When I went to Sniffa in October, I went a day early so I could go to CB I Hate Perfume in Brooklyn.  I met a couple gals there, and we sniffed all sorts of fun things.

But it was his Wildflower Honey that entranced me.  Later that night, in the movie theater as I watched Coco before Chanel, I inhaled the sweet, musky honey smell like a force field – the weather that weekend in New York was dreadful (is this the Winter of Dreadful Weather?) and I was sick-ish.  The golden smell of Wildflower Honey made all the pain go away.

But I’d been in a hurry and hadn’t bought a bottle, so I ordered one up when I got home.  It arrived and … it just wasn’t the same.   Whatever they make “honey” scents out of, as many of you already know, can go wrong in all sorts of directions – total anosmia, or boxwood (aka “cat pee,”) or the smell that we on the Posse delicately refer to as “sperm.”  (Yup – it must be March posting this morning, although Lee’s giving me a run for my money.)   In fact it was Lee and I who laughed at the intense spunk note (is anyone still reading?) in Santa Maria Novella’s Acqua di Cuba.  Here, let me quote from their website: This masculine scent, with a pleasing mix of tobacco and leather has decisive and dry undertones. The perfect gift for a man. And if you’re a manly man who wants to smell like sperm, well, Cuba’s your scent.  (Okay, okay, it smells perfectly normal, a honeyed tobacco smell, on/to all sorts of people.)

Back on topic:  I emailed CB (yes, I know him.  He speaks to me.  And I bought my bottle at full retail.) and described the problem.  He sent me another bottle which he mixed himself.  And … FAIL.  Utter, utter fail.  Let me emphasize that he couldn’t have been nicer and more helpful about it, and we had a long, interesting exchange about the ways that weather, and the fact that I was sick, could have affected my perception.  The upshot, though, is that I have a bottle of Wildflower Honey that I can only smell the ghostly edges of, as if I were seeing the outline of a shape and none of the sculptural detail.  It’s very frustrating.

So I did what any rational person would do, which is buy a full bottle of Serge Lutens Miel de Bois.  There have been rumors forever that MdB was going to be axed; surely it must be the least popular of the line?  But it lives on, although the most recent news from Helg at Perfume Shrine is that they’re pulling it, along with Santal Blanc, Chypre Rouge, and Douce Amà¨re, from the export line.  According to The Perfumed Court, Miel de Bois is “a sensuous woody Oriental scent with notes of ebony, oak, gaiac, aquilaria aguillocha (used to make incense sticks) and honey all resting on base notes of beeswax, iris and hawthorn.”

I tried MdB when I was first getting to know the house o’ Serge, and I hated MdB with a passion.  I thought it was one of the thickest, furriest, most unpleasantly strange things I’d ever smelled.  And because of that, and some part of it, after all the hideousness, that got its hooks into me, I kept trying and trying and trying.  And for me, well, once I tried it, we were pretty much done with other perfumes for the day.  It was all I could do to live through that one.

And then awhile ago, I fell for it.  I don’t want to say I “got it” because that would imply some awakening of a higher intellectual plane of understanding, or some such.  I put it on, and I put up with the first bits, which are hawthorne-y on me and, okay, a hair rough – that magnolia/Cheeto smell that’s a bit like rancid butter.  But after that?  It’s like standing in the warm embrace of the sun.  In heaven.  While angels play their harps.  And etc.  I totally understand why many, many people are honey-haters in perfumery.  But if you’re a honey-lover, IMO you haven’t walked the walk unless you’ve tried Miel de Bois.

Here, let me quote from TS in The Guide – “animalic floral,” one crummy star.  And here’s why:  “Phenylacetic acid smells like honey in dilution, like urine at concentration.  Miel de Bois (honey of wood) gets the balance drastically wrong and smells like a New York sidewalk in July.  A very small percentage of people find it floral and don’t know why the rest of us are howling.”

