L'Heure Bleue, as close to heaven as it gets

Jacques Guerlain certainly knew what he was doing when he composed L'Heure Bleue.

In my mind the most beautiful fragrance in the world, it has been described by fans as 'breathtaking', 'haunting' and even 'ghostly'.

The closest thing I've read that comes to capturing this perfume's characteristics in words is written by Octavian Coifan of 1000fragrances, who, in his expert assessment, said:

'The main facets of L'Heure bleue are: orange flower (with methyl anthranilate), violet-orris, spicy, sweet & balsamic (heliotrope), woody (sandalwood) + some characteristic aspect (aromatic, rose, musky). It is a very complex perfume that has almost all the shades of the rainbow, from citrus to animalic.'

I would add that this scent tangos between the adjectives medicinal and spicy, without wandering too far in either direction. The methyl anthranilate may account for the former aspect, while the heliotrope, anise and tarragon could be responsible for the latter.

Never has a perfume wandered so far into candy la-la land without being in the least bit cloying(think Angel and Lolita Lempicka for epitomes of cloying!),nor has a perfume juggled mustiness and spiciness with as much aplomb as L'Heure Bleue.

The derelict attic mustiness(some people cite grandma's top drawer as a metaphor for this) is off-putting to some, but this one detraction is insufficient to outweigh the gourmand aspects of it.

Perhaps the powderiness of this fragrance(attributable to the iris and perhaps carnation) is somehow connected to the it's musty and dusky aspects.

My first encounter with this wonder was through a half-filled but sealed 1 oz bottle I purchased off the Quirkyfinds website.

The contents were a dusky red, almost bloodlike, and a whiff transported me to a centuries ago spice ship travelling in the Mediterranean. Laden with fragrant Moroccan spices and Persian candies, I saw the clear blue firmament above and couldn't help smiling.

It was the closest thing to heaven(or nirvana if you like) I could contemplate!

No other scent I have ever smelt before or since could achieve anything close to such an effect before or since.

In the same month, I chanced upon an almost-full 2 oz bottle for a great price, but only recently managed to pry it open to sample the juice. The familiar candied spiciness of the first bottle was there, but it had the most dubious longevity on my skin, such that I began to suspect dilution. Or at least, replacement of the original extrait with, perhaps, EDT.From this bottle, the C-12 aldehyde was evident, with a sharp opening that could have been emphasised by the bergamot.

Within 15 minutes, the violet-orris accord mentioned by Octavian dances to the fore, but the juice prominently lacks sillage, and becomes a skin scent for the next six hours, after which the vanilla and musk are only faintly discernible.

The eau de toilette,which I only have a smidgen of, smells almost entirely different. It's almost too sharp for my nostrils, with only a cursory curtsy to the extrait in the middle.

I was fortunate enough to acquire a rosebud amphore,half-filled with the blood red vintage juice,possibly from the late 50s or early 60s.The floral and gourmand aspects bloom fully from this precious liquid: neither sweetness or spiciness gain the upper hand, but simultaneously, the mustiness is very pronounced as well!

Like Mitsouko, vintage L'Heure Bleue doesn't shout but encases the wearer in a haze of nostalgia and old world beauty.

The world may have entered its own twilight and eventually consumed itself in the darkness of WWI, but this scent never held such an association to gloom for me.

Instead, it's one of the most hopeful and uplifting perfumes I've ever had the privilege to encounter!

Yet, the overall effect on most people I've gathered from perusing many postings and blogs is the effect Rachmaninov's 2nd Piano Concerto has on me:

The music and the perfume have the ability to morph and evoke one different emotion after another, surprising at every turn and mystifying at every corner.

Some people cry when they inhale L'Heure Bleue; I surmise that it could be because they could be thinking that this is the closest a man-made creation can come to something forged by the hand of God himself.

1 ml vials of vintage L'Heure Bleue extract are available at $15.99 per vial + shipping.E-mail zirdex@yahoo.com.sg to receive a Paypal invoice.

