A Change of Heart

How have your tastes in perfume changed over the years? I promised a couple of weeks ago that there was a series coming up here on Fragrance Bouquet, focusing on a particular note. The series is starting this Wednesday and is to comprise of a number of reviews focusing on patchouli-themed perfumes and is to culminate to a list of favorites. As many of you long-time readers already know, patchouli has been a defining, revelatory note for me. Making a 180 degree turn from hatred to love after a lifetime of avoiding patchouli frags like witches would a roaring pyre, I’ve gone through feelings of surprise, dissonance and acceptance for what still seems like a newly-found love. The time has come to celebrate this multi-facetted, full of nuances plant so important to perfumery.

But this post is not only about introducing the patchouli series. It is about change of heart in our perfume choices in general. I opened this post by asking you, how your tastes in perfume have changed over the years. I want to expand on this question and further ask: How do you feel about these changes? For me, accepting certain changes has not been easy. I grew up with a very clear instinct to passionately love green perfumes. Chypres, whether warm and animalic or strict, cold and austere were my primary love at an age when I could never have been able to say what a chypre was. Paloma Picasso’s Mon Parfum, Jean-Louis Scherrer 1, the original Nina, Rose Cardin de Pierre Cardin, Clinique’s Aromatics Elixir might have been completely age inappropriate, but I didn’t know and didn’t care. Chypres were my primary love. Related to the family in more ways than one, I also adored green, bitter and herbal perfumes: Clinique’s Wrappings with its sour herbal character held inexplicable, instinctive attraction, Cerutti 1881 with its chokingly bitter taste made me feel poisonously adult and Estee’s Private Collection was to me the brightest, most shining example of what a good perfume should be like: worth its money to the last penny, even though I could only afford the smallest size with my pocket money.

And through it all, I realize now, that I felt a certain kind of superiority, a certain snobbery towards those that in my eyes didn’t know any better. Not only could I not understand why people would choose anything remotely sweet smelling, but to my shame, I also felt a kind of pity. Furthermore, anything heavy on vanilla or even worse, a vanilla-patchouli combo was instantly translated as trashy in my mind. The women and girls that wore these perfumes instantly earned a desperate label in my mind. Do I forgive myself for the snobbery? Well, yes in a way… I was a teenager and youth comes brandished with such entitled superiority, such sheer conviction that one knows all and what’s more, one knows best. There is a certain hilarity in that. That doesn’t mean I am not ashamed of the way I thought then. Unfortunately however, there’s more to this… I have changed a great deal in the last five to six or so years when it comes to perfume choices. Suddenly I started appraising perfumes not in terms of whether I like them or not for personal use, but in terms of whether the scent in question was a well constructed, good perfume. Was it perhaps a fantastic perfume, even though I wouldn’t consider wearing it? The journey can be described as a great hobby that started off as completely egocentric (please my senses, my instincts), to something far more academic: perfume for itself. Then came this blog. And as I started wearing a different perfume almost every day, so I slowly found myself actually buying things I never expected I would buy. Suddenly I found that there no longer was a difference between what I appreciated and what I would actually crave to wear. For the past few years I find myself craving different things depending on my mood, the weather, my style of dress, the season, you name it. Choice seems completely arbitrary, no longer connected to a favorite family. The only limiting factor now, is whether I love something, and to my surprise still, even after so many years, I can love things from every fragrance family. And yes, it still surprises me. There is still a cognitive dissonance sometimes when I crave vanilla, patchouli, sugar, comfort, softness. My erstwhile self comes back to mock me sometimes. “You used to be chicer. You used to be sophisticated!” she says with her stupidly superior 15 year old voice as I pick up a comforting gourmand. I’ve yet to find a good answer to retort to her, even though I know that truthfully, I am far more sophisticated now than I was at 15. I can’t completely dissociate the label chic from the term Chypre or the characterization “green”. I can however feel secure in my judgment on what is good and tasteful and liberate myself from any worry with the confidence that my choice does the image I want to project justice.

