The Odd Fellow's Bouquet, much better than it sounds

I used to be a smoker and I am sure the habit has done unspeakable things to my sense of smell; just how much it improved after quitting was astonishing. It came therefore as a bit of a surprise when I learnt that many a famous perfumer is happily puffing  away the cigarettes. Very few people in my vicinity still smoke, and those who do have taken to sucking on funky looking plastic sticks that glow in the dark, aka vaping. Before those e-fags, the weaning off method of choice often was pipe smoking. It looked ultimately better than lightening up a rollie, gave you instantaneously an air of sophistication and smelled good. Men who smoked pipes (it was pretty much a male domain) were often in their 40's, with grey strands of hair in their beards, a tumbler of whiskey or brandy in one hand, pipe in the other. Wealthy, classy, cultured...that was more or less the image, the Marlboro man with a university degree, after his mid life crisis and just before the younger, second wife (who will, sooner or later, make him give up the nicotine in any form). I was always quite fond of the typical pipe smoker, not least because I really liked the smell of good, slightly sweet tobacco. Still do, but these days I prefer it to be a perfume note and it's been ages since I last saw someone smoking a pipe.

A few weeks ago I met up with Vanessa of bonkersaboutperfume and after lunch we paid a short visit to Roullier White, which happens to be in my neighbourhood. We sniffed here and  sniffed there, and then Vanessa pointed me towards the Atkinsons line, an old school English brand with an impressive 1799 under their name, reworked&rejuvenated like so many other traditional houses. She had heard good things of the brand and was particularly keen on trying The Odd Fellow's Bouquet, a soft oriental tobacco.

My visual interpretation of The Odd Fellow's Bouquet

A sample went home with me, and I have developed a real liking for the scent. My skin often brings out the sweetness in perfumes, and it does so here as well. The first spritz is a gingery cologne type blast with a woody undertone. Nice, classy and promising. Dressy, M. finds and he is right, this is not a jeans and T-shirt scent. Or, it is, if being under dressed is just right. From then on the smokyness takes over and centre stage. This is the softest, most precious tobacco, the dangerous sort that makes you forget health warnings and doesn't stain your teeth. And it brings with it all the benzoin and the amber, creamy, soft and golden. This scent has absolutely no sharp edge, everything melts and flows and wafts in the most gentle way, like exquisite cognac swirling in a glass, leaving honey coloured tears on the surface. After a few hours the flow and the pulse of the fragrance gets a bit slower, but puffs of sweet benzoin are still coming strong, and even after 6 hours I still get the occasional vanilla tinted incense whiff as a reminder. For an Eau de Toilette this is truly remarkable. But I keep wondering whether it is a men's scent; something that usually doesn't bother me at all. I guess it's the strong image of the pipe smoking gentleman that keeps interfering here, because the perfume itself is perfectly unisex. The name doesn't help though. That's probably my only criticism: The Odd Fellow's Bouquet... Seriously?

How and where to wear:

Nice to play with expectations and miss match this gentle sophistication with whatever feels inappropriate. 

A strange Virgin and her signature perfume

I cannot remember where and when I first met her, this strange Virgin with child surrounded by angels, but I do come across her in different scenarios, often entirely unexpected. The last time I saw her, as part of an installation on screen and not in person as she had been on loan to Madrid, was at the Dries van Noten Inspirations exhibition in Paris (which I hereby also highly recommend). She has always been a muse to artists and designers  and the late Alexander McQueen used her as an inspiration for his last, unfinished, collection.  It's not surprising, just look at her:

Jean Fouquet, Virgin and child surrounded by angels, around 1452, image via wikipedia

Painted by the French artist Jean Fouquet in the 1450's, it is a piece of art that most people describe as surprisingly modern and of disturbing beauty. Her alien paleness, emphasized by the high hairline, is part of the beauty ideal of the time and even the unnatural breasts, poking out under her armpits like perfectly shaped marble balls, can be seen in many virgin and child paintings. It's the colour and texture composition that I find so striking, and if you will, modern about this Madonna. Her white figure is set against a group of angels in red and blue, arranged in a strange Tessellation style pattern reminding of H.W.Escher. Mastering the art of perspective was still a bit hit and miss in the early Renaissance, but this doesn't look like it was done due to lack of skill, it's a very deliberate effect. Despite them forming a background pattern, the chubby little angels are very three dimensional, especially the red ones.  And, ever so slightly disturbing: they are covered in a glossy texture that is not dissimilar to latex. In contrast to the naughty cherubim the virgin has almost no real texture, Fouquet didn't render her skin very differently from the folds of her cape, making her appear like an alabaster statue in her own painting, highlighting her otherworldly-ness. A lot of the paintings startling allure is probably due to the mixture of realistic (baby Jesus and the virgin's face) and iconic (her figure and costume) elements and it's certainly a great example of a dualism in style in early Northern Renaissance art. Also not untypical for the time, she is depicted as a Queen more than a  mother and art historians are now pretty certain that Fouquet used Agnes Sorel, favourite mistress of King Charles VII of France as his inspiration and model. Being regarded as the most beautiful woman of her time, he certainly did her honour. 

