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SmellyBlog

Bvlgari Black


Crushed violets, originally uploaded by oksidor.

“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” (Mark Twain)

In the summertime, Bvlgari Black wears like a molten asphalt and roof tar, underlined by purring black cat’s fur. Intense and linear, it grows on the skin until it becomes unbearable. In the cooler fall weather, it wears like a woolen sweater contaminated by the smoke escaping from the fireside. And a cup of Lapsang Suchong comes to mind. But this is only temporary: soon violets take over. Violent violets of the candid kind that you can find in the two Lolita Lempicka and the Au Masculin (both are also by Annick Menardo). It also is quite similar to two other masculines that played florals in a cheeky way: Joop! (Michel Almairac) and Le Male (Francis Kurkdjian) - a trend that most likely began with Geoffrey Beene's Grey Flannel (André Fromentin).


Lapsang Suchong, originally uploaded by Ayala Moriel.

Bvlgari Black is intriguing and quirky and reminds me of both the smoky tea of Dzing! And Tea for Two (both created by Olivia Giacobetti for l’Artisan Parfumeur). I’m still not decided which one of the three I like the best. The dry down of Bvlgari Black is a rich though not smouldering vanilla, reminiscent of Shalimar's counterpoint between sweets and smokes, confection and leather.

Frangipanni & Leather


Frangipani & Leather, originally uploaded by Ayala Moriel.

Today I have finally got around to try out an idea I had in the spring, when I was visiting Queen Elizabeth Park with my friend Junichi for a day.

It was one of those indecisive April days, alternating between being cloudy yet warm, or just pouring rain. For a while, we sought refuge inside the tropical bird & butterfly sanctuary. There, near the pink parrot that refused to have his pictures taken, I met my first-ever blooming frangipanni tree in Vancouver. You can imagine my happiness, frangipanni is one of my favourite flowers and I have many fond memories associated with that smell.

I took with me this single blooming flower that fell off the tree, and savoured it for hours afterwards, analyzing its aroma and writing little notes in my journal. I noticed with surprise that this flower was more spicy and warm than any other frangipani flower I smelled before. It smelled familiar and moments later I realized it was similar to Tomar seed (Zantoxylum). Warm and spicy-sweet and at the same time creamy and soft and floral, a vision formed in my mind about mingling the scent of frangipani with a subtle base of leather notes.

I thought this connection was particularly appropriate taking into consideration the history behind the flower, and the relationships between leather and perfume. Frangipanni was a name of a mid 19th century Italian marquis who invented the method to perfume gloves. The original formula or ingredients of the Frangipanni perfume are unknown, but most certainly had jasmine and orris as two dominant ingredients. Piesse (1879) says it was made of equal amounts of every spice known at the time, with powdered orris added in an equal weight to the entire formula, and 1% of both civet and musk. Frangipanni Gloves were very popular at the time and the scent was only later sold as a sachet and only two generations later as a liquid perfume (by
Frangipanni's grandson), who Piesse considered to be the longest lasting perfume of its time.

Piesse offers a formula for a Frangipanni Sachet in his book "The Art of Perfumery":

3lb Orris Root Power
1/4lb Vetiver Powder
1/4lb Sandalwood Powder
1 dram Neroli
1 dram Rose Otto
1 dram Sandalwood Oil
1oz Musk Grains, ground

And what does all this have to do with the flower? Apparently, the scent of the flower, when discovered, was so similar to the perfume that the French colonists of the West Indies have named the plant* after the perfume!

Poucher in his book "Perfumes, Cosmetics & Soaps" gives the following Frangipanni Formula no. 1113 that contains very little synthetics (just the rose compound and the coumarin and vanillin, which can be easily replaced by tonka absolute and vanilla CO2, for instance):

60 Bergamot Oil
200 Cassie
50 Civet Extract, 3%
80 Geranium Oil, French
50 Musk Extract, 3%
70 Neroli Oil
150 Orange Blossom
40 Rose Otto
200 Rose Compound
10 Sandalwood Oil
60 Coumarin
30 Vanillin
=====
1,000

Coming back to the idea today was not only fun (and a challenge working from memory of a flower), it was also a reminder for that particular day at the park and sanctuary. What I had in my journal was quite open to interpretation - as it was just a list of notes I thought could be used in a frangipanni compound or soliflore perfume:

Frangipanni Absolute
Jasmine Grandiflorum
Zantoxylum
Guiacwood
Amber
Leather accord
Mimosa Absolute

This could all make sense as a concept, but carrying this out is not going to be easy. Frangipanni absolute, to begin with, is a very unimpressive essence. It is faint, waxy, with none of the sweetness or headiness of the real blooming flower. It is more green than creamy and does not have a very strong presence (nothing in comparison to, say, jasmine or rose). To make it "work" one has to vamp it up with other notes, and blow life into it so to speak.

