Today's piece of fragrance history was prompted by an article in the Jakarta Post, dedicated on the creator of niche line Les Parfums de Rosine, Marie Hélène Rogeon, the woman who reintroduced the brand originally masterminded 80 years before by her antecentant, renowned couturier Paul Poiret for his beloved daughter Rosine (He established Les Ateliers de Martine for his younger daughter in the same year, 1911).
Rogeon established herself at Les Jardins du Palais Royal in Paris before Serge Lutens, in 1991 and they co-exist happily side by side ever since, a visit garlanded with memories of girly romanticism stacked against mystical opulence. Many of the original Rosine fragrances were created by legendary perfumer Henri Alméras, the composer of several legendary Jean Patou fragrances{click link for reviews} as well as Emannuel Bouler and Maurice Shaller. François Robert (for Rose d'Homme), Pierre Bourdon (for Roseberry), and Camille Latron (for the newer releases) have all contributed to the re-issued portfolio of Les Parfums de Rosine. The compositions follow a simple rule: They're above all dedicated to the kind of flowers, the rose, in various guises and manifestations. From the traditionally powder puff of iris-ladden Pousierre de Rose to the creamy, bright explosion of a pas de deux between rose and sandalwood in Rosa Flamenca through the lemony-tea infusion of Zeste de Rose and the mischievous spicy flirt to dirt of Diabolo Rose, Lesparfums de Rosine offer an embarassement of riches for rose-maniacs.
"Paul Poiret was a ground breaking designer that freed {sic} European women from their corsets. He launched a perfume line called Les Parfums de Rosine in honor of his deceased daughter Rosine {sic}. Rogeon's grandfather was commissioned to manufacture fragrances for him but did not create them himself. Later the great depression and war came, and production ceased. Poiret came back after the war only to find himself being replaced by new fashions like Coco Chanel and his fashion house disappeared. The perfume bottles disappeared too. Rogeon, though, met them really early in her life - in her grandparents' attic. "My grandparents kept some labels and some old bottles in their attic... unfortunately the perfume was sold out - there were only labels left," she said. "I realized also during my studies that this range of perfume was really creative because Paul Poiret just wanted to use some geraniums, nobody else used it before," she said. The creativity amazed her and prompted her to revive the manufacturing. She does not follow the original bottle design but kept the logo and the tassel, and the fragrance expected of de Rosine. She has gone beyond the resurrection of the old fragrances - with some tweaking to follow modern safety regulations. She has come out with her own blends of rosy scents - for men and women - drawing her experiences from different cultures. In her hands, a rose is no longer about a rose. Rose blended with a musky leathery mix in Rose d'Homme, for example, brings out elegant masculinity in men. Rose Praline is like having a tint of chocolate herb tea while rushing through a rose bush, bringing that playful but yet not girly feeling. Rose Kashmirie is a garden of roses and Chinese peonies in one place. La Rose de Rosine combines ylang ylang, jasmine, iris and tonka beans in the same flower beds."
Les Parfums de Rosine are available in Paris, at Barney's, at Rosenstein in Montreal, Canada, at Galleries Lafayette, at Body n'Soul in Athens, Greece, at Mecca Cosmetica in Australia, online at their official site , Beautyhabit & at Aus Liebe Zum Duft (First in Fragrance), and at the newest boutique at Papillion 2, Plaza Indonesia, in Jakarta.
If you have a favourite Rosine, come out and let us know which and why you love it!
"Did I disappoint you or let you down? Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown? 'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun, Yes, I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won. So I took what's mine by eternal right. Shared your dreams and shared your bed. I know you well, I know your smell".
~James Blunt, Goodbye my lover
A name that combines two contrasting elements : the girly (Miss) and the chic (the Balmain house, the one who dressed Katherine Hepburn, Marlene Dietrich, and Brigitte Bardot, no less): Miss Balmain. This fragrance by Harry Cutler is "girly" however only in the sense that it has an eternal playfulness in its intentions , not in its smell. Unless one is magically transported back in the 60's ~since this was created in 1967: the Summer of Love, the summer of anything is possible. And oh, didn't you love your defunct innocence!
However, chic and simultaneously quirky it definitely remains. A young gal with a mischievous animalisric wink, ready to drop her knickers at the sound of a good riff and roll on the fluffy carpet laughing the big O. An "It" girl is donning her new nappa leather jacket of tabac-coloured smooth material (the castoreum ,leather and patchouli note) alongside her light=coloured mini skirt and kitten-heeled slingbacks with bright daisies on them (the fresh and prim coriander paired with aldehydes and citrus). She fumbles with her long, loose scarf at the neck, it bothers her, so off it goes soon leaving her young sternum bare (the smooth florals of gardenia and jonquil).
What remains is a younger interpretation of both Cabochard and Miss Dior ~at least the vintage compositions. Miss Balmain is less strident in the opening to me, less potent in the drydown than either, but not less valued nonetheless. The shock is a mirage revealed in a tear: the girl is not promiscuous and comes from good stock.
Would it be something of a signature scent? Not for me, it wouldn't. Too difficult to pull off in hot weather or casual surroundings alongside girls with pierced navels wearing hoodies, despite its playful character. And for those occassions when one wants to stand apart and confirm one's aloofness and defiance one might as well go after the artilery of uber-feminine Cabochard or prickly Bandit. But for light amunition that is really more vulnerable than what one might think, I'd love to designate it to Penny Lane. Which is so very 1967...
