The narcissus season in Japan is very long. I started seeing some opening up in December, they proliferate in January and February, but seem to be reaching a climax about now. Big clumps of them in every shade from snow to paper white to ivory to duck egg yellow to daffodil, jonquil; sometimes you cycle along and think before you get a visualizer on the whiff, blimey, whoever that was by the roadside had some seriously bad breath : they stink ! Of decay, of indoles, and yet there is often also something shudderingly erotic.
These you see pictured, picked along the way two days ago, have a purer scent, joyously vernal, almost like a house freshly covered in white paint (though I might be getting confused by the decorators on the scaffolding next door). I sit at my desk, writing, and the flowers sometimes breathe their perfume towards me, suffusing the air with the delicately narcotic
I woke up this morning ready to rock. It is a gorgeous sunny day, we are both now on spring break, and I felt like dousing. Before I knew it, my hands had reached out for a dabbed, poured or sprayed on all of the following : on the right wrist, arm – letting the bottle just pour out in rives onto my skin and cashmered sweater sleeve: extrait de Parfum D’Hermès, both spray and cap bottle, as well as Rouge edt (oh the animalic costus! The powdered rose ylang! the sheer hyacinthine theatrical glamour of these perfumes, among my favourite of all time); on the back of the right hand, rich, oleaginous smearings of the original and always glorious Gold Amouage, housed in the 1001 Arabian Nights Scheharazade gilt bottle (at least $1000 now on eBay) – all Mysore sandalwood rose/aldehydes and honey at their apex : I felt like a Saturday morning Sultan luxuriating with my coffee in the sheets.
On the left hand: large dosages of pre-reformulation Calvin Klein Obsession For Men (with self-infused cassia cinnamon oil I bought from Saigon Cathedral some years ago – because why not), and on the left wrist; arm, and all over the rest of the sweater: my very own galbanum oil -added Must De Cartier Parfum, (it needed revitalizing); sweet, vanillic; an ambered miasma of spiced, extravagant, woozy, velvetine sirops de fleurs – as I said before leaving the house to go grocery shopping down the road to D : ‘I think I have enough perfume on to kill a horse’.
Just case you were wondering, I don’t usually wear so much scent that it can interfere with your breathing (was I slightly wheezy because of all the perfume or because of all the pollen flying around ?) – and it is probably not the best thing to be wearing chemical warfare volumes of perfume when you are about to go vegetable and meat shopping on a local shotengai where there might be other scentless and scent-sensitive human beings milling around, yet to my great surprise, the eighty year old greengrocer I know quite well – she grows a lot of the produce herself in fields down the road, she has a lemon tree behind her house and has excellent florist’s taste; I sometimes can’t resist buying flowers there as well – and her much older customer, who were garrulously chatting away when I entered the shop, immediately and visibly perked on my entrance, commenting brightly (in my English translation):
“Wow. What a wonderful smell. You smell Beautiful. Beautiful!”
(me demurring, a bit embarrassed….: er, I rather overdid it today….” )
“No, it smells wonderful. Every time you move back and forth around the shop we keep getting drifts of it” (both make beckoning motion with hands as if to want even more coming in their direction).”Have you ever had or worn or known a perfume as lovely as that?” they asked one another. “I know that I haven’t.”
I was blushing and beaming at the same time.
Having another look round, distancing myself a little bit in case they were only being polite, buying what I wanted, “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” I said, trying to change the subject.
“It’s a beautiful smell, you mean” said the older woman, avidly, and I smiled to myself as I said goodbye to them, after a conversation about buying flowers (mainly chrysanthemums) for the local cemetery, apparently the tradition at this time of year; cycling away, clouds of powdery classics floating in the air behind in my wake, surprised by their elated reactions to my impulsive pungency (which, after all, I had done for myself, not for anyone else – I loved the periodic but harmonious dominance of experiencing each perfume simultaneously but at different times); pondering the fact that, as is so often the case, the cultural stereotypes we have, even the ones I undoubtedly propagate myself, such as the misbegotten idea that Japanese people hate perfume, ‘they only like watercolour lotus’ and the like – are often just complete and utter garbage.
This time last year we were getting ready for our presentations on perfume at The Honolulu Museum Of Art.
I thought I would share again the most amazing thing that happened in Hawaii – the discovery of a completely unique, one off Chanel perfume that I had the chance to smell there in a private collection (amazingly, I was also able to obtain a small bottle of it in the process), – and a rather fascinating back story to the entire saga that turned out to be rather horrifying…
With the recent Allegorias it has felt as though Guerlain was just phoning it in. A bit of sparkly effervescence up top and then a nothingy musky pap – none for me have been memorable. I tend to think of them as being just something people pick up mindlessly when passing through airports.
