White Floral Queen Part Seven: Robert Piguet Fracas

By Donna Well, it will come as no surprise to white floral aficionados everywhere that Fracas is on my list. It’s the one everyone knows and either loves or dislikes. It’s not a take it leave it perfume; it engenders strong opinions in those who have experienced it. Those who think they know me well may be a little taken aback by how much I love it. Why is that? This is THE ultimate diva/femme fatale fragrance; it’s the scent of the woman everyone, including me, secretly wants to be. It steals scenes and upends the status quo. It leaves its victims (i.e. men) wondering just what happened to their judgment and good sense. It is the perfume for women who know exactly what they want and helps them to get it, and scruples be damned. In short, it is for the woman I am only in my fondest daydreams. When I wear it, I get to be her for just a little while – the one who causes all the commotion and whose heart is never broken by the one who got away – because she herself is the cause of the heartbreak, the longed-for focus of another’s desire. Who would not want to walk in her stilettos, however briefly? The aptly named Fracas was released in 1948 by the Parisian house of couturier Robert Piguet, who catered to a very exclusive clientele. (The perfumer who created it was Germaine Cellier, who did the great and fierce Bandit for the house several years earlier, and who would go on to compose one of my other all-time favorites, Balmain’s Jolie Madame, in 1953.) According to osMoz.com, Fracas was the harbinger of a fragrance sub-family called floral-orange tuberose, which now includes such popular scents as the original Chloe eponymous fragrance, Kenzo by Kenzo, Jardins de Bagatelle and Mahora by Guerlain, Amarige by Givenchy, Gardénia Passion by Annick Goutal and even the ethereal La Chasse au Papillons by L’Artisan, and believe it or not, Poison by Dior. Fracas was the mother of them all, and it has not only stood the test of time, but currently enjoys great popularity that has never waned. It has been somewhat reformulated since its original inception, having been “relaunched” in 1996, but unlike some others, it has not lost its essential character. I have tried both versions and I am equally happy with each. Why does this perfume persist when so many others of its vintage have fallen into obscurity? It is lush, exotic, sexy and over-the-top. It makes no apologies for what it is - an unabashed celebration of femininity. Overdose amounts of tuberose and orange blossom are underlaid by heavily indolic jasmine, with a leavening and unexpected counterpoint of cooler jonquil and lily-of-the-valley. This perfume means business, and that business is seduction. There is nothing coy or bashful about it. At the time of its creation, most perfumes created for women were quite strong; there was no market research driven by the youthful consumers of today who buy transparent and faceless “clean”, “fresh” and “aquatic” scents on a massive scale. Perfume was made for grownups back then. Celebrities (or anyone else, for that matter) did not go out in public wearing baseball caps, torn t-shirts and baggy sweat pants. Adults dressed the part, and that included adult-strength perfume. Some were of a more buttoned-down and formal style, while others were made in the manner of Fracas – womanly and profoundly complicated. Upon first contact with the nose, Fracas is languid and sweet. Opening with a burst of bergamot and a candied note of mandarin orange, as it develops on skin it gathers strength - look up “heady” in the dictionary and there is its picture. Somewhere from its depths come violet, iris and vetiver notes that just add to the impact; way down at the bottom lurk sandalwood and oakmoss. A spicy fillip of carnation gives the mix an additional kick and there is even some peach to make it even sweeter and creamier. The centerpiece of this perfume is the tuberose, however. It is a big, blowsy and flagrant accord that takes no prisoners. For a scent that is not technically a tuberose soliflore, it has more of it than most, and it’s spectacular. The dreamily tropical tuberose flower is not capable of playing second fiddle to anything else anyway, and here it has been given free rein to weave its intoxicating spell. Its modern descendants such as Frederic Malle’s Carnal Flower and Serge Lutens Tubéreuse Criminelle can trace their style right back to the source of their inspiration – without Fracas they very likely would not have been possible. The first time I ever tried Fracas, I was really too young to wear it with any sort of confidence. It was just so overwhelming to me back then; I could not imagine what would be an appropriate occasion for wearing it. Much later I did buy it – a big bottle – and I still wear this fragrance today, but I am really careful about where and when I deploy this intensely sensuous and penetrating perfume that some people are actually afraid to wear. It radiates both sweetness and danger, and it should not be worn by the timid among us. I was quite shy and somewhat of a tomboy when I was younger, so a perfume like this was out of the question. Tuberose and flannel do not go together at all. Now that I have attained a certain age and I know who I am, I have no fear of wearing Fracas. As I no longer hide behind unisex clothing and tennis shoes, a uniform that said, “don’t notice me,” neither do I have any qualms about embracing my “girly” side these days. (Female empowerment does not mean having to dress and act like a man.) Since I work in an environment where wearing Fracas for daytime would not be appropriate, I save it for special evenings and for when I am at home, at which time I am apt to spritz it on myself in alarming quantities, and even spray my sheets and pillows with it at bedtime to encourage sweet dreams. (I do this with Jean Patou’s Joy too, and it really seems to work!) The lasting power of Fracas is not only a matter of its popularity – it also applies to its longevity on the skin. If you put it on one day, you will still have it on the next – perhaps even after a shower it will still be apparent. For most people the Eau de Toilette will be plenty strong. If you really want to knock ‘em dead, there is Eau de Parfum or concentrated Parfum, and if you dare, a rich and redolent solid Parfum. And if you want your fragrance to come in all sorts of accessory forms, you are really in luck with Fracas; from body lotion and creams to candles to bath sets to dusting powder and boxed gift sets, you can get it any way you like it, a testament to its unwavering iconic status. (Check out the selection at the online boutique Luscious Cargo for an idea of what’s out there - It is also available in major department stores and many other online stores.) Image credits: Fracas bottle from PerfumeX.com. Photo of actress Gong Li as the scenery-shredding evil Empress in the film Curse Of The Golden Flower, from imageshack.us.

