Return of the White Floral Queen: Three Superlative Tuberose Perfumes

By Donna Readers of this blog know how much I love white floral fragrances, especially when they involve high quality tuberose and gardenia creations. I thought I had no need to search out any more tuberose scents once I discovered the fabulous Carnal Flower; game over, set and match, everybody go home. After all, what else can be done with tuberose that either Carnal Flower or Fracas can't outshine? Not so fast! I have found some more of them, each very different in character, which just goes to show that it's not just the ingredients, it's the perfumer's skill that can make even the most ubiquitous and popular fragrance notes sing in a unique way. Each one of these is a masterpiece in its own right and worthy of attention. A few months ago I bought a nice selection of niche perfume samples, among which were several By Kilian fragrances. I had never tried any of them, but the ones I selected were among the best of the line, as they were all composed by the wonderfully talented Calice Becker, and they included the superb tuberose-based Beyond Love (2007). The authors of Perfumes: The Guide had given it high marks so I was curious to find out if it really could be a serious contender in the crowded field of heavy white floral perfumes. The answer is a very definite yes. This fragrance is stunning and over-the-top sexy. No less than four different forms of tuberose are in this concoction; absolute, concrete, green tuberose and a tuberose “petal accord”, and the result is a close approximation of what the real flower smells like, intertwined with coconut and Egyptian jasmine to enhance this effect, and these all rest on a warm base of musk and ambergris. The overall effect lands it halfway between the candied luxury of Fracas and the jungly green Carnal Flower, and it's a magical place I want to visit over and over as I imagine it transforming me into some kind of irresistible sex symbol with just a little dab; it's that good. If my budget included the By Kilian line, a full bottle of this would be at the top of my list. In my opinion it is destined to become a modern classic, if there is any justice in the world. (For Marina’s take on this one, go here.) Something else caught my attention when I read Perfumes: The Guide, and it was something I had let pass me by when it was still in production. An online search resulted in the purchase of a mini bottle of the Eau de Toilette. Michelle by Balenciaga is one of those perfumes that got discontinued despite having a loyal fan base, and it makes you wonder what Balenciaga was thinking. Michelle was introduced to honor the memory of the late founder and was named for his favorite house model. It was released in 1980, around the time all the “big” Eighties perfumes were beginning to appear, and perhaps it was bad timing that resulted in its eventual demise. For some reason I had it confused with the soapy-fresh Maja by Myrurgia for a long time, and the black packaging was somewhat similar, so I never realized what was hiding behind the rather conservative-looking box design. It is a soft and inviting version of a tuberose scent, and it is not too strong for day wear if you don't overdo it. It too has coconut, and peach as well, but what really sets it apart is the use of spicy carnation, vanilla, benzoin and sandalwood. This makes it one of the most user-friendly perfumes of the white floral style, and its delicious warmth is about as addictive as anything I have ever smelled. When I put it on, it makes me sigh with delight, and I can't leave my own arm alone for more than a few minutes. Needless to say, I will be replacing the mini bottle with a bigger one when the time comes. The third fragrance is one I never thought I would get a chance to try, let alone own. I have always been a fan of the perfumes of Le Galion, having fallen hard for Sortilège many years ago. For a long time I thought that it and Snob were the only fragrances from that house, since I never heard about any others. Well, there were some more, though not that many, and among them were a number of well-regarded soliflores. Shortly after acquiring an old mini bottle of Jasmin, which is a first class and very indolic jasmine scent, I read about more of them on perfume historian Octavian Coifan's blog, 1000 Fragrances. He described his impressions of the house's famous signature perfumes and several of the Le Galion soliflores, including Jasmin, Lily of the Valley, La Rose and Tubéreuse (1937). Of course, I wanted to smell that last one very badly, but it would appear that most of the Le Galions were discontinued long before Sortilège finally succumbed. (That one's formula was acquired by the Irma Shorell Company and reproduced under the Long Lost Perfumes label; I have never tried it.) When a small vial of Tubéreuse in Parfum appeared on eBay one day, I could hardly believe it, and to my even greater astonishment, I was the only bidder. I tried not to get my hopes up too high, since it was a very old perfume, but when it arrived, it was still sealed and perfect, and it was everything I could have hoped for and more. It is indeed shockingly good, a heavily animalic tuberose laced with the same gorgeously filthy jasmine found in Jasmin, only more so since this was Parfum strength, and underscored with intensely rich hyacinth and dark, earthy narcissus of a quality I had not experienced since smelling pre-reformulation Narcisse Noir. It is dangerously, deeply, subversively sensual, yet possessed of a rare and refined beauty due to the use of the finest French essences; this perfume was created back when the flower field s of France still produced most of the materials used in fine perfumery and tight quality control was a way of life; it is the polar opposite of the chemical monstrosity of such so-called tuberose perfumes as Amarige. Le Galion Tubéreuse is a radiant example of what can be accomplished when the finest materials meet a gifted perfumer (in this case the great Paul Vacher). To me it combines the best aspects of Tubéreuse Criminelle and Carnal Flower yet retains its own special character. If you have ever smelled a fragrance that was so good that you can't imagine how it could be improved upon, this is such a one. If you love Tubéreuse Criminelle but would prefer not to endure the weird opening before it becomes truly beautiful, just be grateful that it exists at all, because this one is long departed. Sources: The By Kilian fragrances are available at Luckyscent and at finer perfume shops, as well as from the By Kilian Web site. Balenciaga Michelle occasionally surfaces at some online discounters (expect to be put on a waiting list) and specialty vintage perfume merchants and is regularly seen on eBay, both up for auction and in eBay stores to purchase with no bidding (expect to pay a premium price). Le Galion Tubéreuse: Log on to eBay (or other online auction site of your choice) and pray fervently to the perfume goddess for a miracle. Image credit: Actress Christina Hendricks (“Mad Men”) at the 2008 Emmy Awards, photographer unknown, via comicvine.com

