Fragrant by Mandy Aftel: perfume book giveaway

More of a biographical mapping out of the discovery of a new career path and the richness with which it has gifted its author than a mainstream guide, Fragrant: The secret life of scent by Mandy Aftel is a fascinating journey into four key materials (cinnamon, incense, mint, jasmine and ambergris), their mystical significance, their aura, their historical pathway and with it the trajectory of natural perfumery. The book takes the form of a meditation on the sensuality and pleasure that natural materials offer, divided into 5 parts corresponding to each material) and a plea for the embracing of their sensuous capabilities in our increasingly sterilized world.

Aftel's Essence and Alchemy is already a perfume book classic, aimed at the fragrance enthusiast with the desire to learn (it includes a hands down approach to learning to build fragrant chords with natural essences and a classic fragrance pyramid structure tutorial a la Jean Carles), while Fragrant: The Secret Life of Scent is less of a traditional guide. Instead Aftel muses on several points on scent while adding tidbits that are always interesting and a handful of recipes for edible stuff that would make you see things in a new light. For that reason it would appeal to the novice, as it does not require special knowledge in order to follow its beautiful prose, but also to the more accomplished fragrance collector as a tome to stand proudly in their library.

You can order the book on Amazon at a special price.

I have a new hardback copy to share with a lucky reader. Please enter a comment below to be eligible. Draw is open internationally till Friday midnight.

Fragrance & Heat: Allies or Foes?

"Heat enhances the perception of fragrance," says Karyn Khoury, senior vice president for fragrance development for Estée Lauder Cos., who wears fragrance every day. Empirical data confirms this. Heated skin is skin which aids diffusion of smelly components and that includes both those which come naturally to us (apocrine gland products) and those which we put on ourselves on purpose. That might create a conundrum; does our body become "smelly" as in repulsive, or "fragrant" as in attractive? This double-edged sword needs some careful sharpening in order to cut to the chase in the best possible manner.

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Marketing lore has cleverly played upon our most subconscious fears pertaining to smell. The implied innuendo of the much mentioned argument against a signature scent ("after a while you literally won't be able to smell it") is "think how horrible that will be on those around you!" A notion which isn't totally undramatic or unrealistic for the hotter months of the year. Notice too 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? It is exactly the perception of our human smell as such an intimate, personal thing, that the fear that the way we project our Homo sapiens projectiles might be repulsive to those around us is founded. It just wouldn't be the same with a visual example, something that can be tested with our eyes (this is why, for instance, recommendations for heatproof makeup products do not fall on deaf ears, like with the excellent one by The Non Blonde); and the fragrance industry knows it. After all, visual clues, illusionists' ones excluded, are unquestionable: 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, transforming a possible "want" into a definite "need"!

Fragrance wearing is not an opaque layer of smell that stays the same throughout the day, thus inflicting odor perception blockage like it would if you were sitting in a chemical factory working every day to the same effluvium. Apart from the natural evaporation that would naturally occur, heat notwithstanding, 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 and this nicely varieties with the weather conditions: 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?

Citruses in particular share olfactory molecules with sweat thus rendering the scents complimentary to a heated body; we just hope it's clean sweat we're talking about! Some of the traditional Eaux de Cologne fragrances have become a classic exactly for that reason.

Guerlain has this down pat with their many excellent colognes such as Eau de Fleurs de Cedrat, Eau Imperiale and Eau de Guerlain, as do Roger & Gallet (their classic Farina-recipe cologne as well as the modern variations on the theme) and 4711 with their uber-classic formula. Goutal's classic Eau d'Hadrien is another hesperidic case in point, as ell as their slightly "darker" (but still quite sunny) Eau de Sud.  If you want to go upscale, look no further than Tom Ford's Neroli Portofino or Chanel's Eau de Cologne. Eau de Rochas used to be a beautiful composition with a twist thanks to a smidgen of patchouli under the freshness. The Roudnitska-authored Eau Fraiche for Dior (from the mid-1950s) was a spectacular case of a fresh scent which stood on an otherwise rich base of moss and warmer notes.

