Helium balloons and pretty vapors: more perfume reviews

Working on my own creative writing, I take some time out once in a while to engage in something truly different : the feel-good perfume review. This subgenre of a subgenre enables me to explore a popular writing style within the narrow framework of one or two paragraphs. I post my reviews on Fragrantica.com, because it gets too complicated if I started patronizing any number of the others that are available to anonymous users online.

On my website of choice, if a certain number of people like your review, you get awarded a balloon. There are four levels, with the balloon icon to the left of the review becoming increasingly dense with these little multicolored ovals as more people click on the "Like" button. (That's a screen capture to the right). Sure, it's juvenile, but it's fun. Of course have no idea how many people actually click, since that figure is classified, known only to the administrators of the website.

As it is with many online review systems though, people tend to respond when a review is something they have a strong opinion about. If they have had good experiences with a perfume to begin with, they will most likely click on the "Like" button to express their concurrence. If they don't know the perfume, they will most probably move on to the next without doing anything more. The rare exception is when a review is so intriguingly written that a user might click on the "Like" button in response to the power of the writer's words. But it's a sure bet that if you make your love explicit, you'll get peer love in return.

Since the reviews are read mostly when users search for a particular perfume, it's the popular designer perfumes -- the overpriced and highly desired -- that get the most responses. The drugstore releases of yesteryear, now selling for five or so quid online, get little attention and even less love.

Am I compensated for these reviews? Certainly not. Is everyone else? Certainly not. But we continue to post them, out of love -- we are amateurs truly, and we are legion. Who benefits from these reviews? Probably the perfume companies, though more web attention probably does not translate to more sales, as can be gleaned by the desperation with which the larger companies scramble to produce the latest confectionary-like novelty, reaping their tiny share of profits (if they're lucky) before competition and counterfeiters send the product to the discount bins.

From about a couple of years of daily visits to Fragrantica, I've grown familiar with the unwritten laws of perfume reviewing that have naturally developed within this system, which is both contained and borderless. It's a lot of fun. I love getting those balloons. Oh, how we long for the approval of our peers -- or for that tiny social engineering fix we crave once in a while.



 

Amaranthine Penhaligon`s

The moment I applied this, I was struck by how realistic impression of a flower in bloom it offered. A warm, summery tropical flower, not so much the clear scent of flowers in spring. But there was an odd note that kept getting in the way of my judgment that this was yet another high-end floral fragrance. It was a sappy note, green but not clean, reminding me somehow of heat, sweat, muck. There was also something that registered to me as the musk of clean skin, with an overlay of dried perspiration from the heat or from labor.

The combination was so disquieting I had to go check the list of notes, which I'm trying not to do nowadays, whenever I review a new perfume. Immediately I reaized it was the scent of banana leaves. Banana trunks, actually, banana flowers, any part of the plant except for the fruit. I grew up in a tropical country and bananas were everywhere, even in suburbian backyards, but this incredible scent was of a young girl's peramubulations off the beaten track -- of endless banana groves and the thatch huts in between, of artesian well water, unpaved mud-slicked paths, of sunlight on a tangle of vines, of Third World poverty.

As for the musky skin note ("animalic") it may have been the effect of the milk accord in combination with the banana leaf, and my own memory.

The banana vegetation note will mean different things to many people: I can understand how Europeans would equate this with expensive and exotic, as the only banana plants they might encounter would be the disciplined, manicured ones decorating a corner at a tropical resort, and the musky animalic quality the result of their own recreational labors. I see how many would enjoy this perfume based on those images, experienced or imagined.

After I had identified the note, I couldn't enjoy this fragrance much longer, nor get a good, objective picture of the other elements of the composition. It smelled too realistically of a world infused with frustration, uncertainty and unrealized dreams.

EDIT: The dry-down IS to-die-for, though. Delicate and woody, almost no trace of the earlier accords. Such a strange, disjointed perfume.

***

 

Feerie Van Cleef & Arpels

Nice concept, but I would have expected fairies to exude a cold, green and somewhat heartless odor. Feerie is a sweetish, surprisingly voluptuous youthful floral. I could smell a hint of sharp fresh peach (actually, it could have been the blackcurrant giving it that pleasant tartness). The heart veers away into a sticky rosy peachy musk. I wore this to an afternoon party and two sprays were still going strong 12 hours later, and I didn't even spray my clothes. I didn't detect a powdery element in the dry-down though: after the first hour, the fragrance stayed pretty much the same.

Feerie is a 20 something girl with a full face of makeup applied with a sure and experienced hand. Its raison d'être seems to be to make the wearer as attractive and non-threatening to the opposite sex as possible: the olfactory equivalent of a huge pink bow atop a present. Despite the obvious quality of the scent (rich and very long-lasting), it can be placed well within the contemporary genre of tooth-achy offerings that give young women a generic sexual-sweet aura regardless of the price point. A similar effect may be had with Justin Bieber Someday. I like Feerie but would steal spritzes (to read 10 years younger!) rather than hanker for a full bottle.
 

