Hermes Le Jardin de Monsieur Li: fragrance review

Musing by Guest Writer AlbertCAN

创新是什么? 可以吃吗？
What is innovation? Is it edible?
—Contemporary Mandarin humour*

和谐 (Trad. 和諧)
Pinyin: hé xié
1. harmonious; harmony
2. (euphemism) to censor

Of all the celebutantes the fragrance world has attributed to—Jicky, Madame Rochas, Misia, Monsieur de Givenchy, Liù, just to name a few—I have a particular affinity to Monsieur Li, an eponymous personality penned by Jean-Claude Ellena, the now-emeritus master perfumer for the iconic French design house Hermès.

As with everything in life, timing is everything: I have befriended Li in the spring of 2015, during an relocation to Vancouver’s historic Chinatown district, not only working as a financier to a heritage bank, but also living mere blocks away from Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden, the first Suzhou-style garden established outside of China and aptly named after the Father of the Nation in the Republic. Corner office befitting a financier? Check. Tasteful requisite objets d'art for a banking office? Of course. (Can you expect any less?) Ambient scent of choice, in the heart of Chinatown ? Hermès Le Jardin de Monsieur Li (2015).

At this juncture of the musing let’s get something out of the way: This Monsieur Li is a fictional character. And to any native Chinese speaker, this man is a gentle synecdoche to Mainland China . Please do not reduce this surname as an exercise in economy—any native Mandarin would instantly attribute this man as a Mainlander. (As opposed to Lee, who are most likely not.) In fact, under such context, this gentleman is somewhat of an everyday man, arguably China ’s cultural equivalent of Mr. Smith from North America, Monsieur Durand France . Given such logic, the name for this fragrance betrays a poetic subtext: A Garden of Everyman.

Hermès, Everyman? As I can hear the gentle murmur amongst you, dear audience. Ringing the affirmative is the answer. If I shall name one outstanding quality of Monsieur Li, incredible sociability comes to mind. Master perfumer Ellena has selected gentle note contrasts as the foundation of his jardin compositions, and this citrus aromatic is no exception. The garden here opens with kumquat, a beguiling citrus the Chinese often fondly savour during happier times—as confits during Lunar New Year, even serving along a variety of preserved foods from lotus to coconut, melon, ginger to the all important Chinese deities, as a mean to sweeten their tongues (lest them bad-mouth the mortals upon returning to celestial abodes for the holiday). Kumquat trees are also often a staple in Chinese and Vietnamese Lunar New Year celebrations, as they symbolize good fortune and prosperity. The inclusion of jasmine here, of course, is somewhat of a foregone conclusion, given the exalted status of the flora in China . Although, mind you, this jasmine is also resoundingly à propos in its political correctness, arguably not just because of the utilization of Hedione High Cis: I suspect any concrete conjuring of the real deal may be misinterpreted as a reminder of the Thou-Shall-Not-Be-Named failed coup d'état, with its moniker attributed possibly related to the flora in question.** White musk and mint round off the harmonious bouquet. The overall sillage persistently optimistic, the mellow diffusion a study of calibrated cheerfulness. The aromatic bone structure murmurs excellent breeding. Its gentility evident; its silken elegance aplenty.

Does Hermès Le Jardin de Monsieur Li, complete with its effortless joy, complement the Les Jardins series? Yes. Can this Monsieur Li potentially be a kissing cousin to another? That’s also a yes.

“Why are you choosing my signature fragrance as your office scent?” 

Soon after debuting my ambient choice a Financial Planner discreetly confronting me so. The issue? Her signature scent in question is Green Tea by Elizabeth Arden. That discussion eventually turning into a passionate side-by-side scent development mini symposium—amongst two financiers, no less. (The absurdity of that situation is completely lost upon me.)

Years after that rhapsodic episode the underlying issue is worth a sombre second thought here. This garden is not the Chinese of yore. Ellena can choose from a wide range of Chinese landmarks—many of which UNESCO certified to boot—yet this isn’t the case. The aromatic elements mentioned are of Chinese origin, yet under different contexts they can also be interpreted in a very modern fashion. In fact, this fragrance is decidedly modern—androgynous, versatile—and there’s a delicate sexual fluidity underneath its aromatic pulse. (A scent referencing a gender, however unisex, cannot be devoid of sexuality altogether, no?) Likewise, the garden of Li is neither composed of imperial peonies nor sandalwood. Simply put, this is for Modern China, period.

Style wise I actually consider this fragrance to be in complete alignment with Rhythm of China (2007), the first ever Chinese-themed Hermès silk scarf designed by a Chinese artist. Just look at it. There’s an air of electricity permeating throughout. Perhaps the traffic lights during the day, or is it neon lights by night—perhaps both? And yet, wrapping it around a Kelly or a Birkin bag, or simply wearing it as is, the jolt transforms into something else, something decorative. There’s something harmonious about such ambiguity.

It’s no accident that we have referenced the concept of harmony, or hé xié in Mandarin, several times throughout this article. While it’s an important principle of design in its own right, harmony is no trifle matter within contemporary Chinese culture. I am going to reference Wikipedia here, since it succinctly summarizes the heart of this matter:

The "Socialist Harmonious Society" concept represents a new direction of Chinese communist leadership that signified the transition between Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao. Although on the surface, "socialist harmonious society" seems benign, many scholars believe that General Secretary Hu has a vision for a deeper reform of the political system in China . In addition, the idea of scientific development stresses on scientific discovery and technological advance, engines for sustainable growth in the long run. Sustainable growth is a concept in macroeconomics that signifies GDP at potential (i.e. all that is produced is being consumed and there is no cyclical unemployment) for years to come.

In addition, the Socialist Harmonious Society concept was a response to the problem of social inequality/ wealth gap, which if not dealt with immediately, could lead to social unrest and even turmoil. A key reason contributing to a widening wealth gap was social injustice, which features collusion between entrepreneurs and officials. Through collusion, entrepreneurs were able to buy land from farmers and then sell it at high prices. Furthermore, with the protection of local officials, private coal mine owners ignored safety regulations to cut production costs. As a result, thousands of miners are killed in accidents.

