Ahh, the smell of it! Calvin Klein Obsession

Calvin Klein Obsession for Women launched in 1985 when I was 14 years old.  I remember how profoundly the Calvin Klein brand permeated 80’s culture.  I remember the scandalous Brooke Shield’s jean commercials followed by the oddly androgynous and creepy child-porn Obsession perfume commercials.  I never wore Obsession when I was a teenager.  I was fixated on florals and florientals.  It probably wasn’t until I dove headfirst into my perfume habit in the very late 1990s (around 1999 I’d guess) when I first purchased and wore Obsession. 

Lately I’ve been obsessed with Obsession (so sorry, I had to!).  I’ve worn it a total of maybe 10 times since 1999 but all of a sudden over the past month I’ve worn if for days on end and I’m so impressed with it.  It’s possible this new-found love for Obsession has something to do with the lack of good mainstream releases.  When I compare Obsession with most celebrity scents and the latest stuff from CK, Gucci, Dior, Givenchy…well…pretty much EVERYTHING at Sephora (and almost everything which is a current bestseller) I come away thinking that Obsession is pretty fucking amazing.  Obsession is a classic oriental.  Truly classic.  It’s also sublimely dry and unisex.  It’s really a shame that Obsession is considered by many to be a “big over-the-top 80’s powerhouse” because I find it to be quite understated when not over-applied.  Obsession isn’t anywhere near as sweet or powerful as most current bestsellers at Sephora such as Flowerbomb, Prada, Pink Sugar, Juicy Couture, Lolita Lempicka, Ralph Lauren Romance, Dior Miss Dior Cherie and so on.  Maybe I’m just getting old and cranky (entirely possible!) but to disregard Obsession as dated or “too potent” seems short-sighted and inaccurate (or is the reformulated Obsession I now have drastically lighter?).

Recently I realized I can’t wear Shalimar but that doesn’t mean I don’t still love the idea of it.  Orientals are one of my most favorite fragrance types and I especially like dry, spicy, ambery-incense type Orientals.  Obsession is all this and more.  It begins with the Shalimar-type citrus burst, which might be off-putting to those who don’t admire this sort of oriental.  The vanilla and amber in Obsession are very close to the manner in which these notes are presented in Shalimar.  This is not foodie vanilla. Obsession isn’t too-sweet and doesn’t have those jarringly synthetic musks like virtually everything launched since the early 2000s.  This is a warm, spicy, ambery oriental that melds with your own personal chemistry especially in the dry down. 

Vastly underrated, truly unisex, Obsession blooms then mellows into a spicy Oriental which is classic but still effortless.  Obsession becomes me as opposed to the fragrance “wearing me.”  

For those around my age or older, here’s a fun blast from the past (Ahh, the smell of it!)

Pretty creepy, no?!

Here's a newer commercial, I think this dates from 2001, Benicio del Toro and Heather Graham look so young!

 I wonder when perfumes stop being considered "dated" and instead become enduring classics?  Do you think Obsession is or will ever become a classic (be honest, I have thick skin)?  Is Obsession already a classic?  Do you think Coco by Chanel has made it into classic territory or is considered by most to be dated or in the dreaded "old lady" category?  I'm just curious...

Coming clean with myself

I realized yesterday that I dislike Bond No. 9 Chinatown.  This is after years of thinking I loved it and that it was among Bond’s best offerings.  Oddly, I still think it’s a neat perfume on others, and I still think it’s among Bond’s bests, but on me it reeks of waxy crayons.  I picture red and purple crayons.  Melted.

This got me thinking about all the other perfumes I've professed my love for when in fact I’ve finally admitted to myself I dislike.  The “admittance to myself” is the key point.  I haven’t gone around pretending to like these perfumes for anyone elses' sake but my own.  I talked myself into liking them.  Many for years.  I’m unsure why.  I’m not the type of person who routinely pretends to enjoy perfumes she doesn’t.   I don’t think I’ve ever pretended I like Chanel No. 5 or Apres L’Ondee; because I’ve known from the start I would never wear either.  I also don’t think this is a case of my taste changing over time.  My taste has changed over time.  I’m experiencing a period right now where I dislike almost all of my ambery perfumes; everything ambery smells musty to me.  But this is a sudden change, and I think (hope) it’s temporary.  There are plenty of fragrances I’ve disliked over the years, but these aren’t the ones I forced myself to like, thinking that I truly liked them.

