Amouage Opus IV Library Collection

The first time I tested Opus IV from Amouage Library Collection I applied it just before bed and right away though: "oops, cumin!". I was worried the husband might protest and object to sharing his bed and cats with a hefty dose of this spice. But all went well, spouse and felines were not offended and I could keep on wearing Amouage Opus 4 around my nearest and dearest. Which means I've had plenty of opportunities to test it and develop an opinion.

So, do I like it?

I'm not sure.

What I mean is that while I certainly don't dislike this Amouage offering from their Library Collection I cannot say I'm smitten. It's... OK, I guess, which is definitely not what the creators (and the price tag) would demand. I like spicy incense perfumes and Opus IV is definitely a good one. It also feels at least semi-original, thanks to the combination of notes. There's a fruity aspect (not the perfume's shiniest moment, I admit) and a very feminine floral moment that's almost powdery and girly, but not quite. Mostly there's spice and incense that keep things serious and very grownup, except for a somewhat disturbing foody and chewy accord: Dane at Pere de Pierre calls it a bubblegum note, and I sort of agree. It's like the sexy school teacher/librarian who all of a sudden starts chewing in the classroom.

I do like the incense part and think that it's far better done than Etat Libre d'Orange Encense et Bubblegum. That one is cute and trashy, While Amouage Opus IV has some sort of an identity crisis. I'd like it more had it kept the horn-rimmed glasses and pencil skirt. It's a better look for all of us.

Notes (via Luckyscent): Coriander oil, lemon, mandarin, grapefruit, elemi oil, cardamom, cumin, rose berries, rose, violet leaves, peru balsam, labdanum, frankincense, musk.

Amouage Opus IV Library Collection ($325, 100ml EDP) is available from Luckyscent, MiN New York and other authorized Amouage retailers, such as Jacqueline Parfumerie in San Francisco that provided my sample. Amouage is donating fifty percent of the worldwide profits from Opus IV to the National HIV/AIDS prevention and Control Program in Oman.


Photo of Olivia Williams from the movie An Education from hotflick.net.

May Day Muguet- A Joint Blogging Project

And all of a sudden it's May.

Green and lush, sweet, intoxicating, lusty but also innocent and full of hope. May is a month of birthdays (my husband and wonderful almost three year old niece) and wedding anniversaries (my sister). Happiness is in the intoxicating air and it has a scent- lily-of-the-valley.

Lily-of-the-valley, muguet in French and in perfume-speak, symbolizes the return of happiness. It was a significant flower in Kate Middleton's bridal bouquet, which I'm sure smelled heavenly. It's also an important note in many a classic spring perfume, such as Diorissimo (at least originally) and Coty Muguet de Bois. Normally I have more than a minor aversion to muguet in perfume. There's something there that rarely sits well with me. The real thing is lovely, though nearly impossible to capture naturally. But over the last few months I've discovered a new appreciation for this note when done right.

Dawn Spencer Hurwitz of DSH Perfumes does it right.

Very very right.

Muguet de Mai (feminine) and Muguet Cologne (masculine) are both natural perfumes, something that is close to a miracle. And they smell like one. As true to the flower as it can be, both  in the tender green feel and in a heartbreaking beauty. Muguet de Mai is soft, warmed by the sun, sweet and smooth as honey. It's joyful and looks up at the blue spring sky. Muguet Cologne is earthy and a little smoky. Its green part is almost juicy and I can almost taste it. The smoky and woody elements are smooth and mellow- on my skin they become sweeter than on my husband's, and despite the "Cologne" part of the name, it lasts on me for very long hours.

Wearing Muguet de Mai is uplifting and centering. The way this DSH perfume melds with the skin is typical to natural perfumes- it becomes part of you and feels a lot more warm and intimate than regular floral perfumes. It's all that's good about spring and summer and is.  As for Muguet Cologne's masculinity, it is still very wearable for women who like  leafy greens and have been borrowing (vintage) bottles of Grey Flannel from the men in their lives.



Muguet de Mai notes:
bergamot, lemon, galbanum, violet leaf, freesia accord,  hyacinth accord, Tunisian neroli, linden blossom, cyclamen accord, broom, boronia, sambac jasmine, rose otto, ylang ylang, jonquil, lilac accord  , orris co2, cassis bud, honey beeswax, aged East Indian sandalwood, Virginia cedarwood, tolu balsam, olibanum and styrax resin.

Muguet Cologne notes:
lemon, bergamot, white grapefruit, galbanum, coriander, chamomile, hyacinth accord, Tunisian neroli, geranium, jasmine sambac, orris co2, linden blossom, rose otto, violet leaf, Australian sandalwood, Virginia cedarwood, olibanum, tolu balsam, vetiver, patchouli, and oakmoss.

Please visit the other participants in this May Day project:
DSH Notebook
Scent Hive
Indie Perfumes
Perfume Shrine
CaFleureBon

DSH Perfumes Muguet de Mai and Muguet Cologne are a very limited edition, available from dshperfumes.com:  There are only nine antique presentation flacons of Muguet de Mai perfume,  at $125;  a generous size sample at $22 and varying sizes of the Muguet Cologne from a sample vial for $5.25 to 10 ml $45 and 1 ounce at $98. My samples were sent directly from the perfumer.

