Lament for a Fragrance in Sepia ~Cabochard by Gres: fragrance review

“Headstrong” or “stubborn” is not the first thing that comes to mind when I contemplate on my mother’s personality. Yet it was the formidable, petulant perfume thus named, Cabochard, that had won her heart and ~along with Dioressence~ became her insignia. The Grecian-inspired fluted designs of Madame Grès which were cut directly on the body would have suited the Dorian drama of her beauty. Her dreamy flair for romanticism however betrayed appearences and made a fascinating juxtaposition with her bombshell fragrances. Thus the merest whiff out of her now almost empty bottle never fails to bring back poignant memories of my childhood with a Proustian rush. Talking about it dews my eyes like writing the obituary on an era: trying to recapture those sepia memories like a faded vignette is doomed to fail due to the fragrance being irrecovably changed.

Cabochard comes from the old French word “caboche”, meaning "headstrong" or "self-willed", according to the Petit Robert dictionary. It was Alix Grès, neé Germaine Emilie Krebs and formally trained as a sculptress, who opted for it, to accompany the independent nature of her couture. Alix Barton was her first business pseydonum. But she later took her husband’s ~Serge Czerefkov, a Russian painter ~ first name and with a partial anagram settled on Grès, opening la maison Grès in 1942, amidst the German occupation of Paris. Soon she was dressing everyone, from the Dutchess of Windsor to Marlen Dietrich and Greta Garbo.

The story of creating Cabochard
The credit into making Cabochard a success is attributed to Guy Leyssène, who met Madame Grès at a dinner part two years prior to the perfume’s launch, per Michael Edwards. It was Guy's suggestion that she should issue one because it was a profitable enterprise which all the other fashion designers of the times had embarked on. It took only a month for Grès to ask him to help her create her own perfume. {interestingly, according to history of fashion.com the first perfume was called Muse in 1946}. However, nothing is as simple as it might look. "Cabochard is a miracle of complexity […] the secret life of a Parisian woman with no age and no illusions" wrote Luca Turin about its scent in 1994 and its story is just as complex.

The perfume that was in works was a composition by legendary perfumer Guy Robert, called Chouda. Robert was young and under the guidance of mentor Andrée Castanié, then editor of L'Officiel de la Mode et de la Couture, had been introduced to Mme Grès in 1956. But it took a trip to India, the land of exoticism, which prompted Alix Grès to further her plans on the house’s fragrance. The visit had begun innocuously, invited by the Ford Foundation to assess Indian brocades. It was there that Alix Grès discovered water hyacinth: a flower she became enraptured with. It has a sweet odour, rich like tuberose, yet with a fresher top and slightly warmer. The experimentation of Guy Robert yeilded rich fruits: Alix loved it, however Chouda was almost exclusively used by her (only five litres of Chouda were ever made) as it was too flowery for the tastes of the 50s which veered towards classic chypres. She launched another fragrance under the pressure of public input: the mod of what was to become Cabochard, made by Bernand Chant of IFF, was received much more favourably and thus the plan to push Chouda was ultimately abandoned, although the two were issued almost simultaneously in 1959. It comes as a surprise that there were focus groups even back then, but it is a fact that puts things into perspective: public reception is (and will always be) the moniker of how things work in a sector that, although hinges on art, is also largely a business.


The story of the bottle for Cabochard, as well as Chouda, is also extraordinary in that it was the already made and discarded stock of Guighard, a small glass manufacturer later acquired by Pochet. They had made the bottles for another company who never bought them and in order to save costs, Grès bought all 500 of them for both perfumes. The difference was the little bow that adorned the pharmaceutical stopper: grey for Cabochard, green for Chouda. The Cabochard success (it sold 250 bottles in the first week of its launch alone!) secured numerous backorders to the glass manufacturer. In a way, the commercial success owed to the enthusiasm with which it was promoted by a commission salesman formerly working for Piguet (whose biggest seller at the time was Bandit). According to Leyssène the demand was so pressing the sales were doubled each year for the following ten years!

Scent Considerations: A Leathery Chypre Marvel
Cabochard utilised the same aromachemical with Bandit: isobutyl quinoline, a harsh green and pungent, dry leather aroma, yet fanning expensive, precious, sweet flowers over it. Inspired by the archetype it muted the smokiness until the drydown. Cabochard offers a capricious bitter orange opening instead, with the illusion of wading through wild bracken catching a distant whiff of clove and hairspray. The crackling leather, powdery afterfeel of face cosmetics was sustained for hours on skin, emitting grace and confidence in a similar manner to Chanel’s Cuir de Russie, although with rather more sweetness and less birch. To Gres it recalled a walk along a deserted Indian beach:

“the crispness of the early morning air, the warmth of sandalwood, a hint of far-off flowers, and the dry caress of sea breezes”.

