Showing posts with label lily. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lily. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Hermes Un Jardin sur la Lagune: fragrance review

In old novels, in the time of Balzac and thereabouts (as I have written in detail before), or even prior to that time, there is the well-known trope of the poor relative, usually female, who receives the second hand clothes of their elders and betters in social status, with the acceptance of keen appreciation of their circumstances. Governesses, school mistresses, nurses, or beneficiaries of a small income of a few pounds or francs a year, thanks to the generosity and sense of due of an almost unknown yet benevolent antecedent. In the world of perfumes, this situation is usual and usually ignites the same condescending acceptance: "close, but no cigar; divested of the elements which make the original truly flamboyant or plush, bon pour l'Orient."

via

It's with great pleasure that I found out that Un Jardin sur la Lagune by Hermes (a spring 2019 launch) is an exception to that scenario. One of my favourite and closest to heart fragrances, Lys Méditerranée by perfumer Edouard Fléchier for the niche brand of Frédéric Malle, has a little cousin; one who does not ape the greater one, nor does it deign to wear the elder's hand-me-downs, Un Jardin sur la Lagune by Hermes.

An abstract feeling of petals from flowers of another dimension, of champaca and bliss, unfolds into space like cones which embraces with arms opens wide, with the piquant joy of citrusy touches and the blissful cocoon of white musk.


In Un Jardin sur la Lagune, inspired by a secret Venetian garden which Christine Nagel, in-house perfumer for Hermes, discovered thanks to the writings of a blogger, the feeling of solace and silent contentment is palpable.

The scent of far away algae is delicate in Un Jardin sur la Lagune yet there, the salty water which hits the lonely craggy shore or the foundations of an old building immersed into the water, possesses that sort of introspection, a very humane sense of disorganisation and an ironic look on the state of the Human Condition that even Balzac would be jealous of.

Les Jardins series in the Hermes portfolio is a line of easy and lightweight fragrances which began its course in 2003 with Un Jardin sur la Méditerranée, the impression of a mediterranean garden where people nibble on freshly cut figs. Next came Un Jardin sur le Nil (2005), inspired by a trip to Assouan, in Egypt; then Un Jardin apres la Mousson (2008), evoking the watery landscape of Kerala, India, after the passing of the monsoon; Un Jardin sur le Toit (2011), inspired by the war-time garden on the terrace of the flagship Hermes boutique in Paris, and Le Jardin de Monsieur Li (2015), a minty citrus evoking a special eastern garden. 
All prior Jardin fragrances have been composed by legendary perfumer Jean Claude Ellena (an interview of whom I had the honour of taking HERE), and therefore Un Jardin sur la Lagune is Christine Nagel's first entry in the series. 

Monday, September 2, 2013

Le Labo Lys 41: fragrance review

The newly launched Le Labo Lys 41 is heavily influenced by the mid-20th-century salicylate-rich school of florals, which in the past gave us classics such as L'Air du Temps, Fidji and the vintage, original Chloe, but transmitted through a Mac Book Pro screen; such is its modern sensibility. Let that not detract you from its ritzy glamor all the same.

via glo.msn.com

The treatment here is resplendent of the solar and creamy scented aspects to the lily (rather than eugenol-rich spicy, which would be an alternative direction in showcasing this flower) with a segment of tuberose floralcy. It approximates the lushness of frangipani blossoms (a kissing cousin to the closely intertwined, narcotic jasmine sambac) with a soft sweetness which surfaces from the bottom up thanks to fluffy vanilla and musk. If you love that sort of thing, you will love that sort of thing, and I'm warning you it can become a tad overwhelming sometimes, but it's quite addictive nevertheless.

Similar in feeling, but denser, to Lys Soleia (Guerlain Aqua Allegoria line) and Vanille Galante (Hermes Hermessences), Lys 41 by Le Labo is sure to capture the heart of those who love beach-evoking thrills, all out lushness and the playful, smooth feeling of whipped cream spread onto skin. Composed by Daphné Bugey, one of Le Labo’s iconic noses and the perfumer behind Rose 31, Bergamote 22 and Neroli 36, the new Lys 41 is insistent in its fragrant wake, meant to reward those who are looking to make a statement with their fragrance.

Sorta like Elizabeth Taylor's diamonds-accessorized turbans; regal looking and hard to miss.

Notes for Le Labo Lys 41:
Jasmine, tuberose absolute, lily, warm woody notes, vanilla madagascar and musks.

Related reading on PerfumeShrine: Lily fragrances, Le Labo news & fragrance reviews

Disclosure: I was sent a sample directly by the company.


Thursday, June 27, 2013

Serge Lutens La Vierge de Fer: the Iron Maiden Referencing New Fragrance

She walks on through the night
Her circumstances slight
Are only helping her to fail
And though she feels she's right
She tries with all her might
And makes the deepest peril pale
Oh, but she is unreal
Oh, but she doesn't feel
Oh, but she is unreal

She chooses who to love
And then unlike a dove
She takes the laughter from their smile
She wears a velvet glove
Her friends may find it rough
It is a gauntlet all the while

via laparousiedejesus

Could Serge Lutens have been listening to the 1970 Iron Maiden song by Barclay James Harvest (one of my long favorites[1]) and thinking of his own mother, who entrusted his keeping to the hands of relatives as a small child? We'll never know.

What we do know is that this hard-as-nails recollection is mixed: the fragrance pays tribute to Serge's own mother, poignant, since the anthropomorphic torture device know to us from the Inquisition days and the heavy metal band replicates the iconography of Mary, mother of Jesus. Aside from any notions (and involuntary misunderstandings) of grandeur, the concept of tending to fragility, to past traumas for the semi-abandonded Serge (much like a device of torture would reference), is at art's core and thus drives creation. And his fixation with 19th century romanticism (De Profundis or Vitriol d'Oeillet) and its darker side (Douce Amere), all the way through to German Expressionism (La Fille de Berlin) continues...

Vierge de Fer, the latest perfume to adorn the sumptuous Lutens line means Iron Maiden (also referenced as "Virgin of Nuremberg") and recalls the Inquisition dungeons we have come to associate with heavy metal bands, gothic tales and heavy SM tones.



