The Black Narcissus

THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE : ANGEL by THIERRY MUGLER (1992)

An announcement for my in-store appearance at the department store in Yokohama tomorrow.

I am mentioned precisely at the 20:00 mark.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Gvt9t5ffyjU

Hopefully see some of you there tomorrow! It will of course be socially distanced and masked.

PERSOLAISE : Would you agree that the extrait is the most luxurious form of a perfume?

THE BLACK NARCISSUS : I suppose it could be argued that buying an extravagantly huge bottle of vintage Shalimar cologne and splashing it on willy-nilly over yourself would also be an undeniably luxuriant experience – truly indulgent – but at the same time, the experience of taking a boxed extrait from your perfume cabinet, carefully removing the inner box with its plush velvet interior and lovingly applying some precious Shalimar extrait from the stopper (knowing that with each drop you use from the 7.5ml you have been given, the contents gradually disappearing, almost a mascochistic pleasure) cannot entirely be beaten. Just that one drop, which will unfurl and reveal itself over time and reveal the essence of the perfume’s message. There is something special about all of this.

Why do you think extraits fell out of favour?

Perhaps because popular fragrances became so strong and powerful in the 80’s and 90’s (Giorgio etc), that no one needed a more potent version of the same thing when the mileage was already so impressive with a simple ‘edt’ (having said that, the original extrait of Calvin Klein’s Obsession is actually pretty sublime), or else the perfumes in question were ozonic, aquatic – light by design.

And why do you think they are becoming a bit more popular?

Regarding the current rise in popularity of extraits, the cynic in me thinks it just another way to capitalize on ‘exclusivity’, by making already expensive perfumes even more so (it is amazing to think how reasonable the old extraits were!). On the other hand, it is possible that perfume lovers are just rediscovering the enjoyment to be had from a more private experience that is less about sillage and more about a certain private intensity.

Do you think that some perfumes were ‘born’ to live as extraits, whereas some simply work better as an edt or an edp?

I do. Grès Cabochard is incomparable in the extrait; the balance of the leather patchouli hyacinth combination is perfect; I find the top notes in the light versions extraneous, almost an obstacle to ‘get through’, where in the most concentrated version it just is what it is, how is was ‘meant to be’. Other perfumes, say Givenchy Ysatis, I am not sure benefitted from having an extrait version, as the gorgeousness of the edt allowed all the multifaceted components to shine through more fully. You shouldn’t necessarily try to ‘condense’ something which is perfect already.

To be honest, it all depends on the type of perfume that are in vogue at any one time. I don’t think fruity florals or ‘florientals’ lend themselves as well to the eau de toilette/ parfum stratification as well say, say, the chypres did. The vintage extrait of Yves Saint Laurent Y, for example, is very dark and moss/ patchouli rich, quite private, moody and autumnal, whereas the far fresher edt was all honeysuckle and mirabelle plum and green notes that made it incredibly joyful and springlike. If you were an Y lover, you could have modulated the precise tone of the perfume you wanted on any given day, wearing either/ or depending on the weather, or both together for more layered and intriguing effect. I can’t imagine the same thing happening with a perfume like Angel.

Many other perfumes also come in different concentrations, of course, almost making them feel like entirely different scents; in which case it is a question of trying them and seeing which iteration speaks to you personally. While many people adore the No5 extrait, for the quieter, but more concentrated and fulsome jasmine ylang rose triumvirate over the very perceptible old fashioned musk and iris that holds it all together, for me, in the extrait you totally lose the essential aldehydic triumph of Ernest Beaux’s creation, which needs the lighter zest and delirium-inducing orchestrations in the edt to properly shine through. I also never really felt that Après L’Ondée entirely worked as a parfum (despite the chilly, extra cold almond-stone atmosphere that the now discontinued extrait contained……..) as it was actually even more attenuated and shy than the original (which is very diffident to begin with!).

What defines an extrait? Is there something operatic? Intimate?

Some extraits are truly operatic: outrageous. The old Carons were like a miniaturised box at the opera and the stage and the theatre as well; opening up with crenellated satin fan interiors like a diva’s drawing room, taking up a huge amount of space on the dresser: attention-seeking, resplendent, to reveal the star of the show – the bottle of extrait – at the centre. A perfume like Poivre studded with tears and glowering with spiced menace, was a true duchess and prima donna. Mess with her at your peril.

At the other end of the spectrum, because you usually apply an extrait with a stopper, not the more workaday action of spraying from a slight distance, physically touching your skin in order to be judicious about how much you want to wear – there is a bond between you and your perfume once this ritual has been enacted – and that action in itself makes this form of perfume far more intimate.

If you had to choose…..

No19 vintage extrait is my ultimate perfume in terms of just smelling fantastic; a scent I can trust, and admire very deeply. But if I am honest with myself, I don’t know that I love it more than Vol De Nuit, which is so extraordinary and emotive in extrait it truly takes me to another realm……

Some of these decadent Narcissian quippings form part of Persolaise’s recent piece on Extraits, the full article of which you can find in the latest edition of The Perfume Society’s Scented Letter.

Thank you to Persolaise for letting me pontificate on these glorious preciousnesses. x

I found and bought this yesterday. Suzuro vintage parfum (30ml) by Shiseido. I had never even heard of it. It was there. I got it for 25 pounds but it is up for grabs on eBay for $550. Ultra-rare. Apparently Shiseido’s ‘best perfume’. Impossible to find. I thought I should get it.

A museum piece.

What does it smell like?

No 19 crossed with Arpège.

Admittedly neither; but also definitely also completely both.

I offered my wrist to D when he came home after the scent had procured itself for a few hours on my skin.

“Is that not Arpège?”

“It is.”

” And is this “,

(dabs stopper onto the back of hand) ” not 19?”

