Diptyque L'Eau de L'Eau

At some point in the last year or two, during their repackaging thrust, Diptyque changed the concentration of their Les Eaux series. Previously colognes, these now became eau de toilette, with better lasting power and slightly different behaviors on the skin. I must have smelled the cologne versions when they first started releasing them; however, until recently, I think the last one I'd paid any attention to was L'eau de Tarocco. It wasn't a memorable experience, and I dutifully ignored all subsequent releases.

Turns out that was a mistake, because even in their cologne concentrations these scents were largely fantastic. My favorites are L'eau de Hesperides and L'eau de L'eau, both of which are reinterpretations, or variations, of earlier Diptyque releases (Oyedo and the line's flagship fragrance, L'eau, respectively). Both are wonderful - the addition of immortelle to Oyedo is a revelation - but L'eau de L'eau distinguishes itself for me through its combination of bitter zest and clove.

It's an unusual take on cologne, spicy yet fresh, tart without a wince. This is effervescence done in a way I can get behind. You might like effervescent. It's never done much for me. Volatility is fine with me as long as something enters left stage for a second and hopefully a third act. I pretty scrupulously avoid one act colognes, of which there are too many, and the recent craze for all things "L'eau de" have made my trips to the department store even more infrequent than they'd already become. L'eau de L'eau lasts well for a "cologne", and though it smells cologne-like in general effect, there are significant twists and tweaks. It isn't at all a skin scent (also, for me, a dread descriptor) and it doesn't race its way off the radar before you have time to register it. People will smell it on you. You'll smell it on yourself.

The cologne version was punchier and didn't last all too poorly itself. There were things I liked about it - its brightness, its overload of spice - that the eau de toilette has adjusted. When you sprayed on the cologne it was like puncturing an orange rind with a clove bud. The spice in the eau de toilette is still there, but the rose has been boosted, bringing L'eau de L'eau closer to its inspiration, the wonderful L'eau. This makes the clove a little less startling, and the overall fragrance that much richer and deeper. Ginger, lavender, pimento and geranium give the scent a piquancy its inspiration didn't have, but all are held in balance to the rose. The patchouli is hard to put a finger on, in case patchouli frightens you.

L'eau was pomander in a bottle. I first wore it at a film festival in Philadelphia, shocking my festival-appointed escort as I stepped into the car. It's a wondrous fragrance - one you don't miss - and still in production, though harder to find at stores which carry Diptyque. It's a go-to favorite of mine and its relation to L'eau de L'eau is unmistakable, yet L'eau de L'eau is very much its own fragrance as well, and each comes in handy for different moods. If you've tried L'eau and found it a bit much, you might find L'eau de L'eau more to your liking or speed.

The perfumer of L'eau de L'eau is Olivier Pescheux. The notes are listed as green mandarin, grapefruit, petitgrain, lemon, ginger, orange blossom, cinnamon, lavender, pimento, cloves, geranium, tonka bean, patchouli and benzoin. The fragrance comes in 100ml.

Hammam Bouquet

You have to love the tactile pleasures of Penhaligon's packaging. Even the sound of the name feels right. It rolls right off the tongue. I suppose I'm on a kick lately, noticing these things more, though not yet enough to make anything but sweeping generalizations about my taste.

I do often notice that bottles considered lovely by others are sometimes downright annoyances to me. I try to picture who must have designed them, and what on earth made them think this would appeal to a buyer of perfume. What made them think this would look good on a vanity? All I've ever thought when I see a Bond No.9 bottle is "gingerbread man"--and I'm that rare thing, a Bond No.9 defender. I like the perfumes enough to disregard the way holding them in my hand feels (in short, all wrong), but I resent that someone somewhere felt confident enough in this design to build an entire line on it. It seems like some kind of assault on my intelligence. I really don't get the draw of the Givenchy Organza design, either, to give another random example, and not just because you have to book end it with sturdier specimens if you intend to display it. In all the hours designers spend thinking about these bottles, do they ever stand one up on a bureau to see how it feels about heights?

Penhaligon's gets me almost every time, right down to the box, and for whatever reason, Hammam Bouquet is one of my favorites. The fragrances I end up loving seem to fall generally under two categories. There are those I love the moment I smell them, and those I'm massively disappointed by at first. Hammam Bouquet was one of the latter. Typically, these are things I've read about, so my expectations are high--and highly specific. It takes a while to adjust. I didn't know what to make of Hammam for a long time. I almost gave it away during the first six months I owned it. I bought it un-sniffed. I was attracted by the promise of rose and the prospect of yet another contender for the ideal dandy must-have.

I couldn't figure out where the rose was. I still can't, but at this point I'm not looking for it. It feels more theoretical than anything, when I start trying to discern it. What I got at first and for a long time was the kind of whiff given off when a rather hefty fellow plops down onto a vinyl seat, the cushion of which promptly farts from the pressure. Let's call this plastic flatulence. Nostalgic I suppose, but surely more suitable as a room spray. I've never been to any Turkish bathhouses, and Hammam is said to evoke one, so that was no help in placing this fragrance.

Knowing there's lavender in the mix makes a little more sense of things. Cedar and Sandalwood illuminate things further. The first is robust in a way I recognize in Hammam. All three can be slightly astringent and/or medicinal in their own ways, producing something of a clamor on the skin, and I now think, having spent more time getting farted on, so to speak, that what I took to be vinyl is that medicinal astringency. Hammam mellows after a while but always retains the signature of that bold beginning. It can feel contradictory, refined but in a crude, caricatured way, harsh and rich simultaneously, a little brash, a little refined. I believe the florals must give it this more laid back counterpoint to the energy of the woods and lavender. Even iris, though, reinforces this contrapuntal attitude; cool and camphorous on the one hand, buttery smooth on the other.

And what of that packaging? It shouldn't matter, you say? Maybe not. But fragrance is a complex enterprise for me, something pretty special. I like that quality to extend as far into the experience as possible, and it helps to know someone else is thinking about it that way too, helping indulge and sustain a fantasy in every way possible.