The Patchouli Pigment

I have neglected the blog for a long time... and I don' even know why. Yes, there are other things on my mind, and may be I just needed a break, but more importantly, I didn't find the inspiration to write. After a while this inspiration hurdle becomes higher and higher and somewhat impossible to overcome. A bit like having missed going to the gym for months and finding it harder and harder to overcome the guilty laziness. I'm therefore quite relieved to have discovered something exciting that sparked that all important interest again. And true to the blog, but with a reversed direction, it's all about colour. 

Patchouli is one of my favourite perfume ingredients. The hippy association doesn't bother me in the slightest, and is anyway not really justified. The unassuming bushy plant is not as precious as, let's say, jasmine or roses, but equally potent. Rich, deep, earthy, fresh, herbal, mossy, damp, smoky, rank, green, soft, balmy, medicinal, dirty, woody, glowy. The attributes for patchouli span over a wide range. Like so many natural ingredients, the actual quality of the scent varies, depending on batch, origin, cultivation and age. So how to describe all this in just one single colour, or pigment? I don't even try. Or, I normally wouldn't, and approach the note via a perfume composition, making it easier to be specific. In one fragrance the patchouli is a mossy green, or a woody brown, and in the next one it  pops up as a minty nile green. As I said, I normally wouldn't...

But then, suddenly, a new colour appears in my watercolour palette, and I realise: 

I have found the Patchouli Pigment! 

 Colour swatch of Daniel Smith "Rich Green Gold" watercolour on paper

Pigment PY 129. Even its name points towards the patchouly (the PY actually stands for Pigment Yellow). According to the Art Pigment Database  it's a copper derived, metallic complex. A rich deep greenish gold, equally dark and bright, it blends wonderfully with either earthy and bright tones. In this case the pigment comes in a tube of Daniel Smith watercolours, an American fine art paints brand, and my newest art supply obsession. Just squeezing the paint out of the tube is a delight. Like most watercolour paints, it's transparent, allowing for a multiple of layers. If applied thinly in a wet wash, it is beautifully translucent gold while thicker application produces a very muddy, yellowish green. For me it's a perfect visual representation of patchouli's qualities.

While writing this blog I'm wearing the truest patchouli in my collection: Les Nereides, Patchouli Antiques. A retro style perfume, in which the patchouli has centre stage and is rendered in a balmy, and ever so slightly dirty way. I thought about creating a separate image for it, but decided against. Let the patchouli note and colour speak for itself this time. 

Burn, Barbershop. Burn.

Perfume names are - at best - a subtle suggestion of what the scent inside has to offer, but in general the name is just another marketing tool. It is therefore really refreshing to find a perfume house that labels its bottles in a does exactly what it says on the tin manner with a humourous twist. 
Meet Burning Barbershop by D.S. & Durga:

My visualisation of Burning Barbershop by D.S. & Durga

If you ever wondered how it would smell if you set fire to the old school barbershop around the corner, now you have the answer. BB is a spearmint shaving cream brûlée that has been torched too long. And that is a good thing. A very good thing. Modern, unique, urban, old fashioned, clever. Verging on the masculine side, but getting softer after a few hours. Given notes are spearmint, lime, spruce and lavender followed by rose, vanilla, burnt oil and hay. Brilliant. 

How and where to wear:

This separates the men from the boys, and that goes for all genders,  make sure you have the confidence to pull it off.

Love Exposure

It's difficult to judge a perfume that's based on a movie you haven't seen. It's also difficult to ignore that backstory if the movie is labelled "notorious". A four hour tour de farce of religion, lust, teenage angst and pop culture isn't exactly Cinderella and while my knowledge just stems from a few youtube trailers, it's probably fair to say that a perfume based on that comes with a few expectations. Mark Buxton isn't the Disney type of perfumers either, so that only adds to it.

So when I did start smelling Love Exposure, I was slightly surprised. What a delicate Magnolia! Light, a bit bitter-creamy, and very, very wet. 

My visual interpretation of Love Exposure by Mark Buxton

I am pretty sure that without knowing anything about the film, my perception and the visual for the scent would be somewhat different - brighter, lighter and more innocent- but it's impossible to revert myself back to not-knowing. Yes, there is certainly an edge to the fragrance, it has an urban feel and there is this spicy incense and amber base, but how much of that impression really comes from the scent...? Having said that, I really, really like it. To the extend that I would consider a bottle. (All the fragrances in Mark Buxton's new cinema inspired La Folie a Plusiers range come in 12ml quantities) I am also very intrigued to watch the movie now, and will go and hunt for it on amazon. I had great pleasure creating the image, and wanted to capture the delicacy, wetness and urban style of the perfume in colours that evoke the wet petals of magnolia trees in dirty rain.

