Dolce & Gabbana Spring Florals: The One & D&G Femine Reviews

I’ve held a grudge against the perfume division of Dolce&Gabbana’s glitzy empire ever since my beloved By Woman was discontinued. With their designs, Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana have always challenged our preconceived notions about fashion, blurring the borders between what is vulgar and chic, over-the-top and demure. Their clothes have always been distinguished by a raw, unapologetic sexiness, where corsets rule supreme, party dresses become weapons of seduction and whips are never unlikely props. By Woman was the essence of all that, bottled and ready to use. From the scent itself to the bottle, this perfume was nothing less than the signature of the amazing house. Nothing that came before or after has managed to even come close to capturing the essence of Dolce & Gabbana’s designs or the feel of their advertizing campaigns. So I ignored most everything petulantly after a little sniff, ever looking for that sense of lost glamour and kittenish sex-appeal.

But it turns out that right there under my nose, were not one, but two excellent florals that I’ve been snubbing: The One and D&G Feminine. No, they will not engage the mind in provocative fantasies reminiscent of any Dolce & Gabbana campaigns, nor do they embody the spirit of the brand. And no, when it comes to majestic florals, these ain’t the precocious, grand canvases painted by Lutens, nor are they exceptional harvest blooms. But what they are is something equally worthy of a space in a scent wardrobe: They are perfectly wearable, very well crafted spring florals that give a sense of rejoicing in good weather and have the ability to lift the wearer’s sprits with their cheerfulness. Aside from being utterly wearable florals for spring, their other most outstanding feature is their sense of effortless, charming prettiness, which seems to serve to underscore the femininity of the wearer.

The One: Released in 2006, this has quickly become a bestseller here in Europe. It is a musky floral, which puts lily on center stage. I have a difficult relationship with lily in perfume (and admittedly there are many varieties, many of which completely scentless): it can either go very right or very wrong. The One manages to get it right for me. The opening is slightly green, featuring beautifully sweet, jammy citrus top notes. Peach aldehydes lend a smooth creamy texture to the transition from the sparkling top to the floral heart. If there is any jasmine in the blend, I cannot smell it; my nose instead focuses on the beautiful combination of lily and lily of the valley, tinged with accents of green. Lush and juicy, the heart notes evoke not just the flowers, but also the scent of thick, sappy flower stems cut at a florist’s. There is an aqueous freshness there, a glossy coolness that unfailingly brings the ritual of cutting stems and preparing them for a vase filled with cold water to my mind every time I wear this. The drydown is honeyed and warm, giving me the same sense of flower honey over musks that Boudoir does, despite the fact that the two smell very different. Despite the warmth, The One retains a clean, sometimes even sudsy profile from start to finish. Its slightly soapy nature means feminine appeal is combined with a completely untarnished image. As such, this is an excellent daytime scent that is safe enough for the office but playful enough to make one feel sexy in a sundress for a stroll in the park. I adore the 6ml EdP roll-on pen, which is lightweight enough to carry in a purse or clutch for touchups!

D&G Feminine: It is strange indeed that the youth orientated D&G Feminine would turn out to be the raunchy alternative to The One’s sanitized femininity. Feminine can come across as innocent at first, but it doesn’t take long before its sexually charged character shows through. Seemingly devoid (to my nose at least) of discernible top notes, Feminine throws the wearer into its deep floral heart with a giggle. It is an extravagant spring bouquet of white and mauve hues, combining fragrant wisteria, purple lilac, hyacinths, heliotrope and mimosa. The indolic character of the hyacinths and the lilac make this otherwise very romantic bouquet roar with pure animal lust. Despite their bad rep as passion-killers, as we well know powdery notes can also be very sensual, and this is exactly the role they assume here: soft, powdery mimosa and gentle, almondy heliotrope place the indolic notes well within the context of the boudoir. This one lasts and lasts on me, in fact I can often trace a faint whiff of it the next morning after having worn it the night before. It gets muskier and deeper in the drydown and the floral bouquet becomes all the more abstract, but its character remains intact for many, many hours. Gorgeous for a night out, ideally worn with a backless dress. Mmm…

Images: Dolce & Gabbana ad campaign, Flickr by Scott Robinson and Mrs. Gemstone

Divine by Divine : Perfume Review

One of the houses I feel a certain affinity towards is Divine, and to their credit, these feelings have been built not on artificial branding strategies or clever advertising, but purely on their scents. Their masculine scents, although perhaps a little safe, are elegant, luxurious and refined. Their female scents have had this rare effect on me, making me wish I owned them from the moment I first smelled them; a wish that did not prove to be a passing fancy. I own and love L’Inspiratrice and look forward to buying both L’Infante and L’Ame Soer sometime in the near future. Surprisingly enough, the only Divine scent that did not actually manage to move me the way the rest did, is the small niche company’s first, homonymous offering, Divine.

My reaction the first time I smelled Divine was both powerful and inexplicable: I was instantly gripped by the strangest feeling of déjà vu, surrounded by a fragrance so very familiar and yet so disturbingly out of reach, I just couldn’t put my finger on it no matter how hard I tried. Even more disquieting than the strange familiarity of the scent, was the way it was stirring my emotions, making me feel as though I was constantly on the verge of reliving some, until then suppressed, rather unpleasant memory. Only there was no such memory... Just the bizarrely unsettling feeling of coming across someone who had, in the past, been important enough to recognize, yet being utterly unable to do so. And this, coupled with a feeling of oppression from the scent itself: It is a perfume that feels like the grandest bouquet of heady, narcotic blooms in a tiny, moonlit room with door and window hermetically closed. A sadness accompanies the fragrance that fills the space...one last time of tearful lovemaking after saying goodbye.

“Open the window darling... Let the night in...”

Divine is beautiful, too beautiful perhaps. She’s got theater make-up on. She looks good from afar, but once you come close enough to congratulate her on her wonderful performance, you’re thrown, overwhelmed by the intensity of her over-defined features. Close up, she can be frightening and quite awe-inspiring. There’s something brutal about her, like a Grand Damme of the ‘80s. She’s a prettier, mellower Poison, but loses the battle, for even though far superior, she is not a recognizable classic and is thus left walking behind. She’s like a sister to Lauder’s Beautiful, only not as sparkly, loving and fun. Looking at her one last time and finally deciding that I do not indeed know her, I decide she is dated.

