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

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

photo by Elena Vosnaki

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

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

photo by Elena Vosnaki

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

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

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

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

photo by Elena Vosnaki

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

Guerlain Mon Guerlain Eau de Parfum: fragrance review

Mon Guerlain does not dare veer into the animalic, like its forerunners  Guerlain Jicky and Guerlain Shalimar do; this is the first thing one needs to watch for. The propensities of today do not allow hints of bodily odor emerging, nor would they allow the weird opening of Jicky which sometimes comes across as vaporized petrol. Instead, Mon Guerlain veers into the caramelic, with a rum & hay ambience, a "toffee" accord, which embraces the Carla lavender flower from Provence and renders it soft and pliable. After all, the starting point for perfumer Thierry Wasser was the vanillic accord, not the other way around. Was it a genius idea prompted by him? In a way. But not entirely.

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There are several nuances lavender can take. A decade back, when I was describing the main odor constituents of Fragrantica's vast notes database one by one, I came up with the short form of "an aromatic clean note, medicinal on one end and licorice-like on the other end", and I stand by my description to this day. Hermès was the first to exploit this duality fully, thanks to Jean Claude Ellena's idea of a quintessential blend of exquisite lavender wrapped in licorice in Brin de Reglisse (in the boutique exclusives line), therefore the mischievous reconstruction of an olfactory symbol of the South of France reinvented by the gourmet touch of a ribbon of licorice. “Dressed in mat black, a magnified lavender, memory and landscape…”  

Nowadays, it is the vanillic and licorice nuanced lavenders which are featured in any product that aims to appeal to women or women buying for babies and children. To wit, most children's products for the bath and body which claim "relaxing lavender" are mostly featuring a blend of musk with vanilla and abstract notes of extraterrestrial flowers grown on the moon; lily of the valley, jasmine and delicate, unreal roses. And this explains the divide that lavender produces; some people love the medicinal properties they have come to know from real lavender, some people abhor them, confused by the artificial construct that is advertised as "lavender" but really isn't. 

If we insist in our path with Guerlain's Mon Guerlain, and in direct juxtaposition with their classic lavender-laced Jicky, one can certainly see how over a century of fragrance production has seismically shifted the notion of lavender in general. From an animal-laced beast into a vanillic comforting cocoon for women who love their desserts, but don't want to be seen stuffing their mouths with it. 

There's something sexy about making one's self feel good about themselves, giving them the confidence to be themselves, to inhabit their skin, and maybe that's the root of the concept of comfy notes producing claims to sexiness and attraction. Mon Guerlain is in that direction, although to my more daring tastes, close but no cigar...

Very pretty (classic) bottle nevertheless!

Further Reading on the PerfumeShrine:
Guerlain news & fragrance reviews
Perfumer Thierry Wasser

Paco Rabanne Pour Homme: fragrance review

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chanel Les Exclusifs Boy: fragrance review

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

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

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

YSL La Nuit de l'Homme: fragrance review

"Sexy as hell" is what our Hellenic readers hail this cologne as. An enthusiastic endorsement from people who do actually enjoy a wide array of male colognes, La Nuit de l'homme has been YSL's best release in their masculine section for quite some time. Recents batches have become decidedly weaker, but the magic of the spicy woody notes persists.

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Woody scents are typically manly, mainly due to a lack of distracting elements from their solid "watch me chop the wood, I'm a lumberjack" impression. But the cunning in La Nuit de l'Homme lies in interweaving a coolish tinge of spicy cardamom which interplays with the traditional barber-shop lavender to give a juxtaposition of cleanliness and mysterious exoticism. It's definitely one to wear when out flirting. There are very few women who don't like this one.

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.

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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.

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.

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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.

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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.

Patricia de Nicolai Amber Oud: fragrance review

Patricia de Nicolai is repositioning themselves (the new bottles being one of the hints), if intimations are any indication, and no luxury niche brand today is complete without a generous helping of the infamous oud perfume ingredient. Not that there were any audible borborygmi coming from our collective perfumista stomachs craving oud, but apparently a boy or a girl can never have too much oud; or so the aroma producing companies would make us believe. Amber Oud by de Nicolai however is oud prowling in kitten's paws, so delicate and purring you might be mistaken for thinking there is some problem with the labeling. Because Amber Oud is mostly a glorious aromatic amber fragrance with copious helpings of premium grade lavender fanned on resinous, plush notes of velvet.

via TheOtherAlice/Tumblr

The combination of amber (a 19th century trope resting on labdanum & vanillin) with oud/aloeswood is not unknown to niche or Arabian-inspired perfumes; if only in name, both Diptyque and by Kilian have utilized this blend to good effect (there's also the Rasashi and Arabian Oud brands). The nutty and musty character of the modern oud/aoud/oudh bases with their Band-Aid vibe is very well tempered by a tried & true combination that somewhat sweetens the bitterness of oud and renders it more Westernized and silky to the touch. Tonka bean and lavender is also "a marriage of true minds". This 2 by 4 is played like a quartet that produces a single harmony.



