vintage perfume

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

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

I knew absolutely nothing about Kypre, a 1935 Lancome perfume, when I scored a sealed(!) old bottle of the extrait de parfum in an online auction. The name, of course, was hinting big time that this is a chypre, but that was about that, other than the very little info I gathered here and there. The authoring nose of Kypre was Lancome founder Armand Petitjean (1884-1969) who released it the year he started the company along with four other fragrances. So it was a thrilling moment when the package arrived and I could crack it open and start playing.


My bottle is probably from the 1950s or so (based on its style and the little insert in the box listing Lancome's address as 29 rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré). I was thrilled to discover the juice was very much alive, rich and sweet smelling. There's no question this is, indeed, a chypre, as I could smell enough of the structure right away. I don't know what else was in its top notes, but I was surprised to find out enough bergamot has survived and smelled like the remains of yesterday's Earl Grey tea- strong and a little bitter. The rest of the scent is a lot softer. There's a floral element that is probably a jasmine, non-indolic but a little heady even after all these years. Then comes the beautiful dry-down, a buttery leather, opulent and warm, and the oakmoss which is all velvet.

I never smelled the original Lancome Cuir, the more famous leather perfume Petitjean had created (originally named Revolte and released in 1936), only the reissue (which I love love love). The latter is a floral-leather, a bit crisp and somewhat related to Chanel Cuir de Russie (at least in its extrait version from the early 2000s. Who can keep track with all the changes and reformulations happening around us?), so I'll have to assume the style was somewhat similar. Kypre, while definitely leathery, smells like it belongs to the school of Mitsouko, though the dry-down is very pulled-together and a lot less dramatic. The part that makes me think of Mitsouko every time I wear Kypre is a certain boozy fruitiness when the heart morphs into the base of the perfume. Maybe fruitiness is the wrong word. It feels like the softest pair of exquisite boots in a dark cognac color.

The late dry-down is a muted soapy oakmoss that would easily appeal to a modern man just as much as to a woman. That is, if said man is the kind who trolls the net searching for long forgotten perfumes.

Vintage 1941 Kypre by Lancome perfume ad from hprints.com
Photo of Armand Petitjean from somewhere on the web (unfortunately I lost the link)
Photos of my bottle by me with the help of Lizzy.

I don't often think of chypres as joyous perfumes. Elegant? Yes. Sexy? Definitely. Classy? Always. But they don't usually speak of a summer day and clear blue sky the way Diorella does for me. The other surprising thing about this classic Dior is how despite the ripe fruit notes (peach and melon, both usually send me running for my life), Diorella is nothing like a B&BW body spray or anything of the sticky juvenile genre. Of course, this is not the only Edmond Roudnitska creation that uses these same elements in a beautiful, chic and understated way: Le Parfum de Therese, composed by Roudnitska and launched under Frederic Malle's Editions de Parfum label is another beautiful variation on this theme.

Diorella hides the oakmoss and cheekbones behind its welcoming smile. The greenery is somewhat softened by citrus and flowers that also keep the ripe fruit from crossing the line. There's also a very interesting contrast between the reserved and elegant sillage that meets the nose and the air around its wearer and the lush sexiness that is only revealed when one is dangerously close to your skin- the fuzzy peach texture and human muskiness are a lot dirtier than the well-dressed and accessorized Diorella looks appears to those who don't know her well.  It's a little like wearing the most exquisite set of sexy lingerie under a prim and proper twin set.

Like all the classic Diors, Diorella has been reworked and reformulated too many times to keep track, especially in the last decade. The most current version of  EDT (exclusive to Saks and Dior boutiques, at least on our shores) has very little in common with the 1972 original. It makes me want to kick someone where it hurts due to the lack of respect to both the late Roudnitska and to loyal customers who kept buying Diorella for over thirty years. Vintage bottles can still be found here and there. This review is of the EDT in the old houndtooth packaging.

