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"?

If you haven't caught on the Perfumery Definitions series till now, please visit:

• Definition: Indolic vs. Non Indolic
• Definition: Lactonic, Creamy, Milky, Butyric
• Definition: Powdery & Dry in Fragrances
• Definition: Resinous & Balsamic
• Definition: Phenolic, Terpenic, Camphorous
• Definition: Which Material Produces Which Note/Effect?

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

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? 

If you haven't caught on the Perfumery Definitions series till now, please visit:

• Definition: Indolic vs. Non Indolic
• Definition: Lactonic, Creamy, Milky, Butyric
• Definition: Terpenic, Phenolic, Camphorous
• Definition: Resinous & Balsamic
• Definition: Soapy in Fragrances
• Definition: Which Material Produces Which Note/Effect?

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.

The Givaudan iPerfumer Application: Cutting-Edge or Demystifying?

Technology would get to perfume; it was only a matter of time! Studies had suggested that "particularly among young people, there is no propensity to buy perfume, but on the contrary, they are enthusiastic about technology" (according to Maurizio Volpi). So in order to boost perfume sales, what better than to engage them through technology? This after all is the method employed by several companies of other products as well: entice with something irrelevant so as to stir into the wanted direction. We "consume" loads of digital media every day (blogging, Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, etc.) so is this the new direction, especially for luxury brands to communicate their message? And is this message a frank one? Vivien Westwood had said during a speech at Unesco: "We can lie to one person once, two persons twice.... but never to everyone everytime".

According to the press release by Givaudan who introduced the iPerfumer application (for iPhone) in mid-June, shortly after beauty giant Estée Lauder announced its Ascent iPhone application to facilitate in-store perfume shopping: "Givaudan, the industry-leading perfumery house has created a unique tool to help individuals select their perfect fragrance. Now available for free download from the Apple App Store, iPerfumer offers individuals tailored advice on which perfumes to try, removing the confusion that often surrounds choosing perfume. Revolutionary in its approach, iPerfumer is a personal fragrance consultant in your pocket. It provides fragrance recommendations to help make informed choices, either for yourself, or when buying gifts for others". The technique is a rather standard one, pioneered by Michael Edwards who also has his own "recommendations" method on his Fragrances of the World site and has Sephora utilize his system (by fragrance sub-families and common notes).
On iPerfumer, after identifying yourself by sex, age and country, you're asked to take note of the six olfactory families proposed (Citrus / Chypre / Floral / Fougere / Oriental / Woody) ~famous examples for each provided to make it easy for novices. Then you can enter some of the perfumes which you like. And after processing those results, the application recommends several fragrances for you personally.
But is the new iPerfumer application as plain sailing as all that? We decided to investigate.


Michel Gutsatz, a brand strategy expert at The Scriptorium Company and the head of Le Jardin Retrouve, takes a critical look at the iPerfumer application by Givaudan at LuxurySociety.com. His doubts corner three drawbacks which also seem crucial to me: no motivation to try out the recommended fragrances (no info, no story, nothing), lack of ergonomy in acessing previous part of the profile created, "sterile" treatment of perfumery (the application doesn't create any of the inherent magic of perfume).
The matter of Augmented Reality (a hot topic that garnered a lot of momentum after the success of James Cameron's Avatar) surfaces when talking about how the iPhone rates compared to other methods. iPhone applications are entertaining, but the technology within the iPhone (and soon the iPad) is not yet able to unlock the true potential of Augmented Reality to the same extent that different media (a web-cam enabled shop display, a home computer or laptop) can. In the luxury industry (and perfumes do belong there for better or worse) where gimmicks are usually not taken very seriously will the iPhone and its applications find the fertile ground they need to catch the eye of the consumer and would they need to make the leap from "techie geek" to "lifestyle" to do so?

My additional qualm is that the results garnered on the iPerfumer often bear little relation to what a seasoned perfume enthusiast would expect out of the submitted information to begin with. But bearing in mind how in order to get recommendations in the first place, you're asked to "rate" (enough) fragrances according to preference, I would think that the ulterior purpose of the application is to provide Givaudan with an extraordinary cheap market research tool via which to monitor the scented tastes of iPhone users worldwide! And it does look like it's going to be updated at intervals, with a version 2.0 to roll around when there is need for yet more monitoring and see how tastes have evolved.

What do you think?

"Your perfume is giving me the hives/ a headache/ asthma!"

How many times have you heard that line in one variation or another? Or are you one of the sufferers who feels like you're going to erupt any minute now from the fumes that are coming your way from down the hall? There are two sides to every argument and the modern (mostly Americanised) phenomenon of complaining about perfume-wearing in the workplace and public spaces is interesting to dissect, if hysterically overacted in some cases. Like the one involving Susan McBride, a Detroit city employee who claimed a co-worker’s perfume and room deodorizer caused her to suffer from migraines and nausea and in turn sued the city, claiming the scented workplace hindered her from working properly.

Most impressively, nevertheless, McBride actually won a $100,000 settlement and Detroit city employees in the three buildings where McBride works are now being warned not to wear scented products, including colognes, aftershave, perfumes and deodorants, or even use candles and air fresheners! Incidents like this and reportage from common folks who comment on MSN articles citing the incident as an example of a greater issue make me think. And the majority of interesting questions in this world begin with one simple word: "why". WHY has scent been given so much importance in today's society? Why is this annoyance greater now rather than decades before? And why is perfume and scented goods demonized in such a way? Is perfume wearing the new taboo? Or the new smoking?

