Perfume Pen Pals: Cartier X L'Heure Folle

Katie,

Minutes after applying Cartier X (I'm not typing out the complete name because I don't want to), I thought, "Why the hell didn't Katie warn me?!" Later on, I looked up your Cartier reviews and saw that you had warned me. So I'm sorry.

Why do these fruity perfumes all smell alike? They're sickening. And they smell like someone getting sick. They both make me sick and they smell like sick: they're the entire spectrum of sickness. Plus, this one has no base. No woods, no flowers, it's just all sweet repulsive fruit, sitting and rotting on my arm.

Upon completing any work, it's a good exercise to take away one element. The Cartier perfumer should've taken away this one. Just thrown it in the trash.

Dan

Dan,

Regarding your horreur at Cartier X L'Heure Folle, I tracked down this quote from parfumer Mathilde Laurent on Grain de Musc:

“I hate fruity perfumes. I find them anti-sexy. But I like to work on things I don’t like, to bring out a different aspect of it. For my version of the tutti-frutti, I went for leaves, everything that’s green and on a bush. I wanted fruit that hurt the teeth a little. It’s nature as I love it. I only eat raspberries straight off the bush in my grandfather’s garden, including the unripe ones.”

How d'ya like them apples?

Katie

Katie,

I'm glad most artists aren't inclined to work on things they don't like or else we might have to suffer through Didion romance novels or Dylan rock operas or science fiction films from Scorsese.

This is going to sound like a crass over- generalization, but I believe women who wear these aggressively fruity and optimistic perfumes also tend to speak in little girl voices, dress ten years too young for their age and abstain from all category of indecency. There's a market for this kind of thing, for the perfume and the women, but it's not me.

Dan

Escentric Molecules / Molecule 01

...makes you go back to strange men's hotels. Allegedly.


When Escentric Molecules Molecule 01 launched in 2005, famous fumeheads like Elton John and trend monkeys like Madonna immediately clutched it to their scented breasts. Cool hunters from the fashion and art worlds frothed over this intriguing “non-perfume” perfume.

The scuttlebutt was, Molecule 01 contained pheromones, chemicals that supposedly trigger helpless, dirty moose lust with just a sniff. Never mind that in nature, pheromones exist solely to ensure lemur-on-lemur love, or to keep Mr. and Mrs. Wildebeest courtin’ and sparkin’.

There’s no one all-purpose love potion that you can pop in a perfume, like a schmear on a bagel, that makes critters of all stripes fall under each other’s spell. And proof that humans respond to artificial pheromones is hazy at best.

But in the case of Molecule 01, the pheromone rumor seemed like it might be true. Especially since not much else is going on in this eau de toilette — what with it being only one molecule and all.

Strictly speaking, Molecule 01 is based on a chemical composition called Iso E Super, a subtle woody accord that warms up and fills out everything from perfumes to shampoos to floor cleaners. When perfumer Geza Schoen first encountered it, he realized it smelled just dandy on its own, and liked the idea of fashioning a perfume from a single raw material.

Thus, Iso E Super became “Molecule 01”, a flat, faintly cedary scent with the warmth of sandalwood — if not the complexity. It’s a quiet, pleasant smell, on the masculine side of the tracks given the woodiness, though worn by both ladies and gents. Molecule 01 is not as oily smelling as a musk, but it does have the “your skin but better” quality that musk possesses.

As Mr. Shoen says, “It was meant to be for people who wanted a feeling more than an actual fragrance.”

The hallmark of this...uh...feeling is that you can only smell it for a short time before it stops registering on your nasal radar. But everyone you meet will continue to pick up on it, causing an odd disconnect between your experience and theirs.

This is not my idea of a satisfactory relationship with a perfume. I require a tad more loyalty. I want my scent to leave with the fella it came in with, the fella in this particular metaphor being me.

Despite the wishful thinking, Molecule 01 isn’t actually a pheromone, but the hide-and-seek nature of the fragrance does seem to twist people’s melons. Just look at some of the claims folks have been making on the LuckyScent website for its nose-twitching, head-turning, groin-swelling effectiveness:

"I bought it cos the woman of my dreams likes woody fragrances and (you're not going to believe it) we are now an item!"

"The shop assistant explained that this perfume didn't smell when you put it on but was guaranteed to attract the right mate. Then...complete strangers approached me to ask what perfume I was wearing and I caught a man trying to sniff me in a queue at the bank."

"Today, two handsome men walked by me and both of them were wearing it. It immediately made me hot and go back to their hotel with them. The tall one seduced me. We lounged by the pool all day and made love all night."

If you say so, people.

While some experience Molecule 01 as a kind of heat-seeking olfactory missile, all I get is an agreeable ambient presence that plays peek-a-boo with my nose.

My favorite reaction to Molecule 01 came from a lady who was trying it the other day at my local perfume boutique. I watched her as she expectantly brought her Molecule’d wrist to her nose, and waited for her to be transported.

Transportation did not occur. She turned to me with a puzzled expression.

“Maybe it needs a couple more molecules?”

Molecule 01 is available from LuckyScent.com

Image via Lemur Kingdom on Animal Planet

Perfume Pen Pals: Cartier XIII La Treizieme Heure and XII L’Heure Mysterieuse

Katie,

The second of my three Perfumed Court sample orders arrived this afternoon, which included the new Cartier Les Heures. I immediately applied XIII La Treizième Heure and this is literally what I said: "Oh my. That's nice!"

I know, not a very exciting response, but this is great. And you're right to compare it to Le Labo Patchouli 24. It's just like it...sort of. Its smokiness is a little less robust, and yet the perfume isn't exactly quiet. It's just somehow balanced differently than Patchouli 24.

The dry-down of XIII La Treizième Heure (and I'm already tired of typing out that name) was a perfect example of why most expensive perfumes are expensive: everything held together forever, and I still loved the way I smelled five hours after the curtain went up.