The fragrance focuses on lily (a flower highlighted in Lutens's Un Lys previously) with a mineral, hard and cold aspect, that recalls the hardness of iron, and incense. According to Lutens himself: "The lily in Vierge de Fer is more glorious than in Un Lys. That one was fresher, more lily-like actually. It played on the whiteness of lily. This one [Vierge de Fer] plays on the heady aspect. It's a lily whose pollen hasn't been dusted off, it has kept its stamens and anthers. This is a lily which affronts, once again."[2]

Vierge de Fer has just been presented and will be widely available in September at Les Salons du Palais Royal in the beautiful bell jars of 75ml eau de parfum concentration and on the official Lutens e-boutique.

[1] For some reason or other, I first loved it as a teenager. Must have been the glorious bass line, as I loved following songs with strong bass lines.
[2]quote via Nicoals Olczyk translated from the French

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Lys Soleia: fragrance review

A warm, sandy beach...soaking up the rays, you rest sprawled in a deckchair, your hand hanging down in the shadowy spot beneath it, idly caressing the sugar-spun grain...kicked off sandals nearby...a faint hint of tropical flowers and suntan lotion in the breeze...and the world sits still for a while. This summer fantasy leads to soothing thoughts and sensual imaginings and it's all the fault of Guerlain's Lys Soleia, I'm convinced! An interplay between light and shadow, between heat and , basking in the afterglow.


Guerlain had the brilliant idea to offer something for casual wearing and younger dispositions around 1999, the Aqua Allegoria line. Incongruent, with agile, ambrosial specimens alongside undoubtably acrylic painting flops, the line has thankfully picked up in the last couple of seasons (for instance see Guerlain Jasminora ) and Lys Soleia, the latest fragrance in the collection, is among the clear winners.

As announced previously, Aqua Allegoria Lys Soleia is centered around a semi-fresh, semi-tropical floral composition, which reproduces the sensuous aroma of oriental yellow lilies and the regal white lily. The treatment is initially leaning into the delicious tannning lotion aroma of classic European favorite Ambre Solaire, with a tangy hint of citrus ling-a-ling (and Guerlain is no stranger to great citrus, just witness Shalimar Light), rich in salicylates and the tropical floral note of ylang ylang as well as the greener part of the tuberose plant, heady and sensual. Lys Soleia is taking a page off both Guerlain's own Terracotta Sous le Vent dry oil and the green-powdery-lily strewn Vanille Galante in the Hermessences series by Hermes with its delicate veil of vanilla. The spicy touch of lily is nicely peppered, biting gently, bridging the gap between lily and ylang ylang. This tender and very temperately sweet fragrance doesn't really lose its sensuous tropical flower feel upon drying down on the skin, but enhances the muskiness of warmed skin and light creamy vanillic nuances.


Perfume enthusiasts who like Nuxe Parfum Prodigieux, Cartier Baiser Vole, Serge Lutens Un Lys and Hermes Vanille Galante are advised to try it; it shares kindred DNA. But so are lovers of feminine tropical florals who don't want oppressive clobber-you-down tiare re-runs smelling cheap. Lys Soleia smells eerily familiar and at the same time freshly renewed, with a delicacy and balance of composition that denotes true Guerlain mastery. Perfumer Thierry Wasser proves he can carry the baton after all. Who would have thought he'd do it with an Aqua Allegoria?

Available at major department stores £37/€51 for 75ml

 pic via simplewishes.tumblr.com

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Donna Karan Gold: fragrance review

Donna Karan strived for a lushly feminine lily effect with her stupendous Gold fragrance for women in 2006. Its mix of vibrant lily with animalic profundity puts Gold on a pedestral of worship, that of a stony goddess who demands the coming of Choephoroi.


The fragrance necessitated no less than 3 perfumers of the caliber of Yann Vasnier, Calice Becker and Rodrigo-Flores Roux. Usually that would be a recipe for disaster (too many opinions and twinkering often lead to an incoherent vision), yet in Gold the result is none the worse for trying. On the contrary.

Scent Description 

The main accord in DK Gold focuses on bright, trembling with life lily, suave woods plus musk, effecting a round and creamy composition accented with discernable jasmine adding its indolic glory. The opening of Donna Karan Gold has the dewy freshness of green tonalities of muguet, vaguely reminiscent of the green overture of Annick Goutal's Des Lys (another floriental focusing on Casablanca lilies) and the sharper start of Lys Mediteranée by F.Malle. Although the floral phase is clearly discernible from the start, the more the scent dries down the more the sensuous aspects reveal themselves beneath the droplets of lucid coolness. Underneath, a camphoreous scent is peeking through, like a riddle on the edge of the screenshot in a Greenaway film : now you see it and now you don't.
The development of Gold in the Eau de Parfum concentration adds a very alluring animalic submantle which hints at ductile leather and ambergris rather than the traditional resinous amber mentioned, yet it doesn't do so with too much rebelliousness, remaining a sensual touch warming the proceedings and adding gravitas. Perhaps Gold, although certainly not ground-breaking, is a knowing wink of Donna Karan to her first perfume, the long discontinued Donna Karan New York in the phallic black bottle, which utilized lily, amber and suede to great effect.

Concentrations & Notes

Please note that Donna Karan Gold comes in Eau de Parfum concentration, which is warmer and much more complex than the more aqueous and linear Eau de Toilette, as well as a Sparkling Eau de Toilette. Between those versions Eau de Parfum is highly recommended as per above, also being much closer to the revered Serge Lutens Un Lys. Parfum amplifies the cistus and incense with more vanilla.
The elegant bottle is created by jewellery designer Robert Lee Morris.

Current distribution of DK Gold is bust; get some while you can on online discounters.

Notes for DK Gold: Casablanca Lily, Amber, Acacia, White Clove, Golden Balsam*, Gold Pollen and Patchouli

 *a mix of Peru tolu balsam, olibanum, benzoin, vanilla, and cistus

Photo of French actress Eva Green via Google (have since forgotten the exact source)

Monday, July 25, 2011

Cartier Baiser Vole: fragrance review

“There is no lily oil or lily absolute,” says perfumer Mathilde Laurent, who wanted to introduce a floral scent in Cartier’s fragrance collection, a propos Baiser Volé, the jewellery brand's latest feminine fragrance launch. The name means "Stolen Kiss" reminiscing such romantic images as Fragonard's painting or Truffaut's film. “But I didn’t want it to be the 1,001st floral floriental, and I didn’t want to add a new floral composition.” Instead, Laurent likened wearing Baiser Volé to having on a necklace of lilies!

