Look by Vera Wang : Perfume Review

The super stylish (oh, I love how she dresses!) Vera Wang might be best known for her bridalwear, but this is not just a bridal designer who dabbles in perfume. Infinitely creative, she also channels her talents in eveningwear, ready-to-wear, underwear, footwear, eyewear, jewelry, china and crystal, silver and gifts, fine papers and mattresses (!). This prolific, sensitive and artistic New Yorker has a new fragrance out and it’s called Look, a name that’s not only cool but also far edgier than all of Wang’s previous perfume namesakes, which were highly romantic with names such as Bouquet and Sheer Veil.

“It’s a spirit and style that’s absolutely original and comes from within. It’s an attitude, an elusive accessory. It’s that indefinable quality of self-expression that creates a look and sets a woman apart. I’ve always said if I could bottle it, I would… and now I have.”

That is a bold and inspirational quote indeed, but before we take a look at how the juice itself measures up, can we take a minute to savor the absolutely fabulous ads? I am completely in love with the styling of the shoot and I was taken with the images from the moment I laid eyes on them. I think they perfectly capture the spirit of ready-to-wear fashion and are very now. In fact, it has been a very, very long time since I last felt so motivated to try out a perfume solely because I found the ads so captivating. I adore how the frothy texture of the dress combines with the silver nails and the fantabulous jewelry that makes me think of modern Lanvin and Balmain.

But on to the fragrance itself: First of all, I find it peculiar that Look is launched right now, since it is very much a warm weather scent to my nose, and unsurprisingly, I found I liked it far better in the warmth of my house, than when I first tried it outside at the department store (it’s snowing here!). My first impressions were not all that positive, as the opening seems very typical department store scent: Fresh and mystifyingly unidentifiable. Once the first alcohol blast dissipates however, the scent turns far more pleasant, presenting a very clear, crystalline image of juicy green apple, tingled with the sappy, sticky juice of greens. The spark of mandarin-rind oils lends warmth as well as a certain spiciness to the blend. Admirably, it is all done without a hint of sweetness; In fact, Look is very much a bitter perfume, something I find very pleasing indeed. The heart floral notes (jasmine, freesia and lily) are not particularly realistic and I have to say I cannot detect any of jasmine’s heady, deep, warm qualities. The abstract floral notes are embraced by a dry, completely unsweetened berry scent. If I had to put my finger on it, I’d definitely have to say it reminds me of pomegranate. I have written before here on Fragrance Bouquet about how much I enjoy a dusty feel that certain perfumes tend to have, and this is exactly what I like most about Look. As the heart develops, a beautifully dry, dusty accord manifests through the freshness of the florals, and definitely keeps my interest, making me return to the scented patch of skin to explore it again and again. Bizarrely, it is through this dusty scent that I start detecting the first hints of sweetness during the drydown stage. Sweet vanilla and patchouli, soft and unassuming, begin to emerge, like droplets of sweet rain bringing comfort to a particularly dry day.

Look is incredibly tenacious and will last for a good eight to ten hours. Sillage is moderate, making this a work appropriate scent too. It might not be a Guerlain or Lutens masterpiece, but I definitely think this is a good new department store scent. Refreshing and wearable for all ages, this is a good everyday modern scent. The bitter vein running through it lends sophistication, appeal and thoughtfulness to an otherwise mostly fresh composition.