Let's start by a typical example, taken from actual comments by readers. One woman complains about her co-worker constantly brewing fresh chai tea five times a day on her desk (Talk about a lot of constipation, but let's not tackle this right now). The smell of tea being brewed bothers her. She complains she's getting a headache. The other woman quips by saying she got a headache by the smell of the noodles that the other woman brought at the office the other day! The situation escalates to the point that the incident is reported to Human Resources and the floor manager. Chair brewing is brought to a halt. You see...nothing is as uncomplicated as a simple repulsion to the smell of something. Imagine how this can take on other shades of meaning when the offending item in question is a scented gift from a beloved one or even if it takes on the "enlightened" appeal of aromatherapeutic products. Or...the horrors, a humble deodorant (banning it risking a major case of the BOs) or the cleaning fluid for the floors!

Allergies and headaches triggered by scented products are a serious issue. I don't deny that for a minute! Let me repeat: I don't deny it. People battle with symptoms that can be debilitating. Some are even seizure-like, recalling epilepsy ("sensitivity to strong smells, flashing lights and certain noises"). For all that there is proper medical care, while common sense dictates to respect people and tone down whatever is making them ill, assuming the pinpointing has been successful. But how much of that is real and how much is simulated for various reasons? Even scientists are sometimes baffled. Where does one draw the line between having something hurt them ("I'm getting nauseated") and having something just annoy their aesthetic principles ("I hate that scent")? Reportedly the percentage of genuine medical conditions is very low. "Hey man, you stink!" is politically incorrect, whether the stink comes from body odour or perfume or smoke...Has this political correctness which has pervaded the American society prevented men and women from giving voice to what displeases them in a rational and level-mannered way, thus provoking secondary reflexes that lead to overacting and passive aggressiveness? I think it has.

Scent mapping is starting to become the equivalent of turf wars and a victim attitude that would "pay" for other things, some of which are tangible in the form of monetary recompensation. People have got ideas, after that $100,000 settlement. But it is the power trip which gives the thrill. Scent has always biologically been a way to mark one's territory and man (and woman), a grown-up animal out of the jungle, is refining the process by donning olfactory shoulder pads, marking one's personal space. Refuting someone's right to gnaw on your own personal space -within the public one- seems like resistance to usurped authority, claiming part of the common territory back, setting the line on someone's power. Doubly so, as perfume choice and individual odour is such an intimate, personal matter. It reads as rejection of someone on a deep, core level. How many times have you rejected a potential lover because you didn't like the way they smelled? And how many times have you felt flattered because someone praised your scent?

"A person doesn't necessarily have a right to wear perfume, but the person does have a right to be able to breathe in the workplace" is cited as reason for the indignation. Clearly perfume wearing is considered frivolous. The floodgates on entitlement to rights and the cult of "me" opened up at some point during the last 20 years, after which a major step back in basic manners and common sense ensued. Which brings me to another point: It's noted that the majority of complaints and the escalation of such cases is witnessed in the US (and to a lesser degree Canada). Other countries do not have such a problem (yet, at least). Why is that? I believe it has to do with a couple of reasons.

First of all, the frivolity of perfume seems ingrained in a WASP mentality, the glorification of soap and water of almost religious significance. "Cleanliness is next to godliness", right? Interestingly, the aphorism is similarly coined in other languages to extol the value of cleaning up; but the connection is not made to the divine, but rather with other values, such as social status. To further this syllogism, one might argue that by eschewing the god-prefered clean smell of soap and water, covering it up with perfume is "reeking" of suspicious motives. What are you trying to cover up, dude? Perfume wearing has for long being tied to members of the fair sex of low reputation in particular (parfum de puta), trying to cover up the smell of other men on them, or a witch-hunt mentality in which scent was used to ensnare men and control them through the subliminal medium of olfaction.

Another reason might be that the cubicle farm culture is most prevalent in the US rather than other countries. The tight-knit space does induce discomfort, conflict and ennui! Someone has to be blamed and perfume is so easy to target. Especially so since smells invade our space and trigger emotional responses. Which makes me further the thought: Has no one considered Sick Building Syndrome? Several of the symptoms described for perfume intolerance happen to be identical with those for the above condition.

What is perhaps even more intriguing is that I distinctly recall a perfumer saying that American perfumes are made with a higher concentration within the established Eau de Toilette and Eau de Parfum concentrations so as to satisfy the taste to have your perfume announcing you, a form of "olfactory shoulder pads" which used to be very demanded by the market focus groups on US soil. Historical fact confirms that some of the most potent, powerful fragrances first met with success in the US, such as Narcisse Noir by Caron, due to this preference. In a globalised market perhaps this isn't always the case, although several popular fragrances do get produced at different factories for different countries ("made in US" vs "made in France" etc., plus the difference in the alcohol used as a carrier vehicle for the essences) Several of the modern "clean" scents bearing American brand names (the Clean brand for instance) are so harsh and synthetic that they do pierce sinuses. In view of the above is it any wonder that lots of Americans are complaining? I don't think it's entirely their fault! But it does make for a new arena for the claim of personal space in an increasingly tight, overpopulated world.

