Structure of a Perfume: What it is, How to Achieve it and the Myth of the Fragrance Pyramid

Consider flipping through a fashion magazine for a minute: Sandwiched between glossy pages of advertising with models in ecstatic surrender to the sheer beauty of any given potion of seduction, you will find editorial guides that teach you that fragrances are classified in olfactory "families" and that they develop like music "chords" into top notes, heart notes and base notes, built into a "fragrance pyramid": maximum volatility* ingredients first; medium-diffusion materials following them after the intial impression vanishes; tenacious, clinging for dear life materials last. That should make it easier, right? Well, not exactly.

 The thing is most contemporary fragrances are not built as neatly and the bulk of fragrance descriptors are written with a marketing consideration to begin with. It's not a plot to mislead, but the industry is still shrouded in mystery, offering a rough blueprint rather than an analytical Google map into the largely uncharted terrain of fragrance composition. After all, look what happens with "perfume notes"; we're given the effect in the press material but the real ingredient hiding behind the fragrance note is something else entirely.

So how does one go about it?

 The Fragrance Pyramid and Other Myths of Mysterious Structure 

 Recalling Pharaonic mysteries more than hard science the term "fragrance pyramid" entered the vernacular as a means to educate the public into how perfumes are actually constructed. It was legendary perfumer Jean Carles (Shiaparelli Shocking, Dana's Tabu and Canoe, Miss Dior) who used this stratagem to explain a perfume to an industry outsider. The "fragrance pyramid" concept embodies the classic three-tiered French structure of such great perfumes of yore as Ma Griffe by Carven (another Jean Carles creation) or Bal a Versailles (Desprez), where the denouement reveals distinct phases resembling a 3-D presentation. You get all different angles while the perfume dries down on the skin; a slow, engaging process to an often unexpected end.

 Consider too one of the tightest traditional perfume structures, the "chypre" (the name derives from the homonymous archetype perfume by Francois Coty, in turn inspired by the ancient blends from the island of Cyprus, i.e. Chypre in French): a harmonious blend (i.e. an accord) of bergamot (a citrus fruit from the Mediterranean basin), labdanum (a resinous extraction from rockrose) and oakmoss (a lichen from oaks). This compact form, like a musical sonata, has a clear progression of themes, from elegantly sour to resinous/sweet, down to mossy/earthy, but all work together in simultaneous harmony, becoming more than the sum of their parts. On top of this basic skeleton perfumers may add flowers, fruits, grasses or leather notes, giving a twist to this or that direction like a shift to a kaleidoscope; this allows them to flesh out the core's striking bone structure, just like makeup accents luscious lips and expressive eyes over solid jaws and prominent cheekbones.

Not every fragrance is built on the pyramid structure (or the "chypre accord" for that matter), nor is it a foolproof guide of deciphering a perfume's message. Guerlain's Après L'Ondée (1906) plays with the contrast of warm & cool between just two main ingredients: violet and heliotrope; the rest are accessories.

 Comparing Guerlain Shalimar (1925), Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps (1948) and Lancôme Trésor (1990) we come across three different styles of composing, of structuring a fragrance: The first is reminiscent of older-style fixation of natural ingredients (lots of bergamot) via the triplet of animal products (civet, an animal secretion), balsamic materials (benzoin, Peru balsam) and sweet elements (vanilla, tonka bean). The second is pyramidal. The third is almost linear, the same tune from start to finish, a powerful message on speakers.

 In linear fragrances the effect is comparable to the unison of a Gregorian chant: the typically fresh top seems entirely missing, replaced by trace amounts of intensely powerful materials boosting the character. Lauder's White Linen or Giorgio by Giorgio Beverly Hills are characteristic examples. Sophia Grojsman was in fact the one who introduced this minimalist style with maximalist effect, composing an accord of 4-5 ingredients that comprise almost 80% of the formula (as in Trésor, based on a formula originally made for herself). This accord was then flanked by other materials to provide richness and complexity. Times have changed, fragrance launches have multiplied like Gremlins pushed into the ocean and consumers' attention span has withered to a nanosecond on which to make a buying decision. No wonder contemporary perfumes are specifically constructed to deliver via a short cell-phone texting rather than a Dickens novel published in instalments in a 19th century periodical. Other considerations, such as robot lab compounding, industry restrictions on classical ingredients due to skin sensitising concerns and the minimalist school of thought emerging at the expense of Baroque approaches, leave recent launches with increasingly shorter formulae. But that's not de iuoro bad either. One of the masterpieces of perfumery, Guerlain's Mitsouko, consists of a short formula! A succinct, laconic message.

 Some fragrances are built like a contrapuntal Bach piece and others like Shostakovich: Comparing a fragrance by Jean Carles or Edmond Roudnitska with one from Sophia Grojsman or Jean Claude Ellena are two different experiences. That does not mean that contemporary perfumes are devoid of architectural merit. On the contrary. Refined compositions like Osmanthe Yunnan or Ambre Narguilé (both boutique-exclusive Hermès, called Hermessences) showcase the potential of this school. Structure is not only given by arranging the volatility of ingredients. It's how each material plays its delineated role into achieving the overall fragrance. Structure is consolidated by using the requisite materials and ratios to provide what is commonly referred to as "the bones" of a fragrance. Most often these materials happen to be synthetic, because they consist of a single molecule (in contrast a natural, such as rose absolute, can contain hundreds of molecules), they're stable and produce a closely monitored effect in tandem with other dependables.

For instance Grojsman's Trésor uses a staggering 21,4% of Galaxolide, a synthetic "clean"/warm smelling note. Jean Claude Ellena is famous for maxing out the technical advantages of woody-musky ingredient Iso-E Super in his fragrances for structure and diffusion.

In the end structural analysis is for the professionals. The wearer can experience the fragrance linearly, circuitously or languidly; it ultimately depends on his/her sensitivity, perception, attention-span and education.

ref: Robert R. Calkin, Joseph Stephan Jellinek, Perfumery: Practices & Principles, 1994 John Wiley & Sons
pic od ad coloribus.com

Magicians and Pharaohs: Djedi by Guerlain (fragrance review)

Lore has shaped the imagination of many in reference to the secrets of the Great Pyramid of Egypt: hidden passages, curses cast upon intruders, mystical symbols and astronomical calculations far ahead of their times. More Sphinx-like than the actual Sphinx, the Great Pyramid still holds some of its secrets to this day.

Djedi by Guerlain ,"the driest perfume of all time" according to Roja Dove and the "tremendous animalic vetiver" for Luca Turin, is an analogous example in perfumery. And it takes its name after an ancient Egyptian magician related to the Great Pyramid. It is as magical, as soulful and as strange a perfume as entering an ancient burial place hidden behind rocks in a far away desert.
But you might need magical powers to have a bottle procured; or very deep pockets…Or better yet a dear friend like mrs.Kern who is so amazingly generous and kind that she sent me a little of her own.

Herodotus, the Greek historian, had visited Giza in about 450 BC, where he was told by Egyptian priests that the Great Pyramid had been built for the pharaoh Khufu (Cheops to the Greeks) second god-king of the Fourth Dynasty (c.2575–c. 2465 BC). It weighed 6 million tons, the weight of all Europe's cathedrals put together and it was the tallest building in the world up till the start of the 14th century AD.
Khufu and the Magician is a tale of Egyptian magic which appears in the Westcar Papyrus (Second Intermediate Period - around 1500 BC), housed in the Berlin Museum.
Pharaoh Khufu's sons are amusing their father by telling tales of magic:

“Djedi is a man of one hundred and ten years~the tale went. Every day he eats five hundred loaves of bread, a haunch of ox is his meat, and he drinks one hundred jugs of beer as well. He knows how to reattach a severed head and how to make a lion follow him with its leash on the ground. And he knows the number of secret chambers in Thoth's temple."

Khufu orders his son to bring the magician and then a prisoner brought, to lop off his head and see Djedi's magic in action. But the magician protests that he could not sacrifice humans for his magic. So a goose is brought on which Djedi could perform his magic on. The morale of the story is transparent: some things are just too sacred to be trifled with.

Khufu had wished Djedi to fashion his mausoleum under his guidance, but to no avail. In the words of Zahi Hawass, upon excavating the pyramid, courtesy of guardian.net:

“I never thought we would find anything behind the door discovered 64 metres inside the south shaft of the Great Pyramid in 1993 by Rudolf Gantenbrink . […]But when we used the ultrasonic equipment and learnt that the thickness of the door was only 6cm, I said that this was a surprise and there must be something there. […] We sent the robot into the second shaft, and as it traveled through we could see […] it stopped in front of another door with two copper handles: Some believe these doors have a symbolic meaning because it is written on the Pyramid Text that the Pharaoh must travel through a series of doors to reach the Netherworld. […] I would like to suggest that these doors hide Khufu's real burial chamber. […]
About 900 years after the reign of Khufu we have a story called "Khufu and the Magician". Djedi knew everything about the secret chambers of Thoth, but he did not reveal the secret. I therefore believe that the burial chambers were hidden behind these doors”.