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There are other elements however which can match our heated bodies and cancel out the dreaded "argh" factor of the clammy feeling. Lactones, molecules with a "milky" scent produced naturally in our bodies too as a result of protein decomposition, are also present in our apocrine products and in perfumery these ingredients are reflected in scents reminiscent of peach, apricot or coconut. Some fruity floral fragrances can be nice in the summer, as long as you don't carry it too far, becoming the Pina Colada yourself, instead of drinking it.
Things like monoi de Tahiti, tuberose, frangipani and ylang-ylang might be a siren song from creamy scents loving people. There's the traditional approach of scents mixing lush flowers and suntan lotion (Monyette, Bronze Goddess by Lauder, Guerlain Terracotta le Parfum, Kai etc.) and there's the quirky road-cut, like in Manoumalia by Les Nez or Amaranthine by Penhaligon's; these are both fragrances which literally "bloom" in the heat.

 Or there is the contrary approach; instead of complementing by mimicking, go for the opposite, cancel out by opposing. Powder-dry pitted against the muggy, sharp green instead of overripe apricot-yellow.

Chypre fragrances in general (a family built on the triptych of bergamot-labdanum-oakmoss) is a category which needn't be avoided in the summer. Their place of origin, reflected in their name (Chypre is French for Cyprus, the Mediterranean island) indicates that they were inspired by warm conditions and sunny skies. Thousands of women in Greece wear Aromatics Elixir by Clinique and the trail they leave behind is nothing short of beautiful and weather appropriate. I told you elsewhere that I personally go for Bandit EDP and Chanel No.19 EDT, so I shan't repeat myself.

Obviously you'd need to carefully monitor dosage and way of application, if you're to produce a similar effect, but, what I'm saying is, it can be done. Similarly you can pick chypre fragrances which focus on the drier, powdery smelling and more volatile elements instead of the heavier or animal-derived ones. Beautiful examples include the enigmatic Diorella, the ever crisp Cristalle by Chanel, the sylvan Coriandre by Jean Couturier, the dry as a bone Ma Griffe (Carven), the aristocratic Caleche by Hermes, the bitterish Eau de Campagne by Sisley which ushers the wind from the meadows …


Gentlemen who wear Chanel pour Monsieur, Neroli Sauvage by Creed and Guerlain's Vetiver do so for a similar reason to us ladies who don our more angular fragrances in the heat. The greener and cooly resinous scents (from vetiver, from galbanum, from angelica … ) naturally produce a refreshing feeling without resorting to the cliche of Calone (a synthetically produced note that smells of melon and defined the 1990s thanks to its use in "marine" scents).  Sometimes there's even an electric fizz and iodine rash into them; to wit, Goutal's Vetiver.

Some crisp leather perfumes can also be a great weapon in the arsenal of a discerning gentleman (ex. Gomma by Etro) as can be some airy incense fragrances (Kyoto by Comme des Garcons, Passage d'Enfer by L'Artisan Parfumeur, L'Eau Froide by Lutens). But perhaps the most dramatic shift in an incense scent happens to Etro's Messe de Minuit, an eau de cologne that really assumes its true character in the context of southerner, balmy nights, as it sheds its creepy, cool stony cathedral aspect to speak of hot tiles roasted in the sun and of resinous myrrh.

The game has plenty of choices: Eau de Monsieur by Annick Goutal, Encre Noire by Lalique, Malle's Angeliques sous la Pluie and Vetiver Extraordinaire. Several "fig" scents such as Philosykos, Premier Figuier (L'Artisan Parfumeur) or Figue Amere (Miller Harris) can be just as cooling as "sea notes" but with more intriguing points, revealed only on a hot day (like savory and fruity facets) keeping you glued to the plot even more than the average Agatha Christie paperback ever could.

The heat is on!


Please share your transformative heat-induced scent-shifting tales in the comments.

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.

Lady Gaga Fame: fragrance review

With the Fame fragrance we witness a grossly missed chance and a Shannon entropy in one: whereas we could have had a Maleficent or at the very least a Pippi Longstocking, we get Cinderella ("please make the good prince notice me"), all bets off in a mathematical variability into the consumer's collective unconscious. Fame by Lady Gaga operates on a false signal, emitting something else than expected, breaking the communication circuit in half (visual cues, olfactory profile) and redirecting half of the message into the void. No wonder the Gaga perfume is the no.1 best-seller at the local Sephora as of this moment; perfume briefs these days are directed with a slew of semiotics experts and communication analysts behind them.

