Scentzilla!

Ambre Antique is one of the earliest fragrances sold by Francois Coty. Ambre Antique was first introduced in 1905, and sadly, production of the fragrance dried up long before many of us were even born.

A brief glimmer of hope for resurgence appeared during the 90s when Bergdorf Goodman sold limited edition versions of classic Coty fragrances, including Ambre Antique. But they came and went within the blink of an eye. One could guess that much of this is due to two things:

First, Coty was a little ahead of its time. If they’d only known how big the perfume addict culture was about to explode in just a scant few years, they might have held on and persisted; One could argue that the market for such a project finally exists now. I honestly believe that market was not available in 1995, at least not to the extent that would result in acceptable, albeit niche-level, sales.

Second, it’s reasonable to surmise that much of any diminished sales figures are due to a general consumer reluctance to pay more than low double digits for anything labeled Coty anymore. For better or worse, Coty is nowadays synonymous with inexpensive ingredients and drugstore budgets, and our culture’s capitalist short-term memory disallows any particular remembrance of a time when Coty was considered edgy, prestigious, or adjective-of-your-choice implying “chic.” Public perception of the house of Coty acting as a ground breaker has long ceased to exist, primarily because the brand Coty has ceased to innovate in any meaningful fashion. While I would love to see Coty try once again to relaunch versions of their historical masterpieces, I fear they face an uphill battle. I think much of the sentiment towards their perfumery can currently be summed up as, “when I can’t/couldn’t afford anything better.”

The vague consumer disdain for the house and brand of Coty was not always so.

Coty’s Ambre Antique has a much broader appeal to modern noses than the infamously challenging Chypre, but it’s nevertheless a classic. Perhaps it’s like picking one Vermeer over another. One may personally speak to you more perhaps, but c’mon… they’re all Vermeers: The light of brilliance shines in them all.

The name itself is a bit misleading. Vanilla dominates the composition of Ambre Antique: rich, creamy vanilla, almost like an ice cream scooped onto the skin. It’s an amber float!

The top notes have faded from this bottle for the most part, but I’m guessing that bergamot, and orange blossom are hiding in there. (I stress the word “guessing” because I want to say “orange-y,” and I am an olfactory idiot and always say orange-y when in fact it usually turns out to be orange blossom/neroli.)

Insofar as I understand it, Amber Antique was originally made with actual ambergris. However, sniffing from my own latterly made bottle (mid-century?) indicates that at some point substitutions were made in favor of synthetics. The amber notations take the form of ambery-woody and ambery-incensey aromas. A dose of incense (likely the ‘num duo of labdanum and olibanum?) additionally breathes a darker aromatic feel into the fragrance. Civet in particular plays a huge role in shaping Ambre Antique’s dry down. Whatever one’s personal ambivalence towards sticking something that came out of animal’s hindquarters onto the skin might be, there is no denying the resounding thump it can give a fragrance upon landing at the bottom. Civet provides the skank here, but it’s the skank of fresh hay on a barn floor. Repellant? Maybe. But it’s still oddly clean and enjoyable.

And those dollops of vanilla never do stop melting, dripping right through the amber and the animal urgency of civet. It’s the sort of fragrance that asks of the wearer and passers-by, “Am I hungry or horny?” It’s the TV character Joey from Friends, in that, the response could happily go either way.

Writing about Ambre Antique brings me to a recent release, Hilary Duff’s With Love… Hilary Duff. It does distinguish itself from many of the celebrity fragrances, for its oriental character contrasts wildly against a dull field of fruity-florals and/or musky-clean efforts. But all the appreciation for it mystifies me. I have tried, and retried it since it came out, never finding much in it besides generalities. It’s pleasant but harmless, much like Ms. Duff herself. There’s little to it that marks it as idiosyncratically interesting in the big picture of perfumery. It’s the difference between Dane Cook’s style of bland humor that cause him call to chicken sandwiches “sangwiches” as any toddler might, and Patton Oswalt’s bit on how KFC’s “Famous Bowls” are patronizing us into eating like toddlers. The latter tells a story, the former simply seeks approval for that (a cheap catch phrase) which has already been approved. The difference comes down to risk. There’s a subtle danger when crediting an audience with the intelligence to discern and appreciate a specific voice: Being singular risks losing some folks. Hilary Duff… With Love doesn’t really risk much. It’s a “sangwich.” It’s only made out to look like a risk, and the result smells like a blithe catch phrase.