The perfume itself is a strange and perfume-y mineral affair of dry leather and ambery, animalic decomposition that almost defies description. Its opening is jolting, disturbing, the weirdest thing; yet it beckons you to continue smelling till the end of the prolonged journey into the night. There is deep grief manifesting itself through bitter herbs, artemisia-like, and copious amounts of earthy vetiver with cold air which reminds one of the strange feelings upon first trying Messe de Minuit by Etro. Those elements fan out into feminine, yet dusty, almost musty rose and a powdery base. This is no opulent rose for a bourgeois eager to show off her wealth or powdery sweetness for an aristocrat who wants to keep her man in difficult times. This is a regal lament for the loss of a favourite son, perhaps lost forever in the cold waters of the battle of Salamis or the trenches of the World War I, no matter; this grief transcends cultures.
Pungent leather with its slightly sour edge and powdery musk act like whalebone does to underpinnings, supporting, exuding an image of bravery and humaness at the same time.
This is unmistakenly Guerlain, unmistakebly animalic with a rather fecal warmth at the end, exuding the grandeur of another, elegant era. Reminding me of my grandmother who had her clothes tailored in Paris and her jewels made in Smyrna and who always smelled ravishingly opulent.

Although its strange, intense greeness and dryness have a passing relation to the classic Bandit eau de parfum, the closest to it that I have smelled is Vero Profumo’s Onda; although the latter is a tad warmer and sexier with its catty whiff and coriander/mace spiciness. However, while Onda has a certain modernity that puts it firmly into the realm of a contemporary piece of art, Djedi is stylistically a product of its time and recalls an era that is past us.

Djedi was created in 1926 by Jacques Guerlain and re-issued in 1996 for only 1000 bottles. Today the vintage is extremely rare and goes for astronomical prices rivaling the mathematical achievements etched on the pyramid walls itself. The re-issue, using the formula of yore, is also quite rare and costly.

But it lets one glimpse one into the abyss and back. If one dares…

Notes: rose, vetiver, musk, oakmoss, leather, civet and patchouli



Pic of Great pyramid by inderstadt/flickr. Painting "And there was a great cry in Egypt" by Arthur Hacker courtesy of art.com. Bottle of Djedi courtesy of Guerlain

The Perfume Diaries ~ A Private View

~by guest writer Fiordiligi

On Tuesday afternoon, September 14, 2010, a small group of people had the tremendous privilege of attending a Private View of the Harrods exhibition The Perfume Diaries hosted by the curator, Roja Dove. (If you missed the previous reportage of the Guerlain evening, please read this article). The exhibition, the brainchild of perfumery buyer Emma Hockley, is the biggest that Harrods has ever staged and Roja’s reputation in the industry is such that legendary perfume houses, as well as private collectors including Roja himself, have lent priceless items, many of which have never been seen in public before.

Structured by reference to socio-economic influences over the past century, the exhibition opens with an explanation of the standard construction of perfumes (the pyramid) and the recognized fragrance families and moves on to mouth-watering displays of rare and beautiful items decade by decade. The initial display covers the century from 1800 to 1900 and Roja, a born raconteur, had his audience spellbound explaining the birth of perfumery in England and, later, in France. Many amazing examples were on display, including the original bottles of perfume made for Queen Victoria, Prince Albert and Napoleon. Roja explained that in the early days there was no such thing as advertising and bottles were generally of a very simple apothecary style, but with large labels indicating the content. The hope was that passers-by would be enticed by the labels and drawn in to the shop to make a purchase.

We are all familiar with the idea of eau de toilette but the origin of the term was explained by Roja. In the very early days, toile (cloth) was scented with oils, dried, scented again, dried again, and so on, until it became thoroughly impregnated with perfume. It was a very costly luxury. The toile was then used, dry, to rub down the body after sleep and provide freshness and scent when bathing was not terribly common! After this start, it evolved into the liquid product called eau de toilette which we all use today. Roja pointed out an incredibly rare sealed bottle which was the original eau de toilette (“water from the little cloth.”)

In the beginning of the 20th century, great houses such as Guerlain, Houbigant and Piver moved from the simple soliflore scents they had been producing and started to give their perfumes fanciful names (how about Voila Pourquoi j’Aimais Rosine?) as they started to use some of the modern synthetics to make their fragrances more complex. Roja joked that celebrity scents are nothing new, as Guerlain named one of their perfumes Jasmiralda (and yes, there is a full bottle in the exhibition) after Esmeralda, the heroine of Victor Hugo’s popular novel Notre Dame de Paris.

The genius known as the father of modern perfumery, the Corsican Francois Coty, revolutionised the perfume world in the early part of the 20th century, not only with his wonderfully innovative creations but also with the presentation of his scents. He had his friend Baccarat make bottles and another friend, a jeweller by the name of Rene Lalique, make labels and boxes for his perfumes (previously unheard of). The rest, as they say, is history.

The 1920s saw the launch of many masterpieces, and the creation of Chanel No 5 in 1921 with the use of aldehydes was a milestone. Roja showed us an exhibit which belongs to him – a red leather box containing Chanel No 2 (never produced commercially), Chanel No 5, Chanel No 11 (again, not a commercial production) and Chanel No 22. His box is the only one known in the world!

As the exhibition moved through the decades, the stories came thick and fast. We saw the fabulous silver ship presentation of Patou’s Normandie which was presented to every lady in First Class on the inaugural voyage of the luxurious transatlantic liner of the same name. The example of the bottle on display is numbered one, belongs to Roja and was recovered from a skip where it had been jettisoned after Patou was sold.

In the 1940s the wind of change was sweeping through the world after World War II and it brought with it fragrances such as Vent Vert and Miss Dior. One of the few non-perfume exhibits is the original dress from Dior’s New Look collection of 1947, named Miss Dior. Roja also pointed out a bottle in the shape of a dog, called Tian, which contains Miss Dior. This incredibly rare item is named after Monsieur Dior’s dog, called Tian as a diminutive of Christian, his owner’s name.

As we moved into the 1960s Roja talked about the social changes which would have such a huge influence on everyone – the Beatles, the Pill, the mini-skirt and the new freedom of the decade. Dior launched Eau Sauvage which capitalised on the new synthetic hedione (a jasmine derivative). Such was the influence of this scent that just about every perfume made since that time has incorporated this element. Roja showed us an unbelievably rare bottle in the familiar Eau Sauvage ribbed style but with the label Favorit, for that was to be the name until a Dior employee named Monsieur Sauvage, always late for meetings, walked in one day, late as usual, and a colleague said “oh, Sauvage!” The perfume had its new name.

The display for the 1980s had everyone laughing and amongst the tales of excess was the one recounted by Roja which was that when Giorgio was released there was a line outside Harvey Nichols in London stretching right down the street every single day as people rushed to buy this blockbuster! It is also interesting that the first true celebrity fragrance appeared in the 80s, and it was Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds.

The 1990s, with the rejection of excess and embracing of minimalism, together with the fear of HIV/Aids, brought us the anti-scents of Calvin Klein’s Escape and Issey Miyake’s l’Eau d’Issey, using the synthetic Calone, previously used to fragrance detergents. It also brought us the return to childhood which is the sweet and sticky candy-floss of ethyl maltol found in the astonishingly successful Angel.

None of those present wanted the guided tour to end, but after almost two hours we landed in the present day with its “sets” of fragrance, such as Cartier les Heures, Chanel’s Les Exclusifs and Van Cleef and Arpels range. Roja pointed out that this craze for a group of perfumes was started with Guerlain’s Aqua Allegorias and Jean-Charles Brosseau’s Fleurs d’Homme, so there really is nothing new under the sun.

Among the highlights of the afternoon were the incredibly rare early bottles and all the amazing Guerlains, many in mint condition and in very large sizes, all described so vividly by Roja. Next time you feel guilty about buying perfume, remember that until relatively recently, perfume extrait was sold in 30 ml, 60 ml, 120 ml and 250 ml bottles. The little 7.5 ml size was for a lady to keep in her handbag, before the advent of the travel-sized atomizer. And Hermes made (unsigned) coloured leather or crocodile cases for Guerlain, containing bulb atomizers to fill with your favourite scent. Imagine!

