Baruti Onder de Linde: fragrance review

 Exploring the Baruti line, a niche collection by Greek perfumer Spyros Drosopoulos, based in the Netherlands, I found myself transfixed by Onder de Linde, which roughly translates from the Dutch as "under the linden trees." (Sounds dreamy, doesn't it?)

This extrait de parfum has a way of speaking of blue skies and honeyed blossoms in a modern, totally unexpected way, as the floralcy does not arise till halfway in the heart notes. It might be that it came right when we were facing a very ominous winter, with the hope of spring far in the air, so this promise of joy and uplifting optimism was a much needed glimpse of a better future. It acts like an anti-depressant, almost, on a weary soul. It's honeyed, but restrained in the sweetness, not veering into gourmand territory at any rate. It's neither powdery, which many fragrances in this genre tend to fall into, especially ones which couple the heliotropin and aubepine molecules into mimosa notes that embrace lindens. It's soft like a feather, enduring like the faith of youth in itself.

The brand implies added notes of pear and lilac, which I do not detect per se (and I do love lilacs), but the effect is nothing short of a magical late spring, early summer morning when the birds are chirping and you're on to the love rendezvous you've been awaiting all your life, or – more prosaically – the career step you've always hoped for. It's that joyous, honestly. 

With the assistance of Madeleine Hillen (perfumer's assistant and lab manager) and Maria Chetskaya (brand manager), Baruti is going forward, plunging into the demanding niche sector, where you have to put your money where your mouth is to survive among hundreds of companies building their portfolio of scents day by day, year by year. It's clear they're destined for a bright future!

Guerlain Apres L'Ondee: fragrance review

What's in a name? What's in a material? Shakespeare's immortal line has a lot to account for. Lots of scents with heliotrope pose as "almond" or "marzipan" or "powder with tonka". These are all scents with a kinship that runs deeper than initially thought of. The synthesized material that is dosed into compositions that take heliotrope as a starting point is quite strong and can be an overwhelming molecule to work with if one isn't careful and discreet. One of the first major fragrances to make judicious use of it, in a light enough composition, so as to wear it inconspicuously, was Après l'Ondée by Guerlain, "after the spring shower" as the name implies.  

"Ça se porte léger" (this wears lightly) is the motto behind the concept of these Guerlain creations that aim to offer gouaches rather than oil paintings. It's more akin to the pale, hazy colorations on a Monet sky than the almost fauve brushwork and vivid color palette on a Van Gogh, to bring an art analogue. If one were to look for a fauve heliotrope, one would rather turn to Cacharel's Loulou.

Zaira Alfaro on Flickr via

I personally find Après l'Ondée a rather quiet fragrance indeed, almost timid, with a sweetish air that is not immediately thought of as feminine (quite different than the airs that current feminines exhibit!), with lots of heliotropin to stand for cassie, which is the predominant element. Some heliotrope scents also recall cherry pie, or lilac and powder, but not Après l'Ondée. Even the almond is not particularly identified as almond, it's a haze of lightly warmed, blurred, hazy notes, a cloud of a distant scent.

The violets, like you might have heard, are quite fleeting in this Guerlain perfume, especially in more recent incarnations which are warmer and cuddlier than the older ones, notably the extrait de parfum in the Louis XV style bottle. The anisic note on the top note is also a brilliant addition (created through the use of benzylaldehyde, it would be recreated more forcibly in L'heure Bleue some years later), since it brings a chill cooling off the first spray and balances the warmer, almond paste flavor of the heliotrope in the heart.

Après l'Ondée is also rather less known than L'Heure Bleue, so even Guerlain wearers on the street might not identify it right off, which is always a good thing in my books; it would also obliterate your qualms about it being perceived as solely feminine.

A Taste for Rhubarb: Modern Incarnations of an Older Idea

Although rhubarb may sound totally contemporary, classical stuff like Ma Griffe by Carven has hinted at the tart juiciness in the context of a "green scent" in order to give a little mouthwatering taste alongside the pluck your lips bitterness. In fact rhubarb shares olfactory facets with rose and berries (another trendy note) therefore its inclusion in fragrant compositions comes easily enough. It also pairs beautifully with jasmine and tuberose which is a distinct plus.

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Several years ago the Renaissance of rhubarb note started, however and today it is quite popular - in the niche segment at least most certainly. In the mainstream previous attempts at incorporating a rhubarb note were not met with great success: Burberry Brit Red, Alexander McQueen Kingdom, and Hugo Red by Hugo Boss were all commercial flops; some quite undeservedly indeed.

A slew of brands issued rhubarb notes in the interim with varying intensity and dare: Comme des Garcons Series 5 Rhubarb (which is very fruity and candied), Ricci Ricci, 4711 Aqua di Colonia Rhubarb & Clary Sage, Guerlain Homme Intense, and the Aedes de Venustas eponymous eau de parfum with its bold spicy basil and smoky incense context.

But the highlight into the public consciousness probably came with Hermès’s Eau de Rhubarbe Écarlate (review coming up); a fragrance that took the unusual note into central focus cutting it with a laser beam and flanking it with soft musks that would please the consumer into a false sense of familiarity. The trick worked. Suddenly everyone was crazy for rhubarb!

Of course Hermès had dabbled their hand in rhubarb before; the footnote in Rose Ikebana in the boutique exclusive line Hermessences was notable and created by Jean Claude Ellena who loves tart and saline effects in perfumery.

If Hermès was quirky and defiant enough to showcase the vegetable in the advertising images though, Cartier's La Panthère was the major feminine perfume which featured rhubarb notes unashamedly in a posh and chic context. It seemed to go down well so creators were becoming bolder.

The "Rhubarb leaf" in the recently launched Mugler Aura is a chord based on the long familiar and widely used material called styralyl acetate, or gardenol; its tartness is a good aesthetic match for rendering a shimmery effect in a gourmand composition. Kokorico by Night (Gaultier) is a lighter interpretation with cooler hesperidia as a counterpoint.

