Scentzilla!

Givenchy Originally uploaded by lincolnblues

The scent of Givenchy L’Interdit epitomizes the first sunny spring day still ruddy-cheeked from winter’s chill, be it from a cherished vintage bottle or the recent Les Mythiques release. Nature arrives at its vernal appointment, and soon you can smell the daffodils laughing at your mittens and damp woolen layers.

2007’s reissued version, while marginally paler, nevertheless represents an acceptably nice and IFRA-pleasing recreation of the original. (As opposed to the 2002 reformulation, which I won’t dwell upon, since it’s been forever since I had a whiff, and by all reports is a much sweeter thing having just a name in common with the 1957 creation.)

The original exhibits a little more depth (a depth partially due, I believe, to an indolic note I quickly become anosmic to, drat.) It also benefits from a spicy little dance number (I sense clove, which likely is its carnation note in hiding, and balsamic resin, so perhaps there’s labdanum?) that breaks out under the canopy of white florals and over the base. Included in those bottom notes are sandalwood and polycyclic musks. The vintage juice sports a fleeting strawberry note. This “strawberry” reminds me less of its namesake than it strikes me as simply being strawberry-like. You could call it a “lemonade stand in a patch of bloomin’ strawberries” note, if, you know, you’re not into the whole brevity thing.*

Both vintage and 2007 versions draw inspiration from the same bouquet of rose, lily of the valley, and jasmine to create the heart notes. That’s admittedly not a particularly novel mix of flowers; the charm of L’Interdit lies in the wonderfully diffusive aura of its particular arrangement. In addition to a shared heart, both versions show bergamot peppering the first phase of wear, and each intimate a peach-like (or, if you’re not it the whole brevity thing - “peach gummi candies dipped in milk and nail polish remover”) tone in the middle. Some changes have occured in the end ingredients, but I find the ease with which the base slips into view has remained the same. It’s still softly wooded and powdered by musk.

The complete olfactory texture of L’Interdit feels like satin bed sheets smoothed of any folds or wrinkles. You can practically slide your way down this scent.

Although aptly compared to Chanel No. 5 sometimes, the contrast between the two tends to stick out just as much as their similarities. The floral-fruity threads in L’lnstant’s formula remain tightly weaved, whereas with No. 5 you can’t help but to notice the raised weft made by those big mathemagical aldehydes. L’Instant hints at a sapling’s tender green sprigs; You suspect that within No. 5 lurks a treehouse filled with raccoons on the lam from Animal Control. Dolloping excess into every shimmering droplet fueled No. 5’s creation. Funneling that beautiful legacy into a child of Tuesday renders L’Interdit graceful, and much more restrained. So, the comparison to No. 5 works only as a filial one - mother to daughter - rather than one between peers. L’Interdit is no wild child.

This fragrance has been famously mythologized as Hubert de Givenchy’s ode to the young Audrey Hepburn. A gamine may be in ther own springtime, but sadly that spring happens only once. Behind this myth is the reality that an astute perfumer, Fabrice Fabron, condensed the somewhat elusive concept of her fey elegance into an anniversary of more earthly transitions. The “forbidden” quality impressed upon us in the fragrance’s name is a lie. Spring may be unavailable to us for three-quarters of the year but we are always asssured of it eventually.

*I finally rewatched The Big Lebowski after, like, ten years. It’s much funnier and more coherent than I remembered it being, but out of the Coen brother’s films, I still prefer their love letter to Buster Keaton, Raising Arizona. And The Hudsucker Proxy, too, if only for that idiotically fantastic moment when Tim Robbins’ character reveals a sketch of his invention.

Today I join with a few of my fellow fragrance bloggers to rhapsodize about our favorite picks to wear during the fall season. Mine are numbered, but in no particular order, really. And I realize with a little surprise that my faves have changed very little from year to year. Maybe it’s because there’s so much in the way of new releases nowadays that keeping track of anything but mostly the old favorites just seems silly. Or maybe it’s a dismal reflection upon the less than memorable quality of far too many of them. Or maybe I’m a sad little creature of habit: Given the obsessive-compulsive aspect of perfume collecting, that last excuse is the most likely of the three.

Please visit my blogging buddies over at Aromascope, Bois de Jasmin, Now Smell This, Perfume Posse, and Perfume Smellin’ Things for some great lists, too!

