Miller Harris candles for a First Lady

Michelle Obama was gifted a Miller Harris mini candle set from the original Notting Hill store, chosen by Samantha Cameron herself, the wife of British Prime Minister David Cameron, while the latter were visiting the US.
Apparently Michelle apart from being a prime target for being given scented gifts from companies (i.e.Creed) is keen on scents herself as attested by her Boedicea fragrance shopping we had reported. Good to know!

Fleurs de Bois by Miller Harris: new fragrance

After Fleurs de Sel (Salt Flowers) and the fantastic L'air de Rien, niche British brand Miller Harris is launching another fragrance, this time called Fleurs de Bois (Flowers of the Woods) composed by resident perfumer Lyn Harris. Despite the name however the fragrance belongs to the citrus aromatic family of scents, rather than the floral or woody, being redolent of moist grass and dewy mornings (dewy is very au coutant lately it seems, judging by Un Matin D'Orage and Vanille Galante).


The notes for Fleurs de Bois are: galbanum, green grass, Sicilian lemon, green mandarin, rose, rosemary, jasmine, iris, oakmoss, patchouli, sandalwood, vetiver and birch.
Fleurs de Bois will be available from May 2009 in 100ml and 50ml bottles packaged in green with the characteristic botanist design of Miller Harris on the box and flacon. More info soon on the Miller Harris site.

Extraits de Parfum and Another Exclusive for Miller Harris

Miller Harris has mostly been an unsung brand by the perfume online community, mainly because -I am hypothesizing- the style of the fragrances is limpid and diaphanous which possibly are not desirable attributes for the budding perfume lover as well as the more seasoned perfume collector: too often there is the plunge for the dark and mysteriously orientalised with a sinister twist or antithetically for the ascetically sparse and architecturally focused on a single abstract interplay of steel and glass.
Miller Harris scents, the brainchild of Lyn Harris, an independent perfumer working on several high-class commissions for the famous and for perfume lines that do not always reveal their secrets, are neither.

Instead they began as an affair of simple compositions with no pretence, but with good quality ingredients, often expensive natural floral essences, and they progressed into producing fragrances that went beyond: Feuilles de Tabac with its smokey, comforting whiskey-tobacco dream of a pipe, the crystalline honeysuckle chased with champagne that is Fleur du Matin, the fantastically "ripe" and sexy, naughtily commissioned by Jane Birkin L'air de Rien, the wonderful orange burst inside a leather jacket that is Cuir Oranger as well as the salty earthiness of salt mines in Fleur de Sel.

This spring, Miller Harris is releasing a variation on the 4 fragrances in their ‘Classics’ collection. Cœur de Fleur, Terre de Bois, Citron Citron and Fleur Oriental have been unveiled in a new extract concentration, ‘Les Parfums’. Presented in delicate engraved bottles, they’ll bring a touch of chic to your boudoir, vanity or bathroom.

Perfume 1 oz/30ml, €215. Available at selected points of sale.

~Via Osmoz.com
Might I remind you that three out of these also come in candle form which is a good way to try out to get the feel for the line.

However not to bypass another new release: Le Petit Grain, an exclusive to their eponymous boutiques, which puts the heavenly feeling of standing beneath an orange grove in spring. To quote:

"Incorporating every element of the orange tree from the oil from the peel of the fruit, to the flowers, to the leaves and the twigs, Le Petit Grain celebrates the great tradition of the cologne family and can be worn and enjoyed by the whole family.
With Le Petit Grain, Lyn has created a careful fusion between each material. The sweet orange sets the tone and is enhanced by angelica racine, eau de brouts absolute (extraction from the leaves), bergamot from Italy and Sicilian lemon".

