Showing posts with label definition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label definition. Show all posts

Monday, July 30, 2012

Perfume Term Definition: Aromatic & Herbaceous

Among perfume terms which are used to describe fragrances some are more confusing than others: what defines a dry scent, what is a balsamic smell and, come to think of it, is aromatic what immediately leaps to mind? One might be inclined to think the descriptor denotes something "having an aroma" or something to do with scent in general, as in "aromatherapy". Yet, in perfumery jargon the term "aromatic" means something more precisely defined.

lavender field in Luberon, South of France

 Strictly speaking, the chemical definition relates aromatic to materials rich in benzene, a conjugated cyclic carbon compound found in organic matter (also known as arene). Penhaligon's Douro is an example, if you need to put a smell to a name. Aromatic in layman speak refers to smells that have a rustic scent, with a certain freshness, often in relation to herbal notes; some sources correlate it even to some balsams and resins. "Aren't balsams and resins generally sweetish, though?", you ask.
You see, the term 'aromatic' was originally assigned before the physical mechanism determining aromaticity was discovered, and was derived from the fact that many of the benzene hydrocarbon compounds have a sweet scent in themselves. It's safe to say that in perfumery parlance aromatic has gradually gained a specific nuance, that of agrestic, green-herbal and with a camphorous hint, like that in pure lavender essence. The character is vivid, assertive, lively and fresh, one of mental clarity, invigoration and awareness; associations prominently exploited by functional perfumery (i.e. the industry catering for scented functional products instead of fine fragrances for oneself).
In fine fragrance this lively, refreshing ambience is wonderfully caught in Baime by Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier. Aromatic notes are therefore not bitter like oakmoss, but not typically syrupy sweet either! Smell the petrol-like opening of Guerlain's Jicky, rich in lavender buttressed by fresh bergamot and you're there (the fragrance soon acquires warmer, naughtier characteristics nevertheless which go beyond the aromatic).

 The herbaceous term -in differentiation of "woody" as in botany- is more of a descriptor than a proper classification: it encompasses such frequent perfumery materials as chamomile, lavender, rosemary, thyme, mint, spearmint, sage, clary sage and even celery, as well as marjoram, oregano and basil. Obviously the materials themselves derive from a herbal plant source, so the term isn't as confusing.
Most people familiar with dabbling in food-making like me, especially ethnic cuisines, know them from their kitchen cabinet. Whenever I cook with these herbs (and it is often, accounted by my Mediterranean origins) I find myself engrossed and enraptured by this humble and humbling splendor of nature; these small stems and leaves are so rich in nuance, so colorful in painting a verdant countryside basking under a benevolent sun, so childlike and at the same time old-wise that I can't but feel overwhelmed by the majestic force of the natural world all over again, like when I was but a mere toddler.

These herbaceous materials couple very well with citruses and spices, lending themselves to both unisex and masculine perfumery, without nevertheless eschewing feminine fragrances ~though the "pure" specimens are rare there, such as Granville by Dior's more upscale private line La Collection Couturier Parfumeur or Donna Karan's Essence Lavender.

Lavender, a par excellence aromatic substance, is a very common ingredient in perfumery, thanks to its linalool freshness and its pleasant association with the outdoors and cleanliness; it's no accident that lavender forms one of the three pillars of the "fougère"/fern family (term explained here). It's therefore natural that ferny smells should be coupled with lavender and other aromatic materials: the two have overlapping facets. This is why you will often see the term "aromatic fougère" brandished in masculine fragrances: this sub-classification within the fougère group indicates a heavier use of refreshing herbal notes in the formula providing a sense of chillness, of immediate freshness, especially since most herbal, aromatic notes are effervescent, i.e. "top notes" in terms of the scent's evaporation arc. Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche pour Homme is a perfect example of the genre .


The aromatic descriptor can feature as a supporting player to other stories: In Clinique's Wrappings for instance the aromatic top beautifully highlights the juniper wood of the base. Herbaceous accents can put a classic, cologne-like, aromatic character to a composition, due to association with the traditional Eau de Cologne which fuses herbal notes with hesperidia to render a sharp, tonic scent. The 4711 brand has even created modern variations on the theme in recent years: 4711 Acqua Colonia Lavender & Thyme, 4711 Acqua Colonia Juniper Berry & Marjoram, 4711 Acqua Colonia Melissa & Verbena.
They can also contrast beautifully with a resinous note, like in Encens et Lavande by Serge Lutens where the herbaceous brightness of lavender provides the light in the dusk of the incense. Eau de Jatamansi by L'Artisan Parfumeur is a more straight-forward specimen, where the resinous spikenard gains freshness through the reinforcement of herbaceous accents. The herbaceous facet of rose oxides is played to great effect in Calandre by Paco Rabanne, where the freshness of the composition is thus enhanced effectively.

 For all it's worth, perhaps showcased by the meaning of context above, not all herbs provide purely herbaceous/aromatic notes in perfumery: for example oregano, tarragon (to a lesser degree), basil and marjoram can be described as quasi-spicy, thanks to their rich ratio in piquant molecules which tingle the nostrils, much like the exotic dried spices in the kitchen cabinet do, albeit with a slightly different nuance. Even sage has a slightly peppery flavor. Conversely, although Chinese star anise is routinely considered a spice, its high ratio in anethole (the molecule also present in anise and dill) gives it a herbaceous edge.
Pronouncing a judgment on a fragrance that relies heavily upon those elements one might be technically describing a "herbaceous", but the perceived effect could be spicy. Manifesto by Isabella Rosellini for instance relies on the tingling note of basil, a material rich in eugenol (much like cloves), which immediately translates as "spicy" to one's mind. Pronouncing Manifesto therefore as a spicy scent isn't far from the truth, no matter the source of the effect lies in the garden rather than the Indian market. As in everything when attempting to communicate thoughts, it's important to distinguish whether one speaks from a scholarly or a purely personal perception point of view.

pics via nicenfunny.com and aromablog.ru

Monday, February 20, 2012

Definition: French Style Perfume ~Connotations & Meanings

If the Great Big Sea are to be taken literally, "you can smell that French perfume" on the wake of a contraband ship "if the wind turns right". In a world where everything has a received value besides its inherent one, Pilsener has to be Czech, computers should be USA-made, feta cheese must absolutely be Greek and perfume would be French (I suppose Absolut drinkers might get rallied up by now, but carry on please). The French have more or less cornered the market in what has to do with posh, sophisticated perfume (though there are wonderful specimens from all over the world, from the most unlikely places, such as Australia, Greece, or Germany). But how many actually know that "French type perfume" or "French style scent" is indeed very specific terminology to denote a specific olfactory experience, a certain scentscape if you will, a specific fragrance family even? And yet, like with many things in perfumery jargon (we insist that the nose is never wrong, it's the brain that muddles things up), it is so.



