The death of Mitsouko

Those who have followed Perfume Shrine since it started on a previous host know that I have talked about what Mitsouko means to me. How my own words cannot convey what it stirs in my soul.

And here we get official confirmation from Guerlain that the rich base of it has been irrevocably annihilated, substituting oakmoss with treemoss. Of course various slight reformulations have been performed along the way in at least the last 30 years, since Mitsouko comes from the mythical age of 1919, a farewell to the old world that got terminated in the throes of the Great War.
Inspired by a tragic tale in the first place, it is an Andromache mourning for her lost Hector, her injustly killed son Astyanax and her looming future in degraded slavery.
Read how she had forseen her future and her most touching goodbyes to her husband as described in Iliad here.
Mitsouko ,much like the above excerpt, is all the sad and proud things imagination can muster...
And although I have not compared with the new current version in rotation at shops, my heartstrings are aching for the loss of the scent that more than anything else signifies imminent tragedy, loss and hurt to me.

The following piece of music best represents the foreboding feeling I get when I utter the word Mitsouko. It's the second movement of Beethoven's 7th symphony (Allegretto) performed by conductor Charles Latshaw and his orchestra to perfection. Click here to experience the awe and wonder for the very last time, listening "to the exquisite music of that strange procession, and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing".


Artwork is by Jean Louis David "La Douleur et les Regrets d'Andromaque sur le corps d'Hector son mari" 1873, courtesy of Wikipedia.

Glorious stink

The ebb and flow of human taste and its modus operandi is an undecipherable commodity. What is considered appealing and desirable and what is not doesn’t obey any quantitative measure. Which of course accounts for trends, market research and lost fortunes in wrong assumptions side by side with the successful lucky guesses.
The same applies to smell and fragrance. More pointedly so when the aromas emanating from someone are of a more intimate nature.

Ever since the dawn of humanity homo sapiens has shared the biological fate of his ancestors in the olfactory field. His sense of smell has primarily directed him to opt for the healthy game and fresh produce and avoid the stale and rotten. It is also possible that it has directed him via odorata sexualis to suitable mates through which procreation might be consummated with the imperceptible help of pheromones, aroma materials that are emanated by individuals to attract. For millennia man has been content to do just that.

And then civilization came into the picture. In the great civilizations of antiquity such as Egypt, Greece and Rome, the desire to distance oneself from the animal nature and embrace the humane, as manifested in science, philosophy and the arts, has made man take measures as to maintain a level of cleanliness that is beyond the mere necessity of survival. All those civilizations have been very hygienic indeed, if we take into mind that there was no running hot water and no bubble baths in a million permutations.
Yet Herodotus talks about how the ancient Egyptians of his time bathed regularly shaving their body hair and even their scalps as to not let perspiration nestle in intimate parts of the body and fester bacteria (OK, he did not use the word bacteria precisely). How they had inward lavatories for their needs and how they took pains to maintain hygiene there. How they used sweet scented oils and incense to accompany the dead to their last dwelling place on earth.
The Greeks were by no means less clean. They too -living in a warm climate- had been taking regular baths using silver and golden basins followed by massage with aromatic oils of thyme and basil at every possible occasion, cleaning their clothes in the rivers with ash and aromatic herbs as described in the Odyssey and equating hygiene with sanity and longevity. Numerous are the mythological tales of gods and goddesses taking baths while mortals gazed hidden. It was Galenos who invented the first bar of soap mixing crushed flower petals, olive oil and ash from burnt logwood.
Ancient Rome was the apex of public baths, in which people of all ages intermingled and talked about state matters in elaborate buildings divided in unctuarium (where they chose the unguents with which they would groom themselves), the frigidarium (cold bath) and the caldarium (hot bath) and then on to the labrum for the final cold shower.
Even lavender that clean smelling herb is named after the roman word for bathing, because of its ubiquitous use.
The tradition of the bath as a civilization index is no more apparent that in Tacitus’ opus Germania where he mentions with some disdain that Germanians, considered barbarians at the time, bathed in rivers. At least they did bathe! Which is more than can be said for the squalor and filth in which Medieval Europe lived for centuries after the fall of Rome.

