massoia room fragrance by Geodesis

Until recently, I never paid much attention to room sprays. What was the point? It seemed to me they couldn't possibly have been formulated to last on skin, regardless of whether such use was advisable or not. The one home fragrance I'd always admired was Essence of Galliano by Dyptique, and I figured sooner or later the company would have to issue a concentration for personal use, so I didn't pay it much attention. In LA, a saleswoman at Barney suggested I buy some and spray it on my clothes. At the time, the idea seemed silly to me, a waste of scent and a lot of trouble for a few fleeting seconds of aroma. Later, in Chicago, there it was again. I was still skeptical but sprayed some on my scarf. It was cold outside, very windy, and all day the scent wafted up, smelling of cloves and charred wood. The effect was so wonderful and pervasive that I instantly think of that trip when I use Essence of Galliano now. For me, Galliano is Chicago in the fall.

And I pay more attention to room sprays, partly I think because they aren't designed to hit the marks of commercial perfumery and therefore are sometimes more apt to make unusual impressions when put to that use. Geodesis produces a line which includes scents such as fig, clove tree, black tea, agar wood, and tuberose, all very nice. They come in 100 ml bottles and sell for about 30 dollars or so. In addition to the room sprays they carry candles, perfume oils, and reed diffusers. The best of the line, for me, is the massoia, a scent I instantly recognized but couldn't identify for several days, though I bought a bottle, brought it back to my hotel room, sprayed it on a shirt I'd draped over a chair, and inhaled it every time I passed, trying to place it. The smell has such impressive stamina that I could detect it hours later.

It finally occurred to me: Massoia smells exactly like a curried, coconut milk and chicken soup I buy at the local Thai restaurant. Apparently, massoia is a tree indigenous to New Guinea, where its aromatic bark has been an article of commerce for centuries. A medium sized tree, it grows most heartily in rainforests with high altitudes. Javanese and Balinese women have traditonally used it to prepare a warming ointment which is said to redden the cheeks of the fairer-skinned people who use it. That makes sense, as the smell seems both hot and cold, savory sweet and spicy simultaneously. The majority of Massoia oil currently comes from Indonesia.

Massoia is sometimes used in perfumery. The bark is said to work well with citrus notes, and I've read that Fleurs d'Oranger contains it. Paco Rabbane Black XS for Women lists it as an ingredient, as do Kenzo Jungle le Tigre, Roma Uomo, Hoochie Coochie by Rich Hippie, and Cabaret by Ayala Moriel. Discussing its use in homemade soaps and perfumes, the Sun Rose Aromatics website advises:

"Massoia is definitely a base note. Add it to Benzoin, Vanilla, Tobacco, Hay, Melilot, Broom, Liatrice and you have the richest, most coconut/butterscotch like scent imaginable.

This is not too culinary either. The scent is suggestive of coconut without creating the image of suntan lotion.

Massoia is a note for those that enjoy Florientals, and rich meadowy smells. If you are careful, you can lighten it I think and blend it into a heart using a sweet rather than camphoraceous lavender. Another idea might be Ho wood or leaf, or a Geranium. A dash of Rose or Ylang can assist unifying the blend also."

Massoia room spray by Geodesis is a steal for the price and longevity, and makes for an interestingly lactonic woody.

Thessaloniki, Part Two

I'd been advised by Perfume Shrine and Fragrance Bouquet that, when it comes to perfume shopping, Thessaloniki leaves a little to be desired, and while they do have a point, I was pretty happy to find several things I don't come across in the states. The Sephora on Tsimiskis Street was the biggest I'd ever seen, and stocked Jungle Kenzo Homme, Kenzo Jungle Femme Elephant, Kenzo Ca Sent Beau, Cacharel L'Homme, Dior Escala Portifino, Kenzo Air and Air Intense, Dior Homme Intense, the new Guerlain Insolence EDP, and others. The Hondos Department Store on Alexandros had Monsieur Balmain, Moschino Glamour, a series of four or five variations on Missoni (rose, giallo, etc.), Eau de Hermes EDT, Rocobar, Carven Vetiver, all the Dali's, Shiseido Feminite du Bois and Vocalize, many of the Van Cleef and Arpels, M7 and M7 Fresh, Chanel Pour Monsieur and Chanel No. 19 EDP, Krizia Time and Eau de Krizia, all of the Laliques (including the newest, Lalique White for Men, as well as old timers Equus and Faune), Dolce Vita, Lacroix Bazaar, Dior Forever and Ever, and too many others to enumerate.

