Orange blossom week: part 1- true renditions

Orange blossom is one of the most usual floral notes used in perfumery and its glorious slightly fruity, sweet and pervasing yet fresh scent has been brandishing its charms in traditional colognes and eaux de toilette for centuries.
Although an unmistakably floral in tone aroma it does hint of the fruit to come in a very elegant way that aromachemicals cannot mimic satisfactorily.

The word "orange" comes from Sanskrit "narang" or Tamil "naraththai". Another theory pertains that it is tied to a Dravidian root meaning "fragrant".
Oranges originated in southeast Asia in fact which is not unrelated to etymology (in India, Vietnam or southern China). The fruit of Citrus sinensis is called sweet orange to distinguish it from Citrus aurantium, the bitter orange.
Some languages have different words for the bitter and the sweet orange, and one of them is indeed Modern Greek which differentiates bettween bitter (nerantzi) and sweet (portokali which derives from Portuguese). The reason for these differences is that the sweet orange was brought from China to Europe during the 14th century for the first time by the Portuguese. For the same reason, some languages refer to it by "Applesin" meaning "Apple from China".
It is common to come across mentions of "arancia" or "arancio" ~deriving from latin~ on perfume bottles in italian as well as "zagara", "naranja" in spanish while in hebrew the name is "Zohar", also reflected in the portugeuse language.


Bitter orange is trully the pig of perfumery as it gives us so many aromatics for perfumes: the essential oil of the blossom, the heady and viscous absolute from the flowers that is rendered through a solvent extraction, cool neroli from a different method of manipulation of the flowers (distillation) that gives an aroma that is tangier, slightly more bitter and thus a little more atsringent and fresher, bitter orange oil from the rind of the fruit with its sweet-bitter scent, and the more masculine in tone, greener petit-grain from the distillation of twigs and leaves.

Orange blossom absolute is a miracle to behold both in terms of cost and its elusiveness. Some can even smell rank if not of the proper quality and only the real, quality thing can be the heady touch that turns heads and makes you weak in the knees as if catching a whiff of it passing a sunny orange grove in April.
The includion of orange blossom is de riguer in many oriental mixes, although its role is not limited to those: it features as a protagomist in many eau de colognes along with its sidekick neroli as well as in chypres and elegant florals.
Termed a white floral for its small white, slightly waxy petals, it is one of the loveliest blossoms to adorn a homemade bouquet and it has long been the state flower of Florida. The blossom is also emblematic of Riverside in California, famous for its Navel or Washington variety of oranges.
It is traditionally associated with good fortune and for that reason it was popular in bridal bouquets and head wreaths for weddings for some time. Even now in Greece and the Mediterranean it is customary for wedding taking place in villages or by the sea to adorn the head of the bride with simple small blossoms, which is very becoming especially on the naturally darker hair of those women. Folk songs have been composed drawing parallels between the bushy, fragrant head of a bitter orange tree with the head of a lovely lady.
The petals of orange blossom can also be made into a delicately citrus-scented version of rosewater, called "anthonero" (flower water). Orange blossom water is a common part of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean cuisine and it features in both sauces and in pastries. One such is the famous kourambiedes, an Easter and Christmas cookie that is made with rich butter and crushed almonds, rolled into dust sugar and gloriously eaten with coffee after meals. You can see a recipe for them here.
Orange blossom honey is a variation of honey that is not unusual in those areas of the world either: it is produced by putting beehives in the citrus groves during bloom, useful for agriulture as well as it pollinates seeded citrus varieties. Orange Blossom honey is highly prized for its peculiar, delicate like orange taste that differentiates it from aromatic honeys from thyme blossoms or pines.
Orange blossom even gives its touristic nickname to the Costa del Azahar ("Orange-blossom coast") in Valencia, a place that provides lots of orange fruit throughout Europe.

Starting our exploration of orange blossom, we focus on the more realistic interpretations of this heady and fresh note as attested by the following fragrances:
Fleur d'oranger by L'artisan Perfumer, Jo Malone Orange blossom Côté Bastide Fleurs d'oranger and I profumi di Firenze Zagara.
All of them explore the fresher, tarter aspect of the note, in various degrees and nuances.

The golden standard is indeed Fleur d'oranger by L'artisan parfumeur, based on a single harvest of Nabel in Tunisia, in 2004 and basing its exclusive and unfortunately very ephemeral success on the quality of that exceptional crops that yielded its sweet and light aromas into the embrace of a master perfumer such as Anne Flipo (who was responsible for Verte Violette and La Chasse aux papillons in the L'artisan stable of thoroughbreds).
It launched in 2005 for a very limited number of bottles for a very costly price, encased in a wooden box like a vintage of precious wine. And it is indeed precious in its single-minded loveliness that wraps you in cool cotton sheets of luminosity and joy. Its crystalline appearence shimmers in the light like a precious Baccarat ornament and it enslaves you upon testing as the truest soliflore on orange blossom created. Although light in tone it has good tenacity which adds to its charms. It is a pity that when the distribution ends there will be no more...

Jo Malone's Orange Blossom is a sweeter rendition which lacks the crystalline aspect of L'artisan, however it is quite close to the actual blossom and is very realistic, denoting a high percentage of natural essences used. The opening is a but fruiter and has a hint of the zest but it soon develops into the white floral that is so beloved by people of the South. The marriage of clementine leaves (a comparable species) and water lilies gives a limpidity and airiness that transports this into sunny climates and white clothing paired with silver jewels worn on a casual walk. It is unaffected, elegant and very popular in Greece, proving to be the bestseller of Jo Malone's line during the warmer months according to my sources in the company.

Zagara by I Profumi di Firenze is a citrusy gregarious thing based on the tart and cool elegance of bergamot that segues into notes of the white flower restraining the sweetness and injecting happiness and joy. It is deliriously happy and cheerful and it can be relied upon to lift spirits and rejuvenate on hot days.

Côté Bastide's Fleurs d'oranger rendition is also exceptionally true and light with a hint of citrus and green tonalities that lend a slight bitter edge that is again reminsicent of the living tree and the surrounding air. It is its greatest strength and its stamp of approval. Eminently wearable in summer and highly recommended for stuffy offices and homes.


Next post will tackle a different interpretation of the orange blossom note.

Painting "Man in Hat" by greek painter Nicolaos Lytras courtesy of allposters.com.

Perfumery Materials: Neroli, Petit Grain, Orange Blossom, Bigarade

The Mediterranean basin could be described as one giant orangery during spring: the green trees, called bigaradiers, with their dense foliage of shiny leaves are seen sprouting small white blossoms; first, closed like Q-tips and then bursting into an orgy of fragrant flowers, emitting a sweet, yet delicate and fresh fragrance that travels long and far. These individual orangey trees belong in a unique order, bearing fruit still while at the same time blossoming! But you'd be hard-pressed to cut and eat that fruit; the orange-toned rind hides a very bitter flesh which is perfect however for proper marmelade or "spoon sweets". And they only turn their characteristic bright colour in the temperate Mediterranean climate: Spain, Greece, and also...California. Those growing in tropical climates, such as Florida or India or Ghana retain a yellow-greenish tinge.



The amazing tree which produces those wonders of nature is citrus aurantium var. amara (or bigaradia), commonly referred to as "bitter orange tree" (Also known as "Seville orange tree" due to the fact that the romantic city by the river is choke-full of them and because it was the centre of Moorish culture when the trees were first brought into the region from Arabia in the 9th century AD). Perfumers call it by another name, grosser but more accurate in terms of "giving": the pig of perfumery. Every part of this tree gives a lovely material.

