Serge Lutens multiple discontinuations: Oh My!

No sooner had the ink dried (or rather the optical signal been transmitted from your screen to your retinas) on the L'Eau Serge Lutens review that we're faced with some rather disconcerting news which haven't been broadcasted anywhere else yet. It doesn't sound too good, so brace yourselves: Not one, but FOUR Serge Lutens fragrances are getting discontinued...

The reasons might have to do with ingredient restrictions making it difficult to continue their production or -more likely- they could be really low sales combined with a rethinking of the whole line (after all, the new "anti-parfum" is as if a rethinking has been going on) that accounts for it. Whatever it is, the fans will be dismayed and a frantic hunt for them will ensue. In a way I will be glad to see the last specimens being taken off to loving homes rather than having them languish on a shelf. No good fragrance deserves less.

The four Serge Lutens fragrances (sounds like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and I feel that way too) that are getting axed are: Chypre Rouge, Miel de Bois, Clair de Musc and Douce Amère.
The rumour on the discontinuation of Miel de Bois had been discussed a year and a half ago (!) and had been thoroughly explained, but it had been fervently denied at the time from the Parisian staff; the rest...let's just say they weren't the most popular of the lot! (Clair de Musc is discontinued through no fault of its pleasant, well-liked scent; it's merely that clean ethereal musks are a dime a dozen in the market, no matter how poetically brilliant Serge's version is, I presume). Personally I will be really saddened to see the excellent and contemplatively melancholic Douce Amère, one of my personal favourites, perish. You'll have to snatch it off my cold, clammy hands, I guess...

Edit to Add: Miel de Bois is currently sold as a Paris exclusive in the bell jars, after its pulling from the export line. Although the Palais Royal representative denies discontinuation en masse, there is a private source that tells me the scents might revert to their alma mater and become Paris exclusives like MdB, which means discontinuation in the export bottles (and the US, as a consequence).,/span>

Edit to Add2: Click to read the latest update on this distressing issue.

Illustration Tempus Fugit by Anomunnus via deviantart.com

L'Arte di Gucci: fragrance review

The era of tailored chypres has come and gone and the new genre taking their place is smoothing the contours out into woodier and muskier avenues; yet every so often the perfume enthusiast gets a hankering for something that would be akin to grabbing someone by the (leather) lapels and kissing them square on the lips with gusto. L'Arte di Gucci is such a potent, slightly daring, borderline fearsome composition that would have you questioning your sense of appropriateness or fashionable compatibilty possibly (you might as well wear rugby-player's size shoulder-pads, this smells so out of place today), but enjoying every minute of it, nonetheless.

One MakeupAlley member notes: "If Divine's L' Inspiratrice is the good girl who always wears slips beneath her dresses, pearls and heels out to dinner no matter where she goes, and finds red nail polish too garish, L' Arte wears short skirts with heels, winks at all the boys, and never has to buy her own drinks".
By the minute you open up that vicious-looking box (all black opaqueness and glossy finish) and hold the funnily, yet friendly-shaped bottle you realise just what we lost by abandoning the powerhouses of the 1980s for ever; several nose-tingling masterpieces, that's what!

L'Arte is certainly one of the best releases from the Italian house, past and present, coming out rather late, in 1991, so it's probably natural it's tracing its roots in elements already featured in Paloma Picasso Mon parfum (the intensity of leather and the spiced oakmoss and patchouli blend), Niki de Saint Phalle (the herbal accents, starkly green) and most of all Diva by Ungaro (the astoundingly chypre tonality of its lush rose and the powdery clout). No perfumer is known, alas, so if you have this info, fill me in, I'm intrigued.
If you like your roses shaded, dark, thorny and abstractly woody-powdery (nay, "perfume-y" and very expensive smelling!) and if Guerlain's Rose Barbare, Lady Vengeance by Juliette has a Gun, Sisley's Soir de Lune, Rose de Nuit by Lutens and even Voleur de Roses by L'Artisan have hinted at delights which you always meant to further explore, look no further than the Gucci portfolio and this inexplicably underrated gem. Brassier than the above, L'Arte's prolonged dryout of mossy, powdered leatheriness is enigmatic and full of tawny smoothness.

L'Arte di Gucci wraps its intensely rosy heart garlanded with hypnotic, greenish narcissus into a luminous, characteristic aldehyde burst (evoking half part soap and the other part slightly overripe fruit) like a whirlwind into one of my favourite 80s pop tunes, Kim Carne's Betty Davis Eyes; hysky-voiced, with a swagger in her stride, dressing to impress. Yet the astounding thing is those were more innocent times than today, "pure New York snow" and all notwithstanding. I guess this fangled vampire with "lips sweet surprise" and luminous, deeply honeyed eyes which reminds me of tailored curvaceous suits that yes, Betty Davies might wear, preferably after a manipulation or two, is more girly and good than taken credit for.
"And she'll tease you, She'll unease you, All the better just to please you..."

Long discontinued, it can still be found sometimes online (there is a 1oz bottle available at Amazon right now) and on Ebay,although for alarmingly increasing prices.
The unusual bottle was designed by Serge Mansau and is presented in opaque black in the miniatures circulating.

Notes for L'Arte di Gucci: Bergamot, fruits, coriander, aldehydes, greens, rose, jasmine, lily of the valley, mimosa, tuberose, narcissus, geranium, orris, amber, musk, oakmoss, patchouli, leather, vetiver.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Chypres series


Evelyn Tripp by William Klein, photo Smoke & Veil from 1958 Vogue via Loose Leaf Tigers.
Bottle pic via Ebay

Guerlain Attrape Coeur is Shot Through the Heart!

Shocking news have come to our ears about one of the most popular and well-loved fragrances in the Guerlain stable: Attrape-Coeur, the Parisiennes fragrance by Mathilde Laurent that followed its predecessors Guet Apens and No.68 will be no more...The scent is getting discontinued!!

The information has just been confirmed by two different sources and leaves little doubt that there is a serious reason behind its production stalling. As Sylvaine Delacourte had revealed to us last June, there is a desire NOT to "assasinate" fragrances which are considered perfectly-made with the renovations necessitated to conform to today's standards (IFRA restrictions etc). Attrape Coeur fell into its own hearty snare, apparently, so you'd be advised to stock up if your life or pleasure (equally important) depends on it.

Many fragrances in the Les Parisiennes have been recently chopped off the block, including Liu (in the forseeable future I'm told), Metalys, Purple Fantasy, Chant d'Aromes in pure parfum and Plus Que Jamais. The upcoming restrictions along with slow sales in a few cases have contributed synergistically into losing some of the most lovely Jean Paul Guerlain creations which were commemorated for modern audiences in a line that was noted for its elegance.

Bid Attrape Coeur adieu with a little tear in your eye and clutch on dearly to what you have! If there is any new development I will keep you posted.

Painting by Tildine Attrape Coeurs via tildine.artblog.fr

Balenciaga La Fuite des Heures (Fleeting Moment): fragrance review

There is no question that Germaine Cellier was a formidable woman and an innovative perfumer mapping history with her Balmain and Piguet creations. Hers is nevertheless the lesser known, but none the less majestic, La Fuite des Heures (pronounced la-fou-EET dez-erh and translating as Fleeting Moment) for Balenciaga in 1949; a Provençal herbs and jasmine formula of great radiance and tenacity.
There is an interesting snippet of fashion and perfume history pertaining to this Balenciaga fragrance, which was the second to be issued by the house: Initially composed by Cellier at Roure for the French market, it was modeled after the aldehydics established at the time (and hence in chasm with her bombastic creations for Piguet such as Fracas and Bandit).

