Blue Diamond

If I were to observe the middle-school version of me and spy on her reading habits via her library activities, I would be deeply concerned for her future not to mention current well-being. Among her favourite books were any titles whatsoever by Kurt Vonnegut, and similarly disturbing titles such as "Catch 22" and "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". One may argue that this is still better than what real-life tortured teen girls went through  in other books on her reading list, Christiane F. being one such example. Being only a merger 13 years old meant that these books were not read with a critical adult eye, but rather served as wan encouragement and an inspiration for awkward behaviours, because trying to fit in was not only a lost cause - but also a faulty one.* I'd marvel at anything out of the ordinary and sought different ways to look at the world. Such as focusing on very small details in my pencil sketches, or looking through a blue glass prism to see the world multiplied by its many facets.

Thankfully, those days are over and despite all odds, I survived teenager-hood with only a scratch or two. But some things became an inseparable part of me. Such as compassion to anyone who is different from the mainstream society or culture; and also a desire to look at things from an alternative angle, even if

Blue Diamond is an ancient perfume made by renown Danish chemist and author Steffen Arctander in 1979, and no longer in production. The gracious Heidi, a SmellyBlog reader and a long-time customer, has given me a sample when she was visiting in Vancouver this past summer. I heard about it before through another comment on this blog, but never seen it mentioned elsewhere. Heidi's curiosity about the notes in this perfume piqued my curiosity. She suspected the name "Blue Diamond" alluded to a precious blue flower: The legendary sacred Egyptian blue water lily, which is often mistakenly called "Blue Lotus". She was not far off the mark.

Upon opening the vial, a familiar yet mysterious fragrance welcomed me. As I was telling Heidi when I first smelled it - I could smell a high content of natural absolutes in the mix, perhaps tuberose, hyacinth or lotus - but not blue - rather, the pink variety (which is the true lotus). Visually speaking, I can see how a flower may be the inspiration - the unopened bud of lotus looks like a birds-eye view of cut-diamond or sapphire. The other dominant aspect of the composition is aldehydes, of the oily scalp type - C-11 or C-13, giving the perfume a skin-like, awkwardly intimate quality. The perfume is very potent and very long lasting, with the finishing notes being a pleasant cocktail of synthetic white musks.

* In modern perfumery terms, such philosophy is found in some awkward compositions, such as Tubereuse Criminelle - which instead of trying to make the tuberose smell pretty, it amplifies its ugly, rubbery and medicinal character and by exaggeration creates something beautiful.

Musk Malabi Fundraising Campaign for Syrian Refugees

Musk Malabi, my fundraiser perfume to support Syrian Refugees, was launched a couple of years ago. There was only marginal interest in the cause, unfortunately, so I was unable to make any substantial contribution to this cause. 

Now that the refugee crisis has come to the forefront of the media - I hope you can help me raise enough funds to help sponsor refugees who are arriving to Canada in these tough times. For every 15mL bottle sold, $50 will be donated to a community-sponsored family; and from each mini bottle, $20 will be donated.

If you are in Canada, I urge you to find a community-sponsorship as well, or initiate one yourself in your community or workplace. According to Canadian law around sponsorship of immigrants, groups such as religious community associations (i.e.: non-profit NGOs) and community based organizations (i.e.: mosques, churches, synagogues, etc.) but also corporations can sponsor refugees, and any group of 5 or more Canadians that can provide a feasible settlement plan for the refugees. That is one way to guarantee the safe asylum of a family fleeing the horrors of the Syrian civil war, and much more meaningful way to invest smaller amounts of charitable money than to support a huge organization in which whatever contribution I could make will just be a drop in the bucket.

Of course, if you wish to donate to larger organizations - there are some that are more effective than others and which will utilize your donations more efficiently. Do your research first. For example, charities that are recommended for maximum help in the ground zero of the Syrian refugee crisis and that have a minimum administrative costs are listed in Charity Intelligence (Canada) and Charity Watchdog (USA).

Below is an excerpt from the original press release (March 2014) and the updates regarding pricing and donations policy.

Inspiring Peace & Harmony with Musk Malabi’s Olfactory Love Triangle
Vancouver, Canada, March 5th, 2014. Get caught in a love triangle with Musk Malabi Ayala Moriel’s newest limited-edition perfume Musk Malabi. Released to coincide with the spring equinox and Persian New Year, Musk Malabi is an intoxicating floral confection. Unabashedly feminine, subtly exotic and hopelessly romantic - the fragrance evokes the sensory experience of a passionate love affair.
Inspired by the traditional Middle Eastern dessert of the same name, Musk Malabi centers itself around rich, milky musk. Having grown up in Israel, the sights, sounds, and smells of the Mediterranean have always been a source of inspiration for Ayala Moriel, the company’s in-house perfumer. “What has always captured my imagination about malabi is its soft, evocative sounding name, and its unique fragrant combination of rosewater and neroli water”, explains Ayala. “Rose and orange blossom are such noble flowers yet oh so different.”

At the heart of the fragrance, neroli and rose come unexpectedly together with musk to create an unusual and mesmerizing triad. Musk plays cupid, pulling all the strings in between and drawing the lovers (rose and neroli) together. Designed to smell as close as possible to deer musk, the botanical musk brings an effortless fluidity to this magnetic fragrance. A company that prides itself on being all-natural and free of animal cruelty, all of Ayala’s fragrances are created using botanical essences.
With spicy notes of cardamom and coriander as the opening act for voluptuous rose and prudent neroli, the top and heart notes rest on a silky bed of atlas cedarwood, botanical musk and Tahitian vanilla. Light-hearted yet mysterious, Musk Malabi is a fragrance unlike any other and will transport one effortlessly to the exotic Middle-East, jet-lag free.
Top notes: Bitter Orange, Cardamom, Coriander, Blood Orange
Heart notes: Turkish Rose, Bulgarian Rose, Tunisian Neroli, Egyptian Orange Blossom
Base notes: Atlas Cedarwood, Botanical Musk Accord, Tahitian Vanilla

Available in eau de parfum 4ml ($69) and 15ml ($180) via www.ayalamoriel.com. For every 15mL bottle sold, $50 will be donated to a community-sponsored family; and from each mini bottle, $20 will be donated. 

Matching

There's a guy across the street in the retirement home, who must have lived a long, nicotine-rich life. He spends about half of the days asking passers by for light. And cigarettes. I gave him matches and lighters on a number of occasions, and even one of my cigars. Every time I have something for him his yellowing face lights up, he quiets down for a few minutes... and by the time I'm upstairs again I can already hear is yelling and soliciting for more tobacco.

