Culture: 426 posts

There are times when perfume acts as a magic carpet for a travel in time, and then there are moments when research leads one into the dank archives of the past. Thanks to the passionate and generous work presented on Scented Pages, a website everybody with at least a passing interest in perfume needs to visit, I had a chance to discover a rich bibliography on all aspects of fragrance. From science and history to specific perfume houses, the website presents an impressive range of literature.

The exploration of the bibliography led to the discovery of several fascinating New York Times newspaper materials, which are available from the New York Times archives. Thus, an article from 1871 surmises that New Jersey might become the next Grasse. Another article from 1929 discusses the new perfume releases that would be appropriate as Christmas gifts. The article I pounced on immediately is titled The Twenty “Noses” of France, written by Donald William Dresden, 1947, because it is usually rare to see the perfumers in the spotlight.

I’ll note, however, that the article is irksome, even if I keep in mind the social context of the times. Here is one such illustration. “Only a few people have the supersense of smell necessary to become a Nose—for reasons known only to Noses themselves, no woman has ever had it—and still fewer the patience and emotional attitude to undergo the required training…” Clearly, Dresden forgot about Germaine Cellier of unforgettable Bandit (1944) and Vent Vert (1947). Moreover, research demonstrates that a woman’s sense of smell is more acute than a man’s, with its acuity positively influenced by the levels of estrogen, the levels of which change throughout the menstrual cycle, with the highest levels recorded in the first half (Nature Neuroscience, March 2002).

The rest of the article is such a riot that I almost forgave its chauvinism. I cannot help sharing some particularly memorable bits. You’d be interested to know that the Nose has certain characteristics, which the writer describes in the social Darwinist terms. “As befits his station, the typical Nose is an imposing looking man. Generally he is middle-aged with fine graying temples or just the right amount of baldness to indicate that he had made his way in life.” If one may wonder, Dresden assures that “the nasal formation is not unusual.” However, “he has lofty brow and features of the intellectual and an air of dedication verging on absent-mindedness.”

And how about this imagery? “Here in Grasse it is commonplace to see a parfumeur créateur pacing slowly under the plane trees in the courtyard of an old, rambling perfume factory, sniffing meditatively at one or more of these strips of paper. A deep concentration wrinkles his brow and his demeanor reminds one of a Wall Street banker studying the pros and cons of a big loan or of a diplomat weighing a delicate démarche.”

A reader may ask an obvious question, why are there only twenty Noses in France? The author explains that the amount of dedication and the inborn talent required weed out quite a few people. “For that reason they are only twenty Noses in France, and this world-famous perfume center is their natural habitat.” None of the names are mentioned, nor are their perfumes revealed, thus, we are left to guess as to the identity of any of these Noses, and appropriately so, given the air of mystery Dresden attempts to create.

The Twenty “Noses” of France by Donald William Dresden. New York Times, December 28, 1947, pg. SM10.

Picture: French vintage advertising poster for a shaving cream from 1922. It does not relate in any way to the topic of my article, however a flying clown with a sickle appeals to my idiosyncratic (and at times sophomoric) sense of humour.

There are some powerful odors that can pass 

Out of the stoppard flagon; even glass 

To them is porous. Oft when some old box

Brought from the East is opened and the locks

And hinges creak and cry; or in a press

In some deserted house, where the sharp stress

Of odors old and dusty fills the brain;

An ancient flask is brought to light again

And forth the ghosts of long-dead odors creep.

When opening a perfume bottle and receiving a jolt that lifts some recollection from the depth of memory, I often think of Charles Baudelaire’s The Flask. The word perfume derives from Latin: per means through, fumum signifies smoke. Through the smoke of incense offerings to the gods… Through the mist of time, the past comes back in veils of images long lost under the layers of information the brain processes on daily basis. Three percent of our genes are devoted to olfaction, which is an impressive number. According to my neuroscience textbook (Nicholls et al., 2001), “odors are detected in a patch of about 100,000 olfactory receptor neurons whose axons project through a thin portion of the frontal skull to the olfactory bulb.” In comparison to visual and auditory receptors (four and one, respectively), the number of olfactory receptors is much higher, about 1,000. Moreover, unlike other receptors, they are continuously replaced….

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Established by Ernest Daltroff in 1904, Parfums Caron was originally located on Rue de la Paix in Paris. Daltroff purchased the perfumery from Anne-Marie Caron and kept the original name.  At the same time, he met Félicie Wanpouille, who became his partner and an important contributor to the rise of the house.  While Daltroff created fragrances, Wanpouille designed bottles and served as an artistic director.

From the beginning, Parfums Caron was the house dedicated solely to fragrance, unlike houses like Chanel or Christian Dior that were first and foremost fashion houses. While the perfume houses produced more fragrances than fashion houses, by the 1920s women started to look at perfume the same way they regarded new fashion styles as Marylène Delbourg-Delphis noted in her book Les Sillages des Elégantes (1983). However, as the couture fragrances became more and more popular, they provided a stable point in the ever changing world fashion, therefore the pace of perfume production began to decline.

Daltroff was a true experimentalist when it came to fragrance creation in his departure from the traditional reproduction of floral scents.  He used synthetics and rare absolutes daringly, and would not shy away from combining rose and jasmine essences with phenyl acetic acid and terpineol.  Although Caron fragrances are rather diverse, despite being created by the same perfumer, many of them share a wonderfully dark undercurrent, which is based on a blend of geranium, licorice, leather, iodine, and vanillin. This accord gained the name of “Mousse de Saxe,” revealing its mossy, dark and cool edge. When creating Nuit de Noël, Daltroff daringly incorporated this dark accord both in the heart and the base of the fragrance, which made the finished composition very unusual. ….

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As I once heard, Guerlain is for cocottes, Caron is for countesses. Agree or disagree?

See Luca Turin’s comment clarifying this little saying!

Watching an interview with the late New York City Ballet artistic director and choreographer, George Balanchine, on a DVD titled simply Balanchine (2004) led me to an interesting Guerlain reference. In an interview, Balanchine mentions that he liked buying perfumes for his dancers and especially Guerlain.

Although he did not name any specific perfumes, in another article I read that Mitsouko was among his favorites. The interviewer must have made a comment about the beauty of dancers as they trail perfume on the stage like lithe fragrant flowers, to which Balanchine replied, waving away the remark, “No, no, I just like to know once I get to the theater whether everybody is present and who is missing.” This was a quintessential Balanchine moment. Having such a grounded perspective in the ephemeral world of ballet is a true rarity.

Photo: George Balanchine and Suzanne Farrell in rehearsal.