L'Artisan Parfumeur- Coeur de Vétiver Sacré

Heard last month at Barneys:
The husband: don't I already have all the vetivers I'll ever need?
Me: You tell me.
Him (spraying, sniffing and inhaling Coeur de Vétiver Sacré): Apparently not. I'll take it.

So much for the three tests before buying rule. But this is a vetiver and an unusual one at that. We both fell in love with this new L'Artisan Parfumeur fragrance. The husband likes the depth and the fact it's unlike any of the other vetiver in his/our collection. I've found out that I love wearing Coeur de Vétiver Sacré as a meditative perfume or while driving.  There's a state where your body and the conscious alert part of your mind are focused on one task while your imagination and thoughts are elsewhere.

Coeur de Vétiver Sacré starts as a spicy black tea scent. Not chai, really, as it's not creamy, just a strong black tea with saffron and ginger . Then there's the stewed fruit accord, not quite Lutens-like as there's no cumin and far less sweetness, but it's all dried dates and figs in an aromatic liquid reminding me of faraway markets where colorful and exotic sights, sounds and smells are entwined.

It takes quite a while before the vetiver even appears. I wondered at first why they named the perfume after it. But there it was all of a sudden, in all its grassy warmth with a smooth incense as its sidekick, making for a sweet(ish) dry-down.

Coeur de Vétiver Sacré is a significant departure from most L'Artisan perfumes we've seen recently. The perfumer, Karine Vinchon, brought a new point of view to the line by creating a darker, thicker, more demanding perfume. I love it for its warmth and ability to transform and change on skin. There's a serene and atmospheric feeling to CdVS, making it perfect on a fall day. Of course, not everyone feels this way. Dane from Pere de Pierre was decidedly unimpressed, but he's bordering on being my evil scent twin. For me, CdVS hits all the right spots, something very few L'Artisans have done lately.

Coeur de Vétiver Sacré by L'Artisan Parfumeur ($135, 100ml) is exclusive to Barneys, at least for now.

Photo by Walde Huth, 1953,  from dhm.de

L'Artisan Parfumeur- Coeur de Vétiver Sacré

Heard last month at Barneys:
The husband: don't I already have all the vetivers I'll ever need?
Me: You tell me.
Him (spraying, sniffing and inhaling Coeur de Vétiver Sacré): Apparently not. I'll take it.

So much for the three tests before buying rule. But this is a vetiver and an unusual one at that. We both fell in love with this new L'Artisan Parfumeur fragrance. The husband likes the depth and the fact it's unlike any of the other vetiver in his/our collection. I've found out that I love wearing Coeur de Vétiver Sacré as a meditative perfume or while driving.  There's a state where your body and the conscious alert part of your mind are focused on one task while your imagination and thoughts are elsewhere.

Coeur de Vétiver Sacré starts as a spicy black tea scent. Not chai, really, as it's not creamy, just a strong black tea with saffron and ginger . Then there's the stewed fruit accord, not quite Lutens-like as there's no cumin and far less sweetness, but it's all dried dates and figs in an aromatic liquid reminding me of faraway markets where colorful and exotic sights, sounds and smells are entwined.

It takes quite a while before the vetiver even appears. I wondered at first why they named the perfume after it. But there it was all of a sudden, in all its grassy warmth with a smooth incense as its sidekick, making for a sweet(ish) dry-down.

Coeur de Vétiver Sacré is a significant departure from most L'Artisan perfumes we've seen recently. The perfumer, Karine Vinchon, brought a new point of view to the line by creating a darker, thicker, more demanding perfume. I love it for its warmth and ability to transform and change on skin. There's a serene and atmospheric feeling to CdVS, making it perfect on a fall day. Of course, not everyone feels this way. Dane from Pere de Pierre was decidedly unimpressed, but he's bordering on being my evil scent twin. For me, CdVS hits all the right spots, something very few L'Artisans have done lately.

Coeur de Vétiver Sacré by L'Artisan Parfumeur ($135, 100ml) is exclusive to Barneys, at least for now.

Photo by Walde Huth, 1953,  from dhm.de

L'Artisan Parfumeur- Coeur de Vétiver Sacré

Heard last month at Barneys:
The husband: don't I already have all the vetivers I'll ever need?
Me: You tell me.
Him (spraying, sniffing and inhaling Coeur de Vétiver Sacré): Apparently not. I'll take it.

So much for the three tests before buying rule. But this is a vetiver and an unusual one at that. We both fell in love with this new L'Artisan Parfumeur fragrance. The husband likes the depth and the fact it's unlike any of the other vetiver in his/our collection. I've found out that I love wearing Coeur de Vétiver Sacré as a meditative perfume or while driving.  There's a state where your body and the conscious alert part of your mind are focused on one task while your imagination and thoughts are elsewhere.

Coeur de Vétiver Sacré starts as a spicy black tea scent. Not chai, really, as it's not creamy, just a strong black tea with saffron and ginger . Then there's the stewed fruit accord, not quite Lutens-like as there's no cumin and far less sweetness, but it's all dried dates and figs in an aromatic liquid reminding me of faraway markets where colorful and exotic sights, sounds and smells are entwined.

It takes quite a while before the vetiver even appears. I wondered at first why they named the perfume after it. But there it was all of a sudden, in all its grassy warmth with a smooth incense as its sidekick, making for a sweet(ish) dry-down.