A few of the other special items on display and their stories:

• The Baccarat Papillon (bow-tie) bottles were made of blue glass and covered in gold (they originally contained Guerlain’s Coque d’Or) but some were not covered in gold. Why? Well, the factory doing the gilding burnt down!

• Receipts and bills for Marie Antoinette, who had the Sevres factory make porcelain flowers for her garden at Versailles, which were scented every day with her favourite perfume.

• A large leather ledger from Floris shows orders for the King and Queen. The late Queen Mother paid her Floris bill by Postal Order!

• A “plan” of the Chanel No 5 bottle (i.e. the view looking down from above on the stopper and bottle) reveals itself as a diagram of the layout of the Place Vendome in Paris.

There is so much to see in this museum-class and absolutely enthralling exhibition and anyone who can manage to get to London should make a point of visiting as soon as possible.

pics via cultbeauty.co.uk, vintageposterart.com, britishbeautyexperts.com, quirkyfinds.com

Perfume Term: Linear Scents ~Deceptive Simplicity

One of the most common criticisms of a boring, unexciting fragrance among people who actually enjoy perfumes in general is that it is "linear", a scent that starts smelling one way and continues smelling that way till you can't smell it any longer. This description approximates to many people's minds a transliteration of the visual "dead line" on a hospital heart monitor; no highs or lows, just a uniform trajectory to nothingness... But is it always such a bad thing?
Occasionally you love a specific phase of your perfume (increasingly this is the top layer upon spraying, since contemporary fragrances try to capture the short-term, antagonism-driven attention span of the mall buying consumer). Don't you sometimes wish it would last throughout the entire duration of the scent's lifetime on your skin? Why are linear scents so scorned?

Perhaps because historically the first ~and most successful commercially speaking~ linear scents were of American origin (composed by European noses, such as Sophia Grojsman, Josephine Catapano or Ernest Shiftan, in US-labs for US companies catering to an international market). This is a kind of reverse snobbism on the part of perfume aficionados who favor French-ness over apple-pie & Coke homely runs. I hypothesize this is to blame for the en masse disregard of linear scents as a sign of crudeness, non sophistication, of "easy cuts". Classic French perfumes (for instance Bal a Versailles by Jean Desprez) usually follow the classic pyramidal structure of a fragrance which starts one way, progresses another to end on a quite different route than anticipated.

But having a dependable scent effect from start to finish is not to be dismissed so lightly; sometimes one needs to rely on a constant, as "what you smell is what you get"; the equivalent of the jeans & T-shirt girl with no makeup on, who men know will look exactly the same the morning after as when you bedded her. This applies just as much as other times we're seduced by the evolutionary arc of a complex perfume (the scents I call "morphers"), one which changes moods and messages as the hours go by; the romantic equivalent of a mr.Grey, if you will.
Constant olfactory emission of a specific impression is also an important -and technically necessary- aspect for other scented products besides fine fragrance; imagine if your air freshener, your depilatory or your hair dye had an undulating scent profile that would smell like one thing on minute #1 and another thing on minute #12. With these products stability of olfactory effect is crucial. This is where linear scents come in!

The basic principle
The nuts & bolts of linear scents creation generally relies on composing using similar volatility materials: i.e. either all high volatility ones (which results in a very fleeting effect, comparable to old, traditional cologne, that is not usual in modern perfumery) or all low volatility ones (resulting in a very dense, thick effect; this is often the case with resinous and balsamic formulae). The idea of volatility as a compass into composition comes from perfumer Jean Carles who in "A Method of Creation in Perfumery" put volatility of materials as the key quality on how to evaluate an aromatic material. Hence his introduction of the "fragrance pyramid" as a tool into educating the public into how perfume composition works in the classic manner, thus popularly diving the notes (a "note" is the characteristic odor of a single material) into "top notes", "heart notes" and "base notes".  As we have already showcased, the fragrance pyramid, much as it is touted as the be all and end all of perfume construction in pop culture filling beauty mags & generic online sites for the uninitiated, is not the only way of composing a fragrance.

The diverse character and origin of linear scents
Linear scents don't necessarily comprise solely eaux de Cologne or thick, primeval orientals, as mentioned above, depending on volatility of materials alone. For instance APOM Pour Homme by Maison Francis Kurkdjian has a tenacity and scope beyond a classic Eau de Cologne, but the effect is the same from start to finish: a clear orange blossom freshness put on speakers. White Linen  by Lauder is another; the projection of soapy, waxy aldehydes is piercingly sweet, retaining the character throughout the duration of the scent's life on skin or cloth, even though the fragrance consists of several elements that are interwoven masterly. Eternity by Calvin Klein is another one, as is Alien by Thierry Mugler or Montaigne by Caron.  Some fragrances created by true perfumery masters such as Jean Claude Ellena are technically linear: Poivre Samarkande, Ambre Narguilé, Vetiver Tonka and Rose Ikebana, all Hermessences exclusive boutique scents and haute in both concept & marketing project linearly. So does the stellar Terre d'Hermes. More esoteric fragrances, boutique-circuit or niche, also exploit this technique: The delicious Tonka Impériale by Guerlain is another linear perfume, as is Philosykos by Diptyque. Even older fragrances composed with none of the modern linear aesthetic end up smelling almost the same from start to finish: Bandit by Robert Piguet, thanks to the utilization of "bases" by its perfumer Germaine Cellier, ends up on a rather uniform trajectory from the stupendous beginning to the impressive end.
Perhaps an important differentiation would be not to confuse "linear" with "flat"; linear scents can project volumetrically instead of multi-dimensionally, but they possess the technical skill to retain interest by their abstract main accord that elevates them from mere "imitation" of a smell into an arresting sensory assault.

The technical twist
By focusing on the evaporation process rather than the odor character, it becomes possible to create a fragrance that can essentially maintain a uniform composition as it evaporates. Where it becomes really interesting is that the evaporative weight losses of these aroma materials are proportional to their vapor pressures (the vapor pressure calculated by Raoult's law which states that the vapor pressure of true solutions is dependent on the proportion of each component in the blend). Therefore it is easier to achieve linearity if the materials used have similar vapor pressure. Of course this means that some odor types are more suitable for this exercise, thus rendering linearity often a compromise on olfactory quality for technical performance. You see, sometimes the complaints of fragonerds are not entirely out of place!

But how can the vapor pressure of materials be manipulated into behaving as desired? Simple, though not as easy as one might think: by changing the solvents. Carrageenan and chlorophyllin gel bases were previously used in scented products where linearity was crucial (such as home fragrances), creating a sort of gelatinous non evaporating surface upon application decreasing the fragrance release with time, though the addition of nonionic surfactants was necessary for the aromatics to become soluble in the gelatinous base itself. This is also one of the reasons why all natural perfumes are so rarely constructed linearly: the restrictions in use of materials and solvents makes for a tougher process into linearity; the raw materials themselves are full of nuance and they are often crystalline or viscous presenting solubility issues.

A variation on the linear scent is the "prism"/prismatic fragrance, whereupon you smell a humongous consistent effect all right, but when you squint this or that way, throughout the long duration, you seem to pick up some random note coming to the fore or regressing, then repeating again and again; a sort of "lather, rinse, repeat" to infinity. A good example of this sort of meticulously engineered effect is Chanel's Allure Eau de Toilette (and not the thicker and less nuanced Eau de Parfum) where the evolution of fragrance notes defies any classical pyramidal structure scheme. There are six facets shimmering and overlapping with no one note predominating.

In short, the engineering of a perfume is sometimes much more technically and intelligently labored than appears at first sniff. Linear scents are never "simple", so to speak. Preferring a perfume that takes you into a wave of highs peaks & low valleys of differing "notes" is not in itself the mark of connoisseurship that it is touted to be. Let's give the best of the linear scents out there their due and let's respect their stubbornness of character for what it is, rather than merely lack of merit or of complexity.

Which are your own favorite linear scents? 


pics via yoshagraphics.com, basenotes.net (posted by hedonist222)

Season Specific Fragrance Wardrobe & "Rotate Your Scent so You Don't Stop Smelling it": Fiction or Fact?

Surely all of you have heard/read these lines time and again: "You must change your fragrances from season to season to get a better effect". And: "You want to avoid wearing the same fragrance all the time, because after awhile you literally won't be able to smell it - that's just the way the sense of smell works. If you have several fragrances, you can alternate between them and avoid "getting used to" the way they smell. Add fragrances to your collection periodically so you have a nice selection that you can choose from". Great! It's not enough to just find something that suits you; perfume selling stuff, fragrance companies and glossies have persuaded you that it's a most difficult task and you need expert advice ~their advice~ to get the ball rolling. "Feel fresh and relaxed with moisturising body soap and men's perfume",  magazines say."You need to rotate your scents".

