Part of the New Romantics collection in 1978, Celadon and Pavilion are two of the three fragrances which could be layered with one another to produce unique effects for the wearer. The third one was destined to go down as a true classic, White Linen composed by Sophia Grojsman, while the rest were eclipsed by its radiant aldehydic floral sheen. It has been said that perfume trios never really work out, one inevitably outshining the others, and that may be why the other two were soon discontinued. The sales numbers were merciless.
Celadon in particular smells like something that could proudly sit in a niche brand's portfolio today; not really overpowering, this green floral by Estee Lauder fuses a sweetly grassy note with flowers shimmering on aldehydes (synthetically produced notes with an intense profile), a combination which recalls a garden in full spring bloom. In reverse order than is usual for green florals, the progression becomes ever greener, as the bitterish, bracing scimitar of galbanum (the resin off an exotic grass) bites. The soapy aldehydes take a metallic nuance, reminiscent of Metal by Rabanne or Rive Gauche by Yves Saint Laurent and it is here easy to see how men could borrow Celadon effortlessly. The heart is reminiscent of the hyacinth floralcy of Guerlain Chamade. The greenness adds an outdoorsy, spring-buds and herbs quality, yet the soft, powdery scent background is wrought with whispering woods and musk rendering a glaucous patina.
via ebay
Pavilion on the other hand is a Lauder perfume in the floriental mold, more of a hothouse nursing nocturnal and exotic blossoms than a green impromptu garden with herbs and greenery the way Celadon is.
A more consciously graceful and ladylike fragrance, it ties with some of the elements of both Celadon and White Linen (but much more florals), while remaining its own thing. The sugared violet peters out in powder. The orange blossom takes a grape-like quality.
In retrospect it's hard to see how it would generate low sales, being all around likable, yet perhaps its very pleasantness might have signed off its death certificate; next to the blaring noon and hot metal rails of White Linen, this postcard sunset is too sentimental to really distinguish itself.
White Linen when faced with the zeitgeist's crossroads, vampy a la Magie Noire (Lancome) or innocent a la Anais Anais (Cacharel), chose the road less travelled by and that's why it's still among us today. Celadon by Estee Lauder has notes of aldehydes, galbanum, rose, green notes, floral notes, woods and musk.
Pavilion by Estee Lauder has notes of aldehydes, jasmine, orange blossom, violet, sandalwood, vanilla.
It's been almost two years since my last At the Moment post. Whew, what a realization. These past two years with the pandemic have taken a toll on everyone I suppose. It was productive for me, though I understand it's not the same for all.
So please do share your own At the Moment snapshots in the comments, if you like.
illustration by Jordi Labanda, via pinterest
WRITING
I recently finished writing the perfume part to a small perfume & poetry booklet masterminded by Manos Gerakinis, called MG Connections; it features poetry by Christos Koukis. It's going to be published soon, will keep you posted.
I'm currently writing for a high-profile digital publisher in Greek and we have exciting plans together. More to come!
READING
It has been many, many years since I first read 1984, but the pandemic inspired me to take another look. It strikes me as rather ironic that the book is being interpreted both ways, by either part of the political fence. It just goes to show you how "newspeak" is a real thing.
My other companion at the bedside table is The Templars and the Asasins:The Militia of Heaven by James Wasserman, which made an appearance here. It's a history book about the two battalions of the churches of Christianity and Islam respectively. In it the writer provides evidence
about the interaction of the Knights Templar and the Assassins in the
Holy Land, which helped transform the former into an occult society.
SCENTING
I'm discovering all the things I missed during the quarantine months and revisiting older staples. I noted down The Inimitable Mr. Penhaligon's (linked review -nice but not groundbreaking at all), Imperial Amber by Graham & Pott (linked review-very nice, very smooth oudh scent), and the very new Woudacieux Haute Parfumerie brand with its high ratio of naturals in the blends.
