Dark Passage: A Limited Edition Fragrance by Andy Tauer

For the next 25 days, Dark Passage, a limited edition fragrance by Andy Tauer made exclusively for the Woman's Picture series, will be available here.

Dark Passage is a film noir fragrance, and is presented as part of a new series in the Tableau de Parfum/Woman's Picture project called "Snapshots".

Packaged in 7ml enamel atomizers and available in limited edition quanities, the Tableau Snapshots are smaller in scale, providing Tauer the opportunity to experiment with new ideas. The snapshot fragrances are hand held, and seek to preserve fleeting moments in time.

Dark Passage is being presented for only the next several weeks as part of the kickstarter campaign for ONLY CHILD, a mother/daughter noir in the tradition of Mildred Pierce and Now, Voyager starring Grace Zabriskie (Big Love, Twin Peaks) as a mother searching for her vanished daughter. ONLY CHILD is the second feature film in the Woman's Picture series. We start shooting it in April.

I was always resistant to do a kickstarter fundraising campaign in the past, but this time I wanted to do one, as long as I could do one well. When I say well I mean a campaign that includes true incentives, rather than well-intentioned "thank you's" alone. When I started looking at kickstarter campaigns before building our own for ONLY CHILD, I was surprised to see that people didn't offer more for donations. After all, you're asking people for help. If you're making a film, you're creative, nine times out of ten. Why not pull together all your creative resources and come up with something that really thanks them?

Andy and I came up with a lot of incentives for your average person who can do without perfume but loves film. But we wanted to do something extra special for people like us who love fragrance. I was so happy when I first smelled Dark Passage, because in a sea of mass marketed banality I knew it would feel special, smell special, be special, and few things feel that way anymore. We would be forever grateful if you helped us out with this film. Like Woman's Picture it deals thematically with perfume. I make these films for you. I really do. If you like them I know I did good. But in addition to our gratitude and making a good film we want to offer you something else in return.

Dark Passage contains patchouli, cacao, birch tar, and iris, among other things.

Inspiration:

Noir films are typically black and white. Dark Passage isn't quite so polarized, but it contains equally bold contrasts. The wonderfully rich, refined patchouli used by Andy in the fragrance is something to behold, at once earthy and clean shaven. Birch tar and cacao move this patchouli theme in interesting directions, evoking the open road and the small town diner, steaming cups of coffee on a formika countertop, bright sun coming in parallel lines through window blinds, crisscrossing a dim room with their highly keyed stripes. DARK PASSAGE is both femme fatale and private eye, a happy union between feminine and masculine.  It speaks in Lauren Bacall's smoky baritone and regards you with Bogart's level gaze.

Andy Tauer has made the fragrance available this one time and this one time only in an effort to help raise the kickstarter goal for ONLY CHILD and help get the film made. After the campaign, Dark Passage, like a fugitive character out of noir, will never show its face again.  Please check out the kickstarter page to see what other things are available for your donation (hint: an exclusive soap built around tuberose) and comment on the page if the mood hits you. With any donation above 15 dollars you'll get an online link to Woman's Picture, our first film.

Note: surprises are coming there in the next week or two, including a sneak peak sniff opportunity or two.

Tom Ford Violet Blonde

Earlier this week, in anticipation of Tom Ford Violet Blonde’s arrival at my house, I was familiarizing myself with my violet collection.  Among the other violets I already enjoy I came away professing my love for Norma Kamali Violette, which is something you should try if you’ve been looking for a nice violet floral.  

But now Violet Blonde is here and I’ve been sniffing it all day.  I've read many other reviews and find my impression to be pretty much in the same vein as everyone else.  I do find there to be a formality to Violet Blonde.  It’s hard to explain why a fragrance smells formal as opposed to casual but I’ll try by telling you that Violet Blonde seems restrained and subtle and I think this is mostly due to the iris note.  I imagine it could have been far less restrained, and more overtly sexy or daring such as Tom Ford’s other darling; Black Orchid.  Instead, Violet Blonde follows in the stylized footsteps of White Patchouli for me.

Violet Blonde (VB) seems at first to be all about violets but once it dries down I think it becomes an iris-jasmine fragrance.  The iris-jasmine combination is still confined to an overall violet-prominent fragrance but these notes are what keep Violet Blonde cool, not-very-sweet, and adult (by adult I mean refined and formal).   Many violet fragrances have a somewhat childish quality, something you might find appropriate for a 13 year old flower girl at a wedding.  Tom Ford’s Violet Blonde is a fragrance for a chic and elegant adult.