1.) Jean Desprez - Bal a Versailles

“My favorite aspect of Bal a Versailles is its circular quality. As the fragrance develops, notes seem to fade off, only to rise again. To experience it is to open a travel brochure of smells. Roses, orange, orange blossom, and jasmine fill my nostrils with the first spray. Then warm woods with soft balsalmic spices push forward into vanilla and patchouli . Broad notations of amber and incense, musk and more musk, unfold. And then we start all over again, surreally spiraling amongst the flowers and trees, riding waves of indoles and ketones. It is sexy, but not vulgar; Rich, but not gaudy.”

2.) Jacques Fath - Fath de Fath 1993

The Fath de Fath reformulated by Haarmann and Reimer and relaunched by a revitalized Fath house in 1993 only shares but the slightest connection to its earlier 1953 incarnation. Perhaps it’s not its equal, but it’s still very, very good. Fath de Fath ‘93 smells of grand entrances down gilded opera house staircases. Berry-stained citrus top notes color a thick array of pale though never timid floral heart notes, including jasmine, orange blossom, and tuberose. The fruity-floral notes curve gracefully around a heady mix of powdery musk, woody amber, patchouli and vanillic base notes, lending the impression that grace is not achieved by lightness of step but with a deft understanding of gravity.

3.) Lanvin - Arpege

Happily, the more popular a scent was in the past the more readily bottles of it can be unearthed. Even more happily, the popularity of fragrances from the past is not necessarily a negative indication of its quality; Popular does not always have to mean middlebrow. Arpege deserved and still deserves its success. I don’t even think you have to be “rose lover” to dig into its layers of meaning. A flash of aldehydes at the quick could certainly be off-putting to those who cringe at anything that tugs at notions of “old lady perfume,” but they subside into harmonies of rose into jasmine into tuberose, which draws you down further into the satisfyingly low thump of its leathery base.

4.) Lancome - Magie Noire

“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.”

5.) Givenchy - Organza Indecence

This is the fragrance that makes me careen flat over in a lovestruck Tex Avery-style thud. Luckily, its benzoin pillows make for a soft landing, blanketed with cinnamon, cedar and palisander notes that pull over my head as I drift deeper into a swoon. Love may be patient, and love may be kind, but above all these, love smells a lot like Organza Indecence.

6.) Helmut Lang - Cuiron

“Helmut Lang’s Cuiron paints a portrait in monochrome. It is comprised of successive layers of leather. But not any old leather. Or rather, it IS old leather - the smell of an antique book pulled off the shelf, an old black jacket hanging off the back of a chair, a soft suede purse that’s only pulled out on special occasions, a well-worn chair that’s seen better days but is still the comfiest one in the house.”

7.) Les Nez - Let Me Play the Lion

I’ve struggled with this one for months and months, and still do. It resonates so well with me that I can’t decide if its because it just happens to hit all the right notes with me personally, or if it really is a sneaky little charmer. A list of adjectives seems a subpar way to describe it, but “dry smokey woody deliciousness” sums this fragrance up so concisely that there’s no excuse for purpling up the reason to enjoy it.

8.) Esteban - Teck and Tonka candle

“Is it ridiculously spendy for a candle? Yes, yes it is. It is worth it? Yes, hell yes. [...] This is the sort of fragrance that a sophisiticate would describe as aphrodisiacal. I’m not sophisticated: It’s humpy. And it definitely sets a mood.”

9.) Guerlain - Mitsouko

“Mitsouko parfum is one the best things I have ever smelled. There’s just something about it that melds intrinsically to my skin, and it is hard to tell where I begin and Mitsouko’s sensual chypre ends [...] Mitsouko is in such good taste that it is a whenever the hell you feel like it choice. You can smell opera gloves and elegance. But you can also smell a picnic barbeque in it - the sunshine, the grill in action, and paper plates with hot dogs and potato chips. Mitsouko fits in everywhere.”

10.) Lola Cosmetics - Lola perfume oil

“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 [...] 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.”

Nothing better exemplifies the balls out, over the top glamor of the 80s than Ysatis. Ysatis was introduced by Givenchy in 1984. Ystais was created by Dominique Ropion, who went on to make a number of other perfumes for Givenchy, as well as some other rather infamously bold fragrances like Carnal Flower (F. Malle) and Angel (T. Mugler.)

This fragrance heaves thick floral notes of mandarine, orange blossom, iris, carnation, and narcissus over a fantastically fecund base. And for me, that base is the key to its charm. The combination of vetiver, oakmoss, patchouli, civet and (likely) castoreum in Ysatis is both terrible and wonderful to behold. The whole thing is smoothed over by a heady rush of vanilla and amber, creating a smokey sultry perfume overall.

