Although Assenzio Aqua di Profumo by Italian pharmacist-inspired brand L' Erbolario is an older scent, I only truly discovered it last year, testing it again and again, and contemplating a full bottle of my own for the coming months.
The Italian name means absinth and it effortlessly recalls ringlets of fragrant smoke rising from a censer into the ethers, which is totally fitting for days of recollection and pensiveness, since incense is usually burnt into a censer and left to rise. Frankincense has a citrusy top note and this is beautifully fanned out in Assenzio, where the citrus and herbal part (bitterish artemisia and wormwood) is the introduction to the hazy, billowy development.
Perfume lovers have beautiful and zen-quality words to say about it. Silver Hiccup writes in Fragrantica, "Assenzio is ultimately a very gentle, flowy scent, like a fluffy cloud that envelops you. I can admit that for me, it may carry a sense of melancholy." Cerise Noir writes, "I love this powdery, herbal sweetness. Makes me feel so clean and calm." Abraham 7 says, "An ancient, green, relaxing charm."
Others, like Kioflare are mixed: "The opening is really quite masculine, astringent and not particularly pleasant [...] reminds me in a sense of Penhaligon's Blenheim Bouquet, which I was not particularly fond of. This goes on for about 15-20 min. The drydown showcases its truly marvellous and gentle side. That is the real unisex herbal talcum [...] becomes a bit chalky sweet, the herbs shine through, but they leave a gentle and warm impression, like a green powdery caress."
Although Assenzio has been compared to Felce Azzura, the famous shower gel and dusting powder products from Italy, another South-eastern European reference that is often conflated with incense, due to the dry soapy-piney ambience, it is not a replication of that (admittedly amazing) scent. But it's worth trying all the same, because the herbal qualities will appeal to lovers of the Italian classic of grooming all the same.
Best of all? This quiet scent has an array of ancillary products to enjoy from morning till bed-time... Bliss.
NB. The Aqua di Profumo concentration is the equivalent of Eau de Toilette.
Official notes for Assenzio by L' Erbolario:
Top notes are Wormwood, Amalfi Lemon and Orange. Middle notes are Artemisia, Coriander, Lavender and Cardamom. Base notes are Musk, Carnation, Geranium, Patchouli, Benzoin and Cedar.
Boring is a disparaging term for perfume such as the latest All of Me by Narciso Rodriguez, since this is a product relying on fantasy: excitement, anticipation, pleasure. However, as we know, boring can smell gorgeous too, just not particularly new or pushing the envelope. And that's fine, we need some boring fragrances too I guess.
That would have been OK, if Narciso Rodriguez and the Group behind it, Shiseido, actually continued on the road of the white and black "cubes" of the Narciso collection. But it seems that after a while on that road they missed a significant turning or something and the whole trip derailed.
I have adored the For Her eau de toilette from the first moment it launched and I have been so outspoken about it ever since, starting with Osmoz, that I feel somewhat personally proud of its enduring footprint in the industry. Imagine then my dismay when some of the best in the NR collection, namely the white and black "cube" fragrances have been discontinued. The rest in the collection have not been wowing me either; pretty, yes, but ultimately not advancing the brand. After a while, the subsequent editions in the For Her line, have also become kinda staid and stilted.
All of Me did not make wild promises, it talked about the mainstays in the world of pretty, feminine, office-friendly fragrances that make Chloé scents a popular mainstay in the department store aisles. Lots of women love them and cherish them and they do look good on a vanity, I'll give them that. However the Narciso Rodriguez brand is not Chloé, even though according to official data they did sell 1 bottle every 6 seconds in 2022 (according to the Shiseido website). The NR aesthetics bring on less apologetic versions of pretty, from the models chosen, to the shape of the bottles and the presentation, not to mention the more straightforward fashions themselves.
Nevertheless, the newest fragrance after all this optical expectation seems limp-wristed, hesitant, yet persistent enough in the screechy version of synthesized roses -with a touch of Frambinone maybe?- which bring on the impression that you're poised between something going bad and a headache blooming at the back of your eyes, like intense light blinding you.
The characteristic musk component of the Rodriguez brand has rather gone amiss in All of Me and only the fabric softener notes remain behind, with an aldehydic touch of soapiness and aquatic tonality buttressing the rose and geranium essences, making them sickly sweetish for my personal taste. Mind you, I'm particularly sensitive to that effect, so your mileage may vary on that score.
All Of Me was created by Dora Baghriche and Daphné Bugey, who have probably been given a brief to follow closely by Firmenich with which they work, and it launched in 2023. The official top note is Magnolia; the middle notes are Rose and Bourbon Geranium; the base notes are Musk and Sandalwood.
It's been ages since I submitted an At the Moment column, but I've been meaning to refresh this as a mental exercise in much needed times. So without further ado, some of my recent obsessions. Share yours too (whichever you want) in the comments below!
In the troubled times we're living in there is a precarious balance to keep between being flummoxed by doom scrolling and detaching one's self from the ongoing societal and political process. I try to tread carefully.
I have revisited some books like Erotica by Anais Nin, always a safe space in times of world crisis, and Serotonin by Michel Houellebecq, its diurnal direct opposite. In my bucket list for January there are some waiting for me to catch a few uninterrupted hours to finish or to begin, including Sarah Bernand by Françoise Sagan and The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.
SCENTING
This past fall I had been wearing (and testing) a roaster of fragrances niche and mainstream, with an emphasis on diversifying and appreciating nuance.