Lady Gaga Lady gaga FAME

via fanpop.com

The official blurb mentions the structure being built on three main accords, instead of the classic fragrance pyramid: dark accord, sensual accord and light accord. The fragrance, though not at all unpleasant (I bet if it was issued by another less "controversial" celebrity, we wouldn't expect so much to begin with and might be pleasantly surprised), ultimately runs the gamut of predictability: Fame by Gaga begins fresh grape-berry-apricot with more sweetness than anticipated from such a menacing presentation (the bottle looks like it is caught in fangs or in the pliers of a lifting machine at some enchanted factory making human replicas, someplace, an idea reinforced by the commercial), segueing into a "clean" layer of "white flowers" we've smelled in our fabric softener and plug-in home fragrance.

There's even the parting hint of smokiness for the allusion to mystery, as if something pretty needs an injection of something else too to register as coming from the meat-dress wearing celebrity or it wouldn't fit at all.

The nifty detail of the black juice inside which doesn't stain clothes or skin, as it instantly vaporizes transparent, isn't totally new either: Boudicca Wode (and not Boedicea the Victorious as I had erroneously mentioned before!) had explored the path first with her blue-tinged eau de parfum.

On the whole: Color me unimpressed.

Cool artwork though by Steven Klein. Can't knock that.

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

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)

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"...

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

Tauer Perfumes Pentachords ~White, Auburn, Verdant: fragrance reviews

Indie perfumer Andy Tauer gets inspired by music scales into arranging his newest line of fragrances we're exclusively previewing on Perfume Shrine today on pentachords, that is to say 5 consecutive notes on the diatonic scale. Pentachords® by Tauer Perfumes (White, Auburn and Verdant) are arranged as elusively simple, but not simplistic, harmonies resembling rather pentagram chords: the whole only becomes powerful when each part falls into place. Or think of a pentagram in the place of the classic French fragrance pyramid; "an accord that changes from one corner of the scent’s pentagon over time".

In a way it's minimalism and music theoretics pushed to an elegant extreme, a concept that is refuted by some; Tauer's bravura if successful, a big risk if not. "The compression and limitation an incentive" as he says. How many ingredients are necessary for a satisfying perfume? Tauer can whip up something with only five molecules and the results are satiating enough to fool you into believing there's more than meets the eye; kinda like full-cream premium ice-cream composed by only a handful ingredients, instead of tons of frilly additives.
Andy envisioned them (back in February 2009)  like "a fragrance built around 5 pillars. The line of thought moved on towards a pentachord fragrance. A fragrance, or an entire line of fragrances, built with 5 components only that are one chord, a pentachord." [...] "For me, this is art in its purest form: mirroring nature, bringing it into a concept, and by doing so thinking about it and invite others to think about it and enjoy it."

The long-lasting nature of the Pentachord fragrances (easily 10 hours or more) also speaks of picking elements with deft selection: sorting out the formula must be difficult when you have to ditch something that creates a striking effect, but doesn't translate well in structure or tenacity, and vice versa. You also have to choose good, expensive ingredients to yield their best properties into the concept. Lovers of the familiar Tauer signature will find things to like, especially in Auburn, which takes the ambery depths of his more resinous fragrances to date (Le Maroc pour Elle, L'air du desert Marocain), but I predict he will get new fans in Verdant and White which present striking effects poised between lightness and darkness. They both made an instant impression on me due to their juxtaposition of freshness against meaty earthiness.
All of them could be worn by either sex easily, though you'd have to like soft, gentle fragrances to appreciate White and to handle the metallic-woody top notes of modern masculine fougeres to unlock the secrets of  Verdant.