Images:
Muguet de Mai by Dawn Spencer Hurwitz
Kate Middleton's bridal bouquet from the official Royal Family photo album on Flickr, courtesy of Clarence House.

Leonard- Balahé

Balahé, a 1983 perfume from the fashion house of Leonard, is yet another proof that once upon a time you didn't have to go to great length to find interesting and  creative quality perfumes. They used to be everywhere. Balahé is a big and somewhat cluttered oriental, the kind that includes just about any note one would want. It's not as assertive and big shouldered as the most memorable classics from that decade, thus it's far less dated or difficult to wear on a daily basis. Still, it has all the markings of a signature perfume for a fashionable yet quirky person from back then.

The opening of Balahe is green and herbal with a very pronounced clary sage and anise battle-axe (years ago I used to think there was lavender, but it's all anise now). It feels quite gender neutral before the warm and round fruity notes (lots and lots of rich sweet plum) join the fun. It's still not too femme or frilly in my opinion, but what do I know? I do think that men who enjoy a little powdery woods and a good oriental base should give this Leonard perfume a try, because even with the nice serving of vanilla and a somewhat creamy floral heart (I get more orris and ylang ylang than anything else from the listed notes), Balahe is not too sweet and has a fine woody backbone with a hint of creamy sandalwood.

Back in the 1980s, as a teenager, Balahe would have been what I considered a grownup womanly perfume. While I was clueless and misguided regarding just about anything and everything (I certainly have the ex boyfriends and  to prove it, and also some equally cringe-worthy old diaries), I did have a reasonably good nose for perfume and I would have been spot-on about this one. It is sexy, rich and velvety, way more sophisticated than my tapered ankle acid wash jeans would have been able to handle. My 40 year old self with a formidable perfume collection thinks it's a beautiful perfume and I'm delighted to have it.

Notes (via Fragrantica): Top notes are aldehydes, pineapple, coriander, plum, mandarin orange, clary sage, anise and bergamot; middle notes are tuberose, orris, orchid, orris root, jasmine, ylang-ylang, rose and orange blossom; base notes are sandalwood, opoponax, musk, civet, vanilla and vetiver.

Checking the Leonard Paris website I see Balahé is no longer in production (Tamango, surprisingly, is still with us, but I can tell you from testing it's not the same) . Bottles of the EDT are widely available online and usually for very reasonable prices.

Old Balahe ads from imagesdeparfums.fr

Prada Infusion de Tubéreuse

Those familiar with Turin-Sanchez Perfumes (The A-Z Guide) know the quippy little labels they use at the top of their reviews. They write things like "cheap iris", "fruity barbershop" or "not gardenia" and it helps you place the perfume on an imaginary spectrum of good vs. dreck.  Were I to do the same thing, this review would have been  titled "hardly tuberose". Unoriginal yet true.

While Prada's first Infusion, Infusion d'Iris had a certain charm in its quiet woody watercolor paleness with just enough iris to not make most of us cranky, other Infusions didn't fare so well. Week, meek, as synthetic as they come and composed in a way that made it painfully obvious they were catering to the kind of consumer who like the name Prada a lot more than he or she like to wear real perfume. And speaking of painful, murdering the idea of a tuberose is criminal, and not in a Tubéreuse Criminelle way (lame pun, I know).

Infusion de Tubéreuse is exactly the opposite of everything I think of the style and aesthetics of Prada. I remember the first time I ever saw some ready-to-wear Prada in person and touched the clothes. None of the items were actually my style, but I could not deny the inspired concepts and colors. I was captivated. Don't bother looking for it in this perfume. The notes (via Perfume Shrine) are Indian tuberose, petitgrain bigararde, Italian blood orange and dynamone (a faintly ambery aromachemical). But, seriously, they could have put whatever they want in that list. Infusion de Tubéreuse smells like a pale and watery floral nothing with a vaguely musky base and a hint of greenish fruit.

As one would expect, Prada Infusion de Tubéreuse has a very limited sillage. It is surprisingly tenacious, though. Just like the case with Infusion d'Iris, you think it's long gone but if you pay attention, even 8 hours after application you realize that the annoying slimy thing that has been following you all day making you borderline cranky is this pale and supposedly humble perfume (why am I thinking about Uriah Heep?). It just won't go away. It's interesting to note that my skin there's barely-to none tuberose, but if I spray some on my clothes or linens I can actually smell a faraway ghostly trace of the flower. Not very satisfying, I assure you.

Prada Infusion de Tubéreuse ($100, 3.4 oz EDP) is available from most department stores. The bottle I have was part of a gift bag at the FiFi Award breakfast.

Art: Ghost Flower by Kristina Layton.

Hermès Eau des Merveilles

There are several Hermes Merveilles perfumes on the market, including a new(ish) version/flanker whatever you want to call it. Tonight I'm talking about the original Eau de Merveilles EDT from 2004. I have and love all three concentrations (Elixir des Merveilles EDP and Parfum de Merveilles) for different reasons. Eau is the least gourmand of the three- there's no chocolate there and the orange is bitter, mineralized and inedible- very much like the way the same note works in Terre d'Hermes. Surprisingly, Eau des Merveilles was composed by Ralf Schwieger and Nathalie Feisthauer, not a Jean-Claude Ellena (unlike the other Merveilles or Terre). It certainly smells like a sibling not only to Terre but also to Ellena's Voyage d'Hermès.

