Scents that sing "spring"...

So, here's the image that all of the participants in today's joint blog project were given for today's post:

Julie Andrews dancing in a field of mountain wildflowers.  An iconic moment of visceral bliss.  Puts a smile on your face, right?  Welcome. Glad you stopped by.  Take another sip of your current beverage.  And then step into my spring, and how it sings.


Here is the image I was ready to go with when the concept of "spring" came to mind:

To me, spring--as those of you who stop by on a regular basis know--is all about things rumbling in the dirt, a stirring to life, a difficult and messy and beautiful process that is all about energy bumping heads with rest and bringing color and smells back into the world.  Worms squirming around in the dirt are all about that.  They turn and aerate the soil, fertilizing it along the way.  They wriggle out of the soil when it rains, providing yet another reminder that the snow is gone and a new season has begun.  They provide a sort of endless fascination for kids and grownups, who might be entranced or repulsed but are somehow always compelled to take a look.  They move under the soil and attract the attention of the returned birds, who cock their heads sideways and give a little "knock, knock" to the ground to get the worms to come to the surface, then yank them up like some sort of stop-action spaghetti slurping.

Worms.  Dirt.  That's just the start of it.

 Things start pushing up out of the ground.  Green emerges from muck, even as the detritus of the last cycle of life continues to litter (and eventually nourish) the ground.  Fresh energy, alongside stasis.  From a bland landscape of hard frozen texture and monotonous color, rumblings begin.

I love this moment, when you can be like a forest creature and put your nose up to the air and start smelling changes in the air.  Even the breeze smells and feels different.  It could be a misty grey day, or it could be one of those suddenly brilliant sunny days when you are reminded that the sun can actually cast a warm light, and not just the sharp white light of winter.

Once you get enough of that light, changes come.

Early life pops out, and you can feel things starting to hum with potential energy.  

It is this crazy conflagration of clinging chill and insistent warmth, of final rest and yawping birth, of messy sludge and impossible blooms, that sings spring to me.  It is difficult, it is easy.  You can jump in and be part of it, or you can passively observe.  But it's gonna happen--a proposition that seems questionable in the early going, but eventually becomes undeniable.

☃  ☁ ☀ ☼ ☺
What fragrances help sing this process?  Ones that either echo the whole big mess, or that pull out elements of the orchestration.

An example of the whole orchestration:  Niki Saint Phalle.  It's all in there, the dirt, the herbal bitterness, the lift, the knowing that if you stick it through, you'll have a drydown that is "interesting" if you come in at the end, but absolutely beautiful if you went through the pain of its development.

Examples of elements of the orchestration:  The easy entry here is Diorissimo.  Lily of the Valley hasn't arrived here yet; that is a note that sings toward the end of the spring symphony.  But it is powerful, and so uniquely recognizable that its call has entranced many a wearer.  The wink-wink nod-nod entry is CBIHP Black March, because it sounds the note of dirt.  If I'm in a picky mood, I point out that in my nose it is the smell of potting soil, and not of humus rich earth dirt.  But I'm okay with that.  I like hearing this particular voice, which coincides with the gardener's activity of starting seeds and potting up outdoor plants.

Then there are the Impressionist versions of the symphony, which capture the mood, the experience, even suggestions of particular voices, without being so direct.  This year, Temps d'une Fete has been getting a lot of chatter.  And deservedly so.  When I found this last spring, I found myself wanting to twirl around like Julie Andrews up there.  Oh, green goodness that knows how to balance a sweet floral lift and a raspy sort of something that makes sure the potion isn't cloying going down.

In this spirit, I offer you a down and dirty (could there be any other?) short list of scents that sing spring.  Please share what's not here that you'd add, or how you'd change things around.  I might come back and mess with it myself.

Isolated voices/notes
Diorissimo
Coty Muguet
Bel Respiro
AA Herba Fresca
Black March
Wild Hunt
Violets & Rainwater (Liz Zorn)
Fleur de Narcisse

Orchestration
Silences
Niki Saint Phalle
No. 19
Grin (Ayala Moriel)
Bois Blond  --note: this is a shorter piece, played by chamber orchestra

Impressionist 
Le Temps d'une Fete
Chamade
Green Oakmoss (Liz Zorn)
Un Matin d'Orage

Happy spring, everybody.  Thanks for spending a little of it here.

