Laura Biagotti Laura: fragrance review

Laura Biagiotti's iconic Laura, with its aqueous character, has been so characteristic of its era that 30 years later it still springs forth in our minds as a 1990s staple, alongside L’Eau d’Issey (1992), L’Eau Par Kenzo (1996), Aqua di Gio (1996), Escape For Men (1993),and Eden by Cacharel (Indeed, I recently wrote a dedicated fragrance review & homage to Cacharel's Eden).

Perfumer Anne Flipo's composition from 1994 for Laura became an essential accessory for women, enveloping her like a gentle scarf without overwhelming her personality. Operative words: not overwhelming. You have to see a woman's eyes before you smell her perfume, so went the old piece of advice on fragrance-wearing etiquette. The so-called olfactory bouquet in Laura is delicate and fruity above all, with a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek provided by the synergy of the 1990s trademark Calone note, giving it melon-like tonalities and peachy lactones coupled with fruit accords like litchi. The inclusion of litchi fruit (or lychee, as it's also spelled) was novel at the time. The scent profile of litchi is close to that of a very juicy grape, with a mild flavor that is aqueous, delicately rosy, and temperately sweet. The likening with some Gewürztraminer variety wines comes as no surprise: the lychee-rosy aroma is common thanks to the magic of the cis-rose oxide, a common thread in all three subjects—flowers, fruit, and wine. Ethereal, doe-eyed, and tender are also words that come to mind when I think of Laura by Laura Biagiotti. It's aqueous and watery, to be sure, and the effect of Calone contributes to that. But it's a calm lake rather than a vast, tempestuous sea.

Frederic Malle Lys Mediterranee: fragrance review

On Good Friday
weary I shuffle my steps,
at the weary light of day.
Lilies of spring I bring you
and lay upon your cross ~
tear-soaked friend,
First among the first.
~Nikos Gatsos, Days of Epitaph*

A different lily, a wearable lily
The astrigent and almost aqueous, saline opening of Lys Méditerranée in the Frédéric Malle Editions des Parfums line is highly surprising for those who have been accustomed to florist type lilies; crystalline and stark in their cellophane, premature mummies in dolled up sarcophagi, looking at you sterny and haughty, like stuffed owls out of Psycho. But wild lilies in the basin of the Mediterranean sea are routinely sprayed by the salty spray of the deep blue sea, gaining an overlay of odour that is reminiscent of cured meats, and of the contrast of sandpaper-like fresh roughness against the nose beside the intense, waxy petals spiciness.

Issued in 2000 and composed by legendary perfumer Edouard Fléchier, in my opinion Lys Méditerranée is definitely among the masterpieces in the line, as evidenced by my impressive finishing of a whole bottle of it during last spring and summer. It is an impressionistic composition capturing a moment in time and place perfectly: Easter lilies in all their rustic splendor, an affair of freshness and lushness entwined, a shady terrace on some villa on Patmos island or the boardwalk in Nice. Checking the fragrance notes, we know they got the paysage references right: lilies, salty water, angelica, lily of the valley and water lily, orange blossom even: Pure Med! White lilies were cultivated in ancient Crete and Greece, as evidenced by the frescoes in Knossos. The lily was revered by the Greeks as sprouting from the milk of Hera, queen of the gods.

Scent Profile
The ginger spiciness in Lys Méditerranée perks the nose, imbuing the lily bouquet with a convincing life-like chord, ginger lilies staying on throughout the arc of the linear composition; those who have an aversion to spice might find it too much, too floral but I'm not among them. There is a huge orange blossom note hidden in there and strong salicylates (naturally inherent in lily) which manage to imbue freshness rather than excessive floralcy.
The base exhibits a balance of muskiness, a very thin line between not quite clean and borderline carnal, without excessive sweetness or cheap tricks. In fact the delicately, musky-vanillic vegetal theme recalls to mind the feeling of Vanille Galante in the Hermessences collection, also heavy on the salicylates. The style is comparable, even though Lys projects as a higher octave overall and seems to include jasmolactones giving an almost gardenia-like greeness. Comparing it with another pure lily scent, Serge Lutens's angelic and sublimely creamy Un Lys, I find that Lys Méditerranée is more intense, shimmering with a less cherubic cheek; less vanillic, muskier, saltier, a tad rougher if you will. And despite the freshness it lasts and lasts.

What is it that makes this great fragrance largely unsung then? Pure programmatic association. Perfume lovers have developed a keen displeasure against "marine" notes, vexed by the catapulting chords used on mainstream perfumery which hammered us with artificial "freshness" for years on end ~before giving way to tooth-decaying sweetness, that is! Time to ditch it for once, this is seriously great work.

Notes for F.Malle Lys Méditerranée:
Top notes: sea water, lily of the valley and ginger
Middle notes: angelica, lily, orange blossom and lotus
Base notes: vanilla and musk

Available as eau de parfum by F.Malle on their official site and at Barneys.

*translation by Elena Vosnaki

Fashion photo shoot on Patmos island, Greece, by photographer Camilla Akrans for T Style magazine of the New York Times, Travel supplement summer 2009.

