The bittersweet smell of laurels: 300 Spartans

Today I chose to include an adored poem that really depicts best of all just what the sacrifice of those tragic and noble 300 Spartans really meant. In an age when anyone can interpret facts any way one wants and present them for the sheer monetary gain at the box office, let's pause for a second and think how some things in life do mean much more and how not everything is for glory but sometimes it's for honour.
There is a difference.

The ancient epigram/epitaph by Simonedes, friend of Megistias (the Acarnanian seer, who foretold the death of Leonidas and his warriors) is immortal.
It went like this:
"Stranger passing by, go tell the spartans that here, obedient to their laws, we lie."

The poem I chose is much more recent, it doesn't pertain to the olfactory, yet it does evoke the bittersweet smell of laurels. The laurels of noble defeat...
Written by my favourite poet Constantine Cavafy, whom I have also reference while talking about Mitsouko.
It's called "Thermopylae" and is inspired by the famous battle as a lesson in life in general.
I leave you to enjoy it by yourselves.

Thermopylae

Honour to those who in life they lead
define and guard Thermopylae.
Never betraying what is right,
consistent and just in all they do,
but showing pity also, and compassion;
generous when they're rich; and when they're poor,
still generous in small ways,
still helping as much as they can;
always speaking the truth,
yet without hating those who lie.

And even more honour is due to them
when they foresee (as many do foresee)
that Ephialtes will turn up in the end,
that the Medes* will break through after all.

1903 by Constantine P. Cavafy (Kavafis)

*Medes (plural of Mede) is another name for Persians en masse (historically they were an older tribe who intermingled and interbred with the Persians)



Pic of classical statue of mid4th century BC courtesy of greeklandscapes.com.
Painting of Leonidas at Thermopylae by Jacques Louis David courtesy of wikipedia.

Eau de Cologne from Chanel Les Exclusifs: fragrance review

Eau de Cologne from Chanel is just what the doctor prescribed for those lazy, hot summer days when you don't have the mental energy to think straight and pick a scent that won't clash with the humidity and the heat.

And it is now as good a time as any to dispel the myths around this type of scent named Eau de Cologne. Usually it is what men in the United States say they use. This is actually a tradition that has to do with avoiding the unpleasant connotations of the term Eau de toilette and not an accurate rendition of what they put exactly on their skin. Too many times you will hear men saying that and in fact what they use is Eau de toilette. The notion of why this is so undelicate a concept to grasp dawned on me after a discussion on the correct etiquette on asking to use a toilet in someone's house. I had been told that it's customary to say "bathroom" even if you're not going to actually bathe in there. Suffice to say that this particular delicasy of phrase has escaped my more sturdy european ears and we do use the term toilet aplenty. However faire la toilette is also the french term for preening and in that regard Eau de toilette fits in really well, as it is part of the ritual (hence the name of course).

Another type of mix up happens because Eau de Cologne is not just a concentration of a scent at the counter of any fragrance line, but also a special type of scent recipe, harking back to 1370 and the first alcoholic perfumed mix prepared for the Queen Elizabeth of Hungary. This got named Hungary Water and is still around today. However it took it a couple of centuries more, to become the Eau de Cologne that became famous in 1792 under the name 4711 Echt Kolnisch Wasser, after the homonymous town in Germany (Koln/Cologne) where it was produced. The house that produced it is called Muelhens (although now 4711 is owned by Wella), the name comes from the original address of the Muelhens shop and they claimed they got the recipe from a Carthusian monk nammed Farina who gave this as a wedding gift to William Muelhens. Its first name was "aqua mirabilis" (water of miracles) due to its stimulating, antibacterial properties that warded off disease and acted as a tonic. A different story attribues the origins to Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella in Florence (which was founded in 1612) where the monks manufactured the Aqua della Regina (water of the queen), made for Catherine de Medici who upon coming to Paris inaugurated the tradition of perfumery to the french capital. There suppossedly the recipe was copied by Paul Feminis and the vogue for eaux de cologne flourished well into the coming years. [You can read the history of Eau de Cologne on this link. ]

The classic recipe of Eau de Cologne includes bright citrusy notes of bergamot, petitgrain (the essence from the stems of the bitter orange tree) along with neroli and some fruit rind's expressed oil (such as lemon or orange), garlanded with herbs such as lavender and rosemary, the odd floral note (rose for instance, as is the case in 4711) and a light underpinning of a more sturdy base note that would anchor the scent so it doesn't evaporate into thin air too soon.

