Easy listening with harmonious chypres

I have a passion for the easy listening music genre. I still love to dance myself daft to some grizzly drum and bass or steep a dark mood in the haunting howls of Beth Gibbons. But there is a peaceful joy in the honeyed jazz of Henri Mancini or the soulful samba of Brasil 66 from Sergio Mendes.

It’s all about mood. 

Moody marbles - it's a thing now

Our moods fluctuate. At times there may be euphoria, excitement and thrill or darkness, anxiety and melancholia. We hope for contentment punctuated by frequent moments of joy, but the reality is that much of the time we are in stasis, a state of unremarkable equilibrium as we go about our daily routines and habitual behaviour. 

Easy listening complements that equilibrium. 

When I prepare for a night out, I consider my scent choice with great care. Do I want to ooze glamour? Or lay a scented trail of indie quirkiness? Do I want to immerse my companion in a cloud of exotic spice? The selection of a special occasion scent is pleasurable, and one of the reasons why many fragrance lovers own far too many bottles of perfume!

When I consider my own collection, these ‘special’ fragrances are not my most valued. I often fear for their molecular breakdown as they are worn so rarely. I buy the smallest bottles available and store them with the care of a Museum Curator. I don’t own many.

My true love lies in my easy listening scents. The bottles that I can reach for early in the morning, those that will anoint me with companionable grace. Throughout the day I will catch gentle whiffs as they harmonise with my surroundings rather than shout for attention.  

My most melodic easy listeners are the classic chypres: Guerlain Mitsouko, Chanel Cristalle and Clarins Eau Dynamisante. There’s a theme here, they all smell natural. 

Mitsouko and Cristalle both feature an earthy dollop of oakmoss and lush layer of fruit. The mossy undergrowth is reassuringly grounding, the fruit, cheering and summery. They are the opposite of a Northern Winter. Whilst Mitsouko is warm, subtle and sensual, Cristalle is vibrant and full of daylight. Both have the capacity to be sprayed through my skin into my soul. They feel like me.

Oakmoss - prozac for witches

I rocket through bottles of Eau Dynamisante, at least one supersize Scarlett flacon per year. It’s the only bottle that I keep in my bathroom, safe in the knowledge that I’ll have used it up before the light and the humid heat can get their molecular meany mitts on my scent. Nothing refreshes like Eau Dynamisante and I will never be without her. 

A browse through the forums of Fragantica or Facebook often reveals threads where members ask ‘how much is too much?’ Or ‘when does a hobby become an addiction?’.  The answer is a personal one, we all know what we can and can’t afford to buy, what we can realistically use up before it turns and what will make us feel joy rather than guilt. 

When I observe my own collection, I see fragrant friends, the number of easy listeners far outweigh those that will only anoint only ‘the right’ mood. These infrequently worn exotic beauties are loved, but ruthlessly edited. I am happy in the knowledge that I will actually wear most of my perfumes to the end of the bottle. Maybe this is the answer to a carefully curated collection? 

Henry Mancini breezes easy in the med

The Mitsouk-alikes: Grossmith - Golden Chypre, Acqua Di Parma - Profumo & Carven - Ma Griffe

I’m a devoted Mitsouko lover. I’m working my happy way through bottle number three following my first encounter with this rather snooty beauty about six years ago. I know Mitsouko will always reside in my perfume cupboard on the ‘often picked’ shelf, perhaps turning her nose up at the lesser loved bottles.

This is one lady's collection of Mitsouko bottles that she alone used up - I salute her

However, it’s possible to get bored smelling the same scent year after year, especially if you’re a promiscuous perfume lover. One way to shake up your Mitsouko addiction is simply to change formulation. I’m currently wearing the EDP which seems to have an increased florality in comparison to the EDT (the incitement of my adoration). Although all three formulations are awash with moss and cinnamon, the lilac and jasmine notes are more prominent in the EDP.

You could consider adopting an entirely new perfume that echoes the spirit of Mitsouko. My favourite Mitsoukalikes are Grossmith’s - Golden Chypre and Acqua Di Parma’s Profumo.

Acqua Di Parma’s Profumo is very similar to Mitsouko indeed. I’ve just reached for my sample to perform my comparison and to my terror, found it completely empty. So empty that in a thorough dismantle of forlorn plastic there is not even a ghost whiff remaining. However, from memory, a powdery iris/orris note was distinct, as was a milky ‘sucking a brazil nut’ sensation. I remember thinking that, although a beautiful composition, this was a very expensive alternative and probably a bit too close to Mitsouko to warrant the £100 difference in price.