But don't let the whole roster of Merveilles and Merveilles-like perfumes fool you. Eau has a very distinct personality. It smells like a perfect, not too hot summer day spent on a clean and remote beach. You lie there in the sun, your fingers spread to enhance the sensation of the grainy, shiny yellow-white sand. You play with it a little, soaking up the heat, paying attention to the way the tiny particles settle as you pour them across your body. There's some stickiness involved, from the juice of the orange you peeled  and ate a bit messily. The orange dripped a little, making more sand stick to your hand , but you don't really mind. . The scent mingles naturally with the salty breeze coming from the ocean. It's cool and warm at the same time, making you hyper-aware of every nuance- including the old tattered leather of the bag you placed under your head. There are white round and smooth pebbles scattered by. You pick one up and put in your bag. A souvenir from a perfect day. Every time you hold it in your palm you feel some of that hypnotizing warmth and recall the way the air smelled.

Eau de Merveilles is quite strong- maybe not the 24+ hours of Terre d'Hermes, but two careful sprays keep me scented from morning to night, even (or especially, I'm never quite certain) on hot days when it's quite volatile. Eau de Merveilles blooms and spreads in the heat, but the salty air (supposedly there's some real ambergris in there, from an old batch kept in the Hermes vaults or something) keeps it from being too heavy. The stickiness is all in my mind.

Notes: lemon, orange, pink pepper, ambergris, violet, cedar, oakmoss, fir.

Hermès Eau des Merveilles ($95,  1.6oz) is available from Hermes boutiques, Sephora, many department stores and hermes.com. A quick online search would reveal much lower prices from reliable online retailers.

Photo by Frank Horvat, 1987 for Frankfurter Allgemeine Magazine.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Safran Troublant

Safran Troublant by Olivia Giacobetti for L'Artisan Parfumeur was launched in 2002, the same year as another saffron-rose perfume, Donna Karan's Black Cashmere. They don't have much in common, though. Black Cashmere comes from the heart of darkness. It lures you in and hypnotizes with its incense, and is so dark you can almost start humming the Imperial March and feel Darth Vader's black cloak swooshing by. Safran Troublant is the exact opposite. It's all pudding.

I love both, but for some reason only have a full bottle of Black Cashmere. Maybe because it took me a while to get behind my pudding-loving ways. There's no doubt that L'Artisan's Safran Troublant is easier to wear and friendlier for one's elevator and cubicle neighbors with its delicate milky aroma (sandalwood galore) and vanilla embrace. The rose in Safran Troublant is sweet and almost candied- I don't get any of the sourness that often accompanies roses on my skin. It's the same kind of rosewater that scents Turkish Delight. Safran Troublant has none of the spices that pierce Black Cashmere- no nutmeg, cinnamon or clove. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't have objected to some cardamom, or maybe a steamed rice accord. Then again, that might have taken it fully into the kitchen, and this is a L'Artisan perfume, after all, and people should be able to wear it without obsessively googling the nearest Turkish restaurant that can satisfy the all-consuming craving for a Zerde pudding.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Safran Troublant ($135, 100 ml EDT) is available from L'Artisan boutiques around the world, Aedes, MiN New York, Barneys, Henri Bendel, Beauty Habit and Luckyscent.

Photo: turkishcookbook.com

Etro Heliotrope

Heliotrope smells a little out of place in Etro perfume line. Etro fragrances tend to have somewhat of an edge or quirkiness to them. Heliotrope is very romantic and soft, has a dreamy quality and would be right at home in an antique bottle. As a matter of fact, I have a very vintage half-full bottle of Guerlain Heliotrope Blanc that smells a little more wicked than the innocent Etro Heliotrope.

Just as the name hints, Heliotrope is a floral-almond blend, powdery and puffy, like a pastry covered in vanilla-scented confectioners' sugar. There's a very strong gourmand facet to this Etro creation, but not completely. A bitter green streak runs from the top notes all the way down, even when the vanilla takes over. The green jasmine bothers me, actually. I like my soft powdery perfumes as soft as possible, Loukhoum and Louve-like. Heliotrope would appeal to those who like a big dose of white flowers in their sugar.

The overall impression I get from Heliotrope is very nostalgic, feminine but not utterly dainty. In the end, it's very pretty even if not my thing and doesn't sit on my skin as well as I would have liked.

From Fragrantica.com: Top notes are orange blossom, almond, petit grain and bergamot; middle notes are orris, jasmine, heliotrope, ylang-ylang and rose; base notes are tolu balsam, tonka bean, musk, vanilla and peru balsam.

Art: Joseph DeCamp, The Heliotrope Gown.

Norell Vintage Perfume

Considering the size of my perfume collection, vintage and other, and the breadth of my rotation, I probably have enough vintage Norell to last me decades. Perhaps a lifetime. Still I eye my bottles and worry.