Images:
Diorella perfume ad from the 1970s illustrated by Rene Gruau vintageadbrowser.com
Dior dress photographed by Henry Clarke, 1955 myvintagevogue.com

The danger in getting into vintage perfumes is that sooner or later one of them will break your heart. The one that did it to me is La Rose Jacqueminot by Coty. It was one of Francois Coty's first creations, originally released in 1905 (according to Roja Dove. Other sources point to 1906). My bottle is the 1980s reissue of the eau de perfume, so it's not that I'm even yearning for something all that old and unattainable, but knowing that this beauty is gone and would probably not be seen again is painful.

I'm not even a rose person, but this is a very dark and thick rose. I don't know if it ever had lighter top notes that my bottle has lost or if it always been about red wine and roses right from the start. It's a date night perfume, low lights, silk and velvet, black eyeliner and hushed tones. There's quite a bit of spice in its heart which makes me think of faraway places.  I smell cardamom, nutmeg and a dirty wood base, a touch of oud, maybe, sandalwood and tobacco. It's rich, romantic, completely devoid of sunshine and so beautiful it makes me dress up to deserve it. La Rose Jacqueminot makes you realize just how much we've lost when Coty turned into a dreck for the masses company it is today, and that's a big part of the heartbreak involved.

Coty's La Rose Jacqueminot was discontinued long ago. Bottles of the later reissue pop up online here and there (there's one right now on eBay, but it's the EDT, so I don't know how it compares to the one I have).

Have you had your heart broken by a vintage perfume? Let's commiserate.

Images:
1939 fashion photo myvintagevogue.com
La Rose Jacqueminot ad from allposters.com
Coty ad from 1943 by Carl Erickson paperpursuits.com

I fell in love with the original (and very discontinued) Armani after getting a free tube of the shower gel when I bought some other vintage gems. Even in its sudsy form, Armani (sometimes known as Armani Black because of the packaging, but not to be confused with Code Black and other older Giorgio Armani perfumes) was very obviously a bitter green chypre. I started showering with it before wearing either Bandit or Niki de Saint Phalle, as both share several prominent notes with it- the oakmoss-glabanum in Bandit and the bitter marigold from NdSP. But I also went on a quest to find and acquire the real thing.

I now own bottles of Armani both in EDP and EDT and I'd be in heaven if I could also find it in parfum and fully indulge in its crisp and somewhat leathery drydown. But I'm very happy with the two concentrations I have- green, grassy and herbal from beginning to end, with a softer floral underbelly that is more evident in the EDP (very similar to the modern re-issue of Piguet's Bandit) and a gloriously mossy base of the kind we haven't seen since IFRA stomped all over our perfumed lives.

The original Armani was labeled a feminine but to me it's an androgynous just like Bandit. After all, Armani's iconic1980s work utilized masculine shapes and fabrics for women and nothing was sexier (well, in 80s terms). It should appeal to hard core chypre lovers and anyone who gets high on galbanum and marigolds and other angular notes that are not traditionally "pretty". Now, if it only was easier to find...

Images:
Giorgio Armani perfume ad- okadi.com
Gia Carangie in Armani ads from Vogue Italia, March 1980- giacarangieditorials.blogspot.com
1982 Armani fashion- fashionmoment.blogspot.com

I don't have a complete list of notes, any official (or semi-official) information or even a copy of a print ad from the 1946 release of Coty's Les Muses. All I have is my bottle of the 1970s-80s reissue, my nose and a slew of compliments I get whenever I wear it. Seriously, even my husband likes it and doesn't complain about it "smelling like vintage", probably because it doesn't have a thick layer of expired aldehydes in the opening and the overall impression is sweet and smooth.

Les Muses smells pretty. Very pretty. It's enthusiastic and uplifting to the point of elation- something in the sunny floral blend, I assume. I smell tuberose and muguet and they hang in the air and reverberate like the sound of a silver bell. It makes sense that such exuberance was created just after the end of World War II. It's the kind of scent that makes me want to take the stairs two at a time, wear a cute dress and skip outside.

