Jo Malone Honeysuckle & Davana: fragrance review

Jo Malone's latest fragrance launch Honeysuckle & Davana is advertised as a happy smell and it most definitely is a happy smell. One that feels like fortunate news spreading through the peals of countryside church bells into the distance; smiles in a nursery when the little one first stretches his/her facial muscles into that endearing way that has caretakers have their heart aflutter; or of long lost friends meeting at a long awaited rendez-vous. The brand's choice to illustrate the fragrance with the girl with the canary is spot on, even if canaries do not dot the English countryside by any stretch of the imagination.

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Honeysuckle & Davana is quite fresh and honeyed at the same time, and at that intriguing intersection between warm and cool which I find very alluring. There is an oscillating ribbon of white florals right in the middle of the scent, further cementing that freshness which blooms when the scent is sprayed liberally. This is a fragrance that reveals facets when used in excess, much like their previous Mimosa & Cardamom needs the bigger spray rather than the applying with a small wand on skin testing technique to fully reveal its pretty message. Compared with that other honeysuckle fragrance in the Jo Malone catalogue, Honeysuckle & Jasmine (1999), which used to be quite charming in its naturalistic impression of a fragrant garden at dusk somewhere south, the newer edition is more upbeat, with interesting facets that differentiate it from the white florals that are so screechingly taking over perfume counters as the "immediate femininity" index when the whole isn't hoarding under tons of syrupy sweetness...

In the drydown of Honeysuckle & Davana, we come up with a mix of an earthy note that might be attributed to Evernyl, but which is also mixed with clean, starched white musks (and which provides the very tenacious part, however those who are anosmic to some musks might find this undetectable, so try before you buy).

Niki de Saint Phalle: fragrance review and musings on memory

My experience with Niki de Saint Phalle goes back many years ago. I was aware of Niki being a force to be reckoned with artistically of course even before meeting her scent; her impressive snake-shaped creations in hues of vivid emerald and lapis blue were like a prelapsarian vision of Heaven. I will never forget the time when I saw a real size serpent of hers in the library of one of the university facilities in Cordoba, Spain. I doubt the serpent sculpture is still there, yet the impression has stuck with a mental recall vividness which is truly arresting.

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Niki de Saint Phalle's eponymous scent, Niki de Saint Phalle eau de toilette, is much the same arresting affair both in looks (the cobalt blue oval with the intertwining snakes) and in smell.

It feels like one steps into an immense pine forest in a day of frost, when the needles hang with snow on them. The snow feels like dry powder and soap, very starched and proper, like some aldehydic fragrances of the 1970s, but with that green bitter touch of wormwood-mossy quality and a dose of carnation, which makes it more mysterious than just a bon chic bon genre aldehydic floral.

In what concerns hardcore chypres Niki de Saint Phalle is an odd man (woman) out. It's artsy yet not too hard to wear, with a playful twist that recalls violet candy, less herbal or animalic than most chypres, a hint of leather, some temptation, some tongue-in-cheek. It's a bit like stepping into a university library only to be greeted by a giant snake sculpture that looms above your head in insatiable hunger.

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: 
The Chypre Series: history, culture and aesthetics
Chypre Fragrances Explained for Newbies

L'Artisan Parfumeur Eau de l'Artisan: fragrance review

Twenty three years after its introduction to the line of L'Artisan Parfumeur, Olivia Giacobetti's take on the pleasures of a Mediterranean herb garden L'Eau de l'Artisan is still relevant in what concerns a fragrance that replicates its dewy herbaceousness. (I hear Jo Malone launches a whole line devoted to such things as parsley or fennel and carrot blossoms).

via pinterest

The "jardin potager" as it's called in French is usually a patch that features culinary verdant herbs meant to be picked and plucked spontaneously to season a salad here and a pot roast there alongside blossoming plants and vegetables in an aesthetically pleasing way. And personally? I prefer it even to the glories of the roses's beds and the petunias's designs blooming in feisty colors down the path...

