woody

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Magnifique

Magnificent red ombre fluted bottle casting pretty shadows, and a pink tea rose from my garden.

Roses in Vaseline.
Pretty bottle, though.

Edit – 10/10/21

Today I pulled this one out of the “meh” box–the bottles that never inspired more than a bit of snark, but didn’t quite deserve to perfume the trash bin–just to see if anything had changed.
The rose is still coated in an odd layer of petroleum jelly, perhaps the saffron at the top hitting the cypriol oil on the bottom, that sadly masks the caraway and jasmine sweetness.

I bought Mystique during my search for a signature rose scent. (I gave up on that rather quickly–turns out I’d rather have a whole rambling garden rather than singular perfection.)

Lancome has discontinued it, and bottles are hot commodities now.
At current prices, one could snag a big bottle of Amouage Epic Woman–a rich caraway rose, and a 50ml of Imaginary Authors’ saffron delight Slow Explosions.
Or get the Elizabeth & James Nirvana Rose vetiver power suit for about $20.

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Keep an ear out for Saffron Collins, a talented teen from Dubai.

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Black Phantom

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Decant vial on a printout of by Killian’s black back-labeled bottle.

Decadent yet disconcerting, like having dessert cocktails at a mortuary.
Chocolate vodka and a shot of caramel liqueur in the coffee afterward, but in the basement is sandalwood coffin sawdust, candle wax and dried flower petals.

Seductive, androgynous, macabre and delicious.

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Here’s a song as decadent, and macabre.

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Eau Fraiche

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Herbs scattered on a magazine peelie of a blue bottle. The pine lingers longer out of the bottle, for about 2 hours.

Fresh, just out of the hotel room shower, squeaky-clean, man.

Big handsy citrus, a rub of green herbs, a switch of summer pine.

No personality whatsoever, but that isn’t what you hired him for.

Versace came out with Eau Fraiche in 2006. This song–“Stop. Forget it.”–was the hit in Italy then.

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Cape Heartache

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Imaginary Authors discovery set, and paper tester cutout of a green “book” bottle.

Cape Heartache is not really a unisex travel book–it’s a gender-fluid memoir.

It opens as a young girl sucking on a pink candy necklace, but the elastic string grows into sweaty teen boy burning tires on the pavement.
Then the car takes a turn, cool mint and chic college girl with the top down, winding up alpine roads–
but the pine trees are cut down by a lumberjack with a gas-powered chain saw.
Then a sultry strawberry in a red dress and bare feet watches a campfire until late into the evening, when the coals are covered by a passing dark stranger.

It’s like a romance with shifting his-and-hers point-of-view, but I can’t stop sniffing my skin to see if there’s a sequel.

A fluid song.

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Coriandre

coriandre edgyEye of Civet and Thorn of Rose, Rind of Bergamot and Moss of Swamp.

This is Shakespeare’s Macbeth in a single spray: opens with “Enter three Witches,” and in their cauldron is a bubbling neon chartreuse potion.
By the third act it tries to come clean, the murdering queen taking a skinny-dip in a hidden spring, but it fails to wash off all the traces of evil.

Savage green, in a weird fertile spell-chanting way.

Led Zeppelin’s The Rain Song, from Houses of the Holy came out at the same time. Page and Plant re-released a version (as Jean Couturier did Coriandre) two decades later.

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Chrome

chrome edges
Aqua blue tester bottle with raised letters on store display shelf.

Azzaro Chrome is the first cologne a guy buys himself after an ugly divorce. He’s just started dating again; a little shy, maybe socially awkward, but he’s charismatic and hungry enough to be quite sexy.

Limes and neroli on top, raw silk and alimony payments underneath.

I wish the cardamom were stronger. Our guy would get more dates if he had a bit more spice.

This came out in 1996, too. I love Beck’s weird.

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Pavlova

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Micro bottle with a doll’s tutu around the neck, leaning against the mirror of a rose velvet jewelry box.

Pavlova starts as fingernails on a chalkboard, gives a stern lesson in botany, then hands out sugar pastilles while dismissing class.

Gen X girls got this as a hand-me-down from Mom in the seventies. She was gifted it in a holiday present swap, bought because it was cheap and the packaging was pretty.
We stashed it in the bottom of the pink jewelry box with the ballerina who spun to a wind-up version of Swan Lake; we never understood the significance.

A shrill chypre powder grenade with a dry sweet finish.

This is my favorite arrangement of Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece.

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Vetyver & Bergamot

Large 4711 Acqua Colonia cut crystal bottle with brown and gold label.

Lime and oak leaves.

The bottle says “Relaxing” in many languages. The eau is certainly not exciting, but it’s pleasant enough, I suppose. Lasts the usual 4711 quarter hour.

Perhaps one for unassuming gentlemen with good taste in hats?

Edit – 6/18/21

I had a good cup of Earl Grey tea this morning, and pulled this one out to compare the bergamot.
The soft green citrus was easy to recognize in both, but I was struck by how much of the vetiver comes out when sniffing them side by side–almost nutty, like filberts or walnuts.

Also, nicer in the summer than the winter–less lime notes and more herbal vibes, and not so oaky dry.

Starry teacup and saucer, and cologne bottle and box, on my back patio. Good morning!

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Love this relaxing Louis Armstrong cover of Irving Berlin and Fred Astaire’s classic.

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Tabu

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Vintage 80’s Tabu violin bottle on a retro 60’s print with a femme fatale in black gloves. The illustrator, René Gruau left the Italian aristocracy for Paris, supporting himself and his mother at age 14 by selling drawings to fashion magazines. He became the advertising director Christian Dior in 1947, and is also known for his posters of The Moulin Rouge, and Fellini’s La Dolce Vita.

A stray cat in heat reeking of orange and cloves.

Tabu was that night you wore thigh-high stockings but forgot your fake ID, so someone’s older sister gave you rootbeer schnapps and after the party you watched the sunrise drinking Constant Comment tea with the guy your friend wanted.

I wore this once in high school and the boy who never noticed me asked my name, and the skirt I’d worn all year got measured with a ruler twice. My mother took the bottle away and told me I could have it back when I went to college.

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Tabu came out in 1933, designed to be “the fragrance of a whore.” Jazz was taking Paris by storm then, led by Django Reinhard at the Hot Club.
Here’s Gretchen Menn’s take on Minor Swing.

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Contemplation

Square bottle showing vintage illustration of cranial study on back printed label.

TokyoMilk No. 7 touts: Crushed Herbs, Exotic Teak, Crisp Citrus, Cedarwood.

One bite of lemon ice–eaten with a wooden spoon–then it’s gone. I wanted more.
Some herbal hardwoods lay a few inches above the skin for an hour.
Might be nice as a boy’s first cologne.

Edit – 9/17/21

The dry-down is pleasant enough, but the performance is not worth the collector’s prices–unopened one ounce bottles are scarce and run as much as $150 now.

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