The latest three(discounting the new Florabloom, which I haven’t smelled yet) immediately on testing feel as though they have been created by a non-Thierry Wasser: sleeker, tauter, urbanically stream-lined – and in fact they have; these were all solo pieces by co-in house perfumer Delphine Jelk. I sense something new here: a sturdier gleam. My favourite of the trio is probably Rosa Pallisandro, a rosewood/gerainum/rose boisée featuring a very dehumidified , gossamer aridity with coriander, chypric tonalities, and a crackled dryness of patchouli underneath that detractors say smells like dill pickles – but whose sillage, though admittedly a touch harsh, I think is rather chic for the contemporary trench-coated femme or homme fatale.
I love, also, the contrast between the Dubai-dry (if somewhat anodyne) ‘oudh’ base in the Yuzu variant of this trio, and the sheer effulgence of the citrus opening, which for a few minutes or so gives a genuine sense of futuristic optimism; revitalizing and awakening – perfect as you fling open the curtains in the Burj Khalifa to stare out at the glittering sea.
In really hot sun, post-beach, I can imagine trying the Vanilla Bosca – again, bone-dry driftwood, salty, and rather un-Guerlainish, even with the solar vanilla all gliding underneath (unless you have worn Lys Soleia, which I sometimes do in summer): shimmering like wave mirages on the sun-tingled ocean, with fresh green touches of eucalyptus, this smells saline and chemical – and undoubtedly is – but it is also rather dazzling, like sun-oiled skin, soaking the rays in a state of blissful oblivion.
We are on an absolute Shiseido roll at the moment.
As I wrote recently, the local Shiseido store, less than a minute away from our house round the corner, sadly closed down at the end of last year after being in continuous operation for 57 years. The main things we bought there in all honesty were just (somewhat overpriced) necessities like washing powder, toilet roll and the like, although I occasionally bought the odd Shiseido perfume or product as well, in particular the richly rose scented Rosarium line : it was always nice to have it there.
Now that it has closed down, Shiseido lady is throwing a whole lot of stuff out. Stacks of it. This has been ranging from gifts to me personally, like a rare bottle of Blue Rose Dual Cologne and a magnificent sampling set for Shiseido employees to get to know the perfumes from the former range, including the legendary White Rose, which was worn for an imperial wedding, to random bric a brac that she must have had stored up for decades, such as espresso cups, a tropical mug, stationery, furniture (two old bar stools (?); maps; local residents are excitedly strolling by and picking up tons of makeup – foundations, skin creams – I couldn’t resist lifting some sample boxes of ‘nutrient light emulsion’ on a recent Saturday night in the rain, furtively carrying them under my arms like a thief. Although I am not entirely sure about the actual wisdom of putting old skin products on your face – even she says she doesn’t quite remember how old they are and if they are ok or not – I did worry about waking up looking like Freddy Krueger, red faced and raw, but usually I can tell immediately if creams or emulsions will work on my face, and feel there is an instinct that lets you know if it is for you or not – I have been using Shiseido’s Lait de Beauté Odorless for years, on an off, for instance- I like to add essential oils to it – and this tightening and coolly astringent lotion seems to be alright. Just a bit, here and there.
I thought this little espresso cup was rather nice.
D liked these yellow and green dishes. ‘Not for the cat; for us’.
This framed picture went straight on the wall.
I really like the aquamarine cotton wool holder – there were several of these left on the street, boxed; I had two (one for D’s mum – it will suit their bathroom)- the others had gone within the hour, people surreptiously strolling buy and picking up this and that.
Will this stuff melt my skin off?
A bit tacky? Possibly, but I have been enjoying using it. And you know how I like a bit of tropicalia.
(But does this 70’s shark themed cocktail glass go too far?)
In terms of perfume, I got quite a big geeky thrill about going in and buying the remaining bottles of Koto still in stock- something about them being boxed in bigger boxes, as though they were boxes of cereal- got to me on a textural nerd level for some reason- plus this green narcissus chypre is actually really nice. At the regular retail price of ¥1,500 it is, I suppose, the Japanese equivalent of a ‘drug store perfume’ – it is the sterling equivalent of £7.85, even with this lovely glass bottle – but the fact that it has been going strong since 1967 tells us that it must have something olfactively going for it, just easy and subtle, understated and rather stylish. Light, green, fresh at the beginning, the narcissus aldehydic lily of the valley main theme cedes to a gentle patchouli leather base; essentially a mysterious skin scent. The closest comparison I think I can make to it is the original Miss Dior, but without the bite and the synthetic gardenia overload (although there are gardenia undertones here as well). It doesn’t excite me, but there is a delicacy to Koto that is perfect for just pottering around the house.
Sourire, another green, I got to try from the marvellous old Shiseido set (the vial is top left) – a gift I was so thrilled to receive – she had obviously been saving it up for me.
Like Blue Rose, a much later release, Sourire nevertheless shares a similarly Shiseidian base. If Guerlain has the Guerlinade, which it does, or at least did, then many of the Shiseido classics dry down to the same discreetly musky/ woody base found in the house’s original perfume, Zen, from 1965, one that certainly does not feel current.