Why is that? No.5 by Chanel was the prototype of the genre (and still is) due to its commercial success, especially after WWII when soldiers returning from the European battle-fronts had popularised it in the conscience of American bourgeoisie as the pinacle of French chic and the porthole of aspirational status. Let's not forget that even historic French houses, such as Guerlain, had followed the paradigm with their own creations, namely Liù (although the latter's history is a little more gossipy that that!). Balenciaga had already issued a fragrance, Le Dix (10), his first foray into scent, named after the address of his couture studio at 10 Avenue George V. Not unexpectedly, that one also happened to be a floral aldehydic! Another version of La Fuite des Heures, specifically aimed at the American market, was issued in the beginning of the 1960s, the Camelot days of the USA when "Parisian" didn't seem as far fetched as before. And as they say the rest is history...

The fragrance was available as an Eau de Cologne in tall cylindrical ribbed bottles with simple pastic caps and black labels with white simple lettering. My own extrait de parfum of Balenciaga's La Fuite des Heures in its shagreen container, (probably from the 60s) is well aged, thick and dark as its blobs ooze from the crystal stoppered flacon. Yet the suave jasmine and ylang-ylang glory with sweet accents of light amber in the base is still there.
The piquant herbs (anise? thyme?) and greens notes (vetiver?) along with an aldehydic vibrance (a little soapy & orris powdery the way Chanel No.5 is soapy & powdery) have mellowed significantly; they give way to the more tenacious woody and above all musky elements, a reality all too often met with when dealing with vintage perfumes. The drydown is fused with some of the most glorious musks this side of pre-banning of several valuable ingredients.
Despite its approximation to vintage forms of No.5 (such as the magnificent Eau de Cologne version), La Fuite des Heures stands alone sufficiently well and even presents itself as a most wearable specimen of an elegant creation of yore. Like a couture gown by the great Spanish master himself, lose the hat, the gloves and the pose and you might wear the lace ruffled dress with your modern stilettos soled in red and an air of bon chic bon genre socialite.

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: Balenciaga news & reviews, Vintage scents reviews

Balenciaga couture lace dress via fashionmodel.mtx5.com. Balenciaga La Fuite des Heures bottle pic by Elena Vosnaki

Chanel No.46: fragrance review & history

Amidst the fragrances that Gabrielle Bonheur (Coco) Chanel commisioned, No.46 stands as something of a largely unknown enigma. When Ernest Beaux had presented samples to Coco for her choosing for her first perfume launch, he had prepared 10 of them in total, numbered from 1 to 5 and from 20 to 24. Among them, No.5 and No.22 were the winning contestants, issued on 1921 and 1922 respectively. Fragrances so elevated by the diffusion of their aldehydic pitch that they became synonymous with the genre forever after. A little on their left, the refined, gracefully soft aldehydic floral which was released much later; in 1946, at the end of the war. No.46 recalls most vividly the ambience of the classic No.5 that cemented the popularity of futuristic, "frozen" bouquets, while remaining surrounded by other obscure scents with digits on them like fairy godmothers: No.11, No.14, No.20, No.21 and No.55...



The timing for the release of No.46 is crucial in its critical appraisal and its positioning in fragrance history. Despite the fashion genius of Chanel being “incorruptibly sober and pure”, as per her biographer Edmonde Charles-Roux, her life presented certain disputable facets that cast a shadow on the image of the "women's liberator from fashion's oppression" and Evangelist of Style. (Even today, Audrey Tautou who impersonated her in the 2009 film Coco avant Chanel mentioned this early feminist "manifesto" as grounds for accepting the role.) Coco had been self-exiled in Switzerland since 1945, her perfume royalties into exile with her for a decade as well, following the tempestuous reception that accompanied her affair with Hans Gunther von Dincklage; a German officer 13 years her junior ~she was 56 at the time~ and alleged Nazi spy by the nickname "the sparrow", who had arranged for her to remain at the famous Ritz Hotel suite which Coco had made into her wartime abode (and her "real" home for 3 decades, as opposed to her Rue Cambon appartment where she received guests). Additionally, the dubious Operation Modelhut, in which she was implicated, was based on the idea that one of Chanel's friends would pass a letter from her, suggesting secret negotiations furthering the end of war, to Winston Churchill.

“This woman was referred to as a person Churchill knew sufficiently to undertake political negations with him, as an enemy of Russia and as desirous of helping France and Germany whose destinies she believed to be closely linked together.” [according to the Schellenberg interrogation transcripts]

Yet unlike women collaborators who had had their hair shorn in public humiliations or Diana Mitford, Lady Mosley (Hitler's Angel) and Unity (Valkyrie) Mitford, forever associated with the Third Reich, Coco Chanel remained untarnished by repercussions (she was arrested but soon released). No doubt she had taken advantage of her connections, as was her custom: It was a rich boyfriend who helped her open her own clothing boutique in 1913; it was Vera Bate Lombardi who established her name amongst European royalty and through which she met ~her almost husband~ the Duke of Westminster and who possibly served as the connection to Churchill; and it was one of her unnamed powerful liaisons who made if possible for her to escape punishment or humiliation for her past.
The cool reception that the French reserved for her 1956 runway comeback terming it obsolete neverthless was testament to how they hadn't forgotten... Luckily for her, however, it was the Anglosaxons (in the guise of Americans mostly) who loved her little black dresses (they still do!) and thus helped her progressively obliterate the bad memories.

It was during those troubled years of WWII that Chanel had tried to wrest control of her fragrances from the Jewish manufacturers ~the Wertheimer family who own them to this day and also controlled Bourjois~ exploiting the pro-Aryan laws to her benefit. (The Wertheimers owned 70% of the house, Theodile Bader of Galleries Lafayette who introduced Coco to them was rewarded with 20% and Chanel herself only held 10%). As a result, the perfumes conceived in the time frame surrounding WWII are rumoured to generally have a striking resemblance to her already successful 20s and 30s creations, probably in an attempt to reposition herself in the fragrance producing pantheon as an independent entity. Little is known of them, but the time framing bears significance as in 1954 the Wetheimers came to an agreement with Chanel for her to reliquinsh all control to them in exchange for having her personal expenses taken care of for life (It took 17 years).

The way that a little No.46 came into my hands is episodic and worthy of recounting à la Lafontaine: Once upon a time, (then) Florentine-bound Liisa Wennervirta had come across and purchased a full stoppered bottle of said perfume on an auction site, about which she asked my opinion and info after the fact. Certain details had been negatively indicative to its authenticity (or so I thought at the time) and the cynical/distrustful in me sighed a bit inwardly (I repeat this was after the fact) because I really like Liisa, had followed the scandals by Polkadot Patty a couple of years ago and would really flinch if she had been scammed. On the other hand, if it was a fake I would be supremely curious to see how someone would venture into even attempting it and would admire his/her serious cojones despite my disgust at the practice. Liisa sent me some to try out and it transpired that it was against all odds seriously delightful juice!
As Liisa herself said: "It's not that grandma-style rose like Penhaligon's Elizabethan Rose, nor that sweet, slightly sickening rose of Nahema or Mahora in extrait version, it's warm, spicy, carnation-y and slightly reminds me of Fleur de Feu but after a while it mellows to sweet musky calmness. Something that I badly miss among Les Exclusifs."

