Caron Alpona

A sharp and edgy citrus chypre, Alpona, a 1939 Caron urn fragrance had no chance in today's IFRA-regulated world and was discontinued a few years ago. Until the first time I smelled Alpona my reference perfume in this category was O de Lancome, which I've always found screechy and unrefined until late into its dry-down when oakmoss takes over. But this is a Caron, so you know you will not find Lemon Pledge here.

The pedigree of Alpona is evident from the very first notes, where the characteristic Caron rose is woven into the citrus opening. It's elegant and very perfumy, for better and for worse; definitely not what young Sephora shoppers would recognize as a fresh citrus fragrance. And that's a very good thing. Wearing Alpona is instantly transforming- clothes are more elegant, there's no reality TV and you're never stuck in traffic on the Turnpike (actually, the NJ Turnpike doesn't exist in Caron's universe).

Looking at the list of notes (via the Perfumed Court): lemon, grapefruit, bergamot, rose, orange, jasmine, orchid, thyme, patchouli, myrrh, cedar, sandalwood, musk and oakmoss, this is full of what the bureaucrats consider skin allergen and perfume lovers see and smell as beauty. The combination of rose and oakmoss adds a lot of complexity to a blend that could have been nothing more than L'Eau d'Issey. Instead, Alpona dries down into a soft mossy musk, a bit furry and animalic (my husband insists he smells honey on my skin) and just a little leathery- think a kinder, gentler vintage Cabochard.  IFRA really owes us for making Caron discontinue this gem.

Both images appeared originally at Harper's Bazaar. The first is the 1939 ad for Alpona prior to its debut  in the French Pavillion at the NY World Fair (vintageadbrowser.com). The second is a fashion photograph by Louise Dahl-Wolfe featuring model Mary Jane Russel, 1952 (myvintagevogue.com).

Caron Alpona

A sharp and edgy citrus chypre, Alpona, a 1939 Caron urn fragrance had no chance in today's IFRA-regulated world and was discontinued a few years ago. Until the first time I smelled Alpona my reference perfume in this category was O de Lancome, which I've always found screechy and unrefined until late into its dry-down when oakmoss takes over. But this is a Caron, so you know you will not find Lemon Pledge here.

The pedigree of Alpona is evident from the very first notes, where the characteristic Caron rose is woven into the citrus opening. It's elegant and very perfumy, for better and for worse; definitely not what young Sephora shoppers would recognize as a fresh citrus fragrance. And that's a very good thing. Wearing Alpona is instantly transforming- clothes are more elegant, there's no reality TV and you're never stuck in traffic on the Turnpike (actually, the NJ Turnpike doesn't exist in Caron's universe).

Looking at the list of notes (via the Perfumed Court): lemon, grapefruit, bergamot, rose, orange, jasmine, orchid, thyme, patchouli, myrrh, cedar, sandalwood, musk and oakmoss, this is full of what the bureaucrats consider skin allergen and perfume lovers see and smell as beauty. The combination of rose and oakmoss adds a lot of complexity to a blend that could have been nothing more than L'Eau d'Issey. Instead, Alpona dries down into a soft mossy musk, a bit furry and animalic (my husband insists he smells honey on my skin) and just a little leathery- think a kinder, gentler vintage Cabochard.  IFRA really owes us for making Caron discontinue this gem.

Both images appeared originally at Harper's Bazaar. The first is the 1939 ad for Alpona prior to its debut  in the French Pavillion at the NY World Fair (vintageadbrowser.com). The second is a fashion photograph by Louise Dahl-Wolfe featuring model Mary Jane Russel, 1952 (myvintagevogue.com).

Caron Alpona

A sharp and edgy citrus chypre, Alpona, a 1939 Caron urn fragrance had no chance in today's IFRA-regulated world and was discontinued a few years ago. Until the first time I smelled Alpona my reference perfume in this category was O de Lancome, which I've always found screechy and unrefined until late into its dry-down when oakmoss takes over. But this is a Caron, so you know you will not find Lemon Pledge here.

The pedigree of Alpona is evident from the very first notes, where the characteristic Caron rose is woven into the citrus opening. It's elegant and very perfumy, for better and for worse; definitely not what young Sephora shoppers would recognize as a fresh citrus fragrance. And that's a very good thing. Wearing Alpona is instantly transforming- clothes are more elegant, there's no reality TV and you're never stuck in traffic on the Turnpike (actually, the NJ Turnpike doesn't exist in Caron's universe).

