This discontinued gem is shining in a deep purple bottle of sumptuous line that would match a wonderful smoky eye that looks so at ease on an autumnal night out.
Sensuous Noir takes the good parts of Lauder's Sensuous (that idea of woody notes enhancing the natural scent of the skin) and taking it up a notch, adding patchouli with its dark sweetness interlaced like a shadow on said skin. More voluptuous, more intense, more sensual than the original version of Sensuous, the second version by Estee Lauder - Sensuous Noir includes characteristic wooden tones, an abstract floral hint and soft aromas of cozy oriental balsams that carry the entire composition.
Sensuous Noir has a stronger, more intoxicating and more seductive scent than the prior fragrance by Estee Lauder with half the same name, although the latter is also quite sensuous and silky and worth your time and money.
The top notes include a floral blend of purple rose, jasmine, rose oil, black pepper and spices. The heart focuses on the warm wooden notes, typical for this scent, with the use of the innovative Nature Print technology. The smell of "dissolved wood" in the concept, generated by pine tree and guaiac wood merging, was captured exactly by this technology, and used as a seductive note that was first used as a sensory note and complemented by the innovative Noir cream, lily flowers and patchouli notes. The base notes include benzoin, amber and soft vanilla with an amber overall scent. The final feeling is one of absolute self-confidence!
It's hard to fault a fragrance for being popular. After all millions of people buying it can't all be wrong, right? Mostly right.
Paco Rabanne hit the proverbial jackpot with their aptly named 1 Million for Men, a woody spicy scent that combines cinnamon and leathery amber notes in such a ratio as to come across as at once becoming and engulfing. Indeed step into any bar or club or even use the underground and you're certain to come across unmistakably wearing it and making their presence very well known indeed.
The projection (sillage in French, pronounced see-YAJ) of the sweetish, cozy fragrance is quite formidable, as you catch whiffs of it as said guy takes off their jacket or brushes a stray curl off their forehead across the table. You probably need to test the lasting power by the traces left on your sheets the next day and -boy, I can tell you- it lasts!! Oh how it lasts. You will never be able to wash it off completely; that's bittersweet in itself, isn't it?
Therefore if your bet is on sureness rather than individualism look no further than 1 Million. It's a million times trustworthy for tenacity and catching feminine attention.
Sandalwood comes with all the trappings of voluptuous legends told off the cargo ships coming from the Indian peninsula. The myth of the imperishable sandalwood (so sacred even termites abstain from it) informs many an old tale in the East, where sandalwood is the oriental wood scent par excellence.
Among the many scents inspired by this mystical material Tom Ford's Santal Blush is a gorgeous, clean, dry and creamy sandalwood fragrance with an immediate message of sensuousness and no boozy aftertaste. Both beautiful and wearable, it was composed by talented perfumer Yann Vasnier.
The bet wasn't an easy one: Composing a sandalwood fragrance evocative of the Indian splendors of the Mysore variety, revered for centuries, but without actually using the raw material due to its regional restrictions on use as an endangered species, was a Herculean feat. The result however more than compensates, entering into sandalwood fragrances' Hall of Fame, a genre always popular with perfume lovers. If you like Tam Dao, but prefer a luxe rather than bohemian presentation, this is a refined take on that scented cult memory.
Dependent on skin Ph acidity, the opening spices (I pick fenugreek and cumin especially) might be acrid or nicely piquant and maple-y on the skin. You probably need a small skin test before you get out that credit card.
The prevailing advantage of the concept for Eau de Merveilles by Hermes was presenting a fragrance marketed to women that did not emit a single floral note. True, it did include a violet ionone effect which veers into the woody spectrum, but the general impression of the scent was an orange ade-sprinkled, woody-amber, salty skin-scent. The execution was so successful that it begat its own series of flanker fragrances, among which two at least present their individual accomplishments with the excellence expected out of the master stroke of perfumer genius; so good are they, that they could be appreciated without prior knowledge of their ancestor.
Elixir de Merveilles came out in 2006 and possesses that odd twist: the woody structure is given a steeping into sweeter materials, yet the resulting effect isn't really sweet at all. The chypre-reminiscent earthy note of patchouli gives a grounding to the orange ode of the original; in fact it coerces it into recalling more of the rind of the fruit than the juice. The rind is by its very nature resinous, thus colliding with the other resinous materials in the background, providing that much needed liaison. But because orange rind is lightly bitterish and refreshing, akin to the scent of fresh sweat, Elixir de Merveilles becomes perfect for summer when one's body is slick with sweat, mingling with the humidity of the environment the over-ripeness and the loaded pong of the vegetal matter, but retaining its lived-in chic. And for reasons of having exactly that earthy, bookish quality about it, it's perfect for transitioning into fall seamlessly.
L'Ambre de Merveilles (2012) on the other hand presents a transparently warm halo on its wearer, which puts the golden light of a late autumnal day over tender skin, much like Faure's Sicilienne does for the mood of a melancholy Sunday afternoon when the hands of the clock seem stuck in molasses...The patchouli subsists, attenuated, tipsy with balsamic caramel sweetness. The traditional labdanum that provides the backbone of the "amber" chord gives L'Ambre a subtly animalistic touch, the feral eyebrows contrasting with the square-jawed heavy-set face of a rather carnal beauty. It's what one dreams of when the galloping of an imaginary carriage is drawing further away and feeling the eerie sensation of just what it takes "to win friends and influence people." The combined sense of ease and unease. Priceless really.
“But then fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.”
― Stephen King, 'Salem's Lot'
Even though the temperatures are nowhere close to bringing out the woolen-patch jodhpurs, the heavy jumpers and the nautical pea-coat I associate with a chair by the fire, I have played with a little light, merino wool scarf these past few crisp early mornings before the sun would rise high on the sky making me tie it on my purse's handle. Sprayed with The Different Company's latest launch, Une Nuit Magnetique, felt indeed like an old friend that I had missed. In more ways than one. Une Nuit Magnetique by The Different Company looks dense and heavy on paper, as floral orientals sometimes do, but becomes a warm alcove of ambery woods on the skin, no rough edges, no hyper-sexualized dirty tricks. It bears the signature style of plush yet lightweight compositions for which its composer, the perfumer Christine Nagel, is acclaimed for. The sensuality of the cozier notes is unmistakeable, never cloying, a transparent "oriental" chord built on benzoin and rose with quite a bit of musk and a hint of what feels like the famous Prunol base, that enveloping material that gives a sort of raisin and mulled-in-sweet-wine plums tinge to so many classic masterpieces, from Rochas Femme to Shiseido/Serge Lutens Feminite du Bois, and on to modern iterations (see Mon Parfum Cheri par Camille by the brand of Annick Goutal where it's coupled with a very strong patchouli note). However the character of Une Nuit Magnetique remains ultimately undecipherable, despite the familiarity, almost an enemy to parsing.
