Showing posts with label vintage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label vintage. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Robert Piguet/Raucour Calypso: fragrance review & history

Leafing through mythology books while researching on Nausinous, the son of Ulysses and Calypso the couple appearing in Homer's Odyssey, I cannot help but marvel at the invisible threads that tie history, perfumery and the great imagination of inspired creators such as Robert Piguet. His fragrance Calypso encapsulates the ethereal and yet alluring qualities that the eponymous numph was renowed for in a most refined way.

It is with stupendous surprise that one learns that Rober Piguet, born in the Swiss town of Yverdon in 1901, was originally trained not in fashion but in banking! So much his couturier and creator of stylish fragrances reputation has preceded him among the cognoscenti! A young boy of 17 he moved to the fashion capital of the world, Paris, and landed a job first with Redfern and later with fashion legend Paul Poiret. His industrious and inquisitive spirit resulted in the founding of his own salon in 1933. There he provided Parisian women with his own creations as well as those of alumni Antonio Castillo, Christian Dior, James Galanos, Marc Bohan, Hubert de Givenchy and Pierre Balmain. Although his couture side of the business is largely forgotten apart from the historic scope (he retired in 1951 and died in 1953), his perfume business is very much alive. This is thanks to at once the tremendous fame that his pioneer fragrances Fracas (1946) and Bandit (1944), both by iconoclast perfumer Germaine Cellier, have created, as well as the respectful treatment his compositions have received in the hands of Joe Garces of Fashion Fragrances and Cosmetics Ltd. after a limbo state of the brand while under Alfin inc.

In researching Calypso the fragrance, I tried to find visuals and was aided by my friend Octavian who provided the image herein. On it there is a bottle not unlike the bell-shaped jars of today's Lutens bottles for his Paris-exclusives which bears the name Calypso by Raucour. The brand Raucour is most probably inspired by a personage in French history: Françoise-Marie-Antoinette Saucerotte, nicknamed Mademoiselle Raucourt or Françoise Raucourt, was an anti-Revolutionist tragedian living in the late 18th century France and the Directoire period, famous for her roles as Medea, Semiramis and Agripinna. Could Calypso, the nymph who fell in love with Ulysses/Odysseus and kept him captive on her island for 8 long years following his nostos from Troy, be another one of the roles which would fit her? The tragic quotient of the role, with its clash between the vagaries of the heart on the one hand and the predecided by the Gods fate of Ulysses (namely to return to his home and family) on the other, is not antithetical to her range.
Additionally, her predeliction for aromatic substances in the form of exotic and rare plants such as frangipaniers and baobabs in her Château in La Chapelle Saint-Mesmin lets the imagination roll with fragrant images...

The Renoir company simultaneously produced the perfumes Renoir, Raucour and Piguet while the Piguet trademarks were filled by Renoir during the war. The depicted Calypso from Raucour is in the same bottle and packaging Renoir used for Messager/ Cattleya or Dona Sol (that were also sold later under Raucour brand and credited to Piguet in several guides). This puts an interesting spin into the alleged launch date of 1957 or 1959 for Piguet's Calypso. In those older days aroma-producing companies (the equivalent of today's big boys, aka Givaudan, Firmenich, IFF etc) formulated the jus with less speed. Therefore in light of the above clues, could we assume that Calypso by Raucour and Calypso by Piguet are indeed the same fragrance? If so, the date launch should be pushed in the previous decade, placing it firmly alongside its olfactory "inspirations", more of which shortly, Whatever the truth is, the scent itself is revelational in some respect.

Piguet's Calypso olfactorily reflects the qualities of both spicy floral and green floral facets, resulting in a refined composition that alludes to both L'Air du Temps (its carnation tinged airiness) and Ma Griffe (its green buds on the mountaintop dryness). Calypso's daintily mossy garland is woven into delicate lacework that enhances these themes and in the canon of current Piguet fragrances which impose their presence it presents something of an anomaly. However it is for those occasions exactly that one is advised to look back at the history of a house when pronouncing judgement on terms of aesthetics: The Piguet portfolio included legion of fragrances once upon a time, with some of the lesser known being: Augure, Cattleya, Fou, Dingo (all from 1945), Gambade (1946), Grande Epoque, Rollon, Hirondelle, Brigand, Dark Herald, Donna Sol, Mimo, Esclave (all from 1947), Estampe (1948), and Messanger (1952).

The vintage Calypso by Robert Piguet (not to be confused with the duty-free limited edition by Lancôme by the same name) was originally available in Eau de Toilette strength and extrait de parfum in the standard curvaceous and simple flacons of Piguet and makes sporadic appearences on Ebay. Since Baghari (1945) and Visa (1946) have been re-issued and so have Futur (1974) and the masculine Cravache (1963) recently, to varying approximations to the original formula, let's hope that the marvel that is Calypso is destined for Phoenix-like resurection as well.

Painting of Odysseus and Calypso, 1883 by Arnold Böcklin via faerymists.tripod.com

Thursday, September 24, 2009

The history of the Guerlinade accord, original & re-issued Guerlinade perfume by Guerlain

Like many other confusing matters pertaining to fragrance history the often quoted name Guerlinade stands for several seperate things and disentangling them is at large an exercise in minutiae. Historical minutiae being within the scope of Perfume Shrine from the very start however we hope to cut through the knot which perfume companies often present us with. So this little guide is aiming at providing answers to what the Guerlinade accord is, how Guerlinade smells and in which Guerlain perfumes it can be discerned, which fine fragrances were named Guerlinade and their packaging and availability as of this minute.

Originally La Guerlinade was the code-name for an olfactory harmonious blend ("accord" in perfume-speak) ~possibly conceived by Pierre-François-Pascal Guerlain* but first referenced in relation to Jacques Guerlain** ~ that typified Guerlain perfumes in their classical compositions and made them the stuff of legend: Bergamot, jasmine, rose ~especially the Bulgarian version rather than the Turkish one~, orange blossom, iris, (possibly vetiver), tonka bean, and vanilla are said to be the main ingredients comprising it. Of course the exact formula of this special accord is guarded with the zeal Fort Knox is, but most perfumephiliacs can identify the above notes forming the characterist nuance of the chord that runs through the melody of L'Heure Bleue (along with trademark heliotropine) ~especially in Parfum de Toilette and vintage extrait de parfum~, Shalimar and Vol de Nuit; this nuance either captures in its guile or haunts with terror the fragrance enthusiasts. The fragrances composed by Jacques Guerlain especially are intensely redolent of this accord, although Mitsouko is less immersed in it, opting for the oakmoss chypre base under the notorious peach-skin note.

Strangely enough, the term only entered popular parlance outside of the Guerlain labs at the launch of masculine scent Héritage, as Sylvaine Delacourte, artistic director of parfums Guerlain reveals! Like a silky veil, the Guerlinade softens any sharp angles and smothers the composition in the purple hues of twilight. Its feel is polished, bergamot fusing its elegant freshness with rose and vanilla and the tonka bean gives a vague sense of hay, powder and tobacco. But its perfume-y ambience can also feel somehow retro which is why sometimes modern tastes run antithetical to its rich, textured feel.

Guerlinade nevertheless also happens to be the name of a Jacques Guerlain creation from 1921 which came in a beautiful bottle of intensely faceted crystal, shaped like a lekythos. The Guerlain archives include a vegetal lotion issued in 1924 with the same name, an early thought of an ancilary product so to speak. The scent after some "renovation" was re-issued as a seperate, limited edition Eau de Parfum in a new Baccarat flacon design to celebrate the 170 years of Guerlain in 1998 (circulating again as Guerlinade in a presentation that depicted paintings of Parisian life, depicted above) and later re-issued yet again in Les Parisiennes boutique line (in standard bee bottles, depicted below) upon renovation of the 68 Champs Elysées fragship boutique in 2005. Nevertheless the actual scent was different than its predecessor and the famous accord: it had a predominent streak of powdered lilac (a lovely one at that) ~and perhaps a touch of oily hyacinth garlanding it with its "dirtier" streak~ and little relation to the characterist chord that Guerlainomaniacs recognise instantly. Its powdery retro formula (a little iris, a little tonka) explored bouquets of impressionistic vignettes of Parisian life amidst equestrian scenes when gentlemen with horse-drawn carriages would bow down to pick up the handkerchiefs of ladies blushing beneath their veiled little hats. The homage in Guerlinade the fragrance was more that and less an actual reproduction of the exact secret formula for the Guerlain house "signature".