Cacharel Noa, Noa Fleur & Noa Perle: fragrance reviews & comparison

"Fit for nuns and virgins" is as enticing a description of fragrance [1] for some of us as talking of a scent weaving a web of seduction the way a femme fatale would. Clearly, it's not because we belong to either category, but rather that its programmatic unconventionality of what feminine fragrance should stand for makes it ripe for personal exploration. It's so easy to underestimate a fragrance just because it's widely available and comes from a brand that doesn't have haute or luxe pretentions such as Cacharel and Noa. I bet good money that were Noa issued by a niche company into some fancy-named contraption and fronted by a du jour perfumer it would elicit more enthusiastic response. Despite Cacharel's fashion presence and their rather large input in fragrance history (a pre-emptying floral in Anais Anais, a magical retro heliotrope in Loulou, the first aquatic fruit-oriental in Eden, a good effort at tobacco-laced feminine in discontinued Gloria) they fly under the radar on what concerns hard-core perfume lovers. Which is why we're here and have been reviewing the Cacharel canon for a little while now on Perfume Shrine.



Noa is an underappreciated little gem that didn't deserve the lack of attention it receives and which spawned somewhat less noteworthy flankers, called Noa Fleur (2003) and Noa Perle (2006). But let's see the strong and weak points of each and compare them.

The original Noa by Cacharel (1998) was composed by perfumer Olivier Cresp, the fragrance encased in a diaphanous bubble of a bottle, a zen approach to the spiritual 1990s (hence the tag line "the gifted fragrance", one would almost expect a Messiah in a bottle), designed by Annegret Beier.
The passage of a few minutes results in a slight recalibration of one's original view of Noa, which would have been of an aquatic floral: it's really a floral musk with a hint of powder and soapiness and a delightfully unexpected smoky wood top note. The initially detectable ylang-ylang blends into the background, while the soapy aspect of the musk intensifies as the minutes pass by, boosted perhaps by some aldehyde. This produces both a smooth, clean scent, but also a reduction in volume, making Noa appear "light" and "fresh", although don't let that fool you into thinking it doesn't last; it does.The musks are fuzzy, cozy, warmish and comfortable, accented by a small note of spice like coffee laced with cardamom. Tania Sanchez identifies the spice as cilantro.


Noa Fleur by Cacharel came next in 2003 and its take is more unisex than its rosy character would suggest. Essentially a clean, rather screechy floral, flanked by musky notes like hibiscus and white musks, plus pale balsam and indeterminate notes that project with a faint powderiness, it's predictable and pliable. The inclusion of black currants gives a rather fruity facet to the proceedings, but there is no denying this is a rose fragrance with more woodiness than a typical soli-rose. This would make it fit for those occasions when you just don't know what to wear; rushing out of the door to get the kids on the school bus, going shopping impromptu, having a last-minute "wanna pick you up?" date when you're uncertain of your date's tastes...But you could do better than that: Grab Gucci Eau de Parfum II or Miracle So Magic.


Cacharel's Noa Perle (2006) was co-authored by perfumer Domitille Bertier and Olivier Polge. The formula was reprised, resulting in a more fruity floral mold, in which however the distinctive note of hazelnut swifts things to a slightly more interesting direction than the average fruity floral. The opening is lightly sweet citrus reminiscent of clementines with that standard "clean" floral that companies peg as peony nowadays; the drydown is an inoffensive powdery musk plus milky woods. Noa Perle is a nice enough if completely inadventurous scent, but for the price and the lack of pretence, it's still a better option than many out there. Points taken for the glaringly fake "pearl" inside, made from 100% plastic. With a name like that...

[1] by Susan Irvine, 2000 Perfume Guide

Hermes Hermessence Iris Ukiyoe (2010): An Off-Beat Fragrance Review from a Club Patron

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

Voici des fruits, des fleurs, des feuilles et des branches

Et puis voici mon coeur qui ne bat que pour vous.

Ne le déchirez pas avec vos deux mains blanches

Et qu'à vos yeux si beaux l'humble présent soit doux.

J'arrive tout couvert encore de rosée

Que le vent du matin vient glacer à mon front.

Souffrez que ma fatigue à vos pieds reposée

Rêve des chers instants qui la délasseront.

Sur votre jeune sein laissez rouler ma tête

Toute sonore encor de vos derniers baisers;

Laissez-la s'apaiser de la bonne tempête,

Et que je dorme un peu puisque vous reposez.

(Here - some fruit, some flowers, some leaves and branches,

And here - my heart which beats for you alone.

Do not rend it with your two pale hands,

But let it be a small gift, sweet to your beauteous eyes.

I arrive covered with dew,

Which the morning wind freezes upon my brow.

Suffer me in my fatigue to lie at your feet,

Dreaming of sweet moments that will revive me.

