L'Artisan Parfumeur L'Ete en Douce (previously Extrait de Songe): fragrance review

Essence of a dream, that is Extrait de songe, was the very poetic name of a limited edition “clean”perfume for summer 2005 by L’artisan Parfumeur. The latter lost a legal battle over the coveted name with Annick Goutal who had the name Songes (=dreams) copyrighted for her own, completely different, floriental composition. Hence the lovely Extrait de Songe became extinct... Later it was rechristened as L'Eté en Douce (playing on a French idiom, meaning "summer is sneaking up on you") and entered the L'Artisan portfolio as a re-issue.
However many perfume fans say the fragrance in either name smells quite close to another older L’artisan offering, one of the Moodswings coffret, Lazy Mood, developed by the same perfumer, Olivia Giacobetti. This got me thinking.

Laziness, boredom, dullness….all of these words bring to mind the languorous days of a really hot summer, when one isn’t energized enough to actively do anything except sleep. We had a long bout of this in the summer and am afraid we will get it again soon enough.
When I am talking hot, I am not talking Canada “hot”. Nor Germany “hot”. These are euphemisms. These are mere bleeps on the radar of hotness, never managing to register with me. (It’s actually my preferred weather: if only we had 28 degree Celsius half the year long...)
I am talking 39-40 degrees hell hot, all red and fiery; when your own skin is becoming revolting to you and you want to tear it apart with one swift gesture like an overzealous Russian waxer with steroid-enhanced arms; when hair sticks on your forehead inviting you to turn into a travesty of a skinhead; when sticky liquid oozes off your pores just by sitting around doing nothing. Yes, you’ve guessed it: I hate those moments with a passion.
The “noon devil” of the hermits of Egypt, which draws out every speck of physical and mental vitality, is my personal nemesis.

However it is a small comfort that Extrait de songe/L'Eté en Douce exists for providing the illusion of a clean, cool, white cotton sheet that can be wrapped all around one and provide some solace from the scorching sun. Sloth according to Kirkegaard is the source of all evil. Wordsworth described it as “wild dullness”. It is considered one of the seven deadly sins by the Catholic church. Hamlet refers to the world as “tiresome, plain and dull” which probably explains why he never lifts a hand to actually do anything except talk for the better part of the play.
Samuel Butler says that boredom is a kind of spiritual failure, since the person who lets himself to emote it is more despicable than boredom itself.
But is it so bad, really? I wonder…

Billy Collins, the poet, calls boredom paradise itself. “It’s the blessed absence of things that the world offers as interesting such as fashion, media, and other people, whom Sartre –let’s not forget- characterized as hell.”
Anton Chekhov also idealized boredom in many of his plays, like in Uncle Vania and Samuel Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot” remains without a doubt the manifesto of dullness, featuring characters that await for that bastard Godot who never makes an appearance and which proves boredom can be pro-active after all, because many had stood up and left the theatre from what I recall :-)) The New York author Richard Greenburg even wrote a book (titled “Take me out”) after a bout of boredom during one especially dull summer, during which he watched baseball matches on TV. Luckily I am not  that desperate. Brenda Way, choreographer, likes to sit and think when stuck in a jammed highway: She believes it aids her involuntary voyage to creativity by using her unconscious powers at those precise moments.

Made by nose Olivia Giacobetti, who is famous for her light compositions that are like Winslow Homer paintings, Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce is typically her style and seems very fit for such moments. It's an interpretation of freshness without acidulated, fusing or sparkling notes and it reminds me of the style that Jean Claude Ellena later explored in one of his "cologne" duo, called Eau de Gentiane Blanche. The two fragrances do not smell the same, but they share a similar sensibility and apparently a generous smothering of ambrette seed.
Featuring an airy and totally linear formula, Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce begins with linden and lots of "clean" orange blossom water, like the flower water used to sprinkle Mediterranean cookies with, segueing on to hay- like (coumarin?) and woody notes, it finishes off with a kiss of white musk and the bitterish ambrette like newly washed bed-clothes envelopping your showered body. It's all purity, all light! Uncomplicated, easy, soft, lastingly diaphanous, evoking the dew caressing grass in a field and on wild rose bushes, the freshness of lime trees and the warm scent of freshly cut hay; a fragrance that has no aspirations of creating discussion, but only of making you feel good about yourself! The whole projects at a white radiant frequency which must be as close to seraphic cool places as possible without actually hitting the bucket.

Whatever your camp is (and I suppose you still run a pulse if you're reading right now), Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce manages to smell like it is the best thing to exonerate the bad and amplify the good aspects of boredom.

The original bottle of Extrait de Songe is a beautiful lavender blue degrade cylinder (the colour becomes more saturated on the bottom) with plain, silver sprayer, now a collector's item. The newer bottle under L'Eté en Douce follows the typical L'Artisan packaging with label in lavender blue.

Notes for L'Artisan Extrait de Songe/L'Eté en Douce:mint, rose, orange blossom and white musk

Please note: another fragrance by L'Artisan has just recently changed name, namely Vanille Absolument which used to be Havana Vanille (2009).

Inspired by a euro2day comment. Pic of kitten got sent to me by email, unaccredited. L'Ete en Douce bottle pic via duftarchiv.de

La Belle Epoque in Clove-Scented Buds & Modern Carnation Fragrances

There's something about the imaginary buds of pepper and clove that conjure the drawing rooms of La Belle Epoque, where carnation bouquets were bursting off their vases, and of funereal wreaths heaving with the sadness of the vanished; an illusion, an unaccountable stay of execution, the carnation blossoms. This tightly swirled affair of fragrant petals, so disregarded, so pedestrian, so much of a filler flower. And yet...From deep beneath its corolla comes the scent of a bygone era and the remnants of romance; a spicy effluvium that speaks of anticipative prom corsages as much as of hidden passions.

