Jean Patou Chaldee: More Like a Tribute than a Review

Wearing Chaldée gives me visions. Composed in the 1920’s, Chaldée makes me think of this period of time, in the early 1900’s, when an obsession with the Orient and a fixation on all things exotic swept through Europe and the Americas. My friend, the one who enabled me to find all these gorgeous Patou’s, likens Chaldée to a kitten, whose fur has been warmed by the sun, sitting atop your arm. I like to think of this kitten as my dearly departed cat, her name was Payton, and she was an exotic & rare breed, called a Havana Brown. Payton’s silky brown fur had a softly sweet scent especially when she could be found languishing by the window in a stream of sunlight.

The name Chaldée refers to the Chaldean dynasty of ancient Babylonia. The Chaldeans were Semitic people, with golden skin and dark hair, living along the coast, near the sea, close to what is today the Persian Gulf. This is a fitting name for the fragrance; given the house of Jean Patou was the first to create suntan oil. Chaldée parfum is meant to be Patou’s interpretation of suntan oil as a fragrance.

I often read others lamenting the discontinuation of certain perfumes or suggesting that reformulations (particularly Caron) are nowhere near as good as the originals. I must admit to being rather annoyed by Luca Turin’s nonstop complaints about Caron perfumes in The Guide. I’ve never smelled the original Caron’s so when reading The Guide, I wished he would just let it go. However, when I smelled the fragrances of the Jean Patou Ma Collection, I suddenly, very deeply, understood these complaints. There aren’t many perfumes as gorgeous and yet as wearable as Chaldée.

While Jean Patou had suntain oil, the beach and the Orient in mind when he asked Henri Alméras to create Chaldée, it smells nothing like a modern day “beach” scent. Chaldée is a soft oriental fragrance; it is warm and welcoming and literally melts into your skin. It is one of those perfumes where the notes tell me just about nothing because I don’t smell particular notes, except perhaps the most perfectly balanced amber with opoponax (myrrh); a not-very-sweet vanilla with florals. Many have called Chaldée powdery, and it just isn’t powdery to my nose, perhaps the powdery aspect is meant to describe just how smooth and velvety the fragrance is.

Chaldée is soothing, warm, hypnotic and mesmerizing. It is not edgy or unusual or overpowering nor do I think it smells dated or old-fashioned. I now understand the wails of those who lament the discontinuation of gorgeous vintage gems and while I think I have enough to last me awhile I feel panicky about its dwindling status and find myself furtively searching the net for additional bottles…

Notes: orange flower, hyacinth, jasmine, narcissus, lilac, vanilla, opoponax & amber

Today's Random Thoughts

I’ve been quiet for ages – I’ve missed writing and I’ve missed my imaginary readers!

First: Guerlain’s newest, Le Petit Robe Noire is atrocious. It smells like cherry cough syrup/fruit punch/berry throat lozenges. Guess what folks? Perfume is not simply an art but a business! Guerlain is in the business of making money and Robe Noire will probably sell (to a demographic other than perfumistas).

With the help of an absolute angel – a fragrant fairy princess – a true vintage perfume investigator and spy - and a charming and dear, dear person – I was able to acquire 10 of the 12 perfumes from the legendary Jean Patou Ma Collection. I’m head over heels for Chaldee. I’m crazy for Caline. I’ve lost consciousness over Vacances. All of these are now available at The Posh Peasant – I shudder to think of these bottles disappearing (I promise I won’t freak out and remove them from the site – at least not tonight!)

Gobin Daude Seve Exquise and Sous Le Buis are extraordinary. Where is Victoire Gobin-Daude? Please come back – please continue to make your brilliant perfumes!

Big Love is such a great show. I’m finding Nicki’s story line compelling. I’m afraid Sara is going to stay close to home and live a polygamist life now that she’s not going to ASU. Question: Towards the end of Sunday’s episode, there’s a man in a dress in the barn when Roman tries to force Kathy to marry Hollis Green. Is that a man or a woman in the barn with a dress on? I thought that was a man – is she a cross-dressing Mormon?! I’m confused. Stabbing the pig with a pitchfork was unacceptable. Oh, and I love Bill’s mother – she’s a fantastic character.

I purchased Barbara Bui White Oil for next to nothing ($14.95). At first I was disappointed because it doesn’t have much scent. Then I realized it’s a fantastic base for helping perfume last longer. The Barbara Bui White Oil is non-greasy – and used under a fragrance I’ve noticed the scent definitely lasts longer.

I’ve never watched The Bachelor but it’s on TV right now and I’m finding the whole premise awkward and staged.

I have three paphiopedilum orchids just beginning to bloom – yippee!

