Kenzo Jungle L’Elephant

Kenzo Jungle L’Elephant

18-David-Lazar-Jungle-Temple

October is officially upon us, marking the beginning of sweater weather for many. I live in a part of the world where it stays warm and humid for quite a bit longer, but the changing daylight patterns make me crave my fall and winter perfume wardrobe terribly. While there are some fragrances which will need to wait a little longer before coming into rotation, I start craving an oriental that can straddle the seasons and help tide me over until the cooler weather finally arrives.

I am always struck by how original Kenzo Jungle L’Elephant is, especially for its time. Were it to be released today (instead of in 1996), it would surely have been as a niche creation. It is without question one of Dominique Ropion’s more unique scents, a distinction it shares with Carnal Flower and Thierry Mugler’s Alien. L’Elephant is a wonderful melange of spices underscored by smoky woods and soft cashmeran. The sparkling mandarin opening is enlivened by cardamom, cloves and cumin. While I am not particularly reminded of either a jungle or an elephant, I do have the sense of being swept away on an exotic adventure.

Elephant de la Bastille watercolor by Jean Alavoine

Elephant de la Bastille watercolor by Jean Alavoine

L’Elephant’s heart is slightly anisic, the perfect interlude into its delicious woody base. While amber and cashmeran can often give a fragrance a dense heady quality, L’Elephant manages to remain light and sparkling. L’Elephant has terrific lasting power but is never overwhelming the way some of its sister orientals can be. L’Elephant can be found online for a reasonable price at several discount retailers or on eBay, where I purchased mine. It is an energizing, powerful scent which never fails to give me a lift.

Notes: Mandarin, Cardamom, Cumin, Clove, Ylang-Ylang, Licorice, Mango, Heliotrope, Patchouli, Vanilla, Amber, Cashmere.

Guerlain – Shalimar

Guerlain – Shalimar: Taking Risks

art_deco_perfume_bottle_guerlain_shalimar

I have a photograph of my mother as a young woman in Italy on her honeymoon. She is sitting at a vanity in her hotel room, which overlooks the Spanish Steps. Her thick, long black hair is set up in hot rollers. She sits, dressed in a deep red cashmere turtleneck, applying makeup with the expertise of an artist. While most of us would protest at being photographed in this manner, just before the camera clicks, she gives my father a loving smile with all of the confidence of a beautiful young woman who knows she is loved.

If you could travel through time and step into the photograph, the scent that would pervade the room would be Shalimar, itself a long-standing symbol of romantic love. Shalimar was created by Jacques Guerlain in 1925, named for the beautiful gardens surrounding the Taj Majal built by the Emperor Shah Jahan for his wife Mumtaz Mahal. While I always admired Shalimar intellectually as the paragon of oriental fragrances, I had difficulty getting past my emotional associations with the fragrance. For years, I would try the fragrance on when passing a Guerlain counter, and yet, something did not seem right. While I loved all of the component notes in theory – a bright bergamot opening, a floral heart of jasmine and rose and a warm enveloping radiance of vanilla and the smoky amber of tonka – I experienced these as a screechy and suffocating cloud. My mother and I have somewhat similar tastes in fragrance, so I was baffled. What had she found so alluring about this fragrance that inspired her to wear it for so many years? Why did it unfold so differently on me? After some time, I moved on, and found my own Guerlain loves, until…

I had decided to take part in a perfume auction which listed a vintage Guerlain in a rosebud bottle developed in the 1950s, which had housed several of their fragrances including L’Heure Bleue, Mitsouko, Ode and Vol de Nuit. Unfortunately, the bottle had no label and the seller was not a perfume collector, so the contents remained a mystery. Given that the bottle could have contained any number of beauties which I loved, I decided to take a risk and bid on the item. Based on the color of the fragrance, which was a deep, rich caramel, I reasoned that it must be Mitsouko. I only hoped that it wasn’t Shalimar. I bid, and I won and then I awaited the arrival of my mystery fragrance.

When the bottle arrived, I scarcely made it to the car before opening the box. I opened it and inhaled. It wasn’t Mitsouko. It wasn’t Vol de Nuit. It definitely wasn’t Ode or Jicky. What was this beauty? I dabbed on the perfume and stepped into an appointment.

claude-monet-cathedrale-de-rouen-le-portail-et-la-tour-saint-romain-effet-du-matin-harmonie-blanche

