My "Alabama" Perfumes

True Romance is a fantastic flick. Patricia Arquette plays the character of Alabama Whitman-Worley and Quentin Tarantino wrote the screenplay.

Alabama Whitman has been a hooker, I mean a call girl, because Alabama insists there’s a difference, for exactly four days when she meets her third customer, Clarence Worley (Christian Slater), and falls in love.

Alabama is a down on her luck gal with a kind heart who's full of spunk and feist. True Romance isn’t exactly your typical boy meets girl affair – but aside from the stealing, killing, violence, gangsters, pimps and drugs, it’s one of the best love stories, ever.

But I digress. I just wanted you to understand why I call these my Alabama Worley scents. Occasionally I don’t want to wear something discreet, understated, cerebral, neutral or soft – and these times call for my "Alabama" scents.

Top 12 Alabama Scents:
Bond No. 9 Broadway Nite
Dior Addict
Frederic Malle Carnal Flower
Givenchy Amarige
Guerlain Insolence edp
Guerlain Shalimar
Keiko Mecheri Loukhoum
Kenzo Amour
Miller Harris Noix de Tuberose
Monyette Paris
Thierry Mugler Alien
Yves Saint Laurent Baby Doll

Quotes from the movie:
"I'm gonna go jump in the tub and get all slippery and soapy and then hop in that waterbed and watch X-rated movies 'till you get your ass back in my lovn' arms."
- Alabama Whitman-Worley

"Please shut up! I'm trying to come clean, okay? I've been a call-girl for exactly four days and you're my third customer. I want you to know that I'm not damaged goods. I'm not what they call Florida white trash. I'm a good person and when it comes to relationships, I'm one-hundred percent, I'm one hundred percent... monogamous." - Alabama Whitman-Worley

Does everyone have Alabama perfume days or is it just me?

Keiko Mecheri Oliban

Keiko Mecheri Oliban is named for its most prominent scent note, olibanum. Olibanum is the proper name for frankincense which is a fragrant gum resin from Boswellia trees mostly commonly identified as the scent of incense.

Very often I review fragrances that are considered the Greats, such as Guerlain, Chanel, Serge Lutens, Comme des Garcons etc. But just as often I find myself writing about perfumes that are equally as great, but not as often discussed or perhaps disparaged on the perfume forums – the underdogs if you will. Perfumes like Ivoire, Safari, Un Jardin Apres La Mousson, Alien, Lalique Le Parfum (which Turin calls ‘rock bottom’ for Ropion), Angel, Angel Innocent, Youth Dew, Trouble, LouLou and Amarige are all perfumes I love and have written about. The reason I write about these underdogs is threefold, (1) to balance a fragrances’ reputation, particularly if I read mostly negative reviews about a scent that I happen to think is wonderful (*clears throat* Amarige and Angel are definitely on my mind for this point); (2) to point out that there are so many fragrances available at drugstores and department stores that are fabulous – one does not need to shop at Luckyscent to find good perfume or spend over $200 per bottle; and (3) to shed light on an excellent perfume that seems hardly discussed/undiscovered.

I believe Oliban falls into category #3. It’s a fabulously well crafted incense fragrance with gorgeous whiffs of blond tobacco, woods, rose and honey. The initial burst of incense and cedar are refreshingly spiritual (don’t most incense frags seem rather churchy to you?). Oliban, especially at the start, seems soothing, calming, centering and cleansing. When I feel harried, rattled or just tired, Oliban serves as a meditative pick me up. Most frankincense type frags seem decidedly unisex to me (well, all frags, in essence, are unisex but you understand I’m referencing cultural norms here) but Oliban introduces a soft rose note that causes it to lean towards the feminine, just slightly. The middle phase of Oliban is a delicate incense, tobacco and rose aroma – very subtle, a little mysterious, and with just a teaspoon of sweet honey. Oliban is not strictly an incense fragrance like anything from the Comme des Garcons Incense Series – I love Avignon and Zagorsk – but, for me, these are not for wearing to the office – these are ultra dry, seriously hardcore, virtually unadorned by anything but incense and woods fragrances. Oliban, on the other hand, is a perfume that I can wear to the office. Once dried down, some vanilla appears in the base, so for the longest duration Oliban smells like a softly spiced rose draped over a bed of woods and frankincense. Others have mentioned leather – I just don’t smell the leather myself.

