Shooting from the Lip
My rip-snortin’ jaunt from ballet girl to punkette to pop singer to TV host & all the messy stuff in between
Perfumes: The A-Z Guide
Witty and provocative reviews of 1,800+ perfumes
What the Nose Knows
A fun and quirky romp through everyday smells
Aroma
A cultural history of smell
The Emperor of Scent
Maverick Luca Turin's entertaining tussles with perfume and science
The Perfect Scent
An insider's look at the creation of two bestselling fragrances
A Natural History of the Senses
An aphrodisiac for all five senses
The Secret of Scent
Luca Turin's scientific look at perfume
Essence and Alchemy
The voluptuous history of natural perfume.
Summer Scent Event Giveaway
A true fumehead uses any ol’ reason to justify getting a new perfume, and here’s Reason # 579: it’s summertime! (Actually, a TRUE true fumehead needs no reason to bulk up their collection. It’s just sniff...and buy...sniff...and buy...sniff...and debtor’s prison.) And here’s Reason #1: it’s FREE! Yep, I’m giving away TEN hot weather-friendly fragrances in my Summer Scent Event:
Burberry The Beat gift set
Tom Ford Black Orchid Voile de Fleur
Bulgari Eau Parfumée au Thé Vert gift set
Christian Dior Eau Sauvage gift set
Miller Harris Fleur Du Matin
Elizabeth Arden Spiced Green Tea
Hermés Un Jardin en Méditerranée
Lolita Lempicka L
Jean Paul Gaultier Ma Dame
Gap The Natural
To enter this sunshine-filled giveaway, click on the video above.
For descriptions and sizes of the perfumes, click here.
And thanks to the friendly enablers at FragranceNet.com for supplying the scents!
Good luck!
Etro Sandalo
...like a deep sigh of “ahhhhhhhhhh”.
One of my pet perfume peeves is when sales assistants get all up in my grill when I’m contentedly sampling fragrances. There I am, like Dennis Hopper with the gas mask in Blue Velvet, snorfing deeply of every bottle on the counter, when the intrusion commences.
“Can I help you?”
I strike a perky D.I.Y. tone in my response.
“No thanks! I’m happy sniffing for now!”
Ignoring my obvious self-sufficiency, the SA will persist, “What notes do you like?”
An inward sigh from me, and then an outward, “Incense.”
“Oh! Then you’ll love this!” the SA will say, forcing some random spice on me.
Yesterday at Barneys, it was a clove fragrance called Seductive from the organic line Intelligent Nutrients. I dutifully sniffed, frowned and said dully, “It’s clove. I don’t like clove.”
The SA was determined to turn lemons into lemonade.
“Oh, I don’t like clove, either! I’m from Hawaii -- I’m a gardenia girl. But men LOVE clove! You’ll be amazed at the reaction you get from men when you wear this! Women come back after trying this to buy it, because of all the attention they get from men!”
So, I’m supposed to sit in cloud of Christmas ham spices all day long to lure random men? How ‘bout I just wear the ham? Men like ham too, I hear. And what about what I like? If I’m wearing what I love, I won’t be a Sourface McMeany, and I’ll get attention from everyone, men, women, zebras, tomatoes -- whatevs, Lady.
Ooh, don’t get me started.
I was at the snazzerella Etro boutique on Rodeo Drive a few months back, eager to dive into their range of 22 fragrances. Etro’s clothes may be an awkward sock-hop of Oriental and Preppy, but the perfumes are ambitious and interesting. I knew I liked the smoky chai of Palais Jamais, and was intrigued by the dirty-hair myrrh of Messe de Minuit orange incense. And I already owned Shaal Nur, an easy-wearing lemon vetiver.
I lined up the perfumes like shots at a bar, and proceeded to systematically spritz and sniff my way through them. A voice cut through my happy haze.
“You kill your nose after three, you know.” The Etro guy was holding a container of coffee beans towards me.
Not the dreaded coffee beans! If I wanted to spend the afternoon smelling coffee beans, I’d be eight miles east at Intelligentsia Coffee. But still there persists the urban myth that coffee “clears your palate”, somehow magically vacuuming up the cacophony of odors in your nose. Never mind the reality that all you’re doing is introducing yet another intense aroma into the din. That all you really need to do to keep going is to take a fresh air break when your nose is overwhelmed.
“No thanks,” I said firmly in the direction of the proffered beans. I picked up my next perfume, Sandalo, spritzed, sniffed, and went into a dream.
Sandalo eau de cologne is a warm, buttery sandalwood. There’s an odd, “off” note when it first hits the skin, a sour milk bite that might be an indication of the listed cedarwood. As soon as you’ve wrinkled your nose, it’s over, and you’re into the strangely petrol-like aspect of sandalwood. Yeah yeah, sandalwood’s a cozy, woody smell, you know that, but there’s always that sharp gasoline attack right at the top. The gasoline softens, but there remains a thin shell of camphor around Sandalo’s creamy mmm-ness for the whole ride, like the candy coating around almond M&Ms. Just to keep you honest.
The sour milk and petrol start is the perfume version of a sleepy dog turning around herself three times before she settles in for a long, snuggly sleep, because five minutes in, Sandalo’s cuddled into your skin for the duration. It’s the ultimate perfume for flower-haters -- or lovers, as the case may be, because no flowers were harmed in the making of Sandalo. It’s all sandalwood, all the time, supported by a sensual accord of amber, musk and patchouli. Come all you men and women who want to smell like a deep sigh of “ahhhhhhhhhh”. Sandalo is here to spoon you.
Image by elisfanclub
One of my pet perfume peeves is when sales assistants get all up in my grill when I’m contentedly sampling fragrances. There I am, like Dennis Hopper with the gas mask in Blue Velvet, snorfing deeply of every bottle on the counter, when the intrusion commences.