***
D&G Anthology La Roue de La Fortune 10 Dolce&Gabbana

This opens with a soft spicy, rather sweet character that reminds me of a bit of Pink Sugar’s heart notes (albeit less bombastic). I think I smell a tiny bit of patchouli and something resinous. The fragrance is rather subdued, I had to lay on quite a bit from the vial itself before I could really be sure about what I was smelling. There is definitely a yeasty sweetness going on here. Vanilla leaves a definite imprint, and (contrary to what you would expect from the simple niche-like bottle and cool blue juice) this is certainly a gourmand. But a light one. The florals I get are vague-white, and contained by that confectionary-sweetness. Even after three or so hours, it still smells pink and nibbly, rather than truly floral.

For young women who need their sugar fix yet stress about rolling into a room in full old-lady battle regalia. This is a pretty little perfume that, thanks to my sample from supergirl83221, I can now tick off my list: Tried it, Liked it, But... I prefer my so-called oriental-florals a bit more lush and elderly.

 ***

Ambre Sultan Serge Lutens

First impression: strong and medicinal. Resinous. Two images: unnamed medicines in dark-brown bottles in a hot humid Chinese shop, and pine cones picked on a cool day, opening slowly by a fire and releasing their scent. Over all this, something aromatic or camphorous, the same effect as mentholated candy but NOT minty. I got something sweet and vanillic as well, but this went away, to be replaced by more of that dry, resinous scent.

The fragrance is VERY strong and concentrated, and one can tell it is quality, just from the lushness and volume of the scent. The pleasure I get in it is very, very visceral, and very much tied up with memory, and in sampling it I now understand the clamor against those crowd-pleasing concoctions whipped together to try to make as much money as possible, even those that go by the name amber (in many commercial offerings, it’s more of an alias than a name). I actually get the impression that Ambre Sultan is not so much a perfume as an experience, something to transport the wearer elsewhere in time and space. I can compare the fragrance, in its mature dryness, to some of those little bottles of Middle Eastern attars where amber is a major player -- but tons more complex and evocative than the typical attar you can get for a few quid on Ebay. Ambre Sultan is not your Ambre de Cabochard / Jesus del Pozo Ambar / Sarah Jessica Parker Twilight sort of tweetums amber. This is a womanly amber AND an amber with balls.

 ***
Nino Cerruti Pour Femme Cerruti

First notes are the distinctive acrid, burnt odor I associate with classic chypres, which remind me a bit of rust or iron filings. Perhaps this is the coriander mixed with something else. This goes away quickly, though, to be replaced by a stern dry floral scent, like tuberose strapped down under tailored gray tweed. I get spiciness, oakmoss, woodiness, but no other notes, certainly not the honey nor the plum listed above, at least not in the way those notes are treated in today’s bestsellers. (EDIT: But after an hour, whoa! Honeyed tuberose wafting up from the skin of my arm. This perfume is full of surprises)

Pour Femme is a very elegant perfume, and very different from the current lot of department store fragrances. It’s severely intellectual; it’s angular; but also insidiously sensual. It’s for extremely confident women, perhaps with PhDs.

*** 

Pivoine Yves Rocher

On first application, I got a soft spicy note and the lush yet clean sensation of sniffing at the very heart of a ruffley, newly-opened flower, stamens and pollen and all. I don’t recall how the peonies in my garden smell, it’s too early for them, but this was certainly a natural sort of scent. As it dried, I searched my memory and thought I smelled lilies with a wee bit of freesia, and a hint of magnolia. Then it hit me: this has echoes of Anais Anais, but without the leather accord.

It is certainly complex in that the scent moves from green to spicy to soapy to creamy and back, all within a tight, pale pink and feminine space. Sillage is intimate, inviting closer investigation. Oh why did Yves Rocher have to discontinue this pretty, pretty thing?

 ***
Orchidee Yves Rocher
I bought a vintage splash mini on Ebay. The top notes were off, so I had to wait a while before the heart notes made their appearance: a soft, powdery, ladylike spiciness. I am perplexed that hibiscus is one of the notes, as I know from experience it has no scent. I suppose what I smelled was the effect of the vanilla, the hyacinth and the unnamed spices. It does have the character of an elegant 70s perfume rather than a gregarious 80s one. The fragrance dried down to something extremely delicate and feminine.

Verdict: This is beautiful, even though the orchids it evokes are prom orchids arriving in a box with pastel ribbons. Not orchids as they grow in the wild -- green, lush and slightly malevolent. Yves Rocher, bring it back!

