3 Orrises

If the Magi's gifts were strictly fragrance ingredients, and the event of gift-bearing was taking place today, there would have to be some additions, reformulations and re-interpretations. It would go something like this: amber standing in for gold as a symbol of friendship (replacing kingship as not sufficiently egalitarian) frankincense as a symbol of non-denominational spirituality (in the name of political correctness), myrrh as a symbol of eternity (can't have death, too morbid), orris as a symbol of understated luxury and oud as a symbol of jumping on the bandwagon. I will go all numerological on you, and "analyze" 3 recent orris scents on the basis of 5 super-objective and scientific criteria (in all seriousness, these are the questions which I am asking myself, when I am smelling an orris-themed perfume): 1. How strongly/recognizably orrisy does it smell? 2. Is it more iris-orrisy or violet-orrisy? 3. Is it woody or floral? 4. Is it powdery? 5. How expensive does it smell? Cartier L'Heure Promise, from the brand's exclusive collection, Les Heures du Parfum. 1. How strongly/recognizably orrisy does it smell? - At first- fairly recognizably; the orris-ness dissipates in a couple of seconds to give way to the pastel-green, powdery-translucent floralcy in feeling not unlike that of Apres L'Ondee or L'Eau d'Hiver 2. Is it more iris-orrisy or violet-orrisy? - To me, it smells more like first violets might, probably before they even unfolded their petals. 3. Is it woody or floral? - Floral more than woody, but with distinct woodiness. 4. Is it powdery? - Somewhat, in a gauzy, delicate way. 5. How expensive does it smell? - Not particularly. It has the kind of simplicity about it, which, even though it, objectively speaking, might be complex and expensive to produce, does not make one (me) feel justified to spend a lot to buy it. Conclusion: L'Heure Promise was to me the best of the Les Heures. Which is not saying that much, because, although all the scents have an elegant, quality feel, they fall rather flat for me and seem somehow like renditions of themes I've smelled many times before. Van Cleef & Arpels Bois d'Iris, from yet another exclusive series, Collection Extraordinaire. 1. How strongly/recognizably orrisy does it smell? - Not very, in a sense that, for the sake of the concept, it chooses to focus on the woody aspect of the multi-faceted orris note, thus sacrificing other qualities. 2. Is it more iris-orrisy or violet-orrisy? - Neither. It is woody. 3. Is it woody or floral? -There are no flowers. The composition is all about wood, wood, labdanum, a touch of peppery incense and more wood. 4. Is it powdery? - It has a touch of powder, made of very, very finely grated wood. 5. How expensive does it smell? - Fairly. Because it appears to be choke-full of precious wood. Have I used the word "wood" enough times? Because this thing is woody! Conclusion: I was not in any way excited by the fragrances in Collection Extraordinaire, and Bois d'Iris was no exception. Like its siblings, it is well done, but it is...boring, to me. As for the orris... if you are looking for a velvety yet dry, high quality woody perfume, go no further. If you are looking for orris, you might consider... Irisss by Xerjoff, a new to me and molto lussuoso Italian line. 1. How strongly/recognizably orrisy does it smell? - Very. It is orris from start to, eventually, couple days later, because this thing lasts... finish 2. Is it more iris-orrisy or violet-orrisy? - Definitely iris-orrisy. Not in an earthy-natural, dry-silky way, in which Iris Pallida or Hiris are irisy. This perfume is creamy, velvety, substantial, perfumey, although not as perfumey as the aldehydic Iris Poudre. 3. Is it woody or floral? - It's both. It showcases well these two sides of orris/iris, choosing not to focus on the non-refined earthy side of it. 4. Is it powdery? - Yes. But not overwhelmingly so. The creaminess of ylang (I assume) and woods balances the powderiness. 5. How expensive does it smell? - Molto! The question to ask here, quoting Pretty Woman, would be, exactly how obscene an amount of money are we talking about? Just profane, or really offensive? And the answer would be, really offensive. Borderline New Russian and/or Real Housewife of Whatever offensive. There is a certain chic about this decadently luxurious composition, something in the refined floral note, perhaps, which does not let the scent overstep the border between Elegantly Expensive and Nouveau Riche, but only just about. Irisss is hanging by a well-groomed, glossy hair over the abyss of furs, 10-carat pink diamonds, Maybachs and Louis Vuitton logos. Conclusion: Beautiful. Sumptuous. Long-lasting. Screams luxury. Costs €590.00 for 15ml or €1.625,00 in a fancy Murano flacon!.. Ouch. The price aside, however, this is the orris scent that I liked the most in the sea of orris scents from the last couple of years. Image source, Xerjoff.

