I´m not dead – just off to Maine. Which some of you would say is the same thing … well, I´m back now, anyway. In my haste to pack the Ship of Fools and prepare for a trip during which I wouldn´t be online — including getting all those lovely folks to cover my posting days — I forgot to let more people know about my departure – and my apologies to those of you I worried with my unannounced absence.* We drove, which was less crappy than I´d anticipated with six of us and the dog in the car. I appear to be raising a brood of decent travelers.

The great thing about being in Maine with the things we can´t do (no phone, no internet) is all the things we can do. We stayed in a cabin so close to the water I could hear the waves lapping the shore. We slept with the windows open, under extra-large heavy duty wool blankets. It fogged and rained and sunned and I didn´t care. I built enough fires in our small wood stove that the Big Cheese took to calling me Jack London.

It´s not like I´m some outdoorsy gal. The great thing about not having any pride in that department is, I can ask advice and experiment with impunity and feel no shame. I have that geek curiosity. We were staying at a camp, with a lodge and other outlying cabins, and so I asked folks about the tides, lobster pots, bears, and the amazing, hard-core gardening going on there. How do you eat a lobster? How to cope with the wind and tide in a kayak? What´s the best way to build a fire in a stove (as opposed to a grate in a fireplace)? Can I bank the coals and/or work the draw to a degree that I don´t have to start from scratch twice a day? I had a little ongoing contest with myself to see how little kindling I could use.

I kayaked. A lot. Kayaking is the perfect boating exercise, as far as I´m concerned. Rowboating is a hell of a lot of work, sailboats are tedious with all the prep and rigging and what have you (although I´m happy to sail as long as someone else is doing all the work, and we did sail, it was a magnificent day, and I loved it). But a kayak is a one-person moving meditation. It´s silent. I don´t need, or want, help. I got a two-person boat so I could take the kids out, but I could also go out by myself and haul as hard as I wanted to, out to an island and back. The water´s so cold it´ll kill you eventually, or so I´ve been told, so I never got too far out. We saw harbor seals, and the porpoises came so close to the boat you could hear them blow. The kids just rambled around with their cousins and built fairy houses out of moss and sticks and waded in the cove on low tide. I taught them the fine, lost art of s´mores. I read a lot of books. We saw two black bears and plenty of mosquitos.

This is where I´m supposed to be moving on to sticking in a quickie fragrance review, and I fully intended to do that. Having written the above, though, I´m going to blow it off and address something else. Tasha Tudor died while we were up there, and my sister-in-law and I got into a friendly argument/discussion about Tudor after we read a brief article about her death in the Wall Street Journal somebody´d left on the front hall table. Now, let me emphasize here that neither of us knows anything else about Tudor other than what was in the WSJ (although I´m now going to get a biography), so our disagreement was philosophical rather than fact-based, if you follow me.

Tasha Tudor was born in the early 20^th century (1915?) but loved the 1830s and, as a young adult, went “back to the land” and lived on a farm, eventually in a house her son built by hand; she raised four kids in a New England farmhouse with no electricity or water. She wove her own fabric and dressed, if you have seen photos of her, like a woman from the previous century, which I suppose I must have known on some level but never really thought through – in long dresses and lace caps. She was twice divorced and lived, as far as I know, on the earnings from her considerable output of books and illustrations, which are charming, idealized stories and images of hearth and home. (BTW this is off the top of my head, feel free to correct factual errors.)

Anyhow – Kate was mildly horrified by all of that, as outlined in the WSJ, although she´s as fond of Tudor´s works as I am, which is to say: very fond. She though Tudor must have been nuts, and it bothered her to think about what it was like for Tudor´s children, being raised by a woman who seemed determined to live in the previous century.

And I found myself arguing with her, because I was … well, strangely charmed. There have been times in my life when I thought how appealing something like that might be. Okay, not as hardcore as Tudor (we´re not taking water and electricity off the table) but – I don´t know. To go put on a bonnet and a long skirt and chuck the TV and get the hell out of here.

But what does that mean, exactly? Let´s posit for this discussion that Tudor had enough independent wealth from her books that she could garden and weave and etc., but nobody was going to starve to death in a harsh winter if her cows died or whatever. On some level she had the comfort of choice – she could go buy food and provisions if she needed to. I´m not talking Back To The Land in a life-or-death way.

