, aided by the wide use of the main components in soap formulae, a connotation however that was sure to lose ground with younger generations as perfume fashion changed and aldehydics became the scent of a past generation. As one of my readers, Noetic Owl, put it in regards to Calandre by Paco Rabanne: "I kept sniffing my wrist all day-loving it, but also acknowledging that were my teenage daughters to sniff it on me they would probably say I smell like an 'old lady'. Funny how certain scents become dated -yet in my mother's mind (and mine as well) Calandre was a fresh and green scent."

Even incense can be related to freshness if you think about it. Frankincense in particular, a resin used for its meditative and cleansing properties since antiquity, has a dry, citric, refreshing smoky quality about it, which transports the spirit and creates the feeling of renewal, spiritual this time around.

During the decade of scent absolution, of olfactory catharsis from the heavy load of the carnality of the 1980s and its bombastic perfume powerhouses such as Giogio, Obsession and Opium, the 1990s saw fresh fragrances come to mean laundry detergent reminiscent scents, heavy on clean musks, and/or ozonic fragrances (with their Calone molecule, reminiscent of melon), often screechy and sharp. We're talking about fragrances such as L'Eau d'Issey, Light Blue, Aqua di Gio, Kenzo pour Homme...
Such is the cultural integration of the idea that if you ask people in their 40s today they still equate these scents with freshness; it's simply how they were brought up! You see, our olfactory imprint may be created during our childhood when our perception and emotional state is still virgin territory (and this is why the smells we came to love or despise at that period will remain with us), but it is our formative teenager and early 20s which cement our conscious associations with perfumes. This impressionable period accounts for a memorable data bank onto which we form ties and associations that will forever have a strong pull on us. Even if later on, with the vagaries of life and the wisdom of maturity we come to designate them to what is essentially true, peer pressure, the desire to fit in (or conversely for the rebels to stand out), the need to map out our olfactory identity. The 1990s perfumes were fresh all right; they turned a new page in perfumery's book, as the broke new ground and presented something -at the time- innovative and revolutionary

Similarly the strong pull of the fougere genre in regards to masculine fragrances, thanks to its inedible association with soap and grooming (think of Green Irish Tweed, Cool Water, Azarro Man, Paco Rabanne pour Homme or Drakkar Noir), has come to stand as fresh, further enhanced by its advertising. One look at the Cool Water glossy with the guy washed over by the splash of the ocean and you're sold.

Yet today freshness took a new spin, a yarn previously unthreaded. Nowadays "fresh" is often uttered in the same breath as fruity & sweet, often reminiscent of an odd combination between shampoo and candy. This is how ad copy has presented their case: Miss Dior (the revamped, contemporary version) is touted as the debutante scent that smells like a young girl discovering love and the pleasures of the flesh. Daisy Eau so Fresh (Marc Jacobs) even says so in the title!
It is funny indeed to contemplate how sweet by its very nature predisposes for an artificiality that requires some elaboration. After all we need to break some eggs, dust some sugar and whisk them together to come up with a dessert, needn't we? But the arbitrary, yet deliberate on the part of the industry, connection between contemporaneity and freshness means that fashion and vogues will dictate our perception of the latter in the passage of time.

Which are YOUR "fresh fragrances"? What do you consider "fresh"?

other pics buttercom.com, metrolic.com

Les Parfums de Rosine Vive la Mariee: new fragrance

The Fragrance of happiness!
A bride likes to choose a delicate fragrance. Vive la Mariée is a very feminine and subtle perfume, in harmony with the feelings she feels in her heart. The floral composition of Vive la Mariée has been devised like a bride's bouquet. Benoit Lapouza is the nose who has made this gentle floral scent, based on an idea by Marie-Hélène Rogeon, the creator of Les Parfums de Rosine.


A gentle floral fragrance.