Others have considered Violet Blonde to be a potent fragrance.  I find it just about right, if not a wee bit too subtle.  There’s a cool streak in Violet Blonde, a slightly twangy metallic vibe that runs throughout.  This slightly reminds me of Balenciaga L’Essence for a moment or two.  Then in the very far dry down VB exhibits a warmer suede aspect, not dissimilar from Serge Lutens Daim Blond or the suede quality to Bottega Veneta.

I was very excited for Violet Blonde’s arrival.  In sum, I like it very much, but I’m just not sure yet that I love it.  I’m breaking one of my rules which is to wear a fragrance 2-3 full days before reviewing; maybe this is why I’m not sure if I love it yet.  Violet Blonde is certainly a wonderful violet fragrance for someone who doesn’t normally like the available violet scents; and especially for someone who finds most other violet scents to be overly sweet, cloying, powdery and plastic-y.  Violet Blonde is only slightly powdery and I think this depends on how you interpret the iris note.  On me, the iris note is cool and metallic, on others the iris might come off powdery.

Official noes: Italian mandarin, pink pepper, violet leaf, Iris absolute, orris concrete, jasmine sambac, Vetiver, musk, Virginia cedar, benzoin, suede accord

My question: would it have been a crime to put Violet Blonde in a purple bottle (a la Sensuous Noir)?  The above photo makes the bottle look purple but that's only because it's against purple flowers.  It is actually a clear bottle with yellow/gold juice.

PS: I keep typing Violent  Blonde and spell check doesn't pick this up as "violent" is, of course, a word!

Knize Two: Fine and Dandy

For a while, Knize Ten was pretty hard to come by over here in Geographically Marginalized US of A. I did eventually find a bottle--at Perfume House, in Portland--but it was the last one. It felt sufficiently precious for something so difficult to find: a glass-stoppered, Fred Astaire-slender bottle in a wooden box. I was scared to use it, for fear of some near-future occasion when only Knize Ten would do and none would be found.

Two years ago, visiting Milan, I found plenty of the stuff in an out of the way perfume shop. The greater discovery? The other Knize colognes still seemed to be in production as well. I loved Knize Two but it seemed so similar to Grey Flannel that I opted for Knize Sec instead. Until yesterday, when Knize Two arrived from LuckyScent, who now carries the Knize line, I regretted passing on a full bottle. Smelling it again, I see that I slightly misjudged the fragrance. It is similar to Grey Flannel, but distinct in wonderful ways.

Hermessence Iris Ukiyoe

There are huge Jean Claude Ellena (JCE) fans out there; it’s a cult-following. Me, I respect his talent and will always sniff anything new he creates. But mostly I feel indebted to JCE because he forged ahead with his “tea accord” back in the early 90’s which I consider a personal favor the man did for me. However, I must admit that JCE’s sheer, linear style isn’t typically my thing; I’m a girl who loves orientals, florientals and chypres. Occasionally I am blown away by the sheer beauty of something in the simple soliflore category, and this happens constantly with almost everything from Annick Goutal, but I don’t typically seek out these sorts of fragrances. I have about a dozen favorites in this category, which I whip out during the summer months, and I wasn’t really looking for more.

Well, this year I’ve had a few of these sheer, linear, soliflore-type beauties sneak up on me and become part of my permanent collection. First there was Byredo La Tulipe, then il Profumo Blanche Jacinthe, then Annick Goutal Rose Splendide (but on me this one is pretty potent) and now there is Hermessence Iris Ukiyoe.I have always wanted to find a fragrance that smells like iris FLOWERS. Not the roots, rhizome, bulb, cold wet earth stuff, but the scent of iris flowers. Oh, don’t tell me the iris flower doesn’t have scent, it surely does, and in my garden back in New Jersey, I had several beautiful varieties of scented iris. I adore Acqua di Parma Iris Nobile in both edt and edp (very different scents) and so far I’ve found these to be the best abstract interpretations of the scent of iris flowers. The AdP iris scents are quite voluptuous and full bodied, these aren’t sheer little soliflores but both fall into the floriental category. DSH L’eau d’Iris is another iris floral worth checking out and this one falls more in line with the new Hermessence Iris Ukiyoe; so don’t miss out on that one.

Anyway, let me get to the point: Hermessence Iris Ukiyoe is beautiful, especially if you are looking for a linear, sheer scent that smells like iris flowers. Iris Ukiyoe is realistic, like a photograph, not a painting; it smells of irises, but also contains a soft vegetal quality, like freshly cut stems, that oozy cellular plant-like scent you get on your hands when trimming irises for a vase (Byredo La Tulipe is like this, so obviously I have a thing for stem juice). Once dried down, IU becomes a softly peppery aquatic scent, one that I wasn’t sure I’d like, but oh, how I do. I’m pleasantly surprised by IU’s longevity. Don’t get me wrong, this is a JCE creation, so it’s far from a sillage monster, but it wears nicely on me for about 3 hours and I don’t mind re-applying. It strikes me that this is a perfect scent for gardeners or for a person specifically looking for an iris floral scent. It’s a quirky smell, so if someone were not to recognize the scent of an iris flower, I imagine s/he might think it’s a little odd. I love it. Had Iris Ukiyoe appeared on shelves back in May I would have worn it lots and lots this past summer.