Comparing it to the original, Luca Turin describes M7 Fresh as an entirely different fragrance. It smells very much along the same lines to me, albeit much lighter, with a medley of herbs standing in for the concentrated aoud of M7. It's an interesting contrast, demonstrating how variable the same basic elements can be when used in slightly different proportions with a few strategic addditions and subtractions. I only wish it wasn't so fleeting, and it seems interesting to me that people find this more accessible than its predecessor, when both are challenging in their own ways. I'm not sure a poultry rub is any more wearable than ancient sap.

Jungle Homme was one of the real finds of my trip. I was surprised to see how mixed the reactions to this 1998 Olivier Cresp fragrance have been. In some ways, it seems as radical a reformulation of the standard masculine as Cresp's Dior Homme was. Nutmeg and Mate make for an interesting, herbaceous green accord, and the underlying milky tones of Jungle give it a strange, compelling depth. It lasts all day, one of the most persistent, diffusive masculines I've smelled.

Lalique White seemed a fairly average specimen to me: some citrus, some spices, an overall impression of tangy cardamom. Note to perfumers: Cardamom is swell. A tire is handy too, but doesn't make much sense without a car. Can we move on now?

I folded at Fena Fresh department store, finally slapping down the dough for Comme des Garçons Luxe Patchouli. I waited over a year to buy it, telling myself it was too expensive, though I loved it more each time I smelled it and in the meantime spent its price many times over on various other perfumes I liked much less. Why I waited to spend Eurodollars on this is anyone's guess. Maybe the presence of fenugreek was decisive for me and seemed, in the context, apropo. Maybe having less to choose from did the trick, providing some clarity.

Whatever the reason, I love Luxe Patchouli, and people, this stuff lasts all day. Ask anyone on the Lufthansa flight I came in on from Munich. Three hours to go and I discovered the bottle had leaked in its plastic bag. The man sitting next to me coughed all the way home. The woman in front of me turned arund several times to make sure I knew her eyes were watering. I threw out the zip-lock, wrapping the bottle in paper towels. I washed my hands repeatedly. No matter. Luxe Pathcouli outlasted any attempt to eradicate its aroma.


The real discovery in Greece was the food. It's rare, I was told, to order for, let alone dine by, yourself. Dinner is an event which lasts at least an hour--sometimes as many as three or four. Wine is dispensed. Sometimes Ouzo. Plates are laid all up and down the table. In Greece, food is perfume for the mouth. I can't tell you how good some of this stuff tasted. And that's only covering the restaurants. The pastry shops alone could easily have kept me entertained all day. One pastry was a huge, stuffed, frosted croissant filled with a dry ground cocoa, sugar and nut medley. Many were drenched in syrup. There were spinach pastries, prosciutto, ham and cheese. One night at dinner there were stuffed breads, hot feta pates, fries, meats, a battered tomato and vegetable pakora-like dish. All of it circled by cigarette smoke and the hearty banter of Greek conversation. These events start around ten in the evening, and God help you if your hotel room is located above a restaurant patio.

In all of Thessaloniki I noticed next to no perfume in public. I smelled it only on one man hurrying down the Alexandros and considered following him just to bask in the pleasure of someone else's fragrance. Two girls exited the Hondos Department Store smelling each others' wrists excitedly. I was in town for a film festival and none of the films I went to, save for the last, smelled of anything but smoke and indeterminate theater odors. My final night in Thessaloniki I attended a screening with a critic from Romania. Half way into the film I smelled something familiar. Was it Belle en Rykiel? It certainly smelled like it. Was it her or the woman on the other side of me? Was it perfume or cosmetics? After the screening I forgot all about it, until at dinner the Romanian said whatever I had on (Jaisalmer) smelled remarkable. I remembered then to ask her what she was wearing. The latest Balmain, she answered. Ambre Gris, I asked, excited. Yes, it was, she said, and after dinner I brought her to the room to give her the decants I'd made for the trip: Mitsouko EDP (her favorite but very costly in Romania), Jaisalmer, Chanel Cuir de Russie, Cedre Sandaraque. I also showed her Perfume: The Guide, which came as something of a revelation to her. As a critic, she appreciated it even more.