Now that you are done, you might like to set a spell with the other bloggers participating in today's project.  They are:

Katie Puckrik Smells  |  Perfume Shrine  |  The Non Blonde  |  I Smell Therefore I Am  |  Notes from the Ledge  |  Scent Hive  |  Savvy Thinker  |  Roxana's Illuminated Journal  |  Perfume in Progress  |  All I Am A Redhead  |  Ambre Gris  |  Olfactarama  |  A Rose Beyond the Thames  |  Smelly Blog 

first image a still from The Sound of Music; second image from the Input to the Garden blog; all other images the author's own

Pairings: Odd Greenery

Today's pairing does not involve alcohol.  Not in the beverage, at least; barhounds should return for the next installment.  (All should refrain from quaffing their perfume.)

Conjure this:  vegetal, earthy liquid that is part tonic (as in the medicinal concept, not the quinine mixer), hint of bitters, salty-ish something that kicks the green toward seaweed.  All connected by something which smooths it out, makes the herbal potion not only palatable, but pleasurable, in an umami sort of way.

What is "this"?  In a cup, an iced green tea latte.  On my wrist, Niki Saint Phalle parfum.  Wonderful co-conspirators.  Potions, each of them.  Neither of them an easy down kind of thing.  But compelling.  And the more huffed or sipped, the more pleasure they offer.  Your tongue adjusts.  Your nose starts to tell you there's something sweet in there.

This is a simpatico pairing.  Very similar, these two, and definitely complimentary.

image of a 16" factice from "Silke's Giant Factice World"

(available for purchase)

☤☤☤
I used parfum strength Niki Saint Phalle, from a beautiful cobalt bottle with the intertwined snakes on top, which I scored from online auction last year.  (Was the artist-perfumer conjuring a cadaceus there?  What form of witchcraft this? Hmmm...)  Just last week, I got some Niki in the edt.  It behaves differently, in many of the ways you might expect.  If you're doing this pairing, go with the parfum.  The extra viscosity provides a suitable equivalent for the milkfat in the latte.  Straight up green iced tea would probably be a nice accompaniment to the edt, though.

☤☤
Sadly (yup, here it comes), Niki Saint Phalle is discontinued, but is at this point fairly readily available online.

☤
My green tea latte was lightly sweetened and came from Starbucks.

Eating my hat: Tuberose Criminelle

And here I was, just telling Grain de Musc "no how, no way."  Too much camphor.  Bad joke.  A theme I've sounded many times over the past couple of years.

Today, something happened.  I need to take notes on the context, just in case this is the only situation in which this one will fly:  ❏ A late in the day shower.  (Some days are like that.  Other things get in the way.  Advantage is, anything that gets tossed onto a wrist on a whim in the a.m. because I feel ready to give it a short whirl ends up getting a full ride.  TC was NOT one of those...it was a Mariella Burani duo...more on that another time.)  ❏ Temps in the 60's, high-ish but not outlandish for April in these parts.  ❏ Huge trench being dug in my yard.  Must consider the potential effect of watching one's planting handiwork nearly get decimated.  Nearly.  Surely extra hormones of some sort were flying.  Might have been a factor.  Will decidedly avoid trying to recreate that particular contextual element.

Anyway, I showered and, because it had somehow ended up in my drawer of tried & true "specials," I took out the SL Tuberose Criminelle.  Yup, there was that opening...but it didn't make me yank my head back and look around for the Candid Camera.  Hmm.  Another sniff...yeah, that's the note...but it's not...all consuming....

I am totally digging this tube today.  Feels like it catches the heady exotic aspects of the flower, while messing it up with other aspects of its reality.  The "camphor" settles into just a sharp something, just like what lingers in the air around a number of tropical whites.  Every other time, this one has been a viscous lipid with mothballs floating on top.  A practical joke, if you will.  Today, the joke is on me.  Today, it is a joy.

I'll take it.

Maybe this will just be a solitary glimpse, like that one good time I had with Kingdom.  But I'm glad to have had it, and wonder if perhaps this is what some of my 'fumey friends who love it live with every time they apply.

It's good to be reminded that patience can be rewarded.  Sometimes.

But no way am I going to dig a 9' hole in the yard just to try to get beyond the joke.  If the magic is gone, I'll live with the memory.  To adjust what Rick said to Ilsa, "We'll always have April 13th."