You'll never hear me say that about Mandom, no matter how closely I follow the devil-may-care Bronson application technique. XIII is a slightly more refined Patchouli 24, but only slightly.





To me, it smells like 80-90% Patchouli 24, Patchouli 24 at a lower volume, which means 1) I love it! And 2) I kind of already own it. And yet, 3) I want to buy it.

Which raises the most important question of the perfume addict: Should one prioritize horizontally or vertically? Is it preferable to own the best of a wide range of scents or lots of things from a single category?

Intellectually, I think the former is the best way to go, but emotionally, especially when I smell Patchouli 24 (or La Treizième Heure or Bulgari Black or even CB I Hate Perfume Burning Leaves), I want everything that smells smoky and sweet and dark and odd.

As for your favorite, XII L’Heure Mystérieuse, I like it less than I like XIII. But I still like it.

Dan

Dan,

Yes! XIII La Treizième Heure has "Dan" written all over it. It should be called XIII The Dan Hour. When I first smelled it at Saks, I actually exclaimed to the could-give-a-shit SA, "my friend Dan will LOVE this!”

All the connoisseurs immediately leapt onto XIII The Dan Hour as their favorite. Some of the fume bloggers kind of glossed over XII L’Heure Mystérieuse, predicting it was destined to be the hit out of the bunch. And it was implied that "destined to be the hit" wasn’t necessarily a compliment. I’m not sure why. Like XII is just too easy to love?

But dang it all, I do love XII The Katie Hour! It's a musty chocolate patchouli deal, with a schnozzful of incense and a bit of girly jasmine in there. It's a more "perfumey" incense than many. And while XIII The Dan Hour entertains me, it’s so savory, it makes my nose fight with my stomach. And that equals confusion in my “pleasure dome”.

Regarding prioritizing horizontally or vertically, I think vertically is really how it goes down. Like with music and clothes. If you know you love aching, bittersweet, deceptively up-tempo pop, then you crave every example of that genre. You might buy a Miles Davis or a Johnny Cash CD, but that doesn't mean you're going to listen to them.





And if you always wear a cashmere V-neck sweater, or a certain kind of retro-nerd shoes, you're always drawn to the next perfect iteration of them. If you're not already a pencil skirt gal, a wardrobe of pencil skirts will not tempt you to wear them.

For the dedicated fumehead, I'd say it's worth going horizontal for samples, vertical for full bottles. So -- fly, little bird! Fly towards XIII!

Katie

Katie,

What worries me about going vertical (and "worries" is overstating it some) is I've done this before, when I first got deeply into perfume, buying up every woody/incense-y floral, all of Mark Buxton's Comme des Garçons, lots of Duchaufours, and I ended up owning many similar things but wearing only a few of them.

My insatiable hunger for bittersweet pop doesn't quite translate to woody florals. But maybe it will to smoky, birch-tar-y leathers. And I'll defend the sometimes overbearingness of Patchouli 24 as less evolved than XIII. It might be, in the same way The Jam were less evolved than The Style Council, but I bet even if I own XIII, too, I won't stop wearing Patchouli 24. Because there are times when nothing beats that mighty blast of smoke.

I think I just talked myself into buying XIII by reestablishing my love for Patchouli 24. I'm pretty creative when it comes to justifying irresponsible purchases.

Dan

Fumeheads, what do you think? Horizontal or vertical?

Yves Saint Laurent Parisienne

...youthful and feminine, with a retro touch.



Yves Saint Laurent Paris is one of those '80s perfumes we now call “classic”. That anything dating from the '80s is considered a “classic” disconcerts me as much as when Jessica Simpson refers to “Old Hollywood”, and it turns out she means John Travolta and Debra Winger.

Nevertheless, the shedding of calendar pages continues ever apace, and perfumer Sophia Grojsman’s creation is now appreciated as one of the few A-ha-era perfumes that is still with us -- and still smells decent.

Loud and proud, '80s fragrances like Giorgio and Poison are more about declaration than seduction. With its bright lipstick rose and violet bouquet, Paris is pretty declarative, too, but with a lilt and swing that makes you smile. It’s as joyfully noisy as a stretch limo filled with bridesmaids.

And now Parisienne, composed by Grojsman along with Sophie Labbé, is here to capture the hearts and noses of the current crop of young‘uns.

As required by said young‘uns, it is a fruitchouli, as fruity as a migrant worker’s pick-up truck, as Carmen Miranda’s hat, as the Vatican Swiss Guard. Like, pretty fruity.

Paris’ signature rose is still featured amidst the berry jamboree, but I wonder how that will play with the kids. As one of my teen viewers recently commented regarding DKNY Be Delicious:

It just smelled like flowers on my skin!!
BLEH!!
I can't STAND flower smells!

And there I was thinking Be Delicious was all about the crisp, tart apple. As you can see, flowers are facing an uphill battle for the children of the new millennium. We’ll have to shred through a few more calendar pages before we discover whether Parisienne has the legs of her older sis, Paris.

Parisienne is available from Perfume.com and FragranceNet.com, starting at $37 for 30ml; Paris is available from FragranceNet.com starting at $33 for 30ml

Looking for a fragrance recommendation? Visit Fume Finder: the Katie Puckrik Smells fragrance app.

Yves Saint Laurent Kouros

...louche and aspirationally "foreign".


A few months ago, I was invited by the UK edition of Cosmopolitan magazine to be a judge for their first-ever fragrance awards. The contenders were a grab bag of recent mainstream releases of varying distinction, along with an eclectic mix of favorites in the men and women’s “classic” categories.

It was entertaining and educational to plow through evaluations of 50+ bottles of perfume. There’s nothing an inveterate “checker” like me relishes more than comparing and contrasting, making notes and assigning ratings.

During the process, I enjoyed getting to know some previously unsnorted men’s scents, like Donna Karan Fuel for Men (intensely desiccated fruit and ashy leather) and Lalique White Pour Homme (bergamot and peppery cedar wood on a cushion of amber).