If there are memories I attach to Ysatis, then they are embarassing ones. Hair metal, my friends, hair metal…

Ysatis takes me back to the one and only Bon Jovi concert I ever attended, with Skid Row as the opening act. The video for “Lay Your Hands on Me” was shot at Memorial Coliseum during the show. (And you can see me, or more accurately, my big BIG hair, in one of the crowd shots. Sigh.) I think of all the people I hung out with at the time, and all the people I met. I think about my goofy-ass self, and have to laugh.

These are all photos of some of the photos I had in a scrapbook. Please forgive the grainy and poor image quality. Click on the thumbnails to enlarge.

I am rockin’ out. To what? Who knows… perhaps it was Poison, whose concert t-shirt I am wearing. But none of that matters. What matters is I had the music and the metal inside me.

Here’s Rudolf Schenker from the Scorpions. I wish you could see the gignormous hoop earings hanging off my lobes. They weren’t hula hoops, but they went far beyond door knocker size and into barn handle territory. You might be able to make out my painfully bright red Revlon lipstick - it was either Fire & Ice or Cherries in the Snow. I forget which since I was enamoured of both at the time, as well as this awful fuchsia one from their Moondrops line that I *think* was called Pink Flamingo (and that name should tell you how truly hideous pink it was.)Yeearrrgh!

You know, the worst part of this photo isn’t the gravity-defying hair, or even the outfit. No, the sad thing is that I probably looked in the mirror that day and sincerely thought, “Wow, I look so gooooood.”

Here’s me dressed up as Paul Stanley from KISS. I’m not even sure that it was Halloween at the time. Oh my.

This is Mark Slaughter posing with me. What you may or may not be able to tell from the photo is the lurid eggplant hair color I was sporting. What you probably CAN tell is how much hair product we both seemed to be using.

I have no idea who these people are. None. But I dimly recall this photo was taken was to capture the dude on the far right in the background. There’s really no good reason to include this shot, aside from the fact that dude apparently still makes me laugh. I wish the picture weren’t so crappy, so you could see the stoned out of his mind facial expression and his beer belly in crisp detail, while appreciating his matching Ozzy hat and (pulled up) Ozzy shirt. Anyhow, check the hair on all the guys here - it’s a nice time capsule of bad metal hair choices.

In summation, memories like those above are what floods back to me when I smell Ysatis. Please don’t let that detract any intentions you might have had to try it. I swear it’s quite classy, though I was (am) not. Ysatis even in eau de toilette is very strong and not for everyone, not even me, but it is something to admire.

For those of you who remember Sebastian Bach: Savage Animal. That clip is quite possibly the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen on reality TV. Oh hell, one more: here he is on Gilmore Girls covering Gwen Stefani’s Hollaback Girl.

You know what the Givenchy house really needs to shake things up? More spin-offs of fucking Amarige.

Feel the pulse
and vibration
and the
rumbling
force
Somebody
is out there
beating
the dead horse.”

- Bob Dylan “Man in the Long Black Coat”

Amarige Mariage is flipping Diet Nirmala (current), which is itself like a foofy Fat-Free Angel. Fruits, florals, patchouli, vanilla, bleh. Wake me when it’s over. Another review of Mariage is located over at Victoria’s Own. I’m lacking motivation to write anything else about it.

I was really anticipating Ange ou Démon, on the basis of the notes. And because of the name. I know, I know, the name shouldn’t be a factor. But it’s a great one. “Ange ou Démon” implies something almost mythical, like those old dead demigods who could act both sublimely wicked and supremely benevolent in their stories.

I do rather like this creamy little fruity-floral, but it’s nothing that blows me away. Nothing mythical here. I keep reading the official notes in disbelief. On me, this fragrance is like an herbal version of Flowerbomb Extreme, with a touch of what I perceive as a berry-like intonation, and a clean shower-fresh feel. That alone wouldn’t recommend it to me, but on the drydown I sense a little bit of something burnt. The burnt perversely redeems it for me. I won’t rush out to buy Ange, but if I got it as a gift I wouldn’t thumb my nose at it. It’s a winner… I guess. However, this does nothing smell-wise to put some prestige or leadership back into the Givenchy Parfums line. You can read some other lukewarmly approving reviews at both Victoria’s Own and Legerdenez.

I think I’ve been a little too harsh towards Very Irresistible in the past. While I still maintain it’s boring, it’s certainly not without charm. On some lucky folks, a warm rose and wood combination is brightened by the fresh scent of washed berries still wetly shimmering. Perhaps it’s not “very irresistible,” but it’s very pretty nonetheless.