Between Leather & Tobacco Week (May 11-15), the neighbour across the street asking for matches all the time,  and my newly found infatuation with Tabac Original - the natural course of events was to try to do matching for the latter.

"Matching this is the process of creating a replica for an existing perfume – it’s akin
to writing a symphony’s entire score by listening to a recording of it. nowadays, perfumers use a GC report to assist them in the process, but still need to rely first and foremost on their nose. matching is one of the most important skills for a perfumer, and one of the best tools to develop your composition skills, which is why you’ve been asked to create a match in many of the exercises throughout this book." (Foundation of Natural Perfumery, p. 176). 

Matching is not something I do often anymore (I did a lot of it in my early perfumery days, as it's a great way to learn composition and study the classics, simultaneously). The reason I don't is because usually it's nearly impossibly to create something even remotely close because the bulk of the fragrance's personality comes from synthetics - some of which are not even naturally occurring. So it's a lost battle from the start. This is also why I refrain from providing any replication services for y custom scents.

Another great challenge of matching is to listen to your nose instead of the brain. In a way it's easier to make matching for something you don't know the name of, or anything about. This way you don't have any misconceptions about it, and that reduces the risk of the "power of suggestion" effect. With Tabac Original, for example: it's easy to assume that there is tobacco in there, and be tempted to add it in. It's in the name of the fragrance, after all! But even my keen nose cannot for the life of me detect the tiniest amount of actual tobacco notes in there. Yes, the fragrance may bring to mind tobacco because its clean, dry, woody character - but there is none of the acrid, leathery, hay-like or even violetty nuances you'll find in tobacco absolute. I'm not saying tobacco won't smell good in there. But it's just isn't there. It's almost easier to think of it as a Fougere - even though it's not that either (there is no moss that I can detect; nor coumarin, which pervades so many masculine fragrances of yore). 

With Tabac Original - it seemed possible. Most of the perceptible and characteristic ingredients, except of the synthetic "white musks" are readily available on my palette. Plus, I thought it would be fun. The "brief" so to speak was not only to make it retain the refreshing vetiver and spice character, but also to refrain from using overtly rare or costly ingredients, so it could potentially be a  "natural drugstore" fragrance of sorts...

So far I'm rather pleased with the results - which utilizes Haitian vetiver as the key component, spiced heart notes of Egyptian geranium, petitgrain and allspice; top notes of lavender, black pepper, ginger and nutmeg. I also had to use some proprietary tinctures of ambrette seeds in lieu of the musk; and ambergris tincture as well to create a bouquetting effect. In that sense I failed to make it a truly cheap fragrance. But it seemed quite necessary for the composition if I were to avoid any expensive florals (for example: I decided to forego any neroli or carnation absolute, both being prohibitively expensive). The tinctures are used in minute amounts, but I won't say either of these raw materials is a run-of-the-mill, easy to find ingredient. It does smell great, though. 

Coriandre

What can one expect from a scent with a name so unassuming as Coriandre? Would it be green? Rustic? Funny? Refreshing? There is nothing particularly intriguing, mysterious or fashionable about that. You just have to try it on your skin to find out.

Coriandre is a great perfume, which I have overlooked for years. Despite the many good things I've heard of it, it did not appeal to me when I tried it for the first time. It simply didn't register. Years later, I came across it on the forgotten shelves of the neighbourhood parfumerie; and noticed that they had some stray old bottles pre-IFRA reformulation frenzy. Which is always a good news for a scent that is very likely to rely on oakmoss for its appeal, being green and all.

Well, as it turns out - IFRA or no IFRA - it would have probably not made much of a difference. Unless what Robin is saying is true, and this is already been reformulated beyond recognition by the early 90s.

Coriandre is not really a Chypre in the classical sense of the word. I don't even think I would classify it as a Chypre at all. Nor would I classify it as green, either. To me, Coriandre is a big, dirty, dusty rose. Maybe not that big either. And if it smells like any colour at all, it would be brown, not green. It is brown. And bitter.

Unbeknown to it, it is the mother of all of those godless, oakmossless modern "Chypres" - Agent Provocateur, Narciso Rodriguez, SJP Lovely and Chloe. A Chypre that relies on musk, patchouli and vetiver to tell its dry, bitter jokes and poke fun at rosy-cheeked naïveté, all the while being doused in rose itself. If you're into herbaceous, earthy floral perfumes, such as Aromatics Elixir- Coriandre is a very good (and affordable) substitute. It can be had for $38 for a 30ml bottle (and that's probably a rip-off, actually, comparing to how cheap you can get it elsewhere).

Top notes: Coriander seed, Angelica Heart notes: Rose, Jasmine, Orange Blossom
Base notes: Musk, Patchouli, Vetiver, Sandalwood

Musk Malabi

Malabi, a photo by Tom lahat on Flickr.

If Sahleb is the royal treat of winter, then the rosy, rubbery Malabi (see recipe below) is the queen of summer in the Middle East. Served cold in every other corner and almost every kiosk and restaurant of any caliber, this chilled milk-pudding captures the eye with the contrasting rosy-red syrup oozing all over the white, petri-plate-like to-go containers it comes in. I was never a big fan of its texture (ditto in regards to Rahat Loukum, also unjustly made with corn starch instead of better quality materials), but I adore its fragrance!

What always captures my imagination about malabi was its soft, evocatively sounding name, and its unique fragrant combination of rosewater and neroli. Rose and neroli are such noble flowers yet oh so different. Rose is open, voluptuous, sweet and feminine. Neroli is prim and proper, restrained, clean, ethereal and otherworldly. It's incredible that such a thing even grows from the earth, as has such a heavenly character.

Malabi with pom syrup, a photo by Dan Bar Dov on Flickr.

The balance of these two strong-willed floral elements that inspired the creation of my new, limited edition for Valentine's Day 2014. Titled Musk Malabi, this perfume is a holy triad of sorts, between voluptuous, velvety and soft rose; airy, clean and cerebral neroli, and the pulsating animalic energy of musk. The musk is, in a most profound way, what makes these two oppositional flowers harmonize rather than compete with one another. It is told in the Koran that Mohammed's breath was as sweet as rose, and that he considered musk to be the purest of all perfumes. Musk grains were even mixed with the mortar in the construction of several Eastern mosques and retained their musky scent for years. The botanical musk in Musk Malabi was designed to smell as close as possible to deer musk, and most importantly, act like one: it plays cupid pulling all the strings between and drawing the lovers (rose and neroli) together. It doesn't need arrows, and plays the harp better than cupid, doing all of this work gently and with effortless fluidity. 


Malabi, a photo by shai.wininger on Flickr.

