ISABEY GARDENIA: Originally a 1920s fragrance, now reissued by Paris-based fragrance house Panouge, Isabey Gardenia is a heavy-lidded, heavy-breathing, heavy limbed type of fragrance, so intent on coming across as glamorously indolent that it’s almost a parody of glamor itself.
But hey, if long silk dresses, mink stoles and high-alcohol content drinks served up in martini glasses are your thing, Isabey Gardenia might just be the missing piece in your weekend escapades. Me? I find it difficult to imagine anyone in the 21st century wearing Isabey Gardenia without making certain she first holds a firm grip on irony’s leash.
Other opinions:
Now Smell This: “It has a classic, old-fashioned feel.”
Bois de Jasmin: “I did not care for Isabey Gardenia, to be honest. Somehow, I found it very sticky for a gardenia, which has a very fresh, and yet heady scent.”
Perfume Posse: “It’s not oppressive at all, it’s got the best of the gardenia all wrapped up so it comes through beautifully without that heady overripeness that the real flower has.”
A Mental Note: “Lush creamy gardenia, tropical and luminous, sultry and sweet and animalic.”
Pink Manhattan: “To me, there is a semi-fruity, woody-mossy creaminess with the floridity — I find it similar to Fracas or Lumiere. Some people pick up jasmine in it, but I don’t; to my nose, the ylang-ylang is more prominent, as is the rose.”
Okay, enough of that — it’s not like I want to encourage anyone to actually purchase Isabey Gardenia, but if you feel you absolutely must have something heady and sultry and bordering on wicked, I’d much rather you fling yourself headlong into a bottle of Vero Profumo Rubj. Va-voom in all the right ways.
***Note: Laurie Erickson of Sonoma Scent Studio has been blogging about her work on a gardenia musk scent — allegedly, it’s nearing completion, but no date for release has been set. With the rave reviews she’s been receiving for her Tabac Aurea, I’m looking forward to seeing how she confronts the challenge of gardenia.
SHISEIDO MURASAKI: I know I sprayed something on my arm, so where is it? Wait! Excuse me for just a second, I think I’m picking something up — scanning, scanning, oh, there it is! Thin. Wan. Utterly unmemorable.
Yep, that’s Shiseido Murasaki, all right.
Fragrance notes (if that’s what you want to call them): bergamot, galbanum, hyacinth, gardenia, peach, rose, orris, muguet, jasmin, lily, vetiver, leather, oakmoss, musk, amber and sandalwood. I mean, Murasaki is “okay” as far as mainstream cosmetic company fragrances are concerned, but the notes list is close to causing me a fit of the giggles because there’s just. no. way.
L’ARTISAN JOUR DE FETE: Is this the smell of maltol? In Chandler Burr’s review of M by Mariah Carey, he describes maltol as “the molecule that you taste and smell in cotton candy” — and there’s a definite cotton-candy, sticky-sweetness to Jour de Fete that might potentially be considered pleasant to wear, but only if you have a fondness for the scent of freshly powdered babies dipped in corn syrup.
Listed fragrance notes: almond, pink laurel, wheat, orris, bourbon vanilla and cedarwood. Without the presence of cedarwood in this concoction, it would probably send the average wearer into diabetic shock. Jour de Fete was created by Olivia Giacobetti, whom I previously assumed had too much dignity for such an obvious bit of pandering. That assumption is now undergoing revision.
***Note: the longevity is excellent (8 hours+), and the drydown is warmer and less cavity-inducing in its sweetness level, but the candy-coated shalaque of Jour de Fete is very much a proceed with caution scent if you’re past eighteen (physically and/or emotionally).
DIOR DIORELLA: Ah, finally, a proper perfume! Originally released in 1972, though it has undoubtedly gone through numerous reformulations since then (I’m testing a 1980s-ish version sent by the enchanting Juno), Diorella is a warm dollop of fruit-sweetened moss and vetiver over a layer of smooth patchouli.
A good example of the classic chypre genre — the citrus, vanilla and oakmoss triumvirate. Allegedly, there’s a florist shop worth of flowers in the mix (honeysuckle, jasmine, violet, rose bud, carnation and cyclamen), but it’s mostly about the citrus, moss, grass, vanilla and patchouli to my nose. The flowers appear to function mainly as softeners and fillers, adding curves to what might otherwise have been angular and/or sharp.
The bottle and packaging are feminine, but the fragrance itself strikes me as adamantly unisex, so either #1) women’s fragrances have become uber-girly since 1972, leaving Diorella edging toward masculine by comparison, or #2) the rash of foul-smelling, solvent-like aquatic brews that fragrance companies have been bomb-tossing at men for the last twenty years have driven me into the arms of Diorella . . . but since they’re very nice arms, that’s a-okay by me.
***Note: The formulation is an EDT, so the lasting power is limited. After about 4 hours, it really started to thin out. I kind of expected that out of an EDT, but still, it would have been nice . . .
UPDATES (though off topic):
The latest Sniffapalooza Magazine edition is up and running. It’s chock full of interviews, photos and reviews, plus a number of excellent independent perfumers are profiled, so go check it out: Sniffapalooza Magazine
Also, Dawn Spencer Hurwitz just Twittered that she won Best Independent Business in the Best of Boulder awards:
Congrats on that!