Perfume Review: Puredistance I

Before we start, a short list of things to know about Puredistance: it is "one of the world's most exclusive perfumes", created by Annie Buzantian for a Viennese company that sells nothing but this one perfume, in a Lounge especially dedicated to it...and most important of all, the collection includes a Crystal Column, into which the bottle of Puredistance I can be embedded ("a mysterious and complicated perfume set in a clear crystal flacon...") and about which you will read over and over again, if you download Puredistance 2008 book. Out of 107 pages, 2,5 is dedicated to perfume, 1 to the perfumer, and the rest is an ode to the bottle design, pictures of the "Column" and the Lounge. I find it to be unfair to the perfume, which happens to be exquisite. Allegedly first created by Buzantian for herself, Puredistance I is a fresh, green floral scent with subtle fruity overtones and a dry, musky base. A touch of black currant and citrus blossoms in the top notes lends rich juiciness to the cold, breezy aroma of jasmine and mimosa, adding softness but not sweetness to the crisp composition. The subtly fruity leitmotif is carried on in the heart of the scent by magnolia, which puts the palest blush of pink on the otherwise snow-white face of Puredistance. The cool, earthy base of vetiver and musk hides a hint of ambery warmth, which is like a flame embedded (there you go!) deep within a cube of ice...The overall impression is that of an impeccable, classical structure, of elegant coldness and dazzling whiteness...There has never been a perfume more bridal. I see it worn with a pure white gown with long train and cathedral-length veil...and then perhaps never again, like a wedding dress...a perfume purchased for one special occasion, a concept the creators of an exclusive fragrance should heartily approve. Puredistance is available in a Crystal & Gold limited edition Column, 17,5ml for 2750 euro, in a Crystal & Steel limited edition Column, 17,5ml for 1750 euro and in a perfume spray with gold or silver cap, 17.5ml for 165 euro. Of the three, the latter is my favorite, and not because of its bargain price. I find the phial-like simplicity of the bottle much more attractive than the complicated minimalism of the Column.