On your young bosom let my head rest,

Still filled with your last kisses;

Let my thoughts subside after such a wondrous storm

And let me sleep a little while you lie by my side.)*

--Green by Paul Verlaine (1844-1896), from Romances sans paroles (1874)

No, the world hasn’t bestowed me the gift of colour blindness, but synesthesia deftly filled my mind in delicate verdant extravagence with the Paul Verlaine poem above; more precisely, in true Symbolist fashion,the aquarelle images of the poem glow in succinct progression one after the other. It happened late afternoon today, as I was sampling Iris Ukiyoé, the ninth instalment of the Hermessence collection by in-house master perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena, at the Hermès downtown Vancouver boutique.

At this point many avid readers of Perfume Shrine—and my humble blog Les Tuileries—might just know the idiosyncrasy of the paragraph I just composed. By courtesy I should have cited Ellena’s muse, Water Iris and Grasshopper by Hokusai, and based on all official press release to date I doubt my mental short-circuit would be even considered logical by merit—but strangely enough my private recitation of the poem in hindsight is nonetheless a gentle launch pad in order to dive into the diaphanous story. Still, I should probably backtrack myself a bit and talk about how I got there, for the anecdote is probably one of the most bizarre episodes I’ve ever encountered: one could say that I was stranded in Hermès!

My tale to be told actually started this May when I requested maintenance service to my vintage khaki green Ex Libris silk scarf, since the once plump hand-rolled edges got dutifully flattened by a callous dry cleaner. It was the fourth time I went through a repair process at the downtown Vancouver boutique, and by all accounts everything was going to be routine—my sales associate sat down with me, examined the conditions of the item and filled out a specific form. Six months flew by and I figured, like all previous three times, I would simply show up and collect my treasure—in and out, ten minutes top.

Except this day, December 6th, wasn’t just a typical Monday: the intimate store was packed with patrons. My lovely sales associate Irina was in fact running around because she was in the midst of an intricate watch consultation. Ten minutes flew by before she had a chance to chat with me, “I’m so sorry, Albert! Your scarf is all ready for you.” And she turned to her colleague (who shall remain nameless for reasons that would be soon obvious) and said, “The client is here to pick up his scarf from Paris. It’s in the back storage room.” Irina promptly left, I was asked if I have my repair form with me.

Upon being told that I did not have my maintenance form with me the sales associate started raising her voice, “Just so you know, you will NEVER be able to pick up your item unless you have your form with you! Did you get a call from us?” There I was, in the middle of the showroom, with everyone looking at me! I was horrified as I explained that nobody in the past asked me to bring the form back and it was, in fact, Irina who helped me with the maintenance process last time so my identity should not be in doubt. Without the slightest pause the sales associate replied, “Very well, it’s probably best that Irina help you. Have a seat.” After expressing my desire to explore the store further the lady didn’t budge. “Have a seat.” It was then that I felt like a disobedient puppy that got thoroughly disciplined, but fortunately that was when I noticed the new Hermessence so I had something to do while waiting for Irina to come back. Five minutes went by; ten more minutes went by; another fifteen minutes went by as I immersed myself in Iris Ukiyoé, and my personal discourse with Verlaine promptly started.

To be frank I was prepared to be surprised by the opening of Iris Ukiyoé, but nothing could prepare me for the neo-classical eau de cologne effect of the fragrance opening, complete with a tart green tangerine, petitgrain, neroli—except a mildly bitter vegetal/floral axis kept the whole story on track. And lo and behold the abstract floral effect started to take shape, aided no doubt by a slight aquatic, lily-like effect that Ellena visited in Vanille Galante (2008). Now I should note that the sillage, given its combination of lily and the refreshing bitter elements, reminds me of the original Issey Miyake L’Eau d’Issey (1990), but done so in a much more delicate, precise manner, meant as an evocation of morning dew instead of a mini zen waterfall.

I would be very hard-pressed to report that orris, the traditionally powdery extraction of Iris pallida, is actively present. And my experience with Hermessence has taught me not to take any launch after Osmanthe Yunnan (2005) at face value: and since Paprika Brasil (2006) was a manifestation of spice via orris, Vanille Galante a study of vanilla from lily I presumed that this iris would come out of cocoa, as Ellena previously stated. The hypothesis, of course, is null. What we have here is an abstract blossom of Iris germanica, modern hybrids to be exact.

What most perfume brands would not tell consumers, while enamoured with the aspirational prowess of the costly orris root (with the scent best described as violet covered in chalk—works wonders when the right amount of gravitas should be called for, as classically demonstrated in Chanel No. 19 parfum), the mauve blossoms of Iris pallida smells exactly like inexpensive grape candies: quite sweet, in fact. Now the flowers themselves, which display the classic fleur-de-lys shape, are at no fault, but its harsh grape-scented accent would prove to be too strong in a fragrance.