With a Songes in my heart

I love coming back to old loves.  It's a delight to rediscover the passion, and remember all the things that made it good.  Today, I return to an old love...by starting with something new.

I've been playing with a sample of Guerlain Heritage I got last week.  I'm digging it...it's a morpher, and I'm finding what I keep on returning for is the finish.  Gritty sweet amberish nuzzle my snurfle into and just settle in.

I'll play some more, and report back.

Meanwhile, notice that word "gritty"?  There's something about a rasp...love it in Polly Bergen's voice.  Adore it in a scent.  PdN Le Temps d'une Fete has a green rasp to it; Heritage and Habit Rouge have a textured something going on; and here it is in my final hours of Songes.  I love it.

Each of those is quite different from the others in rather essential ways.  But, they share something, too; each settles into my skin with a depth that tickles as you push your way into it.  In a way that is no smooth meringue, or creamy pudding.  It feels good in the same way as...well, as chips on a sore mucousy throat.  WHAT? Repeat that?

When I have a cold, and I'm at that stage when my throat is somewhat sore, but also feels like it is somewhat coated with ick, it feels good to have something sharp or harsh go down, to cut through the dense coating.

Erm, sorry; that really was what came to mind.  I don't have a cold or anything.

Hey, how about I change tack a bit?  This principle can be found elsewhere.  Use some bitters to cut the viscosity of a sweet cocktail. Put a little lemon in that butter cream sauce.  Or...sprinkle some sand in that paint you are putting on the stairs, so you don't slip down them when it's wet out.

So much for the sidebar on things raspy.  Back to the Songes.  It makes me happy, in that snarf/huff/settle/smile way.  A creamy white floral that doesn't kill you with gas or oil.  Because, among other things, somebody had the good sense to cut it with a little grit.

Scent for a dental procedure

It is possible to overthink things.

I know this.  I know it in my head, in my heart, in my gut.

That said, I am proceeding with this post.

You see, I found myself facing 1-2 hours in an endodontist's chair.  I am not a fan of any form of dentist, though my current dentist is affable enough and seems to be competent.  It's not him; it's me.  I don't like procedures going on in my mouth, I've got a troublesome gag reflex, I don't like catching flies.  My mouth is small.  Sometimes it hurts.  Once, in my youth, a dentist removed an "extra" permanent tooth, and made a joke about saving it for a transplant.  I believed him.  I still do.  Which irks me, because, strangely, I still have a baby tooth in the *same quadrant* of my mouth.  "Extra"?  Hmmmmm.  But I digress.

(Going off on tangents is NOT overthinking.  Don't worry; I'll get there.)

So, over an hour in the chair, pretending to be calm.  Just fine.  A perfect time for a comfort scent.  Except not.  Because...two people other than myself will be sharing my personal space.  And I'm a courteous person, who doesn't wish to make them uncomfortable for half of an afternoon.  Plus, I'm a practical person.  It wouldn't really be in my interest to have people wielding drills, needles, swabs, tweezers, and the like, finding themselves unhappy, or queasy, or uncomfortable as they dangle said weapons tools within inches of my face and gaping mouth, would it now?

On top of that, I'll be compromised when it comes to comfort huffing.  No putting the wrist to the nose for a relaxing snarfle.  No applying enough to the throat to send wafts my way...what merely "wafts" to me might be oppressive to someone else.  Not even behind my ears, for the same reason.

Which means I have to both waft to suit me, but not waft too much.   If that can be done.

But wait, there's more:  If I'm really considering the angles, there's the whole "do I want them to be comfortable?  Or alert?"  Better to be alert, of course.  But not too much so; a little relaxing is good.  Aware, but relaxed.  That's a good zone.  Good for all of us.

(Right around now is where you might think I'm overthinking the whole thing.  I would beg to differ, but we can take this up later.)

Ambers are therefore out.  Too much comfort, not enough focus.  Chypres are out.  Too much danger of seeming off-putting or distracting attention.  Florals don't even flitter across the screen.  (FOCUS, people; pretty has nothing to do with this purpose!)  Cologne-like somethings might be good...naw...no waft from that by the time I arrive.  And then my mind's eye sees the bottle before I can even articulate how/why it could be just the thing.

