A comparison of colours - Shalimar, Musc Ravageur and Meharees

I have recently discovered that I do have a desert island perfume, one that I could probably wear forever if I had to make that choice. And despite the fact that this revelation is a relatively recent one I don't think it's going to be short-lived. A bit like finding the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. OK, not that life changing, I admit, but exciting and quite a surprise. The perfume in question is Musc Ravageur, by Edition Fredric Malle, and I hope that I never fall out of love with it. Bought on the spot after sniffing it for the first time, it gives me everything I want in perfume. It makes me feel all comforted and warm, illuminates me, gives me a posture and makes me smile. It's luxury, filth and self confidence in a bottle.

It been said, that when Maurice Roucel created it he wanted to pay homage to Guerlain's grand old dame Shalimar, and I can absolutely see that. Musc plays on the same themes without ever trying to copy. Needless to say that I love Shalimar as well and the idea to compare those two visually was very tempting. But there is another fragrance out there that will make an excellent comparison companion - L'Erbolario's Meharees. At a fraction of the price of Musc Ravageur, this offering from the Italian natural beauty company is considered as an extraordinary dupe. But is it really? I will try to compare these three by using my visual imagination. Let's start with the predominant colours. For me these are warm, golden yellow, rose, orange and earthy ochre. 

Another aspect that all three fragrances share is their softness. Don't get me wrong, they are powerful perfumes and make the statements they want to make, but they do so without too many sharp angles and coarse textures. To make it easier to compare them I chose a similar way of 'painting' for all three, with lots of layering and over lapping gradients.

They seem pretty similar so close together, don't they? But even in the scaled down versions you can see that the openings and dry downs are decidedly different. Shalimar is the only one which bursts in citruses, and it also has a stronger floral heart. Musc Ravageur is edgier, dirtier than the other two, here represented by the ochre at the top and bottom of the image. and Meharees is the most linear of the three. Let's look at them in detail:

My visualisation of Shalimar

The initial citrus already sets the tone. Fresh, but never clean, Shalimar from then on makes one of those long journeys we often associate with old school  perfumes. It goes and flows from yellow to orange to amber to pink to purple to brown. A powdery floral heart is kept from being overly pretty by strong bodied animalic side kicks and in the last stages it develops the wonderful Guerlinade mix of vanilla, resins and incense. Shalimar is a beautiful lady and I couldn't care less about her age. 

My visualisation of Musc Ravageur

Musc Ravager doesn't really bother with much of a top note. It is, basically from the start, a dirty little number. The animalic aspect is stronger than in Shalimar, and there is a slight edge to it. Instead of florals it has a handful of spice, but how they toned down by musk is similar to the effect Guerlain used on Shalimar's floral notes. It is dirtier and obviously a modern creation. Urban, if you like. To illustrate that I have used a few sharp lines and 'furry' brush strokes. I've already mentioned that I love it and I find it has just the right level of silage. Won't get unnoticed, but doesn't harm the sensitive types. 

My visualisation of Meharees

Now Meharees did really surprise me. It is, to a certain degree, a perfect dupe of Musc Ravageur. The opening is softer and much sweeter, but after half an hour it stays were it is and it stays there long. I find Meharees a bit  grating in the end. It simply doesn't do much. What is does is nice enough, don't get me wrong, but it doesn't excite me. Some reviewers find it more palatable than MR, and that is certainly the case, but it is a bit flat. If you're looking for a sweet and spicy amber that doesn't break the bank it's an excellent choice. It has far less in common with Shalimar and it wouldn't have occurred to me to put the two together in one post, but Musc Ravageur adds as the missing link here. All three are lovely orientals, I just happen to love the dirtiest of the trio. 

I hope you did enjoy this little comparison post, it was an interesting experiment for me, not least because I created the images with a new application. Anyone who needs or likes to use Photoshop and Illustrator but is frustrated by Adobe's subscription only policy, have a look at Affinity Design and Affinity Photo (currently in beta). I am well impressed by them. 

Seven Veils by Byredo

Byredo, the Swedish perfume house was one of the first niche brands I encountered and sampled in full, thanks to the generosity of the Byredo staff at Liberty. I already wrote about M/Mink, which is one of the most daring scents I've ever smelled. Today's candidate is a much more wearable choice. Seven Veils. It bursts open with an abundance of colour and spice - a marvellous ouverture - and then leaves me alone with a rosy heart that's neither here nor there, and falls exhausted onto the cushions as a creamy vanilla.  The sillage is stronger and darker than the smell on skin, a dance of seven veils, indeed. But you won't lose you head over this. A floriental that pretends to be far more dangerous than it actually is. Pretty though...