Last weekend I made the easiest soup and it was absolutely delicious. I pureed broccoli, carrots, zucchini, cauliflower, celery, potatoes, leeks, onions and tons of garlic in a blender (after boiling). I simply pureed everything and then added a few tablespoons of butter with salt and pepper and it was crazy good. I served it with garlic bread. The soup itself was thick and a light green in color. The addition of fresh herbs could send this over the top.

Anyone from New Zealand out there? How do you find the characterization of New Zealand on Flight of the Conchords? It’s hysterically funny but I rather cringe when they poke fun at NZ so often.

L'Heure Attendue

During a recent visit to The Perfume House in Portland, I surveyed what was left of their vintage stock of Jean Patou, five or six bottles of varying sizes and concentrations. The instant favorite was Divine Folie, a carnation- and clove-laden attention grabber. Adieu Sagesse was, for me, a pretty variation on L'Heure Bleu. L'Heure Attendue was a nice, slightly aldehydic melange of florals complicated by woods, faint spices and patchouli. Testers for all three, along with Amour Amour and Chaldee, sat out on the counter as I browsed the store's inventory, and when I came back to them, the distorted top notes had tapered off, and I was surprised to find how much I liked L'Heure Attendue.

I didn't smell it again until this Monday, a week later, when it arrived in the mail. The bottle is gorgeous, with a blue glass berry-cluster stopper. It comes wrapped in a geometrically patterned silk scarf, and once I got the stubborn stopper out (without breaking it, whew), some of the juice spilled on the fabric, more of which later. I dabbed some on my arm--along with about four or five other things which had been shipped with it--and went about my business, and an hour later, something kept catching my attention. It took me a while to figure out that this wondrous thing on my skin was in fact L'Heure Attendue, which had smelled nice enough earlier but now seemed to have morphed into something beyond words. You hear a lot of talk about development in perfume, but I rarely see anything that strays so very far from where it starts. That's not to say L'Heure Attendue goes off on improbable tangents. It's just that I didn't pay so much attention to it until it settled into what is clearly its general state of affairs, a langorously spiced floral with enough wood tone to it that it seems a little more modern than you're at first apt to assume.

There's lily-of-the valley in this 1946 Henri Almeiras fragrance, created to commemorate the liberation of France. I don't know that I detect it exactly. I can't actually discern any of Attendue's individual notes: geranium, lilac, ylang ylang, jasmine, rose, opoponax. I do smell some of the mysore sandalwood, and in some weird way Attendue reminds me a bit of Chanel's Bois des Iles. It also reminds me of another beautiful aldehyde, Ferre de Ferre, the incensed violets of which conjure the image of a chic headshop, where fur-draped, perfumed society women slum among glass pipes and velvet, black light posters. Attendue has that curious incense quality to it, though the floral accords are not as specific. Lush Karma shares this head shop quality; a more contemporary composition, it replaces the florals with a citrus influence. Nothing really prepared me for how lovely L'Heure Attendue is, but I'm glad I grabbed a bottle; judging by its scarcity, I seem to be one of the few who didn't seem to know the fragrance was worth having. About that scarf: Its aroma has persisted all week, and the scent on fabric is even more divine, where it plays out in stop motion.

This Week at the Perfume Counter: The Perfume House, Portland, Oregon

I have a soft spot for this little off-the-beaten path place, so I was excited, a few months ago, when I found out I'd be able to make a trip back to Portland this month. Around this time last year, I visited and, on the hunt for perfume, was directed to Hawthorne Street, where the Perfume House sits just back enough off the road that you might miss it if you drove by too fast. I drove slowly. The store is aptly named; situated in an old house, the first floor is almost entirely taken up by fragrance. Last year I had a crash course on Lutens and L'Artisan. I obsessed over all the Comme des Garçons. I wasn't so interested in Patou's Ma Collection; I only learned later that they'd all been discontinued and many are hard to find. I would have paid a lot more attention, had I known back then. The Perfume House has an extensive selection of Caron, and I got a primer on those. I smelled the Montales, Etro, Amouage, D'Orsay, Carthusia.

I was overwhelmed and excited during my initial visits to the Perfume House, so this trip was a welcome opportunity to get a little more specific, spending more time on things I'd either missed in the shuffle or overlooked out of general beginner's ignorance. I've learned a lot in the space of a year, too, and was able to focus on rarer items, like a single bottle of Molto Missoni (tarry, smoky, floral: me likey) and Elsha, a cheapo but lovely leather toilette with a modest but committed following of admirers. I found a few things I'd been looking for all year, like Balenciaga's Quadrille; this one is very nice, subtle but rich, my favorite of all the old Balenciagas I've smelled (Le Dix, Prelude, Portos, Ho Hang). I revisited the Ma Collection, snatching up bottles of Divine Folie (wondrous carnation!), Adieu Sagesse, and L'Heure Attendue. I passed on Amour Amour and Chaldee, which were pretty but didn't arouse must have psychosis. L'Heure Attendue is spicy wood on the dry down: sandalwood and patchouli, according to Jan Moran. There's also geranium, lilac, rose, ylang ylang. Adieu Sagesse is the final entry in Patou's love trilogy and makes wonderful use of carnation, a floral note present in many of the Ma Collection fragrances. The focus seems to be on gardenia but I'll have to spend more time with it. Adieu wears like a skin scent, floral musk and a bit green.

