I’m just going to be flat-out annoying today and beg for help.

Once upon a time, I was a little bit – well, a lot, but it was Dos Geekery -  geeky, but then I didn’t use it and lost all my geek talents. So we get this message Sunday from our service provider about our blog account being suspended. Why, March asked me?  I have no idea! Patty responded.  March put in a very cute and totally clueless trouble ticket.  Blog hosting company tells us we have too much stuff on our front page and it puts a load on their servers and so we got suspended. Okay, annoying old blog hosting company sorta fell apart at the end, but they never bothered us with this level of detail.

So what does that mean, March’nPatty the Clueless Ones asked.  And how-o-how do we fix it?  Tech Support tells us to change our front page so we don’t load so much stuff.  March and I look at each other (through e-mail) and blink eyes that have no idea what we should do next.

Other than just bare bones our front page so it has no graphics, no ads, no sidebars, just a simple Perfume Posse at the top, does anyone have some WordPress skilz or know someone who does and won’t charge us a fortune to tell us how to keep the GreenGeeks blog hosting guys from cutting us off again?  I’ve been to lots of blogs that take a lot longer to load, so I keep thinking we’re not that excessive in our use, but what in the world do we know?  Perfume, yeah.  Blogginess? Not that much.

Shameless begging for cheap or free help.

I’m awash in perfume.  The two angels that do all my decanting decided to take a vacation (!?!?!?!?) this week, so it’s just me and my youngest son, who, as it turns out, is much better at decanting than he was two years ago when I tried to get him to help before.  I spent some time in there this morning early, trying to get some of this done – slowly, I might add, since I can’t find anything anymore – then had to head to the office for my day job meeting.  I forgot what I had been doing until I got in my truck and smelled JAR Golconda on my wrist where I had splashed some and a little Jardenia around my ear, I think, and wasn’t that Chanel Egoiste on my elbow?  Chloe too?  Yeah, pretty sure.  I happen to love walking into my house when decanting has been going on all day, and that crayon box of crazy perfume smells hits me as some whirled fragrant pea soup that’s pretty amazing.  I think it may be a far different thing when I walk into a fairly staid office whirling my pea soup fragrance mosh pit around.  Yes?  I didn’t ask, I just tried to finish up quickly and get out.

For those of you as clueless as we are on the blog geekery, you need something to talk about, so what is the most embarrassing public perfume thing you’ve done?  Spill Bal a Versailles on your shoe and forgot to change shoes before you went to the doctor’s office?  You can tell us here.

Patty

First off, I got a lovely email from Amrita Kaur at Tigerflag, saying a huge THANK YOU to all of you, and that she was overwhelmed with orders for the attars in her very small business, and that she’s getting them out as quickly as possible, so if you ordered something, please have patience.    As I emailed her back,  I have no idea when I blog on something whether it’s going to generate much business, and I’m happy for her.  (Also, as I hope is/was crystal clear: I don’t know her, I got my sample in a swap, and I bought and paid for my recent order just like the rest of you.)

Second, for anyone who ordered the Majmua attar – I accidentally wore it the same time I had on a shirt spritzed with Nuit de Tubereuse, and SHAZAM!!!!!!!!!!!   EXCELLENT combination.  There’s something about the vegetal/earthy aspect of the majmua that balances beautifully with the creamy florals of NdT.  Just sayin.’

Finally, I’m preparing for Wednesday’s post on another tuberose, Honore des Pres’ Vamp a NY.  So today instead of a review there’s a question for debate.

I’ve been wearing my lovely decant of L’Artisan Nuit de Tubereuse, which – remember – is from my third source, after the teeny two-drop vial samp from Denyse in April, and then the spritz from a friend’s bottle more recently (which made it clear to me that I needed the decant.)

The friend’s bottle-spritz lead to my review revisit because the topnotes were weirder than I first detected with my two-drop sample.  This is not unusual.  In fact, I’ll wager, after hearing these sorts of complaints regularly on the blog, that the biggest sample fail people have is: they test something on their skin with a couple drops from a vial.  Then they buy a decant or a bottle and – whoa! It smells different!   And unfortunately, that “different” is usually not in a good way.

Spritzing on my decant of NdT smells different than my heavy spritz from the friend’s bottle, although in my case in a good way – I get a lot more of that sharp/vegetal smell of unripe mango, which I personally love.  But what happened?  Why does my decant smell different to me?  Is it because I’ve had multiple times to try it?  Has my nose become better at picking out the top?  Does it actually smell different than Friend X’s bottle – more mango-ish?  I have no idea.