The parfum sitting on the dresser of my mother ever since I can remember was so warm and rich than mere drops were enough to scent her hair and garments, retaining the essence of who she was into my heart of hearts. The eau de parfum in older versions is also exceptionally good, while the eau de toilette has a lighter but sharper quality.

The difference between the vintage and the recent re-editions can be traced back to 1984 when Beecham Cosmetics acquired British American Cosmetics, who had bought the Grès brand in the interim after Alix closed the couture house. To celebrate Cabochard's twenty-fifth anniversary, they changed the grey velvet bow into frosted glass, encased the bottle in a black instead of a black-and-white one and brightened the citrus top while also restraining the animalic accord. The 40th anniversary of Cabochard was celebrated in 1999 with a Bacarrat crystal flacon, designed by Serge Mansau and what seems yet another re-formulation which finally put the tombstone on one of the best in my opinion perfumes of the 20th century.

Official notes for Madame Gres Cabochard:
Top: aldehydes, bergamot, mandarin, galbanum, spice
Heart: jasmine, rosa damscena, geranium, ylang-ylang, iris
Base: patchouli, leather, vetiver, castoreum, oakmoss, tobacco, musk, labdanum, sandalwood

Pic of bottle from official Gres site

Magicians and Pharaohs: Djedi by Guerlain (fragrance review)

Lore has shaped the imagination of many in reference to the secrets of the Great Pyramid of Egypt: hidden passages, curses cast upon intruders, mystical symbols and astronomical calculations far ahead of their times. More Sphinx-like than the actual Sphinx, the Great Pyramid still holds some of its secrets to this day.

Djedi by Guerlain ,"the driest perfume of all time" according to Roja Dove and the "tremendous animalic vetiver" for Luca Turin, is an analogous example in perfumery. And it takes its name after an ancient Egyptian magician related to the Great Pyramid. It is as magical, as soulful and as strange a perfume as entering an ancient burial place hidden behind rocks in a far away desert.
But you might need magical powers to have a bottle procured; or very deep pockets…Or better yet a dear friend like mrs.Kern who is so amazingly generous and kind that she sent me a little of her own.

Herodotus, the Greek historian, had visited Giza in about 450 BC, where he was told by Egyptian priests that the Great Pyramid had been built for the pharaoh Khufu (Cheops to the Greeks) second god-king of the Fourth Dynasty (c.2575–c. 2465 BC). It weighed 6 million tons, the weight of all Europe's cathedrals put together and it was the tallest building in the world up till the start of the 14th century AD.
Khufu and the Magician is a tale of Egyptian magic which appears in the Westcar Papyrus (Second Intermediate Period - around 1500 BC), housed in the Berlin Museum.
Pharaoh Khufu's sons are amusing their father by telling tales of magic:

“Djedi is a man of one hundred and ten years~the tale went. Every day he eats five hundred loaves of bread, a haunch of ox is his meat, and he drinks one hundred jugs of beer as well. He knows how to reattach a severed head and how to make a lion follow him with its leash on the ground. And he knows the number of secret chambers in Thoth's temple."

Khufu orders his son to bring the magician and then a prisoner brought, to lop off his head and see Djedi's magic in action. But the magician protests that he could not sacrifice humans for his magic. So a goose is brought on which Djedi could perform his magic on. The morale of the story is transparent: some things are just too sacred to be trifled with.

Khufu had wished Djedi to fashion his mausoleum under his guidance, but to no avail. In the words of Zahi Hawass, upon excavating the pyramid, courtesy of guardian.net:

“I never thought we would find anything behind the door discovered 64 metres inside the south shaft of the Great Pyramid in 1993 by Rudolf Gantenbrink . […]But when we used the ultrasonic equipment and learnt that the thickness of the door was only 6cm, I said that this was a surprise and there must be something there. […] We sent the robot into the second shaft, and as it traveled through we could see […] it stopped in front of another door with two copper handles: Some believe these doors have a symbolic meaning because it is written on the Pyramid Text that the Pharaoh must travel through a series of doors to reach the Netherworld. […] I would like to suggest that these doors hide Khufu's real burial chamber. […]
About 900 years after the reign of Khufu we have a story called "Khufu and the Magician". Djedi knew everything about the secret chambers of Thoth, but he did not reveal the secret. I therefore believe that the burial chambers were hidden behind these doors”.

