S-Perfumes S-Perfume Classic: fragrance review

The blinding white of Oia on Santorini island, Greece, against the pale blue of the natural pools contained within some of its cave-houses is not totally alien to the idea behind S-Perfume Classic by super-niche brand S-Perfumes.The same feeling of freshness and serenity -and perversly enough energy as well- reigns in both.

Source: bluepueblo.tumblr.com via Perfume on Pinterest

The S-Perfume "house" began in 2000, the first all-original perfumery to come out of Brooklyn, New York, though not the first one to be founded by a completely unrelated to perfumery individual. Nobi Shioya is a sculptor with an interest in scent who used various fragrances to scent his “Olfactory Art” installations. Nobi ~under the nom de plume Sacré Nobi~ brought on board perfume veterans such as Carlos Benaim and Sophia Grojsman. As Chandler Burr said: “Shioya shares with the scent-architect Frédéric Malle a Woody Allen-ish knack for convincing stars to work for him.” They began to create a series of scents as an art project with very fancy ad copy and very limited distribution  (Which sorta begs the question how the hell did certain non-professional people get on his wares so very, very early on, but I'll leave this to the more sleuthing among you). Word of mouth made the brand something of a mini-cult, not always deservedly (From the newly relaunched and pared down to three range S-ex is by far the most interesting and 100%Love the most wearable).

S-Perfume Classic was originally composed by Alberto Morillas under the project name Jet-Set 1.0 (all the S-Perfumes had conceptual names back then, taking inspiration from the seven deadly sins originally and later taking abstract names such as 100% Love). Christophe Laudamiel re-orchestrated it somewhat to its current formula, sold now as S-Perfume "classic". The label also changed, this time bearing a sort of sketching protozoon (or spermatozoon, if you prefer).

The ambience of the S-Perfume Classic is that of contemporary non-scents: Like Molecule 01 from Escentric Molecules, this is something that doesn't quite register on the cortex but moves like an abstract clean-musky aura around, coming in and out of focus. The ozonic, oxygen touch coupled with the "clean" factor of lavender, aromatic somewhat masculine-smelling herbs and sanitized musk -consisting of the familiar to all via functional products Galaxolide musk type- soon eschews all images of sensuality (The official notes mention creamy, cozy ingredients such as sandalwood and vanilla substituted by Laudamiel for the benzoin which Morillas had used, which nevertheless should not at any rate lead you to believe that we're dealing with a predominantly sensual affair of a skin-scent; the most you get is a hint, a tiny hint of suntan oil at a distance).
On the contrary, S-Perfume Classic has the salty zingy skin-like smelling effect of L'Eau Ambrée by Prada, airated by the coolness encountered in Serge Lutens's L'Eau Froide (but arrived to through totally different means) and is not a classic warm "beachy" fragrance.

Morillas had utilized the "clean" and "energetic" idea to impressive effect already in CK One (collaborating with Harry Fremont) and Mugler's Cologne, balanced with subtler salty-skin and herbs accents in the discontinued CK Truth (with Jacques Cavallier and Thierry Wasser)and adding a touch of cool spice in Bulgari's BLV. Laudamiel emphasized the somewhat rubbery facets recalling neoprene with a subtle woody-powdery finish that is sometimes perceptible and sometimes is not. But it's the shiny, almost hurting the eyes oxygen blast, as squeeky clean as the eyesore one gets upon opening their windows to a blinding white winter day decked in a yard of snow, or the whiteness of the water inside a surf wave, which stay in one's memory.

Notes for S-Perfume Classic: ozonic note, muguet mist, thyme, lavender, musks, sandalwood, vanilla bourbon

Annick Goutal Nuit Etoilee: new fragrance

When I was pairing Van Gogh's famous painting Nuit Etoilée with my review of Annick Goutal's idiosyncratic Eau du Fier the other day, I must have been in daydreamig mode. The mind does tend to work this way*. But it was possibly more than just subliminal.

I had received information that the next fragrance by the French brand (seeking wider distribution currently at the Middle East as per Brigitte Taitinger, after succesfully solving problems with the American distribution) is also called Nuit Etoilée, you see.

Nuit Étoilée is a new unisex scent offered by the Annick Goutal fragrance line; a fresh, aromatic spicy-woody scent in blue-tinged bottles for him and for her (the scent is abslutely the same in both declinations, much like with all the rest of the line). The perfume was inspired by the wildness of nature and the coolness of dusk.  This nightfall, this starry night began out of an image Camille had stored at the little laboratory the French brand has in Paris: "La nuit étoilée" de JF. Millet (1855) on a postcard that had been lurking under the papers for two or three years, hence the bluish tint of the flacon. Isabelle Doyen, the perfumer, believes this is how things work: You're inquisitive, you see things, you absorb them and then they come out in your work, almost by chance. Nuit Étoilée by parfums Annick Goutal is fresh with hints of sweetness as well as peppermint accents on the top while unfolding woodier aspects upon drying down.

The upcoming Nuit Étoilée by parfums Annick Goutal will launch in April 2012

*The name also immediately reminds me of Baccarat's one-time fragrance edition Une Nuit Étoilée au Bengal.

Sonoma Scent Studio Fig Tree: Fragrance review

To say I am rather competent to judge a realistic fig or fig tree scent is an understatement, and that's not out of an overinflated ego. To reprise a popular olive oil commerical "I'm Greek, I should know!" Legion are the times I sought solace under the fig tree's thick shadows in the schorching summery heat; one of them under the very ruins of the Knossos palace in Crete. I can eat the fruit by the pound, such is the gluttony those taut little sacks inspire in me. And I have seen with my very archeologist's eyes how our ancestors consumed these nutritious gems by the pound too: the tiny seeds are still visible within the fossilised excrement fished out from the excavated sewage system at Akrotiri, on Santorini island. Oh yes, I know about figs and the tree that produces them all too well.

It comes as no surprise that I was taken by Sonoma Scent Studio's Fig Tree perfume. A fragrance that you should put on "Anytime you need a smile" as perfumer Laurie Erickson advises and on this freezing cold day of January there is no more proper time to remind myself of the paradise that our local nature is nurturing under this very cold, hard ground. The nascent roots sprouting little stems as we speak, the foliage in the trees now washed by the rain and shimmering under the "sun with teeth", awaiting to become fuzzy and dusty again with the gusts of July, the fruits waiting to appear again and again in their uninterrupted cycle of life.