Coeur de Vétiver Sacré is a significant departure from most L'Artisan perfumes we've seen recently. The perfumer, Karine Vinchon, brought a new point of view to the line by creating a darker, thicker, more demanding perfume. I love it for its warmth and ability to transform and change on skin. There's a serene and atmospheric feeling to CdVS, making it perfect on a fall day. Of course, not everyone feels this way. Dane from Pere de Pierre was decidedly unimpressed, but he's bordering on being my evil scent twin. For me, CdVS hits all the right spots, something very few L'Artisans have done lately.

Coeur de Vétiver Sacré by L'Artisan Parfumeur ($135, 100ml) is exclusive to Barneys, at least for now.

Photo by Walde Huth, 1953,  from dhm.de

L’Artisan Parfumeur- Ananas Fizz

It took me several years and countless of samples to start enjoying Ananas Fizz by L’Artisan Parfumeur. I couldn't get past the pineapple and its friends, the rum and coconut milk notes. I don't want pink paper umbrellas in my perfume, and even though I could recognize that Ananas Fizz was not your typical Pina Colada scent, it still had all that happy pineapple. I couldn't deal.

Sometimes, though, the stars and nose align right and you suddenly smell the magic, or at least the perfume story the perfumer meant you to feel. I don't know how or when it happened, but one day I was sniffing some L'artisan samples and absentmindedly applied Ananas Fizz and it was there- not just the tropical fruit (diluted in citrus juice), but also the green notes and dry wood, with only a hint of sweetness. It's a lot more wearable than I ever thought and actually has a kick- not just the fizz, but also the type you usually get from a chypre. I'm not sure i can explain it through the official notes, as there's no oakmoss, patchouli or labdanum listed. The recognizable notes to me, other than pineapple, are lemon, bergamot, a hint of coconut and cedar. It's not exactly a recipe for a chypre, and yet it feels exactly right.

There's something very sheer and gauze-like about Ananas Fizz. It's like looking at a tropical scene through a veil or a light fog. The colors aren't very vibrant and won't make you start dancing or doing the Hippy Hippy Shake*. It's the contrasts between the initial expectations and the actual scent development that make this scent interesting and enjoyable for me. The official carded L'Artisan samples are doing this perfume (and most of the others) a disservice. Dabbing a drop here and there isn't the best way to wear Ananas Fizz. I transferred several samples into small spray vial and that made a huge difference in terms of longevity and sillage. It makes the scent feel a lot more substantial without compromising its lightness.

Ananas Fizz is still available from some L'Artisan retailers (Barneys, Luckyscent, Blue Mercury), but it has been removed from the L’Artisan Parfumeur website (artisanparfumeur.us), and we all know what that means.

*The Hippy Hippy Shake:

L’Artisan Parfumeur- Ananas Fizz

It took me several years and countless of samples to start enjoying Ananas Fizz by L’Artisan Parfumeur. I couldn't get past the pineapple and its friends, the rum and coconut milk notes. I don't want pink paper umbrellas in my perfume, and even though I could recognize that Ananas Fizz was not your typical Pina Colada scent, it still had all that happy pineapple. I couldn't deal.

Sometimes, though, the stars and nose align right and you suddenly smell the magic, or at least the perfume story the perfumer meant you to feel. I don't know how or when it happened, but one day I was sniffing some L'artisan samples and absentmindedly applied Ananas Fizz and it was there- not just the tropical fruit (diluted in citrus juice), but also the green notes and dry wood, with only a hint of sweetness. It's a lot more wearable than I ever thought and actually has a kick- not just the fizz, but also the type you usually get from a chypre. I'm not sure i can explain it through the official notes, as there's no oakmoss, patchouli or labdanum listed. The recognizable notes to me, other than pineapple, are lemon, bergamot, a hint of coconut and cedar. It's not exactly a recipe for a chypre, and yet it feels exactly right.

There's something very sheer and gauze-like about Ananas Fizz. It's like looking at a tropical scene through a veil or a light fog. The colors aren't very vibrant and won't make you start dancing or doing the Hippy Hippy Shake*. It's the contrasts between the initial expectations and the actual scent development that make this scent interesting and enjoyable for me. The official carded L'Artisan samples are doing this perfume (and most of the others) a disservice. Dabbing a drop here and there isn't the best way to wear Ananas Fizz. I transferred several samples into small spray vial and that made a huge difference in terms of longevity and sillage. It makes the scent feel a lot more substantial without compromising its lightness.

Ananas Fizz is still available from some L'Artisan retailers (Barneys, Luckyscent, Blue Mercury), but it has been removed from the L’Artisan Parfumeur website (artisanparfumeur.us), and we all know what that means.

*The Hippy Hippy Shake:

L’Artisan Parfumeur- Ananas Fizz

It took me several years and countless of samples to start enjoying Ananas Fizz by L’Artisan Parfumeur. I couldn't get past the pineapple and its friends, the rum and coconut milk notes. I don't want pink paper umbrellas in my perfume, and even though I could recognize that Ananas Fizz was not your typical Pina Colada scent, it still had all that happy pineapple. I couldn't deal.

