i've spent the past week and a half battling a really nasty allergic reaction to something, which had my eyelids and lips swollen and peeling like mad. therefore, because i've stopped using makeup and am very fussy about what perfumes i use, i have had no ability to review. it looks now like a particular wine was doing it, so i'm going to test myself out and then post more reviews soon. soon to be appearing here:
-Nasomatto Absinthe
-SL Tubereuse Criminelle
-Andy Tauer's Incense Rose
and more! wish me luck!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Saturday, March 8, 2008
twilight sleep - Serge Lutens' Sarrasins
while i know that the word 'sarrasins' is supposed to mean Saracen, or the old word for Muslim, i cannot help but be entertained that it also is the word for buckwheat. i have a pillow i use, filled with buckwheat hulls, which always smells slightly like the fur of a cat. therein lies an essential component of the fragrance - the almost-narcotic scent of the flower combined with an animal, prowling smell.
the differences between Sarrasins and the more decadent, syrupy A La Nuit are legion. they are both jasmine-based smells, but where A La Nuit is reminiscent of French courtiers and Debussy, Sarrasins is like falling asleep outside, alone and unprotected in a wild country, surrounded by nightblooming flowers and the sounds and smells of nocturnal animals. you can lie with your face up to the purple dusk, counting the trilling stars as they come out, and breathe in the dreaminess. the animalic and spice notes can be jarring if you're not ready for it; however, the ultimate sensual nature of the scent cannot be denied. unlike Muscs Koublai Khan, there's no dung or barn in the animal undertones, only a slightly predatory sense. the jasmine is so heavy-lidded it could make kohl redundant... and after an hour or so, there's the machinery note that i know so well from the communal bouquet of New York's dry rieslings. i find it truly fascinating that on my skin, it has the faintest tinge of the metallic scent of blood. this doesn't come out when it blooms on a blotter - it only occurs on my own skin.
while i cannot claim to know the perfumer's mind, i can't get away from the sense that this is a formula that is meant to combine the positives of a great number of his scents. darkening A La Nuit, lightening Muscs Koublai Khan, expanding Cuir Mauresque... i can see all of it in this scent. then, by naming it Sarrasins, it's almost as if it is intended to de-alienate a culture that is largely demonized in my own American mindspace, and illuminate it into the being that Rumi saw. i admit to a bit of disappointment at Lutens' continued fetishization of the Arabic, but this is not the fault of the scent - this scent could live nearly anywhere, not just the Middle East.
the differences between Sarrasins and the more decadent, syrupy A La Nuit are legion. they are both jasmine-based smells, but where A La Nuit is reminiscent of French courtiers and Debussy, Sarrasins is like falling asleep outside, alone and unprotected in a wild country, surrounded by nightblooming flowers and the sounds and smells of nocturnal animals. you can lie with your face up to the purple dusk, counting the trilling stars as they come out, and breathe in the dreaminess. the animalic and spice notes can be jarring if you're not ready for it; however, the ultimate sensual nature of the scent cannot be denied. unlike Muscs Koublai Khan, there's no dung or barn in the animal undertones, only a slightly predatory sense. the jasmine is so heavy-lidded it could make kohl redundant... and after an hour or so, there's the machinery note that i know so well from the communal bouquet of New York's dry rieslings. i find it truly fascinating that on my skin, it has the faintest tinge of the metallic scent of blood. this doesn't come out when it blooms on a blotter - it only occurs on my own skin.
while i cannot claim to know the perfumer's mind, i can't get away from the sense that this is a formula that is meant to combine the positives of a great number of his scents. darkening A La Nuit, lightening Muscs Koublai Khan, expanding Cuir Mauresque... i can see all of it in this scent. then, by naming it Sarrasins, it's almost as if it is intended to de-alienate a culture that is largely demonized in my own American mindspace, and illuminate it into the being that Rumi saw. i admit to a bit of disappointment at Lutens' continued fetishization of the Arabic, but this is not the fault of the scent - this scent could live nearly anywhere, not just the Middle East.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
memories of Oma - Annick Goutal Encens Flamboyant
anyone who knows me knows i'm a nutmeg fan. i dump quantities of it in certain recipes, and occasionally i'll let myself go to a Starbucks and will have an iced chai with at least a tablespoon of nutmeg dumped in. since the oil is so volatile, i'm wary of putting it in my own products, and i've not yet found an accord i particularly like. i am also a huge fan of frankincense scents, and have made several of my own with frankincenses from various countries. so when i saw those notes, along with cardamom and pepper, listed in Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant, i had to try it.
oops.
now, i've noted before that cedar comes out strongly on my skin. considering that cedar is an evergreen, i would be glad to say that it was some reaction to the fir balsam in the perfume that i was smelling. however, when someone else comes into the room and asks, "have you been sharpening pencils in here?" you have to know something is wrong.