On the way home I bought Eau de Galliano at the duty free, after dismissing it on the way into the country. It seemed like something I should get to know a little better, even if only to dislike it with more clarity. Woody, violet, powdery, and openly synthetic, it isn't at all what I'd expect from Galliano, which makes me wonder if my mind will change over time, after some amount of adjustment.

Gift Ideas from Bond No. 9

We received an email from Bond No. 9 announcing some of their new gifts ideas for the holiday season. Normally I ignore promotional emails but I liked this one because they’ve created some rather cute & glam gifts which are also relatively inexpensive. After reading about a new exorbitantly priced perfume from L’Artisan on Now Smell This I found these offerings from Bond No. 9 much more tasteful and indicative of our economic times.


The Perfume “Token”
Bond No. 9’s solid perfume compact shaped like a NYC subway “token” containing your choice of six of Bond’s parfums. Stashed in its own perfect little white leather zipper case. The compact is refillable; the zipper case can lead a double life as a carry-case for rings, earrings, and lapel pins (with or without the American flag). Andy Warhol Union Square, Chelsea Flowers, Chinatown, Nuits de Noho, The Scent of Peace or Wall Street: $85.


The Soapbox
Dressed in Bond’s colorful signature foils Bond’s guest soaps are clever “token” imposters that will have you wondering if they should be unwrapped at all? Nah, better to let the dinner guests go with unwashed hands. The soap boxes—displaying a field of Bond No. 9 “tokens” on an ivory background—are beguiling in their own right. A set of four (Chelsea Flowers, Chinatown, Eau de New York and The Scent of Peace): $95. A lone soap bar, available in six of Bond’s best-selling scents (the boxed foursome, Nuits de Noho and Wall Street): $35.


New York’s Bright Lights, To Go—The Voyager Candles
Introducing traveler candles, sized to stow in a suitcase. Think of them as ambiance-enhancing New York neighborhood souvenirs. A five-pack of Bond’s most popular scents (Chelsea Flowers, Chinatown, Eau de New York, Nuits de Noho and The Scent of Peace), each bearing the Bond No. 9 “token”: $95.


All-Around-Town Pocket Sprays
And, last but not least, my personal favorite, for those who crave a mini-miscellany of Bond No. 9 scents, Bond has introduced a box of eight pocket spray flacons, each containing a different New York neighborhood eau, and each delectably twist-wrapped in Bond’s award-winning signature foils. These are small enough to slip into an evening clutch bag, with plenty of room to spare. Plus, they’re refillable. $130.

More Monogamous, Part II

A few weeks ago, I wrote that I’d like to become more monogamous with my fragrances so I get to know each one better and can discern which I truly love. The ground rules are that I wear one scent during the day, Monday through Friday, but can switch in the evenings and on weekends.

For week #1 I chose Chanel Coromandel. It was a breeze for 3 days but the last 2 days were a bit of a struggle. Week #2 I chose Teo Cabanel Alahine and loved every moment of all five days. On week #3 I chose Chanel No. 22 and loved every moment of all five days. Next week, week #4, I’m planning to wear either Givenchy Organza Indecence or LouLou because both seem cozy and warm for spending time with family over Thanksgiving.

I must tell you that I’m enjoying this new fragrance routine. It shows me which perfumes I really love and which could be pared down. I like having a familiar scent, a signature scent of sorts, for a five day stretch. And, so far, it’s been fairly painless choosing each week’s perfume. I’m curious as to whether I’ll begin to repeat fragrances or if I’ll continue to choose a different perfume without repeating.

Lancôme, Mille et Une Roses: A Review

According to Basenotes, Mille et Une Roses was originally called 2000 et Une Rose and was launched to celebrate the turn of the century. Lancôme re-launched the fragrance in 2006 and named it Mille et Une Roses (MeUR).

First, let’s just get the color of the juice out of the way: it’s blue. Windex glass cleaner blue. I suppose this made sense aesthetically when the fragrance was initially introduced in a tear drop shaped bottle but it looks strange in the square bottle that houses it now. However, once you smell MeUR you’ll forget that the liquid is the shade of a glass cleaner from Walmart because the scent is utterly perfect.

