perfume

One of the most frequent help requests I get is about finding an alternative for discontinued or beloved perfumes. I know the pain even though it's been almost twenty years since I had a signature scent. I may be polyfragmorouse but there are enough true loves in my collection and several of them are no longer with us, hence the stash of backup bottles.

Among the ones readers mourn are all the classic true chypres on all their oakmossy goodness. These are the hardest to replace, since IFRA has made sure no one uses enough oakmoss to make a difference. Tom Ford has discontinued his beautiful Moss Breches, which would have been my first recommendation. My current suggestion is to try the natural and indie perfumers. From Tauer's Un Rose Chypree to various creations from Ayala Moriel, Anya's Garden, Ava Luxe and others. Nothing is exactly like Mitsouko or Chanel 19 in original formula, but there are several gorgeous perfumes that would appeal to chypre lovers.

Then there such lovelies like Organza Indecence, Jil Sander No. 4, Fendi (original, though it actually belongs with the chypres above), Magie Noir, some of the classic Jean Patou perfumes... the list goes on and on. My opinion? Move on. If you don't like the weaker form of the current Jil Sander No 4 (available as an Ulta exclusive) try exploring  floral perfumes by Ormonde Jayne, Serge Lutens and Tom Ford, but don't expect them to be the same. They're excellent and very satisfying in their own right. Fans of Organza Indecence have a good chance of enjoying  Musc Ravageur (Frederic Malle) and should give Ormonde Jayne's woodier creations a chance: try Ormonde Woman and Orris Noir. Speaking of Ormonde Jayne, Tolu is a big boned floriental that could give some of the classic 80s scent a very good run for their money.

Many lament the death of the original Chloe as we used to know it. Add to that the disappearance of Mahora and Michelle (Balenciaga) and we have some huge gaps to fill in the white flower department. While recommending Fracas is a no-brainer, there's also Uncle Serge's Datura Noir (I can't stand this Lutens but it's divine on my mother). You might also like Rubj by Swiss perfumer Vero Kern, Frederic Malle Carnal Flower and Tubereuse 1 from Histoires de Parfums.

Mona di Orio creates bold and beautiful fragrances that aren't afraid to smell like real perfumes. They have an animalic feel and a rare backbone. They are the exact opposite of the shower fresh trend and are not to be missed if you're a fan of yesteryear scents. While exploring this style, also check Vero's Onda, anything by Parfumerie Generale (Querelle comes to mind), Parfum d'Empire and Robert Piguet.

I know this doesn't even come close to covering everything, which is where you come in. Let's talk about it:
Do you have any recommendations, questions and requests? Please share your ideas, brilliant finds and heartaches. Do you have a list of goners and acceptable substitutions? If not, let's start one here.

Photo: stirredstraightup.blogspot.com

Beautiful by Estee Lauder made perfect sense when it came out in the big and loud 1980s, and it still smells good on those who've been loyal to it for years. Beautiful is instantly recognizable and it seems like everyone known at least one woman who wears it as her signature scent. I fully get why, considering my own wardrobe includes a few perfumes from this much maligned genre, big (BIG) floriental. I wear and love Panthere de Cartier, Tiffany by Tiffany and Jil Sander No. 4, to name a few. So why not Beautiful?

Part of is because, indeed, Beautiful was too common. I never liked smelling like everyone else, and since I was already of perfume wearing age when Lauder launched it in 1985, it was part of the olfactory background everywhere. My Estee Lauder of choice back then used to be White Linen. Then there was something a bit off with the way Beautiful behaved on my skin. It's too much too quickly and made me feel it was trying too hard to be beautiful- all those aggressive floral notes together, mixed with something green and something sweet for good measure... It makes me think of that style rule of taking off one item or accessory just before leaving the house, to make sure you haven't overdone it.

Maybe that's it. I always felt Beautiful is pretty but not stylish enough. It lacks a little restraint to make it truly elegant, which I guess I did find in my other favorite florientals. That said, nowadays that you no longer smell it in every teachers lounge and office elevator I find myself enjoying it a lot more. There's not enough happy tuberose in the world and one little spray of Beautiful can sometimes make my day.