Fig perfumes usually strive for one of two directions: there's the creamy-lactonic woody progeny started by perfumer Olivia Giacobetti with her Philosykos (Diptyque) and Premier Figuier (L'Artisan) where the nuances can veer over to apricots (a result of the peach lactone used); or the bitter, greener compositions such as Un Jardin en Mediterranée by Hermès and Jean Claude Ellena, based on stemone, a leafy oxime ~technically methyl-5 3-heptanone oxime~which generally imparts a powerfully fresh vibrancy to green florals (narcissus, lily of the valley), citruses (mandarin and grapefruit) and aids to built fig leaves and blackcurrant leaves notes.
Sonoma Scent Studio's Fig Tree is of the latter persuation; not that the natural milky-smelling coconut facet of the fig tree does not surface in the fragrance, a glimpse of the "milk" which the fruit oozes if you pinch it when semi-mature, but the emphasis by the perfumer has been deliberately given to the leaves, the unripe green sacks and the bark, through what seems like a synergy of cedar and patchouli.
Fig Tree is powerfully green in the beginning, with that unmistakeable fuzzy dustiness of the fig leaf; as if a very thin layer of earth is at all times resting on it, now matter how much you wash them. This raw effect ensures the realistic interpretation. But the unisex scent develops over time, seguing to a warm, delectable heart when the creamy notes appear (never too sweet, just on the brink of coconut milk), and then expressing a sustained woody-amber note, humming rather than hissing the lullaby of an eternal summer...

Notes for SSS Fig Tree: green fig, lactones, cedar, vanilla, tonka bean, musk.

Available at the Sonoma Scent Studio fragrance e-shop.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Sonoma Scent Studio fragrances

In the interests of disclosure, I was sent a sample directly by the perfumer.
photo of fig tree via greekresort blog

Estee Lauder Wood Mystique: fragrance review

Estée Lauder does oud. The note du jour wasn't going to escape from the giant of American perfumery that is the Lauder Group and given that the company knows how to make appealing, polished and tenacious fragrances, Wood Mystique on the surface looks like an adequate entry to the portfolio, but it's rather predictable and lackluster, exactly because it fears to use that which is supposed to be the fueling power of its core: the complex, medicinal and nutty aroma of agarwood/oud. This wouldn't be entirely significant, had it not been advertised as an entry aimed at the Middle Eastern market, by the accounts of which it seems that market has been entirely corrupted by Western blandness. I think not, but if one didn't know any better, they'd think otherwise.

In fact, Wood Mystique is in the mold of previous Lauder launch Sensuous (with less patchouli and much more pronounced flowers) and the bland Belle d'Opium, thanks to the spice-florals axis that is highlighted just like in the YSL entry.

"Wood Mystique is not just our first fragrance influenced by the Middle East. It is also our first unisex perfume. And it is for the first time that I've worked so closely with the local marketing team in the creation of a perfume — to understand the culture and history of the region and the taste of the consumer. [...] The history of fragrance usage in the Middle East being so rich … people know to appreciate the emotional value of it," says Karen Khoury [source], the Estée Lauder perfume art director, who is responsible for many best-selling fragrances.

Wood Mystique by Estée Lauder is an "oriental woody" fragrance, according to the company, that is inspired by the tradition of the East and this is immediately apparent, as it uses all the cliches we have come to expect of an Eastern-type (i.e. oriental) perfume. Polished, silky, if resembling previous releases rather too much (there's a passing segment of Black Orchid as well), it's fashioned in the successful mold of Sensuous with a more gender-neutral spin that would make it a masculine fpr men not afraid of roses or an individual feminine for women who love somber and warm fragrances.
It uses three kinds of rose that are extracted in different ways: rose infusion, rose distilled, and rose de mai absolute. This technique was opted to relay texture and add dimension.Added notes are pink pepper, which complement the rose, the spice naturally having rosy aspects.
Egyptian jasmine absolute, orris Morocco, ylang-ylang and mimosa from Provence absolute are also included, which in my opinion give an indefinable bouquet that is rather more feminine and would have some men complain about it. The spice-flowers accord seems more prominent than the woodiness, making me think that spicy floriental would be a more adequate categorisation than woody. The woody backdrop is infused with a raspberry note thanks to synthetic musks, and includes natural patchouli, extraction of cedarwood, with benzoin resin and agarwood/oudh.

The concentration is Eau de Parfum and the bottles circulate in the 100ml/3.4oz size.

Le Labo Vanille 44: fragrance review

To optically pair Vanille 44 by niche brand Le Labo with Luis Buñuel's Un Chien Andalou (1928) is a natural: The fragrance is illusory and surreal, like a razor slashing the eye ball that never actually happens. It's sexy too, in that perverted way of Buñuel's young novice about to take her vows led astray by her widowed uncle. How can a childhood aroma like vanilla do this stuff? Is there nothing sacred? Read on.

Vanille 44 weaves the cool, almost sour scent of frankincense (which naturally has citrus facets, therefore mixing well with bergamot and mandarin) into the tarry-smelling carapace of smoky woods, like gaiacwood. This tar-like inky note is due to pipol, a volatile component that smells of black smoky tea. But the treatment is diaphanous, complex veils of chiffon material rather than heavy damask, as one would have typically expected from an oriental fragrance based on this commonly thought of as aphrodisiac raw material, vanilla.

Le Labo's Vanille 44 is an atypical vanilla hidden beneath layers of other essences, veils of Salome, with a pronounced woody-musky trail (muscenone is a musk molecule) that would never have small children or those "too nice" co-workers with scrunchies on their hair atop bulky mohair sweaters to exclaim "you smell nice!". It's not that Vanille 44 doesn't smell nice, it's that it's not the instantly familiar sweet, cozy, foody vanilla these target groups are accustomed to. On the other hand, I don't know whether that super sophisticated group, who upturn their noses upon hearing your mother still likes Calvin Klein Eternity (which you faithfully buy for her every Christmas), would love it either. It's good stuff, created by one of the very best, perfumer Alberto Morillas (who has given us mega-hits from Kenzo Flower to Aqua di Gio for men for Armani) but is it that uncommon to warrant the huge price (500$ for 100ml)? I believe Lutens, Montale and Guerlain have already set foot in the smoky, woody or boozy vanilla territory respectively and not come back with losses. Vanille 44 is a good, mysterious fragrance, an oddball vanilla fragrance for adults of both sexes, but you need to forget about the name as it's as close to vanilla pods as Falco would be to the real Amadeus.

