Yesterday's Perfume

Loulou by Cacharel (1987)

I’ve never been into perfumes that are “seductive” in a conventionally feminine way. While some women wear Viktor & Rolf’s Flowerbomb or Victoria’s Secret Very Sexy (worst name ever, by the way), I’m happy smelling like overripe flowers (Diorella) or someone’s overripe armpit (Aramis). I mostly wear perfume for myself, clearly!

 

This doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate perfume in that girly genre, if done well, and Loulou by Cacharel does it well. With a gently sweet opening of black currants, fresh top notes and florals (mandarin, heliotrope, and tiare) and a decadently rich vanilla heart, Loulou dries down to incense, sandalwood, orris and musk, adding mystery to the perfume’s more conventional come-on. Loulou lives up to the supposed perfume brief Jean Guichard was given by Cacharel: Create a perfume that projects both “tenderness and seduction.”

 

Top notes: Bergamot, black currant buds, green leaves, marigold, mandarin

Heart notes: Jasmine, heliotrope, mimosa, tiare, ylang-ylang

Base notes: Tonka bean, incense, iris, musk, vanilla, sandalwood (notes from Michael Edwards' Perfume Legends: French Feminine Fragrances) *

 

The name Loulou was inspired by the silent film actress Louise Brooks in her role as Lulu in G.W. Pabst’s 1928 classic Pandora’s Box. Lulu is a dancer and prostitute whose combination of (you guessed it!) innocence and seduction supposedly leads men to ruin. One prominent doctor who falls prey to her magical powers ends up committing a heinous crime. At his trial, the prosecution blames Lulu for making him do it, likening her to the Greek goddess Pandora, an expert at flattery who opened a box given to her by the gods and let evil out into the world.

 

Setting aside this obnoxious backstory (it’s amazing how everything can be projected onto women!), I think it’s more palatable to the feminist in me to see Loulou as a perfume inspired by Louise Brooks’ amazing Jazz Age style, which itself combines a kind of innocent/seductive dichotomy. (But even that’s a little creepy: “innocent” (short, kid’s style haircut) and “seductive” (dark lipstick, etc.etc.). * *

 

But back to the perfume. In the Edwards book, we’re told that Loulou was the sequel to Anais Anais (1978), a straight up “innocent” floral (and one I’m going to review soon, I think.) Loulou was also heir to Ombre Rose (1981), whose praline and vanilla notes proved popular. (Until Ombre Rose, vanilla had been out of vogue for decades.) We're told that Loulou also attempted to soften the harshness of Poison (1985) through its intense vanilla note. Among everything else 80s perfumes overdosed on, apparently vanilla was one of them.

 

I could never wear Loulou, but its vanilla/incense-sandalwood combination is pretty intoxicating. The vanilla is so rich and gourmand, it runs through Loulou like a vanilla version of the chocolate river that ran through Willy Wonka’s candy factory. The initial sweetness remains, but recedes as vanilla takes over, and by the end, the scratchy-spicy basenotes add a maturity and sophistication to Loulou.

 

Funny that I’ll wear vaguely offensive perfumes out in public with reckless (reeking?) abandon, but as much as I appreciate Loulou, I wouldn't be caught dead with it on out in public. Maybe I’d wear it to bed, but I'd have to be alone…

 

* (Here is Haarmann & Reimer's slightly different breakdown)

Top notes: Bergamot, violet, plum, mace, cassis (black currant buds), tagetes (marigold), anise; Heart notes: Jasmine, tuberose, orange blossom, ylang-ylang, rose, orris, lily of the valley; Base notes: Cedar, vetiver, sandalwood, tonka, heliotrope, vanilla, benzoin, musk

* * To add to the creepy Lolita factor, here’s perfumer Guichard’s discussion of his use of vanilla in Loulou: “The idea of vanilla came straight into my head because we wanted something sensual that smelt of skin. In France, people say that a young girl’s skin smells of caramel. That is the smell of toffee, which is a bit vanilla-like. So we started working around the vanilla-toffee notes.”

 

* * * I have to mention my LOVE for this bottle somewhere. Designed by Annegret Beier, it looks like a genie bottle, and the colors were inspired by a Matisse painting of an odalisque whose red pants contrast with the blue background. Beier: "Loulou's bottle is like a magic flask. Rub it, and a spirit comes out."