• White (a floral woody musk) is built on "the clear melody of royal Iris" and you do get it, but it's so much more as well. The concept of Pentachords White fragrance began while the perfumer was jogging in the snowy landscape of the woods near Zurich: "we thought about violet, orris root, ambergris, wood, vanilla", he admits. If this combination sounds inviting, the fragrance should get you all excited!
  The intense beauty of very expensive Irone Alpha (6-methyl alpha ionone) by Givaudan vibrates at the cusp of orris root and violet flowers, creating a silvery, expansive imagescape: A fragrance of either the crack of dawn or the crepuscular drawing of a prolonged cool afternoon, the contrast between light and shadow. The unusual element in the White Pentachord lies into manipulating the powdery, wistful and yet also "fleshy" character of orris into a fluffy embrace, in this case built on vanilla (methylvanillin to my nose, a phenolic aldehyde) and clean musk with a hint of ambergris/ambrox (a beloved "note" in the Tauer Canon for its skin compatibility properties): The subtle, gentle warmth of the latter elements balances the sadness and coolness of the former into an uplifting arpeggio, like the first or last rays of sun flickering on sheets of white. The sweetness of the fruity edges of the irone and the vanilla are most detectable in the middle of the fragrance's progression, while the more the fragrance stays on skin, the more the woody-iris facets of the molecule reveal themselves. It's innocent and supremely soft, but not maudlin. In fact it might have been inspired by a classic hazy scent which Andy loves to wear: Habit Rouge, a cloud transported from the skies on the wings of opoponax. Here Tauer substitutes the core opoponax for the amazing Alpha Irone which dominates the fragrance and creates a comparable "flou" ambience.
  Tauer's White has me hankering for things I did not know I had a hankering for: Jogging in the cold-ringing air at the crack of dawn trying to catch the first rays reflected in the white-spotted trees, warm milk in my thermos, or putting on warm pyjamas in bed, sipping violet pastilles and bringing down my teddy-bears again for a little cuddling session, years after they moved to the attic. It's a truly lovable fragrance that is sure to have many enamoured of it.

• Auburn (a spicy oriental) is presented as "the cupric warmth of cinnamon" and lovers of the compositions where Tauer smacks opposite his beloved mandarin citrus note resins (such as in L'air du desert Marocain, Une rose Vermeille, Incense Rosé) will smile with a smile of cognition: This is familiar ground, pared down to the necessities for this occasion. Amyl cinnamyl acetate gives a cinnamon note, while the amber-tobacco effect reinforces the oriental impression. It feels coppery and juicy. The citrus note is succulent, sweet rather than tangy, reminiscent of Orange Star, the heart sports hydroxycitronellal for expansion and a honeyed linden blossom note, while the background is deep, woody and ambery; a statement fragrance in the mold of modern orientals. Even though Auburn reads pleaurable as always ~Tauer is a master in arranging resinous, labdamum oriental accords~ it feels like already treaded ground and gives me the impression it was the last one to get developed; possibly as a need to tally the line into three different style offerings, or as a choice between some more additions that felt less representative of varying families and were thus kept for the follow-up. But that is only my guess and it does not detract from the fun that loyals to the "Tauerade" base will derive from it.

• Verdant (an aromatic green) represents "the lush green of ivy forests" and if you have ever dreamt of living in one of those country houses festooned with climbing ivy, shading it and keeping it cool, you're right there. The effect is photorealistic, from the water drops gleaming on the verdure, to the tangled growth & soil underneath replete with the gardener wearing leather gloves while trimming the branches. But what is most interesting to me in Pentachord Verdant is that in fact I smell an effect that strongly reminds me of woody vetiver fragrances: a nutty, oily rich, tobacco-laced earthy note which contrasts and compliments at the same time the greenery and grassy feel. It reminds me of Vertofix coeur (methyl cedryl ketone, a IFF ingredient) with its leathery vetiver facets, with an added sweet hay note of coumarin and rum-licorice which goes exceptionally well. The violet leaves come off metallic and bluish at the beginning, a tad sharp and androgynous (in the manner of Balenciaga Paris or Verte Violette), a jarring striking contrast, while the progression veers into warmer, ambery-leathery tonalities that create a warm pipe fantasy. If you like Vetiver Tonka and apreciate the sharp violet leaf freshness of modern masculines/unisex scents, this is a conversational piece to get you started in an engrossing discussion on modern perfumery. I find it a very interesting fragrance indeed.

The flacons for the Tauer Pentachords follow the pentagram design he already has introduced with Zeta, Orange Star and the rest of the latest releases, but in transparent glass with varying hues of coloured labels in white, copper and petrol green. The Pentachords line by Tauer Perfumes is only available at Campomarzio in Rome at the moment. They will launch more widely after the Pitti fragrance exhibition in September 2011.

Painting on top by Claude Monet. Pic of bottles via duftarchive.de In the interests of full disclosure, I got sent trial samples from the distributor.

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.