Eau de Parfum comes in 100ml/2.4oz and costs 110 British pounds

~Via the Miller Harris website

Pic courtesy of Miller Harris.com

L'air de Rien by Miller Harris: fragrance review

Jane Birkin piqued the imagination of thousands when she sighed heavily throughout “Je t’aime, moi non plus”, the Gainsbourg song that Brigitte Bardot had refused to sing and which the Vatican renounced as sinful. Her personality, her insouciance and her contradicting fashion sense, embracing tattered T-shirts alongside the Hermes bag which got named after her, made her an idol that contrary to most should be graced with a celebrity scent. And so it has: Lynn Harris, nose of Miller Harris, surrounded her aura with a bespoke which launched publicly to the delight of many.
Here at Perfume Shrine we were quite taken with it and decided to post our two versions of what it means to us.

Enjoy!

By Denyse Beaulieu

“I have never liked perfumes. I have always preferred to carry potpourri in my pocket. It was an interesting exercise in finding out what you don't like. All the things usually associated with heady, dark-haired women like hyacinth, tuberose and lily-of-the-valley made me vomit when they were enclosed in a bottle so this one is much more me – I wanted a little of my brother's hair, my father's pipe, floor polish, empty chest of drawers, old forgotten houses."

Jane Birkin’s quote in vogue.co.uk at the British launch of L’Air de Rien put me off trying the scent for quite a while. I love perfume, loathe potpourri, tuberose is one of my favourite notes and

never in a thousand years would I dream of smelling like Andrew Birkin’s hair – though I enjoy the films he wrote, such as The Name of the Rose and Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, his hair is not, frankly, his most appealing feature.
It took the combined pressure of Vidabo and Mimiboo, whose judgment I trust, for me to dig out my sample. Both were so taken I needed to know what, exactly, exerted such a pull – Vidabo compared it to what an avant-garde Guerlain could be.
It took several tests to “get” the elusive L’Air de Rien, which truly lives up to its name… In French, “l’air de rien” can be said of something that looks insignificant or valueless, deceptively easy (but could be the opposite). It can also be literally translated as something that “looks like nothing” – perhaps nothing we know. Something completely new, then, which, intriguingly, L’Air de Rien turned out to be.
Never has a composition behaved so capriciously in each encounter. The initial dab from the sample vial yielded nothing but a rather mild musk sweetened by neroli. Then a spray from a tester bottle was an outsize slap of oakmoss. Thinking my sample has gone off or come from a defective batch, I secured a second: musk again. Second spray, different tester bottle in a different shop: oakmoss redux.

Curiouser and curiouser … I turned to specialists to explain just why the two star notes refused to sit down and play together. I first contacted perfumer Vero Kern. She ventured that the difference in result was due to the difference in application: spraying would produce a much more ample development. She also suggested I contact Lyn Harris directly, which I did. She promptly responded:

“As the creator of this fragrance, I do find it totally mysterious and magical. It almost seems to behave like a wine in the way it changes and evolves so much with age and on different skins. It is a very simple composition based around oakmoss, amber, neroli, vanilla and musk as Jane wanted and had to know exactly what was in it and I never wanted to deceive her. She completely loves oakmoss on its own so this had to come through the top notes as it does as you spray but also as the composition doesn’t have a lot of top and heart notes (…) Oak moss is the least tenacious material with the neroli and so this is most prevalent when you spray and then drops away on the dry down.”

Mystery solved? Hardly. Mystery is truly at the heart of L’Air de Rien –how such a short, simple formula manages to create such depth of resonance. Almost as though the stripping of most head and middle notes, to delve directly into base notes, echoed the depth of intimate memories – and Jane Birkin is nothing if not a repository of memory, that of her long-time romantic partner and Pygmalion, singer-songwriter Serge Gainsbourg, whom she left in 1980 but whose songs she still performs. Indeed, in the eyes of the French public, she is still predominantly known and loved as the quirky, immensely moving English ingénue muse of the greatest French-language poet of the late 20th century…

L’Air de Rien’s heavy sexual gravity belies the sweetness of the musk-neroli marriage. The balsamic bitterness of the oakmoss sets off the dark, almost medicinal facet of the musk that can be found in Middle-Eastern perfumery – say, in the Tangiers perfumer Madini’s Black Musk or Musk Gazelle blends. It is the polar opposite of the more fashionable clean white musks of Narciso Rodriguez for Her or Sarah Jessica Parker Lovely. The ingénue has aged and weathered: she may slip feet dirty from wandering in dusty rooms or moist, rich gardens into scuffed, well-loved boots, no longer willing to seduce with a bat of her gazelle eyes, but on her own, mournful, timeless, terms. Or not at all.