I have just published a full review on Fragrantica on this link.
Fragrance notes for TDC Une Nuit Magnetique:
Top: ginger, bergamot and blueberry;
middle: Egyptian jasmine, Turkish rose, tuberose and plum;
base: benzoin, patchouli, amber, musk and woody notes.
Fermented prunes, cognac in oak barrels and handfuls of woolen knits folded into camphoraceous tissue paper that emits that borderline vibe between poison and medicine. Shadows growing longer and longer as the passage of the sun on the horizon wanes; lacquered furniture glowing in the flick of tallow candlelight; crayon designs fatty and saturated hanging off the walls depicting strange faces of old Asian men. There's a certain oiliness and smokiness about PuredistanceBlack, the upcoming perfume launch by the niche company founded in Vienna, Austria,, adorning it with the striking bone structure of a silent film icon, when shadow and light played the game of drawing the eye across a never ending vista of possibilities; even the slightest tremor of facial muscles gained reinforced nuance in this medium. Or to quote Lydia in Beetlejuice: "Well, I've read through that handbook for the recently deceased. It says: 'live people ignore the strange and unusual'. I, myself, am strange and unusual."
Puredistance has wisely limited its aromatic outpour to one fragrance per year (or even less frequently) choosing to differentiate itself from the many niche brands who dilute their essence in too many simultaneous launches. It has also set the bar pretty high with their stupendous masculine M fragrance and their graceful I and Opardu perfume for women, so expectations are understandably high for their newest release. Black doesn't disappoint, especially since it fills a void in the line that we hadn't realized was there. It's different enough from the leathery and attention-grabbing M fragrance with its elegant 1960s character, and projects as something darker, untamed by the ways of the civilized world.
The concentration of 25% essence in Black certainly guarantees a rich experience, however the concept of a whispering scent is adhered to most faithfully; the secrets of Puredistance Black are revealed very slowly, discreetly, from mouth to ear rather than on speakers, a feat by perfumer Antoine Lie (famous for the infamous Secretions Magnifiquesand many Etat Libre d'Orange fragrances, among others), given the intensity of the raw materials.
The company doesn't give away any of those raw materials. I absolutely love this; it will make reading and hearing impressions by those who will subsequently test Puredistance Black a real treat, as the mind often interferes with what the nose perceives. Mine is attacked by a quasi-brutal opening with a tangy citric fruitiness allied to the darkest, earthiest patchouli possible, like snails coming out of the bush in the dusk, but the cloak of the night soon mollifies it with a woody cluster of honeyed plummy-cedar notes reminiscent of the Lutens canon and a "suede" orientalism. The sweet melange is also reminiscent of pipe tobacco, laced with a boozy aftertaste that lingers. (I hypothesize smoky cypriol/cyperus and vetiver should be featured too). Chewy, a meat course for non vegetarians.
The essence of the concept for Black by Puredistance was to create a perfume that is close to the wearer and releases sensual and elegant scent layers in a whispering way—without shouting. A mysterious fragrance that stays in the shadow, giving away —only every now and then—part of its nature. Perfumer Antoine Lie loved the concept presented by founder Jan Ewoud Vos and created a sophisticated perfume full of charm with the same elegant personality as the timeless classic Puredistance I, but then more masculine and oriental.
If I were to offer a comparative assessment, even though the press material does coach me not to analyze too much, I'd say Puredistance Black reminds me of the darkness and weirdness factor of Goutal's Un Parfum Cheri, par Camille, fueled by an intense Indonesian patchouli grade replete with all its earthy chocolate and darkness "dirty" facets. But whereas this shadowy woody chypre flopped for Goutal, alienating the regular customer who hankered after delicate florals resting atop angels' wings, Puredistance has the cojones to follow through on the sheer sparsity and clarity of their line: there is no "definitive" demographic for Puredistance (yet) and this plays to the company's advantage. Black would be also liked by those who appreciate Borneo 1834 and Bois de Violette or by oudh and tobacco fragrances fans, as the bittersweet oriental feel would appeal. Although marketed as a masculine, in many ways it's what Coco Noir might have been (a scent marketed to modern women who shun florals and sweet gourmands). Minor gripe about the name (thingamagick) as we have discussed before, but one can't deny its evocative powers.
According to Puredistance, Black is created in Paris by the famous French perfumer Antoine Lie and it will be available from December 2013 in 17.5, 60 and 100 ml flacons.
In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample vial by the company pre-release.
The generosity of Ocre Doré is immediately perceptible: the fragrance blends a bright, vibrating and dry introduction alongside spicy cinnamon and clove-like layers folded into a classic woody core. Warm, enveloping, with the deep and almost animal touch of labdanum, a resinous scent extracted from rockrose, it is a heady, cooler weather animal. The fragrance is inspired by the scent of edible white truffle, an aroma that is earthy but also fresh; this tension is recreated in the fragrance by Shyamala Maisondieu by juxtaposing the green resin and herbal top notes with the more austere and intriguing qualities of the less volatile ingredients.
credit: virginia hey shop
The story goes like this: "
Founder Beatrice Aguilar knows that true luxury is found in nature’s perfection: on virgin land, in cascades of crystal water, in the reflection of light on a diamond and in the white truffle, an aroma that penetrates everything around it with an intense fragrance of flowers, woods, silence and mystery. To express these subtle sensations, Beatrice put her trust in the Parisian perfumer, Shyamala Maisondieu. She was to incorporate the white truffle (also known as white gold due to the high prices reached on the world market) for its exquisite fragrance."