Laboratorio Olfattivo Esvedra: new fragrance by Pierre Guillaume

News fresh from Esxence, Italy, where the artistic exhibition for niche perfumery is taking place as we speak: Talented perfumer Pierre Gauillaume, well known for his "numerical" personal line Parfumerie Générale (established in 2002), and author of the Huitième Art project, created a new opus, called Esvedra, under the Laboratorio Olfattivo aegis.(An Italian niche line, promisingly established in 2009 with the motto “emotional experiences that come to life through our sense of smell").

The name Esvedra derives from within the geographical confines of the Mediterranean sea: Es Vedrà is a Balearic island a mere 2 km off the western coast of the cosmopolitan isle of Ibiza, in the area of Cala d'Hort. The island is a nature reserve, comprised almost solely of limestone, yet considered of a significant magnetic energy in folk lore. Let's not forget that for centuries the western edge of the Mediterranean was considered the end of the world and that sea tales concerning its many maritime wonders captured the imaginations of poets (producing the Odyssey, the Aeneid) and common folk alike.

The olfactory focus is vetiver, but Pierre proposes a new take, as he says: "It's an irregular vetiver, fractalized which expresses a magnetic green facet, sensual and luminous with accents of lemon petit-grain and coriander leaves". He envisioned it as a perfume that proposes a different structure than the classical top-middle-base notes pyramid, as all of the ingredients are truly contained within the centre of the composition. You could call it linear I guess or core-focused.

Notes for Laborattorio Olfattivo Esvedra: Nevenolide, vetiver, petit-grain from lemon trees, coriander leaves, musk.

Esvedra will be available in Eau de Parfum concentration (12%) in 100ml bottles soon. To buy when available watch this space.

Es Vedra picture at sunset via wikimedia commons

thanks to extrait.it for the in situ reportage

Mapping the Vocabulary of Scent: What Smells like Nail Polish/ Metal/ Sweat/ Horses/ Hairspray/ Burnt Toast/ Baby Powder/Dirty Socks etc?

When testing fragrances, the average consumer is stumped when faced with the ubiquitous list of "fragrance notes" given out by the company. That they do not accurately reflect actual essences or oils entering the composition is a given: Safraleine does not mean anything to the casual buyer, whereas they're familiar with the smell of saffron possibly or the nuance of leather goods, so the "fantasy" copywriting is preferred for all the obvious reasons. But how can in turn the consumer decipher which "notes" appeal or displease in any given perfume thus? "This smells weird and dry, must be the mastic note" comments one, while another says "I sense it as fluffy, could it be the heliotrope?" When in front of an aromatic stanza, one is often at a loss to describe in words the feelings evoked. But the feelings and associations are undeniably there, so an articulate, knowledgeable vocabulary is sorely missing, in part due to the secrecy of the industry and in another due to the limited scope that smell has on our language. Even perfumers themselves could benefit from translating the impressions of people into a concrete transliteration in perfumery terms. In short, which perfumery ingredients give which effect in any given formula? Let's see the most popular queries in alphabetical order and their explanation in a short guide on Perfume Shrine.


Baby powder/talc smell: Usually based on white musks (see this article on classification/perception of musks and that one on synthetic musks) or orange blossom. The latter due to its ubiquitous use in baby products, imparting a feeling of both freshness and tenderness. For reference the actual Johnson's Baby Powder has traditionally relied on the combination of citrus-vanilla-lavender.

Banana note: A natural facet of some white flowers (particularly jasmine sambac or ylang-ylang), when the effect is an unripe, green banana, unpeeled. It's also common when there is a lot of benzyl acetate in the formula, which is in turn naturally found in jasmine, ylang ylang and tobira blossoms.

Band-Aid note: Usually a synthetic "oud/aoudh" base is responsible for this weird, medicinal effect. 

Blood/metallic note: Due to 1-octen-3-one. Has an odour that is a cross between metallic blood and mushroom (see "cepes" notes in perfumery). Blood can be evoked via two aldehydes as well: decanal and nonenal.

Body Odour: see Sweat below

Caramel note: Usually a combination of vanillic notes (real vanilla pod orchid essence or vanillin).

Bad breath note: Usually caused by trimethylamine, fishy in low concentration, ammoniac in higher. (see also Fish note). Sulfurous notes from grapefruit in scent might also "read" as a bad breath note or body odour. Methanethiol (methyl mercaptan) is a constituent of bad breath and has a fecal scent (it is indeed found in flatus and in "asparagus urine", i.e. urine after eating asparagus).