 

 

 

Moon Drops Solid Perfume by Revlon (1970)

A little Moon Drops solid perfume on my pulse points, a polyester maxi dress, some frosty orange lipstick, and this '70s lady is ready for the Key Party!

I've been trying to get my hands on Moon Drops perfume for a good year, but I could never quite bring myself to pay eBay prices for it.

Instead, trolling around Etsy last year, I spied this cute "Rajah's elephant" pendant designed by jeweler David Webb and filled with Moon Drops solid perfume. It was cheap, and I bought it.

So I'm going to make a virtue out of a necessity and do a first on Yesterday's Perfume: review a vintage solid perfume!

I hesitated to write about it because I'm not going to get the full development of top notes to base notes. (Right? How can a solid perfume have true top notes —  the lightest, most volatile notes that disperse into the air first?)* The good thing about solid perfume, though, is that it lasts for ages. I can put a little bit of this stuff on and the next morning I can still smell it.

From its hippie-dippy name to its sexy-musky character, I understand now why eBay snipers are always on alert when a bottle of this comes down the pike. I can only imagine how beautiful the perfume is if the solid perfume bewitches me this much.

With honeyed ripe fruit and a whisper of powdery orris, spice from carnation, and a rich base of woods, amber/Benzoin, musk and styrax-moss for an incense/chypre quality — Moon Drops is dripping with beauty and complexity. Throughout all this richness I can smell the sharpness of ylang-ylang and lily-of-the-valley, lifting the perfume back up from sinking into its own decadence.

Top notes: Aldehydes, gardenia, peach, raspberry, bergamot

Heart notes: Lily of the valley, rose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, carnation, orris, honey, tuberose

Base notes: Sandalwood, musk, cedarwood, moss, styrax, amber, benzoin

Moon Drops makes me actually think of the moon dripping with the most beautiful scents the earth has to offer in their ripest, most decadent forms. Although it's powdery, it's not the powder of a vintage scent that one reads as "old lady" (at least not to me). I think instead of fine, glittery dust that makes things iridescent and luminous — orris as moon dust, if you will. If I put it on at night, the next day there's a subtle honey-fruit-spicy-sweetness mixed with musk lingering on my skin. Soooo sexy!

I think I'm going to carry this solid perfume around with me as a comfort scent while it's still cold out. In the meantime, if anyone wants to decant a tiny amount of the perfume to send my way, I won't protest. I'd love to compare the solid perfume with the actual perfume and will update this post if it happens!

* I got the perfume notes from my trusty Haarmann & Reimer Duftatlas, but it's included simply in the "floral" category, inexplicably. I'm confused by this because its base is decribed by them, and experienced by me, as "balsamic and sensual." In any case, what I'm not getting from the solid perfume is its "aldehydic fruity" quality, along with bergamot. I get fruit, but none of the sparkle. I'm so curious about the perfume now!

 

 

 

What's Your Sign's Signature Scent?

If you haven't already heard, some folks decided to mess with the astrological calendar. Scientists have factored in the tilt of the earth's axis since the Babylonians determined the dates of the Zodiac (um, or something like that), so now some Virgos are Leos, some Scorpios are Virgos, and some Sagittarians are...Ophiuchus.

Here's the supposedly accurate new zodiac:

Capricorn - Jan 20 to Feb 16
Aquarius - Feb 16 to Mar 11
Pisces - Mar 11 to Apr 18
Aries - Apr 18 to May 13
Taurus - May 13 to Jun 21
Gemini - Jun 21 to Jul 20
Cancer - Jul 20 to Aug 10
Leo - Aug 10 to Sep 16
Virgo - Sep 16 to Oct 30
Libra - Oct 30 to Nov 23
Scorpius - Nov 23 to Nov 29
Ophiuchus - Nov 29 to Dec 17
Sagittarius - Dec 17 to Jan 20

I'm still a Leo, so as far as I'm concerned, it's all good. This most pressing matter just gave me an an excuse to think about astrological signs, each sign's (supposed) personality, and which vintage perfume I think goes with which sign.

Basically, the following is about as scientific as astrology — Babylonian or otherwise — but just as fun! I'll let you decide which sign you identify with on your own. So without further ado...

ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS AND THEIR COMPLEMENTARY VINTAGE PERFUMES

Aquarius is known for being a cerebral humanitarian, so I chose the lovely but remote Chanel No. 19 as her match. No. 19 manages to be earthy and otherworldly at the same time, just like Aquarius.

Every Pisces I've ever known has been emotional, creative, and ...kooky. I choose the dreamy Fidji perfume for her.

Aries is a fiery, go-getting ball of crazy energy. Fracas is a perfect punk floral for her — girlish on the outside, anarchist on the inside.

Taurus is stubborn, sentimental, and a lover of hearth and home. She needs a down-to-earth but chic comfort fragrance like Givenchy III.

Gemini: Talkative, inventive, and mercurial, Gemini needs a perfume with a kaleidescopic personality. How about Diorella, with its Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde clean-dirty quality?

Cancers tend to be emotional, dreamy, sensitive (over-sensitive?), and romantic.  I think Shalimar, with its comforting vanilla, sexy civet, and historical longevity (Cancers hate change) makes it perfect for the crab ladies.

A Leo gal is usually direct, playful...and vain. Bitter-green leather Bandit or neon-tuberose Poison for me, I mean — her.

Virgo: Bookish, perfectionistic, quirky and warm, Virgo often epitomizes sexy librarian. I'd go with White Linen or Calyx for her.

Libra. A diplomatic peacenik, the balanced and beautiful Ivoire is right up her alley.

Scorpio Strong-willed, secretive, a little pervy and very power-hungry, Scorpio still manages to be as cute as a bug as long as you don't disturb her pincers. This sign needs a strong, even repellent perfume: how about the medicinal Aromatics Elixir or the civet-drenched Jicky? Scorpio needs to make sure you don't scare easily...

Sagittarius. Sporty, goofy, and sexy, Sagittarius is known for speaking before thinking and generally being outrageous. How about the weird and wonderful Azurée?

Capricorn is usually conservative and/or understated, so I would choose Femme by Rochas. It's sexy in a quiet way.

An Ophiucus never feels like she quite belongs. For her, I choose Must de Cartier, the perfume for those who let their freak flags fly. (Thanks to Anna of Edinburgh for wondering why this overlooked sign didn't get her own signature scent.)

 

 

 

Bambou by Weil (1934)

Sometimes all it takes for me to search out a perfume is an evocative name, like Bambou.

 

Is the perfume going to mimic the smell of bamboo? (I’m not sure I even know what that smells like.) Is it going to be a fantasy interpretation of bamboo, the way a fougère doesn’t really smell like fern but is rather a fantasy accord? Is Bambou celebrating Orientalism the way Patou celebrated colonialism with Colony?

 

Hmmm. I couldn’t find out much about Bambou, except for when it was introduced (1934), discontinued (1954), and reintroduced (1984). And that it’s by Weil, a company that created perfumes for furs (Zibeline) and the wonderful Secret of Venus and Antilope. Curious about this months ago, I searched it out and must have gotten the more modern version. I didn’t like it at all; it had a chemical smell with little character, and was definitely more of a fresh floral. I guess it was trying to smell clean and green, but it didn’t stand out in any way.

 

 

Notes: Lavender, Jasmine, Rose, Carnation, Lily of the Valley, Cedar, Tonka, Musk, and Sandal (The vintage perfume sample and notes breakdown from The Perfumed Court.)

 

Does Bambou evoke bamboo? Not really, but it is lovely. A woody oriental perfume with a beautiful lavender opening and rich, balsamic (ambery-soft and powdery) dry down with lush sandalwood, cedar, tonka and musk, Bambou is akin to Tabu and Youth Dew, without much sweetness. Perhaps it’s due to the age, but Bambou feels like it’s almost all base notes, with an almost cocoa-coffee facet that adds a wonderful earthiness to the smooth sandalwood and balsamic softness.

 

This is heady stuff. Just make sure you get the old juice. (I'm not sure what the old bottle looks like, it just shouldn't look like the one to your right.)

 

Bill Blass by Bill Blass (1978)

A nice floral chypre with a touch of golden pineapple for fruitiness, Bill Blass perfume exudes a fresh, happy warmth that makes this an approachable floral with personality.