The opening of Chanel No.46 boldly reveals the penchant of the brand into producing abstractions of an arresting grace. It is redolent of the ambience of No.5 quite vividly, to the point that a lover of one might instantly recognise sub-themes in the structure of the other, like a student of baroque fugues recognising the intermingling motifs across several bars of music. At the time however No.5 hadn't acquired the cult status it has today being instantly recognisable across continents. The basic chord which echoes throughout No.46 seems to be the rose, ylang-ylang, carnation/lily (a hint of spice) and musks (two parts of this harmony form the main basso continuo of No.5, anyway, especially in vintage parfum form and the defunct Eau de Cologne version). This is underscored by a soapy-mossy feeling that recalls retro grooming products to my memory. The musks are especially rich and radiant, emitting warmth and a subtle come-hither.

In its way, Chanel No.46 is firmly placed in the tradition of its times too, while echoing an established success: Smelling it alongside L'Air du Temps (1948) (its carnation tinge plus aldehydic-salicylate facets), the more orientalised Fath de Fath (the original 1953 version, not the 1993 reformulation) with its intensely musky base, or the delicate bouquet of Coeur Joie by Nina Ricci (1946), one is not hard-pressed to understand the greater need for fragrances that presented a refined and genteel ambience of ladies who eased back into their feminine endeavours after the more androgynous occupations of the war days. All without eschewing their animal instincts...

Notes for Chanel No.46:
Top: bergamot, orange and neroli
Heart: rose, lily of the valey, ylang-ylang and jasmine
Base: vetiver, orris, sandalwood, coumarine, vanilla and musk

Needless to say, it's a very rare fragrance and your only chance for a bottle would be buying off a collector.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Chanel reviews & news, Vintage scents

Pic of No.46 by Liisa Werenvita used with permission by Perfume Shrine. Photo of Gabrielle Chanel in 1909 scanned from Edmonde Charles Roux book 2004, p.62. Photo of Diana and Unity Mitford saluting the Nazi way via wikimedia commons.

Robert Piguet/Raucour Calypso: fragrance review & history

Leafing through mythology books while researching on Nausinous, the son of Ulysses and Calypso the couple appearing in Homer's Odyssey, I cannot help but marvel at the invisible threads that tie history, perfumery and the great imagination of inspired creators such as Robert Piguet. His fragrance Calypso encapsulates the ethereal and yet alluring qualities that the eponymous numph was renowed for in a most refined way.

It is with stupendous surprise that one learns that Rober Piguet, born in the Swiss town of Yverdon in 1901, was originally trained not in fashion but in banking! So much his couturier and creator of stylish fragrances reputation has preceded him among the cognoscenti! A young boy of 17 he moved to the fashion capital of the world, Paris, and landed a job first with Redfern and later with fashion legend Paul Poiret. His industrious and inquisitive spirit resulted in the founding of his own salon in 1933. There he provided Parisian women with his own creations as well as those of alumni Antonio Castillo, Christian Dior, James Galanos, Marc Bohan, Hubert de Givenchy and Pierre Balmain. Although his couture side of the business is largely forgotten apart from the historic scope (he retired in 1951 and died in 1953), his perfume business is very much alive. This is thanks to at once the tremendous fame that his pioneer fragrances Fracas (1946) and Bandit (1944), both by iconoclast perfumer Germaine Cellier, have created, as well as the respectful treatment his compositions have received in the hands of Joe Garces of Fashion Fragrances and Cosmetics Ltd. after a limbo state of the brand while under Alfin inc.

In researching Calypso the fragrance, I tried to find visuals and was aided by my friend Octavian who provided the image herein. On it there is a bottle not unlike the bell-shaped jars of today's Lutens bottles for his Paris-exclusives which bears the name Calypso by Raucour. The brand Raucour is most probably inspired by a personage in French history: Françoise-Marie-Antoinette Saucerotte, nicknamed Mademoiselle Raucourt or Françoise Raucourt, was an anti-Revolutionist tragedian living in the late 18th century France and the Directoire period, famous for her roles as Medea, Semiramis and Agripinna. Could Calypso, the nymph who fell in love with Ulysses/Odysseus and kept him captive on her island for 8 long years following his nostos from Troy, be another one of the roles which would fit her? The tragic quotient of the role, with its clash between the vagaries of the heart on the one hand and the predecided by the Gods fate of Ulysses (namely to return to his home and family) on the other, is not antithetical to her range.
Additionally, her predeliction for aromatic substances in the form of exotic and rare plants such as frangipaniers and baobabs in her Château in La Chapelle Saint-Mesmin lets the imagination roll with fragrant images...

The Renoir company simultaneously produced the perfumes Renoir, Raucour and Piguet while the Piguet trademarks were filled by Renoir during the war. The depicted Calypso from Raucour is in the same bottle and packaging Renoir used for Messager/ Cattleya or Dona Sol (that were also sold later under Raucour brand and credited to Piguet in several guides). This puts an interesting spin into the alleged launch date of 1957 or 1959 for Piguet's Calypso. In those older days aroma-producing companies (the equivalent of today's big boys, aka Givaudan, Firmenich, IFF etc) formulated the jus with less speed. Therefore in light of the above clues, could we assume that Calypso by Raucour and Calypso by Piguet are indeed the same fragrance? If so, the date launch should be pushed in the previous decade, placing it firmly alongside its olfactory "inspirations", more of which shortly, Whatever the truth is, the scent itself is revelational in some respect.

Piguet's Calypso olfactorily reflects the qualities of both spicy floral and green floral facets, resulting in a refined composition that alludes to both L'Air du Temps (its carnation tinged airiness) and Ma Griffe (its green buds on the mountaintop dryness). Calypso's daintily mossy garland is woven into delicate lacework that enhances these themes and in the canon of current Piguet fragrances which impose their presence it presents something of an anomaly. However it is for those occasions exactly that one is advised to look back at the history of a house when pronouncing judgement on terms of aesthetics: The Piguet portfolio included legion of fragrances once upon a time, with some of the lesser known being: Augure, Cattleya, Fou, Dingo (all from 1945), Gambade (1946), Grande Epoque, Rollon, Hirondelle, Brigand, Dark Herald, Donna Sol, Mimo, Esclave (all from 1947), Estampe (1948), and Messanger (1952).

The vintage Calypso by Robert Piguet (not to be confused with the duty-free limited edition by Lancôme by the same name) was originally available in Eau de Toilette strength and extrait de parfum in the standard curvaceous and simple flacons of Piguet and makes sporadic appearences on Ebay. Since Baghari (1945) and Visa (1946) have been re-issued and so have Futur (1974) and the masculine Cravache (1963) recently, to varying approximations to the original formula, let's hope that the marvel that is Calypso is destined for Phoenix-like resurection as well.