With Love roughly smells like orange-banana-pineapple flavored rock candy (the fruity note is officially listed as “mangosteen,” so okey-dokey) with a helping of vanilla over amber and a woody, musky base. It’s a warm and easily wearable fragrance; however, it doesn’t significantly come across as distinct. I feel like I’ve smelled it before, but can’t place where exactly. Maybe I’m getting old, forgetful. Maybe I’ve just become too jaded. Or maybe I’m under whelmed by too many of the eleventy billion new releases that keep coming out. Eh, let’s say it’s all of that. And I’m being far too harsh here. Hilary Duff seems like a nice person; Hilary Duff’s With Love is a nice fragrance. I guess maybe that’s my beef. I hate nice. There’s the stink of adequacy on nice.

If you like With Love… you will likely enjoy Calvin Klein Euphoria. They share a note and/or combination of notes that weirdly smell like vanilla and dusty “silk” flowers to me.

Yet, I’d like to recommend some other selections you might wish to also try if With Love has caught your fancy:

• Viktor & Rolf Antidote

• Fendi Theorema

• Jeanne Arthes Cassandra Blanc

• Givenchy Organza Indecence

And of course, if you want a piece of historical perspective,

• Coty Ambre Antique.

A good while back, I was strongly urged to try Coty’s Sand & Sable by Flora and March in the comments about inexpensive fragrances at Target. March decided to make sure I got a bottle, because she is a fairy godmother of perfumes that make me irrationally happy. Sand & Sable is just as delightful as both she and Flora promised.

Sand & Sable is not a fully functional fragrance. By that I mean it smells like someone chopped off the ends of an imaginary perfume bandwidth on it. There’s not a top per se, nor is there a real steady and strong base. It’s mostly heart notes, but the heart is big and full, simple as it is. Wildly bright gardenia, waxy tuberose, and distict sensations of tanning lotion are the notes I smell. The effect is creamy and rich, despite the lack of development that you ordinarily get from more expensive fragrances. Once you take into account that it’s going to be a big block of scent, Sand & Sable is as enjoyable and as fun as many of the big house and niche/boutique releases.

Coty first released the fragrance in 1983, but it smells older to me. Retro kitschy, actually - but in a good way. When I spray it, I imagine chic young things wearing some of the early bikinis in the 1950s, happy and without a care in the world as long as they’re lounging on the beach.

I’m not sure it’s exactly a good fit for me, but I do love to sniff it in the air. So for now (and please don’t be offended, March!) I am using it as a home fragrance. My living room smells awesome, and I get to enjoy the scent without having to worry I’m not wearing it well.

I finally did spot a bottle of it locally a couple weeks ago, hidden way to the back corner behind big displays for Celine Dion and J-Lo fragrances at a Fred Meyer store for ten bucks.

Image from a March 18th, 1950 issue of Paris Match. The article in question was titled “Corinne Calvet, 1er prix du ‘french appeal’,” and pictured above is the accompanying full page photo of Corinne Calvet, whom the article labled “la Rita Hayworth francaise.”

EDIT: Sorry about the technical difficulites - I’m having an image problem - so to speak.

Inspired by March and Patty, I thought it was nigh on time to reacquaint myself with some fragrance selections from the drugstore. Also, I’m a secret fiend for Target (Bulk toilet paper! On sale! Whoo!), so it was as good of an excuse as any to go wandering through their aisles.

The first thing I did was take a peek at the Sonia Kashuk sections, because it’s a favorite low end cosmetic brand, and I wanted to see if they had anything new.

The only thing that had changed was that the Sonia Kashuk No. 3 Freesia appears to have been dropped from the line, or at least it was at my Target. Not a heartbreaker. The Freesia was nice but pointless, and smelled like any old no-name freesia body spray. Good-bye and good riddance.