In Baiser Volé, in-house Cartier perfumer Mathilde Laurent explores the nature of lily three-ways (the leaves, the petals and the pistil) in a fresh powdery floral context and ends up with a surreal lily that isn't really about flowers, nor does it smell particularly spot-on "floral", but about the flowery nature of woman herself: opening up, "blooming", receiving, being at once pure and a little bit disorienting.

Laurent began by asking what smell men found enticing in a womanly way, to which the (fit to print, at least) prominent reply seemed to be "the lily". Colour me sceptical; isn't lily a symbol for purity and the need for cleansing? Maybe men are really leaning more onto the Madonna rather than the whore juxtaposition? Maybe they're asking them from a pre-arranged multiple-choice sheet?
At any rate, thus equiped, Laurent embarked on her 2-year long quest into fitting this stunning flower into a composition that would light up the room just lilies they do, without it being cliché, or surupy sweet, or headache-inducing cloying. If you are looking for the most realistic lily scent recreation, you might stop reading right now or read our article on Lily scent and lily flower types in perfumery; Baiser Volé doesn't even aim at that. But if you like fresh powdery scents, you might want to at least sample; it's very likeable.

The vegetal quality of the fragrance presents itself in an odd game of salicylates, solar notes which boom on the skin, a balance of bitter and sweet with a hint of citrus: The treatment, air-spun, meringue-like, delicate, is not unlike the one that perfumer Jean Claude Ellena reserved for the lightening up of vanilla through ylang ylang & lily notes in his fluffy Vanille Galante for the Hermessences. The vanilla and musks laced drydown in Baiser Volé recalls the sweetness of Un Lys by Serge Lutens, but the context is less poetic, more powdery, in a cosmetic-power-infused, slightly bittersweet way with a small subfacet of spice ~only minimal, a tad clovey; and a hint of violet ionones. It's safe to deduce that Baiser Volé transposes these niche sensibilities, pure, unadulterated exploration of perfumery raw materials's facets, in sleight-of-hand executions, into the mainstream. Compared with other lily fragrances, Baiser Volé stands alone and lacks the gaiac smokiness of real lilies which is reported to give them their "ham" brine-y facet. Cartier's interpretation is nowhere near the dense, ambery tinged radiant ambience of Donna Karan's Gold. Or the faux chypre structure of Ineke's Gilded Lily. Or the spicy corolla of Lily & Spice by Penhaligon's. And whereas Lys Mediterranée is a raspy, roughened salty-savoury lily that appeals to a certain Med sensibility with its hoarsey voice, while remaining irresolutely lily-like, Baiser Volé is smoother, more pliable, less floral, more traditionally womanly in its vanillic powdery kiss, and oddly at once old-fashioned and "clean".

On the other hand, and this is really interesting, Laurent takes no prisoners into embracing the latest trend of reinventing powdery florals for a generation that was afraid of anything powdery signifying "old lady perfume": From Esprit d'Oscar to Love,Chloé, the pink satin feel of ballerina shoes is taking on the sheen of flou through dusty, dry notes reminiscent of violets, talcum powder and sweet musks (if you're thinking of Lovely, by Sarah Jessica Parker, with an added dose of powderiness, you're not too far off); especially since this is a medium sillage fragrance, projecting politely while lasting power is good. Maybe it's code for "classy" or "different" in the milieu of hundreds of sweet things on the market. Maybe the generation who loved Flower by Kenzo and Cashmere Mist by Donna Karan have moved onto other things by now, leaving a void to be filled with new consuemers. The freshly powdery effect needs a true best-seller to shoot off as the new "craziness" in perfume (after "pink chypres" , fruitchoulis, and ethylmaltol-based ~aka cotton-candy smelling~ gourmands) and it remains to be seen just which fragrance that might be: Even though the concept and smell might be right for Cartier, I think we're dealing with a confusing name for Anglos: kissing the rodent seems to be many people's gut response, which might shoot the project in the foot (who can forget Rochas Poupée?).

Mathilde Laurent has been at jewellers Cartier since 2005 and she had been busy concocting Les Heures du Parfum, a series of niche-smelling fragrances sold exclusively at Cartier boutiques. Baiser Volé is the brand's first major feminine fragrance launch since Le Baiser du Dragon oriental in 2003 (Cartier de Lune of early 2011 not withstanding) and contrasted with the best-selling masculine claration, which garners more than 60% of all Cartier's fragrance sales, this Baiser is set to be a serious bet on the part of the company; a recent Women's Wear Daily article tagged it as being intended as the scent pillar in the brand's feminine portfolio.It's definitely geared towards "a younger consumer", though like Robin I am at a loss on just how old the Cartier demographic really is to begin with.

The bottle of Baiser Volé is based on a stylised lighter design, for which the house is famous: In the 1970s there was no chicer way to light up (even today Cartier-embossed cigarettes are still produced in a small quantity in Europe), giving rise to the Les Must de Cartier, a boutique line from which Must perfume arose. Cartier Baiser Volé is available in Eau de Parfum (priced between $75-$145), also presented in matching Shower Gel and Body Lotion ($55 each) and deo spray, and is currently a Nordstrom Anniversary exclusive, but it will be available at major department stores in September 2011.

artwork via lunarki blog

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Serge Lutens Vitriol d'Oeillet: fragrance review & draw

"Sometimes he frets his instrument with the back of a kitchen knife or even a metal lipstick holder, giving it the clangy virility of the primitive country blues men".  This descriptor for Bob Dylan's style fits the newest Serge Lutens creation to a T: clangy, virile in a rugged way, disruptive, angry and unusual are all characteristics of Vitriol d'Oeillet (meaning vitriol of carnation); an uncharacteristic carnation fragrance which breaks the mould of old fashioned powdery florals of the start of the 20th century, offering a futurist angry woody floral. In Vitriol d'Oeillet Lutens alludes to carnation via intense, corosive pepper and lily and invites us to think of carnations of red, feisty under the intense sun of Provence, and at the same time of the London fog hiding a gentleman killer à la Jack the Ripper, who sports a carnation in his buttonhole.