Musk Malabi is a limited edition for Valentine's Day 2014, which is just a month away from today! 
Love it, and it will love you back.

Top notes: Bitter Orange, Cardamom, Coriander, Blood Orange
Heart notes: Turkish Rose, Bulgarian Rose, Tunisian Neroli, Egyptian Orange Blossom
Base notes: Atlas Cedarwood, Botanical Musk Accord, Tahitian Vanilla

Bal à Versailles

Royal Boudoir, a photo by Ayala Moriel on Flickr.

Smelling Jean Desprez's Bal à Versailles is what I can imagine Jean-Louis Fargeon (Marie Antoinette's personal perfumer) would concoct especially for her: in his dusty apothecary in Paris, he would measure into the beaker with much abundance the costliest of all extracts: tuberose, jasmine and jonquil enfleurage from Grasse, attar of rose from Morocco, shipped across the Mediterranean, aged orris root tincture, tincture of vetiver, oakmoss from the Albanian forests, collected by wolverines in the moonlight, and every animal extract he could get a hold of: Ambergris? you got it! Tonquin musk? Oh yeah. Civet? Sure, but only a little bit...

Although I've been reading a lot of reviews that go on and on about the civet being the star of the show, I beg to differ. Bal à Versailles, although I still think agree that it could have been more aptly named - my suggestion would not be "Orgie de Versailles" (which is what it would have been if civet were the star of the show - as it is in Tabu, for instance), but rather more delicately, as in "Boudouir de Versailles".

The Eau de Toilette I have on hand is vintage, probably from the 90's, or late 80's at the most. It is redolent of black pepper, opulent flowers and dry, musky oakmoss. While it has a definite carnal energy about it, it is not due to civet, but rather, musk and white flowers. I was scratching my head for a while trying to recall what it reminds me of. And when I got it, I was a bit surprised - more than anything at all, it reminds me of my very first version of Schizm, when I was so naive that I thought that the "black musk" that was sold at the Persian Arts jewellery and antique store in Pacific Centre were in fact vintage perfume bases (hence containing synthetic musks, including the defunct musk ambrette and deliciously animalic musk ketone). The old Schizm was just like this - a surge of pepper, tuberose, narcissus, oakmoss and musk, with a bit of cedarwood accentuating the dry aspect at first, and turning into something sweet (taken over by the oakmoss) in the end.
And sure enough, the drynenss of oakmoss' top notes, the cedar and pepper bows and lets the sweeter song of raspberry-lined musks to make their coiffed entrance, powdered wigs and all. Vanilla, dark and real, is not too loud but makes its presence known, like a seasoned seductress partly hiding behind a black laced fan. And just like this confident woman in black, which does not need find the urge to flash her assets to be noticed, you'd also find a hint of the leathery, a nuance of fur and purring with its dry breath of isobutyl quinoline.

This early version of Schizm was never sold commercially, therefore I realize this comparison is not the most relateable. To give you a more familiar point of reference, I'd say that Bal à Versailles, despite it being a child of the 60's (launched in 1962) reminds me of the good old Caron fragrances: it has the same dry-peppery feel as Poivre and the delicious muskiness of Parfum Sacré
(well, this is not really old, it's from the 90's yet it has the same vintage feel), yet at the same time an underlining dark, almost dirty, boudoir feel of Nuit de Noël. In short: don't let it scare you. While very old-fashioned in feel, it is neither dense nor overbearing. It is very easy to wear, although I would definitely reserve it for special occasions, or at least for the evening, when you can truly savour it, sipped slowly like a glass of spicy Syrah.

Top notes: Black Pepper, Cedarwood, Citrus 
Heart notes: Tuberose, Jasmine, Orange Blossom, Narcissus, Orris Butter
Base notes: Oakmoss, Musk, Patchouli, Vanilla, Amber, Leather

Monserrat

Montserrat el dia després, a photo by Jordi Chueca on Flickr.

Montserrat Orange is a strange shade of orange: depending on the light and context, it can appear rosy, like the pink glow of dawn, or turn into a pale, warm apricot in sunset.

Likewise, the fragrance Bruno Fazzolari named Monserrat walks the fine line between dewy violet and green tea, and dusky leather and dusty old books.

Monserrat begins on a very bright, airy notes of green tea, iso-E super and violet leaves. Slowly but surely, a raspy yet aloof voice of wet leather and whitewashed walls sneaks in, and Monserrat becomes more musky and melancholy than fresh.

Top notes: Pink Grapefruit, Carrot Seed, Apricot
Heart notes: Violet Leaves, Jasmine, Green Tea
Base notes: White Musk

Volutes

zebra volute shells, a photo by *omnia* on Flickr.

Diptyque's has already won my heart if not at least gained my deepest respect time and again with their classics - Philosykos, Oyedo, l'Ombre Dans l'Eau, Ofresia and Tam Dao. But I kinda stopped following their latest releases as I found them all to be pleasant enough; yet non has stirred anything in me. I probably would have dismissed Volutes completely if it wasn't for Trish's enthusiastic recommendation - she literally left a sample for me on the kitchen table to take home with me - which she didn't need anymore, because she already got her own bottle. Imagine that! If you're a perfumista, you know how rare a "full bottle" is...

Smelling it from the vial (or bottle) did not do it justice, and in my haste to catch the plane to San Francisco, they were left on the kitchen table... And caught up to me a little later, when Trish sent me a care package of a few perfume samples she thought I ought to try.

When I finally made the skinspace for Volutes, I understood what the enthusiasm was all about. It's very different from the other Diptyques in that it's a lot more substantial and full bodied; and dances on the edge of ethereal, smoky, oriental, and maybe even a little gourmand. If anything, it reminds me more of some of the more forthcoming scents they've created for their candle line (i.e.: Feu de Bois, Essence of John Galliano come to mind, in terms of their bold, outspoken complexity).

Volutes plays on the contrast between two themes - the smoothness, warmth and strength of polished woods against the airy, untouchable movement and swirling of incense. It spills out on the skin like warm melted beeswax and honey, creating a feeling that is not quite gourmand, but more so a sensory memory of gliding honeyed wax on smoothly-plucked skin. And maybe licking a polished wooden staircase (I might have done that at some point between the ages of 2-4...).

And then comes a waft of swirling incense mingled with pink pepper, roses, saffron and dates. Sounds familiar? Yes, it does bring to mind another favourite of mine - Ormonde Jayne's Ta'if. Only here the dates are more pronounced, and the musk is less powdery, and more sweet and addictive. The dry down reminds me of the (also addictive) Chai incense sticks (in Shoyeido Gourmet Incense Series).  Burnished pipe also comes to mind, which echoes the tobacco notes beautifully... And the tobacco with an accent of dried hay and immortelle are the last to remain while everything else is has jumped ship.