Beautiful by Estee Lauder can be found anywhere under the sun, online and offline.

Assorted Beautiful ads from the 1980/early 1990s- imagesdeparfums.fr

When Insensé was launched by Givenchy in 1993 the typical perfume shopper (be it the man or the woman who buys his grooming products) was not ready for it. Of course, that was before the niche perfume scene exploded- Serge Lutens has only opened his Salon a year earlier and Frederic Malle was still seven years away from launching his Editions de Parfums. A decade later, a men's fragrance in the style of Insensé might have been easy to accept from a smaller house, but in 1993 when designer scents started to be all about air and water, a big aldehydic fougere with a side of oakmoss had absolutely no chance.

Insensé is too complex for its own good. The aldehydes, lavender, bergamot and assorted greens make the top notes sharp and assertive. Insensé and its wearer are here to be noticed, and those sensitive to aldehydes are likely to recoil right away, especially if they associate this fizzy note with traditional and very French feminine fragrances. To keep things masculine there's quite a bit of greenery and balsamic resin. They are probably the reason Insensé was never fully embraced and adopted by women, unlike Givenchy Pi. Insensé, marketed as a masculine, has probably been perceived as neither here nor there and just too weird to have a mass appeal.

The thing is, Insensé might be one of the best scents of the early 90s. It's beautifully done, multifaceted and interesting. It has a quiet, confident elegance that comes from the fougere (lavender and green) accord, the dark gravitas of oakmoss and a very smooth, suave base. I wear it, masculine or not, because I like it and think it smells good on me. I recently decided it was time to share with the husband, who without knowing anything about it said the opening was borderline feminine. He thinks it's nice but is not (yet) a convert. More for me.

Givenchy Insensé was repackaged, most likely (though unconfirmed) reformulated and its current production status is unclear. The EDT in the original blue and yellow packaging can still be found here and there. Don't confuse it with the many flankers that came out under the name Insense Ultramarine.

Image: Givenchy Insensé 1994 ad- couleurparfum.com

A confession: Sometimes I wear Mahora EDP to bed. Mostly because I'm not sure I can get away with wearing this loud Guerlain in public, but I still enjoy its creamy tuberose, and I like waking up and finding some of it on my pillow.

You don't usually think of Guerlain as the creator of tropical florals. It's also obvious that the most eyebrow raising Guerlain perfumes of our generation are the white florals- Mahora and the inexplicable Jardins de Bagatelle. Mahora is the better of the two, though. It's a bold and confident heavy-bosomed tuberose that is happily surrounded by the usual suspects- frangipani, jasmine and ylang-ylang and is riding a creamy vanilla-sandalwood base.

If you like big (BIG) tuberose scents, most chances Mahora would ring your bell. It might not be the most balanced and tasteful, and it might not smell anything like a well-bred Guerlain, but it's pretty and feminine. Sometimes it feels like Mahora laughs too loud or flirts too much. Maybe it's the unfortunate name. That might be the reason Guerlain attempted to do some damage control and reworked this perfume under the new name Mayotte. Of course, in doing this they also rebottled it into the Les Parisiennes series with a hefty price tag. I've smelled it, but I don't think the makeover has changed this little hussy. She's as fun as ever, even if now she's carrying an expensive handbag.

While Mahora as we know it has been officially discontinued and replaced by Mayotte, you can still find it online for relatively cheap.

Last week I wrote about my dislike for Issey Miyake's L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme and mentioned that more than anything, I don't want a person's skin to smell like that. I've received a couple of emails asking me in private what I thought skin should smell like. The answer, among many possible others, is Mona Di Orio Musc from her Les Nombres d'Or series.

Mona di Orio is always at her best when creating animalic sensual scents. I know some find them dirty beyond comprehension, but I'm one of those whose skin chemistry neutralizes the beastliest of notes and makes them into cuddly, warm and fuzzy little creatures you want to touch and snuggle. Or maybe we're just delusional and the rest of humanity wishes we'd pack our MKK bell jars and go colonize the moon.