Boadicea Pure and Benefit Laugh with Me Lee Lee

These days, I am consistently finding myself being drawn to fresher fragrances. Only a year or so ago, my favorite scent in any line invariably would have been the darkest, the leather-iest, the skankiest. These days, when presented with a collection of perfumes, I often choose the freshest one as my favorite. I scare myself. The other day I tried Boadicea the Victorious perfumes, and I liked neither Intense, nor Seductive, Complex or Exotic, but Pure. Pure! The clean, comforting non-smell of a white t-shirt...I was attracted by the almost aldehydic and understated sparkle of the citrus top notes, by the way basil and juniper tempered the would-be robustness and sweetness of the base of sandalwood, patchouli and vanilla. There was an easy grace about Pure, something a little bit child-like...It was the comfort of the familiar, of the neutral...the calming, soft energy of the color white. Similarly, in the new collection of scents by Benefit, inspired by the Royal Crescent in Bath (and oh the presentation! the 10 year old girl in me squeeled in delight), I surprised myself by enjoying Laugh with Me Lee Lee the most, the girly blend of blackcurrant, melon, violet, lily and amber. Seemingly uncomlicated, it is in fact rather cleverly built on a contrast of the fresh (melon, lily) and sweetly-fluffy (violet, amber). After starting fruity-green, almost a little watery, the scent becomes more substantial, more fleshy, with the violet note revealing surprising and appealing creaminess. Paired with something that I can't help but interpret as minty, violet here has the same warm-cold quality as its counterpart in Aimez-Moi. In fact, I am tempted to call Laugh with Me Lee Lee something of Aimez-Moi Light, Fraiche or Summer. Boadicea the Victorious perfumes are right now available at Harrods and are soon coming to Luckyscent. The Crescent Row trio will be available in Sephora, Macy, etc in July. Have your tastes undergone a striking change as of late? Do share!

Caron Aimez Moi: Perfume Review

The rediscovery and re-evaluation of 2008 continues in 2009 as I keep falling for scents I used to dislike before. Or, in the case of Aimez Moi, used to loathe, absolutely loathe. Everything about it was wrong, from the heavy, burnt sweetness to the prominent anise note to the bunny-boiler name. Funny how, when we all of a sudden fall in love with something or someone, all that bothered us about them before becomes either a wonderfully attractive feature or a cute quirk. Thus the burnt aspect of Aimez Moi is what I now like about it the most: the heavy cream of honeyed violets, peach, helotrope and tonka beans is generously spiced by cardamom, cloves and anise, and the piquant mix lends the composition a sweetly-smoky quality. To balance the fire with ice and to, simultaneously, underscore the chilly side of anise and cardamom, there is mint. The effect is complex; the composition develops slowly, at a sensual, leisurely pace. Unlike before, I now see anise not as a second most prominent note after violets, but as a beautifully balanced part of a hot-cold spicy accord. It does not bother me in the least, in fact, anisophobic as I am, I find it utterly delectable in the candied pudding of Aimez Moi. I tried the Ropion's creation in eau de toilette and found it, as with most of his perfumes, to be very rich and long-lasting, with the kind of sillage that I adore: the one that envelopes the wearer in the most delicate of gauze and is always present although never overwhelming. Aimez Moi is floral, gourmand, fruity, oriental... it is a multi-faceted golden and purple gem of a scent. It longs to be loved, and it is impossible not to love it. Which brings me to the subject of the name. It reminds me of one of my favorite songs, Lovefool by The Cardingans...And when you are a fool for love, "love me love me" IS what you keep saying like a mantra...although perhaps not out loud. And this week one is expected to be romantic. So let us, shall we? Aimez Moi is widely available online, fairly inexpensively. Image is by John-Paul Pietrus.