(uploaded by nemivicious)
Pic of Lou Doillon courtesy of Hollywood celebrity pics
Accessing the popularity stakes and artistic success of a bestseller is never an easy thing. Perhaps it's the competitors who speak most frankly about its cachet: As Thierry Wasser, head perfumer at Guerlain at the moment, revealed in an interview on Swiss television, "Every one of us wants to make the next J'Adore!"
The aphorism ~on a fragrance with a name that means "I LOVE it!"~ was meant to convey the ubiquitousness of the scent, its staggering approval by consumers from young to old. Such ubiquitousness in fact that its commercial's televised air-time 10 years after its introduction in 1999 has raised questions on a popular perfume forum about the reasons behind it!
The makings of a best-seller
You see, gone are the days of Chanel No.5 when commercials were running for the same scent for decades: Today the fast-paced churning out of fragrances means that the bombarding with advertising images changes dramatically from season to season with the latest and the glossiest catching page after page and air-minute after air-minute in an attempt to lure us into the Great New Thing. Alas, so very few times they deliver. Yet there is no question about Christian Dior's fragrance enduring presence in both the media and ~what's more important~ on the dressers and the bodies of countless women on the planet: Yes, by that token Dior's J'Adore is a modern classic!
Stating such a claim makes eyebrows raise on perfumistas' foreheads, accustomed as they are to the exclusive, the arcane, the unattainable or alternatively the vintage, the classic and the ultra-rare. But the beauty of perfumery is that one doesn't need to go up digging for Alexander the Great's grave (a task several worthy people have been unsuccessful at, its location forever unknown); one can find a good thing even almost on their doorstep (or in this case their local Sephora) and like Alexander's golden locks it is gilded and shiny with its "giraffe women" necklaces around the stem of the bottle and screaming with every drop of its jus "I'm covetable". A gorgeous face in Charlize Theron's shoes strutting her statuesque shape is challenging ~but also promising to~ every woman to become a living goddess! "Woman is an idol, and must be adorned to be adored," wrote Charles Baudelaire and Dior was quick to snatch the immortal line for their own purposes.
Pinkification: more to it than meets the eye J'Adore (pronounced Za-DORH) clout however took an unexpected and fascinating path to form. Back in 1999 the fruity floral vogue was just catching on, as consumers tired of the acquatics and ozonics of the 90s and of the realisation that the dot com prodigies were not something to sustain the economy as foretold were searching for a little girliness, a little pinkiness ~even a reversion to the mental age of Barbie some would say! (and who can blame them in retrospect?) A recent article at The Guardian talks about the pinkification of our culture where beauty "gurus" emote in exalted girly-tones that could shutter crystal and have you screaming up the walls with devious and not so devious plans on assassinating the perpatrators of those auditory crimes. (parodies abound, so not all hope is foresaken). The cultural background of this phenomenon is vaster than the scope of those pages, yet a fragrance such as J'Adore managed to come aboard at the exact time when the wave of girlishness was gaining momentum. And we have to grugingly admit: Among all the girly fruity florals, J'Adore actually manages to inject a little womanly touch there too: It's not completely air-headed! In Dior's portfolio it is something of a chasm, a no man's land where the classics (Miss Dior,Diorissimo, Eau Fraiche, Diorama, Diorling, Diorella, Dior-Diorand Dioressence) along with the established (Dune, Poison and some of the latter's flankers) veered off in favour of the modern specimens which are targeted to a different audience (Addict, Addict Shine, Forever and Ever etc.).
In a way J'Adore was the catalyst which ushered the pounding thumb of fruity florals not only chez Dior but along the widths and the breadths of the feminine fragrance market. Calice Becker, the perfumer behind J'Adore, is famous for her symphonic yet non-obese florals. Essentially linear, J'Adore begins and ends on a complicated yet quite fresh bouquet that oscillates between the velvety sheen of orchids and champaca with their sensuous air and the fruitier elements of rich plum, sprinkled with droplets of sweet citrus fruit, hints of greenery and a soupçon of violet & rose coquetry (ionones). The whole is underscored by cassis (a synthetic base very popular in the 80s, also used in Poême with which it shares an indefiniable vibe) with subtle woods. The longer the perfume stays on the more it projects that latter element. The eau de parfum's tenacity is indeed phenomenal and it manages to radiate even from the blotter for a while.
And when all is said and done, it smells nice. I wouldn't trail the Himalayan Route for it like I would with other fragrances and it's a little too sweet and ubiquitous for my personal tastes, but it's a round, feminine scent that attracts compliments. Think about how women have passed you by at the street, your nostrils quivered at their scent and you almost murmured j'adore....
Notes for Christian Dior J'Adore: Mandarin, champaca flowers, ivy, African orchid, rose, violet, Damascus plum, amaranth wood, blackberry musk
Dior J'Adore Special Editions and Flankers The face of J'adore was initially Esthonian beauty Carmen Kaas, but it was Hollywood star Charlize Theron who really "clicked" and gave J'Adore an immense visual advantage.
J'Adore is available at every Dior counter everywhere, available in the following versions/flankers:
1) the original J'AdoreEau de Parfum concentration (1999) in the golden toned bottle depicted in the ads and reviewed above
2) the lighter and less plummy J'AdoreEau de Toilette (2002) in the silvery-toned design (pictured on the right). In 2011 the eau de toilette concentration was re-orchestrated (due to changes in perfumery regulations) by Francois Demachy, giving it a sweeter and fresher appeal, and repackaged in the gold scheme packaging and presentation, only differentiated from the EDP by the notification on the packaging.