I smell wood in the drydown, especially a very nice sandalwood- a little sweet, not too creamy. Les Muses lasts and holds its structure for hours, even though my bottle is only of the EDT (it looks the same as the Chypre reissue from the same time period). It's another reminder of Coty's past and heritage, now sadly gone and drown in a vat of celebrity perfumes and cheapened drugstore scents.

Les Muses was originally released in 1946, discontinued at some point in the 60s and reissued again in the late(?) 1970s together with Chypre and La Rose Jacqueminot. Bottles keep popping online, though mostly are of the later incarnation like mine. I have no idea if and how much it differs from the original.

Photo by Alfred Eisenstaed, life.com

There is very little information about Courant, a 1972 fragrance by Helena Rubinstein. Other than the year of creation and a general agreement that we're dealing with a chypre, nobody seems to list the notes, the nose or any other information and there is no reference to an ad campaign other than the commercial below.

You only need a semi functional nose to identify Courant as a chypre. The oakmoss can be smelled from here to IFRA and there's a sharpness in the top notes that suggests bergamot and probably some other faded citrus.The middle is fairly spicy- some clove and carnation, a hint of cinnamon and there's something bitter and fairly green that dries down into wood, moss and leather. It smells very crisp and very 1970s in the best possible way. It is more woody than Jean-Louis Scherrer and not as warm as Apercu. Back then I'm sure it was considered very feminine, today a man could easily wear it, if he found a bottle, that is.

Helena Rubinstein's Courant is another discontinued gem. It disappeared from the market even before IFRA's long hand has reached our chypres, just like Rubinstein's most other perfumes. My bottle of the EDP looks cheap with its periwinkle plastic cap that doesn't match the lovely scent inside. The EDP can be found a bit more easily than the pure parfum that came in a nicer bottle and seems to get shockingly high prices online.



Photo: Vogue, 1972

Bat-Sheba was the most beloved of King David's wives and the woman who made him lose his head and commit sin after sin just so he could have her. Her first husband was Uriah, one of King David's generals. The king saw Bat-Sheba bathing on the roof of her house and made up his mind to have her. Bat-Sheba got pregnant while her husband was away on the battlefield, so in an effort to cover up the adultery, the king sent for Uriah. However, the husband refused to go home and see his wife while his soldiers and brothers in arms are in danger. King David then gave orders for Uriah to be placed in the most dangerous post and got him killed. These actions  carried some serious consequences for all involved. Death, war and loss followed.

Cheerful, I know. And apparently also inspiring enough for a perfume.

Bat-Sheba, a perfume by Israeli designer Judith Muller was launched in 1966. An unconfirmed story has perfumer Sophia Grojsman as the nose who created it (note to self:  ask about this if I ever meet Ms. Grojsman). The painted glass bottle is quite nice and has become a collector's item even without the juice. The perfume was most likely discontinued in the very early 80s.

Searching online, I've found several lists of notes with little in common. What would a bible-inspired perfume smell like? To my nose, Bat-Sheba is a fruity-floral chypre. It's quite unusual, actually, and took me a while to warm up to its charms. The fruit note in the opening is too abstract to pinpoint its origin and very ripe. Almost too ripe, actually, which is attractive and repulsive at the same time. It remains in the background even when a robust floral heart takes over. I smell carnation, rose and dirty jasmine. Some also list orris and ylang-ylang.

The drydown retains a honeyed fruit quality while patchouli and oakmoss make an appearance. That's where the chypre quality becomes apparent and very interesting. I like the way the perfume hangs to my clothes more than what happens on my skin, but that might be due to the age of my bottle and a few missing notes. All in all, there can't be too many real chypres in my collection.

Judith Muller perfumes have been gone for decades now but can still be found occasionally on eBay and other auction sites.

Art: Batsheba by Gustave Moreau, 1885
Photo of Bat-Sheba perfume bottle by me.

