Paco Rabanne La Nuit: fragrance review

 Naked Lady Godiva, Countess of Mercia, rides on her proud gray horse, with leather bridles and wet saddle, keeping her word as a personal wager against her husband, on the occasion of relief from her husband's excessive taxation to the residents of the county. A peeping Tom peeps despite the curfew of the residents. 

This is the image that gradually appears and disappears in my mind - and maybe Rabanne's own, as he was immersed in spirituality for the latter part of his life- as I smell this wonderful creation by Jean Guichard for Paco Rabanne, La Nuit de Paco Rabanne. 

 John Collier's famous painting of Lady Godiva

 

The glamorous image of the TV spots with the woman in an evening lamé dress and flowing long hair, coiffed in 80s style with lots of volume tell only half the tale... 

 

This bold leathery chypre is proud and daring. The green whiplash of artemisia is precious as it segues into honeyed notes, rich and lush. It's easy to get back because it's so horsey at this stage. The alliance of oakmoss with civet and leather in Rabanne's La Nuit raises it into the pantheon of cult classics, though and it remains an unparalleled gem in the collection by the great designer. It's a shame that this gem was discontinued so soon, yet it will always remind me of the great designer of the Space Age, of the 1960s and 1970s. It is at once so much in style with his boldness and at clash points with his overt futurism. 

La Nuit Paco Rabanne... Partout où est la nuit (Everywhere where it is nighttime).

Trussardi Donna (vintage, for women, 1984): fragrance review

Everything there is to know about the feminine fragrance by Trussardi from the early 1980s (1984 to be exact) can be seen right from the start. The mock croc white bottle is revealing everything there is to know about this distinguished, yet extinguished scent. It's substituted by lesser mortals. But it keeps a soft spot in the hearts of some of us.

Trussardi Donna bianco classico via

Both Trussardi scents (men's and women's) from the early 1980s were encased in that most evocative and luxurious of materials—supple leather—which hugged their contours the way one envisions the molds used by a sculptor. The shape is recognizably that of a flask, and Nicola Trussardi himself was responsible for that gorgeous presentation. There was a textural element involved with the mock-croc motif, inviting the hand over the surface to touch, to feel...the anomaly in the grain so inviting, so exciting, so mature... The classic sharp chypre structure with a lush floral component in the heart was not alien to our house. My mom's beloved Cabochard with its leathery note—arid, nose-tingling, and almost masculine—would only derive from a house specializing in leather. The spicy top note of coriander and the touch of green herbs, plus waxy aldehydes, gave a clean opening. The alliance with the styrax and leathery tonalities which make up the basic core of its base is what makes it a juxtaposition in two different ideas: herbal crispness pitted against inky smokiness. They're both non-smooth, non-pliable ideas, but they match in headstrong confidence. It's the material which flamboyant women with a devil-may-care swagger thrive on.

Trussardi for Women (1984) in its vintage iteration, I recall, gave off that classic perfume-y vibe which many chypres of the 1970s and 1980s used to emit, such as Jean Louis Scherrer or Gucci No.3, yet softer and less bitter than something more galbanum-rich such as Or Noir (liquid black gold like I have described in my article) or Silences. They were scents of clean grooming, yet sophisticated preparations, not just shower fresh like nowadays. Today, men of taste might wear them with no problems, and the vintage concentration rivals many a modern eau de parfum for sheer longevity on skin and clothes. It's such a pity that a newer generation will only be confused amidst all the different Donnas in the evolving and evolved Trussardi canon.

Serge Lutens Sarrasins: fragrance review

The beast cradles the jasmine vine in the garden and its salty-dirty stench of its hide, as well as the warmth of its fur, only serve to enhance the character of this not so innocent blossom. Smelling Sarrasins I'm momentarily reminded of horse saddles, India ink (no doubt aided in my allusion to it by the deep purple of the mysterious liquid in the bell jar bottle,) ripe fruit that sweetens the breath like apricot pulp, camphor, everything and the kitchen sink; but it's all an illusion.  

via

The jasmine is laced with spice, notes of cardamom, star anise and cinnamon, which all sounds like a natural course for Lutens, wedding the Arabian cuisine condiments & spices to single materials of his liking, like he did with Chypre Rouge and Rousse. But truth be told, spices are only alluded to in Sarrasins, with a pong of sweaty cumin and a cool mantle of cardamom, while jasmine clutches them fiercely.  Essentially, no pun intended, Sarrasins is a big jasmine fragrance, natural essence off-notes of petrol and all, molested against the wall by animalic notes: the salty-dirty pong of civet, the skanky smell of musk, even a tamer musk which silkens out the feline quality of this superb scent.

Always, always, in the best creations by the tiny Frenchman, whom we love to affectionately call "uncle Serge," we're dealing with Beauty and the Beast, to reference that other Frenchman, Jean Cocteau. The beast cradles the jasmine vine in the garden and we dearly hope that small children have reverted to their beds for a nightmare-free nap.

Frederic Malle Le Parfum de Therese: fragrance review

It's tough to do a good melon note, if only because in hindsight the overuse of Calone in the 1990s has tampered with our own perception of the natural object. Melon of course cannot be distilled, being mostly water in itself, so an approximation is in order. Some perfumers excel where others fail. For me, the definitive addition of melon which swerves the whole composition into something amazing comes in the top chord of Frederic Malle Le Parfum de Therese.

via

The legendary perfumer Edmond Roudnitska is the mastermind behind this fragrance which shares many facets with his masterful vintage Diorella. Roudnitska always brought space in his fragrant compositions, a very legible melody that sang and sang in Mozartian clarity. In other famous fragrances of his the fruit serves as the opening salve to the inkier and more serious aspects of the formula, such as the plums and hesperides in Rochas Femme and Eau Fraiche for Dior. But in Le Parfum de Therese it is the predominant melon, with its succulent, and at the same time not too sweet tinge which rounds out the violet heart, seguing to the plushness of beloved plum and leathery notes. Although Roudnitska is of Russian extraction, his composition displays a very French flair at looking on femininity; it's a little bit sweet, but also fresh, and it's a little bit dirty, but also quite polished.

In conclusion Le Parfum de Therese is both retro and decidedly modern and stands as the perfect timeless scent for those who want to possess a tiny bit of a legend; after all Roudnitska composed it with great care for his own beloved wife. Aren't we lucky that Frederic Malle salvaged the formula and offered it to us.

