Guerlain Shalimar and Parfumerie Generale Coze (plus Annick Goutal Sables)

GUERLAIN SHALIMAR: With the continuous (and seemingly endless) flood of new releases, it’s easy to overlook the classics in favor of the now, but I finally sat down for a meet and greet with Shalimar and was happily surprised to discover how attractive and downright chic it is, especially considering its age (Shalimar was originally released in 1925).

A recent post over at the POL forum mentioned Shalimar as a feminine fragrance that could easily be worn by men, and I agree on that point — there’s nothing about Shalimar that specifically throws like a girl, and if scruffy, dirty boys should decide en masse to adopt this mostly vanilla-opopanax mix (with its icy sheen, thanks to the Iris) as their Brave New Scent, who am I to say no?

Beth at Perfume Smellin’ Things has a nice post about the nostalgic power of Shalimar: “Shortly after my mother’s death I inherited her gray pearls . . . With a deep sigh I looped them around my neck, knotted them and took a deep breath and there it was, the scent of her Shalimar leaving me spinning happily back in time suddenly and completely unafraid and no longer alone.”

Since contemporary fragrances have a shelf life of about a nano-second, few of them can compete with an over eighty-year old fragrance for emotional wallop.

And a new post about Shalimar wouldn’t be complete without Guerlain’s rather jaw-dropping advertising image update for the fragrance (now, if only they’d update that so-last-century bottle):

Note: I tested the extrait (parfum) version of Shalimar. I understand the EDP and EDT versions are somewhat different, though I can’t vouch for that personally.

PARFUMERIE GENERALE COZE: Unfortunately for Coze, its song and dance routine was fated to follow Guerlain’s entry in the talent show, and the audience is a little too dazed by Shalimar’s razzle dazzle to pay the attention to Coze that it probably deserves.

So while my usual quota of enthusiastic praise has been piggishly devoured by Shalimar, I can say that Coze is easily a solid piece of perfumery that leans masculine with its wood, coffee, pepper and smoke combo. There’s a very subtly sweetened cocoa note layered across the base that imparts a gourmand feel to the scent, though I wouldn’t say it’s a gourmand fragrance by any traditional definition.

The Non-Blonde states that Coze is too tobacco/smoky for her comfort: “Tobacco isn’t a listed note here, but the smokiness definitely has a strong tobacco feel. So much so, that I find it off-putting” — though I find the tobacco-like smokiness one of the nicer things about Coze, and probably what sets it apart from the rest of the woodsy crowd.

So, yeah — there’s your yin/yang reaction.

I genuinely like Parfumerie Generale Coze quite a bit (and it’s one of those fragrances that increases in appeal the longer it sits on your skin), but if I were forced to choose between the two fragrances, I’d go for Shalimar without hesitation simply because it’s more all-purpose and all-weather; however, if vanilla-incense fragrances aren’t your bag and you prefer a scent with more of a dark, smoky heft, Coze would be a great choice.

UPDATED AND ADDED:

ANNICK GOUTAL SABLES: I had some extra time on my hands and space on my skin, so I decided to test Annick Goutal’s Sables. Ugh. I wish I hadn’t. It literally smells like a cat urinated in a bottle of Sauternes. I gave it plenty of time to “develop” just in case the unpleasantness was a minor opening note which then led on to some fabulous forested stroll, but nuthin’ doin’ — the Sauternes was ruined.

Wait! That sounds like a case of bad Beat-era poetry: “Nuthin’ doin’ — the Sauternes was ruined” . . . now I only need a cigarette and some absinthe. And a beret.

I Smell Therefore I Am says “The scent focuses on immortelle flower, which is oftentimes an overpowering scent, and has been described as smelling like maple syrup,” while commenter Vibert on BaseNotes writes that “In case you haven’t experienced it, immortelle smells like gallons of maple syrup and a side of bacon.”

Add the Mysore sandalwood, vanilla, pepper and voila! The result is a dry yet syrupy-sweet concoction that smells like . . . well, see above.

In all fairness, Sables has its fans (god help them) and the fragrance has been around since 1985 (which means that somebody’s obviously purchasing it), so I’ll post some of the rave reviews below — just don’t mistake my balanced approach for endorsement:

Bois de Jasmin: “Sables is brilliant because it manages to build on immortelle without either twisting it beyond recognition, or allowing it to assume a rustic demeanor . . . whenever I wear it, I feel as if I am wrapped into a warm embrace.”

Would Smell As Sweet: “Marketed as a man’s scent, Sables is both sweet and woodsy, with an overall quality like honeyed tobacco . . . I’d say it’s a fine gourmand-type scent for women as well. It would be particularly lovely worn in the fall, when the air is crisp and the leaves turn red and gold.”

The previously mentioned I Smell Therefore I Am: “The reason I enjoy Sables so much is that while there is indeed a syrupy sweetness, it still maintains a woody dryness overall . . . The sandy, gritty quality mixes beautifully with notes of sandalwood and pepper to perfectly temper the sweetness of immortelle flower.”

As pour moi, I’m taking a giant-sized pass.

Note: Marin will probably love it. She wrote a rhapsodic paean to the sour piss-and-honey Serge Lutens Miel de Bois on Wednesday (as well as posting a photo of a scrumptious looking bundt cake that made me so hungry I ordered room service at 2 a.m.), so I’m betting that Sables will be right up her alley.

Note Two: I merged the Sables post in with this post since there was no real need to have two separate perfume posts in one day. My apologies to Marin for the loss of her intellectually brilliant comment regarding cat urine. Now the world will never know.