The new Champ des Fleurs (L'Artisan Parfumeur) is another testament to the power of vegetal notes lending freshness to contemporary compositions. The crunchy texture of rhubarb is something that should pair well in that context.

On the other hand the evocation of gardens is going well in the advertorials of Lovely Garden (Oriflame) and White Lilac & Rhubarb (Jo Malone). Nevertheless the former is more of a creamy and delicious compote of fresh rhubarb dressed in milk rather than anything green as implied by its design and naming. It's really something which anyone who is hesitant of rhubarb should try out; they'd be faced with a very surprised nose! Malone's rendering is more traditionally English garden with the tart interplay of rhubarb providing an anchor to the watery and heliotrope-like softness of the lilacs. It's a vignette out of an afternoon in the countryside.

Rhubarb only sounds weird in a fragrance till you try it. Like with many other things in life.

Guerlain Apres l'Ondee: fragrance review & a bit of perfume history

Lots of scents with heliotrope pose as "almond" or "marzipan" or "powder with tonka". These are all scents with a kinship that runs deeper than initially thought of, like matryoshka dolls that peel one after the other, each one revealing a smaller version of the same idea. Après l'Ondée by Guerlain feels like the great grandmother of them all, if only judging by chronology, if not adherence to the exact formula from 1906.

via

The synthesized material that is dosed into compositions that take heliotrope as a starting point is quite strong and can be an overwhelming molecule to work with if one isn't careful and discreet. One of the first major fragrances to make judicious use of it, in a light enough composition, so as to wear it inconspicuously, was Après l'Ondée by Guerlain. "Ça se porte léger" (this wears lightly) is the motto behind the concept of these Guerlain creations that aim to offer gouaches rather than oil paintings. In fact the composition was largely inspired by a former Guerlain fragrance, Voilette de Madame, which according to fragrant Guerlain lore served as the fragrance to scent a lady's veil. In those times of the cusp between the 19th and 20th century perfume worn on the skin was considered rather scandalous. It recalled les grandes horizontales, kept women of the demimonde like La Bella Otero or Marie Duplessis. Lightness was therefore a requisite for proper ladies; never mind that the subtle animalic undercurrent of Voilette de Madame is antithetical to our modern scrubbed down notion of how a perfume behaves.

I personally find Après l'Ondée a rather quiet fragrance, almost timid, with a sweetish air that is not immediately thought of as feminine (quite different than the airs that current feminines exhibit!), with lots of heliotropin to stand for cassie, which is the predominant element. Some heliotrope scents also recall cherry pie or lilac and powder, but not Après l'Ondée. Even the almond is not particularly identified as almond, it's a haze of lightly warmed, blurred, hazy notes.

The violets, like you might have read in evocations of gardens "after the shower" (the literal translation of its French name), are quite fleeting in this Guerlain scent, especially in more recent incarnations which are warmer and cuddlier than the older ones. The anisic note on the top note is also a brilliant addition (created through the use of benzylaldehyde, it would be recreated more forcibly in L'heure Bleue some years later) since it brings a chill cooling off the first spray and balances the warmer, almond paste flavor of the heliotrope in the heart.

Après l'Ondée is also rather less known than L'Heure Bleue, so even Guerlain wearers on the street might not identify it right off, which is always a good thing in my books; it would also obliterate your qualms about it being perceived as solely feminine.


Related reading on PerfumeShrine:

The Guerlain Series: perfume reviews and history of the French House
Guerlain Re-issues 4 Archived Fragrances for their Heritage Collection
Guerlain Chypre 53: an unknown photo-chypre, perfume history
The history of the Guerlinade accord and the modern Guerlinade fragrance

Viktoria Minya Hedonist Cassis: fragrance review

The fallen berries that get smashed and mushed underfoot reflect something of the realization of so much waste around us that even useful, succulent things fall to their unintentional demise through a drive that obeys cosmic rules; gravity, fall, squish. Hedonist Cassis by young but talented perfumer Viktoria Minya is certainly not wasteful, bring the tang of blackcurrant and grapefruit into the core chord of Hedonist, her original creation, making for an intense experience that recalls gathering berries in the countryside waiting for mr.Fox.

hello mr.fox on flickr, via Pinterest

Viktoria Minya has indulged her original composition with a cluster of variations, each highlighting a separate ingredient, Iris, Rose, and Cassis. The latest, Hedonist Cassis, possibly comes in the most attractive bottle, purple-ish with a touch of the late Prince, if you will.

Berry fragrances probably owe their heritage to the cult best-seller by L'Artisan Parfumeur, the original "berry" which spawned a hundred offspring over the decades since its inception.
The composition here however reminds me much more of the appeal of Yves Saint Laurent In Love Again (a combo of grapefruit and blackcurrant) by perfumer Jean Claude Ellena and doesn't fail to make me smile. The rose note is reminiscent of the chord in L'Ombre dans l'Eau by Diptyque; if like me you tend to shy away from overly prim, Jane Austen roses, and appreciate instead the tang that blackcurrants give to the above mentioned Diptyque fragrance, then Hedonist Cassis is sure to hit you with the epiphany of "oh, there's rose in it". Yes, but oh so delicious.

I am reminded of inconsequential things that have to do with late summer: the droning sound of the bees, the lazy contours of the calamus in the distance, the gentle softening of the sky as dusk sets in lilac hues; refreshing juice full of sour and sweet citruses served on the balcony and the canopy shading the rays while we're reading L'Education Sentimentale, the heroes leaping off the page in their game of social graces, platonic loves and carnal disgraces; freckles slowly forming on a long hellenic nose and lashes prettily faning on a smooth cheek, the comfortable silence of well trodden territory.

Extraordinary lasting power in Heodnist Cassis is an added bonus. For those of you who love a tart synthesis with great balance between sweet and sour and a stonking beat of lasting musky-wood this is your fruity floral pick for summer wear.

