Did y’all know that JAR has secured a few bottles of the original Baccarat bottles of Golconda, original formula, from Paris?  Yeah, they called me like three times to make sure I knew, too.  Thanks, JAR gorgeous guys at Bergdorf Goodman.

I’d never smelled the original, but how much better could it be from the version they have now, she asked foolishly?  Don’t ask, you’re better off not knowing, is what I should have said.

I love the version of Golconda they have now, it’s a benignly malevolent carnation scent that makes me think of the reflection of the Wicked Stepmother in Snow White.  The original version is the Wicked Stepmother, full of smooth poison and soft words, something you think you should back away from, but your feet betray you and you step closer.

If you’re a big fan of Golconda and can stomach the $800 price tag, you should call now and get yours. They don’t have a lot, they come in that beautiful bottle, and hey, it’s the holidays, what else are you gonna get for yourself this year?

After we entered Phase II of the outside decorating this year – yes, it is the 14th, we think we’ll be done by Christmas – I’ve decide you really need to string lights when it’s dark out, but it’s slightly dangerous.  I’m not sure how my son managed to get the blue-headed guy swathed out with lights in the tree (he says it is a character from Avatar) in daylight, but it has made me laugh harder than any decoration he’s done to date. When we finally get it done, maybe by the New Year, I’ll post pictures here or on Facebook.

Patty

by Musette

Sharry Baby  – on Vacation ?

If you were a water buffalo would you wear a clock?

Beats me, but they both grace the bottles of  Lelong pour Femme, lookin´ kinda goofy.  Unlike a lot of vintage designs (Chanel & Guerlain are uppermost in my mind), the LpF bottle has stumbled over into camp (the parfum has an actual working clock on?  In?  the bottle…well, I´m going to just leave that alone, though I am giggling at the lame-o explanation for the clock.  You can go to the Lelong website and giggle along with me.)

But the perfume?  Oh, baby!  Sharry Baby.   This is some luscious stuff.

Now I´ve got an earwig (those of a certain age will know this ‘wig).  Dang.  And the worst of it is, it´s a bubblegum earwig – the exact opposite of what Lelong pour Femme is all about.

To quote the Lelong website: This unique floral oriental fragrance melds bright mandarin and bergamot, which add a sparkling effect to the rich top notes of magnolia flowers, garden lilac and Kadota Fig Intenscent. The timeless beauty of jasmine, rose de mai, tuberose, ylang ylang, and iris is highlighted with the distinctive signature notes of sharry baby (there´s that damned earwig again!), orchid, purple cattleya orchid, and white cattleya orchid. A smooth oriental background of creamy sandalwood, vetivert, oakmoss, and musk completes these fragrances.

Okay, “Kadota Fig Intenscent” just sounds goofy; but in the pantheon of Goofification, that´s paltry, so I´m going to let it pass, along with the clock and the water buffalo horns.

Because the scent is a silky, sensuous delight.  Lelong pour Femme.  For me, it was a stealth introduction -  a lovely and generous lady sent me a little vial of vintage Vacances but we all know that you´d have to boost about 6 Lexus rims to pay for a bottle of that stuff.  So…to keep me out of jail (and broaden my limited horizons), she also sent me Lelong.  Wasn´t that nice of her (have you noticed that nobody in the perfume world ever has a 12-step program?  Instead, it´s like a half-step program.  Can´t afford X? C´mere, sit by me and try Y.  It´s only half a mortgage payment!  Wicked enablers!  Wicked!)

Anyway, because I am an idiot I waited awhile to try it, sure that nothing could touch Vacances.

I wuz wrong.  But it didn´t come over all at once.  For awhile I thought of Lelong as Vacances Lite´ (because I was hoist on the Patou petard.  Patou is Patou but who the hell was Lelong?  Hey, I have my snobby moments just like the next alien but, you know, it´s something quite different and deeper.  Where Vacances really is all white-hot sunlight and clanging masts in the harbor, Lelong is the waning of that day – what happens when you come back to the villa after a day on the yacht.  Vacances´ yachting whites are off, you´re apres-bain, sipping an aperitif and the midnight blue evening gown awaits.  The room is aglow in golden light and the blue-black sky is the perfect foil for the lights of the harbor beyond.  You´ll be back to the seaside in just a little while, enjoying that delicious shiver as his dinner-jacketed arm slides over your bare skin as you glide across the dance floor, open to the summer evening…

<ahem!>…….okay.   I´m okay.  Really.   Just give me a minute.  Okay.