Over the next couple of hours, I was treated to the most opulent, gentle, unfolding of a fragrance I had ever experienced. The notes were warm and distinct, each hovering about me before softly cascading into the next. I was reminded of Monet’s series of paintings of the Cathedral at Rouen. He would sit outside all day, with numerous easels before him. As the light changed, he would move on to the next easel and paint the same façade anew. The effect of the paintings when viewed together is a soft transition of light across the face of the Cathedral. I was similarly entranced and mystified until…

cropwm Hardly aware of its arrival, there it was: the lush, vanilla drydown of Shalimar, which is unmistakable. Jacques Guerlain was known to have employed two different vanilla components to render this complex and amber-like vanilla which is unique to Guerlain, and rendered especially opulent in Shalimar. I was humbled for presuming that one of history’s greatest noses had created something less than a masterpiece, and embarrassed for not having wanted it.

cropwm3

While I attribute much of my new-found love for Shalimar to the quality of the vintage version versus those currently in production, circumstances certainly played a role. My ignorance to the scent’s identity and my desire for it to be something “else” allowed me to experience the fragrance without my prior personal barriers or associations. Shalimar taught me that the pursuit of fragrance sometimes requires risks, the rewards of which are often love.

Oriental

Notes: bergamot, lemon, jasmine, rose, iris, incense, opopanax, tonka bean, and vanilla.

 

Serge Lutens – Jeux de Peau

Serge Lutens – Jeux de Peau

 It’s as if the baker took us by the hand. serge 2

Your childhood is a slope. The farther down you go, the more it comes back to you. You must separate the wheat from the chaff to know who you are. All this to say that the smell of fresh bread from the bakery takes us back. The feel of warm bread against the cheek even more so, evoking a familiar sensation from my childhood.  Serge Lutens

If the exploration of fragrance is a journey that takes place both externally and internally, then no other house stretches the imagination further than Serge Lutens. The relationship between Lutens and nose Christopher Sheldrake seems almost supernatural – as though Sheldrake is able to channel the incredible imagery and visions of Monsieur Lutens and render them into olfactory reality. At least it appears that he is somehow channeling Lutens, because the resulting fragrances are so thoroughly in keeping with Lutens’s singular aesthetic and vernacular, not to mention so profoundly different than what Sheldrake has created for Chanel in collaboration with Jacques Polge, that some greater force must be at work.

While all of the Lutens/Sheldrake fragrances are exceedingly unique, there is a common thread of oddity that runs through them, beyond the scent signatures which most houses possess. As I have discussed previously in my review of Gris Clair… I imagine the Lutens line to be organized in a manner similar to a color wheel, with certain fragrances occupying a common general spectrum. To that end, I would categorize Jeux de Peau in the olfactory realm occupied by Chypre Rouge and perhaps Arabie, although the fragrance shares some similarities with Boxeuses as well. While I realize that this will immediately make Jeux de Peau a non-starter for many, Jeux de Peau is one of those beauties that slowly captivates and seduces, despite its oddity, or perhaps even because of it.

Jeux de Peau, loosely translated as “skin games” from the French, is certainly imbued with a sense of playfulness, as Lutens sought to capture the scent of freshly baked bread from his childhood in Lille, France. I wonder if he gained a sense of impish satisfaction imagining perfumistas worldwide attempting to sniff out the reputed bread note upon first obtaining their samples. While I was able to root out the elusive note, the fragrance for me represents a full breakfast compliment, as well as some non-breakfast foods. To relegate Jeux de Peau to a simple prank on the part of its maker, however, is to miss the true genius and beauty of this creation. Certainly, the Lutens/Sheldrake duo take us through an intellectual exercise, which keeps the wearer occupied and amused throughout the day, but one which does not diminish the overall result.

mode, architecture, beautŽ,

Jeux de Peau starts out with a brief green note, a cross between celery and green anise. The impression is fleeting and somewhat confusing upon first testing, because it is so obviously not breadlike. The note fades rather quickly, transforming into something that recalls the immortelle-like note in Chypre Rouge. After wearing Jeux de Peau a few times, this opening feels like a palate cleanser one has between courses at a sumptuous meal in order to better appreciate the nuances of the next course. The duo is clearly preparing us for something.

Jeux de Peau has the bitterness of yeast, coupled with the rich milkiness of oozing butter. There is a slight sweetness, as though the bread in question were a gorgeous brioche, its  buttery richness toasted to the point of caramelizing. Notes of licorice and coconut combine to give a complex, creamy dimensionality to the fragrance. The compliment to the toasted note comes in the form of a luscious, dense fruit jam, thanks to a melange of apricot and osmanthus, giving the fragrance a typical Lutensian opulence. All at once I realize this is no brioche, it is in fact a tarte tatin a l’abricot, warm and steaming from the oven, the thick apricot juices flowing over the sides and hardening into a glistening caramel crust. Despite what would seem to be an obvious gourmand effect, the fragrance is not as sweet as its counterparts in this category. Here Sheldrake’s skill as a perfumer seems most apparent – one has the intellectual impression of sweet pastry without it being overbearing or uncomfortable.

