Dior Homme: thoughts & fragrance review on a milestone

 It doesn't matter that Dior Homme is everywhere, either in one of its -many- versions, or in some copy of it from another brand. It remains one of the most interesting men's releases of the last twenty years, because the formula brings a more unusual note of iris root, halfway between dry retro face powder or old lipstick along with dusty dried flowers, to an otherwise standard formula for a mainstream men's fragrance, making it revolutionary. It doesn't surprise me that many women love it and love wearing it themselves. It is the most affordable of the lot of Dior men's fragrances. 

 via

 Attention: the original, "authentic" Dior Homme is the one from 2005, by Olivier Polge, which was removed only to be removed by Demachy later in the completely unrecognizable 2020 version of the same name, when the Polge son was now permanent at Chanel . Yes, yes, I know, typing Dior Homme gives you 883045 versions on Google, how the hell do you know which is which, you go to the first one in the drop down menu. Well, let's pay attention to it a little since you are involved in the aficion.

 

via

The 2011 version is still very good, despite the credit to Demachy, as it does not alter Polge's original recipe and retains its special characteristics. The iris in Dior Homme alternately takes aspects of soft aftershave powder like that used in trendy hipster haircuts, cocoa powder and amber starch. It's a smooth, glossy, no edge scent, feminine, but retains a hint of freshness, which I find a very alluring and essential ingredient in fragrance in general. You don't want to be completely smothered in a cotton cocoon after all, when you're on a social or romantic date, you want to be able to breathe and appreciate the (hopefully beautiful) view. :)

 

NB. The 2020 version is a completely different fragrance making for a LOT of confusion since it bears the same name, Dior Homme.  The prior to 2020 editions from a few years ago bear the bee emblem, the older formulations have no bee but the box has minor differences and the original 2005 formula has a silver tube sprayer in the jus instead of black, as after the Demachy transition.

Diptyque Fleur de Peau: fragrance review

The Diptyque story began in 1961 Paris at 34 Boulevard Saint-Germain with, at its heart, three friends driven by the same creative passion, who chose a Greek word which means a dual panel painting. Illustration was the very core of the founders, as Christiane Gautrot was an interior designer, Desmond Knox-Leet, a painter, and Yves Coueslant, a theater director and set designer. From then on, inspired by their Hellenic treks along the Greek peninsula and its mountainous terrain, and from their country cottage on the picturesque Mount Pelion, buried amidst thick fig trees all the way down the sea front, they launched several classics, from Virgilio to Philosykos. 

But the brand also presents a later day constellation of contemporary stars, like Eau Duelle and 34 Boulevard St.Germain. Picking just one is an Herculean task. The most sensual in the current rotation however is an easy choice. None other than Fleur de Peau. 

 Fleur de Peau relies on that rarity of the "musky idea": it harnesses the vegetal musks from angelica archangelica and ambrette seed oil, flanking them with ambrettolide, a macrocyclic musk which shares properties with ambrette seed and aids diffusion and lasting power. Thus the somewhat nutty, with a hint of berry, slightly sweaty and oddly metallic fusion of the properties in those fine musks gains the upper hand and makes Fleur de Peau very sensuous. 

Backed up with classic starchy iris, and carrot seed, which aids the earthy, starchy effect, it creates a cocoon of scent on the skin; it's as if the Platonic idea of sensuality has landed on our shores. The delicacy of vegetal musk with the central chord of pink pepper and rose recalls the refinement of Les Exclusifs de Chanel No 18 Chanel, and Musc Nomade Annick Goutal, two other fragrances with ambrette seed oil tucked into their heart of hearts. A quiet sensuality that does not plunge its décolleté low.

 

Fleur de Peau is soft, tenacious, with a discreet but perceptible sillage, radiant and glorious indeed. One of the better launches by Diptyque in recent years.

Hermes Hiris: fragrance review

Once upon a time, concubines in the Far East were fed animal musk, so that their bodies would sweat in sweet fragrance. Nowadays they feed themselves angelica roots, boiled carrots, and almond baked in tin foil, with the tin foil intact. They spray themselves absent-mindedly with an obsolete hairspray that engulfs them in musk, sending electrical sparks like a loose train set on liquid tracks, running in the storm to nobody knows where. They work under azure skies which never betray the greyness of their gaze. They dream of "Et la lune descent sur le temple qui fut". Some girls nowadays are fed Hiris by Hermès...

Hiris: from the flower to the fragrance, the modern and refined mindset of a unique soliflore, all devoted to the splendor of the iris. A perfume of emotion and subtlety conceived by perfumer Olivia de Giacobetti in 1999, it expresses its charm with an infinite delicacy; sometimes floral, sometimes powdery or plant-like, always one of the olfactory wonders of nature.

The quintessential dry powder scent, Hiris by Hermès is the yardstick against which orris scents can be measured in a sweetness to dryness climax; this one is set on ultra-dry. For sheer uniqueness it could only be compared to the cold melancholia of Iris Silver Mist by Serge Lutens, but it's less gloomy, less sombre, warming a bit through the skin-like ambrette seed. It's for INFP types for sure.
And it falls naturally into the pattern set out by Hermès, a house that caters to an effortless sensibility of quiet sensuousness, of subtle sexiness, of refined intellectuality. A precious keepsake.

Fragrance notes for Hermès Hiris:
Top Notes
Iris, Coriander, Carrot
Heart Notes
Iris, Neroli, Rose, Hay
Base notes
Honey, Almond wood, Vanilla, Cedarwood, Ambrette seed

NB. The older bottles are in blue frosted glass packaged in an orange carton. The newer ones are in a transparent glass bottle with gold cap and a blue label, packaged in an orange and blue carton. 

Parfums Berdoues Arz El Rab: fragrance review

Ginger has a peculiar quality of appearing at the same time fresh and fiery. It's got an energizing zing to it, which is great for giving lift and energy to compositions that would otherwise remain dull and/or maudlin. Its shared facets with citrus make it a wonderful addition to classic eau de cologne compositions, elevating them to a quirky refreshment for summer wear, as exemplified by Origins Ginger Essence. Its classical inclusion in gingerbread gives warmth and comforting nuances in cooler weather fragrances, which recall those evenings spent by the fire nibbling on said cookies. Ginger's allusion to Far Eastern cuisine, where it's also very popular, is another culturally rich pool of pleasurable referents.

