Miss de Rauch: Mimosa Aldehyde

Last weekend, I was in rural Arkansas, visiting family, and came across this little wonder.

The pickings in these rural antique shops are slim, but if you're after Avon collectibles in bottles shaped like horns, vintage cars, mushrooms, kitty cats, and kerosene camping lamps, you won't be disappointed (disclaimer: in one such whopping 5 ounce bottle, shape of a grandfather clock, I found the now discontinued Charisma, a pretty, peachy green floral, more than worth the four bucks I paid for it).

Littered about these Avon curiosities, which seemed to be very popular in the area at one time, you'll find bottles you'll wish were full. While the Avon bottles remained unused and are typically virtually untouched in these shops, more upscale perfumes have mere drops left in them. I admire this weird reversal - save the precious Avon for some future special occasion, to occur, apparently, long after death; use up the Samsara post haste, can't splash the stuff fast enough. Naturally, there's almost always a bottle of Youth Dew, somewhere between half full and empty. The illustrious history of Youth Dew reformulation is illustrated on the dusty shelves of flea market stalls all across America.

I'd never heard of Rauch, so I assumed it must be something cheaper than Avon, some forgotten drugstore fragrance. I almost passed on it. The 4 ounce bottle was half empty. This meant 2 ounces at ten bucks, which seemed pricey under the circumstances. But I kept coming back to the smell, which radiated out from the bottle, having seeped out and saturated the twine and price tag fastened around the  neck.

There was something familiar about Miss de Rauch - reminding me of perfumes from my childhood - but something very odd too. I had it all over my hands yet there was something I couldn't put a finger on. So I bought it and brought it home.

And looked it up online - but there wasn't much. Apparently, Madeleine de Rauch, a contemporary of Chanel (read, competitor), was a well known couturier in Paris. She'd started designing sportswear in 1928, encouraged by friends. This first design house was called, fittingly, Maison de l'Amitie (House of Friends). Entering business with her two sisters, she moved on to haute couture by 1932, showing alongside Lelong and Fath and many other well known design houses. The doors of de Rauch were open from '32 to '73 in the Hotel Ganay at 37 Rue Jean-Goujon, 8th arrondissement, Paris. According to the Vintage Fashion Guild, she was known for "fluid, feminine clothes and sporty day looks." Weren't they all?

Beyond this limited bio, the information gets sparse. You can read a google translation to English of a French Wikipedia page on the designer, which at times will make you think your chances are better with the original text. Of de Rauch, the page says: "She practices the riding, the skating, the tennis, the swimming and all that, so generally accepted, combines elegance with oxygen."

Further reading: "It" (by which, I assume, they mean "she") helped emerging talent, namely a young Yves Saint Laurent.

Eventually, de Rauch had a small line of fragrances which were not by any means inexpensive, starting with Pitch (1947, sportily referencing the game of golf) and ending with Fresh Water Rauch (1974). The English translation of the French Wikipedia page lists seven de Rauch fragrances, all "disappeared", a term I think I prefer to "discontinued" when it comes to fragrances like these which seem to have slipped through the rare cracks of perfume discourse, as if they never existed. Wikipedia doesn't list Vacarme (pictured above), which I have seen online as well, so who knows how many de Rauch scents there were. Certainly not Wikipedia.

I'm guessing de Rauch wasn't quite the showman Coco was, or didn't have her kind of backing, which might account, in part, for the vanishing act. Having smelled Miss de Rauch, I wouldn't say it isn't as well known because it doesn't smell as good. In fact, I prefer it to No. 5. Chanel No. 5 made it out to the farthest reaches of the hinterlands thanks to a now standard, then innovative deal between Chanel and a distributor with a much wider reach. Had it not been for this licensing arrangement, I suspect it wouldn't be as well known as it is today, no matter how daring for its time we consider it now. Don't feel to sorry for Miss de Rauch. It was carried at I. Magnin. It did have distribution, with the company which represented D'Orsay and Piguet.