Lately I became obsessed anew with long silk scarves to be worn round the neck. My collection already comprises many in vivid shades of celadon, Hermes orange, fuschia, bright green, icy blue and fluffy ivory,some with motifs, some plain. And I intend to continue wearing them and collecting them in the coming months (my Christmas wish list already has one in it). They give me a sense of comfort, seclusion and snuggly protection, which is great for the winter months as well as for the uncertain times we're living in.
LISTENING
J.S.Bach is a perennial favorite for mental work, it sort of organizes the brain to function optimally I think. St.Matthew Passion,BWV244 is currently at the desktop playing. Magdalena Kozená's rendition of Erbarme dich, mein Got, set to images from Tarkovsky films, is chilling.
Please let me know your own personal highlights at this moment.
Among the Guerlain fragrances, one of relatively not very old crop (1975) is seriously missed by connoisseurs: Parure, with its golden plummy reprise of what made Mitsouko the monument of beauty that it is. Simply put, Parure is a more wearable, more festive Mitsouko, a fruity chypre in the best possible sense "a wildly original blend of lilac and amber, cyprus and plum blossoms" (as quoted in a 1977 advertisement) and one of the last throes of a lineage which includes such beauties as Rochas Femme and Dior's Diorama.Parure is discontinued due to not conforming with recent standards of alleged allergens in the industry self-regulating body IFRA, according to an interview which the artistic director of maison Guerlain, Sylvaine Delacourte granted to Perfume Shrine in summer 2009. Very much a pity, shooting vintage juice on sale to stratospheric heights and justifiably so: Because Parure not only is lovely to smell, but it also came in some of the most beautiful, unique bottles and packaging in Guerlain history! In the interests of chronologising your bottles (or potential purchases, if you are so lucky as to find any), here is a small guide to Guerlain Parure perfume bottles.
The original edition in extrait de parfum is among the most beautiful specimens of crystal making: a rounded body topped with a crystal cap which reprises the movement of a wave, the whole mounted on a small pedestral in black bakelite engraved Guerlain and housed in a celadon-hued box. Six moulds were made by Pochet et du Courval from March 1975 till September 1981 in the following sizes: 2.3ml mini, 7.5ml/0.25oz, 15ml/0.5oz (with a footing in crystal instead of the black pedestral) 30ml/1oz, 60ml/2oz, 120cc (that's 120ml aprox.; it has no "foot" in crystal and bears 1974 copyright on the box, while it was stopped in October 1980) and a staggering mould for a 1290ml factice. Saint-Gobin Desjonquères issued a 15ml/0.5oz mould in June 1979, which bears on the bottom in relief "Guerlain Paris Bottle made in France SGD" and the number of the lot.
A contemporary more standard amphora bottle of the extrait de parfum (like the one depicted here) was also in circulation as well as the "umbrella flacon" (see this article), probably aimed at different markets as is usual with a house with so rich a history as Guerlain.
From October 1981, the production of the magnificent Parure extrait "wave" bottle stopped altogether (making the crystal extrait version extremely sought after as a rare collectable). The fragrance was offered instead in standard quadrilobe bottles (which also houses many of the house's extraits to this day, such as Jicky, Nahema, Vol de Nuit etc) in sizes 7.5ml and 15ml. You can see a big picture of it on this article, reviewing a rarer scent in the Guerlain stable, Pour Troubler. All extrait de parfum (pure parfum) producion in Parure stopped at the end of 1989 and the fragrance circulated in Eau de Toilette concentration (and Eau de Parfum from the 1980s onwards, but NOT Parfum de Toilette) thereafter.
Another very rare specimen and sought-after collectable is this design on the right, le flacon strié, as it's called. The rarity is due to it being a limited edition, issued for the Eau de Toilette of only Parure andChant d'Arômes. This version by Saint-Gobin Desjonquères circulated from March 1994 until August 1995 in only 750.000 bottles for both scents. The box and round sticker label on the bottle are in geometrical patterns of red-orange-terracotta tones for Parure and in pink-yellow-pistachio hues for Chant d'Arômes.
