Did you know that J. Lo perfume is the most frequently searched perfume term on the internet?  Yup, shocked me too.  So given that popularity and our normal propensity for reviewing high end, niche, obscure scents, we’d like from time to time to look at more accessible perfumes and ones that are clearly making a killing in the perfume market.  Someone is buying them, so let’s find out why.

We have some generalizations about the JLo oeuvre, having sniffed seven in a short period of time. First, there’s a unified feel to these that indicates JLo’s involvement in these on some level. Not that she designed them, but they seem united even beyond what you’d expect as a branding effort. Lopez allegedly runs all aspects of her life like a pretty tight ship - congrats to her on the twins - and these reflect that. Whether you like them or not, they tell a coherent story.

JLo loooooves her some fresh accord.   How you build a fresh accord in terms of the aromachemistry is beyond our knoweldge, and it’s hard to describe, but you know it when you smell it – it’s sort of that “clean laundry” or “fresh from the shower” smell, only more gaseous and a little plastic. If Lopez’ fragrances are a tad less sweet overall than you might guess if you’d never smelled them, I’d really, really like to take the vat of Clean away from her perfumers — all perfumers. (March: There are things I hate more in perfumery, but “fresh” smells weirdly stale to me, sort of the antithesis of what it’s meant to evoke. “Fresh” is like too much room spray, when what you really want is to open a window.) (Patty:  I think of this “fresh” thing as TampaxFreshAccord. Artificially bright, trying to cover up with too much freshness things that do exist in nature, except, well, this smell.)

Beyond the “fresh” accord, there’s a curious, synthetic sameness to her scents. Using the word “synthetic” doesn’t really work because most of what we’re smelling in perfume is synthetic anyway, chemically. But a JLo fragrance’s relationship to fruit and florals is like the smell of Hawaiian Tropic tanning lotion – or Hawaiian Punch. You can see, if you squint, the original starting point in nature, but what you are smelling doesn’t bear any relation to a real fruit or flower.

March: If I had a complaint about the JLos as a group, it’s their lasting power. In general, I am not one to complain about how long fragrances stick around, because mostly they stick to me like glue. Deseo had the best lasting power, but really, what I was left with was an ambery musk for most of the afternoon. Live goes on quite strong and spicy, but after two hours I could barely smell it. Glow and Still were entirely undetectable after two hours (I asked my kids.) Some of you might consider this a blessing, but I was disappointed. If there’s one thing I admire about Jennifer, it’s her tenacity.

Patty: My main criticism about the J.Los is their sameness. After a few sniffs, cohesive as it might be, they aren’t very memorable or differentiated in the marketplace, except for the celebrity whose name they bear. 

Still – “In the eye of the storm I am still.” Sake note, white pepper, mandarin, Earl Grey, freesia, honeysuckle, orange blossom, rose, wild jasmine, sandalwood, musks, amber, orris.

Patty:  This one worked for me, at least I’m voting it as most likely for me to wear.  I did get more tea out of it and less fresh or floral. Not sure why, but the TFA (tampax fresh accord) disappeared, and the tea stuck around, though the whole concoction didn’t seem to want to stick as long as I would have liked.

March: This was supposed to be her original “mature” scent, by which I assume she means women over the age of 21. The notes don’t sound bad, and the opening is sweeter than I expected (that’s a lot of floral for a Jlo), although the drydown is satisfyingly tart. If I got more Earl Gray I’d be happy, sort of. But the fresh note in this just kills me. (Diva says: it smells like powder. It doesn’t smell like anything important.)

Glow – “fresh and clean, like you just came out of the shower.” Orange blossom, pink grapefruit, rose, sandalwood, soft amber, jasmine, vanilla, musk, orris.

March: The bottle’s sexy, but I’d describe this as the Office JLo – the one least likely to offend anyone in the Cube Farm. A very clean musk with muted florals. Oddly, for the “fresh” one, I get less of that Glade Ozone smell. I’d wear this. (Diva says: I like this one, I’d wear it.)

Patty:  I despised this one. I got more of the TFA in this, like a boatload, and it really grated on my last nerve after about 20 minutes, though I can see how it would work on a younger person who has more nerves to grate on and less frayage caused by age.  And that super-fresh feeling lasted for hours.

Glow After Dark – her nightclub scent, “out with your friends, celebrating and enjoying the nightlife”. Passionfruit, lychee ice, pink peony, orange flower, blond woods, pink musk.

March: You know this is her nightclub scent because along with the blended fruit it has the singular, tangy smell of fresh vomit – like someone threw up a Mai Tai. Ugh. (Diva says: too fruity.)

Patty:  Oh, Lord, just kill me now.  I would have thought that I would like this one, but reminds me of too many long nights drinking cheap fruity cocktails and waking up to regret all the things you don’t remember doing. 

Live, about “living for the moment, celebrating life through my very first love, which is dancing.” Sicilian lemon, orange, pineapple, redcurrant, spicy violet, peony, musk, vanilla, sandalwood.

Patty:  Not that bad at all. It’s a little too much sweet on the open, but that blessedly blows off  a little and gives a nice musky minimally sweet fruity smell.  It’s still much too sweet for me even in the drydown, so I”m sticking with Still as my fave, but this comes in right behind it.

 March: This goes on nicely musky, with a minimum of Glade, and a spicy accord (must be that spicy violet.) The only JLo that registered as spicy, and the musky, woody drydown is sexy. This is my favorite of the bunch. I won’t buy it, but if I owned it I’d probably wear it. (Diva says: that’s fun, I’d wear it.)

Live Luxe celebrates “Jennifer’s excitement for dance and her love of luxury.” Pear, peach, melon, citrus, apple, satiny muguet, amethyst freesia, honeysuckle, precious diamong musk, vanilla, sandalwood.

March: In this case, Luxe means “I can afford enough sugar to bury your entire family.” Too sweet. (Diva says: ewww, that’s really gross, like you threw up something sweet.) The vomit reference – a weird coincidence that in hindsight maybe isn’t a ringing endorsement of the line … I mean, how often do you compare a fragrance to vomit?

Patty:  Fruity sweet TFA. Not sure how they screwed up a Live flanker this badly, but they threw out everything that was good about Live and threw in a gallon of Sucrose-fortified cotton candy.  If you like Pink Sugar and that ilk, you’ll love this.

Deseo means “desire … wish .. dream. I want to inspire people to dream and want more.” Tropical plants accord, bergamot, orange blossom, geranium, mineral accord, amber.

Patty:  Did not smell this one.

March: Deseo is the newest JLo and seems like a bit of a departure for her. The bottle’s more sophisticated and interesting – sort of a lumpy, assymetircal uncut gemstone. It opens on a huge fresh accord, what I am thinking is her idea of tropical plants. Once that goes away, I kind of like it. It’s got decent lasting power, and that musky, sexy, warm-skin drydown that’s like the part of Live I like best. (Diva says: that’s nasty, that’s worse than the throw-up one. It smells like our locker room.)

