Hermes Hiris: fragrance review

Once upon a time, concubines in the Far East were fed animal musk, so that their bodies would sweat in sweet fragrance. Nowadays they feed themselves angelica roots, boiled carrots, and almond baked in tin foil, with the tin foil intact. They spray themselves absent-mindedly with an obsolete hairspray that engulfs them in musk, sending electrical sparks like a loose train set on liquid tracks, running in the storm to nobody knows where. They work under azure skies which never betray the greyness of their gaze. They dream of "Et la lune descent sur le temple qui fut". Some girls nowadays are fed Hiris by Hermès...

Hiris: from the flower to the fragrance, the modern and refined mindset of a unique soliflore, all devoted to the splendor of the iris. A perfume of emotion and subtlety conceived by perfumer Olivia de Giacobetti in 1999, it expresses its charm with an infinite delicacy; sometimes floral, sometimes powdery or plant-like, always one of the olfactory wonders of nature.

The quintessential dry powder scent, Hiris by Hermès is the yardstick against which orris scents can be measured in a sweetness to dryness climax; this one is set on ultra-dry. For sheer uniqueness it could only be compared to the cold melancholia of Iris Silver Mist by Serge Lutens, but it's less gloomy, less sombre, warming a bit through the skin-like ambrette seed. It's for INFP types for sure.
And it falls naturally into the pattern set out by Hermès, a house that caters to an effortless sensibility of quiet sensuousness, of subtle sexiness, of refined intellectuality. A precious keepsake.

Fragrance notes for Hermès Hiris:
Top Notes
Iris, Coriander, Carrot
Heart Notes
Iris, Neroli, Rose, Hay
Base notes
Honey, Almond wood, Vanilla, Cedarwood, Ambrette seed

NB. The older bottles are in blue frosted glass packaged in an orange carton. The newer ones are in a transparent glass bottle with gold cap and a blue label, packaged in an orange and blue carton. 

Mystery of Musk Project: Kickstarting with Kewdra by Anya's Garden

The Mystery of Musk began as an innovative project in which natural perfumers tried to render a viable, sustainable animalic musk through non-animal sources. As we had announced, the time has come and now we're reaping the benefits of that effort. Samples have flown across the globe, mixing the arcane with the imaginative and the puzzling, challenging us into coming up with the right words to do them justice. Expect to see posts tackling these new perfumes and a giveaway of a whole bottle of them tomorrow. So check up daily for news and updates!

As homage to the instigator of the project and the president of the Natural Perfumers' Guild, I decided to kickstart with Anya McCoy, no stranger to these pages, whom most of you know from her fragrance line Anya's Garden. Literally, as she grows all sort of interesting and lush things in her Miami Shores garden, things that would take your breath away.
Her entry? Kewdra, a “modern Indian-style musk perfume”, inspired by Alobar’s Hindu beloved, the highly-fragrant Kudra, as featured in Tom Robbins’ famous novel Jitterbug Perfume. Anya introduced it thus: Kudra surely loved the Kewda flower of her native India and would have blended it as a masala formula that spread the gardenia and boronia flowers in a seamless heart that beats over the Kama-Sutra evocative "smell of your lover's skin" base notes.

Natural perfumes create their own web of intricacy, their drawbacks just as a many as their advantages, the challenge lying into making the materials pliable and tenacious enough to conform to classic perfumery needs. Pandanus has been already used in her unique Fairchild while an animalic note from the most improbable source (tincture of a real living rutting billie goat's hair) was explored in Pan. So you could say that Anya knows more than a few things about how to construct a complex animalic.
Pandanus flower- aka Kewda or Kewra- is the star performer in the new fragrance, a diva-esque scent which reminds me of an ample-blossomed lady spilling out of her tube top. I knew Pandanus flower from Indian chutneys which customarily accompany meat dishes, where its honeyed facets reveal themselves like liqueur; I also knew boronia from my trip to Australia, where the magical smell permeates the air when in season.
Then of course there is also beeswax in there, an exalted animalic note produced through a gentle technique involving bees' complex constructions without harming the animals.