And because I love the painting and the myth that surrounds her I now try to find a perfume that best captures this 15th century virginal pop art queen. My first idea is Alexander McQueen's violet number MyQueen,  for the connection mentioned above. It has the edge I'm looking for and a sharp hairspray weirdness at some point during the wear, but it's altogether a bit too one dimensional. I went back to the Relique d'Amour from Oriza and a few other incense-strong perfumes  to see if that would work for her, but they either lacked the modern/alien aspect I was looking for or were too   masculine. Serge Lutens' La Vierge en Fer, an interesting Lily, is, while certainly more modern, too sweet and innocent. It's interesting how, when searching for a specific scent, the name, the packaging, the whole brand identity suddenly becomes such an integral part of it. This virgin's perfume has to be daring, a bit alien, cold but sensual and definitely modern, futuristic even.  A little bit sweetness is fine and incense and lilies would be perfect. And the brand has to be daring too. Bold. And preferably French. Don't ask me why, it just has. 

Perfume brands don't get much bolder than Etat libre d'Orange, and even their logo goes terribly well with my chosen artwork. But I'm not all that familiar with their scents apart from a few exceptions, and was also in need of some more ideas. It was my perfume friend Nick who helped me out here. I gave him a few hints about the nature of the fragrance I was looking for and he made two suggestions: Comme des Garcons 2011 EdP, to which I will come back later,  and for the land of Orange he named Charogne. 

Charogne had featured in a "skanky scents" Perfume Lovers London event held by the very same Nick not too long ago, and I remember liking it a lot. On the right side of wearable, with some weird sensual undertones, a bit rubbery. When I test it now in connection with the artwork seeks perfume quest it behaves even better than expected. A strong lily, jasmine accord is combined with a leather/rubber note, incense and a lot of creamy and not overly sweet vanilla. I can for the life of me not see why anyone would find this offensive. It's daring, I admit, but a lot of the provocation comes from the name. And even that doesn't hold when you look into the inspiration for it:

 Beaudelaire's poem Une Charogne 

The perfume evokes the beauty of decay. And when you see flowers in their very last stages before they wilt and wither away completely, you understand the intent. However, as much as I love the perfume - particularly how  the lily is partnered with the rubber  - it's not quite right for the virgin. It embraces and celebrates the cycle of life and death, and in doing so it's all too human and grounded to our bodily ways. 

So I go back to Nick's first choice, the Comme des Garcons 2011. The one in the wonky, melted pear shaped bottle that won't stand up. And at first sniff I know that this is it. This is the scent that the painting should give off, the virgin's signature perfume.
Ingredient lists can be very boring reads, but this one certainly isn't: Industrial glue and brown scotch tape, aldehydes, saffron, styrax, lilac and rubber? I assume there is also a long list of fluffy and nice smelling things which didn't make it into the press material because they are just...well, boring, but there has to be a reason why this actually smells so great. I get a lot of aldehydes and yes, they are paired with an industrial note I can't really identify, but then comes a spicy freshness and the soft lilac. It has all the elements that I wanted for the Virgin, it's sharp, cold, sweet, alien, futuristic, plasticky, intriguing and intoxicating. And, most importantly, it defines beauty  in an unfashionable and unconventional way. 

Where to see:

You can visit The Virgin surrounded by angels at the Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten in Antwerp

Oriza L.LeGrand Part Two

The second part of my review of the delightful perfumes of French house Oriza L.LeGrand will start with one of the scents I was most looking forward to:

Horizon

Just have a look at the bottle design. Isn't it pretty? I love the pattern on the label, but by now you probably know that I love patterns. The typeface makes all the right noises towards the roaring twenties and the description from the website is mouthwatering:

The materials, colors, shapes symbolize a new freedom and portend, at the dawn of the Roaring Twenties, the hope of a new HORIZON.

At the height of its history and in its own way to celebrate the Roaring Twenties and the International Exhibition of Decorative Arts in 1925, the House Oriza L. Legrand created HORIZON, Oriental fragrance for boys and tomboys, fragrance of Precious Woods and Ambergris agreements Tabac Blond and Soft Leather.

