Nicolai Parfumeur Createur Le Temps d'une Fete: fragrance review

 

There are not as many fragrances with a leading narcissus note, as I would wish, and some of the best have been discontinued, for example, Le Temps d’Une Fête Nicolaï Parfumeur Créateur and Ostara Penhaligon's. Patricia de Nicolaï's Le Temps d'une Fête is the perfect narcissus-ladden green floral to evoke spring, full of crushed leaves and grass; a fragrance so beautiful and cheerful that it will make you spin around and around humming Mendelssohn's Spring Song even when taking down the Christmas decorations.

It does bring on a little chill from the frost of March. It's the bitter, sharp synergy of galbanum and oakmoss; they have a sobering effect on the narcotic aura of the narcissus/jonquil and hyacinth heart.

 photo via Pinterest from johnnyseeds.com

It is the promise of spring-time in this transitory phase in which the first buds are tentatively raising their heads beneath the still cold air, which is enough to have us on pins and needles for the full blown effect of spring's arrival. It's usually then a little spring-like fragrance is very much desired — nay, craved — when the last woolies of the winter season are finally getting their last rites, so to speak, like Le Temps d'une Fête. And when it comes...cause of celebration! 

Le Temps d'une Fête is like that, exactly. The joy of living rendered through natural paint strokes of the most delicate and precious watercolors. A masterpiece of dexterity and finesse

Alas, the brand discontinued it long ago. I do hope they bring it back from the dead in a rite of eternal spring!

 

Roger & Gallet Bois d'Orange: fragrance review

 The house of Roger & Gallet presented Bois d'Orange built from fresh accords of citruses and the warm nuances and strength of wood several years ago, but it's still in production, perfect for warmer weather. The fragrance invites for a long and pleasant walk in the garden of Andalusia, among alleys of fragrant oranges. It's the vibrant and sunny freshness of leaves, combined with orange blossom and the scent of fruits to regenerate the aura and give pleasure to each user.

It was the scent I turned to after I gave birth, mostly using the luxurious soaps and shower gel formulations.

The top notes of Bois d'Orange introduce mandarin, basil, and lemon verbena, a fresh and encouraging scent of citrusy-green aromas. The heart brings us orange blossom and neroli, while the base adds strong and warm amber, rosewood, and cedar.

It's hard to parse the scent into all those notes and components; there is a uniformity of feel-good vibes which are derived by the stalwart luminosity of the neroli and verbena. It only opens up on warmer days, giving a more woody aspect in cold weather, but when the sun is high in the sky it blooms and reveals its happy facets that come tumbling down from a bowl of just-picked fruit someplace warm and casual. No wonder I sought this scent when I was at my most vulnerable.

The fragrance is available in the characteristic packaging of the house of Roger & Gallet. Besides the fragrance Bois d'Orange, an accompanying body care line with the same aromas was introduced. It includes luxurious soaps, which made this house famous.

 

This woody aromatic fragrance was created for women as well as for men and I find no fault with either wearing it on any occasion that calls for some optimism and feeling good about oneself.

Bois d'Orange originally launched in 2009 and continues to be in production after all these years.

 The finer, nonalcoholic Eau Parfumée version can be worn in the sun, making it perfect for summer. It's part of the Eaux Parfumées line in frosted glass bottles.

Please note there is also an edition with golden shimmer, the Bois d'Orange Eau Sublime Or, but this is a different interpretation with a lactonic component reminiscent of suntan lotion, with salicylates enhancing the floral facet. It's obviously made for summertime with the idea that some golden shimmer enhances one's tan. This one would be more appreciated by the ladies, I presume.

Elizabeth Arden True Love: fragrance review

 True Love is a classic Sophia Grojsman composition in that it possesses three main constituents: a clean, groomed outlook with lots of musk, mainly Galaxolide; a peachy fruity component that blends with the skin; and heaps of sillage with tremendous lasting power. Scents to be noticed and commented upon.

For something so quiet and soft, True Love is a very impressive performer, I can attest.

The scent of True Love (1994) combines elements of two beloved fragrances that followed it: Nivea eau de toilette, which I have reviewed in the past, and Irisia by Creed, which is a more chypre take on the soapy floralcy of this one (supposedly a 1960s composition, but in reality much more modern). It has elements that make the Dove soap, the classic white creamy bar, so lovely to smell and use.