In addition to Chinatown, here are a few more I’m finally admitting I just don’t like:

Guerlain Shalimar.  Oh, I’m sure I’ve said I love Shalimar a hundred times.  I even wrote a post about how great it is on this blog.  But you know what?  I think it smells like vomit.  On me at least.  And I don’t like it. 

Histoires de Parfums Tubereuse 3 L’Animale: is another one I think smells waxy and also fatty.  I hate it.  This is beginning to feel cathartic.

Hermes Caleche:  Caleche’s sharp aldehydes shriek at such a high pitch on me it almost always gives me a headache.   I’ve worn an entire bottle in my lifetime.  No more.

Serge Lutens Chergui:  another one I’ve worn an entire bottle’s worth and sung its praises.  It’s been awhile now since I’ve worn it and there’s a reason for that; it makes me nauseous.  It’s too sweet and contains that honey note I don’t enjoy. 

So there, I’ve done it, I’ve listed five perfumes I’ve forced myself to like for a long time.  But I don’t like them, and I won’t wear them ever again.   Do you have any fragrances which you’ve openly said you liked, perhaps favorably reviewed or worn many times, only to finally admit to yourself that you just don’t like the stuff?

An Interview with Jack

You probably don't need us to tell you we have sort of interesting readers. I met Jack on Facebook, after doing a search on Paco Rabanne's La Nuit there, and we hit it off instantly. Jack treats his facebook profile like a perfume blog for the most part, posting vintage ads, his scent of the day, and observations about everything from why the kid in an old Arpege image is creepy to the fact that he just found Florida Water at Wal-Mart. He does a recurring thing called Edith's Shopping Bag which keeps track of his perfume purchases, with pictures for the short of attention span. It made sense that he'd been reading the blog for a while--even though it took us a little longer than your average person to figure that out. Hey, you're the guy from that blog, he said one day. Um, yeah, I answered. You know it? Duh! Jack's a really smart guy and, like Abigail, and a lot of you, a lot of fun to talk to. We met on Facebook to chat tonight, in the first of a continuing series:

Ferris Bueller's Day Off: Grace (Polo, Giorgio, Poison, Shalimar, Enjoli)

As part of our week long series on John Hughes and eighties perfume, our friend Jack was going to impersonate Duckie, from Pretty in Pink, today. Unfortunately, Jack got busy with school, so I am impersonating Jack, and instead of Duckie I'm portraying him as Grace, from Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

Ferris Bueller is my least favorite John Hughes movie. It has the manic flair of Sixteen Candles, but it misses the anchor of Molly Ringwald. It's the best thing Matthew Broderick's ever done, I think, and in a way I think he does flippant sarcasm better than Molly did in Candles, but he lacks her warmth, and despite a serious thematic thread involving his best friend's relationship with a bullying father, you don't really feel there's anything at stake. It's all lightness, with nothing much to ground you.

It does have its pleasures, and one of the most pleasurable pleasures for me is Edie McClurg. Most of the main Hughes players are hard to imagine wearing perfume, as Elisa Gabbert pointed out in her post yesterday. Ferris Bueller, his girlfriend, and his best buddy are the exceptions. It's easy to imagine them wearing the most popular fragrances of the time. And yet, I can't help it: Grace is the only one for me:

"I'm a happy person--okay? I'm just your average happy-go-lucky lady. I think on the bright side of things. But there are days at school where I think I could lose it--and how--and I might, if it weren't for the blessing of my chipper outlook. I guess you could say I'm pretty gay.

There's not even a window in my office. Can you believe that? That's how these school builders are. No window, and someone got a bright idea to paint the walls grey. A real light bulb went off over somebody's head and he thought, 'You know, it always seemed to me that the best color for a windowless room with a desk and a couple of dying houseplants would be the darkest, drabbest shade of slate, and somebody believed them, and now I'm stuck here all day like I'm pinned under a dark cloud without an umbrella.

