Perfume as a Personal Story: the Auteur Viewpoint

Lucien François, famous journalist and critic of the 1920s, used to say about perfumers that they are mirage creators, constructors of a unique world, of a piece of paradise. We, perfumephiles, can certainly read those lines and nod our heads sympathetically, even at the distance of a century between us.

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Back then perfume makers, perfumers themselves as well as perfume company directors such as François Coty or Jean François Houbigant prior to him, were surrounded by a halo of celebrity, which—although abandoned for a great part of the 20th century—has recently been revived thanks to the resurgence of the perfumer-star or—more intellectually—auteur du parfum, a term which creates its own connotations.

Perfumery became tied to fashion design in the early 20th century,  losing its apothecary axis of individualised attention to the client, opting for a more uniform product. Practices changed with the advent of World War II and the pacing up of the industry, speeding its metamorphosis into a commercial vehicle, meant a disruption of the exclusive perfumer attached to a single firm. New constraints, such as the procurance of raw materials or cost studies shifted perfumery into a web of technical support which necessitated bigger firms with the necessary equipment, staff and know how instead of the "one-man show" of days of yore. Perfumery became an industry, heavy industry for some countries such as France and the USA, but it also lost something of that momentous revelation that was at the core of previous creations. From "directive" and cutting out a path for other fashions, perfumery assimilated the cultural milieu seeking to comply to the consumer instead, to heed to sociological needs, to anticipate its desires instead of creating them in the first place so as to ensure growth and sales. Marketing studies attended to the most minutiae variations in public's tastes.

Perfume sought to create a "look," a personality for the wearer, to reflect a specific mold, often amalgamating the one of the brand with the one of the wearer; designer brands especially continue to be very sensitive into having their perfumed products reflect their aesthetic principles first shown on the catwalk. This consolidated the notion of the "signature scent" for the masses, but it also guaranteed brand loyalty; there were the Chanel followers, the Dior acolytes, the Yves Saint Laurent fans...

In a relance that harkens back to the Cahiers du Cinema concept of "auteur," authentic perfume creators (be it perfumers themselves or art directors such as Serge Lutens or Frederic Malle) re-establish their role into directing the public instead of being directed by the market, and consolidate their authorship. Perfumers who have really thought out their craft and have exalted it into the level of art, such as Jean Claude Ellena displays in his book Diary of a Nose, approve of the term "auteur du parfum," as their journey is parallel to that of a writer. It also poses the same ethical issues: authorship means intellectual property rights.

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A fragrance as an intellectual work means the return of creativity; the imperceptible twists in a generic, crowd-pleasing formula which could create a million similar, homogenized scents—like pasteurized milk in different cartons—is unacceptable by this standard. Houses are increasingly returning to engaging a single "nose" for their creations: Chanel already had a steady with Jacques Polge and Guerlain with Jean Paul Guerlain, but Patou perfumes managed to effortlessly pass from Jean Kerléo to Jean-Michel Duriez and Hermès to earn Jean Claude Ellena. L'Artisan Parfumeur has increasingly used Bertrand Duchaufour, Lutens has an almost unbreakable bond with Chris Sheldrake.


Modern creators offer a perfume for an occasion, a perfume for a specific mood, be it joyous (Le Temps d'une fête), innocent (La Chasse aux papillons), contemplative (Angéliques sous la pluie), mystical (Avignon) or wistful (Douce Amère), a scent for a man's or a woman's persona rather than personality, as in role-playing, and thus they re-connect with the momentous revelation that fragrance used to mean to the awe-receptive audiences of the late 19th and early 20th century.

Perfume as a Personal Story: The Historical Beginnings

The heirs of the aristocratic perfume tradition of post-Middle-Ages Europe were precursors, innovators, pioneers who helped establish modern perfumery as we came to know it, but who also carved out a path for the following of that artistic and commercial sector, drawing crowds to their boutiques and their wares in an unprecedented way. This last bit however isn't far removed from the enthralled reception that the modern niche perfume consumer bestows on today's fragrance celebrities, such as Serge Lutens, Frédéric Malle, Francis Kurkdjian or Jean Claude Ellena, to name but a few.

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A La Corbeille de Fleurs, Houbigant's boutique situated since the late 18th century in the then-uncelebrated Faubourg Saint-Honoré, helps make the spot le dernier cri among wealthy bourgeois who shop a few decades later for his trendy perfumes, such as Fougère Royale, composed by acclaimed perfumer Paul Parquet. Le Trèfle Incarnat for L.T.Piver was famously created by head Jacques Rouché and nose Pierre Aremingeat under the direction of chemist Georges Drazen of the Ecole Polytechnique; it soon became a sensation that had tongues wagging on the house that issued it.

Les Salons de Palais Royal by Serge Lutens in Paris, the abode of the Lutensian opus, can be said to be today's modern version, a Mecca of innovative compositions which changed the scenery for everyone following in their niche steps. The perfume-smelling booths at the Frédéric Malle boutiques across two continents are testament to the desire to dedicate time and energy to selecting perfume, but it is the frames with perfumers' portraits on the walls which remind us that authorship is the core of this brand who first dared make the connection between éditeur (as in Editions de Parfums) and auteur (as in cinema).

Some creators, like the Guerlains, have been immersed in the trade since they were in diapers; Pierre-François Pascal Guerlain saw to it that he created a dynasty of perfumers and perfume directors which successfully survives to our days as Guerlain. Some others however were self-made wonders. François Coty is an emblematic figure in that regard, none the less because he lent an attentive ear to the public itself; heeding their needs, their desires, their suggestions with the perspicacity that is the mark of a true genius. But he also imposed his own ideas, drawing from forgotten relics (his iconic Coty Chypre perfume drew on the ancient cypriot fragrances that had trickled into Europe in the form of cosmetics) or by offering novel suggestions (such as L'Origan, what can be argued to be the first "floriental" perfume).