 

Bill Blass smells like it's on the cusp between the sporty, green chypres for the newly-liberated 70s woman and the sweet scent bombs worn by Dynasty-watching, big shoulder-sporting 80s divas.

 

Top notes: Galbanum, pineapple, hyacinth, bergamot, green complex

Heart notes: Tuberose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, carnation, orris

Base notes: Musk, sandalwood, cedar, amber, oakmoss

 

But let's talk about this 1983 ad, shall we? I chose to write about Bill Blass perfume almost entirely because I wanted to write about this old ad. It's not as if sexism doesn't exist in ads today, but this one shows how cunning ads can be in deploying liberation rhetoric in the service of the same ol’ conservative attitudes.

 

In the ad, Bill Blass, the American designer who softened women's fashions and dressed the (working) American woman on-the-go, casts his macho-patriarchal shadow over the clothes-hanger mannequin with her back to us. And check out his "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn" look of contempt, complete with corny knit brows and teeth clenching a cigarette.

 

On either side of this image are lists (ostensibly written by Blass) that tell us what he "likes and doesn't so much like in a woman." (This model is trapped on all sides — Blass in front of her, these lists on each side, and a camera to her back!)

 

Let's pretend we care for a moment: What exactly are Blass's dislikes? A woman who talks about dieting all the time; who can’t pass a mirror without looking into it; who worries about getting her hair wet in the rain; or who “jogs and tells.” Basically — no vain women who put a premium on their looks, right? Well, not exactly.

 

You still need to care about these stereotypically girly things, according to this ad, JUST PRETEND THAT YOU DON’T CARE. (See his list of likes, ex.: “Loves clothes, but doesn’t talk about them.”) And although “a woman who can get gorgeously dressed in 15 minutes flat” sounds more liberating than a woman who slaves for hours trying to look good, it also posits a new (almost more punishing?) standard for beauty: be gorgeous in less time. (Translation: you still have to be beautiful, but you'd better make it happen in less than 15 minutes. Say what?!)

 

In the world of this ad, nothing has changed for women, in spite of the feminist movement. There's an even more complex set of rules women need to follow (many of which involve a woman's appearance and her relationship to its maintenance). Oh, yeah, and a woman is still supposed to follow orders from The Man.

 

As a scotch-drinking, lipstick and perfume-lovin’ woman who eats a lot but balances fried chicken nights with oatmeal mornings or a good jog (yes, I’m jogging and telling!), and who loves perfume but will not spend my last few bucks on it (fried chicken doesn't pay for itself), I have more important things to worry about than what some dude thinks about the things I like. Also ironic? Most perfumistas I know wear perfume for themselves!

 

I'm trying to think about recent ads that are this obnoxious. Anyone?

 

(And here's that amazing Ma Griffe ad that essentially says, "Yeah, yeah, we know you're a marching women's libber, but admit it — you want some random to hold your sign for you like the damsel in distress that you are.")

 

Vintage Perfume Ad: Gay Diversion by Evyan (1945)

My nose is on a mini-vacation, but I found this beautiful vintage perfume ad with the goofy name and just had to share it.

I’ve never sniffed an Evyan perfume, but I do have an appreciation for the perfume house’s campy names, many of which evoke film melodramas, romance novel titles, and in a few cases, sex toys and paraphernalia.

Among Evyan's offerings? Menace (along with Enchanting Menace and Moonlight Menace); Stolen Heaven; Tiny Waist (!); White Shadows; The Baron; Satin Glide; Treasure Trove; and My Pet.

And then there’s…Gay Diversion. 1945 seems a tad late for the adjective “gay” not to connote homosexuality to mainstream readers. A quick look at the word’s etymology, however, suggests that “[s]lang meaning 'homosexual' (adj.) begins to appear in psychological writing late 1940s, evidently picked up from gay slang” and still carried the word’s centuries-old meanings: “full of joy, merry; lighthearted, carefree” and “wanton, lewd, and lascivious.” (From Etymonline.)

In any case, I hope this post provides its own kind of gay diversion for you, and if you’re interested in reading more about the etymology of the word “gay” (and who wouldn’t be?) check out this link. I was particularly taken with the 19^th century epithet “gay cat," which also meant a “young hobo,” or someone who is new to the road and only occasionally works.

(Ad courtesy Vintage Ad Browser)