But there was one masculine offering that completely blew my fume fuse box: Kouros by Yves Saint Laurent. On my low-to-high, one-to-ten chart, Kouros was an instant “10”, and my favorite fragrance in the entire selection. Right out of the matte white ceramic bottle -- a futuristic Greek column circa Shatner-era Star Trek -- this 1981 warhorse stood and delivered.

This eau de toilette is a fiercely billowy incense, with camphoraceous notes and more than a soupçon of raunch. It shoots out of the canon with a salvo of spices -- clove gives it an emphatic snap. Then almost immediately, it envelops you in an animalic, powdery cloud.

Kouros fills the air like steam from a gushing hot water tap in a fancy old European hotel bathroom. An unfamiliar bathroom fogged with ghosts of all the other guests who’ve used it before you. And here’s where Kouros really starts to throb -- with vigor and borderline TMI.

The powdery cloud becomes mossy, physical -- some say brutishly masculine. On my skin, Kouros pulses with humanity. The composition of spicy florals, citrus, resins and musk smells distinctly lived-in, but still elegant. The vibration between civet, honey and florals (carnation and geranium are listed) evokes the smell of a sudsed-up inner thigh. Ooh, missus!

And Kouros does strike me as specifically “European”. It’s louche and aspirationally “foreign”. Or at the very least, not “American”: factory-sealed, sanitized for your sterile pleasure.

The genie in this bottle is muscular and scenery chewing. Many who’ve tried Kouros -- particularly younger guys accustomed to today’s ozonic, sweet, or fruity colognes -- find its ripeness repulsive. It doesn’t smell literally of sweat, or piss, or...um...”night soil”, but there is truly something of the essence of a human being inside every bottle of Kouros.

People who are yakked out by Kouros are putting too much on. It’s like the color red: wear it head to toe and you’ll look like a walking wiener. (Wear too much Kouros, and you’ll smell like one.) But wear just a dash, and it will add life to your whole gig.

Go easy on the trigger finger, though, because a little Kouros will live on your skin forever. Even with my modest application, I could still smell it eight hours later -- musky but oxymoronically fresh!

With Kouros, perfumer Pierre Bourdon created a remarkable tug of war between good hygiene and bad behavior. It’s a lion and a lamb: a slight bitterness, a pervading sweetness. It’s dirty, but also soapy. Kouros plays tricks on my head -- and takes my body on an enjoyably rough ride.

Photo: Brando by Avedon

Perfume Pen Pals: Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle

Katie,

Re the Frédéric Malle line: which have you tried? I saw you praising Dans tes bras and Carnal Flower. How does Carnal Flower compare to Fracas? What about En passant? Noir Epices? L'Eau d'Hiver? Where do I go first? Second?

Dan

Dan,

I’ve smelled all the Malles, have worn many, and own some. And this is the third time in three days I find myself recommending Carnal Flower to Fracas lovers. I know you're not a Fracas lover, strictly speaking -- it's more like you have it the way you'd own a copy of The Grateful Dead's American Beauty that you never listen to. A classic that's not really "you".

Anyway, I prefer Carnal Flower to Fracas. Fracas is a thick, candied tuberose with a niff of rotting flowers. There’s an almost pissy smell to it that somehow ends up erotic.

Carnal Flower is fresher. The tuberose is greener -- there's earth in the smell. There's also a hint of coconut paired with jasmine that will please you, since you like your 70's suntan lotion scent. I find the whole thing gloriously hyper-real -- a pixilated tuberose.

Margaret, the elegant Frédéric Malle lady who travels from in-store boutique to in-store boutique like a couture sharecropper, nicely gave me a sample of the mind-blowing Carnal Flower body cream. When I wear it on my hands, it wafts up and blends with whatever incense or leather I'm wearing to turn me into Elizabeth Taylor in Butterfield 8.

So Carnal Flower is aces. It's also very "here I am!” -- and I don't know how you feel about broadcasting tuberose on all frequencies.

Noir Epices is deep, spicy, rosy orange. I once impulsively threw it on with my Santa Maria Novella Acqua di Cuba, and the husb was very impressed with the result.

En Passant is wet lilacs and musk. Aqueous. So pretty.

I'm wondering about Une fleur de Cassie. I have a sprayed-on blotter here, and it's nice: flowers with hygiene problems. I read that ladies are afraid to wear it out of the house. You know, in public. Now I’m keen to try some on.

Le Parfum de Thérèse struck me as a sketch for Diorella, and also seemed "old fashioned" and a bit "perfumey", though I liked it for its similarity to my old friend Diorella.

I think the thrillseeker in you would enjoy Dans tes Bras, and the beauty lover in you would appreciate Carnal Flower.

Katie

Katie,

Have you tried Lipstick Rose? That's supposed to be the sweet, artificial rose of the bunch. And it seems to really split people. I'm always fascinated by perfumes that split people. Or anything that splits people: Eyes Wide Shut, The Satanic Verses, Cher.

No, I'm not a Fracas lover exactly, but I do like it. And I like tuberose. I'm the only person on the planet who enjoys Tom Ford Private Blend Velvet Gardenia.

The blending of tuberose with coconut seems odd, though, only because I associate tuberose with cooler weather because it's so rich. Might Carnal Flower be the first summertime tuberose? (Don't answer that or I'll run up to Barneys and not get any work done today.)

I watched Frédéric Malle talking about Carnal Flower in this video and got excited:



He said it's the first tuberose that doesn't use Fracas as a reference point. And suddenly I leaned forward a little bit. I'm so susceptible to marketing bullshit.

Like at 3:25, when Malle says, "one thing I find a bit amusing..." and arrogantly puckers his lips in that special French way, I wanted to buy every single scent in the line! What is that about? Someone should study me.

