Showing posts sorted by relevance for query what smells French. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query what smells French. Sort by date Show all posts

Monday, January 14, 2013

The Diary of a Nose by Jean Claude Ellena: Perfume Book Review

Mηδέν ἄγαν (i.e. nothing in excess)
  ~oracular statement inscripted on the wall of the Delphi oracle in Greece, 440 BC

"We have exiled beauty; the Greeks took up arms for her." 
  ~Albert Camus 

'I was born in Grasse, and yet I do not feel Grassois by nature, nor Provençal, for that matter. [...] My attachment to the place is due to my paternal grandparents, who were of Italian descent and who set up home there. [...] I love the sea and its horizon, where my gaze gets lost as the blue of the sky and that of the sea merge. I appreciate the beautiful bodies, the drape of light clothing, the discreet elegance and restraint. I have never been able to truss myself up in suits; their restrictiveness denotes a rigidness of mind and disenchantment with life. I believe in happiness, in man, in a lay spirituality; I do not trust religions. I would rather have eye contact for a long time than chatter for a long time. And, although I like to seduce, I have a sense of propriety with words. As I write this, I am reminded in particular of Camus, who wrote in L'exil d'Hélène:
"Greek thought always took refuge in the idea of limits. It pushed nothing to its full extent, not the sacred, nor reason, because it denied nothing, not the sacred, nor reason. It took everything into account, balancing shadow and light".
I have never sought to impose anything. My research is driven by a constrant desire to find a balance between what can be felt with the senses and what is intelligible to the mind. I am Mediterranean. '

  ~Jean Claude Ellena, Cabris 26 August 2010


Santorini house, Greece. Source: moonlightrainbow.tumblr.com via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest


The thought that Ellena represents the Mediterranean prototype to a T (in itself a Classical prototype of meaningful, deceptive simplicity) has been at the back of my mind since forever. I had even posed the question to the man himself, to which he had smiled. I now see why most clearly.

"The Diary of a Nose" from which the above Ellena quote originates is the USA edition of the original French title "Journal d'un Parfumeur" (Sabine Wespieser Éditeur), printed by Rizzoli ExLibris, with the official launch date for the USA being 22 January 2013. As I was sent an advance copy I was able to gauge the differences with the French original which kept me engaging company for months on end. The main difference is right there on the cover itself: the odd usage of the word "parfumeur", as in "A Year in the Life of a Parfumeur" (as well as "exclusive parfumeur for Hermès" underneath it) in what is otherwise a 100% English-speaking tome threw me off a bit. It sounds tortured and odd. But that is the only flaw.

If you had only read Rachel Cooke's Observer review of the UK-edition of Diary of a Nose last summer, you might want to reconsider your impressions. Not because this new US edition of the Ellena-penned tome (with its fuschia jacket) is any different than the British version (with the beige-peach jacket), but because Cooke missed the point entirely, much as she should have known better, being an awarded journalist with lots of experience. But such are the perils of being a journalist in general rather than a fragrance writer per se. You get all in awe of the perceived authority of Turania (because you don't know any better yourself, I presume? what gives?) and you spend more time discussing them and their views (missing some of the praise they give Ellena too!) instead of focusing on the book and its author at hand! Not to mention that if this were a real life situation it would be exceptionally rude and inappropriate to describe someone only by way of comparing him unfavorably to someone else! How is that OK in a book review?

Lucia van der Post's jacket description of Ellena as the "Mozart of perfumery" in the Financial Times is quite apt, even though those of us who are musically trained might feel the "too many notes" of the ethereal musical garlands of the classical composer are contested by Ellena's adherence to "less is more" and the laconic simplicity the perfumer aims for. But the comparison is totally understood nevertheless: Ellena makes everything seem effortless -the prime constituent of elegance- even though reading the book one realizes that the process is anything BUT effortless! Like a "Cahiers du Cinéma" auteur, he chooses the word "author" to denote that perfume composition more than anything else is an intellectual work that requires thought behind each step and one which is uniquely personal to the creator who oversees everything about it.

Ellena takes the opportunity to show how ordinary situations form his creations: a standard air flight, when he recognizes one of his creations on a passenger whose smoke remnants surface beneath it; observing the Italian language teacher's way of scheduling his day, slow, observant & dreamy; discussions with friends and people in the field or business meetings (visiting growers of raw materials in Italy, appraising the heritage at Hermès) or more sophisticated/sensuous encounters (a purposefully arranged chef-guided dinner filled with gourmet appreciation or a Japanese Kodo ritual he attends).
All these occasions provide the stepping stone into pondering (instead of pontificating) about scents and of their artistic merits in a way that defies classification, but which indirectly draws upon the extensive body of western art criticism.

The book has the major advantage of being fit to be read out of order, taking the typical form of a diary, with places and dates of entry. I find myself leafing through, returning to a page when fancy strikes, pondering for a while for meanings that take on a different nuance once I have re-sniffed one of his creations, realizing that he doesn't aim to resolve anything (like an open-ended movie, this is a book to make you think for yourself!), just to communicate his thoughts, his questions, his own maturing process. It's an invitation to a dance for two, cheek-to-cheek, rather than a carefully orchestrated performance on video for all to watch in awe.

The final chapter "Summary of Smells", an index where the author reveals a few of his tricks into producing odors  from combining two or three simple raw materials, isn't meant as a chemical cheat sheet into how his perfumes are composed, nor to be parroted by bloggers and writers; it's a game he beckons us to play so as to gain insights and prompt us to experience things anew.
His entry for OLIVE for instance reads:
"This smells describes the Mediterranean single-handedly. From black olives to olive paste, via olive oil, my nose and palate find endless connections: smells of truffles, castoreum, human smells, smells I am drawn to.  
castoreum
benzyl salicylate 
To which you can add styrax resinoid and thyme if you want to produce the taste of olive paste."



Ellena's prose is tender, unpretentious, ethereal like Giono's stories or Japanese ink calligraphy, and deeply personal. Because, beyond the "search for beauty", art is defined by the purposeful will to communicate something from creator to public, and that something can never be non personal. The more impersonal and all-encompassing that message tries to be, the less artistic the end result becomes. And this is the gist (and gift!) of Ellena's diary...

As the oracle would say "make your own nature, not the advice of others, your guide in life." [1]

The Diary of a Nose: A Year in the life of a Parfumeur 
by Jean Claude Ellena 
Rizzoli ExLibris, an imprint of Rizzoli New York 
ISBN: 978-0-8478-4042-7 
Hardcover 24.95$

[1] oracle given to Marcus Tulius Cicero by the Delphi oracle in 83 BC

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfume Books reviews & news


Monday, July 18, 2011

Historical Smells Recreated in a Library of Scents at Osmotheque USA

"To put smells in a historical context is to add a whole dimension to how we understand the world. Boston’s Back Bay, for instance, has at different times been filled with the smells of a saltwater marsh, a cesspool, horses, and car exhaust. Some smells vanish, new ones arise, and some shift in a way that tells a cultural story. The jasmine and leather notes of a Chanel perfume from 1927 help us understand the boldly androgynous women of the flapper era, just as the candied sweetness of the latest Victoria’s Secret fragrance tells us something about femininity today."

To that end Roman Kaiser, a Swiss fragrance chemist, developed "headspace" (a method in which the air around an object, usually a living flower, is analysed and the scent recreated in the lab afterwards) while Christopher Brosius (of CB I Hate Perfume and formerly Demeter Library of Fragrances) has used that headspace technique to recreate more imaginative smells, such as fur coats or worn paperbacks. Others have made this an organized goal in the form of an archive, a veritable library of scents to speak, such as the Osmothèque, headquartered in Versailles, France, which keeps a collection of historically important perfumes, in their original formulas, chilled in aluminum flasks in argon, an inert gas that won’t react with the perfumes like oxygen does, helping them stay stable over time. "Laudamiel is currently spearheading an effort to bring some of these perfumes to New York City, and has created an Academy of Perfumery and Aromatics that will represent the Osmotheque in the United States."

Christophe Laudamiel, a renowened French perfumer who has a daring approach to fragrance and was responsible for the re-enactment of the smelly scenes of the novel Das Parfum (which materialised into a collector's coffret for Thierry Mugler),  is taking advantage of recent breakthroughs in historical exploration for his curating the US-based "library of scents", such as having McHugh of Harvard Universiaty turning on his list of detailed formulas of perfumes and incense encountered in Sanskrit texts; often to intriguing results, as the wealthy Brahmins who took notes on those scents described them in positive and occasionally in negative light. For instance, one of the fragrances Laudamiel has reconstructed contains notes of clarified butter, milk, mango blossoms, honey and sandalwood, while another reeks of rotting flesh, smoke, alcohol and garlic!

