Mini Review: Serge Lutens L'Incendiaire

By Tom Well I was cruising through Beverly Hills this past Sunday killing some time and needed, frankly, to offload some of the four gallons of really delicious lemonade I'd consumed at a morning event. So I went to Barneys to use the loo and visit the bell jars. The very nice lady at the Lutens counter introduced me to newest one in the line: L'Incendiaire, which if I am remembering correctly roughly translates to "Arsonist." It's definitely the most Serge of all the Serge's- chock full of smoke and resins that are practically taffy like. I was immediately in love until she mentioned that since it's a pure perfume it's $600 for 50ML. Ooof. Is it worth it? Well, frankly yes. This is Uncle Serge upping his game into JAR territory. Will I purchase it? Since it's more than my car insurance, I am thinking no. I can't really comment on lasting power since I just gave my wrist a spritz of it and walked home on a very humid and warm day, so I can't judge it properly. But from what I was smelling on the way was pretty much Uncle Serge squared and squared again I suppose the price is justified. But I ain't buying it. As I said, I spritzed for free at Barneys. Image: Barneys

Bell Jars at Barney's

By Tom I had posted about this before, but I was in Barney's in Beverly Hills the other day and saw that the vaunted Bell Jars were there, for $290. I still don't know if they've migrated to every Barney's or just the larger ones (BH actually redid the first basement level into a whole realm of paint and fumes) but while I am glad that I don't have to ration (although $290 isn't exactly "spray liberally" territory considering my finances) it does take away some of the thrill of the chase. Back in the heady early days of my discovery of Serge Lutens and the discovery that I seriously lusted after several of his scents, he had a two-tier system: release something in the square bottles that were sold outside of Paris, and the Bell Jars were exclusive to the Paris Salon. If you lived in the EU you could order of course and there were people who were willing to part with semi-filled bottles on eBay, usually for about the price of a high-mileage Pinto. It always seemed to me that the non-exclusives were just a bit blander. That they were (dare I write it?) That they were a bot watered down. The big stuff, the ones that made you go "whoaaaah" or sometimes "yikes" were reserved for Paris. Of course you could get decants, but if you wanted the experience of your own neatly wrapped Bell Jar and wasn't going to Europe (and didn't live there) hoops had to be jumped. The fist Bell Jar I acquired was via a friend. He lives in New York, and was going to visit his parents who live in Switzerland. He offered to carry back and mail my bottle of Chêne if I would let his mother have anything they might shove extra into the package. I ordered online, it arrived in Switzerland and according to my friend, shove they did. They also sent a very sweet and Gallic note thanking me for purchasing. I still have the bottle. The second one was pure blackmail. A dear friend completely spaced my birthday and was terribly apologetic about it when she remembered weeks later. she asked how she could make it up to me. I knew that she was attending a wedding that would be in the south of France and would be in Paris for a few days. I told her that she would make my year if she could stop in the Palais and buy me a bottle of Muscs Kublai Khan, and that could be my present for two birthdays and Christmas. She hemmed and hawed, since she would have her mother and then 6-year old nephew in tow, but she eventually produced the bottle after telling me what a trial it was. About a year later, I was in New York visiting her and at her request got something for her out of her bedroom. On the vanity were to little black boxes containing Bell Jars of her own. I had to laugh. That and applaud her choices. That, and wonder what her mother's nightstand carried. The nephew I'm sure didn't indulge. In any case, the Palais only deal started to fade when "special editions" started appearing at Barneys in the square bottles. Then Berdgorfs received some of the Bell Jars, Then Barneys in New York got the full line, and now Beverly Hills. Like I wrote, I'm happy that I don't have to ration that bottle of Chêne like I was rationing Perrier in Death Valley. But I hate to admit it, the thrill of the hunt is gone. As well as the admitted snob appeal of telling someone who compliments you on your scent that it's only available in Paris. Even if you admit (as I always do) that I rely on the kindness of friends to supply it. Image: Serge Lutens