Post-Ed Gein,innocence lost,Cabochard gained

If there was one fragrance that could stun with its uncompromising imperturbility,it's a dark leather chypre named after the French word that roughly translated to 'obstinate pig-headedness'.

The year was 1959. It was less than two years since the horrifying crimes of a nondescript Wisconsin farmer named Ed Gein was laid bare before the world,and the innocent era of Doris Day and post-WWII tranquility was at and end.Perhaps the fashion house of Grès was trying to craft a worthy competitor to the shocking but successful smoky-and-leathery Bandit, but the dark and animalic nature of their choice of the inaugural perfume suited the changing times to a T(or perhaps to a G:).

Cabochard was a big hit.

But the fashion house ended up much like the last Gein victim, though decades later: carved up and disemboweled and eventually meeting an untimely end.


Alix Grès, the embodiment of the creativity of the house, would pass away in 1993, a year before the world would discover about her passing, apparently penniless in a nursing home and very nearly forgotten.


Her most successful fragrance would outlive the house, a testament to its appeal, though only a pale reflection of its former greatness.



Galbanum and bergamot comprise the opening act, with the leather note of isobutyl quinoline rejoinding strongly within the first hour.Vetiver and oakmoss play strong supporting roles, offering the image of a chain-smoking recalcitrant,rebellious woman. The animalic castoreum that emerges suggests that this person would not be averse to passionate lovemaking at the merest facial gesture.

Oh,and by the way, she would be on top.

I don't get much floral revelation from the wood-coloured vintage juice, despite the rumour that thousands of jasmine flowers and hundreds of roses go into a single ounce of it. Instead, it turns rather smoky in the middle,emanating a smell that I imagine a Cuban cigar would share.

A fascinating concoction that, after three weeks of testing and retesting, I am not truly able to decipher, if that's even possible at all.


But the existence of such an olfactory wonder tells me that a house need not have the long history and clout of Guerlain to come up with a fragrance that takes your breath away.

My rather large and rare 3.4 oz of extrait de parfum was bought sealed from a seller Down Under for under $50, a nearly unbelievable stroke of good fortune considering that since I had been eyeing this perfume in August, 2 ounce sealed bottles(with boxes) have gone under the hammer for up to $395.



I was instantly smitten with the flacon,with both the grey velvet bow and the frosted concave disk stopper juxtaposed in a most elegant design.


The dirty unwashed quality of the heart and drydown of Cabochard is very intriguing and magnetic indeed.


It's almost like Mitsouko redone, without the peachy undecalatone and piquant spices, infused with oodles of smoke and leather, with a dash of civet and castoreum thrown into the mix: wilder,more unrefined beauty, but no less elegant, suited to the newer age where it was fashionable for ladies to puff away in public.

Of course, Mitzi and Cabochard are almost totally different perfumes altogether, with the former being subtly sensual, while the latter being almost overtly carnal; perhaps I'm trying to link the two to elevate this Bernard Chant creation to the same status as that of Jacques Guerlain.


Fortunately for me, Cabochard seems to keep better than Mitsouko, despite the older dame's more distinguished pedigree!

Other verdicts of this legend range from 'sex in a bottle' to melancholic; if you're a strongly opinionated chypre fan like I am, then Cabochard may just be the fragrance for you!

1 ml vials of vintage Cabochard extract are available at $13.99 per vial + shipping.E-mail zirdex@yahoo.com.sg to receive a Paypal invoice.

Enigma and grandeur,c'est Mitsouko

I have a confession to make: I wanted to try this levithian of perfumery so badly because it seemed so hard to secure without wincing at the prices the vintage bottles commanded on eBay. Ergo, the apparent rarity of vintage Mitzi was the main draw.



Like many others, I was attracted to the myths and drawn by the lofty bids that this 91-year-old grand dame drew whenever it made an appearance in auctions,such that a growing desire for the unattainable took root deep within.


After seeing a two-thirds full 2 oz sealed bottle go for $222 in August, I decided I was going to try to get the same type of vintage extraits slightly cheaper, if that was even possible.Simultaneously, the attractiveness of the unique heart-shaped stopper flacon,which vaguely resembled an Oriental temple, grew on me as well.