Norman Norell created many a fabulous dress for decades. First for Hattie Carnegie, then under the Traina-Norell label.Finally from 1960 until his death in 1972, Norell's designs were labeled solely with his own name. As far as I could find out, the 1969 Norell perfume was the only one the designer had comissioned. Looking at photos and illustrations of Norell creations, I find the perfume shares something with those fabulous gowns. It's American, wearable and assertive, yet possesses a certain French flair. And it's a glorious green floral chypre.

I'm a sucker for galbanum-hyacinth-narcissus blends. There's something about the bitter green and almost-fragile beauty of the flower notes that gets to me every time. It's very different than plush and "pink" natured florals, a bit more reserved and mysterious, perhaps. These kind of scents have a nostalgic 1970s vibe to them, no matter when exactly they were created, and I place them in my mind together with the high fashion of that decade, a glamorous jet-set style that I seem to remember admiring as a young kid in magazines as I was dreaming of life as a grownup.

Norell also has a distinct spicy carnation heart. It's like a preview for Opium, early 70s-style. The richness of the vintage extrait de parfum certainly points that way, especially with the sweetness opacity in the base. But it's still as oakmossy as it comes, and the dry-down of my old bottles seems to have deepened and matured beautifully over time. They don't make them like that anymore.

Notes (via Fragrantica)are- top: lavender, mandarin orange, galbanum, hiacynth, bergamot, narcissus and lemon; middle notes are mimose, coriander, carnation, orris, gardenia, cinnamon, orchid, arum lily, jasmine, ylang-ylang, rose and cardamom; base notes are sandalwood, amber, musk, vanilla, oakmoss, vetiver, cedar and myrrh.

Norell perfume ad from vintageadbrowser.com
Norman Norell gowns from myvintagevogue.com

Prescriptives- Calyx Exhilarating Fragrance

A few years ago, when the Powers That Be at Estee Lauder (the corporation, not the brand) decided to do away with the underperforming Prescriptives, they made the wise choice to keep producing and selling Calyx, Prescriptives' perfume, that had a loyal following since it was launched in the late 1980s. Thus, while Prescriptives counters were folded and a core of leftover makeup/skin care items was exiled to an online-only shop, Calyx was relocated to other Lauder counters, often Clinique or next to bottles of Aramis.

Calyx, a Sophia Grojsman creation, is a fruity green perfume, centered around guava fruit. And that, my friends, spells trouble. Guava trees have a very distinct stench. They smell like decaying and rotting fruit even before the guavas start to ripen. A bowl of these fruit left on the counter make me want to jump out of the window. Which means I really shouldn't mess with this perfume, right?

But I did.

The first blast of guava in the opening of Calyx is always a bit trying, but I keep an open mind about it, because at least it's unusual, interesting and not a melon. Then things become neon green, sharp like a blade of grass that gives you the garden equivalent of a paper cut. Still, it's green and greener, even if not quite natural smelling. It reminds me of a former neighbor who fed her kitchen garden some radioactively-looking hyper-green fertilizer. Her green beans were humongous and scared me out of my organic mind*.

I can deal with lots and lots of greens. I actually like it. But Calyx become unbearably synthetic and so unpleasant it gives a physical reaction and turns my stomach. Between the rotting fruit, artificial greens and plastic muguet, the current formulation of Prescriptives' semi-classic is unbearable to me. There is a quick respite before the perfume disappears into the ether (about 40 minutes after spraying), when I can actually smell real vetiver and marigold, but then it's all gone and leaves me with a slightly off taste in my mouth.

I don't know how Calyx used to smell way back when. The official notes include oakmoss, so you can bet your vintage perfume collection that things have changed significantly since 1987. I also have no idea about the fragrance's concentration: all it says on the packaging and various websites that sell the current Calyx is "Exhilarating Fragrance". I'm guessing the current concentration is weaker than the guidelines for an EDT, but Lauder/Prescriptives feared that an eau de cologne label might confuse their customers as the word "cologne" is usually reserved for men's fragrance. By the way, I don't think Calyx is particularly feminine. It's an equal opportunity scrubber.

*In the end, both my neighbor's hyper-beans and my modest organic broccoli were eaten by Steve the groundhog.

Notes: grapefruit, mandarin, passion fruit, mango, papaya, guava, freesia, muguet, neroli, rose, lily, jasmine, marigold, oakmoss, orris, sandalwood and vetiver.

Calyx by Prescriptives ($52, 1.7 oz "Exhilarating Fragrance") is available at Macy's. The sample I used was sent from Estee Lauder for my consideration.

Art: Maria Sibyla Merian, Branch of guava tree with leafcutter ants, army ants, pink-toed tarantulas, c. 1701-5

Heeley Cuir Pleine Fleur

Cuir Pleine Fleur by Heeley is a dirty floral leather, and if you know anything about me, you understand I mean it in the best possible way. I love Chanel Cuir de Russie as much as possible, but since the current EDT formula from the Les Exclusifs collection is not exactly what it used to be, there's room in my life for another elegant floral leather, perhaps with less aldehydes and more oomph. Heeley's Cuir provides it in spades.

