My Perfume Collection: Some Chanel Eye-Candy

photo by Elena Vosnaki

photo by Elena Vosnaki

photo by Elena Vosnaki

photo by Elena Vosnaki

These small pleasures amount to a great deal in difficult times. These Chanel perfumes are part of my fragrance wardrobe and don't get to take an outing regularly, for no apparent reason. This specific time-frame is pointing that maybe they should go out and see some action. They have been cherished and used, as you can see, but they probably need to be drained and replenished! Ho ho ho!

Chanel extraits now available online

Oh glorious day for our American readers! The renowned Chanel extraits (No.22, Bois des Iles, Cuir de Russie and Gardenia) are now available online for buyers in the USA.


The company offers complimentary shipping ONLY for April 29th until 11:59PM EST.
And they won't be the only ones, it seems!! (may our wishes for 31 Rue Cambon and Sycomore extrait be granted)

I will be having another post coming up shortly, I have been getting late on some projects and working on those. Stay tuned for your feedback is wanted!

A Smooth Leather for the Tough 1930s: Lanvin Scandal

~by guest writer Denyse Beaulieu

Though the fashion pendulum swung back to femininity, away from the androgynous styles of the Garçonnes towards a more traditionally feminine silhouette ~waists, breasts and hips caressed by bias-cut satin, bobs set in platinum marcelled curls~ the Thirties were in fact a much tougher era than the Années Folles. Perhaps all-out modernism can only occur in an era of financial optimism…


The France in which Scandal was born in 1932 was riddled with unemployment, political instability and financial scandals. In the wake of the newly fashionable psychoanalysis, surrealism delved into the subconscious and its disturbing images. From the 1932 Tabu by Dana to Schiaparelli’s Shocking in 1937, perfume names reflected these troubled times…
It is strange, though, that the house of Lanvin would be the boldest in naming its scents: the milliner Jeanne Lanvin actually launched her brilliant career by producing for her high society clientele the designs she had created for her beloved daughter – the house logo by Paul Iribe showed a stylised mother and daughter embrace. However, starting with the sensuous My Sin in 1925, on to L’Ame Perdue (“Lost Soul”) and Pétales Froissés (“Crumpled Petals”, perhaps a vague allusion to “damaged goods”), both in 1928, Lanvin launched a series of racily-named perfumes. A shrewd marketer, she was in tune with the zeitgeist. In the year following the launch of Scandal, the most resounding politico-financial scandal of the decade, the Stavisky affair ~in which several prominent figures were embroiled~ would rock France to its very foundations.


Was Scandal scandalous for its day? As we have seen in the previous instalments of this series, leather had already entered the feminine scent wardrobe a decade earlier. But unlike its Twenties forerunners Tabac Blond, En Avion or Djedi, and to a much greater degree than Chanel Cuir de Russie, Scandal plays up the animalic, leathery side of leather. According to perfume historian Octavian Sever Coifan, who commented about it on these pages, André Fraysse had also composed a “cuir de Russie” base (i.e. a mixture of different components for ready use in perfumery) for Synarome.
This is possibly the “cuir de Russie” mentioned in the breakdown of notes:

Top: neroli, bergamot, mandarine, clary sage.
Heart: jüchten (cuir de Russie), iris, rose, ylang
Base: incense, civet, oakmoss, vanilla, vetiver, benzoin.

Considered by many perfume lovers to be the ultimate leather, Scandal was admired by no lesser an authority than the late, great Edmond Roudnitska. It is one of the few classics he mentions in his book Le Parfum(Presses Universitaires de France, 1980), firstly as the prototype of a “fruity-aldehydic-leather” family and secondly, as a prime example of compositions that evoke rather than represent a note (which he opposes to non-representational perfumes such as N°5, Arpège, Mitsouko or Femme).

“Leather and tobacco”, he observes, “are already transpositions of natural elements since they undergo painstaking preparations which alter the initial odour.”

My own version of Scandal is a flacon of extrait, of which one third has evaporated. The aldehydic top notes mentioned by Roudnitska have all but disappeared, except in the first fleeting moments of application, with a slight hint of citrus.

What immediately dominates is, well, leather, with a stronger birch tar edge than Chanel Cuir de Russie, with which it shares several notes: rich, deep, smooth as a fine old Bordeaux or a single malt whisky, with its complex peaty-mossy depths – oakmoss certainly, possibly vetiver because of the earthiness. A sombre undercurrent yields a vaguely licorice-y tinge to the heart, in a moment of olfactory illusionism: is it the clary sage? The floral notes seem so deeply blended in that they don’t appear as such any longer, which could be an effect of the age of the sample – a common phenomenon in older extraits. In its pristine version, the aldehydic fizz lifting the dark wood-resin-animal base, churning through the stately cool iris, tender rose and flesh-like carnality of the ylang-ylang must made for an intoxicating experience.
As it is, though, it is still a compellingly complex, opulent leather.

