Scentzilla!

I once read a remark made by the guitarist Steve Vai (Frank Zappa) that he wanted to make music so good that the listener would want to crawl inside their speakers and BE the music. That? Is Fath de Fath, the original. I want to squeeze through this bottle’s tiny aperture and become it.

Now I like the ‘93 relaunch version, but it is a whole ‘nother creation, and not at all like its predecessor that was first introduced in 1953. I suspect at some point I’ll get around to posting a review of the ‘93 version, too.

Fath de Fath as originally formulated is a green chypre. Even with my time-faded cologne I can feel moss growing inside the bottle. I sense lichen, ferns, and verdant life springing up in the small spaces of a shady forest. My husband’s first comment when I wore this was “Honey, you smell like rocks today.” It was a compliment, believe it or not. Moss grows most noticably in the Pacific Northwest along the rocks and trees.

At the base is something quite skankily animal. I suspect it’d be appalling as an isolated note, but it resolutely feeds into my sensation that Fath de Fath’s power stems from its insistence at life. (As a vegetarian, I’m choosing to remain blissfully ignorant of its exact source.) There may also be a leather note in here, but I feel unsure, since it smells only very faintly tannic. Way down towards the end, I get the kind of amber-y note that always reminds me of a cross between soap and cold butter. The effect is both earthy and elegant.

I dab this scent on, and I imagine myself travelling back through time as a “lady who lunches,” wearing smart-looking fitted Fath suits, and always engaging in witty Hepburn-Tracy style conversations. I have an overactive imagination, clearly.

I so wish I could obtain the parfum - I can’t imagine how rich it must be. But alas, even the full miniatures of the vintage fragrance are well beyond my means. My wallet actually jumps up out of my purse and runs shrieking from the house when I even briefly ponder a bottle of it. The 1 3/4 ounces of cologne was a lucky find, and bless you wonderful eBay members who are responsible sellers, but just as terrible at typing as I am (Jacques FaRth.)

One of the more unusual items housed at the Maryhill Museum (see Wednesday post for more) is Le Theatre de la Mode. The exhibition of fashion mannequins on stage sets was initiated shortly after WWII, to remind the world that despite the horror and hardship of the war, Paris was still the fashion capital of the world. An impressive array of designers contributed to make clothes for the miniature mannequins: Gres, Dior, Balenciaga, Lelong, and of course, Fath. One of the most eerie background sets for the display was created by Jean Cocteau. The first time a friend and I saw this exhibition, we giggled. It seemed a little silly to make such a fuss over what essentially looked like glorified Barbie clothes to us. However, reading the literature for the display impressed upon us the importantance it must have held for artists living in such a shell-shocked country. Richard Ricci, son of Nina Ricci, was the one who came up with the idea for the Theatre, and he conceived it as a creative way to help raise money for charity to pull the country back together.

Additionally, I never skip peeking into the closet at Maryhill that contains death masks. To be specific, I always take a gander at Napoleon’s. Seeing his death mask suddenly makes him seem so puny, so delicate, so… human. There’s also a nice selection of Russian Orthodox icons, and a small display of Queen Marie’s donations of artifacts from the last Romanov to rule Russia, Nicholas II.

For a brief online bio of Jacques Fath: Click here.

Gigi: My favorite gardenia pefume. Gigi lights up on the skin like a stick of incense. Smokey sweetness billows forth, eventually burning down to reveal a sensual floral perfume. The scent is predominately gardenia on me, lilted by an accent of ylang ylang. Dripping into the flowers is a juiciness that smells like a mix of underripe green pear skin and vanilla pear liqueur. It’s not sugary, though. I find the pear and rich vanilla are tempered by a note that calls to mind stem greens, paired alongside a vegetal musk note. (The musk is suggestive of the same skin-like one I get from Helmut Lang parfum.) This green note and the quiet musk pin the gardenia down onto my skin. It’s not until 4 or 5 hours into the wear that I actively notice the dry sandalwood at the bottom of Gigi’s composition. And I may be crazy here, but I perceive the faint whiff of french vanilla buried way down in there, too. The staying power is great on me - it takes 7 to 8 hours before I feel like I need to refresh it a little. Overall, this is a sweet but tender perfume that charms me anew everytime I wear it. However, Gigi is not a fragrance you wear to impress others. It is one you choose for your own sake, when being luscious sounds like an end in itself.