3) the magnificent, limited (and costlier) edition of J'Adore L'Absolu (2007) a delightfully intense version of the classic favorite with Turkish rose, tuberose, and jasmine combine to make a truly pretty floral" (Eau de Parfum Absolute, created by Francois Demachy). A superior version of the formula, developed by Francois Demachy with premium floral essences.
4) the J'Adore L' Eau Cologne Florale 2009 (the bottle is in golden tones, but a little more slender), which reprises the floral theme with touches of lemony magnolia to render a very current modernisation of the brand. The range is complimented with ancilary body products and is often augmented with special editions that reprise the design of the bottle.
5) J'Adore L'Or is a essence de parfum edition launched in 2010 with the neck of the bottle in thin gold threads and the same amphora style body, available only in 40ml. It's an amped up and more expensive version of the eau de parfum with sweeter and headier florals and a more lasting and very perceptible vanilla base.
6) A limited edition from 2007 highlighting the jasmine note is J'Adore Le Jasmin, available in 100ml of alcohol-free eau de toilette for the summer. Longer, leaner amphora bottle, but otherwise same, with a box reading "summer fragrance" underneath the name. Not to be confused with the 2004 summer fragrance, which is encased in the familiar bottle that holds EDT or EDP, with the only difference being marked in the box ('summer fragrance').
The following limited editions are only different in the bottle presentation or visuals and do not bear a difference in the scent itself.
Special limited "anniversary" editions of J'Adore en Or come from 2004 and 2009 (for the 5 and 10 years of the market respectively); the former with curved drawn "lines" on the upper body of the matte gold bottle, the latter with a golden medallion with the initials CD hanging on a thread on the transparent glass familiar amphora-shaped body. A shimmery version called J'Adore Divinement d'Or (Gold Supreme) was issued in 2006 with gold shimmer suspended in the juice.
We had discussed the possibility of a new exclusive feminine Guerlain fragrance when talking about their new Voyage Collection trio as well as when presenting the new mainstream of the house Idylle. Apparently the new Limited Edition is called Secrets de Sophie (Sophie's secrets), a sweet violet-tinged girly white floral and comes in a VERY girly bottle of 60ml Eau de Parfum designed by Sophie Lévy which the ever gracious Karin forwarded to us. The company offers a choice of the colour schema on the flacons, accordingly coded Secrets Noirs (black), Secrets Poudrés (pink) and Secrets Nacrés(ivory) (NB: all flacons containing the same fragrance). I am itching to wonder whether the contents will reflect the Hello Kitty packaging, but I won't for now. Soon though....
Launch is predicted for June at select Guerlain doors and the price will reach 300 euros.
Bottles from top to bottom: Secrets Noirs, Secrets Nacrés, Secrets Poudrés. Click to enlarge.
When a scent gains a flanker in the guise of just a different concentration (Eau de parfum vs. the original Eau de Toilette) you know you're in for a bumpy ride on some level, to quote All About Eve. Either one will be vastly superior to the other (see Allure, Opium), or there will be confusion among consumers (see Narciso, or Bandit) or both of those things.
Issey Miyake had launched A Scentlast year: an ascending, airy green fragrance which impressed me favourably with its polished technical merit and re-introduction of green notes into the mainstream (a trend which one might argue was not pioneered by it, but to which it contributed positively). Imagine my disenchantment upon testing A Scent Eau de Parfum Florale by Issey Miyake and finding out it is not only ghastly but boring to tears as well! Merely an alcoholic-ladden, light, ~almost to the point of insubstantiality~ floral scent with an aromachemical woody-amber base (Ambrox) for a little anchoring (they might as well not bother, it's fleeting on both blotter and skin). After this strong alcoholic blast passes, a diaphanous peony-jasmine accord (with a hint of peachy sweetness) that is more spectral than real. I haven't been really scathing while reviewing on the whole, apart from a few atrocious cases, but this time I think it's needed. Eau de Parfum Florale seems like a marketing turn of phrase in the mould of "let's do a pink floral version for the heck of it, it will sell on the heels of the previous model" . No, dear marketing people, it won't, unless you suggest the formula goes into shampoo or liquid detergent (Personally I would prefer to just wash my hair with bar soap instead of this, but let's not pre-empty other people's preferences lest we're called names). What's happening? The Miyake company people weren't that cynical from what I recall. Pity on the perfumer who was given the brief: Is this why they do not reveal his or her name?
Yes, the new Scent is really different from the original as the sales assistant was quick to point out without any prompting. Yes, it's encased in the same (genius) bottle design that recalls sliced plexiglass bricks. Only in PINK! I have probably said the magic word that shutters all expectations for serious perfume lovers and just chimed the "abandon all hope ye who enter here" for those who read. Run for the hills. Run for your life. Run Lola, run! You might be inwardly protesting by now "oh but I like pink fragrances, they're so girly and cute!". Let me circuvent this thought, in case anyone thinks I am being snobby, aloof, or pretentious in saying so: No, do yourself a favour and get some really nice "girly and cute" pink juice: like Miracle So Magic, Kelly Calèche, Guerlain'sInsolence or Gucci Eau de Parfum II in that paper-weight heavy bottle. They do exist. Just not into the cubicle-farm of A Scent Eau de Parfum Florale...
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 createdLe Labo Baie Rose 26with 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.