Now you need to find several of those, to comply with changes in season, weather conditions, occasions, mood, hormone imbalances and match it to your nail polish shade and your earrings. I'm of course kidding. All this received advice, which has been reiterated for decades to the point we've all believed it, is pure and utter bullshit; a myth, if you will. And I will prove to you why.

The main argument in favour of changing your perfumes from day to day is so your nose doesn't become too accustomed to it and you risk not smelling it on yourself any more". True, it's a scientific proven fact that our nose becomes acclimatised to existing odours after a few minutes so that it's ready to pick up alerting odours. It's the hunter-gatherer's gene: big predator is approaching; that bog is poisoned, better not drink water off it; something is badly burning, could it be the thatched roof on my hut? That said, the artificial corrolation of that fact with perfume use bears little logic. Fragrance wearing is not an opaque layer of odour that stays the same throughout the day, thus inflicting odour perception blockage like it would be if you were sitting in a chemical factory working every day to the same effluvium. Apart from the natural evaporation that would naturally occur, fragrances are constructed in a purposeful way so that different elements come to the fore with warmth, friction or simply rate of evaporation of the molecules in question. Usually we refer to this as the classic "fragrance pyramid" of top notes, middle notes and base notes. Although not all fragrances are built that way (indeed most are not nowadays), there is still a structure even in linear scents that creates a less or more intense scent that you catch whiffs of throughout the day. Think about it: How many times have you surprised yourself by smelling your fragrance amidst a daily chore and thinking "this smells good"? Clearly, your nose blunts a bit after the initial swoosh, intense enough hence the occasional sneeze when first putting it on, but the peaks of scent are there to remind you of its presence: now you catch it, now you don't; but you're not totally oblivious unless you're performing brain surgery, in which case what the hell are you distracting yourself with sensory stimuli for?


I have tried the practice of wearing the same scent for weeks on end myself as an experiment to see whether I would stop smelling it on myself several times (usually involving either Opium, Bandit, or Diorling) and the amount used and enjoyment derived never fluctuated; instead the continuous use allowed me intimate knowledge of the fragrance in question, something which could not be done if I was being fickle continuously. Not all days were the same while going the course, but at the end of each session I was not more oblivious to my scent than when I started. Perhaps getting people to change fragrance all the time avoids exactly this pitfall: they might realise just what utter dreck some of the products on the market are and never return to buy them! But wait, the fragrance industry has cornered that as well: "By the time you get bored with this one, we will have a new collection in the store", a line which makeup sale assistants have been using for ages. It seems like perfumes have become seasonal makeup items as well. Witness the hundreds of flanker fragrances (scents of the same brand coat-tailing on a bestseller's success with minimal change in name and packaging). And the tsunami of fragrance launches in the last 10 years: In the worlds of Oscar Wilde "Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months."

But even if that weren't enough, maketing lore has cleverly played upon our most subconsious fears pertaining to smell. The implied innuendo of "after awhile you literally won't be able to smell it" is "think how horrible that will be on those around you!" Notice how sly they are into leaving it be hinted, without actually blurting it out: Because if you won't be able to smell it, why buy their product again anyway? They could have said, "you're not going to enjoy the scent as much after you put it on day in day out", but they don't, they say "you won't be able to smell it on yourself". Smell, not enjoy. As in "you smell!", aka a negative connotation. Because the perception of our human smell is such an intimate, personal thing, there is the fear that the way we project our homo sapiens projectiles might be repulsive to those around us. It just wouln't be the same with a visual example and they know it. Visual clues are unquestionable unless you're blind: either something is blue or it's not. But what is "good" and what is "bad" in olfactory terms? The confines are broader. And thus the perfume sale is sealed!

One of the easiest ways of cementing the need for a fragrance wardrobe is the concept of "a seasonal fragrance wardrobe". This is mainly because if you notice the bulk of the sales of perfume products happens in the temperate zone and not some sub-Saharan savvanah. The change in seasons in such places is dramatic enough that this seems like it makes sense. And yet we know that sometimes ambers bloom in the summer and florals can be icy and full of luster in the dead of winter. "Heat enhances the perception of fragrance," says Karyn Khoury, senior vice president for fragrance development for Estée Lauder Cos., who wears fragrance every day. "It warms up the skin and intensifies the diffusion of fragrance so you smell it more." (as reported by Beatrice de Gea in The Wall Street Journal) "When spring arrives, women may want to tone down perfumes so they aren't overwhelming. Ms. Khoury often leaves behind the deeper, richer scents of the winter months, such as patchouli and cedar wood, and instead seeks out fragrances with lighter touches—'citrus notes like mandarin, lemon and grapefruit, dewy green notes, things that smell like leaves or fresh-cut grass, lighter tropical florals like gardenia petals' she says." Khoury is responsible for mega sales of fragrance for decades, so she is a decathlon champion talking about running; you know there's a reason.

Historically speaking, the idea of changing your fragrance all the time, the concept of a fragrance wardrobe, didn't appear but very recently, in the middle of the 20th century actually. Perfume lost its prophylactic function in Western society when Pasteur made his discoveries, while it had almost entirely lost its sacred function way before that, so it became a middle-ground between craft, art and product. In Tilar Mazzeo's book The Secret of Chanel No.5, the cultural researcher notes that it was in the 1950s that consumer goods advertising firms started applying the expertise of psychologists, who realised that "any product [...]must appeal to our feelings". The idea that what mattered to consumers were images, especially images of self, was exploited to good effect: Perfume by its very nature explores an idea of self and to instigate that idea into its marketing is genius because it's something that can be used both for the championing of a signature scent ("this is me at its purest form") and for the necessity of a fragrance wardrobe ("these are my different facets, I'm not that simple")! Really brilliant, isn't it? It can also consolidate brand loyalty. Don't believe me or think it's counterintuitive? Just Google Images for "fragrance wardrobe". Oodles of pics of Chanel coffrets with a predetermined selection of mini parfums of their portfolio comes up. Several other houses issue their own "collection" so as to instill a sense of finding the scents you need for different moods and needs within the same brand.

Men who are ~bless their hearts~ such a saner creature in what concerns shopping practices ~apart from cars and electronics of course, but that's another fodder for another day~ consider the concept of having to change your fragrance all the time an exercise in consumerism and a sure indication that women are victims of wallet manipulation. The Western world female of 20-40 years of age is the most ferocious consumer of them all and thus the prime target of advertisers. As displayed on Beaut.ie blog, men just don't "get it". But the women commenting provide all manner of justification! One reason might be that it's so totally fun to play with several fragrances, an epiphany that came to me when I had abandonded my idea that I should only have about twenty full bottles in rotation in case they spoil; why not bring them all out? A signature scent might be a most romantic, evocative idea, but in the end playing with a variety of fragrances allows a certain -otherwise denied- playfulness to surface, a playfulness that is sometimes a springboard of sanity in this tough world we're living in. Other people just have the collector gene in them. I know I'm one. It doesn't matter if it's paper-clips, stationery or perfume bottles of rare compositions, it brings on the completist in you.

But that is one thing and being told that we NEED to do it, otherwise the repurcussions will be unpleasant, are two very different things! I hereby proclaim my right to change my fragrance ~when and how and if I want to~ because it's fun and exciting to me and not because they tell me I have to. What about you?

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: On the flip side of the coin; the indefinable allure of a signature scent

Photo of Faye Dunaway from the set of Bonnie & Clyde. Perfume collection pic via fracasnoir.com. Nude in black & white photo by Willy Ronis.

Arabian Attars: a journey to the mundane?

A while ago, I got a very kind invitation by Janet (Spadefoot) from Perfume of Life to review some Arabian attars which she had brought with her back from Yemen.
She told me that she would be pleased if I reviewed them. So, as promised, here it is.

The little package came with a postcard created by Janet herself: a great sketch of a tourist photographing two muslim women wearing the chador and humouring the photographer with playful gestures to one another. She had written on it: “Enjoy the journey” with a wide, sweeping handwriting that denotes artistic tendencies and expressive personality.
The little box that held the perfumes was a sight: bright vermillion and purple, painted by her on a box which seemed to be an Altoids tin in a previous incarnation. I found this so fitting; a humble box that would hold humble –maybe- perfumes, but full of brightness and confidence. Not an Ali-Baba cave, full of costly treasure, but a journey to the everyday. This touched me; simple, poor, honest people are just as entitled to the mythical, the chimerical, the fantasy.