In Chanel's case the given notes for its new Eau de Cologne are:
neroli, bergamot, citrus, musk, vetiver.

Indeed as one sprays the succulent juice on the skin a burst of bright, sunny, slightly bitter citrus fruits explodes and envelops the wearer in a sunny vignette of times gone by. Like people dressed in striped maillots preparing for a swim in a cosmopolitan beach, eau de cologne always brings to my mind a memory of lazy languid summer days of yore when parents and granparents started for the beach with panache and straightforward style. Think those classic Breton matelots and you're there. Soon the whole sweetens and obtains a rounder neroli and musky ambience that is supported by a light yet sensual backdrop. It does not last too long alas, which is of course the nature of such fleeting things, like a quick dip in the refreshing blue waters, but it does provide so much enjoyment while it does.
The gigantic 400ml bottle is prefectly made for lavishing this on with reckless abandon.

Pic by Nick Moschos courtesy of eikastikon.gr

No.18 from Chanel Les Exclusifs: fragrance review

When I fist heard about the new line by Chanel, officially termed Les Exclusifs, or affectionately termed Les Prétentieux, the one which I was most in anticipation of was no.18. Named after the number of the Chanel fine jewelry boutique at Place Vendôme it is a scent based on ambrette seed , a vegetal and very costly ingredient that natural perfumers use for substituting real and synthetic musk in their perfumes.
I had envisioned a whole scenario of soft smooth aromas in my mind, lured by the promise of musk that is one of my top favourite notes in creation in most of its nuances and incarnations. Not even the prophet Muhhamad has been so entranced by the promise of musk as I have!

However my impression of ambrette seed largely derives from the oil distilled and the absolute used in perfumes which I have had the rare pleasure of smelling and not the unshelled variety of the seed which I later found out goes into the production of no.18.
Hibiscus Abelmuschus, aka ambrette seed, is a plant of the hibiscus family whose names derives from the Greek ibis (a kind of bird that supposedly eats it) and the Arabic Kabbel-Misk (which means grain of musk). Usually the seeds of the plant when they “hatch” are pressed for their precious oil which takes on a soft, sweetish, skin-like aroma. According to Mandy Aftel the smell is sweet, rich, floral and musky all at once.

Imagine my surprise and dare I say a little disillusionment when I actually got my decant and sprayed the precious juice on my skin. An acrid, pungent smell first hit me that was not the richness and powderiness I anticipated so eagerly.
In fact it reminded me of an anecdotal story I want to share with you. While still little I had a penchant for mixing brews and potions and generally messing with spices, aromas, pomades and yes, perfumes. I found the whole concept of it fascinating and wanted to see how different smells could be combined and nuanced. Spices and cooking are a logical introduction and having been blessed with a mother who cooked well and kept a lot of interesting stuff in the kitchen cupboards I took them out one by one and started experimenting. Once it was the cloves: crushing them, then burning them (they do produce a different, very smoky aromatic sweet smell when burned). Then the pimento and saffron: experimenting with boiling them or immersing them in oil like I had seen women do with basil, rosemary and thyme for aromatizing olive oil (and yes, this is a valid practice that produces mouthwatering results). The stage that really did me in was mace. It was a spice I loved sprinkled on creams and cookies and in meat dishes. It gave a rich oriental, middle-eastern flavour to everything and I loved its ambience. Little did I know that upon burning the unshelled nut in the fireplace (which is quite a hard light brown one) the pungent smell would pervade the house to a point of suffocation and produce fumes that would take eons to clear out rendering my parents furious at me and me nauseous of that smell for life.

Sadly, it was that bitter childhood memory that the initial impression of burned pickles emanating from my no.18 sprayer produced in me. Of course I might be exaggerating because the effect is not nearly as strong as all that, although the whole scent is obviously orchestrated around the solo violin player of ambrette seed, there is no doubt about that.
The effect is certainly not ordinary at all and it only bears a slight resemblance to some oudh fragrances I have smelled and the likeable weirdness of Timbuktu by L’artisan Parfumeur.
Maybe this is an omphaloscopic post and I am analyzing this too much. The point is this medicinal, strange element deterred me from appreciating the full spectrum and possible beauty of no.18. I braced myself for the development, which soon came in the form of sweetish woody and fruity notes of a non-descript nature that in my humble opinion deter from the more daring opening that although repulsive to me personally due to the associations might be a strong pull to people who are interested in the adventurous, distinctive and different. The base is also a little synthetic smelling as if the natural aspect of ambrette seed is anchored with materials invented wearing a white robe, which is a bit antithetical to the promise of a rich vegetal smell.
The modernization of the concept so that it would not recall a natural artisanal perfume, but one issued by a pedigree great house does not work to its favour I think.