Today the fragrance named Guerlinade is discontinued and no bottles can be found at boutiques Guerlain updrading it into a collectible. Much like happens with other elusive limited editions such as the Harrod's aimed Belle Epoque from 1999 with its musk-veiled tuberose, the No.68 limited edition which reworked Guet Apens, the Champs Elysées Bacarrat turtle/tortoise bottle amongst them...

Yet the renowned accord hasn't died; far from it! The classic Guerlinade harmony was revisited in a Limited Edition commemorative Eau de Parfum fittingly called 180 Ans de Création (meaning 180 years of creation and issued in 2008 to commemorate the 180th anniversary of the house of Guerlain) Jean Paul Guerlain twisted the idea of the classic Guerlinade harmony, realising its aura is often perceived as admirable but a little outdated, and thus added contemporary accents in the form of grapefruit, pink pepper and white musk. The result is elegant, polished and a study in dry warmth and I sincerely hope it becomes more widely available than the gifts given out to the participants of the 180th anniversary celebration. In the meantime we can admire and savour the classical Guerlinade, "un état d’ Esprit", in several vintage Guerlain fragrances where it is shining in all its unadulterated glory.

*ref: Perfume Intelligence Encyclopaedia.
**according to Jean Paul Guerlain
Pics via passionforperfume.com and monkeyposh.blogspot.com

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Jean Patou Delices: fragrance review & history

Much like Joy (1935), "the costliest perfume in the world" was launched just when the Great Depression was hitting Jean Patou's wealthiest American clients the hardest, the delicious Délices, also by Jean Patou, was issued in 1940, smack when World War II had shown its ugly face. Perhaps to divert attention from the difficult days ahead? Or in an (alas vain) attempt to exorcise the demons of war which were only too fresh in the memory of its contemporaries? In 1940 few were willing to believe the monstrosities would last for long and Jean Patou had died 5 years before, leaving the house to his sister and her husband Raymond Barbas. Some decades later, few are willing to believe that mementos of that era have resonance today; yet they do. To this day this Patou fragrance remains one of those Great Unknowns of Perfumeland, being one of the more elusive fragrances in the Patou portfolio, but also in the collective perfume vaults. In vain would one search for notes or family classification, as they are not listed anywhere, and I was prompted to tackle it by the timely question of one of my readers and friends in scent, , Melissa, so I am tentatively trying to give you my own view of its delicious, decadent character.

Délices strikes me as spicy, with a light and fresh bouquet of lavender and aldehydic notes for pizzaz, murked by an amber bottom that reminds me of classic orientals and chypres of the 30s, by Patou or otherwise. There is also a kinship with 1000, a later floral chypre woody (1972) by Jean Patou which looks like it has been inspired by its ancestor because of its chypré tonalities and rosy nuances which hide in the heart of both perfumes. Although its time of composing would tie it to perfumer Henri Giboulet, resident at Patou since 1940 and most famous for the soft floral Gin Fizz for Lubin (1955), the style and architecture of Delices personally reminds me of Henri Alméras's opus (both for Poiret and Patou).

Délices was re-issued by Jean Kerleo (in hose perfumer from 1968 till 1997) in the collective opus Ma Collection (Parfums d'epoque, 1925-1964) for Jean Patou in 1984, a lineup of poetic names such as Adieu Sagesse (Goodbuy Wisdom), Que sais-je? (What do I know?), or L'Heure Attendue (The Long Awaited for Hour) among others. However Delices was not included in the box-set of minis issued as a commemorative gift package for that relaunch, making it really hard to track down a bottle of the scent. In general if you find big bottles from that time-frame, consider yourself very lucky indeed as they were reinterpretations that followed the original formulae as closely as possible and were constructed with the utmost care by the in-house perfumer, before Procter & Gamble bought the house of Patou, putting the illustrious archives into oblivion.

Some of those forgotten, vintage Jean Patou scents include (in alphabetical order):
Ambition( 1953), Angostura (1922), Anything Goes (1955), Aparte (1928), Baby Bar (1931), Bar A Parfums (1929), Cocktail Dry (1930), Cocktail Bittersweet(1930), Cocktail Sweet (1930)Companion (1950), the first duo presentation For Her....For Him...(1931), Heureaux Amants ie.happy lovers (1930), Holidays (1934), Invitations (1932), L'Amour Est Roi , ie. Love is king (1930), Lasso a leathery chypre (1955), the innovative unisex Le Sien (1928), Lift (1930), Love Appeal (1930), Makila (1961), May-Be (1925), Ole (1954), Patou's Own (1930), Snob(1950), Toilet Brandy (1935), Tout Va ie. everything goes (1955), and Vin de Toilette (1935).
Let's hope that these treasure of yore find an historically sensitive management that will ressurect them, even if only briefly and for a limited distribution.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Jean Patou Ma Collection ~all the scents reviewed

Pic via overstockperfume.com
Ref. Ken Leach, Perfume Presentation 100 Years of Artistry

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Balenciaga Michelle: fragrance review & history

It is always with some astonishment that I find myself in a Wells-like universe while critically appraising fragrances from decades ago: the Balenciaga classic perfumes opus in particular is supremely refined in the grand manner (Quadrille, Prelude, Cialenga, and the more famous Le Dix), yet surprises lay hidden in less far off decades ~as recently as 1979, if 30 years ago can be seen as "recent". Michelle, created that year, as a posthumous homage to the great couturier who had died in 1972 and named after his favourite model, is a classic from the house reflecting values of another time.

Intense in its message, floral and oriental at once with a wink of aldehydes on top like topz eyes behind dark sunglasses, and weird in a sublime way, thanks to a ginormous tuberose and earthy rose in its heart, Michelle by Balenciaga shares a common element with that other fangled, musky and bitter tuberose of the 80s, Dior's Poison by nose Edouard Fléchier (1985); and to a lesser degree with the more vulgar Giorgio by Giorgio Beverly Hills, a fragrance that sadly traumatised a whole generation of teenagers into succumbing to watery ozonics in the hopes of escaping the deadly, miasma-like fumes of their mothers' scent which wafted from every taxi and every elevator to the point of suffocation.
As someone wittingly quipped, the first Dior Poison is "like road testing an Abrams M1 tank in the evening rush hour". To further that image, I should add that Giorgio is all of the above, but done in picturesque Dubrovnik, pre- the Yugoslavian War ravages, when it was a perfect specimen of UNESCO's Cultural Heritage collection of cities, pristinely preserved in formaldehyde.

Cristóbal Balenciaga (1895-1972), a Basque-born Spanish couturier renowned for his impecable attention to detail, his contempt for bourgeoisie status of the Chambre and referred to as "the master of us all" by Christian Dior himself, became famous for his architectural eye and ultra-modernity. The latter was especially exhibited in his "bubble skirts" and odd shapes, the "square coat", the swanlike collars and the "bracelet sleeves" among them. His fragrances reflected his demanding and sophisticated nature: they had character!