A full bottle of Miel de Bois will last me until the sun explodes, I’d imagine.  And the ride is pretty different if you dab vs. spray.  Dabbing takes away from some of the terror, but let’s face it – you’re making a commitment here, putting this on.  Go Big or Go Home.  You have to spray.  Because although you get the worst – really, that buttery, furry part at the beginning is a bit much – you also get the best when you spray – the sweetest part of the honey itself, the part right in the center that smells the way a drop of excellent honey would taste on your tongue – and I never get that unless I spray it.

I feel guilty wearing it out; I wonder if people around me think I’ve wet myself, even though that’s not how it smells to me.   On the plus side, if I sidle up to the girls six or eight hours after spraying, they spontaneously exclaim that I smell wonderful, so it can’t all be in my imagination.  If you get it on your clothes, it will be there until they disintegrate.  I’m just saying.

And now… I really want to try it layered with Santal Blanc on one arm, and Fleurs d’Oranger on the other.  But I’ve had a sinus headache and I’m too scared that the combination on the wrong day would be so punishing I’d never want to smell MdB again.  My personal bet is that MdB might well bury SB, but if it worked, it could be magic.  I’m thinking FdO + MdB would be astonishing – orange-flower honey! – unless it makes me retch and reach for the Liquid Tide.  What say you?  Does anyone else layer Lutens?  And I’m talking the ballsier ones, not Clair de Musc (which I put on almost everything, if it needs some sparkle.)

UPDATE: okay, I layered MdB and FdO, which is like inviting Genghis Khan and Godzilla over for dinner; who’s going to die first?  As it turns out, Genghis and Godzilla are quite the conversationalists.  It’s two parts FdO to one part MdB, and nobody wanted to sit next to me at dinner, but my god, it’s gorgeous.  FdO suppresses the Cheeto-feet of MdB nicely, and that honey really works with the orange blossom while muting the cumin-y note at the top of FdO that bothers some folks (although not me.)

PS.  For folks interested in honey, there are links to my earlier honey posts here and here.  Also, we’re having an image upload FAIL, so until we get that resolved, you’ll have to imagine a nice photo up there.

Source: full, wrapped bottle of MdB purchased from eBay seller in Canada; private sample of FdO.

March

Of all the perfume accords, in all the world, musk was the one, in general terms, I couldn’t warm to. Ironically, considering how fleshy and real musks often are. Though I don’t exactly wear scents that are diaphanous little creatures, swept away by a gentle sigh, though I like me some full-bodied juice, musks… somehow…

They always struck me as too thick. I’m something of a flibbertygibbet and I like scents that change or peel away their layers or somehow seem a little see-through. Musks always struck me like a de Kooning painting – too much, too fleshy, too unclean. And by unclean, I don’t mean dirty, I mean lacking clarity of form, of edge, of shape, of proportion. That was musks. To me anyway. I sound like such a prig!

But slowly I’ve been won over to some, and only the dirtiest of the crew. First it was l’air de rien, Miller Harris’ homage to Birkin, the late 60s, the swamp juice of bohemian dives. It’s scalpy, fleshy, but never thick. And Brosius’ CB Musk Reinvention seemed so frolicsomely saucy, like a Rubenesque woman who’s letting you peek at more than you should. I couldn’t help but love its celebration of the gusset.

Muscs Koublai Khan took me longer. Where other people got sweaty male crotch or warm pelt or orgiastic fornication, I got raspy hairspray and everlasting density. It was a perfume that put pounds on me when I wore it, and I waddled, a corpulent hairdresser, overdoing the Elnett.

But something has changed recently. And now, on cold days, it is the furs and comfort blanket  – the charm others find. I even get a teensy hit of the barnyard loveliness that has the clean-minded squealing sperm’n'spank’n'schwettyballs’n'crack’n'creviceclunge’n'gunk.

Call me Mr 360, if that didn’t actually mean I was back where I started. I’d rather be an obtuse angle than a full circle.

Are there any accords, scent families or notes you’ve turned round on? You never know, I might end up loving sparkling aldehydes… (though currently Baghari is more likely to make me run for cover than a Simply Red track… And I hate Simply Red.)

