Pairs Hitch, Britt IA

By Anita

Summer. Summersummersummer.

You know what’s weird about summer?  It’s a horse of a totally different color, depending upon where you are and who you are (or used to be).  I spent the last 50o years of my life in an Urban environment and my summer fragrances reflected that.  When I think about Agraria Bitter Orange I think of this restaurant on Irving Place in NYC – I only went there in the summer and always sat outside for brunch …..and my beloved Cartier Brillante is definitely meant for hot pavement, a linen sheath and a cold vodka tonic.  I had no idea it would not translate to rolling cornfields and draft horses (who HATE that scent, btw – it makes them sneeze, the prima donnas)….so I  had to rethink summer to please my Percherons  (besides, March wouldn’t let me yark on about my regular faves anymore.  She is SO bossy!).  The more I thought about it, though, the more it makes sense – summer in the  Urbs is way different from summer in the country  – out here Summer isn’t something to be wrestled with – it just is.  And out here you’re not trying to squeeze your swollen feet into those Manolo sandals and I certainly cannot wear that crisp white linen sheath with steel-toe boots, corn dust and horse snot and…well, it’s just different.  Take  my displaced word for it.   Not better, not worse – just different.  So the two I’ve chosen reflect my new life amongst the cows and the corn.

Here are our two scents. What are yours?? (unlike us, you are not limited to 2 each – whale away!)

Based on the epic Country FAIL of Brillante and my regular standbys I caved to March’s demand that  I TRY SOMETHING NEW .

Here’s new.  And Weird.   Tribute Attar for the Hog Roast at the nursing home – beautiful app but I noticed it was seriously ‘ashy’ on the drydown – very offputting to the average smeller out here in the sticks, though I  was smitten – like dried rose petals thrown on a coal fire.   Anyway, I knew that wouldn’t work at the Hog Roast so I took a chance and layered it with

Rosine’s Poussiere de Rosine - since it’s got that dusty-musty smell itself, it worked beautifully.  Very oily/dusty/rosy, heady as a bottle of jammy Cabernet.

March, this would peel the skin off your nose.  Imagine ‘rose slurry’.    Bwahahahahaha!

Oddly, this was a hit with young and old alike.  The Rosine diluted Tribute’s scary elegance (and c’mon – do I really want ‘elegant’ at a Hog Roast?) And the ashy  dryness in both the Tribute and the PdR is a nice complement to the humidity.  My huge, fussy Percherons like it, too!  This might be a little ‘close’ in the City but it works really well in a slurry blender feed screw – the dusty rose and dusty corn, ya know?

But it was nothing compared to this next one:

There are perfumes that are born great….and then there are perfumes that have greatness thrust upon them.  Still adhering to March’s edict, I decided to try something I  originally dissed because I found it at a flea market for a dime:  Coty Sand and Sable (two bottles:  20 cents.  Booo-yah!)  It’s not my idea of fabulous – there isn’t an elegant note in the whole thing – but again, not everything has to be elegant – and this is  Summer in a bottle, glistening sun-baked skin, hot sand, station wagons, transistor radios – the whole shebang.  Summer 1961.  We all have a crush on the 8th grader down the street, we ride our bikes to the local pool and mom is in pedal-pushers,  puffin’ on a Chesterfield.   Spritz it and everyone within 2 blocks will be on you  like a duck on a junebug.   19 year old Breck Girl and the world is your oyster.      The musky base sort of ooked up my lunch but that’s okay.  I had Brian Wilson warbling  in my poitrine -  I could hardly be petty about that little musky bit, could I?   I’ll let you know what my big boys think.

March: Hee on the Sand & Sable, Anita!  Nope, nothing elegant in there at all, and you wouldn’t want to spill the bottle in your car, but to me it smells like my misspent youth of the late 1970s — summer at the beach, with notes of tropical oil, cotton candy, and climbing into the backseat of some boy’s Camaro, so we could … discuss Proust.

It’s been a gazillion degrees here for much of the summer — we’re in the middle of another 98-degree heatwave and I’m making gazpacho.   I’m still very much enjoying fiddling with all the Tigerflag attars, although the Majmua’s the one I’ve been wearing, with its moist notes of earth and flowers.  I realized, though, that I’ve been missing the beeswax-y smell of the beeswax base that Marla built it into before she sent it to me, and I haven’t gotten around to trying to make my own beeswax base, so I looked around on my shelves for something beeswaxy and came up with … Serge Lutens’ death-eater honey, Miel de Bois, which is something I also love wearing in this heat.   You can see where this is headed, right?  I mean, what could possibly go wrong?  So I mixed up a small vial containing mostly jojoba oil, a few drops of majmua, and a few drops of MdB, at which point the foundations of the house rumbled — oh, wait, that was only the earthquake.  Anyway, I dabbed it on (I’m talking a dab), went downstairs, and I was still fifteen feet down the hall from my daughter when she asked what perfume I was wearing.  Too much sillage?   She demanded a closer sniff and said, it smells like six things at the same time!  It keeps changing!  That’s so cool! She’s the kid who likes that uber-musky honey thing that MAC did, though, so YMMV.  I admit that just putting MdB on often feels like I’ve committed a crime, albeit a misdemeanor.  Layering it is probably a more serious offense.  Today I might throw in some Nuit de Tubereuse on top.  Do you think my nose will fall off?

Lee: Glad to see both March and Anita know how to wave their freak flags just the right amount to stay cool. My stay cool on the ladyboy side scent is – well, it’s either Nicolai’s Eau Exotique which is fruity and a little floral and elegantly simple, or Hermes Osmanthe Yunnan which gets more refreshing oolong and petals every time I wear it. Other times, the temps have dropped here a little so I no longer cling to salty for electrolytic rebalancing. Instead, it’s Timbuktu all the way. That sour flowerpower patchouli incense mashup is perfect right now. And anyways, no perfume can compete with the goddamn amazing regal lilies and heliotrope and jasmine in the garden as I type. I’m heading back out there.

