Niki de Saint Phalle: fragrance review and musings on memory

My experience with Niki de Saint Phalle goes back many years ago. I was aware of Niki being a force to be reckoned with artistically of course even before meeting her scent; her impressive snake-shaped creations in hues of vivid emerald and lapis blue were like a prelapsarian vision of Heaven. I will never forget the time when I saw a real size serpent of hers in the library of one of the university facilities in Cordoba, Spain. I doubt the serpent sculpture is still there, yet the impression has stuck with a mental recall vividness which is truly arresting.

via

Niki de Saint Phalle's eponymous scent, Niki de Saint Phalle eau de toilette, is much the same arresting affair both in looks (the cobalt blue oval with the intertwining snakes) and in smell.

It feels like one steps into an immense pine forest in a day of frost, when the needles hang with snow on them. The snow feels like dry powder and soap, very starched and proper, like some aldehydic fragrances of the 1970s, but with that green bitter touch of wormwood-mossy quality and a dose of carnation, which makes it more mysterious than just a bon chic bon genre aldehydic floral.

In what concerns hardcore chypres Niki de Saint Phalle is an odd man (woman) out. It's artsy yet not too hard to wear, with a playful twist that recalls violet candy, less herbal or animalic than most chypres, a hint of leather, some temptation, some tongue-in-cheek. It's a bit like stepping into a university library only to be greeted by a giant snake sculpture that looms above your head in insatiable hunger.

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: 
The Chypre Series: history, culture and aesthetics
Chypre Fragrances Explained for Newbies

Aedes de Venustas Oeillet Bengale: fragrance review

If like me you have been searching for a Catherine Earnshaw kind of fragrance all your life, then the options haven't always been that populous. Sure, there are some wild perfumes out there but they either (deliciously) run butch or raunchy (Bandit or Tabu), extremely sophisticated (Tabac Blond, Poivre, Coup de Fouet) or possessing that kind of French veneer that makes the Versailles what they are and not a rough stone house on the moors (YSL Opium, Coco de Chanel). I'm extremely surprised and overjoyed to find out that Oeillet Bengale, the third fragrance by Aedes de Venustas (the famous niche perfume boutique in NYC) is a Catherine-Earnshaw-by-way-of-India and that's mighty fine by me; this feral thing is so beguiling, one can forgive it a wandering spirit, even beyond the grave.

Oeillet Bengale like its namesake (the Bengal tiger) conjures the vision of a wild, fiery, untamed thing, oozing feline sex appeal and the sort of charm which keeps you on your toes rather than winning you over with an easy smile and pleading puppy eyes. It also conjures the temples of India, garlanded by flowers and smoky with woody-smelling incense, a sort of Kipling novela written in the register of smells.

Oeillet Bengale by Aedes de Venustas boldly goes where modern niche carnation fragrances go, that is more Vitriol d'Oeillet (Lutens) than Bellodgia (Caron). The spicy component, fresh and dark, like an electric storm in a land of immense skylines that go on forever, lends it well into night wear, while the combination of resinous smells and floral notes gives it a Queen of Sheba via a modern sort of vibe. This is a wonderful fragrance for either men or women who exude sophistication (or aim at doing so!) because the smoky pepperiness—with its incense-y ambience—doesn't lend itself to cooing over the latest chick lit volume. If you are the type to go gaga over Hello Kitty items (and not just out of childhood nostalgia) Oeillet Bengale will leave you cold. If you're a fan of spacious, yet richly nuanced, woody fragrances with a prominent spicy component (sans the expected Indian curry food notes!) and the growl of smooth and carnal labdanum, then the feral Oeillet Bengale is your thing.

In fact, if I were to sum it up, I'd say that the chord of pepper-clove-labdanum-incense is the "soul" of Oeillet Bengale, a smoky carnation for fiery spirits.

Composed by Rodrigo Flores-Roux, Oeillet Bengale by Aedes de Venustas includes top notes of turmeric, cinnamon, black pepper, cardamom, cloves and saffron; middle notes of rose, white pepper, strawberry and floral notes; and base notes of vanilla, tolu balsam, benzoin and labdanum.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine:
Spicy Floral fragrances reviews,
Carnation in perfumes: the clove-scented buds of La Belle Epoque

Serge Lutens L'Orpheline: fragrance review & sample draw

Much like the mysterious (and incestuous) half-sister in Leos Carax's  radical adaptation of Melville's Pierre: or, the Ambiguities (1852) in "Pola X", the specter of the missing family member being visited while in almost somnambulist state, L'orpheline (the orphan girl), the latest Serge Lutens fragrance, becomes "un visage….sans age…une souffle, une presence" (a face…ageless…a breath, a presence) which disrupts the flow of a seemingly smooth, luxurious life with its secret of a tormented and deprived past. And again much like the play of light & darkness throughout the film by Leos, L'orpheline presents a play between the cool and warm register, between madness creeping underneath love, and between comfort emerging where you least expect it. Like Pierre, Lutens, you see, views himself as an artist in love with reckless gestures, only thankfully his charm lies not in any thorough immaturity. On the contrary, he has revealed intimate, personal stuff to us with the maturity that comes from acceptance.

Serge presents the new perfume in these words written in a vertical sequence: " Friable mais entière.À demi-mot, son nom se fêle. Avant la brisure, les deux premières syllabes portent le nom du poète qui même pouvait charmer les pierres. " Lutens of course winks at Orpheus, the legendary Greek poet and prophet who charmed every being with his music and tried to retrieve his wife, Eurydice, from the dead by way of his skills, only to meet with his own death from those who could not hear his divine music…which ties with the cryptic text he has written on L'Incendiaire, his other fragrant release, in a new "golden line", announced here a while ago. How's that for two shots with one stone?

Does Serge try to bring back his repressed beloved, his mother, a small bit at a time, with each of his fragrances? Possibly. Lutens is a grown Remi (after Malot's "Sans famille"), on a journey of the roads of France, on a journey of the roads of perfume. And like Carax or Rivette or any master of that school, he certainly takes his time into letting us share his journey.
The poetic concept of the "orphan", "fragile but whole" (this is a French expression that really loses in the translation), is inspired by Lutens's own childhood, "of ashes" and rage, his painful memories of being raised without a mother and abandoned by his father, though the change of sex in the fragrance name suggests a Freudian transposition regarding the significance of the Father (as suggested by Lutens himself). He conflates the male with pain ("le Mâle : le mal"), an Oedipal symbolism that doesn't go amiss. Nor is it intended to.

For this coolish and quiet fragrance (sequentially warmish, like Gris Clair) named  L'Orpheline, Lutens and his sidekick perfumer Chris Sheldrake focus on incense notes, not as cold and soapy as in L'Eau Froide, neither as spicy warm and shady as in Serge Noire, but somewhere in between; entre chien et loup, between daylight and darkness. Frankincense, the impression of bittersweet myrrh and peppery-acrid (elemi? cumin? ginger?) rather than clove-y carnation notes seem to rise, a cross between spirituality and carnality? Lutens knows how to marry contradictions and swath the opulence of orientalia into Parisian refinement. The spicy note in the heart reminds me of a mix between mace and cumin, reminiscent of both Secret Obsession (the now discontinued Calvin Klein fragrance) and a lighter Serge Noire by Lutens.

