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Tolu is one of perfumer Geza Schoen's early perfumes and one of the perfumes that launched the Ormonde Jayne line in 2002. It's an interesting spin on the oriental genre and provides a glimpse of the techniques and style that would become Schoen's signature. It also demonstrates how a 'contemporary' style ages.
Contemporary independent perfumers have riffed on the oriental perfume since the niche trend started. Just as Christopher Sheldrake did with the Bois series for Serge Lutens, Schoen based Tolu on a close reading of the traditional model. Both perfumers deciphered it, focussing not just on the compositional 'recipe' but the logic behind it---the how and the why. Sheldrake's Bois perfumes were famous/infamous for their optimistic use of woody amber materials, and in this respect there is a lot of common ground in Sheldrake's and Schoen's methodologies. Where they differ is in their relationships to archetypal oriental perfumes.
Sheldrake bent what he found into a distinctly new shape. Shoen also took the genre down to the studs but came up with a different model for innovation: facsimile. Tolu is a clever rebuild of the traditional oriental perfume. In terms of scent Tolu and Guerlain Shalimar run on close parallel paths but they diverge sharply when it comes to texture. Tolu's stained glass luminescence has all of Shalimar's richness but none of the opacity and graininess that makes it seem dated to the modern nose.
Schoen recreates Shalimar's citrus accord with an evergreen/herbal mix. It has a whiff of turpentine, whose citric/lime facet replicates Shalimar's bergamot topnote. The aromatic herbal accord lasts well into drydown, making it an ingenious proxy for Shalimar's famously hefty dose of Guerlinade. As the name implies Tolu's resinous core stems from tolu balsam, which gives the perfume an unwrinkled matte appearance. Tolu's heart is significantly less sweet than Shalimar's but the vanilla is just as pronounced and tolu balsam's hint of cinnamon accents vanilla's woodiness. Leather is as prominent as it is in the Guerlain but without the smoky backdrop of birch tar it is sheerer and decidedly more modern. Shoen gave his perfume a sizable orange blossom note, which differs from the Guerlain's jasmine and rose heart, but adds noticeably to the perfume's suntanned glow.
Tolu's innovative reimagining of an historical genre with contemporary materials made it novel when it was released in 2002 but the particular style of luminosity does date it. It scores exceedingly high on 'radiance' which pegs it as a Millennial Perfume, a cohort of fragrances composed with famously high percentages of insistent woody-amber materials. To Schoen's great credit, Tolu has aged more gracefully than most perfumes of the early '00s. It reads as era-specific rather than outdated. Trend might have followed Shoen, but he lead through innovation.
Part of the charm and appeal of oriental perfumes has always been their over-the-topness. To the modern nose, though, they might be a little much for daily wear, like opera or high drag. For those who do favor the Emeraudes, Tabus and Youth Dews of the world Tolu's light version of a dense style might seem inauthentic, like a spray tan or a faked orgasm. But for those who find traditional perfumes a bit too heavily brocaded Tolu offers an oriental without melodrama.
(from scenthurdle.com)
Contemporary independent perfumers have riffed on the oriental perfume since the niche trend started. Just as Christopher Sheldrake did with the Bois series for Serge Lutens, Schoen based Tolu on a close reading of the traditional model. Both perfumers deciphered it, focussing not just on the compositional 'recipe' but the logic behind it---the how and the why. Sheldrake's Bois perfumes were famous/infamous for their optimistic use of woody amber materials, and in this respect there is a lot of common ground in Sheldrake's and Schoen's methodologies. Where they differ is in their relationships to archetypal oriental perfumes.
Sheldrake bent what he found into a distinctly new shape. Shoen also took the genre down to the studs but came up with a different model for innovation: facsimile. Tolu is a clever rebuild of the traditional oriental perfume. In terms of scent Tolu and Guerlain Shalimar run on close parallel paths but they diverge sharply when it comes to texture. Tolu's stained glass luminescence has all of Shalimar's richness but none of the opacity and graininess that makes it seem dated to the modern nose.
