Polly Bergen TorTue: vintage fragrance

Sometimes what had been filed under "tidbits" in my mind resurges thanks to the unending stimulation that my readers provide. Jean, one of my favorite people in Perfume Shrine's elite readership, pointed out that a "tortue" perfume was advertised by Polly Bergen.

via

Indeed it is so. 

The American actress Polly Bergen, best known for her role in the original Cape Fear movie, founded the Polly Bergen Company which sold cosmetics in 1965. The concept and catchy marketing pitch was the inclusion of turtle oil (the snail mucus of yesterday I assume). Hence the name Tor Tue (turtle in French, please note the parted writing which looks fetching on the actual product label) for her first perfume, introduced in 1973. The scent came in a tubular shaped spray perfume bottle with either a silver metal colored cap or a deepest brown one. The label was deep brown itself, lined in silver, to reflect a upmarket interpretation of the tortoise scheme, I presume.
There are also specimens of rounded bottles with a dark navy round cap, resembling the Lanvin Clair de Jour fragrance minis. Same glass manufacturer obviously, mass market mould. 

The ambery color of the juice accurately reflects the heavyweight feeling of the scent, full bodied and not conceding to modernities of the times, even if not the fragrance family in which it technically falls. From what I recall from a tiny sample a fellow collector had once shared generously out of her own derelict little bottle, Tortue is a chypre fragrance with fresher top notes of hesperides which had unluckily degraded over time leaving a rather resinous feel (I seem to detect myrrh and vetiver in the mix). The mossier elements made it a classy perfume-y scent , something to wear with tweet suits or gabardine pants and a twin set, which lovers of vintage often hanker after. 

Seeing as the prices on auction sites and collectors' sites are extremely friendly (due to low demand I wager) it's not a risk investing in a bottle or mini of TorTue by Polly Bergen.

Guerlain Quand Vient La Pluie & Quand Vient L'Ete: fragrance reviews, notes & bottles history

Approaching Guerlain fragrances has me strained on the brink, like the tailor with his home-made parachute when he was about to jump from the Eiffel tower more than a century ago. Contrary to this proto-pioneer of aviation the apprehension comes not from the chill of the unknown but rather from the gloom of having one’s lust non-quenched. Like that supreme stylist Vladimir Nabokov said, “the look of lust is always gloomy; lust is never quite sure—even when the velvety victim is locked up in one’s dungeon—that some rival or influential god may still not abolish one’s prepared triumph.” Thankfully there are instances where neither rival nor influential god can take away from what one has carefully designed, even when it’s relatively of a recent vintage yet sure in the footing of tradition; and who better than Guerlain to be in that position? The two seasonally named, yet of panseasonal capabilities perfumes, "When the Rain Comes" and "When Summer Comes," prove to be amongst those “vintage” (and I use the term very loosely) Guerlains for whom lust is fully justified.

Guerlain Quand Vient La Pluie via 

Find out on this Fragrantica link why that is. plus how these two meta-vintages smell and how they implicate other famous and less famous Guerlain perfumes, such as L'Heure Bleue, Apres L'Ondee, Terracotta and No.25, before being both contained in the limited edition Les Saisons coffret.

Fragrance notes for Guerlain Quand Vient La Pluie include bergamot, rosemary, neroli, heliotrope, violet, jasmine, amber, gourmand praline notes, patchouli and musk.
The bottle was designed by Serge Mansau

the 1910 original formula (loosely inspiring the latter) Quand Vient L'Ete by Guerlain, in Baccarat quadrilobe bottle (circulating to this day) Pic originally from Ebay via 

a later re-issue of Quand Vient l'Ete in the retro bottles, originally on Ebay via  

Fragrance Notes for Guerlain Quand Vint L'Ete (2007 formula) include:

Top notes are mint, lemon and rose; middle notes are lily, jasmine and ylang-ylang; base notes are carnation, iris and vanilla.

Parfums Carven: A Story of Clever Marketing & Great Fragrances

Just after World War II ended, Carmen de Tommaso, a French-born who originally studied architecture and interior design, opened a couture house with the aid of three businessmen friends who had happened to have been war prisoners together. Ailed by her minute size, what we call 'petite" nowadays, de Tommaso had the idea to cater to women who also had a comparable figure. To inflect her brand with a more Parisian (rather than Andalusian) flair, as her base of operations was Paris, Carmen, like Charles Revson (of Revlon), substituted a letter in her name and became Mademoiselle Carven ever since.

What made for the success of this couture house, one among many starting in the mid-20th century Parisian landscape, such as Dior, Piguet, or Balmain? Simple, original ideas and the proper dose of marketing.

Please refer to this link to read my article on the History & Vintage Fragrances of the French company parfums Carven.

Fragrance Reviews of the Resurrected Guerlain Perfumes for the Centenary Celebration at Champs Elysees

Guerlain celebrated its centenary anniversary at Champs Elysées with an extensive renovation which lasted 9 months. The re-opening of the boutique on November 23rd impressed all Guerlain lovers with the reaffirming of the splendor of the classic French brand, as well as with the reissuing of iconic fragrances which form part of the cultural heritage of Maison Guerlain. These perfumes, displayed on the first floor of the 68 Champs Elysées boutique however are not for sale: the perfume enthusiast can visit the flagship and experience the sensations that these recreated scents from the past convey, but the formulae do not comply with current standards and therefore they stand mostly as a prized curio and a dream vehicle than a product to place on one's vanity.

But it is no matter!

The vivid and creative imagination of Jacques Guerlain who produced several fragrances per year is something to be enjoyed, rather than hoarded with materialistic aspirations.

So, the question is: How do these resurrected, Guerlain heritage fragrances actually smell? Thanks to the talents of Thierry Wasser and Fred Sacone (junior perfumer at Guerlain) who recreated them in contemporary time but vintage context as well as the indomitable spirit and generosity of Sylvaine Delacourte, it was possible to share with you. I thank Sylvaine for sharing her impressions and for continuing to assist the perfumers in what is a labor of prestige and love for the brand.

Here there are, the scent descriptions for all of them, in chronological order of original launch.

PAO ROSA (1877)

This really old cologne was first made in 1877, comprising the elements we have come to associate with classic colognes. The effarvescent top is comprised of bergamot and neroli, while the heart is centered on rose with the animalic notes of Tibetan musk tincture and civet tincture.

A TRAVERS CHAMPS
EXTRAIT 1877

Despite the opening notes of bergamot, petit grain and lavender, the focus of the extrait of A Travers Champs is undisputedly floral with rose, ylang ylang and a very pronounced spicy carnation note. The background is built on powdery iris, an authentic birch tar leathery note, woods and sensual impressions from amber and animalic scents.

Click to read more.