The methods which produce different materials: neroli, orange blossom absolute, biagarade, petit-grain

David Seth Moltz, the nose behind D.S. & Durga, the Brooklyn-based perfume company, explains it well: Cold-pressing the fruit peel yields bigarade, the essential oil of the bitter orange; distilling the twigs gives you petitgrain (keep in mind that the same method gives petit-grain from other citrus trees such as lemon petit-grain, lime petit-grain etc); and the orange blossoms provide you with neroli (neroli comes from steam distillation of the flowers) while the same flowers can yield orange blossom absolute when treated with solvents to extract their essence. Distillation is usually carried out in such a way that 1 liter(1 kg) of distillation water (orange flower water) is obtained per 1 kilogram of charged orange flowers. This method incidentally, yields on the average about 1 gram of neroli oil.
That's not all, though: Distill the leaves, twigs and flowers together and you have "petitgrain sur le fleur." But it's still not over yet: Petitgrain water absolute or eau de brouts is the equivalent of orange flower water absolute and is obtained as a by-product from petitgrain bigarade oil. It enhances the 'naturalness' of several other fragrances, e.g. jasmine, neroli, ylang-ylang and gardenia.

"This one tree," Mr. Moltz explains, "gives you a range of citrus, wood, flower and all that lies in between—clean, fresh, dark, spicy." It is, in other words, a tree worthy of obsession! [1]


The differences in scent between the materials
Neroli has a sharper, more delicate aroma with a pleasantly bitter top note, a floral, herbal, green body and a floral, orange flower dry-out. It's lighter than the more overtly feminine orange blossom absolute which is more indolic and lusher, heavy and rich, warm, but also delicate and fresh, long-lasting odour, closely resembling the fragrance of fresh bitter orange blossoms. Its fragrance is not unlike that of jasmine, less intensely floral, but with a greater freshness. Petit grain is more bitter and has a masculine edge. And of course bigarade is the very flavour of morning marmelade.

List of fragrances to guide your nose through the raw materials

To experience bigarade the simplest means is to grab a jar of Bonne Maman marmelade and dip your nose and inhale: the sweetness cannot cut too much on the bitterness which leaves an almost sour aftertaste, resulting into an experience far removed from the more prosaic sweet orange or strawberry jam. Another, more perfume-oriented means would be to grab a bottle of Cologne Bigarade by Frederic Malle (composed by Jean Claude Ellena who excels into that sort of Mediterranean compositions) or his more concentrated and rubbery version with touches of cumin, Bigarade Concentree. Another alternative would be Creed's Citrus Bigarrade [sic].

Neroli has a romantic tale attached to its name: "In the 17th century, the princess of Nerola, Italy, used orange blossom to perfume her stationary, baths and, most famously, her gloves. As she gestured to her courtiers and lovers, a gentle wake of blossom must have trailed her hands. Now, neroli can be found in any number of perfumes, soaps and, according to myth, the secret recipe for Coca-Cola! It is the very essence of spring—that first bloom that promises sun and romance. And like romance, in the hands of a master perfumer, it can be heady or hesitating, sophisticated or innocent, sweet or dangerous. Mr. Moltz describes pure neroli as being "prim and proper." He likes to "dirty it up" with flowers that bring out neroli's wet and sexy vibe. [1] The major chemical components of neroli bigarade oil are: linalool, limonene, linalyl acetate, nerolidol, geraniol, and methyl anthranilate. Extraction of flowers with supercritical CO2 yields a neroli bigarade oil much richer in linalyl acetate (23%) than neroli oil obtained by water distillation. The content of methyl anthranilate (1%) is also significantly higher [2].
If you want to experience a soliflore neroli fragrance, try Annick Goutal's Néroli, a Parisian take on the Med idea . "The idea for Néroli was a warm wind blowing through a blooming orange grove," says Camille Goutal, the creative director after Annick's passing. "It was also inspired by a childhood memory: my uncle spent his holidays in Tunisia and would bring me back bouquets of orange flowers. Of course the main ingredient is the neroli, freshened by the petitgrain Paraguay (which is also tender and green) and petitgrain citronnier. The cypress and the galbanum bring a subtle woody note."
Chloé offers Eau de Fleurs Neroli for spring and summer, a fragrance which mixes an aromatic top with rosemary and clary sage with "clean" upbeat, contemporary notes of peony and white musk.

To get a good dosage of petit-grain, look no further than Miller Harris and Le Petit Grain. A unisex fragrance which brings on a garland of aromatics to boost the angular facets of the material, such as angelica root, tarragon, thyme and lavender. Refreshing due to its briskness, but not without its own depths thanks to patchouli and moss.


For orange blossom the choices are endless. You can check out several on our "Orange Blossom series" classified according to mood. But to recap some of the more characteristic:

Perhaps the loveliest and truest soliflore orange blossom rendition is L'Artisan's original Fleur d'Oranger harvest edition. Fresh, crystalline, projecting with needle-point precision but never too sharp, its melodious song is like a kiss on the lips from someone one had long longed for. The major drawback is it cost an arm & a leg and it was a one-time wonder, as the subsequent reissue from a few seasons ago is a little bit different.

Jo Malone's Orange Blossom cologne takes on a crisp but feminine interpretation of the flowers of the bitter orange tree: the composition is flanked by lemongrass and clementine oils on top (so that the fragrance retains a live-like freshness) and by lily and lilac notes on the bottom to soften and feminise it.

On the contrary Prada's Infusion de Fleurs d'Oranger [full review here] apart from a brief departure of orange flowers and neroli segues on into soapier arpegios with Serenolide (a synthetic musk), therefore being a less representative candidate.

Le Labo is one brand which features orange blossom at the heart of three of their fragrances: Fleur D'Oranger 27, (feminine with jasmine and sunny bergamot); Neroli 36, a playful mix of watermelon, salt, rose, mandarin and musk; and in Tubereuse 40, vibrating with the dynamism of tuberose, cedar, mimosa and petitgrain.

But perhaps the most majestic orange blossom absolute of them all is Fleurs D'Oranger by Serge Lutens. Far from being an orange blossom soliflore as its name suggests, this is a fragrance as beguiling as Salome dancing the dance of the seven veils. Upon each revelation, the anticipation heightens till the next one. The initial stage is one of soft orange blossom, in the words of Serge, the "strengthening of a breeze", hidding the more mysterious, invested interests in the background, emerging slowly like shadows from an orchard which suns itself somewhere off the Mediterranean coast. The accomplice in this is tuberose and its strange, wicked angularity creeps in beneath the shadows. But despite the fragrance's lushness and drama, it dries down to a delicate sweetness that resembles honeyed woman's skin; discreet and very, very sensual.

Last but not least the etymology is also interesting and quite mixed-up: The word orange (EN and FR), naranja (ES), arancia (IT) are all derived from the Persian naranj which in the contrary means bitter orange ("νεράτζι" i.e. nerantzi, in Greek), the place where the bitter variety of the tree comes from. The Iranians call oranges 'portoghal' which resembles the Greek word for sweet oranges, πορτοκάλι; to my knowledge, only in Greek among European languages has the Persian distinction been maintained. But how come the Greek call orange the ...Portugeuse fruit? (That's what the name means) It's because the Portugeuse traders brought sweet oranges into the Mediterranean basin from China centuries after the bitter oranges were brought to these shores...



[1] Ref. Wall Street Journal
[2]Ref. White Lotus Aromatics


Collage photo via beauty maverick. Photo of bitter orange tree by CorinthianGulf/flickr

Orange blossom week: part 3 - rich nuances

"A disturbing wind blows from the east, saturating the city of Seville with the scent of orange. Juan Antonios dark hair flies off his shoulder and whips against his face. The seductive aroma of the orange blossom surrounds him and the perfumed wind wafts past his ears, whispering secrets only he can hear.

Can you smell the orange blossom? murmurs the wind. I love that scent. Do you remember? The wind blows stronger over the Guadalquivir River, lifting with it the raw reminder of a time when spring smelled sweet.
Juan Antonio looks up sharply and stares out over the river, his hand tensing around the fret board of his flamenco guitar. He feels the wind crawling around his neck, blowing past his face. He brushes a strand of hair from his eyes, but the fragrant wind only blows it back.
I can still feel you, whispers the wind. Smell you . . . taste you. The wind tosses a burst of citrus his way. Your hands smell of horses and leather, your lips of chocolate. I will never forget your delicious scent. But, I fear you have forgotten mine.