Le Labo presents it thus: "We all know that Paris is the city of love (and hence sex). But Paris is also the city of Vanille 44! We also know by now that our Rose 31 does not smell of only rose, that our Iris 39 does not smell of just iris, and that the number is as important (if not more) than the name of ingredient to the left of it (I am not a number !). Well our Vanille 44 does not smell of just Vanilla. At least it doesn’t smell of vanilla straight away. We could say that this theme is a subtle ambery incensy woody sexy note that once acquainted with your premium pashmina sweater will release the finest of the vanilla bourbons that you’ve experienced. It’s vanilla disguised."

You can say that again. 

Notes for Vanille 44 by Le Labo:
Natural bergamot, incense, mandarin, gaiac, vanille bourbon, muscenone, pipol, hedione

Le Labo Vanille 44 is a Paris city-exclusive (available at Colette), retailing at $290 for 50ml, but only for the month of November it is globally available at Luckyscent and on the official Le Labo site.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine:  Le Labo reviews & news ,Vanilla fragrances reviews

In the interests of disclosure, the review is based on a sample vial sent to me by the company.

Parfumerie Generale Praline de Santal: fragrance review

Home-toasted cashews and hazelnuts, enrobed with a mixture of dulche de leche that contained salt and tahini paste, is part of the treats that my Kappadokian grandmother used to prepare on cool autumn evenings for us kids to consume while doing our homework and it is this memory which was jogged upon first smelling Parfumerie Générale's Praliné de Santal.

Parfumerie Générale Praliné de Santal follows a parallel life with Jeux de Peau by Serge Lutens in its caramelised overtone due to pyrazines, aroma materials with sugared maple and phenolic nuances, and its étude on sandalwood. Whereas Lutens went with his childhood memories of toasted bread and the yeast of kneading, Pierre Guillaume went with toasted nuts with a coating of caramel & salt.
Both focus on the "creaminess" (i.e.the sweet, milk-ish quality) of natural sandalwood, though one puts it in a buttered context, the other in a nuts context.
It all depends on the kind of tooth you harbor!

On this occasion, the effect rendered is extremely nutty at first (if Bois Farine by L'Artisan Parfumeur instantly reminds you of peanuts you know full well what I mean); but it mellows into a richly satisfying woody accord on drydown. I'm not sure whether I would be more impressed with the originality of the scent, had I not came into contact with the idea in the Lutens fragrance first. It certainly has an elective affinity.
Roasted hazelnuts & peanuts greet us on the opening of Praliné de Santal (lasting for a good 10 minutes on my skin), a combination of savoury and sweet, before the scent falls into an unctuous billowy note of powdery, rich woods and the soothing, smooth silkiness of Cashmeran (an aromachemical which gives an intimate, close to the skin scent, between worn clothes and suede). In the interim there are soft, powdery hints emerging (referenced as heliotrope in the press material, but really more like powdered white chocolate and fluffy, airy vanilla), without diverging from the main gourmand-woody-oriental character of the perfume. In this regard it recalls Etat Libre d'Orange Archives 69, with its easily approachable ambience of spicy woods and distantly (but in the same mood) the satisfying tobacco-softness of Guerlain's Tonka Imperiale.

Pierre Guillaume, perfumer and founder of the niche brand of fragrances, is consistent in his exploration of soft, gourmand orientals; his are refined desserts that withhold some of the sugar expected from the genre, exploring the more resinous or woodier aspects for backing up the respective central theme. Praliné de Santal lacks a certain dynamic after the initial fall into the creamy woods, belying its sharp development of the first few minutes. It's actually sandalwood and Cashmeran which are the remaining notes on the skin after Praliné de Santal has completely "dried down" at the 2-hour wear application mark; a skin scent of delicious aftertaste; sensuous, delectable, maybe having you hankering for going beyond.

Notes for Parfumerie Générale Praliné de Santal:

Sandalwood, Heliotrope, Hazelnut, Virginian Cedar, & Casmeran

Parfumerie Générale Praliné de Santal is a limited availability scent within the line, available in 50ml/1.7oz for 88euros and 100ml/3.3oz for 120 euros on the PG site.

Butternut Squash, Sage, and Goat Cheese Ravioli with Hazlenut-Brown Butter Sauce via gourmetproject.ca

Yves Saint Laurent Saharienne: fragrance review

If damning with faint praise is the modus operandi of the considerate critic, then I could say that the feminine fragrance Saharienne by Yves Saint Laurent is an inoffensive summer scent for days when you're bored to think of perfuming yourself. That wouldn't be right, though. Saharienne evokes so much fashion mythology with its name that expectations would naturally soar. Unfortunately, for a house with such clout in its history and at least two controversial scents in its archives (Opium and M7), plus many beautiful ones (YSL Paris, In Love Again, Rive Gauche, Y), Saharienne underwhelms.

A fresh "nothing" for summer that, while not unpleasant by any means, falls short of the stature of a true Saint Laurent fragrance. The promised "exotic journey in the wilderness" is just a stroll down the perfumery hall of an anonymous department store in Peoria.

When Saint Yves, fashion's true saint, introduced the saharienne "safari jacket" in the 1968, he envisioned a garment that would recall the best of colonial imperialism, in terms of stylishness that is, without succumbing to the demeaning elements herein.

The sharp, belted, pocketed jacket was compact and practical, but with an air of savagery as well, as though the wearer could brave sandstorms that would obscure the skies in torpedos of seemingly red particles attacking one's every cranial cavity.
The beloved garment of the white colonialist (Yves was of Algerian descent after all) looked ever so sexy on the leggy Veruschka (the aristocrat model Veruschka von Lehndorff, pictured here); cinched waist and  tight laces over bronzed breasts that were unencumbered by bridling bras. Saint Laurent's fashions made women look powerful, yet feminine! The Saharienne jacket (or the safari jacket) was no exception to that rule. Apart from a fashion milestone (no designer has been immune to its charms in the following 40 years), it also signaled a feminist one:
"By 1970, with the acceptance of trouser suits, the Western woman's silhouette accommodated bifurcation for the first time. Yves Saint Laurent, a designer extremely sensitive to social trends, responded to the May student uprisings in 1968 by creating a line of women's tailored trouser suits. Based on the "African" theme, he created a "Safari" suit for his spring/summer 1968 collection, transforming the functional hunting outfit into townwear for women". [source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art ]

The muted bergamot "cologne" idea (taking a sharp, astringent, tangy flavour and blunting its edge with loads of Iso-E Super in modern perfumery speak) is not remarkably original; not does it serve any purpose as a stand-alone-trick beyond the blah. It's shampoo writ large. Nothing wrong with this, coming from a brand like Clean or Bath & Body Works, but there is some disappointment in the notion pervading Yves Saint Laurent. I detect no significant spice, just a flou idea of woodiness and "clean" musky backdrop.
If you're looking for a sparkling woody-faceted bergamot with great lasting power for that refreshing, insouciant grace of summer wear, when you don't want to look like you're trying too hard, grab Terre d'Hermes instead.