Blossoms from the modern hybrids of I. germanica, on the other hand, are the almost exact opposite: the French word inclassable comes to mind. Based on the ones I’ve sampled a norm doesn’t exist, but most have a citrus backbone with a dash of fresh rosy nuance—soft and somewhat non-descript to be honest. (It doesn’t help that most irisarians value the bloom visuals over scent, and that the scent changes once cut.) Thus in order to create this iris Ellena needs to conjure up ghosts—a dash of non-descript floracy here (IFF’s hedione supérieure, complete with its clean jasmine facet, would be my guess), an icy rose accord there—to bring the whole thing to shape. In fact I would attribute (applying my no-doubt elementary perfumery knowledge here) the orris effect, which murmurs pretty much at the end as a velvety touch, more to a tea-like methyl ionone rather than orris absolute.

So in this sense of hologramism that I consider Iris Ukiyoé true to the original transient nature of its Japense namesake artistic genre: so fragile that it never was, because it was precisely never there in the first place. Behind each ukiyo-e print block is a Buddhist caveat: it’s a painting of the floating world, and with the next turn of the world the picture would be all that remains. Iris Ukiyoé isn’t a realistic decoding of an iris blossom fragrance, nor has that been the point all along: it’s a composition of bubbles threaded together with precision, but done with so much care and quiet observance that one forgets the mosaic tiles, instead marvelling at the hologram.

In fact it’s that exact care coming from Ellena that, at least to me, differentiates Iris Ukiyoé from mass launches: not only there’s cohesion in fragrance development, it feels as if the olfactory structure has been thoroughly hollowed out and knocked down before the whole was put together. To me this is very much a continuation of Ellena’s Hermès survey to the aquatic world ever since Un jardin après la mousson (2008), with a detour at Vanille Galante. But the story is there if one looks for it. The challenge to Ellena, of course, was to create an aquatic without using the traditional aquatic elements—Calone, musks... The master perfumer is averse to both, so a hologram on top of an iris blossom hologram. Still, underneath all that aquatic/ citrus / floral verdency lie a gentle frankness, a tenderness that reminds me of the Verlaine poem above. It’s the syntax after all, perhaps.

At this point I should recap what happened to my scarf. After 35 minutes of waiting, a third sales associate came along. Wendy—whom has seen me at the boutique for four years running now—asked me if I’ve been helped. Technically no, and I wasn’t amused…but she overheard what happened, so she quickly asked my name, dashed to the storage room and found my scarf. All done, wonderfully repaired—and true to Hermès generosity I was asked a reasonable price to compensate for the craftsmen’s effort. That’s why I’m here, I signed as I took my scarf back.

But that’s not the end of the story: Irina wrapped up her consultation around this time and apologized again for her delay. (She’s truly one of the best I’ve known.) And without hesitation she gave me samples of Iris Ukiyoé, and since the classic scarf box was out of stock a new rectangular Hermès orange box, enclosed with an additional box in the motif of Mosaique au 24 was given instead. All this was done with more apologies for the delay and the gentle explanation from Wendy that security measures would have to be performed for maintenance items. (I was promptly asked for my ID and my autograph on the official maintenance form.) Without a doubt I replied that, having been working at a major international financial institution for almost a year, while I can appreciate the thoughts behind the idea (God forbid if someone else walks away with my Hermès leather boots—and I couldn’t begin to imagine the horror any sales associate would go through if a crocodile Birkin is returned to the wrong person!) I was never told to bring my maintenance form—and the fact that I was ID-ed from the start from Irina as the right client added a whole new level of mystery to me. But at the end of the day I got everything I wanted: well, almost—I was disappointed that I couldn’t get any new silk tie and cashmere scarf because I already have had at least one of everything (that I like) from this season already. Well, better off since my drawers are already bursting with orange bags & boxes.

Would I be back? Absolutely, but maybe that latest Haut à Courroies bag custom order can wait for now. In the meantime I shall be busy experimenting with Iris Ukiyoé.

For a list of notes please refer to this link here. Iris Ukiyoé is now available at Hermès boutiques.

* English translation by Gary Bachlund

Scarves & samples pic: copyright by AlbertCAN. Bottle from the Hermes website

Etat Libre d'Orange Secretions Magnifiques: fragrance review

I'm in the attic of an old video store downtown. Stuffy and with the permeating smell of hot, new plastic from the inner jackets of DVDs with questionable material. The seedy sales assistant is dressed and "groomed" like Ian Lamont in the disastrous remake of The Jackal, only he utterly lacks any charm Jack Black naturally possesses. He's oggling female customers with a roving eye, but it is actually the shy, low-browed "help" with the upstraight collar that is really a sexual offender. That attic smells of dried up semen and surreptitious impositions on unwilling females, of threat and defilement, of a sense of panic where your trachea closes as if you can't breath and no voice can come out...no matter how many primary colours change hues beneath your shut eyelids.

I'm in the operating theatre of a hospital, lying supine and cold. The ceiling above me has the listless greyish white of ashes in a crematorium and I feel like I should belong in one. Lochia is oozing off me, the burden of having my guts torn out, hatched job of 20 weeks when the air was still pregnant with hope. There are no salty tears falling off to the edge of the ears making the familiar plonk sound, only the buzz of the fluorescent lights atop. Nothing moves save the mops across the corridors spreading another layer of bleach on the floors.

