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· January 23, 2008 10:36 PM by Blogger Colleen Shirazi
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The Lipstick Page Forums Beauty & Fashion Blog
The Mnemonic Sense: Perfume Kismet (Part 3)


Posted by Dain, Wednesday, January 23, 2008 3:42 PM (Eastern)

For a little context and background to these idiosyncratic to-dos, please read Part 1 and Part 2 if you have not already. All of these articles owe their existence to The Perfumed Court's generous sponsorship, because they are really spillover from Beauty Notebooks—there was just so much food for thought that it seemed necessary to provide a general context. An interview and an exploration of orientals are due for February, pastorals for March (just in time for spring).


Signature scents are an old idea. Who wears just one perfume any more? One desires different fragrances for different moods, but at heart perfume kismet is an idea similar to the signature scent—same impact, more perfumes. Just as I do not find purple prose or notes lists particularly helpful, olfactory families strike me as equally vague. It is true that perfumes often have a consonance of moods, but they are not necessarily what one might expect, and for that reason, I have made categories for myself (because who else can dictate what I want?), very fluid, so I can explore "what I am looking for" at will, a-ramble through possibilities. I take a perfume I like, lift the elements that intrigue me, and follow them in other directions. You build experience, not knowledge, though it takes knowledge to make those experiences worthwhile. Reviews are handy, not because they are "accurate" but because they provide welcome direction. You test, you sample, you reject, you consider, and sometimes, you find something that stops you in your tracks. From here, the process may begin again or you may have found exactly what you are looking for.


Actually, I did have a signature scent once, in high school. It was Givenchy Organza Indécence, a golden fever of vanilla and amber and woods, honeyed o'er. Like many, my introduction into this mad world was a gourmand. By the time I was at university, I decided I'd venture into the world of perfume, but I knew next to nothing. Through a combination of research, hearsay, and accident, I have wandered far afield from my first love. This chart is far from complete; I have probably tested twice this much. There was not enough room, for example, to show that Tabac Blond was inspired by a personal love of Caron and Fumerie Turque in addition to ecstatic reviews. It still has me in its throes, and thanks to Tabac Blond I am curious about leather (Cuir de Russie, Montale Oud Cuir d'Arabie), spicy carnation (Coup de Fouet), leather AND carnation (Bandit), and Mitsouko. In fact, all things point to Mitsouko: that Nancy told me it reminded her of me, someone describing Tabac Blond as "Mitsouko naked", my enjoyment of Bois et Fruits, the general adoration expressed by those who "know" perfume, my discovery of new-age chypre 31 Rue Cambon (too confusing to add an arrow). It is a very intuitive process, and yet it is highly idiosyncratic. Accolades from experts are not enough for me, nor is the fact that chypres like my skin, nor that I enjoyed the peach in Bois et Fruits, nor that it is contemporaneous to Tabac Blond, but all of these things combined assure me that I really ought to order a sample.

I suspect, if you are not a collector, this is how we all work. The following are my "families", so to speak (I imagine everyone will have very different interpretations). In some cases, the searching is finished, while others are works-in-progress to be detailed in February and March.

The first is gourmand, a rite of passage for most perfume addicts, as my friend Wendy has put it. To this day, no other vanilla compares to Organza Indécence (I do not know if the reformulation is very different). I attempted a lighter mood with tropicals, notably Balenciaga Cristobal, which I still appreciate though tropical gourmands don't suit me. I explored the darker cousin of vanilla, chocolate, in Comptoir Sud Pacifique (which nows smells awful to me), then the much lauded Angel (which still turns into urine), and now, many years later, a similar abstract interpretation of the note in BVLGARI Blv Notte, which I recommend highly but will not rebuy. Why? My nose has "grown up", and gotten very tired of sweet perfumes. The only gourmand that interests me is a turkish-delight perfume, so Luctor et Emergo People of the Labyrinths is coming in the mail. I do not know if I will go for it, but perhaps I can reserve it for when the mania for gourmandization passes.