Painting of Odysseus and Calypso, 1883 by Arnold Böcklin via faerymists.tripod.com

The history of the Guerlinade accord, original & re-issued Guerlinade perfume by Guerlain

Like many other confusing matters pertaining to fragrance history the often quoted name Guerlinade stands for several seperate things and disentangling them is at large an exercise in minutiae. Historical minutiae being within the scope of Perfume Shrine from the very start however we hope to cut through the knot which perfume companies often present us with. So this little guide is aiming at providing answers to what the Guerlinade accord is, how Guerlinade smells and in which Guerlain perfumes it can be discerned, which fine fragrances were named Guerlinade and their packaging and availability as of this minute.

Originally La Guerlinade was the code-name for an olfactory harmonious blend ("accord" in perfume-speak) ~possibly conceived by Pierre-François-Pascal Guerlain* but first referenced in relation to Jacques Guerlain** ~ that typified Guerlain perfumes in their classical compositions and made them the stuff of legend: Bergamot, jasmine, rose ~especially the Bulgarian version rather than the Turkish one~, orange blossom, iris, (possibly vetiver), tonka bean, and vanilla are said to be the main ingredients comprising it. Of course the exact formula of this special accord is guarded with the zeal Fort Knox is, but most perfumephiliacs can identify the above notes forming the characterist nuance of the chord that runs through the melody of L'Heure Bleue (along with trademark heliotropine) ~especially in Parfum de Toilette and vintage extrait de parfum~, Shalimar and Vol de Nuit; this nuance either captures in its guile or haunts with terror the fragrance enthusiasts. The fragrances composed by Jacques Guerlain especially are intensely redolent of this accord, although Mitsouko is less immersed in it, opting for the oakmoss chypre base under the notorious peach-skin note.

Strangely enough, the term only entered popular parlance outside of the Guerlain labs at the launch of masculine scent Héritage, as Sylvaine Delacourte, artistic director of parfums Guerlain reveals! Like a silky veil, the Guerlinade softens any sharp angles and smothers the composition in the purple hues of twilight. Its feel is polished, bergamot fusing its elegant freshness with rose and vanilla and the tonka bean gives a vague sense of hay, powder and tobacco. But its perfume-y ambience can also feel somehow retro which is why sometimes modern tastes run antithetical to its rich, textured feel.

Guerlinade nevertheless also happens to be the name of a Jacques Guerlain creation from 1921 which came in a beautiful bottle of intensely faceted crystal, shaped like a lekythos. The Guerlain archives include a vegetal lotion issued in 1924 with the same name, an early thought of an ancilary product so to speak. The scent after some "renovation" was re-issued as a seperate, limited edition Eau de Parfum in a new Baccarat flacon design to celebrate the 170 years of Guerlain in 1998 (circulating again as Guerlinade in a presentation that depicted paintings of Parisian life, depicted above) and later re-issued yet again in Les Parisiennes boutique line (in standard bee bottles, depicted below) upon renovation of the 68 Champs Elysées fragship boutique in 2005. Nevertheless the actual scent was different than its predecessor and the famous accord: it had a predominent streak of powdered lilac (a lovely one at that) ~and perhaps a touch of oily hyacinth garlanding it with its "dirtier" streak~ and little relation to the characterist chord that Guerlainomaniacs recognise instantly. Its powdery retro formula (a little iris, a little tonka) explored bouquets of impressionistic vignettes of Parisian life amidst equestrian scenes when gentlemen with horse-drawn carriages would bow down to pick up the handkerchiefs of ladies blushing beneath their veiled little hats. The homage in Guerlinade the fragrance was more that and less an actual reproduction of the exact secret formula for the Guerlain house "signature".

Today the fragrance named Guerlinade is discontinued and no bottles can be found at boutiques Guerlain updrading it into a collectible. Much like happens with other elusive limited editions such as the Harrod's aimed Belle Epoque from 1999 with its musk-veiled tuberose, the No.68 limited edition which reworked Guet Apens, the Champs Elysées Bacarrat turtle/tortoise bottle amongst them...

Yet the renowned accord hasn't died; far from it! The classic Guerlinade harmony was revisited in a Limited Edition commemorative Eau de Parfum fittingly called 180 Ans de Création (meaning 180 years of creation and issued in 2008 to commemorate the 180th anniversary of the house of Guerlain) Jean Paul Guerlain twisted the idea of the classic Guerlinade harmony, realising its aura is often perceived as admirable but a little outdated, and thus added contemporary accents in the form of grapefruit, pink pepper and white musk. The result is elegant, polished and a study in dry warmth and I sincerely hope it becomes more widely available than the gifts given out to the participants of the 180th anniversary celebration. In the meantime we can admire and savour the classical Guerlinade, "un état d’ Esprit", in several vintage Guerlain fragrances where it is shining in all its unadulterated glory.

*ref: Perfume Intelligence Encyclopaedia.
**according to Jean Paul Guerlain
Pics via passionforperfume.com and monkeyposh.blogspot.com

Jean Patou Delices: fragrance review & history

Much like Joy (1935), "the costliest perfume in the world" was launched just when the Great Depression was hitting Jean Patou's wealthiest American clients the hardest, the delicious Délices, also by Jean Patou, was issued in 1940, smack when World War II had shown its ugly face. Perhaps to divert attention from the difficult days ahead? Or in an (alas vain) attempt to exorcise the demons of war which were only too fresh in the memory of its contemporaries? In 1940 few were willing to believe the monstrosities would last for long and Jean Patou had died 5 years before, leaving the house to his sister and her husband Raymond Barbas. Some decades later, few are willing to believe that mementos of that era have resonance today; yet they do. To this day this Patou fragrance remains one of those Great Unknowns of Perfumeland, being one of the more elusive fragrances in the Patou portfolio, but also in the collective perfume vaults. In vain would one search for notes or family classification, as they are not listed anywhere, and I was prompted to tackle it by the timely question of one of my readers and friends in scent, , Melissa, so I am tentatively trying to give you my own view of its delicious, decadent character.

Délices strikes me as spicy, with a light and fresh bouquet of lavender and aldehydic notes for pizzaz, murked by an amber bottom that reminds me of classic orientals and chypres of the 30s, by Patou or otherwise. There is also a kinship with 1000, a later floral chypre woody (1972) by Jean Patou which looks like it has been inspired by its ancestor because of its chypré tonalities and rosy nuances which hide in the heart of both perfumes. Although its time of composing would tie it to perfumer Henri Giboulet, resident at Patou since 1940 and most famous for the soft floral Gin Fizz for Lubin (1955), the style and architecture of Delices personally reminds me of Henri Alméras's opus (both for Poiret and Patou).

Délices was re-issued by Jean Kerleo (in hose perfumer from 1968 till 1997) in the collective opus Ma Collection (Parfums d'epoque, 1925-1964) for Jean Patou in 1984, a lineup of poetic names such as Adieu Sagesse (Goodbuy Wisdom), Que sais-je? (What do I know?), or L'Heure Attendue (The Long Awaited for Hour) among others. However Delices was not included in the box-set of minis issued as a commemorative gift package for that relaunch, making it really hard to track down a bottle of the scent. In general if you find big bottles from that time-frame, consider yourself very lucky indeed as they were reinterpretations that followed the original formulae as closely as possible and were constructed with the utmost care by the in-house perfumer, before Procter & Gamble bought the house of Patou, putting the illustrious archives into oblivion.

