Join us in Chicago this fall for an incredible, decadent day of fragrance and the Universe’s favorite food: CHOCOLATE!

Patty and March from Perfume Posse will be with us as we spritz, sniff and sample our way through some of Chicago’s finest fragrance departments and boutiques, with many stops to sample chocolate, throughout the day!

Special Guests: Neil Morris!! Liz Zorn!!! They’ll both be at the Event to showcase their magnificent fragrance lines. Times and places to be determined.

This informal gathering on Saturday, September 13 (or 20), will feature stops at L’Artisan, Chanel, Barneys New York, Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman-Marcus, CO Bigelow, Nordstrom — and more.

OKAY, PEOPLE – we need your feedback, do you have a preference between Sept. 13 and 20? For your information, the NYC Sniffapalooza is tentatively scheduled for the end of October, so you can do both.

Some of the perfumes we’ll explore include:

Creed, Caron, Hanae Mori, Chanel Les Exclusifs, Hermes, Amouage, Keiko Mecheri, Parfums Delrae, Guerlain, Frederick Malle, Serge Lutens

And don’t forget CHOCOLATE! We’ll pause for lunch at foodlife®, where we will enjoy a special perfume presentation! foodlife® is a global culinary experience, with lots of food options and an incredible dessert bar! And if that’s not enough CHOCOLATE for you, we’ll visit the charming Sarah’s on Oak Street, as well as Ethel’s Chocolate Lounge in the Nordstrom building.

For the serious chocolate addict there are other fun destinations like Ghirardelli’s and Hershey’s on the Water Tower Square….then it’s on to more perfume!

This event is for anyone who is interested in learning more about perfume…or just wants to enjoy a scented, chocolatey weekend with friends! Everyone is welcome but we do need an RSVP to make decisions about how much space we need for certain events. Please contact us via email: chicocoascentsation (at) gmail (dot) com to reserve your lunch and event space. We will be providing a detailed itinerary as we get closer to the date but please note that this really is an informal event, not a forced march – you choose the shops you want to visit and the lines you want to sample and you can catch up with us anywhere during the day. Don’t forget: space must be reserved if you wish to be included in our lunch seating and perfume presentation. RSVP attendees will also be included in our great giveaway drawings. We’re also planning a blind fragrance swap among registered guests – bring a wrapped bottle of perfume (slightly used is okay) to swap!

There will also be perfume opportunities off Michigan Avenue on Sunday, 14/21 September, as well as some interesting non-perfume options.

Saturday’s event will be a walking event from Oak Street to the Michigan Avenue Bridge, so watch those stilettos! – for those with physical considerations, we will be happy to try to accommodate your requirements. All events will have some seating and every store/boutique we will visit will be less than a 5 minute cab ride to our next destination.

For more information please watch this space.

Date: 13 September 2008 OR 20 September 2008

Time: 10a – 6p with possible fun ‘n frolic after the Tour

Meet at: 900 N. Michigan Avenue Lobby (Michigan and Delaware)

Cost: There will be a nominal charge to cover events, possibly including a get-together on Friday night and/or brunch Sunday. We will finalize and announce the cost ASAP.

Meals: We will be offering a perfume presentation at foodlife® on Saturday in the Water Tower Place; lunch is an individual mealcard/pay, reservations are necessary. Please RSVP to: chicocoascentsation (at) gmail (dot) com

Fun: You betcha!

There is now a Chi-Cocoa Scentsation Forum in the Message Board link in the upper left column. Here is another link to the Message Board. We’ll be posting this and further notices in there, and you can use the message board to troll for potential roommates, travel companions, etc. We’ll make announcements on here and then post them on the Scentsation Forum.

Contact/RSVP email: chicocoascentsation (at) gmail (dot) com

Special thanks to Musette, Shelley and other volunteers for making this happen!

Hotel Info: Here are some suggestions for lodgings on and near the Mag Mile. Anyone with any other hotel information, please feel free to share it with the Posse and any/all attendees. All of these are within walking distance of either the beginning or the end of our Day.

North end of Mag Mile:

The Drake Hotel www.thedrakehotel.com
The Four Seasons www.fourseasons.com
Ritz-Carlton www.fourseasons.com/chicagorc
Peninsula www.chicago.peninsula.com
The Whitehall www.thewhitehallhotel.com
The Tremont www.starwoodhotels.com
The Westin Michigan Avenue
The Park Hyatt www.parkchicago.hyatt.com

Mid-Mag Mile (several hotels just off Mich Ave):
Allerton Hotel www.thealltertonhotel.com
Guest Quarters www.clubquarters.com
The James www.jameshotels.com
Hilton Garden
Embassy Suites www.suiteschicago.com
Mariott (Nordstrom’s building) www.mariott.com
Hotel Sax (Marina City) hotelsaxchicago.com (formerly House of Blues)

Across the Bridge:
Monaco www.monaco-chicago.com

As promised, today’s a revisit of Perfumes: The Guide by Luca Turin and Tania Sanchez, now that more of you have had a chance to read it. For my earlier review of the book, click here. I propose a free-for-all discussion of any aspects of the book that interest you, with the gentle reminder that we are all adults, theoretically, and we can disagree and still maintain some civility. Please don’t make me come on here and moderate.

The Guide has been a hot topic and occasional source of hard feelings since its release. Obviously I don’t agree with everything in it. My personal approach is the grain-of-salt angle; if I’m in agreement with LT and TS, well, then – we are all genius. If I’m in disagreement – someone is wrong, and it isn’t me, is it? I’m grateful someone thought the topic was of sufficient interest to publish a book on it, and I welcome any converts to the brave new world of perfume obsession. Lurkers – today may be the day to let your hair down and post your first comment! I’m also sending a shout-out to Mercedes and other commenters on The Guide over the past couple of weeks to reiterate your criticisms.

I probably spend a little time each day, often before bed, browsing the book. I’ve folded down the corners of various pages, with the earmarked perfume reviews falling into three general categories, and here are a few examples:

Vindication. I’m going to leave aside reviews of classics like Chanel No. 5 and Mitsouko, which would have shocked me had they awarded anything less than five stars. More rewarding to me is to see scents I think of as underdogs get a little love from the authors. This is especially true when my admiration for a particular scent comes with a small but (I’m being honest here) persistent fear that my love for that scent indicates I have crappy taste. Gucci Rush would fall into this category. It’s a wonderful, weird, brash scent – warmly human but surreal, hairspray and milk. Having TS award it five stars (“… it smells so new, so confident, so reckless, so of-the-moment, Rush manages at every stage to feel cozy and alive…”) gives me an absurd amount of pleasure. A different kind of vindication is seeing LT give Serge Lutens Rousse two stars and call it “one fine mess” from “the periode bizarre.” Heh. Another example is Dior’s Hypnotic Poison (four stars, LT), the “almond” Poison, which I’m wild for, almost as much as the original, and which LT describes as “dark, velvety and autumnally muted, and … radiates in a way that only a great perfumer could have arranged… it was done by Annick Menardo, which explains everything.”

Provocation. Having the authors pan something I like, or love something I hate, doesn’t send me into the spasms of fury I’ve seen elsewhere on the boards and blogs. My reasoning: if I start with the construct that criticism is opinion, no matter how well- or ill-informed, and I disagree with that opinion – then I guess we have a difference of opinion, and I’m okay with that. I am sure it would feel more personal if I were the actual perfumer (and more about that in a bit), but as someone said elsewhere, if you put your creation out there for public consumption, someone, somewhere is going to hate it. Anyway, LT gives Hermes Hiris one measly star (lots of lame stuff got at least two) and manages to pay Hiris creator (and one of my favorite perfumers) Olivia Giacobetti a backhanded compliment at the same time, lauding two of her other fragrances as “great insofar as she manages to break with her usual manner: delicate florals with a pale, sour note reminiscent of clothes washed with unscented fabric softener.” Yeow, that smarts. And while we’re on the topic of perfumers, LT seems to have his favorites and not-so-favorites. Further, I generalize that he is not a big fan of pared-down, minimalist compositions. I could go on for paragraphs citing examples of ratings I totally disagree with, but will name just a few: Marc Jacobs Men (one star); MoslBuddJewChristHinDao (five stars, and puh-leaze), Serge Lutens Sarrasins (five stars), Secretions Magnifiques (ELd’O, five stars, kill.me.now), Apothia Velvet Rope (one star.)