Sometimes, though, the stars and nose align right and you suddenly smell the magic, or at least the perfume story the perfumer meant you to feel. I don't know how or when it happened, but one day I was sniffing some L'artisan samples and absentmindedly applied Ananas Fizz and it was there- not just the tropical fruit (diluted in citrus juice), but also the green notes and dry wood, with only a hint of sweetness. It's a lot more wearable than I ever thought and actually has a kick- not just the fizz, but also the type you usually get from a chypre. I'm not sure i can explain it through the official notes, as there's no oakmoss, patchouli or labdanum listed. The recognizable notes to me, other than pineapple, are lemon, bergamot, a hint of coconut and cedar. It's not exactly a recipe for a chypre, and yet it feels exactly right.

There's something very sheer and gauze-like about Ananas Fizz. It's like looking at a tropical scene through a veil or a light fog. The colors aren't very vibrant and won't make you start dancing or doing the Hippy Hippy Shake*. It's the contrasts between the initial expectations and the actual scent development that make this scent interesting and enjoyable for me. The official carded L'Artisan samples are doing this perfume (and most of the others) a disservice. Dabbing a drop here and there isn't the best way to wear Ananas Fizz. I transferred several samples into small spray vial and that made a huge difference in terms of longevity and sillage. It makes the scent feel a lot more substantial without compromising its lightness.

Ananas Fizz is still available from some L'Artisan retailers (Barneys, Luckyscent, Blue Mercury), but it has been removed from the L’Artisan Parfumeur website (artisanparfumeur.us), and we all know what that means.

*The Hippy Hippy Shake:

L’Artisan Parfumeur- Premier Figuier Extrême

I'm sure this happens to you occasionally: You hear some very familiar music playing in another room, another floor or even from a car passing by. It's too far away for every note to actually reach your ear, but you know the song so well that you "hear" the missing pieces- your mind is stepping up and filling the gaps.

I'm still dealing with a raging head cold and my nose is (maybe) working at 25% capacity . But I can't go through my day without perfume, so I'm turning to the cornerstones of my wardrobe and wear the ones I can smell with my memory just as well as with a functioning schnoz. I start the morning with vintage Chanel No. 5 in eau de cologne, but as the day progresses I turn to something sweeter and softer, but still one I would recognize anywhere- Premier Figuier Extrême by L’Artisan Parfumeur.

Premier Figuier Extrême can be a bit misleading. Yes, it's a sweet milky fig over a creamy sandalwood base. But the reason I love it so much (besides my fig obsession, that is) is the way it juxtaposes the shade of a fig tree that grows beside a cool running stream- it's green and blue, very refreshing after walking a few miles on a hot summer day and reaching that hidden sanctuary. Then you have the smooth warmth of wood and coconut milk like a satisfying and comforting dessert, an inviting rustic kitchen where you sit at a slightly worn down hand-made table and getting a whiff of the fresh figs in the blue and yellow bowl.

Premier Figuier Extrême ($115, 1.7 oz EDP) is available from the L’Artisan Parfumeur boutique at Henri Bendel in NYC and from the company's website, artisanparfumeur.us . I bought my bottles years ago at the (now defunct) free-standing SoHo L'Artisan boutique in NYC.

Art: Fig Leaves by Yvonne Ayoub.

L’Artisan Parfumeur- Premier Figuier Extrême

I'm sure this happens to you occasionally: You hear some very familiar music playing in another room, another floor or even from a car passing by. It's too far away for every note to actually reach your ear, but you know the song so well that you "hear" the missing pieces- your mind is stepping up and filling the gaps.

I'm still dealing with a raging head cold and my nose is (maybe) working at 25% capacity . But I can't go through my day without perfume, so I'm turning to the cornerstones of my wardrobe and wear the ones I can smell with my memory just as well as with a functioning schnoz. I start the morning with vintage Chanel No. 5 in eau de cologne, but as the day progresses I turn to something sweeter and softer, but still one I would recognize anywhere- Premier Figuier Extrême by L’Artisan Parfumeur.

Premier Figuier Extrême can be a bit misleading. Yes, it's a sweet milky fig over a creamy sandalwood base. But the reason I love it so much (besides my fig obsession, that is) is the way it juxtaposes the shade of a fig tree that grows beside a cool running stream- it's green and blue, very refreshing after walking a few miles on a hot summer day and reaching that hidden sanctuary. Then you have the smooth warmth of wood and coconut milk like a satisfying and comforting dessert, an inviting rustic kitchen where you sit at a slightly worn down hand-made table and getting a whiff of the fresh figs in the blue and yellow bowl.

Premier Figuier Extrême ($115, 1.7 oz EDP) is available from the L’Artisan Parfumeur boutique at Henri Bendel in NYC and from the company's website, artisanparfumeur.us . I bought my bottles years ago at the (now defunct) free-standing SoHo L'Artisan boutique in NYC.

Art: Fig Leaves by Yvonne Ayoub.

L’Artisan Parfumeur- Premier Figuier Extrême

I'm sure this happens to you occasionally: You hear some very familiar music playing in another room, another floor or even from a car passing by. It's too far away for every note to actually reach your ear, but you know the song so well that you "hear" the missing pieces- your mind is stepping up and filling the gaps.