My favorite ginger fragrance falls rather far from either of those categories.
Parfums Berdoues Arz el-Rab can't be said to be particularly fresh or cologne-y, nor is it a gourmand ginger scent. Instead it has a gauzy feeling of canopies atop a wooden four-post bed made out of solid, polished wood, a tiny bit dusty. It's comforting, but it's a whole other comfort association. The ginger is allied to a tiny citrusy facet which dissipates almost upon spraying; the energetic blast is vibrant for the first hour or so, with the ginger holding first violin role. What follows possesses the starched quality of a subdued and low-key scent of woods and fluffy iris, with no metallic contraptions. It's as if one is actually invited to rest their wary body atop that four-post bed surrounded by pencil shavings. I happen to like pencil shavings (the classic Virginia cedar wood smell) and this bodes well for me personally. Pencil shavings recall academic pursuits and ginger provides that needed energy boost that academic pursuits would need, so it's a good mental match.

 More masculine or unisex, at the very least, rather than traditionally feminine, at least as defined by the presence of florals or sweetness in the current vernacular, Arz el-rab is perfect for all those situations where you want a tiny jolt of energy without appearing too invasive or self-conscious, and can be worn summer or winter without much wavering to its medium projection.

Bulgari Petits et Mamans: fragrance review

The top of a baby's head. The milky breath. The soft, soothing chamomile note of a baby soporific infusion. The talcum powdered bottom. The peachy smooth skin of small kid's short and squishy limbs. The intense tenderness of cradling one's own child in their arms. How could anyone capture all those glorious moments in a single scent?

via Pinterest

One simply can't.

They come with their own avalanche of overwrought anxiety, triumphant elation, sleepless nights and the relief of seeing the small ones grow day by day. But if you concentrate on getting the impression, rather than the actual kaleidoscope of the wild mix of feelings one gets upon having a baby, you can't go wrong by opting for Petits et Mamans by Italian jewelers Bulgari (or rather spelled in the Latinized pavements style Bvlgari)

This downy soft and comforting blend of vanilla powder, chamomile and iris starchiness replicates the feathery light feel of kids' natural scent and projects as inconspicuously as its realistic equivalent. Before they start scratching their knees falling off the bike or having their own free will imposed on you whereupon they become boys and girls rather than asexual "kids". If there is a Platonic idea of how kids smell, all innocent and cherubic, it's Bvlgari's Petits et Mamans. Like the name says on the label, moms can borrow it as well. For remembrance's sake or for partaking in the joy.

Love Chloe by Chloe: fragrance review

 It seems unbelievable that Love Chloe has been in the market for 6 years already. Then again, after spawning a handful of flankers and some imitators of its soft, downy soft violet powder it has been time to rest awhile, so the brand is discontinuing it. In many ways I am picking it today in an effort to see just how many would love seeing it in continuous production.

via

Chloe had revamped its brand once already after all, eschewing the old classic Chloe by Chloe with its Damien-Hirst-like calla lily stem sprouting from the bottle, in an effort to appeal to younger generations. Going for perversely clean, squirming almost, seemed to resonate with a generation accustomed to the showering twice daily ritual and using baby wipes for every dirt eventuality (great invention by the way).

I'm not in love with Chloe fragrances overall, possibly because of these very reasons, but Love Chloe stands apart thanks to its subtle erotic appeal beneath the seemingly prim overlay, perfect for summer too. There's a starchy rice-powderiness flanked by violet notes and heaps of billowy musk, which instantly recalls something retro; true enough the advertising campaigns bring back the glamorized late 1970s heroines that we normally associate with Lauren Hutton. Glamorous with a mane of gold tresses flowing over a satin silk shirt in ivory, yet able to climb a tree at the same time as well. A pity that the fragrance that reflects that very quality didn't seem to enjoy her enduring success...

Annick Goutal Les Absolus Ambre Sauvage: fragrance review

ISIPCA perfumer teacher Isabelle Doyen and art director for the Goutal brand Camille Goutal have proven their flair for the concept of an "oriental" perfume mainly through the collection Les Orientalistes some years ago. A trio of worthwhile scents came out in 2007 including Ambre Fetiche Encens Flamboyant and Myrrhe Ardente. The collection was augmented in 2008 with Musc Nomade a firm favorite of mine in the stakes of intimate musk fragrances. Their current output on the orientalist theme for their more upscale line Les Absolus(there's also Vanille Charnelle and 1001 Ouds) leaves me rather hesitant as to how much this is a corporate decision rather than an artistic one; especially taking into consideration the details surrounding Ambre Sauvage.

via

One look at the luxurious packaging and the price asked (195 euros for 75ml of eau de parfum) suggests a target audience of wealthy patrons shopping for posh gifts; Cartier lighters and Tiffany's more serious silver pieces engraved for the ocassion. This is undoubtedly true for most niche fragrance brands nowadays; just look at the Section d'Or by Serge Lutens (including L'Incidiaire and all the others) with its stratospheric prices! It's not an easy to digest truth for readers of perfume blogs and fora but it is nonetheless true enough and one should at one point make peace with the facts.

But what about the scent?

Sauvage (i.e. wild) is a name brandished a lot in 2015 because of the masculine fragrance launch of the same name by Christian Dior and LVMH. Loosely based on part of the name of the classic Eau Sauvage from the 1960s the modern Sauvage is anything but. Similarly Ambre Sauvage (Wild Amber) by Annick Goutal is not to be taken literally.

Amber by its own makeup is a scent produced by the synergy of two colliding forces; the dark resinous id of labdanum/cistus and the malleable softness of vanillin super-ego. I have elsewhere described how some ambers seem to be like child-POV engulfing hugs by well meaning aunts; too much of a good thing. Thankfully the refined French aesthetic of Doyen and Goutal ensure that their manipulation of the materials is never saturated. The raw materials become in their hands building blocks of a gouache where the colors melt into one another to the point where you can't quite discern where one begins and one ends. Doyen and Goutal have argued that basing their concept on the etymology of raw materials is a whole different ball game than working on memories; memories can only go as far in the pursuit of olfactory accuracy. By following the material's arc one can direct themselves into a mapped out path and deviate knowingly.