Since the Tiananmen Square protests of 1989, the leadership has been extremely sensitive about maintaining stability. General Secretary Hu's focus on stability and openness is the central model addressed in the book The J Curve: A New Way to Understand Why Nations Rise and Fall by Ian Bremmer. According to Bremmer, the Chinese government is trying carefully to avoid instability by jumping from a controlled social environment on one end to complete openness on the other. The "J Curve" model is applicable to the political development of most nations and presents a choice between stability and openness. The concept of "Socialist Harmonious Society" is said to include both elements of the model. Hence, Hu's "socialist harmonious society" has an underlying message of establishing political reform as well as safeguarding social justice and equality.***

So how does this affect the aesthetics of Monsieur Li? Further notation from the same article:

While initially the public's reaction to the idea was positive, over the years "Harmonious Society" has emerged as a euphemism for "stability at all costs," and has garnered its share of critics. The government often uses "Harmonious Society" to justify the suppression of dissent and the tight control on information in China . Some social commentators have pointed out the irony that in building a "harmonious society" the country has become less just, less equal, and less fair. Meanwhile, some of Hu's critics say that application of the "Socialist Harmonious Society" concept has resulted in anything but itself. China scholar Cheng Li said that Hu's failure in implementing the Socialist Harmonious Society program has been his "gravest pitfall" during his tenure. Critics cite the increased wealth gap, higher internal security budgets, and unprecedented corruption in state-owned industries as evidence that Socialist Harmonious Society has failed in practice.

The term "River crab" (Chinese: 河蟹; pinyin: héxiè) has been adopted as internet slang in Mainland China in reference to Internet censorship. The word river crab sounds similar to the word "harmonious" in Mandarin Chinese. In addition, the word "harmonious" can itself also be the placeholder verb for "to censor", most often referring to posts on a forum that have been deleted because of its unacceptable content, or the censorship of stories reporting sensitive issues in the press. Something that has been censored in this manner is often referred to as having been "harmonized" (被和谐了).***

Yet I have digressed. Let’s talk corporate bottom line, shall me?

Ellena, no matter how much of an exalted figure in perfumery, could not afford to miss boat here. Especially after Un Jardin après la Mousson (2008). And with this Chinese garden being one of his swan songs, a failure to launch would have been disastrous. This is really not the time to experiment, to innovate.

Traditional China might sound romantic to some, but that crowd has never been the core of the Hermès growth—it’s the nouveau riche that has kept the financial engine humming.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Ellena’s stature in perfumery is reassuringly beyond reproach. At this same time, as much as we would like to think that the Mida’s touch is in spades, this launch is stacking up to be much too expensive for a risk. What it’s all said and done, harmony reigns supreme.

Now I am really not in a position to surmise development details of the Hermès Le Jardin de Monsieur Li, though I often wonder if its lack of assertion ends up serving as a footnote on the general zeitgeist of Modern China, however breath-taking its metamorphosis may be.

Often when I visit this Chinese garden, I wonder what my friend Monsieur Li looks like. Willowy of course, impeccably decked in Hermès no doubt. Graciously open-minded yes, perhaps generous to a fault. Good looking, yet with a somewhat forgetful ordinarity about his charm. However personable he may be, his words are diplomatic, action always calibrated. I think there’s a fluidity in his way, but I think he keeps it out of joint. Never putting his heart on his sleeves, never speaking his mind directly to anyone.

Hermès Le Jardin de Monsieur Li is a Citrus Aromatic fragrance for woman and men, and available in select Hermès boutiques and Point of Sales worldwide.

This fragrance review is based on a sample personally purchased by the writer in 2015 at an Hermès boutique.

Photos by Hermès and Wikipedia Common.

* Any arbitrary concept can be substituted into this modern sarcasm, to denote the futility of a particular idea—especially since sustenance is the cornerstone of Chinese culture.

** I’m absolutely in no position to comment on anything related to this matter. Googling “jasmine contraband New York Times” shall suffice—should your region allows so.

*** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harmonious_Society

Annick Goutal Duel: fragrance review

Like erotic opponents distancing themselves from each other only to better aim at the heart with a fatal gunshot, the materials in Annick Goutal's fragrance Duel are juxtaposed, yet strangely sharing common ground. One can't shake the impression they'll both live to tell the tale, till a certain point at the very least.

Paraguayan petit grain, a distillate from the leaves and twigs of the citrus aurantia v.amara aka the bitter orange tree [learn about its many raw materials for perfumery here], gives the citrusy top note, Maté absolute provides a leathery undertone; this South American herb has an aroma between black tea and cut hay. The cunning thing is the two notes complement each other rather than oppose one another; the tang of the former provides a welcome suaveness to the pungency of the latter. Maybe they ought to reconcile and with Gallic charm and a gentle shrug of the shoulders decide to share the damsel after all, if she agrees.

The green aura of the combination of the two raw materials, petit grain and maté absolute  (a common facet of both, their "touching back to back" so to speak) provides a summery diversion.
The house's art director, Camille Goutal, daughter of Annick, and perfumer Isabelle Doyen wanted to exploit the green character of mate absolute as well as its leather-scented backdrop into a modern, avant-garde composition that would appeal to those searching for something gentle yet substantial.
Its many facets (hay billowy softness, refreshing hesperidic tanginess, dry austere tobacco-leather) make it graceful and interesting.

Hints of tobacco and iris ground the airier, more fleeting notes in Duel without weighting them down. A prolonged fuzzy softness due to white musk is what makes the fragrance, although featured as a masculine in the Goutal canon, totally wearable by women as well. Like other masculine scents by Goutal, like the little known Eau du Fier, or the helichrysum roasted feel of Sables, Duel can be shared.

Personally I love using this cologne when wearing khakis and white T-shirts, with only sunscreen and mascara on my face, it seems to complement this kind of 'woman on a journalistic mission' rather well ; sort of gives me the energy I need in the heat to feel collected enough to pursue my line of research.

Bottom line: Duel is quite fresh yet oddly sexy; it smells the way Gabriel Garcia Bernal looks.

Available as eau de toilette 100ml at Goutal counters in select boutiques.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: 
Annick Goutal perfume reviews and news
The Leather Fragrance Series
Top 10 Masculine Fragrances
Gender Bender: Masculine Colognes Shared by Women, Feminine Fragrances Worn by Men

Le Labo Cuir 28 (Dubai exclusive): fragrance appreciation reprisal

Far from the crowd pleasing orientalism of Benjoin 19 (Le Labo's Moscow "city exclusive") which I had reviewed for Fragrantica last autumn, Cuir 28 by Le Labo reprises some of the butcher elements of the great leather perfumes tradition and marries them to a woody-peppery chord with unisex appeal. This brings it at a no man's land of leather scents, as it doesn't fit the mold of any category really; is it like Bandit (Piguet), Cabochard (Gres), Cuir de Russie (Chanel), Cuir de Lancome, John Varvatos Vintage, Tuscan Leather (Tom Ford), Bel Ami (Hermes) etc etc? It's like none of these things.