Notes for Saharienne by Yves Saint Laurent:
Top: lemon, Italian bergamot and mandarin
Heart: white flower petals, orange leaf, galbanum, black currant bud.
Base: pink pepper, ginger.

Le Labo Santal 33: fragrance review

One of the most common questions I get in the mail revolves around the nuances, replication and substitution of perfumery ingredients, accounted by the perceived authority that Perfume Shrine has won in the hearts of perfume aficionados regarding the research on perfumery raw materials (we've tackled most in detail). Sandalwood and its varieties had escaped us and this should be amended soon. In the meantime, we got the chance for a preview sampling of Le Labo's Santal 33, a fragrance onomastically loaded and inspired by "a man and his horse in front of the fire on a great plain under tall, blue evening skies [...] firelight in his face, leaning on the worn leather saddle, alone with the desert wind".

In short, the Marlboro Man, all tough bravado and that special kind of personal freedom only available in a place where no one would be nagging about worn clothes scattered on the floor, or missed orgasms via hitting the snore button too soon. Ah, cowboy country bliss; a man's man land! But there you are and history places its mark of irony once again on what we thought one way but used to be another.

Marlboro was originally introduced as a feminine cigarette, philtered and all, and tagged "Mild as May". It took the creative genius of Leo Burnett in the span of a few months in 1954 and the rugged tawny face of Darrell H. Winfield to transform one appearence to another. And boy, did it ever came through! It's a comparable case with sandalwood and its substitutes: We tend to imagine one thing when we reference sandalwood, we come up with another reality when faced with it in a fragrance. The endangerement of natural Indian sandalwood, especially in the Mysore region, has required the substitution of this precious ingredient in fine fragrance with synthetic varieties, some of which are quite costly in themselves and beautiful to smell, possessing some of the beloved "creamy", milky facets of natural sandalwood. But not all perfumers or all fragrances aim to merely replicate that scent: In Le Labo's case it would be a gross miscomprehension to assume that they were in the first place. They're quite clear on using Australian sandalwood (Santalum spicatum), which is a different variety than Mysore sandalwood (Santalum album): indeed the Australian variety is more pungent, sharper in its dryness, with less density, almost metallic in its fine smokiness, still compatible to scent of skin. These attributes are highlighted in the newest launch of Le Labo. Like its creator, perfumer Frank Voekl had divulged a while ago:

"I’d like to design something that highlights one’s natural smell, as opposed to a scent to cover it up. It would be a skin product that blends with your scent rather than scenting you. Like an outfit woven from fragrance" [1]

Lovers of the musky woody Gaiac 10 by Le Labo might find a similar outfit in the new Santal 33, although the latter is sharper, less round than the afore mentioned, with a woodier rather than muskier core structure.

Santal 33 develops in roughly two main stages, not wildly opposed: The opening is full of the roughened up dry woodiness, as much due to Australian sandalwood as to cedarwood and its synth conspirators, with that characteristic duet which makes its appearence in masculine perfumery to great aplomb, and cardamom making a welcome respite, although nowhere as prominent as in Cartier's Déclaration. The woods are fanned on copious amounts of ionones from the violet & iris "note" listed, a hint of fruity coconut in the background. Nota bene this stage is brought to greater advantage on skin than on the blotter (where the fragrance can be rather screechy), while the latter stage includes an amplifying of the ambery-woody tonalities due to the marked presence of Ambrox. Despite assurances to the contrary, I cannot find any "leathery" accord to speak of, apart from the naturally pungent facets of the Aussie sandalwood raw material itself. Perhaps my own leather receptor is set on rather high. But rest assured the fragrance is as butch and rugged as a real rancher riding on a leather saddle.
The fragrance was composed byGerman-born perfumer Frank Voekl (He created Le Labo Baie Rose 26 with its peppery pink peppercorns rose, Iris 39, the quiet Musk 25 and indeed the Santal 26 candle on which the idea for Santal 33 sprang from; but he also authored fragrances for such diverse clients as Chantecaille, Tommy Hilfiger, Guerlain, Cerruti, Dior, Colette, Kenneth Cole and Laura Mercier).[2]

Overall Santal 33 is more masculine than feminine, as befitting its reflected image of distorted marketing genius, or rather it is a unisex fragrance for those who shy away from gender in their fragrances. Girly girls should therefore not apply. Still, I consider myself a rather girly girl and I found things to like in Santal 33, especially the phenomenal tenacity and the humming but always perceptible projection in terms of fragrance volume.

Notes for Le Labo Santal 33:
Australian sandalwood, papyrus, cedarwood, cardamom, iris, violet, ambrox and leather accord.

Santal 33 is an Eau de Parfum which forms part of the permanent collection, available from Le Labo, Barneys. It is a Colette exclusive in Paris at the moment, retailing €110 for 50ml, €170 for 100ml and is on pre-order online (it will be shipped in a few days).

A footnote on the accompanying images:
The Marlboro Man is such an American icon that I couldn't but pick an American actor who embodies those values to accompany my review, yet I couldn't bring myself to use the actual faces of the Marlboro brand. Hence rangy Sam Elliott of the mustachioned magnificence. As one writer writes: "Not since Scottie Pippen's nose has a (visible) body part taken on such a life of its own. It strategically hides the mouth of this modern cowboy, not letting any potential foes realize that he's already whispering their last rites."
The second picture comes from tawdryknickers.com and showcases perfectly the sheer irony. I thought you'd get a kick out of it!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Le Labo news & reviews

[1] interview on Osmoz

Disclosure: I was sent a preview sample by Le Labo.

Creed Spice & Wood: fragrance review

Creed is celebrating 250 years of family business apparently and therefore have issued the Royal Exclusives line: Notice the cunning use of Royal accolades for something completely new which surely can't have been commissioned by any royal personage? Especially since this is a release for the American market who is dazzled by royalty. We, Europeans have a much different view on them, having known them from all the bad angles, I'm afraid... Anyway, there's nothing wrong with a little bit of marketing on the part of Oliver Creed, so I won't insist on this minor point.

So after Sublime Vanilla,
Creed Spice & Wood marries two of the favourite themes of many perfume lovers, thus also hinting at an "old school" thematology. Would the material be treated in a such a way?
The inspiration was reported to be the pairing of Antony and Cleopatra and I couldn't but recall of the line about Marc Antony's sexual tastes which leaned "more to the molded cheese than the pure one off the cheesemaker's" as jotted down by Octavia, his 3rd wife and antagonist of his GrecoEgyptian lover. I guess Creed missed that part.