I think Oliban would be a nice surprise for those who like incense, but not austere Catholic mass incense. Oliban is similar in style to YSL Nu edp (not edt), sans the pepper.

Longevity: Soft but excellent 5+ hours
Sillage: Soft but present
Rating: 4.5

Listed notes: atlas cedar wood, olibanum, blonde tobacco, damascene rose and honey

Madame Rochas

The Madame Rochas available today at outlet stores like Perfumania is probably a paler rendition of the original 1960 release. Still, it's lovely in a vaguely masculine way, smells both fresh and musky, can be had for less than thirty bucks, and lasts throughout the day. Madame gets knocked around by reviewers for its supposed resemblance to shampoo, and it does have that slight soapiness associated with many older perfumes. But it has enough complexity to make these accusations and comparisons beside the point.

Madame Rochas was designed by Guy Robert using a template made famous by its biggest inspirations, Chanel No. 5 and Arpege. During its development, it travels back and forth along the continuum separating those two. It has the honeyed floral warmth of Arpege, and diffuses off the skin similarly. It doesn't have the aldehyde overload of No. 5, but doesn't seem as aldehyde heavy as Arpege, either. Rose, Jasmine, Tuberose and Lily of the Valley mingle around in the heart of the fragrance, creating more than the sum of their parts.

The base notes interest me the most and, I think, determine what you're smelling throughout the lifespan. Orris root is said to be costly, and I'm not sure how an inexpensive perfume like this one can afford to use much if any, but it's listed in the pyramid, and the overal impression has the buttery affect you'd expect from its inclusion. Santal and musk are listed, too. Given that the former is expensive as well and the latter is unquestionably synthetic, it's pretty astonishing just how rich and textured Madame Rochas actually smells.

It was officially reformulated in 1982 by Jean-Louis Sieuzac and Jacques Fraysse. Sieuzac was the nose behind such greats as Dune, Opium, Fahrenheit, and Sonia Rykiel. Fraysse could be related to Andre (who created Arpege), Richard (in-house perfumer at Caron) and Hubert (who reformulated Arpege at some point). Madame Rochas, like so many other modern fragrances, has very likely been reformulated more than its manufacturers would prefer you to think. The so-called shampoo soapiness in question is nothing compared to some of the squeaky clean astringency of Bond No. 9's Madison Soiree or many more modern peers. For me, Madame Rochas is that rarity, an older perfume which, however different from the original, continues to smell good. More remarkably, it smells better by far than present day fragrances with retro-feel aspirations.

Thoughts on formulations and reformulations

The other day I was in a perfume shop and smelled Fahrenheit. I was shocked when I brought the card up to my nose because it smelled so different than the bottle I own. It was richer, for one, and I started to wonder if maybe the tester was an older version. I could smell leather, and I never get leather from my wimpy excuse for the fragrance, which practically dribbles out of the nozzle. What if I went into this store and bought a bottle and got it home and it smelled nothing like the tester did, because the two were different formulations? How can you be sure which version you have at any given point?

It made me wonder. I have three different versions of Arpege, and though you can see the bone structure in all of them, they get more interesting the older they are. The newer version is nice enough but has none of the floral complexity, none of the smooth diffusion I get from the others. It also has a strong whiff of what smells to me like synthetic vetiver, and I'm starting to wonder about that, too, because I smell the same note presiding over the latest reformulations of Mitsouko, Je Reviens, Chanel No. 5 and White Linen. What is this note, exactly, and what's it doing in so many contemporary reinterpretations?

The Fahrenheit I own smells good enough, if just--and you can sense that original silhouette in it, if watered down to transparency--whereas the one I smelled in Sephora last week is atrociously far removed. I can barely see the relation. They seem to have simply gutted it. White Linen, Worth, and the others have fared better in the face of restrictions and penny pinchers; then again, I don't have the originals at hand to run comparisons. The old Arpege is preferable enough that I worry my 3.4 ounce bottle will run out sometime in my lifetime.