This is at once grace and irony in this case nevertheless: with sauvage in the name one expects something untamed and untramelled even by the codes of gallic civility and correct navigation. Neither the inclusion of patchouli (a lightly chypre facet) nor the wink of a leather-animalic quality in the top notes evoke a wildness that would be out of place in a salon. Ambre Sauvage is a classic refined amber rather than a poet maudit. Unlike Ambre Sultan by Lutens with its uncinventional aromatic impression of a Moroccan dish the Goutal fragrance is quite Parisian.

These two elements (leather and patchouli) do lend nevertheless a sophisticated character that cuts it above the soup of sameness among many ambres in the niche market. A delicious cooling smoke-chocolate hint recalls the treatment of lavender drawn through to its caramelic end of the spectrum in Doyen's L'Eau de Lavande for Annick Goutal many many years ago... The more Ambre Sauvage dries down the more it declaws itself; thanks to vanilla absolute coming forth creamy and smooth and mouthwatering but never cloyingly sweet. And it's perfect on a man as well. It's hard to dislike Ambre Sauvage.

Furthermore Ambre Sauvage smells dangerously close to Ambre Fetiche. Although the latter is among the better ambers out there (and one of the ambers I personally wear for that very reason) the launch of the former at this point in time suggests that a rather more concentrated edition with obviously high end packaging is meant to aim at more moneyied customers. Not necessarily more discerning ones. One might want to make peace with the facts at last.

Twin Peaks: Korres Pure Cotton & Prada Infusion d'Iris

Do you associate iris the fragrance note with pure cotton? You should. Today's comparison involves two fragrances which share the same olfactory core in a language that has become Morse code for comfort, effortless elegance and sophisticated grooming.

Back in the 1970s and 1980s the scent of "groomed female" involved some floral aldehydic fragrance with the powerful blanched aspect of something termed White Linen (and we will revert to that) or First by Van Cleef & Arpels (or even Chanel No.5 for the purists), while still topping everything with the garland of sweet ladylike flowers. It probably involved matching ensembles, genuine supple kid skin leather goods and a 18K gold trinity ring by Cartier.
Our Millenial rotation has dispensed with the niceties and the romantic semiotics of flowers (especially since the metrosexual male partook in female ritual) and appreciates the "clean" "dry" feel minus the glamour and the hard cash. Enter the iris and white musk brigade that has been hammering down our collective nose door for a full on decade as the new code for "groomed".

via Korres Instagram

The "cotton" mention is thus explained; the former hot iron on a starched linen shirt coming from aldehydes is now smothered into the downy soft fabric softener feel of irones on freshly laundered cotton sheets (irones form the main constituent in the scent of iris/orris). You can casually stroll any super-market aisle and pick up any product in the body products range or even the laundry detergents/fabric softeners; "cotton" is code for lots of irones and white musks. Case in point? Carrefour's Cotton shower gel, for one.

Infusion d'Iris doesn't smell particularly iris-y. truth be told. That is, it's not the starchy pasta-and-sourdough feel one gets from orris, the dried rhizome "resinous" extraction coming after macerating the roots, even though the perfume's whole marketing standpoint stresses that technique ("infusion" etc. though if you notice, in the "list" of "ingredients" on the packaging iris/orris isn't mentioned). It's a powerfully woody resinous "clean" smelling entity with formidable attributes that do not proclaim their presence.  Benzoin, cedar notes and a hint of incense resin give warmth-coolness contrasts and copious tenacity and I suspect musk does too. This is also what I smell from the Korres Pure Cotton fragrance and the scratchy (but in a good way) lily of the valley aromachemical that signifies "I feel pretty, oh so pretty".

Beyond perfumery tropes, nevertheless, there is a very practical, tangible reason why Perfume Shrine's smell-alike perfumes articles, Twin Peaks, are so popular and this post is one such case. The full effect of the well-established best-seller by Prada comes at the fraction of the price in the newer incarnation by Korres! In fact Korres is probably playing on one of their older eaux de toilette, Iris Lily of the Valley Cotton. 

If you have been following our blog for years, you surely recall our dinosaur-worthy article of how much perfume actually costs. The internet has since erupted on similar breakdowns of cost vs. retail price, but beyond the pure logistics, any dedicated fan will tell you you're paying not for the raw materials but for the expertise, the know how, the tradition, the beautiful aesthetics...in the end for the sheer experience. (And that's why if you haven't read The Aesthetic Principle you really should). Price is irrelevant if you truly love what you get.

from the Wallpaper "Clean Slate" editorial featuring Korres products, via Korres Instagram

And yet, how do you explain two perfumes that are so close in scent that opting for one when having your eyes closed wouldn't produce a micro-grimace (lips falling down on one side, eyes rolling up) of distrustful apprehension?  Of course lots of other brands and companies have cottoned on (can't help the pun) to the success of the Prada Infusion d'Iris, not least Prada itself (mainly with their Infusion d'Homme). Chanel for one seems to have revitalized the No.19 perfume stable with Chanel No.19 Poudre, a scent which smells more like something from Prada (a soap devised by Prada) than traditional Chanel (a soap referencing Chanel)...and feel free to call me reductionist if you like, since I'm sorta sacrilegiously "reducing" both to soap. (Though soap is hard business to get right). And I'm coming round to the beginning of my parsing treatise; it's probably Dove and their classic soap scent which has inspired this whole genre. Something fluffy, soft, powdery and full of irones, lily of the valley, orange flower and white musks.

Fragrantica categorizes Korres Pure Cotton (part of the newly launched Eau de Cologne range) into the "aromatic spicy" fragrances and gives (the official) notes of mandarin orange (on top), iris (in the heart) and amber (in the base). It is an eau de cologne edition in a biggish bottle in the familiar elegant Korres aesthetics with a matte black rubber spraying mechanism. It smells and performs exactly the same as Prada's original Infusion d'Iris eau de parfum. Perfumephiles on a budget, rejoice!

Chanel Les Exclusifs Misia: fragrance review

Few toiletry indulgences feel more decadently feminine than owning a fine goose down puff for applying face or body powder. Few rituals feel more delicately ballet-like in their choreographed sequence than the traditional powdering of the body, fresh out of a bath, using said goose down puff with small pat pat pat motions that are as close to caresses as they are to little slaps, both erotic provenance of the demi-mondaines of another time. Misia the fragrance encapsulates in liquid form this graceful dance in Chanel's 15th Les Exclusifs perfume launch, redolent of the retro makeup scents of yesterday.

