Bored to Tears: New Releases, Old Hat

I'm pouting this week, I'm in a funk, I'm almost bored with perfume and I don't know what to do about it, a situation which would have seemed inconceivable to me only several months ago. Is perfume a passing phase--or am I just sick of being disappointed lately? So many of the things I've been looking forward to have turned out to be uninspired. Some of them feel like a slap in the face.

The Alien EDT is nice enough, but where's the promised difference, the guaranteed frisson? To me it smells exactly like Alien EDP--no heavier, no lighter, no woodsier, no more or less presided over by jasmine. I wanted special. I wanted something tweaked, not because I dislike Alien EDP (far from it) but because I wanted to see a perfumer pushing himself, responding to input about the first go round, teasing out something about the first Alien which showed its detractors how wrong they were, proving to them that Alien was wonderful all along, they just hadn't been looking the right way.

To some extent, the seasonal flankers have served this purpose, illuminating the original Alien (2005) with bursts of clarifying light. I particularly liked the first flanker, eau Luminescente, which brought a piquancy into the original's headier mix. But the mission of seasonal flankers seems to be to adapt the original fragrance's attributes into some fantasy vignette of Spring and Summer, a limiting mission, depending how you feel about Spring and Summer (I, for one, resent being asked to retire my jeans, as if I'm just not quite carefree enough otherwise, or inhibited because I won't frolic around in shorts). Key words, like "lighter" and "fresher", prevail over the exercise. For me, the Alien EDT release might have reinterpreted the original in many novel ways, but didn't, making it little better than a wasted opportunity.

I can barely talk about YSL's Parisienne without getting a little ticked off. More than anything, I'm irritated with myself, for having gotten my hopes up. Parisienne is a massive letdown on a number of levels, but the biggest disappointment of all is the fact that my little honeymoon with Sophia Grojsman might now be over. I was naive enough to believe that I would love Parisienne no matter how much of a retread it might be. I've loved every Grojsman perfume I can think of, though many resemble each other enough to keep others from owning several at once. Paris is an iconic favorite of mine. Its intensity, the lush stuff it makes of rose, violet and hawthorn, is a narcotic for me. Though I've loved it since 1983, when it first came out, the smell isn't particularly nostalgic to me. It's too timeless for that. But it makes me intensely happy, speaking to my imagination in a way which would normally require hallucinogens.

How big a part did Sophia Grojsman actually play in the creation of Parisienne? Her collaborator, Sophie Labbé, hasn't done much of anything I've admired or even been vaguely interested in, with the exception of Givenchy Organza. Granted, Organza is so good that its creator wouldn't really need to do much more in life. It has amazing persistence, impressive diffusion. It smells like nothing else, filtered through a series of recognizable motifs. It certainly doesn't smell like anything else Labbé has done. I'm not a fan of most of the Joop fragrances, some of which she's authored. Kylie Minogue Sexy Darling, Givenchy Very Irresistible, Cacharel Amour Pour Homme, Jil Sander Sport for Women and Nina Ricci Permier Jour don't exactly tip the scales in her favor.

My guess is that Sophia Grojsman is credited because Parisienne trades on Paris not only thematically but by using enough of its formula to owe her royalties. There is the faintest ghost of Paris in there, but so dulled down, so muted that to credit Grojsman is somehow discrediting her. The notes of this so-called woody floral are said to be damask rose, violet, peony, patchouli, vetiver, and most intriguingly, "a vinyl accord evoking metal gloss and varnish." Interestingly (and this is practically the only interesting thing about the fragrance for me) Parisienne smells best from the bottle. Smelled from the atomizer, you get the vinyl accord, and it's as wonderfully strange as the copy makes it sound. The problem is that once you apply it to the skin or a testing strip, it becomes the failed prototype for Kylie Minogue's next assault on the mainstream fragrance-buying public.

There are things I like about Parisienne. It isn't horrible, just insipidly pleasant. Some floral, some wood, watered-down whiffs of unusual. It hides on the skin like it's scared to come out and play or has been pushed out on stage in only its underwear. It has zero projection, and even you can't smell it after a few minutes, without making a fool of yourself practically humping your wrist with your nose. It's nice. It's pretty. It bores the hell out of me. Some have expressed dismay at the tone of the Kate Moss advertisements. My guess is that the perfume, whatever it actually does in reality, is named to evoke the stylized debauchery of "La Vie Parisienne", the naughty pre-war French magazine and the equally controversial opera of the same name composed by Offenbach, which featured, among other entertainments, "trollops masquerading as society ladies" and the "frenetic, mad pursuit of fun and pleasure", all of which Moss seems to be channeling in the ads. The actual perfume, unfortunately, is a society lady masquerading as a society lady.