Some of those forgotten, vintage Jean Patou scents include (in alphabetical order):
Ambition( 1953), Angostura (1922), Anything Goes (1955), Aparte (1928), Baby Bar (1931), Bar A Parfums (1929), Cocktail Dry (1930), Cocktail Bittersweet(1930), Cocktail Sweet (1930)Companion (1950), the first duo presentation For Her....For Him...(1931), Heureaux Amants ie.happy lovers (1930), Holidays (1934), Invitations (1932), L'Amour Est Roi , ie. Love is king (1930), Lasso a leathery chypre (1955), the innovative unisex Le Sien (1928), Lift (1930), Love Appeal (1930), Makila (1961), May-Be (1925), Ole (1954), Patou's Own (1930), Snob(1950), Toilet Brandy (1935), Tout Va ie. everything goes (1955), and Vin de Toilette (1935).
Let's hope that these treasure of yore find an historically sensitive management that will ressurect them, even if only briefly and for a limited distribution.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Jean Patou Ma Collection ~all the scents reviewed

Pic via overstockperfume.com
Ref. Ken Leach, Perfume Presentation 100 Years of Artistry

Balenciaga Michelle: fragrance review & history

It is always with some astonishment that I find myself in a Wells-like universe while critically appraising fragrances from decades ago: the Balenciaga classic perfumes opus in particular is supremely refined in the grand manner (Quadrille, Prelude, Cialenga, and the more famous Le Dix), yet surprises lay hidden in less far off decades ~as recently as 1979, if 30 years ago can be seen as "recent". Michelle, created that year, as a posthumous homage to the great couturier who had died in 1972 and named after his favourite model, is a classic from the house reflecting values of another time.

Intense in its message, floral and oriental at once with a wink of aldehydes on top like topz eyes behind dark sunglasses, and weird in a sublime way, thanks to a ginormous tuberose and earthy rose in its heart, Michelle by Balenciaga shares a common element with that other fangled, musky and bitter tuberose of the 80s, Dior's Poison by nose Edouard Fléchier (1985); and to a lesser degree with the more vulgar Giorgio by Giorgio Beverly Hills, a fragrance that sadly traumatised a whole generation of teenagers into succumbing to watery ozonics in the hopes of escaping the deadly, miasma-like fumes of their mothers' scent which wafted from every taxi and every elevator to the point of suffocation.
As someone wittingly quipped, the first Dior Poison is "like road testing an Abrams M1 tank in the evening rush hour". To further that image, I should add that Giorgio is all of the above, but done in picturesque Dubrovnik, pre- the Yugoslavian War ravages, when it was a perfect specimen of UNESCO's Cultural Heritage collection of cities, pristinely preserved in formaldehyde.

Cristóbal Balenciaga (1895-1972), a Basque-born Spanish couturier renowned for his impecable attention to detail, his contempt for bourgeoisie status of the Chambre and referred to as "the master of us all" by Christian Dior himself, became famous for his architectural eye and ultra-modernity. The latter was especially exhibited in his "bubble skirts" and odd shapes, the "square coat", the swanlike collars and the "bracelet sleeves" among them. His fragrances reflected his demanding and sophisticated nature: they had character!

The nose behind Balecianga's Michelle is Françoise Caron, best known for Eau d'Orange Verte for Hermès, Kenzo by Kenzo (the original with the blossom-shaped stopper) and the reconstruction of Ombre Rose L'Original for Brosseau, but also for Montana's oriental mohair blanket Just Me and the popular oriental/gourmand Escada Collection. Her Gió for Giorgio Armani (1992) continues with the tuberose treatment so prevalent in the 80s and in a way reflects some of the aspects of Michelle without following it closely. Whereas Gió is nectarous, fruity and honeyed, Michelle is rather sharper, mossier and with that weird perfume-y note de tête which is commonly referred to in perfumephiliac parlance as the "bug spray accord". Both Poison in its foreboding purplish bottle and Giorgio in its yellow-striped kitsch shared this bug spray note: an aroma which had become so popular through the extensive usage of the above perfumes back then that manufacturers of instecticides in a reverse compliment (cheapening the formula) replicated in their...yes, you guessed it, bug sprays! The mental pathway wasn't difficult to lay and forever since bug spray ~and the perfumes that echo it~ have that characteristic sharp, needles-up-the-nose, bitter and strangely floral-from-outer-space tonality which has its fans and its detractors. The mental association isn't a personal favourite for reasons of overdosing on insecticides one memorable tropically-latituded summer in Bali many years ago, so although I admire that kind of fragrances intellectually it isn't something I am comfortable with wearing too often. Still in Michelle that bug spray accord is tempered and tamer, making it friendlier.

If by mentioning tuberose you cast your mind to the timeless Fracas by Piguet with its beautiful yet at the same time coloratura expansive and creamy night blossom, Tubéreuse Criminelle by Lutens with its mentholated, polished soie sauvage or Carnal Flower by F.Malle with its coconut and eycalyptus-ladden tropical ambience, then think again: Balenciaga's forgotten vintage extrait Michelle is none of those things and is a throwback to another era. Surprisingly, Michelle is also sprinkled with a pinch of spice, not listed, a cinnamon-like effect which somehow provides a sweet facet along with the vanilla, yet reinforces the bloody, metallic facets of the tuberose and the wet earthiness of the rose in tandem with moss. It wears beautifully in the heat and eases itself into the cooler days of approaching autumn.

The vintage extrait de parfum which is the concentration in my possession (in the design on the right) is extremely long-lasting and smooth, while the Eau de Toilette (circulating in the classic design of Balenciaga fragrances depicted here) smells about the same, but with a radiance and expansion which could become too much too soon in my opinion.

Notes for Balenciaga Michelle:
Top: Aldehydes, gardenia, green notes, coconut, peach
Heart: Carnation, tuberose, iris, orchid, jasmine, yalng ylang, rose
Base: Sandalwood, oakmoss, musk, benzoin, vanilla, vetiver

Michelle is discontinued, but makes sporadic appearences on Ebay and etailers. The Balenciaga house is currently part of the Gucci Group (part of Pineault Printemps Redoute). Popular again thanks to the success of the "Motorcycle bag" and Nicolas Ghesquiere design and is set to produce a new fragrance under the aegis of Coty fronted by Charlotte Gainsbourg, which questions the possibility of ever resurrecting Michelle.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Vintage perfumes, Fragrance history

Pic of vintage coat design by Cristobal Balenciaga via pairofchairs.wordpress.com and of Michelle flacon via ecrater.com

Nina Ricci Coeur Joie: fragrance review & history

My maternal grandmother had a Louis XVI vanity with silk damask that had a interlay of glass vitrine within the wood panel back, behind which small precious flacons from Paris hid. They seemed to flirt with each other at nights and I imagined them having spirited conversations when I was little. The square-shouldered Balmain extrait was the masculine counterpoint leaning seductively close to the smoothly countoured L'Air du temps and close to them a bottle of Coeur Joie seemed to proclaim by its very name the romanticism which those perfumes aimed to provoke. Perfume was a reverie back then, a daydream and a longing, more than a mere accessory and my grandmother brought them all to life.
I was watching an Angela Lansbury film, in which she travelled to Paris and had a gown made at the famous Nina Ricci atelier and what stayed was the palpable feeling of her intoxication of becoming another person through this chrysallis transformation; or rather the person which she used to be as a young girl; optmistic and hopeful, before the vagaries of life had crushed her dreams. In retrospect I believe Coeur Joie would have been an excellent scent choice to accompany this elegant vision! Its understated luxury of its feminine bouquet of subdued, cooly whispering flowers transports us into an early evening reverie someplace where Chopin Nocturnes can be heard through ajar French windows and ball-gowned debutantes are casting their dreams on the flip of a wrist during a waltz.

