There’s good news – if you read on a bit, this is an actual perfume review!

I signed up for a month of yoga at this studio I’ve been test-driving, after going five times in a ten-day unlimited-class special I purchased on a whim.  I don’t want to jinx it but I think it’s a really good fit for me.  The studio’s clean, close, the schedule will (I think) work when the kids go back to school, and it’s an open/flow structure.  Which means that I’m neither in way over my head nor stuck in a class where we move at a snail’s pace while we are talked through each detail. (I’m over-analytical enough already, thanks.)   The room’s a perfect 90 degrees (32C), which helps me and everyone around me bust a sweaty move without (I hope) the rosacea-aggravation and migraines that dogged me in the 105F+ (41C) of Bikram, as much as I loved it in other ways.  Finally, I alternate between a tall, serene Korean instructor who delivers a meditative, slo-mo yogic asskicking — you know, where down-dog is the rest position — and a short, gruff American gal maybe in her 60s, who manages to constantly help/correct/adjust those of us who suck are beginners in our practice without making it feel like nagging.

So there’s my backdrop for Pure DKNY, rolled out in every fashion magazine I read this month, with Angela Lindvall in a white dress, the essence of purity, against one of those whitewash backgrounds.  The photo’s interesting because it’s actually suggestive of an urban aesthetic – the top of a white-painted old-style radiator to the left, paneling to the right (she’s sitting on a windowsill).  It’s a big  office/apartment windowsill, and in the background is what looks to me like a high-rise, blurred almost into abstraction in the magazine ads.  There’s a glass of water to her immediate left.  All of this is signaling that she’s either kicking back in her white-washed urban living space, or maybe this is the floaty cover-up she wears to the yoga studio.    Do you want to find peace and serenity in your stressful urban environment, like this (expensively groomed, faux-natural blonde-highlighted) avatar?  Well, Pure DKNY is your mantra.

“A drop of vanilla sourced from Africa, a drop of goodwill.   Pure DKNY supports local communities by taking small steps to help make a difference.”  Go to their website and you’ll learn that the vanilla in question comes from Uganda and this is some sort of partnership with CARE to support women in a fight against global poverty, although if you can find any firm financial details you’re a better reader than I am.  The box is environmentally friendly and recyclable and (as you can see from the image) very clean-looking in an understated way.  Notes are Ugandan vanilla, dewdrop, floral petals, lotus, Bulgarian rose, jasmine, freesia, orchid, white amber, sandalwood and vanilla in water.  It is “a soft floral scent with a signature vanilla accord,” according to the ad.

That list might predispose you to think this is a heavier floral – maybe something along the lines of DK Cashmere Mist – but you’d be wrong.  Mostly what it is is fresh.  Not fresh laundry, or fresh linen.  No, it is the kind of fresh that torments yours truly (and Robin at Now Smell This, apparently.)   I never quite understand what’s happening to the smell as it renders itself in my brain, but this … note?  aromachemical molecule? –  is the antithesis of fresh, in that it smells to me mostly like that peculiar, sour note of sweat in synthetic garments.  It’s the smell of a basket of sour laundry, the UnderArmour shirt or the $6 black Target polyester that you throw on after spin class, with a focus on the armpit area.    I can smell the vanilla, soft and not overly sweet, against a background of attenuated, indistinct watercolor florals whose purpose seems to be to prevent this from being a gourmand.   Absent the pick-axe edge of the FRESH pounding into me, I’d describe it as a wallpaper scent.  I might have guessed a light summer scent from JLo, marketed as more “sophisticated” for the “mature” audience over the age of 25.

I’ll take another deep, cleansing breath and point out that, vague assertions of charitable aspirations aside, there are plenty of actual “natural” perfumes out there if that’s the way you want to swing.  I respect the idea of natural perfumery just as much as I respect the concept of people who want to, say, construct or clean their houses with a minimum of potentially toxic compounds.  There are great blogs about natural perfumes and related products – let me provide a link to Scent Hive – with plenty of diverse perfume styles.  Natural perfumery does not provide me with everything I want in a fragrance, and it’s susceptible to fraud – if the perfumers aren’t sourcing everything themselves, for instance, they have to trust their suppliers.  Beyond that, the more the merrier, and if we could not turn this post into the merits of natural vs. synthetic in comments I would be grateful.

