Mementos of Youth: How Cacharel Shaped an Entire Era

 

For many middle-aged women, Cacharel was a cultural phenomenon; their fragrances were offered as assuredly successful gifts to young women en masse. And they used to be really good too! 

photo borrowed via Fetherstone Vintage blog

 

Cacharel's Eden from 1994 is the precursor to neon-green compositions like Mark Jacobs Decadence and Thierry Mugler's Aura, which were introduced as trailblazing in recent years, but they were not. Considering that the latter, with its green rhubarb-gardenia accord in the eau de parfum, has sparked comments like "very herbal mouthwash," "grassy soil," "muddy swamps," "musty cellars," "bugs and bug poison," etc., it's not unfathomable that Eden has also been rather challenging for modern audiences. Back then, nevertheless, it was "the newest Cacharel" and its youth appeal was palpable. Every teenage girl and budding woman has fond memories of everything Cacharel made. There was no frog in sight, only princes. 

 Some perfumes were shaped to be gifted as an entry into womanhood, on the other hand. Who could imagine a blockbuster perfume being promoted through porcelain-skinned beauties in soft focus, showing no inch of skin, beyond their necks, set to a baroque soundtrack, in this day and age? And yet Anaïs Anaïs, the first perfume by Cacharel (1978), was advertised exactly like that and became THE reference scent for the early 1980s for droves of young women who still reminisce fondly of it 40 years later. I can tell you right off the bat that it was my first proper, owned bottle of perfume, bought as a gift and offered with the requisite ceremony. The actual scent of Anaïs Anaïs defies the notion of erotic elixirs as something that is warm and sensuous, relying on a rare for today's standards combination of prim lily of the valley (and a few other lilies) with the dusting of whisper-soft leather in the drydown.

After the Victorian oppression, at least as far as the public life of ladies was concerned, women now claimed their sexuality. They took off their restrictive corsets, which were a means of sexual "control" by their spouses. And they cut their hair short, in a bob, as a sign of their unconformity and modernity. Let us recall Fitzgerald's 1919 short story, Berenice Bobs Her Hair. They wore Charleston dresses ending at the knee, often with a deep neckline and a low plunge at the back. They made themselves up with dark, thin lips and dark eyes on a pale face, with thin eyebrows like a stroke of calligraphy. In short, they looked like a vampire, a harbinger of the goth trend. Cacharel used this to great aplomb with their Loulou fragrance, following closely the script which Louise Brooks immortalised as Loulou in the Pabst classic film Pandora's Box. It was an oriental scent, but for young women. Heliotrope, musk, and an abstract heart of flowers touched by a whisper of aniseed from another planet, heaved and sighed in it. As the gloriously musical score of the campaign commercial implied, it was a poignant love story, possibly tragic. Gabriel Fauré's Pavane is immortal. And oui, c'est moi (i.e. "yes, that's me") answering a young man questioning after Loulou, became an indelible memory in our collective memories.

Cacharel Eden: fragrance review & musings on contemporaneity

 Cacharel's Eden from 1994 is the precursor of neon green compositions like Mark Jacobs Decadence and Thierry Mugler's Aura, which were introduced as so trailblazing in recent years, but they're not. Considering that the latter with its green rhubarb-gardenia accord in the eau de parfum has sparked comments of very herbal mouthwash, grassy soil, muddy swamps and musty cellars, bugs and bug poison, etc., it's not unfathomable that Eden has also been rather challenging for modern audiences as well.

 Back then, nevertheless, it was "the newest Cacharel" and its youth appeal was palpable. Every teenage girl and budding woman has fond memories and references in everything Cacharel made. There was no frog in sight, only princes.

The opening of Eden blends luminous citrus notes but also the sharpness of grassy-sweet patchouli, a hint of the jungle. Something untamed and lurking in the background. The cold water freshness of water lily (or lotus or pond lily) in the heart is combined with a complex, heady mix of floral notes (tuberose, mimosa, jasmine, rose and lily-of-the-valley) and sweet juicy fruits (of which pineapple and melon are probably the most referenced, though they smell of neither, per se, as the molecule used was Calone, as was customary back in the era).

The water notes are in perfect harmony with sharp patchouli and the warm, woody base of cedar and sandalwood and probably vetiver too, creating the terrain of the bog of a sorceress. Perhaps Eden shouldn't be recalling Eve, but rather Lilith, the first bewitching woman. The more the fragrance stays on, the sweeter it becomes, with a faint whiff of the compote peaches in rubber of Gucci Rush. Or rather the two are on the crossroads of fruity chypre and floral oriental, borrowing elements of either style and re-jingling the kaleidoscope to create a new image, a sort of musical-style Dear Prudence rendered olfactive — especially in the version sung by Siouxsie and the Banshees in Venice.

Vintage Advertising Champions: Cacharel

This specimen of vintage advertising from the 1980s by the French brand Cacharel comes as the imaginative apex of an aesthetic we don't come across anymore. The white knickerbockers-style outfit with the straw hat and the knee high socks in Mary Janes has a vaguely early 20th century feel to it. The lion is imposing and has a questioning look in its eye, it is hoever reflected ~please note~ alone and on a checkered floor on the opposite page of the advertisement.

They just don't make them like this anymore…