Friday 22 December 2017

Incense as perfume, naughty and very, very nice...

In the beautiful and varied pallets of perfumery, few perfumes are as beautiful and delicious, nor as suitable for this festive season, as the scent of incense. There's something delectably naughty about wearing a perfume which most of us associate with the sacred calm of churches. The notes of these perfumes chime at Christmas with the magic of the three kings; their gifts of Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh; they echo the rich aroma of sensors swung through the chill of a church on Christmas Eve and, like a photograph of the Madonna by Pierre et Gilles, incense perfumes seem to wink to both the wearer and those who savour the vapour trail they leave behind. This is perfume which is both naughty and nice.
     There are so many incense perfumes which I love but, for the purposes of this post, I have narrowed it down to just four. Though it pains me not to include the superb Avignon by Comme des Garcons I feared that I could never find words to do justice to that masterpiece.

So, without further ado, lets see which perfumes incense perfumes I have chosen....

     My first choice: Parfum Sacre is a feast of incense. Capturing the appropriate tone of smoky sweetness in notes of voluptuous myrrh, musk and cinnamon deepened by rich red rose.
     This is the perfume which hangs in the air when first Gautier's Father Romualdo first sets eyes on  Clarimond; the incense of the church hanging heavy in the air, suddenly tinged with the intense sensuality of her presence. Like Clarimond, this is a perfume which burns brighter than flame and dims the glow of candles, it's a dazzling perfume, an exquisite perfume.
Caron's Parfum Sacre
Photo: by Mauveink
Parfum Sacre is intense; but, if you yearn for an even more intense incense perfume then I highly recommend Armani Prive's Encens Satine. This is definitely an incense which balances like sensuous cut velvet between the chasuble and the drapery of a deep four poster bed. It's a rich blend of incense, woods, spices and amber and it feels so gorgeous. It seems to me to glide heavy as satin on the skin, to glow, and to caress. This perfume is a winter star, sharp and glittering in an ocean dark night and yet, still it retains a hint of the cool stone that surrounds it, encapsulates it and contains it like an embrace. On a literary level this is, without a doubt, Charles Baudelaire's grain of incense that fills a church in "Le Parfum"; inhaled slowly, greedily, drunk on the deliciousness of the perfume.
Encens Satin by Armani Prive
Photo by Mauveink.


If your love of incense has not yet been sated, and why should it be, then I will offer two more suggestions: Annick Goutals, Myrrhe Ardente and Ambre Fetiche. 

Myrrhe Ardente is a wonderfully rich perfume, rising from a base of beeswax which conjures the gorgeous warmth of expensive candles flickering against stone, casting rich pools of golden light around them. To me, this perfume is reminiscent of a carefully painted Icon; rich, bright paint spilling a mesmerising pallet of jewel bright colours heightened into celestial ecstasy by the luminosity of gold, pure, unchanging gold.  Here Myrrh takes the starring role, myrrh in the top notes and myrrh in the heart notes. A rich Myrrh, retaining it's slightly bitter edge but warmed and rounded by tonka bean and vetiver so that it's smoky qualities shine through. Personally, I love that that slight hint of bitterness which comes with Myrrh, it reminds me of that most mystical of Christmas Carols: "We Three Kings". In fact, I have always suspected that that carol was, in part, responsible for my obsession with perfume. I used to listen with rapt attention to those lines concerning the gifts of frankincense and myrrh as a child, utterly fascinated by lines such as; 
    "frankincense to offer have I;
     Incense owns a deity nigh"
As far as I was concerned, the Gold sounded deeply unimpressive by comparison.
    Yes, I would definitly describe Myrrhe Ardente as a mystical perfume, Ambre Fetiche, perhaps, even more so. For Ambre Fetiche is a perfume which builds on its seduction on bones of intense patchouli and leather spiked with geranium building to top notes heavy in incense. I love how deeply the  leather and amber dominate this perfume;  they give a deep, earthy, and utterly perfect quality to the perfume. If Ambre Fetiche is anything then it is liquid gold in a bottle, of the earth but rising above it; holding within it sunlight and firelight as perfectly encapsulated as a butterfly caught in amber, whose delicate lines evoke the light and warmth of a single day, a single season long gone but still glowing.  A perfume as eternal as the glimmer of light through stained glass or the glow of a fairy light reflected on the globe of a golden bauble, a perfect moment to be packed away and cherished and repeated again next year with fresh light, on a fresh tree falling on the same cherished bauble. 

