The extra-sensory library book campaign, scent your reads!

 I read a lot of novels.

My love of books was instilled at an early age by my mum who took me to Garstang library every week to borrow an armful of magical free words. 

 The peculiar 60s architecture of Garstang Library

Each night I send myself to slumber via another world; a curious country, an eerie haunting, a torrid love affair or simply the complexities of someone else’s life. My arms cradle the book ‘praying mantis’ style whilst Joseph purrs away under an elbow. 

Most towns in the UK had a library until about 5 years ago when the government cut funding under austerity. Big cities had many branches with the largest ‘central’ library housed in a grand municipal building. Many of the smaller suburban libraries closed forever whilst others now survive on limited hours as volunteer run organisations.

On average, I read about two novels per week, they are free. If I bought them, my reading habit would likely cost me at least £100 per year assuming that I shopped thriftily in charity shops, or up to £700 if I bought shiny new ones from Waterstones. 

We need to support them.

My local library in Huddersfield is a quirky venue where alongside newly releases titles, you can find a selection of the bizarre and unconsidered. Whilst browsing the health and beauty section this morning I discovered that alongside Lizzie Ostrom’s ‘Perfume - A century of scents’ and Sally Hornsey’s two make your own skincare and perfume manuals, you can find books about both DIY welding and the history of arsenic. This could be handy if you are planning a murder and an evidence burial in a skilfully sealed metal box. 

Bonkers genre combo

Library books can smell a bit stale. Whilst new releases still retain a delicious inky print whiff on their fresh unblemished pages, older titles can sometimes carry an ‘eau de damp portacabin’ or more worryingly ‘unidentifiable fragrant stain’ which might be a bit of spilt Ovaltine if you’re lucky.

I scent my library books, and I choose their fragrance with great consideration. 

I imagine that most of my readers have a sizeable stash of promotional fragrance smelling strips as a quick sniffing to trip to the department store usually results in pockets full of the things. They’re pretty, I keep them. But best of all, they make wonderful bookmarks. 

One night I sprayed the last dregs of my Serge Lutens Fille en Aiguilles onto a smelling strip and allowed it’s pine sap fragrance to seep into my book. The book was Eowyn Ivey’s haunting forest populated novel ‘The Snow Child’. By the following night the isolated atmosphere of it’s Alaskan location was amplified by the harmonious whiff. I recently read the wonderfully spooky ‘Dolly’ by Susan Hill (of Woman in Black fame). I fragranced this with Antonia by Pure Distance, allowing it’s vintage dusty greenery to evoke the ivy clad derelict house conjured in the story.

I like to imagine that the next borrower will pick up on the fragrance, perhaps so subtly that instead of detecting a ‘perfume’, my scenting activities will simply add to the power of the words, providing an extra-sensory dimension. Perhaps if we all start to do this library books will take on new powers to thrill the imagination?

Caron whiffing cards have the perfect dimensions for a bookmark

In discussion with friends, suggestions were made about possible perfume partners for their favourite books. War and Peace was partnered with a fragrance fit for nobility - Zibeline by Weil, Practical Magic amped it’s spells with Moonlight Patchouli by Van Cleef & Arpels and 50 Shades of Grey was sullied by the notorious Secretions Magnifique. A wonderfully vile idea!

I hope that my readers might join me in my guerrilla book scenting campaign. However, if you’ve gone over to the dark side and become the owner of an e-reader, your local library has oodles of free e-books in it’s catalogue so at least you can support their 21st century service updates by joining up and helping to promote literacy in the UK.

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Joseph, the beginning of a furry scented love affair

 Joseph peeps from the dizzying elevation of the kitchen cupboard

You may have noticed the absence of a Christmas post at Odiferess in 2015. Not even a measly seasonal greeting. I apologise profusely. You see, just before Christmas, my ordinarily calm existence was delightfully disrupted by the arrival of a new and wonderful friend – Joseph Cat. Perfume was far from my thoughts.