Robert Ricci, the son of fashion designer Nina Ricci and head of development at parfums Ricci, took an unconventional approach when visualising how he wanted Coeur Joie to be, the first Nina Ricci perfume to diversify from clothing, in 1946. Despite it being a creation of Germaine Cellier, a perfumer with a daring and unapologetic streak of rebellion, then working at the famous Roure company, this Ricci perfume comes off as a comparatively soft fragrance; delicate and low-key floral, with an elegant polish rendering it suitable for a Grace Kelly type rather than the more daring amazones of Cellier's. Germaine Cellier was quite formidable herself, a great beauty of alleged lesbian tendencies, smoking a chimney, eating garlic with other famous couturiers, violently clashing with Roure's acclaimed perfumer Jean Carles, briefly acting as a functional scents composer for Colgate-Palmolive soaps (a stint which lasted but three months) and gingerly mixing perfumers' "bases" wondoursly resulting into stunning compositions such as the first "green" fragrance (the galbanum-souled Vent Vert), the knife-scathing outlaw of Bandit with its leathery bitterness of quinolines of 1944, the buttery radiance of tuberose in 1948's Fracas (both for Robert Piguet), the nostalgic violet chypre Jolie Madame for Balmain (1953) and the lesser known La Fuite des Heures for Balenciaga in 1949. There is also the enigmatic Eau d'Herbes (Herbal Water) conceived for Hermes at an unspecified date during the 1950s, which remains an enigma, and several compositions for Elizabeth Arden during the same time-frame. The solution to her Roure disputes presented by Louis Amic was to set Cellier up in her own laboratory in Paris (baptized Exarome), a place of her own where she could create her perfumes and meet her clients.

Nina Ricci on the other hand is best remembered for L'Air du Temps, the romantic lactonic floral with a carnation accent by Fabric Fabron in the emblematic flacon crowned with doves, but she has had a line-up of several less popular classic fragrances. Among them Coeur Joie (1946), Fille d'Eve (1952), Capricci (1961), the masculine Signoricci (1965), the orange-rich Bigarade (1971)and the spicy carnation aldehydic Farouche (1973) all the way to the original green Nina in the frosted bottle in 1987 (the name has been reprised for the gourmand in the apple-shaped bottle of 2006), the playful fruity chypre Deci-Dela and the trio of Les Belles de Ricci, all the way into the recent years when the company was bought by Puig.
Marie Adélaïde Nielli (nickenamed Nina when she was but a mere girl) was married to Louis Ricci, to whom she bore a son, Robert. Nina Ricci relocated to Monte Carlo first and ultimately in Paris in 1932 when Robert was 27 years old, working as a model maker. But her son's motivation instilled into her the desire to open a fashion house one year short of her 50th birthday and the rest is, as they say, history.

The polished feel of the fragrance is immediately apparent, from its fresh, greenish opening oscilating between neroli and cool iris tonalities to the discreet, slightly warm and reassuring drydown which shares elements with the original Nina by the same designer, while being as waxy woody as the legendary Dior Dior. Despite scents of that time being usually powdery, Coeur joie stops short of producing this effect and does not smell old-fashioned in the least, although modern noses might be disappointed at the lack of overt sweetness. As someone at Fragrantica put it: "Launched just two years prior to Nina Ricci's renowned L'Air du Temps, Coeur Joie is L'air du Temps with a whiskey chaser -- a lilting, cool, pretty-as-a-princess floral with a knowing, silken drydown befitting an empress. Wear this when you want to promise nothing but deliver everything". I'd substitute whiskey with champagne, but the rest rings quite true.

The bottle, designed by Marc Lalique with whom the Ricci family enjoyed a close relationship since childhood, reprised the romantic theme into a garlanded tube that was heart-shaped. Extremely costly due to its rarity nowadays, yet there are round canisters of Eau de Toilette, holding big quantities appearing now and then on Ebay auctions and on online discounters; these harken back to the 1960s. There is a rumour circulating that they were especially made for the Greek market where Ricci perfumes were especially popular at the time and well-to-do ladies used them for refreshment on warm spring days.

Notes for Nina Ricci Coeur Joie:
Top: neroli, bergamot, orange blossom
Middle: iris, violet, hyacinth, jasmine, gardenia, and rose
Base: woods

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Germaine Cellier scents



Leopold Godowsky (1870-1938) plays Frédéric Chopin: Nocturne nr. 12 in G, opus 37 no. 2, composed in 1839. Recorded in 1928. Originally uploaded by pianopera on Youtube

Fashion photo of Van Cleef & Arpels jewels by Bert Stern. Nina Ricci atelier via nytimes. bottle pics via parfumgott/flickr and ebay

Caron With Pleasure: fragrance review & Caron history

Certain fragrances grab you by the throat and demand to be asked "What are you talking about anyway?" Whether they do it via shock value or by undecipherable codes posing an enigma it is a matter of semiotics.

One such scent is With Pleasure, belying its very name, not because it is repulsive, but because it is on the edge of consciousness nagging you to tilt your head once more and mubble again "what is it about it, then?"

The Unknown Perfumer at Caron: Michel Morsetti

Caron's With Pleasure was issued in 1949, composed by perfumer Michel Morsetti, two years after the self-taught founder, Ernest Daltroff, had passed away. The bottle was customarily designed by Félicie Bergaud (née Félicie Vanpouille and the collaborator of Daltroff, with whom they shared an open, and controversial at the time, relationship out of wedlock). Contemporary to both Or et Noir (Gold and Black) and Rose it remained in their long shadow, a secret to be unveiled by those in the know. The same year also saw the introduction of the original version of Caron's Pour Une Femme, later discontinued and then re-issued in 2001 in an altered formula. It seems that the end of the war and the decade drawing to a close saw an orgiastic productivity at Caron! Yet although the former fragrances continue their unhindered path (with slight tweaks along the way), With Pleasure has been discontinued and become rare, a true collectible.
Michel Morsetti has been responsible for all these fragrances, along with others in the Caron stable of thouroughbreds in the late 1940s and 1950s, notably the cassie-rich almost gourmand Farnesiana (1947), the relatively unknown marvel Tabac Noir (1948) ~a counterpoint to the famous Tabac Blond of the roaring 20s~, the lily-of-the-valley ballet Muguet de bonheur (1952), and the fiery, peppercorn fury of Poivre and its lighter concentration Coup de Fouet (1954). Royal Bain de Champagne is also attributed to Morsetti, despite it being issued in 1941, at a time when Daltroff was still alive. Incidentally many of the classic Carons and a history of the house of Caron are covered in Parfum: Prestige et Haute Couture by Jean-Yves Gaborit (editions Fribourg, 1985).
The vereable French house started from meagre beginnings in 1901-1902 when Russian-Jewish brothers Ernest and Raoul Daltroff bought the small parfumeria "Emilia", located on rue Rossini in Paris, evident in their first fragrance baptized Royal Emilia in 1904. Aided by an obscure acquaintance named Kahann with deep pockets, Ernest Daltroff moved the address to 10 rue de la Paix and renamed it "Caron", with which name it became synonymous with French style and "fit for a duchess" chic, according to an infamous quote.