Schoen recreates Shalimar's citrus accord with an evergreen/herbal mix. It has a whiff of turpentine, whose citric/lime facet replicates Shalimar's bergamot topnote. The aromatic herbal accord lasts well into drydown, making it an ingenious proxy for Shalimar's famously hefty dose of Guerlinade. As the name implies Tolu's resinous core stems from tolu balsam, which gives the perfume an unwrinkled matte appearance. Tolu's heart is significantly less sweet than Shalimar's but the vanilla is just as pronounced and tolu balsam's hint of cinnamon accents vanilla's woodiness. Leather is as prominent as it is in the Guerlain but without the smoky backdrop of birch tar it is sheerer and decidedly more modern. Shoen gave his perfume a sizable orange blossom note, which differs from the Guerlain's jasmine and rose heart, but adds noticeably to the perfume's suntanned glow.
Tolu's innovative reimagining of an historical genre with contemporary materials made it novel when it was released in 2002 but the particular style of luminosity does date it. It scores exceedingly high on 'radiance' which pegs it as a Millennial Perfume, a cohort of fragrances composed with famously high percentages of insistent woody-amber materials. To Schoen's great credit, Tolu has aged more gracefully than most perfumes of the early '00s. It reads as era-specific rather than outdated. Trend might have followed Shoen, but he lead through innovation.
Part of the charm and appeal of oriental perfumes has always been their over-the-topness. To the modern nose, though, they might be a little much for daily wear, like opera or high drag. For those who do favor the Emeraudes, Tabus and Youth Dews of the world Tolu's light version of a dense style might seem inauthentic, like a spray tan or a faked orgasm. But for those who find traditional perfumes a bit too heavily brocaded Tolu offers an oriental without melodrama.
(from scenthurdle.com)
1 Comment
comme des pharrell
The design house Comme des Garçons occupies a specific perch in the fashion world. It is known for being off-beat, progressive, trend-setting. Search for "Comme des Garçons" and "avant-garde"--- it'll take days to dig through all the results. The brand has a strong interest in maintaining an unconventional appearance. CdG's perfumes convey the bona fides of their non-conformity by emphasizing three qualities: iconoclasm ('anti-perfumes' such as Odeur 53 and Odeur 71), thingness (recontextualized scents like Dry Clean, Sticky Cake and Concrete) and a signature style of synth-woodiness. The first two speak to the reputation CdG want to preserve, the third identifies the brand and ties it to that reputation. The question is to what extent the brand has the brand reduced avantgardism to a set of signifiers in an attempt to market their artistry?
After the Series collections of 2000-2008 the brand focussed on marketing creative collaboration. Collaborations with Stephen Jones, Monocle, Daphne Guinness, Hussein Chalayan and Gosha Rubchinskiy widen CdG's style profile and replenish the brand's street cred. In 2014 CdG joined forces with Pharrell Williams on the perfume Girl. It was a significant ramp-up from figures known strictly to close followers of the fashion industry to the most prominent superstar of the day. CdG phrased Girl as a collaborative project, but let's call it what it is. Girl is a celebrity perfume.
So what did each of the collaborators stand to gain?
For Pharrell, it's easy. Affiliation with avant-garde ('serious') art gives a high-brow to his pop career. Pharrell has a track record of pop-up style art and design projects and for him, creating a perfume with a groovy fashion brand was no different. It supported the narrative that he is ‘about’ creative idiosyncrasy and avant-garde style. Accumulated incidences of cool give him legitimacy and balance out large scale public projects (think The Voice) with smaller artsy ones. The free advertising that the perfume provided for his album Girl didn’t hurt. If I sound cynical, I'm not. The integration of Pharrell Williams's musical work and his interest in design and fashion is smart and intriguing. It breaks down the boundaries between marketing and the work being marketed.
CdG's gains were different. Pharrell didn't win a new demographic, nor did he need to. CdG on the other hand did gain exposure to a wider market. By making a celebrity fragrance but couching it as an artistic collaboration, CdG sought to immunize themselves against accusations of ordinariness. It gave them a new foothold on the shelves of Sephora without sacrificing the high ground. It was an opportunity to sell out without selling out.