The nose behind Balecianga's Michelle is Françoise Caron, best known for Eau d'Orange Verte for Hermès, Kenzo by Kenzo (the original with the blossom-shaped stopper) and the reconstruction of Ombre Rose L'Original for Brosseau, but also for Montana's oriental mohair blanket Just Me and the popular oriental/gourmand Escada Collection. Her Gió for Giorgio Armani (1992) continues with the tuberose treatment so prevalent in the 80s and in a way reflects some of the aspects of Michelle without following it closely. Whereas Gió is nectarous, fruity and honeyed, Michelle is rather sharper, mossier and with that weird perfume-y note de tête which is commonly referred to in perfumephiliac parlance as the "bug spray accord". Both Poison in its foreboding purplish bottle and Giorgio in its yellow-striped kitsch shared this bug spray note: an aroma which had become so popular through the extensive usage of the above perfumes back then that manufacturers of instecticides in a reverse compliment (cheapening the formula) replicated in their...yes, you guessed it, bug sprays! The mental pathway wasn't difficult to lay and forever since bug spray ~and the perfumes that echo it~ have that characteristic sharp, needles-up-the-nose, bitter and strangely floral-from-outer-space tonality which has its fans and its detractors. The mental association isn't a personal favourite for reasons of overdosing on insecticides one memorable tropically-latituded summer in Bali many years ago, so although I admire that kind of fragrances intellectually it isn't something I am comfortable with wearing too often. Still in Michelle that bug spray accord is tempered and tamer, making it friendlier.

If by mentioning tuberose you cast your mind to the timeless Fracas by Piguet with its beautiful yet at the same time coloratura expansive and creamy night blossom, Tubéreuse Criminelle by Lutens with its mentholated, polished soie sauvage or Carnal Flower by F.Malle with its coconut and eycalyptus-ladden tropical ambience, then think again: Balenciaga's forgotten vintage extrait Michelle is none of those things and is a throwback to another era. Surprisingly, Michelle is also sprinkled with a pinch of spice, not listed, a cinnamon-like effect which somehow provides a sweet facet along with the vanilla, yet reinforces the bloody, metallic facets of the tuberose and the wet earthiness of the rose in tandem with moss. It wears beautifully in the heat and eases itself into the cooler days of approaching autumn.

The vintage extrait de parfum which is the concentration in my possession (in the design on the right) is extremely long-lasting and smooth, while the Eau de Toilette (circulating in the classic design of Balenciaga fragrances depicted here) smells about the same, but with a radiance and expansion which could become too much too soon in my opinion.

Notes for Balenciaga Michelle:
Top: Aldehydes, gardenia, green notes, coconut, peach

Heart: Carnation, tuberose, iris, orchid, jasmine, yalng ylang, rose
Base: Sandalwood, oakmoss, musk, benzoin, vanilla, vetiver

Michelle is discontinued, but makes sporadic appearences on Ebay and etailers. The Balenciaga house is currently part of the Gucci Group (part of Pineault Printemps Redoute). Popular again thanks to the success of the "Motorcycle bag" and Nicolas Ghesquiere design and is set to produce a new fragrance under the aegis of Coty fronted by Charlotte Gainsbourg, which questions the possibility of ever resurrecting Michelle.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Vintage perfumes, Fragrance history

Pic of vintage coat design by Cristobal Balenciaga via pairofchairs.wordpress.com and of Michelle flacon via ecrater.com

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Nina Ricci Coeur Joie: fragrance review & history

My maternal grandmother had a Louis XVI vanity with silk damask that had a interlay of glass vitrine within the wood panel back, behind which small precious flacons from Paris hid. They seemed to flirt with each other at nights and I imagined them having spirited conversations when I was little. The square-shouldered Balmain extrait was the masculine counterpoint leaning seductively close to the smoothly countoured L'Air du temps and close to them a bottle of Coeur Joie seemed to proclaim by its very name the romanticism which those perfumes aimed to provoke. Perfume was a reverie back then, a daydream and a longing, more than a mere accessory and my grandmother brought them all to life.
I was watching an Angela Lansbury film, in which she travelled to Paris and had a gown made at the famous Nina Ricci atelier and what stayed was the palpable feeling of her intoxication of becoming another person through this chrysallis transformation; or rather the person which she used to be as a young girl; optmistic and hopeful, before the vagaries of life had crushed her dreams. In retrospect I believe Coeur Joie would have been an excellent scent choice to accompany this elegant vision! Its understated luxury of its feminine bouquet of subdued, cooly whispering flowers transports us into an early evening reverie someplace where Chopin Nocturnes can be heard through ajar French windows and ball-gowned debutantes are casting their dreams on the flip of a wrist during a waltz.

Robert Ricci, the son of fashion designer Nina Ricci and head of development at parfums Ricci, took an unconventional approach when visualising how he wanted Coeur Joie to be, the first Nina Ricci perfume to diversify from clothing, in 1946. Despite it being a creation of Germaine Cellier, a perfumer with a daring and unapologetic streak of rebellion, then working at the famous Roure company, this Ricci perfume comes off as a comparatively soft fragrance; delicate and low-key floral, with an elegant polish rendering it suitable for a Grace Kelly type rather than the more daring amazones of Cellier's. Germaine Cellier was quite formidable herself, a great beauty of alleged lesbian tendencies, smoking a chimney, eating garlic with other famous couturiers, violently clashing with Roure's acclaimed perfumer Jean Carles, briefly acting as a functional scents composer for Colgate-Palmolive soaps (a stint which lasted but three months) and gingerly mixing perfumers' "bases" wondoursly resulting into stunning compositions such as the first "green" fragrance (the galbanum-souled Vent Vert), the knife-scathing outlaw of Bandit with its leathery bitterness of quinolines of 1944, the buttery radiance of tuberose in 1948's Fracas (both for Robert Piguet), the nostalgic violet chypre Jolie Madame for Balmain (1953) and the lesser known La Fuite des Heures for Balenciaga in 1949. There is also the enigmatic Eau d'Herbes (Herbal Water) conceived for Hermes at an unspecified date during the 1950s, which remains an enigma, and several compositions for Elizabeth Arden during the same time-frame. The solution to her Roure disputes presented by Louis Amic was to set Cellier up in her own laboratory in Paris (baptized Exarome), a place of her own where she could create her perfumes and meet her clients.

Nina Ricci on the other hand is best remembered for L'Air du Temps, the romantic lactonic floral with a carnation accent by Fabric Fabron in the emblematic flacon crowned with doves, but she has had a line-up of several less popular classic fragrances. Among them Coeur Joie (1946), Fille d'Eve (1952), Capricci (1961), the masculine Signoricci (1965), the orange-rich Bigarade (1971)and the spicy carnation aldehydic Farouche (1973) all the way to the original green Nina in the frosted bottle in 1987 (the name has been reprised for the gourmand in the apple-shaped bottle of 2006), the playful fruity chypre Deci-Dela and the trio of Les Belles de Ricci, all the way into the recent years when the company was bought by Puig.
Marie Adélaïde Nielli (nickenamed Nina when she was but a mere girl) was married to Louis Ricci, to whom she bore a son, Robert. Nina Ricci relocated to Monte Carlo first and ultimately in Paris in 1932 when Robert was 27 years old, working as a model maker. But her son's motivation instilled into her the desire to open a fashion house one year short of her 50th birthday and the rest is, as they say, history.

The polished feel of the fragrance is immediately apparent, from its fresh, greenish opening oscilating between neroli and cool iris tonalities to the discreet, slightly warm and reassuring drydown which shares elements with the original Nina by the same designer, while being as waxy woody as the legendary Dior Dior. Despite scents of that time being usually powdery, Coeur joie stops short of producing this effect and does not smell old-fashioned in the least, although modern noses might be disappointed at the lack of overt sweetness. As someone at Fragrantica put it: "Launched just two years prior to Nina Ricci's renowned L'Air du Temps, Coeur Joie is L'air du Temps with a whiskey chaser -- a lilting, cool, pretty-as-a-princess floral with a knowing, silken drydown befitting an empress. Wear this when you want to promise nothing but deliver everything". I'd substitute whiskey with champagne, but the rest rings quite true.

