Scentzilla!

Fendi’s Theorema, translated I believe as “Theorem,” distills warm sun upon the skin with a simple spritz. It parlays the quiet pleasure of a satisfied cat napping in a window sunbeam into a fragrance.

Theorema brightens the senses with juiceless bursts of orange, which my nose identifies as mostly neroli. As orange peels back (har-har), nutmeg and cinnamon spice the dehydrated fruit. But these spices exist heatlessly. They hang upon my skin in a clarified angular air, devoid of any expected pungency. Yet they are unmistakably spices. Oh, but there is more to come.

Sandalwood plumes skyward, however it is as smokeless as an unlit stick of sandalwood incense. It smells dry, seeming like freshly sharpened pencils. And then I sense chocolate without smelling any chocolate at all. But wait, for this is leading to yet more discoveries.

I perceive patchouli leaves: I feel a bit self-conscious about mentioning it, so I want to note it is played as a subtle melody. It’s rather like the gentle hum of a keyboard behind the louder themes of a guitar-driven song. Amber and more dry wood form the base of the scent, but never at any point are the orange or cinnamon lost.

This fragrance contains all the complexity we expect from heavier “orientals,” but it is lighter. Effortless, even.

I choose carefully when to wear Theorema. To me, this perfume is worn to express joyful contentment. By this I do not mean the sort of “joy” that leads one to whoop and jump on couches, nor the sort of contentment that renders one smugly self-satisfied. It is the quiet happiness of enjoying your place and time in the world. What I sniff in Theorema is what I hear in Crowded House’s song Distant Sun (click to hear a brief clip, or right click and select “Save Target As.”) Both creations only reflect this emotional state back at me, for they cannot realistically induce it. Yet what a small and precious moment they approximate. All I require of this fragrance is that it lets its easy warmth radiate around me.

Theorema is no longer being sold in the US anymore. It is worth hunting down. I am of the opinion this fragrance did not catch on as it ought to have due to poor marketing. An old commercial from 1998 featuring cutesy cartoon characters leaves me perplexed, and a newer dark-and-stormy-night commercial doesn’t particularly connote what the juice of the perfume itself is like. Fendi has been recently swallowed up by the leviathan LVMH. They have focused their attention on turning Fendi into another of their mass market cash cows, and I fear Theorema is one of the casualties of this push. It’s a work of art, and as a majority of artists know, art alone does not always pay the bills. I understand the business drive to concentrate on the fast money-making products, but the slow rejection of Theorema still upsets me anyhow.

Image at top a collage: perfume bottle photo is from strawberrnet.com, and diagram is from dm.unipi.it. Second image entitled Golden Rectangle, by Dennis Hartley (freedgallery.com.) Second image entitled Echoes, by Jeff White (beppugallery.com.) Third image entitled Trees IX, by Robert Cook (artforte.com.) Fourth image entitled Lama at Sunset, by Jian Hai Zhao (artforte.com.) Last image from http://ihatemyflatmate.blogspot.com, a really funny blog to read that I recommend to anyone who has ever put up with crazy roomates. The song “Distant Sun” is off of Crowded Houses album Together Alone, available through Djangos or in a set with the album Woodface fromMusic Millenium

Schadenfreude: I find it hard to resist. Consequently I obtained a small sample of Baby Phat Goddess, the fragrance from Kimora Lee Simmon’s fashion line, this weekend.

I didn’t approach this fragrance with an open mind for a number of reasons:

• The name, criminy, the name. “Baby Phat” aside, “Goddess” is a term I personally find extremely off-putting. Within the parlance of American vernacular, it’s a word women use to patronize other women. The colloquial usage is well-meaning but deeply misguided. To illustrate, a while back a young lady that I’m guessing was about sixteen years old came to my door to fundraise for her school. While there, she saw my kids running around the living room and chippered, “Oh you’re a mom! Right on, goddess!” She was wearing a t-shirt logo’ed with a gigantic pink Playboy magazine bunny. Sigh. Maybe I’m getting old and cantakerous before my time, and *I* am the one who doesn’t get it, but I have my doubts. Imagine men condescending to one another by casually referring to themselves as “gods.” We’d think they were behaving pompously or jockularly (spelling intended) snide.
• I enjoy the Baby Phat design aesthetic only for the unintentional comedy. To wit, look upon these shoes, which make the fashion statement of “do NOT eat the green acid!” Or glance upon the Cowl Gaucho Jumpsuit, designed only for the purpose of humiliating every body type in existence. Take a peek at this ensemble that I can’t describe due to a lack of knowing where oh where to begin with it. I tried my Goddess sample with the tasteless glory of the line already in mind.
• The addition of “bling” in the form of a ring that sits around the bottle’s neck is laughable juvenilia. Can we please be done with the phenomenon known as bling now? Pretty please? You know who else likes shiny things? Ostriches and small children. Moreover, including a prize trinket with the perfume strikes me as a Happy Meal approach. It infantilizes the packaging, which contrasts markedly from the “goddess” theme it strives for in name.

