Okay, your assignment for next Monday – hey, why should I do all the work?!? No, seriously, I like to read your responses. So – the assignment, suggested by Maria last week (and with a nod to Now Smell This, who just did something similar on Friday): it has come to our attention in the blogosphere that many of you have made sniffing expeditions and/or unsniffed purchases based on The Guide. Also, Patty says anecdotal evidence from The Perfumed Court suggests that people are sampling highly-rated fragrances. I’d like a report next Monday on how your sniffage/blind buys worked out for you. Alternately, tell me about your latest foray or unsniffed purchase prompted by a review that I or another blogger did. Next Monday, don’t forget!

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Figue Iris – I love that bottle. I love Guerlain. I love fig. I’m fond of iris. This would seem tailor-made for me, and yet it’s a disappointment. Notes are bergamot, grapefruit, iris, fig, violet, milky notes, woods, vetiver and vanilla. The light milky fig (along the lines of BBW Brown Sugar and Fig) meets the Guerlain powdery heliotrope and then the fig mostly disappears after ten minutes. I drenched it on the second and third times – I’m talking my whole arm, wet – and still it didn’t stick around long. What’s left is like “An Impression of” the Guerlain powdery-heliotrope base. An Impression of Guerlain Meteorites, I guess? The drydown, once the powder fades, is kind of woody and interesting, like Kenzo Tokyo in the first 90 seconds before it implodes into a crappy fresh scent. If we’d skipped some of the powder, I’d be happy, but this is just too much powder and not enough interest for me.

Aqua Allegoria Laurier Reglisse - and this one surprised me in the opposite way – by pleasing me quite a bit. I’m not wild for anise, but this one is refreshing – notes of bergamot, orange blossom, licorice, bay laurel, woods, violet, galbanum and amber. The licorice is bright rather than candied and is pretty much gone after the first three minutes on me, leaving a not-particularly-sweet, leafy green woody smell that I think would be just the ticket in the summer heat. Nice – I might buy this on discount. Lasting power is so-so, and if I’m saying that, me of the scent-grabbing skin, I wonder what normal people get – five minutes?

Let me say again: I love Sephora. In addition to an increasing number of small bottles for less than $50, this last visit yielded a $50 four-bottle gift set containing Prada regular, Intense, Tendre and Homme. How great is that?

Moschino Cheap & Chic I Love Love (in the orange and blue Olive Oyl bottle) is sort of like D&G Light Blue, only more floral and even more appealing to me, and I like Light Blue. It’s Light Blue’s more gracious older sister. If you like Light Blue in theory, but after two hours its pervasive Light-Blue-ness starts to work your last nerve, you might want to consider trying this. Notes are grapefruit, orange, lemon, redcurrant, tea rose, muguet, cinnamon leaves, musk, cedar, tonka wood, created by Olivier Cresp in 2004. Every time I sniff it I wonder, why don’t I own this thing? And then I remember why an hour later, because my only complaint is it gets a little sweeter than I like in the drydown, although it’s not so sweet by mainstream standards. I am crazy for that bottle, though, and if I run across some cheap I’ll probably buy it. In the meantime, I sniffed the new one, Hippy Fizz, and come on – look at that bottle — based solely on appearances, I don’t even care what it smells like, I want it. Notes are: raspberry, rose, violet leaves, magnolia, lotus, cedar and oakmoss. I’ll take their word for the cedar and oakmoss – on me it is the sweet, fruity floral you’d expect from the first five notes. In terms of artistic merit, Hippy Fizz is the fragrance equivalent of Pez, or Sour Patch Kids candy – and be honest, don’t you ever want a mouthful of Pez instead of a mouthful of, I don’t know, organic, fair-trade shade-grown artisanal dark chocolate? I know I do. I couldn’t pick it out of a lineup, it could just as easily be one of the Escada summer LEs, it’s a little fresh on me.

