Ineke - Evening Edged in Gold, a review and a memoir of London adventures

London is a bewitching place to live in your youth. 

At the age of 22 I moved to the capital to seek thrills, pizzazz and otherworldliness. I took a sales job in a publishing company, developing a trade title for the casino industry. I travelled Europe drumming up new advertisers for the magazine. My clients were mostly wealthy businessmen who wore radiant citrus colognes of the European tradition. My job smelt good. 

A treat for the bleary-eyed in Notting Hill

At weekend I would hang out with friends from Art College who had raced to London before me, we’d dance all night to drum and bass at The Blue Note and spend Sunday afternoon loafing bleary-eyed around the bohemian bars of Notting Hill. I lived in scummy house shares, saving on the rent to pay for a social life and the occasional treasure from Liberty’s beauty hall. My clothes were eccentric and glamourous, often lucky finds in charity shops and vintage markets. I dressed like Margot out of British Sitcom ‘The Good Life’ whenever possible. I remember a lone visit to The Tate Gallery on a hot summer’s day when I wore a shot satin orange 70s cocktail dress. I pulled - a gorgeous Frenchman with whom I spent several decadent days. There was opportunity - be it amourous, adventurous or simply otherness. 

Margot Leadbetter, queen of glamour

Otherness was a significant feature of London. It was here that I encountered the astonishing wealth of others for the first time. I used to catch a bus from my Soho office and travel home through West London to my rented room in Westbourne Park. It was on this extraordinary journey that I played at window peeping. 

I recently got my nose around a bottle of Evening Edged In Gold by the Californian perfumery - Ineke. One sniff and I was transported back 22 years to my favourite bus route.

It began in the messy throng of Oxford Street, headed west to Marble Arch and then zig zagged it’s way through a maze of enchanting streets populated by some of the wealthiest people in the world. They lived in grand abodes, often white Georgian houses with elaborate plasterwork and ‘Mary Poppins’ doorways. By day the journey was a delight to observe but by night it became almost cinematic. 

The golden light of a West London window

It was by night that the rich were revealed. Nobody rich had slatted blinds, they had grand velveteen old-school folds, fashionable modernist drapes in vintage Heals fabric or nothing. Whatever window dressing their interiors people had selected, they were often open. 

As my bus crawled through the London traffic, I would watch their lives. Dinner would be eaten by gentile candlelight, no doubt by a luxurious Diptyque or Cire Trudon treasure. Furniture was achingly stylish and the space was clear. This was not the land of dumped domestic stuff littering their living. It was ‘The World of Interiors’ enacted by real people. 

By far my favourite abodes were the embassies and consulates where grand gatherings took place. Here I spied on exotic groups of people, often from lands I’d never heard of before. Men were immaculately suited and their wives were decorated with cocktail splendour, dripping with jewels and vertiginous Louboutin heels. Champagne was quaffed from crystal flutes from which light sparkled. Their evenings were literally ‘edged in gold’. 

Embassy flags, signalling a grand peeping opportunity

Ineke’s Evening Edged in Gold reeks of otherness. This spiced wonder is truly International, a treasured foreigner in my collection. Alike the beautiful people at the embassy parties, it speaks in a dialect that can’t be easily recognised. 

At first spray I’m enveloped in spice, a sharp cinnamon that laces luscious plummy fruit. The opening is divinely opulent in it’s gilded sweetness. I'm reminded of fine bone china, decorated with lush interpretations of a bucolic harvest lipped with glowing gold. 

When the vivacious top notes have calmed, Evening Edged in Gold becomes increasingly complex. This overtly feminine opening develops woody tones and an earthy leather element that turns its sweetness into an edgier creation. Floral notes abound, Angel’s Trumpet (a relative of Datura with reported hallucinogenic properties) and Midnight Candy are the exotic species replicated within. A google search of Midnight Candy reveals it to be Night Blooming Phlox, an annual flower that I grew this year in my own garden. These tiny blooms open at night to emit a fizzing scent akin to floral sherbet. Perhaps they contribute to the effervescent nature of this creation. The florality feels tropical, island-like, edged in a golden sun.