Serge Lutens Bas de Soie and general thoughts on the Lutens brand

Just about every other perfume blogger has already weighed in on Bas de Soie. I purchased my bottle several months ago, and initially my reaction was “its ok, no big deal” and I didn’t even bother myself with writing a review.

I’m finding that more often than not, I need to experience a perfume for even longer than my usual self inflicted rule which is that I wear a fragrance for a minimum of 2-3 days, before I allow myself to make any sort of judgment on it. And I mean wear it, not a few dabs from a sample vial; instead I either spray liberally from the bottle itself or from a very large spray decant. I have now worn Bas de Soie for at least 7 full days and find myself becoming increasingly enamored with it.

The past few years I have been less and less enthused with anything new from the house of Serge Lutens. I didn’t think much of Nuit de Cellophane and I absolutely despise L’eau de Serge and think it’s a pathetic sell-out. I became so tired of anything with that trademark SL “stewed fruits” vibe that I almost didn’t bother sniffing a number of SL’s scent that were described as such. What I’ve come to realize is that the Serge Lutens brand has pumped out 50 fragrances between the years of 1992-2010 (see chronological list below). Of these 50 fragrances, I find only a handful truly remarkable, unusual and breathtaking. What I’ve come to realize is that the house of Serge Lutens isn’t suddenly changing or churning out a bunch of sell-outs (which even if some of the newest releases are sell-outs, we need to keep in mind that the house of SL is a business and need to profit lest they cease to exist). There is nothing wrong with creating fragrances that more mainstream consumers will like, in fact, if that’s what keeps SL in business, then I’m completely happy with that business model.

One issue with me and the Serge Lutens brand is that I’ve become tired of its exalted status. I’m so bored with reading reviews that I personally believe give SL/Sheldrake far too much over-the-top accolades for the product I end up smelling. I respect several bloggers who have oodles more aroma-chemical and technical knowledge than I ever will or ever want to have and I enjoy reading their perspectives. But when I find the perfume community going completely gaga over every last inane, mysterious or vague statement from Serge Lutens himself, it simply makes me roll my eyes. Oh, puh-leez.

Serge Lutens Bas de Soie is not spectacular. But here’s the weird part, I think I’ve really fallen in love with it. Part of my initial boredom with Bas de Soie was that I expected much more emphasis on hyacinth, or at least the sort of hyacinth I can recognize, because I really love this note. I love hyacinth in Chamade, Grand Amour and Parfums MDCI Un Coeur en Mai. So, my expectations were initially crushed when I first sniffed Bas de Soie because this scent is only minimally about hyacinth. When I first sniffed Bas de Soie, my reaction was that it was Iris Silver Mist light. This isn’t the case, BdS isn’t anywhere near the cold, rooty, artistic weirdness of ISM, but it starts off very much ado about iris and therein lies the comparison. There is also a sort of hairspray quality in BdS, which you either learn to love or ignore due to its other positive attributes. When PerfumeShrine suggested that with the launch of BdS, Lutens was doing Chanel, she wasn’t exaggerating. Bas de Soie could easily be mistaken for a Chanel fragrance, in fact, there’s a strong similarity with Chanel 28 La Pausa. I also notice similarities with Hermes Hiris, Donna Karan Iris and Prada Infusion d’Iris. What is special about Bas de Soie is that I like it better than all of these irises I just mentioned. Let me be frank, I would never wear Iris Silver Mist; I respect it and like to give it an occasional sniff but it’s an artistic scent, not a functional one, and one I would never wear in public. But, because these are functional fragrances, I would wear Chanel 28 La Pausa, Hermes Hiris, Prada Infusion d’Iris and Donna Karan Iris. The main problem with these four other irises is that they are gone in 14 minutes. I like Bas de Soie better because it’s slightly more potent and there is the hyacinth aspect, giving it a stronger floralcy and more of a “just plain pretty personality.”

Others have suggested a strong similarity with Chanel No. 19, and I do see that but BdS is so linear, minimalist and sheer it doesn’t even seem in the same league. Chanel No. 19 is a complex and classic “perfumey” fragrance while BdS is so much more linear and simple, without any of the darker base notes of No. 19.

