Tag Archives: 1920s scents

February 6, 2013 · 1:35 am

BOOBS………………….Le N° 9 by CADOLLE (1925)

Image

 

 

Image

 

 

Image

 

 

 

According to Les Senteurs in London (the only place you used to be able to buy this now obscure treat except for the original Belle Epoque lingerie store on the Rue Cambon, Paris), this effortlessly dreamy blend was created, back in the day, as a ‘riposte’ to N° 5, the founder, Hermione Cadolle, apparently a less uptight Gabrielle Chanel (her main rival on her street), dreaming up brassières – she invented the bra – and courting clients such as Mata Hari and Marilyn Monroe for her dusky, wares such as the fabled soutien gorge. She naturally had to have a perfume for the store, and as N° 5 was all the rage, this was her retort: the woodier, more lissom seductress.

Of all the perfumes I have smelled in my life, this is possibly the most seamless: unlike N° 5, with its very obvious ylang ylang/ rose/ iris/ musk gradations, Le N°9 is so smooth, creamy, soft and melting it is almost impossible to distinguish any of its components. With its lilting, balsamic conclusions of cedarwood, Siamese benzoin and Penang patchouli; its breathy,  equable memory of flowers, the resulting bedroom aldehyde lorelei is luminous, powdery – and impossibly soft and erotic.

 

 

Image

 

 

Image

11 Comments

Filed under Floral Aldehydes, Perfume Reviews

Tagged as ,

Aside

BARKING AT THE MOON: CREPE DE CHINE by MILLOT (1925)

Image

Image

Image

March 2007, Kamakura. I had been invited to tea with one Ms Ichihara and her sister: two refined old ladies who have been living in the same elegant old wooden house, near the famous Kenchoji temple, for sixty years. It was a cold, grey day, but the camellia tree outside the front sliding door was host to the most magnificent, deep red camellia flowers I have ever seen; brilliant contrast to the gnarled, mottled bark of the surrounding trees.

I didn’t really know what to expect. I know Chieko, the older sister, from music circles; at seventy three she is still performing Schubert lieder at small amateur concerts in the area, but I had never met her sister, Hanako, who has an artist’s studio at the front of the house. The two were like chalk and cheese: Chieko, despite her extravagant, eccentric appearance (Orville-goes-Maharaja, all glittering purple sequins and never less than shocking pink hair), is a cultured, urbane, retired businesswoman with the skin of a peach; always very perfumed (I think she might like to be noticed) and a fluent English speaker who comes out with camp one liners: “When my boys (her colleagues) went to America, I always made sure they brought me back some Joy.”

The sister – plain, unadorned – has the face (furrowed, wild, somewhat off-kilter), of an artist, and much of her jewellery work done in solid silver and  Japanese black enamel, is excellent. On display in her little shop, but strangely not for sale unless she really likes you.

When I first crossed the threshold and went into their home, as if often the case in Japan, the first few minutes, with all the formalities, weren’t exactly relaxing. I was admonished by Hanako (who speaks no English): “Ten years in Japan? You should speak better Japanese!” and was told, in great detail, about their illustrious connections – they both know the Empress Michiko – and their high society family; but such conversations, where you boast of your bloodline, can only go so far. Fortunately for me though, they had decided to forgo the tea and instead brought out some Japanese red wine, refined tidbits – pickled Spring greens and fried lily bulbs from the garden (“ No-one eats this anymore”) which helped things along immeasurably.

Talk eventually got on to perfume. I already knew Mieko’s favourites, but had presumed that the much more spartan Hanako wouldn’t be interested. But suddenly she said:

“Mine is Crêpe de Chine.”

“ Crêpe de Chine?”

 

“Yes, do you know it?”

“N-no, only the name; it is extremely rare. Do you have it?”

“Do I have it? It is my perfume! I have only worn Crêpe de Chine for forty six years! Haven’t you smelled it? Would you like to?  Eau de cologne? Parfum?”

To the casual reader, this will not be much cause for excitement. But for me it was a very good turn of events indeed, and I practically hit the roof (by this point, reserve had been flung off, anyway, which I think they secretly much preferred.)