Miami Glow has apparently been discontinued, although it’s still all over the ‘net. Notes are passion fruit, coconut, orange flower, sunbathed sand, amber, musk and vanilla.

March: I’m sorry it’s been discontinued, because I really liked it – it’s Jenny at the Beach, complete with tanning oil and big white sunglasses (must have been that sunbathed sand note.) It was a great virtual-reality beach fragrance.

Patty:  I didn’t get to test this one this time around, but I know I smelled it when we were doing some blind things a year or so ago. I’d agree with March - from my memory, it’s pretty great.  Why they would discontinue one of the best of the bunch is a mystery.

Love at First Glow — bergamot, Georgia peach, osmanthus, pink jasmine, wild rose, freesia, blond woods, musk, and vanilla absolute.

Patty:  I really didn’t mind this. It’s not something I’d wear, but if someone sprayed it on me while I wasn’t looking, I wouldn’t be horrified or annoyed.  A soft little scent, less of the TFA than most of these, only on the open and then disappears.  Something a young girl could wear without smelling like a tarted-up child-floozy.  It also faded on me pretty fast, so maybe that explains my lack of annoyance?

March: This is probably the most candy-fied of the bunch, and smells the most tweener. Having said that, I still find it less offensive than, say, Pink Sugar. It strikes me as something my 11-year-old would like. (Diva says: too sweet, too girly.) Okay, so 13-year-olds are too mature for this one?

In summary, only a couple of these are pretty atrocious, but even then, they likely appeal to people with different tastes than ours — we lean more towards the odd, ridiculous and skanky.  A couple of them are pretty good and stand on their own merit as a lower-cost perfume that smells decent.  But best selling?  Sorry, I don’t understand that at all.  There is nothing remarkable enough in any of these to be a standout.  The one that might have been close, Miami Glow, is discontinued

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lubin images: LuckyScent

Three days until March - which in my book is officially spring. Yahooeeey! Now I know some of you poor folk are shrouded in snow and permafrost yet, but here daffodils are all opened up, leafbuds are swelling ready to burst, the sap is rising so fast it’s almost audible in the ache and creak of the earth. The purple acacia in my front garden is covered in its froth of yellow pompom blossom; the species tulips have poked their way through the gravel; the alliums have emerged - their slightly hairy spiralled green leaves, lime fresh, will die back before floral firework explosions open in April and May. Am I perky or what? We don’t get many frosts, and they’re rarely severe enough to set back the soft growth that’s already begun, ever earlier it seems. I’m itching to spend more and more time outdoors.

And, in honour of this time of year, I’m listing. I’m not generally your listing type, except I become so seasonally, or when ridiculously stressed, but that’s another story. I’m a long way from stressed these days. The listing: I have a colour-coded spreadsheet of my seedsowing schedule (103 types of vegetable and cut flower at last count) and, more relevant to this blog, I even list the perfumes I’m excited to try and/or buy. Unsurprisingly, there are a few Neil Morris numbers in there - winging their way across the Atlantic as I type, I imagine. Drooling over the idea of Midnight Tryst and Fetish. Then there are those of which I now need decants, because I’ve been craving them but they’re not me enough to justify a full bottle - if that makes any sense. Included here are Tom Ford Black Orchid (Update - bought a 30ml bottle from (h)e(ll)bay just now - a guy’s gotta snaffle a bargain, right?) and Miller Harris l’air de rien ( a bottle I bought and returned in December, realising that 100mls was just too much for me).

Other list items are things that have been released for some time, but that I’ve never got round to buying, even though I love them. Top of this list, and guaranteed an automatic purchase in April or May, is Hermessence Vetiver Tonka. I used the last of my large sample last night, and the hazelnutty richness with the green vetiver once again took my breath away. It’s all of 100 mls of this one for me. There are also plenty of scents that were released sometime ago that I’m still yet to try, and wonder why I haven’t, so they’re listed too - Vierges et Toreros for example. But these are strictly samples only.

Finally, there are those that I’m at risk of buying unsniffed. Three fall into this category right now. Though I’m a pretty unChanel kinda guy, Sycomore is calling me. However, his voice is a whisper in comparison to the clarion call of first Serge Lutens’ Five o’clock Au Gingembre, and now Hermes’ Un Jardin apres le Mousson. I’ve often been lucky enough to get advanced sniffage of new Serge releases, and though this time I am getting a mouillete / tester strip / spill of the perfume from Paris, that’s not enough of a taste really. I knew Louve wouldn’t be a fit, but this silly-named number has my (slightly silly) name all over it. Who doesn’t crave ginger at five o’clock? I have a not-often-shared addiction to ginger preserves, and my pumpkin pie served with ginger and cardamom cream is genius, even if I do say so myself. And I’m you’re regular spice slut, especially in the hands of Christopher Sheldrake. And seeing as sweet notes are absorbed by my skin, I’m not even worried by the candied. Must. Have. And. Soon. But even this rank acquisitiveness faded into obscurity when I read Robin’s announcement at nowsmellthis about the latest Hermes Jardin scent. Kerala? Post-monsoon? Ginger? Cardamom? A vetiver accord created by Ellena? Oh my oh my. Oh My. Oh! My! etc.

All this means I need to make room in my scent wardrobe by evicting fragrances that I rarely use nowadays. I’m determined to maintain my count around the 70 mark, as I start to be overwhelmed by any more than this. I’m not a great decision maker, and too much choice is a nightmare for me! I know in theory there’s not really much difference between 70 bottles and100, but in practice for me it’s all the difference between knowing what to grab and being stymied and choosing wrongly. Samples and decants don’t count. They’re allowed to go forth and multiply effortlessly. I rarely wear them out - they’re more my bedtime testers.

So, in complete homage to total plagiarism of March’s post in November, I would like to give away 9 bottles, some partially used, some hardly used, some half empty, of scents which I no longer wear or, in one case, of which I have a duplicate. If you’d like to send me a little something in return, random or otherwise, that would be lovely, but you’re under no obligation. Just leave a comment below highlighting which scent you’d like, and I’ll draw the winners from a hat or similar vessel, announcing them next week, and emailing them for their address in the meantime. I’ll throw in a local product or two, too. Perhaps a tutu or two, too.

The scents are as follows:

l’Artisan Voleur de Roses 50 mls - about 60% full. Roses and I can love each other, but we never ever play nicely together.

l’Artisan Bois Farine 50mls - about 50% full. Duplicate bottle. How did that happen?

Boucheron Jaipur Homme 100ml tester bottle no box - 80% full. Too smooth for me.

Rochas Lui 50mls - about 70% full. Too much neroli for me.

Lanvin Arpege pour Homme 50mls - about 60% full. I loved you for a while…

Ungaro III (promised to Erin K, if she’d still like it) 50 mls, hardly used, no box. Roses, again.

Jo Malone Amber and Lavender 30ml - 60% full, no box.

Guerlain Habit Rouge edt 50mls hardly used.

And finally, the pièce de résistance (ha!) Hugo Boss Soul 50ml, no box, 75% full (must have appeared by magic… And please, if you fancy having this one, there is DEFINITELY no need to send something back my way. I’d just be happy to find it a home).