Phenols (tar-like notes resembling melting asphalt) resurface in Cuir 28 as a leathery note aspect on top; agressive and oozing with bitumen, the "cuir" note in Cuir 28 is unpresentable, tough and butch, probably an echo of Parchouli 24 which also presents an odd and visceral experience, especially if you're an acolyte of the school of sweet orientalized "suede" leather scents. The hardcore leather bar crowd however should find it eminently intriguing due to this very reason, although a bit of vanilla does surface later on; a respite of human affection after the hate fuck.

The fragrance segues into a iris-peppery combination that makes for the prolonged elegance of Chanel Les Exclusifs 31 Rue Cambon, diverging into two slices in the Le Labo creation, a still dry and with hints of vetiver earthiness medley that feels like a different person has walked into the room. The two slices do not meet in the pie and remain sort of disjointed throughout, which produces an odd but trippy experience for the wearer; in a way it's probably a test of whether you'll have your perfumista card revoked: do you have the patience to discover the unfolding?

The final phase of Cuir 28 comes through a hint of musky vanilla that tries to efface the butch factor of the top note, small comfort for the wild ride. For the full review please consult this link on Fragrantica.

Though a Dubai exclusive (Le Labo reserves some of its fragrances for city-specific distribution only resulting in the City Exclusive) for the month of September 2014 ONLY Cuir 28 can be found online at the official Le Labo site and Luckyscent. (I had been able to review this thanks to a generous procurer of the sample; you know who you are, thanks)

Jul Et Mad Aqua Sextius: fragrance review

The shady, cloistered Cour Mirabeau in Aix-en-Provence hides a treasure trove of small cafes to challenge even Athens. But it is the seemingly endless array of fountains that belies the connection with my city of dwelling. The palpable coolness and crispness of water spray in the air are solace in the hot summer months, the ivy clad building where Chez Feraud gets its business, the birthhouse of the painter Cezanne transformed into a small museum, the parade of students resting their bikes by the bottle green hitching posts on the street a buzzing beehive of life… A slice of that joyous life is caught in Aqua Sextius, launched by Jul et Mad last March during the Excence scent exhibition in Milan.

via

Aqua Sextius is the latest opus by Cecile Zarokian, a perfumer that shapes up to become a force to be reckoned with in the niche perfume sector. I have enjoyed her Amouage Epic for the ladies, exhibiting a gift for plushness that doesn't drag by impenetrable density. Her portfolio includes fragrances for Jovoy, Laboratorio Olfactivo and MDCI Perfumes, and also other even more esoteric or fledging brands which I admit haven't really explored (but am open to all the same!). The latest composition she submitted to the real life binational couple of "Jul et Mad" (Julien Blanchard and Madalina Stoica-Blanchard) who have based their brand onto their real life romance, told chapter by chapter, fragrance by fragrance, is wildly different from the thing I expected before checking out the press description.
Although Aqua predisposes one for "water", my mind reeled more into the "Eau" French counterpart that usually denotes a light and limpid citrus & herbs composition inspired by the time-honored eau de cologne recipe bequest from the 18th century onwards. Boy, as I wrong in assuming.

Aqua Sextius by Jul et Mad comes across as indeed an "aquatic" and if there's one genre which the current perfumista micro- world hasn't quite forgiven the 1990s (the median perfumista's budding years, I suppose therefore dismissed for being naive?) it is "marine" fragrances.
This is mainly a fault of the relative blandness of the blends, the impression of chilling silence before a piercing battle cry (that'd be the 2000s uber-sweet gourmands that'd risk giving cavities even by osmosis) rather than the smell of water bodies and the sea that aquatic fragrances in vain tried to approximate. As a consequence of perfumers not being entirely able to catch the nuance seascape into a predetermined "chord" or "note", a couple of aces up their sleeves became olfactory code for "aquatic", realism be damned: Calone, the smell of cut melon, dewy and too sweet to stand for convincing water but wildly propaged such as in CK Escape; violet nitriles, giving the damp and juicy impression of sliced cucumbers and dewy violet leaves (a successful example in Eau de Cartier); dihydromyrcenol, a metallic citrus-lavender molecule with a side of dish wash cleaner, famously enshrined to public consciousness in Davidoff's Cool water and its prolific spawn. Unless you'd been told (or had been suggested to by images of sea & river spray via advertising and packaging) you'd hardly pick "water" or "sea" to describe those notes. No matter, they're part of semiotics.

The duo of Julien and Madalina (the Jul et Mad of the company's brand name) apparently asked Zarokian for a fragrance that'd replicate their meeting in Aix-en-Provence (the Latin name of consul Gaius Sextius reflected in the later Germanic-rooted Aix): the fountains, the buzz of warm weather insects, the countryside, the romance of Southern France. One tends to forget it, rapped up into the Parisian sophistication perpetuated for public consumption, but France is a Mediterranean country, a significant part of its shores bathed in the azure of Mare Nostrum. But as mentioned above, catching that elusive scent is supremely difficult. Aqua Sextius instead turns to mint and a hint of eucalyptus to give a fresh green piquancy reminiscent of the "city of 100 fountains" as Aix-en-Provence is famed as, a slice of cedar woodiness and musky amber diffusive elements, the "marine" part reminding me of dihydromyrcenol (thankfully sans Calone). "The market has homogenized tastes and the crisis hasn't really changed that; people turn to   what is already familiar", comments Vincent Gregoire, trend watcher and the Nelly Rodi lifestyle director. Maybe is this a reason behind using such a familiar "note" in a celestial fragrance that comes from a niche brand?  It could be. It could also be a personal bet that Cecile Zarokian put herself in for; it's not easy to divest a popular trope of its signs and view it anew. I don't know what to make of it, really but at least I can see where Zarokian is coming from.

The fragrance's shade, an inviting aqua (bit bluer than the green depicted above in real life) that I'd love to include in my summery chiffon blouses arsenal, is one of those cases that the coloring of the juice is supremely matched to the olfactory impression rendered.

High marks to Jul et Mad for offering several options of packaging in even really small sizes for perfumephiles to cut their teeth onto, such as the 20ml black glass Compagon atomiser and the 5ml Love Dose miniatures.

Tauer Perfumes Eau d'Epices: fragrance review

Eau d'Épices is an interesting study in how to make a non-typical "oriental" or "woody" spice which would float rather than sink. Does it succeed? You'll be the judge as this month sees the reissue of Eau d'Épices. Eau d'Épices has been in the works since at least 2007, you see, when the first samples were given to a coterie of Tauer fans. The official launch happened in 2010 and then the scent was discontinued, to be reissued now.

via pinterest

Those who remember the soap Mandarins Ambrés that Tauer issued during the countdown to Christmas will recall the chord of labdanum-laced tartness that remained on the skin for a long time. The cleverness lies in that this classically oriental chord is buttressed in the fragrance Eau d'Épices by an allusion to soap which brings us full circle to the creative process chez Tauer: the core of this "spice water" is made of orange blossom absolute which via its cleaner facets and the indirect use of orange blossom (as well as its greener, fresher analogue, neroli) in time-honored Eaux de Cologne brings to mind the sense of freshness and purity via association.

