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Borneo 1834

Resinous chocolate milk filled with oozing caramel, on a pretense of being bittersweet… Only saving point is its dusty cocoa powdery note, and an underlying masculine-oriented notes of tobacco and some synthetic musks.

Here is the thing with evolving taste and being exposed to so much more: it takes away from the pleasure that “beginner’s luck” brings. I remember liking Borneo a lot and finding more patchouli in it when I first smelled it. It was this unabashed, shamelessly patchouli scent. But now it feels as if there is not enough patchouli in it….

Cinnamon Skies

Maupiti Sunrise by SF Brit
Maupiti Sunrise, a photo by SF Brit on Flickr.

Sous le Vent literally means "under the wind", and refers to Îles Sous-le-vent - aka Society Islands or Leeward Islands in French Polynesia. While the agriculture of the island mostly consists of coconuts and vanilla beans; the perfume brings a whiff of cinnamon wind - that I would imagine would come off the Spice Islands combined with a good whiff of good old island of Cyprus - complete with the garrigue scent of Mediterranean hills covered in warm rockrose bushes.

Sous le Vent was created in 1933, and is an angular and rather masculine Chypre. First off, you will smell aromatic notes of lavender and juniper berry. There is some citrusy notes - lemon and also a strong presence of geraniol - could there be geranium in there? The labdanum comes through right away: warm, round, enveloping in contrast to these brisk sharp notes. Rose blooms on the skin, accompanied by the spiciness of cinnamon and carnatnion, and luscious, fruity jasmine which adds space and and a sense of expansion. Like most Guerlain's scents, there is also a hint of iris notes here - but there is no melancholy to speak of: it's more of a sweet, rounded addition reminiscent of violets more than the austere root, as it is paired with the quirky little dragon - tarragon. The flowers and spices together make it smell like suede leather and apricot skin.

There is a recognizable dose of coumarin in there too - perhaps from the classic guerlinade accord (tonka, iris, vanilla); but also from the lavender. The coumarin in conjuction with the lavender gives it a masculine, fougere-like quality. As Sous le Vent dries down, it leaves behind it a rather dry, almost bitter trail of woods and moss - green oakmoss, in a very sheer presence that is due to the removal of atranol (all recent oakmoss absolutes are treated that way - which makes it impossible to have that full-bodied, nearly ambery wine-barrel personality that oakmoss used to have.

Sous le Vent is very natural smelling - so much so that I was shocked when I smelled it at first because it reminded me of Democracy - almost to a T. Although it is very likely to have been altered or reformulated when it was re-introduced several years ago as a boutique exclusive; it has a very sheer, modern feel that was ahead of its time (1933) - one might arguably think the nose behind it is a later perfumer - Edmond Roudnitska - whose signature was that expansive, sheer, light quality all the while maintaining a high level of sophistication and complexity - as opposed to Guerlain's multi-layered baroque style.

I purchased my bottle at the Guerlain boutique on Champs Elysees, and to my dismay, I found out the bottle completely cracked on the flight home - but discovered just in time to transfer all the precious jus to a Boston round lab bottle (not nearly as pretty...) so I still have 100ml of it to enjoy for years to come (and share from time to time...). The box mentioned something about it being inspired by Josephine Baker (also the muse for Bois des Iles). Definitely a departure from today's "celebrity scents": it seems to bring forth more of her inner self; rather than the exotic fantasy image around her professional persona. Very fascinating, especially considering how masculine it smells. I can definitely imagine her as being a true free spirit, that could not care less if her scent is perceived as belonging to a different gender. It smells fantastic, and that's all that matters!

Top notes: Juniper, Lemon, Bergamot, Tarragon, Lavender

Heart notes: Rose, Geranium, Jasmine, Orris Root, Carnation, Cinnamon

Base notes: Labdanum, Oakmoss, Patchouli, Tonka Bean

Dune

Wind Painting - Death Valley National Park by Joshua Cripps

Slightly charred vinyl flowers on sand and rubber tires abandoned in the heat of the summer and splashed over by salty sea water. If you were lucky, it would cling to your clothes the way ozone does after coming in after a brisk walk in the chilly air. There’s a wind blowing and it brings forth the scent of desert flowers (is it broom ?) and perhaps even beach lilies, mingled with grassy shrubs and metal frames that were left behind and are now blooming with deep-red rust.

Dune is not often discussed or mentioned among pefumistas. I can’t think of a single person I know that loves or wears this scent. And it’s one of those cerebral, and slightly moody scents, which I was never able to connect with, but always admired for its role in the history of contemporary perfumery.

Launched in 1991, Dune has impact beyond what meets the surface. It was one of (if not the first) modern perfume to disregard the “pyramid” structure of beginning, middle and end (also known as head/top, heart/middle and foundation/base). Instead, it takes a completely linear path that fades into the horizon like a curved mass of sand.

Jean-Louis Sieuzac, Nejla Bsiri-Barbir and Dominique Ropion created Dune in 1992, and in 1993 it won FiFi awards. It is a scent that had an immense impact on perfume culture throughout the 90’s, though not too many are aware of that ozone/marine scent. If l’Eau d’Issey and Cool Water began the trend of transferring aquatics from the pool to the bottle (Aquatic/Watery Florals and Fougeres); Dune was more about the open space near the seashore, and explored the concept of “ozone” or the scent that is in the air around the ocean. It was well ahead of its time, and as it turned out - it is the father of all the "mineral" or "salty" scents that are slowly but surely gaining momentum in the new millennium.