Regular readers will know that I’m a champion of the cheapie. The prices of Creed, Tom Ford, Clive Christian and their fellow moollah shelf mates appall me when I consider how much their ingredients actually cost. A high-end perfume is highly unlikely to contain ingredients worth more than about £10. Occasionally, I’ll encounter brands that really are worth the investment. For me, that means that the perfume itself is exquisite and the bottle is an object of great desire that I’ll keep forever. One of these rare brands is Grossmith who I previously featured in this article. There is no bombastic marketing team behind Grossmith, just a small family firm who resurrected their historic brand to bring it back to lovers of bloomin great perfume.

One day I shall own this grand glass monolith

Grossmith’s Golden Chypre is a contemporary interpretation of the chypre. Alike Mitsouko, it shares an earthy, spicy and arid quality that typifies what we would expect within the genre.  Golden Chypre has done the impossible act of IFRA imposed modernity– replaced oakmoss with patchouli and created a perfume that does not smell of patchouli! It’s essentially an orange juice chypre, which sounds vile, but is extraordinarily lovely. The opening is ripe with orange zest, not at all sugary sweet, but distinctively perky. This awards it an optimistic quality, unusual for the earthy chypres that tend to feel somewhat Greta Garbo in their understated moodiness. 

Greta, chypre personified

It takes about an hour for the orange vibe to diminish, at which stage it develops the complex composition of a Mitsoukalike. A faint powdery floral, a whisper of sun baked hay, a deep forest floor soiliness and hint of nutmeg spice. As I sniff at my competing arms, Golden Chypre reeks of subtlety and (dare I say it?) smells more intellectual than Mitsouko. Less dense, less obvious and intensely shape-shifting. There is a marked difference between beginning and end. It’s only drawback is that it doesn’t provide the enormous trail of Mitsouko, it sits much closer to the skin doing it’s own complicated thing in quiet motion. Although very similar at the drydown stage, Golden Chypre retains a clear personality of it’s own. For that reason, I’d definitely consider this an admirable alternative to Mitsouko, even with the significant leap in price.

My final contender is Carven’s classic chypre - Ma Griffe. This one smells the least like Mitsouko but ‘feels like’ her. I’d wear Ma Griffe in a similar mood to that which finds me reaching for Mitsy. Carven re-bottled and upped the price significantly, what was once a reasonably low priced drugstore perfume has been poshed up with no major difference other than a pretty bottle. I’d go and test it in Debenhams then buy the cheaper old bottle whilst there are still plenty available online.

Ma Griffe is a ‘feral yet soapy’ chypre. Oddly it carries a slightly urine whiff, not the almighty outright wee smell of MFK’s Absolu Pour Le Soir, more a kind of ‘freshly cleaned loo’ with a bit of wee - wee plus a pleasingly scented disinfectant. I’m not trying to put you off here, it really is a very good scent indeed. On top of Ma Griffe’s abundant earthy moss, there is a bright green astringency and a soapy aldehydic vibrancy. It is famous for it’s gardenia note, a recently revived floral trend. Despite it’s 1940s heritage, it feels surprisingly modern. Don’t buy this thinking it will smell like Mitsouko. It’s only very vaguely similar. But do hunt it down if, alike myself, you enjoy some quirk and sparkling greenery with your moss.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the Mitsoukalikes. Do you agree or disagree with my comparisons or have you discovered one of your own?

Review: Les Exclusifs De Chanel - 31 Rue Cambon, The Modern Chypre & A Tale Of Urgent Shopping

The bitter earthy delights of the chypre, the most prized vessel of pleasure for many fragrance lovers, is changing beyond recognition. This isn’t going to be a moan about IFRA and it’s legislation on our beloved oakmoss, instead I’ve chosen to describe a perfume that has probably evolved as a result of the restrictions. It is Chanel’s magnificent 31 Rue Cambon.

It’s also a tale of daft perfume junkie habits.

Coco, at leisure with a fag on, at 31 Rue Cambon

A few weeks ago, I visited the Les Exclusifs de Chanel counter in Manchester’s Selfridges. It’s tricky to quietly browse amongst the bizarre scented ‘nose funnels’ in which we take our whiffs of these famed fragrances without attracting attention. In this instance, a sales assistant helped me to further my cravings by spraying a little Bois Des Isles on a card and wrapping it up in tissue for me to sniff later (my skin was of course completely saturated with a myriad of fumes having previously ‘done’ House of Fraser). For days I repeatedly lifted the precious card out if it’s paper shroud and made audible pleasure noises as I breathed in it’s sandalwood creamy goodness.

And so began my obsession with Bois Des Isles.