Fragrance Notes for Viktoria Minya Hedonist Cassis:
Top notes are black currant, grapefruit and rhubarb;
middle notes are bulgarian rose, grass and cassis;
base notes are cedar and musk.

Guerlain Christmas Collection 2014: Coque d'Or and more...

borrowed from excellent beauty blog Musings of a Muse

The makeup and body products collection by Guerlain for the 2014 holidays this winter is stunning! Inspired by the opera and the ballet, it takes its references from Piotr I. Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake ballet and Igor Stravisky's Petroushka (Petrouchka in French) ballet and L'Oiseau de Feu (the firebird), as well as Guerlain's own archives of perfumes, with Coque d'Or.

The star of the collection is no doubt Coque d'Or, an iridescent perfumed powder for body and hair with a retro style "pouf" pump that retails for 79 euros. The bottle design in gold reprises the mold for the legendary  Coque d'Or, an old Guerlain fragrance for which the flacon could not be repeated because the factory producing it had been bombed during the war. The re-use of bottle and name for makeup products (and specifically for the body powder for the holidays) follows into the steps of the previous Vol de Nuit and Liu offerings.

via The Style & Beauty Doctor

The rest of the collection includes Palette Petruchka (available at Sephora),  a palette on two layers (as shown above) for eyes and cheeks (€77), 2 eyeshadow duos, one called Cygne Blanc (white swan) in pearly white and lilac, and the other Cygne Noir (black swan) in plum and black, which are €40.50 each. There is the loose pearls of powder product in the Meteorites mold, this year's edition being Perles d'Etoile , i.e. pearls off a star (€49) in a luxurious, collectible gold pot. There is a diaphanous gold lipgloss named L'Oiseau de Feu (€29)as well as the corresponding gold fleck nail top coat (€23.50). Last but not least, a golden metallic nail polish also named Coque d'Or (€23.50).

Providence Perfume Co Ivy Tower: fragrance review

"Wow, this smells like…I've never smells anything like this" or "This doesn't smell like Dolce & Gabban's Light Blue. What do you have that smells like what I usually wear?"are a couple of the whispered comments of customers at the brick & mortar store of Providence Perfume Co, at Providence, RI 02903. I have recently written on the Aesthetic Principle which, like the pleasure principle, should, I believe, lead our choices on fragrances in an increasingly rationed world. And thus I find it pertinent that my review of Ivy Tower should follow it. Here is a green floral that is beautiful, delicate, different and missing the "herbal" component of some all naturals, which to echo its perfumer "doesn't smell like Light Blue and I'm OK with that."

via

Green fragrances are a difficult bunch to render in all natural essences, mainly because the green-smelling materials fall into two groups which each possesses one stumbling block: the natural elements, such as galbanum resin, are either very hard to dose in a composition of all naturals without overpowering the blend (Chanel No.19 and Jacomo Silences are not  perfumes for wussies!) or else are so subtle that they vanish quickly, such as the cucumber-tea note of mimosa blossom.; the more convincing synthetic materials such as cis-3 hexenol with its cut-grass feeling, Ligustral (snapped leaves) and Lilial with its green lily of the valley aura are of course off grounds for a natural perfumer.

Chanel No.19 Poudre tried to reconcile the green monster with the emerald-hued polished nails with the grassy rolling waif in gauzy whites and it presents a modern "temperate" effort that is valiant, if a bit tamed, for the lovers of the original Chanel icon that inspired it. I don't recall many other contemporary fragrances in the delicate greens genre that truly made it (A Scent by Issey Miyake though quite good never met with the success it deserved, Bvlgari's Omnia Green Jade is sorta too tame for its own good), excluding the niche scene for obvious reasons.

So Charna Ethier exhibits skill in rendering a rustic rained upon scene from somewhere north; like a secluded private garden in York, in North Yorkshire, I had once visited, all rainy soaked paths and ivy climbing on stone-walls retaining the rain drops and reflecting them like giant water bubbles that make your bones chill a bit even in the dead of summer. The fragrance of Ivy Tower like those bubbles takes on shades of green, blue, and gentle lilac, depending on where it hits on a warm, blood-pulsing vein and hovers there for a while in the confluence of watery sprites and drowning Ophelias. Eventually it takes on a more customary jasmine, lilies and woodsy notes path, but the journey up to there is dreamy enough to make a heart melt a bit.

Ivy Tower  (green) is part of a new collection of natural perfume oils by all naturals perfumer Charna Ethier of Providence Perfume Co, whose Samarinda has been reviewed on these pages before. The rest of the collection includes Rose 802 (pink), Orange Blossom Honey (orange), Summer Yuzu(yellow), Sweet Jasmine Brown (blue) and Violet Beauregarde (violet). The oils are color coded, which is supremely practical when sampling. The choice of an oil format (admittedly not one of my strong suits as I usually like the abundance effect that an alcohol based format allows) stems from the customer base: people blending essences at Providence's popular perfume bar, citing a desire for portability and longevity. 

The given notes for Ivy Tower by Providence Perfume Co are: jonquil, mimosa, geranium, jasmine, narcissus, blue tansy, lily, sandalwood. Info and purchase at www.providenceperfume.com

In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample by the perfumer for reviewing purposes. 

The Aesthetic Principle

When you use a synthetic raw material,” said [Thierry] Wasser, [perfumer at Guerlain] “if you know what you're doing you never, but absolutely never use it as a 'substitute' for some natural product. The synthetic is there to be itself—which by the way is something no natural material can be. People need to understand that we design our scents to be specific works.” […]“A work of scent is utterly unnatural,” said Wasser. “Samsara has nothing to do with ‘natural.’ Nature never would or could put it together, but it’s difficult for those people obsessed with ‘natural’—whatever that means—to understand that these synthetics smell like these synthetics and that we use them because they smell like these synthetics."