The woman pictured above is Loie Fuller, an American dancer who found fame (or infamy, depending on your view) as the Butterfly Girl, and was known most widely for her Serpentine Dance. Why I think of Loie Fuller when I wear this perfume is a mystery to me. I just do. The first I’d ever heard of her was after a trip to the Maryhill Museum. She was a great friend of Sam Hill, who began the museum, and Queen Marie of Romania, to whom Hill dedicated the museum. Maryhill is located in Goldendale, WA along the Columbia River, which is approximately in the middle of nowhere. Via Loie Fuller’s friendship with Auguste Rodin, Sam Hill acquired a surprising collection of Rodin’s sculptures. The sheer volume of his work housed in the gallery is amazing, and it really drives home the fact that Rodin did in fact perseverate on hands. There are hands everywhere. In fact, you musn’t spend too long in the Rodin gallery, or it all starts to seem downright creepy with all those disembodied appendages. Before too long, you’ll feel like you’re in an episode of CSI: Rodin. I’ll talk just a wee bit more on what other surprises are contained within this quirky little museum on Friday.

This review applies to my use of the eau de parfum. The eau de toilette is obviously a bit lighter, and seems sharper; The parfum is more expensive than my budget allows for, so I’ve been unable to try it.

“Ethere” to me is a bit of a misnomer. This scent feels somehow familiar to me, since it implements smells I think I recognize and then completely rearranges them in a whole new fashion.

The overriding impression I have of this is the smell of an early spring morning. Specifically, the scent alludes to the morning after a lawn was mowed, and after a night rain, where you smell the freshly cut but now wet grass, and the newly blossoming flower borders with their daffodils, some enterprising tulips, the last crocuses still pretending to cling to life, and freshly planted annuals.

Ethere additionally reminds me of the Tazo tea blend Om, with Om’s mix of black and green teas blended into green and flowery herbs.

Very neatly sewn in between the seams of these greens is a floral piping, with jasmine and rosy notes. The flowers here never dominate, but they are unmistakable and run right through the heart of Ethere.

This may smell just a bit sharp to some noses, I think primarily because it does have a lemon-y note. However, on the scale of sharp perfumes, this must fall towards the lower end of the spectrum. The lemon in this is very approachable, and is almost more like a lemongrass or lemon verbena than an acidic lemon.

This does seem to have a wood base at its very bottom, but I’m hard pressed to identify what in the heck that wood is. It’s particularly faint, and maybe has a slight buttery sweetness blended into it. Maybe. If I had to compare it to anything, the wood conceivably smells like an antique oak and walnut dresser my mom has. Who even knows, though, ’cause it’s really light. Perhaps the base is a blended accord of some sort?

Ethere is an excellent winter-blues pick me up, and would also make a great day/office scent. Ethere will not likely prove to be anyone’s “power” or art-of-seduction scent. The lush green never becomes acridic on me, and wears with a soft brightness for six to seven hours. I think it’s just lovely, a truly unabashadly green scent that lifts my mood up instantly whenever I wear it.

I Love Love is Moschino’s latest offering under his “Cheap and Chic” banner.

Forgive me for saying so, but I Love Love seems like a funny brew made up of one part Dolce & Gabbana’s Light Blue… and one part Hawaiian Punch fruit drink concentrate. Do they even make that stuff anymore? It used to be sold in tin cans you’d prong open, and then pour to mix with water.

Anyhow. I guess it might be nice if I elaborated beyond that.

The top is tart and citrusy, which slowly melts into another layer of fruit juice. I’ve read that a red currant note is attributed in this fragrance, but my brain keeps saying “jams and jellies.” I perceive a berry and a sneaky little touch of peach.

All this fruit is dolloped onto cedar and musk. The base tenaciously clings to the fruit, making this rather long-lived for a fruity eau de toilette. The drydown reveals an oddly familiar kitchen scent: There’s a sharp tang that is quite like the way my knives smell after cutting green bell peppers, as they wait on my wooden cutting board to be cleaned. The metallic ring is not unpleasant to me, but I know some folks can’t bear even the tiniest hint of metal in their perfumes.

I will likely be content with the miniature bottle I have, and not buy a full size bottle. It’s pleasant enough, but it’s just not “me.” This may work out well for those who almost like Light Blue, but wish it was not quite so austere and clinical.