I chose Ambre Royal by Ormonde Jayne, first. Variations on a theme, like Bach's motif that unfolds from gavotte and sarabande to passacaglia and from there to fugue, are in no other "note" more numerous than in amber. The so-called ambergris or amber. Whatever anyone means (and it doesn't really matter to break it down technically at this point), the traditional recipe of the 19th century characterizes a whole class of perfumes named amber, ambre, ambra... In this case, with Ormonde Jayne's Ambre Royal, we have a solid construction with attractive warm powders and a salty nuance coming from the ocean.
L'Heure Bleue by Guerlain in Eau de Toilette is another choice. I personally find L'Heure Bleue to be a quiet, soft fragrance, almost shy and dreamy, with a bittersweet air that is not exactly stereotypical in particular (though it certainly does not resemble the sweetness of modern women's perfumes on the shelves) with plenty of powdery fluffy heliotrope. Some scents in this genre are reminiscent of cherry pie or even powdered lilac, but not L'Heure Bleue.
Dionysian Orgy, the fragrance by The Greek Perfumer, is similarly inviting to a painting by Caravaggio with a youth savoring a goblet of wine amidst a luscious dinner party. The composition is fruity-ambery with spicy accents that have a succulent effect. The ambience of the classic recipe for the mellis accord, which accounts for spicy oriental formulas, is present at the very heart; it evokes the best part of Cinnabar, Opium, and Youth Dew. And last but not least,
Putain de Palaces by Etat Libre d' Orange. Spare a thought for those who expect a "whore's perfume" to be rich in heavy, oriental notes full of hints and animal scents that refer to instincts. They will be quite surprised. We are dealing with a clear descendant of the Tresor skeleton, the classic, with-a-décolleté accord of rose, fluffy peach, and synthetic notes of violets and clean musk - which is perfectly in line with the choice of this particular perfume as the scent of strippers in posh clubs of other decades. Something strong, something clean, something ladylike, so as to not rouse suspicions in the minds of the clients' wives upon their return home. The fragrance is a bit powdery in the general sense of cosmetic products (lipstick, face make-up)
For the holidays 2024-2025 I drenched myself with the spectacularly chic Splendida Iris d' Or by Bvlgari, a precious gift from a friend. It is the recalibration of their criminally discontinued Bvlgari pour Femme and feels like the softest pashmina shawl on the shoulders and decolletage.
I will devote a separate post on my newer scented discoveries to usher forth 2025, but feel free to add yours.
I pledge conscious fashion choices for my 2025 bucket list. Not sure it will always be a choice that can be materialised, since it requires more time and distance spent than I'm usually willing to devote, but we have globally arrived at a time when every little thing matters. I intend to recycle some of my older clothes into newer schemes and styling and update with great quality accessories as always. Heirlooms, silk scarves, and actual leather handbags that have withstood the floods of time need not be crushed at the back of the closet.
LISTENING
I discovered La Chapelle Musique during the holidays thanks to their Noel recordings and was charmed. Here they are for your inspection (and they have lots of material on their channel).
I have increasingly been using just liquid black liner on my lash line, plus a touch of mascara on my upper lashes, and substituted posh brands for high-street alternatives for the products to do the job. My current duo is Calligraph Pro Matt Liner Waterproof by Catrice and The False Lashes Mascara by Essence. They perform great, staying put until I take them off myself and apart from not budging they also not sting in the eyes.
On the contrary I have been using posh lipsticks on my lips and intend to continue doing so this year. The Tom Ford lipsticks may suffer from a somewhat vulgarised aesthetic, as is customary to the sex sells adage supporting some brands, but the quality is unquestionable. They melt like butter on the lips when applying, stay nicely put for the most part, and when fading leave a nice stain, plus they come in a wide array of colours which please my artistic eye and warm the cockles of my little heart. The shade 04 Aphrodite with the alluring name is a favourite, in the Lip Color Sheer collection. It's a nice mid-plum, mid-rose shade that contrary to what's advertised doesn't let the natural hue of the lips shine through (and therefore reads warmer than my own set) and leaves a satiny finish. Perfect for everyday as well as dressier occasions, exactly because two glides provide much pigment. The odd thing is it's 55$ in the USA according to Temptalia and 61 euros in the local retail market, more expensive than any other brand, which makes me wonder how physical stores intend to stay open in the long term! But I digress...
I'm also currently in search of a great blurring primer that can be worn alone over sunscreen in the cooler months and in the warmer springtime ahead. I like soft and satiny things rather than all glam gloss glass skin. Any suggestions? Thanks for your input.
Contrary to colognes that take their time to establish the synthetically enhanced citrus notes before sinking into an indelible loop of scrubbed musk, the depths of Eau de Lancaster seem to appear almost immediately under the effervescent affluence of soapy hesperides (no doubt thanks to aldehyde attributed to coriander in the pyramid). Like a lining that's beginning to show at the point of overstretched seams, it hints at what's beneath.
The third edition by Lancaster chronologically, which is circulating nowadays in online retailers, circles back and revisited Eau de Lancaster for men from 1977, with the same name and a much more architectural design for the bottle: subtly fluted, curvaceous, beautifully simple and diaphanous, highlighting the light green shade of its juice (the photo below is leaning a bit more blue-ish than green as is in reality). This Eau de Lancaster relaunched in 1997 with yet another different set of notes, but it's really a revisiting of the original theme: a starched white shirt of a scent.
The latest edition of the 1997 bottle also circulates as Lancaster Grace in eau de toilette concentration, 125ml / 4.2 fl.oz.size, and this time aimed at women only (though not quite, it's all about the name, really). Definitely an allusion to the princess of Monaco, Grace Kelly, the patron saint of Lancaster, but also not so amiss as a reference to the glorious, magnificent scent of the fragrance itself. A lovely, fresh, silky olfactory landscape that is clean and natural referencing, creating an aura of gentility and class. The truly rich do not draw attention via their fragrance of choice; they let it speak in murmurs.