Joseph was an inmate at Manchester’s Millstream Animal Shelter, a charity that re-homes pets and provides life long care for the more feral creatures that are unlikely to find a loving human.

Joseph however is dead easy to love. In similarity to the other males I have adored, he's a curious type, a keen adventurer and a tad complicated. He doesn’t particularly like me hanging out with other men, despite those that he’s met so far being either related to me or gay. For the moment, we snooze together in a middle-aged stereotype of cat besotted woman, (plucked) Italian wool blankets and spoilt cat.

The centre of my bed, stolen

My perfume habits have been restricted as I try and get him used to ‘my smell’. At night, I have worn nothing, not even my beloved blends of essential oil remedies that I used to slather over my hands in bed. In the daytime I wear my most cat-like scent. A miniature bottle of Serge Lutens Clair de Musc which has always reminded me the scent of feline fur.  He seems to like it.

Joseph unsurprisingly smells like a cat. A subtle whiff that is barely discernible, given his excellent licking skills and cleanliness bordering on the neurotic. He frequently sleeps next to my face. I gave up trying to keep my pillows cat free about 3 nights in when the joy of being close to this purring pile of affection outweighed the hassle of having to launder my bed linen more frequently. On these wondrous slumbers, I bury my nose into his belly and inhale his smell. The sensation is one of warmth, closest in my memory to the smell of extreme heat on sand and dry stone experienced in the deserts of Oman. A very slight sourness is detectable, not unpleasant, but similar to a trace of fresh human sweat at the point before it stales. Whatever pheromones are contained within Joseph’s fur have an overwhelming effect on me. I’m fiercely in love and feel an urge to protect and nurture him, despite the fact that, as a cat, he won’t love me back with the same unconditional adoration!

Friends in perfume land played a role in influencing me to adopt a pet. Their blogs and Facebook feeds bombarded me with images of beloved companions. Vanessa of Bonkers About Perfume recently adopted the girliest pretty kitten on the internet, Truffle Bonkers. 

Truffle perfects the calendar kitten pose

Liz of Papillon Artisan Perfumes added to her gargantuan menagerie with the arrival of stud muffin Bengal ‘Baby Boy’ who rapidly impregnated Mimi with a litter of exotically spotted kittens (lucky Mimi).  Jicky, her elder feline sister must surely be feeling envious.

Baby Boy (there are more seductive photos of this handsome boy but I adore his squeezable nose in this shot).

It takes a lot of style to live up to a Guerlain inspired name, Jicky has oodles of it.

Undina’s beautiful ginger Rusty has long graced her perfume photos with a whimsical pose adding a uniquely personal touch to her blog. Cats are not known for looking 'kind' but somehow Rusty looks like a compassionate cat. I adore him. Whilst Gaspard, an elegant and comically spooksome black cat not unlike my own Joseph, resides with the equally elegant Alex, AKA The Silver Fox. Gaspard is king of the wild eyed pounce pose.

Undina's Rusty, perfume PR pussy

Gaspard, peek-a-boo 

Perhaps the most photogenic pets belong to my first and greatest perfume buddy, Saskia. Lubbe and Lano are her much photographed Weimaraners who reside with her in the Netherlands. Some years ago she likened one of them to handsome indie perfumer Kilian Hennessey, I think the likeness is detectable in the cheekbones and lithe figure. 

How to look oddly human, Weimaraner style

Perhaps the most famous pet in perfume land, is the black cat featured in the notorious 1960s adverts for My Sin by Lanvin. They chose to feature a moggy rather than a long limbed Oriental or a pampered Persian, a feline symbol of luxury. Maybe it's because this tough looking black cat represents the dangerous life of the street cat, hinting at the perfume's ability to render it's wearer feral and vicarious?

Thank you to my perfume friends for allowing me to use their fantastically characterful photographs.

