Penhaligon's Newest Eye and Nose Candy

photo by Elena Vosnaki

 It was inescapable. The new goodies from Penhaligon's have trickled their way to my lap and I'm slowly savouring their delights which I was seeking to try out. 

Babylon (an oriental--spicy-woody, exclusive to Harrods till January 2021), Mr.Penhaligon's (a man's fougere to be launched soon) and The Favourite (a delicate lightly powdery floral, on which I am posting a review next) are included in this delectable box of high aesthetics. 

photo by Elena Vosnaki

The above box of wonders is part of the British firm's celebration of the 150th anniversary of the brand's continuous existence. Yes, it did withhold all those years, in fact I know of a person (older than me, obviously) who was working on their London shop in the 1970s filling the cute bottles. 

"One mustn’t stand in the way of a well-needed celebration, and Penhaligon’s have just the thing! 2020 sees the sesquicentennial of our creation, and you don’t reach your 150th birthday without picking up a story or two. Just ask our founder, William Penhaligon. There was the time he trimmed the Shah of Persia’s beard. Not to mention all those Society scandals that set tongues wagging in the Turkish baths of Mayfair...150 years of dreams, magical places, distinctive characters, and the world’s most extraordinarily unique scents. Each of our fragrances tells a story, too."

It's a great story, I'll give you that, and what's more, in perfumery, it's quite true too, which is not a given with many other brands who invent their past. Cheers for another 150 years ahead, then. 

The Unisex Beauty of Guerlain's Jicky (Photo Collection, Short Review & Perfume Musings)

Jicky by Guerlain is a gender bender perfume to end all gender benders; changing sex and direction mid-stream in its illustrious career like an adolescent fulfilling a transgender urge.
The issue of what differentiates female from male idiosyncrasies in general is complicated enough, so it's only natural that one of the most popular questions in perfume for and general discussion is how the opposite sex perceives and decodes the fragrances meant for the other sex.
In perfume terms the composition of different formulas for the two sexes, roughly floral and oriental for the ladies, with a sprinkling of chypre and fruity, reserving woody and citrus for the gentlemen, is a relatively recent phenomenon, dating from the dawn of modern perfumery in the end of the 19th century. Up till then, there was pretty much lots of leeway for men to delve in floral waters of the Victorian era or even the rich civet and musk laden compositions of 18th century decadence.

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Why the name Jicky? "From his student days, perfumer Aimé Guerlain kept the enamoured memory of a young woman named Jicky to whom he paid a beautiful homage with one of his most wonderful olfactory creations. By pure coincidence, the diminutive of his nephew Jacques was also Jicky. Jicky initiated the creation of "abstract perfumery" as opposed to "figurative perfumery". With its interplay of unique facets, it was the first in the perfume world to have such a trail and tenacity. This forerunner of new modern olfactory creations is the founding father of the legendary Shalimar."

Or so the story goes...because it is but a story, a fabricated myth that shows how fragrance tales were used to be told in the olden days...

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Nowadays, lavender , as in a classic like Jicky, is almost code-name for men's cologne, the backbone of a typical fougère fragrance for men, especially since archetypes such as this originally-aimed-at-women-then-usurped-by-men of good taste cemented this notion. The tension of the citrus top note with the animal character of the base is what makes the "jam"; lots of musk and lots of civet too in the older formula, evident in extrait de perfume formula and the not so distant kinship of Mouchoir de Monsieur fragrance, also by Guerlain.

Evaluating a masculine or unisex fragrance is always harder for me than evaluating a fragrance that is divested of its loaded semiotics of gender, or which appeals to my own femininity heads on. At least I can asses femininity first hand and dismiss the hyperbolic claims of modern advertising with a wave of a well-manicured hand. 

In perfume terms the composition of different formulas for the two sexes, roughly floral and oriental for the ladies, with a sprinkling of chypre and fruity, reserving woody and citrus for the gentlemen, is a relatively recent phenomenon, dating from the dawn of modern perfumery in the end of the 19th century. Up till then, there was pretty much lots of leeway for men to delve in floral waters of the Victorian era or even the rich civet and musk laden compositions of 18th century decadence.

It's therefore somewhat fitting the zeitgeist, with the discussion about gendered IDs flaming up again, that Guerlain revisited their roots tentatively when launching Mon Guerlain in 2017 with their merging of lavender (more prominently than in the Yves Saint Laurent fragrance Libre) with their trademark orientalized vanilla. From it, a spawn of feminine fragrances with lavender came forth like mushrooms after the rain.

photo by Elena Vosnaki

Jicky by Guerlain remains a monument, a beacon of taste in a tasteless world. 

Paco Rabanne Pour Homme: fragrance review

Paco Rabanne has been the green giant looming on the bath sill of many a bathroom in my country of origin in the 1970s and 1980s. This classic fougère has marked a generation, alongside best-sellers Drakkar Noir and Aramis, not to forget Azzaro pour Home; with a scent that has come to characterize maleness. In the case of Paco Rabanne pour Homme the underlying brutishness is there, but the sophisticated veneer and the hint of sweetness makes it friendlier than any of the others.

Like any classic fougère the abstractness of Paco Rabanne pour Homme tries to replicate a feeling, an impression, rather than an actual smell. The fern from which the fragrance family takes the name (in homage to the 19th century Fougère Royale fragrance by Houbigant discussed above) is more like the green tentacles of soapy leatheriness of the barbershop than anything anyone would actually meet in a forest. Ferns don't smell much after all. The fougère is a man-made smell rather than an approximation of the natural.

The soapy overlay of Paco Rabanne pour Homme makes it exceptionally attuned to that prerequisite of any masculine fragrance that aims for wide appeal: a sense of cleanliness, though not entirely ersatz thanks to the familiar recollection of lavender essence; but at the same time a man-made product for sure. It's an entirely inedible smell, alternatively cool and warm, gaining warmth in the drydown thanks to an ambery note, always forceful despite the hint of honeyed softness, the hallmark of any good representative in the fougère genre. Some things are not to be trifled with.

The newer version alas does not live up to the old one, but it's still something that needs to be visited in order to appreciate how steadfast a classic fougère can be. It's how fathers should smell like, a scent of dependency and safety.