Today I read the Chandler Burr review of Britney Spears Midnight Curious. I was curious myself, and drove over to the store to smell it. Had I missed something good all this time? Not really. The discrepancy between what I smelled and how he talked about it left me confused. It smelled fairly generic to me for what it was: an intensely sweet bluebbery accord, part rubber Barbie skin, part scratch and sniff pie. I thought, well if he's going to champion this dreck I'm going to stop telling myself not to buy that bottle of Giorgio Red simply because it's gauche.

For twenty dollars I got an ounce and a half. I sprayed some on my arm once I was in the car and instantly started wondering what it used to smell like. I appreciate it now, but I suspect natural musks made it much different, like the old Arpege and Fahrenheit. Something about the current Red has always smelled slightly askew to me. I feel that way about Bal a Versailles, too.

Peach, black currant, hyacinth, and cardamom supposedly compose the nigh notes. Red reminds me of a drugstore perfume dressing up as Opium for Halloween with articles found in its mother's closet. I don't know who the mother is. Remember Bugsy Malone, the gangster movie where all the characters were played by child actors? It's like that. Instead of gunfire, pies in the face. Things are tangier than they should be in Red, exaggerated, a little cruder, but I can't help it. I love the stuff. It feels sort of schizophrenic in an entertaining way.

After some talk on this blog about Karl Lagerfeld's old KL perfume, I found some at the mall. It drove me crazy for a few days, as I knew I'd seen the bottle somewhere in town but couldn't remember where. The store had only a half ounce splash bottle left. It was nice, but too similar to other orientals I own to spend what they were charging. I'm not much of a dabber, either. KL smelled deep, but not as deep as Opium and Cinnabar, which still get my vote for the hardest of the hard core. And I'm more partial to Obsession than it seems legal to be on the blogs. How could such a great perfume have been, as some critics allege, a mass delusion?

Rather than buy the KL, I picked up two older Nina Ricci fragrances, Deci Della and Les Belles de Ricci Delice d'Epices. Deci Della was created by Jean Guichard in 1994. Some say fruity floral; again, I don't get that so much. The oak moss, cypress and myrrh force the raspberry, peach and apricot down roads they're not accustomed to traveling, if perhaps at gunpoint. There's that strange tension there between opposites. The oakmoss gives the fragrance an aroma very few contemporaries have, obviously.

Delice might also have been created by Guichard. I know he created one of the Belles at least. I'm not sure which. When I first smelled it I thought it had to be Annick Menardo or Sophia Grojsman. It has the edible qualities of the former and the sensual overload of the latter. I thought for sure, until I got it home, that Delice smelled identical to Tentations, another Grojsman creation. It has a caramellic undertone, for sure, but isn't entirely foody to me. It isn't exactly spicy, either.

Comparing Deci and Delice to Midnight Fantasy might seem unfair, but I do think it points up what perfume has lost since all the restrictions on, among other things, musks, oakmoss, and civet. And I don't think a fragrance like Midnight Fantasy is any kind of answer, as pleasantly banal and insidiously catchy as it might be. Aurelien Guichard is probably one of the best barometers right now for how these older visions can be recreated in the present without entirely losing their original spirits. His Visa and Baghari for Piguet find ways around the black hole left where oakmoss and natural musks once were, and I can't wait to see what he's done with Futur. As for Midnight Fantasy, I'll pass.

Prada Infusion de Fleur d'Oranger: A Review

Prada’s Infusion de Fleur d’Oranger is the first installment in Prada’s Ephemeral Infusion Collection, which I believe to be a limited edition and will have annual launches. Infusion de Fleur d’Oranger might be a rather long and clunky name, but the perfume itself is well done.

