Hanging Out with the Gorillas: Several Lush Scents

You can tell Mark and Simon Constantine, the father and son perfumers behind the Lush fragrances and their offshoots, first B Never Too Busy to Be Beautiful then Gorilla Perfume, are having a good time. The fragrances are touch and go but often at least interesting, and more often than not surprising. Some of them are very good.

The packaging, once pretty naff (hot glued dime store jewels! Confetti! Cheap metal pedestals!) is now avant garde utilitarian, basic black, allowing the scents to speak for themselves, unless you're venturing the wilds of the brick and mortar satellite stores, with all their ear-piercing, nose singeing, slumber party fanfare. I say visit Lush online, where no one will rush up to you with a mixing bowl and some mysterious mud they insist on slathering somewhere, because the fragrances are fun enough they don't require a rave party or a glow stick to get you revved up.

There's a bias against Lush - not just from people who are turned off by the noise- and air- and eye-pollution of these pungent, neon-saturated satellite stores - but from many perfumistas/bloggers, for whom anything short of 150 dollars and a certain kind of wan exclusivity is worthy only of meticulous disdain.

It's true, you probably won't sign a book deal writing about Lush. You won't be invited to dinner or court with Serge. There's a risk that people won't think you are discriminating, that you drink at home out of plastic cups and record episodes of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills for anything other than anthropological research.

It might even be true that people will avoid you altogether if you admit to admiring Karma, thinking you must not truly appreciate the original Coty Chypre, and question your judgment: after all, why would anyone who wants to be taken seriously admit to liking something so Mitsouko-oppositional? How will you get a regular column in the New York Times if you admit to appreciating anything so base?

Alas, I can't answer these questions. I can only put my unworthy bourgeois little tail between my legs and tell you what my favorites are among these pedestrian-centric scents. I've already written about other favorites (Karma, Icon, Orange Blossom, Tuca Tuca). These are the newest additions:

DIRTY

I couldn't get behind this one at first, let alone wrap my head around it, so it seemed certain I would eventually like it a lot. Like Andy Tauer's Pentachord Verdant, Dirty has a persistent minty diffusion that you're either going to love or write long essays about, citing its foulness, its failure, its unmitigated gall. Dirty has a strange aquatic thing going on, as well, which the snob nose will shorthand, stupidly, as "synthetic".  Aquatic and minty aren't things I myself get in line for typically. Add to this the name's confusion. Dirty isn't dirty at all; neither animalic nor grungy.  Some say skank. I don't get that either. I do get herbs: the tarragon, maybe, in addition to the mint. Maybe thyme? Who knows.  Like a lot of the Gorilla scents, Dirty has a weird kind of creamy base, which works well here, bridging its contrasts. There's something simultaneously metallic and organic about the fragrance, bracing but relaxed. The listed notes are tarragon, mint, thyme, oakmoss, and sandalwood. It coasts along indefinitely, infinitely reversing your decisions about it.

DEAR JOHN

Dear John takes recognizable mainstream masculine motifs and twists them in some interesting directions. Vetiver, pine, and cedar are familiar territory, and while clove, coriander, lime and coffee aren't exactly strangers to the format, the overall combination feels just a little more interesting than the average fare. Just enough for me that you get a sense where so many of its kind go wrong. Dear John's coffee note isn't as forthcoming as in other masculines which make use of it. Neither is the clove.  The lime hops right out at you but settles down soon enough. It just wants to make sure you know it's there, and it plays nicely with the vetiver. At first you think you're smelling some country cousin of Guerlain Vetiver, all tart and woodsy. After a few minutes that comparison seems pretty suspect. The truth is I reach for Dear John far more often than I do GV, which in recent years has become so transparent that it's technically its own country cousin. The reason the comparison seems suspect, I think, is that Dear John is closer to the shock of pleasure I remember first smelling GV, years ago.

COCKTAIL

It's a brave fragrance that doesn't immediately busy itself apologizing for the rubbery, mentholated facets of Ylang Ylang.  The closest comparison I have for Cocktail is Aveda's Number 20, but even number 20 gets a little embarrassed by the direction it's taking, and back pedals about half way through, arranging itself in a more ladylike pose.  Cocktail has something in common with Tubereuse Criminelle in its boldness, and the price point confirms what Lutens works hard to deny: what makes this kind of juxtaposition so fantastic is essentially its straightforwardly crude approach. There's nothing delicate about it, and I'm not sure even Lush gets it right by calling this a fragrance for a fancy night out. Cocktail might be nocturnal, but it's heading for a speakeasy, and if pearls are part of the equation they're only an ironic means to a decidedly hedonistic end. That isn't to say Cocktail is animalic, which is usually the shorthand for a fragrance put to such uses.  Part of what makes Cocktail so wonderful to me is that it gets to the same place by entirely different strategies. It has the kind of good natured carnality no amount of civet or castoreum can match, and it's ultimately more about the fun of the hunt than the spoils anyway.