Looking at the list of notes (via the Perfumed Court): lemon, grapefruit, bergamot, rose, orange, jasmine, orchid, thyme, patchouli, myrrh, cedar, sandalwood, musk and oakmoss, this is full of what the bureaucrats consider skin allergen and perfume lovers see and smell as beauty. The combination of rose and oakmoss adds a lot of complexity to a blend that could have been nothing more than L'Eau d'Issey. Instead, Alpona dries down into a soft mossy musk, a bit furry and animalic (my husband insists he smells honey on my skin) and just a little leathery- think a kinder, gentler vintage Cabochard.  IFRA really owes us for making Caron discontinue this gem.

Both images appeared originally at Harper's Bazaar. The first is the 1939 ad for Alpona prior to its debut  in the French Pavillion at the NY World Fair (vintageadbrowser.com). The second is a fashion photograph by Louise Dahl-Wolfe featuring model Mary Jane Russel, 1952 (myvintagevogue.com).

Caron Oud

I don't get what's going on at Caron. I'm not even talking about the reformulation and continuation. This time I'm merely wondering about their marketing strategy (if they even have one), the state of their website and the fact they do diddly squat to inform the public about their very exclusive oud perfumes (not to mention they don't sell them outside of Paris). There are three ouds, all are extrait de parfum: Oud, Secret Oud and Royal Oud. Thanks to a resourceful member of Basenotes who organized a bottle split I have a nice decant of Oud. Now, if only I could make up my mind about it...

Oud is, as expected, quite big boned and assertive. The often dark and medicinal aspect of the agarwood note has been largely Caronified through the use of lavish florals. Since there's no official information online, all I know about the notes is through the Perfumed Court and the above mentioned Basenotes member, and that's limited to jasmine and saffron. My own nose also says (screams, actually) rose, and quite a lot of it. It's a lush and velvety rose which doesn't turn sour on my skin, for which I'm very grateful. There's some fruity roundness around the jasmine which makes me think of ripe nectarines. It's also a bit retro, which is not a bad thing, but the big (BIG!) opening and is so obvious and bordering on kitschy, it makes me question my own taste level on days I find it charming.

The husband says the first hour of Oud is over the top and too floral. I don't blame him, but I actually think he wears it well. A couple of times I forgot this is an extrait and sprayed myself silly, only to thank my guardian angel I didn't have to leave the house that day. This Caron has so much cleavage I would have gotten arrested for public indecency or disorderly conduct (and I'm sorry of the latter makes you think of Snooki's latest adventure).

I like the late dry-down. That's where the richness is at its best and the notes merge and meld with the skin into a sensual and almost musical veil. I find it very feminine at this stage, something to wear the night you expect him to propose or something equally grand. I suspect the whole thing is not really me, but I enjoy it anyway, like playing dress-up. The bottom line is that I'm more comfortable in By Kilian's Pure Oud. Not that it makes it easier, cost-wise.

Caron Oud extarit de parfum (210 euro, 20ml)  is only available at the Paris boutiques. The Perfumes Court has samples.

Art: Tablado Flamenco by Fabian Perez

Caron Oud

I don't get what's going on at Caron. I'm not even talking about the reformulation and continuation. This time I'm merely wondering about their marketing strategy (if they even have one), the state of their website and the fact they do diddly squat to inform the public about their very exclusive oud perfumes (not to mention they don't sell them outside of Paris). There are three ouds, all are extrait de parfum: Oud, Secret Oud and Royal Oud. Thanks to a resourceful member of Basenotes who organized a bottle split I have a nice decant of Oud. Now, if only I could make up my mind about it...

Oud is, as expected, quite big boned and assertive. The often dark and medicinal aspect of the agarwood note has been largely Caronified through the use of lavish florals. Since there's no official information online, all I know about the notes is through the Perfumed Court and the above mentioned Basenotes member, and that's limited to jasmine and saffron. My own nose also says (screams, actually) rose, and quite a lot of it. It's a lush and velvety rose which doesn't turn sour on my skin, for which I'm very grateful. There's some fruity roundness around the jasmine which makes me think of ripe nectarines. It's also a bit retro, which is not a bad thing, but the big (BIG!) opening and is so obvious and bordering on kitschy, it makes me question my own taste level on days I find it charming.

The husband says the first hour of Oud is over the top and too floral. I don't blame him, but I actually think he wears it well. A couple of times I forgot this is an extrait and sprayed myself silly, only to thank my guardian angel I didn't have to leave the house that day. This Caron has so much cleavage I would have gotten arrested for public indecency or disorderly conduct (and I'm sorry of the latter makes you think of Snooki's latest adventure).

