I had originally titled this essay “Serge Revisited”. I had no idea Patty was going to blog on the new L’eau scent. So, since I’ve got nothin’ else right now, we’ve gone from a revisit, to all Serge, two days running.

Just for the record (and with much respect for Serge and Patty), I’m not totally convinced “smelling like a sweaty Mongolian is hot”.

Almost 2 years ago, I debuted my first post here on the Posse, and I’ve been thinking about how my life has changed during that time. Some things are better, some things are not, but one thing remains a constant: my love of fragrances, particularly those by Serge Lutens. Just the mere mention of his name elicits discussion, sparks controversy, and above all else, reminds us why we are perfumistas.  To love Serge’s fragrances is akin to loving something not everyone is meant to understand. The only thing I can think to compare them to right now are those custom-built motorcycles from West Coast or Orange County Choppers. They’re not for everyone, but if you’re a hard-core fan, you know what I’m talking about. Motorcycles scare the crap out of me, and so do some of Serge’s compositions, but the ones I love, I will love forever.

Lately, I’ve been dipping into my Serges every day. If you go back and read my post from 2 years ago, you’ll see that I was hoarding them, in the spirit of how my grandmother hoarded fine linens. I’ve since gotten over that impulse, not because I had a recent run-in with an interstate ice floe, but because I’ve finally realized, what’s the point of hoarding so many bottles of wonderful fragrance? I’d be pissed-off big time if 20 years go by before I finally allow myself to enjoy them, only to discover they’ve turned into salad dressing.  So, I cracked open a few and started wearing them. Encens et Lavande was my first choice, as I was in need of some major comfort at the time. I’ve since moved on (and had my car fixed) to Rahat Loukhoum, Rousse, Louve, Bois et Fruits, Un Bois Vanille and Fumerie Turque. There’s a theme here, with the exception of Encens et Lavande and Bois et Fruits: all the ones I’ve been wearing are somewhat sweet.  Not sickeningly so, but they all have it in common. I’ve left the big guns in the closet, since I would run the risk of asphyxiating not only myself but the cat, and my aunt’s steady stream of income tax clients (her office is in her basement, and it is tax season).  Honestly, Tubereuse Criminelle, Borneo, Muscs Koublai Khan and the rest of that ilk would be wasted on me right now. Just like one of those brawny custom-built chopper style motorcycles; I like and admire the craftsmanship, but I would be “Uneasy Rider” if presented with the opportunity to take one for a spin. It would literally not be my speed.  But, les douces parfums de Serge Lutens are really doing it for me right now. What would be the motorcycle equivalent? Probably one of those hokey sidecar thingies, and that’s where you’d find me riding.

By the way, I haven’t forgotten about Five O’ Clock au Gingembre, which I’ve raved about ad nauseam.

It feels good to finally write about actually enjoying wearing these scents, as opposed to trying to unravel a peccadillo I’ve had for so long. It gives me some insight into myself by bringing my evolving love of scent front and centre. It’s another form of catharsis, I’ve realized, to take stock of how we evolve. The other day, a friend of my aunt’s dropped by for a visit and she was wearing L’Eau d’ Issey Miyaki. I adored this scent years ago, and even hooked a male friend of mine on the men’s version. I haven’t worn it in ages, simply because it’s no longer “me”. But it smells fabulous on this woman, and I told her so. My aunt even chimed in with a backhanded, “And I like it because it doesn’t make me sneeze.” The scent totally suits her, and I happen to know it’s the only scent she wears year ‘round. Sometimes, I wish I could be like that; it would certainly simplify the agonizing process of, “What do I feel like wearing today?” I could just reach for the one bottle, spritz and be done.

Instead, I stand in my underwear and ponder; it takes me a good 5 minutes every day to decide what fragrance to put on.  Mood, wardrobe, weather conditions, work, who I’m going to be with and where I’m going to be are all in play when I choose what to wear. These days, the clothes are easy, and that’s my saving grace. If I spent that much time deciding what garments to wear in addition to what scent to put on, I’d be a first class Agoraphobic.  Just think of me as the “madwoman in the basement”.

To prove that I’m only marginally insane, here’s why I’m wearing only the Serges I’ve mentioned:

Rahat Loukhoum: My good friend K. loves Turkish Delight; she eats it all the time. I can’t stand it. But, I love the way it smells.  It was also my very first Serge purchase on the auction site.

Louve: Rahat Loukhoum plus powder. Generally, I run screaming from powder, but here, it works. I think the stronger almond note tones it down, and the little bit of rose keeps it from feeling too, ahem, mature.

Rousse: I adore cinnamon, but not the kind that smells like Red Hots. This is woody cinnamon, and it is almost as comforting to me as lavender and incense. Plus, it’s not foody cinnamon, which would probably leave me smelling like one of those ginormous Cinnabon pastries. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Bois et Fruits: I’ve used up all the Shiseido Feminite du Bois I had in my possession, and I like this better than Serge’s re-release of Feminite du Bois under his own label. It also reminds me of the day I bought it at the Salons: It was a rainy, cold November day. This is the perfect scent for a rainy/snowy, cold day, whenever, wherever.

Un Bois Vanille: Anita/Musette very kindly sent me a sample of L’Artisan’s Havana Vanille a few weeks ago. I fell in love with it instantly, and I told her, no one does vanilla like L’Artisan. Un Bois Vanille is one of a very few exceptions.

Fumerie Turque: This made me fall in love with tobacco. A few years ago when I was in San Francisco, I took a day trip to Berkeley and marvelled at all the head shops with hookahs in their windows. I briefly thought about buying one to place in the middle of my coffee table, telling all who asked that it was my new vacuum. I don’t know anyone who smokes a pipe, but there isn’t a pipe tobacco that could possibly smell better than Fumerie Turque.

Well, there you have it. We’ll tackle the big guns some other time; maybe for my 50^th birthday. That gives them 7 more years to turn into salad dressing. Vinaigrette aux Muscs Koublai Khan, anyone?

Disclosure: All the Serge Lutens fragrances mentioned in this essay are from my personal collection.

It wasn’t until Monday afternoon that I realized it was the first of March.  March always sneaks up on me.  This year January and February lasted approximately nine years.  But that FAIL post on Monday was fun, eh?    I think everyone emerged in good spirits.

Today I’m blogging about Cartier Les Heures (I)- L’Heure Promise, which is the iris one, which has been criticized (not inaccurately) as wearing lightly, somewhat like Prada Infusion d’Iris, and if that bores you – just please stick around just for this tangential pre-review part of the discussion and then I’ll unlock the door.

The Prada Infusion d’Iris and Narciso Rodriquez EDT were two scents I could not smell, and by could not smell I mean: as far as I was concerned, that NR bottle had water in it.  The IdI I could smell, sort of – just enough to snicker and wonder who would pay good money for it.  It was so … nothing-y.

But I ran into a couple of recurring problems.  First off, “Narciso Rodriguez!” was frequently the answer I received when I asked somebody what nice fragrance they were wearing.  Granted, at that point there were already at least three variations, the oil, the EDP and the EDT, but they were all the same to me – water.  So apparently I could smell it on other people.  Maybe twice a month for a year (or two) I’d try NR on in the store and shrug – nothing.  I joked with a few of the SAs about its lack of aroma, and you could tell they thought I was nuts.  And then … I could smell it.  And I loved it.  I added it to my wallpaper list.  I bought a full bottle (and paid retail! Can you imagine!?)  And now, almost a year after that, as unlikely as it sounds, there are times when NR EDT can be … a bit much, with that orange blossom/synthetic haze, like somebody stepping on the guitar amp pedal too aggressively.

Infusion d’Iris I also kept smelling around me, and I recognized it – it’s distinctive, and a popular scent in my city, being discreet and rather staid.  I also became, over a year or two, increasingly sensitized to its smell.  It’s never overpowering, and it has a charming way of fading and reappearing.  The only reason I don’t own a bottle yet is that somehow I keep winding up with free samples.

So my thoughtful, learned question is: what the hell? If you expose your nose often enough to something you’re anosmic to, can you “learn” to smell it?   If you can learn to smell something, can you unlearn it?   Why should my brain start to perceive these scents after many, many attempts?  Has this ever happened to you?   I recall seeing somewhere (I think it was in comments on a Grain de Musc post) that some folks layer Les Nez L’Antimatière on top of other fragrances, even though they can’t smell it at all, because they enjoy its reflected glow.  (Didn’t Isabelle Doyen do it?  So it can’t just be some cheap trick like Iso E Super, can it?)  They can perceive it only in juxtaposition to something else.  I really need to dig out my sample, at the time it seemed very Emperor’s-new-clothes to me.

So. Cartier L’Heure Promise has notes of petitgrain, fresh herbs, iris, sandalwood and musk.  It’s pretty quiet, as I said, a la Infusion d’Iris, and if you can’t smell that, well, likely you can’t smell this one either.  However, if you can smell it, and you have a bit of patience, it’s a treat.   The petitgrain, with that citrus/baby aspirin smell, magnifies the spicy/rooty qualities of the iris.  Unlike some iris scents, it is entirely free of both powder and that sharp/metallic aspect that I find offputting.  And then!  The sandalwood!   Okay, fine, I got interested in sandalwood at a laughably bad time, right after all the cheap n’ glorious Mysore stuff disappeared and I guess from here on out it’s either Australian or  chemical fakery with a big TM symbol after it, like SANDALIDE or what have you (not that there’s anything wrong with that!)   In Promise, it takes a few minutes for the sandalwood to start to emerge, and no, it’s not going to bring you to your knees weeping in astonishment.  However.  The scent’s constructed in a way I love, with the two parts – the iris and the sandalwood – appearing alternately, like two actors popping on and off the stage, one chasing after the other.  It does another Prada Infusion thing – it’s often easier to detect in the air around me than sniffing the spot I sprayed it on, and the entire scent will seem to disappear completely for ten or twenty minutes, and then – whoosh! – it’s back.    It doesn’t have quite the tenacity of IdI – and no, that’s not a joke, if you can smell it, really, it’s quite tenacious, and on fabric it lasts for days.  If I put Promise on in the early evening, which I’ve been enjoying doing (it’s rather meditative and soothing), I can still smell it the next morning.

