Eye Candy: Guerlain flacon bouchon coeur & Sonia Rykiel heart necklace

Russian Saturday: Nahéma Guerlain

By Alena Потребность в розах – как потребность в хлебе. Это вечная ольфакторная ценность. Когда на блошином рынке я увидела миниатюру духов Nahéma Guerlain (копирайт 1979 года) на ложе из пластика непристойно-розового цвета, я не сомневалась ни минуты: мне с осени не дают покоя розовые розы, но в наши цветочные лавки никак не завезут цветы нужного мне цвета и размера. Nahéma cтартует сладко, тягуче, будто потягиваясь. Немного остроты бергамота, бархатных листьев герани – мелкая дрожь пробегает по расслабленному телу. Еще различимы очертания розовых лепестков. Они мелькают перед глазами, как в ускоренной съемке. Имя им – легион. Nahéma быстро согревается и окутывает собой, как коконом. Кокон этот размером с Вселенную. Запас внутреннего тепла в ней кажется неисчерпаемым. Каждый раз, когда я переживаю этот старт, у меня такое чувство, будто я сижу в лодке, которую оттолкнули от берега в вечность. А в вечности – розовое солнце в зените. Шар, слепленный из однородной, пластичной розово-абрикосовой массы, плотной и воздушной одновременно. Как такое возможно – спросите у Жан-Поля. У солнца холодные гиацинтовые протуберанцы и сандалово-бензоиновое ядро. Иногда меня возвращают в реальность призраки розового масла. Но и на солнце бывают пятна. В Nahéma розы обрели вторую жизнь. Сырой материал переработан в нечто новое, удивительно цельное. Очертания слились, силуэты неразличимы. В Nahéma нет ничего, что заставляло бы думать о том, как это сделано. В Nahéma – аккумулированная энергия полуденного солнца. Чувство безопасности и безмятежности, в котором так легко потерять бдительность. Nahéma – это декаданс. Абсолютный инь. Невыносимая легкость бытия. ------------------------- The need for roses is like the need for bread. It is an eternal olfactory value. When at a flea market I saw a miniature perfume Nahéma Guerlain (copyright 1979) on a plastic bed of obscene pink color, I didn’t doubt even for a moment: pink roses haunt my mind since autumn, but our flower shops still don’t have the roses of a size and color that I need. Nahéma starts sweet, viscous, as if it’s stretching itself. A bit of bergamot sharpness, a bit of velvety geranium leaves – and a shiver runs through your relaxed body. Above that you could recognize outlines of rose petals. They flash in front of your eyes, as if in a rapid motion. Their name is a legion. Nahéma warms up quickly and shrouds you like a cocoon. That cocoon is the size of the Universe. Its internal heat reserve seems to be inexhaustible. Every time I experience this start I have a feeling that I’m sitting in a boat that’s been pushed off from a shore to eternity. And in eternity the rose sun in its zenith. A sphere shaped out of uniform, plastic rose-apricot substance, dense and sparse at the same time. How could that be? – Ask Jean-Paul. The sun has cold hyacinth prominences and a sandal-benzoin core. Sometimes I’m being brought back to reality by ghosts of rose oil. But even Sun has its spots. Roses in Nahéma got their second life. Raw material transformed into something new, amazingly rigid. Outlines are blended together, silhouettes are indistinct. Nahéma has nothing that could make you wonder what it’s made of. In Nahéma, you’ll find accumulated energy of the midday sun. Feeling of safety and serenity, when it’s so easy to let your guard down. Nahéma is decadence. Absolute yin. The unbearable lightness of life. Nahéma Guerlain (Jean-Paul Guerlain, 1979): bergamot, mandarin, rose; rose, peach, cyclamen, lily; vanilla, sandalwood, vetiver, and benzoin.

The Warm & Fuzzies

Well, it's that time of the year.  The overnight lows last night (Tuesday the 6th) were a toasty 41 degrees and the lows will be around that all week.  I know that a lot of you live in places where it's a lot colder, but one of the facts about living in LA is that insulation is practically non-existant on most older places like mine.  So it's get-out-the-bankies time at my house. The plus side of this is that it's also get out the heavy-hitters time.  This sort of weather is perfect for something like Ambre Sultan, which is practically a campfire in and of itself. I've been finding myself reaching for Guerlain Spiriteuse Double Vanille a lot.  I wrote about this time last year: "It's also one of the truest vanillas I have ever experienced in perfume: it is remarkably like a home-made vanilla extract, which is merely a pod and really good vodka that is left to sit. Frankincense, pepper, and rose flavor it and when I wear it I can't help but when I am alone stick my nose under my sweater and breathe deeply. If Nigella Lawson had come up with a perfume, this could well have been it" It's pricey at $225 for 2.5 oz, but that bottle will last all eternity.  It's a Nordstrom, Neiman Marcus and Bergdorf Goodman, where I purchased mine several years ago. Please tell me in the comments what you're reaching for these days. Image credit: Dean & Deluca