There's something to be said about 19th century and its fixation with death & violence, a kind of violence beyond the funereal association so many people have with carnations. The ethereally romantic image of the era gets shattered when we read Honoré de Balzac for instance: Madame Cibot is a widow twice-over, when her husband Rémonencq accidentally consumes the chalice of vitriol he was intending for his wife (in Cousin Pons)...Oil of vitriol features in many a 19th novella, not just Balzac.
Two especially memorable scenes have the caustic sulphuric acid unceremoniously thrown on a face (the acid works by releasing acids from their salts, i.e.sulphides); namely in George Gissing's The Nether World (1889) and Robert Louis Stevenson's The Ebb-Tide (1894). Perhaps what inspired those writers into using vitriol in fiction scene stealers as an aussault (an aussault to injustice, poverty and degradation), as well as a metonym for realism (a late 19th century claim to the explosive!), is what inspired Lutens himself; a desire to break loose with preconceptions about how a carnation fragrance should be: pretty, prim, feminine, dainty? Vitriol d'Oeillet is nothing of the sort!
But there's something to be said about Vitriol being in tune with Moorish sensibilities too, of which Lutens has long been an accolyte. Blue vitriol is copper (Cu), green vitriol is iron (Fe), and white vitriol is zinc (Zn), all Hermetic references for the initiated. Sulphuric acid (historically known as 'oil of vitriol') was formerly prepared from green vitriol in a ritual that crossed into the alchemical. The Moors sold vitriol preparations as an antiseptic panaceia. There's this thing in Shi'ism called ta'wil, it's this idea where "you take anything back to its root significance, its original self". A cleanse going for the bone!

On the other hand, in late 19th century carnations were innocent, popular buttonhole flowers; Oscar Wilde was said to sport one and companies producing such fragrances were a dime a dozen, rendering the carnation soliflore a dominating fragrance trend of the Victorian era. The dandified character of carnation scents has persisted: from old-image Floris Malmaison to Roger &Gallet's ever popular ~but ultimately discontinued~ Blue Carnation all the way to modern-day retro Dianthus by Etro.

The opening of Serge Lutens Vitriol d'Oeillet is sharp, caustic as befits the name though not smelling of sulphur, without the dense powdery note that surrounds the rich floral heart of retro carnations such as Caron's Bellodgia. After all, clove, the main spicy component in creating a carnation accord in perfumery, is called clou de girofle in French, same as a pointy "nail". But despite the disruptive nails on a chalkboard of the opening of the new Lutens fragrance, the progression of Vitriol d'Oeillet softens gradually; much like Tubéreuse Criminelle hides a silken polished floral embrace beneath the mentholated stage fright. In Vitriol d'Oeillet's case Serge hides the heart of a lush lily inside the spicy mantle. Indeed it is more of a lily than a carnation fragrance, as per the usual interpretation of carnation in perfumery.

The spices almost strangle the lily notes under cruel fingers: black pepper, pimento, nutmeg, cayenne pepper, pink pepper with its rosy hue, paprika and clove; in Serge Noire and Louve the spices serve as a panoramic "lift" to the other notes, here they reinforce what was a hint in the flower. The woody backdrop of cedar is softening the base, but lovers of Serge's and Sheldrake's candied-fruit-compote-in-a-cedar-bowl will not find the sweet oriental they have grown to expect. Vitriol d'Oeillet is resolutely spicy, rendered in woody floral tonalities that only slightly turn powdery towards the very end.

To give perfume comparisons: If you have always found Secret Mélange, from Les Caprices du Dandy collection by Maître Parfumeur et Gantier (a fragrance which dared to mix cold spices and flowers and harmonize the accord with warm woods) quite intriguing, you have good chances of liking the jarring nature of Vitriol d'Oeillet. So might lovers of Caron's Poivre (which is vastly superior nevertheless) or of the dark, suffused imagescape of Garofano by Lorenzo Villoresi and E.Lauder's intense Spellbound. If you were looking for a classic, dense, feminine carnation floral or a minimal contemporary treatment oif the note such as in Oeillet Sauvage by L'Artisan Parfumeur, you might be scared by this violent yet diaphanous offering.

Oddly for the actual formula, since it's chartreuse liqueur which is infused with carnation petals and alchemically it is green vitriol which hides the greatest power, Vitriol d'Oeillet if of a greyish-lilac tint which looks someplace between funereal and alluringly gothic-romantic. The sillage is well-behaved, indeed subtle, perhaps because vitriol derives from the Latin vitrium, meaning glass, therefore denoting a certain transparency and lightness. Vitriol d'Oeillet is androgynous with great lasting power that seems to grow in depth, becoming a little bit sweeter and woodier as time passes.

Serge Lutens Vitriol d'Oeillet belongs to the export line, available at select stockists around the world and at the official Lutens site, 95euros for 50ml of Eau de Parfum. The limited edition engraved bottles depicted cost much more.

A generous-sized decant is available for one lucky reader. Draw is now closed, thank you!

What is it you find intriguing about the concept?

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Cacharel Anais Anais: fragrance review & history

Who could imagine a block-buster perfume today being promoted through porcelain-skined beauties in soft focus showing no inch of skin beyond their necks set to pre-classical music? And yet Anais Anais, the first perfume by Cacharel (1978), was advertised exactly like that and became THE reference scent for the early 1980s for droves of young women who still reminiscence fondly of it 30 years later. It's also one of the most influential perfumes in history, at least on what concerns marketing success ~a triumph of Annette Louit~ and top-to-bottom design, if not complexity, quality materials or classicism of composition. It didn't possess any of the latter.