Vanitas series by Guido Mocafico, 2007 via parenthetically blog

The above comes (brought to my attention by Smedley, an online friend) from a snippet author Chandler Burr included in his reveal of the S02E05 Untitled Series, a project that asks people to smell perfume "blind", i.e. shed of any extraneous marketing or preconceived notions.

The problem is that the movement for "green" living specifically in regard to perfume, championing "less chemicals in our products", relies by its own nature (pun intended) on panic, herd mentality and pseudoscience. A similar streak runs through the anti-vaccination zealots or in people who believe rice crackers and an apple are more nutrient-rich & healthier than a plate of eggs & bacon. Just because something has been vilified in the press or "everyone says so" isn't enough proof to stand scientific scrutiny. But there you go: The hysterics on "green", "vegan", "organic" and "healthier" rely on the gullibility of people who aren't scientists and typically get intensely bored by scientific data or who are convinced Big Pharma is hiding beyond everything. No wonder few among them end up scrutinizing the facts, thus allowing "green marketing"* to get conflated with pseudo-science perpetuating inaccuracies online and in the press.

[*I had a discussion over cocktails with the president of local L'Oreal branch a few years back. He told me "Green is big now, so we promote green". It's L'Oreal, folks!]

It's tempting and easy on the ear to romanticize about "the aromatherapeutic effects of lavender" in your fabric softener and have watchdogs decide whether that should be so or not. In reality, the product you add in your machine's rinse cycle already doesn't contain one drop of real lavender oil. The mere name is a misnomer: lavender "this" and lavender "that" is usually no lavender at all, but a blend of vanilla and musks. That's because this is what people respond well to, according to an old study, its findings based on focus groups, conducted by a huge household cleaning products company. Even Guerlain's iconic Jicky is smart to buttress its own lavender with musk and civet.

Natural (a term that is incredibly difficult to define, since everything is man-treated in some form or other if to be used) is considered better because grown among urbanites sick & tired by the emptiness of a sterilized  existence it implies a "holier than thou" stance of being both informed (wrong, as we have proved) and considerate (wrong again, because relying on faulty proof and twisted medical terms). This desire "to avoid unnecessary chemicals" has greatly harmed the artistic merit and the solid reputation of the all naturals movement.

Perfumers dabbling in all naturals have been quick to sense that and you won't catch the indie & artisanal crowd that I frequently feature on my pages making bogus claims that their wares are better because they're "healthier" or "safer". Instead they propound their artistic integrity operating on a cottage industry level and their independence relying on no one's external funding and not answering to any board of directors. (To bring an analogy: now that Le Labo has been bought off by the Estee Lauder Group how much of their personal touch can survive? Little, judging by the Jo  Malone fragrance brand). More importantly they make their stance that they appreciate natural essences (and natural isolates in some cases, a very welcome addition in my personal opinion) as an aesthetic choice and a bond with perfume's history. 

Neither are niche or luxury perfumes necessarily better (the inherent snobbism of which justifies the high prices asked, making niche & luxury the only sector to show growth in the industry) because they use "better" materials or "more naturals" in their formula.

Don't try to guess via the price. Price is a marketing choice, it's positioning that doesn't directly reflect the formula's cost.

Don't try to guess via the color of the juice either. Fragrances are invariably dyed and the dark, grapes-worthy purple color of your Serge Lutens perfume (Sarrasins?) might not come due to the ingredients, much like the lilac in Vera Wang Princess doesn't either.

Certain luxurious niche perfumes do not contain one iota of frankincense or myrrh, even though they are indeed labeled as "incense", or they don't include even one drop of real rose absolute despite the marketing or the name. This does not diminish them, they are what they are, they connote rather than denote, and perfumery is indeed a game of connotation, of semiotics, of illusion via allusion. "Art is a lie that makes us realize truth", in the words of Pablo Picasso.

Things do not necessarily have to prove themselves in a politically charged or a strictly eco-conscious context when it comes to fragrance in order to capture our attention and ultimately our hearts. They merely ask to be considered on their own aesthetic merits; to be judged by the aesthetic principle. Which is another way to say "the pleasure principle", or jouissance, to use a Lacanian term. And sadly, this is what has been depreciated in our contemporary culture.

Aftelier Perfume Palimpsest: fragrance review

I recall a particularly tough professor back in my University days demanded such hard-to-crack questions that one way to bypass embarrassment and speech impediments during the ordeal of the oral examination was to begin by defining what a thing wasn't supposed to be, the latter part of the definition implied to be known to both partners in the discussion at least.  Example: "Kintsugi has absolutely no relation to ikebana."  [ed.note all right, all right, apart from both being Japanese concepts, I mean].  This kind of "definition by negation" is sometimes useful to the fragrance writer because perfume descriptions are so very hard to do justice to in the first place. Palimpsest is one such case, not only because it has an indefinable quality of pure exquisiteness, but also because it is perfumer Mandy Aftel's very best.

Zil Hoque; Oil, 2009, "Palimpsest I"  via (recalling the horse in Salvador Dali's Tempation of St.Anthony) 

I can begin by saying that Aftelier Palimpsest is nothing like you'd expect an all naturals perfume to smell like; although I'm fond of the raw energy of some all naturals, there is a certain medicinal or vegetal quality that sometimes comes a bit too forcefully at first, which is probably the reason there is so much hesitation among perfume enthusiasts regarding this branch of perfumery art. One of the reasons for avoiding that might be that Mandy is using natural isolates for the first time in such a context, such as gamma dodecalactone (peachy, apricot-y) and phenylacetic acid (a honeyed note). They play out beautifully.
Another thing that I could negate is the official definition of a "fruity floral". Yes, the ripe peachiness is not unknown among fruity floral perfumes, but it's as far removed from the typical Barbie wannabe on the Sephora counter as could possibly be. With a name like Palimpsest I suppose one would expect it to deviate far and wide!