Russian Saturday: Guerlain Vol de Nuit

Review and translation by Alena Тема полетов, начавшаяся с En Avion, не отпускала меня весь октябрь. Флакон старой тулаетки Vol de Nuit появился у меня еще летом. Тогда я пыталась понять, что летящего этом пудровом, гальбанумно-альдегидном аромате? А что ночного в этих чистых, до скрипа белых цветах? Да-да, я искала замысел в творении. Грешна, но что поделаешь, если они оба (замысел и творение) так прекрасны? Зеленые белоцветочные ароматы больше ассоциируются с хрустальной красотой ранеей весны, чем с осенью. Уже не вспомню, что заставило меня надеть Vol de Nuit в один из октябрьских дней, но на холодном сухом (такая редкость в нашем морском климате!) ветру Vol de Nuit показал свой зеленый оскал, расправил белоснежные альдегидные крылья и взлетел. Пудра уже не ложилась усталым облаком на плечи, а ультразвуковым шлейфом свистела за спиной. А какие лунные у нее вибрации! Vol de Nuit необходимо хоть немного прохлады. Это ночной зверь, не терпящий яркого солнца. В верхних нотах аромат– острая и холодная, как сталь, зелень. Кинжал со свистом пролетает мимо уха и исчезает в море белых цветов: здесь и нарцисс с его одурманивающей пыльцой, и резкий, до альгедидного хруста, гиацинт, и клубы неиндольного жасмина. Лучше не искать его там – поранитесь. Ирисовая пудра, боб тонка, ваниль искрятся в лунном свете, бело-сине-зеленом, как на картинах Куинджи. В базе аромата – чернота мха и белые амбровые угли, обжигающе-холодные. На них проступает не пепел, а соль, да так, что хочется лизнуть руку, чтобы удостовериться, что это не иллюзия. Характер Vol de Nuit во многом обусловлен концентрацией. Туалетные воды Guerlain гибки, подвижны и пластичны. В Vol de Nuit cочетается легкость и плотность, за что я так люблю старые герленовские туалетки. Его хрупкая красота бросает вызов вечности и попирает законы физики. Прерывается ночной полет, но звенящий шлейф Vol de Nuit кажется бесконечным. Летом я провела несколько недель на даче. Ночью там было так темно, что моя рука, которую я вытягивала перед собой, чтобы не напороться на шкаф (в доме) или дерево (в саду), пропадала в черноте где-то на уровне локтя. Зато когда поднималась луна, можно было пересчитать каждый лист. Нужно было уехать туда, где нет электричества, чтобы увидеть, как может быть светло черной автустовкой ночью. И нужно было надеть этот холодный аромат ветренным осенним днем, чтобы почувствовать, какая на самом деле горячая у меня кровь. -------------- The flight theme that I started with En Avion didn’t let me go for the whole October. I got a bottle of eau de toilet Vol de Nuit back in summer, and I was trying to understand what could be “flying” in this powderish, galbanum-aldehydic fragrance? And where is the “night” among these clean, almost squeaking white flowers? Yes, I was looking for a meaning in creation. Guilty, but what do I do, if they both (the meaning and the creation) are so beautiful? To me, green white flower fragranses match the beauty of early spring, rather than autumn. I can’t remember what made me try Vol de Nuit on one of October’s days, but in that cold and dry wind (very rare in our seaside climate!) Vol de Nuit showed its green grin, stretched its aldehydic wings, and took off. Instead of a tired cloud settling down on my shoulders, powder left an ultrasonic trail behind my back. What moonlike vibrations it has! Vol de Nuit needs at least a little bit of coldness. It is a nocturnal animal which can’t stand bright light. In the top notes of the fragrance there is a sharp and steel-cold verdancy. Dagger whistles past the ear and disappears in a see of white flowers. There’s a narcissus with its narcotic pollen, and harsh, almost crunchy aldehydic hyacinth, and clouds of non-indolic jasmine. It’s better not to look for it there – you’ll get hurt. Iris powder, tonka bean and vanilla are sparkling in the white-blue-green moonlight, as in Kuindzhi’s paintings. In the base – blackness of moss and white amber charcoal, scorching - cool. Not an ash, but salt emerges from it, so I want to lick my hand to believe it’s not an illusion. Vol de Nuit’s character largely depends on its concentration. Guerlain’s vintage eaux de toilette are flexible, mobile and plastic. Vol de Nuit combines lightness and density, that’s what I love about old Guerlain EDTs. Its fragile beauty defies eternity and violates laws of physics. Night flight comes to end, but the ringing trail of Vol de Nuit seems to be endless. I spent couple of weeks in the country this summer. It was so dark in the night, that my hand, stretched forward so that I won't run into a closet (inside) or a tree (outside), was disappearing in a darkness somewhere around the elbow. But when the moon appeared, you could see every leaf. I needed to escape somewhere with no electricity, to see, how dark an August night could be. And I needed to wear Vol de Nuit on a windy autumn day to feel how hot my blood really is. Vol de Nuit Guerlain (Jacques Gueralin, 1933) : orange, bergamot, lemon, mandarin, petitgrain, galbanum, sage, aldehydes violet, rosewood, palmarosa, jasmine, jonquil/daffodil, pimento; Vanilla, benzoin, Peru balsam, musk, cedarwood, orris, tonka bean, oakmoss, agarwood, sandalwood, vetiver, ambergris, castoreum.

Guerlain Shalimar Parfum Initial - Perfume Review

By Marina So, the regular Shalimar must have been judged too difficult to wear and understand for a younger crowd, and Guerlain had to come up with a flanker more suited for the tastes of Generation Z or whatever letter we are on now. At least that is what one gleans from the legend: Thierry Wasser was asked by his 17-year-old niece to make her own Shalimar...Aww. Thing is Parfum Initial smells no more approachable, easy-to-wear or dare I use the word, younger than the original. It simply smells less interesting. Not just the "intimidating" leather note (source) is gone, but also the luminous citrus top, which is what makes the real Shalimar shimmer like a precious multi-facted jewel that it is. And that is peculiar, because citruses are one of the most popular, non-threatening and "young" notes in perfume. What there is in abundance is orris, with a good old dollop of vanilla and tonka. I suppose Shalimar might be considered "heavy", but to me Parfum Intial, without the lift of the citrus, without the intrigue and intricasies of a complex development, is heavier still. It is blunt, it is a one-accord, if not a one-note composition. That one accord (of aforementioned orris-vanilla-tonka) makes the composition sort of recognizable as a Guerlain, but not all that recognizable specifically as related to Shalimar. I suppose Parfum Initial could be its niece, but she won't be 17 and she certainly won't be a beauty like Vodianova who fronts the campaign. The flanker lacks finess and detail, and it were these qualities which made Shalimar a masterpiece. To continue the analogy with a jewel, Shalimar is a big and baroque Koh-i-noor type of thing, for sure, but it is carved inticately, carefully, with the finest of instruments, as fitting for such a precious stone. Parfum Intial is the replica (a swear word for LVMH) hammered out of thick glass. Same applies to the bottle. Guerlain boutique at Bergdorf Goodman told me that Shalimar Parfum Initial will be available in the States no earlier than in fall. I am not motivated enough to investigate further and confirm if that is so and why such delay. The fragrance is available at sephora.fr right now, 47,00€-92,10€.