Hilarious spring image from mooseycountrygarden.com

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

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

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

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

Look, let’s talk. You know I love a niche perfume as much more than the next person – maybe a scent you can only get from a little shop on the outskirts of Ulan Bator with no phone or website. I’m a perfume snob, in that perfume represents a significant interest in my life. If I were dating, which thank heavens I am not, and my hot, cute guy said, baby, I love the natural-smelling you so much I want to buy you large diamonds, and by the way I wish you’d skip the perfume … well, that guy’d be kicked to the curb faster than you can say Caron.

But part of my snobbery is this – I’m a perfume omnivore, and I refuse to dismiss something as, you know, some sucky mall-dreck juice just because I hear it’s the number one seller at Sephora. I mostly try (even if I fail) to smell things and be open to them, because if I don’t then I’m just as much of an ignorant asshat as a chick who’ll only buy a scent made by Paris Hilton, or from Victoria’s Secret.

Which is my longwinded introduction to the fact that I finally took Calvin Klein Euphoria for a test drive. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been told by a Macy’s SA that Euphoria is their store’s number one best seller, I could buy a bottle of Guerlain parfum. I don’t know if it’s true, and I’m too lazy to find out, but I’ll concede it must be wildly successful. When I was working on my penance post recently, it occurred to me: I had no idea at all what Euphoria smelled like.

Which is how I got busted by the SA in Macy’s last week as I hiked my jeans up and methodically drenched one (unshaved) leg in Euphoria and other in Euphoria Blossom, which was sitting right there, so why not try it too? She looked at me so weird. Like those women have never seen legs before.

Euphoria’s blurb on Sephora is blowing the Sex Trumpet (the strumpet?) – the words sexy, sensual, and seductive are used several times. The notes listed are pomegranate, persimmon, green notes, black orchid, lotus blossom, champaca flower, amber, mahogany wood, violet, cream accord.

Given that list, I was expecting something warm – young, fairly sweet, a little fruity, really amber-heavy for the sexy bit. Instead, it opens on a heavy, rich note that bears some resemblance to that patchouli blast from Prada femme. I can’t quite work out how you get there from the notes listed, but if you compressed the fruits into their unsweetened essences and amped up the amber and woods hugely, I guess that might do it. As it settles, there is a creamy, slightly floral sweetness – the hallmark (in some way I’m still working out in my mind) of a modern, mainstream “young” perfume. There is almost never any specific old fashioned flower reference (gardenia, rose, etc.) Rather there’s a generic floral-notation sweetness, like all the fruits and flowers in the world friended each other on Facebook.

In any case, Euphoria is surprisingly low-sugar, and more about the fruits than the florals, and not in the generic, sticky-sweet cocktail-drink way I’m always whining about. Instead it’s a little sour, and more than a little musky. It’s one of those fragrances you’d pick to hide the fact that you’re smoking cigarettes from your parents, because it has its own musky, woody density that makes me think of cigarettes without smelling like smoke. Alternately, it’s a scent you’d pick because you wanted your boyfriend to think you smelled sexy. And it is a sexy, musky smell – again, it’s much less sweet than I would have guessed, and it is both more fully adult and more sophisticated than I’d bargained for. It is also strong – so girls, do me a favor and don’t spray your entire leg with it like I did.

Euphoria Blossom’s notes are pomegranate, dewy green accord, zesty kumquat, orchid, pink peony, blond wood, amber, sheer musks. I found it both inoffensive and less interesting (if possibly more wearable) than the original. As you might guess it is a lighter, cleaner version. While it bears a certain similarity to the original, it is sweeter, although it’s still not some sugar monster. Its appeal grew over time. The buzzwords on this one are dewy, lush and fresh, but it’s not the Fresh Accord from Hell – it wears a little greener and a little more innocently than its knowing older sister.

Do I like Euphoria? No. It’s bitter and strange and the longer I had in on the more aggressive it seemed; I ended up laundering those jeans just to get rid of the smell. Blossom I like, sort of. I wouldn’t buy it, but if you gave it to me I’d probably surprise myself by reaching for it in the middle of summer when I wanted something light and sparkling and pretty that wasn’t a huge stretch – and yes, I definitely have those days. I think one side effect of all the weird stuff I sniff is there is definitely a place in my perfume life for fragrances that are the equivalent of Doritos and Coke on the challenge index.

The bottles are IMHO ugly, weird metallic things that look like they ought to hold something called Salvador Dali’s Nose Perfume. I have never understood the appeal, and there must be one, because all those gazillion people who buy it can’t think it’s as ugly as I do. What’s your opinion?

Finally, an aside about the Euphoria model (and frequent Calvin Klein clothing model), Natalia Vodianova. I am old enough to remember the 90’s supermodels – Naomi, Christy, Linda, etc. – and the current crop of anonymous blandes with anonymous faces does nothing for me. Natalia has stood out from the first as an exception – her face is so freakishly, childishly beautiful it is almost too much to bear, like Brooke Shields in her heyday. I like her better now that she looks, say, 17 instead of 12 (and what is it with Calvin Klein and the jailbait ads?) although I think in real life she’s 22 or 23 and seems perfectly happy, having gone from rags to riches and marrying English real estate magnate/minor royalty (brother of a viscount?) Justin Portman. Now that she’s had three (!) kids with Portman her body seems softer and riper and even more lovely – not lush by any normal standards, I grant you, but there’s something in-full-bloom about it.

Her face plays young, and so that’s how she often looks in her photos (I’ve plucked some favorites and dropped them in here.) I think her Vogue shoot as Alice in Wonderland a couple years ago was one of the best fashion spreads I’ve ever seen. But my favorite look for her recently is when (usually) Vogue takes that so-young face and makes her up and dresses her in very adult clothing, like the poodle photo here.

Okay, assuming anyone’s still reading this – I promise to be back on Thursday with the usual niche-snob lineup. In the meantime – if you’ve smelled this I’d love your feedback. It was so much stronger and darker than I was expecting, I am really surprised; what do you think the appeal is? For what it’s worth, Diva (who at 13 has smelled a lot of weird product and is a little young for the target market) thought it was appalling — nasty was her word, and when pressed for more she just thought it smelled dirty — dirty like feet and unwashed bodies, not in a sexy way. Or, have you sniffed something recently expecting one thing and discovered something completely different?

I’m sorry, but due to some sort of bronchial/respiratory/yuckyness I will be missing this week.  I do apologize.  It’s not like I can smell much anyways.  Stay well and I’ll be back next week.

Total Beauty is giving away a a luxurious trip to NYC for three – bring your two best friends and you’ll all get makeovers courtesy of TotalBeauty.com, plus $1,000 in beauty products.  You get one contest entry for every three beauty product reviews you write at TotalBeauty.com… The more you review, the more entries you get. No need to fill out any forms — we enter you automatically. 