The bottle, designed by Marc Lalique with whom the Ricci family enjoyed a close relationship since childhood, reprised the romantic theme into a garlanded tube that was heart-shaped. Extremely costly due to its rarity nowadays, yet there are round canisters of Eau de Toilette, holding big quantities appearing now and then on Ebay auctions and on online discounters; these harken back to the 1960s. There is a rumour circulating that they were especially made for the Greek market where Ricci perfumes were especially popular at the time and well-to-do ladies used them for refreshment on warm spring days.

Notes for Nina Ricci Coeur Joie:
Top: neroli, bergamot, orange blossom
Middle: iris, violet, hyacinth, jasmine, gardenia, and rose
Base: woods

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Germaine Cellier scents



Leopold Godowsky (1870-1938) plays Frédéric Chopin: Nocturne nr. 12 in G, opus 37 no. 2, composed in 1839. Recorded in 1928. Originally uploaded by pianopera on Youtube

Fashion photo of Van Cleef & Arpels jewels by Bert Stern. Nina Ricci atelier via nytimes. bottle pics via parfumgott/flickr and ebay

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Caron With Pleasure: fragrance review & Caron history

Certain fragrances grab you by the throat and demand to be asked "What are you talking about anyway?" Whether they do it via shock value or by undecipherable codes posing an enigma it is a matter of semiotics.

One such scent is With Pleasure, belying its very name, not because it is repulsive, but because it is on the edge of consciousness nagging you to tilt your head once more and mubble again "what is it about it, then?"

The Unknown Perfumer at Caron: Michel Morsetti

Caron's With Pleasure was issued in 1949, composed by perfumer Michel Morsetti, two years after the self-taught founder, Ernest Daltroff, had passed away. The bottle was customarily designed by Félicie Bergaud (née Félicie Vanpouille and the collaborator of Daltroff, with whom they shared an open, and controversial at the time, relationship out of wedlock). Contemporary to both Or et Noir (Gold and Black) and Rose it remained in their long shadow, a secret to be unveiled by those in the know. The same year also saw the introduction of the original version of Caron's Pour Une Femme, later discontinued and then re-issued in 2001 in an altered formula. It seems that the end of the war and the decade drawing to a close saw an orgiastic productivity at Caron! Yet although the former fragrances continue their unhindered path (with slight tweaks along the way), With Pleasure has been discontinued and become rare, a true collectible.
Michel Morsetti has been responsible for all these fragrances, along with others in the Caron stable of thouroughbreds in the late 1940s and 1950s, notably the cassie-rich almost gourmand Farnesiana (1947), the relatively unknown marvel Tabac Noir (1948) ~a counterpoint to the famous Tabac Blond of the roaring 20s~, the lily-of-the-valley ballet Muguet de bonheur (1952), and the fiery, peppercorn fury of Poivre and its lighter concentration Coup de Fouet (1954). Royal Bain de Champagne is also attributed to Morsetti, despite it being issued in 1941, at a time when Daltroff was still alive. Incidentally many of the classic Carons and a history of the house of Caron are covered in Parfum: Prestige et Haute Couture by Jean-Yves Gaborit (editions Fribourg, 1985).
The vereable French house started from meagre beginnings in 1901-1902 when Russian-Jewish brothers Ernest and Raoul Daltroff bought the small parfumeria "Emilia", located on rue Rossini in Paris, evident in their first fragrance baptized Royal Emilia in 1904. Aided by an obscure acquaintance named Kahann with deep pockets, Ernest Daltroff moved the address to 10 rue de la Paix and renamed it "Caron", with which name it became synonymous with French style and "fit for a duchess" chic, according to an infamous quote.

If there is a signature Caron-ade running through the fabric of the older vintage Carons, it is evident in With Pleasure, without doubt: a dark rose with musty, slightly earthy tonalities is peeking its face underneath a green-herbal façade. The rosiness is an upside-down image of the darker and rosier Or et Noir, with an almost anisic touch. The greeness of With pleasure is not chypré, nevertheless, but rather tilted into an aldehydic direction with a non tangy citrusy accent, folded into the rosiness along with snuffed-out candles notes. The more strident, angular chypres of the 50s were competing with more traditionally feminine aldehydics and their proper lady image; so very fitting, after the return of women to the home, the kitchen and the boudoir following the loaded responsibilities they had shouldered during the hard WWII days which helped emancipate them further.
There is nothing upbeat or girly about the scent, on the contrary there is a quiet mood, but one can sense that this is no mere capriciousness but a frank introspection, a look into a different angle of an at-heart secretive personality who lives her life day by day. I am not sure whether I like it or not, but it keeps asking me neverthless.

The English name alludes to an international venture, capitalizing on the rave reception that Narcisse Noir, Caron's leading fragrance of 1911, had received on the other side of the Atlantic thanks to its potency.
The bottle in Bacarrat crystal is old-fashioned, tactile and round and can be imagined on the vanity of a lady with ebony brushes bearing boar bristles for hair that is brushed a hundred times every night by an attentive chambermaid: A crystal flacon shaped like a honey jar with a T-shaped stopper resembling a glamorous pastry-roll on top (technically this design is called tonnelet) and the name "With Pleasure" emblazoned on the front. The Bacarrat signature in acid on the bottom seals its aunthenticity.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Fragrance History, Caron scents , Aldehydes

Photographs by Luca Cornel of Brenda Lee via fishup.ru, Ad pic via ebay, With Pleasure flacons via coutaubegarie.auction.fr

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Kypre by Lancome: fragrance review & history

What do we really know about some of the vanished perfumes of yore, scattered among ruins like Grecian columns which rest on their side in huge heaps, elbowed down by the gusts of Time?
Some like the metropoleis-named Paris Paris, New York New York and Milan Milan by Madeleine Vionet, the portfolio of Soeurs Callot or Guerlain's Ai Loe and Mais Oui by Bourjois are the stuff of hushed discussions among the initiés.
Liisa Wennervirta just happened to be the proud owner of some Kypre by Lancôme, that most obscure of the perfumes tagged with the august classification of chypre; its very name closer to the Greek spelling of Κύπρος/Cyprus, the island where it all began for those. She had the good grace to inquire about it and offered to send me some for reviewing purposes, no doubt curious as to what I'd make out of it, when the strike of bad luck happened: the precarious condition of the old bottle gave in and Liisa was frantically trying to salvage remains for posterity's sake and my own benefit. In her own words "I searched and from the general lack of anything, it seems that I have the last bit of Kypre in the world. Silly and scary at the same time!" Still my tentative review and thoughts today are testament to her admirable salvaging abilities, no doubt. Discussing with Octavian he threw the idea of neoclassicism, which prompted my choice of couture to illustrate the article today. That style was manifested in the fashions of Madame Grèe and Madelaine Vionet as well as the German ideal in architecture that would culminate in Leni Riefenstahl's documentaries.



Kypre by Lancôme along with Tropiques, Tendres Nuits, Bocages, Conquest and Blue Seal were among the first fragrances created by Armand Petitjean, a true pioneer, in 1935, and the first five were sent in time for the Universal Exhibition of Brussels of the same year where they gained double medals of excellence. With one fell swoop Petitjean had established Lancôme as a force to be reckoned with! In 1900 the pre-eminent perfume houses in France had been Guerlain, Roger Gallet and L.T.Piver. By 1940, the only remaining true French perfume houses were Guerlain, Caron and Lancôme!

It was especially clever of Petitjean to choose a French name which rolled off the tongue; also to break with the minimalism of packaging that had at the time become all the rage amongst designers who had imitated the cleaner lines of Chanel or had been inspired by the Art Deco style, with baroque presentations that evoked exotic paradises in no uncertain terms. Georges Delhomme, serving as artistic director and flacon designer, developed the glamorous bottles and boxes which make us dream even to this day. If Lancôme nevertheless is best known today for their skincare, it's due to its founder's wise words: "The perfume is prestige, the flower in the eyelet, but the beauty products are our every day bread".

