Peace, Love, and Patchouli; or, How I Came to Love the Patch Without Really Trying

Where were you in the Summer of Love?

Where ARE you in the Summer of Patchouli Love?

Me:

Learning how to read.  (My mother reports my first word was B-A-R.  Which says more about the nightly route we took to pick up my father from work than my adult habits.  I think.)

Right here being a Patch Test Bunny.

Let the wild association ride begin.

First of all, you will recall that I have evolved in my relationship with bunnies in a manner not hospitable to things furry and occasionally named Harvey.  (To wit, I "went McGregor," as detailed here.)  So as cute and cuddly as that long eared creature in the lower right hand corner of the lovely logo is, I am perhaps better represented as a bunny with quills.  Wait a minute...if *I* am the bunny...shoot! I need to go McGregor on myself!!

Which, as it so happens, is just the metaphor for what my greatest fear involving patchouli involves.  I would not, you see, describe myself as a patchouli fan.  It would be on my Do Not Go There list.  Of course, vetiver used to be on the same list.  Then I found two perfumes that opened the door for me (Vetiver Dance and Vetiver Racinettes), and once the door was ajar, other vetiver scents found a way to happily enter my awareness.

So, when I was invited to join the bunnies in the patch(ouli), I accepted.  Because I knew that evolution happens.  Plus, despite the still strong memory of my first introduction to patchouli (a friend's older sibling saying it smelled really cool, PLUS it had the benefit of covering over other, non-parent sanctioned smells), I had already pushed the patchouli door open a bit thanks to Chanel's Coromandel.  Difficult, prickly, fascinating, siren-calling, multiple-wearing inducing, full of facets, eventually and quite precipitously smooth as a multi-varnished and buffed piece of warm wood, Coromandel had already taught me I could enjoy patchouli, in the right setting.

Therefore, I said yes.  And waited for thirteen interpretations, thirteen settings, thirteen couchings, thirteen portraits of patchouli.

Thus began my personal patchouli dismantling.

Each of the lovely little roll on samples you see there came individually wrapped, labeled only by number.  (The numbers, btw, skipped #9, so as to avoid 6 / 9 confusion, which I loved.)  Rather than unwrapping them all, and then selecting by juice, I simply reached in blindly, and picked one at a time.  Unwrap, roll apply, sniff, note, huff, note, wait, huff, note, repeat.

Day One.  Numbers 2, 10, 5, 1, 6, and 11, in that order.  Rare is the day when I will sample so many scents at once.  But fate impelled me, and my sniffer cycle was on my side.  I knew I was in a good place for multiple huffings, and with another eight scents to go, the combination of bare arm weather + not headache triggerable + deadline pressure pushed me to go forward.  And so I did.

I returned to former standards and practices, cracking open a blank journal and using the primitive self-drawn diagram + notes method that made an appearance here --gadzooks! time flies-- almost three years ago.  Check it, dude.  Participating in a project that evoked impressions of the free flowing summer of love forced me to get my [one of George Carlin's seven words] together again.  Who knew?  Wild, man.

Thus I proceeded through Days Two and Three of Round One, with five new scents on the second day, two new on the third.  Plus, I re-applied #13 (from day two) and #11 (from day one) later on in day two, because of a sub-category thing I was developing which I shall speak more of later.

Such was methodology.  Now, some context.  

***

copyright Robert Altman (the photographer, not the director)

This here is the summer of love in my mind.

Well, that, and:  Let The Sunshine.  Detroit riots.  People joining hands and liking the world to sing.  Unbelievable pain.  Nearly unfathomable joy.  

The summer of love, 1967, is a soft-focus at the edges concept, a philosophy that carried through an era which most people suggest didn't stop until 1973.  Which is when I got a pair of red white and blue bell bottomed hip hugger jeans which were SO cool and made me feel just like the groovy teenage girls who lived down the block.  I wasn't, but it was how I felt.