I think I can de-cloak Musette, who sent me a small samp of her share of a split of Le Labo Aldehyde 44 because she keeps getting (of all things) cumin from it.  Cumin. Now, cumin is a great note, and Musette loooooves her some cumin.  She’s new Femme’s Number One Fangirl.  But cumin in Le Labo Aldehyde?  Yecccccccccchhhhh. Who wants cumin there?  And her decant, as you can imagine, was not inexpensive.

So she sent me a sample, and I told her the good/bad news:  it smells exactly right to me.  It smells like a big ol’ slightly soapy aldehyde, and it’s glorious, and I’m not getting any cumin.  (And if there’s cumin to be found in a scent, btw, I usually get it.)   So there’s nothing apparently wrong with her split.  We’re both praying to the cumin gods, asking them to stop haunting her skin.

At the same time, I’ve decided, having received my large-ish decant of L’Artisan’s L’Eau de Jatamansi, that I am glad I didn’t spring for a ginormous 250ml bottle, even though I’ve sprayed it on several times at the boutique and loved it.  (Notes: grapefruit, cardamom, bergamot, sage, jatamansi, Turkish rose, ylang-ylang, incense, gaiac wood, Indian papyrus, Australian sandalwood.)  Sometimes it’s perfect — clean and sharp and herbaceous, the way I think the inside of a fancy, relaxing spa/yoga joint should smell.   Other times it smells very barber-shop shaving-cream to me – that citrus/cardamom smell that’s nice enough but I don’t want to wear it like perfume.

Throwing it open to you:   Have you ever gotten, say, a bottle of something after falling in love with a sample, and thought, ugh?   Do you think it was a problem of dab vs. spray?  Or do you think the perfume (from two different places) actually smelled different?   I’m always begging people to spray before they buy, because I do think that makes a huge difference, and to live with/work through a decant of it first – but I don’t always follow my own advice either.   Or have you tried something from a bottle, having tried it previously from a sample, and discovered that with a proper drenching it was loooooooooooove?

image: Hecate at my dad’s today on Father’s day, modeling a fright wig and a matching snake she found in the toy stash.  Can u feel the naughty? No, I have no idea why she’s wearing that.   Except that she’s Hecate.

March

I received a very thoughtful parcel from handsome Lee last week; included were a whack of Humiecki & Graef samples along with a vial of Parfumerie Generale’s new Bois Naufrage, which pretty well sent me over the edge: fig tree, ambergris and “fleur de sel” accord. I can’t decide if I want to strangle handsome Lee or declare my undying devotion to him. I am so enthralled with Bois Naufrage that I cannot yet bring myself to write about it. I will eventually, along with all the Humiecki & Graef loot. I just didn’t have the opportunity to give them proper attention over the past week. Oh, the inconvenience of actually having to work for a living (don’t let the lament fool you – I’m enjoying the crap out of finally getting paid to write!).

In the meantime, I’ve moved on from my general fruit obsession to a more specific one: oranges and orange blossom. I figure it adds to the intrigue by choosing two scents from opposite ends of the spectrum. My $400 bottle of Tom Ford Neroli Portofino and my $30 bottle of Bath and Body Works Orange Sapphire.

Many of us have scoffed at the Tom Ford Private Blend scents, but I have a soft spot for a few of them. I didn’t really need a 250 ml bottle of Neroli Portofino, but in my current fruity mood, I’ve been showing it a lot of love lately. I doubt I’ll ever get to the bottom of that bottle, but knowing I have it provides a strange comfort to me, like an old sweater or a childhood “blankie”. It isn’t what I would consider a comfort scent, but it is a rather potent interpretation of orange blossom. Sometimes orange blossom is paired up with jasmine, which has a tendency to be overwhelming (Armani Code comes to mind), and that can sometimes turn my stomach. Orange blossom has the unique ability to be subtle, yet tenacious, which is what makes it so perfect for warm weather. It doesn’t have that “headiness” to it that tuberose and gardenia do, although I know some of you love to let those scents bloom in the heat. Kudos to you for that; I’d be face down in bed with a migraine.

Neroli Portofino has a bit of amber in it, which warms it up, but other than that, it is orange blossom, straight up and dirty. Not literally dirty, but it’s definitely not doctored up with any additional white flowers. So if that’s how you like your OB, then this is another one Tom Ford did very well.

Now on to the $30 bottle of Bath & Body Works Orange Sapphire. I believe I mentioned a few weeks ago, when I was strung out on fruit salad, that I was somewhat impressed by the newer scents they were trotting out. If you like orange, not orange blossom, this one is fairly interesting. It sort of reminds me of Sarah Horowitz’s Perfect Nectar Perfect Perfume, but it doesn’t have that overripe quality that I found so suffocating. According to B&BW’s website, the notes are…way too long. You can look at them here. My nose gets blood orange, a fair amount of jasmine and raspberry, and a good bit of honey. It’s nice; and pleasant. I could see myself using up the bottle I bought – because if the BOGO deal B&BW seems to always be running is omnipresent, then why not? That seems to be my answer to a lot of questions these days: WHY NOT?

