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· February 2, 2008 6:54 PM by
Colleen Shirazi
· February 2, 2008 7:47 PM by
Dain
· February 2, 2008 9:54 PM by
Colleen Shirazi
· February 3, 2008 11:14 AM by
Chez*Moi
· February 3, 2008 3:02 PM by
Dain
· February 3, 2008 3:06 PM by
Dain
· February 3, 2008 4:31 PM by
Colleen Shirazi
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Beauty Notebook FEBRUARY 2008: If I Ever Bore You, It Will Be With a Knife
Beauty Notebook FEBRUARY 2008: If I Ever Bore You, It Will Be With a Knife
Posted by Dain, Saturday, February 02, 2008 5:21 AM (Eastern)
Please read Part One as well. This month, I explored orientals, exotics, leathers, animalic musks, incenses, tobaccos, spices, and woods. A very wide-ranging category indeed, but these notes, so often relegated to the role of base notes, can be quite mutinous on their own. I really like the idea of bringing something difficult to heel, a dangerous beauty but of a particular kind—not the coy, luxuriant vulgarity of the bombshell, but the exact opposite: a selfish, enigmatic thing, aggressive, intelligent, and very complicated emotionally, but genuinely elegant. [pauses] That sentence is adjective/punctuation throw-up, not to mention stupid, but it cannot be helped, since this experiment is a bit like going on a series of blind dates. With more concise wit, Louise Brooks (quoted in the title) sums it up.
If it does not, I have kept this video in escrow for an article worthy of it, the incredible Jascha Heifetz making Paganini look easy.
 I was very eager to try Shiseido Féminité du Bois, essentially a primitive Serge Lutens, the precursor to the marvelous Eaux Boisées, which explores cedar within its own idiosyncratic interpretation: red, raw, reeking Santal de Mysore, sublimely radiant Bois et Fruits, the mincing delicacy of Bois de Violette, the green heart of the living tree in Chêne, sternly handsome and dapper Un Bois Sépia, and Bois Oriental, which most closely resembles the original. (It should be noted I have never tested Bois et Muscs.) It would be difficult to discuss Féminité du Bois without all this context, though it reverses the flow of time. In its sleek, aubergine bottle you will find many of the peccadilloes of Les Eaux Boisées—the same dusky peaches and plums, and the same spices for depth and complexity, the same preciousness of candied violet, and always the central presence of cedar—but the Shiseido, a distinct masterpiece of its own, has a more polished, impeccable texture. There is less of the Serge-Lutens sludge that had me balking at Bois Oriental, just a honeyed sweetness that ensures a darkly radiant sillage. A perfume without any angles whatsoever, Féminité du Bois is a very approachable starting point for those who wish to venture past the mainstream fruity-florals. As for me, I am looking for a little more trouble (it is Bois et Fruits I'd want anyway). It is discontinued in the U.S. (no testing at the department store), but nevertheless more readily available than the any of the Eaux Boisées. |
 One of the virtues of samples is that one does not need to depend on first impressions. Like many others, I am enchanted by the concept behind Frédéric Malle, yet I have not sniffed anything that leaves a deep impression. They are nice and pretty, but bore me. So when I heard Musc Ravageur was "difficult", I was sold. The first few tries were positively mouthwatering. Not a floral in sight, just this glorious smut (Patsy Stone's leer!). Is it the ticklish blast of cinnamon? The close, slinky, almost animalic musk? Or the warmth of vanilla and amber, like a candlelit ceremony, that provides a backdrop for it all? It is not the most complex of fragrances, just a few simple but impeccably rendered pieces, like a carefully designed piece of jewelry. It creates the positive ambiance of panting lust, impatient with barely repressed heat. If you are tired of musks that are clean and soapy, this is a pleasing alternative. At first. Thank god for samples. After a while, it begins to smell downright comforting, like gingerbread cookies. The first taste is delicious, but it stales too soon, and now I approach with slight, not-another-gourmand nausea. I hear the EDP (this is the oil I tested) is somewhat more dimensional, but I will not be pursuing it further. |
