Diptyque Fleur de Peau: fragrance review

The Diptyque story began in 1961 Paris at 34 Boulevard Saint-Germain with, at its heart, three friends driven by the same creative passion, who chose a Greek word which means a dual panel painting. Illustration was the very core of the founders, as Christiane Gautrot was an interior designer, Desmond Knox-Leet, a painter, and Yves Coueslant, a theater director and set designer. From then on, inspired by their Hellenic treks along the Greek peninsula and its mountainous terrain, and from their country cottage on the picturesque Mount Pelion, buried amidst thick fig trees all the way down the sea front, they launched several classics, from Virgilio to Philosykos. 

But the brand also presents a later day constellation of contemporary stars, like Eau Duelle and 34 Boulevard St.Germain. Picking just one is an Herculean task. The most sensual in the current rotation however is an easy choice. None other than Fleur de Peau. 

 Fleur de Peau relies on that rarity of the "musky idea": it harnesses the vegetal musks from angelica archangelica and ambrette seed oil, flanking them with ambrettolide, a macrocyclic musk which shares properties with ambrette seed and aids diffusion and lasting power. Thus the somewhat nutty, with a hint of berry, slightly sweaty and oddly metallic fusion of the properties in those fine musks gains the upper hand and makes Fleur de Peau very sensuous. 

Backed up with classic starchy iris, and carrot seed, which aids the earthy, starchy effect, it creates a cocoon of scent on the skin; it's as if the Platonic idea of sensuality has landed on our shores. The delicacy of vegetal musk with the central chord of pink pepper and rose recalls the refinement of Les Exclusifs de Chanel No 18 Chanel, and Musc Nomade Annick Goutal, two other fragrances with ambrette seed oil tucked into their heart of hearts. A quiet sensuality that does not plunge its décolleté low.

 

Fleur de Peau is soft, tenacious, with a discreet but perceptible sillage, radiant and glorious indeed. One of the better launches by Diptyque in recent years.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Mure et Musc: fragrance review

Berries are an especially pliant fruity note in perfumes; no less because a certain group of synthetic musks has a berry undertone. The classic Mûre et Musc by L'Artisan Parfumeur paved the way in as early as 1978. The passionfruit focus of Escada's own Chiffon Sorbet didn't come out of the blue either: Guerlain's Nahéma (1978) brought a saturated fruity mantle to the central rose lending sonorous timbre. 

 

The idea for using this fruit in fragrance was conceived by Jean Laporte, the founder of the small niche brand of the pioneering group of artisan perfumers of the 1970s, L'Artisan Parfumeur. His little wonder of innovation from 1978, Mûre et Musc, still seduces its audience just as much over 40 years later. Discreet and gentle, Mûre et Musc was almost hippy-ish in its innocent naivety. The fresh tanginess of citrus (comprised of lemon, orange, and mandarin with a hint of spicy basil) complements the blackberry, enhancing the sweetish trail with a musky base note that lingers for a very long time on skin and on clothes.

Flanked with raspberry ketone, blackcurrant bud, and Galaxolide (a clean smelling musk), this structure would be simple, direct, innocent, sweetish, and tart in equal degrees, and captivating to those harboring the same memories in their heart of hearts! He succeeded with Mure et Musc, a huge cult phenomenon which gave rise to a constellation of berry musks that took the market by storm and formed the springboard for many young girls to jump into the realm of fine fragrance.

But why did it become so special in people's minds that even drugstores came to order their own blackberry-musk mix for their not-especially sophisticated clientele? "Its cottony-fruity notes that melt flawlessly to the skin. It's a close-to-the-skin perfume, which brings people in," to quote Jean-Claude Ellena who oversaw the commemorative editions that reprised the theme decades later for the, now owned by a conglomerate, L'Artisan Parfumeur. The original's cute innocence and come-hither subtlety still beguile the young at heart.

 

 

Cerruti 1881: fragrance review

The realm of soapy fragrances is huge, probably because "cleanliness is next to godliness" in several cultures. Therefore buying at least one fragrance that would prolong that feeling of freshness and would broadcast one's good intentions and respectability all around is probably necessary in an inclusive and nuanced fragrance wardrobe.

Fenella Chudoba by Zhang Jingna via

Within this vast field there is a spectrum: some soapy nuances come from fatty aldehydes, accounting for classic aldehydic florals like Chanel no.5 and Arpege, some come with powdery accents like Caleche, while some with their own dry but at the same time soothing, innocent elements. Cerruti 1881 belongs to this latter category with "flour de lin" its signature core note, as per perfumer Claire Cain.

The note of chamomile is the dominant one, however, throughout Cerruti 1881 For Women, a soothing note of German chamomile tisane, almost soporific, though the dryness of the composition retains it from becoming too juvenile and keeps it in the adult world.  Herbal without being green or aromatic, it projects like an imaginary linen flower, tactile and smooth.
A section of iris projects starchy and ironed, like a shirt that has been pressed, while the accompanying, powerful note of mimosa is that touch of innocence that prolongs the feeling of the chamomile. Mimosa has light heliotrope-like and honeyed-sugared aspects, and it naturally includes farnesol which acts as an insect pheromone within the blossom, but as a fixative and floralizer in perfumery. It almost gives a linden tree impression, which further reinforces the soothing properties of chamomile.

In short, it's hard to be seen as dangerous in something like Cerruti 1881, but its dry elegance makes it a suitable fragrance for innocuous occasions and office wear. Its light, starched florals quality makes for an easy like from most people.

