Estée Lauder White Linen

Consider, if you will, the following scenario.

You have a good friend you’ve known for many years. You have much in common with this friend, from life experiences to tastes in music, books, or movies. You share similar values, you see the world through a similar lens.

There’s just this one thing.

Your dear friend has this other friend, with whom she has also been friends for many years. She loves her other friend in the same way that she loves you. She thinks this other friend is so funny, so intelligent. She thinks this other friend is a great dresser. She believes this friend gives honest and sound advice when it’s warranted, support when it’s necessary.

You, on the other hand, cannot stand the friend of your friend. You think she’s boorish and a bore. You think what others refer to as her "eclectic style" is really just a symbol of the chaos of her personality. She's flaky and unreliable. And what’s more—she doesn’t like you either. She rolls her eyes when you make a joke. If you say you like a book or movie, she loudly contradicts you and lists all the reasons why no one should ever read that book or see that movie.

Because you love your mutual friend, you put up with this person, but you go out of your way to avoid her. When you see her at parties you do everything you can to be civil. Sometimes, you even convince yourself that maybe, eventually, something will click between the two of you, and you’ll become bosom buddies. After all, people like you, and those same people like her…why shouldn’t you like each other?

This scenario pretty much sums up my long, tumultuous history with White Linen. My love for Lauder products, both beauty and fragrance, goes back a long way. For about ten years through the late Eighties and into the Nineties, White Linen crashed every gift with purchase party I had. I tried it dutifully for years, until I finally got to where I’d break open the obligatory GWP makeup bag and toss the little white-capped bottle into the trash. Yes, that’s right—the trash.

The notes in White Linen are as follows:
Top: Bulgarian rose, jasmine, muguet
Heart: violet, orris
Base: vetiver, moss

Now, how lovely does that sound? And it’s Estée Lauder. How bad could it be? Well. On my skin, White Linen becomes what I call “screaming green.” It shouts at me all day long, “I am green, do you HEAR me? I’m green and FAB-U-LOUS! [three snaps] Do you think I’m going to let a couple of flowers crash my party? Oh no! They can prop themselves up against a wall, sister, because green is IN DA HOUSE!” There’s no sweetness to the rose, no depth to the jasmine, no delicacy from the muguet. I wait. I think maybe, maybe I’ll get a little candy off the violet, but no. This is close to the same crisp violet that makes CB I Hate Perfume Wild Pansy so amazing, except in this case it has fallen in with a bad crowd. Do I need to even discuss the vetiver? It’s GREEN baby! GREEN!

A note on Estée Lauder’s site proclaims that readers of Allure voted this the best classic fragrance for 2007. White Linen makes all sorts of top ten lists. Everybody loves White Linen, and I have tried. I have given it my all. I trust those of you the way I would trust my good friend. If you say it’s fabulous, I’ll take your word for it. That’s the best I can do.

*image from esteelauder.com

The Language of Perfume

I continue to ponder this thing, writing about perfume, so I thought I would share with you something I read that really got me thinking. Helg over at The Perfume Shrine was lucky enough to interview Chandler Burr (Part One and Part Two), and he was kind enough to respond to comments readers left regarding his interview. Simply, one commenter noted the difficulty of writing about perfumes without using words like "aldehydic." Mr. Burr responds (in part):

"Brands hate aldehydic only because people don’t know what it means; if the public was familiar with it, there’d be no problem, and they’re going to have to be, sooner or later. Perfume should be taught in classes just like painting and literature. As Luca points out, what’s lacking is simply the vocabulary."

Now, as many of you know, Chandler Burr is the perfume critic for The New York Times, as well of the author of two books about perfume, The Emporer of Scent about the master Luca Turin, and The Perfect Scent about the creation of two scents, Sarah Jessica Parker's Lovely and Hermes's Un Jardin Sur Le Nil. And, as many of you know, I am...uh, me, amateur perfume fan and author of this blog. Clearly, if we met in a dark alley for a perfume-off, Chandler Burr would win.

And still, I'm going to do this. I'm going to disagree. Yes. I. Dare. And now I shall explain why.

*Cue sound of soapbox being dragged across the floor.*

Ahem. On the one hand, I agree completely that perfumery is an art and should be treated as such. How wonderful it would be to take classes in the history of perfume, or to take classes to learn how to compose a scent the way one takes a class to learn to compose music. Where I part ways with Mr. Burr--or really, I guess, with Mr. Turin (oh yes)--is in the area of vocabulary.

Perfume is about experience, not about language. Consider this line: "If the public was familiar with [aldehydes], there'd be no problem..." Okay. Aldehydes are specific types of organic compounds. Now you know what they are. According to Wikipedia, they contain a terminal carbonyl group. Oh, even better! But you have a definition now. You have a vocabulary.

Now talk to me about perfume. You can't.

But if I told you, "Chanel No. 5 is aldehydic," and you smelled Chanel No. 5, you might say "Ah!" And then if I let you smell Clinique Wrappings, you might have an even better understanding of aldehydic. The more you experience it, the more you understand it--not the more you talk about it. The problem is, of course, that to be able to talk about it, you have to say "aldehydic." You can't say, "a sort of metallic herbal or green quality." Or can you? Which has more meaning? I would argue for the "metallic green quality," but I realize that one cannot classify perfumes in such a manner. In this case, aldehydic enables us to classify, and we can say definitively, "Aldehydic perfumes contain aldehydes." That one is pretty clear cut.

Now take the term chypre, common to the perfume vernacular. A chypre is a perfume with citrus top notes and woody base notes. I've defined it for you, right? I could also say to you, "A chypre includes bergamot, oakmoss, and patchouli in its composition." The problem there, of course, is that lots of perfumes contain these notes, and they are not chypres.

All chypres are not created equal. Guerlain Mitsuoko, a chypre, is nothing like Chanel Chance, which is also a chypre. Of the accords that make up a chypre (remember, we have the definition), Mitsuoko has two, bergamot and oakmoss, and Chance has only one, patchouli. Mitsuoko is a fruity chypre, while Chance is a floral chypre. Each of these have little in common with Chypre de Coty, for which this family of perfumes is named. There are also green chypres, aromatic chypres, and leather chypres.

You know what a chypre is now, right? I've explained it to you, and you now have the language--the vocabulary--to describe it yourself.

Now, if I spray some perfume on your wrist, can you tell me definitively whether or not it's a chypre? My guess is no. My guess is, maybe if you've smelled hundreds, even thousands of perfumes, you could pick out what might be classified as a chypre. But that is experiential. If you read the notes, too, and saw that it had the possible composition of a chypre, you might pin it down. But unless chypre means following a specific formula--x amount of bergamot, y amount of oakmoss, and z amount of patchouli--every time, for every composition to which other ingredients are added, no one can say definitively what is and is not a chypre. In other words, there really is no meta-chypre, no ur chypre.

Which means, ultimately, that the term chypre has no meaning unless we somehow make it have meaning. We, the masses, don't get to make these things have meaning. So who does? Well, perfumers do. And critics do. And, I suppose, marketers, although maybe they have to check with the perfumers first. You and I, we know a chypre is a chypre because somebody tells us it is so. I suppose once we're told, we can discuss it. The problem is, though, that if it only comes down to a matter of vocabulary, then what we're saying is that all that matters is the discourse. If we know how to talk about perfume, how to write about perfume, then we know perfume.