Perhaps the greatest challenge lies not in recreation however, but in context: How the people of the time experienced those smells, rather than how they smell to us today, as evidenced by the somewhat lacking recreation of smells in the Jorvik Viking Center in York, England, which takes visitors into the experience of smelling a fish market or a Viking latrine. The challenge of integrating the historical experience into smell recreations is what lies ahead.

data/quotes from Courtney Humphries "A whiff of History" in Boston.com. Read it in its entirety here.

photo of arc in Artemis temple in Jerash, Jordan via wikimedia commons

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Balade Sauvage for New Dior Sauvage Fragrance: Selling America to Americans

It is no secret that the newest Dior fragrance for men is called Sauvage and is fronted by Johnny Depp. Taking its cue from the famous (and revered) classic Eau Sauvage, but going of course to a whole different direction, I found the following commercial clip mighty interesting for the following reasons, brought to my attention thanks to my dear reader Cacio.


First of all, we've seen perfumers talk before in press clips, but never before, if memory serves me right, in such a scale. This is a mega production that uses a whole panoply of cues: the materials of the fragrance, the link between scent and memory, director shots of parts of the commercial we might never see in the cinema and online, and a...voice over.

Francois Demachy, the Dior perfumer behind this creation, is given the veneer of an American movie-goer's memory of a memory: of the voice overs of movies to follow, of trailers. In constant anticipation of what will follow, not what is in front of you. Trailers have this paradox into them, you see. Watching a trailer, especially nowadays, is like having seen the movie, or at the very least the very best parts of the movie. It aims to catch your attention, to make you exclaim "wow, that looks like an excellent movie" and make you seek it out and pay the ticket to watch it in full, but at the same time it also leaves you with the partial satiation of having actually experienced the movie (at least they do to me). Possibly this commercial clip is doing the same for the fragrance. In constant anticipation for the smell to come it sort of gives away the clues into what it smells like. It delivers before it actually hits the nostrils. Maybe I'm too critical, that could be. Maybe I prefer a little bit of mystery.


The other thing is that this clip, and the official commercial as well, tries to sell very American things to -I suppose predominantly- Americans. Which is funny, if you think about it, since Christian Dior is one of the Frenchiest brands and the official commercial is directed by that most French of French directors, Jean Baptiste Mondino, responsible for some of the most iconic images in advertising ever.

The semiotics reads like a lexicon of symbols: The desert, the wide open space, the open road, the deserted fairgrounds, the light that glimmers at the end of the road, both an effect of heat and distance and the cinematic familiarity of the camera lens showing you the experience instead of you actually experiencing it. Laundromats and wild horses, and most of all heavy Mustangs or similar cars traveling outside the urban landscape. Francois Demachy the perfumer stands atop the skyscraper of offices and dreams of the anticipation of open space, or the memory of it, it is not clear. Johnny Depp on the other hand buries his past in the dirt of the desert to divest himself of memory.

In the end, Sauvage stands as an invitation to fondly recall what we already know (the images and the ingredients of the perfumes, even those openly admitted to be synthesized, which is a nice touch) or to explore something that lies ahead and we don't? It all depends on the audience that views it, their experiences, their associations, their familiarity with what is being shown.

What do you think?

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Madeleine, a Smell Camera: Capture the Scents you Want with High Technology

Wouldn't it be wonderful to have had the smell of your beloved's hair captured into more than a curl-containing locket dangling from your neck? What about your dearly departed terrier, his fluffy paws and the buttery spot between his ears? And isn't the smell of Coppertone and barbeque and fat crabs in sauce the perfect memento of a summer spent vacationing off Cape Cod, washing over you like solace on a grey winter's day when everything seems dross and bleak? The way of high technology has looked like the final frontier to pin down smells, those most elusive sensual stimuli, escaping us in the destructive process that is smelling them (you inhale, they vanish soon after). Other posts in these pages have announced similar projects about capturing or transmitting smells via pixelized forms, but the Madeleine, an odor camera that captures the ambience around the object source, is named after the famous spontaneous memory brought over by the namesake dessert to French author Marcel Proust when he was tasting linded tea and the famous reminiscence he recounted in his "A la recherche du temps perdu". The Madeleine, with use in the perfume industry, aims to capture any scentscape and to inform via the most subliminal and potent sense of all: smell.



"Created by designer Amy Radcliffe, Madeleine is an “analog odor camera” based off so-called ‘Headspace Capture,’ a technology developed for the perfume industry to analyze and recreate the odor compounds that surround various objects. When a smell source is placed under the device’s glass cone, a pump extracts the smell via a plastic tube. After being drawn to Madeleine’s main unit, the smell goes through a resin trap which absorbs the particles so molecular information can be recorded. That data is expressed in a graph-like formula, which essentially contains a fingerprint of the smell. In a special lab, that formula can then be inscribed on a bronze disk to artificially reproduce the smell. The smell can also be recreated in small vials." [source]

So given the choice: What smells would you capture and recreate through this wonderful new gadget?

Special thanks to Trudie W. for alerting me to the news of this new gizmo!

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Frequent Questions: What's the Perfume Featured in "Single White Female" movie?

Viewers of that 1992 cult little thriller "Single White Female" staring Bridget Fonda and Jennifer Jason Leigh remember the delapidated NYC building, shot to reference the trilogy of apartment-house thrillers by Roman Polanski, and the plot which culminated into an early 1990s phenomenon. Summary? An ad for a roommate brought a stranger into Allison's life. Someone who shares. Someone who cares. Someone who borrows. Someone who steals. Someone who would kill to be her. A clinging, duplicitous psycho roommate all right! Viewers with a perfume interest however have long been perplexed on which perfume is featured in one memorable scene:

Allie brings a housewarming gift to Hedy, the psycho (played by Jennifer Jason Leigh). Upon inspecting her dresser, a bottle catches her eye; she handles the beautiful perfume bottle, sniffs off the top and dabs some on her wrists and neck. Hedy, who had been taking a shower in the adjoining bathroom, walks in on her, immediately perceives the scent in the air and comments on its use. Hedy will then proceed to offer earrings as a thank-you-in-turn gesture to Allie.
Allie:You haven't even been here two weeks and I'm already in your room.
I was just about to go through your drawers.
Hedy: That smells nice on you.
Allie:I always wanted to try that.
Hedy: Sure, anything you want. Share and share alike.
Allie:I don't really know about that. I'm an only child.


The perfume on the dresser in said scene is in a light blue, cylindrical bottle, made of opaline by the looks of it. Theories on what it might be have abounded on perfume discussion boards for years; it's a recurring question to which no one had a definitive asnwer. Till now.
A freeze-frame on the video or DVD (a common enough practice for "crazied perfumistas") reveals that the bottle is tagged "Moi Même" which means...me, myself. Given the particular context of the film, in which director Barbet Schroeder explores the subjects of what constitutes identity and the implications of identity theft (through subtle and less subtle means pertaining to appearence, comportment and later play-acting), I had assumed it was a made-up perfume prop for the purposes of the film.

The cohabitation continues and things start getting weird. As Allie reunites with her cheating fiance, Sam, Hedy has in the meantime becometoo clinging. She will try to break up the re-united couple ~in an effort to make Allie keep her as a room-mate instead of leaving with her fiance~ by sleeping with him while pretending to be Allie. She uses perfume to sneak up on Sam, aiding to convince him in the dark of the night that she's really Allie.
Hedy:Guys like you don't change. You can't be faithful. And now she'll know.
Sam: She'll know what? That you came up here and pretended to be her?
What is this hair? You're in her clothes. You're wearing her perfume!
The nuances of "stealing" someone's signature scent, like in that scene in the film, had provided the content for another essay on Perfume Shrine (which can be found in the link). At the time I had written:
"Copying someone's identity in its external manifestations and even their intellectual interests, emulating their fashion sense, their hairstyle, their makeup and colour choices and suddenly adopting the same music sense and book material can feel annoying and a little alarming for the one who is being copied: is it to be taken as a compliment or as an invasion of private space and the right to mark one's own territoty? That last part seems to me to be at the bottom of this particular annoyance. Although we have progressed from the jungle, the jungle hasn't left us: we still need to mark our territoty with the invisible olfactory stain of our id. And we do that with our loved ones and the scents we choose for them as well."
The context of that post still applies, but research has since revealed to me that the perfume in the dresser scene isn't made-up after all. On the contrary.