Here’s something for you to chew on this week: Name some scents – high end and low end – that are similar. Tell me what it is you like or dislike about them, and which one you would prefer to own and why. That is your mission, should you choose to accept it. This post will self destruct in 10 seconds.

Disclosure: The bottles of Neroli Portofino and Orange Sapphire are part of my personal collection.

Y’all can start laughing now, but have you ever read a review on a perfume, fallen in love with the description, hunted it down, only to find it to cost more than your last three laser treatments, and you can’t even bring yourself to think about it for fear you might give in and spend that much money on it?  Well, yeah, I KNOW you guys know. And I do apologize, as does Miss March. Really.  Bottom of my heart, completely swear.  Oh, whatever, fine, don’t believe me.

Marina at Perfume Smellin’ Things set me off over that Xerjoff Iriss last year, throwing in some words like “There is a certain chic about this decadently luxurious composition, something in the refined floral note, perhaps, which does not let the scent overstep the border between Elegantly Expensive and Nouveau Riche, but only just about. Irisss is hanging by a well-groomed, glossy hair over the abyss of furs, 10-carat pink diamonds, Maybachs and Louis Vuitton logos.” Well, just Xerjout that 590 pounds from my wallet now for 15 mls of Iriss.  Except I didn’t, I just couldn’t.  That was too much for even me.  Or at least I talked myself out of it over and over every month for close to a year.

Before we continue, can we just wish March a Happy Birthday!!!!! If you could give her any scent for her birthday, what would you give her?  I’ll pick a couple of random winners from commenters and give them a special prize, which I’ll tell you about in a sec.  So Happy Birthday, March!

Now, about that Xerjoff Iriss.  Oh, yes. I gave up on it, even though notes from its siren song have been trying to find purchase in my brain for months now. I looked at it briefly at First in Fragrance (month after month) to see if someone decided to put it on sale or offer it cheaply or — well, exactly, just indulging in the same wishful thinking that works so well for none of us.

But one day I was nosing about Parfum Raffy and found a refill bottle of it for under $300 for 50 mls.  Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Have I smelled it yet?  Nope, I’m still waiting for it to show up, hoping that this wasn’t some error on their site and that it reallly does exist at this price and it really is this great.  Just looked to link it, and they are showing that size sold out. So will I get some?? I don’t know, my order is still showing as pending. When/if I get it, you all will be the first to know, along with March, who I’ll send some to as a birthday gift.  And, if I get some, that’s what a couple of lucky commenters will get too, a small sample. If I don’t get any, then sorry, no soup for any of us.

What ridiculously priced perfume, along with a perfume pick for March’s birthday, have you coverting for far too long without relief?

Patty

I was at my computer, writing a letter to our mortgage servicer.  I was doing that particular task because it was the least onerous thing on my task list, which should give you some sense of the overtones of the day.  You know what a barrel of laughs those lenders are.   When we write our mortage-servicers, it’s never to tell them, just wanted to drop a note to say how much I luv sending u that check every month! In order to get me through it I was doing the perfumista version of binge-eating, which is to dip periodically into the untried samples to the left of my computer and sniff.

Eventually I hit this weird little glass bottle with a lump of whitish stuff in it, from a recent swap.

I’ve blogged about my beautiful-perfume jag recently – lovely, gorgeous, traditional perfumes that make my heart sing.  I also appreciate the opportunity to smell something really strange, even if it’s a scent (like Borneo) that I’m not wild for.   But as I unscrewed the lid and sniffed from that glass bottle, I was struck by a third force of perfumery – something so utterly foreign that I am immediately taken to a different place.  These are not places I’ve actually been, but places as I imagine them to be – a windswept grove on the side of a hill above the Mediterranean.  A fruit market in the sultry heat somewhere in Central America, or southeast Asia.  They are the fragrance equivalent of Exotic Travel without leaving my desk.  Scents that have done this to me: CB I Hate Perfumes’ Revelation.  Aftelier Tango.  Ormonde Jayne Champaca.

And now … this one, this white glob, which also turned out to be my introduction to attars – majmua attar, to be precise.

I know nothing about attars, except that in that moment I was feeling an intense, dog-like desire to dig all the contents out of my small bottle and roll in it frantically.  My pestering email to the bottle’s sender, Marla (aka Posse commenter Masha), produced a rapid response: she’d written about attars in general, and this one in particular, last year on Perfume-Smellin’ Things.  I probably read Marla’s post at that time, said attar schmattar, and forgot about it.  The word “attar” makes me think of roses, as in: distillation of, which makes me think of rose-ouds and a whole Middle-Eastern style of perfumery I’m not especially fond of.  (Hey, at least I’m honest.)