It's not that I don't find Musc (or Mona di Orio's other perfumes) animalic and erotic. I most certainly do, because what's better than warm clean skin that's a little sweet and a little salty? A scent that draws you closer and closer until you feel the heat rising. It's seducing and absolutely gorgeous. There's something a little vanillic  and quite powdery as Musc progresses. The heliotrope is very prominent, but it never turns into marzipan. I have a feeling those who were disappointed with Serge Lutens Louve because it lacked the promised she-wolf would find Mona di Orio's Musc hits the spot perfectly. I love Louve, but next to Musc it's as innocent as Little Red Riding Hood.

Musc and the rest of Mona di Orio's Les Nombres d'Or ($150, 100ml EDT) are available from Luckyscent.

My Coty Chypre bottle is of the 1970-80s reissue, not the 1917 original. It's an EDT, fresh and sharp, and I feel extremely lucky to have and wear even a late edition of this iconic fragrance.

Coty's Chypre gave its name to the entire chypre genre. A bergamot top note, floral heart and a dry-down of oakmoss, patchouli and an animalic something or other- that's a basic chypre. It can and have been embellished, thickened and darkened, but the original one by Coty, at least the version in my cabinet is clean and streamlined with that very geometric art deco feel. It's brighter than I expected from a scent rumored to be worn by Dorothy Parker, but decidedly crisp and angular. Coty's Chypre is green and floral- it illuminates the road leading to Chanel No. 19 and Miss Dior among many others. Roja Dove writes about a gorgeous jasmine heart, but at least in this later version the heart is too abstract to single out any one flower. There's some rose there, but it's dry and pale, not a garden party in June.

The entire composition feels more subdued than I imagined it to be, but it makes sense. Chypre was a popular, wearable perfume, not an historic relic. It was composed to appeal and entice the elegant women of its time and as such it's perfect and beautiful. I wish the dry-down I'm smelling was more animalic and dirty- I get a really nice musk, but it's on the polite side of things and wouldn't offend in a crowded space. Still, Chypre is gorgeous, iconic and makes me wish I had spent the previous decades hunting down old bottles before everyone else was doing it.

Chypre and the rest of the classic Coty perfumes as they once were are no longer with us. I doubt sending angry letters to the corporate headquarters would make any difference. They're too busy churning out another J. Lo perfume.

Image: Dorothy Parker by Australian artist Deborah Klein, 1991

I can try and analyze Bois Marocain from TomFord's Private Blend until you and I are blue in the face and bored out of our mind. We can be cerebral and talk about the notes, their meaning and ponder if Mr Ford has got a case of Serge-envy, Tauer-envy or whatever. We can snark and say that even if he did, the perfumer who actually created Bois Marocain for him is obviously not as talented as Andy Tauer or Chris Sheldrake. It will be true. The thing is, in the end of the day and as much as I'm not smitten or highly impressed, Bois Marocain smells quite nice on my skin.

Basically, it's a super-resinous incense. Part of it smell very cold and pine-like, other parts make me think I'm sniffing glue. The dry-down is less synthetic and much warmer. It makes me think of nice frankincense-myrrh blends, dark, woody and a little sweet. I find it easy to wear and enjoy what's left on my skin even after 12 hours. The problem is something I hesitate to call a lack of soul, so maybe over-conceptualizing, over-thinking, trying too hard... you choose. It feels more like an idea than an actual fragrance story.

Bottom Line: Encence Flamboyant (Goutal) is a better take on this.

Bois Marocain ($180, 1.7oz) and the rest of Tom Ford Private Blend line can be found at top department stores and Tom Ford boutiques around the world.

Photo of a Moroccan wood door: bladitour.fr

In recent years since I've started blogging, I'm occasionally approached by some well-meaning but somewhat misguided people who try to show how well-versed they are in perfume. They tend to ask me what I think of their favorite fragrance, L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme. My reply is usually "Oh, it's a classic. Very popular". And then I try to talk about something else. Because while there is currently a bottle of this masculine Issey Miyake juice in my possession, I use it as an air freshener in the basement.