Revelations. Perhaps my favorite part of the book, these are reviews of fragrances I have tried that highlight some aspect I hadn’t noticed or appreciated. Or, they are fragrances I haven’t tried and now want to try, desperately. A random sampling from My Must-Retry list:

L’Artisan Vagnilia (“unfettered, hilarious, boisterous, totally devoid of chic” – that last bit is a compliment in context.) LT gives it five stars and makes it sound like a riot, which I totally missed.

L’Artisan Patchouli Patch – four stars from LT and an ode to its development, which he says includes my BFF helichrysum (everlasting flower or immortelle) in the middle. Wow, really? I’ll check it out.

Hermes Osmanthe Yunnan – this may be the only Hermessence the authors liked. TS gives it five stars and talks about the milky aspect of the fragrance, which gets my attention, and calls it “a perfume of pure happiness.” Need to unearth my sample.

A random sample of the New To Me and Must Try category:

Etro Gomma (LT, three stars) “a classic leather in the Knize Ten mold, but more floral, composed by the great Edward Flechier.” Never heard of it.

Profumo.it Grezzo (LT, four stars). “A beautiful woody-fruity confection based on an accord that smells like cedar and apricots (osmanthus?)” He goes on. I want it.

Lady Stetson (TS, four stars). She compares it favorably (and actually prefers it) to Chanel No. 22, which I like very, very much, and no, I am not kidding, although she describes the bottle as hideous. Buy It Now at your local CVS.

Mauboussin (LT, four stars). “An oriental situated somewhere between the first Kenzo Jungle and Fendi’s Theorema, with a skilful combination of warm, mouthwatering dried-fruit notes and clean, uplifting woody-resinous incense and olibanum,” done by Christine Nagel. What was that? Oh, look, and there goes my credit card levitating out of my wallet for an unsniffed purchase.

A couple more thoughts and I’ll shut up and let you dive in. First, I have a relatively high tolerance for snark, and I believe I heard/read that the authors axed a couple of their reviews as too mean. Furthermore, perfumers have to suck it up and take the criticism of their oeuvre just as other artists do. Having said that, LT’s reviews of Mona di Orio’s line seem so vitriolic I can’t help but wonder if there’s a personal element in there. This from a review of Carnation (LT, one star): “She also says she studied with Edmond Roudnitska, but her creations suggest she paid little attention.” Lux – one star, LT, “dire citrus.” Nuit Noire – one star, LT, “a hilariously bad fragrance” with “a loud civet fart.” Oiro – one star, LT, “third-world air freshener.” I spoke of respecting others’ opinions, and LT’s got me beat on any level of technical knowledge of perfumery, but … seriously, come on. One star? For all of them? Did their PR drone make LT mad?  This is the only set of reviews that taken together make me uncomfortable.

And last – Do fragrances change according to the wearer’s chemistry? This is a question in the interesting Q&A in the book. TS starts her answer, “For a long time, LT believed the answer to be absolutely no, and that all assertions to the contrary were marketing ploys” etc., and reading that, one expects a paragraph later on in the question explaining how LT’s changed his mind. I’ve now read that question several times, and it’s never clear to me in what way he’s changed his position, which I think he’s held firm to on the various talk shows and interviews. If I read this right, they concede that skin maybe creates nuances in the top notes, but that all drydowns are equal. I am in no position to argue with LT on the technical merits – but, as almost anyone has experienced in a group sniffing situation, fragrances seem to smell different on different people. I know that’s not a reasoned argument; it’s merely a statement. Most folks who’ve sniffed fragrances simultaneously on other people would agree with me, science or no science, and I’m not just talking about the top notes. Fragrances go inexplicably wrong – sweet or sour, musky or strange – on various people at various times. For another educated view on skin chemistry, see Victoria on her recent post on Bois de Jasmin (and so wonderful to see you back, V!)

Enough from me. The floor’s open. Your thoughts?

I’ve spent much of the past couple of weeks tucked into Perfumes: The Guide, to the dismay of the Big Cheese and my children, who kept interrupting me for trivialities like requests for food, or the location of some clean clothing. I was ostensibly issued an early copy for review (the publisher asked us to wait until today to talk about it), but instead I did what I assume every fragrance nut would do – I dug through the book to see what the authors thought of my favorites, feeling smugly vindicated by some and horrified by others.

If you’re reading this blog I assume most of you are familiar with the book and the format, and if you’re not, here’s a link to their website. It’s a long-anticipated updated redo of Luca Turin’s previous French-language Le Guide, an alphabetical list of perfumes, in this edition reviewed by Luca Turin (LT) or Tania Sanchez (TS) or, on a few occasions when they disagree or the fragrance is particularly monumental, by both. The Guide is probably best savored as one would a particularly delectable box of chocolates – devour three or four of them slowly, with a glass of wine or cup of coffee, although I’m not judging you if you do what I did and try to eat the whole box at once. Just warning you: it’s rich stuff, and you may put it down feeling a little ill.

I didn’t see it covered in the introduction, and I was curious: how did the authors round up the fragrances for their review? (From here on out, btw, I’m referring to them as Luca and Tania, because “Turin and Sanchez” sounds stupidly formal to me. LT and TS – mazel tov, and feel free to call me March.) So I emailed the publisher and received the following email response from Tania:

“We had a call for samples on www.perfumestheguide.com. I also phoned up or emailed everyone I could find a contact for, usually the PR department, and I asked them to send samples. Some did, some didn’t. Of those that didn’t, we managed to review some by going out to the shops. We just reviewed whatever came in, and we tried to chase down everyone who hadn’t sent anything. I spent half my day hunting and half my day reviewing, morning to night, throughout the writing of this book. Some firms simply refused to send, or promised to send and did not. Online perfume obsessives will find this hard to believe, but most people in the industry have never heard of either of us, by which I mean it was not simply a matter of saying, ‘Luca Turin wants samples,’ at which point twenty silk-clad servants come carrying goldplated bottles. In fact, it’s possible that those who did know who Luca was were even more reluctant. So it was a real task to convince people to send actual samples, not press releases. We hope they figure it out the next time around.”

I’d read bits of Le Guide, translated from French, so I had some idea of what I’d be getting. This new guide is opinionated, subjective and personal in the same way Le Guide was, and if that annoyed you then, here’s some more. If you love it, and I do, then curl up for a really fun read. I feel like I’m stating the obvious here, but given the way this topic flares up in various ways on various venues, I guess it bears discussing: this book is the labor of love of two obviously intelligent, fragrance-obsessed people, bolstered by a fair amount of technical knowledge and some insider access, but, at its heart, it is opinion. It is subjective. I’m not sure how anyone is supposed to get around the subjectivity of a guide to fragrance — do nothing but list the notes? Even those are suspect, provided by the perfume house. For some reason, a certain percentage of readers seem infuriated by the fact that the fragrances are judged, and some (perhaps their favorites) are found lacking. If having Luca Turin assign your Holy Grail one star (all fragrances are rated from one to five stars) and call it piss in a bottle is going to keep you up at night, fuming, don’t read the book. On the other hand, if you can read some criticism of a bunch of fragrances and be amused by it, even when they’re ragging something your love, well, then, bon appetit.

My chief complaint about the book will be shared by every fragrance nut who reads it – they can’t include everything, so invariably some of the particular things you’re looking for will be missing. As Tania said in her email, “We tried to review complete lines, but some samples clearly fell behind the bookcase.” They review some but not all fragrances of various lines like L’Artisan. Vintage, discontinued, and hard to find fragrances are not included, so no reviews of Coty Chypre, for instance, or Fendi Theorema, or Donna Karan Chaos, although I’d have loved to read their thoughts on those. (They do mention some vintage gems in passing in other reviews).