So what of the juice? Well, I can think of worse things to smell on another person. Goddess is objectless, and roundly bores me. A distinctionless fruit and white floral mix, with touches of pink pepper (which, I think just about everyone and their dog is using these days) that all dries down into musks which were clearly chosen for their bleached and inoffensive qualities. Goddess would have been forgettable had I not thought to take notes. The above description is the sum total of those notes. It’s thankfully not a tacky fragrance, but it dulls by being dreadfully anticlimactic. Hmm, very much like a Happy Meal, in fact, which always sound more fun than they really are. Is this what commerical perfumery will come to? McFragrances for a Happy Meal culture? Let us hope not.

No images or sounds could properly convey my reaction to Baby Phat Goddess aside from those of the clothing line itself, so there’s just a long-winded commentary today.

There will be no Friday post due to the holiday.

On Thursday we will be feasting upon Tofurky; mashed pototaoes with delicious Tofurky gravy; lemon pepper green beans; cinnamon and pepper spiced mix of yam, acorn squash, and fuji apples with an added touch of balsalmic vinegar, salt, and evaporated cane juice; and a lovely round little loaf of sourdough to nibble, too.

But all that feasting reminds me that there are those who are not so fortunate, and I hope the same sentiment occurs to you as well this holiday season. Please consider a holiday donation to any of the charities listed to the right on my sidebar, or to a local food bank or shelter. If you live in Oregon, two excellent places to donate are the Oregon Food Bank and the Portland Rescue Mission.

November in Oregon is a curious time. Some years the weather is mild and aside from some grey rains, the weather is not so bad as things go. This year, and this week specifically, the winds from the Columbia River Gorge have been particularly gusty and steady. These winds aren’t just blasts of air, but almost like infrawaves of ice blowing so hard they cut into your bones. I am surprised and exhausted by the chill even when I only step out the front door and am met by a storm of dried leaves unsettled by the wind. There was apparently some sort of contest a while back to name these gusts, and I guess everyone decided upon the moniker “Chinook Winds.” Personally, I would have called the wind Mariah (hyuk-hyuk.)

I need a fragrance that can stand up to this late autumn chill, and have been reaching for Galimard’s Galimar parfum.

What I get from it is what I imagine some folks get from Tabu. But where Tabu induces me to vomit, not figuratively, but literally, Galimar dresses me in a glamor and sensuality that plain Jane me does not ordinarily accomplish. Galimar is a dense scent, one I perceive as a penultimate bombshell’s fragrance. It has a sexiness and richness that makes me feel like one of the screen sirens from long ago. Forget the fruity hard to reach prettiness of Marilyn Monroe and her Chanel No. 5. I want that hot beauty of Jane Russell.

Mellifluous patchouli and orangey nutmeg and lead down into hazy florals (orris and something vaguely rosy.) Jasmine is used for its mysterious indolic effect here, and causes me to feel just how animalic Galimar’s musk note is. (I am admittedly a fan of how Galimard employs jasmine in its parfums in general.) Cinnamon and warm very woody vanilla rise, giving the sensation of warmth where I have none in this sort of weather. While most of the year I absolutely must apply this parfum sparingly, right now I can lavish it on my skin to a very nice effect.

Galimard’s online site doesn’t fully list the offerings contained in their catalog, and the catalog doesn’t list the full range of products they offer in their shop in Cote de Azur. However, Galimar is one fragrance that can be found online, and is one of my favorites from the house.

Image top by Andrew Wyeth, from his Helga series, is from arrozaldalebre.no.sapo.pt. Second image of Jane Russell from poster.net

Rather than write a review, I decided to make up what I hope will pass for perfume humor. Click here, or on the thumnail image at right:

It’s posted to my Blogger site, because of size and to save bandwidth. Unfortunately, there was some degradation of image integrity from uploading it there, so I hope it reads okay! Click yet again on the image there to see a slightly bigger version.