Tauer loves his orange blossom (and if you're following his line you know that) and this is a natural essence he obtains alongside the Egyptian jasmine material he uses. Some tart notes emerge in the evaporation, a feeling of bitter-fresh grapefruit (not listed) or something like lemony verbena or lemongrass (also non listed), but the overall feeling of this core is buttery to me and this increases as the fragrance prolongs its visit.

But that is not all. There are two other dominant forces in Eau d'Épices.

One is the evident one: the "indian basket of spices" as Andy puts it —which would make phobics of impolite bodily smells scour the list for cumin, the essence which is routinely blamed for a sweat and body odor note; let me here take the opportunity to clear this fear, this perfume won't produce questions about your state of cleanliness. It is a full on spice-fest at the start (lots of IFRA-defiant cinnamon, orange blossom complementing coriander, clove and clove), but that evolves very soon and I can see how the expectation of a typical spicy oriental would let fans of the genre conditioned to expect Caron's Poivre or Coco by Chanel somewhat down. Eau d'Épices, aka "Spice Water," doesn't distance itself from the tradition of "cologne," something meant to be splashed to impart a sense of exhilaration but done in a new way, a way of spices instead of herbs.

The other undercurrent (and it is a very prominent one) is the incense-y chord that Tauer loves so much. It's an interlay of resinous-smelling/amber notes of which ambreine and ambroxan are constants. Maybe it's the hippyish vibe, maybe it's the traveling bug, these notes bring on a sense of far away lands, away from our modernized antiseptic environments.

Eau d'Épices: back on the Tauer website. As love it or hate it as spices themselves.

Serge Lutens Laine de Verre: fragrance review

One of my preferred short stories in the canon by American author Edgar Allan Poe is William Wilson. Less popular than many of his more exploitable, creepy or evocative stories, such as The Fall of the House of Usher, The Pit and the Pendulum or The Tell-Tale Heart, it manages to speak to the soul in a way that reminds me of a later favorite author, Herman Hesse, and his profoundly soul-searching novels with characters struggling to find their fate and to get to know themselves. This preface comes as  a necessary explanation on why I found Laine de Verre, the latest fragrance launch by Serge Lutens, as chillingly puzzling as the double face of Janus, the two antiscians in the above mentioned short story.

via tumblr

Maybe this was all an idea that was suggested by seeing Uncle Serge pacing up and down as if somnabulating against himself in a clip worthy of utter puzzlement… [watch the clip here]

The cryptic text is -as always- a springboard for discussion or a chance for ridicule; it all depends on your worldview:
"It is only after he had been penetrated by the winter that,
laying down his arms, the Lord of Glass came to place
at the feet of the Lady of Wool flowers and ferns which had frosted on him."

Laine de Verre means fiberglass (yes, the one used as insulation) and as odd as a perfume inspiration this sounds (the actual material being a potent sensitizer creating an instant itch on the skin it touches) there comes a point in perfumery that one has to drop the "noble essences from the Comores islands" and the "ethically sustained eco-certified ingredients" schtick and just reinvent the wheel. This moment in perfumery has arrived. Fiberglass, then, why not!! After Serge Lutens fragrances with names such as Tubereuse Criminelle (criminal tuberose), Fille en aiguilles (you'll have to read the review to find out on that, it's more complex than it sounds), Nuit de cellophane (cellophane night), Vitriol d'Oeillet (carnation's vitriol) and La Vierge de Fer (iron maiden), Laine de Verre shouldn't come as a shock, at least in what has to do with semantics.

The "eau" line, with its initial L'Eau de Serge Lutens providing the first chasm with the hardcore Lutens clientele and with L'Eau Froide as the second installment to curdle the blood (in a good way), Laine de Verre continues in this collection that is differentiated both in packaging as well as in concept from the regular Marrakech-inflected line: these are "anti-perfumes", scents which aim to be perceived as an aura emanating from the wearer, legible the way supersonic whistles are legible to higher frequency listeners.

The metallic berries and citrus from Mars and the sharp aldehydes from Pluto opening predisposes for the character of the scent which is alien for the modern consumer of apple-scented shower gels and giant fake peaches standing in for latheriness. Lutens marries the abstract idea of "clean" from the middle years of the 20th century (aldehydic florals, such as Chanel No.22 and White Linen) and injects it with modern signs for niche: frankincense, sharp lily of the valley, a mineral and cedar-musk like haze which one can't put their finger on (actually Cashmeran or blonde woods).

Although I still prefer the more incense-y L'Eau Froide (and cannot wear the super sharp and starchy L'Eau), Laine de Verre has to be the second best in the Eau fragrances by Lutens, subdued but there, average lasting power and throughout ironic the way Comme de Garcons fragrances with no-names such as Odeur 53 made their (well) name. It might sound like sacrilege to the average Lutensian fan, but what Lauder did with their Pure White Linen in relation to White Linen is what the French maestro is doing here as well with a tiny helping of that weird, bleach note that made Secretions Magnifiques so horrifically memorable. Anyone who is mentally striking this off their list, now that I mentioned THE HORRIBLE ONE, might be appeased: uncle Serge hasn't totally went out of his way to make us notice, no. Laine de Verre isn't shocking.

In the end it all boils down to intent. With the Eau series, Lutens is authoring a new grammar of "clean": decidedly cool, with prominent use of aldehydes but also incense, mineral and metallic, maybe with a hint of chalkiness like a crushed aspirin, no sign of dewiness or soft muskiness, they perfectly encapsulate a spick & span minimalist loft or a white padded insane asylum, again depending on your worldview. This hygienic approach is in violent clash against the very idea of an added on fine fragrance, much like William Wilson came crushing down violently against his own self and consolidates my belief that Serge Lutens is pulling our collective leg in a deliciously playful way.

pic: Man Ray, Andre Breton before L'enigme d'une journee by Giorgio de Chirico, 1922.

In the interests of disclosure I was sent a sample in the context of the brand's regular promos.  