And I suppose that's what it comes down to for me: the difference between the discourse about perfume and the experience of it. The discourse is easier. It's akin to reading literary or film criticism without reading the book or seeing the film, and then trying to have a serious discussion about said book or film. You might be convinced you're talking about the book, but really, you're talking about someone else talking about the book. (Remember Mr. Burr's comment about how perfume should be taught like art or literature? Hang around with a couple of graduate students in literature for a few days, and see if they discuss books, or criticism of books. Literary criticism gave them a vocabulary!) It seems a lot of the time the discussion is about what we think about perfume, not about how we experience perfume. Sure, we discuss the development of notes on our skin, but that's often akin to a plot synopsis. I certainly don't have the answer about how to get outside that loop, but I don't think a vocabulary is it.

All this is a roundabout way of saying, I think people need more experience with perfume, not more language. As much as I love writing about perfume, I encourage people not to take my word for it. Go on a smelling adventure, figure out what you like, and do not worry about the fact that you can't talk about it the way you think you should be able to. The language of perfume is as artificial a construct as one can imagine. Own your nose, and say anything you like.

Estée Lauder Private Collection

Too many days, I wonder what I am doing here. While I know I can't give up my perfume habit--my perfume mania--I wonder why I don't just walk away, write my impressions in a journal, and comment on what other people, "experts," have to say. Some days I feel like perfume is not about the journey, but about the end result: the opinion. I have no desire to be a critic, only a fan. I remain stubbornly novice because I don't want to be tired, but I realize by doing so, I marginalize myself. It's very hard to line up with someone who mostly gushes, who's trying things everybody else has already tried. I feel like one of those time-traveling characters in a movie, plopped down in Times Square straight from the Nineteenth century, who wants to talk to everybody about all the lights! Can you believe the lights? Look at those over there that go from red to green to yellow and back to red again! Have you ever seen anything so spectacular?

It's exciting, but it's also lonely.

Sorry for the introspective moment. It's been one of those weeks. On to the perfume.

The story, as everyone knows it, in a nutshell: Private Collection was Estée Lauder's signature scent, kept a mystery. When people asked what she was wearing, she said it was perfume from her "private collection." In 1973, she succumbed to public demand and released the scent for sale.

The notes listed on the Estée Lauder site are as follows:
Top: honeysuckle, jasmine, citrus
Heart: orange flower, ylang-ylang, coriander
Base: sandalwood, patchouli

The notes listed on osMoz are as follows:
Top: green note, orange blossom, linden
Heart: jasmine, reseda, chrysanthemum, rose
Base: sandalwood, heliotrope, musks, amber

Notes, schmotes. Talk amongst yourselves about who's right and who's wrong. Here's how Private Collection works on me:
Top: Pulpy citrus, a little bitter, like the white insides of a grapefruit peel. It is rather refreshing and sharp, and does come off a bit green. After about fifteen minutes of this phase, which is my least favorite, it softens somewhat, even becomes a bit soapy.
Heart: I think jasmine serves less as a top note than as a bridge to the heart of the scent. All at once it seems any trace of citrus disappears, and although a peppery green note stays behind (I mistook this for vetiver until I read the notes, but now I know the coriander plays its part to perfection), the floral notes take center stage. Orange blossom comes to the fore the more the scent begins to mellow, and as it transitions to the base it sweetens and even becomes a bit powdery.
Base: Even thought it's powdery and warm, I detect no heliotrope, which to me is a "standout" note, like tuberose. One can almost never mistake it. I believe this is simply an elegant balance of sandalwood and patchouli, as the Lauder notes reveal. It does have an extra warmth, though, it seems, and I have to admit I was surprised not to see vanilla listed in the base notes.

When it comes to a perfume like Private Collection, or any of a handful of classic perfumes, my opinion matters not one whit (not that it matters a whit with any other perfume, but you get my drift). I can only tell you what legions of perfume fans already know: Any serious perfume fan should own a bottle of this. It's classically elegant, warm, timeless. What I can't fathom is why Estée Lauder has relegated it to the "All Other Perfumes" category on their site, along with several other classics. Sad. I hope that's not the last stop before the chopping block. Surely Dazzling could go instead, or a few of the Pleasures. Yes, a Pleasure for a pleasure--now there's a trade.

*image from esteelauder.com

Estée Lauder Aliage

Launched in 1972, Aliage was touted as the first "sports fragrance" for women. Now, I must admit I'm not exactly a sporty gal myself. For one thing, if I have to select a sport in which I might deign to engage, it must be a sport with an outfit, like tennis or golf, and not a uniform, like basketball or, say, roller derby. I also imagine being able to make frequent references to "the club." In this, I believe I am probably in league with Mrs. Lauder and her ilk. The upper classes have always had "sporting" women who play tennis or ride horses or sail boats around Nantucket. All of those activities involve a club. I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure this fragrance is for them.

Not that you could tell by the smell.

Okay, first off: if you read yesterday's post, then you're already familiar with my prejudice against fragrances that are overly green and citrusy. Take a gander at these notes:

Top: jasmine, citrus
Heart: nutmeg, rose, armoise
Base: oakmoss, vetiver, cedarwood

To get right down to it, Aliage smells to me like an old saddle rubbed with citrus oil. Before you get all excited about the idea of leather, let me paint a little mental scent picture for you: think about sniffing the inside of an inexpensive leather handbag. It smells rather dusty and synthetic, like it's been treated with chemicals. Now spill some cheap perfume in said purse--or maybe some lemony, grassy aftershave--and you've got Aliage.

Okay, maybe I'm being unfair, but really, this scent goes nowhere on my skin. After an intolerable green opening, it flattens out to dry woods and reedy vetiver. This offering was clearly meant to capture that part of the market that was women who enjoyed wearing men's fragrances, but I can't imagine that after trying this one women wouldn't go right back to the other side of the aisle and just buy the darned men's cologne.

Had I grown up with the horsey set, perhaps I would find this fragrance appealing, even comforting. Alas, I grew up in a family where "outdoor activities" meant "sitting on the patio at a restaurant." I can think of at least a dozen scents that are prettier and more well-suited to doing that.

*image from esteelauder.com

Estée Lauder Azurée

In 1969, much more in keeping with that year and the decade that was to follow, Estée Lauder launched Azurée, which was "inspired by the blue of the Mediterranean near her vacation home in Cap d'Antibes, off the coast of France." The notes are as follows:

Top: basil, jasmine, citrus
Heart: armoise, vetiver, rose
Base: patchouli, moss, amber

Pardon me for getting right down to business, but I have to tell you that if I were cruising around looking for something to buy based on notes, I would dismiss Azurée from the get go. Why? Well, let's start with "citrus." That's rather elusive, and doesn't bode well for me in general. It's not that I don't or won't wear fragrances with "citrus," but I must admit, I like to know what my "citrus" is made of. If it's mandarin or lime, we're probably okay. Grapefruit--we're moving into iffy territory. Lemon? Probably not going to happen. I'm just saying.

To "citrus" add "basil," and I'm doubly unsure. I know that by now I should know better than to dismiss (or love, for that matter) any scent based on its list of notes, but I must admit to certain prejudices. "Herbal citrus" usually means disaster for me. Usually. In this case, I was committed, because A) I already own the little bottle, as it came with my collection, and B) I promised myself and all of you that I would try everything and tell you what I thought.