Angel's Trumpet

I have smelt the combination of fruit, spice and leather so many times, although undeniably beautiful, it can often be a little flat and one dimensional (Feminite du Bois or Aziyade being typical examples). In Evening Edged in Gold, Ineke Ruhland has created a sparkling version of the theme, that develops and delights throughout its wear. 

If this fragrance were a guest at the party, she’d be exotically beautiful and speak with a mellifluous voice. Her fluid clothes would shimmer, cling to just the right spot and depict a deep sensuality. There would no doubt be a lingering body guard keeping a watchful eye over her jewels, and perhaps the curious lady gazing in from the bus. 

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Scent your walls with fragrant art - an International giveaway

 Oriental

My perfume collection has extended. It’s filled its designated drawer and mounted the walls.

Fougere, Noir and Florale

Over the last month I created a collection of mixed media artwork themed around imaginary perfume. I spend my working days teaching young people how to make visual art that passes exams, it’s rare that I get chance to relax and create my own. However, in the recent holiday I got the bug back and spent the fortnight ankle deep in cut paper, devouring coffee and listening to French radio. I felt quite the bohemian!

Bois

 Florale

Noir

The concept:

I think most people with a serious perfume habit have at least a little bit of Synesthesia. As fitting for an artist, I sense colour in fragrance. That which most pleases my nose tends to conjure gold and yellow hues. I don’t think it’s just the case that I have a deep adoration of ylang ylang. I gravitate towards scents that fizz and sparkle with an emphasis on volatile top notes, so perhaps I’m visualising champagne and jewels in my collection.

The artwork uses colour to describe fragrance genres as I sense them. I wonder if the colours resonate with you?

Aquatic

The process:

I monoprinted, stained, painted, tore and reconstructed paper. I also stained my kitchen worktop in the process which is now light grey wood with ‘crimson accents’. Joseph (also known as the feline paper shredder) ate several of the paper components and gained a temporarily Prussian blue paw. Coloured magazine paper was also used, sometimes soaked and scrunched up or scrubbed at to alter the surface texture. 

Once I’d created a huge collection of papers, I cut, layered and assembled imaginary perfume bottles. As I selected paper for each bottle, I imagined how that piece would smell, as if each section was a note within the composition. The creations represent fragrance genres and were named accordingly. 

The backgrounds were created by staining paper with acrylic inks. I tried to create a kind of abstract ‘shelf’ for them to rest upon, a little like a messy version of a Fragrantica wardrobe. 

Close up of a bottle from 'fougere', showing the layered paper techniques. 

Fougere

The resulting collection of seven fragrance genres is available to buy as limited edition prints at:
 https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/sarahwaite

To celebrate the launch of my collection, I would like to offer readers of Odiferess a chance to win their favourite artwork within the collection. The competition is open to readers all over the world and the winner be announced on Friday 17th November. To enter, please visit the Facebook page and leave a comment stating which one you would like to win. 

Good luck!

https://www.facebook.com/odiferess/

Guest blogging at Thompson & Morgan - On the glorious scent of the sweet pea

I've been busy growing stuff, lovely smelly stuff to fragrance my home.
You can read all about my gloriously whiffy sweet peas at Thompson and Morgan's gardening blog by clicking on the link here.

Review: Caron - My Ylang, Summer Bottled

It seems appropriate that as the UK has been bound up in rather melodramatic smog (complete with drizzle) recently that I turned to a delightfully sunny fragrance for escape, Caron’s 2013 release – My Ylang.

Caron’s output is much smaller than that of it’s historic rival – Guerlain. Meaning that a new release is a rare thing of excitement, my sample should have come with one of those greeting cards that plays a tune, in this case, a trumpeted fanfare to announce it’s arrival.

