Today’s post is a bit of a grab-bag.

Angie bought The new Etat Libre d’Orange Tilda Swinton Like This in Paris and wore it beautifully, and Patty reviewed it last Thursday.  (Notes: mandarin, ginger, winter squash, jungle essence, everlasting flower, Moroccan neroli, Grasse rose, vetiver, heliotrope and musk.)  I thought I’d put my two cents in.  I experienced it after the first ten or fifteen minutes as very much a skin scent, which you wouldn’t necessarily expect given that list of notes, although a quiet skin scent seems so … Swinton to me.  You have to be pretty darn close to whoever’s wearing it to smell it, although as I believe Angela mentioned, it does come up to you in bits and wafts.  In my limited experience with it, compared to Tilda, Eau des Merveilles, for instance (which I find a bit similar in feel) is a sillage monster.   So don’t be ordering Tilda unsniffed if you aren’t willing to settle for something that wears as close as a favorite tee shirt.  It does have a little of that peculiar metallic/orange blossom vibe that S-Perfumes’ Sloth had, to reference a really obscure scent.

Speaking of skin scents, on this trip I also gained a new appreciation for the other scents of Olivia Giacobetti at IUNX, which – even if you aren’t fans of her work – is a fun store to visit, in a little room off the entrance of the Hotel Costes.  Each scent is set up with a cone affixed to the wall which you sniff from, and there’s a little fan that goes on automatically when you lean in – it’s a neat way to sample and gives you a good impression of the scents.  I never got to try the original IUNX waters before she closed down the first time, but I still have my original decant of L’Ether, and it is great stuff, probably my favorite from the line.  I put it on while I was writing this to remind myself how much I like it.  It’s stronger than the others (notes are myrrh, benzoin, rosewood, saffron, maplewood, sandalwood), a woody, slightly sweet saffron-incense that feels like a kissing cousin of Passage d’Enfer.   If you’re a fan of her ethereal scents it’s well worth a sniff.  (UPDATE: a commenter below says you can buy the small 10ml bottle of this separately at the store;  I misunderstood that it came with the big bottle.)  Splash Forte is sort of the world’s best cinnamon mouthwash in a scent, but if you’ve got Lutens’ Rousse I’m not sure you need it.  Also, I wish they didn’t sell the IUNXen in those ginormous 200 ml(?) bottles.  Since my nose wasn’t fatigued and the shop is clean and spare and not overwhelmed with other scents, I could appreciate the laundry/steam-iron-esque (sound familiar?) L’Eau Blanche (linen, white iris, teak wood), which I found more appealing than the new Serge Eau, and L´Eau Sento, (“a tree stands near peaceful waters in Japan.  Its moisure-filled blond wood is smooth and warm.  Close your eyes and feel the heat of wood-infused steam…” seriously, that’s all I can find), Denyse described it in an email to me as “green and incense-y, like a luxury spa,” and I think that’s an excellent description.  She said she’d like her apartment to smell like that, and I have to agree.  They also sell the Hotel Costes scents in there, the original and the new Costes 2.  Costes the first is too rose-y for me, lovely though it is (it’s also done by Giacobetti, notes are lavender, bay-tree, coriander, white pepper, rose, incense, woods and light musk.)   Costes 2 is benzoin, Ceylon cinnamon essence, Turkish rose, Tunisian orange blossom and gaiac wood … come on, you know you want it.  Look at those notes. You want it, don’t you?  I waffled for awhile about this one while still in Paris; did I need it?  (Although you can get it here at Lucky.)   It’s another wallpaper scent, a skin scent of the most excellent, whisper-of-spice, breath-of-wood sort that makes all us OG fangirls squee.  But here’s the thing: after the spiciness at the top has settled and we’re well into the drydown, I swear on my skin it smells kind of like Barbara Bui. Which is not a criticism, I mean, I love love love Barbara Bui, but I haven’t decided whether this is sufficiently different.  Possibly.  I think I need a decant for further consideration.