Neverthless, none of Coco's ubiquity for Madeleine, and yet my bottle of Miss de Rauch ended up, somehow, in the farthest reaches of Arkansas. The scent dates from 1947, 1960, or 1968, by varied accounts. Wikipedia says that the scent was originally released in 1960, then reformulated in 1968, possibly explaining at least one of the timeline discrepancies.

The familiar smell, it turns out, is mimosa, a sweeter, more somehow succulent rendition than I'm used to. I'm not sure I've ever come across such a strong mimosa note in an aldehyde - but then, Miss de Rauch bears out the fact I haven't seen everything. Fittingly, the juice is the pink of the mimosa blossoms I remember as a kid and still see all over Memphis. I saw them a lot in Arkansas too, visiting my grandmother over the years. She often talked about mimosa trees - how hard they were to maintain. They grow fast but aren't particularly healthy trees; more like weeds, from what I remember her saying. There was one outside an apartment building she lived in briefly as a teenager and she still thought about it sixty years later, recalling the aroma vividly. If I remember, the mimosa was one of her favorite trees and its flowers, I suspect, one of her favorite scents. I think what the bottle - with its pink coloring and mimosa smell - reminded me of was my grandmother.

There's a little bit of confusion online about just what kind of scent Miss de Rauch is. I've read floral aldehyde (on Perfume Intelligence), and there are definitely aldehydes in the opening. I've also read woody floral, and really, that opening notwithstanding, the scent reminds me very little of most of the aldehydes I've smelled. Miss de Rauch doesn't remind me remotely of anything like No. 5. It reminds me more, in some weird way - possibly the pink - of Miss Balmain, which came out in 1967. Maybe Miss Balmain shows what happens to a girl like Miss de Rauch after a pack of cigarettes and a few too many cocktails. Then again, it has some similarities to woody aldehyde Arpege, only pink to that sophisticate's amber.

I've read lotus, mimosa, melon, pathcouli... I smell all of those except the lotus. I wouldn't know lotus if it bit me on the nose.

Miss de Rauch is difficult to find but I've seen bottles on ebay. None seem to share the pink coloring with my bottle. And the bottle design itself is different in some cases.  Apparently, after Madeleine died the perfume line passed through various corporate entities, and there was, until as late as 2010, a Miss Rauch on the market (originating 1998) which bore little or no relation to the original, and by original you can hazard an untranslated guess whether this refers to the 1960 or 1968 version. I have no idea whether my bottle is pre or post 1968, though I'd venture it dates between the two.

According to Wikipedia, other de Rauch fragrances were: Mr. Rauch (1950), Belle de Rauch (1966), Din Rauch (1966), and Royal Rauch (1973).

If any of you have smelled a Rauch fragrance, or seen one, I'd be interested to hear about it.

Annick Goutal Le Mimosa

It’s no secret that I’m a huge Annick Goutal fangirl. Early last year I wrote a week-long tribute about several of their most amazing fragrances. Annick Goutal, for me, is the epitome of quality, class, sophistication and beauty. Every single fragrance from Annick Goutal is exceptional quality and I can even appreciate the few I don’t like, which for the record are Mandragore, Petite Cherie and Ninfeo Mio. To not like a mere three out of a very long line-up is pretty amazing. And it’s not that I don’t think these fragrances aren't good, it’s simply that they aren’t my style.

It’s probably also not a secret that I adore mimosa. Parfums de Nicolaï Mimosaique and L’Artisan Mimosa pour Moi are two of my favorites for spring and summer. Ironically, I don’t think I’ve ever smelled mimosa flowers in real life so when I smell mimosa prominent fragrances I can only assume that Mimosaique and Mimosa pour Moi smell somewhat like the real thing. The idea that Annick Goutal created a mimosa fragrance to add to their Les Soliflores collection was like a dream come true and I’ve been waiting with baited breath for its arrival. I love every single other soliflore in Goutal’s collection; especially Le Chevrefeuille which is like honeysuckle iced tea to me. Oh, and AG’s Neroli is fabulous. But I could go on and on and on about all their fragrances which are absolutely fantastic (Songes, Heure Exquise, Rose Splendide, Eau de Ciel, Ambre Fetiche, Encens Flamboyant, Sables, Un Matin d’Orage...seriously...I may as well list the entire line).