Yet the end result in L'Orpheline is apart; neither a true Moroccan oriental like hardcore Serge fans have built an online cult out of, nor a classically French perfume for the salon, but a mysterious, vaporous emanation "between the storm and clear skies", between the ashes of the past and the uncertainty of the future, a Delacroix painting, a dwindling match leaving embers behind. The peppery accent on the incense reminds me of the treatment of carnations in Oeillet Bengale (one of the best releases of the year so far) while the musky underlay is soft, subtle, meditative and not entirely without a certain poignancy.

L'Orpheline would suit anyone who like Pierre "had been waiting for something", regardless of their sex. Haven't we all?

L'Orpheline is an haute concentration fragrance, meaning more concentrated than the beige label ones, belonging in the "black line" of the so called "export range" by Serge Lutens. It will retail at 99 euros for 50ml, is already at the Palais Royal and eboutique and will be widely launched internationally on September 1st.

One sample out of my own decant to a lucky reader commenting below. Draw is open till Sunday midnight.

Tabu by Dana: fragrance review & free vintage perfume giveaway

Tabu by Dana has always had a reputation wickeder than its actual self ("for women who wear their knickers on their heads" [1]), like a girl at high school that everyone thought was promiscuous, while in fact she had being going steady with the older mysterious guy from college. Let's just describe it in style or literary terms: it's not the sort of perfume you'd envision on Audrey Hepburn, but rather on Constance Chatterley. Someone who, although not promiscuous, is not only full aware but exhibiting of the pressing need of their sexual urges.

It all goes back to Javier Sera, the founder of the Spanish house of Dana, who had apparently asked for "un parfum de puta" (a whore's brew) from his perfumer Jean Carles. This was surrealist times back in 1932, so the modern shock should be minimized. The publication of Totem and Taboo [2] had already come 2 decades ago, therefore the name had gained a widespread familiarity and at the same time that frisson of the forbidden it truly represents. Tabu was to be the ultimate "fragrance taboo" now that the divides of society thanks to the aftermath of WWI had crumbled in several cases. Dana's Tabu would reprise for good the dubious essences that the demi-monde alone enjoyed during La Belle Epoque, rendering it both a unity unto itself and segregating it from polite society. Dana thus exploited the awakened sensuality which lift the lid in the two decades between the two World Wars and the wanderlust therein not dormant anymore. Its exceedingly successful course in the market for several decades indicates that this was not just relevant to those times. We can see its impact on both En Avion (Caron, same year, same general concept but played on the leather chypre scale) and the more powdery oriental Bal a Versailles (Desprez, 1962), not to mention milestones such as  Youth Dew, YSL Opium and Coco by Chanel.

Carles, who had not yet lost his sense of smell and worked at Roure, composed a classic, a formula that took the oriental "mellis accord" and gave it wings pulling into two different but equally potent directions: one was the spicy floral & patchouli chord (composed via eugenol, spices and patchouli) and the other the brontide notes of civet, labdanum and musk. The full formula contains also benzyl salicylate and hydroxycintronellal for added radiance and oomph and indeed putting a few drops of even the lighter concentrations of Tabu on the skin amount to having a full on orchestra accompanying your solitary whistling tune. The lighter, citric or floral notes (bergamot, orange blossom, neroli and a heart of rose and ylang) only act as see through veils under which we can gaze at Salome's voluptuous body. A kind of sophisticated apodyopsis fit for a psychoanalyst's couch: one can only imagine the naked body underneath the clothes that waft Tabu. True to its advertising "when Tabu becomes a part of you, you become apart of all others" and despite its carnal reputation it wears as a very fetching, sultry but suave fragrance that both women and men can enjoy.


The advertising history of Dana's Tabu perfume makes for a whole chapter by itself, full of passionate images of torrid affairs. I have touched upon the subject on the linked post, so if you're curious take a peak.

Tabu is still available at drugstores and online, though the modern formulations are thinned out and lacking a certain "kick" compared to 30 years ago. This is the reason I'm offering a vintage miniature to one lucky reader as a small Xmas gift. Post a comment below to enter. Draw is open internationally till Sunday midnight and winner will be announced sometime on Monday.

[1]Susan Irvine in the Perfume Guide, 2000. 
[2]Sigmund Freud, Totem and Taboo: Similarities between the lives of savages and neurotics, 1913.

Oscar de la Renta Oscar (original, 1977): fragrance review

Some perfumes the minute you put them on feel like you've slipped into a pair of black satin slingbacks or a silk peignoir in ivory. Oscar by Oscar de la Renta had felt that way to me for the better bulk of my adult life. In fact I used to adore the way it smelled on my mother, no stranger to spectacular perfumes, such as her favorites Cabochard and Dioressence. 

The original Oscar (1977) is a remarkably complex perfume, quite attenuated in its current formula compared to the grand dame that was the vintage juice from the 1970s and 1980s, which shows a remarkable kinship (and debt) to Coty's L'Origan and Guerlain's L'Heure Bleue. For this reason, but also for the way it extrapolates past and fuses it into the future, beyond mere nostalgia, it is of great historical value to see what makes it tick.

via parfumdepub.net

Oscar de la Renta's original perfume: a complex composition 

In many ways the introduction of Oscar by Oscar de la Renta on the market in 1977 meant a revival of the floriental bittersweet genre that the two classics had paved after many years of inertia. Despite L'Origan being formulated around perfumer's bases (i.e. ready made blocks of "smells" composed for perfumers skirting the issue of reinventing the wheel each time), both the Coty and the La Renta perfumes are resting on a basic chord of carnation (the spicy constituent eugenol is a key component of the perfume), orris, violet (methyl ionone), orange blossom and ambreine, all ingredients in about equal measure but for the ionone (which is doubly dosaged compared to the rest). Jean Louis Sieuzac, the perfumer of Opium (YSL), Farenheit, Bel Ami and Dune (Dior), sure knew a thing or fifty about how to create a frisson of excitement!

The floral heart however is particularly complex in Oscar de la Renta: the jasmine core (resting on both hedione and Jessemal), with rose, hyacinth and ylang-ylang included as well, produce a particularly sweet floralcy. The tuberose fragrance note is the mule's kick; purposeful, corrupt, expansive, can't miss it. Accessorizing notes of heliotrope, coumarin (the tonka bean note), musk ketone, benzoin and opoponax give a resinous, powdery and sweetish character that veers both compositions into the floriental genre (In fact L'Origan can be claimed to have historically introduced the genre in the first place!). The heliotrope and "powder" with a contrasting top (anisic in L'Heure Bleue, spicy in Oscar) are the basis of the tension that is so compelling in the Guerlain perfume as well. It's not hard to see how both can be memorable.