I’ll wrap this up by talking for a minute about the new, much-anticipated L’Artisan Nuit de Tubéreuse done by Bertrand Duchaufour.   Angie, Louise and I were lucky enough to be able to try it in Paris, thanks to Denyse.  It’s in production now, and apparently they were passing around testers at Sniffa in NYC a couple of weeks ago, so I know some of you have already had a chance to try it.   I still have the Paris scent strip (on which I wrote “secret”) sitting here.   Historically, I’ve had more admiration for Duchaufour’s scents than a desire to wear them – I find signature BD compositions like Timbuktu and Eau d’Italie Sienne l’Hiver murky and sour, like old vase water, and (for me) mostly unwearable.  All I can offer on that front is a shoulder shrug – we like what we like, you know?

IMPORTANT UPDATE #2: commenter below says it’s at Barneys NYC, which surprises me, as my Secret Perfume Insider Decoder Ring insists that it’s in production and I should “try again later…” oh, wait, that’s my magic 8-Ball.  I’ll try calling Barneys this morning or wait for Carter to report back! There is A TESTER at Barneys (and other places, for all I know … didn’t you all smell it at Bendel for Sniffa?)  But Barneys will not have the actual BOTTLES in for “several weeks.”  Price will be $95 for a 1.7 and $135 for a 3.4  This info courtesy of Atique (“ahTEEK”)  at Barneys, and wth here’s his direct line since he was nice and helpful: 212-833-2002.

So, that’s all great, March; how is that Nuit de Tubéreuse already?  Well, I can’t add anything to the review Denyse did; what else is there to say?  Except this.  I took a deep whiff of Tubereuse, first on the scent strip and then (after shameless begging) on my skin, and then I said something really elegant and March-esque.  Something along the lines of: damn, they are going to sell the sh!t out of this thing.

Because it’s just that awesome.  It’s commercial in the best possible way — interesting but totally wearable – and if you like tuberose, I can’t imagine your hand wouldn’t drift down to your credit card as if you were in a trance as soon as you sniff it.  It doesn’t go the Fracas route (powdery Sex Bomb) or the chilly intellectual route (Serge TC or my beloved Carnal Flower.)    Cribbing from Denyse again – she uses the words rooty and resinous, and there’s something … there’s something in BD’s tuberose, spicy and wet and green and milky and poisonous all at the same time, that made me feel like I was in the presence of something dangerous, which tuberose is and should be, and that it was so stunningly beautiful and not weird, so it has to sell despite its white-flower handicap.   After all, my understanding is that the white-flower-bomb La Chasse is one of the biggest L’Artisan sellers in the US, if not the biggest, and that thing’s a sillage monster.  If Kim Kardashian can do a big ol’ white flower bouquet as her recent signature, God love her, then maybe white flower sillage monsters are the new pink pepper.  A girl can dream.  Anyway, I’m looking forward to the rollout of this one in the summer, I think.

Notes for Nuit de Tubéreuse, consolidated by me from their website: cardamom, clove absolute, pink pepper, citrus fruits, white flowers (tuberose, orange blossom and ylang-ylang) rose essential oil and absolute, mango, tuberose root, angelica, gorse, sandalwood, palisander, musks, benzoin, styrax.

PS The imaging feature on here continues to be broken, and will likely stay that way until we nag Patty to move us to another host.  In the meantime,  I did finally upload a few pics to FaceBook, for those interested.  Photos of food, of course!  And the passage d’Enfer, and some other things.

March

I hurt my finger and it’s hard to type (isn’t that pathetic?) so I’m going to just do this and not endlessly redraft obsess over typos.   Mea culpa.  Today is part perfume review and part nattering, please join in.

One part of my perfume relationship I’m a little ashamed of is: I admit, I can be a snob.  Example:  if I went to Macy’s and smelled Paris Hilton’s newest scent and it was called … I don’t know … SLUT BY PARIS, and I loved it, and I thought it was the greatest thing since sliced bread (or CdG Avignon) the truth is:  I would have a REALLY REALLY hard time wearing it.  Or buying it.  Because that would mean that Paris spoke to me deep in my soul, right?  And I’d rather shove bamboo under my thumbnail, it would pain me less.

Conversely, I have this wishful image of myself as (in part) The Traveler, The Mysterious Stranger, The Lonely Wanderer … whatever you want to name the persona.  I want to be that mysterious girl you see on the train to Istanbul.  I want to be six feet tall, deeply tanned, with broad shoulders and a hawk nose and washboard abs and long dark hair that falls to my waist, wearing some kind of faded, uber-cool backpacker duds.  I am not holding my breath.

