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

Oh, for a Joy Ride: Dior La Collection, Round Two

Okay, so I took each of the seven around the block.  I was highly attentive.  I didn't backseat drive, just waited to see where they would take me.  The quick look says that I am probably going to use the Leather Oud, maybe the Mitzah, I'll gift the Granville, I'll pack the Cologne, I'll probably toss the Vetiver in my purse and figure out what to do with it later; it's a fine "oops, I thought I didn't want scent but I kinda think maybe now I changed my mind at least I feel a little incomplete" something.  But the other two... I'll stare at the New Look and Milly-La-Floret in the same way a toddler does when their dad swoops in and eats some of their mac and cheese without asking first.

Now why did you do THAT?

They are nice.  There's nothing WRONG with them.   They are very polite.  Nothing wrong with that, but adventurers need not park here; move over to the Cartier Heures...folks in search of sillage and/or volume are going to want to move along, too; nothing to see here.  Again, nothing wrong with that.  Remember, I'm the person who went full bottle on L'Eau d'Hiver.  Who finds that just one spritz will often do for both wrists.  (I mean ONE, on one side, rubbed together with the other.)  I have no problem with speak softly but carry a big stick.

There's just not that much to the stick.

Again, can't complain about the contents.  The ingredients seemed good enough.  But the construction, while inoffensive, is...uninspired.  Which is perfectly fine if you are looking for a serviceable something, and don't know where you like your flourishes, or simply don't feel like having any.  Wardrobe-wise, it's the basic white shirt without the touch of a special cut at the collar, or french cuffs, or a fitted bodice, or whatever it is that turns "white shirt" into "my white shirt" or "the white shirt that's right for this occasion." Nothing wrong.  Just...serviceable.  Even pleasant.  Worth sniffing, if you're in the neighborhood.

Here's the thing with a wardrobe, clothing or perfume:  It's good to have a sense of what are the operational aspects:  pants/shirts/dress/sweater/belt or amber/soliflore/mixed floral/incense, with amendments as befits your climate.  But the interesting thing about a wardrobe to me is the one that takes shape over time, and/or expresses particular tastes and quirks of its owner.  And knows enough to select cuts and fabrics that suit the owner best.  When you are young, you gather up pieces as quickly as possible for the sake of at least having them.  But as you spend more time in the world, getting to know it and yourself and yourself in it, you start to figure out that you're about a french cuff, that a shell neckline is never going to be your friend, that the antique silver bracelet you picked up is kind of a signature piece for you.

Style and substance with personality are hard to buy in one fell swoop.

Nonetheless, here we are, presented with a chance to walk away with a starter kit.  So, what of this collection?  Here, in Round Two, we information gather.  In the form of a first wearing and reactions.  I've shared my general note taking process before here; this time, the difference was that instead of going about my other business being at the ready to jot down cryptic notes and keywords or phrases, I stayed at the keyboard (doing other "desk work") and tried to keep track whenever and whatever I reacted.  (Not difficult; the moves were fast or non-present, as you shall see.)  I don't like to do quartets when I'm more attentive; more than two, and it's hard for a non-trained nose to keep track.

Oh, and I should note that a) I did not get any of the three which were previously released (Ambre Nuit, Eau Noire, and Bois d'Argent), and that b) all were tested from roller ball bottles.  I do wonder if spritzing might affect a some of these (Mitzah, New Look, and Granville especially).

Onward.  Dior La Collection, Round One.

ººººº

FIRST UP:  Leather Oud, Granville

Leather Oud

Right out of the gate, yes, leather, yes, oud; but dilutions of each.  Honest dilutions, straight up leather, honest whiff of oud.  But not overwhelming of either.  Getting the feeling that this would be perfect for anyone on the fence about either.  Someone like me, say, who has to save Bandit for the right day, or who knows she favors the mitigated leather of a peau de espagne, or who is intrigued by oud but knows to approach with caution, because sometimes the band-aid medicinal aspect slaps her straight to migraine land, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Son of a gun, as it dries down, other elements come in.  Whereas in a peau de espagne, the blending occurs from the top, here it starts as you enter the second act.  There’s a tart citrusy something threaded throughout this part; kind of like that all-natural lemon tonic mixer thing I got to try with my cocktails.  (Stirrings Bitter Lemon, to be exact.)  I’ll bet that makes sense, instead of florals (a la espagne), as a way to bridge the initial double hit of leather and oud.  In fact, it makes so much sense it is distracting me from figuring out what else is there.  Something else is there.  I’ll get a finger on it.  Maybe.