Rose fragrances come so many varieties; there’s the strikingly lush and vivid rose scents (Serge Lutens Sa Majeste La Rose and Frederic Malle Lipstick Rose), and the green country garden rose (Diptyque L’Ombre dans L’Eau), the sexy nighttime roses (Serge Lutens Rose de Nuit, Ungaro’s Diva, Bond No. 9 West Side, Frederic Malle Une Rose, Juliette Has A Gun Citizen Queen & Lady Vengeance, Czech & Speake 88, L’Artisan Voleur de Rose), the “so natural I forget it’s perfume and think I have a bouquet of roses stuffed in my blouse” variety (Annick Goutal Ce Soir ou Jamais, The Perfumer’s Workshop Tea Rose, Dawn Spencer Hurwitz American Beauty, Les Parfums Rosine Ecume de Rose) and so many others.

MeUR falls into a different category from those I’ve listed above. I would describe MeUR as refined, modern, abstract and pretty. Stella is said to be similar to MeUR, and I definitely see the comparison, but Stella pales next to MeUR. I also see a bit of similarity between the style of Dawn Spencer Hurwitz American Beauty and MeUR because both are so round, full, red, gauzy and rosy, rosy, rosy. MeUR, along with Dawn Spencer Hurwitz American Beauty are probably the two most beautiful unabashedly rose, however, refined and conservative rose fragrances I’ve ever smelled. It seems that the addition of amber, musk and vanilla give MeUR a gauzy, billowy, abstract rose quality. Some rose fragrances are so real they prick you with their thorns or so heady and sharp you nearly hold your breath the first 30 minutes but MeUR would never do such a thing because she is so utterly refined and charming. I think of MeUR as the perfect scent to wear when meeting your in-laws for brunch. While MeUR is refined it also smells so breathtakingly good that it will please you as much as it will please them. This is the point I want to highlight about MeUR – that it pleases others as much as it does you. There aren’t very many fragrances I can think of which are crowd pleaser's but also manage to please me every bit as much – MeUR pulls this off effortlessly and with panache. It’s just that perfect.

As of today you can purchase Mille et Une Roses from BeautyEncounter for $59.90 (1.7 oz) which is approximately ½ price.

Longevity: Average 3-4 hours
Sillage: Nice, a bit of sillage but not too loud

Greek To Me

This morning I arrived in Thessaloniki, Greece, with a major headache and a boundless enthusiasm particular to the American Traveler, which might not be the best combination, but my seat on the airplane wasn't ideal, either. My plan: watch Mike Leigh's "Happy Go-Lucky" on the head rest monitor, snuggle up in airline-provided blanky, and zzzzzzzzzz. Lufthansa is a great airline, and I don't mind if I plug it, but like every transcontinental plane, mine was a tight squeeze. This is fine if you happen to be seated next to a diminutive, meek little lady from Asia. Add many, many pounds and you get snoring, instead. Lots of snoring. So much of it that I actually felt sorry for the guy, who after all wasn't the one losing sleep over it.

My first stop was Munich. Maybe the city isn't always as grey and drizzly as it was this morning (or was it yesterday morning?) but it had a definitive air about it, as if Munich never sees sunlight. The Duty Free was a little more cheerful. As I'd hoped, they had Chanel No. 19 EDP (softer, richer) and Pour Monsieur (not concentree but the plain old EDT, unavailable in the US). They also had the new Insolence EDP, and I'm sorry, but is there really a difference? It smells very much the same to me. True, it lacks that top note so many find screechy, but that note has always been a pleasure to me, like a bright yellow, deluxe 1978 Camaro peeling out in front of the Sunday Brunch crowd. It's good, trashy fun. Without it, Insolence feels a little too well-behaved. Picture Patty Smith in a pinafore. What would be the point, really?

Also seen at the Munich Duty Free: an extreme version of L'Instant Pour Homme. It smells great, and true to its name, more extreme than the plain old same old. I'm not sure why I need both. Also in the house: Dior Eau Sauvage Cuir (nice but fleeting), Tabac in EDT (in the states, I've only ever seen cologne; that said, the edt is no more persistent), some Rance fragrances (I'd never smelled, let alone heard of these, and some of them smell good), L'Instant Magic (after a sleepless flight, I nearly dozed smelling this), and a Guerlain I'd never heard of, which smelled nice and eventually will come to me, I imagine, once my jet lag subsides. Duty Free has a full blown affair with Jill Sander fragrances, and it wants everyone to know. Who knew Jill Sander had so many perfumes. They take up three rows.

I managed to smell the new Galliano fragrance, and I can tell you I'm not impressed, nor was anyone who stood behind and in front of me at customs. Imagine watery cedar and something only marginally violet. Picture this staying on your skin longer than you'd like.