So off the lady ran, like an excited young girl, to fetch her ancient bottles of her beloved Crêpe de Chine; which were shortly placed in front of me on the counter. I hardly dared touch them. Did she realize that once used up, unless she searches long and hard, this perfume will be gone forever? Production ceased many, many years ago and any bottles left are in the hands of collectors, at the Osmothèque in Versailles,  or dusting somewhere on forgotten shelves. Every drop is precious.

I wanted to know when she used it, on what occasions.

“I use it when I want to feel ECSTACY!!!!” she exclaimed, and made a rather savage howl as she inhaled the stuff and mimed the past flooding back: eyes closed; slow, emphatic inhalations. I realized then once more just how wonderful perfume can be. Truly a sealed vial of life and experience to be sampled at will. Hanako keeps this perfume thus for life retrieval, a link to her girlhood, and to swoon at the sheer aesthetic pleasure the scent provides. Or to wear to the Japanese Noh theatre performances she loves (they told me the best one is under moonlight, by the sea, in September).

So, Crêpe de Chine: she was happy to let me splash and dab, and the extrait proved to be quite wonderful: a lush, ambiguous green chypre; old, for sure, but graceful, distinguished: a profound woody floral just not of this time. Something like a cross between Worth’s Je Reviens and Guerlain’s Vetiver, but not really like either: it was deep, magnetic, strange. I was desperate to experience it further (you always need time with a good perfume) but such a treasure was lucky to find even once, so when Hanako then picked up the bottles and scuttled back to her rooms, and knowing I would probably never smell them again, I just sat there wistfully with my glass of wine and smiled.

29 Comments

October 24, 2012 · 9:00 am
July 20, 2012 · 12:04 pm

THE DANDY

Image

 

 

 

 

 

 

Charles Baudelaire categorized the dandy as a man who has ‘no profession other than elegance….no other status but that of cultivating the idea of beauty in their own person. The dandy must aspire to be sublime without interruption…. he must live and sleep before a mirror….’

Yet the true dandy was no mere clothes horse. In cultivating a skeptical reserve with his direct opposition to the unthinking bourgeoisie, these beautifully coddled individualists were following a code which ‘in certain respects comes close to spirituality and stoicism’.

 

Dandyism was also not limited to the male of the species. There was, of course, Beau Brummel, but there was also Marlene Dietrich. And then Cora Pearl, the ‘quaintrelle’ (woman-dandy) courtesan, whose extravagant income was apparently sufficient to allow her to dance nude on carpets of orchids, bathe before her dinner guests in silver tubs of champagne, probably mildly bored as she did so.

 

Naturally then, the true perfumed dandy wears perfume for the beauty of the perfume alone; trends and petty concerns over seduction are of no concern. He might therefore wear any perfume in the pantheon; the flowers, the musks, the powders; she might pick a scent from the roaring masculines, a brisk citrus aftershave, and carry it off beautifully. This notwithstanding, the more established image of the powdered, exquisite gentle man or woman and her peacock consorts is served pretty well by some of the following scents and their decadent, nonchalant, graceful ambiguity.

 

“I wish to be a living work of art.’

 

(Marchesa Luisa Casati, renowned quaintrelle).

 

 

ACIER ALUMINIUM / CREED (1973)

James Craven at Les Senteurs told me that there’s a small but steady band of ‘epicureans’ who come to his shop for this obscurity from Creed, a most eccentric seventies’ concoction that is the perfumed equivalent of the decadent’s unlaundered nightshirt. A curious, metallic-noted orange blossom begins; then, ochred-acacia leaves of Autumn; musky, yellowing powders: leather: and a corrupt (but subtlely: this creature has taste) end of civet-hinged musks.

 

POIS DE SENTEURS DE CHEZ MOI / CARON (1927)

 

A collection of old-fashioned flowers for the modern dandizette; she or he who wants to spoil themselves in musky, forlorn sweet-peas, those fragrant flowers scaling trellises in summertime. ‘The sweet peas from my garden’ are powdery, rosy, infused with heavy, trembling lilacs.