Annick Goutal Myrrhe Ardente and Ambre Fetiche.
Photo by Mauveink.
Of course, if you really need a heavy dose of incense then I highly recommend the aforementioned Avignon. As perfumes go its just too perfect for words...
 

Wednesday 1 November 2017

November, perfume and writing inspiration...

So, November has arrived and we are tiptoeing closer and closer to the chill of winter. November 1st is also the start of something else, the epic writing challenge which is NaNoWriMo. This year will be my third year attempting NaNoWriMo which, to clarify is the attempt to write a first draft of 50,000 words between November 1st and 30th. It's a breathtaking and thrilling thing to do (as is the necessary editing to make those 50,000 words readable after November).

Certainly, during this month it is utterly necessary to keep up one store of inspiration and enthusiasm. I know many writers like to keep themselves motivated with a suitable playlist of writing music. However, I am rarely inclined to write to music (if the music is integral to the story I wish to tell that is a different matter, whilst writing an opera inspired story I had the beautiful La Traviata playing on a loop). For me, it is perfume which provides much of my inspiration.
More than that, without giving too much away I will say that the title of my NaNo novel and many of the character and place names within take direct inspiration from perfumery. Notes have become names and perfumes have become destinations.

It's a method which suits the story I wish to tell very well on this occasion. The settings, market places and palaces, are rich in scents and smells. The characters I am writing about would never dream of taking a bath without dropping in a little perfume or sitting down to eat a meal without ensuring that it has been lightly seasoned and spiced with rare and luxurious new flavours. In short, I am attempting to create an opulent atmosphere. Though, I am afraid that I am guilty of rather opulent writing on all occasions, perhaps, even verging upon the dreaded purple prose).



So, in aide of inspiration, today I am drenched (lightly) in Ambre Imperial from Van Cleef and Arpels, a peppery sweet amber scent with a smoky edge. It's a perfume as exotic and romantic as the atmosphere I am currently trying to write. Heart notes of vanilla conjure rich  plates of dessert, woody notes in the base suggest a winter fire roaring whilst the snow falls outside, the fleeting fresh scent of bergamot in the top notes brings to life a splendid, sun draped summers day when, perhaps, words of love will be whispered between main characters.
     It's the perfect perfume for today's writing; and, tomorrow, another perfume will take it's place as inspiration. For now, however, I must return to my writing...

Thursday 28 September 2017

"Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness..."

Autumn arrives, glowing and golden. A warm pink sunrise bobbing in the horizon like a paper lantern, lifting honey coloured rays over a landscape of ochre and umber.

Now comes Keats, ‘season of mist and mellow fruitfulness’ 
In the fields, the last of the harvest falls to the quick whir of combine harvesters. Bounded by hedge and copse some of these fields bore witness to the homesick tramp of booted Norman feet, they remember the ancient swish of scythes and the earthy magic of corn dollies and bonfires.
      Or was that just a dream? A picturesque dream of linen smocks exhaling the scents of cider and perspiration; of creaking chestnut leather bridles as the lord of the manor rode past and real chestnuts clicking, smashing, shattering in school yards.
      Who can say which is dream, which is fiction?
      Dreaming or waking, the soul yearns for certain things from Autumn. These new palettes of the earth: crisp, golden leaves falling in the parks, new school shoes the colour of chestnuts, the russet fashions of the season as they fill the shop windows call out for richer perfumes, earthy scents.
      Carry the season with you; sparks from the fire, humus from the Forest floor, spiced pies and pastries. Dab these scents on your wrist, your throat; seduce, envelop, surround yourself with fragrances. If you wish, you may even give reign to flights of fancy and envision yourself as an ancient pagan goddess of the harvest, ripe fruit tumbling from your skirts, crowned by maple leaves; as voluptuous as a painting by Mucha.
     Very well then, shall we imagine an olfactory stroll through a perfect Autumn day?