Hay is not mentioned on the note list, but it's quite unmistakable if you ask me. Dirty hay smells sweet and steamy on a hot summer day, and that's what I'm getting here. Like the good part of being on a dairy farm (the noise you're hearing is the Blond laughing himself to death, because he grew up on one). I find Cuir Pleine Fleur a lot more barnyard-like than Dzing! or Kenzo Jungle L'Elephant, mostly because there's no sweet vanilla here to distract me. I guess the birch is responsible for the dirtiness that clings to the very soft leather-bordering on warm suede.

The flower notes here are bordering on heady but not go there all the way. Mimosa, if used to the full effect, can be very honeyed. Heeley chose to keep it a bit cleaner (making me wonder what would happen if I layer Miel de Bois with Cuir Pleine Fleur. They'd probably have to evacuate North Jersey). The  violets contribute to the grassy outdoorsy feel of the perfume, but also add a little sweetness right when the leather/suede takes over. It's beautiful, very streamlined, and despite what my opening paragraph might have made you think, also very elegant. James Heeley applies his very modern design philosophy to his perfumes, so despite the flowers and soft leather notes there is none of the nostalgic feel of Cuir de Russie here. It's not a vintage leather purse nor is it a 1950s leather jacket. Cuir Pleine Fleur is happening here and now, doesn't obey traditional gender rules but yet feels classic and timeless.

A lovely surprise about Cuir Pleine Fleur is its longevity. While the sillage is polite and very mild, I easily get 12-14 hours from it. It took me a few days of testing to realize it, though. At first I thought it was something else around me that smelled so nice, soft and intriguing around me. I sniffed my surrounding, checked the cats (Josephine and Lizzy know how to open drawers. Much mischief ensues) until I realized it was me, my scarf and even my blanket. Just another reason to love this Heeley creation.

Notes (via jamesheeley.com): violet leaf, bergamot, mimosa, aubepine (acaccia), hawthorn blossom, birch, suede, vetiver, cedarwood, castoreum.

Heeley Cuir Pleine Fleur ($150, 100ml EDP) is available from Barneys and Luckyscent.

Photo of Cindy Crawford from life.com, photos of James Heeley and his creations from jamesheeley.com.

Amouage Opus III - Library Collection

Opus III from Amouage Library collection is a wonderful big floriental, of the kind that makes my heart race because it's just so perfect. I can't help it- as someone who came of age in the 1980s I'm drawn to the larger-than-life sillage of these perfumes (and also shoes, jewelry and hair). I can pretend to have refined tastes all I want. In the end of the day I'm Alexis Carrington.

As is often the case with this genre, Amouage Opus III is not centered around one defining note, but has more of a rounded character. Still, the elements I smell most clearly, at least on my skin, are broom, assorted spices, a very rich and honeyed mimosa and violet over a somewhat smoky ambery vanilla base. Naturally, this thing has my name all over it.

The violet-oriental base combination brings to mind the classic Guerlain structure. Indeed, there's a powdery vibe somewhere in Opus 3 that makes me think of helitrope. I'm not saying that this is the Amouage answer to L'Heure Bleue, but I'd go out on a limb and say that LHB fans (and old school Guerlainophiles in general) have a good chance of enjoying this jewel of the Library Collection.

The violet note in Opus 3 is one of the longest lasting ones I've encountered since Armani Cuir Améthyste. The violet is as tenacious as the fragrance itself, and that can easily keep going after 24 hours if allowed. Opus III smells like a million dollars, feels plush and creamy and if you have the right skin for some serious wood-vanilla action it's also as sexy as can be. In an almost tasteful way. I can't get enough of this thing.

Notes (via Luckyscent): Mimosa, broom, clove, nutmeg, thyme, violet, jasmine, ylang-ylang, orange blossom, ambrette, musk, papyrus, cedar, sandalwood, guaiac wood, benzoin resin, vanilla.

Amouage Opus III - Library Collection ($325, 100ml EDP) is available from Luckyscent, MiN New York and other authorized Amouage retailers, such as Jacqueline Parfumerie in San Francisco that provided my sample.

Photo of Jane Russel in Hot Blood, 1956, from The Nifty Fifties website.

By Kilian Incense Oud

Incense Oud brings By Kilian's Arabian Nights to a point of some existentialist questions. Are these oud-centric perfumes orientals? Arabian-style? Utterly French? As Denyse of Grain de Musc points out, Incense Oud is as much a fantasy of the Orient as is Shalimar. With a note list that includes cardamom, pink pepper, Turkish rose, Egyptian geranium, methyl pamplemousse, cedarwood, Indonesian patchouli, Indian papyrus, Somalia incense, sandalwood, Macedonian oakmoss, Spanish cistus labdanum, and musks, the absence of real oud is pretty obvious. The other By Kilian ouds, Pure Oud and Rose Oud, both gorgeous perfumes, were indeed, more fierce compared to this new release. But Incense Oud does feel quite oudish, at least in its top notes and on my skin. When the husband tested it the impression was a lot more like a spicy woodsy rose, closer perhaps to Caron Oud, that he seems to prefer.