Seven Veils by Byredo, the picture

How and where to wear:

Belly dance class in North London

Elegant hippy: Patchouli 24 by Le Labo

Once a hippy, always a hippy? I do have pictures of me wearing purple, hand died dungarees, a Palestine scarf and about 2 dozen badges showing all my caring for the world's problems. I used to burn a lot of incense, drank gallons of vanilla flavoured tea and liked patchouli. Still do. These days my patchouli just has to be a bit more sophisticated. And Le Labo's creation certainly delivers on the sophistication front. 

My visualisation of Patchouli 24 by Le Labo

What I mostly get from this fragrance is a smokiness that manages to be both wet and dry, stays away from the churches AND the BBQs, and is harsh and soft in pretty equal measures. My friend Nick described it once as sexy bacon, and while I agree that there is an edible element to this, for me it's not bacon. I hate the smell of fried bacon! This perfume far more evokes the image of smoked chestnuts. And because there is a strong leather element coming through it feels like holding a bag of hot chestnuts in a leather gloved hand. Not that the perfume actually smells of chestnuts. That's confusing, I know, sorry for free associations running wild. Patchouli 24 pops up on my skin with a surprisingly herbal patchouli note. A very short Bang! From then on the note stays very silently in the back. Leather, resin and burned woods take over. Wet leaves in autumn fires is another image that comes to mind, and right now, with autumn finally in full swing, is a great time to wear this perfume. It has earthiness and elegance in perfect balance, and that is what autumn very much means to me. A time for long walks in the countryside but also the best season for indulging in fashion. I have worn P24 during a 4 hour walk in a damp forest in Kent and it did work splendidly on slightly sweaty skin.  The perfume finally settles in a vanilla, which is a tiny bit too sweet for the entire composition, I find. For once, I had wished for the woods to continue. It has remarkable staying power, over 10 hours on me, which doesn't happen all that often. This will probably smell quite different, but nonetheless most delicious on a man.  

How and where to wear:

Guy Fawkes night, here we come!

P.S. I had my finger on the purchase button for a 15ml bottle of this from the Le Labo website. £37.50 isn't cheap for such a small amount, but at least they do offer bottles under a 100ml..... But, dear LeLabo people, do you think it's clever to add the VAT sneakily at the very end, when all the form filling and credit card numbering is done? It's not. 

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. 

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.

Rozy.

I started to write this post on a Eurostar train when I was not in the mood to read and M, my travelling companion, kept himself busy with a comedy show on the ipad. I was wearing Rozy which I had been introduced to just two days earlier at an evening at Bloom perfumery in East London. For a full report on the evening and the wonderful and inspirational Vero Kern please read the post by Tara on Olfactoria's travels.

Vero Kern at Bloom perfumery

Being immediately drawn to this mysterious scent I decided to spend the train journey to Paris wearing it. The fragrance was so present that it felt like carrying another soul with me, an invisible traveller, if you like. I began writing random words and associations, trying to unfold and dissect the perfume's soul possessing nature when I realised that a lot of the vocabulary in my notes stemmed from the magical and the drug related. Intoxicating, mind altering, possessive, psychedelic, bewitching... 
No coincidence, given how closely connected these two worlds are. It's a very small step from the love potions and ointments of medieval witches to Timothy Learie's LSD experiments. And if we still lived in the Middle Ages, I am sure that our modern perfumers would be accused of witchcraft. The women amongst them foremost and anyway. Not much danger to end up on the pyres when you produce a fragrance that just smells a bit nice, but if your creation is as potent and beautiful as rozy in its voile d'extrait form, you might be in trouble. Of course I'm not suggesting here that Vero Kern is a modern witch, I merely want to give an idea of the power her scents possess. So, back to the rozy, which at that stage (about 2 hours in) had developed to its full potential, and I had been thoroughly hexed by scent. 

