Argentine, in French, means
both the country – name after the Rio de la Plata, the “river of silver” – and
“silvery” as in sound or color. The notes of L’Eau Argentine by Iunx touch on both
of these meanings: Argentina, with yerba
mate, which has a bitter/smoky aroma along with strong tobacco-hay facets. And
silvery, with the metallic tinkling of ionones, molecules present in maté, but
also tea, violets and roses, which give off a powdery, iris-like impression in
L’Eau Argentine.
In fact, tilt your nose away
from the faded gelatin silver prints of the pampa – the maté leaves and that
chill open-air sensation of tall dry grass –
or of transatlantic schooners bound for Buenos Aires – the smoky hemp
rope smell – and you’ll brush it against a retro rice-powder swan down puff
(rice straw is listed in the notes). This
velvety-powdery rose-violet-musk accord plays against the bitter,
teeth-gritting tannins of yerba mate, which
gives L’Eau Argentine a fine-grained texture with contrasts of raspiness and
smoothness, and a feeling of dryness.
Olivia Giacobetti’s scents
are elliptical enough to let through other stories than the ones she provides
and though she says L’Eau Argentine is the “fragrance of wise men”, you could
just as well imagine some soigné señorita
twirling from the arms of a sailor to those of a gaucho in a Buenos Aires dance
hall… The silver might as well be a screen.
L’Eau Argentine has recently been re-issued but is solely available at
the boutique of the Hotel Costes in Paris (150 ml for 130€, in case you need to
send someone over…). L’Éther, L’Eau Blanche, L’Eau Baptiste, L’Eau Givrée and
L’Eau de Sento have also been reedited.
Photo: Faces 07 by Sally Mann
L'actu 
Articles
(Sally Mann's work is truly fascinating. I live in the state where she resides and have been lucky enough to see her photographs in local galleries.)
RépondreSupprimerMals86, I find so too. I discovered her (very belatedly) in the photography exhibition curated by Cy Twombly in Avignon last summer, just before he passed away. I find it haunting, tender, intensely aware of the glory and fragility of the flesh. Somehow it suits Giacobetti's sensibility.
RépondreSupprimersounds like my cup of tea with a silver spoon in it. If only I lived in Paris... I can only hope it becomes available online at some point
RépondreSupprimerKostas, I know, isn't it frustrating? For the moment, Iunx refuses to sell anywhere else than the Costes, or even to ship. I can't determine whether it's to maintain the exclusive aura or because its production is teensy-tiny... Along with the Palais-Royal, it's the one place I never fail to show to the out-of-town visitors I've met through the blog.
RépondreSupprimerand Sally Mann is one of the few to convince me that photography is an art form. Always first in my heart but didn't recognize the picture you published as her work.
RépondreSupprimerOh when I visit Paris I'll try to visit as well... if I still remember by then.
RépondreSupprimerAnother photographer featured in Twombly's exhibition was Hiroshi Sugimoto, whose photographs I've used here as well... Both, I agree, are truly artists in the medium.
RépondreSupprimerSo many of the Iunx fragrances sound wonderful. I had a decant of L'Eau Blanche that I loved, and have wanted a FB. Now it may not be the same.
RépondreSupprimerYour comment that the fragrances have been reedited is disturbing. I'm sure it is due to IFRA compliance issues, but so maddening to perfume fans. May we have the original aromachemicals, and simply print a large notice on the box that contact with skin may cause rash, hives or other unpleasant reactions in some individuals? Sigh.
Olivia Giacobetti's fragrances are lovely chiffon veil-like compositions; endlessly, effortlessly elegant. Giacobetti and Ellena are masters of this transparent perfume style.
Wonder if we will ever have perfume books analyzing the art history of perfume and writing about various noses as masters of a certain style of perfume? I'd love a book about perfume that looks at changes in style of perfume, based on the period's values. There are many books that analyze scent, fragrance family, or one perfumer, but are there art history books on perfume? Certainly educate me, if you've found them. Be well.
Anonymous, I write "reedited" because Giacobetti parted ways with Shiseido, which backed Iunx. She's reissuing her collection very slowly. Compliance issues are unavoidable, but it's her company so she's not likely to massacre her formulas: I'd wager she'll only put out the ones that can stay true to form.
RépondreSupprimerAs for your other query: it's surely not impossible to write such a book, but there are two practical hurdles. One, this is an industry that has not preserved much of its archives, or does not give access to them. Two, most publishers would consider this too niche a project to fund it decently. In France, various academic and cultural institutions are apt to provide the means to pursue this type of project in other creative fields. Not so perfume. It doesn't mean it can't be done, and certainly someone like Octavian Coifan has accumulated enough analyses and documents to undertake such an endeavour.
You really opened my eyes to IUNX in Paris, and I'm still dreaming of L'Ether, so surely this one will be a must try on our next visit.
RépondreSupprimerAsali, I'm really looking forward to that!
RépondreSupprimerYour reminder of this rare brand made me visit the Costes/IUNX boutique on Saturday. At a time when everybody anywhere in the world can get anything by hitting a few keys, I loved the fact that I had to carry my body by high speed train to a single shop in Paris just for a smell. Entering the frugal red and black shop I was on top awareness and excitement level, probably as prescribed by this marketing approach. Gentle streams of air carry the fragrances from funnels to your nostrils, two ladies were helpful with explanations. My favorites turned out to be Eau Blanche and L’Ether, but the price asked for two small tiny bottles (20ml) was even more than for one of the large ones (150ml). These tall and slender (31x4 cm) black-capped bottles fit very well to the store, at home they stand out a bit haughty among their fellow members. I settled for the amazing Eau Blanche, which was wrapped in an elegant cylindric black foam case for protection. I had expected the blanching water to come forward with a minimalistic ethereal whiff of hot iron on white linen (of the times before they used Galaxolide). To my surprise my nose fell into a big bed of finest clean linen, all cushions filled with downy feathers and swimming in a seamless sea of voluptuous iris and comfortingly warm, fresh and sweet musks. And the simple harmonious composition was still perfect and strong on the blotter next day – just like La Petite Robe Noire, but that is another story.
RépondreSupprimerJoey, I'm happy to have prodded you into what was obviously a lovely experience! My own bottle of L'Ether, which I've kept in that amazing foam case, looms over other boxes on my chest of drawers... But it's so beautiful I don't care if it looks a bit out of place. Were I rich, all its sisters would line up next to it...
RépondreSupprimer