In a conversation with a perfume friend, I described this one as "perfect for somebody who thinks they might like leather, or oud, and/or is shy about them...the volume is at 4...an "easy listening leather and/or oud."

Granville

Out of the bottle, first hit is pretty much what I had thought it might be: the Dior answer to Bel Respiro.  Green.  Galbanum-ish.  Which means I like, but have nothing much more to say.  I pay more attention to the Leather Oud.

Which is a shame, because when I come back, I discover it has done it’s first (we’ll see if last) change, and now is sweet and uplifting.  There might be an excuse to have at least a decant of this, even though I have Bel Respiro.  Truth be told, BR does sometimes veer sweet on me.  When it does, it stays in a lower register.  This Granville has a higher note blended in, which makes it a little more tolerable than BR’s sweet twist.  So, if I had to pick between them when they dive sweet, I might go Granville.  

OTOH, Granville has pulled out the green station.  Maybe still the last car is in.  So Bel Respiro still preferred, though Granville is nice.

And then I never thought about Granville again.  Until now.  Let's see...nope.  Nothing else to say at the moment.

***

Apparently, no third act for either.  Leather Oud continues to play with the lemon bitters soda, Granville just fades into the sunset.

***

SECOND UP:  Vetiver, Milly-la-Foret

Vetiver

Immediately cementing my sense that this collection is going to be “serious notes for the timorous/beginner/delicate nose.”  Sure, that’s vetiver, nearly straight up.  Again, like the Leather Oud, honest.  But somehow, they turned down the volume.  It’s not diluting it so much as...through a layer of glass?  Filters and screens would suggest an alteration; this is more...well...like a lighweight jersey knit is to a thick sports weave in cotton.  Same material, just...less present.

Again, an easy-listening scent.  Remember how I had to back door my way into vetiver, because straight up it was too difficult?  This might have been a way to enter the front door, gently.

Milly-la-Foret 

Oddly, I’m scared of florals.  They can be too pretty, or too screaming, or too indolic, or too much like something I’d much rather smell fresh in a vase, or too cloying, or just not interesting.  Maybe it was me Mme Chanel had in mind when she said “a woman does not want to smell like a flower.”  On the other hand, I’m no girly girl, and it didn’t even occur to me until I looked up the perfume notes for this set of test runs that offerings in this collection were gendered.  Hence, Leather Oud and Vetiver are “masculines.”  They could be my two favorites so far.  So take this with the appropriate grain of grey sea salt.

It’s a “pretty” floral, but again...not too much.  I see people on Fragrantica mentioning “green”--heck, no, not on me.  Pink, baby, with other colors too.  A thoroughly saturated pink, joined by green and a hint of purple and maybe a touch of blue, again, with the volume turned down to, oh, 3.  The best part about it is when you discover its non projecting non-changing meek self still plugging along two hours later...but can best make that discovery 2” away from your skin, not when in full nuzzle.  Interesting.  A whisper that projects.  As far as it is capable, I suppose.

Okay, this one and New Look 1947 I most questioned my reactions to.  So I reapplied before writing this.  Which turned out to be a little cruel/unfair, what with the discovery that a bit of last night vintage Diorella edc lingered on my wrist.  Sigh.  Anyway, I reapplied, and thought, "hey, there should be a "perf-logne" category...something is lifting this a LOT, something citrusy...and then very quickly, something curled my nose a bit.  Something that read vaguely chemically, something out of (as in beyond) perfume...ergh.  Mister Bubble?  Second time did not help.  Dislike button, please.

***

No second act for either, let alone a third.  Very linear.

However, I’ve had difficulty finding love for vetiver--an ongoing process I first discussed here but which has not come to any conclusions.  I’d easily point to a bottle of the Dior Vetiver, however, when asked the question “is there such a thing as an easy vetiver?”  I had to trick myself with smoke and mirrors, back-dooring it to vetiver via blends that allowed me to follow another note in.  This one, I think, allows one to step inside without adding a spoonful of sugar or starting off cloaked or some such ruse.