His "school" taught a great many scrappy upstarts, giving them the confidence to venture where others had faltered, until Coty's own unfortunate demise which risked leaving that gigantic business headless. Luckily for Coty perfumery, François Coty's divorced wife had a brother-in-law, Philippe Cotnareanu, who was immersed in the business. Cotnareanu changed his name to Philip Cortney and under that pseudonym took rein of the colossal portfolio, until 1963 when Coty and Coty International were eventually sold to Chas. Pfizer & Co. for $26 million. But it is Coty's success in the perfume world which made it possible for everyone else in the beginning of the 20th century, from Russian émigré Ernest Beaux for the fledging Chanel fashion "griffe" to Ernest Daltroff at Caron, or for Alméras who first took the creative reins chez Poiret and then composed a pleiad of 1930s fragrance masterpieces for Jean Patou.

What unites all those past greats is the vision of perfume as a personalized story, a momentous revelation: fragrances created for specific circumstances, for an occasion, a happy day, for a woman (a woman, please note, and not the woman). This approach implied a directed and directive concept, providing the public with a product on which it was not consulted first (no marketing focus groups voting on perfume!) but which didn't disregard it either. A path which assured the consumer that what was offered to them was well devised for them, a product of artistry suggestive to the powers of seduction, but also heeding to a time signpost, to cultural bearings of the time, transforming them and popularizing them into trends: a best-selling book, like La Bataille influencing the creation of Guerlain Mitsouko, a trend such as Les Ballets Russes ushering orientalia into European fashions and the arts, you name it, all influenced the creators into a fertile dialogue with their time and age.

Guerlain Apres l'Ondee: fragrance review & a bit of perfume history

Lots of scents with heliotrope pose as "almond" or "marzipan" or "powder with tonka". These are all scents with a kinship that runs deeper than initially thought of, like matryoshka dolls that peel one after the other, each one revealing a smaller version of the same idea. Après l'Ondée by Guerlain feels like the great grandmother of them all, if only judging by chronology, if not adherence to the exact formula from 1906.

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The synthesized material that is dosed into compositions that take heliotrope as a starting point is quite strong and can be an overwhelming molecule to work with if one isn't careful and discreet. One of the first major fragrances to make judicious use of it, in a light enough composition, so as to wear it inconspicuously, was Après l'Ondée by Guerlain. "Ça se porte léger" (this wears lightly) is the motto behind the concept of these Guerlain creations that aim to offer gouaches rather than oil paintings. In fact the composition was largely inspired by a former Guerlain fragrance, Voilette de Madame, which according to fragrant Guerlain lore served as the fragrance to scent a lady's veil. In those times of the cusp between the 19th and 20th century perfume worn on the skin was considered rather scandalous. It recalled les grandes horizontales, kept women of the demimonde like La Bella Otero or Marie Duplessis. Lightness was therefore a requisite for proper ladies; never mind that the subtle animalic undercurrent of Voilette de Madame is antithetical to our modern scrubbed down notion of how a perfume behaves.

I personally find Après l'Ondée a rather quiet fragrance, almost timid, with a sweetish air that is not immediately thought of as feminine (quite different than the airs that current feminines exhibit!), with lots of heliotropin to stand for cassie, which is the predominant element. Some heliotrope scents also recall cherry pie or lilac and powder, but not Après l'Ondée. Even the almond is not particularly identified as almond, it's a haze of lightly warmed, blurred, hazy notes.

The violets, like you might have read in evocations of gardens "after the shower" (the literal translation of its French name), are quite fleeting in this Guerlain scent, especially in more recent incarnations which are warmer and cuddlier than the older ones. The anisic note on the top note is also a brilliant addition (created through the use of benzylaldehyde, it would be recreated more forcibly in L'heure Bleue some years later) since it brings a chill cooling off the first spray and balances the warmer, almond paste flavor of the heliotrope in the heart.

Après l'Ondée is also rather less known than L'Heure Bleue, so even Guerlain wearers on the street might not identify it right off, which is always a good thing in my books; it would also obliterate your qualms about it being perceived as solely feminine.


Related reading on PerfumeShrine:

The Guerlain Series: perfume reviews and history of the French House
Guerlain Re-issues 4 Archived Fragrances for their Heritage Collection
Guerlain Chypre 53: an unknown photo-chypre, perfume history
The history of the Guerlinade accord and the modern Guerlinade fragrance

The Smell of War: The Senses on Alert (part 2)

It was Shakespeare who wrote, ""Cry havoc!, and let loose the dogs of war, that this foul deed shall smell above the earth with carrion men, groaning for burial."
In part 1 of my article on The Smell of War (HERE) I extrapolated the scents that plagued the combat fields of WWI and the fragrances which were created in that fateful era as solace and as memory.

Since chemical weaponry had been so notoriously used during WWI to great impact, as we have elaborated before, by the time WWII soldiers were fully engaged there were posters warning them about the smells they should avoid to protect themselves from terrible pulmonary harm and skin burning, an olfactory compass that directed them away from musty hay or green corn (for phosgene), geraniums (for lewisite), flypaper smell (for chlorpicrine), and garlic-horseradish-mustard (rather predictably for mustard gas).

Amidst the newer weapons of smelly compounds for WWII, one catches our attention by its intricate psychological concept behind it. Who Me? was a top secret sulfurous stench weapon developed by the American Office of Strategic Services in the 1940s to be used by the French Resistance against German officers. This stinky bomb smelled strongly of fecal matter, and was issued in pocket atomizers, sort of like modern pepper spray, intended to be unobtrusively sprayed on a German officer, humiliating him and, by extension, demoralizing the occupying German forces. Needless to say that the fact that the fecal smelling compounds were largely based on sulfur, a light molecule that easily leaked into the clothes and skin of the assailant, a fact which confirmed the swift failure of such putrid, but essentially harmless, weaponry as Who Me?.

Perfumery rose to the challenge of bypassing the foul and the fragrant, of vicious and frightening smells, to bring a respite after the war that would celebrate the return to normalcy. Boys raised on farms, coming to pee themselves out of terror for garlic or geraniums that would signal risk of death, would come home to find themselves greeted by fragrances that needed to soothe, but also to heal, which is not quite the same thing. Feeding the longing for serenity was a mission. Naming the new fragrances gave half the game away sometimes.

Air Nouveau by Houbigant was ushering the new era, full of optimism and willing to put to rest the angst that plagued Europe and the world for more than a decade with repercussions lasting beyond that time frame.

This is a small part of a longer article which I published on Fragrantica. You can read it in its entirety here.

