Teo Cabanel Barkhane: fragrance review & free perfume draw

There are generally speaking three directions on amber, that perfumery trope which although reminiscent of alembicated elixirs derives in reality from the late 19th century and its advances in chemistry. Roughly, much like human body types, there is the thick-set endomorph, vanillic and zaftig amber, often powdery but a little too snuggly the way a favorite aunt suffocated you as a child when she tried to hug you; there's the linear ectomorph, naturally rail-thin and giving only a hint of an oriental, fit for people who consider sipping a latte as having the equivalent of a dessert orgy only the calories fly off their cage-like backs (Marc Jacobs Amber Splash I'm looking at you); and finally the elusively callipygean mesomorph, its discovery as awe inspiring as the realization of the protagonist in They Live, an amber that's got to be extra-terrestrial, since there's no other explanation for its perfect, almost perverse precision and special abilities.

photo by Francesco Middei for National Geographic via Pinterest (Namibia sand dune)

Some of my favorite ambers belong to that last category, managing the trick via either a generous helping of herbal accents (Ambre Sultan by Lutens is the crowning example) or a devious splattering of incense notes, via frankincense or myrrh (Ambra del Nepal or Angelique Encens are decent examples.)        

Barkhane belongs to this special category, a foudroyant amber perfume both thanks to its transparent treatment of the labdanum (cistus)-vanillin pairing and the bittersweet myrrh resin which illuminates it the way vitraux illuminate a cathedral. From a distance Barkhane suggests repetition, since Alahine (Cabanel's 2007 fragrance) was also a terrific amber. But it is not, since it lacks the rosy floralcy and the woody element, as perfumer Jean-Francois Latty here focused instead on the introduction of a tempered oud note which tilts it into the slightly medicinal, more masculine or unisex territory. There is also a notable spicy component (reportedly built on cumin and curry notes) which melds with the myrrh.

Last but not least: the lasting power is phenomenal for something so well balanced and, yes, at its fighting weight.

Barkhane is the latest fragrance by niche French brand Teo Cabanel, re-introduced recently in the States and repackaged to new heights of luxury under the direction of heiress Caroline Ilacqua. The fragrance's name derives from the naturalist Alexander von Middendorf, who used it to describe "the smooth velvety dunes which gently ripple under powerful desert winds".

I have a self-bought* large sample for one lucky reader in Europe/rest of the world. If you're in the USA, thanks to Hypoluxe Inc.'s generosity, there's the option of one BIG 1/2oz spray for ONE lucky winner and 15 sample vials for 15 more winners. 
Please enter a comment saying your opinion on amber fragrances and if you have a favorite/Kryptonite one and please state whether you're in Europe/USA/rest of the world. 
Draw is open till Thursday midnight, winners to be announced sometime on Friday.
(*The company did send me another one for reviewing purposes)

Penhaligon's Tralala: new fragrance

This April Penhaligon’s will release Tralala, a new fragrance inspired by the fantastical universe of Edward Meadham and Benjamin Kirchhoff.

“We do not have a signature but rather a handwriting. We like to tell stories in different ways.” Meadham Kirchhoff

Meadham Kirchhoff’s shows have been scented by Penhaligon’s for the past nine seasons. The designers themselves have chosen a diverse selection of scents to represent their collections, including Hammam Bouquet, Bluebell, Castile, English Fern and Cornubia. The inevitable outcome of this ongoing collaboration, Tralala is an opulent, hedonistic blend created by Master Perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour.

A small note in passing? I guess this means that the long defunct L'Artisan Parfumeur fragrance Framboise Tralala will not get re-released anytime soon (at least under that name).

Notes for Penhaligon's Tralala:

aldehydes, saffron, whiskey and violet,
leather, tuberose, incense and carnation,
patchouli, vetiver, musk and vanilla.


info via press release, notes via E.Knezhevich

Monday in Blue and Other Melancholic Stories

The blues, "but I still got the blues for you", Rhapsody in Blue and Blue Monday, the bleakest day in the year, as I discovered just today upon opening my online subscriptions. Little did I know that the third Monday of January is officially termed "blue", supposedly because the weather is at its dullest, the festive spirit has worn on, the resolutions for the New Year have had their chance of proving how futile (or impossible to keep) they are and everyone is just waiting for the nascent buds of spring to formally and univocally feel better.

Blue seems a loaded term in Anglo context, whereas where I come from it's all blue skies and azure seas and a feeling of contentment; or alternatively the eye of God (this is why the protective "evil eye" amulets routinely display a blue eye). There is no S.A.D at my place, as far as I know, and mid-January is usually halcyon days with plenty of sunshine and temperatures in the 15-17s Celsius. Greeks, however, with their inherent sense of drama, do black better, close as it is to true funereal colors; once upon a time there were whole villages with people perennially dressed in black in mourning for someone or other lost in war. Melancholia literally means "black bile" in Greek.
It might also have to do with blue just performing more joyfully in these southern latitudes: a beautiful piece of lapis lazuli edged in 18K gold had lost most of its vibrancy and intensity when brought to the grey skies of the UK when I was a student. Lackluster, it just wasn't the same. But two weeks back home and I started to wear it again, an amulet of Pharaonic resonance, no doubt because the country of the Nile exploited its natural sunshine the same way to enhance the beauty of gems.

