Bois d'Iris by Van Cleef & Arpels Collection Extraordinaire: Oceanic Iris

I’m a bit late to the party in reviewing Van Cleef & Arpels’ “Collection Extraordinaire” – Octavian at 1000fragrances and Patty at the Perfume Posse have been doing a thorough job of it, and Robin at Now Smell This has expressed her appreciation of Bois d’Iris by walking her talk, and buying a bottle on the spot at retail price, which is saying something.

Nevertheless, I feel I need to add to the concert of praise, if only because sniffing this out of the bottle made me blurt out “It’s so beautiful”, something that only happens a few times a year… Actually, there’s only one thing I’d hold against Bois d’Iris: the name. Which is already taken by The Different Company. I can’t quite figure out how that happened. I can’t imagine Jean-Claude Ellena is too pleased about it.

In sampling Bois d’Iris, I was reminded of three other scents, not because they have similar smells but because they have allowed me to approach iris from a different angle. The two first, Guerlain Attrape-Coeur and Parfumerie Générale Felanilla because both, like Bois d’Iris, play on the cold-warm contrast of iris matched with an amber-vanilla base that simultaneously mellows out the chilliness of the iris and gives a backbone to the smoothness of balsamic notes. The third, Parfums DelRae Mythique, because Bois d’Iris also plays on a very tactile dimension of scent. But while the first is as velvety as the thinnest suede glove, the second has the pearly grey silkiness of driftwood, an effect that must have been deliberately sought out by its author, Emilie Coppermann, since it’s mentioned in the press release.

There’s nothing rooty or earthy about the iris in Bois d’Iris: as its name indicates, the woodier aspects of the note are brought out alongside the metallic-candied violet facet. The seaside evocation of driftwood is compounded by a skilful re-creation of the saline-mossy-suave ambergris note (possibly a trend, since an ambergris accord is also prominent in Prada L'Eau Ambrée).

As the scent develops, the woodiness of iris slides into the green, smoky scent of vetiver; in turn, this smokiness mingles with wisps of cold, mineral incense. These austere, ethereal notes cling to an enticing base of milky amber and sweet, almost burnt vanilla, shot through with cinnamon-y, resinous flashes of myrrh. So this is what iris smells like when it falls in love with skin. Your skin.

Image: Nude On Sand by Edward Weston (1936)

Bois d'Iris de la Collection Extraordinaire de Van Cleef & Arpels: Iris Océanique

Si Gardénia Pétale de la “Collection Extraordinaire” de Van Cleef & Arpels m’a immédiatement séduite, je dois avouer qu’à la première bouffée de Bois d’Iris, je me suis aussitôt écriée « Qu’est-ce que c’est beau », ce qui ne m’arrive pas si souvent dans l’année… En fait, je n’ai qu’une chose à reprocher à ce parfum, c’est son nom, qui aux dernières nouvelles, est toujours celui d’une création de Jean-Claude Ellena pour The Different Company. L’intéressé ne doit pas être enchanté.

Bois d’Iris m’a rappelé trois autres parfums que j’aime beaucoup, non pas parce qu’ils ont la même odeur, mais parce qu’ils ont tous trois éclairé l’iris de façon inhabituelle. Les deux premiers, Attrape-cœur de Guerlain et Felanilla de Parfumerie Générale, parce que tous, comme Bois d’Iris, jouent sur le contraste chaud-froid en juxtaposant l’ambre et l’iris, ce qui a pour effet d’attendrir le côté trop hautain de l’iris tout en donnant une charpente au fondant des notes baumées. Le troisième, Mythique des Parfums DelRae, parce que comme Bois d’Iris, il développe une dimension intensément tactile. Mais alors que le premier a le velouté d’un gant en daim très fin, le second a le satiné gris perle du bois flotté, un effet sans doute délibérément recherché par l’auteur, Émilie Coppermann – en tous cas, souligné par le dossier de presse.