On to you: Is perfume the latest taboo? Is it the new weapon to battle one's battles in the workplace? Do you have any problems from someone else's scent?

pics via legalblogwatch.typepad.com and dentalcollectibles.com

There's Hope for the Average Perfume Customer Still

I don't make a habit of reporting my fragrance consulting services, as I believe one person's qualms against jasmine and another's perception of patchouli as "mothballs-like" are of no particular interest to others, unless they happen to share them. Yet a recent session proved so particularly surprising and satisfactory on multiple levels, one of which is reinforcement of the belief that the consumer isn't a fool after all, that I thought you might get a kick out of it and maybe start a dialogue about similar observations you have made. At any rate, you'll be the judge in the comments!

My subject was a girly girl in her 20s, style-aware and groomed, interested in fragrances in general, exposed to mainstream market scents and marginally familiar with basic perfume vocabulary. Her skin is normal and lightly-toned and she has dark hair and light green eyes. She initially professed a like for floral fragrances, noticing two I wore in the preliminary conversations (Insolence Eau de Toilette and Lys Mediterranée) with no particular "NOs" pointed out. She possesses what is commonly called "a mathematical mind" and considers fragrance wearing a feminine touch but also a delight for the senses. This info is routinely amassed to summarise preferences and peculiarities, although I follow a complimentary technique based on a quick pop-quizz with multiple choices that seem out of the loop ~which you will please allow me to keep to myself for now, after all I have a business to attend to.

I organised the list of fragrance bottles to try so that most would be accessible without too much trouble where she lives, that they span across different fragrance families and different eras and that they embody some of the characteristics which came out of the short interview and test she took. I also took pains to propose fragrances which for the most part could be worn in a warmer climate, with a couple of exceptions.

So what did I present her with? Here's the list!

1. Diorella by Dior (A classic green-fruity chypre with summery appeal)
2. Cristalle by Chanel in Eau de Toilette concentration (A fresh citrusy "green" that is higher pitched)
3. Eau d'Hermès (A mid-of-the-century classic built on citrus-leather accords with a "dirty" musky underside)
4. Lys Mediterranée by F.Malle (A salty, spicy floral of lily and a foray into niche)
5. Insolence by Guerlain in Eau de Parfum concentration (A metallic and hair-spray violet & berries scent that is especially lasting)
6. Grand Amour by Annick Goutal (A heady floral bouquet that veers into floriental)
7. Rumeur by Lanvin (A modern woody musk with undefinable florals thrown in)
8. Shalimar by Guerlain in vintage Eau de Cologne (The classic oriental standby with a bronze-y feeling of smoked vanilla and oppoponax).
9. Theorema by Fendi (The discontinued marvel that combines the gourmand aspects of orange chocolate and traditional resinous heritage into an oriental fit even for summer)
10. Fumerie Turque by Serge Lutens (A milky take on a masculine theme, tobacco, and the trial by fire on baroque compositions)
11. Mitsouko by Guerlain in vintage parfum concentration (The very essence of rich fruity chypre with a murky depth of oakmoss sensuality)
12. Eau de Merveilles by Hermès (An odd duck out, fitting in no particular category, poised as it is between a salty ambergris skin-scent and woody overtones of non-definable nature)

A dozen does not a dime make: The testing period involved at home living with the fragrances for a few days, before choosing one as a favourite which would be the compass into more specific and nuanced suggestions (and to that end, I welcome your ideas!). Her pick?

No drumroll emoticon could be enough, as the choice although perfectly transparent for the two of us, is quite surprising to the rest of the world I guess: The unisex masterpiece from 1951, bring niche before there was niche, and the one which one of its accolytes, perfumer Jean Claude Ellena professes to like "one among a handful of people in France who wear it". Eau d'Hermès then, my friends, and don't let me catch anyone bad-mouthing youths as uncouth. Some of them know a good thing when they see it!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Fragrances for Myers Briggs types, Questions & Answers with a Fragrance Consultant, In Which I Fragrance Consult

photo collage found via troktiko , bottles photo by member Guerlain/Susana on Fragrantica's public board

The Perfume Wars: Old Lady vs Older Woman

Among perfume lovers' circles there are no other two words more despised than "old lady" perfume. Is it because often the people who love ~but also have the economic means to indulge in their passion~ are of more mature years? Is it because it connotates the worst ageism possible, an invisible one? Is it because in the en masse swiping out of "old lady" perfumes one is thus disregarding all the classics and the vintage treasures which evolving trends made obsolete? Possibly it's a combination of all of the above. And why are men left out, as usual? Are there no "old men" fragrances? And if they exist, why isn't the world paying any attention? Considering the subtextual content of language in reference to scents isn't an easy task, probably exactly because olfaction is a function that addresses the brain's limbic system rather than the rational centre of speech. Therefore a correlation between feeling produced by smell and language used to express it is hard to establish.

Some people defend the term "old lady" by saying it's vague, so it could be construed positively. And originally it was. For instance, a beloved grandmother who has a loyalty to a specific fragrance of her youth might be an old lady to emulate. I can think of at least two. After all fragrance vogues come and go: When My Sin by Lanvin launched in 1925 it was the bee's knees (it still is, if we need to be objective), a subversive scent for an emancipated woman. Miss Dior (1947) was aimed at the debutantes of the first years after WWII, hence the "miss" denomination. Now the young ones wear Miss Dior Cherie, a sweet fragrance that bears no olfactory relation to the predecessor and turn up their noses at the original. L'Eau d'Issey (1992) marked a whole generation now in their early forties; in the eyes of a modern teenager, it's terribly passé. The cyclical course of fashions accounts for the unavoidable reversion of norms and perceptions, in regards to scents as with everything else.
It could be a lack of vocabulary and imagination only: The derogatory term is easy to say and to blurb forth, without trying to come up with a phrase that describes our feelings in more precise terms that could convey nuanced meaning. Obviously the mystique of fragrance is terra incognita for many, but I am wondering whether this is an excuse for terminology laziness.