IMOGEN ROSE

Back wen I first smelled this, it was my least favorite of its bunch (Tuca Tuca and Orange Blossom, which came out right around the same time). It's grown on me. What I disliked initially about Imogen Rose I now appreciate most: the dread powder. I spend so much time defending scents which don't really smell like powder against the accusations by non-perfume lovers who see it everywhere they look that when I do smell it I tend to dismiss it out of hand. Every time I smell Imogen Rose I like it a little more, so that now, a year or so later, I like it very much. The listed notes, in addition to the obvious, are iris root, ambrette seed, tonka bean, vetiver, and bergamot. I might have gotten used to the powder, but IR seems less powdery to me than it once did. What I smell now is iris, and IR has turned out to be one of my favorite uses of it.  I first thought IR was a bit dowdy as well. I don't get that anymore either. Go figure. IR reminds me a lot of Hermes Hiris, but it satisfies every expectation that Hiris disappointed. In the past year, I've looked to many niche fragrances for this kind of pleasure and richness, and found them lacking.  All this time, it was right under my nose.

25:43

I like 1000 Kisses, a strange little medley of apricot, mandarin, and (allegedly) resins, but it's such a light kiss that I might have subtracted several zeroes. 25:43 is more my style, and could use the extra digits in its name, giving its citrusy elements more oomph with vanilla, ylang, and a laurel note I find addictive. I suppose it comes down to the difference between sweet little batting-eye pecks on the cheek and an open mouth approach. As with many Gorilla scents (too many to name) I thought I didn't like 25:43 much at first. After wearing it for an afternoon I changed my mind. Apparently, Mark Constantine created the fragrance in honor of his son's wedding day, picturing his bride walking down the aisle, with lime and tonka. It was said to "capture the moment beautifully." Later, son Simon added the rest, because as we all know, the wedding aisle leads to the bedroom.

I haven't tried some of the latest Gorilla offerings like Twilight, Silky Underwear, and Rose Jam. Thoughts from those who have?

Tom Ford White Patchouli: A Review

Today I went to Neiman Marcus to try the newest The Different Company fragrance called Sublime Balkiss by Celine Ellena. To my dismay, Neiman’s had the rest of the TDC line but didn’t have Sublime Balkiss in stock yet. I was so disappointed. I’d been planning this trip to Neiman’s for days and I should have called first.

While I was there I asked the sales associate if she had samples of Tom Ford White Patchouli. She said she only had one tester bottle and there weren’t any samples yet. She allowed me to spritz from the tester; I did so with her watching me, I felt greedy as I spritzed my left arm three, maybe four times. I walked around the store, checked out the new Feerie bottle, and went back to the sales associate with the Tom Ford White Patchouli tester. I always carry some empty vials in my purse just in case so I figured I had nothing to lose and asked her if I could take a sample from the one single tester bottle in the entire store. She looked at me as if I’d asked for her first born child. I gave her a pathetic begging look, told her about Sublime Balkiss and how Neiman’s was an hour from my house, and she finally agreed. She took the vial from me and decanted the sample behind the counter in a guarded fashion as if she were performing a criminal act. I actually felt like I ought to be a look out for her or give her a warning if someone else were walking over. She gave me the vial back (2.5 ml, yay!) and I thanked her profusely and walked around the store a bit more. Since I was there, I decided I was getting low on one of my favorite TDC fragrances, Sel de Vetiver, so I picked up a box and brought it to my partner-in-crime sales associate. That seemed to make her happy; that I was actually buying something now. Then I wandered over to the fresh counter and sniffed Cannabis Rose and Violette. Both are innocuous and pretty, like most fresh scents. I also realized that I’m running low on Jo Malone Pomegranate Noir, so I picked up a bottle of that, too, and brought it over to my now very happy sales associate. This was enough damage for one day so paid and exited the store before I thought of anything more I might need….

First, I’ll confess, I’m not a fan of Tom Ford’s last few fragrances. Black Orchid, while definitely interesting, smelled like crotch to me, so I never purchased it. Then I boycotted him after seeing the Tom Ford for Men ads, which to my mind were like someone just took a Marketing 101 class called “how to gain attention for your product by using nudity and sex to cause a stir.” That said, I’m actually a fan of patchouli, the note itself, I love L’Artisan’s Voleur de Rose and Keiko Mecheri’s Patchoulissimo and I decided that I was really quite curious about TF White Patchouli. I couldn’t imagine what a white citrusy floral with patchouli would smell like and I decided to let the juice speak for itself and give it a go. I admit I was really looking forward to trying it.