“Can I help you?”
I strike a perky D.I.Y. tone in my response.
“No thanks! I’m happy sniffing for now!”
Ignoring my obvious self-sufficiency, the SA will persist, “What notes do you like?”
An inward sigh from me, and then an outward, “Incense.”
“Oh! Then you’ll love this!” the SA will say, forcing some random spice on me.
Yesterday at Barneys, it was a clove fragrance called Seductive from the organic line Intelligent Nutrients. I dutifully sniffed, frowned and said dully, “It’s clove. I don’t like clove.”
The SA was determined to turn lemons into lemonade.
“Oh, I don’t like clove, either! I’m from Hawaii -- I’m a gardenia girl. But men LOVE clove! You’ll be amazed at the reaction you get from men when you wear this! Women come back after trying this to buy it, because of all the attention they get from men!”
So, I’m supposed to sit in cloud of Christmas ham spices all day long to lure random men? How ‘bout I just wear the ham? Men like ham too, I hear. And what about what I like? If I’m wearing what I love, I won’t be a Sourface McMeany, and I’ll get attention from everyone, men, women, zebras, tomatoes -- whatevs, Lady.
Ooh, don’t get me started.
I was at the snazzerella Etro boutique on Rodeo Drive a few months back, eager to dive into their range of 22 fragrances. Etro’s clothes may be an awkward sock-hop of Oriental and Preppy, but the perfumes are ambitious and interesting. I knew I liked the smoky chai of Palais Jamais, and was intrigued by the dirty-hair myrrh of Messe de Minuit orange incense. And I already owned Shaal Nur, an easy-wearing lemon vetiver.
I lined up the perfumes like shots at a bar, and proceeded to systematically spritz and sniff my way through them. A voice cut through my happy haze.
“You kill your nose after three, you know.” The Etro guy was holding a container of coffee beans towards me.
Not the dreaded coffee beans! If I wanted to spend the afternoon smelling coffee beans, I’d be eight miles east at Intelligentsia Coffee. But still there persists the urban myth that coffee “clears your palate”, somehow magically vacuuming up the cacophony of odors in your nose. Never mind the reality that all you’re doing is introducing yet another intense aroma into the din. That all you really need to do to keep going is to take a fresh air break when your nose is overwhelmed.
“No thanks,” I said firmly in the direction of the proffered beans. I picked up my next perfume, Sandalo, spritzed, sniffed, and went into a dream.
Sandalo eau de cologne is a warm, buttery sandalwood. There’s an odd, “off” note when it first hits the skin, a sour milk bite that might be an indication of the listed cedarwood. As soon as you’ve wrinkled your nose, it’s over, and you’re into the strangely petrol-like aspect of sandalwood. Yeah yeah, sandalwood’s a cozy, woody smell, you know that, but there’s always that sharp gasoline attack right at the top. The gasoline softens, but there remains a thin shell of camphor around Sandalo’s creamy mmm-ness for the whole ride, like the candy coating around almond M&Ms. Just to keep you honest.
The sour milk and petrol start is the perfume version of a sleepy dog turning around herself three times before she settles in for a long, snuggly sleep, because five minutes in, Sandalo’s cuddled into your skin for the duration. It’s the ultimate perfume for flower-haters -- or lovers, as the case may be, because no flowers were harmed in the making of Sandalo. It’s all sandalwood, all the time, supported by a sensual accord of amber, musk and patchouli. Come all you men and women who want to smell like a deep sigh of “ahhhhhhhhhh”. Sandalo is here to spoon you.
Etro Sandalo is available from Amazon.com, starting at $70 for 3.3 oz
Image by elisfanclub
Viewer Mail: Summer Jasmines, Winter Musks and Foggy Lavenders
Hi Katie,
I'm very pleased to see you've started your own fragrance site as I've been tuning into your YouTube channel for a while now to enjoy some quick perfume desserts. Perhaps you have some recommendations for me. I'm looking for three perfumes: one for summer, one for winter, and one odd little ambiguous one to be worn on foggy days regardless of the season.
The summer one should be a really hardcore jasmine scent. Serge Lutens À la Nuit would be my choice - heady, very sexy, kind of green just before it disappears - but I'm wondering if there's anything a bit weirder or even sultrier out there (don't worry, I would only wear such a fragrances after sunset). I like L’Artisan Parfumeur La Haie Fleurie du Hameau as well....
For winter I would like to try a musk. My favourite so far is Frédéric Malle Musc Ravageur, but I really don't like the chocolate/vanilla/cinammon territory it enters after a few hours. I like Il Profumo Musc Bleu, too, but first of all its staying power as horrible and secondly I find it a bit too tame, even a tad boring.
My favorites for the hybrid one are Guerlain Mouchoir de Monsieur, Frédéric Malle Angeliques Sous La Pluie (can you tell I admire Ellena?) and Santa Maria Novella Melograno, but I would like to explore some more options before I invest in anything.
If you have any ideas, even just for one perfume, I would looove to hear them!
Nadine
Summer: I know you’re looking for a “death by jasmine” jasmine, and Serge Lutens À la Nuit is probably it. But I’m grooving on a weird, sultry summer fave that’s all about Polynesian flowers and sweat: LesNez Manoumalia. I think it’s fantastic! And another “wowie” sultry number is Frédéric Malle Carnal Flower, with its creamy tuberose (along with jasmine) framed in crisp leafy green. For a spicier jasmine, try The Different Company Jasmin de Nuit. And to make friends and colleagues gasp, "Who invited the jasmine bush to the party?" try Bruno Acampora Jasmin. It's an intensely indolic, realer-than-real jasmine that will have folks peeking up your skirt to try to see your roots.
