Vivienne Westwood Boudoir

Boudoir is perhaps the only fragrance which caused me to swoon to unbelievable heights at first spritz then soar into absolute nausea by the end of the day. I mean, I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I needed to shower. I simply had to launder the clothing it had contaminated.

I’ve read the reviews of Boudoir (including TS’s review in The Guide calling it “Bidet”) so I was prepared for something potentially gaggity. Perhaps this over preparation is what caused me to both love it and hate it so strongly. At first, Boudoir smells like a potent fl-oriental with loads of powder – but in a very pretty ladylike (ok, maybe lady of the night) manner. I kept thinking (for the first hour) why does everyone call this skanky/dirty because it’s so sultry gorgeous. That first hour was pure joy. I thought I had found (another) top 10 scent of all time.

Then...after about 3 hours Boudoir began to smell like, like...well I’ll just say it...like bodily fluids, female bodily fluids in particular and very similar to the way your sheets might smell after having a really, um, sweaty and repeated romp all night long during the summer in a humid bedroom without air conditioning. Sweet, musky, sex.

I came home from the office and told my husband I needed to jump in the shower because I felt like I smelled like a “prostitute who had a very busy day.” He took a whiff and said that I kinda did smell like that. Well, then, of course I said “How do you know what a busy prostitute smells like?!”

Listed notes for Boudoir: viburnum, marigold, orange blossom, orris, rose, cinnamon, coriander, cardamom, amber, vanilla, sandalwood, patchouli.

Serge Lutens Nuit de Cellophane: A Review

Nuit de Cellophane does not smell particularly like osmanthus. Instead it is a bright, joyous and billowy white floral, heavy on jasmine, lily, champaca and some fruity citrus. Nuit de Cellophane is a beautiful white floral but it is not worthy of the Lutens name. There is absolutely nothing unusual, unique, jarring or unexpected about Nuit de Cellophane. It is very pretty, very well done and very mainstream.

For those who adore Serge Lutens because they desire the brands’ ability to cause consideration of perfume as an intellectual pursuit or perhaps you are drawn to Lutens because you love to find the beauty within the beast, the good inside the bad, the swooning within the sickening, well, do not look to Nuit de Cellophane for any of this. I must admit that my first thought after wearing Nuit de Cellophane was, “the SL brand must need a mainstream success very badly; they must need some easy sales in a tough economy.” Let’s face it; perfumery is an art within a business landscape after all, so they very much need to sell the bloody juice.

After considering the Lutens line a bit further I can see how they might very well need an easy commercial success. A La Nuit is an extremely heady and heavy jasmine fragrance. It is incredibly indolic and while this is its main appeal for me, it might be considered too much for most people. Sarrasins is my second favorite jasmine fragrance of all time (2nd to Thierry Mugler Alien of all things!). I love Sarrasins because of it’s undercurrent of leather. Jasmine and leather is an unusual pair that works gorgeously. Datura Noir is a sultry rendition of the night blooming Datura flower. It’s sexy, unusually waxy and somewhat tropical, although as pretty as it is, it has an acquired taste, so to speak. I suppose the Serge Lutens brand needed a beautiful white floral, which was simply pretty without any weird notes whatsoever, and downright linear. (yes, a completely linear Lutens!).

In sum, I will grant Lutens this mainstream white floral and wish him huge success in the hope that it will simply be an aberration and Lutens/Sheldrake can then go back to creating atrocious beauties like Tubereuse Criminelle, Iris Silver Mist and Musc Koublai Khan again soon. *draws in breath after run-on sentence*

Annick Goutal Un Matin d’Orage: A Review

Un Matin d’Orange is the newest fragrance from Annick Goutal created by Isablle Doyen. It’s important to note the name is “d’Orage” and not “d’Orange” and it has very little to do with orange or citrus.

Un Matin d'Orage loosely translates to "a stormy morning" in English and thus is the way the fragrance is described by the house of Annick Goutal.

A gardenia soliflore this is not. Un Matin d’Orage opens with a beautifully lush, dewy and green gardenia accord but this phase is short lived (this is somewhat sad as this initial stage is gorgeous). After a mere 10 minutes or so, the obviousness of the gardenia recedes unto the background, or I should say very near oblivion. What presents itself is described by Annick Goutal as “flowers after a storm.” I must admit to finding this a lovely and romanticized idea but this is not what the fragrance smells like to me. There’s a strong similarity to Hermes Apres La Mousson, sans the melon note. The similarity with Apres La Mousson is a watery vetiver scent, while not listed among the notes, I find myself smelling a mild vetiver rather intensely. Un Matin d’Orange is an atmospheric fragrance, recalling wet stones and leaves in a realistically natural landscape of earthy wetness, damp green vegetation atop a musky herbal quality.