Why did I bring this up?  Because to me, and I believe to the casual magazine-reading consumer, one might take away the impression from all this “pure” imagery that Pure DKNY is in some way better for the environment, or more “natural,” or less toxic for the wearer.  You know … pure.  Says so right there on the label — or it would, if the bottle weren’t blank in the top advertisement (you can see the name on the bottle at left).  But there’s nothing here to support the idea that Pure DKNY is any safer or more natural than Mitsouko or Gucci Rush.  Instead we’re offered an aesthetic, a sham purification ritual, that troubles me on some level.  There’s nothing pure about Pure, other than the level of b.s. in the marketing of it.  I bet there are women right now spraying this scent on before their yoga class, and if I wind up next to one of them while I work on my down-dog, I’m going to be pissed.

What did I wear to yoga this morning?  The very faint remnants of the majmua attar, which I could smell only because the room was hot, and only with my face inches from my wrists.  (I’m a big fan of fellow exercisers using deodorants, which are often scented, so I’m not going to issue a no-frag policy for exercise, but nobody should be wafting scent.)

Donna Karan has created some of my favorite scents – and some of the most intense.  Black Cashmere, Chaos, Gold, Fuel and even the original DK robo-duck are all things of startling beauty, no wallflowers among them.  I’m also a fan of the Essences, although I thought they were wildly overpriced (I think the newest reissues are priced lower.)  I’m not a fan of Cashmere Mist but I think it’s a nice enough scent, and in exchange for all that I’m willing to overlook the Be Delicious franchise and its endless spawn, along with their summer-fluff and duty-free releases.  I find myself strangely disheartened by Pure – it feels cynical to me, gimmicky, capitalizing on an Eat/Pray/Love level of self-regard in a way that seems even more dishonest because it implies a kind of purity which Pure doesn’t have.

Now, I’d like to end on a happier note.   WITHOUT DEVOLVING INTO A FLAME WAR, THANKS – I welcome suggestions from readers regarding particular scents they’ve enjoyed from houses that purport to be natural or botanical (can we phrase it that way?).  Off the top of my head, I’ve enjoyed L’Artisan Jatamansi, which I think is “botanical” and smells like a very expensive spa to me, as well as Strange Invisible Perfumes and Dawn Spencer Hurwitz (search for “natural” in the product search box).  And of course I’ll mention the attars again, from Tigerflag and White Lotus.

source: private sample

March

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 faà§ade 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.

There are many garden smells I love. The evening scent of honeysuckle in June, pure, bright, overwhelming. The evening scent of angels’ trumpets in November (no frost here yet) – heady, intense, overpowering. The fresh loaminess of turned earth. The sweet floral crispness of stored cooking apples, their springlike zing always surprising me. The greenhouse smells of wood and geranium and salvias.

But of all the smells that halt me in my tracks, it’s the scent of cistus or labdanum that halts me most, and then haunts me. I can’t pin it down; it oscillates between categories too much – balsamic, leathery, animalic, resinous, green – for me to move on. Defying categorisation, it’s become one of my favourite perfume ingredients.

I’ve had all sorts of cistus shrubs over the years, most notably Cistus creticus with its shell pink flowers and its reputation as the best source of labdanum, and the variety ‘Sunset’ with brighter flowers, often described as rose pink but tending towards magenta in the best (or, if your tastes are less garish than mine, worst) examples. All of them have sticky leaves, from where the gummy resin is extracted (I’ll leave the details to better people than me – perfumeshrine has explored this with great eloquence). My current favourite cistus I grow is the hybrid x cyprius, whose leaves become lead grey in cold weather, as though metalwork rather than plant. And its aroma is everpresent – in rain, sun, or on still, dull days.

Cistus flowers don’t last, and they seem to be short day plants, at least with me, the flowers blooming best in spring and sometimes again in autumn. The flowers open in the early morning and if the day is hot, shatter by midday, their papery petals lost, their yellow stamens fading.

And in many perfumes, the aroma doesn’t last either. Take Donna Karan’s Labdanum from her Essence series. This is a perfect cistus scent for 20 minutes but fades to a creamy sweetness, that hints at everyday amber, way too quickly. I like it, but wish the wonder lasted. And Poivre 23 by le Labo has a wonderful journey through labdanum a few  minutes in. Here, I don’t mind its loss: the many facets of this scent are the reason to wear it.

Perhaps Andy Tauer’s l’air du desert marocain is the best example of a cistus note that lasts, held up and supported by other equally rugged aromas. This is a rough-hewn perfume, in all the right ways, and undoubtedly still Andy’s masterwork. ‘Learning to be satisfied with what I have’ has been my motto for this last year of the first decade of the 21st century (what an elaborate way to avoid using noughties, which makes my toes curl); perhaps I should stop with my cistus hunt and just accept I’ve found the best already.

What note haunts you, and why? And, cos I’m a contrarian type, if you think, ‘What a dolt! He hasn’t sniffed x or y for his labdanum fix? Man, that guy’s like a noob.’, please lemme have your recommendation toot sweet.