As I have assembled that era and assimilated it into my life -- and I did, for though I wasn't fully cognizant when it happened, I was most essentially a child of it, in that I was raised in and through it.  I can't fathom an attitude other than equality, I smile when I see long hair, I know what a certain waft across a concert crowd or over my backyard fence is, I know the difference between the implications of that waft coming from the Vietnam vet living next door and the teenager at a Phish concert and the well coiffed older woman suddenly letting it all hang out at a Nora Jones performance.  

The Summer of Love can be forever immediate and young in my mind, and yet never attached to any particular something or someone, because it is not specifically attached to me, but it is in me.

So patchouli is/was the head shops, and kind of fun crazy but a little scary friends stopping by to chat with parents or friends of older siblings.  Patchouli is/was the smell of a beautiful older sister, who was so smart, and so cool, and who left and was never heard from again.  Patchouli is the smell of a nearly foul oil sold in the kiosk of a shopping mall on the decline.  Patchouli is a plant.  Patchouli is the smell inside two kinds of VW's, a wildly painted van and a love bug.  Patchouli is the smell of a smooth luxury perfume. 

Patchouli, you might think, is a hot mess in my mind.  But no; patchouli is a patchwork of impressions and styles and eras.  Which turns out is/was just the right background for approaching the thirteen liquids in the box, and being ready to meet their portraits of patch.

I opened my mind.  I tuned in, but I didn't drop out.  

I smellwatched patchouli that made an appearance after a sunny opening act.  I smellsaw unapologetic patchouli that greeted me from the first whiff and never left until the whole performance was over.  I smellglanced a dusty plant patchouli that was a somewhat rough but always interesting mistress.  I met patches of various stripes and hues and personalities.  I enjoyed making the acquaintance of every one.

If this were an unorchestrated summer of patchouli love, I'd hop on a bus with all of them, and document our travels along the way.  I wouldn't pick one or three of the pack; I'd just coexist, finding myself waking up with one or the other as whimsy and circumstance made appropriate.

But this is free love with a telos.  I need to push myself through with purpose.  

When I'm done, though, I might come back for a magical mystery tour.

When I next emerge from the patch, I will introduce you to the three scents I selected as finalists, with all of the hows/whys/gyrations involved.  You may find other bunnies as you travel the perfumed interwebz.  Many of them have already made their selections.  If you would like to keep track of the various nodes in the project -- "noses," celebrities, and perfumers -- Monica Miller is keeping it all straight for us over at the Perfume Pharmer.  See this post which lists the perfumers, the perfumes, the sniffers, and various posts about the project.

If you are just starting out, Donna's post on patchouli in perfume ("The Story of the Green Monster") is a handy review of the plant, the note, and perfumes that use it.

Summer of Love logo created by Elizabeth Whelan

photos of vials and journal, author's own

Robert Altman's photography on his Summer of Love webpage; see also his lovely books

Speaking the language

Syntax is key, but it is not written in stone.

When you transition from one phonemic language to another, when you go from one pot of words-to-sentences to collections thereof which make thought clouds to another pot using the same constructs, it helps to remember that the conventions of assembly can vary.

It's the same in music and poetry.  There are structures you are familiar with -- the verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus of a popular song.  The rhyme and rhythm of a limerick.  The syllable per line allotment of a haiku.

In perfume, you fall down the rabbit hole and learn about the opening, the development, the drydown.  You get excited when you start to recognize these these things, and appreciate when certain perfumes perform their acts well, whether because of the composition of each, of the transitions, or the new notes they hit which end up having the effect of tickling your fancy.

Then, perhaps, you get used to this structure, this particular form of the language, and get accustomed to communicating in it.  So when another Romance language comes along, you might recognize the phonemes, the fact that something is being communicated...in fact, the language might be analagous enough to your own that you can identify cognates and comprehend in some sort of pidgin listening way.

But no matter how much you are catching on, there comes a point when, at least for a little bit, it's best to shake off your "knowledge" and just listen with fresh ears and clean slate.

You might find that, in the end, combining the two approaches leads to your best understanding of what was being said.