Sadly, I’m pretty bummed out about this, but Le Mimosa didn’t live up to my expectations. Sure, it comes in an adorable polka-dotted box with polka-dotted ribbon and as a little girl I had a fascination with polka-dots from about age 3-9 (I still remember the pink & purple polka-dot curtains in my bedroom with matching bedspread and sheets). So, as you can imagine, Le Mimosa comes housed in all sorts of cuteness and this level of adorable girlishness does give one a preview of how the fragrance smells. It’s a very young, girlish, cute and innocent fragrance. You might say all mimosa scents are like this and I wouldn’t disagree with you. But Le Mimosa turns out to be much more about peach, pear and a slight juicy greenness and very little to do with actual mimosa. Le Mimosa, like all scents from Annick Goutal is quite lovely, especially if you think you would enjoy a sweet little peachy-pear-floral, but if you’re expecting a true mimosa solifore I think you’ll be disappointed.

To me, Keiko Mecheri Peau de Peche is the best peach fragrance ever created with its oh-so-delicate fuzzy peach skin quality. It’s probably two or three times per year when I yearn to smell a bit peachy, and the Keiko Mecheri is what I’d reach for. Annick Goutal’s Le Mimosa has both peach and pear notes along with what I’ve previously described as “plant juice” essence (I think it was Hermessence Iris Ukiyoe the last time I described this “plant juice” quality). I actually like the overall scent of Le Mimosa, but can’t get past the fact that it doesn’t smell enough like mimosa nor is it truly my style. It reminds me of AG’s Petite Cherie, which, as stated above, is one of the few Goutal’s I don’t wear. Although for the record, I like Le Mimosa much more than Petite Cherie and would gladly wear it over Petite Cherie.

I didn’t need or want another mimosa scent that smelled especially similar to L’Artisan Mimosa Pour Moi or Parfums de Nicolaï Mimosaique so I’m glad the AG Mimosa isn’t in the same vein. One of the biggest differences is that the L’Artisan and PdN both use heavy doses of what I’d describe as heliotrope, giving both fragrances almost a fluffy, powdery quality. There is nothing in the way of heliotrope or a powdery sensation in the Goutal Mimosa – so perhaps for some this will be exactly what they are looking for. I was so curious to smell AG’s version of a mimosa soliflore and I’m left wishing they had amped up the mimosa note about a million times over. If the mimosa note was more prominent it probably would better compliment the peachy-pear-greenness a good deal; similar to the way apricot compliments osmanthus so divinely. Or maybe it’s my chemistry, perhaps the mimosa note just doesn’t show up on me.

As with all perfumes, your experience may vary, so even though I’m disappointed with Le Mimosa, you might still give this one a shot if you’re a Goutal fan or a lover of fresh, fruity florals. Even though I’m not head over heels for Le Mimosa its still one of the best fruity florals launched in the past year.

Notes: bergamot, anise, mimosa, iris, sandalwood, musk, peach

Miller Harris: Noix de Tubereuse

I'm guessing that with more of an online search than I'm willing to conduct right now I could find out what's up with the Miller Harris line being discontinued in the states. I know it's at least being liquidated at Bloomingdales, where I got a few bottles at half the usual price. The pickings were slim--I came to the sale late--but I did get Noix de Tubereuse, which interested me more than some of the others. I'm a fan of L'Air de Rien (and how) and had intended eventually to get Noix, but so many other fragrances at that price point spoke to me a little more urgently.

It could have something to do with the company I was keeping when I first smelled Noix at the counter. I sprayed some on and it gave her a headache. Of course, almost every perfume gives her a headache, but knowing this, tuberose was an evil move. At the time, I was inclined to agree with her: it smelled like an older lady's perfume. It's the knee jerk reaction to tuberose. But as we roamed the mall, my opinion changed. Noix seemed much fresher than any tuberose I'd smelled. It lacked that heavy resinous bombast which seems to anchor so many of its peers; yet it wasn't transparent, either.