The photo at the top and Complice have something in common. Both are from 1973 but were made to look and feel about 40 years older. The early 1970s were about the last time Coty (the company) actually cared about making real perfumes instead of regurgitating lame formulas for even lamer celebrities.  The notes for Complice were left by Francois Coty before his death in 1934, hence the direct reference to him on the bottle and box. The bottle design was also made to evoke the days of yore, when Coty perfumes were poured into Lalique bottles.

Complice has a very aldehydic opening, which makes the husband wrinkle his nose, shrug and say it smells "like vintage" (interestingly enough, he's learned to recognize Chanel aldehydes, vintage or not, and no longer complain about them). My bottle is old enough that the other top notes, bergamot and orange blossom, have been eaten by time and aldehydes. Thankfully, the floral part takes over pretty quickly, and it is dry, elegant and quite lovely. You can argue about the peach and lilac (I get the former, though not the latter), but what makes Complice so attractive to me is a long lasting heart of orris and narcissus. It's borderline bitter and feels  almost formal in its crispness.

The drydown, mossy, woody with just a hint of animalic heat feels like coming home, kicking the high heels, unbuttoning the white shirt just a little and taking out the pins holding your hair up. At this point the perfume is not very feminine in today's standard, but I find it quite sexy and I suspect other vintage and oakmoss fiends would feel the same way.

Complice was discontinued by Coty about 25-30 years ago. Bottles can still be found online here and there. I have the parfum in the bottle you see in the ad, but have never tried the EDT.

Images:
Fashion photo from British Vogue, 1973 (myvintagevogue.com)
1976 Complice de Francis Coty ad (hprints.com)

I don't know why the French fashion house Leonard is only a faraway rumor here in North America. Looking at runway photos from Paris of silk dresses in colorful prints with a vintage vibe (think Emilio Pucci with an ethnic flair) makes me want to order an item or two on the spot. But it seems like Leonard never had much of a presence here except in perfume, and I suspect even those were never all that popular. I used to wear Tamango when I was in high school, though even back then I felt it was too safe and tame for me. I just don't do cute all that well.

The Leonard perfume I should have worn is Fashion, a 1970 release. The notes according to Fragrantica.com are: plum,  tarragon, violet, raspberry, peach, bergamot, neroli, lemon, lilac, carnation, tuberose, iris, orchid, jasmine, ylang-ylang, lily-of-the-valley, rose, sandalwood, tonka bean, amber, patchouli, musk, benzoin, vanilla, vetiver and cedar. This list reads like they dumped the content of an entire perfumer's organ, gave it a quick stir and bottled the juice. But Fashion is a complex oriental with quite a bit of dark spicy fruit. Some might regard it as too busy and opaque and not very modern. Personally, I adore the retro feel and love the way a real perfume smells in all its womanly, powdery glory and velvety smooth amber base.

Fashion belongs to an era when the use of fruit notes wasn't meant to smell like spring break in a tropical hell full with Girls Gone Wild. Surprisingly, it's not very sweet, maybe because the top notes are perfectly balanced with green herbs. The only fruit note that really stands up to my nose is plum, which I adore, and find that it morphs beautifully into dry powder and woody amber. I have the vintage EDT, which is light enough for casual wearing, but I would dearly love to find the parfum. I'm sure that even in this lower concentration some would feel Fashion is dated. As a 1970 launch myself, I just ignore them and have fun wearing whatever I want.

While Leonard is still making/selling perfumes, Fashion was discontinued at some point, but can still be found online quite easily.

Images-
Fashion by Leonard 1975 ad: okadi.com
Model at the Leonard ready to wear runway show, October 2009: Life.com
Leonard catalog cover and handbag: Leonard.com

Celebrity perfumes were not invented by Paris Hilton, though I hold whoever gave her the deal responsible for the downhill descent of the trend. Without the Paris Hilton fragrances we probably wouldn't have gems from Kim Kardashian, Jenna Jameson and Pamela Anderson (and we wouldn't be playing a "guess the next luminary to have a scent" game. Take your pick: Snooki, Shauna Sand or Mrs. Ice T).