Girls has been promoted as a mainstream version of CdG’s style of spare woods but in truth, the perfume's sweet synthy woods put it more in line with young men's club fragrances like Paco Rabanne 1 Million, Victor and Rolf Spicebomb and Tom Ford Noir Extreme. They all share a similar design concept. Tenacious woods, syrupy/powdery sweetness, spice notes and aromatics all shout for your attention. A lavender/violet topnote gives Girl a passing similarity to an aromatic fougère, but the demanding sweet-woody accord drills to the surface quickly and smothers the lavender in syrup. The perfume vibrates on a frequency that that suggests lopsided doses of industrial strength woody aromachemicals and the topnotes in particular are piercing.
As with all of CdG's joint perfume projects, there is an assumption that the perfume will be a reflection of the artistic collaboration that went into the project. But what if it’s not? In this case the perfume and the story have next to nothing in common. If Girl had shown evidence of the high minded artistic collaboration that CdG and Pharrell would have us believe I might feel less like I’ve been sold a bill of goods. Unfortunately Girl has the expediency of a convenient hook-up and makes Pharrell and Comme des Carçons seem more like friends with benefits rather than serious collaborators.
(from scenthurdle.com)
After the Series collections of 2000-2008 the brand focussed on marketing creative collaboration. Collaborations with Stephen Jones, Monocle, Daphne Guinness, Hussein Chalayan and Gosha Rubchinskiy widen CdG's style profile and replenish the brand's street cred. In 2014 CdG joined forces with Pharrell Williams on the perfume Girl. It was a significant ramp-up from figures known strictly to close followers of the fashion industry to the most prominent superstar of the day. CdG phrased Girl as a collaborative project, but let's call it what it is. Girl is a celebrity perfume.
So what did each of the collaborators stand to gain?
For Pharrell, it's easy. Affiliation with avant-garde ('serious') art gives a high-brow to his pop career. Pharrell has a track record of pop-up style art and design projects and for him, creating a perfume with a groovy fashion brand was no different. It supported the narrative that he is ‘about’ creative idiosyncrasy and avant-garde style. Accumulated incidences of cool give him legitimacy and balance out large scale public projects (think The Voice) with smaller artsy ones. The free advertising that the perfume provided for his album Girl didn’t hurt. If I sound cynical, I'm not. The integration of Pharrell Williams's musical work and his interest in design and fashion is smart and intriguing. It breaks down the boundaries between marketing and the work being marketed.
CdG's gains were different. Pharrell didn't win a new demographic, nor did he need to. CdG on the other hand did gain exposure to a wider market. By making a celebrity fragrance but couching it as an artistic collaboration, CdG sought to immunize themselves against accusations of ordinariness. It gave them a new foothold on the shelves of Sephora without sacrificing the high ground. It was an opportunity to sell out without selling out.
Girls has been promoted as a mainstream version of CdG’s style of spare woods but in truth, the perfume's sweet synthy woods put it more in line with young men's club fragrances like Paco Rabanne 1 Million, Victor and Rolf Spicebomb and Tom Ford Noir Extreme. They all share a similar design concept. Tenacious woods, syrupy/powdery sweetness, spice notes and aromatics all shout for your attention. A lavender/violet topnote gives Girl a passing similarity to an aromatic fougère, but the demanding sweet-woody accord drills to the surface quickly and smothers the lavender in syrup. The perfume vibrates on a frequency that that suggests lopsided doses of industrial strength woody aromachemicals and the topnotes in particular are piercing.
As with all of CdG's joint perfume projects, there is an assumption that the perfume will be a reflection of the artistic collaboration that went into the project. But what if it’s not? In this case the perfume and the story have next to nothing in common. If Girl had shown evidence of the high minded artistic collaboration that CdG and Pharrell would have us believe I might feel less like I’ve been sold a bill of goods. Unfortunately Girl has the expediency of a convenient hook-up and makes Pharrell and Comme des Carçons seem more like friends with benefits rather than serious collaborators.
