On Wednesday, May 27th, the perfume conservatory Osmothèque will present a new lecture on the role of musks in perfumery. Titled “Les Muscs et Les Parfums”, the event will explore different facets of musks and the reason they are an essential ingredient in the perfumer’s palette. The lecture will be led by Max Gavarry, the author of famous fragrances such as Molyneux Vivre (1971), Guy Laroche J’ai Osé (1977), Rochas Mystère (1978), and Caron Infini (1972).

When: May 27th, Wednesday at 18h30 (1.5-2 hours duration)
Where: 8 Avenue de la Porte de Champerret, 75017 Paris
Online Order Fees: 22€ per person; the reduced fee for students and members of Société des Amis de l’Osmothèque is 16€. Entry for students of ISIPCA is free. To reserve your tickets, please click here.

If anyone goes to the event, could you please let us know your thoughts about it in the comments here? Of course, if you want to write up a short report, we would love it.

Extra: you can also read about different types of musks used in your favorite fragrances in my article, Musk : Salt and Butter of Perfumery. It was written 10 years ago (and updated); it’s still among the most visited posts on Bois de Jasmin.

The white petals swirl around me. I look up and see star shaped blossoms dotting the blue sky. I should be enjoying our cherry orchard while strolling through it with a book of Japanese poetry or lounging under the trees with a cup of tea. Instead, my hands are covered with wet soil, and I’m dressed in something that used to be my grandmother’s housedress. It’s the potato planting season, and moments of quiet contemplation are few and far between. I promise myself that I will live out my 19^th century country manor fantasies one of these days, but as the Japanese poets know only too well, the blossoming cherry is the embodiment of impermanence, a bittersweet reminder of the transience of life. The next day the rains come, and most of the dazzling glory is lying on the ground splattered in mud.

Every spring I desperately want the cherry blossoms to last longer, to have more days of walking up to the snow white froth outside my window, to bury my face into the mass of petals, and just to feel the exuberance of spring around me. As the season runs its course, the textures and colors of cherry flowers seep into my day to day life and linger long after the petals turn to dust. Last year, I experimented with Japanese seasonal recipes and tried salted cherry blossoms in sakura tea and steamed flounder (marinate fish in sake, add a pinch of salt and a few salted blossoms before setting it in the steamer). This year, my makeup kit is all cherry blossom themed, with the appropriate perfumes to complement the look.

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Is it possible to have too many rose perfumes? Not really, if you ask me. On the other hand, it’s entirely within reason to limit one’s wardrobe to the best of the best, especially since we’re spoiled for choice. Unfortunately, L’Artisan Parfumeur’s Rose Privée doesn’t make the cut. While made from quality materials, it has neither an interesting character nor does it offer anything you can’t find elsewhere (and for significantly less money).

On the rose spectrum, Rose Privée is on the light and sparkling end, although it has some dark touches. From the moment you apply it, you notice fruity notes—sweet raspberry, tart pomegranate peel and other juicy, bright effects. Rose essence naturally shares many elements with the aromas of berries, so the fruity nuance is a pleasant, harmonious touch. A green, spicy note underneath the pink froth should be a great contrast, but instead, it turns bitter and musty, a flower on the edge of withering.

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The village of Kannauj in the state of Uttar Pradesh has been perfuming India’s emperors and mere mortals for centuries. It thrived under the reign of the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan (1628-1658), the aesthete and arts patron who left the world the Taj Mahal and many other pearls of architecture. In the refined Mughal culture, the use of fragrance was part of daily life, and every courtier knew how to blend perfumes. Today Kannauj continues to produce attars, co-distillations of rose, jasmine, camphor, henna, and vetiver with sandalwood, most of which are used by the chewing tobacco industry. One of the most remarkable local specialties is mitti attar, the smell of rain.

This unique aroma is the subject of Cynthia Barnett’s article Making Perfume From the Rain for The Atlantic. She’s also the author of Rain: A Natural and Cultural History, and in Kannauj she discovers how the artisans process the local clay to capture the fragrance many people find evocative. Of course, rain smells differently around the world, and this is another topic she discusses.

“Every storm blows in on a scent, or leaves one behind. The metallic zing that can fill the air before a summer thunderstorm is from ozone, a molecule formed from the interaction of electrical discharges—in this case from lightning—with oxygen molecules. Likewise, the familiar, musty odor that rises from streets and storm ponds during a deluge comes from a compound called geosmin. A byproduct of bacteria, geosmin is what gives beets their earthy flavor. Rain also picks up odors from the molecules it meets. So its essence can come off as differently as all the flowers on all the continents—rose-obvious, barely there like a carnation, fleeting as a whiff of orange blossom as your car speeds past the grove. It depends on the type of storm, the part of the world where it falls, and the subjective memory of the nose behind the sniff. To continue reading, please click here.”

Is there a perfume that captures the scent of rain for you?

Photography by Bois de Jasmin

When most fashion magazines have spreads of Easter egg colored couture, my most glamorous look features faded black jeans and a Zara puffy jacket, a dreadful thing that sheds copious amount of feathers. Then there are my layered outfits, and I don’t mean tastefully put together layers of chiffon and cashmere suggested by Vogue. In the Ukrainian countryside, where spring is still tentative and the heating costs astronomical, we layer by putting on as many pieces of clothing as possible while still retaining the ability to lower our arms. I even sleep in a layered ensemble that includes tights, pajamas and a red sweater made by Miu Miu many years ago, but I betcha Miuccia Prada wouldn’t recognize it as one of her own now. Occasionally, I even do vintage by combining my grandfather’s track suit bottoms with my great-grandmother’s boucle jacket, a hideous look but perfect for whitewashing the cherry trees.

While I love dressing up (and indeed overdressing; I wouldn’t think twice about wearing a turquoise Betsey Johnson dress to the most staid of occasions), I relish the chance to dress purely for comfort. I enjoy dispensing with concerns of well-selected outfits and I stop worrying about my state of elegance according to any sort of fashion standard. In my grandmother’s village, my standard is the garden, or rather my ability to work in it without getting cold, wet or overheated. If the roses can be pruned and the apple trees whitewashed in comfort, the rest doesn’t matter.

What I don’t set aside is a glamorous perfume. Fashion designer Jean Patou called his fragrances “invisible couture”, and as the most intimate of adornments, scent is the most powerful. A few drops can create the ambiance you seek, make you travel in time, or even in my case, give an instant dose of glamour.  Why on earth should I care about not looking exactly like a cover girl when I’m trailing Mitsouko behind me? Plus, nothing is more perfect for collecting last year’s leaves than this autumnal golden peach chypre.

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