Guerlain Shore's Caprice (1873): Perfume History & an Enigma

When Aimé Guerlain created an extrait de parfum for use on the silk and linen handkerchiefs of the aristocracy and bourgeoisie in 1873 little did he know that he would be creating a modern day enigma. The scent has of course disappeared from the face of the earth and any remnant purported as authentic would raise serious questions in the minds of the sane collector, but the intricacies of its historical trail capture the imagination all the same.

 The perfume Shore's Caprice began its journey as patronage for la Comtesse Emanuella Pignatelli Potocka, something not unheard of for the venerable French house in the 19th century. The countess Potocka, born Emanuela Pignatelli and a descendant of pope Innocent XII, appears as a personality full of contradictions, Italian grace and Parisian flair, who was keeping a salon to awe the society of her times. De Maupassant was a daily visitor. Barrès, Bourget, Robert de Montesquiou, Reynaldo Hahn, Widor as well. In her position as the lover of a well known philosopher, Emanuella derived intellectual enjoyment from humiliating the philosopher in him, even though her personal conduct with the man was above board.

Emanuella Pignatelli, countess Potocka

But it is the use of Shore's Caprice a short 9 years later, in 1882, in a case of reverse engineering (just think of the literary inspiration behind the legendary Guerlain Mitsouko) that it becomes food for fantasy. It happened when it became the perfume worn by Julia Forsell, the heroine of art critic's and journalist's Octave Mirbeau's L'écuyère (the title translates as "the horsewoman", "the amazon"). The specific quote goes like this: "Une mondaine, qui l'avait vue chez Guerlain, achetant un flacon de Shore's caprice, s'en était fait une renommée". This comes smack in the middle of a full page describing Julia's habits and skills, which are many and eye catching.
It was not the first time that a novel would benefit from a reference of perfumes worn by its characters and certainly not the last. It's mighty interesting how the imagination of authors and artists has been captured by the free-spirited character of the horsewoman, featuring such proto-feminist types in their work. But it's also fascinating to compare and contrast Shore's Caprice with the iconography of another Guerlain fragrance, the classic Jicky (1889), which as a prototype fougère, has always had a touch of the androgynous. Jicky is advertised with fetching, independent women behind the "volant" instead of the horse, stirring their lives with the determination of a true amazon.

Octave Mirbeau

The information about Shore's Caprice deliciously contradicts itself, creating an intricate puzzle of theories and little corroborated data. Four years after the release of L'écuyère, Shore's Caprice is mentioned in a complimentary manner in a proto-lifestyle-manual, Louise Gagneur's Pour Etre Aimée: Conseils d'une Coquette. There it is referenced as a perfume inspired by the sea and its complex aroma, but is deemed especially fit for neutralizing the catty aroma of certain furs. This tidbit of perfume etiquette use (common in "parfums fourrure") would have passed unnoticed had I not recalled having read an interview of Jean Kerléo, back when he was head of L'Osmothèque, where he commented at length on the feel and memories of "marine" fragrances (i.e. fragrances that try to approximate the scentscape of the ocean) and saying that they oppose the ideal of the bourgeoisie "who do not want the scent of the sea emanating off their furs". Was the countess Potocka revolutionizing fragrance mores by opting for an intellectualized scent that would clash with what the society of her times would think of as "proper"?

Whatever the scent smelled of in reality (and how realistically the smell of the sea could be captured in a composition dating from the 19th century with all the technical limitations of the times) the very existence of the fragrance is undisputed. Just a few years back, in 2009, a lot of Guerlain bottles were auctioned to perfume bottle collectors, amongst them Shore's Caprice alongside Guerlain's Cuir de Russie perfume. The square bottle measuring 17cm tall dated from 1880, a gold-gilded encrusted flacon that was a special commission, labelled «15 rue de la paix Paris» after the older address of the French family business. On it there was a gravure of a woman with a flag, providing another cryptic clue to its character.

Leo Tolstoy

But perhaps the most fascinating tidbit of all comes from a fellow "perfumista" who had read in an -as yet unidentified, unrevealed- book that Shore's Caprice was supposedly the perfume bottle found on the night table at the deathbed of famous novelist Leo Tolstoy. Is "shore" not a name but the evocation of the sea, the eternal blue that the steppe-born Russian soul only dreamed of and never attained? What was its caprice and why did it appeal to Tolstoy in the first place? Guerlain holds the key to a precious mystery in its archives.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain perfumes, known and unknown, Fragrance history. 

Le Galion Snob: fragrance review & history

Many state that Snob by Le Galion is a poor man's Joy, referencing "the costliest perfume in the world" ~as the Patou perfume was being advertised post-Crash~ as the litmus test for understanding the lesser known fragrance. It's all because Le Galion (Neuilly, France), a brand founded by Prince Murat and acquired by perfumer Paul Vacher, was engulfed by the passage of time; all but vanished by 1990, and its remnants vintage palimpsests crying out for a studious scholar. If we simply go by Snob's name, nevertheless, the literal scholar might as well be in absentia.

aromania.ru

It is perhaps as well that not many people are keenly aware that the word "snob" began as a notation on English colleges' records, notably Cambridge, of entrants who were devoid of an aristocratic strain circa 1796. "S.nob" supposedly signified "sine nobilitas", "of no aristocratic bearing". The exact etymology is lost on us, though it was originally used for shoemakers and local merchants. The lauded democratic inclusion of more people gifted in the head department rather than in the name & pocket department in those bastions of class distinction is of course the basis of modern civilization as we know it. Yet, that very distinction was not amiss to those who were participating side-by-side with those possessing "nobilitas" for many decades to come; hence the deterioration of the word to the one  signifying the aping of aristocratic ways and its further decline into its modern usage of one who shuns anything they consider low-class.

It is this very element, re-appearing in a perfume name from 1952 and coming from an aristocrat originator no less, which makes me think that there's either a heavy-handed irony of the Parisian clientele choosing it or it was primarily aimed at the American market to begin with. If names of Le Galion's other long-lost perfumes, such as Indian Summer (1937), Shake Hands (1937), Cub (1953), and Whip (1953) are any indication, their perfumes were certainly not only reserved for continental Europe, but whether they succeeded abroad hinged on complex parameters as we will see further on.

Snob was composed by perfumer Paul Vacher, famous for his hand in the original Miss Dior in 1947 (with Jean Carles), and Arpège for Lanvin in 1927 (with André Fraysse), as well as for Diorling, but Vacher also worked for Guerlain). Snob is a "flower bouquet" perfume, a mix of several floral notes which intermingle to give an abstract impression in which one can't pinpoint this or that blossom. The rose-jasmine accord in the heart is classical for the genre and in good taste, with the opening displaying intense, sparkling, lemony-rosy aldehydes. The more Snob stays on skin the more it gains the musky, sweet & powdery timbre of classic ladylike Chanels, like No.5 and No.22. The fusion of vetiver and sweet musk plus orris gives a skin-like quality that remains oddly fresh, especially in my batch of "brume". The fragrance was dropped almost immediately, making it a rare fragrance collectible. The reason? Fierce antagonism with none other than...Jean Patou!