***
A few weeks ago, I applied to be a "tester" of a flight of perfumes offered by Essentially Me.  Lo and behold, an e-mail arrived from "Alec and Sian" letting me know I would be sent a sample set.  "Alec" I am presuming to be Alec Lawless, a perfumer who has written about the subject.  I had a certain set of backdoor information about Lawless and the Essentially Me operation, because I troll the blogs (and therefore had read Helg's review of the book) and had come across a piece on Lawless consulting to a BBC show.

The perfumes themselves weren't really on my radar.  For one thing, Essentially Me is based in the U.K., and my explorations with independent perfumers admittedly started either with Big Names (ah, those days when The Different Company seemed like a radical independent) or locals (and I remain a fan of folks like Liz Zorn, Laurie Erikson, and Ayala Sender, even as I still need to get to know more of offerings from Dawn Spenser Hurwitz and Mandy Aftel).  Add in one more adjective differentiator to indpendent, the "natural" perfumer, and the list gets even shorter.  I have played in the sandbox with Roxanne Villa and Anya McCoy, and a little bit with Abdes Salaam.

It's an interesting business, this, the natural perfume thing.  I've avoided writing about it, because I have felt I haven't been able to fully put my hands around it.  Including the fact that I was trying to figure out just how I felt about something I knew should be discussed with perfume, as perfume, but perhaps not as "Perfume."

A language and sorting thing.

Because, at a certain point, the naturals play differently.  That is neither good nor bad; it is what it is.  But when I fell into perfume, I had a past as a person who went through an aromatherapy zone.  I learned essential oil notes and applications, dangers, ways of blending, etcetera, and employed essentially oils for pleasure and practical purposes.  (Homemade house cleaners, anyone?  Potions to make boogey men afraid to enter bedrooms? Clearing of the sinuses? Calming of anxious nerves? Elimination of foot fungus? Oh, that and more.)  So I suppose, in a way, the fact that the way the notes were brought together (their aural presence, in a music metaphor), and the fact that their presenting structure was different (from the short story of aromatherapy to the elegiac sonnets of a Perfume, perhaps?), allowed me to leap languages and not pay much attention to the previous experience.

When I explored natural perfumes, I often found an extra sort of noise entering my processing.  Because I was recognizing specific notes and "accords" and associating them with the previous hierarchy (antibacterial? antiinflammatory? good for burns? dermal irritant?), and, they were, like, totally getting in the way of me sitting down with a perfume, dude.

So if a natural didn't at least follow the sonnet structure, I set it aside.  Because I was playing Perfume, and needed the participants to at least know when to insert verse, and when to jump to the chorus.

**
My experience with reviewing the Essentially Me flight reflects a transition.  Or perhaps an assimilation. Part of it is the perfumes themselves; they clearly have a form, they transition, they have different acts.  Part of it is me; I've been playing Perfume long enough that I can insert a little sitar into my Brit pop, a raga structure into my Coltrane chorus, without getting lost.  I'm going to post my reviews next, but I thought it was important to set out the context in which I experienced them.  For me, at least.

image from the Poem Shape blog

Lily of the Valley -- The Path Less Travailed

There is an apocryphal story about Edmund Roudnitska lying in a bed of lily of the valley, absorbing the scent so that he could create Diorissimo.  The fillip to the challenge?  You cannot extract the scent via perfumery methods (enfleurage, etc.); it has to be represented via alchemy, erm, chemistry.

So, off goes Roudnitska, with one of the quintessential retorts to Mme. Chanel saying:
“I want a perfume that is composed. It’s a paradox. On a woman, a natural flower scent smells artificial. Perhaps a natural perfume must be created artificially."  


I tend to think that Chanel had a point, though that quote comes from stories about the creation of No.5, such as this one.  Simple florals are simpletons, in a way--not to offend those who love them--they are never as fabulous as when you smell them in the garden, and on most people they remind me of something proper for girls or prim maidens.  Ironically, I still haven't wrapped my head around No. 5.  Soap bubbles.