Image: Flickr, originally uploaded by Vanessa

Parfum d’Ida and Spectral Violet by Neil Morris : Perfume Reviews

Dearest Ida, better known to most as Chayaruchama, was kind enough to send me a whole bunch of Neil Morris fragrances to sample, after I said I was really curious to try them. This week (on Monday, Wednesday and Friday) I invite you to explore the samples Ida sent me, here on Fragrance Bouquet. The first two perfumes are Parfum d’Ida and Spectral Violet.

Parfum d'Ida:

Parfum d’Ida is a gorgeous, sparkling aldehydic composition, elegant and effervescent. Smelling it for the first time, I was instantly reminded of another favorite: L’Infante, by Divine. Looking at the notes of both scents, the similarities are not that many: yes, they are both aldehydic scents and they both have a berry note as well as white florals and ylang ylang. Smelling the two side by side though, I sense a kinship – not perhaps in the smell itself, but certainly in feel. In the end, Parfum d’Ida wins my favor, being both sheer and deep at the same time – a wonderful feat. Too, the scent of civet, unmistakably present already from the opening, is too seductive for me to resist. I home in on it and it never leaves my conscience. Aldehydic, floral, green and animalic all at once, yet perfectly blended and balanced, Parfum d’Ida opens with deceptive innocence and transparency, but goes on to become all the more warm and effusive as it warms on the skin. It speaks of femininity and generosity to the point that it makes you wish to be hugged and comforted by the creature that wears it. Is this really the scent of Ida? It would be very presumptuous of me to give a definite opinion on the matter, considering I have never met her in real life. However, I can’t help but feel that this is just an aspect of Ida’s scent: The part that is capable woman, the part that is feminine, generous and comforting, gently protective and loving. I missed the darkness though, I missed the spice. I missed the part of Ida that is absolutely otherworldly and bewitching. I missed the part that is midnight gowns studded with all the stars in the sky and pure, unadulterated mystery. I missed the Diva I so long to meet. But that is alright - it is to be expected that no single fragrance can capture every aspect of this complex woman. Parfum d’Ida is Ida’s hug and loving embrace. And right now, that’s exactly what I needed.


Spectral Violet:

Spectral Violet, the second of Neil Morris’ perfumes I sampled had a profound impact on me – something I never would have expected from a floral composition. The moment I brought my wrist to my nose for that first whiff, I felt like my body started floating upwards, as though I was suddenly weightless and ethereal. My first thought, literally, was “Oh... I am in heaven...” How could I possibly do this fragrance justice by writing about it? I want to roll around in this scent forever and ever. I want to have it as a bath oil and submerge myself in its pool of dark mystery, a pool of violet waters, a pool that transforms into a majestic lake in a time of kings and princesses and I’ll be the lady, yes, the lady of the lake, with eyes of green and clothes of purple and indigo and lilac, that float around me by gusts of wind unfelt by others. The violet petals are candied, like medieval court delicacies meant to be fed by hand to a loved one, in order to make them forget about all that’s wrong in the world. The feel of the fragrance is velvety and soft, like the most extravagantly expensive cocoon made for a fairy. Despite the name, I cannot describe this fragrance as cool, chilly or metallic. To me, it is absolutely warm and sensual. And even though all my memories of violets were made in sunny gardens, this one is a violet I’ve never encountered. It is a violet of the night, its scent utterly hypnotic. It is seduction in a moonlit forest.

Images: The artwork accompanying Parfum d’Ida in this post is a sculpture titled “Divine Embrace” by Taiwanese artist Gaylord Ho.
The image accompanying Spectral Violet in this post is from www.eastcoastkitty.com, a company that specializes in clothes, accessories and gifts. The particular image is called “Purple Fairy with Moonlight” and can be bought as a shirt. It can be found under their women fairy items.

Kelly Calèche by Hermès : Perfume Review

*This post is dedicated to the wonderful, warmhearted, generous friend who recently gifted me with a bottle of Kelly Calèche. She always impresses me with her great manners and thoughtful character. May her generosity find its way back to her tenfold.*

Last summer, Hermès’ newest launch, caused quite a stir among perfume aficionados: Everyone wanted to have a whiff of the newest member of the Calèche family and even though most conceded the juice was not quite what they had expected it to be, most found it a very likeable, wearable scent. And while the perfume world was buzzing, Fragrance Bouquet kept quiet... I just couldn’t bring myself to love it – in fact I hated it. My own excitement about this fragrance had quickly fizzled out when one bright summer morning I spritzed this fragrance on a paper strip for the first time. Disaster. I couldn’t even bring myself to procure a little sample vial to review it – the only words that I could come up to describe this scent were ‘vile bug spray’ and my brain refused to elaborate further. And so I pushed Kelly Calèche out of my mind, unwisely remaining with that first impression I got from that paper strip for more than six months now. It never crossed my mind to try it on myself: the thought of having to live with the bug spray trail emitting from my own skin was too horrible to even contemplate. The months went by. And then it found its way to my doorstep... And I am besotted.

What a difference a spray on the skin makes... The scent of the jus sprayed on the skin bares absolutely no resemblance to the scent on a blotting strip. Where did the harshness go? This is soft, delicate, restrained even. Most have complained that the leather in this composition is almost undetectable, a mere hint rather than an accentuated accord, but Kelly Calèche’s first bloom on my skin is actually full-on leather. It is neither animalic, nor heavy as most leathers tend to be, but it is, to my nose at least, unmistakably leather. It is the whiff of leather you get that first moment when you open the door of an extremely expensive car decked with leather interior, the whiff of leather you can smell on your skin after having worn a supple, black kidskin glove for the first time. Slowly, the leathery scent subsides and gives way to a heart of cool iris, buttery and deep, colored by my mind’s eye in pastel shades of grey and pink – like a sunset that breaks through the clouds of a summer storm. It is surrounded by garlands of tiny flowers I can’t quite identify: their scent is neither reminiscent of the officially listed notes of narcotic tuberose, nor of the honeyed, magical smell of mimosas that has stopped me dead in my tracks so many times when taking an evening stroll in the summertime. The drydown is powdery and soft, with leather brought back to the fore in a subtle manner, which enhances the wearer’s own skin scent.