The perfumes were all in oil form, thick and viscous, in varying colours that capture one’s fancy like the multicoloured crayons in a Caran d’Ache box catch the fascination in a child’s eye. The word Attar refers traditionally to distillations of vegetal materials into sandalwood or sesame oil, used mainly in India. It could also be applied to more modern perfumes in oil form, as I have experienced in Middle Eastern perfumes before. These are not exactly natural extracts, but that is beside the point in an international industry that increasingly uses mostly synthetics in its products. In fact many of the “attars” smell natural enough to me. The texture meant that although they seem very concentrated and potently harsh at first, they mellow nicely on the skin, not evolving in the classical pyramid of French perfumery that relies on gradual evaporation, but remaining close to the conceived theme of each one, only allowing their more volatile ingredients to exit noiselessly.
I do not know who makes those compositions, which made my olfactory adventure all the more exciting.

This introduction to my fragrant journey reminded me in turn of the Iranian film director Abbas Kiarostami and his films dealing with the mundane becoming philosophical. In particular A taste of cherry (Ta'm e guillas-1997) and Where is the friend's house? (Khane-ye doust kodjast? -1987). In the former a man is intent on committing suicide traveling all over the country, meeting people along the way and conversing, only to change his mind upon encountering an old man who was about to do the same but says the taste of cherry saved his life. In the latter a small boy is furtively searching the streets of the city, gaining experiences meanwhile, in pursuit of his schoolmate’s house in order to deliver his workbook that he had secretly borrowed, without which on the morrow his mate will be expelled from classes.
In this little non-heroic Odyssey I found the measure of my inspiration: imagine if a mature woman went through the streets of Yemen, this time, in pursuit of something else, savouring the tastes and smells along the way.

Arbitrarily I decided to baptise her Jasmin, an Arabian name of both the sweet little flower that is my favourite bloom and of women. Her true nature hidden by the conventional façade of an arranged marriage that had given her a family.

To quote Rabindranath Tagor (an indian poet)

“Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
which I held in
my hands when I was a child.”

She would have an honest hard-working husband and kind children, friends and acquaintances. She would be tender, motherly, a little shy, a little wistful. She would smell of Abu Younis, honouring thus the losses of her youth. A light golden liquid like cloudy honey dribbling over lovers’ skin, like living things giving off their juice, smelling of citrus on the top like lime/lemon with a sharp greenness, segueing into a heart of rich and tender rose. She would evoke the nuance of a noble floral chypré with just a touch of the male in there, perhaps due to some incense or balsam (so ingrained in the Arabian tradition), to give a melancholic aspect of a long lost love that was not meant to be.

It would be a haphazard meeting with an old acquaintance that would remind her of that long lost love. Her gossipy, flamboyant, female friend would smell of Wejdan.
Golden ambery in colour it is fruity with peaches and plums, some bittersweet heliotropin in there and maybe even orange blossom, sweet vanillic ambery in the fond with just a touch of the animalic; this one would be the least Arabic in that cornucopia of smells that is an Arabian perfume shop recalling in fact a bastard L’heure bleue with its equally bittersweet background crossed with the very sweet nature of Jean Paul Gaultier Classique. That’s one acquaintance to either love or hate.
A passing mention of a man now ill, terminally ill, a man that had been the secret passion of Jasmin long ago, would set the latter upon a spontaneous one-day journey to the end of the town to bid him perhaps the last goodbye.

In her mental eye the woman Jasmin could have been beside him would be different, best represented by the whitish yellow of Shaikha: full of floral notes of a carnal and feminine nature such as lush jasmine that scents the alleys of middle eastern towns with its sweet fragrance during the balmy nights and exotic ylang ylang flowers touched with a little acrid wood and maybe a touch of leather; sensual, joyful , exalted. In this rendition the two flowers are intense and Arabian in nature; what Lutens might have come up with, not Guerlain. Perhaps not as complex, but uplifting and bright.

Her next stop would be at the mosque. Mosques are beautiful things, creatures of myth, tabulae for the arabesque word of spirituality. The majestic one in Cordoba is breathtaking. Yemen, I am sure, has many beautiful ones as well. The air is thick with incense, the walls sweat pure musk, ingrained as it is in the mortar by local craftsmen. And the mustiness of centuries would be a reminder of our own mortality. Although not musky to my nose, Shayma’a was my olfactory choice for that stop on Jasmin’s journey. It has a decidedly musty and herbal opening with a balsamic quality later on that recalls both frankincense and sweeter Peru Balsam. The rose is also making an appearance as it is so precious to muslims to appear almost everywhere, representing their tradition and unifying spirituality and sensuality in its thick petals.
The scent of wood is also prevalent, making this one a very complex and intriguing alloy that can be worn by both sexes who are willing to try something different.

Prayer though only being able to do so much, Jasmin would have to leave the mosque behind her as well. On to the streets through the souk she would bypass the rich reddish yellow of saffron and the dark brown of clove, dates and raisins wrinkling up in the heat, the proximity of numerous human bodies in all their olfactory glory, but also the smells of Maysoon and Zamani. Both of these are completely lovable, simple creations encompassing pleasing and agreeable notes that are more traditional and acceptable by a Western idiosyncrasy.
Maysoon is a light golden liquid with the playful, pretty, juicy smell of roses and violet leaves, with a fruity touch, insinuating perhaps the added use of damascones (which are naturally occurring in rose anyway); a sweet concoction for a young lady that is smiling behind her chador/yashmak, hinting with kholed eyes at a desire for private frivolity expressed by the background of some sandalwood oil. I see a street vendor trying to sell this to Jasmin herself, only to be rejected politely, and being asked for something for her young daughter instead.
Enter Zamani, a yellowish oil of lightness and zing that is owed to expressed peel of lemon coupled with the sharp note of petigrain perhaps, smelling like squashed lemon leaves, with pepper and another spicy note (which sadly eludes me), soaring into uplifting octaves of lightness and air, cutting through the heat of the Arabian landscape. I can very well see her buying that last one and her daughter smiling while playing dress-up in the small mirror on the stucco-ed wall. I see even her brother stealing drops of it when going out to flirt the veiled young ladies with his eyes.

As she would make her way through the market streets, tourists browsing and forgetting to haggle with the locals, she would change the itinerary to pass through less crowded places, allowing herself to glimpse through windows, catching women darning their husbands’ socks, children playing with frogs or chasing pitiful, dirty little dogs, men smoking the narguilé in silence lost in reverie, even a young bride getting dressed in the best cloth affordable by the family, anointed with Haneen al-Qulub in eager preparation. This oil of rich yellow was one of my favourites. I could see why the delicate young bride would wear it; soft, powdery, like a classic aldehydic perfume, rather sweet but not too much, it has the fizzy rush of someone embarking on an exciting adventure, oblivious to possible trouble; optimistic yet grounded with a little suede note hiding a budding sexuality. The more one wears it, the more it blends in to the natural smell of skin baked in the sun, imperceptible, yet still there, sensual and feminine, warm and inviting.

Diverting her eye and the melancholy such a sight would naturally produce in a woman who entered an arranged marriage, Jasmin would carry on to the little sweet shop in the edge of the town, in close proximity to her youth’s would-be-lover who had remained only the stuff of dreams and what-ifs all these years.
There she would purchase local variation loukhoums, smelling sweetly a bit like Mokhalat al Sed’ae. The white-gold of the liquid is watery like the airy flower-water of diluted neroli in the recipe of loukhoums, almondy like their flavour, rosy like the powderiness dusting sugar leaves on the palate, with the innocence of a white rose, like cherry pits in maraschino, yet not exactly gourmand in the sense we are accustomed to, neither exactly like loukhoum, but I wanted to fit this anyway I guess.
I liked the perfume oil a lot, I have to admit.

(By the way, to make loukhoums according to my recipe, one
would need 2 cups sugar, 1/8 teaspoon salt, ½ cup hot water,all of which one
would boil to thick syrup. One would then need to mix 2 tablespoons powdered
gelatin in ½ cup water separately and after a while add it to the hot syrup. To
that one would add ½ cup orange juice or flower water, 2 tablespoons lemon
juice, optionally 2/3 cup almond whites -roasted and cut coarsely- and ½
teaspoon bitter almond or rose essence. One would then pour into a wide pan,
refrigerate for 6 hours and when firm cut in little squares and roll onto
dusting sugar.)