The addition of mimosa really does magic on tuberose. Some have called this candied. Others say bubblegum. I get neither. For sure, the mimosa sweetens the mix, giving it an almost edible slant. Violet sweetens it further. I get the green notes, which come off like snapped stems. But it's the mimosa I smell more than anything for a while. Smelled from the bottle, this seems more like Noix de Mimosa.

That note really never goes away, but the tuberose does gradually emerge more emphatically. Noix goes powdery; not overwhelmingly, it's still too damp for that, but it's there. The best part of the fragrance is the buttery drydown. I can't think of a tuberose fragrance I remember having this quality in quite the same way. There's a creaminess to Noix. It remains bright but has that buttery warmth of something darker. I often feel when I smell a tuberose fragrance that I have too many already, and so many of them are so similar. I would never say that of Noix de Tubereuse. It's truly that miraculous rarity, a contemplative tuberose, quiet and thoughtful. Nothing is weighing too heavily on its mind.

Molinard Les Fleurs de Provence Mimosa

In addition to linden, I’m always on the hunt for mimosa scents. So far, my hands-down favorite mimosa fragrances are Parfums de Nicolaï Mimosaique, L’Artisan Mimosa Pour Moi and Caron Farnesiana. For a person who has never smelled mimosa in real life I’m awfully obsessed with this note. I wonder if I’ll feel the same way, once I smell the actual flower, or if living with this imaginary notion of mimosa makes it ever better.

If you’re familiar with my top there favorite mimosa scents, I would compare Molinard’s mimosa with Caron Farnesiana with which it shares the most similarity. The PdN and L’Artisan Mimosas are very true to the flower, exhibiting a natural and slightly green take. Caron Farnesiana blends mimosa with heliotrope and creates a marzipan-gourmand impression. Molinard’s Mimosa is also a creamy almondy scent that is surprisingly delightful. I bought Molindard’s Mimosa from BeautyEncounter for about $25 bucks, expecting that I’d use it to spritz my sheets if it sucked. It doesn’t suck, it’s pretty good, though I must confess to basing my review a bit upon the price tag.

Molinard’s Mimosa reminds me of the one and only time I made pie crust from scratch. The smell of dough and sensation of flour on my hands is this fragrance. There’s an element of L’Artisan’s Bois Farine here, a doughy quality which I want to knead between my fingers. Because of this association there’s a dometic diva idea running through my head – I imagine a country cottage with those adorable lace curtains, shifting quietly as a mimosa tinged breeze billows through them as I place the pie in the preheated oven. There’s a 1950s retro association about Molinard’s Mimosa – it’s cuddly soft, slightly doughy, dreamy and delicate. Unlike the PdN and L’Artisan there is no cucumber or green here – this is all creamy, dreamy deliciousness.

For $25 bucks Molinard Mimosa is wonderful. It’s not long-lived, lasting maybe 2 hours, and I do spray it on my sheets.

Above photo by Tearoom on Flickr

TWRT 5.15.09

This Week's Random Thoughts ~

I have officially managed to dive into my spring/summer scents. Every year I make this switch kicking and screaming because my heart belongs to heavy chypres and orientals that are best worn in cold weather. But once the weather turns hot and muggy I just have to change gears. And, for the first 6-8 weeks, I love it. I’ll start complaining about being tired of fresh-light-scents by mid-July for sure. By August I’ll be cravvvving woods and orientals but the weather will stay nearly tropical here until at least mid-September. One chypre I can wear this time of year is Y by YSL. Thank goodness for Y. Oh, and lest I forget, another nice chypre for summer is Ava Luxe Mousse de Chine.

This week has been all about osmanthus for me. I’ve rotated 3 osmanthus perfumes every single day – Ormonde Jayne Osmanthus, Keiko Mecheri Osmanthus and Parfum d’Empire Osmanthus Interdite (some days wearing all 3 at once for comparison). No, I don’t have Hermes Osmanthus Yunann (yet).

