Notes on Jacques Cavallier

After smelling all manner of wonderful, exotic things in Italy, I returned home to find my bottle of Calvin Klein Man. It was sitting there on my desk, where I'd left it. The smell transported me back, twenty days ago, to the frantic state of mind I was in as I struggled to tie up last minute loose ends in preparation for such a lengthy time away. I bought CK Man several days before my departure. It's only now, coming back to it, that I realize how far it went toward calming me, however crazed I felt at the time. What is it about the work of Jacques Cavallier, the nose behind CK Man and so many other fragrances I love, that appeals to me?

Chandler Burr on Cavallier: "...a prolific perfumer so successful these days that he often seems to generate a quarter of each year’s worldwide fragrance product." Interestingly, in a recent review of Cavallier's latest Stella flanker, Sheer Stella, Burr accused its creative team of crass commercialism and lowest common denominator aromachemicals. Cavallier responded in print, correcting Burr's facts if not his opinion. The ingredients of Sheer are the same as those in the original; simply modified into different proportions. This bit of careless inaccuracy must have irked Cavallier to no end, given how often his perfumes have been judged more emotionally (i.e. irrationally) than factually.

Cavallier, self admittedly strong-willed, has built a reputation, in part, on a small body of cult favorites, fragrances difficult to classify, sometimes impossible to market. Some have been discontinued. All are interesting, whether success or failure by commercial standards. That isn't to say Cavallier doesn't create marketable fragrances. Some of his creations, like Issey Miyake L’Eau d’Issey, have been genre-defining hits. But for every hit there are one or two "misses". The interesting thing about those so-called misses is how influential they are in their own way. Far from missing their targeted audiences, these ricochet off into different precincts of the industry, creating new trends, planting the seeds for new audiences through alternate combinations, forging innovative paths which other perfumers then follow. It's a different kind of success.

M7, for Yves Saint Laurent, is no longer available in the U.S., but it presages the craze for all things aoud in masculines and feminines alike. M7 probably helped make the Montale line possible. It certainly influenced the recent reinterpretation of Habit Rouge, the edp concentration of which replaced powdery carnation and amber with agarwood. The inclusion of rosemary in the M7 mix typically goes unremarked, yet it adds a trademark touch of the herbal dissonance to the composition in a way which relates M7 to everything from Ultraviolet for Paco Rabanne to the above mentioned CK Man in Cavallier's oeuvre.

The herbal bent of Cavallier's compositions often has, as with CK Man, a lactonic quality, giving it a richness and an opacity unique to perfumery. Le Feu D'Issey (discontinued and difficult to find) and L'eau Bleu D'Issey both explore this territory, resembling the milky viscosity you get when you break open certain twigs and plants. Feu is less openly herbal, applying the effect to citrus notes. Bleu is unabashedly green and aromatic, and in addition to the herbal tones it features another Cavallier trademark, an odd little bread note. That bread note reappears in different combinations throughout his output, creating alternate takes on what is already a unique accord.

The apotheosis of this bread note appears in YSL Elle, which Cavallier recently co-created with frequent collaborator Olivier Cresp. The two have also worked together on Midnight Poison, Cacharel Amor Pour Homme Tentation, Diesel Fuel for Life Unlimited, Lancome Magnifique, Nina Ricci "Nina", and Paco Rabanne Pour Elle. Aside from Cresp, Cavallier's most frequent collaborator has been Alberto Morillas. His creations with Cresp have been less overtly odd. His work with Morillas, his "brother in creation", seems to have trickled off around 2003. A more recent collaboration with Annick Menardo proved one of the more interesting fusions of technique in contemporary perfumery. Who knew that the sensibilities of the two would compliment each other so well? For Diesel Fuel for Life Women, he matched her creamy vanillic-floral contribution with herbs and that signature bread note, creating a unique take on the trend for fruity florals. Fuel for Life Men presented a modern fougere, part fruity, part fern.

His most iconic fragrances, aside from L'eau d'Issey, have been Acqu di Gio for men, Jean Paul Gaultier Classique, Bulgari Eau Parfumee au The Blanc, Essenza di Zegna, Armani Mania, Stella McCartney, and Lancome Poeme. My own personal favorites have typically been YSL fragrances created under partnership with Tom Ford: Cinema, M7, the fantastic Nu (again, slightly ahead of the craze for incense fragrances), and Rive Gauche Pour Homme. His work with Ford continued after Ford's tenure at YSL ended. Since then he has done two Private Blends under the Tom Ford brand name: Tuscan Leather and the sublime Noir de Noir, both with Harry Fremont, who was also his collaborator on CK Man. I appreciate Calvin Klein Truth and Boucheron Initial (a wonderful use of immortelle) without feeling too passionately about either.