Uninhibited by Cher (a 1989 release) has something in common with Catherine Deneuve's perfume. Not any olfactory similarity (Deneuve was a hardcore chypre), but a certain point of view regarding the concept of celebrity scents. These are fragrances that actually try to represent the actress without patronizing the target audience.

Like Cher herself, Uninhibited is a big bottle of contradictions. The opening is bright and floral, before it turns to the dark side of extra dirty ylang-ylang and orris. It's bold, loud and strong, but at least on my skin it doesn't cross the lines of vulgarity. I never cared for Cher's music* but loved her movies. It was always difficult to reconcile the talent and sensitivity of her performance as an actress with her red carpet appearances. The larger than life costumes were quite tasteless and made Cher look like she was trying way too hard. Didn't she know she was already gorgeous without the feathers and bellybutton? Did she want to be remembered for showing her pelvic bones at every opportunity?


Uninhibited dries down to a non-gourmand vanilla mixed with some serious animalic notes. I'm pretty sure there's quite a bit of tonka in the composition, and maybe also civet, though I can't find any verification. It's a bit too heavy handed to be considered a "fine perfume". Wearing it is fun, but requires a little self irony and some restraint in application, as it's an aggressive scent that can take up all the air in the room. Even the EDT has a phenomenal staying power (24 hours on my skin), and it might never leave your coats if you get a drop on them. The late drydown is my favorite part. By the time you can no longer smell me from across the street, Uninhibited becomes an elegant oriental, more Oscar winner than an obnoxious diva.

Uninhibited was discontinued years ago. According to the information on Basenotes, there was (is?) an LLP dupe from the late 90s, but the original Cher bottle is a big part of the fun. It can sometimes be found on eBay, but I bought my bottle at an antique store for far less than I'd have paid online.



*There was an episode in season 4 of Buffy The Vampire Slayer where Buffy suspected her new roommate was an evil demon because she had a Celine Dion poster and had her Cher CD on repeat. You have to admit it makes perfect sense.

The DVF boutique in NYC has a large seating area in the middle of the store where you can usually see a few guys who came in with their wives or girlfriends playing games on their phones, texting and trying to pretend they're not really there. Jean Patou had a better solution in the 1920s: his couture studio featured a cocktail bar where the gentlemen could lounge while the ladies were being fitted. It probably helped put the men in a good mood and made paying for the gowns a lot more palatable.

By 1930 Patou decided to convert the space into a perfume bar and asked his house perfumer Henri Alméras to create a perfume trio: Cocktail Dry, Cocktail Sweet and Cocktail Bittersweet. These are the ancestor of the better known Cocktail that is part of the Ma Collection.

Cocktail Dry and its siblings have been discontinued for decades and rarely appear anywhere. I was incredibly lucky to find a sealed albeit half evaporated bottle of the parfum and discover that while it's probably aged significantly, it still smelled beautiful. In its prime, Cocktail Dry was probably a lot greener, especially at the top. What's left is still very herbal and aromatic which makes me suspect it might have been a fougere. The surprising part of the scent is a round and full animalic base which I adore. The husband says the late drydown on my skin smells like honey. I think that's his perception of a certain type of animalic skank- think Miel de Bois or MKK.

I don't and of course would never wear fur, but the image created in my mind when smelling Cocktail Dry is standing in a bar, sipping something sophisticated (funny. I hardly ever drink) while having a luxurious fur casually draped over my shoulders. I'm also a lot taller in this picture and also speaking French, so I guess I really got drunk on this vintage cocktail.

1952 ad from hprints.com

A 1978 release, Magie Noire occupies a similar place in my memories with the other beasts of that era, Opium and Charlie. I need to ask my mom, but I'm pretty sure several of her acquaintances wore it, including at least one of my teachers. And all of them overdid it and wore it at inappropriate times , thus ruining the black magic and making it into a cartoon version of itself.