Though Lanvin has recently re-launched a scent of the same André Fraysse series, Rumeur (there was also Crescendo and Prétexte), there seems to be no chance of their resurrecting Scandal, discontinued in 1971: British perfumer Roja Dove has appropriated the name which had fallen into the public domain for one of his own compositions, an opulent white floral. Lancôme’s 2007 re-edition of Révolte/Cuir, another animalic leather of the period, was quickly followed by its discontinuation, allegedly because it was too costly to produce.

Thus, the original Scandal seems condemned to the limbo of long-lost scents. The few drops remaining are all the more precious: a reminder of an age where to dab your skin in the scent of a flower-drenched leather would send an iconoclastic frisson coursing through well-bred salons…


Pics from the "Gosford Park" film by Robert Altman, set in 1932, courtesy of djuna.cine21.
Pic of the french film "La règle du jeu" by Jean Renoir from wikipedia.
Lanvin ad originally uploaded at cofe.ru

Cuir de Russie by Chanel: fragrance review and history

Whenever I think of Cuir de Russie by Chanel I think of a particular place and a woman I once saw. She is of Slavic features, quite old and she must have been beautiful at her prime. Now the fallen features speak of a splendour gone by, an existence that was once luxuriously pampered now reduced to wandering the busy, buzzing city sitting at the old derelict café that was Zonar’s up till some years ago. Situated at the city centre, amidst the crowded shopping district and face to face with an uber-luxe jewel shop (which in itself had been a traditional, picturesque ouzeri in a previous incarnation), Zonar’s had been for almost half a century the Mecca meeting point of local and visiting intelligentia.


And then like old civilizations, it withered and almost died…Abandoned, frequented only by the decadent and the nostalgically traditionalists. She was there, all right: mink fur jacket on her back, but almost tattered and yellowing at the edges. Antique gold bracelets that must have been family heirlooms from a Bosporus clan. Her hair coiffed in an old fashioned style that must have gone out of fashion about 30 years ago, her eye pensive and introspective. Her black croc bag, good quality, but showing years’ long wear. To paraphrase Poe, a "woman of the crowd"…

Cuir de Russie has this exact décadence avec élegance vibe that made an impression on me upon setting eyes on that woman.

In the words of Luca Turin:

“sumptuous leather, light and balsamic, forgoing any sugary compromise, Cuir de Russie regains its place at the top of this category, right next to the rather more jovial Tabac Blond. [...]Cuir de Russie is a striking hologram of luxury bygone: its scent like running the hand over the pearl grey banquette of an Isotta Frashini while forests of birch silently pass by”.

Amanda Lacey, famed London facialist, to whom this was gifted by Jacques Polge, put it in simpler terms:

“There's something about it that makes me emotional - it reminds me of Paris and of times gone by when people had an elegant approach to life. I feel I'm wearing a wise grand dame around my neck.”

Chanel's Cuir de Russie came out in 1924, a time at which the impact of Les Ballets Russes (1909-1929) was palpable. Russian émigrés having fled the motherland because of the revolution in 1917 had populated Paris and had lent it their own mark of decadent sophistication. Suddenly the exotic East, in which westerners classified the vast Russias since before the time of Peter the Great, became all the rage and the embodiment of everything forbidden and alluring. The datchas, the orthodox churches, the ballads on balalaikas, the Cossacks.
In the words of a critic of the times:

“nothing is more foreign to our tradition than those violent bursts, those frantic and intense dances, this instinctive frankness, this disproportionate imagination. The discordance is so brutal that one would be astonished by the tenacious favour that those people over there hold on us. The simple truth is that Russians fascinate us because they distrurb us”.

From the Commitée Colbert.


Coco Chanel herself would indulge sartorially into the craze for all things Russian, setting up the atelier Kitmir, which will later create the broderies inspired by Russian folklore for Jean Patou, himself the lover of the Grand Duchess of Russia. Coco also created the costumes for 4 ballets, one of which is Le Train in 1924; coincidentally the year Cuir de Russie is issued.

Inspired by Gabrielle’s own love for the exiled Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovitch (1891-1942) ~ cousin of Tsar Nicolas II~ and paying homage to Stravinsky, Diaghilev and Serge Lifar, protégé of Diaghilev, with whom she was friends, Cuir de Russie exploited an old theme with a modernist palette.