 ***
Eau de Shalimar Guerlain

This was my gateway drug to the world of Guerlain. The first liberal spray I gave myself was over my chest and the front of my shirt. I got lemon at once, not freshly squeezed, but a sweet confectionary lemon. Lemon pie actually. It wasn’t the Shalimar I knew about, but, heck, I thought, it smelled great anyway. Pretty soon (on the bus ride home) a full, rich, and buxom powdery-vanilla cloud began to steal up my cleavage and into the close air around me. Shalimar in da house!

This is a fresher, lighter take on that classic scent, and is wearable in summer or even for work, though I wouldn’t spritz more than once. It lasts a long, long time, too. It seems a sacrilege to mix it with other scents, but I discovered it does layer quite well with certain rose perfumes. And now I’m lemming for the original, plus Samsara and goodness knows what else from this house.

(Got a ton of balloons for this one: Guerlain is a crazy coveted house)

 ***
Navy Dana
Loved this one! A shocking sharp note on opening (or maybe my mini had been stored too long), and then a deep, spicy and quite masculine development. I seem to get a bit of sandalwood too. Is anyone else reminded of something from the JP Gaultier Le Male series, maybe Fleur du Male? Now I’m looking out for a full bottle, or a smell-alike. Really hard to find in Europe.

***

Naturelle Yves Rocher

This is the closest I have to a go-to fragrance -- something I put on liberally when I'm not too sure what to wear and I don't want to invest too much time worrying about it. Naturelle is a light fruity-green fragrance in the same vein as Dolce & Gabanna Light Blue and Anna Sui Secret Wish. The apple note is quite prominent but not too full: like the fragrant exterior of a green apple rather than the sensation of eating one. Alongside this image of late-summer ripeness is the feel of a spring morning, a combination of fresh growing grass and delicate natural flowers, the kind you glimpse around a lawn or blooming en masse in the bare branches of trees, flowers too humble, profuse and taken-for-granted for you to know their names.

***

Cabotine Fleur d’Ivoire Gres

Chypre floral? Really? This is state-of-the art floral woody musk – well, with the barest hint of spice and a pleasant, rather astringent note (I like those) which I attribute to the cassis, or the salicylate stated in the description. It opens with a breath of almonds, cassis, indeterminate florals and musk, gains a bit of strength once warmed on the skin, and declines into a long and pleasant dry-down that you can’t really sense (besides the assurance that somehow, you smell good). It reminds me a lot of Cacharel Noa, in effect as well as packaging. This is miles away from the original Cabotine. Nor is this the Gres that punched us with Cabochard, but the newer, compromising Gres of the Hommage fragrances.

I blind-bought Fleur d’Ivoire because it was cheap and I love the bottle shape (I find the basic Cabotine shape so romantic, and this had a classy ivory color scheme to boot), and it turned out the fragrance wasn’t bad – just not outstanding. A fragrance that can work magic on warm spring days, and one that manages to be so inoffensive and low-key it would be great for office, health care, or playing with little girls and their Barbies. Knowing me, for all my big ambitious crushes on Guerlain vanillas and atomic Elizabeth Taylors, it’ll probably be the Cabotine Fleur d’Ivoire that I’ll use up to the bottom of my bottle.

 ***

Relaxing Fragrance Shiseido

A light, pleasant, floral fragrance with some aquatic notes. I thought I smelled melon, but of a more natural sort than one would find in a typical 90s aquatic. It’s not among the listed notes, though. There is a delicate floral aspect too, alongside a sharp green undertone that I attribute to the Artemisia. Bamboo as a note tends to lend a woodiness to a composition, but not here. (I wonder how the bamboo accord is assembled: whether it is fictive, and whether we are encouraged to find it in this fragrance, relying on the powerful suggestion of the name Shisheido.) It’s a fragrance you wear for yourself, not to attract or impress others.

I got my vintage bottle for just 2.5 USD at a flea market. I don’t know whether the age of the juice is a factor, but this is pretty low-key, linear and reliable. I don’t get the sharp floral assault described by other reviewers. It is undemanding, won’t offend, wears close to the skin, is feminine without being froufrou. Love the bottle’s unpretentious lines and muted green glass. Perfect for sunny, dry spring weather.

  ***

Queen of Hearts Queen Latifah

Though I know Queen Latifah mostly through her screen work (Chicago – loved her in that!) rather than her career as a hip-hop artist, I got this perfume in the hope some of her sassy, buxom star quality would rub off on me. I wasn’t disappointed.

This is a confident and sexy perfume. It opens with a billowing explosion of what seems to be everything in its bag of tricks. This actually isn’t the best part – it reminds me too much of Avon Imari Seduction and far too many vanilla fruitchoulis of this nature. After about 15 minutes, the better aspect begins – the smoky, woody, refined, cinnamon-y part, which lasts about six hours, ending in a woody-musky drydown. Sillage is very intimate, a good thing when not everyone in your environment is a fan of strong, sensual fragrances. (Incidentally, this fragrance also bears a resemblance to Oriflame Mirage, but Queen of Hearts is considerably less powerful, which means you can better control the amount you put on.)