Majmua is an entirely different animal – no rose here.  It is also powerfully fragrant.  The solid perfume I’m wearing turns out to be the attar diluted to a mere 10% concentration, in a base Marla prepares from beeswax and jojoba oil.  I’d imagine wearing it straight out of the bottle at 100% strength might kill you.  It is simultaneously green, floral, woody and earthy, and it shifts – constantly and repeatedly and subtly – back and forth among those camps, rather than having any traditional top, heart or base notes.  The vibrant greenness hovers over a combination of tropical fruit and flower notes, moist and ripe and oh so slightly fetid.  There is the damp earthiness of vetiver and actual dirt — the smell of wet clay pots, loam, and river banks.  There’s rain – not the “Rain” of cheap, head-shop oils but the sense of being under a canopy of wet trees, with a balsam-y smell that is more living/vegetal and less incense.   After several hours it gets quieter, at which point it smells a bit like those Indian cotton blankets and skirts (remember those?) which I never see any more.

Majmua itself turns out to be a combination of four other attars: kadam, kewda, mitti and ruh khus (vetiver), which are also sold individually.  Kadam flower has been described as reminiscent of both neroli and champaca, and seems to be the hardest to get in attar.  Kewda flower (via attar seller Tigerflag) “has a smooth, refreshing balsamic scent. Floral but not too sweet, with hints of hyacinth and honey.”  Mitti is (literally) an essence of baked earth in sandalwood oil.  Again from Tigerflag, Ruh Khus is “green and sweet, with a woodsy, smoky aroma and a hint of mint. The Indonesian Vetiver is steam distilled, velvety smooth, softly sweet and earthy.”

In India, attars are made in copper kettles called degs, using centuries-old technology.  Traditional attars are taking a beating right now, both in terms of being a labor-intensive “lost art” and also because the cost of their base – sandalwood oil – has gone through the roof.  According to my brief study, many attars are now prepared using a cheaper petroleum base.  White Lotus and Tigerflag, the two sellers of majmua and other attars I’m referring to today, purport to control their manufacturing to a degree that you’re getting the genuine stuff (insert disclaimer here – I’m not a chemist.)  The preparation and the environmental issues are an interesting read if you’re so inclined.

Marla’s take on majmua and a couple others (in an email):  “(Majmua) doesn’t remind me of some particular thing, but I find it to be very … emotional, does that make sense? It’s sharp, pungent, but soft and floral and earthy all at once. It’s really unlike any type of perfume I can think of. … Now I’m rummaging through my attar collection. I love the mitti attar (it’s made from distilled baked dirt and sandalwood), and the amberi (a mix of who knows what, but not at all floral, it’s resins and spices).” Marla recommends both Tigerflag and White Lotus for the majmua, which to her nose smells the same from both places (she thinks they buy it from the same family).  White Lotus is a wholesaler and thus requires a $100 minimum; Tigerflag does not.  A 1/8 oz. | 1-dram bottle of majmua attar is $29 on Tigerflag, which also sells samples of the other attars.   For dilution purposes after you buy it, the easiest thing to do is probably to mix it roughly 10% attar/90% jojoba oil, which you should be able to find at any co-op or “natural” grocery (they have it at Trader Joe’s, which is where I get mine.)  There are several other attars on these sites I’d like to try, including the champa, since I love OJ Champaca so much, the saffron, gulhina (henna flower, notes of tea and bittersweet chocolate), and (on White Lotus) the choya nakh, which is the toasted-seashell distillation that Tango’s based on.

I asked Marla if there’s anything she’d like to add to her year-old post that might be of interest to Posse readers.  She said:

“For those of us who like our florals green and lean, Genda is very androgynous.  The jasmine sambac attar is a real skankfest, in the best possible way. All those indoles they excised from Western perfumes are intact, and ready to party! I like that in a jasmine…. attars made with jasmine grandiflorum are softer and sweeter, but still pretty earthy.  The other thing to note is that these are like wine in the sense that each year’s vintage is subtly different from the others. As with wine, the scent depends on the weather conditions, the harvesting conditions, and so on. It’s fun to compare different years.”  Finally: “I forgot to mention that white sandalwood has become such a scarce substance in India, that a traditional attar-maker has started using the much more abundant vetiver to make attars. Christopher at WhiteLotus is selling them. I bought the Vetiver/Mitti. It’s gorgeous, but much more about the vetiver than the mitti. I love vetiver so I wear it a lot. I’d recommend these new attars for vetiver freaks, for sure.  They are quite different in character from the white sandalwood attars, however.”

I had no idea this stuff even existed (the joy of swaps!) and I’m putting together my order, traveling to another world, right here at my keyboard.

image: kadam flower, flickr.com

March