 

 

EAU DE QUININE / GEO F TRUMPER (1898)

Trumper is the ultimate emporium for the London gent (really, you have to go), and this, to me, is one of their crowning glories. Echoes of the Empire and tropical malaria cures are conjured up by the curative sounding name, and the scent – a gorgeous, luminous and powdery thing laced with rosemary – is odd and beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image

 

 

 

 

SIRA DES INDES / JEAN PATOU (2006)

A warm, overripe breeze. A foetid satiety, and a perfume perfect for the bronzed, sybaritic woman who wants nothing more than to lie down flat on her sunlounger with her gin. One can’t help but think of Sylvia Miles in Morrisey & Warhol’s Heat.

 

A pronounced banana-leaf top note conveys the sense of the tropics: full bananas, unswaying in the dead, still air: champaca flowers with their drowsy torpor, and an apricot-hued osmanthus over a salivated sandalwood/civet, these listless ingredients adding up to the most ennui-imbued scent I have ever smelled. Sira des Indes is smooth yet enticing, almost angry; and devastating on a woman over forty who just doesn’t give a shit.

 

 

 

Image

 

 

 

PARFUM D’HERMES / HERMES (1984)

Recast as Rouge (which see), Parfum d’Hermès, which has the same basic structure, just dirtier, can still be found in various corners of the world, and I know an antiques shop near my school that has a 400ml bottle that no Japanese person would ever touch (I will, eventually). I know they wouldn’t buy it because the rude animalics here are so blatant that all the flowers, spices in the world just can’t hide its intent. It smells of a dirty mouth covering yours; a Sadeian perfume that would work shockingly well on one of his followers, female or male.

 

CARNATION / MONA DI ORIO (2006)

Mona di Orio, the perfumer behind Carnation (pronunciation: in the French manner – meaning ‘complexion’ not the flower) seemed to be seeking here the smell of a virgin’s face after a day in the sun – easy prey, perhaps, for the creatures above from Parfum d’Hermès (or Pasolini’s Salò). It is a weird smell at first, something paint-like and sour in among the dirty blooms (wallflower, geranium, jasmine, tinted with musks and styrax), but progresses to a heavenly maiden’s cheek, white; the thick, healthy skin just ready to pinch.

 

HAMMAM BOUQUET / PENHALIGONS (1872)

The maiden’s male counterpart is Hammam Bouquet; fresh from the Turkish baths with a blush on his face.

Hammam is musky, powdery and pink, with rose otto, orris and lavender over the more manly exhalations of civet and musk. Once the boy gets his breath back, he dons his white powdered wig, his cape, and rushes back earnestly to the Old Bailey.

 

 

FRENCH CAN CAN / CARON (1936)

One of the lesser known perfumes from the illustrious stable of Caron (surely one of the Dandy’s favourite parfumeurs…)is French Can Can, made especially for the post-war American Market for a bit of imported ooh la la: a strange, naughty, and now rather anachronistic perfume that treads the line between coquettish and coarse without descending to banality. Can Can is of very similar construction to En Avion (a cool, spicy, violet leather) but overlaid with more garish, extravagant bloom: rose, jasmine and orange blossom kick out from under the tulle. Behind faded, musty curtains lies a decadent heart of lilac, patchouli, iris, musk and amber.

Thinking of a candidate for this perfume (who wears tiers of fluffy petticoats that I know?) I hit upon my friend Laurie, who is never afraid to dress up in extravagant numbers – I can even see her actually doing the can-can – and with the slogan ‘Dancers: powder, dusty lace’ presented her with the scent. She came back to me later (after I had sprayed her bag with the stuff) ‘No: greying crinoline’.

 

 

 

Image

 

 

 

POT POURRI / SANTA MARIA NOVELLA (1828)

Only the dandy would wear a perfume called Pot Pourri. Bizarrely, this has recently become a massive hit with the art crowd in Tokyo (the brand’s reputed naturalness is popular with the refined eco-conscious). It is unusual, androgynous and beautiful: spiced roses, herbs, berries and grasses from the fields of Florence, fermented in Tuscan terracotta urns with darker, interior notes of resins and balsam. The result (medicinal, meditative, aromatic) is very individual; very…..dandy.