Before you get mad at me, or want to come to the defense of your favorite floral (which I want you to do, by the way...bring up your favorite florals, not necessarily get mad at me), let me point out that a) I do harbor a certain fondness for rose, when done a certain way.  A certain way I haven't been able to pin down, yet, because roses that work for me include Bulgari Rose Essentiale, Magie Noire, Rive Gauche, Twill Rose, and, when I'm in the mood for having my mind warped, SIP Black Rosette.  There is no common thread I can discern there.  If you've got an idea, toss it my way.


Anyway, I wander off into roses on a post titled "Lily of the Valley" because I wanted to show that I am not opposed to straight up florals across the board.  There's a crazy indie "mystery white" floral, for example, called Summerscent that I find myself oddly drawn toward (I remember a commenter on another blog once saying it smelled of gasoline...okay, that is a sort of connection to Black Rosette...), but of course not only was it limited production, it is now gone apparently.  But, when push comes to shove, I'd rather get my garden-variety florals from (quality) essential oil concoctions.


Enter the case of lily of the valley and Roudnitska's Diorissimo, a perfume become legend.  This was a tale that seemed predestined to not go well for me.  Indeed, the path has been rough, and even appeared to end.  But today's telling will show that I found where the path continues again, and have found a way to love LOTV following the path less travailed.


You see, I secured a bottle of Diorissimo parfum very early in my perfume curve.  Luck smooshed together a good price and my first-year apprentice's knowledge that the stuff was a sort of holy grail, so I'd best snatch it.  I did, and I tried it.  With all the appropriate reverence and ginger handling of bottle and pause just as the cap came off and a whiff of the cork lip of the opening and a careful application of precious fluid to a virgin clean wrist.  And I felt...nothing.  I mean, it smelled like lily of the valley, if a bit fluorescent.  Or DayGlo.  Or so it seemed.  It felt hyper.  And simple.  And the earth didn't move.


I quietly put the Diorissimo in a safe place, and vowed not to share my secret with anyone.  


But I took it out twice a year or so, just to check.  And...the result was essentially...the same.


Then I got something *really* cheap at auction.  Coty Muguet.  Heck, if I was going to practice collecting artifacts, this one was a small investment.  I put it in the drawer next to the Diorissimo, unopened (literally--this one had evaporated a bit, but the seal was still intact).  And it sat there for a year and a half, because I had proclaimed I would "uncork" the bottle as a celebration of the start of spring, but forgot to do that last year.  


This year, I didn't forget.

And that has made all the difference.

For beneath the green cello seal lay a wonderfully green threaded lily of the valley, one that had some sap and rasp to it.  One that had that LOTV smell in context.  Subtle context, mind you; this doesn't go toward abstraction/compilation like Temps d'Une Fete, for example.  (Oh, happy scent, that.)  And it doesn't reverberate through your core with luxurious ingredients.  But it is...nice.  Oh so nice.  And a happy way to encounter LOTV.  Flowers laced with foliage.

Ahhh.

But wait...now I should go back, right?  Give Diorissimo its day?  And so I did.  Today.

Jackpot.

I believe it.  I believe Edmond Roudnitska -- he who brought us Femme, and Diorella, and Parfum de Therese (okay, that one he didn't bring us, but thanks to Fredric Malle, we have it now) -- laid down among the lilies of the valley and put into a bottle that which he found there.

They are kind of hyper flowers, anyway.  A couple of stems will fill a room with their fragrance.  To me, they smell best outside...and across the way.  (Is it any surprise my entryway to their scent in perfume was a greened-up version?)  So perhaps I had been unfair to judge as I had.

And you know what?  It settles down rather nicely.  Takes the edge off.  Like the ice has melted in your drink a bit.

So, NOW comes the time when you can be mad at me.  Because both perfumes I have discussed here have been reformulated.  So if you wish to come to your own conclusions, you need to go forth and seek them.

Unless...

