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Mimosaique


Pompones rosa, Fairy duster, originally uploaded by fvaldes.

First of all, the name for this mimosa perfume is genius in my opinion. It is indeed mimosaique rather than pure mimosa. From all the mimosa perfumes I’ve sampled it is the most perfumey. While Mimosa pour Moi is a sheer, leafy twiggy mimosa soliflore, Mimosaique is floral and powdery through and through. More floral than the flowering mimosa is in my opinion. This is in large due to the aldehydes present in this perfume, as well as other floral notes such as jasmine, paired with the powderiness of orris root. The initial aldehydic-perfumey impression wares off after the perfume is worn for a while and the mysterious mimosa note becomes more pronounced, as well as what I suspect to be a sheer yet still powdery musk base.

While I found the perfumey character of Sacrebleu intriguing (as it unfolds into many facets as it develops on the skin) I found Mimosaique to be far less interesting. However, I can see its appeal as a perfume that is equally simple (a soliflore) and sophisticated (the ladylike aldehydic impression).

Mimosaique is said to also include anise note, a note I did not detect in the few times I’ve worn Mimosaique. But alas, my little vial of Mimosaique sprang out of the ziplock envelope I had while traveling and collapsed to the tiled floor where it emptied its content and broke with no repair. I will have to get back to this one for re-sniffing and evaluating. Anise and orris is a combination familiar from the Guerlain heritage, a dynasty Patricia de Nicolai belongs to.

Mimosaique can be purchased directly from the perfumer's website as well as other specialty retailers such as Luckyscent and Beauty Habit.

To read another opinions of Mimosaique, visit Cognoscented.


Mimosa pour Moi

Mimosa pour Moi by l’Artisan Parfumeur is a light yet persistent and long lasting mimosa soliflore. It has the typical cucumber-like mimosa absolute top notes, along with a woody sensation of crushed leaves and branches, and a slightly violet and milky fig-leaf like sting to it that is achieved in part by a subtle use of Cassie absolute (the more wet, woody and deeply penetrating variety of mimosa I’ve mentioned in my recent post). The base is sweet with a sheer vanilla accord. Overall, Mimosa pour Moi is characterized by a watery-woody floralcy and subtle powdery and milky-green woodiness. It reminds me quite a bit of a few Olivia Giacobetti's creations - Philosykos, Premier Figuier, and Ofresia. Yet, the nose behind Mimosa pour Mois is Anne Flipo, who is also the nose behind Verte Violette and Ananas Fizz.

It is not, by any means a “pure” mimosa, but rather an abstract rendition of the idea of this fuzzy flower. Just like the illustration on the l’Artisan labels.

Acacia, Botanical Invasion and Leather


Mimosa, originally uploaded by Ayala Moriel.

In the past two weeks, I’ve been traveling back and forth between Tel Aviv and my little village up north. In one of our rides together, my brother Yotam pointed out to me the dangerous abundance of Mimosas across the country, and the fact that they are now considered invasive species in Israel. Mimosas were sparse and almost exotic way back when, and I remember specific spots along the road where they could be found. When the blooming season arrived, we would pick them for my step-grandmother, who admired them greatly. Now, however, they can be found everywhere, not just in parks and city gardens or along the roads. They can be found in the middle of fields or on hillsides, where they are gradually taking over and use up resources such as space and water, therefore endangering the survival of the indigenous plants.

Now, in springtime, the view of mimosa is glorious and abundant, particularly in full bloom. Otherwise, these bushes embody the mood of desert and negligent greenery scattered in random places where it leaves no impression whatsoever except, perhaps, the gloom of heat and burning sunrays.

Mimosa is from the family of Fabaceae, which also includes the legumes. And indeed it has seeds that are arranged in elongated pods. It belongs to the subfamily of Mimosoideae, which includes also plants, shrubs and trees, some of which perform rapid movement like the “touch me not” plant (Mimosa Pudica).