Jean Paul Gaultier Le Male: fragrance review of a best-seller

Back in 1995 when this Francis Kurkdjian composed fragrance launched Le Male didn't look like it would become that huge in popularity. Jean Paul Gaultier's first masculine fragrance (programmatically named Le Male) was honestly too sweet for the times. No man would capitulate to such a sweet scent surely? And I'm saying this in full knowledge that the archAngel of sweetness came out 3 years before. Angel by Mugler was still too sweet by any mass market standards in 1995 and a very slow commercial success in the market; it took confidence and patience to make it the monument that it is. Le Male followed an analogous path though a bit more speedy thanks to its intended audience.

via

Le Male was evidently camp with its rippled torso and sailor paraphernalia. It was made by a French brand, for Pete's sake, fronted by a "crazy" looking guy always dressed in a matelot top! But it caught on spectacularly because of a very specific reason. It caught on first with the fashion congnoscenti and the tasteful homosexuals who were drawn to its campy imagery and gender bender advertising aesthetics. Truth be told gay men with fashion savvy often have an uncanny ability to focus on just what is right and works in the style stakes and predict trends. Evidently all strides of life favoured it commercially in the end. The advertisements and the scent were so tongue-in-cheek that you couldn't ridicule it no matter what one's orientation were; it had a healthy portion of self-sarcasm to carry it through.

Composition-wise the sweet lavender over coumarin-vanilla recalls a hint of classic fougère specimens, but the execution is nothing but. To better view this one can do a side by side experiment with a classic sweet lavender built on coumarin notes; Caron's Pour Un Homme. Whereas the Caron is a fist in a velvet glove Le Male is rubber band or nitrile gloves that slap shapely buttocks in jest.You can detect the modern musks which make this powerful. Or at least which used to make this powerful and very long lasting. I hear it doesn't last as long nowadays though my last personal testing is a couple of years old to be honest.

Now that fragrances for men have become increasingly sweet, Le Male continues to be popular with all ages of men (fathers and sons alike), but especially young ones who have rediscovered it. Quite a feat for something older than the age of its wearers!

Chanel Les Exclusifs Boy: fragrance review

It's hard to go wrong with an aromatic fougere; men have been conditioned to opt for them and women to respond to them as "the natural scent of men" since at least the end of the 19th century when Jicky by Guerlain became the first to make an impact. Lavender and musk plus a spattering of sweeter notes is the basic recipe but each maker gives them their spin.

Chanel made Boy (after "Boy" Capel, a lover of Coco's) in their boutique range Les Exclusifs to appeal to those men who want that steadfast tradition in a sleek modern bottle and who don't mind a bit of a retro touch. This is what perfumer Olivier Polge (son of Jacques who was head perfumer for 3 decades) envisioned I'm sure.

What I smell distinctly after the top note of sharpness is the heliotrope and tonka which give a slight effect of marzipan paste; they elevate lavender from the usually medicinal territory into something softer and cuddlier. Hard to find this not fitting any occasion, casual, office or night out.

Thierry Mugler Les Exceptions: new fragrance collection

Launching October 2014, the release of the new haute parfumerie collection celebrates the new modern direction of the MUGLER fashion house under Artistic Director, David Koma, and Director Of Development, Marketing and Communications, Virginie Courtin-Clarins.

Les Exceptions symbolizes the dynamic revamping of MUGLER fashion and fragrances. Blends of original alchemies and inventive, unique ingredients come alive in five exceptional fragrances that characterize the essence of MUGLER: Chyprissime, Supra Floral, Fougere Furieuse, Oeintal  express and Over the Musk.  Created in France by renowned noses Olivier Polge and Jean-Christophe Herault, MUGLER Les Exceptions reinterpret and magnify the great blends of traditional fine perfumery.

Each Art Deco-inspired bottle with its streamlined, faceted design - decorated with a playful metal stirrup clip - showcases the distinctive luxury and provocative architectural design that is the House of MUGLER.

The 80 ml (refillable) EDP sprays will be available nationwide starting October 2014 on www.mugler.com ($225)

Maison Francis Kurkdjian Les Pluriels Masculin and Feminin: fragrance reviews

This coming September star perfumer Francis Kurkdjian is launching a duet of scents, Feminin and Masculin in Les Pluriels, for his eponymous brand. I have sampled both and have lived to tell the tale, which is a good one, if not highly original (even within his private niche line). The story is just published on Fragrantica, more of which below, and you're welcome to comment either there or here.

via

Basically Kurkdjian isn't traitorous to what he sets out to do, he considers perfumery more of an artistic craft than high art and believes in the concept of the fragrance wardrobe; his brand is meant to have something for every occasion (for the light "cologne" type for morning to the lush out animalics for intimate soirees) , so the newest diptych fits there comfortable. The bit that is perhaps more difficult to catch is the "eternal feminine" and "eternal masculine" he sets out to accomplish; tall order, especially because no one seems to agree on set parameters on those. After all, it's all a matter of semiotics, external signs for easy communication of a desired message and men and women are just themselves ~men and women. They're not defined by the jodhpurs they choose, the T-shirt and its bow neck or V-neck skimming breasts or not. They're not defined by the cut of their jeans (see "boyfriend's jeans"). They're not even defined by their added fragrance (read our Gender Bending Fragrances article if in doubt).

Feminin Pluriel has a very distinct progression like the passage of colors in the arc. The carrot impression of the iris hits you first, welcome solace from the overdone pink grapefruit /pink pepper or so much modern juice out there, setting the motion for the violet which follows on the skin very very soon. This note, a ubiquitous and perfect complement to both the rooty iris and the woody notes to follow, seems to meld into jasmine and a honeyed abstract orange blossom (reminiscent of its fore-bearers), comprising the main dish. This is further floralized by benzyl salicylate, a very popular ingredient boosting the "solar," luminous aspects of a scent. The cascading of the notes is so noticeable and so distinct that it's as if one ticks off the notes off a list or is watching a race course with the runners passing the baton to one another. Kurkdjian is no stranger to iris-violety things, given a sheer and non-powdery spin, lifting them from their traditional greyish mauve plumage befitting a solemn occasion via cheerful accents; witness his Iris Nobile for Acqua di Parma, surely the most optimistic and light-hearted iris floral out there.

The woody musky backdrop in Feminin Pluriel is engulfing a rose-citrus molecule (indeed, geraniol which has facets hinting at bergamot, rose, other citruses and carrot —the analogue of iris—so it all fits together, hand in glove) and feels as smooth and indefinable as the base in his rose-centered "nouveau chypres" (modern Rumeur, Guerlain Rose Barbare, Rose de Siwa and less so in the less rosy ones such as Narciso for Her and Elie Saab Le parfum). It fits his canon! Picture perfect pretty, in a (public side) Grace Kelly sort of style, maybe too pretty for its own good.