Poor thing.  It's been tucked away, one of the ones I keep in a box in the semi-accessible space.  That's right; I've got current rotation, deep storage, and something in between.  (Again, you might think this is overthinking, but it makes selection that much easier.  For me.)  Mint green, with silver raised print.  See, even the color is settling with a hint of focus.  I can smell it in my head, and I think that's probably it.  Spritz once before showering to make sure.  Which is kind of funny, given that my wrists were hosting a 1980's retro-session for my early in the day routine.  Funny, because this scent is all this decade.

Gentle touch, but carries just enough.  Never overpowering, but good lasting power.  A spank of citrus to sharpen your mind, but iris to provide comfort without somnambulance.  It was everywhere for a while...on people, on the blogs.  But haven't heard much about it in a couple of seasons.

Prada.  Infusion d'Iris.
Just right.

***
I'm back now.  All is well.  And I didn't really waft, but I *was* pretty relaxed.  Who knows if it was enough trace of scent, or simply being confident in my choice.  Or maybe Masters of Guitar on my iPod.

I can huff it still, *if* I raise my arm to my nose.  Very nice.  We'll see if it still works after all the anesthetic wears off.

I'm happy.

(If it all comes down to that, I can't be a horrible overthinker.  Right?)

Pairings: In Name Only

In comments to my last post, Nancy raised the possibility of Sortilege with her Sortilege, introducing the Name Game style of pairing.

Today, I notice in my blogfeed over to the left there that The Accidental Hedonist has reviewed a barleywine called Mirror Mirror.  Craft/microbrewery fiends might already be all over this one.

Haven't tried it, myself.  Hence, I shall chase down a bottle of Deschutes Mirror Mirror, and beg a sample of one of the Thierry Mugler "Miroir, Miroir" collection off of a pal.  Then I shall sit down to a tall one of the "creamy" "hoppy, but in a floral sense" beer, raising my glass to Nancy and her Sortilege while I suss out just what *really* would go with the barleywine from Bend.

It'll be tough, I know.  But I'm ready.  In fact, I believe I am ready to commit myself to regularly investigate the practice of pairing.

Should you make your own sacrifices in the interest of fragrance/beverage matches, please do let me know.  The blogosphere needs us.

Pairings: Maple Syrup

A friend hepped me to a Canadian maple syrup liqueur.  Sortilege.  Canadian whiskey with maple syrup.  It's like the Drambuie of the Great White North.  Yummers.

Having dinner with friends today.  The invitation came with a comment I take as a compliment:  "Your company is like comfort food."  Which naturally affected my efforts to identify what to bring for the table.  Found a recipe for maple syrup cake in a recent Bon Apetit.  Calls for two cups of Grade B syrup.  Perfect.  Will be making that, and can bring the Sortilege as a house gift that echoes the maple theme.

Naturally, the issue of perfume is on my mind.  Maple theme.  Have been wanting to try this perfume that Nathan Branch reviewed, Bucheron by Claude Andre Hebert.  (Diacritical marks totally avoided.)  Have yet to put hands or nose upon it.  Still want to.  Meanwhile, as it turns out, I have found another maple syrup/immortelle goodie:  Immortelle L'Amour, from Ayala Moriel perfumes.  I ordered a sample based on Ayala's story of how she constructed the scent for comfort in her blog, and in Heather Ettlinger's mention of it in her Memory and Desire project.  (Is it really two years since Heather did this?  This project was part of my propulsion down the rabbit hole of scent.  If you haven't roamed through it, you really should take some time to wander.  Perfumers and their interpretation of a poem.  It's wonderful.)  Anyway, I was able to sample it today.  Gourmandy goodness.

Sortilege (the liqueur, not the perfume house) arrived a few weeks ago.  Immortelle L'Amour arrived the other day.  In the word of fellow blogger Abigail over at I Smell Therefore I Am, both are "numilicious."

Maple syrup for the opening of spring.  No need to tap any trees.

So, today's pairing is:

Sortilege liqueur
  -- with --
Immortelle L'Amour 

Why?  Both liberally employ maple syrup (/immortelle), both are cozy, both linger, both invite investigation while comfortably ensconced in an overstuffed club chair.  Why now?  There will still be cool nights and grey rainy days that would be well served by this kind of comfort.  There must be a reason Mother Nature sends the sap flowing in preparation for warmer days ahead.