An angry cloud of orange swirls over Juan Antonio, threatening to engulf him. He yanks a scrap of cloth from his pocket and ties his hair back with the tattered fabric. Then he shouts to the perfumed wind. Dejame! Leave me alone! Frantically, he clamps the back of his hand against his nose to block out the opressive sweetness, but it is impossible to block the scent that the wind lifts. The seductive aroma of the azahar, the orange blossom, lives inside of him . . . tormenting him . . . robbing him of the peace he longs to find."

The above is an excerpt from the novel in progress Azahar by Susan Nadathur.
It captures well the ambience that a rich orange blossom perfume evokes in me: the south, its passions, its over the top sensualism, bravado, cheesiness even, yet also familiarity, tenderness, childhood memories of car hops across country, blossoms that die slowly in my lap under the heavy sun, cut too soon from the tree.
The intense sweetness of a lush orange blossom that has peaked, in its prime, with honeyied tones and is ready to yield fruit is trully unforgettable.

If we try to deconstruct the etymology and nuanced meanings of the word "richness" we come up against:

1.Possessing great material wealth
2.Having great worth or value: a rich harvest of grain.
3.Magnificent; sumptuous: a rich brocade.
4. a. Having an abundant supply: rich in ideas.
b. Abounding, especially in natural resources: rich land.
5. Meaningful and significant
6. Very productive and therefore financially profitable
7. a. Containing a large amount of choice ingredients, such as butter,sugar, or eggs, and therefore unusually heavy or sweet.
b. Having or exuding a strong or pungent aroma.
8. a. Pleasantly full and mellow.
b. Warm and strong in color.
9. Containing a large proportion of fuel to air: a rich gas mixture.
and 10. Informal, highly amusing.

All this according to The Free Dictonary by Farlex.

I think for our purposes, all of those terms and definitions apply.
A "rich" orange blossom perfume can be wealthy in that it exudes luxury, costly, sumptuous because of its magnificent aroma, mellow and full, strong and abundant, suggesting lushness and opulence, sweet yet also amusing, playful and warm. It can be all these things. And it performs these tasks admirably.
This is why my heart aches a bit whenever I catch a whiff of the abundance of orange blossom in strangers' passing-by-scent. The trail of opulence...

So, to evoke those memories and associations I chose the following perfumes that smell as rich and sweet as orange blossom in Andalucia does in spring:
Zohar by Ayala Moriel, 24 Faubourg by Hermes, Poeme by Lancome and Boucheron Femme by Boucheron.

Ayala's Moriel Zohar uses the hebrew word for enlightment and brilliance to render a very fine, luxurious soliflore that sprakles like a fine jewel under a hot glaring sun. Centered around Orange blossom absolute garlanded with tuberose and jasmine that add to its white floral theme without veering it into the excessive headache producing effect that some other heavy "whities" produce, it is a true gem. The top notes of fresh citrus essences like the japanese fruit yuzu and the divine cleaner neroli note pierce your nostrils playfully giving way to the abundant heart of the nucleus that intermingles warm amber and honey in an arabesque worthy of Alcazar. The slight rubberiness of true, natural tuberose plays hide and seek all along with alluring results, much lighter than that featured in Fleurs d'Oranger by Lutens, like a princess hidden under a veil in one of the corridors of the palace.

You can sample or order clicking here.

24 Faubourg by Hermès , named after the eponymous address of the House, reminds me of a wealthy protagonist in a classic old Hollywood movie: dressed in a light beige belted trenchcoat, impecably coiffed hair under a heavy silk scarf bearing a prestigious signature, wrapped on her precious little head, lipstic in deep coral, complexion of peaches and cream, out in a sports convertible driving on the slopes of Monaco without a care in the world but always in control of herself. The brilliance of the sun and the warmth of late spring in the air, cinemascope colours melting in amber as the afternoon approaches. If ever there was a trace of the essence of wealth and opulence rolled into one this would be it.
Do not opt for the version Eau Délicate though: the above effect can only be achieved by the Eau de parfum or better yet pure parfum/extrait.

Poême by Lancôme was launched with the darling sensitive face of Juilette Binoche and with verse by Baudelaire which would make it endearing despite its smell to my artistic heart. However an overindulegence by women in their 30s all along the 90s along with the bestseller Trésor by the same house left me with apprehension and tentative in ever owning a full bottle. Touted to be centered on datura flower (a flower of the desert) and Tibetan blue poppy (a very rare blossom), it smells of neither particularly; instead it launches on wild, unmistakable orange blossom arpeggios that are supported by potent cassis and amber notes, further sweetened by the -needless in my opinion- addition of vanilla and tonka bean. This is certainly a rich smell; not however in the manner in which Lancôme intended it to be. Too sweet, maybe too strong, Poême appears to be a little heavy handed and suffers as a result from it, despite its lushful heart. Is it any wonder that Juliette Binoche is in reality a Cristalle fan?

Boucheron Femme by the jeweler Boucheron is last but not least on our list of rich orange blossom scents. Althouth this one is much more of a floriental with all that entails, it has such a sublime, sunny and warm presence that it yelled in french (these were no crude yells, tu comprends) to be included in this line up, like the usual suspect of wealth purveyor that it is. Balanced and poised on the beauty of benzoin and olibanum on a powdery base rich in sandalwood it infuses its rich aroma from afar and entices its victims to fall prey to your guiles, tasting apricots and mandarins and lapping their greedy fingers in delicately hushed licks. In a gold bottle topped with a sapphire top like the gems Boucheron is famous for, it evokes luxury the Parisian way: old style, top clarity, lots of carats, but never ostentatious.

Next post will be in yet a different vein.

Pic of Baños de Doña María de Padilla in Alcazar, Seville, Spain courtesy of quovadimus.org.

Orange Blossom week: part 2 - sexy aromas

What is it that links orange blossom to sexy aromas? Many of the interpretations of this note in perfumery take advantage of the naturally lush and sexual aroma of the blossoms and in our investigation of this subject we have come up against many interesting tidbits of information that might help elucidate why and how.

The use of perfume as an enhancement and not concealement of genitalia and hormone odours has been in practice till ancient times. It was the knowledgable ancient Egyptian women who used Kyphi rolled in miniscule balls, placed in the vulva. They also used amber mixes and civet. The Hindus also used the smell of female genitalia as a classification point for women, in which no one is left unappareciated. In Shakespeare's times it was common for men and women to offer apples to the object of their affection that had been saturated in the sweat of the armpit. That was meant to be a signification of desire and perhaps an early attempt at judging whether the prospective lover's pheromones would intermingle well with their sensibilities.
In the Memoirs of Casanova, we come across an observation that there is a hidden something in the air of a lover's bedroom that would make it very easy to choose between it and Heaven itself. So much is the infatuation that a beloved's body produces in the soul. And on that note who can forget the infamous epistle of Napoléon to Joséphine when he passionately wrote to her: "Je réviens en trois jours; ne te lave pas!" (I return in three days, don't wash yourself)
Anais Nin and Henry Miller were no strangers to the alchemical nature of the odorata sexualis of a lover that can be enhanced by perfume and Nin's personal choice of Caron's Narcisse Noir (a fragrance rich in orange blossom)and Guerlain's Mitsouko shows an appreciation for blends that enhance a person's natural sexual aroma. Beaudelaire, Flaubert (who kept the mittens of his mistress on a drawer for sniffing purposes), Goethe and Reiner Maria Rilke are also literature figures that occupied themselves with the fragrant nature of seduction.
Even in our more pedestrian times the allure of the erotic has been used to great effect in advertising. From Schocking by Schiaparelli to Ambre Sultan by Lutens to Boudoir by Westwood, many perfumes have claimed to capture in fragrant droplets the odorata sexualis of a woman for seduction purposes. Last olfactory example of this being Tom Ford' attempt at it when he proclaimed that his last fragrance Black Orchid was supposed to smell of a man's crotch. I think not, but hey, you have been warned!

Of course like a plethora of things in life much of the effect of something relies on context. Meaning that leaving youself unwashed would not shill your charms to potential lovers necessarily if some particular smell is not pleasant to them or the sweat is rank. It all has to do with delicate proportion and adjustment. In a fascinating experiment by Paul Jellineck, recounted in Essence and Alchemy, people had been asked to smell versions of well-known frags such as Quelques Fleurs by Houbigant and a traditional eau de Cologne with and without the addition of neroli. In the former case the neroli just mingled with the other floral substances adding a fresh note and balancing them, whereas in the latter it seemed sultry and rich and therefore erotically nuanced. This goes to show that although there is a clear cut path to lust and sexuality, eroticism in perfume as in any other area is complex and subtle, dependent on context and associations that need a delicate hand in placing them there.