 

 

 

What else should be placed in the Dandy’s wardrobe?

23 Comments

Filed under Flowers, Herbal, Musk, Orientals, Perfume Reviews, Powder

Tagged as , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

July 4, 2012 · 11:16 pm

THE BELOVED (vol 1): CALECHE D’HERMES (1961) & ARPEGE DE LANVIN (1927)

Image

There are some perfumes that, whether I wear them personally or breathe them from the bottle, strike me as so impeccably conceived and crafted, so full of individuality, that they exist as self-contained works of art.

I have never read Michael Edwards’ seminal ‘Perfume Legends’, which details around fifty of the world’s recognized French classics of feminine perfumery, but perusing the list of fragrances he includes it is immediately obvious that all are worthy of the name , beginning with Guerlain’s Jicky (1889) and ending with Angel by Thierry Mugler (1992). Whether you like them personally or not,  each is undeniably a monument, and fully finished.

Thus far on the Black Narcissus I have also described a variety of scents: some intriguing, some I dislike, and others I consider among my personal treasures for the sheer sensual pleasure they give me. But not many, until now, that touch me emotionally.

Two perfumes that feature in the Edwards book are of course Calèche and Arpège, both of which (in pristine vintage extraits) I keep by my bed as comfort scents; a dab on the skin, or occasionally on the sheets, to pave my way into the night. Though I only wear one of them outside (Calèche), both of these – woody/ floral/chypre aldehydics – have that elusive quality in perfumery where the the whole is more than the sum of its parts: something that touches transcendence.

Yet no perfume comes newly born. All have their revered predecessors, and any compositon based on aldehydes, the classic rose/jasmine/ ylang/iris accord: sandalwood, plus bergamot in the top notes and that musk in the base, draws comparisons with the inescapable, ubiquitous N° 5.  In fact, if you read reviews and descriptions of Arpège and Calèche, the aldehydic megalith is constantly used as a reference point. In all honesty, though, until I did some research, this comparison had not even occurred to my nose at all. I am a great admirer of the Chanel meisterwerk, for the simple reason that it smells heavenly (not so its facsimiles: L’Interdit (Givenchy), L’Aimant (Coty), and Detchema (Revillon), which all seem to me to rehash the theme in jealous desperation to no real avail: although I have or have had all the above in parfum concentration at some point I can never truly get worked up about them..)

Image

Calèche, which means horse-drawn-carriage in French – and is of course the symbol of the house of Hermès- is far more lithe, severe, citric, and masculine than the Chanel (which I shall henceforth stop referring to as it is irrelevant): a Parisian stripling thriving with life: morning avenue branches filtering lime-green sunlight onto the new day below. The air sharp and fresh: the carriage and its horses awaiting: all of those present secure, anticipating; and turned out impeccably. We sense that something is to happen on this brisk spring day that brims with potential…..

A taut, almost mouthpuckering – but somehow serene – lemon, fuses exquisitely with cypress (or Russian pine, according to some sources, increasing the crackwhipping troika motif if you let your imagination run away with you the way I do), over a white matinal soap of roses, jasmine and aldehydes. Neroli, bergamot, and vetiver buffet a rhythmic, almost athletic scent that is delectable and free, yet emotive, well-dressed, and extraordinarily elegant.

The scent confers a sense of calm, yet also of health, and there are certain days when only Calèche will do for me. Often on Sundays: white shirt – the spruceness of the top notes contrasting with the the woods of the base and the more mysterious note of frankincense that adds dryness and spirit, keeping the perfume on the right side, for me, of androgyny. Not far off, in fact, from the beautiful, princely scent that is Signoricci (1965) and its peacock-like,  beautiful citrus coniferous bouquet; both romantic, genderless bluebloods whose scents are almost interchangeable.

