The gauziest of the gauzed, the softest, most feminine angelic of the soapiest soap – Nina, the original from 1987, was the sole creation of perfumer Christian Vacchiano, a floral aldehyde masterpiece of extreme, crystallinic beauty and shadowy powdered underpinnings of chypre.
Though in many ways a ‘typical Ricci’, what is important to realize about Nina is that it was quite a bold move to release a fragrance of this type at this particular moment in history. While Cacharel’s chaste white lilies portrait of misty-mirrored proto-70’s innocence, Anaïs Anaïs was still being worn by quite a lot of people, chastity in scent - if not in the public discourse on sex- was generally going out of style, and Nina was a prim, eighties (very) classical floral aldehyde: seemingly a contradiction in terms when such perfumes were anything but du jour. Constructing a ‘pillar of femininity’ type fragrance in the mode of a Van Cleef & Arpel First or Hermès Calèche, must thus have felt dated and anachronistic to many upon this perfume’s release, when the fashion of the time was for big and bold strokes of acrylic colour – the ogre-like gorgeousness of Obsession, Poison, Loulou and Giorgio Beverly Hills, perfumes that were intoxicating as hell but quite grimly potent to the wrong inhaler. Nina was fantastically demure and conservative in comparison; you might even say reactionary (Reaganite – there is something stolid within despite the wiles): a conscious step back to try and reclaim some ‘womanly grace’.
This is, I believe, the key to understanding Nina. There is a very elaborate, complex, parodoxically ‘powerhouse’ aspect to the perfume that distinguishes it from the lighter, deceptive simplicity of other exquisite Ricci flower meisterwerks from the 60’s and 70’s such as Capricci and Farouche (all of the alabaster vestal virgins of antiquity from the other golden years of the house are also prettily beautiful, such as Fleurs De Fleurs,the ravishing Coeur Joie (the feral Fille D’Eve - see my review – a bestial outlier, salacious in the extreme); but Nina feels fuller, richer, duskier, in comparison, despite its very carefully spun light – the base notes of oakmoss, civet, vetiver, patchouli, sandalwood, iris, musk and ‘blackcurrant syrup’ alongside an interesting note of Indian bay laurel creating a crepuscular darkness that exquisitely offsets the luminousness of the green, fresh citric and aldehydic opening (leaf notes, bergamot, basil, blackcurrant bud, marigold and delicate peach), a celestial chorus as precedent to the complex floral bouquet of the heart – rose, jasmine, ylang ylang and violet, naturally, but also bright mimosa : the whole as gloriously executed as an Italian renaissance sculpture in white marble.
Nina is both showy, and cool; recondite. Quietly loquacious; not shy, physically, but a little secretive. Vacuous? Possibly. A little. I am not sure. Perhaps she is just conforming to her archetype: a performatively understated femininity. But there is still, despite this, a lot going on. You can think what you like about her, but you know you will ever only be knowing at most half of the story; she is keeping a lot back: quite consciously. And this is precisely why you are drawn in, the toile veils in the advertisement above (‘A perfume must be a work of art‘), draped over the timorous and decorous young ghost bride rendering her untouchable; an explicit indicator of the intricate webs that are deliberately being woven. While Nina will probably feel much too traditionally ‘ladylike’ to some people, too passively unfeminist and Nancy Reagan white-floral-dress-garden-party, to me, while understanding these concerns, this perfume for me is at once an object of beauty (I adore the bottle; the extrait edition’s crystal glass stopper an ergonomic delight) and something of an olfactory marvel.