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!
Created in 2007 by perfumers Harry Frémont and Jacques Cavallier for the Tom Ford Private Blend line, Tuscan Leather is an atypical leather fragrance not quite for everyone; leather enthusiasts might find enough quirks and crannies to elaborate on, but still be puzzled by its antithetical, polarising nature.
On one hand, the introductory blast of petrol fumes plus red fruits (mainly the tart scent of raspberries) is not exactly conductive to what people have come to expect from luxury leather blends. The expected pipe tobacco-leather upholstery richness with its fruity, bittersweet and whiskey nuances contrasts intellectually with the effect witnessed here. We have also been familiarised with the fuzzy apricot and amaretto-apricot-pits ambience of Lutens's Daim Blond, for a suede-like scent, but the tartness of berries offsets the leathery pungency here rather than mollify it. The leather perfume note in the Tom Ford is rubbery, smoky, like shoe polish and cool tires. If your elegant leather ideal has always been Chanel's Cuir de Russie, Tom Ford proposes a modern take on leather, but with much less vanilla and musks than in Bvlgari's rubbery Black.
On the other hand, pungent but restrained and under specific circumstances even velvety, with a true leathery note like a nubuck handbag fresh off the mending shop, Tuscan Leather is a cross between luxury items, new bucket seats in your new Bentley and furniture polish smeared generously on wooden planks. The leathery nuance by saffron, bittersweet, fits perfectly. There is even a hemp like note, and I was under the impression I was delusional until I saw The Non Blonde claim the same. The terpenic, pine-like facets, revealing themselves through resinous citrusy elements (frankincense being one), are jarring, instead of airy or citric like in Etro's Gomma. Perhaps even more jarring by the addition of an oud base, a direction in which Montale followed with his Aoud Leather two years later. Perversely, the more the fragrance stays on, the more the raspberry comes through. Trippy!
Essentially linear, Tuscan Leather projects well and lasts average. In a pinch, if you sprayed Givenchy's Hot Couture over a gritty leather armchair, preferably in a newly polished library, you might start getting what this is all about. Butcher on women's skin than on men's but also sweeter in the final whisper, it's a unisex fragrance like all the Tom Ford Private Blends, which demands trying on first. It's not for shy, girly-girl women or men lacking self confidence.
Notes for Tom Ford Private Blend Tuscan Leather:
Raspberry, thyme, saffron, jasmine, olibanum, leather, oud/aoudh/agarwood.
Tom Ford Tuscan Leather is available in 50ml and 100ml bottles (from what I have seen, other Private Blends come in 250ml) of Eau de Parfum in select doors where the Tom Ford Private Blend is sold.
In our quest for chypre perfumes we stumble upon a peculiar phenomenon: there are scarcely any true chypres getting produced in the last 25 years!! Why is that? The answer is two-fold and fascinating in its denouement.
First of all, there is the matter of ingredients getting replaced and restricted, with oakmoss being the most crucial and prominent one as mentioned before. However surely this is a very recent phenomenon that only lately has seriously affected perfumers and houses into producing fragrances that do not make use of this elusive, wonderfully sensual ingredient. For example it was only at the beginning of the year thatMitsoukobegun its journey into its latest reformulation, the one that lowers the oakmoss magnificence into the accountant-minded IFRA guidelines. Perhaps it's just as well that the process is going slowly in those instances so one can stockpile a favourite version/vintage while they still can. Labdanum is also slowly being replaced by other ingredients.Miss Dior, this legendary New Look debutante has had a makeover by Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. The effect is not quite as endearingly old-fashioned as it used to be. The sister fragrance (or should I say evil step-sister?)Miss Dior Cherie is the new direction in which the pendulum swings.
Nevertheless there must have been something else besides ingredients' embargo at play, influencing trends and production, which we will explore in another installment on the Chypre series real soon.
In the meantime, it might be interesting to note that after what seemed a total eclipse of chypres in releases of late years, there has been a new category of fragrances coming out slowly but surely that although not typical of their family they bear the illustrious label regardless.
They encompass lovely watercolours like Narciso for Her by Narciso Rodriguez, the coquette qui fait la coquinne Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel (classed either as floriental or fruity chypre, leaning more to an orientalised patchouli), the grapefuit laden abstraction of Ralph Lauren's Pure Turqoise , the sexy safron rosiness of Agent Provocateur that might have been at the vanguard of the trend.
These new entries into the galaxy of chypre have been ingeniously coined by Ayala Moriel as "pink chypres", simply because they exude a modern, young and girly air that is a novel take on the old sophistication of a classic chypre.
Michael Edwards, the man who is responsible for the "Fragrances of the World" system is classifying them under the "mossy woods" umbrella as evidenced in the Sephora directory. Oakmoss is mentioned in the introductory note, yet it is distinctly shunning the invitation in several of those listed.
But then how conclusive are fragrance families and categories anyway?
Referenced in the series "Que sais-je?" in the volume Le Parfum Jean Claude Ellena notes:
I've taken part in the perfume classification committee of the Société Française des Parfumeurs, but nowadays I wonder what its use really is. [...]In today's olfactory classifications, I believe that the most valuable information lies in the perfume's date of creation, its name, and the name of the brand that launched it on the market. The date allows us to put perfumes in an evolutionary perspective (as long as we are able to smell them), while product names and brands give us some indication of the degree of creativity involved in each company. (p. 77-78)
Clearly this is a renouncement of formal classifications and perhaps a rather elitist streak, one might say, that runs into this 60 year old minimalist perfumer responsible for such masterpieces as First by Van Cleef, Declaration by Cartier, the Hermessences and the Jardin series (en Mediteraneeand sur le Nil) for Hermes and numerous others. But then again Jean Claude has a family which cherises aromas in everyday life and sits down to Christmas dinner hiding little aromatic gifts under the napkins. His daughter is also a perfumer, Cecile Ellena, the co-nose of The Different Company. It goes with the territory.
