Forget me Not : Diva by Ungaro

It is the third Monday of the month, which means Fragrance Bouquet and For the Love of Perfume are writing about yet another classic. For this month’s feature, TMH and I have chosen Ungaro’s Diva, a perfume that I have for a while been craving to see reviewed by dear TMH, as it is so close to her heart. I only discovered Diva a couple of years ago myself and am glad for it, as I do not see it nearly as often any longer. It is not that Diva is hard to find – it is in fact widely available and rather cheap at perfume discounters. But when it comes to local perfumeries, Diva is slowly being replaced by better selling fragrances. I do understand why – the shelf-space is limited and the fragrance market is rather oversaturated with new releases. Choices have to be made. It is a sad day though, when a beloved classic is being replaced, its space on the shelf taken over by yet another fruity floral.

Created by Jacques Polge, Chanel’s third Master Perfumer and current nose, Diva launched in 1983 and was succeeded by two different flankers, Fleur de Diva – a fruity floral- in 1997 and Divas – a woody musk scent whose notes sound absolutely delightful- in 2000. A child of the eighties though it might be, Diva does not have the quintessential powerhouse-fragrance feel many of its contemporaries have. The name in this instance is rather misleading: this is a much more subtle and ladylike floral-chypre scent, that oozes class. The opening is almost sour, full of vintage ambience. Quickly the aldehydic top notes amplify the sharpness of coriander and bergamot, imparting a sense of fizzy greenness on the skin. Once the initial “sourness” dissipates, Diva goes through a short stage in which it is quite reminiscent of Paloma Picasso with which it is very often compared – although I feel I must add that Paloma Picasso has more depth and feels much more layered. Even though there is no leather note in this scent, it is in this stage too that I get a definite impression of leather, a soft crack of a whip that stings oh, so sweet. The middle stage of Diva’s development is in turn a beautiful floral heart, with no traces of Paloma Picasso’s strong profile left and the cracking of the aforementioned whip all but a distant thunder. At first, the most prominent and easily picked-out note seems to be the gorgeous rose, concentrated and deep, changing colors in my mind’s eye from deep red, to match the potency of its scent, to creamy champagne, matching its spirit. Soon though, my senses get not so much awakened, but actually assaulted by the powerful imagery created by the ivory bouquet of white florals. An impression so strong, so powerful, of indolic jasmine, tuberose and fleshy gardenia, slaps me in the face abruptly and I breathlessly turn the other cheek, eagerly begging for more. I speak of imagery indeed, because the occurence always manages to be eerily visual. Diva’s mossy base is apparent from the beginning, but as the heart notes slowly fly off, the oakmoss becomes truly inebriating – chypre lovers will swoon with joy. This is a lovely, musky, mossy drydown, which makes excellent use of a thyme-honey accord. The effect is utterly lovely: beautiful, honeyed oakmoss with a hint of beeswax that makes me want to rub my nose against my own skin like a kitten. Those that enjoy Ivoire’s mossy drydown but wish it was a little less single-minded and a little more elaborate, are sure to love Diva.

Images: www.punmiris.com and http://commons.wikimedia.org

Zen by Shiseido : Perfume Review

Sometimes it is more difficult to write about perfumes I’ve lived with and loved for a long time, than about those I’ve just discovered. I’ve been longing to write about Zen for about as long as I’ve been writing Fragrance Bouquet, but something inside me has been making me hold back, always deciding to postpone a review for a later date. Perhaps it is fear of not being able to express my love for it; maybe it’s fear of being unable to describe it. Or perhaps it is the peculiar feeling I have of being unable to touch it, because I have never been able to truly own Zen anyway. It sits there on my dresser, wallowing in my love and admiration, not waiting to be picked – content in only rarely demanding to. And I, I have to wait till it calls me. The rest of my fragrances are mine, loved possessions I feel I can pick up almost thoughtlessly at any given time, because they are both mine and part of myself. With Zen, I have to be summoned.

But now, I feel cannot postpone the review any longer. I guess I have not been following fragrance news very closely, because it was only during my recent trip to Paris that I found that Zen has been discontinued. “Discontinued?” I asked at Shiseido, crestfallen. “Yes, it is gone, a new one is coming in September!” the answer came. Sure enough, when I came back home I confirmed it is nowhere to be found. A cursory look through the international WebPages of Shiseido just confused me, with some listing it as part of the fragrance line while others do not. For now, all I can do to comfort myself is write a little tribute to this difficult love of mine, this love that refuses to be tamed, shunning my affections with haughtiness. That, and wait for the tidings September will bring, of course.

In 1964, Shiseido released the original Zen, Zen Classic. In 2000, almost four decades later, they decided to completely reformulate it. It was meant to be a fragrance for the new millennium. In a time when the stressors of society seemed to be at an ultimate height and with technology making unprecedented leaps into a future that at the time seemed rather frantic, Zen came with a very ambitious vision: to center the wearer, to make them look deep in their hearts. To find inner strength and beauty, enabling them thus to be at peace with the world around them. To vivify the heart, prompting it to reach to others with kindness and purity. With never before used notes such as Space Rose, special ingredients such as Kyara wood and Modified Valerian Oil (both meant to decrease stress and induce feelings of calm and focus) as well as a flacon modeled after two hands gently clasped together in white to encompass all colors, it is obvious that a lot of thought and care went into every stage of creating this perfume. What happened in seven years? Why take away something that clearly required so much effort to create? Excuse me while I lament the loss of a favorite...

And yes, despite its difficult character, Zen has been a favorite of mine. Lacking the richness and complexity of a masterpiece, yes, but still a favorite. Deconstructing it is not an option: Zen is an amalgam of sights, sounds and smells. The heavy rustle of a kimono, austere, reserved. Then the playful, happy song of the melting snow forming a quick stream over rounded stones come springtime. Bamboo whispering in the breeze, while sappy greens are being cut with a machete, the watery scent of their fresh juices mingling with that of its metallic edge. Spiciness with a complete lack of warmth - a spirit burning incense. Solitude. There are no tools of seduction here.

Unlike anything I’d ever smelled before, Zen smells to me today as unique as it did the first time I ever sprayed it on my skin. Out of this world. In one word, futuristic: as shocking and beautiful as a Hussein Chalayan dress. Mossy, spicy and woody at the same time, Zen has all the right ingredients to make me feel as though I am in a Japanese garden. Yet, I do not feel self-contemplating when I wear it. Instead, Zen makes me assume all the qualities it has itself: Aloofness, detachment and quiet forcefulness.

Image courtesy of www.bestcompanyamsterdam.com