The overall feel of Kelly Calèche is slightly musty and very dry: those who like me, love bitter scents, are sure to fall for this one. Its finish is soft and subtle – a cultivated and refined skin scent whose sensibilities object to anything remotely vulgar. This coolly sophisticated fragrance is suited for every season, but in my opinion performs –as well as blooms- best in warmer weather, especially during springtime. It's one of those scents that reek of good breeding, quiet confidence and expensive taste. In the daytime, it begs for jodhpurs, boots and silk scarves or jeans worn with crisp white shirts and leather accessories. Those who have not considered this as a nighttime scent though, will be surprised when pairing it with a strapless cocktail dress cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt. Kelly Calèche simply puurrrs on bare shoulders...


Image: www.hermes.com

Forget me Not : Chloé (Original) by Chloé

It would be hard to imagine fashion in today’s world without prêt-a-porter. Up until the 50’s however, luxury ready-to-wear fashion was unheard of. When it comes to the question of who popularized high fashion as we know it, most remember Yves Saint Laurent who was indeed the first couturier to open a ready-to-wear boutique, Rive Gauche in 1966. Some will even remember that Givenchy and the visionary Pierre Cardin both launched their own pret-a-porter lines in the late 1950s - in a period when launching a ready-to-wear line as a couturier was considered such a taboo, that Cardin actually ended up being expelled from the Chambre Syndicale de Haute Couture for a short while before being reinstated. It was however, quite a few years earlier, in 1952 that the wind of change actually blew, when two true innovators, Jacques Lenoir and Gaby Aghion, launched the first luxury prêt-a-porter fashion house – Chloé. High fashion suddenly became more affordable, appealing to a larger audience, and it is beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was their footsteps that both Givenchy and Pierre Cardin were following shortly after.

Pastels and muted colors, eyelet and lace details, chiffon and musselin fabrics, gauzy and transparent styles have all been staples in Chloé’s fluid clothing ever since the house was first established. Throughout the years, two words define Chloé best: femininity and romance. To that extent, I simply can’t imagine a better candidate to carry the name of the house on its bottle than the original Chloé, launched in 1975. This beautiful spring fragrance is carefree and innocent, despite the indolic character of some of the notes. It is a scent built around a young, uncompromising beauty: a wonderful rendition of tuberose which manages to be at once green and at the same time creamy throughout the development. The top notes are sparkling and green with the barest, tiniest hint of coconut, which miraculously manages to not make its presence loudly known, but rather adds to the overall feel of the fragrance. By this I mean that even though the note is not instantly recognizable unless you purposely sniff close looking for it, it adds weight to the top notes and gives a slightly sticky sensation. It sounds bizarre, but I feel it even enhances the greenness of the scent. This opening is all girl, utterly youthful and slightly naive. The warmth of the skin slowly brings the heart notes to the fore though, and suddenly youthful naiveté is transformed into the joys of womanhood. The tuberose is unapologetic and strong – its scent deep and lifelike. Indolic notes of orange blossom and jasmine invite others to come closer, in the most seductive manner. Civet lances through the composition in a way that makes the heart skip a beat - an unmistakable invitation to explore one’s sexuality. The drydown is musky and deep, beguiling and ultra-feminine. The whole composition is indeed a sigh of pleasure, an open invitation to enjoy spring: sunny, erotic, flowery, green, feminine... It’s all Chloé.

...And yet, it is no more. The scent has been discontinued and this year the house of Chloé treated us to a new incarnation of the scent. Is it any good? I haven’t smelled it yet even though it recently hit the shelves here as well. Did the original smell dated? Perhaps. The brand does try to appeal to a youthful market – the “Chloé Girl” – and as we know the scent du jour for such a market has to be an inoffensive fruity floral. But herein lies the danger of introducing a fragrance that has a name homonymous to that of your company. The scent that carries the name becomes a signature of the house itself, an embodiment of its style and values. It is a statement that’s hard to revoke unless you axe the fragrance itself when it has served its purpose.



The Original Chloé is still easy to find at online perfume discounters.
Please check Tamara’s pick for this month’s Forget me Not by clicking here.

Images: Pret-a-Porter french movie poster, http://wikimedia.commons.org
Chloé bottle and box from www.imaginationperfumery.com
The original, controversial, Lilly-stopper flacon of Chloé in miniature format, www.scentserely.com

Forget me Not : Arpège by Lanvin

In the first decade of the 1900s, Jeanne Lanvin, the magnificent, iconic couturiere and founder of the house that still bears her name, begun designing outfits and dresses for one of her younger sisters and her daughter, as well as for her own, beloved and doted upon child, Marguerite. Soon, word spread, and Lanvin became famous as a mother-daughter fashion designer. Lanvin especially loved to dress Marguerite, to whom she was utterly devoted to, and the adored child grew up to be a beautiful young woman with an astounding sense of style. The emblem of the house (seen left), printed in gold on many of the house’s fragrance bottles (My Sin, Arpège, Eclat d’Arpège etc...) was created by the famous fashion illustrator Paul Iribe and is a stylized depiction of one of Jeanne Lanvin’s own drawings (seen right) of herself together with daughter Marguerite – a drawing with which Lanvin wanted to illustrate the bond between them. Seeing it now, and knowing the history of the house of course, I am unable to look at it without thinking that indeed, the emblem itself, as well as the original drawing do not only depict the bond between Jeanne and Marguerite, but any mother and daughter - as well as representing the foundation that catapulted Lanvin’s career. Built out of love. This story of love and affection comes full circle in 1927, on Marguerite’s (who had by then changed her name to Marie-Blanche, Comtesse de Polignac) 30th birthday, when Jeanne Lanvin gifted her talented, musical daughter with her very own perfume, Arpège, named after the arpeggio, presented in a flacon designed by art deco designer Armand Albert Rateau, with the golden emblem depicting the two of them together.