In those early days, I started off with some of the classics, notably the twin towers of Guerlain and Caron. I still have a bottle of musty, magnificent, melancholy L'Heure Bleue, simultaneously pointed and powdery, but Guerlains are just "too much" for me (or perhaps I have never gotten over Luca Turin's pronouncement that Guerlains, with the exception of Mitsouko, are vulgar rather than chic). But I also got a bottle of Parfum Sacré, and though it gave me a hard time at first, I learned some useful lessons in perfume addiction: give it time and apply sparingly. Now, I love it. It seems to contain every major perfumery ingredient from myrrh to neroli to lemon to pepper, and though my skin tends to dislike rose, incense, or soap (the main impressions of Parfum Sacré), it is so masterfully blended I hardly blink. Perfection. I'm thinking of trying Jean Patou 1000 or possibly a Dior, just out of curiosity, but otherwise I am well content.

This is what I call a bombshell perfume, hypnotically sexy and very strong indeed. I got a pack of Serge Lutens samples, and it was either Ambre Sultan or Tubéreuse Criminelle, a creamy, voluptuous tuberose soliflore with a dose of perversion. As a sort of testament, I do catch men trailing me when I wear tuberose, but as to its capacities as a love potion, I doubt it goes beyond "pretty... girl..." in their minds. Cleavage does much the same, you know. Ultimately, I wear tuberose because I adore it, not for the sexual empowerment. But if tuberose gives me a touch of the bombshell aura, what Frédéric Malle describes as "a very powerful, fleshy, almost human scent", I will not argue with it. As for my particular choice, I looked everywhere for a tuberose comparable to the Serge Lutens, since it is unavailable in the United States. No such luck. The closest is Fracas, or rather, it would be more accurate to suggest that Tubéreuse Criminelle is modeled after Fracas—the combination of deep, heady tuberose and artificial chemical quality that my sister describes as "perming solution"—just clarified into a much more accurate floral and limiting the chemicals to that menthol blast in the topnotes, that hang on as the merest whisper as the tuberose blossoms on your skin.

The rest, as they say, is history. I've finally graduated onto true orientals, spices and woods, but overlapping with leather, incense, carnation (a floral, but a spicy one), tobacco, and musk (the darker kind). I've discovered that a true oriental is quite difficult to execute; a passable floral is far simpler in a lot of ways. My search for the perfect oriental will be further detailed in February's Beauty Notebook.

Up for review (tentative list): Frédéric Malle Musc Ravageur, Guerlain Shalimar, Fifi Chachnil, Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan, Parfums d'Empire Ambre Russe, Satellite Padparadscha, Andy Tauer L'Air du Desert Marocain, Shiseido Féminié du Bois, Guerlain Mitsouko, Caron Tabac Blond, Caron Coup de Fouet, Chanel Cuir de Russie, Robert Piguet Bandit, Montale Black Aoud, Creed Angélique Encens... and err... I think that's it.

I generally prefer a perfume of very strong opinion (a reflection on myself, I suppose), but there are times when a quiet, contemplative scent is called for. For most people this is a soft vanilla and cream, or a clean and floral skin musk. Still, watery accords may instill that sense of peace. Or it may even be incense, like the meditative calm of a temple. Or the soothing warmth of green tea, or the shimmery crispness of citrus and Mediterranean herbs. It very much depends on the individual, as I imagine all of these categories do. For me, the most serene aromas are pastoral, a broad term (probably not official, but I'm trying to do away with such strictures because they just don't work for me) for perfumes inspired by nature that have a certain translucent cleanliness to them.

Since I intend to explore this category in greater detail in our March Beauty Notebook, please stay tuned. It ought to marshal together the following perfumes: L'Occitane Eau de Miel, L'Artisan Parfumeur Premier Figuier, Parfumerie Generale Bois Blond, CB I Hate Perfume Lavender Tea, Caron Pour un Homme, Guerlain Après L'Ondée, Jean Patou Normandie, Frédéric Malle En Passant, Chanel No. 19, Chanel 31 Rue Cambon, Christian Dior Diorissimo, Serge Lutens Bois et Fruits, Guerlain Mitsouko, and Il Profumo Musc Bleu. You'll notice that some of these are not, strictly speaking, very pastoral. Some of the perfumes led me to others, it is a great labyrinth.

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2 comment(s)
 
January 23, 2008 10:36 PM, Blogger Colleen Shirazi said...

You know something, I never did use only one perfume exclusively, even back in my Givenchy Organza days. I always had a few perfumes to rotate. Three is a good number.

I'm still thinking about that Jean Patou Sublime, but now I'm wondering about Joy. Is it really old school? I can't always do old school.

 
January 23, 2008 11:05 PM, Blogger Dain said...

I'll send you the sample I have. It was a wonderful experience, but I know it is not for me.

 

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