I must apologise to Cartier, since I truly love Eau de Cartier and its flanker Essence D’Orange, but I have been disappointed lately in other Cartier scents. As you may know, I recently reviewed the fist-eatingly expensive Baiser du Dragon and found it overpriced and rather an anti climax. I then tried Delices de Cartier., and found it had no staying power on me and left me smelling like pencil shavings. Determined to love the brand, I soldiered on and tried Baiser Volé. Oh dear.
Baiser Volé left me underwhelmed. It’s not bad by any means, but its glossy packaging and posh Zippo style bottle out-glams the content within. Its top notes, middle notes and basenotes are Lily and Green notes.
It doesn’t change at all and it lasts around four hours. Sadly, as much as I love Lilies and Green notes, this left me very strongly in mind of Neutradol room deodorisers. You know, those white pots that you leave in a corner until your home smells of Baiser Volé?
At least four Fragrantica members agree that this smells very similar to Yardley Peony, which is only £9.99 for 50ml. Just saying…
So big and mighty and famous is Joy that I feel almost unqualified to review it. However, as you may know by now, IScentYouADay is all about my response to a scent, and therefore, like the Gallery Visitor swooning at their first Titian, I am merely reporting as a member of Josephine Public. Although slightly more scent obsessive, it must be said.
Joy was created in the middle of the Great Depression and was the most expensive perfume in the world. Jean Patou was quite unapologetic about this fact. You can imagine how it must have gone down in PR terms during post war austerity. That being said, he had the talent to back up his chutzpah.
Joy was indeed costly, not just financially, but environmentally. One bottle of Joy would use up 336 Roses and 10,600 jasmine flowers. As you can imagine, IFRA have since changed all that. Lucky old moi, I have in my hands a vintage EDP sample (thank you LW yet again). On smelling Joy, it’s easy to remember that it was created for a woman in the 1930s since this is not a modern smell, and yet, at the same time, it is a timeless classic.
First impressions count. I had a burst of Aldehyde, the blatancy of which I hadn’t smelled since Elizabeth Arden Blue Grass. It’s Aldehydes loudly before Peaches and Jasmine barge in. A little Tuberose makes things creamy, and I could have sworn some Lemon was in there, but it seems I am wrong. As the sharpness dies down, the Roses begin to dominate, but with subtlety. They are so perfectly blended with the other ingredients that you couldn’t quite call this a Rose perfume. Or a straight forward floral. Civet is listed, though I found no trace, and the base notes settle down into something that I prefer far and away above the opening notes.
Jasmine is loud, Roses are strong to the point of medicinal, and sandalwood makes it cosy. A little musk softens all edges into a baby soft floral with the now milder Aldehydes in the background to give it a prickle. It’s easy to see why this has stood the test of time whilst others have fallen. I found Joy hard to break down into pieces and notes. What Henri Almeras has created is a mood, or a tone. Unabashedly feminine, perfume makers could learn a lot at the knee of Madame Joy. It’s complicated and changeable, but the end result and the final basenotes are simple.
I like Joy, and so do millions of others, making this the second best selling perfume of all time after the ubiquitous Chanel no 5. (which I suppose I’ll have to get round to reviewing at some point. Reluctantly). Incidentally, I have discovered that I love to say “Jean Patou” aloud. It almost sounds like an exclamation: “Jean Patou! That was delicious” or “Jean Patou, look at the rain!” Jean Patou! That’s some good perfume.
Created by Andy Tauer in homage to his favourite flower Lily of the Valley, (allegedly one of the reasons why he became a perfumer), Carillon Pour Un Angeimmediately took me back to my past.
I couldn’t figure it out, although as the day wore on, the penny dropped. It never ceases to amaze me how perfume can take me back to a day or a moment in my past that I had thought I had forgotten. It’s like a time machine.
