Coming back to L'État Libre d'Orange

When Étienne de Swardt launched L'État Libre d'Orange in 2006, I admit I didn’t spend more than a couple of hours, one afternoon, smelling them in the shop – it’s not on my usual perfume paths, and most of the fragrances, when smelled on strips, initially gave me the impression that they weren’t complete, as though they were drafts rushed into productions or mods rejected by other houses, rather that proper compositions. I’m not so sure after a second, belated session: I now believe that this is a deliberate aesthetic stance, which perfectly matches de Swardt’s marketing strategy.

With its Magritte-inspired, playfully porn drawings in Pop Art colours (somewhat reminiscent of Tom Wesselman), Éld’O visual identity, created by the graphic duo Ich & Kar, has shocked several commentators, particularly in the USA – even though most of the comments were tolerant and ironic, in the line of “boys will be boys”. The names of the fragrances – “Palace Whore”, “Don’t Get Me Wrong, Baby, I Don’t Swallow”, “Delicious Closet Queen” or “Carrion” – also caused a flutter for their apparently gratuitous provocativeness. Sex sells, they said. And that’s probably what Étienne de Swardt told himself: that by pushing the advertising discourse of perfumery, which doesn’t say much else than “wear me, you’ll be irresistible” – to its limits, he’d get a lot of free copy.

I’ve always rather liked the slightly kitsch visuals, which reminds me of the work of certain young French artists like my friend Philippe Mayaux: porn-tinged, but candy-pink rather than the Larry Flynt show-the-pink variety. And the names themselves ultimately translate the subtext of perfumery: if a guy wears virile cologne, isn’t he saying “I am a man” (Je suis un homme)? If he chooses a gender-bending blend, isn’t he hinting at the “Delicious Closet Queen”? What about a woman wearing an expensive perfume, can’t she be fantasizing about being a “Palace Whore” (Putain des Palaces)? And aren’t the regressive tendencies of sweet, gourmand scents aiming at our inner “Divine Child” (Divin’Enfant)?

As for the brand’s self-proclaimed “olfactory libertinage”… Marie-Hélène has already stated in her blog The Scented Salamander that the inclusion of certain notes evoking the body otherwise than through animal substances like musk (or its substitutes), for instance the metallic blood accord or the iodine sperm note, pushes back the boundaries of what is considered tolerable in perfumery. In this business, the aim is usually to please at first sniff. Éld’O’s fragrances aren’t outright shocking, though: even the infamous Sécrétions Magnifiques isn’t quite as horrible as it’s been made out to be. The very sweet S.A. confirmed that not only did it sell, but that it had repeat buyers. And when my friend B., who teaches at a fashion school, blind-tested it on some of her students, none were disgusted (and these kids wear Vera Wang Princess). Most of them thought Sécrétions Magnifiques smelled of flowers. Which only goes to show that preconceptions can trump olfaction. If it’s perfume, it’s supposed to smell of flowers. Of course, Sécrétions Magnifiques smells of anything but flowers. But I can easily imagine a die-hard L’Eau d’Issey fan being drawn to its metallic-iodine accord…

The range does have common points that could define a consistent aesthetics. The frequent inclusion of pepper, incense and certain woody bases give them raspy, nose-tingling, slightly aggressive top notes; the dry, almost scorched leather accords which can be found in at least eight fragrances. But also the way in which these are blended in with sweetish, almost mawkish notes: orange blossom, vanilla, violet, honey, as well as “bubblegum”, “pink marshmallow”, “suntan lotion” and “rice powder” accords…

The prevalence of these often foody, rather artificial notes draws the range towards synthetic, often regressive smells – which is, once more, consistent with the childish, candy pink style of the visuals. Granted, most of the notes listed refer to traditional natural perfume notes, but the general effect is nevertheless unnatural. We’re in the Givaudan labs (who employ the two authors of most of the range, Antoine Lie and Antoine Maisondieu) rather than in the fields of Grasse.

This deliberately claimed artifice, this chic perversion, does lean towards the olfactory libertine, inasmuch as the libertine outlook seeks to push backs the limits of what can be enjoyed, but especially, of what can be thought. Including in matters of perfumery.

Image: Sécrétions Magnifiques by Ich & Kar, courtesy of L'État Libre d'Orange.