Carmelite Water: The Melissa Tonic that Threatened to Assassinate the Cardinal Richelieu

One day in 1635, Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu, commonly referred to as Le Cardinal Richelieu, sniffed his talisman of Eau de Melissa, and discovered a discrepancy to its scent. A refined nose, or a well familiar smell gone awry, it quickly alerted him to foul play. Apparently Le Duc d'Orleans had had the contents tampered with, as an analysis of the contents of the bottle later proved. It seems like replacing the gemstones on the queen's necklace, featured so prominently as a Richelieu plot device in the Dumas novel of The Three Musketeers, is not without its peer in real life!

The story of this evil plot of assassination through poisoned aromatic cordial is not without precedent, but it definitely prompted one of the first commercial uses of a seal of authenticity. The Carmelite nuns who had been producing Eau de Melissa under their own aegis, marketed as Carmelite Water, proceeded into sealing their products with a red wax bearing the seal of their convent.

All this story of intrigue revolved around a humble plant, the melissa, or lemongrass or citronella. Melissa officinalis, a vivacious plant in the Lamiaceae family, is also called lemon balm or piment des abeilles. Its essence can be used in a variety of ways.

You can read my entire article on Fragrantica on this link (it even includes a recipe for making your own Melissa Water)

Rosemary for Ageless Beauty? The History of L'Eau de la Reine d'Hongrie (Hungary Water)

In the popular tale of  “The Sleeping Beauty” by writer Charles Perrault, L’Eau de la Reine d’Hongrie (Hungary Water or Water of the Queen of Hungary) is clearly featured as a means to try to wake the sleeping princess, alas to no avail. A patch of rosemary for remembrance, fresh citrus and lush jasmine make the heart grow fonder. The recipe for L'Eau de la Reine d'Hongrie is a fascinating story to unravel.

The Queen Consort of Hungary, Elisabeth, also regent queen of Poland, used the cologne Eau de la Reine d’ Hongrie all her life, both using it on her skin and drinking it.
It was said that she owed her beauty and good health to it, to the point that she allegedly attracted a suitor when she was already 72 years old.

Her secret? A recipe, according to some sources, built in the 14th century, specifically in 1370, and as per other sources composed by Arnaud de Villeneuve in the 13th century. It is arguably the world's first eau de toilette. A recipe heavily relying on the invigorating powers of rosemary (Rosemarinus officinalis), a humble plant with a scent between mint and lavender, whose essential oil is used to this day to fight against cutaneous ageing.  The miraculous reputation must have stuck for much longer than her lifetime, because fragrance companies continue to prepare fine fragrance inspired by the Renaissance recipe. Even the famous alchemist Alberto Magno (Albert the Great) advised taking a shot of this "eau" alongside some other liqueur or potion and rubbing down the body to rejuvenate.

As historians, however, we need to put things in perspective and dispel some of the tantalizingly promising tale of a miraculous elixir of youth. Elisabeth's regent status was not a bequest from a husband. It was thanks to her son, Louis de Hongrie, who became king of Poland. So whatever propositions make the stuff of legend are only that. And if we are to believe the claims by Marie Meurdrac, it might even refer to a different Queen altogether. Not Elisabeth but Dona Isabelle who reigned in 1652!

Read the rest of the article on this link on Fragrantica.

The Medieval Cyprus Birdies (Oiselets de Chypre): Tracking Historical Scents & Fragrance Use

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"Since she had exchanged one of the most luxurious Courts of the Middle Ages for that of Aragon, chiefly concerned with the ceaseless tumult and turmoil of war. In the fortress-palaces of her husband's kingdom how often she must have pined for the garden-isle of her birth, for its groves of orange, pomegranate, citron, mulberry, acacia, olive, and palm, for the vision of the happy valley of Makaria, across whose far-famed loveliness she was to gaze no more from the casements of her brother's palace at Nicosia! How she would pine to hear once more the merry laughter and the jingling bells of the huntingtrain " sport made ideal in that land of " the richest and most generous lords in Christendom " of their day, one of whom, the Count of Jaffa, alone, kept no less than five hundred hunting dogs. Memories of scented waters " rose, jasmine, and many another of which the secret has long been lost to the distiller " would be wafted to her with the lifting of every lid of her cypress-wood coffers, with their metal inlaying, with every breath of her perfumed " oiselets de Chypre " " that favourite toy of the mediaeval boudoir which she was probably the first to introduce into Aragon. These pomanders of scented paste, generally moulded into the shape of a bird " hence their name " were hung in the apartments of great ladies, in cages or similar receptacles, to serve the double purpose of purifying as well as of perfuming the room. A heavy and disappointed heart beat, we may be sure, beneath the royal robes, thick with " ors de Chypre, o Ma o Aragon ; heavy, because of its homesickness, disappointed, because of her childlessness. Her sumptuous wardrobe itself would grow to be a weariness, since she might not wear it in that Cypriote setting which alone might have fitly framed it."  

[source, Miron E.L The Queens of Aragon: Their Lives and Times. Reprint. London: Forgotten Books, 2013. 152-3. Print.]

I wrote a concrete piece on Oiselets de Chypre, the Cyprus scented birdies of the Middle Ages on Fragrantica. Please check it out on this link.

Ancient Fragrant Lore: The Scents of the Bible (part 5)

The most intriguing aspect of reading the Bible in search of aromatics is how the spices and sweet unguents are used to denote both sanctity and the pleasure of the bodily senses.

"All your garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, out of the ivory palaces, whereby they have made you glad"—Psalm 45:8

Dieric the Elder Bouts, Christ in the House of Simon the Pharisee, 1440s (wikimedia commons)

The sacrificial woman who comes to the Savior with an alabaster jar with pure spikenard oil which was extremely costly at the time in a pre-figuration of the embalming rites. She is Mary of Bethany (Matthew 26: 6-13) who pours the fragrant oil on Jesus's feet. There is also the unnamed "sinner in the city" who comes into the house of Simon the Pharisee and washes Jesus' feet with her tears and wipes them with her hair and pours fragrant oil on him. However for centuries the Catholic Church conflated this penitent sinner (a whore? an adulteress?) and the disciple sister of Martha and Lazarus, with another Mary, Mary Magdalene, who is, not coincidentally, the patron saint of apothecaries and perfume makers. Perhaps the connection is that Magdalene is one of the "myrrhophores" depicted in a Syrian fresco dating from the 3rd century AD, the women who bring myrrh resin to embalm Jesus's body and finding the sepulchre open and devoid of its rightful inhabitant, thus being the first witness to the Anastasis.

