Téo Cabanel Oha: A Review

Because of my immense love for Alahine, which falls easily within my top 10 fragrances of all time, in fact, it’s within my top 5 favorites of all time, I haven’t worn the other Téo Cabanel offerings very much. Lately I’ve been swooning for Amouage Lyric and enjoying other oriental-rose type fragrances so when I went away last weekend I brought one bottle with me and this was: Oha. I wanted to spend some time with Oha and see if I liked it.

To backtrack for a moment, Téo Cabanel is a little gem of a perfume company, with its roots in the late 1800’s. Téo Cabanel reestablished itself in 2005 under the direction of Caroline Moncouqut and the perfumer/nose being Jean-Francois Latty. Jean Francois Latty has also done YSL Jazz and YSL Pour Homme. It was March’s review on Perfume Posse which led me to sample Alahine in the first place, otherwise I had never heard of this small perfume house.

It was just a few months before I launched The Posh Peasant that I sampled Alahine, Oha and Julia. Immediately I knew that I *must* have this perfume line available at The Posh Peasant. Téo Cabanel’s official website states that they use the finest, 100% natural ingredients, and no compromises are made on quality. This certainly seems true as their fragrances do smell very high quality. Téo Cabanel creates perfumes which are modern takes on a decidedly classic French style – which is my personal favorite.

Oha is a beautiful rose oriental and I’m so glad I finally took some time with it. The notes are listed as: roses from Bulgaria and Morocco, jasmine, cardamom, vanilla, iris, tonka bean, woods, and white musk. It’s not listed among the notes but I think there’s an element of patchouli in Oha, which seems to anchor the rose and other florals. There’s a slight similarity with L’Artisan’s Voleur de Roses (though much less patchouli registers in Oha), but I actually think Oha is more complex, interesting and has excellent longevity in comparison. Another comparison would be Juliette Has a Gun's Citizen Queen, which I also love, but Oha is less dark and spicy than Citizen Queen and the rose is more prominent in Oha. Oha begins with slightly hesperidic notes, tea rose and sparkling woods. It definitely starts off more rosy in the beginning than when it dries down. At the start you might think it’s all about rose, but the rose, while present throughout, walks off center stage after about an hour. The majority of time Oha is on my skin I smell a lovely retro oriental aroma, with slight whiffs woody notes, and a teensy bit of powdered vanilla to soften the edges of the rose petals. Oha is refreshingly crisp yet comfortably warm. Oha is classified as a chypre but I think of it as an oriental, however, for either category I find it light as opposed to heavy and very easy to wear. Oha smells elegant and expensive, it’s easily an evening fragrance, but when applied with a light hand it also works beautifully as a day-time fragrance.

Longevity: excellent 4-5 hours
Sillage: nice, individuals close to you will compliment
Rating: 4 stars

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.

Diptyque Opôné: A Review

Disclaimer: I’m a lover of many Diptyque perfumes; Tam Dao, Oyedo, L’Ombre dans L’eau, and Philosykos are among my favorites. Diptyque launched Opôné in 2001. I never investigated it until recently and think it might be because there are several Diptyque fragrances that begin with the letter “O” and I just sort of missed it. Had I known Opôné was a rose & saffron scent I would have sampled it many years ago!

Opôné is what I wish Juliette Has A Gun, Lady Vengeance had been. Opôné is rose, saffron and soft woody spices. I’ve noticed Opôné is often called a vampy rose fragrance but I don’t think it’s vampy, it’s really quite tame to my nose. It reminds me of a woody rose potpourri and I mean this in a good way. Some say Opôné is dark and earthy, but it’s definitely not earthy like L’Artisan Voleur de Rose, and nowhere near as edgy as Strange Invisible Perfumes Black Rosette. Opôné is an easily wearable rose/spice fragrance. The overall effect of Opôné is an equal blending of rose and saffron/spices ~ the rose doesn’t stick out more than the spices and vice versa (so don’t expect this to smell mostly like a rose fragrance sprinkled with a little saffron). Like most Diptyque fragrances Opôné doesn’t evolve much from the initial application. This is good, I suppose, because you’ll know right away whether you like it. I really like Opôné, it’s dry, rosy and spicy and while not edgy, it’s unusual and interesting enough to keep me smelling my wrists all day. I have my very own bottle of Opôné now and will definitely wear it often.

Lasting power: slightly less than average ~ about 3 hours on me.
Sillage: depends on application, but if you apply about 2-3 sprays, it has soft/average sillage.

Patchouli: The Dreaded Note

It seems as if everyone hates the smell of patchouli. I often wonder if this is merely because of the association with hippie dippy flower children or if everyone really hates the smell.

Patchouli is, without a doubt, a strong smell and it doesn’t wash off easily. It surely is one tenacious little note. I often see posters on the fragrance boards saying that they liked xyz fragrance until they noticed a hint of patchouli, then it was ruined. I can’t say that I’ve ever hated the smell of patchouli. In a way, I like it. To me, it’s rather clean smelling in its oddly musky earthy way.

