LovingTheAlien

I own a small bottle of Indiscret Cologne, which is just lovely. I thought it was a lovely smokey floral over a woody tonka base and that was it - Old Spice Oriental.

Well, I've had a taste of the real stuff.

I bought some Schiaparelli Nips (tiny ampoules of perfume, hermetically sealed) and a tube of Indiscret parfum came along with them.

Oh my god.

The top is green but only a vague haze of galbanum as it is with Vol de Nuit. There is a ton of orange flower and a sweet fruity tuberose. As with many orientals in extrait (really the only way), the base is smoldering and swelling by the time the middle notes are popping in. What begins as a sweet, pretty tuberose fragrance quickly evolves into a dense, arcane oriental. There's no powder - only dark, brooding incense and heavy musk in a beautiful contrast with the fruity light tuberose. Iris and orange flower concrete add a sweet and complex lightness to the sinking spell of the incense. It's truly sublime for the 6 or so hours it does this. As it wears away, sandalwood, musk, and orange flower concrete are all that remain. And they remain for a long time. I can't wash it off!

The cologne is nice, but the parfum is amazing. Timeless - a true classic.

I can truly recommend nips as the best and safest perfume buys you can make - they're fantastic, inexpensive, and are engineered to preserve fragrance better than the factory bottles. If you haven't experienced real vintage perfume the way it was meant to be, these are a great starting point to help you know what's good and what's spoiled.

001Coty is perhaps one of the most under-the-radar fragrances ever. A limited run of 5000, it was already doomed to obscurity. The most intriguing thing about this fragrance (besides its notes!) is the utter lack of reviews available on the internet with the exception of it being briefly mentioned in a complaint about marigold fragrances at the Vintage Perfume Vault blog. Perhaps it is for this reason that I won a sealed flacon for only $9.99 - I was the only bidder. It's a shame, really - this is a wonderful, quality fragrance.

The opening is fresh and pretty - a sweet, delicate marigold with the liquid dewy sweetness of lily-of-the-valley - or is this the almond blossom? I was really surprised by this part - it's quite fresh and not at all what I expected. Then the synthetic alarm-clock buzz of freshly printed circuit boards appears. I'm very familiar with this scent; I was very fond of circuit-bending toys a few years back when I made a lot of experimental electronic music. It smells like the inside of a cordless phone - with that particular hard black plastic that's manufactured in China. This is only used as a building block here, however, and the effect is at once strange and bracing.

Legend has it that the perfumer, Jim Krivda, used a headspace reconstruction of static electricity from polyester here. I honestly am inclined to believe this, considering he's now the vice-president of Mane, the company that brought us the absurdly innovative Jungle Essences. Perhaps it's these two scents together that give others that "is that a huge dose of calone" feeling.

As the scent continues to warm, the synthetic notes begin to blend into what must be cashmeran with a beautiful and elegant modern oriental base - slightly woody and powdery, but still with a liquidy freshness. The licorice is an accent to what smells like hedione and jasmine. I'm not sure what is really the drydown here, as it keeps shifting back and forth, but that's a good thing. There is a lot of subtle dynamism here, and what seems to be very good quality ingredients.

It is strange yet wearable, something akin to the wonderful fragrances of Etat Libre d'Orange. There are harsh synthetics living alongside high-quality absolutes and hi-tech extractions, and the entirety comes together in a highly abstract but successful manner, a sort of sans-souci, elegant artsy vibe throughout.

I'm not sure what the concentration is - it could be cologne or parfum. It's hard to guess! It has an average longevity and good sillage although it has a lightness to it that suggests an Eau de Toilette.

The packaging is cheesy and cool - it comes in an inflatable vacuum-pack bag used for cheap electronic components. The soft rubber inner case is reminiscent of a portable hard drive. The bottle, on the other hand, is gorgeous. It's a small, perfectly rectangular glass flask with a ground glass stopper and the fragrance's name sandblasted into the glass.

Tabac Original is a peculiar fragrance. It is, in essence, a cheap and cheerful aldehydic floral marketed to men, truly a rarity in the massive fragrance pool. It is perhaps for this reason that it has remained so popular through the years. Gentlemen with little regard for branding in general know that it is fresh and somehow different from everything else out there; perhaps their fathers used it. Its branding and distribution channels have taken it out of consideration for the majority of fragrance enthusiasts - it's just not discussed in the community with any particular consideration besides commentary on its absurdly low retail price.

Tabac Original opens with a lovely bouquet of aldehydes, citrus, and orange blossom. It's as cheerful and prim as any genuine 50s floral, and actually smells quite lovely. The heart of rose, jasmine, lavender, and a host of other "floral" synthetics is actually quite lovely. The first time I smelled it on paper I thought of L'Heure Bleue, its delicate balance of orange blossom, aldehydes, and obscure florals. While this is no Guerlain, it is still very nice. Woody nuances emerge, the floral bouquet becoming powdery and the whole of the composition stepping into the sweet vetiver musk territory of Arpege. The whole composition actually smells quite natural, and there is no doubt in my mind that this actually contains better ingredients than many designer fragrances do.

Unfortunately, there is a downside - the musk. There is so much damn musk (galaxolide?) in this that it overpowers everything else in the drydown. Perhaps it has zero longevity or projection without it, but it's gone to dryer sheets after a couple hours. When worn in moderation, this isn't really an issue, as these musks have come to be associated with the smell of clean people for the masses. It isn't even necessarily a downside for most people; it's just that I have grown up in a time and place that associates this smell with cheap fabric softener - something that I avoid completely these days in my (laughable) effort to smell "different." Again, for most people, this smells like clean sheets and sunshine - a perfect finish to an otherwise perfect fragrance. For me, though, I wish it would have ended differently instead of just smelling like I had washed my clothes in Tide.

Much like Tide, this scent does smell wonderful if just a bit too common.

Guerlinade is quite the rarity, and I am lucky to have obtained a bottle at all. It is a shame it is so rare; it is really one of the best lilac fragrances I've ever tested.

The opening is juicy, delicious bergamot, citrus, and linden blossom. I have never smelled a fragrance that literally made my mouth water until this one. The lilac begins to show itself, fresh and joyous! It's a great rendition of the note - not too rubbery or smokey, and not at all reminiscent of floor cleaner. Just a delicately powdery, juicy dewy lilac. As the scent wears longer, the lilac begins to shift into Guerlinade territory (Which is good, considering the name!). Sweet woody undertones come to the fore with a delicate amber, resting on a delightfully light finish.

It's really quite a lovely and refreshing experience - the opening is almost drinkable in its juicy delicious wonder. As with many other Guerlain limited editions, the quality is immediately recognizable. It's a tragedy this didn't stay around longer, but at least I have enough to delight in whenever I please. As an EDP, it is very tenacious and has the delicate, perfect sillage I've learned to expect from Guerlain. The only con is the obvious rarity and the associated expense.