I stare at the grey wall ahead of me straight to lunch hour while Principal Jones shouts my name at the top of his lungs. 'Gr-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ce,' he yells. 'G-r-r-r-r-ace!!' I run into his office as fast as I can and of course all he ever wants is to tell me the latest allegedly larcenous offense Ferris Bueller has committed. I come bursting in and he's sitting there red in the face, with steam shooting out his ears. He wants me to call the police, or Mr. and Mrs. Bueller. He wants me to send for Ferris at once. He wants me to jump up on the desk and scream, like him. I get a real workout running back and forth from his desk to mine.

I don't let it concern me. Okay? I'm going to tell you a little secret. I put ear plugs in. It helps me keep a smile on my face. And I have Jelly Rolls in my right hand drawer, so I keep my energy up.

Along with the Jelly Rolls I have a growing collection of perfume bottles. Confiscated contraband. The perfume problem has reached epidemic proportions here in our class rooms. The girls bring it with them from home. Every day there's a school shooting. Someone gets sprayed. And the amount these girls wear is a real nose sore. Mrs. Cabbits gets her migraines. The math teacher, new this year from Duluth, goes into coughing fits. He coughed so hard one morning he doubled up in seizures. He hit his head on the edge of the chalkboard and woke up in the dumpster. Those kids actually carried his body out like a bag of trash. It's the perfume. It clouds their judgment. It fills them with homicidal impulses. It's hard for a gay person like me to understand perversion like that.

We've asked the girls to stop bringing the perfume to school. We've alerted their parents. The problem is, their parents wear just as much as they do. That's where they pick up the habit. Principal Jones set up a security check at the front entrance. Everyday when they come in, they get patted down. First it was the girls. Now it's the boys. Polo and Giorgio and Drakkar Noir. Sometimes, principal Jones yells my name so loud and so all of the sudden that it startles me, and my leg hits the desk, and all the bottles rattle into each other. Those kids are sneaky. They've smuggled many a bottle past the checkpoint. This is where I come in. I set up a lookout post in the ladies bathroom, third stall down on the right.

I can read your mind, so I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'Golly gee, Grace, what do you do with all that perfume?'

Well, let me tell you, I certainly don't wear it.

I'm all for progress. When it looked like pet rocks were going the way of the slinky, I retired Engelbert to the herb garden. No dilly dallying from me. I might be gay but I'm no sap. Except for the occasional girdle, I'm not the slightest bit old fashioned. It's just that these perfumes, this stink they put out now, they're nothing I'd want anything to do with, unless I had a small feral creature to dispatch. Me, I favor the classics. I like something with the heaving bosom of history behind it. That's a fragrance I can get behind. Something generations of women have relied on, and generations of men have lost their heads over. Something classy. Shalimar. Now THAT, my friend, is a fragrance.

And since on a school secretary's income I can't afford Shamilar, I get Enjoli.

Which is just as good, mind you, as your Poison and your Polo and your Eau de Whoop-di-do. Whatever it is these kids are wearing. Some of these headaches act like they walked in off the family estate. Out in the suburbs. I guess they spray that stuff on and they think they're, what, of the manor born? They think they're really something. And they are. They're something else.

You've never smelled Poison? Oh please, there's only so much time in the day. I'll run out of jelly rolls. How does one describe it? How does one describe nerve gas? Tell you what. Why don't you just meet me out behind the cafeteria after lunch. I've got a bottle with your name on it. If you want to spray yourself into a coma, I'm not going to stop you, just don't go around telling people where you got it, and don't do yourself the damage on school property."

Profumi del Forte Roma Imperiale

A few months ago I ordered some perfumes from Europe and a fairly giant sized sample of Roma Imperiale was included therein. Honestly, I had only vaguely heard of Profumi del Forte and was perhaps confusing it with other Italian brands such as i Profumi di Firenze or il Profumo. This sample of Roma Imperiale actually caught my attention more than the perfumes I had purchased. I can’t explain why. [Fate. Fate, it was Fate!!] All I can tell you is that I doused myself in Roma Imperiale (Fedex had arrived at the perfect moment, I had just showered but not applied perfume yet) and promptly walked out the door to take the dogs for a stroll. And what a stroll this was. My nose was glued to my wrists. I kept sniffing and sniffing and thinking to myself that this unheard of perfume couldn’t really be this good, I mean this good! I remember this walk with the dogs like it was yesterday, it was one of those special fragrant moments, that doesn't happen to me as often as I’d like. To say I was entranced by Roma Imperiale would be an understatement. And the most fun of it all was that I knew nothing (nothing!) about Profumi del Forte or this particular scent of theirs called Roma Imperiale. My head was empty; it was not filled with the opinions of others, of advertisements telling me what I’m supposed to smell or feel like when wearing Roma Imperiale.