L'Eau de l'Artisan beautifully replicates the bunch of them with basil and marjoram being the delectable and quite prominent aromatic heroes. They both give piquancy and a certain earthy bite which is not miles apart from what they offer to a dish.The tension is built between the lemony verbena and the mossy backgrounds which - not unlike the seminal Eau de Campagne by Sisley - translate as a very fresh and very subtle chypre.

I also seem to discern thyme: another popular Med choice, the scorched stems of which dot the hills in summer; the herb often garlands a roasted leg of lamb. Credit to L'Artisan for creating a fragrance that is not meant for mutton dressed as lamb then, as so many mainstream fragrances are, but goes for a little joyful introspection into the memories of our summers spent in the countryside.

Boss Nuit pour Femme: fragrance review

I sometimes ask myself what does it say about a particular fragrance if I'm not even temped to seek out a sample of it, but eventually get to try it because one ends up on my lap anyway. Usually it's time-honed experience suggesting the jus looks unexciting; and most of the time it ends up getting me bored to the point of having my eyes glaze. The Boss range of fragrances (with the possible exception of Deep Red) continues to induce yawns from me despite my appreciation of the razor-cut "sharp" pants, the impeccable trim-fit men's suits in endless variations of grey, the double strap monk shoes or  the office-and-cocktails appropriate suiting dresses of the fashion brand. Boss Nuit pour Femme is no different, an innocuous peachy floral (with a hint of fruitchouli) and the standard ersatz blanched (rather than "white") florals in the heart to give an impression of "clean" elegance, in the spitting image of its ambassadress, Gwyneth Paltrow and her "clean obsessive compulsive living".

The blonde celebrity has been said to prefer it among her rather large perfume collection (of whom we became savvy through her interviews), but doesn't the point get diluted by her being sponsored to promote it? Besides, unless you're a lady who lunches, is Gwynnie the yardstick against which you measure the va-va-voom allure and intelligence your chosen perfume should radiate? I didn't think so.
Boss championed the concept of "the little black dress" for the release (surely an American stereotype of "dressy & elegant" by now) reminiscing me of Avon's Little Black Dress fragrance release (which is perhaps superior in comparison), but the ambassadress is better envisioned in crisp whites, the way Estee Lauder had brilliantly cast her aboard a sailing boat for their fabulous Pure white Linen perfume.

Boss Nuit pour Femme has mediocre sillage and rather poor lasting power and these two characteristics can be the kiss of oblivion when applied to a "safe" composition, rendering the whole as exciting as watching paint dry or having the telephone catalogue read to you to sleep. Clearly these are formulae not in risk of athazagoraphobia, i.e. the fear of getting forgotten.
The jasmine note doesn't come through in Boss Nuit pour Femme, leaving the task to the lactone of the peach and the moss (Evernyl?)/synth wood components to carry the torch. The "aldehydes" mentioned in the official notes are played down to only hint at scrubbed soapy lather rather than the intensity of brightness of classic aldehydics fragrances like Chanel's No.5 or Lanvin's Arpege. Although advertised as an evening fragrance, as suggested by the name as well, this is the perfect wallpaper scent for casual mornings/afternoons. Boss Nuit pour Femme is not totally bad in itself, just utterly blah; a drop of water on the window pane on a day of heavy rain. But judging by the continuous presence of Bright Crystal (Versace), Chanel Chance Eau Tendre, Gucci Premiere et al on the market, this "peachy shampoo genre" is here to stay…

Although I didn't have high expectations from Boss (the let down of Guerlain's thin and wan Limon Verde from last summer's Aqua Allegoria launch is colossal compared to this), it's disheartening to see that playing outside one's safe zone is strictly verboten in mainstream.

Guerlain Encens Mythique d'Orient: fragrance review

The main criticism upon announcing the news on the Arabian inspired triptych by Guerlain, affectionately termed "Les Deserts d'Orient", has been that should this exclusive-laced foray into Middle Eastern market tastes prove successful, it would herald a stop to French companies offering "French-smelling" perfumes. Having the privilege of savoring the new fragrances at leisure, thanks to the generosity of my Middle East readers, I'm in the happy position to let you know this is not the case and wouldn't be, if Guerlain continues in the direction they've taken with Encens Mythique d'Orient especially. The perfume is redolent of the splendor and richness of the east, yes, but it firmly holds on the patrimonies of the west as well, translating as a very decadent, European-geared animalic oriental with mossy proclivities.