 Chanel No. 22 was introduced in 1922, a year after 5.  Notes are orange blossom, peach, citrus, orchid, rose, ylang-ylang, sandalwood, vetiver, vanilla.  This is my favorite Chanel, hands down, no question, no room for quarrelling.  There is a softness in it that is exquisitely tender, while the aldehydes bubble around it like smitten teenage boys - for some reason I think of a cross between Scarlett and Miss Ellen in Gone With the Wind, feminine in ways that we’ve forgotten how to be feminine, the sorrow and disappointment of life put to one side so you can really live and love with no excuses.  For this scent,  after reading some rough-n-tumble fragrance “discussion” in various places about versions, I decided to compare the pre-Les Exclusifs version with the new Les Exclusifs and the vintage parfum.  Between the pre-LE and the post-LE version, the pre-LE is much richer, it seems fuller, especially on the open. As they dry down, I detect less of a difference, perhaps more incense in the pre-LE, but the minor emphasis on some others notes seems to be a little changed up.  For me, it’s not enough to make purists pay a bazillion bucks for the pre-LE version, but I’m sure 30-40 of you stand ready to tell me how dunderheaded I am not to notice the subtle shift in notes from one to the other and that the incense is…. blah, blah… yes, I’m an idjit sometimes, but my nose thinks both version are gorgeous and within a fly’s wing of being the same.  

The parfum version of 22, however, is worth finding, if you are a big 22 fan.  I believe they don’t make it anymore - of course -  so be prepared to pay top dollar on eBay to get it, which is where I got mine.  The aldehydes seem tamped down in the parfum, and all of the floral notes seem imbued with a surreal light that focuses on each note and lifts it, making it more of a prayer of gratitude than a perfume. If this were readily available, I would spritz it wildly and go dancing naked in the streets, it’s just unfathomable bliss.  Sorry, I try to squelch my raptorous praise for things, and especially for perfumes that are rarer than Virgins at Denver East High School, but… it makes me want to shout “This is freaking gorgeous!!!” from the rooftops.

 22, both of the edt versions, have tremendous sillage, while the parfum sticks close to you.  But you could not go wrong with any one of the three. This is truly the treasure, in my opinion, of the Chanel line, bar none.

Hey, perfume fans – greetings from March. We’re experiencing localized weirdness in that as of Wednesday night neither Lee nor I can log onto the site. So. In a demonstration of my tireless devotion as your perfumed love slave, I’m emailing this to Patty, she’s going to post it from Denver (she’s not having access issues), under my name if she can, and I’m going to attempt to answer your comments using anonymouse.org. Unless I get up in the morning and discover this whole thing has just been one long, bad dream. On with Posse Scent Club!

The monthly Posse Scent Club generally centers around a theme – holiday, etc. – but this month it was: scents we wanted to talk about. Tomorrow Patty’s showering her love on Chanel 22 (since it’s Patty, I think we’re in for various concentrations/vintages) and Serge Lutens’ Rousse, about which … I will say nothing! Enjoy!

Today, though, we’re talking about Isabela Capeto and Dior Homme, which on the surface don’t seem to have much in common. But giving them both their requisite pre-post workout, I decided the theme is something along the lines of Things Being More Than They Seem.

Isabela Capeto has notes of cedar, vetiver, sandalwood, osmanthus, Brazilian marshland lily, black plum, opoponax, black and pink pepper, cinnamon and cardamom. It’s in that cute red doll-bottle, and we talked about it already once, but it’s worth revisiting. The first spray is light, sweet and spicy – it’s here I notice the osmanthus and plum, the cinnamon and cardamom, and think mmmm – nice. The humorous bit on me is, give it a minute or five and it gets a little ripe – the cedar and vetiver team up to add a warm, sexy sweat note to the composition, and that was about the moment I dug out the MasterCard, because you know how I’m loving the sweat note. After an hour the skank recedes a bit and I’m left with a cinnamon/woods lovefest that makes me happy all afternoon.

Isabela’s not something you’re going to smell much in my neighborhood, so I did a little test drive with friends and friendly people. The range of responses was pretty wide – I got wide smiles and comments like “nice” and “sexy” – and I also got some alarmed looks and comments that it was “really strong.”

Dior Homme has notes of iris, cardamom, vetiver, amber, patchouli, lavender, leather – I’ve seen longer lists elsewhere, but to me that gives you the gist of it. It’s one of those fragrances that it’s fun to read reviews of on places like Basenotes, because the comments are so polarized. The primary complaint among the Basenoters who panned it seems to be about its sweetness – it’s too sweet, like (choose one from Menu A) cotton candy, caramel, white flowers – and/or it is too (choose one, menu item B) – powdery, floral, feminine. There are references to lipstick and things even more heinous.

I don’t really understand these complaints. Okay, fine, it’s not Kouros (or John Varvatos or French Lover or whatever) – it’s not a fragrance that shouts out, I am a manly, low-swinging, package-adjusting uberdude. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) But jeez – it’s not Fleur du Male, either. When I smell it, I smell a lot of iris, and the cardamom spiciness, but it’s got your barbershop trio of vetiver, lavender and leather in the background, playing those guy-cologne notes. I find it to be more conventionally masculine than, say, Le Male, or Marc Jacobs for Men — admitting that’s a pretty low masculinity bar. I mean, I could probably clear that bar. But what is all that about the sweetness? Is this just one of those weird exceptions on me – where I kill off all the sweet notes and am left only with that delicious leathery iris goodness, the cardamom adding that little extra frisson of spiciness to the natural spice notes in iris? To me this is that spicy iris, not the sugary sweet one (or even the rooty one.)

Dior Homme is a little surprising – I don’t know what I was expecting the first time I smelled it, but I wasn’t expecting that. I’m pretty sure I smelled it with Ina from Aromascope, and I distinctly remember registering it as one of the first male scents that seemed really unconventional to me, but totally wearable. Sexy, even. There have been so many iris notes released in the last year or two, I wonder whether we’ve gotten a little jaded about how novel an approach that iris note was in a mainstream scent. On the other hand, for an iris it’s got a lot of warmth to it. I love it, but clearly a whole lot of men beg to differ.

So, throwing this open to discussion. Am I now the perfume Empress Who Wears No Clothes? Is Dior Homme basically for women and girly-men? Do other people find it really sweet, with gourmand and/or lipstick notes? You gals, do you like this? Do you wear it? Do your husbands wear it? Iris fans, where would you rate it in your Iris Pantheon (like, for instance, I think MJ for Men is a great fig scent in general, not a men’s fig scent.)

For the Isabela Capeto – were Patty and I just suckered in by that bottle? Or do you get the pleasantly charming, cinnamon-y opening, followed by the giggling, whispering legions of sneaky skank, as I do? It it just averagely pretty? Better than average? Or am I right and it’s a more interesting fragrance than you’d expect from the image, the designer and that girly little bottle?

It’s the fag end of winter, though the weather here is doing its usual end-of-season last gasp - sharp morning frost, freezing fog, but then glorious sunshine from midmorning onwards. I thought winter had bypassed us once more, but Jack Frost has been nipping at the windows and burning incipient buds, the naughty tyke, reminding me that the end of February is always the chilliest time of year.