Two French companies have been producing perfumes by the same name: Desti* of Paris had a Moi Même fragrance launched in 1914 and Cyber, the producer of the semi-eponymous Cybera, launched another by the same name some years later. They're both art-deco scents in similar period-style containers and they would fit the context. The art director must have studied catalogues from antiques auctions or happened upon the beautiful opaline flacon browsing in some antiquerie. Certainly an art-deco bottle matches exceptionally well the art-deco building which is really the third protagonist in the film. What originally seemed random and superficial is revealed to be clever and fully intentional. More than a pretty prop, the signature scent in Single White Female stands as a meaningful and transient metaphor of self.

*In the same year, 1914, the company of Desti of Paris launched another 5 fragrances: Beatrice d'Este, Devinez (=Guess), Lilas, L'Invitation à La Dance and Saphir.

Monday, August 20, 2007

London Calling...part 4: at Roja Dove's place


When one is faced with greatness it manifests itself in no uncertain terms. Awe, amazement and a feeling of having tingles down the spine greet you upon entering one of the sacred altars of perfume, Roja Dove’s Haute Parfumerie on the 5th floor of Harrod’s, the Titanic of all stores: impressive, astounding in fact and certain to lead you to your doom. Financially speaking, that is.

Roja Dove is no stranger to perfume and his very special place in that Mecca of shoppers is magnificent. Formerly professeur de parfums at Guerlain (a title he gave himself, when they were at a loss on how to call him, as he is not a “nose” ~meaning a practicing perfumer) he is in reality a Roger who spelled his name the way it is pronounced in a heavy-set aristocratic English accent.
Haute Parfumerie was a concept near and dear to his heart, as it is meant to work like a museum and a shop combined: among the myriads of vintage bottles in opulent Bacarrat crystals there are many recreations and infinitesimal versions of favourite smells for customers to pick and choose, so that they are guaranteed to find their perfect holy grail scent or just the latest fling with which to dance the night away. All subject to their taste.

The grand staircase that recalls an Egyptian tomb fit for a Pharaoh in a modern version of Liz Taylor’s "Cleopatra"is nowhere near possible to describe without being unjust and the evocative lighting of the space is akin to entering a shrine to the high priest of perfume indeed. Rows and rows of vintage bottles with impressive names stand in aloof poise, among them the Bacarrat rarity Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes (=sacred tears of Thebes ~fit for the Egyptian theme!), Nina Ricci’s discontinued classic Coeur Joie (=heart of joy), Ombre Rose by Jean Charles Brosseau with its rich powdery hay and oppoponax base or the individual Caron masterpiece of Ernest Daltroff En Avion, dedicated to aviation and its brave first steps. Indeed they do have many of the Caron urn perfumes: those are the pure parfum/extrait perfumes that the venerable French house only sells from big crystal “vats” at their boutiques by request.
They also have the rare gems of Christian Dior from the days of their illustrious past: Diorama and Diorling. They are too beautiful to dismiss in a single expletive, so they deserve their own space and time in the near future to which you will be treated shortly.

Additionally Roja has created some individual scents for selling there, as I found out for about £2000 a bottle. The price being prohibitive I was reluctant to even try them out for fear I might have to break down and put a little mortgage to acquire one of them. On the other hand he is also launching three more moderately priced yet quality superior feminine scents for the upcoming season (October to be precise). They are based around one fragrance family each and they are named Scandal (a rich white floral), Enslaved(an oriental) and Unspoken (a chypre).

Roja’s theory of why smell is so important to us is interesting though and worth recounting. He maintains that the part of the brain that deals with odour is empty when we are born and we spend the first years of our lives (well into our puberty and beyond, I get to understand) forming preferences and distastes. This might be the reason why babies and small children often do not have a notion of “bad” smells and they venture into skatole-filled adventures that would make us shudder. It might also explain why there are definite preferences in certain aromas when we grow up that we can’t seem to shake off: they just move us on a deeper level, reminiscing of our childhood experiences and memories.

Roja elaborates that this is what is called an “odour profile”, sounding very much like a special FBI agent intent on capturing a serial killer, and in a way, you might want to think that smell is a serial killer, the way it strikes again and again and again with shocking results every single time. This odour profile constitutes what we find appealing and what not and also pinpoints which fragrance families tend to attract us more, giving a glimpse into our personalities in the process. This also coincides with what Mandy Aftel has to say when creating a bespoke fragrance for a client, by the way. She maintains that you can judge somewhat the tendencies of a personality according to the basenotes they choose for their tailor-made fragrance: shy or conventional types go for vanilla; hell-cats go for hay or blond tobacco and so on.
It’s an interesting thought, to be sure.

To revert to the subject at hand though, Roja continues by elaborating on how to choose an appropriate scent for oneself, using the odour profile. First there is some testing to determine which fragrance family is most appealing in general. For general purposes this is three-fold, encompassing floral, chypre and oriental. It is essential to clarify at this point that this is not meant to exclude one from the other or indeed disregard the nuances of cross-pollination that very often happen across families. It is simply a matter of simplifying a basic tendency that might produce more recommendations that would be most suitable. It doesn’t mean that a person can’t very well enjoy certain fragrances from all those families above.
Indeed after establishing a preference, one then goes through a process of elimination and specification that involves smelling separate notes. This is done through the use of scented candles, Diptyque it was from what I recall, and they let you smell the glasses they came in and share your impressions, as those particular candles are single-note based. My own preference for Oak, Oeillet, Jasmine and Pomander resulted in recommendations of Bellodgia, Mitsouko, Bal a Versailles and Coup de Fouet. Oh, dear, I already knew that…, I inwardly think.
Still, the process is fascinating, especially as there is no divulging of what you are smelling till after you have proffered an opinion. Which maintains the quintessential factors of a good test: objectivity and no influence by advertising or packaging.
I highly recommend the trip!



Pic "Favourably inclined" originally uploaded by cishikilauren /flickr

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Joan of Arc & Egyptian Mummies: Tied by Scent

Some of the most fascinating scopes of the smell-study do not revolve around commercial fragrances at all. One area which provides us with phenomenal and astounding observations on the role of smell is history & archeology; especially when it has to do with legendary figures.
Dr Philippe Charlier, a paleopathologist (that is, a medical expert on the ailments of prehistoric times) and medicine historian at Lille II and Paris VII universities as well as a forensic scientist at the Raymond Poincaré Hospital in Paris, has come up with an astonishing revelation: That the last remains of Jeanne D'Arc or Joan of Arc, preserved by the church as holy relics, were a hoax: in fact the lot consisted of the remnants of an Egyptian mummy!

The discovery dates to April 2007 actually, but the more impressive point is the way in which he came up to this conclusion: through smell. The scent of the remains and the essences used to embalm the dead in ancient times gave priceless clues.

A group of 20 researchers examined the reputed Joan of Arc remains at Tours (Indre-et-Loire) for months: There was a piece of a human rib ~ blackened on the surface as if charred, minor bone remnants, wood & solid matter and some linen tissue measuring 15cm. The lot surfaced in 1867 in a jar in the attic of a Paris pharmacy. They were labelled "Remains found under the stake of Joan of Arc, virgin of Orleans" and were later officially recognized by the Vatican as being authentic. What put the team of researchers into the right track nevertheless were some smart observations.

First, the remains did not appear burnt but rather embalmed. Microscopic examination revealed several pine pollen stigmata (of a type not inherent in Normandy) which are a common occurence in the resin used for embalming in Egypt. The linen tissue was chronologised via the Carbon-14 method (a destructive method, said in passing, hence its use only on the piece of linen) to the Upper Egyptian epoch of 3rd to 6th centuries BC.
Furthermore, one of the bones was actually a cat's femur. Now cats were sacrified in the pyre alongside witches during the times of witch-hunting, but they were also embalmed alongside their owners during the Egyptian times! Another clue was the labeling itself: it recalled the style and syntax patterns of the 19th century, not the 15th century when Jeanne's remains would have been amassed and preserved after her cremation at Rouen in 1431. This coincided historically with the rediscovery of the myth of Joan of Arc which happened around 1867; up till that point she had been neither canonised nor were she acknoledged as a national emblem. The supposed discovery of her remains gave substance to the legend in an era of fervent French nationalism.
The objects could have been amassed easily indeed within the inventory of a Parisian doctor or apothecary of the 1860s. Powdered mummies were routinely prescribed ever since the Middle-Ages for all sort of ailments, from stomach aches to pain due to menstruation. Even the king François 1er was known to be carrying a bit of the powder in a locket around his neck for emergencies. The cat's femur could have been a fraud on its own: an apothecary trying to pass an embalmed cat as part of an Egyptian human mummy worth its weight in gold!