Patricia de Nicolai Amber Oud: fragrance review

Patricia de Nicolai is repositioning themselves (the new bottles being one of the hints), if intimations are any indication, and no luxury niche brand today is complete without a generous helping of the infamous oud perfume ingredient. Not that there were any audible borborygmi coming from our collective perfumista stomachs craving oud, but apparently a boy or a girl can never have too much oud; or so the aroma producing companies would make us believe. Amber Oud by de Nicolai however is oud prowling in kitten's paws, so delicate and purring you might be mistaken for thinking there is some problem with the labeling. Because Amber Oud is mostly a glorious aromatic amber fragrance with copious helpings of premium grade lavender fanned on resinous, plush notes of velvet.

via TheOtherAlice/Tumblr

The combination of amber (a 19th century trope resting on labdanum & vanillin) with oud/aloeswood is not unknown to niche or Arabian-inspired perfumes; if only in name, both Diptyque and by Kilian have utilized this blend to good effect (there's also the Rasashi and Arabian Oud brands). The nutty and musty character of the modern oud/aoud/oudh bases with their Band-Aid vibe is very well tempered by a tried & true combination that somewhat sweetens the bitterness of oud and renders it more Westernized and silky to the touch. Tonka bean and lavender is also "a marriage of true minds". This 2 by 4 is played like a quartet that produces a single harmony.



In Patricia de Nicolai's Amber Oud the blast of lavender at the beginning is the dominant force which takes you by surprise and which might make women think this is more men's gear than girly girl stuff. But they need not fear. Gents and ladies alike will appreciate the seamless procession into a balsamic smelling nucleus. The inclusion of sage is beautifully erogenous, recalling human bodies in sweat, cleverly juxtaposed with the washed brightness of the lavender and the camphorous hint of patchouli. Seekers of oud (lured by the name) might feel cheated and there is no eye-catching innovativeness in the formula itself, but de Nicolai is continuing on a path of wearable, presentable, smooth perfumes that have earned her brand a steady following.


Notes for Patricia de Nicolai Amber Oud:
Top: lavender, thyme, sage, artemisia
Heart: cinnamon, saffron, agarwood (oud), Atlas cedar, patchouli, sandalwood
Base: vanilla, tonka bean, styrax, musk, castoreum, amber.

Sammarco Vitrum: fragrance review & introduction to the Sammarco brand

Sammarco is an artisanal line based in Appenzel, Switzerland, founded by Giovanni Sammarco, a genuine lover of fine perfume and premium quality raw materials who set up his own shop and now caters to all those who want a very special, bespoke fragrance or to get their hands on some of the choicest and less available perfumery materials for their own blends or scent education. I have been fortunate to have sampled some of the wares of Sammarco, both finished fragrances and raw materials, and I'm impressed by the quality; real animalics, precious ingredients, everything shining and awing with the sheen of natural, genuine essences, heaps of real jasmine, gorgeous cacao absolute, authentic orris butter, smooth osmanthus, lovely liquerish rose….

Right now Sammarco offers three ready made perfumes: Alter (a gorgeous jasmine floriental to which I will revert later on), Bond T (a real dark chocolate gourmand that was conceived after a visit to a chocolatier in Pisa, Italy) and Vitrum, a vetiver woody made for a journalist friend of Giovanni, named Federica. They're all lovely, with Vitrum perhaps spanning the spectrum on gender specifics best. So I'm starting with that one today.

Vitrum belongs in that class of fragrances that are immediately likable by everyone, exactly because it focuses on a beloved material which although always intensely itself it hides nuances of talent beyond its recognizability and genre factor. Like a Vincent Price of a character, it has the drama of its coolish and smoky demeanor, all rugged and beautifully boomy voiced, but it is softened by the magic of sentiment; rose and pepper bring forth antithetical virtues, much like a soft fairy tale of Edward Scissorhands can bring a tear in our eye and a smile in our heart. It's as surprising to find a gentler side to the craggy profile of the master of sinister as finding out he was an art historian and an avid cook who started his career as the romantic lead, which is totally true.
Likewise, we're conditioned to view vetiver woody fragrances as perfect for the heat of summer (and indeed vetiver is used in India for its cooling properties) but I find that the smokiness and bold spiciness (with a hint of a wintery, tempest petrol green sea spray) makes an overcast, brumous winter day feel like a precious gift.

Vitrum is available on the Sammarco e-shop for 130CH. (There are several paying options and you will have to contact the company to see if there are any shipping restrictions if you're worried).

To tie this all up and conclude. Regarding the bespoke fragrance option, it's all fine and dandy as an idea, and if you have been following Perfume Shrine you know we have touched on the subject here and there, but the major stumbling obstacle for most is the initial cost: one can't just have a formula made and only order a single bottle with most perfumers offering this special service. Giovanni cleverly thought about this and bypassed it in one fell swoop as he offers the Sammarco Mini-Bespoke service. For just 600CH you can have one bottle of your specially made perfume, created for you and with you! I call this genius, don't you?

Biehl Parfumkunstwerke GS03: fragrance review

GS03 for Biehl Parfumkunstwerke is the acronym for perfumer Geza Schoen's third composition he signs with his initials for the quirky and arty niche brand hailing from Hamburg, Germany by way of New York and more ways than one stands as the distilled signature of his mature work passed down in flying colors. Everything is there: the copious amounts of Iso-E Super (a synthetic material he is famous for using in his work), the airy modern feeling like ambient music, the legibility and at once the wearability of the composition by man, woman or animal (well, I made the last one up, but you know what I mean). The scent gains in warmth and sensuality as the body heats up, the hallmark of a good "skin scent". Like plexi-glass bricks letting sunlight traverse through them, it only looks artificial first time around; familiarity gets it ingrained fast.

photo of Geza Schoen provided for PerfumeShrine use

For Geza, a molecular wizard who questions the very nature of fine fragrance, scent works like an invisible mantle, at once enhancing the wearer's "super powers," the way Superman's cape allows him to reach his flying potential, and creating an enigma as to their definite source (May we recall here his infamous Molecule 01, "an agreeable ambient presence which plays peek-a-boo with my nose" as Katie Puckrik said). Schoen doesn't like the modern approach of mass fragrance anyway: "Fragrance these days is all about naked women on the beach, naked women on the sofa, naked women in the arms of naked men—it’s so boring", he states in no uncertain terms.