Winter: For years I’ve loved wearing Frédéric Malle Musc Ravageur in the oil form, which I feel amplifies the musk element. But I’m with you on not favoring its cinnamon/spice aspect. That’s why I did little mountain goat leaps when I discovered Le Labo Labdanum 18, another Maurice Roucel creation. Labdanum 18 has all the dirty moose oomph of MR, but without the distracting spice sprinkles. It lasts forever and a day on the skin, and smells sexy and mmmmm the whole way through. I feel confident that you will love this! And for a pure, lovely, simple white musk, I like C.O. Bigelow Musk perfume oil. This one is all-purpose, but might hit you as borderline boring.
Foggy hybrid: Yves Saint Laurent Kouros (barbershop and incense) and Nasomatto China White (smoky roses, powdery leather, violets and shattered porcelain). Thinking of your Monsieur de Mouchoir lavender: Guerlain Jicky (lavender, vanilla and full diapers), By Kilian A Taste of Heaven (menthol lavender, absinthe and woody vanilla), B Never Too Busy to Be Beautiful (now renamed Gorilla Perfume) Breath of God (menthol lavender, leather and fall leaves). The last two are tip-offs from my Perfume Pen Pal Dan, who is also is a big jasmine lover. I shall summon him, like a genie from a lamp, to share some of his findings.
Chanel No. 5 Eau Premiere and Chanel No. 5
I’ve always associated Chanel No. 5 with my mother, who wore it with evening gowns and upswept hair to years of James Bond-style galas filled with diplomats and spies.
To me, No. 5 signified elegance and womanliness, and it never occurred to me to try to parse the perfume into mere ingredients. But with the appearance last year of No. 5’s latest iteration, Eau Première, I decided to take a closer sniff at this fabled essence.
The story goes that Coco Chanel’s brief for perfumer Ernest Beaux was for a "woman's perfume that smells like a woman”, and not like a flower -- in contrast to all the soliflores popular at the beginning of the 20th century.
The creation launched in 1921 was borderline avant-garde: an abstraction of peachy florals and woods pixilated behind a glittering curtain of aldehydes. The highest grade of jasmine and rose blended with aroma chemicals resulted in something born of nature, then jet-propelled way the hell beyond it. Adding to the modernity was the minimalist bottle with industrial-style graphics -- now a design classic.
But Chanel No. 5 isn’t entirely about good looks and brains. Underneath this flapper’s fringed dress is No. 5’s musk accord, which given the classy context is almost shocking -- like you’ve walked in on some unexpected intimacy.
Rasputin, a fellow fumehead, had a great take on it in Basenotes: “No. 5 smells like a woman who bathed herself, powdered herself, and peed herself, in that order.”
I don’t know if I experience the scent as viscerally as that, but I concur that No. 5 probably got her “good behavior badge” revoked a long time ago.
Byredo Gypsy Water
...the smell of your 1950s boyfriend's sweater.
A few weeks ago, I was in Barney’s prowling for comfort. Looking for Mr. Goodbar in the shape of a bottle of perfume. In my purse was the reason for the sudden urgency to lose myself in a new smell: a plane ticket home to visit my family. In the fragrance equivalent of all the nervous eating I did as a child to smother household tensions, I found myself compulsively spraying and sniffing scent after scent.
Mind you, I have any number of fragrances already in my hoard that trigger puppy-wiggles of delight (currently,Yves Saint Laurent Kouros, Chanel No. 5 Eau Première and Amouage Homage Attar). But this urge to splurge was not about need or even want. “Need” and “want” suggest thought processes, comparative analysis of the stuff you hope is going to make you happy when you finally possess it.
But there was no concrete thinking here, no putative new shoes or computers dancing in my head. Instead, this was primitive brain stuff. A survival mission. A mission to acquire an olfactory smoke screen, a pretty-smelling invisible shield behind which to retreat and reboot while back at the old homestead.
As I continued to methodically squirt Lutens and Malles on numerous blotters, I tried to reason with myself. I wasn’t 16 anymore. I knew better than to take the entire weight of loved ones’ unhappiness on my shoulders. Family dynamics had changed since I was young, and mostly for the better. Nevertheless, early imprinting to be “ready for trouble” meant that anxiety was already swirling in my gut. My main worries now concerned my elderly parents, whose frail health has necessitated the uncomfortable role-reversal of their adult children taking charge.
But all that was “blah-blah-blah” in the background as I stalked the perfume department. I hovered over Serge Lutens Chergui - you will be mine, you smoky, honeyed hay beauty, but not today. Lingered near Lutens Datura Noir, but its tropical voluptuousness seemed a bit much for nights in watching Lawrence Welk reruns with my dad. Pondered Heeley Sel Marin, a woody cologne with a surprising seaweed accord. Another shopper sailed over to pluck it out of my hand.
“This is AMAZING with Une Rose. By Frédéric Malle? Amazing. I spray them both on. Not in the same places. Mostly the Sel Marin with a little Une Rose. Try it. You’ll see. It makes a beach rose.”
I admired her certainty. I was getting tired of my uncertainty. Time to make a decision. I summoned the salesman and reached for a bottle on the other side of the counter.
“I’ll take this.”
That’s how I ended up back on the east coast with Byredo Gypsy Water. This eau de parfum starts off like a grown-up version of Fresh Sugar: bright lemon with a little vanilla sweetness. And that’s the beginning and end of any chirpiness, because then begins a long, soft-focus parade of peppery evergreen and ambery sandalwood.
The overall effect is that of a really muted masculine, kind of old-fashioned. Like you live in the 1950s and you’re wearing your boyfriend’s sweater during a walk in the woods, and catch traces of the cologne he wore the day before. Even the name "Gypsy Water" is retro-corny.
