Scentzilla!

Karen Klein candles are all housed in glass containers wrapped smoothly with different fancy papers. The three I tried were Bellini; Fig, Black Currant, Fresh Grass; and Basil Pomegranate. All three candles burned very cleanly and efficiently.

Bellini was the most disappointing of the three. It has a very light scent that reminds of a peach sorbet, champagne, and a little bit of banana peel. But it has very little throw. In fact, my husband commented that he really liked this one, and in respose to my question of why, he said it was because it didn’t smell. Yeesh.

Fig, Black Currant, Fresh Grass smells when unlit like it’s going to be a bit sharp. But after burning, the air fills nicely with a rather simple fragrance of sweet grass. The fruity elements don’t stand out as foody or overpowering, but simply temper the grassiness down into something enjoyable. The throw on this one is particularly good, and it only takes a short while to fill a room with its scent.

Basil Pomegranate is my favorite of the three I tried. The basil isn’t apparent until after it’s lit, and doesn’t read to me as something spicy, but rather like the way fresh basil plants smell while they are still growing in the ground. The basil freshens the fruit, giving a clean and friendly feel. The throw of this candle is also fairly good, but the perfume is a delicate one, and doesn’t hit you over the head as quickly as some candles do. I rather liked that.

Following the hyperlink at top will take you to the official Klein site, which has a menu link to see all the various online retailers for these candles.

Toujours Moi is a fragrance I had picked up on a recommendation from someone whose taste meshes well with my own. It’s a cheap indulgence. The cologne is spiced with cinnamon layered over orange and wood. I hate the way it opens, though. It’s harsh, acidic, and just wrong. If I give it an hour though, it settles into a nice spiced woodiness that is enjoyable, even if it’s a bit thin. The matching shower gel reflects the drydown more than the opening, fortunately, and imparts a nice layer of fragrance to my skin. (If you use it, though, you’ll probably want to be a little less neurotic about the warning than I am.)

Having enjoyed the current incarnation of Toujours Moi, I was thrilled to pick up a curious little item from the scent’s past:

a choker necklace with a charm that holds a solid perfume.

I am guessing it was made sometime from the mid 60s to the early 70s, which I base upon the packaging, and similar items I have seen from Corday from the era. The charm is decorated with a penned unicorn exactly like in the one in a large tapestry housed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I am not really a unicorn person. I can’t even appreciate them in an ironic and/or kitschy way. Nevertheless, I thought the necklace was neat. And the solid perfume inside the charm was unused, untouched.

Opening the charm was like finding treasure. I can’t abide the current verison of the scent as made by Dana anymore. This scent is not harsh or sharp. It’s ALIVE. Notes similar but richer instantly appear. The cinnamon in this vintage solid is freshly ground sweet spice. The orange and wood occur like earthy dreams, rather than being compartively like the potpourri notes happening in the new version. And it has a full heart the Dana produced fragrance lacks, pulsing with notes that seem like patchouli and amber to me.

Dana Toujours Moi, I think, is the zombie of Corday’s scent. It has the shell and appearance of the original’s body, but it lacks a soul. And given the acidity of the zombie Toujours Moi, it may actually eat your flesh like all good B-movie zombies do. I’m afraid knowing what I was missing out on has completely ruined me against the newer bottles of it, which is a pity, since I had liked it well enough before the necklace.

Monday: Fruit & Passions Hot Dog

Wednesday: Zombie, or the story of how I found out that Dana Toujours Moi is the living dead version of Corday Toujours Moi.

Friday: Karen Klein candles

My dog isn’t the most spoiled pooch in the world, but he’s not exactly living a Spartan existence as a beloved lap dog. He’s family - hell, he’s of the opinion that it is he who takes care of all us humans. When the microwave beeps, he comes and barks at us to tell us the food is ready. If we talk too loudly, he yaps to remind us to use our indoor voices. He smells candles burning on a birthday cake, and he whines and attempts to herd us outside because we are in imminent! danger! from fire. He feels put out because we adults no longer check up on the children in the middle of the night like he still does. We like to joke that he’s got 10 pounds of personality poured into a 5 pound sack.

And… he can get rather smelly. Not in a good way. There’s a compelling reason we nicknamed him Mr. Stinky Cheese.

Honestly, the idea of dog perfume is one I’d scoffed at in the past. It does seem ridiculous. And then I saw Fruits and Passions’ eau de toilette, called Hot Dog. Oh lord. Fred is a hot dog, or wiener dog, or as the civilized folks like to call him, a mini dachshund.

Did the dog or I actually need this? Oh yes, I said to myself, oh yes, we most certainly do. I am a sucker. (The dog, not so much, what with his lack of funds.)