Legendary nose Ernest Beaux, guided by Chanel’s desires to dare, made women indulge in what is essentially a men’s scent formula, garlanding it though with sparkly, dry aldehydes and the eternal feminine flowers: jasmine (an abundance of it!), rose and ylang ylang; redolent of No.5’s own heart, giving a warm, honeyed aspect that contrasts with an icy element that enters and exits the scene like an aloof, declassé aristocrat ~in perfect accordance to what was previously revealed as being the idea behind it: the leather pouches for jewels.

The inclusion of rectified birch tar, supposedly along with styrax, gave it the brutish animalic touch of 20th century and the intelligent beauty of Constructivism arhictecture. None of the sweet, contemporary niche leather harmonies and further off the smoothness of Diorling {click for review}. Sublime cadenzas of amber and resin provide the warm but never too congenial backdrop hinting at a bygone luxury and perhaps a little smoking fetish, letting off a subtle hint of tobacco. Contrary to Tabac Blond however it weaves smoothness of skin and rounded contours under the dress that cloths the woman. This is supremely manifested in the far superior extrait de parfum concentration which, like all Chanel parfums, exploits the best of raw materials and gives the most luxuriant experience.

Notes: aldehydes, orange blossom, bergamot, mandarin, clary sage, iris, jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, cedarwood, balsams, vetiver, styrax, incense, cade, leather, amber and vanilla.

The current eau de toilette version, which had been first re-orchestrated by in-house perfumer Jacques Polge in 1983 (toning a tad down the harsher leather aspect), now circulates in the gigantic sparse bottles of Les Exclusifs range in 200ml, distributed at Chanel boutiques and very select doors. The extrait de parfum concentration is not easy to come by any longer (it used to be available easily on Chanel.usa), regretably, but it is definitely still being made, distibuted to certain boutiques and definitely available in Paris if you travel there.

Translation of quotes from the French, author's own. Pic of young woman in gloves by glovelover 2006/flickr. Pic of Zonar's from Naftemboriki. Pic of ladies in furs by Kchen/flickr. Pic of leather cases for jewels courtesy of wealthwood.com

Leather Series 7: The Garçonne Leathers of the 1920s

by guest writer Denyse Beaulieu

“She is a strong woman. Excuse – strength is not the word I am after. Women, pretty women at least, are never ‘strong”. I need a word that expresses energy, the quality that makes a man who speaks of ‘frail Eve’ – referring to the female sex – look like a fool!
Her neck is arched and tense. Tense also her features, her whole carriage indeed! Her demeanour is that of a duellist awaiting the attack!
Attack from whom!
From you, sir, and from me… from man, in general.”

“The Flapper – A New Type”, by Alfredo Panzini, Vanity Fair, September 1921
(from oldmagazinearticles.com)

As the “lost generation” returned from the trenches of World War I to civilian life, they faced a new kind of war: the war of the sexes.
It’s hard to realize nowadays the utter shock it must’ve been, for men who grew up alongside women in corsets and bustles, with huge flowered hats teetering on their long upswept tresses, to see them mutating into the cocktail-swigging, cigarette-smoking, car-driving, bob-haired, short-skirted breed Americans called “flappers” and the French, “garçonnes”. This second, much more telling designation (a feminization of the word for “boy” in French, “garcon”), was popularized by the eponymous 1922 best-seller (700 000 copies) by the French author Victor Margueritte. With its liberated heroine’s sexual escapades (including a lesbian affair), La Garçonne was deemed so scandalous that Margueritte was stripped of his Légion d’Honneur…

The Bohemian classes of the Belle Époque had already engaged in some gender-bending ~ the term “garçonne” was actually coined by the decadent late 19th century novelist Huysmans ~ but what occurred in the 1920s was an out-an-out, highly symbolic raid on masculine closets. Led on by Gabrielle Chanel, garçonnes shed the corset to adopt the more strict, practical and streamlined menswear styles, including the white shirt, suit and boater. Jean Patou provided them with sportswear to ski and play tennis; Dunhill and Hermès offered them leather motoring gear to match the luxurious interiors of their new, leather-upholstered cars; Hermès even produced flight suits for the fashion-conscious aviatrix.

And, of course, they began filching men’s eau de colognes – interestingly, Jean Patou’s 1929 Le Sien (“Hers”), shown at the Paris museum of fashion Palais Galliéra in the current “Années Folles” exhibition, is explicitly marketed as a fragrance men could wear, but produced for women. The same exhibition commissioned a (non-commercialized) perfume to embody the spirit of the Jazz Age, composed by IFF’s Antoine Maisondieu. It is, of course, a leather scent (for a review, click here).