L’iris de Bois d’Iris n’a aucun relent de terre ou de carotte : comme son nom l’indique, ce sont les aspects boisés de la note qui ressortent, avec la facette métallique-violette. L’évocation marine du bois flotté est renforcée par celle de l’ambre gris, avec ses relents un peu amers de sel et de mousse (il s’agit peut-être d’un début de tendance, puisque l’accord d’ambre gris figure également dans L’Eau Ambrée de Prada).

Le boisé de l’iris s’amarre, au fur et à mesure du développement, à l’odeur boisée-fumée du vétiver ; cette odeur fumée aux facettes froides et minérales se mêle à celle de l’encens. Un fond d’ambre laiteux et de vanille sucrée, presque caramélisée, traversée des lueurs résineuses-fruitées de la myrrhe, réchauffe ces notes un peu austères. Alors voilà ce que sent l’iris, lorsqu’il tombe amoureux de la peau. Votre peau.

Image: Nude Oceana (1936) d'Edward Weston

Prada L'Eau Ambrée: Stealth Scent

After the first, sharp whiff of mandarin and citron (a relative of lemon), L’Eau Ambrée feels like an olfactory version of the emperor’s new clothes: have you really just sprayed this on?

The scent is so faint at times it seems to have seeped through a wormhole from a parallel universe where Miuccia Prada lords over swarms of chignoned size-zeros with triple-digit IQs in the galaxy of the Dour Fashion Dowagers.

But then a whiff of warm wood or creamy gardenia catches you unawares, and you do a double-take to see who’s walked by. It’s you, wrapped in a suave smell tinged with herbal bitterness and moss… L’Eau Ambrée’s namesake amber has shed every particle of the original Eau de Parfum’s back-from-Marrakech headiness: it is, rather, a delicate rendition of the earthy/powdery/saline smell of natural ambergris.

If Patrick Süsskind’s Jean-Baptiste Grenouille – the man born without a personal odour – had to mix himself a scent to blend into a crowd of smart, fashion-conscious power players, he’d probably come up with Daniela Andrier's L’Eau Ambrée. It’s the ultimate stealth scent: the kind even you might forget you’re wearing. As though you exuded it naturally. Oddly compelling. But it begs to be tried on its own – spray any area of skin with another scent and as soon as it perceives an alien molecule, it’ll depart in a huff. It'll be your fault.

For a more detailed analysis, click here to read 1000fragrances.

Image: Prada Ad and Bus Stop Reflection, from JohnnyB4's Flickr photostream.

L'Eau Ambrée de Prada : Parfum Furtif

Après la morsure acide de cédrat et de mandarine, L’Eau Ambrée fait l’impression d’être l’interprétation olfactive du conte d’Andersen « Les habits neufs de l’empereur » : venez-vous vraiment de vaporiser quatre bons pschitts du testeur ?

La senteur est parfois si ténue qu’elle semble s’être insinuée par un portail ouvrant sur un univers parallèle où Miuccia Prada régnerait sur des essaims de tailles 32 enchignonnées dotées d’un QI à trois chiffres.

Mais c’est alors qu’une bouffée de bois chaud ou de gardénia crémeux vous prend par surprise : vous vous retournez pour voir qui a laissé ce sillage. C’est vous, enrobée d’une brume suave teintée d’herbes amères et de mousse. Dans L’Eau Ambrée, l’ambre du premier Prada s’est dépouillé de sa lourdeur retour-de-Marrakech jusqu’à la dernière particule, pour évoquer les facettes terreuses/poudrées salines de l’ambre gris.