The No. 2 Tuberose was still there, however, which surprised me, since it’s awful. It’s so candy-ass sweet you hold your jaw protectively against tooth decay.

No. 4 Bergamot Waterlotus is a scent that just will not work on me, but I can see how it might hold interest for others. It’s certainly the most complex of any of the Kashuk scents, though not particularly complicated. Bergamot Waterlotus smells mostly of its eponymous notes, with a sweet touch of orange juice. The reason it doesn’t work on me lies in the fact that I also get an unwanted “someone needs to go over to Grandma’s house and clean her refrigerator for her” note, and I can only guess this must be a musk note gone astray. It’s rather unfortunate. The home spray version of the scent does differ a little from the cologne and eau de toilette, but the gist of it carries through, and I think would be an inexpensive pleasure for those sick of the other room sprays found at the drugstore, like the noxious Glades, et al.

My favorite from the line is No. 1 Gardenia. A pepper shaker briefly passes by this cool green gardenia, lending it just a touch of spice without overwhelming the balance of the fragrance. I particularly enjoy wearing Gardenia during the evenings in the dog days of summer. This is the only Kashuk scent that not only have I bought before, but I’ve repurchased it because it’s such a cheap treat.

My eyes travelled down the aisle and landed on something labelled simply Skin Musk, by Parfums de Coeur/Prince Matchabelli. The cologne seemed downright corrosive, and whoever it is who is still buying this stuff, PLEASE STOP. The oil verison of it was not quite so acidic, but I still smelled a weird little corner in that wasn’t pleasing me. This can’t really be a drugstore favorite can it? My mind is reeling if so.

The scent I really intended to seek out, having asked for it for a Christmas stocking stuffer but not receiving, was Coty’s Exclamation.Of perfumer Sophia Grojsman’s many scents, Exclamation is the one that means the most to me personally. I loved this scent when I was a young teen. Adored it. Yet I hadn’t revisited it in years and years and years. Luckily I spotted a set of four different 1/3 oz. bottles of various Coty scents on clearance for ten bucks. Into the cart it went so I could try them out at home. Exclamation was precisely how I’d remembered it. Soft sweet powdery musk fell over my skin, wrapping me in a warm nostalgiac blanket. (Note to self: never, ever, run out of Exclamation.) Put aside any old memories of it being a chokingly harsh fragrance - that was not the fault of the scent, but the fault of young girls overeagerly applying it with the same lack of economy they applied eyeliner in middle school. With tasteful application, Exclaimation wears as a sexy comfort scent appropriate for all ages.

In the coffret I also received Shania, released by Coty’s subdivision Stetson. You know how when you go to the dentist’s office, and while waiting you pick up a magazine to leaf through from the coffee table? And how inevitably folks have already pulled open all of the adhesive scent strips? That’s Shania. It smells like a stale two week old magazine. There’s no real notes. It’s just… whatever. Shania won’t offend anyone by virtue of the fact that no one will remember what you wore.

Then there was Rimmel London London Glam. It smells like stripper. Which I say only because I’ve had friends who were strippers, and I am telling you it is precisely the sort of scent they would choose because this kind of thin composition smells pleasant when you’re sweaty and grinding the dollars out of marks (aka customers.) It’s mostly a watery freesia, not unlike a body spray, but only watery-er. The only other note I could detect was “fruit.” I don’t know what kind of fruit, since it’s not distinct. It’s “fruit.” It reminds me in a way of a less tenacious Paris Hilton Just Me, minus the woody base.

Finally we come to the fourth scent in the coffret, Jovan Pink Musk. What a lovely surprise. Pink Musk is composed with a surprisingly accurate peony note, and while no masterpiece, I have come to enjoy it the more I wear it. If you’re seeking for a nice scent for under ten dollars, this is where I’d start looking. Fresh and spring-like, the floral notes spread across a delicate musk, with subtle green grass shoots sprouting underneath. Pink Musk should not be overlooked as an enjoyable scent to wear by casual perfume consumers or my fellow perfume-nuts.