Fracas

The deeper I delve into perfume blogs, the more names I start to see over and over again. Fracas is one of them, mostly connected to phrases like 'skankahol' and 'femme fatale'.

I didn't try Fracas for a bit, because I didn't initially expect to be interested in white florals, and the whole overtly sexy genre wasn't all that interesting at first. But then I saw the bottle at Sephora, and it was so lovely--all black, with that beautiful label--and a character in a Jennifer Weiner novel was wearing it--and I spritzed a little on a sample paper.

My first reaction was 'for God's sake don't let it get on my skin!' I'm not sure why. It didn't smell bad. It just smelled INTENSE. I sniffed at it briefly, and then went away for a while.

Then I did some more reading, and I decided I should find out what it smelled like on me. With this in mind, I went back to Sephora, spritzed both wrists, full strength, and then took BART home. I apologize profusely to the other commuters.

Fracas is a celebration of white florals run amok. It is not polite, although it is sweet. It is swooningly intense. And there is a peculiar sour-butter note, which I don't mind, especially since it seems to punch up the sexiness past the simple sugariness that some white florals seem to have. It's flower sex combined with people sex, if that makes any sense.

It's crazy stuff. I don't know if it's ME, but it's pretty cool.

Chanel No. 22

I have some new samples. And one of them is a mililiter of Chanel No. 22.

But first, an interlude.

Some years ago, I was living in London, attending rabbinic school for a year (long story), and I made friends with a woman who'd made a lot of money as an antiques dealer and was living now in a beautiful apartment in Mayfair--very chichi.

She invited me over to her 'flat' for a New Year's Eve get together. Beautiful place, occupied by two happy cats who were collaborating to destroy a bazillion-dollar couch together, nice food. At some point in the evening I went to the bathroom.

Her whole countertop was taken up by GIANT bottles of Chanel perfumes. The big, big classic splash bottles. And they all had numbers.

I was fascinated. I knew about Chanel No. 5, because it's incredibly famous. I hadn't realized that there were other numbers. I also hadn't realized that you could get perfume in bottles that big. I examined them (without touching), for several minutes, and then forgot all about them.

Twelve years later...

I dab the left wrist with Chanel No. 22, and go sort of swoony. It starts off somewhat powdery, and a little floral--I can smell the lilac in the first moments--and is full of incense--and is awfully familiar from somewhere. I've been sniffing and sniffing, and cannot track the smell-memory down. I suspect it dates back to childhood, and I sniffed this, or something similar, somewhere, probably on an older female relative.

The powderiness subsides as the drydown proceeds, and the incensiness progresses. About five hours into the process, I now have a smooth, lovely, white incense with just a touch of powder and a touch of floral.

This is really really good smelling, one of those things where you dab and then you keep smelling and smelling and smelling. I think I want a bottleful.

Zeste de Rose

It's spring now--alternately warm and rainy--so I stepped out in Rosine's Zeste de Rose yesterday. It's perfect for a cool and sunny spring day. There's something old-fashioned about it, and yet not at all cloying. Cool. Sweet. Rosy.

In Chinatown

I am wearing Bond #9 Chinatown.

I am not sure that this is what a smell called "Chinatown" should smell like. Then again, I don't know exactly what a scent called "Chinatown" should smell like, although I'm thinking vaguely of tea and rice and, dried mushrooms and fresh greens. Not very perfume-like, I suppose. A Mental Note says it smells like a fortune cookie, and I think AMN may be on to something.

Anyway, Chinatown is gorgeous. Peach-blossomy, flowery, incensey, cardamom-spiked gorgeous. Over at www.perfumeposse.com, they say it smells like nothing else, and they're right. I would know this scent anywhere in the world, it's so distinct and red-orange-smelling. (The bottle, BTW, is beautiful, but it should not be vivid pink. This is a red-orange lacquer smell. THANK you.

This stuff is beautiful on my skin, it never develops an off note anywhere. But you know, I think it must take nerve to wear. It's weird. I wonder if...

Playing With Samples

Money has been extremely tight around here for months now, and I kind of put perfume aside for a time, since I really can't afford to buy any new samples, let alone buy a full bottle of anything. But I've been reading the perfume blogs again, and I realize that Ihaven't been getting full value out of my collection of samples, or writing about perfume, which I enjoy, so I am planning to get started again.

Right now I smell like Attrape Coeur, and I am thinking about whether I actually like violets or not.

Baume du Doge

Oh, Lord, why are they doing this to me? Eau d'Italie, creators of Sienne l'Hiver, my obsession scent, are coming out with another perfume, Baume du Doge, with a Venetian theme.

Top notes are orange and bergamot, cinnamon, coriander and cardamom, fennel and black pepper

Heart notes are myrrh, frankincense, clove and cedar.

Base is vetiver and vanilla, plus benzoin.

I am BROKE. They cannot do this to me.

Apparently it's not out in the States yet. There's some place in Germany that has samples for three euros, but the cost of having a three euro sample sent from Germany to California is prohibitive.

Apparently people are having some trouble with the name, which is being understood as 'baum' as in tree, and/or 'dog' as in 'dog'. I think they should have called it either "Bucintoro" or "Serenissima", but they didn't ask me.

Ayyyayyyayyyayyyayyyy!

Developing an open nose

Similar to an open mind, but you know, a nose.

This evening I have a dab of Eau d'Italie's Bois d'Umbrie on one wrist, and I'm considering it. My first impression of Bois d'Umbrie, a couple of months ago, was that it was harsh and hideous, like whiskey with raw wood in it, plus that disconcerting black olive note that Eau d'Italie likes so much.

It's still a puzzling smell to me, but I'm much happier with it now. It still smells like whiskey and wood--the smell I'm identifying seems to be rotting wood under moss, with a sort of boozy kick to it. A very browny green smell.

I think I'm developing a broader scent palate now, and smells that I initially rejected as being not 'perfumey' enough now seem interesting or attractive.

I like it, (B d'U), but I don't know what to do with it. I couldn't wear it, I don't think, not like a perfume. It would be sexy on a man, but I don't think my husband can be persuaded. I suppose I will keep a little vial of it, and sniff it occasionally on fall evenings.