By Elena Vosnaki

I will always remember Jane Birkin in French film of the 60s La Piscine starring Romy Schneider and Alain Delon: an erotic thriller of sorts, in which she ~long haired and surprisingly young~ moved her lithe limbs innocently doe-eyed. Her French pronunciation hilariously Brit ackward as she asked “Laquelle preferez-vous?” while rolling little pieces of bread with moist fingers into miniscule spheres, averting her eyes from Romy Schneider. This faux innocence has served her well in other roles too, such as the underneath conniving, outwardly gauche heroine of who-dunnit Evil under the Sun. In that one she even dons some other woman’s perfume to make her con more believable. We are talking about a character with perfumista clout, obviously. A scent starring oakmoss no less: one of the shining ingredients of L’air de Rien!

It is with the same mock innocence that L’air de Rien fools you into believing it is a simple musk fragrance. Musks of course have been a love of mine from ever since I recall first sampling one, a rite of passage. It was thus with a sense of exaltation that I put L’air de Rien on my skin. If nothing else it proved as unique and contradictory as the woman who inspired it. Like she said herself of her life:

"I don't know why people keep banging on about the '60s. I was very conventional because I came from a conventional family and I didn't go off with different people - I rather wish I had now, seeing all the fun everyone else was having"

If her perfume is meant to be worn “like a veil over one’s body”, then it is with Salome’s subversive power of being driven by a higher entity that one would do it. Only Salome wore multiple veils and here we only have a few: the notes of the fragrance progress so rapidly that one is confused as to the denouement.
There is cosiness and snuggliness aplenty. A strange feeling of humaness, as if a living and breathing human being has entered a dark, forgotten room in an old abandoned cottage in the Yorkshire countryside or the scriptorium in the The Name of the Rose; coincidentally among my most favourite novels (the film of course necessarily excised much of the esoterica of the book by Eco).
Like old parchment there is a bitter mustiness to L’air de Rien that gives a perverse, armospheric sexiness to the sweeter note of amber that clutches on to shadowy musk and oakmoss for dear life.

If you have secretly fantasized about having a roll on the floor of the dark kitchen in the murderous monastery of the above-mentioned film with a handsome young monk, then this is your scent. Literally nothing lay hidden underneath Valentina Vargas’ dirty cloak as she silently seduced Christian Slater with all the rough innocence of their respective youth and all the postcoital regret of the eternally unattainable.
Lacrimae mundi, tears of the world...


Click here for the famous nude scene from The Name of the Rose. Warning: Not office-suitable!

Pic of Jane Birkin and Charles Gainsbourg sent to me by mail unaccredited. Pic of Andrew Birkin from The Telegraph 2003. Artwork by Polish illustrator Zdzisław Beksiński courtesy of BekinskiOvh.org

Sally sells sea "sel" at the sea shore

It's not unusual that my mind reels into well known quotes/parables/phrases that get twisted to serve my purposes. I'm weird like that I guess and words have always being a playground. However the assonance of "s" in the above paradigm is testament to the powers of suggestion as it combines two languages, english and french, both foreign to me. "Sel" means of course "salt" in english and it rhymes quite nice with the original "shell" of the english exercise phrase.
So what does salt have to do with a perfume article, you might ask. As promised, this is part of a new trend in perfumery that is making waves as we speak (it seems that I am very bent on wordplay and puns today).