Those who like fragrances like Eau de Cartier, Pomelatto Artemisia 67, Eau de Rochas, Clarins Eau Dynamissante and the like, should try this out.
Back in August 2023, Jean Paul Gaultier launched Gaultier Divine, the brand's new feminine fragrance, classified as a gourmand marine floral. American actress Yara Shahidi has been selected to represent the new fragrance, imagined as a celebration of femininity. It is signed by perfumer Quentin Bisch and is made of floral, gourmand, and marine notes. For Gaultier Divine the bet was on creating something that young women would want for themselves and everyone would like having them approach them.
Gaultier Divine capitalizes on the marine semiotics which the Gaultier team has used ever since the cool matelot-clad sailor for Le Male. The marine theme is very tongue-in-cheek. On the one hand the homoerotic nuances of sailors, on the other the salty touch of the new fragrance aimed at women. The fragrance is depicted on women gazing at men at sea. But it's all a tempest in a bottle! The allusion to a scent that would create a similar tempest on those smelling it is not lost upon us. The women playfully cajole and seduce the sailor trapped inside this bottle. It's cleverer than a simple seduction trick in advertising and subtle enough that it does not scream sexist or cliché.
Solar fragrances are probably the genre into which I would classify this creation. The term solar fragrance notes (on which I have written extensively) expresses the essence of sunshine and the appeal of endless sugar-spun sands, or the embrace of tanned, warm skin. A perfumer uses helional and mainly salicylates to render this effect, sometimes heliotrope synthetics, too. Flower accents of tiare, frangipani, and ylang-ylang, contribute to this exotic field, alongside mimosa, coconut, vanilla, and salty or marine notes. But not all are used in Gaultier Divine which is as airy as a meringue.
pic borrowed from confessions of baking queen
Calypsone stands here for the iodic facets of oakmoss, as well as watery facets in the floral bouquet of Gaultier Divine, as the interplay between watery and yet non-sweet is beautifully rendered amidst the heart notes. My initial personal impression upon spraying is that someone crossed the bridge between the intensely solar-salicylate chord of Lys Soleia (Guerlain Aqua Allegoria), which was a bit too summery, and the much more delicate treatment of lily-salicylate in Vanille Galante (Hermessences). The latter, although baptized vanilla, is really a lily, the kind with white waxy petals and red stamens, spicy and sweet, yet alluring and mesmerizing. Benzyl salicylate has been the mainstay of this sort of genre, with benzyl amyl and cis 3 hexenyl, the mothership of solar fragrances. I am hypothesizing that Bisch is working his magic in Gaultier Divine with the salicylate molecule Karmaflor he has access to, if only to bypass the rationing of salicylates due to IFRA restrictions, but also to tie it to Mahonial (a lily synthetic) and Nympheal (a watery molecule that has flowery, lotus and lily facets). Lilies do have a salty nuance themselves, as deliciously explored in the once poetic Lys Mediterranee (it has now been tampered with somewhat).
The base is crafted through the synergy of mainly vanilla and benzoin, with subtly caramelic facets and a clean musk, but always balanced by the salty-lily drenched in the sea breeze chord — never too sweet like many other gourmands. It's the balancing act of a skilled equilibrist.
The effect of Gaultier Divine is therefore beautifully crunchy. A little bit salty, it resembles munching on savory toffee with fleur de sel snippets scattered in it, resisting to the tooth, like...exactly, an airy meringue. A success!
Hermès launched another vegetal, light, and airy fragrance in its Cologne collection in July 2022. Eau de Basilic Pourpre represents a sunny and summery Mediterranean scent, inspired by basil at a farmer's market, a very common occurrence in open air spaces in the south of Europe and temperate climate Middle Eastern countries.
The composition was created by in-house perfumer Christine Nagel, who describes it as an instant burst of pleasure and freshness. Rather than imitating the scent of basil itself, the perfumer relied on her memory of a smell she once experienced and the impression she remembers.
The fragrance of Eau de Basilic Pourpre focuses on basil's invigorating and herbal scent, combined with light touches of bergamot from Calabria, geranium (in its geraniol rosy-green-minty facets), a hint of patchouli, and warm peppery-clovey spices. Purple basil is the main ingredient, as it takes center stage in the composition.
The spicy component in Eau de Basilic Pourpre is recognizable as soon as the bottle is sprayed. It's an invigorating scent that many people smelling it identify as mint, actually, but that is probably because they cannot pinpoint accurately, over-acclimatized as they are to functional scents from toothpaste and chewing gum. Which is strange in a way, because people around the Mediterranean are well accustomed with the scent of potted basil - but there you have the poetic interpretation we were talking about stirring Nagel's imagination and creativity. The variant used or the combination of spicy notes is not immediately a thought of a basil salad and that's what makes the scent very wearable.
In fact it also bonds with the rest of the heritage in that it replicates elements of the dry-down of the original 1979 Eau d'Orange Verte, (also known as Eau de Cologne Hermes); that impression of a hesperidic peel being clawed on with a cruel fingernail. Nagel plays homage, clearly.
After the initial spicy jolt the scent development of Eau de Basilic Pourpre calms into a chord that recalls the classic Cologne structure with clean musk and the distinction of a floral note; in this case that's geranium, making it perfectly unisex and to most women leaning unto masculine because of the distinct lack of sweetness overall.
It was a full seven years since Prada introduced an entirely new perfume for either gender, exploiting its established lines all this time. To my disappointment, the new women's pillar fragrance, Prada Paradoxe, fell short. It's a women's fragrance, yes, like periods are womanly, and it's clean like we're supposed to smell, sanitized.