In Patricia de Nicolai's Amber Oud the blast of lavender at the beginning is the dominant force which takes you by surprise and which might make women think this is more men's gear than girly girl stuff. But they need not fear. Gents and ladies alike will appreciate the seamless procession into a balsamic smelling nucleus. The inclusion of sage is beautifully erogenous, recalling human bodies in sweat, cleverly juxtaposed with the washed brightness of the lavender and the camphorous hint of patchouli. Seekers of oud (lured by the name) might feel cheated and there is no eye-catching innovativeness in the formula itself, but de Nicolai is continuing on a path of wearable, presentable, smooth perfumes that have earned her brand a steady following.


Notes for Patricia de Nicolai Amber Oud:
Top: lavender, thyme, sage, artemisia
Heart: cinnamon, saffron, agarwood (oud), Atlas cedar, patchouli, sandalwood
Base: vanilla, tonka bean, styrax, musk, castoreum, amber.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Acqua di Parma Colonia Assoluta 10th anniversary Editione Speciale 2013: fragrance review & free perfume bottle givaway

Husks of cardamom, crashed and fragrant, in my pocket. A window opening up to a vista of green pines overlooking the Mediterranean azure blue under the crisp but smiling sun of noon. The scent of clean linen dried in the fresh air in the breeze and the human warmth of a worn wool sweater approaching. Zesty citrus as when you scrap a bitter orange with your nails. Scattered writings on the desk, unfinished phrases, small notes of random thoughts. Pencil shavings in an ashtray, abandonded and lonely. A beautiful stem of jasmine cut and browning by the hour. Safety. Serenity. Solace.

When in 2003 the formidable collaboration of perfumers Jean Claude Ellena and Bertrand Duchaufour came up with the original Colonia Assoluta for Acqua di Parma the feat wasn't announced with fanfare. But now that the classical Cologne has re-emerged from the attic as the eternal sine qua non of Southern European elegance and proper grooming, when totally modern spins on this time-honored genre, such as GS03 (Biehl Parfumkunstwerke), as well as more traditional ones, like Chanel Eau de Cologne, draw our attention, rediscovering this refined gem in a gorgeous presentation for its 10th anniversary is occasion for rejoicing.

Acqua di Parma assures us that more than ten ingredients are of a natural origin in their Colonia Assoluta: Calabrian bergamot, red orange, orange blossom, jasmine, lavender, rosemary, Virginia cedar and sandalwood. Less citrusy than the original Colonia, more emphatically aromatic and mossier, the way Cartier Declaration is mossy under the cardamom cool spiciness, Colonia Assoluta is everything I picture a graceful man (or a woman who loves using shared fragrances) of my culture wearing.

The bottle design for the Colonia Assoluta 10th anniversary isn't just random: This special edition decorated with graphic signs is inspired by the moving spokes of a bicycle. The original pattern was designed by Acqua di Parma to convey the contemporary feel of this particular Eau de Cologne and its users, modern men around town, atop their bicycle. The original motif is reproduced in the bottle and case with the spokes stretching across the surface in silver hues, the distinctive colour of Colonia Assoluta. It is through a special craft that the spokes are engraved on the glass surface in order to create light and dark contrasts serving as an elegant expression of the sophisticated scent itself. Light contrasts keep changing with every motion of the large sized 180ml bottle, offered in the refillable version to last in time. 

Notes for Acqua di Parma Colonia Assoluta:
Top: bergamot, bitter orange, sweet orange and lemon verbena
Heart: jasmine, vetiver, ylang-ylang, cedar, cardamom, pink pepper and paprika
Base: patchouli, oakmoss, white musk, sandalwood and resins

Please note this isn't the first special edition for Colonia Assoluta: there is also Editione Riviera (2007), Editione Speciale 2011 and Colonia Assoluta in Villa (2009). This 10th anniversary edition is code-named Colonia Assoluta Editione Speciale 2013.