Yet it's still featured on the Cacharel website prominently and is up front on perfume counters. For many,
Anais Anais by Cacharel was the first fragrance they got as a gift; or even better the first they cashed out their pocket money for: Its image was youthful from the start. No doubt the deceptively innocent scent, coupled with the dreamy advertisements accounted for that, as did the opaline packaging with the pastel flowers on it and the slightly suggestive name. It was the debate of many, to this day: Was Anais Anais a reference to writer Anais Nin and her ~"forbidden" to the young~ erotic literature, such as Delta of Venus? Or was it a nod to the ancient Persian goddess Anaitis, goddess of fertility? And which was more provocative?

Cacharel was specializing in retro knits at the time and both references for the name were valid enough, although the company always officially went with the latter. The goddess was testament to a peculiar cultural phenomenon on what concerned the position of woman in the zeitgeist: On the one hand Anais Anais with its imagery disrupted the context of feminism in perfume; the complete antithesis of Charlie by Revlon (1973), if you will, where Shelley Hack was dressed in pants skipping off to work or grabbing the bum of a cute guy in the street as an outward manifestation of her desire to be divested of her traditional passive role. These were both youthful fragrances advertised to the young. So what had intervened in those 5 years elapsing to account for such a change? Nothing much. (If you exclude the rush of spicy orientals in the market in the wake of Opium's success). The French aesthetic was always more traditionally feminine than the American one, going for Venus over Diana, and the marketeers soon realized that the beauty industry can't disregard the changes of times, but deep down, it will always depend on the passivity of the consumer into buying "hope in a jar". Perfume is perhaps the most mysterious of all beauty products, ladden with hundreds associations and legion aspirations. It was deemed best to start bouncing the ball back right away... Plus the youth market hadn't been exploited sufficiently (this was back in the 1970s remember) and someone had perceived that the young regarded standard perfume imagery as bourgeois and old-fashioned: they needed their own. Cacharel was extra attentive to grow the market; they put basins in department stores where they encouraged young women to plunge their hands in basins of water, dry them, apply scented cream on them and then finishing off with a spritz of Anais Anais, extoling the virtues of "layering" for a lasting effect. A youth phenomenon was at work.


And Sarah Moon was called for the Anais Anais advertisements: To take shots of women as pale-limped and virginaly innocent as paintings, lily-like, exactly like the opaline bottle and the main core of the fragrance which was built on lilies of the fields. The long limps gained an almost Piero Della Francesca sanctity, the doe-eyed gazes were soft and narcotized, almost. Were they beckoning unto the males watching, inviting by their easy-to -prey-on-passivity and odalisque-style harem numbers? Or were they nuzzling on each other evoking lesbian fantasies? Perhaps the most provocative thing is that the ladies in question all appeared so very.. young; almost under-age! Whatever the intention, the imagery is still memorable: It marks a mental no-mands-land between the advent of feminism in advertising and the regression to conservative values of the 1990s, peppered with some of the issues that still concern those of us who immerse themselves in beauty advertising with a critical eye.

Four perfumers were credited with the creation of Anais Anais jus: Paul Leger, Raymond Chaillan, Roger Pellegrino and Robert Gonnon, working at Firmenich. A surprising fact as the formula isn't complicated or challenging really. The opening is fresh and a little "screechy", a touch
of green galbanum resin felt all the way through the base (galbanum is in fact a base note but it's felt at the top), giving a herbaceous overture that segues into the main attraction: lily of the valley forms the core coupled with another "clean" note, that of orange blossom, sanctified through the wonders of analytical chemistry. White lilies melt as if gaining human form, tender, devoid of their customary spiciness and given a touch of woody dryness. There is a supporting accord of honeysuckle, jasmine and rose, played sourdine; it's not especially felt. The permeating cleanness continues for long before a hint of playful soft leather in the base surfaces alongside indeterminate, powdered woods to give an intriguing twist to the plot: is this an autumnal scent for more mature women, I wonder?
Although I seem to recall the scent of Anais Anais as a little bit more "substantial" in all its softness, there is no major change in its formula last I compared batches, probably because there is not much of allergens-suspect ingredients necessitating restrictions and because hydrocitronellal (lotv note) has been successfuly substituted anyway. It's a pity the parfum concentration has been extinct for some years now, as it played up the autumnal basenotes beautifully.

Notes for Cacharel Anais Anais
Top: Bergamot, galbanum, hyacinth, honeysuckle, orange blossom
Middle: Lily, lily of the valley, rose, ylang-ylang, tuberose, carnation
Base: Cedarwood, sandalwood, amber, oakmoss, incense, vetiver




Sarah Moon photography via weheartit.com and thefashionspot.com

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Ineke Gilded Lily: fragrance review

Ineke Rühland follows a nifty idea concerning her niche brand: an ABC of fragrance so to speak, each new scent named after the next-in-line initial letter. So after some of her earlier work (reviewed here) and last year's Field Notes from Paris (click here for review), the latest fragrance is called “Gilded Lily” after G.

According to the press info which we had announced a while back: "When Ineke read about the scent of the Goldband Lily of Japan (lilium auratum), she felt compelled to order a few for her garden to study their fragrance. This note became the heart of Gilded Lily.[...] Gilded Lily’s "fruity chypre" structure opens with sparkling top notes of pineapple and rhubarb followed by the goldband lily, and closes with patchouli, oakmoss and amber".

I admit that as far as I'm concerned, Gilded Lily doesn't conjure a fruity chypre in the manner of classic Femme, Diorama, or Mitsouko to my mind (or even a contemporary fruity chypre like Esteban's Modern Chypre, YSL Yvresse or Chypre Rouge by Lutens), but rather a rather unisex floral demi-fougère. The former are peachy-plummy symphonies of creamy millefeuilles and golden light getting deflected from a window pane at the 6th arrondissement on a bright autumn afternoon when chic tailleurs are thrown in haste on a heap on the parqueted floor and ties are used as impromptu blindfolds... Gilded Lily is a cool blonde walking the streets towards the museum of Modern Art in New York City, her arms getting goosebumbs from the cool air holding a white lily with frothings of retro greenish shaving cream on its heavy petals in a papier-mâché vase, a Magritte-worthy scene.