On the other hand, so very often the term "old lady smell" is used in reference not simply to obsolete or old-fashioned aromata, but rather displeasing or even repelling ones: Smells of incontinence, of "dead" hormones (very seldom detractors consider "old lady" perfumes as sexy or attractive), of lacking hygiene due to physical disabilities, smells of medicine and disease...The feeling is almost one of foreboding, a bad omen that has the evil ability to stick around and influence everyone around. "Chela Gonzalez and her friend Nora are looking forward to sixth grade in their El Paso school. They have finally been placed in the A-class, the “smart class,” which is for students who only speak English. Then Chela’s father has a stroke on the first day of school, her grandmother comes to help out, and “the air became thick with the smell of old lady perfume, of dying flowers and alcohol…. It was the smell of bad things.” Thus is constructed the central plot in Claudia Guadalupe Martinez’s debut novel for young adults "The Smell of Old Lady Perfume". No baking cookies, cuddling and fragrant kisses goodnight for this grandma and grandaughter.
A blogger further writes remarking the scent of a woman he passes by: "Perhaps this isn't a smell that old people spray themselves with. Maybe when you get past the menopause, you instantly start emitting it. Old women try to mask it with stronger fragrances, but the old lady smell keeps coming out. As they get older, the smell fades, and is replaced by the smell of old mothballs." There is even a Banning Old Lady Perfume on Facebook! And the pursuit of youth at all costs knows no (commercial) boundaries: there's a magic smell for everything!
Surely it must be a hard-wired mechanism in humans that averts us from anything that reminds us of our own mortality seeing a woman of advanced years as discarded material, an old hag. Before you pppfft it as sheer rubbish though read this: "A researcher at Shiseido Laboratories has traced the problem to a fatty acid known as palmitoleic acid. He has also learned that the body of a person up to about the age of 30 does not secrete a noticeable amount of this substance, but that once a person--whether male or female--hits 40, the volume rises sharply. The volume of palmitoleic acid released by the human body is 10 times as great among people in their seventies as in their forties."
Still, aging is a privilege; the alternative isn't as good. We might as well be a little more accepting and lenient and grow up already!

Spirited discussions ensue whenever the subject is brought up nevertheless: One perplexed 25-year old says she was told by her boyfriend "his favourite perfume is White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor" and asks for opinions on whether it's too mature for her. Before anyone playfully suggests she ditches the boyfriend, she is told instead to "try it on skin first", "its old lady, try smelling Paris hilton, Gwen Stefani, Baby phat, J-Lo, these are just a few in my collection that smell oh so good", that "it’s a little mature but it smells alright. I wouldn’t wear it until I’m like 45+", "I didn’t know they had perfume for young folks and old folks" and yes, finally that "it is marketed to an older more mature woman". Ah...the magic word: "marketed"!

But let's see the world of difference a small substitution does to the term: What if instead of "old lady" we had "older woman"? The image of a prim, conservative little commuter, grey hair in a bun and structured purse in her lap, sensible shoes and no thoughts of enjoying anything naughty is looming whenever the derogatory term is used. Is it the "little" lady in there that is so distasteful to the detractors? One of them even mentions it out of the blue as smelling like "Eau de little old lady" when talking about retro perfumes , so there must be some truth in my theory! In contrast, consider being youngish and being told you smell "like an older woman", especially if this comes from a man. Instantly the characterisation is not negative; far from it. It's "older", not old. It's "woman", a more sensuously rich term than "lady". It's all French (or Italian) films and summers spent as an exchange student someplace where a knowing woman had taught you the secrets and exasperations of adult life Mrs. Robinson-style. Who wouldn't want to be as alluring as Jacqueline Bisset? Still, the ringing-of-some-humiliation term of "cougar" has been concocted against older women going after younger men, so I'm seriously considering whether "old lady" isn't a feminist issue to begin with. It probably is.

A suitable alternative term for "old lady" perfume nevertheless hasn't been universally accepted yet. Would "retro fragrances" be a positive term to replace the "old lady" one when referring to classics & old-fashioned scents? Would "old-fashioned" do when we're talking about something that is not necessarily within our comprehension or taste? Would "displeasing" be an umbrella subjective term for the scents we don't like, forgetting the ageist tentacles which are spreading and engulfing us whenever we use the term "old lady" in a negative light?
We're taking submissions for vocabulary expansion right here as we speak: Offer your own!

pics via shadyoldlady.com and cinematicpassions.com

Top 13 Worst fragrances?

Uusally blogs post their Top 10 or so Best Perfumes etc etc. in a popularity stake that is easy for readers to browse through and can identify with; makes for light, pop reading. But what about a negative list? Those are less promoted by far, although far more illuminating on many levels. How does such a selection gain credence and isn't dismissed as snark, vitriol or plain ignorance? It's all very well for someone to say that they absolutely think something is stellar (no one gets offended and often the reader believes the author knows something they don't) but when someone bashes someone else's favorite scent, feelings can get quite hurt it seems!