As it turns out, Hot Dog smells very much like Henri Bendel’s Wild Fig, with slightly less smokey leaves, and a touch greener at the start. It’s mostly the same. Both come across as figgy dessert scents.

The directions indicate not to spray the fragrance directly on your hound. Spray onto a brush, or on your hands, and then apply the scent to the dog’s coat. I recommend using a brush, since it made my hands feel a little sticky afterwards.

The scent lasted on the little guy for roughly two days. Not bad, actually. Still, I found the cheese rose up through the fig a little after the first day, creating a whole new fragrance rife with gorgonzola and fig newton cookies. It was strange but nice at the same time. But, uh, I won’t be buying this again. I will use up the bottle slowly enough, though.

In case you’re curious, here’s Fred’s verdict moments after being perfumed:

He sat up, yawned, and went to go sleep in his dog bed with his hideously stinky blanket, leaving his human to her own crazy devices. I think that’s about the most worthwhile appraisal of Hot Dog you’ll probably find.

Jeanne Arthes is a company that appears to specialize in distributing low to mid-end priced fragrances. While none of the Arthes fragrances I’ve tried are exceptional, none are outright terrible, and some are very nice.

Cassandra Blanc is very nice, indeed. And it’s quite affordable at €10 for 100 ml.

It begins with a creamy lemonic note that causes me to think of lemon custard ice cream. Suffused through the fragrance is a warm cuddly woodiness, calling to mind sandalwood and light cedar, and a very yummy honeyed vanilla. The creamy lemon unfolds into a fruity accord. This fruit reminds me of the ambrosia fruit salads church ladies would bring to church picnics when I was growing up. (Well, they’d bring that along with a whole smorgasbord of dishes. There was just something about South Dakota church ladies and cooking that I think always took on a dimension of kindly decadent excess.) The drydown retains this creamy ambrosia salad, but it allows the vanilla and wood to gain prominence nicely.

Cassandra Blanc’s affordability is presumably due to use of very cheap ingredients. And you know what? So what. It’s enjoyable and a pleasure to wear. I like it as an everyday fragrance, because it’s so easy to slip on and it always fits. (Now if Arthes would only offer a matching body wash I’d be as pleased as punch.)

The most reliable, and frequently cheapest, source (for those of us in the US) is directly through the company’s online site. The site can be viewed in either French or English, but you will have to be able to navigate their shopping cart for payment and checkout in French.

Cananga di Java (Javanese Cananga) reminds me in feel of fragrances past, vaguely calling to mind vintage scents from fifty years ago. It’s new and old-fashioned in its way.

The fragrance is fairly linear. What you initially smell is what you get. Cananga di Java doesn’t particularly develop any unexpected surprises. Which is fine by me. A high sweet ylang ylang rises off rich honeyed wood notes. Warm ambers implying incense and soap create an ambience of candlelit rooms. Folded into the base is what I perceive as a wee touch of patchouli. I really noticed the patchouli during the summer when I tried to wear this, since with the heat of the season that note wore on me as “armpit” rather than patchouli. Cananga di Java is quite well blended, and for something that seems so simple it’s immensely satisfying.

J & E Atkinsons have shifted identity from an English to an Italian company. But their history in England is worth mentioning I think, because of of a quirky little historical footnote to WWII. To assist (and I suppose make money) with the war effort, they manufactured cakes of anthrax (!) under a military directive from Winston Churchill. This has nothing to do with this scent, but it’s so unusual I thought it worth sharing.

Rather than posting an image for Cananga di Java, I thought I’d share a song. Pink Martini’s Una Notte a Napoli is also new but old-fashioned and satisfyingly fun:

Pink Martini is a band based in Portland, and both their CDs get regular rotation on my player. I’d especially recommend listening to the original compositions U Plavu Zoru and Sympathique, as well as their cover of Jimenez’s Donde Estas, Yolanda? The music clip is from NPR, and here is their feature story on the band. To listen to all their recordings, or to purchase their CDs, visit Pink Martini’s site. I can’t emphasize enough how great they are, and if you like music that gives you “happy feet” then this is the band for you.

Magie Noire was introduced in 1978, credited to perfumer Gerard Goupy. (I saw on Scent Direct his name listed as Coupy, but thanks to Victoria, I have been corrected.) Googling has turned up nothing about Goupy, so if anyone knows what other perfumes he may have worked on, I would really appreciate the information. Thanks to those who commented on the old blogsome blog post, I was informed he also worked on Lancome’s Climat as well as Cacharel Pour Homme: Thanks guys!

