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

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

Houbigant Chantilly (Vintage)

Smelling the modern day drugstore version of Chantilly (by Dana, if I remember correctly) gives one a good idea what "smells like a cheap perfume" means (said in that certain tone and with a certain look on my mother's face). This was not what Houbigant, the original house that launched Chantilly in 1941 had in mind.

If you've smelled any of the vintage version (as long as they're marked "made in France" and are by Houbigant), you know it can be described  as a plush floral. It's powdery, almost ridiculously frou-frou, has very clear notes of lilac, carnation and a sweet rose. The dry-down is a dusty leather-vanilla thing and calls to mind old and dignified European hotel rooms, with velvet curtains from floor to ceiling and thick wallpaper in a very elaborate design.

I can rarely stand to give Chantilly a full wearing. I appreciate the composition and find it quite beautiful, but it's the kind of pretty that is not really me, unless I'm fully in the mood for something this pink and fluffy, like a pair of marabou slippers. Even then I feel a bit like Zsa Zsa Gabor, not that there's anything wrong with it...

I've played with vintage bottles and samples here and there for years but never owned one until I happened until the one you see above. I've never seen or heard about this Chantilly Collection Royal, but it was sealed, made by Houbigant (and in France) and had this poodle charm. The cellophane wrap was falling apart and the velveteen box is getting bald patches (it was shedding in the plastic). But the Chantilly perfume inside smells beautiful and is so soft and leathery that I grew to love it more than I expected.

For rainy days spent on the couch..

Vintage Houbigant Chantilly ads from vintageadbrowser.com.
Photo of poodle bottle by me.

Germaine Monteil Royal Secret Vintage Perfume

Royal Secret by Germaine Monteil comes to us from a very un-political correct era, when people dressed up to eat dinner, owned real hats (not beanies) and didn't tweet their personal business all over creation. On the other hand, they didn't mind smelling the perfume of the lady at the next table over. Yes, Royal Secret, a 1958 perfume, is one of those fragrances.

The royal in Royal secret is more the Monegasque Grimaldis than the Windsors. The former had a lot more secrets during the late 1950s and 1960s, not to mention sex appeal. And this old Germaine Monteil has exactly the kind of allure you'd expect from a floral chypre of that era. It starts green and somewhat formal, with crisp and clean notes of lavender and galbanum. Just when you think this is a no-nonsense lady who's all about running her household efficiently and washing her nylons every night, she softens and becomes bosomy and a bit breathless. There's an overstuffed pink chaise lounge in her bedroom (she thinks of it as her boudoir) and in the bottom drawer of her dresser, just behind some unmentionables she bought in Paris, there's a stack of letters her husband knows nothing about.

The floral notes in Royal Secret are round and rich. None of them stands out above the others, but the rose and muguet are making it decidedly femme and somehow give the impression of a peachy pink velvet. This is when the perfume becomes quite loud and assertive. I've learned to wear it with the lightest hand, no matter what formula I have on hand. This Germaine Monteil creation is a bit piercing and doesn't care about personal space.

The dry-down is somewhat of an oriental chypre. It's round and soft, has a very intimate vanilla base that hugs you and draws you closer, but also enough of a dry backbone and quite a bit of wood and patchouli that hold everything together for long hours and don't back down.

Germaine Monteil was a French-born American who started her career as a dressmaker and fashion designer in the 1940s, but the success of her perfumes made her switch careers and move into cosmetics. The company bearing her name has changed hands several times, among the owners of the perfume license were the Revlon Group and Five Star Cosmetics. The bottles I have of the extrait and bath perfume (they smell identical) are most likely from the late 1960s and were made by the original Germaine Monteil company. I cannot comment on the Five Star version that is somewhat easier to find nowadays.

Notes (via Fragrantica): lavender, galbanum, bergamot, lemon, orange blossom, violet, lily-of-the-valley, rose, geranium, sandalwood, patchouli, vanilla and vetiver.