Last weekend I returned to the counter with clean, scent free arms. My aim was to skin test and gauge the difference between the EDT and the recent addition to the range, the parfum. On this occasion I was treated to an application of the body cream that acts as the ‘underwear’ to the scented gowns, followed by a spritz of the EDT and a single drop of the parfum (which emerged from surely one of the most covetable bottles in the land of ‘brilliant teeny things’). Initially I was astounded by the beauty of Bois Des Isles. It reminded me both of the smooth woody drydown of No. 5 and the breezy aldehyde opening, but it was less floral, tonally much more cello-like and significantly more sensual. Although this is purely a bit of Odiferess imagination, it transported to me to what No. 5 might have smelt like in it’s youth, prior to the many reforms and tinkering.  But then, as I chatted to the SA, it disappeared, literally, poof! I sniffed and sniffed but it was fading at great speed. My encounter with the fragrance lasted all of ten minutes in concentration and a further hour in a kind of spectral whisper of itself.

Gutted.

The parfum offered a little further longevity but not with the gusto that I desired. Luckily (or unfortunately for my self-imposed weak willed no buy period) the SA gave me a parting gift of a sample of 31 Rue Cambon which I stuffed in my bag in the imperative manner of someone who has just scored some crack. On my walk home, I stopped for another of my guilty pleasures, a frappuccino (filthy sweet coffee Slush Puppie) at a favourite café. I took a seat outside and rooted for the sample which I sprayed liberally on the now bereft of Bois arm.

Oh my..

Minutes passed by with my beloved slush sitting in a non-consumption stupor as I inhaled with all the strength my nose could muster. Upon opening my eyes and pausing to draw unscented breath I saw I was under the gaze of a curious man sat in the window. He quickly dropped his eyes as if he were trying to avoid contact with ‘the nutter in the bus station’.

So what had enamoured me so deftly?

My own photos - for once, not robbed from Google

It was the iris. 31 Rue Cambon opens with a great gust of the most extraordinary bergamot and iris collaboration. It’s shockingly beautiful. Whilst iris can be a little dusty and powdery (and thus smelt with a sensation of it’s afterlife), Chanel’s Iris is moist, terrestrial and truly alive. The bergamot is clear, vibrant and elating and melds with the iris to form a soprano voice. It smells high.

And then soon after, it doesn’t. This stuff transforms itself at great speed. If you love a distinct perfume pyramid, 31 Rue Cambon will feel like the equivalent of a fragrance rollercoaster.

By the time I got home it had changed into smooth cream. When perfume lovers speak of ‘creamy scents’ they often refer to an ice cream gourmand quality, lactonic (milky) notes or even the lush milky depth that comes with an authentic sandalwood. In the case of 31 Rue Cambon, the luminosity of the bergamot fades and is replaced by an hour or two of softly spoken iris milkshake, sucked up through a faintly leathery labdanum straw. 

In it’s final hour it grows increasingly sweeter as a whisper soft  ‘chewy’ patchouli enters the scent. A Fragrantica member used the term ‘chewy’ some time ago, I think it describes the patchouli in both this scent and in Robert Piguet’s Calypso with superb accuracy. As one of those odd synesthethic terms it’s impossible to describe exactly why it’s chewy. It simply is. 31 Rue Cambon’s patchouli is notably gentler than the bombastic patchouli of Coromandel. In fact, it’s a slightly apologetic end to an extraordinary fragrant ride.

Needless to say, by 11 am the next morning I hurried into town to claim the last of the ‘gift with purchase’ and get my eager hands on my first ever bottle of this Chanel Exclusif wonder. Now, four days after my urgent purchase, I still take it out of it’s elegant box and sigh as I fondle the monolithic bottle in my hands. This is love.

But it is a chypre?

I don’t think so. The modern trend of replacing oakmoss with patchouli creates a fragrance that has lost it’s grace without the bitter inky earthen ending that we find in archetypal perfumes such as Mitsouko and Diorella - which is basically why we love them so much. 31 Rue Cambon has pulled off the chypre vibe magnificently in the opening due to the best use of bergamot that I have ever smelt. However, the ‘big softy’ ending fails if we want it to fit entirely within the genre. The art of loving 31 Rue Cambon is to forget that it’s supposed to be a chypre and love it for what it is, my favourite iris yet, and probably always.

For further reading on my shopping adventures, you may enjoy this post about a trip to Selfridges to sample the Dior Privee line. 

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Adventures In Scent At 4160 Tuesdays: Day 2, A Chypre Perfume Making Workshop

 The archetype, Coty's long gone Chypre

I was lucky. Not only had I made it to a scent making day, but I’d made without catching a nose immobilizing cold. February half term is often spent with whatever virus has been troubling the students at my school since Christmas. I work with kids who aren’t proficient at the ‘hand over mouth during sneeze’ routine.

And so, nose on top form, I joined my fellow (and significantly more sophisticated) students to be taught about the form of chypres by the highly engaging Sarah McCartney of 4160 Tuesdays. Our mixed cohort included a keen novice fumie, two long term fumies, an admirable obsessive with a vast collection and myself (insert your assessment of compulsion here).