Narciso Rodriguez Narciso For Her: fragrance review

There are brands conceived to claim something very potent, to break with the mold of their times, and to establish themselves in the market, spawning a thousand variations on their theme in their wake. Narciso Rodriguez Narciso For Her is not only a sort of a pioneer (albeit indirectly), coming out in the market as a "nouveau chypre"—a modern take on the mossy "chypre" family of perfumes—but also one of its most radiant representatives: it's hard not to notice a wearer of Narciso For Her, even though the scent itself isn't particularly pungent in any of its broken-apart constituents; not too harsh, too sweet nor too bitter, it's however very noticeable and radiates for miles.

via

Technically Narciso For Her is a floral woody musk, not a proper "chypre" perfume (chypres are a classic fragrance family of very perfume-y scents with a floral heart sandwiched between fresh bergamot on top and the tension of trickle-like, leather-smelling labdanum resin and mossy, inky oakmoss, from a parasite growing on oaks, in the less volatile stages of the fragrance's development) Narciso For Her instead constructs the scent on vetiver (a Far East grass with a fresh and earthy feel) and fractalized patchouli, meaning a "cleaned up" patchouli essence, manipulated in the lab to divest it of its more hippie-like facets for which the natural extract, with its dirty chocolate overtones, is famous.
The floral component in Narciso is all a fantasy of abstraction: the orange blossom and osmanthus notes are registering as an intense sweetness, but you cannot bring yourself to proclaim "this is X flower, that is Y." Fans often say it doesn't smell like perfume per se and this is its major draw.

The aromachemical Amberlyn (a variation on woody amber notes, another name for Ambrox) plus a cluster of musks supports the floralcy, but most importantly gives tremendous diffusion and lasting power, without gazing everyone in close proximity, the pitfall of many a potent fragrance. The ingenious quality of Ambrox is its ability to come into and out of focus at intervals without being perceived as anything concrete; the person wearing the scent or someone sitting close by that person isn't constantly aware of the potent aromachemical. This allows for the necessary breathing space, alongside the clean egyptian musk at the core of the Narciso For Her scent, but also the necessary time chasm that gives us license to re-appreciate a beautiful thing we have come in contact with. "Look. Turn away. Now look again." If that is the definition of a beautiful human being's impression on those who pass him/her by on the street, Narciso For Her is its analogy in scent terms; smell, now forget about it, then smell again and be charmed anew.

For a breakdown of the concentrations (eau de toilette, eau de parfum, musk oil etc) & flankers of Narciso Rodriguez Narciso For Her fragrance, refer to THIS GUIDE.

More Narciso Rodriguez fragrance reviews and news HERE.
Musk fragrances guide and reviews HERE.

Jean Paul Gaultier Le Male: fragrance review of a best-seller

Back in 1995 when this Francis Kurkdjian composed fragrance launched Le Male didn't look like it would become that huge in popularity. Jean Paul Gaultier's first masculine fragrance (programmatically named Le Male) was honestly too sweet for the times. No man would capitulate to such a sweet scent surely? And I'm saying this in full knowledge that the archAngel of sweetness came out 3 years before. Angel by Mugler was still too sweet by any mass market standards in 1995 and a very slow commercial success in the market; it took confidence and patience to make it the monument that it is. Le Male followed an analogous path though a bit more speedy thanks to its intended audience.

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Le Male was evidently camp with its rippled torso and sailor paraphernalia. It was made by a French brand, for Pete's sake, fronted by a "crazy" looking guy always dressed in a matelot top! But it caught on spectacularly because of a very specific reason. It caught on first with the fashion congnoscenti and the tasteful homosexuals who were drawn to its campy imagery and gender bender advertising aesthetics. Truth be told gay men with fashion savvy often have an uncanny ability to focus on just what is right and works in the style stakes and predict trends. Evidently all strides of life favoured it commercially in the end. The advertisements and the scent were so tongue-in-cheek that you couldn't ridicule it no matter what one's orientation were; it had a healthy portion of self-sarcasm to carry it through.

Composition-wise the sweet lavender over coumarin-vanilla recalls a hint of classic fougère specimens, but the execution is nothing but. To better view this one can do a side by side experiment with a classic sweet lavender built on coumarin notes; Caron's Pour Un Homme. Whereas the Caron is a fist in a velvet glove Le Male is rubber band or nitrile gloves that slap shapely buttocks in jest.You can detect the modern musks which make this powerful. Or at least which used to make this powerful and very long lasting. I hear it doesn't last as long nowadays though my last personal testing is a couple of years old to be honest.

Now that fragrances for men have become increasingly sweet, Le Male continues to be popular with all ages of men (fathers and sons alike), but especially young ones who have rediscovered it. Quite a feat for something older than the age of its wearers!

Chanel Les Exclusifs Boy: fragrance review

It's hard to go wrong with an aromatic fougere; men have been conditioned to opt for them and women to respond to them as "the natural scent of men" since at least the end of the 19th century when Jicky by Guerlain became the first to make an impact. Lavender and musk plus a spattering of sweeter notes is the basic recipe but each maker gives them their spin.

Chanel made Boy (after "Boy" Capel, a lover of Coco's) in their boutique range Les Exclusifs to appeal to those men who want that steadfast tradition in a sleek modern bottle and who don't mind a bit of a retro touch. This is what perfumer Olivier Polge (son of Jacques who was head perfumer for 3 decades) envisioned I'm sure.

What I smell distinctly after the top note of sharpness is the heliotrope and tonka which give a slight effect of marzipan paste; they elevate lavender from the usually medicinal territory into something softer and cuddlier. Hard to find this not fitting any occasion, casual, office or night out.

Bulgari Petits et Mamans: fragrance review

The top of a baby's head. The milky breath. The soft, soothing chamomile note of a baby soporific infusion. The talcum powdered bottom. The peachy smooth skin of small kid's short and squishy limbs. The intense tenderness of cradling one's own child in their arms. How could anyone capture all those glorious moments in a single scent?

via Pinterest

One simply can't.

They come with their own avalanche of overwrought anxiety, triumphant elation, sleepless nights and the relief of seeing the small ones grow day by day. But if you concentrate on getting the impression, rather than the actual kaleidoscope of the wild mix of feelings one gets upon having a baby, you can't go wrong by opting for Petits et Mamans by Italian jewelers Bulgari (or rather spelled in the Latinized pavements style Bvlgari)

This downy soft and comforting blend of vanilla powder, chamomile and iris starchiness replicates the feathery light feel of kids' natural scent and projects as inconspicuously as its realistic equivalent. Before they start scratching their knees falling off the bike or having their own free will imposed on you whereupon they become boys and girls rather than asexual "kids". If there is a Platonic idea of how kids smell, all innocent and cherubic, it's Bvlgari's Petits et Mamans. Like the name says on the label, moms can borrow it as well. For remembrance's sake or for partaking in the joy.