Palimpsest is a word I first came by when I was 15 and reading The Name of the Rose, the famous novel by Umberto Eco, "a palimpsest" as the author  introduced it. The cunning of the narrative technique relied on making the narrator retell a story that is based on an even earlier narration, lifted from an older manuscript and with extensive quotations from other books often in their turn referencing even older books. As Eco maintains throughout his opus in an intertextual turn of mind "books talk about other books" which is true enough in my, lesser than his, experience. All the tales are being woven into a "palimpsest", the old parchment scroll that bears writing over former writing that had been carefully scratched off to make room for new but is still vaguely visible beneath. In a similar manner perfumes talk about other perfumes and intertextuality in scent is a wonderful dialogue that I had occupied myself with breaking down a bit in the past.

via

Aftelier Palimpsest is one such perfume, taking inspirations from several points of departure and offering something new and coherent, recapitulating the history of perfumery, a given since it sprang from the research Aftel did for her book "Fragrant" out this October (you can order it on discount on this link), but being contemporary all the same! Midnight in the Garden of Eden; honeyed streams of lush florals (jasmine grandiflorum) with a sensuous and mysterious Lilith undercurrent of what I perceive as ambergris (a refined animalic perfume note), speak of a layered tapestry where one is hard pressed to see where one golden thread ends and another, in a slightly different hue, begins.

As Gaia, The Non Blonde, notes in her excellent review on the origins of the inspiration for Palimpsest:

"The gum of the Australian firetree (also known as Christmas tree), or by its official name, Nuytsia floribunda, is sweet and eaten raw by the ingenious people of Western Australia. It's not a common ingredient in perfumery (the only other one I know of was the limited edition Fire Tree by Australian brand Nomad Two Worlds, and I had a hard time warming up to its rawness). I never smelled the firetree as a raw ingredient, so it's hard for me to tell how much of what I smell in Palimpsest comes from it and what is pure imagination. But fantasy is a big part of the perfume joy, isn't it?"

My palette of raw materials, though rather extensive, is similarly limited in regards to this particular essence, so any opinion I might proffer on the adherence to the natural facets of the material would be illusory and misleading. Mandy herself mentions that firetree has rose and lilac facets with a milky undertone that the longer it develops the more it reveals smoky, oud-like, leathery tones. Talk about a multi-tasker! "It possesses an unearthly beauty which, ironically, arises from the soil", says fragrance connoisseur and fairy godmother to indies Ida Meister.
What I can say with certainty myself is that the golden incandescence of Aftelier Palimpsest has to be experienced first hand and quickly at that.

Aftelier Palimpsest comes as an eau de parfum (full bottle costs $170) and an extrait de parfum (same price). Samples of either retail at $6, while a mini of the pure parfum will set you back $50 on aftelier.com.

In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample vial directly by the perfumer for reviewing purposes. 

Fragrance Reviews of the Resurrected Guerlain Perfumes for the Centenary Celebration at Champs Elysees (part 2)

This is part 2 of the perfume descriptions of the heritage Guerlain fragrances which were re-issued for the smelling enjoyment of those who visit the renovated flagship store at Champs Elysees in Paris. If you have missed part 1 you can access it on this link.

Let me again extend my thanks to the generosity of Mme. Delacourte; without Sylvaine it wouldn't be possible to go in such detail. 

 SILLAGE

EXTRAIT 1907

A floral of white flowers : jasmine, tuberose, ylang-ylang on a leather background, oak moss and again tinctures of animal ingredients. A perfume emblematic of its era.

CANDIDE EFFLEUVE

EXTRACT 1922

Read more on this link

On Fragrance Classification of Flowers: White Florals, Yellow, Green, Rosy, Spicy and Anisic

The scientist and the layman alike adore making neat little pigeonholes of things around them pertaining to their job or interests: pictorial styles in archeological remnants or chemical molecules present in material things are no more conductive to fitting into classification systems than styles of macramé or hardware for garage use. Classification is always a learning tool, for oneself, as much as for the benefit of communicating to others; a way to organize one's world; a grammar.

In the scented universe, people who are willing to learn about perfume often come across categories such as the often mentioned (and referenced) "fragrance families"; roughly -and traditionally, I might add- these include the florals, the chypres, the orientals, and the fougères. [If you're interested in getting to know some of them and a couple of their more intriguing sub-categories, please refer to our Beginner Articles on Chypre perfumes, Fougères, Floral Aldehydic fragrances (and on aldehydes themselves) and on Oriental Gourmand fragrances. ]
Floral fragrances in particular base both their consumer allure and their evocative powers on the flowers on which they draw their inspiration -if not always actual ingredients- from. Therefore the grammar of flowers is not only useful for the better understanding of the perfumes in which they star, but it serves as a powerful tool for the budding perfumer eager to explore their intricacies.

In this linguistic analogy above, inspired by classical semiotics, the perfume is the text, ripe for interpretation and parsing. The words, the components that make it up, form a grammar. And the structure of the perfume, its way of being composed, of putting the grammatical forms into phrases with meaning, is syntax.
Grammar of course, in language as in perfume, is a man-made construction: smells do not necessarily and spontaneously fall into groups, nor do they realize they do when they do! Grammar is a theoretician's way of organization much like the periodical table of elements is another. Therefore perfume theoreticians such as Edmond Roudnitska and Jean Claude Ellena, alongside Jean Carles and others, have tried to put order into chaos. And bypass order in their own work to render art.

One of the most popular references is the "white floral fragrances" group. The color coding is easy: white florals are comprised of scents of white petal flowers, such as gardenia, tuberose, orange blossom and jasmine (though the careful perfume lover soon finds out that not all white flowers produce "white floral fragrances" nevertheless!). The ability to bring the scent memory forth is also an acquired reflex that stretches with a predictable kick at the mere mention of the term. The commonality lies in a substance white florals share: indole, which happens to be a white crystalline material as well (see our Indoles and Indolic Fragrances article). Some are more indolic than others: tuberose has more of the mentholated scent of indole, while orange blossom has little. The Jasmine Fragrance Series and the Orange Blossom Fragrance Series can serve as inspiration on exploring this genre more.

