Unnatural acts with natural ingredients: experiments in perfumery

By Linda As some of you have heard, like Marla, I have launched myself into DIY perfumery. I am neither as experienced, nor as well educated as Marla with respect to ingredients, and am relying entirely on natural fragrant components (essential oils and absolutes) rather than sallying forth into the world of synthetics. This limitation to natural perfume ingredients is not yet an ethical commitment if ever it will be: so far, it is just my way of dipping a toe into the pool. The prettiest single materials are also the hardest to work with, like prima donnas of the fragrance universe. Jasmine grandiflorum, high-altitude Grasse lavender, Canadian fir balsam, tarragon, and hay absolute are so magnificent that it seems almost a shame to mingle them with lesser glories, and those experiments that do not pay off are really heartbreaking when they do not live up to the heightened expectations that their raw ingredients promise. Most of my experiments are little more than accords of three to five elements, which will be cannibalized and altered when I build more complex fragrances. Nine-tenths of my experiments involve me spoiling the potential of two or more exquisite aromas by harnessing them to one another in unappealing ways. The other tenth are the lucky, simple combinations that really work together, such as carrot-and-vanilla (my signature if there is one, so far), or immortelle-and-fenugreek. However, I am fiddling with a few more sophisticated combinations that I think will be quite wearable when they are finished. Floral absolutes in particular are shockingly easy to be inspired by. A simple dilution of a floral absolute would be sufficient perfume for any occasion where a soliflore would do: provided that you like the flower from which they are produced, they are magnificently lovely. Accordingly, I have been playing largely with absolutes of jasmine and orange blossoms. I have one perfume that is nearly finished: I made alterations to its balance last night and am waiting for it to mature before I adjudge how finished it really is. I am a big fan of facetious working titles, and its working title is “all this used to be orange fields”– which is what I say when I'm feeling or pretending to be querulous about changes in the world, since I have returned to the region of coastal California where I was raised and found it very much altered. As one might predict from the playful working title, it's a fragrance based on the magnificent contrast between birch tar (breathtakingly smoky, slightly tarry), juicy tangerine (which is a stunningly pretty citrus, even on my citrus-hating skin), and orange blossoms (sweet, creamy, divinely fragrant, with a sappy bitter green undertone). My goal has been to connect, unify, and magnify these disparate aromas, but it was a hollow contrast until my partner suggested I balance it with an austere touch of spice. Even before maturation, it was breathing with new life last night, and wears beautifully on the skin, drying down into cuddly, slightly incense-like warmth only barely kissed by smoke, and clasped by the ghostly trace of soft orange blossoms. I am pleased, but it almost certainly needs a little more work. Overall, if I were to change it, I might give it a woodier and drier aspect to offset its sweet creaminess. Yet there is something tender about that very sweetness, and I am loath to lose that mood. Decisions, decisions. The other promising scent I am working on is the "bold black vertical slash" built to emphasize the sizzle of black pepper that I have described elsewhere. It was inspired by my stylish friend Jes and her love for things antiquarian and unconventional. (Also, she asked if perfume could be based on black pepper – inspiration doesn’t get more direct than that!) I cannot wait to bring this scent to its full potential, as the preliminary rough blend is pleasingly dry and vivid. Rooty vetiver is the center of this composition; I am doing my best to emphasize its wild and earthy depths, rather than to favoring its more usual aspect, the ethereal, almost citrus-zest freshness that I love so much in Sel de Vetiver. We shall see. For now, it’s very early to tell how this one will develop. Perfumery is an easy hobby to love, and one that intrigues (and sometimes horrifies) one’s friends. I am having the time of my life. Like all my favorite hobbies, it is best taken in intense, relatively brief doses, punctuated by frenzies of washing-up, and separated by hours of obsessive brooding and daydreaming. Scents are my passion, as I know they are yours, and I hope to create something really beautiful. Wish me luck! Image source, casavella.co.uk.