Dame Perfumery New Musk Oil: fragrance review

There are as many types of musk as there are flowers in the field. Musk has diverged from a single ingredient to a pleiad of genres within a scent group. Although most divide musks roughly into either the "clean" or "dirty" camp, depending on whether they replicate respectively laundry detergent ingredients or the nether region gland secretions of a small animal, it is possible to profit of both worlds.

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New Musk Oil belongs to the first camp, yet, without embracing any characteristic of the second, it manages to eschew the clinical sterility that some of its compatriots share. It's clean to the degree that a freshly washed apricot fruit is clean enough to eat. But that does not detract from the fact that it's a succulent, living thing in the palm of your hand, and that you can feel the palpitations of your own heart settle down as you consume it in abandoned pleasure. New Musk Oil is like that; it possesses an unusual fruity quality about it, under the primness of the more standard lily of the valley that's par for the course within this genre of clean musky scents, which recalls an apricot flavor. In fact I'd venture that it shares DNA with another lightly apricot-tinged fragrance in the line, namely Soliflore Osmanthus (osmanthus is a tree with small apricot-smelling blossoms). Makes sense.

Considering that the sensuous application of an oil to one's skin uses touch as the cornerstone of predisposing for the "my skin but better" effect, and that New Musc Oil shares the exact same formula with the alcohol-based New Musk Man cologne, I'd say that with this pretty and lasting oil from Dame Perfumery Scottsdale has won the hearts of women. Not only in the capacity of being attracted to the man who wears the scent, but in the capacity of claiming the oil as their very own.

Like the best out there it looks wholesome but holds a treasure of nuance inside. 

Sarah Jessica Parker Lovely: fragrance review

Few fragrances boast their very definition in their name, unless they're programmatic, but so few celebrity scents are anyway. Lovely is really lovely and it earns brownie points for being launched by a celebrity that actually gives a darn about fragrance instead of seeing it as a personal brand: the perfume-obsessed Sarah Jessica Parker.

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Inspired by her love for mixing high-school staple Bonne Belle Skin Musk and an Egyptian-style musk oil bought from street vendors (rumor has it that it's the same that the late Carolyn Bessete Kennedy wore) with a "smoky" incense-patchouli-woods from Japanese avant-garde brand Comme des Garcons (Avignon actually), Jessica Parker didn't really get her way in terms of Lovely imposing a challenging concept in actual market terms. That's if we are to go by Chandler Burr's account, who chronicled the story of the creation in the book "The Perfect Scent".

Yet she managed to get the perfect "go anywhere" woody floral musk scent, with a fine trail of lavender (and a hint of rose?) mid-evolution, that can't help but put that expression on your face when both lips and crow's feet lines smile into "ah, loooovely!"

Guerlain Insolence: fragrance review

Creating a contemporary violet fragrance was a true challenge back in 2006; Insolence by Guerlain is already celebrating its 10th anniversary and for good reason. Violet fragrances were seen as retro, reproducing the delicate, "shy violet" image of light face cosmetics and violet pastilles consumed by benevolent elderly ladies for sweetening their breath. Maurice Roucel, no shy violet himself, judging by the bold strokes of his fragrant compositions which actively paw their wearers to purring, chose to push the boundaries of both concepts to their potential extremes. He thus gave substance to a scent that can be literally tasted in the air, having the bystander engulfed by its profoundly musky violet-tinged hairspray note that announces its wearer from 2 blocks away, not just round the office corridor.

photo by Bettina Rheims pic via pinterest

In Sigmund Freud's seminal The Interpretation of Dreams (1899) the otherwise asexual word "violets" takes on the much more sinister nuance of "violence" and/or "viol" (French for rape) in the context of a dream. Insolence must have been inspired by the very concept, having Roucel chuckle up his sleeves while thinking about it, no doubt cognizant to the word association double-entendre, added to the illusion of violet, iris and rose fragrances perceived as soft and delicate. It was possibly the bourgeois standing of Guerlain that disallowed the risky association to surface through the advertising, going for some strobo-lights dancing Hilary Swank.

Predictably it was provocateur Tom Ford who saw the possibilities, when he baptized his own violet fragrance Violet Blonde which -of course- makes anyone think of a... violent blonde! Another missed train of fantasy for Guerlain, then, yet still a long-standing commercial and artistic success on the French brand counters everywhere.

Estee Lauder White Linen: fragrance review & history

Would you appreciate a fragrance that projected around the way knitting needles would stick inside your nostrils, the equivalent of a scent porcupine? The "needles up the nose" characterization has never found a more apt bond than the one spontaneously created in the mind of one perfume lover on the board of Perfume of Life years ago regarding White Linen. The phrase has since entered the online perfume lingo as a casual but evocative definition for the painfully sharp, supremely stinging feeling that certain perfumes heavy in aldehydes (i.e. synthesized molecules with a "bright", soapy and fizzy aspect), such as this particular Lauder perfume, produce in those who smell them.

White Linen is possibly among the most distinctly aldehydic floral fragrances of all time, an honor it shares with Chanel No.22, but whereas No.22 goes for the snuffed out candle waxiness and smokiness (which recalls incense if you glint your head just this way), White Linen, its American counterpart and about 50 years its junior, goes for the steam of an iron pressing on a crisp, starched shirt which has been washed with the harshest lye soap on earth. In short, memorable! (You'd never mistake it for "white noise fragrance")

White Linen was launched alongside Lauder's Celadon and Pavilion in 1978 as part of the makeup and scents collection "New Romantics" (in itself influenced by the music trend that was just emerging). Composed by Sophia Grojsman, White Linen bears her signature style of impressive cleanness projected via loudspeakers fit for a Guns n'Roses concert. For a Russian emigre Grojsman has acquired throughout her career a particularly American ideal of femininity, no doubt thanks to the exigencies of the American giant of aromatics who employs her, International Flavors and Fragrances; well scrubbed, athletic, spick & span, Athenian rather than Venereal.

1993 print ad

Coming on the heels of the sporty leathery Azuree, the bitterish chypre perfume Private Collection and the bright and soapy-smelling aldehydic Estee, it's not difficult to see how White Linen also fits in the canon of Lauder and in the zeitgeist of the late 70s, when women began to make a career of executive positions and started in earnest to 'bring home the bacon, fry it in a pan' as one commercial* of the times claimed.