Chamade?

By Marina La Chamade is an old military expression to which Francoise Sagan gave new life by using it in her novel. In its original meaning, la chamade is a signal by drum or trumpet signaling capitulation. In the book and in the copy for the eponymous fragrance by Guerlain, it "symbolizes a surrender to love." First of all, I have to say that I have always been jealous of Guerlain, because they got to make a perfume inspired by Sagan's book. If I had a perfume line, quite possibly each scent there would have been an homage to one of her works. Secondly, I am in two minds in regards to the suitability of this particular scent to this particular book Chamade, heavy on hyacinth, is a perfume that does not give up or surrender. Besides (and that might just be the reflection of my very subjective impression of hyacinth as a note) neither does it strike me as particularly romantic. The buttery bitterness of hyacinth is the strongest in the beginning of Chamade's development, but it is very evident on my skin in the heart of the composition, where it is actually aided by another uncompromising and unbending green note, galbanum... Without them, the heart would have been all starry-eyed, heavy-lidded and honeyed thanks to the presence of jasmine, rose and ylang ylang. The unyielding, sharp greenness persists as far as in the drydown. Hyacinth and galbanum are fighting the typical velvetiness of Guerlain's base as if it is against their ideology, they will not relent.. None of the above is meant as a criticism! Quite to the contrary. I  love Chamade for the tough, sharp fighter it is. When I need strength and dare I say bitchiness to not give up, that is what I wear. I love how it is so very Guerlain, because somehow even the sharp greenness smells lush in the hands of Jean-Paul...and yet stands out as a little bit of an alien in the line up. It doesn't quite belong there  and doesn't want to. Chamade is an elegant non-comformist. This is the kind of perfume that would never surrender, be it to love, to circumstances, or to pressure...In that respect, it is wrong for La Chamade the book. But only if we condense all the content and meaning of it into one piece about the heartbeat signaling capitulation. As Wikipedia cleverly summarizes, however, the heroine "wants to be with the one who doesn't ask her to change", and thus the book is actually about NOT surrendering: now that is the philosophy to which Chamade by Guerlain can subscribe. Wear it and don't change for anybody. And never, never, never give up. Chamade can be found wherever Guerlain is sold, including online discouners. Which book would you turn into perfume?

Blame it on the Scent Twin, Part Eleventy-Three: Guerlain Sous le Vent

By Tom Well, blame it on her and a good friend with a great job who gave me a thumping gift certificate... She is the person who introduced me to it on a trip back East when we traipsed all over the East Side sniffing things. I loved it at the time (amongst others) but was going through a period of voluntary austerity (as opposed to involuntary, my seemingly default setting, but I digress. Or I whine.). As she wrote in Her 2009 post this stuff is fierce.. On me it starts with a super-bright green opening that goes to a marching band of lavender and carnation before settling into a spicy iris and oakmoss. It was meant to evoke the divine Josephine Baker, the first American-born woman to be awarded the Croix de Guerre (for her work against the Axis), entertainer, international sex-symbol, tireless worker for the cause of racial equality and loving mother of 12 adopted children, her multi-ethnic "Rainbow Tribe". I don't know it any scent could possibly capture the woman, but this certainly would be the closest. Nothing too literal (thank goodness no banana leaf), just a scent that sparkles like champagne, winks at the notion of the "jungle" with the green and finally tweaks the 20's notion of the "Créole Goddess" by showing you the sexy, suave yet supremely ladylike woody oakmoss drydown. Reading this you would think that it could be smelled from space: it is actually quite close in (as far as I can tell; I've worn it to work) and short of spraying it directly on clothing I don't think you'll be throwing off a lot of scent. But that fits: Josephine Baker in addition to being an artist, an icon, a hero and a cultural touchstone was above all a lady. Of course if you do spritz with abandon, prepare to be followed.. Sous le Vent is $305 for 125ML at Bergdorf Goodman and selected Saks Fifth Avenue. My review is based upon my bottle. Thank you Bitsy.

Like the corner of..: Memoire Man by Amouage

By Tom Amouage is a house that I just can't seem to get my head around. The ones that we get here are very good, mind you. But I sort of feel as if they are treading ground that has been tramped by others and that at least some of that $225 for 50ML is going into the admittedly luxurious packaging. Personally I'm the sort that likes to feel the money goes into the juice and therefore on my skin; you won't find me buying a bottle of champagne in some special be-dazzled crystal bottle. In the interest of keeping the stuff fresh I keep my fumes in a dark closet so satin-finished gold caps and hand-blown artisanal bottles are wasted on me. Memoire Man is rather wasted on me as well. No fault of its own; the basil and mint opening is smooth and green, the middle lavender is touched by anise and the creamy woody base has real and discernible oakmoss. What's not to love? $225 for 50ML is not to love. Especially when there a little scent that's been around for over 100 years that's doing the super-suave French thing far better and is can be had for a quarter of the price (at least until it's reformulated, which might have already happened Grrr) I'm told that Amouage has some truly knock-your-socks-off scents that haven't made it here yet. I hope one day they do. Memoire Man is $225 for 50ML and $260 for 100ML at LuckyScent; $285 for 100ML at Aedes de Venustas. My sample was from LuckyScent. Mouchoir de Monsieur is available at various sources on the internets for less than $100. My decant was purchased at The Perfumed Court. I want to take a moment and thank all of the readers of this blog for all the kind support they've shown me over the years I've been contributing. I've enjoyed every second of it and look forward to continuing into the new year. Also a hearty thanks to Marina, who lets me whinge on and on here with nary an edit. Happy Holidays to you all! Image - from Guerlain's Holiday Greeting Card.