My visual interpretation of rozy. in voile d'extrait by vero.profumo

At the event Vero told us that her inspiration for rozy had been the magnificent Anna Magnani in the film Rose Tattoo. And of course, having just reviewed another perfume dedicated to her, Nobile 1942's Chypre, I am now most intrigued about comparing  them. There are undoubtly  hues to both scents that show them to be in a colour family of golden yellows, burnt oranges, rosy reds and some brown, but the overall effect is very different. Chypre is less vibrant and multifaceted but gentler, more a hearty home cooked dish compared to rozy's finesse. By this I don't want to diminish the Nobile scent, it's just a different approach to a similar theme but there is no denying that vero.profumo's creations are in a league on their own. 

When M saw me working on the visual for rozy he said:" Oh, that looks like a maelstrom of roses." and he was right, I wanted to capture the perfume's amazing ability to take you and your soul on a mind altering ride where it's not you, the wearer, who is in control. An oriental rose glazed in aromatic honey. Tuberose, but thankfully not too much of it, balsamic labdanum, vanilla, cassis and sandalwood. The mere notes never explain the effect of the whole melange coming together. In this case, it's a mixture that is both unsettling and comforting. How that is achieved with such quality and opulence I have absolutely no idea, but given that Vero Kern is also a trained aromatherapist, it's safe to say she knows her stuff.  It is not an easy scent for me though. For all its beauty, I simply have to be in the mood to be that much entranced. When I was wearing it in the relative closed environment of the train I got almost a bit scared by it. Rozy doesn't just sit on my skin and dries away, it dances. It has an excellent sillage but manages not to overpower an entire train carriage (just me) and stays forever on my perfume eating skin. I found a trace of it the next morning. If you like the general description of the notes, (don't be scare off if any of them is usually not to your liking, it's all in the mix) and want to have a perfume like no other, rozy in the Voile d'Extrait concentration is a must try. I find it truly magical. 

How and where to wear:

If you're not afraid to wear something that goes on and under your skin then rozy will make excellent company.

An explanatory note: This review is based on 

a.) rozy in voile d'extrait concentration, there is also an EdP version which is a bit greener and has peach and mint instead of the cassis, as far as I remember.

b.) a sample given to me by Bloom perfumery at the end of an event for which I paid.

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

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. 

Esprit du Tigre by Heeley

It seems that year after year I cope less well with winter. My skin gets itchy and red from the cold wind and my mood darkens with the lack of natural light and colours. For the last 5  years we managed to get a break from the bleakness and escape to somewhere warm and humid. The planning of these trips is part of the pleasure, I can spend hours and hours drooling over pictures of turquoise waters and white beaches. SE Asia, Thailand in particular, is a place we love and long for. I'm not boring you to death with holiday descriptions, but of course these destinations come with an extraordinary bouquet of smells. I'm still dreaming about the scent of Hanoi at 5 o'clock in the morning and wish someone could bottle it up for me: Chinese incense, burnt rubber, cold jasmine rice, fish sauce and cooking oil, car fumes and a myriad of exotic flowers, all slightly diluted during the night, but ready to come to full bloom! again for another hot and humid day.

But there is one single scent that has been a close companion on all our Asian adventures and that is the camphorous stink of the little helper Tiger Balm. You can spray as much DEET or citronella oil as you like, total vigilance is impossible. The tiny monsters will get some blood out of you at one time or another. Mosquitos can be a real pain and ruin much of your otherwise picture perfect happy hour cocktail with sunset on the beach. Tiger balm helps with the itch and we have amassed quite a collection over the years. There is even a curry flavoured one for those who don't like the original smell. So my own association with tiger balm is mixed. On one hand it reminds me of tropical holidays, on the other it's connected with one of the least appealing aspects of it. Let's see what James Heeley, the English perfumer who works and lives in Paris has done with that challenging concept. 

My interpretation of Esprit du Tigre by Heeley

My, what a beauty. A minty fresh start that already has a hint of spice in it. The camphor is very well behaved and toned down. Nothing seems out of balance here and although it's suitably exotic, it's not in your face. No one will ask you if you had just put on some muscle rub when you wear it. The spices give that camphor a real grounding earthiness and it's not like that curry flavoured tiger balm I mentioned at all. My skin drinks it up quite quickly and the perfume dries down to cinnamon and sweet mint. It's  very much a skin scent on me, not much  sillage but I don't mind that at all in this instance. The camphor sort of hovers over the skin and feels, just like the less odorous tiger balm used in traditional Thai massage, cooling and warming at the same time. Esprit du Tigre is a very modern take on the old concept of an Oriental perfume. Our idea of Asia and the Orient has obviously changed dramatically since the late 19th century, but the allure of the exotic is still there, it just manifests itself in different ways now.  I am astonished how beautiful this perfume smells on my skin and I think it's a perfect "secret" scent. I will wear that as a bedtime perfume for the coming cold nights and dream of the beaches of Koh Tao. 

