The Heeley line is a sleeper for me.  I keep finding a lot to love there at a reasonable price point – or they were reasonable, but I never put them at the top of my list, despite my admiration for many of their scents.  I remembered them being under $100 a bottle, so how did they get up over 100? Is my faulty aging memory to blame?  Anyway, the newest entry they have is Ophelia, with notes of Italian orange, green flower stems, jasmine, ylang ylang, tuberose, moss, white musc.  It’s $178 for 100 mls, where the rest of the line is $148.  It’s still not as high as some, but I’m just going to block out this new information and keep remembering them as being less than $100, it helps me sleep at night.

They don’t list Lily of the Valley in the notes, but I suspect that’s in the green flower stems catch-all. It’s defintely LotV smelling for me on the open – am I wrong?   It feels very much like Diorissimo, which is one of my all-time favorites.  Ophelia is luminous, it seems to glow from the inside.  The tuberose and ylang give it a nice roundness and depth as that greenish note fade quite a bit in about 20 minutes. This is a seriously beautiful perfume, it just radiates white lush without smothering or choking you like some white florals do. I’m thinking poor man’s Shalini, though it doesn’t have quite that trilling sillage that Shalini has. It’s all white flower. If you aren’t a fan of the white flower, well, you know what to do.

Speaking of Diorissimo, I have a question, did Dior and Hermes both tighten up their distribution?  You used to be able to get all of the Diors and Hermes fragrances for cheap on discounters, but lately, like the Guerlains, they are  impossible to find at a discount.  You get used to paying $50 for a bottle of Hiris, ya know?  Anyone heard anything there?

Patty

As I type this I am reeking of Absorbine Jr., which my equestrienne sister-in-law assures me is in fact horse liniment, repackaged into a dab-on bottle for humans at 50 times the price of the per-gallon stuff you get for the pony.  I don’t care.   The sultry arms of Patou’s Joy may drive you wild with its embrace, but nothing says I love you to me like the smell of Absorbine Jr.   We always had an old stained bottle sitting around the house when I was growing up and, assuming a bone wasn’t poking through the skin, my mother dabbed Absorbine Jr. on whatever bite, burn or scrape I was whining about and sent me on my way with a popsicle, assuring me I’d live.  I put it on now just so I can smell it, not because I pulled a tendon in the Belmont Stakes.

Absorbine Jr. smells strongly herbal/medicinal; ingredients include absinthium oil, iodine, calendula, echinacea and wormwood (btw it’s also got acetone and FD&C Blue No. 1 and Yellow No. 6, which I am sure is great for my skin.)   I wouldn’t drink it, but it’s good for what ails you.  To me it is the quintessential smell of summer.  I uncap that bottle and release memories of hot pavement burning the soles of my feet, ripe white peaches dripping down my chin, cold grape soda by the pool (don’t go in for an hour after eating or your stomach will cramp up and you’ll die, remember that?), and setting off the requisite quasi-legal explosives at night, since I grew up in Virginia.  The smell of gunpowder and the beauty of fireflies is inextricably entwined in my memory at this point.  I wonder if you can still buy M-80s and other things large enough to take off a hand?  Probably not.

Weleda Calendula baby cream is also an excellent scent, a less piquant version of Absorbine Jr. that makes me think of Santa Fe in the summer, and anything that makes me think of Santa Fe is good, obviously.  I rub it on my hands when I need some moisture and a smile.

Perfume-wise, here is my random, totally subjective short list of fragrances that have been mis-labeled:  perfumes that should be room sprays and vice versa.

Fracas.  Okay, I admit this smells amazing on lots of people, especially men.  (Men reading this: wear it, please. For me and those you love.)  I am not a Fracas hater, so don’t flame me.  At my house it’s best enjoyed one spritz at a time in the air in my bedroom.  Eventually the smell permeates the entire second floor.  I am not complaining.