So, if you could have the fantasy, would you? Would you go move to (pick one) a rural Connecticut farm, or near a deserted beach or island, or a ranch in the scrub in New Mexico, assuming you had enough income that you didn´t have to bust your behind making the thing work for your survival? You could grow some stuff, but you could still drive to Kroger´s? What if you had kids? What about those renegade Mormons in Texas? Separate from issues you may have with some of their religious/lifestyle choices, and I know that´s a huge hump to put aside, is it wrong for their parents to raise them the way they do? No sugar, no TV, praising the Lord and respecting the elders? Living in some ways like it was 100 years ago? What about the Amish? How much of an obligation do parents have to put their kids in the swim of 2008?

I´m not trying to provoke anything here. This just happens to be a topic I spent several hours thinking about, alone, over the course of my vacation. What does it mean to leave? To opt out? To go to the ranch or the convent? Is it play-acting? (Heck, isn´t it all play-acting?) Do you have the right? What about people who don´t have the choice, like your children? On a lighter note, am I the only middle-aged woman who´s looked at re-enactment clothing online and fantasized about buying myself a calico dress and an apron and moving to just outside some little town, just to hear myself think? And would I die of boredom in five months if I did?

Okay, I have a pile of work on my desk (typing this Monday) I haven´t done, and I need to get on it. I won´t be hurt if you punt this post; I´ll see you tomorrow or Thursday for perfume.

*This doesn´t belong in this post, but it´s so long at this point I´m sticking it in anyway. Some of the rest of you probably read the New York Times magazine article a month or two ago about Emily Gould the gawker.com blogger, and how she also had a “private” blog, and how all her general snarkiness and over-sharing the personal details of her life eventually converged into something that blew up in her face. Separate from the specific people and details involved, reading the article got me thinking – hard – about how and what I share on here. Writing helps me think, and I like to write about all sorts of things, and this is my writing outlet for the time being. But I worry sometimes – e.g., what if someone reads my kid-related stuff and uses it as some sort of ammo that I´m an unfit mother? What if I embarrass my kids? I have already been startled a couple of times by the discovery that some of my kids´ friends, and the occasional teacher, and even some adult acquaintances of mine, lurk on the blog. Where do I draw the line? In the end I didn´t have much sympathy for Gould´s predicament, but parts of the article and her thought processes felt uncomfortably familiar. I am still trying to determine – in this brave new world of online information – where the boundaries are, at least for me.

photos: Buckethead and yours truly in the kayak; Diva’s photo of a daisy, and maybe I should get that girl a camera, she’s got an eye; Hecate and our sub-standard poodle, Kai; Tasha Tudor image from WSJ article; how I gained 5lbs. in one week (the lobster rolls and onion rings from the Bagaduce Lunch, which btw just won a James Beard commendation, only they didn’t go to the ceremony because it was their daughter’s high school graduation and who the heck is James Beard, anyway?); Diva takes the tiller on God’s perfect day sail.

March

I HAD to add this when I got it in my e-mail this morning. 

So… continuing on through my neglected sample drawer of new’ish releases, I reached in for the Odoris – with a sigh.  There are six perfumes for this new (to me/us) line.  Created by the same guy that did the Bois 1920s, which haven’t been a huge favorite for me, my thought:  this will likely be a waste of time, and I better come up with a backup plan for a blog post today.

I sprayed the Iris, with notes Star anise, heliotrope flowers, Madagascar ylang ylang, iris from Florence, oriental amber, bourbon vanilla.  Um,  hello, Fath Iris Gris, have you been reborn?  Well, not exactly, but there is a feel to both that is similar, a sweetness added to the iris that lightens it, exposes it to the sun and makes it sing.  Iris Gris is more effervesent, lighter, transparent, but Odori Iris is just as stunningly beautiful as you irises go.  There’s more oomph in Iris Gris, which is a remarkable feat for a perfume that has been aging for a few decades, but I’m quite smitten with the Odori Iris – it is sunny and bright and a very happy iris, not a brooding rooty iris.  It’s love for me and a must-try for any iris fan.