I'm not going to attempt a Top Worst Fragrances List myself due to that very reason, but coming across one had all the right bells ringing and I thought I'd bring it for our readers for discussion: There's an article at MSN named Pe-ew! based on ratings of readers of TotalBeauty.com , comments of whom the article reiterates. The selection is rather tame (someone should send the readers some Secretions Magnifiques as a control specimen!) and the comments oscillate most often between the plain tired "old lady" (for lack of a better vocabulary) and the "heavy", while surprisingly the same things that are considered heavy to one are non-perceptible to another (or considered having no lasting power either). Makes one wonder just how our everyday choice of fragrance is really greeted by other people, doesn't it? What emerges from the poll is that under no circumstances can you:

1)Smell like a grandma (Why the hell not, if you want to? Is it a dirty thing?)

2)Smell cheap (Ditto)

3)Have something cost more than its perceived value in olfactory terms. (Blurry, but the only logical complaint and I'm afraid lots of brands and products are falling into this pit)

List of Top 13 Worst Fragrance from Total Beauty.com (in reverse order):

13. Aromatics elixir by Clinique : Predictably assumed "old lady in a bottle" and one reader likens it to "cats, mothballs and fruitcakes". Bernand Chant's bones are creaking, but no need. This is one of the MOST complimented fragrances on strangers, while it can be a bit too much on oneself sometimes. I had praised it profusely years ago and I still stand behind my credo. Personally I use the body lotion or the Sheer version; makes for less intense wearing.
12. YSL Parisienne: One reader notes the newest Yves Saint Laurent is a combination of her "grandmother and trees" (!), others find it "cheap" (can't argue) and "forgettable" and many consider it "not youthful at all". We can assume the sexy-teasy advertising missed their aim...
11. Lush Go Green: In the words of one reader "like a Christmas tree air freshener." That ties in with that green I guess!
10. M by Mariah Carey (Elizabeth Arden): Featuring a burnt marshmallow scent that is too sweet to the point of aversion it seemed condemned from the start. Proof people aren't swayed by a pretty bottle.
9. Lancome Magnifique: I had voiced my disagreement with the presentation and press about this one (basically a little misleading) but surely not the ghastly thing presented on that poll. "Cheap, incredibly strong and heavy, quickly fading": I can't say I agree with any of this. I can see how it can be polarising as a smell though; it's not among those I'd choose myself.
8. Aveda Pure Fume Essence: Haven't personally tried this one, but "musky and earthy" don't rate too well with today's audiences, at least on Beauty.com it seems. The Avedas I have tried, I wasn't impressed with.
7. Kenzo Flower : Isn't this a best-seller in the 30s-40s age bracket? The proof that powdery scents (alongside Cashmere Mist and Hypnotic Poison) are not only designated perfume solace for the elderly? I laughed with one reader insisting that she "shouldn't be hitting the bottom notes of a perfume within an hour". Really? Is this a new rule? Has she smelled any orientals? First time I hear about this concept!
6. Elizabeth Taylor White Diamonds: A reader who worked at Macy's says the salespeople called it "the old lady scent." "If you needed a gift for a much older woman, we sold you this!" All right I'm perfectly willing to accept this. Yet older women should be indulged too and what is Liz Taylor if not an older woman nowadays? (embarking on her 9th marriage no less!)

5. Harajuku Lovers Lil Angel : Possibly the least disliked in the Karajuku Lovers range gets bashed ("cloying, powdery, sweet, fading"). Typical.
4. Avon Timeless Cologne Spray: I can't really criticize the tried-and-tested poisoned arrows of "heavy," "musky" and "so very old" because I was jumping up and down like a demented puppy seeing again the little roll-on bottle I was handed down as an elementary school kid! I recall really liking the -problematic to classify- scent, even then. Goes to show you... 3. Tocca Stella: Again, isn't this really popular? One reader mentions it's reminiscent of gardenia or lilac like this is a criticism. I'm rather stumped.
2. Gucci by Gucci: Obviously tastes differ, but Gucci is selling quite well, so it probably pleases a lot of people. But reading through the comments, I get the sense that the major complaint is not lasting long enough or being perceivable for the duration it's expected.

1. Gifts of the Sea Spray by Caswell Massey : I have never smelled this, but now I'm psyched to hunt it down and get a sample. The complaint seems for it to be "dull". Somehow I think that could be said about half the current market...Anyway...

So: What do you think about the above? And which are your Top Worst Perfumes?

pic via enet.gr

How Much Will the Niche Market Bear?

The news on the discontinuation of some Serge Lutens fragrances we broke on these pages as well as the Guerlain discontinuations we also had the honerous duty of introducing to you a while ago have prompted me to think long and hard about the fragrance market and its trajectory ever since the Internet became a major player from 2000 onwards; first with budding perfume discussing fora and later in 2005 with the emergence of the first fragocentric blogs. Nine years and counting later things have profoundly changed and the scenery is altered.
Everyone jumped on the bandwagon of niche perfumery and with aspirations of artsy-fartsy pretence about how "perfumery is an art too" (Chandler, if only you knew what a monster you created!) they have been indundating the market with overpriced dreg ever since. There is simply TOO MUCH JUS OUT THERE!! Whether it's for the best or the worst I am leaving this up to your intelligent discussion in the comments. But first let me present some facts and some trivia for your consideration.