Barnyard note: Usually there is a strong animalic note such as civet/civetone as well as indolic notes via jasmine or other white flowers. The horse note can be produced by presence of p-Cresol (a phenol) as well. A little hay (as in Chergui by Serge Lutens, the closest to natural hay absolute on the market) adds to the impression of a proper barnyard. L'Air de Rien for Miller Harris is a good example of "barnyard" scent via "dirty musks" and animalic notes.

Bread note: Due to 2-Acetyl-1-pyrroline (this is present in pandanus) and to lesser degree 6-Acetyl-2,3,4,5-tetrahydropyridine.

Cabbage note: Due to Methanethiol (also known as methyl mercaptan). Naturally occuring in nuts and cheese.

Cardboard/Old Books note: Due to salycilates (see more info)/"solar notes" and vanilla (the decomposition of wood pupl's lignin ~ a close relative to vanillin~ over time produces that effect natually in old books). Smell Dzing! by L'Artisan Parfumeur.

Cat Pee note: That intense ammoniac spray is due to blackcurrant buds, which have both butyric and sulfuric facets.

Celery note: Due to vertofix, a IFF molecule (methyl cedryl ketone) which smells like vetiver/leathery. It can therefore hide as "vetiver" and musky notes in a fragrance notes pyramid.

Cheese note: Butyric notes, like rancid butter (from βούτυρον/butyron, ie. butter in Greek), coupled with animalic notes such as civet/civetone. Frequent in some intense white florals.

Cotton-Candy (US)/Candyfloss (UK) note: Due to ethylmaltol, as famously used in Angel and Pink Sugar.

Cut grass: A sweet and green scent, usually due to triplal/ligustral (smelling like ligustra leaves) and coumarin (a material naturally found in tonka beans, as well as woodruff, sweet clover and cassia cinnamon). Also cis 3 hexenol smells like grass and is very common.

Curry note: Usually a combination of spices, one of which has to be cumin. It also includes coriander and sometimes "dirty" musks. See L'Autre by Diptyque.

Dentist's office: Cloves, cloves and cloves again! Dentists use clove for its naturally antiseptic properties. Several older Caron fragrances have a clove-y base and most carnation scents are traditionally built on a pepper and clove accord.

Detergent/Fabric Softener note: A great quantity of synthetic musks, especially "white musks" (see index) due to their ubiquitousness in detergents & fabric softeners thanks to their hydrophobicity (i.e. they rinse poorly and thus stay on clothes for long, which is the desired effect by the functional products industry). Cheap ambers such as Cetalox are also used in functional fragrances (i.e detergents), so presence in a fragrance can also give the association of laundry day. If the effect is acrid, it could be also due to dihydromercenol (the ingredient in many fresh aquatic men's colognes, see Davidof's Cool Water for instance) or lily of the valley. Lily of the valley (in the form of synthetics) is commonly used in detergents for the home as well as toilet cleaners thanks to its fresh, clean, green-floral aroma: witness Ajax White Flowers floor cleaner, which replicates the effect to a T.

Doll's Head: A combination of vanillin alongside heliotropin in smaller dose.

Earth (wet) note: This can be due to patchouli being dominant. Also patchouli coupled with oakmoss, but then the note is dryer and more bitter.

Feces/Fecal note: Usually due to indole (a constituent of white flowers, especially jasmine).

Felt-tip pens/markers: This is an effect of p-Cresol. Usually it's done in a "dry" context.

Fish note: There must be a trimethylamine note in there somewhere. At high concentrations, it can be ammoniac-smelling.

Fruity hard candy: Veltol gives a note of berries and caramel-like nuance(it increases the caramel effect and reduces the off cooked butter notes). It increases "creaminess" in both flavours (in lite products especially) and fragrances. You might also find Veltol in chocolate fragrances due to its creaminess.

Fuel oil/diesel: Cis 3 hexenol gives such an effect sometimes, although usually it's producing a green-grassy effect. Consider methyl benzoate as well, as evidenced in the opening of Jicky and Tubéreuse Criminelle.

Garbage note: The sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh/foodstuff is evoked by methyl anthranilate. Naturally found in bergamot, black locust, champaca, gardenia, jasmine, lemon, mandarin, neroli, orange, strawberry, tuberose, wisteria, galangal and ylang ylang. Of course the real corpse smell is due to two other compounds, not used in fragrances, cadaverine and putrescine.

