The Unisex Beauty of Guerlain's Jicky (Photo Collection, Short Review & Perfume Musings)

Jicky by Guerlain is a gender bender perfume to end all gender benders; changing sex and direction mid-stream in its illustrious career like an adolescent fulfilling a transgender urge.
The issue of what differentiates female from male idiosyncrasies in general is complicated enough, so it's only natural that one of the most popular questions in perfume for and general discussion is how the opposite sex perceives and decodes the fragrances meant for the other sex.
In perfume terms the composition of different formulas for the two sexes, roughly floral and oriental for the ladies, with a sprinkling of chypre and fruity, reserving woody and citrus for the gentlemen, is a relatively recent phenomenon, dating from the dawn of modern perfumery in the end of the 19th century. Up till then, there was pretty much lots of leeway for men to delve in floral waters of the Victorian era or even the rich civet and musk laden compositions of 18th century decadence.

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Why the name Jicky? "From his student days, perfumer Aimé Guerlain kept the enamoured memory of a young woman named Jicky to whom he paid a beautiful homage with one of his most wonderful olfactory creations. By pure coincidence, the diminutive of his nephew Jacques was also Jicky. Jicky initiated the creation of "abstract perfumery" as opposed to "figurative perfumery". With its interplay of unique facets, it was the first in the perfume world to have such a trail and tenacity. This forerunner of new modern olfactory creations is the founding father of the legendary Shalimar."

Or so the story goes...because it is but a story, a fabricated myth that shows how fragrance tales were used to be told in the olden days...

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Nowadays, lavender , as in a classic like Jicky, is almost code-name for men's cologne, the backbone of a typical fougère fragrance for men, especially since archetypes such as this originally-aimed-at-women-then-usurped-by-men of good taste cemented this notion. The tension of the citrus top note with the animal character of the base is what makes the "jam"; lots of musk and lots of civet too in the older formula, evident in extrait de perfume formula and the not so distant kinship of Mouchoir de Monsieur fragrance, also by Guerlain.

Evaluating a masculine or unisex fragrance is always harder for me than evaluating a fragrance that is divested of its loaded semiotics of gender, or which appeals to my own femininity heads on. At least I can asses femininity first hand and dismiss the hyperbolic claims of modern advertising with a wave of a well-manicured hand. 

In perfume terms the composition of different formulas for the two sexes, roughly floral and oriental for the ladies, with a sprinkling of chypre and fruity, reserving woody and citrus for the gentlemen, is a relatively recent phenomenon, dating from the dawn of modern perfumery in the end of the 19th century. Up till then, there was pretty much lots of leeway for men to delve in floral waters of the Victorian era or even the rich civet and musk laden compositions of 18th century decadence.

It's therefore somewhat fitting the zeitgeist, with the discussion about gendered IDs flaming up again, that Guerlain revisited their roots tentatively when launching Mon Guerlain in 2017 with their merging of lavender (more prominently than in the Yves Saint Laurent fragrance Libre) with their trademark orientalized vanilla. From it, a spawn of feminine fragrances with lavender came forth like mushrooms after the rain.

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Jicky by Guerlain remains a monument, a beacon of taste in a tasteless world. 

Will of the Wisp Chills: Fragrances to Give the Goosebumps

Although warm fragrances wear comfortably on the natural heat of the skin and provide an instant "aaah" moment, like wrapping oneself with a cashmere shawl, there are times when a cool, starlight fragrance manages to pique the interest, like the unexpected touch on an arm that gives you goosebumps. There are some cool perfumes to enjoy in the wintertime and there are some to savor in the warmth of summer when the icy effect can become welcome or eerie depending on your latitude and humidity levels. If you have a favorite, don't forget to add it in the comments!

photo by Whitney Ott via

Here is a selection of the latest cooling fragrances that I believe will speak to those who want to go against the grain and spook the hell out of themselves in wintertime.

I had written on Liturgie des Heures (Jovoy) the following letter to Santa in 2018. And he actually listened!
"And just because my little gothic heart rejoices in the gloom of the winter solstice and the ghoulish tales that surround it, do offer me a slice of the chill in this creepy, cold and lemony incense that rises smoky from the sarcophagi of the dead. There's some odd solace in knowing silence surrounds the air where the dead lie in eternity. And may it be a long time before we actually meet them."

There's also Eau Mage by Diptyque. Back in 2011 when Diptyque was actually celebrating their anniversary they issued their Parisian exclusive series in which a suitably Christmas-named Eau Mage (homage, you see, but also "the eau of the Magi"...) was the standout for my little self; fan girl that I am of abstract woody and sombre musky concoctions that make people wonder what is that smell they're smelling. The brand luckily for all of us re-issued the fragrance as Eau Mage yet again in their regular line-up. 

I can't forget the first time I tested Carat  by Cartier. I felt transported into a vast, fantastical tundra that would have wild, cool flowers growing amid the snow — which I fully realize doesn't happen — and with big husky dogs carrying sledges in the silent blue light of the north. A tinkling of wind chimes can be heard in the distance, or is it the dogs' neck bells chiming? Whatever it is, the cool splendor of Carat can be enjoyed in any season and mood; in fact, it's like a ray of sharp light which mellows slowly upon spraying on the skin.

An odd duck, Uralt Lavendel (Lohse) impresses me with how relatively strong and medicinal it comes across to me. I do have a low threshold for medicinal odor perception and anything mildly camphorous does give me a subtle alert. The green floral component in the top note reminds me of herbal bitters, a scent which I love, full of the piquant aroma of central European liqueurs and eaux de vie, such as Becherovka and Šljivovica. It smells fresh – an old-fashioned kind of fresh; bracing, really – with that kind of cool feeling that juniper berries impart. Compared with a contemporary take on lavender aimed mainly at women, such as Chanel's Jersey and Boy from their Les Exclusifs range, one can see how decades of musk use in fragrance has spoiled us into mistaking the scent of "clean" for something else entirely. If we venture as far as Guerlain's own Mon Guerlain, and in direct juxtaposition with their above-mentioned Jicky, one can certainly see how over a century of fragrance production has seismically shifted the notion of lavender in general. Perhaps Uralt Lavendel is a good reminder, a small snippet of how things used to be...