This wondrous scent, composed by André Fraysse and Paul Vacher, plays its theme from its heart of rose and jasmine – the heart of hearts, the heart which is the center of countless fragrances, yet one that beats in an undeniably unique manner as found in Arpège. Its spellbinding aldehydic opening serves to identify it as a classic, although at the time of its launch it was anything but. It was instead utterly au courant, one of the disturbing newcomers that made use of the (at the time) still sniffed at by most contemporary perfumers, aldehydes. While Arpège was not the first (Chanel’s No.5 has that honor), it was still one of the first few daring ones to go against the current by making use of synthetic aldehydes. And so we have the pleasure to enjoy a fragrance whose edges are all blurred out, whose fruity opening is sparkling and vibrant, whose rising florals are enhanced and whose lasting appeal is gently softened by something that feels like a single, silky dusting of the most luxurious, glistening powder. The aforementioned, rich, rose-jasmine heart is masterfully supported and at the same time gently counterbalanced by greener accents of muguet, hyacinth and honeysuckle, while the sweet, thin powdery character of the bouquet is rounded off with a sprig of lilac. Vetiver supports this beautiful scent’s slight greenness, while musk and sandalwood make its seductive side not only constantly apparent, but also long lasting. Finally, Arpège has had many, many little tweaks over the years so owners of vintage bottles are likely to encounter differences among them. However, according to some sources the currently available jus is a return to the first, original formula.

Tamara has chosen First by Van Cleef & Arpels for today's Forget me Not. You can find her review here.

Images: www.wilsonart.com, www.laperle-global.com and www.dolcn.com

Heliotrope : Two Sides of the Same Coin

Opinions seem to be split down the middle when it comes to heliotrope. Some love it and seek its warm, comforting scent, while others hate it with a passion, reporting aversive reactions to it. Rarely are there any indifferent comments to be found when it comes to heliotrope scents. But that is a good thing, isn’t it? Something that sparks such intense emotions, whether these belong to one side of the continuum or the other, is surely worth a second glance!

Heliotrope, otherwise known as tournesol or turnsole, derives its name from its tendency to move with the sun. The many varieties of this plant are popular with gardeners for their heavenly scent. Blooms are most often white or lavender colored, and yes, there is a difference in scent: The purple colored shrubs emit a fragrance most often reminiscent of almondy vanilla or cherry pie, while the ones that bloom in white emit a fragrance which has been likened to baby powder.

My two favorite heliotrope perfumes are Etro’s Heliotrope and L.T. Piver’s Heliotrope Blanc. They are very different, yet both are charming and well made. Etro’s Heliotrope is as straightforwardly close to what people have learned to expect from heliotrope scents as can be. The opening is intensely almondy, instantly reminiscent to me of the bitter-almond essence my mother used to flavor the dough of the traditional baked goodies she used to make for Christmas. The very recognizable, Play-Doh quality that most haters of heliotrope scents despise soon follows, I’m afraid, but for those of us that love the smell this is a good stage, bringing back pleasant memories of innocent childhood play. And true, Play-Doh is not what you want to smell of when you are all dressed up for an evening out... But what about the times when you just want to de-stress at home, or one of these hectic mornings we are all bound to have from time to time? I’ll admit that this youthful reminder has helped me shut the world out a number of times while rushing to do the day’s shopping in the crowded city streets. The drydown is just as wonderfully comforting, or perhaps even more so, with gourmand, cookie-like notes of vanilla that feel warm and tender, enveloping the skin in baked goodness. The only drawback of this scent for me is that lasting power is not its strongest point.

L.T. Piver’s Heliotrope Blanc is definitely my favorite of the two, and I must say, the huge price difference makes this all the more pleasant! Heliotrope Blanc’s almond opening is much creamier than Etro’s, lacking the bitterness of the latter. It feels more natural too: instead of almond essence, I am left envisioning picking a yet unripe almond straight from the tree, still in its velvety green casing. There is a lively freshness to it and a nutty flavor Etro’s offering lacks. Once warmed by the skin the fragrance becomes sweeter and it is this sweetness that I find so attractive. Its character remains soft and gentle however: this is a semi-transparent, loving sweetness that wishes to caress. It never becomes cloying or heavy. Heliotrope Blanc is also gently floral, but while the official notes report jasmine and ylang ylang, I am completely unable to pick them out. These are both heady scents and Heliotrope Blanc is anything but. Instead, its tender floral undertones seem to me just an accent, like a distant memory whose meaning is forgotten, while the emotions related to it remain, making the heart beat a little faster each time a piece of the image’s puzzle floats into consciousness. The drydown combines a baby soft, faintly talcumed effect with a delicate balsamic feel, making it at once comforting and rather sensuous at the same time. I am reviewing the Eau de Cologne, I have to say, but the lasting power is excellent. This is a fragrance that wears close to the skin, but will linger and surround the body for hours.

As always when I review a hard to find fragrance, I offer a sample of Piver’s Heliotrope Blanc to one of the readers. Let me know in a comment if you would like to be entered in a drawing for this large 3ml spray sample.