Winter Favorites

By Tom Winter is a great time of year for me. Mainly since in the Los Angeles area of California the temps are usually fairly gentle in the day and the worst we get at night will be in the high 30's. (The downside of that is that most buildings here aren't very well insulated, so you're going to have to have quite a few blankets on hand..) One of those "blankets" can be scents. Wearing some of the ones that I really like in Winter in Summer would feel like wearing a down coat and boots. I'm just going to list three, off the top of my head: Rahat Loukoum: Cherries, almonds and musk. Gorgeous, and gorgeous on, but would feel like drowning if I wore it outside in August. Back in the day I wrote: " It opens with a hit of bright, boozy cherries that remind me of (oh god, here he comes with the stories again...) my first job after college. I worked at Dean and Deluca in New York, and one of the things we sold were incredibly boozy fruits in, well, booze. Raspberries in framboise and cherries in cherry marnier. The opening of Rahat Loukoum smells exactly what it smelled like taking the cork out of the wide mouth of that big 8 quart jar. Rich cherries, almond and spikey booze."Yup, and still gorgeous. Available in the US via Barney's on Madison Ave and the Serge Lutens website in the bell jar for $300. Le Labo Patchouli 24: Tarry, smoky, leathery and wholly delightful, this is one that I'd still do on a summer evening when the temps drop, but just the barest touch. I wrote back in the day: "As Le Labo states 'patchouli is not easy to detect in this formula'. That's an understatement. Patchouli is almost nowhere to be detected in this one. I'd be seriously upset by this, but what is there is so wonderful, I don't much care. The patchouli is in fact there, but it's very dry and somewhat dusty, like ancient leaves of the plant combined with sweet smoky birch and bone-dry leather. I only get the merest hint of the vanilla that Colombina gets, which is fine with me." Available at Le Labo's website, Luckyscent, and most Barney's now at various sizes and prices (I love that they will do a beensy baby-sized one that's affordable) Parfumerie Generale Musc Maori: I'd better like this one, we named is one of our top winter scents of a few of years ago. I first smelled it on a trip to LuckyScent with my Scent Twin (an experience I hope to repeat very soon). I subsequently wrote: "It's a divine comfort scent with an edge: scalded cream over dark, coffee infused chocolate with a generous helping of white musk in the drydown. Like Daniel Craig bringing you a nice steaming cup after he.. you get the picture. Gaia recommended it as one that always gets compliments.." Divine, yes, but on a hot summer day cream tends to curdle on me and if even Daniel Craig tried to touch when the temps hit the triple digits I'd brain him with the nearest lamp. $100 for 50ml at Luckyscent. So, Tonstant Weader, what are your favorites in winter? Let us know in the comments, and feel free to discuss! Image: Wikipedia

Creature of the Night: Une Voix Noire by Serge Lutens

By Tom I guess I've gotten older and a little more jaded in that I no longer feel the need to jump through hoops to get the latest thing from the house of Lutens. It's not that my respect for them has waned- even the ones that I was rather indifferent to or actually hated I could see where others would love. It's more like my love for the house has matured. I don't need to pry and press, I'll discover whatever it has to show me when I can. Une Voix Noire has been out almost a year now and I just got around sampling it from Surrender to Chance. It opens with a distinct sweetness, like flavored tobacco joined quickly by green tinged white flowers and I am not the only one to get a hint of strawberry jam. This is a quieter version of one of those Lutens opening. The opening is pretty rather than assaultive, unlike some of his others, even ones that I really like. Une Voix Noire was inspired by Billie Holiday, the jazz singer who was famous as Lady Day, and whose turbulent life made me think this was going to be a more turbulent scent. But other than the gardenia being just a little overripe, as if in a bouquet sent from a great love that you just can't quite yet discard. There are the Lutens signatures of stewed fruit and woods along with a memory of smoke, like a black velvet dress worn in a smoky club. Lasting power is excellent- I can smell it on my skin the next morning. Like that black velvet dress, this is something I wouldn't wear. My days at smoky jazz clubs ended in the last century (as I believe did most smoky jazz clubs..)I love that it exists and love my decant. I can also think of three people who would happily rock a bell jar of this.You might be one.  If you've tried it, let us know what you think about it. Or if you have a favorite Gardenia scent, let us know what it is. $300 for the famous 75ML bell jar at the Lutens website. My decant came from Surrender to Chance. Image: Wikipedia Commons