Esperys by E. Coudray : Perfume Review

What is the connection between E. Coudray and L.T. Piver? Why do they share the same address? Are they co-owned? Does Piver own Coudray? All questions I cannot answer unfortunately, but logic guides me to the conclusion that L.T. Piver probably does own Coudray, since every Coudray product is stamped with “L.T. Piver S.A.” while Piver products themselves bear no mention of Coudray on the packaging. So if Piver indeed owns Coudray, what is the connection between Coudray’s new Esperys and L.T. Piver’s original? (launched in 1903, re-introduced in 1911, now discontinued) Another question I cannot answer, but wish I could. I admire most everything I have smelled from Piver and the same goes for Coudray’s products, from the perfumes to the luxurious, deeply hydrating body creams. There is a difference though – Piver’s fragrances suit me and I find them very wearable, while so far I have not found a Coudray I felt excited enough about to buy. They just don’t go with my personality it seems, seeming either too flowery, too heavy or too sweet most of the time. Yet Esperys won a little place in my heart before I even had the chance to sniff it, and couldn’t wait to do so. Undoubtedly the name played a huge role in this, reminding me of the greek word Esperinos, the early evening hour. The time when the sun sets, the church bells ring and the birds go to roost. The time when I always had to stop playing and rush home as a child, forming a deep, sad association with the hour and the sadness I invariably always ended up feeling when I heard the call of birds overhead signaling their return as well as mine. To this day, the cries of a flock of birds going to roost at nighttime make my heart feel a little heavier, lamenting another day lost in time. A great name does not make a great perfume though. How many times do I need to experience this simple fact before it becomes internalized as a belief? Many, apparently.

Esperys opens with not so much a note, but a setting. The fist days of fall, after a summer drought that seemed eternal. Storm clouds gather ominously – there’s static in the air. The deserted road has accumulated inches of dirt that is about to be washed away. As the first large raindrops lazily start to fall, the air fills with the scent of dust rising from the road. Soon, if the rain was allowed to becomes more and more urgent, this parched smell would give way to freshness, but Esperys remains focused on that first moment instead, the moment of the first raindrops on a hot dirt road. That first moment, with the dust rising like a cloud and threatening to choke the hapless pedestrians running to find cover in order to avoid the approaching storm is forever captured in Esperys, unchanging, with no relief of cleansing in sight. I am not complaining – merely describing, for uniqueness excites me in perfumery and I have never smelled this before. I’ve smelled rain, I’ve smelled storms, I’ve smelled wet earth. I've smelled dustiness before too. But never so much intense, wet dust: this is new. I am not exaggerating either when I speak of that choking feeling of rainy dust cloud rising to the nostrils. It feels like an implosion of dryness. I am seduced by the novelty and my excitement mounts as I smell the fizzy bitterness of beer that follows. Green, wild vegetation is growing on the sides of my imaginary road. They too are dusty of course and I can almost smell their relief at the promise of rain. They are perfect and I can’t wait for them to grow in intensity and shine through. But they never do. Instead, very suddenly, I find myself woefully wondering if the ‘red berry’ note in the press release alludes to pomegranate, because that is indeed exactly what I am smelling and I do not like it. Not one bit. It is all there, the fruity seeds, the unsugared juice and most of all, the skin. Admittedly, the bitter dryness of the skin matches the dry composition, but I hate it regardless. Esperys didn’t need fruit. It didn’t need the caramel either, which peculiarly floats to the top far sooner than I expected it to. It makes the composition just a tad sweeter, unable to outmaneuver the glorious, dry bitterness. Its presence is nevertheless distracting and slightly nauseating. I keep hoping both it and the pomegranate will at some point relent, but (as I later find out), it takes them more than two hours to dissipate. These two conspire to ruin the fragrance for me. Even the beautiful, (yes, once again ‘dusty’) dry nutmeg can’t seem to cheer me up. The rest of the composition is so intriguing – the dustiness, the dryness, the sheer unique strangeness of it make me want to wear it, take it out for a spin, raise a few eyebrows, bother a few noses. I know though I never will. I can’t possibly stomach neither the pomegranate, nor the caramel. There is a delay, during which my shocked nose does not detect any changes, then suddenly, the rose becomes apparent. It is heavy, rather masculine. It smells exactly like Greek rose resin regularly used to burn on charcoal. If I was disappointed before, I am even more so now. From the first moment I experienced that exceptional dustiness I wanted it to be intermingled with greens and white flowers. The freesias that never came through. Maybe some honeysuckle and a little jasmine, if I had a say in it. I wanted it to be ethereal as well as strange. I willed Esperys to break my heart with its beauty just like Esperinos, the hour of sunset always has. And now, now it is cloying on top of everything else. Disappointed I wait for the drydown. It is not completely unremarkable, due to the dryness which still persists. Behind it lurks the rather unexciting smell of an expensive body cream. My disappointment is acute and apparent due to the fact that this was something I really wanted to like. I hate to admit it, but I can’t wait to wash it off. Four hours has been torture enough.