I'm in a small African camp where Action Aid is volunteering. A teenage mother of no more than 13 is sitting back up the wall of a thatched cottage, as the weather is taking a turn for the damper, her baby infested by a thousand flies, in the same position as it last had grabbed her breast in an attempt to draw life-sustaining liquid. Liquid which trickles down still under her expresionless face, stale, and mixed with sweat and the scent of famine; whitish liquid on black skin, so agile, so puerile, you think you could take this mother and lull her to sleep herself.

Sécrétions Magnifiques rather amazingly smells like all of these places. I just don't want to be in those places...ever.

Definitely out of the Guy Robert perimeter of perfumery standards ("perfume should smell good") and into avant-garde in earnest, this is a fragrance that acts like Duchamp's Fountain (Urinal); it serves as a springboard for discussion more than an art piece to put and enjoy in someone's home. Smelling aquatic-metallic with an algae note and a lot like sweet floral notes and coconut blanched in bleach (featuring Azurone, a Givaudan trademarked "clean" note), with a spattering of spoiled condensed milk and pure bile in the mix as it "opens up", Sécrétions Magnifiques by État Libre d'Orange is a scent not to leave anyone indifferent and is both totally original and undoubtedly a technical feat (the demonic notes reverberate into eternity opening up with gusto). Supposedly it's trying to replicate scents of saliva, milk, blood and semen, these magnificent secretions for which humans are known (if you were hoping for Eau de Merveilles though, forget it) but there is absolutely no animal hint or human intimacy, rather a sterile Alien accord that is a study on every female fear.
Its perfumer, Antoine Lie, has been known for his work at Comme Des Garcons (888, Lime and Grapefruit from the Energy C series, Wonderwood as well as Daphne), as well as others in the État Libre line (Tom of Finland, Rien, Divin Enfant, Je Suis un Homme, Don't get me wrong baby). Sécrétions Magnifiques by État Libre d'Orange is available as Eau de Parfum. Its fame precedes this bête noire; approach with a sense of respect.

Notes given for Sécrétions Magnifiques:
Iode accord, adrenaline accord, blood accord, milk accord, iris, coconut, sandalwood and opoponax.

For a funnier take with less drama, watch Katie's review on Youtube.

pic originally uploaded on mua by mzterrim sent to me by email

Montana Suggestion trio: Eau d'Argent, Eau d'Or, Eau Cuivree ~fragrance reviews

Years before niche perfumery came up with "collection of scents" in identical bottles and "concept" themes evolving around different families or notes, Claude Montana (the designer best known for his scalpel-cut jackets, the partner who flew off her verandah and Parfum de Peau) had proposed his own trio of fragrances, code-named Suggestion (1994). The triad included Eau d'Argent, Eau d'Or and Eau Cuivrée and came just 2 short years after Serge Lutens inaugaurated Les Salons du Palais Royal by Shiseido with his own iconoclastic "takes" on Féminité du Bois (in 1992), thus giving rise to a whole seperate eponymous line which became legendary at the drawing of the millenium. (Technically the first one to propose a "trio collection" should be Patou). The fragrances by Montana were ill-fated though, like the unlucky stars under which the designer and his muse were apparently born, and were eventually discontinued. Still, the dedicated perfume lover might profit from making their acquaintance, as they're both worthwhile sniffing, as well as a valuable lesson in fragrance history; seeing the mainstream launch of a "niche" concept commercially fail where others now succeed, with the hindsight of almost 2 decades in the passing between the two (see for instance La Prairie trying the same things with their Life Threads).



The common thread in all Montana Suggestion scents? A vague metallic nuance, bright, scintillating, radiant. The metals entering both the name and the bottle decoration are ample indication of it being intentional.

Suggestion Eau d'Argent is, judging by the packaging alone, one might say Pavlovian-like, equated with a cool aquatic floral; and it is! Composed by Max Gavarry, it pre-empties the notion of the dew-adorned ocean drenched lilies which later appeared in F.Malle's line under Lys Mediterranée. Of course the compass isn't showing the North ~or rather the South, as the Malle scent is so at home in the warm Provencial and Grecian air~ as accurately. Eau d'Argent is very good but not as masterful or daring (it lacks the salty, savoury touch). The scent of lily (and the aldehyde used for cyclamen renditions) is brought out to the fore through the use of lily-of-the-valley aromachemicals (read about those on this article) and underlined with a dewy, "clean" musky ambience plus Ambroxan. It feels much more legible and "kind" than the feminine L'Eau d'Issey, both being contemporaries with a dewy feel. It also probably gives a frist glimpse of the idea for Marc Jacobs's first eponymous scent, supposedly inspired by gardenias floating on a bowl of water. Substitute cool lilies and you're there! Very nice on its own ~controversial, let's admit it~ genre and completely unsung.
Top notes are greens, mandarin orange, violet, peach, bergamot and Brazilian rosewood; middle notes are cyclamen, lily, orchid, jasmine, lily-of-the-valley and rose; base notes are sandalwood, amber and musk.

