Twin Peaks: Zino by Davidoff, Chanel Coromandel, Lutens Borneo 1834

Comparing an uncompromisingly masculine fragrance such as Zino by Davidoff with a unisex offering from Chanel, daintely named (Coromandel) after Chinese laquered panels which might sooner decorate the apartment of a woman or a gay male than the chick-trap of an abode of a bachelor might seem like a exercise in futulity. Heck, there's even a makeup line at Chanel's bearing the very same name! Yet the two fragrances, winking both at yet another patchouli-ladden beauty, Borneo 1834 by Lutens, bear the proud insignia of hard partying and bohemian airs which a rich, decadent patchouli heart knows how to provide so well.

And for those on a budget or searching for an easier alternative to savour the allure of Coromandel, Zino is a choice that can be found easily on discounters and online stores, being utterly underrated for absolutely no sane reason at all. I hope after this review a couple of people will summon the courage to search for it, as it's totally worth it. But perhaps the greatest recommedation would be that it has been gracing the oh-so-fine body of Captain Jack Sparrow, né Johnny Depp for quite some years now (Fittingly as it was first issued in 1986). Who can resist his charms, his chiseled face and bohemian attitude? Personally, I could see it on someone like Vincent d'Onofrio as well. If you're fond of aquatics and/or a fan of a girly Robert-Patterson-like allure (of Twilight fame), you can stop reading right now, it will only get painful.

I had written on my Chanel Coromandel perfume review, when I compared the scent to a cinnabar-hued brocade jacket, upper button undone with black camelia Chanel earrings: "The initial impression is that of a citrusy, orange-like pipe tobacco mix rolled in powder, much like the one encountered upon meeting that vixen little scent called Fifi by lingerie designer Fifi Chachnil or a slightly less milky Fumerie Turque. [..]Perhaps the orange impression derives from the inclusion of frankincense, a resin that sometimes gives off a sweet citric tang while burning. A sweet lush note throughout is echoing subtly like vanilla pods immersed in fruity liquor and it opens up and expands on the wings of aged patchouli, mellow, soft, sweet and inviting [...]with a touch of Borneo by Serge Lutens and Prada thrown in for good measure. [...] The pervading dryness along with just a touch of frankincense for a sense of mystery, not showcasing amber in any great degree all the while, provides a great balance to the sweeter vanilla elements and makes the whole not puff up in blue clouds of smoke, but stay the night on warm skin and well used sheets".

Zino starts on a classic masculine accord of lavender, clary sage and bergamot, bracing, nose-tingling like the top notes of Jicky, almost recalling a fougère, but immediately we're drawn into the maze of oriental woods, where the dark green of patchouli hypnotizes the senses with its sweet, beckoning and a little overwhelming scent and a trompe l'oeil hinting at tobacco (A Davidoff fragrance without some allusion to it? Unthinkable). Zino's big rosy heart worn on its sleeve is the perfect accompaniment to the green leaves with moth-repelling properties, and serves to smoothen the former, alongside the other subtle floral elements. Every ingredient bursts into life on the skin and despite the potent opening the scent manages to appear as rather subdued in later stages. Once upon a time touted as the "fragrance of desire", I admit that for this woman on this day, it still seems good enough to eat and amazingly sexy while we're at it too.