Top notes: Pink Pepper, Dates
Heart notes: Honey, Beeswax, Roses, Saffron, Incense
Base notes: Tobacco, Vanilla, Musk, Immortelle, Hay

Patchouli Magique

Russian scarf A LA RUSSE - Kristina Bazan (KAYTURE), a photo by MagnifiqueLilly on Flickr.

The lovely Muza has generously sent me samples to enjoy, including Russian perfumes which I have never been exposed to. It's wonderful to explore fragrances that I don't normally have access to. And among them, Patchouli Magique immediately grabbed my attention. If it wasn't for this, I would have continued to believe that the prime purpose of perfume in Russia is a vodka back-up.

Patchouli Magique is not a Bolshevik perfume. I'm still stumbling to find out when it was actually created - before or after the revolution or the perestroika or whatever the crumbling of the Soviet Union is referred to. All I know is that it's a fine patchouli fragrance that won't put to shame even the most niche houses out there. I wish I had it earlier when I was running the patchouli series - consider this a latecomer to the patchouli party!

Patchouli Magique enveloped me in a plush wrap made of soft yet rustic fabric. Like a hand-woven alpaca poncho. Or a woolen Russian scarf for that matter, with big roses printed all over it. Patchouli Magique is indeed magical - it's soothing yet sophisticated. Welcoming you with warm earthy notes of dry patchouli leaves; yet develops into warmer, sweeter notes of aged patchouli mingled with amber and sensuous musk. And a trail of sweet incense smoke weaves its way through - not the heavy resinous church incense; but rather a blend of sandalwood and flowers, reminiscent of the famous Nag Champa. Patchouli Magique is a delightful discovery in the patchouli genre, and is unusual in that it is simultaneously luxurious and sophisticated yet easy to wear and not in the least pretentious or overbearing. Being centred around a base note, its structure is not nearly as complex as classic French perfumes and such; but it is still dynamic rather than static; and provides something to ponder upon as you just immerse yourself in all those alluring notes and surrender to their powerful yet quiet beauty.

Patchouli Magique is made by Novaya Zarya, and being Russian, there got to be some fascinating history behind this house: originally Henri Brocard's company (a French perfumer that moved his business to Russia)*, it was renamed "Soap and Perfumery Factory No. 5" in 1917 (after the revolution); and then "Novaya Zarya (New Dawn) in 1922, under which title they first released Krasnaya Moskva (Red Moscow) - the first Soviet perfume.

* The story of this brand is kinda like the reverse of Ernest Beaux, whose family's perfume business, A. Rallet&Co. before the revolution; and "Soap and Perfumery Factory No. 7" in 1918, and eventually - Svoboda (Freedom)

Monkey Monday: Smoke without Fire

oh, smoking monkey!, a photo by Bread Mouth on Flickr.

Is there really is no smoke without fire?
Last week, I discovered yet another hidden use of fragrance when the fire department came for their regular smoke-alarm tests in my building to activate the dreadful digital monsters with a blast of musk-infested spray. It was perhaps subtle, but nevertheless smelled very similar to a cross between Kiehl’s Original Musk and The Body Shop’s ever so popular White Musk. Thanksfully they were gone in a giffy, just a few moments after the screaming monster was appeased and shut-off (I am convinced they were designed for deaf people who don’t ever cook – because every time I get any action in the kitchen they have to protest!).

While I agree that one should always look carefully into what are the ingredients in the products they use; I must admit that fine fragrances are misguidedly overly targeted and are the subject of far more attacks than they deserve. Even if you use a perfume that contains synthetics, the amount you use (unless you're over using it) is just a little dab on both wrists and maybe the neck too (or spritzes, if you use a spray application). You have control over how much of fragrance you expose yourself to with the fine fragrances (and these are parfums, eaux de toilette, eaux de parfums and eaux de cologne).

In my humble opinion, it is the functional fragrances that are to blame for our over-exposure to toxic aroma-chemicals. Most people don't know it, but almost any product you buy is scented - and this applies not only to body products or fine fragrances, but also to the following unlikely list:
Natural gas (it’s otherwise odorless, and is artificially scented so we can detect leaks)
Plastic products (any and all; including kids' and babies' toys)
Rubber (ditto)
Paint
Tires
Leather goods
House cleaning products
Paper
…and so on...

I wish perfumes were less attacked, because it is also an art form, and because of ridiculous regulations that were designed to make the fragrance companies stronger and richer (that is far more higher on the agenda list than the public safety, I'm sorry to say) - this art form is in danger of extinction now. These we have a lot less control over how much they affect us, because they are everywhere in products we are using.

And that is it for my opinionated Monkey Monday. I don’t anticipate a huge debate as most of the visitors to this blog are perfume lovers; but nevertheless – if you voice your opinion, or add more weird objects and unlikely scented products that surprisingly artificially scented - you will earn the right to be entered into my weekly giveaway. This time around it’s a sample package of solid perfumes by Sweet Anthem – which also has a shop in Seattle where you can buy perfumes made in the West Coast, including Ayala Moriel Parfums.

Noir Patchouli

hypnotic bokeh wallpaper, a photo by mav_at on Flickr.

In my recent visit to Scent Bar to pick up a birthday gift for my brother, Laura and Steven have given me a few samples – 2 of them being of patchouli scents with which I’d like to close the patchouli series.

Noir Patchouli by Histoires de Parfums is a more of a study in dry chypre than it is a patchouli per se. It opens with a very perfumey, old-world blast of blushed, rosy cheeks and fatty aldehydes, bringing to mind floral chypres of the caliber of Aromatics Elixir. Yet, there is a dry spiciness to it all that stops it from being cloying.

Coriander and aldehydes are the dominant first notes, underlined by a honeyed, lush rose absolute. The dry patchouli layer underneath it all is always apparent yet not exactly obvious as you’d expect from a perfume of that title. There is also a hint of tobacco leaf, or vetiver, or both; as well as hints of jasmine and indole – giving it an earthy, bitter tonality that at firstshifts its balance from smelling muddy and overcrowded to intriguingly light and well-composed, until it settles on the latter, once a dry musk takes the reins and disperses the rose into like dust particles that lift up from an unused leather seat that’s finally been claimed by its absent owner.

While I do find the initial blast of aldehyes more than a tad overbearing, it is worth trying it on for what’s to become of Noir Patchouli later on: a modern take on the patchouli-rose of yesteryear, updated with contemporary musks and acrid leather-woody notes that both complement the patchouli and bring the rose its due respect. It brings to mind other favourites from the musk-rose-faux-chypre genre, namely Agent Provocateur; yet while the latter demands to be worn by a lady, Noir Patchouli could be quite easily pulled off by a man, as long as they can handle a few mintues of oily aldehydes.