 A harmony of flowers and green, made from bergamot, neroli, and lychee, comes to mind. This fades gently to allow the white flowers to appear. At the heart of the fragrance are jasmin sambac, peony, magnolia flowers and freesia accompanying the rose and orange blossom. Then, toned down but still there, are the happy scents of celebration. Wedding cake, sugar almonds and little choux pastries can be found in the sweetness of the praline, the fruity sensuality of peach and the whipped-cream of vanilla-tonka beans. The fragrance keeps its magical bridal train for us for the finish. A procession of Patchouli, Cedar, Musk and Sandalwood creates a drifting note, unreal, which will be difficult to resist.

Vive la Mariée’s tender trail will make it unforgettable for brides, grooms and their guests.

Kathleen Tessaro The Perfume Collector: fragrance book review

Grace Munroe. Eva d'Orsey. One English and pampered into false security. The other French-countryside-born and exiled in New York, serving to make ends meet. One straight-laced by nurture, yet inquisitive, the other building herself from the bottom up and uninhibited by nature, picking up life lessons wherever she can, from decadent emigrés to call girls. One disillusioned by marriage, the other becoming the mistress of a cosmetics tycoon to help materialize her own plans. But when one inherits the other, though the two have never met, and indeed the heiress has absolutely no idea who this mysterious Eva is, the two lives intermingle and the English rose is in for some coming of age metamorphosis, the French way, with a brisk and brief perfumery introduction lesson in the middle of it. This the central plot of Kathleen Tessaro's new novel The Perfume Collector and if this reminds you vaguely of the journey of finding one's self with the help of French (or Frenchified) style icons after a failed marriage in her earlier novel Elegance it is because it is basically the same theme.

Source: Uploaded by user via Perfume on Pinterest

There is simply no way around it. The Anglo-Saxon is mesmerized by the lure of the Continental, with the latter's abandon to sensuality, its convenient compartmentalization of personal life & business and of its Cartesian logic (and non Protestant ethic) while wading through life. Even we have often elaborated on what makes this particular tick tick. And if there is one lesson to be derived is to suck the juice out of the bone of life because life is short, a sentiment with which I can't bring myself to disagree.

"The name, madam..." Eva could hardly say it out loud without blushing. "My Sin". Madame Zed said the words slowly, her black eyes unblinking. "What about it?"Eva hesitated. "It's just...well..what does it mean? What sin?"

 Madame was silent for a moment, looking past Eva, or rather through her, as if she were transparent. Finally she spoke. "Do you know what sin means?"

"To do something wrong?"Madame shook her head. "That's one meaning. But there's another, from the Greek, hamartia, which translates, 'to miss the mark'. That's the meaning I prefer. ""To miss the mark" Eva repeated, committing it to memory.

 "Yes", Madame continued. "We try and fail, like archers who aim for the target but fall short of the mark."Eva watched as she removed the lace shawl. "When you are older and have swum out into the stream of life, you'll see - there are no 'good people', little girl. We're all trying and failing, trying too hard and failing too often. Remember that. We shouldn't judge too harshly, in the end, the sins of others."

Tessaro does a beautiful job of putting the sequence in non-chronological order, starting in media res, and then retracing the tale to its beginnings as the search for the enigmatic Eva is conducted by both Grace and the reader through the flashbacks. To do this comfortably Tessaro breaks down the novel in two distinct narrative viewpoints, Exit to Eden style, and two different time-periods, one following Eva, the other following Grace. One feels that the blue-eyed blonde British K.Tessaro is having a particular pleasure into delving into the brunette territory of Eva, her primal name a nod to her budding but all potent femininity, sometimes to the point of exaggeration.

Bending closer, she gave his shoulder a shake. "Sir!"His eyes opened, blinking to focus. 'I'm sorry, it's only Madame wants you", she explained in a whisper. "She says..."Suddenly he grabed her wrist. "Hush!" And still in a fog of sleep, he pulled her close. Eva pitched forward, into his arms. Valmont inhaled.

 At first her natural seemed straightforward, simply; the slightly acrid, almost creamy aroma of a child's damp skin. But underneath that, a rich, musky element seeped through, unfolding slowly; widening and expanding to a profound, primitive, animalistic essence. The sheer range and complexity of her odour was astonishing. The effct, intensely arousing. It was the most compelling, deeply sensual thing Valmont had ever encountered. 