Sheldrake’s handwriting is all over 2007's Coromandel, which would make the comparison with his previous Borneo 1834 for Serge Lutens (2005) a natural fit. The two fragrances share a pronounced similarity at the drydown, a fuzzy, synthesized woody-amber drydown like ambroxan (much more pronounced though in -say- Lolita Lempicka au Masculin). Zino also shares in the traditional ambery fade-out after its scultural masculine top, its darkness an ink-like blob on thick matte paper, but lacks the distinct coffee note that runs through the heart of Borneo, instead opting for extending the note of patchouli to its chocolate-like extremes. Borneo on the other hand is an intensely camphoraceous patchouli laced with dark-roasted coffee and cocoa notes and much dryer, while Coromandel, perhaps due to its eau de toilette concentration and axiom of "application with abandon" alluded to by the big, honking bottle, seems airier and less saturated than both. Airier for an oriental woody, mind you! Its kinship with the original Prada should give you an idea of the ballpark we're talking about. The sillage of every scent is delicious; a mysterious wake that will have people swerve to catch a whiff and ask you what it is.
Ultimately, between the three, Coromandel is the daytime, easier and more powdery version, Borneo more suitable for evenings and trend-setters, while Zino is the one reserved for sexy men and for women not afraid of five-o-clock shadows on them. If you're among the latter, do try Zino for yourself too, you'll see it acts like a fedora over long hair.

Notes for Zino by Davidoff:
Top: lavender, palisander, clary sage, bergamot
Heart: geranium, rose, lily-of-the-valley, jasmine
Base: patchouli, cedar wood, sandalwood, vanilla
Notes for Coromandel by Chanel
Benzoin, patchouli, woodsy notes

Notes for Borneo 1834 by Lutens
Patchouli, Camphor, Cardamom, Cistus, Galbanum, Cacao

pic of actor Vincent d'Onofrio via fanpop.com, Sarah Ranes portrait via indiepublic.com

Coromandel from Chanel Les Exclusifs: fragrance review

In the whole line of Les Exclusifs, one scent stands as trully lasting and sillage worthy. It's Coromandel, a dry ambery oriental advertised as "an oriental fragrance using a tree resin called benzoin, which has vanilla-like properties" inspired by the chinese lacquered panels that were abundant in Chanel's apartment, Coromandel denoting the company producing them and not the style of the panels.
The baroque appartment of Gabrielle/Coco Chanel on Rue Cambon, although not her place of actual abode (she used to stay at the homonymous suite at the Ritz in Paris), served as a background drop of her innermost luxury hedonist. And it was the basis of inspiration for another one of Jacques Polge's perfumes, Coco original, a spicy oriental, back in 1984. In it indeed a very opulent composition is evoking odalisques spread on leather sofas, weighted down by copious amounts of bronze and antique gold jewels.

Coromandel is described as "not innocent", as it is "weighted by frankincense" and "contains a hint of the heavier spices of the East".
Although I am a spicy oriental type, this sounded a bit like a rehash of Coco, of which for better or worse I a not a great fan and so before sampling I was almost certain that it would be too much for me, reserving instead my expectations for no.18. It soon proved that I was mistaken.
The initial impression is that of a citrusy, orange-like pipe tobacco mix rolled in powder, much like the one encountered upon meeting that vixen little scent called Fifi by lingerie designer Fifi Chachnil or a slightly less milky Fumerie Turque. In fact it could very well be a similar idea to that explored by the newer Burberry London for men.
Perhaps the orange impression derives from the inclusion of frankincense, a resin that sometimes gives off a sweet citric tang while burning.
A sweet lush note throughout is echoing subtly like vanilla pods immersed in fruity liquor and it opens up and expands on the wings of aged patchouli, mellow, soft, sweet and inviting. It would seem like the most glorious thing, if it were not for it being a little derivative of their Allure Sensuelle with a touch of Borneo by Serge Lutens and Prada thrown in for good measure. The influence Angel has had on the market in general is astounding to behold! Never mind that my favourite patchouli ever is Film Noir by Ayala Moriel.
Yet where Borneo is an inconoclastic dark patchouli laced with dark roasted coffee and Prada is an insolent single-minded young rebel that wants to shock her conservative environment in a relatively safe way, much like Muicia herself liked to do, Allure Sensuelle and consequently Coromandel do not dare push the envelope even in playful jest. They are not terribly innovative, although between the two Coromandel is much more complex and alluring.