But back to Kilian's. Incense Oud smells both plush and austere, if that's even possible. The soft impression that exists for most of the perfume's life span is rich and indulgent. Those are some fine spices, leaves, petals and woods. It's a smell good/feel good thing that makes one all dressed up even if you're still lounging in your PJs. Later, when the various incensy parts take over things get serious. There's a lot of real incense oils in this composition, and while it's not an emotional overdose as you get in Andy Tauer's magnificent Incense Extreme, Kilian and his perfumer, Sidonie Lancesseur, were not kidding. This is incense and it gives that resinous smoky impression that often comes with real oud. Together with the rosy notes, the whole thing looks and smells like a big budget production.

Does it matter that Incense Oud is not real oud and as westernized as it gets? I don't think so. It's a beautiful scent, luxurious and very well-done. I don't exactly dream of the Taj Mahal when I wear Shalimar or a Japanese pagoda when I indulge in Mitsouko, so I'm pretty fine with Kilian Hennessy’s vision and the way it was executed in his Arabian Nights collection.

By Kilian Incense Oud ($395, 50 ml EDP) is available from Bergdorf Goodman, Saks (select locations), Luckyscent, MiN New York (minnewyork.com)and select Neiman Marcus locations. I was given a free sample at Bergdorf.

Photo of Omar Sahriff and Peter O'Toole from the movie Lawrence of Arabia, 1962 (stirredstraightup.blogspot.com).

Lancome Magie Vintage 1950s Perfume And La Collection Reissue

I don't know exactly how old is my bottle of the original Magie by Lancome, but all evidence (the bottle, its stopper and the box) point to the early 1950s.  I bought it sealed a couple of years ago after I already had the modern (late 2000s) reissue and liked it enough to be curious about what it used to smell like. To my surprise, I think I prefer the new Magie to its predecessor. At least for the first 80% of the perfume's life on skin.

The 1950s Magie is an aldehydic floral with an ambery somewhat chypery base (though it's not an oakmoss bomb, more like a hint of that lost in a big vat of Chanel No. 5. Lancome created a mostly polite and demure creature, but with an edge. The predictable rose-violet-jasmine core is inflated by aldehydes and feels more than a little boring, especially if one already have several vintage gems of the same denomination. But I fully enjoy the drydown, since they no longer make them like that. It reminds me of all that's good in vintage Caleche and then some. This is where I smell and get the magic of Magie- she's a good witch, for sure, but neither like Glinda from OZ nor is she Professor McGonagall. There's a certain sultriness as Magie turns all amber, musk and skin, so I'm thinking Veronica Lake as a witch.

The new Magie from Lancome's well-crafted and tragically aborted Le Collection is more seductive at first. I can probably blame that on the vintage juice's age. It might have lost its girly figure, while the modern one is quite voluptuous for a floral perfume and a little indolic. The comparison to vintage Caleche is still valid in the beginning  and I definitely get the chypre structure here. March of the Posse found Magie way too sweet and ambery for her taste, to the point she actually used Bal a Versailles EdC to drown it. I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about, so this particular concoction sounds utterly insane to me. Then again March is a layering genius, so I'm taking her word for it.

The new Magie continues its journey in Caleche's footsteps, this time the modern reformulation that uses vetiver instead of all the good old stuff. I love vetiver, of course, and don't mind in theory, but finding this base in too many new versions of the classics has started to feel like an easy way out. We could all use a little more magic.

Lancome abandoned and discontinued its La Collection perfumes including Magie. I assume they found the cost of keeping a more exclusive high-quality line too high for their liking. Its not that their reps and SAs were ever good at selling the stuff. They all look a lot more comfortable pushing the insipid Magnifique. It doesn't endear them to me.

Top photo by me.
Veronica Lake and I Married A Witch film poster (1942) from imdb.com

Tauer Perfumes- Zeta (and sample giveaway)

I often have a hard time starting a review of a Tauer perfume. Andy Tauer's creations speak to me on such an emotional and personal level that makes it difficult to talk about notes and development. I feel these perfumes and live in them more than I wear the scents.

Zeta, the newest perfume to join the Tauer collection is summer. An ideal and picturesque one-- full of soft light and gossamer air that carries the scents of delicate white blossoms, cold water with thin slices of lemons and oranges floating in them, crisp vintage white linens on tables and beds and the promise of romance if you just go out there and try.

Linden flowers smell and look so very delicate and the quality of the stuff Andy Tauer bottled here is amazing- it's so easy to go terribly wrong, loud synthetic and harsh with floral notes- but Zeta is the real thing, shaped by a sensitive artist and it lets you know it from the very first whiff. I smell honey as soon as I put Zeta on my skin. A light-colored and very gentle honey, but it's there (don't be scared, though. This is most definitely not Miel de Bois). I can almost mentally separate the little white flowers that come next- a pile of linden and a pile of orange blossoms. But then I'd want to draw them back into one heap and roll in them not very gracefully. Then again, we can just wear Zeta and avoid the embarrassment of this animalic behavior, right?

Zeta mellows down a little over time. It becomes both particles and waves. It hangs closer to the skin than any of the other Tauer perfumes and is different enough from them that I'd advise even non-Tauerheads to give it a try. There is a smooth wood and orris accord there that is a bit more cerebral than the pagan bacchanal of rolling and dancing amidst the blooming trees, but is equally enjoyable.