(from scenthurdle.com)
ummagumma
The test of a feel-good perfume is versatility. Wear a light dose or douse yourself. Keep it at wrist distance or huff it like poppers. Warm weather, cold weather. Dress it up or go casual. The better feel-good fragrances hover closer to the center of a set of olfactory dynamics rather than at the extremes. It's what makes them versatile and appealing over time. The question is how to make the middle ground interesting.
Amber perfumes have a pitfall: the resinous materials they're built from smell really good. Labdanum, olibanum, tonka, vanilla and sandalwood are considered stand-alone perfumes. The risk, the trap really, is highlighting materials at the expense of composition. Old-school oriental perfumes avoided the hazard by making complex, larger than life scents. Unfortunately, their lavish style makes them a bit rococo for modern use and their orientalist origins weigh them down even more than their dense base notes do. The costume, play-acting cheesiness of orientalism can seem both mannered and childish to the contemporary sensibility. Modern indie amber perfumes have the opposite challenge. They run the same risk as the stoner amber oils of the hippy era from which they derive: oversimplification.
Fazzolari finds a balance point somewhere between the two positions and Ummagumma avoids chinoiserie at one end and oversimplification at the other. While it's clear he looks closely at his materials---his palette---it seems that the materials don't so much drive the composition as provide the medium for Fazzolari to illustrate an idea, in this case how to integrate the classic oriental and the indie amber.
Two examples: First, the way that the creamy, vanillic tones are nested deep in resins is old-school, but by avoiding the rest of the classic oriental’s luggage—the aromatic topnotes, the warm floral bouquet, the heavily accessorized style—Ummagumma taps into the richness of vintage orientals while easily side-stepping the melodrama. Second, the perfume's chocolate is unmistakably gourmand and the note is a nod to the contemporary style of gourmand ambers, but there's a twist. Many modern amber perfumes have discovered the easy link between dessert notes and resinous materials but relying on lazy combinations gives the perfumes a passive quality. The accords might be pleasant but they just lay there. Ummagumma builds a chain of associations and makes the chocolate more than a candy treat at the center of the perfume. Chocolate suggests cocoa, which in turn hints at powder. The bitter powder fuses with the sweet resins and an unexpected dry carnation note to give a hint of animalism that that makes it seem neither traditional nor trendy.
Ummagumma is new territory for Fazzolari. (sort of *) It's a gourmand amber and it's unlike anything else in his line. Most of Fazzolari’s perfumes play with their genres, often using volatile and aromatic topnotes to situate themselves in their genres and then fucking with your expectations once you start to get settled. Fazzolari is able to hold seeming contradictions in place without easy resolutions. He takes advantage of the vibrancy that come from contrasting dynamics, but leaves the debate open, giving the perfumes a touch of friction that makes them so interesting over time. Ummagumma stands between the classic oriental and the indie amber without conceding to either. It's the sort of nuance that distinguishes Fazzolari's work from many of his indie contemporaries and keeps me coming back to his perfumes.
* Ummagumma has definite ties to Cadavre Exquis, a perfume created by Fazzolari and Antonio Gardoni. They used gourmand and resinous accords to create jarring effects. In tone, Cadavre Exquis is miles from the mellow Ummagumma. Comparing the two brings up a question for another day: What happens when you use a similar set of notes to express completely different ideas?
(from scenthurdle.com)
Amber perfumes have a pitfall: the resinous materials they're built from smell really good. Labdanum, olibanum, tonka, vanilla and sandalwood are considered stand-alone perfumes. The risk, the trap really, is highlighting materials at the expense of composition. Old-school oriental perfumes avoided the hazard by making complex, larger than life scents. Unfortunately, their lavish style makes them a bit rococo for modern use and their orientalist origins weigh them down even more than their dense base notes do. The costume, play-acting cheesiness of orientalism can seem both mannered and childish to the contemporary sensibility. Modern indie amber perfumes have the opposite challenge. They run the same risk as the stoner amber oils of the hippy era from which they derive: oversimplification.