So how orange blossom is linked to all these exciting observations? Let me shock you a bit in case you were unaware of the fact. Orange Blossom (as well as jasmine) is filled with the fascinating indole.
According to Encyclopedia Brittanica:

Indole, also called Benzopyrrole, is a heterocyclic organic compound occurring in some flower oils, such as jasmine and orange blossom, in coal tar, and in fecal matter. It is used in perfumery and in making tryptophan, an essential amino acid, and indoleacetic acid (heteroauxin), a hormone that promotes the development of roots in plant cuttings. First isolated in 1866, it has the molecular formula C8H7N.

It is this base ingredient that is so abundant in white florals -among them orange blossom to a moderate degree- that apparently gives a nod to the human aspect of our existence and reminds us of our primeval objects in life: to have sex and procreate. In this context it is no accident that orange blossom is traditionally used in wedding wreaths, as discussed yesterday.
Therefore if a catcall to carnality is your objective, yet you want to go about it more discreetly than resorting to civet (the pungent extract of the anal glands of a species of the Viverridae shaped like a small fox and native to Abysinnia, Java, Borneo, Sumatra and Bengal and farmed in Ethiopia for perfume purposes), orange blossom can be a Heaven sent destined to confine you in the abyss of Hell.

For this purpose there is no better choice than the rich, sultry, lush and totally feminine with a capital F Fleurs d'oranger by Serge Lutens. Luckily a part of the export line, but also available in a beautiful bell jar in the exclusive Palais Royal for Shiseido line of scents, it is the essence of classy sexiness captured in a bottle. Like a woman of mature wiles sitting under an orange grove contemplating serious romance and seduction it is multi-nuanced with precious essences of white jasmine and indian tuberose that enhance the indolic aspect to magnificent proportions, laced with the sprinkle of fiery spice like cumin and nutmeg rolled in tangy citrus peel, all the while exuding aromas of muskiness and floralncy in alrernative overlappings like the tongue of a skillful lover. The inclusion of rose and hibiscus seeds consolidates the velours aspect of a base that never really leaves the skin, reminding you of happy romance even after it is just a distant memory in the farthest corners of your mind.


Next post will tackle another aspect of orange blossom.

Art photography by Spyros Panayiotopoulos, courtesy of eikastikon.gr

Prada Infusion de Fleur d'Oranger: fragrance review

The newest Prada, Infusion de Fleur d'Oranger is the reflection of a taut body on a shower glass pane in a Moroccan hotel. Is this a good or a bad thing? Like most ambivalent realities in life, it depends on your expectations. I can't say I was too impressed and theoretically I should have, my usual tastes running into the realm of both white flowers and refreshing cologne-type scents for spring and summer. This new contestant is neither.

Infusion de Fleur d’Oranger is a limited edition fragrance and the first in a project of yearly series of "infusions" following the uber-successful Infusion d'Iris (it got a Design Award in 2008 by Wallpaper; you can't get more chi chi than that!). Ephemeral Infusion Collection is therefore a limited editions line consisting of one new fragrance per year derived from Prada’s Exclusive Scent range. Basically Infusion de Fleur d’Oranger is a direct descendant of the Exclusive Scent No. 4 by Prada: Fleur d’Oranger,by the Italian designer, but also a rehashing of the successful elements of the standard and widely available Infusion d'Iris. The same perfumer who worked on the latter as wel as its masculine counterpart Infusion d'Homme has collaborated with Prada once again: Daniela Andrier. She seems to fuse an olfactory fingerprint in all of them as they share common ground.

Infusion de Fleur d'Oranger is a combination of orange blossom, neroli, mandarin oil, jasmine and tuberose – a heady floral by the notes supposedly (one might even expect an sub-lieutenant Fleurs d'Oranger by Lutens, although no relation), yet it makes for a surprisingly sheer, uplifting smell, reminiscent of Infusion d'Iris in several segments, especially as it dries down. The domineering impression upon first spraying is one of sharp neroli*, the distilled essence from the flowers of citrus aurantium or bigaradier (bitter orange blossom), the tree which flanks the sidewalks of the city I leave and which right about now is in full bloom ~the white blossoms intoxicating the air with the most heavenly, serene scent imaginable. The slightly bitter petitgrain* note also surfaces, providing a little austerity. The fragrance cedes to a lathery almost aldehydic ambience quite soon, losing the distinctive sharp and uplifting quality of its mandarin and neroli start which promised a refreshing spring cologne (citrus essences and neroli have the tradition of Eau de Cologne behind them). The jasmine takes on a fruity and honeyed turn (sambac variety) which conspires with the soapy-shampoo character into a muted motif that doesn't jump off the paper, contrary to the striking design on the packaging with its juxtaposition of pink garlands of blooms and orange fruits onto the dark and light green background that echoes the Infusion d'Iris and d'Homme boxes. The clean musks drydown reminds me also of the newest Essence by Narciso Rodriguez, although not as "white-tee" in feel, as well as Penhaligon's Castile, an abstract soapy orange blossom. But if you want a "clean" fragrance Essence is better constructed and much more lasting; if you want a soapy one Castile is quite sufficient; if you just want a nice bubble-bath hologram to get you through every evetuality and get you compliments Infusion d'Iris is certainly your best best and it's plenty. Last, but not least, if you want a realistic orange blossom fragrance L'artisan's Fleur d'Oranger is the golden standard and Jo Malone has a very good one in her Orange Blossom cologne (if a bit fleeting). Prada is thus left a bit in the middle of the road and I don't know what to think: her exclusive Fleur d'Oranger no4 was more like it.
Dane calls it "a perfume for those who don't like perfume" and I foresee the masses of those who fall into that category will buy it like hot cakes. For another view, please read I smell therefore I am.

Notes for Prada Infusion de Fleur d'Oranger: neroli*, mandarin, jasmine, orange blossom absolute*, tuberose, and Serendoline (sic, per Neiman Marcus' site ~but that's a typo perpetuated into infinity; in fact it is Serenolide, a synthetic musk by Givaudan, which accounts for the "clean" base)


The bottle reprises the very chic design of the previous successes imparting homogenuity in the line (and smidge of niche look!). Devout followers of Prada’s runway shows may recognize the black, green and pink floral print on the box from the autumn/winter 2003 RTW runway. Although the visually impessive site of Prada has lovely presentations for their other fragrances, the newest one hasn't made it there yet. But it will, any day now. While you're at it, I highly recommend the Fondatione Prada sub-site.

Available in three sizes for 4 months (starting March) only: 1.7 oz, 3.4 oz, and 6.75 oz retailing for $74, $100 and $135 in the U.S., respectively. There’s also a Hydrating Body Lotion and a Perfumed Bath and Shower Gel.

*Neroli and Orange blossom absolute are both derived from the blossoms of the same tree: bigaradier/Seville Orange/bitter orange/citrus aurantium. Neroli is sharper and greener, a little astrigent and very uplifting, a steam distillation product of the blossoms, while Orange blossom absolute is extacted with volatile solvents rendering a rounder, a bit indolic scent that's richer and more feminine overall. Petitgrain comes from the distillation of the leaves and twigs of the same tree and is a little more bitter than either, a usual component in masculine colognes.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Orange Blossom Series, Prada Infusion d'Iris and Infusion d'Homme

Pic of bottle via Spoiled Pretty blog, photo of woman taking shower courtesy of bfraz/flickr ~some right reserved.

Orange blossom week: part 4 - abstract brushstrokes

What is abstract and how it pertains to olfaction? Let's question ourselves. If we're talking about abstraction as the thought process wherein ideas are distanced from objects then there is a whole school of offerings that evoke some distant memory of something through the use of non-representational means, just like in art; especially in Lyrical Abstraction (a term originally coined by Larry Aldrich in 1969 to describe what he saw in the studios of artists at that time)or even Abstract expressionism, of which Pollock is a representative example, on to the geometrical stylisation of Yiannis Moralis.