Roudnitska classifies all fragrant materials into 15 series in his Art et Parfum, categories which include "balsamic" (see our corresponding reference article), "aromatic" (another fragrance term article), "tobacco" or "animal(ic)" (see our article on animalic scents for further explanation). Roudnitska opts to classify most major perfumery flowers into a group of their own: rose, violet, jasmine and orange flower take on their own individual slots. But within those categories there is some interesting overlapping: jonquil is close to orange flower, tuberose is included in the jasmine class. Some flowers are "green-smelling"; the freshness and impression of foliage of lily of the valley/muguet or narcissus and hyacinth explain the naming. Other flowers have a component that renders them spicy, such as carnation. Indeed classic carnation scents from the first half of the 20th century are routinely built on cloves, some combination of eugenol and rose. Gardenia however, despite the white floral moniker and although sharing facets with both jasmine and tuberose, is classified by Roudnitska in "fruit". It's no wonder that Ellena composes his gardenias with prunolide (a prune evoking aldehyde)!

Other classifications, such as the one employed by Jean Claude Ellena himself, are based on the common components that flower essences share in their molecular structure; equally persuasive and not necessarily contradictory to Carles's or Roudnitska's systems. The floral essences can be divided into roughly 5 sub-groups: rosy flowers (in which rose, peony, cyclamen, sweet pea, tulip and magnolia are included), white florals (jasmine, gardenia, tuberose, longoza, honeysuckle, orange blossom -and narcissus, please note), the yellow florals (including freesia, osmanthus, azalea and iris -and I'd add boronia and tagetes/marigold myself), the spicy florals (carnation certainly, but also lily, petunia, orchid and ylang ylang) and the anisic florals (with prime among them mimosa, cassie and lilacs). In this system there are no "green florals", so hyacinth is classified under rosy florals , as is lily of the valley. This is more a process of elimination. Additionally, things aren't always laid in stone: Magnolias are made with nerol, citronellol, geraniol (rosy compounds) myradyl acetate, linalool, methyl anthranilate...This brings them closer to roses, of course (and orange blossoms). Some ready-made compounds however, such as Magnolan, are closer to jasmine & lily of the valley, only more citrusy (grapefruit?), so it all depends (some perfumers use jasmolactones into making a magnolia).

As to Yellow Florals, you can find an analytical explanation with fragrance examples in my article on Yellow Florals on Fragrantica. Suffice to say here that it's the presence and degradation of carotenoids (which account for the vivid shades of the flowers and many fruits -even animals too, such as the flamingo or the shrimp) which results in exuding ionones. Ionones are fragrant molecules that are otherwise routinely used for the creation of violet and iris notes in perfumery. Beta-ionone is practically code name for yellow flowers. (But ionones are also used as a masking agent, so it's not uncommon to come across alpha-isomethyl ionone in a pleiad of scented products). Ionones happen to range between a pale to more standard yellow in the lab, so the taxonomy might have to do with the odor materials as well as the floral representatives in the botany sense. If you're searching for credible yellow floral fragrances search not further than Antonia's Flowers (freesia dominant & nicely non harsh), Osmanthus by the Different Company, Dior J'Adore, Osmanthus by Ormonde Jayne, and Royal Apothic Marigold Extract are recommended fragrant voyages to sail upon.

Green florals are easier to pinpoint than expected because no matter what the color of the flower, the feel of the aroma is evocative of spring foliage, young buds and snapped leaves. It's more of a mental association, which has been passed down to us through eons of referencing the coming of spring with the color green. The visual signifier has therefore come to potently symbolize a whole class of smells. It's easy to mentally overdo them too, as "green" universally stands for "go on", "free to go", "more", "faster", kill, pussycat, kill. Characteristic examples of the genre include the famous Diorissimo by Dior (composed by Roudnitska himself and idolizing the fresh bouquet of lily of the valley, what is colloquially called "May bells"), Chamade by Guerlain (with a very discernible hyacinth note), and Le Temps d'Une Fete by Patricia di Nicolai (composed on daffodils and narcissi).

Spicy florals seem self-explanatory but aren't necessarily. Anisic florals recall the scent of aniseed (famous for scenting pastis and ouzo aperitifs), which is...a spice! To make things easier on you "spicy florals" in perfume classification always refer to the presence of eugenol or isoeugenol, so flowers that recall cloves or mace are considered in this taxonomy, such as carnation and lily. Bellodgia by Caron evokes carnations potently (as do but in an orientalised context other famous Carons perfumes, namely Poivre and Coup de Fouet). So do Oeillet Sauvage by L'Artisan Parfumeur, although more naturalistically (composing the note on rose and ylang ylang with a helping of eugenol), and Dianthus by Etro among many others. Worthwhile lily fragrances to sample include Lys Mediterranée by F.Malle (sea spray salted lilies), Un Lys by Serge Lutens (more vanillic), Baiser Volé by Cartier (powdery), Guerlain Lys Soleia (tropical lilies), Donna Karan Gold (with an amber base note) and Vanille Galante by Hermes (ethereal and very refined).

Mimosa and cassie fragrances are decidedly anisic: classic perfume references include the stupendous Une Fleur de Cassie by F.Malle, and Mimosa pour Moi by L'Artisan Parfumeur, a life-redolent mimosa. Lilac fragrances are hard to do properly, because they have an anisic component, the floral sweetness and softness, as well as a spicy & fruity nuance. Most lilac fragrances on the market have a toilet freshener feel to it, but Highland of Rochester Lilac and Pur Desir de Lilas (Yves Rocher) succeed where others fail.

Gods lie in ambush though: The iconic L'Heure Bleue by Guerlain is a prime anisic (and vanillic) floral, but the anise is not due to mimosa as it is to anisealdehyde, as is the case with equally classic Apres L'Ondée which pairs the anise note with violets: a match made in heaven (or rather in Jacques Guerlain's fertile imagination). This is a case where the floral reference comes as an afterthought than as the source of inspiration; abstraction and imaginative powers have come a long way from trying to just transpose nature on a form that would allow safekeeping of that fleeting moment, if only for as long as the bottle lasts...