And it’s pretty fun in 2009, too. I saw my family and wore my Gypsy Water. And as I relaxed and eased into the quirks and love of those who’ve known me the longest, Gypsy Water went from being an invisible shield to just a pretty smell.
A few weeks ago, I was in Barney’s prowling for comfort. Looking for Mr. Goodbar in the shape of a bottle of perfume. In my purse was the reason for the sudden urgency to lose myself in a new smell: a plane ticket home to visit my family. In the fragrance equivalent of all the nervous eating I did as a child to smother household tensions, I found myself compulsively spraying and sniffing scent after scent.
Mind you, I have any number of fragrances already in my hoard that trigger puppy-wiggles of delight (currently,Yves Saint Laurent Kouros, Chanel No. 5 Eau Première and Amouage Homage Attar). But this urge to splurge was not about need or even want. “Need” and “want” suggest thought processes, comparative analysis of the stuff you hope is going to make you happy when you finally possess it.
But there was no concrete thinking here, no putative new shoes or computers dancing in my head. Instead, this was primitive brain stuff. A survival mission. A mission to acquire an olfactory smoke screen, a pretty-smelling invisible shield behind which to retreat and reboot while back at the old homestead.
As I continued to methodically squirt Lutens and Malles on numerous blotters, I tried to reason with myself. I wasn’t 16 anymore. I knew better than to take the entire weight of loved ones’ unhappiness on my shoulders. Family dynamics had changed since I was young, and mostly for the better. Nevertheless, early imprinting to be “ready for trouble” meant that anxiety was already swirling in my gut. My main worries now concerned my elderly parents, whose frail health has necessitated the uncomfortable role-reversal of their adult children taking charge.
But all that was “blah-blah-blah” in the background as I stalked the perfume department. I hovered over Serge Lutens Chergui - you will be mine, you smoky, honeyed hay beauty, but not today. Lingered near Lutens Datura Noir, but its tropical voluptuousness seemed a bit much for nights in watching Lawrence Welk reruns with my dad. Pondered Heeley Sel Marin, a woody cologne with a surprising seaweed accord. Another shopper sailed over to pluck it out of my hand.
“This is AMAZING with Une Rose. By Frédéric Malle? Amazing. I spray them both on. Not in the same places. Mostly the Sel Marin with a little Une Rose. Try it. You’ll see. It makes a beach rose.”
I admired her certainty. I was getting tired of my uncertainty. Time to make a decision. I summoned the salesman and reached for a bottle on the other side of the counter.
“I’ll take this.”
That’s how I ended up back on the east coast with Byredo Gypsy Water. This eau de parfum starts off like a grown-up version of Fresh Sugar: bright lemon with a little vanilla sweetness. And that’s the beginning and end of any chirpiness, because then begins a long, soft-focus parade of peppery evergreen and ambery sandalwood.
The overall effect is that of a really muted masculine, kind of old-fashioned. Like you live in the 1950s and you’re wearing your boyfriend’s sweater during a walk in the woods, and catch traces of the cologne he wore the day before. Even the name "Gypsy Water" is retro-corny.
And it’s pretty fun in 2009, too. I saw my family and wore my Gypsy Water. And as I relaxed and eased into the quirks and love of those who’ve known me the longest, Gypsy Water went from being an invisible shield to just a pretty smell.
Byredo Gypsy Water is available from Byredo.com
Perfume Pen Pals: Creed Angelique Encens, Montale Aoud Lime, Comme des Garcons (various) and CB I Hate Perfume At the Beach 1966
Dan,
Generally, Creeds make me cranky. I find them sneezy and lackluster, and it was probably the handful of migraine-inducing ones I encountered in the 90s that scared me off the line. But at Neiman Marcus a few months back, the Creed lady waved me over, insisting that she could tell by looking at me that Angelique Encens was the one for me. I humored her by applying some, and wouldn't you know it, she was right!
I think my year of hardcore Tann Rokka Aki (peppery powdery amber) obsession a while back broke me in for Angelique Encens. AE is pretty powdery, but also has a cozy frankincense mmmm-ness that I love, and a faintly vanilla Play-Doh accord. But Efrem Zimbalist Jr! What's with the 8.4 oz "Big Gulp" size? I'm already pouring the 6.8 oz Chanel Coromandel into my bath, my cereal, my fishtank - just to get through the bottle! And I don't even have a fishtank.
Arrgghh! On a whim, I just applied a sample of Montale Aoud Lime. It's smelling like burning styrofoam! Asbestos lining in my nostrils would be handy right about now. I don't understand this one - everyone's oohing and aahing about it on the LuckyScent site. OK, now looking at Basenotes, where there is some dissent. And the ones who like it say you need to put in hours to get the whole story. Hours? I need my lusciousness NOW.
I’m off to exfoliate the esophagus-scorching Aoud Lime, and to sniff my Amouage Homage Attar sample as therapy.
Katie
Oh no, Katie, these days it seems like all perfume lovers eventually get tricked into trying Montale. At least you only had a sample. Me, I bought both Aoud Lime and Black Aoud. Burning styrofoam, bug spray, Band-Aids, burning bug-spray-and-Band-Aid-covered styrofoam, they're all appropriate descriptions. Those Montale ouds have all the subtlety of Ernest Borgnine reciting lines from "Romeo and Juliet." And I assert they smell no better than Ernest Borgnine.
I'm convinced people go on about Montale for the same reason people go on about lots of things: because they think they should. I'm not exactly sure how Montale snuck into the Academy of the Overrated, but I'm convinced no one really enjoys smelling like burning bug spray styrofoam Band Aids.
Having said that, I still own Montale Chocolate Greedy (I sold off the others on eBay), which is a perfectly pleasant cocoa-powder scent. Of course, Montale oud snobs would scoff and say favoring Chocolate Greedy is like insisting "Yellow Submarine" is the best Beatles song. (Though I say it's more like insisting "Touch Me" is the best Doors song. Which I do!)