While Islam reveled in the luxuries of bathing (aided by the religious prerequisite to clean one’s head, hands and feet before every prayer, a phenomenon that occurs with frequent regularity throughout the day), western Europe inaugurated a practice of not washing up one’s body at all, for which the church can be found to be a great culprit.
Maintaining that mixed baths (as were previously tentatively explored) were corrupting the soul and that tending to one’s genitals might lead to impure thoughts, they condoned the absence of bath as a means of chastity while at the same time they traditionally equated holiness with the sweet smell of myrrh and incense. How those two could co-exist is beyond me, but this is not the only paradox one comes up against if one explores the matter further.

It was as late as 1750 according to Alain Corbin and his book “Le Miasme and la Jonquile”, which explores the adventure of sanitation and the desodorisation of society, that the élite chose to distance itself from the foul stench of the gutters and disease that were abundant in the crowded -by then- cities of France. A taste for the aroma of deer musk or of catty civet and of pure country air mingled in what was to become the height of French perfumery. The impression of cleanliness underscored by the reminder that we are all human, full of smells that could be perceived as disgusting in their pure state.
However perfumes seemed to be necessary still to repel the germs and bacteria through their cleansing properties as the tradition of filth continued, albeit a bit subdued: at least the clothes were as freshly clean as possible.
Louis XIV was said to have only bathed two times in his whole long life despite asking his guests and courtesans to wear a different perfume every day and the mere thought disgusts us today, earning a reputation of filth for Frenchmen which sadly has not been totally shifted if I judge by the miniscule pieces of sanitary paper that come out - one at a time!!- through the automatic devices at French toilets today.
On the other hand there was also an allure of the animalic and forbidden in similar practices when Napoleon infamously wrote to Josephine: “Je reviens en trois jours; ne te laves pas!” (I return in three days; don’t wash yourself).
The pair of them began a vogue for heavier smells as Josephine was madly in love with the smell of musk, to the point that her boudoir at Malmaison still has an aura of the aromatic essence present. Napoleon on the other hand preferred her in violets.

The Victorian age reveled in pure and simple smells as a contrast to the more decadent Empire style, using single floral waters (soliflores) for men and women alike. But it was the Puritans more than anyone else that began the hysteria for cleanliness with their desire to eliminate all traces of animalic tendencies from man. Sadly this is an insurmountable task, as the human body has to produce bile and bacteria to break down food which accounts for a smell that cannot be completely eradicated however hard one tries.
Indoor plumbing and hot water at the click of a button made taking baths an easy and swift procedure that is as an automatic reflex for today’s men and women as brushing one’s teeth. Technological progressions made the manufacture of industrial strength deodorants to put under one’s armpits as a necessity of every day life that is a god sent if you’re ever stuck up in a crowded underground wagon on a hot day of August. Perfumed products in an array of mind arresting variety are manufactured to lure as in and buy more, more, more…

And yet in all that progress we seem to have lost what has once been ours in ancient years: the conjugation of mind and body, the clean with the human.
The examples of complete perfume bans in offices in latter days, the denial of the sensual and natural in favour of the sanitized and deodorized has permeated every single aspect of today’s life. Everything around us is artificially scented with a chemical aroma that defies every law of nature. We scrub fanatically to remove any trace of human smell from our bodies and then we apply perfumed products that would supposedly give us back what nature intended to give us in order to attract a mate. We seek to find “clean” but at the same time “sexy” smells. Above all we do not want to offend. Being accused of smelling of body odour is the height of mortification for anyone beyond infancy. (since kids do not really “smell”; there have to be sexual hormones at play to do that…)
In an overcrowded planet that has no room for any more bodies, this was to be expected.
And this is what accounts for the recent resurgence of perfumes that aim to regress in the stink and funk of our human condition: from the goat-y magnificence of Muscs Kublai Khan by enfant gaté Serge Lutens to the dirty smell of Kiehl’s Musk eau de toilette and from the soft caress of a slightly sweaty body that has been active in human activities of L’air de rien by Miller Harris (with the collaboration of Jane Birkin) to the gimmicky Sécretions magnifiques by état libre d’Orange which recalls semen and blood (sounds the recipe for some tabloid article)…

It is clear that one yearns for what one is denied of. And the reason why isn’t very hard to see.