All of the above means I didn't discover Magie Noire's real beauty and power until it was too late- while there's an EDT by the same name on every Lancome counter, it smells cheap, synthetic and completely devoid of magic, black or other. This is, of course, where one do two things: Turn to eBay and pray, which surprisingly worked for me, as I found a bottle of the parfum and didn't have to sell one of my cats to pay for it.

The notes (from Perfume Shrine) are: bergamot, blackcurrant, hyacinth, raspberry, honey, tuberose, narcissus, jasmine, incense, Bulgarian rose, patchouli, vetiver, castoreum, labdanum, musk and civet. This is quite an impressive list that can tell you this is not for the faint of heart. All those animalic notes (castoreum, musk and civet) create a strong foundation with an incredibly sensual touch. It doesn't smell dirty, though- no sweat or bodily functions- instead, this is a siren that tempts and calls for you to get closer and closer, to try and smell what it's really like to be there. The road to that point is quite irresistible. Out of all the floral notes listed what I get most are the hyacinth and narcissus, beautiful and dry, but in this case they are laced with an incredible honey note. This is probably my favorite of the scent- the way it changes and morphs seamlessly, like a sexy montage. My skin also amplifies the berry notes, and for once they don't feel silly. They are actually dark and while tempting and juicy, they play a part in the seduction without ever crossing the fruit cup line. It's not about being "yummy, it's about being Nigella Lawson.

I haven't seen oakmoss listed anywhere as part of Magie Noire, but at times I could swear it feels and wears as dangerously as a chypre. Whatever used to be in there, it's a true beauty, and I'd suggest you raid the dresser of any aunt who might have a pre-reormulated bottle to get a taste of it.

Magie Noire ads from 1982 and 1984: paperpursuits.com and couleurparfum.com

In 1921, many years before YSL has commissioned Sophia Grojsman to create Paris, François Coty had his own vision for a perfume capturing the city. It's interesting to note that Coty's Paris was a contemporary of Chanel No. 5, one of those fragrances that say "French Perfume" from the very first whiff. I've never smelled No. 5 in its most original form (if some well-meaning but utterly misguided Chanel rep is going to jump in with the "Chanel No. 5 is the same as ever" line I'm going to through something heavy at them), and my bottle of Coty Paris doesn't go quite as far back (it's most likely from the late 1960s), but I suspect that there were some similarities there, at least in the general feel of the two perfumes.

Octavian Coifan's breakdown of Paris' formula reveals an aldehydic floral with a typical (to that period) rich, animalic base. What I smell from both the EDT and the Parfum de Toilette  I've tried is a somewhat abstract floral heart- the specific seems to have been blurred and smoothed over the years, so I can't say I get any hyacinth or lilac (though I definitely wish I had). It's very full and round, though the EDT is sharper, as is usually the case. The next phase is a delicious heliotrope-peach. It's beautiful and very satisfying, making me think not so much of a ripe peach or its skin, but of the stone inside.

The lovely almost-sweet-but-not-quite lasts for hours. I've been decanting into a small spray atomizer, because the perfume grabs the skin better when sprayed. It feels womanly and sexy in a rich, understated way. Is it very Parisienne? I'm not sure- Paris for me is just much about Guerlain, Lutens and the other usual suspects. What's obvious is that we all lost a large piece of perfumery's history when Coty turned its back on tradition and quality and signed Jennifer Lopez and Shania Twain (Coty the company, that is. Monsieur Coty has been rolling in his grave for many decades by that time).

Paris, like many of Coty's original classics was discontinued years ago. Bottles pop up on eBay from time to time.