But.  Why can’t I at least live part of that dream through my perfumes?  I am a sucker for a certain kind of exotically named fragrance.   It started with L’Artisan Timbuktu.  I wanted to be That Mysterious Woman who Wears Timbuktu (since it doesn’t seem likely I’ll be visiting.)   Notes are mango, pink pepper, cardamom, incense, papyrus wood, spices, patchouli, myrrh, benzoin, vetiver.  It was done by Bertrand Duchaufour, as is most of the rest of their travel series, and for me it was the start of my unhappy relationship with Monsieur Duchaufour.  Don’t those notes sound yummy?   Timbuktu smells like ballsweat and litterbox on me, and not in a good way, either.

Next up: Dzongkha, also by L’Artisan.  And … really, Dzongkha?!?! I was lusting after that in the worst.way.possible.  Notes are peony, lychee, cardamom, tea, vetiver, incense, papyrus, cedar, leather and iris.  Come on, don’t you want to buy that unsniffed?  I finally ran across it in a cool little shop in Vienna, so it was extra special!!!  There I was, the World Traveler!   The Mysterious Stranger!   And now, I would wear a fragrance associated with Bhutan!  How great was that?!?!  I could already imagine myself purring, oh this?  Dzongkha … let me spell it for you. But sadly, Bertrand was punking me again.  Dzongkha smells like hamster cage and stale tea on my skin.  And so once again I bid Mr. Duchaufour adieu…

Bringing us to Wazamba by Parfum d’Empire.   Okay, so we’d dodged the Curse of Duchaufour, and … I don’t care what wazamba means, okay?  I don’t need to know.  I don’t even care that it sounds a little bit like shaZAM!    Wazamba was going to be perfect for me.  I could feel it in my bones.  I get along pretty well with the line.  Notes are Somalian incense, Kenyan myrrh, Ethiopian opoponax, Indian sandalwood, Moroccan cypress, labdanum, apple, fir balsam, and if that doesn’t have ME ME ME written all over it, I don’t know what does.  Except for the mildly suspect apple, those notes are perfect.

And … that’s pretty much where the love ends.  I am still puzzling over Wazamba.  It wasn’t terrible.  But it wasn’t great, either.  It was kind of null.  Honestly, I can’t think of the last time I smelled something that was…  basically okay? — that left me so utterly cold.  I mean, not even a resniff.  Not even, file that away for another time next week. It smells like incense, but not that much better or more complex than my $6 frankincense essential oil from the co-op, and it also smells a little bit like Pine-Sol.  There, I said it.  I want a bottle of Fille en Aiguilles instead.

So.  First off: if you love any/all of these scents, please take no offense — it’s not you, it’s me.  Second, YMMV.  Third: so, what about you?   Are there fragrances or fragrance concepts (e.g., femme fatale) that you try to make work for you, because you really want them to, and it’s just an epic FAIL?

March

This is a little bit of a meander through the new L’Artisan Havana Vanille as well as perfumedom´s vanilla fields (although not Vanilla Fields), so if vanilla scents don´t interest you, you might as well move on, nothing to see here today.  Can you tell I´m looking forward to fall?

I was an early, frequent opposer of all perfume things gourmand and particularly things vanilla.  I love to bake, and yet wearing anything that smelled like I´d dabbed on vanilla extract seemed bizarre to me.  Who wants to smell like a vanilla cupcake?  (Lots of people, apparently.)  Judging by the ever-changing shelves at Sephora, we seem to have move on past the worst of the Vanilla Heresies, when they had three different lines of vanilla crap, including Laurence Dumont, LaVanilia and something else… in addition to a lot of vanillic CSPs.  And the vanilla was often combined with some other note that made it just that much more terrifying, like citron, or maple.  Or raspberry.  Or mothball, or salmon.  (Okay, joking about those last two.)   Collectively, in concept and execution, they gave me the dry heaves.

Then I discovered Givenchy Organza Indecence, which was one of those scents people were always waxing poetic about.  It´s either been re-released or the distribution is increased, but when I was looking for it, it was darn difficult to find.  (I thought it had been d/c´d but have been told several times that´s incorrect.)  Whatever; I whined on here long enough that someone graciously hooked me up with a sample, at which point I started plotting immediately on how to get my hands on a bottle.   Because it was pretty clear I was going to wear the hell out of that stuff, and I have.