And don't even get me started on masculine releases. Givenchy Play is a joke, as everyone on the boards and blogs, from basenotes to Burr, is remarking. Givenchy Play Intense is the good cop in this scenario, but it too makes you work to love, let alone like it long time. A little Rochas Man, a little Lempicka au Masculin, some Bulgari Black. It comes out doing a snake-charmer's dance with anise, coffee and labdanum, each of which in its way is more over-exposed than even Justin Timberlake, the fragrance's spokesmodel. Like him, Play Intense wishes to be all things to all people. It sings, it dances, it has a sense of humor. It acts, doing a good impression of colognes I like better, then it slinks off the skin in search of God knows what. Maybe it goes looking for Parisienne. Good luck with that.

It probably doesn't take a rocket scientist, or even someone who plays one on TV, to know that YSL La Nuit de L'Homme is going to suck, and suck it does. It smells like everything all at once. It's doing everything it can to impress and please you, boring the shit out of you. The smell of it fills you with a profound despair. So this is what it's come to. I might as well end it all right here. If women think pink pepper is getting old, cross the aisle and walk a mile in my shoes. The terrain: cardamom, as far as the eye can see. To think I actually love cardamom. Every time I go back to L'Essence de Declaration I realize anew how wrong they're getting cardamom these days. Someone please throw that cardamom a life-raft of birch tar.

The question is, what are they getting right? Yesterday I took out my bottle of Organza Indecence. I couldn't believe how rich and gorgeous it was. More specifically, I couldn't believe I'd forgotten. But with so many snoozers on the market, more every day, it's a wonder I can remember liking perfume, ever, at all.

I'd love to hear what you've been disappointed in lately. It would help me feel less alone or, God forbid, misanthropic.

Issey Miyake, A Scent

Several weeks ago, when I was at Saks, I saw a pretty husky guy look up, down, and all around nervously before spraying on A Scent. It was the first I'd heard of the fragrance, so when he asked me whether it was for men or women, I really didn't know what to say, though I generally don't know how to answer that question anyway. Before I had a chance to, he'd covered himself in a cloud of the stuff, so maybe the question was a formality.

I've never been a huge Issey Miyake fan. I like Intense for Men okay. It's good for a kick, though I suspect I'd never wear it. I like F'eau Dissey but can't seem to figure out when to wear it and always want it to last longer or go somewhere else at some point. L'eau d'Issey for women is an interesting calone fragrance, with that salt-water effect Escape by Calvin Klein has. L'eau Bleue is probably the most interesting to me, a sleeper from Jacques Cavallier, part herbal, part coniferous, a little doughy.

I wasn't expecting much from A Scent, so I was very surprised. I'd received a sample of Estee Lauder's Jasmine White Moss, which it resembles, shortly before smelling it. I couldn't picture myself buying Jasmine White Moss--too soft, maybe, or too refined---whereas I was at the cash register with A Scent before I knew what I was doing.

As you might have read elsewhere, A Scent recalls green fragrances past, particularly, to my nose, those which feature galbanum prominently. I smell a history of green in there, with stops at Aliage, Balmain's Ivoire, Chanel No. 19, Givenchy III, and Jean-Louis Scherrer. A Scent is much softer than Aliage, overlaying its punch of galbanum with a significant whiff of jasmine. Brighter and fresher than Jasmine White Moss, it also lasts longer. It has a citrus aspect to it that never really goes away, and somehow feels stronger rather than weaker as it wears. It also gets deeper, and richer.

It was created by Daphne Bugey, the nose behind Kenzo Amour, the DSquared fragrances, and the more recent Kenzo Amour Florale, all of which are equally persistent and weirdly more pronounced later than they at first seem they will be. Amour is one of those scents that seems to have gone away, until it wafts up again. I wouldn't say it's a skin scent. I'm starting to notice bedrock similarities in Bugey's work, relationships which intrigue me, making me wonder at her artistry.

I like A Scent a lot. It has a happy but intelligent feel to it, and if the same guy asked me who it was meant for all over again, I would say the masses.