As for your love of frankincense, have you sampled Comme des Garçons 2 Man? It's all woody and incensey and, name aside, I imagine it would smell great on a woman. I know you can find all the CdG's at the Scent Bar, but I'm happy to provide a larger sampling than those tiny vials. I've got all the ones with numbers (1, 2, 3, 53, 71, 8 88), Hinoki (another great woody frankincense), Calamus (green and sweet and subtle and milky), Carnation (carnation and red pepper, both screaming at the top of their lungs, fabulous!), Avignon (which I think you already have, right?), and Dry Clean ("futuristic," in the same way that sci-fi movies seem futuristic just because all the actors are wearing shiny unitards). Say the word, Katie. I start decanting in nine hours.
Dan
Dan,
Oh yeah, Montale Black Aoud smelled like Comet scouring powder to me. But I genuinely enjoy their White Aoud. It's pooh-poohed by the hardcore crowd as the "beginner's oud", but so what? I want to smell pretty, not like a failed nuclear reactor. Next from Montale: Borgnine Aoud.
Comme des Garçons 2 Man: own it. I used to wear it more, but came to the conclusion that it triggers respect more than drool. It's the drool I'm after. I'm very familiar with Carnation - my beloved pal, the artist Georgie Hopton, used to wear it. And Avignon is one of my high-rotation faves. I wore it together with L'Artisan Parfumeur Vanilia for my wedding.
Are you going to be OK with all this decanting jazz? Seems like you'll be needing a meth lab's worth of equipment: test tubes, funnels, pipettes, goggles, HazMat suits.... Quite an undertaking! Could you add CdG Hinoki to my drug supplies?
Katie
Katie,
My sincere apologies for the speedy responses. I haven't been writing much lately and so emailing at least gives the physical illusion of productivity. Basically, if someone were monitoring my progress only through security cameras, he'd think everything was hunky-dory.
Re your Avignon/Vanilia coupling: this whole blending of fragrances still seems reckless to me. I can't do it. I'm afraid. Too often I'm a rule-follower and not a rule-breaker.
Re my meth lab: Sally at Accessories for Fragrances always throws in various funnels and pipettes along with her atomizers. So I'm all set. It's a simple process that will take me no longer than fifteen minutes. (I'm all about minimizing my every gesture. Until I save an actual princess from drowning, I won't be happy.)
The plan is: decant tonight, mail tomorrow, a fiesta of scents before week's end. Including CB I Hate Perfume At the Beach 1966. The odd thing about At The Beach (other than it smells exactly like old-school Coppertone) is that, unlike novelty scents from Demeter, it does have some staying power. It doesn't develop exactly, but I sometimes wear it when I run and I'm surprised how after two hours of sweat and sun, I come back still smelling like Barbi Benton's Sweet Sixteen party in Malibu.
Dan
Viewer Mail: Rescue Me from Floral/Citrus Doldrums
Hi Katie,
Your post on the Gap's Individuals scents reminded me of my current scent identity crisis. At this risk of embarrassing myself by revealing my particularly "tween"-ish preferences, I've run through the following list of attempts to discover my scent soul-mate over the past six months:
1. Victoria's Secret Love Spell (no, I am not a 14-year-old cheerleader and yes, I actually did think that this was a good idea at the time)
2. Victoria's Secret Everything Refresher Spray with Organic Citrus (this smells good on the way out of the bottle and then mysteriously disappears upon impact with my skin)
3. Victoria's Secret Angel (apparently I like to get my fragrance where I buy my panties)
4. The Body Shop Satsuma Perfume Oil (the home scent version smelled so great in my apartment, I guess I wanted to take it with me to work; also disappears on the skin far too quickly)
5. Vera Wang The Fragrance (just gives that blah feeling)
6. Benefit B Spot (also not very exciting)
I also had fleeting romances in the past with:
1. Hugo Boss For Her (this was my 7th grade go-to)
2. Clinique Happy(got old fast, but I briefly tried the new "Happy Heart" at the mall and was tempted to take it home with me)
3. DKNY Be Delicious (we're still hook up sometimes, but I always feel guilty afterwards)
4. Yves Saint Laurent Baby Doll (this was a half-empty bottle from my godmother, it represents the more fashionable lady I sometimes pretend to be)
I'm lost in a sea of "almost there" flavors and I stare in my medicine cabinet every morning trying to figure out which of my barely diminished bottles I should waste a bit more of. Like Anne Hathaway's Princess Diaries character pre-makeover, I leave for work each morning feeling like "this is as good as it's going to get." I long for the excitement you exude when reviewing so many discovered scents.
A brief and disinterested exchange with a Sephora employee helped me discover my basic likes/dislikes in fragrance.
Love it:
1. Citrus, citrus, citrus (I want to feel like a bar of Dial Soap, without the soapy scent, if that's possible)
2. Light floral
Hate it:
1. Musk of any sort (makes me feel like my deodorant failed by the end of the day)
2. Anything sweet, especially vanilla (ditto on the failed deodorant sentiment)
I'm on pins and needles waiting for your reply. Please help me to escape the doldrums of decent scents and discover something I can be passionate about.
