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SmellyBlog

Diorella


Before I begin, I have two announcements to make: First of all, I want to thank the generous Joanna for sharing a decant of vintage Diorella with me. This review is based on my subsequent wearings of this beautiful rendition, prior to the oakmoss banning days. My second confession is that some ten or so years ago, when Diorella was quite widely available (and before oakmoss was so ridiculously restricted) and it did not quite capture my heart. While I liked its freshness and similarity to the brilliant Eau Sauvage, here was something about it that I disliked - a combination of the heaady floral note of honeysuckle, and the soapy aldehydes at the opening. Time perhaps has been kind with Diorella, because she has aged gracefully. Or perhaps it is an even earlier formulation of the same one. But it is certainly different from the scrubbed and lathered version you’ll find on the Dior counters nowadays.

Way before its time, Roudnitska was at ease incorporating fruit salad elements in his fragrances in a most refreshing, light-weight manner... created in 1972, Roudnitska’s fruit has thankfully no affinity with the syrupy, unbearably sweet fruity-gourmand florals of the new millenia; but rather posessed a cheerful lightness paired with complex substance from more earthy and floral notes of natural raw materials. So again, these are far superior to the light, watery fruity-florals of the 90‘s, though these were strongly influenced by the asthetics that Roudnitska developed with the creation of Eau Sauvage, which introduced the concept of space and expansion to modern perfumery.

Diorella is munching on a honeydew melon (or is it a cantaloupe?). It is ripe, juicy yet somehow still crisp, as it is brilliantly paired with citrusy notes of lemon and bergamot and a touch of spicy-sweet green basil. Her peach-toned skin emanates a scent that is similar to white peach’s delicate, milky and slightly nutty aroma, due to the use of peach aldehyde and peach lactone. These unique fruity notes were both brilliantly used in a non-edible way (as Edmound Roudnitska explains beautifully in Michael Edward’s book, Perfume Legends - French Feminine Fragrances). Rather, it brings freshness and a unique texture to the jus. It is brilliantly paired with effervescent, ethereal and soapy honeysuckle, crushed basil leaves and a tad of the oily aldehydic notes backed with ionones, that simultaneously give the clean impression of triple-milled soap, and the dirty allusion to hosiery that’s been worn and sweated in for at least half a day. That dichotomy between anti-bacterial herbs and animal/human secretion seems to be at the core of Diorella.

The oily aldheyde and peach notes fades rather quickly, allowing the basil and citrus notes more breathing room. Orris butter is present yet very subtle, giving a soft-focus background to the composition, and making it somehow smell more feminine. What truly moves to the forefront is jasmine. Pure, unadulterated, indole-rich jasmine at its best. And it is that indole that will accompany Diorella throughout her strut on the skin and the surrounding air - first an ethereal jasmine, and later on a full, unabridged indolic jasmine, with its fruity, jammy peach-like and earthy and animalic character beautifully showcasing this gorgeous phenomenon. The similarity to Le Parfum de Thérèse as well as Eau Sauvage are striking; but what surprised me what the affinity I discovered with Eau d’Hermes. Also a perfume that is all about jasmine, yet from a very different point of view - more warm, sweet-earthy and spicy. It is probably the juxtaposition of jasmine with ionones that creates that olfactory connection for me.

Last but not least, it’s time to talk about the base notes, the foundation of Diorella. No matter how much Roudnitska denies any connection to Eau Sauvage, the similarity is striking, despite the differences. There is definitely oakmoss, but not nearly as much as in Eau Sauvage, which gives it more of a green, dry and woody character rather than a dense, brown-earthy and musky feel. Vetiver also supports it in this direction. Even the patchouli, which appears in both, seems to be toned down and instead of the big-warm-oily patchouli hug you get in some feminine Chypres such as Miss Dior - there is just a single brush stroke of it, done in aquarelle. Last but not least, where Eau Sauvage has a generous dose of hay, which gives it an almost-fougere quality, Diorella has a subtle sprinkle of tonka bean (or perhaps just pure synthetic coumarin - in reality there is a very small difference between the two), giving it a slightly bitter finish, but with that feminine soft-focus that reflects the orris from earlier on.