The addition of Vertofix (woody note close to cedar) in Oscar provides the woody background, with a small footnote of sandalwood and a mossy base reminiscent of the famous Mousse de Saxe "base" popularized by Caron. The powdery character is further reinforced through the resinous orris note and the mossiness. This contracts with the fresh top note comprising citruses (orange, bergamot and mandarin), basil, linalool and a fruity accord.

The above review pertains to the original composition which was prevalent throughout the 1980s and 1990s. Nowadays, somewhat attenuated due to "corrective surgery" (aka reformulation), Oscar is less smooth, with a harsher feel that doesn't lure in the way the vintage did, and less of its tuberose kick; in a sea of fruity floral sameness it retains some of its retro vibe, but it can come across as somewhat dated rather than wow, though the drydown phase is pretty good still. Lately the Oscar de la Renta house shows encouraging signs of picking up with its Esprit d'Oscar fragrance and its more "exclusive" collection of Luxuries fragrances, so I'm hopeful that where the botox failed the new generation fillers might prove successful. It remains to be seen.

The perfume's imprint

The progeny of Oscar de la Renta itself isn't without merit: Loulou by Cacharel (1987) owes a debt to the development of its tuberose and oriental notes to Oscar's floriental formula. The side by side testing of both gives an interesting glimpse into the intertextuality that is perfume creation; quotes of past things are happening in later perfumes all the time. Vanderbilt (an American classic from 1981) is also influenced, a sweet floral with white flowers in the heat (honeyed orange blossom, jasmine), heliotrope, vanillin, abstract woods (provided by aromachemical Iso-E Super) and musk in the base and a contrasting citrus and green fruity top note, but with no spice and very little coumarin or ylang-ylang to speak of.  The contrasting nuances help make the perfume memorable.

La Belle Epoque in Clove-Scented Buds & Modern Carnation Fragrances

There's something about the imaginary buds of pepper and clove that conjure the drawing rooms of La Belle Epoque, where carnation bouquets were bursting off their vases, and of funereal wreaths heaving with the sadness of the vanished; an illusion, an unaccountable stay of execution, the carnation blossoms. This tightly swirled affair of fragrant petals, so disregarded, so pedestrian, so much of a filler flower. And yet...From deep beneath its corolla comes the scent of a bygone era and the remnants of romance; a spicy effluvium that speaks of anticipative prom corsages as much as of hidden passions.

Source: 29.media.tumblr.com via S H E L L I E on Pinterest

REFLECTIONS ON AN WEARY EYE

Oscar Wilde himself, king of hidden passions, was infamous for his allegiance to the curly blossom which decorated his groomed attire, as much as his homoerotic proclivities; it was "The Green Carnation", a short-lived but widely read scandalous novel from 1894 that supposedly reprised the illicit love affair of the Irish author with Lord Alfred Douglas, which damaged his reputation beyond repair and was held against him in a court of law. Subsequent lore even goes as far as to suggest that the green carnation on his lapel was a nod to the Parisian pederast scene, and yet there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that it was so; in fact were there any shred of truth in that claim it would have been presented during his libel trial regarding the Marquess of Queensbury. But such is the nature of the flower; it provokes with both its voluptuous appearance and its spicy bouquet which removes it from the realm of the chaste and the virginal into the territory of the fierce. After all, in the language of flowers a deep red carnation stands for mad love and affection. Pink and white carnations on the other hand represent a mother's love, enshrined into becoming the official Mother's Day blossom, inspired by the religious tale of having sprang from the earth from the tears of the Virgin Mary weeping for her son on the cross.

If your only acquaintance with carnations (Dianthus caryophyllus) is the refrigerated, florist shop, overbred kind that fills bouquets of more posh flowers in need of a larger budget, or sad, funeral wreaths, the jolting into smelling the vanilla-laced yet oddly phenolic, smoky pepperiness of a good garden variety -such as the Sweet William or the revived Malmaison carnations (reprised in the now discontinued Floris fragrance by the very name), huge and headily fragrant- is enough to make you reconsider.

Most carnation scents harken back to old days quite factually. The incontestable Poivre and the diluée Coup de Fouet, both Caron, are badges of another era, when a Cruella Deville warmth emanating from a plush fur coat was considered the height of chic instead of an invasion of private space and asinine disregard for animal rights. Bellodgia, another Caron, this time more romantic rather than baroque, with its sweetish, soft halo was a huge success when it came out in 1927, reminiscent of Italian vacations. Today it is considered nostalgically retro, too signora for today's signorinas. Ernest Daltroff, the maverick perfumer and founder of the French house, was extremely fond of carnation, nevertheless, injecting it along with his equally beloved Mousse de Saxe like a stealth superpower in almost everything he made. It is unfathomable to speak of carnation fragrances without mentioning the Caron canon; En Avion, Or et Noir, Le Troisieme Homme...there's no end. Even in modern Caron releases, such as the liturgical leaning Parfum Sacre, carnation plays an important role, it's a true fetish!

The prime of carnation fragrances came in the 1920s and all the fragrances of the period are specimens constructed on cloves, with which carnations share facets, as we will see further on. This genre, a, harmonious spicy blend, was considered evocative of the tropics, fanned on cardamom, coriander, cinnamon, cloves and pepper, alongside heady, narcotic flowers, in tune with the Orientalism that pervaded the roaring 20s. Guerlain even revisited this idea with their modern Terracota Voile d'Ete a while ago. Most of those fragrances however, like Oeillet Fane by Grenoville, Patou's Adieu Sagesse or Lancome's Fleches, have all but disappeared with (almost) no trace. Blue Carnation by Roger & Gallet was very popular, ensuring a continued existence, but it finally capitulated; the 1937 scent's been discontinued to the dismay of many; at least the soap survives. If we know and recognize a carnation in a complex blend today we owe it most of all to the enduring success of L'Air du Temps by Nina Ricci, the fragrance which in 1947 consolidated what Coty's L'Origan had inaugurated in 1905 and which L'Heure Bleue made impossibly romantic, the spicy floral. Indeed L'Air du Temps owes a lot to the spicy chord inside its complex, nuanced heart, making the fragrance piquant instead of merely soft and pretty.

Source: powder-blue-birdie.blogspot.com via Justine on Pinterest

This trick is carried over to other fragrances, sometimes NOT specifically within the soliflore category, following the Ricci paradigm: Charlie (Revlon), Norell (Norell and later Revlon), Balahe (Leonard), all take carnation to the bosom to inject a much needed accent, even in greener compositions. Some even take things further, proposing the spicy floral in an orientalized blend, such as Vol de Nuit (Guerlain), Dioressence (Dior) Opium (Yves Saint Laurent), Cinnabar and Spellbound (both Lauder) the original Poison (Dior), Roma (Laura Biagotti)..... The carnation there imparts a fresh spiciness amidst the heftier elements. We might as well see the breakthrough of this latter trend in the potent carnation direction of Tabu by perfumer Jean Carles.