The perfume itself is a strange and perfume-y mineral affair of dry leather and ambery, animalic decomposition that almost defies description. Its opening is jolting, disturbing, the weirdest thing; yet it beckons you to continue smelling till the end of the prolonged journey into the night. There is deep grief manifesting itself through bitter herbs, artemisia-like, and copious amounts of earthy vetiver with cold air which reminds one of the strange feelings upon first trying Messe de Minuit by Etro. Those elements fan out into feminine, yet dusty, almost musty rose and a powdery base. This is no opulent rose for a bourgeois eager to show off her wealth or powdery sweetness for an aristocrat who wants to keep her man in difficult times. This is a regal lament for the loss of a favourite son, perhaps lost forever in the cold waters of the battle of Salamis or the trenches of the World War I, no matter; this grief transcends cultures.
Pungent leather with its slightly sour edge and powdery musk act like whalebone does to underpinnings, supporting, exuding an image of bravery and humaness at the same time.
This is unmistakenly Guerlain, unmistakebly animalic with a rather fecal warmth at the end, exuding the grandeur of another, elegant era. Reminding me of my grandmother who had her clothes tailored in Paris and her jewels made in Smyrna and who always smelled ravishingly opulent.

Although its strange, intense greeness and dryness have a passing relation to the classic Bandit eau de parfum, the closest to it that I have smelled is Vero Profumo’s Onda; although the latter is a tad warmer and sexier with its catty whiff and coriander/mace spiciness. However, while Onda has a certain modernity that puts it firmly into the realm of a contemporary piece of art, Djedi is stylistically a product of its time and recalls an era that is past us.

Djedi was created in 1926 by Jacques Guerlain and re-issued in 1996 for only 1000 bottles. Today the vintage is extremely rare and goes for astronomical prices rivaling the mathematical achievements etched on the pyramid walls itself. The re-issue, using the formula of yore, is also quite rare and costly.

But it lets one glimpse one into the abyss and back. If one dares…

Notes: rose, vetiver, musk, oakmoss, leather, civet and patchouli



Pic of Great pyramid by inderstadt/flickr. Painting "And there was a great cry in Egypt" by Arthur Hacker courtesy of art.com. Bottle of Djedi courtesy of Guerlain

Cuir by Lancome: fragrance review and history

What possessed the dignified monsieur Petitjean, who had launched the Parfums Lancôme in the previous year, to christen his new leather scent Révolte? Armand Petitjean was no firebrand: a former importer of French products to Latin America, he had been a diplomat, mandated to persuade South American countries to support the Entente Powers (France, Russia, the UK) against the Central Powers (Germany, the Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman Empires) in WWI. Returning to civilian life, he worked with the “Napoleon of perfume”, the great François Coty. But he hadn’t agreed with Coty’s mass-market policy, and left the company, taking with him the head of the Coty studio, Georges Delhomme, and a chemist, Pierre Velon, to found his own luxury brand.
Lancôme was launched with great fanfare at the 1935 Brussels Universal Fair, with five fragrances, each meant to please different types of women on different continents: Tropiques, Tendres Nuits, Kypre, Bocages and Conquête. The scents bottled in baroque flacons designed by Delhomme in reaction to the spare, Art Deco trend – and in tune with fashion’s move towards femininity and away from the flapper era - were not a commercial success, and Petitjean soon branched out into skincare and makeup.
The next year saw the launch of Révolte. It might well have been a belated answer to Lanvin’s own leather scent, the provocatively named Scandale, but the social and political context in France was far from peaceful. 1936 was a bristling year in French politics. The civil war raged just south of the border, in Spain. The left-wing coalition Front Populaire has just gained power, and dedicated itself to easing the working class’ burdens, instating the 40-hour week and the first paid holidays (an event celebrated by Patou with Vacances), promoting the access of culture and sports for the masses. It was also the first government to give ministerial portfolios to women, who hadn’t yet been granted the right to vote.