Armed with loukhoums, to sweeten bitter memories of involuntary parting for the second time, Jasmin would call upon Karim (the imaginary name I devised for the ill man). He would be alone, deserted, with only a nurse to look after him. His tired face would alight upon finding out who the matronly lady was. Years had passed so quickly, only to stall in illness now.
After a few exchanges, he would direct her silently to an old chest of drawers squeaking when used. It smelled of aged Oudh. Old, musty, mouldy, the way a cold crypt would smell hiding bones of the holy or the unholy, it didn’t even matter by then… The dark thick oil that was named after that precious wood (which also comes by the name of oud, aoudh, aloewood or agarwood ) is dark brown, a singular colour for a perfume oil. Unusual and unfriendly, it would be very hard to wear alone, as if demons were festering a tortured body. And yet, it is an ingredient of so many fine perfumes it makes one wonder how the demonic can be rendered sublime.
In the words of Françoise Sagan:

"Doesn't perfume derive its beauty from that sensation of a time that doesn't
flow, but soars? Everything in this world is but smoke.”

To the bottom drawer, unused for years it seemed, under numerous yellowed papers she unearthed a little box; bright vermillion and purple. Inside it a man’s once-upon-a-time perfumed handkerchief holding a dried up remnant of a rose, smelling the way Taif smells. Rather musty and chypré, it has the vicious colour of absinthe, the green fairy of the damned poets’ soul. Its bitterness and mysterious smoky leather envelops the floral, its musty like vetiver background is reminiscent of the eponymous liquor too in its controversial reputation.

She instantly knew. That was her parting gift, her memento. No words were necessary. The long journey home awaited her.

I don’t know if “the taste of cherry” could save a desperate man’s life. It seems unlikely. It could certainly enrich a woman’s experience however and I am honoured I tasted it through that imaginary woman thanks to Spadefoot’s generosity.

Maison Francis Kurkdjian Exclusive Perfume BG 754 Perfume: new fragrance

Maison Francis Kurkdjian, Alexander McQueen and Christian Louboutin amongst the luxury brands that are celebrating Bergdorf Goodman 111 years anniversary in September.

"The luxury retailer turns 111 years old this year and will celebrate with a series of special events including a documentary film, a book and an anniversary collection of more than 100 exclusive products. The celebration will kick off Sept. 6 during the fourth annual Fashion’s Night Out with designer appearances and the debut at retail of the anniversary collection. Among the brands that are creating special merchandise are Alexander McQueen, which designed a ruched velvet dress; Christian Louboutin, which is doing pyramid-studded platforms; evening looks from Oscar de la Renta and Akris, and even an exclusive perfume called 754 from Maison Francis Kurkdjian."

pic via FK facebook, thanks to Tomassina/mua for finding this info nugget

Lady Gaga Fame Black Fluid: new perfume (or When Gaga Goes to One's Head)

Lady Gaga, no stranger to provocation and shock-value has released her first celebrity scent. As you remember we had commented on the initial rumours surrounding Lady Gaga's celebrity scent. But now she has slipped some facts about it on Twitter and an over-enthusiastic fashion editor has also leaked photos of the bottle on the Net. So here it is, Fame Black Fluid by Lady Gaga!

Created in collaboration with Haus Laboratories in Paris, the ad copy of the perfume, mentioning "weird" and "rare" ingredients, is a meta-commentary on the contemporary flowery prose that pertains to new fragrance releases.
We've got Tears of Belladonna, the crushed heart of Tiger Orchidea, with a black veil of incense, pulverised apricot and the combinative essences of saffron and honey drops...the works!

click to enlarge

Another interesting aspect is how the perfume is technologically manipulated to be black in the bottle, yet turn to  invisible once it's airborne. The structure also defies any classical fragrance pyramid structuring, letting the ingredients reveal several different facets prismatically at the same time. The concentration is eau de parfum.
The bottle doesn't look too bad, that metal claw thing on top a menacing touch, though it could be a little awkward while using to spray.

All in all, sounds just like the thing from Lady Gaga! And, might I inject, much better than "smelling like an expensive hooker"...

Ormonde Jayne Nawab of Oudh: fragrance review

I remember walking around an exhibition on Moghul India at the British Museum, resplendent in the opulence we associate with this particular region and time. The curlicued rupees bearing intricate names alongside triangular flags, ears of wheat and fishes were not strictly limited to Moghul rule, the curator explained; the Nawabs had seized control of their own regions by that time, issuing their own coins, but continuing to cajole the Mughal emperor by keeping his name on the currency. Similarly the latest India-inspired Ormonde Jayne fragrance, Nawab of Oudh, draws upon two different wells: the silk Banarasi saris of India, with their Moghul motifs and their heavy gold work, on one hand and the mystic Muslim tradition of roses and oud resin rising in the air from a censer at the mosques of Persia on the other.

Source: Uploaded by user via Melissa on Pinterest

Understandably, given those references, the perfume smells the way a metallic brocade looks: lush, rich, opulent, draped for elegance. But the artistry of perfumer Geza Schoen makes it modern and wearable too. Despite the by now tired trope of "oudh",  the note so often smelling more like a pack of Band-Aids than the exotic resin obtained by the pathological secretion of the Aquilaria tree when attacked by a fungus, there is none of that contemporary nonsense in Nawab of Oudh. There is a powdery, soft like cat's paws, ambery trail in the drydown, reminding me of Private Collection Amber Ylang (E.Lauder), which envelops the higher notes of green-citrusy brilliance into a cradle of plush. The distinction between phases (drawing upon the classical pyramid structure of perfumes) is here apparent, at least in a binary pattern: the introduction is distinctly separate from the prolonged (really impressively prolonged) phase of the drydown. In essence we have the interplay of raspiness and velvety softness, aided by the texture of the rose. Oud-laced roses have become a dime a dozen lately in niche perfumery, but I will withhold a place in my heart of Nawab of Oudh because it's so extraordinarily beautiful indeed.

And the name? How did it evolve and how does it unite those two worlds, India and the Middle East? Awadh or Oudh was a prosperous and thickly populated province of northern India (modern Uttar Pradesh), its very name meaning "capital of Lord Rama", the hero of the Ramayana epic. Its turmoiled history began with becoming an important province of the Mughal empire, soon establishing a hereditary polity under Mughal sovereignty; but as the power of the Mughals diminished, the province gained its independence. The opulence in the courts of the Nawabs (ruler kings of the Awadh, originating from a Persian adventurer called Sa'adat Khan) and their prosperity were noticed by the British East India Company, resulting in their direct interference in internal political matters, which reached its zenith in the eventual total loss of power by the Nawabs in 1856.

The official info on the scent by Ormonde Jayne runs thus: "Nawab (Ruler) of Oudh is a province of central India. Our perfume is inspired by the Nawabs who once ruled over it. It is a potent blend of amber and rose with a soft oudh edge. Yet surprisingly not one ingredient stands out from the others. It achieves a perfume synergy that defies traditional analysis, releasing a pulsating pungency, brooding and hauntingly beautiful, a rich tapestry of fascinating depths, a jewelled veil to conceal its emotional complexity and extravagance."

Notes for Nawab of Oudh:
Top: green notes, bergamot, orange absolute, cardamom, aldehyde.
Heart: rose, magnolia, orchid, pimento, bay, cinnamon, hedione.
Base: ambergris, musk, vetiver, labdanum, oudh.

Nawab of Oudh along with the rest of the "Four Corners of the Earth" collection by Ormonde Jayne, inspired by Linda Pilkington's travels, is exclusive to the London Ormonde Jayne boutiques at 12 The Royal Arcade and 192 Pavillion Road and at the Black Hall perfumery at Harrods.

Winter is here, let's celebrate!

The official start of winter in the calendar always brings a rush of joy and anxiousness as well in my psyche. The stress of the looming holidays in the end of December is enough to send my heart in palpitations wondering if I will have the time to meet my deadlines, to buy gifts for everyone, to prepare the home for the festivities and everything. In this context I need something soothing and reminiscent of the better aspect of December: nights by a log-fire, walks in the cool air, sipping mulled wine and lighting incense sticks and spice-laced candles. To that effect Fête d'Hiver by Ayala Moriel perfumes comes to the rescue.

As Ayala herself describes this at her site, Fête d'Hiver, which means Winter Festival, "is a heart-warming mélange of incense, amber and resins, along with tropical white flowers, warmed up by spices. The result is as soft as powdery snow and as warm as cuddling by the fire place on a furry rug. Fête d'Hiver is extremely beautiful, sensual and festive yet wonderful to wear year around." Ayala is a natural perfumer who uses only ingredients harvested from nature and not from a lab. This is a new direction in perfumery that is witnessing a rennaissence. Her admirable craft has been tackled before with her creation Film Noir.