How and where to wear:

As it's christmas soon, give it to the modern day explorer of your acquaintance.

Hasu-no-Hana, They do make them like that again!

Various articles, reviews and books in the perfume world are beginning to suggest that old fashioned, classical scents are making a slow comeback. I think it's only natural for trends to turn upside down after a few years and if the prediction is going to be true it wouldn't surprise me. In fact, I'd be delighted. There is also a trend in re-branding and relaunching old perfume houses up to the point when there was never an original in the first place, but a depuis/since 18XX looked temptingly good on the bottle. Grossmith is  a good old fashioned British name for a perfume house and it comes with a remarkable history. It makes me think of manly Eau de Cologne, moustache wax, shaving foam and brilliantine, all administered to the real gentlemen by his personal valet. And I wouldn't be totally wrong, but not quite right either. Wrong gender, for starters. I managed to get the three "classical" scents as samples from Bloom, and I highly recommend to try them all. My favourite is Hasu-no-Hana, described on the company's website as a Japanese lotus lily with chypre and oriental facets.

If money wasn't an issue, in what sort of hotel would you stay for a weekend? The latest boutique affair with all the modern features and some quirky design and contemporary art in the middle of a cool city, or an old fashioned 5 star luxury manor house full of grandeur and excellence surrounded by spectacular countryside? Usually I'd go for the former. Aesthetically I will be more at home there and I suspect the old palace to be a bit stuffy and full of retired rich people who demand a personal butler to care for their every whim. But sometimes.........for just a few days....I think it would be great to pretend and go for the whole Gosford Park thing. And if I do, I will take a bottle of Hasu-no-Hana.

My lotus pattern inspired by Hasu-no-Hana

I usually don't want to go the illustrative route with my perfume visuals, but in this case I feel like doing something different. Deepest purple and orange silk with golden embroideries. Iridescent and fluid like a chypre, but in the boldest colours, with wooden strength and incredible, dusty and dry oriental staying power. After a spectacular bitter orange opening it develops deeper and stronger than any modern designer fragrances ever dared and it keeps a grandeur that most niche houses would equally shy away from. It's not that it uses notes that have gone out of fashion, on the contrary, the list reads like so many other from quality fragrances today: Iris, tonka beans, ylang ylang, sandalwood, bergamot, oakmoss. But is that really a perfume that a Victorian woman would have worn? I have to confess my ignorance here and will need to catch up on my perfume history knowledge. Another reason to get Barbara Herman's new book "Scent and Subversion", I suppose.

Another lotus pattern inspired by Hasu-no-Hana

Hasu-no-Hana is so rich that I feel a bit like an impostor wearing it. My middle class, middle age, middle everything status is slightly at odds with the glory that evaporates from this fragrance. It's marvellous. It's wonderful. It's delicious. It's pure luxury. I want a bottle. I can't afford a bottle. I will spray the last drags of my sample on my loveliest silk scarf and sigh melodramatically.

How and where to wear:
There isn't much need for anything else. A silk wrap or an open kimono will do. Spread yourself lasciviously over a chaiselongue, sip on  some tea from a delicate porcelain cup and make a witty comment about the weather


Product picture via grossmith.com website

Fuoco Infernale, a Potion master's fragrance

Back from Paris, I can feel it coming: The nasty post trip cold. Normally it's the combination of the dry air in a plane occupied by 200 people of which at least 2 are bound to have a nasty virus lurking around. This time I took the train, but why would the Eurostar be any better...So while I'm trying to fight off the worst with paracetamol and some throat spray I am also looking for a perfume to warm me up. I have accumulated quite a stack of untested samples by now but this utterly beautiful set certainly deserves my attention:

I know, I know, I know. But isn't it beautiful? I am a sucker for nice packaging, I'm afraid. It comes with being a graphic designer. Linari is a German based perfume house, trying to combine the usual niche concept with some very stylish design. This sample pack can be ordered from their website. So, I am looking for a warm me up scent, and something named Fuoco Infernale, created by Egon Oelkers,  should be just what the doctor ordered. Will it warm my senses, kill the germs and protect me from further evil?