Although ubiquitous and always in production since its launch, without any detectable changes in its formula, it's one of those fragrances that fly under the radar, so I am archiving White Linen in my Underrated Perfume Day feature. Its monolithic structure (built on huge single blocks of materials, much like later Grojsman oeuvres such as Tresor by Lancome) White Linen packs a punch.
But the aldehydic knock-out comes with an astounding discovery: the aldehydes contribute just 1% to the formula, with equal parts of Galaxolide (synthetic clean musk, garlanded by at least 3 other synth musks) and Vertofix (giving a cedar wood note) accounting for almost half of the ingredients! The secret is that unlike most other aldehydic floral fragrances it lacks the modifying, mollifying caress of bergamot and ylang ylang.

late 1990s print ad

1986 print ad

A fresh rose core, so fresh that it borders on cleaned-up orange blossom, bring a kinship of White Linen to Calandre, while the overall genealogy brings it as a modern classic that derives from Madame Rochas and Chanel No.5. The sheen of squeaky green lily of the valley boosts the sharp cleanness, the sparkle of hedione brings luminosity and vetiver gives its own freshness and subtle woodiness alongside a powerful amber note. The latter two elements give White Linen a touch of sophistication which could tilt it into unisex territory.

White Linen is a powerful, titanic Aurora and although it is removed from what I (and many other people) find comfortable, I can't fail but to admire its guts and its blinding brightness, white-washed like a house directly carved out of white volcanic rock in the Aegean.

*that's actually the slogan for Enjoli. 

The advertising photos are all so charmingly appealing that I decided to include them all. 

1978 print ad

L'Artisan Parfumeur L'Ete en Douce (previously Extrait de Songe): fragrance review

Essence of a dream, that is Extrait de songe, was the very poetic name of a limited edition “clean”perfume for summer 2005 by L’artisan Parfumeur. The latter lost a legal battle over the coveted name with Annick Goutal who had the name Songes (=dreams) copyrighted for her own, completely different, floriental composition. Hence the lovely Extrait de Songe became extinct... Later it was rechristened as L'Eté en Douce (playing on a French idiom, meaning "summer is sneaking up on you") and entered the L'Artisan portfolio as a re-issue.
However many perfume fans say the fragrance in either name smells quite close to another older L’artisan offering, one of the Moodswings coffret, Lazy Mood, developed by the same perfumer, Olivia Giacobetti. This got me thinking.

Laziness, boredom, dullness….all of these words bring to mind the languorous days of a really hot summer, when one isn’t energized enough to actively do anything except sleep. We had a long bout of this in the summer and am afraid we will get it again soon enough.
When I am talking hot, I am not talking Canada “hot”. Nor Germany “hot”. These are euphemisms. These are mere bleeps on the radar of hotness, never managing to register with me. (It’s actually my preferred weather: if only we had 28 degree Celsius half the year long...)
I am talking 39-40 degrees hell hot, all red and fiery; when your own skin is becoming revolting to you and you want to tear it apart with one swift gesture like an overzealous Russian waxer with steroid-enhanced arms; when hair sticks on your forehead inviting you to turn into a travesty of a skinhead; when sticky liquid oozes off your pores just by sitting around doing nothing. Yes, you’ve guessed it: I hate those moments with a passion.
The “noon devil” of the hermits of Egypt, which draws out every speck of physical and mental vitality, is my personal nemesis.

However it is a small comfort that Extrait de songe/L'Eté en Douce exists for providing the illusion of a clean, cool, white cotton sheet that can be wrapped all around one and provide some solace from the scorching sun. Sloth according to Kirkegaard is the source of all evil. Wordsworth described it as “wild dullness”. It is considered one of the seven deadly sins by the Catholic church. Hamlet refers to the world as “tiresome, plain and dull” which probably explains why he never lifts a hand to actually do anything except talk for the better part of the play.
Samuel Butler says that boredom is a kind of spiritual failure, since the person who lets himself to emote it is more despicable than boredom itself.
But is it so bad, really? I wonder…

Billy Collins, the poet, calls boredom paradise itself. “It’s the blessed absence of things that the world offers as interesting such as fashion, media, and other people, whom Sartre –let’s not forget- characterized as hell.”
Anton Chekhov also idealized boredom in many of his plays, like in Uncle Vania and Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot” remains without a doubt the manifesto of dullness, featuring characters that await for that bastard Godot who never makes an appearance and which proves boredom can be pro-active after all, because many had stood up and left the theatre from what I recall :-)) The New York author Richard Greenburg even wrote a book (titled “Take me out”) after a bout of boredom during one especially dull summer, during which he watched baseball matches on TV. Luckily I am not  that desperate. Brenda Way, choreographer, likes to sit and think when stuck in a jammed highway: She believes it aids her involuntary voyage to creativity by using her unconscious powers at those precise moments.

Made by nose Olivia Giacobetti, who is famous for her light compositions that are like Winslow Homer paintings, Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce is typically her style and seems very fit for such moments. It's an interpretation of freshness without acidulated, fusing or sparkling notes and it reminds me of the style that Jean Claude Ellena later explored in one of his "cologne" duo, called Eau de Gentiane Blanche. The two fragrances do not smell the same, but they share a similar sensibility and apparently a generous smothering of ambrette seed.
Featuring an airy and totally linear formula, Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce begins with linden and lots of "clean" orange blossom water, like the flower water used to sprinkle Mediterranean cookies with, segueing on to hay- like (coumarin?) and woody notes, it finishes off with a kiss of white musk and the bitterish ambrette like newly washed bed-clothes envelopping your showered body. It's all purity, all light! Uncomplicated, easy, soft, lastingly diaphanous, evoking the dew caressing grass in a field and on wild rose bushes, the freshness of lime trees and the warm scent of freshly cut hay; a fragrance that has no aspirations of creating discussion, but only of making you feel good about yourself! The whole projects at a white radiant frequency which must be as close to seraphic cool places as possible without actually hitting the bucket.

Whatever your camp is (and I suppose you still run a pulse if you're reading right now), Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce manages to smell like it is the best thing to exonerate the bad and amplify the good aspects of boredom.