Of the Green and the Purple: Searching for the Souls of Good Violets

By Alyssa "Oh, Marilla, it's a perfectly elegant brooch…I think amethysts are just sweet. They are what I used to think diamonds were like. Long ago, before I had ever seen a diamond, I read about them and I tried to imagine what they would be like. I thought they would be lovely glimmering purple stones. When I saw a real diamond in a lady's ring one day I was so disappointed I cried. Of course, it was very lovely but it wasn't my idea of a diamond. Will you let me hold the brooch for one minute, Marilla? Do you think amethysts can be the souls of good violets?" Anne of Green Gables, by Lucy Maud Montgomery Long ago, before I had ever smelled a violet perfume, I read about them and I imagined they would be lovely, glimmering, deep purple scents. My very first order of samples included several named violette-something-or-other, and when they arrived I eagerly opened them and dabbed onto my skin. They didn’t make me cry—there are advantages to being a woman in one’s late thirties instead of an eleven-year-old orphan girl—but I was deeply disappointed by their strange, sticky-sweetness and it took me a long time to push my original ideas aside and return to my search for the souls of good violets. My mistake was beginning with soliflores. Like most simple things, they are difficult to do well, and violet soliflores are haunted by Victorian ghosts dabbing their pale foreheads with violet-scented handkerchiefs, while they recover from another fainting fit. Much later, I realized there were stealth violets—ionones in their many roles and forms—in some of my favorite perfumes. They were hidden in the velvet heart of my beloved Coco, slipping in and out of Le Parfum de Therese’s elegant layers, blooming in the dark chill of No. 19’s upright spine. It was another complex scent, the gorgeous Attrape Couer, that gave me my first glimpse of a violet I could love. I dabbed on a few precious drops from a sample vial on a frosty winter morning and took the dog for a walk. Twenty minutes later the initial burst of amber sweetness faded and I was brought up short by the most delicious smoky, deep purple violet imaginable. It wasn’t long before it began sinking back into the husky purr of Attrape’s seamless toffee contralto, but for those moments the dog waited in vain while I stood stock still, sniffing the cold morning air. Later that spring, when the morning air was still fresh and all the trees were new and green, I had another violet revelation. My sample of The Unicorn Spell came along with the Les Nez sample set I’d ordered to get my hands on more Let Me Play the Lion (do check it out—it’s a real deal). I almost gave it away, but when I opened the vial and sniffed I broke into a grin. No hankies here, ma’am, just snap bean green sweetness that, on the skin, warms ever so slightly into cool violet—the new-leaved trees, their purple shadows and a touch of the cool dirt at their roots in a single bottle. I wore it all through the last precious days of spring before the Texas heat arrived, feeling as though I were inside the lovely world in the painting above and wondering: Was it just this fabulous beast, or had I learned to love violets? With help from the generous Ms. Colombina, I dug in for a violet testing mini-marathon, working both ends, the green and purple, against the rosy, powdery middle. First I dug up my sample of L’Artisan’s Verte Violette and gingerly dabbed some on. Then I decanted and sprayed. What on earth had I found to dislike about this? Perhaps the fact that I don’t remember is the clue. VV starts out a mild green with just a bare touch of sweet spearmint, rounds into a transparent green violet, and ends a few hours later with a touch of powder. Just a bit of green and purple. The precious discontinued