Ormonde Jayne PRIVÉ is a lush iris fragrance which recapitulates everything lovely about the Ormonde Jayne brand; the green shoots, the steamed rice, the cedar echo of the Iso E Super in many of their bases, an abstract modernity and at the same time a luscious, starched, luxurious orris note you can lose your heart into...The drydown, woody-ambery with a quite unisex flair, affirms my initial impression that we have a very lasting, refined silk skin scent that melds with the wearer. It's a polished cabochon gem rather than a faceted stone, its many different facets reflect the light in such a way that it smooths the impression into a ray of a beautiful serene sundown when it's cool.

Jean-Louis Scherrer (the original green liquid) by Jean-Louis Scherrer. A precious sight in its elegant, tall hexagonal bottle that opens up to verdant glory of liquid emeralds, it's a green scent with the rush of sparkling aldehydes. It then becomes intensely mossy and floral, recalling a bygone era of structured shapes and strict social rules. The violet note is mostly reminiscent of an iris fragrance, slightly metallic and otherworldly; but the brooding synergy with the other ingredients brings out a luminescent aura that is tantamount to wearing an expensive necklace of pre-Colombian emeralds set in antique gold.

The contrast of sandpaper-like fresh roughness against the nose with the intense, waxy petals spiciness is the pinnacle of masterful execution of a lily scent. The astringent and almost aqueous, saline opening of Lys Méditerranée in the Frédéric Malle Editions des Parfums line is highly surprising for those who have been accustomed to florist type lilies; crystaline and stark in their cellophane, premature mummies in dolled up sarcophagi, looking at you sternly and haughtily, like stuffed owls out of Psycho. But wild lilies in the basin of the Mediterranean sea are routinely sprayed by the salty azure which lolls and ebbs; they sigh. As sniffers of this gem would too...

Do you find yourself reaching for cool scents when it's cold? Why/why not and which? I'd love to read your experiences in the comments below the post. 

A Year in Retrospect and New Trends for 2020

Happy New Year to everyone! Hope you had a lovely celebration!

2019 was a good year for perfume and hopefully 2020 will be as well. There were worthy releases in the mainstream, amid the hundreds of meaningless flankers of course, as every year as of late, some bold moves, a few brand exclusives that refined themselves enough to enter the scene with confidence and generally good cheer prevailed. There were a few sell-outs, such as the impending one from LÓreal, but that is, alas, the reality of the market.

Without further ado, my personal picks from the thousands of new releases (not that there was time to sample everything of course, but I'm persevering) were as follows.

Designer/Luxe Houses:

 Un Jardin sur la Lagune by Hermès was inspired by a secret garden in Venice, Italy, and its abstract glossy petals from another dimension (a citrusy, waxy magnolia sprinkled with algae-smelling dew) carries the interpretation of the place in one's mind's eye as you let it unfold on your skin. Beautifully sweeping, yet oddly comfortable, like a hug which greets you with joyful playfulness, which can be enjoyed by both men and women and is perceived by others without invading their personal space.

Gucci was already showing signs of resurrection from indifference with their daring Guilty Absolute launches last year, but their 2019 Bloom Ambrosia di Fiori and Memoire d'Une Odeur confirm that positive course. The former is full of the splendor of a full-blown ripe gardenia and the latter a most refined, botanical take on the clean whisper of a scent of woods and chamomile that can be so popular for discreet company.

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Two releases which were surprising were Tom Ford's Metallique, an aldehydic elegant marvel which is incongruous with the brash image of the provocateur brand, and Libre by YSL, a fresh and not-too-sweet feminine lavender which is not condescending to the women buying it. Bottega Veneta Illusione for Men and Terre d'Hermes Intense Vetiver are both fresh, but not predictably so; they bring a refined touch to the craze around them of butch aromatic fougères. Finally, Nomade Eau de Toilette is an excellent freshening up of the standard – and already superb – eau de parfum formula, reinforcing the slightly peppery zing of freesia and refreshing the middle section.

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Exclusives/Niche:

 

Everyone who loves Lutens creations must at least sample La Couche du Diable, a return to the brand's splendid past, with a deeply saturated chiaroscuro of a spicy balsamic scent. Zoologist brought us Zoologist Bee, a wonderfully wearable intimate scent of animalic nuance.

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Dusita overwhelms with the beauty of Splendiris, a starchy and metallic cool iris and violet, which projects like a laser beam straight to its target – our heart. Two major brands issued fragrances without deviating too far from their given genres, leather and clean musk respectively, and managed to give them texture and ambiance that makes you come back to them again and again: Cuir Intense comes from Guerlain boutique exclusives and 1957 comes from Chanel Les Exclusifs.

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Last but not least, the newest Hedonist Absolute Iris expounds on the delicate synergy between starchiness and cocoa powder which sometimes makes an appearance in perfume blends (L'Erbolario's Iris is one of them). But Viktoria Minya buttresses this fluffy and dry chord with a very discernible leathery touch, not particularly bitter, thanks to the elements that adorn its base notes, making it an iris that does not project like cosmetics but rather as the talc put on before donning a leather piece that gets worn on the flesh directly. It's a cool scent, compared to the other two Absolutes, but compelling all the same, beckoning and promising, while denying at the same time. An enigma!

Predictions for 2020:

A key trend is the release of increasingly "powerful" perfume companions in the most popular and well-known designer fragrances. We have seen it with various intense versions, as well as various parfum (extrait de parfum, the most concentrated version) in male releases. Logically this is justified by the more diluted condensation of regular releases, but this is not exactly the case, as it is often not more intense or longer-lasting fragrance creations, but fragrances that look quite different but with variations without putting them in the end of the volume register. So my advice is to try everything and evaluate them for what they are, rather than what they are programmatically claiming.

I think we will see a lot of perfumes borrowing retro elements from older creations, especially in men. After all, releases like Sauvage (Dior) or Aventus (Creed) did, along with the dosage of ambroxan at its borders, and became over-populated because they were relatively different in the ocean of the increasing sweetness of male aromas that interfere with boundaries. and why not?)