Finally, there was Oscar Fresh Vanilla for Women, which I tried at Bloomie’s and which she assured me was a special Limited Addition and Very Rare and I better buy it now or I’ll never see it again! Notes are: bergamot, blackcurrant, rose, marshmallow, orange blossom, vanilla, Peru balsam, musk. When I looked online I realized there have been a whole series of these Oscar things I’ve never seen – bamboo, pink lily, citrus, mocha chip, etc. Okay, not mocha chip.

Marshmallow. Marshmallow, for Pete’s sake. Honestly, though? It was kind of fun – it smells like a marshmallow you’ve toasted on a stick until it’s nicely browned, so it loses some sweetness and has a bit of that burnt smell – with a musky finish. It’s like Demeter did a scent called Toasted Marshmallow (you could layer it with Bonfire!), or CdG added it to their Sweet series. I know, I know. I must be losing my marbles. Off to apply Kolnisch Juchten to regain my senses.

PS For Mother’s Day my darling children gave me various items they made lovingly by hand in their art classes. I gave myself that Stuart Weitzman purse in the photo up there. I’ve coveted their shoes in that particular, iconic color – Red Quasar, a pearlized lipstick red – for years, but the shoes are usually either flats or 4-inch heels, and I want something in between. Then I saw the purse and knew: It Was Destiny.

When one sets out to narrow down to six perfumes her favorites, what she should do instead is grab a Xanax,  place her head under the pillow, hold it down firmly so nobody hears and scream until the mood passes.

But I didn’t. Instead I have come up with the list of the six perfumes that I cannot live without, under any circumstances, and which best define who I am or want to pretend to be. So they may or may not be the perfumes that I admire most as great creations, though I think all on this list are that, but they are the ones most beautiful to me. The agonies of discarding beloved perfumes from this list has been horrible. Warning, there are a couple of incidences of cheating to narrow this down…

1. Ormonde Woman. Full-bodied green velvet –think Miss Ellen’s Poitiers from Gone with The Wind, after they got made into that beautiful green gown for Scarlett. A little saucy and tart, makes you pucker sometimes, not sure if you like it or not, but inevitably its charm wears you down. Parfum version preferred, it just amps up the annoyance and the charm.

2. Guerlain Après L’ondee. Melancholy, regretful, but completely full of hope. It is sorrow at 1,000 yards, where you can look at it and appreciate the exquisite pain without really feeling it. The numb place before the real pain sets in or after it has gone. EDT or parfum will work.

3. Le Labo Patchouli 24/Vanille 44 – Okay, this is a cheat, I know, I know! But they GO together, kids! A spritz of Patch down the front of your shirt for depth and tarry resonance and a couple of spritzes of Vanille over your outer clothes and in your hair creates a cloud of woody vanilla over that tar - truly the most amazing and comforting scent in the world.

4. Christian Dior Dorling vintage parfum. What a cold, unfeeling thing it starts off as, and you’re thinking it has no soul; it’s finicky, much too churlish and standoffish to love. That’s when Dorling brings the magic. It warms not into the most beautiful girl in the room, but the most interesting, the one you have to stop and pay attention to, sit and talk with. Anthropomorphize much? Well, this perfume seems completely human to me, and she never fails to amaze me.

5. CB Cradle of Light/Strange Invisible Perfumes Lady Day/Serge Lutens Sarrasins. Yes, I’m cheating, but any of these three could fit here, and any day will have me changing my mind. They are gorgeous jasmine treatments, and each stuns me and can keep me mesmerized all day with its beauty - sort of a hypnotic sniffing loop.  Everyone has to have a jasmine on their list, unless you hate jasmine, but you should get over it and put one on your list anyway… or three.

6. Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist. Give me that overabundance of cold, rooty iris with a dollop of spice in the drydown, and I’ll give you my unadorned and complete, lavish devotion for a lifetime.  Genius, brilliant, and a joy to wear on any day of the year.

While I started off with a list of five, I had to expand it to six because none of these would exit the list. Now, as I read comments, I will find my head exploding as you guys mention perfumes that should be on this list, and there is a subset of about 100 perfumes that go beneath these that I also can’t live without, but these are the list of six’ish that I will have in embarrassing amounts for all of my life.

