Annick Goutal Myrrhe Ardente: Perfume Review

So apparently I jinxed the weather. Time to dig out comfort scents, I guess. And you know how it happens sometimes that you have a very vague idea of what you want, and think that nothing can possibly fit that idea, and then the first thing you smell is exactly what you are looking for? I had a feeling I wanted something sweet but dry, smoky but not tarry, something comforting but weird. And voila! A random spritz of Myrrh Ardente was, miraculously, all that. Tonka bean and benzoin compliment the honeyed side of myrrh, turning the composition, in the first stages of its development, into something almost gourmand. The abundance of dark, dry, resinous wood enhances myrrh's smokiness. Midway through its development, that aspect is so strong that it becomes almost leathery but never steps into the tar territory. Then the soft, nutty sweetness of tonka softens the smoky effect, and as soon as the composition seems to have become tamed down and downright cuddly, the weird part happens. In the role of twist, of that jolie laide quality that turns a good, well-balanced perfume into an interesting perfume here is...well, myrrh itself, or more particularly its raw, mushroomy characteristic. Paired with the sweetness and the smoke, the rawness is striking and incredibly appealing. I think, it's the beginning of a beautiful, cold and rainy weather friendship for Myrrhe Ardente and moi. Available at Saks and Bloomingdales, $135.00-$175.00, but "masculine" bottles seem to be sold for much less at some online retailers. Image is by Guy Bourdin.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Havana Vanille: Perfume Review

If I were to come up with a two-word description for Havana Vanille à la Perfumes: The Guide, I would have opted for strange vanilla or raw vanilla or bearded vanilla or thinking person's vanilla (OK, that's three words). Which is to say that I think that Havana Vanille is odd, it smells raw/rooty/earthy, is not girly by any stretch of imagination and, like most Duchaufour's creations, is cerebral. I am not sure to which combination of ingredients to attribute the remarkably raw quality of the composition. My guess is that it is immortelle and narcissus which lend Havana Vanille the haunting aroma of something freshly dug out of clean, moist soil...of something "dirty" in a vegetable-mineral, not animalic sense. This raw component is more predominant, on my skin, then the title note of vanilla. The latter is, of course, present at all times, but isn't quite like its usual self. It's not sweet and it's not even abstractly gourmand. The very slightly tarry leather, the smoky woods, the boozy rum note lead to a sort of androgen excess in the vanilla accord. I would not label the scent as "masculine", but neither is it in any way "feminine". Let's call it androgynous. This might easily be one of the most interesting recent releases and certainly the most unusual vanilla fragrance that I have ever encountered. If I had to compare it to another perfume, I'd say that it vaguely reminds me of Duchaufour's raw masterpiece from last year, Baume du Doge...with a lot of smoky, dirty and drunken vanilla added to the mix. Havana Vanille is available wherever L'Artisan is sold, $115.00-$155.00; the fragrance has been renamed and is now called Vanille Absolument. Image credit, Ellen Von Unwerth

You Can Stand Under My Amber-ella

This has been a rainy summer. At times, it felt that "all the springs of the great deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened". And having a large vessel built just in case seemed like not a bad idea. I've noticed that of all scents, amber ones seem to flourish in humid and wet weather. For whatever reason, they smell better to me and on me when it rains, and, of course, there are few notes more comforting than the balmy, sweet, slightly powdery amber. I started my perfume obsession with amber-mania, over-ambered myself, and haven't touched an amber "soliflore" or a scent with a pronounced amber accord for a couple of years. It was the great deluge of summer 2009 that revived my affection for the note. Having gone through a number of old amber favorites (for example, the sublime Anne Pliska) and having discovered some new amber fragrances, I narrowed my choice of ambers that I would bring with me on the ark to the following three: Keiko Mecheri's new Crystal d'Ambre. I will say straightaway that I don't think it would satisfy a hardcore amber fanatic, somebody who loves, for instance, the formidable Ambre Precieux by Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier. Crystal d'Ambre is much tamer, a softer, somewhat more transparent take on the note (I suppose, thus the "crystal" in the name). Alongside the title ingredient, the almost chocolaty benzoin and vanilla are very apparent on my skin, as is the suede-like, very vaguely animalic accord. Everything is delicately rounded and refined; this is an amber that speaks in hushed tones, an elegant, infintely wearable and comforting creation. (Keikomecheri.com, $115.00 for 75ml) Fiore d'Ambra by Profumum left me underwhelmed in the past. This year, its piquant, honeyed warmth hit the spot. I don't know, if it really contains opium, but I do smell some spice along the lines of cloves, maybe even some cinnamon, and a certain floral piquancy that one finds in carnations. It is simultaneously less proper-perfumey and dressed-up than Crystal d'Ambre and much more sensual. The Mecheri is for rainy evenings out, the Profumum - for seductive nights in. One of my favorite characteristics of Fiori d'Ambra is the tarry, slightly burnt drydown; I find that smoky almost-leatheriness very appealing. (Luckyscent, $240.00 for 100ml) Speaking of smoke, Neil Morris's Burnt Amber is a Guy Fawkes night in a bottle. Amber here is enveloped in the fumes of smoldering oak and oud, spiced up by pepper and sweetened by an addition of plum. Plum is always a plus, in my book. The plummy tarriness of the scent reminds me slightly of Marquis de Sade by Histoires de Parfums, only less leathery, more ambery. Having said that, Burnt Amber offers a unique take on the accord, and lovers of smoke and male readers should make a note of this perfume. Burnt Amber would definitely go with me on the ark, and I would insist on sharing it with my Noah. (Neilmorrisfragrances.com, $70.00 for 30ml) Are there any scents that you enjoy more in wet and humid weather? What amber favorites would you want to save in the Deluge?