If you know someone who gets married this summer, give her or him a sample as a suggestion for a wedding scent/wedding shower gift. While I can't help thinking of Zeta in feminine terms and as a bridal perfume, I have no doubt that men who aren't afraid of flowers can pull it off. Especially those who liked the aesthetics of Tauer's Carillon Pour un Ange.

Now to the giveaway: I have three samples of Zeta to give away. To enter the draw please leave a comment and tell me which (if any) Tauer Perfumes you've already tried. Did you like them? Why (or why not)?

Zeta by Tauer Perfumes ($150, 50 ml) is now available from luckyscent.com (they also sell samples). The three samples for the giveaway were sent to me by the perfumer, as was the sample I tested and already used up. The full bottle I ordered from Luckyscent should be here on Friday afternoon, and believe me, that's not a moment too soon.

Notes: Lemon, bergamot, sweet orange, ylang, orange blossom absolute, neroli, linden blossom, rose, orris, sandalwood, vanilla.

Top photo by Regina Relang from theformofbeauty.tumblr.com
Linden Blossom photo by Katrin Shumakov

Annick Goutal- Mandragore

I almost forgot just how much I love Annick Goutal's Mandragore. I adore it, really, so the comments from readers talking about its awesomeness for weird weather and/or bad mood were right on target. I played with it again today and once again questioned myself about not having a full bottle. Was it longevity issues? No, not really. It requires serious sprayage but when I do it's there for four hours in full force, and a few more as a quiet woody wrap. The thing about Mandragore and my skin is that unlike just about any other perfume I can name, my favorite part of this Isabelle Doyen for Annick Goutal creation is the opening. I can't get enough of the spicy anisy citrus from the top notes. It's peppery, ginger-like and very rooty. Mandragore is so full of life and enthusiasm for adventure I'd think it's a wonderful perfume to wear when embarking on a road-trip scent.

The thing is that once the mayhem subsides,things get really confusing. I smell iris- both the powdery and the earthy kind. I love iris, of course, but somehow find its presence here distracting and out of place- when wearing Mandragore I don't necessarily want to feel introspective and serene. The iris goes away eventually, but the powder remains, this time as a dusty coat over bleached wood. There's some cedar, I think, an incensy resin and a thin slice of lemon. Mandragore is lovely, wearable and like all Annick Goutal perfumes, very well-made. It's a can't go wrong with it, wear anywhere without being boring scent. My friends here are right- it works well in the heat. Mandragore also smells a lot more natural than most perfumes you can get at a department store. I know absolutely nothing about the mandrake root that supposedly inspired this fragrance. I don't think I ever gave the plant a second thought before reading Harry Potter for the first time and seeing the somewhat disturbing illustration in the book. I kind of like the idea of wearing a perfume made with something that grows in Professor Sprout's greenhouse.

Mandragore by Annick Goutal ($99, 50ml EDP) is available from Luckyscent, most decent department stores and other authorized Goutal sellers.

Image: illustration of a pulled mandrake root by Mary Grandpre from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, 1999 (scanned by me).

Unseasonal

I loved everyone's perfume suggestions for my internal temper tantrum. Keep them coming if you have more, since I'm getting cranky every time I think about these laptops that self-destruct after exactly two years. Tomorrow I'm going to wear Vent Vert in honor of Lawrence from Ohio, though I probably should have also worn it today. We're having a very unseasonal little heatwave:  while tomorrow is back to April showers and temperatures in the 50s, today was in the mid eighties. I kept all the windows open and could smell the first blossoms of the magnolia tree, the hyacinths (or what's left of them) and the general heat rising from the lawn. It was glorious if a little sweaty.

My scent of the day was Andy Tauer's Zeta (now available from Luckyscent), which I have every intention to fully review this week (and there will be a giveaway of samples). It's everything a summer day is and should be. There are two other Tauer perfumes I favor in the heat: Orange Star and Reverie au Jardin. The first is perky, beach-happy in the same way Hermes Eau de Merveilles is sweet and salty. Reverie is an olfactory nap in a hammock.

I can think of other perfumes for an accidental heatwave. Onyx by Sage (especially in oil form) on its dark and smoky coconut feels like a vacation day. Anything vetiver is always a good idea, as are good classic colognes. Tom Ford has taken it to genius level with his newish body oil in Neroli Portofino. Anything that blooms in the heat is also a pleasure to the wearer (and hopefully to his or hers nearest and dearest). From classic white florals such as Fracas and anything tuberose to the modern Rubj by Vero Kern. And if one feels like going the fruity floral way, my guilty pleasures are Nuit de Cellophane (Lutens), EnJoy and Sira de Indes by Jean Patou, L'artisan Ananas Fizz and Annick Goutal Quel Amour!.

Was it hot today where you are? What did you wear to go with it?

Photo of the one and only Joan from stirredstraightup.blogspot.com

I Need A Drink

Actually, I don't drink. But it feels like this could be a good time to start. My laptop had a difficult weekend and is now officially pronounced dead. I have a freshly-made backup and we're a multi-computer family, so I'm just kvetching, not in full-blown tantrum. Still, accessing a specific file is not going to be simple, neither am I going to do a full system restore before my spiffy new computer arrives in a couple of weeks.