Source: 29.media.tumblr.com via S H E L L I E on Pinterest

REFLECTIONS ON AN WEARY EYE

Oscar Wilde himself, king of hidden passions, was infamous for his allegiance to the curly blossom which decorated his groomed attire, as much as his homoerotic proclivities; it was "The Green Carnation", a short-lived but widely read scandalous novel from 1894 that supposedly reprised the illicit love affair of the Irish author with Lord Alfred Douglas, which damaged his reputation beyond repair and was held against him in a court of law. Subsequent lore even goes as far as to suggest that the green carnation on his lapel was a nod to the Parisian pederast scene, and yet there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that it was so; in fact were there any shred of truth in that claim it would have been presented during his libel trial regarding the Marquess of Queensbury. But such is the nature of the flower; it provokes with both its voluptuous appearance and its spicy bouquet which removes it from the realm of the chaste and the virginal into the territory of the fierce. After all, in the language of flowers a deep red carnation stands for mad love and affection. Pink and white carnations on the other hand represent a mother's love, enshrined into becoming the official Mother's Day blossom, inspired by the religious tale of having sprang from the earth from the tears of the Virgin Mary weeping for her son on the cross.

If your only acquaintance with carnations (Dianthus caryophyllus) is the refrigerated, florist shop, overbred kind that fills bouquets of more posh flowers in need of a larger budget, or sad, funeral wreaths, the jolting into smelling the vanilla-laced yet oddly phenolic, smoky pepperiness of a good garden variety -such as the Sweet William or the revived Malmaison carnations (reprised in the now discontinued Floris fragrance by the very name), huge and headily fragrant- is enough to make you reconsider.

Most carnation scents harken back to old days quite factually. The incontestable Poivre and the diluée Coup de Fouet, both Caron, are badges of another era, when a Cruella Deville warmth emanating from a plush fur coat was considered the height of chic instead of an invasion of private space and asinine disregard for animal rights. Bellodgia, another Caron, this time more romantic rather than baroque, with its sweetish, soft halo was a huge success when it came out in 1927, reminiscent of Italian vacations. Today it is considered nostalgically retro, too signora for today's signorinas. Ernest Daltroff, the maverick perfumer and founder of the French house, was extremely fond of carnation, nevertheless, injecting it along with his equally beloved Mousse de Saxe like a stealth superpower in almost everything he made. It is unfathomable to speak of carnation fragrances without mentioning the Caron canon; En Avion, Or et Noir, Le Troisieme Homme...there's no end. Even in modern Caron releases, such as the liturgical leaning Parfum Sacre, carnation plays an important role, it's a true fetish!

The prime of carnation fragrances came in the 1920s and all the fragrances of the period are specimens constructed on cloves, with which carnations share facets, as we will see further on. This genre, a, harmonious spicy blend, was considered evocative of the tropics, fanned on cardamom, coriander, cinnamon, cloves and pepper, alongside heady, narcotic flowers, in tune with the Orientalism that pervaded the roaring 20s. Guerlain even revisited this idea with their modern Terracota Voile d'Ete a while ago. Most of those fragrances however, like Oeillet Fane by Grenoville, Patou's Adieu Sagesse or Lancome's Fleches, have all but disappeared with (almost) no trace. Blue Carnation by Roger & Gallet was very popular, ensuring a continued existence, but it finally capitulated; the 1937 scent's been discontinued to the dismay of many; at least the soap survives. If we know and recognize a carnation in a complex blend today we owe it most of all to the enduring success of L'Air du Temps by Nina Ricci, the fragrance which in 1947 consolidated what Coty's L'Origan had inaugurated in 1905 and which L'Heure Bleue made impossibly romantic, the spicy floral. Indeed L'Air du Temps owes a lot to the spicy chord inside its complex, nuanced heart, making the fragrance piquant instead of merely soft and pretty.

Source: powder-blue-birdie.blogspot.com via Justine on Pinterest

This trick is carried over to other fragrances, sometimes NOT specifically within the soliflore category, following the Ricci paradigm: Charlie (Revlon), Norell (Norell and later Revlon), Balahe (Leonard), all take carnation to the bosom to inject a much needed accent, even in greener compositions. Some even take things further, proposing the spicy floral in an orientalized blend, such as Vol de Nuit (Guerlain), Dioressence (Dior) Opium (Yves Saint Laurent), Cinnabar and Spellbound (both Lauder) the original Poison (Dior), Roma (Laura Biagotti)..... The carnation there imparts a fresh spiciness amidst the heftier elements. We might as well see the breakthrough of this latter trend in the potent carnation direction of Tabu by perfumer Jean Carles.

Contemporary creators are not indifferent to such a fierce adherence to this passionate note: Jar's Golgonda behaves like a grand-daughter to Coup de Fouet, clotted cream inside the fieriness, one can almost picture it on the proverbial feisty red-head. Diamond Water is still carnation, but lighter and more transient, with a metallic quality, like a cross between Parfum Sacre and Bellodgia. Garofano, dense and almost thorny to wade through, by Lorenzo Villoresi, is a successor of the hefty tradition. Modern fragrances with a rather light-hearted, unisex character include Dianthus by Etro and Comme des Garcons Carnation from Series 2 Red. Masculine scents, incontestably virile, also utilize carnation for good measure: look no further than Equipage by Hermes, Cacharel pour Homme, Tabac Original (Mauer & Wirtz), Worth Pour Homme and the classic standby Old Spice.

THE PERFUMER'S ART

Eugenol and isoeugenol are practically inseparable in nature so it makes sense to use both when constructing a carnation accord. The former appears prominently in cloves, as well as in allspice and bay leaf, but also in basil and floral essences (rose, ylang ylang, jasmine), while the latter (detectable in nutmeg and mace) is more floral-balsamic, accounting for a truer "carnation blossom" scent.