Top notes: Aldehydes, Coriander
Heart notes: Rose, Jasmine
Base notes: Patchouli, Tobacco, Vetiver, Musk

Chocolate Sunset

Scorching Sunset, a photo by Ayala Moriel on Flickr.

Chocolate Sunset was created by Sarah Horowitz Parfums especially for the LA Artisan Fragrance Salon. It's part of her Banque de Parfums phenomenon: exclusive monthly limited edition perfumes that are created for her loyal customers. Every month you can find something new and exciting coming out of Sarah's studio in Westlake Village - and is replaced by a new, singular experience the following month.




To quote from Sarah herself: "Chocolate Sunset is our nod to the final glorious days of summer and the richness of fall; two seasons that collide in September, neither yielding to the other as they put on a show of their beauty".

Chocolate Sunset, just as Sarah described it in her own words, is mostly a base notes perfume. You will immediately smell patchouli, Sarah's all-time favourite (as I learned from my visit to her studio along with Persephenie and Miriam). She has many different patchouli accords in her organ, and has created more patchouli perfumes that I could recount - including some private label and custom perfumes she created for her "Fragrance Journey" customers. From her steady collections - you can enjoy Love Comes from Within (a spicy, dry oriental that is based on patchouli, carnation and cloves, with a nod to the timeless Tabu and Cinnabar), and the surprisingly dry Perfect Bliss.

But it wouldn't be Chocolate Sunset without cacao! And while patchouli is immediately recognized - from the vial as well as upon application - it's the chocolate that acts as a "top note" to intrigue and almost has a "come hither" role. The darker side of chocolate is extended by an oud accord, dark and resinous and animalic, which leads us to the musky finish: Egyptian musk, which is what lingers the longest and creates a clean, skin-scent quality, still with some woodsy warmth. But eventually it's the musk that takes over. It's never obviously gourmand; nothing like Angel either as you'd expect from the chocolate and patchouli marriage, which might be due to the tiny hint of jasmine, which seems to simply have a bouquetting effect if recognized at all. It's a mellow, cozy yet sexy scent that can be worn in the heat wave of Los Angeles in September, and will lead you through a cooler fall anywhere else with warmth and ease.


 
Sarah Horowitz-Thran (right) and Miriam Varledzis (left) 

Drifting Sparks on Fourth of July

drifting sparks, a photo by wrigglefish on Flickr.

I spent Fourth of July crossing the border from Canada to the USA and spent the night in Oakland with Lisa Fong and her family - a generous and quirky bunch, with whom I spent the next week with - a much needed distraction from being away from my own. It was especially fun to be in the USA for Fourth of July and see all the fireworks that the folks of Oakland set free into their urban skies, disregarding any logical safety rules or hazard precautions (unless you consider a bucket of water as a super-hero). The fireworks that were set ablaze on Arizona Street would have put the ones Vancouver's city hall funded for Canada Day in Coal Harbour. Only that there was no ocean underneath to put my mind at ease. It was a loud night and I sighed from relief when it was over and nothing catastrophic has happened...

But after this grand opening of dancing fires, it was a rather uneventful week in Oakland, which is exactly what we all needed with everything else that was buzzing around in the perfume world. We had a full weekend ahead of us. And I felt especially lucky to stay with such friendly souls; not to mention that I got to stay at Lisa's perfume room (!) where she keeps all her rare essences (Queen of the Night, Coffee Flower and Saffron where essences I didn't even know where available until I met her in Vancouver in 2006).

And of course that's where she concocts all her exotic harmonies from pure natural essences. Lisa's style always struck me as both very structured; yet at the same time complex, multi-layered and with a knack for obscure and unusual notes, which she weaves into her compositions and which give them an unusual edge.

One of the first things that Lisa let me smell this visit was her Drifting Sparks perfume. She told me how she created it (attempting to replicate true Tonquin musk - not an easy feat!) for the Mystery of Musk project a few years back. Once the perfume reached its desired muskiness, the problem of naming it arose. It was on a long road trip with her family that she had a vision of the musk deer sending invisible messages of desire to one another through their scents; and how they catch light like fireworks. And that's how the name revealed itself to her.

Drifting Sparks begins rather smoky and a tad pungent. I think the smokiness comes from Don quai - the medicinal Chinese angelica, which has especially musky notes, as I'm not detecting the distinctively green notes I get from the European angelica root. But there is also something very citrusy and vibrant above it all - a cheerful brightness that could only be orange blossom. Jasmine sambac also adds a luminosity, and than makes room for a clean, almost watery yet musky-sweet Himalayan cedarwood.

Jasmine sambac seems to persists through most of the perfume's evolution, weaving in and out as it dries down on the skin. Drifting Sparks is a fascinating study in musk; though I find it a bit too fleeting on my skin, almost too abstract for me to be able to comment enough about the final dry out - it melds with the skin so well that it's not easy to describe, but I'll try: clean woodsy note, that reminds me of the quieter varieties of oud, hints of patchouli, and honeyed sweetness as if my skin is covered with a thin layer of honey... The florals are never quite gone either - which is what I believe is the source of the nectar - final stages of rose absolute dry down, plus the greenish, honeyed twigs of bitter orange and flowers. The final dryout is invisible, almost - ambergris, saltiness on the skin, and nothing more... If anything, it reminds me of l'Antimatiere.

Overall, after knowing Lisa's work for several years now, her style seems to have changed quite a bit: from dense, classically structured perfumes that evolve gradually from top to bottom, they are now much lighter and expansive, with consistent quality that I find in all of them (except for Yuzu Citrus, which is an "oldie" and I hope a steady part of Lisa's evolving collection). If you think in terms of the "principle of amber" vs. the "principle of musk" - I'd say her earlier work belongs to the amber (i.e.: development that goes deeper and deepr into the thick of things), and the recent creations are certainly more based on the principle of musk (i.e.: expansive, radiant, evolving sideways or horizontally, as if glowing from the skin outwards).

Top notes: Black Currant Buds, Jasmine Sambac, Orange Blossom
Heart notes: Rose, Harshingar (Queen of the Night)
Base notes: Angelica Root (Don Quai?), Oud, Himalayan Cedarwood, Patchouli, Ambergris

Bambi Meets Bamboo

Forest Musk Deer, a photo by siwild on Flickr.