Any of those folks who’d read Le Guide might have been nervous about submitting their fragrances for the project (and I bet Mona di Orio’s wishing she hadn’t sent hers in. Ouch.) Still, though, in a perfect world they’d have had a perfume-nut friend/editor go over their (probably constantly evolving) list of fragrances to fine-tune any major omissions. For instance, and maybe I missed it, I find the absence of Feminite du Bois a glaring oversight. I bet there are some other niche classics missing as well. By the way, in her email Tania invites readers to send any omissions to the contact email on their website, for further evaluation/inclusion in any future edition. Luca might not know or care what the perfume freaks are interested in, but Tania certainly does, with her involvement on MUA. I’ll be curious, as more of you read it, what else might be missing.

Second, and this isn’t really a fair criticism, but then again I’m not The New Yorker: I wish the authors’ writing styles were more different from each other. Their individual styles are different, but not so obvious as to prevent me from glancing at the bottom of the review to see who wrote it, because I couldn’t necessarily tell from reading it (Tania sounds younger, and go ahead, shoot me; Luca uses more devices like opera references and more olfactory-science descriptors, like chemical components). They share a biting wit that provides some of the funniest moments in the book and at the same time has me wishing vaguely that one of them played the role of straight man. There’s a balance there, I know. They don’t want their review styles to be so disparate as to be jarring; at the same time, I would have enjoyed it had one of them been more measured and low-key in tone. Coming from me, the Queen of Brash, I know that sounds silly, but I still think more contrast in voice would have been refreshing. On the other hand, who wants to be the straight man?

Finally, while I find their one-star reviews amusing, given the space constraints, I’d rather they’d have dropped a few of those, particularly if it’s a series of consecutive reviews stating in various pithy ways that an entire line smells like drain cleaner. They also could have felt free to leave some of the flankers out – I’d gladly have traded the reviews of every single stupid variation of Angel for reviews of five or six other scents.

Overall, though, it’s a slice of heaven. I started to compile a list of shockers and amusing insults, but really, any list I make is going to reflect my personal interests, and your interests are bound to be different. I have no doubt some of the ratings and assessments will have people typing up a storm on the fragrance boards (five stars for Elternhaus’ MoslBuddJewThing?!?!?! one crummy star for Miss Boucheron, Chanel Gardenia, Coriandre and much, much more!) but to me that’s precisely the fun of this type of book. They can be absolutely cruel, and if that’s going to make you weep in pity for their victims, maybe you should save the $28 and buy a cute summer tee shirt and some flip flops. On the other hand, their concise, opinionated, thoughtful, interesting, stunningly articulate 40-odd page introduction and Q&A alone is worth the price. This section touches on taste, style, notes, history, masculines, feminines, and other goodies related to perfume.

I’d like to wrap up this post with a perfectly-timed comment about criticism, left on the blog recently by someone who was clearly chafed by my dissing of Serge Lutens and the Five O’Clock au Gingembre, and I quote:

“critique est facile, seul l’art est difficile..

Que vous ne soyez pas dingue de Five O’Clock est une chose, remettre en cause tout le travail de Serge Lutens en est une autre !

Lui qui tant de fois a osé et imaginé l’impensable…

Lui qui tant de fois a secoué le monde de la Parfumerie paupérisée par une bande d’incultes qui se croyaient plus fort grace à des moyens colossaux dont il n’a jamais disposé…

Seriez-vous capable d’en faire autant ?”

Running that through a cheesy online free translator, I get something like:

“Critical is easy, only the art is difficult..

What you be not crazy Five O’Clock is a thing, question the whole work of Serge Lutens is another!

Him that so many time dared and imagined l’impensable. Him that so many time shook the world of the Perfumery pauperized by a band of uncultivated ones that believed themselves stronger thanks to colossal resources of which he never had…

Would you be able some to do as much?”

Actually, I disagree. Criticism is damn hard. I struggle and fuss over ideas and sentences and sometimes individual words on these posts, and I am sure LT and TS struggled with Perfumes: the Guide. It is, as I’ve just demonstrated, perilously easy to lose things in translation, is it not? From the colossus to his audience, from the bottle to the nose, from the pen to the paper, from the brain to the hand, from the thought to the expression. I share your pain at the world of perfumery pauperized by a band of uncultivated ones (although as another commenter said, I thought Lutens was backed by the other name on the Palais Royal awning, Shiseido, which is somewhere in size between LVMH and Godzilla, and if so I doubt he’s lacking resources.) Ultimately, one of the chief glories of blogging is I can question the genius of Serge Lutens on here and own it, right or wrong. It’s called … an opinion. They’re free, legal, loads of fun, and — like Mitsouko all my other favorite perfumes — they don’t make my ass look any bigger in my jeans.

Today I’m on my way to NYC for the Sniffa — back at you all later.

I’m having a busy week. We have very close friends staying with us, it’s seed planting time, and there’s work. So today I’m recycling on the blog. Climate change and all that.

In January, a journalist contacted perfumeposse wanting some copy for an article to be published in the Spring / Summer edition of GQStyle, on scents and masculinity. As butchness personified, I leapt at the chance. And so, apparently little ole me is quoted alongside perfume legends such as James Craven of Les Senteurs. What follows is the copy I sent to the journalist - I’ve yet to see how much made it into the final version.

“1) Do you think it’s scent/ingredients or preconceptions that makes a fragrance masculine?

I think it’s both. First of all, there are ingredients, generally in specific combinations, that work as markers of masculinity, because they have been pretty ubiquitously used that way. Vetiver and tobacco for instance, in Guerlain’s eponymous scent. Or at least they have been in a certain time period. Therefore we come to think of them as masculine. The classic ‘masculine’ scent is the fougere, a somewhat catch all category that generally includes notes like lavender, bergamot, oak moss and coumarin. They generally have a barbershoppy buzz, without too much bright citrus stuff going on. A great recent example is Narciso Rodriguez - archetypal man juice. But, but, but, what is typically male varies historically and geographically. So, sniff Dior’s Eau Sauvage or Hermes’ Equipage, and you’re getting a vision of bourgeois masculinity in the 60/70s; shift to the late 70s and early 80s and Drakkar Noir, Paco Rabanne, Quorum and Azarro seem like stereotypes of the time - all hair and medallions, or shoulder pads and kipper ties. In contrast, the 90s (remember ecru? Sheesh) was washed out minimalist new man - overdoses of calone in Aramis’ New West led to an explosion of aquatic scents, and the unfortunate rise of Hugo Boss as a power player in men’s fragrances with its bland blap. Meanwhile, in other parts of the world, men are wearing jasmine and rose, much as they always have done (and as they did here in the nineteenth century). And, at the same time as all this is going on, there are always perfumes worn by men that are resolutely idiosyncratic and buck the most obvious trends.

So, that’s a pretty roundabout way of saying that there’s a complex web of stuff going on in the construction of scents - there are trends that emerge through the creation or extraction of synthetics (calone, coumarin - and perhaps an iris synthetic in Dior Homme) that become markers of masculinity in certain time periods; there are accords that seem more solidly masculine for longer periods (such as in fougeres), and then there are scents which don’t easily fit in to the trends of the time. Like Dior’s Fahrenheit - creosote and honeysuckle - 1988. You know the real reason why I think so many men’s scents go with the flow and fit with the mainstream trend rather than doing a Fahrenheit? The teams who commission them don’t want to take risks, have tiny budgets for perfume development (most goes on the campaigns) meaning the perfumers can only go for cheap ingredients, choose the safest mods from the perfumers and water down any quirks or edges in those. So we end up sniffing the same thing, altered a little bit, time and again, in the men’s section. But hey, it’s what the consumer wants - they’ve used focus groups and everything!

There is some evidence of change occurring though, but that’s probably question 2.

2) In men’s perfumery, the 80s as you mentioned were characterised powerhouse scents, the nineties all those ozonic/water scents etc, and I’m wondering if you are noticing a new masculinity appearing with today’s men’s fragrances? If so, how would you sum it up and how does it differ from previously?

I think to some extent it’s more of the same. Though the extremes of the aquatic movement are disappearing, it’s still very much there. Acqua di Gio shows no sign of diminishing in popularity. Interestingly though, younger scent wearers seem drawn to sweeter, occasionally more gourmand fragrances, just as younger women are. It’s where the impact of Mugler’s ethyl maltol rich Angel meets the 90s citruses. And it’s the influence of JPG’s Le Male, a scent, that whilst not a favourite of mine, bucked the watery lemon mode of much of the 90s. So Paco Rabanne’s Black XS has a surprisingly fruity sweet accord, yet it’s marked out by the throaty rasp of some masculine aromachemicals - the only things really that indicate masculinity. Likewise with Clinique’s Happy, which could be entirely unisex if it weren’t for the same hint of growl.