Therefore, the seed of the idea that the lot was actually a major historical hoax was firmly planted. It remained to be amply justified and proven.
To that end a novel approach was opted for: "We wanted a professional nose to confirm the smell [of the relics] and identify what molecules [the smells] might be," Charlier said. Fragrance experts Sylvaine Delacourte, of Guerlain, and Jean-Michel Duriez, of Jean Patou, were called for, seperately*, to determine by smell what were the essences used and to compare and contrast with known substances at the laboratory of Dr Philippe Charlier.
According to Sylvaine Delacourte, who publicized this magnificent adventure on her blog in French, the adventure was originally aimed for something completely different: Smelling the embalmed hearts of French kings at the Basilique de Saint Denis so as to determine the essences used, but when permission was not granted for that, the mission turned to other relics to which access had been granted: Those of Jeanne D'Arc! According to mme Delacourte, the specimens smelled for cross-comparing purposes for this mission were: *Ashes of Agnès Sorel (smelling of vanilla) *hair lock from a necropolis at Ica in Peru (which smelled of licorice!) *hair lock from a woman of a Beauvais convent *remains of an Egyptian mummy and *the supposed remains of Jeanne D’Arc/Joan of Arc.

Both Sylvaine and Duriez identified soft, balsamic odours emitting from the remains. Specifically there was clearly identifiable vanilla and burnt plaster (made of sulfate of calcium), both of which coincided with the hypothesis of Dr.Charlier. Vanillin (a constituent of vanilla) is a common smell produced by corpse decomposition ~hence the "sweet smell of death"!~ and is routinely witnessed in Egyptian mummies, but it is never a product occuring in victims of pyres. The burnt plaster on the other hand seems to have been a deliberate "planting": Joan of Arc was reputed to have been cremated tied not to a piece of wood, as was the custom, but on a piece of plaster so as to prolong the agony...But it was the vanilla that didn't fit!
Anastasia Tsaliki, an expert in ancient diseases at Britain's University of Durham, said she was impressed with Charlier's detective work: "It is a fascinating project and shows how forensic methods can be combined with tools used in archaeometry [the study of archaeological materials] and archaeobotany [the study of ancient plants] and osteology [the study of bones]," she told the journal Nature. [source] And archeo-sniffing I might add. Sometimes smell really is a forgotten sense!

What is even more promising is that mme Delacourte was invited on another such expedition, this time involving headspace technology, which she promises to recount to us soon. Can't reveal more, but it is sure to amaze just as this one!

*According to the article on Future Sciences recounting the results, while according to Sylvaine herself she had the idea of inviting Duriez because they're friends and she trusts his expertise.


Part of the info comes from Jean Etienne's article, appearing on Future Sciences. Translation by Elena Vosnaki @ Perfume Shrine.

Painting Joan of Arc in Prayer by John Everett Millet. Jean d'Arc remains via Futura Sciences. Egyptian mummy via the Smithsonian blogs

Monday, December 14, 2009

Musk Series 1: A Cultural Perception of Musk

Guy de Maupassant notes in Bel Ami:

"The old woman in her turn kissed her daughter-in-law with hostile reserve. No, this was not the daughter-in-law of her dreams; the plumb, fresh housewife, rosy-cheeked like an apple and round like a brood mare. She looked like a hussy, the fine lady with her furbelows and her musk. For the old girl all perfumes were musk."
In another story (One Evening) Maupassant attributes rather different connotations to musk:

"As for me, I was moved and powerfully interested, and in the darkness I could see that little woman, that little, fair, lively, artful woman, as if I had known her personally. I saw her selling her books, talking with the men whom her childish ways attracted, and in her delicate, doll-like head, I could see little crafty ideas, silly ideas, the dreams which a milliner smelling of musk attached to all heroes of romantic adventures".

Musk weaves its thick, ensnaring plot to even grace French roads with its sonorous name. In Greek the term "musk" is called μόσχος (MOS-chos) and it denotes (in both noun and verb form) any delightful aroma, from culinary to personal!
For all its rich history and ubiquity to the vernacular, musk remains a great mystery making even perfume lovers exasperate on its multiple facets and shady nature. Some, daunted by the odorant's sheer animal nature in some compositions such as Muscs Kublai Khan by Serge Lutens, reference "Post-coital genitals", "Caligula's couch", "balls' sweat", "the armpit of a camel driver who has not been near running water in a week" (the latter by Tania Sanchez in her early MUA days) and other highly entertaining descriptors. Kiehl's Original Musk, "wears its seductive intent on its sleeve" and Musc Ravageur tries to say it all at hello.
Those musks are generally termed "dirty" or "animalic musks", even "skanky" (both in reference to the little critter and the vulgar ladies thus called) in perfume-community-lingo; they tend to reflect the intimate aura of private parts and private acts and if you have any apprehension to smells that might offend your workplace or your conservative entourage, you might give them a miss. Nevertheless to a whole bunch of enthusiasts ~myself among them~ the smell is fur-like, cozy, intimate and transcedentaly primal. Not sweaty or fecal exactly, yet with a "lived-in" quality which is inescapeably delicious.

A vast array of different musks, termed "clean musks", are available for exploring for anyone afraid of the former, their scent often reminiscent of fabric softener, your laundry detergent or even shampoo and refined body powder. Serge Lutens has the polar opposite to Muscs Kublai Khan in Clair de Musc. Some of them often take the guise of "white musk", a code-name to signify a lightly floral musk "base", The Body Shop's White Musk being the most famous example. A reviewer at Fragrantica referring to Alyssa Ashley Musk (1969) notes:


"My perception of AA Musk is a very babylike, milky, powderish scent, completely non-defined by certain age or sex or the consumer."
Perfect Veil by Creative Scentualisation, a combo of citrus, vanilla, sandalwood and musk, is termed "a casual, clean-smelling-skin scent" on Makeup Alley, a huge review site. Noa with its sparse formula is "fit for virgins and nuns" per Susan Irvine, a sentiment due to the transparent laundry-day white musks at its base. Allesandro del'Aqua and Helmut Lang make for a fascinating study in musk in their respective eponymous creations.
In some cases musks in a well-rounded composition manage to smell at once dirty and clean, like a human being in various stages of disarray. Such is the case with Chanel No.5: Its intense accord of ylang-ylang and musk, boosted by the soapy ppssshht of aldehydes (a group of predominantly synthetics that were used extensively in soaps and go well with musks) along with classical rose-jasmine, is the very core of sexy. Modern musky florals with woody bases such as Narciso For Her and Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker utilize a cooler sensation, but with the same duality inherent. Imagine your dog and its own musky odor: Doesn't its true essence come out when just out of the shower?
But, herein lies the question, like a savvy member on Perfume of Life asked recently: "how on earth did musk, a term derived from the Sanskrit word for "testicles" because of its origins, come to be associated with cleanliness?"
What is musk in terms of smell and what accounts for its varied perception?
Musk of course originates from the Sanskrit muṣká meaning "testicle," coming as it did from the genital glands of the Musk Deer (moschus moschiferus); two pouches were extracted from the animal through cruel methods that resulted in its demise and the subsequent banning of the practice. The precious pods were opened to exude their aromatic effluvium, worth twice its weight in gold, and used as a powerful fixative and enhancer in perfumes & incense since antiquity. Musk odorants as a group however include glandular secretions from other animals as well, numerous plants emitting similar fragrances (ambrette seed being the most popular, highlighted beautifully in Musc Nomade by Isabelle Doyen for Goutal; also rosa moschata), and artificial substances with similar odors synthesized in the lab. But what perfumers refer to as "musk" is in realityits odorous principle, muscone (or muskone), or 3-methylcyclopentadecanone. Its chemical structure was first analysed by Lavoslav Ružička: Muscone is a 15-membered ring ketone with one methyl substituent in the 3rd position.