Jacques Polge has revealed in an interview that this is his favourite of the line-up and I can see how a person who doesn’t like oakmoss (as discussed before) and is an oriental lover would prefer this. It is certainly the most innovative of the lot and I dearly wish I had the virginal mental and olfactory make-up to really appreciate no.18. As it is, I am unfortunately unable to. It would be like uprooting a mighty tree out of my brain.




Art photography by Chris Borgman courtesy of his site.

31 Rue Cambon from Chanel Les Exclusifs: fragrance review

The Chanel perfume from the line Les Exclusifs that goes by the address tag 31 Rue Cambon is named after Chanel's main boutique in Paris and also the day-time appartment above it that she used as a study and reception room for friends.
The contrast between the baroque apartment and the more austere composition of this scent is intentional according to Jacques Polge who created it, as he did with the whole new line.

31 Rue Cambon is an experimental chypre that omits the classic oakmoss note of the standard chypre composition and is touted as a "dry, musky, nutty scent." I think Serge Lutens tried a similar stunt with his Chypre Rouge, last autumn, which does not smell particularly chypre to me.
Here the formula starts indeed with a dry element that is sparkling and radiant. The substitution of oakmoss has resulted in a novel iris-pepper accord that according to dr.Turin is used here for the first time to render the impression of sensuality and powderiness that would normally be provided by the sensual backdrop of oakmoss and married to different batches of patchouli for the mossy feel. According to an interview of Polge in French paper Le Figaro, Polge is not a great fan of oakmoss anyway, because he finds the smell bitter. A self-proclaimed oriental lover, mr.Polge had to search for exotic varieties of patchouli growth to substitute the moss element that is needed in a chypre composition and came up with a new style. Which is not really chypre smelling either. In fact I would call it a chypre-oriental, if pressed to classify it and you will see why as you proceed.

The green spicy burst at the start gives way to softer accents following the herbal notes and the bergamot-rich top. The iris note here is neither earthy nor ethereal, as we’re sometimes used to perceiving it. Instead it hangs there twisting and turning in little waltz quick steps with the spiciness of the first olfactory hits when you spray the juice to your skin. The piquancy of pepper is very welcome and never overwhelming which suggests a restrained hand.
As it stays on it starts to develop more powdery and flowery aspects like –seemingly- hyacinth with rose and jasmine that remind us of the traditional heart of a classic chypre, yet the whole is based on a woody ambience of sandalwood and possibly amber that reminds me a lot of the soft sweetish echo of other perfumes in the line, like
28 La Pausa and Coromandel. Despite their initial claim that “we tried to do fragrances which are very different from one another” I think they also tried to lend a homogenous quality in them that would identify them as Chanel. I don’t think that could be very doable in so diverse a collection, but it does have familiarity with those and with other Chanels,as discussed before.
The lingering base of patchouli is as far away from headshop and earthy varieties as possible and certainly less pronounced than in Coromandel which seems a little more current and sensual in feeling.
In fact 31 Rue Cambon is quite Chanel in style as it aims at timelessness and probably the most elegant of the new lot.
Maybe because of those elements of wood and amber the lasting power in this one is not bad. It’s definitely not fleeting like the green fairy of Bel Respiro or the pretty posy of 28 La Pausa, but then it isn’t as satisfyingly lasting as Coromandel either, which is a pity.

The general effect is slightly aloof and certainly elegant, which will account for its marked success with people shopping Chanel and wanting to complement their expensive clothing and accessories with something fragrant in completely magnetic bottles (and I utter that last bit both figuratively -as the caps close magnetically- and figuratively).
Whether it is the best chypre in the last 30 years, as it had been initially hailed almost a month ago, remains to be judged upon subsequent applications and the test of time. I think it was rather an ambitious claim to begin with.


Art photography by Chris Borgman courtesy of his site.