Make Your Own Perfume - The Magnificent Perfume Making Experiment, Part 4, The Result.

 The view from my apartment at 10am, a very grey Manchester.

Last night the clocks went back, this seasonal shift arrived in collaboration with a morning of grey be-fogged rain. It’s exactly the kind of autumnal gothic horror that I wrote about when I began to compose my first perfume making experiment. It’s timely that today, the day I proclaim it ‘finished’, is a drab Mancunian soak-fest. If you recall my intention, it was to make a perfume that possessed a sparkly top note and a sense of ‘light’ through it, to counteract the sense of entrapment that comes to those who suffer with light depravation in the dark months - the fragrance equivalent of Vitamin D. As a reminder, click here to read the first article.

I am delighted to say that I think it works!

Here’s the recipe to make roughly 35 ml (I know that’s a bonkers size but that’s how it worked out). 
EO = essential oil, PF = synthetic from Plush Folly

Top:
6 drops of Grapefruit (EO)

4 drops of Petitgrain (EO)

8 drops of Bergamot (EO)

18 drops of Rhubarb (PF)

15 drops of Aldehyde 2 (PF)

Middle:
3 drops of Orris (PF)

5 drops of Ylang Ylang (EO)

15 drops of Rosewood (EO)

Base:

12 drops of Vanilla Bourbon (PF)

10 drops of Atlas Cedar (EO)

8 drops of Frankincense (EO)

6 drops of Ambrettia (PF)

20 ml of Perfumer’s Alcohol (PF)

So what does it actually smell like? It’s impossible to review my own scent in the effusive manner that I write of the atmospheric effect of others. Though I do know that it smells original. Having experienced a lot of genre mutations recently i.e. amber this, oud that, it smells very different to current trends.  It does however have a slight feel of the Miller Harris creation - Figue Amere if the fig were replaced by rhubarb.

Rhubarb - green, sour and earthy, a delight to smell and eat.

The rhubarb is delicious. It imparts a sourness and earthiness that is recognizably rhubarb. Because it’s used in combination with equal amounts of ‘the green side of’ citrus notes (comprised of bergamot, petitgrain and grapefruit), it has a real sensation of cut sap and oily greenery. The soapiness imparted by the aldehyde softens the zing of the citrus and keeps it from being too acidic.

As the top notes evaporate you are left with a woody, soapy, sappy and (very vaguely) green floral scent where you can’t really pick out the individual notes. I think this is positive as the word ‘seamless’ is often used to describe harmonious scents where notes don’t jar for attention. A base of frankincense and cedar give a little weight to the otherwise flighty volatile quality. Although there is a hefty quantity of Vanilla in here, you can’t really smell it. It acts to ‘smooth’ the scent rather than literally smell of vanilla.

The beautiful (and endangered) tree from which Frankincense is harvested.

In the process of making it, a genuine intuition arose. After many initial experiments, I gained a significant sense of what to drop in next, or what proportions to alter. It was no longer a random trial. This experience has given me a great drive to play at perfumer again, with the next experiment (a woody coffee, as dark as number 1 is light) already sitting in the fridge waiting for my next move. I don’t think Odiferess 1 is a masterpiece. I think it’s a first attempt that’s inspired me to keep going.

The difficulty with creating your own scent is that you are inevitably going to compare it to your favourite perfume. Judged on it’s own merits, I feel Odiferess 1 is a curious and original creation. Hold it up against Mitsouko or Eau de Reglisse and it smells like the pointless kitchen lab foolery of an amateur!

If my experiment has inspired you to play at perfumer, here’s my advice based upon my own experience:

• Spend money, you can’t truly experiment unless you have enough notes to blend together.

• Unless you have cash to waste, consider how you’ll use the rest of the ingredients. I burn essential oils at home and make my own candles. My investment will become hand made Christmas presents.

• Read books. Mandy Aftel’s Essence and Alchemy is practical, informative and entertaining. She writes of the history and culture of scent with grand atmosphere and provides a ‘how to’ guide to creating your own scent.

• Start with ‘easy’ notes. Notes such as citruses, patchouli and vanilla are really easy to work with. Rare floral essential oils will cost a fortune and be hard to combine unless you know what you are doing, which I don’t. I really wanted to play with undiluted rose absolute and immortelle but managed to reign myself in before committing a frightening credit card transaction.

• Consider your aim. Are you making it for you and your friends, as a hobby or do you have a real desire to become a perfumer? I came to it from a ‘fun in my kitchen with cool stuff’ perspective so I won’t be devastated if it the resulting perfume is not a ground breaking master work. If you want to become a perfumer there are some restrictive issues to contend with, in particular, finance and EU regulations. You are going to need money and tenacity in addition to a natural ability to blend scent.