Eva pushed him away, horrified. "What are you doing?""You smell..." he murmured. "Yes, thank you!" She scrambled to her feet. "I hardly need you to tell me that!" she hissed. "Madame wants to see you...""No, you don't understand". He reached for her again; short sharp intakes now, savouring the notes, rolling them round on his olfactory palette. "It's unique. Completely unique.""Get off!" Eva swatted him.

 Suddenly something shifted in the bed; a body. The person next to him stretched out and rolled over onto their stomach. 

It was another man. 

The novel isn't devoid of some weaknesses, easily overlooked when regarded within its genre nevertheless. The pivotal scene of discovering the abandoned perfume shop -owned by perfumer to Eva D'Orsey Andre Valmont- is rather contrived. The name Valmont by itself is eerily problematic, bearing as it does no reference to Laclos's infamous hero (the mind being predestined to forever associate it with him), as it pertains to a homosexual Jewish youth apprentice (and later celebrated perfumer) who becomes Eva's entry to the magical world of smells. Of course Eva d'Orsey herself reflects the D'Orsay perfume brand (and I had to correct myself in each and every instance I typed her name for this review), though not deliberately. But the invention of the back story of the mysterious Russian Madame Zed (actually a real person, possibly of French origin, named Marie Zede, at the helm of the Lanvin perfume story back then), met at the height of her fame in New York city, is satisfying enough to forgive these minor quibbles.

Throughout one gets the impression the author has always had a peripheral interest to scents (if her pivotal mention of one in her previous novel Elegance is any indication, since I'm unfamiliar with the rest) but needed to stumble upon the online perfume aficionado community to get the juices going and to borrow the lingual framework on which to build her descriptions. Some phrases ring rather modern when describing conversations with people involved in the industry in as far back as the 1920s and the 1950s. But if the reader is a casual one and not a follower of every board and blog concerning fragrance and smell, this gets bypassed easily. What is perhaps more apparent to the average eye is the awe-struck descriptions of Paris, as recounted by the impressionable heroine Grace Munroe, to the point where London is chastised for having "bundled" its monuments tightly together (an observation which as a formerly frequent visitor to the city left me surprised) and the Parisian weather glossed over while the heiress lunches al fresco at every opportunity. There's a missed opportunity there to go on an tangent and report a lay woman's impressions on some of the intelligentsia of the Parisian 1950s, but we're dealing with chick lit and Tessaro handles her weapons knowingly and with ease.

All in all, The Perfume Collector doesn't disappoint. It's an easily paced read whose prose doesn't suffer the way it would in a less skilled author's hands and which should keep you good company on the chaise-longue while sunbathing or on the train ride commuting to work, eradicating the grayness and the city torpor via fantasy.

The Perfume Collector by Kathleen Tessaro is available for purchase  on Amazon on this link.

Photo Perfume store. Photographs by Hans Wild. From the historical archives of LIFE Magazine 1947.
Disclosure: I was sent a copy for reviewing purposes. 

Le Labo Lys 41 and Ylang 49: new fragrances

Florals are never taken lightly in perfumery and even less at Le Labo where it has taken three intense years to add to the brand's floral chapter. Le Labo is thus proud to present imperfect twins, the result of a long creative process and the birth of two new floral statements - LYS 41 & YLANG 49.

LYS 41 is an overwhelming white floral - a blend of jasmine, tuberose absolute and lily, bewitching in its noble, warm and sunny approach yet treacherous once caught in its web of noble woods, vanilla Madagascar and musks. LYS 41 rewards those looking for a statement with an addictive floral buzz that is as potent as its wake and as insistent as the people following you around. Good luck. Lys 41 has been created in collaboration with Daphné Bugey. Daphné is one of Le Labo’s iconic noses, she is the perfumer behind Rose 31, Bergamote 22 and Neroli 36.