With that in mind, if we choose to take his side, this new category of chypres is worth exploring even though they lack the characteristic bergamot-oakmoss accord that is typical of the classics of yesterday.
So what goes into the production of those modern chypres?
The typical bergamot top of classic chypres has long been known to be phototoxic, resulting in brown patches on the skin upon exposure to UV radiation. It has been advised ever since I can recall to avoid placing perfume in spots that would be exposed to the sun, exactly because of that. And it has been well-known and accepted for decades. Why it has become such a derisive issue now, which demands the restriction of its use in minute amounts or the clear labelling on the box, is a matter that has to do with complicated legal reasons and the fervent desire of companies to not get entantangled in judicial battles that would cost them fortunes.
Bergamot has thus been shunned for other citrusy and bright top notes that include fresh and slightly bitter grapefruit, sweet mandarin and tangerine (like in Miss Dior Cherie), homely orange in some cases, and even floral essences that marry the florancy with the high volatility and sparkle of hesperides, like neroli or even orange blossom (as is the case in Narciso which uses a synthesized orange blossom that is also apparent in this year's launches for men Dior Farhenheit 32 and Gaultier Fleur du Male).
Fruity notes such as mangosteen (Hillary Duff With Love), lichi, watermelon and passion fruit (Masaki Matsushima Masaki), strawberry (Miss Dior Cherie)and berries (Badgley Mischka) are also appearent, although this might have to do with the overuse of fruity aromas in perfumes of recent launch anyway.
Sweet gourmand touches (caramelised pop corn of Miss Dior Cherieand creme de cassis in Badgley Mischka) might also be attributed to that and not to any desire to revolutionise the chypre notion any further. Which is just as good...
Oakmoss and labdanum have been substituted by grassy, pungent vetiver ~that aromatic root from Java that is the dream of every engineer as it binds itself into substructure; and by patchouli ~that indian bush with the sweet smelling leaves that produce the most potent smell in the vegetal kingdom. The two have been the base accord of almost every new chypre to emerge since 2000 and are going steady in their triumphal marching into perfumery even in seperate capacities. They are tremendously popular notes in both feminine and masculine perfumes.
Often spicy notes, such as coriander (Emporio Armani City Glam Her), or herbal ones, such as angelica, mingle with various musks to accent the murky character of the new chypres. Producing thus oeuvres that although they bear no relation to the old-fashioned intense warmth and powder of their predecessors, they appeal to similar audiences; audiences who have been conditioned to love chypres since childhood perhaps, be it from received memories through beloved family members, or through an appreciation for the unidentifiable character of those Old World sumptuous fragrances.
In any case the future for modern chypres is looking very bright indeed!
Next installement will tackle matters of aesthetics.
Top pic sent to me by mail unaccredited, pic of Narciso bottle courtesy of Nordstrom.com
" It isn’t just the likes of Byredo, L’Artisan or Serge Lutens that are experimenting with perfumes packed with dark mystery, even Christian Dior and Yves Saint Laurent are jumping onto the oud bandwagon with their recent launches. The arguments being offered for this trend are that fragrance has always been divided into two camps: French (floral, girly, sophisticated, subtle) or American (fresh, upfront, clean). But there is a third camp: sexy, dirty, animalistic, darker… And the niche perfume houses have catered to this third camp."
[source]
One might even argue that these divides are not so neatly divided as that! In fact the author of the quote, Vir Sanghvi, goes on to mention "dirty" French scents and one he's drawn to himself, Piguet Bandit, which he finds "dirty" even though he notes the French don't ~for what it's worth I don't particularly either. What's more I don't find American fragrances to always be "upfront & clean" either (cue in Youth Dew, Aromatics Elixir etc. )
Additionally, "fresh" seems to have gone through an historical trajectory. I was contemplating this while replying to one of my readers regarding the popularity of fruity notes in fragrances the other day, thinking that as consumers we have removed ourselves from the notion of "fresh" of yore. Back then, in the middle section of the 20th century "fresh" meant soapy scents (full of aldehydes, rose-jasmine and musks) or grooming rituals (the shaving foam impression of a good masculine fougere, the face and body powder dry aura of a mossy fragrance or one rich in aldehydes and musks). Nowadays we have been conditioned to believe that fresh is equivalent to the scent of the products we use in our showers; most shampoos have a fruity aroma (usually peach, berry combinations, grapefruit and green apples). So do shower gels, cleansing products and other paraphernalia of cleaning rituals, be it for body or home use. So "fresh" as a concept has significantly shifted.
Still, it's fun to contemplate, do these divides help make a distinction between different sensibilities? Are they regionally/culturally founded? Do you find yourself mostly in one camp as opposed to another and why/why not?
Much as I was predisposed to at least enjoy the unashamedly girly Idylle Duetand dislike the sanctimonious (I thought) Shalimar Parfum Initial,both new releases by the historic house of Guerlain, the perfume gods tipped the scales off and landed me into a case of reverse hubris: I found myself being quite lukewarm on the former, while enjoying very much the latter! How's that for irony?