The thing is I find L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme smells a lot nicer in the air than on a man's skin (or on mine). The aquatic-ozonic note is certainly fresh and clean and I like the brightness it brings. I just don't think a person's body should smell like air and water. It has a screechy chemical aura that I detect from afar and find unpleasant mixed with skin chemistry. All the sunshiny citrus note in the world (this Issey Miyake is supposed to have yuzu, mandarin and verbena) can't compensate for the aquatic accord, and the combination of that with a water lily is probably the part that doesn't sit well with me.

It's not that I'm opposed to citrus perfumes. I loved the original (pre-reformulation) Eau d'Hadrien, and if pressed to pick a more modern one I'd go with Parfumerie Generale Yuzu Ab Irato. However, generally speaking, a traditional but well made eau de cologne (such as the one from Chanel Les Exclusif) smells infinitely better.

L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme is available everywhere under the sun for under $60.

I never wanted to wear Fracas until trying it in pure parfum. When smelling the EDP all I got was that big Big BIG tuberose. With a side of tuberose. And then it brings its friends gardenia, orange blossom and jasmine, and the entire thing is lush, feminine and undeniably gorgeous. But the combination, structure and general vibe were too much like the way Karl Lagerfeld's original Chloe used to smell in the late 1970s and early 80s, before they started cheapening the formula. And that means this 1948 Piguet fits my mother perfectly, so I bought her a bottle, got her addicted and promptly crossed Fracas off my list.

Still, I have a thing for Robert Piguet perfumes. Between the history of the house and my beloved Bandit, after a while I was curious enough to give the parfum a chance, and that was when I fell in love.

Fracas parfum holds back a little. It's not just the more restrained sillage but also something in the balance between the flower notes and the greenery. I don't get much (or any, really) jonquil from the EDP, because the tuberose-gardenia combo makes too much olfactory noise for me. The parfum scales it back and the narcissus note emerges beautifully and brings its typical dryness to the front.

I also find the parfum a bit sweeter in the dry-down. Fracas is creamy in every incarnation, but the sandalwood in the extrait is more prominent, rounder and tones down the exuberance of this southern belle.  The higher concentration is still an extrovert with a dominant presence and a clear voice, but it also offers more depth and introspection. It has a hidden side- like a beauty queen that writes poetry and is also very good at math.

Fracas is the most popular and easiest to find among Robert Piguet perfumes. Many department stores offer the eau de parfum and some also have the parfum ($95, 0.25oz), including Sephora. There's also an entire range of bath and body products that can be purchased directly from robertpiguetparfums.com.

1940s illustration by Roy Best from myvintagevogue.com

There's something about Diptyque perfumes that makes so many of them the benchmark for their respective genres. Tam Dao is the essence of sandalwood and Philosykos is considered the ultimate fig scent. They are like perfect little representations of an idea, neatly wrapped, easy to wear and very straight-laced. It's not that Diptyque never went off the beaten track- after all, there are L'Eau Trois and Eau d'Elide, but neither one of them fared well. What I'm trying to say is that it's no wonder that Diptyque managed to take the great man-eater tuberose and civilize it by creating  Do Son.

I don't think I've ever come across such a clean and well-behaving tuberose that still manages to retain its tropical lush core and bloom spectacularly in the heat. White flower notes in general and tuberose in particular never make a real "dry" perfume (even when paired with ample of spice and woods, like in Serge Lutens' Cedre). But Do Son comes amazingly close to that idea through a composition of crisp green leaves that border on bitter and something that can only be called a musky iris (or maybe an iris-like musk?).

Do Son is east to wear, probably because it lacks both the Audrey II characteristics found in some of its relatives (Fracas, Carnal Flower, Datura Noir) and the weird pairings of my personal favorites- Anya McCoy's tuberose and chocolate truffle of Starflower, Uncle Serge's magnificent Tubereuse Criminelle, Parfumerie Generale Tubereuse Couture and the amazing Tubereuse 3 from Histoires de Parfums. This is both Do Son's strength and greatest weakness. It's nice. It has a good chance appealing to non-tuberose people and converting them to the dark side. But as fond of it as I am, I just can't see a reason for me to get a full bottle when I can wear something a lot more interesting.

