The Black Narcissus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joy, despite its legendary iconic status as one of the world’s classical grands parfums, is very much an acquired taste.You can lust over this perfume, with its luscious, almost lascivious, natural rose and jasmine essences, its hints of tuberose, aldehydes and pear, then suddenly find it too much – decadent, dirty, with its civet-licked, superb nonchalance.

 

This happened to my mother. A true jasmine lover, of the flowers in her garden, or of the perfumes on her person, she has worn Joy or Eau De Joy (vintage, sent in the post by me), off and on for years, but then recently found that one day that the fragrance suddenly repelled her and that she could no longer wear it. Instead, she has been sticking to her other trusted jasmine consort, First by Van Cleef & Arpels, surely another equally beautiful, jasmined,  orchestral, and vivacious grand parfum if ever there was.

 

 

I myself think that Joy is a difficult perfume to pull off, but if you can, it smells thrilling. When the jasmine in this scent really takes off, on the right skin, it can be dream-inducingly beautiful, dislodging something in your conscious; suggestive, embodied, yet very much in control. Unlike N°5, which almost seems to have been designed with seduction and sexual acquiescence built into its DNA, Joy has a more controlled yet commanding presence that requires a fiercer, more self conscious intelligence.

 

 

The story behind Joy is very well known so I won’t elaborate on it: perfumer Henri Alméras, asked by Patou sidekick and socialite Elsa Maxwell to produce a new, exciting perfume for the house, rose gladly to the challenge to produce, almost vengefully, an ultra expensive formula that he believed would be commercially impossible to tap. Naturally though, the extravagant hedonists loved it, coined the immortal phrase ‘the world’s costliest perfume’ , and Joy went on the market, became a worldwide phenomenon:  a scent, almost,  of discomforting, livid jouissance – a breathing, jasmine bloodstream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Though the house of Guerlain has probably produced more masterpieces than any perfume house on earth, not all of its creations have been true originals. Liù was overtly influenced by Nº5, and Ode, which I have in vintage parfum (400 yen, about 4 dollars, just over two pounds from the flea market one day)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! ! J  O  Y   ! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! !   !      !      !     !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! ! ! )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

is obviously directly modelled on Joy. Here we find the same essences of Rose de Mai and Jasmine de Grasse. There is the musk; the richness, the florality, but its all so very Guerlain; plusher, softer, a bit more ditzy and gullible, but terribly, terribly romantic if you are into that sort of thing. I wore some last night to bed, and though it is not something I would dream of leaving the house in ( I would feel like a fool) the warm, gushing aura it produced –  a perfume of love, and of true, flush-hearted tenderness – made me smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Even more joyous in some ways – spritelier and more exuberant –  is Snob by Le Galion, one of the finest houses to have ever perished in the history of perfumery (their tuberose and jasmine soliflores parfums de toilette are quite simply to die for, so if you ever find them anywhere, at a car boot sale, or online, just trust me and snap them up: I used up mine a long time ago in the summer they were so wearable). These fine perfumes combine lushness with backbone; freshness with chic, and Snob, one of the house’s biggest successes back in the day, is no exception to this rule.

 

 

The Patou Joy template is immediately there from the very first sniff of the top notes (and I read somewhere that Patou tried to halt sales of this perfume in America at the height of its success for that very reason), but you can see quite easily why Snob might rile and upset its predecessor; charming, new, like Ann Baxter edging out Margo Channing in All About Eve…younger and fresher; tauter….

 

 

 

The perfume opens on a Soir De Paris tingling in the top, with singing, tight-budded effects, one eye on the game; jasmine in her hair;breath held in tightly to her ivory, figure-clasping bodice.

 

 

 

While Joy vivaciously presides, and Ode has already passed out on her decanter crystal of shiraz, Snob still sips on her rosé, not even consciously drinking. She is prizing the room, taking it in.  Waiting for that moment when she sees what she is seeking and will suddenly gasp, politely, reform her gaze; and lift her eyes up flutteringly, imploringly, effortlessly  for the kill.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are several fresh, transparent, vegetal musks on the market, such as the far more costly and fashionable Clair de Musc by Serge Lutens. But when it comes to a perfect icon such as this, snobbery becomes irrelevant. In my opinion, no clean, synthetic musk has ever been done better than the classic by The Body Shop, a sheer, floral musk scent with soft, peachy accents and unyielding aura that draws people in like almost nothing else on the planet.

 

White Musk is one of those cheap perfumes that simply smells good anyway: an inspired, winning formula, immaculately proportioned, with a disinhibiting quality that hints at the glorious beginnings of teenage love. A good friend of mine at university was rendered quite helpless, obsessed, with a French girlfriend of his who wore this scent; he once told me that the scent had even had involuntary orgasm-inducing qualities for him even when fully clothed: on one occasion this had produced quite mortifying results after a last kiss at a train station in Paris.

 

He had then had to make his way back home furtively through the streets, alone in his jeans, White Musk, on his face and clothes, still smarting, embarrassing, and lingering…. 

FOR YOU KNOW WHO

 

 

 

 

 

There is talk of warm, cozy Belgian cookies; of fluffiness; fashion and wintery Bruxelles interiors, of a ‘modern oriental’ with a ‘very short formula’ (you’re telling me), created by Malle and perfumer BrunoJovanovic to represent the style of a well-respected contemporary clothes designer as part of a new strategy, at Editions de Parfums, to branch out into the potentially more commercial arena of ‘celebrity fragrance’.

 

And in that world, of Gagas and Minajs and Perrys, you never get a perfume as proficiently constructed as this:  ‘Dries Van Noten’ is a nutty, textural sandalwood- gourmand, a perfume that feels to me a bit like Häagen Dazs Macadamia Nut (possibly my favourite ice cream)  – sweet, milky, and, delicately/moderately spiced, with measured, precise layers of strong-smelling woods (guaiac, and a dry, unluxurious sandal), oriental notes of vanilla, tonka and saffron, plus a light, shimmering top veil of smooth, synthetic violets.

The perfume is legible, direct and well made, and I can imagine it smelling pleasant – quite urban funky sexy – on the right person, a kind of Lutens Chergui meets Musc Ravageur, but to me, despite its neat efficacy, there is something rasping and unpoetic in these logical blocks of fragrance: soft, theoretically, yet pungent, direct and harsh on my own ungrateful skin. The designer the scent is inspired by strikes me as far more nuanced, eclectic and intelligent than this namesake perfume which, though convincingly rich and luxuriant in some ways, ultimately, to me, comes across as smelling too ‘blocked’, basic; even crude.

On the subject of ‘celebrities’, I thought it might be interesting to read the two Italian-American rivals in blonde proximity…..

Can’t believe it is already a year…..