Contemporary creators are not indifferent to such a fierce adherence to this passionate note: Jar's Golgonda behaves like a grand-daughter to Coup de Fouet, clotted cream inside the fieriness, one can almost picture it on the proverbial feisty red-head. Diamond Water is still carnation, but lighter and more transient, with a metallic quality, like a cross between Parfum Sacre and Bellodgia. Garofano, dense and almost thorny to wade through, by Lorenzo Villoresi, is a successor of the hefty tradition. Modern fragrances with a rather light-hearted, unisex character include Dianthus by Etro and Comme des Garcons Carnation from Series 2 Red. Masculine scents, incontestably virile, also utilize carnation for good measure: look no further than Equipage by Hermes, Cacharel pour Homme, Tabac Original (Mauer & Wirtz), Worth Pour Homme and the classic standby Old Spice.

THE PERFUMER'S ART

Eugenol and isoeugenol are practically inseparable in nature so it makes sense to use both when constructing a carnation accord. The former appears prominently in cloves, as well as in allspice and bay leaf, but also in basil and floral essences (rose, ylang ylang, jasmine), while the latter (detectable in nutmeg and mace) is more floral-balsamic, accounting for a truer "carnation blossom" scent.

L'Artisan Parfumeur's wondrously natural-smelling and deliciously soft carnation scent, sadly discontinued, Oeillet Sauvage, was based on two main floral components: rose and ylang ylang, no doubt aided by spicy accents. Etro's dianthus is a similar take. Guerlain experimented in Metallica, renamed Metalys, when the band objected. The whole exercise proved unpopular however, making the remaining bottles rare collectibles. Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Soie Rouge is a rich, satisfying carnation with a generous side of good materials. Prada has Oeillet in the boutique exclusive line.

originally taken by Dimitri Dimitriades (sorceryofscent.com)

Source: Uploaded by user via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest

"Natural rose extract and ylang essential oils are the real thing: rich in depth and volume, varying in quality and ...expensive. Especially the rose oil. The "cheat" there is to use nice and cheaper rose and ylang bases provided by industry. Mostly synthetic, but doing the trick for the large scale markets." says Andy Tauer of niche line Tauer Perfumes. Rose is exactly the trick in Eternity by Calvin Klein; the scent smells like carnations, but is built on roses.

The molecule 4-vinyl guiacacol, coming from grape-drived percursors in yeast and must, is an interesting proposition: in white wines it has the double edge of appearing like a fresh carnation in dilution or a dense clove off-note in concentration. The crucial percentage is dependent on grape variety, yeast strain used and the fermentation process, a delicate balance which shows the secret bond between carnation and cloves best of all.

Regardless of carnations falling out of fashion, the sweet-spicy note is frequently part of both women's and men's fragrances, and will remain so in the future. A number of compounds with a carnation character have been invented, supplementing the above stated naturals. Benzyl isoeugenol, or 2-methoxy-1-(phenylmethoxy)-4-(1-propenyl)benzene, a solid with a balsamic note and a powdery carnation-like sweetness, and Methyl Diantilis ® (Givaudan), or 2-ethoxy-4-(methoxymethyl)phenol, which has a sweet-smoky odor with powdery aspects reminiscent of carnation are two of the most popular ones.

The main constituents in the spicy bouquet of carnation are eugenol and isoeugenol. It is therefore unfortunate and foreboding that these substances are greatly rationed in the recent specifications of the SCCS and IFRA directives, signaling a recalibration of how a carnation accord is constructed in perfumery. But not all is blek: Eugenol is strong enough, even in the 0.5% limit in the final formula and new discoveries promise to preserve this retro spicy note.
Lately carnation is revisited anew: Vitriol d'Oeillet is a very recent release by Serge Lutens, steeped into the gothic and mystical ambience for which the maestro is known. If Lutens is doing it, everyone will soon be doing it.

Caron Bellodgia: fragrance review & history

Much like Caron's Pour un Homme is a study in lavender, done in a simple equation style giving so much more in perceived value, so Bellodgia is Caron's study of carnations, but in all their rich depth. I am not surprised many perfume lovers like Bellodgia, even floral haters. Unlike its reputation for a soliflore (the fragrance that reproduces the scent of a single flower, carnation in this case) it's really complex and not simplistic. Loving carnations sincerely, I had to have this perfume in my collection. Carnations have a scent that is not really floral, but definitely spicy and richly intimate. Who in their right mind deemed them "humble" for offering is beyond me. That spiciness is the reason I like storks also; another not quite so chic flower with its intense skatole quota (Skatole is the predominant molecule in excrement, its name deriving from the Greek word for shit; oh well, nothing is as it appears.)

Bellodgia seems the definitive carnation scent exactly because of its spiciness and complexity of its quality essences (allegedly its top note alone comprises 100 essences, a claim I find rather hard to believe); yet it is really a somewhat orientalized spicy perfume, rich in peppery notes that give a jangling quality to begin with, then segue into carnation richness with nuances of vanilla and woods warmth, which lasts incredibly well. The current eau de toilette opens with a note of incense comparable to Caron's Nuit de Noel and Parfum Sacre. The clove tint is a living remnant of retro perfumery of the turn of the 20th century, when carnations were recreated with flower notes (ylang ylang and rose) and cloves. At the time the buoyancy of the combination that resulted in a soapy, inedible impression signified perfume, a sign of wealth and status.

 The heady, not so innocent kick of carnation is baroque-like in Bellodgia, like the sheen of brocade cloth, where every change of the light brings out hidden reflections in the fabric. Similarly, the longer this Caron perfume stays on, the more it gains in creaminess and powder facets, prone to be deemed "old lady smelling" by those consumers who dismiss by that derogative term anything that isn't reminiscent of cake batter or linen drawers. The classical turn can smell a bit dated, a fact that shouldn't deter the male of the species grabbing it in an effort to turn what can be predictable and ageing for one gender into an unexpected burst of good news for the other, if they dare. The vintage formulation of Bellodgia is perhaps guiltier in the rich powderiness and the floral impact (aka more ladylike), while the modern versions are sheeting everything in the envelope of warm skin-scent musks, but more so in eau de toilette than in eau de parfum, the latter more floral and denser overall and more lasting. It's easy to spot the difference: the latest bottles have a purple label (or are encased in the shagreen tubes that the whole line has progressed onto, this time in purple), the older ones sport a white one.
The extrait de parfum is smoother than both but the problems with sandalwood supply in later years have subtly changed its base note over the last decade.

 Created in 1927, Bellodgia was the result of the collaboration of Caron founder Ernest Daltroff and one-time dress maker Felicie Vanpouille, who lent her fashion expertise to the company's scents. Specifically it was inspired by Italy and its countryside of wild carnation fields, particularly the picturesque town of Bellagio, perched high above the incredibly beautiful Lake Como, it smells sunny yet deep. Full of classical drama? Indeed. It is perhaps its assertion and its projection that accounts with its popularity over past decades with American customers. Bellodgia is a masterful blend of floral essences, so it needs some time to be blocked and some repeated exposure for it to be really appreciated, much like a good Bordeaux. And for those who sorta like Bellodgia, but want a smooth spices carnation without the powdery floralcy? Try Caron's Tabac Blond. You'll thank me later...