L'Artisan Parfumeur's wondrously natural-smelling and deliciously soft carnation scent, sadly discontinued, Oeillet Sauvage, was based on two main floral components: rose and ylang ylang, no doubt aided by spicy accents. Etro's dianthus is a similar take. Guerlain experimented in Metallica, renamed Metalys, when the band objected. The whole exercise proved unpopular however, making the remaining bottles rare collectibles. Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Soie Rouge is a rich, satisfying carnation with a generous side of good materials. Prada has Oeillet in the boutique exclusive line.

originally taken by Dimitri Dimitriades (sorceryofscent.com)

Source: Uploaded by user via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest

"Natural rose extract and ylang essential oils are the real thing: rich in depth and volume, varying in quality and ...expensive. Especially the rose oil. The "cheat" there is to use nice and cheaper rose and ylang bases provided by industry. Mostly synthetic, but doing the trick for the large scale markets." says Andy Tauer of niche line Tauer Perfumes. Rose is exactly the trick in Eternity by Calvin Klein; the scent smells like carnations, but is built on roses.

The molecule 4-vinyl guiacacol, coming from grape-drived percursors in yeast and must, is an interesting proposition: in white wines it has the double edge of appearing like a fresh carnation in dilution or a dense clove off-note in concentration. The crucial percentage is dependent on grape variety, yeast strain used and the fermentation process, a delicate balance which shows the secret bond between carnation and cloves best of all.

Regardless of carnations falling out of fashion, the sweet-spicy note is frequently part of both women's and men's fragrances, and will remain so in the future. A number of compounds with a carnation character have been invented, supplementing the above stated naturals. Benzyl isoeugenol, or 2-methoxy-1-(phenylmethoxy)-4-(1-propenyl)benzene, a solid with a balsamic note and a powdery carnation-like sweetness, and Methyl Diantilis ® (Givaudan), or 2-ethoxy-4-(methoxymethyl)phenol, which has a sweet-smoky odor with powdery aspects reminiscent of carnation are two of the most popular ones.

The main constituents in the spicy bouquet of carnation are eugenol and isoeugenol. It is therefore unfortunate and foreboding that these substances are greatly rationed in the recent specifications of the SCCS and IFRA directives, signaling a recalibration of how a carnation accord is constructed in perfumery. But not all is blek: Eugenol is strong enough, even in the 0.5% limit in the final formula and new discoveries promise to preserve this retro spicy note.
Lately carnation is revisited anew: Vitriol d'Oeillet is a very recent release by Serge Lutens, steeped into the gothic and mystical ambience for which the maestro is known. If Lutens is doing it, everyone will soon be doing it.

Perfume Primers: Chypre Fragrances for Newbies

No other fragrance category is so shrouded in confusion and wrapped into such awe as chypres. From the pronunciation (listen to this file) to the ingredients constituting a classic chypre perfume, it all sounds too sophisticated for dummies. Or isn't it so? Chypre fragrances have an irresistible pull, making us appreciate perfumery all the more so, because they expertly hinge on both intellectual and sensual qualities. So let's make chypres easy for everyone!

The History of Chypre Perfumes in Simple Terms

Chypre means Cyprus in French, the island in the Eastern Mediterranean where the oldest perfume factory of the world was discovered in Pyrgos Mavrorachi (the name means "fortress on the black slope"  in Greek) dating to 2000BC, well before the Egyptian analogues. Cyprus has been instrumental in European history too: It has been a stronghold of Greek civilization since antiquity (the continuity of art styles and language suggests so) with a flourishing trade exchange with Egypt and later with the Roman conquerors; plus it has been the prime port of call of Eastern merchant routes between Europe and the Middle East, thanks to its strategic geopolitical position, and therefore supremely prized (and seized) by many foreign powers in the course of its millenia-long turmoiled history, starting with the Crusades and going...
But the name "chypre" (chypvra etc), apart from any geographical connotations, had travelled in aromatic stanzas throughout the Middle Ages, Renaissance and the Age of Enlightenment thanks to the vigorous commerce of the enterprising Cypriots who dabbled in a feminine product with an added scent: their famous "Cipria" powder, a cosmetic face powder -presented by various different local "houses"- which was further aromatized with the cypriot aromatic blends they had excelled at for centuries (And which, by all accounts, judging by the later specimens circulating into the 20th century, smelled not far off what we consider a chypre fragrance today!)

Source: flickr.com via June on Pinterest

The vogue for powdered wigs in western Europe in the 17th century made Cipria one of the most widely used cosmetic products and the name is still referenced in Italian to this day for cosmetic powder. Let's not forget Cyprus is the mythological birthplace of Aphrodite/Venus, so the connection with beauty & grooming rituals was there all along. What better place then to sprout forth a product appealing to women (and the men who smell them) everywhere?

Therefore Cyprus and its "Cipria" had created a solid scent tradition. It was that tradition that the legendary François Coty-a Mediterranean merchant himself, hailing from Corsica- decided to put to good use. It is neverthless a myth that the first modern "chypre" was Coty's Chypre in 1917. Contrary to popular perception, François Coty was not the first to associate the name Chypre with a particular perfume. Guerlain's Chypre de Paris preceded him by 8 years, issued in as early as 1909. Chypre d'Orsay was the next one to be introduced in 1912. We can only attribute these names to the tradition of the "Cipria" echoed in these fragrances.

However it was Coty indeed (also dabbling in cosmetics) who first realized the familiarity of the chypre aroma of the Cipria would help make a fragrance drawing inspiration from it a commercial success. Even Chypre's packaging utilized motifs of cosmetics. His Chypre really took off and became an instant hit that created traction and a vogue for such "heavy" "green" perfumes. The rest, as they say, is history.



What makes a chypre "chypre", though? 