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Lavender for women (my article on that, HERE) will continue to be our focus, we will see even more roses and almonds (in the form of pure almond, dandelion and tonka), as well as more refined varieties of sandalwood or variety, or of synthetic origin with sophistication in the bouquet that it had not had before. The newest molecules in the musks and white florals categories will also feature prominently in modern compositions. 

Let's usher in the new year in style!

Goeffrey Beene Grey Flannel: fragrance review

In the Grey Flannel scent by American designer Geoffrey Beene, crisp greenery and musk tonalities (plus that seductive coumarin in the bottom) combine to evoke a man in a tailored suit, perfectly groomed, clean-smelling without one iota of modern aquatic “freshness." The man who wears this in cooler weather is the quiet type, a smart businessman or someone who has been opting for it for half his life and wisely knows not to change. If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it, as they say. The only misstep? Perhaps that flannel in question is really purplish-green instead of grey? But we can be very forgiving in his case.

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The bitterness of galbanum is what greets you, which is incongruent with modern sensibilities, I'd wager, since most men (and women, of course) are attuned to sweeter-smelling notes nowadays, but wait it out a bit, because the scent mellows into a violet leaf accord with aubepine aromachemicals and a touch of iris and almond — from the coumarin — in the background. Overall, its feel is cooling and rejuvenating without being spikey sharp, especially in warmer climates or on hot summer days. But let it bloom on a rainy day and there comes a certain melancholy coming out of the heart, which is endearing in an unsentimental way — priceless.

There is a distinct kinship with Dior's classic masculine cologne from the 1980s, the famous Fahrenheit pour homme. But there the violet takes on a different guise, leaves and all, with a more petrol-smelling, pungent opening that is a throw back to the agrestic and abstract opening of Guerlain Jicky, instead of the bitterness of galbanum in the Beene creation. Still, the indigestible nature of the beast is hard to miss. The Grey Flannel customer was prepared for the onslaught to the senses that the original Fahrenheit presented a decade later...

NB. There is another edition called Eau de Grey Flannel which takes the metallic grey of dihydromyrcenol (that aromachemical which characterized all the Cool Water clones of the 1990s) which dilutes the original Grey Flannel in a sea of ionized water. Do not go for that.

NB.2. My bottle comes from the early 2000s. There are several batches out there with a tiny bit of variation. But not too much.

Guerlain Mon Guerlain Eau de Parfum: fragrance review

Mon Guerlain does not dare veer into the animalic, like its forerunners  Guerlain Jicky and Guerlain Shalimar do; this is the first thing one needs to watch for. The propensities of today do not allow hints of bodily odor emerging, nor would they allow the weird opening of Jicky which sometimes comes across as vaporized petrol. Instead, Mon Guerlain veers into the caramelic, with a rum & hay ambience, a "toffee" accord, which embraces the Carla lavender flower from Provence and renders it soft and pliable. After all, the starting point for perfumer Thierry Wasser was the vanillic accord, not the other way around. Was it a genius idea prompted by him? In a way. But not entirely.

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There are several nuances lavender can take. A decade back, when I was describing the main odor constituents of Fragrantica's vast notes database one by one, I came up with the short form of "an aromatic clean note, medicinal on one end and licorice-like on the other end", and I stand by my description to this day. Hermès was the first to exploit this duality fully, thanks to Jean Claude Ellena's idea of a quintessential blend of exquisite lavender wrapped in licorice in Brin de Reglisse (in the boutique exclusives line), therefore the mischievous reconstruction of an olfactory symbol of the South of France reinvented by the gourmet touch of a ribbon of licorice. “Dressed in mat black, a magnified lavender, memory and landscape…”  

Nowadays, it is the vanillic and licorice nuanced lavenders which are featured in any product that aims to appeal to women or women buying for babies and children. To wit, most children's products for the bath and body which claim "relaxing lavender" are mostly featuring a blend of musk with vanilla and abstract notes of extraterrestrial flowers grown on the moon; lily of the valley, jasmine and delicate, unreal roses. And this explains the divide that lavender produces; some people love the medicinal properties they have come to know from real lavender, some people abhor them, confused by the artificial construct that is advertised as "lavender" but really isn't. 

If we insist in our path with Guerlain's Mon Guerlain, and in direct juxtaposition with their classic lavender-laced Jicky, one can certainly see how over a century of fragrance production has seismically shifted the notion of lavender in general. From an animal-laced beast into a vanillic comforting cocoon for women who love their desserts, but don't want to be seen stuffing their mouths with it. 

There's something sexy about making one's self feel good about themselves, giving them the confidence to be themselves, to inhabit their skin, and maybe that's the root of the concept of comfy notes producing claims to sexiness and attraction. Mon Guerlain is in that direction, although to my more daring tastes, close but no cigar...

Very pretty (classic) bottle nevertheless!

Further Reading on the PerfumeShrine:
Guerlain news & fragrance reviews
Perfumer Thierry Wasser

Serge Lutens Sarrasins: fragrance review

The beast cradles the jasmine vine in the garden and its salty-dirty stench of its hide, as well as the warmth of its fur, only serve to enhance the character of this not so innocent blossom. Smelling Sarrasins I'm momentarily reminded of horse saddles, India ink (no doubt aided in my allusion to it by the deep purple of the mysterious liquid in the bell jar bottle,) ripe fruit that sweetens the breath like apricot pulp, camphor, everything and the kitchen sink; but it's all an illusion.  

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The jasmine is laced with spice, notes of cardamom, star anise and cinnamon, which all sounds like a natural course for Lutens, wedding the Arabian cuisine condiments & spices to single materials of his liking, like he did with Chypre Rouge and Rousse. But truth be told, spices are only alluded to in Sarrasins, with a pong of sweaty cumin and a cool mantle of cardamom, while jasmine clutches them fiercely.  Essentially, no pun intended, Sarrasins is a big jasmine fragrance, natural essence off-notes of petrol and all, molested against the wall by animalic notes: the salty-dirty pong of civet, the skanky smell of musk, even a tamer musk which silkens out the feline quality of this superb scent.