For the past year there have been many new releases that capitalize on a new aspect, an aroma that would be better appreciated with our taste buds rather than our olfactory skills. I am talking about the salty aspect that several new perfumes have veered into. Taste really encompasses very few variations: there is sweet (primeval like breast milk and thus a little juvenile), sour (for those who prefer a little animation to their palate), salty (a memory of the ocean and minerals, a grounding experience and a health concern for most), bitter (a taste for the adventurous and oh, how appreciated it is in combination with other tastes!) and finally umami (rich, fatty, meaty, the effect of many foods that transpire as full).
And that's it! All tastes are basically a combination of those basic categories. The rest is flavour ~the mystical tryst of taste and olfaction that gives us real pleasure in savouring petit fours and enjoying tiramisu. And of course other factors such as the food's smell, detected by the olfactory epithelium of the nose, its texture, detected by mechanoreceptors, and its temperature, detected by thermoreceptors, come into play.
So it comes as no surprise that experiments conducted with willing volunteers eating potatoes and apples with their nose closed revealed a complete confusion as to what they were consuming, resulting in hysterical results.

So how can a taste experience such as salty be translated into the olfactory realm of perfume? This is where art and innovation come to the fore. And it is very appropriate that we discuss this now that summer is well upon us.

It all began by Eau des Merveilles (=water of wonders), an Hermès fragrance developed a few years past that took the last available batches of real ambergris (suppossedly; there is no way to confirm that) and made them into a limpid, salty, woody alloy fit for women who were not into florals or citrus for summer, yet who wanted a light and refreshing scent nonetheless. A unisex triumph had just erupted.

And then came The Different Company with its Sel de Vetiver in spring 2006: the olfactory rendition of dirty vetiver roots into a glass of marine water. Many proclaimed that it smells like an unwashed sailor, and for that reason it made an impression. Composed by Celine Ellena, Jean Claude's daughter following the illustrious dad's footsteps, it encompasses notes of grapefruit, cardamom, Bourbon geranium, lovage, Haitian vetiver, patchouli, iris and ylang ylang.
Apparently the inspiration was the "scent of salt drying on the skin after bathing in the sea", which is an image I can very well associate with.

Then came in summer 2006 (for Europe at least) the completely mesmerising and delectable L de Lolita Lempicka(for a full review click here). A fragrance that combined the salty aspect of a mermaid with the opulence of vanilla, tonka and musks for an effect that is like skin baked under the sun on a hot secluded beach on a mediterranean isle.
By then the ground was ripe for more launches that viewed the salty note as an intergral part of their formula.

This past winter saw the launch of one of the best salty-sweet compositions for those who appreciate a few M&Ms scattered into their pop-corn like Sarah Jessica Parker apparently does or for those who like to combine fresh watermelon with greek feta cheese for dessert, like it's customary here. I am talking about Elixir des Merveilles, a take on the original that takes the salty element and incorporates it into an orientalised composition that could be worn in any season. It includes notes of orange Peel, , caramel, biscuit accord (vanilla, tonka bean, milk), sandalwood, incense, resins: Peru balsam and balsam of Siam, oak, patchouli, cedar and ambergris, echoing the original Eau des Merveilles.
For a full review, click here.

Terre d'Hermès , the latest men's fragrance by the luxury house, could also be classified under the salty, although it's more mineral than sea-like and has an earthy quality to it that denotes the light touch of the masterful hand of Jean Claude Ellena, a self-proclaimed lover of the salty and bitter.

And soon everyone seemed to be doing salty fragrances: Jo Malone announced the launch of Blue agave and Cacao (news reported here) with notes of cardamom, agave cactus, sea salt and chocolate. Miller Harris came up this May with the new Fleurs de Sel, part of her New Edition collection, inspired by the childhood home of its creator Lyn Harris in Batz sur Mer, which is a village in Brittany located between beaches and salt marshes. Based on the salty facets of vetiver, with mossy and leathery chypre accords it features notes of red thyme oil, rosemary, clary sage, iris nobilis, narcissus, rose, ambrette seed, woods, vetiver, moss, and leather.
And of course Bond no.9 wouldn't be left out of the game, giving us on June 1st their newest and very refreshing scent Coney Island, the equivalent of a salt-rimmed glass of frozen margarita for when languorously lounging by the pool with notes of margarita mix (tequila included), melon, guava, cinnamon, chocolate, caramel, musk, vanilla, cedar and sandalwood. For a full review click here.