Petitjean, despite his diminutive name which means Little John, was appropriately known as "The Magnificent One" ~always intent on creating an empire. As an former Coty export broker for Latin American and ardent student of François Coty's business acumen he envisioned his own house to be as successful. Reprimanding the Coty brand for eventually sacrificing quality for volume after Coty's death, Petitjean was determined to up the ante of luxury upon founding his own establishment.

The continuation was a virtual olfactory avalance: Black Label (1936), Peut-être (Maybe) and Gardenia (both 1937), Flèches (1938), Révolte/Cuir (in 1939, and re-issued as Cuir recently) and le Faune (1942). Rejected in his offer to be Minister of Propaganda of the government of Clemenceau, Petitjean worked in the training of a battalion of women ambassadors of Lancôme. The late 1940s saw Armand industrious as ever when he produced Blue Valley, Nativity, Lavender, Marrakech, Bel Automne, and Happy, while the original Magie (a rich oriental with a core of labdanum) was issued in 1950 and the original Trésor two years later, composed by Jean Hervelin. Envol (flight) and Flèches d'Or (golden arrow) came out in 1957. Several other fragrances comprised the brand's portfolio over the years such as Qui Sait, Sikkim, Climat... (space is limited here); but Winter Festival proved to be Petitjean's last. The year was 1959 and after his wife's death and his son's decision to see if pastures were greener on the other side, embarking on maquillage, Petitjean saw the financial situation of the company becoming critical by 1961. Destitute of a successor he squandered his fortune building a plant in Chevilly-Larue. When debt caught up with him, he had no choice but to negotiate a take-over. Armand Petitjean died on 29 September of 1970 having successfully sold his brainchild to conglomerate L'Oréal.

Kypre was according to some sources his favourite creation among his pleiad of scents and smelling it in hindsight it's not difficult to see how it's easy to grow fond of. Technically a soft leathery chypre, it presents a suaveness of character that is less strident than earlier leathers such as Knize Ten and less crisp or luxurious than Cuir de Russie by Chanel. Coming one year before their famous and unfortunately baptised Revolte/Cuir, it pre-empties the idea which would materialize in the latter with more conviction and more...leather! The two versions of Kypre that were handed me, one more intense in parfum, the other in diluée form and sieved through a scarf, give me the impression of a shape-sifting fragrance that provides an interesting encore just when you thought it had performed all it had to perform. The beginning surprised me with its almost aldehydic soapy and fresh embrace, copious amounts of jasmine and rose reading as a classical bouquet. Although no notes are available I detect some sweetness of violets (methyl ionones) along with the soapy, lifting the fragrance and feminizing it. While the feel of a classical chypre is firmly anchored on the juxtaposition of bergamot to oakmoss and labdanum, in Kypre the idea is fanned out on powdery, whispered tones that cede into a sort of ambery, iris and face-powdery background. Much like a neoclassical gown Kypre retains a certain allure of something that can be still admired and worn with pleasure even decades later.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Chypre series, Leather Series, Lancome fragrances and news

Grecian dress by madame Gres, via metmuseum.org. Pic of Kypre ad through Ebay. Pic of Kypre bottle and box presentation by Liisa, all rights reserved, used with permission. Kypre bottle with round flat stopper by allcollections.net

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Why Crusading Against Perfumery Restictions is an Exercise in Omphaloscepis

In regards to my previous post Perfume Restrictions and Why Everything We Say in Public Matters, Tania Sanchez, the co-author of Perfumes the Guide and a logical mind to be reckoned with, had the good manners and grace to honour me with a direct response. She brought many interesting points to the discussion and although I replied to her in the comments section I do feel that some of my points deserve some air-time for the benefit of those who do not customarily read the comments section. So, bear with me and we might disentangle some finer points.

Tania told me:
"The *future* of perfumery is not the issue. Perfumers have a massive palette and their creativity is proven every time we sit down with new perfumes full of ideas we've never smelled before. It's the obliteration of the past that is the wretched shame. As someone who has suffered all my life from a lot of allergic contact dermatitis (oddly, not to fragrance but mostly to skincare and cosmetics) I understand from my own study and experience that it is impossible to create a product that causes no allergies. The word "hypoallergenic" has no regulated meaning and something that causes rash in one person of "sensitive skin" will be the perfect product for another such self-confessed. We understand, when it comes to all other cosmetics, that when we try something and it gives us a rash, the sensible thing is to abandon it. Not ban it. The question is why these grand works of perfumery art, about which some of us care very deeply and which give us such happiness, must be vandalized solely to prevent some people's rashes, when those people can simply avoid the product by choice. Toxins, carcinogens, and other things that cause irreversible injury absolutely should be eliminated from the perfumer's palette, no question. But skin allergens? Why, when there is a very simple alternative: (1) a full list of ingredients and (2) advising a 24-hour patch test?"
Certainly this is the level-headed approach it is a pleasure conducting dialogue with. So let's take the points one by one, so my ~perhaps nebulous before~ stance becomes clearer.

Since perfumery as an art form has been proclaimed dead, there is of course the rush of panic in an average person's mind of "Hell, what now?? Shall I abandon my pefume hobby? And will everything produced from now on be soul-less?" The focus of my article therefore was to dispel a little of that panic. I think it managed it in some degree, if I say so myself. Then, there is the greater issue of the massacre of classics. There is no dispute on that as I am as much a collector of classics myself, several of them vintage or rare. I collect them, dust them, look at them with dreamy eyes and wear them with a nostalgic pang of someone who was born long after the Summer of Love. A nostalgic pang which is unexplicably shared by many. It is the nature of man (and woman!) to "gloss over" the past and idolise it as better times. Ah, the Golden Age of Cronus...and the continuous decline of man... subject of mythological themes in as far back as 1000BC. Nothing new. We idolise that which we have not experienced first hand. But even if we have, psychology tells us we like to forget the bad, hold on to the good and reminiscence life in idyllic terms. The more we age, the more we do that and it is a sign of our vanity and coming to terms with mortality. We want to be able to say "I had it good, I saw the beauty, reaped its core!". It's understandable.

So what does all this have to do with perfume? It does, in relation to our collecting classics and insisting on their unaltered state of eternal beauty, their own immortality being a small indication of the belief that we, too, can be immortal if only in a small, miniscule piece: that of the beauty ideal we hold. But here is the catch: When wearing a vintage classic I do not claim to re-live an experience of a woman who wore the same juice in the 1930s. It doesn't matter if my juice is authentic, if it is well-preserved, if I am in the right frame of mind or even if I am holding a bakelite cigarette case and wearing a Lelong gown! In essence (no pun intended) I cannot replicate the experience of wearing a classic of that time the way the people who wore it in that age did. Like we discussed with Jean Claude Ellena in our interview, it's not possible to make this "true" to either the maker's intention or the spitit of the era, as numerous factors conspire to make the experience different. How's that? One cannot have read Satre or Genet and go back to seeing things the way people saw them before WWII. The bleak and the existentialist gloom has changed our souls, even if though the memory of written, not lived, word. One cannot have lived through women's movement or reaped the benefits of it in their personal and professional lives and graft themselves back to the time of La Belle Epoque when women didn't always think for themselves. One cannot see the vintage classics (and for our purposes here I mean the ones which are bought in this almost contraband business of ebaying and antiques scouring) as anything else as a glimpse of history. Are they accurate? They are only in the degree which we allow them to be; which we are able to allow them to be. Seeing (even carefully touching, if you're on the inside frame of the business) the Cloisters Apocalypse manuscript at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC is not the same as being a monk fixing the gold-leaf in a musty, wooden bank-seat at Cloisters wearing the monk's cloak. The experience is vastly different! Imagine therefore how much more different the experience is when a classic pefume's formula has been already adjusted numerous times through its history ~sometimes even right after its official launch!~ and not only in the last 10-15 years!! Those reformulations, which ALL the classics have endured at some point or another, are due to other factors than the latest IFRA regulations: lack of "bases" for the perfumers ("bases" are ready-made and commercially available "accords" that give a specific "note" or effect, so that the perfumer doesn't have to sit down and start from scratch each and every time); loss of materials due to suppliers' changes; arid or wet seasons influencing the naturals' quality, yield or vibance, much like in wines; adjustments that have to do with economizing or tastes when the brand changes hands.... The hunt for the perfect photocopy of a 1919 Mitsouko (or any such) is therefore impossible! Unless we were transpoted back to 1919 à la H.G Wells ~while being at an age with our full capacities intact~ sniffed some, taken a little with us and then being transported back to the present to analyse, see how to replicate 100% and manage to actually do it, everything else is basically an exercise in futility. We can regard the classics not as the classics that were, but as the classics we loved. The one version which we have liked, which we have come to love ~whatever that might be and however time-specific it might be. (You all realize that it is getting more and more difficult, now I broke this down in those terms, huh?) Man and woman loves what they are familiar with. They love that which has first touched their heartstrings and even if it was not perfect it will always hold a dear place in their memories. It's almost impossible to pin down what version each of us loves however, so perfume companies adjust to the widest denominator. And plus, not even L'Osmotheque has the 1921 Ernest Beaux Chanel No.5 and that's a fact!