Parfums Jean Patou had registered a trademark for a Patou "Snob" fragrance in the United States as early as 1953 (just months after the Parisian launch by Le Galion the previous year!), a venture resulting in less than 100 bottles sold in total, but effectively excluding the Le Galion fragrance from the American market. Importing any infringing trademark was naturally prohibited and this exclusion lasted for almost 2 decades, thus blocking Le Galion's perfume chances in the vast USA.

Snob by La Galion was launched many years after Patou's Joy, a bona fide inspiration, unlike Patou's own practices, in an era that clearly exalted the ladylike florals with the fervor of newly re-found feminine values of classiness, obedience, elegance and knowing their place; the New Look mirrored this change after women's relative emancipation during WWII.
In that regard Snob is something which I admire, but cannot really claim as my own in the here & now, much like watching reels from the 1950s, when the Technicolor saturation conspired to an almost unreal quality of the people on screen; such was their visual perfection that they stood out as Platonic ideas rather than actors playing a role.

Notes for Le Galion Snob:
Top Notes: aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, neroli, estragon, hyacinth
Heart Note: rose, jasmine, ylang ylang, carnation, lily of the valley, orris
Base Note: vetiver, musk, civet, sandalwood, cedar, tonka beans.

(added notes with the help of 1000fragrances)

Lancome La Valee Bleue: vintage fragrance review

La Vallée Bleue from 1943, smack between the Occupation of Paris and the turmoil of WWII, comes in a moment in history rich in intrigue, ravages and the desire to escape them; which was puzzling me when I first discovered it exactly due to its timing. The perfume is also a poignant station in a long line of nowadays largely unknown Lancôme perfumes: the first five with which the firm was established in 1935 by Armand Petitjean -previously manager director at Coty- on occasion of the Brussels Exhibition (Bocages, Conquête, Kypre, Tendres Nuits, Tropiques, alongside Etiquette Noire, Cachet Bleu from the same year), Révolte (1936), Peut-Être (1937 and briefly re-issued in the late 2000s), Gardénia (1937), Flèches (1938), Fête de Paris (1938), Chèvrefeuille (1939) and of course Cuir (the changed name of the original Révolte) also from 1939.

These intermittent years of the war saw not only one, but four Lancome perfumes introduced: Les Oiseaux from 1944 as well as Ange and Lavandes in 1945. There is also La Nativité, briefly issued in 1945, relaunched in 1952 and then discontinued. Perhaps it is our twisted perception of the war-time era which accounts for our perplexment at this.

We tend to either overdramatize the plight, imagining that everything disappeared as if stolen by aliens, or we tend to imagine that the situation was more heroic than it was seeing numerous French resistance fighters where there were instead many collaborators and attendates (people remaining silent, just watching to see what happens). The truth is many commodities, even luxury commodities, continued to circulate, either for those in positions of power (be it the position of conqueror or of black-market profiteer) or for those who could still afford to get them in some way. At a time of strict rationing, women still permed their hair and bought cosmetics to boost their morale. L'Oréal, the famous French company starting in hair-dyes under the brand name Auréole (and who ultimately bought Lancôme out in 1965 after Petitjean's retirement in 1963), was so energetic that even the outbreak of World War II in 1939 failed to curb the company's growth and they continued to produce cosmetics throughout: Oréol, the first cold permanent wave, was introduced in 1945 when the war was drawing to an end. La Valée Bleue isn't totally incogruent with this frame.

The intoduction of Lancôme in the USA after WWII saw a proliferation of perfumes issued: A new trio for 1946: Marrakech, Nutrix and Qui Sait, Bel Automne (1947), Joyeux Eté (1947), Minlys (1949), Magie (1950), Lait des Hesperides (1950), Galateis (1951), Trésor (1952), Eau de Senteur de Lancôme (1952), Plaisir (1952), Grâces du Printemps (1952), Envol (1952), Seul Tresor (1955), Flèches D'Or (1957), Lancôme d'Abord (1958), Fêtes de l'Hiver (1959) all the way to Climat by 1967, which was introduced under the new ownership.

The scent of La Valée Bleue was not languishing though, as attested by the fact that it used to circulate in antique French coffrets including 4 Lancôme perfume bottles: Conquête, La Vallée Bleue, Bocages, Tendres Nuits. One alonside the 1935 classics, so to speak. Someone was buying this stuff regularly to make it popular enough, if it formed part of a selection to be offered as a gift.

La Valée Bleue smells like a vintage, but not necessarily too dated, too dark or thick and somewhat musty as some of the old perfumes do. The freshness of the composition, which rested on lime and lemon essences, refreshing with winey rosy terpenic nuances on a bed of herbaceous, cooling lavender, light amber and sandlwood, gave the perfume a character that is not contrasted too sharply with today's sensibilities. Sensibilities which demand a balance of fresh and warm, a balance between emotional and reserved. Even though the lavender is central in the plot, the fragrance smells like a composite mosaic in the SanVitale basilica in Ravenna rather than the central theme in a kid's 10-piece puzzle. Obviously the ravages of time and war have burnished some of the sheen of the vintage I have tried, so it's difficult to pinpoint exactly what goes into it. The general feel however is one of innocent nostalgia and mystery, reinforced by the landscape-evocative name and the timing of this elusive Lancôme perfume.

Pics thanks to the generosity and assistance of Lovelyhazel/MUA & her photographing husband. All copyright is theirs. Used here with permission.

Balenciaga Cialenga: fragrance review & history

Some women float over the floor rather than walk on it. There's a sweeping elegance and drama about them that you almost think all motion stops when they pass under the doorframe. Cialenga by Balenciaga is like that: Classically beautiful, aloofly superior, it's arresting and mysterious, but never going for outright wiles of seduction. This isn't a hearty blonde to laught out loud at your joke, but an icy cool Hitchockian heroine. Possibly with thick arched brows and a grey suit, besides a shady past, to show. Don't let the smile fool you...

History
Cialenga was launched by Balenciaga in 1973, composed by perfumer Jacques Jantzen. The name is rather cryptic; his only other known credential is collaboration on another Balenciaga perfume, Ho Hang for men (1971). But his history spans decades of shrouded work: His is Helena Rubinstein's 1946 Command Performance. 
The green chypres with floral hearts signified a more assertive and sophisticated angularity than the curvier lactonic florals of the 1950s and early 1960s and ushered in the new woman, the one who worked, took the pill and wore the pants. The dry, somewhat acrid quality of this genre is expressed in a dark manner in Cialenga, manifesting itself as among the more noir of the lot with a balance of green, spice and wood, just like a well judged cocktail of Martini wits, kinky sex references and sharply-cut tailleurs.