Thank you,
Kariyushi
If you still feel like playing the field, these are all amazing in the light floral/citrus genre:
Chanel Cristalle eau de toilette (sparkling, green floral & citrus chypre)
Chanel Cristallle eau Verte (radiant lime & jasmine freshness)
Kenzo Eau de Fleur de Magnolia (light orange blossom & magnolia)
Comme des Garçons 3 (a radiant imaginary flower)
Fresh Citron de Vigne (crisp, light citrus)
Annick Goutal Eau d’Hadrien (woody lemon)
Annick Goutal Hadrien Absolu (more intense version of Eau d’Hadrien; slightly more floral)
Jo Malone White Jasmine & Mint (just as it sounds, floral & fresh)
Nanadebary Green (crisp citrus & herbs with a bit of spice)
Also, I’m on a Miller Harris craze these days – I think this line is consistently high quality and a joy to wear. My favorite MH doldrums-chasing scent for you is:
Fleur de Matin (zesty green aromatic florals with citrus)
And check on the men’s side of the aisle for these (bearing in mind that cologne is unisex genre, if you’re worried about such things):
Hermès Concentré d’Orange Verte (classic citrus cologne)
Thierry Mugler Cologne (citrus/floral in a steamroom)
Try these and sniff some passion back into your neglected nose!
Katie
Perfume Pen Pals: Johnson's Baby Cologne
Katie,
Lookie here:
"Johnson’s Baby Cologne has a gentle, fresh fragrance with a pleasant combination of floral and citrus hints. It leaves your baby smelling clean and fresh."
Baby Cologne, KP!
Dan
Dan,
I won't ask why you were trolling for fragrance well below your age range (there is a limit to broadening your dating pool, you know), but I'm relieved to hear that infants are not being passed over by the perfume industry.
Katie
Katie,
I cover every spectrum. I want the best citrus, the best rose, the best baby perfume.
Dan
Dan,
Is the baby cologne a recent release? Perhaps a reformulation of an earlier fetal classic?
Katie
Katie,
Ha! Yes, well you know babies' tastes change all the time. Plus, no baby wants to smell like her older brother smelled when he was a baby.
Dan
Dan,
I’m so fascinated by the concept of baby cologne. I mean sure, wash ‘em, powder ‘em, fair enough, but actual perfume gets into “Pimp my Tyke” territory. But apparently the U.S. isn’t hip to the tip, because from the Philippines to Morocco to South America, all the fashionable shorties are stylin’ and profilin’ with a wide range of colognes.
I guess it makes sense to want to preserve a baby’s new car smell. And “floral and citrus hints” sure beats “placenta and blood” - or a full diaper. But why stop there? Why not hose babies down in a fragrance the rest of us can enjoy?
This cries out for a reader's poll: "Best Perfumes For Babies". I'll kick it off with Guerlain Jicky. Or maybe Etat Libre d'Orange Sécrétions Magnifiques.
Katie
Katie,
Jicky might be too much of a case of duplication layering. At least during those full diaper times. My choice for babies is sweet pea, because of Swee’Pea from Popeye, of course. For no apparent reason, I was obsessed with Popeye as a very young child, demanded Popeye everything, gumball machines ("thanks for the gumball, Popeye!"), drinking glasses, little plastic Popeye pipes. And, of course, I loved spinach and would hum the Popeye theme song whenever I ate it. So, yeah, my vote goes for sweet pea. It's not an actual perfume, but it should be. Plus, it's a pleasing light green floral. So it would work thematically and practically.
Dan
Johnson's Baby Cologne is available from Amazon.com
starting at $3.50 for 6.6 oz
starting at $3.50 for 6.6 oz
Fumeheads – I’d love to hear your take on this stupid-on-purpose poll: “Best Perfumes for Babies”. What should the trendiest bambinos be wearing?
Miller Harris Fleur Oriental
...smells like flowers growing out of your body in a snowstorm of incense.
It’s been hard to pry my nose away from my latest infatuation, Miller Harris Fleur Oriental. Fleur Oriental embraces the oriental formula, which is a sensual tango of amber with ever-shifting partners that include vanilla and musk.
This one is vintage with quotation marks -- Shalimar with a face-lift. Perfumer Lyn Harris has created a “night at the opera” fragrance which transitions admirably to one’s private “naughty ballerina” moments. Sweet orange blossom, almondy heliotrope and spicy carnation are the beauties dancing with beastly amber and incense accords, and the whole production stays bewitchingly lilting -- never heavy.
Some feel that Fleur Oriental is too dramatic -- or vampy -- for daytime wear, but I have no shame. I’ve even worn it (in teensy, Ayurvedic doses) to yoga class. (Note that I’m the kind who insists on reapplying lipgloss in the middle of a wilderness hike.)
My preferred poison is Fleur Oriental in the pure parfum, which smells incredibly soft and rich. The bottle stopper is a cube of beveled glass that makes me feel like 1930s movie star as I use it to anoint myself in secret places.
It’s been hard to pry my nose away from my latest infatuation, Miller Harris Fleur Oriental. Fleur Oriental embraces the oriental formula, which is a sensual tango of amber with ever-shifting partners that include vanilla and musk.
This one is vintage with quotation marks -- Shalimar with a face-lift. Perfumer Lyn Harris has created a “night at the opera” fragrance which transitions admirably to one’s private “naughty ballerina” moments. Sweet orange blossom, almondy heliotrope and spicy carnation are the beauties dancing with beastly amber and incense accords, and the whole production stays bewitchingly lilting -- never heavy.
Some feel that Fleur Oriental is too dramatic -- or vampy -- for daytime wear, but I have no shame. I’ve even worn it (in teensy, Ayurvedic doses) to yoga class. (Note that I’m the kind who insists on reapplying lipgloss in the middle of a wilderness hike.)
My preferred poison is Fleur Oriental in the pure parfum, which smells incredibly soft and rich. The bottle stopper is a cube of beveled glass that makes me feel like 1930s movie star as I use it to anoint myself in secret places.
Miller Harris Fleur Oriental is available from Amazon.com, FragranceNet.com and Perfume.com, starting at $65 for 50 ml
Juliette Has A Gun Winners!