Emanuelle Beart in Le Temps Retrouvé by Raoul Ruiz via

Chanel via its new head perfumer, Olivier Polge, son of Jacques, only the fourth perfumer in the revered history of the French brand, bows to Guerlain's Après L'Ondée; a composition from the first years of the 20th century based on the ethereal marriage of heliotrope, violet and iris. Yet Chanel's Misia, like the eponymous lady friend of Gabrielle Chanel's it was named after, holds its own ground as well, an outstanding entry for Polge junior regardless of the trodden course. 

Olivier Polge may have excelled in Dior Homme previously, exploring the cocoa dust facets of the iris note in a men's scent, but it is in this feminine composition that he propels the retro facets of iris in their logical apogee, somewhere between the retro cool powder of Love Chloe and the earthy dustiness of Norma by Histoires de Parfums.  The "lipstick note" is after all its own perfumery meme, swirling its tutu years ago with Drole de Rose by L'Artisan Parfumeur and stomping its foot down naming names in Lipstick Rose in the Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle line. (Even Guerlain revisits their own themes, what with Meteorites limited edition fragrance and now with French Kiss.) Chanel's lipsticks account for a huge segment of the brand, so walking down that road felt like a given.

After all, Polge Junior has something of the Midas touch in him; count with me: Flowerbomb, La Vie Est Belle, Mon Jasmin Noir, Burberry The Beat...

The intensely powdery, starchy cloud of orris (the dried rhizome of iris flowers) is at the very heart of Misia with very perceptible cool, sweet violets for "lipstick" (α methyl ionone); in fact the very scent of proper, ladylike lipsticks with their violet-rose aura which separates the teens from the grown ups. While Misia starts with a bittersweet top note reminiscent of time-honored perfumery aubepine-heliotropin chord, the heart of the fragrance is pure cosmetic impression, an archetype of grooming and of la salonnière. Polge used both rose of Grasse and Bulgarian Damask rose for the floral component and a cluster of benzoin resin (caramelic, vanilla plush), tonka beans (hay and almond like) and modern musks for the downy soft drydown.

“I thought of the Palais Garnier in the days of the Ballets Russes: pearls and aigrettes in the women’s hair melding with the scent of red-tinted lips; the sound of musicians tuning their instruments; and the dancers wearing make-up from head-to-toe, warming up behind red velvet curtains. I thought of how to interpret lipstick and powders into a perfume and decided to use violet dressed with rose de Mai and Turkish rose, which trigger memories of lipstick, while the benzoin I added creates a powdery effect, like make-up. It’s very feminine and floral but it’s also sumptuous. The strong violet accord is a new ingredient in the grammar of Chanel”  reveals Polge to Lucia van der Post.

It was Polish muse Misia Sert, née Maria Sofia Olga Zenajda Godebska, a Belle Epoque fixture and the subject of many a Renoir and Bonnard painting, who introduced Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel to many of her subsequent fixtures; Venice, baroque, Les Ballets Russes, Paul Reverdy...
She was also the confidant to whom Chanel poured her heart out to when the latter lost her first true love, Arthur "Boy" Capel, to a car crash.

In a way Misia the fragrance aims to be as emblematic and prophetic of great things ahead as Misia the muse was to Chanel's career. May it prove so!

Chanel Les Exclusifs Misia eau de toilette is offered in 75ml and 200ml bottles with magnetic closure, same as the rest of boutique exclusive Les Exclusifs perfumes.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: 
Best Violet fragrances guide
Powdery & Dry Perfumes
Parfums Lingerie: intimate femininity

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.

Marchesa Parfum d'Extase: fragrance review

Some perfumes are what in perfumista-land we call "compliment getters"; they elicit spontaneous feedback from strangers in the decidedly positive end of the spectrum. Usually this either has to do a bit with current trends (familiarity creates recognition and fuzzy warmth) or -ironically enough- with breaking away from trends (something totally novel and unexpected has a way of ripping through our preconceptions and making as notice it). And sometimes it just has to do with the overall character of a smell: it can be gracefully smooth, easy, a sort of effortless elegance which anyone can graft onto them.  The kind of thing you put on and forget about it, until someone comments on it. Parfum d'Extase by Marchesa is one case among that latter category, because even though it's neither novel nor overpopular, it breeds that sort of cozy reception which accounts for having people say "hey, you smell really nice, what's that?". So, lemme tell you what that is.

I tried the new "all over mist" version of Parfum d'Extase, available at Sephora, which denotes a lighter concentration to be used all over. This kind of formula allows for a more spread application and I do just that, reveling in being allowed to indulge in this kind of wild abandon, knowing I'm not gassing anyone with potent fumes. (You wouldn't see me doing that with YSL Opium or Carnal Flower, would you!). That means a generous spray on hair and on the hairline at the back of my neck, one spray on chest and belly each, behind the knees and a touch on my wrists. In total about 6 spritzes of silky goodness.

The fragrance is a white flower concoction (an abstract mix that is hard to pinpoint) with a lovely touch of cool and clean rained-upon fresh leaves vibe, which we have come to collectively call "iris" in modern fragrances, when in fact this is a half truth (the secret is the irone molecules which are added in the formula, present in orris root and giving that specific tinge).
For an iris fragrance it's not at all starchy ("irises" can turn into a "raw potatoes scent" on skin contact sometimes); on the contrary it's lightly aqueous floral at first with a very pretty and extended woody drydown that dries some more as time passes. Perfumer Annie Byzantian is an expert with those silky compositions with a musky and lightly powdery scent trail. The most characteristic note to peep is freesia; you have to have a positive reaction to the simultaneously fresh and peppery zing of freesia to like Parfum d'Extase.

I suspect the drydown part however is the one that has people spontaneously notice and comment; although a non-heavyweight fragrance, Marchesa Parfum d'Extase has a lingering and beckoning trail (similar to the category of "woody floral musk" fragrances) which is felt more by those you come into contact with than yourself. It's also non age specific: it would smell just as lovely and easy on teens as it would on grandmas.