For GS03 the concept was a totally modernized, galvanized Cologne, not a rehash. The classic of old, the Eau de Cologne formula (citrusy effervescence with herbal-aromatic accents and a very faint musk in the base) stands for the contentment of cleanliness, since it is routinely splashed on after a bath, but also of exhilaration and total body & mind detoxing; a simple message printed in thick, header bold: spray it on and just feel good about yourself! With a history of more than 3 centuries on its back it also risks coming across as "granny-ish" or maudlin. To avoid that Schoen and art director Thorsten Biehl worked on incorporating contemporary elements and a modern structure. The result reads as unisex, because there are no traditionally very feminine, dainty, pretty-pretty notes, nor heavily burly chest-thumping and gravelly-voiced masculine ones.

pic of Geza Schoen & Thorsten Biehl at work, provided for PerfumeShrine use

The top note of Biehl Parfumkunstwerke GS03 fragrance is as clear as a church bell pealing on a mountain top in the Alps, but at the same time quite soft and soapy-smelling, comprised of a pink pepper note (allied to what can only come across as sweet lemon to my nose) which reveals a less sharp than citrus, slightly fruity-rosy scent carried far by the scent of the alcohol carrier. The rejuvenating scent of juniper gives an herbal accent that recalls the bracing feel of downing a good gin. The lemony touch just aids in bringing forth the herbal aspects of juniper berries. The trick of juniper is clever; it has provided that contented, in-the-know smile I recall from wearing Angeliques sous la Pluie (Jean Claude Ellena for Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle) and Juniper Sling (Olivier Cresp for Penhaligon's). The gin & tonic combination is as perennially pleasing as a button-down oxford shirt in white; it just works in any situation, on any wearer. It's also effortless, even if you're using Hendrick's. It seems to me that there is also a bitterish artemisia hint in GS03, a tickling of the sinuses which aids the pungent freshness (and some hedione); it would serve as both a contrast and a modifier, rendering the juniper fresher and the rest fruitier by contrast. The anchoring elements consist of the potent musky, cedar-like hum (Iso-E Super) which we have come to associate with Geza Schoen, with an added layer of castoreum, just enough to give interest.

pic of Geza Schoen & Thorsten Biehl provided for PerfumeShrine use

The projection of Biehl GS03 is mild: I catch whiffs now and then and if I lean over the spots I sprayed it's most definitely there, but it doesn't come across as "you're wearing perfume!" (Come to think of it, should anything?)

GS03 is available from the Biehl site, at Scent Bar and on Luckyscent.

Acqua di Parma Colonia: Fragrance Review & Giveaway of Luxurious Body Products Set

It had been ages since I had last smelled the refined herbal, acrid top notes of Acqua di Parma's cologne, atavistically named Colonia and encased in the sunniest crocus yellow this side of the earth's "omphalos". (Seriously, if there's one shade in the beauty business packaging to rival Hermes's coveted orange and Tiffany's delicate robin-egg blue, it's Aqua di Parma's yellow; a true trademark). It was the mid-1990s, I recall, when I was first taken with the "niche" circuit and when coincidentally Diego della Valle decided to rescue not only driving shoes (establishing the famous Tod's loafer) but also credible Italian cologne resold as a refined commodity since at least the times of Jean Marie Farina. Acqua di Parma was immediately eye-catching but it was the simple, to the point elegance of subtlety (fragrance wearing for the pleasure of fragrance wearing -not announcing any deep and meaningful messages about one's self importance) which cinched the deal. My first bottle found its rightful place on my vanity. The rest is history.

via

In Alfie, the modern version of the film from 2004, this is all Jude Law, devastatingly charming*, with a full head of hair thank you very much and ruining his marriage with the help of Sienna Miller, used to have on his bathroom shelf: Acqua di Parma Colonia. And who can blame him**? Apparently the scent scored, as scads of females were hankering for his guiles, Susan Sarandon in all her mature knowingness no less. The cineaste reference isn't without peer: reportedly both Ava Gardner and Cary Grant liked and wore Acqua di Parma's classic cologne in the 1930s. Today you can feel like a movie star when stepping out of the bath of any 5 star hotel in the world where Acqua di Parma bath and body products are a sine qua non.

The story of Acqua di Parma goes like this: In 1916 Master perfumers created a new fragrance in a small laboratory in Parma using natural ingredients. It was an unusually fresh and modern fragrance – the first true Italian Cologne. Today Acqua di Parma is still true to its heritage. The fragrances and the packaging are still both hand-designed and Acqua di Parma is an iconic symbol of the refined, exclusive, and purest Italian lifestyle.

via 

The brilliance of Colonia by Acqua di Parma lies in the intensely sunny, succulent marriage of both sweet orange rind essence and bitter orange notes (citrus aurantia from which neroli, petit-grain and orange blossom absolute derive) to the soapy mossiness of the base; it gives a genuinely chyprish scent nuance, evocative of tall cypresses, proudly standing against Tuscany winds, with a backdrop of lemony verbena, delicate rose and a hint of patchouli, like spots of sienna tiles and stuccoed walls silhouetted serenely in the distance. It's enough to shed away your winter stressed shell and bask in the Italian sunshine Ava-style. Who in their right mind could ask for more?

Notes for Acqua di Parma Colonia:
Bergamot, Citrus, Lemon, Bitter Orange, Sweet Orange, English Lavender, Bulgarian or Damascene Rose, Verbena, Clary Sage, Rosemary, Cedarwood, Patchouli, Sandalwood, Vetiver, Oakmoss.

For our readers, we have a luxe gift set of Colonia bath & shower gel, hair conditioner and body lotion in the glorious yellow boxes and bags. Please enter a comment to be eligible. Draw is open internationally till Wednesday midnight. Winner to be announced sometime in Thursday.

*it is my personal quirk that I prefer his portrayal of the murderer photographer in the grim & great  Road to Perdition...don't mind me.
** this film still tells you all about the intended audience of the product placement

In the interests of disclosure, I was given the set via a PR opportunity. 

L'Artisan Parfumeur L'Ete en Douce (previously Extrait de Songe): fragrance review

Essence of a dream, that is Extrait de songe, was the very poetic name of a limited edition “clean”perfume for summer 2005 by L’artisan Parfumeur. The latter lost a legal battle over the coveted name with Annick Goutal who had the name Songes (=dreams) copyrighted for her own, completely different, floriental composition. Hence the lovely Extrait de Songe became extinct... Later it was rechristened as L'Eté en Douce (playing on a French idiom, meaning "summer is sneaking up on you") and entered the L'Artisan portfolio as a re-issue.
However many perfume fans say the fragrance in either name smells quite close to another older L’artisan offering, one of the Moodswings coffret, Lazy Mood, developed by the same perfumer, Olivia Giacobetti. This got me thinking.