If you know anyone in the North of England hoping to adopt a pet, please do consider a visit to Millstream Animal Shelter. They are reliant on donations and the hard work of volunteers to provide a safe space for some very vulnerable animals. 

Coming up at Odiferess this year, I have a stash of posts in planning for your consumption. The first of which will explore the concept of 'wearability' and discuss two scents that are impossible not to love, regardless of your tastes. I look forward my fourth year of getting to know my readers all around the world and I wish you a wonderful 2016 full of love and perfume.

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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?

Review: Enchanted Forest - The Vagabond Prince and Fille En Aiguilles - Serge Lutens. The Scent Of Christmas Trees!

As I entered the supermarket this weekend I halted to marvel at the arrival of this season’s Christmas trees. I lingered over these aromatic wonders who looked a little trapped in their ‘easy carry’ netting, and took a deep inhalation. Not much entered my nose. I then crouched down and pushed my face into the prickly netting and tried again.. much better. I stayed for some considerable time and arose to the curious glances of my fellow shoppers and a security guard.

As a child we often had a ‘real’ Christmas tree. I wonder if it played a role in the development of my obsession with fragrance and the scents of my world? After my dad conducted some clever tinkering with something to prop it up, the tree would stand in the lounge awaiting decoration. The decorations themselves were an annual delight. I remember clearly ancient family baubles, in particular a glass teardrop dangler that shone with the same shade of purple as a Cadbury’s chocolate wrapper. It enchanted me. If you gave it a sharp twist it would spin rapidly and emit beams of otherworldly shards of light. All this magic took place within a great waft of forestry olfaction that to this day still renders me puddled with joy.

If you wish to smell tree in the absence of tree, or indeed year round, you can scent either yourself or your home. My urban flat is often transformed into forest with essentials oils of spruce or pine that I warm in a traditional aromatherapy burner.

    

My favourite oil is the Spruce (Tsuga Canadensis) which smells of authentic Christmas tree. Pine (Pinus Sylvestris) is harsher, with the same ‘back of the throat scrape’ that oud tends to give me.  That said, mixed with patchouli or rosewood, it retains the forestry feel and lends a meditative atmosphere to my home. 

Pinus Sylvestris does not really smell of what we perceive to be the pine made popular with cleaning fluids and in car air fresheners!

Two delightful (but very different) coniferous scents are Enchanted Forest by The Vagabond Prince and Fille En Aiguilles by Serge Lutens.

The first, Enchanted forest, is the result of a collaboration between Elena Knezhevich (founder of Fragrantica) and perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour. It was inevitable that I would relish this scent as it combines two of my favourite notes with equal billing; blackcurrant and fir (in this case - pine needle absolute). There are many notes so I wont write an exhaustive list, but in the top are two extractions of blackcurrant and a bright peppery coriander and carnation combination. It is utterly effervescent, if it were possible to drink this I’d be glugging bottles of it and growing giddy on it’s fizz! In the base is a whole bunch of deep ambery/balsamic notes that thankfully are obliterated by the overwhelmingly beautiful scent of fir tree. If this scent were to only smell of blackcurrant and fir it would be an acrid concoction, tart in the extreme. Although you cannot really detect a distinct and specific base note in the dry down other than the fir, the rich accompanying notes must effect a tenderness and depth that stop this bright perfume from becoming a forest feerie and spiriting away.

Enchanted Forest does exactly what the name suggests – it’s smells of forests and enchants you. It’s very straightforward.

A much more complex composition is Serge Luten’s Fille En Aiguilles. Ranking at number 3 of my (long and unpublished!) list of most beguiling perfumes, this should really deserve a fulsome review in it’s own right. However, in the interest of the Christmas tree theme, I shall keep it brief.