Diorella is a very Mediterranean perfume, and truly reminds me of Grasse and the surrounding area, including the perfumer’s home and garden (which I visited in 2009). It also reminds me of a perfume that his son, Michel Roudnitska created way into the future - Eau Emotionelle - also playing on the cantaloupe-jasmine-ionone theme, but in oil-pain strokes rather than the sheer aquarelle of his father's. The culture in that area is greatly influenced by Italy and Spain, and there is something very Italian about it, especially in the opening notes. If Diorella was a woman, she would be one with a very outgoing, young spirit. A woman that loves to laugh and enjoy life’s pleasures, and just goes with the flow - but isn’t audacious or dominant by any means, and is very kind, generous and open but without ever being vulgar in the least. There is something truly carefree, open, fun, bursting with life and joie de vivre about it. In case you didn’t know already - it’s a true masterpiece. It has been relatively recently re-introduced along with the other classic retro Dior-fumes: Diorling, Dioressence, Diorama... I’m sure the new version pales in comparison but I’m nevertheless intrigued to find out what they’ve done to it to overcome the restrictions on jasmine levels and the industry’s new (low) standard of avoiding oakmoss at all costs (even though it is still allowed - the washed-down version of atranol-free absolute, and at only very low percentage).

Top notes: Bergamot, Lemon, Basil, Melon, Aldehydes, Peach
Heart notes: Jasmine, Honeysuckle, Hedione, Orris, Violet
Base notes: Oakmoss, Patchouli, Vetiver, Coumarin

Crêpe de Chine

crepe de chine by Millie Motts
crepe de chine, a photo by Millie Motts on Flickr.
One of the legends of perfumes of yore is Crêpe de Chine, created by Millot perfumer (and the founder Félix Millot's grandson) Jean Desprez in 1925, the same year the iconic Shalimar was born. However, unlike Shalimar, Crêpe de Chine did not survive long enough to undergo the many embarassing reformulations that so many classics have faced throughout the years. No, Crêpe de Chine remained true to its original self, and coming across the bottle is akin to a private sniffing session at the Osmotheque.

I always imagined Crêpe de Chine to be a dark, mysterious, ineffable creation that I would  only admire from afar when I finally encounter him (I thought of this perfume as a very serious masculine creature, perhaps a very severe fashion designer constructing accurately flowing evening gowns from this particular fabric). Non of this turns out to be the truth about Crêpe de Chine (except that its beauty is indeed ineffable!). A vintage half-full bottle of the eau de toilette landed in my mailbox two evenings ago as part of a swap with a perfumiso from the Netherlands, and added a lot of beauty to every moment of my life since I could not stop applying and re-applying. The vintage bottle itself is also easy on the eyes (though a bit too generous with spilling out its precious jus to the sides of the spray nozzles every time I apply a spritz or too - a sure sign that bottle designs have improved in the past 50 years or so - Crêpe de Chine went off production in 1968, a few years after Millot was purchased by Revillon).

Crêpe de Chine

Nothing could have prepared me to what Crêpe de Chine would smell like. But, I didn't really need any preparation: Crêpe de Chine was one of the very rare cases of love at first sniff, with a very complex perfume. It begins with a burst of laughter, emanating from a rush of galbanum, crushed sweet basil and zesty citrus! I'm surprised these vibrant notes managed to remain in the bottle after all these years and remain true to their zestiness. Playful, cheerful, bitter-green but not intimidating or formal at all (which is often the vibe that one gets from cool, bitter greens).

Moving quickly to the heart of Crêpe de Chine, deeper notes of incense and hints of smoky leather begin to swirl around the skin, and this warmth stayed with me for hours, lingering like the remnants of an ancient ritual, omitting the charred aftermath. Sensual and reassuring, like a quiet reminder to breath in the beauty around us! The fine aroma of lingered fragrant smoke kept weaving through my aura, making me smile every time. This incense effect is achieved, I believe, from the conjunction of fine, santalol-rich East Indian Sandalwood (now extinct), aged Indonesian patchouli, the resinous-leather-incense-amber of labdanum, and musk.

Weaving through the wafts of incense, earthy and warm aromas of forest floor and sun-warmed hills bring grounding. Labdanum and oakmoss, surrounded with the spice of carnation and hints of cinnamon. Ahh... How I love the roundedness, complete mystery of Chypre! No one note truly sticks out, though I'm certain there are plenty of florals to support this very abstract structure.

Finally, we come to the drydown, or deepest base notes. Here the sweetness of earth and sunny rockroses is replaced by the bittersweetness of coumarin (could be from tonka beans, but most likely supported by the first synthetic aromachemical used in perfume history), paired by non other than clean and dry vetiver. That's a balanced duo, and a very surprising finish to a masterpiece olfactory tale with many twists and turns. At which point, you wonder if it isn't a fougere after all... And indeed, like some other reviewers of Crêpe de Chine, it is suitable for men to wear and enjoy without worrying about smelling like a bouquet of flowers or a lacy hosiery. 