I'm still dealing with a raging head cold and my nose is (maybe) working at 25% capacity . But I can't go through my day without perfume, so I'm turning to the cornerstones of my wardrobe and wear the ones I can smell with my memory just as well as with a functioning schnoz. I start the morning with vintage Chanel No. 5 in eau de cologne, but as the day progresses I turn to something sweeter and softer, but still one I would recognize anywhere- Premier Figuier Extrême by L’Artisan Parfumeur.

Premier Figuier Extrême can be a bit misleading. Yes, it's a sweet milky fig over a creamy sandalwood base. But the reason I love it so much (besides my fig obsession, that is) is the way it juxtaposes the shade of a fig tree that grows beside a cool running stream- it's green and blue, very refreshing after walking a few miles on a hot summer day and reaching that hidden sanctuary. Then you have the smooth warmth of wood and coconut milk like a satisfying and comforting dessert, an inviting rustic kitchen where you sit at a slightly worn down hand-made table and getting a whiff of the fresh figs in the blue and yellow bowl.

Premier Figuier Extrême ($115, 1.7 oz EDP) is available from the L’Artisan Parfumeur boutique at Henri Bendel in NYC and from the company's website, artisanparfumeur.us . I bought my bottles years ago at the (now defunct) free-standing SoHo L'Artisan boutique in NYC.

Art: Fig Leaves by Yvonne Ayoub.

Méchant Loup by L'Artisan Parfumeur

Méchant Loup by L'Artisan is a seducer. It lures you in with sweet promises of honey and hazelnuts toasted just enough. It doesn't have any of the popular mainstream opening notes- nothing fresh, green or citrusy here. It's all heart.

While a hazelnut, honey and wood perfume could have easily turn into the land of praline and become another one of those "eat me" mall scents, this isn't the case. In fact, Méchant Loup is generally regarded as a masculine scent. And indeed, once the initial notes calm down and retreat, you are left with a very woody and quite dark fragrance. It's very smooth though not quite creamy, and surprisingly chilly- like touching the bark of a tree in an old forest, so thick that sunshine doesn't reach through the thick intertwined treetops.

Does evil lurk in that ancient forest? After all, Méchant Loup means 'bad wolf'. It's the temptation, I think, to get closer and closer to the source of the sweetness and discover its true face. A man wearing it is quite irresistible. I wear it for that smooth honeyed core as well as for the coolness of the wood. I spray it liberally so the EDT lasts for at least ten hours on my skin, and while it doesn't make me feel like a she-wolf I can't help but sniff myself often.

Méchant Loup ($95, 1.7 oz) is available from Henri Bendel,  L'Artisan Parfumeur boutiques (where they still exist. The freestanding ones in NYC have all closed), Barneys and Aedes in NYC and Blue Mercury stores. Most of them also sell online. I bought my bottle a few years ago, probably from Aedes.

Image: Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf by Richard Hermann Eschke.

Méchant Loup by L'Artisan Parfumeur

Méchant Loup by L'Artisan is a seducer. It lures you in with sweet promises of honey and hazelnuts toasted just enough. It doesn't have any of the popular mainstream opening notes- nothing fresh, green or citrusy here. It's all heart.

While a hazelnut, honey and wood perfume could have easily turn into the land of praline and become another one of those "eat me" mall scents, this isn't the case. In fact, Méchant Loup is generally regarded as a masculine scent. And indeed, once the initial notes calm down and retreat, you are left with a very woody and quite dark fragrance. It's very smooth though not quite creamy, and surprisingly chilly- like touching the bark of a tree in an old forest, so thick that sunshine doesn't reach through the thick intertwined treetops.

Does evil lurk in that ancient forest? After all, Méchant Loup means 'bad wolf'. It's the temptation, I think, to get closer and closer to the source of the sweetness and discover its true face. A man wearing it is quite irresistible. I wear it for that smooth honeyed core as well as for the coolness of the wood. I spray it liberally so the EDT lasts for at least ten hours on my skin, and while it doesn't make me feel like a she-wolf I can't help but sniff myself often.

Méchant Loup ($95, 1.7 oz) is available from Henri Bendel,  L'Artisan Parfumeur boutiques (where they still exist. The freestanding ones in NYC have all closed), Barneys and Aedes in NYC and Blue Mercury stores. Most of them also sell online. I bought my bottle a few years ago, probably from Aedes.

Image: Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf by Richard Hermann Eschke.

Méchant Loup by L'Artisan Parfumeur

Méchant Loup by L'Artisan is a seducer. It lures you in with sweet promises of honey and hazelnuts toasted just enough. It doesn't have any of the popular mainstream opening notes- nothing fresh, green or citrusy here. It's all heart.

While a hazelnut, honey and wood perfume could have easily turn into the land of praline and become another one of those "eat me" mall scents, this isn't the case. In fact, Méchant Loup is generally regarded as a masculine scent. And indeed, once the initial notes calm down and retreat, you are left with a very woody and quite dark fragrance. It's very smooth though not quite creamy, and surprisingly chilly- like touching the bark of a tree in an old forest, so thick that sunshine doesn't reach through the thick intertwined treetops.

Does evil lurk in that ancient forest? After all, Méchant Loup means 'bad wolf'. It's the temptation, I think, to get closer and closer to the source of the sweetness and discover its true face. A man wearing it is quite irresistible. I wear it for that smooth honeyed core as well as for the coolness of the wood. I spray it liberally so the EDT lasts for at least ten hours on my skin, and while it doesn't make me feel like a she-wolf I can't help but sniff myself often.