  Notes for Caron Bellodgia: lily of the valley, rose, carnation, violet, jasmine, clove, musk, vanilla and sandalwood.

Worthy of a read: One woman's love affair with Bellodgia.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Caron news & fragrance reviews.
vintage ads via polyvore and  the non blonde

Puredistance Opardu: fragrance review & draw

I am doubtful as to whether an elegant yet lush floral with woody undertones is really reminiscent of the opulence of the 1920s and 1930s. Historically, I know these were years when florals were given the sheen of aldehydes, transposing them from worlds of flower beds into vistas of abstraction (Je Reviens by Worth, Chanel no.5, Bois des Iles), and big profuse chypres, often with decadent fruity notes (see the pineapple in Colony by Patou, the peach-skin in Mitsouko by Guerlain et al) or leathery scented accents (Cuir de Russie by Chanel, Scandal by Lanvin for instance), reigned supreme. In that sense Opardu, the latest fragrance by Puredistance, is rather incongruent, but it is delightful all the same in its own genre, much like all the fragrances in the line have proven so far: from the smooth bravado of M by Puredistance to the nostalgic femininity of Antonia, the compact line is well thought of, evidenced by the lack of continuous releases heaping up like an avalanche on us -much like it happens with some other niche lines that shall remain unnamed.

via http://osullivan60.blogspot.com

No, Puredistance makes an effort and as soon as the first transparent drops of the new elixir, Opardu, landed on my skin I knew that this was another quality fragrance from them. My only complaint? For a parfum concentration, it seems weaker, less lasting than the others. But don't let that stop you from trying for yourself.

The inspiration
The word 'OPARDU' is a creation of the owner and creative director of Puredistance: Jan Ewoud Vos. "When he came up with the word OPARDU he felt that this word had always been there, in a mysterious way... evocative and strangely familiar" the official story goes. I can't say it means anything specific to me, yet it does evoke leopards, bringing to mind Visconti's glorious and utterly romantic Il Gattopardo in mind.

"It took more than a year to further work out OPARDU. Central to the 'feeling' of OPARDU have been the expressive paintings of Kees van Dongen, in particular one of his illustrations for the book 'PARFUMS' by Paul Valéry, published in 1945 in a limited edition of 1000. (Jan Ewoud Vos is the owner of book no. 429)." [according to this info]

 The bouquet in the middle below is an illustration of Kees van Dongen

The perfumer

When Jan Ewoud Vos showed this illustration of Kees Van Dongen - a rich and lush bouquet of flowers - to Annie Buzantian, the famous Master Perfumer from New York, she instantly fell in love with it. The first word that came to her mind was 'Opulence'. She also felt this nostalgic feeling for the early years of the previous century; the golden age of perfumery. And then her work began. As a starting point Annie used a reinterpretation of a classic carnation she had already created which was safely stored in one of her 'secret' drawers.

How it Smells 

To my nose the dominating sensation is not of a classic carnation (those tended to be clove-spicy affairs, like in Caron's Poivre & Coup de Fouet), but rather of lilacs; pollen-dusted and with nectarous facets that mingle with a smidgen of green, transparent gardenia impression and a hint of powder and cedarwood. These lilacs are divested of their more melancholy, rained-upon ambience that En Passant by perfumer Olivia Giacobetti for Frederic Malle's perfume line has turned into a cult. That was a passing impression of walking under an umbrella in the early spring just catching a whiff of white lilacs in the distance from some stone and cement-walled garden afar. Here, in Opardu, the purple lilac is trembling under the morning sun and the white flower notes (not especially indolic, but not sanitized either) provide a tinge of honeyed sweetness. The wink of a bit of spice could be said to evoke a carnation interpretation, though I'm mostly struck by the inclusion of the non mentioned powdery soft and woody-earthy garland of ionones (rendering a violet note) and what I could liken to a hawthorn/mimosa note with a little muskiness. If you have always admired Vacances by Patou (1936) but have been frustrated by its rarity (now that even the 1980s reissue is discontinued for so long), Opardu can provide a good substitute.
This delicate bouquet in Opardu makes for a very feminine and subtle composition that is graceful rather than opulent and restrained in very good taste. I would have loved it to be a bit more maxed out for the opulent effect and for greater tenacity, but that's just me.

Notes for Opardu by Puredistance:
Main notes in Opardu as announced in time of writing are: carnation, tuberose absolute, jasmine absolute and gardenia with a background evoking the gentleness of romance through soft powdery notes. (All notes will be officially revealed in the first week of November, when I will update).

OPARDU will be available in a 17.5 ml. Perfume Spray and a 60 ml. Perfume Flacon as pure Perfume Extrait (32%) only, in November 2012. Available at select carriers.

A sample of the as yet unreleased Opardu parfum will be given to a lucky reader who comments on this post. Draw is open internationally till Sunday midnight. Draw is now closed, thank you!

 Music: Φεύγω (i.e.I'm leaving...all those years I'm leaving) by Greek songwriter Orpheas Pieridis, adapted here & sung by Dionyssis Savvopoulos.

In the interests of full disclosure I was sent a sample for consideration.

Hermes Equipage: fragrance review

If Calèche encapsulates perfumer Guy Robert's idea of a great taste feminine perfume, then Équipage is his idea of the perfect masculine; sober, handsome, restrained, graceful. These two Hermès fragrances embody both the house's easy, effortless elegance aesthetic (you can imagine them as "old money" contrasted with nouveau rich) and Guy Robert's idea that only a "lived-in" ambience about a scent makes it truly romantic; if you need more proof you can just test out Madame Rochas and his other marvels (Amouage Gold, Dioressence etc).

Scent Description 
Aromatic, spicy and woody, the brief for Équipage was based on the success of Monsieur Rochas, composed by the same perfumer (Guy Robert) just one year prior, demanding the scent of a "cold pipe".  Word has it that Jean Louis Sieuzac also worked on this one. The smokiness is there all right (I'm hypothesizing birch tar to give a smoked leather note, reminiscent of the Cuir de Russie type of scents), but there's pungent dryness instead of the usual rum casket fantasies of honeyed milky tobacco; such as the ones evoking languorous Turkish escapades that Lutens brings to his Fumerie Turque, to cite but one example.  Liatris is an interesting note: it possesses both a herbaceous facet on one end and a hay & tobacco facet with only a subtly vanillic undercurrent on the other end, so it balances off nicely the bitter, pungent top notes of Équipage, reinforcing the concept of a smoking pipe.

Équipage is resolutely old-school and conservative smelling ~therefore probably anathema to anyone under 40, unless they have a perfume obsession~ and like an experienced acrobat balances between strength and finery, between the rustic herbs, the bitterness of the clary sage opening and the bite of cloves, on a base of smooth wood notes and a little sweet floral touch, a combination as dependable as a gentleman of the old guard. The florals cited in official notes description give only half the truth: the lily of the valley gives but crispness, the rosewood a profusion of linalool (that ingredient familiar from classic lavender), the carnation adds a clovey tint, as carnation composing was done by utilizing clove essence.
The true character of the fragrance evolves from the evolution of the aromatic, rustic and bitter herbal essences into rich woody, earthy notes in the drydown with a tinge of leather notes. In this it is in the same league as the equally magnificent Derby by Guerlain, which epitomizes the smooky woody fragrance genre; perhaps the Guerlain is a bit more balsamic and greener than the Hermès.