More interestingly, there’s a fairly recent exploration of softer scents for men in mainstream releases (I’m not going to go on here about niche scents which are generally not targeted by gender, and have been doing all this stuff for a while longer) - so JPG’s Fleurs de Male and Dior’s Fahrenheit 32 are both milky orange blossom scents, although clearly screaming ‘I’m synthetic’ rather than ‘I’m a natural flower child, gender neutral’. For me, the most exciting is Dior Homme, though I think this might be a one-off rather than a trend (cf. Fahrenheit). It blends a bergamotty opening onto a wonderful synthetic iris and uses gourmand notes with subtlety and flair. Wonderful work by Oliver Polge. Where masculines go will very much depend on how much perfumers voices are heard, rather than those of designers - Hedi Slimane seems to have given a lot more creative freedom to Polge than most designers do. And that’s why we get something that breaks the mill the others continue to run on.

Get back to me on this one if I haven’t answered your question!

3) What are your favourite men’s fragrances? (You can be as personal or objective here as you like!)

Can I give you some favourites by time period?

Favourite early men’s scent - Jicky by Guerlain (1889). Named after Guerlain’s nephew, not an Englishwoman as Guerlain the company would lead you to believe. Go for the parfum de toilette if you can find it. Startlingly contemporary with a gasp-inducing use of animal notes which make this scent hover between the cleanliness of citrus and lavender and the dirtiness of your dark desires…
Chanel pour Monsieur 1955 (perfumerHenri Robert) - suited elegance, bottled.
Eau Sauvage by Dior 1956 (perfumer Edmond Roudnitska)- a wonderful citrus accord balanced against the use of hedione, a synthetic jasmine note. Classically male, yet pretty similar to his women’s Diorissimo.

Favourites from the 70s, 80s, 90s:
Jules by Dior (1980) - thrusting virility done right. It may smell a little dated, but this leathery rich beast is somehow mellow and understated rather than in-your-face. But don’t over-apply!
Fahrenheit (1988) - a unique scent that you’ll always remember once you’ve smelled it. Sublime.
Lolita Lempicka au Masculin 2000 perfumer Annick Menardo A chilly but sweet gourmand scent that moves from aniseed to more familiar woody territory as it dries down.
Terre d’Hermes 2006 perfumer Jean Claude Ellena - cedar, vetiver and grapefruit alongside some strange mineral accord - a contemporary classic. Perfumeposse writer Patty calls it crack in a bottle.
Dior Homme 2005 perfumer Oliver Polge - 21st century elegance. Some men say it smells like the inside of a handbag, but that might be why women love it on men…
Oh, and just one niche - Le Labo Patchouli 24 (available in Liberty) by perfumer Annick Menardo - smells like someones baking a vanilla cake in a car mechanic’s garage whilst a bonfire’s fumes are blowing in through the open window. Awesome stuff.”

Now, share with us your favourite men’s designer scents. Let’s have a range of options up for us all to choose from…

You guys slay me. I am … well, I’m just touched. Thank you.

So here’s the favorite chocolate cake Chez Marchlion, which we made today. It’s called Chocolate Dump-It cake, and its chief advantages are ease and deliciousness. It is a rich, moist, very chocolate-y cake. The original recipe is from the New York Times.

Chocolate Dump-It Cake

1 cup milk
1 tsp cider vinegar
2 cups sugar
4 squares unsweetened chocolate
1 stick butter
1 cup water
2 cups flour
2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Mix the milk and the vinegar in a small bowl and set aside to curdle (urp.)

Put the sugar, chocolate, butter and water in a big pot on the stove and stir until the chocolate is melted. Let it cool a little. Dump in the rest of the stuff, stirring it in. Add the curdled milk. Mix with a whisk or an electric mixer.

Bake in a greased, floured Bundt pan for 30 – 35 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes before removing from pan.

Note: I have made this with the emergency unsweetened Hershey’s cocoa and oil (instructions on the back of the Hershey’s cocoa box) and it is just dandy. If you do that, all you need to melt is the butter, and use 1/2 cup of water.

It’s moist enough I like it plain, or dusted with powdered sugar. If you want to gild the lily, you can add some buttercream frosting.

It was time for an overhaul, so March and I stressed and plotted and planned and then had Lisa at E. Webscapes, who also did my last blog design) put it together, and she made it better than we saw in our heads.

We’ll just twirl around a bit so you can see our pretty pink panties.

Today’s musings were triggered by Aquolina Chocolovers, which I sampled at Sephora. Nobody loves chocolate more than I do. I consider chocolate one of my major food sources. Chocolovers is a gourmand fragrance, with a sweet cocoa opening and a long-lasting chocolate-dust follow up. It’s redeemed for me by significant red-pepper-type heat in the drydown, which keeps it more in the range of chocolate mole and less chocolate icing.

While I admit that by any objective and subjective measure I found Chocolovers pleasing, is not something I would ever want to wear. Tobacco, iris, incense, or cypress? Sure. But chocolate? No thanks.

I can’t think of a single dessert or food-y fragrance offhand that I love. I keep trying to sort out why. A number of them are toothache-sweet, and I’m not fond of sugar-cookie smells unless they’re coming from the oven.

Do I have some sort of bias against gourmand fragrances? Something deeply rooted in my id or DNA that doesn’t want to smell edible? I like tea fragrances a lot, why not coffee or chocolate? Intrigued, I rooted around in the candy box for more samples to test and found:

CDG Series 7 Sweet: Spicy Cocoa huh. I was fully prepared to dislike this based on the name. It started off as exactly what it’s called — cocoa, with a hint of citrus, like one of those chocolate oranges from my Christmas stockings of yore. But 15 minutes later it does a clever morph into cocoa combined with Versace Dreamer and pipe tobacco, with a big pinch of cayenne. The longer I smell this, the more I like it — but it doesn’t really smell like cocoa for long.

CDG Series 7 Sweet: Wood Coffee Dark, thick coffee, with a tiny bit of syrup sweetness (think Turkish coffee), consumed in Gepetto’s workshop, surrounded by wood shavings. Does that sound unappealing? It’s sort of … attractive. I’m huffing the back of my hand like a blue tick hound, which means there is only one thing left to do:

CDG Spicy Cocoa layered with Wood Coffee Eureka! This adds to the lasting power, too.

Oh, look, here’sAva Luxe Cafe Noir. I’m a little put off by its color, which is somewhere between maple syrup and cranberry juice. On me it is, well, cafe noir — black coffee, with a little spice and maybe a pinch of sandalwood in the base. I could use this on one wrist to clear my nose between sniffs of other things. Again, the Chocolovers Conundrum — it’s a gorgeous smell, because coffee is a gorgeous smell. But if you gave me a bottle of this juice I doubt I’d ever wear it. I want to consume the coffee, the chocolate, the cookie, the pumpkin pie. I don’t want to wear them.

So. Help me out here. Do you have a favorite fragrance that smells like something from the bakery or the coffee shop? What is it and why do you like it?

Image: www.shokoladki.ru (hey, ladies, is that Russian for chocolate? Great word!)

Well, it sounds like the Mona di Orio Carnation is a bit of a dud, since Colombina reviewed it and it doesn’t smell much like, you know, carnation. That is such a letdown for me. I love that spicy floral smell. So here’s a quick plug for one of my favorite little treats, Carnation soap, from Roger & Gallet.

It is my ideal carnation fragrance — the perfect spicy, clean, slightly sweet smell. I like keeping the little guest soaps around because they’re pretty and they scent my bathrooms for quite some time in a way that never becomes cloying. Unlike some of my fragrant friends, I am not especially fond of scented product (lotions, powders, bath oils and salts, etc.). These soaps are my one exception. I buy them at the local mom-and-pop urban market, although they’re available online from any number of places in bath, travel, and guest soap sizes. They’re long lasting, and one of life’s little luxuries ($18 for a beautiful box of 3 soaps). The soaps themselves leave enough perfume on my hands and body to be pleasing rather than irritating, and they get along famously with my fairly sensitive, dry skin. (How dry? My hand and facial moisturizer is a small bottle of organic olive oil. No, seriously.)