Lee

Before getting onto my shopping trip last Friday, I just want to share some travel advice with you. If you´re longing for oakmoss and miserable at its disappearance from our perfumed lives, look no further than a trip to south west Scotland, at least until the anti-scent brigade bomb the place. I´ve never been to a land so full of lichens. Every tree seemed to have a furry green trunk and greybluegreen branches (mostly due to oakmoss and its buddy, Old Man´s Beard). And given that a woodland was outside our holiday home, I got a heck of a lot of close-up time with oakmoss, even if the smell is – huh – hardly there in its unprocessed state. The bluebells and wild garlic compensated in the fragrance department though, I can assure you. What a wonderful juxtaposition of the intoxicatingly floral and the earthily acrid. Just perfect.
We stayed in the lodge below, sea one side, woodland on two, dairy pasture the other. We only ever saw cows and perhaps, on a busy day, a solitary walker heading from the small bay tucked deep in the woods, to the ruined castle, half a mile to the south of us. Bliss, I tell you.

Anyway, onto London. I don´t shop much, as I´m increasingly intolerant of crowds. I love people in ones, twos or threes, but any more than that and I start to get the jitters. It´s why I started in Nicolai, as the shop is so small, fitting any more than two people in there plus the SA is nigh-on impossible.

As much as I love the perfumes, I went to Nicolai for home fragrance lamp burner oil, the scents of which knock Lampe Berger into the shade (geddit?). I was after summery´ and though their new Gardenia wowed me, and though I was tempted by the Mimosa, I ended up with three bottles that were far less femme. After all, my home is Georgian straight lines and it gets chintzy enough from the oh-too-many sweet peas that start appearing in the next few weeks. I ended up with Lavande Pays ( a staple – lavender, a touch of mint, and woody depths), Fleurs d´Agrumes (so much less shrill than the lemon, grapefruit and mandarin ascribed to it – essentially a woody scent with citrus topnotes) and Ocean (the lovely SA convinced me of this. I was expecting a calone / seaweed hellzone. I got eucalyptus, pine and open windows. Lovely, actually).

I also bought a bottle of Eau Turquoise as it seemed to be discontinued and 30 mls was going for the equivalent of $15; 100mls for $22. I supersized. It smells remarkably similar to the (also discontinued?) Eau Exotique, although softer in the drydown. They´re fruity scents for people who don´t enjoy fruity scents. Anyone fancy a large sample?

I also tried scents I hadn´t sniffed, or can´t remember sniffing. Cedrat and Cedrat Intense – both wondrous. But it was Odalisque that stole my heart. I didn´t know that green floral scents could be so seductive. If crowds smelled like Odalisque, I think I could be happy among them. The jasmine rounds off the high-pitched facets of the muguet (I didn´t want another of´ in the sentence – my only reason for fanciness) It has none of the shrill screech that green florals seem to make (to my ears´ at least). Instead, it´s the low thrum of a young Bacall whispering temptations. I think I might just need a small bottle.

Onto Harrods, which was hell, as usual: SAs wielding the latest blap as 21^st century weaponry, crowds moving like a febrile convulsion, and a noise level antithetical to perusal. I sniffed many things – enjoyed trying Donna Karan´s Fuel for Men at last (and it´s a maybe autumn purchase) and was sorely tempted by an Amouage Dia giftset, though I wasn´t quite ready to part with the $$$. I also finally tried Homage, and it bloomed and opened a new world in that hectic room – lush and beautiful. It sorely needed to be worn elsewhere.

Finally, onto Liberty, for my bottle of Geranium pour Monsieur, and peace and quiet. I love Liberty for perfume – it´s had the same understated SAs for years and never draws the crowds of Harrods or – worse! – Selfridges. Diptyque´s Oyedo made me laugh, and I momentarily wondered if I´d be happy going round smelling like Haribo all day (it´s kind of like a cartoon version of Clinique´s Happy for Men, with all the dihydromyrcenol replaced by laughing gas).

I quite liked the rather ordinary Nuits de Cellophane but don´t really remember much of anything else I tried. I was suckered into splurging out on a Cire Trudon candle – Balmoral. Hell, grass makes me as allergic as a sneeze-machine on its highest setting – fake grass, not at all.

And so my shopping trip ended, with a small whimper of acquisitiveness, and some satisfaction.

So, what have you bought recently – to scent yourself, or to scent your home? And what would you buy if you had all the time and money in the world for a leisurely, chauffeur-driven tour around London´s perfume hotspots?