But that's a pity, as it could be so much more. Especially from a pink colored bottle and box, one expects a touch of irreverence, as they did with the wonderful gourmand of Prada Candy - perfect from start to finish, the witty campaign most of all.
In her directorial debut, Emma Watson was said to embrace all her multiple dimensions – the artist, the activist, the actor, the woman – "in a dynamic, liberating film that captures the empowered spirit of Prada Paradoxe."
The usual suspect, Daniella Roche-Andrier, isn't behind this Prada creation. Three other perfumers are credited with creating Paradoxe. Usually, this fills me with trepidation. Surely one vision split in three, fixed here and there, means that rather than a collaboration of creativity, it is a project that needed multiple sessions in the drawing room to discuss faults and effects? I might be judging too harshly. The perfumers are certainly renowned and respected. I feel this is more of an odd corporate decision on the part of L'Oreal, who own the license for Prada fragrances, after taking over from Puig.
The initial olfactory impression of Paradoxe by Prada is equal parts fruity and floral, nectarous with orange blossom, with a resemblance to both My Way and Libre by YSL, oddly enough.
It then breaks apart and becomes sweeter and somewhat muskier, without abanding the shampoo cleanliness of its core message. Its creamy musk with touches of soft suede is held on the skin for a long time, but the fruit dissipates. Yet with so many floral woody muskies on the market at the moment, what is the purpose of another one in Prada Paradoxe that becomes less than the sum of its parts?
A dirty mind is a joy forever, they say! The newest Baruti perfume, Oh my deer!, a play upon the expression and the deer musk ingredient prized in perfumery, started as an exercise in recreating the scent of deer musk. That ages old animalistic substance of mythical dimensions which lend such a sensuality to perfume that all scent is feeling...
The accord was quickly done, but releasing it as a standalone fragrance felt boring and redundant, so a whole composition was built around it.
Focusing on contrasts, the perfume opens very bright and radiant, then slowly morphs in this sensual enveloping scent that provides excitement and comfort at the same time. Just like the song The Honeymooners by Lucky Jim says “My body be your focus, your labor be my joy,“ or simply put: No pain, no gain.
The new scent, Oh my deer! is presented as a beautiful mess by its creator, the perfumer Spyros Drosopoulos – "sexy, sensual, and a little bit kinky."
What can I say? I'm sold. :)
The olfactory notes of Baruti Oh my deer! include spicy accents of black pepper, Sichuan pepper, as well as aldehydes and metallic notes. It then radiates with a lily-of-the-valley accord, before seguing into the warmer embrace of incense, amber, vanilla, a soft barnyard accord, and lots and lots of musk...
Elizabeth Arden Green Tea is one of Francis Kurkjian's timeless success stories, which built his reputation for
effortless light diaphanous fragrances, in turn setting the record for
his own Maison Francis Kurkdjian creations that sparkle and trail like gauze in the morning sun. Yet Green Tea is a case where one perfumer imitates another.
The sophisticated and intellectual Jean Claude Ellena created L'Eau Parfumée
first as a room spray for Bvlgari boutiques in Rome in the 1990s, and
as a stand alone fragrance around the world later. He came up with it
while playing with Iso E Super and jasmine chords, creating an original
accord that he called "green tea." He states so in his writings, that he
chose the name because he was impressed by the Japanese green tea
ceremony. He wanted to recreate that feeling of comforting serenity,
that precious luxury, the one of seemingly endless time. Or at the very
least of meaningful time. He was mindful before mindfulness was a thing.
Ozonic with a green bamboo note, and lemon accords that do not bring images of classic Eau de Cologne, thanks to its green grassy shade, Green Tea takes you because of its name in the highlands of Darjeeling and Sikkim, on the backs of elephants. It perfectly makes me at once calm down and feel like the draining energy of intense heat is not a worrisome burden anymore. There is the promise of spice and botanical stuff but it's just that – a hint, a soupçon of a taunt, never fully materialized. It remains cool and collected, not passionate.
Delicate, fresh, drumming like light percussion, airy and tonic, Green Tea by Elizabeth Arden is welcome coolness in the heat, which is much appreciated for casual occasions and daytime. But if you're the type of person to eschew evening fragrances in the summer months, this could easily fit in your wardrobe.
It's also a startlingly good steal on online stores, demanding very little.
Fragrance notes for Elizabeth Arden Green Tea:
Top notes are Lemon, Bergamot, Mint, Orange Peel and Rhubarb
Middle notes are Jasmine, Oakmoss, Fennel, Musk, Carnation and White Amber
Base notes are Green Tea, Jasmine, Oakmoss, Musk, Celery Seeds, Caraway, Cloves and Amber
For something so quiet and soft, True Love is a very impressive performer, I can attest.
The scent of True Love (1994) combines elements of two beloved fragrances that followed it: Nivea eau de toilette, which I have reviewed in the past, and Irisia by Creed, which is a more chypre take on the soapy floralcy of this one (supposedly a 1960s composition, but in reality much more modern). It has elements that make the Dove soap, the classic white creamy bar, so lovely to smell and use.
True Love projects quite linear, starting with a whoosh of soapy cleanliness and segueing into an abstract lactonic floralcy of no discernible edges. It's soft all around, like a pink angora sweater, and cooling like a glass of pink champagne. Sarah Horowitz capitalized on the concept with her Perfect Veil, a cult item of a scent around the millennium based on the combination of citrusy sparkle, soft clean musk, and a smidgen of vanilla for sweetness - a gauze of a scent theoretically, something that lingers, does not appear too perfume-y for the sensibilities of the women of the late 1990s, yet is still quite the beast.