As I smelt the divine muguets in Carillon Pour Un Ange, I was taken back to a sunny day in my late grandmother’s garden. We were very close and I treasure every moment I had with her. Around the base of her rose garden was a carpet of Lily of The Valley. I asked her what it was and she told me, and invited me to pick some to smell. The result was heavenly and heady. All the best smells can be found in nature and I had almost forgotten that warm day when we were just standing around in her garden on our own.
Lily of the Valley doesn’t just grow for anyone. It is said that it is either very hard to grow or very easy, if you have the magic touch. There is no middle ground. This pretty sprig of white buds against its green background always says Spring to me, and it never fails to stop me in my tracks. As Andy himself says of Carillon Pour Un Ange “it is a green choir of flowers”
The burst of flora in the initial notes is clean and pure and natural. It does not smell synthetic. The Lilacs come through too, and the overall impression is of a dewy moistness. This is almost thirst quenching. The Rose is present too, but does not dominate in the Turkish Delight sort of way that it so often does. This almost borderline spicy Lily of The Valley scent is addictive.
But it doesn’t stop there. Just a moment ago I was looking around the room for a Vetiver or Oud type smell until I realised it was on my arm. And it was not Vetiver or Oud, but Ambergris and Wood. The Lily of The valley is still there though, and despite the more masculine base notes, the scent retains it delicacy and fragility. I tell you, it’s seriously clever.
Although Tauer scents are regarded as niche, and thus price tags are not in the everyday category, I cannot help but think that a Tauer is excellent value. Like the gorgeous L’Air Du Desert Marocain, lasting power is nearly twelve hours. A lot of far cheaper fragrances have nothing like this sort of longevity. He also sells sample sets, which are perfect if you cannot buy in person but don’t want to buy blind.
Whilst I am a fierce advocate of not smashing your piggy bank to smell good, I would also say that if you were going to invest in a full bottle of anything, an Andy Tauer scent would outlast all contenders.
My grandmother has not been with us these last ten years, but were she here today she would have adored this. And I would have got it for her.
There have been almost three consecutive warm days here in Britain. Can we call it Summer yet? Granted Day Three was followed by freezing rain and wind, but trust me, three days still count.
When the weather is warm, it calls for a change in perfume as much as it calls for a change of clothes. Wearing Gourmands in the hot sun just makes me feel sticky. Even Orientals must be super Lite. Personally, I think you can’t beat a good citrus or a shot of Bergamot when the temperature rises.
What gives Ô de Lancôme the edge is that it is so unashamedly refreshing, that it almost crackles and sparkles on your skin when you apply it. It’s like ice cold lemonade, you can almost feel the tiny bubbles pop.
Top notes are , unsurprisingly Lemon and Bergamot with a crisp fresh hint of Orange, and a slight whisper of Honeysuckle. It’s the Lemon that dominates though.
Ô de Lancôme could almost be regarded as a spritz or cologne, so sharp and refreshing does it feel. However, it is worth taking this 1969 creation seriously. Oakmoss has been added (not real Oakmoss, thanks to IFRA, but it will do), along with Sandalwood and Vetiver. So what starts with high octane Lemons, slicing through a sultry heat, beds down into something more earthy and raw, but no less refreshing. In fact, it’s the perfect scent for a late afternoon. By evening, things will get a lot more interesting. Longevity is good. I could smell this in my wrist six hours after spraying it, albeit the Earthy, Woody base, but it was still there, doing its job.
Avon has a bad habit of launching a fragrance, ensuring it’s of acceptably good quality (it’s never going to be mind blowing), waiting until everyone loves it, and then discontinuing it, leaving all future profits to eBayers.
Avon in Bloom by Reese Witherspoon begins as a decent White Floral that starts promisingly with Gardenia, Peaches (thankfully not the whole tree like some I could mention *cough* Liz Taylor Rubies and Diamonds *cough), and Jasmine.
The bottle is a blatant steal from Guerlain’s My Insolence, but that’s no crime. Unoriginal, but not bad. I was amazed to find that no Tuberose notes are listed, but I often find that Tuberose and Gardenia are so often together that sometimes I get them mixed up. In the same way, I often smell Violets alongside Iris, even when they’re not there.