Germaine Monteil Royal Secret vintage perfume ads from 1961, 1963, 1965 and 1969: vintageadbrowser.com
Photo of Germaine Monteil from beautymed.at

Versace- Gianni Versace 1982 (vintage EDT)

Can I just say how much I hate referring to perfumes from the 1980s as "vintage"? With this out of the way, we can move on and talk about the 1982 original Versace feminine perfume, originally named Gianni Versace (not to be confused with Versace Woman, Versace, Versace Homme and who knows what else). It's one of those perfumes you smell and know with certainty they don't make them like this nowadays. Well, of course they don't- Gianni Versace is a full-bodied floral chypre, loaded with oakmoss. Good luck finding anything that smells even remotely that wicked.

The opening of Gianni is decidedly green and aldehydic. It's what some would call "dated" and others would proclaim "classic". I think it's charming but try to avoid the husband's company for the first five to ten minutes, just in case. Later it becomes full-on floral, almost extravagantly so, and you can smell and see each and every flower in the blend. Almost touch it really, as though it was an elaborate floral carving on your wall. No, this Versace perfume is definitely not for the meek. It enters the room like a diva, commanding attention and giving everyone else the stinkeye because they cannot possibly measure up to her standards.

Eventually things calm down a little. A wood-patchouli-oakmoss with a touch of leather. It's not any less femme fatale and still wears the eye shadow of the 80s, but you can feel and see the bone structure of this perfume. It's not quite patrician, but it has its fine moments and is a delight to wear.

Notes (from fragrantica.com):
Top notes are aldehydes, spices, fruity notes and bergamot; middle notes are carnation, tuberose, gardenia, orris root, jasmine, lily-of-the-valley and narcissus; base notes are benzoin, leather, sandalwood, amber, patchouli, oakmoss, incense and myrrh.

Like just about any big perfume from that era (and the designer himself), Gianni Versace has been among the dead for years now. Lovers of chypres and 1980s perfume who happen upon a forgotten battle would do well to scoop it up as it's come harder to find.

Images:
1982 Gianni Versace perfume ad from couleurparfum.com
Debbie Harry for Italian Bazaar by Patrick Demarchelier, 1980
Versace fashion ad photographed by Richard Avedon, 1987

Mystere de Rochas (Vintage EDP)

Mystere de Rochas is another one of those green woody chypres with more than a touch of animalic skank that makes the hardcore chypre lovers among us sigh and go crazy on eBay while the normal part of the population secretly wishes we stop kvetching and use up the last drop of our beloved vintage bottle so they don't have to smell it on us ever again.

If you've been around vintage perfume and their lovers enough, the last paragraph should give you a pretty good idea what Mystere de Rochas smells like, but let's talk about it some more. I find the green chypres of the 1970s completely irresistible. Maybe because they're among my first perfume memories (not through my mother, though, who to this day detests them), or simply because I think oakmoss smells amazing. And oakmoss is the first thing I get from Mystere. Dark, tinged with damp earthy dirt and velvety, the oakmoss in Mystere never lets go. There's more to it,  of course. The opening offers the green silver wind chymes of galbanum and hyacinth.  They pave the way to all that's forest green, cypress and bitter orris. The floral heart is anything but girly or wimpy. I admit that other than the hyacinth and its close pal, narcissus, I find it difficult to identify the  individual flower notes- I feel like this about many older perfumes- they are blended into an abstract idea, not a Laura Ashley print. This is why to the modern nose Mystere de Rochas and its ilk, the original Versace and Armani, don't smell particularly feminine. They can easily be worn by a chypre loving men.

The dry-down lasts for the better part of the day and brings you all the oakmoss-patchouli-civet you can take. There's a touch of dark wood that keeps Mystere from going all the way into scary animalic territory. It's crisp enough to be all boudoir but might scare little children too much, especially if all they've smelled so far is the generic modern fruity florals. When I was gathering images for this post I considered using something from the just-released Red Riding Hood movie. It has the right idea and visual, but for the life of me I can't fathom the sweet and stunning Amanda Seyfried wearing Mystere de Rochas, even in her most disturbing role as Lilly on Veronica Mars.

Mystere de Rochas was discontinued years ago, probably even before IFRA took away our oakmoss. You can see from the second ad (1983) how they tried to keep it relevant for the Kajagoogoo generation, but it just didn't work and I'm not surprised. Bottles can still be found here and there, online and in small shops.