I'm not especially drawn to the original perfume bottle by Marchesa (it's a bit much for my taste and I find the "paste" touches a tad tacky, sorry), but most people have a favorable reaction to it. After all, it's what inside that counts. I bet this would be a crowd-pleaser in your neighborhood as well.

Notes for Marchesa Parfum d'Extase: Iris Flower, Freesia, Black Current, Young Violet Leaves, Lotus Flower, Night Blooming Jasmine, Bulgarian Rose Water, Orange Blossom, Iris Root, Ambrox, Captive Musks.

The Scent of the Ballet: Iris Prima by Penhaligon's (video)

The upcoming Penhaligon's fragrance, to be launched next month, is called Iris Prima and is touted to be "a work of olfactory choreography", with Iris Absolute in the role of the prima ballerina. In a unique partnership with English National Ballet, Penhaligon’s has set about capturing the very essence of the ballet, turning to master perfumer Alberto Morillas as choreographer. Iris Prima will launch on the 9th of September 2013. Enjoy the first of two films dedicated to the launch.

Scent on Canvas Blanc de Paris: fragrance review

The balance between freshly dried cotton sheets and lived-in warmth is in Blanc de Paris, sweet and sour dancing by the fluency of the language of individual skins. This Eau de Parfum has the potential to be the best-seller in the new niche Scent on Canvas line, not only because it’s perfectly legible (a white musk with all the right buttons pressed—bright opening, segueing to cool and clean, melting into warm and lightly sweet), but also because it’s the most approachable (instantly familiar, immediately likable); in so many words, a fate foretold! Like most good musks Blanc de Paris is surprisingly more complex than given credit for, with a classic, more traditionally feminine rose-sandalwood accord which recalls old favorites and the cool, almost iron-pressed ambience of irones (iris note). Nuzzling, its drydown reminds me of those retro lavender & tonka bean compositions after they have rested on the skin for quite some time. A second epidermis, a “my skin but better” sort of fragrance.

illustration by Kay Nielsen via lifo.gr

To dance in an early spring morning among flowers – this is the aroma Beatrice Aguilar created in a composition that is between intensity and a caress, passion and sweetness, simplicity and sophistication.

The new niche collection "Scent on Canvas" so far includes five perfumes created by an eclectic mix of perfumers: Jórdi Fernandez (for Rose Opéra and Noir de Mars), Shyamala Maisondieu (Ocre Doré) , Alexandra Kosinski (Brun Sicilien) and the founder, Beatrice Aguilar herself (Blanc de Paris). The collection spans five fragrance genres with nuanced olfactory work within them: the starchy, woody musk, a predetermined crowd-pleaser (Blanc de Paris); the dark musty-mossy with guts (Noir de Mars); the mysterious, coppery woody (Ocre Doré); the rosy floral with mysterious, spicy-suede tonalities (Rose Opéra) and the complex hesperidic-leathery (Brun Sicilien). Each fragrance is accompanied by a painting by a well-known painter who is inspired by the aromatics in the composition, then the painting is turned into an engraving which is used for the packaging of the fragrance: the inside of the box holds the engraving ready to be framed and hung on your walls.

Notes for Blanc de Paris by Scent on Canvas:
Top: green mandarin, Murcia citron, Calabrian bergamot
Heart: white flowers, Bulgarian rose, iris
Base: white musk, sandalwood, benzoin

The perfumes are priced at 130 Euros for 100 ml of perfume/eau de parfum (only Blanc de Paris is an Eau de Parfum by design, the rest are extrait de parfum). A great value sample pack of all 5 scents is offered for only 10 euros online at the official e-shop. More information: scentoncanvas.com

The Different Company Bois d’Iris: Fragrance Review

Yes, this is my copy of Bois d’Iris—right up to the obtuse notch on the top left corner of the box upon yours truly’s overzealous unwrapping—yet in all honestly after a few years I still haven’t figured out a proper place for master perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena’s creation.

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

photo copyright: AlbertCAN (used with permission)

Is it the subject matter? Hardly. Iris is one of my preferred olfactory subjects of exploration. (Apparently so does the US Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour, as the owners of Aedes de Venustas told Chandler Burr: "Dolce and Gabbana came in for a thank-you gift for Anna Wintour. She likes irises, so we loaded her basket with iris candles, iris soaps, iris room sprays, and decorated it with fresh irises.") Could it then be the compositional philosophy? Quite the opposite: many readers of this space and my humble blog would know that I have been a keen observer of Ellena’s aesthetics for years now. The quality of the ingredients is also evident from the first moment to the last, the packaging from The Different Company impeccable. So what makes it just short of being a clincher?

An epiphany striked through upon composing this review: it’s in the name. Bois d’Iris (not to be confused with Van Cleef & Arpel’s subsequent release under its niche Collection Extraordinaire line) is exactly what the title suggests: it’s more of a manifestation of woods within iris.

Let’s not to imply that Ellena skimped on costs here: the pricy iris concrete is used here and its effect is evident. For the purpose of composing this review I have pulled out my batch of iris to compare. Indeed the concrete is at the depth of this work, forming an earthy, damp, slightly tunnelled ambiance at the back end. The iris used in Bois d’Iris creates a smooth and silken effect, while displaying all typical facets of the material: the floral violets, the dark gourmands, the dry woods. And because iris concrete just by itself lacks the diffusional standards for modern perfumery Ellena here has chosen to bolster the material with alpha-isomethyl ionone, a material having a diffusive, powdery impression of violets and its slightly chalkier analogue—you’ve guessed it—iris. At this point I should point out that the duo of iris and alpha-isomethyl ionone also form the backbone of Hermès Hiris, yet whereas Olivia Giacobetti’s composition lightens up the cornerstone with carrot and almond wood, Bois d’Iris veers into another direction.

A few years back I had the fortune of communicating with Octavian Coifan about subtle ways of emphasizing iris within a composition, and he mentioned that vetiver or even cedar would be good options. While Chanel 28 La Pausa, another iris fragrance, has vetiver at its base, Bois d’Iris is firmly in the cedarwood territory. And the heart of the composition is filled with narcissus and aspects of geranium: the rosy geraniol and citronnellol, the woodsy-peppery-floral linalool. Then to complete the composition we have the clove aspect from eugenol, the slight ylang impression from benzyl salicylate and the hay-like depth from coumarin. Limonene, the essential building block of citrus elements, is also present, though I don’t generally consider that to be the main player at all; in fact, the traditional top notes are neither prominent nor emphasized.