Méchant Loup ($95, 1.7 oz) is available from Henri Bendel,  L'Artisan Parfumeur boutiques (where they still exist. The freestanding ones in NYC have all closed), Barneys and Aedes in NYC and Blue Mercury stores. Most of them also sell online. I bought my bottle a few years ago, probably from Aedes.

Image: Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf by Richard Hermann Eschke.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Havana Vanille- First Impression

Perfume obsession is a funny thing. One day after I bought a bottle of a fragrance so unique it makes my entire collection seem almost silly* and for a few minutes even entertain the concept of a signature scent, I got to try the new L'Artisan Parfumeur Havana Vanille and was reminded why I'm so in love with many perfumes.

Havana Vanille is what I wanted Hermes Vanille Gallant to be. It's an almost understated, non-cupcake, well-rounded vanilla scent. Robin on NST has compared it to Guerlain's Spiritueuse Double Vanilla, and she is right. But SDV is too much booze on my skin, and it sadly takes away from the smoky vanilla. Havana Vanille has a beautiful tobacco note, leafy and smooth, which keeps the scent from going the yummy foody way. It's far less sweet than Tom Ford's Tobacco Vanille which I love, but must admit is more honey-tobacco than vanilla and isn't as sophisticated as this L'Artisan creation.

The rum here is mostly in the top notes and then it clears the way to a warm dry vanilla. It's satisfying and comforting without the feel of a guilty pleasure. It's easy to wear without being low brow, and it doesn't smell cheap. One would never be mistaken for wearing a body spray from the mall while having this on.

I can't wear L'Artisan's other vanilla scent, Vanilia, because after the beautiful first 20 minutes I get a weird chemical burnt sugar and a dead orchid note that on a bad day turns my stomach. There's nothing of this sort in Havana Vanille, which makes it an ideal scent for fall.

Havana Vanille will be officially launcehd in October.

*I promise to talk about this perfume soon. In the meantime, you're invited to try and figure out what it is. The first person to guess correctly will receive a sample of the fragrance. If he or she would want it, that is. Just to make this clear: Not Havana Vanille.

Image: Homemade Bourbon Vanilla by ayankeeinasouthernkitchen.com

L'Artisan Parfumeur Havana Vanille- First Impression

Perfume obsession is a funny thing. One day after I bought a bottle of a fragrance so unique it makes my entire collection seem almost silly* and for a few minutes even entertain the concept of a signature scent, I got to try the new L'Artisan Parfumeur Havana Vanille and was reminded why I'm so in love with many perfumes.

Havana Vanille is what I wanted Hermes Vanille Gallant to be. It's an almost understated, non-cupcake, well-rounded vanilla scent. Robin on NST has compared it to Guerlain's Spiritueuse Double Vanilla, and she is right. But SDV is too much booze on my skin, and it sadly takes away from the smoky vanilla. Havana Vanille has a beautiful tobacco note, leafy and smooth, which keeps the scent from going the yummy foody way. It's far less sweet than Tom Ford's Tobacco Vanille which I love, but must admit is more honey-tobacco than vanilla and isn't as sophisticated as this L'Artisan creation.

The rum here is mostly in the top notes and then it clears the way to a warm dry vanilla. It's satisfying and comforting without the feel of a guilty pleasure. It's easy to wear without being low brow, and it doesn't smell cheap. One would never be mistaken for wearing a body spray from the mall while having this on.

I can't wear L'Artisan's other vanilla scent, Vanilia, because after the beautiful first 20 minutes I get a weird chemical burnt sugar and a dead orchid note that on a bad day turns my stomach. There's nothing of this sort in Havana Vanille, which makes it an ideal scent for fall.

Havana Vanille will be officially launcehd in October.

*I promise to talk about this perfume soon. In the meantime, you're invited to try and figure out what it is. The first person to guess correctly will receive a sample of the fragrance. If he or she would want it, that is. Just to make this clear: Not Havana Vanille.

Image: Homemade Bourbon Vanilla by ayankeeinasouthernkitchen.com

L'Artisan Parfumeur Havana Vanille- First Impression

Perfume obsession is a funny thing. One day after I bought a bottle of a fragrance so unique it makes my entire collection seem almost silly* and for a few minutes even entertain the concept of a signature scent, I got to try the new L'Artisan Parfumeur Havana Vanille and was reminded why I'm so in love with many perfumes.

Havana Vanille is what I wanted Hermes Vanille Gallant to be. It's an almost understated, non-cupcake, well-rounded vanilla scent. Robin on NST has compared it to Guerlain's Spiritueuse Double Vanilla, and she is right. But SDV is too much booze on my skin, and it sadly takes away from the smoky vanilla. Havana Vanille has a beautiful tobacco note, leafy and smooth, which keeps the scent from going the yummy foody way. It's far less sweet than Tom Ford's Tobacco Vanille which I love, but must admit is more honey-tobacco than vanilla and isn't as sophisticated as this L'Artisan creation.

The rum here is mostly in the top notes and then it clears the way to a warm dry vanilla. It's satisfying and comforting without the feel of a guilty pleasure. It's easy to wear without being low brow, and it doesn't smell cheap. One would never be mistaken for wearing a body spray from the mall while having this on.