TWRT 9.04.09

This Week’s Random Thoughts

There’s only one episode of True Blood left, I’m in a state of mourning.

My little dog Greta is doing good. She had her stitches removed this week. She’s healing nicely. It’s been a tough few weeks – she had bladder surgery so she needed to go outside to relieve herself every 90 minutes or so – even during the night! And once she peed on my head and pillow. The warmth was nice for the first few moments, when I didn’t know what it was. She’s a pug so she also had her elongated soft palate reduced as well as rhinoplasty (a nose job, I’m not kidding!). For the first few days we called her Michael Jackson. (The above photo is Greta 1 day post-op. She looks a bit woozy and she still has the bandage on her leg from all the IVs)

My favorite new launch so far is Parfum d’Empire Wazamba. I had been salivating for SL Nuits de Cellophane and AdP Magnolia Nobile both of which turned out not to be my thing. Guerlain Les Secrets de Sophie is on it’s way to me – so that isn’t in the running yet.

Beverage of the week: Hazelnut iced coffee with skim milk.

I enjoyed watching Weeds the first 2 seasons. Now I want to shoot Nancy Botwin in the head. Her character gets on my last nerve.

Movies: I watched Bruno this week...what a snore. I also saw District 9. This isn’t my sort of sci-fi movie. I don’t need to see an apartheid allegory wrapped up in a sci-fi costume.

A little birdy told me that Sonoma Scent Studio opens for business next week. The long wait is over – yay!

A dear friend sent me a mini of Molto Missoni. Wow, what a find. I had never heard of it before. It’s a wonderful incense mixed with Red Hot candies. I instantly searched for it online and found 1 bottle at a decent price. It’s discontinued so very hard to find.

It’s a shame L’Artisan discontinued Vanilia. I don’t go for vanilla perfumes but I’ve found Vanilia to be one I like. It’s a floral vanilla – sort of a precurser to Hermes Vanille Galante. Vanilla with lily and other florals. It’s possible I’m thinking more fondly of it now that it’s dc’ed (this happens).

Salad of the week: I bought some heirloom tomatos at a farmers market – red, yellow and slightly green tomatos, awfully mishapen and downright beautiful in their hideousness. I made a simple plate of sliced tomatos, basil leaves, razor thin cucumber and slices of goat cheese (took a log of goat cheese and thinly sliced it). Then drizzled with pesto sauce and sprinkled some garlic salt and pepper. OMG so good!

I got Guerlain Vetiver Pour Elle this week. It’s a pleasant surprise. I’ve never been able to wear the masculine vetivers. I wear all sorts of masculine fragrances but just can’t do the vetivers (Encre Noir, FM Vetiver Extraordinaire, etc.) Vetiver Pour Elle is true enough to real vetiver but with it’s edges softened. I like it.

Lancome Magie (from La Collection not Magie Noire) is a beautiful thing.

Jil Sander No. 4 is a great flor-iental. It runs with the likes of Amarige and JPG Classique. Potent, sexy stuff.

The weather has been downright perfect. I wore Theorema this week, also YSL Nu edp and Juliette Has a Gun Citizen Queen.

Right now I’m wearing Chanel No. 18. What is the point of this stuff? It’s so inoffensive and bland – seems it was created for babies. Or perhaps new mothers, since babies probably shouldn’t wear perfume ;-)

Have a lovely weekend everyone. Happy Labor Day to those in the US, enjoy your day off!

Acqua di Parma Magnolia Nobile

There are fragrances that you really look forward to and then there are those that you REALLY look forward to. Being a huge fan of almost everything from Acqua di Parma, especially Profumo, which is in my humble opinion a hidden gem, and Iris Nobile edt and edp, I’ve been waiting breathlessly for Magnolia Nobile to arrive on my doorstep.

There was a gigantic magnolia tree outside my Aunt’s house growing up. What I remember most was that my Aunt needed to clean up after this tree – all the big meaty petals would fall and rot all over her lawn. There were so many rotting petals you had to be careful not to slip on the gook covering the lawn. I have a vague memory of the scent of magnolia flowers, I think it was a pretty floral with an undercurrent of lemon and...something else...something I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe a vegetal quality? I used to live on Marlborough Street in Boston and I remember the street being lined with Magnolia trees. It was quite a beautiful site in the spring. Magnolia trees are such attention seekers, big show-offs really, so majestic and breathtaking, especially when their petals fall like snow.I’ve had a decent amount of contact with magnolias in my life but oddly the scent of the flowers never really impressed me. I’ve swooned for lilacs and apple blossoms and linden trees but magnolia is more of a visual beauty rather than a scented beauty for me. Sure, they smell good, but the scent has never stuck with me, I can barely conjure it up even if I think hard about it right now.