Now I don’t know about you, but at this point the above-mentioned notes, in their respective positions, read modern French formal to me—emphasis on the word formal. Don’t get me wrong: like I have previously mentioned the composition integrity is commendable, style consistent with Ellena’s point of view. Yet what comes with its Gallic nature is an authentic air of reservation and formality, more of a silent masculine to Hiris feminine. Reserved, pensive. It’s not to suggest that Bois d’Iris is boring, with the narcissus-eugenol-coumarin axis giving off a slight wine-like nuance and the cedar forming a nice wine-cask resonance. Now I suspect Bois d'Iris knows how to enjoy life, but only tastefully in private.

Overall? Bois d’Iris is something I use from time to time in my own spare time, when I feel like losing myself in a long leisurely read. If I want my holy grail iris I will continue layering Hiris with Persicol.

Ramon Monegal Impossible Iris: fragrance review

Impossible Iris is like those beautiful raven-haired girls with big, sincere eyes that seem to engulf you and creamy, gorgeous skin that shines with the sheen of mother-of-pearl (like Liv Tyler or Anne Hathaway to bring modern examples); there's both a wholesome appeal (in the sense of "non-plastic") and a retro elegance to it all (in the sense their beauty ideal defies tanned, scrubbed, peroxided "nowness").

Iris can be like that, when excellent, with the added artistic bonus of a delectable melancholia that negates all the "shiny happy people" silliness that is pack and parcel of the "plastic" and "nowness" mantra. But iris can also be a fragrance note that can render itself rather too prissy and difficult for its own good; too many times it can be too starchy and earthy-raw (smelling like boiled carrots or turnips) or it can become too dusty or too creepy cold like the tomb (and there's no better reference than the chilly Iris Silver Mist by Lutens if you're after that sort of effect). Perhaps this is why the easiest, most popular iris on the market is Infusion d'Iris by Prada, a smashing best-seller and a modern classic; no guesswork there, the fragrance isn't an iris per se as the name would suggest, it's a sweet woody incense built on benzoin! Other times iris can be tilted into violet-heavy territory (with whom iris shares ionones, molecules with a powdery, dirt/earth feel) and land into Parfums Lingerie, a totally different sort of aesthetic effect, makeup reminiscent rather than upturned garden dirt.

Personally, I like irises, especially woody ones, such as Bois d'Iris by The Different Company and the stupendous Chanel No.19, so testing Impossible Iris wasn't a challenge by any means. Still, it exceeded expectations and has found itself firmly in my perfume rotation which is something when you take into account the jadedness of a seasoned collector.

Ramón Monegal went neither way between chilly or earthy for Impossible Iris, opting for an iris fragrance that is recognizably iris, yet projects with a delicate, mimosa-laced/heather hint of sweetness under the metallic opening; clean, elegant, slightly soapy fresh and very appealing! It's an iris to put you in a good mood, for a change, with subtle floralcy and woodiness in equal measure, if that was possible, with all the prerequisites to make you fall in love with it just as easily as imagining Iris as a girl's name. It stands as the perfect metallic/woody iris to encapsulate and recapitulate all we have come to expect from a prime iris fragrance; there is the delicate, shy beginning with the cool touch, then comes the touch of wooly mimosa with its hint of warmth to smile into the proceedings, while the quiet, bookish woody tonality of the aftermath with its pencil shavings nuance is enough to consolidate it among the richer in nuance irises.

Ramón Monegal has that rare talent: he has taken "difficult" notes (iris, leather as in Mon Cuir, patchouli, as in Mon Patchouly) and rendered editions that transcend the rougher aspects into smoothing them into compliance, making them melt with pleasure under the sprayer and onto the skin...
Gaia, The Non Blonde, found it more floral in the beginning than I did, but we both loved it all the same.

I was impressed with the sillage (it's a perceptible iris that will get you comments, the positive kind) and with its tenacity and I find that though delicate and graceful, it can also be worn by men easily, thanks to its woody background and its slight tinge of fruitiness that adds just enough tart elements in the formula.


Notes for Impossible Iris by Ramon Monegal: Italian iris, Egyptian cassiopiae, framboise, ylang-ylang, Egyptian jasmine, Virginia cedarwood

Impossible Iris is available as Eau de Parfum in a beautiful inkwell bottle of 50ml at Luckyscent.

picture of Liv Tyler via rsmccain.blogspot.com

Bex London "Londoner W1X": fragrance review

Londonder W1x is part of a new line in niche fragrances, Bex London, (and by now you know how I feel about hundreds of new lines coming onto the market, yes?), but let me assuage you: its prettiness is convincing "beyond the retro" and it lacks enough dullness for a contemporary release to warrant a separate review on its own merits. Which is to say, if you want a compliment-getter, read on, because I was inundated with those by all ages and all strata when I wore it myself.

via vintagefashionlondon.co.uk

Bex London, under the steady hand of Rebecca Goswell, its founder, apparently took a page off Bond No.9 and their ~exhausted by now~ concept of segmenting New York City into regions with their own scentscape and transposed it to a new, fresh place with more possibilities, the historic city of London that is; this time more exciting and on-the-pulse thanks to the 2012 Olympics. W1X is indeed inspired by West End and its bohemian atmosphere "where things happen" and is the most "feminine" of the lot smell-wise (the line comprises four unisex-aimed fragrances so far), composed by perfumer Francois Robert.

Though presented as a "neo-vintage" in the official press, this is strictly accurate only if you consider as "modern" the fruity florals and fruit-patchoulis miasma of the mall. W1X is quite forward-thinking in fact, with a very appealing contemporary and distinctly musky floral character that is trailing in the wind when on a generous wearer. If I were to assign it an ideal wearer I'd say it suits younger ladies who want something distinctive, with enough indefinable floralcy in it, which wouldn't clobber them down nevertheless. The sort of wearer that would put a cameo on a pashmina scarf worn over her jeans.
The mere fact that the main alliance of ingredients relies on the slightly metallic, sharpish iris-violet accord with a little bit of rose is indicative that we're dealing with something beyond the same old, same old syrupy sweet that we smell coming & going at any social gathering of 20-something year olds.

