Dans Tes Bras

I've been sniffing this one on occasion for, oh, say, a year and a half.

The two times previous to this one, I was all "hunh, it's another kind of somewhat powdery violet, really."  Which was a relief of a synthesis, because for a year I'd been waiting to smell these nearly rank mushrooms, thanks to the early word.  And, truth be told, when I finally had my "it's this simple" little epiphany, I also found the mushroom.  It was the effect of violet + something that comes out as it goes into stage 2.  Still figuring that one out, but for me at least, the mushroom "aha!" was all about the collective effect of the notes together, not a spot where one can dig and find a mushroom.

Yesterday, something new happened.  I'm going to try it again, to see if it happens again.  But all at once, I saw/sniffed the following:

Take one

and go bury it in some moderately rich soil.

Watch these sprout from the planting spot

but don't huff quite yet.  Wait until fall, when the roots have become established, and the plant is now fully established.

Now yank it out entire from the ground, and shake off most, but not all, of the dirt.  Sniff, but from the root end, not at the flowers.

Voila!  Dans tes Bras, my nose, early October 2010.

I had the best time with it ever.  There was promise in the not-quite-that-simple powdery violet opening, which revealed the reward of earthy foliage twiggy-ness, all cushioned in comfort softness.  

I want to go back.  I want.  I want even though the third act is, well, a bit of a drop off.  I'm going to drain my small portion, but right now, even as I remain uncertain of the finale, I'm ready to skip the larger decant stage and go straight to full bottle.

Which is partly intellectual--I like supporting Malle's project (as if my occasional relatively paltry investments count as "support"), but mostly emotional/pleasure based.  I want to go there, into that spot of mostly composted dirt where someone unearthed this strange new plant, wrapped in a cashmere blanket and ready to tuck in for a while.

When I wake up, I'll put the plant back in the ground, so I can come back for more next season.

Please take a moment to enter a theory on Ondee On Ice, if you are inclined and have not done so already.  You can play "Clue" style, if you like...either suspect, or accuse....


images:
Blue Violet taken by Scott Schwenk, viewable at the Hubbard Brook Project
L'Heure Bleue bottle from Octavian's 1000 Fragrances blog, in a post titled "L'Heure Bleue, Fol Arome, Pois de Senteur" 

DSH Celadon: L'Heure Verte

Last summer, a very generous friend in perfume surprised me with a beautiful little bottle. I had no idea what was inside...and as curious as I was about the contents, I was enchanted by the potion's presentation. No clues... Beaux Arts, said the label... its appearance reminded me quite a bit of a couple of vintage Coty minis I have (L'Aimant and L'Origan). I became distracted just by the bottle. What a beautiful little something, my eyes said.

My nose did not yet know.

I dabbed some on, and was immediately happy. Neither clean nor green, but not far from either, it started off bright and cheerful but not in a high voice. Not long after, it moved on into other territory. Other territory meaning at first it introduced a bit more depth, then left the light for the opaque depths, molting the brightness nearly entirely. It became...powdery, a bit, but that's not quite right. Denser. Hints of richness, but easily breathed through. I'm thinking of a fog that isn't oppressive.

When I tried it again today, it was those things, with a big "a-ha!" as the drydown proceeded. It is the feeling of L'Heure Bleue (and some of its descendents), if blue was green. There's a certain palpable element to the space the scent inhabits. You can kind of taste it, kind of feel it...whereas in Bleu, that piece is violet-ish perhaps melancholy perhaps the trailing denouement of a happy story arc, here in Celadon the miasma breathes in green with cheer dominating the pondering.

Both are scents that make me daydream, and continually (if often absentmindedly) return to my wrist for a gentle huff, which keeps the creative thought zone gently humming. Celadon has a bit more lift, L'Heure Bleue a bit more transport. I'm happy to ride with either...both are a bit of a magic carpet for me.

Celadon is from Dawn Spencer Hurwitz' Beaux Arts "aroma color" collection. See her website here.

Apres L'Ondee

I took it out as part of my arms open wide embrace of spring two weeks ago.

I need to try again.  Some other time.  The whole day, I kept thinking:  who's trying to be L'Heure Bleue???  It just doesn't seem to be a fair assessment of Al'O, which has such a loyal following.

At least I won't be tempted to throw dollars at it any time soon.  (Unless I am seduced by an extrait in a vintage bottle...no...NO...I don't even have the $$ for a decant....)

Strange Huffing Effects: L'Heure Bleue

Do you have any L'Heure Bleu around? Even an eetsy bit? Will join me in an experiment?

I could swear that repetitive huffs--well, stronger than a wee sniff, not quite as dramatic as a full huff, but certainly each in a row without drawing back--result in instant morphing when it's L'Heure Bleu that's beneath your sniffer.

It starts with that powdery, vaguely Playdough scent that has been so frequently described. But right away, on the second huff, flowers start coming out. Sniff three, it's all floral, and sniff four, the flowers have gone sweet. So then, if you leave and come back quickly, it's flavored Playdough--flavored with floral infusion. If you wait, you need to go back to "Go" and start over.

Maybe it's just today. Maybe it's just the edp. (The nice sales rep gave me a sample decant of Eau de Parfum to try, since they did not have parfum. They did have Nahema, Vol du Nuit, and Samsara in parfum however.) I've been circling around this classic for almost nine months now, but this is the first time I've found this effect. I must admit, however, that I've become more liberal in both my spraying and my huffing, especially on return visits.

Let me know. If you try to call, let it ring a few times before giving up...I'm gonna have my nose stuck to my wrist a lot, and it might take me a moment to get away.