Later that month,I woke up between 5 am and 6 am to stalk an auction of a tiny 1/4 oz bottle of parfum from the '80s, and managed to stave off eight other bidders to secure bottle and box for $56.

When I was more aware of the role of Providence in determining eBay prices, I hunted down another 1/4 oz bottle, sans box, from England for $27.

But I was to get a preview with the purchase of a slender 1 oz bottle of eau de toilette from the same decade: it was a bright effervescent peach at the outset, with great lasting potency to boot.

Soon after, I received the first bottle of parfum and was enraptured with the drier bitterer peach note that was accompanied by a foresty dampness that took me by surprise!

Other than the opening and the heart, the parfum surprised me yet again with a faint drydown that I had to bring my nose in for a landing to detect at all.

Underwhelmed as I was by the drydown, I still felt motivated to hunt down further bottles of the extrait,while learning from Guerlain enthusiast Ulrik Thomsen's website that even different bottles from the same era could differ in character due to the tendency of vetiver and oakmoss to degenerate faster than other ingredients.
Although the two tiny bottles agreed with each other in colour, aroma and longevity, another large bottle had a slightly sour-bitter tang to the greener juice while my last bottle had a deep brown perfume which smelt like something in between the previous two batches.



The latest bottle was delivered by the mailman just after I stumbled upon the most moving classical piece I have heard in years: Schubert's Andante con moto 2nd movement in his brilliant 5th Symphony.



The music seemed to epitomise the character of Mitsouko: a quiet but impressive initial impression that drew you in irrevocably because it seemed to be relating a tale whose words could only be surmised,never known.Delving into minor keys, the symphony seemed to signify darkness, just as Jacques Guerlain's masterpiece seemed to evoke a walk through the interior of an impenetrable jungle.

Yet, the former would resume its benign, reassuring coda as much as the latter would warm on the skin. The captivating oboe and flute duets and counterpoints to the orchestra built on the inherent mystery already threaded into the bare bones by the composer,just as the C-14 aldehyde's soft duet with spices and moss leads me to something inherently inscrutable in Mitsouko:the actual notes in the perfume.


Schubert's composition is rather shy and pensive in comparison with the rest of his 5th Symphony, just as Mitsouko plays her cards(and notes) close to the chest.

Yet another similarity is the specialness and restrained grandeur one feels while listening to this movement,akin to the elegance and dignity of wearing Mitsouko(for me at least).

The nostalgic turn in the music also reflects the nostalgia one may experience when sniffing the fragrance for decades past,when the world was poised between two World Wars that would claim the lives of many.

I'm not sure if I'm stretching my imagination too avidly with this comparison, but the more I think about it, the more serendipitious the juxtaposition of my accidental discovery of this long forgotten piece with the receipt of the latest bottle seems.

The scent has a certain resolute poise that I imagine the heroine in Claude Farrère's novel La Bataille must have maintained while being torn by conflicting loyalties. To me, Mitzi is also the epitome of solitude,for it is unlike almost every other scent, and it's quirkiness sets it apart from all other 'greats' as well as lesser creations.

It is lonely at the top indeed.


That said, I have read too much about how modern post-2006 reformulations have mutilated this beauty beyond recognition. Yet, I understand Guerlain's argument that it was merely one of the many occasions since the almost unimaginably ancient date of 1919 when this aging lady has been reorchestrated in light of availability of ingredients as such. I'm also glad that some hackles raised by followers of Luca Turin have galvanised the venerable house into action to redress the issue somewhat with the attempted restoration.


Returning to my discussion on the vintage versions, some diehard fans claim that the original Mitzi wears you, and not the other way around.

I would instead assert that she wraps around the wearer like a well-worn fur coat, and enraptures with her embrace.

1 ml vials of vintage Mitsouko extract are available at $18.99 per vial + shipping.E-mail zirdex@yahoo.com.sg to receive a Paypal invoice.