Comparison with Other Fragrances & Scent Description
The most apt comparison of Cialenga with any well-known perfume would be with vintage No.19 by Chanel. The way No.19 used to be, before being somewhat declawed. In Cialenga the green harmony is more aldehydic (recalling that segment from Paco Rabanne's Calandre) and soapy, while the overall character is decidely mustier than the Chanel and with quite a bit of spice added (clove and coriander prominently to my nose). The jasmine takes on a nuance between creamy and soapy, with no sugar floralcy as in more familiar sketches of floral chypres; the aldehydes do not take center stage.
The angularity of the green notes recalls the top note of Vent Vert in the vintage parfum (so full of galbanum), while the spicy warmth with an added myrrh tonality is all dark corners of a Spanish monastery in the New World and dangerous brunettes turned blondes with a death wish.

The familiar sophisticated refinement of Balenciaga perfumes (I'm referring to the vintages, though the modern Balenciaga Paris and L'Essence aren't half bad) is there all right in Cialenga. Think of Michelle, that ultra aloof tuberose parfum by the same Spanish designer or La Fuite des Heures! Being highly in tune with its times, Cialenga vaguely recalls other fragrances in the genre of a similar retro time-frame: Y by Yves Saint Laurent, Coriandre by Jean Couturier, the first Jean Louis Scherrer. The citrusy and black-currant segment might even recall the refreshing facets of Amazone.

Availability 

A little goes a long way and it's trailing at least down the elevator doors, so a small quantity should last you a long time; good thing, as Cialegna, like all vintage Balenciaga perfumes, is discontinued and nowadays quite rare.  Few specimens crop up on ebay from time to time.

Notes for Balenciaga Cialenga:
Top: citrus, black currant,green notes
Heart: iris, jasmine, ylang-ylang, clove, tincture of rose and lily
Base: vetiver, sandalwood, patchouli, oakmoss and Virginia cedar.

photo still of Kim Novak in Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo via the ace black blog 

This review is dedicated to Armani/Michael who introduced me to this fragrance and who had a thing for Kim Novak's brows in Vertigo :-)

Guerlain Cuir de Russie: fragrance review of a rare vintage

The Russian Leather theme (termed Cuir de Russie due to the invasion of the Francophones into the Russian diplomacy) was very popular at the end of the 19th century. (Refer to our article Cuir de Russie vs. Peau d'Espagne for history and differences between leather themes). Tanning de facto involved less than pleasant smells and tradition in many countries was to further aromatize the end product with fragrant essences to hide the manufacturing process off notes: In Italy they used frangipani (hence gants frangipani), in Spain camphor and ambergris, in France orange blossom, violet, iris and musk were the usual essences prefered. Legend has it that Cuir de Russie as a scentscape was randomly born when a Cossack warrior, galloping across the endless Russian steppe, came up with ‘the idea of rubbing his leather boots with birch bark in order to waterproof them’. Russians tanned their leathers with willows and poplars, as these are common species in the vast steppes. The finishing off involved birch bark oil, which when "cooked" in large pans over an open fire gives a very distinctive odour profile. This is roughly what we have come to describe as "Russian Leather" in perfumery.

This commonplace, rural idea gave rise to perfumes termed Cuir de Russie indeed by L.T Piver, Vonna, Godet, Figuenet, even 4711 or the Russian Leather by Davlin (but forget about Caron's famous Tabac Blond: that one was conceptually different), to results that would capture the imagination of perfumers for the better part of the early 20th century. The most popular and well-known incarnation is undoubtedly Chanel's Cuir de Russie (1924), but Guerlain took the idea and flew with it almost exactly 50 years prior to Coco (in 1875), producing one of the first documented Cuir de Russie fragrance types.

Chanel was inspired by the popularity of Les Ballets Russes in the 1920s and her affair with Russian Grand Duke Dimitri Pavlovich; Guerlain and their perfumer Aimé Guerlain by the military grandeur of all the Russias. At the 1870s Russia was in a pre-revolutionary turmoil, its population booming beyond any expectation (its peasants comprising four fifths of that sum), its military always feared whenever they intervened southerner of their Azov and Don border. Tolstoy was writing Anna Karenina (and publishing in instalments in The Russian Messenger) and War and Peace; both significantly involving military men in the plot. If the French had learned one thing through the recent Franco-Prussian War it was the necessity of building a modern army. Military themes were into the back of people's minds throughout Europe. And, irony of ironies, while the rest of Europe was paying attention to the much needed modernisation proceedings in Imperial Russia, the emerging clan of the Slavophiles was hard at thought on how to return to a simple peasant life!

With this historical  flashback in my mind, I was lucky enough to get some  of the preciously rare old Guerlain perfume through the dedication of an Austrian collector and the fragrance seems to me as the spermatic idea of the leathery backdrop to the quinolines of Guerlain's most classic scent, Shalimar. In fact what I smell is like a cross between Cuir de Russie by Chanel (elegant floralcy upon leather backdrop) and Jicky or Shalimar's drydown (smooth, suede-like, tactile feel, a little smoky).
Even though Cuir de Russie by Guerlain is initially properly bitterish with what seems like herbs, galbanum and oakmoss, with a smoky aspect and not too much tar, the progression veers into a much more supple finish superbly poised between masculine and feminine. The opening notes are folded into the spicy (like carnations), leathery, bitter-almonds facets of styrax resin ~and maybe a hint of the sweetness of Peru balsam as well.
The heart is fanned on jasmine (boosted and "opened" by animalic civet, possibly) and the intermingling with leather is delicious and lush: what I see through Guerlain's Cuir de Russie are purple suede gloves gathering Indian blossoms in the cool evening breeze; a warm wrap upon naked shoulders brushing off long, chandelier earrings while sitting at the dacha; the feel of a firm gloved caress rather than the crack of a military whip...

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: Guerlain series (reviews of Guerlain perfumes), Leather series (reviews, production & history of leather fragrances)

Visit Mr.Guerlain for great photos of Guerlain bottles
Painting On the Turf by Russian painter Ilya Repin

Guerlain Vere Novo: fragrance review of the extremely rare & vintage

"All is mystery; but he is a slave who will not struggle to penetrate the dark veil". Benjamin Disraeli's quote rings in my ears each time I try to apply my scientific skills into unravelling a perfumery puzzle: The who, the what, the when, the where, the intricasies tied into the interaction between these parameters; each time they create their own small district. Far from pontification, the work on Perfume Shrine aims to reconnoiter, to probe, to create sparks that will lead to personal explorations and a new way of thinking. Imagine the gluttony in my eye upon hitting on a rare specimen, the pearl beyond compare, the diamond in the pile of coal; it's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it, right? Out of the blue, one such thing came rapping, rapping at my chamber door: Vere Novo by Guerlain. 