All in all, this is a promising market and a new trend that is set to get us out of the well-established sweet tooth of the fruity florals and into the more aspiring compositions of slightly weird yet savoury compositions that call upon our summery disposition and our memory of the ocean from which we came. I don't call this a bad sign. Do you?



Top pic is of Faneromeni Beach at Lesvos, Greece, courtesy of Lesvos.gr
Bottom pic is painting Waves by Katsushika Hokusai (1831) courtesy of allposters.com

Jasmine series: part 5 ~fresh jasmine suggestions

After a hopefully in depth exploration of richer and heavier jasmine fragrances, it's time to concentrate on some that are airier and more transparent, fit for those days when fragrancing oneself should seem like a breeze and not a serious seduction mission. They also lend themselves well to hot climates and soaring temperatures, if you happen to live in those conditions take note. Very often hedione or cis-jasmone (which has an almost anise or liquorice smell by itself) is used to render the illusion of smelling a live jasmine vine.

In this exploration Blush by Marc Jacobs is the first to come in mind, like a gauze of light salmon/peach , reflecting the skin like tones of the opalescent bottle and evoking a similar mood. The reality of the flower is synthesized in a lab, but the result is akin to smelling the vine from a distance on a warm evening with a citrusy top note like that from a nearby citrus tree. It has a dewiness (frankly much better than that in Jacob's eponymous scent centered on gardenia) and a translucence that usually lends itself to an instant likeability by lots of people and it can be worn on many occassions effortlessly. Of course the development is not the mercurial beast one would hope for, rather it progresses linearly, as we say in perfume-speak; meaning it does not change much on its stay on the skin ending on the predictable white musks of most commercial perfumery offerings. In the Intense version the flower elements have been amplified and the sillage/trail left behind is more intense, however I find that some of the loveliness of the original is lost, like watercolours of a painting of a flower bouquet that is copied in pastels; somehow the airiness is forever gone.

Another fresh soliflore jasmine is Annick Goutal Le Jasmin. The Goutal line of scents has a rich lineage in fragrances that smell fresh, true, crystalline and transparent in the best possible sense. They project a youthful approach even when they are more mature smelling and they are based on good ingredients that are steeped in the natural cornucopia of aromas. In that vein, the brand under the proficient baguette of Isabelle Doyen has produced a range of limited edition soliflores, based on the most precious and loveliest blossoms imaginable: Des Lys (lilies), La Violette, Le Cheuvrefeuille (honeysuckle), Le Jasmin, Le Muguet(lily of the valley) and the latest - this year's Néroli. They all merit their own space and we will return to them on subsequent series, however Le Jasmin is highlighted today because of its green tonality and sheer prettiness that makes for a very worthy acquisition in the pantheon of soliflore jasmines. The addition of waxy magnolia petals is an inspired choice along with a slightly spicy note that official info tells us it's ginger. I do not have an affinity for strong ginger notes in perfumes, so this is rather subdued to my nose, because I do like the effect quite a bit. The main drawback is that it being an eau de toilette and a light fragrance by nature, it somehow falls a little flat pretty soon and the lasting power is not the greatest. Since it is so lovable however I could imagine it being refreshed all day long with no problems.