If there is a signature Caron-ade running through the fabric of the older vintage Carons, it is evident in With Pleasure, without doubt: a dark rose with musty, slightly earthy tonalities is peeking its face underneath a green-herbal façade. The rosiness is an upside-down image of the darker and rosier Or et Noir, with an almost anisic touch. The greeness of With pleasure is not chypré, nevertheless, but rather tilted into an aldehydic direction with a non tangy citrusy accent, folded into the rosiness along with snuffed-out candles notes. The more strident, angular chypres of the 50s were competing with more traditionally feminine aldehydics and their proper lady image; so very fitting, after the return of women to the home, the kitchen and the boudoir following the loaded responsibilities they had shouldered during the hard WWII days which helped emancipate them further.
There is nothing upbeat or girly about the scent, on the contrary there is a quiet mood, but one can sense that this is no mere capriciousness but a frank introspection, a look into a different angle of an at-heart secretive personality who lives her life day by day. I am not sure whether I like it or not, but it keeps asking me neverthless.

The English name alludes to an international venture, capitalizing on the rave reception that Narcisse Noir, Caron's leading fragrance of 1911, had received on the other side of the Atlantic thanks to its potency.
The bottle in Bacarrat crystal is old-fashioned, tactile and round and can be imagined on the vanity of a lady with ebony brushes bearing boar bristles for hair that is brushed a hundred times every night by an attentive chambermaid: A crystal flacon shaped like a honey jar with a T-shaped stopper resembling a glamorous pastry-roll on top (technically this design is called tonnelet) and the name "With Pleasure" emblazoned on the front. The Bacarrat signature in acid on the bottom seals its aunthenticity.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Fragrance History, Caron scents , Aldehydes

Photographs by Luca Cornel of Brenda Lee via fishup.ru, Ad pic via ebay, With Pleasure flacons via coutaubegarie.auction.fr

My favourite fragrance is discontinued...now what?

Having your favourite beauty product discontinued is akin to been betrayed by a trusted friend. The pain is acute, even if the matter is not so serious. When it comes to fragrance, and even more a signature fragrance, then the issue becomes a bit more alarming. There is a feeling of not being able to find a substitute, of disillusionment, of never being able to be identified by the smell people have been associating with you for so long. What to do? Luckily there are some tips which might help, same as with other beauty products.

The first place to go to track down a much-missed favourite is the manufacturer:
Call the brand’s customer-service department to ask about potential leftover inventory, upgraded formulas/names or comparable substitutes.
For Estée Lauder brands: You can find products discontinued in the last 24 months through the company’s Gone but Not Forgotten program; you can buy up to six pieces, depending on availability. Call 800-216-7173 to start your search. Other companies who sell discontinued items on their site—Lancome-usa.com, and Moltonbrown.com. Some brands such as Clinique.com, 0r Lancome-usa.com feature online alerts, so customers have fair warning when discontinued goods are disappearing. Don't say it came out of the blue!

If the manufacturer is unable to track down an old fave, here is a site worth checking out:
Vermontcountrystore.com: Its niche is hard-to-find items, and customer service will track down products for which they get a lot of requests, even if the site doesn’t carry them. When an item is no longer manufactured and demand is sufficient, the site buys an original formula and reproduces. Also NellButler.com has several older items which might have disappeared from other online stores. You might have to ask an email about price and availability, but it's worth it to track down something elusive.
If you still have no luck, you should try: Ebay.com, Amazon.com and Overstock.com: These sites can list discontinued products because they work with private individuals who might have the items you're asking for. Since the goods offered come from third parties, however there’s always the risk that a product is old or wasn’t stored or shipped properly, so read the fine print carefully regarding any return policy before ordering and ask questions to the seller. An honest and reliable seller is never afraid or reluctant to answer your queries, on the contrary they welcome them as it means you're seriously thinking of buying their merchandise.
Makeupalley.com: You can find in-depth information on tons of products, including discontinued ones, at this social community of beauty-product consumers. You can post a product request on the Swap Board; if another member owns the item, you can negotiate a trade. Check out Scents Splits too: this site works with members of MakeupAlley -and a couple other perfume boards- who are either "splitting" their bottles (this means they share the juice with other interested parties, decanting by hand into vials and negotiating prices and shipping to you) or selling bottles, full or partial. If you see something tagged as vintage it means it's either discontinued or the formula has changed irrevocably ~usually, although not always~ for the worse. Again you can ask questions and negotiate a deal for what you want. Last but not least, there is The Fragrance Foundation: For detailed information on just about any fragrance that’s ever existed, go to fragrancefoundation.org and click on Fragrance Directory.

More tips on May 2009 issue of ShopSmart.

Guerlain Loin de Tout: fragrance review & history of an unknown vintage

Impropable finds come like heavy snow in August at a coastal town in Sicily or an apparition of the Virgin to St. Bernadette Soubirous performed by the Madonna of Lourdes, France ~once in a blue-veering-to-cerulean moon; and that only if you have been extremely pleasing to the Gods! Nevertheless I must have accomplished some minor divine appeasement because what I thought was in the realm of the above came in the guise of an infinitely rare collectible procured via a generous and knowledgable collector: One of the most unknown Guerlains no less, to tally up my archives of the venerable brand.

Loin de Tout ("away from it all") was issued by Guerlain in 1933 at a time when the lure of exotic travelling and the feats of aviation had cemented the belief that anything was possible. Vol de Nuit and Sous le Vent are probably the best known examples of fragrances in the Guerlain stable that were inspired by such a concept and so is the after-the-war escapism of Gaugin-esque Atuana. Like the above mentioned fragrances, Loin de Tout evokes by name the pleasures that await one from removing their psyche from the mundane of everyday life and its vagaries and abandoning one's self to the nobility of the natural world.

The composition of Loin de Tout is reminiscent of many elements in the familiar vernacular of Guerlain, especially other classics by Jacques Guerlain, scattered like coloured beads in haphazard directions creating a kaleidoscope of shape-sifting images: the animalistic base of such classics as Jicky and Voilette de Madame; the bouquet des herbes de Province that hides in some of the aromatic compositions of the earliest creations; the floral touches that exalt the romanticism of the Guerlain love-stories. In Loin de Tout everything is suave but with a rapid progression from the bright to the pungent and on to the lathery, which accounts for a trippy experience like a voyaristic glimpse through a keyhole to an affluent lady's or gentleman's inner sanctum. There is the happy beginning of orange blossom, clearly discernible singing like a nightingale for several minutes, all the while the lower density base notes peeking from under the surface; troubling, animalic and ambery. The progression veers into pungent notes resembling thyme and bay leaves ~a hint of L'Heure Bleue's herbal facet~ sustained into a warm summer’s day driving along the almost scorched shrubs of a Mediterranean country with all windows down and inhaling the warm, arid air with nostrils aflare. But not everything has been told as yet. After several minutes, the most unexpected note of a soapy floralcy emerges. Hypothesizing that it is due either to a hydroxycitronellal note (mimicking astrigent lily of the valley and very popular so as to “open up” the bouquet of old classics) or some aldehydic lathery tone of "clean" C11 (undecanal), also quite popular by the 1930s, it is an intriguing juxtaposition to the otherwise ambery proceedings with floral touches. It is an utter pity that the unpopularity of the finished jus put a stop to production quite soon, bringing an intriguing composition to an abrupt end, leaving behind only relics of a grandiose past, grist for collectors' mills.