Luckily, the pervading dryness along with just a touch of frankincense for a sense of mystery, not showcasing amber in any great degree all the while, provides a great balance to the sweeter vanilla elements and makes the whole not puff up in blue clouds of smoke, but stay the night on warm skin and well used sheets.
Sexy, yet not terribly imaginative. A cinnabar-hued brocade jacket, upper button undone with black camelia Chanel earrings. C'est ça!

Art photography by Chris Borgman courtesy of his site.

Chanel Les Exclusifs: new perfume direction or perfume snobbery?

The new perfume line of Chanel was trumpeted all around the Netsphere with bated breath anticipation, reveries of upcoming delights and awe-stricken reception when the bottles finally landed in the boutiques. It was Chanel, they were super exclusive, it was le dernier cri! They were touted to be the new direction in perfumery and the 6 bottles you had to make room for on your dresser, per one critic, to the eclipse of all others.
Almost a fortnight later I think we are in a position to evaluate things with a clearer head and give what’s due without histrionics of teen fan excitement.

Chanel has a rich olfactory tradition to keep. Mainly because she revolutionized modern perfumery with her innovative Chanel #5 and the subsequent masterpieces of Ernest Beaux, like Bois des Iles, #22, Cuir de Russie and the older version of Gardenia. (I am saying older because the thin, pale, jasmine-rich specter of today does not fulfill the above given title). The luminous star lighting an enchanted forest that was to become Chanel #19 was to be launched years later, in 1970, created by Henri Robert. The Chanel brand languished after Coco’s death in 1971, for years remaining the doyen of the “old ladies” who dressed conservatively (how ironic given it was Coco who revolutionized women’s wear at the beginning of the century!). And yet it was an inescapable reality for years. It took the daring of Karl Lagerfeld to re-enter Chanel into young people’s consciousness with biker jackets decorated with camellias, torn skirt hems and tall boots with the characteristic two-tone instep. The brand witnessed a resurgence. At about that time Jacques Polge was hired as head perfumer, one of the few that remained in that position when houses stopped this time-honoured practice and were issuing briefs to big perfume companies who concocted various brews according to market research and evolving trends all through the 80s and 90s. Chanel instead produced Coco, Egoiste, Allure and oversaw the introduction of an eau de parfum concentration for Cristalle that utilized a different formula, giving it a more sophisticated chyprish feel.
And then something happened: as if Polge’s creativity unwound and he started producing crowd pleasers that would fit in with the trends: Coco Mademoiselle (surely inspired by the staggering success of the gourmands and the emerging vogue for patchouli), Chance (a lighter and fresher Coco Mlle), Allure Sensuelle (is it me or is this the least innovative of all of Chanel’s offerings?). Those all worked well, sold lots (no mean feat, granted) and everyone should feel happy, right?

However this is not how minds worked at Chanel evidently. Perfume is a highly snob business it seems, because as perfume has become a commodity to be shared by the masses (what was once the unwashed masses of dirty boulevards is now the average clean consumer who buys a gift for oneself or a loved one at a department store) the allure of the exclusive, the luxurious and the rare had escaped Chanel. Sure, there were the elusive Exclusive Rue Cambon scents, a collection of classics that was re-issued in the 90s for the delectation of perfume aficionados available at Chanel boutiques. All the same, the exclusivity was not 100% there, because that devil of an Internet, that Gloss.com site had secured rights to sell the Rue Cambon collection to the public on-line. Everyone in the US, from the stay at home wife in Minnesota to the career lady in a demanding job at Rhodes Island could secure a bottle of exclusivity cachet in the form of a bottle of Bois des Iles or Cuir de Russie. So that cachet was not really what it seemed to be. Anyone in the know and with a little amount of money could partake of it. That was simply unacceptable by the clientele of Chanel couture who probably wanted their own elite fragrances to go with their expensive gowns (let’s not forget that Chanel is a house that charges for giving you extra buttons for your missing ones in your clothes!) Or so I am guessing.