So, is it? Is it not? Who cares...saying that a fragrance was inspired by some perfume that Cleopatra or Marc Antony wore, or from fragments of anything that belonged to them, might cut it with the average consumer.

What matters is the fragrance itself. And alongside the promised spices and woods there is a more esoteric accord, which runs through some of the Creeds, a bit metallic, a tad salty. There is also a touch of a Cuir de Russie pungency, thanks to white birch featured, but nothing out of this world. The dominant wood is cedar, both austere and a little sensual, with a bit of that petroleum note which it takes in many modern compositions instead of the pencil shavings that we're accustomed to think of when cedar is mentioned. The base overall has some similarities with Aventus, a previous Creed fragrance with which it shares notes on paper, as well as Original Santal (a modern offering despite the "original" in its tag line), differentiated by the spiciness ~nowhere near Baie de Genievre alas~ which comes across as peppery-clove-y (iso-eugenol) and an abscence of sweetness. Overall, despite the expectations, it's a subtle, delicately warm fragrance without old-fashioned richness, more transparent and modern than anything; like they're pulling an Hermes on us, only with royal insignia to boot. I guess it works for the intended audience.

Parthian shot: Is it very masculine, you ask? Creed says: "Spice and Wood is the luxury asset hand made for men -- but also intensely enjoyed by women". Two birds with one stone, but of course!

Notes for Creed Spice & Wood:
Top: bergamot, lemon, Italian Court Pendu Plat apples from Rome
Heart: angelica root, Luxor rose, clove, desrt pepper, patchouli, white birch
Base: Egyptian iris, cedar, oakmoss, musk.

Creed Spice and Wood is available in Eau de Parfum in a 250ml/8.4oz bottle made by Pochet et du Courval with a spray mechanism for 550$ from the Creed boutique and soon from retailers who distribute the line. Erwin Creed, 29, seventh generation of Creed and its future head, visits the U.S. in November, upin which occasion he will make public appearances at Bergdorf Goodman and select Neiman Marcus stores coast to coast, presenting the fragrance to the public for the first time and signing bottles. Please see all the dates and places of Erwin's US tour dates on this article.

Pic by Antoine Helbert via Chateau Thombeau

Hermes Voyage d'Hermes: fragrance review

Hermès has gained the sense of olfactive consistency that Guerlain once had back in the day thanks to its head perfumer, Jean Claude Ellena. Their latest unisex, Voyage d'Hermès , is a recapitulation, a déjà vu and a voyage not only through the body of work of Jean Claude himself, but of the house of Hermès as an entity! It's as if Voyage is a passport into the world of Hermès: Small little snippets of numerous fragrances hide beneath a hazy cloud of a formula that must have been laborious to construct without falling apart. Yet what has Jean Claude succeeded in doing, at this point in his career, is creating his own syntax and his own vocabulary for communicating which translates as perfectly leggible and intermixable, even in snippets of conversation that all mingle together harmoniously.

In order to appreciate Voyage d'Hermès on whether it succeeds to convey the vision behind it, we need to access the perfumer's technique in rapport with the values dictated by a mass-marketed but still prestigious Hermès fragrance such as Voyage.

Starting by the latter, we're "stumbling" on the mega-success of Terre d'Hermès, a masculine which is -according to the month in question- the first or second best-selling fragrance in France and terribly popular throughout the world as well. Its mineral & airy interpretation of the Mediterranean coast-line, full of fresh breeze, the whisper of citrus groves from afar and vegetal waste rotting on the hard rock, is the transfiguration of an lived-in impression into a scent (aided by a generous helping of IsoE Super, a synthetic which turns the intriguing aromata into a legible abstraction). A new mainstream release would not want to disrupt the commercial success of Terre, but at the same time, it should bring in women too (sharing thus the desirable facets of Terre) and consolidate the past and future of the house into the consience of everyone. In many ways, it feels to me that Hermès was simplifying its historical codes into an Esperanto of signs for everyone. To that degree they have certainly succeeded.

Ellena himself communicated his aim in composing Voyage d'Hermès, not as the desire to create a figurative or programmatic ~to borrow a term from music~ fragrance "but to create abstract art. A play on paradoxes. Complementary elements. No, this perfume would not smell of a kind of wood, a flower, a particular raw material, but of the unknown in all its glory. To express its nuances and unexpected pairings. Familiar, surprising. Energy, comfort. Masculine, feminine. An infectious mixing of genres. A woody fresh, musky fragrance." Ellena's style (and so is Olivia Giacobetti's in a similar vein) is the quiet, yet subtly intricate music for a quartet, rather than the bustle of a Wagnerian symphony with brass horns and full percussion joining. This is an aesthetic choice, not the result of simplistic or unchallenging incompetence. Comparing ~say~ a traditional Guerlain or 1930s Patou to a modern Hermès composed by Ellena would therefore be a futile exercise in omphaloskepsis. One either likes one style or not, but that doesn't mean that the two are poised on the same plane of existence; they're actually poles apart.
In that regard, Ellena in Voyage d'Hermès is reffarming his signature touch and on top of that creates something that cannot be pinpointed into anything familiar in nature; because there are plenty of familiar accents in the formula itself, as we'll see.

Voyage d'Hermès feels like a composition created on two tiers: The first movement is a flute, oboe and glockenspiel trio, namely the grapefruit-citrus chord he excells at (see Rose Ikebana, Un Jardin sur le Nil, Terre d'Hermès, even Cologne Bigarrade) with a touch of icy artemisia (see Angeliques sous la Pluie with their perfect gin & tonic bitterness) alongside the spicy suaveness of cardamom (diaphanous as in Un Jardin apres la Mousson, yet also a little sweaty as in Déclaration). To that musical line respond clarinets of other spices: some pepper, some ginger. On skin the spices are much more pronounced on the whole, with a small sub-facet (pungent, even a bit leathery) that personally reminds me of Eau d'Hermès.
The second movement is constructed on a basso continuo (the Iso E Super, perceived by many as cedar, alongside an incredibly lasting cluster of musks) with a lightly underlining phrase by a viola, the floral note of hedione (or an analogous material) giving a nod to Dior's Eau Sauvage and an elegant amber-ambergris base recalling Eau de Merveilles. This second movement is most alike Poivre Samarkande from the Hermessences, with its overdose of Iso-E Super. Seeing as Poivre Samarkande is the uncontesatble best-seller in the Hermès boutique in Athens, Greece, ever since the line's introduction, it makes sense that Hermès wanted for a Voyage composition a formula that has already been OK-ed by a warm Mediterranean country: After all, the very term Voyage makes us unconsiously dream of vacations, doesn't it? The two Roudnitska homages (Eau d'Hermès and Eau Sauvage), on the other hand, are unifying two houses and two perfumers into one style uniquely its own.