Rerun: Tubereuse Criminelle

By Tom I try to pretend to myself that there is no practical reason for a man not to be able to wear what has been considered usually a woman's scent. I usually just figure that one applies with a much lighter hand, say one touch of the perfume on the sternum rather than under each ear and on the wrist. I think that men can get away with this with practically any note but one: tuberose. Unlike Joe Gillis in "Sunset Blvd" I am not at all averse to tuberose, as a matter of fact it's the main note in one of my favorite women's scents Fracas. Fracas is not the scent for the young, the inexperienced, or the timid. It's the scent that an old-time movie star would wear- you can imagine that the scent that wafted off Joan Crawford or Barbara Stanwyck as they slung their mink onto the chaise while on their way to seduce, or shoot, or both their co-star. Fracas is the lady in the parlour who's a whore in the bedroom. Fracas is dangerous. Tubereuse Criminelle is the post-modern Fracas. It defies almost every convention of conventional perfumery that you can imagine. It has an opening that almost defies you to loathe it; a strange, almost sickly mentholated, smokey, leathery accord that also has whiffs of something very much like gasoline. (While writing this and re-reading it I realise that the only way I could make this read less appetizing or pleasant is if I wrote that it smelled of road kill and fruit loops). It's not as strong as I had been lead to believe by other reviews, but it's distinct, different and disconcerting, as if serving fair warning that this is not you mother's tuberose. It's also not entirely unpleasant, and fairly fleeting, as the tuberose starts to take over almost immediately. The tuberose becomes more and more distinct as the scent becomes more and more warm, with the cool menthol fading to the background. There's a rubbery accord stays muted but discernible, mainly reminding me of the actual feel of the flower: the slightly rubbery feel of the bloom, and the musk adds to the skin-like feeling of the scent. I also smell hyacinth, jasmine and vanilla, but they are distant seconds to the wonderfully seductive tuberose- and there's the leather. This is tuberose in bondage. If Fracas would be the scent that Joan Crawford would dab on before plugging Sydney Greenstreet, Tubereuse Criminelle would be what Uma Thurman would dab before opening a heaping helping can of whoop-ass on David Carradine. Needless to say, I would never wear this one out of the house. This is for you ladies only. Originally this was a bell-jar only fragrance, but it's making a special guest appearance at the usual suspects, $140 for 50ML. My decant was purchased from the Perfumed Court Originally published in 2006.

From the closet: Serge Lutens Rahat Loukoum

By Tom Rahat Loukoum is a perfume that by all rights I should hate. I don't like sweet and I don't like fruity, but somehow I adore this. Marina calls this 1998 release "chewy", which is a fitting description for a scent that's named for the candy "Turkish Delight". It starts with a boozy hit of cherries as if you were starting the process of putting fresh ones up for the winter by boiling them in some sweet liquor, the boozy fumes palpable and heady. Almost immediately the candy starts to soften with almond and smoke. Well, soften isn't quite the word. It never becomes as soft as say, Lutens own Louve, which I bought at Barneys and abandoned when I acquired a bell jar of this. The hard-edged opening cooks down into a warm and sensual honeyed musk with just a trace of the opening spikiness in the heliotropic cherry/almond notes. Today (Wednesday, April 11th) it's a rainy day in LA where the temps may, or may not hit 60. It's the perfect weather for this scent: cold enough to tame what could be a tiger of a scent and yet make me crave its warmth. Rahat is sadly one of the ones that you have to be in Europe to buy. It's €125 for a Bell Jar and I have no idea if it will ever come to these shores. As a caution, my bottle is several years old, so I can't speak to whether it has been reformulated, If you've been to the Palais and can comment, please do.

Chocolate, Greedy.

By Tom I'd be willing to bet that most of us had our first experience with chocolate notes in perfume with Angel.  I'd also be willing to bet that quite a few of us shrank from it.  I know I did.  I convinced myself that I hated it until I smelled it on someone on whom it worked and it was delicious; I also think that the person in question wasn't someone who over-applies, because Angel is one of the big time offenders in the Smell-It-From-Space hall of shame.  I've smelled it on the lowest escalator in the Beverly Center while the offender is up top by Bloomingdales.  Over-apply and it's like chocolate patchouli jet fuel contail. But there are ones that I really love. Serge Lutens Borneo 1834 is a cousin to Angel, but instead of milk chocolate and head shop it's dark, almost burnt cacao and bone-dry pathouli leaves.  This was the first Lutens I ever smelled and I still have a bell jar of it.  Luckily it's in the export range ($140 for 50ML) so it's available where all the others are, for now. Bud Parfums Ugly Bastard seems to bridge the two: not as parched as Borneo but not as, well shall we be polite and call it "lush" as Angel.  It's one of those that's only available as far as I can tell down under, which makes it a reason to visit. Musc Maori is another that comes to mind: like rich, hot, creamy coffee poured over rich chocolate with just enough musc to take it from foodie to feral,  My scent twin says it gets compliments like almost no other. $105 for 50ML at Luckyscent. So, tell me, what are your favorite chocolate scents, and which ones drive you from the room?  Leave a comment.. Image: Wikipedia Commons

Bottled-Up Anger and Peaceful Death: Serge Lutens Vitriol d’œillet and De Profundis