Gentleman's Agreement: Mouchoir de Monsieur by Guerlain

By Tom There are few things from over a hundred years ago that one would like to live with on a day-to-day basis: one-cylinder hand-cranked cars, ice delivery in lieu of home refrigerators, women not having the vote.. Well, actually most things from 1904 are better left to 1904. Except Mouchoir de Monsieur. According to Robin at Now Smell This, listed notes are lavender, bergamot, verbena, rose, jasmine, neroli, fern harmony, civet, patchouli, vanilla and iris. The notes don't tell the full story: Mouchoir is incredibly suave with it's initial blast of bright citrussy lavender, smoothly running through the flowers to the civety, patchy drydown. That civet makes me advise to go steadily with the application, but frankly that applies to everything, especially for the boys. Unlike spats, Mouchoir de Monsieur can be happily worn daily without irony. I hope Guerlain hasn't reformulated it. Chime in if they have and whether it's ruined. I purchased my sample from the Perfumed Court. Mouchoir de Monsieur is $71.80 for 3.4 oz at Amazon

Guerlain L’Heure Bleue: It’s the Parfum, Stupid

By Donna I have another Guerlain story to share. Recently I sallied forth to my local Nordstrom store in search of the latest releases, as I do quite regularly. The selection is good and the staff will cheerfully whip up a sample for you, unlike the Macy’s down the street, where the business plan is apparently to not do anything that might encourage a shopper to actually buy something. I browsed through some of the new fragrances, and then I turned to the wall where the old standbys are kept. There were only two Guerlains out, but the bottles looked really small, and I could not tell by the plain, blocky shapes which ones they were. I moved closer, and I was pleased to see that they were Jicky and L’ Heure Bleue. Then I saw the small print on the bottles just below the names. It said Parfum. And they were testers. Unable to believe my good luck, I grabbed a couple of paper strips and sprayed away, then I did the same to both arms, not caring how I might smell to my fellow bus riders on the way home. (Besides, they were both Guerlains; they wouldn’t clash.) I had never tried either of these in anything but Eau de Toilette as far as I could recall, and certainly never in Parfum, and what a revelation! Jicky worked on me as it never had before, and something about it reminded me very much of my precious little bottle of vintage Caron Nuit de Noel extrait that was thrown in with a bargain basement online auction purchase. I would just love to smell the parfum strength of Jicky on a man. But that’s another story, and it was L’ Heure Bleue that really blew my mind this time. It would appear that the Guerlains agree with me the most when they are in Parfum concentration. All I need now is a bigger bank account and I can have all of them, haha! (Sound of maniacal laughter ensues, followed by heartfelt sobbing.) L’ Heure Bleue has always been one of the few Guerlains that I found approachable, or at least partially understandable, back in the days when my only firsthand knowledge of fine fragrance came from clandestine sniffs at department store cosmetics counters ruled by stern ladies in black dresses and an inch of pancake makeup highlighted by perfect circles of bright rouge. I found it to be soft and a more than a bit melancholy, and I loved the magazine ads for it, with their evocative imagery of impossibly lovely twilight realms. Looking at those images I just wanted to step into that world and be lost, free from all care and worry. Dusk has been my favorite time of day since I was a small child and it remains so today. If only it lasted longer. Never having experienced the Parfum version of this scent before, I can’t really say if reformulation has taken its toll or not. Since it’s an Oriental like Shalimar and not a Chypre like Mitsouko, there is no oakmoss to be rationed and the other main ingredients are not completely restricted yet, and so I believe that this is still mostly untouched by the cold, dead hand of IFRA. (This perfume is one of Guerlain’s untouchable icons in which a change in formula would be noticed by the loyal customers immediately, and not in a good way.) In any case, it’s a wonder. At first it was so serious and almost smoky that it seemed like a masculine scent. What passes for “sweet” in a classic Guerlain, the deep and syrupy secret Guerlinade vanilla accord, is as dark as it is sweet, more like molasses than caramel in this 1912 masterpiece by the great Jacques Guerlain. Somber and almost stern in this concentration, it evokes for me the image of a woman leaning against a window looking at out at an approaching thunderstorm, the clouds darkening the sky in a simulacrum of nightfall as lightning flashes across the sky. She is worried, almost frantic, looking for someone, a child perhaps, who is out there somewhere trying to beat the storm home. It is immediately clear that my beloved Bal à Versailles owes a great deal to the heritage of L’ Heure Bleue as well. Only instead of dancing merrily in the grand ballroom and flirting outrageously with the courtiers, L’ Heure Bleue is wrapped in a heavy velvet cloak and standing on a parapet, the wind lashing her face, the music below only a distant echo. The soft and comforting L’ Heure Bleue I had found in the lighter concentration had become something else entirely in parfum form, a monumental and somewhat intimidating beauty whose gentle melancholy had turned into a drowning sorrow. After a long time, the mood softens as the powdery florals peek out and assert themselves. The sweet anise and iris give a lift to the composition, which still never loses a certain seriousness all the way to the end. In this perfume, carnation loses its innocence entirely and turns into a deep-voiced Gypsy fortuneteller, and rose is not a lilting Rose de Mai but a tempting siren painted in the blood red of glowing embers. Never was vanilla so much in opposition to a gourmand sensibility as in this and other Guerlain classics. Its character reminds me of the pineapple note in Jean Patou’s masterful Colony; such a fruit never really existed, but it is still the very heart of everything a pineapple should be, as syrupy and twisted and inedible and dangerous as it is. The Guerlinade vanilla is most definitely not anyone’s dessert, but rather an intoxicating mélange of sensations that locks on to whatever other elements are in the perfume, and in doing so it creates an unmatched alchemy as it melds with the florals and spices. Unlike the ephemeral twilight of its name, it persists a long time on the skin and will endure as an all-time classic fragrance. Now that I have tried it the way it should be smelled, I hope that is a very long time. Image credit: New Moon by American artist Maxfield Parrish, via artinthepicture.com

