The Beat by Burberry : Perfume Review

The dry, wonderful skin-scent Burberry Classic, the lightly sweet, summery, honeyed Weekend, the exuberant, succulent Brit and the lovely, warm and comforting Brit Red, are all favorites, quality mainstream scents, that have made Burberry a brand that is well loved among perfume lovers. Even though neither the fragrances, nor the packaging and advertisements can be described as groundbreaking, Burberry has built a solid and rightly faithful relationship with consumers, largely due to the consistent quality of their scents. I count myself among the many that have come to expect good things from this brand, so I was eager to sniff their newest offering, The Beat.

Now, as I mentioned a couple of months ago in an unrelated post, my first impressions of The Beat were not entirely favorable. In fact, I found myself quietly disappointed by both the juice and the packaging. Yes, the juice was indeed nowhere near groundbreaking once again, but on top of that, smelling it on the blotting paper it seemed downright generic. Since then I have had the opportunity to test the scent more leisurely at home, both on my own skin and on the skin of a couple of friends and my impressions have changed to its favor. The opening is strangely incongruent, featuring a mildly citrusy, slightly soapy and intensely clean breeze over something very obviously warm. The effect can be likened to a clean smelling mantle of ice draped over a burning heart. As you might imagine, this feeble construction disintegrates almost instantly, the cool, clean top quickly melting away to reveal what it never quite managed to conceal anyway: a warm, gooey center of interesting, spicy sweetness. Unfortunately, like a miniature dragon that was bred to be someone’s pet, The Beat will never really blow fire or snort clouds of brimstone. The farthest it will venture into misbehaving is blowing a bubble or two when it hiccups. The spices never really scintillate the senses and the warmth never manages to spread like wildfire. In fact, the longer it stays on the skin the more it fizzles out, becoming milder and softer. Half an hour later we are left with the attractive sourness of a green apple dusted with black pepper and an aromatic tea blend, still dry. Nice enough and strangely familiar, like the face of an old friend whose name you can’t quite remember. Interestingly, what’s surprisingly more pleasurable than smelling The Beat on oneself, is smelling it on someone else. No, really. In fact, smelling it on someone else comes almost as a revelation. A single spray is enough to have this little baby lazily bouncing from wall to wall like an echo. It radiates from afar with quiet allure, never being obtrusive, but rather slowly coming in and out of consciousness, always as a pleasant surprise. It feels like a shining kind of warmth when it comes from another, spicy, pleasant, kind.

The Beat comes across as rather unisex, not particularly feminine and certainly not traditionally masculine, comfortably falling somewhere in the middle. The warm, slightly sweet and spicy scent is rather comforting, definitely better suited to the colder months of the year. The bottle itself echoes the unisex appeal of the fragrance, shaped like a spirit flask adorned with the brand’s signature plaid pattern. Definitely not the type of bottle I personally crave to display on my dresser, but I have no doubt this well designed, attractive object will appeal to many, as indeed, will the juice within.

Images: www.burberrythebeat.com

L’Autre – Diptyque : Perfume Review

In 1973, Diptyque launched their second fragrance, aptly named L’Autre (“The Other”). Fiercely unique, this brave scent has me constantly sniffing my wrist for the first half an hour after its application. Before it finally calms down, its character is extremely volatile, taking me through various “blink-and-you-missed-it” stages. I am aware L’Autre doesn’t have many fans out there, which does not come as a surprise to me, considering it's challenging, difficult composition. Yet, I decided to write about it today, not only because I find it intriguing, but also because perhaps, this small review will prompt more people to try it and experiment with it.