Lucky for me, in the top notes, the jasmine softens the tang of citrus, and the basil adds sweet spice rather than a green herbal quality, rendering this scent a warm, sunny yellow. The vetiver is quite prominent, so if you're not a fan, you might want to stay away, while the rose serves to temper it just a bit. Armoise--or its alias, wormwood--I cannot say I have ever smelled, but upon research I found that it is in the absinthe family, and is also sometimes referred to as green ginger. I think it lends to the spice in the heart, and there's a slight peppery-ness to it as well. No worries, those of you who fear the licorice-like qualities of absinthe. The dry-down is cozy and rather classical as the amber shines through.

I liked Azurée much, much more than I would have expected. I'm anxious to try it in warm weather, although I wonder if it might not be a bit too much in the Georgia heat. No matter, for it's warmed me all through the cool days I've worn it, and I could see it being a go-to scent when the weather turns nasty. I have not sniffed its sister, Azurée (Soleil? According to osMoz, TF created a "new" Azurée in 2006, followed by Azurée Soleil in 2007, but they appear to have the same notes), created by Tom Ford. Reading some of the notes (Tahetian Gardenia, coconut, orange blossom, vetiver, sandalwood and myrrh), I am guessing that although it smells nothing like the classic scent, it offers the same promise of escape for its wearer, albeit an escape to different shores. I will hunt down a sample and try my hand at a comparison before it's all said and done, but in the meantime, feel free to share your thoughts on either scent.

*image from esteelauder.com

Coming Soon to a Blog Near You...

Hi Friends. Sorry for that lack of posts the last few days, but the end of the week got rather hectic. Next week I'll be starting my Reader's Journal posts again, and hopefully I'll have a review of my first short story collection for the Short Story Challenge. And of course, more perfume!

Happy Weekend, everyone!

Estée Lauder Estée

Estée was the second perfume created by Estée Lauder, in 1968. According to the little brochure that came with my collection:

Once, at a party, Estée Lauder noticed the light from two crystal chandeliers shimmering in a glass of champagne and thought how wonderful it would be to capture that image in a fragrance. Seven years in the making, Estée Lauder created a fragrance with a brilliant, sparkling top note which plays against a rich, sensuous background.

I've worn Estée the last couple of days, and I somehow got it lodged in my head that this perfume was launched in 1963. As such, it was coupled in my mind with an image of Natalie Wood in some films from the early 1960s, like Love with The Proper Stranger and Sex and The Single Girl. When I picked up the little brochure and saw 1968, before I'd even read the text I thought, "Then this must have been years in the making."

For me, 1968, the year before my birth, is all about the Summer of Love, hippies and protests against the war, the assassination of Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr., and the uproarious Democratic convention in Chicago. Everything about this perfume denies that tumultuous time and hearkens back to Camelot, to a country on the brink of the Beatles, to Betty Friedan and The Feminine Mystique.

The notes listed for Estée at the Estée Lauder site are as follows:
Top: jasmine, rose, muguet
Heart: coriander, ylang-ylang, orris
Base: sandalwood, moss

If Youth Dew was a scent to liberate women to buy perfume for themselves, then Estée was a scent for women not only to buy but to wear on their own terms--which would have been terrific in 1963. Liberated, educated, but still a lady, still a rules girl. 1968 was a year for breaking every rule in the book, the way history has been set down for us, so I wonder if they thought then what I think now: Estée is rather old-fashioned. I don't mean this in the pejorative sense, but rather in a sense that it feels like a fragrance caught at one point in time, reflecting certain social values, a very timely statement about womankind. Youth Dew feels modern to me, as do fragrances like Weil Zibelene or Chanel No. 19. Estée feels caught in a time warp. I can't imagine some woman applying this and then running off to burn her bra. The woman who chose this perfume most likely still wore gloves and a hat every time she left the house.

For me, that's perfectly okay. I still find it wearable, but then I like a perfume with a ladylike edge, if that's not too much of an oxymoron. The floral aspect of this is quite deep, and it dangles just at the edge of a chypre, with slightly detectable aldehydes to keep the wearer from feeling smothered by flowers. The jasmine and muguet make the rose slightly crisp, and the heart is golden with a touch of spice. I keep thinking of a picture I saw once of Natalie Wood from the early 1960's wearing a fur hat, with a coat and matching fur stole. She looks both poised and poised for adventure, ready for excitement and change. How little she knew what would happen next.

A note: I sampled the parfum concentration of this. I haven't tried the Pure Fragrance Spray or the Super Cologne Spray, which appear to be the only concentrations available on the Estée Lauder site.

*image from esteelauder.com

Estée Lauder Youth Dew

I've said this before, but Youth Dew is a fragrance I've long associated with grandmothers, particularly my own. Practically every Christmas included some form of fragrance gift set of bath oil and scented powder. Youth Dew was so prevalent throughout my childhood, I couldn't tell you how it smelled, for the notes of that perfume were inextricable from the other smells surrounding it. In some form or fashion, it must have been Grandma's House (the other scent that calls this to mind is Fracas, although more likely back then it was Jungle Gardenia I was actually sniffing), caught up with the smell of Aqua Net, cookies baking, ham roasting, and the ubiquitous cigarette smoke.

As the legend goes, Estée Lauder released Youth Dew Bath Oil in 1953, aware that women were reluctant to buy perfume for themselves or to apply it on a regular basis, as we do now. This story is well and widely known by perfume fans everywhere, so much so that I wonder if we ever really stop to think about it. Perfume has been a part of my daily routine as long as I can remember, and I've never hesitated to buy a bottle of something I want (well, not entirely true--now I hesitate on a regular basis!). On the one hand, it seems a bit sad to think of so many women denied the daily pleasure of perfume. But on the other hand, I see the romance in owning one special bottle, especially if it was a gift.

This morning when I pulled out the tiny bottle of parfum that came with my collection and applied the dark juice, the first thing that struck me was how modern it is, and how youthful. Nowadays everyone under the age of...well, everyone seems to be striving for youth. Women in their forties sport tiny t-shirts and low-rise jeans, the same as their daughters, and many of them have also gone the way, perfume-wise, of the candied, sticky fruit concoctions their daughters wear as well. I can remember walking through the main hall of my high school and looking at the pictures of the graduating classes that went before mine (1987, thanks). My favorite pictures were the girls from the 1950s and early 1960s. They looked so poised, so adult. They were already women, not girls, or so I thought back then. But age gives much perspective, and now I think of one of those senior girls getting ready for a date, possibly slipping a few drops of her mother's Youth Dew into the bath, and dreaming about her future. This is a fragrance that can be worn daily, but also holds the special promises of evening, and nothing is more intoxicating to youth than those long hours that stretch endlessly into the next day.

The notes in Youth Dew are as follows:
Top: rose, jonquil, lavendar
Heart: jasmine, muguet, spices
Base: moss, vetiver, patchouli

Youth Dew doesn't develop on the skin as much as it stews there, a rich, heady brew of flowers and spices. The moss and patchouli do indeed give this perfume a chypre-like kick, but it's softer, less angular than a chypre. It's spicy and quite sexy, and I'm surprised to say I find it more sophisticated than the 1970's ur-Oriental, Opium. After a few hours, Youth Dew becomes drier, less sweet, and there it reminds me a bit of a more modern incense. I'm so pleased and amazed. I thought I would like this for sentimental reasons, but it turns out this is a fragrance I could easily adopt as my own.