I can't wear L'Artisan's other vanilla scent, Vanilia, because after the beautiful first 20 minutes I get a weird chemical burnt sugar and a dead orchid note that on a bad day turns my stomach. There's nothing of this sort in Havana Vanille, which makes it an ideal scent for fall.

Havana Vanille will be officially launcehd in October.

*I promise to talk about this perfume soon. In the meantime, you're invited to try and figure out what it is. The first person to guess correctly will receive a sample of the fragrance. If he or she would want it, that is. Just to make this clear: Not Havana Vanille.

Image: Homemade Bourbon Vanilla by ayankeeinasouthernkitchen.com

Sniffed Around Town

(For the 2008 Perfume Retrospective, please see yesterday's post)

I've been revisiting a few previously-sniffed scents at the usual NYC haunts. These are not full reviews as I haven't (yet?) bothered with samples and full wearing under different circumstances, unless noted. Just impressions.

Chanel Beige- (part of the Les Exclusifs range and only available from Saks flagship in the city). The first time I tried it, I commented that it just doesn't go with my hair. It was too floral, too Chanel, too Upper East Side. Totally not me. It's still isn't, but I sort of get it now. Apparently, Muffy Sloan-McPrep has been skipping some Junior League meetings because she's having steamy randezvous with her tennis instructor. And she's invested in some killer shoes.

Champaca Absolute (Tom Ford Private Blend)- I didn't expect to like this one. A biggish floral with some fruit in it (plum?) is not my normal thing. But like many of the other ones in the line, it melds with my skin and becomes smooth and musky (in a good way). It doesn't screech or does weird gestures, so while I probably don't need to have it (unlike Tobacco Vanille and Purple Patchouli), I would wear it happily if the stork drops it at my door (what? storks bring the oddest things to this house).

Fleur de Liane (L'Artisan Parfumeur)- I really shouldn't have bothered with this one, as it's everything I hate. A sheer green aquatic with more than a hint of melon. I don't always assign colors to scents, but this one is a poisonous, radioactive aqua. While Fleur de Liane is a Bertrand Duchaufour creation, I can practically hear Jean Claude Ellena cackling behind the scene.

Aedes de Venustas Eau de Parfum (created by L'Artisan)- Another Duchaufour, this time a pretty nice one. On my skin and to my nose it's cool, clean incense, very similar to Heeley Cardinal and CdG Avignon. I liked it better as a room spray or on my husband, though he was not impressed.

Amouage Lyric For Women- Yes, please.
Gorgeous, sexy, rosy, spicy, woodsy. Lasts forever. It's the very late drydown that I'm not yet sure about. It loses some of the mouthwatering quality for more wood. Still beautiful, though.

Carnation (Mona Di Orio)- I think I can live without it, after all. This one must be tested and re-tested on skin, as what you get on a scent strip would lead you to pull a Luca Turin and hate hate hate it. My skin loves it, most of the time. Occasionally it turns into something boring and bland like a low-grade musk. Other times it's lovely.

Dans tes Bras (Frederic Malle)- Either they tinkered with the formula since I first smelled the tester in June (long before it was released, so everything's possible), or my skin really does a number on this. The sprayed card I got in Paris retained its powdery scent for days, while on my skin (and practically everyone else's) things have mellowed down considerably and it's not that heavy on heliotrope, either. I've been known to kill violets, so maybe it was to be expected. In any case, Dans tes Bras is a pleasant skin scents, suffers from longevity issues and a mushroomy accord, and smells a lot better in the open air than indoors. Like, but don't love.

Oriental Brulant (Guerlain)- The only one out of the three Elixirs I like. The problem? My skin makes it very very sweet. Even Isaac, the cutest SA at Saks 5th Avenue had to comment on this. The drydown is so Shalimar-like (just without the interesting parts) when I wear it that it's more than a little redundant, especially at $250 per bottle.

White Patchouli (Tom Ford)- No can do. The rose-jasmine combo in the middle turns sour on my skin every time I try.

Sycomore (Chanel)- The one Exclusif that might just force me to break my resolve against family-sized bottles and actually buy one. It's a beautiful, smoky vetiver with an ethereal quality that keeps it from becoming too butch (not that it ever stopped me before. I can't keep away from the Blond's Vetiver Extraordinaire, Route de Vetiver or his Guerlain). Want.


Photo of Saks 5th Avenue: Voted Off The Island

Sniffed Around Town

(For the 2008 Perfume Retrospective, please see yesterday's post)

I've been revisiting a few previously-sniffed scents at the usual NYC haunts. These are not full reviews as I haven't (yet?) bothered with samples and full wearing under different circumstances, unless noted. Just impressions.

Chanel Beige- (part of the Les Exclusifs range and only available from Saks flagship in the city). The first time I tried it, I commented that it just doesn't go with my hair. It was too floral, too Chanel, too Upper East Side. Totally not me. It's still isn't, but I sort of get it now. Apparently, Muffy Sloan-McPrep has been skipping some Junior League meetings because she's having steamy randezvous with her tennis instructor. And she's invested in some killer shoes.

Champaca Absolute (Tom Ford Private Blend)- I didn't expect to like this one. A biggish floral with some fruit in it (plum?) is not my normal thing. But like many of the other ones in the line, it melds with my skin and becomes smooth and musky (in a good way). It doesn't screech or does weird gestures, so while I probably don't need to have it (unlike Tobacco Vanille and Purple Patchouli), I would wear it happily if the stork drops it at my door (what? storks bring the oddest things to this house).

