Miroir des Envies by Thierry Mugler : Perfume Review

When the Thierry Mugler's Miroir Miroir collection finally launched I could hardly contain my excitement; having read the pre-launch buzz online I was prepared to love every single one of the fragrances with seductive names. I prayed that Dis-moi Miroir would be my thing, just so I could wear the fragrance bearing that name. (Do you ever get that? Unfortunately I do, often. The fragrance mostly turns out to be something I don't actually fall in love with, darn it. Such is the case with Le Besair du Dragon as well - surely the most beautiful name EVER given to a perfume. The juice, while attractive enough, is just not special enough for me to buy although god knows I try every now and again.) Anyway, back to the Miroir Miroir collection. As you have probably guessed by now, Dis-moi Miroir was decidedly not for me, in fact none of the perfumes were, hence the laaaate review, ages after the launch in fact. Most of the perfumes in the collection are loud, shrieking in fact. The fact that they are also mostly linear in nature adds insult to injury: This deadly combination - loud, bombastic nature and linear progression - make them appear like brainless bimbos (I'm so sorry Thiery), too much make-up, too little cerebration between the ears. Thankfully it's not all bad. One perfumes in particular, Miroir des Envies, stands out among the rest. This are still rather linear and quite loud as well, but it does bear a certain attraction that has made me return to my sample time and time again throughout the past year so today I am finally giving it a review.

Miroir des Envies (my favorite of the two, and yes, I fell for the one with the worst name out of the WHOLE collection. Wonderful.) is a bittersweet gourmand with an old-fashioned nature, completely unbefitting the current mainstream market, which if you know me, you know is not meant as a derision. In fact Miroir des Envies smells like an '80s perfume through and through which is a quite impressive feat considering it presents notes that weren't to be found on any perfume shelf in the actual decade itself. The opening is sueded and soft, presenting a gorgeous hazelnut note. This nutty impression is followed by a brief dash of cream. I would hesitate to say that these two beautiful notes disappear - for they actually don't - but unfortunately all too soon they are both overpowered by an emerging green note that seems quite dissonant. This greenness in turn brings with it a fresh impression. While my next remark is possibly misleading (for it ain't all that bad as it'll undoubtedly sound), it has to be said: this freshness is rather aqueous in nature, a salty freshness of almost marine quality. Such fresh notes have always troubled me personally, and are one of the reasons why I have not yet managed to take the plunge and spring for a bottle of Chanel's Allure Sensuelle. I bring this up right now for I think that while the two perfumes are nothing like each other in terms of smell, it can help illustrate what I mean with the dissonance I perceive here. As with Allure Sensuelle I am at a loss as to whether I should proclaim the combination of such dissonant notes as novel and genius or as cowardice - that is, why not commit to making a gourmand? Regardless, this whole conversation might be moot, for five minutes later (I jest not) everything has melded into one whole and the perfume proceeds in a linear fashion from there on. Fortunately, what you are left with cannot be called boring because it's so darn interesting. The salty freshness subsides enough for everything else to gain a voice and then it's all cuddly confidence, curves and sex-appeal. It is bittersweet and green and there's that sueded, bizarre softness in the background, like the green casing of a young, unripe almond. It is gourmand without being the least bit foody. It is sexy and daringly retro, unafraid to be different. It is definitely the most perfect miror of the Miroir Miroir collection. Most importantly perhaps, it is deeply unique.

Images: www.thierrymugler.com

Libertine by Vivienne Westwood : Perfume Review

Libertine... Gluttonous abandon, hedonistic encounters... The word brings many associations to mind, but perhaps most salient to me are the wordy, loquacious, sometimes downright pleonastic writings of the time. But no matter which association my wandering mind stumbles upon, the perfume itself seems incongruent with its gifted name. No, I do not mean that this is a fragrance with mass-market appeal, for it isn’t. But it is not quite anti-establishment either, nor is it garrulous and excessive. It follows a linear development and its beauty, albeit not simple, is Spartan and restrained.

It is not difficult to become infatuated with Libertine. The simple beauty I spoke of should not be equated with mediocrity, or with the average. It is the simplicity of a gorgeous woman wearing nothing but her man’s crisp white shirt on a sunny Sunday morning. She needs no make-up or dangly earrings. She is sensual as she is and her silky skin is begging to be explored. It is the simplicity of a pair of sparkling diamond studs: they don’t scream their presence, but they never fail to add an extra spring in your step. So is Libertine, unassuming yet unfailingly noticeable. In the same way one does not need to be a sommelier to recognize the quality of a wine of great vintage upon tasting it, one will immediately recognize the standard of this perfume the moment they come across it. To borrow a term from the field of cognitive psychology, this fragrance has the ‘pop-out effect’.

Like Boudoir, Libertine features viburnum, a flower commonly found in English gardens and favored by Vivienne Westwood. Having never smelled viburnum myself, I cannot say how prominently it features in the fragrance. The rest of the notes listed for Libertine are pineapple and grapefruit at the top, honeysuckle, muguet, and bergamot oil in the middle as well as oakmoss, musk and patchouli at its base. The notes do not quite resonate with me; I would prefer to describe to you how I experience the blend myself. Libertine to me is woodsy, like a dark basket lined with sappy, freshly cut green vines. In it, I do find small pieces of ripe pineapple and flower petals, but also roasted coffee beans, which have been slightly caramelized. In fact, it is this flowery, slightly caramelized coffee smell that makes me love this fragrance so much. The lovely, bittersweet Libertine has sadly been discontinued. You can still find it in some fragrance boutiques until their stocks get exhausted, as well as online. Which reminds me... I really need another bottle.

Pictures courtesy of http://metropolis.co.jp and www.floralimages.co.uk