Another point of challenge is the "leather accord". I don't work with "accords" typically speaking. I have only done so in the past with my amber accords (I have formulated 7 different "amber" accords that I use in bases for different perfumes). Aside from that, I usually prefer to "cook from scratch" and use the raw materials, as undiluted as possible when I work. It's just a matter of style. In this case, my initial idea also inspired me to try out various compounds for leather that will be light enough to not overwhelm the frangipanni notes. And so this afternoon I have worked on 3 different "leather bases" - the first one minimalistic, light and floral (with osmanthus, Africa stone tincture and broom absolute) and the other two more animalistic (one with and one without Africa stone tincture).

The Frangipanni formula itself turned out very close to how I hoped it would, except for a very poor lasting power; so I have doubled the formula (which makes it smell different) and will have to see how this mellows later on. I won't disclose all the ingredients; all I'll say is that I have used Egyptian jasmine grandiflorum absolute, and I'm just smitten with the essence and the results it gives. It's very sweet and not as indolic as the Indian jasmine of the same species. I have used iris, of course, as well as some French neroli. I'm very curious to see how it will evolve; but for now it did bring me instant memories of that rainy day in the park, armed with frangipanni in my hand. And it felt good to have something in my lab remind me of something long gone.

*The Latin name of Frangipanni, Plumeria, is in honour of Charles Plumier, a Franciscan traveler in South America.

UPDATE:
This perfume turned out to be Frangipanni Gloves, a limited edition perfume launched February 1st, 2010, to support the Bloedel Floral Conservatory and prevent its scheduled shut-down March 1st, 2010. For every bottle sold, $50 is donated to the cause.

It can be purchased on Etsy or via Ayala Moriel Parfums.

Other ways you can help the Bloedel Floral Conservatory:

Attend the Rumble in the Jungle Gala, January 30th, 2010

Sign this petition

Join Friends of Bloedel

Paloma's Corner: Vintage Chantilly


Nowhere, originally uploaded by J. Star.

Chantilly is a sensual mossy-ambery perfume. It begins with a typical chypre accord topped with whiff of lemon and underlined with rose, which quickly reveals the complex mossy aroma of cedar moss:
Woody, dry and somewhat powdery, and surprisingly - leathery!
The heart possesses also carnation and I believe a dash of allspice which can explain the dry spiciness, and some rich creamy jasmine that adds some roundness and balance.

As the scent evolves on the skin it becomes softer and less dry, and a beautiful amber base reveals itself: amber, benzoin and I suspect a bit of myrrh (which has a somewhat rubbery, balloon-like note) and very subtle animalic notes of opoponax. The leather is now a lot more gentle and mellow.

Chantilly has a captivating and calming sensuality –
It’s like an old seductress that will always be tempting to wear again…
It is sexy in a subtle and classical way, like a woman with a rich life experience behind her, and a beauty that is not artificial or pretentious.

I see is standing hand in hand with other mossy orientals such as Nuit de Noel, Femme (I am referring to the parfum) En Avion and Vol de Nuit.

The vintage is a lot less sweet than I remember the new Chantilly to be and a lot less floral. It is neither as powdery and musky-sweet as the current version available in drugstores these days.

Top: Lemony, but just for a few seconds

Heart: Floral and spicy. Carnations, roses, jasmine

Base: Cedar moss (a lot more dry and powdery than oak moss - but this could also come from peru balsam essential oil, rather than the crude resin), Amber, Benzoin, Opoponax, Myrrh, Leather

P.s. Special thanks to Frances-Anne (AKA Paloma) who enabled me to try this beautiful vintage scent, and many others).

Dark Angel


hvönn og sólarlag, originally uploaded by saraella.

Angelica root absolute, on the other hand, is a completely different story. The specimen I will be talking about was not only grown in a different soil, it is also a different species: Angelica sinensis. It was grown in China, where Angelica has been used for thousands of years for its medicinal properties and is almost as important as ginseng. The Chinese doctors use as many as 10 different kinds of angelica, mostly to treat women’s fertility issues but also to strengthen the spirit (Julia Lawless, Encyclopedia of Essential Oils).

This particular angelica absolute is dark in colur and semi-viscous in texture. It has an incredibly musky and smoky fragrance and I can see it working beautifully in spicy and warm orientals and leathers. Another use for angelica is in chypre and fougere compositions, but I feel that the root oils might be more fitting for these uses. Strangely, it shares some similarities to immortelle – living on the borderline between herbaceous and bizarrely sweet.