Always, always, in the best creations by the tiny Frenchman, whom we love to affectionately call "uncle Serge," we're dealing with Beauty and the Beast, to reference that other Frenchman, Jean Cocteau. The beast cradles the jasmine vine in the garden and we dearly hope that small children have reverted to their beds for a nightmare-free nap.

Gucci Bloom Acqua di Fiori (2018): fragrance review

The funny thing with tuberose is that in its complex glory it's a blossom that hides an intensely green facet. Its top note is a mentholated cool blast of frosty air to surprise your sinuses, before the meaty and juicy facets reveal themselves. How could this green element be extended from the original Gucci Bloom into a lighter interpretion?

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Alberto Morillas thought about this and confidently injected a galbanum resin top note which braces without cutting. The slightly fruity and at once ammoniac feel of cassis should round out the green in a sour-sweet note which provides the characteristic freshness in Bloom Acqua di Fiori. The fragrance sweetens after the opening, comfortably retreating into the familiar white floral bouquet of the original.

Gucci Bloom Acqua Di Fiori is therefore a greener interpretation of the original.The perfumer took the original delicately spicy-floral composition of tuberose, jasmine and Chinese honeysuckle (Rangoon creeper), the red-flowered vine that premiered in perfume design, and made it fresher by introducing green accords. The drydown is woody and musky, made to convey warmth and depth. It is said to be an invigorating and radiant, lightly green and floral fragrance of highly concentrated ingredients.

Top notes: galbanum leaf, cassis bud
Heart: tuberose, jasmine, rangoon creeper
Base: sandalwood, musk

Hermes Le Jardin de Monsieur Li: fragrance review

Musing by Guest Writer AlbertCAN

创新是什么? 可以吃吗？
What is innovation? Is it edible?
—Contemporary Mandarin humour*

和谐 (Trad. 和諧)
Pinyin: hé xié
1. harmonious; harmony
2. (euphemism) to censor

Of all the celebutantes the fragrance world has attributed to—Jicky, Madame Rochas, Misia, Monsieur de Givenchy, Liù, just to name a few—I have a particular affinity to Monsieur Li, an eponymous personality penned by Jean-Claude Ellena, the now-emeritus master perfumer for the iconic French design house Hermès.

As with everything in life, timing is everything: I have befriended Li in the spring of 2015, during an relocation to Vancouver’s historic Chinatown district, not only working as a financier to a heritage bank, but also living mere blocks away from Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden, the first Suzhou-style garden established outside of China and aptly named after the Father of the Nation in the Republic. Corner office befitting a financier? Check. Tasteful requisite objets d'art for a banking office? Of course. (Can you expect any less?) Ambient scent of choice, in the heart of Chinatown ? Hermès Le Jardin de Monsieur Li (2015).

At this juncture of the musing let’s get something out of the way: This Monsieur Li is a fictional character. And to any native Chinese speaker, this man is a gentle synecdoche to Mainland China . Please do not reduce this surname as an exercise in economy—any native Mandarin would instantly attribute this man as a Mainlander. (As opposed to Lee, who are most likely not.) In fact, under such context, this gentleman is somewhat of an everyday man, arguably China ’s cultural equivalent of Mr. Smith from North America, Monsieur Durand France . Given such logic, the name for this fragrance betrays a poetic subtext: A Garden of Everyman.

Hermès, Everyman? As I can hear the gentle murmur amongst you, dear audience. Ringing the affirmative is the answer. If I shall name one outstanding quality of Monsieur Li, incredible sociability comes to mind. Master perfumer Ellena has selected gentle note contrasts as the foundation of his jardin compositions, and this citrus aromatic is no exception. The garden here opens with kumquat, a beguiling citrus the Chinese often fondly savour during happier times—as confits during Lunar New Year, even serving along a variety of preserved foods from lotus to coconut, melon, ginger to the all important Chinese deities, as a mean to sweeten their tongues (lest them bad-mouth the mortals upon returning to celestial abodes for the holiday). Kumquat trees are also often a staple in Chinese and Vietnamese Lunar New Year celebrations, as they symbolize good fortune and prosperity. The inclusion of jasmine here, of course, is somewhat of a foregone conclusion, given the exalted status of the flora in China . Although, mind you, this jasmine is also resoundingly à propos in its political correctness, arguably not just because of the utilization of Hedione High Cis: I suspect any concrete conjuring of the real deal may be misinterpreted as a reminder of the Thou-Shall-Not-Be-Named failed coup d'état, with its moniker attributed possibly related to the flora in question.** White musk and mint round off the harmonious bouquet. The overall sillage persistently optimistic, the mellow diffusion a study of calibrated cheerfulness. The aromatic bone structure murmurs excellent breeding. Its gentility evident; its silken elegance aplenty.

Does Hermès Le Jardin de Monsieur Li, complete with its effortless joy, complement the Les Jardins series? Yes. Can this Monsieur Li potentially be a kissing cousin to another? That’s also a yes.

“Why are you choosing my signature fragrance as your office scent?” 

Soon after debuting my ambient choice a Financial Planner discreetly confronting me so. The issue? Her signature scent in question is Green Tea by Elizabeth Arden. That discussion eventually turning into a passionate side-by-side scent development mini symposium—amongst two financiers, no less. (The absurdity of that situation is completely lost upon me.)

Years after that rhapsodic episode the underlying issue is worth a sombre second thought here. This garden is not the Chinese of yore. Ellena can choose from a wide range of Chinese landmarks—many of which UNESCO certified to boot—yet this isn’t the case. The aromatic elements mentioned are of Chinese origin, yet under different contexts they can also be interpreted in a very modern fashion. In fact, this fragrance is decidedly modern—androgynous, versatile—and there’s a delicate sexual fluidity underneath its aromatic pulse. (A scent referencing a gender, however unisex, cannot be devoid of sexuality altogether, no?) Likewise, the garden of Li is neither composed of imperial peonies nor sandalwood. Simply put, this is for Modern China, period.