The original bottle of Extrait de Songe is a beautiful lavender blue degrade cylinder (the colour becomes more saturated on the bottom) with plain, silver sprayer, now a collector's item. The newer bottle under L'Eté en Douce follows the typical L'Artisan packaging with label in lavender blue.

Notes for L'Artisan Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce:mint, rose, orange blossom and white musk

Please note: another fragrance by L'Artisan has just recently changed name, namely Vanille Absolument which used to be Havana Vanille (2009).

Inspired by a euro2day comment. Pic of kitten got sent to me by email, unaccredited. L'Ete en Douce bottle pic via duftarchiv.de

Gucci Premiere: fragrance review

Gucci Première represents the culmination of perfumery catering to those, on the one hand, sick of too candy-like creations, but, on the other hand, not yet ready to step into more challenging stuff. At all times pleasant, bon chic bon genre, and discreet like the perfect secretary, it adds itself to the category of woody musky fragrances with citrus overtones. The latter might tempt men sharing the bottle as well despite the feminine focus of the images accompanying it. Without being dated, Première isn't ground-breaking new, but I bet that might prompt it being picked for gift giving; it's hard to beat something that offends no one! This of course can be a serious drawback too: One can end up pleasing no one enough.

The official description stresses the glamorous element, but Gucci Première seems to me the kind of fragrance that gets one through every day, a sort of "I don't think about it too much" perfume layer that becomes part of you rather than pronouncing its presence via a complicated, intellectualized plot. To cut a long story short, it's the sort of thing that doesn't make any demands on you, take it or leave it, it's rather expected and -dare I say it- a bit boring. The dominating notes are bergamot and clean musks, clean like the ambassadress who represents it in the 40s-glamorous advertising photos, Blake Lively.
Woods and warm ambery musks coat-tail the crystalline floral chord (with a hint of white petal lily) under the first impression of fresh citrus and settle down on the skin with a softness that is surprising for such a composition. After all, the genre begat by Narciso Rodriguez For Her isn't known for its low sillage! Gucci Première however, for better or for worse, depending on your particular viewpoint, remains at all times subtle, even fleeting (it has the lasting power of an eau de toilette rather than what it is presented as, which is eau de parfum). No harshness in the leather note at all either, to the point where it shouldn't raise a brow by the cuir-o-phobics, i.e. those with a problematic relationship with the pungent leather fragrances. More's the pity for us leather fiends!

Beautiful bottle in gold with the familiar charms by Gucci.

According to the official blurb on Escentual, where the new Gucci fragrance is available: "Inspired by the Gucci Première Couture collection that debuted at the 2010 Cannes Film Festival, Creative Director Frida Giannini conceived a new fragrance legend in the iconic and sophisticated form of Gucci Première. Première is the scent of a woman who is accustomed to coming first, whether in her career or in her love life. She makes the same exceptional demands of her perfume, wanting only the very best for every occasion. Just as a leading lady graces the red carpet with her couture Gucci gown, so every woman deserves her Gucci Première moment".

Notes for Gucci Première eau de parfum:
Top Notes: Bergamot, Orange Blossom
Heart Notes: White Flowers, Musk
Base Notes: Leather, Wood

S-Perfumes S-Perfume Classic: fragrance review

The blinding white of Oia on Santorini island, Greece, against the pale blue of the natural pools contained within some of its cave-houses is not totally alien to the idea behind S-Perfume Classic by super-niche brand S-Perfumes.The same feeling of freshness and serenity -and perversly enough energy as well- reigns in both.

Source: bluepueblo.tumblr.com via Perfume on Pinterest

The S-Perfume "house" began in 2000, the first all-original perfumery to come out of Brooklyn, New York, though not the first one to be founded by a completely unrelated to perfumery individual. Nobi Shioya is a sculptor with an interest in scent who used various fragrances to scent his “Olfactory Art” installations. Nobi ~under the nom de plume Sacré Nobi~ brought on board perfume veterans such as Carlos Benaim and Sophia Grojsman. As Chandler Burr said: “Shioya shares with the scent-architect Frédéric Malle a Woody Allen-ish knack for convincing stars to work for him.” They began to create a series of scents as an art project with very fancy ad copy and very limited distribution  (Which sorta begs the question how the hell did certain non-professional people get on his wares so very, very early on, but I'll leave this to the more sleuthing among you). Word of mouth made the brand something of a mini-cult, not always deservedly (From the newly relaunched and pared down to three range S-ex is by far the most interesting and 100%Love the most wearable).

S-Perfume Classic was originally composed by Alberto Morillas under the project name Jet-Set 1.0 (all the S-Perfumes had conceptual names back then, taking inspiration from the seven deadly sins originally and later taking abstract names such as 100% Love). Christophe Laudamiel re-orchestrated it somewhat to its current formula, sold now as S-Perfume "classic". The label also changed, this time bearing a sort of sketching protozoon (or spermatozoon, if you prefer).

The ambience of the S-Perfume Classic is that of contemporary non-scents: Like Molecule 01 from Escentric Molecules, this is something that doesn't quite register on the cortex but moves like an abstract clean-musky aura around, coming in and out of focus. The ozonic, oxygen touch coupled with the "clean" factor of lavender, aromatic somewhat masculine-smelling herbs and sanitized musk -consisting of the familiar to all via functional products Galaxolide musk type- soon eschews all images of sensuality (The official notes mention creamy, cozy ingredients such as sandalwood and vanilla substituted by Laudamiel for the benzoin which Morillas had used, which nevertheless should not at any rate lead you to believe that we're dealing with a predominantly sensual affair of a skin-scent; the most you get is a hint, a tiny hint of suntan oil at a distance).
On the contrary, S-Perfume Classic has the salty zingy skin-like smelling effect of L'Eau Ambrée by Prada, airated by the coolness encountered in Serge Lutens's L'Eau Froide (but arrived to through totally different means) and is not a classic warm "beachy" fragrance.

