white florals: 4 posts

Few perfumers navigate the intersection of creativity and technical prowess as deftly as Dominique Ropion. His track record reads like a résumé designed to impress even the most jaded observer: Dior Dune, Givenchy Amarige, Thierry Mugler Alien and Lancôme La Vie est Belle. I had the privilege of working with Ropion at IFF, where I discovered not only his brilliance but also his generosity as a teacher. Which, of course, makes me a suspiciously biased judge. And yet, years spent smelling everything from the sublime to the regrettable have, I hope, earned me a modicum of distance.

All the same, I couldn’t resist a visit to 27 Rue Marbeuf on a recent trip to Paris, where the Aphorismes by Dominique Ropion boutique gleams like a Fabergé egg in its display case. Ropion has partnered with Habib Al-Sowaidi, founder of Le Royaume du Parfum International, a company known for developing gilded concepts and equally gilded packaging. Judging by the boutique’s hyper-luxurious décor and the prevalence of oud and creamy musks in the collection, the aesthetic here leans toward a particular idea of opulence. Let’s call it “majlis meets Place Vendôme.”

The collection comprises six perfumes, each with names that suggest either simplicity or whimsy: A Rose is a Rose, Crazy Garden, Encens Insensé, Innocent Tuberose, My Clémentine, and Oud à l’Amour. We are told they offer “modern takes on classical fragrance families.” This promise intrigued me. Ropion is not the sort to do things by halves.

And indeed, each perfume is immaculately constructed. The ingredients are superb. The compositions shimmer and glow. They last for hours and leave trails that are as finely calibrated as a line of perfectly placed pearls. Even Oud à l’Amour, the collection’s heavy-hitter, has a transparency that makes it more Veuve Clicquot than vintage port. My Clémentine is a sunny splash of bitter orange with the fizz of champagne bubbles, and it stays that way far longer than physics should allow.

But something was missing. These perfumes are models of elegance and restraint. Impeccable, yes. But I found myself searching for a pulse. Once the blotter was set down, I struggled to recall anything beyond the flawless execution. At first, I blamed myself. Perhaps I had become too critical. But then I smelled Prada Purple Rain and Serge Lutens Cracheuse de Flammes and felt the old jolt of excitement return. So I kept revisiting Aphorismes, searching for the elusive spark.

It came faintly in Innocent Tuberose. Ironically, the most predictable of the group. A lush, creamy white floral that demonstrates why Ropion is a master of this genre. It opens with a refreshing hit of citrus, like an iced finger bowl, before plunging into a riot of petals and musks. A bracing green note of cardamom and blackcurrant leaf cuts through the cream, providing just enough contrast to make the richness feel less like dessert and more like dinner at a Michelin-starred spa.

As the hours pass, what remains on the skin is a soft blur of petals anchored by woody notes that evoke cold roots and moss. It’s still a white floral, still unmistakably Ropion, but tempered, like an indulgence that’s been given a gym membership.

Fans of Frédéric Malle’s Carnal Flower will find Innocent Tuberose an easy pleasure. I should know; I wore Carnal Flower on my wedding day, and I still reach for it with fondness. Does Innocent Tuberose unseat it? Not quite. Where Carnal Flower has those jagged edges that make it human, Innocent Tuberose is smoother, more polished, and perhaps a little too perfect. Like a face that has never known a sleepless night.

And then there’s the price. As always with perfection, it doesn’t come cheap.

Aphorismes by Dominique Ropion Innocent Tuberose includes mandarin, grapefruit, bergamot, orange blossom absolute, ginger, cardamom, pink pepper, cassis, muguet, tuberose, ylang ylang, jasmine sambac, lactones, Cashmeran, cypriol, vetiver, ambergris, musk. Available directly from the boutique and Jovoy in Paris. Very expensive.

With the holidays behind us and still too many winter days ahead, it’s important to find ways to add a splash of color to the grey, cold mornings. I reach for my brightest dresses and scarves and add swirls of saffron and paprika to my food, evoking sunshine and warmth. Or I rely on white floral perfumes to create a vivid ambiance.

White flowers may call to mind bridal veils, but there is nothing prim and pastel about the scent of tropical blossoms like tiaré, frangipani, ylang ylang, tuberose or jasmine. They have a voluptuous aroma reminiscent of warm skin, coconut milk and petals sticky with nectar. The synesthetes among perfumers swear that white flowers smell purple and pink, rich and saturated, and it’s true that wearing a white floral perfume makes me feel as if the day is brighter.

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One of my favorite childhood pursuits was to make perfume. At least, that’s what I called it—my great grandmother’s description was “pestilence.” I scoured the flower beds, collected rose, carnation and dahlia petals, soaked them in water and waited until they turned into a fragrant brew. Eventually, the whole lot would rot and smell more beastly than beautiful, but undaunted I persevered. Faced with a garden that her great granddaughter pillaged on a daily basis, Asya gave me a bottle of perfume called White Lilac and hoped that my interest would eventually fade.

Years later, and I’m still fascinated by floral scents. Their variety is immense, from jasmine to marigold, from rose to ylang ylang. More than any other family, florals are susceptible to change as technology evolves. The aroma-material called hedione has changed the way we perceive floral perfumes. Its lemony freshness decorates almost all floral accords–and fragrances in all other perfume families. For instance, you can notice hedione in classics like Christian Dior Diorella or in modern blends like Penhaligon’s The Favourite.

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As a counterpart to my article and video Three Men’s Fragrances for Women : Modern Classics, I would like to talk about women’s fragrances for men. In a way, this is a more complicated topic, because men’s fragrance styles are more conservative and limited than those intended for women. On the other hand, I’m constantly inspired by my readers here who experiment and wear different types of perfumes, and I wanted to offer a few words of encouragement to those who’d like to follow their lead.

First of all, if you like certain types of scents, disregard their gender classification. The one unexpected benefit of social distancing these days is that it gives you space to try something that you wouldn’t otherwise. Also, reconsider fragrance notes and their associations. The reason I selected tuberose for my example is because it can be adopted by anyone, men and women.

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