Please read my historical research into the Scents of the Bible (biblical fragrances) on this link on Fragrantica. (You're welcome to comment here or there).

Ancient Fragrant Lore 4: the Hellenistic Era

"A natural fragrance pervades the whole coast of Saba {i.e. South Yemen} because almost everything that excels in scent grows there unceasingly, providing a pleasure to visitors that is greater than what can be imagined or described. Along the coast balsam grows in abundance and cassia and another sort of plant which has a peculiar nature: when fresh, it's very delightful to the eye but suddenly it fades (so that the usefulness of the plant is blunted before they can send it to us). In the interior there are large, dense forests, in which tall trees grow: myrrh and frankincense, cinnamon, [date]-palm and kalamos {a reed of the genus Cymbopogon} and other such trees with similar sweet scents;"

The above excerpt from Diodorus of Sicily, fragrant with the scents of the Middle East lands, the territories that Alexander the Great conquered and hellenized, comes from my article on the fragrances and cosmetics of the Hellenistic Period which has just been published on Fragrantica.
You can read it following this link and you're welcome to comment here or there.

Ancient Fragrant Lore (part 3): Classicism

Classical civilization thrives on this dichotomy of "the Dionysian and the Apollonian," of Bacchanal chaos and Sun God rational forms, as Nietzsche would have said. Indeed the German philosopher, originally a philologist and only 28 at the time he penned the superb The Birth of Tragedy; Or: Hellenism and Pessimism, explains that it is these two clashing forces that merge to give birth to the classic world, but also those that eternally battle for control over the existence of humanity. And thus this dichotomy, as expressed by fragrant essences used, manifests itself clearly throughout Hellenic thought. […]

The Latin origin of the word perfume, fumare, i.e., to smoke, brings us to rituals involving fumigation and votive offerings. Hesiod in his Theogony stresses "May the purest incense burn on the altars, so as to obtain the favors of our gods."

Alfonso Savini, the incense burner

Indeed the very word incense in Greek (θυμίαμα) comes from the verb thuo (θύω), meaning to sacrifice, originally denoting both the fragrant smoke of the roast of sacrificed animals on the pyre rising to please the gods (the flesh was served to the congregation) and the ritual burning of precious locally harvested—such as cistus labdanum—or imported resins like myrrh and frankincense, their smoke also rising to the enjoyment of the Eternal ones. But scents had a markedly prophylactic use beside their Olympians' appeasing one. […]

In Euripides's famous Helen play, the prophylactic use of fragrant smoke is stressed. The heroine is assumed to have never sailed to Troy but to have been whisked away by the goddess Aphrodite to Egypt and to its ruler Theoclymenus, sworn to her safekeeping. News from the exiled Greek soldier Teucer, washed upon the shores of Egypt, that Menelaus never returned to Greece from Troy and is presumed dead, puts Helen in the perilous position of being available for Theoclymenus to marry. She consults the prophetess Theonoe, sister to Theoclymenus, to find out Menelaus' fate. Theonoe purifies the air of the altar by having the servants burn sulfur and resins, conjuring shadows and images to tell her of her husband's impending return.

On the other hand the philosophical treatment of olfactory excess as a sign of decadence and deviation from the path of a free civilian is palpable through the texts of the classical authors. The Athenian statesman Solon, adored by his fellow citizens for alleviating the accumulated debts of formerly free land owners that had lost their land and freedom to the greedy lending gentry (the famous seisachtheia regulation) tried to ban perfume use altogether. He considered it represented the corrupt—and ethnically dangerous—lifestyle of Persia, Greece's (and for that matter Europe's, since Greece was the critical gateway to gain passage to the continent) prominent enemy.

The article in its entirety can be read on Fragrantica.

Ancient Fragrant Lore (part 2)

"It is during The Eleusinian Mysteries [ceremonies of Athenian origin which celebrated the fertility and grain goddess Demeter and Kore (i.e. Persephone, of the myth of the pomegranate)]  that aromatics are used the most. The 9th and 10th day of the celebrations the hierophant makes a speech in which he explains to the initiated the joys which await them. In the Elysian Fields there is a golden city, with emerald fortifications and roads paved in ivory, where the gates are made of cinnamon. Around its walls the River of Perfume flows, a 100 cubits wide and deep enough that one could swim in it. The baths are crystal edifices held up by pillars of fragrant wood and in the bathtubs a warm and pleasantly odoriferous dew is ever flowing. Three hundred and sixty sources of pure water are located in this magnificent city, as many of honey and five hundred fountains of fine fragrance. The banqueting hall is a grove of trees bearing the most suave flowers and their fruits are cups which are automatically filled with wine when cut and put onto the table. Charming nightingales fill the air with their song and pick up fragrant blossoms which they drop onto the guests like scented snow. A thick vapor rises from the Perfumes River and floats within the banquet hall imparting a refined and suave fragrant dew."

the fresco of the "saffron gatherer" from the Minoan settlement of Akrotiri (on the island of Santorini)

Part of my longer article on Fragrantica, on this link (following part 1) into the history of aromatics and the preparation of fragrances in the Eastern Mediterranean region during antiquity (emphasizing the Minoan and Mycenean eras). Enjoy!

Ancient Fragrant Lore (part 1)

In what concerns the use of perfumes and fragrant unguents or fumigation rituals the path of choice lands us firmly on the land of the Pharaohs, the Eastern Mediterranean and the progeny that follows these traditions into the more recent Arab and Florentine technological interventions that account for the first glimpses of modern perfumery. To Egypt then, for starters.

Frederick Arthur Bridgman (1847-1928) Cleopatra on the Terraces of Philae

If we all have Cleopatra and her scented barge popping into our minds, thanks to pop culture and Shakespeare, at the mere hint of Egypt in relation to fragrances, we're not to blame. Such was the identification of Egypt with perfume production from time immemorial, despite other ancient civilizations dabbling in perfume making in an equal degree, that during Julius Caesar's Roman triumphs, alabastra (aromatic essence holding vials, the term being alabastron/αλάβαστρον in Greek due to the material used to make them, i.e. alabaster) were tossed to the crowd to demonstrate his mastery over Egypt.

