Jo Malone Vanilla & Anise: fragrance review

In contemplating the newest Jo Malone fragrance, Vanilla & Anise, one reverts to an overview of the brand, originally founded by one resourceful English woman and now owned by the gigantic Lauder group.

One of the ~superficial, you might judge~ attractions of the Jo Malone brand for me personally has always been that delicious waffle-toned packaging with the black, scented tissue paper and the matching ribbon-tied rectangular boxes: pure class and understated luxury at the drop of (the exactly right) panama hat. No big logos on the carrier bag, no glaring exhibits of glitz. The stacked-up bottles in the boutiques (like the one I had visited in London) make for the deeply satisfying feeling one gets when they manage to uniformly bind a collection of books in personally initialized leather: arguably my own library needs some work towards that end, as only a fraction has received that treatment yet, but I live in hope! Still Jo Malone's library of fragrances presents the same expectations: classy exteriors with contents to be savouringly explored.

The line has so far presented a division of sorts in its pleiad of offerings: there are the Jane Austens, full of sunlight, social banter and light character studies (French Lime Blossom, Lime Basil and Mandarin, Jasmine & Honeysuckle); and there are the Dostoyevsky-wannabes (Pomegranate Noir, 154, Wild Fig & Cassis, Nutmeg & Ginger). Unfortunately sometimes the latter resemble The Gambler, a dare of the Russian master to write up a novella in a month while simultaneously immersed in his famous masterpiece: they take place in Roulettenberg! Vanilla & Anise is placed someplace between the two: its intentions and onoma allude to the latter while the scent itself to the former.

Vanilla as a note seems to be experiencing a revival in niche and upscale brands with the innovative and ultra-luxurious Vanille Galante by Hermès {review link}, along with the newest Havana Vanille by L'Artisan {info here}, a reworking on their vanilla notion, many years after the candy-cotton ethylmaltol innovation of their ice-cream cone hologram Vanilia. I am saying a revival in the niche and upscale brands specifically, because the mainstream sector never abandonded their romantic notions of vanilla being an aphrodisiac; a snowballing concept to be brought to its rightful source: Guerlain and their great classics. The rewoking of vanilla in modern creations is a fresh approach of cleverly interwoven cool and warm facets, resembling changeant fabrics and eschewing the simplistic ice-cream flavourings that have occupied the lower end of the market for more than a decade now.

Per Jo Malone Vanilla & Anise is intended to “transport you to the floral valleys of Madagascar the moment that vanilla orchids bloom at day-break” since regardless of the fact that the vanilla orchid originated in Mexico, it is Madagascar which is today’s largest producer of vanilla. Curiously enough the scent isn't dominated by either vanilla or (star) anise, no matter the gourmand allusions these two might insinuate by their culinary proclivities. The surprise hiding under one of Malone's most successful creations, Lime Basil and Mandarin, has always been the peeking of an unexpected edginess under the greeting familiarity and this element has sneaked its way in Vanilla & Anise as well. In this case it is the bittersweet effect of the oleander note (and perhaps coumarinic accents) alongside the intense citrus touches (bergamot, neroli) clearly discernible, giving a decidedly summer feeling of vacationing at a resort someplace warm. If Hermès hadn't already issued the magnificent Vanille Galante one season ago with its predominatly lily-esque petal softness, I would have been marvelling at the new approach and applauding the delicate, meringue treatment rendered here, all crispy exteriors and airy insides. Nevertheless, given the fact that they already have in a most successful way artistically, I am less impressed the second time around.
Still, Vanilla & Anise should please those hankering after a luminous, air-spun lightly sweet fragrance with discreet floral touches, especially if they nostalgise about summery pleasures in the heart of winter. Those who prefer their vanillas folded into Dr.Oetker baking mixes or alternatively those who want them smokey-eyed and showing some hint of tushie beneath black see-through should go look for something else.

Notes for Jo Malone Vanilla & Anise:
Top Notes: Sicilian Bergamot, Tunisian Neroli, Wild Fennel Flower, Star Anise
Middle Notes: Oleander, Tuberose, Frangipani, Purple Vanilla Orchid
Base Notes: Madagascar Clove, White Amber, Vetiver Bourbon, Vanilla Bourbon Absolute, Tonka.