Here, the path is wide enough for two.  If you want to jump right on to this path here, where I am, with even less travail than I had, mention it in the comments.  I'll draw a name from all who express interest and send a smidgen of each.  Don't worry, I know people bop in and out on odd schedules.  I close collecting names for the draw on...Tuesday, May 18.  Draw is now closed.

If you haven't commented before, I'd love for you to introduce yourself, too.  :)


For further readings on the history of Diorissimo, see for example "Perfume Profiles," or Helg's history of the bottle at Perfume Shrine.
There is a page on Edmond Roudnitska with many helpful links at Art et Parfum.
Both bottles from my personal collection, purchased via online auction.
All images the author's own.


If you need a refresher on Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken," or have missed being pummeled by it in your schooling, find it here, among numerous other locations.  (FWIW, I use Poets.org, and appreciate their existence, though if you travel among certain circles, you know well there's a bit of a brou-ha over the politics at Poets.org...are they too mainstream? Do they ignore certain poets?  Perhaps so, but it's a convenient, non-threatening way to put your toe in the water.  IMHO.  Discuss.)

Violets & Rainwater, revisted

An open letter to Musette:

Dear Musette,

I so respect your thoughts on scent, whenever you go ga-ga for something, I automatically activate search->sniff->prepare to purchase neurons.  (Unless it's going your preferred skank path, which I continue to leave free and clear for you.  I've got my issues, as you know.  ;)  )  So, when you started waxing beautiful about Liz Zorn's Violets & Rainwater, I knew I'd better get sniffing.

Which I did, and found a lovely--beautiful in a quiet way--little true violet scent.  I tried it a couple of times over the winter, even bought a share, feeling that perhaps I would eventually use it to replace my decant of Norma Kamali Violette and use it for layering opportunities.  Simple.  Light.  

I was wrong.

I tried it on this morning, and BLAM, greenery!  And then, not very long until this creamy element enters the dry down.  Oh, my goodness.  I think that this is what some people find/love in the Guerlain violets, this nuanced but sweet violet.  (Vanillic sweet, not the mouse sex of Caron.)  And because I entered through the happy green door, I don't resent it for being some sort of pastille.  I'm still early on, and will be happy if the green returns head on, or if it continues down this creamy violet path.  I have my memory of the green...

Is this what happens with you?  You had mentioned dirt in the past, which I never got until today.  Just in the 5-10 minute opening, mind you, but there.

That's a whole other bottle in that cute but stylish canister on my shelf.  Not the watery violet I experienced in the winter.  Who knows--I've certainly been finding a lot of shift in my sniffer as spring entered this year.  Could be seasonal; could be evolutionary; could be I was just daft.  All I know is, I'm suddenly feeling VERY clever for shadowing you.

Your friend in scent,

SS

P.S. I know that shadowing can lead to big disappointments; I won't hold any bum lemmings against you.  (OTOH, I'll be sure to hang on to them for a while, in case what was bum becomes ba-dum!)

Coming Back to My Senses...

The title might suggest I'd had a cold or some such and am once again able to sniff. But no...today, it simply means I've been on a sugared fruit bender, and proceeding willy nilly from this sodden concoction to that in a rather joyous but somewhat reckless traipsing through my collection.

(I have been brutally enabled by friends...you know who you are...sending me flocks of fragrance...where to begin? How can I say no? Aren't I supposed to just have fun with this?? Gulp gulp gulp.)

No worries. I have been settled by Silences.

BitterGrace has a delightful habit of posting one-sentence reviews over at her blog, BitterGrace Notes.  (And only in this moment has the musician in me heard the joke in the title.  The gardener in me kept on thinking of bittersweet, and blocked my brain.)  Anyway, in her one line review of Jacomo Silences, she both delighted me and reminded me that I had found something intriguing in Silences when I tried it early in my scent development.  And that I thought at the time it was something I should come back to when I was more "mature," sniff-wise.

Time passes.  Remember yesterday's post, where I was waiting for my impetuous application of Fragile to fade?  It did.  I applied Silences.  Ahhhhhhh.