I came back to the house and jumped online. I googled it. The first article that presented itself to me was ISTIA’s very own Brian, my partner in crime co-blogger, who mentioned how great it was on a trip he took to Italy last summer. I do read Brian’s posts but I must have glossed over this particular mention. How funny, I thought. Brian already knows about Roma Imperiale (RI). Seriously, this was kind of hysterically funny to me, plus I didn't find any other bloggers writing about it.

I emailed Brian, probably in ALL CAPS, to tell him how f-ing amazing I found Roma Imperiale. I used up the sample in a matter of days and promptly ordered myself a bottle, albeit a little horrified at the price ($195 for 50 ml). But still, when I love something this much, $200 bucks is worth it.

It has taken me months to write about Roma Imperiale, and I still don't feel equipped to do so even tonight. I figured that over time and with repeated wearing I’d find the perfect words to describe it to you. But time is passing and I’m not coming up with much more than this: Its structure is similar to Shalimar but it smells entirely different. By this, I mean, it begins with a citrus/herbal top and dries down to a vanilla/amber of sorts. This comparison with Shalimar is very loose, keep that in mind. RI is much more floral and soft and actually much more complex to my nose than Shalimar. Shalimar is a seemingly simple structure of citrus, vanilla, amber and aldehydes that make the whole thing pop off your skin and project into the next room; Shalimar growls "oriental." RI is as soft as bunny ears and while it’s present with some sillage it doesn’t have that old school aldehydic quality and it only purrs oriental, in a very low key tone. The opening has some citrus but also hints of herbs and spices (cinnamon, tomato leaf, bergamot and coriander). The heart is a dreamy, almost powdery blend of tuberose, jasmine, ylang ylang (these are the notes I can smell distinctly, there are more of course) and all this gorgeousity (yes, I made up that word) is laid over a base of the puffiest clouds of sandalwood, ambergris and vanilla. It is not edgy. It is not an usual overlapping of discordant notes. RI doesn’t make me want to resort to those artsy fartsy descriptors and suggest there’s some sort of “juxtaposition” or “tension” or “polarity” going on here. Roma Imperiale is just Pretty with a capital P. It’s soft, easy going, retro yet modern (which, by the way, I'm realizing is my favorite made-up category, this "retro-modern" thing I have in my head are scents that have a retro vibe, a classic structure but are not old school harsh, they would hopefully not be called “old lady” by the 20-something set).

I hesitated to write about Roma Imperiale for so long because I just don’t have the words for it. I can’t think of anything else to compare it with. I can only tell you that I absolutely adore it, I mean I am completely and utterly smitten with it and have fallen under its charms. Roma Imperiale could hypnotize me and order me to murder people in the dark of night and I probably would. So I hope you get the picture. Don’t judge me. I just f-ing love it.

From the Profumi del Forte website, here are the official notes:
Top notes
Bergamot, mandarin, neroli, rose-wood, coriander seed, cinnamon, tomato leaves
Middle notes
Orchid, jasmine absolute, tuberose absolute, ylang - ylang, iris butter, Turkish rose essence, seringa
Base notes
Civette, oak moss, grey amber. Vanilla, sandalwood

The bottle which houses Roma Imperiale is beautiful as well. It’s a tall, slender yet hefty etched glass bottle which arrives in an elegant box to boot. Sillage is light yet present and longevity is great.

Montale Chypre Vanille

Montale is not my favorite line. I enjoyed Sandflowers last year, but as much as I still like it, I’ve grown tired of it and never wear it. I’m not a fan of Aoud so this rules out a good portion of Montale fragrances. Blue Amber is nice but I have too many other amber orientals I like better. Steam Aoud is one of the strangest fragrances I’ve ever worn. Granted there are loads of Montales I haven’t tried – simply because there are so many – and they’re expensive and can never be found on discount. But, I’m here to tell you, along came Chypre Vanille and I find myself oddly drawn to it.