Images: Photo & Artistic interpretation of Sunflower by Sakis Alexiou, Image of Kourabiedes (the baked sweets I was talking about) and macaroons from Flickr – originally uploaded by l&coolj, image of Heliotrope Blanc bottle from www.piver.com

Edwardian Bouquet by Floris : Perfume Review

I cannot resist spending a lot of time shopping when visiting Thessaloniki. Well alright, I'll admit, I cannot resist shopping - period, but the habit tends to become exacerbated while traveling. You see, much as I adore our beloved capital, Amsterdam, it can at times be characterized as fashion starved. Thessaloniki thus, can be awarded the distinction of being fashion forward, if only by comparison. (har-har...) No, truly, you’d feel the same way too, if you lived in a country where once you walked into one of the few places carrying designer goods you’d be lucky to find a Marc Jacobs shoe from a two-year-old collection. NOT on the sales rack mind, full price. That’s right, the trash on the sales rack is pure comedy gold. But still not as funny as the old stuff being passed off as new at full price in the rest of the shop. Aherm... As I was saying, Thessaloniki is a good place to shop, let’s leave it at that for now. While browsing a magazine on one of the first days of my vacation I happened upon pictures of a Julien Macdonald fashion show that took place in one of the city’s hotels recently. In one of them, Julien was smiling bright together with Anna Kapsali, the wonderfully eccentric, hat-addicted and very, very talented stylist who as it turns out, also owns Style Fax, a relatively new shop in town. Fast-forward to the next day and I am the proud owner of a whimsical new skirt, which Anna, with her sensual, raspy voice, is giving me tips on what to wear it with. But that’s not all. It was not just clothes, beautiful bags and strange hats that I found at Style Fax. A collection of Floris perfumes was on display in an alcove near the register. I requested a sample of the one that impressed me most and left with it along with my new skirt. I am now of course mentally kicking myself for not buying a full bottle, but I am already planning a weekend getaway sometime in October, so I’ll just have to look forward to it.

The sample was, of course, Edwardian Bouquet. Originally launched in 1901 and re-orchestrated in 1984, this is a creation by Floris, a house that boasts being the oldest family owned perfumer. Feeling slightly guilty and at the same time perturbed, for what I am about to utter is indeed truthful but at the same time misleading, I have to start by saying that this is something of a little treasure you’d expect to find in the back of your grandmother’s closet. It smells like the conceptualized version of a grandmother’s vintage perfume – no, make that the conceptualized version of countless grandmothers’ vintage perfumes. It is in essence what the collective belief of a group of people’s notion of an old fragrance would smell like, if said belief could be distilled over and over again into the perfect sample. Granted, this is not your average, garden-variety grandma. She is glamorous. She used to take her fur stole with a side order of tasteful costume jewelry. She wore gloves.

Being powdery is something that has come to be expected of perfumes characterized as vintage or old smelling. Edwardian Bouquet is NOT powdery though, just old fashioned. And even that doesn’t manage to stop a dab of it from being beguilingly sexy on the right bare shoulders... It certainly makes an impact. It is however, ever so slightly soapy, making me think of that old practice of hiding a good, expensive bar of soap in a chest of drawers in order to keep the linen smelling fresh. It is a bitter-floral bouquet; satisfying, elegant. The bergamot springs instant and immediate recognition, but I find my nose slightly more troubled when looking for the jasmine and hyacinth. They lack the transparency, the reality if you will, they would have in a modern melange. They are intense, but highly perfumey... Not plastic, believe me, that is not what I mean at all, but conceptualized in perfume language in a way that makes them quite far removed from their natural setting. As it settles and warms on the skin, some of its original bitterness is lost. The galbanum, moss and amber combination give it a seductive depth that begs the nose to be buried deeper into the skin so as it might better discover the slight nuances of the hidden layers. When all is said and done, I have to say that the best part for me is that behind the subtly floral yet strong bouquet, there is the undoubted marking of something not quite right... Something almost dirty, something almost unwashed. And yes, this is what draws me to it, perversely.

Images courtesy of: www.sftravel.com, www.amazon.com and www.vintagetextile.com

Vanderbilt by Gloria Vanderbilt : Perfume Review

Vanderbilt was given to me as a gift years ago. My initial feeling towards it was indifference: Nice enough, but most definitely not me. Ten minutes later I was knocked back by its intensity, left reeling in a nauseous state of despair that no amount of washing liquid would help subside. Yet, I could not bring myself to give it away. I feared its effects, every cell of my body still remembering the reaction it caused, but I still somehow craved to smell it again and again, intrigued and beguiled. I’d only dare sniff the stopper, fearing a repeat performance of my erstwhile experience. After several such experiments that only served to make that strange attraction grow, I decided to let go of my fears and test it on my skin once more. Tense and fearful, I sprayed my wrist gingerly, awaiting the inevitable dizziness and revulsion I had associated so strongly with that first encounter. It never came – I was inoculated. I took the bottle out of its box that day and displayed amidst my other fragrances. It had been accepted.

Years later, the small, delicate bottle still stands on my dressing table practically full – I’ve never worn it outside the house. It is not a perfume that is easy to wear. Even though I love strong, assertive perfumes that make their presence known, I find Vanderbilt goes well beyond that call of duty. It is as subtle as a bomb, as gentle as a punch in the mouth. Yet, there is something inexplicably attractive to it, something that has me reaching for it –albeit rarely- from time to time. A certain quality that makes me want to spray a tiny bit of it on my skin every once in a while, mostly in times of stress. And a tiny bit is all it takes, its sillage being so potent that I am left tasting it with every fiber of my being, my tongue left in a state of shock as though I just swallowed a great big gulp of it. Where is the attraction coming from, then? Perhaps it is the fact that when I smell Vanderbilt I have no choice but to give in and let go. All my senses are hijacked by its furious mélange of flowers: forceful tuberose crowned with jasmine, dancing in a circle of carnations, roses and ylang-ylang. The dance is led by a most convincing orange blossom, full of nectar. Unmistakably fizzy aldehydes make the pineapple juice in the blend sparkle with effervescence, while sandalwood and musk fight to hold everything together. It leaves me unable to consider anything else: its unforgiving potent sweetness renders me unable to recall the scent of anything else I’ve ever known and makes me unable to concentrate on anything quite unpleasant, for it fills my mind completely. It is no wonder then, I favor it at times of stress. It is my own persimmon, my fruit of Lethe.

Even while wearing Vanderbilt myself, my mind always dissociates the perfume from my own body. It is never me whose wearing it, but someone else. Sometimes it is someone with a beautifully cut, pastel-colored tweed deux-pièces. Someone wearing too much powder and pearly, frosted pink lipstick, long out of fashion. Sometimes it is Gloria Vanderbilt herself, all dressed up for a summer gala. Her perfume is neither elegant nor refined. It is utterly feminine though, even while brash. I’ll never have to replace it, for I will never use it up. Those one or two sprays per year are enough reason for me to keep it. Perhaps as good a reason as the little swan on the bottle, delicately unfurling its wings under the cheap stopper, a subtle nod to the early spirit of eighties which spawned it.

