Citizen Queen by Juliette Has a Gun : Perfume Review

Founded by Romano Ricci, Nina Ricci’s grandson, it is natural that Juliette Has a Gun has large expectations to live up to. For my part I felt a little underwhelmed by the line’s first offerings, especially in the case of Miss Charming, which seemed too fruity a rose, too close in feel to department store scents targeting the late-teen market. Lady Vengeance in turn, was a beautiful interpretation of the rose and all its thorniness, one I would in fact wear myself. However, it seemed a rather derivative effort, reminding me of many a thorny-rose chypre scent already on the market. Citizen Queen on the other hand, the line’s third perfume to date, more than lives up to expectations, offering beauty marked by striking dissonance and delight born of surprise.

Despite being touted as an aldehydic chypre, Citizen Queen comes across to me as a bold, leathery floriental, succulent, sweet and poisonous, lacking the patrician beauty and restraint of conventional chypres or the whip-cracking attitude of animalic chypres. The opening is decidedly musky, deceptively soft despite its faint, fecal undertones. Within the space of just a few minutes however, the scent intensifies, loudly broadcasting its dominant nature. An aldehydic kick renders the floral edges blurry as they emerge in an almost psychedelic sequence of color. The intense, sweet scent of violets splashes deep purple against a backdrop of black, while wispy green vines grow uncontrollably to surround them. Soft iris paints thin, fluorescent lines across the canvas, lending fluffy, powdery, feathery softness and acting as a contrast to the heavy feel of the composition. Marvelously, the musky, amber-infused base is incredibly effusive and its intense sweetness can be felt throughout the development. In fact, it is this incredible musky sweetness coupled with the divine scent of violets that truly forms the identity of this scent. However, what makes Citizen Queen really stand out, is its animalic character. The gentle bitterness of the leather in the composition can be felt even through the intense sweetness, but even more striking is the undercurrent of something dirty and intensely human, which adds a perverse streak to this beauty. Smelling at once familiar and disturbing, this animalic accord adds an element of human essence to the perfume, like nuzzling the crown of someone’s hair.

Citizen Queen proudly stomps all over any preconceived notions that our overly obsessed with cleanliness and political correctness culture might hold about what perfume should be, and what’s more, she does so with an unapologetic grin and killer heels to boot. This is not only a perversely dirty, poisonously sweet animalic scent, it is also one that is improbably potent; Those of you that remember experiencing Cacharel’s Loulou for the first time and feeling the resolute punch it delivered, will recognize the subtle nod to its unique tenacity. Having only a sample at hand and experiencing its improbable, rule-defying sillage with just a few drops, I can’t help but feel that it would be more than sufficient to dab this perfume rather than spray it. A few drops on one arm are enough for others around me to detect it and comment on it and the tiny sample phial on my nightstand exudes the most wonderful perfume every day even while securely capped. In fact, it has now happened so often over the past few weeks that I find myself wondering where the fabulous smell is coming from before realizing it is the sample next to me while in bed, that I am seriously considering buying a full bottle!

Evening Edged in Gold by Ineke : Perfume Review

After having already spent almost a decade in Europe, residing and working in England, The Netherlands and France, the Canadian-born Ineke Rühland’s heart found its true calling in Versailles, where she trained at IPSICA to become a professional nose. Currently, Ineke lives and works in beautiful San Francisco, creating her Abécédaire, the alphabet of perfumes. After A, B, C and D, the alphabetical collection’s most recent addition is, of course, the letter E, in the form of the absolutely stunning Evening Edged in Gold.

Few perfumes manage to inspire me already from the first sniff, most actually inviting introspection and careful consideration along with inarticulate murmurs of appreciation rather than coherent speech, but Evening Edged in Gold delivered its beautiful message with such lucidity that I found myself instantly describing it, singing its praises, to the nearest available ear – a stunned salesgirl. Today, hopefully with less crazed urgency, but certainly with just as much passion, I wish to describe its beauty to you.

The opening is heartbreakingly gorgeous, the fragrant osmanthus besieging heart and senses alike with its beauteous accents of fresh apricots and jammy plums with unparalleled erotic intensity, until they can but succumb. The fruity aspect is deep, dark and slightly abstract in nature, like the scent one would find upon opening an antique wooden cupboard used for keeping fruity liqueurs and preserves. Soon, the mellifluous intensity of the fruits recedes, giving way to creamy, exotic floral notes tinged with a mild cinnamon scent and rounded with the earthy, spicy yet sweet aroma of saffron. And although I hardly need any more coaxing to fall in love with this scent, seeing as I am already in its thrall, what comes next truly seals the deal: a beautiful, ever so slightly bitter note of suede leather starts rising from the skin, buttery soft and subtle, with absolutely no inclination towards aggressiveness. The inclusion of this note reveals the genius of this fragrance: In a perfume so romantic, so chic and sophisticated, so wistful of an erotic ideal under the twinkling of the stars and the sweetly yellow light of the moon, in creeps the very unorthodox scent of leather, seemingly uninvited. But you will have to believe me when I tell you it works like magic! Instead of drawing attention to itself or the perfume, it brings all the attention back to the wearer, for it magically emulates the feel of the skin itself, tricking the mind, breaking the boundaries between the perfume and the body’s own skin-scent. The result? Beautiful depth and a certain muskiness that create the illusion that the soft fragrance is being exuded by the wearer herself. To me, this translates as the feeling of owning the perfume, making it mine, instead of it wearing me. These feelings, as peculiar as they sound, are echoed in SweetDiva’s blog as well, making it clear that Evening Edged in Gold weaves a particular kind of magic...

