Sung by Alfred Sung : Perfume Review

Launched in 1986, Sung was the first fragrance release by Canadian designer Alfred Sung. From what I understand, Sung is not only widely available in North America, but also very popular. Not so in these parts! I’ve only seen Sung actually sold around here once, many years ago. This was at the “Glamour Shop”, a little boutique in Amsterdam’s Magna Plaza. My recollection of the boutique is quite hazy – I only visited it once or twice before it closed down – but the regret I felt when I discovered the shop no longer existed is still palpable. That place was lovely – filled with perfume collector items, bottles I’d never seen before, feathers and dusts, beautiful presentations and wonderful service. Sung captured me at first sniff – it was one of those rare occasions I did not have to think much before making my purchase. For a while, it was all I wore, then slowly, I begun circulating my other perfumes again until I begun reaching for it on progressively rarer occasions. Years later, I still own the same bottle I bought at the Glamour Shop. I have perhaps used up 40ml of its 100ml contents. It is not that I no longer like it; I do, very much so in fact. The reasons why my bottle is still more than half-full are much more benign than dislike. Firstly, Sung is a truly strong fragrance – one or two sprays are more than enough. It is not dynamite – it is not an aggressive padded shoulders and big hair ‘80s fragrance, but it is still, however, a child of its time: Big sillage, big flowers, big everything. Secondly, keeping my applications rare, means that whenever I wear it, I get to enjoy a little time-travel action... A little trip back to that month (a dreary April), years ago, when I first bought it. A trip back to a period when I was discovering what it is like to be truly independent for the first time.

Sung’s opening is very green and fruity at once. There is the citrusy bite of hesperidic fruit, like tiny, sharp explosions on a bed of green, sappy vines and green, slightly bitter, resinous and subtly musky galbanum. Quite soon, those little explosions settle down, giving a more uniform impression of tart freshness. Slowly, as the fragrance warms on the skin, most of the citrusy tartness flies off and the scent itself at once appears warmer too. The heart is an explosion of (mostly) white florals, with jasmine, muguet and orange blossom combining to create almost a paroxysm of delirious, narcotic redolence. Hyacinth brings a semblance of balance to this maddeningly seductive dance by adding a touch of sober greenness. Lastly, even though I’ve not seen it mentioned as an official note, now and again I get the impression of gardenias, large and creamy. Sung’s drydown is full of intense, mossy greenness, balsamic, with hints of pine and closes with earthy, dry vetiver.

Sung’s personality does not echo French sensibilities – this is a very obviously North American fragrance, very 80’s Lauder-like in feel. It is extremely feminine, and by that I certainly do not mean stereotypically soft or gently romantic. It is instead, strong, capable, beautiful and seductive all at once. I did mean it when I said that one or two sprays are enough though! The Sung Essential Body Lotion is a very good alternative if you are worried about over-applying. It is very true to the scent, only softer. Unfortunately though, it is not very emollient. What is your own impression of Sung? Is it available where you live? As I mentioned in the beginning of this post, Alfred Sung fragrances are not (to my knowledge) available here. I have been curious about the rest of the line ever since I fell in love with Sung, so if you have impressions about the rest, please do share. I am especially interested in the newest, Jewel, whose bottle is just breathtaking!


Image of Magna Plaza from http://p.vtourist.com, Images of Sung and Jewel from http://alfredsung.com

A La Nuit by Serge Lutens & Gardenia Rain by Ava Luxe : Perfume Reviews

I keep returning to Greece every summer. I begin my trip by going to the mountains and I end my vacation by going to an island, a different one each year. I revisit countless tastes and smells each time, tastes and smells that mean so much to me, intertwined as they are with colorful memories. I plan to visit many of those memories as I write this blog and I wish to start this journey with the white florals of summer, so abundantly found on the Greek terrain.

On each and every one of the islands I visit, jasmine is a constant nightly companion. Taking a walk in the night, whether that would be in the daedal, labyrinthine streets of a Cycladian island, or on the wider, more spacious streets of say, Lesbos or Syros, I’ve always ended up being unwittingly led by my nose at some point, following the magical redolence of its flowering vines. I usually don’t even manage to realize that it is the jasmine’s trail of scent that I am following, I just know that I have to reach the source. And I am left ensnared, peering in the darkness, until my eyes find it, in all its glory. Whether it’s hanging from an unassuming whitewashed wall, a broken down fence, or a majestically intricate old iron gate of a mansion, I’ll always stop and stare and hide my nose in its growth. I’ll twine my fingers in its vines and shake gently, to make the scent waft in a yet more heady cloud and stain my fingers with its essence. I’ll always cut a sprig and put it in my hair, then put it on my nightstand before I go to bed, so that I fall asleep with its scent next to my nose. In the morning, the magic will be gone, but that is not regretful. That is part of the jasmine’s thrill, she is the blooming queen of the night. With such a characteristic smell, one would think that someone would have captured the essence of the jasmine’s blooms earlier. But every perfume that proclaimed to bottle its scent has been failing miserably. The oils would be too strong, too pungent, too mellow; the sprays too fresh, acidic or soapy. But Serge Luten’s A la Nuit is just perfect. It’s jasmine in its truest form: seductive but soft, sweet but never overwhelming. It engulfs the wearer with the flower’s auspicious character. It makes one feel as though something beautifully romantic is bound to happen any minute now. It makes one feel young and feminine. I keep reminding myself I am not a florals-sort-of-person. I keep reminding myself I like my fragrances either strong, sexy and decisive or musky and comforting. I keep asking myself what in the world draws me to this creation. I guess the only adequate answer I can give is that A la Nuit is a true masterpiece. It has the power to turn the heathen into a believer. It is the only substitute there could ever be for the real thing.

Even though I’ll thoughtlessly and unrepentantly cut sprigs of jasmine for my hair, I reserve only the lightest touch for gardenias. I cannot resist lightly caressing the creamy-colored blooms in order to feel their leathery texture and it never fails to amaze me, how such a dense and fleshy flower can emanate such heady and rich aroma. I’d never so much think of cutting or mistreating one of those treasures. And treasures they are, as they are so hard to care for, and even healthy plants often fail to bloom. Gardenias won’t bloom in very hot environments and like moisture. The places that I find them in Greece thus are the mountainous villages I visit in the summer. It is common to see this amazingly beautiful flower planted in rusty, square iron boxes, which have been cut in half for this purpose. But this should not be mistaken for a Greek lack of appreciation for this flower. According to my grandmother, gardenias love rust. They ‘feed’ on it, she used to tell me when I was a child. You could please the gardenia even more by putting a rusty nail in the soil with it. Is this true? I don’t know, but if I ever tried to grow a gardenia I’d certainly be diligent in feeding it this treat, seeing how successful they are in Greece! Ava Serena Franco’s Gardenia Rain is a very successful rendition of the flower that always manages to take me back to a village, high up in the Greek mountains. It makes me feel I am in the shade of a plane tree, drinking a cool glass of water, enjoying the scent of the gardenia flowers around me, planted in their wonky iron pots. If you are looking for the smell of gardenias, don’t try Chanel’s version which smells nothing like it... Don’t even go for Gardenia Musk, a more soapy version by Ava-Luxe. Instead, try Gardenia Rain from the same line.


Pictures: Jasmine courtesy of www.hanini.org, gardenias courtesy of www.systbot.uu.se and rusty nail courtesy of waveofmodulation.typepad.org