Sadly, the basenotes let this down. It reminded me of so many other Avon perfumes and I think this is a stumbling block for me. It’s as if Avon use the same base ingredients and just add a few different high notes to differentiate. It’s similar to the same way that Heinz soup, although good, always tastes like Heinz soup, no matter what flavour you’re having.
The basenotes remind me of a perfume I reviewed earlier in my blog, Avon Today. Again, it started off well with Freesia and Tropical notes, and ended up smelling exactly the same as this. It’s a cross between Poundland Vanilla candles and pencil shavings. It’s a disappointment frankly, like a beautiful necklace that all the stones fall out of after twenty minutes of looking lovely.
The bottle is beautiful though, and if I take my glasses off and squint across the room, I can almost dream that’s a great big bottle of My Insolence. If only it was.
Ding Dong! Reasonably priced beauty products, fragrance and miscellany calling!
Yes trusty old Avon is still at it and going strong. The Avon modus operandi is almost Draconian in this Digital Age. A brochure is brought to your door, a form is filled in by hand with a pen, and given to a representative that comes back two or three weeks later with your goods. When High Streets are falling like dominoes, it’s almost miraculous that the Avon lady still stands, with a smile.
Of course the Digital Age hasn’t completely bypassed our trusty friends at Avon. There’s a website where you can order items and leave reviews, and many people text or email their Avon reps now, although that does not exempt them from the long wait for their goods. In fact the long wait is kind of half the fun. Usually by the time I’ve waited three weeks I’ve completely forgotten what I’ve ordered. It’s like a lovely present chosen by someone who knows your tastes perfectly. Which, in a way, it is.
I’ve mentioned Avon in earlier posts, and I’ve promised you an Avon Week. That week is here, dear readers, and it starts now.
Gucci Envy is one of the most exquisite perfumes I have ever smelled. I’ve never found anything similar and used to wear it all the time. The thrill of wearing it never wore off. I used to replace empty bottles as urgently as I would replace groceries. It was a must have, rather than a luxury. Then suddenly it was no longer in the shops anymore.
Created by Maurice Roucel in 1997, with a 90s urban edge in mind, Gucci Envy was discontinued in 2007. It’s still available on eBay if you have surplus cash and gold hanging about, but you cannot buy it in the shops anywhere anymore (EDIT– update it’s on Amazon UK right now but be quick! )
So what made it so special that it makes me emotional just to smell it now? ( a very kind soul took pity on me and sent me a decant- an enormous thank you to her!). In tests, Gucci Envy was not rubber stamped until its panel of testers rated it more highly, than Estee Lauder Pleasures . At the time Pleasures was its main competitor and was very “now” with its typically 90s fresh, airy appeal. Once Envy’s approval rating had beaten Pleasures, it was released upon a grateful public.
Opening notes are Lily of the Valley, Green notes, and Hyacinth. In the middle there is a sort of clean metallic note, almost like a silvery chord gone wrong in the middle. This works very well with the combo of Lily of The Valley and Hyacinth ( and a breeze of Freesia). If it were a colour it would be light green. It was so clean and airy and fresh that it was ideal for daytime, and indeed I wore it to the office every day.
So why was it discontinued? Theories include internal politics. Tom Ford was there when it was created and is not there now. Did he steal the recipe and escape, whilst laughing a villain’s laugh and blipping a security guard on the head? Or maybe another more plausible theory holds water: that of insanity and a disdain for making money.
I’m sticking with theory two. I wrote to the Gucci website with faux bafflement, asking why I couldn’t find Gucci Envy. They replied
“Please note that Gucci Envy is no longer in production as we always look for new combinations of scents that the market has not explored yet. For this reason we invite you to visit one of our stores to experience the fragrances available and choose the right one”. (sic)
In other words, they cannot make a perfume I definitely love and definitely want to buy because they are too busy making perfume I might love and might want to buy. Does that make sense? No.