And how about the view from the holiday cottage living room, to end…?

<–>

Lee

First off, thanks to everyone who recommended Marc Jacobs’ Daisy as a possible fragrance for my young niece.  I smelled it yesterday and found it entirely (indeed, almost humorously) devoid of sex appeal — if there is an iota of musk in there, I can’t smell it.  And while it is a generic sparkling fruity-floral, it’s neither syrupy nor crass.  I wouldn’t wear it, but it is a light fragrance perfect for a girl, with the bonus points of the adorable bottle and being mercifully free of any unpleasant celebrity-laden associations.  Right now various retailers like Sephora and Macy’s are selling elaborate Daisy gift sets with solid-perfume compacts, teeny cute mini-Daisy purse sprays, fun makeup bags, etc.

Second — UPDATE — I apparently managed AGAIN to paste some code in here rendering half the post invisible in Internet Explorer. I am sorry. I’ll make an effort to recheck the darn thing in IE before I take it live.

Okay, today’s topic. I’ve been putting this off, but here goes:  am I nuts, or does the re-released Donna Karan Chaos smell … different?

There.  I said it.  Flog me with some Yatagan or a plastic decanting pipette, but I can’t help it, it doesn’t smell quite right to me.  Something’s missing.

Granted, we’re talking about my comparisons to samples from old-formula Chaos bottles of various vintages, many of which are different enough they already smell like dupes of each other.  Some are spicier; some are darker; the top notes might have gone off a bit.  I think Chaos’ stunning bottle probably got left out on display more often than other, plainer bottles.

Prior to the re-release of Chaos, when things were looking desperate, I wrote a review of Anarchy, the Irma Shorell dupe, which is  — seriously — to my nose a credible effort.  It does not smell materially different than a couple of my samples of vintage Chaos from different sources.  It’s missing something at the top, and it’s not quite as darkly mysterious as my full bottle, but it’s less prickly as well.

So here’s the new one, and nobody could be happier than I was when they appeared.  And … well, I don’t know.  I wish I had Octavian from 1000 Fragrances here to help; he could sniff it and tell me they’d tinkered with the  dextromethampetamine or whatever.  He’s got a perfume chemist’s nose and knowledge, and I don’t.

The notes from Basenotes list (for the original Chaos): sandalwood, cardamom, cinnamon, padukwood, agarwood, saffron, clove, amber, musk, sage, lavender, chamomile, coriander.

The new Chaos is brighter.  It seems more focused on the top (the saffron is quite prominent) and less on the gigantic, raspy bottom — the gap to me between vintage and new Chaos is like the gap between Chaos and Black Cashmere, if that makes any sense.  Black Cashmere is a gorgeous scent and I adore it, and it will take the top of your head off if you look at it wrong — I’ve had to scrub that fierce, growling beast off more than once. Also, the new Chaos seems sweeter — more amber and clean musk, less spices.   Since my time machine’s broken, and acknowledging that I have no way of knowing precisely what the original Chaos smelled like in 1996, the new one, while quite nice, seems more muted and softer.  It’s a narrower bandwidth focused on the soft, creamy comfortable middle of the scent without quite reaching either the heights or the depths of the original.  In my opinion.  While I’m going out on a limb and sawing it off, does anyone else get this… this cola-syrup-deal that pops up in the new Chaos faintly every now and again?  It’s not unpleasant, just kind of odd.  (On the other hand, if I recall correctly, “cola” was a word that turned up occasionally in reader reviews of the original, so maybe the scents are closer than I thought.)

If I’d never smelled the original Chaos — or Anarchy, to be honest — I’d be raving over this new Chaos as the greatest thing since sliced bread.  I only have one sample of the new, which I dumped in an atomizer, and I will try to get some more samples and re-test it. But somehow the reissued Chaos does not fly out of the bottle, reach down my nose and rip my heart out of my chest the way the original did — that jaw-dropping smell that made me shrug and roll over to eBay going, I don’t care what it takes, I’ll pay it.  At the time it was the most expensive bottle I’d ever bought, and (unlike some others) I never regretted it.  I wondered at first whether I’ve just gotten jaded about Chaos, but a revisit of my older samples and my bottle — nail-varnish top notes and all — still grabs me in a way my new sample just doesn’t.  Your thoughts?

Coming soon: reviews of Chaos Pour Homme — okay, not really, but that’s the first thing I thought of when sniffing a new-to-me fragrance last week, and my feelings about DK Fuel, now that I’ve managed to retrieve it from behind my work station where it had slunk off to… occupational hazard.

image, Marc Jacobs in a tutu and Naomi Campbell from a funny photo spread in Bazaar last year

March