Sweet William, a photo by Diesel [papersnapdragon.co.uk] on Flickr.

Ineke's Floral Curiosities anthology of soliflores for Anthropoligie continues, and the newest flower in this poetic garden is Sweet William (Dianthus barbatus).

I had the pleasure to smell & wear Sweet William over dinner & Kir with Ineke and her husband Bill - and immediately fell for this delicate, spicy, warm yet fresh composition.

Sweet William opens with fresh balsamic peppery notes that reminded me of another favourite - Si Lolita. It is, however, more dusky and violetty than the latter. Carnation accord being the centre of attention, with complementary strokes of ionones, redolent of candied violets and accompanied by velvety cedar (a wink to Evening Edged in Gold, which also had a rich cedar, fruit and spice accord), which give it a purplish hue and a slightly serious, almost regal personality.

The base notes are those of rich woodsy patchouli and powdery musk, which dries down to a clean, dry patchouli and white musk notes. It is not in the least overpowering, but has an incredible staying power and stays on even after a swim and a shower, with slightly berry like musky notes.

Ineke's soliflore treatment is modern, abstract and rather than just dissecting and replicating Sweet William, she's created a stylized impression of this carnation's particularly sweet-spicy-velvety personality (other carnations have a slightly rosy-green aspect that you won't find in here), and create a memorable scent from an otherwise low-key, modest flower.

The notes, according to Ineke's press release, are peach, cloves, cinnamon, cedarwood, sandalwood, patchouli and bourbon vanilla.

the fish curry spices, a photo by bognarreni on Flickr.

As I was riding the train through Central Valley (California) back in June, all kinds of things were happening -
A girl of 10 or so was going for their first train ride ever; people were getting on and off, and Santal de Mysore was slowly unfolding on my wrists (mostly just dissipating), with no sandalwood in sight. I had some dabbed on my scarf as well, and it was lingering on it nicely. I've put it on early in my trip, as soon as I felt awake enough to surround myself with rich spices that won't disappoint a visit to the nearby Indian restaurant (which I doubt there is any in Central Valley, but a person can dream!).

It's exactly those spices which grabbed me at first and nearly convinced me to buy a bottle right there and than at Scent Bar. Even at the heat and humidity of LA it has its charm and it was all over me on the evening when I tried it first. And with a name so appealing, suggesting an extinct tree whose scent only haunts my dreams, it was very easy to go the impulse way.

True Mysore sandalwood is a thing of the past; over-harvesting, and practices that don't really change reduce Indian sandalwood oil to a ghastly mirror of what it once used to be: to achieve the creamy, milky, slightly floral and sweetly musky aroma of sandalwood, one must wait, patiently, for 50 years before uprooting the tree and distilling its entire heartwood, including that which comes from the roots. Nowadays, the only "ethical" sandalwood oils that comes from India are from plantations that are supposedly replenished, yet from much younger trees (20-30 years old), before they obtained their aged character. Rather, you get rancid, sour wood. Which on my skin, personally, only gets sourer as it unfolds.

But I digress from the main theme of this post, which is how does this perfume smell? It just so happens to have Mysore sandalwood in the name (and the premise, or promise, or price point). In reality, Santal de Mysore is a savoury perfume interpretation of garam masala, and with a French take. And by that I mean - it has cumin in it. When I was in an Indian restaurant in Grasse (Sothern France), the food was completely free of spices, except it had tomato sauce and cumin, which was supposed to be the adventurous, exotic part of the dish. It stays rather linear - with the spices and woodsy, resinous notes of immortelle, turmeric and cumin slowly fading away, with the only spice missing being shallots and perhaps some asafoetaida. There are only hints and suggestions of other ambery and woodsy components such as vanilla-like benzoin, dry wood and cistus. And all along, alpha ionone is casting its dark, shadowy candied woodchips and crystallized violet notes, which became the trademark of the Serge Lutens brand ever since Feminite du Bois.

Santal de Mysore has more to it than just cumin, thankfully; but cumin and immortelle are certainly more dominant than sandalwood - that is for certain. Its charm lies in creating an "Arabie Lite" (and if you've read this blog from its very beginning, you'll know that I love Arabie) - not nearly as dense and dark as Arabie, as if the spices have left the mysterious souk and are already laid out on a plate with a steaming bowl of rice and naan on the side.

This is a classic example of "get a sample first". Because of the train ride association, and because it is an exotic yet soothing, warm scent - I enjoy wearing it very much. But for a far more intriguing spice mix, reminiscent of cold tamarind and dusty cobble stone streets, I will reach for Arabie; and for my sandalwood fix, I will have to look elsewhere. Perhaps in Vanuatu.

Laundry on the line, a photo by MarleneFord on Flickr.

L'Été en Douce (meaning Soft Summer, formerly known as Extrait de Songes - or the Essence of Dreams) is as light as a cloud and as fleeting as the aroma of linden blossoms which wafts through the streets in midsummer.

Reminiscent of fragrant twigs and freshly soaped skin, l'Été en Douce is light and ethereal and I find it wears better on fabric than on my skin. On fabric it unfolds with the subtle honey nuances of linden and orange blossom with hints of petitgrain; where as on skin, the clean "white musks" and synthetic "white woods" notes are taking over. And there is also an underlining bitterness, reminiscent of almonds but not quite - the mark of coumarin (hay is listed among the notes, but there is non of its delicious sweetness, so I think it's just coumarin - adorable all the same, but just a little flatter).

I'd enjoy it more if it was real summer here, and would wear it in the halo-method, when you spray it in the room and walk into its mist. Preferably while wearing white linen attire or gauzy white cotton shirt. But I'm enjoying just as much after accidentally spilling half of my sample all over my denim dress pants and silk blouse...

Olivia Giacobetti is the nose here, and like most of her creations - she used a very light hand, which makes for an easily wearable (and over-spilled) summer scent, a little abstract and obscure, but very true to its name.