Readers, if you have made, or intend to make, your own scent I'd love to hear from you. For those who are inspired to have a go, I wish you a fruitful time!

I’m giving away a small sample of Odiferess 1 to a lucky reader. If you would like to enter the give-away, simply leave a comment below or at the facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/odiferess). 
I’m so sorry to my international friends but our postage rules here in the UK prevent us sending perfume abroad. Please do join in the comments though!

Quirky White Florals - A review of Trish McEvoy, Gardenia Musk No 4 and Miller Harris, La Pluie + giveaway

I grew up in a rural village complete with all you would expect from this pastoral idyll; tousled hedgerows, dense cool woods, a riverbank, warm baked hay during the baling season, wild flowers thriving in meadows and my parent’s own fragrant garden. I also remember of course the abundant cow pats, the stench of our neighbour’s vile chrysanthemum filled industrial greenhouse and my friend’s terrifying turkey cabin so it wasn’t entirely beautiful. I do think however, that this mass of supersized smells probably initiated my curiosity with scent.

Perhaps my favourite scented memory is the beguiling but slightly lewd smell of the pretty white flowers of hawthorn hedges. They were at once startlingly rich, sweet and opulent but also tended to make me check my trainers (or more frequently, rollerboots) for traces of the numerous animal effluences that graced the country lanes.

The white floral is my least favourite genre. I have tried hard to love classics such as Robert Piguet’s Fracas or La Chasse aux Papillons by L Artisan Parfumeur but a proliferation of Tuberose and Jasmine brings about an extraordinarily queasy response. I appreciate the importance of these notes and indeed the orange blossom, in particular, the manner in which they play a crucial supporting role in so many pleasing fragrances. However, when they play a leading role, my nose withers in distaste at the indolic fetidity.

For me, I need an alternative take on the white flower, one which either surprises me with a quirky note combination or seduces me with the offer of a true replication of nature.

One perfume that replicates the white flower in nature is Trish McEvoy’s Gardenia Musk No 4. This is about as ‘putrid voluptuousness’ as it gets and is perhaps the sexiest fragrance in my collection. By ‘sexy’, I mean ‘come hither’ in the way that hawthorn or honeysuckle smells when warmed by the sun. With their pallid ghostly petals playing second fiddle to the other brightly coloured blooms in the garden, they need to release an almighty fertile stench to attract the bees.

I don’t recall the aroma of a gardenia flower, nor have I ever sniffed an isolated synthetic molecule that replicates it but my sense of ‘gardenia’ within perfumery is that of a lactonic floral, a slightly honeyed milky sweetness with absolutely no sharp edges. In that way it is to flowers what sandalwood is to wood. That’s exactly what you get with Gardenia Musk – a creamy, musky, rounded scent with a slight suggestion of honey and the warmth of a teeny bit of wood. I smell a highly realistic and decadent note of honeysuckle at night, captivating, as I’ve yet to smell another honeysuckle fragrance that does not smell of pound shop shampoo.

In contrast to an aldehyde laced floral, it feels like it contains no top notes and certainly no screechy aspects, as in numerous harsh floral compositions. I think the ‘sexy’ aspect is amplified by the fact that it’s almost drowsy. With no vivacious top notes to make it sparkle it is literally pleading to go to bed.

It’s white floral opposite is Miller Harris’s magnificent La Pluie, translating as ‘the rain’. Miller Harris describe the heart of this fragrance as ‘wet white flowers’, hence it’s name. The ‘wetness’ is increased by an abundance of vetiver, adding a grassy tropical forest vibe.

I wore my sample several times before I could write about it. Why? Because it’s so multi-faceted, as complex and surprising as Gardenia Musk is simplistic. It is most definitely gender neutral and I imagine it would appeal to others who also find white florals generally sickly.

The most curious aspect of this fume is that it seems to wear ‘backwards’. Vanilla bourbon and vetiver bourbon appear at the top of the composition instead of at the drydown where you would expect them to nestle. The vanilla is ‘pure’ vanilla in that is lacks sugary connotations, hoorah for Miller Harris! Instead, it reminds me a little of Shalimar in that there is a very adult smoky and leathery sensation to the vanilla/vetiver combination. Bergamot and tangerine seep in to add a little citrusy sparkle, again with a distinct nod to Shalimar EDT/EDC formulations.