So here’s a final happy aspect of L’Heure Promise – iris and sandalwood as a combination.  Or, looked at another way, a sandalwood that has not been contaminated infested tainted by paired up with rose.   The soft sweetness of the sandalwood with the dry, woody iris?  A match made in heaven.  This made me almost as happy as … sandalfig.   I think I’m going to dig up some samples of iris and try them out over some sandalwood.  28 La Pausa over Tam Dao?  Sounds plausible to me.

PS.  Crap, I keep forgetting my sources:  decant of this one, private sample.  Yeah, I know — big help!

What’s it like to be a perfume blogger?  Sometimes it’s like this.

Van Cleef & Arpels Cologne Noire.  I wonder sometimes whether a house, having released a line with two or three outstanding scents (Gardenia Petale, Bois d’Iris, and Muguet Blanc, depending) if the rest are guaranteed to be duds, if only by comparison.  Notes of ginger, cardamom, pepper, bergamot, bitter orange, mandarin, woody notes.  I’m having trouble putting my finger on what’s wrong with Noire, but something is.  The whole seems much less than its parts – disjointed and odd, with an aggressive raspiness and a pickled note that reminds me of the difficult Chanel Les Exclusifs – No. 18?  I tried to imagine whether I’d like this any better if it was at Macy’s and the newest offering from Britney.  And the answer, sadly, is no.  Why can’t I find those magnificent Dior colognes anywhere?  Why is life so unfair?  Why, why?

VC&A Orchidee Vanille – notes of mandarin orange, litchi, bitter almond, dark chocolate, Bulgarian rose, violet, vanilla pod, cedar, balsamic tonka bean and white musk.  Luca Turin in The Guide frequently describes scents as having a “candyfloss” note, and he often mentions a particular aromachemical component, which I’m too lazy to look up.  Orchidee Vanille is almost unbearably powdery at the top, after which it smells exactly like those weird, small bags of pre-made cotton candy that my kids buy at the corner market.  Not cotton candy + vanilla –- just cotton candy.  It’s an interesting, sweet chemical smell, but not one I want to wear.  If I want to spray on an interesting, sweet chemical smell, I’ll take Gucci Rush, thanks.

Cartier L’Heure Brilliante – notes of lemon, flaxseed, gin notes and aldehydes.  Musette – I’m trying, I’m trying!!!  Honest to God! It’s very pretty, an herbaceous cologne smell on me.  I have no objections.  I just didn’t fall wildly in love as you did.  Don’t shoot me.

Cartier L’Heure Folle – this one was recommended by Carmencanada when I was doing my berry scent review last week.  Notes: redcurrant, pink peppercorn, grenadine, blueberry, blackcurrant, blackberry, violet, leafy notes, ivy, boxwood, shiso, aldehydes.  This is not berry nice on me.  There is an unfortunate canned-grapefruit note (sour/metallic) on my skin I can’t quite get past.  If you’ve ever eaten tinned citrus you know what I’m talking about.

Cartier L’Heure Promise – notes of petitgrain, fresh herbs, iris, sandalwood and musk.  I … oh.  Oh.  Oh my goodness.  Maybe I’ll talk about this on Wednesday.

Okay, your turn – what have you tried recently, maybe something raved about on the boards/blogs, that’s been a FAIL?  Go ahead, pick a fight with a fellow friend on the Posse!

Sources for all: private samples/decants.

It’s Sunday night and I got nuthin’.  I’m not even going to lie.  I’ve spent the past week enveloped in some long-outstanding tax stuff requiring insanely tedious amounts of detailed preparation and copying and trips to the post office.  I’ve also spent the week enveloped in four particular Serge Lutens scents – Miel de Bois, Santal Blanc, Fleurs d’Oranger and Cèdre.  (And a shout-out to Nava for Friday’s post – I love Encens et Lavande!  Go, Serge!)

The Big Cheese and I share an office at home, and I am quite confident at this point that he wishes I had almost any other obsession besides perfume — online gambling, perhaps, or internet porn.  He’s told me he will be spending much of this coming week away from the office.  I’m sure it’s a coincidence.  The folks at the post office have looked at me funny once or twice — I’m sure I’m wafting pretty intensely for 10:30 a.m., and you know what?  I just don’t care any more.  Desperate times, desperate measures.

The nice thing about these four scents I’ve been wearing is that I can layer them – or, more precisely, I can wear them one right after the other and come up with delightful combinations.  Miel de Bois layered with Fleurs d’Oranger is lovely, although you need more FdO, as MdB will eat almost anything in its path.   MdB layered with Santal Blanc would be lovely, and is lovely, for about ten minutes, until MdB kills it off.  I’m still tinkering with the ratios.  Cèdre is a bit trickier in rotation, as its poisonous, viscous tuberose trends a bit in the direction of Poison if you put too much on, although eventually it smells more like woodsy honey.  Cèdre, MdB and FdO are each slightly strange, and all possess a potentially lethal sweetness (tuberose, honey, and orange blossom, respectively) that has driven me once or twice to the shower, so I can … start over.  Usually with Santal Blanc.  Sort of as a palate-cleanser.  And then I go from there.  I’m probably killing off brain cells doing this, but I’ve still got some to spare, and the reward is worth it.

So today I’m asking: is there a group of scents you find yourself juxtaposing?  Not two or more entirely different, beloved scents that you find yourself wearing regularly (on different days) and don’t really expect to play well together.  I’m talking about some combination of scents that seem to complement each other, even if you aren’t precisely layering them, so that at the end of a week all your clothes smell like a glorious combination of all of them?  I’ll probably have to take everything I’ve been wearing to the dry cleaner in March, or just burn them; maybe the snow will have melted by then, and I’ll be ready to move on.  I’ve worn my snowboots more in the last two months than in the five years I’ve owned them.  For all I know, they smell of Lutens.  It wouldn’t surprise me.

The past couple of weeks have been an all-out stressfest for many of us; even though I no longer live in the DC area, I feel for everyone dealing with the aftermath of “snowpocalypse” and all the resulting annoyances that much snow is capable of producing. When my dad passed away in January 1996, his funeral took place a few days after a major storm hit the New York area. If memory serves, there was more than 2 feet of snow on the ground, and getting around was an absolute nightmare.

In the Jewish faith, we sit shiva for the loss of an immediate family member, and quite often, family members will stay together at the home of the deceased during that time.  I resolutely decided not to stay at my parents’ house during the shiva. Instead, I drove back and forth from Long Island to Brooklyn every day for a week to be with my mother and brother. The driving was part and parcel of my grieving process; I actually found the time I spent in the car to be quite cathartic, despite the horrendous weather conditions.

Unfortunately, not every drive in inclement weather carries with it a form of catharsis. I had to go to Buffalo the other day, and almost immediately after I crossed the border, I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was about 6:45 am, and there were many trucks on the road. Before I was even sure what was happening, I witnessed a piece of ice roughly the size of a king size mattress fly off the top of a tractor trailer. I saw it break apart in mid-air, and watched, seemingly in slow motion, while a large fragment of it hurtled straight at me. I can’t tell you what I was thinking, or how I was feeling, but when that fragment landed on the road, instead of on my windshield, I was so relieved that I didn’t realize I had driven over a big chunk of it. It didn’t register until I pulled up to the toll booth on the New York State Thruway, and the person inside asked me, “How big was the deer you just hit?” I immediately jumped out of the car (while still in the toll booth) and found the driver’s side portion of my front bumper almost completely demolished. It could have been worse – it could have been me.

After obtaining a $1,200.00 estimate from the auto body shop, and reluctantly filing a claim with my insurance company, I sit here typing this tale wearing Serge Lutens’ Encens et Lavande. What better time is there to “look to the cookie” than right after you manage to escape unscathed from a life or death scenario? I haven’t worn anything from my Serge collection in a really long time, except for Five O’ Clock Au Gingembre. But something made me reach for Encens et Lavande as blindly as I’ve been reaching for Chaos over the past year and a half. What is it about the combination of incense and lavender that soothes me so? I’ve practically been bathing in it to the point where I’ve relocated the bottle to my dresser so I can reach for it periodically to re-apply. Of course, the bottle remains in the box, and the box is still in its original cellophane. I absolutely cannot get enough of it.

Encens et Lavande is one of the less controversial Serge scents. In fact, it might as well be non-existent when compared to the monsters in his collection (no need for specifics; we know who they are), and most of the reviews I found online were not generally positive. What I read ran the gamut from “uninteresting” to “too masculine”, along with the inevitable comparisons to Gris Clair. I’ve never been one to care one way or another about what anyone else thinks of the fragrances I wear. If it does it for me, I wear it. And lately, the comfort and joy I’ve been getting from my existing collection has been seeing me through some major insanity. So, what could be better than that?