Yesterday I woke up craving it. We were going up to a friend’s housewarming party in Tokyo - sometimes I forget how big the city is; in a residential area in the North East, more affordable, we left our house in Kamakura at 11:30 am and didn’t get to Chie’s new apartment until 14:30 – a full three hours of different train lines and buses- but the large doses of Nina parfum I had emanating from my wrists, a fountainhead of green leaves and soap and Grecian engravings in cold stone, were giving me life in the stark Sunday urban atmosphere. In truth, I am not sure how much of my emotional reaction to this scent is intrinsic to its aesthetic inspiration and artistry alone; perhaps the strong feelings evoked come because I do associate this scent with a particularly happy summer in 1987 when my mother had started wearing Nina - one of the great things about working in a department store every weekend was that she was always in contact with the very newest releases and would often buy them, much to my obvious delight (and actually did, also, incidentally, wear Nina, one hot July day, with a hat and floral dress and white hat for a day at the races at Ascot); to me, now, all these years later, the perfume still gives a dignifying feeling of calm and refuge, a maternal caress.
I don’t know. Despite Nina’s slight obviousness (Mitsouko and Miss Dior and Ma Griffe make snide remarks regarding her intellect: First and Calèche have snobbish class issues, other chypric aldehydes gloat and close their eyes in distaste and won’t even mention the upstart’s name (Arpège is having none of it……..) – all these perfumes are, ultimately, at the end of the day, just jealous because Ms Ricci is so much more floaty and alluring and actually liberated – happier in her body – than they will ever be). Nina is Nina. She knows what she is. And I think this is why I find this perfume so uniquely calming; there is an assurance; a place I can hide in tranquillity and find rest. One August night, a few years ago, after teaching a hard schedule and not hydrating enough, in the evening after work around midnight I was suddenly floored with a rather excruciating pain in my back – semi-immobilized by a kidney stone. Groaning and in the beginnings of agony, D called my Japanese friend from next door who came round immediately to see me writhing on the futon not sure what to do. It was a toss between calling an ambulance, which I found slightly too melodramatic given the non lethal situation, as the whole neighbourhood would have immediately come out of their houses in their pyjamas and street slippers to see, red lights flashing; I couldn’t bear all the fuss – and a taxi, to take me down quietly to the hospital. Before the latter arrived, I had managed, hauling myself along the tatami mat, to stretch my hand out to the perfumes next to my bed and grasp the one I wanted – Nina, by Nina Ricci, and only Nina by Nina Ricci : it had to be that perfume and no other (like yesterday, for some unfathomable reason). I needed to be wearing it. And I didn’t quite know why. It just felt necessary. Protective. The fundamental benevolence of this scent: ethereal musks that transcribe your person with those soft tendrils of flower ; the pure savon of its elevated, swan-like soapery…….. …. I don’t know if the Botticellian fragrance surrounding me that night seemed odd at all to the night staff attending to me at Ofuna Central Hospital, as I crashed to the floor clutching my side, screaming, but there is such a deep tenderness to this scent that it kept me serenely anchored in the elsewhere the whole time in some kind of eternal primavera. I felt the same yesterday: a timelessness (but this time, more anchored within myself ); and yet again, when I woke up this morning; the perfume still lingering gently, but resiliently, on all my clothes.
A beautiful post. Can’t believe that I never tried Nina (especially as I love aldehydes) as Farouche was one of my favourite fragrances, and later I wore Fleur de Fleurs. And of course L’Air du Temps as a teenager.
Wearing a trusted, gorgeous perfume in dire situations really does help to make things better, like being wrapped in angel’s wings. Doesn’t make it go away, but it cossets your mind and the pain is dimmed.
Definitely.
Yesterday was an enjoyable and positive situation, but I still craved this perfume and this perfume only. It’s a little tame, not remotely edgy , but in my view, as the advert urges, a work of art and truly beautiful,
Would this have been the last of the Great Floral Aldehydes?
Ps this can be got quite cheaply – worth trying if you like aldehydes particularly if you can get your hands on a pristine parfum.
Avoid the sprays, they deteriorate. Dab on only.
Thank you for the advice – will now search!
You are very welcome.
And I really loved your quote on being cosseted in angels’ wings
Ah, thanks!