Falling in Love wears as a laundered blackberry fragrance. I perceive it to possess a slightly saline infusion, which softens the berry into a gentle clean watery fruit note. The innocenct pastel suggestions of this fragrance is not likely to woo those seeking refined colognes. I don’t feel it’s the most exciting scent, and usually don’t wear it by itself, instead chosing to layer it with Alan Cumming’s Cumming. But as fall really sets in and transitions into a chilly damp winter, it comforts me to spray it on as a “pick me up.” The soft blackberry nicely reminds me of the unavailable fruits of summer. The corresponding lotion and body wash mimic the cologne spray, but with an added touch of twiggy wood at the base.

I’m not really sure what the name is getting at exactly. The actual juice in the bottle almost indicates a children’s scent rather than a grown-up’s butterflies in the stomach and fireworks in the mind “falling in love” feeling. *Shrug* It is pleasant, though. Beauty.com is running a special at the moment for a free $45 Falling in Love set containing their shimmer fragrance and a body lotion with an $80 purchase.

Illustration from Beatrix Potter’s 1902 edition of The Tale of Peter Rabbit from Project Gutenberg. This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Cacharel Pour L’Homme was suggested to me a while back as another scent created by Gerard Goupy, whose Magie Noire is a favorite of mine. (EDIT: I forgot to say thanks again to Jindra. I am so happy to have discovered this scent thanks to you!)

A very strange thing happened for me with this scent. I sprayed the scent and found it haunting, as if I had met it somewhere before, though I KNEW I hadn’t. I looked up the notes at Basenotes (link also at right) hoping to discover some clues. And… nothing. What I smelled did not precisely match up to what I was reading “on paper.” (On screen?) So I sprayed it all over me the next day. And the next. And then it hit me one morning. It reminded me of my Tom’s of Maine Fennel toothpaste. But… that wasn’t quite right. I sprayed again later in the afternoon. Wait! It’s Pernod! No, that couldn’t be right. And then it finally occured to me… this seems most likely to be a perfume ode to absinthe (the Pernod we all know nowadays is the non-brain-deteriorating version of absinthe.)

It’s aromatically dreamy and floating, but doesn’t lose its herbal tang or light wood base, reminding you that is a perfume after all. After looking through some pages that break down the chemical constituents of absinthe, like this, this, and this, I don’t feel entirely weird for claiming it as an absinthe scent. (For the record, a majority of the extremely scientific explanations do go right past my head, so I may be reading into them things that have no application to this scent.) From glancing at those pages, the notes listed by Basenotes would seem to add up to something absinthe-like on the right person’s skin.

Yet when seeking out the old ads, I discovered what seemed to be a strong marketing theme of the adventurer/traveller. How peculiar. No mention of absinthe, though one site denoted L’Homme’s bottle’s resemblence to a traveller’s water flask. Right. “Water” flask. But this marketing of the adventurer/traveller made little sense to me until I remembered one of the most infamous world travellers who had a strong penchant for absinthe:

Ernest Hemingway.

“It was a milky yellow now with the water and he hoped the gypsy would not take more than a swallow. One cap of it took the place of the evening papers, of all the old evenings in cafes, of all chestnut trees that would be in bloom now in this month, of the great slow horses of the outer boulevards, of book shops, of kiosks, and of galleries, of the Parc Montsouris, of the Stade Buffalo, and of the Butte Chaumont, of the Guaranty Trust Company and the Ille de la Cite, of Foyot’s old hotel, and of being able to read and relax in the evening; of all the things he had enjoyed and forgotten and that came back to him when he tasted that opaque, bitter, tongue-numbing, brain-warming, stomach-warming, idea changing liquid alchemy.”
- For Whom the Bell Tolls, as Hemingway’s character Robert Jordan shares a canteen of absinthe with a companion.

And indeed, I perceive L’Homme as an extremely romantacized version of Papa: A scent that allows you to daydream of globe trekking, in search of both adventure and cool literary contemplations. But one that conviniently leaves out crippling plane crashes, and acrimony with writers who were former friends. It lets you forget about alcoholism, its overwhelming depressive episodes, its violence (which in Hemingway’s case included guns and throwing knives in the house) and its tragedy.