The Acacia (commonly known as Mimosa) is an invasive species in other parts of the world. Although it is native to Australia, it is cultivated in countries such as Egypt, Morocco, France, Italy, Algiria, Lebanon an India. I suspect it was brought Israel at the turn of the century, along with Eucalpytus trees which exude an equally gloomy appearance where they remain as a statue to lost wetlands or malaria-beaten swamps and marshes that my Zionist ancestors fought vigorously and turned into depressing little forests instead.

The particular mimosa that is widespread in Israel is the Blue Leaf Wattle (Acacia cyanophylla). It is not extremely fragrant like the Acacia decurrens or the Acacia farnesiana (Cassie). But it does have a light, floral powdery sweet aroma wafting about it without making too much effort to leave an impression. I noticed that the scent is more apparent when smelled from distance, rather than sticking your nostrils amongst the pollen-laden wands decorated with the little yellow pompoms.

Mimosa has many uses in the leather industry. The bark as well as the pods are rich in tannins, and therefore make an excellent agent for preserving and tanning the leather. By way of fortune, I had the honour to get some information about the uses of mimosa from Stu Miller, a life long leather tanner and an expert in the field who consulted to leather tanneries across the world. mimosa bark. Mr. Miller’s daughter is known to some of you as Loukumi in Basenotes or Elizabeada in Perfume of Life forum. When she tried my mimosa soliflore, Les Nuages de Joie Jaune, she immediately recognized a familiar scent from her father’s tannery. She was intrigued and assisted me in finding out a little more about the use of mimosa in modern tanning industry, which, surprisingly, still uses many natural and locally grown materials in the tanning process. For instance: Cabracho from Argentina, chestnut extract, and sumac which used to come from Albania but is pretty rare today (sumac, in Hebrew, is called “Og Haburskaim”, which means “Plant of the Leather Tanners”, and grows wild in the mountains of Jerusalem), mangrove. Many tanneries use plants that are rich in tannin that are grown locally, for instance - some kinds of Eucalyptus in Australia, and unknown plants in South America, that are “used to tan fluffy curly white sheep skins that we sometimes see here”.

Mr. Miller’s tannery imported powdered mimosa pods from plantations in Africa and Brazil, which had 40-50% tannin. It was particularly used for tanning saddle leather, which tanned and dyed entirely with vegetable substances. At times, iron is added to mimosa powder to create a black dye: the tannin reacts to the iron and turns black. When asked if the mimosa pods had any smell, Mr. Miller said they just smelled like wood. He suggested that the scent his daughter smelled was a solvent – either butyl acetate (which smells a bit like bananas and is commonly used in the flavouring industry, particularly to create the scent of Granny Smith apples), or butyl alcohol.

The two species of mimosa that are of particular interest from perfumery as well as aromatherapy aspects are commonly called Cassie and Mimosa. Mimosa is the Acacia decurrens (Green Wattle) species. It is a middle to top note, with a scent that is at once watery, powdery, only slightly flowery and woody and very much cucumber-like. The absolute is a thick substance that tends to solidify once exposed to air and become brittle. This absolute is high in Palmic aldehyde, anisic acid, enanthic acid, acetic acid, phenols.
Because of its antiseptic and astringent properties, mimosa in aromatherapy, it is used as a muscle relaxant, skin conditioner, and for skincare of oily and sensitive skin. It also assists in nervous tension, anxiety, stress and insomnia.
Mimosa is mostly grown in Australia, Africa, France, Italy (based on HerbBee).

Acacia Farnesiana, AKA Sweet Acacia or Cassie absolute, is an unusual floral note: it is one of the most rare floral base notes. It has a far more intense, wet quality to it than the mimosa absolute has. It smells green, woody, wet, similar somewhat to violet leaf, yet floral with an intensity that is quite similar to that of jasmine. It is a valuable fixative in floral compositions.
According to the HerbBee, Cassie absolute contains Benzyl alcohol, methyl salicylate, farnesol, geraniol, linalool.
It is considered anti-rheumatic, antiseptic, anti-spasmodic, aphrodisiac, balsamic, and can be also be an insecticide.
In aromatherapy, it is used for rheumatism, dry skin, sensitive skin, increases sexual desire, depression, nervous exhaustion, stress. It is also used in the flavour industry. Cassie is mostly grown in France, Egypt, Lebanon, Morocco, Algeria and India.