Do Son ($88, 1.7oz EDT) and the other Diptyque perfumes can be found at Luckyscent, Aedes, BeautyHabit and also Saks and Barneys.

photos: myvintagevogue.com

Reading Angela's review of Estee Lauder Pleasures Bloom on NST yesterday I kept nodding in agreement:

It’s a drinkable, refreshing potion, like a sipped glass of chilled pink zinfandel from a box on the patio at a baby shower. It doesn’t offend and it definitely refreshes. While it cuts the heat and takes the edge off those irritating baby games, it also doesn’t inspire me to ask for a second glass.
...
Although I decided I don’t need a bottle of Pleasures Bloom, it would make an easy gift for the aunt you don’t know well. Almost everyone would like Pleasures Bloom even if no one loves it.

Yes. Exactly.

A kind SA at Ulta gave me a couple of samples the day my local store got Pleasures Bloom and I admit I enjoyed wearing it. Except for the little problem of getting a piercing headache every time. Which is really unfortunate, because Pleasures Bloom is a rather well-made fruity floral that should be fun and easy to wear. While I'm not much of an Estee Lauder fan (Amber-Ylang Ylang is the only Lauder perfume I bought in 17 or 18 years), I always admired the way the company seems to respect its customers. The fragrances might not be my style but they're clearly made for people who enjoy wearing real perfume. In today's dumbed-down market this is a notable and commendable approach.

Pleasures Bloom smells like a summer fantasy of spending a mid-July day in a shabby chic garden, reading chic lit while lounging in a hammock. Reality is that I avoid the sun, suffer from allergies and get horrible insect bites as soon as I set foot in our yard. My idea of "outdoors" is 5th Avenue and having my phone and laptop around me at all times makes the lounging thing highly uncomfortable. Oh, and shabby chic style is as foreign to me as rococo.

Still, this pink smelling Lauder is fun, light enough to not go sour on skin even though it's loaded with roses, peony, lychee and other imaginary fruit and I've worn it on some seriously scorching days. It smelled good. It smelled nice. It was so decidedly not me I felt like crawling out of my skin even without the aforementioned headache.

I'd love to smell Pleasures Bloom on women around me. But I'm taking a shower and going to spray myself with Patou's 1000.

Estee Lauder Pleasures Bloom ($52, 1.7 oz EDP) is available at just about any department store under the sun.

Image: vintagefresh.co.uk

Some longtime readers might remember that I used to count Donna Karan's Cashmere Mist among my mortal enemies. It's not that I didn't get why so many people love it: I have a friend who smells absolutely exquisite in it. It's just that on my skin Cashmere Mist turned into a very synthetic musky powder mess. But something has changed some time during the last year. It's not that I started to like this Donna Karan perfume, but I've either softened with age or simply smelled so much real dreck, that a mediocre powdery crowd pleaser no longer annoys me.

This should tell you that I had no expectations, good or bad, from the samples of last year's release, Donna Karan Cashmere Mist Luxe Edition EDP. I was so indifferent I put the samples away and promptly forgot about them. They languished in a drawer until a quick rummage revealed I had enough of them for a thorough testing. That was about three or four weeks ago. I'm down to my last sample and there's very little holding me back from heading straight to Ulta for a small bottle.

Seriously.

First, the main difference between the Luxe Edition and Cashmere Mist (EDT. I don't have a sample of the regular EDP) is that it smells more skin-like and less chemical. It seems like to celebrate the 15 years anniversary of CM, Donna Karan (Lauder, actually, who is the owner of Donna Karan Beauty) upgraded and improved the formula. It certainly feels more luxurious- softer and richer. It's closer to the skin and actually more cashmere like, though I've had no problem wearing it on some hot and humid August days.