Nava: Ok, since Anita’s busy “yarking” about horses and wearing attars in the height of summer and March insists on dragging out Miel de Bois in July (oy, a thousand times!), I’m sitting next to Lee and his Osmanthe Yunnan. Personally, I prefer Parfum d’ Empire’s Osmanthus Interdite, but Osmanthe Yunnan is always first runner-up in my book. I won’t repeat the three I mentioned on Friday, but the other I’d like to add is Givenchy’s new Eaudemoiselle. I tried like hell not to buy a bottle of it, but I succumbed. It’s a bit heavy right now, but inside with the a/c crankin’, it’s goooood.

Patty: I’m a little horrified at the Sand & Sables, except it is pretty great for something that people will hand to you in vats on the street.  A little like J. Lo’s Glow, perfect for summertime.  My summer faves are a couple of things I ran into while I was gone, like the Nasomatto Nuda - the perfect big-ass white floral skanky jasmine scent.  It opens as poopy jasmine (Nancy taught us this term while in Grasse), then slowly settles down into the more honeysuckle jasmine that you can wear for a much  longer period of time.  I could happily wear this the rest of summer.  I’d just intersperse it with the Micallef Shanaan – the perfect breathy incense – and Byredo Tulipe (yes, yes, I’m still ridiculously in love with it) and L’Artisan Nuit de Tuberose.  Wait, I’m over two, but those last three count as one!

For more Top Ten Summer posts, check out Now Smell This, Grain de Musc, Perfume-Smellin’ Things and Bois de Jasmin

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

I really like Parfums d’Empire. Cuir Ottoman was lovely, Fougere Bengale interesting, and Ambre Russe the largest amber I know (and unwearable for me, but ymmv). I haven’t sniffed Yuzu Fou, their other latest release, but I’ve now tried Aziyade. The richness of Ottoman Turkey turns out to be this – supermarket brand cola spilled on an old leather jacket. I like it enough, but it’s sub-Arabie (probably sub-Dinner by Bobo, but I’ve never smelled that) and didn’t excite me. I wish I got some curry.

On the other hand, I’ve fallen for El Attarine.Now, a caveat. A Serge Lutens fanboy like me is easily accused by other folk on the interwebs of gloating, sycophantic adulatory praise for everyting dear ole Serge produces. So I just want to put this out there – not so. There’s plenty in the line I don’t love – Miel de Bois is unbearable on my skin, Gris Clair leaves me cold – burning metallics and iced lavender,  Clair de Musc is a vapid gesturing towards ethereal femininity, Fumerie Turque now suffocates me, and his latest export release, Serge Noire, struck me as an unpleasant reconstitution of too many old ideas. Just my humble two penny’s worth you understand.

There seem to be two strands to Lutens’ work (there might be three, though I’m sticking with the two for now): a movement towards asceticism, refinement and apparent simplicity of form on the one hand (perhaps reaching its peak in Iris Silver Mist, but also there in Serge Noire, Encens et Lavande, Chene, Borneo 1834); or a full-bodied voluptuousness with curves and kohled eyes, lids half-open and plump lips moist in languorous expectation (Rahat Loukhom the most gourmand expression of this, but all of those rich sweet orientals too – Santal de Mysore, the Bois series, Arabie, Fumerie Turque). El Attarine, his latest non-export, is firmly entrenched in the second camp, although for me there’s much more of a lightness of touch about this scent than most of those also inside the perimeter. It’s not the sensory assault of Arabie, nor is it the cavity-causing sugar overload of Rahat. Like its compatriots, it is very sweet, so Serge Lutens haters will have plenty to knock,  but the spiciness is muted, filtered.

So, in brief: it has the waxy quality of the Bois series and Rousse, a nod toward the spices of Santal de Mysore and Arabie, without any sharp edges or shrill calls. In drydown, its powdery and woody. For the first few hours it’s a radiant glowing thing, like light illuminating motes of dust, in flickering streams, through lattice -work (I think Carmencanada may well have said that first), but it’s also an abstracted fruit (Luca Turin says apricot, and though it is apricotesque, it never quite lands there for me), powdered at one end and dirtied at the other. It’s utterly Serge Lutens – a new smell – but it does somehow manage to retain the quieter, and perhaps more commercial, voice of Gingembre and Rousse. Neither feminine or masculine, it’s only a perfume for the body because it’s bottled as such. Like most Lutens’ fragrances, it’s a long way from an everyday kind of number, though it’s hushed enough to be made to fit that role. Not that it doesn’t have sillage, or diffusion. In fact, it’s stunnningly diffusive, but likely to be something you stop noticing you yourself are wearing and would be so much more striking worn by other people. Familiar on me, outstanding on others. That makes me both happy and a little disappointed.

Now my rediscovery: I had a decant of Borneo 1834 that I gave away almost as soon as I got it, never thinking I could wear it. Too patchouli, too odd, too angular. And now, with that slight coolness in the air presaging change, I crave it. Unlike el Attarine, it’s a scent that can never feel familiar on me, and it’s a smell in argument with itself, not really resolving its own i nternal battle until it disappears. And perhaps that’s what I love – the buzz that comes from this camphoraceous patchouli socking it out with dry cocoa keeps me on my toes, makes me reawaken to my love of sensory pleasure and all the power of perfume.

Tell me your disappointments, delights and rediscoveries.

By Lee (don’t know where my downhome fella went).

(Images ‘borrowed’ from Osmoz and Basenotes)

Lee