decant of Caron’s Violette Precieuse I received from Ms. C showed me, for an hour or two what VV wants to be when it grows up. The green violet is rounder and more fully present without a trace of powder. Fortunately, given its total unavailability, it dries down to a much more conventional vanillic-musk I also find at the end of the sweeter, but equally gorgeous Aimez-Moi, and which I also wish would stay put in its unabashedly beautiful rosy violet phase. All violets, it seems, must turn into powder, melt into warmth, or simply fade away into nothing… Speaking of which, I would say Christopher Brosius’ Violet Empire is similar to Violette Verte but I seem to be almost totally anosmic to it. After generous application of the oil I get a burst of sweet spearmint followed by…something. It might be violet. Then again, it could be sweetened cardboard. It was tenacious—I caught a whiff of it hours later—but so slight I could hardly count it as a perfume. Do chime in if this one works for you. Next up were the cedar-violet heavyweights from Lutens, Bois de Violette and Feminité de Bois, and the amber/incense of Bond’s purple-hearted Silver Factory. God and L.Turin forgive me, but as much as I love and admire Les Bois, and cannot deny that they bring the deep purple, I prefer Attrape Couer’s ambery base to their sweet dense cedar. However, given my compulsive re-testing of Bois Violette, I sense a volte-face in the offing. (You know the drill: I absolutely must sniff that strange, slightly irritating thing one more time...maybe I need a decant.) Once I get past the blaring manly-amber opening of Silver Factory—I have bad-trumpets problems with the openings of nearly all the Bonds—I enjoy the way the violet flavors it’s beautiful smoky incense, but find myself wishing I did not have the Guerlain quite so recently in mind. I approached the rose-violet family at the heart of the green-purple continuum with trepidation. Frederic Malle’s Lipstick Rose is not my friend, and every time I approach her for another try I am summarily ejected from her dressing room. I was surprised, then, to find myself thoroughly enjoying the Marilyn-in-angora-sweaters sweetness of Stephanie St.-Aignan’s Le Pot Aux Roses lightly powdered confection and Norma Kamali’s cheerfully trashy burst of soapy raspberry-rose-violets. Happy Birthday Mr. President and sign me up for an occasional go-round. Two violets Marina sent were simply lost on me—Parfums d’Histoire’s Violette Blanc (no hour of the wolf for me, just burnt vanilla and powder) and Scent Systems Wild Violet, an all natural blend that seems to have achieved a leaden, unfinished quality at great expense. No doubt it’s just me. Drop a note in the comments if you’d like to be in the draw for these, and do share your own experiences with violets—was it love at first sniff? Are you as picky about your posies as I am? Help me understand what I’m missing. For example, I’m sure you are asking, where is the ur-violet, the Great Classic, Apres L’Ondee? Where is my paen to its melancholy beauty, my admission that it is the one true violet, the indispensable, the nonpareil? I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite hear what you were saying. I seem to have violets coming out of my ears… Notes The gorgeous painting, which I’ve had on my desktop for months now, is Reinhold Edelschein’s Rhythm in Green and Violet. For more on violets please see Victoria’s amazingly compact and erudite essay on ionones over on Bois de Jasmin and Heather Ettlinger’s lyrical and informative reflections on her own troubles with violets on her blog, Memory and Desire. If you’ve never read the children’s classic, Anne of Green Gables you can, amazingly, do so here. God bless the searchable texts of the web, that passage had been haunting me for months and I never thought I’d find it.