This cold weather has coincided witha period of oh-so-busyness at work. Man, it’s all rush, rush, rush, engaging high challenge stuff. I’m loving it, and I’m not really stressed - love my new job and my colleagues!, but I need comfort. And time. Just a smidgeon more time. So here’s my brief post of scents that comfort me, warm me up and calm me down. Though they don’t yet find me a few extra hours in a day. A lot of them I’ve written about before, but hey, I’M IN A RUSH!

Christian Dior Bois d’Argent - iris honey and some myrrh. Pretty simple but a default ‘now that’s just the ticket to take me to Calmville’. And always right.

Annick Goutal Sables - I used to like it, but this winter it’s become love. The best Goutal for a ‘cashmere blanket under starry skies’ effect.

Divine l’homme de coeur - normally a summer staple, but recently a sniff of this gives me bliss, on call, whenever I need it. The bottled equivalent of clear warm air, it’s an alternative reality where clouds are scented and deer and hares gambol in the streets, only pausing in their frolics to wave hello as I pass, butterflies landing on their noses.

Hermessence Ambre Narguile - apple tobacco honey amber richness. A foody non-foody wonder. The Nazgul to some, to me it’s more hobbity harmony.

Gianni Campagna Vento Canale - Ambre Narguile through the looking glass. With a pipe.

Mona di Orio Carnation - perfect skin. A warm caress. A forearm touched. A smile. Flesh on flesh. You’re with me, aren’t you?

Serge Lutens Santal de Mysore - can I dare say this is my favourite scent, when all’s said and done? It is really, though sometimes I forget the fact when some other little minx steals my interest. It’s true love.

Neil Morris Burnt Amber - my latest comfort flame. Sweet smoke, a floral hint, amber genius. Neil and Ida - incredible work. But I told you this last week.

So, what is currently comforting you, old and new? And I’ve never had frost on my windows like that image. It’s never cold enough. I just thought it was pretty. At least in the abstract…

And I imagine my usual, lengthier posts may return next week.

As we often tell y’all, some days you’re just not sure what perfumes to write about, and there’s just no cohesive few that go together for a review or thoughts… and, hey!  today’s one of those days.

With notes of buckwheat, cereals, milk, apple and vanilla, Lostmarc’h Lann-ael seems like some sentimentalized version of Fruit Loops.  And you know what?  It is.  Love the smell of Fruit Loops.  That twisted mix of grains and sweet is intoxicating on the open, with the sugar in the cereal floating to the bottom and the grain and milk taking over for the rest of the meal.  My nose just stays burrowed in my arm when I wear this one.  Breakfast never smelled so good.  Available from their website and also First in Fragrance.

Mandarin, orange, bergamot, jasmine, rose, patchouli, vetiver, and amber  make up Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle.  Now, normally it is Coco and no. 5 that gets raves from the mainline chanel line, but I gotta say, when Coco is too dark and much, and 5 is just too much of a flibbertygibbet with all those aldehydes, Coco Mademoiselle is my guilty pleasure.  A lighter richness than Coco - is is in no way a light perfume -  it also has a sweetness from the mandarin and orange, and the feel of it is Coco skipping through the fruit groves, absorbing that happiness and losing its somber seriousness, until it falls exhausted on a bed of earth and jasmine, with juice dripping down it’s little arms.  My favorite is the parfum, but the edp is completely lovely as well.

I know there are a lot of Neil Morris fans that comment here, and I’m also one of them.  I love his Parfum d’Ida because, even though I haven’t met Chaya yet, it just feels like her.   But I’m not covering that one today, instead I’m all over Gotham, with notes of Black Pepper, Yuzu, Rose, Narcissis, Amber, Pearl Musk, Myrtlewood, Tonka absolute, Labdanum, Russian Leather, Redwood, and Ambergris.  This is dark, leathery, incense, definitely a scent for grown-ups.  I love that peppered over leather and the earthy finish, it’s all narrowed eyes and steely Clint Eastwood stare from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.    This is one of the vault perfumes.  You can get them from the Neil Morris website, though I believe you’ll need to call or e-mail to buy the vault fragrances.  I know many of you were talking about these in comments last week. I know the vault scents aren’t all listed on their website, so if those of you that have tried some of these would liked to chime in with your favorites and why, that would be great.

Having mostly recovered, I fell into the candy samples bowl, where I was amused to discover a number of things I’ve been wanting to try.

Honestly, where do these things come from? Do people just stop by my house now and leave atomizers on my desk, and then three months later I notice them? One of you must have given this to me, ‘fess up … anyway, my best guess for the atomizer labeled Sinativa is from “The Original Chiang Mai’s spa” website, which says: “The summer fragrance of lavender, the aromatic scent of sandalwood, the lemon freshness of neroli, the sensuous bouquet of ylang-ylang and the aromas of other genuine essential oils combine to create the captivating harmony of this perfume.” If I’m completely wrong chime in here. So – it makes me feel very aromatherapized. In a good way, like when I put on my Edun cotton pants and top and go up to my little room armed with my yoga mat (even though I end up sitting around reading Glamour and eating truffles until I fall into a stupor). I don’t like the first ten minutes at all – it’s it’s like the lemon freshness of neroli and the aromatic sandalwood are locked in a serious beatdown (maybe even muay thai) . Although even then, it was interestingly wrong – sweet/sour and raspy. Eventually the sandalwood kicks the neroli out of the ring entirely, then curls up with the lavender and ylang. I don’t even like lavender, and can I tell you? With sandalwood it’s pretty delish – it’s weird, I can totally identify it as lavender without that sucking-on-a-sachet feeling. It smells incense-like, without being incense. It gets sweeter in the drydown, and I think there must be other florals in there, but it’s never very sweet, and it’s spicy too, like cinnamon. Something I’d want to try again in the hot, humid summer, maybe layered with Jatamansi. Yum.

Mona di Orio Oiro – oh, my God, nooooooooooooo. How did she do it? How did she capture the exact smell of the inside of the sneakers of one of my (unspecified) children? And why is it that some people have such stinky feet? And why is it that I like some stink (armpit) in a fragrance, but not other kinds (locker-room-grade feet)? And when I am queen, I will have someone on my royal staff I can call who can explain to me the slight difference in chemical components between lovely armpit and foul feet. Oiro opens on a powerful note of Gold Bond Foot Powder applied generously to the inside of a child’s favorite pair of overripe Keds. Go on, stick your nose in there – it’s fascinating, in a horrifying way. After five minutes the powdery, quasi-medicinal sweetness of the Gold Bond fades and you’re left with, essentially, Ked – including the burnt rubber note you get when you sniff the sole. A monumental trainwreck on my skin (and I assume this must be a problem with my skin) that simultaneously amuses me and makes me so very happy that I didn’t spray it generously. Lee clearly loves this thing; in his recent review he called it a “richly brocaded jasmine and sunlight glitterball.” Cripes. Nuit Noire is dirty on me, but this is so far over my skank line I can’t even see the line in the distance from here.