Lee

When I was in Paris, I fell in love with the paintings of James Ensor.    I don’t like this style of painting at all, the technique doesn’t speak to me, but as I was walking through the exhibit, thinking, um, no, I entered a room that brought tears to my eyes.  Art doesn’t make me weep.  Not much makes me weep.  Ensor was an impressionist painter, but then basically flipped the painting brush bird at the art establishment and started incorporating all sorts of techniques into his paintings that they tut-tutted about.

As I looked at his religious paintings, with the knowledge that he was an atheist, and how he captured light and expressed how he viewd God’s relationship with man, that’s when tears formed in my eyes.  His style was strange, harsh in some ways, so very soft in others, complex, not quite right, egotistical, full of pain much of the time, and it shifted throughout his life, until he entered his period where he hated people, then went into his self-portrait period, and eventually seems to have found some peace.  I still don’t like his style, but the painter himself and how he expressed transparently what was inside of him on canvas was breathtaking.  I love his work.

Many of the Kilian scents that were first released didn’t really capture my attention, but their entries in the ouds with Pure Oud have turned me around in much the same way as the Ensor paintings, though I’m not exactly weepy about it.  Pure Oud was the first Kilian that I truly loved.  Luckyscent mailed me a sample of their upcoming Rose Oud scent.  Rose and oud have been put together forever, so this combination is traditional and has been around the fragrance block more than a couple of times.  Notes are Turkish rose, oud, saffron, cardamom, of course.  It’s got a fairly good medicinal smell of the oud on the open, but not overly so, plenty of rose.  Nice use of saffron, little spiciness that reminds me a little of the Amouage Lyric Woman perfume, but I like Lyric Woman a lot more.  There’s a vagueness about 30 minutes in that bothers me.  It’s not a bad thing, it just seems a little directionless up close, though the sillage is still nice.  It’s not a heavy oud, and I think it will find some fans of those who like the rose/oud combo, but don’t like Montale’s treatment of them.

I’m sticking with Pure Oud, though I certainly would not turn down a bottle of this scent.  I’m looking at my sample vial from LS and think I can squeeze out one or two samples of it for a couple of commenters.  And the good news is that the Arabian collection is going to be available in the 100 ml refills the first part of March from Luckyscent for $350 a bottle, which is much better than $400 for 50 mls!

Patty

First off, my apologies to those I offended Monday with my remarks about idiots shoveling their cars out.  I was attempting to be flip and funny and, as sometimes happens, I ended up being offensive.  Of course I am grateful for all the emergency, road and other personnel who have dug out and driven in and worked nonstop. If it weren’t for their efforts, everyone here would be much worse off than they are.   The remark was intended as a lead-in for the idea of a perfume that could be enjoyed indoors like a blanket.  Furthermore, everybody here, including us, got out and dug our cars out, because a) it was something to do, and b) at these volumes, that snow isn’t going to remove itself.  An aside: I noticed yesterday while shoveling that our neighbor’s holly tree fell over in our yard.  And the way I noticed this is by finally realizing why the (bare) side of their house looks so strange.  I still can’t see the holly tree, which should give an idea of the drifts.  I’m glad it fell on that side and not the side with the power line to our house.

Also, here’s a link to the Snowmageddon reader-submitted photo section of the Washington Post — I think their staff/professional photos are a total snooze, but the reader photos are great — lots of dogs and kids, sure, but also photos that give a real sense of the scale of the fallout, as well what I think would be (for those of you from other parts of the country/world) an interesting peek into the Washington, D.C. that isn’t located on the Mall.  There are some excellent snow-creatures in there as well.

They’ve closed school for the rest of the week, and as I type this it hasn’t even started snowing again (Snowmageddon Part II: 10 – 20 More Inches, Punk).  It’s still pretty trashed here; it took me 45 minutes to make our ten-minute drive to the kids’ dentist this morning.  But the reward was: the parking lot of the dentist belongs to Saks.  Squeee!  Civilization!  Less Donner Party, more Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  I even put some lipstick on.