Along comes Magnolia Nobile (MN). I’ve worn MN for several days now. Honestly, I keep wearing it not because I love it but because I want to love it and I don’t. I like MN, but LIKE isn’t what I had in mind as I waited month after month for it’s arrival this year. Perhaps this is because, as I’ve mentioned, the scent of actual magnolia trees have never left much of an impression on me. Magnolia Nobile goes on with a nice citrus burst, which is easy to believe given that AdP does rather nice things with citrus (Colonia series). Magnolia Nobile reminds me very much of something. For the first 2 days I couldn’t figure out what it was, and then I read Octavian’s review at 1000 Fragrances and realized he’s spot on, of course – MN reminds me of Dior J’Adore. MN is like a cousin to J’Adore except instead of being somewhat watery and weak like J’Adore, MN casts a seductive floral spell that’s magnified well beyond J’Adore limits.

This is pretty much all I have to say about Magnolia Nobile. MN is a pretty perfume. It’s not insipid nor poorly constructed and it lasts quite a long time. I imagine there is a large consumer market that will enjoy this juice. Anyone who loves J’Adore might fall really hard for MN. Sadly, after all this waiting, I won’t be among those wearing Magnolia Nobile.

L.T. Piver Heliotrope Blanc

A few weeks ago I was googling around for a good heliotrope perfume and came across a thread on Perfume of Life about L.T. Piver Heliotrope Blanc. I had never heard of L.T. Piver. It turns out, Piver has been around since 1774, and is a well regarded perfume company in Europe, but isn’t well known in the U.S. I found it Heliotrope Blanc at Escentual.com, in the UK. I’ve always enjoyed fragrances with a heliotrope note but never tried a heliotrope soliflore. I ordered Etro Heliotrope from Aedes last month but it’s on backorder and I haven’t received it yet.

I’ve been curious about heliotrope for several years now. Usually there’s a quality about heliotrope-heavy fragrances that I adore. For instance, I love People of the Labyrinths Luctor et Emergo but this is a cherry gourmand rendition of heliotrope. Barbara Bui, a recent love of mine, also has a strong heliotrope quality. The classic Guerlain Apres L’Ondee is prominently heliotrope as well as some mimosa fragrances like Parfum de Nicolai Mimosaique and Caron Farnesiana.

This heliotrope curiosity led me to plant it in my garden a few years back. Heliotrope flowers are either white or purple so I planted both. The actual flowers are intoxicating. Heliotrope is one of those unmistakeably sweet aromas, similar in it’s striking uniqueness, but not in smell to honeysuckle, lily of the valley and lilacs. White heliotrope is the more floral of the two heliotrope flowers. The white flowers are baby powder soft and sweet but not almondy or cherry-like. Finding a perfume that resembled the white heliotrope has been on my to-do list for some time.

L.T. Piver Heliotrope Blanc is exactly what I’ve been looking for. I’m head over heels smitten with this stuff. Heliotrope Blanc is delicate, powdery and cozy, but it also has a sexy sweet side that seems much more wearable than the cherry almond variety. Heliotrope Blanc initially makes me think of marshmallows dusted with talcum powder served next to a vase of white heliotrope flowers. It is sheer and transparent so I simply bathe in it. If you apply a lot, it lasts close to the skin for quite some time.

For anyone out there salivating at the idea of Heliotrope Blanc, please leave a comment, and I will draw one lucky person who will win a 5 ml decant of it. The drawing will close on Sunday, September 6th and I’ll announce the winner on Monday, September 7th.

CREED Jasmin Imperatrice Eugenie

The original formula for Jasmin Imperatrice Eugenie (JIE) was created in 1862 for Empress Eugenie of France. I find this fascinating. When I’m wearing JIE I smell similar to Empress Eugenie over 147 years ago. What an odd feeling this is – to smell like, well, history. You might wonder if JIE smells dated and old fashioned, considering it’s age. Maybe a little, but all things considered, there’s a reason why it’s a classic and still around today, it’s quite excellent.