I like the late dry-down. That's where the richness is at its best and the notes merge and meld with the skin into a sensual and almost musical veil. I find it very feminine at this stage, something to wear the night you expect him to propose or something equally grand. I suspect the whole thing is not really me, but I enjoy it anyway, like playing dress-up. The bottom line is that I'm more comfortable in By Kilian's Pure Oud. Not that it makes it easier, cost-wise.

Caron Oud extarit de parfum (210 euro, 20ml)  is only available at the Paris boutiques. The Perfumes Court has samples.

Art: Tablado Flamenco by Fabian Perez

Caron Oud

I don't get what's going on at Caron. I'm not even talking about the reformulation and continuation. This time I'm merely wondering about their marketing strategy (if they even have one), the state of their website and the fact they do diddly squat to inform the public about their very exclusive oud perfumes (not to mention they don't sell them outside of Paris). There are three ouds, all are extrait de parfum: Oud, Secret Oud and Royal Oud. Thanks to a resourceful member of Basenotes who organized a bottle split I have a nice decant of Oud. Now, if only I could make up my mind about it...

Oud is, as expected, quite big boned and assertive. The often dark and medicinal aspect of the agarwood note has been largely Caronified through the use of lavish florals. Since there's no official information online, all I know about the notes is through the Perfumed Court and the above mentioned Basenotes member, and that's limited to jasmine and saffron. My own nose also says (screams, actually) rose, and quite a lot of it. It's a lush and velvety rose which doesn't turn sour on my skin, for which I'm very grateful. There's some fruity roundness around the jasmine which makes me think of ripe nectarines. It's also a bit retro, which is not a bad thing, but the big (BIG!) opening and is so obvious and bordering on kitschy, it makes me question my own taste level on days I find it charming.

The husband says the first hour of Oud is over the top and too floral. I don't blame him, but I actually think he wears it well. A couple of times I forgot this is an extrait and sprayed myself silly, only to thank my guardian angel I didn't have to leave the house that day. This Caron has so much cleavage I would have gotten arrested for public indecency or disorderly conduct (and I'm sorry of the latter makes you think of Snooki's latest adventure).

I like the late dry-down. That's where the richness is at its best and the notes merge and meld with the skin into a sensual and almost musical veil. I find it very feminine at this stage, something to wear the night you expect him to propose or something equally grand. I suspect the whole thing is not really me, but I enjoy it anyway, like playing dress-up. The bottom line is that I'm more comfortable in By Kilian's Pure Oud. Not that it makes it easier, cost-wise.

Caron Oud extarit de parfum (210 euro, 20ml)  is only available at the Paris boutiques. The Perfumes Court has samples.

Art: Tablado Flamenco by Fabian Perez

Caron Acaciosa

One of the main reasons I love Acaciosa by Caron so much is that it doesn't smell like any other jasmine perfume I know. Actually, it doesn't smell like any other perfume, period.

Yes, it's a jasmine blend and I can smell the supporting notes such as orange blossom, rose and maybe a hint of muguet. But somehow Acaciosa escapes the Joy-clone trap and manages to form a unique identity. It took me a while before I learned to identify the odd pineapple note that gives this perfume its flesh- this is not a fizzy cocktail on the beach. It reminds me of those dried pineapple slices I sometimes buy at Whole Foods as an alternative to snacking on chocolate (it must be healthier, right? It has fiber, after all). The flowers and fruit are honeyed, but it's a slightly smoky honey, dark and smooth. Maybe it's the Acacia note- Acacia honey is quite delectable.

Acaciosa is impossibly elegant in an effortless way. It's rich, womenly and despite its 1924 birth year it has an odd quality about it that makes it quite at home in a mostly modern fragrance wardrobe. This is one of Caron's urn perfumes, so its distribution is limited to Caron boutiques and few select stores (as far as I remember Bergdorf Goodman carries Acaciosa, or at least used to have it). My bottle of extrait de parfum is fairly new but apparently not as current as the reformulation Tania Sanchez tested for her review in the Guide, as I don't get the "soapy woody floral of not much character" she experienced.

Vintage Caron ads from the 1930s and 1940 : paperpursuits.com, vintageadbrowser.com

Caron Acaciosa

One of the main reasons I love Acaciosa by Caron so much is that it doesn't smell like any other jasmine perfume I know. Actually, it doesn't smell like any other perfume, period.