Weirdly, my favorites aren't necessarily those I wear most often. I can't remember the last time I sprayed on Nu, let alone M7. So it's no surprise that the first Cavallier fragrance I bought and loved is the one I wear the least frequently. Kingdom is unusual even for Cavallier, in that I find it difficult to relate to the rest of his work, apart from its general audacity. No other Cavallier fragrance divides as neatly down the line between love and hate. Some smell body odor. I smell jasmine, rose, and cumin. The first proposal for Alexander McQueen's first fragrance was what eventually became Secretions Magnifiques for Etat Libre D'Orange. Comparing Secretions to Kingdom shows how tame Kingdom really is. Whereas Secretions is assaultive and difficult to impossible (I like it, mind you), Kingdom integrates its oddness in a way which makes that dividing line not only possible but emphatic. Secretions is alarming and off-putting, no matter how much you appreciate it. Kingdom carries the big stick but walks softly with it.

Cavallier was born in 1962. His birthplace, big surprise, was Grasse. His family has been there since the 15th Century. Both his father and grandfather were perfumers. As a child, he studied raw materials with his father from 5 to 7 a.m. He joined several companies before Firmenich, with whom he's now employed.

Lancome Poeme

I don't know what it is lately but during the last several months I've been determined to give every fragrance I'm cautioned to avoid a bit more than a fighting chance. Maybe it's a rebellion thing. At school you were told to stay away from bad influences--not just things but people. Didn't it just make you want to follow them like a stray dog?

When I was a kid, I was told that my babysitter's boyfriend was no good, so of course I was all about the guy. I studied the sound of his voice, his expressions, his gestures, watched how the world composed itself around him, went wherever he went, looked forward to his visits while my parents were away. Ultimately, my mom forbid me from even talking to him (though, in retrospect, this might have had more to do with my unhealthy "attachment" than his alleged influence), and oh you should have seen the crying fit I pitched.

I've only recently started to realize how many perfumes I haven't even ventured to sniff simply because someone whose opinion I value (or am at least entertained by) discouraged me from bothering. Chalk this up to being a relative newbie. I had a lot of catching up to do. Naturally, happening onto this little sub-cultural pocket of bliss, one checks out all the consensus "classics" and the cult faves first. That takes a while, and I'm still at it--but, on the hunt for all these sometimes difficult to track down greats, I pass fragrances like Poeme again and again right there at the mall make-up counter. It's only a matter of time before I pick up the bottle.

Actually, judging by the perfume boards, Poeme has its fans. On the other hand, I admit it isn't the most groundbreaking scent I've ever laid nostrils on. However, the truth of its appeal and quality lies somewhere in the middle; meaning it's hardly the monstrosity I've heard it called, and doesn't deserve the kind of derision it sometimes gets. What interests me, more than Poeme's particular merits or demerits, is the phenomenon to which it falls prey, a death by obscurity that many perfectly decent fragrances suffer.

Poeme was made by Jacques Cavallier in 1995, five years after Lancome's bestselling Tresor. That was steep competition, and really, a rich floriental following a radiant rose is always going to have something of an uphill battle, lumbering under the weight of an already stuffed category. Even the company itself can't be counted on to help the thing out. The other day, smelling Poeme for the first time, I was actually directed away from it by the Lancome SA, who suggested Tresor instead. It's better, she exlained, without saying how. I sprayed some of the Poeme on a card before she got to me and walked around with it, surprised at how subtle it was compared to the way I'd heard it described. I liked it better and better, incensed at her hasty dismissal.

Luca Turin lists Poeme alongside Amarige and Spellbound as one of those fragrances that can clear a bus terminal at peak hours, so I expected something magnificently offensive. I'm wearing it today and while it's true that Poeme wafts up from your skin throughout the day, exceeding the lifespan of many a modern perfume, I would say it's tenacious but not offensively strong, unless you're just easily offended and need something to vent your frustration toward. I should also point out that Spellbound is one of my favorites. Silly me. You might expect to me to wear roach spray if it came in a fancy perfume bottle.

I immediately recognized Cavallier's hand in Poeme once I learned he'd created it. I can see suggestions of Shiseido Vocalize in it, as well as Rive Gauche Homme and YSL Cinema, and it is very clearly related to Jean Paul Gaultier Classique for women. Like JPG it smells of cosmetics--eye shadow and pancake foundation--and creates the impression of a woman preparing her face at a vanity, moving hands and hair in a cloud of fragrant powder. What it subtracts is the chemical hiss of fingernail polish. I can't say I miss it, though for me it has its charms in JPG. Interestingly, Perfume: The Guide also dislikes JPG Classique and puts it in the same camp as the above mentioned olfactory "atrocities." I imagine the pressure perfumers are under with a company like Lancome and wonder at how they're able to come up with anything at all, let alone something as nice as Poeme.