*image from esteelauder.com

Michael Storer Perfumes

Much ado is made these days about the lack of originality in niche perfumes. Many mainstream perfumers are trying to "go niche," while other classic perfumers, like Guerlain, are releasing less-than-stellar perfumes in order to find a new audience. As a newcomer who has yet to try even many classic perfumes, I can't sincerely jump on the bandwagon and complain much about the lack of interesting releases. I'm too busy catching up. That doesn't mean, however, that I'm immune to suggestion. In fact, quite the contrary, so when I heard people I trust say good things about Michael Storer's creations, I listened, and I responded.

Michael Storer currently offers six perfumes on his online site, but he's adding a new release to the mix as well, a fig-based scent called Kadota. I've had the pleasure to try all seven (Bob tried three). I've listed them below, although I have to say that overall, they're all stunning. I can see how every perfume lover needs at least one of these scents in his or her collection.

Genviève
A funny story here: The first Genviève I tried was not Genviève at all, but Stephanie. The vials got confused, as did I, so that when I wrote my original review, I was using the correct notes and the wrong scent. That pretty much messed with my head (or my nose, as it were--I thought I had lost my mind when I smelled white flowers but hardly any were listed), but I'm on track now.

The notes in Genviève are:
Top: Damask rose, green tea, muguet, rhubarb, ambrette seed
Heart: Bulgarian rose, raspberry, peach, ylang ylang, mimosa absolute, jasmine absolute, violet leaf
Base: angelica root, tolu balsam, ambergris, musk, tonka bean absolute, sandalwood, civet

I generally get a sense of whether or not I will like a fragrance as I apply it. A sure sign is when I can't put down the vial and have to keep dabbing it on, as I'm afraid other people won't be able to smell the magic that is THIS perfume. With Genviève, I dabbed and dabbed, sniffed and sniffed. This is a refined, elegant scent. The rose is soft and fresh, and as the scent deepens, on me the fruit honeys the scent, rather than adding any juice, opening the way for a warm and sexy dry-down. It's cozy enough to wear in winter, but it also has top notes that lend it to summer, with whispering green notes followed by a scent that never overpowers the wearer.

Monk
Some fragrances don't lend themselves to words. Ironic then that upon first sniff, Monk makes me think of a Medieval scriptorium, where words are holy. I think Monk is one of the most complex fragrances I've encountered. At opening, it's rather dank, the smell of an old room, of the mildewy pulp of old manuscripts, of the lingering tobacco smoke of ancient scribes practicing their craft late into the night. The animalic undertone here is visceral and almost overpowering, but after an hour or so it mellows to an ancient powder. I thought I detected heliotrope, unusual in a man's scent but also rather sexy in contrast to the usual wood notes, but none was listed in the notes, which are as follows:

Top: acacia flower, bergamot orange, bitter orange, galbanum
Heart: linden blossom absolute, blond tobacco absolute, cistus oil, ambrette seed, cocoa absolute, Bulgarian rose absolute
Base: Aged Indonesian vanilla, tonka bean absolute, civet, sandalwood, Texas cedarwood, benzoin tincture, jasmine absolute, birch tar

My guess is the cocoa and vanilla temper the woods, but this is decidedly not a gourmand scent. It is the scent of knowledge through time. That may sound overblown, but you must try this scent before you judge.

Djin
As for Djin: When I opened the vial and sniffed, I literally said these words out loud: "Sexy! Awesome sexy!"

That's right. I turned into Austin Powers.

I took the vial straight to Bob and bid him to try it. Let me leave this little story for a sec to tell you about the notes:

Top: lemon, grapefruit, ivy leaf, muguet
Heart: oolong tea absolute, cardamom seed, pink pepper, galbanum, geranium leaf over roses, lemon verbena
Base: teakwood, sandalwood, castoreum, musk

Bob is always a willing participant in my perfume trials, so he gave Djin a go. Sadly, this fragrance seemed to be all ozone on him, and left what seemed to be hot in the bottle rather cold on his skin. I could see this working better in the heat, as I imagine the ozonic notes would work with the humidity to let out the more animalic notes in the base.

I could not give up on a fragrance that was so stunningly sexy in the bottle (or vial, as it were), so I decided that today I would try wearing it myself, and I am so glad I did. On me, the scent warms a great deal. After a crisp start, the rose and leather are the most prominent, with a light dusting of woods underneath that add a sexy whiff of heat. Chemistry is a mystery. This is a sensual, sexy rose.

Yvette
If you've smelled Yvette, and if you've spent any time at Sweet Diva, you might be as surprised as I was at how much I like this fragrance. I've said before that fruit and I do not mix, and in fact I will go out of my way to avoid any scent I think will be overly fruity or in the least bit gourmand. I'm happy to say that Yvette falls into the same category for me as Pomegranate Noir--in other words, a fruit-based scent I can wear, and even enjoy.

Where Pom Noir begins with dark juicy fruit and ends in warm woods, Yvette begins with a green, almost medicinal opening. As the fragrance warms to the skin, the fruit begins to appear, dark and fleshy, a bit jammy but not overly sweet. A powdery note softens the intensifying fruit, and while the green, herbaceous tones of the opening disappear entirely, the scent remains as fresh as a newly ripe plum, never ripening to the boozy headiness of some fruit-full perfumes.

The notes in Yvette include tropical flowers, rose otto, muguet, heliotrope, tonka, sandalwood, spice and tarragon. I find this one a better scent for cooler weather or drier climates. In the deep South, the rich depths of this scent would be quite heavy for summer. That said, I can see it being an excellent choice for February or March, as one awaits the promise of spring.

Kadota
I'm taking a huge risk with this one, as Michael has yet to list the notes for it on his site, but was generous enough to include it in the sample pack I purchased just before Christmas. I've had relatively little experience with fig fragrances, but they've been positive in both instances (Diptyque Philosykos and Anthousa Fig & Vetiver), and Kadota is not an exception. I'm finding it much greener than the beachy Philosykos, and heartier than the Anthousa. The top is true fruit that instead of growing sweeter actually grows greener, not unlike a tree that releases its ripe fruit before its leaves have reached full maturity. To me, this scent also smells a bit wet, like the aftermath of a storm in springtime.

Stephanie
The Michael Storer site describes Stephanie as "the headspace of a gardenia." The first whiff of it in the vial bears this out: This scent is unmistakably lush. This is not a green gardenia, not the experience of the full plant in flower, but rather, the flower itself. The notes in Stephanie include pink pepper, black pepper, galbanum, angelica root, sambac jasmine absolute, tuberose, and chrysanthemum. The top is crisp, but soon passes straight into the white floral heart where the tuberose is prominent but not overwhelming. The pepper adds an unusual and interesting touch to a white floral which would otherwise be rather straightforward (not that that's a bad thing, not at all). I like that instead of going for fresh or creamy, this perfume dirties the flower a bit. It makes me think of Katherine Hepburn as Tracy in The Philadelphia Story where she worries about being on a pedestal--this flower is not a goddess, but a real woman, and all the more beautiful for it.

il giardino
I found this to be the most straightforward of the bunch, and it's the only one I didn't try myself, as green fragrances often do not agree with my chemistry.

The notes in il giardino are as follows:
Top: lemon, bitter orange, cognac oil, green cassis bud
Heart: grapefruit, black currant, neroli, orange blossom absolute, jasmine absolute, philodendron, juniper berry
Base: ambergris, musk, sandalwood, Mexican vanilla, tonka bean absolute

Simply put, this scent makes me think of summer in a backyard at twilight, sitting near a pool, smelling the neighbor's freshly cut grass, sipping a gin and tonic, staring up at the violet sky. A dog barks in the distance, children on the street are still playing, eking every advantage of remaining daylight. I find this fragrance to be more of an experience than a perfume, but it would blend wonderfully into any summer night.