The new niche collection "Scent on Canvas" so far includes five perfumes created by an eclectic mix of perfumers: Jórdi Fernandez (for Rose Opéra and Noir de Mars), Shyamala Maisondieu (Ocre Doré) , 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 Doré); the rosy floral with mysterious, spicy-suede tonalities (Rose Opéra) 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 Ocre Dore by Scent on Canvas:
Top: Iranian galbanum, dried tea leaves, mate
Heart: white truffle, oakmossm, undergrowth
Base: guaiacwood, Paraguay wood, Virginian cedar, Indonesian patchouli, labdanum gum
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
The majestic scent of sandalwood stands as the benevolent Hitopadeśa tales of the Far East, a fan of fantasy woven in didactic morals for princes, much like the precious real fans carved out of the prized wood for cooling off in the intense heat of the Indian peninsula; rich, milky-smelling, with a hint of incense and fresh greenery at times, still retaining their scented glamour as decades go by. The intimate, elegant aura of woody fragrances finds its apogee in sandalwood; perfumes plush and collapsingly soft but with the promise of intelligence. Santal Majuscule by Serge Lutens just comes to reinforce this notion as introduced on these pages a while ago, being the perfect sandalwood starter fragrance for those seeking such a thing, but also a welcome Lutensian offering to make me fall again headfirst into his Alice in Wonderland private cosmos I found myself tangled in ever since he issued the sumptuous La Myrrhe. Lutens however remains Lutens: the orient is ever present, but it is the occident which defines his torturing demons. His new Santal Majuscule is an assured step in his Camino de Perfección, modeled after St.Teresa of Ávila whose Latin motto seals the fate of the fragrance: is it the throes of passion or the throes of divine ecstasy that mark the lines of her face? Where does one end and the other begin? Her devotion of silence is symbolic of the enigmatic nature of the Lutensian opus itself.
"Pride must be celebrated. Thus the boy, clad in armor and perched on his horse, along with a terrible princess in full mourning dress, pictured himself arriving at the Coronation Mass to the sound of thundering hooves, just at the moment of the transubstantiation, that very moment when the priest holds the host up to the cross, to the one agonizing on it."
"As you know, there are a wide variety of sandalwoods. Mysore is one that has been subjected for some time to a hidden trafficking. I had used it in the mid 90s, during the creation of Santal de Mysore. Santal Blanc is another thing. Regarding Santal Majuscule, this is an Australian sandalwood, high quality, but with this release, I 'sensationalized' it so much that in the end, it is impossible to tell if it comes from India, Australia or elsewhere. What interests me is what I can do with it. Moreover, using sandalwood for itself alone would be a little 'Sandalwood of misery'...."Serge Lutens quote from interview bestowed to Elena Vosnaki
It's not hard to see why sandalwood ~despite having another two in the line already (Santal Blanc recently being moved into the Paris exclusives line to couple with the resident Santal de Mysore)~ was picked yet again as the foundation on which Lutens built his church, to paraphrase another religious reference. Sandalwood is the natural product par excellence, nature's agony and ecstasy: a scent so fine, so rich and yet with a fresh top note, so creamy sweet and so enduring, that it has inspired generations of men and women to harvest its precious, sacred trunk in order to imbue products for personal, religious and public use with its fine aroma. Although as explained in my Raw Material Sandalwood article the Mysore variety is rationed for fear of depletion (hence the wealth of synthetic sandalwood substitutes enumerated), the polished silkiness of the Indian variant could be mimicked creatively only by the choicest wizards of perfumery. And who more excellent than the mercurial figure of Serge Lutens to offer us a vista into the orientalia of a "nouveau sandalwood"?
The maestro revealed to me in an interview (replete with his childhood reminiscences of classroom ennui) that Santal Majuscule is technically based on the Australian sandalwood variety (which smells different), but I can attest the perfume ends up smelling like an radiant attar procured somewhere close to King Víkrama's lion-throne, creamy and luminous in its rose-distillate facets, sprinkled with promise of cocoa and soft spices (cinnamon), silky sheen with a hint of orange blossom honey and sweet incense in the background. After all, Lutens managed to inject a delicious effect of sandalwood in his savory gourmand fragrance Jeux de Peau, where the impression is again built on fantasy.
For Santal Majuscule, perfumer Chris Sheldrake and Lutens weaved the familiar web of woody tonalities which they have composed a thesis and a meta-thesis on, ever since Feminite du Bois (the latter alongside Pierre Bourdon). But whereas their other woody compositions can veer dark and rather brooding (see the patchouli & cocoa fantasy of Borneo) and we know from Iris Silver Mist and Tubereuse Criminelle the master has a taste for the morose and the morbid, here the treatment is smiling; petal-soft, sweetish (but never much) and with an elegance and refined allure that defies preconceived notions. The rose is perceptible, but not "dated", The apricoty tinge gives just the right fruity, almost edible tenderness, an ally to the liqueur-like essence of Damask rose and the creaminess of the woods. But the fragrance is far from his Rahat Loukhoum gourmand quality you can give yourself cavities with, making it pliable enough for people who don't like double helpings of anything.
The composition of Santal Majuscule also defies ~especially upon drying down on the skin~ the familiar, been-there-done-that rose attar model of the Middle East: that traditional "A Thousand and One Nights" melange of rose and sandalwood, as recognizable as Aladdin's cave in the desert. The longer the fragrance stays on skin (and it stays on very long) the more it gains a skin-scent aura of musk and honey, animalic yet elegant, with an addictive character, unisex and inviting; like living, breathing, caressed human skin this close to the throes of (divine?) ecstasy. As Serge says: "Obey what you smell, feel, love. Do not obey what you're told, and do not believe it too much!"[from same interview to the author]
Given all this, I just can't wait for Une Voix Noire, his next installment in the canon.
Compared to the other two sandalwood fragrances in the Serge Lutens line of perfumes, Santal Majuscule is less sweet than Santal Blanc, less daring and austere than Santal de Mysore. Contrasted with that other golden standard of sandalwood perfumes, Tam Dao by Diptyque, I find myself ensnared by the Lutens, mainly because where Tam Dao used to be true and rich, it now boasts a pronounced pencil-shavings cedarwood note which limits its prior rich versatility.
Santal Majuscule is available in Eau de Parfum "haute concentration" (i.e. the slightly pricer than normal black label line of high concentration) at Les Salons du Palais Royal in Paris and online. Starting September 1st 2012 the new "export" fragrance will be sold worldwide.
A generous decant sprayer of the latest Lutens perfume is available for one lucky reader!Please let me know in the comments what you like or not about Lutens and sandalwood perfumes in general. Draw is open till Friday 27th midnight internationally. Draw is now closed, thanks everyone for participating.