I can´t figure out why they are so similar in smell – Vacances´ notes (per Jan Moran via Sali @ Pink Manhattan, thank you both) are:

Jean Patou Vacances (1936 Floral Oriental)

Top Notes: Hyacinth, hawthorn, galbanum,  Heart Notes: Lilac, mimosa,  Base Notes: Musk, woods

There is some overlap, especially the lilac, but not enough to explain their strong resemblance.  Most of the lilac scents I´ve smelled are pretty evanescent – is it possible for lilac to hold its own in both of these scents – enough to allow for their differences to recede?  I´m so confused.  Vacances is green and eager.  LpF is more golden and relaxed. To pay homage to that stupid clock, Vacances is 10 and Lelong is 8:30 p.m.  I wore Vacances to death back in the 80s but at that age could´ve never pulled off LpF – it´s pretty but it´s definitely an adult perfume.  I can´t imagine Vacances in the cold weather, Chicago in February would suck the soul right out of it.  Lelong´s got an extra bit of oomph, which lets it hold its own in frigid temps (I wore it today.  Its 24F.  It did just fine).  It´s not a winter comfort scent, in my opinion, but is definitely a scent I can wear in the winter when I want to recall the clanging of masts in the harbor.  And the midnight blue evening gown.

And  all those Lexus owners can breathe easy!

Ps.  Orchids? – if anybody can tell me what a Sharry Baby orchid smells like, I would love to know.  I´m sure it holds the key to all this… and it might help get that bubblegum earwig out of my head!  Thank you.

I have to admit, lately I´ve been feeling a little like Goldilocks, since I´ve been looking for “just right” and it seems to be eluding me at every turn. Rhubarb with too much patchouli, woods where there are none, and now I´ve fallen down the rabbit hole of celebrity. Wait – rabbit hole? That´s Alice in Wonderland. I am not well…

How many of you remember Helena Rubinstein? The brand hasn´t had a presence here in North America for a number of years, but it did attempt a splashy comeback about a decade ago. First, it was reintroduced in Canada at Eaton´s, before what´s left of the Eaton family let the venerable department store die on the vine and be bought out by Sears. Then, a day spa opened in New York City´s Soho neighbourhood, and was featured in a third season episode of “Sex and the City”. It was the one where Samantha caused a scandal because she wasn´t sufficiently “serviced” by one of the male massage therapists.  Now, Helena Rubinstein is back in North America with a fragrance, Wanted. It is being fronted by Demi Moore and billed as, “A vibrant woody floral filled with sensual and carnal tension”.   Lately, the only thing filled with sensual and carnal tension for me is an extra large Tim Horton´s double-double.  Um, that´s a coffee, light and sweet.

My mother used Helena Rubinstein cosmetics back in the days when they were available at Alexander´s department store, sold in blister packaging like Maybelline and Cover Girl. She adored Helena Rubinstein mascara, buying at least two at a time. My mother didn´t have many eyelashes to speak of, but for what few she had, that magic mascara made the most of them.  In those days I was too young to wear Helena Rubinstein anything, but when the brand hit the shelves again in the late 90s, I went hog wild.  The colour cosmetics were a little too bold for my liking, but the skin care products and their Vertiginous mascara were must-haves for me. Back then, my favourite items to smuggle from Toronto to New York were from Helena Rubinstein and Lush. Now, Lush is ubiquitous, and the only place in North America you can find Helena Rubinstein is in Mexico.  The times, they do change.