We began with an introduction to the structure of the chypre. The chypre genre is widely acknowledged to be ‘perfumey perfume’, characterised by a distinctly classic French feel and a slightly snooty dry temperament. I love them, possibly because I’m not snooty. Possessing a more ‘dappy spaniel’ character, I like the fact that a chypre transforms me into a  ‘graceful greyhound’. They are the polar opposite of a warm-hearted oriental or a cheerful fruity floral.

Sarah delves into a vintage Eau Sauvage for our sniffing pleasure

The Queens of the genre could be said to be Guerlain’s Mitsouko and Dior’s Diorella. Both of which Sarah proffered for a sniffing from astoundingly well preserved vintage bottles. As we sat around the grand desk together, we amassed hoards of smelling strips, studiously comparing variations on the theme. With the majority of the examples dating from a time pre- IFRA regulations, we smelt the real thing. My favourite of which was The Edmond Roudnitska creation for Rochas – Mousseline. I’d never heard of it before, but this heart breakingly cool madame was the mossiest thing I’d ever smelt, aside from actual moss, which doesn’t smell of much unless it’s been raining and you have stuck your face to the ground in a wood (I have of course done this, as I imagine have some of you). To add to it’s appeal, it was packaged in a beautifully minimal and art deco reminiscent yellow box. Although it was created later than the deco period (in 1946), it both smelt of and looked like the liberated masculine habits of those women lucky enough to be wealthy and socially mobile in the 1930s. A round of golf chaps?

The marvelous Mousseline

Another Roudnitska marvel was passed around, the citrusy classic Dior masculine – Eau Sauvage. Chypres marketed at men tend to incorporate abundant citrus and herbal notes, making them hugely appealing to my personal taste. I successfully wore Chanel’s Pour Monsieur, another classic citrus chypre with a soapy accord, for some years without growing a moustache or a fondness for football.

After sampling some classic chypres came the table-top scientist part, about which I was wobbly with excitement.  Time to smell some ingredients.

Sarah’s first offer was oakmoss, the ‘bones’ of the chypre, which we smelt at a 20% dilution. It was symphonic. By this, I mean that there was a multitude of sensations to associate with it’s scent. As I look back to my notes, I see that I wrote; multifaceted, woody, earthy, whole. It was utterly whole, indeed I wish I’d have ‘made’ a perfume containing solely oakmoss, such was it’s complexity. I’d imagined it to be an olfactory challenge as natural notes often are (white birch on it’s own can tear my nose to broken pieces) but it wasn’t. It was everything I love about the outdoors bottled, delivered with sensitivity and gentleness.

We went on to sample the other natural chypre bones; patchouli, cistus labdanum and bergamot, each familiar to anyone who’s dabbled in aromatherapy and regularly haunts the isles of Holland and Barret. This was followed by less familiar synthetic smells, a real treat for hardcore fumies; Exaltolide and Fixolide (two musks, the first of which smelt like Body Shop - White Musk), ISO E Super (wood for wizards), Hedione (used to bring radiance to florals and citrus, used heavily in Van Cleef & Arpels – First, smells to me disgustingly like Cystitis salts – Cystopurin-a-go-go), Suederal (a beautiful soft leather) and several others including a peculiar crème brulee plus strawberry note used to great effect in Sarah’s own ‘The Great Randello’. I was most bewitched by two synthetic violet notes – Alpha Ionone and Ionone Beta, the first of which radiated the rubbery tyres and sugar side of violets that was instantly recognisable in BVLGARI Black and Midnight In Paris. The second presented a more woody interpretation.

Brilliant stuff to play with in bottles

The final smell of the morning was Sarah’s curious ‘seaside’ accord, a mixture of Calone (melon/cucumber/water) and Verimoss (moss, akin to seaweed) which smelt unerringly like the beaches of my childhood holidays in North Wales.

Tired noses headed off to a local café for lunchtime resuscitation.

Upon our return we had about four hours in which to become perfumers. You’d think this would be a laughable amount of time in which to create our personal desires but one of the students was markedly thrilled by his creation which he deemed complete in far less time. For me, it was more difficult.

Wrists soaked, I move progressively up my arm for a skin test

Before the day I vowed to keep an open mind about my ingredients, and focus upon the never before smelt synthetics which are really hard to get access to if you’re an amateur enthusiast. The studio at 4160 Tuesdays was chock full of bottles to play with but I found myself drawn back to the leather and violet notes that I sampled in the morning. My initial mixture contained oakmoss, both violets, Exaltolide musk and Suederol (which dominated the blend). This excited me. I planned to later brighten it with citrus in a kind of homage to Cartier’s Eau de Cartier Essence du Bois. The studio however was filled with scent and a ‘used smelling strip mountain’ so upon Sarah’s advice I took it outside to experience it in the open air. It smelt overtly powdery and smothering. A rethink was required.