Pascal Morabito Or Noir: fragrance review

There's a wondrous line in Sherlock BBC S2E1 (A Scandal in Belgravia) when Irene Adler marvels at the height of the cheekbones of our eponymous hero, saying "Look at those cheekbones, I could cut myself slapping that face... would you like me to try?". This is in essence the, well, essence of Or Noir, the vintage fragrance by French jeweller Pascal Morabito; a fragrance so sharp and juttingly beautiful, one could cut themselves trying to slap it into submission.

Morabito is famous for his "free floating diamond" launched in 1970, a cube that contained a simple, clear cut diamond, that looked as if it was not suspended, but floating in space. Ten years later he launched the perfume equivalent in Or Noir, the fragrance. Diamonds are sharp and all, and scents do float in space, get it?

Or Noir the fragrance oozes with urban elegance. It's a man-made scent, it's impossible to imagine this aroma in the countryside, or coming from a natural source that you can put your finger on. The mix  of notes, with blackcurrant bud in the top notes to give that tangy feeling and the inky impression of bitter oak moss in the base, is not unheard of, but its aloofness speaks of supreme confidence in wielding those slaps expertly. It's the scent of a professional. The heart of the Morabito's Or Noir is comprised of womanly notes, green florals like narcissus and lily of the valley with budding gardenia, notes which pair supremely with chypre perfumes and leather fragrances.

The magic of the perfume comes from delineating its lineage. This owes a heavy debt to iconoclast Germaine Cellier's infamous Bandit perfume for Piguet from the 1940s, as well as Bernard Chant's masterpieces for Lauder and for Madame Grès in the 1960s and 1970s. But it's not a copy, rather the end of a prodigious line. If you ever happen upon a vintage bottle, don't let it pass you by; getting a cut pounding on this prey is very worth trying.

Annick Goutal Duel: fragrance review

Like erotic opponents distancing themselves from each other only to better aim at the heart with a fatal gunshot, the materials in Annick Goutal's fragrance Duel are juxtaposed, yet strangely sharing common ground. One can't shake the impression they'll both live to tell the tale, till a certain point at the very least.

Paraguayan petit grain, a distillate from the leaves and twigs of the citrus aurantia v.amara aka the bitter orange tree [learn about its many raw materials for perfumery here], gives the citrusy top note, Maté absolute provides a leathery undertone; this South American herb has an aroma between black tea and cut hay. The cunning thing is the two notes complement each other rather than oppose one another; the tang of the former provides a welcome suaveness to the pungency of the latter. Maybe they ought to reconcile and with Gallic charm and a gentle shrug of the shoulders decide to share the damsel after all, if she agrees.

The green aura of the combination of the two raw materials, petit grain and maté absolute  (a common facet of both, their "touching back to back" so to speak) provides a summery diversion.
The house's art director, Camille Goutal, daughter of Annick, and perfumer Isabelle Doyen wanted to exploit the green character of mate absolute as well as its leather-scented backdrop into a modern, avant-garde composition that would appeal to those searching for something gentle yet substantial.
Its many facets (hay billowy softness, refreshing hesperidic tanginess, dry austere tobacco-leather) make it graceful and interesting.

Hints of tobacco and iris ground the airier, more fleeting notes in Duel without weighting them down. A prolonged fuzzy softness due to white musk is what makes the fragrance, although featured as a masculine in the Goutal canon, totally wearable by women as well. Like other masculine scents by Goutal, like the little known Eau du Fier, or the helichrysum roasted feel of Sables, Duel can be shared.

Personally I love using this cologne when wearing khakis and white T-shirts, with only sunscreen and mascara on my face, it seems to complement this kind of 'woman on a journalistic mission' rather well ; sort of gives me the energy I need in the heat to feel collected enough to pursue my line of research.

Bottom line: Duel is quite fresh yet oddly sexy; it smells the way Gabriel Garcia Bernal looks.

Available as eau de toilette 100ml at Goutal counters in select boutiques.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: 
Annick Goutal perfume reviews and news
The Leather Fragrance Series
Top 10 Masculine Fragrances
Gender Bender: Masculine Colognes Shared by Women, Feminine Fragrances Worn by Men

Histoires de Parfums Petroleum (Edition Rare): fragrance review

All the colors of a bruise: black and blue, teal green edging out in purple, fading to rosy, ending in ochre yellow like ancient parchment.

The electrical buzz of arc-welding, fiery orange sparks filling out the skies, the rusty mine of the shipwreck. The air filled with a mineral, scorched feel. The plank-plank of cork wedges hitting the iron ore at the loading decks.

A leather cloth, all smeared with wax. The musty smell of the hold of an old ship. He had his hair loose and oily with sweat and ambery brilliantine. My hand aching from trying to hold tight onto the lower mast. I said "I'm hurt". He should have said, "honey, let me heal it", like Bruce. Only he never said it; not in so many words.

John Klingel

Petroleum by Histoires de Parfums is Gerald Ghislain's story on oudh, the prophylactic defensive rot on Aquillaria trees and its resinous, nutty, woody, complex scent. Infused with fizzy orange, musty patchouli and a prolonged furry, white musk aftertaste, lasting hours, purring after the roar, Petroleum is the gift of the earth in an unassuming bottle. This oudh étude surpasses many others, in a masterful cadenza of chromatic tonalities: from black and blue, teal green edging out in purple, fading to rosy, ending in ochre yellow like ancient parchment. The chromatics in a drop of "liquid gold", in an old bruise that still aches when pressed.

Hermes Hermessence Cuir d'Ange (2014): fragrance review

 The sum of its constellations is not one and the same as the Milky Way, and likewise holding an exquisite map is not one and the same as knowing the whole world. My exploration of Hermès Cuir d'Ange, the latest Hermessence creation by master perfumer Jean Claude Ellena, serves yet another subtle reminder to such empiricism.

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

Yes, I have been playing with Cuir d'Ange for a week now, complete with my Hermès leather notebook, leather bracelet and the latest Le Monde d’Hermès magazine. But the story goes back further.