When I saw the picture of Wanted by Helena Rubinstein in the Shoppers Drug Mart flyer, I thought the whole line was being reintroduced here in Canada. Alas, only the fragrance, exclusively at Shoppers Drug Mart for now (it’s at Macy’s in the US). The tie-in with Demi Moore is a bit misleading since it is not her scent exactly, but “interpreted” by her. I´m guessing that since there aren´t many people here in Canada and the US for whom the name “Helena Rubinstein” rings a bell, they needed a boost from a more familiar entity. Especially if that entity is what´s known as a “cougar”, possessed of a body that is pretty well unattainable for us mere mortals in her age range, and a hot husband 15 years her junior.  I guess that takes care of the “sensual and carnal tension”.  The fragrance itself is as I said: not quite right. Not much is known about the actual juice with the exception of who concocted it – Dominique Ropion and Carlos Benaà¯m, and the notes: ylang ylang, wood magnolia and iris cream. There has to be more to it, but I´m not sure what. To my nose, it smells like one of those country club scents you smell on women of a certain age, dripping diamonds, carrying their Birkin bags and lunching on the stray lettuce leaf and celery stalk. I don´t know how else to describe it. It doesn´t have a vintage feel, nor is it carnal or sensual. I get more of a “which doesn´t belong and why?” vibe from it, because the iris cream clearly has no business in this scent. The earthiness of the iris is so wrong here, all the way through to the drydown.  Iris cream succeeds in one scent: Guerlain´s Iris Ganache. Other than that, it does not translate. It is either iris, or it is not.  Again, if we´re going to use the words “sensual” and “carnal” and Dominique Ropion in the same sentence, there can only be one scent we´re talking about: Carnal Flower. It begins and ends with that one.

At the bottom of my rabbit hole is Jennifer Lopez´s recent release, My Glow. And here´s the shocking part: I like it. And I almost bought a bottle of it. Why? Because when the mistress of your domain is policing every morsel of food you eat and threatening you with the implementation of a raw food diet, you need comfort wherever you can find it. When you open up the fridge and spy a mason jar filled with what looks like puréed front lawn, you want to crawl under the bed and hide until you wake up in a home you can call your own. Hey, I knew what I was getting into; I´m just blowing off some steam. But, the right scent does help lower my stress level. My Glow consists of lavender, water lily, freesia, white rose, wet leaves, peony, Casablanca lily, skin musk, sandalwood, precious woods and heliotrope.  All together, this makes lavender soap. But not soap as in “soap and water”. Soap, as in, “Please stop murdering onions in the kitchen. I can´t take it anymore!” If you live in southern Ontario and you´re having trouble locating an onion, drop me a line; they´re all here.  One snort of My Glow helps me keep the onions at bay; that´s because I don´t currently have a hazmat suit and a gas mask.  I´m thinking that´s as good a reason to buy a bottle as any I can think of.

For more insight into my wonderful aunt and her food proclivities, please surf here. She´s a nutbar, but I love her very much.

Take another stroll down memory lane with me: If you do remember the Helena Rubinstein brand as I do, tell your story. Or, if you live in one of the countries where the line is still sold, what do you think of it now?

Not sure I feel that much different being on the “more dead” side of 50, but there is this little bit of a downer buzzing around in my head that I can’t quite shake.  Since I never stay in these moods long, it should blow off quickly.  Let’s let one of the odder perfume lines that I normally adore take a stab at it.

Strange Invisible Perfumes introduced Fire and Cream in September 2009 with notes of orange, orange blossom (neroli), tuberose, frankincense, white lavender, vetiver, sandalwood and patchouli.

This opens dry and, um,  hay.  Well, there you go.  I adore the SIP base, that natural, slightly bitter smell, then she had to go and toss hay that’s been warmed by the sun all day in there – this is the equivalent to tossing gasoline on me.  For those of you who haven’t been reading this forever, that’s a good thing — nay, a great thing. The smell of hay is the wrapping in my head that encloses every great, comforting memory I have in my life, and it immediately transports me into the best, happiest place in my head.  This has a lovely lavender note that’s incredibly light and lilting, not sure if it’s a lot different from normal lavender or just how it plays with the incense and other base notes. The incense is not a big player in this.  I also smell the orange, neroli and tuberose at the edges of what is still just lusty, heady hay in my nose and head.  She created this inspired by an evening summer sky. She must have been laying on a big pile of hay.

I know, this happens to me.  If some combination of notes puts me in hayville, it’s all over with.  I only smelled the edp, and it has decent lasting power.  Anyone try the extrait?