Diptyque Essence of John Galliano. This is a room spray that has not caused any rashes or parts to drop off despite my using it regularly on my skin.  One of my all time favorite non-perfume smells, I might like it even better than CB I Hate Perfume Burning Leaves.  Why?  Because underneath all that Damp Fireplace lurks a heart of something cologne-ish, like a virtual reality Weekend Ministering to the Needs of My Lord the Duke in his Drafty Medieval Castle.  I will spare you further details of my fantasy to avoid getting trapped in your spam filter.

Apothia Velvet Rope. I have a couple of friends who love and wear this, but I have the candle and a decant and seriously, I think the whole deal works better as a room spray.  Considering it’s inspired by a nightclub, this makes sense.

Serge Lutens Encens et Lavande. Okay, I should probably be shot for writing this, but it makes such a great room spray.   I love incense fragrances on my skin, but I don’t want the house to smell like a cathedral.   For the record, I don’t like lavender much either except on my linens.  But EetL in the hallway?  Heaven on earth.

Malle Une Rose. It seems so wrong.  And yet.  The perfect room spray.  Um, one spray, no more.

What room spray or other household/medicinal product do you wear for the smell?  (Tiger Balm?  Band-Aids?) And what fragrance do you use to scent your surroundings, and not just because you’re stuck with a bottle of something you’re trying to use up?

March

Climbing School was this last weekend.  I wasn’t even sure I’d make it to the two-day outing, but I did, and I even rappelled down, which was something I thought I’d never be able to do. I wasn’t mindlessly afraid, just apprehensive.  The rock was really sharp, and I slipped just a little in one place and tore up my leg, which didn’t seem like anything happened until I looked down at it about an hour later and was horrified.  I’m very afraid of heights. Rather, I’m afraid of edges.  So backing over an edge, even with a rope on, is jaw-droppingly terrifying.  The climbing part isn’t as bad as long as I can stop wherever I want to and come back down.

The one thing I’ve figured out about fear for me is low, slow pressure works.  Not high pressure because I won’t get over it in one day or one weekend or one week, and I’ll buck the thing or person applying the pressure.  But if I keep on really low level pressure and continuing to try, even when I don’t want to, pretty soon, I’ll be a lot further than I was before.  I’m fairly optimistic about the climbing thing in helping me conquer my fear of heights, or at least the irrational fear of edges.  It’s like yoga. I’ve been trying to do a crow pose for months, and I kept getting into position and trying, but never got frustrated because my feet wouldn’t come up, just would keep trying.  Last week I got into the crow pose, expecting the same thing, and magically my feet lifted, and I was completely in the pose.  Then I got so jacked, I fell right out of it, but I did it again and again.  Over time, with pressure, you can change anything into what you want.  Well, except perfume, which just is what it is, but always different for everyone.

Washington Tremlett’s latest entry in the perfume market is Clove Absolute.  Notes of Lemon, Heliotrope, Rose, Incense, Clove Absolute, Patchouli, Vanilla Absolute, Cistus Absolute, Musk make up the perfume.  Great list of notes!

This goes on strong, a pretty straightforward combination of mostly clove and incense.  As it dries down, it seems much more incensey and sorta, well, soapy?  I normally, at minimum, like clove perfumes, so I was prepared to have love with this, and I just can’t make up my mind if I’m even in like with it.  There’s just something that seems to not balance quite right.  It never seems to go completely over into an incense perfume with abandon, which would make it gorgeous, nor does it full on do a clove perfume.  I don’t hate it, I just can’t seem to figure it out.  There’s almost a barbershoppy feel to it, guess that’s also the soapy thing I’m getting.   It does seem to trend more traditionally masculine.

It’s nice, I’d wear it, but I think I’d have my brow furrowed most of the time it was on trying to figure it out.  I’ve tried it twice now, thinking my first reaction could be because I was smelling too many things.  But now.  You know, it’s just not me, but I think it would  smell really great on a guy. And I have a feeling some of these notes would go better on someone else’s skin or nose that didn’t pick up that soapy smell.

But I will give away the remainder of my sample vial of this to one lucky commenter.  Just drop a comment to go in the drawing.

The winners of the Pure White Linen Pink Coral samples are:  Tiara, Junebug and Guatami.  Just send a note by hitting Contact us over there on the left, remind me what you won and I’ll get it mailed out to you.