Whilst I’d been outside Sarah had produced refreshments of delicious blackcurrant and coffee cordial. This aromatic drink spurred me into pursuit of another of my favourite themes – the hedgerow. Sarah talked me through a few relevant ingredients, this time three picturesque natural accords – raspberry leaf absolute (curiously jammy and tart), cassis (astringent green blackcurrant, bordering on cat pee but unfeasibly beautiful) and buchu (a heady and herbal feeling blackcurrant). With just five students, she had plentiful time to assist each of us, helpfully delving into the stash of materials to find potential interpretations of our olfactory ideas.

Notes a-plenty

I combined my berries with small amounts of other naturals (see the photo of recipe), a great mass of oakmoss and ISO E Super. The unscientific measurement is listed on my recipe as ‘shed loads’ of ISO E Super. Roudnitska would have been appalled.

The process of creation involved using tiny drops of our selected notes and building it up judging quantity by nose alone, an intuitive process that required methodical recording and a fair bit of maths. My records were (typically for me) a little slapdash and I found myself losing count. Care is required. As I peruse my notes tonight I can still smell the lovely patches of accidental drips, a souvenir of the day.

My final creation is without doubt, a hedgerow bordering on a forest. Only six days old, it still needs time to continue to mature but I like it. It’s hints at a drier, leafier version of YSL’s In Love Again (although obviously nowhere near as professional). The 4160 Tuesday’s brand is all about conjuring places and memories, olfactory experiences rather than perfumey perfume. With this in mind, I’m pleased that I made something that echoes the character of the brand. I am unlikely to wear my perfume regularly but I am sure that I will lie in bed on drizzly urban nights and let it transport me to the countryside of my youth.

My finished creation, entitled "Could It Be Mossier?"

What I gained from the event was more than just the creation of a bespoke perfume. It was more significantly about the fun and camaraderie of the day. As you’d expect, we fumies talked each other to death and eagerly absorbed Sarah’s chypre education with delight. As a true perfume geek, I already knew a lot about the genre but I learnt a great deal of fresh information, with the exploration of ingredients being of particular interest to me. This combined with the opportunity to smelt unknown pleasures such as the Mousseline and Miss Dior as it was intended to be, was in itself worth the trip to London. Sarah is an enigmatic teacher. Warm, witty and hugely knowledgeable. She manages to pull off a serious olfactory presentation with a friendly informal atmosphere. Instruction is personally tailored and given frequently or you can withdraw into your own world of pipette heaven and suit yourself. It would be unlikely for a newbie to feel out of place.

The day closed with a sprawl on the sofas with lemon cake and champagne. A chance for us to ponder our creations and a much needed rest for our exhausted conks.

Sarah’s perfume making workshops run once a month throughout the year. Upcoming genre themes include such treats as florals, citrus, watercolours (think Jean Claude Ellena for Hermes) ambers and abstracts (the last of which I imagine it will be tres Comme De Garcons). For more information, take a look here: http://www.4160tuesdays.com/4160tuesdaysscentshop/prod_2846362-Perfume-Days.html

Thank you Sarah for a truly wonderful couple of days at the perfumery. In suitably Northern style I can only say – It was bloomin brilliant!

Adventures In Scent At 4160 Tuesdays: Day 1, The Magnificent Wall Of Wonders

Last weekend I ventured to London to visit my first real life perfumery, the multi-coloured abode of indie brand 4160 Tuesdays.

I was familiar with 4160 Tuesdays after featuring it’s (more or less) self taught perfumer, Sarah McCartney in a feature exploring the spirit of British perfumery last summer. You can read it by clicking here.

I was primarily visiting to attend a Saturday workshop on the chypre genre, but Sarah kindly allowed me to call in the day prior to have a nosey around with my camera.  I fully intended to shoot a fantastic batch of photos, with my best camera in hand (rather than my ‘travelling light’ camera phone) that would beautifully illustrate the nature of a perfumery - a pictorial treat for my readers. What actually happened was this:

I arrived, we had a fine natter on her mum’s vintage sofa over some top notch coffee, said hello to her assistant Agnieszka who was urgently bottling by hand and then I was let loose upstairs.

I was immediately faced with ‘The Wall of Scent’.

A small section of the wall featuring citrus and Vanilla scents

Imagine that you are faced with EVERY scent that you’ve heard about but never tried, the vintage mythical ‘scent unicorns’ that have long since been discontinued, those which you have curiously stalked on ebay and never quite got round to blind buying, the hoards of rare bottles that you found in a scent shop in Mallorca but couldn’t spend enough time with because your partner had started sighing with boredom half an hour ago, the historical wonders that Turin and Sanchez raved about. It was all there.

The top shelf of the vintage section (there is a huge cabinet full underneath that I forget to photograph in my state of shock, my journalistic abilities having been smacked in the face after confrontation with YSL's In Love Again.