Dan

Dan,

I just watched and very much enjoyed this clip. I cracked up when he says, "I try to classify fragrances in a much more simple, down-to-earth way", and the accompanying graphic is a hilariously obtuse London Tube map from Mars: blobs of colors; squiggly arrows going every which way!

Katie

Katie,

I actually paused on the “Perfumes Made Easy” chart to try to understand it. And it makes no sense at all. First, there are all of these colored blobs among the names and arrows. And then it declares that "Fresh" is the opposite of "Warm" and "Soft" is the opposite of "Streamlined" (I understand "chypre" better than I understand "Streamlined"). And yet because Frédéric Malle was talking to me, to me, I wanted to buy everything. Because I'm crazy that way.

Another Malle gem regarding the London Tube map from Mars (seriously, I've studied this thing like I'm on some complex archeological dig) is when he says people will be able to look at the diagram and know which perfume is for them "if they're honest with themselves" about what kinds of fragrances they like.

Frédéric Malle implies here that people aren't always honest with themselves when it comes to scent preference. But what's the advantage of lying about such a thing? And especially lying to YOURSELF? Based on that moment alone, I suspect Mr. Malle has a very dark world view. Which is all the more reason why I like him. Try to keep me from Barneys today! Just try!

Dan

Dan,

People lie to themselves all the time, but not usually about perfume. I’m going to have to start keeping an eye on myself.

Fred’s the best!

Katie

Keiko Mecheri Cuir Cordoba

...hugs you snugly, like Catwoman’s jumpsuit.


Wearing Cuir Cordoba by Keiko Mecheri is like slipping into a warm bath on a cold night: ahhhhhhh…..mmmmmm…..siiiiiiiighhhhh. This fruity leather enfolds you in rich, buttery softness, and sustains you against life’s harshness.

Cuir Cordoba is a “wherever you are, you are there” perfume, with no beginning, middle or end. Just one spray and you’re in the thick of it: fruity-floral violet, powdery benzoin, “intimately unwashed” hawthorn flower, resinous elemi, sweet-sour cedar wood. This eau de parfum hugs you snugly, like Catwoman’s jumpsuit.

Cuir Cordoba is a kissin’ cousin to Serge Lutens Daim Blond, another stunning suede. Heck, forget kissin’ cousin, try fraternal twin. (With no kissin’, though, because that gets too weird.)

But Daim Blond emphasizes its leather with almost-sharp, latex accent, which Cuir Cordoba doesn’t possess. The latex gives DB a fresh “snap”, in contrast to CC’s nuzzly downiness, provided by the benzoin, a hint of aldehydes, and whatever other magical ingredients conjure “suede” in Keiko’s crock-pot.

Cuir Cordoba is not a zoo leather, crawling with critters. There are no bestial whiffs here. Rather, it’s feminine, velvety; smoked honey dripping off a warm spoon. It’s the suede of a beloved glove, picking up traces of your favorite perfume -- and of your favorite hand to hold.

Go to Nathan Branch's blog for more insights into Cuir Cordoba, including Nathan's PBS-style excursion into the history of Spanish leather. Learning is fun!

Cuir Cordoba is available from LuckyScent.com for $115 for 75ml

Image: Julie Newmar from Batman

Holiday Giveaway 2009 Winners!

There were almost 7,000 entries for the Holiday Giveaway 2009, and Rodrigo the Perfume Dog has overseen the random selection of TEN winter winners for TEN fa-la-la-la-fragrances. Rodrigo's a stickler for rules (except for any that apply to him, of course), so that means that anyone who had entered more than ten times, or entered without subscribing, was not eligible.

And the winners are:

Guerlain Shalimar EdP -- missciasiabmuas

Miss Dior Chérie EdP -- natalie21

Bulgari Jasmin Noir EdP -- azeetaag

Burberry for Women (aka Burberry Classic) EdP -- MissVivaciousV

Estée Lauder Youth Dew Amber Nude EdP -- neelkamalll1979

Molinard Habanita EdT -- 242055471140074008

Yves Saint Laurent La Nuit de L'Homme EdT -- mementofinis85

Bulgari Black EdT -- videowizard

Christian Dior Homme EdT -- xasianbabiix

Hermès Terre D'Hermès EdT -- prettyblissful

Congratulations to all the winners! And joyous holiday wishes to you all.

The fine print:
Winners, please private message me on my YouTube channel with your mailing address. If I don't hear from you by December 24, 2009, your prize will go to a lucky stand-by winner.

Reasonable care will be taken in the packaging and mailing of your prize, but if the contents are lost, damaged, or held up by Customs, I sincerely apologize in advance that I cannot replace it.

Customs policies vary from country to country. You may be subject to import duties and taxes, which are enforced once a shipment reaches your country. Charges for customs clearance must be paid by you. Unfortunately, I have no control over these charges.

Stay tuned for more crazy-pants giveaways!

Narciso Rodriguez Essence

Good hygiene never smelled so pretty.



Every now and again, the packaging for a fragrance can screech my flutterby, short-attention-span perfume shopping style to a sudden halt. The Angel, Stella and Lolita Lempicka bottles? Prettyyyyyyyyyy!

The campy joy of the Michael Kors Very Hollywood bottle makes me smile every time I see it. Della Chuang's bottle for Tom Ford White Patchouli? Neuvo retro, baby. Kenya Hara's bottle for Kenzo Power? Retro neuvo, guy.

And paging Andy Warhol: the "megamizer" bottle for Victor & Rolf Eau Mega, the Harajuku Lovers dolls, and Marc Jacob Lola's vinyl flower are all Pop Art-tastic.

If I absolutely adore the juice, the packaging doesn't matter. (But really, does my beloved Bruno Acampora Musc have to be served up in a crappy metal cannister with the crumbly cork stopper that smells like old Crayons? Does it? Really?)

An inspired bottle won't change the scent within, but if it's groovy or stylish enough, it can certainly hip up the context. And the most inspired context around at the mo is provided by Ross Lovegrove, with his irresistible creation for Narciso Rodriguez Essence.