Soon into it’s wear the ‘wet white flower’ heart transforms the smoky beginning into an exotic island floral interpretation. Jasmine and ylang ylang combine in a fresh partnership, ‘lifting’ the experience. The heady quality of jasmine is tempered by the sharpness of ylang (think of ylang as having the same euphoric effect as citrus). Both of these notes play out with subtlety, contributing rather than dominating. I feel that Miller Harris has a link across it’s fumes in that a number share a herbal, aromatic and soapy theme. La Pluie has this in buckets, a relief for me as I adore the way that the camphorous lavender is used to offset what could otherwise be too floral, bringing a little herbal integrity (nature at it’s most authentic) to every stage of it’s wear.

My mission to discover more alternative takes on the genre is ongoing. Therefore I’d love to hear your comments or suggestions about others that might surprise me. Or indeed your opinions of the fumes featured in this article.

I am giving away a sample of Gardenia Musk No 4 to a commenter drawn at random. To enter, simply leave a comment below and I’ll draw a winner at the end of June. Sadly It’s only safe to post it within the UK due to our Royal Mail postal restrictions, however EU commenters are welcome to enter but be aware that your sample might be end up being worn by a customs official!

Salty sea dogs, a review of Miller Harris, Fleurs de Sel and Comme de Garcons, Series 4 Vettiveru Cologne.

With the sun finally breaking through Manchester’s semi-permanent cloud cover my thoughts have turned to the seaside. Being entirely landlocked, I’m using scent as way to travel beachwards until I get the opportunity to turn my face to the salty spray. Two fragrances are aiding my olfactory trip, Fleurs de Sel and Vettiveru.

New from Miller Harris, Fleurs de Sel is said to be inspired by “the herbs and flowers that surround the famous salt fields of the Cote Sauvage”. It also claims to have “astringent salt at it’s heart”. How do we interpret a salt note? I’ve smelt both my bog standard cooking salt and my chef partner’s posh sea crystals, they don’t exude much of a whiff, giving off more of a sensation than a smell. Upon inhaling the aroma, the salt hits the back of my throat and exudes a recognisably salty, savoury feeling. I’m not sure that I can literally smell salt in Fleurs de Sel but what I do experience is a summery ozonic vibe that’s amplified by a beautiful herbal hit of thyme, clary sage and rosemary. Although rose and iris are listed as notes they are virtually undetectable underneath the herb garden posy, perhaps only serving to balance the composition with a little ‘perfumy-ness’.

This is an intensely aromatic perfume with a great emphasis on the concept of nature. With oakmoss and vetiver creating an additional base layer of bitter greenery, Fleurs de Sel could most certainly take you on a coastal camping trip (if only in your imagination).

As you would expect from the highly conceptual Comme de Garcons, Series 4 Cologne: Vettiveru is a contemporary interpretation of a summer holiday scent. As a committed lover of Colognes, I was keen to have this one in my collection as it projects an alternative take on the standard neroli/bergamot/citrus composition of the genre. Yes, these notes are all in there but they feature as a backdrop to a strident vetiver.

I adore vetiver, particularly how it seems to shape-shift in every composition. It’s recognisably there but displays a greatly differing character in the vast number of scents that lead with this note. Vettiveru introduces a quirky vetiver, made vibrant rather than traditional.

Upon the initial spritz, you are hit with a gargantuan burst of fresh floral and citrus vivacity, typical of a cologne’s uplifting sensation. The floral aspect is composed of neroli and jasmin, although neither shout out their presence, they simply contribute a little smoothness to what would otherwise be a spiky scent. After a few minutes the vetiver appears in abundance, gifting a grassy, earthy and indeed salty presence. In this fragrance I can most definitely smell the ocean, or specifically the way that your skin smells after a dip in the waves: savoury, iodine, seaweed and perhaps even a hint of Piz Buin sun tan cream.

At it progresses through it’s wear, Vettiveru becomes very ‘Comme de Garcons’, giving you a few surprise associations. I first wore this in bed on the day after an operation. Having been woken up by the postman delivering this thing of wonder, I quickly spritzed my wrists and returned bedwards to sleep off the dizzying effects of the surgery. Upon waking, I could smell both a faintly TCP antiseptic and one of my childhood favourite sweets – Floral Gums. I wrote it off as a sleepy post-anaesthetic olfactory trip until after several sober wears when I ascertained that yes, it indeed smells of faintly of TCP (from the clove and cardamom note?) and Floral Gums (which remains unfathomable).

Quirkiness aside, it is a shockingly good take on a traditional product, bending the concept of ‘cologne’ and ‘vetiver’ into a refreshingly pungent juice for the hot summer months. Happily it retails at a price that allows you to literally bathe in the stuff..

Original photo by Sarah Waite

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