What’s your six?

Annoying American Idol part of Friday:  Ramiele is GONE, yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mop-up items:  Winner of the Indult C16 and CdG Hinoki samples are:  Tom (tmp00) and Six.  Just click on Contact us over on the left, and send me you address and I’ll ship you the samples! 

Once the temperatures start rising just a little, as I’m rolling through my decanting early in the morning, before my day job starts, there are always a few perfumes in certain seasons that I can’t pass by without spritzing. 

If it’s spring, it is Guerlain’s Apres L’ondee.  Violets in rain.  Created by Jacques Guerlain and launched in 1906, it has notes of bergamot, neroli, aniseed, hawthorn, violet, heliotrope, iris and musk. 

The scent of the time between death and life, clinging to the earth in the rootiness of the iris and musk, but stretching to life with the neroli and violet, with the anise and hawthorn giving it a little interesting rhythmic funk  just so you don’t forget how to really live in the in-between spaces.

For me, it is full-on, heady, unadorned, and unfettered joyous sorrow - tears in rain, where you cannot tell where your tears end and the rain starts; the joy racing through your veins because you still feel and are rejoicing and lamenting for all that life should be and is and isn’t.  Apres L’Ondee is the tension in life, weighty and weightless - perfectly blended, but always separate. 

March and I have joked forever that we will have Apres L’Ondee piped in during our funerals because that’s how we want people to feel when we go out — sad to see us gone, but forever glad that we lived.

Am I over the top in my love for Apres L’Ondee? Yes, absolutely. It makes my heart sing every time I smell it, rejoicing in all that life is mixed with regret for all it will never be.  There are very few perfumes that never fail to make me appreciate living as much as Apres does.  So what perfume “does it” for you?

Completely off-topic, can we talk about American Idol for a second?  That guy with the weird hair bangs that did Billie Jean — love him, just close my eyes when he sings.  Ramiele, why is she still there? At least Chikezie (sp) was interesting and entertaining.  Ramiele adds nothing to the show except shortness and whining.  Who is voting for her? If it’s you, stop it, I mean it.

In As You Like It (one of my favourites, just for the pure gender play frolics of Rosalind as Ganymede), Jacques famously talks of the seven ages of man, in his standard less-than-chirpy terms, the great big sulky drawers. 400 years ago, people’s lives were a lot shorter, and Jacques has men (and it’s avowedly men, folks - no women to be seen) leaping from adolescent love-mooning, to the passion of young adulthood, to a contented and girth expanding middle-age. In modern terms, I’m not sure where the ages fit, though I guess by now I’ve had between three and four of mine. That is, I’ve definitely been a child, an adolescent and a young man. I’m assuming I’m on the cusp of middle age, even though I’m pretty sure I’m right in it, in reality… A smell the coffee moment? Now, strangely, there are three scents which mark out the first three stages of my life, though my ‘fume promiscuity means that no marker exists from now on. So, I know you’re gagging to know. In fact, I hear some of you cry out, ‘So, what are they already?’ Okay, okay, hold your horses…

At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;

First scent memory of any note is my grandfather’s Old Spice. My grandparents had a vanity unit in their bathroom; we didn’t. There wasn’t much in it - some cotton wool, a few prescription medicines, always a brown glass bottle of hydrogen peroxide, white label, old fashioned even in the seventies. I’d sniff it and get that funny hair salon sensation up my nose. But the prize for me was the Old Spice bottle. I would hold the cold bottle as though it was precious porcelain, reimagine the strains of Carmina Burana and the iconic surfer as I lifted the stopper and inhaled that sweetly spiced powdery goodness. My grandfather was a long way from a surfer dude (just as the model in the old ad was too, I now know) yet for the pre-teen me, there was something immeasurably, ineffably, hopelessly cool about this bottled magic. It’s a scent I still adore as much as any niche fancypants work of ‘art’. Good ole mass market genius. The best of the best. Just like my much loved, and much missed, grandpa.

Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

At university, I attempted nerd chic. I bought old suits, wore them rolled up on the legs, above thrift store desert boots. Collarless Edwardian dress shirts, though I never quite got the nerve for the little round collars themselves. My glasses were some new graphite carbonised something or the other. And I was reading several books a week, smoking lots, partying, and generally thinking that no-one as witty or as wonderful as me had existed, really, except for maybe a few of my friends. In moments of doubt, I’d wrap my large camel duffle coat around me (second hand was the done thing, of course) and spray on some more Fahrenheit, confidence restorer that it was. Fahrenheit. The ghost of myself, arrogant young man, a performer without the worries of his allotted time on the stage, an aesthete without an understanding of the cost of aesthetics, a ponce, a frightened child, socially clueless, surviving on guile and a modicum of charm. We all know that feeling… The smell brings these things all back, and yet somehow it’s still wonderful. At times, I don’t like the carapace I wore in my undergraduate folly. I like the man hiding within - he’s a good guy, y’know. He was just too shy to show himself back then. But the carapace that is the startling, and over-familiar, green gasoline and honeysuckle jolt of Fahrenheit, well, that I’ll always love.

And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.

My friend Sarah left for Paris as soon as she got her degree, and she’s lived there ever since, now works at the Sorbonne, and is raising two lovely kids with her Basque partner. I still make sporadic visits, but in my twenties, I seemed to be there a lot. She lived on the top floor of an old apartment block in the ‘less fashionable’ end of the Marais, on Rue Vieille du Temple. there were still old-fashioned shops around then - cobblers and keycutters, corner bakers. They’re mainly fancy boutiques now. Whenever Sarah came down her never-ending flights of stairs, the Portuguese housekeeper (oh, Parisian cliches!) would be out in flailings of floral dresses, tabards and dyed black hair, to remonstrate her for some misdemeanour or the other. Sometimes, where she’d stored her bike. Most often, playing music too loudly. We’d listen to rai, Natacha Atlas, and occasionally George Michael. We’d sit on the Ile St. Louis and watch the world and her lover go by. I’d miss Matt, who rarely accompanied me on such jaunts. I guess I’d sigh. Back at the apartment, I’d bathe, and use one of Sarah’s bath oils, scented markers of my times in Paris. My favourite was a Guerlain, but I didn’t really pay attention back then. One day, in my early thirties, I sniffed it once more. It was Eau de Guerlain, and of course I now have the perfume, though not the bath oil (it might have been bubble bath, but that sounds wrong for an epiphany, donchathink?). It’s a citrus begamot herbal eau de cologne, nothing more, nothing less, but the best of its kind. Like youth, it doesn’t last. But unlike youth, you can go back for more whenever you fancy. And that’s some comfort. If I need it. I rarely do.

So tell me. Three scents that are time markers for you in one way or another, fancy as you like or totally dime-to-the-dozen. We’re not proud here.

Georgian illustrations of Jacques’ speech come from http://artoftheprint.com

Vetiver and I have a difficult relationship. I blame this on a tragic first meeting with Hermessence Vetiver Tonka, one of … how do I put this delicately? One of the most heinous fragrances on the planet. Vetiver Tonka is the fragrance equivalent of avocado ice cream – no, make that Brussels sprouts ice cream – and every bit as hard to choke down. (I concede my problem may in fact be with tonka, since I tried Patricia de Nicolai’s Vanille Tonka with similarly dismaying results.)