Still the fascinating reality is that human "reading" of musks differs widely. What is nectar to one can be anathema to another! Cast your mind back to Napoléon and Joséphine de Beauharnais: At the Directoire period the vogue for animalics (civet, musk, castoreum and ambergris) had given way to a new freshness, ushered in by the Revolution which stigmatised the "dirty" aromatics in relation to the decadent aristocrats who were guilotined. Only a defying elite, the Incroyables and Merveilleuses hung on to them, extravagant in style, wanting to emulate classical antiquity: Their nickname became les muscadins! Napoléon loathed musk and prefered to douse himself in Eau de Cologne and rosemary essence dilutions. His women, he preferred them in violets. The scorned Joséphine in an act of cunning revenge, when she was bypassed for another woman, doused her walls at Malmaison with her favourite musk essence, making her presence painfully unforgetable. Rumour had it that a hundred years later the scent was still perceptible! The Arabs knew a thing or two of musk's tremendous lasting power when they used crushed musk and rose in the mortar of their mosques so that the buildings would exude aromatic delight when warmed by the sun. But why the different reaction to musks?

The answer is twofold: Biological and psychological/cultural. In humans, odor perception phenotypes (MSHM1 and MSHM2) often account for specific hyperosmias (a heightened perception of odorants), the best studied examples being to musk and the sweaty odorant isovaleric acid. A great explanation why one's body odour might be inoffensive to one yet very repulsive/potent to another! Recent reseach going against established biology is that musk perception and sensitivity to it does not variate according to a woman's menstrual cycle like with some other odorants. Le Magnen in 1952 working with a dilution of Exaltolide (a synthetic musk) had found that women had significantly lower thresholds for it than men, 50% of the latter having difficulty in smelling it per se [1]
On the other hand, musk components (both natural and synthesized) are by their very nature very large molecules, bordeline undetactable due to that fact, making a large segment of the population anosmic (i.e.odor-blind) to some or other type. This is usually addressed by the perfume industry by employing an eventaille of various musk components of different molecular weights, so that if one doesn't click on the brain's receptor, another will. The most common anosmias are towards Androstenone (a sex pheromone possessing a musky facet) and Galaxolide (a very common synthetic "clean" musk), while there seems to be evidence of recessive inheritance for pentadecalactone sensitivity in humans; the inability to smell musk behaves as a recessive autosomal trait in a study of families.

The perception of any odorant however has to do with CONTEXT, as proven by the associations of wintergreen in the US vs the UK, "beach" scents and household products in different cultures. Ergo, it's largely cultural rather than biological. Real musk (the best is Tonquin) from musk deer has a rather urinous smell in itself with pungent, borderline fecal tonalities in its raw state, NOTHING like what you encounter in perfumes termed "musk" (even by top brands). Yet diluted and mixed with floral essences (try it with rose) it becomes a warm underground murmur of intimacy. A caress...
Historically, musk synthetics were used en masse in detergents and fabric softeners, roughly at the middle of the 20th century and onwards, to mask the more displeasing chemical nuances, due to their superb hydrophobic properties (ie. musks didn't wash off) and their low price (they were synthesized on the cheap). Thus the association of the "warm" smell of clean clothes out of the washing-machine as well as the lingering smell on the clothes themselves became an association with cleanness itself! That warm "cotton" feel you like in clean laundry? Musks! Funny for a product that initially signified the glandular secretion of a rutting deer's improper parts, isn't it? There is a pleiad of synthetic musk ingredients in the market, not just one or two types (on which we will revert in detail) and therefore there is no blanket term or description for them (not even "white musk" is sufficiently accurate), as every one of those molecules has a different olfactory profile: some smel "cleaner" like dryer sheets, some more metallic, some powdery even, others still with a fruity overlay, some have a vegetal or animalic quality. Hence the confusion of the consumer, who doesn't know what to expect from a "musky" fragrance (or reporting liking some in certain fragrances and detesting others to their puzzlement).

The popularity of said scented products led to the introduction of those functional musk notes in fine fragrance: The increasingly lower percentage of real natural musk in them, resulted in a paloply of "musks" which approximated the feeling of musk rather than the smell itself. Such musks were popular in the 70s especially (following the hippy movement, as a natural progression). The "dirty" association that several Baby Boomers have with musk is not exactly related to musk itself: Talking with American independent perfumer Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, she intelligently proposed that often the association is to the dense patchouli-clouds and unwashed parts (body odor) of the hippies of their youth, as the (incidental) added layer of musk oil was par for the course for the Woodstock era and beyond. The 1970s musks tagged their product with animal magnetism: "It's what attracts!" proclaimed a Jovan advertisement progressing well into the 80s and 90s.

Functional fragrance musks were incorporated in several other types of products as the years passed: soaps, shampoos, powders, deodorants, you name it! 99% of fine fragrances today contain some type of synthetic musk to anchor notes down, especially now that the other animalics are absent; this happens whether the note is "perceived" as musk or not and regardless of being stated as a note or not in the official descriptions. Since most of them fall under the "clean musks" umbrella ~and what's more under a screechy variant of them on top~, we can expect that generation Y will have no mental associations with any of the "skanky" musks and will come to regard the symbol (musk) as the collateral signification (laundry day) rather than the primal one (animal magnetism). The most interesting mental path of them all, nevertheless, is how the companies have incorporated the latter illusion in their ad copy without including the scent of it at all, rather opting for the equivalent of a line of warm cottons drying in the breeze. "Clean musks" are marketed as attractants, as powerful aphrodisiacs, as sexually inviting, thus equating "clean" with sexy! In a culture where personal grooming is a trillion dollar business it somehow logically follows.

Perhaps it was Charles Baudelaire who saw the duality of musk best: fresh yet intimate, and dedicated it to his "dearest, fairest woman" in his Hymn in Fleurs du Mal: "Sachet, ever fresh, that perfumes the atmosphere of a dear nook; Forgotten censer smoldering secretly through the night; Everlasting love, how can I Describe you truthfully? Grain of musk that lies unseen, in the depths of my eternity."[2]


[1]D.M.Stoddart, The scented ape: the biology and culture of human odour
[2]
translation William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954) Pics via wikimedia commons, parfum de pub, mongoose.wordpress.com, Nude Painting by Amedeo Modigliani via apolloart.com.

This is part of a series on the note of "musk" and its various types. Please also refer to: Part 2: Natural Deer Musk (Tonquin Musk), how does it smell and info on Synthetic Musk Substitutes and Part 3: The Many Permutations of Musk (Musk Types on the Market)

Monday, March 24, 2008

Secrets of the Trade

There is a well-kept secret in the fragrance industry: A secret Perfume Shrine has been privy to, but not sworn to secrecy and if she doesn't reveal sources, all is well. So, my sweeties, today I will reveal it to you!
Yes, yes, I know you will cast unbelieving and imploring puppy eyes to the Shrine and ultimately want to say "Nah...Helg is having a bitchy day, that's all!". But no, I swear to you that this comes from inside info and is very credible.

We have talked time and again how it is my personal opinion based on several little factoids from observation and discussions that people when judging a fragrance rely as much on their eyes as they do on their noses, if not more. What I mean: there is the undeniable brand recognition which even though is often pooh-poohed, it usually does feature right there in the factors that contribute in making a decision to even sample a fragrance in the first place. The latest discussion I initiated on Perfume of Life on this produced interesting results. It sounds like a trusted house, a brand which produces perfumes that are simpatico to one's sensibilities or which has a interesting reputation is more likely to get customers to sample their other products as well. Of course this is not exactly inventing the wheel: it applies in so many other markets as well. But it is especially applicable in perfumery, it seems. If one consolidates a brand well enough, then customer interest will be forever piqued. This is what happened with Serge Lutens and his olfactory seraglio of lovelies. Even the less lovelies are not wont for desire to sample. Every new Serge is a thirst to be quenched! The same applies to Chanel. And in so many more ways than one.