First there were the Hermessences in 2004: A major luxury player who was active on the fragrance sector as well decided to do the unthinkable ~present an exclusive line of top-tier scents reserved for their interior boutique only circuit. Guerlain had their own plan upon refurbishing their flagship store in 2005, plans which materialised and some which were almost cut mid-stream (Il Etait une Fois reissues, I'm talking to you!). Soon enough ~it seemed to me before the word Hermessence had dried on the staff memo~ Chanel pulled an Hermes as well, 3 years ago almost to the day, with their Les Exclusifs to be sold exclusively at Chanel boutiques. The two luxe lines were received with accolades, enthusiastic bises in a very European manner and profound respect from the whole perfume community, even if there were a couple of critical voices on the concept and coherence of the thing.
Just last year both "exclusives" were renegated to online shopping, making the acquisition of a coveted haute bottle approchable at the click of a mouse to anyone in upper Minnesota who had the requisite checkings account. Where's the exclusivity factor?

Several established brands followed (Dior Prive, Lancome La Collection, Tom Ford Private Blend, Lauder the Private Collection Line fragrances trio), and the few remaining ones came out just recently with their own "exclusive" sub-line within the line, cashing in on the hen who lays the golden eggs (or so they thought): Cartier Les Heures de Parfum, Van Cleef & Arpels Collection Extraordinaire, Dolce & Gabbana Anthology. They employed top tier perfumers, they advertised intelligently by word of mouth, they even brought original "ideas" for inspiration. (The Tarot deck for D&G, for Chris's sake. What's next? The Mayan calendars of doomsday?) The results? Rather lukewarm reception to varying degrees of temperature nuance. Even though there are a few specimens in there which are indeed great (especially in the first two brands), the idea seems tired, been-there-done-that and the audience doesn't seem to go back for much more... Not at those price points in this economy at least!

Uber-luxe brands positioned themselves in a place of de juro superior price point (often with the corresponding quality in the formula): Amouage and By Kilian are good examples. Recently By Kilian has introduced the smaller traveller bottles and the refills in order to appeal to the less cash-flowing clientele. Smart move! Still not every release can be received with enthusiasm. Writes Pam from Olfactarama regarding their latest Back to Black, giving it 2 stars out of 5: "A combination of pipe tobacco, cherry syrup (maybe cherry pipe tobacco?) and vanilla. After 2 or 3 hours only vanilla; after six it's a generic heliotrope/vanilla with a slight Play-Doh note. I don't know what all the fuss was about". One can re-invent the wheel so many times, I guess.

Several smaller players emerged lately as well, often with erratic results: French niche line Ego Facto from Pierre Aulas debuted at Marionnaud in France with 7 perfumes: 4 for women and 3 for men and even employed acclaimed nose Dominique Ropion for their Poopoo Pidoo fragrance (inspired by Marilyn Monroe no less) as well as other famous perfumers for the rest. One of my online friends with a discerning nose, who also posts on several fora & blogs, TaraC proclaims: "I just tried all 5 of the Ego Factos yesterday and didn’t like any of them. They all smelled like generic commercial synthetic swill on me… I guess I’m not the target customer!"
Smell Bent on the other hand is a new LA-based indie niche line, which deputed with 10 fragrances (!) at a low price point. A NST commentator calls them "pretty gimmicky too". MakeupAlley reviewers and regulars have varying opinions on them.
What's up? Are then people able to judge independently of the price asked? Big surprise, I guess they are! On an interesting spin of events a graphic outlining perecentages (according to a Sanford C. Berstein survey of 834 U.S. consumers conducted over a two-week period in mid-December) of people who have traded down in various consumer product sectors appeared in The Wall Street Journal. Some include: 34% traded down in laundry detergent, 31% traded down in kitchen paper twoels, 15% traded down in toothpaste & what is within our scope...14% traded down in perfume/cologne! Fascinating, no?

Please nota bene at this point that I have not (yet) smelled any of these fragrances from the two companies above so I cannot form a personal opinion on them. But the saturation of the market does leave a perfume writer with something less than frenzied desire to sample the latest thing, doesn't it? A sense of boredom sets in and samples lie there untouched. But let's forget for a second that this is a second job here, what about the average perfume lover who isn't necessarily writing about perfume: Can the market bear so many lines, so many brands, so much jus? Niche was the only sector in fragrances to show a slight increase amidst the recession. However this is slowly changing, exactly because the consumer is catapulted with "news" and "launches" daily. And the general trends direction isn't sounding too good either.