Habit de Fete bottle for Eau de Toilette, far left and far right.
Flacon goutte for 500ml eau de toilette
The more standard bottle for the length of the late 1980s and 1990s in Parure Eau de Toilette and Eau de Parfum was the long refill bottle in the Habit de Fete gold canister with the cut-outs (left and right of the top photo): 50ml for Eau de Parfum and 93ml for Eau de Toilette. Before that there was the flacon goutte (shaped like a large tear, hence teardrop bottle) with a mushroom-like cap for the Eau de Toilette in the 500ml size for dedicated wearers, depicted directly above. The label is oval with a black background and gold lettering, as you can see.
The final design for Parure comes in the standard "bee bottle" introduced for the rest of the Eau de Toilette range (including Après L'Ondée, Chant d'Aromes, Mouchoir de Monsieur, the Eaux de Cologne such as Impériale, Du Coq and Fleurs de Cedrat) in the early late 1990s. Two versions circulate in this size and style: one reformulated to meet latest requirements till 2009, the other with a shorter ingredients list slightly older. The packaging is otherwise identical.
Guerlain Parure is just one of the vintage scents where knowing the packaging history greatly adds to the better understanding of both scent and the collection value of any bottle.
Would you appreciate a fragrance that projected around the way knitting needles would stick inside your nostrils, the equivalent of a scent porcupine? The "needles up the nose" characterization has never found a more apt bond than the one spontaneously created in the mind of one perfume lover on the board of Perfume of Life years ago regarding White Linen. The phrase has since entered the online perfume lingo as a casual but evocative definition for the painfully sharp, supremely stinging feeling that certain perfumes heavy in aldehydes (i.e. synthesized molecules with a "bright", soapy and fizzy aspect), such as this particular Lauder perfume, produce in those who smell them.
White Linen is possibly among the most distinctly aldehydic floral fragrances of all time, an honor it shares with Chanel No.22, but whereas No.22 goes for the snuffed out candle waxiness and smokiness (which recalls incense if you glint your head just this way), White Linen, its American counterpart and about 50 years its junior, goes for the steam of an iron pressing on a crisp, starched shirt which has been washed with the harshest lye soap on earth. In short, memorable! (You'd never mistake it for "white noise fragrance")
White Linen was launched alongside Lauder's Celadon and Pavilion in 1978 as part of the makeup and scents collection "New Romantics" (in itself influenced by the music trend that was just emerging). Composed by Sophia Grojsman, White Linen bears her signature style of impressive cleanness projected via loudspeakers fit for a Guns n'Roses concert. For a Russian emigre Grojsman has acquired throughout her career a particularly American ideal of femininity, no doubt thanks to the exigencies of the American giant of aromatics who employs her, International Flavors and Fragrances; well scrubbed, athletic, spick & span, Athenian rather than Venereal.
1993 print ad
Coming on the heels of the sporty leathery Azuree,the bitterish chypre perfume Private Collection and the bright and soapy-smelling aldehydic Estee, it's not difficult to see how White Linen also fits in the canon of Lauder and in the zeitgeist of the late 70s, when women began to make a career of executive positions and started in earnest to 'bring home the bacon, fry it in a pan' as one commercial* of the times claimed.
Although ubiquitous and always in production since its launch, without any detectable changes in its formula, it's one of those fragrances that fly under the radar, so I am archiving White Linen in my Underrated Perfume Day feature. Its monolithic structure (built on huge single blocks of materials, much like later Grojsman oeuvres such as Tresor by Lancome) White Linen packs a punch.
