New Guerlain Collector's Editions

Guerlain has been challenging us to show just how serious of a perfume nut we are for some time now: it feels that if we don't mortgage our house or sell our first born's kidneys to the black market we're not quite up there in strategic placement in the galaxy of collectors.
The 180th anniversary of Guerlain has brought its own slurge of limited edition collector's items from Les Quatre Saisons coffret to these new and much more "frugal" (enter sarcasm) commodities.

According to serious (and sane) Guerlain collector's reportage Monsieur Guerlain: "A leather case with 18 of the house's emblematic perfumes, created from 1828 to nowadays: Eau de Cologne Impériale, Jicky, L’Heure Bleue, Mitsouko, Shalimar, Vetiver, Habit Rouge, Nahema, Samsara, L’Instant de Guerlain, L’Instant de Guerlain pour Homme, Cologne du 68, Rose Barbare, Cuir Beluga, Angélique Noire, Bois d’Arménie, Iris Ganache and Insolence". Price is 2500€ (the equivalent of 3,531$ or so) which begs the question: since all of these are readily available in much lower prices, why not make one's own coffret (there are lovely leather cases in antique shops which would give a retro feel to the whole thing)? This is something I'd like to see explained in a rational way.

Also there is the second re-edition of Jacques Guerlain's Parfum des Champs-Élysées, after its brief 1995 re-issue: a leathery floral chypre originally launched in 1904 and then in a "turtle bottle" in 1914 as a celebration of the opening of Guerlain's new boutique at Avenue des Champs-Élysées and completely unrelated to the mid-90s Champs-Élysées in its mimosa-laden floralcy. This specific re-issue comes in the original Baccarat crystal "turtle bottle"(conceived by architect Charles Mewes to denote the "slowness" of works but also to suggest that one could "climb on its back and be transported to paradise"), gold label and silk cord seal encased in a red and gold box adding to the luxury stakes. Only 24 bottles will circulate from October 15th for the modest amount of 10.000€ (or 13,807) each. I'm taking two as we speak!!

News brought to my attention thanks to Elysium. Pic courtesy of athinorama.

Try to Remember when Life was so Tender that No One Wept Except the Willow

"Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then,
and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a
sense of sadness and departure."
~Thomas Wolfe

The end of one season and the progression into another is often a time of sweet nostalgia, especially the wistfulness of a slow immersion into the crisper atmosphere of autumn. When the trees turn poetically unreal into crimpson and citrine and you feel the air is whispering words of wisdom as you crunch that carpet of dead leaves it's too precious to lose any hours of sunshine indoors. Instead I want to get out and soak up all the smells and the sights and the sighs of nature preparing to slumber.
"Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow".

I'd like to hear what your favourite autumnal smells are.

Song is "Try to Remember" from the musical comedy The Fantasticks, with lyrics written by Tom Jones and music by Harvey Shmidt. Here sung by Greek singer Nana Mouskouri and Harry Bellafonte.
Clip originally uploaded by George Grama on Youtube.

The Mirror Has Two Faces

Narciso Rodriguez has given his two fragrances, For Her and For Him, limited edition mirror-bottles to drive your inner obsessive-compulsive crazy taking care of the inevitable smudges. Come on, admit it, you always wanted to check your lipstick while spraying fragrance, didn't you? The two woody, orientally-inspired (?) fragrances are housed in distinctive, silver bottles designed to "play off one another, just like the opposite sexes," says Rodriguez. They have just launched.

Info and pic via Vogue.co.uk

It Smelled so Good and Now I Am Not Loving it as Much!

One of my readers, the lovely Sandra from Prague, sent me an intriguing mail the other day recounting a phenomenon not unheard of among perfume lovers ~no, not reformulation:

"Before taking off to Tunisia, I bought a fragrance pretty much unsniffed - OK sniffed briefly for top notes which is not much help. Estee Lauder Beyond Paradise Blue. In the hotel room it smelled ... well, sort of sea-like fresh and in any case noticeable in the oppressive heat, unlike Azuree Soleil, the epitomy of beach bliss, who could frankly not be detected at all. Now I know why Arabs wear such strong fragrances! Nothing else penetrates the solid wall of heat.

Back in Prague, what's left in the bottle of Beyond Paradise Blue smells ... well beyond paradise, not in hell exactly, but AWFUL, with a strong air-freshener synthetic note that makes me sneeze. And yet, when I spray it on - with a light hand this time - I hear the waves splashing the warm sand, feel the warm lapping of sea foam around my ankles, my toes sinking in the shore, the breeze singing in my hair, and the salty smell of the sea. I feel free-spirited and joyful and forgive Beyond Paradise all the pointy venomous critics I would otherwise no doubt utter."

This made me recall about when I tried an unidentified batch and concentration of L'Heure Bleue in a big department store on the Guerlain counter one fateful hot afternoon that I bought Vetiver instead (which I loved, by the way). Coming back home the heavens opened and magisterial orchards came into vision with all the grandeur of a royal pavillion. The experience was never replicated and L'Heure Bleue has not smelled so poignantly beautiful to me ever again. It will always trouble me, because I view the scent very differently now: what was that nectar and why it smelled so good on that particular day when I was so young and so carefree? Perhaps what that smell reminds me of is exactly the smell of my insouciance and the enthusiasm with which I viewed my budding occupation. Perhaps it irrigates my mind still for a reason which I have yet to find.