Well, I’ve had a disappointing day. First, no TDC Sublime Balkiss and now the smell of TF White Patchouli made me nauseous. I’m not exaggerating. For me, for the first hour it smells like astringent, something like Seabreeze facial toner mixed with bug spray. I can’t identify anything even close to patchouli in the first hour or so nor do I smell anything close to a white floral or citrus. I thought about how I adore Serge Lutens Tubereuse Criminelle and how I’ve come to like the menthol/rubber beginning, so I decided to give TF White Patchouli it’s due and wait a full 5 hours before making any sort of decision.

After forcing myself not to scrub it off as much as I really wanted to, it finally dries down to something much less nauseating. I eventually smell a whiff of patchouli, but a very astringent and light patchouli at that. Yes, I can see why it’s called White Patchouli because this patchouli isn’t dirty or dusky or deep at all. After a few hours a faint woody note emerges and an even fainter incense-y note, too. I can’t detect any of the floral notes that are supposed to be here; no white peony, no jasmine, no rose, for me. To my nose everything blends into an astringent aroma laid over a very soft uninteresting patchouli.

In the end, after the full five hours, it’s not horrible, but it just isn’t good, it isn’t what I hoped it would be and I won’t be among those placing their pre-orders. Again, I think of Tubereuse Criminelle, and while I have come to enjoy those initial menthol/rubber moments, I think I do so because I know what’s coming, I know that it develops into a masterpiece. At least Serge Lutens rewards me for wading through those initial awkward moments, where Tom Ford’s White Patchouli, just doesn’t come anywhere close to a masterpiece.

The bottle itself is rather boring and ugly, too. I can’t help thinking that if someone were to stick a cheap drugstore label on it and ask a group of unknowing people to try it they’d all exclaim how dreadfully horrid and cheap it is.

Tom Ford White Patchouli’s press release describes the perfume in the following manner:

"Opens energetically sparkling notes of bergamot blended with delicate white peony
and spicy coriander accents make an instant play for attention.
The alluring and modern heart unfolds in sequence: rich rose absolute,
carnal night blooming jasmine, and the stimulating ambrette seed.
Precious patchouli orpur infuses the finish with exotic depth. Its stimulating
sensual pull is enriched by a medley of blonde woods and the soft eastern
aroma of incense."

Dandy of the Day: Tilda Swinton

Actors are vain, needy creatures. Do they look okay? Are you sure? Should they do it again? They could do it louder. They could do it with more enthusiasm. They could do it as if they were a woman who's just lost her dog. Do you like them? Do you really like them? Most actors need to know. They need to be at the white hot burning center of your attention. If they can't be, they might die. We all might die. What actors do is of world importance: more important than war, famine, sickness, crime. Actors cure all those things just by speaking out--about their views, their experiences, their favorite colors. They want you to know: they're special. They want you to know you're special, so you can thank them for pointing it out to you. It goes without saying: without them, you wouldn't be special at all. It goes without saying but they're saying it anyway. If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there, who hears it, unless the actor is present and can then report it through various actor-y techniques. It's impossible to watch most actors on screen without wondering how many people they've thrown hairbrushes at, but there are exceptions among these exceptional beings, and one of those exceptional exceptions would seem to be Tilda Swinton. She doesn't play lesbian serial killers, true, but packing on pounds is a little excessive, if you ask her, just to show you aren't afraid of looking homely, especially when it's vital to you that everyone knows you're truly not. She shows up on the red carpet in Issey Miyake, looking like origami. She has no shame. She'll play man, woman, whatever. She leaves you to figure it out. She works with small directors, odd little films, and big budget headliners, even blockbusters. She speaks out without patting herself on the back. She doesn't pretend to be self-deprecating. In her personal life, which is mostly, blessedly, personal, she's her own person. Still devoted to the father of her ten year-old twins, she is also with actor/artist Sandro Kopp. Don't ask if you don't want to know; otherwise, she'll tell you. It's not like they're robbing banks or something. They're all together, though not in that Bruce Willis, Demi Moore, Ashton Kucher way. Swinton is our dandy of the day for this unfussy candor and many other reasons, and judging by her fashion forwardness, which is practically futuristic, we suspect she would wear something niche. We suggest Iris Silver Mist or Tubereuse Criminelle, if she doesn't know about them already (if she does, she likely heard of them long before we did). Both are nearly avant-garde in their strange interplay of pretty and potent, angular and full-bodied, dirty and petite. Some would encourage you to wait an hour or two after application before entering out into the world. Use caution with these two, they'd say. Tilda would say those first two hours are the very best.