But the aldehydic knock-out comes with an astounding discovery: the aldehydes contribute just 1% to the formula, with equal parts of Galaxolide (synthetic clean musk, garlanded by at least 3 other synth musks) and Vertofix (giving a cedar wood note) accounting for almost half of the ingredients! The secret is that unlike most other aldehydic floral fragrances it lacks the modifying, mollifying caress of bergamot and ylang ylang.
late 1990s print ad
1986 print ad
A fresh rose core, so fresh that it borders on cleaned-up orange blossom, bring a kinship of White Linen to Calandre, while the overall genealogy brings it as a modern classic that derives from Madame Rochas and Chanel No.5. The sheen of squeaky green lily of the valley boosts the sharp cleanness, the sparkle of hedione brings luminosity and vetiver gives its own freshness and subtle woodiness alongside a powerful amber note. The latter two elements give White Linen a touch of sophistication which could tilt it into unisex territory.
White Linen is a powerful, titanic Aurora and although it is removed from what I (and many other people) find comfortable, I can't fail but to admire its guts and its blinding brightness, white-washed like a house directly carved out of white volcanic rock in the Aegean.
*that's actually the slogan for Enjoli. The advertising photos are all so charmingly appealing that I decided to include them all.
Estée Lauder Honeysuckle Splash is another forgotten launch in the Lauder stable, much like Celadon and Pavillon, this time conceived by Aerin Lauder (the grand-daughter of Estée) and launched in 2000 with a mock vintage look. Although totally modern in literal terms, the bottle is a retro pastel pistachio green, as if reborn from the Technicolor 1950s, exactly similar to the one designed for Youth Dew, Aerin's grandmother's classic, designed 46 years previously. The name alone is full of promise: how wonderful would it be to be able to splash on one's self that delectable but elusive essence that fresh honeysuckle vines exude when you walk by on a warm, late spring evening?
The fragrance contrary to that dreamy picture was merely posing as an ancillary product to the main attraction, that season's makeup collection, code-named "Playful". Oh marketing of feeble faith!
The delightful blend of Honeysuckle Splash is deeply floral with the nectarous quality that honeysuckle is famed for (to the point that children in Europe sometimes suckle on the flowers) and a more lasting impression than other lovely honeysuckle fragrances in the market, such as Annick Goutal's Chevrefeuille and L'Erbolario's Caprifoglio. In Lauder's take, Honeysuckle Splash, the pink and white flower with the honeyed petals is allied to the dependable note of orange blossom for extending the white flower note and further accented with citrusy notes of mandarin, the smooth elegance of neroli and the romanticism of white rose. The slight suntan oil impression lurking in the back hints at the presence of ylang ylang and maybe a smidgeon of sweet vanilla. The irresistible elevation of the fragrance into the truly worthwhile however is accounted to the richness of the orange blossom note and the neroli essence, with what seems like a spattering of linden as well, which opens the bouquet and makes Honeysuckle Splash poised between clean and subtly intimate, with a realistic nuance of lush, waxy, honeyed petals; a very flattering reference to a woman who wants to be flirted by a man like a flower by a probing bumble-bee. Typically for a Lauder it had potent sillage and great lasting power.
Even though many young women are hesitant to give in to floral fragrances in the idea that it makes them look either more mature than they want or somewhat old-fashioned, Honeysuckle Splash has enough contemporary sensibility to not alienate its natural demographic. It's a mystery why Honeysuckle Splash was discontinued shortly after its release; unless it was a limited edition to begin with, though I don't recall this being mentioned at the time. Like one woman put it: "I haven't heard of any plans to bring this product back but if they ever do I will be first in line to stock up". It was around a period where another series of fragrances was issued (this time a definite limited edition thing), called Pleasures in the Garden. But for that another post, another day.
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.
There are moments when one is forced to face their demons and try to tame those things one believes to be most antithetical to their nature. Lavender has for a long time eluded me as an aroma to be savored in perfumery, mostly due to its cliché status in many masculine fragrances and secondarily due to its ~I thought~ unimaginative medicinal-ity. But sometimes one is taken aback: Moment Suprême and Cocktail, both by Patou from the "Ma Collection" set, are linked by their lavender opening, which is treated in two different ways, like the two faces of Janus. While they both present a unisex feeling thanks to the emblematic use of lavender, showing its striking cheekbones and decisive jawline with pride, in Moment Suprême the composition interweaves lavender through its thicker sweet brocade, while in Cocktail it serves as a sparkling top which resembles the brass tromboni in the opening of Stravinsky’s "Sacrificial Dance" from "Rite of Spring".