I dumped my camera on the floor and stuck my greedy hands into the vintage section of the wall, in fact a sliding glass windowed cabinet. Had it not slid smoothly I’d likely have smashed it with my bare hands. I lost my ability to speak and made a sort of whispery “unnnhh” as I picked up a perfectly preserved bottle of Givenchy lll. Close by sat a teeny bottle of Schiaparelli’s Shocking “wooah”, Dior’s original Eau Suavage “wow” and Houbigant’s Chantilly “ooohee”. It was difficult to allot a proper sniff at these grand elderly ladies and gentlemen because I was transfixed by what was behind them – very old Guerlain boxes. You’ll recognise the squiggly geometric lines in the picture. But take a closer look and regard the misty blue box, yup, 1930s L’Heure Bleue! You’d imagine that by now it would be reduced to the scent of nail varnish but this Goliath bottle was unsealed by Sarah herself and smelt like L’Heure Bleue on steroids, an enormous wet vat of history, perfectly preserved. Shockingly, her 1930s bottle of Mitsouko EDT smelt almost identical to today’s formulation, who’d have thought it?

Sarah McCartney pictured with her beloved treasure - L' Heure Bleue

Also nestling among the mythical Guerlains was a beautiful blue crystal flacon of Guet Apens, the impossibly rare discontinued chypre that brings unfeasible amounts of moolah on Ebay.

Somewhere around the time that I saw the Guet Apens, I became overwhelmingly hot and had to de-robe. My cardigan and silk scarf were thrown to join my forgotten camera on the floor and a sip of water allowed me to continue.

Atop of the vintage section was a little tray of samples, recognisably 4160 Tuesdays, some with names that I had not heard of. I enquired about ‘A midsummer Night’s Breeze’.

“What’s this Sarah?”

“Oh, it failed IFRA completely. You can have it.”

Stunned and grateful, I took a whiff and pocketed the little bottle of the distinctly ‘breezy’ and outdoorsy scent. My feelings of excitement were more than the fume junkie’s standard “I’ve got perfume, woohoo!”. They were increased by the fact that I had been gifted a unique scent that violated IFRA regulations ‘completely’.  This made me happy.

Although there are many delightful reasons to sign up for a day of making perfume at 4160 Tuesdays, massively violating IFRA is one of the most seductive. As Sarah said, IFRA allow just a minuscule 0.07% concentration of Oakmoss to be included in a scent. This is because 1 to 3% of perfume users develop (get ready to be worried), eeek, a rash! As Oakmoss is the essential base to what we know as a chypre perfume, this restriction is a bore. But if you are making it for your personal use, you can include as much as you damn well like. I discovered that I can apply a whopping 20% concentration of Oakmoss on my skin without it giving me a rash/the plague.

Oakmoss, apparently dangerous enough you a slight rash

After spending around an hour ogling the vintage section of The Wall Of Scent, I pondered how much of the rest of it I wouldn’t experience on that day. There’s simply too much to take in. I estimate that I smelt about 1/8^th of the collection. I wasn’t concerned that I’d miss out on smelling plentiful bottles of niche brands, that’s an easily possible activity that you can undertake at Les Senteurs, Bloom and Roullier White. For me, the ‘must smells’ were the recent and ancient popular scents that we simply can’t test anywhere because they are not currently stocked in mainstream department stores or indie shops, such as Laura Biagotti’s Roma or the Lagerfeld Kapsule scents. 

Sarah offers afternoon group sessions to explore The Wall of Scent, priced at £60. This includes your choice of a 30ml bottle of 4160 Tuesday’s scent (worth £40), a guided tour through the various genres and notes, leisurely sniffing and the devoted camaraderie of other obsessive fumies. This is all topped off with a glass of fizz and cakes whilst lounging around on some funky vintage sofas.

Who would I recommend it for?

Newbies can learn a great deal about the history of scent and gain a clear idea of their personal preferences. They’ll get chance to do this in a friendly, relaxed environment without the pressure of sales assistants. Hardcore fumies will get to see and smell some scents that they’ve only heard and read about and may experience dizziness and a sense of euphoria. They’ll probably make an enormous list of things to buy on Ebay. Vintage fans will possibly offer up prayers to the ancient perfume gods and weep quietly into their Liberty print handkerchiefs in admiration.

Here’s a link if you want to join in: http://www.4160tuesdays.com/4160tuesdaysscentshop/prod_2831585-The-Wall-of-Scent.html

A report on day 2 of my scent adventure will be posted later this week where I’ll be discussing Saturday’s adventures in creating my own chypre. I apologise for my rubbish photographs, as you can imagine, I was distracted!

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The Scent of British Spirit Part 3: The Indie Kids, 4160 Tuesdays and Ruth Mastenbroek

Several weeks ago I began exploring the British perfume industry to attempt to discover a definitive spirit. This journey resulted in a 3 part article of which you are now reading part 3 – The Indie Kids. To read parts 1 and 2, scroll down the page for an irreverent look at how heritage and royalty have influenced the Great Brits - Penhaligon’s, Floris and Grossmith.
 