Michael Storer's fragrances are very reasonably priced ($75-$85 for 2oz.), especially considering their terrific lasting power, and are available through his online store (with the exception of Kadota, which has not yet been added). You can email Michael at sales@michaelstorer.com with questions. You'll find he's very helpful and kind.

2008 Resolutions

The last couple of years, I didn't make any resolutions. As far as perfume goes, last year I was still fumbling around and wondering what to try. I started the year with roses and went on willy nilly from there. This year, I at least have a few goals in terms of lines I want to sample. Some are classics, some are department store favorites, and some are more niche than others. While everyone else is off being cool and interesting, sampling beihl parfumkunstwerke and other such new things, I'll be working through my education, trying not to be distracted (although I'm sure sometimes I'll be unable to avoid it). If you have any suggestions about specific perfumes I should try from these lines (barring the obvious, of course, like Miss Dior), please share in the comments! I love to try other people's favorites.

Here are the houses on which I plan to focus in 2008:

Dior. I am most familiar with Dune and Poison (and I do own a vintage bottle of Miss Dior whose top notes have gone missing), so I think I should get in there and sample some of the classics. I seriously plan to sniff everything they have to offer. This was all prompted by Chandler Burr's post about J'Adore in The New York Times. Well, that and it's a line every perfumista should know.

Hermes. This is another line with which I am only the tiniest bit familiar. I own a decant of Hiris, and that's about the extent of it. I've sniffed their scents while standing in the store, but that's too distracting and tells me nothing, really. I plan to sample all that I can, including the Hermessences.

Estee Lauder. This is my "department store" entry line, but it's also an American classic and the perfume line with which I was most familiar with from the outset. Beautiful was a "signature" scent for me for many years. My grandmother wore Youth Dew; my mom wore Private Collection; my stepmother wears Knowing. Like many, mine is a Lauder family. A funny story: The first year Bob and I were together for Christmas, I sent him out to buy his grandmother some Youth Dew (it's a well-known fact that all grandmothers of a certain age love Youth Dew, Chloe, and White Shoulders--you know it's true!). He brought home Youth Dew Amber Nude. Hm. And yes, I broke down and ordered the fragrance set I said I wanted for Christmas. I waited until the day after, just in case.

Miller Harris. I have only tried L'Air de Rien and Coeur d'Ete, but they've left me wanting more. This time last year, I probably would have purchased either one of those two...this year I'd liek to get through more of the line before I decide.

Le Labo. I have tried nary a one of these fragrances, so I think it's time to step up to the plate. Too many people in the perfume blogging world have sung their praises, and I'm "old enough" for them now.

CB I Hate Perfume. Another line I felt I needed to grow into trying. Last summer I sampled Wild Pansy and Just Breathe. Wild Pansy is firmly placed on my imaginary "to buy" list, but like the Miller Harris, I want to get through more of the line before I commit to anything. This one might be difficult if Luckyscent won't put samples of these back on the menu!

Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier. The scents I've sampled from this line that stand out in my mind are Or des Indes and Fleur de Comores, and of course Secrete Datura. All three of these pleased me, so clearly I need to do some more sampling before (or if) I decide to settle on adding one to my collection.

Carthusia. This is one house I know nothing about, but it intrigues me. I've found at least three "samples to order" lists on post-its around the house or office with one or another Carthusia scent on it to know that I should just get off my duff and try some already.

Penhaligons. Shut up. I like the bottles. That's enough, right? No? Well, Kate Moss likes the Bluebell perfume. I am cool like Kate Moss. (You know I am desperate when I throw in a celebrity plug.) Seriously--I like the bottles. And the scents sound pretty. I like pretty.

Parfums de Nicolai. Another one where I've tried a few--Odalisque, Mimosaique, and Sacrebleu--and understood that I must try many. This is another line where it would be easy to succumb early on. Besides, I got through sampling many a Guerlain last year, and it's time to give the younger generation a go.

Bond No. 9. Next to Lauder, this is the house on the list whose work I've sampled the most (Scent of Peace, Westside, West Broadway, Fire Island, Chinatown, DNA (Saks for Her), Silver Factory, Bryant Park). I'm pretty set on owning a bottle of Bryant Park one of these days, and I am eagerly awaiting Union Square. I probably have more samples of fragrances from this line that I haven't tried than any other, and the SA at Saks has convinced me that these scents are made for layering, not unlike the Malones...so I plan to try and see.

And there you have it. Naturally, these are just the biggies, so I am sure plenty of other stuff will get thrown into the mix. I'd love to hear if you've made resolutions, scented or otherwise, in the comments. Oh, and any suggestions, of course!

Feeling Challenged

I've decided right away to start 2008 with a bang instead of a whimper. If you check out my banner, you might notice that I am not bumbling only through perfume, but also books (and beauty--ha!). In 2006, I tried to join a blogger's book club, but I found myself overwhelmed by perfume. In 2007 I started my Reader's Journal posts and was a bit more successful at keeping things up. As I plan to continue my Reader's Journal posts throughout 2008, I thought perhaps I should ensure I'd have something to write about, so I joined not one but two different reading challenges.

The Short Story Reading Challenge
In a nutshell, I've agreed to read ten short story collections by ten writers I've never read before. I used to be an avid reader of short stories, but lately I've been re-reading the same collections over and over again, so I am hoping this gets me out of my rut and helps me find some new favorites. I'll be posting about the collections I read both here and at The Short Story Reading Challenge blog, which will also include all the lists and reviews of other participants. If you're interested in joining this one yourself, the rules are listed there as well as at Kate's Book Blog. My thanks to Kate, whom I've never met and whose blog I just discovered before Christmas, for organizing this challenge.

It also happens that I am such a nerd, I've already composed my list (not in any particular order). I have read some stories by a few of these authors, but never a full collection, so I think that still counts. My choices are:
Sunstroke and Other Stories, by Tessa Hadley
Cliffs of Fall and Other Stories, by Shirley Hazzard
Bring Me Your Saddest Arizona, by Ryan Harty
Shiloh and Other Stories, by Bobbie Ann Mason
Lost in the City, by Edward P. Jones
Drinking Coffee Elsewhere, by ZZ Packer
A Kind of Flying, by Ron Carlson
Corpus Christi: Stories, by Bret Anthony Johnson
Jenny and the Jaws of Life, by Jincy Willett
Laws of Evening, by Mary Yakuri Waters

The Pub 2008 Challenge
I found many interesting challenges, but because I've never done one before I thought that if I were going to do two, I'd better pick a second one that seemed...well, do-able. I found this through the blog A Novel Challenge, and it's being organized by the person who owns this blog, which I just found today. The basic rule: read eight books published in 2008. Four of these books must be fiction, but no children's or young adult books. Just after signing up for this one, I realized I hardly ever keep up with new releases, so I may have to make the list as I go. That said, I already have my first choice, which will be published on January 14--West of Last Chance, by Kent Haruf. Plainsong is one of the best books I ever read, so let's hope this is a good choice! I'll keep you updated on my list as it takes shape. You should be able to read all entries at The Pub (2008). You can also sign up there, if you are so inclined.

It's already shaping up to be an interesting year!

*images from The Short Story Reading Challenge and The Pub 2008

Happy New Year!

I wish you all a Happy New Year! May 2008 bring you peace and happiness.