Arguably the most beautiful of French perfume houses (certainly the most prolific one), Guerlain, since its foundation in 1828 on the Rue du Rivoli, has produced over 800 perfumes, creating a unique trajectory in history. Beautiful, evocative, dreamy, obscure names litter the catalogue, like a queen-bee populating a new hive with frantic pace: Senteurs de Champs (1828), Cyprisine (1894), Le Jardin de mon Curé (1895), Voilà Pourquoi J'aimais Rosine (1900c.), Bon Vieux Temps (1902),Violette à Deux Sous (1902c.), Avril en Fleurs (1905), Vague Souvenir (1912), Mi-Mai (1914), Bouquet de Faunes (1922), Ne M'Oubliez Pas (1923)... We have reviewed on these pages some rarities too: Pour Troubler (1911), Guerlain Djedi (1928), Loin de Tout (1933), Fleur de Feu (1948), , Atuana (1952), or the lush tuberose of Guerlain Marie-Claire...

My own precious sample came through the inquisitive kindness of Liisa of Under the Cupola, whom I trust implicitly. She sourced her own stash through the vast and intricate world of international auctions & splits, so I can't vouch for who the original seller was. (Isn't that true for most decants sourced?). But this thing smells glorious all the same, negating any doubt I might have for its comparatively light colour (the wee shade is close to how Après L'Ondée used to be or Jicky); and it does smell like a Guerlain through and through!

To my nose Vero Novo bears Jacques Guerlain's name (it's exactly contemporary to Le Jardin de mon Curé, both from 1895; though other sources mention it introduced sometime between 1883-1889) and seems to bear traces of both his own themes explored later on in Vol de Nuit and his predecessor's (Aimé Guerlain) in Jicky.

The name comes from Virgil (Georgicorum, libri quator) and translates [J.W.Mackail, 1934] as "in early spring". But to Italians, spring begins on February 7th [Varro, I.28], and Virgil was familiar with the sight of the Alps from childhood, witnessing the earliest sign the gradual melting of snow. To the Guerlain family, the melting of snow is mingled with the cold-warm, cuddly, slightly animalic, slightly leathery scent of the cassie (a richer, muskier variety of mimosa, with violet tendencies complimented by anisic accents and full of farnesol which is terpenic-smelling, i.e. dry piny-woody).
It was in 1869 that heliotropin, a golden standard for Guerlain, was discovered by Filtig & Mielk, its structure analysed two years later (by Barth) and synthesized from safrole in 1890 by Eykmann. Vanillin from guiaicol was synthesized by Reimr and Tiemann in 1874. This was a time in history when the breakdown of many materials created the modern face of perfumery as we know it, almost to this day.

Mingling the imaginary accords with the natural, Guerlain took the plush of civet-smoky vanilla in Jicky and diluted it threefold (watching to bring forth the piperonal in vanilla, but not dusting discernible "powdery notes"), adding what later became the velvet, earthy sheen in vintage Vol de Nuit,  plus some woody resinous citrus-peel notes (bergamot & some petit grain?) with a pine-needles effect (discernible in the opening), thus producing in Vere Novo a great skin scent, full of overall softness and the delicious contrast between fragrance dryness and buttery, sweet tones.
Vere Novo wafts deliciously, mingling the hint of patisserie with a suede note. I caught myself catching my wrists to sniff and question: "Do I smell that good?", more times than I care to admit. I suppose this is part of the classic Guerlain magic: Creating an experience that compliments the wearer's decolletage and mingles with the aroma of culinary pleasures that wrap an evening full of earthy delights.

Vere Novo was being produced by Guerlain from its launch in 1895 till the outbreak of WWII according to most records and official Guerlain text ads (in the form of little stories bearing the names of famous perfumes of the house) that were in circulation during L'Entre Deux Guerres (i.e. the 1920s and 1930s). Meaning it's discontinued and extremely rare to get hold of. The fact that several Guerlain fragrances from that era, such as Shalimar, Mitsouko and L'Heure Bleue (as well as Vol de Nuit) became classics and best-sellers for the French house probably explains the demise of some of the older products, such as this one. Pity and we can mourn to eternity, but there you have it. The surprising pleasure of discovering a diamond within the coal pile however is the perfume historian's not so humble lasting delight.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Guerlain series

Illustration: Withered Spring, by Aubrey Beardsley

Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps: Fragrance Review & History of a True Classic

Reflecting on a classic fragrance which has inspired me into delving deeper into perfume history and appreciation, I can’t disregard L’Air du Temps by Nina Ricci, one of the most recognizable perfumes in the world. Even Hannibal Lecter is quoted smelling it on Clarisse Starling in Silence of the Lambs: “You use Evian skin products and sometimes L’Air du Temps… but not today...”.
Despite any foreboding connotations, the perfume's introduction in 1948 under a name halfway between Marivaux and Cocteau (denoting ‘the spirit of the times’) hallmarked a longed-for return to optimism. Much like Miss Dior was ‘tired of letting off bombs and just wanted to let off fireworks’, L’Air du Temps presented the new found hope for peace after the ravages of WWII, as reflected by the original flacon design of a sun with a dove perched on the stopper by Christian Bérard.

 Iconic Design and Symbolism


L'Air du Temps is a triumph of bottle art and symbolism: The intertwining doves affectionately termed ‘Les Colombes’, a romantic theme by Marc Lalique, originates from 1951 and came to denote the virginal quality of the visual aspects of its representation, perpetuated in its advertising ever since. Originally the 1948 design envisioned by Jean Rebull and materialized by crystallier Marc Lalique involved a rising sun surmounted by a single dove. The interwining doves however marked the "kiss and make up" peace mood after WWII.
The "colombes" kissing motif also reflected the ever feminine, always understated and ethereallly romantic Nina Ricci sartorial fashions; nothing vulgar! The perfume became signage for fashions: "The most romantic gift of fragrance a man can give a woman" came to be accompanied by elfish gowns that draped the female form in a slippery, ethereal, 19th-century-aesthete nostalgic way; lacy ivory and white denoting youthful and -a little faded- aristocracy rusticating in the sunny French countryside.The L'Air du temps advertising mostly matched.
In 1999 the L'Air du Temps flacon was named "perfume bottle of the century".

Scent Description
The formula of L'Air du Temps, composed by Francis Fabron, was simple : no more than 30 ingredients which co-exist in harmony, a chaste -but not quite- bouquet of flowers enrobed into the silken sheath of benzyl salicylate; a massive dose of an –at the time- innovative product aiding the blending and linear evaporation of the other molecules. According to perfumer Bernard Chant “‘[benzyl salicylate] produces a diffusing, blooming effect very pleasing to the public”. Coupled with spicy eugenol and isoeugenol, the effect becomes almost carnation-like with its clove tint : the very heart of L’Air du Temps ! The celestial opening of bergamot and rosewood is undermined by the sensuous note, half-lily, half-carnation, suave with the fuzziness of skin-like peach and a green hint of gardenia. Powdery orris, coupled with dusky woods –poised at the intersection of winter falling into spring- and a faint amber note finish off the fragrance. The effect is peachy-carnation-y and very characteristic: a sort of Doris Day, the way she was, rather staunchy actually, active and hard to eradicate, rather than how she appeared to be in those rom-coms of the 1950s, all mock innocence and eyelashes aflutter.