Fazzolari finds a balance point somewhere between the two positions and Ummagumma avoids chinoiserie at one end and oversimplification at the other. While it's clear he looks closely at his materials---his palette---it seems that the materials don't so much drive the composition as provide the medium for Fazzolari to illustrate an idea, in this case how to integrate the classic oriental and the indie amber.
Two examples: First, the way that the creamy, vanillic tones are nested deep in resins is old-school, but by avoiding the rest of the classic oriental’s luggage—the aromatic topnotes, the warm floral bouquet, the heavily accessorized style—Ummagumma taps into the richness of vintage orientals while easily side-stepping the melodrama. Second, the perfume's chocolate is unmistakably gourmand and the note is a nod to the contemporary style of gourmand ambers, but there's a twist. Many modern amber perfumes have discovered the easy link between dessert notes and resinous materials but relying on lazy combinations gives the perfumes a passive quality. The accords might be pleasant but they just lay there. Ummagumma builds a chain of associations and makes the chocolate more than a candy treat at the center of the perfume. Chocolate suggests cocoa, which in turn hints at powder. The bitter powder fuses with the sweet resins and an unexpected dry carnation note to give a hint of animalism that that makes it seem neither traditional nor trendy.
Ummagumma is new territory for Fazzolari. (sort of *) It's a gourmand amber and it's unlike anything else in his line. Most of Fazzolari’s perfumes play with their genres, often using volatile and aromatic topnotes to situate themselves in their genres and then fucking with your expectations once you start to get settled. Fazzolari is able to hold seeming contradictions in place without easy resolutions. He takes advantage of the vibrancy that come from contrasting dynamics, but leaves the debate open, giving the perfumes a touch of friction that makes them so interesting over time. Ummagumma stands between the classic oriental and the indie amber without conceding to either. It's the sort of nuance that distinguishes Fazzolari's work from many of his indie contemporaries and keeps me coming back to his perfumes.
* Ummagumma has definite ties to Cadavre Exquis, a perfume created by Fazzolari and Antonio Gardoni. They used gourmand and resinous accords to create jarring effects. In tone, Cadavre Exquis is miles from the mellow Ummagumma. Comparing the two brings up a question for another day: What happens when you use a similar set of notes to express completely different ideas?
(from scenthurdle.com)
fantasy
Heliotrope might as well be a fictional plant for all I know. I don’t know what it looks like and I’ve never smelled it but I’m drawn to scents known for prominent heliotrope notes. I may not know the scent of the plant but I know the infamous notes: marzipan, cherry pie, spiced vanilla meringue, coconut-almond custard. The same specific set of descriptors are repeated so consistently that I imagine the plant’s scent must be very specific.
I can spot the descriptors. In monster perfumes like Loulou and Datura Noir but also in more delicate compositions like Ellena's l'Eau d'Hiver for Frédéric Malle and Kiss Me Tender. I totally dig Jour de Fete and l'Heure Bleue makes me weep. Also, I'm American, so I suppose both cherry pie and a tendency to self-deception are part of my psyche. All this to say, over the years, in my head I’ve come to believe that I know what heliotrope smells like when in fact, I don’t. It’s a false memory.
Actually, it’s not heliotrope that I have in my mind’s nose so much as heliotropin, the material used to create those gorgeous vintage orientals like Coty l'Origan and Guerlain Vol de Nuit and classic carnations like Caron Bellodgia. The first time I tried Etro Heliotrope it felt familiar, but just out of reach, like a misfiled memory. The recognition was instantaneous but understanding lagged with a drawn out, tip-of-my-tongue dissatisfaction. It was only when I re-spritzed a couple of hours later that I made the association between the perfume under my nose and the fantasy in my head. Is this the Proustian madeleine for this particular point in the 21st century? No transcendent moment, just a simple, satisfying connection? An itch scratched?
I suppose it’s a bit small for Proust and it’s not so much memory as a recognition of things imagined. Still it was informative to be confronted with the realization of what amounts to an olfactory hallucination. A little glimpse into how I make sense, or fiction, out of scent.