THIRD UP: Mitzah, New Look 1947

Mitzah

Immediately upon applying, an “mmm” and a search to find the blank in “this reminds me of _______.”  Glad I take pauses before adding on the next scents when doing multiple patch tests, because this one immediately begins to morph, sending out some cedar, then something sweet; I can almost smell movement.  Decide to adjust that phrase to “I can smell movement; time is being marked in my nose.”  Decide I might be a bit delusional, figure it’s fair to note I’m only halfway done with my first tea of the morning.

Less than seven minutes in, I smell the opening again, only now am more attuned to the wood. Whether because it is more present or I am more primed, I don’t know.  I am thinking hey, this is the one that is going to make me not generalize this set.  Then it strikes me, hey, this IS also a perfume for beginners.  Because those who don’t have the patience and/or experience to wait through a full length could see it in a short subject here.  Mental note:  Now have two perfumes to throw the idea of “drydown” in high relief:  Poivre Piquant (for the wow, what a shift!) and Mitzah (for the hey, look at that change!).

Again, there’s nothing loud about this one at all, projection, volume, or manner.  Suppose that would be another consistency throughout.

Stop thinking, and clear brain for New Look, the one that is already getting happy press.

{{see New Look notes for comments during this phase}}

Two hours later, and the Mitzah has is a warmed up wood, lightly sweet, and hands down the one I’m likely to try to get more of.  Skinwoodhoneyed.  No, swap Sugar in the Raw for honey.  No...I dunno...something lightly dosed, hint o’ sweet...

4+ hours later, still there to huff.  The first one to work this way...or at least work this way dabbed.

Oh, Mitzah, after ruminating, I realized why I had liked you.  Other than the welcome distraction from New Look 1947.  You are the easy listening version of a classic Pierre Guillame trick; push the sweet accord against a contrast, somehow make it work as a composition and not a train wreck.  Except I reapplied you, too, without that gaggle of girls on the other side.  And you know what?  You're riding a line.  You're working a nerve with this sweet thing, right out of the gate.  Where is that which I thought was woody?  Patchsense?  C'mon.  Shoot.  Okay, maybe I'll use you with a comfortable but worn sweater on a cold day.  Let's see.

NEW LOOK 1947

Most of these I came into blind, but New Look was already generating buzz in an online social group for perfume freaksfans.  What am I trying to ignore?  Two things.  “Beautiful” (could set up too high expectations), and “doesn’t last long” (hey, that would too easily fit in the overall “not loud/easy” profiling I’m trying not to do...until I’m done).  I stare at the vial, and wait another couple of minutes.  There’s always plenty to distract me online.

And I catch a whiff of Mitzah, and the woods are definitely taking over, and I need to note that.  Here, or back up with Mitz?  OOOOOoooh, Mitsouko would be peeved to see that.  Poor Mitzah, barred from a nickname.

Finally apply New Look.  Oooooooh, pretty.  Wait, blast; I really liked right at the opening, when it had a nearly sharp note that carried through in a nicely green way.  But within a minute, purply pink, that effect again!, like in Kiss Me Tender or Vamp a NY.  Do you remember that semi-hard candy, sweeter than Smarties, that came on elastic strings that you could wear on your neck or wrist?  And if you ate some, your skin would get dyed from the various colors each disk had been made, because your saliva just could not be contained singly to each target victim ?  I do.  Right in that moment, especially.  Okay, now they’re starting to come together, those two effects...hey, what’s up this morning?  Is my nose operating in slo-mo?  Or are these two really doing some sort of fast paced morphing in front of my very eyes, erm, nostrils?

Regardless, I see why pretty fans were excited.  It is.  But I’m happy to have the Mitzah on the other wrist so I can go back and cut? leaven? the Sex and the City girlfest that’s going on where New Look lays.

(Note to self: be sure to leave that phrase in there.  SATC + “lays” = funny, if they see it.)

One hour later...sometime during my absence from this note page things went pretty “neener neener” with New Look.  Take some screaming girls, yammering and all excited about Bieber and trying to calm down because there are some older “women” (in their twenties) around who are obviously cool but the intensity of energy doesn’t change much, and put them on the other side of a large, well appointed but comfortable room.  When they are closer and all out screaming, we have a screechy floral.  Here, we have floral alert! floral alert! nice enough, but too much...don’t get any closer!  I just don’t do this sort of thing well.  

Thank you, Mitzah, for being there.