In such a context it is not hard to see that the rendition of an aromatic note, even such a familiar one as orange blossom, can be sublimated in a way that exalts its effect without featuring its true characteristics. In fact without featuring the actual thing at all!
Aromachemical engineers have the additional ability to use a note that naturally is only a top or heart or even base accent and manipulate it in order to make it last longer or for a lesser amount of time. Therefore orange blossom, a note that in its form of "absolute" is a heart to bottom note may appear out of the vial as soon as we open to smell or indeed neroli (the essential oil from orange blossom) might be discernible throughout a fragrance's development.
It is also possible to use aromachemicals that evoke the essence of orange blossoms like the ghost of someone near and dear appearing out of a desire to see them much like Hamlet's father, in a composition that is centered around them yet contains none. Ingredients that could be used include Aurantiol, Methyl Anthranilate, and Oranger Crystals.
Primary examples of this technique would be amply illustrated by Fleur du Mâle the new fragrance by Gaultier, Narciso For Her by Narciso Rodriguez and Castile by Penhaligon's. Indeed those are fragrances that fine though they are feature such an abstract orange blossom that it is spectral in its appearence rather than physical and tangible, like in examples previously mentioned.

Fleur du Mâle by Galtier has already had a full review at Perfumeshrine. Suffice to say that it is the essence of a fluffy cloud, all hay-coumarin and ersatz orange blossom through the eyes of a master of abstraction and could be worn by women just as easily as men.

Castile by Penhaligon's on the other hand is in another vein. Technically also a masculine fragrance, yet highly asexual in its soapy nature, it soars on notes of clean neroli and bergamot at first to warm up just a bit later on with hazy orange blossom, all the while retaining a clean atmosphere of minimalism.
I have a confession to make at this point. When staying at european hotels -the luxurious kind; I avoid the cheap ones after one horrible experience not due to my choosing which however left me probably scarred for life- I love to enter the bathroom first. Gaze at the white clean towels, all pressed and folded, the bath acroutments, lined up for my using, little soaps on the sink, inhale the aroma of cleanliness and proceed to the pulverised sheets on the bed that are starchy and unlined like big sheets of paper on the desk of a writer longing to be filled with ink recounting thoughts and memories of ambiguous value.
This is what Castile evokes in me: staying in a luxury hotel, posing as some person more important than the prosaic historian that I am, halo of far away distance from mundanity fimly placed on my head and not a care in the world behind my aviator sunglasses. "Clean" in a minimal, austere, yet also friendly way without featuring one sharp or musky note.

Narciso by Narciso Rodriguez on the other hand goes into the other direction of "clean". It has been such an influential, seething discovery in my relatively recent perfume past that I have real trouble talking about it. This might sound like a hyperbole and an unsuccessful one at that, yet I assure you that the way it has sneaked its way into my heart with its wiles is astounding. The concentration in the admittedly confusing range that I am focusing on at the moment is the Eau de toilette, with its sexy ambience of clean musks at the background and the inclusion of an abstract orange blossom touch on the foreground.
Nary does a day go by when wearing it that the passing stranger (and a loved one) does not turn to sniff a little longer, lean a little closer, sometimes even comment on it in complimentary terms. Nary does a day go by when wearing it that I am not trasported in a place of contentment, of confidence, of feeling fresh and young and able to conquer the world on a wink or a smile.
To categorise it as clean or as sexy is doing it an injustice. Its erotic power hinges on the creation of a distinguished, sophisticated eroticism which is ethereal and distanced from heavy seductions that in reality repel rather than entice. The absence of saccharine girliness despite the assured overall youthfulness of the composition speaks highly of a sexual being who is ready to consumate the affair with a playful toss of the leg up in the air and not after losing its virginity at the school's prom dance. Whether that would be the net result in the end is fair game to its paws, but nevertheless this is not the iniative on which the fragrance operates. It hums of unmade beds in homes rather than hotels, where the warmth of humans and the life of lovers has found a nest out of the cold harsh mechanical world outside.
Narciso Rodriguez eau de toilette is said to include notes of honey flower, solar musk, orange flower, amberlyn, tactile musk, and tactile woods.
Amberlyn by the way is a petrochemical that is intended to smell a bit like ambergris. Honey Flower is an evergreen shrub (genus Melianthus)native to Cape of Good Hope.
Too abstract for words really in its aroma-synthetic marvel, this Francis Kurkdjian oeuvre is a masterpiece that has it own place in the pantheon of great scents. I am sure that the future will be kind to its beautiful visage.



Painting "Young Girl" 1971 by greek painter Giannis Moralis courtesy of eikastikon.gr

Fleur du Mâle: fragrance review

It was Charles Beaudelaire, the iconoclast 19th century “damned poet” who had said: “My soul travels on the smell of perfume like the souls of other men on music.”And because he has written poetry that transcends the Victorian of his times into the daring exploration of the erotic in quite a frank way, reminding the world that women and men smelled of quite a lot of things, “good” and “bad” as well, he is often referenced in perfume discussion as a resource of brilliancy in olfactory description and imagery.
It was not surprising then that his collection of poems titled "Les Fleurs du Mal" (flowers of evil) has been half the inspiration behind the new Gaultier masculine fragrance, Fleur du Mâle, which plays upon the word Mal in such a way as to remind as of Le Mâle (the masculine), the first perfume in the line that proved to be such a bestseller and which is still making huge profits for the company after more than a decade after its launch in 1995.

Le Mâle was a very tongue in cheek creation by nose Francis Kurkdjian both in presentation and aroma, as it capitalized on the popular gay reference of the sailor with its mattelot top and Breton insouciance torso bottle, clean shaven men in the ads and gym-rippled muscles, though ~ hardly the hardship of a real sailor! It explored avenues of the classic fougère construction, a recipe that imitates the smell of ferns in a forest, usually based on lavender. Lavender thus it was that dominated the ambience of Le Mâle, but with such a potent sweetness and cuddliness alongside as to toss the commonly butch image of the classic fougère and render it quite daring in the arsenal of the male of the species. Many men report that it has worked wonders in their pursuit of the opposite sex (or even the same sex when playing for that team) judging by the following it has on various discussion boards; which consolidates the fact that it is actually mostly women who go after the sweet touch in perfume and not vice versa as is so often touted to be.

So what does Fleur du Mâle have to offer anew? According to the press release in Women’s Wear Daily Léa Vignal-Kenedi,, head of the fragrance division of Jean Paul Gaultier, said: “Over the past 12 years [since the introduction of the original Le Mâle], many barriers have been lifted for men." Gaultier “…wanted to speak of this blooming of today's masculinity, of joie de vivre, of happiness" . Let’s not forget that this is the brand that introduced makeup for men in the form of bronzers, liners and light balms in their line Le Beau Mâle.
It seems that men are focused on in a new way and there has been lots of talk about the overabundance of orange blossom in the formula of the new fragrance, a note associated with happiness, lightness, freshness in a floral way, while simultaneously the new scent carries on the fougère accord of the original.
The new scent is composed by the same man, the very talented Takasago’s perfume nose Francis Kurkdjian, responsible for some of the most successful -in my personal opinion- fragrances of recent years such as the abstract beauty of Narciso for Her , the vague and delicate poise of Rose Barbare by Guerlain , almost the entire perfume stable of Gaultier (Le Mâle, Fragile and Gaultier2, with the notable exception of Classique), Armani Mania for men with its classy accords, the light velvet and yellow cotton of Cologne Blanche for the exclusive line of Dior and the smooth skin baked in the sun of Aquasun by Lancaster.
Mr.Kukdjian excels in rendering abstract accords of ambience music with a smooth progression and a slightly powdery feel that departs from the mossy feel of old or the makeup smell of traditional face powder, rendering interpretations of them in a modern and young way that seems fresh and new.

