Solar Notes in your Perfume: Luminous, warm and dazzling

"And God said, 'Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky to separate the day from the night...' "
 ~Genesis 1:14

There's no denying that solar power, apart from a theological and cosmic issue, is a potent anti-depressant. But apart from the feeling the rays impart on our Vitamin D-deprived skin sucking them up hungrily and our soul reaching up to feed upon its welcoming embrace, is there anything being triggered in the olfactory nerve of our brains, making us euphoric by the smells recalling summer?

The Doric Temple of Athena Lindia, dating from about 300 BC in Lindos, 

Island of Rhodes, Greece. Photo by Kenny Barker via pinterest

Solar notes are a perfumery trope which has been going for a long time, historically speaking, if we track perfumery's record, but which has been slow to be acknowledged in common fragrance marketing parlance. It probably took Narciso for Her to first admit that the term "solar notes" ("solar musk" specifically in NR) seemed incomprehensible to the average perfume lover, yet it managed to display the feeling of brightness experienced rather well. The name Sunessence, attached to the products by Thierry Mugler, such as in Alien Sunessence, is brilliant in capturing all the desirability of the constantly evolving battery of our small astro-system. Fahrenheit 32 and Escale aux Marquises, both by Dior, even predispose us for the sunny disposition by their very presentation.

In truth, the reconstitution of floral notes which are hard or impossible to extract, such as gardenia, or which have been long associated with the balmy ambience of the tropical climates such as tiare and frangipani, no less so the lush ylang-ylang famously grown in the Comores islands, are full of molecules called salicylates which produce—exactly—this heated, sun-lit atmosphere which can warm the cockles of the harshest heart. The harvest/recolt edition of Amarige Ylang de Comores is but one of them, Mayotte (or Mahora in its previous incarnation by Guerlain) is another one. L de Lolita Lempicka, which proudly wears its solar notes on its sleeve, marries the warm notes of flowers, among them immortelle with its sunny ambience of the garrigue, with a salty sea-kissed skin hint, deepening the impression of a scorching sun where people drink out of ceramics and cut nets with daggers kept in their pockets.

La Plage de Calvi by Roger Broders (1930) via Vintage ad browser 

But the connection between the very real and realistic appreciation of the fragrant molecules in the actual flowers (sometimes unknown in their real form to natives and dwellers of northern climes) often perishes in effect compared to the omnipotent mental association between the scent of sun products and our evocation of summery pleasures. Many Europeans equate Ambre Solaire (and not the more American standard Coppertone with its coconut aroma) with summer vacations by the sea.

The secret lies in the use of benzyl salicylate, a blender with supremely floralizing capabilities which was initially used in sun products as a radiation-blocking substance, a now obsolete sunscreen. But the brand connection between product and scent necessitated that the ingredient be kept even after chem laboratories came up with much more effective sunscreens, a phenomenon of scent and product bond that is quiet, frequent and powerful. The effect of the floral note of Ambre Solaire was beloved for the added reason that benzyl salicylate was also favored throughout the best part of the early 20th century perfumery, giving its decisive tone in such classics as L'Air du Temps, Fidji, Norell or Je Reviens, adding a silky powdery sheen that could be felt more than smelled. The pairing with spicy particles also contributed in the creation of carnation accords, so beloved in the first couple of decades of the 20th century.

Nevertheless, the lineage goes even further back with the use of amyl salicylate as a fixative and a modifier in late 19th century mythical compositions, such as Piver's Le Trefle Incarnat (1898). The clover note (trefle is French for "clover") is related to coumarin (indeed coumarin is often referenced as the at once warm, sweetish and fresh note of "new mown hay") and was routinely used to render orchid notes; interestingly it's naturally found in black tea and rum, which smell nothing like orchids! Today isoamyl salicylate is used as a food additive giving a strawberry-like aroma, which convinces me, as if I needed further prompt, that smells are related in patterns that do not necessarily leap to the eye.