Patty

First, let me announce the winner of the Benefit sample set -  Pattie!   Contact Us with your address, thanks.

Well – the weather is warm, sort of, and I think we’re really ready – in spirit if not in body – for a roundup of your favorite cologne and cologne-type scents.

All this was brought home to me when I savored an armload of Guerlain’s Cologne du 68, which I’ve given short shrift to, only because if you actually see it on a counter somewhere, it’s standing between, say, Sous le Vent and a bee bottle of Vetiver Pour Elle, and oh, look! here’s Bois d’Armenie and Derby and some other interesting stuff you hardly ever see and whose dumb idea was those bulb atomizers blah blah blah and I end up leaving the counter 45 minutes later with my nose hairs singed, and the 68 has long since disappeared from my mind.

I was in a cologne-ish mood, though, recently, so I sprayed Guerlain Vetiver Pour Elle all over one arm and the 68 on the other.  Pour Elle was the one I was really interested in, and … eh.  I don’t know.  Luca Turin’s pretty wild for it, it’s a more floral vetiver, but my vote for the money is the original (men’s) Vetiver, which LT describes as “reference vetiver” in the Guide.  I’m sure many of you have vetivers you like better, but I am not the Vetiver Queen and I find Guerlain Vetiver to be a pretty perfect summer refreshment.  Added bonus: you can pick it up online and at your local discounters.

But the 68 was the one that really swept me off my feet.  I’d put it in the cologne-plus category – something slightly more interesting and long lasting than the bergamot-petitgrain-laden tradition.  Allegedly its name comes from its 68 notes and the store address on the Champs-Elysees, and I have no idea how those 68 notes stack up to the number of notes in a “regular” cologne, but it smells more complex to me.  There’s a list of notes on the front of the bottle (in French), and the most comprehensive list I’ve seen is on Now Smell This, so here’s my link to Robin’s review.  It used to be terrible distribution, I think only the store in Paris?  But the price is cheaper now (smaller bottle) and you can find it online for $100.  The bottle itself is kind of cool, isn’t it?  It’s handsome and looks a little out of place with the retro styling of most of the rest of the line.  It reminds me a little of the Caron Reglisse bottle, although it’s not as tall.

Notes via NST are bergamot, green mandarin, citron, clementine, cedrat, blood orange, limette, grapefruit, basil, fennel, star anise, lavender, bay leaf, cypress, elemi, thyme, myrtle, bigarade, mandarin petitgrain, lemon petitgrain, pear, violet leaves, ivy leaves, gentiana, sap, blackcurrant, freesia, lily of the valley, hazelnut leaf, cyclamen, cardamom, coriander, black pepper, pink pepper, nutmeg, ginger, jasmine, frangipani, magnolia, orange blossom, peony, rose, carnation, ylang ylang, lychee, fig, blackberry, immortelle, lentisque, opoponax, amber, benzoin, vanilla, cistus, heliotrope, iris, tonka bean, sage, musk, patchouli, agarwood, cedar, sandalwood, vetiver, vegetable musk, praline, myrrh and moss.

The first two minutes of 68 are a little warmer and sweeter than I’d expected.  I’m standing there thinking, yeah, this is nice … oh, really nice … you know, about as good as it gets mentally for cologne.  Then really nice moves on into legitimate fragrance territory, by which I mean I start mentally evaluating 68 as more than something I’d throw on when the thermometer reads 92 and I want to run away from home.  It goes through several phases – the citrus/sweet top, an interesting fruity interlude that made me think of lychee, then a couple rounds of anise, then a really great nutty section that made me think of sesame but must have been the hazelnut.  At that point I was really enjoying myself, and we hadn’t even gotten to the immortelle or the drydown that, on me, goes on approximately forever and smells equally of musk and cut grass with a tiny nibble of almond macaron (the praline?)

There’s always a place in my heart and my fridge for a big ol’ medicinal bottle of 4711, and I am pretty sure that somewhere on here in the past I basically said, hey, how many colognes does anyone need? Just as some of you are testing new waters (florals! oud!) and feeling the love for the first time, I’m really re-evaluating my relative lack of respect for cologne scents.   I think this and Escale a Portofino are at the top of my list right now (speaking of another cologne-plus scent), and I definitely need to retry that Mugler, I know a bunch of you are nuts over that.