Images:
Esperys bottle from www.parfumeursdefrance.com
Painting of dusty road from the National Hungarian Gallery, www.mng.hu
Greek rose resin, from Natural Flow Direct ebay webshop: http://stores.ebay.co.uk/Natural-Flow-Direct

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

Burberry by Burberry : Perfume Review

Last night an email prompted me to prepare a skin scent review for today. I wanted to challenge myself by picking something I do not personally wear and I thought I had the perfect contender in my samples drawer: Murmure by Van Cleef & Arpels. Such a misleading name... The darned thing was nothing short of a scream, a foghorn in the dead of the night! Disappointed, I decided to fall back on a well-known friend instead: Burberry by Burberry.

In a series of puzzling marketing moves, the perfume released in 1995 and originally known as Burberry was subsequently renamed Burberry London, only to have its name changed once again recently to plain old Burberry when the new Burberry London scents were released by the British fashion house. The folly of those moves becomes especially apparent when one considers than not all online listings have been brought up to speed with the changes, resulting in considerable confusion. Fans of the fragrance have affectionately dubbed it Burberry Classic, or less eloquently in times of exasperation, as “the one in the pebble shaped bottle”. This is not an undeserving description of the flacon. It is indeed very reminiscent of a large pebble, not only in shape, but also in weight and feel. Its smooth surface fills the palm of one hand very adequately and its substantial weight somehow turns the process of application into a simple luxury, if only because of the slight extra effort one has to exert when using it. It is not a bottle you can just pick up for a quick spray and then drop back onto your dressing table thoughtlessly, and it is this that forces application to be more thoughtful than usual even in the most casual of perfume wearers. The masculine stopper and the simple lines of the flacon set the stage for the clean luxury of the perfume itself.

It all begins with almost effervescent, sparkling fruit. Mouthwatering peach and apricot shine brightly with the addition of fresh mint and brisk bergamot. Despite the full-bodied appeal of these fruits, Burberry always remains rather dry even at the top of its development, with the helpful combination of apple and tagetes. Even though I am not a fan of fruit notes generally speaking, Burberry is one of the few examples that brings out a different aspect of how fruit can be done and manages to get it right for me. It is the dryness of this fragrance that always keeps me interested and intrigued, explored further with the addition of geranium and cedar in the middle notes. Together with sandalwood, musk and amber, these notes conspire to make this fragrance intensely powdery. The end result feels completely parched of any moisture; it is a sheer powder that covers the skin with comfortable cleanness, warmed by a generous dollop of bourbon vanilla. It adheres to the body like a second skin, blurring the lines between one’s own personal scent and the fragrance itself. It is at once comforting and sensual, classy and familiar, like the bosom of a sexy, curvaceous woman in a cashmere sweater. In fact Cashmere would have been the most apt name for this perfume in my oppinion, done so much better than Cashmere by Chopard. While on the subject of perfume comparisons,
Skin by Trussardi smells very, very similar to Burberry, but it is far inferior and nowhere near as dry. Speaking of which, it is still early days, but I do wish to start archiving these reviews at some point – and aside from the more obvious house-name archiving, I would also like to make a perfume-alikes / comparisons link. Something to look forward to in the future.

Pictures courtesy of www.amazon.com, www.dann-online.com and www.duon.de respectively.