My ride from the airport asked about the whole "Obama thing." Oh how the world loves America now. We are redeemed, in its eyes. Let's hope our hope isn't misplaced. Thessaloniki was bustling as we navigated its streets discussing politics. Many cute guys and girls. One cute guy on the plane spilled his Sprite all over his lap as soon as it was handed to him, and I had to restrain myself from helping him as much as I felt compelled to. People smoke everywhere here. I instantly thought of "Jasmine and Cigarettes" and wished I'd brought it. In Munich they had little plexiglass cubes you could stand in and smoke yourself silly. Not so Thessaloniki. Everywhere, cigarette smoke. In a way it pleases me, though it exacerbates my headache. It's nice to see a place which hasn't been entirely colonized by the legislation of space. That said, there are Starbucks here. Tomorrow I go looking for Etat Libre D'Orange at the local mall, and will see some movies at the festival, and will see some sights; culture, history, good-looking people looking good and knowing it with an easy, sociable confidence which strikes me, already, as distinctly Greek. Thanks to Perfume Shrine and Fragrance Bouquet for all the wonderful tips on this city. I hope to explore them all.

Decants I brought: Chanel Cuir de Russie, DK Signature, Mitsouko, Ditpyque L'Ombre, Cedre Sandaraque, Habanita, Aimez-Moi. I bought a dirt cheap bottle of Trussardi Homme at the duty free.

Alien: Back to the Future

Some scents are so comprehensively maligned, so universally derided, it's a wonder they don't burn through your skin, drip onto the floor, burn through the floor, and drip onward into the basement to form a permanent, toxic cesspool. What is it about Thierry Mugler's Alien that people love to hate? Bloggers discredit the fragrance without reservation. Those who like it at first ultimately confess to have been mistaken. It has the kind of sillage and persistence most of us wish other favorites had, yet we consider it inexcusably pushy. Is it really any more insidious or pernicious than Comme des Garcon Zagorsk or its brethren incense fragrances? Is it any more likely than Mitsouko to give those unlucky enough to wander into our ten-mile radius a side-splitting headache? Mitsouko EDP is gorgeous, to be sure, but arguments in favor of its magnificent subtlety fall flat with me.

Confession: I love Alien.

There, it's out, and I feel better. So I'm not the perfect perfumista. I appreciate the vintage Guerlains, I adore L'Artisan, I'm conversant in Etat Libre D'Orange and Lutens. I can smell and identify unlabelled bottles of Chypre Rouge, Chanel Coromandel, Caron Parfum Sacre and Vol de Nuit. I know who Chandler Burr is. The names Luca Turin, Tania Sanchez, Christopher Sheldrake, Annick Menardo, Jacques Cavallier, Guy Robert, Roudnitska, and Polge roll off my tongue with a fluency reserved for seasoned snobs. And I have dozens of scents which will end up on no one's top ten list but are in heavy rotation in my perfume cabinet. Alien is one of them.

You dare me to wear it every day? Then I'll see, you snicker. It will seep into my brain and etch its crazy-making patterns into my cerebellum. My frontal lobe will disintegrate in retaliation. Wear it every day, you advise, and I'll see very quickly what a novelty my fondness for Alien is.

You're so silly. I don't wear anything every day. Not even underwear. There isn't a scent in my cabinet, that I can think of, which I've worn more than one day in a row, and very few I've stayed with throughout the morning and into the afternoon. Another confession: typically, I wear more than one fragrance at once. Sometimes, okay, often, as many as four or seven. The curious thing is, when I wear Alien, I tend to wear nothing else.

Alien was created by Dominique Ropion and Laurent Bruyere. I've enjoyed many Ropion fragrances: Vetiver Extraordinaire, the much-maligned Amarige, Carnal Flower, Safari. I own all of those but here's another heresy: I like Alien the most. Surely I'm sick in the head. Certainly my license to blog must be revoked.

I'm not saying Alien is the best perfume ever. I'm saying I like it very much. I also like a cheap perfume called Benandre which used to cost about as much as a pack of chewing gum. Alien is a strong gust of jasmine, but an odd jasmine. Many people have commented on the disparity between Alien's smell and its name. Shouldn't something called Alien smell a little weirder? Shouldn't it smell like something out of H.R. Giger looks? To me, it's plenty strange. I smell the Cashmeran, a plush woodiness which registers right from the top and straight on into the dry down (from your skin to the floor to the basement etc.) I smell a soapy jasmine with no indolic undertones.