You can read my full review on this link.

via

Regarding Masculin Pluriel, I feel a clear progression from smoky, lightly citrusy vetiver to lavender fougère and on to leathery-smelling patchouli. It's as if the man you wake up to (after a romp in the sheets) jumps up to wash and groom to go to the office and have his "power meetings" before heading out to a private club in the evenings to indulge in a little light S&M, yourself included or not. Schizophrenic? No, just multi-layered, shadow and light, like people are, in fact. Ironic too, because the cleanness of Masculin Pluriel is overreaching like a giant fig leaf hiding the family jewels. The coolness of lavender in Masculin clutches itself to the cooler aspects of patchouli (both sharing a minty facet) echoing one another. It's also a balanced bittersweet fragrance (not sweet like Le Male); one would be fooled to think it's only plush and lush and shaven to a glistening six-pack fit for a glossy magazine…

Although not a chest-thumping kind of a scent (nor an animalic-smelling Jicky full to the brim with civet), the spicy-metallic roughness of a more traditionally rugged mien in Masculin hints at a guy who doesn't shave said pectorals and dons the occasional leather trousers that have seen some wear and tear.

You can read my full review on this link.

DSH Parfums de Beaux Arts -Passport a Paris (from Passport to Paris Collection): fragrance review

The Passport to Paris Collection is a trio of perfumes exploring the fin de siècle (that is, the 19th century's prolonged swan song) which perfumer and painter Dawn Spencer Hurwitz produced in collaboration with the Denver Art Museum celebrating La Belle Epoque. Passport à Paris, primus inter pares, is Dawn's homage to the growling fougères of the late 19th century, namely Guerlain's Jicky and Houbigant's Fougère Royale; in a way closer to the real thing than one would expect, especially since the slimming regime the former has gone through via the rationing of civet. Indeed experiencing  Passport à Paris I'm left with the agonizing realization that this is the kind of perfumery we have been lamenting for lost, only we haven't quite understood that its salvation can only come through artisanship and a rebellious spirit coming not from the Old World, but from the New one.

Fittingly, the fragrance was inspired by a famous painting from the late 19th century, the eerily alienating, ennui filled Beach at Tourville by Claude Monet. In it a world of repressions the simple beachside pleasures are encapsulated with a silent tension (a sort of oil painting rendition of Edith Wharton's Age of Innocence), faces like a smear of paint, an impressionistic image of boredom or unfulfilled desires. In a way the perfume genre that got invented with the thrashing of the powerful new synthetics is a rebellious antithesis to that same ennui.

I'm not in the habit of oooh-ing and aaah-ing as I walk about the rooms in my home, but to my amazement I found myself doing just that (to the incredulous gaze of my significant other) as I had sprayed my wrists and neck with Dawn's magnificent animalic perfume Passport à Paris. Lovers of vintage Jicky, please take note. This is good stuff. This is amazing stuff. No hyperbole. A bit more lemony, citrusy up top maybe than the Guerlain classic, especially in the modern form, but soon opening to a gorgeous meowling heart of lavender, dark jasmine and rich civet paste, smooth, hay-like and plush thanks to the conspiracy of vanillin and coumarin, an orientalized unisex more than just a masculine trope reminiscent of shaving cream (if that's your idea of fougère, that's not it by a mile).
Passport à Paris is also tremendously lasting on the skin and, really, just beautiful.

I'm of the belief that too many words cheapen the experience of savoring a sensual pleasure for yourself; a bit of "analysis-paralysis", if you will. So I'm leaving you with one directive and one directive only: try it. Like, right now!


Notes for Parfums de Beaux Arts Passport à Paris:
Lemon, bergamot, French lavender, rosewood, mandarin, grandiflorum jasmine, Bulgarian rose, orris root CO2, Clover, Australian sandalwood, amber, vanillin, coumarin, ambergris, East Indian patchouli, civet

Available in the DSH e-boutique (samples start at just 5$)

In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample by the perfumer. 

Creed Green Irish Tweed (1985): Fragrance Review

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

 This is my tenth year, in various capacities, within the fragrance industry. One does not come this far without hearing a tall tale or two over the years. Some printable; some unfortunately aren’t. Thus imagine my amusement a few years ago when George Clooney’s negotiation for fragrance licensing with Coty fell through, in part, because the asking fee was $30 million dollars.

Now don’t get me wrong: I’m sure Clooney had his sound rationales, and $30 million dollars would surely come in handy when buying a more secluded villa in Lake Como, with the privacy he had sorely missed when vacationing. With this being said it’s doubtful that I would need a copy of bottled George in the first place, for when I am compelled to take after the leading man —along with other cultural icons such as David Beckham, Russell Crowe, Pierce Brosnan, among others— I pull out my copy of Green Irish Tweed.

actor David Kelly in his green irish tweeds

Officially Green Irish Tweed was created by master perfumer Pierre Bourdon for yet another leading man among leading men —Cary Grant. The chronology gets fuzzy beyond this point, however. He supposedly used it, though Grant would kick the bucket within a year after the fragrance introduction. Carbon dating the scent through its olfactory blueprint would be somewhat futile in this case, for it’s a green aromatic fougère that subtly influenced the masculine market for years, pointing to the future rather than its past. (But more on that later.)

Timeless doesn’t even begin to describe this scent, for Green Irish Tweed is working incredibly well for men of all ages. Just like the same Shakespearean passage could be interpreted so many different mannerisms and contexts, Green Irish Tweed somehow manages to give off a different spark in different situations: on a young lad, the vibrant and brash green opening; on a middle-aged businessman, the all-purpose aromatic earnest; and the golden men, the classic fougère base. That’s not to say that GIT lacks character, as it opens with a bracing rush of green and citrus elements such as lemon verbena. True to namesake fabric the nuances from the crunchy green really maintain the requisite masculine ruggedness; it’s as if one is meeting a true aristocrat, but instead of in the drawing room of his ancestral home it’s a chance meeting right before his polo match, brimming with confidence and vigor. Somehow I suspect geranium is in the mix, having picked up its presence among other similarly structured colognes, yet it’s not listed in the official notes: instead we have an interesting bunch consisting of violet leaves and vetiver making rounds before settling on the aforementioned fougère base along with sandalwood, ambergris and modern musk. Iris is in the mix too, although truth be told I still cannot decide its place: Creed lists it as a top note, whereas it's more of a heart note to my nose.

Now at this point readers with a modern olfactory palette would need some contexts before smelling this fragrance for the first time, for its idioms have been widely utilized ever since. The bookends of this fragrance, the green and the fougère, was to me referenced in Chanel Platinum Egoiste (1993), albeit in an arguably more acrid, slightly more high-pitched incarnation. Of course, Bourdon would also famously reprise the structural integrity of GIT by plugging in Calone into the mix, producing the watershed Cool Water for Men in 1988, just three short years after the release of the Creed.