An Island in the Stream: The Enduring Mystique of Shalimar

By Donna So here’s what happened - I went into my local Nordstrom store to check out the summer Dior scents. Escale à Portofino was in; the new Escale à Pondichery I had hoped to find had yet to arrive. I sniffed the Portofino, I was under whelmed, and I was even more disheartened when the Dior SA said they did not even have the “regular” Miss Dior anymore. The only ones on the shelf were Miss Dior Cherie and the very latest one, Miss Dior Cherie “L’Eau”, an even more diluted shadow of the original. I did not even know it existed until then, and I really don’t care, if the truth were known. (They no longer carry Diorissimo either, only Saks has it.) I wandered over to the wall o’ scents to see if there was anything new or noteworthy I should try. Recalling the recent lamentations over the reformulation of Annick Goutal’s iconic Eau d’ Hadrien, I sprayed some of that on my wrist, and to my horror it was even worse than I had feared. I turned to find Cartier’s Roadster; its cold and metallic facelessness was almost frightening. What was wrong, that everything smelled off somehow, jarring and dissonant? I reached for the familiar comfort of Vera Wang, but found none in its bland, anonymous sweetness. The five new Dolce & Gabbana summer fragrances were in, but having read about how disappointing they were I was just not in the mood to go there. I needed a palate cleanser in a big way. The Hermès Jardin series scents were too transparent to clear my nose of the wreckage of the Eau d’ Hadrien impostor, as were the Pradas, what to do? In desperation I eyed the Guerlain lineup; looking for Mitsouko, but the tester bottle was gone. So I did the last thing I would have expected when I walked into the store – I grabbed the Shalimar tester and sprayed a healthy dose onto my arm. What happened next will go down in my personal history as a pivotal moment. I had never been able to warm up to the Queen Of All Perfumes for some reason, finding it too sweet and heavy for my taste and reminiscent of the bejeweled and semi-fossilized ladies at the cosmetics counters of a long-gone downtown department store. I associated it with too much caked-on makeup, overdone rouge and ropes of fake pearls. I tried it from time to time and as I got older, I was able to appreciate it on the level of understanding that it was masterfully composed of high-quality materials, but not in an emotional sense. It never got to me. But standing in that crowded store surrounded by the fumes of inferior fragrance products, I had an epiphany – I finally “got” it! I pressed my nose to my arm and it was like everything else had gone away, and there was nothing but Shalimar and me, bonded together on an astral plane of escape. I was so shocked that when I finally pried my face from my arm, I promptly sprayed some more on the other arm, just to be sure. Oh yes. It had finally happened; I loved Shalimar at last. Just to be sure I asked an SA to make me up a sample, and when I got home I put on some more, and then even more at bedtime, and when I woke up, there was no doubt remaining. The scent had spent the night bonding with my skin in an orgy of Guerlinade, and it was good. I shouldn’t really be surprised that it happened now, since I have been working my way up the perfume food chain since my teen years, going from light girly florals to darker florals (including Guerlain’s Nahéma) to edgy chypres to sumptuous Orientals like my beloved Bal à Versailles, which would almost certainly not even exist but for Shalimar being there first; they have much in common, except the ratio of “skank” to vanilla is reversed, with Shalimar having rather less of the former. Something deep down inside the Shalimar seems almost smoky, and combined with the lushness of the rose and the sweetness of vanilla, amber and tonka bean, it somehow conjures up an image of burnished gold flickering in firelight – a magic lantern, perhaps? The deeply resonant animalic notes are barely kept in check by the beautiful iris note, but somehow the line is held – the one that Bal à Versailles gleefully crosses – and it never becomes dirty or vulgar, even as rich and redolent as it is. And this is just the Eau de Toilette! I never thought I would say this, but I believe that a bottle of Shalimar Eau de Parfum, or even Parfum, is in my future. (I don’t know how much any reformulation may have affected Shalimar, but it smells the same to me as it always has, it’s just my attitude that shifted.) This experience really highlighted for me (again) how much of an abyss there is between the classic ideal of fine perfumes and what modern fragrance marketing has become. I tried one fragrance that day that was distinctive for literally fifteen seconds before it smelled like everything else; Shalimar has been outstanding in its class since 1925. Wave after wave of “new” scents are released into the consumer stream each year; how many are even worth spending your olfactory cells on in the pursuit of trying to keep up with all the latest trends? Meanwhile, standing firm against the torrent are the great ones, Shalimar and her sisters and brothers, the artistic icons of perfumery. Decades pass and still they endure, the longtime signature fragrances of Guerlain, Caron, Jean Patou, Rochas, Dior and the other great houses, quietly and steadily selling bottle after bottle to those who know they will never be disappointed by the contents. Maybe that’s why I finally understood it, surrounded by a river of mediocrity and finding one immovable monument to rescue me. Image credit: A pavilion in the real Shalimar Gardens in Lahore, Pakistan, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, built by the Moghul Emperor Shah Jahan in1641 A.D. From Wikipedia.org by GNU Free Documentation license, photo by Ali Imran.

