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Posted by Dain, Wednesday, December 28, 2005 4:16 PM (Eastern)
Is a neverending process. It's easy to be deluded by tantalizing descriptions and then to discover, to your chagrin, that it doesn't suit you after all. Furthermore, perhaps more than most products, perfumes are mysteriously prone to shifting loyalties—all of a sudden, for no reason at all, you might detest the scent that you loved only a month ago. The most crucial determination, then, when selecting one for your collection, is whether you love it or not, without outside reference. It may be helpful to think of a perfume as representing a 'mood' or an 'aspect of a woman's personality', but I think that way of approaching perfume is limiting. It is true that not every perfume is going to be appropriate, all the time, for every occassion, but I don't like the idea of perfume having the nature of a costume. If there is no 'summer scent' that you love, why should you be required to own one? I prefer to consider my bottles as I might men, some are right for certain purposes at certain times, others are mysteriously perfect always. Dissonance is OK, impropriety is OK, as long as it is sometimes very right. Indifference, however, is not OK.
In any case, here are my current imaginings, subject to change, particularly since I do not yet own half of them. The order I am presenting them is not to show preference, but a sort of aesthetic and/or categorically associative order, which is perhaps the only way to think of them without becoming pigeonholed into 'scent families'.
Serge Lutens Daim Blond: To me, this is a "skin" scent, not only in how closely and subtly it graces the skin, but also in its elusiveness. It is like something that can only be seen out of the corner of your eye—sniff too hard, and it disappears, like a mirage. It is difficult, too, to determine what exactly you are smelling. Daim Blond is a leather scent (the translation means "blonde suede"), but it is miles removed from the robust, animalic aggressiveness of Chanel Cuir de Russie or Robert Piguet Bandit. Daim Blond is a soft, delicate, graceful suede, and rather makes me think of how the French perfume industry got started, the French association between perfume-makers and glove-makers, maîtres parfumeurs et gantiers, established because the smell of cured leather offended the delicate noses of the French aristocracy (though given the sort of cheeses they eat, their predeliction for infrequent baths, and rampant smoking habits, "delicate" may be a debatable adjective here). Rare iris butter, apricot kernel, cardamom, clean white musk, heliotrope and hawthorn: notes chosen for their delicacy and softness and rarity. Daim Blond is musky but not soapy, leathery but not animalic, flowery but not floral, warm but not saccharine—it almost smells like nothing, or a suggestive hint of sunwarmed skin. Lancôme 2000 et Une Rose: I've actually never smelled this, but the idea of a a multi-faceted, multi-rose fragrance, offset by sweetness and amber and a little peppery kick, appeals to me. Carol loves this one, and she and I seem to have similar tastes in fragrances. I love the idea of something rose-based to layer over my Olay Quench Body Lotion, and there's just no note as unabashedly feminine or perfume-y, but I need a great of warmth in a perfume, which a rose, though many other things, never really is, unless it is contorted almost out of all recognition (e.g. Caron Parfum Sacré). I'm hoping this one suits, and may just have to buy it (contact.faubourg@lancome.com) with my vacation paycheck.
Caron Parfum Sacré: And speaking of roses and perfumes that cling like a whisper over the skin, Caron's Parfum Sacré is the logical next step. Parfum Sacré perhaps shows how many faces the versatile rose can take. Unlike YSL Paris, which is next, Parfum Sacré avoids the living flower altogether, but rather presents an old-fashioned, ladylike rose, like a dried corsage, laced with incense and bolstered by the grandest white florals in perfumery: neroli and jasmine. It is difficult to explain how this perfume moves from a loud, brash, spicy aldehydic floral, into something so sweet and quiet, not like perfume at all but like the lingering fragrance of the most fabulous soap in the world, found in some dusty, nameless apothecary in a small town in Europe. Even if I did not love Parfum Sacré, I feel like I would want a bottle around anyway, just to smell how masterfully such complex notes have been blended together. It smells like chic, like a beautiful Lanvin suit or the queer and aloof pumps of Christian Louboutin. 
YSL Paris: Yves Saint Laurent's order for Paris was simple: "Make us the most gorgeous rose perfume ever." (source: The Emperor of Scent) Paris is not a scent I could wear at large, every day, but its sparkling vision of a sun-dappled, dew-drenched rose garden is positively show-stopping, like watching Elizabeth Taylor walk into a movie. The smell of splendor, of an intelligence that cannot be masculinized. It inspires extreme reactions: some people think it smells like old lady, and some people find it indescribably gorgeous. I think the latter... there's something very decadent and slightly aggressive about wearing such a determinedly rose-y perfume, especially if one is very young. Serge Lutens Tuébereuse Criminelle: And lastly (for today), and equally unabashed soliflore, Tubéreuse Criminelle. Oh, I have lusted after this one for months. It is not, however, available in the US. Tuberose is as purely floral as rose, and though perhaps not as versatile as the queen of flowers, is nevertheless a note of many different characters. Consider the synthetic virtue of Robert Piguet Fracas, or the metal and cream dissonance of Michael Kors, or the luscious and silky warmth of Caron Tubése, or even its light and carefree side in L'Artisan Parfumeur La Chasse Aux Papillons. Tubéreuse Criminelle is none of these. It smells malignantly of menthol and gasoline when it first opens, like the cold malice of a newly minted road, before settling into the most dreamy, truthful tuberose you can imagine, straight from the jungles of Mexico. Even as it shifts from overwhelming artifice to overwhelming nature, it never loses even a little of its aggressiveness. It's powerful and feminine and very, very sexy. YSL Paris has charm and elegance and refinement, but Tubéreuse Criminelle is a bitch.
Images courtesy of http://perso.wanadoo.fr/imagesdeparfums/.
Labels: beauty notes, perfume
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