Fille En Aiguilles is as dark and opulent as Enchanted Forest is luminous. It’s forest notes are pine, balsam fir and bay (this herb echoes the aromatic feel of the conifers).  In addition, Fille contains potent spices, sugary dried fruits and incense adding an oriental genre vibe to what would otherwise be simply an outdoorsy aromatic wood. For me it is seasonally confusing.  Whereas most fans associate the smell of Fille with winter woods, cloves pierced oranges, the Catholic church and boxes of sticky dates i.e. the stuff of Christmas, Fille journeys me to summer holidays in the pine forests of the Mediterranean where the blistering heat warms the tree sap to scent the air with aromatic sweetness. As an ‘outdoors type’, this juice elates me, it’s almost spiritual. But that’s just me. For the rest of you, this could be mulled wine drunk under the boughs of your beautiful tree or a hunt through the woods to pick holly for the hearth (if of course you live inside a Victorian Christmas Card).

Other scents of interest:

Ormonde Jayne - Ormonde Woman (a true forest and somewhat witchy scent, to read my review click here)

Parfum D’ Empire – Wazamba (a more biblical version of Fille En Aiguilles, with abundant incense and myrrh)

Pino Silvestre – Original for Men (classic fougere with intense pine)

And for the bath:

Dr Haushcka – Spruce Bath Oil (exactly like bathing in a Christmas tree, emotional rescue)

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Review: Celtic Fire By Union Fragrance - The Scent Of Bonfire Night

As bonfire night approaches my thoughts turn to the smells of Autumn. A peculiar season full of contrasts, autumn provides both a little romance (in the joy of rooting out your warmest woolly jumper or sipping a good malt whiskey by a pub fireside) and a sense of foreboding (as the green leaves turn to mudded sludge in the gutters and the trees transform into skeletal bare branched ghosts).

British landscape painter - Ivon Hitchens portrays Autumn.

It’s no wonder that at this harsh and wind strewn time of year perfume lovers seek ‘cosy’ scents. The perfume houses, aware of this opportunity, market scents with a seasonal theme, for instance cashmere crops up in the title of scents by Donna Karan and Parfumerie Generale, providing a woolly jumper association to seduce us with the suggestion of comfort. As temperatures drop, we turn to notes that imply warmth such as vanilla and spices, redolent of the mulled wine of Christmas markets or a smoky birch tar to conjure up a real log fire.

The smell of bonfire night is superbly recreated in Union Fragrance’s ‘Celtic Fire’. Here’s the PR:

“Celts, bonfires, cold salty sea breeze, these are the strangely associated top notes of this fiercely tribal fragrance, combined with more familiar aromas of British hearth and home: log fires, leather, tea and toast!

To be sure ‘Celtic Fire’ contains some unusual and rather controversial ingredients. Tribal Bog Myrtle, known for firing the Vikings into battle, Peat Tincture, and Marmite™ (Britain’s iconic classic still produced to this day in Burton-on-Trent, Staffordshire), combine to produce this startlingly original fragrance.” 

The predominant note of Celtic Fire is most definitely fire smoke (birch tar). This tricky note appears in a number of perfumes; CB I Hate Perfume’s ‘Burning Leaves’ reeks of sooty chimneys/burning garden detritus and offers not a lot else to accompany it. Chanel’s ‘Sycomore’ is another ‘get your laundry off the line quick before your neighbour’s bonfire taints it’ kind of whiff. Though there is much to be said about the gorgeous symphony of Sycomore’s lush woody notes.

Bonfires smell brilliant. That is, as long as you’re not wearing one. What Union fragrance cleverly managed to do is select a quirky bunch of additional notes to quell the ‘recently on fire’ nuance that drifts around you. They are only just discernible in the opening but evolve beautifully further into it's wear as the birch tar recedes a little. Although sandalwood is not listed, there is a definite soft woodiness that I associate with this beloved note. Thankfully it doesn’t smell of tea, toast and marmite, but it does project a ‘warm butter’ sensation that feels cosy. It reminds me of a bitterer version of the Serge Lutens creation – Jeux De Peau, which is celebrated for it’s spiced patisserie notes. Marmite is surely a curious ingredient. Perhaps that is what Union refer to with the implication of ‘salty sea breeze’, for Marmite is indeed a salty little beast.