The success of the classic Nina Ricci fragrance seems to be the sassiness of its aerated, distinctive bouquet coupled with its refined classicism, sometimes maxed out to sentimentality : an aspect which prompted critic Luca Turin to joke it was created for romantics “who shed a tear listening to La Sonate au Clair de Lune*”. Maybe not quite that way, considering how the latter might have been an impromptu requiem on someone’s deathbed. At any rate, the trickle-down effect must speak of the need to do just that: the skeleton of the formula has been imitated in various soaps, deodorants and hairsprays for decades, while in itself L’Air du Temps has influenced many other fragrances from Fidji (Guy Laroche) and Madame Rochas to Anaïs Anaïs (Cacharel).

 Comparing Vintage vs. Modern L'Air du Temps Perfume

Nowadays the suaveness of the original formula has been somewhat compromised, due to necessary surgery dictated by allergens concerns… The peach base is mollified into synthetic submission, the carnation is less spicy and rich than before, the whole excellent exercise seems less itself as if it has been Botoxed into a perpetual complacent smile....yet L’Air du Temps is still instantly recognizable in its sillage, the trail left by the many that pass by wearing it : the mark of a true classic !
The bottle design can be a gauge of age: Vintage Eau de Toilette from the 1970s and 1980s circulates in the amphora-like bottle with the gold cap in splash, while spray bottles are long and encased in white bakelite. If the front of the bottle has the doves in relief and the plastic cap is rounded and in relief as well, your specimen comes from the 1990s.

The vintage parfum is in the characteristic Lalique design with the perched doves atop. Old models of diluted concentration can also be in ribbed sprayers with gold overimposed sprayer mechanisms in squarish design. Really old versions can be in a round flask bottle with a boule cap in splash form.
Modern  eau de toilette on the contrary is in the familiar fluted oval-shaped bottle, reprising the dove design on the top in transparent plastic, the cap going over the sprayer mechanism. 

(*) Piano sonata N°14 by L.van Beethoven

This review is based on a text I had previously composed for Osmoz.com

Coty Imprevu: fragrance review

One of the major pitfalls that awaits a perfume enthusiast is for them to disregard valued, glamorous specimens of the past due to the merely trendy attire of the brand hosting them in the present. Coty and their Imprévu is a case in point! Miles away from the current celebuttante fruit-salads they serve now, Imprévu is a meaty course that still retains a degree of refinement; it's fine veal served with silver tableware. The delicious name, meaning "unforeseen", predisposes for a surprising impression and indeed this feminine leathery woody chypre from 1965 is unprecedented, unique and surprising in more than one way. They had it right when they advertised: "Beyond all expectations"!

The timing in which Imprévu was introduced is crucial: On the one hand the Coty house had passed through the Symplegades of both the Great Depression and World War II and emerged still resilient, if diminished in radiance. François Coty's divorced wife had a brother-in-law, Philippe Cotnareanu, who was immersed in the business. Cotnareanu changed his name to Philip Cortney and under that pseudonym took rein of the colossal portfolio. Coty and Coty International were eventually sold to Chas. Pfizer & Co. for about $26 million in 1963, thus becoming divisions in the pharmaceuticals company's consumer products group. The 1965 launch was Coty's new perfume in 25 years! Success was almost immediate: By the end of 1968 Imprévu became the leading Coty fragrance.
On the other hand, Imprévu, composed by an unsung perfumer, also came at an opportune time in the global perfume zeitgeist: A time when greener and aldehydic scents were very popular: Yves St. Laurent had launched his glorious Y in 1964, while Guy Laroche issued the green tropical Fidji in 1966. The older favourites, Chanel No.5 and Miss Dior, were still best-sellers. But the not so griffe market presented considerable competition as well: Avon was going strong with Topaze, and Fabergé with the antithetical earthy Woodhue. Imprévu was perfect for the moment!
It's an irony and a testament to the changing tastes in fashion however that rather soon the strike of gold was at an end: Emeraude, L'Origan and L'Aimant became the long-standing classics in the Coty portfolio after the 1980s, condemning Imprévu in the disgrace of being practically given away at drugstores who sold it at seriously discounted prices. The above nevertheless is no reflection on the fragrance's value whatsoever.

Imprévu (pronounced ahm-pre-VHU) by Coty is decidedly adult, like a long sip of extra dry martini when you know you really shouldn't or the deliberate "poisonous" smear of lipstick on a man's colar. It explores several themes of yore and does so with unrefuted elegance: From the aldehydic boosting of the crisp citrus (bergamot, bitter orange) opening, reminiscent of Coty's own Chypre (the latter is fresher and somewhat more piquant overall), to the mildly leathery heart, all the way down to the foresty conifers that hide beneath the abstract flowers. Like some classic fragrances in the cuir family (notably Tabac Blond by Caron) the tannic facet of leather is boosted and contrasted by the merest touch of cloves, registered to the mind as carnation. Overall fresh in that mossy way that classic chypres are fresh rather than cloying, the scent is very well-mannered despite the earthy oakmoss inclusion. What stays on the skin poised for long when the other elements have dissipated is the creamy woodiness of that drydown phase of Bois des Îles by Chanel.

Neither too woody nor leathery, nor too chypre, but striking a perfect balance between all those elements, Imprévu comes as the unexpected state of grace when you simply don't know what to choose and just need something that is truly unique and smells good at the same time. Even though marketed as a feminine, men who are adventurous wouldn't have trouble getting away with it.

Although the usual bottle in which it is presented is the one depicted here and in the ads (which show the extrait de parfum version), other styles were also circulating, notably one with a simple gold-toned cap and a simple glass flacon with gold-tone lettering or another one with a simple plastic blue cover (especially for the versions circulating in Europe)
Imprévu by Coty has been discontinued for a long time now, with no plans by the company to bring it back as per our latest communication. Occasional sighthings are made on Ebay at elevated prices.



Photos from Ebay

Balenciaga La Fuite des Heures (Fleeting Moment): fragrance review

There is no question that Germaine Cellier was a formidable woman and an innovative perfumer mapping history with her Balmain and Piguet creations. Hers is nevertheless the lesser known, but none the less majestic, La Fuite des Heures (pronounced la-fou-EET dez-erh and translating as Fleeting Moment) for Balenciaga in 1949; a Provençal herbs and jasmine formula of great radiance and tenacity.
There is an interesting snippet of fashion and perfume history pertaining to this Balenciaga fragrance, which was the second to be issued by the house: Initially composed by Cellier at Roure for the French market, it was modeled after the aldehydics established at the time (and hence in chasm with her bombastic creations for Piguet such as Fracas and Bandit).