The Cuir de Russie, as we’ve seen previously, had been around since the last quarter of the 19th century. But the 1920s and 30s would be the heyday of leathers from the spectacular 1924 double feature of Ernest Beaux’s Chanel Cuir de Russie and Vincent Roubert’s Knize Ten and Jacques Guerlain’s odd Djedi in 1927 to later renditions: Caron En Avion (1929), Lanvin Scandal by André Fraysse (1932), Lancôme Révolte by Armand Petitjean (1936) and Creed Cuir de Russie (1939), initially Errol Flynn’s bespoke fragrance, and LT Piver’s Cuir de Russie the same year. At least thirty houses launched their own versions of the Cuir de Russie from the late 19th century to the late 30s (the trend continued into the 50s), which bears witness to the enduring attraction of the note.

But the real turning point came about in 1919 with Ernest Daltroff’s epoch-making Caron Tabac Blond, the first leather scent to be directly marketed to women. Is it just by chance that the first perfumer to cross the gender boundaries of the “cuir de Russie” was himself a Russian?


To be continued.....


Pic of Marie Bell in Jean de Limur’s 1936 La Garçonne, courtesy of encyclocine.com

Leather Series 6: Kinky whiffs

By guest writer Denyse Beaulieu

“The glove (…) had retained a strong odour, this distinctive musky odour which the girl’s favourite perfume, heliotrope, sweetened with a touch of vanilla; (…) violently aroused by this blend of flower and flesh, he was overcome, with the glove on his mouth, drinking in the voluptuous pleasure of his memories. (….) When he was alone, he would pick up the glove, breathe it in, kiss it, thinking he still held her in his arms, his mouth on the nape of her neck.”

In Émile Zola’s 1884 La Joie de vivre (« The Joy of Living »), the sweetly-scented glove that sheathed the hands of aristocrats has ceased to be a prophylactic adornment to become a fragment of the desired body; indeed, it seems to be desired in itself… J.K. Huysmans’ A Rebours, which dedicates a whole chapter to the art of perfumery as olfactory fetishism practiced by his decadent anti-hero Des Esseintes, would be published the same year. Within its visionary pages, perfumery wrenches itself free from the representation of nature to evoke man-made environments in unheard-of blends…

The leather note, of course, is one such artificial scent, a hybrid of “flower and flesh” created by industry. It is strangely redolent of the human skin which leather approaches, both by its texture and by its proximity to the body of the wearer whose shape it retains…
Can it possibly be a coincidence, then, that leather scents and leather fetishism are strictly contemporary, born in the same decade of the late 19th century?
Check the dates: quinolines, which lend their characteristic smoky-tarry notes to most leather perfumes, were synthesized around 1880. The first recorded Cuir de Russie was composed by Aimé Guerlain in 1875; Eugène Rimmel launched his the following year.

Now, it was precisely in 1876 that French psychiatrist Alfred Binet coined the term “fetishism”; the leather fetish itself is studied in Austrian sexologist Richard von Krafft-Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis (1886).
Fetishism in general and leather fetishism in particular had of course existed before they were identified as such: the prolific French libertine author Restif de la Bretonne (1734-1806), for instance, was a famous shoe sniffer. But it was only when the study of sexuality became the province of psychiatrists that an attempt to understand “perversions” gave rise to their classification. Up to then, people had sexual tastes; henceforth, they would have sexual identities.

Of course, scientists only reflected the changing perceptions and practices of Western societies. In a world where commodities were becoming increasingly available and diversified, the sex industry had followed suit by catering to “niche markets”. From 1867 to 1864, the first kinky magazine, the sedately entitled The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine, devoted its pages to the charms of corsets and high heels. Brothels offered specialized services, costumes and scenarios. In Sexual Selection in Man, British sexologist Havelock Ellis reports the case, in 1894, of a prostitute saying that “several of her clients desired the odor of new shoes in the room, and that she was accustomed to obtain the desired perfume by holding her shoes for a moment over the flame of a spirit lamp.”

Thus, leather entered the vocabulary of perfumery as a dominant note, rather than as a material to be treated by perfume, at the precise period in history in which “trickle-down perversions” – to reprise the term coined by French historian Alain Corbin – pervaded the very bourgeoisie to whom Messieurs Guerlain and Rimmel sold their Cuir de Russie. The name may have referred to the Cossacks who rubbed their boots with birch, and certainly bore a virile, military or equestrian connation. But the scents themselves alluded to more private passions.




Pic: by Félicien Rops, "Pornokratès" (1878), itself a scent-inspired painting:

“I did this in four days in a small blue satin room, in an overheated apartment, full of smells, where opoponax and cyclamen gave me a fever salutary for production and even reproduction.”

Courtesy Agoravox.fr

Denyse is the author of "Sex Game Book: a Cultural Dictionary of Sexuality" (Assouline, 2007)



Leather Series will continue, along with a couple of other exciting things besides...Stay tuned!