Please read the rest of my article on ancient fragrant practices in the milieu of the Eastern Mediterranean (including the references from the ancient writers) on this link on Fragrantica. Part 2 to follow.

Philosykos by Diptyque: The Hellenic Inspiration ~History & Mythos

Greece 16 August 1990

"We’re exploring the country from top to bottom, by car, bus, boat and foot! The landscapes are like nothing we’ve seen before. The mountains resemble wild animals like lions, or tigers, with their long, uninterrupted, muscular lines. Sometimes, the world of myths and all-powerful gods seems to loom up before us, like at the Acropolis. This country is totally fascinating!!

After all that sightseeing, we’ve finally found our favourite spot, mount Pelion! Here, in a remote village called Milies, surrounded by countryside that is barren in parts, lush and fertile in others, dotted with huge waterfalls, we’ve decided to stay for the rest of the summer, and let time stand still. I’ve sketched the village square for you, to give you an idea of where we are.

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Every day, to reach the sea, we walk through groves where wild fig trees grow. Heated by the sun, they give off an intense fragrance. I’ve made you a box of souvenirs from this wonderful trip that is coming to an end, so you can share it with us. I’ve put in it a dried leaf from one of the magnificent fig trees, as well as a piece of marble from the Acropolis, a bit of pottery from Mycenae."

Yves Coueslant and Desmond Knox-Leet, two of Diptyque's three founders, were keen travelers. After countless expeditions, they found at last their favorite spot, what Desmond called "the landscape of the soul": Mount Pelion.

On this Mount Pelion, at Melies in Thessalia, they rented a holiday house four years in succession. To reach the sea every day they would walk through a grove of wild fig trees, heated by the burning sun…And thus Diptyque Philosykos and Figuier scented candle came to be.

If I showed you pictures of my younger days as a carefree student you'd be hard to miss one with me showing my teeth and claws in a mock threatening mood under a shrubby fig tree that almost engulfed me in its tentacles. This isn't unusual; we're talking Greece, the land of chaotic vegetation where vegetable patch borders and garden beds are almost unheard of and you'd be hard pressed to find something reminiscent of the ultra-artificial structure of a French style formal garden by André Le Nôtre. The philosophical clash of order over nature and of classical creation myths which place value in the spermatic possibilities ad infinitum is reflected in this small issue.
But the fig itself is antithetical to the northern climes which bred Schopenhauer and Le Spleen de Paris. Dusty or glossy, bitter or sweetish and hazy or succulent, the varied universe of fig scents is winking at us to impart of the joys of the here and now before more sinister thoughts detach us from sensual pleasures. And sensual pleasures are everywhere under the Mediterranean sun where figs are consumed by the kilo, routinely ending a meal with the accompaniment of many savory and creamy cheeses or cooked alongside pork or lamb or even…fish!

fish wrapped in fig leaves by Penny de los Santos for Saveur, borrowed for educational purposes from here

Dried, candied figs are still sold throughout the Middle East and the Eastern Mediterranean as a delicacy that harkens back to antiquity. Such was the importance placed on them that in classical Athens (a significant trade center for figs) the term sycophant/συκοφάντης (literally “revealer of figs”) was coined for those who snitched on the poachers of figs. As the practice of stealing the fruit was both illegal and highly frowned upon~fig groves being sacred as well as a trade vantage point for city-state Athens~ the practice soon took on a more sinister nuance: If someone had a vendetta against their neighbor they often resorted to blaming them for fig poaching! Thus the word “sycophant” earned a negative and more generalized meaning, that of "lying snitch," a meaning it still retains in Greek! Centuries later the word acquired a different meaning in English (that of "lowly flatterer"), but its etymology reminds us that the natural world surrounding us is not without importance even in such prosaic things as words.

The sharp, bitter green of the leaf contrasts with the milky, creamy touch of the sap of the fruit and the wood of the bark in Philosykos. The coconut note is an important part, not because it imparts a tropical feel (figs grow in the temperate zone) but because the young fruit sap contains a sensitizing "milk," a lactonic note. Coconut is also lactonic, i.e. milky-smelling in nature, hence the inclusion more realistically brings to mind the fig tree burdened with its succulent-to-be load. The milky note isn't a random thing, nor has it escaped attention through the ages. The classical Greek writer Athenaeus of Naucratis writes in Deipnosophistae how rural populations were making cheese out of milk by curdling it using the twigs and leaves of the fig tree. It is even described in Homer's Iliad!

For all those reasons Philosykos is very dear to me and I was overjoyed to see this beautiful homage to this truly iconic fragrance.

See the presentation/sketches/photos on this link .

Desmond Knox Leet sketch for Diptyque Philosykos

Love is in the Air: Regency Perfume Rings ~Valentine's Day Countdown part 4

Perfumes serve many admirable purposes, but their reputation for catching (and holding) a love interest's attention has forever been the most popular one, for better or for worse. I elaborated previously on the Victorian perfume buttons and today I'm going to present you with more historical curios. In the meantime contemporary makers of scent objects haven't been idle either and in fact we have a delightful giveaway for real Swarowski pens which serve also as atomizers for perfume (so you can spray perfume with your pen!), so if you missed that post check it out and enter a comment for a chance to win one for yourself!
And now, on to the world of Jane Austen and those Regency styled images…

via 

During the Georgian era the popularization of Eau de Cologne meant no more oily residue for perfumes, so the process of wearing scented accessories was rather easy compared to the thick unguents of prior times. The 19th century gentleman specifically was catered by the likes of Juan Famenias Floris and his lightweight and elegant scented toiletries (Floris notoriously provided the emblematic Regency dandy, Beau Brummel), a tradition that would make novelist Jane Austen have her heroine Emma judge Frank Churchill's desire to travel "sixteen miles twice over" to just  have his hair cut and groomed in London as "foppery and nonsense".
What is less know is that in Regency times the tradition of perfumed rings came into being, no doubt a distant cousin of the poison rings that pervaded the European courts during the 15th and 16th century (and which allowed for the swift disposal of enemies by the careful administering of various poisons ~always at the reach of a hand!~ into the drinks and food of those partaking in a feast). But perfume rings were decidedly benevolent.