The house of Annick Goutal has created many beautiful soliflores and fragrances that can be characterized quite simply as “pretty.” Un Matin d’Orage is gorgeous, but it is not just a pretty thing – it is rather edgy, raw, emotional and unusual; closer to something you’d expect from Les Nez (thinking Manoumalia and Turtle Vetiver) or Andy Tauer and it’s also easily a unisex fragrance.

I personally love almost everything from Annick Goutal, and Un Matin d’Orage is no exception. I’m actually surprised and heartened by the edgy earthiness of d’Orage and feel proud that Isabelle Doyen isn’t afraid to take the house in a potentially new direction or at the very least branch out from the simplicity of the soliflores and feminine florals. Another nice aspect of d’Orage is that it’s more potent that most Annick Goutal fragrances and the longevity is very good.

Notes are listed as: Sicilian lemon, ginger, gardenia, shiso leaves (also known as perilla leaves), magnolia, champaca flowers, jasmine from Indonesia and sandalwood.

Jean Patou Chaldee: More Like a Tribute than a Review

Wearing Chaldée gives me visions. Composed in the 1920’s, Chaldée makes me think of this period of time, in the early 1900’s, when an obsession with the Orient and a fixation on all things exotic swept through Europe and the Americas. My friend, the one who enabled me to find all these gorgeous Patou’s, likens Chaldée to a kitten, whose fur has been warmed by the sun, sitting atop your arm. I like to think of this kitten as my dearly departed cat, her name was Payton, and she was an exotic & rare breed, called a Havana Brown. Payton’s silky brown fur had a softly sweet scent especially when she could be found languishing by the window in a stream of sunlight.

The name Chaldée refers to the Chaldean dynasty of ancient Babylonia. The Chaldeans were Semitic people, with golden skin and dark hair, living along the coast, near the sea, close to what is today the Persian Gulf. This is a fitting name for the fragrance; given the house of Jean Patou was the first to create suntan oil. Chaldée parfum is meant to be Patou’s interpretation of suntan oil as a fragrance.

I often read others lamenting the discontinuation of certain perfumes or suggesting that reformulations (particularly Caron) are nowhere near as good as the originals. I must admit to being rather annoyed by Luca Turin’s nonstop complaints about Caron perfumes in The Guide. I’ve never smelled the original Caron’s so when reading The Guide, I wished he would just let it go. However, when I smelled the fragrances of the Jean Patou Ma Collection, I suddenly, very deeply, understood these complaints. There aren’t many perfumes as gorgeous and yet as wearable as Chaldée.

While Jean Patou had suntain oil, the beach and the Orient in mind when he asked Henri Alméras to create Chaldée, it smells nothing like a modern day “beach” scent. Chaldée is a soft oriental fragrance; it is warm and welcoming and literally melts into your skin. It is one of those perfumes where the notes tell me just about nothing because I don’t smell particular notes, except perhaps the most perfectly balanced amber with opoponax (myrrh); a not-very-sweet vanilla with florals. Many have called Chaldée powdery, and it just isn’t powdery to my nose, perhaps the powdery aspect is meant to describe just how smooth and velvety the fragrance is.

Chaldée is soothing, warm, hypnotic and mesmerizing. It is not edgy or unusual or overpowering nor do I think it smells dated or old-fashioned. I now understand the wails of those who lament the discontinuation of gorgeous vintage gems and while I think I have enough to last me awhile I feel panicky about its dwindling status and find myself furtively searching the net for additional bottles…

Notes: orange flower, hyacinth, jasmine, narcissus, lilac, vanilla, opoponax & amber

Today's Random Thoughts

I’ve been quiet for ages – I’ve missed writing and I’ve missed my imaginary readers!

First: Guerlain’s newest, Le Petit Robe Noire is atrocious. It smells like cherry cough syrup/fruit punch/berry throat lozenges. Guess what folks? Perfume is not simply an art but a business! Guerlain is in the business of making money and Robe Noire will probably sell (to a demographic other than perfumistas).

With the help of an absolute angel – a fragrant fairy princess – a true vintage perfume investigator and spy - and a charming and dear, dear person – I was able to acquire 10 of the 12 perfumes from the legendary Jean Patou Ma Collection. I’m head over heels for Chaldee. I’m crazy for Caline. I’ve lost consciousness over Vacances. All of these are now available at The Posh Peasant – I shudder to think of these bottles disappearing (I promise I won’t freak out and remove them from the site – at least not tonight!)