Coco, the scent of my Angel

I had no idea what she was wearing.Never did I attempt to describe it, nor enquire about the identity of her fragrance, such had my obsession with all things perfumed faded since my last purchase about five years before I had met her.

Soon, it was to become emblematic of comfort for me: from solitude and the wilderness in general.

Rewind the tape with me if you will.

The year was 1997. The so-called Asian Financial Crisis had wiped me out financially, when I was barely out of University.

Catherine and I met in very casual circumstances two years prior,but somehow we clicked. Soon, I was sharing my passion for the stockmarket with her, and discovered that she too, had a history, albeit forgettable and largely painful in that arena as well.

She tried to matchmake me with her daughter Vivian, who was slightly younger than I(sorry to disappoint those of you who thought I was writing in romantic overtones, but maybe you won't be so disappointed if you keep reading :), but that never got far.


But the relationship continued, and she soon became a mother of sorts to me; one who was even better at it than the one who had physically birthed me. For she truly cared and listened, and did not merely pretend to and then go back to her vanity endeavours.

A year later,there was no one I needed more, as failed joint investments nuked by the cascading waterfall of the Asian financial quake drove my best friends away and I was affected badly enough that I could not even hold down a job without preoccupation with my predicament.

A job in her establishment(which until now, is the best work environment I've ever had the privilege to be involved in) helped me tide over these times, allowing me to pay the rent and stave off hunger. Part of the time, I was even working for the now merged SmithKline Beecham, promoting their products to undergraduates.


Such a mule I was(pig-headed,not slaving), insisting that the markets would recover quickly, that I even convinced her to invest her own dough in the bombed-out markets in 1998. She bought mincingly and sparingly considering her resources(but also her bad experiences past), and there was an informal agreement to divvy up the profits equally, with me doing all the legwork: dredging up old charts of blue-chip stocks from the '80s in the process.

The markets continued to head south after our 'venture' began, but not before we had scooped up some quick easy speculative profits but buy she did, though only what I recommended.

A few months in, even she lost heart and insisted I pick up the stocks of more wobbly companies on my own(I took out virtually all my spare savings from the job to do this).

When my birthday rolled around, she was up to her own predetermined spending limit, and although afraid, I was so convinced that I would be vindicated soon, that I just faced the future calmly, even eagerly. I saw the bargains and never believed they would stay that way forever.

Towards the end of 1998, signs of life appeared. An infamous premier thumbed his nose up at the IMF, while the Government of Hong Kong did a battle royale with hedge funds on the local dollar and the Hang Seng Index, and the markets turned the corner.

In the next few months, I was almost in a dream: sitting back and collecting not-insignificant profits as the stockmarkets rallied strongly.

Cruising past the Greek islands and Turkey, she sent me a postcard at every opportunity she could, and she was informally my foster mother.

She wore her signature scent throughout this 'wild and crazy'(as she put it recently) period of our life together:a somewhat fruity and luxurious smell that I never had the presence of mind to have her reveal to me all this while.

Since then, our relationship has cooled somewhat : to an occasional e-mail now and then.


Fast forward to August 19th, when I received a shipment of estate Chanel bottles bought off eBay. I had been looking for a replacement for the crystal bottle of No.5 that I had broken eons earlier, and was drawn by a bottle that resembled it,but had a black squarish label instead of a white one.

When the lot arrived and I opened the empty bottle to sniff it, the memories of that halcyon period surged up from my subconscious, and I knew it was Catherine's signature scent in less than the time it took to draw a breath.

I read the black label: Coco.

A quick e-mail to & fro got an affirmative answer.

The warmest and least aloof of the longest serving Chanels I know, Coco eau de parfum is fresh fruitiness to me, predominantly orange, but also with a hint of peach. I don't detect the aldehydes much at the top, nor the rose and cinnamon or spices at the heart.

Sandalwood and amber? Maybe a hint, but I don't know what the latter truly smells like. And civet is the LAST thing I would guess is present in the formula for it!

Be that as it may, Coco is simply joy in a bottle, uplifting freshness that can haul your soul out of the gloom, a metaphor for how my 'God' mother coaxed me out of the depths of depression, and hauled me to my feet again.