Yes, it's a jasmine blend and I can smell the supporting notes such as orange blossom, rose and maybe a hint of muguet. But somehow Acaciosa escapes the Joy-clone trap and manages to form a unique identity. It took me a while before I learned to identify the odd pineapple note that gives this perfume its flesh- this is not a fizzy cocktail on the beach. It reminds me of those dried pineapple slices I sometimes buy at Whole Foods as an alternative to snacking on chocolate (it must be healthier, right? It has fiber, after all). The flowers and fruit are honeyed, but it's a slightly smoky honey, dark and smooth. Maybe it's the Acacia note- Acacia honey is quite delectable.

Acaciosa is impossibly elegant in an effortless way. It's rich, womenly and despite its 1924 birth year it has an odd quality about it that makes it quite at home in a mostly modern fragrance wardrobe. This is one of Caron's urn perfumes, so its distribution is limited to Caron boutiques and few select stores (as far as I remember Bergdorf Goodman carries Acaciosa, or at least used to have it). My bottle of extrait de parfum is fairly new but apparently not as current as the reformulation Tania Sanchez tested for her review in the Guide, as I don't get the "soapy woody floral of not much character" she experienced.

Vintage Caron ads from the 1930s and 1940 : paperpursuits.com, vintageadbrowser.com

Caron Acaciosa

One of the main reasons I love Acaciosa by Caron so much is that it doesn't smell like any other jasmine perfume I know. Actually, it doesn't smell like any other perfume, period.

Yes, it's a jasmine blend and I can smell the supporting notes such as orange blossom, rose and maybe a hint of muguet. But somehow Acaciosa escapes the Joy-clone trap and manages to form a unique identity. It took me a while before I learned to identify the odd pineapple note that gives this perfume its flesh- this is not a fizzy cocktail on the beach. It reminds me of those dried pineapple slices I sometimes buy at Whole Foods as an alternative to snacking on chocolate (it must be healthier, right? It has fiber, after all). The flowers and fruit are honeyed, but it's a slightly smoky honey, dark and smooth. Maybe it's the Acacia note- Acacia honey is quite delectable.

Acaciosa is impossibly elegant in an effortless way. It's rich, womenly and despite its 1924 birth year it has an odd quality about it that makes it quite at home in a mostly modern fragrance wardrobe. This is one of Caron's urn perfumes, so its distribution is limited to Caron boutiques and few select stores (as far as I remember Bergdorf Goodman carries Acaciosa, or at least used to have it). My bottle of extrait de parfum is fairly new but apparently not as current as the reformulation Tania Sanchez tested for her review in the Guide, as I don't get the "soapy woody floral of not much character" she experienced.

Vintage Caron ads from the 1930s and 1940 : paperpursuits.com, vintageadbrowser.com

Caron Infini

There's something about classic Caron perfumes that says prim and proper. I'm not sure if the image was cultivated by the house, because looking at vintage print ads I don't see a significant difference from Chanel or Guerlain. Some of Caron perfumes, such as Tabac Blond, En Avion and others, were/are quite more interesting than the cardigan and pearls that are usually associated with the brand. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

I can see why the 1970s incarnation of Infini (originally a 1912 creation, but completely re-orchestrated in 1970) might have something to do with this image. It's a green aldehydic floral with a very dry heart- maybe a powdery iris. The floral notes smell very French and classic- thoroughly blended, seamless and almost abstract, except for the sharp hyacinth/daffodil that you can smell in the opening. Infini is crisp and tailored, but still retains just enough softness to make wearing it very comfortable- I might suggest you give it a try if you're seeking an easy(ier?)  introduction to the genre.

Something interesting happens to Infini in the drydown. It has an obvious vetiver note, which is nothing new (think Caleche in more recent formulations), but the vetiver is almost leathery and has an edge you don't expect to find under the demure flowers. I have no proof, but this might be a big part of the 1970 update. It make sense when you think about the decade of green chypres and pantsuits.

My bottle is a somewhat older parfum de toilette, probably from the late 80/early 90s. It's still available online, as is the extrait de parfum. I smelled a current(ish) eau de toilette and it still seems like the real thing, only lighter, which is to be expected.