Style wise I actually consider this fragrance to be in complete alignment with Rhythm of China (2007), the first ever Chinese-themed Hermès silk scarf designed by a Chinese artist. Just look at it. There’s an air of electricity permeating throughout. Perhaps the traffic lights during the day, or is it neon lights by night—perhaps both? And yet, wrapping it around a Kelly or a Birkin bag, or simply wearing it as is, the jolt transforms into something else, something decorative. There’s something harmonious about such ambiguity.

It’s no accident that we have referenced the concept of harmony, or hé xié in Mandarin, several times throughout this article. While it’s an important principle of design in its own right, harmony is no trifle matter within contemporary Chinese culture. I am going to reference Wikipedia here, since it succinctly summarizes the heart of this matter:

The "Socialist Harmonious Society" concept represents a new direction of Chinese communist leadership that signified the transition between Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao. Although on the surface, "socialist harmonious society" seems benign, many scholars believe that General Secretary Hu has a vision for a deeper reform of the political system in China . In addition, the idea of scientific development stresses on scientific discovery and technological advance, engines for sustainable growth in the long run. Sustainable growth is a concept in macroeconomics that signifies GDP at potential (i.e. all that is produced is being consumed and there is no cyclical unemployment) for years to come.

In addition, the Socialist Harmonious Society concept was a response to the problem of social inequality/ wealth gap, which if not dealt with immediately, could lead to social unrest and even turmoil. A key reason contributing to a widening wealth gap was social injustice, which features collusion between entrepreneurs and officials. Through collusion, entrepreneurs were able to buy land from farmers and then sell it at high prices. Furthermore, with the protection of local officials, private coal mine owners ignored safety regulations to cut production costs. As a result, thousands of miners are killed in accidents.

Since the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989, the leadership has been extremely sensitive about maintaining stability. General Secretary Hu's focus on stability and openness is the central model addressed in the book The J Curve: A New Way to Understand Why Nations Rise and Fall by Ian Bremmer. According to Bremmer, the Chinese government is trying carefully to avoid instability by jumping from a controlled social environment on one end to complete openness on the other. The "J Curve" model is applicable to the political development of most nations and presents a choice between stability and openness. The concept of "Socialist Harmonious Society" is said to include both elements of the model. Hence, Hu's "socialist harmonious society" has an underlying message of establishing political reform as well as safeguarding social justice and equality.***

So how does this affect the aesthetics of Monsieur Li? Further notation from the same article:

While initially the public's reaction to the idea was positive, over the years "Harmonious Society" has emerged as a euphemism for "stability at all costs," and has garnered its share of critics. The government often uses "Harmonious Society" to justify the suppression of dissent and the tight control on information in China . Some social commentators have pointed out the irony that in building a "harmonious society" the country has become less just, less equal, and less fair. Meanwhile, some of Hu's critics say that application of the "Socialist Harmonious Society" concept has resulted in anything but itself. China scholar Cheng Li said that Hu's failure in implementing the Socialist Harmonious Society program has been his "gravest pitfall" during his tenure. Critics cite the increased wealth gap, higher internal security budgets, and unprecedented corruption in state-owned industries as evidence that Socialist Harmonious Society has failed in practice.

The term "River crab" (Chinese: 河蟹; pinyin: héxiè) has been adopted as internet slang in Mainland China in reference to Internet censorship. The word river crab sounds similar to the word "harmonious" in Mandarin Chinese. In addition, the word "harmonious" can itself also be the placeholder verb for "to censor", most often referring to posts on a forum that have been deleted because of its unacceptable content, or the censorship of stories reporting sensitive issues in the press. Something that has been censored in this manner is often referred to as having been "harmonized" (被和谐了).***

Yet I have digressed. Let’s talk corporate bottom line, shall me?

Ellena, no matter how much of an exalted figure in perfumery, could not afford to miss boat here. Especially after Un Jardin après la Mousson (2008). And with this Chinese garden being one of his swan songs, a failure to launch would have been disastrous. This is really not the time to experiment, to innovate.

Traditional China might sound romantic to some, but that crowd has never been the core of the Hermès growth—it’s the nouveau riche that has kept the financial engine humming.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Ellena’s stature in perfumery is reassuringly beyond reproach. At this same time, as much as we would like to think that the Mida’s touch is in spades, this launch is stacking up to be much too expensive for a risk. What it’s all said and done, harmony reigns supreme.

Now I am really not in a position to surmise development details of the Hermès Le Jardin de Monsieur Li, though I often wonder if its lack of assertion ends up serving as a footnote on the general zeitgeist of Modern China, however breath-taking its metamorphosis may be.

Often when I visit this Chinese garden, I wonder what my friend Monsieur Li looks like. Willowy of course, impeccably decked in Hermès no doubt. Graciously open-minded yes, perhaps generous to a fault. Good looking, yet with a somewhat forgetful ordinarity about his charm. However personable he may be, his words are diplomatic, action always calibrated. I think there’s a fluidity in his way, but I think he keeps it out of joint. Never putting his heart on his sleeves, never speaking his mind directly to anyone.

Hermès Le Jardin de Monsieur Li is a Citrus Aromatic fragrance for woman and men, and available in select Hermès boutiques and Point of Sales worldwide.

This fragrance review is based on a sample personally purchased by the writer in 2015 at an Hermès boutique.

Photos by Hermès and Wikipedia Common.

* Any arbitrary concept can be substituted into this modern sarcasm, to denote the futility of a particular idea—especially since sustenance is the cornerstone of Chinese culture.

** I’m absolutely in no position to comment on anything related to this matter. Googling “jasmine contraband New York Times” shall suffice—should your region allows so.

*** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harmonious_Society

Hermes Un Jardin sur la Lagune: fragrance review

In old novels, in the time of Balzac and thereabouts (as I have written in detail before), or even prior to that time, there is the well-known trope of the poor relative, usually female, who receives the second hand clothes of their elders and betters in social status, with the acceptance of keen appreciation of their circumstances. Governesses, school mistresses, nurses, or beneficiaries of a small income of a few pounds or francs a year, thanks to the generosity and sense of due of an almost unknown yet benevolent antecedent. In the world of perfumes, this situation is usual and usually ignites the same condescending acceptance: "close, but no cigar; divested of the elements which make the original truly flamboyant or plush, bon pour l'Orient."