The bottle encasing Loin de Tout was the historic "flacon brun fumé" better known as the one holding the previous fragrances Candide Effluve and À travers Champs Elysées, which were circulating during the 1930s. The beautiful and mysterious design of the flacon however proved unsuccessful commercially as well: being not easy to grab firmly, it was prone to accidental falls and was soon abandonded in favour of more fluted designs. Loin de Tout is almost impossible to find, indeed "away from it all", and if you happen upon it on Ebay or another collector's vaults you should thank your lucky stars, like I did.

Pic of Rudolf Koppitz nude "Desperation" via SexualityintheArts.

Guerlain Parure: fragrance review and history

"She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. She only loved that, she felt made for that. She had such a desire to please, to be envied, to be seductive and sophisticated..."
~Guy de Maupassant La Parure

Much like Madame Loisel, the wife of a civil servant in Guy de Maupassant's novelette, who wants to live the good life, Parure by Guerlain (1975) stands as a precious commodity to be cherished; an ornament that lifts its wearer beyond the mundane and "l'air pauvre au millieu de femmes riches" (looking poor among rich women).
Parure radiates an outgoing feeling of luxury and refinement. One doesn't wear Parure to communicate their feelings, as they would with Chant d'Arômes or Vol de Nuit; or to entangle someone in a seductive web in the manner of Shalimar; but instead one wears Parure to show one's self and to be adored for everything she represents. It's therefore not an accident that it is the signature scent of Kim Catrall, the glamazonian and sexually uninhibited Samantha in Sex & the City, who upon hearing news of its discontinuation declared she has bought "every available bottle on earth" (clearly not, but it shows how loyal a following Parure produces).
In the tale by Maupassant, Madame Loisel borrows the coveted parure jewels from her rich acquaintance Madame Forestier to wear at a grand ball in which she has a truly memorable time but loses the necklace in the process. Ashamed to admit the truth to her friend, she is forced to buy a replacement and thus enter in heavy debt that will entail years of sacrifice and toil. Years later, as the two women meet on the street by chance, the moment of truth comes as Madame Loisel finally admits the circumstances, yet she hears crestfallen that the necklace was made of paste and not diamonds and therefore all her sacrifices to get herself out of the colossal debt had been unnecessary... Contrary to the above story, Parure glistens with the real shine of precious essences and imaginative artistry.

Parure etymologically comes from the Old French, meaning adornment, from the verb parer: to adorn, to prepare. According to Encyclopedia Britannica, parure thus denotes "a matched set of jewelry consisting of such pieces as earrings, bracelet, brooch, necklace, and ring". In fact the complicated suite might include such diverse items such as a necklace, a comb, a tiara, a diadem, a bandeau, a pair of bracelets, pins, rings, drop earrings or cluster-stud earrings, a brooch and even a belt clasp to be worn over an evening gown. Parures rose in popularity from the 17th century onwards in Europe and were mainly reserved for royalty and the really rich, denoting status, strength and the political power of its wearers. Napoléon loved lavishing these gem suites on Joséphine, for her to wear at state functions, while he gave similar sets to his second wife, Marie-Louise, later on. Court members and the higher social ranks vied for the best jewelers with orders for them to create elaborate and original suites that had the clever and intricate characteristic of modularity so that they could be remade into more fashionable, au courant jewels. Therefore necklaces could be worn intact or disassembled into bracelets, pendants, hair ornaments or brooches by incorporating smart interchangeable components and locking systems.

Ever since Guerlain had created the ultimate fruity chypre in the guise of the mysterious Mitsouko in 1919, they sought to create another memorable chypre for their customers. Jean Paul Guerlain, heartned by the success of Chant d'Arômes (1962) and Chamade (1969), tried to accomplish just that in 1975 with Parure. Although Guerlain themselves classify the scent under "floral chypre", Parure is a porthole into fruity chypres with a polished woodfloor background that according to Luca Turin evoke an oriental mood more than anything.

Guerlain's Parure opens on an effusive and noble interlay of bright and dark elements of golden bergamot and sharp greens that soon cede to the spicy notes in its heart that recall the cinnamon touch (due to styrax) that appears in Mitsouko as well. The ripeness of plummy goodness almost as if steeped in rum (comparable to the damascones in Lutens' Bois et Fruits or Feminité du Bois by Shiseido) evokes spring gatherings in stately houses: The floors polished to a shiny, waxy sheen, the curtains of damask draw;, vases full of narcotic lilacs; bright lights illuminating French windows that give way to a majestic view of the woods across the green lawn. Balsamic notes finish off the dinner as if a baba au rhum laced with delicate vanilla pods extract is being savoured while the gentlemen of the company are smoking cigars in the antecedent chamber.
Although Parure is a very radiant, self-confident composition that is not difficult to wear due to its smooth and lush generosity of nature, I find myself drawn more to the mysterious contemplation and sadness of Mitsouko. Those who find the latter hard to tame, full of sharp impediments however, might have better luck with the former. The eau de toilette of Parure is exceptionally lasting as well, especially in the vintage formula.

Notes for Guerlain Parure
Top: bergamot, clary sage, galbanum
Middle: plum, lilac, rose, jasmine
Base: oakmoss, earthy forest notes, spices, vetiver, styrax, Peru balsam, wood

The original Parure extrait de parfum flacon, made by sculptor Robert Granai, took pride of place among the most luxurious of the Guerlain presentations: A round bottle topped by a 'slightly outrageous stopper' (per Jean Paul Guerlain), a delicate dentelle of crystal the inspiration behind which was a glowing sea-view sunset. The Eau de Cologne concentration circulated in the classic "disk" bottles with the pyramidal stopper. Later on, the Eau de Toilette concentration was bottled in simpler architectural flacons with horizontal ribbing, a classical boule diaphanous stopper and a round red and orange label with the name Parure on the body, encased in a box with geometric designs in matching colours. A reformulation that skewed the scent was implemented when the scent was rebottled in the classic "bee" flacons some years ago, but in comparison to the older eau de toilette it is of inferior quality.
In the end Parure was discontinued by Guerlain altogether some years ago due to low demand and is sometimes found online in auctions or at shops with old stock. Instead Guerlain decided to re-use the glorious, copyrighted name for a range of their makeup items. Let's hope that as long as the keep property of that name, there is some chance that the fragrance might be resurrected.

A sample of vintage Parure will be given to a lucky reader to experience this discontinued fragrance! State your interest.

Ad pic through parfum de pub. Bottle pics through Fragrantica and Ebay. Angelina Jolie photo from the Oliver Stone film Alexander.