sadly, i get absolutely no cardamom, no nutmeg, no pepper. i get the faintest sense of frankincense behind the cedar, and a layer of rosey, grandmotherly perfume behind it. after the initial blast, i noticed the distinct smell of bergamot twining among the roses, as well as some rosemary and, oddly enough, violet twinges. it smells like something my great-grandmother (Oma in german) wore, combined with the smell of her sweaters which were kept in her cedar chest. there's something vaguely nostalgic about that, but when you're still trying to bring the sexy on, the last thing you ever want to smell of is your great-grandmother.
i've now tried it three times, and i'm sad to say that the promise of the notes does not live on in my skin. i also cannot smell any of the hoped notes out of the bottle. it is possible that my bottle has turned, and i honestly hope it has. i'm setting a plan for myself to go test this from another bottle and see if i get the same result.
oops.
now, i've noted before that cedar comes out strongly on my skin. considering that cedar is an evergreen, i would be glad to say that it was some reaction to the fir balsam in the perfume that i was smelling. however, when someone else comes into the room and asks, "have you been sharpening pencils in here?" you have to know something is wrong.
sadly, i get absolutely no cardamom, no nutmeg, no pepper. i get the faintest sense of frankincense behind the cedar, and a layer of rosey, grandmotherly perfume behind it. after the initial blast, i noticed the distinct smell of bergamot twining among the roses, as well as some rosemary and, oddly enough, violet twinges. it smells like something my great-grandmother (Oma in german) wore, combined with the smell of her sweaters which were kept in her cedar chest. there's something vaguely nostalgic about that, but when you're still trying to bring the sexy on, the last thing you ever want to smell of is your great-grandmother.
i've now tried it three times, and i'm sad to say that the promise of the notes does not live on in my skin. i also cannot smell any of the hoped notes out of the bottle. it is possible that my bottle has turned, and i honestly hope it has. i'm setting a plan for myself to go test this from another bottle and see if i get the same result.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
where passion and meditation meet - Tauer's Incense Extreme
my apologies - i know it's been a long time! a full two months have passed and i've experimented with many a scent, and i've been thrilled with so many. however, i think it's uniquely appropriate to saunter back into my perfume blogging with a review of one of Andy Tauer's most recent creations, Incense Extreme. (circumflex accent left away due to the RSS feed.)
you'll see on his site that Mr. Tauer set out to create a minimalist interpretation of incense, yet the fragrance itself is called "extreme." this type of poetic conflict abounds in this scent, where the frankincense itself is both dry and rich, the amber is dusty yet soothing, the coriander is not even remotely foody, and the iris leaves its powder scattered in the dust of cedar's footprints. the fragrance is definitely meditative in nature, but it has a distinct "warrior monk" cast to it. this is the fragrance of the three wise men, following naught but a star through the cold winter desert. this is the fragrance of a visionary on a mountain, seeing her gods in the smoke before bringing power back to her people. in this fragrance, the orientalist* in me knows herself both dreamed of and loved. it combines the serenity of wisdom and calm as well as the ferocity of purpose and drive, and does it without any olfactory histrionics. (that said, i can't claim my own prose doesn't contain some poetic histrionics. ;> )
on my skin, there is very little drydown to this scent. it remains steady through 7-8 hours. my physical chemistry amplifies cedar, so on my skin Incense Extreme smells like a composition of equal parts cedar and frankincense, with far smaller amounts of amber, coriander and iris. this turns out to be a rather enchanting blend. it makes the natural austerity of the composition more magical; it evokes images of a treasured carved box of resin carried miles over the dunes.
i've quite loved other compositions that Mr. Tauer has created, but this one is special. it is reminiscent of other things he's done while still having a very independent spirit of its own. for this perfume, nothing but smiles from this perfumista!
*orientalist meaning perfume genres, not outdated cultural or ethnic concepts.
you'll see on his site that Mr. Tauer set out to create a minimalist interpretation of incense, yet the fragrance itself is called "extreme." this type of poetic conflict abounds in this scent, where the frankincense itself is both dry and rich, the amber is dusty yet soothing, the coriander is not even remotely foody, and the iris leaves its powder scattered in the dust of cedar's footprints. the fragrance is definitely meditative in nature, but it has a distinct "warrior monk" cast to it. this is the fragrance of the three wise men, following naught but a star through the cold winter desert. this is the fragrance of a visionary on a mountain, seeing her gods in the smoke before bringing power back to her people. in this fragrance, the orientalist* in me knows herself both dreamed of and loved. it combines the serenity of wisdom and calm as well as the ferocity of purpose and drive, and does it without any olfactory histrionics. (that said, i can't claim my own prose doesn't contain some poetic histrionics. ;> )
on my skin, there is very little drydown to this scent. it remains steady through 7-8 hours. my physical chemistry amplifies cedar, so on my skin Incense Extreme smells like a composition of equal parts cedar and frankincense, with far smaller amounts of amber, coriander and iris. this turns out to be a rather enchanting blend. it makes the natural austerity of the composition more magical; it evokes images of a treasured carved box of resin carried miles over the dunes.
i've quite loved other compositions that Mr. Tauer has created, but this one is special. it is reminiscent of other things he's done while still having a very independent spirit of its own. for this perfume, nothing but smiles from this perfumista!
*orientalist meaning perfume genres, not outdated cultural or ethnic concepts.
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