Embarking on Eau du Fier (2000), probably the most profoundly esoteric fragrance in the Annick Goutal perfume line, is like plunging yourself body & soul in the most smoky osmanthus-laced tea pot. It never really caught on, reverted quickly to the exclusive Parisian boutique salespoint and has been entirely discontinued now registering as very rare. A victim of its tough swagger and unconventionality. My own precious bottle was among the relatively older batches featured on the Parisian shelves from around 2005, but these shelves have dried up by now. The reason? Perfumer Isabelle Doyen had used a high level of natural birch tar, now banned by perfume industry self-regulatory body IFRA apart from its purified forms, and then in very small concentration.
But couldn't it be reformulated, mot clef du jour, using a purified grade of birch tar? Yes, it might. Sadly, the sales were never substantial enough to justify the trouble and cost of doing so. Eau du Fier, you see, is the most phenolic-smelling, the most tar-like, the most bitumen dripping on beautiful apricot-smelling petals evocative scent in existence.Though an unmissable must-smell and must-own for anyone (man or woman, it's technically marketed to men) who craves a dollop of tarry, leathery, pungent campfire scent in their perfume wardrobe, Eau du Fier isn't exactly a crowd pleaser, nor will it get you Miss Congeniality brownie points, here, in Paris or in the US. Like a song by songster Dionysis Savvopoulos says about Greece, "it forms its own galaxy". But it might get you attention from people who won't immediately connect it to perfume and that attention would be positive.
Fir (fier in French) and birch tar are at the core of Eau du Fier,a smell which concentrated at such a degree is so smoky, so acrid and so idiosyncratic in its intensely phenolic blast that it grabs you by the throat and whips you into attention. Phenolic scents (those containing phenols) are intense, smelling between black soot and barnyard; a horsey leathery pungency that is evident in natural essences of castoreum (a secretion from beavers) , narcissus and of course in birch tar, i.e. literally "cooked" birch wood that produces that famous waterproofing agent that was originally the source of Russian Leathe/Cuir de Russie. It's no coincidence Eau du Fier is like Russian Caravan tea (and Tibetan Lapsang Souchong, much like Bvlgari Black); associations work that way.
The opening of Eau du Fier can be likened to dry and decidedly non-animalic macho images of riders in the plains, cooking on an open campfire, much like in Sonoma Scent Studio Fireside Intense or Lonestar Memories by Tauer. Or a racing pit, hot with the scents of competition and tires melting. Less barnyard and more open-air atmosphere, here with a slice of orange peel to reinforce the resinous-smelling and dry/clean feel. It borders on the divisive smell of rubber with a serving of bitter orange reminiscent of pure frankincense.
But the initial smokiness in Eau du Fier is soon mollified by an apricot note that recalls osmanthus flower, a material with naturally fruity-peachy-lactonic facets. This stage is comparable in feel ~if not smell~ to the smoother, yummier intersection in the just recently discontinued Tea for Two fragrance by L'Artisan Parfumeur (also from 2000): the trick is done with gingerbread in the latter, giving a spicy-gourmand edge to the smoky black tea notes on top. In the Goutal, this fruity stage is pleasantly sweet, contrasting with the introduction and playing hide & seek on the skin with the butcher elements. Daim Blond by Serge Lutens reprises the suede and apricot trick, but whereas there the effect is a spilling off her cleavage alto, here it's a bone-vibrating bass.
Bottom-line: Eau du Fier is probably the most tar-like smell this side of Tauer's Lonestar Memories and an uncharacteristic specimen in the typically airy & prettily feminine Goutal stable. Along withSables, one of the most original and boldest Annick Goutal fragrances and a thouroughbred that should be featured in any self-respecting collection, even if you only occasionally put it on your skin.
Should anyone were to purchase a masculine Chanel fragrance off the mainstream, department store circuit, Antaeus would top the list. Beyond the easy-to-like-factor of Égoïste, Antaeus is at once satisfyingly full-bodied and perversely challenging to pin down, like a porcupine run amok. It both feels as ambitious as Gordon Gecko and is sexy as hell at the same time. In fact "shexy" is more accurate of a description; it was the first, purring exclamation my girl friend blurted out when presented with a blotter sprayed with it. Her eyes all sprakled up, I swear! And she's a gal to wear floral musks and light woodies herself, no potent stuff by any stretch of the imagination.
As to Antaeus Sport Cologne, such an outfit not only exists, it's totally hawt itself! Contrary to what might be expected of the name, it's neither new, nor shy, sporty-smelling cologne. Instead Antaeus Sport was conceived just 4 years after the original as a rather less chest-thumping version; in contemporary terms, that's as polite as Gordon Ramsay and as meek as Simon Cowell and I just love it. I've made myself crystal clear, I hope? Good! On to the more analytical description.
Chanel Antaeus Scent Description & Contradictions
Antaeus hails from Greek mythology, though it was Jacques Wartheimer who decided to name his company's new masculine thus after the shop name of one of his friends (don't ask!). The handsome hero with the hostile name (the Greek "Antaios" means opposing, it survived as Änti in the Berber tradition, since the hero was supposedly born in Libya) was a giant (the son of Greek Goddess of the Earth, Gaeia, and of Poseidon, the god of the sea) and the fragrance would be just as powerful. His advantage, in true Dracula-style millenia before the Stoker hero, was touching the sacred earth-mother for regaining his strength, and classical sculpture presents him in wrestling poses with Hercules lifting him in the air in a crushing bearhug. No wonder Chanel Antaeus soon became a cult gay favourite! As would have been expected, Antaeus is a beautiful, classically handsome earthy chypre scent, woody-baritone in timbre with glorious animalic, leathery and herbal accents. Not only that, but it's classically built into an arc of progressing accords which keeps one engrossed till the very end.
Composed in 1981 by in-house Chanel perfumer Jacques Polge, in-house Chanel perfumer after Henri Robert and Ernest Beaux before him, it brings back the 80s as surely as Doc Martins, suspenders on men, and jackets with shoulderpads. The fragrance is so complex, nuanced and well-blended, I seem to sometimes pick up notes that aren't even listed in the official notes given by the company, such as chamomille, smooth amber, some subdued rose beneath the patchouli, even a hint of fruit...then I can't quite catch them again, and on and on. It's also funny that it gives the impression of being oakmoss-rich, while in fact neither of the boxes are stating even as small a percentage as 0,1% as allowed by IFRA directions. Not only that, but its perfumer, Jacques Polge, has been put on record in French paper Le Figaro, a propos the launch of "nouveau chypre" 31 Rue Cambon as not a great fan of oakmoss anyway, because he" finds the smell too bitter". A self-proclaimed oriental lover, mr.Polge "had to search for exotic varieties of patchouli growth to substitute the moss element that is needed in a chypre composition". Yet surely such reasons had no resonance back in 1981 and Polge has used oakmoss before (even in keepsaking the other Chanel fragrances he didn't author). But smelling Antaeus besides similarly veined leathery woody-oriental Yatagan by Caron, one sees how it might just be possible.