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It's with great pleasure that I found out that Un Jardin sur la Lagune by Hermes (a spring 2019 launch) is an exception to that scenario. One of my favourite and closest to heart fragrances, Lys Méditerranée by perfumer Edouard Fléchier for the niche brand of Frédéric Malle, has a little cousin; one who does not ape the greater one, nor does it deign to wear the elder's hand-me-downs, Un Jardin sur la Lagune by Hermes.

An abstract feeling of petals from flowers of another dimension, of champaca and bliss, unfolds into space like cones which embraces with arms opens wide, with the piquant joy of citrusy touches and the blissful cocoon of white musk.

In Un Jardin sur la Lagune, inspired by a secret Venetian garden which Christine Nagel, in-house perfumer for Hermes, discovered thanks to the writings of a blogger, the feeling of solace and silent contentment is palpable.

The scent of far away algae is delicate in Un Jardin sur la Lagune yet there, the salty water which hits the lonely craggy shore or the foundations of an old building immersed into the water, possesses that sort of introspection, a very humane sense of disorganisation and an ironic look on the state of the Human Condition that even Balzac would be jealous of.

Les Jardins series in the Hermes portfolio is a line of easy and lightweight fragrances which began its course in 2003 with Un Jardin sur la Méditerranée, the impression of a mediterranean garden where people nibble on freshly cut figs. Next came Un Jardin sur le Nil (2005), inspired by a trip to Assouan, in Egypt; then Un Jardin apres la Mousson (2008), evoking the watery landscape of Kerala, India, after the passing of the monsoon; Un Jardin sur le Toit (2011), inspired by the war-time garden on the terrace of the flagship Hermes boutique in Paris, and Le Jardin de Monsieur Li (2015), a minty citrus evoking a special eastern garden. 
All prior Jardin fragrances have been composed by legendary perfumer Jean Claude Ellena (an interview of whom I had the honour of taking HERE), and therefore Un Jardin sur la Lagune is Christine Nagel's first entry in the series. 

L'Artisan Parfumeur Dzing!: fragrance review

Which scent is capable of bringing out your inner Cat People? Have you ever wondered? This old specimen from the time when L'Artisan Parfumeur was a niche perfumes pioneer , Dzing!, is a strange amalgalm of animal hide and animal waste plus the compelling smell of old paper.

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Smelling old books and that particular feeling of abstract fluff that is industrial cardboard used for moving boxes have some things in common: they have a starchy, almost vanillic nuance to them, but flat and non sweet, like a cake that lacks sugar but still retains the sweetish tinge of a comforting spice.

Dzing! by L'Artisan Parfumeur was inspired by the zoo, by the sawdust and the animals, the fun and festive air that surrounds a performance, but also the comforting feel of a childhood memory. It's probably not a surprise that vanilla is so closely tied to childhood memories. Dzing! does not immediately recall vanilla, it actually smells like a cross between moving boxes, sawdust and old books, all of this sprinkled with the slightly unsettling hint of animal musk in the distance; this thing is heaving. The light leather tinge is sexy and intimate, musky soft-smelling; a synergy between a saffron note with something birch-derived or musky-suede, rather than the rough isoquinolines in butch scent variations of leather fragrances. The overall impression is not sweet as the given notes might suggest, only in that register that skin and fur smells a tad sweetish and lightly salty.

But that's probably what a person who appreciates smells odder than the standard cake vanilla would find themselves peering into, with an upturned eyebrow and a keen interest in their eye; count me among them. Dzing! isn't very easy to wear but the experience is rewarding. Just imagine what people with keen noses might think and be too embarrassed to mention. Priceless.

Fragrance notes for L'Artisan Parfumeur Dzing!: leather, ginger, tonka bean, musk, white woods, caramel, saffron, toffee, candy apple and cotton candy.

Related reading on PerfumeShrine:

Modern Leather Fragrances short reviews
Perfumes and Fur, les perfumes fourrure and the intimacy of furry stuff
Animalic Notes: the skanky scent of sexy

Caron Parfum Sacre Intense eau de parfum: fragrance review

Back when I was a teenager I developed a strong belief that "real" perfume was supposed to harken to its oriental roots and smell of the East; or at least what my west-laden eyes of the mind imagined a mythical East to be like. Parfum Sacre (sacred perfume, the quintessential notion of eastern scent), launched in 1991, at the cusp of the transition into the blander part of mainstream perfumery after a clashing cacophony of too many loud perfumes worn all together in the 1980s, and it sort of flopped commercially. But it was such a good execution that they have kept it. And when the Parfum Sacre Intense version rolled over by Parfums Caron in 2010 I admit I was greatly intrigued.

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There was a 1925 fragrance called Mystikum, by perfume Scherk, tagged "the mystery of flowers" of all things, and accompanied by a full range of body products in the coming years, but surely the name would fit Caron's perfume perfectly as well.

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I own a quite large decant of Caron's Parfum Sacre Intense (more like a purse spray), and I should quickly upgrade to a full bottle, but each time I use it I feel like a goddess on a pedestal, receiving rites of peppery spices and rosy sacrifices upon a sacrificial altar, while myrrh fills the atmosphere with the solemnity of religion. The myrrh is especially warm, bittersweet, with no powdery after-effects, so it doesn't project as "clean" or "groomed" rather than sombre and liturgical, but it's the alliance of spicy rose with musk which makes the real message of devotion to a higher being. For once, rose sheds its prim guise and reveals a throbbing heart full of thorns.

I dig this kind of ritual and therefore Parfum Sacre Intense aims for the sweet spot. Touchée.

I just wish they hadn't changed the bottle, from the glorious deep purple with the peppercorns into the blander columnar ones they have used when revamping the line a couple of years ago...