Perfume Review: Creed Love in Black

I wanna be Jackie Onassis. I wanna wear a pair of dark sunglasses. I wanna be Jackie. Tire Me, Rage Against the Machine. Love in Black is Creed's homage to Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and is meant to evoke "the unique elan" of Mrs Onassis: "her dark, mysterious eyes behind dark sunglasses, her wavelets of brunette hair, her trim shape in a black sheath." The ingredients used in the blend allegedly come from places loved by Jackie, and the perfume is being released on the 40th anniversary of her wedding to Aristotle Onassis. I am surprisingly very uninterested in "what perfumes celebrities wear" and never gave any thought to what scent could have suited Jackie O... I suppose it would be a scent that is classically proportioned, with the kind of spare elegance that the former First Lady favored and which I absolutely admire and to which I aspire. "Dramatic preppy" is how I would classify such a perfume. Love in Black is exactly such a fragrance. In his column in September Allure, Frederic Malle notes that the iris note in Love in Black makes the composition reminiscent of Chanel No 19, only without the green notes of the latter. On my skin and to my nose, the new Creed is all about violet, not iris, and I think that a not too dainty violet blend is a great way to do preppy/WASPy, an alternative to the aldehydes and clean-sporty scents populating this category. The composition starts with a very short-lived whiff of something freshly floral (the "night-blooming wildflowers from the Greek isles" perhaps). In less than a second that sharpish accord is gone and the violet note begins to unfold. The note is done just the way I like it, it is "buttery" rather than powdery, has a noticeable (cedar)woody undertone and delicate sweetness from blackcurrants. Somewhere towards the base, rose can be smelled but it is very subtle and does not overshadow violet while enhancing the rounded, feminine feel of the blend. I would position this violet fragrance somewhere between the rich and buttery Norma Kamali Violette and the sweet, woody and no less buttery Bois de Violette by Lutens. It is elegant and classic but not too prim and propper and as such is very versatile: wear it with a sheath dress or with a turtleneck sweater. It does indeed evoke the "unique elan" of Jacqueline Kennedy and fits the overall spirit of the Creed collection very well (it also seems to me that a stately violet offering was overdue from this line). Like Malle, I think that Love in Black will be one of the smartest releases this fall and might very well become the one and only Creed scent in my current perfume wardrobe. Love in Black will be available in September in Neiman Marcus, Bergdorf Goodman and Saks 5th Ave, $130.00 for 1oz, $230.00 for 2.5oz and $350.00 for 8.4oz. More information can be found at creedperfumes.us.

Perfume Review: Histoires de Parfums Blanc Violette

I recently learned a great French expression, "mi chien mi loup", which basically means "dusk" and literally translates as "between dog and wolf". I think it perfectly describes that time of day when night is already chasing away the sun, but it is not quite dark yet, and everything is covered with cool, milky mist. At work, we use mi chien mi loup when talking about L'Ete en Douce. I think that Histoires des Parfums' Blanc Violette inhabits the same twilight hour. It is less sweet than most violets; the beginning is fresh, almost juicy, because of the presence of bergamot. The tangy note is carried to the heart of the scent by anise. Ylang-ylang serves as a counterbalance to the fresh accord, bringing creamy softness to the composition. It is ylang, combined with sandalwood and vanilla, that adds the blanc to the violette. The three notes create the milky fog that envelops the green leaves and delicate petals, keeping the fragile flowers warm till the chien of the day will chase away the loup of the night. Fresh and creamy, hiding a hint of witchy darkness among its white notes, Blanc Violette is quite unlike other violet perfumes that I know. The two that, in my opinion, come closest are Verte Violette (because of the green airiness) and Pierre de Lune (because of the downy, ethereal feel). Available at miomia.com, $115.00 for 4oz. The image is by Tim Walker.