For me, Montale Chypre Vanille is NOT a chypre nor is it a typical vanilla fragrance. I don’t smell anything like oakmoss nor patchouli which has come to be the ‘modern chypre’ base. I’ve read as many reviews of Chypre Vanille as I can find and I don’t agree with most of them. The vanilla here is not foodie but I would also not call it dry. It’s a sweet vanilla, but not a foodie vanilla, if that makes sense. Think of the sweetness of Shalimar – I would say it’s sweeter than that – but the vanilla here is similar to the type of vanilla in Shalimar (sans the citrus edge). I do not mean Chypre Vanille smells like Shalimar – it doesn’t. I’m just trying to describe this type of vanilla.

Overall, once dried down, I think Chypre Vanilla smells like the most buttery sueded vanilla LEATHER imaginable. It starts off syrupy and potent, like most Montales, with a hefty dose of powder. But this isn’t Johnson & Johnson’s baby powder – it’s more like an orris root powder. You’ll have to be a hardcore Scent Junkie to make this sort of powder distinction but if you can imagine what I’m describing, you’ll get it. Once you get past what I think of as a rocky start, it becomes a gorgeous soft vanillic suede. There aren’t any spices jutting out, it’s all about being smooth, creamy, cozy and sublime. I’m just so oddly attracted to it.

The past few months I’ve found myself enjoying vanilla fragrances when I don’t normally like this category at all. TDC Oriental Lounge is a nice take on vanilla and L’Artisan Havana Vanille is excellent. Montale’s Chypre Vanille is probably my favorite take on vanilla of late – it’s wonderfully unique and I can’t say I’ve ever smelled anything like it.

Chypre Vanille is easily unisex. The longevity is excellent.

Notes (borrowed from Luckyscent): vanilla, rose, amber, incense, sandalwood, iris, vetiver, tonka bean

Oriental Lounge, Celine Ellena: A Review

I've been anxiously awaiting The Different Company's Oriental Lounge this fall. My bottle arrived from Aedes last week and I admit to not being initially enamored with it. Before wearing Oriental Lounge, I read the interview with the perfumer, Ms. Ellena, on Grain de Musc. Take the time to read it, it gives the reader a unique perspective and definitely enriched my sniffing experience.

I haven't loved anything from The Different Company yet. I like Osmanthus, Sel de Vetiver, Jasmine de Nuit and Sublime Balkiss, but it isn't love. My favorite from the line so far was Sublime Balkiss, which is a very light, modern take on a berried chypre. From Ms. Ellena's comment on Grain de Musc I believe it's true that The Different Company (TDC) sorely needed to add an oriental to their arsenal, something spicy and wearable in cold weather. And so we have, Oriental Lounge.

Here's the thing about me. While I'm an absolute perfume enthusiast and worship loads of classics there's a part of me that looks positively towards the future of perfumery. Even in the midst of all these horrendous reformulations and IFRA restrictions, I still have hope for modern interpretations of classic structures, like the oriental. While I liked Sublime Balkiss, I enjoyed it's take on the old fashioned chypre format, the issue for me is one of longevity. Sublime Balkiss just isn't potent enough for $175 of my hard earned dineros. A good example of a modern chypre, for me, is Estee Lauder's Jasmine White Moss. This is a modern chypre done well. Jasmine White Moss looks fondly upon it's older chypre cousins while still being it's own sort of chypre and I love it. This is what Oriental Lounge is doing for me. Oriental Lounge is born of Shalimar and other classic orientals but it's done well enough and differently enough to be worthy of your time. Ironic that Celine Ellena said orientals aren't her favorite category because I think this is one of her best works for TDC.