Suggestion Eau d'Or was composed by Nathalie Lorson (who has composed the glorious Poivre 23, the Le Labo London city exclusive, which we reviewed on this page, amongst other things). A floral built on the juxtaposition of lactonic peachy and green notes with a heart of classic and bright flowers, this is a floral that radiates off the blotter and off the skin with quality and balanced approach to its message. The blossoming of jasmine and rose are supported by a fruity embrace of peach underscored by ionones (giving an earthy sweet note, also a bit of powder) and a creamy vanillic drydown, not too sweet. A floral, veering to floriental, with a cool-warm contrast that plays like chiaroscuro. Those who like J'Adore or Nuit de Cellophane might find another compliment-getter sunny floral in this one.
Top notes are comprised of greens, violet, peach, hyacinth and bergamot; middle notes are orchid, orris root, jasmine, lily-of-the-valley and rose; base notes are sandalwood, amber, musk, vanilla and cedar.

Suggestion Eau Cuivrée in its copper-dressed, patina-reminiscent bottle looks and feels warm and is predictably the more orientalised in the trio. Still, not quite a dense, traditional oriental, it features green-citrusy opening notes and a rich floral heart with a metallic nuance, justifying its coding: more modern urban amazone than Shalimar-wearing movie goddess, thanks to the base encompassing Ambroxan and cedar notes. Cooler, sweet top notes with lusty plum are folded into a warmer heart of luscious flowers and what seems like a hint of spice (they say carnation, it's actually built on cloves). The warmth is amped via the synergy of resinous notes played at the key of the lamentably defunct Theorema: meaning lightly, pleasurably balanced, never overwheling. Very pleasurable work, composed by Gerard Anthony.
Top notes are orange, pineapple, plum, green notes, peach and bergamot; middle notes are carnation, tuberose, orange blossom, orchid, jasmine, ylang-ylang and rose; base notes are sandalwood, amber, musk, benzoin, vanilla and cedar.

The scents had bottles which interlocked nicely in a round "plate", their sides touching like lovers or spirits-evoking-spiritualists sitting across a rounde table touching hands... They were sold as is or independently in Eau de Toilette concentration. They make sporadic appearences on auction sites and discounters.

Helena Rubinstein Wanted: fragrance review

Helena Rubinstein proposed that Wanted "unveils the ineffable and mysterious link that binds a woman to her love, a woman to her desires, a woman to her fragrance". Supposedly the name derives from the advertising phrase "All you've ever wanted" (Yeah, like another PhD, a second summer house, this one on Santorini so I don't end up paying exorbitant prices when there, and my offspring to behave at all times...fat chance I'll get! Anyway...)

The daring muse for Rubinstein's first foray in fragrance in 25 years (last one was the rococo typical of its era Barynia in 1985) is none other than Demi Moore, who I suppose is more daring for her choice of a much younger soulmate than anything else (no offence meant, just pondering on the "dare" factor these days). When all is said and done, more power to her and I have to note I always liked that, despite whatever procedure she has had done, she never plumped up her lips the way so many Hollywood stars do ending up like trouts. In the advertising commercial she showcases her best assets (come-hither eyes, great shape) and does a sexy speak-over with her husky, suggestive voice dressed in a Donna Karan look-alike dress (which if my memory serves me well had been her hit a decade ago).

On the other hand Wanted is daring to the degree that a chicken and asparagus casserole can be described as such: surely a nice combination of flavours, but not unheard of and the only folks who won't touch it with a six-feet pole are small children (and even then...). Likewise Wanted recalls to mind shades of Dolce & Gabanna's The One, in a lighter, more citrusy incarnation, and woodier rather than fruity-orientalised; stepping from the sauna with a lovely peignoir on the colour of cream, all pores cleansed and exctracted (the lily of the valley touches of "scrubbed clean" along with what I deduce are white musks at the base).
Magnolia grandiflora is shaping to be the newest iris (i.e. a huge trend) and after a dearth of florals in favour of gourmands, it seems they're getting back with a vengeance, possibly as a result of the mega hit of J'Adore by Dior which also features magnolia. In Wanted it's a fantasiacal accord of woody and creamy-floral facets (a special LMR extraction of ylang ylang) with a radiant dose of sugar spun crystals sprinkled on and an acqueous feel, which was inspired by a stay at Portofino of all places. It's certainly sweeter than Magnolia Nobile by Aqua di Parma. Perfumers Dominique Ropion and Carlos Benaim of IFF figured women who turned to their favourite cosmetics brand would expect a comforting, polished and rather delicate composition, like pampered face cream (similar approach in Eau de Fleur de Magnolia by Kenzo), that wouldn't have any hard edges, nor operatic throw-cushions the way white flowers are by their very nature rendered (and doesn't Ropion have tremendous experience with those!). Therefore fans of apocalyptical awe-inspiring florals will be disappointed, consumers with an eye on wearability will make it popular.

