Category Archives: Flowers

THE ROSE GARDENS OF YAMASHITA

 

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We usually go to Isezakicho, the seedier, more ragtaggle side of Kannai station in Yokohama where all the thrift shops and vintage perfume and Thai karaoke bars are, but the beauty of essentially being out of the world for a while, but ready to plunge back in it, is that you suddenly wake up one day with a place you want to go seething in your conscious like a pre-ordained destiny, a place you haven’t been to for a very long time – but you know you have to go there;  there and only there; particularly on a cold, crisp but beautifully sunny Sunday stretching out before you when you just want to see and be and explore in wider, open spaces. And so we decided to go for a long stroll from Motomachi to Yamashita Park and through to the other side of the port of Kannai, the more stately and elegant side of the city with its European inspired stone buildings, maritime flavour, and melancholic, almost haunting, aura.

 

 

 

 

Through the Christmas music of the quaint and chichi Motomachi shopping street we passed by the ocean and Marine Tower; Barney’s New York; and through to Yamashita Park : families strolling, dogs frenetic, magicians doing tricks, ships at port of call, and, to our delight, an unexpected rose garden that was almost magical in its prettiness.

 

 

 

 

As chance would have it, I happened to be also wearing Rosarium Shiseido (the shampoo and the conditioner, which, though disastrously wrong for my hair type – it looked like pitiable strands of seaweed clinging to a rock, the worst hair day ever, the only negative point in what was otherwise a delightful day and evening out – this perfume does smell  lovely; simple; a tea rose, rose hip and ‘living rose’ classical, accessible rose fragrance that provided a realistically perfumed backdrop to the stunning preponderance of flowers :  the roses themselves, beautiful, fluttering in the cold breeze in their rows – inexplicably, unscented.

 

 

 

 

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TREAT ME LIKE A QUEEN

 

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via IF YOU WANT TO BE VENERATED LIKE AN EMPEROR, GO TO A JAPANESE DEPARTMENT STORE AT OPENING TIME

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…BUT WAIT FOR THE ENDING : ROSE NACREE DU DESERT by GUERLAIN (2012)

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It goes without saying that basenotes are fundamental. They are not an ‘optional’ afterthought. A perfume, unless the lightest of colognes, is not a perfume without them.

 

While we might be tempted to fall, like people, for first impressions, it is the lingering aftertaste, the core of a fragrance that counts.

 

And yet these days there seems to often be a vague betrayal at the end of our perfumes, even when, like ‘Rose Nacree Du Desert’, they begin rather ravishingly, all powdery benzoin- licked roses feasting on patchouli and light trimmings of oudh and you think ah!

 

 

 

 

But what is left on the skin, a scent strip, a few days, hours- or weeks even, later?

 

 

The cheapest of insistent, even squalid, ‘white musks’

 

 

 

To me, such endings feel like a deception.

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THE SECRET PARFUMS OF SHISEIDO

The Black Narcissus

mode, architecture, beaute,

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‘We both know that it was a girl

back in Bethlehem

And on that fateful day

when she was crucified

She wore Shiseido red’

sings Tori Amos on Boys For Pele, cementing once gain the iconic status of Shiseido in the western eye, its rarified, aloof and untouchable Franco-Japonicity.

And yet the Shiseido that we know way out west and the one I know here are really quite different. The gleaming, curved beauty of the feline Serge Lutens collaborations such as the groundbreaking and quite brilliant Feminité Du Bois, or the now almost mythical Nombre Noir, have almost nothing in common with the far more homey and almost pedestrian fare that one finds here on your local Shiseido counter: sweet, and outdated, aldehydic nothings such as More, the original old musty fresh Zen, or Mémoire; or the powdery, green and irisian Chanel N°I9 wannabe, Murasaki.

While the best of…

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o blessed be the weekend

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November 10, 2017 · 9:51 pm

CARON L’ANARCHISTE ( 2000 )

The Black Narcissus

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An anomaly in the Caron pantheon, The Anarchist is a big thrashing mess of overcrowded ideas in a hideously, hideously overdesigned copper chalice that I could never, ever have anywhere in my possession.

That said, anarchy is the theme of the scent, and its greatest hits of brooding, fearless male (guaiac; cedar; sandalwood, mint; vetiver, mandarin, neroli, lime, basil; a fierce a prominent cinnamon note over citrus with a slew of brash and overwhelming aldehydes) does eventually, after some time, gradate to a warm, loveable hero – woody, aromatic; appeased.

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wE LcOmE to ToKYo, mR TRuMP !!!

 

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