Similar in style to Infusion d’Iris, Infusion de Fleur d’Oranger (PIdFdO) is sheer, gauzy and billowy. PIdFdO starts off with a juicy blast of orange blossom and jasmine that is quite simply nose nirvana. Like most neroli/orange blossom fragrances, PIdFdO is fresh, lively and literally puts a smile on my face. The initial 20 minutes of wearing PIdFdO is when the fragrance shows you its best side – at this point, it’s the most bouncy and potent. Once the fragrance dries down, it becomes a bit limp, like an overtired ballet dancer who can’t quit hit all the choreographed points. PIdFdO, while mostly about orange blossom, does pay a good amount of heed to jasmine. Once dried down, I’d say the fragrance seems less like a purely neroli based scent and more like a neroli/jasmine (white floral) blend. Even so, PIdFdO is still a lovely little treat.

It’s hard for me to imagine anyone disliking PIdFdO, unless you abhor the scent of orange blossom. I would guess that those who adore L’Artisan Fleur d’Oranger might prefer to stick with the L’Artisan as this fragrance seems more focused on orange blossom in a pure sense. Serge Lutens Fleurs d’Oranger is a different experience altogether, it’s much heavier and more potent overall, not meant to be as sheer as Prada.

Prada’s Infusion de Fleur d’Oranger is well done. I’m not doing cartwheels but it’s very good and I’m sure the fragrance will sell like hotcakes and many will be wearing it this spring and summer.

Longevity: good, 3+ hours (more potent than Infusion d’Iris for me)
Sillage: good
Rating: 4 stars

The box and bottle are tres chic.

Notes: orange blossom, tuberose, jasmine

L'Interdit (R.I.P. Audrey Hepburn)

Can someone please tell me what the 2002 reformulation of L'Interdit ever did to anyone?

I know, I know, the first one was Audrey Hepburn, all powdery florals and white gloves with a touch of wispy, ephemeral whatnot. I'm sure it was lovely, and in comparison, here comes Raquel Welch, top heavy, shaking it, showing it, lips like a come on, hips like a been there, done that. It's like replacing a Rolls with a Ferarri, I know, but a Ferarri is quite something too, so can we all stop acting as if it's chopped liver and onions?

I'd read so much about the reformulation (and we're not talking about the more recent reformulation, which seeks to restore, some say successfully, the original Hepburn effect) that when I tried it, I was a little shocked how much I liked it. I don't know why these things keep shocking me. When I smelled Parfum d'Habit, more recently, I was surprised too. I'd read customer reviews on basenotes and makeupalley describing it as the most animalic thing this side of a rat's ass; foul, leathery, urinous, and just generally, unforgivably offensive. I couldn't figure out what people were talking about. Medicinal, yes; urinous, no. I smelled no leather, no animal, no wet dog, and really, truth to tell, not a whole lot of anything I'd heard described. Parfum d'Habit is pretty, to be sure, and even somewhat jarring at certain points, particularly the opening, which has the medicinal astringency of witch hazel, but it's hardly the caveman I expected, and the 2002 L'Interdit is certainly no run of the mill fruity floral.

I should have known, with Jean Guichard at the wheel. Everytime I smell a Guichard fragrance I'm again reminded how much his son Aurelien has inherited from him, and you can see links between L'Interdit and the light/dark achievements of Visa and Azzaro Couture. Like father, like son. Papa Guichard's genius, to me, is persistent radiance with an inner edge which somehow turns things inside out or upside down. Rather than getting brighter, and lighter, Guichard Sr.'s best work dries down to a burnished, heat seaking core, revealing unexpected, unsettling dissonance. So Pretty by Cartier has a straightfirward succulent fruit note up top and a darker, contrasting pit of angst deeper down. Eden seems so bright, so cheery and floral at first, and yet the picture Cacharel uses to package this fragrance gets right to the bottom of its attraction, showing a tangled jungle of competing white flowers and the somewhat unsettling suggestion of something like a poisoned apple beyond all the distracting foliage. Fendi Asja achieves this contrapuntal effect by turning berry into heady red wine. Go down the list, and you'll find these magic tricks throughout Guichard's oeuvre, right down to the weird, doughy jasmine of LouLou.