So, what do I propose? Eradicate the classics? Of course not! But insisting on our part, our perfume enthusiasts' part, our perfume connoisseurs' part (call it whatever you like) that we want the real Joy, the real No.5 etc is a populist stance that reminds me of a kind of "free fragrance!" activism. Is this viable and what's more is it effective? I think on the whole pefume companies want to please the consumers, if only because they rely on them for sales -yes, even the discerning ones sometimes!- and if they see an interest they will adjust to the best of their margins from a business point of view (I realize miracles cannot happen). Therefore it's good to provide some actual means of voicing that concern, which is what I did by providing some data on how to reach some people. I'm sure more people will chime in and offer theirs as well.

I don't know if the authors of the Guide are already lobbying in a "free fragrance" campaign and therefore are preparing us for something on which they will need our support in whatever form. I only recall the now defunct blog of Luca in which he had said something along the lines of there being an hierarchy of worries: First you worry about the really big things: war, death, famine, etc. Once those are out-of-mind, we start to worry about smaller things: cars, safety seats, allergens. In a turmoiled world in which the economic crisis is having several people sacked and jobless with families to raise and when earthquakes destroy whole blocks of flats collapsing in L'Aquila, Italy while the Baths of Carakalla in Rome suffer damages, the matter of IFRA and reformulating is becoming small potatoes. But even if there is a crusade going on concerning the irrationality of the spirit of the restrictions, the latest Spring Supplement to the Guide which is full of mentions of reformulations is proof positive that the previous pleas by the authors, in the first edition of Pefumes the Guide and before, have met with deaf ears.

Concerning allergens there is some confusion among the public. Let me straighten it out to the best of my non-medically trained ability. Allergen is something that causes an allergy. Allergy is according to Medicine Net:"A misguided reaction to foreign substances by the immune system, the body system of defense against foreign invaders, particularly pathogens (the agents of infection). The allergic reaction is misguided in that these foreign substances are usually harmless. The substances that trigger allergy are called allergen. Examples include pollens, dust mite, molds, danders, and certain foods. People prone to allergies are said to be allergic or atopic". Allergies are largely hereditary and usually manifest themselves fairly early on in life. Sensitizers on the other hand is a completely different issue and this is what IFRA is trying to regulate. Let's see the definition according to the Occupational Health and Safety Administration: "A sensitizer is defined by OSHA as "a chemical that causes a substantial proportion of exposed people or animals to develop an allergic reaction in normal tissue after repeated exposure to the chemical." The condition of being sensitized to a chemical is also called chemical hypersensitivity. Therefore here is the interesting part which a perfumer highlighted in the comments yesterday: "Sensitization is the term used to describe a sudden allergenic reaction to something that you previously tolerated well. The chemical substance builds up in your system, and then, on day 563 of use, perhaps 10 years in (days and years chosen randomly, of course) you get a bad response. It may even occur with a new perfume that you've never worn before, but it contains the lavender oil that you've been using for 10 years, and bingo - now you're sensitized to lavender. You're not allergic to it, you're sensitized."

Potential allergens therefore do not perform in the either/or way suggested. One thing could be perfectly all right for yeas and through repeated exposure it can escalate into becoming a sensitiser. So a patch-test is not enough. Even in hair-dyes where a patch-test is de rigeur, one can accumulate a sensitivity and it might burst at any second (this is why they advise doing a patch test EACH AND EVERY TIME! Even for products which you have been using all the time) Can you imagine that for perfume use? I can imagine the labels "Spray the product on a dot on your elbow or behind the ear each time you want to wear the perfume and if you feel no redness, prickling or burning sensation within the next 24 hours, you can wear your perfume ~THIS TIME!" Yeah, great bunch of help that would be!! So, although theoretically I am agreeing that labelling is allowing an informed choice (and I'm all for informed choices!), the matter is more complex than that. Simplistic "easing it up" along the terms of "just slap on a label, for Pete's sake!" is not very helpful.

Listing the full ingredients list isn't very helpful either. First because of the obvious, as explained above: one can be perfectly fine with something and yet get a reaction out of the blue. Life is scary and then we die. We all take our risks and I don't advocate not to. But perfume companies already list the most common allergens and therefore if one knows about something specific not agreeing with them, they can avoid it. The rest they have to risk. Yet the full ingredients list is not something companies want to do for another two reasons: Even in food-stuff (which is scarier to use compared with perfume) you cannot find out the exact formula down to percentages or origin of any ingredient. And sometimes there are cryptic labellings such as "natural aroma of fruit" (what exactly? how was it derived? how much?) or even misleading "no added salt" (yeah, but the sodium percentage is huge anyway!). Fragrances are not going to list everything because the mystique is a great part of the whole business. And also because the consumer is not at ease or has sufficient knowledge to know what anisaldehyde or Iso-E Super is etc. Several people ~on perfume boards even~ protest "I don't want my pretties converted into a chemistry lesson!". And just think what the listing of a full list of ingredients would do to consumers and a few perfume critics as well: No more smart-ass stuff!!

Basically the outcry for the latest regulations is justified because they stand to close some of the little guys (always a bad thing in a democracy), and they are threatening to have several raw materials suppliers out of business ~and therefore even if the little guys want to construct a perfume that bypasses the regulations they will not have the materials to do so!

But it also opens up two interesting arenae, which to me sound full of job potential for specific people: legislative consultants (people who will deal with all the paperwork necessary for the implementations in big companies and with prior experience in law, insurance, that sort of thing) and an ultimate atbitrer of taste who is equipped in chemistry, has a connoisseurship of perfume and a couple of publications on the subject under their belt.


We will continue with posts on the oakmoss and other ingredients problem and offer some clarification and altenatives.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Guerlain Loin de Tout: fragrance review & history of an unknown vintage

Impropable finds come like heavy snow in August at a coastal town in Sicily or an apparition of the Virgin to St. Bernadette Soubirous performed by the Madonna of Lourdes, France ~once in a blue-veering-to-cerulean moon; and that only if you have been extremely pleasing to the Gods! Nevertheless I must have accomplished some minor divine appeasement because what I thought was in the realm of the above came in the guise of an infinitely rare collectible procured via a generous and knowledgable collector: One of the most unknown Guerlains no less, to tally up my archives of the venerable brand.

Loin de Tout ("away from it all") was issued by Guerlain in 1933 at a time when the lure of exotic travelling and the feats of aviation had cemented the belief that anything was possible. Vol de Nuit and Sous le Vent are probably the best known examples of fragrances in the Guerlain stable that were inspired by such a concept and so is the after-the-war escapism of Gaugin-esque Atuana. Like the above mentioned fragrances, Loin de Tout evokes by name the pleasures that await one from removing their psyche from the mundane of everyday life and its vagaries and abandoning one's self to the nobility of the natural world.