The only thing I’m not really digging is the name “I Love Love.” It’s sort of cheerily idiotic. (I have nothing against love, don’t get me wrong.) I was relieved only one person inquired about what I was wearing this week. His exact words were “I Love Love?? Okay. Well, it smells good anyway.” And the flacon is unfortunate. I guess it’s funky, but it looks like a piece to a child’s boardgame. Ah well, to each their own.

Cynthia Rowley’s fragrance was released only a short while ago this summer. The bottle is such a Shirley Temple - so cute I can hardly stand it. I do hope someone wins an award for its design.

The fragrance features lily of the valley as its most prominent note. The lily of the valley in this scent is like a crust you might prepare for a tart - soft and crumbly. As my body warms the scent, a light green tang of verveine rises slowly, and later some watery notes of honeysuckle and juicy orange. While I can appreciate the heliotrope this fragrance contains, it wears as a photograph of itself taken from a distance. The base is thin and nearly weightless, a sheaf of paper under the muguet paperweight. I don’t sense musk, although there is a touch of amber at the bottom. I’m afraid the other notes ascribed to it seem to go missing on me and on my sister (my most willing guinea pig for testing perfumes.) I would not describe Cynthia Rowley as sugary or powdery; Rather, it’s sweetly floral. For an overall impression, I think I’ll quote my sister: “It’s good, but weak.”

But, boy oh boy, is it sure fun to wear. It makes me feel cutesy. The “juice” itself may not entirely justify a purchase, yet for some folks the bottle might prove to be irresistable. Cythina Rowley is a decent day scent, with roughly 3 to 4 hours staying power on me.

I really wish this fragrance line carried a bubble bath. It simply begs for one. I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for that.

The photo above is a clickable link to the Cynthia Rowley page at Sephora.com

Dior introduced Addict 2 this summer, and it is the third Addict in the line - the previous two being original Addict and the Addict Eau Fraîche. This newest one shares nearly nothing in common with Addict.

On a paper strip Addict 2 remains pretty and bright. But I am not made of paper; My skin interacts with it in a very disappointing manner.

Addict 2 sure starts out quite promisingly. The opening is deeply juicy, redolent of dripping oranges, tart grapefruit, and iced melon wedges. Yet the promise does not hold. Within 10 minutes, and I am being generous with this time line, it disappoints. Every note here becomes a bleached out version of itself. I would not be surprised if Dior told the perfumer, “make us perfume that is pastel.” As an intellectual experiment that is interesting. But on my skin, sadly the experiment fails. The composition after the initial 10 minutes reminds me strongly of the way quick watercolor sketches look. It gives general shape and lines, but the colors are waterstreaked and thin. The middle gives me a short glimpse at more fruits, white freesia, sandalwood, and something that smells like it might be lotus, yet they are such wan notes that I’m scared I am just imagining them. The whole fragrance smells so pale and slight on me. I also pick up on a note that seems rather rosy to me. Dior claims Addict 2 uses a “white musk” in the base, but it smells to me also like a bleached out version of the musk used in the first Addict. I quite like this sexy musky note, but alas, it does not redeem the whole fragrance for me. I don’t notice the musk at all until the very end, after the other notes have left. The staying power for the musk portion is decent, yet in general the fragrance lasts only an hour on me. Admittedly, fruits occasionally do go to die on my skin anyhow, but an hour of staying power is just ridiculous. I don’t know, maybe I just have weird skin. I tried this out on one of my young sons to try to get a different view of it – I find children wear fragrances in an interesting way that tends to cause the more angular and peculiar notes stick out. On him it was indeed juicier, but still rather unanimated.

I am hoping someone reading this will have had a completely different experience of Addict 2 than I. Please don’t be shy, share what you get from it that I am missing!

