Molinard Chypre d'Orient

Talk about retro. While Molinard launched Chypre d'Orient in 2007 it smells straight out of a collective memory of Perfume with a capital P. It strongly reminds me something from my childhood, but I can't really place it (note to self: send mom a sample. She'll hate it but would probably be able to tell what perfume of yore it resembles). When I say "strongly" I mean it. Chypre d'Orient has a bosom that leads the way, clad in a 1950s-style brassiere  and not trying to hide it. It has a presence and an attitude, it's all feminine and not going to hide it, even if the final outcome is a bit too Mrs. Slocombe.

Chypre d'Orient is sweeter than one would expect. The first thing I smell whenever I wear it is a very chocolaty patchouli that masks any attempt of well-bred notes such as galbanum and iris to peek through. The chypre construction is evident from the start, though, as well as the presence of oakmoss. I have no idea what miracle was performed to make this possible, given IFRA and co., but it's there and wants you to know that. The rose note in the middle is very prominent and unfortunately it doesn't smell like a high quality rose. It might be the combination and not the raw material itself, but if there's a reason why at times Chypre d'Orient smells cheap, I think it's the powdery rose note. There's a slight fruitiness that for a  little while makes one think of the other fruity chypre, Mitsouko. But Molinard lacks Guerlain's restraint in arranging the notes and allows them to jump at you all at once. That's probably the other problem with this perfume- it's just too much. There's a bit of powderiness in the dry-down, but mostly sweet ambery musk

I enjoy wearing Chypre d'Orient because it's fun and very out there, but I have yet to leave the house clad in it and I doubt it's ever going to happen. It's going to attract attention and not necessarily of the good kind. It's too sweet, too dirty, too ornate and loud to mix in polite company, even if sometimes the temptation is great. Some women would look ravishing in a green eye shadow and a retro orange red lipstick, but it would still look more like a costume than a legitimate outfit. That's how I feel when wearing this Molinard perfume-I know better than to step out in it, no matter how small it makes my waist appear.

Chypre d'Orient by Molinard can be found online for under $25.

Photo of Gina Lollobrigida from stirredstraightup.blogspot.com.

Molinard-Habanita (current EDT)

My bottle of Habanita by Molinard smells to me like the love child of Bandit and Shalimar. It's the current formula in EDT with stuff like coumarin and oakmoss listed on the box (at least it still has some coumarin and oakmoss in it. Who knows for how long?), so no miracle vintage juice here. Just a bottle bought from one of the discounters for less than $20. Still, Habanita is marvelous in its smoky-leather-oriental glory, and wearing it feels as natural as my own skin.

Launched in the early 1920s first as a tobacco additive, Habanita was meant to be worn in New York speakeasies as well as in Parisian salons. It was probably right at home among the Mitsouko and Shalimar wearing ladies of its time, as well as on Hollywood stars of the following decades. And why not? The powdery smell of their makeup, the whiffs of smoke, Hermes handbags, furs and the interior of limousines. It's all there, and comes alive on skin, together with soft peachy-apricoty roundness (I wonder if back in the day it also had an illicit ménage à trois with Mitsouko, but the current Molinard version is not mossy enough to point that way).

Habanita is not everyone's cup of spiked tea. I know some are put off by the sweet powder. I suspect most of them also despise Shalimar for the very same reason. Others smell a stale ashtray and would probably cry if we made them wear Bandit. It's funny, because I'm as anti-smoking as they come and hate hate hate the smell, but I adore tobacco perfumes, old and new.

Habanita walks a line between comfort and temptation. It's cozy and cuddly, but wears some wicked black lingerie under the cashmere wrap. It tells stories of its sordid past and unforgettable lovers. It has all the elements of a great femme fatale, but I have no doubt that a man who wears oriental well and love smoky-leathery perfumes would wear it beautifully without getting strange looks on the subway.

Habanita by Molinard is easily available online for half a song, at least in North America. The parfum is also around (Aedes used to have it, but I no longer see it online) and I'm seriously tempted. I bet it's even more gorgeous.

Photo of Dorothy Sebastian: The Roaring Twenties