Oriental Lounge, what it smells like: Angela from NST is right, Oriental Lounge starts off with a familiar Shalimar-esque beginning, in fact, it reminds me of Shalimar overall, except without the lingering citrus, less obvious aldehydes and zero civet/animalic/musky stuff. So, I do think you wouldn't be terribly far off by categorizing Oriental Lounge as a cleaned up Shalimar. There's a sharp bergamot/citrus start over an ambery-vanillic base. And I initially agreed with Angela that it seems flat and linear. I tried a spritz at Barneys back in October and my first impression was that it was too sweet, flat and boring. It turns out you need a few sprays (not dabs) to experience this perfume. But I should point out, that while you need a few sprays, Oriental Lounge is not fleeting or overly sheer, it has good enough presence.

If you absolutely adore Shalimar and think it's Guerlain's gift to orientals you probably won't be impressed with Oriental Lounge. If you like and appreciate Shalimar but find it old fashioned, a bit strong and difficult to wear, but you still like the idea of it, and find yourself sniffing it in private, then Oriental Lounge could be your ticket to the modern oriental airway. Now I will not mention Shalimar again, because while Oriental Lounge definitely draws from it's roots, it's interesting enough to be described on it's own merits.

After reading the interview with Ms. Ellena on Grain de Musc I realized the best part of Oriental Lounge is the caloupilé note (aka curry leaf). Apparently this note is what gives Oriental Lounge it's slightly green and metallic vibe. The addition of curry leaf (not to be confused with Indian food, there isn't anything foodie about Oriental Lounge) gives Oriental Lounge a nicely jarring quality. It isn't all warm, cozy and snoozy, in part because of this curry leaf aspect. Oriental Lounge is a lovely balance of sweet and dry, this may be, for me, the best part of it. I usually don't like flat, sweet, ambers in the least. But put a hunk of amber inside a swarm of dry, spicy, citrus and herbal notes and I'm there. Oriental Lounge can be described as lush, creamy and mysterious. There is a gourmand touch but it might only be a hallucination, something the scent makes you imagine, because really, it's not particularly sweet nor gourmand at all. The dry down does go a bit sheer and linear on me, it's main characteristic is a sharp ambery wood, but the hours prior to the dry down are swirls of warm oriental dreaminess.

Incense Rose (Andy Tauer)

I'd read a lot--and heard even more--about Tauer perfumes before ever smelling any. People seem particularly fond, if not outright gaga, over L'air du Desert Marocain and Lonestar Memories, for instance, and the blogosphere is a'twitter with praise and testimonials about them. Vetiver Dance, one of the more recent Tauer releases, was greeted by the kind of anxiety you normally see associated with the next installment of the Twilight "saga". Even Luca Turin sang Tauer's praises, giving the majority of his work high marks, exempting the perfumer himself from the Guide's famously scathing wit.

During a trip to Los Angeles, I stopped in at the LuckyScent scent bar to see what all the fuss was about--but there was such a cacophony of smells competing for my attention that Tauer's fragrances didn't get the time they deserved. Stupidly, I decided that they must not be my thing. They hadn't knocked my socks off, so how could they be all that, I figured. This is a bit like saying Shalimar is inferior to Britney Midnight Fantasy because the latter sticks with you like blueberry gum, drowning out the former, along with memory, desire, hunger, and sex drive.

Dissolve. Months later, I received a little sample atomizer of Incense Rose in the mail. I think every perfume lover has those moments where he realizes how very little he knows, despite relentless exposure to everything from Guerlain to Lutens to Parfum D'Empire to Axe Body Spray. We smell so many things so often that we can sometimes mistake overkill for sophistication. Sometimes, we can discern what the average consumer can't--the finer points of Jicky, maybe, seeing past the civet. Other times, we're too jaded or distracted to recognize the quiet voice of greatness.

By itself, Incense Rose stood out. It rang out, really, and I was inspired to revisit all things Tauer, realizing that, in my rush to smell the trees, I'd missed the forest altogether. Incense Rose is pretty straightforwardly lovely, and truly unisex, a rich, calming blend of rose, frankincense, cardamom, coriander, and cedar, among other things. Osmoz.com classifies it as "Chypre - Floral". There's certainly a bit of an old school feel about it, a textured resonance associated with vintage classics, right down to the patchouli and ambergris in its base. But Incense Rose is unmistakably about frankincense.