Laziness, boredom, dullness….all of these words bring to mind the languorous days of a really hot summer, when one isn’t energized enough to actively do anything except sleep. We had a long bout of this in the summer and am afraid we will get it again soon enough.
When I am talking hot, I am not talking Canada “hot”. Nor Germany “hot”. These are euphemisms. These are mere bleeps on the radar of hotness, never managing to register with me. (It’s actually my preferred weather: if only we had 28 degree Celsius half the year long...)
I am talking 39-40 degrees hell hot, all red and fiery; when your own skin is becoming revolting to you and you want to tear it apart with one swift gesture like an overzealous Russian waxer with steroid-enhanced arms; when hair sticks on your forehead inviting you to turn into a travesty of a skinhead; when sticky liquid oozes off your pores just by sitting around doing nothing. Yes, you’ve guessed it: I hate those moments with a passion.
The “noon devil” of the hermits of Egypt, which draws out every speck of physical and mental vitality, is my personal nemesis.

However it is a small comfort that Extrait de songe/L'Eté en Douce exists for providing the illusion of a clean, cool, white cotton sheet that can be wrapped all around one and provide some solace from the scorching sun. Sloth according to Kirkegaard is the source of all evil. Wordsworth described it as “wild dullness”. It is considered one of the seven deadly sins by the Catholic church. Hamlet refers to the world as “tiresome, plain and dull” which probably explains why he never lifts a hand to actually do anything except talk for the better part of the play.
Samuel Butler says that boredom is a kind of spiritual failure, since the person who lets himself to emote it is more despicable than boredom itself.
But is it so bad, really? I wonder…

Billy Collins, the poet, calls boredom paradise itself. “It’s the blessed absence of things that the world offers as interesting such as fashion, media, and other people, whom Sartre –let’s not forget- characterized as hell.”
Anton Chekhov also idealized boredom in many of his plays, like in Uncle Vania and Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot” remains without a doubt the manifesto of dullness, featuring characters that await for that bastard Godot who never makes an appearance and which proves boredom can be pro-active after all, because many had stood up and left the theatre from what I recall :-)) The New York author Richard Greenburg even wrote a book (titled “Take me out”) after a bout of boredom during one especially dull summer, during which he watched baseball matches on TV. Luckily I am not  that desperate. Brenda Way, choreographer, likes to sit and think when stuck in a jammed highway: She believes it aids her involuntary voyage to creativity by using her unconscious powers at those precise moments.

Made by nose Olivia Giacobetti, who is famous for her light compositions that are like Winslow Homer paintings, Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce is typically her style and seems very fit for such moments. It's an interpretation of freshness without acidulated, fusing or sparkling notes and it reminds me of the style that Jean Claude Ellena later explored in one of his "cologne" duo, called Eau de Gentiane Blanche. The two fragrances do not smell the same, but they share a similar sensibility and apparently a generous smothering of ambrette seed.
Featuring an airy and totally linear formula, Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce begins with linden and lots of "clean" orange blossom water, like the flower water used to sprinkle Mediterranean cookies with, segueing on to hay- like (coumarin?) and woody notes, it finishes off with a kiss of white musk and the bitterish ambrette like newly washed bed-clothes envelopping your showered body. It's all purity, all light! Uncomplicated, easy, soft, lastingly diaphanous, evoking the dew caressing grass in a field and on wild rose bushes, the freshness of lime trees and the warm scent of freshly cut hay; a fragrance that has no aspirations of creating discussion, but only of making you feel good about yourself! The whole projects at a white radiant frequency which must be as close to seraphic cool places as possible without actually hitting the bucket.

Whatever your camp is (and I suppose you still run a pulse if you're reading right now), Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce manages to smell like it is the best thing to exonerate the bad and amplify the good aspects of boredom.

The original bottle of Extrait de Songe is a beautiful lavender blue degrade cylinder (the colour becomes more saturated on the bottom) with plain, silver sprayer, now a collector's item. The newer bottle under L'Eté en Douce follows the typical L'Artisan packaging with label in lavender blue.

Notes for L'Artisan Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce:mint, rose, orange blossom and white musk

Please note: another fragrance by L'Artisan has just recently changed name, namely Vanille Absolument which used to be Havana Vanille (2009).

Inspired by a euro2day comment. Pic of kitten got sent to me by email, unaccredited. L'Ete en Douce bottle pic via duftarchiv.de

The Different Company Bois d’Iris: Fragrance Review

Yes, this is my copy of Bois d’Iris—right up to the obtuse notch on the top left corner of the box upon yours truly’s overzealous unwrapping—yet in all honestly after a few years I still haven’t figured out a proper place for master perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena’s creation.

~by guest writer AlbertCAN

photo copyright: AlbertCAN (used with permission)

Is it the subject matter? Hardly. Iris is one of my preferred olfactory subjects of exploration. (Apparently so does the US Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour, as the owners of Aedes de Venustas told Chandler Burr: "Dolce and Gabbana came in for a thank-you gift for Anna Wintour. She likes irises, so we loaded her basket with iris candles, iris soaps, iris room sprays, and decorated it with fresh irises.") Could it then be the compositional philosophy? Quite the opposite: many readers of this space and my humble blog would know that I have been a keen observer of Ellena’s aesthetics for years now. The quality of the ingredients is also evident from the first moment to the last, the packaging from The Different Company impeccable. So what makes it just short of being a clincher?

An epiphany striked through upon composing this review: it’s in the name. Bois d’Iris (not to be confused with Van Cleef & Arpel’s subsequent release under its niche Collection Extraordinaire line) is exactly what the title suggests: it’s more of a manifestation of woods within iris.

Let’s not to imply that Ellena skimped on costs here: the pricy iris concrete is used here and its effect is evident. For the purpose of composing this review I have pulled out my batch of iris to compare. Indeed the concrete is at the depth of this work, forming an earthy, damp, slightly tunnelled ambiance at the back end. The iris used in Bois d’Iris creates a smooth and silken effect, while displaying all typical facets of the material: the floral violets, the dark gourmands, the dry woods. And because iris concrete just by itself lacks the diffusional standards for modern perfumery Ellena here has chosen to bolster the material with alpha-isomethyl ionone, a material having a diffusive, powdery impression of violets and its slightly chalkier analogue—you’ve guessed it—iris. At this point I should point out that the duo of iris and alpha-isomethyl ionone also form the backbone of Hermès Hiris, yet whereas Olivia Giacobetti’s composition lightens up the cornerstone with carrot and almond wood, Bois d’Iris veers into another direction.

A few years back I had the fortune of communicating with Octavian Coifan about subtle ways of emphasizing iris within a composition, and he mentioned that vetiver or even cedar would be good options. While Chanel 28 La Pausa, another iris fragrance, has vetiver at its base, Bois d’Iris is firmly in the cedarwood territory. And the heart of the composition is filled with narcissus and aspects of geranium: the rosy geraniol and citronnellol, the woodsy-peppery-floral linalool. Then to complete the composition we have the clove aspect from eugenol, the slight ylang impression from benzyl salicylate and the hay-like depth from coumarin. Limonene, the essential building block of citrus elements, is also present, though I don’t generally consider that to be the main player at all; in fact, the traditional top notes are neither prominent nor emphasized.