Who is it for?
I can vividly picture Équipage on a tweed-clad man out in the woods, lithe, supply riding his horse with his gun between horse bridles and saddle, leather lapels & patches on the jacket, having a good time only to return home when the sun is beginning to set. Perhaps it's so old-school that such a picture doesn't really seem ridiculous or overblown. Hermès at any rate likes to emphasize its "team player" name, showing the bottle over the photo of a rowing team. Cool, I get it. That's got to be some posh British college we're talking about, where the idea of a team spells dedication and loyalty and doesn't mess with anyone's individuality. Équipage smells perfectly individual nowadays, sticking like a diamond ring among graphite pencils, so perhaps my modern take is skewed. I suppose more men smelled in some variation of this liquid nectar back then....and oh boy, weren't those the times.

Équipage seems perfectly at ease on a smoker too, a heavy one at that, fusing with the remnants of the ashtray scent on the clothes into producing something delightful rather than repelling. No wonder in this age of cigarette demonisation Équipage looks like an outcast. Most interestingly this masculine eau de toilette works well in both the hot and cold season and lasts equally impressively, as it seems to morph to suit the weather. Winter brings out its crispness of sweet earth and woods. Summer heat highlights its cooling herbal, almost mentholated effect and its spicy kick.

I am a bit at a loss on how it would be possible to recommend it be worn by women, evocative as it is of virile-looking men like Sean Connery, however I have to share that I indulge myself in my vintage bottle more often than I'd care to admit. Perhaps there's something to be said about women embracing the idea of wearing a virile scent from time to time...

Vintage vs Modern Équipage 
The vintage versions of Équipage bear a light brown cap with a screw top design; the modern is sparse, black, architectural. The modernised version, available at  Hermès boutiques and department stores with a big selection of Hermès fragrances where you will have to ask for it by name, has attenuated some of the pungency and projection of this fragrance, without messing too much with its bouquet garni of herbs. If anything it's more citrusy and terpenic now than leathery, but not by much.

Notes for Hermès Équipage: 
Top: bergamot, rosewood, lily of the valley, clary sage, tarragon, marjoram
Middle: jasmine, carnation, pine, hyssop, liatris (a herbaceous perennial)
Base: Vetiver, patchouli, tonka bea, amber

Christian Dior Dioressence: fragrance review

The advertisements read: "Exuberant. Smouldering.Uninhibited".  It was all that and more. Mink coats, cigarette-holders, lightly smeared eyeliner after a hard night. Dioressence launched as "le parfum barbare" (a barbaric perfume); the ready-to-wear fur collection by Dior in 1970 was orchestrated to give a powerful image of women as Venus in Furs. Commanding, aloof, demanding, even a dominatrix. The fragrance first launched as a bath oil product, reinforcing the name, i.e. Dior's Essence, the house's nucleus in liquid form; Dior wanted to write history. It later came as a stand alone alcoholic perfume, the first composed by perfumer Guy Robert for Dior and history it wrote indeed. A new breed of parfum fourrure was born!

Dioressence: A Wild, Untamed Fragrance
The fragrance of Dioressence itself, in part the brief being a depart from Guy Robert's refined style, was the love affair of ambergris (a 100% natural essence at the time) with the original 1947 Miss Dior, a chypre animalic perfume, itself laced with the animal notes of leathery castoreum in the base, so the two elements fused into each other most compatibly. Ambergris is lightly salty and nutty-smelling, creating a lived-in aura, while leather notes are sharper and harsher, especially when coming from castoreum, an animal essence from beavers with an intense almost death-like stink. The two give a pungent note.
In Miss Dior this is politely glossed over by a powdery gardenia on top. The animalicistic eroticism is only perceptible in the drydown. In Dioressence the sexiness is felt from the very start, only briefly mocked by a fruity lemony touch, and it only gains from further exposure to notes that lend themeslves to it: rich spices, dirty grasses, opulent resins, sensuous musk. In a way if Cinnabar and Opium (roughly contemporaries) modernised the message of the balsamic oriental classic Youth Dew, Dioressence gave both a run for their money, being bolder like the Lauder predecessor, yet in a rather greener scale. 

The intensity of the animalistic accord in Dioressence was boosted even further by the copious carnation-patchouli chord (much like in Jean Carles sexy Tabu), spiced even further with cinnamics (cinnamon notes) and given a glossy glamour with lots of natural jasmine. The greenery over the oriental-chypre basenotes is like the veneer of manners over the killer instinct. Still the Guy Robert treatment produced something that was totally French in style. You can't help but feel it's more tailored, more formal than any modern fragrance, perhaps what a power-woman of the early 1980s would wear to power-lunch, even indulging in some footie work under the table if she feels like it, but its wild undercurrent is almost foreshadowing the contemporary taste for niche.

Why Dioressence Changed...to the Worse
Alas the perfume after a brief career fell into the rabbit-hole of a teethering house (The Marcel Boussac Group bankrupted in 1978 and it was purchased by the Willot house, which also bankrupted in 1981). Not only had the vogue for big orientals been swung in a "cleaner", starchier direction in the meantime (Opium, Cinnabar, Giorgio), but the management hadn't really pushed the glam factor of Dior as much as Karl Lagerfeld had revolutionized, nay re-animated the house of Chanel (the effect in the mid-80s of that latter move was analogous to the miraculous push Tom Ford gave to Gucci in the late 90s; nothing sort of spectacular). Dior would need almost a whole decade to get its act together, bring out Poison (1985) and find its financial compass under the LVMH aegis. By then it was down to familiar LVMH accounting bean-counting and therefore marvels like Dior-Dior perfume and Dioressence were either axed (former) or given catastrophical face-lifts (latter). Same happened with the ill-fated, yet brilliant Dior masculine Jules, which had launched in those limbo years (1980 in fact).

Comparing Vintage vs.Modern Dioressence
I well recall the old formula of Dioressence, back when it was a mighty animalic-smelling oriental with moss in the base because it was alongside (vintage) Cabochard my mother's favorite perfume. She was neither particularly exuberant, not knowingly smouldering and rather inhibited, come to think of it. She was a real lady, through and through, and yet she loved Dioressence, le parfum barbare! (and her other choice isn't particularly blinkered either, is it?) There's really a dark id that is coming throuh perfume and allows us to role-play; what's more fun than that? The Non Blonde calls this Dior "Miss Dior's Casual Friday outfit" and I can see her point; it's letting your hair down, preferably for acts of passion to follow.