Do not expect much from the bottle itself. It's a plain cylindrical
style in glass, capped by an unassuming plastic cap to correspond.
Nothing to write home about. But it's what's inside that counts. Elizabeth Arden's fragrance bottles and compositions tend to look unassuming and prosaic on the surface.
Online discounters often offer Elizabeth Arden fragrances at exceptionally low prices, considering the quality, lasting power, and decency of the liquid inside. It's a brand worth seeking out.
Kobako means "small box" in Japanese, as far as I know. But try adding a katana-blade symbol over the first "o," and it turns into Kōbako. Then it gains the nuance of a small box for solid aromatics used in the incense ceremony in kōdō (香道, "Way of Incense"); the ritual burning of incense to count the time. Such is the case with Kobako by the classic French brand Bourjois.
A composition that initially hails from 1936 and the creative genius of perfumer Ernest Beaux, but which survives to this day in a contemporary Parfum de Toilette version that was first issued during the 1980s in the cristal taillé style bottle and the maroon box photographed below. The actual launch date for the modern version is 1982, and I doubt that the two editions have much in common, both stylistically and artistically. There was too much water under the bridge by then.
photo by Elena Vosnaki
It's interesting to note that one of the connotations for the word 'box' is the one used in slang, in many languages, for female genitalia. Indeed, again as far as I have been informed, kōbako in modern Japanese slang refers to that as well. But the scent in question is not an animalic or intimate smell that would polarize at all. In fact, it's this discrepancy that prompted my review.
The current fomula is not the one from the 1930s, so the description pertains to the 1980s mix.
The domineering feeling is one of soap, like an old-fashioned soap for men, with cinnamon and sandalwood, and that creamy feeling that generations past associate with comfort and hot water. The florals used in the heart of Kobako are not discernible; they mix and mingle and tear apart again. There is definitely rose, which mollifies the formula, and probably a segment of something white-floral for a bit of clarity (possibly a part of lily of the valley aroma chemicals to give diffusion and expansion.)
Kobako combines these elements in a naughty, playful, almost haphazard way - the masculine backdrop with the feminine florals and the aldehydes - to render a juxtaposing composition. It hides its dark corners, but it's not entirely clean either. It has the versatility to make itself wearable all year long and never bother or disappear.
It feels fresh and spicy one minute, metallic and powdery the next, with a segment of dry patchouli in the back. What is this scent, I ask you? It consistently garners some comment or other, always in a positive way. It might not be the most accepted fragrance or the most derided - it hinges on that razor-sharp axis - but it's worth sampling at the very least. Some of you will end up wearing it when you won't know what to wear for the day, I promise.
The woody element in the back and the soapiness render Bourjois' Kobako very easy on the skin. There is not enough spice, although cinnamon is mentioned. I do not detect it as such, more of a smidge of clove, which is faint. It's also quite musky, in a good way, not the screechy white musk from laundry detergents, but not dirty either. It just melds with the skin and holds on to it.
Finding one's perfect soapy fragrance is a question of defining the scent of soap in the first place. Will it be the classic Camay and Lux soap of yesteryear, which smelled of roses and aldehydes? Will it be the original Dove with its iris-musk aura or its newer iterations with fruits and coconut? Are we talking about chamomile and the botanical smells of pine and lavender, perhaps of jasmine and flowers, allied to powerful powdery aspects, or are we concentrating on fatty aldehydes known from Aleppo and Marseilles soap which smell like clean laundry on a line? I'm personally quite fond of the latter, to be honest.
The promise of Marseilles soap, in its own particular way both sweetish and fatty-acrid, is strikingly fulfilled in Naviglio by Italian niche brand Milano Fragranze. It does smell soapy, really soapy-smelling! The perfect scent for capturing summer cleanliness, but also great for year-round, when you want to project that pristine white, bright impression that is deliriously happy, like lily of the valley bells peaking through the grass on a warm day.
Although we're prepared by the brand for a marine fragrance, with the mention of the canals outside Milan, the aquatic notes here are not the sort met at the seafront, salty and/or with whiffs of organic matter decomposing. In Naviglio, they instead recall the clean ambiance of a humidifier, the lovely sweetish scent of water ponds, and dewiness on a climbing ivy. This effect reminds me of two quirky little scents, Rem by Reminiscence and Ivy by the Fragrance Library (Demeter). It's captured perfectly here, and alongside the soap, it creates a charming, easy-to-wear fragrance.
Bonus points for its incredibly long-lasting quality. It radiated on my skin for the full 12-hour mark!
Chanel No.5 L'Eau, endorsed by the debutantes of the Chinese press, has been hailed as an innovation, but it's really "new old school". And I'm stating this in a positive light. It's a very likeable fragrance by Chanel which retains the spirit of the classic with a very contemporary sensibility of new beginnings and a freshness that differs from the exigencies of the 1920s, a century later. But its composition is not innovative, rather it makes abstract and elegant (in the mathematical sense) what has been passed down from tradition, in order to appear new.
The core of No.5 L'Eau is shifted from the densely ylang and perceptible musk chord that dominates the modern varietals of No.5 to the delicate, wisp-like chord of citrus and rose. Almost a skin scent. By definition the concentration is light, ethereal, reflected in the choice of Lily-Rose Depp as the face of the ads. But why an ethereal version with a youth as the face?