Mineral Madness: Thanks to everyone who responded to my mineral makeup query in my last post. Ironically, in the midst of an insomnia attack that Friday night, I tuned in to The Shopping Channel and there for my bug-eyed viewing pleasure was Pür Minerals, offering their product line along with a very tempting “Today’s Showstopper”. I resisted the urge to order, but I did punch up the website, www.purminerals.com, only to find that the line is also available at select Shoppers Drug Mart stores. Suffice it to say, I proceeded to dash around to all the Shoppers Drug Marts in the area looking for Pür Minerals, but had no luck finding any. Finally, out of utter frustration, I asked one of the SAs in the Beauty Boutique at one of the stores if she knew of any specific locations that carried the line. She did, and the rest is history.

I’ve always refrained from using the term “holy grail” when talking about fragrances, makeup and skin care products, but I will say that Pür Minerals has hooked me completely. The foundation is the antithesis of Bare Minerals because it is pressed, but the ease of application, the coverage, and the way it feels on my skin is a vast improvement from the heavy cream cheese frosting feeling I got with BE.  I love that I don’t need to futz with any Mineral Veil or other finishing powder; I just brush it on and I’m done. Speaking of cream cheese, Pür Minerals is not without its own hokey application slogan: “Dip, Draw, Dust”, as opposed to BE’s “Swirl, Tap, Buff”. Whatever. As long as it looks good…and it does.

Disclosure: The bottle of Serge Lutens Encens et Lavande is from my own collection. I purchased a Pür Minerals “Start Now Essentials Collection” at Shoppers Drug Mart.

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 Amère, 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.

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.

Join me for a perfume ramble today, full of asides and opinion.  Since I generally deliver opinion by the shovelful, that should come as no surprise.

There was a confluence of events.  First, this is the time of year that the heart (at least my heart) cries out for big white flowers of the in-your-face variety – it’s something about the cold and the general dreariness.  These are not the sorts of things I want to wear … well, pretty much any other time of the year.  Lily?  Lily of the valley?   Er, no thanks.

Second – remember, waaaaaaay back last fall, when it seemed like between Van Cleef, Cartier and Francis Kurkdjian, we had a truckload of new scents worth considering dumped on us almost simultaneously?  It sort of bummed me out, that timing.  Then 20 seconds later we’d all moved on to Amaranthigh and … there’s something wrong with the new world order if I have a full set of decants for all three lines and never really spent enough time with them.

So I decided to revisit the three white florals from Van Cleef & Arpels — Gardénia Pétale, Muguet Blanc and Lys Carmin.

A general observation – it was brilliant of them to release these soliflores, in my opinion, particularly after the disappointing (to me) Feerie-thing, which I’ll stop ragging on because I know some of you loved it, and it’s not like I’m the Avatar of Good Taste.  Clawing my way desperately back on topic – these new Van Cleefs with their big ol’ single flower studies?  It sounds so old-school it seems new to me.  No, seriously, it’s almost … edgy.  Work with me on this one.  They could have gone with a white-floral and a fresh-floral and a man-scent and a floriental or three, but they come out with gardenia, lily, and muguet?  The old guard, people (unlike me) who actually shop at Van Cleef, likely aren’t offended.  And the rest of us, perfumistas all, get to wallow in single-flower studies that happen seldom enough in “modern” perfumery to get my attention.

I checked on MUA and there are hardly any reviews of these (although I see Feerie gets a crummy 35% rebuy rating, heheh, okay, I’ll stop) but if I’m understanding correctly, the two that have the most fans are Gardenia and Iris (with maybe Lys as the third?)  If you have a different sense of the popular perfumista opinion, weigh in.

I thought Gardénia Pétale was extraordinary the first time I smelled it, and my opinion hasn’t changed.  It’s both gardenia and Gardenia, the Ideal – enormous and glowing without feeling monstrous.  I’ve blogged on my gardenia lust in the past and I’m going to tentatively dub this my favorite in terms of (hyper-)reality.  If you look at the notes, you can see the bits that have been cobbled together to highlight what makes the smell of gardenia so haunting.  There’s the piercing orange-green note at the top, and the funky smell I think of as cheesy and others call mushroomy (and it’s that smell that makes gardenia something of an acquired taste.)  Then come the deep indolic notes that give it weight, jasmine and ylang, followed by a tuberose-ish powdery sweetness.  Notes are: citrus notes, green notes, gardenia, jasmine, lily of the valley.

Gardénia Pétale is a heavy fragrance with strong lasting power.  If you’re trying it out, it’s worth waiting for an hour or even two before making your decision.  It seesaws from the greener lily-of-the-valley aspect to the cheesier, riper notes before balancing itself out.  Like most heady white florals, I wouldn’t wear this to the office (lots of people hate gardenia, the same way they hate jasmine, lily or tuberose), but if you’re looking for the olfactory equivalent of tucking a gardenia in your hair before a party, this is probably it.  Put it on a couple hours ahead of time, and use a light hand.

My all-time-favorite gardenia is Strange Invisible Perfumes’ (sadly discontinued) Lady Day, which I love for its melancholy, but even I have to admit this is truer to the actual flower.

Muguet Blanc has been kind of a mixed bag for lily-of-the-valley lovers, mostly I think because it suffers in comparison to the now-bastardized Diorissimo; without the dirty base of civet that many love, muguet ends up smelling like the familiar smell of a household product, lily-of-the-valley soap with a higher price point.  While I am blessed/cursed with a lack of proper appreciation for Diorissimo, I can’t say I worked up much of an appreciation for Muguet Blanc either.  It’s an extremely cold fragrance, and on my skin it’s almost unbearably soapy (the neroli isn’t helping matters in that regard).  I grew up picking small bouquets of lily of the valley from the neighbors’ yards, and while it’s been eons since I smelled the flower properly, I’m remembering something greener and sweeter and less aqueous than Muguet Blanc, which does indeed smell like expensive soap to me rather than a proper flower.  It also has a musky base that throws me a little.  Patty loved it, so don’t take my word for it.  Notes: lily-of-the-valley, white peony, neroli and white cedar.

Finally there’s Lys Carmin.  If I liked the Muguet Blanc less than I expected to, Lys Carmin was a surprise in the other direction. Non-gourmand vanilla lovers alert – read on. I’m not a proper lily-lover when it comes to fragrance; I appreciate them in the abstract, but something like Donna Karan Gold, which I think is a great fragrance, tends to be migraine-inducing.  I can’t help but notice that Lys Carmin, of these three, adheres more to popular convention than the other two, with more spicy warmth than a “typical” lily fragrance, but it’s a convention I happen to like.  It’s sweetly woody and smells less like a soliflore than a cold-weather comfort scent, spicy/vanillic without being gourmand.  I can’t imagine this would be anything but a disappointment for anyone looking for a Stargazer-lily or Easter-lily scent.  Instead it smells like an extremely high-end version of the spicy vanilla trend, quieter and not stunningly unusual.  It’s woody rather than gourmand (that lush vanilla-sandalwood drydown — squeeeee!)  I moved this decant to my winter-comfort shelf.  It’s as cozy as a cashmere sweater.  Notes: lily, pink peppercorns, ylang-ylang, vanilla and sandalwood. ** Update — I swear this reminds me of something, it must be a niche vanilla, but I can’t think what.  Any ideas?

Source of decants: private samples from The Perfumed Court.

Unfinished business — first, for anyone who’s wondered what I look like — here’s a photo of me, as you can see I’m not really a 65-year-old man.  This is my new short hair cut, it was quite long, several of you asked what it looked like.  There’s a slightly different version of this photo in yesterday’s makeup post if you want to see my snazzy lipstick.  That white stuff on my coat and hair is snow — Diva took this of me on Saturday in the middle of the blizzard.  I think I look like I’m ready to tear somebody at Guerlain a new one, don’t I?  Musette says I look a little feral, and I know she means that in a nice way.

Second — as we all suspected, I am an idiot about Beyonce’s Heat fragrance.  It is, indeed, a fruity, insipid musk; I must have had something (God knows what) on my hands that gave it that skank, and don’t you dare start typing nasty things into comments.  The musk in the drydown is that same sour-fresh musk that I hate in large quantities in, say, some of the JLo fragrances.

I got a couple samples of new Dawn Spencer Hurwitz stuff in the mail (thanks, secret friend!) and so I got to try Kohl Gris, which seems to be making its way through the perfumista circuit the same way a couple other DSH scents like Mahjoun and Cimabue did.

As quoted from the DSH website, “Kohl Gris is the scent of the smoky eye; sexy, seductive and smoldering. Built on a classical base of ambergris, Kohl Gris wafts in sensuality and spicy smoke.”  Notes, also from the website: Bergamot, Black Pepper, Black Pine, Clove Leaf, Centifolia Rose Absolute, Egyptian Jasmine Absolute, Esprit de Lavande, Ambergris, Australian Sandalwood, Brown Oakmoss, Clove Tobacco, Labdanum, Olibanum (Frankincense), Orris.

Given my makeup post yesterday, a “smoky-eye” fragrance seemed like the perfect review choice for today.

As you might expect from that list of notes, it opens spicy and peppery – and with quite a bit of lavender.  At that point it seems to me to be a darkish, stormy purple-gray.  Then it becomes quite sweet, sweeter than I’d expected, the florals accenting the way that incense scents can sometimes be quite sweetly resinous; I assume this is the ambergris (which so far as I know is synthetic, in case the mere idea freaks you out) along with the labdanum.  I’d had hopes for the sandalwood, given my current sandalwood search, but I’d describe this as more resiny/incense/spice than woods.