It would be no exaggeration to claim that perfume rings at the time are solely handled by the ladies. For the gentlemen the rings of the Elizabethan portraits, which almost click and clank due to their sheer profusion, are a thing of the past; the signet ring (a single ring which serves essentially as a beautifully mounted seal, distinctive enough for signing one's correspondence, as well as an anti-counterfeit measure) rules the day. Women on the other hand had the benefit of using the ring in more cunning ways. As the tradition of gentlemen bowing to lightly kiss the ladies' hands was rampant, the design of the perfume ring allowed for liquid and fragrant pomade to seep through tiny cuts and holes into the material, therefore aromatizing not only the lady in question, but also the giver of the kiss on the hand.

For lovers the motif of the heart reigned even back then, dating back to the fide rings of the Middle Ages (fide from Latin for faith). Its natural progression was the Claddagh ring, which has the heart surmounted by a crown held by a pair of hands, and which by the way that is worn denotes whether the person wearing it is single or bespoken. The rings took on other popular early 19th century love themes: Cupid and Psyche (a tale taken from Greek mythology); turtle-doves, usually in pairs, sacred to the goddess Venus; clinging evergreen ivy, forget-me-nots or pansies (oddly enough a non fragrant flower but very popular during the 19th century); or the bezel-set rings with a clock dial whereupon the gem is mounted on the number 12 and the inscription temps nous joindra (time will bring us together again) in the hoop, popular for lovers kept apart for any length of time.
Obviously the rings did not contain all those symbols and uses together!

The use of perfume lockets/padlocks, where curls of silky hair were included for safekeeping between lovers, was also in use, but the repercussions were less flirty than the ring, which by the sheer movement of the hand meant a detonation of its perfumed message….

Love is in the Air: Victorian Perfume Buttons ~ Valentine's Day Countdown Part 3.

Our love-hued feature on Perfume Shrine takes on the historical approach today exploring the delightful  tradition of the Victorians who were known for many elaborate rituals when it came to flirting, from the secret language of flowers to the flirtation routine which involved the cunning use of gloves, handkerchieves or a fan.

pic from etsy/thelostrooms via Pinterest

Although perfume lockets and scent-filled jewelry is making a resurgence among collectors and craftsmen and craftswomen who are very active online with dedicated eshops or boutiques on sites such as Etsy or Ebay, the lesser known tradition of perfumed buttons is one that has been passed by. It's also something which can be fairly easily replicated by anyone as a flirting trick, as it requires simply a few easily found buttons and some perfume at hand (and I'm sure that readers of this site are amply decked with the latter!).

Among functional little objects, such as the humble button, the Victorian and Edwardian women and craftsmen knew no boundaries in their imaginative prowess into creating patterns and styles that would both visually please (such as the portrait buttons, jet with lustre or the ones featuring French enamel on the high end or the calico ones on the lower end) or occasionally serve other, less obvious purposes. Victorian "perfume buttons" specifically involved fabric-covered buttons which were including pieces of velvet in their sewing pattern which were then dabbed with a woman's favorite perfume. This way the thickish fabric retained the scent, subtle but lingering and creating a hint of a fragrant wake.
The tradition took an especially poignant and romantic purpose when these perfume buttons were sewn under the lapel of a beau's jacket going off to fight on some far away land in dangerous trenches or in the American Civil War, or -less riskily- when he was traveling, so that the fragrance wafting from the chest upwards would remind him of the woman he had left behind. Since both women and men shared their fragrant innocuous blends that invariably revolved around violets, rose, lavender and such ~if we refer to polite society and not the demi-monde who favored heavier and more animalic-smelling scents ~ there was no social faux pas in having a man waft a woman's scent.

pic from etsy/alliesadornments via Pinterest

Another reason for the popularity of Victorian perfume buttons had a twofold explanation. The Victorians had a romanticized and slightly puritanical vision of the body, as an abode and sanctum, where no scent should actually touch the skin, therefore favoring the scenting of accessories such as handkerchieves, fans and the good ol' gloves (for more on that see PerfumeShrine's article on Scented Gloves and their History). Since some of the scented essences involved oily carriers, preceding as they did the modern era of ethanol dilution of powerful synthetics that bypass the problem of staining, the medium of carrying the perfume was important to be stain-proof. Dark velvet wasn't exactly immune to oily stains, but they didn't show as they would on the satiny silk and wool fabrics of dresses. Therefore a sort of decorative brass buttons with velvet fabric inside were created to accommodate and a vogue for long "necklaces" or decorative "edges" of buttons emerged. There were even sometimes crafted into pieces of jewelry, such as bracelets, necklaces or earrings, some of which survive in modern re-interpretations for the antique and vintage lover.

A tradition that should see a rebirth, if you ask me!

pic from etsy/alliesadornments via Pinterest

Guerlain Shore's Caprice (1873): Perfume History & an Enigma

When Aimé Guerlain created an extrait de parfum for use on the silk and linen handkerchiefs of the aristocracy and bourgeoisie in 1873 little did he know that he would be creating a modern day enigma. The scent has of course disappeared from the face of the earth and any remnant purported as authentic would raise serious questions in the minds of the sane collector, but the intricacies of its historical trail capture the imagination all the same.

 The perfume Shore's Caprice began its journey as patronage for la Comtesse Emanuella Pignatelli Potocka, something not unheard of for the venerable French house in the 19th century. The countess Potocka, born Emanuela Pignatelli and a descendant of pope Innocent XII, appears as a personality full of contradictions, Italian grace and Parisian flair, who was keeping a salon to awe the society of her times. De Maupassant was a daily visitor. Barrès, Bourget, Robert de Montesquiou, Reynaldo Hahn, Widor as well. In her position as the lover of a well known philosopher, Emanuella derived intellectual enjoyment from humiliating the philosopher in him, even though her personal conduct with the man was above board.