Britain is famous for it’s indie culture. By ‘indie’, I mean independent, the creation of something that a person or small group of people make without the backing of a big investor or parent company. Essentially, innovation without major finance.

 

Some of our greatest indie Brits are famous for innovation in the worlds of music and fashion. Think of the fabulously unconventional fashion designer Vivienne Westwood, who in the early 1970s  partnered up (romantically and in business terms) with avant-garde music producer Malcolm McLaren, quit her job as a primary school teacher and created ‘Let It Rock’ a London based clothes shop. Let It Rock evolved rapidly, schizophrenically changing names and design themes, as the pair kicked off the sub-cultural music and fashion scenes of punk and new wave. Soon, London’s youth sported sado-masochist influenced bondage trousers and vertiginous Mohican hair taking alternative into the mainstream.

 

  Westwood and McLaren

 

During my teenage years in the late 1980s, I followed Manchester’s famous ‘Madchester’ music scene where bands such as The Inspiral Carpets (think – psychedelic Hammond organs combined with guitars strummed at full tilt and huge walls of noise) formed their own record label rather than seek a signing from a major, ultimately allowing complete creative control and gaining cult status amongst fans. The weekly arrival of my subscription to Melody Maker magazine saw me scouring listings for obscure gigs that would inevitably lead me and my friends to sleeping rough in Manchester’s Piccadilly Plaza after we missed our last train home. The satisfaction of an extraordinary night in undergound haunts such as the legendary Hacienda would keep us warm amongst our collected bin bags of shredded paper waste that offices would leave on their doorsteps for the bin men (surprisingly comfortable).

What Vivienne Westwood and The Inspiral Carpet’s shared, was a ‘Do It Yourself’ attitude. Why bother seeking the backing of a major investor or working for someone else when you can launch your own mini empire in your own makeshift way? DIY is the basis of indie victory.

The Inspiral Carpets in their youth

 

Essential oils, absolutes, alcohols and synthetic bases are widely available to buy online and (with a little research) it’s easily possible to make something unique and quirky. So why aren’t there a proliferation of indie perfumers?

 

One explanation could be the bureaucratic toil that is required to obtain a European safety certificate, i.e. a document that certifies that your perfume isn’t going to poison anybody and will allow you to trade your fumes to the public in a shop. This is both pricey and complex.  Another explanation is that there is an expectation that a perfumer holds a high level scientific qualification and has undergone extensive training within the employ of Givaudin, Firmenich etc before becoming what we know as ‘a nose’. 

 

One entrepreneurial spirit who has negotiated the EU rules and successfully created a range of superbly quirky whiffs is Sarah McCartney. Sarah launched her company 4160 Tuesdays with minimal formal training, learning just enough to ensure that her products performed as a perfume successfully. Sarah’s real ‘training’ was a life long adoration of fragrance and the depth of knowledge that comes with years of reading and writing about perfume. Sarah says of her company:

 

“The 4160Tuesdays project is about being creative: mindful observation, nerd-like fascination, endless exploration and - fingers crossed - mixing it all up and having good ideas. At least once a week. If we can't be bright and brilliant every day, at least let's have a crack at making Tuesdays interesting.” 4160tuesdays.com

 

This statement thoroughly embodies the indie spirit, it’s not about creating a luxury product for a label hungry consumer. It’s about exploring what can happen when she pursues an idea, the creation of a perfume that might capture a concept, place or memory rather than simply ‘something that smells nice’.

Sarah mixes fumes in a home made lab

 

As I write, I’m wearing a sample of ‘The Dark Heart of Old Havana’ a scent inspired by her travels to Cuba. Sarah says of the Cuban capital:

“They have tobacco, sugar, rum and fruit. They don’t have much of anything else. And there’s ingenuity, humour, fatalism and sweltering heat. And this is the way I remember it smelled, walking through Old Havana to the Caseón del Tango at night.”

 

And dark it smells. Our noses are trained to recognise vanillic smells as sugary and comforting, with associations of ice cream, cakes and all things ‘sweet’. Now and again someone will mix it with some patchouli and spice and call it ‘noire’, but it’s never that dark, merely a little more adult. In the case of Sarah’s Dark Heart of Old Havana, she has created a literal interpretation of her experiences off the tourist trail and reproduced both the edgy atmosphere and intoxicating smells of Havana.