The monarchy dissolved after the reign of Napoleon III so Eugenie was the last empress of France. She is noted for her beauty and elegance and was quite a fashion icon during her time. This seems so trivial to me, that Empress Eugenie was a fashion icon. Surely she could have accomplished something more noble, but alas, perhaps it was not permissible for a woman to do much more than be a beautifully dressed thing in the 19th century.

Jasmin Imperatrice Eugenie is a decadent sillage monster with potency to spare. I love that about it. I’m not particularly fond of jasmine so it took me many years to get around to trying JIE. Once I did I found that the fragrance is not so much about jasmine at all, but instead a classic oriental with a divine ambergris and sandalwood base. JIE begins with the a powerful triumvirate of bergamot, jasmine and rose. The first 15 minutes or so might seem suffocating, like you’ve entered a dark wood paneled room from the 19th century whose windows and doors have been shut for years and the air is thick with the aroma of heavy dusty drapery.

After the initial overwhelming entrance, JIE becomes much more accomodating to the modern nose, albeit taking it’s time in doing so. You must remember that JIE was created in a time before the automobile, when plumbing was a luxury for only the wealthy and electricity was a figment of the imagination. So please bear with JIE, she’s from a different time and place, she’s ostentatious and regal and she’s and well worth your time.

The most pleasant surprise for me is that JIE is actually a sublime sandalwood and ambergris fragrance with jasmine used only as a garnish. This is the most beautiful rendition of creamy sandalwood and ambergris that I’ve ever smelled. There is also a hefty dollop of vanilla in the base – giving JIE an almost gourmand quality. For comparison sake, there’s some similarity between JIE and Chanel’s Bois de Iles, however, BdI is stark, minimalist and barebones compared with the opulence of JIE.

At a time when Guerlain’s upcoming launch includes the note “marshmallow harmony” and every tacky celebrity is slapping her name on a perfume bottle, Creed’s Jasmin Imperatrice Eugenie seems most welcome. Just don’t overdo it, JIE is beautiful when applied with a light hand, suffocating when overapplied. I can’t underscore how important it is not to overapply JIE. Two discrete sprays are plenty.

Parfum d'Empire 3 Fleurs & Wazamba

Marc-Antoine Corticchiato, the nose for Parfum d’Empire, oftentimes lives in the shadow of Serge Lutens. The two share a passion for Morocco and the scents associated with this land. Corticchiato has created several fragrances in the footsteps of Lutens. Detractors suggest PdE’s fragrances are similar yet less inspired renditions of a few Luten’s creations, namely PdE’s Ambre Russe to SL’s Ambre Sultan, PdE’s Cuir Ottoman to SL’s Cuir Mauresque and this year’s newly launched PdE’s Wazamba to SL’s Fille en Aiguilles.

Personally I’ve found Corticchiato’s fragrances equally masterful as Lutens. Ambre Russe is my favorite amber focused fragrance of all time. Cuir Ottoman is one of the most wearable leathers I’ve ever owned. And Wazamba is perhaps my favorite new release so far this year (note: I have not tried the Fille en Aiguilles yet).

Parfum d’Empire 3 Fleurs
Of the two new fragrances from PdE, 3 Fleurs was the one I was most excited about. Oddly, upon receiving them both, I like 3 Fleurs but I love Wazamba. As the marketing material suggests 3 Fleurs is a scent built upon the 3 most emblematic florals in perfumery: rose, jasmine and tuberose. Early reports suggested tuberose to be the most prominent note and I was happy to hear that being a big fan of tuberose. After wearing 3 Fleurs, I find it to be an equal blending of all three flowers rather than one being magnified more than the others.

The fragrance is a voluptuous, heady floral, not so much a white floral but more or less a “pink” flower with rose being added to the equation. The tuberose adds the sensuous, exotic element, jasmine lends a light green floral note and rose invigorates the blend with an herbal freshness. As suggested by Grain de Musc, 3 Fleurs pays tribute to Jean Patou’s Joy (another jasmine rose pairing) but includes an additional floral layer with tuberose in it’s base. A clunky description of 3 Fleurs might be Joy plus tuberose minus civet.

3 Fleurs is delightful. It is a straight up floral lover’s dream. It’s a full lipped, heavy bosomed, ripe and erotic beauty.