Castor and labdanum add touches of honeyed leather, a subliminal undercurrent of the animalic. Orris bridges the distance between the more medicinal and astringent aspects of the incense, spices, and cedar and the buttery floral warmth of bergamot and Bulgarian rose. Incense Rose is so well done, so perfectly constructed, that you don't realize how complex it is, how adeptly all these materials have been selected, measured, and applied. Frankincense is treated in such a way that the overall radiance feels fairly straightforward, sort of inevitable, as if simply characteristic of the note. It's only when you compare it to other frankincense-based scents that you really see how epic Incense Rose is, how heightened and dynamic a fragrance, how advanced Tauer's artistry has become. None of this gets at the weird balsamic heft of the construction, mind you.

Incense Rose uses high quality ingredients. One smell of any Tauer perfume and you won't need me or anyone else to tell you that. Next to Lonestar Memories (another personal favorite) Incense Rose seems to last better than anything else in the Tauer arsenal on my skin. It sticks with me all day, fluctuating with my moods. There are only a handful of fragrances I'd never be without. Incense Rose has a firm place among them.

Guerlain Shalimar

There weren’t any members of my immediate family growing up who wore perfume. I don’t have memories of my mother’s fragrance wafting about the rooms or recall the scent of my grandmother. Finally, by the time I was a young adult, there were additions to my family, and these women wore perfume. Two of my uncles got married and these new aunts liked fragrance. Then one of my college friends also liked perfume and wore it every day. The commonality for all of these women is that they have one signature scent that they adore and will wear for the rest of their lives. All three of these women wear Shalimar and only Shalimar. They are devoted to Shalimar as if they’re married to it. And, I believe all three wear only the pure parfum.

Because I know and love all of these women I have a good association with the fragrance. I never wore Shalimar because it seemed to be “their” perfume, not mine, and I never felt allowed to wear it, at least not in their presence. So for many years, I secretly coveted the ability to wear Shalimar. About five years ago I moved to another state. I don’t see my aunts or my college friend but maybe once or twice per year now. We talk, we email, we stay in touch, but we see each other less. One of the first things I did once I realized I could was to buy Shalimar for myself. Even now, after several years have passed, I feel as if I’m sneaking around when I wear it.

I love the smell of Shalimar but usually find it a little too heavy and sexy for day-time wear. Recently I’ve found that Shalimar shower gel followed with the body lotion is absolutely perfect. I might also use one spritz of the perfume on my wrist just so I can smell it when I want.

I’ll never feel like Shalimar is my scent, but I love it nonetheless. I might love it even more since it’s a forbidden fruit for me. There is something about that mysteriously beautiful bottle that’s so magical and alluring. And, perhaps it’s only because of my experience with Shalimar, but it seems to be an only child. Shalimar looks perfect as the sole perfume on the bureau of a woman who adores it. It doesn’t seem right when Shalimar is grouped in a large collection. Shalimar is meant to be a monogamous scent, a scent for the devoted.

From the back of the closet: Youth Dew, Eau des Merveilles and Anne Pliska

The quest continues, maybe I should label this as a series. Today I decided to wear some more forgotten gems, oldies but goodies, which are in the back of my closet. During the day I wore Estee Lauder’s Youth Dew (!) and this evening I changed into Hermes Eau des Merveilles on one arm and Anne Pliska on the other.

First, I love Youth Dew (there I said it!). The first 15 minutes are “old classic aka little old lady” but once the fragrance settles and blends into my skin I love it. Youth Dew isn’t a sweet little old lady but one with a Harley in her garage. While Youth Dew has a sort of “dated” aroma it’s also aggressive and edgy. I’m a firm believer that anyone can wear any fragrance especially if they toss aside preconceived notions and simply allow the scent to meld with their own essence. On me, Youth Dew is so spicy it growls.

Youth Dew notes: spicy notes, orange, bergamot, peach, aldehydes, clove, rose, ylang-ylang, cinnamon, orchid, amber, tolu, patchouli, benzoin, and vanilla.