How do I feel about Kohl Gris?  I don’t know.  I can’t decide whether it’s beautiful and I like it, or whether it’s too ambery/rosy/lavender and I don’t.  However, given that I’ve sprayed it on seven or eight different days to try to make that determination, it is clearly interesting, which is more than I can say about any number of other scents I smell in a week.

Next up: E’pices d’Hiver, the first in “an all botanical collection of fine perfumes.”  (Does that mean all natural?  I have no idea.)  Notes are: Bergamot, Bitter Orange, Citrus Oils, Coriander Seed, Davana, Pink Peppercorn, Star Anise, Cinnamon Bark, Clove Bud, Grandiflorum Jasmine, Moroccan Rose Absolute, Nutmeg, Spice Notes, Ambrette Seed, Labdanum, Siam Benzoin, Tolu Balsam, Tonka Bean, True Arabian Myrrh, Vanilla Absolute.

This would be a classic DSH spicefest, which you probably either love or loathe.  Interestingly, this one has to sit on my skin for about five minutes, during which it’s very light, before it starts to bloom.  Like, say, Mahjoun or Sienna, there isn’t a ton of development – lots and lots of spices, not especially sweet, I particularly love the first half hour when the bitter orange is quite prominent.  There’s nothing pomander-ish about it; it’s fresh, not dusty.   More complex than Sienna (which is an ode to cinnamon) and less ornate than Cimabue, it’s a nice interplay between juicy citrus and pungent kitchen spices.

I actually used a Posse post awhile back to gather feedback on DSH’s huge (and somewhat confusing) inventory and website.   Among other things that happened after that feedback, they now offer smaller sizes in almost all their scents.  Also, heeding the pleas of potential customers who were just looking for someplace to start, she came up with sampler sets (Holiday Favorites, Hidden Gems, etc.) , which I think is a great way to meet a line.   I grabbed the Top Ten list here, for anyone familiar (or not) with the line, who might be curious: Cimabue, Jitterbug, Mahjoun, Nourouz, Cardamom & Khyphi, DSH Special Formula X, Au Lait, Rose Vert, Wild Fig, Ashram and dirtyROSE. ** All in EdP format.  (This is available as a sampler set.)

That certainly includes some of my favorites.  I’ll put in a plug here for Special Formula X (I have the X-treme version in oil.)  My understanding is that it was first developed for Dawn to get a sense of how various notes might work out on a customer’s skin, depending on how they perceived X.  I like musky scents and SFX is one of my favorites.  Neither laundry-soap-musk nor dirty, it’s a warm, faintly sweet skin scent that is a perfect wallpaper scent while managing to be sexy at the same time.  Fans of DSH will likely recognize it, it seems to me it’s a familiar base in her line.

And finally, there’s Cimabue, which is how I (and many other perfumistas) met the line, a riff on L’Artisan’s Safran Troublant, only a lot spicier and more ornate, highlighting the saffron without killing me with rose, which is the problem with ST.  Cimabue is hands down my favorite saffron – and I have done some looking, believe me.  Dawn told me once that saffron and rose, a common combo, are often paired because saffron on its own can be very bitter, and needs some sort of sweeter/floral counterpoint.  While Cimabue has rose in it, I can’t pick it out.  Instead, florals like jasmine and tuberose, as well as cardamom, nutmeg, clove, and lots of vanilla, craft this saffron scent into something labeled a gourmand/oriental.  I don’t want to eat it myself, but I’m happy to smell it all day long.

On me, the oils hold up a bit longer than the EdP concentrations, although you have to give them time to set up on the skin, although I don’t have any complaints about the EdP longevity.  I think the general consensus is that Dawn also does really nice roses for those of you who love that note in fragrance.  I’ll stick with the spices and comfort scents, myself.

Sources: all DSH samples except Special Formula X-treme are private samples.  I got X-treme directly from DSH.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen — it’s that time of the year again, when we all put forth our Top Ten Fragrances of Winter.  These are scents that may be new, or just new to us — or perhaps rediscoveries or simply old favorites that we rely on to get us through the gloomies until Spring.

Lee: We’ve had more snow this year than I can recall since childhood. A full two inches laid on the ground for a week. Hell indeed, or its inverse (waves at Canadians, Scandinavians and midWesterners with irritating insouciance). Anyways, what’s ringing my bells and pulling my buttons? Well, the first is no surprise – Parfumerie Generale’s Cozé. Pure wonder. But I reckon this will be a year-round mainstay for me. (By the way, winners of the samples from two weeks back are Geordan1244, carlene and chasa. Get in touch, peoples!).

And sticking with the patchouli and chocolate oddness, I’m going to choose dear old Serge’s Borneo 1834. Reeling from Perfume Shrine’s discontinuation revelation, and still soccer-punched by my sample of l‘Eau Serge Lutens (bright light, squinting eyes, iris squeal, high pitched melody – “Der Hölle Rache” from the Magic Flute is how high it goes -  facets of bleach and scrubbed sanatoria, with Dior Homme in the far drydown) Borneo 1834 is the perfect elegant off-centre number for when I want to project more … something… than the delectable Cozé will allow. No nasty vomit comments (vomments?) now please.

March:  It’s been a funny winter (aren’t they all?) because it’s either 67 degrees, or it’s cold and there’s 20 inches of snow on the ground.  Oddly, I have not yet shifted to my gourmand cozy-sweater comfort scents.  Instead I’ve been reveling in these two:

The first is Lancome Climat, re-released in La Collection, I blogged on it already.  Part of the ongoing fascination is that I’ve fallen in love with a fragrance I wouldn’t consider “me” at all.  It’s too big, too angular, too green-and-white.  Too dressy.  Too … too.  Not that I’m opposed to ballsy elegance (hello, Mitsouko!) but I never thought I’d find myself swooning over an aldehydic white floral with plenty of the dreaded lily of the valley.  I like wearing it casually — in the daytime, with my jeans and a sweater.  Perfume is always full of wonderful surprises, isn’t it?

The second is Serge Lutens Santal Blanc.  When I mentioned it in my sandalwood post, several sandalwood fans said they hated this scent.  My new interest in sandalwood (my timing couldn’t be worse, could it?) allowed me to have a perfume experience I’m not sure I’ve had before: to view an already-appreciated scent through a completely different lens.  I think SB was my second Serge bottle, and it’s always been that weird pencil-y thing.  But right this second it’s the perfect sandalwood for me, radiant, with no giant rose to spoil it for me.  Also, sandalwood and fig together are delicious.  Having acquired several figs during my fig jag, and then promptly burning myself out, I’m getting a chance to wear those figs again.  (My personal fave: Philosykos layered with SB.)

Musette:  A lifetime ago, my (then) husband had the noive to sniff my best friend and say “you smell intoxicating.”  It was in Winter.  She  was wearing Prescriptives Calyx.  I was furious.  But intrigued.  Went and sniffed.  He wuz right.  Busted!….but right.  I think the good ship LucaTania gave it 5 stars, with good reason.  It goes on smooth and sunny and blooms in the cold, without trying too hard.  It’s not quite ’summer’, just a nice fresh, juicy (without being ‘fruity’) rosy-green.

Speaking of rose…normally I am not a huge rose fan in perfume (love ‘em on bushes, though)…but something about winter brings out the Rose Love in me.    My favorite for this time of year is The Different Company’s Rose Poivree, with that hit of peppery zing! slicing through the redness.  First runner up is Rosine’s Big’un -  La Rose de Rosine.  Nothing but, uh, Rose….it’s great for snuggling under the blankets on a cold winter night.

Nava: So far, my first full Canadian winter has been less than impressive, but I should be careful what I wish for, correct? It hasn’t been anywhere near as brutal as what my mother’s childhood recollections had me fearing, but at least it was snow, ya know? Nowadays, it’s those pesky “ice pellets” (aka, sleet) I need to worry about; that and falling on my ass in the driveway while I scrape the protective coating off my car. But hey, at least I’ll smell good wearing Serge’s Five O’ Clock Au Gingembre and Guerlain Spiritueuse Double Vanille. I know I’ve been singing the praises of wood, incense and the like for a while, but when it comes down to chasing away the doldrums of winter, these two get it done. This is where I’ve landed on the journey from foody and gourmand, to, dare I say it…grown up.

Patty:  I’m a simple girl, and I feel like I’m flogging these two scents to within and inch of their life, but they are quintessentially winter, By Kilian Pure Oud and Amouage Tribute Attar.  Dark, rich, warm, pungent, a little bitter, but, like life, worn long enough, warmed up by the heat of your life, the become almost an extension of you, even while retaining an other-ness.

For more Top Ten lists, please visit Bois de Jasmin, Grain de Musc, Now Smell This, and Perfume-Smellin’ Things.

When is patchouli not patchouli? When Tom Ford puts his name on the bottle.

I’ve made no secret of my stormy relationship with patchouli, and I don’t think we’ll ever achieve the sort of détente that will allow me to completely embrace the full-on sweaty, stinking glory of it. But, I do appreciate it when it’s done right. Tom Ford seems to do everything right; including direct movies. I am dying to see “A Single Man”, mostly because I love Colin Firth, but mainly because Tom Ford is one of those individuals for whom whatever he touches turns to gold. Does vicarious proximity to someone like that result in a reversal of fortune? God, I hope so.  Hang on…I need to check the movie listings.