Leather Series 5: Cuir de Russie vs Peau d'Espagne

Among leather fragrances in the past there were two major schools of thought. Both sealed their era with their characteristic flair: the Russian leather types and the Spanish leather types. The two present their own idiosyncrasies, like spirited people who enjoy disagreeing from time to time and cut out their own decisive path in life.

Russian leather (cuir de Russie) scents have been inspired by the odour of leather cured in traditional tanneries in the vast steppes of Russia; steppes populated by the lonely silhouettes of silver birches like a page out of Tolstoy. The leather used for military garments of the Russian army and especially boots held a certain aura of authority and in its wake it brought images of hardship and virility; the latter in its etymological association with the Latin virtus, meaning virtue. Those were of course traits highly coveted by men who wanted to embody such images. But in the time of women’s emancipation in the beginning of the 20th century, when leather scents came into vogue, also by the fairer sex.
Birch tar is therefore the characteristic aroma that has been implicated in the makeup of Russian leather scents in the past. To soften dried leather they used birch tar and the fat of sea animals, which give off their own unique odour. Legend has it that Cuir de Russie was born when a Cossack warrior, galloping across the endless Russian steppe, came up with ‘the idea of rubbing his leather boots with birch bark in order to waterproof them’. Several modern Cuir de Russie scents merely draw their inspiration from birch, however, while using isobutyl quinoline instead to render the tar-like note. The recipe proved so popular that every house launched their own version from Piver to Le Jardin Retrouvé(1977) through Guerlain (1875), Chanel (1924) and Creed (1953).

Chanel certainly used birch tar in their Cuir de Russie enhanced by floral notes and aimed at women ~but serving admirably as a unisex scent. Recently it was repackaged in gigantic bottles of eau de toilette in Les Exclusifs line to be distributed through very select channels and is somewhat weakened.

Cuir de Russie by Louis Toussaint Piver was originally created in the late 19th century. Piver has this to say:

“Created at the end of the nineteenth century, the original version of this exceptional cologne has been adapted to today’s market. {re-orchestration in 2003 according to Osmoz}. Very “landed gentry” its fragrance is inspired from the leather smell of Cossack riding boots protected against the wet with silver birch bark. The entrancing and impossibly elegant smell of leather peppered with the tangy notes of mandarin and bergamot orange to leave skin feeling totally refreshed. Next come the wooden and spicy notes before these in turn give way to the aroma of honey. A fragrance that surrenders itself discreetly, unveiling its splendour all in good time and presented in a highly structural bottle inspired by the Russian constructivist period. Convivial, refined and yet never ostentatious. Absolute luxury”.

Worthy of mention however that the unisex Piver’s Cuir de Russie is listed as a 1939 scent on Basenotes.
The endearingly retro label depicts a traditional Russian dance in the snowy landscape, while the cap echoes the Cossack’s toque.

Koelnisch Juchten is {edit: is being debatable} the German name for Russian leather and the eponymous scent is still in production by Farina Gegenueber, the oldest German brand for cologne founded in 1700 by an Italian druggist. Much older actually than Muelhens (of 4711 fame), which copied the 'Eau de Cologne' recipe from Farina and allegedly invented a tale about how it came to their hands. Farina made his own Cuir de Russie (Russisch Leder) by Hugo Janistyn in 1967. For many, however, Koelnisch Juchten is how Russian leather should really smell like.
Others followed suit. A true legend was born!

Spanish leather (peau d'Espagne) has a fascinating background that goes back in history as well. In the 16th century, tanners used to scent chamois with essences of flowers, herbs and fruits and as a final step smear it with civet and musk. This was known as Peau d’Espagne (Spanish skin). Chamois is by itself a sensual material: silky, feeling wonderful in the hand, contributing its own leather undertone, providing depth and softness.

More specifically, according to Havelock Ellis:

“Peau d'Espagne may be mentioned as a highly complex and luxurious perfume, often the favorite scent of sensuous persons, which really owes a large part of its potency to the presence of the crude animal sexual odors of musk and civet. It consists of wash-leather steeped in ottos of neroli, rose, santal, lavender, verbena, bergamot, cloves, and cinnamon, subsequently smeared with civet and musk. It is said by some, probably with a certain degree of truth, that Peau d'Espagne is of all perfumes that which most nearly approaches the odor of a woman's skin; whether it also suggests the odor of leather is not so clear”.

For some it is this ancestral echo of the sexual stimulus of skin odour that accounts for its success. And for others it is a scent of profound reminiscence. One of the most touching ~and evocative of a lost memento~ tales comes from Peter Altenberg, the Viennese coffeehouse bohemian, according to whom

"There are three idealists: God, mothers and poets! They don’t seek the ideal in completed things—they find it in the incomplete."