You know how after you haven't been eating so well...too much junk, not enough fruit and vegetables, too much processed food, not enough true flavors....how after you haven't been eating well, and you sit down and consume a well-prepared meal with plenty of all that is good and fresh and recognizable as it grew on the planet, even as you chew, your body relaxes and says "thank you!" and your mood improves and your head clears and you immediately feel better physically?  

That's what it was like to sniff Silences, from the sharp (but already layered) opening through the dark green first layer and on into the galbanum earth to the very smooth remnants of extreme dry down.  Good eating all the way.

If you follow the link above, you'll see my comment to BitterGrace; I realized that Silences is the perfect link between cool weather and flat out winter.  I am absolutely going to pull it out as winter fades; its complexity will be just right for holding interest in the cold, yet the green and dirt will give hints of the growing that is beginning under the soil (and perhaps still under the snow).  

It's good to be eating well again.  If I am honest, though, I am going to have to acknowledge that winter still has a firm grip on things, and likely will for a while; if I want to keep on encouraging my "mature" sniffer in the near future, I'll have to keep those better quality, more complex cold weather scents in my fragrance diet.

I hope you'll forgive me if I dip back into the hooch sometimes.

For other thoughts on Silences, see Victoria's review in Bois de Jasmin; hers is the take that sent me in search of a sample in the first place.  

Silences is delightfully affordable at online retailers.

The Year in Review : Retrospective

Today's post is one of a collection over a theme proposed by Helg at Perfume Shrine...use the links at the end of this article to see other visions of this year from the collective.

It will have to begin, and possibly end, with Norrell.

After all, it was finding a bottle of Norrell on the shelves at Loehmann's while shopping last winter that sent me into a research frenzy, trying to find out what I could about it, starting with a NYT article I was sure I had read a few years previous, about how the once lofty designer scent was then only available at...K-Mart.  And it has been due to my explorations this year that I probably appreciate Norrell and its ilk, even if I still don't choose to wear every vintage whammer I discover.

But let's travel through the fragrances of 2008, as seen through my lens:  Perfumes which have helped define this first year of my olfactory journey.  These are the Top 10 Landmarks in my perfume year, not because I love them (though some I do), or because they are important in 2008.  They are here because they somehow represent milestones in my learning & development.

1. Norrell

A no holds barred scent that started out as a pure visual:  Seeing that typeface on the box on the store shelf brought back my grandmother's bathroom, her perfume bottle sometimes left out on the sink, her hair when it was "done"...I wanted to smell it, and see if I would recognize it.  I bought it.  And thus the floodgates (and nose hairs) were opened.  Little did I know I was starting with big guns, something beyond "beginner."  But don't get any big ideas about my little sniffer.  My second bottle in this year's journey, which seemed to smell nice but in a different way, was Issey Miyake.  (Different?  No kidding.)  So there.  Such vagaries, I would come to learn, would punctuate my journey.

2. Decants

The best decision I made was made early in my journey, after I invested in the full bottle of Issey.  I took a flyer on The Perfumed Court, having discovered their website during my research on "vintage perfumes."  Went ahead and invested in a few sample packs, to introduce myself to fragrance families etcetera.  Then I was introduced to Fishbone (long live Fishbone!), and amassed quite the mini-bar of fragrances.  Much more learning done on many fewer dollars.

3. Magie Noir

An example of eBay working.  I purchased a used bottle as part of my "research," spouse really, really, REALLY liked it.  In fact, he left THAT DAY to go out and purchase a full bottle, and presented it to me that evening, therefore earning Magie Noir a spot in the First Year Hall of Fame as "first full bottle purchase, completely intentional and fully satisfactory."

4. Fleur de Narcisse

     Bois Blond

     Reverie au Jardin

Oh, my, but what a rapid fall, what a tangled web.  Thanks to my samples, I thought I'd like Fleur de Narcisse.  I bought a decant, and loved it even more when I sprayed it.  I discovered it was a limited edition, panicked, and asked for a bottle for my anniversary.  Lo and behold, it was given to me!  Ah, joy and beauty in things narcissus & hay...to this day, this scent remains in Extremely High Esteem.