What I mean: Although advertised as a lily chypre fragrance, I get no big lily bouquet, the kind of thing that I was used to receiving while giving piano recitals in my university days. Those were engulfing, very floral-spicy affairs and ~if inhaled too much~ they tended to give a migraine, despite their uncontested beauty. Nor do I get the dark mossy autumnal forest floor that I associate most with chypres. Gilded Lily needs no gilding in fact, nor is it particularly embellished. It's neither sweet nor too floral, but rather after a short floral-fruity top note (which is NOT like most of the mainstream swill at stores right now, thank heavens!) goes straight for a woody liqueur-like clean patchouli drydown of modern proclivities which would have men notice it and claiming as their own, even though it's touted as a feminine.
After seven fragrances Ineke emerges as possessing a distinct style of her own, a sort of "signature", which one either loves or dislikes; there's no in-between. Gilded Lily is certainly very much within that style and shares elements with other creations of hers. Fans will be pleased and the rest would know what to expect.

Gilded Lily is available as Eau de Parfum and along with the rest of Ineke's line (After My Own Heart, Balmy Days & Sundays, Chemical Bonding, Derring-Do, Evening Edged in Gold and Field Notes from Paris) are sold worldwide at the stores listed on her website, http://www.ineke.com/

Painting Les Amants by René Magritte

Monday, March 8, 2010

Annick Goutal Grand Amour: fragrance review

A sexy actress in her boudoir after her performance: Pensive , smiling hazily to herself as she lifts her hair off her forehead and gazes at her image in the mirror. Her most enthousiastic fan has sent her armfulls of liles , bunches of honeysucle and posies of hyacinth to fill the room and her lacy clothes with an initially fresh and sweet fragrance , with a penetrating aroma that becomes deeper and slightly decaying as time passes. The whole concoction is intoxicating somehow, yet it makes her think of him with nostalgia. She thinks she's falling in love... It's a Grand Amour. It has to be!

That had been my impression of this rich floriental, composed by Isabelle Doyen, redolent of heady flowers and a balsamic ambery base when I had tried it for the first time back in 1997 when it launched, on a trip to Austria. I recall that the splendid presentation of the butterfly bottle alongside the dewy flowers in the filigree vases around with their fin de siècle ambience had captured my attention and provoked the above image, which is still firmly with me after all those years. The recollection made me nod my head a little when I read Tania Sanchez in Perfumes,The Guide saying: "[it]has impressive ambitions, combining aloofness and warmth in search of that magical proportion that turns a starlet into a star".

Grand Amour immediately stroke me as a little decadent and "intimate", not as airy as the majority of the Goutals I had hitherto tried, and indeed, alongside firm staples Passion and L'Heure Exquise, most of my favourite Goutals fit into the category that the Goutal people term as "capiteux"; more or less "heady". Inspired as it was by the bouquets that the cellist Alain Meunier presented to Annick during their courtship Grand Amour is officially described as "A perfect balance of carnal flowers, lily, hyacinth, honeysuckle. A hymn of sensuality with notes of amber, musk, myrtle".

The atmosphere of Grand Amour is one of sustained uncertainty, poised as it is between the unctuous base of its resinous orientalia and the grassy, sappy, almost refreshing floral top; honeysuckle first reveals its yellowish, nectarous blossoms, reminding me of the exquisite moment when winter falls into spring, then hyacinth takes reign with its intoxicating pollen-like aroma. Its powdery, dry earthiness is the perfect accompaniment to these first days of spring when the longing to see new bulbs erupting sprouts is so ingrained into the melancholy of a long winter. In several ways (the soap, the powder, the hyacinth) Grand Amour is comparable to Guerlain's classic Chamade from 1969, another head-long dive into romance, yet I do not detect much of the characteristic galbanum and oakmoss of the latter (at least in its vintage form).

The Eau de Toilette highlights more of the romantic, soapy aldehydic hyacinth notes while the Eau de Parfum of Grand Amour is more base-heavy in the incense-like myrrh tonality and allover denser and sultrier. It is also naturally more orange-hued in contrast to the light straw-coloured Eau de Toilette, so don't be alarmed if you come across dark juice, it's not necessarily spoiled. If you really like that sort of effect and are that sort of woman, I guess you need both versions.

Notes for Annick Goutal Grand Amour:
lily, hyacinth, honeysuckle, Turkish rose, jasmine, French mimosa, amber, vanilla, myrrh.

Grand Amour by Annick Goutal is available as Eau de Toilette (30-50-100ml) and Eau de Parfum (50ml, 100ml) in the classic gadroon bottles and in a red butterfly bottle at boutiques carrying the Goutal line and several online venues. Check Lianne Tio's Nederthelands boutique
on this link as well.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine:
Annick Goutal news & reviews, Interview with perfumer Isabelle Doyen

Photo of Hanna Schygulla via Fromn Blank to Blank. Photo of Annick Goutal bottles rested atop Edouard Vuillard 's painting The Dress with Foliage by Elena Vosnaki

Monday, May 18, 2009

Distant Cousins: Lily of the Valley & Lily ~part 2: Lily

Pensive garden, affectionate, fresh, and faithful,
where lilies, moon and swallow kiss.
Army on the march, child who dreams, woman in tears!
Adjectives like "astonishing" and "ravishing" may sound like hyperbole, yet it is enough for someone to have leaned once over an open, waxy petaled blossom of pure, gleamingly white and delicately flocked lilies to have stood transfixed.

Words fail one upon the sight, while the nose is mesmerised by its oleaginous, yet at the same time spicy interlay of softness, sharpness and intense femininity. Even John Ruskin in his lectures “Sesame and Lilies” designates the second one, Lilies, to the treatment of women in literature and lore. An allusion which brings an added dubious sub-layer in the common reference of lily white skin in rapper songs ~such as the hilarious “Pretty Fly (for a white guy)" ~ by the Offspring) and in street parlance!

The beauty of lily is at once as pure and as sensuous as the face of Ingrid Bergman in "Casablanca"; its strong emition of scent in late summer makes an evening spent in a garden where it blooms an exercise in aching wonder faced with nature’s magic. And most astonishing of them all, among this plush, there raises its little head a small facet of horse stable manure (Luca Turin in a playful reminiscence while reviewing a lily fragrance refers to it as salami), enough to place lily in the category of the majestically strange, much like tuberose or jasmine. There's something awe-inspiring yet vulnerably tragic in the lily, like the Dresden-doll beauty of Vivien Leigh.