All pics via Pinterest

Make Perfume, Not War: Gerard Ghislain Presents a Humanitarian Fragrance

"Les enfants ont the solution, the solution sont les enfants "
~Gerald Ghislain
(i.e. The children have the solution, the solution is the children).

What would happen if wearing a perfume became a call to action? With this question Gerard Ghislain, perfumer and founder of Histoires de Parfums (as well as of lines The Scent of Departure and Alice & Peter) presents his new offering, called "Make Perfume, Not War". The proud father of 4 children, Ghislain always had an affinity for sponsoring a cause that would help children in need. He felt now was the right time to get into action.

Perfume for humanitarian purposes isn't new (let's remember Jabu by Mona di Orio or the Le Labo Tokyo wider release for the relief of earthquake-hit Japan), but every effort counts. For every bottle of Make Perfume Not War sold a portion (50$) of the proceeds will be donated to support and protect children in need around the world. The buyer actually gets to choose which cause will receive his contribution, the range including 5 subjects: sports, education, technology, art or women's microfinance.

Make Perfume Not War is a unisex fragrance that opens with citrusy notes of orange, lemon, grapefruit, mandarin and bergamot segueing into a floral fruity heart of mango, pineapple, peach, freesia, lilac, and cyclamen which finishes on an aromatic and woody accord.

To make it even more valuable Make Perfume Not War will only be produced in a limited 1,000 numbered bottles of 120ml retailing at 205$ from September 15th, 50 of which will be donated to the fund with the aim to achieve in a short time the benchmark of $ 50,000. The fragrance will be exclusively available for purchase at the dedicated website www.makeperfumenotwar.org.

The site does not currently state which Children's Associations they're working with or how the buyer will ascertain of his/her contribution getting to the proper hands (they only state" The fund is regulated by the French government and the accounts are reviewed yearly by public officials") but I trust that this small technical matter will soon be clarified, as the sign "soon" upon hitting the "Learn more" button promises to.

At the Moment

The establishing of spring in my city has been spectacular, with the bigaradier trees already shedding some of their fully ripe, fully fragrant orange blossoms, bees and butterflies doing the crazy mambo and sun warmth reaching 22C at noon effortlessly. This has created an especially optimistic and energized mood in me, as happens every spring like clockwork. The joys of living in a warm place, I guess.
I feel like I should lift the carpets, put flowers in my hair and go through my closets to bring warm weather clothes & accessories at the front and give away to charity anything that doesn't get the tender loving use it deserves (which if you know the bulk of things I accumulate -hanging head in shame- you'd know it's an Herculean task).

Source: honeykennedy.com via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest  And yes, this is Bettie Davis actually!

So what rocks my boat or -at the very least- occupies these days?

Book
I'm reading The Perfume Collector by Cathleen Tessaro (the one who wrote Elegance some years ago, following the journey of a heroine who discovers Madame Dariaux's guide to elegance and ends up discovering herself); a chick-lit opus (which I was sent for your sake) about another heroine who re-invents herself, this time with perfume peppering. Review coming up.

Music
The Marin Marais viola da gamba-highlighting Baroque piece La Sonnerie de Sainte Geneviève du Mont-de-Paris (which lovingly replicates bells happily pealing) is playing on Repeat. There's something very spring-like in it, though I generally love the music of the period.

Food
I had tried the Gourmet vegetable variety mix from Lidl sometime in the autumn and recall being impressed by just how tasty it is; without adding anything more than a little heat, it has a meaty, onion-y richness. A great quick side dish with fresh sea bass, with meat cuts or a great basis for a healthy spring soup.

Skincare
I've started using again the Shiseido Sun Compact SPF34 PA+++ (I told you it's sunny!). For now the SP40 shade looks good as these run lighter than initially showing, the sun protection is sanctioned by the Skin Cancer Foundation and I know that the sweatproof feature will be VERY handy once late May hits with its 32C degrees.
Also taken anew with the scent of Mustela rash cream; orange blossoms and a hint of lilac. Mmm...

pic Source: 3.bp.blogspot.com via Jazmine on Pinterest

Makeup
I got a little obsessed with blue lately (hello 80s?). The Sephora Colorful Duo eyeshadows in 02 Intense Blue combine a deep, navy blue with slate grey with shimmer. Got mine at clearance for only 9 euros.

Hobbies
Trying to revisit my Italian which is getting rusty.

Guilty Pleasure
Browsing Pinterest. Actually forgetting to stop browsing Pinterest.

What are your current hits and misses? Share them in the comments.

Chanel Les Exclusifs 1932: new fragrance

This is a tah da da ta da post, of the "I told you so" variety. Eons ago (actually a year ago, but it feels that way in perfume land) I had posted how "1932" was going to be the next Chanel Les Exclusifs fragrance. The perfume news are confirmed. Rejoice!

The new Les Exclusifs de Chanel 1932 fragrance is arriving at selected boutiques on March 1st 2013.
The scent is touted to be a powdery floral focused on jasmine. The new fragrance is reportedly made available for the first time to the general public as part of Les Exclusifs whereas the perfume was originally offered for purchase only to the customers of Chanel’s haute joiallerie line, specifically named to echo the new "Chanel 1932 collection". The perfume is named after the year in which Chanel launched its jewelry collection and bears NO relation with the vintage Ivoire fragrance by Chanel issued in the year 1932. It is a NEW creation developed by the Chanel house perfumers.