If we look back in magazine articles, perfume books and trade documents spanning the decades from the 1950s up to the end of the 1970s,  aldehydic perfumes are referred to as "modern type"or "french type". This was both due to the public's unfamiliarity with perfumery jargon (the industry was even more cryptical then) and due to a need for simplification for communicating the product to the consumer: modern or French denoted much more than a reference to chemistry (aldehydic fragrances are those which are characterised by a specific sequence of aliphatic aldehydes in their formula, scented molecules usually constructed in the lab). Especially since the emblematic torch-holder was Chanel No.5: both supremely "modern" for its times, the 1920s (thanks in part to the newly popularised bouquet of aldehydes) and quintessentially French as everyone knows.

But that's not all. In bibliography there was French type No 1 and French type No 2: the former a classic floral aldehydic, molded after Chanel No.5 and Arpège, the most famous surviving examples (others in the genre are Guerlain Liu and Guerlain Vega,  Piguet Baghari); the second was the chypre aldehydic perfume, of which Calèche is a prime candidate still circulating to this day (others include Mystère by Rochas and Paco Rabanne Calandre). Is it any wonder that even the perfume brand names are French sounding, replete with accents aigus and accents graves?

Technically speaking chypre perfume isn't particularly French of course, since it's an old formula/tradition that survived from the oldest cradle of perfume in the world: the Eastern Mediterranean, specifically the island of Cyprus. (Chypre is French for Cyprus, plus the best variety of cistus labdanum -an intergal material in the mix- grows in the East Mediterranean). But it did transport its effulgent magnificence to France thanks to a royal figure: Marie de Médicis (1575-1642), queen consort, lured by perfumes from Cyprus, the famous chyprés, then imported with a vengeance due to the opening of the Middle East route thanks to the Crusades, sent for her Florentine perfumer Tombarelli to come to Grasse, where the flowers were renowned, instructing him to capture their ambience in perfumed essences. From then on, a symbiosis of Greco-Franco roots produced this characteristic type of perfume we refer to as chypre. But what does it have to do with French type No.2? I'm getting there.

The chypre accord is pliable, though tightly structured, in that it can assimilate a selective bee harvest ingelements from diverse pools of scent: give it a twist with animalic or leathery notes and it almost creates a sub-category; sheen it with florals and it gets very close to the green floral (see Cristalle and Chanel No.19, on the cusp of the two classifications); inject it with woody-musky notes and you have nouveau chypres; and finally sprinkle with the waxy, lemony radiance of aldehydes and you have the aldehydic chypre, aka French Type No.2! The style was popularised through cheaper variants for the middle and lower market and through soaps (The soaps of the 1970s have nothing to do with the soaps of today; their olfactory profiles are miles apart, documenting evolving tastes and evolution in the functional fragrance industry. This is also why these French type perfumes are not considered "clean" any longer, as they used to, because the formulae for soaps and shower gels have heavily leaned towards "clean musks" and fruits in the last 20-25 years).

Today perfumes of this type smell "perfumy", i.e. "smelling like perfume", because this kind of formula is rare. People smelling a floral aldehydic or an aldehydic chypre fragrance invariably describe it in those terms; they also typify them as "dated/old fashioned" (general population), retro/old-school (fumeheads) or even "old lady scents" (people with no imagination and stuck up associations). In the general population smelling like perfume is a negative connotation on the whole due to the popularisation of the "not trying too hard" casual lifestyle image persisting. Even super synthetic accords devised for todays' market "fruit salads" (no fruit note is natural in perfumery, as fruits cannot be extracted) and fruitchoulis (such as Miss Dior Chérie or Angel and its progeny) are considered "natural-smelling" because they have been marketed as such. Additionaly, these scents have a mimicking methodology, whereupon they copy a natural smell via synthetic means, whereas the older "modern types" didn't copy a specific object but instead purposefully aimed for abstraction.

It's highly ironic that "the modern type" of as little far back as the 1970s has become the outdated type of the 2010s. But that's perfume fashions and perfumery terminology for you...

Pic of Audrey Hepburn smoking (and hugging Dean Martin). She was actually British with Dutch roots. I think I got it via Blogdorf Goodman's tweets, can't recall exactly.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Definition: Terpenic, Phenolic & Camphoraceous in Fragrances

Perfume vocabulary is diverse and often confusing. Therefore we have compiled an extensive reference on Perfume Shrine, analysing the various perfume terms applied by perfumers with examples of actual perfumes. Today's terms comprise some of the more "acquired taste" definitions on fragrant materials &finished compositions. More perfume jargon than marketing copy, the sheer force and almost visceral effect they have leaves no one indifferent.
copal with trapped insects (wikimedia commons)
If you haven't caught on the Perfumery Definitions series till now, please visit:

Terpenic, Phenolic and Camphorous are not terms you'd see brandished in a general discussion about fragrance or in the promotional material handed out by perfume companies. More smell-specific and objective definitions than subjective terms ~relating to appreciation rather than factual knowledge, such as sharp, soft, ambrosial, tart, pungent or zesty~ they form a cluster of nuances within a more general smell group, namely citrus, leather and green respectively. Let's see them one by one.

Terpenic: Perversely Fresh, Rosy Citrus with Hints of Turpentine
Terpenic comes from terpenes, a large and diverse class of organic compounds (ten carbon alcohols), produced by conifers (and a few insects) for protective reasons, as they are strong-smelling, reminiscent of turpentine. You're more familiar with terpenes than you think: The aroma and flavor of hops, a prime constituent in select beers, comes from terpenes. Vitamin A and squalene are also terpenes and so are their derivative.
In fragrances, however, the term is associated with conifer-deriving essences, particularly pine (which contains a-pinene and b-pinene alonside the combined molecule terpineol) and fir. Copal, a tree resin that is particularly identified with the aromatic resins used by the cultures of pre-Columbian Mesoamerica as ceremonially burned incense and other purposes, is also rather more acrid than most other resins (though resins can have terpenic facets, especially frankincense/olibanum) and therefore requires its own little footnote.