Picture of Vanderbilt perfume courtesy of http://peachesncreamperfumery.net
Picture of Gloria Vanderbilt courtesy of www.divathesite.com

Natsumi by Annayake : Perfume Review

As I have already indicated, I started this Annayake week because I fell in love with Hanami, Tsukimi and Annayake pour Elle, and it was only those fragrances that I was initially planning to review. After I started writing the feature though, it seemed like such a shame to leave Natsumi and Yukimi out, to leave things incomplete, even though admittedly, I have not become enamored with them in the way I have with the rest. Today and tomorrow then, we shall visit summer and winter; together we will complete our walk through the seasons of Annayake.

Natsumi is the fragrance of summer, and once again the name is indicative of the period the scent embodies. Natsumi means “beautiful summer” but the word can also be derivative of a verb, meaning “to pluck vegetables and greens”, creating a clever and thoughtful play with words, as the fragrance is identified as both vegetal and fruity. It represents a woman that is well organized and traditional.

I wanted to be transported to a summer festival with this perfume. I wanted to watch koi glistening in the bursts of light cast by fireworks. I wanted to smell the lightweight cotton of the summer kimonos, the yukata, blue and white, decorated with patterns of dragonflies or cranes. Instead, I find myself sprayed by light summer rain, high upon a mountaintop, lush and green. A burst of watermelon, it strikes my head like a red, juicy exclamation mark. “Why?!” I lament, and for a moment a child laughs giddily, reminding me that Japanese summer wouldn’t be the same without the traditional custom of splitting watermelons blindfolded at the beach, much like a crazy piñata game. I nod in understanding, but I am still baffled, for there is no sand beneath my feet, my toes are still protesting the wet feel of grass. It is chilly, so high on the mountains, I need a light cardigan. Mist surrounds the green peaks, everything is cool and fresh. The light is diffused by the summer clouds, but if I look down, shading my eyes out of habit, I see the cultivated fields, caressed by the sun. They are filled by ripe, blushing tomatoes, the sappy scent of their vines somehow wafts all the way up here.

Just as I am starting to enjoy all this, the scenery fades, like a dream. I am left on a disappointingly well-trodden path, visited countless times before. White roses, pure and mild, ylang-ylang softer than I know it. My hands sticky from the staple fruit of summer, peach. A holy trinity to which I’ve prayed to before, in temples better suited for worship. I’ll take a photo, but I won’t be coming back.

Pictures courtesy of: www.instylemoms.com, www.shizuoka-guide.com and www.monkeybriefs.com

Hanami by Annayake : Perfume Review

“We carry the perfumes of Annayaké exclusively” the kindly sales assistant informed me when I inquired about them, taking extra care to raise her tone of voice slightly to accentuate the last vowel with the correct intonation after I had mistakenly pronounced it in a rather western manner. She was right of course. I do not know why I did not think of it myself. Perhaps it was out of force of habit, I had been mispronouncing the brand name for a couple of years already, ever since I started using the Annayake Ultratime skincare line for my face. I have since switched to Kanebo, which I also tend to mispronounce, accentuating the word as it would be verbalized in Dutch. Old habits die hard. In any case, I left the shop happy, with samples of all the Annayake perfumes they carried and have been testing them for the last two weeks. The homogeneity of the flacons had me in doubt of the perfumes’ uniqueness; I had enough trouble remembering which perfume was which due to the lack of any contrast other than the jus colors. But I needn’t have worried: I am thoroughly impressed. As promised, I will focus on my three favorites this week, Annayake pour Elle, Hanami and Tsukimi. It now seems a shame to leave things unfinished, so I will try to extend the reviews with the additions of Yukimi and Natsumi as well, if there is enough interest for them. I have unfortunately not been able to find Matsuri as of yet. It is a great shame, for that would help me finish the circle of the feminine fragrances in the Annayake line. For a great review on Miyako, a limited edition eau de parfum I have not had the fortune to come across, please check Colombina’s review.

Hanami, Natsumi, Tsukimi and Yukimi each represent a different season of the year, and each is meant to be a manifestation of a certain female personality, mirroring and accentuating her character. Hanami, the first of the four fragrances, is an expression of spring – time of awakening and rebirth, and the personality it represents is that of a positive, optimistic and dynamic woman. The word “hanami” literally means “flower viewing”, a centuries old customary spring activity undertaken all over Japan during the spring months. The flower most closely associated with Hanami is the cherry blossom, or Sakura, as it is called in Japan. At this point I should probably confess that I am a great fan of anime and manga. Considering most well-known Japanese festivals and celebrations feature quite heavily in both, there is no lack of mental imagery in my mind for Hanami: a female voice will wistfully gasp “Sakura!” while a couple walks down a lane lined on either side by cherry trees in bloom, petals falling and whirling madly around them, not unlike snow. Businessmen will demurely walk out of their office buildings at lunchtime, only to be seduced by the glory of nature around them and they will find themselves instinctively loosening the tight knots of their ties. Hanging lanterns will sway in the breeze come evening, gently lighting the laughing faces of the people reclining on blankets under the splendor of the blooming trees. Romance is in the air, palpable and energetic.

There couldn’t have been a better representation of spring in a perfume than what Annayake has put on offer with Hanami. The first whiff is that of dew on velvety petals, just unfurled in the light of dawn; morning dew in an endless field of green, moist, fresh, veracious. All the moisture contained in wonderful fleshy petals trying to seep out of their satiny pores. Amazingly, what initially starts out quite shy and cool suddenly intensifies on the skin, like nature resolutely blooming all at once. Freesia, muguet and cherry blossom fuse together bewitchingly, leaving me utterly captivated. These are the truest flowers I’ve ever smelled in a bottle. I cannot describe Hanami as a complicated fragrance, but this is by far no criticism: it is the form and essence of spring, encapsulated. It needs nothing more, it is perfect as is. Hanami is neither old-fashioned nor modern; it is simply timeless, ageless. Moreover, all that is needed to create wonderful sillage are a few drops. It is a perfume that gives and gives, enveloping the wearer in the most beautiful blend of flowers all day long.