Gas (natural) note: Although gas is primarily constisting of methane, it is the added compound tetrahydrothiophene which gives it its characteristic unpleasant rotten eggs odour.

Glue: This smell is a combination of heliotropin (synthetic heliotrope note with a marzipan facet), coumarin or anisic aldehyde. Styrax also has a faint glue aroma that reads as cinnamon-spicy.

Grape/Kool Aid note: Grape-fruity (concord grapes) is evoked thanks to methyl anthranilate. Dimethyl anthranilate is used to flavour Kool Aid. You might see this masked as a fruity note (berry) in perfumes. Sometimes has musty facets.

Greens bitter: Some pyrazines are responsible: 2-methoxy-3-isobutyl-pyrazine is the main flavour constituent of green bell peppers. Methoxy-methyl-, -ethyl- or-isopropyl-pyrazine increases the potato flavour of a potato salad while 2-methoxy-3-sec.butyl-, 2-methoxy-3-isobutyl- and 2-methoxy-3-isopropyl pyrazine appear in peas.
On the other hand, 2-methoxy-3-sec.butylpyrazine has been isolated from galbanum oil and has its characteristic bitter green odour profile.

Hair (dity) note: The culprit is costus root (do not confuse with cistus labdanum which has a leathery-ambery smell). Now restricted from perfumery, it is quite common in vintage perfumes (see Fille d'Eve by Germaine Cellier for Nina Ricci)

Hairspray note: Usually due to benzyl acetate. Among hairspray brands, some further aromatize their product with other aromata: L'Oreal Elnette hairspray for instance is particularly musky (in a pleasant ~to me at least~way)

Honey note: Either due to natural beeswax absolute in natural perfumery or -more commonly- due to mimosa & cassie absolute as well as cinnamic acid (used in the manufacturing of the methyl, ethyl, and benzyl esters for the perfume industry), which has a floral nuance to its honeyed note. Smell L'Instant by Guerlain in Eau de Parfum.

Horses note: see Barnyard note above

Leeks note: See Cabbage.

Melon/Watermelon note: Usually rendered by the immensely popular in the 1990s Calone aromachemical. (technically: methylbenzodioxepinone) . Unmistakeable, you know it well from Eau d'Issey and Aqua di Gio.

Metal/Cold Air note: Often due to helional, giving an impression of ringing cold air in some Northern steppe. Luca Turin describes it as "sucked silver spoon".

Mold/musty note: Dominant "dusty" variations of patchouli, sometimes coupled with carrot seed (which has a turnip-iris effect by nature). It can also surface in some incense variations with patchouli, such as in Messe de Minuit by Etro. Methyl anthranilate also might play a role, in the context of grape-fruity.

Mushroom note: See also Blood (1-octen-3-one) and look out for it in some gardenia compositions.

Nail polish note: Usually due to benzyl acetate, naturally found in white flowers.

Nail polish remover note: Due to methyl acetate.

"Old-lady" note: Due to powdery notes alongside woody ones or aldehydes (see more on types of aldehydes on this link). Too much iris can also give that effect in certain contexts due to its dryness. This is purely a cultural effect, because these happened to be popular smells in decades past, whose wearers are now "older ladies"! (For this controversial can of worms, read this essay).

Peach: Often due to gamma-Decalactone (referenced as C14 aldehyde, famously featured in Mitsouko). Peachy-apricoty scents can be rendered through jasmolactones too, and are actually preferred due to their fatty-creamy aspect.

Pear drops note (UK boiled sweet): A similar smell is found in ethyl acetate, a very evnescent, low-cost liquid used in perfumes as diluent and a common solvent in nail polish removers and decaffeinated coffee beans & tea leaves. It's worthy of note that it's the most common ester in wine, so the mental pear-wine link aromatically is not without cause.

Play-Doh note: Common lore wants it to be similar to heliotropin/heliotrope notes (affectionately referenced in iconic L'Heure Bleue by Guerlain). Etro's Heliotrope is a good example of this in action. I suggest that the modeling clay note is more wheat-almondy in nuance, a bit like marzipan but saltier, not classic Guerlain. Compare with Hypnotic Poison by Dior or Jaipur by Boucheron. Such a beloved, nostalgic note that it has entered a seperate creation by Demeter, simply called...Play Doh!