Here’s some important criteria I consider before wearing a scent containing patchouli:

• The fragrance in question must not contain fruit. See my recent review of Ricci Ricci by Nina Ricci. “Fruitchouli” should be outlawed, thereby banning all sales of Angel, Bond No. 9 Bryant Park and any other scent that dares to smell like fruit and two week old laundry.

• Patchouli must be paired with things that are inherently complimentary, like vanilla, amber, labdanum, tonka; stuff that sweetens it up, but doesn’t make it smell like chocolate cake served with a potting soil coulis. The one exception to this would be Profumum Patchouly, which is quite possibly the dirtiest patchouli scent out there.  The listing of four harmless notes – patchouli, amber, sandalwood and incense should mean it would smell good, right? WRONG. This stuff is a “two weeks since my last shower, haven’t done laundry in months, poured a sack of ground cumin over my head, lost my stick of deodorant, atomic body odour bomb”. One spritz of this in a crowded gym would clear the place out for days.

• Those who want respect, give respect; these are the scents containing patchouli deserving of accolades (in my opinion): Chanel Coromandel, Le Labo Patchouli 24, Etat Libre d’Orange Nombril Immense, and the scent du jour, Purple Patchouli. There are a few others, but in the interest of staying focused, I’ll stop here.

Purple Patchouli was love-at-first-sniff for me. And that’s saying something, considering the first time I smelled it was at Bergdorf Goodman during the 2007 Sniffapalooza Spring Fling. It’s very easy to overwhelm your sense of smell at the big Sniffapalooza events, but Purple Patchouli left such an impression on me, that I bought a bottle of Tobacco Vanille instead. I fell for Tobacco Vanille because I sampled it on my skin. I only sniffed Purple Patchouli, and rationalized that it was one of those, “smells great in the bottle, but goes all hideous once it hits your skin” scents. As we all know, the first impression isn’t always the correct impression.  It was over the summer that I went back to Bergdorf’s to give it another shot, bee-lining for the bottle and trying it on without anything else on my skin to alter my perception.  Now, I sheepishly admit it was the second impression that totally won me over.

This is yet another scent I find challenging to articulate. I’ve recognized a pattern, here: the more well done a scent is, the more trouble I seem to have putting what I like about it into words. I had this issue last week when I wrote about Andy Warhol Silver Factory, and I’m experiencing it again now. Tom Ford has pretty much changed the landscape of fashion over the last two decades and is still finding ways to reinvent himself. Even though he is an American, he doesn’t fit into the same category as Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein. That can be said about his fashions, as well as his fragrances and accessories. Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein have something for everyone, but Tom Ford has managed to hang on to a certain aesthetic which clearly states his wares are not for the masses. That includes his fragrances. The Private Blends are not widely available, and are expensive to boot, but there is something special about them. Love them or hate them, they are exquisitely crafted scents. It would be impossible to love or even like them all, considering there are now 20, including the White Musk Collection and the latest Private Blend, Bois Marocain.  And, it takes a certain degree of confidence and good, old fashioned cojones to even consider trotting out a line of that many scents. After all, he’s not Guerlain, Caron, or even Annick Goutal.

What I love most about Purple Patchouli is that it doesn’t smell like any one of its individual notes. According to TomFord.com, the notes are Orchid Accord, citrus notes, Noir Leather, Signature Patchouli Accord, exotic spices, amber, patchouli, Peru Balsam and Vetiver. My skin pulls out a lot of citrus and orchid, some slight spice, the balsam and vetiver. I get no leather whatsoever, and nothing that I could accurately describe as patchouli. This is the ultimate no-patchouli, patchouli, but it definitely has that devil-may-care, headshoppy quality that makes it fun and easy to wear. I’m sticking with that description, but there’s a little voice inside me whispering, “This stuff smells exactly like Erno Laszlo Light Controlling Lotion”. Since I haven’t used that product on my face in close to 20 years, I’m telling my little voice to shut the @#$& up.

Disclosure: The bottle of Purple Patchouli reviewed in this essay is from my own collection. The term “fruitchouli” was coined by Melissa, a frequent Posse commentator, and a real sweetheart.

Two of the fragrances that came up repeatedly in comments when I mentioned exploring sandalwood as a perfume note were Guerlain Samsara and Chanel Bois des Îles.

Guerlain Samsara is a fragrance many people love to hate – it’s identified as a big 80’s office-ban-type fragrance (although technically I believe it’s from 1979) and (quoting here from The Guide): “Samsara felt to many like an irreversible break with tradition, confirmed by the subsequent (awful) releases of Mahora and Champs-Elysees.”  Although please note The Guide still gives it four stars.  Notes are jasmine, ylang, sandalwood, narcissus, tonka, iris, vanilla, although most people would identify it (accurately) as pretty much jasmine and sandalwood.  Guerlain fan though I am, I couldn’t even remember what Samsara smelled like, except: a) not Guerlain and b) not me.

It was clearly time to reconsider.

My first stop was at Saks to sniff the current EDT, which – predictably for a Guerlain – I hated.  Seriously, if you’re just dipping your toe in Guerlain, at least smell an EDP if you’re talking about a classic Guerlain.  They get so much better.  “Vintage” – something even five or ten years old – is likely to be that much better.   Anyhow, current Samsara EDT smelled very much not me in that it smelled like the overpoweringly sweet, aggressively woody fragrance that would best be worn by a deeply tanned woman wearing a lot of shiny gold fabrics and with a smoker’s rasp to her voice.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  But I am not that woman.

The thing that kept me curious was the occasional whiff that skeezy Samsara on the back of my hand – jammed inside my leather glove for the rest of the day and kept at a distance … well, it was really pretty.  More investigation was called for.

So I hooked up with two different versions – a vintage EDP and a vintage parfum.  While I won’t argue with the rest of the notes listed, most of what I get is jasmine and sandalwood, with the vintage EDP being a little more aggressive at the top, and the parfum (naturally) smelling much more seamless.  Both of these feature the old sandalwood that Samsara lovers are familiar with.

And both of them … well.  Here’s the thing.  Samsara, on me, is heavily jasmine, although, yes, I can smell the sandalwood just fine and it’s gorgeous.  And I like jasmine very much, but it’s a difficult note for me to ignore.  If I want jasmine, I want something nice and indolic; I have a bottle of Montale Jasmin Full, a very ripe jasmine (faint hints of banana, diaper and rotting garbage), a few sprays of which would probably clear most normal people from a room.  Also I quite like the Donna Karan Jasmine Essence.  If I want jasmine, I want JASMINE, and I wear one of those.

Moving on to Chanel Bois des Îles, which dates to the 1920s, and notes via Basenotes are jasmine, Damask rose, ylang-ylang, bitter almond, gingerbread, vanilla, tonka bean, sandalwood, vetiver.  (Here’s a different list from Fragrantica: aldehydes, bergamot, neroli, peach, jasmine, rose, lily of the valley, woody iris, ylang-ylang, vetiver, sandalwood, benzoin and musk.)   More recently it was reissued in Les Exclusifs in the 200ml bottle, and I think (?) production ceased on other sizes except parfum.

That new Exclusifs version – meh.  I wish they’d made it twice as strong and stuck it in a 100 ml bottle.  It’s just too tenuous, and that’s me talking – I don’t often complain about things being too light.  The original EDT I’d tried years ago was no powerhouse, but it was stronger than that.

So I tried two pre-Exclusifs EDTs.  The first, interestingly, is doing that Bois des Îles thing, and I’m taking a survey – has anyone else had the problem with their BdI sort of reducing itself to expensive scented water?   Vintage Coco EDP tends to collapse in on itself, as if it were a walnut and someone ran over it in the driveway.   Vintage BdI in the EDT concentration seems to lose much of its smell.

The new BdI parfum was, predictably, stunning, although I can’t help but wonder if it would smell different if I bought a bottle now, right this second, with the Mysore sandalwood situation rearing its ugly head – I have no idea what Chanel uses for sandalwood.  The BdI parfum starts out much more sandalwood, where the EDT that’s still good is quite gingerbready and aldehydic on me.  Bois des Îles is a much more complex smell than Samsara, although other than the sandalwood, iris and gingerbread I’m hard pressed to pick out individual notes.  But it’s more of a kaleidoscopic fragrance, with different aspects seeming to reach out over time.  The EDT and parfum both smell very “Chanel” if that makes any sense.  They both smell expensive and dry and not overly sweet.

While I am blathering nonsensically I will say that No. 22 and Coco and No. 5 and most of the classic original Chanels smell not-romantic to me, by which I mean: they smell smart and opinionated and are the sort of scents you buy to wear because you like the smell, not to woo random strangers around you with your flower-like (or cupcake-like) sweetness.  If your beloved happens to like the smell of Cristalle or No. 19, well, lucky you, but I can’t imagine picking a classic Chanel as a man-hunting scent, Marilyn Monroe’s pulchritude notwithstanding.  This is obviously my opinion and yours might be quite different.

Paradoxically, if the whole Cult of Chanel leaves you cold – if they all strike you as bitter or aloof or too man-in-drag: I still think you should try Bois des Îles.  Maybe it’s because the scent construct itself is so old that it feels timeless; I find it mysterious.  And there’s something heartbreaking about the luminous florals next to that woodsy base.  Bois des Îles is singular, it reminds me of absolutely no other perfume.