This clarion call of style, ensured, affirmed, self-reliant, is the fragrance's moot point: It means that if you like previous Jean Claude Ellena fragrances, you will like Voyage d'Hermes. If you don't, there are very little chances that it will change your mind. It also means that if you have all the segmentated make-up-pieces in your perfume collection, you might not be tempted to sort out the Visa and buy the new fragrance. But seeing as this is a mainstream release meant for everyone, not just maniacal collectors, those people will be few and far between.

The bottle design is spectacular: pure Hermès, both classic, inspired by la petite maroquinairie ~and specifically the Evelyne coin purse~ but also subtly modern high-tech too, reminiscent of USB sticks to put in one's computer (formerly known as "travel sticks, because you took them along while travelling, is it any coincidence?) or of a shiny silvery iPod, blasting a daydreaming Debussy tune. The promotional video shows a bird flying towards a horse running in the sea, showing ice, desert and water: an analogy of the segments that the fragrance goes through as well.

Notes for Voyage d'Hermès: citron, bergamot, coriander, ginger, artemisia, cardamom, black pepper, tea, birch, white musk, amber and cedar.

Available in 35ml, 100ml & 150ml bottles, available at major department stores carrying Hermès.
For those registered on the mailing list of Hermès, please use this link to see the promotional video.


Music: "Divertimento for Flute, Oboe and Clarinet" by Malcolm Arnold with Meera Gudipati, flute; Steven Robles, oboe; and James Calix, clarinet.
Print by Nhyen Phan Chanh (1932). Hermes official Voyage d'Hermes ad.

Lancome Magie Noire: fragrance review of the perfect Halloween scent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rochas Moustache: fragrance review & history

Smooth-cheeked chaps have been the norm for more than half a century now and facial hair on men in the western world is considered either intello-boho or "tough guy, three day stubble, get in line missy!" But once upon a time when men fought in the Great War or assimilated la toilette in -perhaps less excruciatingly soignée- the manner of Hercules Poirot and his own profuse moustaches, facial hair stood for distinction. Moustache by Rochas is a scent that could make you grow such a virtual moustache if you belong to the modern clique of smoothly-cheeked guys and actually feel proud enough to admit wearing such a funnily named perfume.

The house of Marcel Rochas issued Moustache in 1948, as one of the select few fragrant specimens bearing the handiwork of that elusive (but talented) personality Thérèse Roudnitska, the wife of trismegistus Edmond (who also had his skillful hand in this) and the muse to her husband's Le Parfum de Thérèse (now in the Frederic Malle line). Thérèse, a student of l’Ecole de Chimie in Paris (she gratuated in 1941) apprenticied at the De Laire company at the laboratories of which she met her future husband. A romance blossomed, peppered with scented gifts: Edmond presented her with his eloquent composition It's You which he had composed for Elizabeth Arden. After romantic courtship they found Art et Parfum, a society dedicated to the art of perfumery in 1946. At the time Edmond Roudnitska was working with Rochas, having cemented both their fragrant notoriety with Femme, a masterpiece conceived in the most perilous and ravaged of occassions, Paris being occupied by the Nazis (1944) and right when Edmond had his hands in more prosaic tasks, such as finding a sufficient butter-taste substitute. According to his son, Michel Roudnitska (who gives the date of issue of Moustache as 1948, while some guides claim 1949 as the launch) "Moustache foreshadows Roudnitska's philosophy of creation - clear, simple and restrained". I couldn't have said it more succinctly.

Perfume history wants Thérèse to have instigated the spermatic idea and Edmond to have followed. At any rate the end result pleased him so much that he was put on record considering it a benchmark in masculine scents [Edmond Roudnitska, Que sais-je? "Le Parfum", Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 6th edition (2000)]. Roudnitska continued to produce scents for Rochas: Mouselline (formely Chiffon), Mouche (which means fly in French and was playfully named after the couple's cat), and La Rose; a collection of which sadly only Femme and Moustache subsist today.

The academic interest in Moustache is that it takes all the elements that have formed the repertoire of Roudnitska (the fermented fruits, like his beloved peach-scented base Persicol with aldehydes C14 and C18; the urinous aroma of animalic notes that recalls horses' sweat; the mossy yet fresh coolness in the background) and rearranges them in a masculine composition that pre-empties his work for both Dior (Eau Sauvage, Diorella, Dior-Dior) and Hermès (Eau d'Hermès). The aesthetic interest is that it smells old-fashioned in the best possible sense, distinguished in its unique use of lime on top (perhaps the best rendition of that note) and yet not like an antique that gets dusted once in a blue moon tucked inside the curios cabinet the rest of the time.
After the citrusy opening, the characteristic faintly floral and hay-ish powdery heart slowly gives way to the funk of the base notes with their sweaty, urinous and pungent leather impression which lingers quietly, intimately for a long time. Despite it being ,marketed as a masculine scent, women who find citrusy or "hazy" suede compositions to their taste should definitely give it a try.

Notes for Rochas Moustache: Lime, bergamot, pine, fruits, vetiver, moss.

The flacon of Moustache was initially produced in the curvaceous shape of Femme but was later substituted with the classic columnal bottle of Rochas fragrances with the brand name embossed on top the gold cap. A very recent redesigning made it square-shouldered in chrome tones.
The modern re-issue of Moustache is a bit more sharply citric to suit modern preferences for more refreshing top notes and less urinous, more polite, but it remains at its core an old-fashioned and proper scent that was well ahead of its time and still relevant after all those years. The older version circulates for reasonable prices on etailers.
You can get Moustache at Fragrancenet.com for the amazing price of $32.49 for 3.4oz. Also, using code LBRDY09 at checkout you get a further $10 off orders of $70 or more (on any products), valid through 09.11.09.