The composition of Loin de Tout is reminiscent of many elements in the familiar vernacular of Guerlain, especially other classics by Jacques Guerlain, scattered like coloured beads in haphazard directions creating a kaleidoscope of shape-sifting images: the animalistic base of such classics as Jicky and Voilette de Madame; the bouquet des herbes de Province that hides in some of the aromatic compositions of the earliest creations; the floral touches that exalt the romanticism of the Guerlain love-stories. In Loin de Tout everything is suave but with a rapid progression from the bright to the pungent and on to the lathery, which accounts for a trippy experience like a voyaristic glimpse through a keyhole to an affluent lady's or gentleman's inner sanctum. There is the happy beginning of orange blossom, clearly discernible singing like a nightingale for several minutes, all the while the lower density base notes peeking from under the surface; troubling, animalic and ambery. The progression veers into pungent notes resembling thyme and bay leaves ~a hint of L'Heure Bleue's herbal facet~ sustained into a warm summer’s day driving along the almost scorched shrubs of a Mediterranean country with all windows down and inhaling the warm, arid air with nostrils aflare. But not everything has been told as yet. After several minutes, the most unexpected note of a soapy floralcy emerges. Hypothesizing that it is due either to a hydroxycitronellal note (mimicking astrigent lily of the valley and very popular so as to “open up” the bouquet of old classics) or some aldehydic lathery tone of "clean" C11 (undecanal), also quite popular by the 1930s, it is an intriguing juxtaposition to the otherwise ambery proceedings with floral touches. It is an utter pity that the unpopularity of the finished jus put a stop to production quite soon, bringing an intriguing composition to an abrupt end, leaving behind only relics of a grandiose past, grist for collectors' mills.

The bottle encasing Loin de Tout was the historic "flacon brun fumé" better known as the one holding the previous fragrances Candide Effluve and À travers Champs Elysées, which were circulating during the 1930s. The beautiful and mysterious design of the flacon however proved unsuccessful commercially as well: being not easy to grab firmly, it was prone to accidental falls and was soon abandonded in favour of more fluted designs. Loin de Tout is almost impossible to find, indeed "away from it all", and if you happen upon it on Ebay or another collector's vaults you should thank your lucky stars, like I did.

Pic of Rudolf Koppitz nude "Desperation" via SexualityintheArts.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Guerlain Atuana: fragrance review and history of a vintage gem

If in the darkest moments of our urban stress we want to eschew European civilization and "everything that is artificial and conventional" to sail to the tropics instead in our own path to Utopia, Atuana by Guerlain could be our gateway without abandoning the indulgencies of the way of life we have become accustomed to. Atuona (and not Atuana) is the name of a small island in the Marquesas where French Post-Impressionist painter Eugène Henri Paul Gauguin(1848-1903) moved from his former residence in Tahiti and where he died in his Maison du Jouir on May 9, 1903, having spent a total of ten years in self-exile in French Polynesia.
In 1952 Jacques Guerlain dedicated Atuana the fragrance to the French painter who went to the South Seas to devote his time and life to painting. After all, he was not the only one to be inspired by the iconoclast broker agent-turned-painter: Noa Noa (after Gauguin's text describing a luminous season in Tahiti in 1891) was another fragrance redolent of the warm and fiery ambience of the tropics, circulating under Helena Rubinstein's name at the zenith of her career.

Inspired by the lush colourful Primitivist paintings by Gaugin with their red splashes among the green folliage and the ambery-toned flesh of the native women, Guerlain's Atuana, encased in a plush red box focused on the qualities of that hue: exuberance, passion, lively nature, raw power and thus indeed a sort of Primitivism. A leathery floriental perched on spicy carnation emerged, rolled into smooth nappa.
Although one can detect the leathery accents under the refreshing piquancy of little citric touches , in typical Guerlain fashion the fragrance evolves into a rich melody of florals lullabied into a sweet siesta, full of warm resins, where there is no place for bitterness or aloofness and every little thing smiles satisfied, at one with the world.
Atuana's 3 years senior Fleur de Feu, another floriental with spicy accents reminiscent of carnations, took a similar route, but there the base is more powdery, with no leather pungency. Both extoll the properties of the spicy palette that Poivre by Caron first opened up exhibiting a mature vibe of les parfums fourrure (perfumes to be worn with furs); what a contrast with Guerlain's Eau de cologne du jeune âge coming up in 1953, just one year later! Ode which followed in 1955 was a regression into mellower compositions, full of feminine, non agressive tonalities: rose and jasmine. But that time hadn't arrived yet when Atuana came out, a time when rich chypres reigned supreme. The dare of leather was permissible and therefore a luscious harmony materialized for the enjoyment of those who couldn't abandon their conventional life for the Great Escape.

Notes for Guerlain Atuana: bergamot, neroli, rose, jasmine, iris, amber.

The bottle of Atuana is the same as Fleur de Feu, made by Baccarat: a simple art-deco flacon of ribbed surface on a pedestral, inspired by the skyscrapers that defined the American urban landscape in the early 50s.
Atuana circulated as extrait de parfum and as Eau de Cologne, a concentration that despite current sensibilities was quite lasting. Out of production for several years, it's very rare to find, but it makes scarce appearences on online auctions, where it goes for as much as 950$. A tiny sample can be acquired (for a hefty price naturally) at The Perfumed Court.


Guerlain Atuana ad courtesy of parfumsdepub, Painting La Orana Maria by Paul Gauguin, courtesy of Wikipedia

Friday, November 7, 2008

Pour Troubler by Guerlain: fragrance review of a rare gem

"Her extraordinarily dark black eyes were so captivating, they were of such intensity that it was impossible not to be detained before them". The French have a wonderful verb to denote the agitation and emotional anxiety one is experiencing upon encountering a compelling and unsettling sight (usually one that involves a wily attractive woman): troubler. And coupled with the immortal words of Georges Braque : "L'art est fait pour troubler, la science rassure" (Art is made for unsettling, science reassures), this French verb took on a dual meaning in the onomastics stakes of the 1911 Pour Troubler perfume by Guerlain.

This gnomic attachment points to a scent fit for Liane de Pougy or even La Belle Otero, for the eyes of which the above image was put into such passionate words, yet in doing so Guerlain also managed to inject perfumery with apertures of bizarre cubiques through which we get a glimpse of a puzzling game of connotations. On the other hand the passionate, fatally mad love that transcends logic has always been at the core of Guerlain's promotional material, even in more obscure creations such as Voilà pourquoi j'aimais Rosine or Vague Souvenir (1912); and Pour Troubler is no exception.

The orientalised theme that slowly unfolds as the first drops of Pour Troubler begin their journey on the skin are ingrained in the evolving fashions of the first years of the second decade of the 20th century. The early 1910s saw fashionable feminine silhouettes become much more lithe, softer than at the beginning of La Belle Epoque and with a fluidity immortalised in Isadora Duncan's dance performances. Notably it was Les Ballets Russes performing Scheherazade in Paris in 1910 that sparked a craze for Orientalism. Couturier Paul Poiret was prompted to translate this vogue into opulent visions of harem girls and exotic geishas which catapulted the bastions of conservative circles into desiring the forbidden mysteries of the sensuous East.