Comparing Green Irish Tweed with Cool Water for Men is indeed a gentlemen pursuit worth partaking, for the differences are quite interesting. To me GIT is gentler in character, less intrusive than its marine sibling. Both perform quite well in diffusion and sillage, although Cool Water for Men balances out the freshness from Calone with a more assertive base in my humble opinion. Now much has been said about the use of Calone, the synthetic chemical first discovered by Pfizer in 1966 but left on the shelves for decades due to its bizarre slant: in high concentration its scent has been described as oyster like! Yet at a lower pitch it gives off a fresh marine impression with, depending on the context, melon or cucumber with a slightly saline dent. Yet Calone isn’t the magic pill within Cool Water for Men, as its similarities with the Creed imply. Of course, the Davidoff is more budget conscious, done with broader brush brushstrokes, but Bourdon’s signature touches are decidedly present in both. After all, the instrument alone doesn’t make a concert: neither in perfumery does the overdose of a novel ingredient take away from the thought process. We also pay for the perfumer’s time, not just for the sum of the bottled ingredients.

One notable difference, however: GIT layers very well with other masculine scents, not only with eaux de colognes but also quite interestingly with MUMAs. Because it doesn’t come in deodorants I tend to combine it with Terre d'Hermès deodorant stick. Mind you, I have even layered it beautifully with Chergui by Serge Lutens, with Chergui at the base and GIT right above, though looking back the combination is a tad assertive for my taste, fortifying the amber of the Lutens to an opulent, diffusive place I don’t normally venture—but then again conventional rules are out of the door at Lutens; I just dare not go that far.

For more information please refer to Creed’s official website.

Divine L'Homme Infini: fragrance review

"A gentleman is simply a patient wolf."
~Lana Turner

William Thackeray, who knew a thing or two about snobs, wrote in Vanity Fair: "Which of us can point out many [gentlemen] in his circle – men whose aims are generous, whose truth is constant, and not only constant in its kind, but elevated in its degree; whose want of meanness makes them simple; who can look the world squarely in the face with an equal manly sympathy for the great and the small?"

L'Homme Infini deeply appeals to my own ideal of nobility, in the sense of an ideal human being; not lineage, but the couth ways, effortless elegance and received wisdom that should go with it. From its suave green-citrusy vetiver core with sweet, cozy, nutty undertones, to its piquant smoky pepperiness, the fragrance reads like an paean to masculinity; reassuring and dependable, a shoulder to lean on in hardship and a handsome cheek to caress when things go awry and a wistful tear is forming.

Caspar David Friedrich. Abbey in the Oak Forest, 1810

Yvon Mouchel, founder of Parfums Divine, has employed one of the young mavericks emerging in this medium, Yann Vasnier (a Givaudan perfumer working among others for Arquiste, Tom Ford, Marc Jacobs, Comme des Garcons and Parfums DelRae). Vasnier has a history of creating outstanding men’s scents for Divine (L'homme de Coeur, from 2002, for one), and L’homme infini, his latest creation for the line, a nutty-smoky vetiver woody scent, manages to entice and deliver both in terms of intellectual artistic integrity and of pleasing the senses. With L’Homme Infini, Divine expresses the idea that man has an infinite horizon of life before him.

No claims to seismic originality, but high praise for the deft of execution for this one.

On skin (male as well as female) L'Homme Infini wears very much like a beloved piece of clothing you want to wear to tatters, the gorgeous patina of effervescent skies, tall silvery trees, their branches like peaks of gothic churches reaching for the skies, for the divine, geosmin and human warmth trailing on fabric; craggy stones and flint, coarsely grated spices and the spraying droplets bursting out of orange rind, and woods, woods, woods...echoing in the distance.
The promise of mysteries yet to be discovered, the adventure only now beginning.

Divine L’homme Infini notes: Coriander leaf and grain, elemi, black pepper, oak, cedar, agar wood, vetiver, amber, benzoin

Available from November 2012 at the e-boutique, all Divine boutiques in France and at Luckyscent, Liberty UK, The Perfume Shoppe, Oswald Parfumerie and AusLiebeDuft. Check the brand's website for more information: http://www.divine.fr

In the interests of disclosure I was sent sample vials by the company

Perfumery Material: Coumarin, Tonka Bean & the Fougere accord

Open any perfume guide with fragrance "notes" or any online discussion or blog post on perfume description and you're bound to stumble on coumarin; one of the most common materials in many fine fragrances but also several body products, cosmetics and functional products. Its rich history goes back to the beginnings of modern perfumery in the late 19th century, bringing us right at the moment of the nascent concept of perfumery as a mix of organic chemistry and nature's exploitation. Coumarin as such is a synthesized material in most perfumes, but it's also found in abundance in natural products, such as tonka beans (Dipteryx odorata) where it is the principle aromatic constituent (1-3%). In fact the name derives from "cumaru", an Amazonian dialect name for the Tonka bean tree.

• Origin & function of coumarin

Chemically, coumarin is a benzopyrone (1-benzopyran-2-one) which, apart from tonka beans, also occurs naturally in vanilla grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum), sweet woodruff (Galium odoratum), sweet clover (Meliotus L.), sweet grass (Hierochloe odorata) and cassia cinnamon (Cinnamomum aromaticum) among other species. In short, it's rather sweet, as you might have surmissed by now, and evokes cut grasses. You'd be correct to assume both facts, but that's not all: Although coumarin in perfumery does add a certain sweet note of mown hay or freshly cut grass with vanilla overtones, it's really bitterish in flavour in high concentrations (its -now banned- inclusion in food would attest that). Therefore theorizing its plant origin one would assume it's produced by plants in order to defend themselves from predation. After all it's also present in cherries, strawberries, and apricots, prime targets for birds. You might have even seen it featured in your rodent pesticide: don't be alarmed (coumarin is included in miniscule quantities in foodstuff anyway), but now you know why!

• History of coumarin discovery & synthesis

Natural perfumers used and continue to use tonka bean absolute and tonka in powder form, as well as deer's tongue, a herb with brittle leaves to render a coumarin note. But the story of coumarin is largely one of organic chemistry. The component was isolated by A.Vogel in 1820, but the laboratory synthesis of coumarin first happened in 1868 from coal tar by W.H.Perkin (who gave his name to "the Perkin reaction" used to produce it). It took another year to produce it in an industrial scale at Haarmann & Reimer. The consequent memorable inclusion of synthesized coumarin in Jicky (Guerlain 1889) and earlier in Fougère Royale (Houbigant 1882) was the kickstart of a whole new fragrance family: the fougère, thanks to Paul Parquet's composition for Houbigant. Fougère Royale contained a staggering 10% coumarin of the finished formula! How one can dream a bit while reading Guy de Maupassant describing this fragrance as "prodigious evocation of forests, of lands, not via their flora but via their greenery"...