I love the strong turquoise hue and true gold of the box. The bottle has enough bling-y vulgarity so you don’t take it too seriously and stress about whether it’s the right fragrance to put on. Just spray it on and have fun.

I wore this last night to a long-awaited performance of the ballet Romeo and Juliet, with a beautiful young dancer in the role of Juliet, and the Queen of Denmark watching from the royal box. This fragrance was perfectly in keeping with the elegant music, setting. Two Queens, one heck of a perfume.

Giorgio, my sister and the sad scent of her happiness

This week I am wearing Giorgio Beverly Hills. It is a brash white floral, rather out of style these days. The general preference nowadays seems to be for perfumes that make you smell like disgustingly sweet, high calorie cupcakes. I think there's a correlation between the craving for fragrances that are good enough to eat (read: pig out on) and the collective revulsion towards fat. There is a correlation, too, between the hyper-feminine, pre-pubescent bottles -- sprouting pink organza bows or slung with delicate chains -- and the pressure to shed clothes, show off muscle, cam-whore for the internet.

Well, Giorgio was built for an entirely different era, the 80s, a time when everything had to be larger than life. This was the era of shoulder pads, big hair, and images of belligerent women. This was the era that gave us the summer action(-comedy) genre, Terminator and Beverly Hills Cop and Robocop, where the guns talked even louder than Eddie Murphy, and seemed to be overshadow the main players, achieving the status of characters in their own right. The fact that everyone smoked seemed to be a factor in the construction of such a floral powerhouse: people had severely compromised their sense of smell.

A lot of people profess to hate Giorgio today, but it has only positive associations for me. It was my late sister's signature scent in the 80s and early 90s. I know she must have saved up every penny to buy those bottles, as they were not cheap. To me, this is the fragrance of giddy joy, of unbounded creativity, of possibility. Because we were so young and (in hindsight) innocent in those days, I would even call this a youthful, raw and spontaneous fragrance, despite the endless string of iterations during its now-legendary construction process.

On me, it opens with a bitter punch of oakmoss and mashed flowers, and in this (comparatively) restrained stage, you must resist the urge to respray. Within 10-15 minutes Giorgio morphs into the lush, sensual scent bomb that people complain about. Magnificent sillage too. Longevity as well -- it stays on your skin even after a shower, and sticks to your hair and shirts and scarves. It seems that as one layer of Giorgio turns tacky and sloughs off, another billows forward, renewed like skin. I have to wear it as far from my face as I can, because it gives me eye migraines. Although composed of pushy white florals (tuberose, gardenia, jasmine and orange blossom -- killer scents that I like to refer to as "The Gang of Four") I'll always associate this frag with the color yellow: exuberant, singing, and slightly hysterical. Really, this perfume should have been called "Gioia."

So now I'm wearing it, and I know that, because I made the mistake of getting some on the neckline of my coat, I probably will be wearing it the whole week. That is fine, because this is the week of my sister's birthday. She would have been 47 on the 19th of April, but died of metastasized breast cancer six years ago. When she died, she was blind, frightened, in great pain, run ragged and very poor -- not just from the monumental hospital bills accumulated over her three year battle with the disease, but from the stress of being the sole breadwinner of the family, and from having to deal with a sneering, criticism-spewing husband who had been that way since the first months of their relationship, which began one dawn twenty years before, and was heralded by her stumbling home half-dazed and throwing up what must have been the contents of an entire bottle of gin on our bedroom floor.

Over those twenty years she changed -- her life became one long struggle to pay the bills, keep her husband, and maintain some form of inner self-respect, while all the time projecting a tough and competent exterior. Her perfume, such a major component of her life from childhood, when our parents bought us our first Avons, became quieter and increasingly apologetic. Devolving from the lushness of Giorgio, to the pseudo-fresh aquatic watermelon of Ralph Lauren Polo Sport Woman, to the pretty lilac and lily-of-thevalley of Elizabeth Arden 5th Avenue, her signature scent, in the final year of her illness, became a 5-dollar copy of the rather insipid, shower-fresh skinscent Glow by J. Lo. She loved fragrance, and she liked Jennifer Lopez's golden skin and street-savvy sexiness -- the kind of woman that in our childhood she had fantasized she would become. We used to draw a lot as children, and to construct stories, influenced by the comic books that, before the internet, were the only way to marry story and image, and keep everything static and eternally ready to be referenced. We made our own comic books, and to one character she gave her name, and in the inescapable images of Lopez from the decade of 00’s, I recognized the girl she drew.