Photo “Hermès, 2014” by AlbertCAN, all rights reserved

More than after a decade of charting Ellena’s tenure at Hermès one would think Cuir d'Ange serves as an inevitable arc to his craft―our Elena’s initial thought on this creation is worth repeating here:

In Jean le Bleu, Jean Giono, perfumer Jean Claude Ellena's favorite author, describes the father of the narrator as "a cobbler who makes soles in angel leather". Angel leather, cuir d'ange… the newest in the Hermessences, (those are boutique exclusive fragrances by Hermès) is recalling the passage which served for the inspiration for another perfume by Hermes back in 2007, Kelly Calèche. Indeed "cuir d'ange" was the VERY expression Ellena used when promoting Kelly Calèche. And Giono had a prominent position anyway in the presentation of Cuir d'Ange to our world of journalism as pretty young men and women actors read passages from his opus in le jardin de Paraïs at Giono's house at Manosque…

There, such marvellous consistency in story telling, la clarté de l'image. Taking this notion to its logical conclusion reviewing Cuir d’Ange can be the gentlest curation for any capable fragrance writer. And indeed during the research phase of this review yours truly had it all deftly mapped out, starting with Monsieur Ellena’s initial visit to the fabled Hermès leather vault, his surprising discovery that the scent of finest leather is laced with an infusion of delicate florals. Segue into a review of the original Kelly Calèche eau de parfum, reflection of iris, violet, mimosa into leather; perhaps a comparison with my initial thoughts on the ephemeral parfum variation. Cue Cuir d’Ange, perhaps the requisite list of fragrance notes here, perhaps an impression of Jean Giono’s poetic prose there, punctuating with generous quotations from Ellena’s books. Respectfully faithful, diplomatically articulate, effortlessly pleasurable to write. One delicate problem: I could convincingly review Cuir d’Ange this way without needing to sample the scent first.

Learning so much about the aesthetics in this case one runs the danger of pondering the aesthetic experience without having an olfactory experience firsthand. Curating beautifully detailed maps in lieu of an actual exploration, if you will.

I am by no means to suggest Ellena’s paradigm, so singularly well thought out and elegant, as anything else but commendable. The master perfumer has left an indelible mark in industry with his verve, flair and panache. Nor am I wishing the Hermès communication process to be any different: the authenticity of its communication here is incredible. With this being it’s the fundamental duty of any respectable fragrance writer to compose an equally genuine and independent reflection upon reviewing any scent.

Thus to me, upon hearing so much of Ellena’s thoughts on the concept of angel leather, it’s absolutely paramount to do Cuir d’Ange justice when sampling the latest Hermessence. Assumption cannot be made that this leather fragrance is the re-edification of the Kelly Calèche base. And long and behold those two are not the same.

The most marked characteristic of Hermessence Cuir d’Ange to me is the absence of the traditional top notes. Whereas Kelly Calèche opens with grapefruit and mango, Hermessence Cuir d’Ange opens with a halo. Yes, a nimbus: There no other way to describe the creamy roundness of white musks―most notably of Ambrettolide to me―and the unmistakable depth of Ambrox. Yet Ellena deftly cues in the leather, along with its Hermès floral nuance: Violet, narcissus, hawthorn all contribute to the hologram, with a delicate depth of powder from the violet, tobacco sheen the narcissus, and honeyed sweetness the hawthorn. There’s heliotrope at its depth, too, yet more noticeable as the leather develops. Kelly Calèche, in comparison, is more floral, as climbing rose and tuberose are definitely not present in Cuir d’Ange; the vegetal verdancy of green tea and iris, too, is all just Kelly Calèche. Hermessence Cuir d’Ange, in comparison, stays ho-hum in its billowy glow; while the aura is delicate, round and soft, there isn’t a distinct leap of notes in its scent progression. In fact all things considered Hermessence Cuir d’Ange doesn’t fit into any traditional olfactory pyramidal structure, lacking the top-middle-base counterpoints (the opening musks persist even during the drydown). Now during the time of master perfumer Edmond Roudnitska such compositions would be considered more as a perfumery base, yet a light bulb went off in my head upon sampling Cuir d’Ange.

As a Hermès client who has frequented the boutiques for 12 years (and counting) I can confidently ring the affirmative: Hermessence Cuir d’Ange is truly an olfactory reincarnation of the Hermès leather, period. Even the re-emphasis of flower into leather isn’t co-incidental, as the 2014 global theme of Hermès is “Metamorphasis”, as witnessed by the venerable brand’s print communications.

Now while many would place Bandit and Knize Ten as the touchstone of the classic leather genre, namely the isobutyl quinoline school, or Chanel Cuir de Russie the rectified birch tar school, Hermessence Cuir d’Ange is unapologetically a whisper in comparison—yet that’s not the point altogether. Ellena has been dreaming of a leather Hermessence fragrance even since his 2004 appointment as the master perfumer of Hermès, and I would argue that his ten years is reflected in Cuir d’Ange: part Jour d’Hermès radiance, part sparseness of Voyage d’Hermès . In fact if I am allowed to widen the scope of this discussion I would even say that this is a re-interpretation of the fundamental idea Ellena explored in L'Eau d'Hiver Frederic Malle, namely the modernization the halo effect found in Guerlain Après L'Ondée (1906) but without the Baroque frills: In the Malle hay absolute is paired with Aubepine (foundation of hawthorn) and Heliotropin (of heliotrope) instead. Yet the same idea of roundness in shaping.Which is to say the same Ellena caveats are still decidedly present: Ellena is still not here to persuade you about, well, anything. Hermessence Cuir d’Ange glows close to the skin—in fact I’m wearing 5 generous sprays (including a spray to my clothes) in order to ensure a long-lasting halo. And similar to the other Hermessence fragrances Cuir d’Ange I find modifies once on the skin. Osmanthe Yunnan and Iris Ukiyoé sing exceptionally well on me, whereas Vanille Galante and Rose Ikebana decidedly not. I’m giving Cuir d’Ange some more time to rest on my skin as the result.

Verdict: Luminous, deftly crafted, a fantastic addition to the Hermessence collection. Best to test it thoughtfully on you before committing to it.

Photos, from top: “Hermès, 2014” by AlbertCAN, all rights reserved; Hermessence Cuir d'Ange; Hermès Fall/Winter 2014/2015 campaigns.