YLANG 49 is a chypre floral, where Pua Noa Noa (gardenia from Tahiti) completes the floral voluptuousness of ylang ylang... Patchouli, oakmoss, vetiver, sandalwood and benjoin follow to tip the blend into darker sensual undertones... Ylang 49 is a walk in the woods, a lush floral bouquet in your hand, listening to G. Gould's well-tempered clavier and realizing that a floral composition can go beyond flowers, in the same way a fugue in D minor is way beyond the D... Ylang 49 was composed with Frank Voekl who was also involved in the creation of Santal 33, Iris 39, Musc 25 and Baie Rose 26.

LYS 41 & YLANG 49 IN A NUTSHELL

	Lys 41	Ylang 49
Notes	lily, jasmine, tuberose absolute, warm and sunny notes, woods, vanilla Madagascar, tiare, musks	ylang ylang, pua noa noa (gardenia from Tahiti), patchouli, oakmoss, vetiver, sandalwood, benjoin
Concentration	25% (Extrait de parfum)	30% (Extrait de parfum)
Perfumer	Daphné Bugey	Frank Voekl

Prices & Sizes:

15ml: €€45 (boutiques & online)
50ml: €€110
100ml: €€170
500ml: €€560
travel tube kit: €€105
travel tube refill: €€105 .
perfume oil: €€90
amulet: 57€€
ceramic oil: 37€€
body oil: €€50 (available in Fall)
body lotion: €€50 (available in Fall)
shower gel: €€38 (available in Fall)

Date of release: 8th June 2013
Availability: Le Labo stores, corners and online: http://storeinternational.lelabofragrances.com

A new city-exclusive (San Francisco), Limette 37, is also in the cards, to be officially announced on May 20th (my announcing post on it of May 14th has since been retracted at the request of the company)

Bacchic, anisic-tasting cookies: Mediterranean Fennel biscuits

You may find similar recipes under “Bacchus Biscuits” because the followers of Bacchus carried a stalk of wild fennel with them; an image rather suggestive, if you think about the symbolism of the god. Irrespective of sexual connotations fennel is very popular around the Meditternanean where anisic flavours (such as the aroma present in aperitifs such as pastis, tsipouro and ouzo) are very familiar and beloved since infancy; even bread is often peppered with anise, paired with black olives and a slice of good cheese for a light supper. These fennel biscuits are crunchy, not soft (though they're never supposed to be gritty), a popular notion with the Greeks, maybe because the arid climate allows for a coordination with the local cuisine; you would never associate mulch stuff with Mare Nostrum. In addition there's a lightly sweet aspect to fennel which is at the same time quite refreshing, further enhanced by the richness of butter and the finishing of salt. 

Whatever the secret is Fennel biscuits make for a perfect accompaniment to strong flavorful coffee (a good Greek coffee made in the traditional copper "briki" or a dark roast espresso) in the morning or in the afternoon, preferably after a brief siesta, when life seems anew full of promise and earthy pleasures. Ah...

Recipe for 25 cookies

Ingredients:

• 1/2 cup soft butter (salted)
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 1 tablespoon fennel seeds (ground)
• 1 whole egg
• 1 3/4 cups plain flour
• 3 tablespoons cornmeal
• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

Directions:

1. Cream the butter and sugar together in a large bowl. Add the fennel seeds and the egg and beat. In another bowl, mix the flour, with cornmeal and baking powder, and whisk.

2. Stirring all the time, start adding the flour mix to the butter mix, slowly . When smooth and starting to come off the edges of the bowl, shape the dough into a log with floured hands, cover in plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

3. The next day, preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Slice off the log into small cylinders of the log, roll them into a ball, then press them lightly with a glass to flatten again; you can also cut them with coupe-pâte. Arrange the slices on a bake-sheet in your baking pan. 

4. Bake until they begin to color on the edges, about 10-12 minutes (according to how thin the "slices" you cut were). Remove and cool on a rack. They can keep in a biscuit tin for up to a month. For further effect you can sprinkle aniseed when serving. 

 Song is "Σταλιά σταλιά" (i.e. drop by drop [and insatiably I drink your kisses]), written by Georgios Zabetas and sung by Marinella.

Etsy photo