 Andy Tauer's L'Air du Desert Marocain is often described as "dry", a rare feat among spices and woods, which often quiet the jangling cacophony with sweet nothings like vanilla. At first, the fragrance is so deftly blended that it is rather difficult to single out any particular note, but its focus is clearly cedar, but it skirts the clichés of that dry, fragrant wood. If you can imagine it, this is a cedar that sparkles and fizzes, with plenty of lemon and petitgrain, and the subtler spice of herbs such as coriander (a nutty herbal smell), while touches of jasmine and rose elevate the composition from the mere masculine into a true unisex, and a drydown, oddly enough, with a texture like sand (I swear it is not the name that implies it!). It is a singular perfume, but strange as it sounds the closest connection in my mind Eau d'Hadrien, with greater depth. I would reserve it for warmer months, because of the refined lemony sillage. Admirable, especially from an independent, but not for me is its citrusy effervescence, though it layers splendidly with Montale Black Aoud—the rose gives it an extra tier of richness without disturbing the original aridity. |
 Montale reviews are a queer mixture of glowing approbation and cautionary advice, so I quite braced myself, radiation suit in hand... *sniff* Huh. Huh? Reviews emphasized the oud and labeled it a "black rose", so I was expecting something closer to Parfum Sacré, but this is rose, red as blood and full-blown, the natural aroma of a bloom, not the tinny caricatures that other houses must resort to out of sheer expense. It almost makes me contemplate a rose perfume, but who am I kidding? It certainly has a medicinal tang, like sour candy, which I assume to be the oud, but it demands no acclimatization from my end. I am somewhat less fond of how it shrivels and sours in the far drydown, a quality that will probably knock this off my list. I'll be frank, I expected oud—the rarest, costliest, most exotic of all perfume ingredients, positively mythic—to be far more difficult. Oud, schmoud. Call me anosmic, but this is a rose soliflore in my estimation, even though it is really a duet, and here is my reasoning: when the people around you get a whiff of your sillage, it is the rose they will recognize. This is not to downplay the supporting role of the oud (and others); its rancor is important, not to diminish the classic beauty of the rose, but to amplify through juxtaposition. La belle et la bête. Fracas plays much the same game with tuberose. The rose may otherwise trespass into conventionality, in spite of its realism; the oud puts thorns on it. |
 Perhaps Jean Patou might match a Caron in sheer elegance, but Patous are traditionalists, with impeccable manners and scads of diamonds. Tabac Blond today is as avant garde as it must have been 1919. It is positively bipolar, vibrating between the conceptual and the wearable as if (in other, lesser perfumes) they were not diametrically opposed. Mood the First: tobacco reigns over the top notes, ashing quickly, and before long, the presence of civet suggests the fetid smell of an unclean ashtray. It is quite dirty. I smoke, so I do not discover romanticism as others have, but realism: it is a marvel to find the unpleasant pleasures of a cigarette so accurately rendered, all the way down to the dead nonchalance. Mood the Second: Then, so seamlessly you almost fail to notice, it changes into the absolute heart and soul of a leather scent. The spice of carnation takes over, and underneath hums a leather note so rich and buttery smooth, a combination that is unexpected, striking, and so very right. I also smell iris, amber, patchouli, and vanilla. It is dense and dark and infinitely interesting. Tabac Blond is quite soft and smooth in spite of the strange theatrics—a perfume with the most unusual charisma that runs dangerously close to alienating you. I envy the woman who can wear this well. I sympathize with one who cannot stand it. I am caught in between. |
These five were my first set of samples, and initially everything but Tabac Blond was attractive to me. One by one, they dropped away, for one reason or another. Black Aoud doesn't belong in this group at all, while Musc Ravageur was just too sweet and comforting—I'd rather get a bona fide gourmand for that. L'Air du Desert Marocain and Féminité du Bois stuck around longer in my consideration, but they lack the aggression I seek. All the while, I kept reaching for Tabac Blond. It had grossed me out from the first (dirty ashtrays and ball sweat), but it has, I know not how else to term it, character. In a roomful of pretty, chattering femmes (for all of these perfumes are good), the quiet and difficult Tabac Blond outshines them all.