Guerlain Santal Royal: new fragrance

The upcoming launch by the historic house of Guerlain is called Santal Royal and comes in a bottle in the style of their "Eau de lit" and "Eau de lingerie" scents, but dressed in pitch dark black, with a gold filigree label and a cap and adorned with a tassel in black & gold hanging from the neck.

borrowed via Jaroslav's blog

Guerlain Santal Royal is an oriental woody perfume with spicy overtones that heralds the coming of the cooler season, in the manner of "cashmere scents" we perfumistas here on PerfumeShrine like to annotate to autumn and winter. Jan Masters describes it as "an evening scent, although I could imagine it cheering up grey days as if cosying up in a cashmere wrap."
Of course pair Guerlain and sandalwood in the same phrase and everyone thinks of Guerlain Samsara (with the lone historian reminiscing about Guerlain Santal parfum from the first years of the 20th century), but we're told this is a very different perfume.

Santal Royal is a Harrods exclusive launch for the opening of their Salon de Parfums, retailing at £125 for 125ml of fragrance and the scent is composed by resident perfumer for Guerlain Thierry Wasser. Harrods are plugging the Salon des Parfums, a new abode for perfume enthusiasts on the 6th floor, which opens on October 16th at 8pm, attendance by invitation only. The fragrance will eventually arrive on boutique counters as well.

The fragrance notes for Guerlain Santal Royal include the eponymous mystical note of sandalwood, coupled with cinnamon and fresh neroli on the top, while the deeper, denser notes of warm amber, musk and leather rise from the base. Preliminary reportage suggests also a note of rose and oud in the formula that isn't mentioned in the official breakdown.

My own addition is that now that the sustainable Australian sandalwood plantations of Santalum alba have been fruitful we're set for a new wave of sandalwood fragrances that will reprise that most prized of woody notes. Assuming of course that Santal Royal contains said ingredient.

Le Labo Cuir 28 (Dubai exclusive): fragrance appreciation reprisal

Far from the crowd pleasing orientalism of Benjoin 19 (Le Labo's Moscow "city exclusive") which I had reviewed for Fragrantica last autumn, Cuir 28 by Le Labo reprises some of the butcher elements of the great leather perfumes tradition and marries them to a woody-peppery chord with unisex appeal. This brings it at a no man's land of leather scents, as it doesn't fit the mold of any category really; is it like Bandit (Piguet), Cabochard (Gres), Cuir de Russie (Chanel), Cuir de Lancome, John Varvatos Vintage, Tuscan Leather (Tom Ford), Bel Ami (Hermes) etc etc? It's like none of these things.

Phenols (tar-like notes resembling melting asphalt) resurface in Cuir 28 as a leathery note aspect on top; agressive and oozing with bitumen, the "cuir" note in Cuir 28 is unpresentable, tough and butch, probably an echo of Parchouli 24 which also presents an odd and visceral experience, especially if you're an acolyte of the school of sweet orientalized "suede" leather scents. The hardcore leather bar crowd however should find it eminently intriguing due to this very reason, although a bit of vanilla does surface later on; a respite of human affection after the hate fuck.

The fragrance segues into a iris-peppery combination that makes for the prolonged elegance of Chanel Les Exclusifs 31 Rue Cambon, diverging into two slices in the Le Labo creation, a still dry and with hints of vetiver earthiness medley that feels like a different person has walked into the room. The two slices do not meet in the pie and remain sort of disjointed throughout, which produces an odd but trippy experience for the wearer; in a way it's probably a test of whether you'll have your perfumista card revoked: do you have the patience to discover the unfolding?

The final phase of Cuir 28 comes through a hint of musky vanilla that tries to efface the butch factor of the top note, small comfort for the wild ride. For the full review please consult this link on Fragrantica.

Though a Dubai exclusive (Le Labo reserves some of its fragrances for city-specific distribution only resulting in the City Exclusive) for the month of September 2014 ONLY Cuir 28 can be found online at the official Le Labo site and Luckyscent. (I had been able to review this thanks to a generous procurer of the sample; you know who you are, thanks)

Hermes Hermessence Cuir d'Ange: new fragrance

In Jean le Bleu, Jean Giono, perfumer Jean Claude Ellena's favorite author, describes the father of the narrator as "a cobbler who makes soles in angel leather". Angel leather, cuir d'ange…how's that for poetic? It's my privilege to break the good news to you then. The newest in the Hermessences, (those are boutique exclusive fragrances by Hermès) is recalling the passage which served for the inspiration for another perfume by Hermes back in 2007, Kelly Calèche.

Indeed "cuir d'ange" was the VERY expression Ellena used when promoting Kelly Calèche. And Giono had a prominent position anyway in the presentation of Cuir d'Ange to our world of journalism as pretty young men and women actors read passages from his opus in le jardin de Paraïs at Giono's house at Manosque…

But to revert to Kelly Calèche. This sleeper classic seemed to me at the time (and continues to do so) as the perfect gateway into "proper fragrance" for young ladies who were hesitant to borrοw their mothers "big" florientals and fruity chypres (like the brand's own 24 Faubourg) and their grand-mothers' prim aldehydics (like the original Calèche).

The idea of a floral leather perfume in non sweet tonalities was brought out in a chic and reserved way in 2007, maybe too reserved for its own sales, but it was such a good idea that the newly changed guard at Balenciaga copied the concept for their very own Florabotanica fragrance recently, this time fronted by trashy-chic Kristen Stewart to ensure 20-something commercial appeal. But no matter. It seems like Hermès is revisiting the idea and introducing a "material-focused" version ~as Ellena puts it when describing the process of creating the line~ (and if the previous installments are enough indication a trompe l'oeil on said materials!) Treating the idea anew is also a good transitioning for the succeeding perfumer at the helm, Christine Nagel, Ellena's protégée, who will be asked to continue and advance an impressive body of olfactory opus in a little while.

So, after the unusual Epice Marine, an angelic leather, a take without regard of intended sex this time, (as the Hermessences are created unisex) but which brings forth images of softness, vegetal and airy qualities and the familiar touch of this master perfumer. And never before has the soft leather "fold" in which the Hermessences bottles are put into seemed more appropriate: a buttery cream as smooth and inviting to the touch as feathers off the back of an angel…
Bring it forth; Hermessence Cuir d'Ange gets officially launched in September 2014!

Providence Perfume Samarinda: fragrance review

Samarinda was an unexpected surprise in my mailbox replete with an eco-benefit (more on which below) and it was a pleasant one which prompted this review. Independent perfumers come with the benefit of being able to both experiment with no concern of focus groups and with the passion that comes with doing what you believe you should do instead of what you know you should do in order to sell well. Not that artisanal perfumers are beyond the scope of a true business, if they have leaped off the amateur description concocting elixirs in their back kitchen, but you know what I mean; wouldn't you rather have someone disregard trends, likability stakes, IFRA restrictions and focus on what seems "like a good idea, let's try it out and see"? Charna Ethier of Providence Perfume Co. is one such.

