Chanel – Nº 19 Poudré

Posted on July 30, 2013 by Leah

Chanel – Nº 19 Poudré

There are some fragrances which take me ages to review, simply because I find them uninspiring. Then there are those fragrances which are so sublimely iconic that they are nearly impossible to reduce to mere words. Finally, there are those fragrances which I have difficulty getting my head around and need time to reflect upon before formulating an opinion, let alone a review.

No 19 Poudré falls into this last category, emphatically so. My expectation upon its release in 2011 was that it would be something along the lines of how the Chanel website describes it – a “luminous re-imagining of Coco Chanel’s signature scent”. Given how bold the original Nº19 is, I envisioned its Poudré sister would be equally so, with a dose of modern perfumery’s requisite sweetness and of course, powder. I could not have been more mistaken.

Admittedly, it took me some time to get over my preconceptions, so much so, that I made a (short-lived) vow never to read a perfume press release again. But once I got past the lack of crisp galbanum, the boldness of leather and the rich, earthiness of oakmoss, I started focusing on what the fragrance did possess.

To truly appreciate this fragrance, my recommendation is this: forget the name. Put it completely out of your mind that this bears any relation whatsoever with Nº19, since the only impression of the original is as though smelled from a great distance, through a smoky veil.

Nº19 Poudré possesses subtle, delicate green notes which feel as soothing as toner on sunburnt skin. Rather than focus on the sharp, angular aspects of the original, the fragrance highlights its subtleties. Stripped of its edgy aspects, Poudré feels like a powdery floral, rounded out with super-clean musks and sweetened with tonka. The overall effect of is of an iris powder-puff surrounded by a fuzzy incense cloud. While I cannot help but wish for more dimensionality and lasting power in the scent, Jacques Polge did create a lovely-enough iris fragrance.

Notes: Mandarin, Neroli, Iris, Jasmine, Galbanum, Vetiver, Musk, Tonka Bean.

Guerlain – Shalimar

Posted on May 10, 2013 by Leah

Guerlain – Shalimar: Taking Risks

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.

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…

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.

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.

Guerlain – Chant D’Aromes

Posted on April 17, 2013 by Leah

Guerlain – Chant D’Aromes

Chant D’Aromes was the first solo creation of Jean-Paul Guerlain after the retirement of his grandfather Jacques. Chant D’Aromes was released in 1962, before much of the social and political upheaval which would come to define the era. The name, roughly translated as “Song of Scents” is especially revealing for me, because within Chant D’Aromes, I detect the seedlings of all of the magnificent creations Jean-Paul would cultivate throughout his illustrious career. If Aime Guerlain was innovation, and Jacques contemplation, Jean-Paul would soon prove to be flirtation.

While overall, Chant D’Aromes gives the impression of a light-hearted floral bouquet with rich peachy undertones, within the opening notes, I detect the slightest sharpness that would be the unforgettable introduction to Chamade. As the seedlings begin to unfurl out of their sharp green hyacinth cases, the radiant fruity warmth of what would become Nahema is apparent. Chant D’Aromes also has a slight animalic note that would re-appear in many of Jean-Paul’s creations, subtle enough not to cloud the overall innocent impression of the composition, yet an unmistakable nod to the scent of the woman whom these flowers adorn.

While Chant is a lovely fragrance in its own right, it conveys all of the exuberance of youth not yet tempered by long years of experience. Chant is jubilant and smells of a celebration, as though Jean-Paul was able to distill a thousand disparate thoughts about love and perfume and harmonize them into a glorious nectar. While his later fragrances would achieve a level of sophistication comparable to that of his predecessors, Chant is a beautiful creation that captures the excitement and passion of a young man in love. This by no means is meant to imply that Chant is an amateurish creation – on the contrary, Chant D’Aromes reflects a level of craftsmanship that surpasses many of the perfumes available today.

I am fortunate enough to have vintage versions of the extrait and eau de cologne which are similar in character, with the eau de cologne being slightly more powdery. I have not sampled the most recent reformulation, but understand that it bears a closer resemblance to Chant D’Aromes than prior attempts.

Floral Chypre

Notes: bergamot, mandarin, peach, tuberose, ylang ylang, , gardenia, honeysuckle, jasmine, helichrysum, iris, cedar and sandalwood, musk, oakmoss, frankincense, vetiver, and tonka bean.