The Joys of DIY

By Marla My last addition to this worthy blog was a rant about the “meh-ness” of this year’s avalanche of perfume debuts. I’ve tried about 50 more since then, and still, have only purchased one, Guerlain’s crispy-bitter Laurier Reglisse; I bought this one because it’s refreshing on hot days, because I was at Heathrow and very bored, and because it’s a sister scent to the discontinued Anisia Bella. I was really excited to try Jardin Apres La Mousson, but it should have been called Monsoon of Melons. Don’t like melons. That’s it. Nothing more to write about. But what’s the use of a good rant if it doesn’t help one look toward a solution? I’ve been using this blah perfume year to learn more about perfume ingredients and have been making a few of my own. In light of Europe’s penchant for making natural ingredients increasingly illegal (bergamot?? lemon?? Get real, Brussels-People!) I’ve begun collecting essential oils and absolutes of forbidden goodies like citrus, oakmoss, and angelica. This stuff rocks! It’s taken about 2 years of experimentation but I’ve finally got about five homebrews that fill gaps in my collection and that I’m proud to wear. If I use excellent ingredients at the highest concentration for eau de parfum, I only spend about $19 per 30ml, or 13 euros for a small bottle. Simpler concoctions without expensive flower absolutes are condsiderably cheaper. And I’ve discovered a fascinating and peaceful hobby that so far has not offended my family (much) or taken over more than half our living space. In fact, they’ve started tinkering, too. So I thought I’d share a little of what I’ve learned in case someone wants to follow in my anarchic footsteps. First, there are some good groups of people out there if you’re not a lone wolf in the world of DIY. Yahoo has an online gathering in Europe, Ayala Moriel has begun teaching basic natural perfumery, and Basenotes has a large DIY community. Mandy Aftel and Anya’s Garden are great resources, as are the ladies of White Lotus Aromatics. A serious aromatherapy handbook, or licensed aromatherapist, can tell you which ingredients are toxic and should be shunned, and which have caused allergies from time to time. For example, never put cinnamon essential oil on bare skin…you just sort of learn these things as you go along….Easier to get a good book than to learn by personal experimentation! Any of the people or companies mentioned will have loads of safety info for you. Second, quality ingredients are everything. I’ve found great quality ingredients with Liberty Natural and Eden Botanicals. There are others online. Most larger cities have aromatherapy shops, which are a good place to start sniffing ingredients and learning all those latin plant names. For synthetic aromachemicals, the GoodScents Company has good deals and lots of information for the newbie. Don’t use fragrance oils- just the pure aromachemicals, essential oils, absolutes, and attars. At the more expensive end, Bulgarian Rose absolute costs about $20 for 0.12 oz (this amount will last ages), and at the cheaper end, a fabulous grade of frankincense absolute will only set you back about $7 an ounce, which should last you several lifetimes. The only equipment you need are glass droppers, small glass bottles, with either caps or sprayers, some blotting paper for testing, tiny funnels, and perfumer’s alcohol. Snowdrift Farms sells several varieties in the US; apothecary and chemist’s shops often sell it in Europe. Buy some basic essential oils and absolutes in small quantities at first. Absolutes are generally more expensive but mellower, longer-lasting, and smoother than the EOs. A good example is frankincense (boswellia carteri). The EO is sharp, medicinal, bracing, and makes a good top note, while the absolute is pure church and lasts about a century. I like to use them together. Try simple recipes first, maybe combining just one top note with one heart note and one base note. Take notes on your combos as you may get unexpected results. Your concoctions will change over the first few weeks, as they mingle and age. Sometimes, as in the case of a promising fougere I was working on that turned dill pickle on Day 8, this is not a good thing. Sometimes it works, though! If there’s a combo you love in your existing scented products, such as orange, vanilla, and patchouli, try a few drops in about 5ml of alcohol and see how it works for you. You might find you like your own version better than the commercial one. I love L’Artisan’s Safran Troublant but something in it turns skanky on my skin. I made my own version using natural ingredients and I’ve had no problems. If you love a certain type of scent but wish it had more (fill in the blank), try making it yourself. A girlfriend loves orange with bitter chocolate, so I made a perfume for her with bitter orange, tonka, frankincense, and cacao absolute. If you’d rather not wing it at the beginning like I did, try Amazon for some beginning perfumery manuals, or sign up for an online class, or a real-world class if you’re blessed to live in a megalopolis that has those sorts of things. And the ratio of successes to failures is about 1:10. Really. And some failures will be truly spectacular. So just make 3-5mls of a good idea before making up a whole bottle! I guarantee that DIY will not only banish the perfumista blahs you will encounter from time to time, but that you’ll also be able to drive your friends and families nuts after dabbing them for the gazillionth time with your latest experiment. And hey, what’s wrong with that? The drawing is by Marla.