Morillas had utilized the "clean" and "energetic" idea to impressive effect already in CK One (collaborating with Harry Fremont) and Mugler's Cologne, balanced with subtler salty-skin and herbs accents in the discontinued CK Truth (with Jacques Cavallier and Thierry Wasser)and adding a touch of cool spice in Bulgari's BLV. Laudamiel emphasized the somewhat rubbery facets recalling neoprene with a subtle woody-powdery finish that is sometimes perceptible and sometimes is not. But it's the shiny, almost hurting the eyes oxygen blast, as squeeky clean as the eyesore one gets upon opening their windows to a blinding white winter day decked in a yard of snow, or the whiteness of the water inside a surf wave, which stay in one's memory.

Notes for S-Perfume Classic: ozonic note, muguet mist, thyme, lavender, musks, sandalwood, vanilla bourbon

Serge Lutens L'Eau Froide: fragrance review & draw

Inhale the icy ringing air coming from the thundra filling your lungs. Feel the chill of cold water in a silver-tiled pool where you anticipated warmth. Remember the surprising burning sensation on your tongue upon munching an ice cube against the hardness of adamantine. Feel the wet, clean feel of stones in a brook. And imagine a kiss from dead lips...
If De Profundis aimed to capture the scent of death, the cold tentacles of a serene end to all can be felt in L'Eau Froide, from the pristine white-lined coffin to earth's cool embrace. I personally find this philosophical attitude to mortality very peaceful and cleasing to the mind.

Icy, you say? 
The bottle and the box of L'eau Froide are inscribed with iterations of coldness...cold, icy cold, frosted, transparent, crystalline, calm, ice salt, large glass of water...

Cold? Yes, it is. But very pleasantly so.

I'm a firm believer in the cooling properties of unadulterated frankincense, the kind at the heart of L'Eau Froide, which I burn regularly: After all, the raw material shares terpenic, citrusy top notes in itself, which dissipate and volatilise quickly rendering that cool smoky ambience we associate with stone temples of old. But amongst fumeheads of northern latitudes, removed from the warmth & sun of the Mediterranean where frankincense use flourished, ‘frosty’ and ‘glacial’ are not adjectives we tend to associate with incense (rather pyrocaustic is, although on Perfume Shrine we have devoted a whole series to different   varieties and  nuances of incense fragrances). Nor is the association of niche orientals ~where incense notes are the bread & butter of perfumers fast becoming rock stars. But frankincense/olibanum, the par excellence incense note, is indeed cool: it can become very smoky and dense when in high concentration, but the more you dilute it the more it gains lemony, fresh facets that inspire deep breathing, the cleansing kind.

Serge’s press upon this newest fragrance is probably what matters anyway: ‘People only notice the pyrogen facet in smoky incense burners… but not the coolness, except for the church’s."

Inspirations
Before we jump into conclusions in how the maestro is doing atypical work, fandom-alienating possibly as in his first L'Eau,  let's remember, Serge Lutens is no stranger to cool incense in his impressive line already: Encens & Lavande takes on the ashen facets of lavender-nuanced smoke, while Serge Noire is the spicy, warm & cool contrast of meditation. Nor is he a stranger to gothic coldness itself: from the "Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" hard-as-nails menthol blast opening in Tubereuse Criminelle, to the perverse aloofness of Bas de Soie and the lavender-tinged greyness of Gris Clair, all the way to the bluish, dead lips of Iris Silver Mist... L'Eau Froide comes as the natural evolution of spermatic ideas in all these fragrances: the herbaceous top note that cools the sinuses, the chilling dampness, the resinous incense, the clean underbelly...

But we could be short-sighted if we didn't consider fragrances with a semblance outside the Lutens seraglio too: What L'Eau Froide reminds me most of is one of my favourite summer incense waters: Passage d'Enfer, composed by Olivia Giacobetti for L'Artisan Parfumeur. I must have gone through crates of it...
The terpenic, bright side of Somalian frankincense (reminiscent of crushed pine needles) is given prominence in Passage d'Enfer, much like in the Lutens 'eau' which unfolds the terpenes after a fresh mint start; this exhibits a hint of pepperiness (could it be elemi, another resin?) giving a trigeminal nerve twist. The effect is dry and very clean indeed (but unlike the screechy aldehydic soapiness & ironing starch of the first L'Eau), with a lemony, bitter orange rind note that projects as resinous rather than fruity and a projection and sillage that are surprising for something so ghostly, so ethereal, so evanescent.

It's the scrubbing mitt of a monastery in the southern coastline, rather than the standard aquatic full of dihydromyrcenol and Calone coming out of the cubicle in an urban farm. Still this aesthetic is something with which the average perfumista hasn't come to terms with yet; it will probably take a whole generation to reconcile perfumephiles with "clean" after the horros that have befallen them in the vogue for non-perfume-perfumes in the last 20 years. I'm hopeful. After all being a perfumista means challenging your horizons, right?
The little human warmth in the deep drydown of the new Lutens comes from the refined, vegetal musks that hide in Voyage d'Hermès or Goutal's Musk Nomade (ambrette seed); eschewing too sweet and powdery for a slightly bitter, metallic edge reminiscent of the iron in blood. The whole projects with a mineral quality, like cool peebles at the foot of a lemon tree.

Who will like L'Eau Froide and who will not

Incense accolytes who appreciate the monastic qualities of Tauer's Incense Extrême, the coolness & pine of Zagorsk and the white lily whiteness of Passage d'Enfer are the prime target of L'Eau Froide.
So are those who like Eau de Gentiane Blanche and Voyage d'Hermès. I think L'Eau Froide will be more popular with men than with women who view this dry mineral facet as emasculating.
The cool customers of Chanel No.19 (especially the eau de toilette which is rich in vetiver) and Paco Rabanne's Calandre, as well as YSL Rive Gauche for women, might also be satisfied with the silvery sheen of this Lutens fragrance. If on the other hand you prefer for your incense fix the densely oriental mixes like Caron's Parfum Sacré, the rich balsamic formulae like Ormonde Jayne Tolu, and the sophisticated smoky warmth of Hotel Costes, you would be totally disappointed. Then  again you might be an omnivore, like me.
It's of note that no comparison can be effectively made with Etro's Messe de Minuit: Whereas the Etro is a chameleon, smelling in varying degrees of warm or cool according to your GPS positioning when wearing it, the Lutens is a la la la constant tune that doesn't waver much. 