To make this 180ml/6oz bottle you see in the picture yours, please post a comment saying whether you bicycle or not (and why) and if you have any favorite associations with bicycles. Mine will forever be Ladri di Biciclette by Vittorio de Sica.
Draw is open internationally till Sunday 10th October midnight and the winner will be announced on Monday.

Prada Luna Rossa: Fragrance Review & On the Modern Urban Male Accord

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

History has a way of repeating itself, though from a pragmatic point of view it isn’t always monotonous. More and more I’m convinced that aesthetically modern perfumery shares a great deal of similarities with arts in the Shakespearean era: it’s not the originality of the subject matter that interests the audience as a whole, but the deliverance of a story or the treatment of the subject matter. After all, before Shakespeare there was Christopher Marlowe; before William’s “Troilus and Cressida” there was Geoffrey Chaucer’s “Troilus and Criseyde”. Likewise before Chanel Coco Mademoiselle there was Thierry Mugler Angel, Narciso Rodriguez For Her before Guerlain Idylle. I am, of course, by no means implying that there’s a modern perfumery equivalent of Shakespeare, Marlowe or Chaucer among us (‘tis not my place to ascertain), nor am I condoning blatant olfactory plagiarism, so unfortunately flooding the market these days. Rather, nowadays it’s all about the paradigm-shifting quarter turns.



Enter Luna Rossa: the latest woody-citrus masculine offering from Prada affirms to me the notion that we, as a civilization, has reached a consensus on the idea of how men of the early 21st century to smell like, so much so that I am terming the olfactory backbone “Modern Urban Male Accord”, or MUMA for short (after the cultural phenomenon “Sensitive Female Chord Progression”). I am by no means implying that Prada Luna Rossa is the archetypical benchmark of the story, but rather a reflection that the world has really reached the critical mass on this front long ago that a proposed cultural moniker is in order.

Prada Luna Rossa, created by perfumer Daniela Andrier and named after the brand’s America’s Cup Challenge team, is supposed to be an “unconventional marine fragrance” featuring lavender. The unconventionality here refers to the novel derivations of ingredients, for instance the mint: the Maroccan Mentha spicata var. crispa Nana, which made its perfumery debut in the blue special edition of Montblanc Legend by Olivier Pescheux. Further, I have observed the following critique on Scent and Chemistry’s facebook page:

Albeit being fresh and minty, spearmint also has a dirty side to it. Leave a blotter with any spearmint oil for a day, and it will smell 'dirty wet cloth' the next morning. This fate is quite a danger in any fragrance heavy on spearmint, but not so in 'Luna Rossa', where the spearmint is softened by vegetal and dusty rose accents, green angelica, and a papyrus/blond woods accord heavy on Iso E Super.

The lavender used is an absolute, though surely further treated after extraction to clear off the burnt-sugar nuance often associated with the material. Then there’s the requisite modern masculine base notes: musk (ambrettolide in this case) and ambergris in the guise of ambrox. The overall effect ticks all the right boxes: fresh, soft, clean and sporty.

How does the fragrance stand in terms of its olfactory genealogy? I would position Prada Luna Rossa to be a kissing cousin of Chanel Allure Homme Édition Blanche, also having an herbal-white musk-ambrox alignment. The mint motif also positions it to be the neighbourhood of Cartier Roadster. In fact, to the readers of this blog I can sum up the genre in three words—contemporary sports cologne—and many shall have a firm grasp of its overall feel and sillage. Thus we have a basic feel of the Modern Urban Male Accord.

Now I know many readers among us may bemoan the examination of the greatest cultural common denominator, but the rationale behind MUMA is worth pondering here. Decades before, when the idea of an ideal gentleman was different, we had the fougères and the chypres. Chanel Pour Monsieur, a fragrance many has considered to be a masculine archetype, is within the same era such as Monsieur de Givenchy. Then Christian Dior Eau Sauvage. Then Calvin Klein Eternity for Men, etc. Years from now, when the tastes of the general public have changed, MUMA would simply be a reference point from the past. This too, as they say, shall pass.