After many months I’ve realized Bas de Soie is a winner for me, but it’s the sort that crept up on me, slowly, over many wearings and many comparisons with others in the same genre. It doesn’t smell groundbreaking in the least, and it’s certainly a functional fragrance compared with an artistic scent such as Iris Silver Mist, but in the big wide world of iris/hyacinth type perfumes, I really like Bas de Soie.

Creating the below chronological list of Serge Lutens fragrances was very helpful for me. I realized that SL has created far more functional as opposed to artistic fragrances over the years, which actually, makes me feel a bit better. I feel better because it’s not like the brand is changing for the worse, it’s just doing what it has always done; occasionally appeasing perfume connoisseurs with unusual artistic fragrances while staying in business with the pretty functional fragrances for the mainstream consumer.

1992 Feminite de Bois (Shiseido)
1992 Bois de Violette
1992 Bois et Fruits
1992 Bois et Musc
1992 Bois Oriental

1993 Ambre Sultan
1993 Rose de Nuit
1994 Un Bois Sepia
1994 Iris Silver Mist
1994 Un Lys

1995 Fleurs d’Oranger
1995 La Myrrhe

1996 Cuir Mauresque
1996 Encens et Lavande

1997 Santal de Mysore

1998 Muscs Koublai Khan
1998 Rahat Loukhoum

1999 Tubereuse Criminelle

2000 A La Nuit
2000 Arabie
2000 Douce Amere
2000 Sa Majeste La Rose

2001 Chergui
2001 Datura Noir
2001 Santal Blanc

2002 Vetiver Oriental

2003 Clair de Musc
2003 Fumerie Turque
2003 Un Bois Vanille

2004 Chene
2004 Daim Blond
2004 Fleurs de Citronnier

2005 Borneo 1834
2005 Cedre
2005 Miel de Bois

2006 Chypre Rouge
2006 Gris Clair
2006 Mandarine Mandarin

2007 Louve
2007 Rousse
2007 Sarrasins

2008 El Attarine
2008 Five O’Clock au Gingembre
2008 Serge Noire

2009 Filles en Aiguilles
2009 Fourreau Noir
2009 Nuit de Cellophane

2010 L’eau Serge Lutens
2010 Bas de Soie
2010 Boxeuses

Burlesque Without the Kicks: Moulin Rouge

I didn't know what to expect from Moulin Rouge, as I'd heard contradictory reports, none of which seemed very promising, given my expectations. Histoires de Parfums is one of those lines you wouldn't expect to be the underdog it is. The quality is good, the presentation is first class, and the price point, though on the high side, suggests a sense of exclusivity the fragrances tend to justify. And yet for a new release, Moulin Rouge has received relatively little comment; nor did the recent Tubereuse trio, all of which I love (though there is a very good piece on them over at Grain de Musc). The line itself is available in only a few places, neither of which is Luckyscent or Aedes de Venustas. All of the fragrances were reviewed better than favorably in Perfume: The Guide, so maybe backlash is part of the problem. I was shocked to see the line dismissed en masse on one of my favorite blogs recently; and even more shocked that some of the fragrances were regarded with the kind of disdain usually reserved for celebrity scents du jour.

I'll start by saying that, as a whole, Moulin Rouge isn't my thing. I think it's lovely, if not lush or plump enough to qualify as gorgeous. I wouldn't say it's delicate; nor is it effervescent. But it's a skin scent by my definition of the term. It doesn't project much, if at all. I mention these things right up front to make it clear that the deck is stacked against such a fragrance for this reviewer, and in fact when, before receiving it, I read a review which characterized Moulin Rouge as sheer, an alarm went off in my head. However, if I were presented with three other popular skin scents and Moulin Rouge, chances are I would choose the latter.

Often with Histoires, I don't really see much of a connection between the stated inspiration and the resulting perfume. 1740 is one of my all time favorite fragrances. It speaks to me like a hypnotist. Other than the sadistic power it holds over me, I'm not sure I'd call it an apt tribute to de Sade. Colette seems even more of a stretch. Mata Hari comes a little closer. Moulin Rouge is a near perfect evocation of its namesake in ways both literal and associative. Its real failure for me is that it paints what should be a colorful portrait in watercolors rather than oil.

You get a rush of that wonderful cosmetic smell up front and for the first ten minutes or so; a smell not so far removed from Lipstick Rose. Unlike Lipstick Rose, this quality in Moulin Rouge resonates more three dimensionally, creating a deeper, more detailed drama in the mind. The fragrance requires a degree of transparency to achieve this, so that you might see through it, though in the bargain it sacrifices the vivacity and even good natured garishness you'd expect from something inspired by one of the world's most infamous burlesque venues. In Moulin Rouge, the cosmetics mingle with the cool, medicinal tones of iris. Somehow, iris is made to perform a sleight of hand I've never known it to execute. Before I read "feathers" in the company's PR description, I pictured them, sensing that weird smell ostrich feathers can have, half animal, half glamor. The iris also adds just enough powder to evoke blush and eye shadow stirring in the air.