My Ylang fits neatly into the genre of ‘solar floral’, a term which could be interpreted in a number of ways. Elena at Perfume Shrine suggests that molecules called salicylates (which occur naturally in the Ylang Ylang plant) are a vital component of the solar effect:

“To the perfume student these molecules present fascinating facets on the path of creation because salicylates encompass complimentary aspects and aid diffusion, making fragrances open up and "expand" in a sunny, exhilarating way. Gardenia, tiaré, and frangipani accords are usually built on salicylates and their summery vibe warms our heart even in winter.” Perfume Shrine

The ultimate sunshine girl, Bardot.

Typically, salicylates have been long used in sunscreen lotion which is probably why we associate perfumes containing these molecules with the joy of the holiday season. Guerlain’s Lys Soleia and Terracotta fragrances, Estee Lauder’s Bronze Goddess and Lancaster’s Sunwater all emit a veritable ‘Thomas Cook’ aroma that remind us of time away from work spent in the throes of heat and decadent leisure. It’s no wonder we love them.

 Ylang Ylang

However, another association occurs for me as there is a definite whiff of Nivea Crème radiating from My Ylang. Nivea was for many years my mum’s choice of skincare meaning that the ‘Nivea note’ signifies love, warmth and protection to me.

This how it wears:

My Ylang opens with a gargantuan burst of citrus and ylang. If you’re curious about what ylang actually smells like, you can take a whiff anywhere that sells essential oils as it is often used in aromatherapy for it’s anti-depressant and sensual properties. Oddly, I really dislike it on it’s own but when mixed with other aromas it becomes a thing of beauty. Mandarin Orange is the only official listed citrus but there is a ‘bells of St. Clements’ effect similar to that found in Jour D’Hermes, but significantly less spiky. A little blackcurrant creeps into the fruit bowl in a very pleasing manner. In recent years this note has been used in abundance, often paired in a sickly gloop of flat sweetness. YSL’s Manifesto and Armani’s Si were responsible for creating ‘blackcurrant haters’ as they introduced to the world their berry puddings, effectively giving us all olfactory diabetes. When blackcurrant is used in collaboration with barely sweetened background (as in My Ylang), it offers us a dazzling edge of greenery and piquancy that ‘lifts’ the composition in a similar fashion to the use of aldehydes. Paired with a trace hint of lily of the valley, you could can sense an atmosphere of nature thriving.

My Ylang is complex, unsurprisingly for Caron who are masters of ‘the journey’ i.e. creating perfumes with a great transformation from start to finish. The different facets of the scent feel almost as if they are moving, dancing about, weaving in and out of our perception. Underpinning the dance lies a grounding base of authentic vanilla that is detectable throughout the journey. It isn’t particularly sweet, simply warm and comforting. Unlike many other solar florals, there are no tropical fruit or coconut elements, which keep it a long way from becoming a genre stereotype.

I’d recommend My Ylang for those who are seeking a cheering lift, an essence of summer and a fragrance that offers a multifaceted ride. It does however retail at a high price. For a less expensive (but not as delightfully complex) alternative, a similar vibe can be found in Guerlain’s Aqua Allegoria Lys Soleia. Failing that you could root out last summer’s flip flops, download The Isley Brother’s Summer Breeze, sip away at a Pina Colada and hope the weather looks up.

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From Ambre Sultan to Chanel No. 5, A Curious Journey In Taste

Eight years ago, I lifted a curiously understated rectangular bottle of fragrance to my nose and inhaled. At that moment, my concept of ‘what perfume smells like’ changed forever. It was Ambre Sultan by Serge Lutens.

This revelation occurred whilst I was teaching in Dubai. Being so deeply opulent and spicy, I assumed it was an Arabic brand. Not being a certified fume junkie back then, I didn’t buy it, waiting instead until my bottle of Opium ran out to consider a purchase. Of course I did re-visit the store to indulge in it’s heady lure several times. 

From discussion with fellow fumies, it appears that many of us began our journey into niche with this creation. Unsurprising when you consider that the most popular genre amongst contemporary niche fans tends to be orientals.

As my interest developed into a hobby increasingly more compulsive than a serious train spotting habit, I smelt a great many niche perfumes. I developed a distinct personal taste that was dominated by; citrus chypres, intense orientals and outdoorsy feeling woods. A jasminophobe, I was highly unlikely to feel the love for a full on white floral or (gulp) the horror of an old fashioned floral aldehyde.