Will I wear it? 
I was somewhat confused with last year's Lutens De Profundis and Vitriol d'Oeillet. Though arguably not the height of originality, I see myself dousing myself with L'Eau Froide each time I want to feel that chill on the small of my back that denotes either solace from a heatwave Med-style, or the exciting but safe thrill of peeking within the crypt when demons are hiding low on a snowy winter's day.

L’Eau Froide, a clear eau de parfum concentration of fragrance sees his previous L'Eau Serge Lutens joined by a similar-looking bottle. (1.7oz/50ml and 3.4 oz./100ml, 69 and 100 euros respectively at select doors stocking Lutens fragrances from March 2012).

For our readers an advance sample sprayer is offered. Please tell us your incense memories, if you have any. 
Draw is open till Sunday 26th midnight.

pic of the Dead Sea via english.al-akhbar.com 

Le Labo Aldehyde 44: fragrance review

The aliphatic aldehydes string of Chanel No.5 is what is termed "aldehydic" in perfumery parlance and characterises a whole sub-group within the floral fragrance family: C10, C11, C12 aldehydes to be exact, creating an accord so memorable it has pervaded fragrance mores for decades. [If you don't know what aldehydes are, refer to this article]. Le Labo's take in Aldehyde 44 is more inspired by the sweeter, soapier, more snowy-capped mountains seen flying above in lesser known (and more American-geared) Godzilla-aldehydic Chanel No.22 and equally American "sharp clean" White Linen by Estee Lauder than muskier-sexier-dirtier (aka Frenchier) No.5 however. Perhaps the fact that it's a Dallas,TX city-exclusive (only Dallas inhabitants and visitors of the city's Le Labo boutique at Barneys can partake of the sprakling waters!) is not totally random as imagined.This is a clean, rested, posh fragrance; depilated, smoothed and hosed and full of energy, not languor.

The opening in the Le Labo fragrance is so old-fashioned elegant and prim in its sharp biting "sparkle", with its citrusy-waxy fat top note, you will be doing a double take to see whether you have been magically transported back to 1955 and wearing a whale-boned petticoat under your skirt. But the perfume is modern, in more ways than one.
The progression is seamless and sustainaibly sour aldehydic into a somewhat metallic musky floralcy in the base, without either too much sweetness or woodiness (The idea of musk at Le Labo can be perversely illusionary anyway, as attested in Musc 25. Perfumer Yann Vasnier is using ambrettolide here in Aldehyde 44, which is a macrocyclic musk, very refined, soapy smelling-fruity in character).
What is characteristic is there is no powderiness in Aldehyde 44, as associated with other retro fragrances that utilize irones and ionones (iris and violets) to denote cosmetic products and old-school face powder. Instead it's citrusy waxy-soapy-fatty, it makes me think it's what an hypothetical child between Ivoire by Balmain and White Linen would be like: the green sudsy oiliness of the former meets the fatty sweetness of the latter, the rosy facets taking on a peppery bite with lots of buds' green, a hint of pear fruit in there too.

If you read that Aldehyde 44 contains woods and vanilla and imagine a comforting scent, you will are in for a nasty surprise: the woods only come from the C12 aldehyde (a pollen-rooty, lilac scent) and the silvery refracting amber synthetic; while the citrusy touches are reminiscent of bitterish, tangy orange rind (which has a resinous quality, not unlike some incense blends) and not marmelade. The floral notes cannot be taken apart, it's an abstract blend where no note rises above the rest. Aldehyde 44 possesses "sweetness" of another kind altogether and it can only be compared to that encountered in No.22 (especially in its less incense-y modern incarnation as part of Les Exclusifs in Eau de toilette) or the classic Lauder referenced above. The sillage is civilized, but definitely there, and the lasting power very good. Lovers of the elegant polished genre, rejoice, this is a well-crafted example; perhaps not totally necessitating the ouchy price-tag nevertheless.

The offficial Le Labo presentation states: "Aldehyde 44 is a small wonder that sits tight between an aldehyde overdose, that gives this scent a unique cleanliness to it, a sublime floral composition that is built around Naracissus, Jasmin, and Tuberose (all Absolute in case you wandered), and a bed of muscs tied with a hint of vanilla. The result is esthetically admirable and unique".

Aldehyde 44 by Le Labo features fragrance notes of: aldehydes, tuberose absolute, jasmine sambac, narcissus absolute, woods, vanilla and musk.

Le Labo Aldehyde 44 is a Dallas, TX city-exclusive, retailing at $290 for 50ml, but only for the month of November it is globally available at Luckyscent and on the official Le Labo site.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine:  Le Labo reviews & news , Aldehydes: what they are, how do they smell, where do they shine, Aldehydic fragrances

photo of Cyd Charisse

Le Labo Musc 25: fragrance review

Musc 25 by niche outfit Le Labo reminds me of The Body Shops' White Musk, more than I'd care to admit for something super-exclusive (only Los Angelitos are privy to it) going for a matching pricey tag: The squeeky, almost white-snow reflective cap of citrusy-rosy aldehydes and the laundered scent of lily of the valley on top, underscored by the familiar sweet warmth of synthetic musks, creates an effect of radiant, well-meaning, inviting vibes all around, but with a slightly mysterious touch too. Le Labo advertises it as a "dirty, sexual, decadent" musk with "the devil itself" included; colour me utterly dumbfounded! Have they smelled Miller Harris (gorgeous) L'Air du Rien or the (ultra cuddly, ultra controversial) Muscs Koublaï Khan by Lutens? [If you don't know the first thing about the distinction between clean and dirty musks, refer to this link]. That's not to mean that Musc 25 is bad, because it's not, as long as one knows what to expect.

Musk is suich a misunderstood word anyway, since most people have never smelled natural deer musk to begin with.What IS "musky"? To many it means "heavy, dense, opressive", to others "oily & unwashed", to some it stands for what perfumery jargon categorises as "mossy", to others still it bears a "cheap" association through long familiarisation with drugstore musks. Perfume vocabulary is unchartered territory to the general audience. So many "musk" fragrances on the market (drugstore too) are mixes more than single note explorations as well. I guess the only way is for you to make things clearer for yourself is to check out our Scented Musketeers Series on musk perfumes and grab some samples to explore for yourself.