Thus, for the next round of samples (and if you like, purchased them myself, didn't feel right asking for more), I pursued the elements from Tabac Blond that intrigued me most: carnation and leather.
 Leather has an genuine affinity for my chemistry, so it should come as no surprise that Chanel Cuir de Russie loves my skin (indeed, only one leather has ever failed on me). Unlike the moody and smooth second-skin feel of Tabac Blond, the leather in Cuir de Russie is sharp and quite pronounced. True to the Chanel idiom, it is a perfumey perfume, utter radiance ringing around its unusual centerpiece: aldehydes, mandarin and orange blossom, Polge's soapy triumvirate of jasmine and rose and ylang ylang, sumptuous iris and haunting vetiver at its heart, and ambery warmth that rises in the drydown. Stunning. It is a scent belonging to bygone days, the long-forgotten smell of your mother's handbag, when feminine beauty was not pinioned into under-20/bleached blonde/size 4 conventionality, and everyone in the movies wore hats, and intelligence sparkled in ready partnership with carefully lit faces. I have no idea how the reorchestration holds up. |
 Enticed by the carnation in Tabac Blond, I decided to look for one of the hottest and spiciest incarnations of all, Caron Coup de Fouet, or translated from the French, "Crack of the Whip" (incidentally, the parfum concentration goes by the name Poivre). As the name suggests, it is not at all subdued, but it is rather awe-inspiring. It is brashly peppery from the first, both black and red, before moving onto a heart note of spicy, silky carnation supported by the more demure rose, with resinous myrrh to sweeten and soften in the drydown. It lacks the dark base that figures in most Carons, but perhaps this is wise; as it is Coup de Fouet has the feral elegance of a tiger in its cage, barely restrained, and mousse de saxe would turn it into something quite sinister. Though carnation provides substance to Coup de Fouet, the peppery fireworks are really on display here, and it is highly unusual in that respect. Pepper is used frequently throughout perfumery to add bite to the topnotes, as in cooking, a sprinkling of pepper amplifies the other flavors in the recipe, but it is rarely the main feature, but it is extremely well done in Coup de Fouet, resulting in a rather cool and offbeat brew, like Katharine Hepburn's chattering energy, pure electricity in a bottle. |
 And so, at the last, to a leather chypre, two fabulous but outmoded genres. Unpopular Robert Piguet Bandit may be, so that Sephora has pulled it from its shelves and replaced it with mawkish fruit-laced burnt-sugar juices, so that reviews of Bandit are always accompanied with reams of wary approbation, the kind that goes, "It is difficult to wear, but a must sniff for those who wish to educate themselves in perfume masterpieces." This is very right and fair warning, but as for me, I can only shrug: from the chlorine fog of galbanum, the steady movement into a richly feminine, smirking jasmine (with carnation and rose adding witty commentary), as the murky grasp of oakmoss and vetiver take hold, Bandit loves me, as its more reputable sister Fracas never has, from top to bottom. And that is written correctly, absurd as it sounds. I do not love Bandit, it loves me. It is perhaps the sumptuous texture of leather, to me always and forever the epitome of chic, that underscores Bandit throughout all its diverse stages, and indeed, there isn't quite enough leather to satisfy my taste for it, so I wait to consider the EDT, to assess if its rougher attitudes do not suit me better.Is it difficult? I hardly know. Like any strong woman, I think Bandit is generally misunderstood, because there are no stereotypes worthy of it (even if Marlene Dietrich did wear it). Many reviews, somewhat ludicrously, see it as sexually transgressive, which I object to on principle. It does keep others at a distance (neither my mother or sister like it), but were I a dominatrix, I'd wear Diorissimo and maintain a wicked sense of humor; you'd have a whip to keep him in control, after all. No, Bandit simply keeps her own counsel, and pays no attention to stupid labels like naughty or nice: "To hell with it," she mutters. I have never encountered a perfume so unflinchingly bittersweet. Without rhyme or reason, it belongs on my skin, and here I am helplessly gasping, struck by lightning. |
As they say, to be continued... Bandit is only the strongest contender, but the other two leathers are still worthy competition, and I might try Diorling, since I've had luck with the house.