Notes on sources: new Samsara EDT tester at Saks; vintage EDP and parfum, private sample.  Two different vintage (pre Les-Exclusif) bottles of Bois des Iles EDT and one new BdI parfum, private sample.

I’m staying true to my promise of introspection (and also filling in for Patty whilst she suns herself in warmer climes) by writing about one of my favourite Bond No. 9 concoctions, Andy Warhol Silver Factory.

I am not what you would call an art aficionado by any stretch; I consider my greatest piece of framed art (besides my diplomas) to be the poster of Elton John’s Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy album. I’ve carried that LP with me everywhere since I moved out of my parents house, and finally took the plunge and had the poster framed last year during my short stay in the DC area. It’s not quite a Warhol or a Picasso, but it is the original poster from the record album I bought when I was all of 8 years old. Yes, I’ve been an Elton John fan since the tender age of 5, when my brother used to make me sing “Crocodile Rock” into his tape recorder.

I do love to wind my way through museums, gazing at paintings of just about anything, and checking out knick-knacks and treasures from centuries past. My biggest artistic epiphany came in the Sistine Chapel, risking permanent nerve damage to my neck from staring up at Michelangelo’s breathtaking ceiling.  I still want to kick myself for the utter cluelessness that doomed my trip to Paris from London on a Tuesday, sans the pertinent factoid that the Louvre is closed on Tuesdays.  That was over 5 years ago and I still cringe when I think about it. I will get back there one day even if I have to fly naked and handcuffed in order to satisfy whatever security regulations will be in place when I finally get around to boarding an airplane again.

I’ve never been very knowledgeable about Andy Warhol save for looking at pictures of him, Halston and Bianca Jagger  on Page 6 of the New York Post, as they sailed past the fabled velvet rope into Studio 54. I didn’t understand why he always had such a vacant expression, and his shock of white hair was startling to my 11 year-old eyes. I had no idea that he painted pictures of soup cans and flowers in a studio called The Factory. The name Edie Sedgwick meant nothing to me, and the only time I ever picked up a paint brush was every other week in grade school, usually to paint something that I thought resembled the shade of the Tiffany lamp that resided in my parents’ living room. I was not a prodigy by any means.

Years later, I watched the film Factory Girl in rapt fascination. If the depictions of Warhol and Sedgwick, his poor-little-rich-girl muse played by Sienna Miller, were anything close to reality, then Mr. Warhol belied his vacant facial expression with the narcissism and vapidity of the quintessentially tortured artist. Again, I’m no art critic, and I think I’m experiencing a bit of adult-onset rebelliousness, so please pardon my judgement.  Maybe one day I’ll have a different take on the soup cans, the flowers, and the psychedelic portraiture, but right now I’ve got nothing.  I even pored over the Andy Warhol Foundation website, and the site for his museum in Pittsburgh, and I’m still a bit, shall we say, unimpressed. I’m guessing that anyone from the art world who might read this won’t be flooding my e-mail with job offers.

As for Silver Factory the fragrance, I’ve got lots to say. First of all, it is one of the best scents Bond has ever done; it cemented my love of incense and woods, and even gave me a newfound appreciation for the austere beauty of iris and violet. Silver Factory was an artistic revelation of a different sort for me, even if the actual scent has little to do with its namesake other than its moniker. It has been written that Andy Warhol was buried with a bottle of Estee Lauder Beautiful, so he was obviously a fan of feminine floral scents.  Silver Factory is not especially feminine, and the iris and violet woven through the composition give the scent a metallic quality; though not in a cold way. The incense and woods are tempered with a slight sweetness, but not so much that it overwhelms the rest of the notes.  It is haunting and beautiful, the way the most beautiful incense scents are, but I also like to think of it as interesting. It doesn’t smell like anything you would find in a department store, even though Bond is sold in some high-end department stores.  Silver Factory is a scent that needs to be in the collection of every fragrance lover who counts incense among his or her favourite notes.

I feel as if I’ve stumbled inarticulately through this essay, because when you talk about an artist and something that was inspired by his life and work, the opinions about the artist and the object in question become even more subjective. What would Andy Warhol have thought about this scent? What was it about Warhol and/or his work that the perfumer used as inspiration? How would Warhol feel about the critiquing of a fragrance just as one would critique the kind of art he created?

I’ve reached for Silver Factory so many times over the course of the past couple of years to try and write something about it, but I could never get it quite right. I still don’t think I’ve done it justice, but having made the attempt, I appreciate it even more than I used to. I can now add the following to my list of “what ifs”: What if Andy Warhol was still alive to bear witness to the current trends in art, fashion and fragrance? What would he think of all the celebrity scents that are being churned out in such copious numbers?  Finally, what would he think of Bond No. 9’s interpretations of what he is best known for: his flowers, shoes, soup cans and workspaces have all been used as inspirations for fragrances. I used to think that “Success is a job in New York”; I never knew Andy Warhol was the man behind those words.

The Big Cheese and I like wine.  We’re volume consumers, buying it by the case and drinking it with lunch and dinner, and our price point is around $10 a bottle ($7 on sale.)  If someone serves me a glass of something better I enjoy it, but my palate isn’t sophisticated enough, at least at this point, to be able to tell the difference.

But I don’t begrudge anyone their pricier bottles of wine, because I assume it’s providing them with a corresponding amount of pleasure.  When conversation on here and elsewhere drifts toward guilt about how much we spend on the frivolity of perfume, and how we already have more than we could wear in a lifetime, I shrug.  Perfume, ounce for ounce, still provides me with the great sybaritic pleasure in my life.  At the start (or the end) of a miserable January day, is there anything more wonderful than the smell of Serge Lutens’ Fleurs d’Oranger?  What could possibly make a perfumista happier in the moment than a whiff of one’s sillage of Timbuktu, or Shalimar, or Vetiver Tonka, or (name your poison, or Poison, here)?

Annick Goutal’s latest release, Ninfeo Mio, is inspired by and named after the Gardens of Ninfa in Italy, about 40 miles southeast of Rome, and if you’d like to break your own heart right now, here’s a link to some pictures.  (Has anyone been there?  Is it that spectacular in person?)  The notes are Italian lemon, citron, petitgrain, bitter orange, galbanum, lentisque, conifers, lavender, fig leaf, and lemon tree (as interpreted by me from the press kit), and it was done by Isabelle Doyen.

Ninfeo Mio opens on a bright, citrusy, slightly peppery burst that smells very Goutal to me, so you sort of know who you’re sniffing, and on a cold January day it’s a smell of such infinite cheer it brought a smile to my face.  If it stopped right there I’d still love it for its unadorned happiness, but it doesn’t.  It just keeps getting better.   There’s a green twist of galbanum that is perfectly sharp – astringent but not too bitter – overlaying a woody, herbaceous middle (lentisque, or lentisc, which smells woody/resiny to me); the lavender is very subtle and I wouldn’t have guessed it.  If I hadn’t already loved it, the fig would have cinched the deal.  The galbanum becomes enveloped in a really interesting sweet/milky note, which I assume must have something to do with the fig.  The drydown is spectacular, a woody, leafy, musky/resin base with fig and another note that smells, weirdly, like green mangoes to me.   (Here’s a link to Octavian’s review, where he discusses the scent in more interesting technical detail than I’ll ever manage, he mentions lactones and the smell of mango leaf oil, among other things.)   As the fragrance dries down it deepens and becomes more complex, and it’s pretty robust for a Goutal, with good lasting power.

I don’t have any other scent just like this, and the only one I can think of that is vaguely comparable is Hermes’ Un Jardin Sur Le Nil.  But they don’t really smell alike, any more than two rose scents do – Sur Le Nil is more bitter, dry and peppery (and much as I try to love it, there’s something in there that starts to bug me after a couple of hours.)   Sur Le Nil also smells, for lack of a better term, more “perfume-y” – it smells more like a Hermes-inflected statement about a place via perfume, whereas Ninfeo Mio smells, accurately or not, more like the essence-notes of the place itself.

Grain de Musc once categorized many AG scents (in general terms) as either more sophisticated “mother” scents, like Passion, or more lighthearted “daughter” scents like Camille. It was an idea that resonated with me.  I’m now going to climb out on a limb and suggest that Ninfeo Mio bridges that gap, growing up as it progresses.  While the top notes are full of youthful exuberance (that aha! moment when you see something that delights) there’s a woody/herbaceous dryness throughout and a drydown that is rich and sophisticated and fully adult.

In terms of feel, I’d place this between Mandragore and the original Hadrien, probably, although Ninfeo Mio is rounder and more complex and certainly heavier (and they all smell quite different) – and I should note that, having tried it as many as three times in one day, there’s a faint but definite urinous note on my skin after the top notes fade, boxwoody would be the more delicate term, that bothers me not one bit, it fits in with the herbaceous-woody aspect of the scent.  But if you have trouble with that sort of thing, particularly in Mandragore, I’d be cautious about buying this unsniffed.  Me, I’m delighted that one of my favorite “wearable” houses made a scent with fig in it.

The bottle is frosted glass, like Mandragore, in a pale gray-green that is supposed to evoke the leaves of the garden reflected in the Ninfeo river.  It appears either light sea-glass green or grayish depending on the light, and it’s lovely.  It’s available in the round bottle in 50ml and 100ml, and the square in 100ml.  The bottle selection should give a hint: I’d define this as unisex, in the same way that Mandragore and Hadrien are unisex, although the drydown is richer and sweeter.