Roger & Gallet soaps come in fern, carrot, lettuce, blue lotus and ginger, in addition to the more staid vetiver, gardenia, tea rose and almond blossom. There are other fragrances and matching products like lotions, shower gels and EDTs, if you fall in love with something. Browsing online they have a cologne that sounds just wonderful, and a delicious-sounding line called Aroma Shiso that I haven’t tried yet.

On www.beautyexclusive.com, how yummy do these sound? (EDTs $33 and Shower Gel $12):

Roger & Gallet Eau pour Soi Collection (NEW!)
A true waterfall of sparkling, bold notes (Tangerine, Grapefruit, Blackberry, and Fig Leaves), pleasantly refreshing and invigorating. Lightly scented with a sumptuous floral harmony of Jasmine, Iris, Rose, and the natural voluptuousness of its discrete woody complement (Cedar, Vanilla, Sandalwood).

Roger & Gallet Pavot d’Argent Collection (NEW!)
With Pavot d’Argent, Roger & Gallet presents a new take one of its greatest creations. This fragrance, inspired by a historic floral perfume of the 1930s, is interpreted in a totally new version which takes you on a unique journey to the mysterious heart of the Poppy Flower, wrapped in a cloak of precious, luminous essences. A sparkling top note of fresh citrus scents (Bergamot and Yuzu), a middle note of dazzling, rare, opulent flowers, the signature of absolute femininity (Poppy Flower, Bulgarian Rose, and Jasmine), and a bewitching base note of warm, woody accords (Vetiver, Patchouli, and Amber).

Roger & Gallet White Reseda Collection (NEW!)
An homage to the Reseda flower. The women’s fragrance by Roger & Gallet unfolds a warm and radiant bouquet of white flowers and precious essences — Sicilian Mandarin Orange, Yellow Freesia, Reseda, Orange Blossom, and Daffodil from the French Provence — over a delicate woody base with a sensual, transparent fragrant trail.

Hmmm. Excuse me, I have to go dig up my credit card…

If I had a buck for every fragrance sample I’ve sniffed in the last six months that left a little something to be desired, I could buy myself one of those big fat bottles of non-export Serge Lutens at the Palais Royale.

So it’s nice to get a set of samples and realize that, not only is there no dud in the bunch, but someone has been taking the Perfume Magic assignment seriously.

Without further ado, it is my great pleasure to introduce the DelRaes.

Parfums DelRae was founded by DelRae Roth in 2000. If I’m understanding correctly, Michel Roudnitska, the son of perfumer Edmond Roudnitska, collaborated on all four scents in the Parfums Delrae line — Eau Illuminee, Amoureuse, Bois de Paradis, and Debut.

Here they are, in my order of preference:

Bois de Paradis citrus, French rose, cinnamon and blackberry, fig, spices, woods and amber.

This would have been my fourth choice on paper; it’s my first based on smell! I’m just wild for this thing, which goes against all expectations.

First of all, rose, cinnamon and fig is sooooooooooooooo not my idea of heaven. Second, Paradis also proves to be that Great Oxymoron: the Wearable Sandalwood. Perfume-wise, sandalwood (go ahead, shoot me) translates on me into Body Odor. I can’t think of too many fragrances I really like with a generous amount of sandalwood. It’s not only omnipresent in this one, it’s gorgeous, and Paradis is unmistakeably sexy. A stunner.

Eau Illuminee bergamot, basil, French lavender, wild aromatic herbs, vanilla, tonka beans, orris

This one is least like the other three, and probably most like something you’ve already smelled many times, although perhaps not quite so pleasantly as you smell it here. This is the Gold Medalist in the Quintessential Cologne category, with the bergamot, basil, lavender and herbs doing what they do best, against a warm vanilla base. Before you dismiss it as just another cologne, however, I can’t think of another unisexy-cologne-type fragrance (think green, sparkle, summer) that I’ve fallen quite this hard for. I would love to smell this on a man. Or a woman. Or my dog. Really, now that I think about it, everyone on the planet should wear this.

Amoureuse — tangerine, cardamom, tuberose, jasmine, ginger lily, cedar moss, sandalwood, honey.

I am not a big fan of Heady White Florals; in general I find them too cloying. In this one, however, the tangerine and cardamom give a little citrus buzz and some spice to blow the stink off, as my grandmother might say. This one I would definitely wear, although I swear it smells like linden to me. Linden haters (and you know who you are): consider yourselves warned.

Debut - Bergamot, Lime, Ylang ylang, fresh leaves, Lily of the Valley, Linden blossom, Cyclamen, Vetiver, Sandalwood, Musk

This is the most recent addition to the line and the one I was betting I would like best based on the reviews. Naturally, it ended up being the least successful for me. It is a lovely composition, not overly sweet, and it contains some of my favorite individual perfume notes. On me, it starts off in a glorious burst of lime, ylang and bergamot, but goes all wrong somehow after the first five minutes, with the green notes and the Lily of the Valley combining into a weird Axis of Evil sour/sweetness, something like old tea. I’m going to blame it on my skin and/or the “fresh leaves.” I still think it’s a winner, though, really — just not on me.

Henri Rousseau, The Dream
William Hodges, Tahiti Revisited

Before I headed off to church on Sunday I tried on some Ormonde Jayne Sampaquita. I don’t usually test-drive new fragrances before church, because what if I’m sitting there among the staid Presbyterians smelling like Eau de Harlot? But I’d dabbed a little on and… nothing. So I threw caution to the wind, dumped the vial in an atomizer, sprayed my sweater, my hair, my skin, and … still nothing. Just a faint, atmospheric sweetness, like someone had burned a candle in the room yesterday. Oh well, they can’t all be winners, right? For me, the jury’s still out on Ormonde Woman, which can go a little boxwood-y on me, although Ta’if is heartbreakingly gorgeous… but I digress.

So I was in church, listening to the scripture reading, and – have mercy! – there it was! I was uplifted, yes indeed. I was uplifted almost out of my hard wooden pew by a brand new, completely different, wondrous scent.

According to the Ormonde Jayne website, the sampaquita flower is the national flower of the Philippines: “Literally translated as ‘I Promise You,’ Sampaquita flower is a symbol of purity and fragility, coupled with fidelity and resolve. The scent opens with an unmistakable summer bouquet, bursting forth with sun-kissed lychee set on a canvas of bergamot, grass oil and magnolia flowers in full seductive bloom. The marriage of these elements, together with a dusky floral heart of sampaquita absolute, freesia and muguet, combine to form a fusillade of fabulous intensity. An inspired quartet of base notes, musk, vetiver, moss and ambrette seed, unify and harmonise this sensational summer scent.”

Top: Lychee, grass oil, bergamot and magnolia
Heart: Sampaquita absolute, freesia, muguet, rose and water lilies
Base: Musk, vetivert, moss and ambrette seed

Well, I’m not sure about “a fusillade of fabulous intensity.” The initial impression on me is, as I said, nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch. But give it a lead time of 20 minutes or so and it becomes a green, grassy (yes) soaring thing – the soft green sweetness of magnolia in the rain, a juicy white-grape-like smell I presume is the lychee fruit (sorry, I have no idea what they smell like), and hints of the pulpy freshness of freesia and water lily. A little online research shows that sampaquita is more commonly spelled sampaguita, and it is a type of jasmine. All these notes rest in a base of vetiver and weedy ambrette that create the illusion of floating above a tropical bower.

Sampaquita, as you can guess, would be a perfect summer scent; it’s got sillage but not the sort that’s going to cause people on the subway to move away from you in disgust when it’s 90 degrees outside. But Sampaquita is also perfect for right now – when it’s 39 degrees and sleeting, and your boots are muddy, and it feels like spring is a long way off.