Mystere ads from 1980 and 1983- hprints.com
Fashion photo by Helmut Newton for Vogue Paris, September 1971

Guy Laroche- Clandestine

I didn't discover Clandestine by Guy Laroche (1986) until a couple of years ago, and that's a shame, because it could have easily been one of my signature scents back in the day. Clandestine has all the stuff I love and then some- a honeyed boozy plum opening that leads the way into a surprisingly dark floral heart and a gorgeous, rich sweet animalic base. What's not to like? Just look at the list of notes (from fragrantica.com):

Top: plum, bergamot, pineapple, aldehydes and apricot
Heart:  Damask rose, tuberose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, carnation, heliotrope, honey and iris
Base:  patchouli, amber, vanilla, benzoin, cedar, civet and musk

Seriously, that's the stuff big skanky floriental dreams are made of, and when it comes to this style, I'm a child of the 1980s through and through.

Clandestine is obviously a dark and sexy perfume, quite heavy and not for the faint of heart. It's also beautiful, rich and well-balanced, keeping the animalics, honey and heavy eyelids under control. For such a bold perfume with obvious intentions, this Guy Laroche creation is actually quite tasteful. It's easier to wear than another gem of the same genre and era, Paco Rabanne La Nuit, and feels more glamorous and less dabaucherous. It's still fun, though, and feels almost cozy with its warm honey and smooth base. Clandestine feels like taking off that red carpet dress and slipping into something more comfortable to continue the night.

Clandestine was discontinued quite a while ago (Fidji and Drakkar Noir are the only fragrances currently listed on Guy Laroche website, though we all know that Fidji hasn't been itself for years now). Bottles of the EDT of the most recent formulation can still be found online for around $50, but since my bottles are older and all are EDP I can't comment on quality.

Clandestine 1986 ads from hprints.com
Guy Laroche fashion ads from the mid-to-late 1980s from benjaminkanarekblog.com (Benjamin Kanarek is the photographer who shot the ads).

D'Orsay Voulez Vous Vintage Perfume

It seems the idea of a seductive perfume has changed drastically over the years. Had anyone were to make a perfume today and name it "Will You?", it would probably not be a somewhat haughty floral with plenty of green, hyacinth, rose and a light aldehydic opening in the style I think of as very French (and the husband as "very vintage").

Voulez Vous by the house of D'Orsay was first launched in the mid thirties and probably smelled different than the juice in the (circa) 1960s bottle I found last year. My Voulez Vous is pretty, has its hair in a perfect chignon and wears racy lingerie under the buttoned-down silk blouse. Stereotypical? Yes, definitely, and so is this D'Orsay perfume, but it doesn't make Voulez Vous any less enjoyable for those of us who like this style.

My bottle is of the extrait de parfum, and as such I would have hoped the longevity would be better. I get about 3-4 hours before Voulez Vous dissolves into a powdery green with a touch of vetiver. It smells rather fresh, so i'm not sure if it has deteriorated (I bought the bottle sealed in box at a flea market). I don't really mind- it's another small memento from the perfume world of yore.

I was trying to find more background information about this perfume and the house of D'Orsay and happened upon this article from 2002. I thought you might get a chuckle for several reasons.

D'OrsayVolez Vous  perfume ad from 1943: paperpersuits.com
1960 ad from an online auction.

Guerlain Nahema (VIntage Extrait de Parfum)

Count on Guerlain to make one of the most beautiful and sensual rose perfume (and later, at least according to some rumors, to maim and reformulate it). My main complaint about most rose fragrances is that they're too literal, too cliché, too much like a "thing" and not a "person". Nahema is not like that at all.

When I wear Nahema I get a tactile feeling- something between the fuzziness of a peach skin and the smoothness of a rose petal. Smelling this 1979 Guerlain creation makes one understand why the image of  rose petals strewn on and around the bed  is romantic and sexy. It's usually red roses, but Nahema is a deep orange rose (my favorite, actually) with shades of peach and nectarine. It also makes me think of orange tulips, though the most distinct floral note I smell is  hyacinth- it's both sweet and bitter.