• The Fougere fragrance family

Fougère fragrances evoke the smell of ferns at least as we imagine them to be, as by themselves they don't have a particularly noticeable odour (Paul Parquet said that if they could, they'd smell of Fougere Royale). But the concept of a scent that is herbaceous, infused with aromatic lavender ~a popular material for both sexes at the end of the 19th century thanks to its propriety in the "clean" sense of the world~ and which leaves a malleable, soft, enveloping, yet discreet aura on the wearer was lacking: The era was still using the Victorian soliflores. Funnily enough, even those had their own categorisation; violets or roses for the respectable lady, jasmine and tuberose for the courtesan. Fougère scents were on the cusp between approved and revolutionary, creating a very desirable pull.
The other principle constituents in the accord are lavender and oakmoss: It was only natural; lavender by itself contains coumarin in its aromatic makeup. Thus the triad comprising the main accord of the rising fougère (i.e.lavender-oakmoss-coumarin, played together like a musical chord) made coumarin itself quite popular: many classic or influential masculine colognes owe their character to it, starting of course with Jicky and continuing with Azzaro pour Homme (1978), Fahrenheit by Dior (1988), Dolce & Gabanna pour homme (1994), and Gucci pour Homme (2003).
From there coumarin infiltrated its way into many modern fragrances belonging in other families. But it was its pliability and usefulness, like a trusty Swiss knife, which made it the perfumers' darling: Are there more contrasting fragrances than the icy aldehydic Rive Gauche (YSL 1970) and the intense floral Amarige (Givenchy 1991)? Perfumers tell me that coumarin ends up in some degree in 90% of all fragrances; and in concentrations exceeding 1% it accounts for over half of the fragrances in the market!!

• The odour profile of coumarin

Coumarin is a water-insoluble crystallized powder which has an odour that is pleasant, soft and warm, evoking cut grass or new mown hay, but it's more complex than that; it sometimes even veers into a smell of fresh paint! This is what gives Jicky its bracing almost "petrol" opening which alienates some people. Originally biosynthesized via hydroxylation, glycolisis and cinnamic acid cyclization, nowadays coumarin is produced via more sophisticated techniques.
Coumarin conjures warm notes of tobacco (useful in masculine formulae) and because it also has caramel overtones, alternatively it can be married to vanillic components (such as vanilla, benzoin or some of the other oriental balsams, such as Tolu balsam or Peru balsam, as well as ethylvanillin) in order to play down and sophisticate their foody aspects: see it in action in orientals such as the discontinued Venezia by Laura Biagotti, Lolita au Masculin(Lempicka) or Casmir by Chopard.
In dilution coumarin projects with soft hazelnut or almond facets underneath the hay, even licorice; smell Lolita Lempicka (1997). But in higher concentration it also has spicy fresh and herbaceous facets, no doubt reminiscent of its primary role in different grasses. In combination with vanillin and bergamot, we're veering into chypre territory: Elixir des Merveilles is a no man's land with its chypre tonalities and gourmand facets.
Its versatility and its ability to "fix" smell and make it last longer allows coumarin to enter amber or woody blends (witness Samsara or Vetiver by Guerlain) as well and even heighten the appeal of spicy materials: in fact it marries very well with cinnamon or clove. Pi by Givenchy is a sweet spicy woody with lots of tonka bean, or smell L de Lolita Lempicka by Maurice Roucel. Usually, indeed coumarin is mentioned in the form of tonka beans in the traditional lists of "notes"/pyramids for fragrances (see this Index for more ingredients contributing to which "note") but it can also hide underneath grassy notes, clover, lavender, or tobacco. Modern perfumers pair it with synthetic woody-amber notes such as Kephalis and Iso-E Super to surprising results. A wonderful material indeed!

• Fragrances featuring discernible amounts of coumarin

Addict (Dior)
A*men (Thierry Mugler)
Amarige (Gievnchy)
Angel ~all concentrations, esp. extrait de parfum(Thierry Mugler)
Angel Sunessence (T.Mugler)
Angel La Rose (T.Mugler)
Antidote (Victor & Rolf)
Azzaro pour Homme (Loris Azzaro)
Azzaro Elixir Bois Precieux (L.Azzaro)
Blue Jeans (Versace)
Bois des Iles (Chanel)
Brit (Burberry)
Chic for Men (Carolina Herrera)
Coco (Chanel)
Coco Mademoiselle (Chanel)
Contradiction (Calvin Klein)
Etoile de Rem (Reminiscence)
Fahrenheit (Dior)
Fieno (Santa Maria Novela)
Fougere Royal (Houbigant)
Florissa (Floris)
Gloria (Cacharel)
Jasmin Noir (Bulgari)
Jicky (Guerlain)
Joop! Homme (Joop)
Kouros (Yves Saint Laurent)
Lavande (Molinard)
L de Lolita Lempicka
Lolita Lempicka (L.Lempicka)
Le Male (Jean Paul Gaultier)
Musc (Molinard)
Navy (Lily Bermuda)
Pi (Givenchy)
Rive Gauche (YSL)
Samsara (Guerlain)
Tonka Imperiale (Guerlain)
Venezia (Laura Biagotti)
Versace pour Homme (Versace)

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfumery Materials one by one

source of coumarin pic via The Health Nut Corner, ad for Houbigant via Punmiris and Jicky collage via Perfumesbighouse

Penhaligon's Sartorial: fragrance review & draw

Penhaligon’s latest fragrance, Sartorial, is tailored; literally. It reminds me a bit of the Humphrey character in 1980s BBC Yes Minister! satirical series: of a certain age and social placement, immaculate, a bit stuffy suits thanks to the job requirements, yet there is a glint in the eye, no doubt about it. You can't deny there is rhyme to its reason and intrigue to its plot, but is the scent as inspired as it's suggested in the press material?

Still for all its smell-good factor within the tired (by now) aromatic fougère* genre Sartorial by Penhaligon's presents something of a dichotomy: On one hand, it reminds me of my elegant grandpa (he uncharacteristically wore chest-thumbing Givenchy Gentleman and carried an inexpensive white bottle of Tabac with him on beach vacations, of all things), so young blokes might get scared off ~or repelled, it depends on their lineage memories.
On the other hand, it's got something of the ape-to-gentleman British touch which Penhaligon's obviously meant to catch for overseas audiences, so chalk it up to a success at the drawing table, pun intended. What's left to wonder is whether high-end shoppers will immediately realise that it is so reminiscent of older classics of the 70s that have trickled down to the point of "old man scent" (Please refer to our The Perfume Wars Old Lady vs.Older Woman Perfume article to fully realise the implications of such a moniker)

Created by perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour at the nudge of Emily Maben, Penhaligon's marketing director, it was inspired by the scents of the workroom at Norton & Sons, bespoke tailors at No. 16 Savile Row who dressed everyone from insulars Winston Churchill and Cary Grant to "imported Beau Brummels" Fred Astaire and King Juan Carlos of Spain. Now, the tailor's doesn't really smell of much, you might argue, perhaps a bit of that indeterminate wooliness and dry chalk that is par for the course where flannels and fine cashmeres are cut to produce those bespoke suits we admire. And you would be right! So, we're dealing with a transposition of Englishness into a brand which is characteristically British to a fault to begin with; it's a bit like putting a huge beret on the Eiffel Tower or an extra pinch of sugar to a square of Turkish baklava!