Back on Tuesday

Happy Memorial Day to the US readers, and and I hope everybody had a great weekend. We will be back on Tuesday with a review of something "lush, exotic, sexy and over-the-top".

Perfume Review: Laura Biagiotti Sotto Voce

Remember the beginning of Meet Joe Black, when a voice is saying, yes, yes, as if answering William Parrish's unasked question? I have been hearing a voice like that too, only sometimes it whispers, yes, and sometimes, no. My question is probably different from Mr. Parrish's. I want to know if it is true what they say, that you can never go home again. Because it wouldn't be the same home, the same you. Because life should be a forward movement, not retrograde. But what if you are ready to make peace with the changes? And might it not be so that sometimes going back is actually a progress? How any of that soul-searching relates to perfume, you might justifiably ask. Well, I have been re-visiting a lot of old favorites that I never believed I would be able to love again. The last bastion standing was Sotto Voce, Laura Biagiotti's 1996 gem, now inexcusably discontinued. I used to wear it during most difficult years of my life so far, and it has become associated with so many different kinds of heartbreak that I did not dare to smell it for almost a decade. I remembered it as powdery and soft, an intimate whisper of a fragrance. Apparently it used to smell really good on me, because someone once wrote me a short poem inspired by it (the only love poem I ever got). This year I felt I was ready to meet Sotto Voce and see if it would be bearable for us to be together again. It never ceases to amaze me just how powerful our olfactory memories are. The first sniff of Sotto Voce in about ten years felt as if "someone hit me in the gut, taking my breath away for a moment". But the flood of associations, which swept over me when I smelled the softly spicy floral top notes of the perfume, passed, miraculously not carrying me away to a tragic end, like some sort of emotional tsunami, and I was...home. The creamy heart of tuberose, ylang ylang and slightly bitter heliotrope was as charmingly warm and downy-soft as I remembered. As before, sandalwood and vanilla were blended with delicate flowers to create an effect that was not quite woody and not quite floral, making Sotto Voce a scent escaping definitions and categorizations...a scent elusive and always, quietly, present, a soft aura of warmth, a tender and sensual skin scent...It was incredibly comforting to wear it again, like coming back to loving arms after long and unnecessary separation. However, parallels between perfume and life can only be drawn so far. You can come back to a perfume. Can you go home again? Sotto Voce is sometimes available on eBay, for rather ridiculous sums of money. The image is by Blaise Reutersward.