Above top right photo is taken of a vintage Schiaparelli silk scarf. The Addict 2 bottle is pictured below left, and the picture is a clickable link to its page at Sephora.com

Truth, to my nose, is one of the better Calvin Klein eau de parfums introduced since the noughties (2000) began. According to basenotes.net (link at right), it was created by Alberto Morillas, Jacques Cavallier, and Thierry Wasser. It is a green scent, but more at green woods than green leaves. The scent glides along like a casual walk through a forest in the Columbia River Gorge. As it makes its progression, you can smell the cool humidity of cascading waterfall spray, and the ferns that rise up along the fall’s pool basin. Truth may begin sharply on some folks. It smells cedar-like on my skin most noticably at the start, and this note seems to imply bark as a spice. Interlaced into the greens and woods is a dewy floral accord. I’ve read some sites credit a “white peony” in the composition, and that sounds right, but before I looked the notes up on the internet, I certainly couldn’t have named anything in particular. Frankly, the flowers here occur to me as a bouquet, rather than in specific notes. As Truth settles on my skin, a neat little bamboo note makes itself known. I most like this aspect of it. The florals and greens surprisingly become more pitched towards the middle of wear, rather than at the top. Next, a piquant sandalwood grows into this blend. The drydown itself remains quite floral - even after most of the other notes have evaporated. Patchouli in this fragrance wears on me as unusually flowery. I detect a wee smidge of something vanillic way towards the end of wear. It’s so light I’m unsure that some people will even find it on their skin.

The Truth shower gel is a nice balance of all the above components, but was a little too perfumed for me to use in the morning. I ended up just passing my barely touched bottle on to someone else. Still, if you like using strong but cool smelling bath products, it’s not a bad choice.

Calvin Klein at one time also briefly offered a “Sensual Bedtime Fragrance/ Eau Sensuelle de Nuit” version of Truth. I dimly recall that they also released it with complimentary bath cubes and incense. I could be mistaken on this point, however, so feel free to correct me if your memory is better. This Bedtime version is a lighter, more pine needled floral formulation in my opinion, and seems more linear in wear. I think it was a poor marketing decision to label this as “bedtime,” since to me it makes a rather decent day scent. I find it a little bit easier to wear than regular Truth. To the best of my knowledge, this version is quite tricky to get ahold of here in the U.S. It may be worth stalking Ebay for it if you’d like to like Truth, but wish the original was not quite so strong. (For the record, I don’t personally consider it strong, but some do.) One hazard of the Bedtime version: it attracts insects. Specifically? Bees. You’ve been warned. I wish I’d been.

I suspect Truth has never gained a ton of popularity partly due to the fact that it’s too woody for green-lovers, too green for those who like woody scents, and a bit too “masculine” for floral lovers. I am also confused by all the pronouncements of this as a warm scent. To me it is an earthy, cooling scent.

Photo above was taken at Wahkeena Falls in Oregon, located in the Columbia River Gorge.

Calvin Klein Eternity Purple Orchid is one of five(!) women’s “sequel” scents to 1988’s Eternity. I was told by a sales associate that Purple Orchid was initially introduced as a limited edition item, but sales popularity led the company to start up distribution again. I have a sneaking suspicion it also had more than a little to do with the fact that CK had nothing original to offer for the spring/summer season. Well, nothing that wasn’t a serialized Eternity or CK One.

Apparently, summer movies and summer perfumes have a lot in common: there’s a few blockbusters, a few interesting niche creations, and a whole lot of sequels.

And of course, I shouldn’t forget the summer comedies. Calvin Klein erected a big two-story “bottle” in Times Square to celebrate CK One’s tenth anniversary. The bottle was then filled with models trying their best to artfully appear as though they were “having fun,” but were really just performing for our “amusement.” Dance, monkey, dance! To bland techpop music, at that. Actually, the entire thing rather did remind me of the monkey house at the zoo. Some were just lolling about disinterestedly, some in groups and socializing, some bouncing around excitedly for no discernable reason. And all kept behind glass for the public’s safety, I’m sure. I halfway expected them to place a “Do NOT Feed The Models!” sign up on the windows. To glibly wreck a perfectly good Nirvana song, “Here we are now, please stop entertaining us.” I’m forced to conclude that somehow, someone arranging this spectacle saw the arch hilarity of it. The mind reels at the thought we were supposed to be favorably impressed.

Have I lost you yet? I do seem to have wandered off on a silly tangent. Sorry about that.