I spent an hour in there just enjoying pretty things.  Sniffing Chanel Les Exclusifs again, I drew some conclusions.

First: much as I love 22, I don’t love it enough to need a bottle.

Second, Beige appears (from the amount of liquid in the bottle) to be far and away the most popular in our store.  Smelling it again, I was assailed with that kinda-musky-warm-comfort scent that seems to be distinguished by how undistinguished (and undistinguishable) it is.  I won’t back away from my previous statement that I still like it, but that’s only because it’s generically pleasant.  I can see why it’s popular, but every single one of the others is more interesting, and (one could argue) more beautiful.

Third: I have heard (and faintly recall) that Bois des Iles before Les Exclusifs was better: richer, stronger, deeper, more sillage and longevity, plus it did your dishes and rubbed your feet, all while preventing cavities.   I put on a couple modest squirts after sniffing the cap and being reminded of how nice the sandalwood is.  You know what?  Maybe BdI back in the day used to be hugely better, but BdI sitting right there on that counter is more beautiful than almost anything I might have been inclined to sniff among the tester bottles at Saks that morning.   So if you’ve been holding off sniffing this one because of all the perfumista breast-beating about how its glory days are gone, guess what?  It’s still worth it.

(Clarifying, for anyone who read the para above and is concerned I’m having memory issues: yes, I smelled and reviewed three different iterations of BdI maybe a month ago.  What I meant to say is: 1) the (new) extrait smells pretty different to me than the EdTs, no surprise there; and 2) I think the new EdT I smelled at Saks held up to my memory of the vintage-y EdT, which is maybe 10 years old but not ancient.  Also, old (vintage) EDT of BdI seems to be pretty variable in quality.  Clear as mud?)

Two squirts of BdI comforted me through a trip to the grocery store after the dentist, to join the panicked post-blizzard/pre-blizzard throngs, and all the joy that entailed.  And then back in the car, still wafting, for the tricky, icy trek back to the house, which is rather like running an old-fashioned maze at this point, with various dead ends and backtracking required.  (We live in a funny old neighborhood with narrow streets that even without snow requires cars to pull over and yield to oncoming traffic.  Only now there isn’t anyplace to pull over.)  Every time I felt myself defeated, I took one sniff of my wrist, glanced at Buckethead in the rear view mirror and thought: patience.

March

Can I just note here that it baffles me how anyone can go through the process of creating a perfume and then not name it.  Does that mean there’s no name worthy of bestowing upon the scent or that the creative team that  is in charge of marketing couldn’t agree?  I mean, if I was paying some cosmetic company genuises a healthy share of all sales to put this thing on the market, the least they can do is come up with some kind of  name.

Besides that, the scent is great. I’ve been cribbing from the same notes every0ne has put up. “Based on green floral notes, we can smell galbanum, boxwood, mastic, incense, bitter orange … as if they had been gathered after the rain. Additional notes include jasmine, cedar and musk.”  Not sure where they came from first, but sure, why not.  It’s a very green, woody, nutty scent. There’s some parts of it that remind me of the nutty aspects of Bois Farine, but I just went and resniffed Bois Farine, and it’s not yeasty and bready like that, so I don’t want to scare those of you that don’t like wearing bread off.  It’s like green nuts, a little incense.  I think maybe it’s the impact of the bitter orange on something that’s making me read it as nutty because I just don’t think it really is except in my head.

It’s a well done, warm, cuddly scent that feels a little like toasted chestnuts. The long drydown veers it off more in the direction or the orange and wood with a lovely green incensy underpinning.

Right now it is exclusively at Colette in Paris, who will ship internationally for a generous shipping price, but they say it will be available at other retailers in March?  I think it’s definitely one to sniff. I’ve loved wearing it, it’s snuggly and feels exactly right.

The winners of the samples of this scent are: Nina Z, Leslie and Musette because she wins the shopping sweepstakes with building a room to put her bags.

Patty