If I find this particular phase of the perfume too old fashioned, a little too ‘soft granny’, this is probably because I actually brought back a bottle of Zen for my maternal grandmother when I first moved to Japan, and she would wear it for me sometimes when we went to their house: I thus get an immediately tender, but slightly fusty, hit to the brain when encountering this particular accord, and don’t feel quite right wearing it myself (this brilliant article by Elena Vosnaki of Perfume Shrine deals with the issue of ‘older women’ perfumes in amazing depth for anyone wanting to explore this prickly and very important theme further). Blue Rose starts off a very high pitched Turkish rose, very Japanese young woman in the nineties starting her first office job post university, but then by the end its slightly dowdy and conservative femininity is not to my taste. Nevertheless, I was very pleased to receive it, and I can imagine it being a late night after bath perfume, quite cosy for pyjamas and the sheets.
Sourire is more intriguing, more androgynous, and I would love to get my hands on a vintage parfum one day if I can to see if the green notes are even greener, even if I don’t like it much visually (and, like many eBay vintage sales now, it is catastrophically expensive – what has happened to prices recently?). I just love that tennis green 70’s hot summer slacks vibe by a Californian David Hockney pool that inspired perfumes like Frederic Malle’s Synthetic Jungle: and this definitely belongs in that unique category.
Another freebie I was given as the lady was closing shop one day (she is still in there on a regular basis clearing out) , was a vintage cologne spray of More – a fluffy aldehydic fresh amber delight I consider as being quite possibly the most deliciously powdery and feminine perfume of all time.
I secreted the cologne bottle somewhere for future usage and can’t find it right now – pictured instead is the extrait, which I also have upstairs in the collection. Of the two, I think I find the cologne of More more delightful – so feathery and flirtatious it makes Nº5 seem like a muscle brained hunk. This is the perfume that Marilyn Monroe should have worn (and probably did) – so womanly it almost verges on camp; icing sugar fresh, strawberries- it can actually make me laugh out loud (even as I spray it on with abandon – the vintage version of More is insanely comforting, again at night, as a ‘jama scent – you can just cuddle up into a pink cheeked ball like a chinchilla and sleep, smiling to yourself (this pressed powder, below, yet another gathering, would go quite perfectly with it. Maybe I should try it one night, a human bonbon.)
Thought I would share with you some of my haul, anyway.
Just off now to see what else she might have discarded…
I wouldn’t necessarily have thought of natural hiba – a darker, deeper, smokier hinoki – as working with cinnamon, but this bifocal oil blend – medicinal, haunting, sacred smelling – really does. Along with some Kochi-origined ginger oil (zingy, piquant) I am going to make a homemade arthritic joint ointment (‘jointment’?) later using vaseline. Ordinarily I would I use the trademarked vaseline with a capital V, but the drugstore didn’t have any. Instead, the domestic homebrand, more expensive – when I opened it, looks just like a concentrically swirling zen stone garden in Kyoto
They don’t make them like this any more. But perhaps for that we ought to be grateful. While the bottle you see above – a vintage miniature picked up for free at a jumble market – fits snugly onto our kitchen knicknack shelf, and will be forever treasured (I love anything Léonard, and have a collection of flower patterned vintage seventies neckties that I enjoy), I will not be actually wearing Balahé – a seethingly slow-burning and erotic floriental that smells of cougar’s mother – anytime, in the near future, on myself.
It is so torrid.
Hailed by vintage scenthusiasts as a more tasteful, yet more full-bodied precursor to Dior’s Poison, with its plum-tuberose-opoponax theatrics, as well as a direct influence on Cacharel’s Loulou – Balahé is said to smell just like our beloved Loulou, and I concur —-just without ever having set foot in the tropics : there is no coconut nor tiare.
There is orchid, though (a lot of it ::) and orange blossom, jasmine, ylang ylang, rose, orris and civet – a thick, impeccable, powdery heft that feels like the original L’Ombre Rose extrait by Jean Charles Brosseau. An anisic, sheening, very 80’s pineapple note up top that put me in mind of Guy Laroche Clandestine from 1986 (they are by the same perfumer, Daniel Molière); and then that base, the perfectly smooth, sweet cloying suggestiveness that claws at your brain like an unseemly vamp breathing moistly down your neck: all balsams, sandalwood, vanilla, musks … an animal lick of earthily vetiver.
Leonard Balahé is very sumptuously put together. A dark, throbbing, sultry as, feminine triumph. But just as with other perfumes from this period, of the teased up and backcombed, satin-robed Dallas /Dynasty ilk, like Yardley Lace (1982 – don’t knock it, it was created by Dominique Ropion) and Gloria Vanderbilt, also from 82 – gorgeous in its way and by Sophia Grosjman! – such perfumes are so ludicrously ‘seductive’, with nothing but seduction as their raisons d’être, they can come across as almost nauseating : the cliché of the huge haired heavily made up maneater pushing up her décolleté in the side lit bedroom mirror, applying her parfum avidly to her person as the ‘finishing touch’. The kind of (quietly thrilling) scent you know you are never going to ever quite get off your body and clothes once ravaged ; from your mouth; your eyes, your nose hair — or your memory.
