Perfume Reviews: 860 posts

When did we develop our insatiable craving for sweet perfumes? I could point to Thierry Mugler’s Angel, the grandmother of all gourmands; launched in 1993, this bonbon of cotton candy, bitter chocolate and patchouli still graces best-seller lists the world over. The success of Angel inspired several generations of perfumes redolent of crème brûlée, caramel and rice pudding, from Chanel Coco Mademoiselle to Kenzo Amour, and the boundary between fragrance and flavor became nebulous.

While Angel set the modern trend, sweet notes are as old as the art of perfumery itself. Many classics have accords that tease with their subtle references to desserts without venturing too far into patisserie. For instance, the combination of peach, roasted almonds and cinnamon in Guerlain Mitsouko, created in 1919, suggests an extravaganza worthy of Escoffier, while the moss and woods add an abstract, distinctly non-edible effect.

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“Art does not reproduce the visible, it makes visible,” wrote the expressionist painter Paul Klee. The same could be said about perfumery, which is an art of intangible substances. The greatest fragrances conjure up the most complex of images, holding the artistic intent of their creators and offering a glimpse into their thoughts and memories. Of course, the goal of a perfumer may not always be that grand (or, given the nature of the market today, they may have neither the time nor opportunity to leave their fingerprint on a finished fragrance). However, when it does happen and a perfume feels more than the sum of its parts, it can touch us as deeply as any great work of art.

One of my favorite examples is Lalique’s Encre Noire Pour Homme released in 2006, and which perfumer Nathalie Lorson composed with the intention of showing off the suave, languid character of vetiver – a note usually seen as bracing and cold. A type of grass originating in India, Vetiver is grown to prevent soil erosion and produces a complex oil with accents of licorice, bitter grapefruit peel, smoke, and damp earth. Everything that makes it interesting is present in Encre Noire, but Lorson went further. She balanced the different facets of vetiver and highlighted them with musk and woods, fashioning the roughness of roots into reams of black silk.

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Munnar, a hill station in the southwestern state of Kerala, is one of India’s largest tea producers. Ensconced in the Western Ghats mountain range, the town is surrounded by plantations that cascade down the hills and hide in misty ravines. I was in Munnar for my honeymoon, and my recollections of long languorous walks around the tea gardens, the tolling church bells, and the opulence of flower garlands at the Sri Subramanya Temple are laced with the scent of tea leaves. Crushed in my fingers, they smelled green and tannic; when carried by the morning breeze, the aroma resembled violets and driftwood.

The fragrance of tea has captivated many perfumers, but it was Jean-Claude Ellena who created the tea accord that became a trendsetter. Today it’s known as Bulgari Eau Parfumée au Thé Vert. Curiously, the fragrance wasn’t meant to make a big splash. When the Italian jewelry house of Bulgari approached Ellena, they were merely looking to offer a perfume in their boutiques, an elegant addition to their collection of adornments. Meanwhile, Ellena had a sketch of a fragrance that his other clients deemed a bit too innovative. It was an etude evoking the aroma of tea, and it was perfect for Bulgari. However, as soon as the house started offering Eau Parfumée au Thé Vert in its boutiques, it drew so much attention that Bulgari had to stage a wider launch.

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The scent of sandalwood is glorious–creamy, velvety, with a rich rose nuance. It’s as if wood shavings had been steeped in rose liqueur and then drizzled with cream. I remember the bliss I felt while leaning over a vat of vetiver-sandalwood attar in Kannauj, a town in northern India renowned for its scents, and immersing myself into a cloud of fragrant vapor. I still have a handful of sandalwood chips from that trip and they retain their beautiful aroma. The combination of sandalwood and vetiver is even more spellbinding.

Of course, there are plenty of sandalwood-vetiver fragrances, from Serge Lutens Vétiver Oriental to Maison Louis Marie No.04 Bois de Balincourt. I enjoy all of them. Yet the sandalwood fragrance I wear the most is Forest Essentials Sandalwood & Vetiver Scented Body Mist. I bought it on the same Indian trip when I traveled to Lucknow and Kannauj researching the history of attars.

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When the Hermessence collection was first launched in 2004, it was conceived as an olfactory haiku—a few subtle details combined to create a complex impression. I still remain partial to the original creations like Vétiver Tonka and Ambre Narguilé, but the Middle East-inspired trio of Myrrhe Églantine, Cèdre Sambac, Agar Ebène has become my favorite. The compositions are complex and layered, with the classical Hermès radiance.

Myrrhe Églantine, for instance, plays with the shimmering effect of rose, setting it against a velvety background. This contrast has fascinated me from the first time I tried the perfume and the more I wear it, the more beguiling it becomes. The fragrance starts out on a sweet citrus, followed by a dark glimpse of violet. Unexpectedly, however, the notes fuse into an illusion of a crimson rose. When later, myrrh, a plush, resinous material that smells like licorice, woods and unburned incense, stakes its claims, the rose becomes even warmer.

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