Guerlain Les Voyages Olfactifs: Moscow, Tokyo, New York and a Prize Draw

I am not going to comment on the size of the bottles. Because...well, we've been through that so many times since the arrival of Les Exclusives de Chanel. I shall not analyze whether Les Voyages Olfactifs fragrances suit the cities for which they are named. Because if you are willing to stretch an idea, anything will suit anything. Paris-Moscou. Flowerbomb Lite. A more graceful, more floral, slightly less sweet version of the same candied-flowers idea. There is a certain refinement of a long pedigree that even such conventionally pretty representatives of the noble Guerlain family as Moscow, Nuir d'Amour and Plus Que Jamais can't help but possess. As witnessed by the three aforementioned fragrances, Guerlain is very capable to produce this kind of high quality olfactory pop music. I wish they made them widely available as there is nothing exclusive about them, instead of a lot of stuff they market widely. Although Moscou has a certain smoky sort of darkness in the base, I did not get either the promised absinthe or the pine needles I so longed for. Nevertheless, a very, very pretty little scent. If it fell into my lap...and, being of a considerable size and weight, not broke it...I'd wear it when a disco roller girl mood strikes me. You probably don't need it if you have: Flowerbomb. Paris-Tokyo. For those who like this green-tea-citrus-jasmin-pinch-of-sugar sort of thing, this will be exactly the sort of thing they like, only more expensive and in a bigger bottle. This is the opposite of what I am attracted to, but I find it -here is the word again- very pretty. Tokyo is fresh and transparent, but not overly so, because I don't think that, even at their most un-guerlain-iest, Guerlain are capable of a lot of transparency. Tokyo is not sweet, but that pinch of sugar keeps it from being too bland and pale. You probably don't need it if you have: Thé Pour un Été. Paris-New York. The most interesting of the three. But only inasmuch as I am predisposed to automatically find spice-resins-oriental fragrances the most interesting in any group of scents. Then I let them develop and realize that it has been done and done much more interestingly before. The woody-incensey accord in New York has a very attractive leather quality, the cinnamon does not overpower other ingredients, and vanilla, while kept to a minimum, still manages to give the blend a certain fluffy-powdery voluptuousness. You probably don't need it if you have: a lot of stuff by Serge Lutens. If you would like to be in a draw for a set of samples of Les Voyages Olfactifs, please say so in your comment. The winner will be announced on Friday. The draw is now closed. Image source, firstluxe.com

Guerlain Mitsouko Fleur de Lotus: Perfume Review

Although I appreciate Mitsouko, objectively, as a Masterpiece and a Classic, subjectively, I do not love it. When I wear it, Mitsouko is out there all by itself, and I am out here all by myself, we don't mesh, it does not melt into my skin, it is not "my" scent at all. So forgive me, Mitsouko lovers, for not finding the emergence of this flanker sacrilegious. And the thing is...we may moan about them all we want, but there will always be flankers. Companies will always attempt to make easier profit on the names of already popular scents. As Ecclesiastes would say, why shouldest thou vex thyself lamenting the inevitable? And not all follow-ups are tragically unworthy of their big ancestors. Chanel No 5 Eau Premiere, Vol de Nuit Evasion, Farenheit 32 are rather good. So is Mitsouko Fleur de Lotus. The beginning of the scent is, to me, recognizably Mitsouko, only about 100 watts brighter. There is much more citrus in the beginning, the fragrance is more brisk, fresher, with none of the indolent smoky peachiness of the classic, but there is still a certain very Guerlain weightiness about the blend, a certain dark substantionality that is palpable under the breezier notes. As the scent progresses, it temporarily loses that solid Guerlain feel, becoming even more citrusy and more floral, in a cold, clean sort of way (that would be lotus). But only temporarily, because the depth returns, although when it does, the hints of Mitsouko's trademark buttery powderiness are replaced with what I would describe as peppery powderiness. Think the famously non-oakmoss chypre 31 Rue Cambon. This kind of slightly piquant, mineral earthiness that stood in for chypre in Chanel's creation stands for it in Fleur de Lotus as well. The brighter, lighter, less oily-smoky-bitter Mitsouko suits me much more than the original. Also, when I say, lighter, I don't mean insubstantial. This is still a fairly robust and complex perfume, which takes time to reveal its various facets and lasts a long time. Yes, it is not the Mitsouko, but I think that the very decent flanker does not disgrace its hallowed name. Ask for it at Guerlain boutique in Bergdrof Goodman, $100.00 for 60ml of Eau de Toilette.

Sniffing at Sephora: Gucci Flora, Tocca Brigitte, Guerlain Figue-Iris, Philosophy Unconditional Love

I don't usually go to Sephora expecting to meet a prince in a perfume bottle, so to say, but rather to kiss a lot of frogs. This time it wasn't that bad, which means that either the mainstream is getting better or that I am getting mainstream. Nah...neither is likely. I must have been in a particularly good mood. Seriously though, Tocca's new Brigitte, inspired by Bardot and meant to take the wearer for a bike ride in the south of France, mainly through Marseille's spice market, is almost prince material. On me, the fragrance skips both rhubard and papaya, declared in the list of notes. A pity about rhubard, but thank goodness for no papaya. The composition rides straight into that spice market, with ginger and saffron being the most prominent notes on my skin, throughout the scent's development. The soft floral aspect (rose, iris), softens the piquancy (which makes sense concept-wise, but again a pity me-wise), while sandalwood in the base doesn't let it become too thin. Were the perfume a little more intense, had a little more oomph and ooh-la-la about it, I would have been tempted to buy it. ($30.00-$68.00 for 0.15-1.7oz) I haven't smelled Guerlain's Figue-Iris in 2008, when it came out, because I tend to loathe fig in perfume (with very few exceptions) and am so very tired of iris after the last couple of years of it being everywhere. So I smelled this Aqua Allegoria with much caution only to discover that it is shockingly lovely. Iris tones down the green coconutty figgyness of the fig, while fig makes the ubiquitous iris interesting again. The fragrance is fresh, but not too much so, sweet, but not overwhelmingly so. It is posed gracefully somewhere in-between being fruity-green and floral, and I imagine it would wear delightfully in the heat of summer. I would never use up the whole bottle, but thumbs up to Guerlain for finally producing an impressive Aqua Allegoria. ($57.00 for 2.5oz) I was almost ready to give thumbs up to Gucci too, for their new Flora, because I liked the beginning of the composition. Peony did a cute little dance with citruses in the top notes, all tastefully sparkly and fresh-faced, and I am in a mood for this kind of clean-ish, conventional prettiness right now. I mean, yes, it is generic all right, but pretty-generic. Not that I was even half-thinking of buying a bottle, but if I were, heart and base notes would have dissuaded me. Osmanthus, rose and sandalwood made Flora unexpectedly creamy, and apparently creamy is a no-no for me right now, when it comes to florals. After the easy-breezy start, there was something too blunt and persistent about the floral-woody accord. I suppose, I should have felt that it gave the perfume depth and substance, but instead I felt bothered by it. Still, compared to a lot of other scents on Sephora's shelves, Flora is quite nicely done, and, because of that weighty creaminess, not as young-smelling as the copy would lead you to believe. Not a prince by a long stretch, but not a frog either. ($52.00-$90.00 for 1oz-2.5oz) Philosophy's Unconditional Love, on the other hand, is as froggy as it gets. Allow me to channel Seth Meyers here for a moment and ask, REALLY, Philosophy? Really? Unconditional Love, really? You saw it fit to use such Big words for such a tiny scent? "Unforgettable fragrance", really? Now what would make it so? The generic (and not pretty-generic) berry? The cheap vanilla? The pale musk drydown? Ribbi...I mean, really? And what's with the twee, cliche-ridden copy, Philosophy? I do "treasure the fact that real love stories never end." I also treasure the fact that this scent does, in two hours. ($40.00 for 1.7oz)