The heart of the matter is that men’s grooming and sartorial trends have always been slow and relatively unyielding in their evolutions. Conformity may be too harsh of a word here, but nowadays most men dress to blend in, not to significantly stand out, to shock. Having fashion retail experience I can report that most men don’t view clothes shopping their ideas of fun, preferring to get what they need in the store and moving on. I think the sociology and the marketing catering to the men is beyond the exploration scope of this article, but if consumers vote their ideas of what a modern man should smell like with their money, based on the recent releases we have a fairly good idea on our perception of MUMA.

Perfumer Jean Guichard once quipped that every good fragrance needs a ‘duo’, meaning the interplay of two contrasting ingredients. It’s a summary on fragrance construction, of course, but an elegant mean of understanding the basic principles nonetheless. As far as I can tell MUMA is the contrast between aromatics (geranium/mint/lavender etc.) with modern fixatives (white musk/modern amber/others). Add dihydromercenol for a fresh laundry effect, generic spice and some metallic nuances. Repackage and repeat.

Needless to say major launches from big houses rely on MUMA not because of its artistic merit, but rather under the cultural and social norms there isn’t a great deal of room to negotiate the artistic direction. Enlightened consumers, however, can choose to layer MUMA in interesting combinations; Prada Luna Rossa, for instance, works very well with Hermes Hiris, as I pleasantly discovered today. (Mint and iris, where have thou been all of my life?) There: a contemporary male fragrance does not need to be monotonous. How it can be used is a far more interesting exploration.

Photo: Prada Luna Rossa via Moody Report

Perfume Term Definition: Aromatic & Herbaceous

Among perfume terms which are used to describe fragrances some are more confusing than others: what defines a dry scent, what is a balsamic smell and, come to think of it, is aromatic what immediately leaps to mind? One might be inclined to think the descriptor denotes something "having an aroma" or something to do with scent in general, as in "aromatherapy". Yet, in perfumery jargon the term "aromatic" means something more precisely defined.

lavender field in Luberon, South of France

 Strictly speaking, the chemical definition relates aromatic to materials rich in benzene, a conjugated cyclic carbon compound found in organic matter (also known as arene). Penhaligon's Douro is an example, if you need to put a smell to a name. Aromatic in layman speak refers to smells that have a rustic scent, with a certain freshness, often in relation to herbal notes; some sources correlate it even to some balsams and resins. "Aren't balsams and resins generally sweetish, though?", you ask.
You see, the term 'aromatic' was originally assigned before the physical mechanism determining aromaticity was discovered, and was derived from the fact that many of the benzene hydrocarbon compounds have a sweet scent in themselves. It's safe to say that in perfumery parlance aromatic has gradually gained a specific nuance, that of agrestic, green-herbal and with a camphorous hint, like that in pure lavender essence. The character is vivid, assertive, lively and fresh, one of mental clarity, invigoration and awareness; associations prominently exploited by functional perfumery (i.e. the industry catering for scented functional products instead of fine fragrances for oneself).
In fine fragrance this lively, refreshing ambience is wonderfully caught in Baime by Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier. Aromatic notes are therefore not bitter like oakmoss, but not typically syrupy sweet either! Smell the petrol-like opening of Guerlain's Jicky, rich in lavender buttressed by fresh bergamot and you're there (the fragrance soon acquires warmer, naughtier characteristics nevertheless which go beyond the aromatic).

 The herbaceous term -in differentiation of "woody" as in botany- is more of a descriptor than a proper classification: it encompasses such frequent perfumery materials as chamomile, lavender, rosemary, thyme, mint, spearmint, sage, clary sage and even celery, as well as marjoram, oregano and basil. Obviously the materials themselves derive from a herbal plant source, so the term isn't as confusing.
Most people familiar with dabbling in food-making like me, especially ethnic cuisines, know them from their kitchen cabinet. Whenever I cook with these herbs (and it is often, accounted by my Mediterranean origins) I find myself engrossed and enraptured by this humble and humbling splendor of nature; these small stems and leaves are so rich in nuance, so colorful in painting a verdant countryside basking under a benevolent sun, so childlike and at the same time old-wise that I can't but feel overwhelmed by the majestic force of the natural world all over again, like when I was but a mere toddler.

These herbaceous materials couple very well with citruses and spices, lending themselves to both unisex and masculine perfumery, without nevertheless eschewing feminine fragrances ~though the "pure" specimens are rare there, such as Granville by Dior's more upscale private line La Collection Couturier Parfumeur or Donna Karan's Essence Lavender.