Notes: Bulgarian rose, Egyptian jasmine, Indian tuberose, galbanum, mint, white musk

Wazamba (love this name)
Wazamba is named for a musical instrument from Western Africa used mainly during initiation ceremonies. Wazamba, the fragrance, is meant to symbolizes one’s inner journey, a sort of purification ritual, like burning incense to purify oneself and one’s surroundings.

The word that stikes me the most from PdE’s marketing for Wazamba is sacred. Wazamba smells like sacred incense. It smells fresh, clean and pure. Wazamba is most similar to the scents from Comme des Garcons; Avignon, Jaisalmer, Kyoto Ouarzazate and Zagorsk. For me, these sorts of incense fragrances are not wearable for the office but this does not mean I don’t enjoy the scents. I absolutely love Wazamba and find it incredibly wearable in a private setting. Since Wazamba is meant to evoke sacred space, ceremonies and inner journeys, wearing it in these settings makes perfect sense to me. I would love to wear Wazamba while doing yoga, meditating, reading a book and relaxing at home.

I find Wazamba more wearable than the CdG incense series scents. Wazamba is fresh, resinous yet soft and enveloping. It does not take center stage but instead provides a back drop for peaceful activities. Sillage and longevity are both excellent as they are for all PdE fragrances.

Notes: Somalian incense, Kenyan myrrh, Ethiopian opoponax, Indian sandalwood, Moroccan cypress, labdanum, apple, fir balsam

In which I admit to falling for a skin scent

Brian and I joke that we can’t have too few skin scents. If a fragrance is described as a skin scent – I avoid it. I like my perfumes to be potent, to project and to have the middle initial S for Sillage. I don’t have the money to waste on perfumes that don’t last, and I have the idea that skin scents basically don’t last (or they do but only if you glue your nose to your wrist).

A few years back there was a furor on the perfume boards for Barbara Bui Le Perfume. I ignored it. The juice was discontinued, many wept, I didn’t give a hoot. About six months ago, I noticed Barbara Bui was available on some online discount sites for less than 20 bucks. I don’t know what possessed me, I guess I just figured I could waste 20 bucks, just to know the truth about this stuff.

So, one day Barbara Bui Le Parfum (BBLP) arrives at my door. I opened it, spray some on my wrist, sniff it, don’t smell much of anything, feel annoyed at myself for not following my gut instinct and go about my day. Then about a month ago I tried it again. I can’t explain why, I just reached for it. This time, I could smell it. So I sprayed myself about 12 times all over. I went to meet a friend for lunch and wanted to lick my arm the entire time. I mean, this aroma is addictive, it’s edible but isn’t gourmand. It’s essentially boring, but it’s so good. I’m perplexed by BBLP – it just isn’t my thing – but I love it.

BBLP is easiest to describe by telling you what it isn’t – it’s not floral, it’s not sweet, it’s not intense, it’s not powdery, it doesn’t appear to have an aldehydic effect, it’s just like skin but better. I can’t believe I just used this expression (“just like skin but better”). I hate that expression. Mostly because my skin doesn’t really smell like anything when it’s not perfumed. BBLP is similar to the smell of a baby’s head or my dog’s fur or her paws after a long walk.

Maybe BBLP is filling a summer void for me. I’m tired of light, fresh, florals and citrus. I’m sick of everything I’ve been wearing since the tropical humidity struck a month ago. As much as I want to wear my cooler weather hefties, it’s just too oppressively hot. I’ve managed a few orientals, Tabac Blond works and YSL Y is a great chypre for this time of year. Nevertheless BBLP is different from what I normally wear and it’s something I can wear right now. It’s entirely possible to spray myself 20 times with this stuff and it won’t be too much.

So what is BBLP? It’s softly spicy and incense-y with an underlying smell of cosmetics and lotion. It’s dry but not bone dry. It has bits of vanilla, amber, and a milky quality that’s just downright delectable and cozy. It also smells a bit musky like sweat and salt and warm skin. Imagine this scene...it’s Sunday morning at 10:00 AM, you’re sleeping in and just beginning to stir, your significant other rolls over and kisses you, spoons you, tussles your sleepy head then quietly gets up to go to the bathroom. You roll over and feel the bed where he was, the sheets are warm and smell like him, a little sweaty but just like his skin. You smoosh your face into his pillow and inhale. This is Barbara Bui Le Parfum.