tarte tatin

After the initial cerebral play that Lutens/Sheldrake have just taken us through, the game involving the skin appears in the journey from Lutens’s memory to a place of sheer beauty. As a gift for accompanying the duo on this mental exercise, we are rewarded with a supremely beautiful fragrance. Incense, rich sandalwood and a touch of Lutens’s signature amber come together to reveal a refined and classically beautiful scent. While Jeux de Peau was initially one of the most difficult fragrances for me out of the Lutens line, after revisiting, it eventually became one of my favorites. Aside from the joy of wearing a beautiful perfume, there is a sense of emotional communion with its creator in the magical realm of memory, making Jeux de Peau a supremely intimate experience.

Oriental

Notes: Milk, licorice, coconut, osmanthus, apricot, amber, incense and sandalwood

Chanel – Coco Noir

Coco Noir – The Unloved Chanel

COCO-NOIR_bottle_02

I must start this post with a disclaimer: I adore all things Chanel to a fault. In fact, my friends joke that I must be Gabrielle Bonheur reincarnate, so great is my passion for Chanel products, history, and tidbits. With perhaps the exception of a couple of male fragrance flankers, the truth remains that Chanel reigns supreme.

That being said, I was surprised to find so many bloggers disappointed (almost to the point of distress), with Chanel’s latest release, Coco Noir. While I understand some of their frustrations given the pre-release marketing descriptions of this product as the ultimate in Byzantine black magic, my interpretation of this fragrance was radically different.

Finding that it is always best to start at the beginning, let’s get one thing straight. Coco Noir is not, and shall never be, Coco. Coco was born in 1984 and as such, embodied all of the characteristics of that era. Noted for its sillage which often entered a room before its wearer did, Coco reflected the larger than life ideals of the 1980s. While most categorize this era as one of opulence, I would argue that another defining factor of this era was a certain innocence and hopefulness. The 1980s saw sweeping social and economic changes as a result of newly industrializing economies, creating a prevailing sense of unstoppable wealth and prosperity. Similar to other fragrances born after times of strife, the focus was on celebration and expression. This was a time when we were just being introduced to life-changing inventions such as the cell phone and Walkman, and we were exhilarated. Little did we know how these devices, then in their infancy stages, would propel us into a super-fast moving and “connected” society which would ironically erode all the time they attempted to save. The 1980s was a time characterized by luxurious enjoyment and contemplation, as opposed to the more immediate gratification desires of our current era. Perfume could take its time unfolding and wafting its charms as opposed to today’s mandate: “Need. Scent. Now”.

The majority of the reviews I read bemoaned the fact that Coco Noir was not Coco, instead of celebrating the fact that it was not Coco Mademoiselle. While Coco Noir does nod in the direction of its candy-coated sister born in 2001, I saw Coco Noir as Chanel’s attempt to claw back the territory away from the sugary lollipop flower fruit-choulis that have come to dominate the landscape, and drag the consumer back to a place of complexity, even if by baby steps only.

While Coco Noir’s top notes of grapefruit and bergamot sparkle in typical Chanel fashion, the reference is more to the newer Chanel creations under the direction of Jacques Polge than either of his predecessors. This is no magical aldehydic veil a la Chanel 22. Contained within the Chanel heart of rose and jasmine are narcissus and rose geranium leaf, which lend the fragrance a subtle spicy quality, though far different from the warm clove heart of the original Coco. The effect of warmth is enhanced once the base notes of musk, tonka bean, sandalwood, and vanilla take over.1936-Chanel-in-Venice

Present throughout is the patchouli. While I understand that it is challenging to disassociate this scent from its current popular and often warped interpretations, patchouli was historically regarded as an exotic fragrance, frequently utilized in opulent incenses. Here then is the reference to the original Coco, and to Chanel’s “Coromandel culture” as referenced by Mr. Polge. The reference to Coco is not literal, only figurative. One must read between the lines. While the longevity is superior to some of Chanel’s more recent releases, it does not possess the tenacity of Coco. It does stay with me through a workday, though by the afternoon I can be caught pressing my nose to my sleeve.

While Coco conveys the organic warmth and fluidity of caramel brown, Coco Noir embodies the spirit of black: defined, contained and discrete. Where Coco is a warm cashmere wrap over a sumptuous silk blouse pulled together with a thick gold necklace, Coco Noir is a well-tailored black velvet jacket. Coco Noir hovers close to the skin unlike its sisters, creating a very personal and intimate experience of warmth, precisely what I need on days when all of my “modern” inventions are driving me to distraction.

Oriental

Notes: grapefruit, bergamot, rose, jasmine, narcissus, rose geranium leaf, musk, tonka bean, sandalwood, and vanilla.