Indeed Shalimar Parfum Initial, credited to perfumer Thierry Wasser as well, is in almost an unrecognisable style to the other feminine release of this year: rich, satisfying, with a smoothly polished texture like silk moiré, it bears little relation to the anaemic and maudlin composition ofIdylle Duet. A sufficient dose of healthy scepticism had struck me like a ton of bricks upon setting eyes on the press release images of the new flanker to the iconic Shalimar: a pinkShalimar, for Christ's sake? Isn't anything sacred? My eyebrows were reaching the roots of my hair in exasperation! But upon testing the actual jus on my skin and letting the blotters, lavishly soaked with it, on my desk for some days I realised that, corny as it might sound, we're not to judge a book by its cover. Shalimar Parfum Initial is the brave, valiant and well-crafted effort of Wasser and Guerlain to present the house with their own Eau Première, much like Chanel did with their own numeric monstre. After all, much of Guerlain's prestige resides indeed with such venerable classics as Mitsouko and Shalimar.So, what's wrong with "Mon Premier Shalimar", the tagline for this flanker fragrance, assuming the juice is good? Absolutely nothing, that's what.
From a marketing angle, everything is set for success with Shalimar Parfum Initial, aiming at the target Guerlain is so keen on attracting, the fashionable 20-something to 30-something woman with money to spare: The warm pink-fleshy tint of the liquid is familiar to consumers of fruity and gourmand perfumes, attracting them by the token that the colour of the juice is indicative of something more than just a pretty shade. The boosting of citrusy notes up top (the synthetic bergamot is not wildly different than the one used in the reformulated classic, yet it smells more vivid and more vibrant here) give the necessary "freshness" that is a sine qua non for modern audiences. The lush vanilla and tonka ensure that the trademark sultriness of the seductive original is not lost nevertheless. The beautiful bottle (much sleeker in real life than in images) is tactile, friendly, yet imposing too; its deep blue cap with a tiny ribbon attached an homage to the classic design but also a pretty object that presents itself as something novel. Naked Natalia Vodianova posing in the advertisements of the perfume, shot by Paolo Roversi, is testament to the fact that both men and women stop to stare (and occasionally ogle) at a beautiful supermodel who promises sex at the wink of an otherwise nubile eye.All boxes checked for the marketing team, thank you very much!
The composition of Shalimar Parfum Initial focuses on a precarious balance: the standard oriental accord of bergamot and vanilla is fused with zesty orangeyand light notes which "lift" the base up much like Shalimar Lightdid with its lemon cupcake opening modernising the old standby admired on grandmas and mamas, but shyed away from my the daughters. Still, what would Shalimar be without the come hither? Guerlain quotes rose petals and jasmine for the floral elements, but it's essential to note that should you be searching for florals, you should look elsewhere: this is a wonderful and wonderfully oriental specimen with little flowery prose; all heaving, all sighing, with the seductive warmth of tonka beans (rich in the cut grass and hay note of coumarin) and of rich, caramelic vanilla pods on woods and what seems like the resinous opoponax. The addition of fresh, warm and sweetish white musk is something that would be polarising for the standard perfumista in search of more complex, "dirtier" musk, but the growling part is transmitted through the low hum of the smoky base that is as animalistically seductive as a rutting beast, just hiding beneath the subtle eroticism promised by the top notes. If I were to find a fault with Shalimar Parfum Initial it is that in essence it is no less than the 4th re-twinkinling of the tried & true Shalimar Light Eau Legere recipe in search of a frontman presenting it to the public now that Jean Paul Guerlain is exiled from his own house...
Shalimar Parfum Initial is available as 40ml, 60ml and 100ml of Eau de Parfum concentration, available from major department stores.
I am coming back after a brief comment on the teaser of the new film for Dior's J'Adorefilmed exclusively in the 'Galerie des Glaces' at the 'Château de Versailles' and after my lukewarm reception of another anticipated commercial (Trésor Midnight Rose for Lancôme with Emma Watson). In the complete film for Dior, Charlize Theron struts once more in a gold dress (what else is new?), this time down the catwalk, being utterly gorgeous (of course, we knew that already since 2004 when she debuted as the face of the J'Adore Dior fragrance and weird thing...being greeted by kiss, gaze or envious greediness successively by Grace Kelly, Marlene Dietrich & Marilyn Monroe!
Of the three Kelly looks like she was literally "cut out" from To Catch a Thief being the most convincing (she was digitally added after all), Marlene looks like an impersonator in the familiar cheekbones-to-slice-cheese-with & stockings-under-a-jacket routine, while Marilyn is the poorest of them all in a justifiable punishment for hubris (watch those over-lipglossed lips in that reflective lighting), squeeling J'Adore in girly tones reminiscent of Gentlemen prefer Blondes; wait, though, wasn't she known for her predeliction for Chanel No.5? No matter, Dior (and LVMH who own them) is taking icons right and left and attributing them a penchant for the brand, probably because they can. They're crying for copyrights any chance they get, but they're using icons like there's no tomorrow.Cool, huh?
The weirdest thing though is this perfume commercial has been directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud, a director famous for his grand scale scope, mastery of silence & landscape (watchL'Ours, Quest for Fire, Seven Years in Tibet), his breathtaking, very human love scenes (see Enemy at the Gates, L'Amant, or The Name of the Rose) and the recurring theme of civilization affecting the natural world. I see none of these here, so what was the point of hiring Annaud in the first place in this stage in his career? (He had directed several ad commercials at the end of 1960s and in the 1970s).