Gobin Daude Seve Exquise and Sous Le Buis are extraordinary. Where is Victoire Gobin-Daude? Please come back – please continue to make your brilliant perfumes!

Big Love is such a great show. I’m finding Nicki’s story line compelling. I’m afraid Sara is going to stay close to home and live a polygamist life now that she’s not going to ASU. Question: Towards the end of Sunday’s episode, there’s a man in a dress in the barn when Roman tries to force Kathy to marry Hollis Green. Is that a man or a woman in the barn with a dress on? I thought that was a man – is she a cross-dressing Mormon?! I’m confused. Stabbing the pig with a pitchfork was unacceptable. Oh, and I love Bill’s mother – she’s a fantastic character.

I purchased Barbara Bui White Oil for next to nothing ($14.95). At first I was disappointed because it doesn’t have much scent. Then I realized it’s a fantastic base for helping perfume last longer. The Barbara Bui White Oil is non-greasy – and used under a fragrance I’ve noticed the scent definitely lasts longer.

I’ve never watched The Bachelor but it’s on TV right now and I’m finding the whole premise awkward and staged.

I have three paphiopedilum orchids just beginning to bloom – yippee!

Last weekend I made the easiest soup and it was absolutely delicious. I pureed broccoli, carrots, zucchini, cauliflower, celery, potatoes, leeks, onions and tons of garlic in a blender (after boiling). I simply pureed everything and then added a few tablespoons of butter with salt and pepper and it was crazy good. I served it with garlic bread. The soup itself was thick and a light green in color. The addition of fresh herbs could send this over the top.

Anyone from New Zealand out there? How do you find the characterization of New Zealand on Flight of the Conchords? It’s hysterically funny but I rather cringe when they poke fun at NZ so often.

Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier: Eau de Camelia Chinois

Many online reviewers have it stuck in their craw: a major offense committed by a perfume with the word camelia in its name is the fact that camellia flowers have no smell. Getting indignant about this makes about as much sense as faulting Bulgari black because color has no scent either, or Bal a Versailles, or Coco, so I won't waste much time dwelling on such a non-issue, except to remind people that perfume is more typically associative and abstract than literal and representative. I should also point out that the name of this fragrance more likely refers to the leaves and leaf buds of the camellia, which are used to produce teas such as oolong, white tea, black tea, green tea, and pu-erh tea, all of which are plenty fragrant. I'm going to venture a guess that Chinois means Chinese, too, as opposed to the kitchen utensil of the same name, lest any residual confusion around the name of this fragrance get our tightie-whities in a wad.

Reviewers also fault Eau de Camelia Chinois for smelling similar to Barney's Route de Te. It does--but again, this is like faulting the color gray for being derivative of the color black. Very few perfumes smell like nothing else known to man, let alone like no other perfume known to perfumistas. Personally I derive a lot of pleasure from discerning the differences between very similar fragrances. It helps elucidate what makes them special. Opium and Cinnabar are closely aligned, but the differences between them help you appreciate each more, and spending some time with those observations can teach you a lot about how different elements and accords can influence the same basic elements. I always like Route de Te, and it's true I might not want to own both, but Camelia has its own tonal distinctions and is worth considering separately.

The tea note is unmistakable, as is a bright ringing citrus note up top. Upon first spraying Camelia, the nostrils burn a bit, as if someone had zested a lemon or an orange rind on your skin. That settles down quickly, and the heart of the fragrance emerges. Camelia is bright throughout but has a nice, sturdy foundation, underscoring the tea and grass notes with a smokier, more herbal edge. Where Route de Te remains cheerfully bright and loud for the duration, Camelia creates a chromatic tension between light and dark, heavy and light, and, though an eau de toilette, has the lasting power of many eau de parfums.

It makes for a fantastic Spring and Summer scent and would even bring some levity and icy warmth to the winter season as well. Like Tommy Girl, it speaks with pinpoint clarity, feels crisp and clean with a hint of the dirty underbelly lurking beneath any patch of leafy green. The florals and tea are blended much more smoothly, I think, than the notes in Route de Te, resulting in a nice, mellow feel. You can smell the apple, as in Tommy Girl, but also the grapefruit, the pineapple and the banana. Less readily apparent are basil and fir, though their presence makes intuitive sense. Camelia ultimately feels more sophisticated than Route de Te to me, and proposes a nice, languid alternative to Tommy Girl's non-stop 50 kilowatt, five mile radiance.