Various terpenes are present in a variety of plants emitting fresh scent: farnesol is present in many essential oils such as citronella, neroli, lemon grass, tuberose, rose, and tolu balsam; geraniol (which smells rosy in isolation) is the primary part of rose oil, palmarosa oil, and Javanese citronella oil; limonene is the dominant terpene in lemon peel. Citing these examples it's easy to see how terpenic stands for fresh & dry, bitter citrusy with a background of a petrol and winery note. Serge Lutens Fille en Aiguilles is a beautiful exaple that combines the terpenic facets of pine into a smooth base with sweeter elements. Caron's Alpona is a "dry as a bone", clean, refreshing and bitter rendition of the citrus peel note.

pine resin (wikimedia commons)
Phenolic: Tar-Like and Acrid
Phenolic comes from phenol (carbolic acid and phenic acid), an organic compound in white crystal form which possesses a very pungent, acrid, smoky scent that is very dry and can veer into tarry-smelling, even like bitumen and hot tarmac. Fitting considering that -like many perfumery ingredients- phenol was first isolated from coal tar. Tar came from the pyrolysation of pine trees and from peat. The latter is often used as a term to describe certain whiskeys (peaty tasting) and it's incomphrehensible to most who wouldn't dream how peat tastes like. But think of it as tarry and you're there!
Natural sources include tea, coffee and chocolate and yerba maté, but even fruits such as pomegranates and blackcurrant can be refered to as having phenolic facets (in the case of the fruits behind the tangy top notes); phenol is leaning into acidic rather than alcaline. In perfumery castoreum, birch tar and narcissus all exhibit their barnyard and smoky black tea tar-like facets in various fragrances.

Usually phenolic is a term we use to describe leathery fragrances, such as Chanel Cuir de Russie, Etro Gomma, Knize Ten, Bvlgari Black. The Chanel fragrance is an interesting example as it combines a de iuro resinous note (birch tar) with phenolic facets. Birch tar is poised to me between resinous and phenolic: rather think of phenolic as a sub-dividion of a more generalised resin group, much like terpenic is a more nuanced division under the citrus & resin groups.
A beautiful, truly "phenolic fragrance" that sets the example for this kind of thing is the scarce & super exclusive Eau de Fier by Annick Goutal. Another interpretation comes in leathery fragrances, especially hard-core ones, such as Lonestar Memories by Tauer Perfumes. Gaucho by Ayala Moriel takes the more yerba maté like note as its departure point in a fougère fragrance composition full of coumarin.
L'Artisan Parfumeur explores the leathery, phenolic facets of narcissus in their harvest fragrance Fleur de Narcisse. 

Vapor Rub via pos-ftiaxnetai.blogspot.com
Camphorous/Camphoraceous: Cool, Sharp Green
Seen with both spellings, the scent of camphor is familiar to us from common "moth balls" which utilize the white crystalls for moth repelling. However the cooling, sharp and pungent scent of camphor which triggers the trigeminal nerve in the nose (hence the intense repulsion it can produce to sensitive individuals) is also a constituent, small but very significant of certain fragrant plants: Eycalyptus and the camphor laurel (from which camphor is often derived, though not exclusively as it can be made synthetically as well) are the obvious suspects, but camphoraceous smells also include one end of the lavender essence spectrum (that medicinal top note, the other end is caramelic), patchouli and the top note of tuberose and gardenia.

This is why often such perfumes are curedly described as "smelling like moth-balls". They can also have positive connotations, memory associations with the smell of Vicks vaporub (or not, depending on how often and how much your parents used to use on you as a kid!).

The beautiful vibrancy that camphor brings to a composition can be seen in intense patchouli fragrances, as Clinique Aromatics Elixir or Voleur de Roses by L'Artisan Parfumeur, as well as some "modern classic" tuberose fragrances, such as Frederic Malle Carnal Flower and Gardenia Passion by Annick Goutal. Ylang ylang flower (cananga odorata) apart from the salicylates facet it has can also take camphorous nuances, as evidenced by another Goutal fragrance, Passion.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Definition: Resinous & Balsamic Fragrances

One of the most elusive terms in fragrance terminology appears to be -according to readers' comments- "resinous" and "balsamic", as relating to perfumes. The raw materials falling under the umbrella of resins and balsams are among the most ancient components of perfumes, often the basis of the Oriental family of scents and lending their soothing opulence and depth to other families, such as the Chypres. They make their appearence known in any category though: florals, fougères, hesperidics also benefit from a touch here and there.
The distinction between resin and balsam is one of form, on a fundamental level: Simply put and generalising, resinous materials come in the form of solidified, gum-like "tears" seeping from the elixir vitae circulating into the bark of big trees, such as the Boswellia Carteri (which produces frankincense). Balsams on the other hand are trickly materials, not necessarily tree secretions, often coming as they do from flower pods or bushy twigs (such as vanilla orchids or the Mediterranean rockrose). But there are exceptions to every rule: Opopanax, though resinous smelling itself, actually comes from a herb, opopanax chironium.
So the real focus when referencing balsamic and resinous terminology is how the materials actually smell and how they're different or common in scent, rather than what their origin is. 
Therefore, for ease, resinous & balsamic materials are classified into 3 distinct olfactory profiles according to their aromatic properties first and foremost.