Artwork by Patric Boivine for CGnetworks.com

Fragrance review: Avicenna by Annette Neuffer

Annette Neuffer is a multi-talented lady you have not come across associated with fragrance yet. But you sure will. Not only is she an accomplished jazz musician with a quintet after her own name, performing all around the world, she has also stepped into the perilous world of perfumery using all natural essences to render her wild imaginings palpable and tangible for us.
Her generosity in sending me her labour of love was astounding and I am honoured to have been at the receiving end. To tell you the truth, I begin all those samplings with no expectations at all (since I don’t want to be prejudiced one way or another), but usually they prove very pleasant and sometimes even gripping to my surprise.

Annette’s most accomplished foray into the art of composing perfume so far is Avicenna, a sumptuous oriental of a deep ambery golden colour like a monastic liqueur. A complex and dark mix of several expensive rose essences of various origin (Bulgarian, Turkish, Russian, Moroccan), jasmine, broom, pepper, honey, sandalwood, amber, vanilla and musks.
The name alone enticed me as soon as I heard about it: Avicenna or more accurately Abu Ali al-Husain ibn Abdallah ibn Sina (born in Isfahan, the legendary city in 980AD), was the famous researcher, scientist and philosopher of Islam who was responsible for cracking the secret of rose distillation in the 10th century. Islam is a culture stepped deep into the cult of the rose. For them rose is the essence of beauty, holiness and spirituality. It appears in many facets of everyday life and plays an important part in religious ceremonies. The thick plush petals that resemble velvet hold a fascination for the denizens of the anhydrous regions of the Middle East and its heavy narcotic feel lulls the mind into a reverie.
Annette Neuffer was inspired by these historical details and strove to create something with an ancient feel to it, something that would lend some small magical touch in our everyday preparation to face the perilous world out there, a fragrant talisman for our protection.

The spicy cascade Avicenna opens with takes you by the throat and forces you to pay attention as caustic pepper singes and swirls around floral essences, perhaps a tad too stringently. Ginger and cardamom are also apprarent, while cinnamon does not make a too noticeable appearence, certainly not what you're accustomed to from its ubiquitous use in pot-pourri. The garland of rose unfolds on the skin majestically, like a thousand petals crushed underfoot in a medieval palace in Tehran. Myriads of nuances of rose take on mellow hues lent by smooth saffron and the bracken and honey feel of broom as the progression of the maturing of the precious and quite potent essence is continuing. It is very apparent that those sensations have their feet firmly in the sensual world of the material world of Nature rather than the white-coat lab of an urban conglomerate technician. There is no sharp note or that high pitched aluminium and glass feel of modern perfumes that one can smell at a department store. It’s cobbled alleys and dirt instead.
The underlying mustiness has reminded me of the famous Caron accord that is so evident in most of the venerable firm’s offerings. Their Poivre, Parfum Sacre and Rose parfums all contribute elements that can be traced later on in Avicenna.
As I inhale deeply I am transported to Top Kapi, the Constantinople palace where draperies of heavy damask hide Byzantine secrets and languorous kohl-eyed sultanas take a break from their more carnal occupations to revel in the romanticized florancy of rose and the piercing sweetness of natural jasmine in the lazy hours of a never ending afternoon.
Aromatic resins such as erotic labdanum and mellow benzoin anchor the composition with restraint so that it never becomes too sweet, as one might fear judging by the notes; although they do lend tremendous fixation and staying power to it. The final phase recalls the deep and dull colour of large amber beads threaded together in a komboloi (playing beads), one ticking the other incessantly, as time elapses lazily until all aromas on skin very, very slowly exit with a sigh.

The official notes are as follows:

Head

Black Pepper, Cinnamon Bark, Cardamom, Ginger, Macis, Mandarin, Bergamot, Tunisian Neroli

Heart
Saffron Absolute, Tunisian Orange Blossom absolute, Turkish and Bulgarian Rose Otto and absolute, Moroccan Rose Absolute, Russian Rose Absolute, Jasminum Grandiflorum Egypt, Acacia Farnesiana, Indian Tuberose, Broom Absolute

Base
Beeswax Absolute Supιrieur, Oppoponax, Elemi, Labdanum, Benzoin, Vanilla Absolute, Mysore Sandalwood, Copaiva Balsam, Hibiscus Abelmoschus


Annette Neuffer might not be as experienced as some other established perfumers, but her passion and interest in the world of natural essences is at least engaging and worth exploring for yourself.
I highly recommend you visit her Perfume Page here, where you can get info, request samples and possibly order.
You can also contact her directly at: info@naturparfum.net



Pic is of Blue Mosque in Constantinople/Istanbul courtesy of pbase.com

Chanel Les Exclusifs: new perfume direction or perfume snobbery?

