Galop d'Hermès: the Amazon gets cleavage

In France, Hermès is more than a luxury brand: it’s practically national heritage. As a result, so much is riding on Christine Nagel’s first major launch as its new in-house perfumer that it’s very difficult to assess Galop d’Hermès for what it is, a scent, rather than a palimpsest of past influences, current competitors and future aesthetic stances. 

For instance, branding Galop as a “floral animal”, a tribute to the “animal within each of us”, and picking leather as one of its two main notes, are both gutsy moves and reassuring messages (no fruitchoulis or ouds in this house, young lady, thank you very much). They may also be sly pre-emptive strikes at a direct competitor whose maiden collection comprises two leather-driven scents.

As an olfactory form, Galop d’Hermès moves from a limpid overture to liqueur-smooth richness. Straight out the gate it’s tempting to see a segue from Ellena’s trademark grapefruit in the sulfurous cassis bud that dominate the top notes. But the plush powdery rose that blooms almost immediately seems to channel the hug-me, powdery-musky jamminess of 90s classics – Nagel worked on a confidential Mille et une roses for Lancôme that riffed off the genre. In Galop d’Hermès, it melds with leather to yield a velvety, petal-and-peach-skin texture.

Is it brand-induced synesthesia? Though the ad’s color scheme runs to sand, greige and ivory, Galop conjures the house’s signature red and orange. Discreetly playful though perhaps not quite as kinetic as the name implies, the scent is elegant, bold in an old-money sort of way (leather has never been a popular note), eminently grown-up but simple enough in its cut to feel contemporary.

Considering its price point (to be fair, the gorgeous stirrup-shaped bottle is refillable) and concentration (extrait), Galop d’Hermès may not yet be the house’s bid for a feminine pendant to its masculine blockbuster Terre d’Hermès. But it offers a house that’s enjoyed, since the nomination of Jean-Claude Ellena, the extravagant luxury of an olfactory style, a dimension somewhat neglected since 24 Faubourg: cleavage.

Ilustrations: Choreography by Angelin Preljocaj for the launch of Galop d'Hermès, my photo, and packshot of the bottle, courtesy Hermès.

Orchid Soleil de Tom Ford: Gardénia Copaya

Le dossier de presse de Tom Ford a beau aligner des notes de fantaisie telles que l’orchidée noire, le lys rouge et la crème de marron (également revendiquée dans le nouveau This is Her ! de Zadig & Voltaire : serait-ce la prochaine praline ?), son Orchid Soleil, lancé cet été en franglais dans le texte, ne sent ni le noir, ni le rouge, ni même le marron. L’effet, nettement plus réjouissant, est celui du regretté Velvet Gardenia – l’interprétation la plus décadente de la fleur, y’a pas photoshop --, arrosé de Bronze Goddess d’Estée Lauder, si l’on avait trempé ses pétales dans une crème de Copaya. Les facettes vertes et champignonneuses du gardénia, exacerbées dans l’interprétation fordienne de la fleur, confèrent à cette mutante une naturalité presque perverse dans le contexte. Elles tiennent également la gourmandise en respect : de quoi faire passer tentation de lécher une peau empreinte d’Orchid Soleil, de peur de recevoir un baiser vénéneux. Bluffant pour du mainstream, mais peut-être assez proche des codes coconut du solaire américain pour s’infiltrer en loucedé dans les salles de bain des Desperate Housewives. Délicieusement pervers.

Illustration: Détail de la couverture de l'album Stranded de Roxy Music

Tom Ford Orchid Soleil: Poison gardenia

Though Tom Ford’s press material aligns fantasy notes such as black orchid, red lily and crème de marron, this summer’s Frenglish-named Orchid Soleil (clearly, “Sun Orchid” lacked that certain je-ne-sais-quoi) smells neither black, nor red, nor marron glacé. Rather delightfully, it’s as though his late, regretted Velvet Gardenia --easily the most decadent interpretation of the flower -- had been watered with Estée Lauder’s Bronze Goddess, the petals dipped in white chocolate filled with coconut cream. The distinctive green-mushroomy facets of Ford’s take on gardenia lend an intriguing naturality – almost perverse in the context – to this tropical-hothouse mutant. It also keeps the gourmandise in check, so that you’d stop short of licking an Orchid Soleil-sprayed skin, for fear of getting the kiss of death from a venomous flower. It’s a gutsy move for a mainstream product, but might come close enough to the coconutty codes of American sun products to infiltrate bathroom shelves. This is Tom Ford in top, over-the-top form. 

Illustration: Deborah Harry photographed by Chris Stein