That makes sense to me. In space, I imagine, no one smells the indole when you wear jasmine. I do get some amber, and I even understand the conceptual idea behind "solar notes". I don't get "old lady" from Alien. I get "old lady" Alien, a playful interpretation of your mother's Sunday perfume. She's glowing from a recent meteor shower. The C-33-RID has combed and styled her hair in the latest fashion: Rogue Warrior Princess. Mechanical corsets have fashioned her figure into the hourglass she saw in a recent episode of Little House on the Late Great Planet Earth. She smells divine. After punching codes into her automated decant, after scanning photos from vintage issues of Vogue and Harper's Bazaar under its laser sensors, she was given a purplish elixir, its gelatinous contents producing a scrolling vapor above the bottle. It smells like she imagines her ancestors did, interpreted for the future.

Scents Guys Aren't Supposed to Wear But Should, If Only to Flip People Who Say They Shouldn't the Finger

Anytime I scan Basenotes.net, I'm always surprised to find definitive statements. This is that, it isn't the other thing, don't try this, that other thing is wretched, your skin will rot, your teeth will fall out, etc. Such declarative pronouncements make no sense to me when it comes to perfume. One person's skin rot is another's salve, really, and if I like Angel, and you don't, why should I listen to your comments about something you feel compares unfavorably?

The things I least like to hear on Basenotes have to do with gender. While I think perfume aficionados seem generally to be forward thinking, their reviews certainly belie some fairly rigid ideas about gender codes. At the very least, most of the reviewers draw a line somewhere, denoting what is and isn't appropriate for one gender or the other to wear. That line is typically drawn at florals, especially soliflors. Almost everyone agrees that, like it or not, a line exists somewhere. But orientals and various other categories of fragrance elicit the same verdict. Of Samsara, one female reviewer noted emphatically: "It is in no way unisex." Even male reviewers agreed. Too floral; wish there was a men's version.

Again, one man's floral, category "too", is another man's "not enough". I wear all of the following. I would love to tell you I don't feel self-conscious when I do. But I can also tell you that I wear them in a spirit of defiance against the legislation of smell. I really don't care what your mother wore. I don't care what my own mother wore. I know what I like. Ultimately it comes down to taste, regardless what those without any will tell you. Go ahead, call me Mama. I can take it.

Following are a list of fragrances considered by many or most to be feminine; not just slightly but definitively.

Samsara

So many people comment on Samsara's tenacity. I have the EDT, which might explain why it doesn't project too far or for too long on my skin. But I do find that scents said to be strong by others read meek on me. All bark, no bite. While Samsara lasts, I love it. Not that it vanishes, exactly. Periodically throughout the day I can smell it. But it doesn't come on strong by any means, particularly not compared to some of the other glorious stink bombs I wear and admire. Ylang Ylang seems to be one of those notes no one can bring him- or herself to imagine on a man. Samsara is said to have a lot of it. Jasmine, itself arguably "feminine", can't help much. Yet, along with these are notes which confuse the picture. Carnation lends a certain bite, a sharp angularity to what might otherwise be soft and cushy. Bergamot and Tarragon extend the fragrance toward citrus and herbal. Sandal, benzoin, vanilla, and tonka aren't exactly the stuff of petticoats and pinafores. Samsara smells closer to male than many masculines I've known, unless by masculine you mean B.O.

Pure White Linen

And White Linen proper, for that matter. I'll never understand why aldehydes are considered the exclusive domain of the ladylike. Pure White Linen has a nice honeysuckle emphasis, complicated by tea notes which veer it off into clean and crisp in contrapuntal thrusts. I wear most of the Lauder fragrances, and own all but Pleasures and its flankers. Cinnabar is one of my favorites. Youth Dew is an old reliable. Spellbound has its detractors but it continues to engage me. Pure White Linen adheres to that school of fragrance where cleanliness is next to godliness and perfume should be smelled not heard. I've never covered my ears when a perfume raises its voice, but I understand the attraction of clean, and Pure White Linen is exemplary of the trend. That said, it harbors hidden dissonance. It isn't, ultimately, as quiet as it seems. Perhaps it's just the faintest whiff of indole dirtying the overall impression. Maybe it's simply the fact that despite its "air" notes, Pure White Linen is anything but transparent or weightless. The pyramids of most fragrances sum up their contents in, say, twelve words or less. This is one of those everything but the kitchen sink fragrances, where grapefruit, cardamom, Granny Smith apple, raspberry and patchouli all hold hands, or jump under the covers.