Kindness of Strangers, and a giveaway

By Tom Roxana Villa was kind enough to send three samples of her new solid perfumes, which are made from essences blended in a base of natural beeswax and jojoba oil. I've already written about Sierra, which I adored. The solid brings the citrus that I didn't smell so much of in the oil to the fore, it lasts longer in that state before going to the glorious coniferous base. Cimbalom is one that I hadn't tried before and would be interested to try the oil of; the solid is peppery ginger and bright orange, which cedes to a lovely patch married with labdanum and jasmine. By far my favorite however is Chaparral; the solid perfume form really shows off the incense portion of the scent. The wildness of the oil is somewhat disciplined by the solid perfume. I notice this with Sierra also; the solid form slows the development of the scent, in the reverse of the sort of time lapse photography showing the speeded up blooming of a rose. The slowed-down minuet Chaparral does in solid form lets one linger over each stage from church-of-nature incense through tarry wildfires through to its base, where the delightfully peppery greenness brings the whole scent into something that embodies California. California, Not Los Angeles. Le Labo did LA proud, but this is the real California; the distillation of the Golden State. It's standing in the Malibu hills on a summer day; the Pacific's in sight, ten thousand feet below and the air is clear and momentarily still. But you can still smell the wildfires of previous seasons and the vegetation pregnant with creosote and if you're a smoker, you're extra careful to make sure that you've put your cigarette out completely. You even park carefully, making sure hot engine parts aren't near vegetation. A break-down on the 101 all the way in the Valley can spark a fire that with the "Sundowner" winds would incinerate everything from the Freeway to the sea, including you. This is that smell: heartbreaking beauty and palpable danger. I'd love to see how it layers with the oils, but I gave my samples away. In the spirit of giving (and even though I want to keep it..), I will give these three away to one commenter. Fulsome praise of my writing skills and general brilliance will not affect the outcome of the draw. But hey, it couldn't hurt... Image source, usbr.gov.