Soft balsamic smelling ingredients include:
  • vanilla (from the vanilla orchid, the rich pod having a more complex rum-like note than the popular synthetic ethyl vanillin)
  • benzoin gum (from Styrax Tonkiniensis with a sweetish, caramel and vanillic facet; benzoin Siam or benzoin Sumatra are used in perfumery)
  • Peru balsam (coming from the Myroxylon, ~literally "fragrant wood" in Greek~ or Quina/Balsamo, a different species of which also produces Tolu balsam)
  • Tolu balsam (close to Peru balsam, but a little sweeter and fresher)
  • cistus labdanum (leathery, ambery, deep, coming from the rockrose bush and traditionally harvested from the hairs of goats who had grazed on the rockrose).
Mecca balsam 4
These materials have a gentle tone, while at the same time they're softly enveloping and have a pronounced character. They fix flowers into lasting longer and thanks to their properties when used in large quantities produce the semi-Orientals or the florientals (in conjunction with rich floral essences). 
A great example of a fragrance featuring copious amounts of Tolu balsam is Tolu perfume by Ormonde Jayne. The opulence of the balsamic note mollifies the rest of the composition, giving the golden sheen of a multi-faceted citrine. Tolu also makes floral notes more candied: in Fracas by Piguet it acts on the tuberose, on Gold by Donna Karan it enhances the ambery lily.
Compare and contrast with the balsamic base of Guerlain's Vol de Nuit which features a generous helping of Peru balsam; the oriental accord gives it its opulence under the green top note. In Ambre Sultan by Lutens, Peru balsam pairs with its traditional counterpart, an oriental amber accord. Elixir des Merveilles is another one which features balsam of Peru for its sweetly grounding qualities.

For labdanum, grab Donna Karan Labdanum, L'Air du desert Marocain by Andy Tauer, La Labo Labdanum 18 or Madame X by Ava Luxe: they're full of it.
The purest incarnation of benzoin in non gum form is Papier d'Armenie, the traditional scented little papers in a cute notebook, which burnt produce a clearing, anti-microbial atmosphere to one's home. Short of that, if you don't travel to Europe often, you can get a sample of Bois d'Armenie by Guerlain, or Prada Candy. Benzoin is very versatile spanning the fragrance families from citrus to woods and florals and its heft is therefore used frequently as it complements the other notes beautifully. Chanel's Coromandel fuses the vanilla-cinnamon notes of benzoin with a white chocolate note to render a delicious and sophisticated gourmand fragrance. Both benzoin and Tolu balsam make up the surprisingly monastic backdrop of Bal a Versailles by Jean Desprez, allied to the austerity of cedar.

If you are seeking a lush balsamic composition with multi-nuanced orientalia, seek no further than Mecca Balsam by La via del Profumo; it features labdanum, real oud and franckincense as well, so it's a composite that allows one to see how categories can be combined.

Vanillic fragrances are of course widely understood by everyone, so another article of a different scope, focusing on their merits and faults, is in order.


Resinous balsamic smelling ingredients include:
  • opoponax/opopanax (also called "sweet myrrh" ~though no relation~ from the Opopanax chironium herb, scented between lavender & amber)
  • frankincense/olibanum (the lemony-top, smoky smelling "tears" of the Boswellia carteri tree, called lubbān in Arabic)
  • myrrh gum (a waxy oleoresin with a bitterish profile from the Commiphora myrrha)
  • birch tar (from "cooked" birch wood, tar-smelling)
  • elemi (a peppery, lemony, pine-like yellow oil coming from the steam-distilled or treated with volatile solvents resin of the Canarium Lizonicum)
  • styrax (resin from the Liquidambar Orientalis tree, with a scent reminiscent of glue and cinnamon)
Valued since antiquity, resins have been widely used in incense and perfumery. Highly fragrant and antiseptic resins and resin-containing perfumes have been used by many cultures as medicines for a large variety of ailments. It's no coincidence that the three Magi gave baby Jesus the gifts of Frankincense, Myrrh and Gold. Traditionally used to make incense (King Solomon regarded opoponax as the noblest incense gum), even nowadays in the Middle East and the Mediterranean basin frankincense and myrrh "tears" are the incense par excellence still. These materials are deeper, with a lingering trail which adds originality and projection to a composition. Since they themselves typically come from the bark of trees in the form of crystalised resin "tears", they pair very well with woody scents.

If you want to get a taste of how some of the more "esoteric" of these smell, , say opoponax grab yourself the Diptyque Opopanax scent in either room spray or candle, as well as their Myrrh candle. They provide the scent in isolation. The iconic Shalimar as well as the masculine counterpart Habit Rouge owe their "flou" hazy effect in opoponax allied to orange blossom. For myrrhMyrrhe Ardente in Les Orientalistes line by Annick Goutal and La Myrrhe by Serge Lutens provide two nuanced and quite different "readings" of the myrrh gum in complex compositions.
Athonite frankincense in the black variety is pure frankincense/olibanum gum (it's pliable when you rub it, like chewing gum), rising in clean, citrusy-smoky ringlets on the air; I burn it on small coal tablets regularly. There are many frankincense fragrances in the niche market, the truer perhaps being Avignon by Comme des Garcons, but the whole Incense Series is to be explored for the truly interested perfume lover.
Tauer's Incense Extrême is a good starting place for frankincense variants, based as it is on the Boswellia serrata (Indian incense) at a 25% concentration.

Birch tar is easily detected in compositions of the Cuir de Russie type (from Chanel Cuir de Russie to Piver's and Guerlain Cuir de Russie). This is also a material that can be classified in the sub-group of phenolic smells. It is pungent and dark.
Elemi is often used in masculine blends to give at the same time cooling piquancy and warmth thanks to its peppery top note: try Gucci by Gucci, notice the top note of L'Instant pour Homme (Guerlain) and the unique Eau de Naphe by Comptoir Sud Pacifique. For styrax, remember that the resin has a leathery facet with incense tonalities (and has been an important supporting player in "Cuir de Russie" compositions, such as Chanel's). Notice it in the drydown of Carven's Ma Griffe, in Poivre 23 by Le Labo and in No.11 Cuir Styrax by Prada. Lutens uses it beautifully in several of his scents, notably in the base note of Tubereuse Criminelle and Cuir Mauresque.

Nota bene that even though fir, pine and copal essences come from coniferous trees themselves,  I am not including them in the resinous and balsamic classification as they're really terpenic-smelling (a perfume definition to be elaborated on in a subsequent article).