Le Labo Musc 25, created by perfumer Frank Völkl, is a likeable sweetish, refined and mostly "clean musk", yet without spike-in-the-head harshness, nor soapy smelling (Many white musks come off as "soapy"). It's billowy, soft (a little powdery), wide-eyed and rather fond of trashy novels kept under the bed. She (or he, but it's mostly a "she" vibe in attitude, if not in smell) gets them out and masturbates to them when the parents are away, playing Under the Bridge in the background, the melodious bass reverberating off the poster-collaged walls.
Apart from the best-selling White Musk referenced (the old, better version), Musc 25 also has some elements of Ava Luxe's Love's True Bluish Light; namely the vanillic sweetness and the slightly ozonic quality that provides an instant electrifying freshness. This kind of synthetic musks is what accounts for "the magic moment" upon opening the machine after using fabric softener and dryer sheets; a primary selling point for those products. Vetiver in small amounts pairs well with synth musks (witness its pairing with Galaxolide in Trésor, to which Musc 25 shares a peachy mini-facet), accounting for more than the sum of its parts.
The trail left by Le Labo's Musc 25 is lightly ambery and quite tenacious indeed; LA tanned legs, as my friend The Non Blonde puts it. My main objection is ~like with Clair de Musc by Lutens~ that there are refined musks in lower price points as well.

According to the official blurb:

"Musc 25 is Le Labo’s LA exclusive scent. Why you ask ? Because genderless angels have to be tempted into the smell of life. Musc 25 is white, angelic, very musky and aldehydic, and so intensely luminous that you will need to wear shades to approach it. Yet despite all this heavenly white, it’s core is somber, devilishly dark, so much so that it wakes up your inner demons that are anchored in sin and in animalic notes that are sensual, sexual, and decadent. Its altar is made of vetiver, ambergris, more musc, and more civet and of the devil itself. Enjoy the ride of L.A 25, oops, we meant Musc 25."

Apparently they also claim to have developed a synthetic named X that imitates the pheremone induced by smelling..drumroll..sperm! (Supposedly that creates an aphrodisiac effect; please forget for a second the horror of Sécrétions Magnifiques, no relation.) Something doesn't quite compute for me in that, not least because sperm has a bleachy, citrusy magnolia smelling segment in there by itself when fresh. In that regard the combination of citrusy sparkly aldehydes, ozonic touches and lily of the valley is more acurate than muscenone, vetiver, patchouli, civet or ambergris. I guess there is an integral sense of irony in the best jokes anyway.   

Le Labo Musc 25 has fragrance notes of: aldehydes, lily of the valley, rose absolute, vetiver, cedar, patchouli, ambergris, musc, and civet.



Le Labo Musc 25 is a Los Angeles exclusive retailing at $290 for 50ml, but only for the month of November it is globally available at Luckyscent and on the official Le Labo site.
The Los Angeles Le Labo boutique is at 8385 W. 3rd St., Los Angeles, (323) 782-0411

Disclosure: I was sent a sample by the company for reviewing purposes. 

Aqua di Parma Gelsomino Nobile: fragrance review & bottle giveaway

First things first: I have a brand new bottle of the to-be-launched Gelsomino Nobile for a lucky reader, from which only a 5ml decant is missing for reviewing purposes. To be eligible, all you have to do is answer to these questions: 1)What do you find pleasurable/helpful in a frag review? 2)What are the subjects on our pages you would like to read more of? Now on to reviewing this upcoming Aqua di Parma fragrance focused on jasmine...

Gelsomino Nobile (Noble Jasmine) by Aqua di Parma belongs to the Le Nobili sub-collection: 3 women’s fragrances, all in eau de parfum concentration, with a secondary Eau de Toilette for Iris Nobile. The “Nobili” are therefore Iris Nobile, Magnolia Nobile, and the new Gelsomino Nobile. Much in tune with its sister scents, Gelsomino Nobile is also an ethereal, refined, greenish rhapsody in melodious Italian, which could be worn by lovers of all things airy and romantic who want to remain chic and effortless at all times.

The scent of Gelsomino Nobile starts on exhilarating citrusy accents with a peppery bite, much like natural bergamot and the more green neroli distillation from the orange blossom (although neither is listed in the notes), soon accompanied by sweeter elements. The vista opens into a grove of fragrant white vines, dewy jasmine (non indolic), a smidge of the greener parts of tuberose (and none of the danger), and what seems like a clean freesia accord. Although freesia accords can project as screechy and sterile sometimes, the rendering here is subdued: One gets the (illusory) waft of a budding flower, rather than the intense pong of profuse aromachemicals. It's elegant, if predictable.
This stage remains poised for the rest of the duration on the skin, gaining polished nuances of clean, skin-compatible, expensive-feeling musks from one angle; a tad more austere green woodiness from another. I had written on Magnolia Nobile that "the woody musky base is also echoing in my ears like speakers in the car left on some news-relating channel in a sub-human frequency that can be felt more than heard" and I can sense the continuation here as well. Lovers of the Nobili line by Aqua di Parma should be pleased. It's not exactly my speed, but then you know I'm a die-hard indolic jasmine lover, don't you.
The overall effect is recognisably a jasmine fragrance without, at the same time, appearing as suffocating floral or intensely projecting even though Gelsomino Nobile possesses both good lasting power and pleasurable sillage. For that reason jasminophobes or those who do not want to offend may have just found their perfect green floral for all occasions where intermingling might make a more voluptuous, more combustible white floral a bit de trop.

According to the ad copy, as announced on Perfume Shrine a while ago: "Centered around an exclusive and highly unique species of Jasmine grown only in the Calabria region of Italy, this new Floral Green-Musk style of eau de parfum creates the sensation of walking through lush Italian gardens, in bloom with Jasmine, while the breeze brings in the soft, salty air from the Mediterranean.

Notes for Aqua di Parma Gelsomino Nobile: mandarin, pink pepper, orange blossom, tuberose, Calabrian jasmine, cedar wood, and musk.

The fragrance has just debuted at Neiman Marcus and will be available worlwide in September. Available in Eau de Parfum 50ml ($108) and 100ml ($170) ml and matching body cream ($80 for 150 g).

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Jasmine Series

Painting: Eugene de Blaas, Young Italian Beauty

In the interests of full disclosure, the perfume was sampled through a promotion.