According to Penhaligon's:

"Sartorial is a contemporary interpretation of a classic Fougère; the traditional notes of oakmoss, tonka bean and lavender have been exquisitely stitched together with woods, ozonic and metallic effects, leather, violet leaf, honey and spices to create the perfect illusion of a tailor’s workroom. The modern thread running through Sartorial is beeswax; echoing the blocks of wax each thread is run across before stitching. This sweet smudged note ties together the more traditional elements; the oiled flash of shears cutting cloth, the rub of fabric beneath fingers, tobacco tinted cabinetry, puffs of chalk in the air and old paper patterns vanilla with age".

Nice story, but what is original in Sartorial is first and foremost structure: One of contrasting duality between tradition and deconstruction (is it old or is it new again?), and one which reinterprets programmatic elements into an abstract impression, much like the fougère itself. Lavender, oakmoss, patchouli and often geranium with coumarin as the sweeter note act as the skeleton of the fougère, the most archetypally "virile" genre, but also one which doesn't evoke a natural smell but rather the Victorian salons where men were allowed to scent their handkerchiefs with "clean" colognes and waft them in the air. That's so Penhaligon's I could tear up a bit. The dichotomy is so clear as if Terence Stamp is weilding his sabre in Far from the Madding Crowd and then shoots a baddie in The Limey.

The arresting top note in Penhaligon's Sartorial is nicely misleading, seemingly giving the impression of a masculine cologne citric blast (thanks to traditional distillate neroli, often featured in men's colognes as a mid-hesperide, mid-floral top note). But it's actually a careful, intelligent nugget which belies any classification: It combines the sharp notes of ozone with the soapy-clean-after-shave effect of aldehydes, sprinkled with the metallic-watery note of violet leaf (very cliché, as it's featured in so many unisex and masculine contemporary scents, so obviously Bertrand is toying with us). Despite the mention of spices, the effect is not pronounced (a bit of pepper is all I sense). Sartorial is not a spicy fragrance and none of the spices make themselves known per se; the wonderful leather, lavender and patchouli-coumarinic facets rise soon after the top notes dissipate and persist for long: The caramelised end of the spectrum of lavender is supremely coupled to the naturally occuring dark cocoa note of natural patchouli absolute. It just smells good!
The earthiness of patchouli is a given for Duchaufour who has proclaimed the earth's smell as an eternal inspiration (and who uses the Racine base** to infiltrate his compositions with it very often, a note between aged vetiver and polished woods): The effect is not exactly "dirty" though (as in dirt), as it is closer to yummy, honeyed and lightly incense-like (more myrrh than frankincense) and somewhat musky: think of Luten's mysterious and intense Borneo 1834 with its roasted notes and Ayala Moriel's Film Noir than Chanel's fluffier chocolate meringue Coromandel.

Penhaligon's Sartorial weaves its strange spell by its poise and cocksure attitude at the tailor's fitting: Not only does it not proclaim whether it's a "leftie" or "rightie" (is this too much information for a Brit?), it's snuggly enough to be filched by a woman as an androgyne backdrop for when she ventures out to turn the tables; only if she's supremely feminine however!

One carded sample is available for a lucky reader. State what you think if you tried it in the comments; or, if you haven't, whether you like its concept or not and why.

Notes for Penhaligon's Sartorial:
HEAD NOTES: Aldehydes, Ozonic Effect, Metallic Effect, Violet Leaf, Neroli, Cardamom, Black Pepper, Fresh Ginger
HEART NOTES: Beeswax, Cyclamen, Linden Blossom, Lavender, Leather
BASE NOTES: Gurgum Wood, Patchouli, Myrrh, Cedarwood, Tonka Bean, Oakmoss, White Musk, Honey Effect, Old Wood Effect, Vanilla, Amber

Artist Quentin Jones was commissioned by Penhaligon’s to create a stop-motion animation exploring the story behind the new gentlemen’s fragrance Sartorial. Filmed at the Norton & Sons shop on Savile Row, the animation features the fragrance’s creator Bertrand Duchaufour. Patrick Grant, the owner of Norton & Sons, also makes a cameo appearance. The opening scenes depict perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour at Norton & Sons, absorbing the scents and smells of the workrooms. Bertrand is seen smelling the fragrant scents exuded from the rolls of fabric, machinery and paper patterns before he is able to embark on the creative journey to craft a contemporary fragrance or cologne inspired by the scents and smells of the famous Savile Row workrooms.



*Aromatic fougère is a subcategory of the "fougère" family of scents: Essentially, an accord of lavender-oakmoss-coumarin (from tonka beans) creates the classic fougère (examples of which are the historical Fougere Royale by Houbigant which started the "family" and the 70-80s classics Azzaro Pour Homme, Paco Rabanne pour Homme, Drakkar Noir) and touches of aromatic plants (usually herbs) are added.
**Corps Racine by Symrise or 2-(3-phenylpropyl) Pyridine according to H&R

In the interests of full disclosure, the company sent me samples in the mail to try it out.

Penhaligon's Sartorial: new fragrance

Due to launch in October 2010, Sartorial [the new Penhaligon's fragrance for men] continues the theme of heady innovation. Formulated by Penhaligon’s master perfumer Bertrand Duchafour to reflect the aromas of the workroom at Savile Row tailors’ Norton & Sons, it features notes of oakmoss, tonka bean, lavender and beeswax, which picks up on the blocks of beeswax used in the workroom to coat each thread before stitching. [source]

Sartorial is a contemporary interpretation of a classic Fougère; the traditional notes of oakmoss, tonka bean and lavender have been stitched together with woods, ozonic and metallic effects, leather, violet leaf, honey and spices to create the perfect illusion of a tailor’s workroom. The modern thread running through Sartorial is beeswax. According to Whomyouknow: "This sweet smudged note ties together the more traditional elements; the oiled flash of shears cutting cloth, the rub of fabric beneath fingers, tobacco tinted cabinetry, puffs of chalk in the air and old paper patterns vanilla with age. Bringing together the great traditions of British perfumery and British bespoke tailoring, Sartorial is a fragrance for a new generation of gentlemen".
Basenotes member HDS1963 previewed it thus: "a very elegant and distinguished spice-topped fragrance which contains the heady lightness of previous offerings such as Castile and Douro, but with a rich-come-dirty spiciness to it lent by what smelled like a light cumin-sweetened by cardamom to it."