Lovegrove's Essence bottle is stunning: a sculptural glass flask that looks like it's filled with quicksilver. The reflective surface undulates, practically forcing you to pick it up and play with it. In your hand, it’s coolly soothing, like a river-smoothed rock.

And while you play with it, it plays with you, its warped, mirrored planes scrambling your facial features into Salvador Dali soup.

Not only is this bottle fine art, it's also simpatico with the tone of the fragrance it contains: silvered, shimmering, steam-cleaned roses. And mostly, it's full-on, balloon-head freak fun!

Essence is available from FragranceNet.com and Perfume.com, starting at $73 for 50ml

Viewer Mail: Help Me Find a Bookstore Perfume

Hi Katie,

I've been looking for a perfume or candle for a young woman that captures the scent of a bookstore. Any suggestions? I've read that Dzing! by L’Artisan Parfumeur is close, but I'd like your professional opinion.

Thanks,

Parker

Hi Parker -- Dzing! is one of my favorites, and some say it smells of cardboard, but I focus more on the soft, almost gamey, leather aspect. Dzing! doesn't smell of a bookstore at all, but it is alluring and more-ish.

CB I Hate Perfume has a scent called In the Library, which highlights the sweet, borderline mildewy aspect of library books. It's evocative of tomes in an old building, but doesn't smell like hot-off-the-press books with their fresh, crisp pages and fresh, crisp ink.

I'd go for Comme des Garçons Odeur 71, which possesses a photocopier ozonic charge, along with a slightly-burnt woody smell that conjures fresh paper -- and B.O.

I don’t know about y’all, but I always smell B.O. in bookstores. I’m not sure if the B.O. "aromatics" are the result of keyed-up bookworms’ overactive sweat glands, or something in the chemical makeup of new books that mimics it.

It’s a great smell, and always gets me “gingered up”, as the Brits say. Something to do with having a crush on a bookstore employee back when I was a teenager, and spending many hours doing some nubile lurking behind the stacks.

And despite the unconventional nature of these odors as perfumes notes, they all smell dandy on the skin.

Fumeheads – can you recommend some bookstore scents for Parker?

Penhaligon’s Amaranthine

A sheer tropical floral with a hidden wee beastie.


One of the rewards of writing about perfume is that I learn stuff. Useful stuff. In my last post, for instance, I was answering a query from a fellow who wanted to “create the façade of an active sex life” to make his ex jealous. He needed to know if there was such a thing as a “sex scented perfume”.

I obligingly created a list of coital scents, including trampy tropicals (Vivienne Westwood Boudoir, LesNez Manoumalia) and ripe creamies (Etat Libre d’Orange Putain de Palaces, Guerlain Attrape-Coeur).

I also solicited input from sensory psychologist Dr. Avery Gilbert, and he told me about something called “competitive mating scenario”. It boils down to Jilted John spraying around the perfume of his ex’s best friend to make the ex jealous.

Basically, there’s actual science to back up childish game playing. Useful, right?

I learned more good stuff from my reader Patty. She told me that the woman who created Bandit for Piguet, Germaine Cellier, was apparently inspired to do so by sniffing the knickers of models hot off the catwalk. That just sounds ludicrous, but I’m going to blindly accept it as the truth, cuz it’s a fun fact. And fun trumps truth.

But the best thing I learned from the whole “skank fragrance” discussion was that my newest favorite perfume was out there waiting for me, and I didn’t even know it. My newest favorite perfume turns out to be Penhaligon’s Amaranthine. The funk-freaks assured me that any knicker-sniffer worth her salt would crave it -- and they were right.

I’ve always had a fondness for Penhaligon’s: their cute Victorian hole-in-the-wall shop off London’s Bond Street, their olden-days-y bottles with stoppers, their prim soliflores -- like Bluebell, which forever links Margaret Thatcher, Princess Di and Kate Moss in an unholy trinity of fandom.

But “sexy” is not part of the Penhaligon’s equation, so I was bemused by the official description of Amaranthine as a “corrupted floral oriental" “reminiscent of the scent of the inside of a woman’s thigh”. Bemused enough to hustle myself a sample the very day I learned of its existence.

At first sniff, it occurred to me that it’s a grown-up version of all the creamy, fruity-floral, teen-friendly musks out there in Perfume Land. Thick, sweet, milkshake scents like Christian Dior Miss Dior Chérie L'eau, Gap Close, and The Body Shop Love Etc.

But I said “grown-up”. As in “adults-only”. Amaranthine is indeed milky, but it’s not a milkshake. Any sweetness here stems from flowers, not calories. And even with the presence of ylang-ylang, a fleshy tropical bloom, along with rose, and jasmine on the verge of decay, it’s not thick. This baby is sheer. Green, even.

And yet, there’s a wee beastie in Amaranthine, a sweet/sour twang that evokes the hum of an unwashed nook or indeed, cranny. The friction of this eau de parfum’s spices, including cardamom and clove, creates the borderline sweatiness.

The sweat seasons the sandalwood and vanilla woven through the greenness, keeping you guessing as to whether Amaranthine will eventually land on the side of “fresh” or “not-so-fresh”.

Bertrand Duchaufour is the maestro behind this, Penhaligon’s most risqué scent. And nobody puts Bertie in a corner, because none of his other creations -- woods and incenses like L’Artisan Parfumeur Timbuktu, Comme Des Garcons Kyoto, Amouage Jubilation XXV -- prepared me for this femme, elegantly sultry number.

Despite the seal of approval from the Skank Brigade, Amaranthine is no “gusset gourmand”. The dissonance between naughty and nice creates a luscious tension, but it never slides into wholesale ho territory. Penhaligon’s has a Royal Warrant, after all. And the Queen ain’t no hollaback girl.


Lily Cole and Dominican Cows by Juergen Teller

Viewer Mail: Help Me Fake a Sex Life

This is going to sound outright bizarre, but is there a sex-scented perfume? My ex is coming over next week to pick up her stuff, and I was thinking of ways I could make her jealous via the façade of an active sex life. Can you help me??