Caron Infini ad from 1970- okadi.com
Fashion photo- a James Galanos dress, Vogue, spring 1970

Caron Infini

There's something about classic Caron perfumes that says prim and proper. I'm not sure if the image was cultivated by the house, because looking at vintage print ads I don't see a significant difference from Chanel or Guerlain. Some of Caron perfumes, such as Tabac Blond, En Avion and others, were/are quite more interesting than the cardigan and pearls that are usually associated with the brand. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

I can see why the 1970s incarnation of Infini (originally a 1912 creation, but completely re-orchestrated in 1970) might have something to do with this image. It's a green aldehydic floral with a very dry heart- maybe a powdery iris. The floral notes smell very French and classic- thoroughly blended, seamless and almost abstract, except for the sharp hyacinth/daffodil that you can smell in the opening. Infini is crisp and tailored, but still retains just enough softness to make wearing it very comfortable- I might suggest you give it a try if you're seeking an easy(ier?)  introduction to the genre.

Something interesting happens to Infini in the drydown. It has an obvious vetiver note, which is nothing new (think Caleche in more recent formulations), but the vetiver is almost leathery and has an edge you don't expect to find under the demure flowers. I have no proof, but this might be a big part of the 1970 update. It make sense when you think about the decade of green chypres and pantsuits.

My bottle is a somewhat older parfum de toilette, probably from the late 80/early 90s. It's still available online, as is the extrait de parfum. I smelled a current(ish) eau de toilette and it still seems like the real thing, only lighter, which is to be expected.

Caron Infini ad from 1970- okadi.com
Fashion photo- a James Galanos dress, Vogue, spring 1970

Caron Infini

There's something about classic Caron perfumes that says prim and proper. I'm not sure if the image was cultivated by the house, because looking at vintage print ads I don't see a significant difference from Chanel or Guerlain. Some of Caron perfumes, such as Tabac Blond, En Avion and others, were/are quite more interesting than the cardigan and pearls that are usually associated with the brand. Not that there's anything wrong with that...

I can see why the 1970s incarnation of Infini (originally a 1912 creation, but completely re-orchestrated in 1970) might have something to do with this image. It's a green aldehydic floral with a very dry heart- maybe a powdery iris. The floral notes smell very French and classic- thoroughly blended, seamless and almost abstract, except for the sharp hyacinth/daffodil that you can smell in the opening. Infini is crisp and tailored, but still retains just enough softness to make wearing it very comfortable- I might suggest you give it a try if you're seeking an easy(ier?)  introduction to the genre.

Something interesting happens to Infini in the drydown. It has an obvious vetiver note, which is nothing new (think Caleche in more recent formulations), but the vetiver is almost leathery and has an edge you don't expect to find under the demure flowers. I have no proof, but this might be a big part of the 1970 update. It make sense when you think about the decade of green chypres and pantsuits.

My bottle is a somewhat older parfum de toilette, probably from the late 80/early 90s. It's still available online, as is the extrait de parfum. I smelled a current(ish) eau de toilette and it still seems like the real thing, only lighter, which is to be expected.

Caron Infini ad from 1970- okadi.com
Fashion photo- a James Galanos dress, Vogue, spring 1970

Caron Bellodgia

I needed a good pick-me-up this evening (I'll tell the story tomorrow. It's beauty and shopping related), so I went straight to my vault of vintage perfume and got the Caron Bellodgia parfum. My bottle is small, quite old and holds inside the sunshine, flowers and air of vacation. It's no wonder the perfume was named after the northern Italian town Bellagio on Lake Como. If that doesn't make one feel better, nothing would. Just look at the photo above.

Bellodgia is very perfumy. The most dominant note here is carnation. It's sweet and more delicate at first before becoming quite peppery and assertive. Later it slides into a creamy drydown, courtesy of a sandalwood base. My experience is that the older your Bellodgia bottle, the better quality the sandalwood, which makes for a smoother, easier wearing. Carnation can easily be worn by men- just look at Diamond Water and Golconda by JAR. Maybe I should try smelling Bellodgia with a more open mind, but I doubt I would be able to make even my scent twin (who is a guy, for those of you just joining us) leave the house wearing it. Is it the other floral notes? I don't know- they are very well blended and I'm having trouble picking them even though I know there's some rose and jasmine there, and from the powderiness probably also orris.

The creamy drydown is also pretty musky, almost dirty but not quite (Caron never go all the way). It mellows down quite a bit as the hours go by but retains the basic idea and the strong carnation note. It's probably a bit too old fashioned to wear on a first date or a first day on the job, but it usually delivers on the promise of making your day very pleasant.

While I'm not fond of the thinner concentrations (EDP, EDT), the extrait is pretty easy to find. While I'm pretty sure the version from the last couple of years is not as good as it used to be (smelled it in the Paris boutique. It's probably the sandalwood they're using now), older bottles are still available here and there. Reformulated or not, it's worth trying if you are anywhere near a Caron boutique or a store that sells the extraits and the urn fragrances (Bergdorf Goodman in NYC and several of the big Paris department stores).