In modern perfumery as established by Coty (and all subsequent chypres followed the scaffold he laid out) the basic structure of the chypre perfume is an harmony, an "accord", between 3 key ingredients: bergamot (a citrus fruit that grows all around the Mediterranean) - oakmoss (a tree lichen that grows on oaks mainly in the Balkans) - labdanum (a resinoid from cistus ladaniferus, or rockrose, a plant which grows in the Mediterranean basin, especially in Crete and Cyprus which was traditionally amassed off the hair of the goats that grazed on the bush). Three basic, common Mediterranean products, three Cypriot references for Chypre! Whatever other notes the sites/guides mention, those three must be in there for the fragrance at hand to qualify as a "classic chypre", a true descendant of Coty's Chypre from 1917. These "true/pure chypres" include such later perfumes as Carven Ma Griffe (1946) or E.Lauder's Knowing (1988)!

The tension between the fresh citrusy note and the pungent, earthy odor of oakmoss and of labdanum creates an aesthetic effect that is decidedly inedible (much like the masculine equivalent of fougère fragrances), denoting perfect grooming, always smelling "perfumey", polished, and often powdery. Which makes total sense given the background of the face powder it originated from! It also explains why chypres are extremely popular regardless of fashions in southern Europe as opposed to other countries.

Exactly because they smell like perfume, i.e. an add-on in no uncertain terms, they project an image of luxury, sophistication, status. They can be cerebral, cool and aloof, a The Times reader rather than chic lit browser, or they can be womanly and intimate like effluvium wafting off the boudoir, but whatever the case chypres always remain steeped in their Aphrodite-originating beauty.

[pic source: hprints.com via Sue on Pinterest]

Chypre fragrances often include patchouli and other woody notes, or animalic essences, for added intensity and mystery, while the heart of the perfume is always more or less floral. Although patchouli is ubiquitously included in chypres, it is a very common raw material for other families as well (such as the Orientals and many florals) and is therefore non conclusive as to the classification of any given fragrance ~barring very recent ones, more on which in a moment).

Because chypres are the sophisticated fragrance family par excellence it's very tempting to overreach and classify just any elegant and perfume-y fragrance in the genre!

It is especially common to confuse them with heavily woody Orientals (parfums Babani was on to something mixing the exoticism of Egypt with the chypre coolness in Chypre Egyptien back in 1923!) or with green woody florals such as Chanel No.19 (which is really a separate case, to which I will come back with a detailed breakdown.) or Silences (Jacomo), its logical godchild.


Sub-categories of Chypres

The beauty of the chypre is that it's a strict fragrance structure, but on this basic scaffolding the perfumer can add accent pieces that make the perfume lean into this or that direction. Like a basic "little black dress", you can accessorize with heels or with boots, with pearls or with chunky gold chains, with a fur stole or a colorful velvet shawl and create dazzlingly different looks.

Add green notes of grasses, herbs and green-smelling florals (such as hyacinth) and you have "green chypres" (Diorella, Givenchy III, Chanel Cristalle Eau de parfum, Shiseido Koto, E.Lauder Aliage, Jean Couturier Coriandre, Balenciaga Cialenga, Ayalitta by Ayala Moriel, the Deneuve perfume for Avon). Emphasize the woodier notes of patchouli, vetiver, pine needles and you have "woody chypres (Niki de Saint Phalle, the classic Halston by Halston, La Perla, Aromatics Elixir). Wrap everything in the succulence of ripe fruits -such as plum or peach- and you get the historically important "fruity chypres" league (Guerlain Mitsouko, Rochas Femme, the vintage Dior Diorama, Nina Ricci Deci Dela, Yves Saint Laurent Champagne/Yvresse, Amouage Jubilation 25, Ayala Moriel Autumn, Balenciaga Quadrille, Lutens Chypre Rouge).* Smother lots of discernible flowers and you get "floral chypres"(Ungaro Diva, Zibeline by Weil, Antilope by Weil, Charlie by Revlon, L'Arte de Gucci, E.Lauder Private Collection, Guerlain Parure, Tauer Une Rose Chypree, Agent Provocateur eau de parfum, DSH Parfum de Grasse, K de Krizia, Germaine Monteil Royal Secret, Armani Pour Femme "classic" by Armani, Esteban Classic Chypre). Sparkling aldehydes on top can further the claim that Caleche by Hermes is an "aldehydic chypre" (it's really poised between two categories that one, aldehydic floral and aldehydic chypre). Put the growl of a cat-in-heat via copious animal ingredients and "animalic chypres" appear (Miss Dior by Dior, Montana Parfum de Peau, Balmain Jolie Madame, Paloma Picasso).
Finally, although technically a separate family according to La Société Française des Parfumeurs (whose sub-classification I follow above as well) called "cuir"/"leather fragrances", there are a few perfumes that mingle notes reminiscent of leather goods with the general elements of a chypre, such as Chanel Cuir de Russie, Cabochard by Gres, Piguet Bandit, Caron Tabac Blond, vintage Dior Diorling.

*Although Le Parfum de Therese by Edmond Roudnitska (circulating in the F.Malle line) has fruity elements on the basic skeleton of a chypre, it has been argued that it is in fact a proto-aquatic, therefore I do not include it in this category on purpose. 

In the Michael Edwards classification system (inspired by Firmenich charts and his own consultant job in the industry), chypres fall mostly into the "mossy woods" category, as Edwards doesn't include a "chypre" family per se as per tradition dictates, but rather intersperses them between woods and orientals (and moving leather fragrances into the "dry woods" category in his 2010 edition following new studies in odor perception). It's one way of viewing things that is more accessible to the consumer.

If orientals have traditionally built on a rose floral nucleus to further create smoothness, chypres have been traditionally constructed around a white flowers core (jasmine, tuberose etc), with the all important lily of the valley "opening" the bouquet, just like uncorking a bottle of wine a few minutes prior to drinking lets the aroma develop better. Specifically the more traditional floral "core" was constructed around an impression of gardenia (Another Cypriot reference as the ripe, narcotic blossom grows well on the warm shores of the island). The classic reference for that is the original Miss Dior (from 1947), now circulating as Miss Dior L'Original.