I don’t wear this fragrance a lot. Not because I don’t like it, or because it’s hard to wear. It’s because it’s special to me. I prefer to savor it, and reserve use for only certain occasions.

Magie Noire eau de toilette has always struck me as slightly acetonal. This is not a negative. It lends the scent a crisp urgency. Magie Noire reminds me of dodging the fall rains in downtown Portland, pounding across the wet pavement and over leaf-choked gutters. All in an attempt to elude the brisk air and humid concrete colored skies, as I dart from one shop to another.

The secret to this fragrance for me is how it mutates its not unusual notes. Lichen wears as spice. Rose and galbanum become gold. Wood presents as though it were curing itself on the skin. Patchouli leaves flutter loose from the folds, hinting at trunks of woven treasures from imaginary adventures. Magie Noire is sometimes referred to as an amber oriental. This is not a cold butter amber, nor an incense amber. It’s amber that echoes some distant animal shriek. The echo bounces across the floral, green, and wood notes - never landing, never stopping, just fading off as it repeats itself.

The scent wears on me as darkly sensual, sexy, and powerful. It’s a brilliant piece of art. (Sadly, some of the bottles changes they’ve chosen through the years are not so brilliant.)

It has seemed to me as the years pass by that Lancome is willing to let this fragrance fall into ignomity. What a colossal mistake. They continue to market lesser (in so many ways) scents, letting Magie Noire gather dust and neglect like an unwanted toy. I hope after the reissue of some of their other vintage scents, Lancome will also consider repairing their relationship with Magie Noire. And the effort had better extend to their counter people. When I asked one saleslady about any possibility of reissuing stronger concentrations of it, she looked askance at me like I was joking and said, “Oh, that’s an old one.” Huh. If I worked for Lancome, I’d be proud to show this one off. Like the world really needed Connexion. Or for that matter Miracle, which I will say is nice enough, and which this saleslady eagerly pitched to me instead. Few of Lancome scents can hold a candle to what Goupy alchemized with his Magie Noire. I feel more than a little implacable on this point, so please forgive me if I sound strident.

I wonder though, are there other people who have a favorite fragrance they rarely wear? Do you have some special scent that you use on only on special occasions?

First image of a work by Portland artist Mona Superhero, who creates her works entirely with duct tape. Please click here or on the image itself to learn more about the artist and see more of her works. Last two pictures are from this Saturday. I went out thinking I’d take pictures of some of the few leaves that have fallen thus far in Oregon, but the weather had strange plans. It was only lightly raining, and then it suddenly began to hail while sheets of rain ripped over us. So, one picture of shiny wet leaves, and one of the hail melting in the bark dust.

Agent Provocateur fascinates me. I don’t know any other way to put it. It engages me in a very peculiar way, because while it is ostensibly intended as a sexy fragrance, I find myself trying to think it over and puzzle it out while I wear it. So I guess for me, strangely enough, Agent Provocateur develops as an intellectually stimulating fragrance. It makes me feel like reading long complicated books, like David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, and just thinking. It is overall quite a heady fragrance, and may invoke a strong hate in others for the same reasons it instantly attracted me. I cannot comment on the veracity of its saffron note, as I have never consumed any cooking that has used saffron in sufficient quantities to make it stand out. The insistent cedaric nature of this scent predominates through the wear of this eau de parfum. The cedar smells like stacked cords of firewood drying after the rain.

My impression of the opening is that it’s almost uric, yet it simultaneously almost leans towards a sweetness that is almost floral but really almost like unrefined maple syrup. That’s a whole lot of almosts, I know, but it’s not quite anything fixed. It neatly suggests these things without being any of them at all. Right from the kick-off, threre’s a strange floral-chypre thing that seems to be going on. As the top fades, an enjoyable corriander appears, which tends to hide inside the woodiness. The heart of Agent Provocateur is stretched across a bed of roses. The rose note is almost smokey. I get a bit of musk, but it’s not one that hits you over the head, and it tends to serve as the sidekick to the more powerful cedar. Lying low, the amber rides as a subtle undercurrent on my skin.

Agent Provocateur has a truly magnificent, and practically maniacal, throw. So the sillage may give many people pause before choosing this scent. I love any number of scents, and like many more, but this one instantly knocked my socks off. It’s certainly not for everyone. It has tremendous character, one that not everyone will take to. In fact, this could wear as vulgar on some folks.

I do have one complaint, and it has nothing to do with the juice itself. The packaging reflects an odd choice on the part of the company. The pink eggshell* shaped bottle is tidily minamalist, which is fine. But I am not keen on their decision against a cap top. The metal band with its thin black ribbon, sits under the sprayer to keep it from being accidentally pressed. Seems like an okay idea. But it has the unfortunate habit of pulling off the sprayer with it when I try to remove it. Moreover, the fragrance has such strong throw it needs a cap to contain it, because its molecules want to invade everything around it. I have left the plastic disposable cover that came with the boxed presentation to inure against this, but it’s a less than attractive answer.