The opening blast of Antaeus is arid and very memorable; sharp citrusy notes (clary sage, bergamot and lime with its sharp yet lightly sweet profile) meet the unique aroma of myrtle, but at the very same moment we're buoyed by the deathly pungency of castoreum flowing from the depths. This gives a leather note of impossing character, smoothed thanks to woodier nuances and herbs (thyme mostly). Perhaps this is why Antaeus can justifiably stand as the masculine version of Chanel No.19 and thus finds its lineage in the Chanel portfolio. But whereas No.19 is powdery with a glimpse of flowers, Antaeus is manly as a "French key" and bitter-dark with a somewhat soapy note (which reminds me of chamomille, rose, patchouli and vetiver combined). The woody fusion of patchouli and sandalwood reminds of formidable virile masculines of the same era such as Cartier Santos and Givenchy Gentleman..and yes, Kouros by YSL! What asserts the Chanel's irresistible charm, stopping it from appearing desolate and bone-dry, is the delectable, sweet and decidedly "animalic" (aka animalistically sexy) labdanum and beeswax absolute base; the two materials are pheromone-like, erotically full of vibrancy, full of hushed gropping in the dark. The contradicting enigma of total id in a total class package.
Antaeus seems to have passed through two reformulating periods, as far as my memory serves. The first deducted some of the opening pungency and upped a somewhat aldehydic character in the opening. The second lightened the potency and lasting power, but seems to have re-established some of the arid and distrurbing top note which makes it what it is. It's perfectly good as it is, for now.
Chanel Antaeus SportCologne Scent Description, History & Comparison with Original Antaeus Antaeus SportCologne (1985) came on the heels of the original, making it a "sport vintage" which is an oxymoron to write history with. It's now discontinued for no good reason other than it might have given convulsions to the type of guy who is seeking fragrances tagged as "sporty" because in reality he wants a limp-wristed thing to not offend other guys at the office. Exactly contemporary to Guerlain's exquisite Derby, this old-school fragrance shares some of the latter's facets imbuing the heart with an irresistible pull. Namely the green bitterness of the artemisia, some of the spice (the nutmeg and pepper in Derby become pimento, mace -from which nutmeg is extracted- and pepper in Antaeus Sport), and certainly the woody and leather core. This is an aromatic woody chypre like the original and it packs a punch. While Derby is firmly poised on Perfumed Olympus, Antaeus Sport languishes in limbo due to its unknown status. It's true that Derby is plusher in typical Guerlain style and rather more polished (the way Diorling is super-polished in the feminine leathers stakes), while the Chanel is a bit rough at the edges, but by no means an unworthy contestant.
The two Antaeus verions are clearly related, yet they do persent their differences. The Sport variant is smoother and less herbal than the original Antaeus, with a less dissonant harmony and a more luminous -rather than darkish- trail. It's totally lasting and rich, however, belying its perception as a "lighter" edition. This is seriously good stuff and if you happen upon a bottle someplace (auction, estate sale, back of moving out apothecary) grab it and hold on to it for dear life. On the plus point, since it faced the fate of discontinuation, it profited from having its depths non disfigured and its potency preserved intact.
Valentina de Valentino is not a hard name to come up with when you're the famous Italian designer who's dressed everyone from Jackie O to Courtney Love; the feminine counterpart is a sexy name, meant for It Girls who like to pique people's fancy. But first things first: The new perfume by Valentino won't launch internationally until September 23rd 2011, but I have a full bottle to give away in the meantime to a lucky reader! [draw is now closed, thank you!]. It came through a promotion (an amazing-looking one that included a giga book with pics which inspired me to take the photographs of Valentina you see myself) and has been only sprayed a few times to test it. Please state your interest in the comments for a chance to win the fragrance. Now on to the dissecting stuff...
Perfumers Olivier Cresp and Alberto Morillas, masters in the game of producing scentful crowd-pleasers, joined forces in the new Valentino fragrance which is presented as a floriental, but is really a tart, quite fun "fruitchouli" (perfume community slang for the fruits & patchouli genre of fragrances). In Valentina the tanginess of the top notes (citrus and strawberries) cuts through the sweeter elements in the composition, before the soft, clean woody backdrop takes reign for the duration of the scent on the skin. It's essentially linear, projecting with a direct flirtatious message, in the mould of Flowerbomb, Coco Mademoiselle, Parisienne, Miss Dior Cherie or La Petite Robe Noire (it references the berries notes of the two latter, possibly through Frambinone). Valentino is known for his couture, but this is no "couture scent", it's rather mainstream, though well composed. It also includes 7% of the realtively new molecule Paradisone (also used in 2006 Perles de Lalique, Kapsule Woody by Lagerfeld from 2008 and Cheap & Chic I Love Love by Moschino from 2005).
Valentina flirts like an Italian at an opera opening night, kicking the heels underneath and pinching their cute boyfriend's bottom naughtily but -bottom line!- harmlessly. Valentina de Valentino is bright, with sunnier, citrusier elements, a small subfacet of spice (anise and clove-cinnamon?). You feel the floral bouquet (orange blossom, jasmine and tuberose) in the Valentino fragrance most when comparing wrist-to-wrist with another perfume in the genre: Compared to Coco Mademoiselle, for instance, the patchouli in the Chanel is positively camphoraceous side-to-side and the whole seems less floral. Even so, lovers of the latter would probably like the former, sweet tooth and its hint of castoreum & earth in the "white truffle" accord. This latter element is a hint that they might have been inspired by the seminal Une Rose in the F.Malle line, but of course the Valentino perfume is tamer; there's only a wink of "earthiness".
Valentino focuses on how the creative team has envisioned the new fragrance for the modern audacious woman. I suspect they sat down and saw the void of a fragrance for youngish women on the prowl in their portfolio; and who can blame them?
The photographic campaign by David Sims sees Freja Beha Erichsen shot in a deserted Rome at night-time, after escaping a boring soiree (it's a cute commercial!). The packaging revisits the ideas of Valentino couture, especially the pastel colours of the past three collections; femininity, audacity and sobriety. All these translate into a bottle that is delicate and surpemely pretty to look at on your vanity with its gorgeous flowers embossed on it, like a small corsage.