Source: hprints.com via Perfume on Pinterest

'Modern chypres' that "don't smell like chypres"

Even though years have passed and chypres fell out of vogue in the 1990s and early 2000s, there was a renewed interest in them after Narciso for Her eau de toilette was introduced into the market in 2004 (launched as a youthful chypre) and became a modern classic that influenced every other house. Basically these fragrances, which I call "nouveau chypres" (read more on them on this article of mine) are NOT technically chypres, but "woody floral musks" fragrances, with a "clean" non hippy-shop patchouli and vetiver base standing in for the reduced ratio of oakmoss allowed by modern industry regulations in regard to allergens (oakmoss is considered a skin sensitizer and therefore greatly reduced, which accounts for the reformulation -and thus unrecognizable state- of many classics). These include Gucci de Gucci, Lovely by SJP, Guerlain Idylle and Chypre Fatal, L'Eau de Chloe, Miss Dior Chérie, Chance by Chanel and countless others. A few however do manage to smell credible such as the underrated Private Collection Jasmine White Moss by E.Lauder; although totally modern, it doesn't betray the genre and smells like true progeny. Issey Miyake A Scent is taking the greener, airier stance of green chypres.

Although the term "chypre" nowadays means little to nothing to the modern consumer, as attested by the countless questions I receive when consulting, the industry insists on keeping it. The soft pink shade of these modern juices does make us think of the soft powdery color referenced as "cipria". Femininity, softness, cosmetics and Aphrodite rolled into a modern packaging. Or perhaps it's because chypre has at least 4000 years of history behind it...

If your interest has peaked and you want to find out more about chypre fragrances, please refer to Perfume Shrine's extensive series on Chypres:
Part 1: The origins of Chypre
Part 2: Chypre fragrance ingredients & formulae
Part 3: "Nouveau chypres" or "pink chypres" (modern chypre fragrances)
Part 4: Chypre perfume aesthetics
Part 5: Chypre perfume chronology and the zeitgeist
Part 6: Masculine Chypres: Does such a thing exist?
Part 7: The Chypres time forgot

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfume Primers for Beginners & Beyond

For those who read French, a wonderful essay on the origins of the Cypriot strain of Cipria and chypre on this and that link.  Also refer to "Aromata Cipria - Cyprus Perfumes" by. P.Flourentzos, M.R.Belgiorno, A.Lentini (dbas.sciant.unifi.it)

painting: Herbert James Draper "Pearls of Aphrodite"

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."

Source: thenowbook.tumblr.com via PerfumeShrine on Pinterest

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

Perfume Primers: Gourmand Fragrances for Beginners & Beyond

Soft Turkish delight, gleaming lollipops swirled with creamy caramel, bright red candied apples at the fun fair, the delicious creaminess of rich ganache, bittersweet anise-inflicted licorice sticks and the temptation of fine cognac-filled nuggets of chocolate...If you mentioned these aromas as springboards for composing to perfumers 30 or 40 years ago they'd laugh at you. And yet the novelty of gourmand fragrances came to stay, highlighting perfume "notes" such as chocolate, coffee, cupcakes, whiskey, sugared almond and marzipan, even cotton candy/candy floss!
But what is the definition of a gourmand perfume? Simply put "gourmand" (French: [ɡuʁmɑ̃]): perfumes smell almost "edible" and have"dessert-like" qualities that tickle our taste buds as well as our nose. In French the term only slightly overlaps with "gourmet"(connoting discernment), adding a "greedier" nuance which seems to fit; just reading a notes list of a gourmand fragrance is enough to make one salivate!
Technically as they're built on vanilla and sweet ingredients they're a subcategory of the oriental family of fragrances. Talking with perfumers however I realized their appetizing quality is markedly different from perfumes in which succulent notes -such as peach, spices or vanilla- appeared previously, in that gourmands actually evoke desserts in a more concrete way, whereas the classics only hinted at the pleasures of food & drink they were meant to accompany, via abstraction (the delicious duvet-appeal of Farnesiana's sweet acacia, the cinnamon-sprinkled peach skin of Mitsouko).

Source: cherrapeno.com via Teresa on Pinterest

In aesthetic terms gourmands are the polar opposite of the inedible feel of most chypres and fougeres whose traditional aim was to conjure grooming products such as powder, soap and shaving cream and thus denote a "polished" appearance. In contrast gourmands are not concerned with that, unless it's the polishing off a particularly tasty dish!
Comfy and delicious, their more laid-back, casual approachability (everyone eats, after all) accounts for their non-snob factor, making them a perfect fit for the end of the 1990s and the 2000s, when they flourished. Could that surge speak of misspent childhoods pampered by a sugar-riddled diet, of a regression into the protective cocoon of kindergarten, or of the desire to at least partake of the olfactory pleasures -if not the gustatory ones- afforded to people on a diet?
The too sweet stuff can be rather nauseating. Some of the Comptoir Sud Pacifique fragrances for instance seem to cater to the hardcore baked goods lovers, being particularly "foody", a looked down upon term by serious perfume lovers who opt for the more refined within the genre.