Have you had similar experiences?

Pic taken at Lagonissi, Greece

Guerlain Gourmand Coquin, Chypre Fatal, Oriental Brulant: fragrance reviews and musings

Like probably half the female population of the affluent West with about 40 minutes to kill on a winter's week evening ~nails filed at advertising breaks~ I used to watch the comedic escapades of four women on the verge of breakdown (which rarely resulted in stylistic mishaps) as they struted their proud frames along the avenues of Manhattan in Sex & the City.
In the last season's finale Carrie, the marginally emancipated singleton with a shoe fixation, abandonds her beloved New York for Paris to follow her Russian "lovah" who happens to be an artist. Eager to explore the mystique of Paris she dreams of drinking dark-roasts and smoking Gitanes where Sartre smoked, read under the trees in Boulevard Saint-Germain and live the life of a woman in love in the city of romanticism. In view of all that, she mysteriously doesn't go after perfumes (what??) or Lucien Pellat Finet but rather chooses to slip and fall on her face in the Dior boutique instead, which begs the question: do the French wax their marbles to a slippery shine? Ruining her shoes stepping into poo and having a young kid stick her tongue out at her are the reality checks of the god of small things. Suffice to say Paris doesn't really prove like she hoped it would be and in a Dorothy-out-of-Oz conclusion she retraces her path back to Mr.Big who "rescues" her and to the Big Apple.

Guerlain is like the emblematic Paris in the mind of a fragrance fanatic: if it's not good there, it can't be good anywhere. Or so we're led to think. And what do they do about that, you ask? Lately they often present us with the glowing facade of shinning marble to let us fall flat on our face on the disillusionment of shattered expectations with no poo note in there to soften the blow.

Their new trio Elixirs Charnels (Carnal Elixirs) in marshmallow shades have appeared on the horizon of exclusive ~aka expensive~ launches that have otherwise sane people salivating with the anticipation of exquisite rare pearls of non pareil spherical shape to realise that for all their pretty veneer they hide a somewhat lackluster core, chipped by nails that will handle them repeatedly. The idea of perfumer Christine Nagel and artistic director Sylvaine Delacourte of women choosing roles according to moods helps intrigue the consumer, subliminally hinting that they might serve variable purposes; which is exactly the good ole' concept of a "fragrance wardrobe". Nevertheless, although they pose as contrasting personae (the playful woman-child, the icy femme fatale of a Hitchcokian thriller or the hyper-hormoned bombshell that bursts at the seams) they more or less offer a similarly tame exposition of feminine pleasantry. Well-made technically and very approachable, they part ways with Guerlain's older classics being resolutely modern and instantly appealing. Are they sexy? Let's not forget Chris Sheldrake's quote: "In our industry, 'bedroom smell' means the sensuality of jasmine, a powdery, musky soft entity - something that makes the wearer comfortable - and with a comfortable smell that pleases. It means not too violet or too rose or too animalic or too mossy." Let's repeat: not too violet or too rose or...etc.

Gourmand Coquin reprises the caramellic tonalities of Spiritueuse Double Vanille with less depth, possibly with a burnt cotton-candy note more than anything else bringing it close to Aquolina's Pink Sugar and L'artisan's Vanilia. Sweet is as sweet does and I predict this fluffy confectionary pastry that has no bitterness of Valhrona chunks, but only milky lappings of ganache (but less than Iris Ganache) will become very popular.

Chypre Fatal is poised in the venerable cloak of chypre bearing the burden of fatality when the most it could do would be to slap you with the peeled skin of a peach. Not exactly in the mould of modern chypres à la Narciso Rodriguez (which Nagel co-authored) ~those are rather woodies with sanitized patcouli notes~ but not a classic chypre either, Chypre Fatal takes fruitiness into the realm of a clean, if unexciting, musky scent that can be effortlessly worn by even the most meak. This kitten purrs rather than hisses.

Oriental Brûlant is the one closer to the orientalia tradition of Guerlain, if only because it contains that ambery powdery Woofer surround that is the trademark of a recognisably erotic fragrance, in which the French house has excelled for so long. It also manages to smell at once comforting and confident with its hazy almondy tonalities and a silken thread of cool that ties it to Ambra del Nepal by I Profumi di Firenze and Ambre Fétiche by Goutal, as well as the attractive interplay between cool and warm facets of Sonia Rykiel Women- not for men! Oriental Brûlant might not be terribly innovative, but it's quite fetching! Try to forget the advertising scenario and picture it as a personal amulet on days of torpor.

Ultimately, Guerlain's Carnal Elixirs, much like that season finale showed, prove that not everything is as you expect it. And in the end, that's "Abso-fuckin'-lutely" OK.

Official notes:
Gourmand Coquin notes: black pepper, rose, rum, chocolate.
Chypre Fatal notes: white peach, rose, patchouli, vanilla.
Oriental Brûlant notes: clementine, almond, tonka beans, vanilla.

Guerlain Carnal Elixirs are currently available in Eau de Parfum oblong bottles of 75 ml at 165 € via La Maison Guerlain, 68 Avenue des Champs-Elysées, Paris or Begdrof Goodman in New York.

Pic of Sarah Jessica Parker courtesy of HBO. Bottle pics via Le critique du parfum.