Lancôme – La Vie Est Belle

Posted on February 27, 2013 by Leah

Lancôme – La Vie Est Belle

I anticipated the release of La Vie Est Belle with great excitement. It was developed by Olivier Polge, Dominique Ropion and Anne Flipo, a formidable team. Iris is one of my favorite notes for the ghostly, earthy, and chilling aspect it lends to perfumes and La Vie Est Belle was touted as “the first ever iris gourmand”. While there are other perfume houses that could dispute that claim, as an iris lover, this sounded profoundly promising. Nothing surpasses the beauty or elegance of iris in Guerlain’s Apres L’Ondee, Chanel’s 28 La Pausa or Serge Luten’s Iris Silver Mist. Yet despite numerous attempts and testing on blotter and skin alike, I have yet to detect any discernable iris note.

La Vie Est Belle created a bit of a dilemma for me. Perhaps I have been lulled by the fragrance’s cheerful demeanor or predictable plotline. Yes, La Vie Est Belle is well-made, more-so than many of the numerous fragrances I pass on the fragrance counters. And as must be the case with a perfume that seems to loosely follow the formula of the more seductive Angel by Thierry Mugler and the more refined Coco Mademoiselle, La Vie Est Belle is pretty. Perhaps that is where the problem lies. La Vie Est Belle feels like the pretty girl at the party who is quite nice but perhaps a bit lacking in intellect. She smiles so sweetly, perhaps a little too sweetly, I want to like her, but after speaking to her for five minutes I am terribly bored. When I look around the room, there seem to be several girls who look quite a bit like her, but perhaps have a more sultry or rebellious side that maintains my interest.

The fragrance moves along the fruit-flowers-patchouli track, hitting you all the while with a gourmand accord of vanilla, tonka and praline. Had the iris note been truly prominent, this fragrance would have stood a greater chance of achieving olfactory immortality. Without it, it’s just another pretty face in the fragrance crowd. The fragrance does possess an incredible sillage and lasting power however as my blotters were still going strong the next day. La Vie Est Belle is a nicely-done fruitchouli, a bit overpowering and forgettable for my taste, but it did win the popular vote in Fragantica‘s 2012 community poll. If you don’t have any fragrances in this genre and Angel and Coco Mademoiselle are too bold for you, La Vie Est Belle may work for you.

Gourmand

Notes: Iris pallida, iris aldehyde, jasmine, orange blossom, patchouli, vanilla, tonka bean, praline, black currant and pear.

Serge Lutens – Gris Clair

Posted on January 31, 2013 by Leah

Serge Lutens – Gris Clair

I will start out this post with two admissions. First: I do not tend to view fragrances as “masculine” or “feminine”, rather as well-composed and beautiful, or not. There are several fragrances which I appreciate from both categories, one of my favorites being Chanel’s Egoiste. That being said, Gris Clair is definitely suited to being worn by a man. Second: I have a degree of synesthesia, which means that I perceive abstract things as having color. For example, the number One is white. The letter E is green. While I do not experience this to a degree that is disruptive (unless you consider not being able to wear certain fragrances while dressed in a certain color disruptive), it does sometimes create confusion when my perceived impression is challenged. Case in point, the fact that Thierry Mugler’s Angel was blue-colored was shocking to me, because it was so obviously in my mind the smell of all things deep, delicious and brown. Why I raise this will become clear.

The first time I set out to conquer the masterful body of work that is the Serge Lutens line, I started small. Not in volume, just in size. I obtained a number of sample vials based largely on description and personal inclination. As part of this bounty, I requested a vial of Gris Clair. When the samples arrived, I immediately smothered myself in Tubereuse Criminelle and Ambre Sultan and was out of commission for the rest of the evening. The next morning, I opened the Gris Clair vial and was immediately surprised by the novel treatment of lavender. I liked it well enough, but then I put it away to further explore the more immediately and blatantly intoxicating fragrances.

Then a funny thing happened. Days went by, and I could not stop thinking about Gris Clair. Was that a hint of smoke I detected? How did the interplay between lavender and a certain ashy sensation play out? Like a handsome stranger one sees fleetingly before the train doors shut, I could not stop thinking about this mysterious beauty. I had to seek it out and investigate further.

While I generally associate lavender with warm sunshine, sweeping fields and the fresh-scrubbed innocence of childhood, Gris Clair’s lavender did not fit into any of these categories. This is an adult, refined lavender with a shadowy, ghostly aspect. Gris Clair has a certain chill to it, not unlike the smell of dry burning wood on a cold winter night. While tonka and amber round out the smokiness and give a spark of life and depth to the fire, the predominant impression is that of alternating wisps of lavender and incense smoke. Neither impression dominates, the two just alternate and envelop each other throughout the day in a magical smoky dance.