Notes for Valentina de Valentino: Calabrian bergamot, white truffles from Alba, jasmine, orange blossom from Amalfi, tuberose, strawberry, wood notes, cedar, and amber.
Horace had written* referring to his diet: "Me pascunt olivae, me cichorea, me malvae" ("As for me, olives, chicory, and mallows provide sustenance"). I don't know if I could supress my gluttony for "all the perfumes of Arabia" into a diet of only a few well-chosen ones, but Serge Lutens has a way into tempting me. Jeux de Peau, his newest (upcoming for the US) launch, is no exception. With vivid contrasts and a fascinating plot via Daedalean alleyways, it proves that the Master is still producing fragrances that can surprise and excite.
Jeux de Peau (pronounced Zø de POH) aka Skin Games, a fragrance for both genders, was supposed to smell of buttered toast, recalling Serge's quick run to the boulangerie across the road to pick up a baguette: "It gets me back to the 'don't forget to pick up the bread on the way back from school!' At the boulangerie at the end of the road, its captivating odour and its blond and warm light, a golden moment..." says Serge. Well, naughty, naughty Uncle, this is not what one would expect! The mercurial Serge actually hints at the humanity of the fragrance when he provocatively says "Eat, for this is my body"; especially if we consider that some human skins do smell like bread, the "dough" impression being a Ph variance.
Not that that this cryptic game would be unusual for any fan; in fact the fascination with the newest Lutensian opus comes exactly by its surprising character, at once a part of the Lutens-Sheldrake canon and a little apart; it's new and at the same time familiar, like seeing the photographs of antecedants and trying to pinpoint what part of the genetic roll of dice resulted in similarities with one's own offspring. Starting to break down the composition of Jeux de Peaumuch talk has been conducted about the "burnt" note of pyrazines [see this lexicon on perfume effects according to notes/ingredients for definition] but I remain sceptical: Jeux de Peau doesn't really smell burnt or heavily roasted; more milky-spicy-golden in the sandalwood goodness that was Santal Blanc. It has a pronounced celery-pepper opening note, much like Chypre Rouge did, a trait that will certainly prove controversial, coupled with delectable milky-buttery notes which almost melt with pleasure on skin. The celery effect ~celery seeds were a common element in Mediaeval French cooking~ lasts for only about 5 minutes seguing into the main course: the buttery accords, alongside a distinctive, very pleasant chicory note.
Chicory, a bitterish-spicy smell, is a profoundly clever "note", if I am correct in surmissing it was the centre of the Jeux de Peau creation all along: It was substituting coffee in WWII, which might account for some of the memories of Serge, but it also evokes beer because producers add some in their stouts to lend flavour. Beer is so close to bread in olfactory terms that it's enough to put some on a pot on the stove for your guests to be fooled into thinking you're baking your own bread! (Not that you'd resort to such tricks, or would you?) Plus chicory root is 20% inulin which is very similar to starch. So the bread connection is there all right! Immortelle/helichrysum notes (caramelic maple & spicy fenugreek facets) are allied to the familiar candied-dried fruits (apricot mainly, simply lovely!) which perfumer Chris Sheldrake has been respinning in novel and delecious combinations for Lutens ever since the inauguration of the Palais Royal niche line in 1992. This complex stage in Jeux de Peau by Lutens is sustained for a long, long time; it reminds me of rich Byzantine mosaics; tiny tesserae of glazed material surfacing and receding according to the angle from which you're viewing it.
If you like the core accords of Féminité du Bois or Boxeuses, you will probably detect them easily in Jeux de Peau. But the two diverge in other ways: there's no familiar plum, not much cedar, nor leather (as in the case of Boxeuses), while we can see that wheat & barley are evoked throughout that warm "gourmand" woody. If Serge hadn't mentioned he was inspired from his forays to the baker's clutching the baguette for home, we wouldn't be so insistent on searching for toast; a whiff of Crusader's painau four it is and delectably so I might add.
If you're wondering if Jeux de Peau would suit you, apart from the wise advice I can offer to always sample a Lutens any fragrance ~just in case~ I can suggest that if you're a lover of other intellectual oriental woodies such as Like This by Etat Libre d'Orange or Tea for Two by L'Artisan, you have high chances of liking this one very much as well. It's rather odd that Jeux de Peau launches in spring, when it's the sort of snuggly fragrance you'd want to put on while wrapped in a cashmere blanket watching nonchalantly the logs in the fireplace change colours from brown to vermillon to bright red to ashen, but Lutensian fans are not very season-specific anyway.
A sample of the upcoming Jeux de Peau will be given away to a reader. State in the comments what is your most fragrant memory from childhood not involving actual fine fragrance and I will pick a random winner. Draw is open till Friday midnight.
Jeux de Peau belonging to the export range of oblong bottles is out in France as we speak (79 euros for 50ml Eau de Parfum), but will launch internationally on March 1st. The Perfume Shoppe in Canada is already taking pre-orders.
*Odes 31, ver 15, ca 30 BC
An intelligent essay on the scent, in French, on Ambre Gris. Photograph in black & white Le Petit Parisien by Willie Ronis via Art is not Dead. Bottle pic via duftarchiv.de
Disclosure: Initial sample was kindly procured by my reader Emanuella. Another sample was later sent by Lutens as part of their mailout, so that is given away to the readers.
I wouldn't hesitate to think of the latest Paris exclusive fragrance by Lutens , going by the insolent name Boxeuses, as Féminité du Cuir instead. What do feminine pugilists (the true meaning of Boxeuses, pronounced box-EHz, in French) have to do with the delicate and mysterious affair of perfume? And why did Serge choose that name?
Plenty it appears and Lutens isn't one to go by conventional names anyway. This enigmatic woody leather is molded after a soft kid's leather glove that hits all the sweet spots for any ardent Lutens fan, that's why! After all French perfumery did arise through scented gloves, didn't it? Unlike the green fairy of Bas de Soie with the icy sensuality that demands kinky behaviour to unhinge itself, Boxeuses goes straight for the jugular,playing on the familiar, original codes of the Lutensian universe: violet-tinged woods, plummy fruits, somptuous spices...