Well, with that happy start, let’s go right on to Odoro Zafferano with notes of American cedar, Italian saffron, raspberry flowers, wild rose petals, Moroccan jasmine, lily of the valley, oriental amber, rosewood.  This is probably my new favorite saffron scent next to the L’Artisan Saffran Troublant and Laura Tonatto’s Safram. Not quite sure if it’s in first place or second or third, but certainly a very worthy entry.  Softened and mellowed by the floral notes, it’s not just about the saffron, but how it mixes with other notes, giving it the rich texture that only saffron brings.  This is another must-try for saffron fans.

Dare I spread my luck more?  Well, I could, but you’ll have to wait.  I found the other four in the line to be worthy of praise and am wondering why no more has been written about the Odoris?  They are $210 for 100 ml a Luckyscent, and I think First in Fragrance has them as well.  Not a cheap price, but certainly not ridiculous compared to what other import perfumes sell for given the exchange rate. 

Patty

I´ll preface today´s post with a thanks to Matt for giving me food for thought on the subject of wearing orientals in summer. Not only do I wholeheartedly agree with him that you should spray on whatever darn pleases you, I´m also a staunch supporter of the idea that oriental, spicy perfumes are made to be worn in summer. Why? Well because they, as we perfumistas fondly like to say, bloom and meld with our skin amplifying nuances and accords that can seldom be experienced in the dreary cold of hateful winter. What´s more, I love summer. I live for summer. Nothing in this world compares to the feeling of being hypnotized by the breath of hot desert air that muddles your senses and benumbs your limbs; of walking barefoot on the scorching beach sand; of having an unexpected, mischievous gust of wind tickle you undershirt and dry your sweaty brow as you lie in the cool of a linden bower; of your sun-taut skin sizzling when you splash into the sea…

So, in the spirit of Matt´s post, I spritzed Fumerie Turque on before going to work and waited for it to weave its magic. Sure enough, the winter-specific punch of tobacco ash burnt off in a matter of seconds leaving behind a breathing layer of spicy leather dipped into honeyed rum. Not for a minute did it feel heavy or overbearing, not even during my bus ride. In fact, it was perfect. L´Air du Desert Marocain, one of my desert island perfumes, is another favorite that will not reveal all of its secrets unless you let it blend with your skin at an egg-boiling temperature.

But then, there are sweltering days when the air is so humid your clothes will cling relentlessly to your body and the sweat will drip from your every pore. On such a day I wouldn´t be caught dead wearing an oriental. Let me put it this way: I´d rather have my nipples pierced and my nether bits dry-shaved by a drunken, freshly jilted cosmetician than brave say, Chergui. I rather choose to battle the icky heat with greens and aromatics. A summer staple in my collection is Emporio Armani White, a widely underappreciated gem. White´s opening is a burst of juicy citrus and rosemary and is the equivalent of a refreshing herb-spiked lemonade, if such a thing exists. Cardamom and thyme appear in short order, the whole soon being overlaid by soft, white skin musks. White is a simple scent, really, but it´s the only one I´ve repurchased in the 100ml bottle and that says a lot, no? Reading comments on Basenotes, you´ll find however that many have longevity issues with this scent. Thankfully, I don´t have this problem as 3-4 spritzes last forever on me. A word of warning, though: if you´re a fan of White´s top notes, be sure to reapply it from time to time rather than overapply – instead of creamy musks, you could end up smelling like hairspray. Another green aromatic that appeals to me this time of the year is Calvin Klein´s Truth for men. I´m not much of a fan of the line, but this one seems to be the odd one out. Lovers of the scent of freshly cut grass, take note – the first few minutes of Truth will make you feel as if you were rolling in dewy grass, preferably with your loved one (sadly, my girlfriend hates the smell). Truth then gathers warmth from basil and cardamom and ends on a note of dry cedar, all the while keeping its natural vibe. An even better experience than Truth is its feminine version. I hear that the Lush flanker is more wonderful still. Do comment if you´ve tried both!

If aromatic citrus isn´t exactly your thing and you prefer your summer scent to leave a trail of transparent elegance, Eau de Cartier should work like a charm. It is easily my favorite natural´ of the bunch. Eau de Cartier feels like… a spring shower on your skin, a smile, a crystalline marriage of violets, greens and lavender. I am surprised by how little it moved me the first time. Yes, it can be a ghost of a scent, but if you´re patient enough, at the right time and the right place the ghost will cast its shadow, and if you´re quick enough, you´ll step on that shadow, just like I did.