Eight hours later I’m still floating in a subtle, alluring garden of pleasure. It has this weird, shape-shifting effect: I CANNOT smell it on my skin, no matter how hard I try. And yet… it lives all around me. Cribbing from an email Patty sent me: “It’s odd, like the heart takes wing and leaves no base that you can find, but it’s still anchored to you.” And that, my perfumed friends, is just about the perfect description of this fragrance.

Ormonde Jayne Sampaquita is available at www.ormondejayne.com for approximately $100 for a 50ml EDP and, of course, occasionally in decant form on eBay.

Michael Coyne
Lily in Largo

Am I losing my mind or did I post these already? I hope not.

Serge Lutens Fumerie Turque – I was expecting something more outré. Basically this smells like the inside of a tobacconist. Not a bad thing; it’s a perfectly nice smell. But I’d rather smell like the inside of a tea shop, thanks. I still need to smell MKK and Cuir Mauresque before I complete my pleasure tour of Serge’s Sweaty Side, which – no kidding – I am really enjoying. Chergui turned into my first Full Bottle Purchase.

Tauer Perfumes Le Maroc Pour Elle – Moroccan Petitgrain (bitter orange), French Lavender, red Mandarin, Moroccan Rose absolute, Moroccan Jasmin absolute, Moroccan Cedarwood from the High Atlas, Sandalwood, Patchouli. I can’t stop putting this on and smelling it. Be warned – this is not a timid scent. But give it 30 minutes and a little space and wrap your mind around that rose rising up in all its herbal-green-sappish glory. I have nothing else that smells even remotely like this, and I mean that as my highest compliment. A stunner.

Frederic Malle Editions de Parfums Carnal Flower – I’ve had this for awhile, and I kept putting it off, idiot that I am, because the whole heady white flower experience is a hard one for me. I dragged my @ss until Legerdenez wrote: “I don’t smell all of the above components that constitute tuberose in this scent. I smell wintergreen oil’s florist shop chill with an orgy of tuberose that trills and then melds to my skin’s seemingly subdermal musk.” Well, okay, that sounds interesting. This is the fragrance that has, at long last, solved my Fracas Conundrum – I own Fracas, because I love the way it smells, but I never wear it, because I consider it basically unwearable. But this is the tuberose with just enough refrigeration to keep it from overwhelming me (well, okay, the first half hour’s a little tough.) But the rest of the day I stood in a mysterious snow from heaven, drifting all around. This scent has singlehandedly caused an entire rethinking of the white-flower possibilities.

Les Parfums de Rosine Rose d’Argent – In a sick twist of fate, I discovered this amazing sample just as I’ve begun to come around to the possibilities of the rose, and I was so intrigued I did a little research, which allowed me to learn that (of course) it’s been discontinued. It’s green and rampant and a little dangerous, a thorny climber into my heart, and I refuse to smell it again, because I am not falling in love with yet another discontinued frag. I am afraid of turning into the perfume version of the pathetic chick who only falls in love with unattainable, emotionally unavailable men.

Evening in Paris (Soir de Paris) – I need to thank Victoria O. for this silky, sophisticated Perfume from the Past. The drydown is a cross between the gentle violet-anise of Apres l’Ondee and the spicy carnation of My Sin. A grown-up scent that is retro but not dowdy. It’s a gorgeous skin scent after 20 minutes. Fans of vintage smells without vintage risks: you can get it new online at Vermont Country Store, which is where my sample came from.

Sperm for Surfers (S-ex Perfumes) — Okay, I don’t know what it’s called. It has a little swimmer on the glass vial and it says: (for surfers). You tell me. Actually, you tell me what it smells like, because I cannot smell it. Can. Not. Smell. It. It doesn’t smell like sperm… not that I’d know what sperm smelled like. What I mean to say is, it smells vaguely ozonic, like that Demeter stuff (Thunderstorm?), but basically it might as well be water. Maybe I’m anosmic to whatever this is? Maybe it IS water, because — dude — what could be a better surfer smell, right?

camellia - nmessences.com
Edouard Leon Cortes - Snowy Evening Paris
sperm - weboflife.nasa.gov

I ordered a fragrance sample package from Luscious Cargo. I love my Luscious booty — the folks are friendly and helpful, the shipping is speedy and they always throw in something I haven’t tried that I usually love as much if not more than the thing I ordered.

So today my latest Luscious treat arrived.

And it was filled with somebody else’s order.

There was a cheerful note in there to “Ludmilla” (not her real name) saying they hoped she’d picked a winner. Which does make me wonder whether Ludmilla is out there right now somewhere, glaring at my Delraes and that other stuff she didn’t order.

I emailed Luscious and they said, hey, keep whatever it is we sent, your correct sample order will go out tomorrow, sorry, sorry, etc. Really, what is not to love about this company? (No, they are not paying me to shill.)

Anyway, here is an impromptu review of what they sent, because I figured why not, it’s fate, right?

Les Parfums de Rosine – Ecume de Rose – ecume translates as foam (I looked it up, correct me if I’m wrong) – this is, I guess, a marine rose fragrance? I’m just learning to wrap my nose around the rose, but this is a keeper. A beachy rose, unlikely as that sounds… well, maybe not that unlikely. Those scrubby rugosa beach roses I adore. It smells like rose, a marine note, and a little bit of suntan oil. I’m typing this while taking a head-trip to Nantucket. After one hour it reaches a state of Rose Nirvana. Ranking: #1

L’Artisan La Haie Fleurie – “(The Flower Hedge of the Hamlet): This beauteous brew of honeysuckle, jasmine, wisteria, tuberose, hyacinth, narcissus and white lily is a long-standing favorite here at Luscious.” – lusciouscargo. Oh, my. This is a SERIOUS floral: va-va-voom sillage, not for amateurs or the faint of heart. If you are a Fracas freak, or a Serge Nuit (or Datura Noir) Nut, this one will suit you right down to the ground. Ranking: #2

Idole de Lubin – everyone else already reviewed this, so all I’ll say is: I was disappointed. There. I’ve said it. It’s a lovely, spicy, amber-y fragrance. But I wanted Exotic Skank. This juice just wasn’t dirty enough for me. Ranking: #4 (I’m still sulking)

Robert Piguet Bandit – I described Parfum d’Empire Ambre Russe in an email to Patty as “Rasputin’s armpit.” Would suffice for this frag as well. You know what? I’m going to try this one again on a different day. Instinct tells me I might like this if I hit it right. But following the Rose and the Jasmine – ack! Scrubber! Ranking: #5

Ligne St. Barth Tiare – This one should have worked. I love the gardenia/tuberose aspect of tiare, and I don’t think there’s a lot else going on there, except vanilla. (Hey, are you noticing a pattern among these scents? Wonder if Ludmilla was going on/returning from a tropical vacation?) But it’s strangely medicinal on me. Ranking: #6

I need to clear my palate, so let’s sniff the: I Profumi de Firenze Acqua di Firenze – I spent two afternoons in the farmacia near the Uffizi in Florence trying the entire line on, between breaks to walk across the street and drink more coffee and eat another pastry. Those two days are a still a blur in my memory of powdered sugar, caffeine, and scent. This particular fragrance is white flowers and green leaves with rain notes. My 11-year-old loved this. It’s very green, very girly. Ranking: #3

Okay, I can only smell one more of these, and it’s going to be…

Josephine EDP by Rance – I gave up so I looked it up: “hawthorn and jasmine, surrounded by ylang ylang and hyacinth, followed by a heart of iris, blackcurrant, white peach, cloves, galbanum and violet leaves. The base notes - ebony, sandalwood, white musk, Bourbon vanilla and ambergris - complete the fragrance, amplifying its refined sensuousness. – lusciouscargo.” Well… it’s all there, particularly the hawthorne. Ranking: #7

There were others but, honestly, I can’t smell a thing. I’m going to eat my Pixie-Stix (yep, one included!) and call it a night.

Don’t forget – YOU can get your own Luscious Cargo sample, 8 for $13, at lusciouscargo.com!

Sconset cottage – westford.com
Uffizi – relaishotel.com

When I think of Diptyque I tend to think: candles; Essence of John Galliano; and Tam Dao, in roughly that order.

However, contrarian perfume blogger that I am, I feel it’s my obligation to spread the word about my personal favorite among the fragrance portion of the line. I may, in fact, be the only person in the United States with this particular favorite.