Unusually, this creation of Jacques Polge from 1984 manages to temper this warmth with restraint, elegance and refinement, embodiments of the attributes that Catherine stood for, with her booming laughter and her endearing reactions to being teased by me.

A towering symbol of the towering status of Mademoiselle Gabrielle Coco Chanel, but also of the virtuous Catherine.



1 ml vials of vintage Coco eau de parfum are available at $8.99 per vial + shipping.E-mail zirdex@yahoo.com.sg to receive a Paypal invoice.

My love affair with Poison

Where do I begin to tell the story
Of how great a love can be...


This opening from 'Love Story', one of the ubiquitious songs from my teenage years in the 80s, engraved itself in my consciousness when a dear aunt gifted a piano song book to me sometime early in that decade, and I was busy lurching from lesson to lesson, to piano examination, and back to lessons again the following year. This song(and Für Elise) was one of the songs that I really enjoyed playing and listening to, not the countless forgettable primer tunes and ABRSM set pieces that I was compelled to practice day in and day out.

And it is only right that I begin this brand new blog with the inception of my love affair with perfume.

The magazine advertisement above(together with one which features a close up of a model gazing rightwards and holding empty Poison flacons by their nobbly glass stoppers between her fingers) captivated me with its promise of mystery and the allure of the seemingly forbidden in a single mesmerising purple bottle.





My family made a twice-yearly sojourn to the country capital for family get-togethers, an almost obligatory visit to McDonald's(they had yet to open an outlet in my small town) and pilgrimages to the two or so department stores that existed back then(there are now over 20).

On one of these visits, I decided to spend whatever I had on a 50ml bottle of Esprit de Parfum that came in a green octagonal box that looked impossibly plush and luxurious in the interior, where the shiny ball-like bottle nestled, its stopper throwing off light as though it was the most precious piece of quartz.

(Kids like me were very impressionable, even by glass)

When I had brought the precious perfume back home, I laid it gently into a hallowed corner of the 2nd drawer on the right side of my wooden desk. Every day,after school, I would slide this drawer open gingerly, take the box out of its hiding place, open it, unstrap the two gold cords that held the flacon in place, and open it(all in slow motion) to enjoy the genie of aroma that wafted from inside. Never once did I remember putting a drop on my skin for fear of wasting it, so precious was that treasure to me!

Occasionally, when my mother was all dressed to the nines for a formal dinner, she would ask to use my bottle and I would sparingly(and reluctantly) dab her on the neck and wrists, careful not to let her perform this herself for fear of losing too much of this magical elixir.

Just as well: it was reputed to be one of the most bombastic scents of all time!


Gradually, it was too potent even for her, and the requests to use Poison became more infrequent, and this coincided with a dimming enthusiasm for daily visits to my drawer of secret pleasure, which became weekly visits over the years,until finally the bottle just sat there.

In 1988, I was sent to study in a neighbouring country, and I can't remember whether I gifted this bottle to my mother shortly after, or she annexed it for herself.

All I know is that two years later, it was no longer to be found in my room, and after sneaking into her dresser drawer and seeing it there, I bought another smaller bottle for myself, sometime in 1990.

Soon, this too would disappear into her possession.

Thankfully.


For my old desk was soon given away,and the contents most probably emptied into a bin(without any consultation or consent sought - that is how infuriatingly unilateral my parents are).

In August 2010, when I made it known that I was buying perfumes online, she returned me the 3 bottles she had taken from me over the years, together with others that my brother bought for the two of them, but which were largely unused.

One of them was the latter bottle of Poison, hardly used, it's green,streaky black box slightly tattered from age and less-than-careful storage.

We were reunited again after 20 years : my first fragrance love and I!

A whiff from this purple gem brought memories of the eighties flooding back to me on a flying satin carpet of plummy tuberose, rose and other dense flowers: these are the notes among the many listed by reviewers that were nostalgic to me. Since then, I've learnt that there is also jasmine,opoponax and a whole host of other ingredients, some pleasant while others were toxic(like phtalates and nitromusks).