Lavender, a par excellence aromatic substance, is a very common ingredient in perfumery, thanks to its linalool freshness and its pleasant association with the outdoors and cleanliness; it's no accident that lavender forms one of the three pillars of the "fougère"/fern family (term explained here). It's therefore natural that ferny smells should be coupled with lavender and other aromatic materials: the two have overlapping facets. This is why you will often see the term "aromatic fougère" brandished in masculine fragrances: this sub-classification within the fougère group indicates a heavier use of refreshing herbal notes in the formula providing a sense of chillness, of immediate freshness, especially since most herbal, aromatic notes are effervescent, i.e. "top notes" in terms of the scent's evaporation arc. Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche pour Homme is a perfect example of the genre .

The aromatic descriptor can feature as a supporting player to other stories: In Clinique's Wrappings for instance the aromatic top beautifully highlights the juniper wood of the base. Herbaceous accents can put a classic, cologne-like, aromatic character to a composition, due to association with the traditional Eau de Cologne which fuses herbal notes with hesperidia to render a sharp, tonic scent. The 4711 brand has even created modern variations on the theme in recent years: 4711 Acqua Colonia Lavender & Thyme, 4711 Acqua Colonia Juniper Berry & Marjoram, 4711 Acqua Colonia Melissa & Verbena.
They can also contrast beautifully with a resinous note, like in Encens et Lavande by Serge Lutens where the herbaceous brightness of lavender provides the light in the dusk of the incense. Eau de Jatamansi by L'Artisan Parfumeur is a more straight-forward specimen, where the resinous spikenard gains freshness through the reinforcement of herbaceous accents. The herbaceous facet of rose oxides is played to great effect in Calandre by Paco Rabanne, where the freshness of the composition is thus enhanced effectively.

 For all it's worth, perhaps showcased by the meaning of context above, not all herbs provide purely herbaceous/aromatic notes in perfumery: for example oregano, tarragon (to a lesser degree), basil and marjoram can be described as quasi-spicy, thanks to their rich ratio in piquant molecules which tingle the nostrils, much like the exotic dried spices in the kitchen cabinet do, albeit with a slightly different nuance. Even sage has a slightly peppery flavor. Conversely, although Chinese star anise is routinely considered a spice, its high ratio in anethole (the molecule also present in anise and dill) gives it a herbaceous edge.
Pronouncing a judgment on a fragrance that relies heavily upon those elements one might be technically describing a "herbaceous", but the perceived effect could be spicy. Manifesto by Isabella Rosellini for instance relies on the tingling note of basil, a material rich in eugenol (much like cloves), which immediately translates as "spicy" to one's mind. Pronouncing Manifesto therefore as a spicy scent isn't far from the truth, no matter the source of the effect lies in the garden rather than the Indian market. As in everything when attempting to communicate thoughts, it's important to distinguish whether one speaks from a scholarly or a purely personal perception point of view.

pics via nicenfunny.com and aromablog.ru

Rochas Man: fragrance review

Few are the males ~and the masculine fragrances to accompany them~ that indulge into tipping their long toes (with a few stray hairs on them) into the gourmand pool where vanilla reigns supreme like a giant mother's breast offering precious comfort. Breast and beast don't mix. Or do they? Rochas Man (1999), no less because of its super suggestive bottle designed by Franzrudolf Lehnert and Michael Fõrster, which looks halfway between a rocket, a frosted glass tit-statue and a futuristic sex toy, proves otherwise.

The secret, woven by master perfumer Maurice Roucel, lies into constrasting the warmer, sweeter elements of vanilla with aromatic lavender (its medicinal and caramelic ends both exploited) and a dark-roast coffee note which he seems to have transported into his Bond No.9 New Haarlem composition. Thus he creates a hybrid: the gourmand fougère! I'm of course being creative; the fougère is a pliable enough fragrance family to include both warmer and cooler interpretations and its core of coumarin is sweet by itself.

Roucel is nothing if not one for opulence, but he manages to make even potentially cloying compositions (Hermes 24 Faubourg, Guerlain L'Instant pour Femme) shimmer and radiate rather than choke and oppress. Rochas Man, aimed at men but worn with intense pleasure by discerning women (especially those who like things like Dior Dune and L de Lolita Lempicka), takes the restrained qualities Roucel displayed in Kenzo Air and weaves in a hint of the animalic sensuality of his infamous Musc Ravageur. The touch of tang (which smells like Frambinone to me) further restrains the sweetness, while the distinct patchouli facets create intrigue in the final stages of the fragrance on the skin, giving an edge to the sweet notes. But if I were to compare it to something smelling similar, I'd peg the New Haarlem as a closer match (and a fifth of the price!) with a slice off Serge Lutens' lavender musky, sweet fougère in Fourreau Noir. Plus, in its toys for boys bottle, I hereby solemnly dub it "the Rocket Man Fragrance".