Emanuella Pignatelli, countess Potocka

But it is the use of Shore's Caprice a short 9 years later, in 1882, in a case of reverse engineering (just think of the literary inspiration behind the legendary Guerlain Mitsouko) that it becomes food for fantasy. It happened when it became the perfume worn by Julia Forsell, the heroine of art critic's and journalist's Octave Mirbeau's L'écuyère (the title translates as "the horsewoman", "the amazon"). The specific quote goes like this: "Une mondaine, qui l'avait vue chez Guerlain, achetant un flacon de Shore's caprice, s'en était fait une renommée". This comes smack in the middle of a full page describing Julia's habits and skills, which are many and eye catching.
It was not the first time that a novel would benefit from a reference of perfumes worn by its characters and certainly not the last. It's mighty interesting how the imagination of authors and artists has been captured by the free-spirited character of the horsewoman, featuring such proto-feminist types in their work. But it's also fascinating to compare and contrast Shore's Caprice with the iconography of another Guerlain fragrance, the classic Jicky (1889), which as a prototype fougère, has always had a touch of the androgynous. Jicky is advertised with fetching, independent women behind the "volant" instead of the horse, stirring their lives with the determination of a true amazon.

Octave Mirbeau

The information about Shore's Caprice deliciously contradicts itself, creating an intricate puzzle of theories and little corroborated data. Four years after the release of L'écuyère, Shore's Caprice is mentioned in a complimentary manner in a proto-lifestyle-manual, Louise Gagneur's Pour Etre Aimée: Conseils d'une Coquette. There it is referenced as a perfume inspired by the sea and its complex aroma, but is deemed especially fit for neutralizing the catty aroma of certain furs. This tidbit of perfume etiquette use (common in "parfums fourrure") would have passed unnoticed had I not recalled having read an interview of Jean Kerléo, back when he was head of L'Osmothèque, where he commented at length on the feel and memories of "marine" fragrances (i.e. fragrances that try to approximate the scentscape of the ocean) and saying that they oppose the ideal of the bourgeoisie "who do not want the scent of the sea emanating off their furs". Was the countess Potocka revolutionizing fragrance mores by opting for an intellectualized scent that would clash with what the society of her times would think of as "proper"?

Whatever the scent smelled of in reality (and how realistically the smell of the sea could be captured in a composition dating from the 19th century with all the technical limitations of the times) the very existence of the fragrance is undisputed. Just a few years back, in 2009, a lot of Guerlain bottles were auctioned to perfume bottle collectors, amongst them Shore's Caprice alongside Guerlain's Cuir de Russie perfume. The square bottle measuring 17cm tall dated from 1880, a gold-gilded encrusted flacon that was a special commission, labelled «15 rue de la paix Paris» after the older address of the French family business. On it there was a gravure of a woman with a flag, providing another cryptic clue to its character.

Leo Tolstoy

But perhaps the most fascinating tidbit of all comes from a fellow "perfumista" who had read in an -as yet unidentified, unrevealed- book that Shore's Caprice was supposedly the perfume bottle found on the night table at the deathbed of famous novelist Leo Tolstoy. Is "shore" not a name but the evocation of the sea, the eternal blue that the steppe-born Russian soul only dreamed of and never attained? What was its caprice and why did it appeal to Tolstoy in the first place? Guerlain holds the key to a precious mystery in its archives.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain perfumes, known and unknown, Fragrance history. 

Le Galion Fragrances: Perfume History

Le Galion, Parfumeur a Paris, is among those esoteric fragrance houses that should one not be dabbling in vintage perfume hunting they're blissfully oblivious of. Established in the entre deux guerres it gained a popularity that was disproportionate to the value of their perfumes, which are quite lovely. But why the strange name?

Le Galion, French for galleon, is a large warship or trader sailing ship with 3 or more masts (lateen-rigged on the after masts and square-rigged on the foremast and mainmast), whose dominance of the seas during the 15th to 18th centuries resulted in what we recognize today in the brand's logo.

The firm was supposedly founded by Prince Murat, but it was perfumer Paul Vacher who created the Le Galion fragrances, trademarked in 1936. He worked at Guerlain, one of the oldest perfume houses in the world, among other perfume houses. (Vacher is best known for his parts in the creations of vintage Miss Dior for Christian Dior in 1947 with Jean Carles, and Arpège for Lanvin in 1927 with André Fraysse, as well as his Diorling, again for Dior in the 1960s).

The fragrances by Le Galion are ladylike, graceful and elegant from what I have experienced, typical of the 1930s and 1950s tastes, with good stability over the years, a concern for those of us who seek vintage perfumes.
Le Galion had created and distributed 24 fragrances by the beginning of the 1990s, with Sortilège their most-beloved and well-known specimen.

The fragrances by Le Galion Parfumeur a Paris:

1937 Champs de Mai
1937 Bourrasque
1937 Indian Summer
1937 Brumes
1937 Gardenia
1937 Jasmin
1937 La Violette
1937 Tubereuse
1937 Shake Hands
1937 Sortilege

1949 Frac
1952 Snob
1953 Cub
1953 Whip
1972 Eau Noble
1978 Megara
Special for Gentlemen (unknown date)

The Le Galion company distributed samples in department stores in the form of tiny bottles, the size of which didn't extend beyond the first phalanx of my forefinger. These cute gems had the same little gold colored cap with the trademark ship etched into it, and a foil paper label, scented with the corresponding fragrance. Today they can be occasionally found on Ebay and Etsy.
The wonderfully retro illustrations for their fragrances date from the 1950s.

Pics via tumblr, etsy, ebay, hprints and vintatevenus.com.au.