Upon cracking the bottle of Moment Suprême open, having observed the pale celadon of the juice, you’re taken with the vintage feel it evokes: lavender showing its medicinal character while just as quickly the plush of amber and vanilla along with a bouquet of flowers peek through. For about half an hour this is the story, when later on there is a delectable hint of spice, like carnation which was so enticing in Adieu Sagesse, makes its solo appearance before retreating to the wings; but leaving the stage lights open to an empty scene which has retained the warmth of the people who have performed. The character of the composition is elegant, defiant and businesslike with a distinct warmth underneath that speaks of silky undergarments.
Notes for Moment Suprême: bergamot, lemon, neroli, mandarin, lavender, May rose, clove, ylang, lilac, jonquil, orris, vanilla, sandal, musk, honey, heliotrope, civet, moss, and benzoin.
The story of Cocktail is fitting to its name, recalling rich patrons sipping dry Martinis and Gibsons while listening to Benny Goodman’s swing clarinet, Prohibition laws making it a naughty affair to get a decent drink. In his couture shop at 7, rue Saint-Florentin, Jean Patou had the brilliant idea of creating a cocktail bar where men could drink and small-talk while their women shopped for their dresses. In 1930, Patou decided that this could be converted into a veritable perfume bar and Henri Alméas was instructed to create "cocktail" fragrances. The results were the original, Cocktail Dry, Cocktail Sweet, and Cocktail Bitter Sweet.
Cocktail takes crisp lavender and utilizes it like angostura bitters to set off the rest of the intoxicating dryness of this heady drink you’re about to consume. Sharp at first, subtle upon closer inspection, it sparkles with the greeness of herbal aromas like the juniper berries in gin to later whisper with the dry powder of hazy blossoms seen through netting, as if in a drunk stupor. But the point is you could do a lot worse than getting high on Patou’s Cocktail! In a strike of either ironic coincidence or elective affinity, twenty-five years later perfumer Henri Giboulet created a "cocktail" perfume for Lubin, Gin Fizz. When Henri Alméras retired, Henri Giboulet became in-house perfumer for Patou.
Notes for Cocktail: lavender, geranium, clove, rose and jasmine.
Pics courtesy of mooseyscountrygarden, tout en parfum, netshopusa.us
If you're among those who judge fragrance by its colour as to what to expect smellwise, you're going to be misdirected by the Lancome fragrances trio this summer. Lancôme crowds its counters with three "new" releases: Ô, Ô d'Azur and Ô de l'Orangerie. All three are comprised by the popular-again-concept of a light, chilled "eau" for summer freshening up, but with a new ethereal execution and less of the sscreetchy feel of the 1990s. Of those three, Ô is not new at all: It's a reissue of the classic Ô de Lancôme, reviewed on Perfume Shrine a while ago and still retaining its gorgeous green shade.The other two inadvertedly manage to confuse the customer with their added tint: Ô d'Azur, last summer's edition still circulating, is coloured a fetching light beige, when the name (Blue Water) would suggest otherwise! Ô de l'Orangerie (Orange Grove Water) is coloured a nice, diaphanous celadon, when common wisdom would forsee a yellow tinge, as befits an orange blossom scent! But Pantone scale choices aside, all cater to a laid-back approach to personal scent for the warmer months of the year, with the classic being undoubtedly the best of the three.