More than anything, Cashmere Mist Luxe Edition feels fluffy. It has soft wood and barely sweet vanilla that reminds me of the Whole Foods brand marshmallows- they are soft, pillowy and not too loaded with sugar, making them an ideal adult guilty pleasure. The musk is of the deceivingly elusive kind. You think it's gone but all of a sudden you catch a whiff of a delicate and pleasing skin scent that comes from your neck and/or clothes. There's something sensual about it, I guess, but the perfume is still daytime and office appropriate. The sillage is low but the subtle dry-down survives for at least 8 hours, even if by the end of the day I need to stick my face in my shirt to smell it.

Bottom Line: What's wrong with me?

Donna Karan Cashmere Mist Luxe Edition is available from most department stores and fragrance retailers. Ulta seem to have exclusivity on the 1 oz bottle ($48).

Photo by Charles Gates, 1920

The original Valentino perfume is one of very few fragrances (if not the only one) I seem to prefer as an EDT over the extrait de parfum concentration. Maybe that's because my very first bottle of it (bought around 1991) was, indeed, an EDT. I wore it over several summers but never repurchased until last year when I found old bottles of both the eau de toilette and the parfum on eBay and on a dusty shelf at an antique store.

This green floral is probably not the most balanced in the genre, as something about it (my money is on it lily-of-the-valley heart, a note that's ridiculously easy to mess up) can get loud and screechy. I don't mind the hint of a peachy melon (or melony peach?), as it seems to function as a sweetening and softening backdrop for the flower bouquet, but one must admit this is no Le Parfum de Therese.

A drop of the parfum under a couple of EDT spritzes is nice, but more than that is the stuff that gives floral perfumes a bad reputation as being too suffocating. Other than this little issue, the original* Valentino is a pretty, super feminine perfume. My favorite part is the green and hyacinth combination that is all about spring and wearing pretty dresses with a cute purse and adorable sandals (all by Valentino, of course).

Valentino is easy to wear on a late summer day, when you've had enough of the crazy weather, already exhausted your summer perfume collection and want something a bit different. Some would argue Valentino smells dated. It has a hint of an animalic base (though not enough to raise the eyebrows of your nearest and dearests) and enough oakmoss in the base to choke an IFRA bureaucrat. I don't care, though. Sometimes a perfume that smells like a perfume is a very good thing.

Valentino by Valentino is available online fairly easily, but it seems to have been discontinued at some point, since there's a new(ish) and very different perfume under the same name.

*Valentino was released in 1977 and again in 1986. I can't find any info on what, if anything, was changed in the formula. Since both bottles in my current collection seem to smell identical to the way I remember it from 1991 I'm assuming all I know is of the later version.

Several years before Ralph Lauren used horsey-set images and branding for his colognes and perfumes, Guerlain did the same thing with Habit Rouge. So what does a masculine perfume named something like "red riding hood" smell like? Surprisingly, pretty much like a butched up Shalimar.

It makes sense, really. Shalimar, at least in its former incarnations, is gorgeous and very complex. Many men like Shalimar and would have loved to wear it, but not everyone finds it easy to get over the branding, marketing and that powdery facet. So Guerlain kept the structure, the citrus top (made even crisper with spicy greens), the smooth sandalwood and rich amber base, took away some of the powder, added leather and poured into a pour homme bottle. The result is a smooth and sophisticated scent, lighter than Shalimar but still instantly recognizable as an oriental Guerlain.

Habit Rouge is sweet and creamy, thus making it stand out from the crowd of commercial masculines of the last couple of decades. Of course, it is a 1960s creation, a time when a good perfume was not a thin airy little nothing. I would have liked to conduct a blind testing of the Guerlain classic masculines in a college dorm and see the young men's (and women's) reaction. After all, this is the generation born into a world of CKWhatever.