And whether your time travel destination to celebrate all this decadence is Paris, Berlin or Chicago.....it's most definitely  a big city. Urban. The 20's in deep rural countryside? That's  depression and hunger. No one wants to smell like that. So why oh why to I get this whiff of barnyard?  But one step after the other. I should get: Bitter Orange, confit tangerine and dried rose.  I do get orangey leather and and a hint of barnyard. Next should be amber cognac, oak, patchouli and tobacco leaves and almonds. And I do get patchouli, tobacco and something that could be almonds, with a hint of barnyard. I usually don't do this note comparison thing, but Horizon is leaving me not much of a choice, because it smells so different from what I expected. If I compare it to the other 20's retro scent I have recently tested, Speakeasy by Frapin, it feels about 100 years older. 
Don't get me wrong, that can be a good thing, but apart from a hint of booze and fags there isn't much that suits the Tanz auf dem Vulkan that I was looking for. I had to wear it 3 times before I understood something quite fundamental: This perfume REALLY tries to capture Paris in the 20's. Not Chicago and Berlin . This perfume isn't hinting at extremism, hunger of life and sexual liberation bordering on perversion fighting against a Prussian sense of Ordnung. It has an altogether gentler, happier and warmer approach. And if that includes a bit of barnyard, so be it. When I think of the 20's, I think of the the paintings of  Georg Grosz, but Horizon is less Expressionism, more Surrealism and Dada. Its structure is soft and warm, more Josephine Baker than Sally Bowles. And suddenly, with that in mind, I begin to like it. And the longer I wear it, the better it gets and it does have good staying power,  but there is  a lack of...Want. I like it, admire it, but I don't I want it. 2 out of three ain't bad, but not enough to justify a FB. 

How and where to wear:

Not an easy perfume to pull off to full effect, I suggest you wear it to a party and dance your heart out. I have the feeling that it will work incredibly well with a bit of fresh sweat.

And now to something entirely different:

Relique d'Amour

We all have perfumes and scents that transport us to places, remind us of people, bring up images. These olfactory connections can vary in strength and detail and are usually most significant when they involve people we loved (or hated), situations that had great impact on our lives and places we have experienced strong emotions.  But sometimes a smell hits us like with a déjà vu moment, that nagging feeling of having been there before... playing tricks with our minds and questioning our sanity. What happened to me with Relique d'Amour is a combination of both. It brought me back to a place where I've had a déjà vu many years ago.

I am not at all a religious person, but I do love visiting churches and do so whenever there is an opportunity. I've seen many many beautiful ones (Romanesque cathedrals being a favourite) and quite a few really ugly ones (usually poor old medieval structures blinged up to suit 18th century tastes and pseudo Gothic Victorian absurdities).  Sometimes feel a bit like an intruder, knowing full well that I am not believing in anything that is prayed for and preached in there but simply enjoying the architecture and art without any of the religious baggage. When I was travelling through Italy I obviously had ample opportunity for church tourism and it was in Pisa that I happened upon one of those unremarkable, late Baroque, not mentioned in any guide books churches which provide a welcome cool relief from the heat outside. Damp, cold stone, windows black from 200 years of pollution, pigeons in the roof. If you wanted to see more of the paintings that hang in various chapels you had to insert a coin (still Lira at that time) and a stream of light would barely manage to illuminate the minor work of a long forgotten pupil of some famous school. This was a place of worship with a dusty and gloomy atmosphere, only ever visited by the priests and old women wearing black and I wanted to leave again quickly, but there was a smell wafting intriguingly from one of the side chapels and I stepped inside. Here it was even darker and I could swear also colder then in the rest of the building. And all over the tiny place, the altar, the steps, the walls, the entry gates were draped lilies. In vases, wrapped into bundles, single flower stems, dried, freshly cut, rotten, decaying. Giving off a smell so intoxicating, so intense that I nearly stumbled backwards. I felt like someone had been walking over my grave. The hairs on my skin stood up and my heart skipped a beat. I had seen all this before. I was sure and it didn't feel right. I had to get out of the chapel, out of the church and into the next bar for a coffee. I can't tell you why, but that little chapel had scared me. Not to death, obviously, but really badly. It hadn't been my first encounter with the smell of lilies and  not my first gloomy church, but something in there had given me the creepiest déjà vu I have ever had. To this day. 