Enjoy a slice of maple syrup cake with either.  With wishes for a Happy Easter, and belated wishes for a pleasant Passover, for those who take note.  I will be sipping, sniffing and listening to the trees as the landscape turns green.

Newspapers: A different flavor of lament

If you knew me in real life, you'd know I love to read newspapers.  A habit I am being forced to give up, step by tortuous step, as newspapers disappear, morph into electronic form, excise and butcher content, blah blah blah.

But my lament today isn't about the death of newspapers in terms of Woe, Wither Goest the Fifth Estate?  Nope.  It's more along the lines of postage stamps.

Let me start again.

I get treasures in the mail.  The mail, UPS, what have you.  I tell you about some of these treasures, such as in my post about a fleabay score on a group of miniature perfumes.  Today, it was a mini of Teatro alla Scala (Krizia).  I savor this kind of search and procure activity.  Something in my wiring, I guess.

Also in my wiring is paying attention to the packaging.  Not just of the item itself, as in visual presentation of a product.  As in, what it the thing packed in.  Styrofoam peanuts that might outlast roaches as entities on this planet?  Bubble wrap that can be used as a tension reliever, but is a petroleum based product and also has landfill issues?  Or...rarely, but on occasion...newspaper.  Recyclable newspaper.

But hang on.  That's the eco-guilt angle.  What is the angle of my lament?  Local flavor, my friend.  Snapshots of life from other hamlets.  Whether advertising or editorial, words or pictures, you can still get a sense of the remnants of local culture from a local newspaper.

From Bakersfield, CA, I see why a local sheriff might lose their job.  Or how the schoolkids paid attention to Theodore Geisel's birthday.  (That would be Dr. Seuss.  And a teacher dressed up as The Cat in the Hat.  Just so you know.)  Classifieds tell me how much it would cost me to rent a 1BR apartment.  And I can see the brand of milk available at the local grocery store.  Somehow, in a world where the options for a cup of coffee at Panera are the same from Barstow to Bangor, this strikes me as cool.  Always has.  Because even as homogenization becomes more and more prevalent across regions of our country, unique elements remain.

Because I open a newspaper from somewhere, and it has a tangible sense of location, of "other," that their webpage will never give me.

Because I still get a thrill from getting a piece of mail with a postage stamp and return address from another country.

Because, I suppose, there is a romance to knowing there is something else out there.

I have a bit of an allergy to newsprint & ink.  But I never, ever wished for them to be out of my life.  Whether as a method to gather news...or get a view.

Water, water, not everywhere, and so many drops to drink

Greater Phoenix.  The Valley of the Sun.  Where saguaros grow as roadside trees, where centers of harmonic convergence are never far.

Where from the dust rose farms.  And golf courses.

Where the water comes from snow.

A person who thinks about water in the slightest has to think about it here.  When previous inhabitants give up trying live here after 1,000 years of working their own canal system to make the land arable, the place clearly has challenges.

When you stand high up on a mountain and look at the sprawl of subdivision after subdivision, most of them consisting of building construction that rather looks like the big boxes of any other U.S. urban sprawl, except with stucco siding and tiled roofs, one has to wonder just how this group of settlers is impacting their environment, and from whom they are taking the resources to make it happen.

My son is fond of pointing out that the energy impact of cooling a home in a hot climate is less than that of heating one in a cold climate.  I grant that.  But so many people.  So much sprawl.  So much traffic, with little to no public transportation.  So many homes volume but no ventilation, big panes of plate glass exposed to the elements with little to do but gain solar heat.  Not much evidence of shade as part of the structure, of thinking about making the patterns of the sun either work to your advantage, or at least do a dance with those patterns to minimize negative impact.

Unique to Phoenix?  Heck no.  But this is no temperate climate.  It has the hottest climate of any metropolitan area in the United States.

A while back, there was chatter about the impact of all the grass in Phoenix.  All these northern folk had come in and planted their new lawns with what they knew:  grass.  Which needed a LOT of water in the Valley of the Sun.  Phoenix has changed its water usage policies since then.  There is a 100 year plan, and folks apparently take care of their landscape with different habits (and regulations) than a generation ago.

But one still thinks about water.

☀ ☀ ☀

Perfume.  Available locally is a perfume called "Cactus Flower."  Based on the scent of the night blooming cereus--which is protected, and therefore cannot be harvested for purposes of enfleurage etc.--it is described in its promotional literature as a "soft floral scent."  I got some harsh raspy chemicals in there.  Since I haven't had the experience of smelling the one night out of the year event that is the blooming of the Queen of the Night, I can't really speak to how closely the overall effect of the perfume approximates that of the flower.