Stink, Stank, Stunk

By Tom Okay, my friend Marietta insisted that I worked that phrase in somewhere into a review. I can't think of a scent that it works better with than with Hermes' Eau d'Hermes, in the best way possible. March reviewed this a few months ago and when I had the chance to try it I of course had to. Its initial blast is very clean, and that lasts about three seconds before the cumin hits. Right between the eyes it hits. March writes that if you don't like cumin you won't like this one. More like if you don't like cumin you will curse the day you ever met this stuff. I love cumin, so I was pretty happy with that drrrty opening. Sadly, that initial come-hither opening after an hour or so fades from Vin Diesel to Vindaloo; it smells on me like something from Taste of India. While I love that smell in take-out, I am not sure that I need to personally radiate it. Oddly, the final drydown is fairly dapper, a complete 180 from it's over-the-top opening. Luca Turin curses it as having a feeling of monagrammed slippers and warns men of my age away from it. I don't think that's quite fair; the scent is briliiant and I think I need a bottle. I just won't wear it to work. Image source, hermes.com

Perfume Review: Frederic Malle French Lover

As they said in Bull Durham, nobody on this planet ever really chooses each other...it's all a question of quantum physics, molecular attraction and timing. Same with perfume. You go to a store for a bit of lighthearted sniffing, you try this and that, Le Labo Patchouli smells like the inside of an army boot AND like cotton candy, Avignon and Zagorsk are fantastic but you are not ready to abandon the sinful ways of the world and join a monastery just yet, everything by Lutens smells like sweet tobacco, Musc Ravageur is pure honey, Vetiver Extraordinaire is too sharply-green, Bigarade is boring, Noir Epices smells like your mother's Shalimar...at this point you are pretty sure you will stay happily loyal to your three current favorites. Then, while they are ringing a gift you bought for somebody else, you absentmindedly pick up and spray Bois d'Orage. And molecular attraction happens. They can say whatever they want about skin chemistry not existing. When a perfume really works on somebody's skin ...well, you just know it. You know it, your companion knows it, the sales assistant knows it... Barney's goes quiet for just a second to honor the solemnity of the moment. What it smells like on you... It smells like the morning after the night spent frolicking in the woods or the beach or the fields...somewhere NATURAL. It smells of plants that might seem green and fresh but really are dirty little things that are up to no good. It smells of wet earth, which might be one of the sexiest scents ever...on you, anyway. There is a striking, brooding note there (perhaps incense) that is very you, there is no other way to describe it. And there is an unexpectedly sweet accord softening the sharp angles of the composition that is also You, a happy you, a relaxed you, perhaps you in love. It smells rustic but also tres sophisticated... a fragrance of a very urban person spending a romantic weekend in the country. (And here is some more in defense of skin chemistry theory: on your companion, the fragrance smells of...watermelons and cedar, in fact bizarrely similar to Hermes's new Un Jardin Apres La Mousson.) When you learn that it so happens - talk about timing - that it is actually possible to have the perfume with the original name, French Lover, which amuses you to no end on so many levels, you are completely sold. New perfume love is born. Bois d'Orage is available at Barneys, $190.00 for 100ml. If you too prefer it under the name French Lover (and I do think that the two smell a little different, Bois d'Orage has a sharper, more resinous top accord, and French Lover has a subtle tobacco-like undertone), Gustavo, the Editions de Parfums counter manager, might be able to help you. Image source, imdb.com

Perfume Review: Dior Addict

The rule of thumb in colombina-world is, the sweeter a Dior scent, the less likely I am to be able to tolerate it. The rule does not necessarily apply to all brands. Some of the sweetest Chanels, Coromandel, Coco and Coco Mademoiselle, are on my Top 25-30 list. I don't have a very sweet tooth in perfume (and in food, I don't have it at all), but I have been known to enjoy such sweet monsters as Flowerbomb (especially Extreme), Trouble and Angel Rose. But there is something about Dior's most sugared creations, Addict and Midnight Poison, that, whenever I attempt to wear them, makes me want to crawl out of my skin and run away shrieking in horror. Maybe it is the root-beer-like accord that the two seem to share (although in Midnight Poison it is much more pronounced), and I loathe root beer with passion. At this point you can pretty much guess that this is not going to be a glowing review. Having said that, I don't think there is anything wrong with the scent as such. It is just like the copy promises, "Sensual. Soft. Feminine". It is sweet, but not teenybopper-sweet. In fact, with its pronounced floral accord and the rich base of sandalwood and tonka bean, Addict is fairly sophisticated. It is also fairly boring. The suggestive ad is as far removed from my vision of this unexciting fragrance as can be. Addict, to me, is not Liberty Ross with a nipple almost showing. It is Andy McDowell in a navy column dress. No disrespect to the beautiful Andy McDowell, but man does she bore me to tears. As do navy column dresses. Dior Addict is available at Sephora, $65.00-$85.00.