Guichard's L'Interdit sprays on like an easy going if steeply pitched fruity floral, but there's something in there which doesn't quite fit the image, and you start to see it very soon after the initial notes start wearing down. I'm no chemist, but judging by the pyramid provided by Osmoz, I would guess this has something to do with the combined effect of iris, frankincense, and tonka bean in the dry down. What I kept thinking, before I'd seen the notes, was that someone had mixed some incense into my bottle. How could a stereotypical fruity floral dry down into something so resinous and compelling? The answer: this is no stereotypical fruity floral. Givenchy seems to have known this, and after you discover the fragrance's weird complexity, the red label and box make perfect sense. Yes, red for rose--and passion.

That iris and frankincense combination gives L'Interdit a rooty incense accord I find pretty intriguing, making L'Interdit anything but a 1950's nice girl perfume. That isn't to say you would notice iris in the mix, before or after you know it's there. The tonka bean gives it a sturdier platform to stand on, suggesting cinammon, hay, clove, caramel and, especially, almond. This trifecta of contrasting basenotes gives L'Interdit a curious quality, making you wonder what it might do next. The Audrey Hepburn prototype died with its source, and what Guichard seems to have been saying or suggesting with his reformulation is that it might be high time we redefine what we mean by "nice girl" in the first place. In the fifties, being a nice girl meant that you knew your place and didn't rock the boat. You were to look pretty and to defer, always demurely. You refrained from showing more skin than absolutely necessary. Guichard's L'Interdit is a celebration of the nice girl's emancipation into sensual and emotional complexity, allowing her the freedom to be outspoken and even contradictory without reducing her to total transparency. Whereas the original evoked soft, powdered skin, Guichard's version celebrates the dewy prespiration of a woman too busy experiencing life to let the tought of a little sweat trouble her.

The accomplishment of this 2002 remake is its ability to balance light and dark, sweet and salty, hot and cold, and a world in between.

TWRT 3.27.09

This week’s random thoughts

I’m enjoying the American Idol finalists this year. I was shocked that Alex (blond girl with pink streak) was voted off last week. I’m still warming up to Adam, who I maintain looks like Elvis. I suppose my favorite right now is Danny Gokey. I love the spunky Allison (girl with crazy red hair) and Lil Rounds (who Simon thinks is “Little”) and also Kris (the kid with guitar). My all-time favorite will always be Bo Bice, though. *sigh* I wish his career would have gone somewhere...

I don’t care about this Octo-Mom. Enough. I do hope nice people are able to adopt the children, though. (yes, I think the kids need to be taken away, she can’t care for that many children; she couldn’t afford the first 6 or however many there were before the recent 8).

The daffodils and crocus are in full bloom. Spring has sprung in my neighborhood.

I’ve grieving over the fact that Big Love and Flight of the Conchords are finished for the season. What will I watch now?

I’ve worn Chanel 28 La Pausa on and off for the past week. At first, I thought I had found my favorite iris. I knew it was sheer and fleeting but I have a big jug of it so I apply it lavishly. The more I’ve worn it the more obvious it has become that it’s beyond fleeting. I think I applied 30 sprays on Wednesday. I’m not kidding. And I couldn’t smell a thing 20 minutes later. The other Les Exclusifs aren’t this bad. Sheesh.

After nearly poisoning myself with 28 La Pausa I wore Hermes Hiris. Ahhh. Now that’s better. It’s been years since I sniffed Hiris, but it now seems like a powerhouse in comparison with 28 La Pausa and its really nice. More floral than I remembered. Nice.

On its way to me is Sonoma Scent Studio’s new Tabac Aurea. Yay! It will be available for sampling/decanting. Laurie is still finishing Gardenia Musk – hopefully in time for summer.

Also on its way to me is Prada’s Infusion de Fleur d’Oranger. I’ve been looking forward to this one.

Susan, my perfume-project at the office, has so far liked Diptyque’s L’eau Trois the very best. This isn’t even amber but myrrh – a beautiful myrrh, incense, herbal scent. She adores it so I am happy. It’s been wonderful smelling someone wearing great ‘fumes (besides me!). I was surprised that I liked Estee Lauder’s Amber Ylang Ylang so much on her. I was utterly bored by it on me, but on her it was quite nice.

