Sunday, June 29, 2008

YOSH? OMG!

So, OK, somehow I become fixated on descriptions of the YOSH Winter Rose perfume oil. Everyone keeps commenting on how expensive it is, and indeed $200 bucks seems quite expensive for a full bottle, but I figure it sounds really good, and I should smell it, so I order up a sample from Luckyscent.


Now, eight bucks is more money than I have ever spent on a perfume sample, but what the heck, so I order me my sample, and they deliver it, and I notice, you know, that it's a very small sample.


Oh hell, smell it, says I, so I smell it. And I hope, by now, that it will not smell nice, so that I can stop being obsessed with this stuff.


But it smells nice. Dear God it smells nice. Apparently cardamom and rose is, like, the world's most inspired combo, like chocolate and peanut butter, or Lucy and Ricky.

It makes my heart yearn and calm at the same time. It smells super. And I smear on a bit more, and go about my business.

And the smell vanishes.

I mean, vanishes.

Now I normally do not like perfumes to stick and stick, but this stuff simply vanishes off the face of the earth, like five minutes after application. So I apply some more, and it is really nice. But after about two minutes I can smell the oil base more strongly than the rose and cardamom and this continues until the scent completely vanishes at about minute seven and a half.

OK, so it's a lovely smell, but not really suited for wearing, and expensive--strike this one off the list, reluctantly. But then, somehow, I go back to Luckyscent to read the reviews--discovering in the process that I am not the only one this fades on--and I suddenly realize something.

That $200 bucks? That's for EIGHT MILILITERS.

OK. This is simply a scam.

But the rose/cardamom is amazing, really amazing, and I may try to recreate it with cheaper oils at some point--it's kind of wonderful.

Friday, June 27, 2008

White-Out

I ordered a sample of L'Artisan's Passage d'Enfer, because I am starting to think I might like incenses--or I was, now I'm starting to wonder--and because everyone raved over it. Try it out, says I. Teeny tiny decant on the way.

Basically, to this untrained nose, it smells exactly like the incense they use at my father's parish church. Which is nice, definitely. Attractive, and with pleasant memories of Christmases and Easters past. But I cannot see wearing it as a fragrance. When I close my eyes--I've taken to trying to define fragrances by color--I get pure white light, which is cool and everything, but I'm not an archangel, and I don't think I can pull this smell off.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Piment Brulant

How could I resist? L'Artisan's Piment Brulant is supposed to be inspired by xocolatl, the Aztec forerunner to hot chocolate. Think unsweetened cocoa mixed with hot peppers, vanilla and other spices, and thickened with cornmeal. Sometimes, apparently, they added honey, and annatto, and Lord knows what. Good, whatever it was, and associated with the fertility goddess Xochiquetzal, which is probably why legend has it that the Aztec emperors drank fifty cups of the stuff a day. They must have been jittery as hell, with all that caffeine, but I guess it was worth it.

The word xocolatl apparently means 'bitter water', but the cocoa bean's Latin name is Theobroma cacao, theobroma meaning 'food of the gods'. This is one of the very few times you will catch me suggesting that the Latin for something is preferable to the Nahuatl for something.

If it's Mexican it gets my attention--even if it's Mexican as interpreted by a snooty French niche perfumer--so I had to order a teeny tiny vial and check this one out.

Piment Brulant smells like hot peppers and green tomatoes and chili powder, vanilla and sweet spices and a warm trace of bittersweet chocolate. It smells like the best dessert enchilada in the world, or something, and if you sniff your skin too closely right after applying it, you get a sharp little capsaicin blast to the sinuses. It's rich, and lovely, and WOW. Hot, but not at all overheated or stuffy. I can imagine wearing it year round.

It's like--women in black lace mantillas, and women in blue jeans sitting around a table together. The Cathedral Metropolitana in Mexico City. Aztec hot chocolate in Spanish china. Tangled green gardens. Papel picado and TV antennas. Ancient, old-fashioned and modern things all happily coexisting in a wash of sweet spice and chili powder.

I think what appeals to me most about this is that there is something sophisticated and feminine about it, but without the powder and heavy florals. It does have a black lace quality to it, but not blatantly sexy black lace. Black lace and flan and chocolate mole. And tomato plants. And beautiful women.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Two Plum Fragrances

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.



I have now sniffed something from L'Artisan. (It's a momentous moment in a wannabe-perfumista's life.) The something that I sniffed is Voleur de Roses, which is apparently a rose/patchouli fragrance with a plum 'note' or hint. At least that's what I get from various online readings. You couldn't tell by my nose, which informs me that this perfume basically smells like a plum. A superlative plum, with some rose and patchouli making it even better.

The straight juice in the teeny-tiny vial smelled awful to me, chaotic and very alcoholic, but as soon as it was on my skin it relaxed and began to smell wonderful, plummy but, at this point, with a fair amount of rose, and something I identified as violet-like. It smelled goooood at any rate, mysterious, but simple and serene.

I spent a few minutes sniffing my wrists while I did my morning before-work stuff, and determined that all the bloggers who said L'Artisan scents fade quickly seemed to be right. (This is OK with me. Perfumes that cling and cling tend to make me crazy.) I put on some more, several dabs more, and headed off to work, smelling serene and mysterious.

By the time I started work, the smell had turned into a clear, vibrant, plum scent, sweet but with a sharpness that reminded me of that sour taste that stays around a plum pit no matter how sweet the fruit. Just a little floral, and a little patchouli. It smells amazing, fruity but not too sweet, like the smell of an orchard with rose bushes and cold dew-soaked grass under the trees, with just a little wet dark earth.

Somehow it felt like a very deep and emotional smell, but serene, super serene.

Later that evening, after the last of the vibrant, emotional, plum serenity had wafted away, I tried Keiko Mecheri's Ume. This is a totally different plum, spicy and salty and reminding me a great deal (as I had hoped), of the little sweet-and-salty plum candies I remember from when I was a kid, that they still give you after your meal at the King of Thai noodle places. Definately a plum candy rather than the straight plum off the tree. It's rich, and has a kind of deliberately exotic smell to it--sort of 1920s Orientalesque adapted with a little modern Asian-American irony. It's cheerful and sexy, maybe even sassy, and it made me smile.
Oddly enough, thinking about where I would wear these, I came up with New Years', but in a very different context. Voleur de Roses, I thought, would be great for Rosh Hashanah, with that harvest-fruit scent, and the deep calm that goes with it. Ume I could see wearing either to a secular New Years' party, or for the Lunar New Year in February. It would be a great winter smell, as spicy and warm as it is, and I can see wearing it while eating Chinese food and toasting the new year with plum wine that smells a little like my perfume.
Funny, I never thought fruit perfumes would be something I would go for.