History of Gourmand genre

Angel by Thierry Mugler (1992) is generally considered the first gourmand with its overdose of ethyl maltol (the scent of cotton candy/caramel) paired with natural patchouli, plus sweet red fruits and a floral "base". Patchouli has an inherent facet that recalls chocolate, boosting the dessert angle of the Mugler pefume. But perfumer Yves de Chiris (alongside Olivier Cresp) put a staggering 30% of camphoraceous patchouli in the compound to counteract the aching sweetness of the sugar note. Its genius lies in its semi-poisonous subtext under the deliciousness: this is dangerous, dark, powerful perfume, almost masculine, reminiscent of the childish joys of the fun-fair but also of its disturbing aspects...Vera Strübi, at the time CEO of Parfums Mugler, says: ''The feminine is not our aesthetic approach.'' Strübi, having met Mugler and the Clarins Group in 1990, has been recognized as "the most audacious and creative president by the entire perfume industry"; the prototype gourmand only later took on the childhood story of Thierry's love of fun-fairs, but still it never was a marketing "recipe" which is probably why it became so successful in the end...
Molinard already had Nirmala in their catalogue since 1955, a scent that smells so close to Angel in its current form that it ignited a heated legal battle about intellectual rights in regards to perfume in France. The truth is the 1990s revamped Nirmala purposefully twisted its recipe to adhere to a more "Angelic" principle...The pioneer claim of Angel is contested nevertheless: Angel was not the first perfume to bring pure, sweet ethyl maltol into the spotlight; that distinction belongs to Vanilia (1978) by L'Artisan Parfumeur, the scent of a "vanilla ice-cone" as per aficionado supermodel Paulina Porizokva.

Still, the caramel-patchouli wildcard juxtaposition of Angel was like nothing else on the market when it came out (the same year as the limpid, totally "clean" L'Eau d'Issey!) and slowly built a cult following, eventually becoming the reference point influencing the entire market to this day (and being a marketing case study!). Angel's spawn is Gremlin-like: 20 years later every house has their "Angel wannabe" (hoping to usurp some of its share on the market): Armani Code for women, Calvin Klein Euphoria, Lancome Miracle Forever, Prada by Prada, Paco Rabanne Black XS, Nina (Nina Ricci), Chopard Wish, Hanae Mori Butterfly...the list is endless! You may see these fragrances colloquially mentioned as "fruitchoulis" in perfume fans conversation, as they all rest on sweet fruits on patchouli; the term is anecdotal.

Source: basenotes.net via Ali on Pinterest

Of all the variations on the theme, only Lolita Lempicka and Angel's own flanker Angel Innocent (and possibly Sonia Rykiel in the orange sweater bottle and Missoni by Missoni) manage to differentiate themselves enough and inject new ideas; the former through an emphasis on the anisic facets of licorice, the latter by adding a praline note and subtracting the patchouli.
Aquolina Pink Sugar (2003) is another emblematic gourmand, its name an uncontested allusion to pink cotton candy. Again based on ethyl maltol, but with less of the bittersweet edge of Angel that makes it so compelling, yet an equally love-it-or-hate-it fragrance, Pink Sugar smells like overripe strawberries melting into the candy machine.
Dior straddles the category with three of their perfumes in different measure with polarizing results: The original Addict is boozy vanillic and yet with a hint of vulgarity; Hypnotic Poison is the most accomplished in its dark, edible powdery evocation of bitter almonds & musks, whereas the original Miss Dior Cherie from 2005 (before being so messed up with) was a medley of sweet kid's strawberry syrup drizzled onto caramelized buttery popcorn that smelled as cheeky as it sounds.

Gourmands wear nicely in the cooler seasons, although lighter ones, such as Theorema (Fendi) with its orange-filled chocolate note, are fine in summer too. Especially marketable to women (perhaps because they're more mindful of calories or due to indoctrination of adage "sugar and spice and all things nice") gourmands do not exclude men. Some are specifically addressed to them, such as the delicious Lolita au Masculin by Lolita Lempicka, Rochas Man, the so called "Angel for men" A*Men by Mugler (as well as its variations) and Guerlain's L'Instant pour homme Extreme.

Niche gourmands
If the mainstream market is intent on just "copying" Angel without furthering the conversation, the niche fragrance sector seems to offer varied takes on the gourmand genre, some "dark" and sinful, others airier: Annick Goutal Eau de Charlotte, Serge Lutens Five O'Clock Au Gingembre and Arabie, Hermèssence Ambre Narguilé, Lostmarc'h Lann-Ael, Guerlain Gourmand Coquin, Spiritueuse Double Vanille, and Iris Ganache, L'Artisan Parfumeur Jour de Fete, Bois Farine, and Safran Troublant, Laura Tonatto Plaisir, Hilde Soliani Cioco Spesizissimo, Montale Chocolate Greedy, Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, Frapin 1270, Ginestet Botytris, Parfumerie Générale Aomassai, Serendipitous by Serendipity 3, Luctor et Emergo (People of the Labyrinths), Love by Kilian,  Bond No. 9 New Haarlem, Ava Luxe Milk, Etat Libre d'Orange Like This.
Honorary mention for the loukhoum/Turkish delight fragrances, replicating the famous dessert with rosy and/or almondy notes. Notable examples include Rahat Loukhoum (Serge Lutens), Traversée du Bosphore (L'Artisan Parfumeur), Loukhoum (Keiko Mecheri), Loukoum (Ava Luxe). Although figs are certainly edible and there are many "fig scents" on the market, these are technically classified in the "woods" category, as they evoke the leaves as well as the tree sap in most cases (i.e. Philosykos, Premier Figuier, Figue Amère)

A rather recent sub-category within the gourmand orientals is the "savory gourmands", fragrances which replicate foodie smells but of a non specifically sweet persuasion. One could classify Champaca (Ormonde Jayne) with its steamed rice note in this category, Parfumerie Générale Praliné de Santal with its roasted hazelnuts, Jeux de Peau by Lutens evoking toasted bread, Jo Malone Blue Agave & Cacao, as well as the groundbreaking Womanity by Mugler pairing salty caviar and sweet figs.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine: Perfume Primers: concise intros for beginners

Perfume Primers: Aldehydic Florals for Beginners

Perfume Primers is a new feature on the Perfume Shrine site, intended for beginners who cannot find their way through the tangled cosmos of perfume writing in print and on the web, but also insightful enough (and hopefully written in a non-condenscending manner) to appeal to more seasoned perfume fans as well. These primers go beyond the comprehensive raw materials/perfume notes articles (linked on the right hand column of the site) or perfume terms articles (the vocabulary of the perfume language, also linked on the right hand column); they intent to highlight issues that straddle categories and skirt central themes essential for fragrance comprehension and aim to be relatively short and concise. In short, if you're new to perfume, you're advised to begin here (and possibly the various How To guides, linked on the right too) and make your way through the other features.

