M.Micallef Royal Vintage: new fragrance

At the beginning of February, French niche house Parfums M.Micallef launches a new fragrance for man, ROYAL VINTAGE. It is a perfume aimed for men with timeless, sophisticated elegance.

Head note: Pink berries and bergamot
Heart note: Cypress and leather
Base note: Patchouly and musk.
 “… For this atypical fragrance in our collection, I wanted to reinterpret the EXCLUSIVE bottle using the design codes of these beautiful vintage cars… " says Martine Micallef. "

The design of the ROYAL VINTAGE bottle was inspired by glamorous and iconographic images from the classic cinema universe: beautiful vintage cars adorned with glittering chrome bumpers. For this atypical fragrance in our collection, I wanted to reinterpret the EXCLUSIVE bottle using the design codes of these beautiful vintage cars, "says Martine Micallef. In the authentic French tradition of crafts and luxury, the M.Micallef Company gives priority to qualitative and natural ingredients in its fragrances and magnifies each bottle in its art studio. The glass bottle of ROYAL VINTAGE is covered with a chrome color metallization with a black ring hand affixed in the middle and is wearing a matte black metal cap.

quotes via press release 

Spray bottle in eau de parfum concentration, 30 and 100 ml retailing at 76 € and 175 € respectively.

M.Micallef Ylang in Gold: fragrance review

Does the mental association of airheads frying on the beach to attain a lizard-worthy tan, replete with tons of sweet oily stuff smeared within an inch of their lives come into your mind when you hear the word "coconut scent"?. Or is the scent of artificial "tropics" enacted via those atrocious derelict-cab-dangling "deo" yellowish pine-trees that are enough to only get a glimpse of for one's stomach to turn? Coconut-laced tropical floral scents are a risky affair lest they end up smelling vulgar. Luckily for all, Ylang in Gold by niche French brand M.Micallef not only isn't so, but passes muster on projecting as totally refined, golden, gorgeous and genuinely pretty.

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The hints of boozy richness in Ylang in Gold recall saturated hues of rust and copper, done in a heavy silk drape, subtly changing with the play of the light upon the threads. I can feel—rather than see—the soft shimmer, like the trompe l'oeil of beige eyeshadow edged in taupe with a champagne highlighter gives the illusion of deeper, larger and more alluring eyes. This is a luxurious fragrance that is as delicious as a lemon-tinged vanilla pudding, taking a page off Casmir by Chopard, focused on the lusciousness of ylang in the floral heart.

The golden incandescence of Ylang in Gold lives up to the name, being a salicylate-rich floral (salicylate is that tropical floral element that is so prominent in the Ambre Solaire sunscreens) with a delicious floral tenacity that mysteriously intensifies the longer the perfume stays on skin. That treatment of ylang reminds me of the lily facets revealed by the subtle vanilla-salicylate accord of Vanille Galante by Hermes. Whereas there the vanilla thus emerged smelling like lily, here the vanillic tonality is a cross between milky sandalwood, suntan lotion and coconut water. Here the brûlée nuance is more "gourmand," a little thick, but done with elegance and restraint nevertheless. Without aiming to technically innovate or open new artistic pathways, the perfumer created a very pretty, very fetching fragrance to enjoy all year long. Its Orientalism is doe-eyed and contemporary enough to pull it through.

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Notes for Ylang in Gold by M. Micallef:
Top notes: Tangerine orange, geranium, artemisia
Heart notes: Ylang-ylang, rose, sandalwood, lily-of-the-valley, magnolia
Base notes: Coconut, vanilla, musk.