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 Blondof 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.
If you doubt your eyes, you can never doubt your nose, it seems. It is unmistakeably capable of discerning that which the promotional material might deny. It has the ability to get not only molecules stuck in its receptive velcro but also memories, associations and musings. And it was thus that Daisy by Marc Jacobs entered my consiousness: as the memory of another scent. Marc, darling, I know you have Sofia Coppola as a muse; you have made this clear many times from the bags to the shoes to the perfumes. I wonder does she use Light Blue by Dolce & Gabanna too apart from her other favourites? Because frankly this is what your latest reminds me of vividly; oh, so vividly!
At first I did a double take not willing to believe what I had read about it. I had even posted about its notes which come in quick succession; like a fussilade in the face of ugliness they read: top notes of wild strawberry, violet leaves and ruby red grapefruit, a heart of gardenia, violet and jasmine petals on a base of vanilla and musk. And yet, if we compare with the notes for Light Blue: Sicilian Citron, Bluebell, Granny Smith apple, Jasmine Sambac, Bamboo, White rose, Cedar wood, Amber, Musk ....what do we get? Close to nil... Because apart from jasmine and musk (which surely are in about 99.9999% of all feminine perfumes) I fail to discern what makes those two so similar. Granted, the citrusy burst of Light Blue and the woodiness of its base set it apart (and probably are to blame for the accolades it's getting right and left). Basically a classic in the making, Light Blue has been selling crazily and especially in the Mediterranean countries it's something akin to putting on your instant personal gelateria with icy cold smoothies to enjoy all day long. It gives the impression that if you lick it off your arm your tongue will climax.
The tendency to follow in a bestseller's shoes is not new of course and the examples of perfumes who did just that is legion - like the Antichrist, one might humorously say. This is neither the space nor the time to talk about it, we have other posts to concern ourselves with that in the near future. It is enough that fairly recently Moschino came out with something that is also quite close to Light Blue: his I Love Love ~arguably one of the silliest names in the known universe, yet a decent enough little potion. Of course if we compare notes, we see that it features: orange, lemon, grapefruit, redcurrant, tea rose, lily of the valley, cinnamon leaves, tanaka wood, cedarwood, musk. Ah...a bit closer. But still! Marc in a rare confessionary mood divulged that
“I don’t want to get too artsy about inspiration, but there is a sense memory, a reference, in fragrances”
Uh huh...thought so.
Not that Daisy smells exactly like Light Blue because it doesn't. And what would be the use of it, if it did? This is of course perfume no man's land as no one wants to answer this question it seems. But give a well-known recipe a little twist and it will sell like cupcakes. This tendency has resulted in an homogenization of the market that is to its detriment, alas, yet perfumers and companies persist regardless.
The promotional material for Daisy reads:
"a sparkling floral scent - fresh and feminine, with a touch of whimsy. A modern vintage that embodies effortless charm."
I have to admit that it is a very nice, inoffensive, pleasant little scent that would be a lovely foray of a budding into womanhood young thing that loves to have an adorably pretty bottle on her dresser. Because Marc, really, you outdid yourself after those spartan Splash bottles of yours! This is sooooo cute, so girly, so fashionably whimsical that fans will come in droves to the stores eager to give you their cash for this. Three little daisies of vinyl with a center of metallic gold adorn the cap, with a little matching "belt" underneath it. It's much better in person, because the petals are bendable and soft. And it makes me wonder why Marc was reportedly not content with it and thinking of changing it a bit. That would be miscalculation, Marc, I must warn you!
Of course daisies do not smell per se. But who gives a damn? This is fantasy land and Marc is saying it himself:
“Daisies don’t smell, but I wanted to evoke the feeling that you get when you see them — happy and youthful. My gardenia and jasmine scents [Marc Jacobs for women and Blush Marc Jacobs, respectively] are more singular and definitely more ‘designer’ scents. I don’t want to say they’re older, but they’re more sophisticated.”
I admit that Blush is my choice out of his mentioned scents for its crystalline transparency that weaves its spell to you despite your best efforts and his Winter Amber Splashwas powdery goodness to me. I don't know however if I would term them terribly sophisticated. It might have to do with different perceptions. Daisy is abstract, beginning on a tang of berries -a very popular note in noughties perfumery- seguing on to a floral theme of indeterminate fugue that ascertains Alberto Morillas's artistry, but perhaps betrays his innovative spirit (his list of creations is fascinating: click here). The sustained note of light musk on a lightly vanillic bed stays on the skin poised for hours.
All in all, Daisy is not a bad case of a fruity floral, if only because it is not overly sweet. And this is an achievement nowadays. It is sure to please and it smells good and will earn you compliments from people, most assuredly. If it comes in a too cute container, it's not its fault. It was drawn that way!
Daisy comes in an eau de toilette concentration at 1.7oz/50ml at 55$ and 3.4oz/100ml at 70$, as well as a shower gel (30$), a body lotion (32$) and a rich body butter (35$).Available from major department stores.
And for our lucky readers I have a very cute mini bottle of it available for one winner of a draw. Please post in the comment section if you want to enter the draw and good luck!!
Chypres will resume as scheduled later on...