Images: Heart via www.sxc.hu, grass and dewdrop via Flickr (originally uploaded by Scott Robinson). Last is the artwork depicting a girl trying to resist Eros. Unfortunately I no longer remember the artist or the title of the painting. If you know, then please drop me a line in the comments so I can attribute it.

Perfume Identity

One of my best and oldest friends here -let’s call him T., has a long distance relationship with a beautiful, smart and funny girl from another country. Even though I know this friend for many, many years and he knows very well my passion for perfume, we hardly ever talk about it together. As a matter of fact, I’d never even asked him what perfume he is wearing, which is not very strange considering this is the sort of hobby that bores or bemuses many of my male friends. Most of the time, I just don’t bring it up, unless prompted. T. is a sharp dresser with a great sense of style, is always well groomed and has always smelled nice, warm and clean. His scent of choice (something by D&G as it turned out) was innocuous and pleasant, sexy but not in the least attention grabbing, so much so in fact, that I never even consciously realized that he’s been faithful to the same perfume for years. This week, S., the girlfriend from abroad came to stay for a few weeks and all of us having missed her, we decided to do something together this Saturday. A short round of hugs and kisses all around in front of the bar and there’s me, turning to T. trying hard to inject a cheerful, curious note in my voice that would hopefully mask the disappointment: “You’ve changed your perfume!”. Laughter on his side, and a sharpish look from S. “Uh, hah, yes, I did, how did you know?” I ignore this: of course I know, I mean, really. S. turns to me. “I can’t get used to it.” She says, and I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or just making a statement. Politely I change the subject and we go inside for drinks. Sitting down however, the subject comes up again unexpectedly half an hour later. They are both excited, smiling, completing each other’s sentences as lovers tend to do, while they describe meeting at the airport again after such a long time. “We speak every day, but it’s still strange to meet face to face after not having seen each other for two months! Then we spend an hour together and it’s as though we’ve never been apart.” Then suddenly S. becomes more animated, raising her voice slightly: “Yes, but he came there and I hugged him and he smelled different. I was like…. IS THIS MY BOYFRIEND???” and once more: “I can’t get used to it…”

This little snippet of the evening has remained vivid in my memory and has been popping in and out of my mind, raising the same questions every time. What does our perfume of choice mean to our loved ones? And what about those of us who change our perfume daily? Are we missing out on a secret signal, a secret form of recognition, a bond which we would otherwise enjoy? It is easier for me to accept that S. would be perturbed by T.’s change, for when living so far away from each other, every bit of familiarity becomes magnified in importance and of course, there’s no question that the sense of smell would play a leading role in that sense of familiarity. The change can be rather devastating, for in truth, the scent of a lover is something we take with us, like a memento, signifying some unspoken truth that will light up like a magic compass upon the next meeting of the bodies. Sometimes, it is the only important (or even meaningful) thing you can take with you when parting. But what about my reaction then? How disturbing and inexplicable that I would react with disappointment to the change. After all, I see T. every week without fail. And what is the message that friends subconsciously receive about those of us who change our perfume constantly? Perhaps we’re better off, never actually giving our friends the chance to associate us so deeply with a scent that it’d create dissonance the moment we decided to change it.

Have you ever had a signature scent? And if so, did you experience similar reactions from your friends when you made a change? As for me, I have in fact gone through stages of using a particular perfume almost exclusively or with such noticeable frequency that it becomes associated with me in the past. I’ve never really had a strange reaction from friends or loved ones, however, my boyfriend does always comment when I wear the perfume I used to wear when we first started dating. He gets this blissful look in his eyes and always exclaims I smell great. It makes me grin every time, because he never actually makes the connection fully enough to mention it by name.