The earth.
Shihan (formerly Sensei under which name you will find it on Fragrantica).  Piotr Czarnecki
A rich mist of whiskey and tobacco envelopes you with the first spritz of this perfume, like a the billowing chill folds of an early Autumn fog. Notes plucked from the earthiest of pallets which beckon you back to the warmth of the fire and the promise of coffee and spirits. Ah but the cold is bracing and the woods are full of promise so you pull on your boots and stride out, your air billowing around you like dragons breath. You can smell the richness of damp earth, the living heart of the Autumn evoked in base notes of amber and musk. Somewhere, far off, a bonfire burns, billowing smoke as sharp as the pencils you once sharpened and lined up neatly in readiness for the autumn term 

The woods. 
Feminite du Bois. Serge Lutens.
Nostalgic woods abound here, sharpened by a hint of pepper. A glitter of warm embers from the bonfire dances in the air, carried by notes of cinnamon and clove. You breath the heart of this perfume as you step into the beating heart of the wood, as gilded sunlight mottles the path ahead of you and warms your face. Shadows move and scamper with life, hibernation beckons and the stores must be filled. Flashes of glowing fox fur as bright as the ginger and violet notes you smell rising from this perfume. The woods are alive with the spirit of the forest and so too is your perfume. A barefoot wood sprite blazing through the mist, rustling in a gown of fallen leaves.
A radiant burst of fruits emerges as this scent matures, a suggestion of heavily laden trees overhanging the path. Ripe plums and peaches, slightly biting berries. You emerge from the forest at last laden down with wild fruits overflowing your basket like an ancient cornucopia. A few late rose petals blown in by the bracing winds nestle among the dark ripe berries. Gorgeous and rich, all so bright that the sight, and the scent, takes your breath away.



From the woods, home to the warmth of the fire.
Monsieur. Huiteme Art. 
Deep, musky notes of cedarwood, sandalwood and patchouli slowly give way to the roaring crackle of a fire, flashing bright sparks of incense woods. The promise of warmth, of home and hearth dwells in this perfume, beginning with a roar and a blaze and, slowly maturing to a lighter spicy scent during dry down. It's a long lasting perfume (still noticeable on my skin after six hours) which progresses through many delicious stages as you wear it, with the brighter notes of papyrus and vetiver becoming stronger and then fading down to a final burst of incense from the base notes.
     With this perfume, you close the door behind you, unwind your scarf and breath deeply of the air of home, smiling at the spiced scent that wafts from the kitchen as you begin to kindle the fire; is that spiced tea you smell? 


The fire in the hearth.  
Ottoman Amber. Merchant of Venice.

Oud dominates this composition, building a deep warmth, You sit before the fire now, teacup in hand, stretched out to the flicker of red and gold dancing before you. You tear open the plums that you picked, warmed by the fire their scent has become even richer and sweeter. 
A note of myrrh emerges and you think of the winter yet to come but, for now, you are content, you are wrapped in a blanket of sandalwood and patchouli deep enough to last throughout this perfect autumn evening. 

Sunday 24 September 2017

A very happy (or should that be grim?) birthday to the Gothic novel...