Thanks to everyone who signed up to the blog for a chance to drench themselves in Juliette Has a Gun liquid finery. The winners are...
Miss Charming: Lennonette and Diana aka hollisterrox0
Lady Vengeance: Carolynishis
Citizen Queen: ahsu (alt winner)
Sample Packs:
poisonochoice82
Aitana (alt winner)
gigglebird52
Jen22says
Jjejjohn
T.R. aka Redsatin69
thecaruso4
AnnS aka Annlovesperfume
Aleks aka aleksXbabesz
AleshaDawn
Congratulations to all the winners! Thanks to LuckyScent.com for supplying the goodies. Please personal message your mailing address to me at my YouTube channel. Stay tuned for more KP Smells blog and YouTube giveaways coming up,including the 10 bottle Summer Scent Event! I can smell you all from here, and you're gorgeous...collectively!
Perfume Pen Pals: Chanel Coromandel, The Different Company Rose Poivree and Profumum Thundra
Dan,
I literally recoiled when you said no one else likes our beloved Chanel Coromandel. Then I stuck out my chin and got all tough like, "I don't care!" Kind of like when an angry Britney fan wrote to me on YouTube a while back telling me I had a "head like a square box". Yeah, kind of funny, kind of true, then I deleted it.
Anyway, back to Coromandel. She is a little eccentric. The way I pile it on, I have friends begging me to roll down the car windows. But then others go in for a hug, get ensnared by Coromandel, and don't want to let me go. Maybe your women friends couldn't process a guy wearing something so filled with personality? But goodness knows your perfume collection has more personalities than Sybil, so they should be used to that.
The Different Company Rose Poivrée: I never experienced the original. It's still pretty armpitty, and I enjoy taking long draughts of it. Couldn't see myself wearing it though.
I’m circling Creed Angelique Encens at the moment. If only it didn't come in that flippin' bulk-buy sized bottle. You don't have Angelique Encens, do ya, Dan? Because I would definitely hit you up for some of that.
Have you smelled Profumum Thundra? It's unusual and potent and handsome: mushrooms on the damp forest floor. Wonder if you might like it? Might be too butch for you.
Katie
Katie,
On Coromandel:
I wandered into the Chanel boutique yesterday to talk perfume with Venis (his real name) - before we were pen pals, I've had no one with whom to talk perfumes and I'm starving for conversation - and Venis told me that Coromandel is his favorite of the Exclusifs, too, but that it's the worst-selling one. I hope they don't discontinue it. It's odd that they launched so many scents at once and I can imagine them trimming back. I did smell the new one, Beige, which is very pretty, more of a traditional Chanel, and definitely more female than male.
On Rose Poivrée:
TDC changed it years ago, not long after the original came out, and while the new one smells armpitty, the old one was positively offensive. It smelled like several kinds of pits at once. It's the only perfume that has made me gag. And that includes Etat Libre d’Orange Sécrétions Magnifiques, which is actually kind of nice if you're in the correct mindset. (Which means you can't be thinking about blood or sperm or sweat when you smell it.)
On Angelique Encens:
I don't have it. I don't have any Creeds. I've smelled a few and not liked them at all. They all smell like my Uncle Tony, RIP. And while I'm sure people thought Uncle Tony smelled fine in his day, his day was fifty or sixty years ago. (Though in fairness I've only sampled the male Creed scents.)
On Thundra:
I've liked everything from Profumum, Thundra the most. Also, Acqua di Sale, which is a salty sea scent, but a very good one. I already own Heeley Sel Marin, though, which is similar, so Thundra is first. Thundra is next! (I can already tell you're not going to be a good influence on my budget. Maybe I've instinctively avoided these kinds of conversations for a reason.)
"Might be too butch for you."
Ouch. A fellow perfume lover taking a shot at my masculinity. I expect that from my dumb friends, but you? Although I guess it's better than saying I have a head like a square box. What an odd criticism.
The young people never fail to get all ad hominem on everyone's ass. You should tell that kid that having a head like a box means having good bone structure and having good bone structure means aging well and he and his stupid fleshy egg-shaped head can look forward to prematurely droopy jowls (if he lives that long). You've got to learn to speak the kids' language, Katie.
Okay, I've gone off the tracks and I'm surely infuriating you by now. I'm decanting for you tomorrow night. I'll just send you a bunch of stuff you might like. And, seriously, I have no perfume friends and over a hundred bottles of perfume. And I wear one scent per day. I can't possibly live long enough to wear everything I own. And I own more almost every week. My days are getting fewer, my bottles are getting greater, something has to give, Katie!
Dan
Ulrich Lang Anvers
Anvers is a case of multiple personality disorder, but in this instance, all the personalities are pretty cool guys.
Ulrich Lang Anvers is available at Amazon.com and LuckyScent.com and UlrichLangNewYork.com, starting at $80 for 3.4 oz.
Perfume Pen Pals: S-Perfume S-ex, Jean Desprez Bal a Versailles and Parfums MDCI Enlevement au Serail
Dan,
You owned Parfums MDCI Enlèvement au Serail? At $610 a pop? Hey, big spender! I haven’t smelled it, but it sounds absolutely gorgeous -- you're right, like the DNA of the new Eve.
I will point my trotters in the direction of Scent Bar and clippity-clop over there to investigate. And it will be an excuse to take another surreptitious whore's bath in Amouage Homage Attar, the transcendentally beautiful perfume of goddesses.
And speaking of men (like you) who appear from the ether of cyberspace to discuss baroque perfumes, I recently heard from a kid I knew in 5th grade at the Anglo-American School in Moscow. Except now he’s a law professor at an Ivy League college. He'd stumbled upon KP Smells and wanted to share his love for Jean Desprez Bal à Versailles. Are you familiar with this one?