Sometimes though not even these will do. The title of yesterday´s post, August(e) in June, is so true of the kind of weather we´re having this week. Only, we´re talking humid August, and the one that comes as an assault on your senses after a long spell of shy spring weather. You can well imagine how I felt the other day after a lengthy mid-afternoon tutoring of a group of listless two in a non-AC room, not to mention the toing-and-froing in buses from hell. All I could manage when I got home was a quick shower (didn´t help much, btw) after which I crashed on the bed, nekkid and still comatose, my head pounding. And then it hit me – what little I had left of my sample of Guerlain Vetiver I dumped all over. Ahhhh! Instant Cooling. Dee-vine. Should Be Prescribed As Medicine. Lying there in the dark with a moronic grin, I remembered reading on one of the blogs about someone who keeps their bottle of Vetiver in the fridge. Isn´t that cool or what? I´m going to do the same as soon as my bottle arrives, hee.

So I got samples of the new Augustes that Luckyscent is carrying, and of course just set them to one side because they are $245 for 40 ml, but they have really super-cute bottles according to the pictures.  But in the spirit of not overlooking anything that is really spendy, let’s take a look at the Augustes.

Esprit de Chine has notes of Ambrette, Orange blossom, Lilac, Carnation, Muguet, White Musk, Tree Moss absolute, Sandalwood.  The open is a little bitterish, but not in a bad way, just slightly sharped.  The floral notes immediately soften that sharpness, adding a lovely floral quality, lots of interest from the distinctively greenish muguet and still slightly sharp ambrette.  It’s underpinned very nicely with the base notes, the musk the most prominent, but not overpowering the florals.  This scent is really lovely. It has a beautifully rounded feel to it that makes it grown-up without being “old Ladyish.”  I would happily wear this.

Esprit de Cuir has notes Citron, Geranium, Galbanium, Jasmin, Clove, Birch, Opoponax, Tonka Bean absolute, Oak Moss absolute.  Okay, it has a slightly citrus open that lasts for… a second, and then it goes right into full-on leather.  Rich, earthy leather.  You leather freaks should love this.  I like leather, but it’s not something I find myself wearing all the time.  This is elegant without being too refined.  Earthy without being too raw.  An interesting take on leather.

Esprit de Chypre has notes of Bergamot, Ylang, Citron, Patchouly, Nutmeg, Vetyver, Oak Moss absolute, Heliotrope, Cistaceae absolute (rock rose).   Very mossy open in a great way.  Just a hint of citrus.  The nutmeg lends a nice spicy touch to the florals.  I don’t smell the leather in any overpowering way, it’s very understated. Okay, this is probably my favorite of the three. It’s got a beautiful  symmetry to it that you could wear for every day or for a really special evening.

 Are any of them worth $245 for 40 ml?  It says it is extrait de parfum, which leads me to believe it’s a decent strength, and it seems to have good lasting power. If it is extrait, $245 for more than an ounce of extrait is just not a bad price at all.  I’d be in to buy the Chypre for sure at that price. I think all three are interesting, and I’m surprised there hasn’t been more.

Thanks for all the votes in the Top 25.  We need more guys voting for the Men’s Top 25!  You can vote by posting to comments at this post or e-mailing me at p geissler at gmail dot com.

Winner of the China Rain sample is Lora!  Just hit the Contact Us button over on the left and send me your mailing address, and I’ll ship you off your sample!

Patty

I originally wrote this a few months ago, and want to share it with all of you now, given my newfound love for the department store gem, Estee Lauder Sensuous.

As we are now in the midst of a recession here in the United States (don´t kid yourselves folks, it´s not coming, it has arrived like a biblical plague), I´ve been on something of a mission trying to find beauty in the many department store fragrances I´ve ignored over the years. Yes, I am a “niche snob”, mostly wearing scents available exclusively online, or in places that would require a very expensive plane ticket in order for me to buy them in person. Despite my admission of snobbery, I do tend to, on occasion, troll the shopping malls looking for something inspirational. Sadly, the malls in my area are now filled with empty walled-off spaces and there are no exciting “Coming soon…” signs to indicate that there will again be life in these barren retail shells. That they are simply gone is indicative of the hard economic times that have now befallen those of us in the dwindling American middle class.