The French word glauque although directly inspired by the Latin (and the Greek glaykos/γλαυκός which means "light blue") has come to denote a qualitative awfulness or vacuousness as in lifeless and listless. Blue doesn't really do well in French either (at least in that respect) it seems…

Nevertheless blue is a beautiful concept for fragrances, both in shade and in nuance: from the wistful L'Heure Bleue (denoting the hour that the French call entre chien et loup) to the bright cerulean of its modern Guerlain "rendition" L'Heure de Nuit (whose shade one of my wittiest readers compared to Toilet Duck's to the burning of my mind's "eye" ever since), blue makes an honorable appearance in fine fragrance. Just think of the gorgeous "lantern" design by Guerlain, famously utilized in Guet apens, or the majestic blue of Shalimar or even of the pentagon of Tauer perfumes. Blue "sports" fragrances for men have somehow blurred the positive associations of blue (well, at least the escapist ones, if the bleak ones remain, given how awfully bad many of those fragrances smell) yet there are some examples of blue perfumes (or flacons!) which eschew the rule that "blue=marine", such as the infamous case of Angel by Thierry Mugler, Armani's La Femme Bleue or Cacharel's Loulou in its memorable turquoise.

So tell me, which are your "blue perfumes"? Are they wistful and nostalgic, filled with saudade, or are they colored blue and evoking seascapes and fresh ocean spray?

pics via pinterest

How Does Scent Marketing Works? ScentAir on BBC1

An interesting video, highlighting a specific company, nevertheless providing some insights into this popular form of marketing.

Boucheron Boucheron Femme eau de parfum & extait de parfum: fragrance review

Direct kin off Narcisse Noir (Caron's venerable classic built on orange blossom and Sunset Boulevard notoriety) Boucheron Femme is at once a queenly narcotic perfume that recalls retro beauties and a fragrance that breathes contemporary air; if by contemporary we refer to the still living, still breathing women who first discovered it in the 1980s when it erupted Venus like from the sea foam "sprayed" by the creative sperm of perfumers Francis Deleamont and Jean-Pierre Bethouart in 1988. Obviously this is the result of palinoia rather than divine intervention, but it feels like the latter, such is the awe it inspires in me. Boucheron Femme feels the way Venus de Milo looks: eudaimonia (ευδαιμονία), in Greek literally  denoting "of benevolent spirit", a balance of prosperous good living, of contended human flourishing.

I suppose what I'm trying to convey in my Greek-inflected English is that Boucheron Femme possesses the sort of timeless charm that makes for idols such as Greta Garbo or goddesses such as Venus; intelligence built in the glamor package, a healthy dosage of wit and self-deprecation (or self-insouciance), the distance necessary to feel special and never "me too". The only reason I can discern for this perfume being less well known or lauded than some others (and thus forming part of the Underrated Perfume Day feature today) is that audiences have been so conditioned not to understand quality, even when it slaps them in the face, that the likes of Boucheron Femme can remain a code for the secret handshake societies of perfumistadom such as this one.

The formula of Boucheron Femme fragrance remains a beautifully balanced textbook definition of the floriental genre: an oriental perfume skeleton onto which lush flower notes have been etched with the precision of a skilled calligrapher on thick moire paper. Orange blossom absolute with its candied and indolic facets is contributing the main floral theme, blooming as the succession of two different but equally "fresh" directions in the introduction: one is the citrusy fruity theme of hesperides (elegant bergamot, juicy and sweet mandarin) plus fleshy lactonic apricot; the other is the emerald accent of galbanum grass resin rising atop with a couple of complimentary notes in bright minty basil and bluish, celadon narcissus.

Although tuberose and jasmine are among the cluster of flowers contributing to the rich radiant bouquet, Boucheron Femme is that kind of fragrance where one would be hard pressed to say where one floral essence begins and one ends. The orange blossom is dominant, sure, but the rest are supporting players with important lines to deliver all the same.
The plush of the base isn't just downy soft, it can only be described as the finest, whitest ermine, the smoothest marble, the deepest shimmer of smoky cognac diamonds. Constructed out of amber, vanilla, olibanum (frankincense), sandalwood and the vanillic, caramelic benzoin resin, it is everything a grand oriental should accomplish, but without losing the plot into too vampish. Boucheron Femme is always the lady and a very knowing and smart lady at that.

The bottle of Boucheron Femme is famously inspired by cabochon sapphires set on a ring. In fact the glorious parfum concentration (which smooths out the marmoreal qualities of the resins even further without losing the inherent radiance) is shaped like a giant ring for une femme aux gros doigts, sitting in its own leather-cased box lined with felt like a real jewel would. But what am I saying…it IS a jewel, what the French so aptly call un parfum bijou. 

Wear it with your very best, naked skin!

pics via pinterest