Organza Indecence is technically a more woody/spicy scent than a true vanilla, but its drydown is vanillic enough on me that I began to see the vanilla potential there.  This prompted further adventures in the land of high-end vanillas, where I was hoping to avoid the too-sweet vanillin Curse of Sephora (did you know artificial vanilla is made from wood pulp, a paper industry byproduct?  Yum, dig in.)

Results were varied.  Indult Tihota is lovely but I couldn´t see the point; too extract-y.  Lann-Ael I alternate between loving and loathing, but it´s the apple/cereal bit that grates, not vanilla.  The high mark (?) of vanilla perfume fetish-dom in my opinion is Guerlain´s Spiritueuse Double Vanille, a dark, smoky vanilla which I would own a bottle of except: a) the price is ridiculous, b) it would last me a thousand years and c) having discovered that what I really love about SDV is the smoke/vanilla combo, I can whip up my own by dabbing Bonfire or Burning Leaves on top of another vanilla scent, creating one of my favorite winter standbys.  PdN Vanille Tonka was an epic FAIL for reasons that still elude me, but I think is the tonka.  I still need to try the Micallef, I bet I´d like it.  And finally, the L´Artisan Vanilia I waffle between wanting a decant of and finding it gets on my nerves after a few hours.

Bringing us FINALLY to L´Artisan´s Havana Vanille.  It was done by Bertrand Duchaufour and is grouped in their travel series with Dzongkha, Bois Farine, Timbuktu and Fleur de Liane, of which Duchaufour did all but Farine.  Notes are rum, clove, dried fruits, narcissus, tonka bean, helichrysum, vanilla, smoked woods, moss and balsamic notes according to Robin at Now Smell This, who kindly sent me a sample thinking I´d like it, and I´m going to link right here to her great review.

And now I have to tell two stories on myself, both of which pertain to Havana Vanille.  First off: when I read Duchaufour did it, I was not overly enthused, because with a couple of exceptions most of his work for L´Artisan, including the travel series, are not my favorites, and we will leave it at that.  He has an earth/spicebox style exemplified by, for example, Timbuktu and his Eau d´Italie creations that I find both interesting and personally unwearable.

Second, my mind is a sieve and somehow when the sample arrived I had convinced myself that this was a new Hermessence scent (come on, how funny is that?), and that didn´t really delight me either.  Why?  Because I don´t love most of the Hermessences- the ones I like are too evanescent, and the powerful ones are pretty much scrubbers.   So although I´d changed the perfume house mentally I was still skeered; I sprayed it on meditatively and waited for some horrible melon note to emerge and smother me.

So, March … THAT IS ALL FASCINATING, HOW IS THE HAVANA VANILLE ALREADY?!?!?  Well, I am still thinking.   The first impression is: vanilla, but not a foody one, and yessssssss!!!!!  Then, and I can´t help wondering if this is my Hermessence mindset, we go through a brief five-minute phase where I smell something like bananamelon on top of the vanilla, and the scent comes dangerously close to reminding me of – yes!  my bananamelon nemesis, Hermessence Vanille Galante! – a scent which many perfumistas love and which you may recall made me want to hack my own arm off to get away from.  I didn´t hate it as much as Mousson, which I loathe so virulently I refused to file my sample so as to avoid ever making the mistake of smelling it again, but it was close.   Melon, banana or wet notes and vanilla is just … wrong.

Once we get past that, though, I am very happy.  Havana Vanille is a not-too-sweet vanilla with a decidedly smoky edge to it (my daughter took one sniff and called it “burnt”) and that it is: burnt in two, no, three ways – the sharp smell of singed sugared vanilla, like the top of a crà¨me brulee, the smell of tobacco, and the smell of smoke itself.

Havana Vanille also reminds me a bit of Guerlain SDV, only it´s less dense and less … formal?  (Also, scientists should study my skin; Havana lasts easily 36 hours on me.)  SDV I have to watch not to overdose myself, like eating that last piece of chocolate and then wishing you hadn´t.   The tobacco note is definitely there in Havana, along with the rum, but they´re both so integrated into the scent that I can pick them out looking for them, but I´m not thinking “man, this thing is boozy.”