*image from Times Square Alliance

2007: Fragrance Year in Review

The fragrances listed here are my favorites out of the ones I posted about in 2007. Unlike last year, I was sampling right up until the last minute. At one point I thought the list was headed in a more floral direction, but as it turns out, my love of spice and incense tends to win out.

The biggest surprises for me:

• Out of all the rose scents I sampled, Bryant Park was my favorite. I re-tested every rose, and this one stood out every time.
• I never expected to love Flowerbomb so much, but I reach for it on a regular basis...as regular as can be for someone who wear a different perfume almost every day!
• Despite the list, this year I tended to gravitate toward lighter florals. As I mentioned in my "unsung" post, this list might have shaped up quite differently if I had written about some of the perfumes listed there: PC Tuberose Gardenia, La Chasse, and Infusion d'Iris.

But now, without further ado, my favorites of 2007:

1. Frederic Malle Une Fleur de Cassie. "The light touch of mimosa at the top masks the darker heart underneath, made full by the cassie, rose, and jasmine, and finally grounded by the spice and powder of carnation at the end. Strange to say, but it's a lifetime in a bottle, a movement from light-hearted youth to womanhood and then on into personhood, coming in to one's full being."


2. L'Artisan Passage d'Enfer. "The notes in Passage d'Enfer seem innocuous enough: white lily, frankincense, aloe, and white musk. All that white! Doesn't white mean purity? Or does it symbolize an unbearable heat, a white flame turning everything in its path to ash? This is a soft fragrance, close to the skin, but dark with incense. White lily adds a bit of sweetness to the top, but the frankincense and musk dominate here, with the aloe serving to cool."


3. Bond No. 9 Silver Factory. "Even knowing the most general history surrounding Andy Warhol, I believe I would have expected something more unusual, or even jarring. Something cultish like POTL, or the love-it/hate-it, oft-copied Angel. Instead, Silver Factory, with top notes of incense, wood resin, and amber; a heart of jasmine, iris, and violet; and a base of cedarwood, is a beautifully restrained fragrance, and for all the woods and incense, it's not the least bit warm. It's an iris carved into highly-polished granite, a house in a snowstorm where the fire's gone out but the smoke still lingers in dry, still air, offering the promise of but not delivering warmth."



4. Mona di Orio Lux. "Something happens with this one. I don't know what it is. The high citrus notes die off and the sweet becomes more bitter, and after that it becomes so interestingly unique. I'm not sure if it's fabulous or cloying. I applied this around, oh, eight-thirty this morning, and by eleven, I couldn't get enough of myself."



5. Caron Parfum Sacre. "It's the sort of scent that requires a great deal of contemplation, and still, all I could come up with was this: the silk lining of an old purse. When all is said and done, that's what I smell: a faint, spicy powder, elegant and ethereal, a dream of travel to exotic lands, a memory trapped in fine smooth fabric flecked there with tobacco and stained here by an oily smudge of lipstick."



6. Viktor & Rolf Flowerbomb. "And so what if the dry down is slightly addictive? So what if you might start thinking to yourself that you can make it through the heady beginning (heady yet sort of refreshingly dark...is that tea?), that you can wade through gardens packed full of freesia, rose, jasmine, and orchid, just to get to the end, this patchouli for a hippie who's not only rich but also refined?"

7. Bond No. 9 Bryant Park. "I would have to be a sucker for Bryant Park right off the bat, though, because it has two of my favorite notes, rose and lily of the valley, along with patchouli, raspberry, rhubarb, pink pepper, and amber. I really love that the pepper in this is so evident, how it gives the patchouli a sophisticated edge, compliments the bit of sharpness the rhubarb offers, freshens the tart raspberry."


8. Guerlain Liu. "While not classified as a chypre (none of the characteristic notes are present), in the opening it's almost a dead ringer for Chanel No.5. I'm almost tempted to say it's like a Cher impersonator who does a better job at being Cher than Cher does. Or a Chanel impersonator that's better at Chanel. But it's not really better, it's just more Guerlain than Chanel, with that base of iris and woody notes and vanilla. It's powdery, earthy, slightly dirty, and ultimately comforting."


9. Annick Goutal Le Chevrefeuille. "This lovely has notes of honeysuckle blossom, honeysuckle vine, narcissus, jasmine, and lemon tree petit grain. I must admit, it wasn't anything like I expected. As a honeysuckle fragrance, I expected a softer, sweeter treatment of these delicate white and yellow blossoms, a scent akin to the taste of the nectar of these flowers. I found it much brighter and herbaceous, lemony at the top, with the sweet floral underneath appearing only as the scent softened over time on my skin. Truly, to my nose Le Chevrefeuille has the appeal of a floral tea with a refreshing squeeze of lemon."


10. CB I Hate Perfume Wild Pansy. "This seems to me to be the one in the collection that might make some perfume fans roll their eyes. Flowers and grass. So conventional. But I think half a dozen other perfumers could do flowers and grass and not do it so well. Personally I think this scent has a simple beauty, a freshness, a lightness of being. The wild violet has the clarity of the light tinkling sound of a glass bell. It's not a powdery scent; it is instead the embodiment of the colors purple and green--crisp, sweet, damp, uncomplicated."


Honorable Mentions
I can't quit without mentioning just a few more: Tauer Perfumes Le Maroc pour Elle was my rose runner-up, followed by Guerlain Nahema. Frederic Malle's Lys Mediterranee should be on a universal list of favorites somewhere, belonging to the world. Kai Perfume Oil is possibly the truest gardenia scent out there that I've tried, and it's well worth owning to wear on a hot summer day. And finally, my heart is broken that L'Artisan is no longer making their Vetiver perfume. I hope they come to their senses and consider a reissue.

I hope you'll share your favorites of 2007 with me. Best wishes to you all!

*image credits on original posts

2007: The Unsung (by Me, That Is)

Before I share my 2007 Fragrance Year in Review, which consists of perfumes I posted about here, I thought I would share with you some of my favorites this year that didn't make it into print. This list was no easier to put together than the other one, and I'm sure I've missed something, but here goes:

1. Estee Lauder Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia. I bought this scent unsniffed. I could say it was the positive reviews that drove my purchase, but I read positive reviews of perfumes that sound intriguing on a weekly basis without feeling the need to buy them NOW. After it arrived I wore it a few times and put it away. I even remember thinking, "What am I going to do with it now?" A few months later, I was reading a post on another blog about regrettable perfume purchases, and I thought of Tuberose Gardenia...and for some reason was compelled to pull it out and try it again. I'm so glad I did, for it is as classic and crisp as a freshly laundered white cotton shirt, pure white and cool.

2. L'Artisan Dzing! I wore this as a sample for a few days, intending to write about it, but instead I just bought a bottle and went on my merry way. With notes of tonka beans, balsam, saffran and ginger, this unobtrusive and comforting scent has become a wardrobe staple for me. It's a dusty suede, refined and just sweet enough to feel very feminine...although it could be easily worn by either sex.

3. Miller Harris L'air de Rien. If I remember correctly (and I am too lazy to go back and check), this one made a number of top ten lists after its release last year. I thought for sure as I reviewed the year that Miller Harris Coeur d'Ete would be up near the top of my list (Oops! Did I just give something away?), but it was trumped by L'Air de Rien. With notes of French oak moss, Tunisian neroli, sweet musk, amber and vanilla, this really does have the most wonderful powdery, sensual, feminine feel, but it also reminds me of walking through used bookstores on rainy afternoons. If I'd posted about this one, it easily would have made my top ten.