How and where to wear:

Rainy Sunday afternoon, watching the teardrops on the window

Geste

A lovely gesture. That's exactly what it is. A pillow of violets on a bed of pine. Intimate and soft, but intriguing. Very modern in feel and gender free. Really beautifully done. 

My visual interpretation of Geste, by Humiecki & Graef

How and where to wear:

The perfect first date scent for an introvert

Liquid Night

I love it when a fragrance house offers the choice of small bottles. My last purchase was a 10 ml travel spray of Musc Ravageur, bought on the spot after wearing it for only a few minutes. I dismiss the pea counters (German for nit pickers)  who keep on telling me that the price per ml is such a bad bargain. I'm not buying a sack of potatoes to feed an army here, I just want to own a piece of something beautiful, and if it's a small piece, so be it. If I love it enough to empty the travel sized one I'm very probably going to buy a bigger amount as a result, and I wish more companies would see the benefit of  'small is beautiful'. Another one that does, albeit  with a very limited distribution, is US based A Lab on Fire, which also adopted a similar editorial style concept to FM. (But who doesn't, these days?)

Liquid Night wasn't an instant love; I had come to the achingly hip Paris department store 

Colette to try A Lab on Fire's "What we do in Paris is secret", but that was sadly out of stock. I liked LN though, and 20 something Euros for a 15 ml bottle was a good enough offer to buy it. I thought. And then it sat on the shelf for months, unloved and collecting dust. I still liked it, in theory, but never got round to wear it. And then suddenly a few weeks ago, I just didn't know what to try...and gave it a go.

Liquid Night, my visualisation

Surprise, surprise: this time I love it. It immediately grabs me with an effortlessly chic aesthetic that is totally wearable but unique enough not to be boring. A creamy saffron note binds dry hinoki woods to aromatics and abstract floral accords and everything dries down to a subtle vanilla. Despite the name, it's actually a rather clear cut fragrance, not sharp, but not floating either. When I created its image I started with very fluid and organic shapes, but after hours working on it and not getting it right I realised what it needed was a very simple geometric structure to emphasise on the contemporary elegance. I took inspiration from neon lights glistening and sparkling on wet asphalt. My colours are very muted, but in principal it's a cold green/warm pink perfume. I find it incredibly suited for this in-between-two-seasons-weather we're having, where spring is on the cards and a few daffs are out, but the wind is still icy and biting enough to wear a big comfy scarf. 

Some reviews complain about the synthetic nature of Liquid Night. I personally couldn't care less. As long as they don't charge me Roja Dove prices for a bottle of ISOE super, I can live with a bit of chemical wizardry in my fragrances. 

How and where to wear:

Not so much a how or where, but with what this time.... my newest fashion find and love is German brand Oska and Liquid Night is a perfect match. A bit of a Japanese influence, urban and edgy, but incredibly comfortable.

La Danza delle Libellule

La Danza delle Libellule by nobile 1942. Bonkers. And very, very sweet. 

Cologne du Maghreb

I think I mentioned in one of my last posts that I am not looking for refreshment in a perfume, and while that is still the case, I have to agree that a spritz of a well made cologne can be a bit nice indeed. There are a few new and lots of good old candidates on the market, from the cheap and cheerful to the eye-wateringly expensive, but I personally don't see the point in paying a huge amount of money for something that is just a short little pleasure and has to be used in abundance to make an impact. 

Tauer perfumes Cologne du Maghreb is sort of in the middle ground, price wise, and I when I was offered a sample I was very grateful for the opportunity to test it. Andy Tauer created this cologne from all natural ingredients because he believed it didn't need anything else. The result is very much the equivalent of proper home made lemonade: Made of 3 ingredients and a thousand times better than anything you can buy in the supermarket. 

It opens with a wonderful citrus note, not too bitter, not too sweet, not too green, just right and bright and gradually warming on the skin into a more golden orange. There is a hint of what I would clumsily describe as 'dust' which I find unusual and pleasant. Around an hour into wearing a touch of warm, dry wood adds the composition which then stays in a kind of hovering layer just above the skin....and then it's gone. On me, that is. A lot of bloggers describe their ride differently, expressing  great surprise at CdM's longevity. I envy them, because I would very much like it to last longer on me. In all fairness, colognes often require a repeat. And therein lies a certain pleasure. It was the idea of repeating the opening again, and again, and again that finally gave me the inspiration for the visual of Cologne du Maghreb.

Seamless geometric repeat patterns, or Tessellations, are a whole world of wonder. If you've ever looked intensely at intricate patterns and complicated ornaments your eyes got probably lost following the meanderings of eternal ribbons, laces, triangles and interwoven colours. The system behind them is pure geometry and surprisingly easy. (ish) It all starts with a primary cell, the smallest particle of a pattern. This can be a square, a triangle, or, if you are M.C. Escher, pretty much anything. 