I’ve been trying to undo the leaf damage with a slow reintroduction to the wimpiest vetivers I can find. I was charmed by Guerlain Vetiver Pour Elle, and then worked my way up to regular ol’ Guerlain Vetiver, which I am pretty sure is now at the top of my to-buy list for The Big Cheese this spring. Le Labo Vetiver I like, but it’s not really vetiver, is it? Anyway, when Louise offered up a sniff of Lubin Vetiver recently, I turned her down. Couldn’t care less. I only tried it because she kept shoving it at me, and if you’ve met Louise … well, anyway, it’s gorgeous. Clearly I still like my vetiver on the cleaner end of things, and with a little additional company – notes are: mandarin orange, grapefruit, Guinea orange, orange flower oil, cloves, whole nutmeg, pepper, Java vetiver, Eastern red cedar, myrrh, frankincense, tobacco. If you are feeling blue and would like to wet yourself laughing, read the description on LuckyScent (“… the freshly torn from the earth richness of vetiver and the otherworldly airiness of frankincense circle each other warily, a truce between the sacred and the pagan….”) But what a wonderful, cheerful pleasure: citrus and spice opening, but layered with the vetiver from the start – so the whole effect is that bright, sparkling, leafy earthiness rather than dirty rootiness. Trot in the woods and incense and tobacco, and you’ve presented vetiver on a perfect platter of notes. I doubt vetiver purists will find this satisfying, but gosh, it’s pretty – I hate to use that word, because really, it’s unisex heading toward masculine on me, but it’s one of those colognes I’d ask about if I smelled it standing behind someone. Have you smelled it? If I say, I’ve come around to vetiver, and then cite Guerlain and Lubin as examples, does that give me all the street cred of someone who talks about how much they’ve learned to love Mexican cuisine based on their meals at Taco Bell?

L’Atelier Boheme Immortelle — Wow. What a … stunning disconnect between my nose and the online reviews. Perfect if you would like to smell like baby lotion and amber. None for me, thanks.

L’Atelier Boheme Helianthe - green notes, pear, exotic flowers, ylang ylang, sunflower, sandalwood. I cannot think of the last time I experienced such a profound gap between my feelings about the opening and drydown of a scent. The opening of this is such a fruity, green atrocity – like taking a can of Glade Spring Meadow and shooting it straight up your nose – that I refused to scrub it only because I was curious whether it could possibly get more awful. Then I got distracted by my maternal duties (dinner or something) and – you guessed it – eventually realized Helianthe had morphed into a delicious scent. Now, let me clarify that I like pear. I like Petite Cherie. If you do not like pear, you will really feel the full flower (fruit?) of your hate for this. I still can’t recommend this, based on the hideousness of the opening. Has anyone else tried this?

Prada Cuir Ambre parfum – this is one of those obscure LE things that I think is available at the Roja Dove boutique at Harrods in London, at some Prada boutiques (Milan? Moscow?), and on alternate Tuesdays on Mars. Here’s my review: heh heh heh. Okay, first a big note of powdery amber, a cross between Anne Pliska and POTL, and I say: bleah. Then: big big BIG (cue music from Jaws) leather – leatherleatherleatherrrrrr, dark tanned boot leather, but expensive. Not soft handbag leather. If I do my weird huffing thing (we need a better name for that: I breathe softly in and out through my nose and mouth pressed softly against the scent on my skin in the drydown, and I feel like my hot breath gets me maximum feedback, including almost tasting it)… there is something else in there, spicy, like carnation or iris? But I only get the spice while huffing it. What I don’t get – that sort of fresh/aquatic note I sometimes get with leather, that I don’t care for. This is custom-quality leather, all the way, no vinyl here. I’m not even a leather freak, and yum.

Lubin Idole – okay, fine. I give up. Do you hear me? I give up on this. I get: 45 seconds of warm, woody wonder, a la Feminite du Bois. Then I get something doughy and wan. Then I get poof! nothing. Then I get some lame wisp of something indistinct and ambery. Notes of saffron, bitter orange, rum absolute, black cumin and bitter orange peel, doum palm, smoked ebony, sugar cane, leather, red sandalwood. Yeah, read that list and weep. This was made for me (by Olivia Giacobetti, no less.) Where are those notes? Not on my skin, that’s for sure.