As for the perfume, it's all there---the pie, the meringue, the marzipan. But it has an unexpected confluence of textures and tones. It’s expansive and heady at the same time that it seems a little remote, like the scent is coming from further away than my wrist. The spiciness creates a bubbly quality as if the scent were carbonated but at the same time, there is a hint of play-doh and paste that creates a matte finish and an introverted impression.
I don’t think of Etro as a line that veers too far into experiments in abstraction but Heliotrope is actually sort of wild. It’s built from a bizarre combination of scents. It balances the high-pitched insecticide sting of cyanide almonds and the scent of stones in dried clay soil. Like eating marzipan pastries in a musty basement or root cellar.
Avant garde, vanguard, avant courier? Ground-breaking, rule-bending? Listen up, groovy indie brands. This dandy fashion house has stolen your lunch with simple creativity.
I can spot the descriptors. In monster perfumes like Loulou and Datura Noir but also in more delicate compositions like Ellena's l'Eau d'Hiver for Frédéric Malle and Kiss Me Tender. I totally dig Jour de Fete and l'Heure Bleue makes me weep. Also, I'm American, so I suppose both cherry pie and a tendency to self-deception are part of my psyche. All this to say, over the years, in my head I’ve come to believe that I know what heliotrope smells like when in fact, I don’t. It’s a false memory.
Actually, it’s not heliotrope that I have in my mind’s nose so much as heliotropin, the material used to create those gorgeous vintage orientals like Coty l'Origan and Guerlain Vol de Nuit and classic carnations like Caron Bellodgia. The first time I tried Etro Heliotrope it felt familiar, but just out of reach, like a misfiled memory. The recognition was instantaneous but understanding lagged with a drawn out, tip-of-my-tongue dissatisfaction. It was only when I re-spritzed a couple of hours later that I made the association between the perfume under my nose and the fantasy in my head. Is this the Proustian madeleine for this particular point in the 21st century? No transcendent moment, just a simple, satisfying connection? An itch scratched?
I suppose it’s a bit small for Proust and it’s not so much memory as a recognition of things imagined. Still it was informative to be confronted with the realization of what amounts to an olfactory hallucination. A little glimpse into how I make sense, or fiction, out of scent.
As for the perfume, it's all there---the pie, the meringue, the marzipan. But it has an unexpected confluence of textures and tones. It’s expansive and heady at the same time that it seems a little remote, like the scent is coming from further away than my wrist. The spiciness creates a bubbly quality as if the scent were carbonated but at the same time, there is a hint of play-doh and paste that creates a matte finish and an introverted impression.
I don’t think of Etro as a line that veers too far into experiments in abstraction but Heliotrope is actually sort of wild. It’s built from a bizarre combination of scents. It balances the high-pitched insecticide sting of cyanide almonds and the scent of stones in dried clay soil. Like eating marzipan pastries in a musty basement or root cellar.
Avant garde, vanguard, avant courier? Ground-breaking, rule-bending? Listen up, groovy indie brands. This dandy fashion house has stolen your lunch with simple creativity.
1 Comment
suntan
Perfume marketing tends to induce tsunami-sized eye-rolls in me, so I have a love/meh relationship with Etat Libre d'Orange. Love the perfume, cringe at the 'stories' the brand gives each of its perfumes. The scene-setting melodrama can be interesting as a side-bar, but the 'story' is irrelevant to the experience of the perfume. So when a friend recently turned me on to Une Amourette I started the odd little two-step I find myself doing with most ELDO perfumes: enjoy the perfume and just ignore the story. But the dance takes enough effort that I eventually give in, read the text and have a laugh.
I had just written some quick notes for myself that started with, "It’s a lovely, conservatively proportioned floriental. A contemporary take on a traditional genre." when I decided to take a peek at ELDO's take on Une Amourette. There designer Roland Mouret's is quoted: "Une Amourette is a no-holds-barred fragrance. It is not for everybody. It’s divisive. It will corrupt the fragrance category with its subversive positioning." Oh, for fuck's sake. Really?