Image

Arpège, from the Golden Age of perfumery, is far more the monogamist, more womanly. It smells so soothing that you feel sure it must have been used as a template for balms and creams over the years, to have reached this appeasing sense of maternal archetype. This is not simply because of the design on the box and flacon of a mother and young daughter dressing up for a ball, but because the fruited, sunful warmth is to me like a spiced pear orchard on a beautiful September afternoon, a Keatsian aroma of ‘mellow fruitfulness’ so ripe with sanctuary and goodness.

A gilded, Apollonian jasmine and rose are infused with an unusual note of coriander and softly powdered mimosa; while genet, or broom – which has a softening, hay-like nuance of honey and tobacco – vanilla, and styrax all add extra mellifluousness to the base. If Calèche has the thrill of young leaves, then Arpège is an old oak tree; rooted, wise, and worldly.

Though the name of the perfume suggests otherwise, in the parfum at least there are no rippling arpeggios like a Chopin étude, but more the feeling of beautiful, sad Schubertian chords – it knows. There is a philosophical depth of feeling; of luxuriant sun-stroked interiors, but also the brown autumn mulch in the garden, and the inevitable coming of winter.

I find it almost heartbreaking.

As for vintage versus new, I can’t even entertain the latter as possibilities. If you are as versed in the vintages as I am, the remake of Arpège is crass and too shiny: the cellos and violas of a quartet usurped by unwanted, headache-inducing trombones and cornets; the Calèche recognizable but thin, metallic – a shallow, somehow bitchier, modern re-representation .

To what extent the emotiveness of these perfumes is to do with personal associations of family I do not know ( I have given both to my mum as Christmas or birthday presents), but if I were really that sentimental I would have similar reactions to her signature perfume, First by Van Cleef & Arpels (which I don’t, as much I as love it), the original Nina by Nina Ricci, or indeed, her favoured No 5.

No. It is more than that. Calèche and Arpège are, to me, like delicate novellas: stories to be told and retold with different lists of characters, in different places and times. Endlessly, or at least as long as these precious vintage supplies last us. Masterpieces of perfumery that should have been preserved, not butchered by the cheapening of their souls with cheaper, more synthetic ingredients.

Because these perfumes, as they were originally intended, are exquisite. Warm and soulful, with real poetry. Different, but of similar air and beauty – like two separate rooms in a palace.

31 Comments

Filed under Chypre, Floral Aldehydes, Perfume Reviews

Tagged as , , ,

June 11, 2012 · 10:12 pm

Love on a sofa: SHALIMAR, by Guerlain (1925)

Some scents fade and disappoint: others get better and better as the day progresses. Many of the classic Guerlains fall into the latter category – the top accords, though vital, are never the perfumer’s ultimate theme. In fact with Shalimar, Mitsouko, Vol De Nuit et al, the departing notes are almost blasé; just a breezy way of saying hello, here I am, let’s spend the day together. With Shalimar it is the heart and base that counts, a richness that is unforgettable.

This is the house of Guerlain’s most enduring success, but if you do not know this elixir already I shall try to describe it for you. In the extraordinary (vintage) parfum especially, wearing this perfume is like being lathered in the finest vanilla ice cream; smothered all over with baby powder; while eating the most delectable, lemonest, cheese cake, during wild and filthy sex on a new soft leather couch. Champagne is optional.

Shalimar, the oriental to end all orientals, is a vanilla perfume, but so much more. You may think of this note and jump to conclusions. The vanillas can make great and comforting, if somewhat infantile, scents (especially on the chubby), though personally I don’t always a ‘straight’ vanilla as I often find them too sickly. Even in its purest form of Madagascar absolute, the essence can be almost nauseatingly sweet. But the genius of Shalimar was to enfathom this velvety, rich vanillic note in a balsamic envelope of tolu, benzoin and opoponax;  harmonize it with a cooler earth-toned counterpoint of patchouli and vetiver, then, slowly, to reveal hidden, almost smoky, depths of leather, ambergris, incense and civet. Romance, temperance, was provided with a powdery accord of iris and rose; and over this, in those glinting, sharp, almost cologne-like top notes, a fresh, gourmet prelude of exquisite lemon and bergamot oils.