Fleur de Liane (L'Artisan Parfumeur)- I really shouldn't have bothered with this one, as it's everything I hate. A sheer green aquatic with more than a hint of melon. I don't always assign colors to scents, but this one is a poisonous, radioactive aqua. While Fleur de Liane is a Bertrand Duchaufour creation, I can practically hear Jean Claude Ellena cackling behind the scene.

Aedes de Venustas Eau de Parfum (created by L'Artisan)- Another Duchaufour, this time a pretty nice one. On my skin and to my nose it's cool, clean incense, very similar to Heeley Cardinal and CdG Avignon. I liked it better as a room spray or on my husband, though he was not impressed.

Amouage Lyric For Women- Yes, please.
Gorgeous, sexy, rosy, spicy, woodsy. Lasts forever. It's the very late drydown that I'm not yet sure about. It loses some of the mouthwatering quality for more wood. Still beautiful, though.

Carnation (Mona Di Orio)- I think I can live without it, after all. This one must be tested and re-tested on skin, as what you get on a scent strip would lead you to pull a Luca Turin and hate hate hate it. My skin loves it, most of the time. Occasionally it turns into something boring and bland like a low-grade musk. Other times it's lovely.

Dans tes Bras (Frederic Malle)- Either they tinkered with the formula since I first smelled the tester in June (long before it was released, so everything's possible), or my skin really does a number on this. The sprayed card I got in Paris retained its powdery scent for days, while on my skin (and practically everyone else's) things have mellowed down considerably and it's not that heavy on heliotrope, either. I've been known to kill violets, so maybe it was to be expected. In any case, Dans tes Bras is a pleasant skin scents, suffers from longevity issues and a mushroomy accord, and smells a lot better in the open air than indoors. Like, but don't love.

Oriental Brulant (Guerlain)- The only one out of the three Elixirs I like. The problem? My skin makes it very very sweet. Even Isaac, the cutest SA at Saks 5th Avenue had to comment on this. The drydown is so Shalimar-like (just without the interesting parts) when I wear it that it's more than a little redundant, especially at $250 per bottle.

White Patchouli (Tom Ford)- No can do. The rose-jasmine combo in the middle turns sour on my skin every time I try.

Sycomore (Chanel)- The one Exclusif that might just force me to break my resolve against family-sized bottles and actually buy one. It's a beautiful, smoky vetiver with an ethereal quality that keeps it from becoming too butch (not that it ever stopped me before. I can't keep away from the Blond's Vetiver Extraordinaire, Route de Vetiver or his Guerlain). Want.


Photo of Saks 5th Avenue: Voted Off The Island

Sniffed Around Town

(For the 2008 Perfume Retrospective, please see yesterday's post)

I've been revisiting a few previously-sniffed scents at the usual NYC haunts. These are not full reviews as I haven't (yet?) bothered with samples and full wearing under different circumstances, unless noted. Just impressions.

Chanel Beige- (part of the Les Exclusifs range and only available from Saks flagship in the city). The first time I tried it, I commented that it just doesn't go with my hair. It was too floral, too Chanel, too Upper East Side. Totally not me. It's still isn't, but I sort of get it now. Apparently, Muffy Sloan-McPrep has been skipping some Junior League meetings because she's having steamy randezvous with her tennis instructor. And she's invested in some killer shoes.

Champaca Absolute (Tom Ford Private Blend)- I didn't expect to like this one. A biggish floral with some fruit in it (plum?) is not my normal thing. But like many of the other ones in the line, it melds with my skin and becomes smooth and musky (in a good way). It doesn't screech or does weird gestures, so while I probably don't need to have it (unlike Tobacco Vanille and Purple Patchouli), I would wear it happily if the stork drops it at my door (what? storks bring the oddest things to this house).

Fleur de Liane (L'Artisan Parfumeur)- I really shouldn't have bothered with this one, as it's everything I hate. A sheer green aquatic with more than a hint of melon. I don't always assign colors to scents, but this one is a poisonous, radioactive aqua. While Fleur de Liane is a Bertrand Duchaufour creation, I can practically hear Jean Claude Ellena cackling behind the scene.

Aedes de Venustas Eau de Parfum (created by L'Artisan)- Another Duchaufour, this time a pretty nice one. On my skin and to my nose it's cool, clean incense, very similar to Heeley Cardinal and CdG Avignon. I liked it better as a room spray or on my husband, though he was not impressed.

Amouage Lyric For Women- Yes, please.
Gorgeous, sexy, rosy, spicy, woodsy. Lasts forever. It's the very late drydown that I'm not yet sure about. It loses some of the mouthwatering quality for more wood. Still beautiful, though.

Carnation (Mona Di Orio)- I think I can live without it, after all. This one must be tested and re-tested on skin, as what you get on a scent strip would lead you to pull a Luca Turin and hate hate hate it. My skin loves it, most of the time. Occasionally it turns into something boring and bland like a low-grade musk. Other times it's lovely.