Armando Martinez Kitsune – I keep this out, trying to decide whether I like it. And I’ve decided I like it, but it’s not something I would ever choose to wear. Notes are: incense, leather, frankincense, and clove. It’s very masculine, leathery and faintly sour on me, but it’s interesting – on one level it’s a very straightforward leather/incense, but there’s this extra edge to it – a more complex registry on the edge of the senses, like the difference between, say, the smells you might encounter in a car interior vs. the smells on a leather jacket. This is in the car-interior direction (hint of dashboard?) By the way, I put this on accidentally while looking for Gianni Campagne’s Vento Canale, which I then dug out of my filed samps to see whether I still adored it, and I do (I reviewed it here) if you’re still looking for that perfect obscure-ish winter pipe tobacco/amber/rum comfort scent.

Givenchy Organza Indecence – okay, this candy sampling is now inching toward practical-joke level. Do you have any idea how long this has been on my to-try list? And I keep wimping out on eBay because my unsniffed purchase track record is so bad. Maybe I should look in my own to-try bowl more often. Who sent this to me? So this is what you all are raving about, eh? And … the next bottle on eBay is mine, you hear?!?! Mine, mine, all mine!!!!! I can’t even remember what Organza smells like (wait … big white-flower confection? Or is that Amarige? Or both?), so this might be one of those pseudo-flankers that makes no sense name-wise. This is also one of those scents that makes me wonder, what is wrong with the world of fragrance that this got the ax, and not 65 other things I could name right off the top of my head? Basenotes lists cinnamon, jacaranda wood, patchouli, musk and amber; actually, I’m going to go re-smell Organza because it’s got some nice comments on Basenotes as well. Indecence sounds like maybe Organza with no florals and more spice/woods? And I must have fallen on my head, because this is another vanilla I am loving. Spicy vanilla. A smoother, creamier scent than, say, Bois 1920 Sushi Imperiale, which (without going back and resmelling all my vanillas) feels like the closest comparison – Indecence is less aggressive spice, but oh, lord, the woods! If it weren’t for the woody notes, and (on me anyway) a deliciously animalic dollop of musk buried in the base, this would be too plain-vanilla and too sweet. I’m going to commit fragrance heresy and admit I find Indecence easier to wear than Sushi. When surveys say men find vanilla-based scents sexy, this is the kind of sexy I imagine they’re talking about.

Ineke Perfumer Evening Edged in Gold - first off, I love that name (she’s doing her series alphabetically.) Second, she should win some sort of award for her sample packaging, as any of you know who’ve ever opened one of her wonderful little matchbox scents. Third, I admire her esthetic. Having said that, while I admire her scents, I have not thus far been sufficiently moved to work through a decant; there’s a green, modern spaciousness to her scents that just aren’t me. Evening Edged in Gold is no different — except. Except you leather fans need to take note here. I am not (at this point) a leather freak, at least as a dominant note. Notes are plum, osmanthus, night blooming flowers called Angel’s Trumpet and Midnight Candy, saffron, woods and leather. Evening Edged in Gold starts with a sharp contrast between some fairly sweet notes and the animalic, tanned-skin side of leather. First off — if you are trying this, forget dabbing, this is seriously one of those scents where you need to go for it — four, five, six sprays on the arm — to get the effect. Angel’s Trumpet and Midnight Candy both refer to flowers that give off heady evening scents — night phlox and datura/brugmansia (depending), and that headiness is immediately apparent, but it builds almost simultaneously on top of a dark, bitter leather note, and there’s that signature Ineke I-don’t-know-what, a synthetic space opening the notes up like a big umbrella. The fragrance starts to settle after ten or fifteen minutes, the leather loses its bitterness, and the saffron emerges, and it is this part of the development that I find arresting — there is nothing else I can think of offhand to compare it to. Watching it over the first hour is like watching the sun set, and the slow, deepening shadows of the evening. After an hour I’m left with a soft, leather/woods skin scent and the desire to do the whole thing over again.

Coming up Thursday and Friday – this month’s Posse Scent Club! Also, if you’re interested, here’s a link sweetlife sent me to an interesting article about old roses and “rose rustling” – rose lovers hunting through old graveyards, abandoned homesteads, etc., looking to rescue long-forgotten roses. (By the way, this practice is not confined to Texas, and generally refers to taking cuttings, not the entire rose). Finally, I have to include the quote carmencanada found on Basenotes describing Eau d’Hermes, for those of you who missed it: “Robert Mitchum’s jockstrap in Grace Kelly’s bag.” If that doesn’t make you want to sample it, I don’t know what will.

microscopic image of sandalwood tree: micro.magnet.fsu.ed

Not too long ago Patty did a post about this.  I decided to flatter her by stealing copying her idea and sharing some of my own characteristics/flaws/what have you.  What does this have to do with all things scented?  Who knows, but it’s fun….and I’m sure at least tuberose will show up somewhere.

1.  Although I am obsessed with Tuberose and all things scented with the absolute, I will also buy unsniffed anything that mentions hyacinth.  I adore it almost as much….almost.
2. I believe in gay rights AND I am a practicing Catholic.  I may vote for Obama, I may vote for McCain.  I am a person, not a party.
3. I believe Vicky Tiel’s Sirene is the most disgusting perfume ever made.  MPG’s Fleur d’iris is a close second.  Blech!
4. After florals, give me heavy, dirty, sexy musk.  I am talking MKK on smack.  I want skank and lots of it….although I thought Etat Libre’s Secretions Magnifique was exactly as March described it…a bloody knife.  I was soooo disappointed.  
5. Some of my favorite movies.  No order:  The Color Purple, Shrek II, Kill Bill (I and II), Finding Nemo, Elizabeth, Anything Shakespeare related, The Devil Wears Prada, Death Becomes Her, Chicken Run, Queen Margot.
6. Most cherished perfume:  Carnal Flower, duh; Others I absolutely adore and have actually finished bottles:  Serge’s Tubereuse Criminelle, Muscs Kublai Khan, Cuir Mauresque; Guerlain Apres L’ondee and Bois d’Armenie; Caron Acasiosa….
7. In 9 days I will be two years sober.
8. My worst fears:  losing my mind, loving cautiously, ignoring God, fire and crowds.
9. If I could be anything in the world…perfumer of course.  Then a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company, Fashion Designer, Tenor….I can’t sing, I can’t draw….I can obviously dream though, right?
10. I love and live for my Big Fat Irish Family….Aaron, my love, is included..duh.

Thanks for letting me share.  Next week, I promise to include a picture of myself and something more scent related….and enough about me, I know.  

Do you know what my biggest perfume pet peeve is? -  and I may not have a right to feel peevish about it, and perhaps someone can explain why people do this so I can move on from this fit of miserable irritation -  ”Can you recommend a fragrance that smells just like Wi-Wi Perfume?”  whilst Wi-Wi is not discontinued, is easily accessible, probably sells for less than 30 quid at scentiments.com.  Why?  Just use Wi-Wi, no need for something that smells like it.  Leap outside the box, try something new.  Am I missing something? 