There are no more bottles of Vacances in stock, but they had a tester in the back and brought it out so I could at least get a whiff. Turns out Vacances is one of my all time top five favorite fragrances. It must be as popular with others. Of all the Ma Collection testers, it was the only practically empty bottle. In fact, there was barely enough left to spritz out onto a cotton ball. Over at Bois de Jasmin, Vacances is characterized as "intense verdancy", "a perfect juxtaposition of delicate peppery and green sap notes folding into honeyed sweetness." Intense about gets it. Vacances is leafy green and lilac, and totally out of this world lovely. It also gets my vote for best use of galbanum. In addition to Vacances I smelled Cocktail and, finally, Pascal Morabito's Or Black. There was none of the latter in stock (you can only get Or Black in France now) and I could see why Turin raves about it and others want to get their hands on some.

Perfume House, like other older perfume shops (Parfumerie Nasreen, in Seattle, for instance), does have rarities like Molto Missoni in stock. There are early Parfums de Nicolaï, Safraniere and other discontinued Comptoir Sud Pacifique selections, Zut by Schiaparelli, even various Crown fragrances. I picked up Sandringham, Crown Fougere, and Crown Park Royal, all very nice. Sandringham is my favorite of these period pieces, all three distinctly bygone-era masculines. All three last amazingly well, too, and have a base which seems characteristic of the line, rich in moss and sweetened woods. Sandringham is distinguished by a well-blended muguet note. Crown Park Royal uses galbanum in a way which places it close to contempoary fragrances like Romeo Gigli's Sud Est and patchouli in a way which places it squarely on top of Michael by Michael Kors. Park Royal exceeds both in terms of subtelty, managing to use some very heady materials without being taken hostage by them.

After several days at Perfume House I finally did the math. I'd been spending so much on fragrances I liked, when for the same amount I could get one I truly love. Amouage Jubilation XXV is to my mind a Bertrand Duchaufour masterpiece. Timbuktu is swell but poof and it's gone. Likewise Dzongkha, Mechant Loop, Sienne D'Hiver and his entries in Comme des Garcons' Red Series. I like them all but on me they're little more than skin scents. Not so Jubilation XXV. Months ago I'd been given a sample, most of which I wore out on the town in LA one night. Jubilation really commands the space around you in a way I love, its fruits and spices burnished with just the right amount of frankincense. It projects and attracts. Wearing it, I felt electric, and thought if I ever had that kind of money for a bottle of perfume, this would be it. Of course, once you've purchased three or four bottles of perfume, you've spent that kind of money. Realizing this, I took my unopened "like" buys back to Perfume House to trade in for a "love".

The best part of the place is the staff: the best I've encountered in any fragrance retail environment. As I remembered, they were friendly and helpful without being obtrusive or overly chatty. Tracy, in particular, is always great to shop with.

This Week at the Perfume Counter: Diptyque, L'Autre, Patou's Colony, Chanel No. 5

Every once in a while I get sick of shopping for perfume at the mall, or the disadvantages of dealing with idiosyncratic personnel outweigh the elation of walking away with a bottle in my hands. This week I did a lot of online shopping. One of my favorite places to buy from is The Perfume House in Portland. Tracie, the woman who helps me there, knows what she's talking about, and she's always nice to deal with. I have a memory of being there and can see the layout in my head, as well as a slightly hazier recollection of the perfumes I was shown over the course of the scattered ten hours I spent there. Several weeks ago I asked Tracie to set aside whatever they have left from the Patou Ma Collection. I hadn't been very interested back when I visited the store. At the time, I'd never heard of them, and the boxes looked old, so I figured they had spoiled. Since then I've read a lot about these fragrances and know how stupid I was to leave Portland without smelling them. I own Normandie, which I purchased from Perfume House over the phone, and Ma Liberte, which I found in the local Korean-owned store, Memphis Fragrance (a single 1.7 oz. bottle remained; a tester, priced at 20 bucks).