Two full bottles, success in selecting scent, and I was in trouble.  I followed up another sample happiness with a full bottle purchase, and again, discovered I was oh so happy with the result.  On its heels I purchased a partial bottle of Reverie au Jardin, and ended up with what remains my grown in the earth hat trick, my trio of interest and ease, and probably my best purchases to date.  (With the exception of #x.)  Because I love them.  Because I feel they express me, at least a good part of me, really well, and I don't feel the context in which I can wear any one is particularly limited.  Because they make me so happy, I just can't feel purchase guilt.

These three became intwined as a triad long ago, and as such, are entered as one.  All purchases fully intentional, and completely satisfactory--to me, at least.  ;)

5. Coco

I was so curious...the bottle was beautiful...it was Chanel...the price was too good to be true.  Truly, too good to be true; even I could tell, when I opened my package, that the juice was, well, not right.  It should have been stronger in smell, darker in color.  It smelled good, mind you...just not...right.  I examined the crimp, and it looked messed with.  I considered my $20-some investment worthy as both a gambling enterprise, and a lesson learned...though I really don't like gambling, so I'm not likely to take that path often.

6.  Kingdom

I have rattled this cage, and I'm going to rattle it again.  This stuff stinks.  Like panties.  Not cumin.  Panties.  Out of the eight times I've tried it, 1 1/2 wearings have yielded a really attractive rose scent.  Inside, alongside, alternating with...skank.  I can't do it.  I really can't.  I liked Bandit out of the box, enjoyed dancing with Norell, and think Black Cashmere is a comfort scent.  But down the outright skank path is a place I just don't think I will go.  My recent infatuation with Theo Fennell nothwithstanding.  And Magie Noir regardless.  (See what I mean about vagaries?)

7. L'Ombre Fauve

The girl likes leather.  Who knew?  I found myself driving down the road with my nose up against the wheel, because I was afraid if I took my hands off the wheel and brought them to my nose, the magic spell would be revealed and some sort of rotten trick of olfactory context would be revealed.  I ended up wearing leather to a wedding, fragrance-wise.  I wore this when the gloves came on this fall, because I loved taking them off and finding L'Ombre Fauve underneath.  Between this and Bandit, I decided I'd better explore this leather thing, and have found that I find Chanel Cuir de Russie beautiful, but too sharp for me; Cuir de Lancome a rather smooth leather suitable for everyday use; Knize Ten a fun dabble in straight up leather; Bulgari Black a vanilla heavy happy fest; Jolie Madame a light leather with violet.  I should note that Helg puts Fleur de Narcisse in there with the modern leathers...what can I say?

8. Bois des Isles

Truth be told, this is another fragrance I loved early on, but I couldn't begin to describe why in Spring of '08, when I first put nose to arm.  It was different from my hat trick style fragrance; clearly, human hand was evident in its composition.  It didn't bubble up like No.5, but it made the hat trick seem nearly syrupy.  It was old, it was not old; one of the few vintage fragrances that to me were truly timeless, and not simply classic.  I had to revisit it at least once a month until sometime mid-summer, when I set my sights on a larger amount.  The question was, decant, or full bottle?  Procrastination paid off, as the equation per ml on the full bottle, laid over an opportunity to purchase at the Chicocoa Scentsation, meant that one of those lovely hefty bottles with the ever-satisfying cap that "thwunks" into place ended up in a bag in my hand.  Call it planned impulse buying.  And, like the scents in my hat trick, I don't regret it for a minute.

9. Eau Imperiale

Actually belongs earlier in the sequence, time wise.  But I put it here, not because it was a successful online discounter full bottle purchase (though it was), or because I find it eminently wearable (I do), but because here's one where the story myth translated into truth for me.  Do any reading up on Guerlain Imperiale, and you'll find that it was purportedly offered as a migraine cure.  I am a migraineur.  Before this year, I was pretty secure in my knowledge that perfume was, as a rule, to be avoided, because it was so potentially a headache trigger.  But I, like any susceptible victim, was willing to take a chance on the story, and purchased some without smelling.  The bottle remains in the downstairs bath, with the medicines and the essential oils, a happy mist of relief.  And of good smelling.