Image top is entitled The Green Muse by Albert Maignan, from feeverte.net. Image bottom is of Hemingway from crivalnestore.net.firms.com.

I think with natural perfumery there are some misconceptions floating around out there. Some consumers fear they will smell like cheesy neohippies, and consequently they dismiss the entire “genre” as the work of perfume enviro-do-gooders. While to a certain degree there exist those who fit this stereotype, it is not one that is true of the whole body of natural perfumery. (Or for that matter, all consumers who buy these fragrances.) More importantly, those dismissive sorts sadly exclude themselves from asking fundamental questions all consumers should ask of any perfume, natural or otherwise: “How does it smell? And how does that affect me?”

There exists an entire class of woodwrights that exclusively uses nothing but hand tools. Not because they’re, like, Amish or Luddites, but because working unplugged and intimately with the wood gives them a sense of joy and accomplishment they cannot find using modern methods. As an aside? Not me. Put a cordless Makita driver/drill in one hand and a Senco pneumatic nailer in the other and I feel so powerful that I just know I could rebuild the entire universe if need be. But these hand tool woodwrights see the tools they use much in the way I imagine a perfumer might view their natural ingredients. Something simple and basic, but equally as capable of accomplishing tasks small and large.

A visual contrast, perhaps?

Here is a modern planing machine:

Here is an exceptionally ornate antique plane:

The modern equiptment is certainly more efficient, but even I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to work with the older yet elegant tool. And to me, that’s what appeals about wearing natural perfumes. Who could pass up at least trying them? (As another aside, I do find the big machine appealing, too. Whir! Vrooom! Bzzzzzt!)

Thus, I found myself drawn to Artemisia Natural Perfumes. I thought last week I’d go on to review a couple, but instead I think I shall just run down some short impressions of all of them.

Gingivera: Alas, the name is one that immediately causes me to play the word association game. Gingivera = Gingivitis. But onto the juice itself. Citrus burns very fast into a dried powdered ginger scent. I smell slight floral trills that don’t quite match the tenacity of the ginger. The fragrance dries down into a scent that I find appealingly straw-like, but I should note the ginger is not entirely shaken loose from my skin even towards the end.

Jasmine Tea: This is the scent I was most looking forward to. It begins as a nearly too sweet floral creation for me, but that evaporates reeeeeally quickly to display a scent that smells very much like a sachet of jasmine green tea. Lovely, really. Unfortunately for me, this also quickly fades into only floral sweetness. I wish the green tea had lingered much longer on my skin.

Lavender & Clove: There is an initial jump of lavender only on me, but soon enough the full fragrance takes effect. I think this is my favorite of the ones I tried, though it’s not as “me” as the Saffron. What I find from this scent is primarily its eponymous notes, and oh! how moist and dewy they smell. While the fragrance is aromatic, it is not sharp or medicinal as I feared it might be. I wish I could write about it a bit more, but I am a genius, and while applying the fragrance to test again, I dropped the vial onto the floor. Yeah, I do want to kick myself over that. I found this scent clung the longest onto my skin. And the carpet. Sigh.

Saffron: Saffron does open with a strong suggestion of spruce-ish elements, but they burned off within a minute. Then I delightedly found what is more or less a linear fragrance of warm woody spiciness. There is perhaps a touch of earthiness in it, but that is minimal and fleeting. The warm glow I read into this is strangely similiar to one I get from first walking into a McDonald’s at lunch hour. I’m a vegetarian, but all that heat and fried goodness gives me a deep fat joy. I would think this eau de parfum would most appeal to saffron enthusiasts who would enjoy a scent that jumps right to the punch. I think Saffron is a fragrance to be enjoyed for the simple pleasure of it.

Yuzu Citrus: There is again a very fast opening, a quick tartness that strays nearly towards sour but not quite. This is followed by a rounder piquant orangey smell, with a floral quality that seems to bear traces of slight grassiness. The florals do not overwhelm the citrus in my opinion. This seems to all be built upon a base that seems vaguely golden and sweet, and I presume this is the honey that Artemesia describes in their listing. Pretty, but not quite me. I think this fragrance would best suit those who prefer unabashedly citrus focused scents.

Artemisia Natural Perfumes is currently running a special for all five samples of eau de parfums for $1.00 for the rest of the year, which made sampling the offerings irresistable. I do hope others will feel the same way.