“It is. Wow.“

“???????”

For anyone who knows these two perfumes as intimately as I do (and I know there are plenty of you out there), this is a very odd thing.

On the skin, at first, the hyacinth/galbanum/vetiver/iris/neroli chic amalgam is immediately the Chanel seventies masterpiece – which Shiseido had already commemorated in its far less expensive local Japanese drugstore perfume Murasaki- but also, in its soul, nothing like it. This is Shiseido. I feel echoes. It has its own heart. some memories of Inouï, and Shiseido Kamakura. Something local ( the Shiseido factory is just down the road).

Even so, as we know, vintages are different, accentuate different facets….. so on first inhalation I definitely felt that this could easily be just a slightly, mysteriously different 19 (but what is that I am smelling……..is it …….chamomile?). Sharp, citric; very green…..

Quickly, a different personality takes over; a more tamed, calming, and domestic mimosa and sandalwood-led aspect – fuzzier, tender, rather lovely – that eventually leads to a slightly sharper version of Arpège (one parent from 1927, another from 1970, how odd.)….

Doppelgängers mating; and giving birth to a hale, and very sensible, mysteriously intelligent lovechild. ….

I got an email out of the blue recently with this photo from my friend A in London (she works in the Houses Of Parliament and doesn’t like to be identified), saying :

“I blame you”.

There was a photo of a flower attached.

“I was re-reading something you wrote about Keats and Rome and violets …..”

“So I blame you.”

It turned out that A had also coincidentally been to the very same cemetery that I used to languish in as a university student many years ago, and through the intensity of those recollections had now felt compelled to order some quite expensive violet plants to place on the balcony of her London flat ; a selection that had included

Viola Odorata ‘Alba’.

Viola Odorata ‘Colombine’.

and

Viola Odorata ‘Donau’.

She sent me a picture of another one – a rather unimposing little thing – that had just flowered.

‘Oh my god. Does it smell like a violet?’ I asked (I would love to have perfumed violets in my proximity).

‘YES’ – came the reply.

Somehow, violets have come up several times in our conversations (we met thirty years ago at Cambridge and then again at my book launch last year at Rouillier White – an amazing gathering of people I hadn’t seen for decades). She was persuaded enough by my review of Geoffrey Beene’s green-violet heavy Grey Flannel to go and check it out (now a staple, I believe);both of us love the scent of these passionately timid flowers in their mauve and green vulnerability, and are always on the lookout for a new one.

While it is sometimes satisfying to wear a florid, regally powdered number like Violetta Nobile , or a sweet, fluorescent violetta such as Insolence, it is also rare to find a more natural, violet perfume that isn’t overly concentrated on the bitterly head-piercing note of natural violet leaf absolute, which I only personally enjoy in traces. Mandy Aftel’s new Violet Ambrosia does have an undertone of that sharply green oil, but it is blended skilfully with a classically floral proper violet heart note as well as an unexpecteddance partner of genista monspessulana :: broom absolute.

This is an interesting choice of contrast : the cheering, yellow floral broom note makes a sunny counterpoint to the more doleful violets, even if on my own skin there is a slightly sour, oily, ‘vintage Caron’ aspect for a few minutes before the violets decrescendo into a calming and soothing mimosa-soft finish with violets still apparent throughout (and probably more so on paler, more delicate skin types). Samantha at I Scent You A Day fell in love with this one immediately, and it is definitely recommended for anyone who likes the small privacy of violet flowers respiring from a carefully appointed place on morning wrists. A scent to potter around the house to.

A – I don’t know if Violet Ambrosia quite has that edge you seem to like in scent (and I don’t know if you would go for the hints of sandalwood and vanilla in the heart), but for its deceptive simplicity, and the lovely gentle and sincere finish on the skin – a perfume ‘for a new day’, I do think you might want to add a sample of this one to your violet purchase list. X

Train stations in Japan often feature ikebana flower arrangements in wooden glass cabinets; a moment’s contemplation before you change lines.

At Tsujidō station today, this lady paused for a minute or so in front of this simple design of Japanese suisen : the sweet and perturbing, melancholic clarion call of winter.

I prefer the Chanel No 5 model. Maintain the mothership, the scent that made the house, then once in a while make a modernized version ( Prèmiere, L’Eau) to tweak it for the times) – but always rest the onus on the original. Preferably as untouched as possible.

There are so many editions and flankers of the untouchable Shalimar that it can be mind-boggling trying to keep track of them – Souffle this; Vanille that – but perhaps predictably, I prefer it in vintage (whatever that means now). Even recentish colognes and edts are very nice, though : this is a scent I never seem to completely tire of, nor ever have any of in the house because if I do I just spray it with abandon and use it all up : I adore it.

One bottle I do have of Shalimar in my bedroom is Parfum Initial – which D found me for 5 dollars at a Zushi favourite junkyard. The top accord always irritates me, but I spray it on my pyjamas and then later top up with some Héritage for a generally voluptuous effect, or on a piece of cream coloured mink that rests on the top of my main perfume cabinet as I like the warm smell of it upstairs when I get home.

I prefer this new fluffy, cozy version of Shalimar, Philtre De Parfum ; comforting , more baby-powdery, with a touch of lavender taken from Mon Guerlain – easy, ambery- quite cute ; well-equilibrated : solace in this frightening and turbulent period we are currently living through. It’s perhaps a bit fey for me – less leather, patchouli, opoponax and vetiver ( and thus more girly) than the best vintages, but still a nice vanillic, modernistic compromise that should do quite well. I would wear it (I think: I need to go back and try it again to be sure; it might be too deluded). Personally, I am still hoping that at some point on my rounds in old antique shops I will come across an original again, waiting for me expectantly and quietly resplendent in its purple, velvet box.