I accidentally spilt a moderate drop on my white shirt and when I removed it to my clothes rack, the room filled up with the heady smell(which I soon learnt was associated with old ladies by some)

The smell kept the mosquitoes away that night!(Perhaps on account of the incense)

The spot on my white shirt was green and pungent for 2 days, and after it had been laundered, stayed a pale green and could be sniffed up close for a couple more days.

Ah, good 'ol Poison!(And the flankers that it spawned...)




1 ml vials of vintage Poison esprit de parfum are available at $10.99 per vial + shipping.E-mail zirdex@yahoo.com.sg to receive a Paypal invoice.

Yes, yet another fragrance blog...

...which a reawakened devotee with too much time on his hands has decided to initiate.

This blog, my 4th spawned since discovering the joys of blogging, is an ambitious endeavour to be the first from a country known more for sandy beaches and sodomy allegations in the halls of power, than for fragrance.

The venerable house of Guerlain,slated to celebrate its 200th anniversary within most of our lifetimes,does not even deign to set foot here, and the testers at Dior counters take years to become drained by even half.

The blogger aspires to explore and learn about the intricacies of fragrance conception and composition and share whatever is learnt, whether from other venerable denizens and their blogs, or from influential giants in the field,on whose very words the industry monoliths' newest releases rise or fall.

Scent is, after all, the stimulant of two of our five senses: smell and taste; without a functioning nose, your tastebuds can't detect the flavour of what you eat.
And it goes without saying that one enjoys beholding a beautiful flacon, and for some, this is almost as important as enjoying the fragrance, which(if it isn't Angel)is evanescent and fades into nothingness after a day or so. Add to that the habit of some(like me) of fondling their beloved bottles from time to time, and that makes it three out of five senses pandered to!(Three-and-a-half if you count the dependence of taste on smell...but please don't drink your perfume!)

Actually, FOUR if you subscribe to Luca Turin's comparison of perfume to a itinerant orchestra.


I have rekindled my long-suppressed love affair with fragrances that started with '80s classics like Giorgio, Poison and Coco Chanel, just in time to take advantage of a favourable foreign exchange rate to snap up vintage fragrances on the new millenium wonder-marketplace called eBay, and will therefore share enthusiastically on these finds, as well as how legends like Mitsouko and No.5 outlast(or are worn down by) the ravages of time.

Having spent a sum that I'm only vaguely cognizant of, and constantly procrastinating the actual calculation of(which I know I really should,but fear that my jaw may not reattach after dropping when the truth is crystallised), this blog is also a homage to my collection: a gathering of quaint objects that I'm extremely proud of...still....Thank goodness!

Marvelling at the poetic prose of bloggers at Now Smell This, 1000 fragrances,The Non-Blonde and many others, I set off in this daunting adventure, where the opening of a bottle is like the unravelling of a tale untold:

Perhaps an unfinished bottle of Shalimar was a gift of a once-loving husband to his once lovely wife,whose marriage has been long ended by divorce, untimely separation or death.

Could it be that a still-sealed flacon of Miss Dior was once in the vast collection of a victim of infamous swindler Bernie Madoff?



I can only surmise at the circumstances that led Fate to deposit these lovely pieces of art into my expectant hands. Some of these circumstances were also mine: losing a job, finding my way out of the darkness and finally making good.

Perhaps other fragrance fanatics out there(I'm looking at you!) will find that my sharing casts another heretofore unknown ray of light on the mystery that is your vintage fragrance!


And yes, this blog will almost predominantly focus on scents with a rich tradition, as I am instinctively turned off by the parlously imitative and forgettable scents that are peddled to gullible and star-struck customers these days.

As for the proliferation of fragrance-related blogs, my personal take is that there can never be enough, because so many scents are unattainable to the majority of us, and those fortunate enough to encounter and own these should be generous enough to share their opinions of it, if not slivers of the juice itself!

With that introduction,I hope you enjoy the stay, comment where you can contribute valuable insight, and please never be without your scent fix of the day!(or of the hour)