I checked it out on the fume blogs and it sounded right up my furry alley: opulent, incensey, civet-y, so I tracked down a teeny bottle of parfum.
It's so interesting: Nag Champa hippie incense, overripe jasmine, dirty leather and "clean" horse poop. With hay. It smells old-fashioned and a little cheap, too. Of course, I'm desperate to know what those vintage bottles on eBay smell like. But I tell you what: I love layering BàV with Le Labo Labdanum 18. Good clean dirty fun.
When I reported my horse-poop findings to the former 5th-grader/current law professor, he was rather discomfited. There he was tipping me off to a lovely, cherished scent, and then he gets an earful of manure from me. Sometimes, it's best not to know the darkness that lies beneath loveliness.
My big love at the moment is Chanel Coromandel. Got a Costco-sized bottle of that in the fridge.
Procrastination question:
What do you love wearing?
Katie
Katie,
Coromandel is a marvel! I, too, have the big Exclusifs bottle. But here's the thing: no one else likes it. Or at least no one else I know. And that's the conundrum of wearing fragrances: how much do you let the people around you influence what you wear? A loved one? A lot, I guess. A once-a-month brunch friend? Screw 'em. But with Coromandel, I've literally had three otherwise sane women tell me they hated it.
As for civet-y goodness, did you ever smell the original version of The Different Company Rose Poivrée? I used to have a giant canister hidden away (you couldn't leave the stuff out in case young children were ever around) and it was absolutely obscene. Luca Turin wrote about it and I guess TDC changed the formula and added some actual rose, but that original version was, as the kids say, wicked.
I've not tried Amouage Homage Attar nor heard of Bal à Versailles. But of course I'll read all about both now. But I will not look up vintage bottles on eBay. That's dangerous territory when you already have a too-expensive habit for the new stuff.
I was shopping for a loft a few months ago and an agent was showing me one place with cute little library. And on the shelves were all of these vintage bottles: Chanels and Guerlains and stuff I didn't even recognize. "Wow, a perfume collector!" I said. And the agent, without missing a beat, said, "Yeah, the guy who lives here is kind of creepy." Ouch. No respect, Katie. If I ever sell my place, I'm hiding all my bottles.
Oh, and I didn't pay $610 for the Enlèvement au Serail. I got the $235 refill bottle, which is the very same thing but without the little faux marble head. (Little faux marble heads are more expensive than I thought.)
It's a straight peach-jasmine, but it's unbelievably luxurious. It smells like I imagine women smelling ages ago. Same with Etat Libre d’Orange Jasmin et Cigarette, except that one refers to a slightly different kind of woman, the kind of woman your father fancied BEFORE he met your mother.
What I love wearing changes all the time. But Coromandel is definitely one. By Kilian Liaisons Dangereuses is another. Eau d’Italie Sienne d'Hiver. The Different Company Osmanthus. Lots of Comme des Garçons -- ten or twelve of them. Though I don't LOVE love those, not in a romantic way. It's more admiration. The way I love our president.
Have you tried S-Perfume's scents? They're very odd and maybe up your alley. I have the faux-leather S-ex, which will remind you of sex only if you have sex fully clothed in brand-new cars with thick vinyl interiors.
Dan
Dan Rolleri is a guy who likes perfume and music and baseball, and most days he sits around the house working on a book that regrettably includes none of these things.
Kenzo Eau de Fleur de Magnolia
...this stuff is southern California in a bottle.
One of the great things about fragrance is its ability to “fill in the blanks” of your unsatisfying reality. Is your life lacking drama? Bring the theatricality with Chanel Coromandel or People of the Labyrinths A*Maze.
Broke? Fake it till you make it, dough-wise, with the money smells of Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Man or Parfums MDCI Enlevement au Serail.
Feeling hungry? A little Angel by Thierry Mugler or Vanille Sauvage de Madagascar by La Maison de la Vanille will do you right.
Need to wake up? Knock back a shot of Bond No. 9 New Haarlem or Jo Malone Black Vetyver Café.
In my case, reality was a little threadbare when it came to this year’s flowers. Owing to a stop-and-start spring of hot, cold, sunny and rainy weather, sometimes all in the same day, the local magnolia trees and orange blossoms never really got their groove on. And that’s where Kenzo Eau de Fleur de Magnolia came into its own. This eau de toilette is a creamy magnolia twirling her zesty orange blossom petticoats like a joyful debutante. All it took was a few spritzes, and spring was most emphatically here. So no prob, Bob: while Mother Nature figures herself out, Magnolia and I are holding it down.
One of the great things about fragrance is its ability to “fill in the blanks” of your unsatisfying reality. Is your life lacking drama? Bring the theatricality with Chanel Coromandel or People of the Labyrinths A*Maze.
Broke? Fake it till you make it, dough-wise, with the money smells of Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Man or Parfums MDCI Enlevement au Serail.
Feeling hungry? A little Angel by Thierry Mugler or Vanille Sauvage de Madagascar by La Maison de la Vanille will do you right.
Need to wake up? Knock back a shot of Bond No. 9 New Haarlem or Jo Malone Black Vetyver Café.
In my case, reality was a little threadbare when it came to this year’s flowers. Owing to a stop-and-start spring of hot, cold, sunny and rainy weather, sometimes all in the same day, the local magnolia trees and orange blossoms never really got their groove on. And that’s where Kenzo Eau de Fleur de Magnolia came into its own. This eau de toilette is a creamy magnolia twirling her zesty orange blossom petticoats like a joyful debutante. All it took was a few spritzes, and spring was most emphatically here. So no prob, Bob: while Mother Nature figures herself out, Magnolia and I are holding it down.
Kenzo Eau de Fleur de Magnolia is available from Amazon.com and KenzoUsa.com, starting at $52 for 1.7 oz.
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