While the sillage is more serene than some of Christopher Sheldrake’s creations for the Lutens line, the tenacity is no less impressive. It stays with me through the day without my needing to hunt for it. While I would be loath to attempt to pit one Serge Lutens fragrance against another in comparison, this is quite different than many of his creations. Circling back to the synesthesia discussion, I see the entire Serge Lutens line as a color wheel, where certain shades congregate at one part of the circle versus another, grouped by commonalities in composition. Blues and purples here, yellows and greens there and round again for red and orange. Exchange certain elements of the composition and you no longer have blue, you have orange.

I sometimes have the sense that the house views the fragrances this way as well, given the deep and provocative hues they select for the fragrances. Gris Clair is in fact, light grey and falls to the end of a certain spectrum in the line, closer to a Five O’Clock at Gingembre and a tiny glimmer of Ambre Sultan. If you prefer the other end of the color wheel inhabited by A La Nuit, this will probably not be for you, unless like me, you have room enough in your heart to love them all. Gris Clair… definitely inhabits the other-worldly domain of grey where the sharp lines between black and white fade to abstraction: it is neither lavender nor ash. It is both and yet neither, warm and cold, calm and yet arresting. If I had to select one word to complete the space after the ellipses in the name, the suggestion that there is more to this fragrance than initially perceived, it is this… haunting.

Woods

Notes: iris, incense, tonka bean, amber, lavender and wood notes.

Chanel – Coco Noir

Posted on January 29, 2013 by Leah

Coco Noir – The Unloved Chanel

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.

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.

Guerlain – Chamade

Posted on January 24, 2013 by Leah

Guerlain – Chamade

A good friend of mine is from Iceland, which like any country, features an unique culinary tradition. Given the island’s reliance on the fishing industry, much of their cuisine revolves around fish, although their excellent dairy places a close second. Since we first met each other toward the end of the year, the subject of holiday meals came up. Always eager to learn about a new culture, I asked my friend if there were any special dishes that were eaten on the holidays, conjuring visions of holiday recipe-swapping. The response was not quite what I was expecting: fermented stingray. After clarifying that this was not a joke, my friend went on to explain that stingray was traditionally prepared by Iceland’s Viking ancestors by burying a dead stingray and letting it “ferment” (her word, mine “rot”). While I will spare you the minute details, the ammonia contained within the stingray’s body essentially “cooks” the fish, not unlike a ceviche. Needless to say, I would not be preparing this in my kitchen anytime soon.

When I asked my friend if she liked it, she said “Not the first time. The first time it smelled so awful, I thought I might get sick”. The use of the term “first time” implied that there was a second or even numerous times. She explained that while it was an acquired taste, after the initial opening stench of ammonia, the stingray was delicious. I was baffled! How did she get past that offensive opening and come to love this strange creation? It made no sense to me. And then I realized it did: Chamade.

While I am a lover of bright, intense openings and even more so a lover of Guerlain, in all honesty I must admit that the first time I smelled Chamade I thought that someone, somewhere had made a mistake and filled this beautiful, inverted heart bottle with nail polish remover. While I adore several fragrances which feature prominent hyacinth notes (Chanel’s Cristalle and No 19, Balmain’s Vent Vert) they are tempered by the introduction of other elements. Not so with Chamade. The combination of hyacinth with galbanum and blackcurrent created an opening that cut through the air like a sharp green saber which showed no signs of relenting. I put the bottle back, far into the darkest reaches of my perfume cabinet, untested.

But something didn’t feel right about walking away from this fragrance, named after the distinctive pitter-pat of a heart in love, a nod at the Françoise Sagan novel and French film by the same name starring none-other-than Catherine Deneuve. So many had waxed poetic about its charms, and the skill of the then-young Jean-Paul Guerlain, I felt I must be missing something. I had read the fragrance notes, and I knew there was a Guerlain accord hiding in there somewhere, if I could just steel my reserve and do the unthinkable: test it on skin.

Needless to say, I was rewarded. Chamade perfectly captures the cool detachment of attraction and the growing warmth of love, but its beauty is only revealed to the patient suitor. The intense opening was merely the awkward, butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling that proceeds the sweetest and most passionate of kisses. Chamade slowly unfolds into a soft floral base of rose, ylang ylang, jasmine, lilac, and lily of the valley: for every great romance must have its tenderness. As the fragrance settles further, drawing heat from the skin, the magic of Guerlain is revealed in a soft, velvety base of vanilla, amber, iris and woods: for every great love must have its warmth. And as we overlook the idiosyncrasies of our most beloved, I am finally able to embrace the sharp opening, knowing that a warm embrace awaits me.

Floral oriental

Notes of Turkish rose, ylang ylang, jasmine, lilac, blackcurrant, lily of the valley, hyacinth, cassis, galbanum, sandalwood, vetiver, vanilla, musk, amber, iris and tonka bean.

Quintessence

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