This sweetish note was used in one of the pioneering "sun fragrances" of the 1990s, Dior Bronze, ushering a genre of fresh, smooth, warmish and decidedly hedonistic scents to be used both as a sunbathing accompaniment (containing no photosensitizes in the formula) as well as an evocation of the joys of the beach when not worn at the beach, but extending its welcome. The rest was history and a modern best-selling trend. What is also most interesting is that salicylates play a big part in your favorite deodorant, fabric softener, shampoo or hair spray! Like the hen and the egg question, which came first, i.e. the love for solar notes in perfumes which helped the beachy and warm sunny fragrances kick in or the familiarization through the use of those core molecules in functional products, is a hard nut to crack.

Lily perfumes, so Easter-like in their white splendor with their red stamens, have benefited by a splattering of solar notes, too, to render their bright, waxy smell through, while giving the impression that they're being warmed by the sun and splattered by sea spray in some garden where the nights are clear and you can count the stars with ease. Lys Soleia by Guerlain or Vanille Galante by Hermes are two examples of lilies which take on powerfully vanillic and ylang facets which however manage not to evoke the pleasures of the mouth, but of the sensual abandon of one's whole body. Donna Karan Gold adds an ambery slice, much like the musky L de Lempicka does, to round things and broadcast its message even further, just like good ol' god Helios would have, melting poor Icarus's waxen-glued wings …

Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps: Fragrance Review & History of a True Classic

Reflecting on a classic fragrance which has inspired me into delving deeper into perfume history and appreciation, I can’t disregard L’Air du Temps by Nina Ricci, one of the most recognizable perfumes in the world. Even Hannibal Lecter is quoted smelling it on Clarisse Starling in Silence of the Lambs: “You use Evian skin products and sometimes L’Air du Temps… but not today...”.
Despite any foreboding connotations, the perfume's introduction in 1948 under a name halfway between Marivaux and Cocteau (denoting ‘the spirit of the times’) hallmarked a longed-for return to optimism. Much like Miss Dior was ‘tired of letting off bombs and just wanted to let off fireworks’, L’Air du Temps presented the new found hope for peace after the ravages of WWII, as reflected by the original flacon design of a sun with a dove perched on the stopper by Christian Bérard.

 Iconic Design and Symbolism


L'Air du Temps is a triumph of bottle art and symbolism: The intertwining doves affectionately termed ‘Les Colombes’, a romantic theme by Marc Lalique, originates from 1951 and came to denote the virginal quality of the visual aspects of its representation, perpetuated in its advertising ever since. Originally the 1948 design envisioned by Jean Rebull and materialized by crystallier Marc Lalique involved a rising sun surmounted by a single dove. The interwining doves however marked the "kiss and make up" peace mood after WWII.
The "colombes" kissing motif also reflected the ever feminine, always understated and ethereallly romantic Nina Ricci sartorial fashions; nothing vulgar! The perfume became signage for fashions: "The most romantic gift of fragrance a man can give a woman" came to be accompanied by elfish gowns that draped the female form in a slippery, ethereal, 19th-century-aesthete nostalgic way; lacy ivory and white denoting youthful and -a little faded- aristocracy rusticating in the sunny French countryside.The L'Air du temps advertising mostly matched.
In 1999 the L'Air du Temps flacon was named "perfume bottle of the century".

Scent Description
The formula of L'Air du Temps, composed by Francis Fabron, was simple : no more than 30 ingredients which co-exist in harmony, a chaste -but not quite- bouquet of flowers enrobed into the silken sheath of benzyl salicylate; a massive dose of an –at the time- innovative product aiding the blending and linear evaporation of the other molecules. According to perfumer Bernard Chant “‘[benzyl salicylate] produces a diffusing, blooming effect very pleasing to the public”. Coupled with spicy eugenol and isoeugenol, the effect becomes almost carnation-like with its clove tint : the very heart of L’Air du Temps ! The celestial opening of bergamot and rosewood is undermined by the sensuous note, half-lily, half-carnation, suave with the fuzziness of skin-like peach and a green hint of gardenia. Powdery orris, coupled with dusky woods –poised at the intersection of winter falling into spring- and a faint amber note finish off the fragrance. The effect is peachy-carnation-y and very characteristic: a sort of Doris Day, the way she was, rather staunchy actually, active and hard to eradicate, rather than how she appeared to be in those rom-coms of the 1950s, all mock innocence and eyelashes aflutter.