It’s about that time of year when I switch gears and start wearing light, sheer, summery florals, fruity-florals and citrus scents (yes, there are good fruity florals! :-). I will enjoy this for a bit but then I’ll start complaining about how much I miss my autumn/winter fragrances. At heart I’m an oriental/chypre person – I love woods, spices and heavy florals. For now it’s fun to pull out all the summery stuff but I worry it’s too early. I don’t want to tire of them before July when the Jersey weather really hits it’s hazy, humid stride. I don’t switch with the seasons because it’s a rule or something – I do it because I truly can’t wear heavy scents in hot weather – I get headaches...

Have a fragrant weekend everyone!

Anya's Garden Kaffir

Most of the time I’m skeptical about natural/organic perfumes. Not because I have a problem with things being all natural and non-synthetic (of course not!) but because I’m a stickler for perfumes with nice sillage and excellent longevity. I’ve been disappointed by a few natural perfumes, one being Red Flower, which lasts about 5 minutes on my skin.

So with a bit of cynicism and trepidation I approached some samples of Anya’s Garden perfume. Lo and Behold Anya has done it! She has created some gorgeous fragrances that actually l-a-s-t. One in particular really caught my nose, it is Kaffir, and it’s so perfect for these early spring days, or anytime of the year.

A few years ago my husband bought me a potted Kaffir Lime tree for my greenhouse. I wanted a Meyer Lemon but those were all sold out so I got the Kaffir Lime. Kaffir Lime trees are indigenous to most warm climates but are especially prized in Southeast Asia and Thailand. In Thailand the leaves of Kaffir Lime trees are used frequently in cooking. If you’ve had Thai curry dishes and noticed a green leaf in the sauce it was probably a Kaffir Lime leaf. Recently Jo Malone launched a fragrance called Sweet Lime & Cedar and this fragrance is also based on Kaffir Lime leaves (though, for the record, Anya’s Garden did it first).


Since I’m familiar with Kaffir Lime trees I can say that Anya’s Garden Kaffir (henceforth AGK) captures the fragrance of tearing open a handful of Kaffir Lime leaves perfectly. Upon first spritz, AGK is a juicy, green burst of joy. Because AGK is from the leaves of a lime tree, please don’t mistakenly assume it smells simply of limes or citrus. AGK smells more like the leaves of this tree, and the leaves are incredibly fragrant; they are citrusy, yes, but also very green. Once the fragrance dries down, a beautiful woody, floral, leather scent emerges. Placing this gorgeous citrusy green on a bed of woods and leather is pure genius. The woods & leather seem to anchor the fragrance, giving it complexity and interest.

To find the list of notes I visited Anya’s Garden website. While there I noticed that the packaging for her products is made from recycled paper and the sustainable Daphne plant. Plus, and get this because I think it’s a fantastic idea, the boxes contain wildflower seeds, so you need only plant the whole box to have yourself a little patch of wildflowers. What a great idea!

Anya’s Garden Kaffir is absolute joy in a bottle. It is refreshing and playful. I was pleasantly surprised by just how good this fragrance is, how complex, and how long it lasts. Bravo to Anya.

Kaffir Lime notes: Top: Thai lime leaf, galbanum, French and Tropical tarragon accord, Heart: tinctures of eight jasmines, heritage oak extract, Grasse jasmine
Base: sustainable golden agarwood, musk seed, leather accord

Click here to visit Anya's Garden website

Guerlain Iris Ganache

Please accept my deepest apologies but I really love this stuff. If the idea of cool iris mixed with creamy & powdery dough turns your stomach then perhaps you should stop reading here.

Guerlain Iris Ganache is strangely intoxicating and delicious. Osmoz describes Iris Ganache perfectly as: “iris butter worked like a pastry ganache.” For me it’s addictive, particularly because of its duality. I love the unusual blend of chilly iris with creamy and sweet notes. I need to take a step back here and say that I don’t find Iris Ganache particularly gourmand in nature. It is sweet, but not overly so, and I don’t actually smell the foody notes per se. I find myself huffing my wrists when I wear it.