On this one the official olfactory pyramid goes something like this:

Top notes: Bitter Orange, Nutmeg, Bois de Rose
Heart notes: Rose, Gardenia, Allspice Berry
Base notes: Incense, Amber, Sandalwood

To me the orientalised spicy scent of Fête d'Hiver begins on the traditional spicy-orangey accord that one is greeted with upon entering any discerning woman's home during the festive season. This kind of smell always brings a smile to my lips and a wink in my eye, as being a die-hard winter person I feel happy smelling what is intextricably tied to wintertime and the traditional aspects of it. Throws in soft chenille, peels of orange burning in the fireplace, crackling sounds of great logs of pine wood, nutmeg laced pies being baked in the oven, family around the hearth.
Some might term this pot-pourri, and I could see the influence, but myself I admit I have always liked spicy pot-pourri and am not ashamed to say so.
The development of the emphatically warm scent is not dramatic, as the spices echo on every nuance of the perfume, with the addition of an ambery and incensy touch at drydown that consolidate my impression that this resinous fragrance for women (and men, why not?) has something very cuddly in its core, but also confident. The incense is particularly evident and it is the warm kind of a church in the south, redolent with the light entering through the luminous panes in byzantine rotondas.
The fact that the perfume comes in a parfum extrait concentration is a guarantee that the lovely ambery resinous spice is staying with you the length of the evening. And when you wake up, may you witness the first snow of the season having fallen in the stillness of the early morning.

Just for this winter Ayala has also brought out Bois d'hiver, which is a limited edition play on the masculine counterpart to Fête d’Hiver. "It is a very similar formula to what is known from previous years as “Fête d’Hiver pour Homme”, only now with the addition of the mouthwatering candied Christmas tree note of Fir Absolute, and fabulous, sparkling Orange Flower Water Absolute to chase away winter gloom and bring joy to your heart!" Sounds delish!

You can get samples and order your perfume at Ayala Moriel perfumes site. Please take a peek at her specials and take advantage of her miniature collections for the holiday season.


Painting is The meal by Nicolaos Gyzis (courtesy of Wikipedia)

The Agony and the Ecstasy part2: control and surrender in fragrance

Continuing from yesterday’s post, today we occupy ourselves with the matter of control versus surrender as manifested in matters of relationships as well as sensual escapades that pertain to olfaction.

The amount of control we exercise in indulging our fragrant desires is not proportionate to the pleasure thus derived. On the contrary it varies according to the occasion and circumstances. Although usually control is assumed to be a desirable quality and one that is highly regarded, especially in western society with its competitive background, it is often that it also acts as a binding force that ties us to refusal of sensuous pleasure. The latter could be best arrived at through surrender to stimuli that have or have not been chosen by us in the first place. Imagine the surprising whiff of baking goods when walking past a bakery or the intoxication of smelling a familiar aroma on a stranger passing us on the street. Those are instances in which our degree of control of what we perceive is close to nil. Yet we derive pleasure from them.
Of course one could very well argue that the reverse is also within the sphere of probability. A close encounter with a smell that has foul associations in our mind makes the proximity with the vessel that perpetuates it insufferable, a true torture. In those instances we would dearly wish that we could exercise control over what we actually smell.
Surrender also has a somewhat fatalist tone to it, as if there is some predestined course of events, a kismet that accounts for our experiences instead of us shaping our present and future. The matter quickly becomes philosophical, which is perhaps beyond the scope of this post.

If we were to investigate cinematic examples of this conflict we revert to the 1960s classic by Spanish master director Luis Buñuel “Belle de jour”.
In it Catherine Deneuve stars as Séverine, the repressed wife of Pierre, an upper class doctor; sexually frigid with him, yet harbouring fantasies of a sadomasochistic nature which lead her to become a day-time high class prostitute in a posh brothel run by a knowledgeable French woman. There her fantasies take shape and form, although often following alternative avenues that include Chinese sex toys, assimilated necrophilia and voyeurism. However, although Séverine would like to act out her fantasies with her husband whom she loves, she capitulates to men to whom she is indifferent to in a surrender of the senses that satisfies some inner need that cannot be met in her bourgeois existence. Her rencontre with a criminal youth and also with an acquaintance who exerts control over her in daring tones –as he is intrigued by her iciness which he hopes to shatter- in her regular impeachable life will forever alter her cosmos and make her the victim or the culprit of fate.
As the director himself said:

"All my life I've been harassed by questions: Why is something this way and not another? How do you account for that? This rage to understand, to fill in the blanks, only makes life more banal. If we could only find the courage to leave our destiny to chance, to accept the fundamental mystery of our lives, then we might be closer to the sort of happiness that comes with innocence."

The whole layout of the film exploits many ideas that pertain to youth (the distinct innocence of youth preyed on by the older, more experienced man played by Michel Picolli); to class and elegance of a bourgeois aesthetic (the impeccably decked in Yves Saint Laurent couture Séverine wearing Roger Vivier classic buckle low pumps is a fashion plate for eternity); to fantasy vs reality (what is true and what happens inside Séverine’s head? The end is particularly ambiguous). The viewer is left to decide for themselves interpreting clues any way they choose. This is especially evident in the scene in which a client at the brothel brings a Chinese box to use, upon perusing which all the other girls shudder except for Séverine who remains fascinated. Asked on what the box included the director was quick to comment that there was no point in it containing anything in particular, as the scene was meant to signify the vast difference of mentality between the heroine and the other girls.

One particularly brilliant moment that pertains to perfume and our issue is the scene in the bathroom when Séverine accidentally smashes a big bottle of Mitsouko by Guerlain before she sets out to spend the afternoon at the brothel. (It can be seen in the trailer attached below, clicking on the screen). The bottle is in the big round style with the pyramid stopper that was quite popular all through the Sixties.


Mitsouko is a perfect example of a scent that is implicated in sex and the issues of control vs surrender. Much like the literary heroine that inspired its name (the Japanese girl in the novel “La Bataille”) it has a rich heart and sensual base that extol an animalic presence of labdanum and the earthiness of oakmoss and vetiver which combine to give the more ethereal elements of floral notes a subversive mantle. Although Mitsouko has all the pedigree of a well brought up upper-class lady, this is only the surface which one could easily scrape to find a ferocious needy sensuality about to manifest itself in surprising throes.

Another one of Catherine Deneuve’s brilliant roles in a film by the same director is “Tristana”, a different take on the issues of control vs surrender. The setting in this one is quite different than the rich upscale Parisian apartment of Séverine that makes us dream of an idle pampered existence that is laced with naughty fantasies. Instead Tristana is a poor orphan girl in a Spanish village trust into the care of an older gentleman, the respected due to his honorable nature (despite his socialistic views about business and religion) Don Lope. Nevertheless the one flaw of Don Lope is his weakness towards women and he seduces Tristana, all the while saying that she is as free as he is. He will have to face the consequences though, when she in turn acts on this freedom, when -upon becoming his wife- she tortures and humiliates the husband she despises.
The subjects of fascism vs socialism, old age, Catholicism and sex are relentlessly explored and in the end the innocent girl becomes a cynical wile woman who believes in nothing any more while the worldly Don Lope played by Fernando Ray becomes rather belatedly the father figure that Tristana needed in the first place. As he reaches the peace he was pursuing all along he exclaims 'It's snowing so hard outside, but in this house, I'm nice and warm. What's there not to be happy about?' It is poignant that he recognizes only too late that acceptance, surrender to the course of life is a surer way to inner peace than struggling to impose one’s will.

Watch the "Tristana" trailer clicking on the screen.


Because to my mind there is an inherent melancholic touch to what I interpret as the loss of innocence, the perfume that I would choose to anoint the beautiful Tristana with is none other than L’Heure Bleue by Guerlain. One of their great classics, issued in 1912, it was inspired by “the blue hour”, that magical moment when the sun has set, but the sky hasn’t yet found its stars, when the odour of flowers intensifies.
Wearing L'Heure Bleue is like partaking in a secret rite of passage that an innocent soul goes through to meet their unintended destiny, just like Tristana in her quest for true love. The bittersweet smell of aniseed is the poignant thread that travels through the journey of life, full of experiences, full of disappointments that make the heart strings ache. Cloves and powdery heliotrope providing the backdrop of a darker theme, while the heady damascene rose and jasmine shine as the memorable sweet moments of happiness found adrift an existence that exerts no control over facts. As the scent of L'heure bleue unfolds, you are left with an impression of rejection, of refusal, of an idealism that is crashed by the vagaries of life that makes me inwardly sigh for all the lost causes and dreams that might have been.
It is also one of Catherine Deneuve's personal choices of perfume in her vast wardrobe of fragrances and I can very well see how she might be partial to its soft caress that whispers of times past.

Next post will persist in this genre with more perfume references. Stay tuned!


