<
s
c

s
Home / SmellyBlog / Tagged: Hermes

SmellyBlog

Eau de Narcisse Bleue

morning narcissus by F_blue
morning narcissus, a photo by F_blue on Flickr.
Like the black narcissus, the blue lense on this flower also relies heavily on orange blossom to tell its fantastic tale of seductive yet destructive self-loving.

Eau de narcisse bleue is unexpectedly part of Hermes' cologne collection; a fragrance family characterized by effervescent citrus, pungent herbs and overall cheerfulness. Eau de narcisse bleue, like its former abstract floral cologne eau de gentiane blanche, is melancholy and more than sunny Mediterranean patios and azure sea and skies, it brings to mind a walk in a Northern garden early in early autumn morning after it rained. There is still a fair amount of vegetation from the sunny summer left - cyclamens, irises and many leafy greens. The air is filled with a crisp watery freshness of green grass and violet leaves crushed underneath one's foot. It's so vegetale that it's reminiscent of a very green gazpacho and juiced greens and wheat-grass.

The opening notes are those of vulnerable orange blossoms drenched in iced green tea (which undoubtedly would be what rain is made from in the Ellena's world). Their scent is sweet and cheerful, but is diminished by the celestial rinse. Echoed from the distance are narcissus flowers peeking through the green shrubs and represented by the sweet scent of hay more than anything else. You'll find non of the animalic, paracresyl methyl ether characteristics of the flower that give it the unbearble leathery corpse personality. Just a whiff of the narcissus' green top notes, resembling lily of the valley in their ethereal greenness.

Then comes iris, and the playful orange blossom all but disappears. Cool and powdery yet also sweet and plasticy, the iris brings to mind Hiris, which may as well be the blueprint for both Narcisse Bleue and Gentiane Blanche. At the present makeup of this collection, it is a bit astonishing that Hiris wasn't drafted to serve as a cologne as well.

The dry down is a bit disappointing though: it reverts to a non-descript musky coumarin whisper. Vague, sweet and disappointing at the end of an interesting exercise in restrained story-telling and subtle olfactory imaging.

Top note: Tea, Orange Blossom
Heart notes: Iris, Violet Leaf, Narcissus, Hay
Base notes: Tonka Bean, Musk

Eau de Mandarine Ambrée

mandarin by kierobau
mandarin, a photo by kierobau on Flickr.
For a cologne with the the adjectif amber in the title, Eau de mandarine ambrée is surprisingly green. And cool.

True to the eau de cologne genre, eau de mandarine ambrée begins with a rush of bitter orange zest, whose juicy tartness is only intensified by undertones of passionfruit*. The mandarin itself is rather tart as well, rather than the characteristic sweetness of Citrus reticulata. Amber plays an interesting role, giving a cool presence rather than sweet-confectionary. Rather than embodying the honeyed and perhaps floral nuances of mandarin, it recalls crushed leaves and cool greenery in the shade of an abstract glass orchard.

For an eau de cologne, this has an astonishing longvity, although true to Ellena's style, it remains quiet and vague throughout. The amber lingers on and on - it's a clear, cool and transparent amber, not nearly as sweet as those with rich vanilla absolute and labdanum resin. Instead, it relies on distilled resins and balsams (Peru and copaiba balsams, as well as less-sweet labdanum isolates), and synthetic molecules which I know nothing about**.

The concept of amber within the refreshing, light composition of citrus and herbs is not new: Spanish-style eaux de colognes are long-known for incorporating cistus, the plant bearing labdanum resin, and an essential component of ambers. Cistus has a coniferous, herbaceous facet in addition to its resinous-amber aspect. Ellena plays with a similar concept, while conjuring modern ambery elements that carry the illusion of crushed chilled leaves and mandarin pulp to control the sweetness of amber. 

* Thus continuing the theme of fruit in the refurbished eau de cologne series: Eau d'Orange Verte had the addition of mango; and Pamplemousse Rose had rhubarb ( not botanically a fruit, but considered as such by North American cooks...). The Jardin series features fruit more consistently: Fig in Mediteranee, green mango in Sur Le Nil, cantaloupe in Apres la Mousson, and pear in Le Toit.

** Except that I can recognize this as the amber same I've smelled years ago in DiorAddict, Kingdom and Nu.

Eau d'Orange Verte

white shirt and tree by JuliaGardner
white shirt and tree, a photo by JuliaGardner on Flickr.

Eau d'Orange Verte was recently re-introduced and heavily reformulated by Hermes. I was fortunate to snatch a bottle from a retailer that still had the former version, just as the new trio of Eaux de Colognes were introduced to Hermes counters world-wide.
This review is for the former version (perhaps not the original 1979 version (designed by Francoise Caron), but rather the 1997 re-orchestration (if you know who was the perfumer behind that, please comment), which still has a healthy dose of good ol' oakmoss lurking underneath, and before the inclusion of mango notes (2009's remake by Jean-Claude Elena, which is a completely different fragrance altogether).

Eau d'Orange Verte was a scent I first "met" on a long haul flight to Israel via Heathrow many years ago. There were a few hours to kill, and thankfully an Hermes boutique to be my accomplice in time-murder. I rarely reach for an eau de cologne type scent, but flights are an exception: the tired recycled air full of free radicals and foreign viruses makes me want to escape to the simple, hygenic and familiar eau de cologne genre. Also, it's a very safe travel scent as it is light and can endure any anxiety or physical uneasiness that is the side effect of long trans-Atlantic journeys.