To those who are intimately familiar with the Lutensian opus, Boxeusescan't fail but instantly remind them of Féminité du Bois and in fact the whole Bois series it spawned for the launch of Les Salons du Palais Royal back in 1992 (Bois de Violette, Bois et Fruits, Bois et Musc, Bois Oriental). Much like them, Boxeuses is full of the woody backdrop of Iso-E Super and violet methyl-ionones, plus a good dosage of plummy nuance redolent of Arabian desserts which perfumer Chris Sheldrake elevated beyond manière into Art. To those who are not, Boxeuses could be the love-child of a Cuir-de-Russie-type (notably Chanel's offering with its luxurious feel) due to the birch tar material anchoring it and Rochas Femmewith its Prunol base; the latter in all its cuminy sexy glory, thank you very much. Of course the lineage might be de trop to mention: Féminité du Bois does owe some of its genius in the sexiness factor of Femme, but pushing the envelope further thanks to its sombre spiciness of cinnamon and cardamom which couple with woods reminiscent of a box of lead pencils; unheard of at the time.
If Cuir Mauresque (his other "leather" and this year's limited edition export of the Paris exclusives, scheduled for a late 2010 launch) recalls a "Peau d'Espagne" or Cuir Ottoman sensibility, Boxeuses is restrained enough in its opulence to be closer to a Cuir de Russie type or Tabac Blond (the pyrogenic coupling of acidulous notes and styrax with birch) and similarly genderless, despite the name. The leathery and spicy facets of Boxeuses come to the fore immediately, on one hand an anisic tinge recalling licorice and classic French perfumery, on another an incensy feel with cinnamic facets recalling Serge Noire. The sticky plum surfaces next, not sacharine but shaded with violet, rounding out the fragrance alongside smoky woods and milky soft musk with a smidge of dark cocoa, sustaining that impression with medium sillage for a long time.
To those forlorn, after the launch of Nuit de Cellophane, thenL'Eau Serge Lutensand even of Bas de Soie, claiming Serge was "softening" and much like Alexander the Great allowing himself to adopt the customs & sensibilities of a completely foreign aesthetic, Boxeuses is a punch in the nose. Like Australian boxing film sensation Girlfight (2000) proclaimed, Lutens attained the unexpected through the most expected way: "Prove them wrong!"
For our readers, 5 samples of the exclusive Boxeuses will be given out of my own personal bottle. Tell us WHY this scent sings your name in the comments and I will pick 5 winners. (Draw is open till Friday 24th midnight).
Serge Lutens Boxeuses forms part of the Paris exclusive line, available as 75ml of Eau de Parfum in the bell bottles. The packaging has been slightly changed (ever since the launch of Bas de Soie last July actually) and the bells are not sealed so as to protect contents from spillage and tampering. It retails for 120 euros at Les Salons du Palais Royal in Paris. Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Serge Lutens reviews & news, the Leather Series
Comparing an uncompromisingly masculine fragrance such as Zino by Davidoff with a unisex offering from Chanel, daintely named (Coromandel) after Chinese laquered panels which might sooner decorate the apartment of a woman or a gay male than the chick-trap of an abode of a bachelor might seem like a exercise in futulity. Heck, there's even a makeup line at Chanel's bearing the very same name! Yet the two fragrances, winking both at yet another patchouli-ladden beauty, Borneo 1834 by Lutens, bear the proud insignia of hard partying and bohemian airs which a rich, decadent patchouli heart knows how to provide so well.
And for those on a budget or searching for an easier alternative to savour the allure of Coromandel, Zino is a choice that can be found easily on discounters and online stores, being utterly underrated for absolutely no sane reason at all. I hope after this review a couple of people will summon the courage to search for it, as it's totally worth it. But perhaps the greatest recommedation would be that it has been gracing the oh-so-fine body of Captain Jack Sparrow, né Johnny Depp for quite some years now (Fittingly as it was first issued in 1986). Who can resist his charms, his chiseled face and bohemian attitude? Personally, I could see it on someone like Vincent d'Onofrio as well. If you're fond of aquatics and/or a fan of a girly Robert-Patterson-like allure (of Twilight fame), you can stop reading right now, it will only get painful.
I had written on my Chanel Coromandel perfume review, when I compared the scent to a cinnabar-hued brocade jacket, upper button undone with black camelia Chanel earrings: "The initial impression is that of a citrusy, orange-like pipe tobacco mix rolled in powder, much like the one encountered upon meeting that vixen little scent called Fifi by lingerie designer Fifi Chachnil or a slightly less milky Fumerie Turque. [..]Perhaps the orange impression derives from the inclusion of frankincense, a resin that sometimes gives off a sweet citric tang while burning. A sweet lush note throughout is echoing subtly like vanilla pods immersed in fruity liquor and it opens up and expands on the wings of aged patchouli, mellow, soft, sweet and inviting [...]with a touch of Borneo by Serge Lutens and Prada thrown in for good measure. [...] The pervading dryness along with just a touch of frankincense for a sense of mystery, not showcasing amber in any great degree all the while, provides a great balance to the sweeter vanilla elements and makes the whole not puff up in blue clouds of smoke, but stay the night on warm skin and well used sheets".
Zino starts on a classic masculine accord of lavender, clary sage and bergamot, bracing, nose-tingling like the top notes of Jicky, almost recalling a fougère, but immediately we're drawn into the maze of oriental woods, where the dark green of patchouli hypnotizes the senses with its sweet, beckoning and a little overwhelming scent and a trompe l'oeil hinting at tobacco (A Davidoff fragrance without some allusion to it? Unthinkable). Zino's big rosy heart worn on its sleeve is the perfect accompaniment to the green leaves with moth-repelling properties, and serves to smoothen the former, alongside the other subtle floral elements. Every ingredient bursts into life on the skin and despite the potent opening the scent manages to appear as rather subdued in later stages. Once upon a time touted as the "fragrance of desire", I admit that for this woman on this day, it still seems good enough to eat and amazingly sexy while we're at it too.
Sheldrake’s handwriting is all over 2007's Coromandel, which would make the comparison with his previous Borneo 1834 for Serge Lutens (2005) a natural fit. The two fragrances share a pronounced similarity at the drydown, a fuzzy, synthesized woody-amber drydown like ambroxan (much more pronounced though in -say- Lolita Lempicka au Masculin). Zino also shares in the traditional ambery fade-out after its scultural masculine top, its darkness an ink-like blob on thick matte paper, but lacks the distinct coffee note that runs through the heart of Borneo, instead opting for extending the note of patchouli to its chocolate-like extremes. Borneo on the other hand is an intensely camphoraceous patchouli laced with dark-roasted coffee and cocoa notes and much dryer, while Coromandel, perhaps due to its eau de toilette concentration and axiom of "application with abandon" alluded to by the big, honking bottle, seems airier and less saturated than both. Airier for an oriental woody, mind you! Its kinship with the original Prada should give you an idea of the ballpark we're talking about. The sillage of every scent is delicious; a mysterious wake that will have people swerve to catch a whiff and ask you what it is.