Coco Chanel herself had the wonderful knack of knowing how to provide what women wanted, yet did not know they wanted it just yet. This is a quality that marks the successful enterpreneur from the unsuccessful one and it is -completely coincidentally I am sure- the secret of the marketability of Tom Ford and everything he touches (ewww).
But to revert to Chanel. The brand has a solid, unshakable seal of approval. It's the Homeric καλος κιαγαθος (=beautiful and virtuous): no woman -or man, for that matter- who wears Chanel could be accused of commiting a serious faux pas in the eyes of good taste. It's the brand with the highest visibility of all luxury brands, the one which most people recognise at a glance, the one who has safe-guarded its pedigree best of all and the one who has been faked most; which only serves to prove that people desire it desperately.
Chanel No.5 is so iconic that it has stayed in the top 5 of perfume bestsellers in France for years (to be slightly nudged off its pedestral by Angel in recent years) and it features among the top 10 or at least top 15 in almost every market it is available. It is this which has earned No.5 the moniker le monstre (=the monster; against which everything is compared to in terms of sales), because of its immense marketability. The thing practically sells itself.
And yet (and here is the catch), when participating in blind tests, the fragrance does especially poor! This is something that has been discussed in the corridors of Firmenich, Givaudan, International Flavors and Fragrances and the rest of those hidden pillars of capitalism for some time now. But the average customer does not frequent those places, ergo he/she is unaware of those facts. What is left is hearsay and their own nose. And so often the former is commenting deafeningly louder than the subleties of the latter.

And yet there are people who object with their nose more than their eyes. You might call it whatever you like, but it's there, it's tangible and it's a share of the market that is breathing and kicking and yielding bucks in the pocket. So not to be patronised. I came across this fascinating recount:
"i'll eventually figure out the note in perfumes like that, but right now i'm calling it "french". there are fragrances that smell french to me, it's a sharp powdery/sweet note that makes me think of grannies. maybe when i'm a granny i'll decide to smell like that.

i've tried chanel 5 on me so many times, always hoping for a different result. even in the dry down, i hate it. and i hear these young celebrities bragging about wearing it, and i think, "there's no way you actually like how that smells. you're wearing it for the name". it's been one of the most popular fragrances since it's release and i can't figure out why".
~from If Only it Were Fiction blog

Don't get me wrong: I like Chanel No.5. In fact I own some and have been enjoying it for years. It was first given to me at the tender age of 14: "every girl should try out Chanel No.5" the fairy-godmother told me. I even keep some in extrait de parfum form. But is it the be all and end all of fragrances? Probably not.

I thought you might want to be privy to this secret as well. Let's call it our secret handshake ;-)


Eddie: Sweetie, what are you drinking?
Patsy: Oh this? Chanel No. 5.
~from Absolutely Fabulous


Pic from Chanel 2001-2002 campaign courtesy of Elegant Lifestyle

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Interview with master perfumer Jean Claude Ellena


The first thing I sense in Jean Claude Ellena is his jovial, warm manner upon “C’est Jean Claude Ellena!” (This is Jean Claude Ellena!) Me, perfume writer and immense fan of his work, I feel a sense of elation as a dream has come true, due to extraordinary circumstances: a one-to-one interview with one of the truly Greats! His graciousness in granting me personally and the Perfume Shrine a big segment of his precious time is obliging and I can sense how truly charming his personality is; the things you have heard about that part are not tales. Like him or not, there is no doubt in my mind that Jean Claude Ellena is writing history as we speak. His coherent vision, his distinctive, instantly recognizable style, and his understated sense of chic have ushered in a new form of perfumes’ authoring that revolutionized the industry and has several esteemed perfumers following his lead. In 50 or 100 years from now, people will talk about him the way they’re talking about Jacques Guerlain, Germaine Cellier or indeed his former mentor Edmond Roudnitska. Not to suggest that he hasn’t cornered enough attention already! His appointment as in-house perfumer at Hermès has penned more lines than the latest Pulitzer Prize and waged quite a few jealous tongues in private. He remains unaffected, intent on his own ~admittedly ambitious, as befits his Aries, Scorpio rising, personality~ personal Ithaca; the journey is just as much an enriching pleasure as the final destination!

This interview in my mind had a core theme all along: Mare Nostrum, the Mediterranean, that infinite source of inspiration for civilizations aplenty and so I began by asking him a rather unusual question: “I have always entertained the ~wonderful to me~ idea that you have some distant Greek root in your lineage as both your demeanor & philosophical stance on life and your style of simple, austere and confident strokes is echoing the ideals of this civilization. Chandler Burr writes somewhere in "The Perfect Scent" that Ellena means “the Greek”, which is correct [Hellena is the official name for Greek, as evidenced in the now defunct royal title ‘King of the Hellenes’]. Being Greek I had always wanted to ask whether there is some truth to that, much as it is for Bulgari for instance (whose grandfather was indeed Greek, immigrating to Italy). At any rate I perceive you as very Mediterranean-inspired. Do you agree?” Jean Claude is thinking this over: “I can’t say that I am certain on this, don’t have records, but my grandmother did come from the Eastern Mediterranean, a long-time ago, the family traversing though Italy in the beginning of the 20th and finally residing at the South of France where we’re today. It’s true; the place has played an important part in shaping me, but also the ideas of the place, the ideals if you please. The Mediterranean spirit, the classical spirit of uniting beauty and la raison (reason, logic, sense) is very much my own too. This is something that has roots in Greek philosophy where beauty and reason were one and the same, but also in the problematic of one of my most favorite authors, Albert Camus. There is the entangled connection between beauty and logic, something that is very important to remember today. There is too much reason and reasoning behind everything today, especially with the Anglo-Saxon way of thinking in business, which is a bit “loud”, a bit all too present. We sidetrack beauty in favor of reason and that’s not how things should be, perhaps! My perfumes are constructed with the intention of no tricks, no labyrinths. You have to say “Ah that smells good!” That’s generous, that’s very Mediterranean. Then again there must be a minutely thought-out process, a methodology behind everything down to the last detail. But in general our century has lost la sensibilité, the sensibility; human beings have forgotten about it, resulting in a mass-market approach to everything ~products, relationships…Jean Giono’s books give that sense to life, that life has no inherent logic, no pattern. We have lost that sense of sensing the world, its strangeness and its charm”. The beautiful quote of Camus comes to mind: “At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman, and these hills, the softness of the sky, the outline of these trees at this very minute lose the illusory meaning with which we had clothed them, henceforth more remote than a lost paradise... that denseness and that strangeness of the world is absurd...”

Jean Claude’s own childhood and young age opened up vistas to this beauty that he appreciates in subtle and finer things. It’s inevitable that picturing him growing up in a family of perfumers in Grasse (his father and brother are also perfumers, as is his daughter Céline), amidst the wonderful paysage, reading Jean Giono when he was 30, I wonder if he ever dreamt that one day he would arrive where he is now. “Absolutely not! It never occurred to me. I was doing badly at school, so my father said ‘you have to work’. And indeed that’s what happened. I started in the industry and learned from the craft. Even as a small boy I’d go with my grandmother for flower-picking at dawn in the Grasse fields. At 16 I began work at Antoine Chiris in Grasse, one of the oldest perfume houses in the world and with my 4-years experience when in 1968 the Givaudan établissement opened a perfumery school in Geneva I went there. I was the first student to enroll at that school!” He apprenticed under Maurice Thiboud, even at that early time simplifying the formulae to their essentials. “I was lucky in that I met a lot of people, I learned from them, they said I had potential and they encouraged me. I was never sure of my talent, whatever that may be; but I am very certain that I enjoy immensely what I do, I can tell you that!” And now his daughter Céline is continuing in his footsteps. “You must be very proud!” “Indeed I am! Family is very important to me”. His tie with his wife Susannah, of Irish and artistic ancestry, goes back 40 years and he has kept close ties with his extended family. They all live close by and spend every Christmas under the same roof. A very Mediterranean thing, I might add!