French speakers: shouldn’t this be Havane Vanille?  Or Havana Vainilla?  Just curious.  I feel like we’re mixing languages.

In the final analysis, if anyone´s read this far:  vanilla fragrances only work for me if there´s something non-edible about them.  I want my vanillas woody, or spicy, or leathery, or smoky.  Like SDV and Organza Indecence, Havana Vanille showcases the soothing seductive smell of vanilla by adding something entirely different and non-foody to frame it.  I haven´t really felt the need to add another vanilla to the fix I generally get from Indecence, Demeter Egg Nog (seriously, a rocking vanilla/spice scent I can´t resist mentioning; try it with Bonfire if you want smoke) and occasional hits of SDV, but this is different enough I´m pretty sure I need at least a generous decant, and maybe a bottle.  People who´ve shied away from vanilla on the ugh-too-sweeeet theory (looking at you, Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille!) might want to check this out.

March

Do you put off buying things for no good reason other than you can? Or do you just buy on impulse? I used to be the total buy on impulse type, but slowly I´ve been a-changing and now, well, now, I procrastinate.

Let me tell you what I´m procrastinating over at the moment. I have a series of electronic post-its on my laptop, some of which have been there a couple of years. On one, there´s an everchanging list of scents to buy/try´. They merge into each other, normally because the ones that get on there are sound like me´ numbers that I read about at Now Smell This or elsewhere, before they´re launched, or ones that I´ve had decants of and know I love. I hold off nowadays because I´ve made mistakes from love in the past – perfumes that first smile and caress, but over the slow accretion of time, their lips curl, a few short-tempered words get spoken and soon we avoid each other cuz we no longer match. Oh, huge bottle of Bois d´Ombrie, I´m talking about you. I loved you, but now I can´t wear you. Our time together´s become stifling, and you´ve told me I´m too frivolous one too many times.

There are 11 on the buy/try list. A handful need crossing out because I´ve tried them and they´re not me. I´m not good at removing, only adding. Dans tes Bras was a crushing disappointment to me – an unbearable blending of some CB I hate Perfume earth accord with powdered violets and the smell stale skin – but I´ve yet to remove that. Likewise Baume de Doge which reminded me of Noir Epices with all the airy spaces filled in. Ormonde Man I keep changing on – sometimes seduced, other times afraid the drydown will be another stifler on me. It´s a serious scent – no? – and I like a bit of silly or lusty in mine as a rule. Though the news I read somewhere that Linda Pilkington is making another men´s scent has me pretty fired up.

But there are two that are definite buys. One is l´Artisan´s Dzongkha. My decant ran out months ago, and every once in a while I have to sniff this to remember the malt whisky fairy tale of how Laphroaig can transform itself into a pensive incense laden cadence in which iris chills and thrills. It has neither silly or lusty qualities, and so runs counter to the false rule I set for myself in the last paragraph, but no matter. To me, it´s Duchaufour´s best scent, balancing the austere, transparent and smoky qualities of so much of his work, without any of the sour pickles quality of the others. I used to lust for Timbuktu, but that shouts too much in comparison. I need a bottle. And now.

The other is el Attarine. Yes, it´s a rehash of the oriental formula. Yes, some people claim it´s all cumin and curry. And others stock up on Colgate to ward off the sweetness. Elsewhere, individuals state it smells like a humid night of wild sex with a person who possibly hasn’t bathed in weeks´ (the fun sounding Therese108 on MUA) or all about potent sweet roses, spices, and dried fruit´ (the reliable and prolific Vibert of Basenotes – though I have to say the sweet roses escape me completely – and I don´t do roses comfortably in perfume). But it could be all those things, and more or less, as it shifts and finds new facets for different wearers. I never noticed its sweatiness until Patty pointed it out and now it feels thick with human and fleshy aspects, which battle against the waxy, wooded qualities borrowed from the Bois series. And it´s fruity, but sepia hued, tinted with the past, nostalgic for the heat of summers long gone. I´m in Paris – all too briefly – in December. I´ll nab it then.

Tell me how you deal with purchases. Defer? Delay? Dither? Or just acquire and hope not to misfire?