I answered the door for the UPS delivery guy (box of perfume of course!) and was wearing Annick Goutal Folavril. The UPS guy said “you smell so good, what is that?!” Like he really meant it – he just needed to know. So I told him the name, and got a blank stare. I said it was supposed to smell a bit like a tomato plant. He said “It doesn’t smell like that, but it smells really really good!”

The Office: The Michael/Holly angst is tearing at my heart strings. I want Holly back.

Luca Turin calls mimosa an “unsophisticated flower” in Perfumes: The Guide. I wonder what makes a flower sophisticated? Do flowers have good lineage, charm, grace and intellect that I’m unaware of?

I found out my HG mimosa scent, Parfums de Nicolaï Mimosaique, is discontinued. Thankfully I was able to order a few bottles directly from PdN boutique in Paris (pffew!).

For the first time in my life, I dropped a full bottle of perfume and it smashed to smithereens on the kitchen tile. It was good that I ended up liking the scent, because my kitchen and foyer ended up smelling like it for days. It was Penhaligon’s Violetta, which is a darn good violet solifore; a fresh, green and masculine leaning violet.

Beverage of the week: raspberry iced tea, with lemonade ice cubes and sprigs of fresh mint. Which reminds me; I used to love Snapple’s Mint iced tea, until I realized how many calories were in those bottles. I don’t believe Snapple ever produced a diet Mint tea, but I doubt I would have liked it. Oftentimes “diet” just doesn’t work for beverages other than soda. I need to figure out how to make my own version of Snapple’s Mint iced tea, perhaps using Splenda, which I like.

I received the sampler pack from Parfums MDCI on Monday. My package arrived within 7 business days and the samples are really huge – I’d guess 10-15 ml. I’m planning to spend time with each of them this weekend. I can’t underscore what a fantastic deal I think this is!

I’m looking forward to trying Washington Tremlett’s Clove Absolute, Tauer’s Une Rose Chypree, and Amouage Ubar – all of which are on their way to me (samples, not full bottles, I’m not that out of control).

I’m so impressed with Parfum d’Empire. I think they are my favorite line this week.

Luckyscent seems to be taking over the perfume world. They have added so many new lines lately. I’m glad the economy doesn’t seem to be impacting niche perfumes.

Either Rochas Tocade has been dreadfully reformulated or it’s always smelled like Pink Sugar and I didn’t realize it. I got a new bottle from the Parfum1 sale and thought it was horrible when I smelled it. Its verrrry sweet and like a cotton candy vanilla – all traces of rose are gone.

Sandwich of the week: Proscuitto with fresh mozzarella and fig jam. Mm, mm, good.

Three Mimosa Scents: Givenchy Harvest 2007 Amarige Mimosa, L’Artisan Mimosa Pour Moi & Parfums de Nicolaï Mimosaique

There are three floral notes that, when done well, make me swoon like crazy – orange blossom, linden and mimosa. I’ve smelled orange blossom and linden in nature and they’re two of the most mesmerizing fragrances on the planet. I haven’t yet come across mimosa in nature so I can only imagine what it must smell like. When I think about these three scents, I realize there’s a similarity – they’re all are rather light, airy, sweet yet green.

I did a bit of research about mimosa since I’m unfamiliar with the plant. I found that the mimosa used in perfumery (usually listed as acacia or acacia farnesiana) grows in southern France and Italy with bright yellow blooms. There is a related plant that’s oftentimes called mimosa which grows in the southern U.S. and Hawaii. The blooms of this plant are purplish pink and the scent is similar but this is actually the silk tree, not true European mimosa, and not the same species used in perfumery for centuries.

I have three fragrances which showcase mimosa most beautifully; Givenchy Harvest 2007 Amarige Mimosa, L’Artisan Mimosa Pour Moi and Parfums de Nicolaï Mimosaique.