The Smooth, Creamy Scent of SunTan Lotion: From Oils to Perfumes

The languor of sun drenched holidays by the beach, the sea lapping at your feet, tan legs seemingly going for miles against realism (that is the effect of a bit of golden glow for you!), an intriguing book, dog-eared and lying loose on your bare belly button... all these things naturally induce scented thoughts associated with this kind of lazy pastime. The creamy, tropically floral or more edible nuance of suntan lotions and tanning oils reinforces the experience as only sensory experiences that do not engage our rational mind can. Is it any wonder that my sun-dazed mind is buzzing around them like a greedy insect hovering over the golden pollen of a ripe flower? I don't necessarily claim laurels of originality, we all -people with an interest in smells I mean- think of this subject on those occasions, I guess. And is it any wonder that fragrance de croisière remains a popular market trend? There are surely many of us out there, more than initially thought of.

by George Marks, via Getty Images

Much as the reference seems universal, not all suntan lotions and potions are created equal nevertheless. The divide can be cultural: The all American scent of Coppertone is heavy in coconut lactones (such as gamma-Nonalactone), milky-smelling, rich, sometimes overwhelming even, to this Med-born nose. The European equivalent of Ambre Solaire is rich in salicylates, ylang-ylang naturally occurring floral components that translate as tropically floral, sweet, inviting, rather gardenia-leaning. Bain de Soleil is another old brand in the same vein. A suntan product can be ~predictably enough~ exotically laced, as Les Polysianes by Klorane or the Hei-Poa sun oil line attest: Tahitian tiare (the local gardenia steeped in sandalwood & mainly; coconut oil) is at the heart of their creamy, South Isles evocative bouquet, sometimes containing wine lactone or massoia lactone, which have a lighter, creamy coconut odor. Hawaian Tropic is poised somewhere in between: tiare and thicker coconut flesh in some sort of equal balance.

A cursory Google search before embarking on my own holidays while preparing this post a while ago revealed vintage brands I hadn't even heard of before; with funny-sounding names, such as Skol, Gaby, Tartan, Diana or QT, or with outright functional ones such as the 1970s billboard material Sea & Ski products.

yup, that's Renee Russo in 1976 via pzrservices blog, click to enlarge

The transition from tanning product for the body to actual fine perfume can be subtle or bolder, according to who makes it. The perfumers at old-guard Guerlain, for instance, were inspired by the isles "sous le vent" (which also inspired the classical Sous le Vent by Guerlain perfume) as well as their popular cosmetic tan line, the famous Terracotta, for the Terracotta Eau Sous le Vent fragrance mist and its accompanying Huile de Voyager dry oil; these products can compliment your sunscreen to give an illusion of old style tanning preparations now that the sun is frowned upon and we all slather ourselves with SPF 50+. Lys Soleia in the Aqua Alegoria line is Guerlain's newest interpretation of the sun tan lotion European floralcy in all its lily-laced spiciness, while the older Terracotta Voile d'Ete is carnation-spicy and fiery like the sunniest days spent under the Antibes blue skies.

A most refined version is met by parfums Hermes, a vanguard of the "not trying too hard" school of thought; Vanille Galante in the boutique-only Hermessences line is redolent of the vanillic-spicy facets of lily, while Santal Massoia in the same posh line utilizes the lactonic facets of fig leaf and classic sandalwood to render the ambience of beach holidays with a winking helping of suntan lotion in the distance. An unapologetic, no-holds-barred approach in all its coconut & vanilla calorific indulgence on the other hand is Comptoir Sud Pacifique's Vanille Coco: Coppertone till you beg to be released.

Cosmetic line Nuxe had no choice but to follow their super-popular (with celebrities and mere mortals alike) golden-flecked Huile Prodigieuse beautifying oil with a similarly fragranced, dedicated perfume product (L'Eau Prodigieuse); the recreation of holidays at the flick of a sprayer! Nars Monoï Body Glow II also has this suntan lotion scent in its core, a mixture of coconut and Tahitian gardenia that is decidedly tropical.
Bobbi Brown created her Beach fragrance to give a compatible scent to what she felt would go well with her tawny, bronzed makeup collections; the fragrance became a long-lasting cult deservingly, recreating the familiar Coppertone association under a gloomier, more East Coast sky.

photo borrowed from blogdorfgoodman blog

Estee Lauder is no stranger to either makeup or perfume, but it was under the tenure of Tom Ford that the infamous "Bronze Goddess" line was first conceived (Originally under the name Azuree Soleil; there are since MANY updates, so please consult our article on the Azuree Soleil vs.Bronze Goddess scent comparison for detailed info. The latest version for 2012 is Bronze Goddess Soleil).
Dior is a similar example: Though Dior's Dune perfume didn't begin its long career as a suntan evocative scent, but rather a demure, monastic yard by the seafront reminiscent perfume for the 1990s with the bracken hint of broom, it soon expanded its main accord into Dior Sweet Sun (an alcohol-free version of a sun-dried, warm biscuit scent that is close to tanning products in the line with a peachy-apricoty nuance) and of course the alcohol-free flanker Dune Sun, to capitalize on the success of the summery evocative name. They have since launched Escale aux Marquises as another "warm sun and tiare" fragrance, now that the above mentioned lighter concentrations have been discontinued, albeit with different aesthetic results.

via pzrservices blog

Some tanning products have an amber-like sweetness to them, like toasted biscuits, with a slight gingerbread warmth. Lancaster's (another cosmetics line, this time famous for its tanning preparations since the 1960s) ambery Aquasun fragrance is a good substitute of beach holidays in a bottle; the drydown reminds me of the intensity of sunscreen on my skin after I have sat under the intense sun of Sardinia for a while and before leaping into the sea, in a frog-like leap, exhausted by the heat. Obsession for Women by Calvin Klein also reminds me a bit of sun-warmed skin, possibly the evocation of a sun-watched tryst.

Celebrities haven't been immune to the trend: I'm only citing Jennifer Lopez and her Miami Glow with its cute havaianas flip-flops on the neck and its tropical suntan feel of a scent because celebrity perfumes isn't a field I consider myself proficient in, for better or for worse. This one is good enough to wear without any guilt nevertheless.

If you prefer oils, Monyette Paris is a cult reference, girlish and floral with coconut overtones, while their more recent Coquette Tropique is somewhat airier, though it is rather too sweet for my personal taste. Sage Onyx by the same jewelry line designer who makes the trinkets is darker, ambery, with the coconut hidden under the suntan and famously made popular by Kate Beckinsale who pronounced it her husband-luring charm. And if you appreciate a sense of humor, the fragrance library over at Demeter (brain child of perfumer Christopher Brosius) stocks Suntan Lotion fragrance spray; what's more overtly obvious than that?

There are probably hundreds of suntan products that smell delicious enough and accompanying perfumes and scented oils recreating that holiday touch; do YOU have a favorite one?

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Beauty and the Beachy; beachy fragrances for every style & taste, The Scent of Nivea cream: nostalgic blue-tin reminiscences