Another crowd pleaser seems to be Pink Jasmine by Fresh. Well, Fresh their brand name is and "fresh" aromas is what they usually produce. To be totally honest I haven't been too impressed with their line in the past, apart from the very likable apothecary bottles with the cute "handwritten" style labels and the long necks with the matte silver sprayer. From their lineup I had liked the watery ambiance of Cucumber Baie (an unlikely combination that nevertheless managed to smell nice), Violet Moss with its earthy dusty smell and their Patchouli Pure which was cuddly and deep. Their Sugar versions (Sugar, Lemon Sugar, Sugar Blossom, Lychee Sugar) were too sweet and lamentably artificial to my nose; so my exploration of the line pretty much ended with last year's rather unique Memoirs of a Geisha which was nice but not enough attention-grabbing for me.
Pink Jasmine is quite new and it takes a soft approach that is not too sweet managing to inject a clean and shower fresh element with peony and magnolia bowls of petals; despite the initial impression upon first spray ~which might fool you into a false sense of an intense citrusy sharp floral. It lasts well with an aqueous impression similar to En Passant, but perhaps it is a little pricey for what you ultimately get.

For Sylvia Chantecaille, there are two roads she could go by and she chose the less travelled by...or perhaps not. Actually she chose both in a way. The heavier, more tropical one with her Frangipane and the lighter, airier with Le Jasmin by Chantecaille. Since today we're concentrating on the more crystal-like florals centered on jasmine, it seems a propos to discuss the latter's merits and shortcomings.
To its advantage it has a refreshing lightness and greenery freshness aplenty which can never be blamed for producing a headache; the inclusion of other floral notes, notably a little bit of tuberose are subdued enough to not project over the jasmine solo. However there is a touch of lily-like artificiality (which regrettably seems inherent in the lighter end of the jasmine spectrum, due to the very nature of the production methods) and the lasting power as it exits on a slight oakmoss and amber note is not tremendously satisfying either, which is a pity for the price.

In the noble stable of Bulgari only thoroughbreds are kept, so it made an impression on me that one of the versions of their venerable Bulgari pour femme, namely Voile de Jasmin fell short of my expectations that had been raised by their other version Rose Essentielle ; which has been excellent. Alas, Voile de Jasmin does not make any ripples in the pond of jasmine scents and it doesn't particularly smell of jasmine petals either. It just makes the initial composition of Pour Femme a little more soapy clean and lighter which is not really what I call progress. Stick to their Rose essentielle version if you really want your Bulgari fragrance floral.

Miller Harris came out with Jasmine Vert for her private exclusive line in her London boutique and I have to say that her translucent compositions usually use good ingredients that smell true. This is no exception and although there has to be some chemical tampering with the notes, the result is not at all artificial. The freshness is real, tangible and quite alluring like in her Fleur du Matin fragrance which marries honeysuckle to champagne-like citrusy notes for a refreshing day fragrance similar to the feeling of Cristalle. In the fragrance at hand, Jasmin Vert , if we are to continue the Chanel parable, it is greener in the vein of Chanel no.19 or Gardenia (constructed around jasmine despite the name), albeit very short on the complexity and depth, especially compared to those of the former.
However for a warm summer day when you want to let your hair down and just revel in the brightness of it all it is appropriately fitting.

L'artisan Parfumeur is famous for the limpid, light, diaphanous composition of their scents and alongside their heavier, intense La Haie Fleuri they have also produced the lovelingly ethereal Thé pour un été (=tea for summer). As its name suggests it's based on jasmine tea more than jasmine petals themselves the way florals are and along with lemony overtones it forms a decaffeinated sipping brew that can be likened to Bulgari's Eau Parfumée or a fresh Eau Sauvage that can also be worn by both sexes. Light, fleeting and not so ephemeral any more -as the brand decided to include it in their mainstay line after a stint as a limited summer edition following its success at the counter- it is meant to be used with abandon, chilled in the fridge for the hot days of summer ahead. Indulge!