Recently I entered the Perfume Shop and asked to try Gucci Envy Me, hoping against hope there may be some similarities. There weren’t. Envy Me is pleasant and clean smelling, like a pile of fresh laundry, but Envy it is not. Nor is Gucci Envy Me 2. In fact why create two flankers when you have stopped making the Real McCoy?
I am not alone. Posters on Basenotes want it, posters on Fragrantica want it, and perfumistas on Mumsnet want it back. Sales were not dropping off. It was not going out of fashion. It was not impossible to make.
So it just leaves me weeping over my precious decant, asking a cold shouldered corporation “WHY? Did someone have a bowl of crazy for breakfast? Don’t you want my money?”
Once upon a time Christian Dior released a perfume that was a classic green chypre, full of oak moss, jasmine, patchouli and galbanum, and very chic and elegant. It was 1947 and things were far more prim and proper then. Young ladies wore neat tailored houndstooth suits, prim little hats with veils and carried white gloves.
To a young lady in 2013 those clothes would feel like a costume for a party, and perhaps Miss Dior felt similarly out of date. Because she has been completely replaced. The Miss Dior that I have a bottle of is now called Miss Dior Originale and has been put very politely but firmly on the back shelf of the Dior counter.
In her place is the pink-tinted Miss Dior incarnated by the delightful Natalie Portman. Previously known as Miss Dior Cherie, this has also ‘had a little work done’ to lose the strawberry top note, has been renamed Miss Dior and is now a flagship scent for the Dior line. It comes in all permutations – from parfum and eau de parfum to eau de toilette and eau fraiche, plus assorted body lotions, gels and all that stuff nobody buys unless it’s as presents. (Do you know anyone who buys or uses ‘official’ body lotion if it hasn’t come in a gift set or as part of a hotel toiletries haul?)(My daughter’s love of Hermes Eau d’Orange Vert can be traced to a very posh hotel suite and a generous friend of mine.)
However, dear, prim and proper original Miss Dior had a secret. Though she might have looked as prim and proper as Grace Kelly on the surface with her bitter oakmoss, give dear old MD a chance to warm up on the skin and that bitterness evaporates. Then the jasmine comes out to play and the oakmoss and woody old-school patchouli become rounder and warmer than JLo’s derriere in thermal undies.
I’ve been wondering how the new Miss Dior eau de toilette with her top notes of blood orange, heart of neroli and rose and base of patchouli will compare. So today I got out the little sample and spritzed. The top notes are sweet and very briefly citrus, though that is so fleeting as to be cheetah-like. The heart is fruity and floral with an element of something artificial but not in a bad way. Then there’s the base note of patchouli; this is the clean, radiant and persistent patchouli that is a staple in modern perfumery. It doesn’t remind me of JLo’s booty, I’m afraid; not in any kind of thermal clothing. Well OK, maybe in snowboarding pants.
You know how I have been whining about frootichoolis? This is one. I expected to want to chew my arm off and profoundly regret spraying my décolletage, but in fact, it’s OK. It’s not offensive in any way, it seems to be well-balanced, it wears reasonably close to the skin and doesn’t have enormous sillage and the longevity isn’t enormous – it was gone completely within 6 hours. That made me quite happy. I should repeat that this review is for the Eau de Toilette; I imagine the eau de parfum or parfum concentrations would last quite a bit longer and have a bit more projection. Be aware though that often fragrance compositions differ between the concentrations, so sniff the format before you buy it to avoid disappointment.
From Leathery Tobaccos to a citrussy hesperide: you have my permission to call me capricious. I must confess, I have an ulterior motive writing about Eau de Cartier Essence d’Orange since it provides me with yet another excuse, as if one were needed, to wear my beloved Eau de Cartier again today ( see my earlier review). Just as a comparison you understand.