There is also a sub-set of powdery balsamic smelling ingredients which do not come in resin or balsam form, therefore they are not classified into this category via origin at all, but rather via their scent profile alone. This includes: orris root (the Iris Pallida rhizome and also the synthetic irones-rich reproductions), several musks of synthetic origin, and carrot seed oil (which can give an orris scent in itself).
Amber mixes (refer to what amber is and its difference from ambergris on this link) can also be powdery balsamic smelling: the inclusion of benzoin (which gives a sweetish, baby talc note) and vanilla in the mix of ingredients in amber is the culprit. In French terminology/classification of orientalised perfumes they're refered to as "parfums ambrés" (even when not entirely focused on amber). For instance Obsession, the original Magie Noire (not the reformulated which is greener, more chypre) or Moschino by Moschino (again the original from 1987) are examples of perfumes "ambrés". It is important NOT to confuse between a balsamic/ambery powdery ambience (which is typically sweeter) and one which is powdery/dry (such as in Aromatics Elixir, Ma Griffe, Flower by Kenzo, DK Cashmere Mist): the two terms though very close are not interchangeable.

In concluding, the necessity of establishing a common language for scent among people who talk about the same perfumes increasingly arises. Even though we commonly use subjective terms to denote our feelings, the proper terminology, in accordance to how perfumers talk among themselves, aids a thorough understanding  and enhances our communicating our impressions on an immediately graspable context. It is this need which we try to address with our articles on Perfume Vocabulary and Definition on PerfumeShrine. If you haven't caught up with our relevant articles, here's what you might have missed:

Photo of resin drops, some rights reserved by flod/flickr, censer pic via St.Dunstan's Priory

Monday, October 10, 2011

Definition: Creamy, Milky, Lactonic, Butyric in Fragrances

What does "creamy" mean to you in relation to fragrance? Is it the rich, sundae vanilla feeling you get while licking a cone, the thick yet refined taste of a bavaroise or is it the beachy tropical scent you get from a lush floral perfume? And what about lactonic? You hear this term brandished a lot, especially in relation to vintage fragrances, but where does it lead you? What does lactonic mean and how do you differentiate between it and "milky"? And, oh gods, where does "butyric scent" come into all of this? Let's try to define some confusing perfume terms on Perfume Shrine once again.

Creamy fragrances are more in reality more straight-forward than you'd expect: The term "creaminess" usually denotes a rich feeling, infused with silky, sensuous and lightly or more heavily sweet notes which may derive from soft vanilla, sandalwood, or coconut and sometimes from rich, lush florals that naturally have nectarous qualities, such as jasmine or honeysuckle. Vanilla in itself is usually described as creamy: Indeed Vanilla tahitensis pods have a complex odour profile, with notes of raisin, musk, cherry, lactones and anisic aldehydes.
Often tropical florals combine with coconut and coconut milk to produce that suntan lotion feel that we describe as "creamy". These would also fall under the umbrella of "exotic", as many people's vision of exotica is tan skin, dark almond shaped eyes and the scents that are exuded in meridians where leis are worn around the neck at all occasions. Delta jasmolactone exhibiting a coconut facet (and a creamy tuberose basenote as well) makes it a natural match for this sort of thing.
Fragrances of this type include Juste un Rêve by Patricia de Nicolai, Datura Noir by Serge Lutens, Champaca Absolute by Tom Ford Private Line, Gai Mattiolo Exotic Paradise LEI (coconut, vanilla and exotic flowers) and Jil Sander Sun Delight (with frangipani and vanilla). Ylang & Vanille in the Guerlain Aqua Allegoria line is a small gem of creamy floralcy: the naturally piercingly sweet scent of ylang is given a meringue treatment via fluffy vanilla and the eau de toilette concentration never allows it to become cloying or suffocating. Even the dicontinued Sensi by Armani was great in this game of uniting flowers with soft, tactile woods.

Almond fragrances when air-spun and given the dessert, gourmand treatment with lots of heliotropin, instead of the more medicinal bitter almond iterations (as in Hypnotic Poison by Dior), can fall under the "creamy, soft" spectrum as well: Try Heliotrope by Etro or the very friendly Cinema by Yves Saint Laurent. A popular choice in the genre is Comptoir Sud Pacifique's Vanille Amande. Their silky veil is soft, enveloping, tactile. When coupled with a lot of vanilla and some musk they can become almost a visible cloud around you, such as in Ava Luxe Love's True Bluish Light. On the same page, Lea by Calypso St.Barth is a cult choice and Sweet Oriental Dream by Montale (with its shades of loukhoum) is among the best in the niche line. Tilt the axis into woody-creamy and you get Sensuous by Lauder; a literal name for once.
An elegant version of this genre, holding the sugar at an optimum medium, is Eau Claire de Merveilles by Hermes; a more mainstream one Omnia by Bulgari. Men are not forgotten in this field: Pi by Givenchy and Rochas Man in the phallically siggestive rocket-bottle are great examples of creamy fragrances for men.

Among modern molecules, Methyl Laitone (patented by Givaudan, from "lait", French for milk) is a powerful aroma-material with a diffusive, milky, coconut-like coumarinic odour character. Its use as a milk note in soap formulae is now a given, but it also aids in providing a creamy scent to perfumes too.



It's detabateable whether creamy and milky are the same, though: The difference isn't just a game for scholars. The condensed milk sweetness and "fattiness" of certain gourmand fragrances, such as the latest caramelic benjoin-rich Candy by Prada, can evoke visions of both clotted cream and milk desserts and rice-puddings, melding the two notions into one. Jo Malone utilizes the cozy, familiar note of condensed milk in black tea in her Tea Collection Sweet Milk. Kenzo Amour goes the way of a rice pudding: it's lighter than a pannacota, and has a steamy rice note in there too. Organza Indencence by Givenchy has a custard-like base, sprinkled with cinnamon, while Saffran Troublant by L'Artisan Parfumeur is like a milk dessert hued a vivid crocus-yellow by saffron served in bowls dressed in sturdy suede. Flora Bella by Lalique hides a milky facet under the soft, clean, fabric-softener violet core, while Etro's Etra is a milky floral as pretty and polite as this genre gets.
Sandalwood from the Mysore region in India in particular is famous for having a rich, satisfying milky scent. But smell a pure sandalwood-focused fragrance, such as Santal Blanc by Serge Lutens and see how a "milky scent" can be subtler, drier, less sugary than "creamy"; more opalescent than fatty glistening. Contrast now with a heavy bad-ass sandalwood perfume (boosted by powerful synthetic Polysantol), such as Samsara by Guerlain, and you are at a crossroads: that one's creamy rather than milky, va va voom sexy and enhanced by the richness of jasmine. Smell a virile, masculine sandalwood, ie. Santal 33 by Le Labo and you're back at square one; not a hint of cream in sight. No single ingredient can sattisfyingly give the full effect, obviously.