Original Coty Paris perfume ad: okadi.com

Dioressence in its older versions comes from a time and place where people didn't buy perfume as an afterthought while shopping at the mall. It smells very French and womanly in the best way possible, and one can  feel the connection Dioressence has to Miss Dior- according to Luca Turin, perfumer Guy Robert got the idea for the formula when washing his ambergris-smelling hands with a Miss Dior soap. While none of the vintage bottles in my possession gives a strong ambergris note, I can understand the inspiration behind it.

Dioressence could be described as Miss Dior's Casual Friday outfit. This is what she wears when out of her pencil skirt and seamed stockings. It's greener and wilder, especially once the aldehydic opening calms down. Miss Dior's leather and smoke are replaced with (controlled) sweetness, but there's still enough oakmoss there to keep things interesting.   My bottles (EDT and parfum concentration) are from different years, and as is the case with all the classic Diors, it's hard to make heads and tails between the versions. One bottle has clearly a lot more spicy carnation and powdery flowers, while another is strong the chypre structure.

I love them all and tend to layer them together randomly. I find Dioressence surprisingly easy to wear, despite what some call funky notes- there's no dead rodents for me, just joy, exuberance and tasteful sensuality.

Dioressence has undergone several reformulations. I've smelled the EDT (the parfum has been gone for years now, at least in North America) from the mid 2000s a few times and found it utterly forgettable. Word on the various boards is that the most recent version- one that came out in the second part of 2009- is actually better and resembles the original. I haven't tried it yet- my local Saks seems to still keep the previous tester and the Dior SA can't talk perfume to save her life.

Vintage Dioressence ads from around 1981- okadi.com and paperpursuits.com.

When naming a perfume "Amour Amour" you're making a very clear statement. Jean Patou, or rather his in-house perfumer Henri Almeras, took it seriously. This 1925 composition together with Que Sais-Je? and Adieu Sagesse is part of a romantic trilogy that tells the story of a love affair- The exhilarating infatuation, the worry and doubt and the total surrender of body and soul.

It's easy to be a cynic and dismiss Patou's concept (and also the fact that each perfume was supposed to target women of different hair colors- Amour Amour is for the blondes, who apparently have more fun), and I do, but you can't ignore the fact that Amour Amour smells hopelessly romantic. More than anything it's a very feminine floral. Jasmine and rose give the perfume its elegant French feel, a lot of carnation, especially in the EDT concentration, and some dirty ylang-ylang. The eau de toilette drys down into a salty vetiver that smells surprisingly sensual, while the extrait de parfum is more animalic but takes its time getting there. Some sources don't list heliotrope among the notes, but when wearing the parfum I can clearly smell its creamy almond presence. As a matter of fact, somewhere around Amour Amour's heart it reminds me of a light-hearted and optimistic L'Heure Bleue.

Amour Amour, like the entire Ma Collection, was discontinued in the early 1990s but the EDT can still be found at various online sources. The extrait is harder to get, but bottles pop up on eBay.

Amour Amour ad from 1946- paperpursuits.com
Vintage fashion illustration of Jean Patou and Yvonne Carette dresses from 1933- myvintagevogue.com

Would it be an unforgivable cliché to say that Jean Patou's 1929 Moment Supreme smells very French? It's the lavender, of course, and that "real perfume" base that goes from a rich amber (tonka bean maybe? a pungent ylang-ylang?) to an almost animalic. The very old bottle of vintage Moment Supreme makes me think it was created as Patou's answer to Guerlain's Jicky. The lavender over an oriental base is a similar theme, as is the unisex vibe.

The bottle of vintage parfum I have has lost all the bergamot it was supposed to have in its top notes, even though I bought it sealed (it was such a thrill to open the pristine packaging). The lavender is very sharp and spicy, though, and smells very much alive. The story is in the base notes- a gorgeous sweet and dirty musk that lurks behind the soft ambery notes. It lasts for several hours, warming up and softening even more on the skin.