The modern version of Dioressence (at least since the early 2000s) has been thinned beyond recognition, the naturals completely substituted with synthetic replications, till my mother 's soul departed from the bottle, never to return. The new Dioressence on counters is a somewhat better chypre than recent memory, with a harsher mossy profile, a bit like a "cougar" on the prowl not noticing she's a bit too thin for her own good, all bones, no flesh. Still, an improvement over the catastrophic post-2005 and pre-2009 versions.
Dioressence first came out as a bath oil in 1969 (advertisements from 1973 bear testament to that) and then as a "real" perfume in the same year. Perfumer credited is Guy Robert, although Max Gavarry is also mentioned by Turin as implicated in the process. The newest version (introduced in 2010, reworked by Francois Demachy) is in the uniform Creations de Monsieur Dior bottles with the silver mock-string around the neck in white packaging, just like Diorissimo, Forever and Ever, Diorella and Dior's Eau Fraiche.

The Full Story of the Creation of Dioressence

In Emperor of Scent, author and scent critic Chandler Burr quotes Luca Turin: "The best Guy Robert story is this. The House of Dior started making perfumes in the 1940s. Very small scale. The first two, of which Diorama was one and Miss Dior the other, were made by Edmond Roudnitska, a Ukrainian émigré who'd studied with Ernest Beaux in Saint Petersburg because Beaux was the perfumer to the czars. So Dior approached Guy Robert-they invite him to dinner, they're talking over the cheese course, no sterile meeting rooms, this is a brief among gentlemen-and they said, 'We're doing a new perfume we want to call Dioressence, for women, but we want it very animalic. The slogan will be le parfum barbare, so propose something to us.' Oh boy. Guy can hardly wait. Of course he wants a Dior commission. And the challenge of mixing the florals of the traditional Dior fragrances into an animal scent (because this isn't just any animalic, this is a Dior animalic, if you can imagine such a bizarre thing) is just a bewitching challenge, who else would have the guts to attempt joining those two. So he gets right to work, plunges in, and he tries all sorts of things. And he's getting nowhere. Nothing's working. He's frustrated, he doesn't like anything he's doing.

"In the middle of this, someone in the industry calls him, and they say, 'There's a guy with a huge lump of ambergris for sale in London-get up here and check it out for us.' Ambergris is the whale equivalent of a fur ball, all the undigested crap they have in their stomachs. The whale eats indigestible stuff, and every once in a while it belches a pack of it back up[1]. It's mostly oily stuff, so it floats, and ambergris isn't considered any good unless it's floated around on the ocean for ten years or so. It starts out white and the sun creates the odorant properties by photochemistry, which means that it's become rancid, the molecules are breaking up, and you get an incredibly complex olfactory result. So Guy gets on a plane and flies up to see the dealer, and they bring out the chunk of ambergris. It looks like black butter. This chunk was about two feet square, thirty kilos or something. Huge. A brick like that can power Chanel's ambergris needs for twenty years. This chunk is worth a half million pounds.

"The way you test ambergris is to rub it with both hands and then rub your hands together and smell them. It's a very peculiar smell, marine, sealike, slightly sweet, and ultrasmooth. So there he is, he rubs his hands in this black oily mess and smells them, and it's terrific ambergris. He says, Great, sold. He goes to the bathroom to wash his hands 'cause he's got to get on an airplane. He picks up some little sliver of dirty soap that's lying around there and washes his hands. He leaves. He gets on the plane, and he's sitting there, and that's when he happens to smell his hands. The combination of the soap and ambergris has somehow created exactly the animalic Dior he's been desperately looking for. But what the hell does that soap smell like? He's got to have that goddamn piece of soap. The second he lands in France, he sprints to a phone, his heart pounding, and calls the dealer in England and says, 'Do exactly as I say: go to your bathroom, take the piece of soap that's in there, put it in an envelope, and mail it to me.' And the guy says, 'No problem.' And then he adds, 'By the way, that soap? You know, it was perfumed with some Miss Dior knockoff.'

"So Guy put them together, and got the commission, and made, literally, an animalic Dior. Dioressence was created from a cheap Miss Dior soap knockoff base, chypric, fruity aldehydic, plus a giant cube of rancid whale vomit[2]. And it is one of the greatest perfumes ever made."

[1] [2]Actually that's not quite true. Ambergris comes out the other end of the whale, not the mouth. Read Christopher Kemp's Floating Gold.

Notes for Dior Dioressence:
Aldehydes, Bergamot, Orange, Jasmine, Violet, Rosebud, Ylang ylang, Geranium, Cinnamon, Patchouli, Orris Root, Ambergris, Oakmoss, Benzoin, Musk, Styrax.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: The Dior fragrance reviews Series

ad collage via jeanette-soartfulchallenges.blogspot.com, Dior fur via coutureallure.com

Caron Poivre & Coup de Fouet: fragrance reviews & comparison

Poivre by Caron plays out like J.S Bach's double concerto for 2 violins in D minor, 1st movement: Two complimenting themes, carnation and clove, in contrapuntal dialogue, one finishing off the phrase of another in a leitmotif which manages to punctuate time with its own special seal. Despite its name, which means pepper in French, and the vicious-looking studded with peppercorns bottle, Poivre features the hot "king of spice" in a supporting role. To bring the musical analogy full circle, let's just say pepper in Poivre is the basso continuo.

Poivre is the kind of fragrance that creates the feeling J.S Bach compositions stir in my soul and has been a longtime companion for as far back as I was aware of Caron; if not as far back as Bach. There is such contextualised coherence that everything in the world seems at its rightful place, everything in perfect, clashing harmony. If the composer once walked 200 miles to hear Dieterich Buxtehude play the organ, I'd walk on hot coals to get an ounce of Poivre parfum in its vintage state.

History of Creation
In 1953, Félicie Wanpouille -savvy of the emergence of a different aesthetic inaugarated with the New Look by Dior- asked perfumer Michel Morsetti for a fragrance that would be out of whack with its times. Morsetti had already created (at least 2) classics in the Caron stable: Farnesiana (1947), Rose (1949), and Muguet du Bonheur (1952).  The fifties were all about good-mannered lactonic florals and sheer floral chypres continuing from the late 1940s. Only Youth Dew was braving the wave, making it possible later for Cinnabar, Opium and all the rest of the Medina-spice caravan-brocard tapestry orientals that followed. Michel Morsetti obliged and in 1954 Poivre emerged; impulsive, rich, sinful, drop dead sexy! "Parfum de la femme moderne" as per the vintage advertisements: the perfume of the modern woman.
The bottle design with the peppercorn studs was no doubt a throwback to classic pomanders which relied on cloves for their antimicrobial prophylactic properties; perfume as medicine...

Scent Description 
The original 1950s advertisements featured a Chinese-style dragon, in tune with the firecracking pyrotechnics of the fragrance's fiery breath.  The daredevil spices open the scene, intense clove, flanked by pepper, and they come back again and again in an endless recycling and expansion of the leitmotif, a structure that is reminiscent of older ways of composing, but maxed out to orgiastic effect. The lush floral chord is built on carnation and ylang ylang, the peppery bite of one falling into the solar embrace of the other. As the scent progresses, there is a hint of vanilla, hazy opoponax and leather on the skin, a soft focus camera lens on a racy subject. The combination of carnation and leather brings to mind another Caron legend, En Avion, dedicated to women in aviation.