Jacques Cavallier doesn't seem to produce many fragrances about which people keep on the fence. M7: discontinued but legendary. Issey Miyake le Feu D'Issey: also discontinued, also legendarily love or hate. YSL Nu is one of the most fantastic peppery floral incense fragrances ever, if you're not one of the people who find it unutterably vile. Then there's Kingdom, which either smells like genital sweat or curried rose and jasmine with a deliciously salty edge. Recently, I tried Armani's Onde Vertige, one of a trio just released by the company. I'd read that Cavallier was responsible for one of them but when I got to the store I couldn't remember which. Guess which one I picked--and to think Maurice Roucel was among the competition. It reminded me how much I love Cavallier without always or even usually knowing why. Poeme has that curious appeal too, and as the day wears on and Poeme sticks with me, why and how matters less and less.

This Week at the Perfume Counter

I haven't been reporting from the perfume counter much lately because almost all of my purchases were made online.  I got sick of the hassle--and it is a hassle, the retail environment, even under the best of circumstances (friendly, informed staff, accessible testers, et al).  Ultimately I don't want anyone, even someone I like, hovering around me when I look for perfume.  I'm self conscious and need time to myself.

Then I wanted Fendi Asja, because it was made by Jean Guichard (Eden, Loulou, La Nuit) and I'd read about it somewhere, and I remembered seeing it at the local Korean discount perfume shop, and why bother sending off for it when I could drive across town and within a half hour have it in my sweaty little paws?

This prompted further ventures into the perfume marketplace.  I hadn't been to the Russian Kiosk in months, after the woman who works there seemed to have been insinuating, last time, that I'd somehow swindled them by trading my bottles of Gucci Nobile, Le Feu D'Issey, La Nuit, and other rarities for their moderately priced, widely available perfumes, when I'd only paid between 25 and 35 dollars a pop.  This greatly offended me, as I knew what I was selling them was valuable and rare (unlike some of the stuff they've tried to tell me is no longer possible to find, even when I know otherwise, having seen it upstairs at Perfumania and been born further back than yesterday) and because my selling them something at mark-up was no different than them doing the same to me, and what I was selling them was actually quite valuable and will make them quite a little chunk of cheese, whereas there are only so many people I can pawn off a bottle of Gucci Rush on as if it's a hard to find elixir.  Still with me?  I'm sure, if you spend any amount of time shopping retail for perfume, the tone of this rant is a familiar one to you.

There was a new guy behind the counter.  Where do all these Russians come from?  He was just as pushy and wanted to tell me what I wanted.  I very quickly disobliged him of the idea he would be able to piss on my leg and tell me it was raining.  I was happy I braved the annoyance of a drop-in, though, because they had Paloma Picasso's Tentations, created by Sophia Grosjman.  Two bottles.  I did that thing where I panicked for a small moment, thinking I should buy them both, because what if these were the last bottles on Earth?  Then I got over it and moved on.

I returned to the Korean store the following week, buying another Guichard perfume, Cartier's So Pretty.  If you haven't tried it you might consider it.  I love it.  It's a fruity floral, to be sure, but rich and decadent.  I think Tania Sanchez was spot on when she called it a Mitousko with Creme de Cassis.  It feels like an older perfume.  It isn't shot through with that "radiance" which gives so many modern fruity florals no legs to stand on.  To my nose, that radiance usually involves an anemic transparency.  Not so with So Pretty, which is like falling into plush upholstery.  It's a deep, dark smell with a lightning bright touch of fruit.

I also got Grosjman's Kashaya, done for Kenzo.  When I first started collecting perfume I never thought I'd eventually own as many Kenzo perfumes as I do.  Ca Sent Beau, Jungle Homme, Jungle Elephant, Flower, Amour.  I own and like them all, and Kashaya is yet another surprise.  Someone on basenotes.net felt very smart for revealing the true identity of Kashaya: it's Sun Moon Stars, by Lagerfeld, thinly disguised.  Having spent time with both, I fail to see this supposedly striking similarity.  Kashaya is unmistakably Grosjman, but I'm unaware of anything in her oeuvre that smells quite like it.  Initial application indicates more floral than oriental, but the heart and the dry down are resolutely the latter, with what seems like the perfumer's trademark carnation augmented with sandalwood, amber, vanilla, and musk.  It wears beautifully and comes, if you can find it, in a carnival glass, leaf-patterned bottle.

The Korean store had Valentino Vendetta by Edouard Flechier, Rykiel Homme, and Sander for Men by Jacques Cavallier, all of which I nabbed.  Vendetta is a spicy masculine, with lavender and clove.  I'd heard it doesn't last long, but it lasts well on me.  Rykiel Homme is an unusual thing, fruity and candied and woodsy all at once, and so well balanced that you can't accuse it of erring on the side of any of those things.  I find it pretty addictive and I'm eager to try Rykiel Grey (also Flechier).  Sander is said by Luca Turin to be slightly cold, merciless.  I'm impressed by it myself.  Don't expect a break with tradition.  Sander smells decidedly conventional, yet better than most of the stock at Sephora.