How wonderful to have a perfume that can bring such comfort. I’m not sure what mine would be. These days I would probably worry about latching a bad association to a scent. However, Banana Republic Classic saw me through some tough times back when it was my signature scent for a while, so it’s “exempt” from that kind of contamination. I do find myself reaching for it when I have a cold, etc.
Other people have mentioned that perfume in the past. What is it like ?
I do know what you mean about latching.
Banana Republic Classic has a nice pink grapefruit top note and is lightly musky and woody with a light white floral heart that’s nondescript to me, but Fragrantica says it’s honeysuckle and syringa. It’s simple but works as an easy pick-me-up and doesn’t stay around for very long. Great value and it’s probably the only perfume I know that improved its bottle design over time without raising prices – it now has a smooth textured, magnetic cap!
Syringa : we love.
I might like this as a work scent in summer
Such a banger during a trying time of fragrances. I was 10 in ‘87. I remember my first perfume, which I feel rather filthy even calling it that. Exclamation! The next ones I forget which came first, but in no particular order: Liz Claiborne in the reddish orange triangle bottle and United Colors of Benneton. My grandmother had the bangers complete with the fancy vanity, detailed hand mirror and matching brush that was too soft to even brush hair properly, a jewelry box with mother of pearl detailing and inside were the heaviest clip-on earrings that seconded as torture devices and, of course, a leather case on the floor next to it all which contained her hair rollers (and a hot curler brush I once got stuck in my hair and passed out because my claustrophobia was so bad that something that minor would cause me to go unhinged, haaa).
My mother’s favorite perfume was White Shoulders and the only thing that came close to her hear was the wretched Cucumber Melon gang of products that chased me wherever I would go. It was at home, it was at the teen clubs and in the locker rooms, too. I still cannot tolerate anything with the slightest cucumber smell to it (except a literal cucumber, of course). Grandma, however, wore Nina. Nina…just, yes. Yes, please.
I’ve spent my entire life trying to find whatever my grandmother had put inside of a vintage glass bottle with the atomizer squeeze-bulb. She passed when I was only 11, so I thought I’d have at least a solid 50 more years before that day would come. I know whatever magical liquid was inside is what caused my love for Iris to form, though. Nina, however, started something that never ended within me. It was my grandmother who taught me one can have a bedtime fragrance, which I cannot go without. Oh, she’d be so thrilled today to find out about Viori and Little Seed Farm; that I can coordinate my hair and hygiene with my fragrance!
A few years back I went into storage rifling through the loot of inherited things that I don’t keep out for use (I’m the only one that can cook so I naturally scored her cast iron collection, big win). I decided to give some things a sniff; the old glass bottle of Jergens with less than an ounce of lotion left – but it still withheld the test of time and smells the same. The bottle of her torture juice (Campho-Phenique) also held the scent. The perfume with the squeeze bulb, however, smelled like HELL! The others maintained time just fine but I’m sure it was a combination of the bottle and bulb that destroyed whatever it once was – or maybe my memories were just fond because it was hers. She was a cool grandma, she wore Guess jeans, cool. Even before I existed she was progressive; wearing pants when they said not to, wearing skirts above the knee because she could; she was a baddie. I wish I could post a picture!
I’m so happy to read this and find another person who uses Nina as a blanket.
In other news, I’ve been chipping through the 300+ fragrances I’ve been meaning to sample but justifiably got overwhelmed (despite constantly ordering more). Fantôme has one called Lycanthrope that I was so impressed by. It smells exactly like a warm ripe tomato still on the vine. It’s such a bizarre concoction but masterfully blended! I’ve no idea where I’d ever apply this perfume, much less why; but I’ve found myself returning over and over to smell the blotter with my eyes closed because it’s so amazing.
I’m eagerly awaiting two discovery sets from Fischersund. Their website reeled me in with scent stories and songs for every scent. The translations were oftentimes hilarious, one saying something along the lines of, “a beached whale, ready to explode.” They pitched a forest in Iceland, and I bought it. I decided to buy from another Nordic brand because, why not?