The name Révolte, so unsuited to Armand Petitjean’s vision of luxury, didn’t last long. In 1939, it was changed to the less inflammatory Cuir, so as not to damage Lancôme’s trade with Latin American countries who were rather agitated at the time, but also, one would surmise, because France had just declared war on Germany and any reminder of further instability, even a fragrant one, was unwelcome. Also the connotations in the English language (“revolt” brought to mind “revolting”, not good marketing for a scent) might have influenced the decision…

Armand Petitjean was the “nose” of his house as well as its copywriter. He also taught the Lancôme recruits on the subject of perfumery. In the Editions Assouline’s book by Jacqueline Demornex, Lancôme, Petitjean’s classes are quoted thus on the subject of his teacher, François Coty:

“Coty was a builder. In front of his castle of Montbazon, he had built a terrace, which gave the same impression as his perfumes: clear, solid, magnificent. He didn’t conceive that a living room could be anything but round or elliptical. The galleries, he wanted wide. His perfumes were exactly conceived in this way.”

It is thus the great heritage of the father of modern perfumery that is carried on in the first Lancôme compositions. Cuir is a new chapter in the series of reissues that saw the release of Magie, Climat, Sikkim, Sagamore, Mille et une roses and Tropiques. Calice Becker, who also re-engineered Balmain’s Vent Vert, is responsible with Pauline Zanoni for adapting M. Petitjean’s formula for contemporary noses…

This re-issue is particularly welcome as there are very few leather scents on the non-niche market, despite a slight revival (Armani Cuir Améthyste, Guerlain Cuir Beluga, Hermès Kelly Calèche (click for review). Of the classics, only Chanel Cuir de Russie has survived, if one discounts the leather chypres, which really belong to another category – leather should be one in itself. The cult classic Lanvin Scandale, composed by Arpège author André Fraysse and discontinued in 1971, would be the template, along with Chanel’s, by which any leather should be judged. The Lanvin, Chanel and Lancôme share many notes in common:

Lanvin Scandale: neroli, bergamot, mandarin, sage, Russian leather, iris, rose, ylang-ylang, incense, civet, oakmoss ,vanilla, vetiver, benzoin.

Chanel Cuir de Russie: aldehydes, orange blossom, bergamot, mandarin, clary sage; iris, jasmine, rose, ylang-ylang, cedarwood, vetiver; styrax, leather, amber, vanilla.

Lancôme Cuir: bergamot, mandarin, saffron, Jasmine, ylang-ylang, hawthorn, patchouli, Iris, birch, styrax.

The beautiful surprise of the new Cuir is its vintage feel. It may have been domesticated and toned down from the original – a necessity, given the current inaccessibility of many of the original ingredients – but it is still true, buttery, mouth-wateringly rich leather in the style of the much-regretted Lanvin Scandale.
Bergamot and mandarin give the top notes their typically Lancôme hesperidic feel, but within seconds a creamy surge of ylang-ylang lends a sweet butteriness to the blend, underscored by the slightly medicinal accents of saffron. Jasmine and hawthorn are also listed as notes, but they never stand out as soloists. The smoky birch and balsamic-tarry styrax quickly rise to the fore, underscored by a very discreet patchouli; iris cools off the base and lends its discreetly earthy tinge.
Despite sharing several notes with the Chanel, Lancôme Cuir doesn’t display its predecessor’s crisp, structured composition, lifted by Ernest Beaux’s trademark aldehydes. Cuir sinks almost immediately into a yielding, warm, almost edible caramel-tinged leather: it is like the liquid version of a time-smoothed lambskin glove, clutching a handful of exotic blossoms. A nod to contemporary tastes is given in an unlisted, caramelized note, which tends to place Lancôme Cuir in the families of gourmand scents in the drydown. At this stage, it evokes the sinuous sheath of sun-kissed skin…
Comparisons to Scandale(discontinued in 1971) are hard to draw because of the difference in concentration (eau de parfum vs. extrait) and conservation conditions, but Cuir would seem to lean more to the side of the Lanvin in its richness and animalic elegance.
One can only hope that Lanvin will follow suit and re-launch a fairly faithful adaptation of Scandale, though its recent Rumeur(click for review), lovely but much tamer than the original, doesn’t bode well…
But there can truly never be enough leather scents to this leather lover.



Special thanks to R., the generous member of the Perfume of Life forum who sent me a large sample of Cuir; as well as to Vidabo, who shared her precise and poetic analysis on the forum and helped me shape mine.

by Denyse Beaulieu, a.k.a. carmencanada

Pic on top from educationfrance5.fr

The new Rumeur by Lanvin: Fragrance review & history

When the old becomes new again we may be witnessing Gaudí's "Sagrada Familia" or "Le Tombeau de Couperin" by Ravel.
What I mean: it’s not necessarily a bad thing! Enter the re-orchastration of Rumeur by the house of Lanvin which is both rather pretty and completely different than the somptuous vintage formula.