Take things too far on the dairy scales and you end up with "butyric". The word comes from the Greek for butter: βούτυρον/butyron. Usually butyric smells are due to either a single molecule (butyric acid) or, in the case of butyric esters, to part of a molecule. Butyric refers to a sharp cheesy scent, reminiscent of parmesan cheese (or even vomit and really stale, stinky socks; take your pick!), but some butyric esters, such as ethyl 2 methyl butyrate which has a fruity facet like pear or apples, are used in perfumery (and in the flavouring industry as well). And yet, and yet... irony has a place in perfumery; it's the buttery taste of tuberose-drama-queen Fracas by Piguet that makes it the unforgettable classic that it is! 

"Lactonic" however is specific perfumery jargon. It's not just a descriptor, hence I differentiate. (Though the feeling can read as "milky" or "creamy" too, as you can see further on!) Picture  lactonic as a subgroup of the greater milky/creamy continent, reached through specific vessels (called lactones).
Lactonic fragrances derive their name from Latin for milk (lac, hence lacto- etc.), and lactones are cyclic esters, a very specific chemical compound group, uniting an alcohol group and a carboxylic acid group in the same molecule. Therefore describing a fragrance as "lactonic" transcedes mere smell evocation and enters the spectre of analytic chemistry.

Why the confusing name, then?

Because they're produced via the dehydration of lactic acid, which occurs in...sour milk (and is found also in some dairy products such as yoghurt and kefir etc). You could begin to see the connection if you get the brilliantly synthetic Rush by Gucci, a lactonic modern chypre rich in a patchouli-vetiver-vanilla base and squint just so; a hint of sourness is its crowning glory. This is also the weird baby-vomit "note" in the iconoclastic Le Feu d'Issey (possibly accounting for the fragrance's commercial flop!).
Far from smelling sour, however, lactonic fragrances fall under 2 main schools, according to which of the most popular lactones they're using: milk lactone/cocolactone (i.e. 5,6-decenoic acid) or peach lactone.

A classic example of the latter is Caron's Fleurs de Rocaille or Mitsouko by Guerlain; Mitsouko's infamous peach-skin heart note in particular is due to undecalactone (referred colloquially as "aldehyde C14"). Peach lactone can sometimes veer into coconut territory smell-wise, thus giving rise to "creamy" descriptors! Indeed gamma-nonalactone is the popular coconut additive in suntan lotion.
On the other hand, demethylmarmelo lactone has a milky, butter cake scent, as does delta decalactone which has facets of coconut.
Milk lactone or cocolactone has a silky, balsamic almost burnt butter odour which pairs exceedingly well with white flowers (jasmine, gardenia), as it is reminiscent of naturally occuring jasmolactones, hence its use in white floral blends. Dis-moi Mirroir, in the more esoteric Mirroir line by Thierry Mugler, is a characteristic example showcasing a white flower top (orange blossom) and a white floral heart (lily) plus peachy lactones (smelling of apricot and peach) flying over a milk lactone base, producing a milky-fruity floral.
Massoia lactone is an individual case, as it produces a note that is poised between woody and coconut; it is what will be featured in the upcoming Santal Massoia by Hermès in the more upmarket Hermessence line.

But not all lactones are created equal: the whole group of octathionolactones has a fungi smell, reminiscent of the refrigerated mushrooms aroma of some white flowers, such as gardenia and tuberose.These flowers also exhibit creamy facets side by side, so the whole issue of describing a fragrance is far more complex than expected; as with most things in life, it all depends on context and proportions!


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Friday, July 30, 2010

Soapy Fragrances: More than Just a Matter of Clean

~"Father dear, will you not make ready for me a wagon, with strong wheels, that I may take to the river for washing the fine clothes that I have lying dirty here?" (Nausicaa to Alcinous. Homer6.57).

~"My hands are of your colour; but I shame
To wear a heart so white. [Knock]
I hear a knocking
At the south entry: retire we to our chamber;
A little water clears us of this deed: How easy is it, then!
(Lady Macbeth speaking to her husband, Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act II scene 2)

~The scene: Drab British police station of the early 1960s, Christine Keeler leaves after being interrogated on accusations of prostitution.
Police officer murmuring under his breath, convinced of her guilt: "I can smell the pink Camay on them..."
(from the film Scandal, 1989 focused on the Profumo affair)

From the feeling of well-being in classical times (when people used a mix of ashes and olive oil) to the purification concept in later Christianity, all the way to its ambiguous modern connotations of both Puritanical "cleanliness next to godliness" and the loaded innuendo of superficially washing away improper smells deriving from fornication (hence the term παστρικιές to denote whores) , the history of soap is full of interesting trivia and manifestations of perception put before smell. A little soap and water talk loudly. The advertisements of soap, especially, both reflect the culture and create it. Functionality, purity, preservence of youth, sensitive complexion caring, well-being & grooming, a lingering trail of freshness...

Soapy fragrances in many ways carry on where the humble bar of soap left off. And they constitute a subdivision of "dry" scents (explored here in more detail). Although in our modern germ-phobic environment they present a solace of "clean" amidst all the pollution, a form of "olfactory safety bubble" as well as a safe choice in an office environment, it was not always so. They used to hint at social status, meaning the wearer could afford daily baths with hot water, a refined taste for delicate smells instead of bombastic heavies and a predeliction for the fine several-times milled Savon de Marseille, based on pure olive oil same as the Greek varieties, still today produced with the primitive and oh-so-nostalgic methods of air-drying. It's a reflection on luxury, on perception, on reverse snobbery too. L'Eau Serge Lutens cemented this for eternity.
When someone casually asks shrugging the shoulders "why not just take a shower?", they're not realising that there's more to soapy scents than a simple scrub me down with just any soap. Cast your mind back to the (fictional) Ogilvy Sisters Soap admired by the protagonists on a young Gabrielle Anwar in the cinematic remake of Scent of a Woman. [watch the clip]

But what does "soapy" mean in fragrance terms? The term is usually used to refer to fragrances which smell like soap. Mind you, not the current, frou frou varieties that are further aromatized with God-knows-what (berries, marshmallows, you name it!), but some of the classic soaps like Ivory, Lux, Camay, Pears and Dove. Their alkaline smell that reads as both bitter and sweet, their vague floralcy, their unmistakeable trail of something man-made...as soap truly is. "Man-made" might be an accurate term, yet it might also connote artificial, and in turn shallow and undesireable, especially in a field such as perfume where many perfume enthusiasts do not like synthetic base notes and complain about perfumes smelling increasingly as if they come from creative lab composing instead of naturally derived materials. Yet by their very nature, soapy fragrances rest on creative lab composing.