Antonio Marras, from the SS 2012 collection

 In W1X the powdery fragrance vibe of iris and violet that we have come to expect from "retro" scents ~reminiscent of pancake powder and lipstick~ is refreshed with a smidgen of white flowers (plus the fresh, eletric pepperiness of freesia as well as the clean, green nuance of lily of the valley which help provide the necessary "air" between the notes, giving the lighter, contemporary feel of the fragrance). Small surprises delight the senses when the fragrance is sprayed in the air: it gains a spicy, cinnamic pepperiness with touches of "round" peachy rosiness underneath (a lactonic warmth), hinting at the traditional ladylike femininity of pink satin scalloped undergarments peeking through a modern chemise like in an Antonio Marras fashion show. However don't let that convince you this is a dramatically evolving melody that will have you thinking about it all day long like vintage perfumes; the tune catches the ear from the start and continues unfazed.

But it is perhaps the fact that the sweetish musk peers through, with the support of indefinable woods and a wink of oakmoss to anchor everything down in an autumnal haze that seals the deal, giving new sense to neo-retro, actually having me perplexed as to which season to ascribe the fragrance to: it's pan-seasonal.

I can't say W1X reinvents the wheel, but I can't deny I'm smiling smelling it; it's the Narciso For Her effect.

Bex London has just launched this past June and their site is still under construction (a very European trait!), so I couldn't really find more information on availability and distribution. What I know is that the fragrance is available as eau de toilette in 100ml bottles going for 81GBP at Les Senteurs and Zuneta in the UK for now. 

In the interests of full disclosure, I sampled this thanks to a PR promo.

Lancome La Vie Est Belle: fragrance review

The upcoming Lancome fragrance, La Vie Est Belle (i.e. Life is Beautiful), is exactly the kind of perfume we dedicated perfumephiles love to kvetch about without any grave reason, come to think of it: It won't knock your Spanx off, sure; it's a "pretty" smell for pretty ladies (as evidenced by the face fronted it, the original Pretty Woman) but it's not a genuinely bad release all the same, just derivative. It suffers from the major problem of mainstream perfumery: a sense of sameness, a sort of deja vu, when what we yearn for is earth-shattering uniqueness, Heathcliff boldness and passion, springboards for heated discussion with a slice of brie in one hand and a good goblet of Laphroaig on the other while Mahler's 3rd blasts out of the speakers.
If you're that sort of person you won't be wowed by La Vie Est Belle. If on the other hand you just seek a wearable, non completely teeny-bopper fruity scent to get you through the day (and night) then the newest Lancome release isn't the worst to come out on counters for a while; nor is it the best, worse luck...

To cut a long story short: La Vie Est Belle an iris "gourmand" with patchouli. Just how many irises, gourmands and patchoulis are there on the market currently? Do I hear you say hundreds? I thought so! And yet, this fragrance is pretty well-executed within the genre, if sweet and over-tenacious. It's really a floriental for the 30-50 age group of women who want something contemporary that wouldn't have their teeth fall off at the same time. Lancôme after all has never ditched their more "mature" outlook (Tresor Midnight Rose non withstanding) and the accompanying image the way Dior has, as I was discussing with one of my online friends. In that context, the fragrance succeeds in its intended demographic, all caveat emptors in place.

This gourmand yet rather delicate composition was developed by famous perfumers Olivier Polge, Dominique Ropion and Anne Flipo, all known for their talent and technical skill. The final formula is claimed to be the result achieved after 3 years of testing and 5000 versions including precious ingredients (Iris Pallida concrete, Jasmine sambac absolute, orange blossom absolute, and patchouli essence; we can take this with a grain of salt or not). When you're hearing things like that, you know you have reason to get worried.
Iris is supposedly the key ingredient of the perfume, surrounded by orange blossoms and jasmine in the heart. The iris isn't really perceptible as such to my nose, though, I have to say: that carrot-rooty often metallic note we associate with iris fragrances is very subtle and floats in the background as a murmur rather than a clear command. The composition’s opening provides fruity flavors of black currant and pear, those can be felt, while the base is warm, gourmand and powdery due to almond-like accords of tonka bean (high in coumarin), praline (shades of Angel, especially coupled with the next two ingredients), patchouli and vanilla.

The recognizable reference in La Vie Est Belle comprise a hint of Delices de Cartier (instead of cherry, the fruity nuance is orange-toned but in a clean, fresh and pleasant way) and Flowerbomb's fruity-patchouli sweetness rising from the core. It's somehow airier, like a gourmand done in devore velvet rather than heavy damask. It also vaguely reminds me of Hanae Mori #4. Of course all these facts point to the theory that if you own any of the above, there's not much point in owing La Vie est Belle as well. That's for you and your Visa to decide.

The lasting power and projection of La Vie Est Belle, available as eau de Parfum, are both very very good, a technically able fragrance, and though I wouldn't be too displeased to be in the company of the woman wearing it, I wouldn't buy a full bottle for myself all the same.

La Vie Est Belle is the newest Lancome fragrance, available on the market from autumn 2012 in major department stores. The concept of this fragrance is centered on real beauty in small things, freedom from conventions and the wisdom to go after one's heart.
The (beautiful) flacon is a redesigned version of a Lancome bottle from 1949 from the brand's archives. Actress Julia Roberts is the face of the campaign, shot by director Tarsem Singh.

NB: I shared a sample with a friend who works in the press and got a preview herself. 

L'Artisan Parfumeur Drole de Rose: fragrance review

A little girl watching her mother putting on her make up, getting ready for a night out. Nivea cream scent (with its special bouquet of aromatic essences) and violet-laced, fluffy, retro powder. Soft musky roses floating on a cream bowl. Pink satin pointes with long silken ribbons ... This could be a recipe for tisane-sipping and Fabio-jacketed novels for spinsters off to bed at eight in their pink liseuses; it ticks all the predictable "romantic roses" boxes. But it's not. Drôle de Rose by L'Artisan Parfumeur manages to bypass the staid for the cheerful and the delicate and to render old new again. You just need a bit of an edge to turn this into the playful fragrance it really is and not into something from your grandmother's vanity.