Unfortunately there are some of us that get only a dull rose and wood accord that just sits there like a lump. It’s pleasant, but doesn’t develop or go anywhere.

Despite my boredom with Very Irresisitible, I had to try the new limited edition Millesime (Harvest Collection) version. Maybe my optimism springs eternal when it comes to Givenchy. Maybe the Amarige Millesime was so good that I want to try them all, just in case.

Or maybe I just have sucker written across my forehead.

As advertised, the Millesime pumps up the rose. In fact, the rose is so strong initially that it nearly obliterates the other notes that make the regular Very Irresistible so charming on some. I rather like it, since I am not amongst those who get shimmering berry from the regular. As the top evaporates, I find a more delicate and efferevescent rose, with touches of bergamot and floral grass in the bouquet. The drydown is virtually the same in both versions: more warm rosy wood.

Neither version of Very Irresistible recommends themseves to me as must-buys. However I would suggest sampling the regular one if you carry off fruit notes well, but you happen to prefer floral fragrances. It won’t be a stunner, granted, yet it’s a nice choice for casual wear even in summer. The Millesime would be better left for those of us who gravitate towards rose scents in the style of L’Occitane’s Eau de 4 Reines. Except I’d pick the eau de parfum concentration of 4 Reines over it.

Imagine if honeysuckle was Napoleon, leading a powerful army of vanilla behind it. That all sounds well and good at first,

That, unfortunately, is how I wear Givenchy Organza. (Organza is credited to Sophie Labbe, via Basenotes, because Givenchy’s website is useless.) No matter how many chances I give Organza, it ends up meeting its Waterloo, in the loo, under running water from the faucet. I am sick with envy over those who carry it off well. On some folks, it smells airy and sweet - divine, even. A touch of incense is present on my skin, which would possibly provide some relief, but it’s buried under a pile of sugary florals, vanilla, and ambery woods. On others this touch of spicy incense smells seductive. On me? About as happy as cannon wheels stuck and sinking in mud. Sure, it technically can go off, but it doesn’t work so well when it encounters my skin.

I was encouraged by Givenchy’s earlier limited edition release of their Amarige Millesime 2005 (an excellent blend of extra mimosa into original Amarige) that I might fare better with the new Organza Millesime. Perhaps this Millesime version, a blend of a specific jasmine crop from India into the original formula, might win me over.

The Organza Millesime sadly is not nearly as successful as the Amarige 2005. The promised jasmine is indeed featured prominently, and quite loudly so in the first half hour of wear. To me, many jasmine notes begin (and end, too) clean like laundry detergent. In this fragrance, I have to wait until the laundry’s done before I can perceive the other notes. Ahhh, there it is, Organza, lurking in the dry down finally, but it’s ligher and certainly less sugary than the original. Perhaps the addition of jasmine is Organza’s land war in Russia: it’s not defeated, but weakened and thinned out by the effort. As a result, I think the Millesime version would be a nice choice for those who would like Organza original if only it didn’t wear so heavy and oppressive on them. It also might prove interesting to those who are already fans of the fragrance and would welcome a summer-appropriate twist on it. However, if you love that deep sweetness of Organza, I think this version will come as a disappointment.

The price of this LE doesn’t bite too hard, because like the Amarige Millesime, it is only nominally more expensive than a bottle of the regular stuff. I’ve yet to see it on store shelves, but it is available online via Sephora.com.

Images poorly “photoshopped” by me. Honeysuckle bit comes from thegardenhelper.com, Napoleon paintings from pk.ac.th and fuenterrebollo.com, respectively.

Very Irresistible for Men was introduced last year, and in my opinion was one of the more interesting commercial men’s scents of the year. The marketing put me off a bit, since frankly I’m weary of getting sold on Liv Tyler and her wide-brimmed millinery. But pretty face and floppy hat aside, the men’s version of Very Irresistible is much more interesting than the commercials would lead you to believe. And a bit smarter than the name implies. (Listen, Givenchy, either it’s irresistible or it’s not. “Very” is useless because it’s redundant. But I digress.)

