Much has already been written about
Papillon Perfumery’s latest launch – Salome. Indie superstar perfumer - Liz
Moores likes bloggers (we like her very much too). And as such, the launch
samples we received have already been thoroughly applauded and appreciated in virtual
print. With this in mind, I’m not going to write another meticulous review.
Instead I’d like to direct you to The Candy Perfume Boy’s evocative post for a
superbly detailed description of how it smells.
Me?
I’m going to talk filth.
The overriding opinion of Salome is that it smells dirty. It has
been celebrated for smelling dirty. Fans of the brand have lovingly exclaimed
the word ‘filth!’ in discussion comments and a great excitement has whipped up
around its skankiness. But why do we actively try to smell dirty?
The presence of a ‘dirty’ note has been detected throughout the
great scents of the 20th century. Traditionally, ingredients of
animal origin such as castoreum (leather/cowpats), civet (piss/honey) and musk
(you know what musk smells like) were used give a corporeality and strength to
more easily palatable notes. As an example, a predominantly floral bouquet
could present as whimsical prettiness. Add a dollop of civet to it and it loses
its girlish charms and becomes a ‘grown up’ woman’s scent. Classic examples of
this include Joy, Diorissimo and My Sin.
Liz left no filthy stone unturned when it came to the animal tones
of Salome. Featuring both castoreum and hyraceum, she has pushed the filth
about as far as it could go without it turning into the olfactory fishy pun
that is ELDO’s Secretions Magnifique.
Salome is also rich in floral notes, especially the densely indolic
combination of jasmine and orange blossom. My nose detects jasmine above all
others. I used to be a committed jasminophobe but have found myself recently
become as attracted to it as I was previously repelled. After purchasing a
small bottle of Hermitage Oils’ Jasmine Absolute, I learnt to appreciate the
complexity of the smell that was absent in cheaper essential oil blends. Yes,
it still retains an abhorrent whiff of milk based diet nappies to me, but there
is extraordinary beauty in there too. In fact, I’ve been known to dab a little
on my pillow at night and fall to sleep in gag reflex-less pleasure. I’m not alone
in thinking that jasmine smells shitty. Its down to a chemical constituent in
the flower – indoles, molecules that are also present in human feces. If you
would like to know more about them you can read an early Odiferess post (from
my jasminophobe days) here.
So why would a perfumer want to combine these potential things of
vileness in order to create beauty?
I can’t speak for the intentions of Liz here, but perhaps it’s because
dirtyness is deemed sensual and clean is boring. Before a potential sexual
encounter we are all likely to shower away our natural smells and replace them
with a carefully chosen scent. Modern manners require purity, at least at
first. But as the body biologically prepares for sex, it heats up and produces
hormones. Our increased heart rate helps our skin and sex organs to radiate the
scent. This makes us smell. So why not smell a bit hormonal to begin with,
perhaps it could aid our powers of attraction?
I received my Salome sample in the few minutes between arriving home
to dump my work bags and nipping out to see my local Doctor. Without much
thought I gave myself a liberal squirt and left the apartment. Upon reaching
the lift I could smell myself, a lot. I smelt distinctly pissy and far too
glamourous to present myself in the surgery of my rather frumpy, pallid and
somber GP. I have no idea if her sense of smell is acute, but she appeared to
treat me with her usual decorum.
There’s a lot more than dirtiness going on with Salome. In fact,
it’s really rather beautiful. I encourage you to read The Candy Perfume Boy's article in order
to fully appreciate this naughty whiff. You may also like to read my post on another scent in the Papillon line up. One that truly seduced me, the leathery delight that is Anubis.
I’m going to leave you with a list of some renown stinkers to enable
you to seek out comparative filth for your delight:
Stinkers that please me:
Carven – Ma Griffe (An old fashioned aldehyde white floral with more
than a hint of urine. I wore this to a wedding a couple of years ago and felt elegant
and otherworldly).
Roja Dove – Enigma Pour Homme (I’m typing through gritted teeth due
to the ridiculous price point of this scent but it’s a stunner. Again, a
urinous whiff, this time with a wodge of honeyed cognac which adds to the
dirtiness).
Avon – Occur (Discontinued many years but the white milk glass
collector’s bottles have often kept the vintages alive. Another honey and urine
combo with the addition of fabulous banned nitromusks). You can read my review here.
Elvis Presley's actual pants, auctioned a few years ago in Stockport, United Kingdom.
Stinkers of the very worst olfactory nightmares:
Etat Libre D’ Orange – Secretions Magnifique (watch Katie Puckrick’s
hilarious video for your likely response).
Etat Libre D’ Orange – Jasmine et Cigarette (What it says on the
tin. Cold, dry and vile, and I like cigs).
Parfum D’ Empire – Musc Tonkin (A terrifyingly disgusting creation
from one of my favourite brands. I sprayed my sample during a work lunch break
and spent the next hour worrying that a person in my vicinity had soiled
themselves. It manages to smell of both wee and poo concurrently).
Kiehl’s – Orginal Musk (Sweet floral watery nappies. Somehow both
subtle and repulsive, perhaps it’s the ‘light’ water effect that makes the
muskiness so unpleasant to me).
Do you have a beloved or feared dirty scent? I’d love to hear about
it, and indeed your opinion on why filth scents are popular.