Here he talks of a 1830 fragrance:

“As a child I found in a drawer in my beloved, wonderfully beautiful mother’s writing table, which was made of mahogany and cut glass, an empty little bottle that still retained the strong fragrance of a certain perfume that was unknown to me. I often used to sneak in and sniff it. I associated this perfume with every love, tenderness, friendship, longing and sadness there is. But everything related to my mother.
Later on, fate overtook us like an unexpected horde of Huns and rained heavy blows down on us. And one day I dragged from perfumery to perfumery, hoping by means of tiny sample vials of the perfume from the writing table of my beloved deceased mother to discover its name. And at long last I did: Peau d’Espagne, Pinaud, Paris. […]
Later on, many young women on childish-sweet whims used to send me their favourite perfumes and thanked me warmly for the prescription I discovered of rubbing every perfume directly onto the naked skin of the entire body right after a bath so that it would work like a true personal skin cleansing! But all these perfumes were like the fragrances of lovely but poisonous exotic flowers. Only Essence Peau d’Espagne, Pinaud, Paris, brought me melancholic joys although my mother was no longer alive and could no longer pardon my sins”.

By the late 18th century, when the vogue for strong animalic scents which had monopolized the tastes of the rich and powerful for over two centuries had subsided, Peau d’Espagne remained an exception to the rule of the floral nosegays and the light handkerchief waters used. And by 1910, Peau d’Espagne had evolved into a fragrance to be donned on one’s person, rather than merely as the aroma of little bits of leather for scenting stationery and clothing. So cachets and gloves get a smell not only of leather itself, but also of spices and flowers added. The recipe was enhanced by the addition of vanilla, tonka beans, styrax, geranium and cedarwood. A powerhouse! Many followed the recipe from the discontinued Roger et Gallet (1895)to Santa Maria Novella (1901).

One of the scents that bear the name of Peau d’Espagne , albeit tranlsated as Spanish Leather is by Geo F.Trumper. The note on Trumper's website seems to be saying that there is no leather note in their Spanish Leather, however. A little soapy, a little sweet, it has a slight barbershop ambience to it and provokes antithetical responses from people: some love it, others hate it. The notes include musk, rose, patchouli.
Another Spanish Leather is by Truefitt and Hill: softly leathery, with slightly noticeable spice of which black pepper is more prominent. And of course there is the Santa Maria Novella Peau d'Espagne: one of the oldest and also one of the most controversial but still in production. It has the strong odour of liniment ointment, a powerful ambience for an assured person...

Spanish leather scents threfore comprise notes that have traditionally been used to perfume leather instead, much as has been described above for the curing of chamois. Ergo we come full circle: the material that inspires the trend is absent and in its place there is the evocation it produced through the means of a loan, a metaphor for connotation. Bataille would have felt at home.

Leather Series will continue with a tittilating spin on just how leather scents evolved into erotic ethos! *wink*

Pics from osmoz and Gentlemans-shop

Leather Series 3: Production

Rendering a leather note in perfumery is a challenge for the perfumer who must coax this difficult and cult note into submission to make it sing with the rest of the composition. Production relies on two different courses: naturally derived and synthesized in a lab. Both account for a potent aroma of smoky and alteratively drier or sweeter notes, characteristic of the cuir family.

Let’s see what is actually used.

The naturals:

Birch: Betula Alba, the tree known as birch, owes its name to the Latin verb batuere meaning to strike. It is no coincidence that the branches of birch have been used for corporal punishment. Traditionally used in tanneries in Russia, Finland and Northern Europe in general, its bark produces birch tar and resin, an intensely wintergreen and tar-like odour, which has been used in Cuir de Russie type of scents in the distant past. The oil is widely used in suede and leather tannery in Russia and the essence obtained from birch buds is used for hair tonics and some cosmetic products.

Juniper and cade oil:
Juniper trees produce dark viscuous oil (cade) upon getting burned which possesses a smoky aroma that reminds one of campfires in the forests. Also used in Cuir de Russie type of scents in the past along with birch. It additionally has an anti-mould property which explains why it is a prime material for the binding of books, surely prone to decay and deterioration otherwise.

Styrax: Liquidambar Styraciflua and Liquidambar Orientalis trees are used for their excretion of the sapwood obtained by pounding the bark of both varieties. L. Styraciflua comes from the Americas (in particular Honduras, Guatemala and Mexico), while L.Orientalis comes from Asia Minor. The essence used in perfumery to give a leather undertone comes from the Honduras and is purified with volatile solvents or through vacuum distillation.
Styrax notes are usually sweeter than those of birch when used for leathery notes.

Cassie: The bark of cassie, a tree that belongs to the family of mimosa, and the absolute from the flowers are also used for giving a deep, intense leather note in some perfumes based on natural essences.