Coup de Fouet & comparison with Poivre
Poivre was conceived as the original extrait de parfum creation out of which Coup de Fouet (a most brilliant & fitting name, "crack of the whip") emerged as a diluted Eau de Cologne Poivrée. The theme is similar, the effect somewhat lighter in the weaker concentration, with a boosted effect of rose that is orientalised, spicy and raspy, still mighty impressive. Coup de Fouet is as warm as a fur coat and as commanding attention. It prompted writer Susan Irvine to  state it's "what Cruella de Vil would have worn"; so if you're the soft type crying over those poor 101 Dalmatians and can't manage a streak of bitchiness, don't even bother.
Coup de Fouet nowadays is offered at Caron boutiques as the Eau de Parfum analogue of Poivre extrait, the latter also available there from the fabulous crystal samovars affectionately referred to as "urns".
Both concentrations are totally passable (nay, downright alluring!) on men as well.

Reformulation of Poivre and Coup de Fouet
Contemporary batches of both fragrances seem to insist on a mustier, soapy rose and have less of a spicy oriental character, falling into the limbo state of floriental. Sadly Poivre (and Coup de Fouet as well, since they share those notes) faces IFRA restrictions on spicy materials which no doubt will leave future generations wondering what all the fuss was about anyway. Tragic, in view of Poivre (in the classic peppercorn flacon in Baccarat crystal) ranking as #3 of "top most expensive perfumes in the world" [$2,000 for 2 oz]....
When this happens the dragon loses its fire, the whole world gets out of whack and Bach isn't be there to save the day.

Notes for Caron Poivre: (add rose for Coup de Fouet)

Red pepper, black pepper, clou de girofle (clove), carnation, ylang ylang, jasmine, opoponax, cedar, sandalwood, vetiver, oakmoss, musk.



Painting "The Sense of Hearing" by Jan Brueghel the Elder. Ads via beckerstreet.com and vintageadbrowser.com

Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps: Fragrance Review & History of a True Classic

Reflecting on a classic fragrance which has inspired me into delving deeper into perfume history and appreciation, I can’t disregard L’Air du Temps by Nina Ricci, one of the most recognizable perfumes in the world. Even Hannibal Lecter is quoted smelling it on Clarisse Starling in Silence of the Lambs: “You use Evian skin products and sometimes L’Air du Temps… but not today...”.
Despite any foreboding connotations, the perfume's introduction in 1948 under a name halfway between Marivaux and Cocteau (denoting ‘the spirit of the times’) hallmarked a longed-for return to optimism. Much like Miss Dior was ‘tired of letting off bombs and just wanted to let off fireworks’, L’Air du Temps presented the new found hope for peace after the ravages of WWII, as reflected by the original flacon design of a sun with a dove perched on the stopper by Christian Bérard.

 Iconic Design and Symbolism


L'Air du Temps is a triumph of bottle art and symbolism: The intertwining doves affectionately termed ‘Les Colombes’, a romantic theme by Marc Lalique, originates from 1951 and came to denote the virginal quality of the visual aspects of its representation, perpetuated in its advertising ever since. Originally the 1948 design envisioned by Jean Rebull and materialized by crystallier Marc Lalique involved a rising sun surmounted by a single dove. The interwining doves however marked the "kiss and make up" peace mood after WWII.
The "colombes" kissing motif also reflected the ever feminine, always understated and ethereallly romantic Nina Ricci sartorial fashions; nothing vulgar! The perfume became signage for fashions: "The most romantic gift of fragrance a man can give a woman" came to be accompanied by elfish gowns that draped the female form in a slippery, ethereal, 19th-century-aesthete nostalgic way; lacy ivory and white denoting youthful and -a little faded- aristocracy rusticating in the sunny French countryside.The L'Air du temps advertising mostly matched.
In 1999 the L'Air du Temps flacon was named "perfume bottle of the century".

Scent Description
The formula of L'Air du Temps, composed by Francis Fabron, was simple : no more than 30 ingredients which co-exist in harmony, a chaste -but not quite- bouquet of flowers enrobed into the silken sheath of benzyl salicylate; a massive dose of an –at the time- innovative product aiding the blending and linear evaporation of the other molecules. According to perfumer Bernard Chant “‘[benzyl salicylate] produces a diffusing, blooming effect very pleasing to the public”. Coupled with spicy eugenol and isoeugenol, the effect becomes almost carnation-like with its clove tint : the very heart of L’Air du Temps ! The celestial opening of bergamot and rosewood is undermined by the sensuous note, half-lily, half-carnation, suave with the fuzziness of skin-like peach and a green hint of gardenia. Powdery orris, coupled with dusky woods –poised at the intersection of winter falling into spring- and a faint amber note finish off the fragrance. The effect is peachy-carnation-y and very characteristic: a sort of Doris Day, the way she was, rather staunchy actually, active and hard to eradicate, rather than how she appeared to be in those rom-coms of the 1950s, all mock innocence and eyelashes aflutter.

The success of the classic Nina Ricci fragrance seems to be the sassiness of its aerated, distinctive bouquet coupled with its refined classicism, sometimes maxed out to sentimentality : an aspect which prompted critic Luca Turin to joke it was created for romantics “who shed a tear listening to La Sonate au Clair de Lune*”. Maybe not quite that way, considering how the latter might have been an impromptu requiem on someone’s deathbed. At any rate, the trickle-down effect must speak of the need to do just that: the skeleton of the formula has been imitated in various soaps, deodorants and hairsprays for decades, while in itself L’Air du Temps has influenced many other fragrances from Fidji (Guy Laroche) and Madame Rochas to Anaïs Anaïs (Cacharel).

 Comparing Vintage vs. Modern L'Air du Temps Perfume

Nowadays the suaveness of the original formula has been somewhat compromised, due to necessary surgery dictated by allergens concerns… The peach base is mollified into synthetic submission, the carnation is less spicy and rich than before, the whole excellent exercise seems less itself as if it has been Botoxed into a perpetual complacent smile....yet L’Air du Temps is still instantly recognizable in its sillage, the trail left by the many that pass by wearing it : the mark of a true classic !
The bottle design can be a gauge of age: Vintage Eau de Toilette from the 1970s and 1980s circulates in the amphora-like bottle with the gold cap in splash, while spray bottles are long and encased in white bakelite. If the front of the bottle has the doves in relief and the plastic cap is rounded and in relief as well, your specimen comes from the 1990s.

The vintage parfum is in the characteristic Lalique design with the perched doves atop. Old models of diluted concentration can also be in ribbed sprayers with gold overimposed sprayer mechanisms in squarish design. Really old versions can be in a round flask bottle with a boule cap in splash form.
Modern  eau de toilette on the contrary is in the familiar fluted oval-shaped bottle, reprising the dove design on the top in transparent plastic, the cap going over the sprayer mechanism. 

(*) Piano sonata N°14 by L.van Beethoven

This review is based on a text I had previously composed for Osmoz.com