There's the slightest touch of vanilla. And the cosmetics wear down to reveal a barely perceptible fruit medley I've gotten from other Histoires scents. I appreciate the artistry and the subtlety behind Moulin Rouge. What I miss is a sense of the raucous activity and even some of the sweat and cigar smoke which would inevitably have been a big part of the place's experience. I wanted something more voluptuous and unpredictable. What I got suggests a picture postcard for tourists. Unfortunately, it's the kind you'd bring back to your mother.

Donna Karan Iris

I’ve come to realize I love many perfumes from Donna Karan. Black Cashmere is one of the best spicy, woody orientals period. Chaos is another exceptional woody oriental. Gold is excellent, albeit not my thing, but I can still tell that if I liked the scent of lily I’d be all over this one. Wenge is a unique and wonderful woody fragrance. Labdanum is delicious. I even like Cashmere Mist edt and the newer Cashmere Mist Luxe edp. The only DK’s I don’t like are the troop of Be Delicious yucky-yucks. I imagined Donna Karan Iris would be great and ordered it the moment it was available at Neiman’s.

Well, I don’t think DK Iris is great. Here’s a little disclaimer though: I do not like the cold, rooty, damp irises like Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist or even Hermes Hiris. I like Hiris well enough, more than Iris Silver Mist, but never wear it. I like (don’t love) L’Artisan Iris Pallida but also never wear that. My favorite of the cold irises is probably Le Labo Iris 39. Le Labo’s iris has more going on in there to keep me interested. There’s an earthy interest, and some pepper, and a bit of what I imagine an iris flower would smell like. Prada’s Infusion d’Iris is decent, but it’s far too light for me, I hardly know it’s there after 12 minutes. Truly, my sort of iris is Acqua di Parma Iris Nobile (in both edp and edt). Most people say the AdP irises don’t even smell like iris at all – more like gardenia. I actually think the AdP Iris Nobiles smell like an iris flower – or what I imagine an iris flower smells like – but I can’t say I’ve ever come upon a fragrant iris in real life. So maybe I just don’t like iris scents in general. Nevertheless, I’m always in search of an iris that smells of iris flower and not solely orris which is the root/bulb of the iris plant. I thought Donna Karan might be my ticket into iris fan-dom. Well, it wasn’t.

Donna Karan Iris is just about as light as Prada’s Infusion d’Iris. In fact, I think I can smell more from the Prada. Maybe I’m anosmic? Is anyone getting much from DK Iris? I so wanted to love DK Iris since I think this house makes fabulous perfumes. Alas, DK Iris is not for me. It is quite sheer, light, and just barely a hint of a metallic, cool, iris floral. Sigh. For those who like Prada Infusion d'Iris, you ought to check out DK Iris because this could be your next sheer summery iris scent.

More on L'Heure Bleue

From the foreword of The Blue Hour: A Life of Jean Rhys, by Lilian Pizzichini:

"In the summer of 1912 the French parfumier Jacques Guerlain concocted a scent from musk and rose de Bulgarie with a single note of jasmine. He intended his new scent, which he called L'Heure Bleue, to evoke dusk in the city. The blue hour is the time when heliotropes and irises in Parisian window boxes are bathed in a blue light and the well-groomed Parisienne prepares for the evening.

"For the novelist Jean Rhys, the blue hour was also the hour when the lap-dog she saw herself as being during the day turned into a wolf. Dogs hunt best during twilight. Underneath our surface sophistication lurks a predator. Jean Rhys was always concerned with what lay beneath the top notes. In Quartet, her first novel, set in paris, a young female character, smarter and bolder than her heroine, is wearing L'Heure Bleue by Guerlain. Rhys's heroine absorbs the woman's scent as though in breathing it in she can capture her rival's self-possession..."


Though Jean Rhys published only a handful of books in a brief period of time, I've returned to her work more often than any other writer. I relate that strongly to her characters, always some poetic inversion of their author, always sad, alone but fighting against it, somewhat self-sabotaging, romantic but fatalistic, hopelessly dreamy, grafting onto the peeling, water-stained wallpaper of a Parisian flophouse images of high fashion, glamorous independence, the head over heels dizziness of ill-fated love affairs, all while remaining glued by inertia to the room's filthy mattress, waiting for dusk and perhaps a free meal.