Hermes Hiris: fragrance review

Once upon a time, concubines in the Far East were fed animal musk, so that their bodies would sweat in sweet fragrance. Nowadays they feed themselves angelica roots, boiled carrots, and almond baked in tin foil, with the tin foil intact. They spray themselves absent-mindedly with an obsolete hairspray that engulfs them in musk, sending electrical sparks like a loose train set on liquid tracks, running in the storm to nobody knows where. They work under azure skies which never betray the greyness of their gaze. They dream of "Et la lune descent sur le temple qui fut". Some girls nowadays are fed Hiris by Hermès...

Hiris: from the flower to the fragrance, the modern and refined mindset of a unique soliflore, all devoted to the splendor of the iris. A perfume of emotion and subtlety conceived by perfumer Olivia de Giacobetti in 1999, it expresses its charm with an infinite delicacy; sometimes floral, sometimes powdery or plant-like, always one of the olfactory wonders of nature.

The quintessential dry powder scent, Hiris by Hermès is the yardstick against which orris scents can be measured in a sweetness to dryness climax; this one is set on ultra-dry. For sheer uniqueness it could only be compared to the cold melancholia of Iris Silver Mist by Serge Lutens, but it's less gloomy, less sombre, warming a bit through the skin-like ambrette seed. It's for INFP types for sure.
And it falls naturally into the pattern set out by Hermès, a house that caters to an effortless sensibility of quiet sensuousness, of subtle sexiness, of refined intellectuality. A precious keepsake.

Fragrance notes for Hermès Hiris:
Top Notes
Iris, Coriander, Carrot
Heart Notes
Iris, Neroli, Rose, Hay
Base notes
Honey, Almond wood, Vanilla, Cedarwood, Ambrette seed

NB. The older bottles are in blue frosted glass packaged in an orange carton. The newer ones are in a transparent glass bottle with gold cap and a blue label, packaged in an orange and blue carton. 

Autumn Harvest and Shamhain: The Warmth of the Season

Late autumn is a sure signal of embracing the joys of the hearth to whom I'm not at all averse. Before the temperatures demand lightening the fireplace with a proper, roaring log fire (it's not too cold where I am yet, in fact it's unusually warm this year), lightening scented candles makes for a cozy ambience in res media. Diptyque's Maquis and Figuier candles, preferably lit together to throw their combined scent, is probably the most nostalgic scent for me personally, reminiscent as it is of the aroma of the Mediterranean countryside, filled with the burnished copper of immortelle, the sapling of the fig tree and its bittersweet smelling leaves slowly decaying on the moistened soil. And oranges, lots of oranges...

photo, borrowed, credit: Nik Sharma A Brown Table via

Some of the fragrances I long to wear again this month are as follows:

Une Fleur de Cassie (Éditions des Parfums Frédéric Malle)

It didn't take me a trip to fragrance capital, Grasse, to appreciate the exquisite technique showcasing every nook and cranny of the mimosa/cassie essences, but that didn't do any harm either! Une Fleur de Cassie has the right amount of "dirty" gusset to hint at coarse carnality (cassie absolute is notoriously musky, jasmine absolute is indolic) while at the same time remaining a gorgeous floral (hints of carnation and rose absolute), smudging its odds and ends into almost an oriental (sandalwood, vanillic fond)

Like This (Etat Libre d'Orange created in collaboration with Tilda Swinton) 

A natural autumnal option since it features actual notes of pumpkin, gingerbread spices, everlasting flower (immortelle), warm woody notes and the scent of damp, mulch-rich earth (in the very best way). Mmmm, probably a cult gourmand since contrary to other gourmand fragrances heavy on the foody aspects this harvest scent has perfumistas flocking to it.

Black Orchid (Tom Ford)

Forget every blurb you read about how the perfume was developed according to Tom's specifications it should smell "like a man's crotch." (Glurp! I know you wish you hadn't heard of that. Unless you're playing for the other team, in which case grab this to try out.) Thankfully, this truffle and flowers on a vanilla base floriental doesn't smell as crude as that might make it sound. But it's undeniably sexy all the same, and cozy too in its own way.

Santal Blush (Tom Ford)

A gorgeous, clean, dry sandalwood fragrance with an immediate message of sensuousness and no boozy aftertaste; beautiful and wearable, as tactile as smooth silk cushions. Unisex fare!

Molecule 01 (Escentric Molecules)

If you want to give the impression you don't wear anything (play them low and reap them high) this mono-molecule fragrance (it's full of just aromachemical Iso-E Super) at an optimum concentration will trick your date into believing it's just your skin smelling that good. Totally abstract, can't place it, can't put a finger on it, fuzzy, buzzy, delicious trail...

L'Orpheline (Serge Lutens)

This "orphaned girl" is such a peculiarly unisex blend that I dare anyone to smell it and attribute it to girls. Its slightly body odor-ish intimacy is kinda addictive; I wore intensely when it came out with no diminished enjoyment for its austere woods, intense musks, hint of herbal bitters and wink of sweet spice. I put it aside for a while but need to bring it out again. A bit of cozy dirt can be good for the soul!

La Myrrhe (Serge Lutens)

Myrrh gum is part of ecclesiastical incense alongside frankincense for millennia. You would expect a true blue oriental going by the name, right? Lutens infuses the bitter ambience of myrrh with candied mandarin rind and citrusy aldehydes which bring this on the upper plane of an airy aldehydic. Somehow it wears lightly but solemnly too (just like the season isn't yet dead cold, right?) and it resembles nothing else on the market. Crisp days bring La Myrrhe's attributes to the fore and it remains amongst my most precious possessions.

Antaeus (Chanel)

A masculine in my rotation and a powerfully 1980s at that, bringing the era back as surely as quarterback shoulder pads, Doc Martins and "mullet" hairstyles. Who said fall isn't about nostalgia? The beeswax leathery honeyed carnality is palpable. I consider it among my sexiest fall fragrances and feedback suggests I'm not delusional…

Hypnotic Poison (Christian Dior)

I'm cheating with this one, as I actually use the body lotion instead of the eau de parfum or eau de toilette versions. Still the fetish-y red, poisoined apple creates as much intrigue with its looks as it does with its scent. Fairy tales and original sin mix and testimonies say it works on guys like a magical charm. The bitter almond folded into vanilla cream radiates with the sensuality of musk and jasmine.