International launch for Vanilla & Anise is expected in September, but the scent has already reached Nordstorm, the 100ml costs £64, 30ml is £32. Visit the official Jo Malone site here.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Anise, wormwood and absinthe series

Painting by Colette Calascione via formfiftyfive.com

Flora Attica: Galivanting amidst the Greek gardens

The last day of May had me leafing through the photos that I had taken throughout the Veniamin month of spring. The fragrant orgy of the warm Greek spring was simply irresistible not to lock away in digital form for the gloomiest days of winter and the promise of a rampant summer was achingly palpable in every petal and every leaf.
Here are some of them as a small tribute to the glory of scented walks in the city...




The season of the lilac is all too brief, its passing leaving behind a nostalgic pang for beauty betrodden.

I like to prolong their fragrant whisperings by wearing Tocadilly, After my Own Heart by Ineke and Highland Lilac of Rochester well into the early throes of summer, when their lush, ripe beauty is but a distant memory. (click the links for reviews)






Pittosporum tobira (the dominant blossom in the heart of the strict, celebral chypre Knowing by Estee Lauder) hides in its small little corola a sweet, intoxicating smell of white floral longing.
The whiffs caught in the evening make the heart palpitate with pleasure and rapture.




The vibrant flowers of oleander in pink, white or salmon are characteristic of the Greek landscape and truly abundant, even in the intense heat of the summer. Their dusty, bittersweet aroma that combines earth and stem is indicative of their poisonous nature, yet tempting to a tentative taste.





Robinia pseudoacacia (mock acacia) on the other hand blooms safely in May and the white grappes hanging off the trees are swaying in the cool breeze of early morning with the promise of sunny happiness.



Small statuettes are very common in doorways and porticos and here we have a Venetian lion under a climbing vine and fuschia bougainvillea bush. The early peaches are visible on the peach tree at the background. The succulent juice of the fruit whets my appetite for Péché Cardinal by parfums MDCI, in which the sinful peach is the indomitable protagonist.




Fig trees, their mighty shade and their dusty, bitter tang of the leaves always a welcome solace in the schorching rays of high summer, are already producing their first figs, unripe and green. They're bitter still, their white-ish "milk" making one's face grimace upon smelling like a child sucking on a sour lemon for the very first time.
The refreshing quality of both tree and fruit is lovingly captured in L'artisan's Premier Figuier, Cielo by Napa Valley, and A la figue by Satellite.







Scarlett bougainvilleas are sadly without their match in perfumery, but their emblematic contrast with the white of the houses casts our mind to summer vacations on Greek isles and their respective irresistible bouquet of aromata of herbs and foliage.

Roses are early bloomers in the warm climate and the juxtaposition of this most English of flowers with the terracotta of the archaic metopes and akroteria is arresting in its unexpectedness. Whenever the mood strikes me for a lush rose fragrance such as these blooms I turn to the embullient rose and violet combination that is Yves Saint Laurent's Paris; its crystal melody speaking of feminine elegance and almost tipsy romanticism. When I want an earthier companion to my rose, Une Rose Chyprée by Andy Tauer and Frédéric Malle's Une Rose provide the rich, dirty feel that enrobs my roses with the pungent soil odour following a summer thunderstorm. And finally when I'm all out for an orientalised classical rose that "would smell as sweet", nothing will do but Guerlain's Nahéma.


Last but not least, this garlanded doorway of delight had me stop in my tracks even before I turned the corner of the small alleyway; the fragrant stream of the jasmine trellis was so potent, so intoxicating, my feet had a will of their own trying to track the source of the heavenly aroma! Nothing caprtures the beauty and the awe of summer jasmine in the warm embrace of the Mediterannean like A la Nuit by Serge Lutens ~its enveloping hug is as mesmerising as falling in love all over again: not only with one's beloved but, more importantly, with life itself.

All photos by Elena Vosnaki, copyright for Perfume Shrine. Click to enlarge.