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Posted by Dain, Sunday, February 10, 2008 5:24 AM (Eastern)
Henri Matisse, The Joy of Life (1906)*
Coup de Fouet, like every other Caron I have encountered, is an absolute and pure beauty that far transcends kneejerk appreciation. Every time I become acquainted with one, I think to myself, "Why do I even bother with other houses? I am a Caron girl. Fuck this other shit, this niche posturing." All of my first impressions have been decidedly negative, and yet they linger in the mind and quietly resist showier competition. Scent is generally a bid for attention, but the Carons are private perfumes that yield their secrets slowly (a concise definition of dignity). I understand there are some who cannot wear Carons, because of the dark, oakmossy mousse de saxe, because patience is a requirement, and because they are intelligent. That is tragic. Infinitely interesting and highly wearable, every single one of I have tried (save the sickening violets of Aimez-Moi) casts my soul into paradise.
There is a strange childlike quality to Coup de Fouet, the olfactory equivalent of an old-fashioned spectacle, the Hobbits enthralled by Gandalf's magical fireworks. And yet, it is not at all precious, it is feral elegance: black pepper, red pepper, carnation, and sandalwood. It does not seem like a workable, wearable perfume, and it isn't, and yet it is. It is electric and cocksure, ceaselessly chattering. Earlier I made a comparison to Katharine Hepburn, and I still hold to it. Behind the peppery sparks, carnation is the most substantial: paradoxically hot and cold, because it smells simultaneously of spices and fresh water. An offbeat wonder, and I would very much like to try Poivre (the parfum concentration) someday.
* For the record, I've only taken one art history course (my knowledge of cosmetics is also entirely self-taught), but I get definite echoes of Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights in this one.
Labels: beauty notes, caron, perfume reviews
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