Ô de Lancôme falls under familiar concerns:A re-issue is always cause for frantic comparisons among perfume cognoscenti: Is it like it was? Has it been ruined in the process? What happens with restrictions necessitating a slimming course for its body? I am happy to report that Ô de Lancôme hasn't subjected itself to too much Weight Watchers, feeling as crisply green and naturalistically lyrical as it was: Green, like snapped leaves in one's palm, with a citrusy tang which provides an immediate spring on the step, it's no wonder Ô de Lancome, composedby perfumer Robert Gonnon, has been a fresh, bring-on-the-changes scent since its embracement of the revolutionary youths of the 1970s. The re-issue is perhaps a bit attenuated in the final stages of the drydown, gaining the character of a light floral instead of a mossier chypre-like ambience, in tandem with the latest reformulation which happened in the late 1990s, but it's still very good; its execution of transparency without losing substance is akin to that in Bulgari's Eau Parfumee au The Vert. If you liked Lauder's citrusy Pure White Linen Light Breeze a couple of summers ago (this year's Lauder citrus is Bronze Goddess Soleil which you can find reviewed here), you are also advised to try this re-issue: they share the musk aspect under the citrus greenery.
In the newest Ô de l'Orangerie the classic Eau de Cologne mould is most perceived, predominant in the top stages, vibrant, refreshing, snapping with brio.The classic pairing of a bergamot top with light herbal notes and lavender is the combination that evokes cleaning up, splashing on a feel good fragrance to feel "bien dans sa peau", the French expression to denote feeling good about one's self. The concept is great, which is why it has withheld for centuries, but the problem has always been how to extend the duration on skin; traditional perfumers solved part of the problem with using alcohol tinctured with ambergris or musk: a smidge gives a little tenacity so top notes do not evaporate instantly, though too much would completely overshadow the delicate effluvium. Modern perfumers, such as in this case, solve the problem with synthetic musks: The composition progresses to a "clean", non indolic orange blossom that reads as "fresh floral", a "clear" jasmine buyoed by musks, benzoin and a tiny bit of cedar (read Iso_E Super). This gives great lasting power and wafting to what would otherwise be a fleeting cologne. It's pretty, but its lack of character means it won't substitute my beloved Fleurs d'Oranger by Lutens any time soon.
Ô d'Azur originally came out in spring 2010, to commemorate 40 years of the introduction ofthe classic green Ô. It is supposed to evoke that fantasy of so many: a Mediterranean summer, all white-washed houses atop bare rock, brilliant in the sun, with the blue waves crushing softly and interminently. It's not an easy task to do and many fail miserably (see Elizabeth Arden Mediterranean which -frankly speaking- smells nothing Med!), usually suffusing everything with an ironfist of Calone (that synthetic "melon" note). Others manage to evoke the ambience, by going about in unusual ways, like with salty florals: see the magnificent Lys Mediterranee by F.Malle. Perfumers Domitille Bertier and Sophie Labbé didn't do too bad for Lancôme, although the end result does feel a bit of a pastiche. With the hindsight of thousands of aquatics and diaphanous fruity florals on the market, the composition is reminiscent of several things at once. Still, it manages to stand a bit on the upper side of that abysmal depth, the impression of what could have been "elegant" were it fleshed out properly. L'Oréal regretfully doesn't invest the budget to do so. Official notes include: bergamot, lemon, rose, peony, ambrette seed and musk. Ô d'Azur in reality is pretty, built on an indeterminate cyclamen-rose accord with pink pepper on top, layered over "clean" and skin-like musks (ambrette seed among them) that keep a low hum to the fragrance for a long time, although the fruity and floral touches disappear quite soon.It's a no brainer, but its dullness would probably get to you after a while.
Ô, Ô d'Azur and Ô de l'Orangerie by Lancome come in Eau de Toilette concentration (Sizes are 50ml, 75ml and 125ml. For reference 2.5oz retails for $55, available at major department stores). Even though they remind one of summer limited editions, they're not supposed to be: Lancome means to keep them in the line for good. The commercials and advertising images with Lancome face Daria Werbowy are ticket for fantasy, to be sure.
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