Pictures courtesy of tanuki.org.uk, www.ekakiya.jp, www.search.com and foto.muri.se respectively.

Bal à Versailles by Jean Desprez : Perfume Review

There’s something to be said about perfumes whose development does not hold too many surprises. They are trusty, they will remain true from the moment you wear them till the moment they fade. They offer a single dream, a single location to which they will transport you and once there, you do not have to second-guess your surroundings. It is safe to put your guard down; seasons might change, the sun might rise and fall, shadows might obscure part of what you see so that glimmers of light might highlight other aspects of the scenery as time goes by, but the location is the same. All promises are kept. Bal a Versailles will never be this virtuous. The dream on offer is a journey you will have to take blindfolded, led by a dancing, prancing magician. Each time the blindfold is removed, something new will appear. Each time you think you know where you’re going, you’ll be in for another surprise. The dance at Versailles is a bal masque where nothing is as it seems. Confusion abound, the best option is to let go and allow yourself to be courted by all the different dancing partners that choose to lead you across the dance floor. Considering that -according to most sources- the name “Versailles” etymologically seems to derive from the Latin word “versare”, meaning ‘versatile’, ‘capable of change’, I can’t help but find the name of this perfume most apt.

My own personal journey through the surreal dream Bal a Versailles offers, starts in a quiet, dim room. A woman is standing next to me, her eyes sad but hopeful. She nods toward her dressing table, once the height of fashion, now battered and old. “You can have them if you like” she murmurs almost shyly as he opens a drawer; silk stockings and gloves, a girdle. The scent of old silk undergarments mixed with spilled vintage French perfume. Citrus fruits, dust and moths, comforting and familiar. “I’ve smelled you before” I say, and she disappears, offended.

I am left holding a hat in my hands. I turn it around and pass my finger over its hand-sewn label, which reads: “Made to Order, Rex Inc. Beverly Hills”. A widow’s cap with gorgeous white ermine fur, framed by a cream bow that borders the delicate ivory peak that will be placed downwards on the center of the wearer’s forehead. Formal mourning in sunny Beverly Hills, mourning in impeccable style no less... Who was she, the woman that ordered it? How long ago? She suddenly approaches me, smelling of flowers, powder and red lipstick. I try to return it to her, but she refuses; she is wearing a pillbox hat right now and tasteful high heels. She is young, with a pearly smile, but there is no hint of playfulness in her eyes, just as there is no playfulness in her scent. I am charmed, but disappointed.

The sound of the revving engine of a motorcycle approaches before I manage to quite finish my thoughts of regret over the lack of sparkle in the woman’s eyes. It stops in front of me and the driver does not even bother to remove his helmet - he knows I am going to drive away with him. I wrap my arms ridiculously tight around his leather clad torso, thankfully inhaling the dry, animalic blackness of the garment, before it too disappears into whatever abyss the previous companions of this journey have.

We make our way to a small candle-lit chapel up on a hill. We walk inside dizzily; our legs slightly smarting from the long ride there. I feel the warmth of the
melting candles around me, caressing my skin. They’re made of pure, lovely beeswax and the odor they emanate as they burn is beautifully sweet. I marvel at the rich smell of incense, I smile and cherish the scent of benzoin and the strong tolu note that fill the small stone church. The smell of honey clover wafts in through the open door. I turn to my finally unmasked companion: “I’ll dance with you in the courtyard. I’ll dance with you till morning come.”

Picture Sources: Vintage gloves and hat, my own. Masquerade Ball scene from Phantom of the Opera (2004), www.allmoviephoto.com. Bal a Versailles bottle and box, www.heart-note.com

Laura by Laura Biagiotti : Perfume Review

I remember the day I first smelled Laura by Laura Biagiotti very clearly. I was fourteen years old, out for a cup of coffee with a good friend and she, knowing that I loved fragrance samples brought me several her sister had brought back with her from a trip to Italy. We tried most of the samples together, right there at the cafe and the verdict was unanimous: Laura was the best one of them all. My sample did not make it through the weekend; the scent haunted me and I had to have it. I do not even remember how I purchased my first bottle. Did I buy it with my allowance? Was it a gift? A Christmas present perhaps? I do not know anymore, all I remember was that first day I experienced it, and the fact that I was so openly enthusiastic about it, my family kept gifting me with the fragrance every birthday thereafter for many, many years, ensuring a constant supply. I am down to my last bottle now and it has been a great while since anyone has presented me with the familiar oblong box – they know my tastes have changed. I do not wish to be without it, but part of me suspects I will not repurchase sweet Laura when she imparts her last dewdrop on my skin. We have simply grown apart. Yet it is time I pay a small tribute to her, my friend of early adolescence.

Laura is a fresh aquatic-floral that was launched in 1994. The bottle, like many others in the Biagiotti fragrance line, was designed by Joel Desgrippes (Boucheron by Boucheron, Jungle L'Éléphant by Kenzo etc). It is a lovely flacon, which stands out on my perfume display. Its long, delicate, feminine lines perfectly match the scent of the jus within. Laura starts out fruity and fresh, with top notes of peach, plum and lychee. The addition of watermelon at the top imparts a moist, aquatic feel to the perfume’s character, while bergamot oil adds crisp, green freshness. The fruits are never tangy, for which I am grateful. They marry perfectly with the flowery middle notes of carnation, violet, cyclamen, jasmine, muguet and waterlilly. The freesia is probably my favorite of the middle notes, serving to extend the life of the juicy waterfruit with its dewy nature. Even though Laura is a light perfume, one must take care to not overapply. I find that there is a note that can be slightly dominant if it is applied too liberally. The base notes consist of sandalwood, musk, cedar, vetiver and slightly powdery orris.