If you’re not a fan of the line, Ninfeo Mio probably isn’t going to convert you – it retains what I think of as the quintessential Annick Goutal charm, certainly more so than Les Orientalistes (which I liked very much) or Un Matin d’Orage (which … I didn’t.)  But if you like some of the “classic” AGs, particularly the citrusy/aromatic ones, or if like me you can’t get enough fig in your world, this would be worth investigating.  The scent is supposed to be released in the US in February.  If you’re curious about it I’d suggest calling Tom at the Annick Goutal counter at Bergdorf in NYC, I think he gets things in on the early side, and he’s great to deal with.

For another perspective on this scent, be sure to check out Robin’s review on Now Smell This today – she’s another fig fan, and she liked it too.

Disclosure (which we’re supposed to do now under the new FTC rules, more about that on Wednesday):  I received my preview bottle from the US distributor for Annick Goutal.

I’ve decided to steal one of March’s Maxims from earlier this week; she may be self-published, but was there any mention of a trademark or copyright? Seriously, I don’t think she’s going to mind.

I, too, have decided to focus on my existing collection, rather than always seeking out the new. There are a lot of neglected scents in my stash and they are deserving of some attention. As Jerry said to Elaine in the “Dinner Party” episode from season 5 of “Seinfeld”, “Look to the cookie.” I can’t remember the last time I had a black and white cookie, but the harmonious commingling of light and dark is certainly an axiom applicable to many things. Cookies, fragrance, life…what else is there?

I’m starting off with Donna Karan’s Cashmere Mist Eau de Parfum. Many of you know I am always at the ready to sing the praises of Chaos, even though it is a reformulation; I adore it utterly.  In fact, I enjoy all the scents from Donna Karan’s signature collection, especially this time of year, because they are warm, comforting and subtle. Unlike her DKNY collection of Delicious fruity-floral bombs, her eponymous scents are something altogether different.  I refuse to classify them as scents for the more mature, sophisticated woman, nor do I think they are akin to literally wrapping yourself in cashmere – I’m not a big fan of cashmere anything, except Cashmere Mist.  Instead, they are more like old friends: the fragrance equivalent of being comfortable in your own skin, by yourself and with others. You don’t feel the need to put up a façade or act in such a way that you become unrecognizable. Cashmere Mist doesn’t pull any punches; it’s all about warmth and comfort and closeness. Not the closeness you feel with another person, but the closeness of being at peace with yourself. Mind you, this isn’t a 24/7 Zen state I’m talking about. Rather, it is about being true and honest and not hiding behind all the b.s. we tend to get caught up in. OK, I’m getting carried away, but you do know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

Cashmere Mist’s notes are Lily of the Valley, suede notes, bergamot, ylang ylang, jasmine Maroc, sandalwood, orris, amber, vanilla, cedarwood, patchouli and musk.  Even with the inclusion of florals and patchouli, the sum of these parts is not overtly floral, or overly patchouli-ish. What they amount to is warmth, comfort, peace. If you’re looking to disturb the peace, Cashmere Mist won’t do it. If you’re craving quiet, Cashmere Mist is all about understatement. And sometimes, that can be a good thing.

The version of Cashmere Mist I chose to write about is the eau de parfum. This was released a few years ago, and has much better staying power than the eau de toilette.  How it came to reside in my collection was through Fragrancenet.com, not long after it became available. I don’t remember how much I paid for the bottles I have (yes, I have 2!), but it was not the current $70.00 for 50 ml. In addition, I have a 200ml bottle of Cashmere Mist eau de toilette, a limited edition at Nordstrom from a couple of years ago, during their anniversary sale. It is still swaddled in the original cellophane. I know – I should be arrested by the nasty porn police.

There is also a new “Luxe” edition for sale, celebrating the 15^th anniversary of the scent’s introduction. I have yet to smell it, but I’m in no rush. The contentment I feel when I wear my Cashmere Mist cannot be surpassed. Well, maybe it can, but right now, I’m not interested. I do, however, have a mad hankering for a black and white cookie.  “Look to the cookie.” Therein lay all the answers.

Thanks to March for the inspiration for this essay.  I’m looking forward to reading your musings on your collection, as much as I am looking forward to contemplating my own.

So on Monday I mentioned sandalwood, and I’ve got some other stuff on the back burner, but the great thing about being a perfume fiend with a large sample collection is that I had several things on hand, so fasten your seatbelt for a ramble, with more to follow eventually.

First off were my older samples of 10 Corso Como and Diptyque Tam Dao.  Both of these fragrances have apparently been reformulated, not due to IFRA regs but because of the shortage of Mysore sandalwood.  So in this case it’s not a safety issue.  Mysore sandalwood is perfectly safe, as are all other things that are natural and from the environment.  Like radon.  And arsenic.  Anyhow, I have no idea how closely my samps match what’s on the shelves right now.

10 Corso Como (rose, geranium, oud-wood resin, vetiver, sandalwood and musk) is Exhibit A in my battle with wearable sandalwood.  It’s rough and raspy and once I become mentally aware that the rose is there it’s too much, you know how I feel about rose, and the oud probably pushes it over the edge for me.  However, I also remembered that I had a bottle of 10CC lotion from my trip to LA – still wrapped in its cellophane (duh).  So I trotted that out, and … okay, that’s nice.   As is often the case with a fragrance you sort of like, but wish were toned down a little (hello, Black Cashmere!) the lotion provides a viable alternative to the fragrance.  The lotion is definitely more muted, and also extremely moisturizing.  The problem with body-product alternative if you wear it like a perfume (i.e., in small quantities and only occasionally) is that, at least in my experience, it tends to go off eventually – and there are few things more revolting to the nose than a body lotion that’s gone a bit rancid.  I had this same problem recently with my old tube of Black Cashmere, although I keep my lotions in the same cool space as my perfume.  Anyhoo, 10CC lotion is nice but not perfect.  For me.

Tam Dao, at least my sample, smells pretty much like pure sandalwood, with a resiny undertone, although in the recent review in The Guide, Tania Sanchez describes it as smelling more like new wood furniture than sandalwood, which is definitely a change (although she still gives it three stars and says it’s probably better as a room spray than a personal fragrance.)  My vintage-y sample of Tam Dao goes right up my nose and starts pounding on my sinuses in a headache-inducing fashion. (Notes: rosewood, cypress, ambergris, and sandalwood.) However, I speculated, and Robin at NST agreed, that Tam Dao layered with Diptyque Philosykos might be excellent.  And it was, which is how I buried it so it would stop hurting me.  For those of you who like fig in theory but find its creamy sweetness overwhelming, some sandalwood underneath adds a nice dry, woody heft.

So then I dug up my bottle of Serge Lutens Santal Blanc, which Robin also suggested, and that was fascinating. Because I always think of Santal Blanc as that weird Serge that smells like a big, freshly sharpened pencil – an ideal pencil, mind you, a pencil that had been blessed by Serge himself, absent the cumin and the dried fruits.  Smelling Santal Blanc after 10CC and Tam Dao allowed me to focus for the first time on its sandalwood – and again, I’ve had my bottle for several years, for all I know it’s been reformulated as well due to the sandalwood shortage.  Anyway, I know it’s early yet, but Santal Blanc may in fact be my perfect sandalwood.  Notes courtesy of NST are white sandalwood, cinnamon, fenugreek, pink pepper, rose, jasmine, orris root, musk, benzoin and copaiba balsam.  What I love about Santal Blanc, revisiting it with an eye toward sandalwood, is that the rest of the notes are muted and the ride is incredibly smooth.  It has almost no development on me, perhaps a hair sweeter at the top, but I can’t pick out the florals (including the rose, thank God), and can I just use the word smooth again?  It’s got enough of the extra ingredients that the sandalwood doesn’t start attacking my brain.  In The Guide, TS calls it “a more lighthearted study of sandalwood’s charms, with its bright, fresh floral charm and raisin sweetness.”  It’s not raisiny sweet on me – in fact it’s the driest Serge I own – but I agree with the lighthearted part.  Being Serge, it lasts forever on me, and, again, some Philosykos thrown on top is terrific as well.

To any newbies or lurkers:  personally, I find picking a note – like sandalwood, or incense, or rose, or jasmine – and exploring a bunch of perfumes that highlight that note, both fun and informative.  You get a sense of how different something like a rose can smell in a fragrance, and sometimes you’ll run across something you like so much that you then decide to explore everything else that particular line (or that perfumer) has to offer.

Finally, a public service announcement (because I can) to those in the D.C. area: this is the last couple of weeks for the National Gallery of Art’s The Darker Side of Light, a fascinating and creepy set of lithographs, drypoints and etchings from the latter half of the 19^th century.  If you’ve ever stood in front of yet another life-sized oil of, say, Louis XV and been guiltily bored out of your mind, here’s a whole new way to look at art — the sort that was kept private, for intense, detailed study.  Lots of dreamscapes and fantastical images, yours for the perusing, free.  I hear the guided tour is excellent.

Hi there, snowbound friends of the Posse!  We’re still digging ourselves out on the East Coast and the kids are underfoot because school’s closed (anyone want to place bets on whether they’ll reopen this week, or are we headed right into winter vacation, which starts Wednesday afternoon?)

I’ve been getting my champagne and shovel on.  Those of you familiar with the DC area know that Sunday in the mid-Atlantic was warm enough after a typical snowfall that if you don’t get that 16 inches of snow off your car and out of your driveway by Sunday night, it’s 8 inches of icy mush by Monday.  But we had a great time playing.