Si le Jean-Baptiste Grenouille de Patrick Süsskind – l’homme né sans odeur personnelle – devait se concocter un mélange lui permettant de s’intégrer discrètement dans une foule de modeuses intellos, c’est sans doute à L’Eau Ambrée composée par Daniela Andrier qu’il parviendrait. C’est le parfum furtif par excellence : celui qu’on oublie qu’on porte. Comme si on l’exhalait naturellement. Curieusement séduisant, mais attention : le jour où vous le testerez, n’essayez rien d’autre. Au contact de la moindre molécule d’un concurrent, et L’Eau Ambrée, offusquée, s’enfermera dans un mutisme obstiné. Vous l'aurez bien mérité.

Image: Musidora, affiche de René Gruau.

Van Cleef & Arpels' Collection Extraordinaire, Starting with Gardénia Pétale

Kudos to whoever art-directed Van Cleef and Arpels’ new Collection Extraordinaire. The whole concept is pitch-perfect: graceful, effortlessly elegant florals, plus a cologne, that tie in naturally with the Paris jeweler’s whimsical garden-themed collections. And while the “soliflore” road may be one well travelled by perfume connoisseurs – it’s an “exclusives” line trope to focus on a specific material or note – the Collection Extraordinaire has been exceedingly well received by the major (and potentially jaded) bloggers.*

Nothing groundbreaking (just as there’s nothing avant-garde about VC & A’s precious baubles), just impeccable quality for beautiful, perfectly balanced renditions of classic themes that somehow refresh their vocabulary: none feels trite or déjà-vu. The VC &A perfume demonstrator at the Galeries Lafayette, who was discovering the samples the day I popped in, remarked that the move to give these straight-up floral names was a smart one: “People like to recognize what they smell”. And it may be this lack of pretention, of ostentatious perfumer’s prowess, that makes the Collection Extraordinaire feel so fresh, so essentially likeable in its loveliness: it feels like a deliberate aesthetic choice. In other words: art direction (the six perfumers come from two labs, Givaudan and Symrise, so this is quite likely a third party’s vision). I’m also wondering whether the choice of themes – apart from the iris and the cologne – deliberately focused on flowers whose essence can’t be extracted. Lily, lily-of-the-valley, orchid, gardenia: all of these are necessarily perfumer’s interpretations –materials deftly assembled like precious stones in a weightless gold setting. Again, there is an obvious consistency between the collection and its mother house.

I’ve been wearing Nathalie Feisthauer’s Gardénia Pétale for a week now on various occasions – at work, at a church wedding, for champagne at the Plaza with Monsieur – and no scent I’ve ever worn has gathered so many spontaneous compliments, possibly because there is something about it that’s familiar enough to be identified as the smell of a gorgeous flower, but also because of its sheer volume.

While it sits on skin as lightly as silk and I may forget at times I’m wearing it, the scent clearly develops a huge, delicate sillage – Patty from the Perfume Posse called it a “wafter”, as opposed to a “sillage monster”. It’s immensely more wearable than my other gardenia, Tom Ford’s decadent, genetically-modified, silicone-enhanced man-eater; there isn’t a hint of the femme fatale hiding behind the bush. But though it is a botanically correct gardenia all the way from the green, dewy freshness of the bud to the faint hint of mushroom the blossom throws as it fades, Gardénia Pétale is also a hybrid. The light, green, slightly spicy part of the smell of lily has been grafted onto those creamy petals; the lily ties into its sister tropical flowers (frangipani, ylang-ylang) and vanilla through their solar, salicylic notes, which act as a setting to the starring gardenia. In his review, Octavian of 1000fragrances likens Gardénia Pétale to “the richness of Songes (Goutal)... hiding behind Un Matin d'Orage (Goutal)”. But the scent has neither the jarring ozonic-electric opening of the latter nor the lushly erotic abandon of the former. With its discretely assertive sillage, Gardénia Pétale has the confident sensuousness of a woman who never has to raise her voice to be heard. You just, somehow, find yourself trailing in her wake.

I’ll be reviewing more of the Collection Extraordinaire over next week.

Click here for reviews on 1000fragrances, here for Now Smell This and here for The Perfume Posse.

Image: Dorothy Jordan by George Hurell (1930).