I’ve been to several ‘Dead Shows,’ not because I love the Greatful Dead but because I’m utterly amused by the scene. The overpowering smell of patchouli is always a given, as are people begging for a ‘miracle’ (a ticket) and selling vegetarian fare (Dead Heads needed to eat since they camped out in parking lots for days on end). Sometimes I think the smell of patchouli mixing with an unclean person’s skanky body odor is what many people consider the actual smell of patchouli. If you subtract the skanky body odor, which is what the patchouli was meant to cover, you actually find an interesting fragrance. I’ve been one of the (perhaps few) who always try a scent when it’s blended with patchouli. L’Artisan Voleur de Roses is one example of this. I couldn’t wait to try it, and I loved it. I love the scent, but like most L’Artisan fragrances, it disappears within 20 minutes, even the patchouli note couldn’t make a L’Artisan last a full hour.

This brings me to a patchouli fragrance that I just love and wear often. It’s Keiko Mecheri Patchoulissime. So far, no one has commented or made a face that I stink like patchouli when I wear Keiko Mecheri’s patchouli. I’m so happy to have finally found a perfumer that treats patchouli as the centerfold of a fragrance and does it in a beautiful delicate wearable way. Perhaps if enough time passes, so that most don’t remember the association between patchouli and unclean hippies, everyone can stop hating patchouli so much. I think it’s a misunderstood and sadly unused note in most perfumes. It adds a gorgeous depth and lasting power, especially to musky perfumes but also to florals. Congratulations to Keiko Mecheri for being brave enough to take on the “dreaded note.”

Its Possible that I Smell Odd to Others

This week, as I arrived to the office in the morning, and walked past the receptionist, she remarked that I smelled nice, “like incense” she said. I stopped (of course I stopped, any conversation about perfume stops me in my tracks) and asked more specifically what she meant, since I wasn’t wearing anything “incensey” I was curious. She said, “well, it smells nice, like those incense sticks from Tibet, that you buy in the natural food store.” I told her it was actually a carnation scent, thanked her, and went about getting to my office and starting the day. I was wearing Ava Luxe Oeillet Blanc, a white carnation scent that I adore; it’s spicy, slightly powdery and a gorgeous carnation fragrance. I had no idea that I might smell like incense from a headshop to others.

A few months ago, I was in an elevator with a stranger. She said “what’s that weird smell in here, it smells like cleaning fluid?” I sniffed the air, I didn’t smell cleaning fluid, I suspect she smelled my perfume. Oh, God, I thought, she thinks my perfume smells like “weird cleaning fluid?” I was wearing L’Artisan Voleur de Roses.

A few weeks back, one of my colleagues was leaving the company for another job. I hugged her as she was all packed up and ready to leave the office. She said, “you always smell so good, yet so unusual….what is that you’re wearing…it smells like snickerdoodles.” I had to think for a moment, I was wearing Prada, which has a vanilla base. Snickerdoodles? I wouldn’t have thought that.

I saved the best for last. One day this spring, I was wearing Guerlain L’Heure Bleue at the office. My boss came around behind me so he could see my computer screen since we were making changes to a document. So, he was just a few inches away from me for a few moments. After we finished the document and he was leaving my office, he said “it smells like those Flintstone’s chewable vitamins for children in here.”

Thanks goodness I don’t really care what other people think about my taste in perfume. Well, I don’t care and I do care all at once. I know for sure that I don’t wear too much (overpowering) perfume because I’m very careful about that. I haven’t stopped wearing any of the above fragrances and love them just the same. It just strikes me as hilarious that perhaps I’m so obsessed with perfume that it smells entirely differently to me than it does to others who aren’t such, well, who are such perfume connoisseurs. If I was wearing Apothia Velvet Rope and someone said I smelled like a martini, well that would be expected. If I was wearing Serge Lutens Musc Koublai Khan and someone said I stank, well, that would serve me right! But when I’m wearing perfumes that seem to smell nice and relatively normal (all of the above scenarios are perfumes I consider “normal” enough for office wear) I find it perplexing. Is it because I know what a carnation perfume smells like, that I would never consider it smelling like anything other than carnation? L’Artisan Voleur de Roses – is it because I know its basically roses and patchouli so I only smell that and not cleaning fluid, which is what others might smell? It’s not that I go out of my way to wear perfumes that no one else is wearing, it’s just that I’m attracted to very specific perfumes and they aren’t usually the uber popular one’s. Actually, I did wear Thierry Mugler’s Angel for a few weeks in 1997 before it became the hit perfume of the decade. When it first came out I loved it. I still love it actually. It was so unique and stunning. But when everyone and her mother, sister and best friend starting wearing it, well, I just couldn’t do it. I have a bottle of Angel and like to wear it during the holidays because it reminds me of Christmas.

Anyway, to conclude this little ditty about smelling weird to others; I sure hope I don’t smell really weird….because I like what I like and it wouldn’t be me to leave the house without perfume. I’d rather leave the house with wet hair than sans perfume! But there are times when a non-perfumista nose picks up the strangest aroma from a fragrance I think smells like something else entirely.

And, just for the record, so you don't think I might actually smell strange, I get compliments most of the time....but there are the occasional off-the-wall comments.