I declined getting some, even as a souvenir.

☀ ☀

For further information about Desert Queen perfume, see the website here.

Traveling and Scent

They pop up every now and then; follow the perfume blogs long enough, and you'll notice that most eventually get around to the question of perfume and traveling.  As in--how do you pick your scents for a trip?  Does it depend on where you are going?  What type of trip?  What phase of your perfume exploration you are in?  Do you pack any at all?

If you are flying, and are trying to do the footloose and fancy-free no checked baggage style of travel, you also have to contend with security regulations.  That habit of decanting/preparing samples comes in handy here.  If you wish to tote.

Personally, I don't usually sweat it.  Since I'm one of those types who is frequently taking either a conscious or "oops, I did it again" sabbatical from perfume, the idea of finding myself in a new location without fragrance doesn't phase me.  Of course, I have to admit that I generally have a vial of something or other in my purse or toiletries bag, and that the opportunistic stowaway is there because it's either the object of current fascination/investigation, so there's not necessarily an all out blackout in the cards.

And, I'll have to admit that if I am kind of a fan of picking up a scent to associate with a vacation/place.  So, if time and opportunity permit, I'll check out the local offerings and see if I can find something to use while on the road and then bring home.  (That's how Elizabeth W ended up in my inventory. Another story.)

But if time, or budget, or circumstance don't offer the chance to shop for perfume, I'm not devastated.  In fact, I might not be paying attention.  It's all good.

I'm on the road right now.  And I'm traveling on the half-plan.  Which means I didn't think through *exactly* what I wanted to have along based on where I knew I'd be, the weather, the company, etc.  I did decide to bring something, and looked through my samples and small decants for what I thought would be good.  Three vials, I said.  Period.  Have to be prepared to surrender/lose them; have to be happy to have them along if I for some reason feel a craving to wear.

And I can't think about this too much, because I've got to pack in a short amount of time, wrangle pet care, finish up jobs at home, etc. etc. etc.

So, only moderately under the gun, I end up with three scents for the mountainous desert southwest.  All end up being a floral, which is kind of weird, because I'm not particularly a floral person.  They do hit the following logic in my head:  one is one I've been meaning to try, one is one I recall finding the love for last spring, and one is one that sometimes struck as refreshing w/o simply being a cologne.

So far, I've only bothered with two, and both in the same day.  #3 is a fail.  Fresh Violet Moss.  Discontinued, incidentally.  Too strong on the violet--is it the dry weather?  Can't be heat, per se; it's not so terribly hot.

#2 is a winner.  On a whim I applied it not long before bed, and thought, THIS would have worked.  Hermenessence Rose Ikebana.  If I'm going out, I'll wear it.

We'll see if I get to #1.  Could be a strong association if I do try it here, since I've only sampled it once or twice.  Parfumerie Generale Psychotrope.  Not today, for sure.  Too much time outside.

The truth is, I'm only thinking about this to this degree because I've got this window to write before the day gets started.  As interesting as this perfume thing can be, it doesn't trump the attention I devote to new vistas and time with people I don't often get to see.  This is not the kind of time where I would use perfume for comfort, or armor, or setting a scene.

Nice to take a moment and reflect, though.  And wave to anyone stopping by here.

A moment with two Les Heures

I consider these little sample vials precious, so haven't hit them much.  Yesterday was the third time, in fact.  But it may be the first time it was just them, all day.  XII and XIII, that is.  First time all alone, perhaps because sometimes I'll try something on bare skin but after something else already is developing...the "I'm so excited to see this I want to try some now!" slip.  Or perhaps because one of the times I was for sure in a sniffing orgy with a friend in perfume.

This time, just me, those two vials, and passing hours.

Out of the bottle (vial), they continued to be what all the first reports were.  One bitter tea patch mash up, the other cold earth spice spiked leather.  NO, more than that.  I'll come back to that, in fact, because they are complex and interesting and challenging and I'm still not sure if I am seduced by them but I am intrigued.