The success of the classic Nina Ricci fragrance seems to be the sassiness of its aerated, distinctive bouquet coupled with its refined classicism, sometimes maxed out to sentimentality : an aspect which prompted critic Luca Turin to joke it was created for romantics “who shed a tear listening to La Sonate au Clair de Lune*”. Maybe not quite that way, considering how the latter might have been an impromptu requiem on someone’s deathbed. At any rate, the trickle-down effect must speak of the need to do just that: the skeleton of the formula has been imitated in various soaps, deodorants and hairsprays for decades, while in itself L’Air du Temps has influenced many other fragrances from Fidji (Guy Laroche) and Madame Rochas to Anaïs Anaïs (Cacharel).

 Comparing Vintage vs. Modern L'Air du Temps Perfume

Nowadays the suaveness of the original formula has been somewhat compromised, due to necessary surgery dictated by allergens concerns… The peach base is mollified into synthetic submission, the carnation is less spicy and rich than before, the whole excellent exercise seems less itself as if it has been Botoxed into a perpetual complacent smile....yet L’Air du Temps is still instantly recognizable in its sillage, the trail left by the many that pass by wearing it : the mark of a true classic !
The bottle design can be a gauge of age: Vintage Eau de Toilette from the 1970s and 1980s circulates in the amphora-like bottle with the gold cap in splash, while spray bottles are long and encased in white bakelite. If the front of the bottle has the doves in relief and the plastic cap is rounded and in relief as well, your specimen comes from the 1990s.

The vintage parfum is in the characteristic Lalique design with the perched doves atop. Old models of diluted concentration can also be in ribbed sprayers with gold overimposed sprayer mechanisms in squarish design. Really old versions can be in a round flask bottle with a boule cap in splash form.
Modern  eau de toilette on the contrary is in the familiar fluted oval-shaped bottle, reprising the dove design on the top in transparent plastic, the cap going over the sprayer mechanism. 

(*) Piano sonata N°14 by L.van Beethoven

This review is based on a text I had previously composed for Osmoz.com

L'Air du Temps is Rocking: New Design by Phillipe Starck

Celebrated French designer Philippe Starck has given L’Air du Temps, the classic Nina Ricci fragrance which the 61-year-old admits to wearing himself, a new look.
The design is unusual, very sleekened and gadgetry-like, yet not linear. The famous doves that denoted world peace after the end of WWII when the perfume was introduced take a new tougher, silhouetted line that is "rock n'roll". One could argue that the new design is distanced from everything which historically and emotionally we have come to associate with L'Air du Temps: The open wings of the doves in flight are stylised yet they're still kissing (see their beaks unite at the very very top), but one could almost see a cattle skull in profile, a boomerang or a shark's fin at one side's point.
According to Osmoz, the limited-edition item has two goals: "offering collectors an exceptional bottle, and proving that more than 60 years after its launch, the fragrance is still modern and… totally in “l’air du temps” (i.e. the zeitgeist, or the spirit of the times)".
L’Air du Temps by Starck, 1.5 oz/45ml.: 69 euros. Available from mid-October.

Then again, like a proper classic, L'Air du Temps, the flagship of Nina Ricci, at least optically has always been on the vanguard, offering myriads of permutations to reflect the times: Watch some of them on this previous Perfume Shrine article.

photo via buybuy

It's in the Air...

One of the most classic fragrances, selling one bottle every minute someplace in the world, is L'Air du Temps by Nina Ricci. Even if it's characteristic, immediately recognisable piquancy of spicy floral has been somewhat dimmed over the decades since its introduction in 1948 due to reformulations, the romantic ideal on which it was introduced to the world ~its doves bringing peace and serenity~ has not. Here are some of my favourite commercials and advertisements which have graced its fragrant trail over the years: From the masterful clip that recalls Hieronymus Bosch's "The Garden of Earthly Delight" to more nostalgic ones ("c'est une vie enchantée", it's an enchanted life). And from the 1993 graphic arrow-shot bottles by Enrique Badulescu from 1993 through to the Jean Baptiste Mondino ones at the subway from the late 1990s. The bottom line is what the lovely soft-focus ads from the 70s by David Hamilton proclaim: "'Un parfum doit être source de rêve." A perfume should work as a source of dreams...








Which one is your favourite?