In Kewdra pandanus makes its entrance all a-bust, proud, heavy, rich. But the effect dissipates soon, leaving a mingle of flower essences (Anya used a rural Chinese 5-petal gardenia which I can only assume is supremely costly) and natural sources of musk (such as angelica root and ambrette seed). These blend into a sweet, smooth vibe which licks the skin the way an Indian heroine in the Kama Sutra would.

Getting into the process of Kewdra requires a little patience but once you're there, the drydown cannot but appeal. Its sweet, intimate aspect evokes the scent of honey dribbled on skin. I am reminded of Baroness Moura Budberg, a Russian aristocrat who allegedly became a Soviet spy. Enigmatic to the end, she famously led an affair with the British spy R. H. Bruce Lockhart during the Revolution and later became the lover of both Maxim Gorky and H. G. Wells. Now Wells wasn't a pretty man, not attractive in any visual way. Moura’s own explanation for the unlikely liaison was that the attraction was sexual, even as she refused to marry him or remain faithful - "Wells’s skin", she said, "smelled of honey"...

Kewdra will be available at Anya's Garden e-boutique shortly and the 10ml bottle depicted will be given away by the Non Blonde soon!
Participating Sites on The Mystery of Musk Project:
Yahoo Natural Perfumery group
I Smell Therefore I Am – Abigail Levin
Perfume Shrine – Elena Vosnaki
The Non Blonde – Gaia Fishler
Indie Perfumes – Lucy Raubertas
Bitter Grace Notes – Maria Browning
CaFleureBon Michelyn Camen, Mark Behnke, Ida Meister, Skye Miller, Marlene Goldsmith
Olfactarama – Pat Borow
First Nerve – Avery Gilbert
Olfactory Rescue Service – Ross Urrere
Grain de Musc – Denyse Beaulieu
Basenotes



Painting Mother India by Maqbool Fida Hussain via razarumi.com

Annick Goutal Musc Nomade: fragrance review & draw

It wouldn't be an overstatement to claim that Musc Nomade By Annick Goutal is an exceptional piece of perfumery and among musk fragrances it really stands apart, poised between the crossroads of animalic and clean, defined by neither, or -better yet- interpreting both qualities in equal measure to the point you forget about classifications and just revel in its chiaroscuro sensuality. If pressed, I'd say it's a "vegetal musk". And it is.


Musc Nomade (2008) is the fourth addition in the Les Orientalistes line which was introduced with Ambre Fétiche, Myrrhe Ardent and Encens Flamboyant. The inspiration of the scents was said to be the smells of the harem and perfumer Isabelle Doyen masterfully wove in sensuous, denser whiffs in the familiar fabric of gauze that runs through the Goutal brand, thus marrying two antithetical elements: opulence and transparency. Annick Goutal was already enchanted by the sophistication of musc devotees, the Qatar Princesses, who bathed their bodies and hair in a divine blend of musk powder and rose essence, and fragranced their rooms by burning oud wood. She dreamed of capturing the aphrodisiac effect of this material reputed to stir the senses and hold men captivated... Camille Goutal, the next in line after Annick's passing, decided to do an ecological musk and with the help of Isabelle Doyen they defied convention in that they produced a vibrant, lightly "animalic" musk without the use of animal-derived products.

To do that Isabelle Doyen employed Muscone, a very refined -and costly- ingredient which is the odorous principle of natural deer musk, married with the natural macrocyclic musks (see relevant article) present in angelica root (containing 12-methyl-13-tridecanolide and Exaltolide) and ambrette seeds. The artistry lies in manipulating raw materials which are difficult to handle: Angelica root essence is musty, with a note of bitters and the liquid emulsifies in alcohol dilution making the mixture cloudy like a glass of pastis. Nevertheless, Doyen managed to bypass all these problems and the juice is perfectly clear with an aromatic top note that singes the nose hairs most delightfully the way a good gin does, to unfold later on a dirty, pleasantly "skanky" ambience that recalls the smooth fur of Muscs Kublai Khan by Lutens and the cozy sex-on-the-haystack feel of L'Air de Rien by Miller Harris.