So, how the hell have I fallen hard for Chanel No. 5?

Whilst having a boozy dinner at my beautiful friend Jo’s house around Christmas time, we delved into her very grown-up stash of fumes. Jo Loves ‘proper perfume’, i.e. the likes of Moschino, 24 Faubourg and Chanel No. 5, that which we associate with drinking champagne in an immaculate dress. Or more relevantly to our friendship, glugging Asda’s Prossecco in tatty clothes. My overriding sensation whilst sampling Jo’s grown up lady scents was a sense of exoticism, they smelt extraordinary, innovative and otherworldly. Odd, because that’s exactly how I felt when I smelt Ambre Sultan.

As I dozed off in her absent son’s big red tractor bed that night, I pondered the curiously soapy whiff radiating from my arm. The Chanel No. 5 was emitting the fizzy sherbet like quality of aldehydes over a complex mélange of sappy woodland greenery and an abstraction of floral delights. It was beautiful. I was astonished.

 Harry, a budding fumie takes a shine to Jo's Rochas Alchemie..

..but decides that Moschino is more pleasing

And so to Ebay. A bottle of Chanel No. 5 Elixir Sensuel was rapidly obtained and a couple of days ago, an EDP of the original arrived courtesy of a kindly regular swopping buddy.

What’s essentially happened is that over the last few years I have smelt so many repetitions on the theme of amber and woody orientals that they have become ‘normal’ and no longer feel unique or ‘niche’. Ambre Sultan has been emulated so many times that Chanel No. 5 feels like a contemporary innovation. The mainstream has (with exception of some truly awful leaden fruitchoulis) become the exotic.

So, you can expect to see some changes at Odiferess this year as I embark on a journey into new genres. This year I will be mostly seeking out notes that I didn’t used to like (yes, I am emitting a vociferous air of jasmine from my wrists today courtesy of No. 5 and enjoying it enormously) and seeing how far my tastes have broadened. I have on my current list of things to review; fruity hedgerow delights from Mark Buxton, Penhaligon’s ‘busty’ Cornubia, Caron’s ‘shining happy people’ scent - My Ylang, Boucheron’s dazzlingly snooty - Place Vendome and Le Labo’s unfeasibly sticky lily- Lys 41.

The result of a google search for 'Woodland Flowers'. This is better than woodland flowers.

I shall be continuing to read the insightful words of some of my favourite blogs written by men who love a lavish bouquet. In particular, The Scented Hound who has a penchant for Caron and The Silver Fox who is as unafraid of a strident white floral.

Disclaimer: Despite my current adoration for No. 5 I reserve the right the state that Brad Pitt looked and sounded like a complete buffoon in the recent fragrance advert which was as humourous as Tom Ford's 'naked female bottom-crack scent smelling strip dispenser' was vile and sexist. I want to hear a secret tape of the associated marketing exec meetings, what were they thinking?!

I'd love to hear your thoughts on matters of taste, has anybody had a drastic shift in recent times?

Castaña, Cloon Keen Atelier, Review: The Anti-gourmand

As a fume writer I get to smell an abundance of perfumes. Increasingly, with the more I smell, the more I can spot repetition or creative idleness. Especially at the moment where we are oud and ambered to the point where almost nothing smells like innovation, merely copycats.

Once in while I’ll sample something that smells truly original, something that is markedly different to that what exists en mass. A very special example of this is Castaña by Irish perfumery – Cloon Keen Atelier. Why is it so special? Because it’s a nut themed scent that doesn’t smell like cake.

In recent years we’ve seen a trend for gourmand fragrances, i.e. Scents that contain edible ingredients such as plentiful vanilla, nuts, fruits, sugary and boozey notes. Gourmand lovers sometimes gain emotional gratification from these creations, claiming that they provide comfort or nostalgic memories, often of homely pleasures such as baking or family gatherings. They can perform as a hug in a bottle. Gourmand haters speak of their often cloying sweetness, their dislike of wearing food rather than scent.