Castoreum: The secretion from the glands of beavers from Russia and Canada is a very intense, repulsive odour that when highly diluted can provide a leathery scent to fine perfumery. A by-product of the fur industry, it has been prized in perfumery for its tremendous fixative powers and its deeply animalic edge with a dry quality that smells like real leather.

Another natural essence that can produce a leather note although not usually used as such is Myrtle. Because of its camphoreous, green, rather than pungent leathery aroma, it is not the preferred choice for rendering a leather note in perfumes; although it is used in tanneries for the curing of hides.

Last but not least, cistus labdanum can provide a leathery backdrop- in cases where a more smokey/ ambery note is required ~such as in Caron Tabac Blond, Serge Lutens Cuir Mauresque and Ava Luxe Madame X {click for review}.

It is important to note that natural perfumers can render leather notes in their perfumes through the combined use of different essences such as black tea, patchouli or tobacco in addition to the above; sometimes opting for ethically avoiding animal products (castoreum) altogether.


The synthetics:

The major revolution in the production of leathery notes in perfumery came in the 1880s with the apparition of quinolines, a family of aromachemicals with a pungent leather and smoke odour that was used in the production of the modern Cuir de Russie scents appearing at the beginning of the 20th century such as Chanel’s (1924) as well as in Caron’s Tabac Blond (1919), Lanvin’s Scandal (1933) and, most importantly, Piguet’s Bandit (1944).

The chemical name of the ingredient primarily used from the quinolines groups is 4-(2-methylpropyl) quinoline, commonly referred to as isobutyl quinoline. A colourless to pale yellow liquid, used in a dilution of 1.00 % solution or less, it possesses a fiercely potent odour profile described as earthy, rooty, and nutty, echoing certain facets of oakmoss and vetiver and blending very well with both. Isobutyl quinoline also has ambery, woody, tobacco-like undertones: a really rich aromachemical! Its character can be very well perceived in the above scents as well as Cabochard by Gres.

Another synthesized note is the suede accord: a much subtler, more velours deep feel in the realm of leather notes. Less aggressive, suede notes are created in the laboratory for modern fine perfumes such as Lutens’ Daim Blond and Donna Karan. The origins hinge on muscone in the past or a complex tactile evocation of suede through a secret formula for more recent examples.

To a lesser degree the safraleine aromachemical can add a leathery tinge to perfumes. Evident in isolate of saffron, safraleine has an interesting smell ~ a combination of shoe polish/black cherry/air conditioning refrigerating fluid.

Aldehydes and especially C10, C11 and C12 are also used in addition to other ingredients in leathery perfumes to round out the composition and make it smooth.

Last but not least, in an effort to find materials that would enhance or augment leather tones and provide a cheaper and more stable alternative to animal-derived castoreum for rendering leather notes, the US Patent 4528124 (Jul, 1985 Sturm et al.252/522) has been proposed as a solution. The compound having the structure ##STR2## is a known compound disclosed at Chemical Abstracts Volume 99, Monograph 139339e. As I haven't smelled this secret ingredient I cannot report back on its effect, but it worth mentioning.

The search for materials which can provide a more refined leathery and castoreum aroma profile apparently continues.



Next instalment will focus on a scent fit for kings.

Pic of birch forest, Birch Hill Fairbanks in Alaska by Jeff Breu courtesy of Google images

Cuir by Lancome: fragrance review and history

What possessed the dignified monsieur Petitjean, who had launched the Parfums Lancôme in the previous year, to christen his new leather scent Révolte? Armand Petitjean was no firebrand: a former importer of French products to Latin America, he had been a diplomat, mandated to persuade South American countries to support the Entente Powers (France, Russia, the UK) against the Central Powers (Germany, the Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman Empires) in WWI. Returning to civilian life, he worked with the “Napoleon of perfume”, the great François Coty. But he hadn’t agreed with Coty’s mass-market policy, and left the company, taking with him the head of the Coty studio, Georges Delhomme, and a chemist, Pierre Velon, to found his own luxury brand.
Lancôme was launched with great fanfare at the 1935 Brussels Universal Fair, with five fragrances, each meant to please different types of women on different continents: Tropiques, Tendres Nuits, Kypre, Bocages and Conquête. The scents bottled in baroque flacons designed by Delhomme in reaction to the spare, Art Deco trend – and in tune with fashion’s move towards femininity and away from the flapper era - were not a commercial success, and Petitjean soon branched out into skincare and makeup.
The next year saw the launch of Révolte. It might well have been a belated answer to Lanvin’s own leather scent, the provocatively named Scandale, but the social and political context in France was far from peaceful. 1936 was a bristling year in French politics. The civil war raged just south of the border, in Spain. The left-wing coalition Front Populaire has just gained power, and dedicated itself to easing the working class’ burdens, instating the 40-hour week and the first paid holidays (an event celebrated by Patou with Vacances), promoting the access of culture and sports for the masses. It was also the first government to give ministerial portfolios to women, who hadn’t yet been granted the right to vote.