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Fragrant Advertising articles

L'Air du Temps Cristal d'Or: Limited Edition 2009

A special edition of the classic Nina Ricci scent L'Air du Temps code-named Cristal d'Or is issued, 15 ml of pure parfum (ie.extrait de parfum), in a limited edition 2009, numbered.
The press release mentions "the original juice. We know otherwise...
Retail price 400 euros, launches October 2009 in time for Christmas gifts planning.

Pic via auparfum.com who has a wise commentary on the news (in French)

Drapeau Tricolore: 12 Quintessentially French Fragrances

"How can anyone govern a nation that has two hundred and forty-six different kinds of cheese?" General Charles de Gaulle had infamously querried. Growing up one of my best friends was French. Her name was Marianne (coincidence?) and she was living in a Paris banlieu: We met in the summers vacationing, we exchanged cards and film-stars-stickers in the wintertime. She brought our family gorgeous stinky cheeses that cemented my life-long appreciation for them, we brought them handmade olive oil soaps and mastic liqueur; and between summer siestas and hot days skulking we came to know each other's culture in passing. I learned that the French are a sensual more than sexual people: They buy their fruits and vegetables every day (fondling them, like us); they like to satisfy their eyes, but also their touch and their tastebuds in everything they do. The cliché wants them to be dirty and if the Paris metro is anything to go by one can't blame that notion, yet much as they have legends of The Great Unwashed (Napoleon's note to Josephine "I am returning in three days; don't wash!") they also have recipes to aromatize said juices! (The tisane recipe of orange, rosewater and mint the French lover hands down to his American young mistress in bed in "Le Divorce" by James Ivory: "That's something you would never have found out in Santa Barbara" he tells her naughtily).
But what constitutes Frenchiness? In the mind of the American it has always stood as sophistication, but this really only stands for Parisians. And not as expected: French women often go for a thrift thrill at Zara and gloat on finding the perfect little outfit for less than 100 euros! They wear mainstream and high-street brands unapologetically and shop at department stores.
My own culture has been very influenced in the political and intellectual fields by France. Yet France is as much the Breton seaside with the matelot tops and its mussells as well as the Gitanes-smoking existentialists and the urinous paths of the clochards in Paris; the sole meunière with its bland ~to my Greek buds~ taste and the tangy blackberries growing on each side of the Loire valley. It's Midi and the characteristic familiar Mediterranean herbs (thyme, oregano, rosemary) picked by hearty housewives cooking a mean coq au vin, but also the Route des Vins d'Alsace (the Wine Route)!

Compiling a list of perfumes viewed as French-smelling, I had to eliminate many classics. Surely Paul Parquet's Fougère Royale for Houbigant (1882) and Jicky by Guerlain (issued in the same year as the Exposition Universelle and the Eiffel Tower, 1889) are beacons in the history of perfumery, but they were not as popular with the French themselves as other scents. The French are an elfin people, small, usually brown-haired and quirky, not blond and athletic, so anything Wagnerian can be safely left behind; nor are they Joan Crawford shoulder-padded and hollowed cheekboned; therefore Mitsouko and its Japonesque homage was out. By the same token the pale sunlight of Après L'Ondée (1906) reminds me more of northern climates. Miss Dior and Cabochard have now changed to the worse... And although France has traditionally been a very advanced country in the intellectual stakes, it is also conservative in its mentality, much like many of the older nations in Europe: People want to feel special, but not to be too different from the other respectable society!
Paris by Yves Saint Laurent seems like an obvious choice, yet its rosy embullient appeal transcends cultures. Same with Soir de Paris by Bourjois, especially popular with American women, and Narcisse Noir by Caron (initially a US hit before establishing Daltroff's knack). In the end I went for an arguably idiosyncratic list of French perfumes which satisfy my inner exploration of what "smells French".
Here it is for your enjoyment.

Amoureuse by Parfums DelRae
Technically an Anglosaxon fragrance (inspired by the Victorian boxwood trees on San Francisco), but executed by a masterful French hand (Michel Roudnitska, son of Edmond and responsible for Noir épices & most of the Del Rae line), Amoureuse is a sublime indolic, "dirty" floral (jasmine and a little tuberose) touched by honeyed sweetness and a ginger zing, that you can picture on someone as fortuitously vulnerable as Jeanne Morreau. It oozes femininity, frank sexuality and inner power like few other modern florals (Manoumalia perhaps?).