The new perfume line of Chanel was trumpeted all around the Netsphere with bated breath anticipation, reveries of upcoming delights and awe-stricken reception when the bottles finally landed in the boutiques. It was Chanel, they were super exclusive, it was le dernier cri! They were touted to be the new direction in perfumery and the 6 bottles you had to make room for on your dresser, per one critic, to the eclipse of all others.
Almost a fortnight later I think we are in a position to evaluate things with a clearer head and give what’s due without histrionics of teen fan excitement.

Chanel has a rich olfactory tradition to keep. Mainly because she revolutionized modern perfumery with her innovative Chanel #5 and the subsequent masterpieces of Ernest Beaux, like Bois des Iles, #22, Cuir de Russie and the older version of Gardenia. (I am saying older because the thin, pale, jasmine-rich specter of today does not fulfill the above given title). The luminous star lighting an enchanted forest that was to become Chanel #19 was to be launched years later, in 1970, created by Henri Robert. The Chanel brand languished after Coco’s death in 1971, for years remaining the doyen of the “old ladies” who dressed conservatively (how ironic given it was Coco who revolutionized women’s wear at the beginning of the century!). And yet it was an inescapable reality for years. It took the daring of Karl Lagerfeld to re-enter Chanel into young people’s consciousness with biker jackets decorated with camellias, torn skirt hems and tall boots with the characteristic two-tone instep. The brand witnessed a resurgence. At about that time Jacques Polge was hired as head perfumer, one of the few that remained in that position when houses stopped this time-honoured practice and were issuing briefs to big perfume companies who concocted various brews according to market research and evolving trends all through the 80s and 90s. Chanel instead produced Coco, Egoiste, Allure and oversaw the introduction of an eau de parfum concentration for Cristalle that utilized a different formula, giving it a more sophisticated chyprish feel.
And then something happened: as if Polge’s creativity unwound and he started producing crowd pleasers that would fit in with the trends: Coco Mademoiselle (surely inspired by the staggering success of the gourmands and the emerging vogue for patchouli), Chance (a lighter and fresher Coco Mlle), Allure Sensuelle (is it me or is this the least innovative of all of Chanel’s offerings?). Those all worked well, sold lots (no mean feat, granted) and everyone should feel happy, right?

However this is not how minds worked at Chanel evidently. Perfume is a highly snob business it seems, because as perfume has become a commodity to be shared by the masses (what was once the unwashed masses of dirty boulevards is now the average clean consumer who buys a gift for oneself or a loved one at a department store) the allure of the exclusive, the luxurious and the rare had escaped Chanel. Sure, there were the elusive Exclusive Rue Cambon scents, a collection of classics that was re-issued in the 90s for the delectation of perfume aficionados available at Chanel boutiques. All the same, the exclusivity was not 100% there, because that devil of an Internet, that Gloss.com site had secured rights to sell the Rue Cambon collection to the public on-line. Everyone in the US, from the stay at home wife in Minnesota to the career lady in a demanding job at Rhodes Island could secure a bottle of exclusivity cachet in the form of a bottle of Bois des Iles or Cuir de Russie. So that cachet was not really what it seemed to be. Anyone in the know and with a little amount of money could partake of it. That was simply unacceptable by the clientele of Chanel couture who probably wanted their own elite fragrances to go with their expensive gowns (let’s not forget that Chanel is a house that charges for giving you extra buttons for your missing ones in your clothes!) Or so I am guessing.

Hence the new line of Les Exclusifs was conceived: Bel Respiro, Coromandel, No 18, 28 La Pausa, Eau de Cologne and 31 Rue Cambon. All inspired by places and objects that were tied to Coco Chanel herself.
And sticking to the idea that it had to be something niche and ultra-luxurious it transpired that they should perhaps mimic the concept of other lines and houses which imbued their foot into the great pool of the niche perfumery: Hermessences with their very successful Jean Claude Ellena signature minimalist style, Armani Prive with their austere architectural bottles, Dior Collection with their unique aromas. Guerlain of course was a different proposition as they are a perfume house to begin with and they had inaugurated a boutique full of exclusives in Paris.
Chanel was the only great house that had not tried that field. It seemed like high time.