This Rochas is quite unlike the gentrified citrusy & peaty Rochas Moustache, engaging into more overt, urban foreplay. Its main advantage however is staying as close to the skin as is necessary for you to order another round of shots at the bar, prolonging the flirting enough to ensure that the female target is fully enraptured by your scented aura. She'll be smitten!

Available in department stores as eau de toilette, last I checked, and on many etailers for ridiculous prices.

still from the film Dr.Strangelove or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb by Stanley Kubrick via kubrickfilms.tripod.com 

Lancome La Valee Bleue: vintage fragrance review

La Vallée Bleue from 1943, smack between the Occupation of Paris and the turmoil of WWII, comes in a moment in history rich in intrigue, ravages and the desire to escape them; which was puzzling me when I first discovered it exactly due to its timing. The perfume is also a poignant station in a long line of nowadays largely unknown Lancôme perfumes: the first five with which the firm was established in 1935 by Armand Petitjean -previously manager director at Coty- on occasion of the Brussels Exhibition (Bocages, Conquête, Kypre, Tendres Nuits, Tropiques, alongside Etiquette Noire, Cachet Bleu from the same year), Révolte (1936), Peut-Être (1937 and briefly re-issued in the late 2000s), Gardénia (1937), Flèches (1938), Fête de Paris (1938), Chèvrefeuille (1939) and of course Cuir (the changed name of the original Révolte) also from 1939.

These intermittent years of the war saw not only one, but four Lancome perfumes introduced: Les Oiseaux from 1944 as well as Ange and Lavandes in 1945. There is also La Nativité, briefly issued in 1945, relaunched in 1952 and then discontinued. Perhaps it is our twisted perception of the war-time era which accounts for our perplexment at this.

We tend to either overdramatize the plight, imagining that everything disappeared as if stolen by aliens, or we tend to imagine that the situation was more heroic than it was seeing numerous French resistance fighters where there were instead many collaborators and attendates (people remaining silent, just watching to see what happens). The truth is many commodities, even luxury commodities, continued to circulate, either for those in positions of power (be it the position of conqueror or of black-market profiteer) or for those who could still afford to get them in some way. At a time of strict rationing, women still permed their hair and bought cosmetics to boost their morale. L'Oréal, the famous French company starting in hair-dyes under the brand name Auréole (and who ultimately bought Lancôme out in 1965 after Petitjean's retirement in 1963), was so energetic that even the outbreak of World War II in 1939 failed to curb the company's growth and they continued to produce cosmetics throughout: Oréol, the first cold permanent wave, was introduced in 1945 when the war was drawing to an end. La Valée Bleue isn't totally incogruent with this frame.

The intoduction of Lancôme in the USA after WWII saw a proliferation of perfumes issued: A new trio for 1946: Marrakech, Nutrix and Qui Sait, Bel Automne (1947), Joyeux Eté (1947), Minlys (1949), Magie (1950), Lait des Hesperides (1950), Galateis (1951), Trésor (1952), Eau de Senteur de Lancôme (1952), Plaisir (1952), Grâces du Printemps (1952), Envol (1952), Seul Tresor (1955), Flèches D'Or (1957), Lancôme d'Abord (1958), Fêtes de l'Hiver (1959) all the way to Climat by 1967, which was introduced under the new ownership.

The scent of La Valée Bleue was not languishing though, as attested by the fact that it used to circulate in antique French coffrets including 4 Lancôme perfume bottles: Conquête, La Vallée Bleue, Bocages, Tendres Nuits. One alonside the 1935 classics, so to speak. Someone was buying this stuff regularly to make it popular enough, if it formed part of a selection to be offered as a gift.

La Valée Bleue smells like a vintage, but not necessarily too dated, too dark or thick and somewhat musty as some of the old perfumes do. The freshness of the composition, which rested on lime and lemon essences, refreshing with winey rosy terpenic nuances on a bed of herbaceous, cooling lavender, light amber and sandlwood, gave the perfume a character that is not contrasted too sharply with today's sensibilities. Sensibilities which demand a balance of fresh and warm, a balance between emotional and reserved. Even though the lavender is central in the plot, the fragrance smells like a composite mosaic in the SanVitale basilica in Ravenna rather than the central theme in a kid's 10-piece puzzle. Obviously the ravages of time and war have burnished some of the sheen of the vintage I have tried, so it's difficult to pinpoint exactly what goes into it. The general feel however is one of innocent nostalgia and mystery, reinforced by the landscape-evocative name and the timing of this elusive Lancôme perfume.