Well, my sister died of cancer, which unfortunately was not diagnosed until Stage 3B, and by then the lump was the size of a hen's egg. She had felt the pangs for nearly a year, but was afraid of going to a doctor, afraid of what might be found, afraid of the disruption and the cost it would entail. This is the week of her birthday. She is fading into anonymity, she was here and gone again before internet presence became the ridiculous measure of our existence as people. When I google her name, I see only the blogpost I made shortly after her funeral, and the eulogy rendered by our father. That, and a few short words of praise, in Tagalog, by one of the women in her cancer support group, saying how much she would be missed, mentioning her courage and optimism. How hard it had been, for my sister, to keep it all afloat.

I write these words, though it has been difficult, because it is the beginning of remembering, of accepting that to block out the memories will never work. I write in commemoration, not of her public image, but of the person I privately knew. (She had the knack of blending, through mimicry, into whatever group she was in, so that people were always perplexed to discover she was a much more complex person than they had given her credit for. Count me in this crowd.) I began this blog post with a rather impersonal, life-style journalist comment about the times and trends, and ended somewhere else entirely. I've been hard, will continue to be, on those whom she trustingly admitted into her happiness, and whom she allowed to wreck it. At some point our roles reversed themselves, and while in our childhood, she encouraged my creativity and taught me to be tough, towards the very end it was I who found myself protecting her.

I wear Giorgio because this week of her birthday, it reminds me powerfully of her, of her best days, when she was bold, young, unapologetic. When life promised possibility, when there were no bad men, only rakish heroes with a motivation one could actually point to on the printed page. When she could have been anyone she chose to become.

In those days of the late '80s, I think she was truly having fun.

More fragrance reviews

Whoa, looks like the posts on perfume (reviews and the short feature on "Singapore" fakes) have become the most popular on this blog! No kidding.
 

It's late winter and I've been doing a lot of sniffing, wish-listing and occasional buying. Just for fun, here are more fragrance reviews, which I originally posted on the perfume website / on-line community Fragrantica. Take them with a grain of salt -- each person's skin is different, experiences are unique, and no two persons have exactly the same repertoire when it comes to description.
 

More reviews available on my Fragrantica.com profile page.

 

Kenzo Jungle L'Elephant Kenzo

 

One of the spiciest, most exotic scents I have ever sampled. I smelled plum, cloves (a ton of cloves!) and what I thought was cinnamon (turned out to be cardamom) in the first moments. It opens with a pleasant medicinal-gourmand odor, and in its warmth I am reminded of Chopard Casmir, albeit less vanillic. A friend keeps a mini in her guest bathroom, and one day she let me dab it on: it could be smelled all around the table as we sat down to dinner, a big bully of a side dish that threatened to take over the main course. What a bottle, and what a name! I suppose the reference must be to Indian elephants with their neat ears, their jewel-encrusted saddles and their sinuous movements as they haul teak logs through the jungle. However, it’s the African elephant that comes to my mind – a perfume that rushes straight at you, all ivory tusks and huge flapping ears as it trumpets its presence.

 

***

 

 

Maroussia Slava Zaitsev

 

I admit half of the draw was that this is a perfume by a Russian designer. The bottle is irresistible in the photo and looks even more beautiful in your hand, like a jewel. The scent is of another era, or belongs to a more mature and elegant woman than I am. It's a dress-up scent, for special occasions, and would work better in fall-winter. I can detect the civet note, which actually makes it exciting, if odd. But there are no discernible floral notes, just a dark hovering bouquet, as though ten thousand flowers were massed up in a chapel. Maroussia is a strong and distinctive animalic fragrance, so I recommend spraying into the air and walking into it, rather than direct-spraying on your person or clothing.

 

 

***

 

Sweet Honesty Avon

 

I got this in a little bunny rabbit bottle for my 10th birthday (which always seems to fall around Easter) way back in 1979. It is quite an unusual scent, girlish and feminine, the young Jessica Lange, Olivia Newton-John, something a kid never forgets. Recently I received the contemporary version in a swap with another community member and friend. On first application, the scents were virtually identical, and so I relaxed and thought, A rare one indeed, an undisturbed classic. Immediately, things fell apart, the streak on my forearm turning to pure weightless powder, the ghost of that beautiful, distinct personage from way back. Something is missing from today’s Sweet Honesty… my nose seeks out the sparkly nip of what was probably aldehydes, and maybe a smidge of sandalwood or perhaps oakmoss. (I’m not looking at the reviews or the posted notes as I write this, just going on the scent and memories.) Today’s young uns are missing out on a lot.

 

 

***

 

Lovely Blossom Armand Basi

 

The opening skish is very fruity, like a melon-laced drink you order at a tropical resort. A moment later comes the girl herself – yes, this perfume has an airy pink feminine presence -- sweet like flowers on a breeze and sweet like the layer of sugar at the bottom of that drink. I thought the flowers might be honeysuckle, but the notes tell me otherwise. The scent does have that agreeable nature of syrupy fruit, candied but “lite.” It’s young but ageless, playing not to a demographic, but to a mood. It’s a bottle of shimmery early-summer. Total congruence between scent, bottle design and name.