Lilies belong to the Liliaceae family, from which they take their name. The genus Lilium are herbaceous flowering plants growing from bulbs, comprising about 110 species with infinite visual variety. Lily of the Valley/Muguet (Convallaria majalis) on the other hand belongs to the Ruscaceae family (genus Convallaria), making them botanically unrelated to the former blossoms. Within the lily group there are several sub-varieties and contrary to the vernacular sayings equating lily with white, not all species are so. The following varieties are amongst the most prominent and beautiful: Columbia lily ,Tiger Lily , Easter/Madonna Lily ,the Goldband lily of Japan , the Amazon lily as well as the Stargazers, a popular and colourful subdivision of the Oriental lilies and the Casa Blanca Lilies (another Oriental hybrid).
On the other hand, the well-known Calla Lily (erroneously often misspelled as Cala) is not strictly a lily, since it belongs in the family Araceae. Generally Calla Lilies do not possess the characteristic heady odour of lilies nor do they have a potent odour profile in themselves, although the species Zantedeschia odorata possesses the strong scent of freesias. Vera Wang original perfume for women claims notes of Calla lily in its bridal bouquet. In perfumery, however, the lily par excellence is usually one in the Lilium family. And in this guide we will try to list fragrances which include the different varieties of lily.

Lost in history, the beautiful flower has even some interpreters of the Bible identify the Hebrew word Shoshannah as 'lily' in Song of Songs ("As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters." Song of Songs 2:2 (KJV), instead of the customary translation as rose.
The heady odour of the flower is usually rendered through headspace technology or dynamic purge-and-trap headspace analysis, which reveals the main enantimomer as R-(-)-linalool, while the alluring strangeness of lily is closely tied to high levels of p-cresol accounting for its animalic tonality. [1]
The suave and sugary scent of Madona/Easter lilies which is all the more intense as the hours draw on towards the night is evident in the classic Anais Anais by Cacharel, in the more billowed aldehydic Dolce & Gabbana pour femme (the one which is crowned with a red cap), and the suave, lightly green and tender Un Lys by Serge Lutens underscored by snuggly vanilla, painting the picture of a Werner Herzog delicate heroine. The floral sweet touch also offers an unexpected marriage of opposites in Passage d’Enfer by L’artisan Parfumeur. The scent of incense and lily mesh through the ecclesiastical tradition, overwhelming my memory with liles offered during Easter whilst frankincense is being slowly burned on charcoals around.

Tiger lilies with their wild patterns are evoked in the equally jungle-inspired print (leopard) on the cylindrical bottles of the sadly discontinued feminine By by Dolce & Gabbana. The ginger overlay of some of the varieties of the lilies makes a perfect accompaniment to the coffee and sandalwood notes of the D&G fragrance. Inpendent perfumer Yosh has no less than three scents featuring tiger lily: Wanderlust (a fresh bouquet with a whiff of incense and patchouli), Tigresse (a fruity floral encompassing figs and pomegranates) and Ginger Ciao (the creaminess of coconut compliments the sweeter aspects of lilies and ylang ylang)! Reportedly Baby Phat Fabulosity and Lucky Number 6 also feature tiger lily as a note, although I have not personally tried either. The fresh, sea-spray-like and photorealistic undertake by Edouard Fléchier for Frédéric Malle’s Lys Méditerrannée (Mediterrannean lily) is one of the most elegant lilies on the market today, injecting a subtle gingery facet on a precious musky backdrop.

White and red Casa blanca lilies are evoked in the soft, non aggressive and diaphanous treatment of Des Lys, a soliflore in the Annick Goutal line. For her denser, hypnotic Grand Amour, the majestic lily is paired to sweet honeysuckle, the oily emerald hue of hyacinth and a host of eastern promises (myrrh, vanilla, musk). The woody-ambery aroma chemical Karanal presents some lily facets, reminiscent of the treatment of lily in such scents as the glorious Donna Karan Gold which explores the waxy facets of Casablanca lilies ~especially in the rich and excellent Eau de Parfum concentration. While the alpha-, beta- and gamma- terpineol are used to render clearer lily notes.
In Pleasures Intense by Estee Lauder, the abundance of green and sweeter lilies give off a contrasting image of sharpness and sweetness, highlighted by fresher peony on one end and benzoin on the other. One of the best oriental lily renditions in a mainstream fragrance was unfortunately an all too short-lived and now regretably elusive version of Pleasures, called Garden of Pleasures Moon Lily. A limited edition from 1999 in a trio collection which highlighted facets of the original best-selling Pleasures (the other two included Peony and Lilac), it presented a soft, orientalised and subtly sweet ambience of gigantic white liliums with intense red stamens protruding provocatively.

Oriental lilies and Stargazers seductively emit their fragrant indolic headiness, close to jasmine, in other best-selling fragrances such as the kitchy White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor and the suave Lily & Spice by Penhaligon’s.
Last but not least, in order to train your nose into the subtleties of the diferent varieties, Ava Luxe has composed a trio of lily scents with different effects: the simple and greenish Lily, the traditional Madona Lily and the more orientalised Stargazer.

Related reading on Perfume Shrine:Distant Cousins part1 Lily of the Valley


[1]Rey Marsili, 2001
Painting of lilies by Amy Steward via lostcoastdailypainters blog. Pic of Vivien Leigh via Seraphicpress.com, stargazer illustration via create4u.blogspot.com

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Hermessence Vanille Galante by Hermes: fragrance review

"Days begin and end in the dead of night. They are not shaped long, in the manner of things which lead to ends – arrow, road, man's life on earth. They are shaped round, in the manner of things eternal and stable – sun, world, God". ~Jean Giono