Also, I think it’s terrible that Dior seems to have killed off all their giant colognes in local stores (Blanche, Noire, Bois D’Argent) – where did they go?   Did I miss the memo about them being discontinued or something?  Does anyone still see them around?  What’s your favorite cologne?

March

First things first: an apology. It turns out that the vials I though I had in the place I had them in, are not in that place or any other place for that matter. This therefore means that sending out the samples of Eau Turquoise as promised, to the recipients who asked so politely, is going to be a little longer than expected. I’m very sorry.

However, to make amends for my postal failings, there’ll be a draw at the end of this post, ‘kay?

Poor Mona. Ragged by Turinia, and beset by distribution issues in the States and elsewhere, it seems like 2009 is not her year. That is, if you look at it through our perfume-obsessed lenses. From her vantage point, the view must be quite different – three new luxury  candles (all quite heady and slightly odd, I have to say) launched at the end of 2008, and two new scents this year, one not yet launched. So somehow, some way, in spite of the odds, she must be doing okay.

I’ve already praised her previous scents. They are opulent, classical and heavily layered beasties on the whole, and not attuned to the mainstream, nor the grotesquely expanding niche market and its herdlike trends. The Rubenesque forms of Carnation, for example, and the French orientalist make-up of Nuit Noire, are both very different from Serge Lutens’ heavier numbers – the line with which they might seem to have the biggest commonality. Lutens’ oriental infusions seem transparent compared to di Orio’s almost too voluptuous blends. They’re the opposite of quotidian.

Friends and enemies alike will note that, unlike last year’s Amyitis, which took her into greener landscapes, the recently released Chamarré continues with the dominant oriental theme of her collection. Here’s the PR puff:

Drawing inspiration from the word Chamarré, which means “an explosion of colours and richly ornamented”.

In this perfume, the warm breath of lavender in combination with aldehydes paves the path to sensual treats such as powdered iris from Florence, seductive rose absolue from Turkey and delicate violet, ending in a gentle embrace of cashmeran, opoponax and ambre gris.

Lavender normally strikes me as cooling rather than warm, but that doesn’t really matter here, as it’s not that significant in the composition. At first, the perfume is aldehydic and sweet, somehow quite diffuse, and without the scary qualities of Nuit Noire that led to ‘civet fart’ references elsewhere. Then the density begins, alongside a floral headiness that is somehow indeterminate – violet brings an element of powderiness, perhaps, but this is more a synthetic/synthesised bloom of nothing existent in nature. It references other perfumes rather than the world outside of bottled scents, and it would take someone much more knowledgeable about perfume lineage than me to trace those antecedents and references. Alongside the heady floral accord, there’s a caramelised quality that is heading to gourmand (the nature of ‘sensual treats’ in the text above?) and brings a rasping sweetness to the middle of the scent. It remains dark, heady, slumberous, for all of its life, and fills me with languor, though not this time with longing. Definitely a composition that strikes me as more obviously feminine than most of her other launches – save Oiro perhaps, whose jasmine prettiness takes a little too long to give way to immortelle, for my entire liking. For people who don’t get perfume, it’ll definitely fit the ‘old lady’ and ‘it gives me a headache’ bill to perfection. A commenter over at Now Smell This indicated that chamarré has slightly negative connotations when used by French speakers – that it can imply vulgarity, too much ornamentation, taste that is definitely not bon chic bon genre – borne out of sneering at nouveau riche types perhaps, who have the temerity to attempt a Rococo interior in their Cote d’Azur home, or at the delight in decoration that exists outside of ‘classical’ or ‘refined’ tastes. For me, it certainly strides that line between ‘decorous’ and ‘too much’, even as my own predilections swerve, depending on mood,  from the tasteful to the trashy.

If you want to old lady it up, or get your own headache in a small glass tube, leave a message below and you’ll be in with a chance to win my (small) vial of Chamarré. I like it, but I don’t need it.

Lee