And henceforth Polge got into the act. It had been published that Chris Sheldrake, the Australian genius working under the maestro baguette of Serge Lutens at Palais Royal Shiseido was under contract to work for Chanel. However, it was to be as deputy perfumer while Polge remained head nose. Eyebrows were raised, questioning gazes were exchanged into the netsphere and the thing soon subsided. There is simply no official confirmation if Sheldrake worked on the new Exclusifs. We’ll leave it at that till further notice.

Anyhow, the 6 new fragrances were issued as gigantic 200ml bottles of eau de toilette concentration at a staggering price of 180 euros. I know that ml for ml the price isn’t steep (it would be 45 euros for 50ml to give you an idea) In fact doing the comparative math we deduce that it is quite economical compared with the Hermessences for example. However the fact that they have not talked about smaller bottles being available makes them a little pretentious and destined to be used as decadent splashes. Which their concentration and lack of sillage call for.
This is weird coming from a brand that caters to bourgeois tastes: people shopping for perfume in this prerogative want everyone to be conscious of their luxurious choice of fragrance leaving a trail behind and it is exactly that that’s hard to do with the new Exclusifs. The abundance of juice hints at a desire to abandon restraint and just spray away, a concept that somehow brings to my mind nuances of snobbism, in a world where there are people who are starving. The Eau de Cologne, one of the 6, even comes in a dinosaur size of 400ml! I cannot imagine the hands that are supposed to yield such a ginormous vehicle of scented consumerism.

The style and character of the scents themselves is like academic mannerism in my mind, because they do echo nuances of other Chanel creations: the incense of no.22 and the patchouli of Allure Sensuelle crop up in the tempered oriental of Coromandel, the iris and verdancy of Chanel #19 in 28 La Pausa and Bel Respiro, the tartness and citrus twist of Cristalle in Eau de Cologne and so on. I don’t know if this was intentional or a case of unconscious association (perfumery is such a pretentious field that it wouldn’t surprise me if they claimed that); as it is, it begs the question: why buy something new when the old is perfectly all right and vastly superior at that?
The new oakmoss-free chypre in 31 Rue Cambon may be trying to revolutionize the industry with the iris-pepper accord that supposedly mimics the traditional sophistication of a chypre perfume, yet it evolves as a light floriental on skin, certainly not the sophisticated bombastic effect of what we are accustomed to view as chypre. Perhaps my ominous, foreboding feeling that perfumery will never be the same after all those restrictions is not so pessimistic after all. It would pain me to really believe it, yet 31 Rue Cambon does not do much to alleviate the feeling, lovely as it trully is to sniff.
For fragrances that had been touted as the new direction in perfumery they distinctly lack a compass into the unknown and seem to tread well known waters with simple, unfinished accords that try to appear modern yet do not do so with firm conviction. Something tells me that Polge who is a self-professed oriental lover does not feel comfortable composing sparse oeuvres of a John Cage nature. He would be more in tune in doing a Prokofiev. And yet, someone somehow has managed to elicit those reactions in the lab, producing 6 new scents at a time frame that used to be adequate for only one or two great ones.

I will come back with more analytical reviews on each one of them; however I needed to be harsh this time. They can afford it, I gather….

Top pic from the film "Much ado about nothing" by Kenneth Branagh. Middle pic from imagesdesparfums

Belle en Rykiel: fragrance review

This is the time to test your span of attention, dear readers. Remember how I had talked about the upcoming new fragrance from Sonia Rykiel, madame de tricot, full of anticipation, back in the day? It was last October on my previous venue, on another host. You can read what I had written and the official info on the new perfume here.
Today I will occupy myself with accounting my actual sniffing experience for your delectation.

Sonia Rykiel is a true Parisian eccentric lady with elegant daughter Nathalie as precious accomplice in their adventures in knit, navy clothes Breton-style and the ubiquitous black. Her signature frizzy red mane is only a hint of her willingness to participate in outré concepts like their new boutique with all the naughty props...
In perfumery she hasn't made any faux pas, starting their fragrant stable with the great dry woody Sonia Rykiel Le parfum in 1993. It was as late as 1997 that they issued their next one, named simply Sonia Rykiel in the sweater torso bottle with the strass on the chest, boxed in an orange rectangle and smelling of sweet fruits mingled with vanilla and caramel, inspired by the success of Angel, making this one for gourmands in every sense of the word. The following year saw L'eau de Sonia Rykiel, a predictably aquatic "blue" scent to satisfy the end of the market that had moved on from L'eau d'Issey because of its mass popularity and wanted something a little more private and subtle; while 2000 was the year Rykiel catered for men as well with her dark Rykiel Homme. The collection now seemed complete.
However when something is good saleswise, perfume houses and marketing teams want to capitalize on that: enter Rykiel Rose (2000) in a version of the original sweater bottle, this time tinged in a very becoming pink hue, redolent of succulent tarter fruits and a sparkling interpretation of the king of flowers (for most folks, I'm not one of them!)
By the same token Rykiel Grey (2003) was a male tart and sexy musky version in another sweater bottle, while the true masterpiece came out that same year and was emphatically and irrevocably destined for women: Rykiel Woman, not for men!(in eau de parfum; the eau de toilette that launched two years later is sadly different and not on a par).