Dans tes Bras (Frederic Malle)- Either they tinkered with the formula since I first smelled the tester in June (long before it was released, so everything's possible), or my skin really does a number on this. The sprayed card I got in Paris retained its powdery scent for days, while on my skin (and practically everyone else's) things have mellowed down considerably and it's not that heavy on heliotrope, either. I've been known to kill violets, so maybe it was to be expected. In any case, Dans tes Bras is a pleasant skin scents, suffers from longevity issues and a mushroomy accord, and smells a lot better in the open air than indoors. Like, but don't love.

Oriental Brulant (Guerlain)- The only one out of the three Elixirs I like. The problem? My skin makes it very very sweet. Even Isaac, the cutest SA at Saks 5th Avenue had to comment on this. The drydown is so Shalimar-like (just without the interesting parts) when I wear it that it's more than a little redundant, especially at $250 per bottle.

White Patchouli (Tom Ford)- No can do. The rose-jasmine combo in the middle turns sour on my skin every time I try.

Sycomore (Chanel)- The one Exclusif that might just force me to break my resolve against family-sized bottles and actually buy one. It's a beautiful, smoky vetiver with an ethereal quality that keeps it from becoming too butch (not that it ever stopped me before. I can't keep away from the Blond's Vetiver Extraordinaire, Route de Vetiver or his Guerlain). Want.


Photo of Saks 5th Avenue: Voted Off The Island

It's not you, it's me: L'Artisan Mure et Musc, Grès Cabaret

Before I've learned about anosmia, I thought either my skin was making certain perfumes evaporate upon contact, or the fragrance makers were playing the Emperor's New Clothes trick on me. Only, it wasn't the emperor who was naked. It's my nose, which has a completely blind spot when it comes to certain musks. Not all of them, mind you. I get a musky drydown in many popular scents (Valentino V Absolu, several of the Bonds and others), and have no problem smelling and enjoying Serge Lutens Clair de Musc, a beautiful, coy gem of a fragrance that I never expected to enjoy as much as I do.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Mure et Musc, both the regular and the extreme versions, are the best examples for my anosmia. The EdT starts sharp, soapy and mildly unpleasant. Even the blackberry isn't recognizable to my nose. I can't say I'm sorry to see it all gone without a trace within 10 minutes. The berries are much more prominent in the EdP (the extreme fragrance). It's sweet but still soapy. I couldn't confirm it, but my nose insists there's a touch of white flowers, possibly lilies somewhere behind the fruit, but that's about it. It's much longer lasting than the original, especially when sprayed, with an almost sickening sweetness. My bottom line is: Berries, lily of the valley and a non-existent base do not bode well for me and my nose.


Another scent which gives me a hard time is Parfums Grès Cabaret. I can't say for sure if it's my skin swallowing and destroying most of the notes or a nose thing again (the base is supposedly musky), but as far as I'm concerned, the lovely bottle holds nothing but a pale rose soap. Pleasant, harmless, very clean but far from exciting or interesting. I really wanted to love this perfume. It was supposed to be very sexy, as the corset bottle hints. The semantic field of cabaret associations and images are dark, moody, dangerous, glitzy and sexual. I know several people who swear by this fragrance, but once it meets me, other than a pale chyper-like kick at the top, it folds the notes head-to-tail, and leaves me with nothing but a floral and demure disappointment. If what I'm smelling is true, this scent can be worn by a young girl as well as by her schoolmarmish great aunt. Then again, it might just be my nose.

It's not you, it's me: L'Artisan Mure et Musc, Grès Cabaret

Before I've learned about anosmia, I thought either my skin was making certain perfumes evaporate upon contact, or the fragrance makers were playing the Emperor's New Clothes trick on me. Only, it wasn't the emperor who was naked. It's my nose, which has a completely blind spot when it comes to certain musks. Not all of them, mind you. I get a musky drydown in many popular scents (Valentino V Absolu, several of the Bonds and others), and have no problem smelling and enjoying Serge Lutens Clair de Musc, a beautiful, coy gem of a fragrance that I never expected to enjoy as much as I do.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Mure et Musc, both the regular and the extreme versions, are the best examples for my anosmia. The EdT starts sharp, soapy and mildly unpleasant. Even the blackberry isn't recognizable to my nose. I can't say I'm sorry to see it all gone without a trace within 10 minutes. The berries are much more prominent in the EdP (the extreme fragrance). It's sweet but still soapy. I couldn't confirm it, but my nose insists there's a touch of white flowers, possibly lilies somewhere behind the fruit, but that's about it. It's much longer lasting than the original, especially when sprayed, with an almost sickening sweetness. My bottom line is: Berries, lily of the valley and a non-existent base do not bode well for me and my nose.


Another scent which gives me a hard time is Parfums Grès Cabaret. I can't say for sure if it's my skin swallowing and destroying most of the notes or a nose thing again (the base is supposedly musky), but as far as I'm concerned, the lovely bottle holds nothing but a pale rose soap. Pleasant, harmless, very clean but far from exciting or interesting. I really wanted to love this perfume. It was supposed to be very sexy, as the corset bottle hints. The semantic field of cabaret associations and images are dark, moody, dangerous, glitzy and sexual. I know several people who swear by this fragrance, but once it meets me, other than a pale chyper-like kick at the top, it folds the notes head-to-tail, and leaves me with nothing but a floral and demure disappointment. If what I'm smelling is true, this scent can be worn by a young girl as well as by her schoolmarmish great aunt. Then again, it might just be my nose.