Top notes: Galbanum, Basil, Fresh Aldehydes, Lemon, Bitter Orange, Bergamot
Heart notes: Carnation, Jasmine, Gardenia, Ylang Ylang, Rose, Cinnamon, Roman Chamomile
Base notes: East Indian Sandalwood, Musk, Oakmoss, Vetiver, Indonesian Patchouli, Leather/Smoky Notes, Labdanum, Musk

For other reviews of Crêpe de Chine visit:
The Non-Blonde
Now Smell This
Yesterday's Perfume

Paloma's Corner: Vintage Coty Parfum de Toilette Set

Vintage Coty Parfum de Toilette set
Today, the long-awaited coffret of .5oz Parfum de Toilette arrived in the mail (if the concentration title confuses you, scroll over to Perfume Shrine, that helped clear out the mystery). Completely out of character, I didn't rip the package open till I got home (I usually spend the short walk from the post office to home absentmindedly crossing streets as my nose is plugged to a vial of this or that, if not to my wrist...).

Just as I expected, the packaging was a bit on the tacky side: clear plastic sleeve to showcase the 4 beaus, nestled in a bonbon-like golden box (the kind that would rotate around and around as "gifts" until someone dares to open them on a pathetic chocolate-craving moment only to find inside very stale, blooming chocolates filled with syrupy liquor...). The box is lined with black faux-velvet that has dents for each bottle.

But, to my delight, unlike a stale bonbon, each bottle was in pristine condition, and more importantly - the contents are as bright as ever, as if they were still fresh. Someone must have kept them very well - away from heat, moisture and light. I'm still trying to discover the estimated date for these beauties. I have a feeling they're from the late 70's or early 80's (especially knowing that one of them was not launched till 1965 or 1966 - it can't be earlier than that). Just based on the packaging and how fresh they still smell. Only one of the bottles had part of the splash lid stuck to the mouth of the bottle (which was easily fixed).

But packaging and recent perfume history aside, I'm sure you're more interested in what was in them. The quartet includes Emeraude (1921), l'Aimant (1927), Imprévu (1965) and l'Origan (1905). I got them because they were a really great price, and these classic can't hurt to have around (even though, from my rough perfume-head count this morning, I have at least 104 bottles, if I count all the flacons and parfum extrait minis - but not count other minis... Or samples... Ahum).

Emeraude and I met before, in a thrift store, and it's very much like Shalimar, from the bottle at least. l'Aimant is intensely floral aldehydic in a way that would make No. 5 feel less lonely. Imprevu was a pleasant surprise - very light and woodsy and musky, which prompted me to apply it almost immediately (more on that later). And l'Origan smells a little aromatic but also candy-sweet, along the lines of l'Heure Bleue.

I'm excited to have something to do on such a rainy day (because, clearly, unpacking all my raw materials for my perfume making class on Sunday is "not enough work", not to mention the other trip I have to make to the post office, to ship packages & thank-you gifts and SmellyBlog prizes off). Great distractions, I suppose. But that's what makes life all the more interesting!

Rose with Jade Stem

Getting back from shipping packages at the post office today, I was back at the lobby checking my own mail, which had a package, a few bills, and as usual - a delivery attempt notice from UPS, which could only mean one thing: I missed the courier guy by just a few minutes, as usual... And than the unheard of happened: I found the package waiting for me patiently right at my doorstep!

This is unprecedented. It never, ever, EVER happens. But that was not where the good surprises ended today. This was a flacon of Patou's 1000 in parfum concentration I ordered off eBay last week. As it turns out, even though it was wrapped with cellophane and the bottle completely sealed, it was a vintage. In any case, it is at least old enough to exist before the IFRA regulations kicked in, with the requirement for a long list of allergens, and most importantly the oakmoss, which is now gradually being eliminated altogether from such Chyprish beauties!

1000 was better than I even remembered it. Releasing the stopper from the sealing film, I noticed it was covered but what looked like crystals (from the film perhaps?). Dipping the jade applicator in the precious jus (some of which evaporated) and applying it onto my skin was a magical moment. Off the jade glass rod, a rose emerged, with thorns and crushed leaves. Moss, amber, spice and a hint of tea-like osmanthus swirling around it like little green fairies.

1000 has the rich vintage air to it of a full-bodied, grown up perfume. It's not as dry and medicinal as I remember it. It certainly has the "old fashioned Chypre" feel to it with a tad of a soapiness (that seems to be the trademark of the 70's - 1000 was released in 1972 and was created by Msr. Jean Kerléo, who now runs the Osmotheque). And the rose really blooms and grows on the skin, a dark rose with its roots deep in patchouli, oakmoss, musk and a hint of ambery labdanum, and an even tinier hint of immortelle absolute. I'm in heaven.

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).

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