And for an interesting (a ha!) juxtaposition with what I was anticipating of wearing last year approaching the beginning of fall, here is the link to last year's autumn fragrances picks. And yet another list of autumn perfumes, divided into trickesters and treaters,  in the spirit of Halloween and Shamhain. For those celebrating Dia de los Muertos, here is a recipe for kolyva dessert, the traditional offering (spondee) to the dead in my culture.


Here's to a lovely rest of the fall season and a beautiful winter ahead!
Let me know which are your favorite or most worn fragrances this season in the comments.

Narciso Rodriguez Narciso For Her: fragrance review

There are brands conceived to claim something very potent, to break with the mold of their times, and to establish themselves in the market, spawning a thousand variations on their theme in their wake. Narciso Rodriguez Narciso For Her is not only a sort of a pioneer (albeit indirectly), coming out in the market as a "nouveau chypre"—a modern take on the mossy "chypre" family of perfumes—but also one of its most radiant representatives: it's hard not to notice a wearer of Narciso For Her, even though the scent itself isn't particularly pungent in any of its broken-apart constituents; not too harsh, too sweet nor too bitter, it's however very noticeable and radiates for miles.

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Technically Narciso For Her is a floral woody musk, not a proper "chypre" perfume (chypres are a classic fragrance family of very perfume-y scents with a floral heart sandwiched between fresh bergamot on top and the tension of trickle-like, leather-smelling labdanum resin and mossy, inky oakmoss, from a parasite growing on oaks, in the less volatile stages of the fragrance's development) Narciso For Her instead constructs the scent on vetiver (a Far East grass with a fresh and earthy feel) and fractalized patchouli, meaning a "cleaned up" patchouli essence, manipulated in the lab to divest it of its more hippie-like facets for which the natural extract, with its dirty chocolate overtones, is famous.
The floral component in Narciso is all a fantasy of abstraction: the orange blossom and osmanthus notes are registering as an intense sweetness, but you cannot bring yourself to proclaim "this is X flower, that is Y." Fans often say it doesn't smell like perfume per se and this is its major draw.

The aromachemical Amberlyn (a variation on woody amber notes, another name for Ambrox) plus a cluster of musks supports the floralcy, but most importantly gives tremendous diffusion and lasting power, without gazing everyone in close proximity, the pitfall of many a potent fragrance. The ingenious quality of Ambrox is its ability to come into and out of focus at intervals without being perceived as anything concrete; the person wearing the scent or someone sitting close by that person isn't constantly aware of the potent aromachemical. This allows for the necessary breathing space, alongside the clean egyptian musk at the core of the Narciso For Her scent, but also the necessary time chasm that gives us license to re-appreciate a beautiful thing we have come in contact with. "Look. Turn away. Now look again." If that is the definition of a beautiful human being's impression on those who pass him/her by on the street, Narciso For Her is its analogy in scent terms; smell, now forget about it, then smell again and be charmed anew.

For a breakdown of the concentrations (eau de toilette, eau de parfum, musk oil etc) & flankers of Narciso Rodriguez Narciso For Her fragrance, refer to THIS GUIDE.

More Narciso Rodriguez fragrance reviews and news HERE.
Musk fragrances guide and reviews HERE.

July Fragrance Selections: A Mix of the Cult and the Classic

The month of July started with a heatwave after a mellow June that drowned us in downpour and median temperatures. So action is required in order to wean through the collection and pick just the right stuff in order to pass the litmus test of 36C outside and pretty humid inside. I got the bottles out and took them for a camera ride. These are my personal selections for the upcoming days. Each one, a small story unto itself.

photo by E.Vosnaki©

 

Diorissimo (Dior) Les Creations de Monsieur Dior eau de toilette: The fairly recent bottle is an attempt to recapture the insouciance that the older classic by Christian Dior provided in its vintage forms in an easily replenished format. The experiment runs well so far, though I do miss the divine natural jasmine of the retro formulations (if you want to hunt for vintage, please refer to this chronology & dating guide for Diorissimo by Dior). The scent is of course the crispiest lily of the valley without scratching one's sinuses.

Y (Yves Saint Laurent) eau de toilette: 'The chypriest of them all', as I had written in a previous Y by YSL perfume review. Crisp, green, soapy too in a way, like some chypre fragrances can be, though it's a bit slit-eyed this one still possesses that ineffable good taste that Yves Saint Laurent used to be famed for. Now the brand is issuing things like hundreds of flankers of Black Opium and mocking its heritage. We know better.

Fleurs d'Oranger (Serge Lutens): Not too old, not too young, just perfect in that middle ground between contemporary and traditional, a potent yet fresh (!) mix of lush orange blossom and insinuating tuberose, likened to a heaving blossom. A true compliment getter too! I was stung by a bee, outside a graveyard, wearing this scent, one fateful Easter, and forever since I subconsciously seek to touch the sting spot when I wear it....

Passage d 'Enfer (L'Artisan Parfumeur): This was among my first incense purchases and it still remains a firm favorite for summer-wear (not that it does not shine in winter equally well). Passage d' Enfer gives me the eerie feeling of a trance-like session, lost in the spiritual reveries of a body ritualistically sprayed with all the lilies of the field. It balances on the edge of sanity sometimes, clean (thanks to the white musk) but mysterious at once, ethereal yet subtly odd, like an emo-goth type dressed in top-to-bottom white.
More on frankincense and resinous, smoky scents HERE and a guide with different incense scents HERE.

Rem (Reminiscence): Behold the aquatic that does not restrict itself to merely Calone, dihydromyrcenol or any of those nasty aroma molecules that have drenched the genre into the filth and mud of bad reputation among serious perfume lovers. This smells like a humidifier, a tiny bit salty too, with a faint whiff of algae and blanched vegetation (an odd byproduct of the tiniest bit of patchouli) and works perfectly in a tropical downpour as it does on dry heat that shatters asphalt. It's deservedly a cult fragrance in Europe!
For more beach-smelling fragrances for every style and taste, visit THIS link. 

What are YOU wearing this month? Please share in the comments and I will try to reply to all of you.