Two hours later...there, I did it.  I sniffed again.  I won’t ever have to again if I don’t want to.  I suspect that the plaintive wail I heard about a fan (whose thoughts I like to hear and pay attention to) was predicated on the pretty part.  I am not finding this fleeting, alas...but it is the final iteration which won’t go away.  Points to NL for evolving.  But into...one of those chicks who makes it partway through The Bachelor and then has a bad attitude?

(OMG.  I may admit I’ve seen an episode of The Bachelor.  It’s like a horrible crash.  I can’t turn away.  I start yelling at the screen.  REALLY?  You’re heart is broken because ONE DUDE IS GROUP DATING TWENTY GIRLS AND YOU BELIEVED YOURSELF TO “BE IN LOVE” BUT STRANGELY FEELINGS WERE NOT RECIPROCATED EVEN THOUGH YOU HAD HOT CANOODLING IN A BATHTUB?????@@@!!!!!  Oh, America.  I don’t watch, because I choose to believe in you.)

4+ hours later...and it’s still there to be snorfled.  Should I wish to do so.  Neener neener  is pretty well gone, but it’s not either happily or insufferably pretty, either.  

With fear and trepidation, I also reapplied this one.  Just now.  (Hey, I was askeered.) Was pleasantly surprised the Neener Neener effect didn't hit me right off. I get what girly-girl friendly folk might like in this one. Can you believe I've never smelled YSL Paris? But New Look 1947 smells magenta and hot pink and a bit of purple all at once; makes me think of that Paris box.  And sweet young things with blonde curls, figuring out how to use their lipstick.  And now it occurs to me this is on the back of my hand, not my wrist.  Factor?  Ruh-roh.  Neener in the distance.  Stopping for now.

LAST UP:  COLOGNE ROYALE

Right out of the bottle:  Nice.  Bright.  More Eau Imperiale than Chanel.  Which means this little decant immediately gets put on the watch list--could be a perfect one to pack for travel, do double duty as way to scent oneself and to soothe a headache/get a perk up.

Yeah, that's about it.

ººººº

Have you tried any?  I've a 'fume friend who was smitten by New Look 1947, complaining only that it didn't last long on her and had minimal sillage.   (I'm tempted to chalk that up to the "easy listening" aspect of the collection, but that's opportunistic.)  Leather Oud has generated a mixed bag, with a couple people saying it was 'nice but toned down' (paraphrasing there), but others ho-hum.  Hmmm.

Sampling Rituals

How do you do it?

This summer, I had developed a rather pleasant morning routine. Cup of tea, check the e-mail, pick the samples of the day. Apply samples, check blogs while experiencing the top notes. Fire up the Wii-Fit, perform balance/strength/cardio/yoga as appropriate. Check in on the dry-downs--frequently while in the midst of Wii-Fitting. By that time, others are up, breakfast is underway, and by the time shower time arrives, decisions can be made about first impressions.

The ever interesting and informative Nathan Branch recently explained why he tends to review a quad at a time; in a sort of humorous karmic moment, he makes jest of the very practice I found myself in: combining yoga and sampling. A practice which, I must say, allowed for sampling not just quartets, but sextets of scent. Yes, it's goofy, I know. And can tend to be a "splat it all on the wall and see what sticks" approach. But I had found myself with a LOT of samples, and knew that the easy days of summer were going to come to an end...

But that's not the only way I've done it.

Before that, I had been limiting myself to one fragrance at a time, fully committing myself to whatever the single choice was. And allowing it the whole day, just in case it was one of those rare beasts that introduced a whole new character more than two hours into it, or which magically reappeared after seeming to disappear. A much more intimate and relaxed way of making an acquaintance. And one to which I find I am returning as the hectic fall schedule gets into full swing. It's rather nice to have a laid-back pace to at least one thing in my day.

And then, there is not doing it at all.

For one of two reasons: either I am taking a total scent break, or I am in a period of wearing only that which I know well, and can predict how it will behave on a given day. Recently, there was a week of no scent, followed by one day/one scent. I was inclined to stick with one week/one scent, but ended up a little too curious...this is, after all, my first fall as an all-out fragrance fan. The cooler weather offers so many opportunities for getting to know things a little (or a lot) differently; I guess it's just not possible for me to have a Scent of the Season.

Thus, I am currently inclined toward loyalty, but actually practicing more of a SOTD kind of practice.

You?