Une Amourette isn't divisive or subversive in the least. But you know what? It's gorgeous. Forget corrupting categories and just dig the feel-goodness of Une Amourette--that's where this perfume hits its stride. A peppery citrus opening is the freshest, though not necessarily the brightest moment of the perfume. Matte, spicy, creamy-powdered florals illuminate the perfume from within and transfer their glow to your skin. A mineralic vanilla-almond accord forms a backdrop for the skanky white florals and reminds me of the way Bellodgia set a spicy carnation against a chewy marzipan stage curtain for maximum effect. Here the result is less powdery, more mineralic and far more modern than comparison to the old Caron perfume might imply.
The heartnotes blend into a listless olfactory image of vintage suntan lotion. The particular combo of solar florals and creamy woods actually suggest a whipped-smooth beige or khaki tone. The almond-vanilla accord reinforces the image with a matte sand or putty tint, but perfumer Andrier takes a page from Coco Chanel's book. What you notice in historical images of Chanel's collections is not the plainness of the color but the uncluttered design, the perfect drape of the fabrics, the impeccable tailoring. The difference between the perfect beige and dinginess is slim and the potentially dull ‘color palette’ of Une Amourette could have been its downfall.
Like Chanel, Andrier's manages to make the olfactory ‘color’ chic. She reassembles olfactory cues to shift from a beige hue to tanned skin, from flowers to sun tan lotion. The perfume’s easy finish and seamless transitions make it an effortless wear but don’t disguise the details. The floral accord's heavily indolic breathiness reinforces suntan lotion's implicit suggestion of parading flesh barely contained by swim trunks and bikinis. Andrier gives you skin and sun. Flirtation and exhibitionism. Skip Mouret's story of corruption and subversion. Just dig the potential of Andrier's suggestive scenario and fill in the rest for yourself.
(from scenthurdle.com)
I had just written some quick notes for myself that started with, "It’s a lovely, conservatively proportioned floriental. A contemporary take on a traditional genre." when I decided to take a peek at ELDO's take on Une Amourette. There designer Roland Mouret's is quoted: "Une Amourette is a no-holds-barred fragrance. It is not for everybody. It’s divisive. It will corrupt the fragrance category with its subversive positioning." Oh, for fuck's sake. Really?
Une Amourette isn't divisive or subversive in the least. But you know what? It's gorgeous. Forget corrupting categories and just dig the feel-goodness of Une Amourette--that's where this perfume hits its stride. A peppery citrus opening is the freshest, though not necessarily the brightest moment of the perfume. Matte, spicy, creamy-powdered florals illuminate the perfume from within and transfer their glow to your skin. A mineralic vanilla-almond accord forms a backdrop for the skanky white florals and reminds me of the way Bellodgia set a spicy carnation against a chewy marzipan stage curtain for maximum effect. Here the result is less powdery, more mineralic and far more modern than comparison to the old Caron perfume might imply.
The heartnotes blend into a listless olfactory image of vintage suntan lotion. The particular combo of solar florals and creamy woods actually suggest a whipped-smooth beige or khaki tone. The almond-vanilla accord reinforces the image with a matte sand or putty tint, but perfumer Andrier takes a page from Coco Chanel's book. What you notice in historical images of Chanel's collections is not the plainness of the color but the uncluttered design, the perfect drape of the fabrics, the impeccable tailoring. The difference between the perfect beige and dinginess is slim and the potentially dull ‘color palette’ of Une Amourette could have been its downfall.
Like Chanel, Andrier's manages to make the olfactory ‘color’ chic. She reassembles olfactory cues to shift from a beige hue to tanned skin, from flowers to sun tan lotion. The perfume’s easy finish and seamless transitions make it an effortless wear but don’t disguise the details. The floral accord's heavily indolic breathiness reinforces suntan lotion's implicit suggestion of parading flesh barely contained by swim trunks and bikinis. Andrier gives you skin and sun. Flirtation and exhibitionism. Skip Mouret's story of corruption and subversion. Just dig the potential of Andrier's suggestive scenario and fill in the rest for yourself.
(from scenthurdle.com)
1 Comment