I’ve used it recently in two of my mods for a perfume called Gaucho which I’ve been working on for the past 7 years. Although it seemed to have provided an interesting counter points to the other elements in that perfume (dry-green and coumarin-bittersweet) it did not provide a breakthrough. Plus I made the mistake of also using the angelica root oil with the celery dryout (which is definitely not what I was looking for!). The angelica absolute on its own might just be the answer for an animalic musky note sans the lactones sensitization issues that costus poses. It’s by no menas a substitute for costus, but it may provide the aspects of costus I am wishing for in this composition. After all, being named after a Gaucho just asks for some animalic elements!

So what's the next step? Perhaps pairing some angelica root absolute with my first mod for a champaca soliflore. Or as a base for a peppery-leathery composition. When the fear of a note is lifted many doors are opened…

There are Signs that Green is Back

After a long, long, long period of brain-numbing fruity florals and suffocating gourmands, there are signs that indeed, green is getting back into fashion, fragrance wise.

And while this change in trends is most welcome amongst those of us who either despise fruity florals or simply are tired of cookie cutter fragrances that seem to be the imitation of an imitation of an imitation of something that seemed to be cutting edge or just fun 10 or 15 years ago; there is something a bit worrying about the way greens might be coming back.

The reason for my less than cheerful attitude to this much-anticipated change of course is two-fold:
1) the gradual extinction of certain natural essences that were utilized in classic green perfumes of yesteryear. Namely oakmoss. But naturals in general are becoming a rarity in mainstream perfumes (which makes perfect sense when thinking of the vast quantities of jus produced every year; we simly don’t have enough land on this planet to produce enough natural oils to be a substantial part of all the mass –marketed perfume launched every other day.
2) Judging by the recent green releases (mostly coming out of niche lines first, and it seems that gradually, mainstream perfumes will pick up on the hint and adapt the trend), they offer nothing new. Nothing that we haven’t smelled before (except that its coming from a different or a new brand). Two of the Chanel Les Exclusifs (28 La Pausa and Bel Respiro). The names as well as the compositions are winking quite suggestively at past successes and achievements (either olfactory or fashion), which may indicate lack of finding inspiration in the present time.

Nowadays, it is a challenge to smell a scent without prejudices: the perfume’s name, brand, packaging, colour, advertising campaign, not to mention the anticipation of a fragrance all over fragrance boards and blogs create expectations not only as to the quality of the scent but also how it actually smells. Thes factors all have an impact on what you actually smell in a new fragrance, as those expectations are difficult to block out.

With Kelly Calèche, the expectations went all the way from complete dismissal (pink jus, named after a bag), to a peaked interest once seeing the ad (now, that looks intriguing!) but I wasn’t holding my breath for it. When I passed by the Hermes boutique on Wednesday, I checked in and found it there. It was neither pink nor leathery. It was a green, dry iris with very little to remind one of leather if at all. It starts with an off-putting note that immediately reminded me of Rose Ikebana (which I’m not capable of wearing at all – the combination of berries, greens and rose is nauseating to me, and even more so ever since I overdosed on curried mango pickle in my avocado sandwich one day while wearing l’Ombre Dans l’Eau…). Thankfully, the sharp berry and green phase is short-lived, and is replaced by a fresh, citrus green accord, which quickly develops into a powdery rose and orris body notes. With a dry undercurrent (the leather?) it is not unlike No. 19. After all, pairing greens with leather is not a new idea (No. 19, Ivoire). Neither is the green perfume with orris and rose at the centre. For a moment I get a peppery dry whiff reminiscent of the tea-tinged Osmanthe Yunnan. Overall, Kelly Calèche wears like a sheer veil rather than a leather whip. It’s very well mannered, cool even, elegant in a selective and luxurious style, very much like the public image of Grace Kelly who inspired the bag which inspired the perfume’s name. Would I have been more impressed if the perfume would have been called “making soles in angel leather"? I won’t be able to say now, because it is named after a leather bag. A well made bag, but nothing that inspired emotion in me. I suppose I would have been more likely to appreciate its etheral greenness if it had a name and an image more fitting to what it actually smells like. Just like Bel Respiro and 28 La Pausa, the uninspiring name takes away from the value of the fragrance on its own.
Top notes: Grapefruit, Cassis, Pepper
Heart notes: Rose, Iris

Base notes: Leather
, Cedar, Labdanum

Note that although mimosa and tuberose are listed, I can barely smell them if at all. The base is dry, cedary almost, though not quite leathery. I smell the faintest hint of labdanum there too, without the base becoming sweet by any means.

To read other reviews of Kelly Calèche, visit:
Now Smell This
The Perfume Shrine
Aromascope

* Image of green Kelly bag borrowed from: http://www.chrisabraham.com/
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