 

***

 

Ambar Jesus Del Pozo

 

Starts off with blurry, non-astringent citrus that persists for several hours. Beneath that, I can isolate what must be the amber accord (a synthesized, fictional accord, as true amber from prehistoric resin has no smell). It is exotic, slightly woody and resinous, non-vanilla, and there is a similar facet to Sarah Jessica Parker’s “Twilight”, although Twilight and Ambar have a radically different effect. If I spray Ambar (I love that name!) on before bedtime, by morning it has become a pleasant and rather unisex skin-scent, the citrus and amber melded into one.

I still have to road-test it in tropical heat, but in winter in northern Europe, the scent so far has been dry (non-sweet), non-floral, unobtrusive, the perfect backdrop for, say, writing a thesis. The scent goes fast, since I need two or three sprays to really feel its presence. The bottle, full or otherwise, is a true gem, and suggests something far more medieval or mystical than the scent itself.

 

***

 

Fraicheur Vegetale Cedre Bleu Yves Rocher

 

It’s not foresty so much as woody – the clean honest smell of cedar planks, or the inside of a chest or cupboard. A bare cedar, separated from the pure air and verdant foliage of its origins, and already prepared for domestic use. There is a touch of vanilla, or the benzoin that, to many, registers as vanilla. When I wear it, it’s not the color blue that comes to mind, but a warm beige: a masculine beige, as this is a warm, rather masculine cologne. And although I’m a woman that suits me just fine.

This is a cologne I will reach for when I know I’ll be working alone, no people to please or impress, just me and my keyboard and my thoughts. The bottle is sleek yet unprepossessing, and it’s all of 125 ml, meaning I can use it (1 burst from the sprayer is strong enough) without worrying I’ll run out.

 

***

Omnia Bvlgari

 

I love this perfume. It’s my go-to fragrance when I’m teaching. I’m a foreign language instructor and it serves me well to appear friendly, culture-savvy, and a bit androgynous. I see a lot of spices listed in the notes, but to me this is a straight-up woody fragrance, a la Yves Rocher Nature Millenaire (for women). It opens faintly and citrusy and this is probably the reason why so many people express disappointment in it. Don’t let the opening fool you: the scent strengthens, whether you’ve sprayed it on skin or clothing, the sort of elegant, discreet, rather masculine lacquered-armoire vibe that I really love.

If you were hoping primarily for a spicy gourmand, misled by the well-publicized white chocolate note, you’ll be disappointed. The note does appear, albeit elusively as the perfume plays mind games with you: now you catch the white chocolate, now (frowning in perplexity) it’s the same note but it smells balmy… no, woody… no, like benzoin maybe. This is great in winter, misted all over a wool sweater.

 

***

Je Reviens Worth

 

When I first sprayed it on, I had to run to my computer and check the notes for ylang-ylang, and sure enough, there it was. The opener is all ylang-ylang, coupled with a chemical sharpness. (The aldehydes?) The scent of this lovely yellow flower shades off into that of daffodils and something odd and burnt, as though the various blossoms making up the fragrance had been singed at their hearts. I had to apply more than I usually do, as for all its classic undercurrents, the current formulation of Je Reviens does seem rather weak and watered down.

Here is something macabre: when I was six years old, my grandfather died, and as he lay in his casket, us cousins took turns peering past the glass at his gray slack face. Candles dripped and occasionally smoked over our heads. There was a pervasive odor of wilting tropical flowers. To allay our tension and fears, we gathered ylang-ylang blooms fallen from the trees across the street, and stuffed them in amber-colored bottles filled with water and sealed with wax, to make “agua.” I am perturbed that after putting on Je Reviens it is this memory that welters up, after more than 30 years.

 

***

Moringa The Body Shop

 

I fell in love with this fragrance the moment I tested it last year. It’s available in body butter format, so I got that for Christmas. Moringa refers to a genus of tropical plants; the Philippine type is called malunggay. I have smelled the living flowers, which are surprisingly sweet (albeit light), such glamour for such a humble plant.

I don’t know which species the Body Shop’s essences were extracted from, but man, this scent is STRONG. It is lush, creamy and sensual, of the same intensity as tuberose but of different character. No wood, no astringency, no green.

One application of the body butter will defeat any other “nice” scent you may happen to be wearing. I have found it is best on its own, as it won’t make friends with rose, iris, incense, cedar or tea. Would probably get along well with orange blossom, tuberose or gardenia, but I haven’t dared. That would be the equivalent of a lunch table of glammed-up fashion editors in the first, garrulous stages of intoxication.