When Ernest Beaux presented Coco Chanel the iconic No.5 when Coco has asked him for a perfume that "smells like a woman and not a rose bed", that cluster of citric-soapy aldehydes ~specifically C10, C11, C12 thus code-named by chemists to show the number of carbon atoms they contain~ recalled cleansing rituals. But the association was not fully formed yet. In fact the reverse was the case: Aldehydes, first discovered in the lab in the late 19th century (Fougère Royale -Royal Fern- by Paul Parquet for Houbigant in 1882 was the first perfume to feature them) really became popular after the introduction and commercial success of Chanel No.5 (and its successor for the American market, No.22). Even today Chanel exploits that "clean" honeyed-aldehydic vibe in their offerings: Beige in their Les Exclusifs line is a case in point. On the strength of that popularity, several soaps were onwards aromatized with the aldehydic "bouquet" present in the famous fragrance, thus ensuring them recognisability and familiarity as well as a "classy" image (Several "rustic" artisanal varieties on several parts of the world don't smell aldehydic).

Nevertheless aldehydic does not necessarily equate "soapy" per se, nor vice versa. Some aldehydic fragrances include hints of soapiness (Piguet's Baghari, Madame Rochas, Rive Gauche, Revillon's Detchema, Fleurs de Rocaille, Calèche, Nude by Bill Blass) but they do not immediately read as "soap" the same way that others do. For instance, take a bottle of Sicily by Dolce & Gabanna: pure, fat, alkaline soap garlanded with musky accents. And yet Sicily is aldehydic! So is White Linen, a descendant of Chanel's No.22 with more piercing notes and less sweetness. Confused much? It might be easier if I specified that it depends on which direction the perfumer wants to tilt the pendulum. See Essence by Narciso Rodriguez: a contemporary soapy via over-stretching aldehydes.

Several other elements, especially traditionally soap-entering florals such as rose, jasmine and iris with a good dose of lily of the valley (muguet) and citrus/verbena, also give an impression of soapy. L'Occitane Eau de Quatre Reines takes a sudsy approach to rose (and in some part so does Joy by Patou). Creed Original Vetiver a similar one to the eastern grass by the same name, Pure White Linen by Lauder does the trick with a bone-dry lily of the valley. Lily of the valley is treacherous ground: too much of the synths used to replicate it and the fragrance might start resembling a scrubbed-down bathroom, due to its ubiquitness in functional products.

Dove on the other hand is a soap with an identity crisis of the most delightful variety: The synthetic irones (as in iris) create a smooth, delicate scent almost as good as perfume; it's a mystery why a fine fragrance based on that smell hasn't been created yet taking in mind many adore it.
Other fragrant examples rely on synthetic musks and not much flowers. The "just out of the shower" smell was heavily advertised, burnt on our cortex first by the advertising of Glow by Jennifer Lopez in 2000. From then on, things catapulted and the bastion of "shower-fresh" smells heavily relying on musks were a matter of course. But not all is bad and Glow is still among the best in its category. The image of "freshly cleaned linens left out in the sun to dry by a field of lavender" suddenly became very desirable, to the point that it escaped household products and suddenly became part of ourselves: This was a defining moment in the zeitgeist, the point where the detergent producing companies took over the world of scent by storm, shoving down the formulae and molecules of functioning products to the throats of lab-perfumers in fine fragrance making companies.
Men were not left behind in this quest of "shower fresh", competitiveness in the boardroom needed the assurance of grooming: Smell Carriere and the original Gendarme, both by Gendarme: they're clearly reminiscent of a wash with good old-fashioned soap on a rope. Men can also rever in the soapiness of Pour Homme by Paco Rabanne (where the lavender-coumarin fougere recipe is especially cooling) and Miller & Berteaux Spiritus/Land #2. Try Pure by Mark: a bar of soap in liquid form!

Philosophy with their Pure Grace and Amazing Grace continue on a popular theme, right where they left off with Baby Grace and its powdery vibe we explored in another article. Demeter have Pure Soap in the library of scents. Eau de Gantier by Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier uses citrus and blackberry top notes to lift a bath-mitt-worthy bunch of musks. Infusion de Fleurs d'Oranger, a limited edition by Prada, is very sudsy, something lots of orange blossom scents do. Cologne by Mugler follows a more citrusy direction which also ends on white musks for a prolonged effect of latheriness. All are unisex and can be enjoyed year-long. Another one of their selling points, making them instant standbys.


Still there is the difference between bar soap and laundry detergent. Several modern fragrances with a concept, lifestyle approach behind them aim (or are restricted due to budget) for the latter: To wit, Lather, Shower Fresh, and Warm Cotton from the Clean line. Laundromat by Demeter. Egyptian Goddess by Auric Blends: pure fabric softener. Or Chanel Chance Eau Tendre: it happens to the best of them....And several screechy lily of the valley scents which do this inadvertedly. When it comes to soap, it's a slippery slope...

Which are your favourite "soapy fragrances"?

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Pics via vintageadvertisingprints.co.uk, the soapopera.com, 8ate blog, hilarysheperd.com, oldorientmuseum.com, fairyfreckles.com

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Defining Powdery and Dry in Fragrances

"Perfume is subjective", I hear all the time. What's heavy to one is light to another, what is pleasantly sweet to certain individuals can be overly sweet. Probably because we haven't really agreed on which terms to apply so that we have a codified language to describe scents. True, we use "fragrance families" taxonomy to distinguish them (floral, woody, chypre, aldehydic, leather etc.) and sometimes we borrow from taste (sweet, bitter, savoury/salty, sour) but what happens with more esoteric terms, like "powdery" scents or "dry" ones?