The initial ten minutes shine brightly with overtones of citrus zest. The citrus tapers off to reveal a delightfully warm but bitter chocolate. Givenchy describes it as “sesame-mocha sensuality,” but you know, I don’t smell nuttiness or coffee - just a slight toasted darkness. What it really reminds me of is the way some porter beers reveal their chocolate elements as roast-y yet still sweet. Mint is layed across the chocolate like a finishing touch of garnish. It makes for a herbal addition rather than one like chewing gum, sprinkling green tones across the brown-black. Buried deep at the base of Very Irresistible is a piquant cedar that implies freshly chopped green bell peppers. The cedar seems very much like a note used in Givenchy’s Xeryus Rouge. I’m not complaining - I like Xeryus Rouge very much, and that slight sharp bottom nicely compliments the cuddly gourmand middle of Very Irresistible. This fragrance is not a perfect piece of art, but it is a delightful fragrance to wear. Not everything has to be art - sometimes it just has to smell good, and this one passes my “smells good” test.

It’d make a great gift for Valentine’s Day for the special men in your life. Don’t forget, boys need chocolate, too, you know.

And since I’m on the subject of chocolate, I’d also recommend the awesome truffles from Euphoria Chocolate. My faves are the Amaretto Truffles, while my husband is taken with their Cabernet Wine Truffles.

And for no reason other than this chocolate theme (and the fact that I’ve been looking for an excuse to share this) here’s one of the more amusing celebrity endorsements I’ve seen. This old commercial is for Lanvin Chocolate:

Press the arrow to play. You must have flash software enabled on your computer.

Amarige arguably consititutes a modern classic. She is a big-boned mama: redolent of body, and full grown in spirit. She is not discreet, yet she is not brash. She walks into a room, and announces her entry by virtue of her presence alone. This sort of character can instantly earn either enmity or admiration without intending to do so.

The scent of Amarige whomps you over the head with a frying pan of gardenia. To put it less colorfully, it is heady and rich. Plonked down with the gardenia are notes of creamy, rubbery tuberose, sweet fruits and sweet woods. The wee-est touch of spiciness rises up on me through midwear, but it lasts only briefly. (The spiciness smells a little like this braided bread plyed with generous cardamom that my mother-in-law loves to bake at Christmas time.) I often feel overshadowed by this fragrance when I try to wear it. Consequently, I now keep a mini of it on hand, but never a full sized bottle. I appreciate it without being able to use it, I guess.

At the tail end of 2005, Givenchy released Amarige Harvest Collection, a limited edition vintage fragrance focused on a specific mimosa harvest from Grasse. If you haven’t yet had a go at Chandler Burr’s NY Times article about the trend of vintages in perfumes, here ya go. Or you can simply read the September 16th release from Women’s Wear Daily about Givenchy’s Harvest Collection as transcribed by a member of the Basenotes community.

As stated in the Times article and WWD, mimosa is indeed pumped up in the Harvest version. However, what I find most notable is Amarige Harvest’s steady heartbeat of neroli, giving a fresh burst of life into a perfume that is 25 years old. The mimosa floats into the air like gossamer caught in a delicate jasmine breeze. The sillage is unbelievably lovely.

However, at no time is the essential character of Amarige lost in the Harvest, and it could not ever be mistaken for anything but Amarige, even with the alterations. The subject is the same, though the portrait differs. But in Harvest the gardenia seems more tamed, pushed back a bit, allowing for more light to shine on the other notes. Funnily enough, taming gardenia seems to do wonders for the tuberose. Especially on the dry down. It’s rendered more palpable and less tangental than in regular Amarige.

The skinny here is, if you already know and love Amarige, and have been pondering whether to get a bottle, I would choose the Harvest Collection. The price difference is all of ten dollars, and worth it. If you already know and despise Amarige, the Harvest Collection version has nil to offer you: you’ll continue to despise it.

I don’t think this newish trend of releasing “vintage” blends is an inherently bad idea. What I fear will happen, though, is that it’ll become a sales crutch. Despite the proclamation this effort is to steer away from the cosmetic industry’s use of “stories” to sell its wares, the flat fact is that limited edition vintages employ every bit of gimmickry the stupid stories do. In Givenchy’s case, this will at least spare me (albeit briefly) from being sold first on Liv Tyler’s face, and then on the perfume. That? Is good by me. Most regrettable about this gimmick mimicking wine/champagne makers is the fact that many times the NV (Non-Vintage) selections from wineries can be happier finds than those with a distinct year of vintage broadly listed across the label.

Images: First is L’Arlésienne by Van Gogh. He actually completed two of this woman, this one from 1888, and a later one done appoximately in 1889 before he left Arles, which bears the same title and is the third image. Second is Night Café by Gauguin. All are paintings based on studies sketched at roughly the same point in time of Madame Ginoux, a widow who ran a small cafe that the two would frequent while they were still friends. The subject is the same, though the portraits differ. EDIT: For visual insight into their friendship, please delve into a tidy little slideshow of pieces from the Art Institute of Chicago.