Images: Flickr by bri v and Stefano Mortellaro

Fragrance Bouquet’s Thoughts on the By Kilian Controversy

I have been studying really hard for my upcoming exams lately so the reviews of the By Kilian line have been simmering in the background for a while. Hopefully the first review will be ready for Friday’s post, but before we start delving in the individual scents, I would like to first share some thoughts with you on the line. The intention is not to defend the line – I am after all not nearly as enamored with it as I am with other favorites like my beloved Montales, and God knows a lot is said about them as well. I have just found the extensive online discussion on fora and blogs very interesting and thought provoking, so I would simply like to share my thoughts on the matter.

A lot has been said about the By Kilian line’s ad copy and even more has been said about its pricing. The general consensus on both issues can be summarized with the word “Outrageous!”. The names of each individual perfume have also come under fire for being incongruent to the juice. While I respect the above opinions and indeed both understand where the critics are coming from and can share a little conspiratory giggle with them since some of their points are valid (in the instance of the ad copy for example), I have to say that for my part I am left feeling absolutely no resentment about any of this. In fact, I feel nothing at all. I’ve had the same approach towards the indeed outrageous namesakes of the Etat Libre d’Orange scents. Provocative? Yes. Funny? Yes. Offensive? No. I simply don’t feel anything. We perfume lovers keep banging on about perfume being art. Well art is not just the beautiful classics, but also the usually misunderstood for their time modern pieces, pieces with “offensive” context, subjects and yes, “offensive” names.

The names of the By Kilian fragrances might be seen by some as incongruent to the juice, but is this really something new or even something that we should really be getting our knickers in a twist about? Have we forgotten about Youth Dew? Not, youthful and certainly not dewy. And how about L’Interdit? No, it doesn’t really smell forbidden. And who knew that an Angel could smell quite so... demonic? No, perfume names that seem counterintuitive to their respective scents are nothing new. And neither are over the top ad copies for that matter. Being personally inclined towards a certain amount of lyricism in my writing, perhaps I am more forgiving than most in this respect. However, perfume should be evocative and poetic. It serves after all, no other purpose than to please the senses and to guide the imagination to the realm of fantasy. If the only reason we used scent were to mask unpleasant odors, we’d all be happy just using deodorant and be done with it. But no. We do crave luxury, we do want to be seduced and feel seducing. Why then do we expect the ad copy that accompanies such frivolous luxury goods to be no-nonsense and down to the point? I am as resistant as any of you when it comes to ridiculously named fantasy accords that boggle the mind, but this is not quite the same as using a few more adjectives or references in order to try to convey the feel of a perfume, or the inspiration behind its creation.

As for the prices, it all comes down to whether you like something enough to pay the amount that is asked for the item in question. What is an outrageous price for a perfume? That is a question that depends not only on the ingredients used but also on the bottle and the buyer in question. A bottle collector would be willing to pay a different price than a scent collector. Similarly, someone that is truly a slave to his or her sense of smell would be willing to pay a different price than someone that just loves having an extensive perfume wardrobe, just as someone who considers themselves a gourmet would be willing to pay more for a dinner than a simple bon vivant. For example, I personally find it strange that some people actually save up to eat a restaurant that has Michelin stars. Needless to say, I don’t have a particular desire to make a reservation at El Bulli; I just don’t love food that much, which is not to say that I don’t love food enough to be willing to pay something more reasonable to eat at an amazing Japanese restaurant once in a while. Conversely, the people that do, probably think I am insane for spending as much money as I do on perfume, shoes and bags. Lastly, as I recently mentioned on Robin’s wonderful blog, my own personal reaction (or lack thereof) in regards to the prices of the By Kilian line, is also directly related to what I have been prepared to pay for a perfume in the past. One of my absolute can’t-live-without perfumes is Narciso Rodriguez’ Musc Oil for Her, a gorgeous, unbelievably sexy fragrance that happens to be both synthetic and not terribly original smelling. (It is basically just a great version of classic Egyptian musc) The stuff costs 150 euro per 50ml and its ingredients are not that expensive. Was I willing to pay for it? Yes, I fell in love and never regretted it. In fact I will keep buying it every time I run out. I need to smell it! Having paid what I paid for this oil, the By Kilian line priced at 175 euro per 50ml with its expensive, luxurious ingredients (especially the case for some of the line’s fragrances like Beyond Love) did not seem that expensive by comparison. I am not trying to say that it is not expensive; I am just trying to explain that our expectations and perceptions are subject to previous experiences and change accordingly.