The next step is creating a repeatable tile, I used the 4 cells in a pinwheel rotation to form this particular, square tile. Had I chosen a different symmetry, the end result would look very different. In fact, you can create up to 24 different patterns from just 1 primary cell depending how you turn or mirror it. 

Now you can repeat the tile endlessly and you have simple lace pattern. 

For the visualisation of Cologne du Maghreb I chose not to just recreate a vaguely Moroccan inspired pattern, but to capture this rhythm of reapplying CdM by breaking the absolute symmetry of the pattern. You won't be doing a repeat spritz at equally timed intervals, so what will happen on the skin is an overlap of layers at different stages of the scent. The effect can turn a simple structure, may it be olfactory or visual, into a surprisingly complex experience. I certainly enjoyed mine.

My interpretation of Cologne du Maghreb by Andy Tauer




How and where to wear:
A good travel companion, this one. Take it with you when you know that the journey will be long but rewarding.

Imaginary Authors, Chapter 1

Backstories for perfumes are sometimes interesting, often ostentatious and nearly always written by some more or less clever PR company. Having worked in advertising myself I usually waver between cynical disbelieve and appreciation when it's really well done. Imaginary Authors is an American perfume house which have apparently found someone to do that job very nicely, and even better, with a fun twist. Not only have they invented a backstory for their scents, they invented the authors as well, complete with his or her biography and a blurb of the novel which inspired the perfume. Pretty meta. On top of the written stories the line has quirky aesthetics, complete with washed out photography and cute illustrations. Despite all the lovingly done visual identity and the well written copy they have not forgotten the most important thing: The fragrances. There are 8 scents available in the UK, I have so far tested 5 and today I want to write about the two I liked the most, The Cobra and the Canary and The Soft Lawn.

The Cobra and the Canary is an orris/leather melange which starts with a citrus note that never entirely leaves the scene, just invites the other components to have a go when it's their time. The leather is somewhere between suede and butch, on my skin that depended on the outside temperature (it's been pretty warm this week in the UK). The usual softness of the orris is flanked with tobacco and dried grass which gives a nice smoky/dry texture. The whole feel of the scent is very summerly, a bit like an On the Road Again version of Cuir Ottoman, and it's pretty damn sexy. Projection was good enough to earn compliments from random people, something that doesn't happen all that often. As I said at the beginning, the freshness stays on until the dry down and TCATC is quite a linear affair, but not by any means simple. Lovely scent, makes me want to meet the young man who will wear this and break my heart. (Entirely imaginary) 

The second fragrance did come as a bit of a surprise: Green perfumes and me, we have a problem. I often find them too harsh, too bitter, too medicinal, and even the harmless refreshing ones or the great classics of the genre do not work for me; and I have really tried. Consequently I am very reluctant to test a perfume called: The Soft Lawn, with the given notes of Linden blossom, Ivy, vetiver, oakmoss, tennis ball and clay court. Hm. Not sure. The tennis ball and the clay are probably just some gimmick, and the rest is green.

My visual interpretation of The Soft Lawn by Imaginary Authors

But, but... what a nice one! It really is super soft this lawn. One on which you can rest your head and aching body and it will give you comfort and peace. The opening is full of Linden blossom, a fresh and yet calming note, and ivy and vetiver following suit to add some weight to all the fluffyness. It stays pretty linear from there on until it disappears on me after about 4 hours. I can't detect any tennis balls, but it's been a while since I smelled one that wasn't drenched in dog drool. The tennis inspiration for this fragrance isn't so much Wimbledon with hints of sweat and glory, but playing a relaxed double with your friends at the end of a glorious British summer day. In your own court, at the back of the garden. If Brideshead Revisited ever needed a perfume, it would be this one. Understated, sophisticated and terribly lovely it soothes and wraps you in soft green blankets. There is a mild melancholy hidden there somewhere (all that ivy gives more shade than light) and may be that is what attracts me to it. I rarely seek refreshment from a perfume, that's what shower gels are for. An all green scent that manages to be soothing rather than refreshing is a rare find and this one goes straight on the full bottle wish list, despite the fact that I do not own a tennis court, a well trimmed hedge and a worn out teddy bear. 

How and where to wear:

Grab a copy of Brideshead, in paper form, not as an e-book, and find yourself a nice spot in a park.

Violent Violets

Ach, violets. Such delicate little things. I always thought it odd that the German word for them, Veilchen,  is also used to describe a black eye. Totally unjustified, misleading and rather lazy. Yeah, they are purple blue and so is that bruise in your face, but still, so many other plants come with that colour and are far better suited for fist fights. Thistles, for example, or even bog standard pansies seem more robust and outgoing than the shrinking violet. For me, a perfume smelling of violets should carry an innocent sweetness around for a little while. I don't mind at all if the fragrance turns into something different, modern or dark after ten minutes, but I do want that intense powdery hit for the briefest of moments.  Otherwise, what's the point? 