Thanks,

PseudoGigolo

Pseudo - what a preposterous question! Naturally, I love it. Now let’s figure this thing out.

As far as I know, there is no such thing as a sex-scented perfume. Personally, that sounds about as appealing as eating pre-digested food. You might want your fragrance to lead up to Dirty Moose Friskiness (DMF), but to have the scent itself reek of DMF aftermath would certainly be over-egging the pudding.

If you want to break it down into boy/girl odor components, though, that would be possible. For instance, there are several fragrances that boast of containing a semen accord:
Etat Libre d’Orange Magnificent Secretions (semen, sweat, blood, and milk)
Le Labo Musc 25 (semen and musk)
Thierry Mugler Cologne (semen and woody lemon)

By the sounds of your current situation, however, you’ve got plenty of your own supply going spare, so let’s turn our attention to perfumes of the female persuasion.

It forever seared my frontal lobe when my friend Alison proclaimed that Vivienne Westwood Boudoir smells of “pissy granny knickers” and that “men love it”. Boudoir’s tuberose and amber combine into something sweaty and creamy. LesNez Manoumalia is another trampy tropical.

And my lady-loving pal Lisa once made a revealing comment after smelling Serge Lutens Féminité du Bois.

“Mmm, cedar,” she purred approvingly. “Smells c#nty!”

Cedarwood often has a phantom smell of buttermilk hovering nearby, as some have picked up on in Eau d’Italie Paestum Rose, for instance. If we allow “tangy creaminess” to signify “female”, that leads us to milky, ripe perfumes like Etat Libre d’Orange Hotel Slut, 10 Corso Como, Christian Dior Hypnotic Poison, Guerlain Shalimar, and Guerlain Attrape-Coeur.

Another tack is to go the zoo route, with animalic fragrances containing musk, civet, or honey. In small concentrations, honey smells of ripe flesh, and in high doses smells like urine. Beautiful honey-based scents include By Kilian Back to Black, Santa Maria Novella Acqua di Cuba, MAC Africanimal, and Parfums DelRae Amoureuse.

Serge Lutens Miel de Bois, on the other hand, smells too much like hobo trousers. Steer clear unless you want to convey intimacy with Boxcar Willie.

L’Artisan Parfumeur Dzing!, Le Labo Labdanum 18 and Jean Desprez Bal à Versailles all stay on the right side of funky, animal-wise. Serge Lutens Musc Koublai Khan is another matter. A spritz of that will have your ex thinking you’ve turned to farm animals in your time of need. You don’t want her calling the cops - or the Humane Society.

As entertaining as it is to convey olfactory orgies by matchmaking “personal bits” perfumes, I reluctantly concede that I’m over-thinking this. You’re better off just spraying a nice perfume into the air a few hours before your ex turns up. Nothing too cheap or cheesy - you want to imply that your hypothetical new girlfriend has some class.

I suggest Stella McCartney Stella, a musky, musty rose that has a built-in “morning after” aspect.

But to make sure you have all the tools at your disposal, I consulted Dr. Avery Gilbert, sensory psychologist and author of What the Nose Knows. Just imagine his delight at being asked to apply the full force of his scientific brainpower to your Machiavellian tomfoolery.

Dr. Gilbert replied:

As a student of animal sex behavior - including what's politely referred to as the "competitive mating scenario" - I can suggest a couple of olfactory tactics for Mr. Pseudo.

Does his ex have a sister? If so, then spritz around a bit of the sister's favorite scent. Or the perfume of the ex's bestest girlfriend.

Context makes a big difference in odor perception. So be sure to leave an unfamiliar toothbrush on the bathroom sink and a thong hanging on the inside doorknob.

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: Dr. Avery Gilbert, scholar and master of head-f#cking through the nose.

Speaking from experience (from both sides of the break-up fence), if your ex truly has moved on, nothing will make her jealous - not Eau de Dirty Moose Friskiness, not Scarlett Johansson lounging around in your shirt and smoking a cigarette. (Well, maybe Scarlett would give her pause for thought.)

But look on the bright side: if you take all the energy you've expended in devising this smell-based skullduggery and apply it to your next (successful) relationship, you'll never face this problem again.

Fumeheads, what holographic “active sex life” fragrances can you suggest for PseudoGigolo?

Kenzo Power

...a “come closer” scent, without being desperate.



My first encounter with Kenzo Power reminds me of that hokey old joke:

Q. What’s the definition of Irish foreplay?
A. “Brace yourself, Bridget!”

Holding the bottle - a metallic thermos with the word “Power” on it - I had indeed been bracing myself for a frontal assault. An assault of sneezy man-cologne smell. When my test spritz released the soft delight of Power into the air, I did a Scooby Doo “huh?” and unclenched my...well, whatever was previously clenched.

Any of you fellas too squeamish to give yourself tenderly to Sarah Jessica Parker Lovely, fearful of the possible ramifications of a foofy bottle inscribed with the word “Lovely” in your manly medicine cabinet, here’s your chance to smell of woody florals with musk petticoats. I mean, trousers. Power is Lovely with a beard, if not quite a bulge.

And you really can’t beat that beautiful bottle, designed by Muji's creative director, Kenya Hara. Made of glass coated with stainless steel paint, it resembles a saki bottle, or a particularly stylish Sigg bottle.

Let the bottle advertise your masculine steeliness in your medicine cabinet, then let the see-through softness of Power showcase your true strength, gents.

Power is available from Kenzo.com, Amazon.com, Perfume.com and FragranceNet.com, starting at $40 for 60ml

Le Labo Vanille 44

...not the Caligulan smell orgy you might expect.


I’m one of those simple souls who is easily manipulated by concepts of exclusivity and finite shopping time. For me, these conditions trigger an adrenalin surge and heightened anxiety, spiced with a dollop of mild hysteria.