Perfume Review: Lancome Peut-Etre

Peut-Être is the 2007 interpretation of the perfume of the same name, first released by Lancôme in 1937. I have never tried the vintage version, so I cannot provide a comparison. Having said that, the delicately feminine, refined reissue does seem to belong to a different era. There is something touchingly retro in its gentle rose note and its downy orris. Maybe I am pathetically influenced by Lancôme's copy about a woman wandering in her garden, waiting for Him, but I do find Peut-Être ever so romantic...I am, however, a little disturbed by the following passage: "She sees a new and special intensity in his gaze. And is something hidden in his hand?"...these days, that something might be a gun, not an engagement ring...But I digress...The opening accord of Peut-Être is a little fresher than the rest of the scent, with the lilacs' breezy aroma balancing the honeyed roses. The floral accord is already silky-soft thanks to a generous dose of white musk, but the presence of orris makes it softer still, adding creaminess to the airy scent of petals. (The iris part reminds me of Stephanie St Aignan's similarly dainty but sweeter and creamier Le Pot Aux Roses.) There are no sharp angles here, the notes speak in elegantly hushed tones. Impeccably put together, graceful and gentle, the scent is exceptionally lady-like. The simple, harmonious composition is also incredibly charming. The scent paints a vision of gentle, passive femininity ....think Irene Forsyte...Peut-Être would make a perfect perfume for a traditional wedding, engagemenr party or tea with the Queen...wear it with flowing silk dresses and big romantic hats. I don't expect Her Majesty to stop by for a cuppa in the near future, but I do want Lancôme's tender creation in my wardrobe anyway, no maybe about it. Peut-Être is available at lancome-usa.com, $125.00 for 1.7oz. First image (Valentina Zeliaeva in Ralph Lauren) source, style.com. Second, lancome-usa.com.