Perhaps the greatest thing about Celtic Fire is that it smells of two of my favourite olfactory sensations; single malt whisky and damp earthy woods. As I sat yesterday in Manchester’s finest chilly weather pub - The Briton’s Protection, I sipped at a peaty Laphroaig whisky and smiled at the thought of the Celtic Fire. Those clever folk at Union Fragrance have bottled my winter romance.

Odiferess recommends spending the cold months sozzled on good whisky.

Odiferess takes a holiday, some thoughts on choosing your sunshine perfumes.

When I get overexcited I clap my hands in sea lion fashion. A lot of clapping and maniacal grinning has been occurring during the last few days as I make lists and stuff my rucksack for a trip to the charming island of Paxos in the Ionian Sea.

Sadly this means there’ll be a short break from the perfume waffle.. but fear not as I’ll be making lots of notes for Greek island inspired smelly words on my return. My beloved moleskine journal is packed already.

In the meantime though, my thoughts are cast to the art of choosing perfume for the holiday.  How do you pick one (or 6 obviously)?

Firstly, my blood is akin to crack cocaine for the hungry mosquitoes. No kidding, no matter who I holiday with, I always endure a ravaging by the vile things. As my travel partner sleeps sweetly in a comfortable cocoon of lump free skin, I remain awake, tortured by the high pitched sound of my imminent attack. So my primary concern is choosing something that covers the acrid smell of jungle strength bug repellent.

For evening: I will mask the smell of Jungle Formula with Robert Piguet’s marvellous oriental – Visa. This stuff has the sillage and longevity of an 80s power scent that might put my fellow diners off their souvlaki and stuffed peppers. I’ll be careful though and use a maximum of 2 sprays (honest).

For travelling: Paxos does not have an airport. It’s one of those places where after you’ve survived the dubious pleasure of the flight, queued for baggage and waited in the transfer coach for an hour for a confused couple inebriated on aeroplane plastic wine to find it, you are then deposited at the docks to sit on your rucksack to shield your bum from the 44 degree tarmac, awaiting the Hydrafoil which will give you motion sickness. It’s worth it though. I’ll be taking a big decant from my bottle of Guerlain’s – Eau de Cologne Imperiale to spray over my chest and face every 15 minutes, using it’s copious notes of lime and bergamot to revive myself. No doubt I’ll be fully revived as I sit with a large gin and tonic staring at the milky way in an inky sky later on!

For atmosphere: Paxos is covered in pine trees, one my most frequently desired notes in perfumery. With the August heat, I imagine the island will shimmer with the scent of it’s delightful sap. Just in case it needs a little boosting, I shall pack Serge Lutens – Fille en Aiguilles (clever name, it translates as ‘girl on needles’ which could imply either walking on high heels or on a bed of pine needles). This mega pine bomb has a spicy/fruity/smoky base that turns it from vociferous toilet cleaner into number 3 on my unblogged list of greatest perfumes ever created.

To scent the room: I’ve made some travel candles in mini Tiptree jam jars (pinched from my mum’s house last weekend, she buys lovely breakfast tat when she has guests staying over). I’ve used plentiful quantities of the essential oils of cedar, rosewood and clary sage mixed with a teeny drop of patchouli. They smell magnificent and bring a little sensuality to the blank foil of a basic hotel room.

Because it’s hot: I’ll take an overly subtle ‘skin scent’ to see if my baking skin amps up the projection. Probably, my sample vial of Hermessence Brin de Reglisse. I do so love it but it’s a wimp.

Because he’ll raid mine: I’ll pinch Andy’s glorious Lavender - Caron Pour un Homme when I grow short of my own stash of fume. 

Upon my return, you can look forward to Part 3 of 'The Scent of British Spirit' series, this time featuring two truly independent perfumers. Prepare for some seriously quirky fumes in the English eccentric manner!