Jean Claude Ellena's ~resident perfumer of la maison Hermès~ favourite author sums up the mise en scène that the newest Hermessence radiates quietly: roundness, grace and a nostalgic lapsarian intimation of the eternal upon gazing beauty.
Revisiting my musings on how Jean Claude Ellena would interpret a note that is quite taken for granted, that of vanilla, I am reminded of what I had said: "Vanilla is exactly the cliché note that begs for Jean Claude Ellena's modus operandi: chastizing it by food deprivation would be beneficial pedagogically, I feel". It is with some suprise and delight, now I have obtained my own bottle of Vanille Galante, that I realise he doesn't focus so much on the bean flavour as much as on the fluffy, almost cloudy, cotton-feathery aspect it reproduces as a memento of certain flowers' inner core: lily, ylang ylang, and what I sense as the innermost pollen of lilac and wisteria, flowers which exude the most intoxicating, spicy and a little "dirty" underside. I have long felt that Jean Claude is an extremely sensual man with a keen intelligence that makes him exhibit a subtle eroticism in his creations and the language of flowers is by its nature supremely erotic. (After all flowers are the reproductive organs of plants and their aim is to attract pollinators). Let's not forget therefore that vanilla itself is a flower ~an exotic orchid of aphrodisiac properties with which Jean Claude has occupied himself even as an co-author in "Vanilles et Orchidées". And for those who believe in his transparent trajectory through le corps du métier he never produced a foody vanilla, there is proof to the contrary in his woody-edible Sublime Vanille (2001) for Lily Prune!

The French adjective "galant" (or "galante" for feminine nouns) has an intriguing background: In the romans de cour/courtly literature, that is the medieval novels of nobility (for example "Le Roman de la Rose" from 1420-30), "galant" signifies the quality of courteous, gentlemanly and often amorous. The phrase "en galante companie" thus signified the company of a representative of the opposite sex. An attracting vanilla then, but also idealised, exalted, romanticized in an almost Platonic ideal. In musical terms, "galant" refers to the European style of classical simplicity after the complexity of the late Baroque era in the third quarter of the 18th century with pre-eminent representatives the rhythmical composers François Couperin, Jean-Philippe Rameau, Georg Philipp Telemann and Antonio Vivaldi . Their cyclical forma ties in with the theme of La Reverdie (the return) in literary roman: that of eternal return of spring, a theme of pagan connotations . The common trait would be the lyrical approach of solidly thematic subjects, which could sneak into the treatment of vanilla in Vanille Galante, or what I will from now on affectionaly call "péripéties de vanilla". Thus Jean Claude ambitiously set out to produce an « insolent, complex et paradoxical» blossom that would shatter all preconceptions of how a vanilla fragrance would smell, aiming not at a photorealistic figurative imprint but an almost narrative play at personal impressions devoid of cheap sentimentalities. We reference Jean Giono again ~he says in "Voyage en Italie" that "Describing a painting in sentiments might seem better [than describing it in colours] but it only serves to shuffle the cards". Thus Ellena finds the core of his artistic philosophy anew: He reads "le sentiment" (the sentiment), but he hears "le-sens-qui-ment" (the sense that lies).

Eschewing the typical synthesized vanillin used in gourmand compositions as an easy trompe nez, Jean Claude went for a segment of authentic vanilla extract's olfactory facet; that of the slightly powdery and ethereal, producing a lithe, delicate composition like a swan's feather, like the whitest cotton balls, that truly breathes sensuously only on skin with the achingly poignant timbre of beauty destined to be ephemeral. Using a technique à rebours, Ellena doesn't use vanilla as an anchor of more volatile components nor does he render it dark, boozy and sinfully calorific à la Guerlain (Spiritueuse Double Vanille but also Shalimar and Shalimar Light ;and let's not forget Ylang et Vanille). He diffuses his vision into the clouds with adroitness and a playful sense of optimism, much like he did with L'Eau d'Hiver, when he was playing with the cassie, anisaledhyde and the warm savoury aspects of Apres L'Ondée.
The secret of Vanille Galante is kept by the great master in his favourite conjuring bag of tricks, to be partially revealed at his discretion. He had expresssed similar magical resourcefulness in Bois Farine and in the adumbration of saddlery hinted behind the florals in Kelly Calèche. In Vanille Galante the intriguing touch is the merest whiff of salty, of savoury, upon opening ~a facet that is used in haute patisserie to enhance the flavour and balance the sweeter aspects~ foiled into a lightly spicy one (comparable to how the innnermost stemons of white lilies smell) taking flight onto a mist of salicylates for diffusion (ylang ylang naturally encompasses benzyl salicylate and eugenol). The play is between spicy flowers, yellow flowers and anisic ones. The slight greeness, almost filled with watery liquid, note of jasmine vine is soon engulfed by a finespun suntan, powdery musky* and smoky balletic move.
*{Ellena likes to use Musc T, Muscone and Muscenone, which are rather powdery , expensive, non-laundry musks}.
In whole, there is no mistaking the European pedigree and atmosphere of Vanille Galante! There is no heaviness of languid exoticism despite the mental connotation of Marie Galante, the island of the Caribbean located in the Guadeloupean archipelago. Nor is there the escapism of endless summers under the cruel sun of the Tropics of Atuana. Urban sophistication and modernity prevail: The sense of the perfume is not diaphanous, nor opaque, but somewhere in-between, a little carnal, a little "dirty" underneath it all, forming a new direction in the mold of an airy floral gourmand that will have everyone copying it soon enough.

Lovers of Serge Lutens' Un Lys and Donna Karan's Gold would find a kindred spirit in Vanille Galante; nevertheless, the waxier aspects of the former are here rendered in a language of less oily interplay and the disposition is more in the Pantone scale of yellow than monumental marble white.
Vanille Galante is not only graceful, but terrifically gracious as well, offering a glimpse of warm sun and fleshy, smooth shoulders in the heart of winter. J'aime bien!

Vanille Galante forms part of the Hermessences collection and is accordingly available exclusively at Hermès boutiques around the world in a 100ml/3.4oz bottle or as a travel set of 4 smaller flacons of 15ml/0.5oz each.

Related reading on Perfumeshrine: Jean Claude Ellena scents review and opinions, the Hermessences, Hermes news and reviews.



Other reviews: Perfume Posse,Grain de Musc, 1000fragrances, auparfum, Peredepierre

Bottle pic © by Helg/Perfumeshrine
"A ride in the country" by H.Toulouse-Lautrec
Swan feather caught in foliage, via ngsprints.co.uk

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