According to reportage by Jason Ashley Wright on Tulsa World "2010 is the year of the celebrity fragrance, said Megan Hurd, a beauty expert for Amazon.com. Not only is Kim Kardashian’s anticipated first scent hitting shelves this month, so is Halle Berry’s orchid-and-citrus- inspired scent. Others include Beyonce’s (in February) and Sarah Jessica Parker’s third fragrance, SJP NY (early spring). People are gravitating toward lighter, more airy scents, said Pat Hudelson, a fragrance expert at Saks Fifth Avenue in Utica Square. Last month’s deep-freeze temperatures “kind of put everybody in a depressed state,” she said. “Everybody needs something new and kind of fun.”
Some show increase in their stakes even amidst the lagging economy: "Inter Parfums Inc. announced that net sales for the fourth quarter were about $113.6 million, a 13% increase from $100.4 million in the prior year quarter." (to note they distribute Van Cleef,Burberry, Lanvin, and will be collaborating with Montblanc soon). They're bringing out Burberry Sport fragrance line this month and Oriens, a female fragrance line by Van Cleef & Arpels this coming March, so obviously the Van Cleef brand needed some reboosting. (Amazing if you think of it, since La Collection Extraordinaire practically just launched, it was only last autumn!).
Some show decrease and pleas for help: "Mr. Burkle's investment firm Yucaipa Cos. bought up a large chunk of Barneys' debt late last year and has offered to invest at least another $50 million in the high-end fashion chain via a loan deal that would leave him owning 80% of Barneys' common equity. The remaining equity would be held by Barneys' current owner, Istithmar World Capital, the investment arm of state-owned Dubai World" [...]The move is the latest play for Barneys, a swanky New York apparel retailer that has struggled since being taken over by Istithmar just before the recession hit".[source] And some propose a completely different approach still: "Some luxury brands are finding that single-sex boutiques boost the bottom line. While it's not exactly a man's world on Main Street, luxury brands are increasingly offering greater exclusivity in men-only shops" [source] Cherchez l'homme!

So what "fruits" will the future of perfumery, especially niche, bear? Let's hear it from you!

Photo of Audrey Hepburn by Richard Avedon via manishtama blog. Still from Greek film "Rendez-vous at Corfu" (1959) via grcinema.wordpress.com

Perfume Preferences and How Body Chemistry Affects Fragrances

According to an article by Gad Saad, Ph.D., an Associate Professor of Marketing at the John Molson School of Business (Concordia University) and author of The Evolutionary Bases of Consumption, some additional scientific info is now presented on the much discussed matter of body chemistry affecting our preferences and suitability for certain perfumes.
"In 2001, Manfred Milinski and Claus Wedekind published a very intriguing study on the links between self-preferences of perfumes and individuals' major histocompatibility complex (MHC). The MHC consists of a set of genes that capture a person's unique immunogenetic profile/signature. As such, the MHC is a disassortative mating trait. [...] Incredibly, Milinski and Wedekind found that people preferred perfumes that seemed best suited for their unique MHC profile. In this case, this means that preferred perfumes are those that are most likely to augment an individual's body fragrances as a means of advertising his/her MHC signature".
A fascinating observation that extends the basic principle of evolution (survival of the fittest), as expressed in biology terms, into the olfactory.
Read the rest of the article on Psychology Today.

Other links with some info/opinions on body chemistry and fragrances:
Fragrances and skin (an introductory beginner's article on the issue)
How To Choose The Right Perfume For Your Body Chemistry (a more in-depth list of the factors which affect scent performance)
I Have the Body Chemistry of a Man (a self-flagellating satirical article about the perils of having the wrong "body chemistry" for a coveted perfume)
Fragrance Tips (Amidst some "general tips" for perfume use we stumble upon this pearl: "The biggest factor in how a fragrance will smell on you is your body's PH balance. Ideal PH is alkaline - but stress and poor nutrition will turn your balance to acid, and that will affect fragrance." Correction, dear sirs: skin should be slightly acidic, it's how the skin mantle is supposed to self-regulate in order to protect against certain microorganisms)

And you, how do you feel about "body chemistry" and perfumes? Do you have specific aversions or preferences that you feel are tied to your specific psychosomatic make-up? Did you have perfumes change their performance? Discuss!

pic via cdn.picapp.com

The Power of "Noir" in Perfumes

Nowhere is the power of "noir" (aka black) more intense than in the sublime and surreal cosmos of perfumes: From modern creations such as Bulgari's Jasmin Noir and Black or Tom Ford's Black Orchid and even Black Violet to Ormonde Jayne's Orris Noir and Yves Rocher's Iris Noir, all the way through to vintage gems such as the murky Narcisse Noir by Caron, or the kaleidoscopic Or Noir by Pascal Morabito, with a detour at niche "founder" Serge Lutens via his Datura Noir, everything is painted in black a la Rolling Stones. And who can forget the enigmatically legendary Nombre Noir by Shiseido and its white heat?

Even more vague and promising in intonation than the above (which mostly recall shady, unusual hybrids of flowers with few exceptions) are those which are sartorially-inspired (Lutens has Fourreau Noir but also Serge Noire, both evoking fabrics and items of clothing; Guerlain La Petite Robe Noire, while Avon has Little Black Dress, where black is synonymous to pared elegance regardless of the discombobulating scent: the mere mention of the name promises Hepburn-like pizazz!). The darkening of ingredients is also popular: The slightly scorched effect of Noir Epices by Michel Rounditska for the F.Malle line, the indie Ambre Noir by Sonoma Scent Studio... Black Sun by Salvador Dali sounds even more surreal than intended, the world of alchemy eclipsed into Schwarze Sonne/Sonnenrad neopaganism purpoting radical change: apparently not so, in perfume terms! Crystal Noir by Versace is reminiscent of jet-bead jewellery, the par excellence mourning jewellery in the Victorian Era, a direction that the designer house considers too far back to be referenced by the youthful audience to which they aspire. Sometimes "noir" can even stand alone, stolid, full of fortitude and mystery, like a promised (but rarely delivered) olfactory Healthcliff: Lacroix Noir for men, Avon's Noir for men...Othertimes, it paints a heroic symbol with the wide brush of machismo: Drakkar Noir, how can we forget you? Perhaps the more literal interpretation of Lalique's Encre Noire (black ink) is more elegant onomastically. And the trend gets carried in excess as in ~fittingly named~ Black XS by Paco Rabanne, The Wrong Man obviously for dark regressions out of the past.