It almost illustrates this passage below from Beaudelaire:
“Exotic Perfume”
Islands of Lethe where exotic boughs
Bend with their burden of strange fruit bowed down,
Where men are upright, maids have never grown
Unkind, but bear a light upon their brows.
Led by that perfume to these lands of ease,
I see a port where many ships have flown
With sails out wearied of the wandering seas…

Although orange blossom is lauded as the dominant note in this new offering, even pictured in the advertising images which depict a young happy smiling male in a white tub full of white petals shot by Jean-Baptiste Mondino (how probable would that be realistically? I’m asking you), I am betting that there isn’t any actual orange blossom essence in there and the whole is rendered through the alchemy of synthetic components, just like in his masterful Narciso for Her which also supposedly features an orange blossom top note in the Eau de toilette concentration. This is orange blossom through the lens of a kaleidoscope, not the essential oil or absolute that is rendered by the actual blossom. And I am not saying that to diminish its value, because it creates an effect that is indescribable and very pleasing indeed. Along with a sharper and slightly bitter note of petit-grain (which makes a very brief opening impression), the light florancy is paired with the sustained fluffiness of copious amounts of hay-like coumarin and what smells to my nose like heliotropin, much as has already been explored in Cologne Blanche by Dior, to which I would designate this one as the more common, low-brow but equally interesting relative. Aspirations of grandeur are not present in Fleur du Mâle and why should there be anyway: it aims to please and comfort the wearer and the entourage and it succeeds admirably on both accounts as it has very good lasting power on the skin (through the next day even, in my personal test) and a pleasant, yet non-invasive sillage that is very welcome.
The white torso bottle in a white tin, which echoes the original blue one of Le Mâle, is tamer and not as ironic as the latter, something that is reflected in the advertising images as well, rendering this one more feminine and less likely to be picked up by a man, although of course blinkered approach does not work well in most perfume choices where individuality and taste matter more than arbitrary distinctions of what constitutes male and female. It remains to be seen if it will actually be bought by men all by themselves.
Instead I picture that the actual target group of the fragrance will prove to be women of all ages who will revel in its cloudy softness that resembles a Claude Monet sunset.
I for one would love to receive this.


Fleur du Mâle is available in 40, 75 and 125ml bottles of eau de toilette and an alcohol-dree deodorant stick, in major department stores.

Painting San Giorgio Maggiore by twilight by Claude Monet courtesy of fulcrumgallery.com. Pic of ad courtesy of Escentual.

Vero profumo line ~Rubj: fragrance review

It is rather a sad feeling when one has completed a certain "portfolio" of work only to stumble upon something that could have been included with much aplomb but wasn't. Short of time travelling and going à rebours, this is unmanageable. Yet there is a sort of enfin revelation, a smack on the forehead kind of light bulbs going on over your head as you realise that the recent discovery is the sum of all parts that were existing in the project.
If this is sounding much too cryptic I am talking of course about my Orange Blossom homage on the blog and the recent sampling of Rubj by Vero Kern for the Vero Profumo line of niche fragrances, based in Switzerland.

Rubj is based on orange blossom, then. Not just any orange blossom, though, but the precious absolute, the thing that drips of honeyed thighs and heavy sighs and is redolent of the happiest holiday memories under groves of trees in the south. Its richness and opulence is the epitome of what an expensive, natural, clear and sonorous voice of an Hesperide can be.
If Fleurs d'oranger by Serge Lutens is a lady sitting in an orchard contemplating serious romance, then Rubj is her adversary of equal spiritual and physical magnitude.
The tart and yet sweet peel of mandarin marries the floral essences of carnal jasmine and dusky precious tuberose into a bond that intextricably makes the orange blossom melt with pleasure. Bright halos over the head of a beautiful nymph, warm and cool breeze of a garden at dusk, like Shiekh Nefzaoui's "Perfumed Garden", the forbidden classic of arabic sexuality.

"If one looks at a woman with those qualities in front, one is fascinated; if from behind, one dies with pleasure. Looked at sitting, she is a rounded dome; lying, a soft-bed; standing, the staff of a standard. When she is walking, her natural parts appear as set off under her clothing. She speaks and laughs rarely, and never without a reason.
She is not treacherous, and has no faults to hide, nor bad reasons to proffer. She does not try to entice people.
she is always elegantly attired, of the utmost personal propriety, and takes care not to let her husband see what might be repugnant to him. She perfumes herself with scents, uses antimony for her toilets, and cleans her teeth with souak.

Such a woman is cherished by all men".

As the citrusy tang of the day is slowly retreating into the approaching evening, the warmth of light musk and wood enters the equation to whisper of comfort, humanity and the plush of petals trailed on the skin of a soft arm, absent mindedly amidst a conversation that is going on all the while with an intent that smoulders, lasting for a long long time like a prolonged foreplay that is sure to end in fireworks.

The orange blossom absolute in Rubj comes from Morocco while the jasmine essence is of egyptian origin. The spirit of the South at your beck and call, at a precious drop of extrait de parfum from the curvaceous bottle.


Vero Profumo fragrances can be sampled/bought in Switzerland and neighbouring countries through the site. You can also contact Vero at profumo@veroprofumo.com.
Plans to bring the line to the US are scheduled for mid 2008.
Prices for Rubj extrait de parfum are 105 euros for 7.5ml and 165 euros for 15ml.


Pic of actress Indira Varma from imdb.
Art piece Au point du jour by David Graux courtesy of allposters.com

Morning Blossom and Samurai from Profumo.it: fragrance reviews

Abdes Salaam is the Sufi name of Dominique Dubrana, a Frenchman living and working in Italy and creating all-natural perfumes that shatter every preconception you might have of what those entail. Even Luca Turin had to munch his hat his words upon the issue when he commissioned a bespoke fragrance simply tagged "Luca" (choosing rose, chamomile, carrot seed, sandalwood, tonka, benzoin and castoreum in a cunning, secret experiment to resurrect Elle, Elle by Lucien Lelong; which we surmiss was proven successful). Not to mention his being enthusiastic about others in the line in his Guide and in general ("His compositions just happen to be really good").

Two of Salaam's latest fragrances I sampled are like a breath of fresh, moist air amidst the cold, sleet and snow of winter: Morning Blossom and Samurai.

Morning Blossom is built around the noble essence rendered through steam distillation of the flowers of the Citrus aurantium tree (Seville orange or bitter orange tree) which is blossoming under the Mediterranean sun in spring: Neroli. This is the heavenly aroma that greets farmers as they begin another spring cycle and the one which puts me in a joyful, optimistic mood in the final long days of March when I gather the small white flowers to put in little glasses to aromatize the house with an uplifting dose of the coming spring. Discovered in the late 17th century and named after the princess of Nerola, in Italy, the relaxing pale yellow essence 'whose perfume, sedative and relaxing, keeps off from us all material concerns' [1] is weaving its own magic with every intake of breath.
The Morning Blossom fragrance by Profumo.it was initially developped for another line, but the deal wasn't sealed and the scent remained in the vaults of Dubrana who decided to go ahead and launch it himself. The inclusion of 25% neroli in it renders it exceptionally true to the essence with its tangier, slightly more bittersweet and thus "fresher" ambience as compared to the fruitier, smoother and overall sweeter note of orange blossom absolute. Morning Blossom develops in a sheer, gauzy way with a brightness that highlights a child-like joy at the world, yet without frivolity; instead with the slightly nostalgic wisdom of an older person in retrospect. There seems to be a garland of other floral notes of a white and non-white nature (some rose?) shooting through the greeness, a hint of the slight bitterness of petit-grain. The whole is resting atop a lightly woody base (with what I perceive as creamy sandalwood inclusion) kissed off with a discreet warmth that progresses into sweetness the more the fragrance develops on the skin.

Kare eda ni
Karasu no tomarikeri
Aki no kure.

(On a bare branch
A rook roosts:
Autumn dusk.)