Givenchy’s Harvest edition is similar to the original Amarige but it is so much better. It’s as if Givenchy highlighted only the best parts and minimized all negative bits of Amarige creating the most gorgeous, mimosa-orange blossom-oriental scent in this galaxy. Mimosa takes the spotlight in this scent and the overall effect is much more delicate and airy and gentle. The original Amarige is known to be a loud scent and while the 2007 Harvest edition does have nice longevity it is a good deal softer and does not pack a wallop like the original. This is a softly spicy and well-blended mimosa scent which is vivacious and flirty instead of girly and innocent like most mimosa scents.

L’Artisan’s Mimosa Pour Moi was a pleasant surprise for me. The surprise being the longevity, which is decent for L’Artisan, and on top of that I would never have expected a mimosa scent to be one of their more tenacious fragrances. Mimosa is generally a light, soft and fleeting aroma but somehow L’Artisan managed to create a scent that is heavenly and even sticks around long enough for me to enjoy it for about 3+ hours.

Parfums de Nicolaï Mimosaique is actually my favorite mimosa scent. Mimosaique is nothing short of nose nirvana. I wish I could bathe in this stuff, wash my sheets in it, use Mimosaique soap, shampoo, hand cream and burn candles made from it. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m nuts about Mimosaique. Here’s the problem – it’s the most fleeting of these three scents. Yesterday I sprayed Mimosaique on one arm and Mimosa Pour Moi on the other and I could smell the L’Artisan for at least 2 more hours. Patricia de Nicolaï, if you happen to read this, would you please do something about the longevity? I beg thee! Mimosaique is a stunning masterpiece of fresh, sweet, green, airy, delight and happiness. For me, it’s an anti-depressant in a bottle. Utterly beautiful.

CARON Farnesiana: A Review

Mimosa is among my top five favorite notes. Mimosa is in my beloved Amarige by Givenchy (and FYI the mimosa is much more apparent and breathtaking in the 2007 Harvest Edition of Amarige). One of my favorite L’Artisan perfumes is Mimosa Pour Moi. Unbelievably Mimosa Pour Moi lasts for a few hours on my skin (yay, for L’Artisan!) and it’s a wonderfully rendered greenish mimosa soliflore. Jean-Paul Guerlain's Champs-Elysees is also meant to be based on a mimosa accord. Caron’s Farnesiana is nothing like Amarige, Mimosa Pour Moi or Champs-Elysees but I mention them so you can make comparisons amongst mimosa-focused fragrances.

Farnesiana was recreated by Michel Morsetti from Ernest Daltroff’s notes after his death in 1941 and released in 1947. The name is taken from the Latin name for cassie, Acacia Farnesiana, as well as the garden in the Roman palace of Farnese which is the inspiration for Farnesiana.

Farnesiana’s initial burst is mimosa, cassie and heliotrope. Heliotrope usually smells like play-doh to me and it also does in Farnesiana but it’s a lighter, fluffier and gorgeously gourmand heliotrope which causes me to envision marzipan and almond milk. I’m in awe of how groundbreaking Farnesiana must have been in 1947. To me, it’s a floral gourmand, wayyyy ahead of it’s time, and simply heavenly. If you sniff really hard, with the intent of detecting the other notes, you can smell a powdery violet and perhaps other florals. Overall Farnesiana is a sweet (but not overly sweet in the least), floral, powdery gourmand masterpiece. When I use the term gourmand please don’t think of sickly sweet dessert fragrances from Comptoir Sud. In my mind, the gourmand category has sadly been “dumbed down” to the point of only being associated with sweet cupcakes, chocolate, frosting, and bakery confections. The gourmand category has unfortunately received a bad rap lately but if there were more gourmands created like Farnesiana, well, I think this reputation could easily reverse.

Farnesiana is drop-dead gorgeous. It’s so soothing and comforting I wish I could spray my bed linens with it. Almond is not listed in Farnesiana’s notes but it seems like everyone (myself included) find it to be an almondy-floral-mimosa-powdery nirvana.

Lasting power: Average ~ 3-4 hours
Sillage: soft
This review is based on the eau de parfum, not the extrait.