The recent trend of naming perfumes "Black this" and "Noir that" (or as Tania Sanchez wittingly calls Black Thingamajig) has really gained momentum with hundreds of fragrances containing one or the other denominator in their very name. After testing the majority of them with apprehension as to their perceived fangliness, I have come to believe it's pure marketese to denote something that is the antithesis of "fresh", "light", "inoffensive", "cookie-cutter". Admittedly, people have always wanted to be the opposite of the last two adjectives, even if they don't have one iota of dangerousness, sensuousness or mystery in their bones. Call it the call of the wild, the desire to be what they cannot be in their ordinary lives, call it escapism: Which I realise all perfume really boils down to! It's simply irresistible, it's like watching an old film-noir and fantasizing about being the wicked femme fatale (Who is usually coincidentally dressed in black, have you seen any in pink polkadots and yellow ribbons in her hair?). "The femme fatale provokes a kind of temporary insanity in the protagonist, which partially absolves him from responsibility for his actions. It is as though she happens to him, like a natural force". [quote]
Ayala Moriel, an indie perfumer from Canada, has created a glorious (and mysterious-smelling) patchouli confection in her suitably named Film Noir. The crossfire of "good girl vs. bad girl" is a dichotomy prevalent in many cultures, none more pointedly so than the American one, with a plethora of "rules" to adhere to in order to belong to one and not the other, personal fragrance being the outward manifestation of an inward inclination. Nuit Noire by Mona di Orio assumes a very intimate aura (of yes, rather forbidden bodily zones) to talk about the dangers of a black night ~what its name means~ when you'd be more simpatico to some experimenting in Bitter Moon/Lunes de Fiel , Pascal-Bruckner-style. The decade of "clean" (the 90s) with its AIDS hysteria ~when perfumes seemed to serve as a virtual chastity-belt~ is over and thankfully most of the ozonics and aqueous scents are left in a lonely place.

Somehow I think the reference was cinematic to begin with, including the very first scents onomatized with this dark epithet. Marcel L'Herbier's Le Parfum de la Dame en Noir from 1931 based on Gaston Leroux's older novel of the same name conveniently tied the two in an inextricable knot. Narcisse Noir by Caron, apart from Sunset Boulevard and its dramatic sensuality, makes me think of vampy Theda Bara, arguably not the person you'd imagine baking you an apple-pie and preparing the kids for school in the morning; assuming she were actually awake in the morning! Which nicely brings me to the current pop mania for vampires and creatures of the night, via Stephanie Meyer's Twilight and its tremendous marketability: Are dark-named fragrances another manifestation of a youth's desire for safe "danger" and repressed sexuality, as explored via boyish vampire teens who have sharper teeth than other body parts? It's murder, my sweet, not sex!

Arguably black has always been laced with magical qualities too, the sense of inherent danger, the cabbalistic and alchemical symbols tied to its shaded enigma: enter the most representative olfactory case of them all, Magie Noire by Lancome. Apparently in an era where witches are fortunately not burned to the stick with gusto until they're well-done, perfumers show a hankering for well-done renditions instead of dark, earthy and twilight-shaded compositions that lurk within shaded forests, the dark corner and the nighmare alley.

But the obsession with darkness also has to do with fashion and visual cues: Black is not a colour, optically-speaking: It's the absence of colour! This gives it a sort of power that all other colours lack (a comparable case with white but different connotations). Mediterranean cultures who have embraced it because it makes such a strartling constrast with the bright sun knew a thing or two: Picture the lace-headscarf of the Spanish consorts over red blooms, the black cloth of Sicilian and Greek widows against the white-painted little houses. It's not an accident that nidjas are dressed in black, that we have the little black dress (the little red one is a whole different matter), that goths like black, that black has an aura of the occult and the forbidden, even the subversive or the fatal (black death, black metal, black sabbath, black widow...).

I have a personal theory to offer on that matter as well: black is the colour of anonimity! Put someone in black and they mingle right in. "Men in black", remember? The ones supposed to come out of nowehere and zap your memories of close encounters of the third kind out of your system. You can't do that in -say- jade or canary yellow! Therefore black in a genius transition from the visual to the olfactory & the mnemonic allows both the concept of a perfume to be easier to graft on one's self and for one's personality (assuming they have one to begin with) to shine through; allowing the better elements to slowly unveil themselves.

Whether I associate the word "noir" with specific perfumery notes? Not really! Several recent, modern "noir" and "black" fragrances ironically smell exactly "light, fresh, inoffensive, cookie-cutter", so....no. Other people however mention oud, patchouli, resin, smoke, tobacco, incense. It's a your mileage may vary, in any case, not one of "all cats are black in the night".

So what does "noir" signify for you in terms of smell?

And a Game: He or She who recognises all the titles of film-noirs hidden in the text will win a decant off my vintage collection! (hint: they're 10 in total and they're all Google-able)




pics of The Killers and The Narrow Margin via sbccfilmreviews.com, kitsune.noir.blogimages, dvdbeaver.com