Smelling Musc Nomade you're left with the impression that it is topless; in both senses of the word: It feels natural, bien dans sa peau, quite nude, and at the same time like it misses those frills routinely put in to jolt the customer into paying attention. On the contrary, Musc Nomade insinuates like a murmur in the ear late at night or minimalist tunes on harmonics-series instruments. The rosiness (reminiscent of the Lutens floralcy in his own musk oeuvre) is an illusion rendered through the facets of Bombay wood, furling and unfurling thanks to a herbal-sweet note like patchouli. Musc Nomade is individual and defies any familiarity one has of drugstore musks, eschewing the sweet vanilla and sandalwood warmth for the "dirtiness" of labdanum, an almost animalic plant raw material, and for a woody backdrop that is very appealing and fit for both sexes. It can be layered effortlessly under the other Orientalistes scents in the collection or practically under any other fragrance.
Its individual character and unassuming sensuality put it in my top 5 choices for musk fragrances.

For our readers, a draw for a decant of Musc Nomade! Leave a comment to enter. Draw open till Sunday midnight.

Notes for Annick Goutal Musc Nomade:
Muscone, white musk stemming from angelica root and ambrette seed, tonka beans, labdanum, Bombay wood (a papyrus variety)

Musc Nomade circulates in Eau de Parfum concentration in two bottle designs (depicted) with exactly the same scent (same as with all the Orientalistes!): One is the feminine ribbed bottle, the other the sleek rectangular masculine one with gold accents. I personally find the somber lines of the masculine design with the lovely arabesque motifs in the labels more fitting this line of enigmatic scents.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Annick Goutal news & reviews, Scented Musk-eteers: musk fragrances reviews




Clip from the film Il Ventre dell'Architetto by Peter Greenaway, Struggle for pleasure by Wim Mertens.

Les Colognes Hermes ~Eau de Gentiane Blanche, Eau de Pamplemousse Rose: fragrance reviews

One day I might stop raving about the vision and artistry of Jean Claude Ellena, but not today. His new creations for the house of Hermès depart from the classical Eau de Cologne structure into drier and more mineral arpeggios, the melodies of his two new compositions humming on my skin like Pan-pipes made of an outer-space-born hybrid.

Eau de Gentiane Blanche and Eau de Pamplemousse Rose join longstanding bestseller Eau d’Orange Verte (composed by Françoise Caron, its 30th anniversary this spring) for the new collection of unisex Eaux de cologne from Hermès, expected to be joined by more in the coming seasons. In a long discussion with Jean Claude he confided his and the House's desire to focus on a renovation of the Cologne genre which "needs a lot of love", as both a hark back to traditional perfumery and a modern choice of indulgent refreshment in the classic Mediterranean style.
The new compositions are both wonderfully pleasurable, but it's one of them which has literally swept me off my feet and regular readers of Perfume Shrine will not be hard-pressed to tell which one!

Eau de Pamplemousse Rose (translated as 'grapefuit & rose' and not 'pink grapefruit', as insistited upon by Ellena himself in his interview to us) is the more neoclassical of the two, denoting a citrusy facet at the beginning which echoes his other grapefuit compositions; namely In Love Again for Yves Saint Laurent and Rose Ikebana for Hermessences. However the new formula is different than the previous tries: If I were to imagine this as a ladder to absraction, I'd say that from the hologram of bitter-sweet grapefruit of the former and the delicate jewelled sparkle of the latter, the new composition is seen through the beam of a laser-jet printer which merges pixels in high resolution on a high-weight paper that seems powdered out of the package.
Compared with the other emblematic grapefuit, that of Guerlain's Pamplelune, one is stunned by the different approach of the two styles: Pamplelune is executed in a magnificently proficient style that manages to orientalise the sulphurous note in the arms of patchouli which warms and fans out the naturally sweet-smelling tonalities of the fruit. In Eau de Pamplemousse Rose the foot is firmly set on the West and the approach is leaner, tangier and less love-or-hate. A molecule patented by the house of Firmenich, called Rhubofix, possessing fresh "green rhubarb", woody-spicy, and floral facets combines with the rose scent, merging in a slightly ~and very pleasantly~ bitter composition which transcends the cologne genre. It would be a disillusionment to approach this if you're in search for rose, however, as it is only a mere whisper and neither is vetiver immediately apparent. Already being the proud owner of both In Love Again and Rose Ikebana, as well as Kelly Calèche which sports a little wink of this element too, as part of my fragrance collection, I am not certain whether I will sprint to get a bottle of the latest; but it's really well done and worth investing for the summer months if you have a dent in the fresh compartment in your fragrance wardrobe.