Honorable mention then should go to 4711, which of course you wonderful bloggers kept talking about, and serves much the same way.  Shame on you to Chanel, whose Exclusif Cologne is wonderful, but so close to Eau Imperiale that even I, who justified a different 200ml of Exclusif scent, and who is willing to buy scent as remedy, can't justify purchasing that one.

Which shows another way Eau Imperiale offered lessons in perfume:  Not everything is worth buying, even if it is "nice," or "good," or "Chanel."  I'll probably move earth in order to ensure a lifetime of access to Bois des Isles, but I won't even turn my head for the Eau de Cologne.  (Okay, I'd spritz some from a tester display.  But it's hard to justify, even as a gift from a comfortable wallet, when the same dollar investment could get you quality AND perfume strength.)

By the way, a serious shout out to the house of Guerlain here, since I'm approaching the end of my milestone list, and realize that not one Guerlain perfume has been mentioned.  Please see back posts to get a sense of my respect for Mitsouko, even if I do not yet love it; the trippy time travel Jicky evoked; the alpha wave flat line of happiness/nostalgia/sniffing pleasure when I smell L'Heure Bleu.  I think Guerlain and I have not yet entered our prime.

ACK! I've run out of room...there are so many classics I've learned to love...the joy of the swap...the fraternity of fragrance...what one perfume should I mention to wrap up this year's journey in Top Ten style?  Jean Nate, EveryWoman for the American gal?  Amouage, where beauty and quality draw me in despite the sky high price?  CB IHP, whose Cradle of Light led one observer to comment on my, um,  "When Harry Met Sally" moment with a perfume?

10.  Habanita

It's not precious, it's not profound, and it's heavy on powder.  I do enjoy the tobacco in it, as I do in many perfumes.  But it's not the smell of Habanita that puts it on my list...it's the experience.  The first time I tested this was in the midst of a summertime sniffing bacchanal.  As I recall, I actually had Habanita behind one knee, as part of a six scent test drive.  Six, you ask?  Sure: two wrists, two elbow folds, two knees; one scent each.  There I was, up early, taking notes on the top notes, running through a round of WiiFit and yoga, getting a whiff of Habanita while twisting my torso and hanging upside down--yup, this was the life of an emerging perfume nut.  So, #10 goes to Habanita, which for me is the scent that defines descent--not just of nose to knee, but of self down three rings of the perfume rabbit hole in one swell droop.  Er...fell swoop.

So, what have I learned in 2008?

That I'm not likely to find a single Holy Grail of scent, but I will find more than one home run.  That I'd probably better not heavily invest in one particular scent, because my preferences have already gone through a couple of iterations.  That I love hay, grass, leather, tobacco, the occasional white flower, most ambers, and the occasional oriental, and that vetiver can be my friend.

That for all my skepticism about online "communities," I've met a friendly, supportive, sharing, and good-humored bunch of people through this perfume exploration, and I am grateful to all--whether I know them as flesh-and-blood, or they remain virtual.

That not only may your mileage vary, but the very fuel that runs you might be very different when it comes to how perfumes wear and what you prefer.  Just as it is a good idea to benchmark your thoughts against film reviewers opinions when deciding if you're going to like a particular unseen film, one would be wise to get to know any blogger or reviewer's tendencies before making a call.  And to explore beyond your tendencies when you are inclined--you may find the fence has moved.

That this has been a fun ride, and I'm going to keep this set of wheels.  We'll see how I trick it out in 2009....

Please be sure to visit the other bloggers participating in the Retrospective:

1000 Fragrances

Ars Aromatica

A Rose Beyond the Thames

Bittergrace Notes

Grain de Musc

I Smell therefore I Am

Legerdenez

Olfactarama

Perfume Shrine

Savvy Thinker

The Non Blonde

Tuilleries