Three Hundred years ago today, on the 24th of September 1717, Horace Walpole, author of The Castle of Otranto, was born.
     One would like to imagine that his birth occurred on as dark and stormy a night as any envisioned by Edward Bulwer-Lytton but, alas, I have no knowledge of what the meteorological conditions were on that auspicious day. What I can say for certain is that young Horace, son of Britain's first Prime Minister, Whig MP and designer of Britain's frothiest Gothic revival house Strawberry Hill was also the man who put pen to paper and concocted the very first Gothic novel.
     So, one might say that today also marks the 300 birthday of the Gothic novel. After all, from that first slim volume and the sensation it caused sprang an unstoppable genre littered with classics; Dracula, Frankenstein, The Monk to name but a few. Without The Castle of Otranto we wouldn't have Gothic fiction; and, without Gothic fiction, we wouldn't have Jane Austen's satire Northanger Abbey or the dreadfully delicious TV series Penny Dreadful. Without Gothic fiction we wouldn't have Hammer Horror films and the pleasant thrilling chill of Bela Lugosi donning fangs and cape to call out to the children of the night. In short, without Gothic fiction we would be missing some wonderful cultural and pop cultural highlights. For bestowing upon us the first work of a new genre we should definitely raise a glass to Mr Walpole.
      Of course, The Castle of Otranto should not be known by it's legacy alone. Without giving away too many spoilers, I'm going to say that this is definitely a book everyone should read at least once (especially if you love all things Gothic). The first and, in many ways, possibly the weirdest, The Castle of Otranto is a wild, windswept romp through Shakespearean prose and uncontrollable passion. Giant helmets plummet from the sky, divorces are sought (in ways reminiscent of Henry VIII legendary divorce from Catherine of Aragon), children are reunited with parents they didn't even know they had, fair maidens and gallant young knights fall in love, spectral hands appear and there's even a "knight of the gigantic sabre". A thousand plot twists and complications mount and mount and finally come to a surprisingly neat conclusion. However, this is one book where it's not the destination but the journey which is most thrilling.
      So, pick up a copy of The Castle of Otranto, pour yourself a glass of something suitably decadent and settle down, autumn is already upon us and there could be many a dark and stormy night to wile away in good literary company.

Thursday 24 August 2017

The wonder of Raphael...

"How generous heaven sometimes proves to be when it brings together in a single person the boundless riches of its treasures and all those graces and rare gifts that over a period of time are usually divided among many individuals can clearly be seen in the no less excellent than gracious Raphael Sanzio of Urbino."
Giorgio Vasari 'The Lives of the Artists'.

Photograph: My own.

A little deviation from my usual topics of perfume and writing for this months blog post because, with only a couple of weeks left to catch it, I wanted to say a few words about how magnificent the Ashmolean Museum's exhibition, "Raphael, the drawings", is and to say that, if at all possible, it is a visual feast not to be missed.
    I adore Renaissance art, history and architecture so I was, naturally, deeply excited by an exhibition of this kind. The paintings are, of course sumptuous, lavish displays of colour and texture but there is a certain additional magic to the drawings of great artists.
     Looking at these sketches, a delicious shiver runs up the viewers spine knowing that the master's hand has moved across these simple sheets of paper. Here are the bare bones of paintings, the arrangements planned and carefully adjusted long before the oil paints have been mixed and the canvas stretched. Each mark on the paper flowed from Raphael's mind to his hand and, looking at such a body of work gathered together, it seems all the more wondrous that these fragile shadows of his thoughts remain with us. Indeed, somehow, seeing the work which underpins Raphael's virtuoso paintings increased my appreciation of the finished masterpieces. In these sketches, I marvelled at the care taken over the positioning of an arm, the drapery of a robe, the sublime realism brought to bear in depicting the human form. The little plump baby hands and feet to bee seen in drawings for Madonna and child paintings are so lovingly, exactingly rendered that one half expects to see them kick and totter: clasp and wave. His depictions of age creasing the face and loosening the skin are no less tender and exact. Indeed, I found myself smiling several times as the faces of loved ones were recalled to mind by the way in which the master had depicted lips curving into a smile or folding into a slowly forming frown. The treatment of each subject is such that, as with a carefully crafted Angela Carter short story,  the impossible sits effortlessly alongside the possible and a wing unfurling from a human shoulder seems the most natural thing in the world.
     The brilliant display of these sketches only heightens the pleasure. The exhibition is arranged chronologically so that the viewer, moving through the galleries, can appreciate the evolution and progression of Raphael's art alongside the story of his life. a marvellous structure which also has the advantage of first presenting the viewer with Raphael's beautiful, youthful self portrait; an image full of promise and intelligence which allows us to relate to the artist both as a human being and a genius before we move on.
      Many drawings, where Raphael used both sides of the paper, have been hung so that the dual angles are visible and the viewer can enjoy the delicate delight of seeing a clear sketch on one side ghosting through to the other in a rather magical way. In addition, after indulging oneself with, as I recall, three rooms of artwork, the exhibition closes with a fabulous display of the tools which would have been used to create them and a video recreating the process and forensically examining the layers of size, charcoal and silver point which make up some of the works. If, you have not been rendered quite speechless with awe by the artworks alone then, I assure you, seeing the work which went into their production will certainly lead you to be dazed with sheer admiration and you will probably find yourself wandering back for one last look at the art works before you leave with a smile on your face and a mind filled with beautiful images.
      At the close of this short review, my advice is simple: if you're looking for an indulgent cultural experience to savour this Bank Holiday weekend then "Raphael: the drawings" is perfection. However, remember that, as the Ashmolean Museum's official website advises, booking ahead may be a good idea and the exhibition ends on September 3rd.