Ethier is a botanical perfumer, working with natural essences and what I believe are extractions from materials not common in mainstream (and even niche) perfumery, such as choya nakh, a roasted seashell  essence which is truly unique and which I personally find captivating thanks to its evocation of the animalic marine world. Samarinda is using this essence, alongside many others which initially seem incongruous (the above mentioned choya nakh side by side with Sumatran coffee alongside jasmine rice, oakwood, leather, rum ether and flowers), but the blend is quite astonishingly tempered and uplifting. The cardamom note on top is so fitting to coffee that it transports me instantly to a warm morning sipping a demitasse in a middle-eastern setting. But there's further along the map that this perfume can take us…

The sweetish floriental has a delectable boozy (richly rum-like for armchair travelers on the high seas seeking pearls in oysters down the depths of the Indian Ocean) and a lightly smoky vibe which engulfs you with none of the intensely floral  -and then magically dissipating- pong of some all natural perfumes. Maybe the choice to do an orientalized take on Indonesia, as Samarinda aimed to do, is a wise choice olfactory-speaking, or maybe Ethier came up with just the right balance in her palette; the result is that Samarinda is a joy to wear on skin from the lightly spicy, juicy opening with its vanillic underpinning right down to the  smoky-warm woods of the drydown. It's certainly smelling better than actual Indonesia with its yeasty trail in the air.

And what's the eco-benefit? 5% of all sales of Samarinda will be donated to the World Wildlife Fund to promote the protection efforts in Borneo and Sumatra, home of hundreds of endangered rhinos, tigers, elephants and orangutans and thousands of identified and as yet unidentified plants.

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

Guerlain Chypre 53: fragrance review & history

Some perfumes, like the best kept mysteries, keep their secrets close at heart and do not intend to be easily deciphered. That's part of their charm. Chypre 53 by Guerlain is the latest in this row of scented mysteries and I will try to break down its coding today with Chabollion determination, but non conclusive results. Let's call it the Linear A of Guerlain. :-)

via mbymystery.blogspot.com

My research indicates that there are actually two formulae of the elusive Chypre 53 and it would depend on which edition one gets hold of. The original Guerlain Chypre 53 was issued in 1909 in the standard quadrilobe extrait bottle with the phallic cap, holding 30ml, which we have come to associate with Guerlain extraits in general. The perfume was soon discontinued leaving more commercially successful Guerlain fragrances such as Mitsouko, Shalimar, Vol de Nuit or L'Heure Bleue in the limelight while it retreated in the shade of the archives. The year 1948 saw a re-issue of the Guerlain fragrance. The concentration of eau de cologne was opted for Chypre 53 and indeed "flacons montre" (the familiar round disk bottles with the gold pyramidal stopper which routinely hold the eau de cologne version of Guerlain fragrances) hold the splash edition of the more effervescent take.

via Pinterest

Besides those two types of bottles, there is also the amphora extrait bottle and the "goutte" (which means drop or bead in French) bottle for the eau de toilette concentration of Guerlain Chypre 53. The amphora and goutte bottles, as well as the montre one, were circulating well into the 1950s, according to the Guerlain archives. There also seems to exist a Lotion Vegetale which was intended as a grooming product, canonical to Guerlain standards of providing scented exhilaration while preparing one's hair and skin. [a collective imaging of the various bottles can be found here]

The providence of my review sample is a collector, a serious and well intentioned one, who was generous enough to share with me and request my opinion. Unfortunately I do not know the providence of the juice, though I assume it comes from some online auction where the rare fragrance makes a sporadic appearance. Exactly because the origin and authenticity of the fragrance is something that cannot be guaranteed, the exercise is tentative at best, colored by a highly subjective impression at worst.

via Photobucket/bbBD

What strikes me in my edition of Guerlain Chypre 53 is the inkiness and leatheriness of the acrid note coming from the depth of the perfume, indicating the use of isoquinolines plus oakmoss. The skeleton of the chypre fragrance dictates the use of the latter, so this is no surprise. Considering that the 1948 edition of Chypre 53 comes one year after the launch of Piguet's Bandit with its butch, described as "for dykes"ambience, the inclusion of the former isn't far fetched at all either. Although Chypre 53 was intended by Guerlain to be a feminine fragrance my olfactory appreciation informs me that men could wear it very convincingly as well. The boldness however is gentler and less bitter green than Bandit, with richer elements of spices (carnation) and Provencal herbs (thyme mainly) that bring it close in feel to both Caron Tabac Blond from 1917 (with its distinctive carnation leather) and Chanel's Cuir de Russie  from 1924 (with the same carnation, the spiciness of styrax and the background of a refined animality comprising clary sage, new car upholstery and precious flowers). This mental tie can be explained by sampling the 1948 edition but not the 1909 one, therefore my understanding is that I am experiencing the later one.

The overall feeling is dry but also warm, with a rustic touch, savoury sweet at various instants and with the cinnamic-eugenol facets I mentioned before. This carnation-leather combo is perplexing, as it's so indicative of the 1920s (where these garconnne leathers reigned supreme as well as carnation florals like Caron's Bellodgia), which is unsettling considering the chronology of either edition, additionally the opening seems like a different segment with the vetiver being more prominent.

Like all Guerlain perfumes of vintage cut there's a lot to recommend testing it out on your own skin, although it would be perhaps counterintuitive to pay through the nose for an old Chypre 53 specimen, unless you happen to land on a very lucky incident of value for money, an exceedingly rare sight in the world of online auctions. Having provided this caveat emptor, I'm very happy that I managed to round up my perfume knowledge of rare, historical Guerlain perfumes, from Atuana and Fleur de Feu to Loin de Tout and Guerlain Cuir de Russie through Coque d'Or and Djedi. Now that Chypre 53 has joined the ranks, my appreciation of la maison Guerlain has gained one more shade of the rainbow.
Maybe now that Guerlain is re-issuing the parfums de patrimoine (heritage perfumes from their archives, for exhibition purposes only), Chypre 53 is a good addition to the collection that is just waiting to happen ;)
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Chanel Coco by Chanel: fragrance review

Coco by Chanel must be among a handful of fragrances on the market to have not only one, but two flankers without being a spectacular market success to begin with. Flankers are supporting fragrances coat-tailing on the success of the original perfume, borrowing part of the name of the original as well as the bottle mould, but differing in scent and target demographics. Coco has two: Coco Mademoiselle, an alarmingly successful best-seller for youngish women that has far eclipsed the original, and Coco Noir, a woody fragrance of recent crop with dubious presence on the market as yet. Today Coco seems old fashioned and aimed only at mature women, fading-to-market-black, but soon after it came out it profited of a marketing campaign that positioned it as a sexy debutante scent, fronted by then teenager Vanessa Paradis! Funny how perceptions change and we used to wear Ungaro Diva and the like when not yet out of high school, right?