White Floral Queen Part Eight: Best Of The Rest and Also-Rans

By Donna This is the last in my series of white floral perfume reviews – which certainly does not mean I will never review another one, however. I am always trying new ones and rediscovering past favorites. This I a roundup up those fragrances which I like or even love but which I felt did not merit a stand-alone review yet, at least by me, or I already wrote about them before, or they are fragrances which I have not had a chance to get to know well enough to give a fair shake when describing their qualities. For the purposes of this series, I targeted “big” white florals, but there is another class of whites – the cool ones. These are the scents composed from lily-of-the-valley, white lily, stephanotis, narcissus and other flowers which are technically white florals and carry the same indolic compounds in their blossoms, but they are not warm and sultry - they are cool, even cold sometimes, and they are often made from flowers that give off their scent at night. I love these perfumes and the flowers they are made from just as much as the gardenia, tuberose and jasmine scents that make up the traditional white florals group. Among the essences I cherish, there is one I adore more than most – Un Lys by Serge Lutens. I wrote about this one when I wrote for Aromascope, where I also reviewed its “sister scent”, the sometimes sinister Datura Noir. If you read about these you will understand why I hope I never have to be without them. (The scent of lilies may be my favorite floral aroma – but it is impossible to pick just one) Also in this class is the magnificent Narcisse Noir by Caron. It is somehow serene and stately yet ferociously sexy at the same time. Of course, classic Lily-of-the valley perfumes belong here too – among these Diorissimo and Caron’s Muguet de Bonheur are tied for first in my estimation. I even like good old Coty Muguet de Bois, though I long for a chance to try it in its original form before Coty “dumbed down” its perfumes for the mass market. There are three other Serge Lutens white florals that I must mention. Everyone thinks of musk and spice and sweet smoke and opium dens and all sorts of decadence where Serge is concerned, but the white florals from this house are amazingly good. Fleurs d’Oranger and Fleurs de Citronnier are wonderful, true-to life compositions of orange and lemon blossom respectively. If the luscious orange blossom version is too sweet for your taste, do try the lemon – it is not fruity at all, just gentle white flowers of crystalline loveliness. It is ideal for warm weather wear. Then there is the masterpiece, the jasmine to end all jasmines: the dazzling A La Nuit. Heady does not begin to describe this lyrical ode to the tiny yet potent flower that forms the backbone of modern perfumery. A triple dose of Egyptian, Indian and Moroccan jasmine varieties brings this accord front and center and makes it sing. Therein lies the problem for me – as much as I adore this perfume, it is right on the edge of unwearable for me, due to my white floral magnifying skin. I have come that close to buying a bottle, and someday soon I will, since I cannot imagine being without this radiant beauty for too much longer – yet I must exercise extreme caution in its deployment lest I overwhelm everyone around me with my powerful Jasminezilla presence. There are others that I smell when I have the chance but I don’t love enough to buy, at least not yet. Guerlain’s Jardins de Bagatelle is a perennial contender, but I have yet to take the plunge. On the other end of the spectrum there is Coty Sand & Sable, a drugstore favorite that I have not bought in a very long time – it smells really good though, if you like sweet florals, and you can’t beat the price with a stick. Another one I really fell in love with a couple of years ago is now discontinued as far as I can tell – Le Couvent de Minimes’ Orange Blossom, from Bath & Body Works of all places. Superior to nearly all of their store brand scents, it as a bright and sunny slice of orange blossom perfection, and came in the most delicious body cream ever. A touch of vanilla made it creamy rather than soapy, and I could not get enough; I got the body cream, the eau de toilette and the shower gel. Now it has disappeared, but I still check around the Internet every so often to see if the company has brought it back. (Le Couvent products are available elsewhere, but not in the Orange Blossom line; it’s gone.) I have not really figured out how I feel about some white florals, oddly enough. A prime example is Annick Goutal Songes. When I first tried it, I was taken aback and I did not like it at all. It smelled oddly rubbery and something akin to motor oil to me. I tried again later– same thing. What was going on here? Everyone was singing its praises, what was wrong with me? I am now convinced that my nose was under the weather at the time, because I finally got up the nerve to try it yet again and –I loved it! What was once virtually repulsive to me had turned into rich, clinging dirty jasmine, just the way I like it. I am just not sure I trust my nose not to pull a one-eighty on me and make me hate it again. I had wanted to smell Isabey Gardenia for a long time before I finally got the chance recently – and it is nothing like I thought it would be from its description on Luckyscent. It is more of a floral bouquet than a gardenia soliflore, and I get more of the ylang-ylang than the gardenia. I really like it, but it is far more restrained than I had envisioned, more light and bright than heavy and sensual. I think I was expecting the gardenia version of Fracas or something. Even so, I would not turn down a bottle of this lovely scent. (Not that I will be offered one at $165 for 50 ml, of course. Sugar daddies are hard to come by.) One perfume I tried not too long ago I really fell for – Bond No. 9 Saks Fifth Avenue for Her is a beautiful and well balanced jasmine and tuberose scent that is soft enough to be wearable just about anywhere. It reminds me of those commercials for luxury goods where gorgeous women stand in front of palatial windows while the floor-to-ceiling sheer curtains billow in the breeze. As if anyone really lives like that - but if they did they would wear this perfume while doing it. Too bad I am not that woman, and this stuff is not exactly cheap either. A few white florals were just disappointing to me. I had great hopes for Esteé Lauder Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia, and it was truly lovely on me for about ten minutes – then the “Lauder accord” came in and ate up all the white flowers. Within half an hour there was nothing left but the smell of every Lauder perfume from the last twenty years. Since I have studiously avoided more than a passing acquaintance with any of these, needless to say it was a real letdown. So what’s next? I never tire of white florals (and floral perfumes in general) in all their infinite variety, so I will keep sampling and buying and enjoying and sharing them for as long as my nose holds up. Even as I have broadened my perfume horizons to include appreciation for smoke and leather and cumin and martinis and incense and any number of other notes both traditional and weird, I will always come back to my beloved flowers. As I love them in my garden on a warm summer evening, so do I love them captured in a bottle, where I can experience them any time I need to be transported to the realm of the White Floral Queen. Image credits: “The Goddess Flora” by Luca Giordano in the Prado Museum in Madrid, from museodelprado.es. ‘Conca d’Or’ Lily photo by the author. **NOTICE: We still have three Pink Manhattan Purrfume prizes to give away as some of the winners did not respond. Please send your address to the “Contact Me” e-mail link – We need to hear from Dark-phoenix54, Hopeb & Monica!**

White Floral Queen Part Seven: Robert Piguet Fracas

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