Andree Putman Preparation Parfumee: fragrance review

Andrée Putman's fragrance is not easy to review, exactly because it eschews traditional classification, much like the acclaimed designer opted to for her work as well. From home interiors to furniture to tableware, her work is sans pareil. It was only natural that her eponymous fragrance would be too; an aqueous woody with a different feeling of freshness than the screechy scratch of "marines", at a time of launch (2001) a mini revolution. Doubly so if one considers for a moment that it was she who was responsible for the renovation of the flagship Guerlain boutique at Champs-Elysées in 2005, replete with the luminous chandeliers which refract light in a million rays. Her eponymous perfume bears absolutely no relation with a classic Guerlain!

via habituallychic.blogspot.com

Damp woods are harmoniously paired to spices and refined notes reminiscent of dewy stems and petals in Preparation Parfumée; more of a protective amulet than a potion of seduction, as evidenced by the name too (i.e. scented preparation) The Andrée Putman fragrance was composed by Olivia Giacobetti, a perfumer known for her transparent, limpid accords and her quirky, individual style ~as showcased in Premier Figuier (1994), Drôle de Rose (1995), Thé Pour Un Eté (1996), Philosykos (1996), L’Eau du Fleuriste (1997), Navegar (1998), Dzing! (1999), Passage d'Enfer (1999), Hiris (1999), Tea for Two (2000), Essence of John Galliano, En Passant (2000) or Thé des Sables (2001). The building up to Preparation Parfumée Andrée Putman (2001) bears olfactory kinship with another perfume composed by Giacobetti, Navegar for L'Artisan Parfumeur, a scent of blanched pebbles and driftwood on a river's delta. No wonder that Putman OK-ed the austere and economical use of a few elements to convey a potent message; it was she who had famously said: "I love America, and I love American women. But there is one thing that deeply shocks me - American closets. I cannot believe one can dress well when you have so much."

Preparation Parfumée begins with a spicy top note that reminds me of bay leaves and their oil, although I know they are not listed, that slightly bittersweet & hot eugenol-rich spice that we use in lentils soup. The fragrance however is not heavy nor strong, never a singeing feeling. Then along with that a very aqueous accord follows retaining the earthy smell of petrichor for a long long time. It reminds me of wood branches washed on the shore of a river of gigantic proportions after a storm, drenched in mud and bog water. This earthy, elemental force is fundamental to its appeal. Rather than mountains and forests, due to lack of the resinous quality I associate with those, this image creates another kind of serenity.

Would that be a scent to dampen one's spirits though with all its damp wood and such? It depends….It’s not “pretty” for sure , neither “elegant” and "feminine" in the traditional sense, but it retains an air of mystery and nostalgic quality for those friendly to introspection.

Andree Putman: 1925-2013

Andrée Putman, the "grande dame" of design, died in the age of 87. Introduced to American audiences with the renovation of hotel Morgans on Madison Avenue, exhibiting her clear, astute, elegant style, Putman brought in a new modernity in the world of interior design. Her chief characteristics in her work were luminosity and spaciousness. Her aphorisms are inimitable. ""Unless you have a feeling for that secret knowledge that modest things can be more beautiful than anything expensive, you will never have style."

In honor of her opus, there is going to be a review of her eponymous fragrance Preparation Parfumée Andrée Putman on these pages shortly. Stay tuned!

Tuberose: Carnal Floralcy & Drama Note

No note in perfumery is more surprisingly carnal, creamier or contradicting than that of tuberose. The multi-petalled flower is a mix of flower shop freshness and velvety opulence. Which is why it is the perennial polarizing flower note having as many ardent fans as passionate detractors. The Victorians must have been among the latter: they forbade young girls of inhaling the scent of tuberose in the fear they might have a spontaneous orgasm! Roja Dove is right when he says that tuberose is really loose, the "harlot of perfumery".

Polianthes tuberosa doesn't have any botanical or olfactory relation to roses, despite the name. This small white blossom flowering plant is its own thing, a "white floral" (in the same class as jasmine and orange blossom) with an intensity and creaminess beyond any other: Though the scent can be likened to that of orange blossom and gardenia, tuberose has interesting facets of camphor in the opening (comparable to - but not quite that green - as budding gardenias), of dewy mushroom and earth when in bloom and then of rot and bloody meat when browning. Buttery, rubbery and even metallic facets also emerge if one searches for them.