Rhys herself was both fiercely independent and disastrously beholden to a series of not-so-charitable older men, the most notorious of whom was the writer Ford Maddox Ford. It was Ford who helped Rhys get published, which is to say organized. Her childhood in Dominica had ingrained in her a sense of elaborate languor bordering on laziness, at least as far as others were concerned. Getting her shit together was always a challenge for her, and I imagine a scattered heap of intuitively- if not technically connected notes and sentences before Ford came along, mixing encouragement with sexual attention. Naturally, he dumped her. Almost everyone did. People leave. Where's the motivation in that?

She was a woman of sharp observational powers, in possession of what seemed to be an inherently poetic sense of the world. The combination of these two attributes made for writing which is often so sad, so melancholy, so blue, that you think you can't get through it, so that the act of reading it replicates how Rhys must have felt about life and the world in general: too gorgeous and brutal for words. She is best known for her last novel, Wide Sargasso Sea, a reinterpretation of Jane Eyre. For me, her earlier novels are the strongest, the most unrelenting in their beautiful remorse. Start with After Leaving Mr. Mackenzie and work your way through to Good Morning, Midnight.

I was excited when The Blue Hour came out, because very few biographies on Rhys exist. After buying the book, I packed it in my bag for a recent trip to Italy. It seemed a good place to engross myself in Rhys' life, though her particular adulthood haunt was France. In any case, Italy is nearer than Memphis, and closer in spirit and tone. I've been obsessed with perfume for over a year now, relentlessly obsessed to some, and yet I had no reason to associate Jean Rhys with anything from that world and made no connection between the title of the book and the beloved Guerlain perfume. Reading the foreword on the plane was a moment of epiphany, because of course Rhys would have loved L'Heure Bleue. It makes perfect sense. It was perhaps the only fragrance for her uniquely lonely world view, but more than telling me something new about Rhys, the connection has opened my eyes about L'Heure Bleue itself.

Often described in a way which makes it seem sad and cool in an almost satirically quaint way, L'Heure Bleue is in fact magnificently, deeply melancholic, an unlikely, tense but simultaneously languid fusion of the medicinal and the floral, both edible and inedible. There is carnation against iris, itself enough contrast for a dozen perfumes, the warmth of tonka and vanilla working alongside a powdery detachment. It is spicy but sweet, powdery dry but dewy, a study in perfectly calibrated contrasts, so well blended that they cease to be contradictions; rather, a persistent sense of vaguely perceived oppositions precariously balanced into some sort of olfactory truce. This delicate balance is a wondrous thing, giving you the sense that to breathe the wrong way might send it all flying back into discord like dandelion fluff.

I went straight out to the nearest profumeria in Milan, where I purchased a bottle in EDP concentration. I need it with me as I read The Blue Hour, I decided, a ticket into Rhys's headspace. L'Heure Bleue reminds me of moments I've since had here in Lugano, Switzerland, where I've been staying for the last several days. A wall of windows in my host's apartment looks out over a parallel wall, higher and wider still, of softly sloping mountains. Buildings dot these, clustered at the bottom. Trees cover their angular reality with an illusion of cozy tenderness.

The city surrounds an enormous lake. I saw it up close as the train came in from Milano. I left Italy reluctantly, feeling somehow, somewhere, someone had gotten it wrong. I'd ended up in America rather than Italy, where I clearly belonged. My family came from Lucca over fifty years ago. What kind of mistake was that--and how had we paid for it? And now my life back "home" is so complicated, I reminded myself, that there's no getting out of it, and of course much of it I don't want to leave, making things more difficult, more confusing, more bittersweet. I thought of all I'd be losing in the imagined immigration back to Italy.

Lugano is impossibly pretty. There's a garden outside with a chaise lawnchair waiting for me as I write this. It's seven o'clock and the mountains have gone foggy, imbued with a faint cast of pale, powdery blue. They seem like an apparition, an embodiment of my conflicted feelings. My sadness has lingered into the visit. It got off the train with me. I stare out the windows into this beautiful landscape, seeing it through that sadness, and twilight, which should be descending any minute now, will erode the boundaries between this beauty and sadness even further, so that they seem one and the same thing, the differences between the two indistinguishable, something you can only live with, or through.

This is L'Heure Bleue for me. And, reading The Blue Hour, I think it was something like this for Jean Rhys, too. It's some kind of consolation, learning we have this in common.

Iris Bleu Gris

I debated getting Iris Bleu Gris for weeks before finally deciding to take a chance on it. Before this, I tried several other Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier fragrances, most of which I've written about: George Sand, Camille de Chinois, Ambre Precieux, Parfum d'Habit, Or des Indes and Eau des Iles. I wasn't thrilled with Parfum d'Habit and ultimately didn't buy a bottle. There were huge discrepancies between the way it smelled to me and the way I'd heard it described. It was tamer, lighter, almost sheer, and decidedly fleeting. Lovely, but I decided early on that when it comes to skin scents, you can never have too few.