The most astounding personal association I have with Coco has always been one that pertains to its market share, not the scent itself: In all my many years of perfume observation & appreciation I have never met in real life a person owning a bottle of Coco, a fact which had always struck me as weird considering the continued presence of the perfume on the counters. Chanel No.19 is also an undivided presence on the local counters (and a steady seller according to SAs), but I actually know people who wear it, I smell it on the street from time to time and I have seen bathroom shelves with a bottle of it proudly displayed more than once or twice. Someone must be buying Coco too, then, right?
But let's take things at the top.

Aiming to capture a more Baroque side of Chanel, taking the sobriquet given to Gabrielle Chanel by her escapee father and inspired by Gabrielle's Rue Cambon apartment with its casket-like rooms full of Venetian glass, Chinoiserie panels and leather bound books, house perfumer Jacques Polge set out to compose a true 1980s perfume following the commercial smash hit of YSL Opium: bold, brash, take no prisoners. And he succeeded in the most part.

The fragrant secrets of Coco by Chanel
One of the peculiarities of Coco is that it was among the first perfumes to be conceived not as an extrait de parfum first but rather envisioned in its diluted form of eau de parfum. The market had gone away from the more discreet, more intimate use of parfum extrait and demanded a really powerful spray that would announced the wearer before she was seen; ergo the eau de parfum (and sometimes the parfum de toilette) concentration, less expensive than extrait but rivaling its lasting power, while at the same time being extra loud thanks to the volatility boost via the spraying mechanism.

The secret ingredient in the formula of Coco by Chanel is the inclusion of the base Prunol*, a rich and dark "dried fruits & spices" mélange famously exalted in Rochas Femme by Edmond Roudnitska, which gives Coco a burnished hint of raisin. The cascade of honeyed spices immediately asserts itself: pimento, cardamom, cinnamon, cumin and clove, while the overall feeling is one of amber plush and resinous warmth (with a wink of leather) with the flowers folded into a rich batter and undiscernable. The patchouli (tucked into the Prunol base) gives a whiff of chocolate, though, in the words of Susan Irvine, not even a fashion innovator of the magnitude of Chanel would have considered a note reminiscent of a bedtime drink as worthy of consideration in fine fragrance. (One would perversely wish she had lived through present fruitchouli-infested times to see how she'd chuckle under her smartly cuffed sleeve.)

A Perfume Apart
Coco by Chanel enjoys something of a revered status among perfumistas, so it's not clear whether it should be considered an "underrated perfume" in the first place, but my inclusion in the Underrated Perfume Day series isn't totally random as it would appear on first sight nevertheless. First of all it was demanded by quite a lot of readers. Secondly, this is the kind of perfume that I should be theoretically crazy about (a spicy oriental in the mold of my beloved YSL vintage Opium, Cinnabar, Feminité du Bois and Krizia Teatro alla Scala) and yet I am not. Indeed I have been trying it on and off for decades now.

However when married with a huge bottle of Coco (extrait de parfum in spray no less) I had the following peculiar problem, for something so -allegedly- admired: I could NOT swap it with other interested perfumephiles no matter what! I tried everything: stooping to suggesting I'd trade for inexpensive eaux de toilette from mainstream brands, offering to supplement with generous niche samples, pleading "please take it off my hands, it's a shame it should collect dust, just take it already". No one wanted it. I finally gifted it off to a women's shelter where its whereabouts have been lost to me. The perfume lover who had sold it to me in the first place recounted to me the exact same problem: "I spent two years trying to get this thing off my hands; when you came along and showed an interest I couldn't believe it".

Is Coco by Chanel something that perfumistas like to reference but rarely -if ever- wear? Are its wearers merely nostalgic for the 1980s, a time they were young and more optimistic, and therefore owning a little bottle is just that, a memento of carefree times? Is it, finally, past its due and not that spectacular to begin with? I think a bit of all those things. One thing however that it did magnificently well was its advertising by Jean Paul Goude: Vanessa Paradis as an exotic bird in a cage whistling to the meowing of a big greedy cat outside and "l' ésprit de Chanel" as the tag line. Coco Chanel would have been proud.

For more perfume reviews of such fragrances check out the Underrated Perfume Day feature and scroll for more musings. 

*For modern takes on the Prunol type base in perfumes, look no further than Bottega Veneta eau de parfum, Chinatown by Bond no.9 and Mon Parfum Chéri by Camille (Annick Goutal).

Aftelier Cuir de Gardenia: fragrance review

"And at night I love to listen to the stars. It's like five hundred million little bells. [...]"You...you alone will have the stars as no one else has them....only you will have stars that can laugh."
~Antoine de Saint Exypery, Le Petit Prince.

Cuir de Gardenia, gardenia's leather. It is my tendency to focus on names, believing that they carry their own wisdom. So coming across this enigmatic coinage I couldn't help but pause and think, maybe lost a bit into my own lethologica. The leathery facets of gardenia, a flower becoming skin-like, the hide of an animal thrown atop tender skin. Yes, it sounded sexy as hell. Is sexy all there is when it comes to perfumes though?

Working with gardenia for a perfumer presents its own challenges. The flower doesn't yield a sufficient or steadily available extract (though there is one in extremely limited quantities) so an approximation is conducted through the synergy of pliable materials; doubly difficult when sourcing only off the natural palette. Of those, I sense the generous use of jasmine, with its lactonic and green facets highlighted, in Aftelier's Cuir de Gardenia; they produce an at once fresh and creamy variation on the gardenia theme, a sort of Pur Desir de Gardenia meets Hedy Lammar.
The mossy element in the base suggests that this deceptive floral hides a more introspective core beneath its veneer and it's worth waiting for it to surface beyond the delicious flower atop.

