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

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