ChapeauClack

One generous test wearing was all it took for me to fall for this quasi masculine.
It started out in wisps of powder and something vaguely reminiscent of lipstick, Moulin Rouge's kissing cousin. The leather note emerged almost instantly, taking center stage, with cedar and patchouli never too far away.
This leather is no kid glove, nor a suede pouch, mind you. Think saddle leather instead. It's hard, polished from extensive wear and dry as a bone.
Cedar, which given its domineering nature can be a very difficult note for me, is truly cast in a supporting role here, rendering the fragrance even drier. It also encases the otherwise soft heart of this composition in a much needed corset, preventing it from turning into a spineless dollop of oriental sweetness even as the notes progress into dried fruit, spice and absinthe territory.
The drydown lingers well into the wee hours of the night and is delectable with tobacco leaves, brandy-soaked raisins and dates and still more smoky leather.
Like other offerings from this house it can be either an intimate whisper of a scent or a sillage bomb, depending on application.
The last thing this beauty needs is stereotyping by gender.

The first time I tried Jolie Madame (vintage EdT) on my skin, I found it to be the perfect match to Dior Fahrenheit. Its top notes are all about cool, smooth leather and the silvery sheen of violet leaf for me. Later on the delicate, perfectly blended florals, spice and just a drop of juicy citrus kick in, and it's pure heaven from then on - powdery, cool, silvery-green and with a beautiful light sillage.

I also find this fragrance exceptionally wearable of all things. It's as easy to slip into, as the perfect satin gown in my favorite gris de perle shade.

Some years ago I was hunting for a violet candy scent . Everything about those tiny purple chrystalized flowers is just so lovely: the way they look, their strange grassy perfumey taste and of course their wonderful scent, at once sweet, flowery, green and cool.

Violettes de Toulouse is basically this candy bottled, with some musk and buttery iris thrown into the mix. It is indeed a very tame perfume, more of an airy whisper than an assertive statement. Adorable albeit regrettably shortlived. Spraying on fabric will probably work better than applying directly to the skin. And call me infantile, but I'm in love with the box and the bottle. They look straight out of my great grandmother's boudoir.

The clove/carnation duo is barely there, as is the patchouli, and that's fine by me. What I get is a very soft spoken green floral, utterly feminine and pretty much suitable for any time of year or day. It's soft but not meek, clean but not boring, deeply rooted in the classic traditions of scent and very modern.

If I were to liken this scent to a woman, it would be one of those people who command immediate attention without ever having to raise their voice.

Unfortunately, in the long run it was these very commendable traits that made me skip Eau Eternelle time and again as I considered my choice of scent for the day. I need something more edgy, a bit more drama with my perfume. But hey, that's just me.

Coromandel is probably the best example of co-creation in modern perfumery. It is simultaneously unmistakably Jaques Polge and Christopher Sheldrake, and however distinct these two styles are, the result never, not for a particle of second, feels crammed or forced. Not a single note is superfluous or out of place. It is a multilayered symphonic piece that, despite its scope and complexity, perfectly follows Michelangelo’s criterion for completeness: there is nothing to take away here.

There’s been often mentioned a certain accord that apparently renders Coromandel “masculine” to some reviewers. While I certainly understand what is being perceived as such, I find it more of a definition of character than gender. Think about practically any Great Feminine of yore; their illustrious “backbone”, that je ne sais quoi which constituted their very essence. In the incessant tidal wave of syrupy little girl offerings, what once meant class and character, came to be read as virility.
At times Coromandel does bear a close kinship to L’Instant de Guerlain Pour Homme and its precursor Caron’s Le 3eme Homme, prominently displaying a sort of muted, fresh herbal cocoa accord. This is especially true on the humid, sweaty dog days of Asian Summer. That kind of weather does make Coromandel fall somewhat flat, I’m afraid. But to say that Coromandel is a mere take on the L’Instant theme would be a gross understatement. It’s always a new story.

I’ve had powdery floral days with Coromandel, très feminine, très Chanel. I’ve had “Borneo”-like days of deep chocolate and leafy patchouli wearing delightfully close to skin. I’ve had days of the most elegant citrus, chic smoky woods and shalimaresque vanilla with a vast yet delicate sillage that made complete strangers turn their heads in awe. Coromandel has me looking impatiently forward to all the other days to come, be it the cool, colorful days of Fall, the crisp, snowy Winter days, or those first days of Spring when cold tentatively gives way to warmth and greenery.

It has all the makings of an icon: infallible, flawless, versatile, strikingly beautiful, and simply a pleasure to be around.