BY DONNA In the summer of 2011, as is customary with the house of Serge Lutens, two new fragrances premiered at the same time, one in the Export line and the other a Paris exclusive, only to be obtained at the Palais Royale du Shiseido by those fortunate enough to have that kind of access. Usually the Exclusive one sounds more interesting than the Export range fragrance, but this time I was not so sure; the one in wide release was Vitriol d’œillet which means “angry carnation,” and knowing the kind of twist that Serge Lutens and Christopher Sheldrake usually put on their perfumes, I was hoping it would be a glorious reincarnation of Caron’s now-reformulated Bellodgia, or perhaps even on the same astral plane as JAR’s fabulous Golconda, which I first tried in its original formula and which I declared to be the best carnation perfume I had ever smelled up until that time. Alas, the “vitriol” part was not a Mommie Dearest style hissy fit but rather a mild annoyance, and while it’s very pretty and even somewhat cozy, it was not the carnation masterpiece I craved. To my nose it is a fairly conventional carnation scent, better than most but not great; in all fairness the bar set by Golconda was very high. Notes include nutmeg, clove, carnation, wallflower, lily, pink pepper, pepper and paprika. I would be happy to own a bottle of this for wearing on cold winter days since I don’t currently own a carnation soliflore, but my preference would still be for DSH Perfumes wonderful Oeillets Rouges, which in the absence of the “real” Bellodgia (and the unattainability of the high-priced and exclusive JAR line) is still my pick for the best modern carnation soliflore around. I thought that the Exclusive line scent sounded more like a weird artsy experiment than a wearable fragrance, but after receiving a sample of it from a generous friend I can say that not only is it a real perfume but a thing of great if unusual beauty. De Profundis is a meditation on death and loss, taking its name from the Latin title often used for Psalm 130 and the line “De profundis clamavi” - “from the depths I cried.” It is based on the idea of funeral flowers, but instead of the lily getting the blame as usual for being associated with death; this time around it is the chrysanthemum taking center stage. (I happen to be an avid grower of both lilies and “mums” and so my own reaction to their smell is generally positive.) It begins with a vivid impression of opening the cooler in a florist shop, sharp and chilly and green, a blast of the exact moment that the odor of an over-chilled bouquet of flowers and filler materials hits your nose as you ponder the rather sad choices available, all of them shivering miserably as they wait for a buyer. If you have smelled the beginning of Carnal Flower (by Fredèric Malle) then you know what I mean by the florist shop vibe, but this is even more intense and more than a little depressing at first. However, it is compelling, and soon the chilliness subsides as the smell of actual flowers begins to develop, and they are indeed chrysanthemums in all their unique herbal pungency, so startling in their realism that it’s hard to believe the room is not full of them. This vegetal aroma is softened by a gentle breath of violets and an anchoring of loamy earth. Once I got used to the idea that this was a perfume without any discernible sweetness except for the hint of violets, I began to enjoy it for its own qualities and soon I even found it addictive. It reminded me a lot of the cemetery next to my childhood home, where the mingled aromas of cut grass, wilting bouquets, freshly turned dirt, wild phlox growing on the older graves and wildflowers, including violets, next to a tree-shaded stone wall greeted me each time I passed through it on my way to exploring the woods beyond. I had no superstitions about graveyards as a child; I always knew it was the living you had to watch out for and that the dead could not harm anyone, so it was a place of refuge for me and I spent many hours there in summertime. I am delighted that there is actually a fragrance that captures this memory so eloquently for me, and I hope it will be released to the export line sooner rather than later. I actually tested De Profundis on a very demanding “focus group” – the members of my local Chrysanthemum club, and they really liked it, one woman so much that I think she may even try to get one of those precious bell jars from Paris. These people are used to being surrounded for hours at a time by the piquant smell of both the leaves and flowers of these plants, so getting a thumbs-up from them is a tribute to its appeal. Vitriol d’œillet is available online at Luckyscent and at better retail shops that carry the Serge Lutens line. De Profundis is in the Exclusive line at the Serge Lutens boutique in the Palais Royale du Shiseido in Paris, France. Image credits: Collage from various sources around the Web – I do not own any of them. Disclosure: My sample of Vitriol d’œillet was a promotional giveaway from Luckyscent. The sample of de Profundis was a gift from a friend.

Revisiting Tubereuse Criminelle

By Tom It official: the winter exclusive that will be debuting in America from Serge Lutens is Tubereuse Criminelle.  I wrote of it years ago as "the post-modern Fracas" and ", Marina stated it's "like a magnificent, seemingly lazy animal...always ready to pounce", while Donna wrote that "It is the ultimate Femme Fatale scent".  Revisiting my decant it's still something that I really love, from its menthol-tinged opening to its completely decadent white-flower heart.  This is one that some would sincerely recommend that one doesn't affix a sprayer.  I'm not one of them.  Spray away, ladies. It will be I assume $140 when it arrives here.  My review is from a decant I purchased from The Perfumed Court.