OTHER HONOURABLE MENTIONS:
Due to lack of space or inability to categorise them in a specific pigeon-hole the following scents are simply mentioned as noteworthy along a jasminophile's expedition in the pursuit of jasmine-rich fragrances.
Those include the clear cut Jasmal by Creed, the simultaneously fresh and animalic paradox Night blooming Jasmine by Floris, the misnomer that is Chanel Gardenia, the happiness of youth that is represented in the tuberosy La chasse aux papillons(=chassing butterflies) by L'artisan (in the Eau de toilette concentration), the worthy limited edition of Givenchy Millesime Harvest Jasmine of India 2005 and the new exclusive by Armani éclat de Jasmin.
Perhaps a subsequent visit to all of those is in order, of which you will be notified in due course. For the time being our jasmine pilgrimage ends here. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.



Artwork:
Top "Girl" by greek painter Nicolaos Gyzis courtesy of Wikipedia and bottom "Reflecting" by Steve Hanks courtesy of allposters.com

Glorious stink

The ebb and flow of human taste and its modus operandi is an undecipherable commodity. What is considered appealing and desirable and what is not doesn’t obey any quantitative measure. Which of course accounts for trends, market research and lost fortunes in wrong assumptions side by side with the successful lucky guesses.
The same applies to smell and fragrance. More pointedly so when the aromas emanating from someone are of a more intimate nature.

Ever since the dawn of humanity homo sapiens has shared the biological fate of his ancestors in the olfactory field. His sense of smell has primarily directed him to opt for the healthy game and fresh produce and avoid the stale and rotten. It is also possible that it has directed him via odorata sexualis to suitable mates through which procreation might be consummated with the imperceptible help of pheromones, aroma materials that are emanated by individuals to attract. For millennia man has been content to do just that.

And then civilization came into the picture. In the great civilizations of antiquity such as Egypt, Greece and Rome, the desire to distance oneself from the animal nature and embrace the humane, as manifested in science, philosophy and the arts, has made man take measures as to maintain a level of cleanliness that is beyond the mere necessity of survival. All those civilizations have been very hygienic indeed, if we take into mind that there was no running hot water and no bubble baths in a million permutations.
Yet Herodotus talks about how the ancient Egyptians of his time bathed regularly shaving their body hair and even their scalps as to not let perspiration nestle in intimate parts of the body and fester bacteria (OK, he did not use the word bacteria precisely). How they had inward lavatories for their needs and how they took pains to maintain hygiene there. How they used sweet scented oils and incense to accompany the dead to their last dwelling place on earth.
The Greeks were by no means less clean. They too -living in a warm climate- had been taking regular baths using silver and golden basins followed by massage with aromatic oils of thyme and basil at every possible occasion, cleaning their clothes in the rivers with ash and aromatic herbs as described in the Odyssey and equating hygiene with sanity and longevity. Numerous are the mythological tales of gods and goddesses taking baths while mortals gazed hidden. It was Galenos who invented the first bar of soap mixing crushed flower petals, olive oil and ash from burnt logwood.
Ancient Rome was the apex of public baths, in which people of all ages intermingled and talked about state matters in elaborate buildings divided in unctuarium (where they chose the unguents with which they would groom themselves), the frigidarium (cold bath) and the caldarium (hot bath) and then on to the labrum for the final cold shower.
Even lavender that clean smelling herb is named after the roman word for bathing, because of its ubiquitous use.
The tradition of the bath as a civilization index is no more apparent that in Tacitus’ opus Germania where he mentions with some disdain that Germanians, considered barbarians at the time, bathed in rivers. At least they did bathe! Which is more than can be said for the squalor and filth in which Medieval Europe lived for centuries after the fall of Rome.

While Islam reveled in the luxuries of bathing (aided by the religious prerequisite to clean one’s head, hands and feet before every prayer, a phenomenon that occurs with frequent regularity throughout the day), western Europe inaugurated a practice of not washing up one’s body at all, for which the church can be found to be a great culprit.
Maintaining that mixed baths (as were previously tentatively explored) were corrupting the soul and that tending to one’s genitals might lead to impure thoughts, they condoned the absence of bath as a means of chastity while at the same time they traditionally equated holiness with the sweet smell of myrrh and incense. How those two could co-exist is beyond me, but this is not the only paradox one comes up against if one explores the matter further.