The bottle, designed by internationally renowned French jewels and furniture designer Hervé van der Straeten is elegant and striking in a industrial-sleekness-meets-1er arrondissement-sophistication , although the material doesn't look as luxurious up close and personal. (Or maybe I'm just extremely picky)




Notes for Helena Rubinstein Wanted: magnolia, ylang ylang and iris over cedar

Helena Rubinstein Wanted is available as Eau de Parfum 1.7 fl. oz. for $60/50ml for €70, Eau de Parfum 3.4 fl. oz. for $80/ 100ml for €100 and Body Lotion 6.6 fl. oz., $45; exclusively at Macy's from November 5th and at major department stores in Europe.

Pic of Demi Moore via cosmetic candy, Wanted bottle pic via bwconfidential.com

Tocadilly by Rochas: fragrance review

There is a French expression "mettre en valeur" which roughly translates as to highlight, to draw attention to one's best features. This is what Tocadilly by Rochas does; an ethereal scent that highlights the flowers of spring I love ~lilac, wisteria and mimosa~ beautifully, yet transcends the genre of floral. The feeling I get, when I sort this out of my perfume wardrobe at the first hints of spring, is just like the interplay of cool and warm one experiences upon imprinting their breath "fog" on a wet window pane.

Tocadilly by Marcel Rochas is a floral which launched in 1997 amidst a sea of aquatics and marines. It was said that it represents the younger sister of Tocade, an intensely rosy vanillic fragrance by Maurice Roucel from 1994, yet I do not perceive the kinship of spirit that should tie them in such a close relationship. They both have the same design of flacon, nevertheless, created by bottle designer Serge Mansau; but to Tocade's red packaging hues Tocadilly conterpoints blue-green-purple tones and the aura of the scent is complimentary.
Perfumer Christopher Sheldrake (currently at Chanel) is best known for his oeuvre under the wing of Serge Lutens composing a sumptuous line of persuasive orientals and opulent florals. In Tocadilly those preconceptions are shed and Sheldrake reveals a light, lacy touch that is capable of creating diaphanous effects which do not lack staying power or diffusion. The composition is segmentated into interesting facets of aqueous, fruity, floral and lightly ambery-powdery, fusing into a playful, cheerful and tender composition that is above all soft.

Three years before the modern aqueous lilacs of En Passant (2000), realised by Olivia Giacobetti for éditions des parfums Frédéric Malle, Tocadilly had captured this unholy allience between "clean" and "dirty" (Lilacs naturally have an anisic spiciness/powderiness recreated through anisaldehyde and heliotropin in fragrances, as extraction is so uneconomical/unyielding*; yet they often also possess an animalic undercurrent like pollen dusted on impolite feminine parts, especially the mauve-tinged blooms). The watery impression of Tocadilly is less "marine" than En Passant and the yeasty note is absent completely, rendering a must-try for both lovers and haters of En Passant.
The unusual pear note comes from the flavour industry and was contemporarily explored in Annick Goutal's Petite Chérie. Yet in Tocadilly it's not as easily decomposed and the absence of intense sugary lappings helps along, focusing instead on the almost pollen-like aroma of wisteria and lilacs. The mimosa is detectable ~and delectable, providing the emotional foil for the overall spring-like tonality which runs through the fragrance. Yet one would be hard pressed to designate Tocadilly to any particular season. It's utterly friendly and wearable in almost all settings and all climates, easing itself with an insouciant shrug of the shoulders and a child-like innocence that's not without a little mischief.

Notes for Rochas Tocadilly:
Top: cucumber, lilac, hyacinth, pear, jasmine, tiare, wisteria, mallow, mimosa and mandarin.
Heart: glycine/wisteria, coconut and heliotrope.
Base: sandalwood, musk and amber.

Sadly discontinued, Tocadilly is still available online.

*There is a fragrance that is purpotedly using a natural extraction of the flower itself, Highland Lilac of Rochester, to which we will return soon.

Photo Dreams and Cookies II via meren.org. Lilacs shot by PerfumeShrine, all rights reserved.

Un Matin d'Orage by Annick Goutal: fragrance review

In Giambattista Basile's charming tale The Murtle from Il Cunto de li Cunti (The Tale of Tales, 1694), a sprig of myrtle is transformed through the liberating love of a prince into a beautiful woman who regenerates even after evil forces tear her to pieces. Almost tasting the thick retro-baroque prose of the author I am contemplating how the essence of the tale is caught in a fragrance which defies the stylistic approach, choosing to place magic and beauty into a zen setting. Un Matin d'Orage, the latest fragrance by Annick Goutal, means "Stormy Morning" and was inspired by a Japanese garden after the rain, evoking the idea of delicate white petals in dew, with discernible notes of gardenia, jasmine sambac and Indonesian champaca.