Ineke Fragrances are available for purchase on the official website and perfumistas located in Belgium and the Netherlands can find a comprehensive list of points of sale near them on the International Brand Services website.


Images: www.ineke.com

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

Rose d'Homme by Les Parfums de Rosine

It often happens to me that upon smelling a fragrance, my mind assumes the role of a matchmaker and forever associates it with another, forever pairing the two in a beautiful marriage of a male and female scent that compliment each other. I have hinted to this previously when reviewing Blue Jeans, which is –in my mind- paired with Lolita by Lolita Lempicka. When I smelled Rose d’Homme by Les Parfums de Rosine for the first time a few months ago, my first excited thought was that this was the perfect counterpart to Aromatics Elixir by Clinique. I found it wonderfully spicy, warm and dry at the same time, unique. Subsequent sampling from the little decant that was made for me in the past couple of months has left me wondering if it is indeed the same perfume I smelled on that first occasion. My mind now vehemently rejects the idea that it ever suggested this potion could be paired with Aromatics Elixir and attempts to find explanations for the disappointment I am experiencing. Did my friend decant from the wrong bottle? Has my sample turned? But no satisfactory explanation can be given: the bottle we decanted from was fresh and we labeled my vial on the spot. I will just have to accept the fact that my nose was fooled.



The notes of Rose d’Homme can only be described as extremely obvious – I found it very easy to deconstruct. One gets exactly what one was promised, and what’s more, at the exact sequence that was promised too! The opening comprises of spicy citrus that smells positively aged, so reminiscent of vintage French cologne that it easily brought back the same feelings of guilt I once got as a toddler when I accidentally spilled the remnants of an old fragrance my grandmother’s brother had brought back from Paris and was unable to wash off my hands to hide the evidence. The woody, citrus opening soon softens enough to allow lavender and hay to permeate the surface, lending the fragrance an intensely soapy and slightly powdery feel. I have to say that this is most certainly not my favorite rendition of lavender, but then again none of the notes in Rose d’Homme show their best side to my senses. In fact, the more the development progresses, the more trouble I have finding things to appreciate about this fragrance. At the drydown stage, a soft, old-fashioned rose is struggling to disentangle itself from the oppressing, cruel embrace of leather infused with patchouli. It is at this point I usually decide this must be some sort of noxious poison meant for the male skin. And it is certainly not the skin of a long-lashed dandy, but that of an oily, heavy-set man, whose leer I’d rather avoid. It can be described as mature, and not in a good way. Despite my obvious disappointment and current dislike of Rose d’Homme I do have to admit that it does deserve attention. It is not a run of the mill male fragrance that is likely to produce a yawn. If there is one thing that has remained constant since my initial evaluation, is its state of uniqueness when compared to current releases. For that reason, I do wholeheartedly suggest that it be experienced at least once. Who knows, perhaps you can appreciate it more than I do.

The image is the work of Leslie Hancock, sourced from photo.net

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

Le Parfum de Thérèse by Frédéric Malle : Perfume Review

What strikes me as magic with the Malle perfume line is how the fragrances constantly change after application, yet somehow, they also stay the same throughout the day. I know this sounds like an oxymoron, but this is indeed the way I experience them. Therese is an explosion on the skin upon application. If Lanvin’s Arpege is a rain of notes, played one by one upon the skin, this one is a firework. It starts compact and bright and fiery, enters the sinuses and then it explodes, in a myriad of notes and colors, amazing the senses with its ever-changing form with a quickness that is almost too fast to absorb. Then it settles and comfortably engulfs the skin like a precious cashmere sweater. Only then can one come to see the true character of Therese coming through.

Even though I have now welcomed Therese into my life, getting to know her was a contradictory experience. Our relationship started with intense dislike – the only thing I could think after Le Parfum de Thérèse settled on my skin was that I hated it. The only aspect of the perfume I was initially able to discern was an overwhelming leather note, infused with balmy, sweet wood. I walked out of the store where I was sampling it with the clear conviction that I hate it, yet at the same time I was trying to fight the fact that I was deeply intrigued. Every few paces I would find myself with my wrist glued to my nose. “It’s hateful, isn’t it?” I kept asking the friend who was accompanying me, yet I’d become slightly irritated every time he agreed. I found myself more and more enamored with it as the day progressed, yet I kept resisting its charm. I finally sat down to dinner with friends on that same evening and offered my wrist expectantly to yet another victim. “It really is you, it sits so well on your skin”, she said. “It is so very warm and sensual, isn’t it?”, I gushed with relief, finally accepting my true thoughts, liberated to verbalize them. And that is exactly what Le Parfum de Thérèse is, warm and sensual. The drydown is really, truly magical. After several hours of wear, Therese had calmed down to the most exquisite blend of buttery leather, honeyed tobacco leaves and shavings of cedar mixed with aromatic lilac flowers. It is not fruity to me; the watermelon and the plum never make an appearance, nor does the tangerine. It is as if my nose is rendered insensitive to those notes due to how overwhelming I find the initial burst of leather. Leather notes and I are not known to get along very well, and the fact that I ended up loving the leather in this blend is a glorious feat in and out of itself. Therese is sweet and at the same time self-assured. Gentle and forceful. She is a professional, with a sexy, dark side.

Picture of lilac blossoms courtesy of www.mooseyscountrygarden.com
Picture of cigars in leather case courtesy of www.bcspecialties.com