Green at first, a shy musk deer is hiding among tall grasses, digging its nose deep in the ground, as if in search for truffles. Earthy-green notes are the first to show through the blades of cut-grass muskiness: Egyptian geranium, with it’s baby-powder muskiness and looming above all is rooty-green angelica with its sharpness tempering its otherwise candy-sweet. Ambrette seed accentuates the wine-like qualities of geranium and brings out the musky qualities even more. Frankincense adds more depth and bright mystery, deepening its desert-like dusty and musty-urine aspects. The entire ensemble sings in an alchemical unison that hardly reveals its components to the untrained nose, and creates a rather striking illusion of castrated Tonquin musk – it’s disturbing sharp greenness and dusty fecal notes included, but not the cruelty involved in procuring it.

It’s hard to speak of this Musc Botanique as having top, heart or base notes. It behaves more like a single musk note or “accord” and each of the individual notes I’ll list below are just part of the whole, but not enough to describe it.

Notes: Angelica Roots, Egyptian geranium, Frankincense, Ambrette Seeds

Mimosa Glow

Mimosa - 05, originally uploaded by Marie-Poppy2.

Early evening yesterday, I stepped into the drugstore to check my mail, and swept by the $19.99 shelf to find the tall frosted JLo Glow awaiting redemption from its place of non-glory. I thought I’d snatch it as a gift for my friend Tina, who loves spraying it on her hair and clothes (and it always makes her smell like she just washed her hair when she does). And right than and there, I decided to give it another try.

When Glow came out, I dismissed it as too sharp, too synthetic and too soapy to my taste. While this remains true for the first few minutes, I became pleasantly surprised when trying it on my skin for the first time in 8 years. In a world that sees a rapid life cycle for celebrity scents, JLo’s Glow is probably considered a classic by now, rivaled only by Sarah Jessica Parker Lovely.

What awaited me after the initial rash of synthetic orange blossom was something I did not expect. Although familiar, it took me a few minutes to figure it out… Provence! Shimmering mimosas, honeycombs and good old French milled soap. And a little bit of freesia too, which gives it just a touch of peppery greenness. And than a sweetness crept in, vanilla against mimosa, and I was in heaven for a few hours. By bedtime most of what I could smell was musk though, and that was the song I woke up to the next morning.

If Narcisso Rodriguez’s dry down resembles laundry detergent musk, Glow resembles whatever musk they like to put in milled soaps to keep your skin fragrantly “clean” for hours after washing. In that regard, the scent really is true to what it always claimed to be, starting from the ad copy, frosted glass that is reminiscent of a shower cell’s sliding doors and shaped like a yuppie shampoo bottle, to the image of Jennifer Lopez herself scrubbing all the ghetto-dirt from her perfectly carved abs and curves.

Geranium, Red and Bold

Red Geranium, originally uploaded by kathryn45.

Red Geranium, originally uploaded by kathryn45.

There’s something aggressive about geranium. It immense odour intensity and is very tenacious and can easily overpower anything else in the perfume and just take over. When I was at the training week in Grasse, one of the exercises we were given was to guess the raw materials and the proportion of an accord. It was an accord of lavender and geranium oils, and smelled predominantly of geranium. My first guess was that it was a 60-40 ratio (60% geranium). The truth was the complete reverse: there was 30% geranium, and the remaining 70% were lavender. This would have been the case if rose absolute or even rose otto were used. The lavender would have been stronger. Which only goes to shows you how dominant can geranium be!

So what happens when geranium takes over? Whether if its sweet fruity, rosy, or minty notes come through - they becomes so intense, at times even cloying. Some become intensely musky. And this is partially why I shy away from using very much geranium in my compositions. Egyptian geranium is particularly strange and musky, which can be worked to your advantage.

At other times, the geranium can create very strong association of potpourri. In Diptyque’s L’Eau, this is the whole point. Whether or not potpourri smells are to your liking is of course entirely up to you. But the perfumer sure better be aware of the potpourri potential of a note and how to create the desired effect.

But geranium’s aggressiveness can serve you right in some perfumes. It works wonders in orientals, such as in Dioressence, or the bold ambery Anne Pliska, the legendary dense Old Spice; or Noir Epices, which is simultaneously traditional and modern with its mix of dusky dry spices and dark musk and illuminated with geranium, jasmine and sweet orange. The upfront, bold geranium note is also used to balance the over-the-top white florals in Fracas, headed by tuberose, and also in cutting edge leathers that have become classics – Knize Ten, Impreial Leather, and others. Geranium is also paired with musky vetiver and warm cinnamon and sweet orange in Aveda Personal Blends Key Element #3 Fire Nature (which I love, by the way).

In my Zodiac collection, there is geranium in two perfumes: Taurus, where it takes a second-violin role to support the rose heart, contrasted by patchouli; and Aries, where geranium’s firey-red boldness is set against a backdrop of tobacco and musk overlaid with hot spices – cinnamon, black pepper and cloves and the exotic, diffusive warmth of zantoxylum (Tomar seeds). I just recently revamped Aries and got rid of the lime top notes, I found that they got in the way of the musk and geranium creating a fresh-green distraction from what Aries is all about. Now it’s musky notes are more pronounced with a touch of cascarilla, ambrette, opoponax and bourbon vetiver.

Of Breadth, Depth, Illusion, Reality, Chaos and Where They All Meet…

*, originally uploaded by futureancient.

A nose approaches a field of wild flowers. The air is intoxicated with the scent of myriad different species in various stages of bloom – fresh buds, flowers in full bloom, petals dying and rotting in the warm sun… You know the scent comes from the flowers, but yet if you were to go blindfolded into the field you won’t be able to tell exactly which flower is responsible to what part of the overall “wild flowers” scent. They all play like a large orchestra tuning its instrument in no particular direction or rhythm. This is reality.

Take No. 5 on the other hand, worn on a woman’s skin: it starts out certain way, and develops into different things, revealing an internal structure or hierarchy that exists all at once in one olfactory source – the perfume. Or a wine or tea for that matter, with all their different layers of top, heart and base, revealing depth in various stages of the experience. These can be likened to the orchestra already playing in perfect sync, accompanying the Mezzo-Soprano diva at any given moment.
But is there anything out there in nature, completely non man-made, that has a hierarchical olfactory existence such as perfume?

I have to confess - all the Jean-Claude Elena talk yesterday neatly got me to almost lose sleep as I was contemplating those two principles that seem to pull modern perfumery into two different directions: expansion, diffusion and breadth versus hierarchy/structure, evolution and depth. These two concepts are what Octavian Sever Coifan refers to as the principles of Musk and Amber.