The composition is a joy.  It is one of the sultriest, most genuinely erotic perfumes ever made – the clinging, luxuriant vanilla sex a base note of perfection – and one of my all time favourite scents. My go-to when certain reactions are required; applied a few hours in advance…..

8 Comments

Filed under Orientals, Perfume Reviews

Tagged as ,

June 3, 2012 · 3:57 pm

Sandringham rose : ROYAL ARMS (DIAMOND EDITION) by Floris (1920/2012)

Image

The house of Floris has released this re-edited eau especially for the queen’s Diamond Jubilee, and as children across the nation dig into  Victoria sponge beneath miles of bunting and fluttering Union Jacks, their mothers, nans, and aunts might fancy a few spritzes of Diamond Edition to get into the regal spirit: an appealing, and very British scent that captures this moment, and the monarch, rather perfectly.

More Lloyd Webber than Britten, the queen’s tastes have always veered more towards the bourgeois than the aristocracy, and this polished scent, of cosseted roses, trellises and perfected bedspreads, is to me like a paen to middle England: a plump, stocky rose that rises above. The pinkest, shiniest, satin cushions rest on freshly embroidered sheets. Pot pourri, in porcelain, lightly scents the air on the dresser, while back notes of ylang ylang, jasmine and tuberose address the floral coronet above (this is very much an interior fragrance; those rose gardens and flower beds viewed from far off, through thick panes of glass). The perfume is so seamlessly blended however that listing notes seems superfluous. Feminine and slight initially with its touches of bergamot and lemon, it becomes more imposing as it blooms, pink and full-figured like the character played by Imelda Staunton in Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix.

Image

Royal Arms is  the kind of scent I would put in the ‘comfort zone’ section of my perfume collection if I were to get a full bottle (which I would happily do): post-bath, pampered with talc, the dry down of patchouli and lightly ambered musks over vanilla, finishes a nostalic and clean English guesthouse rose that soothes and pleases, so much so that I almost wish I were back in the UK to join in the celebrations.

Image

2 Comments

Filed under Flowers, Perfume Reviews, Rose

Tagged as , ,

Link

Like its legendary sibling Chanel N° 5, N° 22 is classified as a floral aldehydic, and the two scents, created in perfumery’s Golden Age, are considered to be closely related. But where Chanel’s glamorous icon, still beautiful after ninety years in production, is a scintillation of champagne aldehydes, roses, and jasmine – a caress of timeless, confident femininity – her sister, the sweet, opalesque N° 22, is a very different, more plaintive creature: perfumer Ernst Beaux’s masterful dualism of warmth and cold; of wistfulness and optimism. A slow repository of calm, like a dream of white flowers falling softly from a riverbank tree on a passing swan’s down.

The perfume opens on an iridescent flourish of aldehydes and white summer flowers: orange blossom, lilac, tuberose, ylang ylang, white roses, and a sweet, powdery orchid; the bubble-bath fresh, bright aldehydes adding strength and light. This heady opening will not be please everybody, and N° 22 has the assiduous tenacity of a prima ballerina: it is, in fact, one of the most long-lasting perfumes I own – even in the deliciously delicate vintage eau de cologne, it lingers, beautifully, for over twelve hours – longer, even, than some extraits. With such a melodiously sweet opening to the scent, it might seem counterintuitive, then, to say that this perfume is thought to be suitable as a masculine, and has something of a cult following in that regard. But this is where the true artistry of the perfume is revealed. The gradation from the opening of elated flower essences, to the gentle, reflective, base is cool and poised, and perfectly calibrated; the final accord on the skin an unexpected delight: a grey, smoked incense over vetiver, and a sensitive embrace of dusted vanilla. It is a statuesque note of cold white stone that is fused to the main floral theme in absolute balance.

It is this unassailable heart that I love in N° 22. It is a meltingly gorgeous smell that I choose to wear when alone, or to close myself off from the world. For me it is the ideal scented soundtrack to days of dreaming, just existing. A far more profound creature than the exuberant N° 5: tranquil, calming, with exquisite inner resolve.

2 Comments

May 2, 2012 · 1:04 pm