My visual interpretation of Fuoco Infernale by Linari

It certainly has a medicinal, healthy glow to it. Herbal, but not in a fresh green way , more like bundles of herbs that have been hanged to dry out over a giant stove, giving off some gentle, fragrant smoke. The very beginning was a bit too aftershavy for me, but that settles down quickly and the herbs get company from orange and sepia tones in the form of spices woods, a bit iris and then they all huddle together in a worn out pouch made out of the softest leather. In an urban and cool sophisticated sort of way this would have made a great Halloween perfume; to be worn by a woman in a non-tacky witch costume, or even better, by sexy Potion Master Professor Snape alias Alan Rickman. May be I already have a fever... never mind me. (In case you are wondering, my nose is not yet affected by any fluey symptoms, so far it's only the throat). 

Fuoco Infernale is not really a feminine scent, but that wouldn't deter me. Despite my Harry Potter reference, this is actually a very modern take on a classical, masculine herbal leather fragrance and I think it's perfect for November. Real winter hasn't settled in yet, but leaves get burned and fireworks are getting off. It's a scent that carries the transition well, I find, but while it certainly has a good portion of warmth, glow and smoke, I wouldn't call its fire infernal. Has it worked its magic to cure me? Time will tell.

How and where to wear:

The modern wizard can't go wrong with this on the collar of his cloak

Am I being reasonable?

Beatnik

Winter is coming. Not my favourite time of year, with some exceptions: Ginger bread, stews, soups and other heavy food, Christmas trees and hot baths. I assume I'll find the ginger bread when I go to Lidl this week and the hot baths season has already started. I like all kinds of fragrant oils and bubbly soaps in the bath and Lush does some fun things that are sometimes just the ticket. Many people hate Lush for what they describe as olfactory noise, stinking up shopping malls and high streets. I was always fairly tolerant to the nasal onslaught, but still, the idea of going perfume shopping at Lush never occurred to me. Just too much goes on on there, screaming at your nostrils. Well, you read this book and that blog and live to learn that Lush has a decent perfume range. Opinions about quality differ, but it certainly got me intrigued. The first thing I tried in the shop was called The Voice of Reason. Cool name.

 "It's dedicated to the written word, like, you know, ideas... and that time in Paris when people were sitting in bars and smoking cigarettes." O-tone from the very, very enthusiastic and very, very young shop assistant. I felt positively ancient because I can remember people smoking in bars and used to do that myself, sometimes even in Paris. Philosophy and smoking go well together, visually. And olfactory? An ashtray smell is not everyones cup of tea, but if well done even that can be a vital ingredient to a wonderful perfume. Balance is everything. So, is this Voice of Reason reasonable?

My visual interpretation of The Voice of Reason, Lush

Of course it isn't. Where would be the fun in that. This perfume smells of all things unhealthy. Smoke, cold ashtrays, hot ashtrays, booze in various forms and colours, strong coffee, liquorice, sweat, flesh. Not one for delicate natures. When I open the little bottle (they do a 5 ml version) it actually reeks. But it's totally bewitching at the same time and I want to smell more of it to see what happens. On skin it develops slowly, the smokiness gets softer and drier, and sweeter and gentler notes make themselves heard, but it's still quite a beast of a perfume. I'll use that one sparingly, but it stays close to the skin. Many people will hate it, I think it's great. It's the fragrance version of all things that your parents ever warned you about. I'm soon hitting menopause and still find that cool, so make of that what you will.


Edit: A few days after I wrote this review I got felled by a really bad cold. Not being able to smell anything is quite annoying (and I am bored) so I tried a few perfumes by sniffing at their bottles. VoR is incredible. Not only can I actually smell it through my blocked nose, it feels like it crept out of the bottle like some living creature, a djinny, and it still stays with me after half an hour although I didn't put it anywhere on my skin or clothes. (And no, I don't have a fever.)

How and where to wear:

Well, what can I say? A bar? In Paris? Wearing a black turtleneck? 

Who am I to tell you how to wear your perfume anyway? 

  Beatnik image via flickr from Dunechaser, some rights reserved