The newest Belle en Rykiel , created by nose Jean Pierre Bethouart (working for Firmenich), crossed my path for real this time like an accidental rencontre with someone you had heard lots about half-remembering what that someone was like. Time had passed and I did not remember any notes or description, just that it was a promising new release from the designer who captured my heart with Rykiel Woman,not for men! rich crayons of a dusky, musky hue. I was therefore a complete virgin in regards to sampling it when the genuine surprise of seeing the heavy architectural bottle subsided. Surprise, because although I had been informed that it had already launched since last autumn I had not yet located a tester. This is an irritating phenomenon that has to stop: how is it possible to sell something, a new product on top of that, without a tester available for the buyer to sample from? Some mysterious clairvoyant act of genius must transpire, I guess...

The official description promised an aromatic oriental, presumambly because of the inclusion of one of the most traditional aromatics in perfumery that has done a comeback -much like the also for long forgotten violet note- that is lavender. Now, lavender is usually a masculine element, both because of its traditional and somewhat expected inclusion in so many men's scents, from Grey Flannel to Goutal's Eau de Lavande. And to tell you the truth it is not my personal favourite note in a women's perfume, because if it is the real stuff it smells quite medicinal which I find offputting, and if it is not it's even worse; a travesty smothered in easy to swallow vanilla cream like kid's pills. If you have to have something, be a man and take it as it is, is my motto!
However, truth be told, in Belle en Rykiel it smells neither very prominent, nor masculine.
Its celebral coupling with incense, as promised by the promotion text, gave me an idea that maybe it would be an echo of Encens et Lavande by Serge Lutens, a Paris exclusive with the most gorgeous drydown (final phase) of smooth olibanum/frankincense that recalls the heavy damasc drapery of a baroque cathedral in the time of the Spanish Inquisition.
However in Belle en Rykiel, I am a little disappointed to report that the final impression is not as dramatic or richly evocative of similar decadence with the resplendour of such historical periods.

Upon spraying the light golden liquid on my wrists the tartness of mandarin and berry overtook any possible medicinal tendency lavender has, with a projection that at first seemed a bit strong for my taste. It took a while for it to unfold the powdery and sweet heliotropin which emerged triumphantly in the middle along with a garland of light incense that is nowhere near the eclesiastical dense cloud of Avignon or the sheer drama of Norma Kamali Incense.
Patchouli seems like such an ubiquitous element in half of today's perfumes that frankly, although I love its aroma, it's getting me a little bored. Here it offers its sweet ambience in compliance to the amber, never overstagging it. The bois d'acajou (mahogany) note listed is something to which I am unfamiliar with, excluding the eponymous limited edion by Etro and furniture of course, but admittedly the composition smells more like a woody oriental to me than an aromatic one.
On the whole, although Belle en Rykiel starts with somewhat of a blast it soon becomes soft and subtly sweet staying close to the skin the way another sensual Lutens scent, Chergui, does or even evoking the baked skin of L de Lolita Lempicka, the whole lasting quite a while.

Would I rush out and buy a bottle? Probably not, because I feel that it is not terribly original to warrant a purchase since I have similar things in my collection already; however it would not disappoint the woman who is tired of fruity florals or overtly foody scents and out to purchase a modern oriental that would never garner comments of it being out of synch with today's sensibilities, yet manage to smell feminine and inviting.

Belle en Rykiel comes in Eau de parfum concentration in 40, 75 and 100ml priced 40, 60 and 75 euros respectively. Available from major department stores in Europe. Soon to be released in the US and rest of the world.

Pic came uncredited to me via email, probably courtesy of Lavazza calendar campaign.