I begin as requested by readers' emails with a somewhat "confusing" genre, aldehydic florals, which accounts for a vast amount of perfumes on the market, not to mention numerous historical ones. Not merely an allusion to including "aldehydes" materials in the formula of said perfumes (aldehydes can appear in any fragrance family, from chypre to oriental) the trope has particularities that need addressing.

The perfume term "floral aldehydic" applies to a subcategory of the "floral" family of perfumes (perfumes with an emphasis on the olfactory impressions of flowers) whose origins go back to two acclaimed classics, both emerging in the 1920s: Chanel No.5 and Lanvin's Arpege. "Aldehydic" refers to aldehydes, of course, a large group of usually synthetically recreated ingredients with varying scents  (more on which  on this link), but what "makes" a "floral aldehydic" is the presence of a significant amount of so called aliphatic aldehydes within the formula in combination with floral, woody and animalic notes.

Those aliphatic aldehydes or "fatty aldehydes" , (i.e. the string of aldehydes C10, C11 and C12, named after the number of carbon atoms contained in their molecule) present in Chanel No.5 have become "code" for this perfumery trope. They make up a staggering 1% of the formula of No.5, marking it as a milestone in modern perfumery. Issued in the 1920s, the era of modernism in the arts, this is the reason why they're classified as "modern style fragrances" in some taxonomies, after the Chanel pioneer. Lanvin's Arpege is invariably considered the second great example in the genre, different enough from the Chanel (woodier, creamier, softer) so as to put itself in a important historical slot.

These fragrances smell soapy, waxy, citrusy, a complex and abstract scent that we can pinpoint as decidedly "perfumey", often 'retro' in feel too, as many women of a certain age cling on to them faithfully as the scents of their prime (aldehydics were supremely popular in the 1950s and 1960s and in some part into the early to mid 1970s). Simply put, aldehydic florals smell unmistakably like one has put perfume on, rather than smelling of one's own "scent" (what is colloquially refered to as "skin scents"). They're supremely "manufactured", man-made in feel and therefore can be interpreted as the prime sign of "status perfume-wearing", signage for affording to buy and wear a luxury product; an effect purposefully sought after upon creating First by Van Cleef & Arpels, "the scent of a wealthy, tasteful woman". They stand for classic elegance, a pearly opalescence, what we'd picture Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly wearing in their classic mid-20th century films (Audrey did in fact favor one, L'Interdit by Givenchy, originally made for her). Aldehydic florals are invariably aimed at women, although men are free to experiment if they're daring and uninhibited.

In Chanel No.5 aliphatic aldehydes are coupled with (at the time of creation) natural essence of jasmine and rose, alongside natural musk, ambergris and civet (the latter three being "animalic notes", more on which on the link). The sharpness, pike-through-the-nose effect of the aldehydes is smoothed by bergamot and ylang-ylang and sexualized by the animal-derived notes mentioned above.

Floral aldehydics make steady use of a standard triad of flowers ~rose, jasmine and lily of the valley~ while there might be lesser amounts of other flower aromas such as lilac, tuberose and carnation "notes" (the term is used in quotes as lilac and carnation are recreated through imaginative combinations and lab synthetics, the natural flowers yielding insufficient essence). The more tenacious notes perceived much later include woods (sandalwood was the #1 choice for this genre), vetiver (an exotic earthy-smelling grass with an extensive root system classified in the "woods" smells), the starch scent of orris, musks and amber. Whether there is much vanillin (i.e synthetic vanilla) or not in the formula determines a further sub-category with the genre of floral aldehydic, sweet or non-sweet.

pic via myfavoritememphispeople.com

Classic reference floral aldehydic fragrances include: Chanel No.5, Arpege by Lanvin, Chanel No.22, Worth Je Reviens, Caron Fleurs de Rocaille and Nocturnes, Lanvin My Sin, Madame Rochas, Givenchy L'Interdit, Rive Gauche (Yves Saint Laurent), Calandre (Paco Rabanne), First (Van Cleef and Arpels) and White Linen (Estee Lauder).
More aldehydic floral fragrances can be seen with links to fragrance reviews on this collective link (scroll for the list), alongside many modern aldehydic fragrance reviews found under the tab Floral Aldehydic.

It's common to hear people noticing that floral aldehydic perfumes give them an impression of soap and/or of functional products (toiletries, detergents etc) or sometimes a "powdery" feel (as in body powder). This is a cultural phenomenon, as the use of the relatively cheap aliphatic aldehydes meant that they were used in many of these products (especially bath soap) throughout the mid and late 20th century; the instability of the ingredients, alongside synthetic vanillin, wasn't too problematic in that type of functional perfumery, so their cost effectiveness and diffusion were advantages.

Floral aldehydics have also inextricably tied themselves to a French-style inclination (you can refer to the Perfume Shrine's article on "french style perfumes" for two directions on that), though they're by no means restricted to France; in fact numerous American fragrances are floral aldehydics, as it's a much beloved genre by US audiences. Last but not least, aldehydic florals are often -among some others- termed "old lady fragrances" by the general public; this fascinating and borderline disturbing cultural association is further explained in this link.