So, why has this violet here, the one in that innocuous little glass vial labelled I Profumi di Firenze, Violetta di Bosco, just punched me in the face like some thuggish alpha violet on steroids? You remember these cartoons when someone bends over to smell a flower on a lapel? This. Not nice, not fair, not done. I mean, I understand that perfumers use the violet leaf rather a lot these days, and the word bosco in the name indicates that this could be a rather savage version of the note, so one can say I should have known. May be. But it didn't prepare me for this:

Violetta di Bosco, the visual. 

So much for shrinking.... Poisonous, bitter, wild, out there to eat through my skin layers. It's not a very blue smell either but comes and goes in wafts of ugly and medicinal screeching greens.  It's not entirely impossible that I have a very bad skin/nose day... and I understand the attempt to create a greener, manlier(!) version of a note that is often perceived as cloying and grannyish, but on me these violets from the woods are a complete disaster and I hate them too much for another trial on skin time. One Veilchen is quite enough. 

How and where to wear:

You don't like violets? Why not wear a violet perfume? What could possibly go wrong? 

What's in a name? Chypre by Nobile 1942

There are probably 12345 perfumes out there which I could potentially fall in love with, but time, availability, Royal Mail postal restriction nonsense and money are issues that regulate the amount of scents I can possibly try. Never mind review. But it's difficult to resist ordering this set and those samples,  and in the end it's inevitable that I sometimes  lose track of what's hiding in my little Poundshop drawers. My organising system is simple enough though: 

 A  to  Z

Some letters seem to attract far more little vials than others, F and G for example, are not very popular, but exploring the Hows and Whys of that is something that I leave for another post. A to Z is easy but not very helpful if you just want to try something floral/woody or hesperidy/green and have forgotten the main notes for the better half of your sample collection. So it's really handy when a perfume house is helpful and names things in a simple, matter of factly way. Like  C is for Chypre. In the second drawer from the top, labelled B and C with these slightly tacky, red glitter letter stickers from yet another Poundshop. I was in the mood for a chypre and it couldn't have been easier. Chypre by Nobile 1942 it was...

My visual interpretation of Chypre by nobile 1942

As far as I know the Italian perfume house Nobile 1942 isn't in the business of giving deliberately misleading names to their creations in the way that LeLabo do, but is this really a chypre?

Yes, it has a fresh bergamot and mandarin/orange opening, but on my skin there is very early on a pinkish bright bubblegum note that makes me smile and reminds me of the effect that Tuberose No.1 had on me. Just the right amount of that difficult note, not too overpowering, just coming to say Hello a few times during the earlier dry down. Love it! I know my skin has the tendency to wolf down the citrussy notes and whatever sweetness a perfume might possess often becomes weirdly exaggerated, but this perfume is still a bit of a surprise. A very nice one though. It's classy, just a tiny bit old school, but incredibly wearable. After about 2 hours it does get a bit closer to a traditional  chypre with the neat hovering between a fresh green and a bed of flowers, mostly roses with a patchouly hint. I would call this phase floral chypre.  It transcends into a comforting vanilla wood after a long day of wearing and I still got a whiff from time to time when I was laying in bed. Projection is not all that great, considering. M. declared it a skin scent verging on the masculine, but I strongly disagree. Yes, it does stay close to skin, but there is no doubt about it's gender. For me Chypre is a very feminine perfume. It covers the sensual and the imaginary in equal terms, but it always stays on the double x- chromosone side of things. For my visual interpretation I wanted to capture it's radiating warmth and "earthyness", no hard lines but not too ethereal. The right balance of colours  was the easy bit but to find the overall texture of the visual turned out to be really difficult. I struggled all day with it, trying out lots of things and I was close to leave it, at least for a while, when I found a solution that is close enough to my idea of the scent to publish it, but may be I will change it again in future.

And in the end I don't care what the name of this beautiful scent suggests, but I do want to know a bit more about it's story. It's dedicated to iconic Italian actress Anna Magnani. Award winning figure head of Italian Neo-Realism, unusual beauty, strong minded she was a woman of considerable strength and charisma, never mind talent. I can't possibly  know if the perfume would have suited her, but the image I have of her totally suits the perfume. She is a wonderful example of a passionate and confident woman who doesn't give a damn, whose laughter is smokey and a bit dirty and who does what she wants without any false pretence. Inspirations for perfumes don't come much better than that and while I thought for a while that calling it after her would have been a good idea, I'm not so sure anymore now, because after all: What's in a name anyway?

Have a look at this video showing Anna Magnani in Pier Paolo Pasolini's film 

Mamma Roma from 1962. 

http://youtu.be/dddeaNtxQuw

How and where to wear it:

Inspired by the video, no doubt, I'd say: Late summer evening with friends and family, lots of wine, lots of laughter, lots of home made hearty food, at ease with yourself and the world

Gothic Bluebell, come celebrate Spring!