Demeter Incense – this is new. Their blurb: “Demeter’s incense is a warm, deep, rich blend of exotic notes, inviting and enveloping, the kind of scent that is both simple and complex at the same time, centered on a unique core of Copal. Copal is a type of resin produced by plant or tree secretions, particularly identified with the forms of aromatic tree resins used by the cultures of pre-Columbian Mesoamerica as a ceremonially burned incense, as well as for a number of other purposes” etc. You know I love incense, and I like a lot of Demeter scents – not the sugary sweet ones, but their more offbeat ones (Holy Smoke, Beetroot, Coriander Tea, Bonfire, Greenhouse, off the top of my head, are pretty great, as is Eggnog, and yes, I know that sounds disgusting.) They don’t last forever, but they’re inexpensive and they come in those giant mini sizes (1/2 oz. for $5), which I love. So. This doesn’t smell at all churchy, like frankincense – Armani, Avignon, etc. This is definitely on the warm, resiny end of things. Its fragrance is mild and sweet, and there’s some extra stuff in there – a dry vanilla, maybe some amber, spice and pine? It’s soft and warm, smooth but velvety rather than creamy, a resiny comfort scent. To me, a nice Demeter is like putting on a favorite tee shirt. Two thumbs up.

Lubin images: LuckyScent

Released by Christian Dior in 1995, and created by Pierre Bourdon, Dolce Vita has notes of rose, magnolia, muguet, apricot, peach, cinnamon, sandalwood, vanilla, and heliotrope.  There is something about the interplay of the fruity notes on the open that makes this start off feeling a little, well… smutty.  Like there are massive amounts of cumin in there, though it’s not listed as a note.  Attention, K-mart Fragrance Makers, this is what fruity floral should smell like.  Not sweet, but you can pick out the fruit easily.  The cinnamon lends spice, and the floral notes, vanilla and sandalwood smooth it out into a warm, woodsy scent, never taking it into foody at all.  Smooth, interesting and grown-up, Dolce Vita could be worn by  men or women. 

Guerlain Cuir Beluga has notes of mandarine, aldehydes, immortelle, leather, heliotrope, amber, and vanilla.  Don’t look for leather here, you’ll be very disappointed.  You will find a creamy, lovely, cooly interesting scent.  Without the immortelle, I think this scent would tend to bland, but the immortelle gives it enough play so the chocolatey creaminess becomes addictive, but never warmed up.   It is the creamy white flower that blooms in the shade, releasing its perfume only for itself, never caring whether it is beautiful to others.

Strange Invisible Perfumes Vine has notes of  osmanthus, lavender, grapefruit and black currant.  Its inspiration was the Greek Myth of Persephone whose appetite for pomegranate seeds kept her in Hades for half of the year.   It’s an almost sweet green open, which lasts for just a few mintues before the grapefruit and lavender show up to give it a tart almost minty floral feel, all the while Satan is running around beneath it laughing.  Not listed, there’s a deep, dark animalic character that permeates this entire concoction.  If you think Vine is about green… think again. It is the vine that wraps around your leg in the night and pulls you down to the forest floor, caressing you as it overpowers you - but do you want to fight it?  This is one of my favorite SIPs, but it’s not easy to wear or appreciate, and I wouldn’t recommend it for a beginner.  Save it for when you’re feeling more confident and want a walk on the wild side.

On a personal note, my youngest son has picked his college, yeah!!!  Now we start the rest of the long grind doing all those collegy things, and in a few short months I’ll be an empty nester.  That fills me with a melancholy that this part of my life is almost over and a new part is about to begin.  Once we take our family trip to Europe this summer, I’ll need suggestions for what in the world do I do with a big old house empty of kids?

The presents are wrapped and under the tree, except for what Santa will bring later tonight. I’ll be spending much of today at church putting the final touches on the decorations for Christmas Eve, then home to bake iced sugar cookies (Santa’s favorite). This is a funny, wistful time of year for so many people. I have no idea how many of you will even stop by the blog today, but I thought I’d post something a little sacred and a little profane, about my love for Guerlain Mitsouko.