Edit to update: Fragrance Notes for "Chanel Les Exclusifs 1932":
Top notes: aldehydes, bergamot, neroli
Heart: jasmine, rose, lilac, carnation, ylang-ylang
Base: vetiver, sandalwood, opoponax, orris root, coumarin, ambrette, musk, incense, vanilla, iralia*
*Iralia is a base with a pronounced iris and violet character patented by Firmenich

Perfume Primers: Aldehydic Florals for Beginners

Perfume Primers is a new feature on the Perfume Shrine site, intended for beginners who cannot find their way through the tangled cosmos of perfume writing in print and on the web, but also insightful enough (and hopefully written in a non-condenscending manner) to appeal to more seasoned perfume fans as well. These primers go beyond the comprehensive raw materials/perfume notes articles (linked on the right hand column of the site) or perfume terms articles (the vocabulary of the perfume language, also linked on the right hand column); they intent to highlight issues that straddle categories and skirt central themes essential for fragrance comprehension and aim to be relatively short and concise. In short, if you're new to perfume, you're advised to begin here (and possibly the various How To guides, linked on the right too) and make your way through the other features.

I begin as requested by readers' emails with a somewhat "confusing" genre, aldehydic florals, which accounts for a vast amount of perfumes on the market, not to mention numerous historical ones. Not merely an allusion to including "aldehydes" materials in the formula of said perfumes (aldehydes can appear in any fragrance family, from chypre to oriental) the trope has particularities that need addressing.

The perfume term "floral aldehydic" applies to a subcategory of the "floral" family of perfumes (perfumes with an emphasis on the olfactory impressions of flowers) whose origins go back to two acclaimed classics, both emerging in the 1920s: Chanel No.5 and Lanvin's Arpege. "Aldehydic" refers to aldehydes, of course, a large group of usually synthetically recreated ingredients with varying scents  (more on which  on this link), but what "makes" a "floral aldehydic" is the presence of a significant amount of so called aliphatic aldehydes within the formula in combination with floral, woody and animalic notes.

Those aliphatic aldehydes or "fatty aldehydes" , (i.e. the string of aldehydes C10, C11 and C12, named after the number of carbon atoms contained in their molecule) present in Chanel No.5 have become "code" for this perfumery trope. They make up a staggering 1% of the formula of No.5, marking it as a milestone in modern perfumery. Issued in the 1920s, the era of modernism in the arts, this is the reason why they're classified as "modern style fragrances" in some taxonomies, after the Chanel pioneer. Lanvin's Arpege is invariably considered the second great example in the genre, different enough from the Chanel (woodier, creamier, softer) so as to put itself in a important historical slot.

These fragrances smell soapy, waxy, citrusy, a complex and abstract scent that we can pinpoint as decidedly "perfumey", often 'retro' in feel too, as many women of a certain age cling on to them faithfully as the scents of their prime (aldehydics were supremely popular in the 1950s and 1960s and in some part into the early to mid 1970s). Simply put, aldehydic florals smell unmistakably like one has put perfume on, rather than smelling of one's own "scent" (what is colloquially refered to as "skin scents"). They're supremely "manufactured", man-made in feel and therefore can be interpreted as the prime sign of "status perfume-wearing", signage for affording to buy and wear a luxury product; an effect purposefully sought after upon creating First by Van Cleef & Arpels, "the scent of a wealthy, tasteful woman". They stand for classic elegance, a pearly opalescence, what we'd picture Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly wearing in their classic mid-20th century films (Audrey did in fact favor one, L'Interdit by Givenchy, originally made for her). Aldehydic florals are invariably aimed at women, although men are free to experiment if they're daring and uninhibited.

In Chanel No.5 aliphatic aldehydes are coupled with (at the time of creation) natural essence of jasmine and rose, alongside natural musk, ambergris and civet (the latter three being "animalic notes", more on which on the link). The sharpness, pike-through-the-nose effect of the aldehydes is smoothed by bergamot and ylang-ylang and sexualized by the animal-derived notes mentioned above.

Floral aldehydics make steady use of a standard triad of flowers ~rose, jasmine and lily of the valley~ while there might be lesser amounts of other flower aromas such as lilac, tuberose and carnation "notes" (the term is used in quotes as lilac and carnation are recreated through imaginative combinations and lab synthetics, the natural flowers yielding insufficient essence). The more tenacious notes perceived much later include woods (sandalwood was the #1 choice for this genre), vetiver (an exotic earthy-smelling grass with an extensive root system classified in the "woods" smells), the starch scent of orris, musks and amber. Whether there is much vanillin (i.e synthetic vanilla) or not in the formula determines a further sub-category with the genre of floral aldehydic, sweet or non-sweet.

pic via myfavoritememphispeople.com

Classic reference floral aldehydic fragrances include: Chanel No.5, Arpege by Lanvin, Chanel No.22, Worth Je Reviens, Caron Fleurs de Rocaille and Nocturnes, Lanvin My Sin, Madame Rochas, Givenchy L'Interdit, Rive Gauche (Yves Saint Laurent), Calandre (Paco Rabanne), First (Van Cleef and Arpels) and White Linen (Estee Lauder).
More aldehydic floral fragrances can be seen with links to fragrance reviews on this collective link (scroll for the list), alongside many modern aldehydic fragrance reviews found under the tab Floral Aldehydic.

It's common to hear people noticing that floral aldehydic perfumes give them an impression of soap and/or of functional products (toiletries, detergents etc) or sometimes a "powdery" feel (as in body powder). This is a cultural phenomenon, as the use of the relatively cheap aliphatic aldehydes meant that they were used in many of these products (especially bath soap) throughout the mid and late 20th century; the instability of the ingredients, alongside synthetic vanillin, wasn't too problematic in that type of functional perfumery, so their cost effectiveness and diffusion were advantages.

Floral aldehydics have also inextricably tied themselves to a French-style inclination (you can refer to the Perfume Shrine's article on "french style perfumes" for two directions on that), though they're by no means restricted to France; in fact numerous American fragrances are floral aldehydics, as it's a much beloved genre by US audiences. Last but not least, aldehydic florals are often -among some others- termed "old lady fragrances" by the general public; this fascinating and borderline disturbing cultural association is further explained in this link.