The natural blossoms are so powerful they can fill a room and continue to exude their scent for days after picking. In fact this is why tuberose had been a prime candidate for the enfleurage technique ever since its introduction in Grasse, in the south of France in the 17th century ("Enfleurage" is the traditional and now almost defunct technique of enrobing flowers in fat, letting them wilt in it for days, releasing their scent, and then treating the resulting pomade with solvents to render a very precious absolute). The tuberose blossoms are actually still in bud when picked, so that they can give off their full spectrum of scent as they wilt. It takes over 1200 kilos of buds to render 200gr. of tuberose absolute, which makes tuberose one of the most costly natural raw materials to use.

 It therefore comes as no surprise that most tuberose in commercial perfumery is synthesized in the lab rather than natural. Though this cuts down on the cost factor and facilitates picking up one facet over another in the context of a given concept (say, emphasizing the creaminess over the camphorous, or the sweet floral over the indolic rot), the synthesized aroma is removed from the complex and at once fresh and carnal natural.

Thus a tuberose note in perfume can appear sickly and almost sticky, cloying, sledgehammering you over the head with its intense message. We can trace this as far back as 1980s if not before, as Giorgio, one of the defining perfumes of the decade, was using tuberose with all the subtlety of nails on a chalkboard. The effect was bombastic, powerfully floral, appearing as showing off one's affluence, just held in check by a base of vetiver that muted all the neon brightness. In contrast the natural oil rendered from good Indian tuberose varieties (or from the now very small fields left in Grasse) brings out all the base notes: ranging from buttery to leathery, from menthol to rubber and earth, all the way to woman's skin and even Chamonix orange cake! A good example of tuberose oil being used with naturalistic effect is Carnal Flower in the Frederic Malle niche line Editions des Parfums. This is the fragrance with the highest percentage of tuberose in the formula currently in the market.

If you want to get a good sniff of tuberose in isolation at a more affordable price to see if the scent agrees with your, you can resort to the Tubereuse candle/room spray in the Diptyque line. It should give you an idea.

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THE HISTORICAL MILESTONES

The uber-classic reference for tuberose fragrances has always been (and will always be, it seems...) Fracas by Robert Piguet: the tuberose against which all other tuberoses measure up, influencing as diverse things as Chloe by Karl Lagerfeld, Jardins de Bagatelle by Guerlain and Amarige by Givenchy. Fracas, a transliteration of effect in name if there ever was one, judging by the derisive reception it has on people smelling it, came out in 1948, composed by Germaine Cellier; this maverick and iconoclast of a perfumer considered carefully conceived disruptive effects more important than over-ornamentalisation in her craft. The mastery of Fracas is that it achieves the creamiest, most calorific and lush floral effect (combining jonquil and orange blossom to tuberose to give a green and cleaner edge) while at the same time retaining a modicum of balance through a herbal top note and an abstract drydown of powder and woods. It's striking, dramatic, overpowering even sometimes, like a Callas aria, but it is full of beauty and emotion all the same. It takes a diva to carry it off successfully, which is why lesser mortals fail and attach a stigma to the fragrance; it's not the fragrance's fault!

It's fun to consider Amarige by Givenchy (1991) the other face of Janus: the two fragrances form two neat bookends; one loud but beautiful, the other loud and over the top. Givenchy enrolled Dominique Ropion to the task and he seems to have been so intent on at least matching the drama of Fracas (and his own godmother, Germaine Cellier) that he produced the highest-pitched tuberose in existence.
 The radiance of Amarige is felt for miles, a fact that is not always appreciated and the creaminess and greenery of tuberose is substituted by the popular for the time frame synthetic base of cassis (a big element in 1980s perfumery) and a cluster of -right about that time emerging as soon to be popular- fruity notes. If tuberose is a diva overshadowing a full symphonic orchestra, Amarige put her on speakers too. But Ropion didn't match Fracas with Amarige, nor did he surpass it artistically. He fared much better when he was free of commercial restraints for his stint for F.Malle and Carnal Flower; this solar floral is choke-full of all the natural elements inherent in the living flower itself. The camphor qualities are exploited to the max via a eucalyptus note to render a life-like hologram, while the coconut tinge and the salicylates (ingredients that appear in some tropical flowers and also in suntan lotions) remind us that tuberose is really a tropical flower coming from warm climates and pelvis-tilting-friendly cultures.