L’Autre’s opening is to me, stunningly evocative of an old apothecary. My first thoughts every single time I smell it, tend to invariably be something along the lines of “Oh My Goodness!” as I am hit in the face by the strong medicinal, herbal, blend which is intensified by alcohol. Unfailingly surprised each time by the punch it delivers, I can’t help but find my senses alert, watchful and almost wary of what is to come. As the initial alcohol burst dissipates, a provocative mix of near-eastern spices begins to emerge. Sun-drenched spice markets come into view, their bulging woven baskets baking in the sun which serves to make the contents ever more fragrant. The hot air is dry and there is sand in my ears, mouth and nose – the dusty qualities of cardamom. The draft carries with it the unprecedented fullness of cumin and caraway and I follow their scent as if called by an invisible piper – or perhaps it is just the convincing calls of the merchants ringing in my ears. Provocative and realistic, the smells of the market have seduced me. My mind is filled with colors: Ochre, brick red, taupe and blue accented with gold...and suddenly....bright green? The market disappears abruptly, rather than fading from view. Cool breeze on my skin, it is springtime and I am at my paternal home, paradoxically a child again. The kitchen door is open and I pick a couple of lemon leaves from the tree in our garden. Curious, I stub my little nails in the leaf and the most beautiful aroma rises. I scratch the leaves more intently now, filling the air with the stimulating, fresh fragrance of the lemon oil. I almost don’t hear my mother calling to me, completely carried away by this fabulous lemony goodness. Back inside, I find mother cooking, juicing lemons and chopping coriander, which has filled the kitchen with its slightly astringent smell. How beautiful is springtime, I think to myself, surrounded by the energizing, zingy aromas. As soon as I complete this thought the picture disappears, the spell broken. I shake my head in surprise, emerging from my dreamworld as if by a rude interruption. Stillness, as I struggle to come to terms with the fact that L'Autre's previously unabashed trail seems to be all but faded when compared to its original strength. Giving my senses some time to adjust I begin to become aware once more of its lingering qualities. The moderate sillage is now all but gone and my travels were fleeting. But when I smell close, I find the softest, kindest patchouli. I am extremely surprised to find it, I have to admit. I would normally detect its heady scent instantly, but with L'Autre, it only makes an appearance at the final stages. I find it to be mixed with the shyest of pine and traces of spice. There is an undeniable animalic appeal to this drydown stage, something that makes my heart quicken. I cannot decide whether I’d wish for it to have more strength or if I am indeed content that it has become a skin-scent one can only detect during intimate encounters. All I know is that I like it – it moves me. Despite it being officially a unisex fragrance, I see this as being more suited to men. To me L’Autre smells deeply masculine and I believe it has more to offer to men than women. For a woman, L’Autre will be an experience, a mood-scent. For a man it positively becomes a weapon in his arsenal when it comes to seduction: Unquestionably, yet almost inexplicably sexy.

Images courtesy of www.mekuno.net, http://chowtimes.com and www.exodus.co.uk

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

Montana Parfum de Peau by Claude Montana : Perfume Review for Mother’s Day

I was not planning to write a special review for Mother’s Day, in fact, I had been preparing a different review for today. But something happened yesterday, a strange coincidence, a little touch of fate that prompted me to suspend the piece I had prepared, in order to write this one, a Mother’s Day special.


As it has probably become clear by now, Saturday mornings are perfume exploration days for me and yesterday was no exception. I went to a specific perfume boutique to try out some fragrances I was not very familiar with, in order to decide which one to order online from a gift certificate I’d been given some days ago. I was walking purposefully next to the countless shelves of perfumes to reach the specific section, when my eye caught a certain blue box that made me stop dead in my tracks: Montana Parfum de Peau by Claude Montana. My heart missed a beat; I had not seen it in years, more than a decade to be exact. I thought that it was out of circulation and that I’d never happen upon it again. I was immediately flooded with emotion: On the day that every boutique in town was filled with shoppers buying gifts for Mother’s Day, I happened upon the one long-lost perfume that says 'mom' to me like no other. The coincidence was not lost on me; I knew I had to buy it and write a Mother’s Day special for today.

My mom has never been fickle with her fragrance choices. She always picks a single signature scent and sticks with it for years until something prompts her to change it. During the time that I was growing up she went through three different perfumes: Paris by Yves Saint Laurent, Nina by Nina Ricci and Montana by Claude Montana. Out of the three, only Paris is still widely available. And out of the three, it is Montana that rouses the strongest memories inside me. Wearing it now, I become a child again, reliving a scenario so oft-repeated it’s been imprinted in my mind like a schema. My mother is about to go out for the evening with my dad and she laughingly puts me into her bed to watch her, as she is getting ready. “Do I look alright, darling?” I nod, wide-eyed and utterly in awe of her dramatic blue eyes, shiny blonde hair and extravagant eighties outfit. She is about to leave and there is one last touch to complete her outfit, the perfume. Apprehension – I know my nose is going to sting and burn for a while before I can start enjoying it. I do not know whether I love or hate this perfume, but I say nothing of the sort. It forms a peppery cloud around her and she tells me I can sleep in her bed as she presses her nose against mine. The scented trail she leaves behind is so strong, it will stay with me for hours, in the air, on my skin, on the bed linen. Mom. Paris was youthful innocence, Nina was a return to romantic femininity, but Montana was always my mother as a sexual animal, a self-confident woman filled with joie de vivre and sensuality. A side of her that took me a while to consolidate with her daily image.