 

Eugenia Apostol: a profile

Here is a profile of Eugenia "Eggie" Apostol, acclaimed Filipino journalist and founder of the Philippine Daily Inquirer. The piece was originally written for the February 2006 issue of the magazine Me, but did not see print due to a change of editorial teams and a change in the magazine's focus. The piece was commissioned by then-Me editor Maya Besa.

 

Eugenia Apostol: Caring for the truth

 

By Lakambini A. Sitoy

Eugenia Apostol emerges from the front door of her unassuming Dasmarinas Village home. Though there are servants about she opens the gates herself. She is petite, her complexion very fair, her features tiny. Today she walks with a slight limp, making her seem especially fragile, though at 80 years of age the founder of the Philippine Daily Inquirer – career journalist, lifestyle commentator and savvy businesswoman -- is as active as ever.

In her living room, Apostol, “Eggie” or “Tita Eggie” to friends and colleagues, chooses a carved wooden armchair and, straight-backed and poised like a dancer, begins to reminisce about her life. The room, with its nacre-inlaid chests, a Japanese screen, and folding doors that open out onto a terrace lush with plants, evokes a bygone era, the glory days when education, hard work and fair play were the formula for prosperity. A crepuscular Sanso landscape, and a collection of images of the Virgin Mary, antique by the looks of them, add to the atmosphere of nostalgia.

Eternal Avila

Text and photos by Lakambini A. Sitoy

Originally published in Philippine Graphic newsmagazine,  November 2005

AVILA, west of Madrid, blazed in the 40-degree heat of midsummer. The city squatted, a veritable fortress, in the middle of an inhospitable plain strewn with boulders and scrub trees. A massive 11^th century stone wall encircled the ancient city -- 2.5 kilometers of round towers, gates and battlements. Above the wall tiled rooftops were visible, and a Gothic cathedral with its distinctive rose window. 

Avila is best known for St. Teresa of Jesus, whose feast day is the 15^th of October. Many monasteries and churches in the city have some affiliation to this scholar and mystic. Born of noble parentage there in 1515, she was brought up in an atmosphere of books and religion. Following her mother’s death when she was 14, she was sent to the Augustinian nuns for her education. Against her father’s wishes, she entered the Carmelite convent at the age of 19. A serious illness in her early 20s left her health permanently impaired. Shortly after she began to experience visions, one of the most famous being the piercing of her heart by an angel armed with an arrow.

As a nun Teresa reorganized the Carmelites along a more severe and disciplined path, and she managed, before her death in 1582, to found 15 women’s and two men’s monasteries for this barefoot order. She exerted great influence on the spiritual life of her time through her visions and revelations, which she described in a flood of books. She was canonized in 1622.

We entered the Convento de Santa Teresa, within the city walls. It is a baroque church from the 17^th century built over the saint’s birthplace. Because the church is very much in use as a place of worship, flash photography is forbidden, especially when masses are being held. Though there was no activity as we went in, the pews nonetheless held devotees sitting in quiet contemplation, in contrast to the tourists roaming the aisles and peering at the statuary and paintings. In the summer, Spain’s cities and monuments are besieged by out-of-towners, scantily clad, a jarring sight. Most speak Spanish, coming either from Latin America or other parts of Spain.

Death by the Wayside: Memorials in southern Europe

This article was first published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, October 30, 2005

Visitors to Europe usually put soaring cathedrals and little village chapels at the top of their must-see list. Nowadays, it has been wryly observed, tourists tend to outnumber worshippers in these places.

Yet there is poignant evidence of how religion infuses the lives of the general populace. Driving through a landscape of fields, punctuated by neat rolls of hay in the late summer, one comes across small wayside crosses, not on the motorways but on the smaller roads that link the towns.

They mark the site where a life ended in a road accident. Where someone’s journey abruptly stopped. Flower bouquets lie at the base of many of these crosses. Some are lashed to the arms. These memorials are most abundant in the traditionally Catholic southern countries, such as Belgium, France and Spain. One also finds them in Latin America and parts of the southwestern United States, where they are known as descanos, Spanish for “rest” or “relief.” In Chile they have become quite elaborate, like miniature chapels, with a photograph of the deceased within.

In the Philippines, especially in less urbanized areas, the site of a fatal road accident is also marked by a makeshift cross, fresh flowers plucked from a nearby shrub, and candles. Travelers pass the shrine and shudder. After dark, bloodstains on the asphalt glow an eerie green. But after a week of rain and heat, the bougainvilleas or hibiscus wilt completely and the crosses fall apart. Few people have the resources for permanent shrines, and roads are so narrow a concrete structure would be a hazard. Families worry that vandals or animals may desecrate something more lasting. Else they dismantle the sad little memorials themselves, dreading their use by malevolent spirits, their transformation into a portal for denizens of a different world.

"Singapore perfumes" : a subversive fragrance pyramid

A while back, on the perfume forum to which I occasionally post, a lady wanted to know what “Singapore perfumes” were. She came from Singapore and had never heard of the term.

