Meet the Staff: The Sketchbook
· Blog Home
· Profile
· MySpace
· Contact Us
· FAQ/TOS
Older Articles
· Tech: New post preview feature
· Beauty Notes: Transitioning into "niche" perfumes
· Beauty Notes: Serge Lutens Chergui Review
· Beauty Notes: The Four Stages of Minimalism
· Beauty/Fashion/Culture Notes: The "Versus"
· Merry Christmas!
· Fashion Notes: Lucky Brand
· Culture Notes: A Star Is Born
· Three ways to stay warm this season.
· Lookbook: Snow Queen
Comments
Archives
· Beauty Blog (2003-2004)
· Fashion Blog (archive)
· New Releases Blog (archive)
· Beauty Articles (archive)
· April 2005
· May 2005
· June 2005
· July 2005
· August 2005
· September 2005
· October 2005
· November 2005
· December 2005
· January 2006
· February 2006
· March 2006
· April 2006
· May 2006
· June 2006
· July 2006
· August 2006
· September 2006
· October 2006
· November 2006
· December 2006
· January 2007
· February 2007
· March 2007
· April 2007
· May 2007
· June 2007
· July 2007
· August 2007
· September 2007
· October 2007
· November 2007
· December 2007
· January 2008
· February 2008
· March 2008
· April 2008
· May 2008
· June 2008
· July 2008
Recent blog posts:
Links
Barneys
refinery29
The Sartorialist
Jargol
Perfume Shrine
Ambre Gris
Polyvore
The Fashioniste
The Powder Group
LA-Story.com
Dain's Literary Attempts
Colleen's Beading Blog
Colleen's Adult Acne Blog
The Beauty Blog Network
Eponym Blog Directory.
TBF Project:Blog
Posted by Dain, Sunday, December 30, 2007 12:34 AM (Eastern)
Every note in perfume has its own particular character, and among florals, rose is the queen, jasmine, a countess, and tuberose, perhaps, is a courtesan. Were I to continue this thin analogy further, violet would be a princess, sweet, precious, and spoiled. It was a flower beloved of Victorians, which may explain my antipathy for it. I would like to like it, just as I would like to like Dickens and Henry James, but the combination of prudery and self-righteousness (all ersatz, if you ask me, a pleasing veneer for their taste for melodrama) is overdone to my nose. Like saccharine morality, the violet has a certain sweetness to it, bound to give you a toothache in the wrong hands: Caron Aimez-Moi, for example (who else but a princess could demand such a thing?), was nausea in a bottle. Guerlain Les Meteorites is better, a little less edibility with the omission of anise and the addition of a soft white musk, the scent of a mother, in the Platonic world. I have yet to try the iconic Violettes de Toulouse.
All things considered, violets aren't "me". But Serge Lutens, master of making the character of raw notes manifest, offers one that is soothing and comforting, like a mug of fine hot chocolate, no corn syrup, thank you very much.
It begins with the sharpness of the leaf and the aromatic touch of white cedar, the latter of which is quite reticent to my nose. In fact, I would have preferred more cedar, for it is too much the eminence grisé to the rather showy entrance of violet, a sort of effervescent sweetness not unlike... grape soda. As the perfume moves into the heart, the flower is revealed in all its modesty and purity, as if someone has turned a spotlight on it. Violet never really loses that princess-y quality. It gets moodier and sweeter as it dries down, but it remains superbly elegant throughout the whole.
Labels: perfume reviews, serge lutens
subscribe
in a reader
Post a comment (NO SPAM)
Links to this post:
Create a Link