L’Eau Trois was created in 1975, and its notes are listed as Myrrh, Myrtle, Oregano, Cistus, Pine, Laurel, Thyme, Rosemary.

Here is a comment via Basenotes from someone who shares my appreciation of this scent: “It starts as a fresh and aromatic herb mixture, which rapidly evolves to a pungent scent of resin, and finally takes on a scent of incense - but not the one you burn in sticks, the arabic one you buy in form of resinous grains - I think this is the myrrh comings out. Warm, oriental but sober, spiritual, well suited for autumn and winter.”

Here is a comment from someone who is less enamored: “Zoo cat cage pee, haybarn, and 3 week old sweaty gym socks.”

And the commentary generally runs along those lines: either you love it and it smells like a fabulous incense, or you can’t even believe someone bottled this dreck. There doesn’t seem to be much middle ground.

So let me try to help you make an informed decision whether to sample this one. I am, first of all, a major fan of incense frags, and that is what L’Eau Trois is, with no apologies. Second, while the notes listed make it sound like the herb section at the grocery store, what I smell from start to finish (and this is a very linear scent) is pure, unburnt incense, with the cistus adding even a bit more lemon-balsam-resin goodness. This is not the smoke of the cathedral (or the meditative Japanese incense stick), or Olivia Giacobetti’s breathtaking, soaring Passage; it is, to my nose, the rarer-than-hens’-teeth smell of the gift of the Magi, a wooden box of frankincense and myrrh.

I find it powerfully beautiful, warm and resinous. If you are a fan of incense in your fragrances, consider giving this one a sniff for a wildly different approach than the cool elegance and smoky aloofness of, say, Armani Prive or CDG Avignon.

L’Eau Trois is available from beautyhabit.com and lusciouscargo.com, 50 ml, for $60. Or you can work it into a luscious sample order (8 for $13, or free with purchase over $30).

Harvesting frankincense resin — www.aromatherapy-essential-oils.org
Frankincense and myrrh – threekingsgifts.com
Bottle image – beautyhabit.com

I forgot Marina tagged me for Five Weird Things. I wrote the first draft a few days ago but it was too weird so I never posted it. This is less weird, plus I figure this late in the week nobody will read it.

1) I have a large scar under my chin but have no idea why. I asked my dad. No clue either. Really, it looks like the sort of thing I’d remember.

2) I have a nice turntable on which I listen to my extensive album collection. Remember when you put all your albums out by the trash? Yep, that was me loading them in the back of my car. In perhaps my greatest haul I was driving home hugely pregnant with the twins and I spotted almost six linear feet of albums, tied up next to somebody’s garbage cans. The trash truck was coming down the block. I could barely walk, but I waddled over to them, trying to figure out if I could drive my van over the curb. The trash guys pulled up, took one look at me, and did the heavy lifting for me, which was sweet.

No, I am not going to list any albums. Too embarrassing. Oh, FYI — the fact that I pull the car over in broad daylight in front of the neighbors’ trash to retrieve treasures (a doll’s high chair! a wading pool! a perfectly good chair!) causes my beloved Big Cheese a great deal of emotional pain.

3) Okay, some random picks: The B-52s. Chuck Brown and the Soul Searchers. Kate Bush. Nat Cole. Alfred Deller. Bob Dylan. The Fabulous T-Birds. Herbie Hancock. Etta James. Wanda Landowska. Pretty much the entire Lynyrd Skynyrd oeuvre. Shriekback (one of the all-time under-rated bands.) Jai Uttal. Yes, they are alphabetized like that.

4) I was born with no wisdom teeth, a trait which I am happy to report I have passed on to at least two of my kids. I like to think of myself as being more highly evolved than average. Of course, the music listed here would tend to contradict that.

5) I didn’t walk until I was 2 ½, because I wouldn’t put my feet down on the ground. My parents have a series of hilarious photos of me as an infant and toddler with my feet stuck up in the air as far away from the grass, dirt, carpet, etc. as I could get them. The only time I am barefoot is in the bath. I have an entire collection of beautiful, different-weight socks just for sleeping. I feel about socks the way some people feel about fancy lingerie. Does the Big Cheese find this sexy? No, he does not. Which reminds me of the only other time I take my socks off.

All I seem to be able to think about these days is spring and cherries and flower gardening. It’s way too early to actually go shopping or excavating in my backyard (needs a total flower garden overhaul), so I’m going excavating through some perfumes that have crossed my desk lately. I have the attention span and memory of a gnat, so quick little reviews like March does have won me over.

Hermessence Osmanthe Yunnan – yes, this one is as ephemeral and light as a little tart fairy with dusty wings, but does that make me like it any less? Nay, I say. Tea, orange, freesia, osmanthus and apricot are the notes. I’m not sure it’s FBW, though I did get the Full Bottle anyway, but I believe these are now available in the Discovery Set from Hermes boutiques, or will be in the next month. This is the summer fragrance that is not too sweet, not too tart, not overbearing. It doesn’t exactly disappear quickly, it’s just very subtle. Definitely one you could spritz with abandon go to the office or a wedding or just go relax in the hammock with some PBR in a Coozie. Review at NST and review at PST

Chocolovers by Aquolina spray and lotion – A little dark violet tossed this bon-bon at me, and though I love chocolate, I normally don’t like it on me. Serendipitous I like for about five minutes, and then I want a full hose-down. Chocolovers did NOT start out well, there was all sorts of coconut-like smells that are probably hazelnut or something else, and I was whining like an orphaned pup trying to get it off, but I just closed my eyes and waited, and then sniffed again in about 15 minutes, and it wasn’t staying that strong and it was turning into a rather nice vetiverish, smooth mocha kinda thing. This is so not horrible, it’s pretty likable, even for a nonfoody scent s*ut like me. With summer coming, I probably wouldn’t wear it, but by next fall and winter, it should fill a space on those days when I just want to feel like I fell into a lovely cup of hot cocoa.

Serge Lutens Chergui — Since March just did this one and then sent me some, I’ve just got to say this one is like The Nazgul without Sauron’s interference. In short, I like it. Rich, spicy, smoky — a jacked-up, sweet Fumerie Turque.

BTW, when ordering from the Hermes boutique, don’t call Ambre Narguile by its True Name, their SAs really don’t have a sense of humor.

Is there some sort of Murphy’s law in effect at my Regular Joe Department Store? I go there and try to buy some undies, or a set of towels, and the sales clerks scatter like gazelles into the far reaches of each floor.

I have to stalk them until I corner the one who’s too busy yammering on a cel phone to notice my ambush, and then I have to mad-dog him/her until he/she rings up the sale, usually while continuing to take that personal call.

The perfume counter, in contrast, is the one place I’d like to stop and smell the roses (and musks, and marine accords) in peace. And that’s the one place the sales clerks are trolling like starving hyenas.

It’s no small wonder I bug the hell out of them. I’m all over the map, for one thing. I want to smell the Baby Phat Goddess and then the Curious – is this the original one? And then the Arpege, please. No, I do not want to smell Pure Turquoise. Yes, the Vera Wang is very nice and no, I don’t want to smell it. No, I have already smelled that new Estee Lauder, and I am not interested. (Here’s a hint: telling me “We sell a ton of this!” is probably not going to be a deal closer with me. Neither is the fact that for my $70 I get the matching lotion, the powder, the room spray and for all I know a heart-shaped diffuser to hang from my rear view mirror).

I made a sincere effort at the Department Store because I wanted to include at least one easily obtainable frag in today’s Candy Post, and here it is:

My Queen by Alexander McQueen – Here’s one you don’t need eBay or a French Connection to get ahold of. “Meant To Make Every Woman Feel Like A Queen.” Puh-lease. But the notes sound great on paper: Almond, Violet (top), White Musk, Florals, Heliotrope (middle), Cedar, Vetiver, Vanilla And Iris Notes (base). And it is those things, quite pleasantly almond-y, violet and heliotrope for about 10 minutes. And then … (Cue the music from Jaws.) I believe this is the rest of the equation: almond + musk = Play-Doh. I mean, it’s not BAD. It’s just not… good, either. And in 20 minutes, consider it gone. I wasn’t expecting Serge staying power for $55, but come on.