P.S. Skip the Amarige Silk Veil lotion - it kind of sucks. It starts out okay, but within minutes it goes straight to a watery gardenia that drowns the other notes. I don’t know about the cream lotion though: the Givenchy creams are a little too rich for me, so I’ve never tried it.

Givenchy released Ysatis Iris as a limited edition with little fanfare during last year’s holiday season at the end of 2004. It bears little relation to its “parent,” Ysatis. Where Ysatis is a rich, sweet woody scent, Ysatis Iris takes a lighter, airier apporach.

It opens up with a decidedly fruity blast of berries, almost like marionberries (a type of blackberry.) Then the florals begin to roll out. I smell what must be a jasmine note, the most transparent of tuberose, and a small bouquet of other soft flowers. They wear so gently and aqueously, that I think the biggest fans of the original Ysatis would be bored spitless.

And I would be, too, were it not for the way it dries. Ohhhhhh, how shamelessly I adore the dry down. As the fruitier edges and white florals begin to taper, I notice a delicately placed violet leaf. Moreover, the iris finally begins to assert itself. Mixing into the last of the fruity-floral elements, the iris on display here approaches what I think must have been an attempt to capture the smell of the iris bloom rather than the root. The attempt ultimately fails, but that’s all right. It’s a lovely smelling failure. Vanilla is placed way down deep at the bottom of Ysatis Iris. It’s not the sort of vanilla that you instantly recognize and wave hello to. It’s here for a sweetly melodic effect, and probably wears on my skin during the whole wear, but I just don’t notice ’til the end.

Do not ask me how, but the way those bottom notes of iris, vanilla, and violet leaf interact with the dying flowery trills somehow recreates the smell of baby heads on me. Baby heads! Who doesn’t love the smell of baby heads? If you’re one of those rare folks who do not, then clearly you have a cold, cold heart, and there’s simply nothing to be done for you. That wonderfully mysterious aroma like the tops of baby heads is the most lingering smell on me. Needless to say, it’s delightful to have that smell conviniently located in a bottle. Just… baby heads. Sigh. I won’t pretend Ysatis Iris is some great masterpiece, but… have I mentioned the baby heads? Baby heads, baby heads, baby heads, baby heads. Swoon. I am in love.

Top image of Ysatis Iris bottle from imaginationperfumery.com. Second image entitled Flowerpond by Oscar Flores-Fiol, from oyetu.com. He’s also an Oregon resident, and one of the warmest human beings you could ever meet, in addition to being a fine artist. He also has the distinction of being one of the few people I’ve ever met who can get away with a cheery greeting of “Aloha” outside of Hawaii and not sound pretentious.

On the various perfume boards, whenever ladies request ideas for good men’s fragrances, a flurry of mainstream and niche creations are suggested. But when ladies ask other ladies for the SEXIEST fragrance for men… well, Pi usually wins the popularity contest handily. In the vaudeville variety show of perfume, other entrants are awarded with a polite showing on the applause-o-meter, but Pi tilts the needle over to the breaking point in an avalanche of clapping, hooting, hollering, and more than a few lusty whistles.

I think Pi gets some guff and occasional scorn for the view of masculinity it represents. It’s sweet and warm, which earns descriptions of Pi being “feminine” from some folks. I can see where they might be coming from, but can’t bring myself to agree. The best men I have ever known are all sweet and warm people. Why should there not be a perfume to exemplify these characteristics? What an awful state the world would be in if, like most men’s perfumes prescribe, half the world’s population were nothing but musky he-men or aquatic sea-creatures.

Pi is a rounded woody scent, decorated by florally herbs. However, the big appeal (or cause for criticism) lies in the way Pi’s vanillic layers are drawn across the subtlest of musks. The vanilla tumbles around, over and over, like fluffy pillows circling in the dryer. This is not the scent of a man who tries to seduce with easily bought flowers and by showing off in an expensive restaraunt. Pi is the smell of a man who will make you fall in love with him because he has the best conversation, and because he’s just an all-around good guy. And nothing is sexier than a man who at his core is decent and kind.

Of all of Alberto Morillas’ creations, this is the one that most makes me feel as if I personally owe him a thank you card of some sort. My husband, who had never liked perfume much for himself, found himself in this scent. Maddeningly, he refuses to wear anything else now, but that’s okay. He’s discovered his version of olfactory happiness, and I am happy he wears it with abandon.