She’s Cute When She’s Mad… Serge Lutens’ Vitriol d’Oeillet

by Marla I spent a few years translating the journals of a French archaeologist into English, so trust me when I say that “Vitriol d’Oeillet” translates as “Pissed-Off Carnation”. Really. I’m a colonial, so I don’t associate carnations with funerals, grim states of mind, and so on. They were just those cute little flowers boys bought for girls in school when they couldn’t afford roses. We used them in science experiments in freshman biology. And they used to smell so good, now, not so much. The scent has been bred out of commercial carnations, but you can grow heritage varieties that are full of clove-y goodness. That spicy kick is due mostly to eugenol, which I think IFRA banned, or exiled to Capri last year. So I was really looking forward to Serge’s carnation perfume. The only one in my collection is Guerlain’s Voile d’Ete, long discontinued, and I’m down to my last 5ml!! Would Serge save me? Alas, no. V d’O is really…cute. No anger, no shouting of personal remarks. No Medusas or Medeas here. Just cute little teddy bears throwing cute little tantrums. Not that it’s a bad perfume. It’s nice. There’s some peppery smoky spice in the opening, just a tad to whet your appetite. Then it settles down into a comfy, old-fashioned floral, more rose than carnation, with some gentle musk and soap. Then in a few hours, it’s gone. Phhft. I could wear this anywhere, it’s quite pleasant, but I don’t want to put on a Serge and then forget that it’s there. You know what I mean?? Chergui overpowers and haunts me (and passersby, too). Serge Noire is a real feast, a scary Tim Burton sort of feast, but truly compelling. Even Gris Clair and Bas de Soie get me to thinking, dreaming, over the many hours I can smell them on my clothing and hair. And don’t get me started on La Myrrhe or Iris Silver Mist or my prose will turn purple. V d’O? If carnations are for funerals in France, then this funeral is for someone you barely knew, you feel obligated into going, you’re too far from the priest to hear the eulogy, and then you sneak out a little early so you don’t get caught in the cemetery gridlock. Sigh…. Did anyone get more out of this than I did?

Alien Technology: Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist

By Donna I have been seeking out the Serge Lutens Exclusive range perfumes for a long time; oh how they do tease us, creating such sought–after fragrances and then not letting anyone have them who can’t come to the Palais Royale du Shiseido in Paris to pick them up. Every once in a while I get to try one and I have fallen for every one of them I have smelled so far – Fumerie Turque, Tubereuse Criminelle, La Myrrhe, Muscs Koublai Khan, Rose de Nuit. Then I ran into Iris Silver Mist, perhaps the most storied and unattainable of them all, and I just did not know what to make of it. My first question was: is this really a perfume? It is? Then why doesn’t it smell, um, wearable? Like something that’s supposed to be put on your skin? It’s so very strange, like the atmosphere of a distant planet where humans need to wear space suits. Nothing about it is inviting to me but it is certainly oddly beautiful, a piece of chilly abstract art that hangs in a whitewashed gallery filled with cold blue light; you admire it from afar even if you are not sure what the artist meant by it, but you really don’t want to see it hanging on the wall in your own house. It would make you feel weird having something like that around all the time and it certainly would not go with the rest of your home décor, unless your name happens to be Seven of Nine. I must admit that I am not an “iris person” when it comes to perfume. I like what it does to many compositions, but by itself it always seems remote, and sometimes even flat. There are only a couple of iris soliflore fragrances that I have really liked, including DSH perfumes Cyprian, one of the Perfumed Court series. For some reason I found that one to be very user-friendly. I adore the aroma of iris blooms, which smell delightfully of a number of things from lemons to grapes to wild strawberries to violets, but iris perfumes always seem to be aloof and bloodless. Iris Silver Mist begins with a super-cooled blast of iris that is immediately followed by a smell that is exactly like those Red Hots™ candies flavored with artificial cinnamon, creating an icy-hot pain rub effect, and then a very emphatic carrot chimes in, and an odor like a gutted Halloween pumpkin the morning after a heavy frost. It’s not until about half an hour later that it finally becomes eerily beautiful as it drifts through the air, but if I put my nose to my skin it is still iris root, carrot and little red candies. It’s the sillage alone that makes it work for me, floating in space and waiting for my breath to catch it, an otherworldly isotope of some rare element being distilled and refined out of the raw ore applied to my flesh. It is only then that I can appreciate the artistry that went into it, but it never comes close to adapting to my skin, as it simply sits on it refusing to make allowances for a mere mortal. There is a popular saying that you are no one until you have been ignored by a cat; now I know what it feels like to be ignored by a perfume. Image credit: Actress Jeri Ryan as the Borg “Seven of Nine” on Star Trek: Voyager via wellyousaythat.blogspot.com, original source unknown