I want Cocktail most of all, but The Perfume House is out. Now that The Perfume Guide has come out, and people read blogs more frequently or avidly, they're curious about some of the older, harder to find perfumes, and they know that The Perfume House might just carry them. Gone is Vol de Nuit. Going is the Ma Collection. Recently I bought one of the last half ounce bottles of Colony they had, in parfum extrait. I'm told it smells like pineapple and leather, like a Bandit drenched in fruit cocktail, though not so much sweet as sun-kissed. That remains to be seen. The package has yet to arrive, and the anticipation isn't exactly delicious. Each day, I hope to find it in the mail. So far, each day, on some level, has therefore been a disappointment. Tracie included samples of Tabac Blonde and Vol de Nuit, warning me that the latter is from an old bottle and I'll need to wait for the top notes to clear out in order to truly appreciate the scent.

From Bigelow Chemists I ordered Diptyque's L'Autre, which seems to stratify the sniffing audience over on Basenotes.net but seems right up my alley, with its overdose on Cumin and coriander, a distinct garam masala bent. In Philadelphia I went to a spa shop which had a limited selection of fragrance, including the Lutens line, Acqua di Parma, and Diptyque. Of Diptyque, they carried Oyedo, Olene, Tam Dao, Philosokos, L'eau, Do Son, and a few others. I'd read about one in the Turin/Sanchez book which intrigued me but I couldn't recall what it was. Something curried or spiced. Tam Dao, based on the name alone, seemed the most logical conclusion, but it didn't smell the way the one I was looking for had been described. I ended up buying L'eau because it smelled close enough, like a clove pomander. I wore it to the premiere of my movie in Philly and nearly sent the cute festival volunteer who picked me up from the hotel to carry me to the theater into coughing fits, though he was polite about it and denied the one had anything to do with the other. One thing I realized from this experience is that, however attractive a guy finds me, my cologne will always put him off, and I'm just not willing to reverse that trend if, as I suspect, it means some form of abstinence (involving perfume, that is; it will inevitably involve sex, I imagine; or, rather, it will not involve it--but I digress...). Like Colony, L'Autre has yet to come, so my vague theories about layering pineapple and curry will continue to go untested for the time being.

Passing through Jonesboro on the way back from my mother's house this weekend, I stopped at a newly christened shopping mall. I found two DVD boxed sets I'd been looking for: one on Deneuve, the other on Delon. It occurred to me that I spend a lot of money, perhaps more than I have, as I handed my card to the guy behind the counter. Are Deneuve and Delon worth it, I wondered. Let's take them home and see!

I moved on to the department store, heading over to the Chanel counter. The young woman working there was startlingly good at what she did. It caught me off guard and I started chewing my gum so vigorously she must have been plotting her escape route. I was trying to decided whether to get Chanel No. 5 again. I play out this particular drama frequently. What do I want with Chanel No. 5? I ask myself. Chanel No. 5 is nice, to be sure, and the aldehydes are something else, but I have...a lot of perfume and, well, I mean, how much more do I need? And yet. I'd never smelled No. 5 in parfum extrait, and here the delicate boxes were, tiny white squares with the Chanel logo stamped on them. God, you've got a problem, I told myself as it became clear that she was moving toward a sale and I toward a purchase. I applaud you for buying extrait, she said, before I'd said I intended to. She explained the difference between the three concentrations, and described Chanel's private supply of rose and ylang ylang or whatever. She seemed as interested in it all as I was. I know! I imagined saying. Let's take a field trip there! We'll frolic in, like, ylang ylang all day and such.

She's been working for Chanel for two years. She came from San Diego, and I have no idea why she would migrate to Jonesboro, Arkansas, of all places, where the summer heat makes perfume a losing battle. It can't take long to whiz through a bottle of No. 5 in this weather. Yet she looked immaculately put together, and so friendly, as if she'd never had to deal with flop sweat, or leave cologne in her car while she went into the mall to get her fix. She really seemed to have absorbed all her training. She knew just about everything you would want her to know, and what she didn't know she somehow made you forget having asked. She made you want to work at the Chanel counter, just so you could be that happy and informed and, I don't know, stand there smelling the testers all day. We do employ men, she said, though she added: Maybe not in Jonesboro, but we do.

I bought my quarter ounce and went on my way, until I got a ways down the hall and I remembered the whole ordeal with Chanel on Rodeo, how my Cuir de Russie had arrived in the mail looking less than composed, and I turned around, because if anyone knew how to do things at Chanel, if anyone could make it all better, it had to be her. I returned to the Chanel counter and told her all about my horrible, traumatizing experience. The label was all runny! I sobbed. The cap was broken and the perfume had leaked out into the packaging. She told me to call Chanel in Beverly Hills. If they don't take care of it, she said, call me, and I will. You bought a luxury item and it should arrive like one. What Chanel needs, I thought as I walked away, is someone like her wrapping their shipments.

I've been smelling No. 5 for the last few days, and what fascinates me most about it is how infrequently people talk about the vetiver, which totally, if almost subliminally, transforms the rose/ylang ylang accord, providing a classic masculine foundation to a classic feminine perfume.