It's the creature that comes out after that seduced me.  My goodness, folks...these things morph.  And for all the demands the opening makes, the drydown is...easily beautiful.  Hints of Attrape-Couer wafting in the air above your skin, kind of like how En Passant can sometimes haunt you with Apres L'Ondee.  Which means you can start your spray/day projecting I Am Complex and Interesting And You Will Have To Spend Some Time With Me to Figure Me Out (Though It May Not Be Easy).

And then end it with purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I am making a note to return to this, to do a more traditional job of catching XII and XIII in words.  But for now, I thought I had to share.  Share the discovery that yes, after hours and hours of catching whiffs of this delightful, deep, and yet ghostly cloud, I was able to confirm that it came from spending time with The Hours.

If you find yourself in a position to sample them, do so.  And sample nothing else.  (Fight that urge!  Fight it!!  Bring vials, remember?  Make up samples to take home.  Nothing on your skin but Time!!!)  Then engage with those openings...they're doozies.  But wait for the waft in the drydown.  I am telling you, I think Mathilde Laurent is haunting herself.


See Denyse Beaulieu's reviews of XII and XIII in her wonderful Grain de Musc blog.  She'll take you through the notes, as well as illuminate backstory to their creation.  These reviews are part of a series on Les Heures, along with an interview of perfumer Mathilde Laurent.  


☛ My sample of XII and XIII was prepared by me in a Cartier store, with permission from the sales associate.  I *have* mentioned keeping vials with you, yes?

The wait, redux

In my mail, and now posing for a picture on my table:

Allow me to introduce you to my latest.  As I get ready to tell you about them, it occurs to me that, like my friends, there is quite a variety of personalities and how/why they have a place in my life.  This quintet did arrive as a clique, erm, lot, so it was all or nothing when it came to bidding on them.

You may recall how I described them in my previous post.  There is Vivara, the former formula.  Chypre, but not brash like YSL "Y."  Easy to get to know.  Quickly entered the realm of "I'd call it a staple if I had enough."  I have enough now.  That, right there, made the lot worth the cost to me.  But wait...there's more....

Giorgio.  Giorgio, Giorgio, wherefore art thou Giorgio?  A blast by any other name...would scream '80's.  But this one, THIS one, was what formed a cloud around the escalators in the Hudson's where I sold shoes for three years.  Ladies going up, ladies going down.  The perfume counter wasn't far from my department.  I usually ran by, because a colleague was always going over and grabbing a few spritzes of Poison, so I associated that glass with potential asphyxiation.  Except for the day I stopped for KL.  But that's another story.  ANYWAY, I never once applied Giorgio to my skin.  And then it was gone.  Until now.

Tuscany per Donna.  You spend enough time with perfume blogs, books, and banter, and you can develop impressions of scents you don't really pay attention to.  Like this one.  I saw the name and vague memories of love/hate came to mind.  Was it lauded in The Guide?  Turin for sure tends to extol the virtues of Lauder.  But might it not be a big screamer?  Look, it comes with friends like Giorgio and Knowing, not my bag.  But there's Vivara...and there's The One...aw, heck, give it a try.

Knowing.  Had it already.  Same miniature came in an Estee Lauder sample collection I got a while back.  (See this post.)  This one will probably be set aside for gift or swap.  'Sokay.  Need a little quiet like that for a moment before I turn my full attention to the next one.  'Cause it's a doozy.

I'm not even going to call it by name.  You can read the label.  What if I fall head over heels in love?  What if that one encounter, an evening with me, some friends, and the lovely smell behind the ear of one of my lovely companions, ends up being my downfall?  I never expected to even get this far.  But here it is.  My own bottle.  You can see by the picture that it is a "partial bottle," which is to say that the bottle is fully intact but the contents are not at full volume.  I could see that in the listing pic, too.  What I could not see in the listing is that the bottle IS STILL SEALED.

Still sealed.  That brings an extra layer of "oooh, special" to the equation.  Could be nearly perfect, the juice inside.  Or, the fact that so much evaporated off might show just how faulty the seal is.  Maybe it smells like Froot Loops.  Or a litter box.  Or my nail polish.  Or...nothing.  This still being sealed business means only one thing for sure.  I'm going to stare at and gently handle that little bottle for weeks before I attempt to open it.

Back to finding the joy in the waiting.

And so I shall.  Me, with a new Steady Eddie, and blast from the past, a novelty to explore, a gift to share, and a passionate obsession.

Kinda cool.