Isabelle Doyen, resident perfumer for parfums Annick Goutal, is ingeniously re-interpreting both gardenias and ozonic floral fragrances through an approach akin to painting a watercolour in vivid hues which make you momentarily doubt the duo-dimensional reality of thick drawing paper; an oxymoron that is breaking somewhat with both the well-worn-slipper feel we have come to expect of prettified, neoclasical scents of the Goutal portfolio (for the flowing haired Ophelias and the accompanying Mr.Darcys with bohemian fashion sense) and the en masse manner in which white florals are treated from the perfume industry as creamy textured pattiserie notes folded into huge tropical leis. Like I had said when first reporting the news of the upcoming Goutal fragrance: "This conceptually reminds me of both Après l'Ondée by Guerlain (the after-the-shower garden part) and Un Jardin Après la Mousson by Hermès, (the Monsoon storm evocation ) although from the listed notes one would deduce that the limpid bog water and transparent gloom might not be there. Although Annick Goutal already has a fragrance tagged Gardenia Passion in their line, the scent actually emits the ruberry feel of a proper tuberose rather than gardenia, so it's not like they're re-hashing ideas." Indeed the watery aspect is here but with a softer, less stagnant fruity or spicy nuance than the Hermès offering. Nevertheless if Fleur de Liane for L'Artisan Parfumeur, Vanille Galante and Un Jardin Après la Mousson for Hermès and now Un Matin d'Orage are any indication, the Lazarus-resurgence of the aquatic floral is looking like a strong contestant for your attention in the following couple of years at least.

Gardenia is a fascinating blossom, no less so because of its extensive scope of transformative stages: from the slightly bitter budding greeness, the mushroom-like overtones of musty wetness (which nota bene it was Colette who first described as such), into the lush, still fresh flower that has just opened; and from then inevitably seguing into creamy, narcotically sweet and velvety ripeness, into the dying stage of indolic decay when the petals brown and wither...Such a parallel with human growth and decline could not have escaped the attention of perfumers who have been trying to replicate the effects with styrallyl acetate (naturally found in gardenia buds), jasmolactones and at scarce cases with monumentaly expensive gardenia absolutes rendered through experimental enfleurage. Some gardenia perfumes try to be figurative, creating a very realistic olfactory image of gardenia bushes like the ones composed for Yves Rocher (Pur désir de Gardenia), the wondrous hologram of Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia by Lauder or cult-scent Kai. Some don't even try, despite the name, like the suavely musky Cruel Gardénia, traitors to holy causes with variable results. Others go for baroque exagerration which like an angled composition by Caravaggio creates tension through dramatic chiaroscuro and the accentuation of one facet over others, pushed to extremes; example: Tom Ford's Velvet Gardenia. And others still go for an impressionistic approach in which the gardenia becomes an accent piece in a moment suspended ad infinitum, when a coalescence of particular elements creates a dreamy memory ~like gardenias floating on a bowl of water in some postmodern urban appartment in Marc Jacobs eponymous Eau de Parfum, a willowy girl with lank, dark hair picking one up to put behind her ear.

In Un Matin d'Orage that flowing gardenia on the water is prickling and alive, discernible as such, and coming out of the bowl, breathing deeply the steely blue air, under a drizzling mist that showers it with flinty sparks of an impending electrical storm. The tension is provided by a jolting effect of dew-drenched leafy accents reminiscent of green tea and still whitish peach-skin with a slight smokiness and lemony-anisic accents (magnolia, ginger, shiso*) that provide an intriguing contrapunto to the floral smoothness of gardenia, green jasmine vines and champaca. The ozonic cool part feels like a new technique has been short-cirquited into creating what was 15 years ago created through Calone but without Calone*. The flowers are separating into soft billowing layers that overlap, creating a smooth impression of dewy beauty. The jasmine is green and cool between hedione and orange blossom, like the one rendered in Pure Poison. There is no meekness in the gentility, no paleness in the ether of Un Matin d'Orage and the impression subsists for a long time, as if we're left to see a zen garden tingling after the storm. Not for tropical gardenia lovers, but to be explored by modern anchorites.

Notes of Un Matin d'Orage by Annick Goutal:
Sicilian lemon, perilla leaves**, ginger, gardenia, magnolia, jasmine sambac, Indonesian champaca, sandalwood.

The characteristic feminine bottle of the Goutal perfumes gets a pearly white opalesence for Un Matin d'Orage and is issued in both 50ml/1.7oz and 100ml/3.4oz sizes of Eau de Toilette. More widely available in the coming months.

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: Gardenia scents, Jasmine Series, Champaca scents.


*Calone is an aromachemical used in the 1990s to render an ozonic marine note, smelling halfway between a watermelon and a cantaloupe.
**The Perilla note (often referred to as shiso in Japanese cuisine) is interesting in that perilla seeds form an essential part of the seven spices of Japan (originating more than 300 years ago in Kyoto)while green perilla leaves are used for sushi or sashimi. The essential oil steam distilled from the leaves of the perilla plant, consists of a variety of chemical compounds, varying depending on species. The most abundant however (comprising about 50–60% of the oil) is perillaldehyde ~most responsible for the aroma and taste of perilla. (please read about aldehydes here). For reference a fragrance focusing on perilla/shiso is Shiso by Comme des Garcons.

Pic of Un Matin d'Orage bottle copyright ⓒ by Helg/Perfumeshrine
Pic of Japanese Garden by J.Jennings via mobot.org