That discrepancy and lack of forcefulness made me suspect that Iris Bleu Gris would be nothing like I'd read. Ironically, curiosity about Iris Bleu Gris was what brought me to Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier in the first place. I love iris but find that it's such a variable note in fragrance. It seems to be one of the most interpretive, and it has polar attributes which appeal to different perfumers and wearers, defining iris for them in contradictory ways. I'm more often unenthused by an iris scent than those whose reviews I consult, it seems to me. It doesn't help that many of the current iris iterations introduce a peppery quality I find about as appealing as maple syrup on garden salad.

Eventually, I spent more time with Ambre Precieux, and saw how wonderfully it lasts and evolves on the skin. I revisited all the Maitre fragrances and found similar, equally admirable complexity. I'd dismissed Ambre for various reasons initially. I can't enumerate them, as they were, I think, mostly instinctive and reactionary, a product of very specific expectations and subsitutes for lack of better words to describe or articulate what appeals to me. Once those expectations dissolved the true merits of the fragrance emerged, its rich, cozy ambience, its steady, mildly herbal diffusion and warmth. Ambre Precieux isn't a skin scent, but it works differently on my skin than equally persistent fragrances, which substitute volume for nuance. Ambre projects in a much more refined, subliminal way.

My fears about Iris Bleu Gris were entirely unfounded. Granted, it smells nothing like I expected. It simply smells much, much better. The treatment of iris predates the current interpretation, which aims at the root and photo- or hyperrealism at or around ground level. I imagine many people, having been fed on fragrances like Iris Silver Mist and Bois d'Iris (to name a few of the more popular contemporaries), might de disappointed by Iris Bleu Gris. Its deployment of iris is subtler, less overtly woodsy or astringent. That isn't to say that the iris is warmer than, say, Iris Silver Mist. An unmistakable affinity exists between the two. There are absolutely medicinal influences in Iris Bleu Gris, but they're not as literal-minded as you might expect. There's earthiness but your nose isn't rubbed in it. Where other iris fragrances dig into the dirt to expose iris root and whatever happens to be clinging to it, Iris Bleu Gris evokes the smell of damp soil in the open air. It widens its net to take in a broader picture of iris in bloom, perfectly content to stay above ground, approaching the subject panoramically, at eye level.

When you focus on singling them out, you detect individual notes: jasmine, moss, vetiver, vanilla. When you relax into the fragrance, they cohere into an associative whole, augmenting the iris note in ways which feel by turns austere, dewey, lush, and intriguingly piquant. Many talk of a leather note in the mix, some going so far as to make comparisons with Jolie Madame and other vintage leather chypres. I can get on board with that, though I would characterize the leather as soft and supple, more hand glove than car seat or horse saddle. The opening of the fragrance, though in no way candied, is practically fruity, indicating a currant note. This dances in and out of the heart but has so well integrated by the dry down that it enhances an overall sense of sharpness and cool languor.

As many have commented, the extended dry down is sublime. The wondrous thing about Iris Bleu Gris is how close it comes to so many dread accords before surpising you. Iris Bleu Gris is in control, working expertly on your senses by combining familiar notes with unexpected results. You might expect things to go powdery, for instance. The fragrance certainly seems headed in that direction. And yet it stops short, showing what a difference a fraction makes. This keeps you engaged in unique ways, alive to the perfume's continual evolution the way you might listen for the various layers of sound outdoors, surprised by the depth and texture your subconscious mind normally tunes out or takes for granted. Exquisitely calibrated, Iris Bleu Gris demonstrates the highest level of artistry and craft, resulting in a testament not just to Jean Laporte's particular gifts and strengths as a perfumer but to the imaginative and emotional territory perfume can access. This is an exceptional fragrance.

Frederic Malle, Iris Poudre: A Review

Iris Poudre was created in 2000 by Pierre Bourdon. Iris Poudre translates to “Powdery Iris” in English so this is the reason it’s taken me eight years to purchase it – I’m not a fan of most powdery fragrances (I still shudder at the thought of Habanita).

Iris Poudre is not so powdery after all. There’s a hint of powder, but it’s a conservative amount, such that if the name of the fragrance didn’t contain ‘powder’ I might have found this beautiful perfume long ago.

This is the description of Iris Poudre from the Editions de Parfums website:

“Iris expresses raw classical beauty. Tonka bean, musk and vanilla bring softness and warmth, while the base of sandalwood and vetiver adds a melodious resonance. If Pierre Bourdon's Iris Poudre were a garment, it would be a cashmere sweater - classic but personal, appropriate for most occasions, something one never tires of. It is a grand floral aldehydic.”