We didn't have much of a winter here in the UK, it basically rained, and then it rained a bit more, followed by some rain...But that doesn't mean that we're not super excited about the first signs of spring.

You can already see some weirdos in flip flops and shorts, the magnolias show the first blooms and the shops are in full Easter decoration frenzy with their happy go lucky depiction of spring in sugary pastels, bright yellows and fresh greens, sometimes verging on the psychedelic. Yes, those are the colours that come out in spring, but the season is so much more powerful and dramatic then fluffy bunnies and eiderdown chicks in teletubby land. It's about the reviving, mating, growing and reproduction, isn't it? 

Although I'm not all that seasonal in my perfume wearing, the beginning of spring and autumn are both times when I am excited about change and this will manifest itself in my wardrobe and perfume choices. Right now I want something more green and floral, but I'm not yet ready for the full flower bouquet. And while I'm always happy to try out new fragrances, my main choices for this spring have been made. It's going to be Aedes de Venusta's signature scent of which I have a 10ml that will last me for a while and then I  simply have to buy a bottle of Gothic Bluebell by Union fragrances.

Why? Well, the Aedes has this delightful fresh sparkle of rhubarb that feels just right for the moment and the Bluebell is a veritable feast of hyacinth, violets and damp moss.

My colour interpretation of Gothic Bluebell by Union

When you go walking in a British forest during the bluebell season you might stumble upon one of those incredible carpets of purple and blue, kissed by sunlight and flanked by the darkness of still bare trees. It's a truly memorable sight and so surreal in its unexpected beauty that you can imagine elves and fairies passing by at any moment. These little wild flowers produce an abundance of colour and scent and half of the world's bluebells can be found in the UK, so they're pretty much a national treasure. (Sadly under threat from the scentless but more robust Spanish bluebell plants). 

Union fragrances is obviously a very patriotic British perfume house, celebrating the aromas of the British Isles in all their glory. Just look at their bottles:

The idea behind Union is to use as many homegrown ingredients as possible and recreate different aspects of the unique British flora. Their fragrances carry names like Holy Thistle, Celtic Fire and... Gothic Bluebell. A rather fitting name I find. I fell hard for its mysterious and sweet beauty, but I guess it's actually not that easy a perfume to love or like. Hyacinths and violets, used here to enhance the bluebell effect, are both notes that can be an required taste, suffering from being labelled old fashioned and granny-ish. This fragrance is certainly not very urban or contemporary, but I would call it ancient and Pagan rather than old. The innocent powdery notes associated with pastel colours are combined with a woody and animalistic accord that gives this sweet scent its darker woody aspect. Instead of taking the delicate floral notes on a road trip to modernity it decides not to bother with being cool and follows hidden and ancient paths where the trees are casting long and twisted shadows and the light is eerieand ethereal. I used this image as the inspiration for my colour interpretation which had to feature lots of purple, some white, a hint of green and a dark shadowy hue in the background. When I first wore Gothic Bluebell it immediately reminded me of Pre Raphaelite paintings - another very British affair - where danger always seems just a second away from all the twee-ness, the whimsy and the Kitsch. Beautiful women in medieval costumes brush their long hair whilst humming a simple melody and suddenly some brute jumps out at them and slits their throats....or something along these lines.

Ophelia by John William Waterhouse, 1889

Gothic Bluebell has a powerful sillage and stays with me all day, although it doesn't change much, keeps its main notes until the end and fades out very gently. It's incredibly intoxicating and sexy in a refreshingly unsophisticated "Come and Shag me" sort of way. Sometimes beauty doesn't need much finesse but presence, and Gothic Bluebells certainly has that in abundance. 

How and where to wear:

As Beltane has gone out of fashion a dozen centuries ago I suggest its modern day equivalent, the Internet dating. Wear it while composing your profile and feel irresistible.


Images via Union Fragrances website 
and wikipedia

Aleksandr

When I reviewed Jardins d'Armide from Oriza L.Legrand the other week I mentioned that I really would like to see the house move from the recreation of historic fragrances to telling "old"  stories with a contemporary twist. And then chance will have it and I find someone else who is doing exactly that. Three weeks ago I attended a perfume event at Bloom perfumery in Spitalfields, where Carlos Huber, the founder of Arquiste perfumes presented and explained his fragrance line. Unfortunately I managed to arrive a whopping 30 minutes late (thank you number 78 bus, thank you apple maps, thank you stupid no sense of orientation brain) which was a real shame because not only did Carlos explain  a lot  about the  inspirations behind scents but  he also gave us the opportunity to have a sniff at the single ingredients he used. I entered the shop just in time to hear him talking about Aleksandr, the perfume inspired by the rather tragic story of Russian poet Aleksandr Pushkin. It is told in notes of:

Violet leaves

Vodka

Leather

Fir balm

Smelling the violet leaves was a bit of a revelation - no sweetness, no pastell colour, but a strong earthy green with quite some punch. Not unpleasant, but a bit in your face. Carlos explained that he used that particular note for the earthyness but also because it does have that old fashioned powdery perfume element. Perfumes did smell of violets at that time. The next note, vodka, or alcohol in general makes a lot of sense in terms of telling the story of a Russian poet of the 19th century, but this particular poison is famed for its non-smelling properties. On my little paper strip I detected just a hint of fizzy freshness, more like a vodka/champagne cocktail than the pure thing. 