Patty

Addition — btw folks I know the blog was down again this morning, I assume it’s a traffic problem but haven’t been able to sort it out, as it’s intermittent.  It annoys me too, and we’re working on it.

I spent a fair amount of time on Sunday sitting on my butt reading the new, improved paperback version of The Guide, which is every bit as much fun as I expected.    The great thing about reading about fragrance is I’m often reminded of scents I’d quasi-forgotten, and I find new ways to think about perfume.

So today I decided to post on fragrances that smell like a party, because it seems like the perfect time of year for Party Scents.  These are not the sophisticated, tasteful scents that I (or most definitely you) might choose to wear to a party — your precious flacon of 1958 Mitsouko parfum, the bottle of Bal a Versailles your husband gave you for your anniversary … ohno.  I’m talking about scents that make me laugh out loud because they are their own party — right there in the bottle.

Gucci Rush – I’m wearing it right now and grinning, why do I not own a bottle of this stuff?  I used to hate the red plastic box container with the same passion I hated the YSL Nu purple-plastic-diaphragm container, and for the same reason: I figured that cheesy packaging was keeping people from appreciating the goods inside. (Everyone Who Loves Incense:  TRY NU.  Usually it’s cheap, $40 or less, online. Thank you.)  But I’ve sort of come around to the red box, because Rush is so cheerfully faux, so resolutely synthetic, so cracktastically weird — hairspray, candy, milk and skin.  That sounds disgusting, and I suppose for some people it is, but I think it’s wonderful.  Notes are: gardenia, freesia, jasmine, Turkish rose, coriander, vanilla, patchouli, vetiver.  Created by Michel Almairac in 1999, and this is definitely what you’d want to wear to party like it’s 1999… which doesn’t sound half bad.

Apothia Velvet Rope — this is supposed to be the quintessential lounge fragrance, yes?  It is strangely sweet, and can make your stomach lurch a teensy bit if you have too much (just like a cosmo!)  I personally find it more effective as a room scent than a personal scent; I have a candle.  But man, what an evocative scent it is.  Perfume, smoke, and something wet and sharp like gin.  Notes: juniper berry, grapefruit, jasmine, rose petals,  cypress leaf; patchouli, vanilla and white musk.

Dior Addict Eau Fraiche – mandarin, jasmine, bergamot, tuberose, gardenia, Bulgarian rose, Bourbon vanilla, sandalwood, musk. The nose is Thierry Wasser (ha! I’m guessing he doesn’t brag about it).  Um, okay, that’s a fancypants list of notes for something so cheerfully airheaded.  It paints a picture of an evening spent at the carnival set up in the parking lot at Sears in the 1970s, when I was fifteen and wearing tube tops with overalls to flirt with the carnies.  Redolent of Marlboro light, cotton candy, tilt-a-whirls, the Himalaya (“barracccuuuudaa!”), and maybe a rum and coke washed down in the GTO beforehand.  When I put this on, I feel my IQ drop 30 points, but my boobs are perkier.

Dianne Brill – okay, okay, nobody loves this as much as I do, but if you kill off the sweetness in the top, which I do, it’s surpassingly strange – poppers (apparently it shares this with Gucci Rush, named after a popular brand of poppers), cardboard, refrigerated air, cigar, spices, and sweat.  This smells like the inside of some of the not-quite-licensed dance clubs I used to visit back in the day – the ones where it was BYOB, which we did, even though we weren’t old enough to drink.  They were playing Dead or Alive, or “One Night in Bangkok.”   Here’s a link to my review.

Party in Manhattan – bergamot, sage, jasmine, carnation, ambergris and vetiver.   I hear a rumor that this was revised and is not as intensely animalic as the first draft, although I don’t know if that’s true.  In marked contrast to all scents listed above, this is a fancy-dress party – a crowded cocktail party, or perhaps a bal masqué, in which you undertake a conversation with a gentleman not your own, and he invites you back for a quick visit to his nearby apartment to, uh, study his etchings.  Your response?  Just let me grab my coat. The fact that you don’t know his name makes it even better.  If a fragrance can be described simultaneously as joyous and filthy, this is it.

March