The sort-of-kind-of rose is very sweet, almost dessert like. It's a Guerlain, after all, so you must have some pastry in there. Maybe a buttery croissant with apricot preserves. I can't help it- it's that rich vanilla/tonka/benzoin thing in Guerlan perfumes that gets me very time. It's so sensual, especially in the very late dry-down when you no longer know if you smell skin or perfume. My very old bottle of Nahema parfum also offers some creamy sandalwood, the good stuff from the 1980s, which I'm guessing is the part that has changed most in recent batches.

I don't have a current sample of Nahema, so I can't comment on any changes. As far as I know, some of the other notes like Peru balsam, if they came from a natural source, are also on IFRA's blacklist, not to mention various rose molecules like damascone. All I can say is the vintage juice is achingly beautiful, romantic, nostalgic and sexy, while not filling up the room with a rose potpourri sillage. And that's a very good thing.

Top image: Orange Blog
Nahema ads from 1980 and 1981: paperpersuits.com

Shiseido Zen (Vintage Black Bottle)

Let's ignore the fact Shiseido reformulated their original Zen countless of times, released different perfumes in various bottles (white and pink) under the same name and took it in and out of the market in some countries more time than I can track. I hear the current juice sold in the black bottle (apparently Nordstrom has it) is nothing like the 1964 version, so I haven't bothered with it as I have a couple of old eau de cologne bottles and they're very lovely.

A quiet woody floral is rarely my thing, especially poorly made modern ones (thinking of Lancome Magnifique), but Shiseido managed to bottle a delicate quality of a sheer rose over an even more sheer incense. The opening is a little aldehydic and has an abstract white floral veil. A bit later Zen takes on the zenish character that makes it for me a perfect nap time perfume- the wood is soft and smooth and the incense is subtle and barely there. I like both elements but somehow it's the rose that wins me in this case. It feels white or pale yellow, not the more common jammy red ones. It doesn't turn sour or takes over the room. I would actually say it's a rose many men would find wearable.

The sillage of Shiseido Zen (at least in the version I have) is almost non existent. It can only be smelled within one's personal space. I used to feel it didn't  last long and would reapply after a couple of hours, but eventually I realized that there's some type of musk there I can't smell unless I'm paying close attention. Once the rest of the wood takes over Zen is fully back and actually lingers nicely on my clothes (and blankets, considering I really like the calming effect).

I have no idea why Shiseido found it necessary to mess with this classic, but thankfully older bottles can still be found at vintage stores and yard sales. I wouldn't buy it on eBay because I have no idea how to verify the date of the bottles, so be careful if you are on the hunt for old juice.

Bob Mackie- Mackie For Women (Original 1985 EDT)

I had no idea the mini bottle of Bob Mackie perfume I got with a bunch of other vintage items was a coveted collectible. I was only vaguely familiar with the designer's perfumes- mostly with the 1991 Mackie by Bob Mackie in the colorful fan box (well, the box with a fan-like design printed on it). It's a drugstore perfume nowadays, quite loud and not particularly refined. I'm sure my mother would have a strong opinion if she were to smell it on someone in an elevator (and she's a white flower queen, so it ought to tell you something).

The older Mackie in the black bubble box (there are also bubbles on the bottle itself, which is usually clear, though mine is gold with a plastic black stopper) might or might not have been the first version of the same formula. It certainly has loads of dirty, filthy tuberose which is probably my favorite part of the scent. Since what I have is a dab-on bottle I never manage to over-apply, so the vulgarity factor isn't completely there. But I did make the mistake the very first time I tested Mackie to wear it before going to sleep. Boy, was that disturbing.

Mackie starts innocently enough, with various greens, herbs and even a tough of something lavender-like but not quite. I think I also get some mint, an almost fresh accord that is quite surprising in this 1980s drama queen. Then things go very floral, very feminine and quite boudoir-ish. This is not my mother's tubersoe. I guess it's the heavy dirty musk of the dry-down and possibly civet. Maybe that's the change in formula between the original and the 1990s version- I don't recall smelling civet in it, but it's been ages since I've been around Mackie, so who knows? One thing is for sure- no matter how gaudy I find Mackie, it's a reminiscent of an era when perfume from fashion design houses could still be interesting and provocative.