Artisanal perfumer Mandy Afteler did use a tiare flower absolute from a small producer (tiare is the Tahitian gardenia), which accounts for the more exotic and, yes, the "creamy smelling" feel you get upon testing this bewitching fragranc. The candied aspects meet the roughness of castoreum (an animalic note traditionally used in leather blends). She also mentions ethyl phenyl acetate, which although is usually rendering a rosy not in perfumes, here she describes it as lending a whiff of sweet peas. The liquid version of Cuir de Gardenia is oily, lending a softer ambience, but it doesn't feel oily, it absorbs quickly and well.

I did not find a huge stonking beat of leathery butchness, nor a dark, dangerous, skanky gardenia that would shriek Norma Desmond like off the vial (for a different take read Gaia's The Non Blonde's review), but then neither did I expect to: Cuir de Gardenia isn't a "cuir" per se, it's an illusion of an animal turned into a flower. If anything, it's more musky than leathery. It's a daydream, a waxy memento of sensuality hidden in a drawer for a rainy day, the feeling of physical happiness. It's a matutine moment stolen, when you can hear the stars laugh.

Aftelier's Cuir de Gardenia is available in liquid extrait de parfum and solid versions, on the official Aftelier eboutique. Although natural perfumes come at an increased cost per ml compared to commercial perfumes (even niche), I find that the options of owning minis and solids are a lovely way to get a feel of the work of artisans in the field.

The Fragranta Man has some interesting info on the sourcing of the materials. 

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

Le Labo Cuir 28 (Dubai exclusive): fragrance review

What took Le Labo a couple of years to go from announcing Cuir 28 to actually launching it? It's as yet undivulged. Smelling the recently launched fragrance my mind is reeling into a fantasy of Chanel's Sycomore with leather and vanilla. Looks fabulous on paper but in practice it doesn't quite work as intended. Possibly because it looks like two disjointed parts, reminiscent of those kid's toys in which two rolls with images cut in half join at the middle to give you a giraffe's neck with lion's legs or a ballerina with the head of a Hell's Angel. In fact the parable of the latter isn't far removed from the reality of the latest Le Labo Dubai exclusive, Cuir 28.

via thinkgeek.com

Le Labo presents their leather fragrance as "Easy Rider without the sweat and gasoline — blending leather, wood and animal notes to give it a very powerful, dark and memorable personality" Specifically they mention natural vanilla absolute, leather notes (a synthetic base), woods (vetiver), animal notes (ambrox), and musks (muscenone).

Although the opening is jolting for anyone who considers the modern representatives of the "cuir" genre being cuddly and purring kittens like Guerlain Cuir Beluga or other suede fragrances (indeed these lean more to oriental than true leather scents), or spoiled by the plush iris note of Chanel Cuir de Russie, Cuir 28 is an exercise in illusion, an unusual and intriguing composition. Much like Tubereuse Criminelle before it, it hides beneath the shocking prelude a sensitive ballad. In Cuir 28 that ballad is played on the wooden wind instruments: a vanilla oboe and a vetiver clarinet, filling its other's phrases with a bridge in legato. The perfume's opening, smoky, tar-like, phenolic smelling with a touch of that cult Goutal, Eau du Fier and Band Aid worthy (oudh) pungency, isn't particularly animalic smelling, nor is it especially musky scented, but it can be a bit masculine and butch all the same. Wait about 15 minutes though (applying on the skin) and the rest of the composition in Cuir 28 becomes a sweetened vetiver scent, clean and comfortable and really fetching with its very perceptible vanilla. (Possibly there are more synthetic wood notes, like sandalwood, which provide some plush after the thrash.)
The comforting part has been a recent favorite for Le Labo judging from their Moscow exclusive, the extremely hard to come by Benjoin 19. Which beckons the question: Is the East succumbing to a Western taste?

Nevertheless, as is not uncommon with fragrances in the upper echelons of the pricing range, especially when they require a concentrated effort to get hold of as well, the dedicated perfumista might find that the effect is not worth the asking price in the end. Although I have been known to deem at least two of the Le Labo city exclusives, Poivre 23 and Gaiac 10, as worth the jumping through hoops  (and have Mastercard-in-hand capitulated to one), I realize this also has to do with personal preferences, and if you're delirious about leather or vetiver, Cuir 28 is still very worth sampling and I'm glad I tested it; my sample saw good use indeed. Among the city exclusives -and the regular line as well- Cuir 28 is certainly NOT amongst the worst (Limette 27 is probably the dullest), yet it leaves me with a feeling of a missed opportunity. I'd like it turned up a notch.

Fragrance notes for Le Labo Cuir 28: leather, vanilla absolute, woody notes, vetiver and musk.
Le Labo Cuir 28 is exclusively available at Dubai as a city exclusive according to the brand, only the place that was supposed to stock it there (Paris Galley in the Dubai Mall) is closed and until something else opens (which Le Labo informs us it shall), the perfume is nowhere to be found. Fate has no doubt been harsh to Cuir 28...

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: The Leather Fragrance Series, Le Labo Fragrance Reviews & News

Scent on Canvas Noir de Mars: fragrance review

Noir de Mars, named after the iron oxide (PBk11) used in painting, is aptly referenced given the collection of new niche brand Scent on Canvas, hailing from Barcelona, Spain, is inspired by the chromatic nuances of pigments. Much like the pigment, which is a neutral, refined and dense black, blacker than carbon black, the fragrance of Noir de Mars is a thick and complex composition conceived by perfumer Jordi Fernadez, who utilizes note de jour i.e. oud/aoudh in a context that can please lovers of more traditional approaches: namely, it fuses the bitterish and musty nuance of the oud note into the ruggedly handsome bookends of oakmoss and leather. The result? A wonderfully nuanced, deep, individual fragrance that thankfully doesn't recall that cardinal sin of oud scents, "the Band-Aid note".