London Heathrow Terminal 3 is often the setting for such wig-outs. The excitement of never-before-seen Duty Free crap combined with the panic of practically missing my plane provides an almost intolerably delicious frisson.

After a last-minute scramble for rare perfumes and foreign magazines, chocolate and potato chips, I burst through the just-closing airplane cabin door, wild-eyed and sweating before rows of calmly seated passengers.

What a rush, man.

Le Labo are doing a Terminal 3 on me with the limited worldwide availability of their “city exclusives” perfumes. Until December 1st, the six fragrances normally found only in Tokyo, London, Paris, New York, Dallas, and Los Angeles are for sale in Le Labo outlets everywhere.

Even if London’s Poivre 23 is a pepper mill overkill, and Dallas’ Aldehyde 44 is so high-pitched that dogs come running when you spray it, the fact that in a few days, I won’t even have the option to buy them without slapping the price of a plane ticket on top gives me pause to reconsider them.

(And please factor in that while the yippiness of P23 and A44 is not to my personal taste, they are both tasty little numbers within their genres.)

But there is one city exclusive that’s really kicking off my Pavlovian response to finite shopping time: Paris’s Vanille 44. Vanille 44 was produced by supernose Alberto Morillas, creator of many blockbusters including Kenzo Flower, Calvin Klein cK One and Marc Jacobs Daisy.

Looks like the Parisians got lucky with their local Le Labo offering. Vanille 44 is muted woody vanilla with incense. It’s a sheer and clear treatment of notes - vanilla bourbon, gaiac wood, amber, incense - that are usually glooped into perfumes like a Caligulan orgy of smells.

I’m not one to shy away from a Caligulan smell orgy, but I am fascinated by the cleanness of V44. You might’ve expected a fuzzy heat from this eau de parfum, but instead, this is high-def “room-temperature” scent that works winter or summer, night or day.

Vanilla can be a chameleon, smelling like a cake at one end of the Vanil-o-meter, and a bale of fresh paper at the other. V44 scores solidly on the paper side of the spectrum. This crisp, dry vanilla is palely sweet, but not foody.

There’s an airy, not-quite-ozonic quality to it. It’s just enough to emphasize V44’s clarity, rather than to hit you with a schnozzful of chemical air. The incense gives it a crisp, menthol lift, without being spiky or smoky.

V44 lingers close to the skin, with a hushed quality. Wearing it is like smelling Comme des Garçons Avignon on your shirt a week after spraying it. It’s subtle, for sure, but distinctive. It’s modern without being weird.

Vanilla-phobes can approach V44 without trepidation, since the focus is more on the woods than the ‘nilla. I think it's a superb, non-yicky vanilla, particularly for menfolk who don’t fancy smelling like a bakery.

If Vanille 44 vaguely sounds like something you’d enjoy wearing, you should grab it before the only place you can find it is in Paris. I’m sweating already. Anyone care to join me on my ramp-up to wild-eyed?

Vanille 44 is available from Le Labo

Image from altphotos.com

Holiday Giveaway 2009!

Yeah, yeah...peace on earth, good will to all men, blah blah blah. Let’s cut the horse pucky: the season of giving is really the season of getting. I’m talking presents, preferably of the perfume variety. Even eensy-teensy baby Jesus scored a haul of frankincense and myrrh off those Wise Men.

I’m not saying Rodrigo the Perfume Dog and I are wise, but we do have the goods, fume-wise. Thanks to our friends over at Perfume.com, it is our pleasure to lay some superb smells on you, our loyal fumeheads.

I’ve selected ten fragrances perfect for a Winter Wonderland. Everything you need to know to win one is in the video, so click, watch and enter here.

The Holiday Giveaway fragrances are:

Guerlain Shalimar eau de parfum
The original “bad girl” perfume: crème brûlée and smoky leather (or is it leathery smoke?) with a citrus twist. Back in the 1920’s, Shalimar was the flapper’s badge of dishonor.

Miss Dior Chérie eau de parfum
This lighthearted perfume practically giggles when you spray it: strawberry and patchouli do a happy dance on your skin.

Bulgari Jasmin Noir eau de parfum
Darkly sensual jasmine and patchouli: spiced-up florals for romantic nights.

Burberry for Women (aka Burberry Classic) eau de parfum
Succulent blackcurrant and peach, lush jasmine, and creamy sandalwood and vanilla equals a grown-up fruity-floral. Niche-bunnies take note: this one isn’t a million miles away from By Kilian Liaisons Dangereuses.

Estée Lauder Youth Dew Amber Nude eau de parfum
Update of Youth Dew, the bold mid-century classic. Amber Nude keeps the rich amber, spices, and patchouli, and throws in dark chocolate and some unexpectedly fresh notes.

Molinard Habanita eau de toilette
Spicy amber, leather, and vetiver in a powdery cloud of tobacco.

Yves Saint Laurent La Nuit de L'Homme eau de toilette
An easy-wearing, low-cal gourmand for men: warm, sweet woods.

Bulgari Black eau de toilette
Tricky to pin down: both warm and cool, it works for both men and women. This smoky, inedible vanilla with its fleeting rubber effect is a space-age oriental that smells nuzzly and natural on the skin.

Christian Dior Homme eau de toilette
So elegant! Dry, woody iris with a shimmer of fruit sends the message that the wearer is one classy dude.

Hermès Terre D'Hermès eau de toilette
Tart grapefruit, rosy geranium and peppery cedar wood smell clean without being soapy. Refined ruggedness.

Click on the name of each fragrance to find out more, including the official list of ingredients.

Good luck, and good smellin’! Oh...and peace on earth and good will to all men. Of course.

Le Labo Gaiac 10

...a masculine version of a skin scent.


Le Labo are a boutique line of perfumes that go one step further than the usual indie bunch. Not only is their line of 11 fragrances a little tricky to track down, but they also have a further 6 scents that are “city exclusives”, available only in far-flung places like Tokyo and Dallas. A niche line within a niche line, if you will.