Pictures come from the crowning of the new King of Bhutan yesterday. I need that Dzongkha, even if its colours are muted greys and greens rather than the unreal vibrancy of Bhutanese ceremony. Look at those  boots!

Lee

The Benevolent Fairy of Undeserved Blessings, aka Tigs, delivered a bottle of L´Artisan L´Eau du Navigateur to my doorstep the other day.  Navigateur is one of those allegedly discontinued fragrances that nonetheless remains on permanent display in L´Artisan Boutiques.  Indeed, it was on my recent visit to the Chicago store that I decided to try it, only because I was so delighted to see something I thought had vanished – or, more precisely, been replaced by the dry, peppery Navegar. 

I´m pretty sure I tried Navigateur before, shortly after Marina´s review, and my reaction was not favorable.  Navigateur was too spicy and masculine and strident for me.  The notes I´ve seen listed vary, but this one is probably as good as any: coffee, spices, woodsy notes, floral notes, rum, resin, incense, tobacco and leather.  The fragrance has been around for 20 years, and for the record, Luca Turin rags on it as “very dated” in The Guide.

We´re heading into this pirate’s tale bass-ackward, so why not continue?  I wanted Dzongkha to be my exotic-travel L´Artisan, because … who wouldn´t?  I´m all arty and creative and mystical and whatnot, and I was dying to smile softly and cast my eyes downward in response to the question of what wonderful fragrance I was wearing before telling all my admirers about Dzongkha and Bhutan and blah blah blah.   The minor glitch in my plan is that Dzongkha continues to smell like hell on me, all that grassy vetiver, bitter and unfriendly like spices mulling a decade too long in the damp hold of a ship.  So much for that grand idea. 

 Here´s what the lovely SAs Lydia, Darcie and Rebecca from L´Artisan Chicago had to say about Navigateur via email:

“Yes, indeed the L´Eau du Navigateur was created by Jean Claude Ellena in 1978 for L´Artisan Parfumeur as it says in our training guide.  It translates to “The Sailor´s Water” and smells of the spices and resins down the hold of a wood ship… the accord is coffee liquor, cedarwood, myrrh and leather… I also get strong notes of the open sea and the smell of wet wood.  If you breathe even deeper you can pick up notes of cinnamon and at first burst fresh bergamot.  At one time it was rumored to be discontinued, but it is now coming in the new bottles and New York confirmed that it is NOT discontinued.  Currently, it is a boutique exclusive and comes in the 100ml size only. ”

Anyway, I was so thrilled to see it hadn´t been d/c´d that I grabbed it and sprayed it on in celebration of its continued existence, because I am a Perfume Maniac.  And thus I have to ask:  what on earth was wrong with me?  How could I not have loved this and cleaved it to my heaving bosom at first sniff?  It was probably the slightly b.o.-ish opening that scared me off the first time – coriander, cumin or both, there´s a cheerful burst of something sweaty with your coffee.  Pyramus asks if it smells like sweaty men, so I must not be imagining that part.

The rum is pretty minimal, and the tobacco and leather start off strong and only get stronger over the course of the next hour.  On me, Navigateur is an interesting cross between Dzing!s barnyard leather and Idole de Lubin´s sweetly spicy woods. 

The sweaty bits fade after 20 or 30 minutes, and it is the drydown I have really come to enjoy.  Navigateur shifts from Johnny Depp to Keira Knightley – from a jaunty, swashbuckling (but still guyliner-wearing) “masculine” to a sweet, resinous, incense laden unisexy scent.  It is almost (but not quite) as sweet as Idole on me in the drydown.  If it were any sweeter I wouldn´t like it, but the rough-sawn woods in the background provide the necessary planking to keep the whole thing from collapsing on deck like a hot mess in its pantaloons.  I vote for some definite florals, but I don´t know what.

I´ve read this compared to Hermes Bel Ami, and — I don´t see it, guys.   Most of the reviews of Navigateur are by men on Basenotes, and I assume this fragrance is generally pitched toward men, although obviously anyone can wear it.  So do I have crazy skin, or is Navigateur sweet?  Bel Ami smells to me like a straightforward, classy gents´ cologne, whereas Navigateur has the cheerfully lowbrow camp appeal of a Pirates of the Caribbean marathon on cable TV.  Which I have watched.  Next time I know what scent I´ll be wearing.

March