And then the dominant note, the leather. The essence we smelled was of the finest quality boot leather. Not a feminine suede glove, but polished black riding boots. I am a bit of a sucker for 19th century men's costumes. High boots over tight trousers, what's not to like?

The final note, the fir balm, hinting at a forest touched by a misty morning fog, (the perfect time for a duel?) was again a bit of a surprise. Strong enough to put me off if the final creation would have too much of it.  

After the presentation, when we all mingled and tested the perfumes in detail, I tried Aleksandr on skin. To my great surprise it didn't turn out to be testosterone driven at all.  The violet leaves that were so completely green on paper suddenly smelled more like the petals; sweet and fragile. If you have ever been to a perfumista gathering, you will know that even the most reserved people suddenly feel compelled to smell the lower arms and wrists of someone who just happens to stand next to them and in this case my fellow perfume lovers all expressed a certain surprise at how Aleksandr had developed on my skin.

My drawing for Aleksandr by Arquiste

For me and on me it's a melancholic, leather based fragrance with a very, very soft heart. It's one of those leathers that can go both ways (in terms of gender) and 360 degrees in terms of aspect. And I love it for that. What I like about all the Arquiste fragrances I have tested is that you can detect a unique quirkyness. It's nice to read up on the stories but the perfumes do work entirely on their own merits. Whether you involve yourself in the history or not is up to you and this, for me, marks the difference to some of the perfumes of  the house of Oriza. 

It always helps if the creator/editor of a perfume house is enthusiastic about his/her work, charming and handsome. Carlos Huber is all of that and I wish him and his line all sorts of good luck. Well deserved.

How and where to wear:

St.Petersburg, National library of Russia, with gay pride

Oriza L.LeGrand, Part Three

So, finally the reviews of the last two Orizas, Jardins d'Armide and Chypre Mousse. Both perfumes should, in theory, be right up my street. The first, Jardins d'Armide for its Florentine iris and violets, and the Chypre for...well, being a chypre. But the house of Oriza has so far been a surprise and my expectations have been turned upside down more than once. 

Jardins d'Armide

Seduction, beauty, evil, love, hate and subsequent death, what's not to like? Operas have been written, ballets been performed, paintings been commissioned. Armide, the sorceress who bewitched the good Christian crusader Rinaldo and kept him in an enchanted garden has inspired many composers and painters and it's only natural that the story has found its way into a perfume bottle. Albeit in 1909, and herein lies the problem. Of all the Oriza fragrances I have tested, this is the most old fashioned, in an "hasn't aged well" sort of way. Where Reve d'Ossian or Relique d'Amour are interesting and fascinating nods towards good old times, Jardins is just old. Despite notes and accords that sound good on paper, the whole composition is a strange mix of soapiness and compact powder. The top citrus note never goes away but hovers over a sweetness that doesn't really know what it wants to smell like. The iris is just pure powder and can't ground this fragrance at all. At this stage ( 1 to 3 hours in) it's weirdly clean AND dirty. Not filthy, sexy dirty, just like someone covering up BO with too much fragrance. I did give up on it by that time, not scrubbing it off but wishing it away. To my surprise it did get rid of the soapiness  after about 6 hours and a strong vanilla and sweet rose note greeted me, but it was too little too late. This perfume shows the limitations you have to consider when you recreate ancient recipes. Things have moved on a bit since the early 20th century. I would love to see someone taking the story of Armide or Circe as an inspiration for a  scent and give it a modern, not afraid to be called Feminist twist. 

Chypre Mousse

I have always liked chypres. Even when I didn't know what they were. I prefer mine to be more on the feminine side with a dash of floriental. Not too green and  not too mossy. Just a tiny bit.

Chypre Mousse is a great chypre, no doubt. It has plenty of different wild things in various stages of green-ness, and I keep finding new elements in it whenever I wear it. On the paper strip is was initially a lot softer than on my skin, where for the first 2 hours I found something lingering that I couldn't identify. I thought it was the fennel note, but after 3 wearings I'm not sure any more what sort of herby thing is stimulating my nostrils here.  