L’ Artisan Parfumeur released a fragrance called Havana Vanille, which promised a combination of rum and vanilla mixed up with spices and tobacco. To my nose it smelt of vanilla and pepper and little else, it left me uninspired. Sarah’s Havana Vanilla doesn’t. It makes me excited. It’s the rarest form of vanilla fragrance in that it actually smells huge and symphonic, casting notes of dark leathery labdanum, over-ripe fruits and a curious burnt toffee sensation into the air. Whilst vanilla scents often smell ‘flat’, this one seems to radiate upwards and outwards with a lot of energy. I can almost smell Sarah’s energetic mission to learn how to Tango on her travels! Yes it’s dark in that smells of strong booze, smoky cigars and filthy fruit pulp leftovers at the end of a market day in sweltering heat but it’s also bright and optimistic, a triumph of very clever perfumery.

Sarah’s scents are sold in small scale distribution, with an online shop at the 4160 Tuesdays website, Les Senteurs and a posh knicker shop in Camden. I’m glad about this, I don’t want to see it in Harrods. I’d hate to hear a passionless sales assistant try to sell her memories.

In the process of communicating with Sarah during my research process I was struck by how much I personally liked her. Wit, intelligence, informality and a slighty daft sense of humour underpinned her emails, which really sums up the spirit of her perfumes. They are a reflection of her eccentric character and as such are delightful.

Another route into indie perfumery is to leave your career as a nose for the big guys and set up on your own. Ruth Mastenbroek has mighty credentials, in possession of a chemistry degree from Oxford and a lengthy International career creating a multitude of perfumes and aromas under the security of contracts with large companies, she is the polar opposite of Sarah McCartney. In fact, Ruth even holds the title of President of the British Society of Perfumers.

Ruth launched her own signature fragrance, RM for women, independently in 2010. There must be a huge amount of pressure involved with the release of your ‘signature’ perfume. What if it isn’t as successful as your past creations for other companies? How do you, as an industry expert, deliver a concoction that ultimately signifies your personal taste, gives away a little of your character, and bears your name as an emblem of what you believe to be your own idea of the sublime idyll within perfumery?

Of her inspiration for RM, Ruth says:

 

“Our sense of smell is a powerful reminder of precious memories. Memories have inspired me, influencing the complex ‘chypre’ fragrance that is Ruth Mastenbroek.

Memories of childhood: gingerbread, fresh earth, blackberries... Memories of my life in England and abroad: Japanese jasmine, cherry blossom, lotus, and green tea; Dutch lilies, narcissus, hyacinth, and salt sea air; French orchids, roses, and wild flowers...

Memories of travels to exotic places, the spices and oils of Morroco, Sri Lanka, Italy and Thailand.

This palette has been my playground, my refuge, my source of inspiration. From it I have created a scent that stands out above all others, one that I can truly call me. “

Ruth created a contemporary floral chypre, with a strident blackcurrant note and abundant jasmine. It isn’t quirky, it’s very likeable to a mass audience as well as those with a nose for niche florals.

Ruth's signature fragrance

When I first applied it I was surprised. To some extent I was disappointed that it wasn’t very unusual. I’d expected to smell an innovation, perhaps with a challenging aspect that could only be appreciated by a perfume junkie such as the cold camphor in Tubereuse Criminelle or curious curry in Eau Noire. RM could have easily been released by Givenchy, Lancome or Dior and appreciated by millions. As I pondered it’s mood over several wearings I started to understand the point of RM. It’s not supposed to be quirky. It’s supposed to be a culmination of years of expertise and life experience, a summary of her career and a statement of elegant femininity. It wasn’t meant to be for me, with my penchant for edgy music, flat shoes, masculine colognes, handmade art school dresses and jasminophobia.

So why is RM in my indie article? Because I love the idea of Ruth creatively beating the giants at their own game. RM is amongst the most mainstream smelling perfumes on the shelves of legendary indie fume shop - Les Senteurs. It’s what the huge cosmetics houses would love to release under their own name if only they could. It’s a Goliath perfume, a high end fruity floral chypre with enormous longevity and strength that would sells millions of bottles to millions of women if you could buy it at Debenhams. Only you can’t. You can only buy it directly from Ruth’s web boutique and from a number of small indie retailers. For that reason, it’s downsized, DIY Dior. It smells as if Ruth wanted to create her masterwork as ‘the greatest popular floral in the world’ without the restrictions of designing it for a big house to make it actually become the greatest popular floral in the world. No clients to please and appease, no marketing folk to deliver a definitive brief, no tight restrictions on a materials budget and no corporate nonsense. A J’Adore created during a period of freedom. For this I admire her as much as I admire Sarah McCartney’s delightful eccentricity.

As I ponder the close of my research into ‘The Scent of British Spirit’ I still wonder why we as an industry are still deemed to be less commercially successful and innovative than the French? I can only summarise that it ultimately might come down to production and distribution, we simply don’t make perfume by the truck load or market it with glamourous gusto to the masses.

Perhaps it’s just who we are, a nation who will always be the slightly eccentric underdog. Essentially creative but not overly concerned with winning a commercial competition. After all, there is joy in the hidden, being part of the alternative, we do it our own way. 

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