Pic of Moustache bottle by Rochas by Elena Vosnaki, of Therese Roudnitska via Michel Roudnitska's tribute Art-et-Parfum, vintage ad via trungtamnuochoa.com, modern flacon via fragrancefactory.com

Etro Messe de Minuit: fragrance review

Speaking of the ethereal allied to the feral in fragrances while reviewing Tubéreuse Criminelle by Serge Lutens, I had tied the former to that other "otherwordly vampire of piercing eyes which draw blood inveigling us into submitting willingly to its almost sacral fangs", Messe de Minuit by Etro. To say that it is the most arresting in Etro's elegant line is no exaggeration, but neither would it be an overstatement to claim it has the most striking mien in current perfumery!
Messe has the admirable quality of producing gut-instinct reactions in everyone who comes into contact with it much like the Cloisters in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC or the haunting executions chamber of Madame Tussaud's in London. Like the distant cousin who is neither elegant nor pretty, but when she sits on the piano everyone is mesmerized into attention, Messe de Minuit has a way of making you fall under its spell. Wearable it is not for most social occasions, even if one loves it like I do, so my personal solution for enjoying its wonderfully witching emissions all the time has been the discovery of the exquisitely luxurious candle: In its thick glass jar with its wide golden lid with the Etro logo on, it decorates my study at home, besides my old books collection and my antique camera from the first decade of the 20th century. Opening the lid equates a religious experience that reminds me poignantly of my own mortality, much like listening to the Commentatore scene of Mozart's Don Giovanni does, when he appears booming "Don Giovanni a cenar teco m'invitasti".

Even though the name (Midnight Mass) alludes to the catholic service of Christmas' Eve, in my experience the fragrance changes considerably depending on the season/climate, from the chillier crypt mustiness of the wintertime to a sage-like fuzzy warmth and gingerbread tonality in the warmer months. It in this frame that the fact la mama Sofia Loren chooses to wear it in the balmier nights of the South should be evaluated.

Introduced in 2000 by perfumer Jacques Fiori of Robertet (his tour de force in his many compositions for the textiles & fashions Etro line, founded by Gimmo Etro in 1968), Messe de Minuit starts damp and musty and brightly citrusy, with a scent that reminds me of raw pleurotus mushrooms left in the fridge for a couple of days. In this regard it is the shadowy mirror image to another citrusy incense fragrance from Etro, the more luminous Shaal Nur. The herbal and mildew-like quality gives a compelling weirdness to the perfume. The opening note also reminds me of the aromatic, herbal tête of the Slovakian liqueur Slivovica, but also of a frenzied July unearthing artefacts in the cave of Le Portel in the Pyrénées under the alternating hot sun and the cool shade of the archeological sheds.

While Messe de Minuit is touted to be "an incense fragrance", its core is nowehere near other popular incense fragrances. Passage d’enfer by L'artisan Parfumeur, Comme des Garcons Kyoto and Creed's Angelique Encens (all wonderful!) are completely different; they present a more serene attitude that still has a beguiling quality about it, drawing you closer, not further. Messe de Minuit on the other hand creates a needed apostasy. It also doesn’t possess that rich, resiny, sweet, smoky quality that I associate incense with, perfectly exhibited in Comme des Garcons Avignon or Armani Privé Bois d’Encens. It is as if the REMNANTS of incense smoke have settled down and been dampened in a old Paleochristianic temple. No holy smell , no passage of angels , no spiritual elevation. On the contrary , this is an abandoned abode , a lonely place deserted by man and God that has been festering demons and evil spirits , unhealthy and perverse. I can definitely see the face of the Antichrist in the background….
And then , what a surprise! It becomes really warm, quite spicy and deeper with bitter myrrh and sweetens considerably thanks to the amber and a touch of honey, almost urinous but not quite. Those old demons know how to play tricks on you. They put on a slight smile to beckon you in and eat your soul. And it also becomes earthy and “dirty” and makes you wonder about a certain frustrated humanity they once had that has become a distant memory to them. And it lasts, as if damnation will be forever. As it should be. I can see Anne Rice’s vampires wearing Messe de Minuit effortlessly while cruising in the human world.

Notes for Etro Messe de Minuit: Orange, bergamot, tangerine, galbanum, honey, labdanum, incense, myrrh, cinnamon, patchouli, amber, musk

Messe de Minuit is available in Eau de Cologne concentration at Luckyscent in the US, Senteurs d'Ailleurs, Liberty and Escentual in Europe. The packaging has recently been redesigned (black & white design, silver cap), depicted hereby is the (prettier IMO) older one. The matching candle, which is gloriously fragrant even unlit, is available at Fragrancenet.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Incense Series



Carlos Alvarez and Ildebrando D'Arcangelo in the Commendatore scene XV of the second act of Mozart's "Don Giovanni", originally uploaded by gtelloz on Youtube
Photography Roman Shadows by 3Lampsdesign

Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Woman: fragrance review

"The Chevalier stops, dazzled, at the door: the mirrors covering all the walls multiply their reflections in such a way that suddenly an endless procession of couples are embracing all around them". ~Slowness, Milan Kundera

If you asked me how I knew that the initially named "Ormonde" would be one of my favourites in the Ormonde Jayne line, then I'd tell you that having sampled the lot of them, its languid decay and bittersweet melancholy stood out in my mind for weeks to come and all of a sudden I realised I had to have it! Its dichotomy startled me: Was it dicepherable as that rare genus of a dry woody originally aimed at women (yet men are welcome to borrow) or was it a Sibyllic opaque alloy of contradictions? Ormonde Woman exemplifies admirably what Chandler Burr described: "Ormonde Jayne has created a collection that possesses the quality I most value in perfume: a wonderful and mesmerising strangeness". Pretty, beloved notes take on a grotesque façade that makes them appear convulted in the most arresting way, like figures seen in profile at the mirrors chamber of some far away fun fair through the convulted lens of David Lynch.

A peppery green whisper of Ormonde Woman on a summer day makes me appreciate its haunting, eerie beauty even more, reeling me from the dreary conventionality of mainstream releases into a subtly wicked fairytale. Though woody fragrances are typically pigeonholed in the cooler season, I like to bring out the most understated among them for reveling in their sophisticated embrace even on the sunniest of days. Brooding claustrophobia where no sunlight can penetrate seems to engulf you when woody fragrances unfold in the snow and sleat, and yet wait and luminosity cuts through the enchanted cobwebs, making them sparkle like jewels when cast under the bright morning sun.