Acknowledgement for the opening quote regarding Raphael goes to Giorgio Vasari and the Oxford University Press edition of The Lives of the Artists, which is also an invaluable volume for anyone interested in the history of Renaissance art. 

Monday 15 May 2017

Les Cocottes de Paris...

If I asked you to imagine Paris in the nineteenth century, I am sure that many things would spring to your mind; from the novels of Victor Hugo to the towering beauty of the Eiffel tower but I am sure that, eventually, your thoughts would turn to the Demi Monde.
A legend in it's own right, the world of the Moulin Rouge, of Toulous Lautrec paintings, of arias from La Traviata and, above all, a world of scandalous and inspiring courtesans.

This is the world and the women which Les Cocottes de Paris have tried, so beautifully, to capture in their range of perfumes. As far as I am concerned, the result is a delicious success,
La Castiglione, named for the famed lover of Emperor Napoleon III whose experiments with photography have given her an almost mythic status and whose rumored influence over the unification of Italy proves that she was a political force to be reckoned with. She graces the cover of the Penguin Classics edition of "Confessions of a child of the century", peeping out from the oval of a photo frame turned mask. She has become internet avatars and exhibition posters. Her legend is secured by the sheer beauty and daring of the image she created for herself. Her perfume, appropriately, is rich patchouli, anchored by depths of musk and ambergris. This is the perfume of Charles Baudelaries haunting poem, Le Flacon, the intense, memory stirring perfume, whose earthy scent cannot be contained by a mere glass flacon. This is a perfume of the evening certainly, but it could be worn all day long, especially in the Autumn and Winter when it's warmth would surround the wearer in a veritable velvet stole.


La Belle Otero, is a  decadently dirty violet scent. Otero claimed that she dished herself up, at a banquet in St. Petersburg, au natural. If so, she must have been nestled on a bed of Parma Violets.
The violet has always had something of a naughty reputation and their appeal is strengthened here by the headiness of Sandalwood in the base; the very scent which her friend, the writer Colette, claimed La Belle Otero perspired as she danced. Wild and delicious evenings of Spanish dances are conjured in a few notes of beguiling musk and neroli. It's a perfume of summer heat and the dazzle of warmth creeping like fingers on your skin.  It was Colette too who described La Belle as luxurious and that's certainly an impression which comes through with every note of this perfume.
A faint note of sadness runs through the joy of this composition; an appropriate note given the bittersweet nature of La Belle Otero's life whose details I shall not venture into here, but, as is common with a hint of sadness, it serves to make the sweetness all the more joyful.