Speaking of Play-Doh… People of the Labyrinths Luctor et Emergo – this is the Play-Doh one, right? I went and looked at NST, and whatever glory you guys are getting from this, it sure escapes me. I get an opener of incense, Play-Doh, followed by a big spoonful of vanilla, and … Play-Doh. I agree the smell of Play-Doh is theoretically a comfort scent, but not for me. Maybe I’ve spent too much time trying to dig it out of the carpet and cracks in the floor with a toothpick. Actually, Play-Doh is officially a banned substance in our house, pretty much for that reason.

Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur – Cait wrote the funniest thing about how her dad’s shorthaired pointers were REALLY digging this scent when she was trying it out. Definitely the sort of smell that, if I’d taken a walk through the neighborhood, all the male dogs would have jumped their fences and pursued me with One Thing on their minds. It’s that dirty, and I love dirty, so I loved the first 30 minutes of this. But then it’s just vanilla and amber. Okay, okay, still some musk there, but where goes the trash-talking, junk-in-the-trunk part? I got so bored I dumped some Jicky parfum on top of it. Hah. NOW we’re talkin’! If I keep doing that I’ll probably burn a hole through my hand but, God, it was so good it must be illegal.

Serge Lutens Tuberose Criminelle (Part 3) – I refused to actually put this on, I gave my sample away, and Robin and Patty told me I had to get it back and try it, so I did. The Big Cheese and I work together. He looked over at me the other day with a thoughtful expression and said, you’ve really got your bitch on today, don’t you? It was true. I did. That sort of day is useful for taking care of outstanding administrative snafus, so I applied half my large vial of TC and headed off to the bank to offend some people regarding an account there. TC answered two questions for me: first, can you hate something on yourself while other people love it? (Yes. I got not one but TWO compliments on this, one of which was still during the Vap-o-Rub phase). Second, can the beauty of the drydown overcome the horror of the opening? For me, sadly, no.

Wild Woods by Coty – well, this reminds me of something (SMN Citta di Kyoto?) It does NOT remind me of the rest of the current Coty ouevre of watered-down classics and wretched musks (Vanilla Fields, anyone?) This is labeled for men, and would smell great on a guy, but it’s a perfect unisex frag that makes me think of those thin Japanese incense sticks. Thanks to Marina for turning me on to this one. If you like a dry, woody incense, buy this online for $10. (No, that is not a typo.) It’s so good, Coty will probably discontinue it. If someone asks you what they’re wearing, I think what Marina and I finally came up with was “Bois Sauvage.”

Gazelles, John Fields
Nymphs and Satyr, William-Adolphe Bouguereau

Marina has tagged March and me both to list five weird or odd things about ourselves.

This shouldn’t take long, I could be past five easy.

1. I happily drive my son to school in my pajamas and robe if I don’t have to go to the office that day.

2. Desserts do not survive the night in my fridge. If there is something gooey and sweet in the fridge, I will wake up in the middle of the night in response to its Siren Song.

3. Bread, sugar and cinnamon are my Kryptonite. Just put that combination together in any way, shape or form, and I will will beat your butt to get it. We used to make cinnamon bread when I was a kid, toast the bread, slather on some butter, then sprinkle on cinnamon and sugar… yum. Blackjack Pizza has the best cinnamon bread that gets delivered to my house. I hate Cinnabons, but I will stop and buy a box, eat two, then either drop off or shove the rest of the box at my sons and tell him to please take them away.

4. I never use my turn signal, and I am oblivious to this, except my DH and DS keep pointing it out to me every time they are in the truck with me. They don’t get to ride with me anymore.

5. I’m a mouse swirly. When I’m using my mouse, I swirl it around and around before I land it on the thing I want to click on. It’s a good thing I don’t share an office with anyone, this habit alone makes most sane people take drugs.

Since Patty’s working this week, I feel it’s my job to keep you up to date on celebrity developments. So:

Karl Lagerfeld, the Chanel designer, said of Kimora Lee Simmons, “This girl represents the nineties.” – newyorkmetro.com

I couldn’t agree more, Karl.

Here is her Perfume, Baby Phat Goddess:

Just as The Manolo has his thing with the Lagerfeld, so I seem to have this Kimora Fixation. She’s six-four in heels, and she could definitely beat my @ss.

In addition to her perfume, she’s a “clothing designer.” That would be one way to describe her.

Here is some “clothing” she “designed.”

Here’s one where she’s blinging those sad-eyed babies of hers:

I try to laugh, but this photo is so creepy it haunts me. What message does it convey? That she’s powerful? That her little girls exist only as small, empty mirrors to reflect her own louche idea of beauty? She’s giving them to the Triad? Honestly, I have four kids and kind of a weird sense of humor, but this.

Kimora has been described as “visionary” and “ultraconfident.” Other alternatives might be “delusional” and “narcissistic.” Or “psychotic” and “megalomaniacal.”

And, finally, the reason for this post: as terrifying as I find this woman in her previous incarnations, here is Kimora’s New Look: blonde! (Sorry the image isn’t better; it’s scanned from a glossy magazine photo after I gave up finding it online). I think it looks every bit as natural on her as it does on Donatella Versace.

As the Manolo would say : Ayyyyyy!

This is the time of year for orange scents. While they seem like they’d be more appropriate for the summer months, the truth is that they’re often too heady in our summer heat and humidity, and they tend to attract bees. This isn’t a problem in February, when I’m looking for a little ray of sunshine in a bottle (perfume, not liquor, although sometimes that works almost as well). I adore orange fragrances. You could release a scent called Orange Crap and I’d be first in line to try it.

The term “orange” implies something of the fruit, fragrance-wise – a little of the tartness, while “neroli” and “orange blossom” suggest the sweeter flower, but I think the perfumers play pretty fast and loose with that distinction, so I tend to ignore it. Fruit or flower – I’m in. My regular rotation includes Annick Goutal’s Neroli and a tiny, precious bottle of I Profumi de Firenze’s Arancia Dolce in a perfume concentrate, which I’m pretty sure is only sold (along with 30 others) at one of their pharmacies in Florence for the purpose of scenting their creams and lotions. I warmed up to Laura Tonatto’s far-from-universally-loved Fior d’Arancio, which is like orange soap on the skin but behaves itself beautifully sprayed on clothing. I catch cheerful remnants of it days (weeks?) later on my sweaters. There is even room on my shelf (dare I write this?) for a bottle of Spun Orange Blossom cologne from the clearance table at the Gap, which is not going to win any perfume awards but is a light, girly nuthin’-but-orange – no soap, no dope, a rainy-day giggle of a smell. My newest orange love is S-ex Perfume Sloth, a delicious orange/industrial complex that smells enthralling.

Today, however, I’m exploring two orange scents that in some ways are polar opposites: l’Artisan’s Fleur d’Oranger 2005 and Serge Lutens’ Fleurs d’Oranger.

L’Artisan begs the philosophical question: can a perfume be too real? It is, simply, the magnificent smell of the orange blossom. This limited edition scent ($250 per bottle for 100 ml, more than twice the usual cost for the line) features the 2004 harvest of orange blossom from Nabeul in Tunisia and has generated a lot of discussion regarding the wisdom and purpose of “harvest” editions in perfume. Hype? Sure. The notes are listed as: orange bigarade, petitgrain, neroli, honey, orange blossom, beeswax.

This is a perfume-flower of such perfection you’d think God made it. It is stunning, a marvel of a smell. The lasting power is surprising for an orange soliflore, generally a fairly short-lived performer in fragrance. Fleur d’Oranger is an absolutely photo-realistic journey inside an orange blossom. It’s so real that the first time I wore it, it generated an entirely new mental/olfactory sensation in me: the perfume creeps. I started to feel like a bee – my skin felt furry, I heard buzzing, I kept checking to make sure my hands weren’t turning into legs and feelers. The second time I wore it I moved past that sensation and reveled in its unadorned, almost freakish beauty. If you are a big fan of orange in fragrances, you owe it to yourself to try it, period. Ignore the hype; there is simply nothing else like it.

For a completely different take on orange, which rather than a soliflore includes some of the other plants riding out the cold months in an orangery, I turn to Serge Luten