Gimmicky fragrances tend to turn me off or at least make me suspicious that they are hiding inferior juice behind a clever marketing strategy.  I had seen these a couple of times in Barney’s, but went on by because of that jacked price tage of $185 for 1/4 ounce.  Now they have some of their scents available in edp for $135 for 1.7 ounces or 50 mls.  We are going in the right direction.  I’ve tried these now about four times, and my initial reaction when I first put them on is always … yowsah,  these are just much for me.  Then about an hour later I have this wonderful smell or two wafting around, but I can’t remember where I put them, so I’m not sure if it’s all of the three I’ve got or just one or two of them.  In an effort to give them a good run and find the great smell, I committed myself today to getting past the open and not being impatient with them.  So I spritzed, braced myself…. and waited.

L’Invisible is the signature scent of the line with notes of oak moss, resins, ylang ylang, blood orange, hibiscus, vanilla, rose, and lemon.   This starts sharp and strange and takes about 30 minutes for it to come out - it’s beautiful, rich and lush, with the oakmoss underlying it to give it depth and interest.  This is the one that wafts around beautifully as my arm goes traveling by.

Black Rosette has notes of black tea, rose, leather, and spearmint.  This is like Annick Goutal Eau du Fier/CdG Tea with some Wrigley’s Spearmint gum wrapped around it on the open — weird and sharp and pretty wonderful.  The rose peeps out…  of the mouth of a dragon, all fire and smoky blackness, with that same stick of Wrigley’s tucked behind its green scaley ear.    Strangely perfect.

Moon Garden (edp) has notes of tuberose, jasmine, pikake and African resins.  Tuberose hits the gates of this as soon as you spray in on, with an underlying darkness that I’m going to assume is the resins. If you like your tuberose dark, a little feral, definitely not green, Moon Garden should be a perfect fit. 

 Still don’t get the name - these perfumes are anything but invisible.  Strange?  Absolutely.  This is not mainstream stuff, so if you’re new to fragrance, you’ve been warned.

I shared my favorite perfume pet peeve.  What’s yours?

Today’s Valentine’s Day. This was supposed to be an exploration of some of the Neil Morris scents, which I find very romantic, or a post reporting on trying various foods while wearing what I’d imagine to be complementary fragrances, an idea I find romantic which was put into my head when we were talking about the Dolfin chocolate bars in the Eau d’Hermes post, and Divina said DSH Lumiere reminded her very much of the Hot Masala bar. Which I felt duty-bound to research, of course.

Instead, I’ve been home with two or three fairly sick children since last Thursday (strep, croup, fever, bronchitis, stomach flu, ear infection – choose your combo). It’s the high-maintenance kind of sick that involves crummy sleep at night, and daytime trips to the pediatrician, the pharmacy, and the grocery store for possibly palatable foods and liquids. Other than that I pretty much haven’t left the house. Today, God willing, they all went back to school, and I’m day two into my own round of drugs for strep.

The weirdly positive element (and yes, believe it or not, there is one!) is, at this level of onslaught I give up any pretense at normal living. We eat whatever, however, whenever. I talk a good game about my devotion to sloth, but the truth is on a day-to-day basis I seldom put down the remote controller to my little world and let things be. For the last week, though, we’ve consumed enough television and comfort food to alarm a panel of child-rearing experts, who I presume aren’t reading this blog. The kids flop around on the sofa eating saltines, drinking Gatorade and watching Cars for the 15^th time. I go up to my little room in the attic, the only space in this house that is selfishly and entirely mine, a kid-free zone with an antique desk, a reading chair with an ottoman and good lighting, a couple of my favorite paintings (including a charming, third-rate oil of Kuan Yin I bought at a yard sale), and a small bed. It’s the warmest room in the house; when I’m sick, the kids know to find me there. I curl up in that little bed with Hecate, both of us feverish. I trace her spine with my fingertips until she falls asleep and I doze next to her, listening to the sleet hit the windows. It is one of the most powerfully, deliciously narcotic sensations I know. If I could, I would make it into a strange perfume.

It’s been a perfume-free week, because in the midst of all that sickness the smell makes us feel queasy. One of the few smells that pleases me right now is the cinnamon-violet smell of my blooming cattleya orchid (that’s it on my bedroom table, in the photo) which releases a powerful waft of scent at mid-day and then tucks its perfume bottle away again. On Monday I turned in desperation to my closet for something else that had warm, wonderful associations. My comfort-scent workhorses, even innocuous ones like KenzoAmour, nauseated me.

Which brings us to Annick Goutal Mandragore, done by Camille Goutal and Isabelle Doyen as a unisex tribute to mandrake, “a wonderful and mysterious plant, the mandrake that has inspired numerous legends.” Notes are bergamot, black pepper, spearmint, star anise, boxwood, ginger and mandrake. Mandragore’s dry simplicity turned out to be the perfect treatment for what ails me.

It’s not clear to me that anyone’s come up with a definitive description of the smell of mandrake, and the fragrance is bright, citrus-y and cheering; the only mystery involved is why they picked that particular angle to market the scent. To me there is very little development, and it is essentially bergamot and peppered grapefruit. I have heard other people complain about a urine-like note (helloooo, boxwood!) and others complain in a general sense that AGs don’t last very long on them.

If I concentrate, I suppose I can pick out the “anise” note, but I don’t like anise in fragrance, so I wouldn’t let that put you off (or reassure you, depending.) And while Robin at Now Smell This and I, along with some others, have been laughing about the current ubiquity of pink pepper in fragrance (it’s practically the new litchi), Mandragore is one of the first scents I can remember smelling that distinct peppery note and thinking, damn – what is that? If “pink pepper” signals a mild, tingly, slightly sweet note, then the black pepper in Mandragore is like having the perfumer stand over your plate with the grinder. It is arid, sharp and masculine. I adore it.

Unlike some of you, I came late to my perfume obsession. I smelled Mandragore shortly after its release, in their Paris store. It is the first time I comprehended that a perfume did not have to be conventionally pretty – or pretty at all – to be beautiful. Although I have smelled plenty of much, much stranger scents in the ensuing years, the smell of Mandragore always contains the ghost of that first cheerful oddity. For me it is (and I hope always will be) what winter in Paris smells like. I know that’s absurd, but it’s true and it makes me happy.

Mandragore is available in an Eau de Toilette and an EdP. Since the lasting power was never an issue for me, if you like the scent you might want to try the EdP, which I’ve been told is pretty much a scent dupe of the original, only stronger. It’s available in the handsome, square masculine bottle, which is my preferred presentation, along with the traditional bottle.

So, happy Valentine’s Day. I hope you get something delicious in a small, lovely flacon today. If you have a funny or cheerful perfume story to share with me (the totally wrong bottle you got from your lover, or the first time a fragrance really moved you, etc.) I’d love to hear it.