4. Fendi Theorema. Theorema seemed to be all over the blogs this year, like a new word lately on everyone's lips. I tend to be stubborn when it comes to trying something everyone seems to be talking about, as though I can't hear--or smell, as it were--through all the noise. With notes of tangelo, jasmine, thai shamouti (orange), osmanthus, spices, cinnamon, pink pepper, sandalwood, guaiac wood, amber, macassar, sweet cream, and musk, Theorema is a wonderful spice. I find it close to two other perfumes I tried and enjoyed immensely this year, Rykiel Woman (Thanks Chaya!) and Organza Indecence (Thanks Sweetlife!). These three could almost be sisters: Organza Indecence is the oldest, the straight-A student and the belle of the ball, the one who gets to do everything first. Rykiel Woman is the youngest, soft spoken, warm and self-assured in its powdery, citrusy warmth. Theorema is the middle sister who likes to be a bit different, craves adventure, and would be most likely to head off to Europe with her backpack. Of course, they've discontinued it. I got mine from a reader (thanks Sybil!), and I'm using it sparingly.

5. Prada Infusion d'Iris. Iris is without a doubt the "it" flower for 2007, what with the release of Infusion d'Iris, Bond No. 9 Silver Factory, L'Artisan Iris Pallida, and Guerlain Iris Ganache. From my own experience, I can say for sure that two of these, the Prada and the Bond, knocked it out of the park. To me, this scent is to iris what PC Tuberose Gardenia is to white flowers: a clean, clear representation of the thing itself. The top is quite green, but the dry-down is a fresh floral, the iris in all its purple majesty.

6. L'Artisan La Chasse aux Papillon. Technically I did sort of write about this one, as its the scent that knocked me out of my doldrums and got me back to sampling after my long absence last spring. I stand by what I said before: "...it's the intricate lace of tiny, fragile blossoms in springtime. It's light and feminine, a non-headache-inducing white floral that's safe enough to wear to work and romantic enough to wear out on a date."

Wishing You Peace

*image from michael-seer.de

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Today is my favorite day in the whole world, because it's the day I married my true love.



Happy Anniversary to my wonderful husband!

*photo courtesy of our dear friends Lisa and Elliott

Blue Iris Named 2008 "Official" color

Iris fragrances have been enjoying the spotlight for at least the last six months or so, but now color is getting into the mix. According to an article in today's New York Times, Pantone, arbiter of all things color, has officially named Blue Iris as THE color for 2008.

Funnily enough, this color is very close to the same royal violet sweater from J.Crew that I've been coveting through the fall. I remember watching a show on PBS a year or two ago about how every year, a panel of experts--made up of designers, artists, architects, etc.--puts together the popular colors for the following year. This activity is transparent to the general population, but eventually they do drive the color choices we find in stores year after year. I imagine we pick the best of what we're offered, most likely tempered by what we know to be our favorite anyway. I am happy about this year's pick because I love blue, but I would love blue beyond all other colors even if they'd chosen, say, Tigerlily, a bright coral that was the official color of 2004.

And I imagine if you love rose fragrances, the market's temporary fascination with iris will not faze you. That's not to say you might not pick up a bottle of, say Silver Factory, as you peruse the perfume counters. And you should, for I think this description of Blue Iris does a fair job of summing up the perfume: “'Blue Iris brings together the dependable aspects of blue, underscored by a strong, soul-searching purple cast. Emotionally, it is anchoring and meditative with a touch of magic.'” "A strong, soul-searching cast" and "anchoring and meditative with a touch of magic"--both easily apply to this wonderfully cool (in each sense of the word) incense fragrance. So throw on that blue sweater and apply some Silver Factory, and know that by this time next year, everything will have changed.

*image from the New York Times

A Week!

I cannot believe I haven't posted in a week! I know I promised to update my sidebar with what I've been sampling for my year in review, but at some point, that seemed like giving you a peek at the answers. I have quite some work to do. Creating this list seemed much easier, more self-evident last year. No idea if that's good or bad, really, but it's surprising how different the list is shaping up this year. A hint about this year: more, uh, floral-y florals. Last year I had more of a mix, a little leather and spice. But I'm giving too much away. No, no...must not say anymore.

I suppose Top Ten and Year-in-Review lists are ubiquitous among bloggers, but tell me, my non-blogging friends: Do you review your hit list at the end of the year? I have a theory that perfume lovers are natural list-makers. We are a people who love to categorize and prioritize. How else, really, could we keep up?

So I have been faithfully sampling and sampling things I tried throughout the year, sometimes gaining clarity and other times staying cloudy. I've only cheated once, yesterday, when I wore Lalique Encre Noir. I had to replenish some of my repeaters for testing, and, well, a few new samples crept onto the list. But other than Encre Noir, I've held them at bay.

So let's hear it, my friends: What are your favorites from 2007?

I Want, Part 2

I rarely do this. I am generally reluctant to say I want anything as a gift. Usually, if I want something, I buy it for myself. But I admit, I saw this and wanted it immediately! But enough equivocating. I love Estee Lauder, and so do many perfume fans out there. This is a limited-edition collection of mostly classic scents.

From the Estee Lauder site:
"Limited-time collection arrives in an exclusive gift box and includes:
- Beautiful Parfum .12 oz.
- Estée Lauder Beyond Paradise Eau de Parfum Spray .14 oz.
- Estée Lauder pleasures Parfum .12 oz.
- White Linen Parfum .09 oz.
- Youth-Dew Parfum .12 oz
- Intuition Parfum .14 oz.
- Knowing Parfum .12 oz.
- Private Collection Parfum .07 oz.
- Cinnabar Parfum .12 oz.
- Aliage Parfum .12 oz.
- Azurée Parfum.12 oz
- Estée Eau de Parfum .12 oz."

This collection is $85, and for now they're offering free shipping. If I don't get mine, you should at least get yours. This would be a wonderful gift for any fragrance lover.

*image from esteelauder.com

'Tis The Season to Be...

Grumpy. What's up with this weather we're having in Atlanta? We're breaking record high temperatures right and left (and still in a water crisis). I had planned a holiday scent post, but it's too hot to wear anything cozy or spicy. We bought our tree on Saturday and finally got around to decorating it last night. It felt like cheating, like it's not really the holidays at all, like putting up a tree for St. Patrick's Day. After all, it is green.

Flummoxed. I haven't finished my Christmas lists. That's right--not my Christmas shopping; my Christmas lists. For some reason this year, I don't have a clue where to begin. Usually, I have everything purchased, if not wrapped, by now. I think part of the problem is that 2007 basically skipped October and November, so we went straight from September into December, and who can keep up? The worst part is, I have to mail everything. I mean, mailing presents is no problem...if you have presents to mail. You see my problem.

Harried. I just realized it's really only about two-and-half weeks until I need to have my year-in-review post done. (I know! How will you get through the New Year without it? It's practically as popular as The New York Times's "100 Notable Books" list!) In addition to the holiday scents, I was going to post about some things readers have shared with me (Donna Karan Black Cashmere from Gaia, Fendi Theorema from Sybil, Organza Indecence from Sweetlife), but then I realized, I have to go back and sample at least ten perfumes from earlier in the year to come up with my list. (If you're curious which ones I'm sampling, check the sidebar every day.)