Photo of Bellagio from biogeographer.com
Vintage Caron perfume ads: Okadi.com

Caron Bellodgia

I needed a good pick-me-up this evening (I'll tell the story tomorrow. It's beauty and shopping related), so I went straight to my vault of vintage perfume and got the Caron Bellodgia parfum. My bottle is small, quite old and holds inside the sunshine, flowers and air of vacation. It's no wonder the perfume was named after the northern Italian town Bellagio on Lake Como. If that doesn't make one feel better, nothing would. Just look at the photo above.

Bellodgia is very perfumy. The most dominant note here is carnation. It's sweet and more delicate at first before becoming quite peppery and assertive. Later it slides into a creamy drydown, courtesy of a sandalwood base. My experience is that the older your Bellodgia bottle, the better quality the sandalwood, which makes for a smoother, easier wearing. Carnation can easily be worn by men- just look at Diamond Water and Golconda by JAR. Maybe I should try smelling Bellodgia with a more open mind, but I doubt I would be able to make even my scent twin (who is a guy, for those of you just joining us) leave the house wearing it. Is it the other floral notes? I don't know- they are very well blended and I'm having trouble picking them even though I know there's some rose and jasmine there, and from the powderiness probably also orris.

The creamy drydown is also pretty musky, almost dirty but not quite (Caron never go all the way). It mellows down quite a bit as the hours go by but retains the basic idea and the strong carnation note. It's probably a bit too old fashioned to wear on a first date or a first day on the job, but it usually delivers on the promise of making your day very pleasant.

While I'm not fond of the thinner concentrations (EDP, EDT), the extrait is pretty easy to find. While I'm pretty sure the version from the last couple of years is not as good as it used to be (smelled it in the Paris boutique. It's probably the sandalwood they're using now), older bottles are still available here and there. Reformulated or not, it's worth trying if you are anywhere near a Caron boutique or a store that sells the extraits and the urn fragrances (Bergdorf Goodman in NYC and several of the big Paris department stores).

Photo of Bellagio from biogeographer.com
Vintage Caron perfume ads: Okadi.com

Caron Bellodgia

I needed a good pick-me-up this evening (I'll tell the story tomorrow. It's beauty and shopping related), so I went straight to my vault of vintage perfume and got the Caron Bellodgia parfum. My bottle is small, quite old and holds inside the sunshine, flowers and air of vacation. It's no wonder the perfume was named after the northern Italian town Bellagio on Lake Como. If that doesn't make one feel better, nothing would. Just look at the photo above.

Bellodgia is very perfumy. The most dominant note here is carnation. It's sweet and more delicate at first before becoming quite peppery and assertive. Later it slides into a creamy drydown, courtesy of a sandalwood base. My experience is that the older your Bellodgia bottle, the better quality the sandalwood, which makes for a smoother, easier wearing. Carnation can easily be worn by men- just look at Diamond Water and Golconda by JAR. Maybe I should try smelling Bellodgia with a more open mind, but I doubt I would be able to make even my scent twin (who is a guy, for those of you just joining us) leave the house wearing it. Is it the other floral notes? I don't know- they are very well blended and I'm having trouble picking them even though I know there's some rose and jasmine there, and from the powderiness probably also orris.

The creamy drydown is also pretty musky, almost dirty but not quite (Caron never go all the way). It mellows down quite a bit as the hours go by but retains the basic idea and the strong carnation note. It's probably a bit too old fashioned to wear on a first date or a first day on the job, but it usually delivers on the promise of making your day very pleasant.

While I'm not fond of the thinner concentrations (EDP, EDT), the extrait is pretty easy to find. While I'm pretty sure the version from the last couple of years is not as good as it used to be (smelled it in the Paris boutique. It's probably the sandalwood they're using now), older bottles are still available here and there. Reformulated or not, it's worth trying if you are anywhere near a Caron boutique or a store that sells the extraits and the urn fragrances (Bergdorf Goodman in NYC and several of the big Paris department stores).

Photo of Bellagio from biogeographer.com
Vintage Caron perfume ads: Okadi.com

An American Blogger In Paris: Visiting The Caron Boutique

Or: Luca Turin Was Right

While I was living in vintage heaven, something bad has happened to the house of Caron. It's not that I was completely oblivious. I knew that the house has changed hands, I've heard that scents were reformulated and I read Perfumes: The Guide, so I had a general idea that scents I used to know as lively and potent no longer smell masterpiecey. I just hoped Mr. Turin was being dramatic.