Bal à Versailles by Jean Desprez
If there was a void of great French orientals that didn't took you to the gardens of India in the manner of Shalimar, but kept you within terra franca, Bal a Versailles (Ball in Versailles) would be it. Unusually for the second half of the 20th century (1962) issued by the perfumer himself, Bal smells like afterglow ~spent, content and animalic, its citrus opening cascading into a cadenza of rich florals, fanned on opulent resins and golden balsams.

Bel Ami by Hermes
The citrusy leather modern classic of 1986 is often overlooked in its unusual pepperiness and floralcy under the smoky woods (cedar and sandalwood) and the animalic vanilla, which make it raunchy and assertive at first, refined later on. Named after a novel by Guy de Maupassant chronicling the rise to power of a manipulative journalist, Bel Ami has always striken me as the perfect masculine choice for a genuine French lover. Someone like Michel Piccoli of Le Mépris, Belle de Jour and The discreet charm of bourgeoisie. Can you think of anything more French?

Cologne à La Française (Institut Très Bien)
Small children in France ~and all along the Mediterannean~ often have their hands "washed" and their clothes sprinkled with Eau de Cologne. This cherished memory I have has undoubtedly contributed to my appreciating fine fragrances later on. This particular ~recently discontinued~ cologne by Pierre Bourdon bears its nationality proudly as a crest and its lemony goodness is akin to the optimism felt on a bright summer's day. I like to think that it smells like the one (American born) Jean Seberg casually splashes on her nape in Godart's A Bout de Souffle under Belmondo's watchful eye.

Hypnotic Poison by Christian Dior
Annick Ménardo went for the gourmand idea inaugurated by Angel, yet proposed a novel approach: the plummy, bitter almond heart poised on coumarin radiates like a poisonous apple of temptation (cyanide smells of almond) while the heliotropin is a distant wink to Après L'Ondée . Although Angel can be smelled everywhere in Paris, so it can in several other metropoleis (London, Athens, Miami...). Hypnotic Poison (1998) is just this side of being subversive without straying too much.

L'Air du Temps by Nina Ricci
Paris was liberated and hope was brimming in the air; the world was ready for light-hearted optimism after the austerity of the WWII ravages. Francis Fabron was thus commissioned to create the first Nina Ricci perfume in 1948 capturing exactly the "air of the times". The Lalique doves almost kissing on the top of the cap (designed in 1951) symbolised the romanticism that Paris has always stood for in the collective unconscious, preparing us for the olfactory equivalent of delicate Chantilly lace. The scent's tender clovey-carnation and peachy heart seems strung by fairies (especially in the vintage version), given a boost by benzyl salicylate, effectuating one of the most memorable scents of my own childhood.

L'Heure Bleue by Guerlain
From the Impressionist paintings that Jacques Guerlain was inspired of, to the elaborate pattiserie tradition that the French have been going to extremes for (see Vatel), everything in L'Heure Bleue (1912) is redolent of French Belle Epoque: the orange blossoms of the South, the Meditarranean herbs with the spicy anise overlay of rustic bread and the woody violets flanking it, as well as the paradigmatic sillage left behind it, enforce L'Heure Bleue as one of the masterpieces of French perfumery. Its wistful contemplativeness feels very Parisian to me.

Musks Kublaï Khan by Serge Lutens
Named after the bloodthirsty warrior of the steppes and created by Christopher Sheldrake in 1998, the shocking reality is this purring cougar smells soft, luminously warm and inviting in a special, "dirty" way, thanks to intense cistus labdanum, castoreum (rude hide) and civet essences. It shares the barnyard quality with the otherwise mossy musk of L'air de Rien by Miller Harris and several parfums fourrure. Despite its reputation of "the armpit of an unwashed camel driver" (perhaps due to the dirty hair note of costus), my personal perception of it is highly erotic, a view which the many French pilgrims of Les Salons du Palais Royal, where it's exclusively sold, seem to share.