The final perfume in Les Cocottes collection is as delectable at it's inspiration, the Ballet dancer Chloe Merode. This perfume is a light, floral bouquet with a heart of rose. It's coy and flirtatious, hiding behind a light veil of bergamot before the roses gather strength and come into their own sprawling on a base of fleshly laundered cotton sheets with just an edge of earthy lichen. This is a perfume that creeps up on you with the light whisper of silk ballet slippers but, like the ballet and it's beautiful dancers, it conceals hidden depths and inner strengths. A froth of tulle and a soul of steel. A perfume for the romantic heart if ever there was one.

I've adored testing all three of these perfumes; they are, without a doubt, a beautiful collection. They encapsulate a time with which I am utterly in love, whose art and literature are always in my heart, how could I not adore them.  If I have favourites, I would never even dare to whisper it, I would hate to offend any of these beautiful Mademoiselles, but certain notes do beckon to me from these compositions! One thing that I can assure you of, if you try this collection, you are certain to be seduced by at least one of these perfumes.

Sunday 12 March 2017

A Rose by any name.... Part 2


As the cavalier poet Robert Herrick wrote:
‘The rose was sick and smiling died;
And (being to be sanctified)
About the bed there sighing stood
The sweet and flowery sisterhood.’

It’s a beautiful poem, and a perfect illustration of the more morbid side of the rose. Yet, even at their darkest and most morbid, roses never forgo their romance or beauty. Think of the showers of bright rose petals in Alma Tadema’s famous painting: the roses of Heliogabalous; who wouldn’t want to nuzzle their way deep under that fragrant shower? The Emperor’s swooning guests certainly seem un-bothered by their rather picturesque fate. Perhaps they simply appreciate Alma-Tadema’s attention to detail: each petal was, legend has it, painted from life and one can well believe it when one looks at the vivid, lightly veined petals which seem to almost pulsate with life in contrast to the emperors hapless victims, suffocated as much by their perfume it seems as by the weight of so many flowers.
Darker roses can be intoxicating and delicious; these are the roses which follow us into autumn and winter, whose sharp thorns puncture the snow and whose red petals blaze through a haze of falling snowflakes.
So, here is a brief introduction to my two favourite perfumes in a darker genre of rose. Two different sorts of deeper, darker, delicious rose.

If you desire an immortal rose with just a hint of the gothic and a large dose of romanticism then none could fit the bill better than Frederic Malle Une Rose. Tuber notes give this perfume the qualities of an earthy kiss and red wine entwined with the roses throughout Edouard Flechier’s composition give the whole perfume a velvety intensity that few perfumes can match. It’s an utterly unique and deeply memorable example of the perfumers art. You dab this on and you instantly feel as if you have been wrapped in a velvet cloak, as though you are about to sit down to a rich dinner of truffles and wine, as if you are about to dance the tango and the feeling is sensational.

A less earthy but equally warm, dark and intense rose is Hatria by Angela Ciampagna. This perfume is a sensationally delicious blend of warmth and spice. Cloves and caramel wrap around this rose and the most notable initial notes before the rose starts to come through in earnest were, for me at least, saffron and sandalwood. A beautiful combination, the saffron floats away, whilst the sandalwood retreats into the background.   It’s a courtesan’s kiss of a perfume, it would be fabulous on the legendary Cora Pearl. This also feels like the perfume which should be wafting among Heliogablous’s unfortunate guests. Perhaps, the reason for the mysterious smiles on their lips and that delicious sense they give off that this really is the best party they’ve ever attended.

Sunday 26 February 2017

A Rose by any name... Part One.