Sparkling Cyanide: Datura Noir by Serge Lutens

By Marina In my imagination, the delicate, passive Farnesiana has an alter ego...because there is only so much a sweet-natured girl can take... push her to the limit and we'll be looking at your necrologue in The NY Times. If you make her really, really angry, Farnesiana turns into Datura Noir, which is anything but delicate or passive. What unites the two for me is the bitter almond quality presented on a creamy floral background. And it is that quality that also makes them oh so different. In Farnesiana, the almond-heliotrope accord is a soft, if melancholy embrace. In Datura Noir, it is a soupçon of cyanide in your champagne. Lutens and Cheldrake cleverly used various gourmand notes to enhance the sweet allure of brugmansia/angel's trumpet/datura...A little bit of juicy mandarin and peachy osmanthus in the top, vanilla, coconut and apricot in the base, and almond throughout the composition turn Datura Noir into an irresistible temptation....better to pull you in, my dear. The tuberose, the presence of which lends the composition a languid, tropical feel, is wonderfully creamy, and makes a perfect seductive accomplice to the evil almond. “Very few of us are what we seem,” warns Agatha Christie. That certainly describes Datura Noir. Delicious but poisonous, beautiful but lethal, creamy-white but with the heart of darkness, it will kill you, but softly...if that's any consolation. Available somewhat more readily than cyanide, wherever Serge Lutens fragrances are sold.

Cookie Cutter: Serge Lutens Jeux de Peau

By Tom I can be called a Serge Fanboy. He's thrown openings with everything from gasoline to cat pee (to some) at me, and I've grinned and said, "Merci Monsieur, puis-j'avoir une autre?" Jeux de Peau is the first of his that for me is a genuine scrubber. The immortelle, apricot and "bread note" conspire on my skin to smell like buttered popcorn. Actually, that's not quite true. It smells the way that Jelly Belly buttered popcorn jelly beans taste, which for me is not a good thing. After an hour or so, it becomes a very nice sandalwood along the lines of Santal Blanc. Since I already have a decent amount of both Santal Blanc and its earthier cousin Santal de Mysore I can pass on this one. As always, your mileage may vary. $120 for 50ML at the usual suspects. My sample was from ScentBar.

“When Every Leaf is a Flower”: Serge Lutens Cèdre

By Marina “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” Albert Camus It seems, I blinked, and the autumn was over. And it was such a beautiful autumn around here, an ideal, joyful, opulent, picturesque autumn, a visual feast of auburns, reds, ochres, terracottas and golds. No melancholy, almost no rain…autumn in Utopia. And I asked myself, what scent could have represented it the best? The answer came immediately and unexpectedly: Cèdre. But why the scent so heavy on tuberose, this ultimate flower of eternal tropical summer, would make me think of fall? ...Then I remembered Camus’ quote. Imagine if, as the chlorophyll disappeared from the leaves and the green faded away, so did the fresh, verdant smell, and the leaves started to smell as sumptuously as they looked… wouldn’t that smell be exactly like this rich blend of creamy tuberose, balsamic wood and warm spices? In fact, I believe that it is thanks to the spices in Cèdre, to fiery cloves and honeyed cinnamon, that the fragrance has such an autumnal feel. Their smoldering aroma hints on bonfires, on that smoky perfume that seems always present in the air in the fall, the perfume that always makes one a little wistful, a little restless, as if aching to migrate to the warmer lands with the birds for the winter... The sweetness of the spices alludes to the fruits of harvest and simultaneously to the festivities that will come when the ideal autumn transforms into the perfect winter. Available at Luckyscent etc., $140.00 for 50ml. Image credit, Ben Hassett for Vogue China January 2009.

Clinging Vine: Serge Lutens Datura Noir

By Tom Datura the plant is lovely, toxic and hallucinogenic. The 2001 release Datura Noir is true to the name. It's a venus flytrap of a scent, those lush white flowers draw you in; the almond cookie aspect of it reminds me that cyanide tastes of almonds. It's a big giant white flower party, fatty with coconut and overstuffed with tonka and vanilla. It's sexy, it's smothering; it's a force of nature. My scent twin ran from it, writing that it was like Audrey II from "Little Shop of Horrors" I sort of think if they ever remade "Sunset Blvd" (perish the thought!) Norma Desmond would wear Datura Noir, and Joe Gillis would still be dead in the pool. Datura Noir is available at the usual suspects, $120 for 50ML. My review is of a freebie I received from Barneys as a gift with purchase.