Coming up next: reviews of mimosa perfumes.




Drifting in Yellow Clouds of Happiness


Acacia baileyana, originally uploaded by jam343.

Drifting in yellow clouds of happiness. My new mimosa perfume. A soliflore.
Mimosa – such a fleeting scent. The absolute smells like cucumber and water and wood more than a flower. A bare dusting of pollen shaken from a broken branch. Les Nuages de Joie Jaune.

Who would have imagined that such an innocent scent would be so difficult to crack? Mimosa is a fleeting mystery…

Mimosa opens along with the watery-wood of caberuve and the pale greenness of frangipani. A heart of violet and jasmine is like a leaf between airy blue sky and fuzzy yellow blossoms. A base of cassie flowers and vanilla creates a delicate and lasting impression of this ethereal desert flower.

Les Nuages de Joie Jaune launches today and is a salute to all mimosa lovers to whom the scent of mimosa brings happiness and joy!


Moroccan Mimosa Memories


colori, originally uploaded by mafaldablue.

Mimosas were my step-grandmother’s favourite flowers. We always stopped on the way to Tel Aviv to pick the long stems, bubbling with yellow pompons, and make a wild bouquet just to make her happy. By the time we arrived at her doorstep for a Friday night dinner, we have left behind us a trail of mimosa pollen, from the station-wagon, all the way up the stairs, and honestly – I don’t know if there was much left of the flowers at all. But I think it still made her happy to hold real mimosa stems in her arms.

This photo reminded me of her, and of “habana” - a heavy Moroccan blanket, made of thick wool in vibrant colours. These must be perfect for an icy Moroccan desert night, but for my little girl’s body, cuddling underneath it felt just as restraining as taking a nap in a coffin. I still can’t understand the admiration it got from my parents…

My step-grandmother made the best Moroccan food, only from scratch, of course: couscous (but really from scratch, you just can’t compare it to store-bought couscus in a million years), mufletta, galette biscuits to dip in the sweetest spearmint-black-tea, coconut cookies adorned with a tiny silver ball, almond cookies with a clove bud stubbed at their heart, and my favourite of all - beet salad, and candied miniature eggplants, spiced with cloves. It’s unbelievable what you can turn into jam if you follow a good Moroccan recipe, you can practically turn rocks into candy! Because she spent so much time in the kitchen her face and skin was always soft and a little bit glossy from the oil. The food was always very colourful and flavourful, but now that I look back it seems as if she lived a very grey life. She was always working hard and serving her family, raising 6 kids in the depression of the 50’s in Israel when everyday commodities were sparse; and so she had to be improvised - shoes were cut-to-fit the growing feet, and stale bread was made into fancy patties soaked in tomato sauce. These were just some of the legends I heard of her life as a young mother.

The only thing I remember of her that would hint that she actually did something to indulge herself was her collection of perfumes. She had quite a few, but they were all in her bedroom, which I only remember as very dark, and so I don’t have any vivid visual memory that would support my theories about which scents these could be.

As a great admirer of the French culture, I am sure she had No. 5. And so she should have. But also, whenever I smell Cinnabar and Youth Dew EDP, I immediately get a glistening glimpse of a hidden retro bottle with dark juice and gold cap winking at me from a dark room. It took me a while to connect it to her. So I think she must have had at least something similar to either of these American scents. Bal A Versailles is another possibility… These will all remain mystery, as my step-grandmother took her perfume secrets to the grave. She died of a heart attack after receiving the news of the assassination of Israel’s Prime Minister Izthak Rabin.

What was it in mimosa flowers that made my step-grandma so happy, I would never know. Maybe it was their vivid yellow colour. Maybe their delicate scent reminded her of Morocco, where she was born and raised.

I hope that my mimosa perfume, when it is ready to emerge from its genie incubating tube, and meet the skins and noses of living people, will form yellow clouds of happiness around them.

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