Google search "powdery dry perfume" and you will see in the top five results the mention of Guerlain's Chamade. Now, Chamade isn't particularly "dry" nor is it particularly "powdery" except in the end. I mean, sure, one could detect these nuances to some degree, but my mind would gush forth hundreds of other suggestions for fragrances before mentioning Chamade. Unless we're thinking of the slang term "dry powder" for cash reserves for an unforeseen difficulty, in which case, yes, Chamade is a great asset in the war against industry mediocrity. But I digress.
So let's break down the terms, starting with "dry" since it's the more inclusive one.

"Dry" is a term that can denote two things in English: the opposite of sweet (as in wines) and the opposite of humid (Just like "light" can mean the opposite of both heavy and dark). In the latter sense, it's easier to grasp the context: Dry fragrances don't have dewy, watery, acqueous elements that recall crisp vegetation, any expanse of water or dew drops on petals. They can be mineral-like and they keep you dry as a result. Think of woody scents full of cedar, sandalwood, oak, rosewood, birch... Like the trunks of trees and their barks, they have a solid "appearence" to the nose. Think of smoke and some kinds of incense.

The opposite of non-sweet when refering to "dry" fragrances is a little more elaborate to explain. Think of a fine dry wine which has a minimal residual of sugars. Taste a fine white Reisling and compare with a full-bodied Sherry. And later on, within those categories, try to detect the degrees of dryness or sweetness between a Fino and an Oloroso Seco. Tannic notes give a taste of dryness which bites the tongue (in a non-spicy way).
Same goes for fragrances: In his couture shop at 7, rue Saint-Florentin, couturier Jean Patou had the brilliant idea of creating a cocktail bar where men could drink and small-talk while their women shopped for their dresses. In 1930, Patou decided that this could be converted into a veritable perfume bar and Henri Alméas, his perfumer, was instructed to create "cocktail" fragrances: The results were the original Cocktail, Cocktail Dry, Cocktail Sweet, and Cocktail Bitter Sweet. Clear enough?
It's not accidental that most masculine fragrances aim at "dry"; it denotes a certain butch element! Dry notes in fragrances are usually provided by woods or some grasses (for instance vetiver), by rhizomes (orris/iris), by phenols (tar-like essences such as birch tar, guiacwood, leathery compounds), by mosses (oakmoss, treemoss). There is no restriction as to which family they might belong to, though: Try the oriental Tiempe Passate by Antonia's Flower, the chypre Aromatics Elixir by Clinique, the woody floral Ivoire by Balmain, Chanel's green floral No.19, the aldehydic Pure White Linen by Lauder, the mineral cologne Eau de Gentiane Blanche: They're all non sweet, non humid, they will keep you dry on a warm summer's day.

And powdery, you ask? What does it signify when talking about fine fragrance? "Powdery" can be a subcategory of "dry", as powder by its very nature abhors moisture. Yet powdery can take sweeter nuances or drier ones, according to manipulation by a talented perfumer. It also hints at a feminine rather than a traditionally masculine smell, evoking as it does a million "cute" acoutrements: feather boas, white kitten fur, cosmetic enhancements and 18th century peruques, pastry making involving flour, and fluffy angora sweaters in pastel colours. Usually the categorisation is between "face powder" or "talcum powder" (also described as "baby-powder"). Face powder notes are more refined in feel and overall less sweet with a vintage, "perfume-y" trail, while talcum powder is simpler, usually involving a comforting, vanillic backdrop that recalls the famous lemon--lavender-vanilla accord of Johnson's Baby Powder. The no doubt amusing dichotomy of powder evoking both grandmothers (through the association with the scents they carried on from their youth) and babies is probably fodder for a psychology thesis on how smell perception is the most perverse within the human brain function. For the scope of our column, let's give some examples to clarify our point.
Face-powder-smelling fragrances include Hermès 24 Faubourg, Ombre Rose by Jean-Charles Brosseau, No.19 by Chanel, Patou's discontinued Normandie, Creed Fleurs de Bulgarie, Jolie Madame by Balmain, Coriandre by Jean Couturier and Ma Griffe by Carven. Talcum or baby-powdery fragrances have an artistically acclaimed representative in Petits et Mamans by Bulgari, a cuddly powdery scent which truly charms. Cashmere Mist by Donna Karan and Flower by Kenzo are the rather grown-up version, aromatized with a little jasmine for the former and a clearly detectable synth violet for the latter. Try Teint de Neige by Lorenzo Villoressi: choke-full of powder! Surely a firm favourite of power loving folks!
US brand Philosophy was fully cognisant, when they composed Baby Grace, that Americans have fond memories of having their baby bottoms talcumed with Johnson's. And there's of course Baby Powder by Demeter for nostalgisers on a budget; or those who want it clearly spelled on the label...

We had talked about ambery fragrances which often evoke a powdery effect the other day, some of the ingredients involved into giving such an ambience being amber mixtures, opoponax gum (such as in the case of Shalimar), heliotropin, vanilla and several musks (try Habanita by Molinard, Must de Cartier in pure parfum, Kenzo Amour or Obsession by Calvin Klein to see this. And see how white musks can be powdery soft in Clair de Musc by Lutens).
But powderiness can be also rendered through orris/iris (Iris Poudre even says so in the name), certain aldehydes (read more on which on this article), Iso-E Super when combined with certain musks and most importantly mosses (like in Aromatics Elixir, Ma Griffe, Chanel No.19, Knowing by Lauder, Coriandre, and Piguet's Bandit).

Moss contributing to the effect is an interesting case of chance discovery. I was puzzling myself for years trying to figure out why moss reminds me of my mother and of face powder. I am not alone, lots of women associate it specifically with vintage poudre de riz face-powders imagining them being slowly, decadently, glamorously fluffed on with ostrich-feather puffs by film noir heroines before they go out to wreck havoc on some poor men's lives. Powders from Cyprus I knew were based on the famous "recipe" of chypre perfumes. Until one day strolling the Max Factor counter I stopped to read the actual ingedients on a couple of compacts, one of them being Creme Puff which both my mother and grandmother used with a wide brush for setting their makeup. Yup, prominently displayed was Evernia prunastri, otherwise known as...oakmoss!

Which are your favourite dry &/or powdery fragrances? 

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Still from the film Marie Antoinette by Sofia Coppola, featuring Kirsten Dunst via Hansen Love blog; Jean Patou Cocktail Dry and L.T.Piver powder ads via hprints.

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