Why is that? No.5 by Chanel was the prototype of the genre (and still is) due to its commercial success, especially after WWII when soldiers returning from the European battle-fronts had popularised it in the conscience of American bourgeoisie as the pinacle of French chic and the porthole of aspirational status. Let's not forget that even historic French houses, such as Guerlain, had followed the paradigm with their own creations, namely Liù (although the latter's history is a little more gossipy that that!). Balenciaga had already issued a fragrance, Le Dix (10), his first foray into scent, named after the address of his couture studio at 10 Avenue George V. Not unexpectedly, that one also happened to be a floral aldehydic! Another version of La Fuite des Heures, specifically aimed at the American market, was issued in the beginning of the 1960s, the Camelot days of the USA when "Parisian" didn't seem as far fetched as before. And as they say the rest is history...

The fragrance was available as an Eau de Cologne in tall cylindrical ribbed bottles with simple pastic caps and black labels with white simple lettering. My own extrait de parfum of Balenciaga's La Fuite des Heures in its shagreen container, (probably from the 60s) is well aged, thick and dark as its blobs ooze from the crystal stoppered flacon. Yet the suave jasmine and ylang-ylang glory with sweet accents of light amber in the base is still there.
The piquant herbs (anise? thyme?) and greens notes (vetiver?) along with an aldehydic vibrance (a little soapy & orris powdery the way Chanel No.5 is soapy & powdery) have mellowed significantly; they give way to the more tenacious woody and above all musky elements, a reality all too often met with when dealing with vintage perfumes. The drydown is fused with some of the most glorious musks this side of pre-banning of several valuable ingredients.
Despite its approximation to vintage forms of No.5 (such as the magnificent Eau de Cologne version), La Fuite des Heures stands alone sufficiently well and even presents itself as a most wearable specimen of an elegant creation of yore. Like a couture gown by the great Spanish master himself, lose the hat, the gloves and the pose and you might wear the lace ruffled dress with your modern stilettos soled in red and an air of bon chic bon genre socialite.

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: Balenciaga news & reviews, Vintage scents reviews

Balenciaga couture lace dress via fashionmodel.mtx5.com. Balenciaga La Fuite des Heures bottle pic by Elena Vosnaki

Lancome Magie Noire: fragrance review of the perfect Halloween scent

If there is one perfume which conjures up a devilish sorceress in full-wiccan attire it is none other than Lancôme's splendlidly devilish Magie Noire (pronounced ma-zhee nou-ahr and meaning Black Magic) by perfumer-alchemist Gérard Goupy.

Introduced in 1978, Magie Noire is an ardent scent full of insupportable sensuality which projects with the mysterious force of an evil heroine; having you grip your seat with a mix of justified horror and perverse admiration at the same time! Its heady, unsettling base accord acts like velvet or a caressing fur coat that is hiding a knife, its interlay of all the powerhouses base notes (musk, civet, castoreum) a sign of brandishing its bravado like a protective amulet against all odds.
Not to be confused with the 1949 classic Magie (its bottle reprised in the design of Lancôme recents Hypnôse and Hypnôse Senses), Magie Noire was conceived at the wake of Opium's oriental success which took the market by (olfactory) storm and along with exact contemporary Rochas Mystère presented the gutsy, murky mossy alternatives before ultrasweet orientals elbowed them off the central shelves in the 1980s.
The bottle was designed by Pierre Dinand in the same forbidden territories as Opium too: The inspiration being medieval alchemical alembics this time ~instead of Japanese inros~ and covered with cabbalistic signs standing for bismuth, verdigris, sulphur and gold.

Despite its murky depths of oakmoss and patchouli, nevertheless ~which have several perfumephiliacs designate it to the chypre fragrance family~ Magie Noire technically belongs to the woody oriental one.
Starting with an ammoniac opening, which oscillates between the feline and the human, and progressing into a purple fruity overlay over the darkest gothic roses imaginable, Magie Noire is a journey into a noir story that unfolds with each passing minute with a new twist and a new thorn to grab you. The white florals in its heart are not read as such, rather the verdant and sharp greens present themselves at an angle (galbanum and hyacinth amongst them allied to the leathery pungency of castoreum). The drydown of the fragrance is much softer, deliciously mellower and musky-incensy sensual with a microscopic caramel note that is kept on the skin for days.

The fact that several wearers of the original Magie Noire nowadays find it (catastrophically) changed is no illusion: Lancôme actually reworked the formula of Magie Noire when re-releasing it after its brief discontinuation. The 1980s Eau de Parfum and parfum versions were much edgier and headier with a pronounced spiciness and murkiness that could cut through fog like a beacon. The sillage was unforgettable and typhoon-like in its potency with a sex-appeal-oozing-through-pores vibe that could make you or break you: It was a scent that needed to suit your personality in order to work right and on many it didn't. I recall it worn by women with exquisitely coifed hair which seemed like they braved the elements.
Even in its attenuated form today Magie Noire is definitely not a perfume for young girls, not because perfume has an age, but because like a complex grand cru it requires some getting used to and is an acquired taste. Its distinctiveness lends it a special occasion ambience which it exploits to good effect; it would be both a great waste and a sensory overload to use it all the time. On the contrary, savoured drop by drop, it imbues its wearer with the magical charm of an undestructible protective mantle.

Not only Lancôme changed the formula, they also changed the flacons design from time to time, making it a confusing task for chronologising your bottle. I remember the bottle in the 80s was black, following the one depicted in the ads above, while a maroon version also circulated in the 90s. Recently upon its re-introduction Lancôme simplified the bottle into the columnal solid glass with a metallic-looking top depicted below.

Notes for Lancôme Magie Noire: Bergamot, blackcurrant, hyacinth, raspberry, honey, tuberose, narcissus, jasmine, incense, Bulgarian rose, patchouli, vetiver, castoreum, labdanum, musk and civet.

Magie Noire is available on counters and online priced at $55 USD for a 2.5oz/75ml Eau de Toilette and that's the only version Lancôme currently offers. I wish they'd bring back the parfum! There also was the enigmatic huile parfum (perfume oil) version, reputed to emphasize the greener notes, but I have not tried it (yet) to compare with extrait.