It was at 19 that Jean Claude Ellena got interested in Roudnitska, prompted by an article in a magazine given him by his father titled “Advice to a Young Perfumer”. He found in it the spark of a new direction: simplicity! The thought has taken a specific shape in my mind: “I can’t help noticing that the Spartan outlook in life in general requires some maturity; Greeks used to say “Laconism (ie.being simple, to the point) means Philosophizing”. Usually when someone is new in any profession they want to add, to augment, to impress, to go over the top! In perfumes, that means more power, more diffusion, more notes, and more ornamentation. Your own style is pared-down, loving to subtract: if you can say a whole essay in a few lines, you do so! Do you feel that this is something you learned from Roudnitska, or was the path to simplicity and maturity in your own life that necessitated this stance?” He laughs merrily as he recalls an argument they had with Roudnitska one day talking about philosophy. “Oh, but we had fun with Edmond! Good times together! We both believed that beauty is synonymous with generosity. He was very important to me. He opened a door to perfumery; he showed a new way, that things had to be simpler than they were at the time when a formula might contain hundreds of sub compounds representing various notes. But I like to think that I am going further, progressing what he started. This Spartan outlook you talk of is a necessity that has some ideal behind it and it also has quite a French expression in music. If you listen to Ravel or Debussy ~whom I both love very much~ there is this aspect of discreet pleasure, of sensuality, an intellectualism that is not devoid of sensuousness, of sensory pleasure in its simple melodious form.” As pleasure is a sensory notion, at this point we revert on his fragrances’ style: they have the sexiness of a woman who doesn’t flaunt her charms, but rather hides more than she reveals, instigating the desire to dig deeper and see what lies beneath, and leaving things to the imagination. “This is much more interesting, more intriguing! I like that idea. I try to follow it in my perfumes.”

You might be wondering how we have come thus far without mentioning the word minimalism ~it has become almost an axiom that whenever Ellena’s name is uttered in perfume circles, the word minimalism ensues. As if it was his manifesto. I feel that some people misunderstand the term attributing to it only the “transparent”, “watery” effect of many of his fragrances while on the contrary reading his book Le Parfum in the Que sais-je? Series I understand that he attributes to it the sense of playing “note for note”: devoid of sentimentality. He is categorical on this: “I don’t ascribe myself to minimalism; this is a misconception of my work. Simplicity is not minimalism and I don’t consider my perfumes minimalistic. The thing is they don’t try to say a lot of things at once; they are what they are! They provoke an impression, a feeling, which often requires months of reading behind it. They are simple, delicate, but like we discussed before, like Impressionistic music, they certainly have sentiment, they’re not only a mental exercise!”
“Apart from the aesthetic choice is there also some practicality into opting for sparse formulae? One tends to rely much less on ready-made bases like it was customary in the past, therefore there is better control of quality/supply of raw materials (and less variability on their standards), and also it gives the opportunity to start one’s own small niche house, like you did with The Different Company. Would you agree?” I ask him. He’s quick to do so. “Of course there is the technical aspect as well. As you correctly surmise, it’s easier to control the quality levels that way and to be completely certain of the vocabulary one uses in authoring. To bring you an example, I used to use Haitian vetiver + vetiverol + acetate vetyverile but I was never satisfied. Now I have a special distillation of vetiver, tailored-made for me. Why am I doing that? Because vetiver ~which is a material I adore~ has a very earthy feel. That’s its charm but it also often overshadows the top notes, it tends to engulf everything at its stride. So this concentrée de vetiver bypasses that problem and allows me to work like I want to. On the other hand there are two patchoulis on the raw materials market today, the “clean” one which you can smell in a plethora of fragrances and the real one. But whereas the “clean” one is popular and can be incorporated easily into a formula it lacks character, it has a one-dimensional personality. On the other hand real patchouli has a distinctive character, is multi-faceted and aids my formula into being what it is, when I choose to weave it in. I only use real patchouli myself.”

The luxury market is a vast theme for discussion but one he is quite eager to discuss. I sense that Hermès has largely emerged as the ne plus ultra chic luxury house (which it always was, in its way), but also gained momentum in its perfumery section over other luxury brands ~even over Guerlain which is a classic perfumes house, at least in the eyes of perfume lovers who seek distinction. In great part this triumph can be attributed to Jean Claude Ellena: a coherence of style that never seems to try too hard (at least in the outer effect, not the creative process, naturally!). I ask him if he believes that being appointed in-house perfumer for Hermès in 2004 has been a change of course for the company, five years now into it. He doesn’t want to take full credit: “It’s a deliberate direction that Jean-Louis Dumas Hermès and Véronique Gautier have taken and I suited them. I collaborated with them into a new wave which was pre-decided for Hermès but also evolved along the way. The brand wanted a different kind of product. There was no artistic director for the perfumery section before and although I had created Amazone Eau de fraîcheur for them in 1989, I didn’t know they wanted me for in-house perfumer till the question was asked. Our first collaboration with newly appointed Véronique was for Un Jardin en Méditerranée in 2002. But I ask questions to my own style, I show a new generosity and the result came out such as you see now. The power at Hermès is that the artist calls the shots. There are no focus groups, no marketing research on what we should launch. Only very few people decide on the finality of the launch. Hermès is very quality focused”. It is a small, traditional house that wasn’t initially thought of in relation to perfumes, but which has gained a respected following. “We are not going after big money, but after good money. We propose very sophisticated products for those who have a taste for them. We do not want to become too big, just be on a normal level. The increasing of an already superior quality is in my mind the only way out of the current economic crisis ~which hasn’t hit Hermès for what is worth. I like that we have an honest approach to the customer. It’s as if we say to them ‘If you like the product (and I do want them to like the product obviously), it’s OK and we’re very pleased. But even if you don’t like the product, that’s OK too’. I don’t want to break my back trying to cajole or deceive the customer, trying to ‘win’ them at all costs, be everything to everyone! There would be dishonesty in doing that and I don’t like it. I prefer to attract the ones who can become attracted in the first place. We’re not trying to outdo everyone in this business!”

At this point our discussion takes a path into other perfumes in the upscale, luxury game, a game that is ferocious, despite appearances and although tact dictates I cannot reveal the names discussed (it’s not very hard to guess anyway) he literally chuckles mischievously as I mention that his Hermessences have created several followers of the concept down the road! He is quick to point out that the prestige card is being played a lot, which might implicate the novelty factor that the exclusive Hermessences had in the first place, being a series of fragrances to be circulated only through Hermès boutiques; as well as the big size of expensive products. “There is a very obvious, easy way to show quality, Ellena says. You either increase the price or you increase the size. These are both very visual interpretations of luxury and the eyes play an important role in the luxury market. As to whether a big bottle has any real relevance, if there is a demand for it from the customer base, then why not? I don’t find it a bad thing in itself assuming there is a use for it.” When I point out that in perfumes a big bottle poses a very tangible obstacle in being a monetary investment when building a vast collection for the fragance enthusiast (as it is such a commitment over smaller ones), he reflects a bit on the market at large. “I do think there is no more excitement due to too many things on the market. There is too much product out and companies driven by the economic approach often don’t care for repeat customers, those loyal to one or two fragrances. They know that new brings in money, so they’re launching a hundred new things instead of focusing on less. I can’t say that I approve.” However one cannot dismiss the fact that products aim to sell, even if on a level-headed schedule. Therefore my question on marketability has some bearing on this. I have been curious along with many whether the transparency and watery effects predominant in this school of perfumery which Jean Claude represents are targeted to the Asian market which abhors opulent Westernized creations and applies scent very delicately. “What would you have to say to this, Jean Claude, in relation to your scents created for Hermès, especially the latest Un Jardin après la Mousson, Hermessence Osmanthe Yunnan, the exclusive Japan-only issue Eau de Ginza based on cherry blossom {Eau de Ginza was part of specific Hermès creations- including a silk scarf- especially designed to celebrate the Hermès Boutique of Ginza re-opening in 2006} and the new Hermès Colognes?”
Since we are dispelling myths, we might as well shatter that one as well: “There is no such planning or aim behind all this. It’s not borne out of a marketing strategy, but out of an aesthetic choice mainly. It’s true that Eau de Ginza was aimed for exclusive distribution in our Ginza Boutique in Tokyo, but in general the Asian market doesn’t really feature too much in perfume buying. They are not buying many fragrances, or if they do, they only buy them for the presentation. Hermès is a smaller-scale brand, a family controlled business with a very upscale profile. It’s very well known in Japan, but not predominantly for our perfumes, more for the silks and leather goods. Hermès is very popular in France, Spain, Italy and Germany, in Europe in general, where the perfumes sell well, and comparatively not very prominent in the USA. It has a very European profile and aesthetic and this is tied to its history. It hasn’t ventured outside its boutiques, like so many designer brands have, like ~to bring an example~ Chanel or Armani have their accessories such as sunglasses or watches available outside their stores. Hermès is boutique-only with the exception of some of its perfumes and only that. This keeps a certain level in everything but also a certain smaller scale recognisability; which is fine by me!”