Pics from film Belle de Jour courtesy of toutsurdeneuve. Portrait of Deneuve by Raymond Darollet courtesy of Toutsurdeneuve. Clips from Youtube

Ten Monoliths: a Space Odyssey

Thinking about perfumery I often contemplate on its evolution, the way it has progressed through the centuries from the simpler techniques to state-of-the-art methods that encompass analytical chemistry, synthesis and sophisticated technologies such as IFF's "Living Flower Technology"*. It never ceases to amaze me that men and women have gone thus far in their quest for the aromatic, the holy and the hedonic.
And thus I often wonder what achievements should be salvaged in a time-capsule, like a project that could be sent to outer space, to get to know humanity's odoriferous achievements at a time when humanity might have ceased to exist altogether. Taking into consideration that the KEO satellite will launch in 2009 or 2010 with a mission to present Earth to humanity 50,000 years from now, when the satellite orbiting Earth will return, it seems like it is not too soon to think about.

So in our own small way, Dain from Lipstick Page and me brainstormed for a while on which scents would be worth salvaging for posterity's sake.
In a way it was like re watching Kubrik's 2001: A Space Odyssey: there is the profound awe for man's course through history and the sense of aporia on what will happen now that space has been invaded. That bone in the air travels through 4 dimensions and the fourth one is time itself...

My own criteria on this project were historically oriented: I concentrated on which compositions or techniques were evolutionary, providing something revolutionary at its time and influencing later developments. It does not mean that I consider the scents named the greatest of all time in their artistic merit or subjective beauty appreciation, but it does mean that I put faith in their importance as landmarks.

Without further ado here is my list, in chronological order:

1.The sacred Kyphi of Ancient Egyptians: a compound incense used in ancient Egypt for religious and medical purposes and referenced in The Pyramid Texts. Papyrus Harris I records the donation and delivery of herbs and resins for its manufacture in the temples under Ramses III for his afterlife. Instructions for its preparation and lists of ingredients are found among the wall inscriptions at the temples of Edfu and Dendera in upper Egypt. The term "kyphi" is Greek, a transcription of the ancient Egyptian term kp.t. The key ingredient featured in some recipes was spikenard, while apart from wine, honey and raisins there was cinnamon and cassia bark, aromatic rhizomes of cyperus and sweet flag, cedar , juniper berry, and resins and gums such as frankincense, myrrh, benzoin resin and mastic, as well as the mysterious aspalathos, a bush with bright yellow flowers still abundant in the Mediterranean. If anything it is proof of the sophisticated criterion by which the ancients composed their aromatic alloys.

2.Greek philosopher Theophrastus's "Enquiry into Plants: Books 6-9; Treatise on Odours": Although technically neither a composition nor a technique, it remains the first serious, epistemological treatise of plants and their properties, setting the path for herbalism and aromatherapy and influencing all consequent medieval science and alchemy. Nicknamed Theophrastus by Aristotle for his "divine way of expression" (this is what the name means in Greek), Tyrtamus became the father of Taxonomy and the propeller of alchemical investigation centuries later.

3.The distillation of rose by the Arabs: It was Ibn Sīnā, commonly known in English by the Latinized name Avicenna (Greek Aβιτζιανός), a Persian-speaking Iranian, Muslim polymath and the foremost physician and Islamic philosopher of his time that contributed to perfumery in an unexpected way. Up till the 10th century, the king of flowers, the rose, had been resisting methods of extracting its precious soul. Distillation became known, with Catalonian Arnald of Villanova's treatise being the first European one focusing on the method, because Avicenna had introduced steam distillation in Islam and through the Crusades the secrets of this civilization expanded into the Western World. Thus he produced essential oils of delicate plants that resisted other methods, attar of rose being one such essence. One is hard pressed to imagine modern perfumery without rose essence.

4.The traditional Eau de Cologne recipe: Kölnisch Wasser, as is its proper name in German, is an amazing survivor. Launched in the German town of Cologne in 1709 by Giovanni Maria Farina, an Italian perfumer from Santa Maria Maggiore Valle Vigezzo, Italy, it was inspired the odor of an Italian spring morning after the rain. The original recipe was used as a tonic as well as a fragrance, and Napoleon (along with composer R.Wagner) was a particular enthusiast of the Farina Eau de Cologne: he was said to use at least a bottle a day, often two, if one goes by his private correspondence.
Giovanni Maria Farina's formula has been produced in Cologne since 1709 by Farina Gegenüber without ever divulging the exact recipe. His shop at Obenmarspforten is today the world's oldest fragrance company. Other Colognes took the name yet smell different, such as the famous Cologne 4711, named after this location at the "Glockengasse No. 4711". In 1806, Jean Marie Joseph Farina, a grand grandnephew of Giovanni Maria Farina (1685-1766), opened a perfumery business in Paris which developed into Roger & Gallet, owner of the rights to Eau de Cologne Extra Vielle in contrast to the Original Eau de Cologne from Cologne.

5.Fougère Royale by Houbigant: Composed in 1882 it is arguably the first perfume to incorporate a synthetic ingredient: coumarin, a chemical compound (benzopyrone) which naturally occurs in many plants, such in the tonka bean, woodruff, mullein, and bison grass. Possessing a sweet pleasant aroma, it is readily recognised as the scent of newly-mown hay.
With Fougère Royale Houbigant intoduced the Fougère family of scents: a composition based on the juxtaposition of bergamot-lavender-coumarin and accounting for hundreds of fragrances on the market since, most notably in the men's end of the spectrum.

6.Chypre by Coty: Although Chypre is a classical age composition developed in ancient Cyprus and later popularised by the Romans, it took the genius of perfumer François Coty to re-introduce and streamline this old idea in 1917 into what eventually became the most intricate family in all perfumery. In a way, although it is a gem lost to the echo of centuries to come, it stands as the end of an era and the beginning of a new one: in many ways it conspired along with Jicky and Fougere Royale in jump starting the modern perfumery of the 20th century and placing a greater emphasis in the design of the fragrance (structure) as opposed to merely its texture (materials).

7.Chanel No.5: It is no accident that Chanel's No.5 is the perfume that even people completely unassociated with the noble sport of fragrance appreciation instantly recognise and fragrance loving neophytes take extra pains to come to terms with. The fragrance is a triumph of modern design, chemical innovation (although not the first one to use synthetically derived aldehydics, it was the first to make ample use of them) and of marketing strategy. It has become iconic and its status as a best-seller is never refuted. If only for its extreme popularity, even though arguably lots of people collect it rather than wear it, it is well worth its slot in this list of scents to salvage for posterity and your effort to trying to "understand" it. Ernest Beaux would be proud of you.

8.Fracas by Piguet: Germaine Cellier must have been a very fine specimen of a woman and a perfumer both, for in her compositions such as Bandit and Jolie Madame, she went after the attenuation of societal mores in what is expected in fine fragrance and the exaggeration of latent ideas, such as the pungent greeness of leather or the violet-talcum dusted chypre. Fracas is another such case, taking what is essentially an already insolent lady of means, the tuberose, and stretching her into the lethal costume of Pamela Lillian Isley. If perfume is merely supposed to make you more agreeable, then it is worth including a smashingly strong floral for posterity to appreciate for its sheer dare to disregard such "rules".


9.Cool Water by Davidoff: When Pierre Bourdon composed this and Davidoff grabbed it in 1988 (the story by Bourdon goes it was sitting in a drawer unwanted for a while), the "marine" family of fragrances had never made a bleep in the radar of the public. It seemed completely out of sync with the strong, macho scents of the 1980s and more like an anomaly. Besides that it seemed to be contradictory to the image of the brand producing it: Davidoff is a maker of cigars, one would expect a tobacco scent. And yet it not only managed to inaugurate a whole new classification, it still remains a masculine bestseller 20 years later, even enlisting stars of the moment to front it (click here for the latest clip with Josh Holloway).

10.Angel by Thierry Mugler: The unquestionable classic of tomorrow and a legend in the making, Angel for all the derision caused in the minds of its many fans and equally numerous foes is the stuff that put the "oriental gourmands" on the map in 1992. With a very distinctive accord of fruit, caramel, chocolate and patchouli it was the first fragrance that was going for our taste buds as well as our nostrils, fooling our cortex into believing this was a gustatory experience to be savoured. The fact that it has spawned its own little descendants as well as a whole generation of look-alike clones speaks of its formidable powers of influence.


Please be sure to check out Dain's list on The Lipstick Page for a very different and interesting take, based on representative specimens from different families.

I would be interested in your takes on what is worth salvaging for posterity!

*"Living Flower Technology" is perfume and flavor producing brand's International Flavors and Fragrances term for a process by which the air above a living blossom is captured in a glass "bell", analyzed in the lab and then re-created synthetically so as to render an approximation that is closer to what a flower smells like in nature.

Pic of Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra and Jane Fonda in Barbarella courtesy of allposters.com