Ultimately, between the three, Coromandel is the daytime, easier and more powdery version, Borneo more suitable for evenings and trend-setters, while Zino is the one reserved for sexy men and for women not afraid of five-o-clock shadows on them. If you're among the latter, do try Zino for yourself too, you'll see it acts like a fedora over long hair.
Notes for Zino by Davidoff: Top: lavender, palisander, clary sage, bergamot Heart: geranium, rose, lily-of-the-valley, jasmine Base: patchouli, cedar wood, sandalwood, vanilla Notes for Coromandel by Chanel Benzoin, patchouli, woodsy notes
Notes for Borneo 1834 by Lutens Patchouli, Camphor, Cardamom, Cistus, Galbanum, Cacao
pic of actor Vincent d'Onofrio via fanpop.com, Sarah Ranes portrait via indiepublic.com
Many summers ago I used to spend my days by the sea at my grandparents' villa, surrounded by majestic pines as old as the original tenants, numerous dusty fig-trees and one wild-pear tree which was later struck by lightning to ash. The wind was sighing in the boughs, a nightingale came to sit on my shoulder and the longings of those long summers promised adventures as yet uncharted, our psyche elevated through a taste of awe. The long pine needles were falling in heaps on the floor of this pine grove ~infuriating my grandfather who had to work doubly hard along with the gardener to keep the grass properly breathing~ counterpointing the mighty trunks, often bleeding tears of golden sticky resin used in both turpentine and retsina. This was different from the mastic and copal resins, which we grounded in fine dust, or the rosin, which I witnessed being used by the student of violin who routinely accompanied me at the piano at the Conservatoire. We were sent as children to gather fresh pine needles, run them through the cold water of the outdoors tap, gather them in bunches and hang them upside-down to dry: they would be stored to make herbal tea with honey to ward off colds, a tip of our German cleaning woman, when the summer villa would revert to its silent existence for half a year. Everything about those precious memories was conjured as soon as I heard of the newest Serge Lutens fragrance, Fille en Aiguilles and the reality of it didn't betray my visuals as some of you will find out for yourselves (yes, there's a draw for samples coming up, keep reading!)
The first announcement containing the notes had been the instigation, the second round of news with the cryptic messages by Serge had been the icing, as it left us with exactly nothing to go on upon ~the mystery was well preserved: this girl ~or boy, who could wear this equally well~ rolling on pincushions was not telling any tales just yet. The aiguilles part (“needles”) in the name has been linked to sewing needles (due to the French idiom "de fil en aiguille" meaning from needle to thread, from one thing to another, ie. snowballing), or stiletto heels ("talons aiguilles" in French) perhaps exactly because there was the "tick tick tick" repetitive sound in the press release. Still pine needles, those long thin lances that strew forest floors and exude their resinous, medicinal-sweet smell when the air is warm, are at the core of the composition rather than the ill-sitting, detergent-like tones of so much "pine"-baptized air pollution posing as home and car ambience.
In a nod to old empirics and apothecaries, who healed ills attributed by the superstitious ailing to supernatual forces or the wrath of God through folkore herb medicine and mysticism, uncle Serge acts as a shaman, letting out blood with his pine needle in his bag of seemingly endless tricks. In Alain Corbin's book "The Fragrant and the Foul" the theory of miasma is documented: the widespread belief that foul smells accounted for disease and therefore eradicating the bad smells would result in battling the disease (Incidentally there was also the widespread belief of bathing disrupting the protective mantle of the skin, but this is the focus of another of our articles). The practice has long ancentrastal ties to ritualistic cleansing via sulphur as depicted in antiquity, remnants of which are referenced here and there in Greek tragedy such as Euripides's Helen. Fire and brimstone led by a savant Theonoi goes far, far back...In the Middle-Ages during bouts of cholera, the plague and other miasmata, empirical healers used a large hollow beak stuffed with cleaning herbs so as to protect themselves, earning them the descriptor of "quack", which by association became synonymous with charlatan later on when the science of medicine prevailed. The word is of Dutch origin (kwakzalver, meaning boaster who applies a salve); boaster because quacks sold their folk medicine merchandise shouting in the streets.The belief in the magical properties of scented compounds runs through the fabric of fragrance history: let's cast our minds back to the alleged cure-all of Eau de Cologne by Johann Maria Farina and his imitators! But is perfume really snake-oil? Only to the extend which we allow it to be, yet there lies artfulness in the pharmacopoeia.
This particular catharctic blood-letting preceding the herbal ointment, forms a trickling kaleidoscope of the elements which Lutens has accustomed us to, via the sleight of hand of perfumer Christopher Sheldrake: There is the candied mandarin peel with its strange appeal of cleaner (La Myrrhe) and putrid aspects (Mandarine Mandarin), the fruits confits of his Bois et Fruits, the interplay of cool and hot of the masterful Tubéreuse Criminelle, the charred incense depths and fireworks of Serge Noire, the vetiver in Vétiver Orientalwith a rough aspect peeking through and even some of the spice mix of El Attarine, appearing half poised between cumin and fenugreek. After the last, pretty and atypical for Lutens Nuit de Cellophane, Fille en Aiguilles is an amalgam of strange accords, a disaccord within itself, but with a compelling appeal that pleases me. Contrasting application techniques ~dabbing versus spraying~ I would venture that should you want the more camphoraceous elements to surface, spraying is recommended; while dabbing unleashes the more orientalised aspects. There is sweetness in the sense that there is sweetness in Chergui or Douce Amere, so don't let it scare you too much. The liquid in my bottle is wonderfully dark brown, somber yet incadecent in the light of the day and as dark as ink, much like Sarrasins, in the dusk of the evening (and be warned that it also stains fabric almost as much).
Serge Lutens Fille en Aiguilles has notes of vetiver, incense, fruits, pine needles and spices in a luminous woody oriental formula. Available in the oblong export bottles of 50 ml/1.7oz of Eau de Parfum Haute Concentration for 95 € /140$ at Paris Sephora and of course Le Palais Royal and later on at Selfridges UK, Aedes US, the Bay in Toronto and online.
For our readers, enter a comment to win one of the five samples given of the new fragrance well ahead of its wider distribution!
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