Upcoming Guerlain Releases

Some more information on upcoming Guerlain releases, and their name is a legion. First up, "Travel" trio of fragrances, Moscow, New York and Tokyo: Moscow, described as ultra-feminine, has notes of pine needles, absinthe, cranberry, bergamot, jasmine, tonka, sandal, vanilla, white musk. New York, inspired by NYC at Christmas and described as fresh, green, sparkling and sweet, has notes of mandarine, bergamot, pink berries, chestnut, cinnamon, orange blossom, cedar, patchouli, white musk Tokyo- subtle, refined, fresh and clean, has notes of green tea, jasmine, violet, vanilla, hinoki. Sophie: pettigrain, bitter orange, bergamot, orange blossom, jasmine, violet, ylang-ylang, tonka bean, incense, vanilla, white musk. Apparently, this fragrance will be available in bottles of different color to choose from. Thierry Wasser is coming out with a new perfume that has the code name "Gold." It will be released in the US in Spring, 2010. More information? Do share!

Shalimar

By Beth I think that everyone has a perfume that is so completely evocative, so emotionally relevant that a simple waft of it can spin you back decades. Such is it with me and Shalimar. So many have such a strong love/hate relationship with this scent, but I have always loved it and it me. It was the fragrance that my mother wore for her entire married life and my father used to buy it for her constantly and in every form because he adored it! I always assumed that she did too, but she confided in me several years before her death that she’d always hated it. I was surprised because it smelled absolutely devastating on her. She was an excellent wife in that respect and a bit of a contradiction , a feminist to the core and way before her time , however making my father happy was as she saw it” her most important job”. Fortunately she passed the knowledge on. The day that I married my husband, she pulled me into the back bedroom and said “Remember darling, you can buy your own things....so whatever he gives you, wear it to bed, even if it’s a toaster!” That alone has been the best piece of advice that I ever received from her with the exception of one other that I can’t share here...if you want to know, write me privately:) So wear Shalimar she did and some of my earliest memories of her are of that scent. Until about 2 years before her death, my parents went to hear the Cleveland Orchestra every Thursday night. I loved watching her dress for the symphony, she was unbelievably elegant. She would slip on one of several black dresses, comb back her raven colored hair and spray it into submission. Then she would put a bit of blush and paint on her lipstick, always the same “Fire and Ice red and then pick up her bottle of Shalimar. She had a ritual for it, a little behind her ears, a bit in her hair , her cleavage and around her ankles. To an impressionable 8 year old it was the most glamorous act ever. Then she would put on her opera length gray pearls, knot them twice and walk into the kitchen to find my father who would always be enchanted simply by the sight of her. She was completely gorgeous,when she was younger she looked just like Hedy Lamarr. My father would whisk her off into the night and I would be left to wonder about that magic, hoping someday that it would be my birthright too. She shared all of that part of herself with us, it was important to her. She was very generous in that way, a powerful priestess of love. She had a beautiful closet for us growing up, a dress up closet filled with all kinds of wonderful things that she’d outgrown. Velvet capes and beautiful high heels, shawls and scarves. We would play in it for hours and when I had put together the perfect outfit she would take me into the bathroom and fix my makeup, always finishing with just a touch of her perfume. I loved it, especially the black and burgundy velvet cape that I would always wear. But most of all, I loved her Shalimar. I have always found it to be a warm and enveloping fragrance, very very sexy. Shalimar lingers like a kiss from just the right man, one who knows you well and yet adores the mysteriousness about you that he can’t quite understand. Wearing Shalimar reconnects me with the old stories of the Sacred Prostitutes of Isis, who spent hours preparing themselves in their temples to receive the passions of strangers coming to worship them embodied as the sacred feminine on earth. I can imagine spending hours brushing my hair, anointing myself with sacred oils, preparing myself for that passion. I love it’s vanilla qualities, the musky balsam and benzoin with the hints of leather and the strange seductiveness of orris. I love that when I wear it I feel absolutely gorgeous and ready for love. Shortly after my mother’s death I inherited her gray pearls. Receiving them was only one of the many rites of passage associated with my mothers dying but putting on those pearls felt more than a little strange for they sang of her soul and I wanted her to be there with me instead laughing and putting on her lipstick. With a deep sigh I looped them around my neck, knotted them and took a deep breath and there it was, the scent of her Shalimar leaving me spinning happily back in time suddenly and completely unafraid and no longer alone.