In any case, those of us who like to dig deeper when searching for a good perfume can easily appreciate Habit Rouge. It's one of those masculines women like to adopt for themselves just as much as to smell on a man's neck (it promotes some serious nuzzling). I originally bought the (vintage EDC) bottle for the Blond, but have found myself wearing it often during this sizzling summer, often as a morning scent before switching to vintage Shalimar EDC. It's a splash bottle, but I find that dabbing isn't very satisfying (it is an eau de cologne, after all, so I shouldn't be surprised). Spraying gives a better impression of this sweet but tasteful concoction, and while the modern version seems a bit flat and less leathery, it's still light years better than any of the modern Guerlain releases for men.

Vintage Habit Rouge perfume ads: vintageadbrowser.com

The best perfume news I heard lately came from Luckyscent/Scent Bar- they now carry the three new Mona di Orio perfumes, Les Nombres d’Or. Of course, it would have been even better if they got the entire line- I'm out of Chamarre and now kicking myself for not buying a bottle when I had a chance. But I can't whine too much when the gorgeous trio is here and readily available.

Cuir is another proof one can never have enough leather fragrances. It stands out even among my cuir-rich perfume wardrobe because like each and every one of Mona di Orio's perfumes, it's breathtakingly animalic. These perfume come alive on skin, develop and morph into shapes, feelings and memories. It is what perfume was supposed to be before the days of scrubbed clean and shower fresh scents. Cuir is everything I hoped it would be: smoky, raunchy, yet civilized. It's not as raw as a caveman or a biker dude, but also not quite the floral lined expensive handbag of Cuir de Russie. Mona's Cuir is urban and just elegant enough to make me feel like a million dollar, but it's also spicy, quirky (cuirky?) and quite out there.

The most important thing here is that Cuir smells really really good. It's glorious- from its opening notes that are on the masculine side with dry (though not tarry) smoke and absinthe to the way it softens and envelopes the skin. The animalic facet is stunning.  The husband's response was "mmmm... dirrrty", so with the right spouse Cuir is definitely sexy. It's softer than Gomma and Cuir Mauresque and doesn't have that new sofa smell of Cuir Ottoman. My sister still found it too much to take, but I adore this perfume style and find it comfortable and easy to wear- just like my DVF wrap dresses that respond and move with my body in the most flattering way without feeling restrictive.

All three Les Nombres d’Or perfumes come as an EDT, but I have no complaints about the lasting power-about 6 hours for Musc, 10 hours for Ambre and Cuir.

Bottom Line: Must love animalics.

Mona di Orio Cuir ($150, 100 ml EDT) and the other Les Nombres d’Or are available from luckyscent.com and its earthly incarnation in Beverly Hills (reviews coming soon. My brilliant scent twin, Tom, loved Musc, of course). My sample came directly from the company.

Photo: George Hoyningen-Huene, 1928

Those who only know Coty and its classics from the drugstore versions of the last couple of decades would never guess the cheap smelling vile liquid called Emeraude used to be a magical and sensual perfume, something a well-coiffed fashionable woman would wear when dressing up. Four years older than Guerlain's Shalimar (1921 vs. 1925), the similarity between these two big orientals are striking, especially as the scent opens and unfolds. Emeraude has the same wood and vanilla lusciousness, and a distinct opoponax note.

Between the various versions and concentrations of vintage Shalimar I own and my small bottle of 1950s or 60s Emeraude parfum I doubt I'd be able tell which is which in a quick blind test. But the late drydown of Emeraude is gorgeous and so distinct- it manages to smell both cleaner and more animalic than Shalimar. Don't ask me how it's even possible. Maybe it's the absence of the somewhat murky and burnt note in Shalimar (not that there's anything wrong with that). It's also less powdery, I think, and feels a bit more hard-edged, which I enjoy quite a bit. Not more or better than Shalimar (my heart still belongs to the Guerlinade), just different enough to make knowing and wearing both worth my time.

The bottom line is that Emeraude used to be dazzling and majestic. It's one more example proving the fall of the House of Coty. Don't bother with the stuff at Wallgreens. Instead, go rummage through your great aunt's belongings and borrow the bottle she saved for special dates. Maybe she also have a good story or two.