Ebba: By Sand, Miss Marisa and Miss Marisa Tropical

By Linda Every once in a while I encounter a scent that I find sufficiently arresting that it brings everything to a halt, calming me like a good cup of tea. The day slows around me and I relax. By Sand is one of those scents for me, which is shocking, because it is everything I normally do not care for in a scent. It is sweetly girlish. It is fairly linear, after the wild few seconds of the top notes settling into the long afternoon of its heart. It is initially citrusy, which usually—but not here—translates to “30 seconds until Linda has a headache and smells of armpit.” And it has ripe, decadent fruit, tons of fruit to my nose. It has become one of my favorite early-summer scents. When first sprayed, By Sand bursts with an almost perverse riot of Kaffir lime, apricot, jasmine, and ginger. I think I smell a very subtle vetiver, but it is gone before I can grasp it, perhaps a fleeting, olfactory hologram of vetiver created by the zesty freshness of the lime and the languid warmth of ginger tea. The jasmine morphs into a sort of candied gardenia as vanilla emerges to warm the scent further. While it is indubitably a fresh scent, indubitably fruity, it is remarkably easygoing and comforting: a cup of warm ginger tea and a plate of apricot scones in a sunny window seat. Because I was excited to try other offerings from Ebba, more or less at random, I tried Miss Marisa and – out of complete perversity – Miss Marisa Tropical. There is a certain Ebba aesthetic all three of these scents conform to, as if they had been built out of dissimilar materials to form a similar picture – all are creamy, sweet, and conjure up open spaces and greenery in my mind. Miss Marisa is a remarkable scent, which I think I would give to my young teenage or tween-age daughter, if I had one, as a first perfume. It is at once sophisticated, energetic, and young, without being too seductive or piercing. The heart of the scent is a sweet waterlily and blackcurrant mixture, tart and intriguing. A remarkably fresh mint weaves around the edges of the fragrance. One pictures an excursion to pick fruit at the water’s edge, one’s feet in cool mint and with delicate spring petals falling. Miss Marisa Tropical is exactly as one would assume it would be: Miss Marisa minus the brilliant mint scent, with ginger to replace the minty piquancy and a heavy freight of fruit, including peach, mango, coconut, pineapple. For the first ten minutes it is on my skin, I find it intolerably fruit-cocktail-like. (Someone stick a tiny umbrella and straw in me, and … well, you get the idea.) But to my surprise, it mellows into an interesting mélange warmed by ginger. The rabid pineapple-coconut scent mellows and it assumes a fruity, creamy aroma that is very pleasant.

Etat Libre d'Orange Tom of Finland

By Tom Etat Libre is an niche house with scents that range from raw and interesting to raw and unwearable. Their latest is an eponymous one commissioned by the Tom of Finland Foundation to help mark, well whatever. In any case I was very much looking to try it, since the notes of leather, tonka, vetiver and musks seem right up my dark alley (this dramatic device, for the uninitiated is called "foreshadowing"). The opening has a wild whisper of dark booziness to it, like the ghost of a shot of Jack Daniels, neat. A metallic rubberiness quickly joins in followed by a leather smell that smells a lot like the inside of the sort of boutique that used to be on Christopher Street or Santa Monica Boulevard before gentrification made them both become the be-Starbucksed, family-friendly, anodyne-gay boulevards they are today. There's a doublemint freshness to this that cuts the vague S/M aspect until the whole thing sort of collapses into a very wearable skin scent with a slight edge of leather. As much as I hate to disagree with Patty I am left fairly unmoved by this one. Compared to other scents with the same notes it seems, well timid. For a scent that's supposed to evoke the whole leather-dude ethos Patchouli 24, Eau de Fier, Kolnisch Juchten or even for that matter Tabac Blond does this far more definitely. Do I hate it? No, it's quite nice. If it was reasonably priced and showed up at luckyscent, I might pop for a bottle. I know that this was commissioned by the Tom of Finland foundation and that one has to be 21 or over to buy due to the outre graphics involved, but I have to ask, for whom is this intended? Real leathermen wouldn't be caught dead wearing anti-perspirant much less than something as nelly as cologne (don't ask how I know, just trust me on this), so why this wan juice for such provocative packaging? I think the boys in the Marais are going to sniff Secretions Magnifiques and think that it should be in the bottle with the hunky guy in the chaps instead of this, which could be titled "Ghosts of MePa". I mean I like it, but at least on me it's way more Tom's of Maine than Tom of Finland...