Jeanne Lanvin was originally a milliner that came to design clothes for her daughter and her friends’ daughters, establishing a salon that finally catered for adults just before World War I. Soon the salon became an entity of its own, continuing the tradition till today under the creative baguette of young designer Albert Elbaz.
It is however the perfume spectrum of Lanvin that has not survived that well over the years and that is assuredly a pity.

Jeanne Lanvin had a mysterious personage named Madame Zed (doesn’t she sound like a Graham Greene novel set in post-war Vienna?), an elderly Russian, creating perfumes for her, the last of which was the legendary My Sin, a very successful triumph. After that it was André Fraysse who was hired as house perfumer in 1924, segueing on to create what was termed by another great nose (Edmond Roudnitska) “the most spectacular tetralogy in perfumery”: Arpège in 1927, Scandale in 1931, Rumeur in 1932 and Prétexte in 1937. Sadly, only Arpège with its sonorous musical name still circulates on perfume counters today (after some adventures in formulaic changes, but happily restored to its original glory finally), as the world is fickle and tastes change, it seems. It might have to do with the fact that the perfume department of the house was sold to L’oréal conglomerate, too. (But you’d call me leftist if I insisted and I wouldn’t want you to do that). In any case, Arpège saw a flanker on its tail in recent years, éclat de Arpège, a pleasant, lilac -coloured, fruity floral that coincided with the latest olfactory trends, but bore no relation to the rich tradition of the house.

And then, just like that, last year saw the re-emergence of the old glory of Rumeur. Or was it but a specter of its old self?
Certainly the new version bears no olfactory relation to the old one’s dark chypre trail of fruity nuances on a dark mossy bed of plush. Those were times when such things were appreciated. By today’s standards and due to the eclipse of oakmoss from perfume formulae the vintage Rumeur is intoxicating and very perfumey; although by no means unwearable or outdated. Still, the house needed a new perfume to boost its re-vamped image and the difficulty of obtaining rights for use of a new name, not to mention the brainstorming needed for the inspiration of a successful one, were stumbling blocks that eased the acceptance of an older name being stuck on a new product. This dampens our hopes of them ever re-issuing their older treasure, like for instance Guerlain did with their Sous le Vent, but rather continue on that path that Piguet led with Baghari. However, much like Baghari, the result in Rumeur’s case is not disappointing.

Conceived by Francis Kurkdjian , the talented perfumer who is responsible for among others Narciso for Her, Rose Barbare for the Guerlain art et matiere line, and Eau Noire for Dior, it has his familiar style of silky elegance that can never become cloying or childish. Retaining the mere sketch of a chypre composition as most new “pink chypres” do (the term was brilliantly coined by Ayala Moriel to denote the new chypres that lack an oakmoss base) it has the abstract powdery floral feel I have come to expect of this exciting new category of perfumes that come to the rescue after the avalanche of too many fruity florals and teeny bobber vanillic candysticks. It’s a welcome change and a subtly sensual trend I am quite willing to follow.

The new Rumeur begins on a subtle and fresh plane of aldehydes that support the exquisite florancy of pretty seringa, the family of which lilac is an offspring, and of quiet soft-petaled magnolia, like transparent veils of a white material on a soft feminine body illuminated by the afternoon sun. If you have been enamoured with the discreet sexiness of Narciso for Her especially in its superior eau de toilette version like I have, then you are sure to appreciate the loveliness such an effect produces in the new Rumeur. Although patchouli is listed in both scents you would be hard pressed to discern it as the whole effect is of a very sensual but abstract aroma that is hard to pinpoint.
There is subtle muskiness and sweetness that whispers come hither in a way that does not entirely do away with romantic sensibilities of yore. It culminates in a panorama of woody notes enriched with the depth of ambroxan lending projection and decent lasting power on skin and clothes.
On the whole, picture it as a silky rosy robe de chambre ready to shed its modesty with one fell sweep of the cute ribbon that anchors it to a supple waist and you’re there.

The bottle is quite pleasant to look at, a bit like the shape of Promesse by Cacharel, with a matte golden ring on the cap, from which I don’t advise you to hold it like the perversely smokey eyed and modernly coiffed model does in the printed advertisements. In my opinion there is a discrepancy between advertising image and actual scent in this one as the no doubt innovative clothes of the model do not reflect the prettiness and romanticism of the perfumed result. However in an aggressive society which reflects in the sexual arena as well, it is the visual rather than the olfactual that is predatory and mean. Happily the new Rumeur is neither.