The bottle is a big block of a thing and would look very cheap or very elegant sitting out on your dresser, depending on your taste in things and who you happen to be.

Perfection Squared; the NY Times Style Mag on Chanel No. 5, The Bottle

"Chanel's competitors have spent millions of dollars in (mostly) ill-fated attempts to produce perfume bottles as memorable as No. 5's.  Very few packages are as well known as, if not better known than, their contents: the Coca-Cola bottle is one, the Tiffany box is another.  How has Chanel done it?...

"The bottle looked dramatically different from conventional ones and echoed the work of Chanel's favorite artists and designers.  Its geometric shape evoked the 'purist villas' that pioneering Modernist architects like Le Corbusier were building for fashionable clients in and around Paris.  The sans-serif lettering was similar to the radical typefaces being developed by avant-garde designers like Jan Tschichold and Laszlo Moholy-Nagy in Germany...

"Critically, Chanel softened these influences in her bottle.  The glass edges were gently rounded, making it seem less radical and more welcoming.  She achieved a similar effect with the lettering.  Whereas Tschichold and Moholy-Nagy were experimenting with sans-serif typefaces in lower-case letters and ditching old-fashioned capitals (on the grounds that they were not only undemocratic but, like decorative squiggles, unnecessarily distracting in the frenzy of modern life), Chanel did the opposite.  By using nothing but capitals, she made her label seem more authoritative and less subversive...

"A few intriguingly designed bottles have surfaced since 1921.  Chanel's archrival, Elsa Schiaparelli, kicked it off in 1937 with her surrealist-inspired Shocking bottle, shaped like Mae West's torso...  Most other perfume bottles have been forgettable at best..."

from "Message in a Bottle", by Alice Rawsthorn, The New York Times Style Magazine, Women's Fashion issue, Spring 2009

More on Schiaparelli and Chanel

From the New Yorker, October 27, 2003, "Mother of Invention", by Judith Thurman:

Chanel spent the war shacked up with a Nazi officer at the Ritz, on the Place Vendome, from whose windows she could have looked down upon her rival's salon.  Schiaparelli fled to New York, where, in 1942, she helped Marcel Duchamp organize "First papers of Surrealism," an exhibition that raised funds for a consortium of French relief charities.  She settled in Princeton, promoted her perfumes, lectured on fashion to adoring crowds, and volunteered as a nurse's aide at Bellevue.  The Roosevelts entertained her at the White House.  Though various manufacturers offered to bankroll a collection, she refused to design clothes in exile, out of loyalty to, and solidarity with, the couturiers and artisans of Occupied Paris.  When the war ended, she reclaimed her seventeenth-century mansion on the Rue de Berri, which had been commandeered by the germans.  White relates that she found a desk drawer filled with the visiting cards of French celebrities who had been received there, "and she never invited one of them again."  She cranked up her business, doubled the salary of everyone on her staff, and staged a comeback with bustled gowns, wasp-waisted suits, and sportswear influenced by British Army Uniforms.  Her postwar collections were critically well received, and her licensing agreements with America continued to provide a handsome source of income, but the economics of couture has changed, and, while searching for her bearings in a much altered landscape, she began, for the first time--fatally--to look back.

On February 3, 1954, two days before Chanel emerged from retirement to reopen her atelier on Rue Cambon, Schiaparelli presented what would prove to be her farewell show.  She filed for bankruptcy ten months later.  Her work was out of tune with the taste of a conservative postwar public unwilling to think too hard, and weary of irony and aggression.  Chanel became a household word, and Schiaparelli a name that the world would forget how to pronounce.  It's skYAP-a-relli.  The "ch" is hard: like her chic.

Safari by Ralph Lauren

Ralph Lauren launched Safari in 1990 and it was created by nose Dominique Ropion. It is now discontinued and this is such a shame, for it is a classically gorgeous chypre.

For those of you who are chypre-loving fragrance fiends Safari seems a must-have. Given the long list of notes for Safari, I find it to be rather dry and crisp and so easy to wear. Safari is potent, but just enough to last, never too much or overwhelming -- for me it’s the perfect balance of sillage and longevity.