Other People’s Perfume Part I: Smoke

By Alyssa When I first fell in love with perfume I was shy about my new affair, but since then I have become a perfume nerd-evangelist, offering up my wrists to all and sundry, and preaching adventure and free samples to the willing victims friends who volunteer for a sniffing session. Along the way I’ve developed a small coterie of enthusiastic converts. Some of these folks started from ground zero I-hate-perfume territory, but most wandered over from stage left, where they were hoarding a small collection of essential oils, or scented candles or that one bottle. You know. The one they bought on a whim, or were given by a fondly remembered lover or stole from a roommate and have been wearing off and on for years, or that they stopped wearing but couldn’t bring themselves to throw away. The bottle you probably had before you tippled over into a world where having ten or more bottles makes perfect sense. That one. Inevitably, my friends want to know what I think of that one perfume. It’s a delicate question, requiring tact and grace, so of course I’ve generally run for the hills. Recently, though, I broke with my tradition of cowardice and gave one of these treasured scents a serious trial run. I learned a lot from the experience. So much that I’ve decided to tackle a few others and share the results with you all in a little series I’m calling Other People’s Perfume. Cross your fingers for my social life. And off we go, with Valentino’s Very Valentino pour Homme. Basenotes lists the following as the notes— Top: Sri Lankan Nutmeg, Crisp Sage, Anise Middle: Virginian Pipe Tobacco, Coriander, Thyme Base: Indian Sandalwood, Amber, Musk —to which I can only say, you wish, Valentino. Or rather, I wish, because this sounds like a really striking perfume and I’d like someone to make it and deliver it to my doorstep. I feel a little uncertain about where the anise fits in, but anything with nutmeg, tobacco and sandalwood in it has got my vote. Alas, it is not what I smell. What I get instead is a bright, herbal opening that just might have something to do with…let’s just say it’s the coriander, shall we? And maybe, just maybe, the “crisp sage,” whatever that is. (If I were Chandler Burr I’d be regaling you with long, impossible-to-remember chemical names, for this opening wears its synthetic origins proudly.) It’s a traditionally manly opening. Not in a chest-pounding sweat and big muscles way, just a lot of freshly showered glad-handing: “Nothing to see here folks. No weirdness, nothing too pretty, just crisply ironed shirts and a new haircut. Move right along.” And so we do, after about twenty or thirty minutes, when the brightness mellows and bits of woody-sweet, dry tobacco come forward under the green, at which point I start to like VV much better. By the time the coriander/sage fades into the background (it never completely goes away) and the dry, transparent vanillic amber of the base emerges, I start thinking about the great-looking square, cobalt blue glass mini bottle of VV I’ve seen on **bay. It’s nothing earthshaking, but it’s delicious. The tobacco and coriander keep it from getting too sweet or foody, and the gentle sillage wafts around me for hours. I’d love to smell it on a man at this stage, but it’s happily unisex in a cashmere sweaters, leather boots and well-worn courdoroy blazer kind of way. I find it comforting, and just a little sexy. So much for my opinion. It was interesting getting to know a perfume I never would have picked up on my own, but the real fun began when I went for a walk on a hot, muggy July 5th morning. The heat and humidity made VV much more diffusive and sped up the opening considerably, and I was suddenly surrounded by the most beautiful combination of its bright top mellowed by smoke. I was very puzzled—how did I miss this bit?—until I realized that the smoke was hanging in the air, a combination of someone’s just-begun pit barbecue project and the gunpowder aftermath of the 4th of July (I do live in Texas, after all). It just got better and better as the development sped along and I was sniffing deeply and thinking about what sort of smoky thing I could send to my friend to layer with VV when I suddenly realized: a) that wouldn’t be necessary and b) why VV worked for him in the first place. He’s a smoker, of course. A serious, dedicated one, of the sort who seem to be increasingly rare these days. He doesn’t smell of cigarettes—which is how I managed to forget that factor in the first place—but clearly smoke is part of the palette of his skin. When I last saw him we tested Osmanthe Yunnan together and it was lovely and deep on him, the tannic smoke of the tea present right from the beginning, when it was still all stewed apricots on me. I will, of course, want to factor smoke into any future recommendations for my friend, but I also found myself thinking more generally about how the shave-and-a-haircut tonic freshness of many classic men’s colognes comes from a time when smoke was everywhere, and how much better they would smell on men redolent with cigarettes, pipes, and cigars, not to mention good shoe leather and wool coats rich with the scent of smoke-filled bars and city streets. I thought about how smoke might marry with various of my own perfumes (it’s an occasional indulgence for me) and how some of my favorites—Coco for example—seem to imply I have already been smoking without my ever having to light up. And then I went into a sort of daydream about the scent of cigarettes and perfume swirling past me in cold winter air from the hair and coats of grown-up women in a dimly remembered or imagined past… I also thought, with some embarrassment, about how I would have to pay much sharper attention for the next round of testing Other People’s Perfume. Smoke is easy. What about those less tangible factors that make a perfume beautiful on someone—timing, place, attitude, love? Note: After I had finished this piece I came across a link to Luca Turin’s August NZZ article about his nostalgia for smoke in public places and the way some classic perfumes seem to call out for a background of cigarettes. He confirms my feeling that Etat Libre’s Jasmin et Cigarette is more nostalgic than provocative—the perfect perfume for an increasingly smoke-free world.

Eau des Iles by Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier

I decided to review Eau des Iles right after the description of my hunt for a perfect coffee scent, since it was sampled during that hunt, as a fragrance that allegedly contains a coffee note. There was no coffee in it to my nose, but the scent itself is so remarkable that it must be mentioned anyway. According to Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier, Eau des Iles takes the wearer to “perfume islands in which coffee fragrances intermingle with stately rare woods and smooth exotic flowers that have a strange beauty of their own.” According to me, those islands are situated in restaurants specializing in (Trans) Caucasian cuisine. Never before had a perfume made me this hungry. Eau des Iles puts me in a mood for Georgian or Armenian food, for meat marinated in herbs and spices and then barbequed till it is nice and dark on the outside. Salivating yet? So was I. However I am not sure I want to smell like a juicy almost burned shashlyk. Eau des Iles is the smokiest perfume I have ever tried. The description promises “an astonishing olfactory discovery”, and for once a description does not mislead. But it does not prepare you for the fact that the “spices, wood, coffee, ylang ylang, patchouli” combine to produce an incredibly burnt smell. The smell is not unpleasant, not at all, but it is nothing I can ever imagine wearing on my skin. The fragrance is rather tenacious and the lasting power is superb. Applied at noon, the smoky aroma is still going strong six hours later. When it finally subsides, the residual scent is alike the smell that your skin, hair and clothes have when you spend some time in front of the campfire…Top marks for uniqueness. Nil pointe for wearability.