The iris note emerges for me mostly in the beginning. At the start, Iris Ganache is a gorgeously sweet powdery scent with a cool river of iris flowing through it. This stage is entrancing and I wish it stayed throughout. After about 20 minutes the iris note changes from a rooty-vegetal floral into a doughy, gummy, marzipan coated aroma. It becomes less about iris and smells more like vanillic heliotrope. I think Iris Ganache definitely pays tribute to both L’Heure Bleue and Apres L’Ondee with the same soft, powdery floral qualities. The iris note never completely vanishes because the memory of it remains for me.

Iris Ganache smells very Guerlain; it’s very creamy and highly addictive.

Notes: Iris, vanilla, cinnamon, bergamot, patchouli, white musks, cedar

becker eshaya golden amber

Last week I suggested that b.e. golden amber is the D&G Light Blue of ambery scents. By this, I meant that b.e. golden amber is simple, easily worn and ultra pleasing. I was thinking about golden amber because my colleague, Susan, who is my current perfume-project, has been wearing the sample I gave her. It smelled absolutely wonderful on her. If I hadn’t known what it was, I would have been knocking on her office door, or trailing after her like Pepe Le Pew.

Fragrant amber has been on my mind. It was ironic that Brian posted about amber fragrances today (the post below this one). It seems true amber essential oil doesn’t exist; the amber scent in perfumery is typically a synthetic aroma chemical or an umbrella term used to describe several fragrances used together resulting in an “ambery” scent (e.x., labdanum, benzoin, tonka, ambergris, oppoponax). Fragrant amber is not the fossilized bronze-orange colored stone nor is it ambergris. Ambergris, by the way, comes from the lining of a sperm whale’s stomach which is said to smell horrendous at first but beautiful once dried.

I found the following, very basic, definition for fragrant amber from Wikipedia: “a large fragrance class featuring the sweet animalic scents of ambergris or labdanum, often combined with vanilla, flowers and woods. Can be enhanced by camphorous oils and incense resins.”

It seems, most likely, that there are natural elements to fragrant amber; one being labdanum, which is, indeed, a real essential oil. Labdanum (also called Cistus) is an essential oil from the rock rose shrub. Also ambergris (or the synthetic version of it) usually provides a salty quality.

The scent of amber varies fairly drastically; it can be sweet, pungent, musty, salty, spicy, woody, resinous, warm, animalic, balsamic and so on. To say that amber is a fragrant chameleon is an understatement, however, for me, one similarity amongst all ambery scents is that they are comforting. Amber is a staple in my perfume wardrobe and I have a big collection of scents falling under this scent category. My absolute favorite is Teo Cabanel Alahine, which is a stunningly sophisticated ambery scent with a dry, aldehydic Chanel-esque quality. Other ambers are more rugged and complex, paired with tobacco, woody and earthy elements, such as Parfum d’Empire’s Ambre Russe, Sonoma Scent Studio’s Ambre Noir and Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan. On the opposite end of the spectrum are the uber-sweet ambers, such as Estee Lauder Amber Ylang Ylang or just about anything ambery from Bath & Body Works.

The beauty of becker eshaya golden amber is that it’s a middle of the road amber. It’s not very sweet nor is it especially earthy or challenging. I noticed when Susan was wearing golden amber that it’s pleasing yet stands out as something unique. When I smell golden amber on myself (close up) it starts off with mild citrus top notes then settles into a beautifully salty-sandy-floral amber with just the suggestion of a spicy woody side that allows the overall fragrance to stay dry.

To sum it up, I think becker eshaya golden amber is a gem. It is easy to love and easy to wear. It’s definitely not a sweet syrupy amber nor a deeply resinous, vanillic or woody amber. Golden amber is delicate and light yet manages to be a tenacious little critter. The addition of citrus and fruit notes are well done and while perhaps not something I would have imagined to blend well (pre-sniff), it totally works

golden amber notes: mandarin, bergamot, lychee, jasmine, golden amber, sandalwood, cashmere wood, patchouli and musk.