D'Orsay Le Nomade

Le Nomade starts off with a tart, sparkling lime note, making the fragrance seem almost dewy at first. I wish it lingered there longer because it's a unique note, but it's a pretty fantastic openings. After this, it moves along into woodier, spicier terrain, but it never really loses that tart disposition altogether. Some have compared it to Cartier Declaration, and while it's true they feel related, there are enough differences between them to warrant individual attention. Declaration is nuttier somehow. Le Nomade feels a little more floral, recalling the jasmine beatitude of Third Man, if perverted by the spice rack.

I liked Le Nomade instantly. It smells better than the majority of masculines I come across, and, like Third Man, has something about it which makes it feel a little more unisex, partly the jasmine, but also something else. It doesn't take much to veer away from "masculine", when you consider how homogeneous your average masculine fragrance is. Many of the D'Orsay fragrances date to the early 1900s. Le Nomade is practically a baby, at a little less than ten years old. It smells much older, and not just because it bears very little relation to contemporary trends in mainstream perfumery.

The D'Orsay website features the fragrance as part of its "Intense" series and lists the notes as follows: ivy green, cedar leaves, bergamot, lime, jasmine, geranium, cardamom, coriander, cumin, black pepper, vetiver, atlas cedar, sandalwood, balsam fir, sage, and liatrix. The easy way out would be to describe Le Nomade as a woody vetiver, citing the cedar, the sandalwood, fir, sage, etc. But the spices, the jasmine, and the geranium take the composition to an entirely different place. I've heard people describe this as a confused fragrance. D'Orsay doesn't help dissuade from that impression. "Where cultures collide," the website boasts, continuing:"the perfect blend of essences from Asian and African civilizations." Then again, that makes sense to me, as the overall result smells like a fusion of a spicy dish and a steaming porcelain cup of jasmine tea, side of lemongrass. Le Nomade is that rare thing, an eau de parfum masculine.

Bond No.9 Saks Fifth Avenue for Her

Michel Almairac has done some pretty high profile fragrances, some of which even the newest or most casual admirer of perfume will find familiar; Gucci Rush, Gucci Pour Homme, Chopard Casmir, and Dunhill Men among them. He's also done a lot of niche work, like Voleur de Roses for L'Artisan and Le Labo Ambrette 9, and lower profile mainstream compositions like Gres Cabaret, Joop Homme, and Paloma Picasso Minotaure for men. Though he has been productive since at least 1982, his name is hardly as well known as contemporary peers Sophia Grojsman (Poison, Yvresse, White Linen), Jean Claude Ellena (Hermes) and Maurice Roucel (Missoni, Be Delicious, Tocade). Even among perfumistas, he's hardly a household name.

Almairac has done five fragrances for Bond No. 9, several of which I like very much. Fire Island has its detractors, but I'm a fan. It smells like suntan lotion, but it's a fantasy version, conjuring the beach and summer memories and a laid back state of mind. It starts out strong with gardenia and seques eventually into white musk and soft patchouli, a progession which mimics the real sense of a day in the sand, where you start out fresh and clean and end up salty, slightly grungy, and warm. Bryant Park is pleasant enough. West Side, too. Recently, I smelled Saks Fifth Avenue for Her, a fairly straightforward tuberose, and I think I like it most of all.

Sold exclusively at Saks, it has an unusual quality for a tuberose. It has that buttery, rubbery quality many of them do, but something else too. This might be the vetiver at its base. It might be all kinds of things. What it smells like is somewhat smoky. Almairac delivers this unexpected trick in a few other places. The incense singe of Gucci Pour Homme comes most readily to mind. Along with vetiver and tuberose, the notes include vanilla, jasmine and gardenia. Pretty simple. The effect is deceptively simple, too. What I like about Saks is how quietly strange it is. It reminds me of Fracas with an ever so slight gourmand edge to it. I think that's what makes it for me. It's as if someone figured out a way to grill Tuberose and serve it up as an appetizing dish, making tuberose seem as edible as artichoke or coconut. Coconut is a good analogy, as many people swear there's some in Saks. They find Saks somewhat tropical. I guess I really don't. Then again, it makes perfect sense to me that the man behind Saks and Rush is the man behind Fire Island, because all do interesting things with tuberose and/or gardenia. Like many tuberose fragrances, Saks last well, but it doesn't seem as "take no prisoners" as some can, and I'm someone who likes the assaultive quality of Michael by Michael Kors. Whether or not you find its qualities worth the price tag is another question, and always or often an issue with the Bond line.