At Ike's, a little discount drugstore here, I've found many good things (Kingdom, Cinema, Opium EDP), and a few months ago they put everything they had on sale, fifty percent off.  You can imagine the damage this did to my pocketbook.  I'd always wanted Polo but not enough to splurge fifty bucks.  25, no problem.  And so on.  As far as I knew there were two Ike's in town and I'd cleaned both out.  Imagine my elation when, yesterday, driving off the beaten path, I saw another location.  It was as if a window in time had opened up, revealing entirely unknown territory.  I bought the following: very rare original formula Montana Perfume at 10 dollars, and Laura Biagiotti Venezia, at 22.  Venezia is an unusual floriental, not resinous at all like Opium and Cinnabar and Coco.  At some point I might write about it, once I spend more time with it.  It wears like a dream and I can see why people still look for it.

In a few weeks I go to Portland, for a return visit to the Perfume House.  I already called to see if they have the hard to find, discontinued Ferre de Ferre.  They do, one bottle, and are holding it for me.  Ferre is what I consider a violet aldehyde, with influences of incense and spice and other faint florals.  The top notes aren't so distinguished but the whole thing mellows into the most intoxicating, distinctive blend.  It will be nice to revisit the Perfume House, having learned so much since the first time.

War of the Roses: Knowing, Opone, Kingdom, Voleur de Roses, Kingdom, L'Ombre Dans L'eau

You can draw a line, however squiggly, all the way from the rosy-toned warmth of Dityque's Opone back to Estee Lauder's Knowing, by way of Alexander McQueen's Kingdom and L'Artisan's Voleur de Roses. Variations on rose, these fragrances are also, taken together, a quick, impressionistic sketch of the last twenty years or so in perfumery, moving from deep over-saturated color to faint, gestural abstraction over the course of two decades.

Knowing (1988) remains bright throughout its development; too bright by a mile, according to some. Its cheerful, high-wattage garishness, which doesn't win it many fans these days, serves as colorful distraction from its bedrock disposition, that of a dark, moody, maybe even tortured rose. Knowing is classified by Michael Edwards as Chypre - Floral. I might call it Gothic - Boozy. There's a wine note in there--perhaps the alleged plum and melon, slightly fermented. The patchouli dry down is tinged with a healthy quotient of oakmoss and civet. Nearly feral in effect, Knowing is one of my favorite fragrances, aptly named, and I return to it compulsively, having loosely designated it some kind of standard in the category of rose. It lasts well, projects impressively, and seems as wondrously out of place on a man as it is on a woman.

Knowing was released the same year as Eternity, Carolina Herrera, Boucheron, and Rumba, all big boned, sometimes fruity, florals, so angular they come across as square-jawed, crossing a line into masculinity. Interestingly, Paco Rabanne released Tenere in 1988, expanding on the urinous incense accord of Kouros, which had been released seven years prior, with the addition of rose. Tenere bears more than a passing resemblance to Herrera, as well, though for rose Herrera substituted tuberose. Common knowledge says that old feminines have only over time become more masculine. Tenere shows how slight a distance one sometimes needed to travel to get from feminine to masculine even back then.

Voleur de Roses explores some of this boozy cum bilious territory, using patchouli instead of civet. It effects the dewy voluptuousness of Knowing to some degree, especially up top, where all the money seems to have been spent, but the rose dissipates quickly, leaving a grunge which, however forthright, pales in comparison to Knowing's heady basenote cocktail. Ultimately, it achieves in its brief life span a sort of faux filth, too pretty to really mean it. After screwing up its face at you, it vanishes, leaving you to wonder what exactly you smelled or whether it was ever actually there. Voleur was created by Michel Almairac in 1993.

Kingdom was released in 2004; Opone in 2001. Opone is much drier, like spices steeped in rose oil. It registers as a descendant of Knowing, if somewhat unwillingly, as though trying to keep a distance. It preserves Knowing's moodiness but loses its diffusion and radiance. Like Kingdom, Opone smells strongly of cumin. Knowing is more richly spiced than either, with notes of cardamom and coriander against a background so vividly bright they feel enriched rather than diminished by it. Kingdom inflects its cumin with a citrus tang, relieving some of the dryness as well as adding depth. Opone adds saffron and woods to its rose motif, but these are dry additions and coupled with the linear tendencies of the Diptyque fragrances this makes for a rather flat wear. Opone comes very close to Voleur de Roses, though less transparent. It never gets as close to rose as Voleur's opening, but trumps it by staying put. Where Voleur sparkles, Opone smolders, warming on the skin. I prefer it.

L'Ombre Dans L'eau, another Diptyque rose, was created in 1983 and makes for a nice comparison with Knowing. In place of plum and melon it offers blackcurrant leaf and dew-laden greenery. Knowing might easily have been inspired in part by L'Ombre, though it is admittedly darker and deeper, more resinous in its heart, straight down to that pitchy base. As time goes on, L'Ombre settles into a nice mix of sweet and sour. Knowing, on the other hand, is positively schizophrenic, bright and cheery with a rotted out core. After twenty years, it's still a rose to beat.