We are on a break

PST is taking a short break. We will be back in business as usual on Friday. Have a great week, everybody!

White Floral Queen Part Six: Annick Goutal Gard├йnia Passion

By Donna I have been a devoted fan of the Annick Goutal line from the very first time I tried it at my local perfume shop. To me they represented the best classic traditions carried on in modern formulations. Some are ethereally light while others pack an intense punch of depth and sensuality. My favorite among the latter category is Gardénia Passion. The 1983 Goutal chypre-floral fragrance called Passion is a very fine perfume in its own right, a complex floral bouquet of great sophistication. (Not to be confused with “Elizabeth Taylor’s Passion,” which had to use the full three-word name after a brush with trying to use the “Passion” name, which turned out to be copyrighted by Annick Goutal, and it is an inferior scent.) I actually had a hard time choosing between the two when I decide to purchase my first bottle many years ago. The 1989 gardenia version won me over. Passion is a lovely composition based on tuberose and jasmine; Gardénia Passion “kicks it up a notch” with the addition of gardenia and orange blossom. You might think that such a fragrance would be overwhelmingly sweet, but it’s really not. For one thing, the jasmine accord is extremely animalic and deep rather than bright, and though while it is intensely redolent of white flowers, this fragrance remains elegant and refined throughout its development, as it is comprised of very high quality ingredients, and it shows. It really is more of a tuberose scent than gardenia to my nose, but the orange blossom accord gives it a pleasantly soapy and slightly green quality that keeps the headiness (somewhat) under control. There is a subtle citrus note, and something else green and sharp hiding at the bottom of this perfume; lots of oakmoss, which I can never get enough of. This last also ensures that Gardénia Passion has unsurpassed endurance on the skin. It has a weightier base than some other white floral scents and thus is not all float and shimmer; it maintains equilibrium between the sweet flowers and the austerity of the oakmoss. Gardénia Passion is one of those perfumes that transforms the wearer in unexpected ways. Suddenly you feel powerful, sophisticated and sexy all at the same time, and you feel ready to take on anything the world has to offer. (However, I would not suggest wearing it to work unless you own the company; otherwise the line between the boardroom and the bedroom could become a little bit blurred.) If your skin tends to amplify white floral scents, as mine does, this one could become quite strong in a closed room. Of course, that should not stop you from wearing it for any other occasion outside of the office. I wear mine to the grocery store or a night on the town with the same abandon. I find it to be equally suitable for cold or warm weather. It has enough substance to assert itself in winter, while not becoming cloying during humid summer heat. Now, bear in mind that I am speaking as one whose tolerance of this class of fragrance is very high; your results may differ. I feel that Gardénia Passion is a true modern classic that will stand the test of time. It has been around for almost twenty years now, and it is still very popular. It seems to hit just the right note of white floral richness without being too loud or overbearing, a veritable Platonic ideal of perfumery. I plan to still be wearing it when I get old, and when I put it on I will be transformed into a Grande Dame instead of just an old lady. That is the magic of Gardénia Passion. I will go so far as to liken it to film legend Sophia Loren; undeniably sensuous and yes, passionate, yet somehow always dignified and never the least bit vulgar. The Annick Goutal line is widely sold in better department stores such as Nordstrom, in perfume boutiques, and from online fragrance discount merchants. Gardénia Passion comes in Eau de Parfum, which can be a little hard to find, and in Eau de Toilette. The most popular Goutal scents, including Gardénia Passion, are also available in bath and body products. The body cream and shower gel in this scent are just outrageously good. Image credits: Gardénia Passion bottle from fragranceX.com. Photo of actress Sophia Loren posing for the famous Pirelli Calendar in 2007 at age 71, from newsamericanow.com.