Will Sartorial join the fleet of scented cabs running the streets of London with drivers in attendance for questions from inquisitive passengers? (Currently there are 5 cabs, scented with Artemisia, Blenheim Bouquet, Endymion, Malabah and Orange Blossom).If you sport one, photograph it and post & tag it on Facebook you enter a prize draw for 100ml of the scent of your choice.

Notes for Penhaligon's Sartorial:
Top: Aldehydes, Ozonic Effect, Metallic Effect, Violet Leaf, Neroli, Cardamom, Black Pepper, Fresh Ginger
Heart: Beeswax, Cyclamen, Linden Blossom, Lavender, Leather
Base: Gurgum Wood, Patchouli, Myrrh, Cedarwood, Tonka Bean, Oakmoss, White Musk, Honey Effect, Old Wood Effect, Vanilla, Amber

Penhaligon's Sartorial will launch in the US on 11th October 2010 and will be available in Penhaligon’s boutiques, retailers carrying the line and online at www.penhaligons.com, in 50ml (80$) and 100ml (110$) of Eau de Toilette concentration.

photo via indieperfumes

Ineke Field Notes from Paris: fragrance review

Field Notes from Paris is the latest installment in the alphabetized line by San Francisco-based independent perfumer Ineke Rühland, a woody oriental inspired by her early days studying perfumery in Paris and at the Versailles, her strolls at le Marais and the fervour of trying to accumulate knowledge of her craft. The first four fragrances, alphabetized from A to D, came out in 2006. Two years later came Evening edged in Gold with its unusual candied and hypnotic Angel’s Trumpet floral note. And now the first scent to depart from the sharper flowers' schema into a more shadowy alley: Field Notes from Paris. The advertising slogan of "Life measured out in coffee spoons" recalls of course T.S Eliot and where else but in Paris, coffee capital of the world probably, would this hold any more true (romantically and not cynically so, I might add)?

Ineke aimed to capture "the romantic, nostalgic feeling of sitting at a café and writing in a journal while lingering for hours over a cafe crème". I can just picture her starting her day sipping one at Au Petit Fer à Cheval on Rue Vielle du Temple on her route to book shopping at the nearby La Belle Hortense. And what better (and more standard accompaniment) to coffee than a puff of a cigarette, preferably the unfiltered ones which Parisians love to drag on still? It's no accident that F.Malle commissioned perfumer Carlos Benaïm with a home fragrance called "Coffee Society"!
Conversely to the retro cool ashtray note that several old-fashioned chypres convey with much flair (just think of Cellier's Bandit in Eau de Parfum), the tobacco featured in Field Notes from Paris is cuddlier and sweeter, unlit, devoid of its tough exteriors in an enigmaric warm and comforting embrace of a little smooth, aged patchouli and hay (but no coffee notes to speak of), but ~wait! is there a delicious whiff of leather, some honey and some lavender somewhere in there? The impression I am given is of a mellow masculine fougère, feathered out to its woodier extremities, especially in the opening which features the most interesting mentholated little wink.
Judging by the retro fougère resurgence which we are experiencing in the niche sector lately (Geranium pour Monsieur, Fourreau Noir), I think Ineke is on to something; let's not forget how tobacco in perfumes is becoming the only acceptable way of getting your fix now, the launch of Havana Vanille and thevery densely tobacco-ish Bell'Antonio by Hilde Soliani other examples of the genre. Ineke's fingers are firmly on the pulse!
The finishing off in sweeter Virginian cedar (just a touch) and the rounding of lightly vanillic, resinous tones makes Field Notes from Paris wearable by both sexes, if so inclined, although women who usually go for smoother, more powdery vanillas in the woody oriental scheme (such as Trouble or Brit) and surypy thick ambers might have their expectations not met at all. The rest can breathe with relief; money well spent.

Notes for Ineke Field Notes from Paris:
Top: orange blossom, lemon and coriander
Heart: tobacco blossom, patchouli and cedar
Base: tonka bean, benzoin and vanilla

Field Notes from Paris is available in 75ml/2.5oz of Eau de Toilette for 88$ directly from the official Ineke site.
In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample in a cute "matchbox" by the perfumer as part of a loyalty scheme.
Pics via anxietyneurosis.wordpress and pinksith.com

Guerlain Mouchoir de Monsieur: fragrance review

~by Mike Perez

Some fragrances play the part of the “quiet, silent type”. Let me explain: Strangely, there are fragrances that I’ve sampled that smell like nothing at all. Well…not nothing…but it smells as if a hole has opened up in the air and for a few minutes there is a blank space where the top notes belong. Like pushing PLAY on your IPod and watching the track begin (0:00, 0:01…) and no music plays. This has happened to me several times and I have no idea why. However, most of the time (luckily) scents that start out this way usually turn out to be fragrances that I grow to love. Like Mouchoir de Monsieur by Guerlain.

Before this I sampled the ‘classic’ lavender fougere by Guerlain: Jicky. The Eau de Toilette was too excessively talcum powder prominent, and although I could appreciate the lavender, it felt uncomfortable and slightly matronly on me.. Jicky Eau de Parfum is a shocker: so embarrassingly civet prominent in the top notes, I was instantly repulsed. Waiting for those top notes to calm down took a bit too long and tiresome so I considered sampling the parfum next when I got a sample of MdM.

The first time I sprayed it – I smelled a tiny bit of the Guerlinade, but that was it. Nothing. Sample off? Nose fatigue? A second time, I smelled a bit of the lavender but nothing as spectacular as the Aqua Allegoria Lavande Velours by Guerlain – a gushing lavender / purple violets that’s almost aroma therapeutic . The 3rd time I smelled it I was instantly greeted with a totally different accord – the familiar style of perfumery like Jicky – but swirled together into an entirely different pattern. Jicky remixed into a sturdier more solidly constructed accord. Wonderful! Perfect balance, with all of the parts of Jicky that I wanted: exceedingly high quality lavender, rosemary and bergamot; that unique fern aura; the rich Guerlinade – they are all here, but blended into the civet and woody notes in a richer and luxurious way. The fragrance evolves with a quiet, floral heart giving the patchouli a sophisticated, powdery nuance. Small parts of it remind me of wearing a refreshing eaux cologne, yet it simultaneously retains subtle and important details of Guerlain’s classic feminine fragrances. Not an easy feat.