My image for Chypre Mousse

I believe it's a scent for the Great Outdoors, for exploring Nature with a capital N. It doesn't evoke silks and velvets, but tweeds and old leather. Having said that, it is a very complex and not at all rustic fragrance. I'm thinking James Bond driving in his Jaguar in the Scottish Highlands here, not Christopher Lambert as Highlander in a rugged kilt. The notes listed range from wild fennel to oakmoss, angelica, clover and pine to  mushrooms, earth and roasted chestnuts and they seem to come and go at random, not really one accord following the other. You could call it a linear fragrance, but each time I wear it it smells slightly different and I love the way you can explore aspects of it. Like any really great landscape its colours change dramatically with the light, but it has, there is no denying it,  a masculine hue. Doesn't deter me, but means that it won't find its way in my Full Bottle collection. It has medium silage on  my skin but excellent staying power. My image for it is based on a photo I took on a recent trip to Dartmoor National park, a terrain  that would make a fantastic backdrop for that perfume.  I can see myself wearing Chypre Mousse if we go on another hiking tour there, but more likely I will give it to M. to wear it. The hiking theme  inspired my How and Where as well,

How and where to wear:

The sky above is endless, the weather changes within a blink of an eye and the moss under your feet is like a fluffy carpet woven by elves. 

Fazit:

Although I had found it somewhat difficult to stick to the discipline of wearing and reviewing the 6 perfumes of the house of Oriza Legrand, I do think it was totally worth it. All the fragrances are rich and multifaceted. Even the one I personally didn't like had a story to tell and not one scent left me with this dreaded feeling of "Bof ". As mentioned above, I think reformulating and recreating old recipes is laudable but not necessarily always a good idea and I would love to see the house regarding its past but also working on a transition into something contemporary. Telling old stories with a modern voice, letting us explore new mythical gardens and fill them with a fresh breath of life. I will definitely keep an eye out for their perfumes and would highly recommend testing them if you haven't done yet.

Oriza, L.LeGrand perfume reviews, Part One

A few months ago fellow perfume blogger Kafkaesque mentioned the French perfume house Oriza L.LeGrand and their good value sample sets on twitter. A quick look at their website showed some rather beautifully designed labels and retro bottles, and as I'm easily persuaded by nice looking things, I ordered it. The set has been sitting in my drawer for quite some time, but now that I have sampled them all I want to write down my combined impression of all the scents in two posts. First of all, I'm never quite sure what to make of these reenacted perfume houses, and in all honesty I don't really care whether they have been powdering wigs since the 18th century or produced soap for the Pope when he took refuge in Avignon, but I'll give you the back story in short:

Oriza L.LeGrand was founded in 1720, the company claim to have invented the solid perfume in 1887,  won prices at a number of World Trade fairs and then went off the radar until 2013.  It has now been revived with a collection of, so far, 7 perfumes and various candles, soaps and skin care products. The samples I ordered came in a little envelope with a leaflet proudly stating:"Aux Armes de France & de Russie" which I thought was a bit trying too hard. I have tried all 7 fragrances , 6 of them in depths. Overall I have to say that the scents are very, very interesting and intriguing. They are aiming to be true to historic recipes and the description and the typographical design of the labels give a good idea of what the perfumers intended to create. Not one of them is in any way trying to be modern, subtle or "ironic".  

To have that out of the way first: I can't review Oeillet Louis XV. It's a carnation so true to it's name that it makes me gag. Sorry for that, but I have a real problem with carnations. If anyone wants the sample, please drop me a note, I'm happy to give it to a carnation loving home.

Reve d'Ossian

Is inspired by 18th century cycle of The Celtic poems by James Macpherson of which I know very little (Mendelssohns Fingal's cave ouverture doesn't really count, I assume). This is a dry woody incense perfume, reminding me not so much of a full on Roman Catholic church incense (more of that later) but of the little cone things you can put inside wooden figurines to make them "smoke". Raeuchermaennchen. Very popular in Germany, those.

And may be because it reminds me of childhood, I like the fragrance. It has a pine wood, fir needles and christmas quality to it, the incense typical melancholy and it just smells good. There is also, but that is probably down to my memories playing havoc, a savoury, dried and cured meat element hidden somewhere. The note description lists Tonka Bean and cinnamon, and I can detect those sweeter notes, but I wouldn't call RO a sweet incense. This is a perfume for winter. Proper winter. Not that sludge and rain we have had since November. It has quite a low sillage on me, stays linear during the dry down and lasts about 6 hours on my skin. It's a very nice alternative to some of the stronger, more acrid scents of the genre, and I will wear my sample when I need some real winter comfort. I've chosen mostly muted colours and lots of black for the image, but it's a warming scent, and I've tried to find an abstract way of representing the element of flames and smoke. It would actually make a nice pattern for a rug,  placed in front of the fireplace of a mid century decorated home.  