It all started in the 80s when then in-house perfumer, the erstwhile Jacques Polge, created the first real "tampering" of the authentic formula to bring it up to par with the powerhouses of the decade of excess. When you have to keep your footing in the market that saw the original typhoon of Dior's Poison and the lead density of detonator of amber waves that was the original Obsession by Calvin Klein, you have to have a classy and elegant formula boosted to its logical limit. Ergo No.5 received a generous helping dose of the sandalwood synthetic Polysantol which effectuated that smooth, lactic boost that was missing from the earlier versions. No.5 Eau de Parfum is possibly not the "truest" No.5 but it is a satisfying edition that is made with great care.
Chanel continued to keep a very tight, and careful, modus operandi on any and all subsequent editions of No.5. I distinctly and fondly recall the No.5 Elixir Sensuelle which boosted the soapier smelling and muskier elements to render a less faithful but still sexy-as-hell body gel. It encapsulated what Coco Chanel herself had meant for No.5 to symbolize: a clean woman that wasn't at odds with her natural scent. The idea that women could be both sexy and not dirty. After all, her inspiration was a famous cocotte friend who smelled "clean", contrary to society women of the times "who smelled dirty" according to the French designer herself.
The logical extension could only be manifested in something like Chanel No.5 Eau Première. Indeed praised by almost everyone in the industry for adhering to the original concept, without deviating too much, and at the same time bringing forth a new sensibility, Eau Première was critically praised by critics and bloggers, as well as connoisseur wearers only to be daunted at the fragrance counter by a relative indifference in its modern message. Eau Première, fabulous though it was, couldn't address the needs and wants of a youthful audience who knew No.5 from its legendary course and urban fashion clout, but did not feel confident in pulling it off in real time.
Unlike many, maybe even most, flankers by Chanel, such as Coco Mademoiselle and Coco Noir (extending and renewing the fragrance concept of Coco Eau de Parfum), which had little relation to their predecessor, No.5 l'Eau inherited enough of the original's nucleus to serve as a valid reimagining on the original idea.
The Thierry Mugler news announcement for Alien Goddess, the latest fragrance in the Alien collection, was met with more eyebrows raised on the choice of Willow Smith, daughter of Hollywood actors Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith, than the anticipation for the next chapter in the beste-selling Alien saga by Thierry Mugler. The brand admitted they targeted Generation Z — a younger population yet to meet Mugler as a brand — with their choice.
She was asked "to embody this new vision of femininity that is strong,
powerful, inclusive, and edgy," as reported by the brand. Nevertheless,
smelling the new fragrance and seeing the visuals, I see nothing strong
(it's much weaker than usual Mugler fare, which are dynamite), nor
powerful, nor edgy.
The expectation of a very impressive fragrance is rather lost on us, although the formula smells OK. I'm sure it will gather compliments; unlike Aura, Mugler's previous pillar launch, which is so divisive that people either love it with a passion or hate its oddly green, sweet tentacles. Alien is also met with opinionated detractors and fervent fans alike.
The composition based on the ever popular "tropical, sunscreen lotion
smelling perfume accord" is built on flowers like tiare gardenia (which contains esters
giving a fruity nuance) and possibly a bit of frangipani/plumeria,
with the crucial bit being a hint of lactonic perfume notes like coconut
(γ-decalactone) or better yet, the effect of coconut milk (Guerlain's Coconut Fizz is spectacular in this one). And this whole notion bears as little
relation to Mugler as possible. His Amazons do not sunbathe. They're in
the desert of an alien planet.
Mugler's Alien Goddess is faring better in that tropical department, as it's not at all stifling and
stuffy, as some of its category are. It's actually pretty delicate,
maybe too delicate, fresh like pineapple slices, and balanced in the
sugary department, especially for a representative of Thierry's
collection of mega-bombs. I suppose L'Oreal has been somewhat diluting
the density, adjusting the standards with the rest of the market aimed
at kids brought up on their mothers' fruity-florals during the 2000s.
It's
really OK for a tropical composition, with a vanilla embrace that is
immersed in clean, creamy musk. Soft really, and very
inoffensive — airy, never too much, but in a way this negates the brand
ethos. So there you have it: A bit not good in a rather predictable mix.
If you awaited Lilith, she's not coming to dinner...
Regarding Pierre Cardin fragrances, his first officially documented release has been Pierre Cardin pour Monsieur in 1972 and Cardin for women (Cardin de Pierre Cardin) in 1976. However the official Pierre Cardin website does not mention them and begins the story from Choc de Cardin. Now that the great designer has passed, they will be the subject of speculation and furtive bidding wars on auction sites. Celebrated for his avant-garde style and Space Age designs which, alongside those of Courreges and Paco Rabanne, Cardin catapulted the fashions of the 1960s, and partly made that decade what it is.
Choc de Cardin in 1981 was indeed for many their first distinct memory of a Cardin-signed scent. The evolution of a citrus cologne given a shadowy chypre mantle in the way of Diorella and Le Parfum de Thérèse, Choc is neither shocking, nor chocolate-evoking; it's as French as it possibly gets, and in many ways "a forgotten masterpiece" worth hunting down. Seriously, if only warm weather fragrances were that nuanced and that balanced nowadays.
Rose Cardin from 1990 also has many fans. Indeed the latter is among the few rose-centric fragrances which has something to draw me in, maybe because it does what niche fragrances today do at tenfold the price. Created by the same perfumer who gave us Choc de Cardin, Françoise Caron, it's noted for its sureness of execution more than its innovation. The rose is fanned on coriander, which puts a fresh and rather soapy spin on the blossom's nectar, and on patchouli, which makes it seem like it's endlessly unfurling, but softly, not angularly, with a smidgen of incense and musk.