Official notes for the reissued Rumeur by Lanvin: magnolia, white roses, jasmine sambac, seringa, orange blossom, lily of the valley, patchouli, musks, ambroxan.

Available from major department stores.

Top pic courtesy of cofe.ru, "My sin" ad from okadi, new ad for Rumeur from escentual.

A re-orchestration: Baghari by Piguet, fragrance review and comparison

Reformulation seems to be the new name du jour for perfume companies. They sometimes miss terribly (Dioressence) while sometimes they invent something amazing (Femme). Baghari by Piguet seems to stand at the middle, being neither atrocious or disloyal to the original, nor the innovative masterpiece that could be the be all and end all. Taking that into account however it stands as a perfectly lovely little aldehydic floral that is sure to be enjoyed by lots of people. Not what one expects from the house of Piguet, who has churned out such controversial fumes as the lethal white femme of Fracas and the leathered dominatrix rolled in grass of Bandit.

The original, now vintage, Baghari was created in 1950 by Francis Fabron, creator of Nina Ricci L’Air du Temps (1948), Balenciaga Le Dix (1947) and Givenchy L’Interdit (1957). This venerable french "nose" composed elegant scents with polished and powdery notes echoing an aura of romanticism and the feel of the feminine New Look that had been introduced just 3 years prior by Christian Dior. The vogue became one of feminity packaged as a lady who lunches discreetly with crinoline skirts a little below the knee, cinched waists, little hats and gloves for all occasions. Baghari was marketed in 1950 as a discreet and fresh fragrance for a young lady, but of course perceptions have changed so much (not to mention fashion trends) that it is impossible to imagine what the audience of BlackEyed Peas or the consumers of Miami Glow might find elegant anymore. Nevertheless, this is not an affirmation written in an attempt to look down on our day and age as is so prevalent among perfume boards, blogs and articles. Our age has also got its classics (Narciso for its loveliness, Angel for its innovation, Voleur de Roses for its unusual mix of rose and patchouli and a few others). Their time of reverence will come...

Not to divert from the point however, the new Baghari is a playful spin on the original. It was reorchestrated in 2006 by Aurélien Guichard of Givaudan, famous for his acclaimed Bond no.9Chinatown. The main difference with the vintage is in the top notes and less at the base. The stark glaring white aldehyde of the original is replaced in part with sweeter notes, encompasing a little violet, a note which is witnessing a rebirth this year after eons of exile in the darkest corners of the perfume hall of fame. On a blotter it has a slightly spicy note that is deceptive. It really properly blooms only on the skin.

The notes for the original are: aldehydes, bergamot, orange blossom, lemon, rose, lilac, ylang-ylang, lily of the valley, jasmine, Bourbon vetiver, benzoin, musk, amber, vanilla.
In contrast the new one has: bergamot, neroli, aldehydes, violet, jasmine, orange blossom, rose Damascena, rose Centifolia, iris, vetiver, amber, musk, vanilla.

As the new Baghari unfolds its secrets there is a clean, almost soapy smell that is very becoming, like crispy linen on a laundry day, starched collars and preppy shirts laid out on the bed for inspection before donning them. It then sweetness considerably with the full revelation of the jasmine and orange blossom heart. The dance of rose with jasmine and violet is never ending, going on and on and on, into the territory of romantic and old-fashioned elegance of wisps of satin petticoats underneath. This is most definitely a floral for soft personalities, a little shy perhaps, a little wistful. There is a silent lucidity about it, that resembles a piece by Debussy. Full of emotion that is expressed in a tender and innocent, shining way; shielding our core and our memories from the ravages of the mundane, affording us a slow drive to sunny gardens.
The woodiness of the base has a hefty dose of powdery iris, a very expensive ingredient, lending an earthy dry afterfeel that lingers like the memory of a kiss on one's flesh, a skin-like aroma that seals the deal and makes this one reformulation worthy of its launch.
The comparison with Chanel #5, Le Dix by Balenciaga, Guerlain's Vega or Liu is not far off and indeed somehow Baghari seems a little redundant to me, since I already own Chanel #5 in parfum/extrait, which is a little muskier and woodier than this one, making it more seductive and secretive in my mind. But that's not to mean that the new Baghari isn't a lovely scent.

It can be had in a bottle of 50ml/1.7oz of Eau de Parfum at Bergdorf Goodman, Neiman Marcus, Harvey Nichols (UK) and Les printemps (France).

Pic courtesy of touteenparfum.