I do realize that the notes might sound quite overwhelming, but Laura is anything but. It is an ethereal gossamer veil, perfect for a spring day, quenching the skin with its refreshing qualities. It is romantic and delicate and never fails to make me feel girly and innocent. Not only by association of the youthful period in which I first wore it, no. It is its character itself that lends the wearer improbable grace and femininity. It might appear quiet and inoffensive to the ones not tuned in to its peaceful love song. But for those that care to listen, it will whisper and hint at romance and profoundly tender reveries. For those that care to listen, the wearer will shed her armor and come forward unarmed, with palms open, offering flowers as well as her heart.

Pictures courtesy of www.dana.ru and http://harbingergallery.net respectively.

Tendenza for Her by Van Gils : Perfume Review

Van Gils is a Dutch fashion house that dates back to the 1920s. Their clothes and accessories are clearly inspired by Italian sense of style but can readily be described as boring and unoriginal. Their fragrance line however has enjoyed considerable and not altogether undeserving success. Tendenza for Her, the first female fragrance in the line, was released in March 2005 and is widely available across Europe.

I am not a fan of fruity florals, quite the contrary actually, but for some reason I really wanted to review a fragrance that is both fruity and not high-end lately. For this purpose I chose Tendenza and decided to sample it several times both on myself and on others. The experience has been very disappointing. Tendenza has top notes of Grapefruit and Green Apple, middle notes of Freesia, Peony, Rose and Jasmine and base notes of Amber and Vanilla. The opening is very sharp, but it is perhaps the most intelligent part of this perfume’s development. I rather enjoyed being able to clearly discern both the fresh green apple and the gentle, uplifting smell of Freesia. Unfortunately, both those notes fly off quite fast and what is left is a messy, generic, wildly synthetic girly mixture. The press releases attempted to brand Tendenza for Her as sexy and elegant. It is neither. Instead, it is a fragrance more suited to a misguided romantic teenager that tries to be alluring, ellegant and sexy. Unfortunately, said teenager has not yet developed a good sense of taste, for this is a perfume completely lacking in class and finesse, but one that is so stereotypical of feminine fragrances that will undoubtedly trick many such young girls into buying it. Tendenza is every bit a run-of-the-mill drugstore female fragrance and its cheap packaging does not do it any favors either. The bland flacon was created by Fabrice Legros, the same man who designed the bottles of Caline and Libertine. Its austere, boring lines further conspire to add to its generic, conventional image. The lasting power is punishingly sustained, guaranteed to be there on your skin for much, much longer than would be desired. Hopefully by then, the main offenders will have subsided and you will be left with a much less cruel, sour vanilla. The only point of redemption I can think of, is that on male skin Tendenza manages to evolve a warm chocolate accord for the first few hours of wear. Yet surely, there are much more refined options out there that will provide the same effect.

Lastly I want to say that I feel slightly guilty for painting such a caustically negative picture of this fragrance. I do not mean to offend anyone who finds delight in this perfume. And too, I do not know if you, the readers, find it more interesting to read positive reviews inspired by love, to negative ones. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. I find it hard to write about perfumes that do not create any stirring of emotion inside me, the review would be bland if the perfume itself left me completely cold. But I would really appreciate some input on whether blatantly negative reviews are welcome and read with interest. I hope that this review has provided you with at least a chuckle or a smirk!

Pictures courtesy of www.beautyweb.nl and www.fashionunited.co.uk respectively

Magie by Lancome : Perfume Review

I am a great fan of the older Lancome perfumes. I simply adore Magie Noire and am lucky enough to have smelled vintage Climat. Perhaps it is due to my intense love of Magie Noir that I’d always wanted to try Magie. The opportunity finally came with its re-release as part of “La Collection” de Lancome. Earlier this year this collection of re-issued perfumes was finally made available close to where I live, so you might imagine my excitement as I boarded a train to get to a city where I could sample it. As a chypre lover one might think I’d be more drawn towards Sikkim, but I’d always entertained the thought that Magie would be very close to my beloved Magie Noire. (Speaking of which, do drop me a line if you have some information about any possible connection between the two: was Magie Noire a flanker?) I must have appeared quite theatrical when I approached the Lancome counter, so full of suppressed excitement and considering the build-up of anticipation, I am surprised myself I was not met with disappointment. The flacon itself, designed by George Delhomme in 1950 is simple and lovely and that was what first grabbed me, I just wanted to hold it. I bypassed the ritual of smelling it on a card first and just applied it on my skin, on the inside of my elbow, my favorite place to apply perfume when sampling. Magie started off quite tart with bergamot, and even though it is only listed as a top note, I could still smell it hours later. This is not a prickly note though, along with the dry-down comes a beautiful roundness of amber, sandalwood and musk combined with the most intense of the fragrance’s middle notes, violet. The whole effect is somewhat powdery and slightly soapy and makes me think of the creamy neck of an older woman, adorned with a single string of pearls. The official Lancome website associates Magie with an actress on her première night, a femme fatale, surrounded by the floral bouquets contained in the creation. She is young and mysterious. I do not find myself in her dressing room when I smell this perfume though. Instead I find myself years later, peeking inside the spacious garden of her neoclassical villa. It’s a summer night and she has exchanged the haute couture dress she would have been wearing years ago for a light caftan, although her jewelry still remains exquisite. Time has been kind and she looks every bit as beautiful as she did back then. But now she is also comfortable, there is no longer any pressure, she is calm and self-assured. She is having friends over, not entertaining, because these are friends so close that they consider her house their own as well. In the dim light of night she sparkles with her inner beauty and this feminine, elegant fragrance befits her. It blends as one with her skin and becomes part of her. It will never speak for her, for its character does not make such affordances – it is a perfume without a loud voice or fiery temper, and I mean this in the best possible sense. It just does not happen to fit me and my temperament; it fits hers though. It haunts me from time to time and I do dab a bit of my sample now and then, still on my favorite spot. I’d never wear it around others though; I’d only appear fake by doing so I believe, so contradicting is it to my character. Magie is absolutely lovely but even if I wait another 30 years it will still appear fake on me. I’ll still be reaching for Magie Noire.

Picture of La Collection courtesy of www.trendencias.com