My visual interpretation of Reve d'Ossian

How and where to wear:

You come in from the cold and the heating hasn't kicked in yet. A wood burning stove or open fire would be great, but your fireplace has been ripped out when they converted the Victorian terrace house into flats sometime in the 80's. Put the kettle on and take a good sniff.

Deja le Printemps

Spring has sprung. Green things are forcing themselves through the ground. Hello grass, hello birds, hello flowers. Deja le Printemps is a very very green fragrance with some sprinkles of colour, but the spring it represents is in its early days, so not all that much is out in the open yet. Some herbs, a bit moss, and a lot of:

My visual/typographical interpretation of Deja le Printemps

A fresh, herby grassy scent, quite strong in the opening, that, given it's green notes, lasts remarkably long (6 hours) on me. I can sense camomile, mint, and all sorts of other plants you would find on a meadow in spring but nothing is sticking out too much for attention, at least not in the beginning. Later in the dry down the lily of the valley makes a more distinguished appearance, and behind all the freshness lurks a sinister element, some sort of fairy living in dark and dangerous woods, preying on foolish humans. As much as I admire the structure and the execution: this perfume is quite extraordinary, but not for me. I'm too much of an urban creature. I will, however, give this scent to M. and see what he makes of it. I have a feeling that it will work better on a man, urban or not. 

How and where to wear:

Be a (naughty) Faun for a day

This is the end of part One of my Oriza LeGrand post, I will cover the remaining fragrances Chypre Mousse, Horizon, Relique d"Amour and Jardin d'Armide
in the next days

4711, the gift that kept on giving

The run up to Christmas: the busiest time of the year for the fragrance industry. What exactly is it that makes us reaching for nice smelling things as presents for loved ones and not so loved ones in equal and enormous quantities? Is it the lack of fragrant flowers and plants during the winter? (works only in the Northern hemisphere...) Are perfumes and soaps just conveniently universal and independent of tricky matters like clothes sizes? Is it the way the bottles and boxes look luxurious and presentable? Can it be that many perfume get bought simply because they are usually located at the ground floor of massive department stores, close to the entrance, making it easy to get in, buy and get out in less than 5 minutes? Perfumes certainly make very good last minute presents, and I did read in an article not long ago that it's not uncommon for panic stricken husbands to buy entire perfume ranges because they have forgotten the name of their wives' favourite perfume. In these cases I wish that the wive wears a Roja Dove or Bond No.9 to make that lack of attention and respect at least painfully expensive. I wonder what the women who get gifted in that way do with the unwanted scents. Ebay? The Tory party's xmas raffle?

I certainly know what happened to Undesirables in our family. They went into the Christmas tombola held by my parent's local choir. Every year at the beginning of December choir members and local shopkeepers would drop packages and gift vouchers at our house. My mum would then pack them up nicely and sometimes make gift bundles if the objects in question were just too embarrassingly cheap. For that reason we had a very good idea of what horrors were lurking behind the shimmery paper and lovely ribbons when all the boxes were laid out at the table reading for the new owners with the lucky numbers. It was a 4711 gift set that we aptly named the Wanderpokal, because it got donated again and again and again, over years and years without exception. We knew it was the always the same one because of a characteristic scratch mark on the box. 

In my youth 4711 Eau de Cologne was a regarded as a traditional cheap smelling scent that could be found in every German household, collecting dust on the bathroom shelf. For me it never registered as a fragrance that should and could be worn, more like a medicinal all round "thing" that grandmothers would spray on a handkerchief and dab on their temples when they felt a bit faint and nauseous. Why that vile smelling stuff would be any good in these instances I never understood. But some things , like spinach, just need time to get appreciated.

My interpretation of 4711 Eau de Cologne

Fast forward some 20 odd years, the house of 4711 had undergone a miraculous transformation. Like other weird and old fashioned icons of Germanity, the herb liqueur Jaegermeister for example, the brand had started to regain a certain cult status and sales had started to rise accordingly. It was then that I took my first unbiased sniff. And surprise, surprise, I actually liked it. The freshness was not as medicinal as I remembered and all in all it was nicely balanced and totally wearable. An orange, bergamot and lemon layer over a floral, and slightly woody base. It's not only not offensive, it actually does give you a wake me up moment, so my grandmothers had a point with their fragrant handkerchiefs. It's also a good dupe for Tom Ford's Neroli Portofino. 

I smell clean and proper when I wear it and that's usually not something I aim for when reaching for a perfume, but there are moments when this scent is just right. It's a bit like a watercolour, sparkly and transparent, but with a solid geometrical structure. I haven't tried to layer it with something else and have the feeling that might go horribly wrong, but if any of you have done so with success, let me know. These days a 4711 gift set would not get re-wrapped and thrown into the next tombola. I'd rather keep it for myself.

How and where to wear:

Walk the walk of shame with an air of innocence (but still have that shower...)