Hard times have suddenly and severely curtailed my niche perfume habit to the point that I´ve been looking for a fix at the department store level.  I´ve been “slumming”.  Sure my current collection could keep me wonderfully and excessively fragrant for the rest of my life, but as a perfume lover, there is never enough. I am always on the trail of something new and exciting, but I´m beginning to realize that my avoidance of what´s out there in the fragrance Zeitgeist has been for good reason.

There are two things contributing to my malaise: Firstly, a good many of the department store fragrances I´ve smelled recently have two things in common: fruit and flowers. Secondly, I read Chandler Burr´s latest book, The Perfect Scent: A Year Inside the Perfume Industry in Paris and New York. Admittedly, the book was more of an olfactory wake-up call than the actual concoctions I was sniffing. Who among us can claim insider status in the world of commercial fragrances the way Chandler Burr can? I may not be a New York Times book critic, but I say with heartfelt honesty that reading this book has completely changed my perspective on fragrance; especially the mass-marketed scents for sale in department stores. I´m not saying there aren´t any appealing options, but more often than not, there is safety rather than edginess; fresh, clean and friendly as opposed to lewd, nasty and interesting.

Of course, not everyone wants to smell like jasmine left to macerate in an ashtray (Etat Libre d´Orange´s Jasmin et Cigarette), but on the flipside, if my only choices were Ralph and Tommy Girl, I´d blow my brains out. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean. It´s not that I don´t appreciate the art of fragrance – I do now, thanks to Chandler Burr. Generic department store fruity-florals are, after all, the creations of artists: Perfumers. But, when it comes to scents created to appeal to the masses, these artists are not invoking their own creative instincts; they are given an olfactory road map laid out for them by a bunch of marketing execs in monkey suits sitting in a boardroom. I have this vision of Donald Trump sitting, “Apprentice-style”, at the head of a table the size of a hockey rink with Jean Claude Ellena, Dominique Ropion, Olivia Giacobetti and Michel Roudnitska, giving each one of them grief for screwing up the task assigned to them. I can literally hear it: “Jean Claude, your version stinks! YOU´RE FIRED!”

I have great admiration for these artists and their willingness to comply with the marketing wishes of the monkey-suited set. They are paid handsomely for their time and trouble, so why not? But, there´s got to be some degree of frustration at having their creativity stifled in the name of capitalism. Long before I knew who Chandler Burr was, some of my favorite niche fragrances were those created by the perfumers I mentioned: Parfums DelRae´s Bois de Paradis by Michel Roudnitska is a scent I adore, along with Bvlgari Eau Parfumee au The Vert by Monsieur Ellena, Idole de Lubin by Olivia Giacobetti, and Frederic Malle´s flat-out amazing Carnal Flower, courtesy of Dominique Ropion. Of these, only Bvlgari´s green tea scent is now considered mainstream. When it was introduced in 1992, it was something new and different. The others wouldn´t be able to command even an inch of a square foot of retail space in the fragrance department of any American mall-anchoring department store. It is partially for this reason that I love them so much. When I put them on, the likelihood of running into someone else wearing the same scent as me is pretty slim; except maybe if I’m spending a fair bit of time browsing at Barneys, Bergdorf Goodman or perusing the offerings at Henri Bendel. But, given my present financial state: penny-pinching and prowling Macy´s, Bloomingdales and Nordstrom, I am more likely to be assaulted by Angel or whatever the fruity-floral celebu-scent du jour might be.

It would be unfair of me to conclude this essay without revealing some mainstream perfumes that don´t make me want to blow my brains out. They would be: Sarah Jessica Parker´s Lovely and Covet, Givenchy´s Organza Indecence (a bit hard to find these days, but not impossible), L de Lolita Lempicka, Donna Karan´s Cashmere Mist, and her very first scent, Donna Karan New York, Burberry Brit, Kenzo Amour, and my most recent discovery, Max Mara Le Parfum. This is just a partial list.

In happy times, as well as not so happy times, I can manage to find scents that will lift my spirits, regardless of their cost and availability. It all depends on how motivated I am to look for them. There are gems hidden everywhere, even in department stores.