Hence the new line of Les Exclusifs was conceived: Bel Respiro, Coromandel, No 18, 28 La Pausa, Eau de Cologne and 31 Rue Cambon. All inspired by places and objects that were tied to Coco Chanel herself.
And sticking to the idea that it had to be something niche and ultra-luxurious it transpired that they should perhaps mimic the concept of other lines and houses which imbued their foot into the great pool of the niche perfumery: Hermessences with their very successful Jean Claude Ellena signature minimalist style, Armani Prive with their austere architectural bottles, Dior Collection with their unique aromas. Guerlain of course was a different proposition as they are a perfume house to begin with and they had inaugurated a boutique full of exclusives in Paris.
Chanel was the only great house that had not tried that field. It seemed like high time.

And henceforth Polge got into the act. It had been published that Chris Sheldrake, the Australian genius working under the maestro baguette of Serge Lutens at Palais Royal Shiseido was under contract to work for Chanel. However, it was to be as deputy perfumer while Polge remained head nose. Eyebrows were raised, questioning gazes were exchanged into the netsphere and the thing soon subsided. There is simply no official confirmation if Sheldrake worked on the new Exclusifs. We’ll leave it at that till further notice.

Anyhow, the 6 new fragrances were issued as gigantic 200ml bottles of eau de toilette concentration at a staggering price of 180 euros. I know that ml for ml the price isn’t steep (it would be 45 euros for 50ml to give you an idea) In fact doing the comparative math we deduce that it is quite economical compared with the Hermessences for example. However the fact that they have not talked about smaller bottles being available makes them a little pretentious and destined to be used as decadent splashes. Which their concentration and lack of sillage call for.
This is weird coming from a brand that caters to bourgeois tastes: people shopping for perfume in this prerogative want everyone to be conscious of their luxurious choice of fragrance leaving a trail behind and it is exactly that that’s hard to do with the new Exclusifs. The abundance of juice hints at a desire to abandon restraint and just spray away, a concept that somehow brings to my mind nuances of snobbism, in a world where there are people who are starving. The Eau de Cologne, one of the 6, even comes in a dinosaur size of 400ml! I cannot imagine the hands that are supposed to yield such a ginormous vehicle of scented consumerism.

The style and character of the scents themselves is like academic mannerism in my mind, because they do echo nuances of other Chanel creations: the incense of no.22 and the patchouli of Allure Sensuelle crop up in the tempered oriental of Coromandel, the iris and verdancy of Chanel #19 in 28 La Pausa and Bel Respiro, the tartness and citrus twist of Cristalle in Eau de Cologne and so on. I don’t know if this was intentional or a case of unconscious association (perfumery is such a pretentious field that it wouldn’t surprise me if they claimed that); as it is, it begs the question: why buy something new when the old is perfectly all right and vastly superior at that?
The new oakmoss-free chypre in 31 Rue Cambon may be trying to revolutionize the industry with the iris-pepper accord that supposedly mimics the traditional sophistication of a chypre perfume, yet it evolves as a light floriental on skin, certainly not the sophisticated bombastic effect of what we are accustomed to view as chypre. Perhaps my ominous, foreboding feeling that perfumery will never be the same after all those restrictions is not so pessimistic after all. It would pain me to really believe it, yet 31 Rue Cambon does not do much to alleviate the feeling, lovely as it trully is to sniff.
For fragrances that had been touted as the new direction in perfumery they distinctly lack a compass into the unknown and seem to tread well known waters with simple, unfinished accords that try to appear modern yet do not do so with firm conviction. Something tells me that Polge who is a self-professed oriental lover does not feel comfortable composing sparse oeuvres of a John Cage nature. He would be more in tune in doing a Prokofiev. And yet, someone somehow has managed to elicit those reactions in the lab, producing 6 new scents at a time frame that used to be adequate for only one or two great ones.

I will come back with more analytical reviews on each one of them; however I needed to be harsh this time. They can afford it, I gather….

Top pic from the film "Much ado about nothing" by Kenneth Branagh. Middle pic from imagesdesparfums