 

 It comes as a sort of an exquisite shock to see that whereas Guerlain new head perfumer Thierry Wasser had been taxed with selling Guerlain short in the first couple of releases under his name -which were baptism by fire for him- he has proven now that he's capable of both refinement and modernization without eschewing tradition (as in the solar floral Lys Soleia) as well as in offering the baroque treatment with the taste for exquisite balance and quality for which Guerlain perfumes had become famous the world over. Much like Shalimar, Mitsouko or Vol de Nuit before it, Encens Mythique d'Orient is inspired by exoticism but it retains at heart a core of tradition which distinguishes it from upstarts to the throne (Montale etc.) Wasser has found a balance between what the Arabs will find somewhat familiar, yet tinged with the desirable Franco-laced "western cachet" and what the Westerners, flocking to the flagship boutique on Champs Elysees for precious juice, will find inspired by the 1001 Nights.

 Even though Encens Mythique d'Orient is allegedly inspired by frankincense, there is little of the ecclesiastical citrus-laced, terpenic smoke we have come to associate with high mass or niche fragrances aimed at aficionados of this pious, somber ambience. Rather ambergris is the real protagonist, in what smells like a real tincture of the rare greyish matter, with all its nutty, buttery, smoky and salty intimate nuances intact, blooming on the skin like a hundred kisses from the soft lips of a handsome sheik. The mood is animalic, sexy, decadent and very "there" without becoming skanky or vulgar, though I expect hyper-sensitive to intimate acts of pleasure individuals upon smelling it will be clutching their pudenda self-consciously pronto.

 Guerlain gives what incense is there the Guerlain treatment (with a nod to Lutens as well) and weaves richness and depth in their typical patisserie way, full of billows of raw materials which fuse East and West into an amalgam, a tapestry with a million themes. The opening of Encens Mythique is reminiscent of retro shaving foam, part retro fern-like and mossy, part musky sweet, with a very decadent, rich feel to it that stems from an oriental Damask rose. The rosiness is allied to saffron, a classical combination that exalts the bittersweet facets of the spice into a warm embrace. But it is the coalescence of ambergris and muskiness which "makes" the perfume a true Guerlain and at the same time a reverie into the Middle East.

 The sillage and lasting power are great; you certainly get your buck's worth in investing in this fragrance. I'm smitten!

 

The Guerlain perfume bottles of Les Deserts d'Orient are adorned with Arab-cript calligraphy down one side, the French names down the other side. They are the tall, architectural style of the collection L'Art et la Matière with the antique gold overlay on the sides holding 75ml of perfume. The concentration of the fragrances is Eau de Parfum for tenacity. Prices are set for 190euros/AED990 per bottle. The perfume was aimed to be available exclusively in the UAE and the Guerlain flagship store. Also via the connections of Wim in Parfumerie Place Vendome in Brussels, and in the UK in Harrods for 160GBP.

 Painting by Norman Lindsay, Languor or the Pink Drape (1934)

K de Krizia: fragrance review

K de Krizia by Italian designer Krizia is a fragrance like they don't build them anymore: a very classy aldehydic floral fragrance with chypre-green tonalities, composed by revered perfumer Maurice Roucel. Launched in 1980, it has suffered the memory loss that plagues all less-known fragrances: It's largely unsung and few hard-core fans search high and low for it now that it's difficult to come across.

Despite its timeless, graceful and rather sensual arc, I cannot stress enough that in order to savour the complexities and powerful elegance that K de Krizia can offer you, you must like aldehydes in general and, on top of that, old-school compositions featuring them in particular. An unashamed cool customer, it wouldn't feel out of place with a well-cut suit and leather cinched waist. The Louise Brooks bob is optional.