I noticed that I have difficult time understanding or fully grasping certain modern perfumes. I only now noticed why: these are made to evolve differently. Although I may be able to detect one note or another in composition such as Narcisso Rodriguez, Agent Provocateur and Osmanthe Yunnan – I can’t say I perceive them as clearly as in, say, the classic Carons and Guerlains. These perfumes are fickle like the scent of an ocean breeze or a field of wild flowers. It’s almost as if their source has blurred (even though I know they are on my skin when I wear them). They are even more ephemeral the scent is to begin with. It’s hard to tell when they move from one phase to another. It’s hard to tell if the dry down is still apparent or if the perfume left the skin hours ago. They exisit in a different dimension altogether...

The classic orientals, chypres and fougeres, however, have a well-kept structure that reveals itself as you go along. They are still abstract and intangible (as fragrance always is); but it’s easier to see what’s going on at any given time. There is a flow and it’s heading forward at all times. Where as in the other genre, there is constant movement to all direction in an attempt to diffuse and disperse the molecules, almost as if attempting to hide their source.

I found it particularly fascinating that these perfumes that are more abstract and conceptual and follow the “musk” principle (i.e. Jean-Claude Elena’s) actually behave a lot more like scents do in nature; where as perfumes following the “amber” principle are in fact restricting the scents and coaxing them into pre-established forms.

It is interesting to note that the latest attempts to modernize the genre of chypre have mostly focused on rearing these compositions into the “musk” direction. I was nearly awe-struck last night when I re-applied Terre d’Hermes and noticed that what made it smell familiar to me is its resemblance to Agent Provocateur of all things!
And no, it is not just a question of vetiver, it’s the usage of synthetic musk that create that there-but-not-quite-with-you feel that I find to underline all musk-oriented fragrances. To illustrate my point, think of what happened in 31, Rue Cambon where iris and pepper were used to create the illusion of chypre, and how little it has to do with Miss Dior and how much more it has to do with scents such as Osmanthe Yunnan or Terre d’Hermes.
A nose approaches a field of wild flowers. The air is intoxicated with the scent of myriad different species in various stages of bloom – fresh buds, flowers in full bloom, petals dying and rotting in the warm sun… You know the scent comes from the flowers, but yet if you were to go blindfolded into the field you won’t be able to tell exactly which flower is responsible to what part of the overall “wild flowers” scent. They all play like a large orchestra tuning its instrument in no particular direction or rhythm. This is reality.

Take No. 5 on the other hand, worn on a woman’s skin: it starts out certain way, and develops into different things, revealing an internal structure or hierarchy that exists all at once in one olfactory source – the perfume. Or a wine or tea for that matter, with all their different layers of top, heart and base, revealing depth in various stages of the experience. These can be likened to the orchestra already playing in perfect sync, accompanying the Mezzo-Soprano diva at any given moment.
But is there anything out there in nature, completely non man-made, that has a hierarchical olfactory existence such as perfume?

I have to confess - all the Jean-Claude Elena talk yesterday neatly got me to almost lose sleep as I was contemplating those two principles that seem to pull modern perfumery into two different directions: expansion, diffusion and breadth versus hierarchy/structure, evolution and depth. These two concepts are what Octavian Sever Coifan refers to as the principles of Musk and Amber.

I noticed that I have difficult time understanding or fully grasping certain modern perfumes. I only now noticed why: these are made to evolve differently. Although I may be able to detect one note or another in composition such as Narcisso Rodriguez, Agent Provocateur and Osmanthe Yunnan – I can’t say I perceive them as clearly as in, say, the classic Carons and Guerlains. These perfumes are fickle like the scent of an ocean breeze or a field of wild flowers. It’s almost as if their source has blurred (even though I know they are on my skin when I wear them). They are even more ephemeral the scent is to begin with. It’s hard to tell when they move from one phase to another. It’s hard to tell if the dry down is still apparent or if the perfume left the skin hours ago. They exisit in a different dimension altogether...

The classic orientals, chypres and fougeres, however, have a well-kept structure that reveals itself as you go along. They are still abstract and intangible (as fragrance always is); but it’s easier to see what’s going on at any given time. There is a flow and it’s heading forward at all times. Where as in the other genre, there is constant movement to all direction in an attempt to diffuse and disperse the molecules, almost as if attempting to hide their source.

I found it particularly fascinating that these perfumes that are more abstract and conceptual and follow the “musk” principle (i.e. Jean-Claude Elena’s) actually behave a lot more like scents do in nature; where as perfumes following the “amber” principle are in fact restricting the scents and coaxing them into pre-established forms.

It is interesting to note that the latest attempts to modernize the genre of chypre have mostly focused on rearing these compositions into the “musk” direction. I was nearly awe-struck last night when I re-applied Terre d’Hermes and noticed that what made it smell familiar to me is its resemblance to Agent Provocateur of all things!
And no, it is not just a question of vetiver, it’s the usage of synthetic musk that create that there-but-not-quite-with-you feel that I find to underline all musk-oriented fragrances. To illustrate my point, think of what happened in 31, Rue Cambon where iris and pepper were used to create the illusion of chypre, and how little it has to do with Miss Dior and how much more it has to do with scents such as Osmanthe Yunnan or Terre d’Hermes.

Concrete

me ~ sitting on some concrete, originally uploaded by striatic.

In contrary to the low expectations I had from Narciso Rodriguez for Her, which lead (after several twists and turns of the plot) to a surprising delight from what seemed to be just another non-descript trendy floral – the launch of Narciso Rodriguez for Him had at least a seed of expectations on my part. One would expect that it would do to Fougere what For Her did to Chypre – meaning: disregard it completely and instead, invent a new modern floral category (abstract musky floral). In the case of fougere (also a composition reliant on oakmoss, this time contrasted with lavender), one would anticipate we’ll see the birth of a musky lavender, something not all that far from Sarah Jessica Parker’s Lovely – but perhaps a bit masculinized.

However, I am sorry to report that none of that happened. I stepped into Holt Renfrew the other night accompanied by my brother Noam - a budding perfumista with a collection that could not embarrass a gentlemen twice his age (of course I will only take partial responsibility over his interest in fragrance). His immediate reaction was disgust (and we are talking about a young man who consents to the title fragrance whore –seriously, there is hardly anything he doesn’t like!).

From the moment For Him was sprayed on the paper stripe, I could not help but think of concrete. The opening notes are bizarre and somewhat disturbing. There is a hint of honey, reminiscent of the honey flower note in For Her. But one can tell right away that there is nothing groundbreaking about this fougere at all. Like most modern fougeres, the lavender is very refined, the oakmoss very subdued. Synthetic notes take over, usually with a metallic coolness that reflects more of the methods the scent was created (by machines) than the human inspiration (if there was any involved).