My opinion resides somewhere in the middle. I own the Serge Lutens creation, Jeux de Peau (games on skin), which basically smells like a terrific sandalwood mixed up with sticky Danish pastries. I adore it for about 6 days a year. Otherwise the bakery bomb bottle lingers at the bottom of my collection cupboard underneath those which are more easily wearable.

Other appealing gourmands that have caught my attention include Parfumerie Generale’s Praline de Santal (uber sweet hazelnut liqueur sandalwood) and Tonkamande (fulsome almond vanilla with a curious ‘vimto’ dry down). I appreciate both but couldn’t wear either without commencing insatiable cravings for confectionary. Perfume should not make you rush out to purchase most of your supermarket’s bakery isle within minutes of application (which interestingly I have done since starting this post earlier today).

Which brings me to Castaña. Cloon Keen say of it’s composition:

“Inspired by a childhood memory of the mouthwatering aroma of street roasted chestnuts in Andalusia, Perfumer Delphine Thierry has captured this fleeting sensation and translated it into a sophisticated and signed perfume. The centre piece of this composition is an overdose of Haitian vetiver, which is traditionally a more masculine note. However, when combined with the super feminine and luxurious floral notes of cassia and jasmine absolute, an opulent nontraditional feminine perfume is created." 

Which sums it up rather well.  

Castaña’s roast chestnut theme is unusual, in fact a check of Fragrantica’s ‘search by note’ reveals no other fumes in the database that contain it. I imagine that it’s more or less impossible to extract a natural odour of roast chestnut and that it is in fact a delicious synthetic and a composite of other notes. What it does bring to the perfume are two notable sensations, overwhelmingly lush creaminess and a just a hint of smokiness.

Traditional Portuguese tiles depicting chestnut roasting in the street

At Christmas, my mum puts out a great wodge of nuts in a crystal bowl with an ineffective nut cracking device. Said device does two things; it a) forces you to grip really hard and ultimately captures and crushes your finger as the shell finally cracks (cue swearing and pain) and b) explodes chards of nut shells at high speed all over your clothes/the carpet. Basically, it’s an ardous task to get into a nut so when you finally manage it you have to savour it’s consumption without haste. My favourite is the Brazil nut, which I like to gnaw tiny bits from and then suck slowly. Brazil nuts taste of exotic dairy, like milk but woodier and sort of foreign.

This is the only time I’ll ever write something as daft as this at Odiferess (apologies) but the chestnut in Castaña ‘smells of the sensation of eating creamy woody foreign nuts very slowly whilst sat in a garden full of white flowers on a humid evening within half a mile of a neighbour having a bonfire’  

Which isn’t a cloyingly sweet moment..

And doesn’t make me desire a cake binge..

As for the smokiness, I think this might be coming from the vetiver as much as concept of a chestnut roasting. Whilst vetiver is usually favoured for it’s delightfully green, grassy and pungent earthy pleasures, the real thing smelt as an essential oil additionally has a distinct smokiness and dryness reminiscent of baked hay and bonfires.

It’s all sounding very conceptual at the moment but place these notes alongside the floral heart and you’ve got something extraordinary – a perfectly harmonious floral with a rich, smoky, deeply natural atmosphere and no screechy edges. And it’s not very often I say that about something containing buckets of Jasmine.

The danger of curious rare notes is that they can stick out of a composition, a bit like someone playing the spoons on their knee in the middle of a cello concerto. Castaña is smooth, so smooth that you probably couldn’t guess the individual notes unless you’d already translated it’s Spanish name. Even then you’d have a tough time contemplating what sits alongside the chestnut so seamlessly.  

Who would I recommend it to? Probably people like me who can’t tolerate too much sweetness with their foody scents, perhaps even (again, alike myself) those who can only tolerate jasmine in a supporting role. Ultimately, it's for those seeking a magnificent quirky floral with a great deal of wearability. 

Thank you to Les Senteurs for my sample.