Perfume Review: Guerlain Apres L'Ondee

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

Angel Garden of Stars by Thierry Mugler

Thirteen years after bringing upon us the great Angel, Thierry Mugler introduced Garden of Stars, three floral versions of the classic, Angel Lily, Angel Peony and Angel Violet. I do not wear Angel often, it is a difficult scent for me to pull off, but I do admire its dark gourmand composition; it is undoubtedly a masterpiece and one that launched a thousand scents. I must admit that I thought that the new trio will not be original enough to actually justify their existence. I still find it somewhat ironic that, after receiving much acclaim for creating a non-floral composition, Mugler decided to add flowers to the blend. I will start with the one Garden of Stars scent that confirmed my misgivings, Angel Violet (Top note: Violet Green, ‘Crystallized Sugar. Middle note: Violet, Woody Notes. Base note: Patchouli, Vanilla Notes). For some reason I expected to like it the most, but then I always imagine I would like violet fragrances and I am often wrong, perhaps the sad fact is, violets and I don’t like each other all that much after all. Do therefore take what I say with a grain of salt, but the fact remains that, on my skin, there is nothing left of Angel in Angel Violet, just dusty old violets that dry down to something reminiscent of the scent of sweaty skin…Angel Violet had a certain dull powderiness that I found rather disagreeable. Angel Lily is a different story altogether. The image of lilies dripping with chocolate comes to my mind whenever I smell Angel Le Lys (Top note :”Dew” Note, Green Stem. Middle note: Nutmeg, Lily, Honey. Base note : Patchouli, Vanilla Notes) . The chocolate note is much stronger in this composition than it is in the original. Chocolate and lilies flourish side by side for quite a long time, which I found to be a great and unusual effect. The luminous cool scent of lilies and the dark warm scent of chocolate are stunning together. Unfortunately, Angel Lily dried down to a rather pale, vague smell of lilies more than anything else, thus somewhat spoiling the effect. Still, it is a lovely scent and I wouldn’t mind owning a bottle of it at some point. I also like Angel Peony, in which Angel’s heady gourmand notes are made softer by the sparkly and delicate peonies (Top note : Airy Notes, Stem Green. Middle note : Peony, Pepper, Floral Notes. Base note : Patchouli, Vanilla Notes ). This is a pretty scent, no other word can describe it better. Pretty in a pink but not overly girly kind of way. Whereas lilies pick up and showcase the chocolate note of Angel, peonies emphasize vanilla and patchouli. This is a warm and soft composition, and I like the fact that does not lose its complexity in the drydown, the way Angel Le Lys does. Angle Lily, however, is my favorite “Garden Angel”, despite the fact that I am not a fan of lilies in perfume (or indeed in real life) and regardless of the disappointingly bland drydown. I admire the way it contrasts the cold incandescent lilies and the warm opaque chocolate note making it possible to smell them simultaneously, side by side. I found the new floral versions of Angel to be significantly softer and thus much more wearable than Angel The First (or Angel The Terrible, for some people). They don’t last on the skin as long as their formidable ancestor, neither do they leave a fearsome trail of sillage. Like it or not, Angel has Presence and Charisma, both of which were sacrificed in the Garden of Stars to perhaps make the new scents more wearable (less feared?). As I mentioned before, I am unable to pull off Angel as often I would liked to, so for me this is a positive development. Angel Garden of Stars scents are strangely expensive. They can be found at Nordstrom Online, $60.00 for 0,8oz each. Next, the scents that remind me of my icon, the incomparable Marlene Dietrich.

Pinup No 1: Lipstick Rose by Frederic Malle

A pinup is a woman whose physical attractiveness would entice one to place a picture of her on a wall. The pinup images could be cut out of magazines or newspapers, or be from postcard or chromo-lithographs. Such photos often appear on calendars or mass produced posters. Other pinups were artwork, often depicting idealized versions of what a beautiful woman should look like. The genre gave rise to several well-known artists specializing in the field, including Alberto Vargas and George Petty, and numerous lesser artists such as Art Frahm. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia) Lipstick Rose is so true to its name, smelling like an expensive, somewhat old-fashioned lipstick, it is almost a novelty scent, almost something a Demeter would produce...Almost, but not quite. To use Andy Warhol's words, this is "a deeply superficial" perfume. Lipstick Rose is a pinup vixen who knows exactly what she is doing and, even before the drydown comes, she drops all the pretence of simplicity and innocence and has us when she wants us, wrapped around her little manicured finger. The description on the Malle site proves my point about it being a pinup scent (idealized version of a beautiful woman) when it says that Lipstick Rose is the perfumer Ralf Schwieger's vision of glamorized femininity. Lipstick Rose is indeed oh so pretty, appealingly sweet and comfortably powdery, mostly violets on my skin, with a flirty hint of roses. Lasting power is very good on me, over 6 hours, and when the drydown comes, it is a sensual, slightly musky vanilla and amber mix. This perhaps is not a scent to wear everyday, she is a little bit of a high maintenance, with that sweetness and powderiness, but Lipstick Rose would be just the right accomplice when you want to go, see, conquer and wrap them around your little finger. Lipstick Rose is available from Editions de Parfum or Barneys, $140.00 for 100ml * The Paintings: first, name unknown, by Billy de Vorss, second, Real Cute by Al Buell