I also have a mini Moment Supreme in EDT as a part of the Ma Collection boxed set. It's much newer and smells very fresh. The bergamot is fully there and the opening is a little like a men's cologne. The base is cleaner, much more polite and it retains some of that sheer, cool clarity of the opening. It doesn't last long, at least in the moderate application that a small mini splash bottle requires. But it's still very pleasant. I would have been very happy to see it resurrected so I could give the husband a full bottle and instruct him to spray with abandon.

Moment Supreme, together with the other Patou Ma Collection scents has been discontinued years ago. Bottles can still be found here and there, especially of the eau de toilette.

Elena of Perfume Shrine has written in great depth about the Ma Collection. You can find it here.

Vintage Moment Supreme ads (1947 and 1965): vintageadbrowser.com

If you check the Basenotes directory for the original 1952 Tresor entry you will find some reviews that clearly talk about the 1990 Sophia Grojsman composition. I don't know if it's funny or sad how some of the reviewers see a 1990 perfume as "vintage", but considering that the Trésor you currently see at your local Lancome counter doesn't smell exactly like the bottles my little sister plowed through in the early 90s, maybe they are somewhat justified in this approach.

The fact is that the original version of Trésor dating from the 1950s has been lost and forgotten long before Lancome commissioned Ms. Grosjman to create the new rose-apricot monstrosity. I was lucky to find a half full bottle of the old juice and reckless enough to buy it unsniffed, despite my utter dislike of the new one. That's my version of living dangerously. Or maybe not- I have yet to come across a fine fragrance from the fifties I don't like (and, yes, back then Lancome used to produce truly fine fragrances).

I was right. Despite the faded and musty top notes and a general rosiness, vintage Trésor is a beautiful, elegant perfume. It's as femme as it gets in that familiar 1950s way that is never too sweet and comes complete with uncomfortable lingerie and a worn black leather purse that has a metallic clasp and frame. You can actually smell that purse in the leathery drydown. It's a bit animalic, but not too much as to scare people or even hint that the girdled and gartered wearer is anything but a lady.

The shape of my bottle hints that it dates from the 1960s. It doesn't mention concentration, but the scent doesn't hold for more than 2-3 hours, so I suspect it's an EDT or an EDC. I don't mind reapplying, because it's such a pleasure to wear it once I get to the perfume's core. I could probably be more heavy handed with it- it's quite rare, but these treasures should be fully enjoyed as long as they are around.

Vintage Lancome ads: okadi.com and paperpursuits.com.

I have a tiny bottle of Hermès Amazone in its original 1974 version. It's the parfum extrait and it's glorious. Of course it is- hyacinth, cassis, bergamot, geranium, rose and jasmine over a wood-vetiver-oakmoss base. Amazone used to be a very well-mannered fruity chypre. Less wildness and raw feeling than the vintage ads would let you believe, but still a lot of fun and depth.

Those of us who think of fruity scents in terms of BBW body sprays and other typical mall pink juices are often surprised when discovering how beautiful a fruit notes used to be when they were treated right and paired with oakmoss instead of vanilla. All of a sudden, cassis is just pulpy and sweet enough to make the rose more red and the other floral notes come alive and sparkle.

Was the perfume supposed to evoke the rain forest jungles or the fearless women warriors? The latter if to judge by the ads, but to be honest I get neither. It might be the hyacinth, but I find Amazone to be very romantic, well-dressed and coiffed and every bit as one would expect a vintage Hermes to smell- an elegant woman in a pencil skirt, good jewelry and a Kelly bag, her heels clicking on the pavement as she hurries to meet her lover in the afternoon. There's just a hint of naughty thoughts, a glimpse of lace under the silk blouse and a careful waft of the delicious perfume following her.

Don't blame me. It's the oakmoss. Maybe that's why the stupid bureaucrats banned it.

Today's version of Hermès Amazone is much more fruity, watery and altogether pointless. The vintage has become nearly impossible to find, especially in parfum, though it sometimes pops on eBay. Take note that sellers who use stock photos of the old bottles are often utterly unaware that they're actually selling the new version in the modern bottle.

Vintage Amazone ads: imagesdeparfums.fr