Alexander McQueen: Kingdom Come

When he took over the house of Givenchy several years back, and the world at large first started hearing his name, designer Alexander McQueen publicly dismissed the religiously esteemed founder of the company as “irrelevant”, instantly and perhaps permanently establishing his reputation as a prig with attitude and a propensity for shock so showy that few, even now, recognize what an enormous talent he might be.

Son of a taxi driver, McQueen left school at 16 to apprentice with Savile Row tailors Anderson and Sheppard. At 20, he traveled to Milan, where he worked for Romeo Gigli. He received his Masters in Fashion Design from Central St. Martins College of Art and Design in London; his thesis collection was bought in its entirety by the late Isabella Blow, his equal in extravagant uncanny with a specialization in baffling estrangement. He was one of the youngest designers to be awarded British Designer of the Year, receiving the honor three times between 1996 and 2003.

His clothes, however shocking or unusual, are impeccably conceived and constructed, wonders of geometrical form. McQueen has the talent to back up his attitude, yet the flip side of his arrogance is an apparently sincere desire to be liked. Following all his bluster, humility reads more like an admission of vacuous hype. After the backlash over Givenchy, he tucked his tail between his legs, expressing remorse, publicly teary, wondering why everyone hated him. Then he went about figuring out how to work within the system of a major fashion house with a reputation and an intricately archaic protocol more complex than his instinctive hubris enabled him to understand. This dance of attack and retreat, alternating between hauteur and abject humility, is one McQueen seems destined to perform ad nauseum.

Kingdom, the first fragrance released under the designer's name, marries cumin to rose, tart citrus to sweaty skin. Its reputation arguably suffered sight unseen, thanks to McQueen's own, which preceded it. At the time of its release, much was made of its composition, as if it were as formally innovative as Angel or definitively bold, like Poison. It is neither, but it matches McQueen’s sensibility well, conceptually and structurally, right down to the atomizer. Depending on how one holds it, the sculptural bottle, ruby red glass sheathed in chrome, resembles the prototype for some futuristic heart transplant or a slice of fruit which zests rather than sprays.

Kingdom is ineffable or elusive enough to resist categorization, though several detractors regard it as unfocused rather than complex. It was composed by Jacques Cavallier, the man responsible for many equally unusual, even challenging, scents. As Chandler Burr said, Cavallier is a "prolific perfumer so successful these days that he often seems to generate a quarter of each year's worldwide fragrance product." Often, the compositions Cavallier has created or to which he has contributed have as many detractors as fans. Among these fragrances are Yves Saint Laurent's Nu, Boucheron's Trouble, Rive Gauche Homme, Acqua di Gio Homme, Armani Mania, Jean Paul Gaultier Classique, M7, and Shiseido Vocalize.

Many of Cavallier’s scents, like Kingdom, might arguably be classified as fascinating mass-market scents harboring deeply niche personalities. He himself comes from what might be considered The Perfume Establishment. Cavallier's family has been in Grasse since the 15th century. His father and grandfather were perfumers. He says that this background and natural raw materials are essential to his craft, yet his fragrances often seem otherworldly, anything but traditional. Rose, Agar Wood, Jasmine, and Orange Flower are the most prevalent raw materials in his "olfactive palette". Cavallier remembers running through jasmine fields as a five year-old boy, and dates his beginning as a perfumer to the time his father first introduced him to the smell of the May Rose. His fondest memory from childhood, he has said, was the image of his mother's eyes when he woke up.

Discussing the creation of Elle, another YSL juice on which he collaborated, Cavallier said that the two most important meetings or moments during the creation of a perfume are the first and the last. During the first, an idea is proposed or generated. By the time the last has been reached, that idea must have been translated into a tangible, marketable product. A hallmark of Cavallier's artistry is his insistence on going bolder after that initial discussion, rather than toning things down toward a lowest common denominator. He has made mistakes of judgment this way, exceeding the fluctuating boundaries of wearability, yet almost all of the risks he has taken, like McQueen's clothing, leave indelible impressions, which might be why scents like M7 become cult favorites after their discontinuation, persisting in the collective imagination the way the childhood image of his mother's eyes have for Cavallier.

Though probably closer to an abstract floral, Kingdom passes in and out of rose so distinctly at times that it might as well be considered a soliflor. This is deepest, darkest, twilit rose, shadowed and thorn-ridden. The addition of cumin and mint takes things from interesting to odd. The scent is unlikely to win any converts to cumin, nor is it quite as fantastically strange (or as repulsive) as people sometimes assert. At times it seems downright old-fashioned in its dogged intensity. The rose and jasmine strike recognizable cords, but are sent off kilter by ginger and myrrh. Vanilla gives a faint suggestion of the gourmand, referencing Guerlain's Samsara. The cumin, as in Olivier Cresp's Rochas Femme reformulation, creates the impression of classic French animalics, creating a persistent edge to the construction, sometimes sharp, sometimes blunt. Maybe serrated is a better word. What you notice right out the gate with Kingdom is the citrus: bergamot, orange, mandarin, neroli. These persist throughout the heart to some degree, and along with vanilla in the base and the salty cumin overall make for quite a succulent experience. Succulent to some, anyway; salty to others. A percentage of the buying public is convinced the smell of Kingdom takes its inspiration from the armpit or, worse (apparently), the sexual organs. For some, that's altogether a bad thing.