Sweet Smell of Cosmetics
Comparable to the retro nuances of Lipstick Rose (Frederic Malle), whereas in the latter the overt sweetness and lusciousness can upset a sensitive stomach ~such is the speckled rouge approach~ in Drôle de Rose everything is painted like a light stain. Plus the L'Artisan came many years before, in 1996, pre-emptying a niche trend by far. Perfumer Olivia Giacobetti was remembering the formative images of her childhood and the scent of makeup plays hugely in such scenarios. The combination of rose & violet has become a classic in recreating this effect, since most lipsticks were typically further aromatized with these essences to render the wax's smell less obtrusive.

I call these "mock makeup perfumes", fragrances evocative of cosmetics, putting me in a made-up mood before even hitting the top of the By Terry trousse de makeup, which is something one can appreciate when too bored to do one's face. Out of these scents, some go for the pancake-makeup glamour of the 1940s, thicker and lusher, Technicolor; Lipstick Rose as well as Broadway Nite (Bond No.9) opt for that effect, retro glamorous pin-up. Others go for transparency and a super-soft, kittenish hint of fluffy ivory fur with a hint of violet pastilles; to that category I put Meteorites by Guerlain, Love,Chloe (parfums Chloe) and indeed Drôle de Rose.  Giacobetti's sleight of hand plays hugely into giving this L'Artisan perfume an elegantly retro air without becoming stuffy, too sweet (though it is sweet all right) or too old. She's known for her transparent, restrained approach after all. Don't expect dark, menacing secrets and deep, meaningful confessions either. This is out for fun, pure and simple.

Scent Description
Drôle de Rose is L'ArtisanParfumeur's flirty, undeniably pretty, playful starlet, who's really a good and dainty girl through and through. The rather untranslatable name rather means something like "amusing rose", in the vein of "witty". The softly powdery accord of violets and geranium (which has a rosy scent) is given a greener, fluffier tinge via the magic of star anise. The classic "lipstick scent accord" forms the core of the fragrance; made up, lips stained rosy, elegantly ladylike, sweetly appealing. The real pull however is how the flowers are given a honeyed approach, with a non indolic and yet non soapy orange blossom water, as if one is sprinkling macaroons; a powdery feel with the trickery of irones (iris); and last but not least how the musky drydown sticks around more (but doesn't project too much) than what one would initially expect when given enough heat on skin and in the atmosphere. Contrasted with the camphoraceous, woody darkness of Voleur de Roses (based on the murky rose and patchouli), one can see how the latter is meant for autumn and rainy weather, while Drôle de Rose really blooms in late spring and summer. 

Even though one would be tempted to reference Paris by Yves Saint Laurent in this review, I feel that the intricate and powerful, gleaming approach in that rose-violet combo is miles removed from anything else and ultimately is its own thing: Really, I wouldn't expect necessarily loving both that and the greener, lighter, less sparkling Drôle de Rose...If you want something similar, rather try Emilie by Fragonard.

Notes for L'Artisan Parfumeur Drole de Rose: rose, star anise, orange blossom, white iris, violet, almond, honey, leather

pic of a young Liz Taylor via chocolate-memoirs.blogspot.com

Frederic Malle Iris Poudre: fragrance review

There is a human, flawed sublayer beneath the icy, perfect Hitchockian beauty of Betty Draper from Mad Men, which manifests itself when the woman is emotionally beaten to pulp by the final realisation her husband is actually cheating on her. The mask-like layer falls off and the melting face, crumbling updo and wrinkly tulle dress falling off the shoulders instill human empathy in us, hinting at a crack of the perfect facade. Iris Poudre is the Betty Draper, née Hofstadt, in the Frederic Malle line of perfumes, the icy coolness of Grace Kelly incarnate, when faced with the line "You're so profoundly sad" to only tentatively reply "No, it's just that my people are Nordic". Brrrr...  

Iris Poudre needs no introduction, really. Catherine Deneuve cites it in the foreward of F.Malle's new book as the fragrance that drew her from her beloved Guerlain into "fragrance infidelity" with the likes of Malle & company. A random choice? I think not.
Within the confines of this much esteemed niche brand that caters to the tastes of perfumephiles and perfumers both, this scent holds a firm place of distinction due to its haute elegance: The former group appreciates Malle because they can sample the vision of some of the best noses of our days with trully good ingredients. The latter group because they are at last given free reign to do what they had always wanted to do but couldn't, due to commercial restrictions.

Inspirations
Iris Poudre was created by Pierre Bourdon, one of the finest noses in the field and arguably one of the most personable ones to talk to. Frédéric Malle reveals that it was the first fragrance created in the line: his collaboration and appreciation of Bourdon goes a long way back. The initial inspiration for Iris Poudre is a substance called "concrétolide", a legendary French iris base that was the heart of many perfume classics from the period between the two world wars. The finished result was drawing inspiration from the famous 1960s film Belle de Jour, starring none other than...Catherine Deneuve!
Malle professes that "if it were a garment, it would be a cashmere sweater - classic but personal, appropriate for most occasions, something one never tires of".

Scent Profile
Although touted to be a grand floral aldehydic, to me it has no distinct relation to aldehydic fragrances that people perceive as typical of their classification, such as Chanel No.5, Madame Rochas or Arpège. It is subtler and less sparkly, more softly, cooly powdery. However it does have touches of the chilly allure and rosiness of YSL Rive Gauche or Paco Rabanne Calandre, both scents with a beautiful coolness contrasted with a little warmth in the base. There is a repressed sensuality about this scent, like the cool exterior of perfectly proportioned glacially faced Severine who goes to spend the afternoons as a high-class prostitute in her sexual frustration.  Dihydromyrcenol gives that steely ambience of scrubbed countertops, hissy clean citrus. Muscenone (a musky substance) gives human warmth sensed underneath the perfect facade.

Iris Poudre utilises the caramel butteriness of tonka bean, the cosiness of the musks and just a hint of fluffy vanilla to instill that faint warmth that surrounds you like a precious pashmina on a chilly evening on a walk back from the theatre or an art exhibit. Until you hear that your husband slept with someone you wouldn't even consider worth sleeping with, of course!

Notes for F.Malle Iris Poudre : aldehydes, iris, ylang ylang ,rose, vetiver, musk, vanilla, tonka bean.

photo credits: top January Jones as Betty Draper from Mad Men TV show via wikimedia commons and bottom via telegraph.co.uk