Top 10 Most Popular Fragrances in France 2012 for Men & for Women and Favorites for the Opposite Sex

Best-selling lists are always interesting to ponder on as they reveal more than merely shopping habits. When it comes to how women view specific perfumes as "ideal" (or close to ideal) however it gains on even more esoteric nuances as it bypasses the obstacle of price hindrances or availability. To that end Promise Consulting Inc has generated a most interesting research comprising 1082 women 18 years old and upwards (out of which 1000 are perfume buyers themselves), conducted between 28 November and 15 December 2012 which resulted on a list of perfumes that French women view as close to what they consider "ideal", as well as which perfumes they find best for offering to men. Men on a similar pool of subjects were also asked which perfumes garner their interest as "ideal" to offer to their women, as well as which they judge as most desirable for themselves. The results, posted below are most revealing. [NB.Please note these are my personal interpretations of the results and therefore the companies themselves or the research firm might disagree. I urge you to discuss your own opinions on them in the comments!]

via popthusiasm.blogspot.com

First of all it's a resounding affirmation which I have long held that the French consumer is comparatively conservative and relying on established brands with recognized "luxury cachet" (and is therefore a stark contrast to the USA best-selling perfumes list for the same year). Big companies do not invest money in their marketing and advertising budget without knowing this intimately. Campaigns such as Dior's J'Adore featuring Charlize Theron (and recently reprising silver screen icons to supplement the glamour) have helped make a sensation out of a perfume that very soon after its introduction it became the leader in the market. Niche fragrances are nowhere to be found in such lists, confirming the above view and validating the term "niche" after all.

It's intriguing to see that the women's preferred perfumes list doesn't vary much from the actual best-selling perfumes list for 2011: in short, what French women end up buying is what French women consider most desirable for themselves, hence the undisputed throne of J'Adore by Dior, which has been a steady best-seller for 10 years now. Florals, fruity florals, woody florals (Parisienne, Flower)  and "gourmands" (Nina, Lolita Lempicka) reign supreme. Although there is technically a "French style perfume genre", modern French women are  more fashion-conscious than that; market trends have marched on and women have embraced the trends no matter where they're situated.

Comparing with what men actually seek to gift their women with is fascinating: the notoriety and pedigree of classics (No 5, Shalimar) takes precedence over popularity, but not by too large a margin: J'Adore is sandwhiched between No.5 and Shalimar. A few other suggestions crop up which haven't been featured in the women's list. Generally it involves perfumes which have been best-selling for years before, such as Angel or Coco Mademoiselle, which women themselves do not mention in their most desired top-10 probably due to overexposure to them over the years of smelling them everywhere. Men, even French men, on the other hand seem to like familiar scents (scents they have smelled before) and they also like to lean on a stable, surefire standby that has proven its value before, such as a "classic". As Frédéric Malle puts it on the current issue of Vogue.fr: “A lot of people give Chanel No. 5 for the same reason they might buy an Apple computer—because they think they can’t go wrong.” Orientals seem more populated in the men's list than on the women's.

Men choosing for themselves is also interesting as opposed to what women find as best for their men. Although "fresh" is the default choice there are some interesting variations on the theme. Hugo Boss, Azzaro and Calvin Klein have sold their fragrances with a virility or modernity angle for ages and continue to do so. The classic Eau Sauvage by Dior features  highly in both sexes' lists (possibly rekindled by the 2010 commercial featuring Alain Delon scenes from 1960s film La Piscine). The celebrity or eye-candy factor might be why Dior Homme is on the list of women liking on men (a combination of scent and Jude Law fronted advertising), whereas the same fragrance doesn't appear on the "men for themselves" list. Generally men are proving more conservative in their choices once again.
There is the anomaly of women designating Chanel Allure Eau de Toilette (which is marketed to women!) for men. I can't possibly account for that fact other than to say there might have been some mix-up between names and gender-targeted smells and since Allure in eau de toilette is generally "fresh" (with citrus top notes and a clean powdery drydown) it might appear good for a man to wear regardless of the demographic it's aimed at. Le Male is higher on the men's list than on the women's list for men gift-giving,  I'm hypothesizing because the image of the androgynous (and being a "gay" favorite) creates a distance between established luxury and "hipness".

Top 10 perfumes that women appreciate as best for themselves (France 2012):

1.Dior J'adore
2.Dior Miss Dior (Cherie)
3.Chanel No.5
4.Nina Ricci Nina (apple bottle, modern juice)
5.Kenzo Flower
6.Yves Saint Laurent Parisienne
7.Guerlain La Petite Robe Noire
8.Lancome Tresor
9.Lolita Lempicka Lolita (original)
10.Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps

Top 10 perfumes that men appreciate as best to gift to women (France 2012):

1. Chanel No.5
2.Dior J'Adore
3.Guerlain Shalimar
4.Lancome Tresor
5.Dior Miss Dior (Cherie)
6.Chanel Coco
7.Chanel Coco Mademoiselle
8.Dior Pure Poison
9.Kenzo Flower
10.Thierry Mugler Angel

Top 10 fragrances that men appreciate as best for themselves (France 2012):
1.Hugo Boss Boss
2.Hugo Boss Hugo
3.Jean Paul Gaultier Le Male
4.Dior Eau Sauvage
5.Azzaro pour Homme
6.Calvin Klein CK One
7.Armani Aqua di Gio
8.Dior Farhenheit
9.Hugo Boss Boss Signature
10.Chanel Allure Homme Sport

Top 10 fragrances that women appreciate as best to gift to men (France 2012):
1.Hugo Boss Boss
2.Dior Eau Sauvage
3. Chanel Allure Homme
4.Armani Aqua di Gio
5.Chanel Allure (the women's Eau de toilette, please note)
6.Dior Homme
7.Hugo Boss Hugo
8.Azzaro pour Homme
9.Chanel Allure Homme Sport
10.Jean Paul Gaultier Le Male

 The data comes from Promise Consulting Inc in partnership with Huffingtonpost.fr, hence the pics.