True to form, when Kingdom sold poorly, McQueen released My Queen, a much more polite and conventionally feminine perfume, whose title might just as fittingly have been Please Like Me.

Here comes Trouble

Boucheron, Trouble: A Review

Continuing my quest to wear some forgotten gems, I came home tonight and changed into Trouble by Boucheron. Trouble was created by Jacques Cavallier, who also gave us Alexander McQueen’s Kingdom, Stella McCartney Stella and one of my favorites, Yves Saint Laurent Nu (among many others).

First off, I love the bottle. The top is a gold coiled snake and the base is hunky square-ish glass the color of blood. The base reminds me a little of Ralph Lauren Romance.

Trouble is marketed as an oriental and I’d say it’s a diet oriental gourmand. It reminds me of all sorts of other fragrances – there’s a strong similarity with Dior’s Hypnotic Poison; it’s a bit like Jean Paul Gaultier’s Classique and there are definitely elements of Dior’s Addict. As much as I like Hypnotic Poison, I’d wear Trouble over it any day. Hynotic Poison is sweeter and has a plasticy quality that bothers me after awhile. Trouble is just a smidgen less sweet and it’s devoid of that plastic note. Like Addict, Trouble contains a strong vanillic base, but it’s more discreet with more woods, amber and citrus percolating through the vanilla.

Trouble begins with lemon. For the first 5-10 minutes, Trouble is a sweet vanilla-lemon-candy aroma. Once Trouble dries down it becomes a decidedly comfy fragrance. It's essentially a lovely blend of vanilla, amber, soft woods and citrus. I know it’s supposed to be a femme fatale, sexy, sultry scent, but the truth is it’s much more like a pretty gal all cozy in plaid flannel pj’s with her hair in pigtails and a mischievous look in her eyes than a femme fatale. I’ve read that there are some that think it’s boring and ordinary. Trouble isn’t groundbreaking but it’s really quite good. It’s the sort of scent that will undoubtedly be complimented. It is not overly anything – not too sweet, not too heavy, and not cloying – it’s just right.

Foxglove (digitalis) is among the list of notes and I can’t help but think it’s there because foxglove is highly poisonous (remember the name…this stuff is trouble!).

Trouble can be had for cheap; it’s $37.81 at FrangranceX.com today.

Longevity: Excellent – 5+ hours
Sillage: Average

Trouble’s notes: lemon, foxglove (aka digitalis), Sambac jasmine, amber, blue cedar, and vanilla

I think I’ll wear Trouble tomorrow, too.

Swap Meet: Nahema, Nu, Encre Noire, Yatagan, Azuree, et al.

Late last month, Brian sent Abigail a package of decants from his collection. Abigail had already mailed Brian several herself, including samples from the Bond No. 9, Ava Luxe, and Serge Lutens lines. When Brian arrived in LA for the premiere of his movie, for instance, a package was waiting at the front desk. He ripped it open so quickly that the Bois de Violette he'd been dying to smell flew out of his hand and, hitting the ground, shattered inside its plastic zip lock; a strange bit of deja vu, considering the Bois de Violette was meant to make up for a small vial of his late grandmother's violet perfume, broken in much the same way.

Brian and Abigail talk about perfume every day, all day, as if perfumes were celebrities who just had martian babies. Sometimes they talk on the phone. I Smell Therefore I Am is a record of their friendship, seen through the prism of perfume. Their correspondence over the decants they've traded are a good transcript of this friendship in action, and we present some of it here as an example of the way a shared passion can quickly become about more than itself; a reason to keep in touch, if nothing else:



BRAIN BRIAN BRAIN BRIAN!!!!!!!

I received your package today. It came about 1 hour ago. The postman rang the doorbell because there were 2 other boxes (I did my part this week to help the economy). Dogs barking and leaping everywhere and in the midst of it all...lots of perfume.

I have so far opened everything. I'm overwhelmed and haven't smelled a thing. I'm sitting here with all these vials in front of me. I haven't smelled 99.9% of them ever in my life! Which is incredibly exciting. I don't know what to do first.

Is the Givenchy III vintage?
Nahema has been on my mind.
Guerlain Vetiver and FM Vetiver have been on my mind.
I *almost* bought Balmain Jolie Madame from parfum1 but didn't.
Did you buy Washington Tremlett from Luckyscent while you were in LA?
Yatagan!
M7!
Encre Noire!! (have wanted this for ages)

I'm giddy. I need to go lay down. Take a nap. This will take me about a week - to get through all of these.

THANK YOU SO MUCH :-D
Abby xxoo


Hi Abby,

Awesome!

It's nice to know I've given you at least some of the thrill your packages gave me.