Eau de Cartier Essence D’Orange was created in 2010 as a follow up to the divineEau de Cartier: an angelically light hesperide full of Bergamot and Lavender and still, in my opinion the best and only fragrance to wear when hungover. It’s like having an aromatherapist helping you out when all is spent. Despite reviewing fragrance daily (or as near as I can), there are not many full sized bottle on my dressing table. Eau de Cartier is one of them. After smelling a spray sample I simply had to have it. Luckily, it was just before Christmas and Santa got my letter in time.
When I saw there was an Essence D’Orange, I was keen to try it. At first spray it smells very like Eau de Cartier, but very quickly the soft oranges quietly enter the room. This is not, as you might expect, a sharp citrussy orange, but more of a fuzzy powdery orange. In fact after around ten minuets I couldn’t escape persistent thoughts of Orange Refreshers. Opening with a burst of bergamot like its sister Eau de Cartier, the orange does sort of take over, along with a bunch of violets to calm it down and stop it being too dominant. I also would have said lavender was a noticeable note, despite not being listed. Never mind, you can take my word it, I can definitely smell a hint of lavender.
This is beautifully unisex and may even smell better on a man. I still prefer my Eau de Cartier, but I have ordered a stash of samples of Essence D’Orangeso I always have access to it without investing in the 100ml or 200ml bottle.
This is fresh, airy, light and beautiful. The smell of Orange Refreshers is, admittedly, inescapable, but I rather like it. This, along with Eau de Cartier is the antidote to too many Leathers and Orientals. It is delicious, edible and thirst quenching.
Sometimes the ageing classics get overlooked. It dawned on me that there is one perfume that I have been wearing for at least twenty five years and yet I haven’t reviewed it yet.
I first came across Body Shop White Musk at the glorious and much pined for (by me) Perfume Bar that every Body Shop used to have years ago. For those who have youth on their side and cannot remember this wonderful creation, please indulge me as I go down Memory Lane.
In the 80s and 90s, each Body Shop had a Perfume Bar consisting of large glass jars with narrow necks, and long glass dipping sticks in each one. The jars would be on a circular stand, surrounded by eager customers, sniffing and testing. The happy customer (i.e a younger me) would dip, dab and sniff until finding a scent she or he could not live without. The nice ladies at the counter would then fill a little plastic refillable bottle for you to take home, for a very reasonable price.
For many years I had tiny plastic 15ml and 30ml bottles of such much missed gems as Japanese Musk, Mostly Musk, and White Musk (sensing a theme?). I was not alone. My mother loved “Annie” and always carried it in her handbag, and “Dewberry” was practically The Smell of the 80s.
Sadly all but a tiny few are discontinued, but if the Body Shop were ever to create this mirage of happiness again, I would be their most loyal customer. How I wish they would bring it back.
This review is for White Musk Oil. You will see that it is not for the White Musk EDT, Sheer spray, or for any of its flankers such as Libertine. I find them all too light and fleeting. White Musk Oil has a particular staying power that I have not encountered with the EDT or flankers, or in fact any of today’s Body Shop fragrances. A dab of White Musk Oil on the neck, crook of elbow and wrist and you are set up for an entire day.
It’s subtle enough not to offend in a small office, and lasting enough not to have to top up in the day. One of my favourite things about this oil is that a 30ml bottle lasts me a year. The Body Shop website often has half price offers on, which can make this even more of a bargain.
So what of the fragrance itself? Well according to the Body Shop website, this has notes of Lily, Iris, Rose and Vanilla. Personally I get Musk and maybe a very faint background of Lily, but no Rose or Vanilla and no cold hearted Iris.
I am shameless about never having grown out of it. Many people see it as student perfume they have left behind, but I have had more misty eyed compliments about this than about any other perfume I have ever worn.
I often forget I’m wearing it and spray another fragrance over the top, but I find this just makes both fragrances smell even better. It’s close to skin: people will get a waft when you hug them or lean over them, but they won’t faint like dominoes when you get in the lift.
You may well find a man sniffing nostalgically to himself and remembering his first girlfriend though.
This is proof, if proof were needed, that you don’t need big bucks to smell good.