The New Zen (Zen 2007) by Shiseido : Perfume Review

It was with a heavy heart that I reviewed the year 2000 release of Shiseido’s Zen back in July, for it was as much a tribute as it was a farewell: The perfume alternatively known as Zen Pearl had recently been discontinued. Disappointed though I was, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t anticipating the brand new Zen with excitement. I have, after all, come to expect great things from Shiseido, so this excitement was not unwaranted - even though I did wish this new release did not have to mean the loss of a favorite. Furthermore, the name itself carries great allure: Both previous releases have been admirable creations, with many fans the world over. I did believe in my heart that the new Zen would carry the tradition of its beloved siblings and envisioning it as being in the same vein I was finally prepared to embrace it.

Nothing, and I do mean nothing, could have prepared me for the way this new release smells like. The new Zen can only be described as a mockery of its lineage – an abomination that only serves to defile a name loved and respected. This is not a fragrance updated; this is not even in the same vein as its previous incarnations. Gone is the incense, gone is the calm, gone is the mystery, and worst of all, gone is the oriental spirit of Japan, previously so well embodied. The foul smell of taint rises from the heart of this identity thief. Sharp and abrasive, caustic to the sinuses, the smell of cat piss lingers around me, refusing to abide hours after the first spray. Those of you that read Fragrance Bouquet often might find yourselves surprised at my dismay, given that I tend to love a little eau de piss and a good dose of zoo in my perfumes. But this is not a case of sensually animalic juices – this is the concentrate in all its ammoniac glory, smelling completely unnatural, and dare I say, chemical. If you would mentally remove everything that is good about Miel de Bois and managed to retain the memory of its initial acerbic overtones, you would be left with everything that’s bad about the brand new Zen. Furthermore, the pervasive, persisting pungency of pineapple and citric blend of the opening notes is completely incongruous to the rising, deeper, woodsy, ambery notes of the perfume’s base. Despite its disagreeable, objectionable and doubtlessly demanding character, Zen 2007 somehow manages to refrain from being unique as well. Despite its deformities, the body remains recognizable and frankly, boring. The drydown is rather meh – a monstrous form with the meek shadow of a sheep that follows an ever-growing flock of crowd pleasers. How can this be possible? It almost seems like an illusionist’s trick. An admirable feat, I’d say, but possibly the only admirable thing about this fragrance.

Quotes taken from the Shiseido website demonstrate that the new direction Zen has taken was very much intended:
“Through Shiseido Zen you will see the new side of Zen that is ‘strong, dynamic, and glamorous’ for the first time.” “Like the other side of the moon, this luxurious side of Zen isn’t usually seen, yet it is real. Zen can laugh, can dance and can live fully.”

But if the intention was just to shed light on a different side of Zen, why not leave its previous incarnation in place and simply release a flanker? And lastly, besides the fact that someone clearly needs to look up the meaning of Zen before issuing statements about dancing and laughing, these quotes do betray a bitterness towards Zen’s traditional identity. A bitterness and regret I find quite offensive indeed.

Image and quotes: www.shiseido.com

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