Photos of Bob Mackie with Cher, one of his most iconic clients, from todressvintage.blogspot.com
Photos of a Mackie by Bob Mackie vintage EDT from an online auction

Caron Nuit de Noël (vintage extrait de parfum)

Nuit de Noël, the 1922 Caron perfume by Ernest Datroff, smells like a romanticized December night. It's very dark and you know it's bitter cold outside, but you sit in your warm cushy living room, snacking on seasonal pastries, drinking something spicy, maybe enjoying some tasteful holiday music. Of course, in reality it's very likely you just got home from the mall, your feet are killing you as is your back. You might have fought other suburban shoppers for that very last coveted item on the shelf, your ears are ringing from hearing every version ever recorded of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer and you haven't had anything other than Starbucks eggnog latte since three in the afternoon. But Nuit de Noël will make you forget all of that.

I'm only casually acquainted with the EDT of the last decade and not well-versed in all the Caron reformulations. The flowers in the last bottle I sniffed seemed sharper and more flowery and the spices are spicier, though neither were in a good way. It was also quite aldehydic, which is not something I get from my very vintage extrait de parfum. My Nuit de Noël is a creamy and mellow floral with a sweet and spicy heart that's more anise fruitcake than gingerbread. I get carnation and ylang-ylang in spades, not much rose and jasmine other in the way Nuit de Noël rounds itself in that familiar vintage floral way (think Chanel No. 5 parfum when it still smelled the way it was supposed to be or even vintage Caleche). Then it's all wood, smoke and incense. The sandalwood base is gorgeous and just a little vanillic. Vintage bottles have the real thing and it's furry, complex and satisfying.

I have several "vintage" Caron perfumes in several formulations. My bottle of Nuit de Noël is most likely the oldest of them and it allowed me to understand the Caron magic much more- the not quite foody richness even though it evokes many treats of the season, the wood and smoke that feel like you're watching a winter landscape from inside a heated house. It's instantly festive and comforting even if you're the only kid in town without a Christmas tree.

Illustration: Chéri Hérouard for La Vie Parisienne, 1930

Lanvin Pretexte (Vintage Extrait de Parfum)

Pretexte, a 1937 Lanvin perfume, is clearly a fragrance from a long-gone era, even though ambery florals are popular to these days. I'm not entirely sure what it is exactly about Pretexte that makes it so prim and proper. I smell carnations and roses, sandalwood and vetiver and also a powdery base that is not without a hint of funk, so I suspect a nice helping of tonka bean and an animalic of some sort. Still, the overall impression I get here is that Pretexte was not meant for the same woman who wore Scandal or My Sin.

Don't get me wrong- I really enjoy wearing this perfume. It might come from a time period I'm grateful to have missed, but I love the aesthetics even if the husband is clearly not a fan Pretexte (he likes My Sin, though). I wear this vintage Lanvin for myself. The same way I do with the one flouncy blouse I own and he finds utterly ridiculous.

My bottle is pretty old (no idea when exactly Pretexte was discontinued) and was bought for half a song before prices shot into the stratosphere. I'm not sure what the top notes used to be- I suspect not citrus because the perfume smells smooth and thick from the very opening with no awkward moments of dead bergamot. It also lasts all day long, something that My Sin never does, no matter how much of it I apply. Pretexte has a nice quality of opening an old cedar chest and ruffling through precious mementos, pressed flowers in an scrapbook and dusty lavender sachets from another time and place. So what if these memories are not really mine?

Vintage Lanvin ads for Pretexte (1937 and 1956) from hprints.com
Lanvin fashion, 1951, myvintagevogue.com

L.T. Piver- Azurea (Vintage Perfume)

found the bottle of Azurea by L.T. Piver in a small store at a local antique mall. I first noticed the tall glass stopper, then the beautiful Art Nouveau label. The bottle was more than half full and a quick online search (how in the world did we survive before smartphones?) revealed Azurea was released in 1897.