K de Krizia opens with the brisk and razor sharp intensity of those white-light molecules called aldehydes. Mention aldehydes and everyone in a Pavlovian-like motif thinks of Chanel No.5. Certainly the feeling of aldehydic florals has been inextricably tied to memories and whiffs of No.5 for most people. But whereas the style is similar, the treatment is different enough: The peachiness and rosiness of K de Krizia, alongside the greener elements, differs considerably from the jasmine-richness and intense muskiness of Chanel No.5, the former being rather closer to Van Cleef & Arpels First or Balmain's Ivoire or even the chypre greeness aspect of Paloma Picasso than the iconic monstre.
If the opening of K de Krizia is primarily aldehydic, the florals emerge a little later to complicate things with honeyed pollen: rose, carnation, lily of the valley, and not so sweet jasmine (hedione) in an abstract harmony where no note predominates, gaining in deep mossiness as the fragrance dries down. The final stages are almost spicy from the leather, styrax and vetiver notes, and delectably powdery-soapy like only a woman who has used face powder with a fluffy retro pom-pom knows.

Between the different concentrations, the Eau de Parfum is more mellow and floral, while the Eau de Toilette exhibits drier facets and would be perfect on a man as well.
Sadly, K de Krizia has been reformulated for the worse: its rich oakmoss inclusion along with the flowers being rampant necessitated a close shave that cost it its richness, inherent femininity and natural feel of its floral essences.

Notes for K de Krizia:
Top: aldehydes, bergamot, peach, hyacinth, neroli
Middle: carnation, orange blossom, orchid, orris root, jasmine, lily-of-the-valley, rose and narcissus
Base: leather, sandalwood, amber, musk, civet, oakmoss, vanilla, vetiver and styrax.

Krizia pic via facebook

Krizia Teatro alla Scala: fragrance review

Revisiting a spicy oriental amidst the heat and turpor of the big metropolis when it's 38C outside is not exactly conductive to proper thinking. All that density might go to one's head and have bystanders get murderous thoughts! And yet, Teatro alla Scala, a forgotten masterpiece by Krizia, doesn't produce any of those effects. All right, it's not citrusy, it's not a clean musk, it's not even a tropical floral. It's an effing spicy oriental! But you know what, sometimes that's what the doctor ordered. The spice is so jolting that it manages to create the impression of cleaness, if you can believe it!

A similar effect was first explored in Caron's Poivre and Yves Saint Laurent's now changed Opium. Some spices in collaboration with aldehydes create a hot-cold effect (non mentholated, it's a different vibe), reminiscent of the feel you get after the passage of a hot iron over clean cotton or linen. The scent also brings to mind the vibrancy of Coco by Chanel (the original oriental from the mid-1980s, specifically the vintage Eau de Parfum) minus the leathery facets. It stands to reason, Teatro came out in 1986, two years after Coco. Another kinship could be argued to be with the original Fendi, but I personally always found that one to be denser and more masculine and definitely only suitable for the coldest nights of winter. I don't know who the perfumer is and couldn't find it in my guides, but it feels like a Jacques Polge extension of his Coco mods. The Krizia outfit is rather underappreciated in perfume circles, although they produce fabulous things (even sparkling and dry wines!), another fragrance worth noting the cool, mossy and all around lovely K by Krizia, more of which on a later day.

Suffice to say Teatro alla Scala is discontinued (Murphy's Law, all the good ones eventually seem to head that way; or else they're mutilated through multiple Joan-Rivers-worth facelifts...). I sourced mine through a swap. The ratio of phenylpropanoid eugenol (a gigantic clove-peppery note) is just the sort of thing that would have the current IFRA-police erupt in hives and have it ostracized to outer space. Then again fate and time saw to that before they did. In a way, I'm thankful: It means each Art Deco style bottle surfacing would be the good stuff; it saves us the trouble of going through endless deliberations on bottle styles changes, packaging design and searching all surfaces of bottle and box for tiny printed or etched codes denoting different batches. Even at the heights of its popularity it wasn't distributed in France, which makes me think there are some great things in perfumery that even the French fail to appreciate. Even if it evokes the paradisal nights spent at the famous Milanese theater. Does anyone still wear it and appreciate this scent? I'd be interested to find out.