It might have taken a while, but Dune to me is a scent that explores the movement of a vast body such as a sand dune. It comes in as a wave and fades out as one. A year later came another perfume that questioned the authority of the pyramid structure: Angel, with its linear, homogenous yet aggressive personality. But while Angel took the spirit of the 80’s and amplified it ten fold to push strong-minded fragrances to the next generation; Dune was all about refinement and subtlety, and inspired other perfumes with similar character.

In its time, Dune resembled no other scent - so much so, that it took me literally years to be able to wrap my head around it. It was so cerebral and I had difficult time connecting to it, “reading” it. It did not really “speak” to me with its very unnatural, sci-fi personality and abstract raw materials… In the meantime, Dune has influenced many similar scents – linear, woodsy and warm yet clean and cerebral: Tocade (1994), which is about as linear as any scent could ever get; Allure (1996), which supposedly has the “faceted” structure, but if you look at it closely feels and smells very much like a copycat of Dune (even the “facets” which are just different aspects of this one linear processions – are dominated by the same notes: Mandarin, Vetiver, Vanilla, with the white flowers being the only visible variant); and lastly – the salty ambergris-centred Eau de Mervelleis (2004), Bois d’Orage (2007), Dans tes Bras (2008) and Terre Hermès (2009).

So now after exploring these scents and observing its influence, coming back to Dune seems on one had to finally make sense; but in the other hand – lost a bit of its novelty for me.

Dune by default fits in my gestalt with the Frank Herbert’s sci-fi novel bearing the same name. And just like that novel, which walks between modern mythology and political commentary – Dune questioned our paradigm of how perfume should behave, and at the same time has become such an iconic perfume on several levels: the choice of raw materials (and the inclusion of helionial to create very realistic ocean-side nuances), the linear structure linear as linear could be – as and far as I know the first of its kind (followed only a year later by another modern icon – Angel).

Even the bottle is brilliant – reflecting the curvature of the dunes, their pale golden and glowing colour, at the same time flowing yet set in its own ways – just like the jus within it.

Dune is singular, unusual and very out of the way from my comfort zone or natural leaning. Although it is, as mentioned and emphasized earlier about 10 times, a linear scent – there is a certain progression, and in the beginning you would smell pale, transparent hit of green abstract notes, which are mingled with mandarin and resemble citrus leaves (only cleaner and not in the least eau-de-cologne like). Fairly quickly these just fade to become part of the greater picture – abstract flowers, sand and mineral notes mingled with salty air (yet not in the least algae-like) and revealing slowly an undercurrent of vetiver, amber, musky woods and vanilla. And it also lasts and lasts and lasts – easily for 10 or 12 hours; though not in a menacing or overpowering way. It’s just present.

And if you really "need" to see more specific notes of succession of Dune's aspects, you might like this part (the flowers are very unoticeable though, in my humble opinion):

Fresh & Airy – Broom, Wallflower, Bergamot, Mandarin

Flowery – Lily, Peony, Jasmine, Rose

Rich & Velvety – Amber, Lichen, Musk, Sandalwood, Vanilla

Io Capri

cuppa heaven by Az~Kate
cuppa heaven, a photo by Az~Kate on Flickr.

A few years ago, I received a Carthusia sample set from the rep at Holt Renfrew. This was back in the day when they re-opened their Vancouver department store and launched “Holtscents” – a niche (or mini boutique) in the store front with interesting perfumeries from around the world. Unfortunately, by the time I picked my favourite among the samples – the line got discontinued (along many other good brands, such as Miller Harris and Ineke), which was disappointing and disheartening to see – just another proof for Vancouver’s very limited appreciation for scent. Thankfully, Frederic Malle is still there and they keep rotating other niche brands (currently the new kid on the block is Byredo, which I don’t care much for). Io Capri and the other scents from Carthusia can be found in person and online at Anthropoligie, The Perfume Shoppe and ScentBar, so it’s not all lost...

But ranting about retailers choices aside: Io Capri was not what I thought I would fall for. I’m usually biased towards the heavier, smokier, spicier, oriental or chypre members of a perfume line, with an occasional unusual floral that I find intriguing. With Carthusia, I found myself drawn to the two light and fresh ones: Io Capri and Mediterrano.

Like most winning scents in my history, it’s the combination of familiarity and intrigue that usually “grabs” me. And Io Capri is a prime example. There was more of the unfamiliar in it; and on the surface, it’s not what I would pick over smoldering incense or moss-laden composition. There is a fine balance between crisp eau-de-cologne like freshness and the complete opposite – a flowery, feminine perfume with a sultry and salty undercurrent.

Io Capri opens with a bitter, acrid sharpness of citrus mingled with herbs. But immediately you will notice a violetty, floral mélange that has an almost nostalgic bittersweetness to it, and as it grows on the skin it takes the shape of parma violet in full purple ripeness. Green garden notes of tomato leaf become apparent suddenly – totally unexpected; and a slightly soapy, overripe purple fig floats on a cup of iced green tea. After this succession of notes, Io Carpi settles into an abstract cup of violet and fig tea scent, paired with salted green almonds - and other than that, remains rather unchanged throughout its skin life.

Contrary to my initial observations of Io Capri, it is actually a rather complex scent. It does remain linear after that initial burst; but there is more to it than "just" tea. Aside from the whimsical surprise of green tomatos, it is really that intriguing combination of candy-like beta ionone and salty notes that got my attention. A look at Carthusia's own website reveals an interesting scent pyramid that would explain quite easily why it won my heart:

Top notes: Wild Mint, Sicilian Lemon, Chinese Eucalyptus, Aromatic Litsea, Star Anise, Brazilian orange

Heart notes: Fig, Wildflowers, Tea, Apple Blossom, Egyptian Jasmine, Ceylonese Citronella

Base notes: Seaweed, Tobacco flowers

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