Smooth Talker: Serge Lutens Bas de Soie

By Tom I know I must be about the last person in the blogosphere to try this one: I don't know if it's ennui but I just don't feel like jumping through those hoops anymore where it comes to Uncle Serge. Certainly not for something that's going to be at Barneys in due time or worse will only be available in Paris. Bas de Soie (Silk Stockings) is now at Barneys, so sniff I did. I almost feel bad for the house of Lutens; they are locked into the idea that there must, must be four new releases from the house per year come what may. They are then faced with the surly public (I.E., me) who get crabby that they have made another trip to the stewed-fruits and wood well, or worse had dared to answer our pleas to branch out by giving us the Apollonian ideal of a genre we don’t care for. Witness how sulky people got over L’EAU Serge Lutens definitive “clean” or “Nuit de Cellophane” and its fruity florals. Bas de Soie isn’t going to set the world on fire but it’s not going to have people up in arms. It starts on me as cold, rosy hyacinth and a light powdery orris that is the antithesis of his Iris Silver Mist. It doesn’t do much else except add some of the fresh accord from L’EAU, a rather sharp, metallic shade to it that makes me think of spray cans and a creaminess that makes me think of the super-fatted soaps you get from Erno Laszlo if you have dry skin. This all sounds pretty freaking dreadful as I type it, but it’s really quite nice in a cool, Hitchcock Blonde kind of way. “Dial ‘M’ For Murder” was on while I was testing this and I thought that it would be perfect for Grace Kelly’s Margot Wendice:: a woman so cool that the discovery that her husband not only tried to set her up as a murderer merely elicits her acceptance of a cocktail. She’d smell of Bas de Soie... Available at the usual suspects, $120 for 50ML (I’m assuming, I didn’t ask). I received my sample from the counter at the store.

Serge Lutens Bas de Soie

By Marla So do you like the warm, North-African amberfest Serge Lutens, or do you prefer his cold, austere, Northern European perfumes? I know this is a rather simplistic division- it’s just a question I asked myself when I visited his boutique at the Palais Royal for the first time. Ah, purple, my favorite color! I own Chergui, which I wear only in the hot, dry weather of the Alpine autumn, and Rousse, which, being a redhead, I think of as a signature scent, and a lot of fun to boot! But beyond the Land of Serge, I prefer cold scents, mean and green, such as Un Jardin Sur le Nil, Niki de St. Phalle, Bel Respiro, and the original Cristalle. So I proferred one wrist to sample Forreau Noir, and the other to try Bas de Soie. A mere 10 minutes later, I’d already bought the aptly named Bas de Soie. Like silk, it’s cold yet warm, smooth yet nubbly, and thoroughly sensual. The soaring top of Bas de Soie is dark green with galbanum, and neon purple with hyacinth and aldehydes. The galbanum is ashtray-free, by the way, perhaps one of the new slimmed-down, or synthetic galbanums. The icy facets of iris dominate the scent, with some discreet soapy notes, and a little powder. The heart is quite sweet, though they told me I wear Bas de Soie much more sweetly than most (aaah…). The drydown is a soft and subtle skin scent of musk, light powder, and whispered florals. This is an elegant, icy perfume with a tender heart. It’s perfect for refined evenings but wears beautifully during the daytime. Serge Lutens has been playing with cold, restrained compositions for a few years now, but I think with Bas de Soie, he really hit home. Fortunately, it will not be a boutique exclusive, so we will all be able to try this new creation of snow and crocuses. If you would like a chance to try a sample of Bas de Soie, let me know which are your top 3 Serges!

Eau no you didn't: L'Eau Serge Lutens

By Tom Remember the heady (literally) days when the release of a new Serge was at least by my awaited with a fervor unseen since the answer to "Who Shot J.R."? Days were counted, samples were begged; one heard rumors "opens with gasoline!" "The dirtiest musk in existence!" "Cat pee!!" Somehow over the last couple years I just haven't felt that way. Maybe because of, well Chypre Rouge. Or Rousse. Or Louve. Or the fact that there are other perfumers out there even in my area code that I'm finding as exciting if not more.. L'Eau Serge Lutens is at Barneys right now. It's a fresh blend of sage, mint and magnolia and smells very clean, like you just got a haircut and brand new clothes. People on the interwebs have been complaining that it smells too much like Gendarme or something, so in the interest of Science and enjoying a lovely Sunday before the dreaded workweek starts, I went to Fred Segal and Scentbar to test the theory. It isn't quite a carbon of anything; certainly Lutens would rather wear poly blend that go that route. Gendarme is sweeter, Sky is brassier, Escentric is woodier, etc. I do like this; not enough to pop $150 even for 100ML. But I'm not going to pile on with the howls over this. We've all been saying that Uncle Serge has needed to branch out. First he brought us the penultimate fruity-floral in Nuit de Cellophane. Now we have the Apollonian ideal of "clean and fresh". Moral? Watch what you wish for. $150 for 100ML, at Barneys now, soon to be at Aedes and Luckyscent. Image source, salons-shiseido.com.