The store is pretty in a frou-frou way. Large colorful powder puffs, gilded mirrors, carved bottles and all kinds of lace-and-beads fashion accessories that don't make much sense. But you're not there for embroidered scarves. It's all about the urn perfumes: the precious juice in parfum concentration, elegant, rich and timeless.

I got the bad vibes before the first sniff. Two bored-looking and indifferent sales assistants who barely graced me with a glance, even though I was the only potential customer in the store. The ignored me completely, never bothered to ask a question or offer help and information. I didn't mind too much, as I like browsing and exploring by myself, but some attention wouldn't have killed me (or them).

I tried the parfums, as the EdT are easy enough to find elsewhere. I played with test strips and dabbed several on my skin and on my husband's. Some, like Tabac Blond, started nicely enough, even if not as strong and dark as I remembered. Others didn't even smell close to the vintage ones I own. I barely recognized Bellodgia. But it was the way the scents have developed (or not) that I found disturbing. They fell apart, and what remained on my skin felt unconvincing. And the worst part: Tabac Blond simply smelled bad.

The good news: no scrubbing needed. While I didn't like any of the perfumes I tried on, they didn't last beyond half an hour of a weird, pale floral debris.

Photo taken by the Blond. And, yes, that's really my hair.

An American Blogger In Paris: Visiting The Caron Boutique

Or: Luca Turin Was Right

While I was living in vintage heaven, something bad has happened to the house of Caron. It's not that I was completely oblivious. I knew that the house has changed hands, I've heard that scents were reformulated and I read Perfumes: The Guide, so I had a general idea that scents I used to know as lively and potent no longer smell masterpiecey. I just hoped Mr. Turin was being dramatic.

The store is pretty in a frou-frou way. Large colorful powder puffs, gilded mirrors, carved bottles and all kinds of lace-and-beads fashion accessories that don't make much sense. But you're not there for embroidered scarves. It's all about the urn perfumes: the precious juice in parfum concentration, elegant, rich and timeless.

I got the bad vibes before the first sniff. Two bored-looking and indifferent sales assistants who barely graced me with a glance, even though I was the only potential customer in the store. The ignored me completely, never bothered to ask a question or offer help and information. I didn't mind too much, as I like browsing and exploring by myself, but some attention wouldn't have killed me (or them).

I tried the parfums, as the EdT are easy enough to find elsewhere. I played with test strips and dabbed several on my skin and on my husband's. Some, like Tabac Blond, started nicely enough, even if not as strong and dark as I remembered. Others didn't even smell close to the vintage ones I own. I barely recognized Bellodgia. But it was the way the scents have developed (or not) that I found disturbing. They fell apart, and what remained on my skin felt unconvincing. And the worst part: Tabac Blond simply smelled bad.

The good news: no scrubbing needed. While I didn't like any of the perfumes I tried on, they didn't last beyond half an hour of a weird, pale floral debris.

Photo taken by the Blond. And, yes, that's really my hair.

An American Blogger In Paris: Visiting The Caron Boutique

Or: Luca Turin Was Right

While I was living in vintage heaven, something bad has happened to the house of Caron. It's not that I was completely oblivious. I knew that the house has changed hands, I've heard that scents were reformulated and I read Perfumes: The Guide, so I had a general idea that scents I used to know as lively and potent no longer smell masterpiecey. I just hoped Mr. Turin was being dramatic.

The store is pretty in a frou-frou way. Large colorful powder puffs, gilded mirrors, carved bottles and all kinds of lace-and-beads fashion accessories that don't make much sense. But you're not there for embroidered scarves. It's all about the urn perfumes: the precious juice in parfum concentration, elegant, rich and timeless.

I got the bad vibes before the first sniff. Two bored-looking and indifferent sales assistants who barely graced me with a glance, even though I was the only potential customer in the store. The ignored me completely, never bothered to ask a question or offer help and information. I didn't mind too much, as I like browsing and exploring by myself, but some attention wouldn't have killed me (or them).

I tried the parfums, as the EdT are easy enough to find elsewhere. I played with test strips and dabbed several on my skin and on my husband's. Some, like Tabac Blond, started nicely enough, even if not as strong and dark as I remembered. Others didn't even smell close to the vintage ones I own. I barely recognized Bellodgia. But it was the way the scents have developed (or not) that I found disturbing. They fell apart, and what remained on my skin felt unconvincing. And the worst part: Tabac Blond simply smelled bad.