The nice fellow at the Le Labo Los Angeles store was telling me that customers get irate when they find out they can’t purchase London’s Poivre 23, for example. I can’t say I blame them. Exclusivity is all well and good - until you’re the one being excluded.

Fortunately for all the frustrated fumeheads, Le Labo have made their city exclusives available for a short time until 1 December 2009. If you can hustle your hindquarters into your local Le Labo retailers in the next few days, you too can smell like a niche bunny all the way from Paris or New York.

Today, this niche bunny is smelling up the joint Tokyo-style. Gaiac 10 is the Tokyo exclusive, and I’d heard tell it was “the incense one”. Knowing that Annick Ménardo, nose behind the emphatically smoky, black lung-inducing Le Labo Patchouli 24, had created this, I was expecting full-force frankincense. Maybe something like the vigorous Comme des Garçons Incense Series.

Well, it’s not. Le Labo wouldn’t be Le Labo without some “Mary Mary quite contrary” misdirection (perfumes named after ingredients that are supporting players, rather than headliners), though to be fair, this one is called “Gaiac”, and not “Incense”.

What I do experience is cedar wood, mildly spicy, and cushioned in musky softness. Gaiac wood is said to resemble cedar, but sweeter and less dry. The bottle says it’s in there, and I’ll take its word for it. There’s a little vegetation in Gaiac 10, a slight something that gives this eau de parfum a mossy nod towards earthiness. The incense has a peppery quality that’s a bit nose-tickly, but not outright sneezy.

Chandler Burr and others have reported on the Japanese aversion to strong, showy fragrances, and their preference for linear scents with little development. In those respects, Gaiac 10 delivers. There’s nothing bonkers here. It’s a time-out fragrance - something neutral to wear when you don’t have it in you to live up to a statement perfume.

As the edges blur around the woods, and the musks assert themselves, Gaiac 10 resolves itself into a masculine version of a skin scent. It’s a little on the blah side for my tastes, but at least you can wear it with full reassurance that you’re not going to gas people out in the elevator, or in your panic room. Or in Tokyo.

Gaiac 10 is available at Le Labo, from $260 for 50 ml

Image: "Panic Room" by Peter Halley

Juicy Couture Juicy Couture

...it’s soapy, squeaky, eek-y.



Fashion house Juicy Couture, beloved by aspirational It-Teens everywhere, is nothing if not firmly on message with their branding. The memo from Corporate must be, "as long as you don't stray too far from the words 'Juicy' and 'Couture', you'll do fine with the kids".

And JC's first fragrance, correctly-named "Juicy Couture", is doing more than fine with the kids. And there's a whole bunch of twenty-teen, thirty-teen and forty-teen-year-olds it's doing fine with, too.

Folks are loving Juicy Couture's bright, fruity tuberose. Even fifty-sixteen-year-old Luca Turin calls it "a nicely crafted floral incorporating that rare thing, a delicate, transparent tuberose". Then why does Juicy Couture drive a fork into my brain every time I smell it?

I must be that rare thing, a delicate, transparent fumehead.

UPDATE: After experiencing Juicy Couture smelling softly floral, sheerly fruity and ticklingly musky on a young lady I met in passing, I now appreciate that this perfume's brain-stabbing fork can remain safely sheathed if JC is worn judiciously.

Juicy Couture is available at FragranceNet.com and Perfume.com, from $48 for 1.7 oz

Juicy Couture Couture Couture

...like drinking grape Kool-Aid in a head shop.



I’m obsessed with Juicy Couture. Or more accurately, with the women behind Juicy Couture. Pamela Skaist-Levy and Gela Nash-Taylor, two self-described “wacky thrift shop girls”, started their pink-tracksuit-with-arse-script empire in 1996 and now find themselves with a multi-million dollar business.

Or as the creation myth on the Juicy Couture website has it: “Once upon a time...there were two nice girls who liked stuff. Juicy Couture swept the land and they lived happily ever after.” Have they ever.

Juicy Pamela says, “We have infused the brand with us: with love, happiness, color.” Well, that’s just precious! And so are their Marshmallow Peep-bright ads, some depicting a Breakfast Club prom gone wild at teen queen Marie Antoinette’s Versailles.

Then there’s Juicy Pamela and Juicy Gela’s flossy-to-the-max lifestyle, which I’m now an expert in, after drooling over the recent spreads in Vogue and The New York Times Magazine. Did you know that Pamela lives with her TV director husb in an art-filled Hollywood mansion once owned by Eva Gabor? And that Gela’s married to the cute bass player from Duran Duran, and has an 15th century mansion in England complete with Elizabethan furniture, croquet lawns, and peacocks. Peacocks, people! Just wandering around!

Where do I sign up for some of this?

When Gela isn’t munching on Parisian macaroons or riding her dressage horse around her 15th century grounds, she takes refuge in her dove-gray salon with her collection of Hermès gloves.

"When I'm really stressed," she explained to Vogue, "I come in here and organize my gloves, and I feel so calm.”

Now that’s therapy. Who needs a shrink when you have a collection of Hermès gloves in your dove-gray salon? Do you think the cute bass player from Duran Duran would notice if I tied Gela up in the broom closet and discretely took her place? If I lost 25 pounds, I could even fit into all her clothes!

Basically, Juicy Katie wants to be new best friends with Juicy Gela and Juicy Pamela. But there’s just one thing: I don’t want to smell like them. Those Juicy Couture perfumes hurt my eyes. They’re so bright and shrill, so desperately in need of shade. They need a dove-gray salon to organize their gloves in and chill the f out.

Sigh. I guess I’ll be waiting a little while longer for my invitation into Gela and Pamala’s Juicy world. In the meantime, you’ll find me organizing my sock drawer.

Juicy Couture is available at Amazon.com from $52 for 1 oz

Photos from US Vogue