The Givenchy III is old, yeah. I'd love to smell the new one to compare.

When you said you were into vetiver lately I figured I'd take a chance and put a lot in. There are other frags I have which use vetiver heavily but I started with the straight ups.

I also figured you'd want to smell Nahema, though my hopes weren't high it would make you a Guerlain convert. Still, I think Nahema, of the older ones, is less powdery. It has a curious aspect the others like Mitsouko, Chamade, L'Heure and Jicky don't. The sample I sent is perfume de toilette, whatever that means.

Tremlett I bought in LA yeah. I left the store without it then returned because I knew I'd regret not getting it. I'm not sure, still, what I think about it. There's a sour note in it which isn't bad to my nose, and it's a strange smell. The other night I smelled an empty container of mints and realized that might be the note in there I can't place, something minty. People say it's floral and I'm not sure I get that. Sometimes yes, sometimes no.

Encre Noire I got in LA too. I've obsessed over it since first smelling it in March at Perfume House in Portland. It smells a lot like Vetiver Extraordinaire. Weirdly, their differences are tonal somehow. It's as if they're the same cologne with different color filters on them, bringing out different moods. I do think Encre is more peppery.

I can't wait to hear what you think of them. More where that came from, naturally.

x
Brian


Brian,

OK, here's the status update:

I love Guerlain Vetiver. It's so refreshing compared to the vetivers I've tried lately, I know there are two different types, the citrusy and the earthy - this is the citrusy and it's nice.

I love Balmain Ivoire. It changes a great deal from first spritz to dry down. This is a happy scent. Fresh, happy and pampered. It's also wearable and doesn't seem like it could be offensive to anyone in an office or whatever.

I am just about touching myself over Nu. I love the soft pepper.

There is no doubt that I Hate No 19. However, I LOVE Bois des Iles. It's soft woods with a touch of powder and florals. So soft compared with other Chanels. BdI is well-behaved, understated and classy. It does not scream Chanel to my nose (Like No.'s 5, 19 and 22 do for me). I often forget that I like Coco and Coco Mademoiselle, too, but I only wear Coco M to interviews and formal events. BdI (aside from Cuir de Russie) is the nicest Chanel I've ever smelled.

Abigail


Abby,

I have tons more to send you but will hold off a little while you soak these in. It doesn't surprise me you dislike No. 19 (I LOVE it, of course, thanks to galbanum) but I'm shocked you like Ivoire at all. I secretly hoped, but never dreamed you would.

I love NU. All out of proportion. .Pour un Homme I love because it's the cologne my mother's young French husband wore. And he wore a LOT, like most Frenchmen. I knew it instantly when I smelled it for the first time at the Korean store. I immediately recognized it. Shot right back into my brain.

x
Brian


Brian,

Right now I'm utterly confused. I THINK I'm wearing Nahema and the Fig & Vetiver one. There's no way you like the Fig & Vetiver - it doesn't seem interesting enough for you. It's realistic and smells like Fig & Vetiver. It's nice. I can see wearing it in the heat of summer for a refreshing spritz.

Nahema. Odd one... it kinda smells like medicine and makes my nasal passages feel numb.

My dog is wearing Ivoire.

Do you think it's galbanum that I hate? No. 19 was wretched for me. But if Ivoire contains galbanum it can't be true because I looove it. It's awesomely spicy and green and medicinal in the dry down.

I agree with you. Nu is in a class by itself. It's a masterpiece. The pepper is done so well - it's not sneezy - even though it's quite present. I can see sniffing yourself constantly while wearing Nu.

Abigail



Abby,

Yeah I was wondering the same thing about you and galbanum. I'll have to send you more g scents to figure it out. Ivoire uses galbanum with exceptional subtlety. So does Anais Anais. When I learned Anais has galbanum it suddenly made total sense to me and I now feel very protective of it. Have you smelled Alliage? It's the mother of all galbanum scents. If you hate it, you probably dislike galbanum because it IS galbanum the way Coke is cola.

You're totally right about the Anthusa. It totally bores me. You are the first one to wear it out of that bottle. I smelled it for the first time since I got it at TJ Max when I decanted it for you and I was like, okay, it's nice, but I can't imagine wearing it with so many other smells I have and love at my disposal.

Nu made me a major fan of Jacques Cavallier. I've smelled just about everything he's done.

Kingdom is him too I believe. I LOVE it and bought three 100 ml bottles at a discount store. I wear it a lot.

The Frenchman divorced my mom once he got his citizenship. He was a heel but had awesome taste. Very very French and hot and just DOUSED himself in cologne, which I loved. So did all his friends. I suspect he was bisexual, which doesn't necessarily mean anything.

x
Brian



Brian,

re: your feeling protective of Anais Anais. That's interesting.