So, uh, anyway… yeah, Eternity Purple Orchid. I think this can be quite pretty. Not that it’s a stunner, as it registers nothing more than a “huh, how nice” from me. It wears as a white freesia dominated scent on some folks, whispering out the rest of the notes. On others, it carries itself as a peppery and herbally green undertoned perfume, with trills of floral notes crowding at the edges. Which reads, I’m guessing, as rather interesting. But other perfumes pull this off also, and more engagingly. (For example, Estee Lauder’s Pleasures.) All is sweetened by a vanilla base. The vanilla is played nicely but lightly. There’s also some note in the middle that on my skin smells like the way an uncut melon does. It’s not unpleasant, and truth be told, I rather like it. Not enough for me to care, though. If you wish to know what all the advertised notes of Purple Orchid are, please click here to see Sephora’s list.

The staying power and sillage is poor for an eau de parfum. I suppose this could provide a convenient choice of fragrace for those who need a non-offensive office scent. In that sort of setting, it’d conceivably work well. Certainly there’s nothing wrong with that.

But alas, I know I’ll easily forget about the small decant a friend let me make from her bottle, and never revisit this scent. Hello, Eternity Purple Orchid, and goodbye.

The piece above is a paper sculpture entitled “Purple Orchid” by Ron Chespak. It is appearing in the current National Museum Tour until 2007. Please click on the image itself for more information.

Touch of Pink was introduced by Lacoste in 2004. Its creation is credited to perfumer Domitille Bertier-Michalon at IFF, whose other recent works include Viktor & Rolf’s Flower Bomb (one of three perfumers credited) and Laura Biagiotti’s Acqua di Roma for men.

I must admit to a bit of snobbery here, for I was prepared to dislike Touch of Pink on the spot. I mostly associate Lacoste with their polo shirts of many hues. However, Pink pleasantly surprised me. I wouldn’t run through fire for it, but it holds a bit of charm for a fragrance that seems so pointedly aimed at a teenagers looking for nothing more substansive than something my friend Stacy might call “prettyful.”

Touch of Pink’s initial peppered opening led me to at first think there was a pink peppercorn top note. I see this is not a listed note. Cardamom and leaves in mutated disguise, perhaps? This pepperiness vanishes within a minute, revealing a strangely bitter element nested into a slightly weak jasmine and fruit (Lacoste claims blood orange, but I really couldn’t say.) It is this bitter touch that really keeps Touch of Pink from falling into the category of “nice but dreadfully dull,” and seems to run right through the heart of it. There is a very, and I do mean very, faint green note in the middle as well. Pink calls to mind the way peonies from my father’s garden smell a few hours after being plucked. It dries down to reveal a short-lived but pleasant carpenter dust-like sandalwood and vanilla base. Traces of the fruity-floral notes linger but only just. I feel this is a warm bright scent during the whole wear. It’s well developed for the market Lacoste wants to curry favor with, but doesn’t entirely lose appeal for other age groups. (I know, I am generalizing horribly here.) Staying power on me runs roughly 3 to 4 hours.

All things considered, I’ll probably never purchase a full sized bottle of this for myself. I do think it would be a nice choice during gift-giving occasions to present to high school and college age young women.

Lacoste Touch of Pink eau de toilette can be found at Meier & Frank, Macy’s, and Sephora. It can also be picked up through several online discount retailers, including Imagination Perfumery and parfum1.

Pink Grapefruit is one of a few Floris scents not sold as gender-specific. I feel this is appropriate, as I could imagine it pleasing members of either sex.

The grapefruit is light and fizzy, a bit like one of those carbonated juice-flavored sodas. The grapefruit is neither bitter nor metallic as sometimes happens with this note. This effervescent citrus note is poured across a plank of sandalwood. The sandalwood strikes me as clean, for it contains a hint of what smells not unlike a creme cake soap.

In hot weather, the grapefruit abandons my skin with apalling briskness , leaving only an unsettling sour woodiness behind. I discovered to my dismay that this effect is rather nausea-inducing.

However, on cooler days, the grapefruit and sandalwood remain true companions, one never outmatching the other. The drydown imparts a bit more of the wood than the fruit, but Pink Grapefruit remains mellow without losing its tart citrus eponym. Floris suggests this should be refreshed every 3 or 4 hours, which is about right. I have found that since I only enjoy it when the weather is cooler, the staying power on me is more like 5 to 6 hours.

Like many Floris scents, it is simply composed, and I find Floris is sometimes unduly overlooked as a consequence. They excel at lovely soliflor based scents, and it is unfair to judge them for that when the execution is done nicely enough.