Blocked. Er, I mean, writer's block. Why else the crappy post? Only someone with writer's block couldn't think of something nice to say about Prada Infusion d'Iris, or any of the three scents I mentioned above, right? Maybe when things cool off, I'll regain my senses. But for now, I must shop! I have gifts to mail!

Somebody somewhere where it's cold...tell me what cozy scents you're enjoying!

Opium Fleur de Shanghai

Kim and Queen of Caffeine, I think you were the only ones interested in this one, so please send me your info (at the email address listed in the sidebar) and I'll send you both a decant. This is very cozy for winter. I do hope you'll enjoy it!

I Love You, I Love You Not

This week I've started trying to weed out my perfume collection. Many of my perfumes are safe. When I look at the shelf in the cabinet where I keep them (that should give you some idea of the relative size, as they don't even fill the one shelf), I realize I've scored more than I've missed, to use an ill-fitting sports metaphor. The problem is, this makes weeding difficult. It takes me a long time to settle on what must go, or be banished if you will, but once I decide I don't look back. No point in second guessing a decision too much after it's been made, as that is a sure path to misery much of the time.

And so I've taken three boxes from the shelf and pulled a flower from a vase. I'm ready to pluck those petals.

I Love You. Because I'm a bit of a tease, should I tell you first what I could never stand to lose? Here we go:
Guerlain Vol de Nuit Parfum (post refers to EdP)
Caron Parfum Sacre
L'Artisan La Chasse aux Papillon and Dzing!
Balmain Jolie Madame
Tauer Perfumes L'Air du Desert Marocain
Rochas Femme
Estee Lauder Private Collection Tuberose Gardenia
Annick Goutal Eau d'Hadrien and Le Chevrefeuille
Rykiel Woman

I Love You Not. This wasn't an easy one. In the first place, it's a classic, especially among white florals. The truth is, I bought a bottle more because I felt like it was something I should own rather than something I wanted to own. It's either a sign of confidence or a sign of bad taste, but the truth of the matter is, I can think of at least four white florals (possibly even five) that I would opt to wear before this one: Robert Piguet Fracas.

I'll give you a moment if you need it.

While I appreciate the beauty of composition on this one, I must admit, Bandit (which I do not own) is more my speed. And as far as white florals: out of the bottles I own, I would wear the Estee Lauder first, La Chasse second. If I want orange blossom mixed with my tuberose, then I'll wear Fleur d'Oranger (decant). And as far as what I don't own but would choose first: Tubereuse Criminelle and Carnal Flower. I'd even pick the headache-inducing (for me) Songes over Fracas. The creaminess falls flat on me. It's like eating generic sherbet. This deserves someone who swoons. It ain't me, babe.

I Love You. I thought, before I sprayed this on my wrists and spent the day with it, that this would be the first to go. It seemed to be a purchase driven more by curiosity and sentiment than desire and good sense (not that those go hand-in-hand very often). Many years ago, the original version of this scent was my winter staple, my signature scent.

I bought Opium Fleur de Shanghai based on a memory of a fragrance, and that's exactly what it feels like. I'm happy now that I did not just buy the original, because Fleur de Shanghai softens and rounds the spice, acts like a mellow dream of the past, with all mistakes and uneasiness faded into the background, an old friend remembered fondly. I wore Opium because it was the scent of a person I wanted to be, but Fleur de Shanghai is much more like the person I am, and probably even was then.

I Love You Not. My journey back to this fragrance was painful. I expected to feel those butterflies in the stomach, to steal sniffs of my wrist at odd times during the day (I think by now people in meetings must think I'm just wiping my nose on my wrist, like a nervous tic), and to be carried away on a wave of rosy vanilla incense.

Instead, I felt like someone sprayed a lot of really expensive air freshener in my face. It took over an hour for things to settle down, and then I spent the rest of the day smelling like I'd wandered out of a more sophisticated version of the Yankee Candle Store.

The most embarrassing thing about giving up Keiko Mecheri's Loukhoum is all the fuss I made about it. I all but put up a billboard declaring my affection for this scent. What happened? It grew a beard and a pot belly, took up smoking and stopped brushing its teeth.

Okay, it's not that bad. Not even close. It is actually very well done, but if I'm going to do vanilla, personally, I think Lea Extreme is the one. Or, for the oriental twist, Fleur de Shanghai.

What makes me laugh, always, is my own unbridled enthusiasm for these scents in the first place. I'm not at all ashamed I loved these fragrances, but oh--I was so young! I was a young perfume fan! I'm a year or so older now, and while I may not be wiser, my tastes have...matured, I would hope, but changed for sure.

Do me a favor, and in the comments, share with me an "I Love You, I Love You Not" fragrance story of your own. And if you'd like, let me know whether you'd like to try Fleur de Shanghai. I'll do a drawing if there are enough people interested...

Reader's Journal: Run

Okay, go ahead and call me out for having Alan Greenspan's book in my sidebar as "on my nightstand" for the last month. Technically, it is on my nightstand. Also, it's a pretty good read. I bought the book because he impresses me so much in interviews. Something about listening to him reminds me of my favorite professors and makes me long to go back to school. I don't always agree with his politics, but I greatly respect his mind. Very few public figures warrant respect these days.

When I started that book, I even had intense, however fleeting fantasies about going back to school to get a degree in economics. Right. Not going to happen. Fiction calls to me, and I always answer. I had Run on the stack right underneath poor Mr. Greenspan's book, and every time I lifted that tome to read, I would think, "I could just read a few pages of Run...just a taste..." Not exactly the equivalent of RyKrisp versus chocolate for a chronic dieter, but close enough to warrant mention.

Clearly, Run won. I've read three-and-a-half other Ann Patchett novels (The Patron Saint of Liars, The Magician's Assistant, Bel Canto, and half of Taft--not sure anymore why I didn't finish that one) and Truth and Beauty, her memoir about her friendship with Lucy Grealy. While she's not one of my favorite writers, to pick up one of her books is to be completely absorbed in the story she tells. She also writes cleanly and gracefully. I am not much for showy prose (uh, my own excepted, of course...tee hee hee).

Run, which except for the last chapter takes place in the course of twenty-four snowy and cold hours in Boston, is the story of the Doyle family: Bernard, the ex-mayor; Sullivan, his ne'er-do-well natural son; and Tip and Teddy, Bernard's two adopted black sons. An accident happens and shakes their world. Secrets are revealed, sometimes between the characters, sometimes only to the reader. If I'm honest, the plot is not much better than something written for the Hallmark Channel. It's unlikely, it's sappy, it plays on the emotions in much the same way. (Tears, followed by an embarrassed gulp and the thought, "Why am I crying? This is stupid.")

What renders it readable, then? Ann Patchett is a first-rate writer, and her characters are likable. And while she's got you...well, she's really got you. Her characters are like people you meet in random situations--at a conference, say, or when you're stuck in an airport--and you find you really like them, and you have warm feelings for them for hours afterward. You may have exchanged information and agreed to meet for lunch someday. Days later, you've forgotten all about them. In fact, it's not until you're in that situation again--at the conference, stuck at the airport--that you remember them, briefly, fondly, and wonder vaguely what might have become of them. You had such a good time with those people! Real connections were made! But then you get on with the business at hand.

All in all, Run was thoroughly entertaining and well-written, but it's not her best book, in my opinion. For me, Bel Canto still holds that place, and so far it's the only one of her books (except Truth and Beauty, actually, which is very good for a memoir, particularly because it's so anti-navel-gazing--a rarity) I would re-read.

You can read the New York Times review here.

*image from Powells