Pic of eye from athinorama, pic of bottle from Marc Jacobs campaign
We have long suspected it. In fact we have even devoted a whole essay with empirical data to support the case on how colour plays a big role when choosing scent. But now research comes to confirm it, even though it reads much like promotion for a company promoting top-to-bottom colour & fragrance design.
"A comprehensive study from the fragrance company Arylessence says that our sense of sight and smell are closely linked and work together to help consumers make buying decisions. Color trends stimulate perfumers in the creation of new and different fragrances, the study says, and the distinctive colors of a product and its packaging set expectations among consumers about how the product should smell. Conducted among female consumers in Atlanta, the study demonstrated that people can describe the 'scent' of selected colors, and typically use the same words to describe the scent's emotional effect.
'Traditionally, perfumers have depended on the product itself for creative inspiration – or on how products in a category should be perceived,' says Arylessence President Steve Tanner. 'Our research shows that color works even more effectively to shape consumer expectations, and that the colors of a product and its packaging translate into winning fragrances that reflect the power of the whole brand.'
Don't let me catch you decanting that powerful leather juice into a bottle with pink frou frou or that sweet girly gourmand into a smooth sand-blasted aluminum can...
Chanel often comes to mind when we talk about festive occasion drenched in champagne, if only because of the reputation of aldehydes being fizzy and sparkling materials (the aldehyde sequence in No.5 is mostly citrusy and waxy, to be honest, though).
Chanel's perfumer, Olivier Polge, taking the baton from his father Jacques, had stated clearly that the legendary perfume of Chanel No 5 Eau de Toilette has no age, yet the newer edition Chanel Eau Première No.5 from 2008 would "effortlessly outshine the original without denying its relevance." The choice of words was not random, it seems. Effortless seems to comprise the very essence (no pun intended) of the bright insouciance of the newer interpretation of the venerable classic.
However great Eau Première from 2008 was, nevertheless, the advancement of tastes meant that it wasn't really appreciated by mass consumers, but only by us, perfumephiles. Logical enough, it followed the well-known formula rather closely. Therefore in 2015, the company revamped it in No.5 Eau Première 2015, in the process liquefying it according to the IFRA regulations, which made an impact around 2012.
One perfume lover once said, "No5 Eau Première is a gateway perfume to the aldehydic genre. This is a beautiful mix of soft, bright, fizzy, and powdery. Eau Première is Diet No5, about 60% the flavor but still highly pleasing."
I find myself flirting with a bottle for a long time now because it brings on that girly, lovely, fizzy quality to the fore, most of all. It's not the aliphatic aldehydes' cluster of perfumery materials that made the older versions waxy and clean-soapy; it's the brightness of its facade that belies its being born with a silver spoon in its mouth. It reminds me of New Year's Day mornings sipping champagne and eating eggs Benedict at a posh hotel dining room after a night out dancing. It's festive, dazzlingly bright, ethereal, and with its hopes for the best risen to their apex.
The balancing act of the fragrance lies in judging how the citrusy freshness extends and rejuvenates the rose in the heart; there's a delicate, wisp-like chord of citrus and rose. What has kept me then from owning a bottle? Poor performance, mostly, as I have mentioned in an article I wrote "Eau Couture for Chanel No.5 L'Eau". Yet it smells good and puts good-natured charm in one's mien.
There's a time and place for that, too, and champagne bubbly for January of a new year could not meet with a more reliable ally.
Careful: the 2008 edition had a tall architectural bottle resembling that of Elixir Sensuel, while the 2015 edition has the classic squared shouldered bottle of No.5.
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Rogeon established herself at Les Jardins du Palais Royal in Paris before Serge Lutens, in 1991 and they co-exist happily side by side ever since, a visit garlanded with memories of girly romanticism stacked against mystical opulence. Many of the original Rosine fragrances were created by legendary perfumer Henri Alméras, the composer of several legendary Jean Patou fragrances {click link for reviews} as well as Emannuel Bouler and Maurice Shaller. François Robert (for Rose d'Homme), Pierre Bourdon (for Roseberry), and Camille Latron (for the newer releases) have all contributed to the re-issued portfolio of Les Parfums de Rosine. The compositions follow a simple rule: They're above all dedicated to the kind of flowers, the rose, in various guises and manifestations. From the traditionally powder puff of iris-ladden Pousierre de Rose to the creamy, bright explosion of a pas de deux between rose and sandalwood in Rosa Flamenca through the lemony-tea infusion of Zeste de Rose and the mischievous spicy flirt to dirt of Diabolo Rose, Les parfums de Rosine offer an embarassement of riches for rose-maniacs."Paul Poiret was a ground breaking designer that freed {sic} European women from their corsets. He launched a perfume line called Les Parfums de Rosine in honor of his deceased daughter Rosine {sic}. Rogeon's grandfather was commissioned to manufacture fragrances for him but did not create them himself. Later the great depression and war came, and production ceased. Poiret came back after the war only to find himself being replaced by new fashions like Coco Chanel and his fashion house disappeared. The perfume bottles disappeared too. Rogeon, though, met them really early in her life - in her grandparents' attic. "My grandparents kept some labels and some old bottles in their attic... unfortunately the perfume was sold out - there were only labels left," she said. "I realized also during my studies that this range of perfume was really creative because Paul Poiret just wanted to use some geraniums, nobody else used it before," she said. The creativity amazed her and prompted her to revive the manufacturing. She does not follow the original bottle design but kept the logo and the tassel, and the fragrance expected of de Rosine.
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