Kelly Caleche

I have many, many, many bottles of perfume. Trust me. Looking at most of them, you might believe they haven't yet been used. Not so Kelly Caleche, which, after only a few months, is a good inch below the top of the bottle. I love the peppery opening, the crisp iris and the last-forever dry down. I've heard people say it's too tame, nothing special--or, more witheringly, confused. It makes perfect sense to me, and seems pretty bold in some ways on a guy. Soft but not plush, sharp without being shrill, Kelly Caleche wears wonderfully. Some scents require conceptual work before I can see them on a man. I have to work my mind around the idea, and break the fragrance free of its immediate associations. Kelly Caleche read masculine to me from the moment I smelled it. I have an aversion to many of Jean Claude Ellena's alleged masterpieces. They seem weak-kneed to me. I picture everyone sitting around the table to a home cooked meal. Everyone knows the food needs more salt but no one has the heart to reach for the shaker. Kelly Caleche saved me the trouble. I'm convinced that the briefing asked for a feminine, and because Kelly Caleche isn't quite, they colored it pink, just so everyone would know.

Insolence

Some of the stores in the east village sell the most incredible violet candies. They come wrapped in purple foil with vintage lettering. The tablets are dime sized but square and taste of soap and violet. They're curiously dry. They're manufactured by Choward, a British Company, and taste better than anything on Earth. You can buy them by the case for 12 bucks on Amazon, and oh are they worth every penny. One of my most perverse pleasures is handing one to a novitiate. The facial expressions as they chew on the tablet for the first time never ceases to bring me gut-wrenching delight. I find not everyone loves them, obviously--but more for me.

And so it goes with Insolence. Several notes are considered so feminine that to suggest otherwise is blasphemy. Against whom, I don't know. I suppose I'll never stop arguing for the emancipation of violet from such silly restrictions. I love many violet fragrances, Dans tes Bras being a recent addition to the canon. I've also enjoyed Creed's Love in Black, Bois de Violette, Grey Flannel, and Halston, among others. Insolence is in a category all its own. It might be enough for me to say it was made by Maurice Roucel. If not, I might assure you that the fragrance lasts all day, and then some, and projects as impressively. I've yet to smell the EDP.

So many knock Insolence, dismissing it as an ultimately imperfect fragrance, a near miss. They cite the alleged hairspray note at the top, a note I don't get; then again, I don't have much experience with hairspray. To me, there's nothing at all wrong with Insolence.

Alliage

I keep singing the praises of this Lauder. It always seemed perfectly alien to me, neither male nor female, like Daryl Hannah in Blade Runner; indeterminately gendered, hopping all over the place faster than you can put a finger on it. Then I smelled Devin, also by Bernard Chant, and saw, again, what a little sneak Chant was. Aramis 900 smells not a great deal different than Aromatics Elixir. Aramis, Cabochard and Azuree all share more than a little of the same DNA. What distinguishes these from each other on the gender spectrum is often nothing more than real estate, showing how insidious conditioning and the power of suggestion are. Ask yourself how many so-called feminine fragrances might pass unsuspectingly as masculines if they simply crossed the aisle and the packaging changed. I often wonder. Chant seemed to have already made up his mind. His answer: tons.

Love in Paris

Metallic but fruity, a sort of peachy cum apricot note with the properties of a shiny tin roof reflecting the sun. Love in Paris lasts well and smells, on men, vaguely scandalous. Fragranceshop lists the notes as follows: Roses, Peonies, Jasmine, Vanilla, Greens of Violet, Star Anise, Wood, Apricot. The wood is decisive, complicating what would otherwise be more tongue in cheek as a masculine. I find that one note is enough to carry a fragrance across the gender divide for me. Wood, whatever it might be here, is possibly lost on a woman. Your mind smells the rest and the prevailing impression corresponds to expectations. Put Love in Paris on a man, and the wood teases out, popping like a compelling contradiction. It smells femme, but a guy is wearing it, and there's that wood in there too. Hmmm.

Postscript: By teasing out and popping I do not mean what you think I mean, unless you think it's very funny, in which case I do.

Diptyque Ofrésia: A Review

Diptyque fragrances are usually very true to what they’re meant to smell like. In perfume terms, nearly all Diptyque fragrances are linear (which means they don’t change much from initial spritz to dry down) and you can pretty much tell what you’re going to smell from the name. Diptyque’s Ofrésia is, as the name suggest, about the freesia flower.