L' Erbolario, Meharees - Review

Meharees by L’ Erbolario, the scent of biblical resins

I’ve been longing for a sniff of this uber niche cheapie for some time. Retailing at about 26 Euro, with comparisons to Frederic Malle’s Musc Ravaguer abounding, it’s a contender for best value niche of the year. I got it in lovely circumstances:

As a member of a facebook exchange page, I made contact with Lewis, a guy offering it up for swop. Having realised we both live in Manchester, we met up for our trade. I gifted a decant of Comme De Garcons Vettiveru Cologne in exchange for his Meharees.

With a short space of time before we parted to attend our separate sunny day barbeques (a rarity in the notoriously pissy weathered Manchester), time was tight, but we made the most of an encounter with a fellow fume head. So what’s it like to meet ‘one of us’? In a word - talkative. An hour passed by with rapidity as he explored my beloved collection of niche wonders and marvelled at my sample box, enthusing over rarely encountered oddities. My sample box is a large shoe box lovingly plastered with pictures of 1950s Lanvin and Dior bottles, Serge Lutens looking pixie-esque posing in the woods and some peculiarly political Caron adverts from the Second World War period. It’s filled with collection of hard won samples, begged and boldly squeezed from my local stores and further afield. After a long selection, Lewis left with decants of Caron’s Eau de Reglisse (which intrigued him greatly), Robert Piguet’s Calypso (a superbly dark unisex chypre rose) and Tauer’s Pentachord White (which confuses both of us, love? hate?).

Back to the point – Meharees, what does is smell like?

To my nose: the strongest note is opoponax, although not listed, I believe this imparts the myrrh aspect of it’s ‘myrrh and dates’ description. If you are unfamiliar with this note, resinous opoponax smells of incense, amber and mustiness. It’s extraordinarily beautiful in the same way that old second hand book shops smell when they are overheated by winter radiators, in short, cosy and ancient. Les Nereides released ‘Imperial Opoponax’ of which I have a small decant. This fragrance combines the musty old book shop with a hint of cherry sweetness, again, another wondrous creation.

Alongside this note, an air of dirty musk resides, giving Meharees an animalic feel. This is not the clean whiff of laundry so evident in contemporary musks, but a big old whiff of the unwashed, ultimately rendering it a rather sexy fragrance. For those fearsome of ‘dirty musks’ such as Musc Koublai Khan and Musc Tonkin, you will find L’ Erbolario’s interpretation somewhat easier on the nose, yes, sexy, but not ‘inside out second day knickers’.

A third olfactory sensation comprises of a vaguely dried fruit scent. I feel this is the least obvious of it’s components. Is it the date provided in it’s description? I’m not sure. There is a noticable sweet ‘mulled wine-like’ smell that could be constituted of date, raisin, even a slightly plummy jam. Although the fruit appears, it appears shyly, lurking in the background.

Atmospherically, I can recall the dusty watercolour illustrations of my Children’s Illustrated Bible, vividly depicting the exodus through the desert or the Three Kings bearing fragrant gifts at the Nativity. As an adult I have shed any latent belief in biblical stories or indeed organised religion, however, I find the fragrant link to this childhood memory both beguiling and consoling. Overall, this is a scent of comfort, the warming hug of a lover on a cold night, languorous and appeasing. There is no exuberant stimulation here, it’s a soft edged, muzzy headed, fragrant Valium.

Other fragrances with a similar vibe:

Serge Lutens - Arabie

Chopard – Casmir

Les Nereides – Imperial Opononax

Editions Frederic Malle – Musc Ravageur

The smell of Instagram, fun with my camera.

With a proliferation of superbly written, wordy, fume fuelled blogs already in existence, I chose to create my first post as Odiferess in pictures. So here it is: tonight's little experiment with a homemade lightbox, Instagram and some favourites from my fume wardrobe.