The good news: no scrubbing needed. While I didn't like any of the perfumes I tried on, they didn't last beyond half an hour of a weird, pale floral debris.

Photo taken by the Blond. And, yes, that's really my hair.

Nocturnal Me- Nocturnes De Caron

There's something about Nocturnes. While I can be fond of some aldehydic florals from a safe distance, I usually prefer not to wear them because if the age-old reason: They're not "me". I prefer thicker, darker compositions, enigmatic personalities and more spunk. Nocturnes, maybe one of the most famous misnomers in perfumery (other than Victoria's Secret Very Sexy), is not that perfume.

Creature of the night? Not this one. It's too rosy-cheeked pretty, more cashmere twin-set than black velvet dress with a slit up-to-there, and completely lacks cleavage. I can't help but remember that old quip about Caron being the wife's perfume while Guerlain is for the mistress. I'm a Guerlain girl through and through.

But it's not all sunshine and roses, because Nocturnes is the girl he married after he left you. The memories, the longing and a certain hint of sadness are there, peeking behind the giggly aldehydes and roses, as the scent moves into a smooth musky-vetiver drydown. It's not so girly then, not as simple and uncomplicated as it appeared at first. It still doesn't develop a cleavage, but even if it's not completely me, given the right circumstances, I can pretend for a while.

The notes according to Jan Moran are a bit questionable, considering, for example, the little fact that cyclamen (despite being a long lost relative of violet) is pretty but doesn't smell like much:
Top: Aldehydes, bergamot, mandarin, greens
Heart: Rose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, tuberose, stephanotis, lily of the valley, orris, cyclamen
Base: Vanilla, amber, musk, sandalwood, vetiver, benzoin

My money is on this (from couleurparfum.com ):
Top: Orange, Aldéhydes, Fleur d'oranger
Heart: Jasmin, Rose, Tubéreuse, Ylang-Ylang
Base: Vanille, Santal, Vetiver, Musc

The title of this post is taken from an Echo & Bunnymen song, which like Nocturnes, hails from the eighties. We could give the emo kids of this generation a run for their money and black clothes.

This review is of the vintage parfum extrait. My bottle is a late 80s/very early 90s creation. Rumor has it that none of the Caron scents are what they used to be, so your mileage may vary.

Images: couleurparfum.com

Nocturnal Me- Nocturnes De Caron

There's something about Nocturnes. While I can be fond of some aldehydic florals from a safe distance, I usually prefer not to wear them because if the age-old reason: They're not "me". I prefer thicker, darker compositions, enigmatic personalities and more spunk. Nocturnes, maybe one of the most famous misnomers in perfumery (other than Victoria's Secret Very Sexy), is not that perfume.

Creature of the night? Not this one. It's too rosy-cheeked pretty, more cashmere twin-set than black velvet dress with a slit up-to-there, and completely lacks cleavage. I can't help but remember that old quip about Caron being the wife's perfume while Guerlain is for the mistress. I'm a Guerlain girl through and through.

But it's not all sunshine and roses, because Nocturnes is the girl he married after he left you. The memories, the longing and a certain hint of sadness are there, peeking behind the giggly aldehydes and roses, as the scent moves into a smooth musky-vetiver drydown. It's not so girly then, not as simple and uncomplicated as it appeared at first. It still doesn't develop a cleavage, but even if it's not completely me, given the right circumstances, I can pretend for a while.

The notes according to Jan Moran are a bit questionable, considering, for example, the little fact that cyclamen (despite being a long lost relative of violet) is pretty but doesn't smell like much:
Top: Aldehydes, bergamot, mandarin, greens
Heart: Rose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, tuberose, stephanotis, lily of the valley, orris, cyclamen
Base: Vanilla, amber, musk, sandalwood, vetiver, benzoin

My money is on this (from couleurparfum.com ):
Top: Orange, Aldéhydes, Fleur d'oranger
Heart: Jasmin, Rose, Tubéreuse, Ylang-Ylang
Base: Vanille, Santal, Vetiver, Musc

The title of this post is taken from an Echo & Bunnymen song, which like Nocturnes, hails from the eighties. We could give the emo kids of this generation a run for their money and black clothes.

This review is of the vintage parfum extrait. My bottle is a late 80s/very early 90s creation. Rumor has it that none of the Caron scents are what they used to be, so your mileage may vary.

Images: couleurparfum.com