Now I don’t know about you, but at this point the above-mentioned notes, in their respective positions, read modern French formal to me—emphasis on the word formal. Don’t get me wrong: like I have previously mentioned the composition integrity is commendable, style consistent with Ellena’s point of view. Yet what comes with its Gallic nature is an authentic air of reservation and formality, more of a silent masculine to Hiris feminine. Reserved, pensive. It’s not to suggest that Bois d’Iris is boring, with the narcissus-eugenol-coumarin axis giving off a slight wine-like nuance and the cedar forming a nice wine-cask resonance. Now I suspect Bois d'Iris knows how to enjoy life, but only tastefully in private.

Overall? Bois d’Iris is something I use from time to time in my own spare time, when I feel like losing myself in a long leisurely read. If I want my holy grail iris I will continue layering Hiris with Persicol.

Andree Putman Preparation Parfumee: fragrance review

Andrée Putman's fragrance is not easy to review, exactly because it eschews traditional classification, much like the acclaimed designer opted to for her work as well. From home interiors to furniture to tableware, her work is sans pareil. It was only natural that her eponymous fragrance would be too; an aqueous woody with a different feeling of freshness than the screechy scratch of "marines", at a time of launch (2001) a mini revolution. Doubly so if one considers for a moment that it was she who was responsible for the renovation of the flagship Guerlain boutique at Champs-Elysées in 2005, replete with the luminous chandeliers which refract light in a million rays. Her eponymous perfume bears absolutely no relation with a classic Guerlain!

via habituallychic.blogspot.com

Damp woods are harmoniously paired to spices and refined notes reminiscent of dewy stems and petals in Preparation Parfumée; more of a protective amulet than a potion of seduction, as evidenced by the name too (i.e. scented preparation) The Andrée Putman fragrance was composed by Olivia Giacobetti, a perfumer known for her transparent, limpid accords and her quirky, individual style ~as showcased in Premier Figuier (1994), Drôle de Rose (1995), Thé Pour Un Eté (1996), Philosykos (1996), L’Eau du Fleuriste (1997), Navegar (1998), Dzing! (1999), Passage d'Enfer (1999), Hiris (1999), Tea for Two (2000), Essence of John Galliano, En Passant (2000) or Thé des Sables (2001). The building up to Preparation Parfumée Andrée Putman (2001) bears olfactory kinship with another perfume composed by Giacobetti, Navegar for L'Artisan Parfumeur, a scent of blanched pebbles and driftwood on a river's delta. No wonder that Putman OK-ed the austere and economical use of a few elements to convey a potent message; it was she who had famously said: "I love America, and I love American women. But there is one thing that deeply shocks me - American closets. I cannot believe one can dress well when you have so much."

Preparation Parfumée begins with a spicy top note that reminds me of bay leaves and their oil, although I know they are not listed, that slightly bittersweet & hot eugenol-rich spice that we use in lentils soup. The fragrance however is not heavy nor strong, never a singeing feeling. Then along with that a very aqueous accord follows retaining the earthy smell of petrichor for a long long time. It reminds me of wood branches washed on the shore of a river of gigantic proportions after a storm, drenched in mud and bog water. This earthy, elemental force is fundamental to its appeal. Rather than mountains and forests, due to lack of the resinous quality I associate with those, this image creates another kind of serenity.

Would that be a scent to dampen one's spirits though with all its damp wood and such? It depends….It’s not “pretty” for sure , neither “elegant” and "feminine" in the traditional sense, but it retains an air of mystery and nostalgic quality for those friendly to introspection.

Frederic Malle Angeliques sous la Pluie: fragrance review

The thin snowflakes came down the skies unexpectedly early yesterday morning, silk confetti melting softly on the wet streets as a pale sun was shining beneath the fluffy clouds. Maurizio Pollini was touching the clavier on the background in a beloved Polish composer's Nocturnes. The silence was deafening, perfect in its standstill position. It felt like one of those moments when long-eared, soft furred dogs gather their paws, bow down their head and sigh with a mix of contemplative happiness and resignation to the mysteries of the world around them. I was reminded of the tender, contemplative emotions sweeping over me upon discovering Angéliques Sous La Pluie (2000, Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle) for the first time.

This bitterish and cool fantasy of gin & tonic was pure like a snowflake, tingling at the back of the throat like the cold air of the tundra. Juxtaposed next to the warm spiciness of the carnal Musc Ravageur, the soie sauvage Hitchcockian elegance of Iris Poudre or the camphorous floral lushness of Carnal Flower it seems a breed apart. It's the sort of thing to foreshadow an atmosphere or reflect a mood, rather than a pronouncement on the wearer, never crying for attention.

Angelica is a plant with a nose-tingling essence, peppery in a way like peppercorns are, bracing but less pungent and greener. Perfumer Jean Claude Ellena picked a small bunch of angelica and put it in his pocket after a visit to the garden of fellow perfumer Jean Laporte after the rain. Inspired by this fleeting whiff of the still dewy angelica bouquet, Jean-Claude Ellena's fragrance plays out like a chamber music arrangement. There is the petrichor scent of rain falling on dry earth, a green herbal tonality without moss or grass. One detects the spicy, tonic notes of angelica leaves mixed with some bergamot freshness, juniper berries and citrusy coriander, softened by a hint of musk, soft non sweetened amber and cedar wood. Its deceptive softness is non vanillic. Its prettiness devoid of flowers. There is a hint of violet like in Soivohle's Violets and Rainwater but that's it.

As Malle himself puts it: "Angéliques sous la Pluie is a perfume whose charm stems from the originality of its mix and from the free hand of its author. The perfect balance and fragility of Angéliques sous la Pluie, like the drawing of a great artist, is what makes it so beautiful. As proof of his great wisdom, the artist knew when to stop before destroying its charm. This first collaboration with Jean-Claude Ellena was thus a lesson in humility".

Angéliques Sous La Pluie is perfectly fit for men or women, lasts on a sostenuto sotto voce, wears as fine in wintertime as it does in the dead of summer and is typical Ellena in style; refined, dry, personal, non condescending, never obvious, worth revisiting to catch new glimpses each time, requiring a mind that is attuned to silence and simplicity of line rather than opulence and clatter. And all the better for it. Angéliques Sous La Pluie –– "a splash of emotion".

Available as 50ml spray for 140$, 3x10ml travel sprays for 95$, 100ml spray for 195$ on the official Malle site.