The opening of Teatro alla Scala cuts through a wall of bricks with its symphonic spicy note of clove and pepper while the flowers emerge slowly, with assuredness and without any distraction from the majestic track troden. Many orientals cede into plush amber notes that engulf you in tentacles of sweetness and powderiness, which comforting though it might be on ocassion, sometimes reminds of big bosom-heavy aunts hugging too enthusiastically which unfortunately can put the "sexy" out of the window once the thought crosses your mind. This one is certainly not gaunty, the way some cerebral chypres or medicinal orientals can be ~more brains than heart~ but instead has a fine, sculpted feminine figure, the incense and moss at the base restraining the honeyed, sweeter notes, the naughty, "dirty" civet bringing out the carnation at the heart underscored by a soupçon of cool rose. Yet it never vulgarises itself through too much cleavage or low tricks, it's always classy. Almost begs for an encore after the performance.
Its perfect, sultry proportions slink through simple, bold evening dresses for a big night out. Yes, even if it's a hot night, as long as you know how to use only one spray over your navel...

Notes for Krizia Teatro alla Scala:
Top: aldehydes, coriander, fruity notes and bergamot
Heart: carnation, tuberose, orris root, jasmine, beeswax, ylang-ylang, rose and geranium.
Base: patchouli, musk, benzoin, civet, oakmoss, vetiver and incense.

Photograph of Anna Magnani via iiclegrado.esteri.it

A.Tauer Carillon pour un Ange: fragrance review

The newest fragrance by Andy Tauer, Carillon pour un Ange, takes its inspiration from a material that is often described as angelic, lily of the valley. Hence the working name during the creation process was Gabriel. Actually, truth be told, lily of the valley (or muguet as the French call it) is not exactly chastity material as a recent study revealed. Still, the piercingly sweet, very clear and green aroma creates the impression of puerile innocence, of tender cheeks and pouty small mouths.
A carillon on the other hand is a musical instrument composed of at least 23 cup-shaped bells played from a baton keyboard using fists and feet, its sound chiming with piercing clarity, much like the aroma of lily of the valley pierces the air with its declaration of spring's final assertion. So carillon pour un ange, a carillon for an angel... The seraphic allusion is certainly not lost, the fragrance is quite lovely.

The greeness in Carillon pour un Ange is delightfully tinted with the darker, oilier hint of hyacinth as was the case in a former Tauer scent, Hyacinth and a Mechanic. Even though the latter was an experimental batch, serving an SOS purpose on its bottle-message across the world (more details here), it featured at least two of the elements which infiltrated themselves in Carillon: the green hyacinth and the leathery note. In Carillon the leather is very subdued. Instead one almost loses the lily of the valley field for the hesperides grove at some point. Tauer has fetish materials which he uses over and over to great effect: I seem to feel his mandarin peel materialise again and again; it's such a great lifting note that it makes for immediately inviting openings, often coupled with rose as in Une Rose Chyprée, or Incense Rosé. (click for reviews of both)

The challenge with lily of the valley is twofold: One the one hand, it's so easy to lapse into the "salle de bains" hygienic note or the Aisle of Glade (as March puts it), due to its ubiquitness in functional products via several synthetic replications (natural extraction is not cost-effective or yielding enough). Andy Tauer is using a combination of IFF's Lyral and Lilial for his own creation, bypassing the problem of sharpness by the injection of a sweet note reminiscent of violets and lilacs (pink jasmine might be actually creating the lilac impression, the two share a bubble-gummy nectarous headiness).
One the other hand, there is the sacred Diorissimo, an über alles classic if there ever was one; impossible to surpass and one would be wise to not even try. Then again, now that Diorissimo is not recognizing itself in the mirror all too clearly these days due to multiple surgical interventions, one might reconsider. Still, the cleverness lies not in trying to create a limp-wristed or sharp rendition of lily of the valley, nor a pastoral gouache, but to boldly propose a third path: that which marries the white bell with other flowers and which contrasts it with elements to which it is naturally emerging from: the decaying leaves being eaten up by fungi, the woods where it grows, the green tapiserrie on which it sprouts its minuscule bell-shaped blossoms. Thus the base of Carillon pour un Ange takes on woody and skin-soft nuances, mossy, non dirty really (it would be paradoxical, after all), with the shades of love, death and rebirth winking to a theatre full of children watching mesmerised a play of magical marionettes.