My visualisation of Relique d'Amour

And then comes Relique d'Amour and transports me right back there. After more than 20 years. You can guess now that it's a lily perfume. It starts with a very cold, almost icy accord and it takes some time for all the lilies to come into the open, but when they arrive they do so to an extent that is frightening. Well, to me it is. There is moss growing on cold stones, wax on well worn wood, a ton of  incense and other balmy things being thrown at me, but it will always and foremost be a lily. Magnificent and  beautiful. Melancholic and cold, pure and toxic, mysterious. In terms of colour it's a white, of course, but with lots of cold grey and black. Completely feminine but totally unsexy in my view, although M. seems to differ on the latter. By now I have worn it  3 times and the effect it had on me the first time doesn't repeat itself quite so vividly anymore. It will always remind me of that church and that moment, but it has become a fragrance that I can wear and appreciat  for its own sake. It is a very special creation and I'm glad to have been introduced to it. If I had the funds to buy a FB right now I probably would, because it's a stunning example of its genre from a collectors point of view. I know this is not a very neutral and informative review, but it is as it is...

How and where to wear:

You are dating an Italian man and are going to meet his mama? This will be perfect.


Given that these two reviews are much longer than I anticipated, I will stop here and cover the remaining fragrances in another, 3rd post. 

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

L'Air du Désert Marocain, a contemplation

L'Air du Désert Marocain. Even if you've never been to the Moroccan desert, it's difficult not to have an image of sand and rocks, camels and endless blue sky when you hear the name. I'm not sure I'd like the desert, the emptiness would probably freak me out, and where are the trees?! But even if we don't want to go to places in person we can still dream about them. Perfumes are wonderful flying carpets in that regard. They can take you everywhere, even back in time. And Tauer Perfume's Moroccan air is a potent and wonderful example. Released in 2005, it already is regarded as a  modern classic and I hope my interpretation can do it justice.

My visual interpretation of L'Air du Désert  Marocain

It opens with a bang. There is no slow transition, allowing you to adept to it. No, this is here and it wants to be noticed. It's smooth and dry, devoid of vegetation but full of life. When I was at school they showed as an educational movie called:" Die Wueste lebt." (the desert is alive) May be Andy Tauer, the creator of the perfume had to sit through it as well, but I assume he went to see the real thing, and not just once. This fragrance is beautifully  balanced between the harsh and the soft, it's lifting me up to an endless open sky and covers me in a blanket at the same time. Stunning. May be the desert isn't such a bad place after all.  

I cannot stop sniffing my wrists. The postcard for it has quite a bit of blue in it, and I like to think that was not just inspired by Tauer Perfumes very bright blue bottle design (of which I'm not overly keen I have to say), but sometimes these influences happen. I absolutely love this perfume (you can tell?) and will oversee the bottle issue. Or order a sample set from their website

Cheaper than a trip to the desert for sure, especially because a little will go a long way. One spritz is perfectly enough for hours. Totally  suitable for men and women.

How and where to wear:

That will very much depend on how the balance of the fragrance works for you. I would happily wear it for meditation and a drop on the pillow at night is wonderful too.

Desert image via flickr from olivernaumann, some rights reserved

Aedes de Venustas

Bertrand Duchauf0ur is regarded by many as the best perfumeur of our time and it’s always exciting to try his creations to see whether they live up to the hype. (They usually do...) You might have heard of Aedes de Venustas, but there are actually two perfumes with identical names. The first AdV, launched in 2008, was created for the label Artisan Parfumeur, the second is now the signature fragrance of the flamboyant Aedes de Venustas perfume shop in Greenwich, New York. It doesn’t help that both are BD creations. 
According to basenotes both fragrances are still in production, the newer one (2012) is the one I tested. In store, (the exquisite independent shop Roullier White in East Dulwich) I struggled with the flacon. My hands are not particularly small, but the storm lighter type  opener striked me as overly quirky and a bit injury prone. Smashing the bottle would be quite devastating, given the price tag. But once the juice is out of the bottle, it's magic.

Aedes de Venustas, EdP

There is a tartness / sweetness combination which only comes together in a few fruits and I'm not surprised to learn that rhubarb and apple are supposed to be notes in this fragrance. A ticklish sweet and sour accord which is totally moreish. And more of it you get, but it loses the tartness on the way and the greens soften. In come the soft and red flowers, and the incense, of course. No BD perfume without it. And while I sit in my little office and fight with some software problem the greens and the purple reds are gently floating around me, coming and going, woven into each other in a most delicate and elegant way. What a wonderful perfume. I knew that I needed to capture this weaving structure of the perfume in my colour interpretation but wasn't keen on making it look tartan.  I now want to try the Artisan Parfumeur Aedes de Venustas, just to see the difference.

How and where to wear:

The ambassadors summer garden party, chiffon dress and hat

Rhubarb image via flickr garryknight, some rights reserved