Now that I think about it I feel protective of Amarige. Also Angel (and I don't ever wear Angel). And Lou Lou. And Ungaro Diva. Have you ever smelled this stuff? It was my first real perfume purchase at 14. I haven't smelled Diva in about 18 years and I imagine I'd hate it, but perhaps not. I love the bottle. I also feel protective of Poison. I bathed in Poison when I was 17. The inside of my powder blue ford escort (named Nelly) reeeeked of Poison. I also had huge puffy bangs, 2 inches of blue eyeliner and blue mascara, skin tight Guess jeans and massive clunky belts and earrings. Huh, most of my protected scents are powerhouse 80's frags. I don't feel protective or give a shit about anything niche.

I just realized that Dominique Ropion created both FM Carnal Flower and Amarige. Do you have the other Alexander McQ - My Queen? D.R created that too.

What is this patchouli frag you sent me? It smells pretty much like straight up patchouli. I love it.

very quick status update:

Guerlain Vetiver: like
FM Vetiver: love x10
Le Feu d'Issey: hate. gagging. could this be mislabeled?! it smells nothing like the reviews. i didn't read any reviews until after an hour when I couldn't take it anymore and needed to know what the heck this wretched stuff was... (i know you didn't mislabel it, it's just atrocious on me).

just scrubbed everything off and reapplied Ivoire and Nu....loooove these 2.

Abigail




Abby,

yeah Feu is challenging. I admire it but find it sort of unwearable, personally. It's like carbonated orange juice and milk got together and decided to screw with people's heads.

I'm so glad you like the vets and Nu. Was hoping you'd be into the latter. I'll send you a bigger decant of it now that I know.

x
Brian



Brian,

2 more:

M7 and Dzing.

I like M7. Yup, there's a point when it smells like flat coca cola but that vanishes and now it's just weird and I like it. Peppery. Likeable & wearable. I can see this being sexaay on a guy.

Dzing .... oh L'Artisan.... I am not a fan of thee... I dislike 9/10 L'Artisans. Have you tried Timbuktu? I'm curious about Timbuktu. Dzing smells like melting plastic. Or like a plastic frisbee after the dog has been chewing on it. I just read about the circus thing - and nope - it doesn't smell like that.

tried 2 when I got home.

Lauder Azuree: at first I thought "aldehyde attack" and nearly scrubbed it off. now it's growing on me. spicy, woody, leathery, niiiiice. for the first 20 minutes I was convinced it was NOT me but I'm really liking it now. there is this 'eye watering' sensation - I'd have to spray it on my ankles to keep it away from my face!

Balmain Jolie Madame - big gorgeous dirty sweet gardenia...then poof...gone. I don't know if it's because Azuree is on the other arm overpowering it but I can't smell Jolie M after 1 hour.

Jeepers, just went to wash these 2 off so I can try others...Lauder's Azuree will not let go! was this one listed in your piece about longevity?! Final verdict: I love it.

I liked M7 more than I expected I would. I'm trepidations about trying Yatagan...

Abigail



Abby,

I'm amazed you haven't tried Azuree before. I think it's beautiful. It's one of those weird, vaguely leathery old frags made by Bernard Chant. It's almost exactly like Aramis, which he also did, and all his are actually similar and interchangeable in some ways. One night we were going to a Mexican restaurant and I sprayed Aramis 900, Aromatics Elixir, Cabochard, Aramis, and Azuree on. My friends all rolled down their windows. It was a major assault. I wanted to see how far I could push the threshold. So often I wear less than I want to , and spray thinking more of others than myself.

Try Jolie Madame later again when it isn't competing with Azuree. It's actually a leather violet. I of course love it. I have so many more to send you, dear. And you're such a good recipient. Because you make sure to respond to every one. Now that I've sent them, I understand why that's important. You send them as much to hear the other person's thoughts as to bestow fragrant beauty on them.

x
Brian

YSL and the Nu Wave: A Review

Much has been made of Nu’s unisex appeal. There’s no mistaking the floral accord, but the alleged white orchid here is no more prevalent than the iris in Dior Homme, and tempered similarly by contrasting influences (in Dior’s case, leather; in Nu’s, pepper and incense). Both have a heavy waft of powder about them. Is powder feminine? Someone tell Habit Rouge. This is a tiresome line of argument, as which scent should and should not be worn by one sex or the other is a now nearly cro-magnum hang-up. Fragrance augments persona, and personality transforms perfume, creating context and reference point: thus, a man in Nu is a unique assertion of masculinity, and a woman wearing it has the forceful charisma of a truck driver (and yes, some men like that kind of thing. Give them the chance to discover it). A sexier masculine than its wan aquatic contemporaries, smokier than most feminine fragrances dare, Nu is quintessentially bisexual. Ford thrives on such complex cross-references and gender conflations. To wear Nu, Black Orchid, or M7 is to dispense with broad generalization, engaging the intellect of wearer and witness in an unspoken dialog about the myths of he and she. Nu harkens back to Habanita and Bandit in its heightened ambiguity, looking forward to a time when the male and female sections at Sephora will collapse into one and the same thing.

For the rest of this review and others, visit perfumecritic.com.