The notion of fragrances thought out in relation to the house’s tradition and the markets in which it is most popular brings us to the latest offerings by Hermès: a new Colognes Collection (the Hermès Colognes are more than a trio, rather a Collection with upcoming additions…) comprising Eau de pamplemousse rose, Eau de gentiane blanche (2009) & Eau d'orange verte (1979). Eau d’orange verte, originally titled Eau de Cologne d’Hermès, was created for Hermès in 1979 by Françoise Caron. Eau d’orange verte has notes of orange, mandarin, lemon, mint leaves, blackcurrant buds, oakmoss and patchouli. The other two were created by Jean Claude Ellena to launch later this spring along with the older one as a trio presentation [1]. Eau de pamplemousse rose is “somewhat classic,” with notes of grapefruit, orange, rhubofix and vetiver while Eau de gentiane blanche is aimed as “a counterpart to traditional cologne,” without any citrus notes. It contains notes of gentian, white musk, iris and incense. The bottle design for Les Colognes Hermès is uniform, derived from a carriage lantern, and housed in the signature orange of Hermès, sealed and wrapped in a ribbon-like sleeve. How did the concept came along? “The concept of the Cologne Collection came with the desire to make real perfumery, the artisan way. The Eau d’orange verte one has been a very successful Hermès fragrance because it’s simple and sophisticated, in other words it is a product which philosophically has its ties with what Hermès stands for as a house. Cologne is a product that has a rich history behind it, it’s linked to the past, to the beginnings of Western perfumery and the fragrance industry and it also has a very Mediterranean sensibility about it, l’oranger, le bigaradier, the citrus fruits, the refreshing part; but here is the challenge, to make it modern again, to tie it with today’s sensibility and needs! The Eau de pamplemousse rose is not pink grapefruit, like it might be translated; it is grapefuit and rose.” I interject that he must like that grapefruit accord as he has used it in In Love Again and Hermessence Rose Ikebana, as well as a smaller facet of it as a small rosy wink in Kelly Calèche and I ask him whether he has thought about his next Hermessence. He laughs good-humouredly once more, he laughs a lot in fact ~I sense he’s much too polite to contradict me even if that weren’t so~ and he nods. “It’s a couture version of the accord; you must smell it on your own skin! There is a special finish to it, which can be sensed when applied to the skin, can’t put it into words that well. I work on two or three projects at a time. Work a bit on one, have a little vacation, occupy myself with another. The latest Hermessence is Vanille Galante of course and we haven’t thought about a new one. It will come...”

The mention of couture brings me to another question: “Many perfumers do custom-made perfumes for wealthy patrons for a hefty fee and it’s been very au courant in ‘diluted’ form by some niche brands that supposedly ‘mix’ something for you or encourage layering of simpler notes to create something unique for each customer. Would you mind elaborating on your own antithesis to “parfumerie sur mesure?” He doesn’t hesitate one bit. “I don’t want to lie, therefore I don’t like custom-made perfume making. If you come to me and say you want something for yourself only and you describe it and it turns out you want something like Shalimar what am I going to do? Make something that pleases that side of you, something that will please your ego and conform to your desire. It would take me a couple of days and I could lie and say it took me months. But that’s not creation! There’s no vision or real artistry behind this, as it only demands a good technician. As I consider myself a good technician I would certainly be able to create that which you want, but I wouldn’t want to do that. Would you love the result in six months from now? Or would it be just a passing whim, something that you liked without knowing why and how? A mere pleasing of your ego is just that ~a phase, a whim, a caprice! That’s not the way to make something lasting. I prefer a more artistic approach, that of the couturier. A couturier designs a dress for a show and you see it at the defilé and admire it and say I want that, but for me. And therefore I take it and adjust the measurements to suit you, but it’s still my creation, my vision, an artwork which has been slightly tweaked for you to claim it as your own and that way you can appreciate it as art rather than artistry.” It is such conviction which separates Jean Claude from the many that are devoting their talents to a rich clientele which demands things on a whim.

He’s also very committed to the present. In the words of Camus: “Real generosity toward the future lies in giving all to the present”. Ellena’s style doesn’t do the tango (ie.one step ahead, two steps back). There is no nostalgia or atavism in his work: his gaze is on the here and now and on to the future. Even in his homage to previous scents, such as his L’Eau d’Hiver for Frédéric Malle is to Guelain’s Après L’Ondée, there is a sense of modernity. “How do you feel about the perfume-enthusiasts’ community who is so attached to classics of older times, some which are revered without the people in question even having the chance to smell them as they truly were at their prime?” He ponders on it philosophically: “You’re absolutely right! One cannot really replicate an era, or how an old classic smelled like. The fragrance has changed due to various reasons, but the sensibilities have also changed resulting in a fake experience. But in general there is no sense in nostalgizing. Because nostalgia brings along a sense of regret and regret means sadness (tristesse), and this doesn’t make sense for the creation process. There is a feel of decadence in nostalgia and of the end. Mais on ne peut pas construire l’avenir seulement sur l’histoire! (One can’t build the future only on history). Therefore we may admire the past but we must look into the future”.

Talking about the perfume online community, I am aware that you are aware of its voice. Do you feel that in some small part it can shape some directions in the market? Is it something that you sometimes discuss with your colleagues?” Jean Claude is quite encouraging: “I am most certain that it can. There is an interest in what people discuss online”. And what about the new trend of corporate blogs (I mention a few names)? Is Hermès thinking of launching one too? “No, it’s not an Hermès way to communicate and I am convinced personally that the consumer can see the difference between a real blog such as yours and a blog handled by a brand, powered by a company only for promotion. And this might have some bearing on the issue at hand as well, which is sad. However, we had created an online page for Terre d’Hermès which was encouraging a sort of dialogue between us and the audience. We asked for visitors to write their stories on perfume in general, not just Terre d’Hermès or Hermès for that matter and we would publish the best, the most passionate ones channeling their feelings about perfumes; we had received more than 1000 mails, some of them were wonderful!”
[If you go to this linkyou can click on "Perfumer, Alchimiste et Poète" for a clip of JCE and on "Contes" to read some of the submitted stories, a couple of which are penned by Jean Claude himself].

As I have gnawed on what seems like close to an hour and a half of his time, I am recapitulating bringing this full circle with his life-views. Over the years reading intently about his work I recall many little tidbits; I had greatly enjoyed this quote of his: “I don’t create from a brief but from an experience I live. It might be an experience on the spot, on a real place, as for the Garden-Perfumes; a souvenir from an experience within Hermès, as for Kelly Calèche inspired after a visit at the Hermès leather stock; or a personal creative challenge around a material, as for the Hermessence collection. For me, creation means to try to build a road while walking". So from all the experiences in your life, which one is the most precious which you would have loved to turn into a perfume? I ask him. It’s a question he doesn’t want to respond to with something specific. “I can’t say that I want a specific experience embottled. I do not desire to be understood on isolated pieces, but on my body of work; nor do I want specific segments to characterize my spirit. There is a certain volonté (desire, volition) in me to grasp things out of life, all experiences are good, even the bad ones, I take everything and get nourished by them each day. I don’t know where it will lead in the end, but I am walking on the path all the same. The world is not perfect, yes…Mais malgré tout, je regarde la joie!", he accents his words with great emphasis, with passion. (Despite everything, I hold on to the joy). Are you an optimist then? I tentatively ask. “Je suis un pessimiste heureux” he laughs heartily with his generous, charming, very Southern-French way. A happy pessimist, then, like the hero of André Blanc, Henry de Montherlant [2] ...that’s Jean Claude Ellena!

Sincere, heartfelt thanks to Jean Claude himself and the Hermès team for the consideration of the PerfumeShrine.
Copyright ©Elena Vosnaki for the Perfume Shrine, All Rights Reserved.

[1]The Hermès Colognes Collection will work its way out into the world starting in May at Hermès boutiques, and then in June Hermès fragrance doors including Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue, Barneys New York, Bergdorf Goodman. By early 2010, the Hermès Colognes Collection will reach a total of about 300 U.S. doors, including Bloomingdale’s, Nordstrom and Sephora.
[2]Montherlant, Un pessimiste heureux by André Blanc was issued in 1968 by éditions Centurion.

The matter of the potential of his scents for reformulation has been already addressed on this article, therefore has not been included. Related reading on Perfumeshrine: Jean Claude Ellena, Hermès


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