Enjoy your day and glad to hear this Nina experience was better than the former. 😊
You need to write a book, please. I’m sure people do, indeed, enjoy reading about how Turin and Sanchez think they pass only the most elite of gasses while simultaneously shilling for their friends; I find them to be rather annoying. Well informed, yes, but obnoxious all the same. Even Fiction would do! After Perfume: The Story of a Murderer, I was left wanting more disturbing perfume books. The series that’s spun off of the book on Netflix is pretty insane albeit chock full of so much misogyny that I’m hesitant to even recommend to most people. I’ll watch anything with August Diehl in it because he’s spectacular at making a 2 look like a solid 10.
Welp, I’ve entertained myself (and hopefully you) while waiting on a late customer to bring me my new client: a furry 13 week old future police officer. Enjoy your day!
Wow – Nina has brought back a lot of recollections here; you don’t say how you came to discover what your grandmother’s perfume in the atomizer was called..
Unfortunately it’s still a mystery. I’ve spent enough to buy a new car trying to find whatever it was. I’m not giving up, though. I wish she didn’t transfer it into that damn bottle because it sure would’ve been a lot more helpful than this quest I’ve been on for 20+ damn years. I know I’ll recognize it once I smell it, that much I’m sure of. Thankfully I did at least learn her soup recipe before she passed, so I have that and Nina. 😊
Poignant to say the least
Re writing a book, I did of course publish my guide, Perfume: In Search Of Your Signature Scent – my next one will be more autobiographical
It’s impossible to obtain. Not even the demon Amazon…
I needed a moment to go ripping through my guest room because I had to be sure I already had your book and do! I knew it was among some of my more recent purchases over the past 5 years or so. I collect fragrance books and banned books mostly, but love the ones with history; well loved, if you will.
I’d listened to a lecture Azar Nafisi did back in my college days and the thought of her risking imprisonment — even death, to do something as simple as read and teach was unfathomable to me. I’m not sure how it even began but I started collecting older editions of Uncle Tom’s Cabin and your book was between two of them.
I didn’t even realize that was your book. It was just by chance that I’d stumbled across your blog while looking up some random fragrance note and decided to stay. Fancy meeting you here! 😁
I love it
How lovely. That last part really moved me. I fell in love with Capricci in particular after one of your reviews; I had been put off by too much Air du Temps during a period where my nose wanted fresher and more youthful things. I still find Air du Temps a little somehow harsh at times. But Capricci is a thing of utter beauty. So I must now go hunting for Nina.
L’Air Du Temps is just far too musky for me – it allures but aggravates and annoys. Capricci is divine. Nina is less regal, but no less emotive; a very generous scent full of optimism.
I hope you find a good batch, as this one can go off if left in sunlight. My mum read this review and ran upstairs to find one of the bottles I had given her but it had turned completely. DEFINITELY not the spray. A splash as protected as possible, s’il te plait.
D’accord
Ps have you ever tried this ?
intrigued
https://www.fragrantica.com/perfume/Nina-Ricci/Mademoiselle-Ricci-1967-35915.html
Sorry for multiple posts, things not working as normal. No, never tried Mademoiselle Ricci. Looks right up my street, though.
up both our streets ! shall we meet on the corner for tea, compare wrists ?
Oh boy, it’s high and fabulous. Something of Estee Lauder Private Collection and something of the old Shiseidos I like, Zen, Koto…you’ll smell me well down the road before I even round the corner.
Ooh you have got some already? Edt? Parfum?
‘High and fabulous’ is perfect.
Parfum. And a smaller EDT on the way for comparison. I’m neither high nor fabulous, but I am grateful for these wonderful recommendations.
Oh great. It is always a relief when I haven’t sent someone on a terrible wasted goose chase. It’s GORGEOUS, this perfume a mon avis. A really special dry down. Let some linger on your woollens and privately rejoice.