No offense to anyone but I am so tired of the cashmere sweater analogy. And, in this instance, I don’t think Iris Poudre is remotely similar to a ‘cashmere sweater’ type of fragrance. For me, a ‘cashmere sweater’ type fragrance would be prominently amber, woods and vanilla, not iris. That said, I understand what those calling Iris Poudre a cashmere sweater are getting at – it’s that Iris Poudre, like a cashmere sweater, is a sophisticated, classic yet versatile fragrance. ‘Raw’ is another word in the description from Editions de Parfums that baffles me. Perhaps I’m misunderstanding the usage of this word, in the context of classical beauty, but I would never use the word ‘raw’ to describe Iris Poudre myself. The best way I can describe Iris Poudre is to say it smells like an iris fragrance created by Chanel. Iris Poudre smells classic in a totally Chanel-esque way. It’s fairly linear and does not change a great deal from initial spray to dry down. The usage of aldehydes in Iris Poudre are reminiscent of a Chanel Exclusif – meaning that the aldehydes are there – but not particularly aggressive. Iris is certainly the main act in this fragrance; she is there at all times. In the beginning, Iris Poudre has a slight vegetal and cold quality, being a lover of Iris Silver Mist, I enjoy this stage. But Iris Poudre warms up a bit by the time it dries down, and overall I wouldn’t consider it cold but instead warm and the vegetal quality softens to a nearly undetectable status.

Iris Poudre seems a perfect fragrance for the perfumista who loves classic fragrances. I do think most iris fragrances are meant for perfume aficionados and not mainstream fragrance buyers. The aroma of iris is just unusual enough that I imagine those who don’t have more than a dozen bottles of perfume and who can’t quickly recite the definition of ‘chypre’ would find it just a bit too odd ;-) However, Iris Poudre, in the scheme of other iris fragrances, is a rather middle of the road fragrance. For instance, Iris Poudre is nowhere near as earthy, cold, and idiosyncratic as Iris Silver Mist but it’s also much less girly and sweet when compared with L’Artisan’s Iris Pallida. Iris Poudre seems to stand in the middle of the pack – not particularly edgy – but also edgier and more unisex than Iris Pallida and Acqua di Parma’s Iris Nobile.

I happen to love Iris Poudre. It’s an exquisitely done iris aldehydic fragrance that’s sheer and transparent with enough facets to make you want to inhale it again and again.

Longevity: Excellent – 6+ hours
Sillage: Soft – Average

Iris Poudre notes (from basenotes) –
Top: bergamot, orange, rosewood, ylang-ylang, carnation
Heart: magnolia, jasmine, muguet, violetta-rose, aldehydes
Base: iris, musk, amber, vanilla, sandalwood, ebony,
The Editions de Parfums website also mentions: tonka bean and vetiver

You may purchase Iris Poudre from Barney’s and Editions de Parfums from the U.S.

Pic "Tennessee Irises" from GuyCobb.com

Acqua di Parma Iris Nobile edp: A Review

Acqua di Parma launched Iris Nobile (edt) in 2004. Acqua di Parma then launched the parfum (edp) concentration of Iris Nobile in 2006.

This review is based upon the edp only. The original Iris Nobile edt is a beautiful, light, sweet, floral fragrance. Iris Nobile edp takes on a very different personality ~ it’s richer, denser and closer to a chypre than the edt.

Iris Nobile is not an iris fragrance for those that prefer the earthy, dirty, cold metallic iris fragrances like Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist, The Different Company Bois d’Iris or Hermes Hiris. Iris Nobile is sweet, floral and flirty.

Iris Nobile is described as a chypre but it’s definitely a modern chypre. There is only a slight similarity between this and older chypre classics like Miss Dior. If Iris Nobile contains oakmoss, musks and patchouli they are used conservatively. When I compare the edt to the parfum side-by-side there’s definitely a woodsier quality and a small amount of oakmoss-musk to lend the parfum a more substantial quality. I like this modern-style chypre, it’s abstract and interesting but also “fluffier” and lighter than traditional classic chypres.

Overall, Iris Nobile parfum starts off with a citrusy blast which then dries down to a beautiful floral heart that smells to me of iris and violets. There’s just a hint of woods and musk in the background. Perhaps it’s because I’m not familiar with sweet iris scents that I think of violets blended with the iris.

Acqua di Parma Iris Nobile parfum is drop-dead gorgeous. It is a breathtaking iris, floral fragrance which seems easily worn in any season and perfect for any occasion.
Notes are listed as: bergamot, tangerine, iris, star anise, ylang ylang, oakmoss, vanilla, amber crystals and patchouli.


Lasting power: Average 3-4 hours
Sillage: soft/medium – I applied four sprays today and those close to me (within 1 foot) can smell it.