Before I forget – thanks to the many commenters who came by on Friday to enter the Tauer Perfumes draw.  I won’t include Andy’s email here, because I don’t want to embarrass him, but he was very, very touched as he read them, and congrats to Tara for winning.

Okay, today’s review: The Different Company’s Oriental Lounge, the new oriental (duh) from the line.  Here’s a link to Grain de Musc, in which Céline Ellena explains how she was tinkering with the genre to come up with the fragrance.  Notes via LuckyScent are: Bergamot, curry leaf, pepper, red rose, labdanum, tonka bean and satinwood.  (Satinwood, according to Ellena, is a blend of a synthetic sandalwood note and a powdery note.)

To be fair, you should read the Grain de Musc interview, which explains Ellena’s intentions.  I started to try to quote from it, but I’d end up quoting most of it, which feels too plagiaristic for me.  Also, here’s a link to 1000 Fragrances’ review, and Octavian knows way more about perfume structure than I ever will, and hey – he liked it.

Me?  Eh.  Seriously?  This could have been straight from the Macy’s bottle of Usher’s newest flanker for men, maybe called something like Usher IV: Love Machine.  To me it smells like a midrange woody guy cologne, subcategory: barbershop shaving cream.  I am pretty sure it’s Luca Turin and Tania Sanchez who’ve noted that if you take a classical feminine and cheapen the ingredients enough, it starts to smell like a cheesy masculine.  Well, Céline Ellena has apparently worked the same dark magic using expensive ingredients and all her technical skilz.  Congratulations, Céline, I’m (sort of) speechless.  I note, again in her Grain de Musc interview, that “Oriental Lounge arose from the need to compose a warm oriental, which was missing from the brand’s line-up. It was also missing for me, because to speak bluntly, orientals aren’t my favorite perfume family…”  So, this is an oriental developed by someone who doesn’t even like orientals?  Well, that explains everything, I guess.  Since I’m too lowbrow to appreciate this result of the subverting of the aesthetic, I invite you to comment if you’ve tried it.   It’s not terrible.  It’s more … pointless.  I can’t think why I’d put this on instead of … well, pretty much anything else I own.  I think I’ll dab on some vintage Cinnabar parfum and go downstairs and scare the children.  Cinnabar goes with sledding, yes?  I promise I’ll put my champagne flute down first!

For those of you in the know, Andy Tauer’s been busy doing his annual Advent Calendar Giveaway on his blog – each day he’s giving away samples of “Eau d’épices” (“experimental, fresh from the lab”) – plus maybe something else (teaser set, bottles, etc.) depending.  It’s also fun to look at the traffic feeds on the right.

Today, Friday the 18^th, the Posse is honored to host a giveaway here, which is simple: leave a comment below.  Every comment that shows up here before midnight tonight, Friday the 18th, will be eligible for a special draw, directly from Andy Tauer:

“a Thuja root box, with a full bottle of a fragrance from my line, free to choose, value of 130 $US, shipped from Zurich, at no cost to the winner.”  So, folks, you get to choose the fragrance.

Seriously, how great is that?  Here is a picture of the box I grabbed off his site, aren’t they gorgeous? (see below right)

Okay, so for the giveaway post today I was invited to blog on any topic, and I think the topic is clear – the awesome love we feel for indie perfumer Andy Tauer and his super-cool fragrances and various interesting fragrance experiments (like sending a traveling fragrance around the globe for review.) Also he makes incredible soap, which you didn’t hear from me.  Also his scents make me feel inappropriately cuddly, mushy sentiments toward him, a man I don’t even know, which I won’t be expressing because I don’t want to scare him off.

But you can do it!!!!  He’ll come by and read these comments, sneaky thing that he is.  Let’s share the Andy Tauer love – here’s your chance to write a comment telling Andy how much one of his scents means to you, a Tauer fragrance memory or moment from your life, which one is your favorite, or whatever. (All comments will be counted in the draw, whether or not you tell an Andy fragrance story.)

Clarifying/reiterating:  I’m not going to be responding to comments.  IF YOU COMMENT BELOW ON THIS POST BEFORE MIDNIGHT, FRIDAY 18 (notice the comments are timed and dated) YOU ARE IN THE DRAW. I WILL USE RANDOM.ORG TO PICK THE NUMBER, AND I’LL ANNOUNCE THE WINNER DEC. 19 and forward that contact info to Andy, so get it right.

Have at it.  Oh, and this is March posting.  I have it set to “guest poster” so the entries don’t flood my inbox!

*****

DEC. 18 UPDATE WITH THE WINNER: CONGRATULATIONS TARA C!!!  I’ve forwarded your contact info to Andy.

Hello, darlings!   As you know, there are some fragrances of which one whiff is enough to make you want to vomit (EldO’s Secretions Magnifique springs immediately to mind.)  There are other fragrances that are, in some way, reminiscent of actual vomit.  (Oh, look, it must be March posting today…) For me, as many of you know, one such fragrance is the ubiquitous Angel, which is redolent of the smell of upchuck after your kid’s eaten a little too much of the Easter Basket.  I think that choco-vanilla-patch combo is one of the most disgusting smells ever concocted by a legit perfumer, and Angel’s vast popularity continues to baffle me.  (Angel lovers, don’t bother flaming me.  Look, I love Light Blue.  And Dior Addict.  Obviously I have no taste at all.)

Another category of sick-making fragrances is typified by the spice-market scents, and I happen to be quite fond of those.  Those of you who aren’t fond of them really, really hate them – they are, I suppose, The Souk Threw Up On Me.  Get Melissa started on Laura Mercier’s fall LE, Minuit Enchante, which she found anything but enchanting.  She couldn’t get that thing off her fast enough, although, unfortunately, Minuit Enchante isn’t in any hurry to leave.  It would be a fantastic/terrible scrubber.  I bought a bottle.  I looooove eeeeet.   I love that screechy agarwood at the bottom, and all those yummy spices at the top.  Everyone stayed far, far away from it at my perfume party.  Melissa probably begged them not to touch it.

Daphne, the new fragrance by Daphne Guinness (who I am pretty sure is an heir to the Guinness fortune, yes?) was done by Antoine Lie for Comme des Garcons. Notes are bitter orange, incense, saffron, Centifolia rose, Tunisian jasmine, tuberose, iris, patchouli, aoud, amber and vanilla.  It is decidedly in the spice-market category, where there is no such thing as Too Much (and correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s sort of the impression I get of ol’ Daphne.)  At $150 for 50 ml it is expensive-ish, but since you’re not talking about real money any more until you hit $250, I guess it’s not ridiculously priced.  Also, is it just me, or does reading someone described as a “muse” make your eyes roll back in your head reflexively?

Melissa gave me her sample vial, with her blessings and strict orders never to spray it anywhere near her again.

Two sprays of Daphne is probably one spray too much, this thing is huge.  And for the first thirty minutes, it’s nothing but love – it reminded me quite a bit of Bal a Versailles, the parfum, overlayed with something containing even more candied sweetness.  I thought it was kind of a riot, although – WARNING – then I went through a ten-minute phase in there of almost total anosmia, but it’s there, people!  Please, for the love of God and other humans, don’t reapply!  I was in touch with Daphne then, I was digging her, I was feeling her hippy-dippy Morocco vibe.  I was sort of channeling that other heiress who used to swan around Marrakesh all the time in her fabulous caftans … Talitha Getty?

And then things started to come apart, and then turn ugly, in a way that was fascinating but I can’t quite bear to repeat.  Daphne got bigger and bigger and bigger, like a Macy’s parade float, while at the same time it stretched and stretched until all the interesting bits – the candied part, the bitter orange, a great leather-glove note, the white florals that gave it some lift – fell away, and I was left being slowly strangled by this web of terrible, bedizened bitterness – saffrochouloud, I guess, all sour and raspy and hateful and strange. It was expensive and awful, like those evening dresses at Neiman Marcus that look like they’ve been attacked by a psychopath armed with a BeDazzler.  Daphne combines the subtlety of Liberace with the warmth of Darth Vader.  It is oversized and grim and have I mentioned bitter?

Which is weird, because I swear, hasn’t everyone been complaining about how the sweetness was killing them?  Like the unbearable gagging sweetness of those giant faux party-balloon dog sculptures by (crazy-like-a-fox) Jeff Koons?  Man, I hate those things.  And those sliced up cows and sharks in formaldehyde by that other wanker  – and good luck unloading those pieces of dreck in the current art market, suckas!  But where was I?  (Sorry, we switched over to the modern art screed channel briefly).

So.  Good news: I killed off all the sweetness in Daphne.  Bad news:  I was left with the blanket of bitter tears of saffron, patch and oud that forced me to come home, scrub my arms with Liquid Dawn and change my sweater while trying not to breathe through my nose.  After which I applied a healing, head-clearing balm of Annick Goutal Mandragore.  (And later: Gucci Rush, my adorable new mini!  It dribbles just the right amount, no overspray.  See, I told you I had no taste!)

Any of the rest of you tried this thing?  How do you feel about spice-heavy scents?  Isn’t Malle’s Noir Epices the most fabulous thing you ever smelled?  (hehehe)  Go ahead, ’tis the season, hate on it.   Or tell me your favorites, what if I’ve missed one?  I love DSH’s a lot, by the way — Cimabue, Mahjoun, Sienna…

image: Daphne Guinness, British Vogue, March 2008

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 Benaïm, 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?