Ofrésia is a shockingly beautiful fragrance. It isn’t just about the flowers but the whole plant uprooted and put into a bottle with a dusting of soil and a hefty dose of pepper. The addition of pepper is genius – it gives Ofrésia a tingly and lively quality that seems the perfect addition to an otherwise seemingly simplistic freesia soliflore.

I’ve had freesia growing in my garden the past few years. The smell of freesias are unmistakable, their aroma is sweet, green and slightly waxy. Ofrésia seems to be an exact replica of the natural scent of freesias, a photograph as opposed to a whimsical painting.

Ofrésia starts off with a near sneeze-worthy burst of sweet freesia and pepper. After about 20 minutes the pepper settles into the background and a green, stemmy, vegetal quality takes center stage. Ofrésia celebrates greenness over its sweet floral qualities so it is never a heady sweet thing. The pepper and slight woodsy notes happily hang around in the background to give the fragrance a very interesting zip – Ofrésia is not a boring scent. (In Perfumes: The Guide, Luca Turin writes that Ofrésia is “…a somewhat boring freesia accord,” and I can only disagree and imagine that if Ofrésia were created by Guerlain instead of Diptyque he would call it ravishing).

Ofrésia is a beautiful green fragrance with light airy freesia tickled by wafts of peppery woods.

Sillage: Average
Longevity: Excellent, easily 4-5 hours

TWRT (This Week's Random Thoughts)

1. I'm slowly figuring out that the very first frags I smelled and liked are the ones I eventually go back to. Case in point, Molinard Madrigal. Smelled it in Portland at the Perfume House but passed on it. Almost a year later, I've ordered it online. I hadn't smelled it since, and am surprised by it; either I've changed, or it has. I'm guessing me. I love it but doubt I'd be drawn to it in a store at this point. I've smelled too much in the interim. My tastes have expanded.

2. Notes on Madrigal: sweetish, herbal patchouli? Deceptively long-lasting. Put it on then took a bath. Smelled my wrist a few hours later and there it was.

3. Chicagoans eat what one might politely call hearty food. I'm not sure how to train my stomach to withstand the assault of a four cheese deep dish pizza with pesto sauce. It felt more like drowning than eating, with mozzarella in place of water.

4. I don't mind a little bit of snobbery in my perfume reps, as long as they truly know what they're talking about. I will admit that this could be an allergic reaction to all the Sephora stupidity the local mall subjects me to. But an opinion doesn't turn me off. I have my own, too.

5. Chanel Coromandel reminds me a little of the original Prada. Please don't send me hate mail.

6. The perfumes currently sitting out on my dresser: Knowing, Madrigal (see no.'s 1 and 2), Ditpyque L'Ombre, Essence of John Galliano, Comme des Garcon 2, Rochas Femme, Rosine's Poussiere, Broadway Nite, Diorella, Dioressence.

7. The perfume I use most lately, despite a constant influx of competition: Donna Karan Signature.

8. The reason I wear DK Signature so much: unknown.

9. DK Chaos came in the mail and I'm so bewildered by it that I'm convinced I must have received a different Chaos than the one everyone salivates about. It isn't just that it's distantly related to Black Cashmere, as I've heard; it seems practically identical to me for the first ten minutes, and after the first ten minutes I can't smell enough of anything to compare it to squat.

10. While on the subject of Donna Karan: maybe my bottle of Black Cashmere is off, too. After hearing how bold and tenacious it is, I'm surprised, even mildly shocked, at how closely Black Casmere sticks to my skin. I'll stick with Signature, another interesting addition, the most wearable yet, to the leather/suede arsenal in my cabinet.

11. Turns out, straight men will buy good, even great fragrance, if you take them in the right direction. And it's absolutely true, unfortunately, that an attractive saleswoman can sell them anything. Make sure she's as smart as she is pretty.

12. Conversely, that thing Baudelaire wrote about the dog and the perfume bottle is true, ya'll. Hold the most expensive bottle you can find under a dog's nose and it will recoil in horror. Hold shit under its nose and you have a lifelong, pant-happy friend. How this relates to people I leave to your imagination, and Baudelaire's, but I'm guessing it's at least implying that more people like shit than you would suspect. Perhaps if a beautiful saleswoman had held the bottle up to the dog's nose? Consult the picture above for an idea of the dog's master. You might recoil too.