Polish composer Zbigniew Preisner says "For me there exists only one music -good music"...and "I compose what is close to my heart". Substitute music with perfumery and you've got Tauer to a T.



Notes for Andy Tauer Carillon pour un Ange: Top: rose, ylang ylang, lilac
Heart: lily of the valley, jasmine, leather
Base: ambergris, moss, woods.

Carillon pour un Ange is available as Eau de Parfum Riche (which lasts very well) in small hand-poured 15ml bottles directly from Tauer Perfumes or on Luckyscent. Samples are available here. We're hosting a giveaway for two full bottles, comment to enter.

Painting Sleep lost in Dreams by James C.Christensen via morgenthruston
In the interests of full disclosure I sampled the perfume through the generosity of the perfumer himself; his is well documented.

Estee Lauder Private Collection Jasmine White Moss: fragrance review

Private Collection Jasmine White Moss will be the "closing chapter" of the Private Collection series which includes Tuberose Gardenia and Amber Ylang Ylang, a collection above and beyond the run-of-the-mill fragrances of the mainstream sector while at the same time remaining unintimidating and utterly modern in feel. The series managed to inject an upscale touch to the Lauder giant with its limited distribution and its ornamental bejeweled flacons & solids compacts, yet it is the essences hidden inside that prove it's still possible to produce quality jus in those days of rationing and dumping down of the market at large.

While Tuberose Gardenia went for a remarkably alive white floral with gardenia unfurling its waxy petals in front of your very eyes and Amber Ylang Ylang enhanced the familiar amber's unguent with soft lappings of powdery sexiness, Jasmine White Moss goes for the kill and proposes a nouveau chypre. Much maligned as a term that last bit might be however, the resurgence of the august family of chypre fragrances is a market fact: The mossy earthy bases (focused on vetiver & patchouli, often along with synthetic Evernyl, cedar and treemoss) in several fragrances launched in the last few years prove its durability as a genre, even in altered states. Estée Lauder herself seemed deeply enchanted with the abstract harmonies of the typical chypre formula, supervising several in her lifetime: Azurée (1969), Alliage ~also spelled Aliage for the US market~ (1972), Private Collection (1973) and Knowing (1988).

Now comes Jasmine White Moss: Inspired by the spirit of Estée (née Josephine Esther Mentzer) and categorized as a floral, green chypre, being the closest of the trio in terms of fragrance family ties to the original Private Collection. Aerin Lauder, supervisor of the new scent and depicted in a white jersey vintage Halston dress with a white flower in her hair in the print ads says:

“…there is a lot of Estée in this project. We chose the blue stone accents [of white jade, dark and light lapis, sodalite, black agate, mother-of-pearl and blue lace agate] because blue was her favorite color; a basket weave design on the cap, since that was one of her favorite textures; her signature is on the lower right side of the bottle, and of course the juice began as her project.”

According to official press: "Private Collection Jasmine White Moss began as Formula #546AQ— conceived by Estée alongside the International Flavors and Fragrances (IFF) team in June 1989. Never completed in her lifetime, it remained untouched in the IFF archives for decades, until Aerin decided to revisit the juice a year and a half ago". (source)

First of all it is refreshing to see that in an age when divulging has become synonymous with the ad serviendum demand of the buying public the Lauder team admits that all those Estée Lauder scents, which have made fortunes and have catapulted the American perfumery tradition like no other, have been harboured by labourers of the prestigious IFF company and not by Estée herself as was the myth for years (Despite that, it is undoubted that she had a discerning and tasteful veto on the creations herself; after all she ranks among the 20 most influential business geniuses of the 20th century). Indeed American perfumer Josephine Catapano, working with Ernest Shiftan, is the true creator of the mythical and trend-setting oriental Youth Dew (her other well-known creations include Fidji for Laroche and Norell's Norell, later sold to Revlon); she also paved the way for Belarussian by birth Sophia Grojsman who in turn composed several Lauder fragrances to great aplomb (White Linen, Beautiful, Spellbound)!