No.5 by Chanel
Is No.5 French-smelling? Does the Pope wear a hat? No list would be complete without Chanel's icon of 1921 by Ernest Beaux, simply because it is emblematic for the perception of French perfume throughout the globe. The image of the little black dress with a single strand of pearls and two drops of No.5 is not especially francophone (it's more of a WASP image nowadays), nor is the touristy "baguette under the arm and tilted beret" cartoonish notion. Yet whether you like its soapy aldehydic bouqeut of intense ylang-ylang and jasmine over a musky trail or not, No.5 has accomplished what the Eiffel Tower has as well: to be considered an instantly recognisable French hallmark!

Nuit de Noël by Caron
The mysterious Mousse de Saxe (Saxon moss) base, with its cool and dark, animalic edge rich in musky and vanillic aromata (it's said to include geranium, licorice, leather, iodine and vanillin), and its jarring 6-isobutylquinoline (leathernote) produce a rosy-woody-powdery fragrance with a raw undercurrent that stood apart even in an era filled with outstanding perfumes (1922). Guy Robert praised it thus: "If a woman were to enter [a crowded theatre] wearing Nuit de Noël, all the other women would become invisible".

Une Fleur de Cassie by Editions des Parfums Frédéric Malle
I recall seeing farmers collecting gum from the cassie tree (acacia farnesiana) for use as gum arabic substitute in Australia, their agile hands working effortlessly. Known as Cassier du Levant in the South of France, the scent of cassie is rich in benzaldehyde, anisic aldehyde, and a violet-smelling ketone, rendering the essence sensuous and shadowy fleshy like the contours of a soft feminine body through gauzy garments. Cassie has been harnessed in several renditions from Caron's Farnesiana to Coty's La Jacée through Creed's Aubepine Acacia, but nowhere is the flesh-like honeyed richness, from bark to thorny stem to sugary-spun blossom, best interpreted than in Dominique Ropion's masterpiece Une Fleur de Cassie.

Vétiver by Guerlain
Simply put the scent of the French bourgeoisie, a classic that smells respectable and always pleasant in all situations; the passe partout that opens all doors! It seems there's nary a banker, broker, lawyer or well-to-do doctor in France who hasn't got a bottle of this citrus woody with refreshing vetiver notes of Jean Paul Guerlain in their bathroom. Although Eau de Guerlain with its provencal herbs accord is just as French, Vétiver (1961) caught on more, due to its erstwhile virile profile. A bit hacknayed thus if you're actually French and in France, it stands along with Dior's Eau Sauvage as the classic of classics in the great masculines pantheon. Its feminine counterpart is exceptional too!


Please add your own suggestions on French-smelling perfumes!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Stars & Stripes ~10 Quintessentially American Fragrances

Painting "La Liberté guidant le peuple" by Eugène Delacroix (technically commemorating the July Revolution of 1830) via Wikimedia Commons. Jeanne Morreau in Les Amants via cinemoi.tv, J.P.Belmondo via artscatter.com, L'Heure Bleue photo via Tangled up in L'heure Bleue

2008 fragrance anniversaries

Several significant fragrance anniversaries are scattered through 2008: the House of Guerlain’s 180th year (to mark which a new men’s scent is in the works), L’Air du Temps’ 60th and the 30th for several other classic scents: Polo, Mûre et Musc and Azzaro pour Homme.

Personally I am very intrigued with what Guerlain might further do for the occassion: being my favourite house and with a revamped image in the last few years, sourcing through their back catalogue, I am eager for more! In the meantime, Guerlain is launching a limited edition of its best-seller for men, Habit Rouge, this spring. Named Habit de Metal , it is a collectible presented in a metallic-red lacquered flask, in a silvery package. The scent remains the same gorgeous powdery oriental. The Eau de toilette comes in 3.4 oz/100ml and retails for €70.


For the holidays of 2008, Nina Ricci will issue a prestigious collector’s edition for the powdery floral L'air du temps: a duo in “day and night” Lalique crystal. The set will comprise two bottles of extrait de parfum; one a pale, opalescent crystal, the other a shiny black. The set will be presented in a round jewel box with a black satin ribbon that will come in only 1,382 numbered sets for the entire world. The Lalique crystal extrait de parfum bottles will contain ¼ fl. oz. each and will retail at €227. {info through Osmoz}

Check back later for an opinion article.

Pic of Nina Ricci ad from the 70s courtesy of Parfums de pub