We are not amused.

Now, this isn't the time for cuddly "there, there" comfort scents. No vanilla, powder or soft fuzzy musks. I need the olfactory equivalent of a stiff drink, chocolate and a good laugh. Etat Libre d'Orange should really come up with something like that. I spent the weekend mostly wearing By Kilian Incense Oud (and cursing), a gorgeous perfume (review coming in a couple of days) but it didn't hit the spot. Neither does Chanel No. 5, despite its stiff upper lip. I'm thinking Miss Dior (vintage perfume) for tomorrow, or maybe Cabochard, Bandit or Sous le Vent.

What do you wear when you need a drink?

Photo: stirredstraightup.blogspot.com

Moschino Cheap & Chic

I don't get it.

The whole "Cheap & Chic" concept, especially as the name of a perfume. Who wants to smell like something cheap? Then having Olive Oyl, of all cartoon characters, as the image and bottle for this Moschino perfume. I sort of like original Moschino from 1987 with its big and flashy personality. Chip & Chic is trying to be anything but.

Moschino Cheap & Chic is one of those timid floral musks that try to win hearts by having a fresh top notes that promise they're clean and you can bring them home to momma. It also smells, indeed, cheap, and like plastic. It gets better, though, with a soft heart of a peachy rose that almost smells real. In the end, Moschino Cheap & Chic is a light musky floral of the laundry detergent variety. It's harmless, but seriously, Moschino should know better, at least for Olive Oyl's sake.

Notes: lemon, mandarin, peach, coriander, rose, cyclamen, freesia, musk, cedar.

Moschino Cheap & Chic can be found from every discounter under the sun, usually under $30.

Perfume ads from 1997 and 2001 from coleurparfum.com

Emanuel Ungaro- Diva

While we all know they no longer make them the way they used to, some perfumes seem a bit more change resistant. Case in point: Diva, a 1983 Jacques Polge creation for Emanuel Ungaro. Maybe it's because Ungaro hasn't completely given up on the house's perfumes and still actively advertises the classics and keeps them on actual shelves in real department stores. Or perhaps Polge made Diva into a super-perfume, an almost indestructible chypre. It's not that Diva hasn't changed, but unless my Neiman Marcus uses an ancient tester, it's still a gorgeous chyperish perfume, as big as it was in the 1980s.

The list of notes includes everything but the kitchen sink. Flowers in every color and shape all gathered around a big red rose, honey, animalics as long as the eye can see, vanilla, patchouli, spices and leather. Oh, and oakmoss, glorious oakmoss, at least in my older bottle. I've been spraying myself silly from the Neiman tester on every visit to the store and it's still a big (BIG!) fruity rose with lots of other things going on around it and a big (BIG!) oriental dry-down. This perfumes sashays around me, holds onto the folds of my scarves and coats, reminds me to touch-up my lipstick and stand up straight.

The older version is gorgeous, dramatic and romantic. Some might say it's dated in the same way as Paloma Picasso, First (VC&A) or the original Sonia Rykiel Le Parfum. Since I wear all of the above with pleasure and have never felt they're wearing me (some of them have been in my collection for over 20 years), all I can say is "whatever". If you enjoy dark honeyed roses that don't let go and hide some dirty secrets I'd recommend giving Diva a chance. It's probably not for the office or a first date with an easily confused young men, but a romantic night would fit Diva like a gorgeous Emanuel Ungaro gown.

Diva by Emanuel Ungaro can be easily found on shelves and online, usually for very cuddly prices.

CB I Hate Perfume- I Am A Dandelion

Don't believe Christopher Brosius of CB I Hate Perfume when he says his I Am A Dandelion fragrance is nothing but

"... the simple scent of a Dandelion newly picked from the lawn"

It is a dandelion, it was picked from the lawn, but it's not that simple.

I Am A Dandelion opens with a sharp green note and a grassy accord familiar to fans of CB I Hate Perfumes.It's also sweet- just a little in the opening notes and more so after about 20 minutes, when the real Dandelion shows up.

This perfume absolute is very floral, in the best possible way. I admit I don't stop to smell the dandelions that pop on my lawn, but I like looking at them. I assume they smell like a gentle, less bitter version of marigolds, and that's what I get from Brosius' creation. It's leafy, soft and has a petal-like sweetness that warms on the skin and opens up. It's a cliche, and one I probably used here before, but I Am A Dandelion really smells like a summer day. It also has a bit of the feel of sticky little hands that pick a wet bunch of dandelions and other humble flowers that grow in the yard and bring them home proudly to be put in a little jar in the kitchen.

The reason I adore Dandelion is the way it melts into the skin and melds with it. It brings me back to that back yard on a long forgotten summer day makes me part of that summer day with absolutely no care in the world. There are not that many perfumes and perfumers who can take me there.

I Am A Dandelion ($70, 15ml perfume absolute) is available from CB I Hate Perfume Brooklyn gallery and online, cbiahteperfume.com.

Art by Andy Galsworthy and Craig Stephens.