To me, the scent just confirmed a strong connection to the bizarre choice of colour for the bottle – a concrete gray of the most depressing hue I’ve seen in a long time. If this was fabric, perhaps I would be able to find some comfort in it. But being made of a thick cold shiny glass makes one feel just that – cold and “correctic”. Nothing more. It seems Narciso Rodriguez has simultaneously run out of ideas for his bottle’s colors and the scent of their contents. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. And I think the posted ad for this fragrance says it all: it’s the cliché of a fragrance ad for men – chest exposed medium shot of a young man - nothing surprising, except, perhaps, the extremely dark thick hair and the supposedly-mysterious lack of eye contact.

If it was indeed inspired by the “great fougeres of the 80’s" than we must look back and try to remember these. Cool Water by Davidoff comes to mind, with its antiseptic Jacuzzi cleaner sillage and metal bladed breath. Anything inspires by that (or the 80’s, for that matter) is likely to make me shudder… Considering that real, sophisticated, original fougeres are originated in the 80’s of the previous century, it does make one wonder.

For Him opens with a disturbing bouquet of both dry cement and wet concrete, unrecognizable spices and a honey note. The intrigue dissipates quickly when the scent becomes a familiar, I’ve-smelled-this-before modern fougere accord – a hint of fake herabceous water, some non-descript fruity sweetness that is fortunately not quite nausearing, but just almost (it reminds me quite a bi t of the sweetness of Jean-Payl Gaultier for men, only with the sillage toned down 10 fold); a glimpse of violet leaf coolness and a certain smokiness that my brother describes as ‘ashtray smell” but at the same time he also detects some good smelling fresh herb notes. The dry down settles within about an hour – a close to the skin, rather soft, undecisive mélange of amber and musk (it is also said to contain patchouli, but I can’t say I am recognizing any). Nothing offensive in the drydown, and the sillage is soft and non overpowering – the contrary of what I’ve expected after the magical sillage and staying power of For Her (it has a tendency to stay everywhere after it was applied, and even withstand a laundry – yet it does it with a nice touch of mischevious elegance – almost like Josephine’s deliberate musk contamination before leaving Napoleon’s palaces). The only thing that truly stands out (if you take a very close look) is an animalic ambergris note, somewhat fecal, but with such low-key vibrations it can never offend and unelss you’ve smelled it before it would be very hard to put your finger on it. It reminds me of l’Antimateirer; unfortunately, in this instance one needs to wait a long time for it to emerge. And this might just be its chance for success.

Narciso Rodriguez - Part Two

Calla Lilly B&W, originally uploaded by brianchapman.

Narciso Rodriguez is a quirky yet very wearable perfume. It’s equally mundane and unique. It can be easily dismissed as just another test-tube fragrance, or as a non-scent if you have musk anosmia tendencies…

Starting with a nail polish and a boozy note, Narciso may give off the impression of having barely any scent of its own besides that of the carrying alcohol. It’s light and bubbly as a just-uncorked champagne, and like a good champagne, it can become quite addictive once you become used to it… It's also a bit floral, yet there are no real flower notes there. Just an abstract suggestion of orange blossoms and perhaps even glimpses of osmanthus wannabes. The woody notes which are said to be vetiver remind me more of flour and rancid ground walnuts… A tad of light honey poured on skin and than licked away, leaves a smooth, sensual, faintly-woody and musky-clean trail is the best way I can describe how Narciso Rodriguez smells once it settles on the skin. When it settles on fabric, it may remind you of your favourite laundry detergent and fabric softener…

You may recall my struggle with Narciso Rodriguez a while back. I was equally intrigued and taken aback by its composition. It presented a challenge to me with its very different aesthetic concept: it radiates out, yet when you come near to understand it better, it slips away; a scintillating illusion of a fragrance rather than a real olfactory being. Perhaps it’s the idea of musk vs. amber that was intriguing to me. A sneaky yet alluring phenomenon… A perfume that radiates energy that cannot be tracked to the source.

Writing a review for Narciso Rodriguez was further delayed because I think that Cait Shortell
did it better than I could ever do it, so I encourage you to read her fascinating review as well as the interesting visual connection she discovered to the work of Imogen Cunningham.

Narciso Rodriguez smells particularly wonderful on fabrics (where it will last for days, but not in an obnoxious way like other, very heavy perfumes do;To my surprise, I was able to wear other perfumes even if there is some of it left on my sleeves).

The above review is for the EDT, which is my favourite formulation, seconded only by the pure parfum (comes in a roll on with a black cap). I stay away from the pink bottles in this line, and find the Musc for Her to be too persistent overall though it has its own charm if you are looking for a linear, long lasting musk oil. It's a scent I'll never be without.

Narciso Rodriguez was designed by Francis Kurkdjian and Christine Nigel, and won the Fifi award for Women's Nouveau Niche fragrance in 2004. I believe that this perfume embodies a landmark in modern perfumery and perhaps a new fragrance sub-family of modern non-animalic musky-florals, and will see many followers, in additions to some that we already smelled such as Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker and Ralph Lauren's Pure Turquoise.

L'Antimatière

An invisible ink that leaves a trace,
Foreseen rather thanfelt,
Persistent
Yet whispered,
Like a creased bed linen scent wandering along your curves...
(Isabelle Doyen)

L'Antimatière is the most innovative, yet the most easy to wear (for me, anyways) of the trio. Initially, it seem simple. Once worn, the simplicity works a spell in the shape of the softest angora sweater just coming out of the drier. It’s probably shrunk, but it smells great. A clean musk scent, with an unmatched warmth that resembles ambergris tincture. It’s there but it isn’t... After dry down the reason for its charm is revealed – there is vetiver in the base, and the woods add depth and interest and turn an everyday routine to an out of the ordinary sensation.

Flawless, invisible, I don’t think I could describe this better than Ms. Doyen did herself in her minimalist poem. I think the fact that this scent is so functional (i.e.: wearable and flattering to the skin) makes it even more artistic. It’s like a breath of whispered inspiration floating around, comforting with its presence. It’s like a muse, a spirit, one sneaky warm breath-of-wind in the middle of winter.

l'Antimatière is so versatile and flawless you could make it anything you want it to be… It can be easily mistaken for one’s own skin. I imagine it will layer very well with other scents if desired. It has the potential and versatility for becoming a signature scent or at least a wardrobe staple.

Although this perfume did not remind me of a fantasy book, this scent is fantasy. If The Unicorn Spell is wondering around the forest in search for a unicron, l'Antimatière is petting the unicorn's soft plumage on its pure white nose.

Image credit: Antimatter, by Nicolas Lloyd