True Love projects quite linear, starting with a whoosh of soapy cleanliness and segueing into an abstract lactonic floralcy of no discernible edges. It's soft all around, like a pink angora sweater, and cooling like a glass of pink champagne. Sarah Horowitz capitalized on the concept with her Perfect Veil, a cult item of a scent around the millennium based on the combination of citrusy sparkle, soft clean musk, and a smidgen of vanilla for sweetness - a gauze of a scent theoretically, something that lingers, does not appear too perfume-y for the sensibilities of the women of the late 1990s, yet is still quite the beast.

 

Do not expect much from the bottle itself. It's a plain cylindrical style in glass, capped by an unassuming plastic cap to correspond. Nothing to write home about. But it's what's inside that counts. Elizabeth Arden's fragrance bottles and compositions tend to look unassuming and prosaic on the surface. 

Online discounters often offer Elizabeth Arden fragrances at exceptionally low prices, considering the quality, lasting power, and decency of the liquid inside. It's a brand worth seeking out.
 

Bois d'Iris by The Different Company: a different iris fragrance review

 Although iris scents are often mentioned in regards to powdery and starchy shades in perfumery, which would recall paper, skin, and bulbous vegetables, with Bois d'Iris The Different Company (not to be confused with Van Cleef & Arpel’s subsequent release under its Collection Extraordinaire line Bois d'Iris) we come upon an epiphany.

It's more of a manifestation of woods within iris than actual iris. This provides the necessary piquancy to bring out a certain oddness to the aura of the scent, which makes one wonder where scent ends and skin begins, or vice versa.

Iris concrete lacks the diffusional standards for modern perfumery, so perfumer Ellena bolstered the material with alpha-iso-methyl ionone, to add a diffusive violet chord alongside the chalkier analog of the iris. 

 

The duet of iris and alpha-iso-methyl ionone also structures Hermès Hiris, but while Olivia Giacobetti’s formula uses carrot seeds and almond wood, Bois d’Iris veers into cedarwood to render a sublime una corda pedal of a scent.

Bourjois Kobako: fragrance review

Kobako means "small box" in Japanese, as far as I know. But try adding a katana-blade symbol over the first "o," and it turns into Kōbako. Then it gains the nuance of a small box for solid aromatics used in the incense ceremony in kōdō (香道, "Way of Incense"); the ritual burning of incense to count the time. Such is the case with Kobako by the classic French brand Bourjois. 

A composition that initially hails from 1936 and the creative genius of perfumer Ernest Beaux, but which survives to this day in a contemporary Parfum de Toilette version that was first issued during the 1980s in the cristal taillé style bottle and the maroon box photographed below. The actual launch date for the modern version is 1982, and I doubt that the two editions have much in common, both stylistically and artistically. There was too much water under the bridge by then.

photo by Elena Vosnaki

It's interesting to note that one of the connotations for the word 'box' is the one used in slang, in many languages, for female genitalia. Indeed, again as far as I have been informed, kōbako in modern Japanese slang refers to that as well. But the scent in question is not an animalic or intimate smell that would polarize at all. In fact, it's this discrepancy that prompted my review.

The current fomula is not the one from the 1930s, so the description pertains to the 1980s mix. 

The domineering feeling is one of soap, like an old-fashioned soap for men, with cinnamon and sandalwood, and that creamy feeling that generations past associate with comfort and hot water. The florals used in the heart of Kobako are not discernible; they mix and mingle and tear apart again. There is definitely rose, which mollifies the formula, and probably a segment of something white-floral for a bit of clarity (possibly a part of lily of the valley aroma chemicals to give diffusion and expansion.)

Kobako combines these elements in a naughty, playful, almost haphazard way - the masculine backdrop with the feminine florals and the aldehydes - to render a juxtaposing composition. It hides its dark corners, but it's not entirely clean either. It has the versatility to make itself wearable all year long and never bother or disappear.

It feels fresh and spicy one minute, metallic and powdery the next, with a segment of dry patchouli in the back. What is this scent, I ask you? It consistently garners some comment or other, always in a positive way. It might not be the most accepted fragrance or the most derided - it hinges on that razor-sharp axis - but it's worth sampling at the very least. Some of you will end up wearing it when you won't know what to wear for the day, I promise.

The woody element in the back and the soapiness render Bourjois' Kobako very easy on the skin. There is not enough spice, although cinnamon is mentioned. I do not detect it as such, more of a smidge of clove, which is faint. It's also quite musky, in a good way, not the screechy white musk from laundry detergents, but not dirty either. It just melds with the skin and holds on to it.