Well, I explained, bluntly put, “Singapore perfumes” is a term, or a euphemism, devised by small retailers in the Philippines for counterfeit designer perfumes.

First, what makes them counterfeit, and different from knock-offs, dupes or imitations?  

Review: Cabotine de Gres

 

What a beauty indeed. It comes across as a white floral that has the greenness of the perfumes in that old, grand tradition (I'm thinking of the Miss Diors (original), the Rive Gauches). As I sniffed I sensed a cold metallic tinge, a particular combination of notes perhaps, that reminded me of

Reviews: Must II de Cartier & Ambre de Cabochard

 

Must II de Cartier EDT

I purchased a vintage 50ml bottle of Must II de Cartier EDT on the net. Perhaps the citrus top notes have faded with time, as I don't sense them, and the entire fragrance feels like it could be a slightly paler version of itself. Nonetheless, it’s the gem of my collection right now... the bottle is the kind that when you hold it, you feel a tightening in your chest.

Fragrance reviews!

Here's something light -- a clutch of perfume reviews I put up on under my profile in Fragrantica.com. For those who are interested in scent, or are contemplating the annual ritual of procuring something small, beautiful and expensive for a loved one, Fragrantica.com is a user-friendly, colorful and extremely diverse gateway into the world of perfumery. The reviews, done anonymously by hundreds of people around the world, are the work of the amateur, in the true and original sense of the word -- one who explores and writes about perfume out of sheer passion, and not the obligation to earn a living. Another excellent review and discussion site is Basenotes.com.

On Fragrantica, my user name is Lakambini. Below is a screen capture of the latest entries in my profile. As the text is too small to read comfortably, you'll find a couple of recent capsule reviews I posted after the screen cap image, and a dozen or so more after the jump.

 

 

 

Dior Fahrenheit

I put a huge spritz on my arm and got dizzying gasoline fumes, and in this miasma a whiff of leather, evolving into a sharp green odor that reminded me of a conifer forest in still cold air. Fossil fuels, animal skin and pine -- all raw, real materials, all synthetically rendered. And after a good scrub I am getting a monster dry-down: I am growing taller, muscular, rational, decisive, I will strip down for a shower later on and give out a long scream at the discovery that I'm a woman. Fahrenheit is a work of art that I can't wear, and can only appreciate on other people, men actually.

***

Deep Red Hugo Boss

I just feel warm, pulled-together and confident when I have this on. Starts out with a spicy-green note that reminds me of the experience of cutting and gathering tropical ginger flowers, then evolves quickly to a creamy, but very clean vanilla, which is pretty much the dry-down. I spray it on my scarves and sweaters for the experience of luxuriating in its soft understated goodness. I don’t think of it as “deep”, nor “red,” nor even “sexy” in the conventional whip-thin, belligerent, snarling-lipped sense. But if “sexy” means bringing out the best in me as a woman, then, sure, this fragrance is it.

A dialogue between Danish and Indian writers IV: Carsten Jensen and Manu Joseph

 

Vera Alexander (moderator): Can you share your thoughts on your role as writers?

Manu Joseph: I'm not really comfortable calling myself a writer. To me it's embarrassing... There's something vain about calling oneself a writer. I used to claim I was a writer when I was 16. I grew up in a middle-class family in Madras, where if you are 16 years old you're supposed to be preparing for the toughest engineering exam in the world, otherwise you're pretty hopeless. And when I said I wanted to be a writer, people thought there was something seriously wrong with me. But now I'm not sure... it’s something you can call yourself at the end of your life. I'm pretty sure you could be a writer after many, many years. On days that I'm feeling vain, I call myself a writer, and nobody objects.

Carsten Jensen: (As a writer), and I know it sounds pathetic, you somehow feel as if you're a stranger on earth. It feels like you don't belong. So you look at everything with a stranger's eyes, because you need to know the world in order to survive in a strange, and to you unfamiliar, world, in which you can't really identify. And you're constantly questioning to get to know it. And I think when it comes to language, you very quickly, as a child already, discover that the language that is handed over to you it doesn't really fit your experience of the world. You don't necessarily see it that way, and then you start a lifetime search for more precise words. And this is also called talent, or inspiration, but I think at the bottom of it, there is questioning, but there's also I think, an informal sort of aggressivity, as there always is in questioning. You don't just take things for granted. You don't basically accept them. So you are, somehow, aggressive as a writer, whether you lead a peaceful life or not. You are somehow at war with the world.

 

 

Manu: I have a schizophrenic existence as a journalist and a novelist. As a journalist, though, I find novelists very naive. ... For example, I was at a conference where they were making a 30-second silence for Syria. There is a naïve idea that to be a writer you must be a good person. So that is my perception as a journalist, (that as a writer) there is a constant posturing, that we stand for decent things, we are against oppression... As a journalist I find that amusing sometimes.