From perfumeproject.com:

Azuréa was created for L.T. Piver by chemist/perfumer Pierre Armigeant (1874-1955) in collaboration with chemist George Darzens. It was launched in 1897 and, by 1901, was firmly entrenched in "better" stores throughout France and the United States — and other countries where Piver products were marketed.

A February, 7, 1907 copy of the Atlanta Constitution indicates that Azuréa was currently being sold at Keely's department store in that great American city.

There was also a box of Azurea powder next to it with the same label, and sniffing it helped me determine the juice in the bottle was, indeed, original. I didn't buy the powder because I don't collect vintage body products or their packaging, but the delicate aroma of Azurea won me over. I'm pretty sure my bottle is from a much later date than the turn of the previous century, though it's obviously old (it's identical to the one at the top left in the above 1927 ad); the fact the perfume is alive and wearable was thrilling.

The flower on the label is a blue iris, so it's interesting to note that the very same year Piver also launched Iris Blanc (via cleopatrasboudoir.com). I wish I could smell that one and compare, because Azurea smells like iris, though more like the smaller wild flower than the rooty and earthy iris butter. It's very powdery and has a hefty dose of heliotrope. It dries down to a sweet baby powder and lasts for about 2 hours on my skin.

There's something fascinating in owning and wearing something so long ago. It's pretty and it's different. I can see the clothes, hats and antique cars, Art Nouveau decorations in the boudoir, breakfast served on a silver tray and managing a huge household and its staff. Basically, I wear Azurea and become Lady Marjorie Bellamie from Upstairs, Downstairs for a couple of hours.

Paco Rabanne La Nuit

I was too young and nerdy in 1985 to partake in any real shenanigans. I haven't seen the inside of a real nightclub until 1987 or 1988, and even then it was all about dancing and hanging out with my friends. But maybe I was simply wearing the wrong perfume. If I had to do it all again my choice would be La Nuit by Paco Rabanne, the scent of debauchery.

Spanish designer Paco Rabanne was in his absolute best during the 1960s. He created some seriously sexy mini dresses, chic accessories and home accents that cause some serious bidding wars today (I considered selling my soul for a couple. It still was not enough). Salvador Dali called him "the second Spanish genius" and posed with Rabanne's creations. His earlier perfumes, from 1969 Calandre to the 1988 Ténéré all represent their era, and of course are now discontinued. But non of them was more out there than La Nuit.

I've seen La Nuit described as a floral-chypre, rose-chypre, leather-chypre. dry wood and who knows what else. It's kind of chypre-like, but the story here isn't oakmoss, it's civet. La Nuit is an animalic monster, once described by Luca Turin on his old blog as "Spray Tabu on a horse, and you’ll get the idea", and he meant that in the best possible way. The thing is that most versions and formulations of Tabu smell too cheap for my taste and no horse can fix that. La Nuit, on the other hand, smells like something one would wear to a scandalous Studio 54 party, especially if you want to hook up with Mick Jagger in the back room. Not exactly classy, but not Tiger Woods material, either.

I get a lot of honeyed leather, honeyed rose and honeyed wood before the civet and whatever other skank there show their teeth. It's nothing like Miel de Bois, but I won't be surprised if they have a common aromachemical. I wouldn't be surprised.

I've learned to wear La Nuit with a light hand- not more than a spray and a half. It lasts for 24 hours as it is. It's dirtiness is still shocking and I'm a regular wearer of MKK, Onda, Bandit and several other perfumes my mother would never have approved. This is not something to wear for a PTA meeting or around the "shower fresh" crowd. It would leave the average Sephora shopper speachless because most of them do not want to smell like that.

La Nuit, like most of the classic Paco Rabanne fragrances for men and women, is no longer in production. It can still be found online but the prices of this formerly common perfume have been climbing up- usually north of $100. The EDP is better than the EDT and there are rumors about a divine and long gone extrait de parfum.

I found both images on Flickr, I think, but forgot to note the original source. The first shows Andy Warhol and Jerry Hall partying at Studio 54 circa 1980. The second is of Salvador Dali and models wearing Paco Rabanne in 1960. It's from a book about the designer by Lydia Kamitsis.