I fell in love with Mona di Orio’s scents quite some time ago when a lovely internet friend in the Netherlands sent me some samples, including a large decant of Oiro, her richly brocaded jasmine and sunlight glitterball. I now own three - Lux, Carnation, Nuit Noire. Two I bought on a shopping trip with Louise, after we discovered that both Liberty and Les Senteurs had the London exclusive on her fragrances. Love how that works. Both the buying more than you should (naughty temptress Louise) and the non-exclusivity of exclusives.

All of di Orio’s scents, up until now, have struck me as startling - not necessarily difficult to wear, but tricky, opulent numbers which take you in unusual and unexpected directions. You either enjoy the nasal hairpin bends or feel nausea at the journey.

Lux for example revs up its engine in a Willy Wonka styled lemon grove where much of the acidity has been removed to leave a rich sweetness, apparently child-friendly, a parade of praise for a candied version of that brightest of yellow fruits. It’s almost too much sugar, too much dazzle, that sensation of losing the roof of your mouth, stripped by sherbet. But suddenly it darkens and instead you’re into the woods and, after an hour or so, swept up in a play of chiaroscuro between the brightness of the beginning and the musty murk of the dominating cistus in the drydown. I adore the drydown, even if sometimes the opening is too fruity-perky for me. It’s like moving from a technicolor musical to a Goya black painting. Is this artisanal clumsiness or great skill? I’m inclined to think of it as the latter, though I’m not sure most people would agree with me.

I could quite easily go on and on about her other three releases - the voluptuous fleshiness of Carnation that is automatically a Rubens, prone; Nuit Noire and its evocation of decay in the act of desire, a sensual still life where the first white flowering of mould blossoms on the shadowed edges of the orange - but I’m here to write about her latest release, and her fifth, Amyitis.

Here’s the usual schtick from Mona di Orio’s eponymous website:

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were built to please the Queen Amyitis. The feeling of being in balance with yourself and nature, unburdened and peaceful, inspired Mona to create this fresh green fragrance. Like a walk in a magical garden where the colours and the perfumes are sublimated.

Topnotes: Caraway, savory, capsicum, green leaves
Heartnotes: Iris, Violet, Gaiac wood, Cedar of Virginia
Basenotes: Saffron, Opoponax, Moss, Amber

There’s a clear distinction here between this release and her four others, marked out in those two words, fresh and green. Indeed, its release in the last month of winter works like an early glimpse of Persephone before she’s final released by tricksy old Hades. Can I just praise the packaging of these perfumes before I talk about the scent? Boxes and bottles, both wonderful. Grey birchwood, champagney fancy stuff (dumbo here removed the muselet on his first bottle cos he though he needed to in order to open it…). The sprayer doesn’t quite match up in that it’s very delicate in delivery, but given the potency of the first four - and the price! - that’s probably no bad thing.

So, what’s Amyitis like? I’ve been spending the last four days in its company and unlike her others, it aims to seduce by whispering rather than glowing or exposing flesh. There is a signature element at play however: though this is in the direction of light layers, there’s still an element of weight here, as though the freshness is concealing something denser. Though quite what that denser something is, I’ve yet to define.

To some degree, the notes play out as described, including a violet peekaboo midway through. It’s one perfume you can sniff and either recognise the note list as truthful or convince yourself that it is. All stand out as if marked by their own individual highlighter pen. The opening is bright, clearly green, verging on almost fruity and, though in the territory of Eau de Campagne, it’s without the bucolic and agricultural airs of the Sisley scent. Instead, there’s a limpid aqueous feel to the composition, but no trace of calone as far as I can tell; it never moves towards metallic chilll. I read cucumber mentioned in a Dutch article, but this remains far, far in the background for me.

The caraway does something interesting (and I think Luca Turin writes about this in his book) by heading towards mint, though not quite getting there, before returning to its almost anise and bitter dry spice aroma. A commenter at PoL pointed out a plastic quality that bloomed on her skin early on, and I see what she means. Somewhat like Eau d’Italie, this verges towards latex ten or so minutes in, the way in which some plant sap can smell more synthetic than natural. It doesn’t last, and perhaps signals the entrance of an unlisted note.

And then, to me, the rest of the perfume, until the final moments, is dominated by the unmentioned element - a vetiver, or something working as though it is vetiver. The same friend who originally sent me the di Orios pointed out a link to Lutens’ Vetiver Oriental, which I initially, and foolishly, dismissed. But it’s clearly there. Whereas the Palais Royal perfume flirts with gourmand notes to make vetiver strangely drinkable, like a coca cola of roots and greenery, Amyitis is more austere and cerebral, but the interplay between iris and the root gives it that same unusual and striking edge.

Eight hours in, I’m left with a mossy whisper on my hand, a reminder of the outside world where I spent all of the weekend before the weather turned to cold once more. This is a summer scent no doubt. I hope it’ll bloom slightly more with heat. Though green scents aren’t my thing, it’s exceptionally well executed. I’ll have to wait to see if it steals my heart. The others took it immediately; this one might burn slowly to find a way in. Roll on spring.

First, winner of last week’s draw for the grabbag of samples, plus the two Montale samples and the Ineke Evening Edged in Gold sample is Pavlova!  Just hit the contact us button over there on the left and let me know your address and I’ll get it out to you! 

There are as many opinions about what scents should be as, well, there are people in the world who can smell.  When March and I were in NYC and got a quick spritz of the new Guerlain Cruel Gardenia, she went “meh,” but warmed up more to it as it dried out, but I immediately went “squee” and and fell head over heels in love with it the longer it was on.  Notes of gardenia, soft white musk, damask rose, peach, neroli, violet, ylang-ylang, tonka bean, vanilla and sandalwood.  If you’re looking for a full-on roquefort gardenia, move along, nothing to see here.  While there is enough gardenia in it that you will believe it exists in there, this is just a smooth, velvety beauty.  There’s  a very faint, sharp gardenia bleu chese tang early on to remind you what it was supposed to be, but it moves to the back of the fragrance bus the rest of the way through the journey, always present, never above a whisper.  Tonka bean, musk and vanille smooth out the composition like whiskey hitting your belly, warming you to this absolutely gorgeous scent. 

Over time, I’ve fallen in love with all of the Matiere line, I think they are brilliant and will join the Guerlain classics, but they will be taken as a group because there is something about each that needs the others, but still stands alone.  Each of them is … well, a beautiful perfume.  I wear perfume to make me think or feel or remember, but many times I just want to wear something that trills behind me with a gorgeous wake and makes me feel like a little bit lovelier human being than I feel most days — especially this week when I’ve felt a close kinship to the Bette Davis character in “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.”  I don’t find anything groundbreaking in Cruel Gardenia in terms of unusual use of notes or a completely new treatment of gardenia, and it really isn’t cruel in the least. But if you want a perfume that will bring you to a more beautiful you, you’d go a long way to find anything lovelier than this.

There’s been discussion over the last couple of years about Guerlain scents that didn’t survive or only survived for a short time.  One theory is that the best survived and the others, while they might be quite good or interesting, got winnowed out.  That may be true to some extent, but my belief is the more mainstream acceptable scents for their time survived - not saying at all that those that endured aren’t great and classic -  and those that