Givenchy Amarige Harvest Edition 2007: A Review

Today I went to the Short Hills mall in New Jersey. The fictional family from the Sopranos lived right around the corner in Caldwell. Carmella and Meadow must have loved shopping here. This mall is a dream for perfume fanatics. Stores of note: Saks, Neiman Marcus, Nordstrom, Sephora, L’Occitane, Molton Brown, Bloomingdales and Macy’s.

I went in search of two new fragrances: Lolita Lempicka Forbidden Flower and Hermes Un Jardins Apres la Mousson.
I purchased the following: Amarige 2007 Limited Harvest Edition, Prada Infusion d'Iris, Missoni Aqua, Annick Goutal Petit Cherie, Comptur Sud Amour Cacao, Lolita Lempicka Forbidden Flower, Kenzo Amour Indian Holi. Unfortunately, Hermes Un Jardins Apres la Mousson was out of stock everywhere.

I’ll discuss all the others later, tonight I’m swooning all over myself because of the Amarige 2007 Limited Harvest Edition. I adore the regular Amarige. But this stuff is stunning. It’s like regular Amarige minus anything noticeably synthetic and with greater mimosa clarity. Givenchy says the main note of Amarige is mimosa. The Limited Harvest Edition contains Mimosa exclusively from Tamil, Nadu, India. Apparently 2007 was an exceptional year for mimosa from Tamil, Nadu, India. I guess perfume is similar to wine in this regard. Like grapes, floral harvests vary from year to year. I might have though this was a marketing gimmick until I smelt the juice and my knees buckled.

Amarige 2007 Limited Harvest Edition doesn’t conjure up any childhood associations or memories for me like most other perfumes do. If I had to (upon the threat of death or something) choose a perfume that I consider to be my signature scent it would be Amarige. Givenchy launched Amarige in 1992 and I began wearing it in 1994 or so. I was in college. I wore Amarige exclusively for the next 4 years. Being just out of college and broke had something to do with wearing it for 4 years straight, but I do love it just the same. As much as it’s considered a very popular fragrance I never come across anyone wearing it. Not being from India or wherever else mimosa grows naturally I’m not familiar with the scent of mimosa. I’ve smelt Mimosa Pour Moi by L’Artisan but this is so light and subtle and smells nothing like Amarige. The image that comes to mind when I wear and smell Amarige is orange molten lava. In fact, the color association is most definitely orange, an orangey-yellowish-brown crusted lava. It’s lava because the fragrance is thick, warm and enveloping. It’s thick and heavy but also airy all at the same time. One does need to be careful with light application because too much and it could easily walk in the room a few feet before you and stay 10 minutes after you leave.

Technically it’s a floral oriental with a woody base. Among the listed top notes for Amarige are neroli, mandarin leaf and coumarin. This makes sense, because I love neroli and I also love Lou Lou by Cacharel which is said to be based upon coumarin. Coumarin is an old fashioned perfume note, and when it’s done well I think it lends a sophistication and timelessness to modern perfumes.

I looked up Coumarin and found this from Wikipedia: Coumarin is a chemical compound (benzopyrone): a toxin found in many plants, notably in high concentration in the tonka bean, woodruff, mullein and bison grass. It has a sweet scent, readily recognized as the scent of newly-mown hay, and has been used in perfumes since 1882. The name comes from a French word, coumarou, for the tonka bean.

The newly mown hay note must be what gives Amarige it’s greenish airy quality.

Oh, Amarige, you are such a complex and gorgeous fragrance, you’re citrusy & green (neroli, coumarin & mandarin leaf), yet you’re heavy and airy, while also earthy and woody, and after a few hours you become orange molten lava all set upon an airy woody base. Amarige is complex, unusual, feisty and unabashedly sexy. If Amarige were a person, she’d be one very complicated dame. She’d be sometimes unbearable, but mostly a magnetically charming knockout. But she doesn’t stop there, I told you she was complicated, she’s much more than just a sexy vixen, because she also has a heart and softness and a worldly sophistication that is certainly classy and timeless. She is so utterly enigmatic and impossible to describe that when you wear her she simply becomes you.