First image of a jointer from http://en.wikipedia.org.wiki.jointer/. Second image of plane from http://www.mwtca.org/.

Speaking of hand crafting, I would encourage you to read the latest entry on The Soap Blog. I don’t whether to be embarrased or amused that Great Britain is able to witness American dorkiness at an extreme via “reality TV.” And to extend on yet another tangent, if you happen to watch The Apprentice, I think you will really enjoy my e-migo Jacob’s recaps for Television Without Pity. He is one of my favorite writers I know, and he’s so immensely talented. Even when he’s writing about Donald Trump and his corporate weasels I admire his abilities tremendously.

If the i Profumi di Firenze line has any signature quality, it is one of freshness. Spezie de Medici is no exception.

At the first spray, the overwhelming sensation I have is of home-squeezed orange juice with a melange of spiciness at its core. Perhaps as a consequence, Spezie suffers from a case of potpourri-itis. But its staunch spice also makes for one of the more invigorating fragrances I’ve tried.

Newly sliced ginger root is the defining note here. Clove then cinnamon jump into the ruction, and there’s a decidedly dry kick of cayenne pepper laying into the ginger. The sweet piquancy of cardamom appears only briefly on me, and I can’t say it leaves much of an impression on me in the face of the brasher spices making up this eau de parfum.

Spezie de Medici is an awakening fragrance that energizes me in the same way listening to loud guitar-blasting music does early in the morning. What I find in this scent is the same “get up and at ‘em” that’s in Ted Leo + The Pharmacists’ The Angels’ Share. Click player below to hear a clip of roughly the first minute of The Angels’ Share.

Spezie is not a scent I would recommend to anyone who doesn’t already know for a fact that they enjoy spicy perfumes, nor is it one I’d suggest for those who find potpourri allusions unsavory in wear. It is, however, a must-try for ginger lovers, and I feel it makes a happy autumnal fragrance choice.

Image at top left of 1948-C by Clyfford Still, from http://hirshhorn.si.edu. Ted Leo’s The Angels’ Share can be found on his new album Shake the Sheets, and can be bought through Djangos or directly from http://tedleo.com.

There’s really no polite way to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it: Lola fragrance oil is sex. Some scents are flirty, some are sensual, some are sexy. This is S-E-X. In a bottle.

Lola is quite randy. This is the smell I would have if I happened to be a nymph who’d gone for a romp in the woods with Pan. Animal-like, earthy and sweetly piquant, it doesn’t smell directly of Pan himself, but rather more that I’d been unmistakably in his prescence, raunching it up gaily.

I find Lola to be one of those scents that improve with a little aging. When I first got my bottle, the opening tended to have a strong pine blast, but ten months later, this blast has disappeared. Moreover, musk and patchouli overrode all other notes to a large extent when my Lola was new, but time has given the oil a more developed melding of notes. The musk is still dense, but the patchouli now serves to prop up a sweet high floral note, and the nutmeg I considered overwhemed earlier has seemingly emerged from the shadows. Lola reminds me in feel of much older fragrances, such as Weil’s Secret de Venus oil, with its smooth density, though it’s not exactly old-fashioned.

The closest I can think of to a real-life comparison for this scent is of the night before Thanksgiving. I tend to prepare what dishes I can ahead of time, including pies. All that baking makes for a hot kitchen, a sweaty me, and a cloud of warmed spice wavering around the room. (Not really my sexiest moment, however, since I hate aprons, and end up in grubbies spilling ingredients all over myself.)

Lola is a deep dark fragrance oil, and not one I’d ever consider to use as my daily choice. Partly this is out of consideration for choosing the appropriate perfume for each occasion. And mostly? Because it sets me in mood. As Monty Python would say, nudge-nudge, wink-wink.

This oil would wear wobbly-in-the-knees sexy as a masculine scent, but… If like me, you have a husband with a very loopy sense of humor, and who is prone to bursting into song apropos of nothing, do NOT ask him to try this on. He will look at the name on the bottle, and proceed to belt out the Kinks. “Looooooh-LAH! L-O-L-A, Lola! Girls will be boys and boys will be girls!” And then the song will stick in your head, at which point you will become annoyed, so he will sing it every time from then on when you wear it. In other words, some men may be entirely too goofy to wear this scent.

Image: Nymphs and Satyr by Wm. Bougeareau