Eau de Lancaster: fragrance review (1997 edition)

art by Antonio Mora via pinterest

Contrary to colognes that take their time to establish the synthetically enhanced citrus notes before sinking into an indelible loop of scrubbed musk, the depths of Eau de Lancaster seem to appear almost immediately under the effervescent affluence of soapy hesperides (no doubt thanks to aldehyde attributed to coriander in the pyramid). Like a lining that's beginning to show at the point of overstretched seams, it hints at what's beneath. 

 The third edition by Lancaster chronologically, which is circulating nowadays in online retailers, circles back and revisited Eau de Lancaster for men from 1977, with the same name and a much more architectural design for the bottle: subtly fluted, curvaceous, beautifully simple and diaphanous, highlighting the light green shade of its juice (the photo below is leaning a bit more blue-ish than green as is in reality). This Eau de Lancaster relaunched in 1997 with yet another different set of notes, but it's really a revisiting of the original theme: a starched white shirt of a scent. 

 The latest edition of the 1997 bottle also circulates as Lancaster Grace in eau de toilette concentration, 125ml / 4.2 fl.oz.size, and this time aimed at women only (though not quite, it's all about the name, really). Definitely an allusion to the princess of Monaco, Grace Kelly, the patron saint of Lancaster, but also not so amiss as a reference to the glorious, magnificent scent of the fragrance itself. A lovely, fresh, silky olfactory landscape that is clean and natural referencing, creating an aura of gentility and class. The truly rich do not draw attention via their fragrance of choice; they let it speak in murmurs. 

Those who like fragrances like Eau de Cartier, Pomelatto Artemisia 67, Eau de Rochas, Clarins Eau Dynamissante and the like, should try this out. 

 Notes by Fragrantica: Bergamot, coriander, basil, lavender, mandarin, palisander rosewood, lily, floral notes, jasmine, peach, oakmoss, amber, vanilla.

Happy 2025!

It seems amazing and astounding that I have been keeping this blog online for two decades now. WOW! There have been many milestones, many formative journeys, literal and figurative, for me through this path, but it enriched my life in ways unimaginable and yours too I hope. I take this chance to wish you all a merry merry New Year full of joy, love and prosperity.

Laura Biagotti Laura: fragrance review

Laura Biagiotti's iconic Laura, with its aqueous character, has been so characteristic of its era that 30 years later it still springs forth in our minds as a 1990s staple, alongside L’Eau d’Issey (1992), L’Eau Par Kenzo (1996), Aqua di Gio (1996), Escape For Men (1993),and Eden by Cacharel (Indeed, I recently wrote a dedicated fragrance review & homage to Cacharel's Eden).

Perfumer Anne Flipo's composition from 1994 for Laura became an essential accessory for women, enveloping her like a gentle scarf without overwhelming her personality. Operative words: not overwhelming. You have to see a woman's eyes before you smell her perfume, so went the old piece of advice on fragrance-wearing etiquette. The so-called olfactory bouquet in Laura is delicate and fruity above all, with a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek provided by the synergy of the 1990s trademark Calone note, giving it melon-like tonalities and peachy lactones coupled with fruit accords like litchi. The inclusion of litchi fruit (or lychee, as it's also spelled) was novel at the time. The scent profile of litchi is close to that of a very juicy grape, with a mild flavor that is aqueous, delicately rosy, and temperately sweet. The likening with some Gewürztraminer variety wines comes as no surprise: the lychee-rosy aroma is common thanks to the magic of the cis-rose oxide, a common thread in all three subjects—flowers, fruit, and wine. Ethereal, doe-eyed, and tender are also words that come to mind when I think of Laura by Laura Biagiotti. It's aqueous and watery, to be sure, and the effect of Calone contributes to that. But it's a calm lake rather than a vast, tempestuous sea.

Versace Crystal Noir: fragrance review of enduring best-seller

Lately I have been noticing a strange phenomenon which brought about this examination. Versace's post-millennium child, Crystal Noir from 2004, has been the über perennial for each and every occasion on the Fragrantica members' collections! The members come from far and between, dressed in many guises among eclectic collections, but the bottom-line is always the same: Crystal Noir comes across as the perfect passe-partout fragrance for a very wide audience. Fit for day, sexy by night. This is why it has endured for 20 years to the day.

I am not such an ardent fan of it, but I do get the crowd-pleasing aspect of it very well. It's very easy to wear and mingles with the skin. The presentation with the lid that seems like it takes Herculean capacity to lift helps, too. Capitalizing on the mysterious allure of both purple and black and revisiting the Tom Ford ads element of women reclining with men over them, it catches the eye in a somewhat tacky way. The marrying of a floral note hidden inside a soft, mellow cocoon creates this impression of being immersed in clotted cream. Cream brings on thoughts of gluttony, indulgence, pampering and also whiteness. White also brings to mind gardenias (supposedly in the heart of Crystal Noir's floral chord, though I don't really discern it as such) and shredded coconut whites, all delicious and tropical. White and tropical don't really mix together, mentally, but in this case they do and — lo and behold! — it makes for the converging of territories. We can feel clearly the white floral hint creamed in coconut and deliciously comfy materials of milky woods, fluffy clean musks and a mental interjection of a hot white towel impression. It's worthy of a spa, yet oddly sexy and beckoning-come-hither, too. No wonder it's the fragrance for day and night, for business or pleasure, for just abut any woman. If she's shy she can comfort herself that it's her armour. If she's bold, she can cajole her fancier moods by saying to herself she's always the lady (and she is).

Cacharel Eden: fragrance review & musings on contemporaneity

 Cacharel's Eden from 1994 is the precursor of neon green compositions like Mark Jacobs Decadence and Thierry Mugler's Aura, which were introduced as so trailblazing in recent years, but they're not. Considering that the latter with its green rhubarb-gardenia accord in the eau de parfum has sparked comments of very herbal mouthwash, grassy soil, muddy swamps and musty cellars, bugs and bug poison, etc., it's not unfathomable that Eden has also been rather challenging for modern audiences as well.

 Back then, nevertheless, it was "the newest Cacharel" and its youth appeal was palpable. Every teenage girl and budding woman has fond memories and references in everything Cacharel made. There was no frog in sight, only princes.

The opening of Eden blends luminous citrus notes but also the sharpness of grassy-sweet patchouli, a hint of the jungle. Something untamed and lurking in the background. The cold water freshness of water lily (or lotus or pond lily) in the heart is combined with a complex, heady mix of floral notes (tuberose, mimosa, jasmine, rose and lily-of-the-valley) and sweet juicy fruits (of which pineapple and melon are probably the most referenced, though they smell of neither, per se, as the molecule used was Calone, as was customary back in the era).

The water notes are in perfect harmony with sharp patchouli and the warm, woody base of cedar and sandalwood and probably vetiver too, creating the terrain of the bog of a sorceress. Perhaps Eden shouldn't be recalling Eve, but rather Lilith, the first bewitching woman. The more the fragrance stays on, the sweeter it becomes, with a faint whiff of the compote peaches in rubber of Gucci Rush. Or rather the two are on the crossroads of fruity chypre and floral oriental, borrowing elements of either style and re-jingling the kaleidoscope to create a new image, a sort of musical-style Dear Prudence rendered olfactive — especially in the version sung by Siouxsie and the Banshees in Venice.