It doesn’t scream for attention – it is essentially a subtle fragrance, hushed – making its presence known in tiny whiffs here and there, throughout the day, all day. It is, perhaps, for this reason why I couldn’t smell it when I first sampled it. There’s not a blast of aldehydes or synthetic woody ambers to diffuse this scent quickly. And the lavender, sometimes extremely medicinal and sharp, is soft.

I admit – I’m the quiet, silent type myself. At a cocktail party, you’ll find me off in the corner checking out the host’s CD collection instead of socializing and interacting with others. I speak very little but when I speak, I choose my words very carefully…looking you straight in the eyes.

I’m okay being this type of “guy”. It’s who I am. It’s who my father is. Problems come and go. Challenges are thrown my way... I have horrible days, just like everyone else does. I choose to keep all of that inside, most of the time – introspective, reflective and calm to everyone. Only when you get closer to me, do I open up, and only then will I reveal what’s going on underneath the surface.

Just like Mouchoir de Monsieur.

Notes for Guerlain Mouchoir de Monsieur (1904):
Top: lavender, lemon verbena, bergamot
Middle: jasmine, neroli, rose, tonka bean, patchouli, cinnamon
Base: Iris, amber, vanilla, oakmoss

King Juan Carlos I of Spain (depicted) was reputedly one of the few purveyors of Mouchoir de Monsieur before Guerlain decided to re-issue it more widely.


Pics of Cary Grant, Mouchoir de Monsieur bottle and Juan Carlos of Spain via Mike Perez

Serge Lutens Fourreau Noir: fragrance review

Noir this, noir that...What is it about Black that makes it creep up on you with the silent force of a nidja? After Serge Noire [click for review] which was inspired by the black serge material used for clothing for so long, now comes Fourreau Noir from il maestro Serge Lutens and his sidekick Christopher Sheldrake. I was lucky to preview it before its official release (next month) and its perplexing attributes have me pondering on its retro ambience.

The name means "black seath", but also the petticoat garment that was used to make dresses with lower-body volume stay crisp is referenced, as staying even today in fashion parlance "en fourreau pleats". The desire to allude to timelessness is evident and one could liken it to perfume companies' desire to present a hint to the classicism of their compositions not destined to be ephemera (although Guerlain's La Petite Robe Noire was nothing but!)
The coumarinic, benzopyrone tonka bean note laced with only a hint of lavender appears fougère-like (hold the moss, please) in Fourreau Noir with a musk bottom that is between proper and improper; an allusion and wordplay almost, between the Latin lavare (to wash, to clean) of lavender and the intimacy of warm caramel-rich musk ~of which Lutens has cornered the market with polar opposites Clair de Musc and Muscs Kublai Khan. If Encens et Lavande and Gris Clair are intensely about lavender, but of the smoky kind and respectively warm and cool, Fourreau Noir is not predominantly about lavender but tips the hat to the extrait de parfum version of Jicky missing its intensely animalic vintage character (ie.civet).
Fougère ("fern-like") forms one pillar of the modern perfume classification, usually masculine-geared, originally founded by the legendary Fougère Royale for Houbigant which was composed by renowned perfumer Paul Parquet. The main accord of this fantasy scent ~ferns don't really have a smell of their own~ includes a bright top note of lavender and sensual base notes of oakmoss and coumarin, with a popular subdivision being "aromatic fougères" which include herbaceous notes, spices and woods.

Atypical for Lutens arguably to go for an overt masculine smell in any of his fragrances, championing the reign of the unisex so far most vehemently (even the virile-looking Vetiver Oriental is more oriental than vetiver in fact!). Yet in Fourreau Noir, the "black sheath" is more of a throw-back to 80s bachelor silk boxer shorts, encasing "peau de mec" (guy's skin) meant to hint at the seductive stakes of a rich playboy that undulates between Bret Easton Ellis heroes ~ Less Than Zero debutants and American Psycho's gang of lawyers~ splashing a bit of Gaultier's Le Male without any inhibitions as to its perceived gay quota, with a hint of patchouli. Contrary to the cocaine-sniffing which such associations would bring to our vortex with the haste of lightining, there is a discreet and revisionistically pleasant whiff of marihuana-incense plus caspirene (the later reminiscent of a gigantic feminine bestseller, can you guess?). Tonka beans also pledge their allegience with hay, vanilla grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum) and sweet grass (Hierochloe odorata) while coumarin, the main component, derived through the cyclization of cinnamic acid, bunches them up all together for the sweet picking. Suffice to say the intemingling is evocative of closely-shaven cheeks (no three-day stubble from this guy!), topping expensive Cerruti suits, dancing dangerously close to yours.
My friend Denyse first mentioned dihydromyrcenol, a synthetic note which Chandler Burr describes as an abomination ("sink cleanser spilled on an aluminum counter"), included in several masculine fougères and aquatics of the 1990s (Drakkar Noir, Cool Water, Aqua di Gio, CK One, YSL Nuit de l’homme, but also Coco Mademoiselle!!). Dihydromyrcenol as a raw material does smell harshly of lime-citrus with a metallic yet also aromatic edge and is very fresh (interpret this as you'd like). However the effect at least when dabbing Fourreau Noir on the skin is not as harsh as all that to me personally, aided by the mock bravado displayed by the sweeter aspects of the composition no doubt, such as a bittersweet myrrh inclusion, a nod to the majestic Lutensian opus La Myrrhe (to which I will revert soon) as well as the other elements mentioned above (impressions of patchouli, ambery hints).

While Fille en Auguilles (the latest export Lutens fragrance, reviewed here) has unlocked precious memories for me, this one has not produced the same reverie yet, perhaps because that dizzying lifestyle hasn't been mine. If he offers Fourreau Noir, with a handheld velours compact hiding an expensive jewel but shutting swiftly before you touch it as a joke, question yourself about accepting: are you frizzily-haired Pretty Woman enough for it?

Serge Lutens Fourreau Noir notes: tonka bean and lavender, with musk, almond and lightly smoky accents.

Fourreau Noir officially debuts on 1st September 2009 as an exclusive to Les Salons du Palais Royal in Paris (75 ml, 110 €) in the familiar bell-jars that stack up on the purple and black shelves. The picture depicts the Limited Edition bottle which is in total disaccord with anything opulently Lutensian so far: I am perplexed but also intrigued despite myself!
Edit to add: People have been wanting that kitty bottle. Might I point out that it is only the Limited Edition bottle and those go for 850 euros each :-(

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Serge Lutens news and reviews, Paris shopping


Pics Less Than Zero via pastemagazine.com, Pretty Woman via blog.jinni.com.