Jean Patou ~ Sublime
Luca Turin’s latest article for NZZ Folio has just been posted online, and his subject matter this time is perfumer Jean Kerléo’s creation Sublime. I love his comparison to the old gods (though the myth lover in me is pained by the mishmash of Greek and Roman names), mainly because their feet of clay were not so neatly hidden as those of the god from the Jude0-Christian tradition, so that they seem easier to understand. And of course, they are a raucous bunch, which makes them awfully fun. In addition to the perfume review, there’s even a great personal story to boot! Neat.
I do not wear Sublime; Sublime wears me. It pulls me around like a river, and at the end of the trip I am both exhilarated and relieved when it ends.
As I wear it, there seem to be three layers to the fragrance. These layers seem as if they were seperate perfumes in their own right, yet connect tenuously from one to the other. Sweet, slightly tart fruit drip into a warm, nearly oily scent. This first period lasts me twenty minutes, and the oily lingers only long enough to usher in the second phase. It is then that a clean floral chypre surrounds me without any notions of sharpness. The florals fade and leave oakmoss behind to walk me towards the last phase. Cozy and vanillic, this end period is the one that sticks longest to my skin. The drydown of Sublime is far richer than many newer perfumes made to focus solely on a vanilla theme.
If I didn’t know any better (and in truth, I don’t) I’d almost say Kerléo composed Sublime as a perfume version of an Exquisite Corpse. I could single out and enjoy any of these layers individually. However, he fused one layer to the next to create a whole that leaves a grander impression than just the parts. Sublime may well be steeped in the classic tradition, but I don’t personally believe it was made as a throw back to an earlier time. Rather it tossed forward with its release in 1992 a hint at what was to come. While the minimalists may currently be the cool kids, it’s hard not to notice the perfumers seeking ways to express themselves uniquely while still deepening and expanding the boundaries of traditional perfumery. There’s room for everybody I think.
March 8th, 2006 at 8:19 am
I am actually wearing it today. What I love most about it is its seamless development that moves gently from the vivid orange of its top notes to the burnt sienna of its oriental base. Glad to see someone else who loves Sublime.
March 8th, 2006 at 10:01 am
Loved his Taliban comment! Sublime has always seemed a bit too grown up for me, but now that I’m not getting any younger ;-) it’s time for another go…
March 8th, 2006 at 10:17 am
I don’t think I will mourning the passing of the minimalist era in perfume. me, I like ornamented :-) Found a quote by Carlos Benaïm
recently, he says that “we are moving away from transparent fragrances into ones with more texture, that are bigger and bolder, but more elegant. These fragrances have substance and presence, but are not like the over-the-top fragrances of the 1980s.”
Amen. :-)
March 8th, 2006 at 10:53 pm
I found Luca Turin’s rather oblique commentary on this fragrance to be interesting, but true in the end - this is a perfume for grownups, not girls. Anyone expecting the usual experience from an “orange” perfume will be surprsed by this one. I have worn this often and will again, as I keep coming back to its addictive qualities. There really is nothing else like it, and I love virtually all the Patous anyway. Yet this one is bigger somehow than most of them, majestic really. It will not be found on the vanities of wallflowers or pushovers. One of the pleasures of being “a woman of a certain age” is getting away with perfumes like this. I don’t like minimalist perfumes either - I want glamour and mystery, dammit; if I did not, I would just shower with Irish Spring and have done with it.
March 9th, 2006 at 12:33 pm
Victoria, actually it’s funny because I don’t even perceive it as explicitly orange - there’s enough going on that it’s like the fruitiness there becomes its own thing on me.
March - I don’t know that I’ve ever felt a scent was too grown up for me. I hear people say that often enough about one of my supreme faves, Magie Noire, which surprises me since I’ve been loving it since I was like, gah I don’t know - my early teens. And yet conversely I have worn some that I felt too juevenille for me - perhaps this is because we can always get older (and hopefully wiser, heh) but never younger.
Marina - that’s a great quote. I do kind of hope that’s true, too. I do like some of the minimalist ones personally, but they simply don’t inspire me and set my heart on fire like those that have chewier textures. I hope you know what I mean by chewy, because now that I’m looking at what I typed, it might sound odd.
Flora, that article really had a lot to think over didn’t it? ” It will not be found on the vanities of wallflowers or pushovers.” I think you’re dead right there - it’s not a scent with even a speck of timidity, and for that I’m quite glad. “One of the pleasures of being ‘a woman of a certain age’ is getting away with perfumes like this.” Perhaps it’s not an age thing, but a developed palate thing, so it’s not that you couldn’t get away with wearing it as a younger woman, but that now that you’ve got a range of life experiences under your belt you’re now old enough to appreciate Sublime? And wow, Irish Spring. Hee, now I kind of want to pick up a bar on my next grocery trip: I haven’t smelled Irish Spring in years.
March 10th, 2006 at 8:34 am
I meant orange as a colour, not as a note. I feel the same way. Nothing about it is fruity to my nose.
March 10th, 2006 at 1:21 pm
D’oh! Of course you did - I’m more than a little slow on the uptake sometimes, sorry about that V.