Pierre Soulages 1963 Huile sur toile, centre Pompidou via

The scent of Noir de Mars leans more masculine than the rest of the Scent on Canvas collection as its name, mythologically laced, would suggest (and is indeed pegged as that by the company), yet offering a transitory unisex for women who do not like traditionally feminine compositions but like to challenge perceived perceptions. Needless to add Noir de Mars is something that most men would feel manly to wear. Its Laotian oud exotic impressions, leather notes and oakmoss bitterness reads as somber, quiet, a person of few words but plenty of charisma. The spicy woody halo speaks on its own. Noir de Mars is modern in the sense that oud scents are very “now”, but at the same time it avoids some of the pitfalls of following a trend too closely, thanks to a cluster of oriental references (cypriol, myrrh, Haitian amyris etc). This one needs more time to open up so the experience of the parfum should be given a leisurely amount of time to unfold its magic.

Notes for Noir de Mars by Scent on Canvas:
Top: Laotian oud, gaiacwood, sandalwood, cyperus sclariosus
Heart: gurjum balsam (dipterocarpus), leather, myrrh
Base: Haitian amyris, amber


Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Scent on Canvas Brun Sicilien

Scent on Canvas Brun Sicilien: fragrance review

Brun Sicilien is brown only in the context of southern landscapes of sienna tiles or nubuck saddles on horses riding into the wilderness: the fragrance by new niche perfume line Scent on Canvas is sunny and free-spirited, with a resinous underlay, cinnamic facets surfacing on the ripe citrus rind of mandarin. The cunning relies on not building on a classic Italian cologne, but offering instead exactly the end of the spectrum of the citrusy notes where they lose their mouthwatering tanginess and retain a bitterish quality, coupled with a leathery note that cuts through the heat, in the same way that leathery scents (such as Etro Gomma or Knize Ten) are incisive. Although the composition of Brun Sicilien is not tightly clustered, allowing for the aromatic and white floral components to peek through, one would be hard pressed to call it merely “refreshing,” also thanks to its mysterious and sensual afterglow; it embodies much more of the mystery and boiling passions of the Mediterranean to be just that. Perfumer Alexandra Kosinski presented the composition to Beatrice Aguilar and she in turn thought of “riding along the unexpected roads of life.”

via designyoucantrust.com

Leather scents are an acquired taste and their individuality and quirkiness needs a bit of practice. In that context Brun Sicilien is not the easiest, being a true leather, instead of a orientalized ersatz suede smothered in vanilla and woods, but its wearability is superior than most and instantly appreciated by those coming into contact with it, as my personal experiments proved. Coming in an extrait de parfum concentration was a welcome surprise: the tenacity and smooth projection are sublime.

via toutlecine.com

The new niche collection "Scent on Canvas" so far includes five perfumes created by an eclectic mix of perfumers: Jórdi Fernandez (for Rose Opera and Noir de Mars), Shyamala Maisondieu (Ocre Dore), 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 Dore); the rosy floral with mysterious, spicy-suede tonalities (Rose Opera) 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 Brun Sicilien by Scent on Canvas:
Top: white flowers, jasmine, Sicilian mandarin
Heart: gaucho leather, cardamom, black pepper, suede
Base: amber, birch, Indonesian patchouli, Madagascar vanilla

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

Neela Vermeire Creations Mohur: fragrance review

Perfumery was so developed during the Mogul era in india that the most powerful empress of the Mughal dynasty, Noor Jahan popularly known as Mehrunissa, devoted herself to perfecting it during her days of confinement after the death of her husband, emperor Jehangir.  Mohur (pronounced mə-ˈhu̇r) by niche perfume line Neela Vermeire Créations is inspired by this period and named after the golden coin minted during the Moghal and the British rule of the country. In fact, one can still see the largest mohur coin ever smithed displayed at the British Museum, a 1000 mohur from the reign of Jehangir (1605-1628).  I'm saying all this to confirm that Mohur is a regal perfume; majestic, opulent, marmoreal, founded  in powdery rose and oud, yes, but buoyed by spices (cardamom), a note of smooth suede (via saffron) and light, vegetal musk. The rosy blossom performs double duty: symbol of the territories around the Middle East, but also synonymous with the "English rose".

Source: aashhi.tumblr.com via Glorynn on Pinterest

The magnificence of Neela's Mohur lies in its surpassing and transcendence of olfactory tropes: where rose usually reads as dusty, like pot pouri, it is in Mohur elevated into jammy and lightly powdery; where oud in contemporary fragrances usually smells like Band Aids, here it is discreet and only reinforces the earthiness; and finally where the two combined would end up feeling deja vu, a classical tradition seen a hundred  times  over  thanks to every niche (and some non niche) firm of the last decade, this marriage by perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour feels neoteric. Although the composition feels radiant and classically French at moments (I was briefly reminded of the feel of the classic Madame Rochas perfume and of aubepine aldehyde, then more potently of the rose and saffron in the original Agent Provocateur eau de parfum), with a lightly soapy facet, Mohur satisfies both the lover of soft woody florals and the one who is after an orientalized take on rose. The richness of the floral accords creates the rich facade of a temple where the vibrancy of the tiles beckons you to come closer to fully experience them. The depth of the spicy and earthy notes recalls mendhi decorations on the nimble hands of Shriya Saran. And the plush is evocative of silk cushions at some old palace in Rajastan where the British find themselves mesmerized strangers to a mysterious land.

Interestingly, the dabbing method yields more of the saffron rose impression of Mohur, while the spraying method accounts for the French soapy aldehydic segment which is less detectable on dried down skin. Less predictably exotic than Trayee and Bombay Bling, but nevertheless a refined, golden fragrance for those who can appreciate the mastery of true artists. It was enough to have my rose-hesitant heart ambushed and kept captive.

Mohur is part of the original trio of fragrances issued by Neela Vermeire Créations which also includes Trayee and Bombay Bling (the fourth instalment, Ashoka, is launching soon). These Indian inspired perfumes, like Chants of India, draw upon the tradition, history and cultural milieu of that vast Eastern sub-continent in which Neela herself has roots. These are truly "transparent orientals", modern and wearable, and therefore it comes as no surprise that Neela commissioned Bertrand Duchaufour to compose them for her niche line.

Notes for Neela Vermeire Creations Mohur:
Cardamom, coriander, ambrette, carrot, black pepper, elemi, Turkish rose oil, jasmine, orris, hawthorn, almond milk accord, leather, sandalwood, amber, patchouli, oudh Palao from Laos, benzoin, vanilla, tonka bean



Mohur is available as an Eau de Parfum 55ml (in refillable flacons), available at select stockists and on www.neelavermeire.com, where you can find a discovery set. As of mid-2013 a new parfum version of Mohur will be available as well.

Disclosure: I was sent a sample by Neela.