With a single, poetic, flourish Shakespeare reminds us how beautiful the rose is, that was his talent.          The talent of all Roses it seems is to provide breathtaking beauty and romantic allegory. Yet the rose has many faces, many moods and every perfume which bears the name of rose reflects some different facet of the mythology of roses.
        “The Red rose breaths of passion 
          and the white rose breaths of love”
 As the poet John Boyle O’Reilly put it; although, in terms of perfumery that is a simplification too far.
       Because there are so many different facets of rose perfumery, I have decided to divide my post on rose perfumes into two and post the two halves over two weeks, In this, my first rose post, I want to review two of my current favourites of what one might call the romantic rose before exploring the genre of deliciously morbid rose scents next week.

     It may have something to do with the book I’m working on, whose title, taken from a poem by Robert Herrick, provides a constant reminder of the evocative nature of roses each time I open the document; or, it may simply be that Roses are hard to resist but I have been wearing a lot of rose perfumes lately. Especially the warm, evocative scents of summer roses in full bloom. Not the expensive, overly perfect roses piled high for Valentines day (I think, next weeks post might be a better place to delve into the symbolism of red roses on such a saints day) but the living, pulsating roses that still bear a trace of rain, sun and their own sharp thorns in their kisses.
                                                  Image via Wikimedia Commons.

    One of the most beautiful fragrances which I have discovered lately and which , for me, fits this genre is: Raw Silk and Red Roses from Sarah McCartney’s 4160 Tuesdays. On their site, the perfume is described as "A walk through a rose garden, with a touch of geranium, patchouli, musk and fruits." and that is just what the composition evokes for me; a garden on a late summer afternoon trailing, via an exquisite rose and gold sunset, into one of those perfect heavy blue evenings which only summer can paint. Cups of green tea, the rustle of a silk dress as it falls coolly around your skin, golden light in the sky and the roses shedding their scent are all evoked as notes of warm musk and sharp geranium unfold around an intense, perfect rose. At times it feels as if the rose is tearing it's way, dashingly, through it's wrapping of silk, ready to plant an intense kiss on ones lips. For me there's a little edge of promising, and very romantic, spiciness about the composition too,  I could bathe in this perfume quite happily and yet, fickle perfume lover that I am, I have been unfaithful to this rose with others.

     With my second romantic rose choice for instance. Lipstick Rose from Editions De Parfums Frederic Malle is a pure distillation of glamour. Naturally, it appealed to my love of vintage. Never without my own red lipstick I was enraptured by the soft, sweet scent of this perfume. Rose and violet top notes play beautifully together on a base that comes through deeply amber to my nose and keep the whole composition in tune with a delightful longevity. Inspired by the scent of perfumer Ralf Schweiger's mother's lipstick it weaves a familiar spell for anyone who has ever clicked open a powder compact or vanity case in a vintage shop (since the original smell fades with time, I have topped uo my vintage compacts interior with a light spritz of Lipstick Rose so that I can inhale it's beauty each time I refresh my make-up). It's a perfume which feel real and human because of it's cosmetic smell. It's never without the essence of the woman wearing the perfume, wearing the lipstick. Her smile bleeds through Cheshire cat like and makes the fragrance her own as surely as a lipstick signature on a mirror marks out her territory. I confess, when I wear Lipstick Rose on my skin, one spritz is never enough! If you love vintage, old movies, even satcks of brittle but still magnificent fashion magazines then Lipstick Rose may just be the perfume for you!
      Well, that my two favourite romantic roses reviewed; hopefully, I have put my passion for them across! Next week, there will be more from Malle and others as the rose grows a little gothic...

Wednesday 4 January 2017

A scent of snow and pine...

Christmas may be receding into memory but the winter weather hasn't  left us yet, if anything it’s gotten colder out there so it is time, perhaps, for some scented indulgences to chime with the crispness of falling snow or warm us up with fire and spice we can wear close to our hearts.
I’ve picked out the six perfumes which most remind me of winter.
If you’re longing for the sharp crispness of snow brushing your face then I think La Fille de Berlin by Serge Lutens brilliantly captures that exquisite feeling.