Pop-corn note: Due to 6-Acetyl-2,3,4,5-tetrahydropyridine, a common flavour used in pop-corn and tortillas.

Rice steam/basmati rice/jasmine rice note: Rendered through 2-Acetyl-1-pyrroline, a common flavouring in said products.

Rice powder/facial powder note: Often due to iris (either due to natural orris butter or violet-like ionones) as well as mimosa.

Rosy apple note: Due to damascones, materials analogous to ionones (which smell of violet/iris). Smell Knowing by Lauder or Coriandre by Jean Couturier to see them in action.

Tar: Due to phenols. Phenolic smells simply refer to tarry ones! Please note that "birch tar" is the pungent, leathery scent associated with Cuir de Russie type of scents (explanation on what Russian Leather scents are here).

Toast/Burnt note: This is due to pyrazines, compounds present in foodstuffs (see Greens Bitter above). Alkoxy- and/or alkylpyrazines can be added to coffee to increase the roast aroma, as well as other roasted foods (even meat).

Tomato note: Due to triplal (green leafy aroma) being overdosed, also green notes/cis 3 hexenal (similar with grassy greens).

Salty skin: Beautifully rendered through natural ambergris. Nowadays often replaced by synthetics.

Socks (dirty) note: Usually due to the presence of costus. Costus being restricted in current perfumery, this will be less and less a concern. The effect is apparent however in several vintage perfumes.

Suntan oil/tanning lotion/warm sand: If the fragrance or cosmetic has a floral-warm odour like the classic Ambre Solaire, sthis is due to salicylates (see this article for info on salicylates). Ylang ylang naturally contains them. You might also find this effect under "solar notes" in a traditional list of accords. If smelling of coconut, the classic Coppertone smell, it's due to gamma-Nonalactone (aldehyde C18) which is traditionally used in suntan lotions.

Sweat note: Common lore wants cumin to smell like sweat, but this is debateable as attested through research (Sweat has naturally sulphurous compounds, such as garlic, grapefruit and onion). Refer to Barnyard and Socks notes as well.

Urinal cake: Due to dihydromercenol (see also Detergent note).

Urine note: Phenylacetic acid is infamous for smelling like honey in large concentrations and urine in dilution. Miel de Bois by Serge Lutens is derisive for a reason...

Warm milk/warm pudding notes: A combination of vanillic notes, possibly with veltol or ethylmaltol if it reminds one of puddings or desserts off the oven. Saffron and mimosa also have some facets which are reminiscent of these, perhaps due to associations with edible notes.

Wine notes: Since ethyl acetate is the most common ester in wine, its presence in a perfume formula (which is common) evokes a wine-like effect (also see Pear drops). Some rose essences also have wine-y facets; witness Ce Soir ou Jamais by Annick Goutal.


There are also some more abstract effects which are caused by specific ingredients:
The "nose-hairs burning" effect is often due to synthetic woody-ambers, such as Ambroxan or Karanal, which smell like strong rubbing alcohol when in isolation. The "needles up the nose" effect (very sharp feel) can be due to lots of aldehydes in a very alkaline/soapy context: see White Linen by Lauder for that sharply fresh, sudsy effect. A seeming anaesthetizing of the nose can be due to a preponderance of ionones (violet notes). The too sour, too acid impression can be due to a very citric touch of hesperidic essences (from citrus fruits).
Usually the designation of something as "fresh" is considered a positive one, even though it might not relate to a specifically "fresh" family (such as aqueous/light floral/light fougere/citrus); analogously, "heavy" usually is used to describe a negative effect, again not relative to specific fragrance families but rather to "volume" of perfume, intense projection and radius of evaporation, especially when combined with more potent notes such as lush florals, intense mosses/woods or oriental/resinous notes.

In the end, getting to know the vocabulary of scent not only facilitates a common language reference among fellow fragrance enthusiastcs, but also enriches the experience itself, much like getting to know the parameters of art critique enhances the appreciation of art itself.

If you haven't caught on the Perfumery Definitions series till now, please visit:

• Definition: Indolic vs. Non Indolic
• Definition: Lactonic, Creamy, Milky, Butyric
• Definition: Powdery & Dry in Fragrances
• Definition: Resinous & Balsamic
• Definition: Soapy in Fragrances
• Definition: Phenolic, Terpenic, Camphorous