In the meantime, in 1983 Paradoxe by Cardin was launched. This was a sandwich of two main ideas by Raymond Chaillan, who also created Givenchy III: the fresh, sour and bitterish top note of galbanum and green gardenia, and the animalic-leather growl coming up from the base in between lovely florals, all womanly and plush. It's enough to make a (chypre loving) girl dream.
As my colleague Miguel put it, "Paradoxe is an assertive chypre and it's almost an academic example of that style. From the top we get a freshness that is aldehydic, green and citrusy. The galbanum note is very evident and grounds a certain fizziness from the aldehydes and bergamot.[...] This is not a powdery scent at all. It is crisp, transparent and angular. This angular aspect is worked mostly through the hardness of the somewhat ashy base notes."
These are fragrances that collective memory passed them by, but they need to be rediscovered.
Adapted from the 1991 book Simply Halston by Steven Gaines, a TV mini-series of five episodes was ordered by Netflix in September 2019, and it premiered on May 14, 2021, starring Ewan McGregor in the eponymous role of Roy Halston Frowick. The man who invented himself came from a dreadful Midwestern background, a childhood spent in a farmhouse with an abusive father who yelled, and a mother who was cheered up by the boy's own handicraft, a feathered hat. So he started as a milliner. Much like Chanel, for that matter. As exhibition curator Patricia Mears notes on Halston's style, “One of the great aspects of his success was his ability to balance beauty and modernity." Nowhere is this more evident than in his eponymous fragrance, Halston for Women, also referred to nowadays as Halston Classic.
There is a great scene in episode three, Sweet Smell of Success, in which Halston sits down with a respected woman perfumer, called Adèle, played by Vera Farmiga, to talk about developing his first fragrance, Halston. He is asked to select things which are meaningful to him. In the script, the designer selects orchids, because they're beautiful; tobacco, because he's constantly drawing from a cigarette; and his lover's jockstrap, because he's a semi-closeted gay man. (We're even shown the alleged perfumer sniff the used jockstrap deeply at some point...) At the time, the lover referred to was Victor Hugo, a Venezuelan student who arrived at Halston's studio to work as an assistant, and who became his lover for a decade.
But great as the perfume-making scene might be dramatically, giving a glimpse into the consulting process with a client—replete with tiny bottles of essences and blotters being dipped into them and sniffed—it fails to convey the true spirit of the fragrance in question. It was a tall order no doubt, as a passing mention of three things that seem to serve as symbols, rather than tales in themselves, is no more revealing than the fragrance industry's recent tendency to drop three notes to consumers and expect them to get crazy over their newest launch. There was definitely ground for exploration and tense dramatic antithesis, serving as a psychological outlet for the hero, letting us glimpse his repressed emotions, but it's mainly that. There is no really controversial element in the actual perfume, as I recall. It's actually one of the starchiest and loveliest of the classic chypres of the 1970s.
There is something creamy, warm, and intimate about Halston Classic, although one would never in a million years classify it as animalic. But it's definitely a product of its time, still relevant after all these years because it's streamlined, feels high class, and exudes good taste. One can never offend in Halston, but it's much more memorable than innocuous "office friendly fragrances." The oakmoss, while there, is never in your face, much like the case with Caleche, making it an easy-to-adopt woody chypre, even for chypre-phobics.
Official perfume notes for Halston for Women (Halston Classic)
Top notes: Green Leaves, Mint, Melon, Bergamot, and Peach Middle notes: Marigold, Carnation, Cedar, Orris Root, Rose, Jasmine, and Ylang-Ylang Base notes: Oakmoss, Amber, Vetiver, Incense, Patchouli, Sandalwood, and Musk
People sometimes say things are not what they used to be, and in the case of fragrances, they're unequivocally right. Despite a certain glamorization of the past, which usually indicates dissatisfaction with the present, the fragrance game has changed radically in the past 20 years. Not necessarily for the worse overall, but the bite and edge of fragrances in the mainstream sector has suffered indeed. Some of them, nevertheless, show a predisposition for resisting. Diva by Ungaro seems to be one of them, apparently surviving relatively unscathed. It's still a glorious chypre with an indestructible "hear me roar" bawl that can be heard from the rooftops
I was offered a bottle of Emanuel Ungaro's Diva when I was 19. By my young boyfriend, no less. In today's standards, that would be the equivalent of being offered a petal dress in organza silk, combined with diamond-encrusted earrings to match, to wear to a black-tie ball. Talk about a glamazon! Those were different times, though; we weren't afraid to be adventurous with fragrance or over-apply occasionally.
Jacques Polge, the legendary perfumer who is the father of the current in-house perfumer at Chanel, Olivier Polge, made sure to include everything and the kitchen sink while composing the byzantine formula of Diva back in the early 1980s. There is the standard big, voluminous, and arguably synthetic rose of the1980s, immortalized in creations such as L'Arte di Gucci, Knowing, and Paris (YSL). It's balanced with a big dollop of patchouli and oakmoss, which give a very distinct aloof quality to the flower, eschewing the prim and romantic allusions of those blossoms and instilling a glamorous and somewhat demanding vibe. You can definitely see how it was an offer of supplication from a boyfriend to one's mistress...
This wonderful and classic chord is then cleverly wrapped in a honey note, which only sweetens it just so, and a string of animalic notes, from civet to musk (it's almost YSL Kouros-like in its intimacy of warm naughty notes under the clean starchness). It is these elements that help make Diva congenital even to warm ambery perfume lovers. People who like Paloma Piccaso Mon Parfum but find it a bit harsh might find the Ungaro fragrance more simpatico to their sensibilities; it's worth trying and comparing to see the common lineage at the very least.