While Tuberose Gardenia was composed by Firmenich's Harry Fremont, the baton is taken again by IFF for Jasmine White Moss injecting the fragrance with a new material of which they are having the exclusive rights: "white moss mist". The ingredient is quite elegant and provides much of the success of the soft and refreshingly mossy composition. Let me mention in passing that White Moss is also the name of a 1997 Acca Kappa fragrance (Muschio Bianco, although muschio means musk in reality) as well as a L'erbolario fragrance by the same name. The "white moss" ingredient has been fearured in I am King by Sean John (another IFF fragrance) while IFF perfumers have also added it to Estée Lauder’s new Michael Kors limited-edition scent ~Island Capri (source). It is intriguing to contemplate that in this frame there is a hybrid of the Rosa Damascena family called Quatre Saisons Blanc Mousseux, which is known in English as 'Perpetual White Moss' or 'Rosier de Thionville'. Its inclusion seems plausible, especially given the background that reminds me of Chanel No.19 with its powdery rosy greenness, delicate petals amidst the emerald plush, and IFF's headspace technology.

Azurée and the original Private Collection provide the consanguinity. Yet while I had included the original Azurée (NB this is NOT the recent beachy Azurée Soleil) to my Big Bruisers article, as part of my Leather Series, and while Private Collection can be said to be another handsome powerhouse of strident proportions, Jasmine White Moss proves easier to wear than both even with a distinct late 60s-early 70s vibe. However her dainty foot is firmly placed in the modern Jimmy Choo peep-toe of a fiercely smart secretary rather than the classic Roger Vivier pump of the coiffed boss. The opening is nicely old-fashioned, perfumey, comprised of a non-indolic jasmine which oscilates between freshness and tonic dryness. Concerns about regulations to the use of jasmine or moss shouldn't concern: the wizardry at IFF suggests everything is possible with judicious use of small amounts of naturals alongside man-made essences. Its aura of mossy depth appears at once luxurious and reserved. Jasmine White Moss is soft without appearing meek, elegant without pretence and would be the perfect introduction to even wilder, bitter arpeggios for those willing to take the plunge. The gratification from the latter course would be even greater!

Notes for Private Collection Jasmine White Moss by Estée Lauder:
Top: mandarin, black currant bud absolute, galbanum and bergamot
Heart: jasmin sambac absolute (Aerin’s choice), jasmin India absolute (Estée’s choice), violet, orange flower absolute, orris and ylang-ylang
Bottom: patchouli heart absolute, vetiver and white moss mist (the latter is an ingredient exclusive to Lauder.)

Lauder's Private Collection White Moss is available as 30 and 75ml of Eau de Parfum, as 30ml extrait de parfum and as a solid in pendant. It will be featured in 260 U.S. specialty doors in July, including Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, Bloomingdale’s, Nordstrom and Bergdorf Goodman. Internationally, the scent will launch at Harrod’s in August. Testers have already appeared at Saks Fifth Avenue and Nordstorms for those willing to test it.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Jasmine Series, Chypres Series, Lauder reviews & news.

Photography by Guy Bourdin via Life Lounge

Let me Play the Lion by Les Nez: fragrance review

"Scents of dusty trails, of lightly sweetened ochre, of sun-weathered wood. Of silence swept by mild breezes, of skies open like an endless azure cut oozing signs of the coming storm". Thus is how Isabelle Doyen, perfumer for Les Nez (parfums d'auteurs), a niche brand from Klingnau, Switzerland founded by perfume lover René Schifferle, presents Let me Play the Lion (introduced in 2006).

The playful name is inspired by a phrase appearing in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream: "Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I will make the duke say 'Let him roar again, let him roar again" (Act I, Scene 2). And playful indeed is the treatment that Isabelle Doyen, famous for her delicate, graceful watercolours for Annick Goutal, is saving for the composition in question.