The name Révolte, so unsuited to Armand Petitjean’s vision of luxury, didn’t last long. In 1939, it was changed to the less inflammatory Cuir, so as not to damage Lancôme’s trade with Latin American countries who were rather agitated at the time, but also, one would surmise, because France had just declared war on Germany and any reminder of further instability, even a fragrant one, was unwelcome. Also the connotations in the English language (“revolt” brought to mind “revolting”, not good marketing for a scent) might have influenced the decision…

Armand Petitjean was the “nose” of his house as well as its copywriter. He also taught the Lancôme recruits on the subject of perfumery. In the Editions Assouline’s book by Jacqueline Demornex, Lancôme, Petitjean’s classes are quoted thus on the subject of his teacher, François Coty:

“Coty was a builder. In front of his castle of Montbazon, he had built a terrace, which gave the same impression as his perfumes: clear, solid, magnificent. He didn’t conceive that a living room could be anything but round or elliptical. The galleries, he wanted wide. His perfumes were exactly conceived in this way.”

It is thus the great heritage of the father of modern perfumery that is carried on in the first Lancôme compositions. Cuir is a new chapter in the series of reissues that saw the release of Magie, Climat, Sikkim, Sagamore, Mille et une roses and Tropiques. Calice Becker, who also re-engineered Balmain’s Vent Vert, is responsible with Pauline Zanoni for adapting M. Petitjean’s formula for contemporary noses…

This re-issue is particularly welcome as there are very few leather scents on the non-niche market, despite a slight revival (Armani Cuir Améthyste, Guerlain Cuir Beluga, Hermès Kelly Calèche (click for review). Of the classics, only Chanel Cuir de Russie has survived, if one discounts the leather chypres, which really belong to another category – leather should be one in itself. The cult classic Lanvin Scandale, composed by Arpège author André Fraysse and discontinued in 1971, would be the template, along with Chanel’s, by which any leather should be judged. The Lanvin, Chanel and Lancôme share many notes in common:

Lanvin Scandale: neroli, bergamot, mandarin, sage, Russian leather, iris, rose, ylang-ylang, incense, civet, oakmoss ,vanilla, vetiver, benzoin.

Chanel Cuir de Russie: aldehydes, orange blossom, bergamot, mandarin, clary sage; iris, jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, cedarwood, vetiver; styrax, leather, amber, vanilla.

Lancôme Cuir: bergamot, mandarin, saffron, Jasmine, ylang-ylang, hawthorn, patchouli, Iris, birch, styrax.

The beautiful surprise of the new Cuir is its vintage feel. It may have been domesticated and toned down from the original – a necessity, given the current inaccessibility of many of the original ingredients – but it is still true, buttery, mouth-wateringly rich leather in the style of the much-regretted Lanvin Scandale.
Bergamot and mandarin give the top notes their typically Lancôme hesperidic feel, but within seconds a creamy surge of ylang-ylang lends a sweet butteriness to the blend, underscored by the slightly medicinal accents of saffron. Jasmine and hawthorn are also listed as notes, but they never stand out as soloists. The smoky birch and balsamic-tarry styrax quickly rise to the fore, underscored by a very discreet patchouli; iris cools off the base and lends its discreetly earthy tinge.
Despite sharing several notes with the Chanel, Lancôme Cuir doesn’t display its predecessor’s crisp, structured composition, lifted by Ernest Beaux’s trademark aldehydes. Cuir sinks almost immediately into a yielding, warm, almost edible caramel-tinged leather: it is like the liquid version of a time-smoothed lambskin glove, clutching a handful of exotic blossoms. A nod to contemporary tastes is given in an unlisted, caramelized note, which tends to place Lancôme Cuir in the families of gourmand scents in the drydown. At this stage, it evokes the sinuous sheath of sun-kissed skin…
Comparisons to Scandale(discontinued in 1971) are hard to draw because of the difference in concentration (eau de parfum vs. extrait) and conservation conditions, but Cuir would seem to lean more to the side of the Lanvin in its richness and animalic elegance.
One can only hope that Lanvin will follow suit and re-launch a fairly faithful adaptation of Scandale, though its recent Rumeur(click for review), lovely but much tamer than the original, doesn’t bode well…
But there can truly never be enough leather scents to this leather lover.



Special thanks to R., the generous member of the Perfume of Life forum who sent me a large sample of Cuir; as well as to Vidabo, who shared her precise and poetic analysis on the forum and helped me shape mine.

by Denyse Beaulieu, a.k.a. carmencanada

Pic on top from educationfrance5.fr