~haiku by Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)

The above haiku perfectly captures the mood which Samurai produces in me.
The composition is a more "civilized" version of Salaam's Oak Moss of the "Scents of the Soul" line, a collection of fragrances he has been composing in the last 20 years, presented in chronological order. Contrary to what you might imagine it of being a Japonesque Heike Monogatari fit for a modern noble warrior, Samurai was originally conceived for the "senatori" of the Italian Parliament in Rome. I guess that could stand for "noble warriors" in the service of the noblest body of all, the people, if only politicians were noble in the ancient Greek άριστος sense of the word or they really fought for ideals and making the world a better place; but I am probably digressing. Salaam kept the formula for his private business and it is now available to anyone who has a hankering for an excellent, refined and unisex cologne that features a healthy smathering of earthy vetiver and mossy notes with a whiff of sturdy woodiness. The classical composition reminds me of the elegance of Guerlain's Vétiver with its restrained sobriety but with a thicker base. The treatment of vetiver in its modern rendition of vetiver acetate is helping fragrances smell truly "modern". One would be hard-pressed to distinguish between a high-quality niche composition and this all-natural perfume if blindfolded, exactly because there is a very contemporary sensibility about it, opening vistas of a true mergence between the two divisions within the art which I personally applaud.
Men would be a natural contender for the charms of Samurai but women who do not feel the barrier of perceived expectancies of what they should wear are welcome to its beguiling and lasting allure. Samurai is versatile much like this eulogy: "Tadanori was a great general, pre-eminent in the arts of both sword and poetry."

Very generous "samples" can be ordered in mini flacons on the Profumo.it site. The mignon bottles of 5.5ml are practical as well as cute, as they allow several wearings for anyone to fully appreciate the composition before proceeding into investing in a bigger bottle, usually available in either 16ml (about half oz), 30ml/1oz or 50ml/1.7oz. There are also ready-made packages of 8 mignons, each allowing for a diversified experience, but you can pick your own selection of 6 in a wooden box.

I will leave you with a quote of Salaam himself that I find genuinely dreamy: "A natural perfumer leaves behind himself a “sillage” like a river, he is in love with perfumes. They are a joy to his heart and sanity to his mind." [2]

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Scents of the soul, Orange Blossom Series, Vetiver Series.

[1]P.Davis, Subtle Aromatherapy
[2]quote via Sniffapalooza magazine)

Pic of bitter orange blossom via Profumo.it. Painting of Minamoto Yoritomo from the 19th century, courtesy of geocities.com/azuchiwind

Herbal & Tangy, Aromatic & Green: Unusual Scents from the Bountiful Garden

Have you ever wanted to bottle the sweet smell of an herb garden or the tangy scent of a tomato? Such a mental image is enough to send your mind spinning into fantasies of having your own little patch of greenery or the memory of cutting the stems of fresh, organic vegetables grown in your childhood's garden. I suppose these are daydreams we all have but have yet to find the perfect scented memento to make them come alive again. Well, now you can, apparently.



 Great American Scents, a New Albany, Ohio based company that creates unique fragrances and candles, recently launched a new line of scented candles and perfumes called Bountiful Garden. These artisanal scents were created for a woman (or a man!) who loves the natural smell of the earth’s bounty; they signal freshness and impart the free-feeling spirit of the outdoors.

The 2013 Spring and Summer Collection features these enticing fragrances:

Tomato Leaf
Nothing signals a garden in full bloom more than sweet and luscious red tomatoes on the vine. And to their succulent charm Great American Scents added the oh-so slightly tart scents of verbena and rhubarb. Plus the beguiling earthiness of oak and moss. This is summer heaven. Top Notes: verbena, rhubarb, tomato stem; Mid-Notes: Olive flower, crushed green leaves; Dry Notes: oak moss, guaiac wood

Flowering Herbs
Nothing complements a garden and kitchen like a delightfully fragrant herb garden. Bright grapefruit and crisp apple scents, followed by fresh hyacinth and luscious peonies with pretty patchouli notes underneath will greet anyone who walks through a room. Top Notes: Grapefruit, green herbs, apple; Mid-Notes: Hyacinth, lotus flower, peony; Dry Notes: sycamore, patchouli, blonde woods

Sweet Magnolia
Conjure up the romantic South more with the honeyed goodness of magnolia blossoms. With a touch of lemon and hyacinth for brightness, and that most charming of scents – gardenia. Beneath it all Great American Scents has stirred in the timeless intrigue of iris and sandalwood. Top Notes: Lemon, gardenia leaves, hyacinth; Mid-Notes: gardenia blossom, lotus flower, magnolia; Dry Notes: skin musk, sandalwood, iris.

Beet Root
Delight in the earthy and spicy scents of bergamot, cedarwood and musk, wrapped with a hint of green leaves, orange blossoms and sea lily. Then sweet and fruity notes of fig, oleander and orange blossom join in this fragrant melody. Top Notes: Bergamot, green leaf, fig; Mid-Notes: sea lily, oleander, orange blossom; Dry Notes: cedarwood, warm wood, musk

Victory Garden
During World War II, Victory Gardens sprung up all across America with their crisp aromas of basil and sage. Walk a little further and a touch of citrus, violets and lavender appeared on the nose. And for good measure the warmth of cedar and mahogany added depth and dimension. Top Notes: Bergamot, petitgrain, basil; Mid-Notes: lavender, violet, crisp sage; Dry Notes: warm woods, cedarwood, mahogany

Orchard Blossom
When the orchard begins to blossom the delicious scents of fresh fruit can’t be far behind. Here Great American Scents starts with sweet apply, lush apricots and morning dew. Then delicate tiare flower joins in. And the warmth of orris and musk add a comforting finish. Top Notes: Apricot, apple, dew fruits; Mid-Notes: Apple blossom, tiare flower, stardust peony; Dry Notes: blonde woods, orris, musk.

Sunshine Grove
Come to the Grove and pick the sparkling fresh scents of citrus fruit with Great American Scents. And take joy in the uplifting fragrances of lemongrass blossom, sage and iris. Plus Great American Scents has added a whiff of intoxicating vanilla and musk. Top Notes: Orange, sage, clementine; Mid-Notes: lemongrass blossom, neroli, lily; Dry Notes: vanilla, iris, musk


For more information about Bountiful Garden, visit http://www.greatamericanscents.com, http://www.facebook.com/GreatAmericanScents or http://www.twitter.com/AmericanScents.

Hermes Jour d'Hermes: fragrance review & insights into fragrance creation

Things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each other.
~Euclid

photo by AlberCAN (copyright 2012) for use on PerfumeShrine

By guest writer AlbertCAN

Simple elegance is often the hardest to grasp. The emphasis here, of course, lies in its sophistication: the fusion of ideas being so purposely concised and delicately tailored that the communication becomes deceptively simple. Ideas just float on their own merits, process gone and vanished. For years now, for instance, many have quipped that the great Anna Pavlova probably danced her famous “The Dying Swan” program as party entertainment, but judging by the technical brilliance, intricate grace and athletic poise displayed by prima ballerina Ulyana Lopatkina below I wouldn’t classify it as a simple dance: to even stand on pointe for nearly four minutes while delivering all the nuanced emotions? Not ever for the faint hearted.

I was pondering all these intricacies almost three weeks ago when I was introduced to Jour d'Hermès (2012), the latest feminine fragrance by master perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena, and when I was informed of the project scope I was very surprised by its seemingly effortless premise: a modern soft floral, radiance from dawn to dusk. No emphasis on particular notes. No PR blitz upon the initial launch. Boutique only until Spring 2013. All against the grain.

The name is also deceptively simple, another subtle risk. Jour d'Hermès (pronounced roughly as ‘joor dair-mess’), though perfectly fitting with the brand’s chosen theme for 2012—Gift Of Time, or Le temps devant soi—isn’t the most accessible name for non-francophones and does require a reasonable grasp of the language. The name does, on the other hand, complement the core theme* of Hermès perfectly: the land and the sky. Case in point? The two best-selling scarves: “Brides de Gala” (on the left) on saddlery and “Astrologie” (below right) on the zodiac constellations—of the land and the sky. Olfaction wise, since we already have the masculine Terre d'Hermès (2006) representing the earth, and since Ciel d'Hermès would have been too obvious, here we have Jour d'Hermès representing the other half of the universe—though I should point out that the above-mentioned names are slightly subversive, with la terre being a feminine word in place of a masculine fragrance and le jour being a masculine word in French. One might think little of the seemingly archaic French noun gender categorization, but I should point out that the name “Calèche” was originally chosen in part because it is a feminine word in French—la calèche. Still, I’m ahead of myself: more on that front later.