Fille De Berlin is the most delicate snowflake of a perfume by which I do not mean that the perfume is light, although it is suitably subtle. No, I mean that from the first moment I smelt it, it reminded me of a winter’s day, two or three years ago when it began to snow whilst I was out shopping. Perfect crystal flakes danced down out of a sky suddenly radiant Madonna blue, flakes large enough that, when they settled on the dark sleeves of my coat, revealed each detail of their intricate crystalline structure without the need for a magnifying lens.
That is Fille de Berlin to me, delicate, intricate and the embodiment of snow. Its notes are simple and dazzlingly effective: rose and geranium layered over patchouli and honey. 
The other stand out snow perfume, in my opinion, has to be Floris’s Snow Rose which feels as if the frost has embraced a single bloom. Snow Rose starts off a little greener than Fille de Berlin and with vanilla rather than La Fille’s honey note providing the slight sweetness of winter air but with an equally crisp, fresh geranium note.
However, if you’ve seen too much of snow and it’s left you shivering you just might want to turn to a perfume that’s going to warm you up rather than bring in the weather then there are plenty of perfumes that fit the bill with their spicy warmth and smoky depths.
Annick Goutals Encens Flamboyant has all the sharp woodiness of an open fire conveyed in intense notes of incense alongside pepper, nutmeg and balsam fir. You can almost hear this perfume crackling invitingly as you curl up in your favourite chair. The pure perfume is stunning in its depth and longevity but the eau de parfume equals it for staying power and for sillage so that you can be sure that your blanket of winter warmth is following you wherever you go.
Equally reminiscent of winter to me is Coco by Chanel with its citrus and spice notes reminds me of the Christmas Pudding scene from Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol, “In half a minute Mrs Cratchit entered: flushed, but smiling proudly: with the pudding, like a speckled cannon ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half-a-quartern of ingnited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck in the top.” One can’t help but envy the skill with which Dickens conjures, in a few lines, a pudding one can almost smell, almost taste on the tip of your tongue! It’s also a perfume reminiscent of the clove studded oranges which perennially adorn the pages of lifestyle magazines in December as well as our own Christmas tree this year. Not entirely surprising as clove and Mandarin orange are both notes in Coco’s composition. Coco is a perfume which just invites compliments whenever you wear it so you’d better be prepared for people to ask you what you’re wearing pretty often (the appreciation of others is no real hardship though, is it).
I’m going to be a little naughty now because my next winter perfume choice is something a little rare but very special. If you are lucky enough to find a bottle in ebay, at a flea market, in a vintage store, anywhere in fact, then treasure it.
My fifth, and possibly favourite, winter perfume is: Winter Delice by Guerlain.
Like Encens Flamboyant, Winter Delice is a strong and sensual balsamic perfume bursting with the warm embrace of pine tree branches and resin but snow has settled on this Winter landscape, it’s chill breath just creeping in with a note of vanilla (always so good at conjuring snow) and sugar. It’s such a rich perfume that it feels like it demands you acquire a sleigh and velvet cloak at once. Although I happen to think that you can get away with this perfume even when you are not all dresses up; in a jumper (sweater) and jeans you could use a few spray of Winter Delice to feign a sportive walk in the woods. Or wear it all dressed up and unleash your inner Snow Queen.   


Now, I have two last, very indulgent, winter perfume suggestion: if you’re hungering after the indulgent desserts and sweets of Christmas still but have a New Year resolution you’d like to keep then L’Artisan Perfumers Traversee du Bosphore should help to assuage the cravings of a sweet tooth. It’s notes of nougat, sugar, honey, pistachio, red apple and spices would make as beautiful an ice cream as they do a perfume! Also worth trying if you crave the sweetness of Christmas dessert with a hint of snow is Coudray's Vanille et Coco which smells exactly as it's name suggests and is very charming.
Well, those are my winter perfume choices, I hope you've seen something you like, Or at least something which feels like winter to you. 
I wish you all a warm and beautifully perfumed winter!