Montana is a floral chypre that opens up with an overwhelming burst of pepper and cardamom, combined with juicy fruits that excite the senses and leave the nose tingling. The ginger and carnation at the perfume’s heart enhance and prolong the peppery spiciness, while rose and tuberose give the fragrance depth and substance. It is the base notes however, which turn this into a truly magical concoction: amber, cedar, patchouli, olibanum, vetiver, oakmoss, musk, civet and by far my favorite of all animalic notes, castoreum, all blend together perfectly, leaving me breathless, gasping for more in a state of addiction. Not only is Montana extremely unique and grossly, clashingly peculiar, it is also deviant by nature. Having forgotten all about it for years and now experiencing it again, I realize now I had been looking for controversy and dissonance in all the wrong places. No wonder Muscs Koublai Khan smelled tame and friendly to me, when my olfactory bulb still retained the memory of Montana in its depths. Fur, sex and exuberant abandon were all waiting for me there to be rediscovered and no substitute would do. Seeing the listing of oakmoss on the box makes me surmise that this is a fresh bottle. Hopefully that means we will never have to part again.

I’d always thought of my preference for perfumes that sting and burn the nasal cavity (Paloma Picasso, Rose Cardin, Wrappings...) as a personal idiosyncrasy, a very personal taste I’d somehow developed. I thought of it as a personal quirk, an eccentric oddity of taste. Only now do I realize where it stems from and the reality of this leaves me slightly shaken, as though part of my originality has been stolen away. Yet at the same time I’ve gained insight; “Know thyself” advised the ancient Greeks and I do know just a little bit more now. My bond with my mom has been strengthened. The invisible line that connects us has been reinforced one more time. I love you, mama. Happy Mother’s Day, this one’s for you.

Images of Montana ads through the years, courtesy of imagesdeparfums.perso.orange.fr
Image of Montana on fur, my own.

Un Parfum d’Aventure by L.T. Piver : Perfume Review

The world of fragrance can sometimes be overwhelming and it is not hard to get jaded while sampling its offerings. Truly, how often does it occur that you fall in love with a scent the moment you spray it on your skin? How often does it happen that it haunts you every day after that initial application until you acquire it? This is not a common occurrence for me, yet this is exactly what happened the first time I got to try Un Parfum d’Aventure. All it took was a single spray on my wrist and I was instantly ensnared and forever enchanted. Since it is not available where I live, I had to wait a week before I could return to the boutique where I initially experienced this unexpected gem in order to finally make it mine. My excitement over this perfume has not faded in the least since that day and it has helped initiate a love affair with the perfumes of L.T. Piver, perfumes which I promise to return to and review in the future.

Un Parfum d’Aventure was released in 1931 for the occasion of the Colonial Exhibition of Paris and has since been tweaked for its re-release. Having never experienced the original, I cannot make a comparison but there is definitely one thing I can say: Un Parfum d’Aventure smells vintage. It takes me back in time with unparalleled ease, giving me the chance to find my nose gently pushed against the pressed collar of a cleanly shaven gentleman of its time. I say gentleman, and indeed, this is identified as a masculine perfume, but I would never hesitate to encourage a woman to wear this fragrance as I believe it can be just as much of an asset in a woman’s fragrance wardrobe as in a man’s.

I love everything about this perfume, everything from the beautiful green-colored box, to the little story on its back –printed both in French and in English-, to the simple, masculine flacon, to the jus contained within. The note that I find most irresistible in Un Parfum d’Aventure is one I unfortunately cannot put my finger on. It is a slightly medicinal, herbal note that stings and refreshes the nose and it is the exact same note that attracts me to Vanille Exquise by Anick Goutal. Even though the two do not share any of their official notes, the resemblance is unmistakable. Unlike Vanille Exquise though, the note remains unrelenting in Un Parfum d’Aventure, refusing to fly off throughout the development. It gives and gives, always remaining as strong. I never tire of it and I find myself bringing my wrist to my nose throughout the day in order to deeply inhale it and feel its effects all day long when I wear this perfume. It is most often described as a warm spicy scent, and indeed, it will not disappoint spice lovers. Pink pepper combines beautifully with cloves and cinnamon to add extra warmth, while cardamom and cedar manage to keep everything dry and temperate under their welcome discipline. The lavender contained in the blend lends to the rather old-fashioned masculine, vintage feel of this fragrance, and even though only a top note, it is once again one that somehow remains noticeable and present throughout the development. It is the combination of lavender, vetiver and geranium that lend a true freshness to the end result - one that makes me hesitate to classify it as a truly warm scent. If we permit ourselves for a moment to embark on the sea bound voyage of discoveries suggested by this perfume, we find that the blend of these three notes can be likened to a spray of seawater hitting the deck of the vessel carrying its precious cargo of spices. Together they lend an uplifting, invigorating briskness to our travels. The vetiver is marvelously gentle, albeit insistent, and the geranium has shed all of its sourness, retaining only its freshness. For me, Un Parfum d’Aventure keeps each and every one of its promises, allowing me to experience the pioneering spirit of discovery and adventure. Priced at 40 euro per 100ml, there is simply no excuse to not indulge in this exotic journey.

The first two pictures are courtesy of www.piver.com while the last one was sourced from www.parfumeursdefrance.com