Vintage Emeraude perfume ads from the 1940s and 1950s- vintageadbrowser.com

Victoria's Secret and Agent Provocateur didn't invent the connection between perfume and lingerie brands. Back in 1987 La Perla came out with their eponymous perfume, a pretty floral chypre. It's interesting to note how this perfume genre, once considered ultra sexy and feminine, is now practically obsolete. Between IFRA restrictions and shifting tastes, real chypres are disappearing left and right. It's these older bottles that take one back in time.

The original La Perla belongs on the same virtual shelf with Paloma Picasso and Fendi. It's a product of the same area and shares many similarity with both- from the big sillage to the floral spicy notes. The oakmoss is also quite dominant and detectable from the start, which causes a love or hate reaction. It's almost funny how non-politically correct La Perla and the other perfumes in this group smell. If you wear them you will be noticed, for better and for worse, and someone in the next cubicle might be offended. But you will have so much fun...

Seriously, La Perla is the olfactory equivalent of heavy (and not necessarily natural) eye lashes, a wide patent leather black belt cinching your waist and a good pair of stilettos. It doesn't really flirt because there's no need. A sideways look is all it takes to mesmerize and draw others in. As long as they don't object to spicy roses over a dark and dry patchouli-oakmoss base. While amber and benzoin are listed as notes, don't expect an oriental sweetness. There isn't any any and La Perla is not what we call today "sweet". There's actually and almost soap-incense dryness making it more restrained and far less diva-like than Paloma Picasso and Fendi. Actually, if you dab it carefully you can probably avoid the drama and raised eyebrows at your uncivilized sillage.

La Perla original (aka black cap) EDP is easily available online. Retail price seems to be $65 for 1.7 but discounters offer it for half this price. The bottle has changed over the years and I'd bet money that today's formula is not exactly the same, but I haven't tried it. My own bottle is the short and wide one and is probably from the early 90s.

Images-
La Perla lingerie from 1992 byaisling.blogspot.com
La Perla perfume ads from the 1980s and 2004 (bottom one) imagesdeparfums.fr

I admit I never paid much attention to Eclat d'Arpege, Lanvin's 2003 release, beyond a couple of sniffing and the quickest skin test to determine that it was decidedly not my thing. However, since it has become my sister's signature perfume in the last couple of years (yes, she of Tresor and LouLou infamy)  I decided to give it a little more attention.

Eclat d'Arpege opens like many modern department store perfumes- a sheer fruity floral thing with an obvious clean musk overtones. The floral notes are very delicate and have a transparent, almost ethereal quality that feels very spring-like, evoking the first blooms of the season. The official notes include lilac and wisteria, and while I've smelled more realistic lilacs, there is this pale purple quality to the scent, even if my own skin tends to kill it upon contact.

My favorite part of this Lanvin perfume is the emerging of a soft osmanthus note, all fuzzy and peachy-apricoty. As far as fruit notes go, this is one of the best way to do it, as osmanthus flower has fruity overtones that don't scream of synthetics. Everything flows towards a wood and musk drydown that is less creamy than Eclat d'Arpege's opening lets on. The drydown is really very nice if this is your thing. It's too light and sheer for me and my skin chemistry doesn't do it any justice, but apparently, my sister gets many compliments on it.

While Eclat d'Arpege is not very original and is too much in the inoffensive, office-friendly category for my taste, I do think it's well done and very underrated. My sister and I are obviously evil scent twins, and it's pretty funny. I don't think we could ever wear each other's perfumes. Years ago I gave her my unloved bottles of YSL Paris and Chloe Narcisse. She wore both of them beautifully, which proves my point.

Bottom Line: One could do much worse when looking for a pretty summer floral.

Lanvin Eclat d'Arpege is available from some department stores and many online discounters. While retail price is $95 for 1.7oz, If you do some searching you'll find it for a fraction of the cost.

Images:
Eclat d'Arpege perfume ad from magazincosmetice.com
French Elle cover from May 1956 featuring Christian Dior's shantung "Glycine" (wisteria) skirt suit from Irenebrination.typepad.com