Eau de Pamplemousse Rose includes the following notes: lemon, grapefruit, rose, Rhubofix, vetiver.

Eau de Gentiane Blanche, on the other hand, is an adorable bone-dry masterpiece of novelty which eschews the traditional structure of Eau de Cologne much like Ellena's Vanille Galante took over the vanilla bandwagon; and thus I am earnestly putting a big bottle of it on my wishlist. Currently Eaux seem to be everywhere from Dior's Escale de Pondichéry, Miss Dior Cherie L'Eau and J'adore L'Eau Cologne Florale (review coming up) to Cristalle Eau Verte (ditto) and the instigator of it all Eau de Cologne by Chanel. Still Hermès and Ellena, much like Sinatra (or Sid Vicious, take your pick) "did it their (own) way" and the magnificently androgynous and distinct result is highly wearable as well.

Contrary to Robin of NST I do not peg Eau de Gentiane Blanche as a too clean scent, although it's undoubtedly fresh; perhaps an allusion to Alpine snowscapes where gentian grows abundantly. Yet, smell this take on freshness and you know you've been under azure skies in the early hours of morning in Göreme in the Cappadocia region of Turkey, all mineral landscape around, no plants, no water, nothing but dry white dust and rock as far as the eye can see. The huge rock houses of Cappadocia, underground as well as upperground, present the apotheosis of past meets future: one cannot distinguish whether they're in one of the prehistoric shots of "2001 A Space Odyssey" or in one of the first episode of "Star Wars". The cool feeling imparted by Eau de Gentiane Blanche reminded me of that experience along with the caves at the famous nude beach of Matala on the island of Crete: cool solace from the scorching sun.

Upon testing Eau de Gentiane Blanche on my skin, I was struck by one sledgehammering impression: This is how I wanted Chanel Les Exclusifs No.18 to smell like on me!! The touch of ambrette seed in the Chanel is here magnified, the sophisticated bitter character bringing it full circle along with the vegetal, earthy-powdery halo or iris instead of the rose of No.18 and I seem to detect some of his signature Iso-E Super.
Jean Claude Ellena also extolled the innovation of using gentian absolute, here featured for the first time in a fragrance. This, apart from the stylistical difference, might explain the striking difference with Guerlain's Aqua Allegoria Gentiana, another fragrance pegged on the gentian plant. In the latter nevertheless the pear aroma-chemical along with the sweeter nuances of lime, limette and vanilla conspire to give a fresh, yet slightly sweet composition (not quite in the patiserrie Guerlain later style, thankfully) whereas in Eau de Gentiane Blanche the dryness is the undoubted seal of sophistication.

Eau de Gentiane Blanche includes notes of white musk, gentian, iris and incense.

Both compositions had an average tenacity on my skin, longer on the blotter (and I would surmiss on clothes) but they perform better on skin and thus the latter method is highly recommended when testing. Remarkable they do not dry down diametrically opposite, which lends a uniformity of style in the line. Philippe Mouquet's design of the trio of flacons for the Colognes Hermes vibrates in three nuances of green: vivid bottle-green, grey-green and dark forest green. The Hermes colognes are available as splash at major department stores and Hermes boutiques in 100ml (3.4oz)/$125 and 200ml (6.8oz)/$165 while Eau d'Orange Verte specifically is also available in the Tesla-size of 400ml (13.6oz)!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Interview with Jean Claude Ellena, Hermès fragrances, Eau de Cologne history & scents
Pics of fashion shoot at Goreme, Turkey via Corbis

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.