The fragrance is yet another intricacy in disguise: Jour d'Hermès opens with quite a tart grapefruit element (quelle surprise) followed immediately by a soft verdancy—all against a floral murmur. Long-time readers of Ellena’s olfactive works would also notice a fruity syntax to the mix, though purposely kept non-specific with a soft sensual mango bias as the fragrance wears on. (The master perfumer has mentioned his partiality to the scent of mango in his book “Journal d'un parfumeur”.) Then in comes the radiance and the scent deftly draws out a delicate array of flowers: sweet pea and gardenia most prominently, although I have also observed a quote of the translucence lifted from Vanille Galante (2009), the lilting orange blossom in Iris Ukiyoe (2010). Further, if one can excuse my impertinence: with the help of the IFRA-sanctioned ingredient label—and my humble training in perfumery—I can also deduce the following floral elements: lily of the valley, modern hybrid rose, tuberose, ylang ylang, jasmine—although these elements are utilized in such a quasi-deconstructed manner that Ellena the magician here only shows an whiff of the ideas. It’s a dawn-kissed, dewy garland—not a Floriade by any stretch of the imagination. The overall structure of the fragrance is kept clean and tailored; the diffusion pattern is built with a purpose; sillage modern, sensual and very long-lasting.

The contradiction of this maximizing minimalism is worth pondering here. This is a luminous floral built under and only under the aegis of our time: three decades ago this idea of floral barraging would have been a Maupassant Realism, as testified in “First” (1976) by Van Cleef & Apels, another Ellena creation; a mere decade ago J’Adore (1999) by Christian Dior with its coquettish charm fronted by the saccharine champaca and violet. Jour d'Hermès is unapologetically floral at heart but decidedly anti-FlowerBomb.

Which begs the question: how does Jean-Claude Ellena manage such sustained flurry of floralcy in flight without all the burdensome cliché of heft often associated with the genre? Without the help of gas chromatography (out of the respect of the master perfumer, really) I would offer a possible hypothesis after a careful examination of his interviews and writings.

I have already mentioned the use of sweet pea, which Ellena has devoted a spirited entry in his “Journal d'un parfumeur” (2011). My English translation of the passage in question offers a glimpse to his art.

                                                                                                       Cabris, Wednesday April 14, 2010
Sweet peas, when in bouquet, remind me of ruffled flamenco dresses. The flower has graceful petals and has the appearance of organdie. They do not have a determined smell, but a scent that hesitates between rose, orange blossom and Sweet William, with its touch of vanilla. I threw in seven components that seem necessary to sketch the smell. One, two, three attempts to balance the proportions, to which I added a carnation note to the fourth test to correct myself again. The fifth test seems appropriate. I have a sketch of smell with which I can start a perfume.

SWEET PEA (FIFTH DRAFT)
phenylethyl alcohol               200
Paradisone ®                      180
hydroxycitronellal                 50
Rhodinal                           30
acetyl isoeugenol                  15
orange blossom (abs colorless)     15
cis-3 hexenol                       5
phenylacetic aldehyde 50%           5
______________________________________
                                   500

Diluted at 5% in perfumery alcohol at 85°.

While it’s not certain whether Ellena adopted the exact sweet pea accord above for his latest feminine fragrance the olfactory essay is of interest. The accord is emblematic due to its hologramatic nature: the nuance of the gentle flora is evident, yet within there’s also a radiant magnolia (Paradisone), a splash of lily of the valley (hydroxycitronellal), a boutonnière of carnation (acetyl isoeugenol), a blade of fresh luminous verdancy (cis-3 hexenol) and a whiff of tartness (Rhodinal) for good measure—not to mention the orange blossom absolute and the frilly rosy touch from phenylethyl alcohol. As an avid gardener who has harvested his share of sweet peas I must say Ellena is shockingly spot-on with so few ingredients.

Within the same book Ellena’s thoughts on gardenia is even more sparse. Again my English translation:

Gardénia

aldehyde C-18 prunolide
styrallyl acetate
methyl anthranilate

For the scent of gardenia I prefer that of Chanel because it does not smell like the flower but happiness. The odour of gardenia is a drama between jasmine and tuberose.

Compared to the natural scent the gardenia accord above does not have the notorious mushroom lilt simply because of the absence of the tiglates. (The stryrallyl acetate, itself smelling like tart rhubarb, may have also given Jour d'Hermès the verdant tinge.) Yet what does the master perfumer meant when referring to “a drama between jasmine and tuberose”? Let’s break down the individual accords from the master perfumer:

Jasmine
benzyl acetate
Hedione
clove bud oil
indole
methyl anthranilate

Tuberose
aldehyde C-18 prunolide
methyl anthranilate
phenylethyl alcohol
benzyl salicylate

Thus elements from both are appearing in the gardenia accord, although our Elena Vosnaki has also made the following observation: "Methyl anthranilate (orange flower and ylang-ylang in low concentration, grape in high concentration) also produces very popular Schiff's Bases for a variety of floral effects, when added to aldehydes. No surprise in its being featured so much!"

Based on the info above I can deduce that Jour d'Hermès doesn't have the notes listed in part because the ‘notes’ are all connected together: sweet pea into magnolia, magnolia helping the orange blossom, orange blossom into tuberose, tuberose into gardenia. And certainly the Paradisone is known to create a radiant effect, as per both perfumer Arcadi Boix Camps and master perfumer Alberto Morillas. Under this manner Ellena, though clasping onto his aesthetics firmly, is to me also taking a page out of the notebook from old master perfumers of the 20th century such as Francis Fabron, despite obviously going after vastly different olfactory effects: very short but self-contained formulas with each 'note' sharing a set of chemicals so the elements are tightly woven as possible.

After all, what’s the point of naming all the notes in Jour d'Hermès when all the ingredients are synced to perform as one, in calibrated harmony?

I have mentioned that Jour d'Hermès is quite long-lasting, and much to my intrigue it works very well as a unisex fragrance. The use of the pricey muscone, itself a creamy modern musk, does help coaxing flowers to a more prolonged bloom...

(Hidden in the drydown I do very much suspect the use of honey absolute in conjunction with the musk, since the diffusion is such positively radiant. Oakmoss extract is also used, not at the forefront of the story by any stretch of the imagination but enough for me to see maybe classified by others as a modern chypre floral.)

...To test my hypothesis I ended up wearing Jour d'Hermès for two days straight, and on my skin it’s becomes a soft unisex fragrance. And given that Terre d'Hermès can work on the right woman perhaps the gender confusion among the two French nouns (le jour, la terre) isn’t so random after all: Ellena does believe the freedom in fragrance categorization among genders—perhaps the names are a reflection of that belief as well, that fragrance shouldn’t be gender assigned but completely up to the taste of the individual. And given the marketing scope of the latest offering I have good reasons to believe that the ray of light is being granted in the name of personal freedom, freedom in the name of simple elegance.

Hermès Jour d’Hermès is available in 50 and 85 ml Eau de Parfum, and in a 125 ml refill. It’s available now exclusively in Hermès boutiques and will go into wider distribution early next year.

*Editor (Elena's) Note: Jour d’Hermès was presented to the world in late November 2012 in Delphi, Greece (as seen here), the default spot of LIGHT worship. The god of the oracle, Apollo, has  no doubt shed a ray of sunshine on the perfumer and his works. It remains to be seen whether -to borrow a Nietzsche reference- the next fragrance, tackling the Dionysian this time, will be Nuit d’Hermès and presented in Arcadia. I'm throwing this to the mix as an idea to the Hellenophile people at  Hermès!

Photo, from top: Jour d'Hermès and “Journal d'un parfumeur”, photo taken/copyright by AlbertCAN; Uliana Lopatkina in “The Dying Swan”, photo via Tumblr; “Brides de Gala” scarf by Hermès; “Astrologie” scarf by Hermès; cover of “Journal d'un parfumeur” by Jean-Claude Ellena; Jour d'Hermès illustration via Hermes.com