Serge Lutens Santal de Mysore

by Tom Cruising around this weekend I finally got around to trying this Lutens, which last year joined the group of super-exclusives (super expensive) that are on our shores for $200 in the 50ML bottles. According to Luckyscent, this is indeed made from sandalwood from Mysore. Apparently it's been over-harvested and no longer available, but they "managed to nab sufficient stocks". It makes for some strong stuff: the sandalwood is heady and creamy rather than the effervescent (and according to the SA at Barneys soon to be gone from the US) Santal Blanc and backed by discernible cumin. One spray is enough for this one, which makes the price a little easier to swallow... Available at Aedes, Bergdorfs, Barneys and Luckyscent

International Man of Mystery: Serge Lutens Fumerie Turque

By Donna Not too long ago I reviewed Chergui by Serge Lutens, a fragrance I had wanted to try for a long time. It is currently in the Export range for a limited run, but another one that I was really curious about still remained elusive, a later scent with a tobacco theme, Fumerie Turque. Recently a new friend with European connections, a dashing and somewhat mysterious man at that, sent me this 2003 release that was once in the Export range for a short time a few years ago, but it never arrived at my local boutique, and so I was even more eager to sample it. It is everything I had hoped for and more. I would certainly not call Fumerie Turque one of the “difficult” Lutens perfumes, but it does sit precariously astride the line between masculine and feminine, and if I had to choose I would say that it was intended as more of a men’s fragrance, not quite as unisex in character as Chergui, which itself tips a bit more toward the manly side. Fumerie Turque opens in a similar way, but it quickly becomes apparent that it is not quite as sweet, lacking the hay sugar note but still sweet in other more complicated ways. It shares the honey and beeswax with Chergui, and for a few seconds you might wonder if there is really a need for two tobacco scents in the line. Then it happens – the strong Turkish leaf and smoked leather arrive, and it’s a whole new animal. I do mean animal – this beast is on the prowl from the moment it hits your skin. Chergui’s tobacco is a sweet pipe blend, while Fumerie Turque is just that - rough, strong Turkish stuff, the kind you might find in roll-your-own packets and unfiltered European cigarettes, the ones that are really, really bad for you. Although I have never smoked, I do enjoy the aroma of tobacco in its unburned state, except for cigar grade, which is just too strong and bitter and smells too much like it’s already been smoked. The Turkish style occupies the middle ground between pipe and cigar and when it’s surrounded by the sweeter elements in this scent - including currants, honey, rose, jasmine, and Peru balsam – it is simply hypnotic. It reminds me, not in smell but in concept, of another favorite Lutens of mine, Douce Amère – the bitter and the sweet are in constant flux, each one rising to the top only to be subdued by the other elements in a never-ending dance of opposites. Down at the bottom, notes of juniper and rather charmingly uncivilized patchouli make sure that the sweet parts never really win. So, what does Fumerie Turque actually smell like? Yes, it smells of tobacco and leather and candied sweets and dark red roses, but it’s far greater than the sum of its parts. It smells like the kind of smooth-talking bounder your mother always warned you about, and you know she was right. It smells like James Bond in the Monte Carlo casino at 2:00 a.m. – and by James Bond I mean Sean Connery or Daniel Craig, not those other posers. It smells like the hot, dark gaze of the stranger across the room that makes your heart leap as your eyes meet his in the silent language of desire. It smells like transgression and hidden worlds and whispers behind beaded curtains. It gives off its own heat like a dangerous wild animal passing too closely to your hiding place as you try not to be seen, and you feel its fierce breath as it hunts for its prey: you. I absolutely adore it. It makes me feel more than a little dangerous myself when I wear it, and that is an all too rare sensation in my life. Behind its candied façade is a seductive heart of darkness that’s impossible to resist. Its lasting power is impressive, and if you put it on one day it’s still waiting to greet you the next morning like a sleepy lover, but on me something else wonderful happens too – between the currants and the leather and the honey, the long-awaited final stage of the drydown of Fumerie Turque smells like something I never thought I would find in a perfume; it gives off something very close to the aroma of a horse’s skin, warm and alive, a radiant fruity odor with an undertone of animalic wildness. That happens to be something I love very much, and finding that smell on myself because of a perfume is something delightful if totally unexpected. I like to wear it to bed so that during the night my own skin will be transformed into that velvety horse-like aroma in the morning. People who have never smelled a horse up close might think I am very strange, but anyone who has ever inhaled the delicious heat emanating from the silky neck of a magnificent equine creature will understand completely. Who knew a fragrance could make the transition from danger to comfort in such an unusual way? Image credit: Sean Connery as James Bond via sodahead.com, not sure which movie it’s from, but who cares, it’s still eye candy.