It was as late as 1750 according to Alain Corbin and his book “Le Miasme and la Jonquile”, which explores the adventure of sanitation and the desodorisation of society, that the élite chose to distance itself from the foul stench of the gutters and disease that were abundant in the crowded -by then- cities of France. A taste for the aroma of deer musk or of catty civet and of pure country air mingled in what was to become the height of French perfumery. The impression of cleanliness underscored by the reminder that we are all human, full of smells that could be perceived as disgusting in their pure state.
However perfumes seemed to be necessary still to repel the germs and bacteria through their cleansing properties as the tradition of filth continued, albeit a bit subdued: at least the clothes were as freshly clean as possible.
Louis XIV was said to have only bathed two times in his whole long life despite asking his guests and courtesans to wear a different perfume every day and the mere thought disgusts us today, earning a reputation of filth for Frenchmen which sadly has not been totally shifted if I judge by the miniscule pieces of sanitary paper that come out - one at a time!!- through the automatic devices at French toilets today.
On the other hand there was also an allure of the animalic and forbidden in similar practices when Napoleon infamously wrote to Josephine: “Je reviens en trois jours; ne te laves pas!” (I return in three days; don’t wash yourself).
The pair of them began a vogue for heavier smells as Josephine was madly in love with the smell of musk, to the point that her boudoir at Malmaison still has an aura of the aromatic essence present. Napoleon on the other hand preferred her in violets.

The Victorian age reveled in pure and simple smells as a contrast to the more decadent Empire style, using single floral waters (soliflores) for men and women alike. But it was the Puritans more than anyone else that began the hysteria for cleanliness with their desire to eliminate all traces of animalic tendencies from man. Sadly this is an insurmountable task, as the human body has to produce bile and bacteria to break down food which accounts for a smell that cannot be completely eradicated however hard one tries.
Indoor plumbing and hot water at the click of a button made taking baths an easy and swift procedure that is as an automatic reflex for today’s men and women as brushing one’s teeth. Technological progressions made the manufacture of industrial strength deodorants to put under one’s armpits as a necessity of every day life that is a god sent if you’re ever stuck up in a crowded underground wagon on a hot day of August. Perfumed products in an array of mind arresting variety are manufactured to lure as in and buy more, more, more…

And yet in all that progress we seem to have lost what has once been ours in ancient years: the conjugation of mind and body, the clean with the human.
The examples of complete perfume bans in offices in latter days, the denial of the sensual and natural in favour of the sanitized and deodorized has permeated every single aspect of today’s life. Everything around us is artificially scented with a chemical aroma that defies every law of nature. We scrub fanatically to remove any trace of human smell from our bodies and then we apply perfumed products that would supposedly give us back what nature intended to give us in order to attract a mate. We seek to find “clean” but at the same time “sexy” smells. Above all we do not want to offend. Being accused of smelling of body odour is the height of mortification for anyone beyond infancy. (since kids do not really “smell”; there have to be sexual hormones at play to do that…)
In an overcrowded planet that has no room for any more bodies, this was to be expected.
And this is what accounts for the recent resurgence of perfumes that aim to regress in the stink and funk of our human condition: from the goat-y magnificence of Muscs Kublai Khan by enfant gaté Serge Lutens to the dirty smell of Kiehl’s Musk eau de toilette and from the soft caress of a slightly sweaty body that has been active in human activities of L’air de rien by Miller Harris (with the collaboration of Jane Birkin) to the gimmicky Sécretions magnifiques by état libre d’Orange which recalls semen and blood (sounds the recipe for some tabloid article)…

It is clear that one yearns for what one is denied of. And the reason why isn’t very hard to see.


Artwork by Patric Boivine for CGnetworks.com