Safari begins with a galbanum, green notes and a citrus blast, which soften quickly letting the floral heart present itself. None of the florals claim their identity to me – it’s mostly a lovely green floral on a bed of dry woods, musk and patchouli. The bitterness of many chypres is not present in Safari – yet it still maintains its gorgeous dry and green quality without ever seeming sweet. Safari seems utterly sophisticated in a classy and well-mannered way – Safari isn’t too showy and perfect for very nearly any occasion. There are many modern chypres which really smell like flor-ientals to me these days – Safari smells like a complex and beautifully rendered chypre, a true chypre, to me. I feel compelled to say it again, it’s such a shame Safari was discontinued.

You can still find Safari at many online discount perfume shops. If Safari is one of your favorites you might considering hoarding a few bottles in case it becomes one of those highly coveted scents going for $300-500 on ebay in the future.

Safari’s notes, from basenotes, are listed as:
Top: Galbanum, green notes, mandarin, aldehyde, hyacinth, orange daffodil, blackcurrant
Heart: Muguet, rose, narcissus, carnation, orchid, honey, jasmine
Base: Cedar, musk, vetiver, styrax, vanilla, amber, tonka bean, patchouli

...and the bottle...it's so beautiful....

Random Thoughts on Shocking de Schiaparelli

Recently, over at nowsmellthis.blogharbor.com, Angela posted a piece on Shocking de Schiaparelli, comparing old version to new. The lucky woman found a bottle of one or the other at the thrift store, along with a quilted robe and a shell-ornamented soap dish, and reports that the versions are only marginally related.

I've never smelled the orginal, though I was told by Christopher Brosius of CB I Hate Perfume that it surprised him: "Not at all what I expected--but then, that was Elsa's genius... I can say that I was expecting something rather deep and exotic from 'Shocking' but found it to be quite light, fresh and brisk - essentially the exact opposite of Chanel no. 5 (which present incarnation I must say I LOATHE, although I do get the point of the original)." Sometime last year, I found a bottle of Shocking (the 1990s reformulation, I'm guessing) and have thoroughly enjoyed the fragrance, however big a bastardization of the Jean Carles original it might be. For me, the newer Shocking has few peers in the category of spice rose, with an excellent ratio of longevity to projection. I'm going to put myself out on a limb and say that I suspect Brosius would dislike it, as in interviews he's made it very clear what he thinks of the volume at which contemporary perfume speaks as a whole. It's true, new Shocking speaks loudly at first, but it settles down into something I'm willing to wait out. Angela isn't exaggerating when she says a spritz of Shocking lasts all day. It does, and then some, in my experience. Honeyed and balsamic, with a prominent clove note, it grows richer and more interesting as time goes on.

Schiaparelli herself interests me more and more, too, especially after reading Canadian writer Derek McCormack's latest book, The Show That Smells. Over the top and tightly written, the novel recounts the story of a non-existant "movie" made by Todd Downing, director of the cult classic Freaks, which stars Elsa Lancaster in the role of Elsa Schiaparelli, a vampire. Her arch-nemesis: Coco Chanel. The whole thing takes place in a hall of mirrors, where Schiaparelli and Chanel fight for the soul of poor, hapless Carrie, whose husband, country singer Jimmy, is dying of Tuberculosis. Schiaparelli agrees to save Jimmy if Carrie will relinquish her soul. I think she wants to eat her, too. Schiaparelli's restorative magic elixir? Why, Shocking, of course. Chanel plays good, Schiaparelli bad, and it's abundantly clear, from the first sentence, that McCormack clearly favors the latter. The Carter Family make appearances as well in this "thrilling tale of HILLBILLIES, HIGH FASHION, AND HORROR! Literate perfume aficionados would definitely find the book thrilling--trading as it does in fashion and fragrance lore, including a longstanding , extravagantly vicious enmity between Chanel and Schiaparelli.

I'd never read much about Schiaparelli before. I assumed she was sort of a novelty act. Reading up on her after McCormack's book, I learned that a lot of this has to do with how her legacy was managed, or mismanaged. Chanel is assumed to be the more relevant, more important (i.e. better) designer. And yet to google Schiaparelli's work is to witness the intersection between surrealism and fashion in the thirties and forties: a skeleton dress, the bones quilted into the fabric; a hat shaped like an upturned shoe; a gown with simulated rips, called the Tear Dress. Schiaparelli, much more so than Chanel, had a sense of humor about what she was doing, and her direct descendants would be Comme des Garçons, Martin Margiela, John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, Moschino, and Etat Libre D'Orange, all of whom share her interest in playing around with the line drawn between good taste and bad, low brow and high. To assume that Schiaparelli is no longer the household word that Chanel is would be tantamount to saying that Van Gogh never sold any paintings during his lifetime because he was a dreadfully untalented painter.