In perfume circles, Mitsouko is one of those givens – like Mount Everest, or death. It exists in its timeless majesty, whether or not you appreciate it. It has an air of inevitability. I suppose my first tentative sniff of Mitsouko was like a budding oenophile’s first sip of wine that didn’t come in a gallon jug from the supermarket. Mitsouko was my gateway drug. It was my introduction to the kind of ecstasy a scent could provoke. I had no understanding of it; I had no concrete idea of what I was smelling. Mount Everest doesn’t care whether you understand it.

Mitsouko dates to 1919 and is classified as a fruity chypre; its list of notes (Osmoz lists bergamot, lemon, mandarin, neroli, peach, rose, clove, ylang-ylang, oakmoss, benzoin, vetiver, cinnamon) don’t really hint at the bizarre beauty of the scent. Its baroque Orientalism makes me think of kohl-eyed beauties in silk brocade harem pants; at the same time, it could appear in the bottle of a high-end niche perfumer today and we’d be raving about its edge (although I’m having trouble deciding which perfume house might be worthy of the release.) Unlike many current releases, Mitsouko is “fruity” only to the degree that its peach provides a modicum of relief from the sharp, astringent spice and citrus notes. If you have only smelled the EdT, I am sorry, but you have not smelled Mitsouko. The parfum is the smoothest, an elixir of smoke, fruit conserve and spices that wears like velvet, but I am also fond of the (admittedly harsher) EdP, the concentration I met and fell in love with first.

I wonder whether the best way to come to Mitsouko is cold, without any preconceptions. A close friend was visiting recently; we were both dressing for a formal party, the kickoff of our holiday season. She’s not really into fragrance. She poked through my collection, looking for something suitable, and her fingers touched my tiny, beautiful bottle of Mitsouko parfum. “You should wear that one,” I said, wondering what she’d think. She dabbed some on and then stood there, transfixed, for the better part of five minutes, nose to wrist, murmuring oh my god oh my god oh my god. She called me the next day to tell me the fragrance was still clinging to the sleeves of her coat, and where could she buy some?

Last week I discussed my semi-regular, wrongheaded attempts to layer Mitsouko with anything (Mitsouko will eat many fragrances without breaking a sweat). Anne suggested Fendi Theorema (Patty seconded the idea), which sounded so peculiarly perfect I got up bright and early the next day and tried it. Which brings us to the profane part of the post (for those of you who find Mitsouko sacred and not to be trifled with), because I’m here to report that the combination was not only tolerable but incredible. Layering Mitsouko with Theorema solves two common problems. If you like Theorema in theory, but all that candied orange goodness is too sweet for you, Mitsouko provides a dark, rich base. If you like Mitsouko in theory (or, what the heck, dislike it) and find wearing it the equivalent of scaling the aforementioned Everest, Theorema provides a sweet, warm spiced fruit note that calms down the sharper parts of Mitsouko but still leaves you with a fragrance of immense dignity. As I gazed at the article in the New York Times yesterday on the winter waltz season in Vienna, with the young women dressed in their ravishing white ballgowns spinning across the floor, I thought, there is an occasion worthy of Mitsouko. What a fragrant memory that would be.

For those of you interested in the details: I tried Mitsouko parfum dabbed with my small sample of Theorema extrait, which is almost impossible to find. Of course, it was magnificent. But really, if you like the idea, the EdPs of both sprayed on are a perfectly lovely alternative. You need a lot less of the Mitsouko; I think I decided one light spray of Mitsouko to three sprays of Theorema was about right. I ended up decorating one wrist with that and then dabbing onto the other (horrors! Crushing the notes!) because I thought applying the necessary sprays of that combo my neck and both wrists would create enough sillage to kill everyone around me.

To all of you, Mitsouko lovers or not, I wish you the best of whatever you hope for in the last days of this year, and good things in the next.

Image of Clara Bow: clarabow.proboards105.com

Image of Mitsouko: guerlain.co.jp

Image of Vienna Philharmonic ball: vienneseball.org