The rooty, piney and spicy opening of wet earth and sinister anthropomorphic grasses mingles with a sweet, almost licorice-like violet delicacy in Ormonde Woman's heart, uplifting the composition into a sophisticated enigma; one which cannot be dissected into sexual temptation and loss of innocence, yet one feels they're all there, under the trampled leaves like a not-so-innocent adult Red Riding Hood who strayed off the path to become a she-wolf. The poison cup offered comes in the dangerous guise of black hemlock absolute, a rare essence that the founder Linda Pilkington utilises in rarely foreseen quantities to concoct just the right hypnotic spell. A tireless traveller, Linda has fostered relationships with growers all over the world from Laos and the Philippines to Morocco and France, gaining her remarkable access to the most unusual exotic oils. The drydown of Ormonde Woman bears facets of a dry, non-sweet amber that peters out inivisibly. Fabric Magazine said it well: "Her signature scent Ormonde Woman made from black hemlock is a real femme fatale, all black feathers, felt capes and illicit affairs"

Notes for Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Woman: cardamom, coriander, grass oil, black hemlock, violet, jasmine absolute, vetiver, cedar wood, amber, and sandalwood.

Ormonde Woman can be purchased directly from the official Ormonde Jayne website or at their London boutique.

For our readers an amazing offer: Mail sales@ormondejayne.com with "Perfume Shrine Ormonde Woman" in the title to receive 200 complimentary deluxe samples of Ormonde Woman! The 201st person will get an Ormonde Woman Bathing Beauty Gift Box!!

Clarification after a question to OJ: The new packaging in the square rather than oblong bottle has been raised in price due to costs involved: the costs of essence oils have risen, the caps are in glass instead of plastic and the whole presentation has become even more luxurious!

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Ormonde Jayne news, interviews and reviews

Painting Anansi & death by Johanna Uhrman via jonnakonna.com
Mirror picture via guardian.co.uk

Arabian Wood, Bois Marocain and Italian Cypress by Tom Ford – three reviews

~by guest writer Mike Perez

Looks are deceiving. Which should not be a problem when talking about fragrances, right? Wrong!
I am just as guilty as the next guy, when I allow the concept of a fragrance (the ad, the bottle or the celebrity’s name (or the attractive model’s face [and body] associated with it) to tempt me into giving a fragrance my attention - when actually I should be more interested in how the fragrance smells on my skin.
So, I admit it. It’s something I’m trying to get better at. I’m trying to not believe the hype (online or otherwise) that surrounds every new fragrance release and smell fragrances (new and old) with no expectations. It is extremely hard to do. Since I’m a big fan of a bunch of Tom Ford fragrances I decided to practice my new approach by testing the 3 new Private Blend scents: Italian Cypress, Arabian Wood (currently only available at the TF Kuwait boutique) and Bois Marocain (scheduled to be released in May 2009 exclusively to the London boutique).
Here are my fragrance reviews:


Arabian Wood
The first spray of Arabian Wood is neither woody nor ‘Arabian’ but something imperceptibly fougère-like, herbal and slightly nose tickling (angelica?) combined with a sharp varnish / nail polish remover accord. It took a couple of wearings for my nose to become accustomed to it and then only when it’s warmed on skin for at least 20 – 30 minutes do you start to perceive a warm, ashy gentle frankincense accord.
I’m familiar with a handful of pure aoud oils, which to me vary greatly in overall smell and complexity. A few of the high quality oils are just gorgeous. Arabian Wood conveys this same accord not as an oil, but as a fragrance (not easy to do) while avoiding the typical medicinal (Band-Aid like) sharpness. It reminds me of the dry down of aoud fragrances (the Montales and Amouages) after a couple hours – almost as if 5 to 10 hours of sharp, medicinal notes are fast forwarded and skipped and you instantly arrive at the plush, velvety floral/wood aroma. I love it! The frankincense blends seamlessly with the taif style rose and then a gentle white floral note finishes it off in a luxurious and sensual style.
Arabian Wood by Tom Ford is exclusive to the city of Kuwait (one of the richest countries in the world) and this scent feels appropriately decadent. However, unlike genuine Middle Eastern attars, Arabian Wood diffuses and doesn’t wear thick or heavy – its incense and complexity aren’t trapped close to the body of the wearer. I wish it lasted longer – it is gone in 3-4 hours. I also wish it was more affordable – but compared to pure Arabian attars prices, Arabian Wood is lower priced (for once). Imagine that?

Notes for Tom Ford Arabian Wood: Patchouli, Lavander, Galbanum, Bergamot, Gardenia, Jasmine, Rose, Oakmoss, Orris and Sandalwood

Bois Marocain
I’ll get right to the point: Bois Marocain (Moroccan Wood) is an extremely safe and predictable wood fragrance; this is majorly disappointing coming from a luxury line like the Private Blends.
The top notes are a resinous blast of synthetic incense (a very sharp slightly metallic incense – think Nu by YSL) that evolves within less than an hour into a typical linear sandalwood note. Not creamy (or anything remotely trying to smell like Mysore sandalwood) or complex – but a Demeter version of Sandalwood: generic, linear and short lasting.
Rush for Men by Gucci and H&M by Comme des Garcons have walked this line before (pencil-shavings cedar notes lying underneath a raspy incense note) and while I have worn and enjoyed both of these scents before, the fragrance world does not need another, using the same two recycled accords – at almost quadruple the price.

Italian Cypress
Tom Ford said, prior to the release of Italian Cypress in Women’s Wear Daily, "It's a very Seventies gentlemen's fragrance, the kind that you don't encounter very much any more..."

He was partially correct. It is a 70’s style fragrance.
I love a great cypress note (Cypres Musc by Creed was love-at-first sniff when I smelled it years ago) and IC’s is a great cypress scent. In the first few seconds the resinous, coniferous notes are stiff, dry, bitter and very wonderful. Let’s call it the Yatagan-effect (I love it!) but then it head spinningly transforms into a wide expanse of green pine needles, fresh air (well, the effect of oxygenated pine needles) and a breezy mosaic of cypress trees, leaves, twigs, branches, sap, the whole darn forest. An extraordinary beginning! A green so true, that if you gathered together all of the shades of green in the world and picked the greenest, the epitome of green, this is the one you would choose.
But the top notes are not enough to win me over completely.
What Tom did not mention is that the middle and base notes are just like Polo (1978) by Ralph Lauren. As the scent progresses its parallel similarities to Polo are astonishing. The creamy wood effect. The whiff of leather at the edges of the green. Ford managed to copy everything about it except for Polo’s longevity since Italian Cypress lasts on me only about 3-4 hours and then disappears (unlike Polo which lasts + 8 hours). Perhaps TF sought to compete with the wonderful flanker Polo Modern Reserve.
A friend of mine snatched up a large bottle when he visited New York recently and loves it (he thinks it has a very Z-14 by Halston slant to it – another 70’s scent!) Me? I’ll pass. Polo retails for $57 (4 oz) and can be found online at discounters even cheaper - whereas Italian Cypress is $450 (4 oz).
In this case, ‘not believing the hype’ saves me a bunch of money!