This would, in my opinion, make a jaw-droppingly HOT fragrance on a man. Not that I could persuade any of the men in my life to try it. All in turn took one look at the pink exterior and flatly rejected the idea. I do hope there are some men who will not be so easily shaken and will judge it for what’s inside.

I will not be shocked if Agent Provocateur develops a cult-classic status one day in the far off future. ‘Cause, yeah, I think it’s that good.

*Embeded in the word “eggshell” is a hyperlink for a streaming music clip in QuickTime format. The song is “The Shell” by Audio Learning Center off their album Friendships Often Fade. The song is provided by Vagrant Records. It’s a great song, and like Agent Provocateur, makes me want to concentrate and enjoy it. The band is one of many that calls Portland home.

Frederick’s of Hollywood Signature Scent is a fairly simple, unoriginal blend, but for what it is it’s nice. It’s primarily vanilla and musk, which is kind of the perfume equivalent of a little black dress: basic, perfunctory, and handy. It’s tempting to dismiss it for being so plain, but really, we all need some variations on the basics in our wardrobes, and to some extent, our perfume wardrobes, too.

For convienence’s sake (mine) I will just call this eau de toilette Fred from here on in. (Also? It’s the name of my dog, and I quite like the idea of Fred perfume.)

Fred begins with a layer of tart citrus over the top of the vanilla and musk. The company’s description of Fred cites florals, but the only floral I notice is the same sort of vanilla orchid flower that L’Occitane employs in their reformulated vanilla fragrance. The citrus and floral vanilla evaporate quickly, leaving the darker vanilla and musk to dance around a warm amber note. Not exactly groundbreaking stuff. But nice.

And it is distinct to me. All summer long I kept smelling it on random strangers in Portland, and now that we’re movin’ on into autumn I still notice it everywhere. What charms me the most about Fred is the diversity of people who are wearing it. I’ve noticed no patterns - it’s on young and old ladies; at all sorts of places like bookstores, pubs, parties, and cafes; it appears to be chosen by people from different socioeconmic levels. It’s not that any one group always choses any one particular scent, but I do notice some “types” cotton to certain fragrances more than others. For example, Britney Spears’ Curious is one I spot on way more teens and early twenty-somethings more than anyone else. With this one? No such groupings. I think that’s neat.

The flacon itself isn’t that interesting. It’s Fred’s “box” that is fun. It’s a satiny cylander held shut by garter straps. Silly? Sure, it’s silly. But I pity anyone who can’t appreciate a bit of silly fun.

My feeling here is that Fred makes a perfectly good everyday fragrance that’s not terribly expensive. And if you live in the Portland area wearing it, please just patiently ignore the crazy lady with the loopy grin who reflexively shrieks “Frederick’s of Hollywood!” as you pass by. She means well enough.

Image from Frederick’s site - the liquid is pictured as lighter than it really is, and the actual color is slightly more caramel.

100% Love was created by Sophia Grosjman as a female specific eau de toilette. I find this fragrance kind of depressing - according to it, love is really twee.

It opens up with what smells like Sweet Tarts candies, moving into a mix of strawberry and raspberry flavored Jello, with a heart that reminds me of rose pastilles and candy lipstick. I want to say there’s something like a neutered cardamom here, but that’s not quite right. I think this scent also hints at peach syrup as it dries down.

I read on S-Perfumes site the notes attributed, including chocolate and incense. Which, if I concentrate, I can perceive. Yet they don’t occur to me naturally. I wonder if the aim was to create a scented stageset of candelight and chocolate-dipped strawberries? This allusion mostly passes me by. Oh well, I guess I’m missing out on that.

100% Love is a very well considered fragrance, meaning all the notes are quite mindfully located. For what it is, I can appreciate that it’s a rich scent redolent of rosy berries. But good lord, is this one is SO not a good fit for me. It seems childish to me. My sister described it as the scent you’d make for a doll, and I can see where she’s coming from with that observation.

The lingering impression I get is of a syrupy prettiness. There are fans of that, and they would do fine with this scent. Especially those who are sick of watery fruity-florals, and long for something full-bodied. I think those folks might enjoy sampling it. It just happened to rub *me* the wrong way.

Image above is of an old poster from the “Love Is…” phenomenon from the 70s. My choice of images may possibly sting a bit too harshly, admittedly. But it’s the first visual I thought of when I smelled this perfume, so I thought I’d go with it.