But there's something for everybody and where there's noise and animated conversation there can also be some quiet and silken promises whispered in the dark. Serge Lutens, aided by his perfumer ally Christopher Sheldrake, composed the most gothic tuberose in existence and a historical landmark in the treatment of this capricious note: Tubereuse Criminelle is an etude in the polished facets of the flower with a most disconcerting top note of Vicks vapo-rub, an aberrant chill which takes you by surprise but subsides in the first 10 minutes. The contrast between the camphor and the flower are echoed in Carnal Flower (F.Malle), its successor, but the shadowy, menacing character of the Lutens perfume is not poised as natural as in the Malle, but as a solidly, cleverly manufactured effect that you perceive as a vignette of Expressionism or the fangs of a vampire slicing through vibrant flesh. This fire & ice game is as good as a thinking woman's (or man's) kinky romp in the bedroom. Rounding the attempts at competition, attrition and infatuation with Fracas, there's nothing left but a sincere homage and the one who paid her respects more convincingly was none other than perfumer Calice Becker for the niche brand By Kilian in her Beyond Love. It admittedly smells close to Fracas, but on the other hand its more refined trail of the best Indian tuberose and Egyptian jasmine absolutes presents something new. The perfumer's reference was not only the aromatic oil but also the living flower and in her perfume composition she tried to bridge the two into an harmonious melody. The womanly skin like note marries to the gourmand note of Chamonix orange cake and the effect is nothing short of truly beautiful and, curiously enough, more natural smelling than Fracas. Perhaps a pixelized installation of the Mona Lisa at the MoMa and not the prototype, but still a work of art on its very own.

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OTHER WORTHWHILE TUBEROSE-HIGHLIGHTING FRAGRANCES:
Estee Lauder Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia (more of the gardenia part, for those reluctant for the full dosage of tuberose)
Annick Goutal Gardenia Passion (traitorously to the name, this is actually a tuberose)
Annick Goutal Tubereuse (a very high percentage of natural tuberose in this one)
Caron Tubereuse (an extrait of tuberose, with the glorious richness of Caron parfums)
Diptyque Do Son (a diluted but fresh and naturalistic tuberose for the shy, more concentrated and satisfying in the new eau de parfum)
Dior Poison 1980s vintage (a potently musky tuberose with grape notes on top)
Madonna Truth or Dare (another homage to Fracas, surprisingly pleasant and grown up for a celebrity scent)
L'Artisan Parfumeur Nuit de Tubereuse (a romantic and nuanced take, deeper in scent than usual for the brand)
Guerlain Jardins de Bagatelle (a fantasy of a garden with prominent tuberoses and other white florals) Honore des Pres Vamp a New York (the most playful tuberose on the market, fun and candied like bubble-gum and a great one to wear even casually)
Calvin Klein Beauty (a delicate and restrained, yet non timid tuberose with a polished sheen)
La Prairie Life Threads Silver (razor sharp pitch over buttery base notes)
Guerlain very rare Marie-Claire (a beautiful tuberose fragrance with lots of ylang ylang)
Balenciaga vintage Michelle (a very elegant and complex tuberose blend)
Dior Passage No.9 (a creamy tuberose with sparkly qualities)
La Via del Profumo Mona Lisa (an animalic and sexy tuberose with skin-like properties)

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.

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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.