Ads via perfume4u.co.uk and pays.dignois.com. Glass flacon via Lancome.ca. Maroon bottle pic via qb.org.nz. Sorceress illustration via mythicmktg.fileburst

Chanel No.46: fragrance review & history

Amidst the fragrances that Gabrielle Bonheur (Coco) Chanel commisioned, No.46 stands as something of a largely unknown enigma. When Ernest Beaux had presented samples to Coco for her choosing for her first perfume launch, he had prepared 10 of them in total, numbered from 1 to 5 and from 20 to 24. Among them, No.5 and No.22 were the winning contestants, issued on 1921 and 1922 respectively. Fragrances so elevated by the diffusion of their aldehydic pitch that they became synonymous with the genre forever after. A little on their left, the refined, gracefully soft aldehydic floral which was released much later; in 1946, at the end of the war. No.46 recalls most vividly the ambience of the classic No.5 that cemented the popularity of futuristic, "frozen" bouquets, while remaining surrounded by other obscure scents with digits on them like fairy godmothers: No.11, No.14, No.20, No.21 and No.55...



The timing for the release of No.46 is crucial in its critical appraisal and its positioning in fragrance history. Despite the fashion genius of Chanel being “incorruptibly sober and pure”, as per her biographer Edmonde Charles-Roux, her life presented certain disputable facets that cast a shadow on the image of the "women's liberator from fashion's oppression" and Evangelist of Style. (Even today, Audrey Tautou who impersonated her in the 2009 film Coco avant Chanel mentioned this early feminist "manifesto" as grounds for accepting the role.) Coco had been self-exiled in Switzerland since 1945, her perfume royalties into exile with her for a decade as well, following the tempestuous reception that accompanied her affair with Hans Gunther von Dincklage; a German officer 13 years her junior ~she was 56 at the time~ and alleged Nazi spy by the nickname "the sparrow", who had arranged for her to remain at the famous Ritz Hotel suite which Coco had made into her wartime abode (and her "real" home for 3 decades, as opposed to her Rue Cambon appartment where she received guests). Additionally, the dubious Operation Modelhut, in which she was implicated, was based on the idea that one of Chanel's friends would pass a letter from her, suggesting secret negotiations furthering the end of war, to Winston Churchill.

“This woman was referred to as a person Churchill knew sufficiently to undertake political negations with him, as an enemy of Russia and as desirous of helping France and Germany whose destinies she believed to be closely linked together.” [according to the Schellenberg interrogation transcripts]

Yet unlike women collaborators who had had their hair shorn in public humiliations or Diana Mitford, Lady Mosley (Hitler's Angel) and Unity (Valkyrie) Mitford, forever associated with the Third Reich, Coco Chanel remained untarnished by repercussions (she was arrested but soon released). No doubt she had taken advantage of her connections, as was her custom: It was a rich boyfriend who helped her open her own clothing boutique in 1913; it was Vera Bate Lombardi who established her name amongst European royalty and through which she met ~her almost husband~ the Duke of Westminster and who possibly served as the connection to Churchill; and it was one of her unnamed powerful liaisons who made if possible for her to escape punishment or humiliation for her past.
The cool reception that the French reserved for her 1956 runway comeback terming it obsolete neverthless was testament to how they hadn't forgotten... Luckily for her, however, it was the Anglosaxons (in the guise of Americans mostly) who loved her little black dresses (they still do!) and thus helped her progressively obliterate the bad memories.

It was during those troubled years of WWII that Chanel had tried to wrest control of her fragrances from the Jewish manufacturers ~the Wertheimer family who own them to this day and also controlled Bourjois~ exploiting the pro-Aryan laws to her benefit. (The Wertheimers owned 70% of the house, Theodile Bader of Galleries Lafayette who introduced Coco to them was rewarded with 20% and Chanel herself only held 10%). As a result, the perfumes conceived in the time frame surrounding WWII are rumoured to generally have a striking resemblance to her already successful 20s and 30s creations, probably in an attempt to reposition herself in the fragrance producing pantheon as an independent entity. Little is known of them, but the time framing bears significance as in 1954 the Wetheimers came to an agreement with Chanel for her to reliquinsh all control to them in exchange for having her personal expenses taken care of for life (It took 17 years).

The way that a little No.46 came into my hands is episodic and worthy of recounting à la Lafontaine: Once upon a time, (then) Florentine-bound Liisa Wennervirta had come across and purchased a full stoppered bottle of said perfume on an auction site, about which she asked my opinion and info after the fact. Certain details had been negatively indicative to its authenticity (or so I thought at the time) and the cynical/distrustful in me sighed a bit inwardly (I repeat this was after the fact) because I really like Liisa, had followed the scandals by Polkadot Patty a couple of years ago and would really flinch if she had been scammed. On the other hand, if it was a fake I would be supremely curious to see how someone would venture into even attempting it and would admire his/her serious cojones despite my disgust at the practice. Liisa sent me some to try out and it transpired that it was against all odds seriously delightful juice!
As Liisa herself said: "It's not that grandma-style rose like Penhaligon's Elizabethan Rose, nor that sweet, slightly sickening rose of Nahema or Mahora in extrait version, it's warm, spicy, carnation-y and slightly reminds me of Fleur de Feu but after a while it mellows to sweet musky calmness. Something that I badly miss among Les Exclusifs."

The opening of Chanel No.46 boldly reveals the penchant of the brand into producing abstractions of an arresting grace. It is redolent of the ambience of No.5 quite vividly, to the point that a lover of one might instantly recognise sub-themes in the structure of the other, like a student of baroque fugues recognising the intermingling motifs across several bars of music. At the time however No.5 hadn't acquired the cult status it has today being instantly recognisable across continents. The basic chord which echoes throughout No.46 seems to be the rose, ylang-ylang, carnation/lily (a hint of spice) and musks (two parts of this harmony form the main basso continuo of No.5, anyway, especially in vintage parfum form and the defunct Eau de Cologne version). This is underscored by a soapy-mossy feeling that recalls retro grooming products to my memory. The musks are especially rich and radiant, emitting warmth and a subtle come-hither.

In its way, Chanel No.46 is firmly placed in the tradition of its times too, while echoing an established success: Smelling it alongside L'Air du Temps (1948) (its carnation tinge plus aldehydic-salicylate facets), the more orientalised Fath de Fath (the original 1953 version, not the 1993 reformulation) with its intensely musky base, or the delicate bouquet of Coeur Joie by Nina Ricci (1946), one is not hard-pressed to understand the greater need for fragrances that presented a refined and genteel ambience of ladies who eased back into their feminine endeavours after the more androgynous occupations of the war days. All without eschewing their animal instincts...

Notes for Chanel No.46:
Top: bergamot, orange and neroli
Heart: rose, lily of the valey, ylang-ylang and jasmine
Base: vetiver, orris, sandalwood, coumarine, vanilla and musk

Needless to say, it's a very rare fragrance and your only chance for a bottle would be buying off a collector.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Chanel reviews & news, Vintage scents

Pic of No.46 by Liisa Werenvita used with permission by Perfume Shrine. Photo of Gabrielle Chanel in 1909 scanned from Edmonde Charles Roux book 2004, p.62. Photo of Diana and Unity Mitford saluting the Nazi way via wikimedia commons.