Mementos of Youth: How Cacharel Shaped an Entire Era

 

For many middle-aged women, Cacharel was a cultural phenomenon; their fragrances were offered as assuredly successful gifts to young women en masse. And they used to be really good too! 

photo borrowed via Fetherstone Vintage blog

 

Cacharel's Eden from 1994 is the precursor to neon-green compositions like Mark Jacobs Decadence and Thierry Mugler's Aura, which were introduced as trailblazing in recent years, but they were not. Considering that the latter, with its green rhubarb-gardenia accord in the eau de parfum, has sparked comments like "very herbal mouthwash," "grassy soil," "muddy swamps," "musty cellars," "bugs and bug poison," etc., it's not unfathomable that Eden has also been rather challenging for modern audiences. Back then, nevertheless, it was "the newest Cacharel" and its youth appeal was palpable. Every teenage girl and budding woman has fond memories of everything Cacharel made. There was no frog in sight, only princes. 

 Some perfumes were shaped to be gifted as an entry into womanhood, on the other hand. Who could imagine a blockbuster perfume being promoted through porcelain-skinned beauties in soft focus, showing no inch of skin, beyond their necks, set to a baroque soundtrack, in this day and age? And yet Anaïs Anaïs, the first perfume by Cacharel (1978), was advertised exactly like that and became THE reference scent for the early 1980s for droves of young women who still reminisce fondly of it 40 years later. I can tell you right off the bat that it was my first proper, owned bottle of perfume, bought as a gift and offered with the requisite ceremony. The actual scent of Anaïs Anaïs defies the notion of erotic elixirs as something that is warm and sensuous, relying on a rare for today's standards combination of prim lily of the valley (and a few other lilies) with the dusting of whisper-soft leather in the drydown.

After the Victorian oppression, at least as far as the public life of ladies was concerned, women now claimed their sexuality. They took off their restrictive corsets, which were a means of sexual "control" by their spouses. And they cut their hair short, in a bob, as a sign of their unconformity and modernity. Let us recall Fitzgerald's 1919 short story, Berenice Bobs Her Hair. They wore Charleston dresses ending at the knee, often with a deep neckline and a low plunge at the back. They made themselves up with dark, thin lips and dark eyes on a pale face, with thin eyebrows like a stroke of calligraphy. In short, they looked like a vampire, a harbinger of the goth trend. Cacharel used this to great aplomb with their Loulou fragrance, following closely the script which Louise Brooks immortalised as Loulou in the Pabst classic film Pandora's Box. It was an oriental scent, but for young women. Heliotrope, musk, and an abstract heart of flowers touched by a whisper of aniseed from another planet, heaved and sighed in it. As the gloriously musical score of the campaign commercial implied, it was a poignant love story, possibly tragic. Gabriel Fauré's Pavane is immortal. And oui, c'est moi (i.e. "yes, that's me") answering a young man questioning after Loulou, became an indelible memory in our collective memories.

Secrets of the Trade

There is a well-kept secret in the fragrance industry: A secret Perfume Shrine has been privy to, but not sworn to secrecy and if she doesn't reveal sources, all is well. So, my sweeties, today I will reveal it to you!
Yes, yes, I know you will cast unbelieving and imploring puppy eyes to the Shrine and ultimately want to say "Nah...Helg is having a bitchy day, that's all!". But no, I swear to you that this comes from inside info and is very credible.

We have talked time and again how it is my personal opinion based on several little factoids from observation and discussions that people when judging a fragrance rely as much on their eyes as they do on their noses, if not more. What I mean: there is the undeniable brand recognition which even though is often pooh-poohed, it usually does feature right there in the factors that contribute in making a decision to even sample a fragrance in the first place. The latest discussion I initiated on Perfume of Life on this produced interesting results. It sounds like a trusted house, a brand which produces perfumes that are simpatico to one's sensibilities or which has a interesting reputation is more likely to get customers to sample their other products as well. Of course this is not exactly inventing the wheel: it applies in so many other markets as well. But it is especially applicable in perfumery, it seems. If one consolidates a brand well enough, then customer interest will be forever piqued. This is what happened with Serge Lutens and his olfactory seraglio of lovelies. Even the less lovelies are not wont for desire to sample. Every new Serge is a thirst to be quenched! The same applies to Chanel. And in so many more ways than one.

Coco Chanel herself had the wonderful knack of knowing how to provide what women wanted, yet did not know they wanted it just yet. This is a quality that marks the successful enterpreneur from the unsuccessful one and it is -completely coincidentally I am sure- the secret of the marketability of Tom Ford and everything he touches (ewww).
But to revert to Chanel. The brand has a solid, unshakable seal of approval. It's the Homeric καλος κιαγαθος (=beautiful and virtuous): no woman -or man, for that matter- who wears Chanel could be accused of commiting a serious faux pas in the eyes of good taste. It's the brand with the highest visibility of all luxury brands, the one which most people recognise at a glance, the one who has safe-guarded its pedigree best of all and the one who has been faked most; which only serves to prove that people desire it desperately.
Chanel No.5 is so iconic that it has stayed in the top 5 of perfume bestsellers in France for years (to be slightly nudged off its pedestral by Angel in recent years) and it features among the top 10 or at least top 15 in almost every market it is available. It is this which has earned No.5 the moniker le monstre (=the monster; against which everything is compared to in terms of sales), because of its immense marketability. The thing practically sells itself.
And yet (and here is the catch), when participating in blind tests, the fragrance does especially poor! This is something that has been discussed in the corridors of Firmenich, Givaudan, International Flavors and Fragrances and the rest of those hidden pillars of capitalism for some time now. But the average customer does not frequent those places, ergo he/she is unaware of those facts. What is left is hearsay and their own nose. And so often the former is commenting deafeningly louder than the subleties of the latter.

And yet there are people who object with their nose more than their eyes. You might call it whatever you like, but it's there, it's tangible and it's a share of the market that is breathing and kicking and yielding bucks in the pocket. So not to be patronised. I came across this fascinating recount:

"i'll eventually figure out the note in perfumes like that, but right now i'm calling it "french". there are fragrances that smell french to me, it's a sharp powdery/sweet note that makes me think of grannies. maybe when i'm a granny i'll decide to smell like that.

i've tried chanel 5 on me so many times, always hoping for a different result. even in the dry down, i hate it. and i hear these young celebrities bragging about wearing it, and i think, "there's no way you actually like how that smells. you're wearing it for the name". it's been one of the most popular fragrances since it's release and i can't figure out why".

~from If Only it Were Fiction blog

Don't get me wrong: I like Chanel No.5. In fact I own some and have been enjoying it for years. It was first given to me at the tender age of 14: "every girl should try out Chanel No.5" the fairy-godmother told me. I even keep some in extrait de parfum form. But is it the be all and end all of fragrances? Probably not.

I thought you might want to be privy to this secret as well. Let's call it our secret handshake ;-)

Eddie: Sweetie, what are you drinking?
Patsy: Oh this? Chanel No. 5.

~from Absolutely Fabulous

Pic from Chanel 2001-2002 campaign courtesy of Elegant Lifestyle