Images: Thought Bubble sourced from Flickr, originally uploaded by cherbonsy and adapted by author, “Fountaine” by Marcel Duchamp from wikipedia, and money pile from www.sxc.hu

Perfumed Thoughts : Natural Perfumery

Today I want to touch on a subject that is slightly difficult for me to broach, not only because of its slightly controversial nature, but also because, admittedly, I am not as well informed as I would like to be. Still, it is something that has been on my mind for over a week now and I would rather take the chance to share my thoughts with you while they are fresh, rather than wait. Today’s little piece is not a mandate, but indeed just my own personal thoughts on the matter, hoping to raise consciousness, provoke thought, consideration and hopefully discussion.

I was recently reading an article titled “The Scent of the Nile”, originally published in the New Yorker by Chandler Burr. The following excerpt (referring to Jean-Claude Ellena) quotes part of that article:

“(...)Even though Ellena’s perfumes often evoke the smells of nature, he believes that scents containing only natural materials are not, fundamentally, perfumes. The art of perfumery, Ellena believes, is the art of gracefully combining different chemicals, some natural, some synthetic. The first perfume synthetics were created in the nineteenth century.(...).”

I couldn’t help but find myself having an immediately negative reaction to this statement. Surely this can’t be right? What are the implications of this statement? That natural perfumery is not perfumery at all? That someone who composes all natural scents is not actually a perfumer? That whether creative expression can or cannot be considered as art depends on the medium used? I just couldn’t accept this... I just couldn’t validate this statement. Burr mentions that the first perfume synthetics were created in the nineteenth century; I would like to draw a parallel to express my feelings about this issue. Before the 15th century, painters worked mostly with egg paints, otherwise known as tempera. However, in the 15th century there was a revolution: European painters suddenly started using oil paints, popularizing the medium and changing the face of art as we know it. Suddenly hues that were never seen on a painting before materialized. Textures became so realistic you could immediately tell whether you were looking at velvet or silk. Candlelight reflected differently on silver than it did on crystal. Pearls shone softly. The eye saw in the painting, what it saw in real life. A whole new world was opened up for painters worldwide. You see, egg paints pose numerous limitations: it is hard, or nigh impossible to play with the elements of darkness and light when painting with tempera. There is no way to render light of different intensities. Painting different hues takes not only incredible skill, but these almost never appear realistic. Same with water – there is no way to paint water that appears natural with egg, and it is incredibly difficult to show objects submerged under water or behind a gossamer veil, because egg does not lend itself to see-through expression. Still, despite these limitations, wonderful works of art were created with just egg paints: simply being confronted with the skill of master visual hagiographers who managed to paint the legs of John the Baptist submerged in the river despite the aforementioned difficulties, is enough to bring tears of awe to one’s eyes. And despite the fact that painters can indeed do so many more different things with oil, egg painting is not a lost art. Just like natural perfumery, it is a craft that is not as conspicuous as oil painting, however, it is still very much alive. It takes many painstaking years of studious, extremely disciplined apprenticeship to become a master visual hagiographer today. Even though these artists are limited not only by their medium of choice, but also by the techniques that identify this art form, they still manage to tell their own story, express their own creativity and impregnate each individual piece with their signature. It is a mysterious form of art: the more you know about it, the more you can appreciate it.

I guess what I am trying to say is this: You cannot judge art by the medium used: Whether the medium is marble, steel, or scrapheap salvage, the result is still art, and the creator a sculptor.

Image: commons.wikimedia.org