In the evening I wore Hermes Eau des Merveilles and Anné Pliska edp. I’ll start with Hermes. I chose Hermes EdM because a commenter mentioned it the other day after I reviewed Bvlgari Black. Hermes EdM is a gorgeous fragrance and while I would always include it on my “top perfumes” list I just never wear it. It seems to be a novelty for me, something I love in theory but never get around to wearing. Well, tonight I wore it. I really do love this salty, woody, ambergris aroma. EdM takes me away (I think of the commercial “Calgon…take me away”) to a beach on a cool breezy day. As a rule I love salty scents and the combination of salt with woods, amber and pepper are simply dreamy. Note to self: Wear Hermes Eau des Merveilles more often!

Hermes Eau des Merveilles notes: elemi, bitter orange, Italian lemon, Indonesian pepper, pink pepper, ambergris accord, oak, cedar, vetiver, balsam of Peru and tears of Siam

The last fragrance of the day is Anné Pliska edp. I used to like this but things have definitely changed. I’m not enjoying Anné Pliska at all. I love amber but tonight Anné Pliska is smelling like an orange creamsicle – yuck. There was a time when I thought
Anné Pliska was the superior ambery oriental to CK Obsession and a nice modern interpretation of Shalimar. Now I think Obsession is easily better than Anné Pliska and Shalimar will always be the gold standard in the amber/citrus arena. Bleck – it really does smell like an exact fragrant replica of an orange creamsicle…. I need to scrub my arm and apply Hermes EdM to both.

Anné Pliska notes: Bergamot, amber, patchouli, geranium, musk, vanilla

Chamade: An Appreciation

Chamade was virtually the first thing I ever smelled at the Guerlain counter, though not the first thing I saw. It's possible to find Guerlain's greatest hits here at the mall, but don't expect anyone to pull them out and show you without being asked. When you do ask, the saleswomen do a double take, either because they've never noticed them before or have but can't believe someone's looking for them. Pink and purple, L'Instant and (My) Insolence sit right up front, bracketing Hilary Swank's toothsome smile. Samsara and Shalimar are stored below, behind glass, very old fashioned in their staid red and blue rows. Chamade is behind the counter. Its gold box nearly disappears into the wall, alongside Mitsouko, Jardins de Bagatelle, and sometimes, if you're lucky, Jicky, all similarly packaged. You can forget Nahema, and the masculines don't even rate an appearance. Where Champs-Elysees is placed depends on the whim of whoever happens to be bored on the clock that day, and how old she is. Its pink and gold markings straddle the fence of old and new. Of all the Guerlain names, Chamade was the most intriguing to me.

I've since purchased L'Heure Bleue, Mitsouko, Nahema, Coriolan, Vetiver, Shalimar, Habit Rouge, and Samsara, in no particular order, but only finally picked up Chamade this afternoon. Why I saved the best for last is something of a mystery to me. Something about Chamade convinced me I wouldn't be able to pull it off; whether the heady impression of narcissus or the overall potency of the fragrance, I don't know. At the time I first smelled Chamade it did seem overwhelmingly, inarguably feminine to me, of no particular age but of very definitively gendered. What gave? Mitsouko is arguably masculine by conventional standards, but L'Heure Bleue? Samsara isn't exactly butch either. I think my tastes keep expanding, and my nerve keeps building. I might not have worn Chanel No. 19 a year, or even a month, ago. I might have said, like my friend when he smelled Cannabis Rose on me, "Hmm, too girly."

Something's changed; probably, mostly my mind. Outlook is everything. The Perfume Guide helped. The idea of a Best Feminines for Men list, like everything else Turin does, isn't simply about itself, about the idea of better and best. It's about expanding your view. Once you've allowed that Mitsouko might be worn by a man, you inevitably question why you ever thought it shouldn't have been. What exactly about Mitsouko, and, by extension, any other fragrance, makes it masculine or feminine? Very little, it gradually seemed to me. That the Perfume Guide was written by a male/female duo who happened to be romantically partnered makes that process of re-evaluation even more interesting.

What I noticed right off the bat this time, picking up Chamade, is that, yes, there are florals. But once you process that, and move on, you smell everything else. Chamade is slightly oily, as Turin praised and others have complained. Inside that, or beyond it, you smell all kinds of things. Exactly what I'll leave to your own discovery. It's a favorite of mine and I enjoy the hard won right not to defend the position with detailed analysis. I love it more than anything because it waited patiently for me and, once I came around, held nothing back. It's as complicated as it ever was, and I'm a little less simple-minded.