Labels: andy tauer, beauty notebook, caron, chanel, frederic malle, montale, robert piguet, serge lutens, shiseido, the mnemonic sense, the perfumed court
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February 2, 2008 6:54 PM,
That's slain a few lemmings, that has.
The Andy Tauer sounds good though. "Dry" is often underrated in a scent.
When a perfume is described as "difficult," I agree, that may be the one to try.
February 2, 2008 7:47 PM,
Really? Which ones?
The Andy Tauer doesn't have the most intense lasting power, but it doesn't up and leave after five minutes like the AG does. I think it's the woods, it gives it a little more substance. I figure I may like it better in the summer, but I'm really the kind of person who wears perfume absolutely regardless of such things.
I know others do match perfumes for more specific events, but... Ah, I'm too picky, to begin with, and to be strictly honest, I like sticking one thing over and over again. I find there's always this pressure to try something new (i.e. BUY something new), but I'm not really like that. Even when I have lots of things, I just don't use them.
February 2, 2008 9:54 PM,
I dunno, all of them? They weren't rabid lemmings particularly though.
I so agree. I don't match perfumes to much myself. If it's your scent, it's your scent. But then, I don't think either us of matches our blush to our makeup? One blush is good, if it's "the" blush?
We have entered an almost entirely consumption-based historical period, haven't we? It makes me feel like buying less and less.
February 3, 2008 11:14 AM,
Huh. I've sniffed Bandit once or twice but have never felt compelled to try it on.
Tabac Blonde has been popping up more and more on my radar lately, I may have to give that one a try here soon.
I've been battling a rollicking case of seasonal depression lately, I've not been wanting to do or try anything. Blah.
However, I did want to tell you,esp. Colleen since you,dear, have been gently harping on me to just do it, that I am actually filling out a college ap. this week and am hoping to stay brave enough to hit the send button when I'm done.
And just to throw some politics into the mix, this whole government tax rebate economical stimulus package deal has made me even more loathe to shop and part with my $$$.
February 3, 2008 3:02 PM,
They were all chosen because they either are described as difficult or had notes that were difficult. I'm not sure how they would suit others, I just wanted to experience something "anti-mainstream", as it were.
I'm divided between Tabac Blond (warm) and Bandit (cool). Perhaps I should stick to Cuir de Russie (neutral), but maybe I just still haven't found it yet. I should order a set of leathers, maybe, wouldn't hurt. It's possible I just haven't found it yet.
I'll admit I'm not entirely as loyal as you are, Colleen, but I do tend to wear something out. I use the same product day after day, and eventually I lose interest but not before I get use out of it. But it's true that one blush manages for all (you can just your fleshy highlight shadow for subtle glow if your makeup is too strong to support a blush). Speaking of fleshy highlight, I wonder if a little more color, such as NARS Nepal or Cyprus would not suit you better? Since you're blonde, and warmer than I am... Anyway, if you're considering AAE, you should also check these two out.
February 3, 2008 3:06 PM,
Carol, Bandit has a lot of harsh green in it, which is why I think a lot of people are put off by it. But if you are familiar with galbanum and like it, it is not too problematic. It's used to an excessive degree in another perfume I really like Chanel No. 19, along with a carroty iris, rose, and lily of the valley. As for Tabac Blond, I would be all over it if it didn't have a point where it smells like ball sweat. I think everyone might like Feminite du Bois, however. It's the kind of perfume that is hard to dislike, and if I were to recommend one to you, it would be FdB.
Go for it! And good luck!
It's good to hear from you.
February 3, 2008 4:31 PM,
You have to hit that submit button. You just do. :D
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