To this day, it is one of the very few scents that strongly resonates with a very relaxed, fantasy Mediterranean lifestyle of a vacation where all you need is sandals and thin white cotton clothing. Rather than a mood or a story, it simply is that: vacation in a bottle, which sums up to two colours: white and turquoise.

Eau d'Orange Verte is bitter orange at its best: brisk, juicy, effervescent and with that bitterness that is reminiscent of grapefruit zest, juice and pith (the white parts of the peel). It is slightly aromatic, but not as masculine as some eaux de colonge can often time invoke.

Bitter [sweet] by Ravi Vora
Bitter [sweet], a photo by Ravi Vora on Flickr.

This brilliant composition is charming in how it takes the freshness of bitter orange to the extreme, and makes it feel interesting and lingering, yet without the common mistake - at the expense of interest or originality. It has the initial "mouthfeel" and nasal impression of a sparkling white wine: light citrusy and fruit-ester notes, which give it a very bright, sprightly texture. The bitter orange is the main theme, but rather than the common sweet orange, bitter orange's elegant, slightly dry and rather floral complexity is what gives the scent its edge. There is a very slight touch of herbs (peppermint and tiny bit of basil, to be exact) that reinforces the aromatic, non-perfumey quality of this "eau"; and only a hint of flowers (jasmine and orange blossom), which if anything contribute to the fruity aspect (which is something that magically happen when you pair jasminey notes with herbaceous ones) and the final drydown is the beloved oakmoss (which I doubt ever made it to the new formulations of the "eaux de cologne" mini series created by Jean Claude Elena in 2009). Oakmoss accentuates the "verte" part of the perfume, as when it's in a very light concentration, it feels more green and leafy rather that musky and mossy. It's a tad masculine, but not nearly as much as others in this category - i.e.: Eau Sauvage, O de Lancome, so if you're a lady you won't need to wear any extra something to prove your gender. You can just be yourself, enjoy the scenery and relax.

Top notes: Bitter Orange, Grapefruit, Lemon, Mandarin, Mint

Heart notes: Jasmine, Orange Blossom

Base notes: Oakmoss, Cedar

For more information about this eau de cologne formula and packaging changes through the years, check out this discussion on Basenotes.

Eau de Gentiane Blanche


gentiana pneumonanthe, originally uploaded by Michiel Thomas.

gentiana pneumonanthe, originally uploaded by Michiel Thomas.

Too warm for a flurry, but too white to be a blue flower – Eau de Gentiane Blanche is redolent of pepper and paper, white tea and white musk with iris as the centre piece. I don’t perceive it as being overly clean nor musky. It’s very much an iris and pepper scent, with accents of freshly sliced pepper and dusty floral notes (Grasse being the closest I’ve ever been to the Alps - I’ve never smelled Gentiane before so I’m at loss comparing to the real flower).


It feels like a conference call between Paprika Brasil and Osmanthe Yunnan, Olivia Giacobettis Hiris and Jacques Cavallier’s Eau Parfumée au Thé Blanc (I believe it was co-created with Jean-Claude Elena?).

Of all the three new eaux from Hermes, this one intrigued me the most initially, which is why I’ve worn it a few days. But I don’t find it as disturbingly solanic as the green bell pepper of Paprika Brasil, nor as fleeting as Osmanthe Yunnan. Despite its relative simplicity, it seems like 5 perfumes in one, and while a few were on my maybe-list for a while (Hiris, Osmanthe Yunnan and Eau The Blanc) – Eau de Gentiane Blanche might just be the one. I’m yet to try the other two (Eau d’Orange Vert being a re-release of the classic one from way back – and I hope it wasn’t reformulated but I doubt that’s the case).

Easter Picnic


Madonna Lily, originally uploaded by sugarflower.

Madonna Lily, originally uploaded by sugarflower.

Easter came early to Hermès this year with the heady Madonna Lilies that bloom from a bottle titled “Vanille Galante”.

Unlike most of the other Hermessences, which quite clearly answer to their title (except, perhaps, Osmanthe Yunnan) - the vanilla here will not fulfill the craving of the vanillophiles who patiently awaited their dessert after clearing their plate from fresh peppers and a side of lavender.

Vanille Galante burst into the air like a flower rushing to display its colours from fear of loosing the attention of butterflies. Heady ylang ylang only but supports the main theme here - the infamous Madonna Lily, a symbol of purity and the Virgin Mary. Sliced cantaloupe sprinkled with salt brings to mind a giant Easter egg decorated by calone. Whether or not there is calone in Vanille Galante I cannot tell, but I’d like to think that this molecule found its way to the perfume to complete the picture of an Easter picnic under the sky. It’s the same cantaloupe from Un Jardin Apres la Mousson, just in a lesser dosage.
And when the vanilla finally makes an appearance it is more woody than dessert like, and perhaps will bring to mind a flavoured liquor rather than vanilla-dotted crème brûlée.
There is vanilla absolute in the base alright, but overall I would not describe Vanille Galante as a vanilla scent, but as a floral or a floriental at best. The dry down reminds me of Chanel’s Allured - a contrast of computer generated florals against a backdrop of woody vanilla. But Vanille Galante does not feel as artificial, and as with most Jean-Claude Ellena’s scents, this gown has such lightness and airiness about it that it’s easy to wear if it is not exactly your style or preferred colour.

Back to the top