Pics thanks to the generosity and assistance of Lovelyhazel/MUA & her photographing husband. All copyright is theirs. Used here with permission.

JoAnne Bassett Enchant Parfum: a Brave New Scent review

When autumn and winter weather takes its toll, there is a not so perverse pleasure into getting out the lush florals and the green scents from behind the screen and the books, and in pretending it's late spring all over again. In that frame of mind I spent this past weekend re-testing Enchant Parfum by all-naturals artisanal perfumer JoAnne Bassett.

Enchant was part of the Brave New Scents Project of the Natural Perfumers Guild, which we tackled here on Perfume Shrine a while ago. The perfumer claims to have composed this in a sort of epiphany, or rather "the poetry guided me into what to choose" (A.Huxley was the inspiration behind the project), but I think composing a fragrance with such contrasting notes takes more than just random luck. The happy scent of Enchant reminds me of JoAnne's favourite quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: “ Happiness is a perfume you cannot pour on others without getting a few drops on yourself. ”. It's no wonder she's residing at Cardiff by the Sea in California. The sunny skies and the lush surroundings around her can't but inspire an embracement of nature, even as she focuses on French-inspired scents with accompanying names recently, like Versailles, Madame Pompadour, Petit Trianon, Marie Antoinette, Josephine, Napoleon and Malmaison...

Enchant is full of zesty aromas, natural lavender with its camphoraceous top note, very lush rose and jasmine on a bed of hypnotic florals. It oscillates between a sweetish, liqueur-like character (thanks to both rose and davana) and woody camphor, which makes it...well, interesting! It's difficult to classify conventionaly, as I smell both herbal/aromatic and floriental elements in it at the same time; it's quite complex, though it's clear we're talking about a unified composition, not a thing that breaks apart on the blotter within minutes (the bane of several artisanal perfumes). Like I said, I get mostly the camphoraceous-spicy scents (basil, lavender, patchouli), the woody murky (lots of vetiver to my nose) and the floral (lots of rose coupling with pink pepper that compliments it, champaca which is sweeter and jasmine which is extra sweet). This collage gives an uplifting effect, optimistic, and I admit that I didn't expect lavender to give me such apositive reaction: usually I find it either too fake (more vanilla than lavender, as in many functional products or "soothing" products) or straight-out medicinal out of the straight essential oils aromatherapy shelf. Here it's neither, hallelujah!
JoAnne talks a lot about how she gave a spiritual twist by choosing the oils and essences that go into it, but I find Enchant Parfum smells good no matter if you're into getting yourself in a pretzel-shape and humming Ommmm as your mantra or not; it just works!

Enchant is parfum concentration (36% compound) and it shows in its projection and tenacity. The photo on top depicts a limited edition crystal blown flacon for the parfum; I absolutely adore this photo taken by JoAnne Bassett herself and the presentation (notice those tiny bubbles)!

Notes for Enchant Parfum by JoAnne Bassett:
Rose de Mai absolute – the May Rose, expensive and rare oud or agarwood, sandalwood, exotic and costly osmanthus, sacred champaca and holy basil, yuzu, orange esences, butter co2, musky ambrette seed, davana, pink pepper tree, and high altitude lavender, the green note of galbanum, sensual jasmine auriculatum, copaiba balsam, vanilla tincture, and the dark and rich ruh khus vetiver, and dark patchouli in an organic jojoba oil base.

According to the perfumer, the oils that correspond to the Huxley quote are:

I want God: holy basil, oud, champaca,
I want poetry: osmanthus,
I want danger: vetiver, patchouli,
I want freedom: orange essences, yuzu,
I want goodness: rose, jasmine,
I want sin: ambrette seed
  
For more info, please visit the JoAnne Bassett site. 
You can also visit her blogs: Aromatic Journeys and JoAnne Bassett

Top photo by JoAnne Bassett, used with permission. Bottom photo by Margot Carrera

Penhaligon's Sartorial: fragrance review & draw

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

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

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

According to Penhaligon's:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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