Let me play the Lion starts on a spicy, peppery orange warmth, a subdued pomander note pettering out to scents of pure frankincense smoke curling lazily upwards towards a serene sky and of seared woods. If you are familiar with Poivre Piquant or Poivre Samarkande, the spiciness is on the same wavelength. Cedar is prominent among the woods, a touch which should appeal to lovers of Gucci Pour Homme, while the incense is its own recommendation for those belonging to the incense-loving sect. However by no means is this a gothic, dark incense; the note reminds me more of the French curiosity Papier d'Armenie ~little aroma-infused booklets redolent of benzoin which are burnt to make their scent waft~ than the mould-infested crypt. It's sunny and fuzzy. There is also a mossy, dry, almost dusty feeling upon finish, while the overall tone is warm and with an ever so delicate touch of sweetness that makes the composition fit for both sexes. Let me Play the Lion lasted exceedingly well on both my skin and on the blotter with the volume turned down: this lion's roar is vibrating on the lower frequencies!

Let me Play the Lion is available as a 50ml/1.7oz Eau de Toilette, directly from the Les Nez website, through Aus Liebe zum Duft or Luckyscent.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Les Nez fragrances, Incense series.

In the interests of disclosure I got sent a carded sample of each fragrance from Les Nez as part of their sample giveaway upon launching Manoumalia.

Art photography Nick Brandt Lion before Storm, via young gallery photo.
Cat photograph © by Helg

Aromatics Elixir by Clinique: fragrance review

If you have ever wandered in a dark, damp forest you know the smell of dead leaves trampled underfoot and grasses soaked with bog water. But do you know what trolls smell like? Do you know what the enchanted forest vibrates of? You feel it in the air, you know it in your flesh, the waters speak of it in hushed murmurs...
Elixir. Aromatics Elixir.

The old scent by lab-coated cosmetic giant has nothing clinical about it. Except perhaps for its potency which is phenomenal, accounting for it being immediately recognisable and perceived within a 10-mile radius. It is the one singular scent, a very characteristic chypre, I always compliment on its wearers yet find stifling when I wear it myself. Maybe this is why it introduced the infamous "spray and walk into the mist" technique. It had to! But then "walk into the mist" is so evocative a phrase anyway.

Composed in 1971 by master perfumer Bernard Chant, the same man who created the headstrong Cabochard, a personal favourite for all the right reasons, it bears the powerful signature of intense patchouli and moss in the arms of sandalwood and vetiver. With a base like that it brings to mind the german forests of the brothers Grimm and the scandinavian mythology. The sudden entrance into an apocryphal cave where creation must have begun, in the guts of the earth, fans out powdery notes of coumarin and rose and the bitter taste of good soap. Humble chamomille is mocking you as you bend to pick up some to only come face to face to poisoined mushrooms.

With its dramatic, sad and intense tonality, it reminds me of Aase's Death by Norwegian composer Edvard Grieg, from "Peer Gynt" (Suite No. 1, Op. 46)
Click to listen to it.


(Uploaded by skszyp on youtube)

This is no laughing matter! No fairies or elves lurk in the dark corners, no Shakespearian lightness, no redemption for the frail of heart. It takes bravado and cojones to wear it and to be prepared to burn in its embrace. Into the embrace of the Dragon, where all things meet their opposites. The future and the past; desire and regret; knowledge and oblivion; and love....oh yes...
Excalibur came as a most welcome shocker to my novice eyes back in 1981, when it introduced me to what later became an obsession and almost a thesis. With its ingenious choice of thespian extraordinaire Nicol Williamson, its ravishing villainess in Helen Mirren alongside other wonderful choices following the masterful baguette of John Boorman it filled my mind with the beautiful, magical imagery of the emerald isle where it was shot and with the gruesome realism of medieval battle coupled with the romanticism of Morte d'Arthur.


Click for a quick taste.

(uploaded by kipesquire on youtube)

Recently there has been a Velvet Sheer version of Aromatics Elixir out (a seemingly oily gel that does contain alcohol nevertheless per Clinique, in a beautiful clear splash bottle with a clear glass top). Lighter, younger, much more wearable, playing up on a more subtle approach of more chamomille and a less animalic base, minus the civet and deep moss.
So if you have qualms, maybe now is the time to step into the enchanted forest and reap the aromatheuraputic benefits it has been purported to have on the psyche since its creation all that time ago. The body products are also an excellent choice as their scent really lingers.
However the old version in parfum is still something to hold in awe, even if you do not like it.

Like Merlin says: "A dream to some, a nightmare to others". Couldn't be more aptly said for Aromatics Elixir.