Although no given notes exist for this Guerlain fragrance I tried to ponder on its structure as I contemplated the history of the house and the lineage, using this composition as a porthole into the creation process to follow. The initial impression of Pour Troubler is one of sweet, confectionary type licorice-anise, but not exactly veering into the beloved macaroon delicasy yet, which makes me think here was the spermatic idea behind L'Heure Bleue which materialized a year later. Indeed the reworking of several of the themes of L'Heure Bleue into both Fol Arôme(1912) and Pois de senteur (1917) indicates that Jacques Guerlain was working and re-working on certain aspects to emphasize nuanced ideas: from the romantically melancholic moment of day melting into the warm floral effluvium of the night, to the sensuous invitation to folly accompanied by fruits underpinned by absinthe-y tipsiness, finally leading to the honeyed sweet Miel Blanc* with spice accents. The anisic sweetness accord of Pour Troubler smells imbued with the softness of powdery violets and cool iris notes that give a gentle ambience, contrasted with richer florals like jasmine and what seems like jonquil, appearing in its heart. The florals treated in a transparent study of black and white softly fuse to reveal a hazy daguerreotype. Through this gentle fog the warmth of amber along with some bitterness of leather notes and sweet balsams polish the scent off in the embrace of a courtesan pictured in patina-laden postcards.

Extrait came in a quatrilobe capped Bacarrat flacon, same as the one used for Jicky (and later used for many other fragrances in the Guerlain stable). Eau de Cologne concentration, of which I am now proud owner of, came in the "disk" bottles with the pyramidal stopper, popular in the 50s and 60s. Pour Troubler is long discontinued, rendering it a rare occurence in online auctions.

A sample of this extremely rare fragrance will be given out to a random lucky reader!


*a perfumer's base by laboratoires de Laire redolent of honey


Lithograph "figure" by Georges Braque via allposters.com. POstcard of Carolina Otero via wikimedia commons. Parfum bottle courtesy of Russian site Palomka.livejournal.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Sous le Vent by Guerlain: fragrance review (vintage vs.re-issue)

"Funny business, a woman's career. The things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them when you get back to being a woman." The apothecary splash bottle of Sous le Vent by Guerlain resting atop my dresser with its black, disk-shaped label with gold lettering encircling it, makes me think of the logos of old cinematic companies long defunct starring dramatic heroines with high cheekbones hissing deathly lines clad in impeccable tweeds or gala-time smooth silks. Betty Davies in "All About Eve" comes to my mind as she utters those lines, her character in stark contrast to the outwardly maudlin yet steel-hearted assistant-cum-antagonist Eve Harrington.

Although a literal translation would indicate "in the wind", Sous le Vent is French for "leeward" after the name of the tropical Leeward Isles of the lesser Antilles in the Caribbean: indeed the islands are divided into Windward and Leeward groups. Many among those "greener than a dream" isles were colonised by the French, accounting for an interesting, non-coincidental analogy ~the fruit of the Americas which has been Frenchified into Créole. Sous le Vent was composed by Jacques Guerlain for Joséphine Baker in 1933, according to the charming pamphlet provided by the boutique, as a pick-me up for applying after her notorious dance performances in which she often appeared in nothing more than an all too brief skirt made out of bananas on a string. Strutting her proud gazelle frame in the streets of Paris with a pet leopard in tow made everyone forget about Freda Josephine McDonald's humble St.Louis, Missouri birthplace and her vaudeville beginnings, evoking instead the glamourised image of a jungle animal: fierce, supple, ready to leap! And long before Angelina Jolie and Mia Farrow, she had adopted her own Rainbow Tribe: 12 multi-ethnic orphans, proving that titillation of the public and activism aren't mutually exclusive.

It is of interest to note in the iconography of Guerlain print material on their 20s and 30s scents that Sous Le Vent was featured in characteristic illustrations in the "Are you her type" series that included Mitsouko, Vol de Nuit , Liù and Shalimar, indicating that its eclipse among the classics in subsequent years was not due to a lack of intent. Les garçonnes were its natural audience but the ravages of WWII brought other sensibilities to the fore making an angular androgyne scent antithetical to the femme totemism of the new epoch in which the purring, slightly breathless tones of Marilyn Monroe caressed weary ears. It took Guerlain decades to re-issue it; finally a propos the refurbishing of the 68 Champs Elysées flagship store it was the second one to join the legacy collection affectionally called "il était une fois" (=once upon a time) in 2006 after Véga.

I am in the lucky position to be able to compare an older batch of extrait de parfum with my own bottle of the re-issued juice, and although Luca Turin in his latest book claims that the new is very different from his recollection questioning whether it is his memory or Guerlain's "that is at fault", I can attest that the two are certainly not dramatically different. Being a favourite of the black Venus of the merry times between two world wars, should give us a hint that Sous le Vent is a strong-minded affair of great sophistication and caliber. Difficult to wear as a scent to seduce or invite people to come and linger closer due to its acquiline nature, but very fitting as an unconscious weapon for a woman about to close a difficult business deal, embark on a divorce case or hire a professional assassin. It transpires strength! To that effect the vintage parfum offers rich verdancy, a mollified fond de coeur that is perhaps justified by the very nature of the more concentrated, less top-note-heavy coumpound needed for making the extrait or the diminuation of the effervescent citrus top notes. The modern eau de toilette is a little brighter, a little more streamlined and surprisingly a little sweeter in its final stages, yet quite excellent, making it a scent that always puts me in an energetic good mood wherever I apply it lavinshly -because it is alas rather fleeting- from the bottle.

Technically a chypre, yet poised between that and an aromatic fougère* to me, Sous le Vent bears no great relation to the mysterious guiles of Guerlain's Mitsouko but instead harkens back to the original inspiration behind it, Chypre de Coty, but also to another Guerlain thoroughbred ~Jicky (especially on what concerns the aromatic facet of lavender in the latter's eau de toilette concentration). Sous le Vent is both greener and fresher than Mitsouko and Jicky nevertheless, as it eschews the obvious animalic leapings yet retains the cinnamon/clove accent which will later be found in the fantastically "dirty" and underappreciated Eau d'Hermès. All the while however the piquancy that makes Coty's iconic oeuvre as well as Jicky so compelling is unmistakeably there.

Sous le Vent starts with a rush of subtly medicinal top notes of herbs that smell like lavender, rosemary and tarragon, a full spectrum of Provençal aromata. A tart bergamot note along with what seems like bitterly green galbanum skyrocket the scent into the territory of freshness and a smart "clean". Its next stage encompasses dry accords, soon mollified by the heart chord of a classic chypre composition of dusty moss with the sweet tonality of generous flowers that evoke the banana fruit: ylang ylang notably and jasmine sambac. In the final stages I seem to perceive the dusky foliage of patchouli.

Potent and assertive thought it first appears to be, a take-no-prisoners affair for a lady who was known to dance with only a skirt of bananas on, leaving her country for France and being idolized by all social strata, it screams of individualism and élan; yet strangely Sous le Vent, especially the gangly new version, doesn't invoke the scandalising side of Josephine nor her exuberant nature. Complex and elusive, it is certainly not an easy option for today’s women's sensibilities; it is rather too cerebral, too intelligent for its own good, not sexy enough. These qualities however would make it a wonderful masculine addition to a cocky fellow's repertoire. This travel back into more glamorous and individual times is worth the price of admission. Wear it if you are really interesting as a person, it will only enhance that quality.

Notes for Sous le Vent:
Top: bergamot, lavender, tarragon
Middle: jasmine, carnation, green notes
Base: iris, foresty notes, woody notes

The vintage parfum can be found on Ebay from time to time. The current re-issue in Eau de Toilette concentration is part of the Il était une fois collection exclusively sold at boutiques Guerlain and the éspace Guerlain at Bergdorf Goodman, housed in an apothecary style cylindrical bottle of 125ml with a gold thread securing a seal on the cap.

A sample of the modern re-issue will be given to a random lucky reader!

*Fougère is a classic olfactory family -mainly of masculine scents- that relies on a chord of lavender-coumarin-oakmoss.



Pic of Sous le Vent advertisement courtesy of femina.fr
Pic of Josephine Baker costumed for the Danse banane from the Folies Bergère production Un Vent de Folie in Paris (1927) courtesy of Wikimedia commons.

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