There is warmth and plush in Diva, as well as a dollop of other flower essences than rose, which enhances its femininity, and it all makes it less of a boardroom fragrance, unlike the way Knowing can appear austere and buttoned-up, especially nowadays. This quality brings it effortlessly into the salon and the boudoir. It's ladylike but still naughty; in the case of Diva, the lady is a tramp. And hey, even Lady Gaga reworked the classic song, so fragrance lovers should probably seek out Diva and give it a spin. It's worth exploring anew.
Blue Silk, part of a flanker duet launched in 2018 by lingerie brand Agent Provocateur (the other being Lace Noir) is credited to Beverly Bayne, shifting from the usual Christian Provenzano creative umbrella.
The company presented it thus: "Making a sensuous entrance into the Agent Provocateur fragrance collection, Blue Silk is an unforgettable perfume, feminine, provocative and deeply romantic. Piquant top notes of woody, rosy pink pepper, revitalizing citrus from lemon and mandarin and exhilarating, fresh juniper combine with floral middle notes from classic rose and rich, sweet, precious jasmine, alongside the honeyed peach tones of nectarine and the warmth of spicy cinnamon. Leaving a lingering feeling of deep, almost smoky sensuality are the base notes of hypnotic musk, cooling, earthy vetiver, creamily sweet sandalwood and the vanilla, praline-like tones of aromatic tonka bean."
What is uncanny about Blue Silk is its delicious top note of bright and lightly sweet spices. It almost creates the impression of the opening of YSL's discontinued Nu eau de parfum, a fragrance overseen by Tom Ford (and this is telling in so many ways.) The spices are almost rejoicing, they never come across as sharp like the air within the spice cabinet. The composition is redolent of the steamed puddings of Jungle Elephant, but done in miniature form; there is none of the bombastic sillage of Kenzo's mastodont.
The muskiness surfaces like a silky undergarment peeked through a crepe dress; it does feel silky and soft, very wearable and romantic, melding with the wearer's skin, and creates erotic imagery without prompt. Priceless.
As with most Agent Provocateur fragrances Blue Silk is available in 100ml Eau de Parfum at advantageous prices online and is highly recommended.
The first encounter I had with this unique ethereal green floral fragrance was with its predecessor in the misty glass and plastic bottle with the huge dew drop on the leaf that served as cap. The 1992 Parfum d'été.
It was an eventful summer for me, with lots of glorious escapades that marked my youth, and the company of this delicate green jasmine that sang on the verdant throes of lily of the valley was the perfect embodiment of that carefree summery disposition which remains a wonderful memory. Back then, all I knew about Kenzo was that he was a Far Eastern designer who resided in Paris. And the fragrance in my mind seemed to embody both ends of the spectrum, being light and cerebral, like I imagined the Japanese to be, judging by their elaborate tea ceremony, and at the same time insidiously sensuous and subtly sexy in a carefree way, in the way models on the French Elle magazine spreads used to sprawl under the sun in the French countryside; I used to devour those magazines. Alongside Kenzo Homme, a revolutionary aquatic for men with an algae-woody backdrop, for a long time these two represented the new fresh breath of air that the Far East blew into the perfume scene, for me.
Enter 10 years later and the 2002 edition of Parfum d'été substituted my lovely bottle with a more architectural, sparser design. At first, I was afraid that the repackaging was worse, and therefore the experience would be tarnished as well (though reformulations were not as big, nor as well known as nowadays, but the aesthetic was part of why the first edition had caught my eye in the first place). Thankfully I was soon proven wrong. The spicy green top note remains, as if a drop of galbanum had been dropped into a giant vat of lily of the valley materials with a side helping of my beloved hyacinth; cool, dewy, and sharp at first, delicate and whispering later on with musk remaining on the skin for a long time, though subtly perceptible.
As fresh as tomorrow! If only we could graft this mood onto ourselves as well, sometimes...
The Diptyque story began in 1961 Paris at 34 Boulevard Saint-Germain with, at its heart, three friends driven by the same creative passion, who chose a Greek word which means a dual panel painting. Illustration was the very core of the founders, as Christiane Gautrot was an interior designer, Desmond Knox-Leet, a painter, and Yves Coueslant, a theater director and set designer.
From then on, inspired by their Hellenic treks along the Greek peninsula and its mountainous terrain, and from their country cottage on the picturesque Mount Pelion, buried amidst thick fig trees all the way down the sea front, they launched several classics, from Virgilio to Philosykos.
But the brand also presents a later day constellation of contemporary stars, like Eau Duelle and 34 Boulevard St.Germain. Picking just one is an Herculean task. The most sensual in the current rotation however is an easy choice. None other than Fleur de Peau.
Fleur de Peau relies on that rarity of the "musky idea": it harnesses the vegetal musks from angelica archangelica and ambrette seed oil, flanking them with ambrettolide, a macrocyclic musk which shares properties with ambrette seed and aids diffusion and lasting power. Thus the somewhat nutty, with a hint of berry, slightly sweaty and oddly metallic fusion of the properties in those fine musks gains the upper hand and makes Fleur de Peau very sensuous.
Backed up with classic starchy iris, and carrot seed, which aids the earthy, starchy effect, it creates a cocoon of scent on the skin; it's as if the Platonic idea of sensuality has landed on our shores. The delicacy of vegetal musk with the central chord of pink pepper and rose recalls the refinement of Les Exclusifs de Chanel No 18 Chanel, and Musc Nomade Annick Goutal, two other fragrances with ambrette seed oil tucked into their heart of hearts. A quiet sensuality that does not plunge its décolleté low.
Fleur de Peau is soft, tenacious, with a discreet but perceptible sillage, radiant and glorious indeed. One of the better launches by Diptyque in recent years.
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