In Which I Finally "Get" Shalimar

If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try again. When you feel you have suffered enough, give up. Believe that some things are just not meant to be. If you are a rational individual that is, you will believe in quitting for good. If you are anything like me, you will be tempted to give whatever it is One Last Chance. Absolutely The Very Last One. And if it doesn't work again, this time you will really give up. But at least you will know you Tried. And if such preface sounds too dramatic to you, for a perfume review, let me tell you that Shalimar has always smelled quite horrific on me. Not to be juvenile whilst engaging in such a serious activity as writing about fragrance, but it smelled of paint thinner on me...on a good day. And yes, I tried every possible concentration of every possible vintage. So one day I gave up and told myself, Never Again. Shalimar and I were not compatible and that was that. This Christmas (que It's a Wonderful Life theme), having been possessed by the Spirit of One Last Chance, I tried it again. One Last Time. And - you guessed it- it WORKED on me. I got all the trademark Guerlain wonderulness people have been praising for eighty-some year. The husky sweetness, the creamy smokiness. The brightness of citrus ever so slowly, ever so sensually enveloped by the powdery darkness of opoponax. The smoldering, honeyed abyss of vanillic drydown, in which you can't help but long to drown. I am not going to actually review Shalimar. Is there anyone out there who has not smelled it? If you love it already, you know what it is like better than I do. And if you don't...try, try, try again. Shalimar is available everywhere Guerlain is sold. I tried the not particularly vintage EDP and a recent Parfum and loved both. Image source, The Fashion Spot.

Perfume Review: Guerlain Quand Vient La Pluie...

...the fragrance that resurrected my interest in Guerlain, brought upon my love for Apres L'Ondee and is overall one of the most delightful recent discoveries of mine. I will be forever grateful to a fellow perfume lover who introduced me to it. It smelled so charming on her, a delicate sillage that is always there and never overwhelming, a wonderfully feminine, transluscent veil of a scent. Created in 2007 by Thierry Wasser, who, as we all know by now, has since become the new Guerlain in-house perfumer, Quand Vient La Pluie combines, like Iris Ganache, another Wasser's creation for Guerlain, ingredients that seemingly shouldn't go together but do: gentle, ethereal flowers and gourmand notes. In Quand Vient, the fragile, spring-like accord of heliotrope, violet and jasmine is paired with a praline-patchouli mix that has a deliciously gingerbread-like undertone. The effect is... Apres L'Ondee meets Une Crime Exotique. The edible notes breathe life into the melancholic beauty of the flowers, and the latter turn the sweet base into a very sophisticated skin scent. When a scent is as delicious as this, I usually feel that I am ready to bite my wrist. In the case of Quand Vient La Pluie, I am not sure whether to bite it or to reverently kiss it. Yes, it is expensive, and yes, the bottles are inexplicable. But wearing it makes me happy, and that is perhaps the highest praise one can bestow upon a perfume.

Perfume Review: Guerlain Mahora

I think I would be happy in that place I happen not to be, and this question of moving house is the subject of a perpetual dialog I have with my soul. Charles Baudelaire There are days when I want to not be where I am. And when I am unsure if there really exists an alternative place to be. When I want to escape somewhere where no one can find me. A non-existent island paradise under scorching sun, with no phones, no internet, no memories and no ties. An island unknown to any map, the one that planes and ships won't reach...maybe somewhere right in the middle of the Bermuda triangle. There are days when I realize that there is no escape other than by means of olfactory daydreaming. And this is where the languid otherworldliness of Mahora comes in. My island where no one can get me would smell like that, of sweet, creamy white flowers larger than life: of ylang, tuberose and jasmine. It would smell of ripe oranges and peaches, of sinfully thick vanilla... Mahora's unpopularity and it's "heavy, heady, overwhelming" reputation puzzle me. I find it immensely beautiful, perhaps intense but also soft and soothing. Comforting in a way that tuberose can be sometimes, warmly, envelopingly maternal....a quality you wouldn't expect from such a femme fatale flower. The honeyed citrusy beginning is particularly tender, a mouthwatering tropical skin scent. After a while the fragrance does explode on my skin like a firework of thousand white petals...but the floral abundance is rendered so harmoniously here, it does not numb the senses, instead, it soothes and at the same time excites them. The drydown has the coconutty sweetness of tanned skin polished by the sea and passionately kissed by the sun...When I wear Mahora, I am Girl Friday to no Robinson, on an island that no one will ever find, hard as they try. Mahora is available at PerfumeMart, $29.80-$54.75. The photo is by Ellen Von Unwerth.

Perfume Review: Guerlain Apres L'Ondee

The ten thousand things would come together And gentle rain fall. Tao Te Ching. They say, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again (They also say that if at first you don't succeed, you must erase all evidence that you tried and/or that sky-diving is not for you...but I digress). Heaven knows that I tried to love Apres L'Ondee for many, many years. I understood the appeal, I admired the notes, but the fragrance left me stone-cold. Instead of delicate wistfulness I got overly understated blandness. I recently excavated my sample from the box labeled Most Probably Hopeless, thinking that if I don't fall in love with Apres L'Ondee this spring then it will never happen. Paraphrasing the name of a famous scent, ce printemps ou jamais. I suppose one has to be in a certain state of soul to fall in love. For the first time in over a decade I got it! I got the melancholy of it all. The hesitant smile on tear-stricken face. The fearful calm after the storm. I got the poignant fragility of violets and irises, of ethereal petals weighed down by rain drops... the softer than soft spiciness of anise and carnation, the spiciness that is like a pang in the heart... the gentle caress of vanilla... the tender warmth of the base notes that lingers on my skin for hours like a memory of happiness... the graceful gauzy-ness of the sillage... I got the hope that fills Apres L'Ondee. The hope against all odds that after the gentle rain falls, the ten thousand things will finally come together... Available at Bergdorf Goodman. And I must have a bottle. Image by Greg Kadel.