A Swiss student's thesis on the influence of perfume blogs - online survey request!

A picturesque place in Switzerland which is a little bit off the tourist trail - and for which I have a soft spot for that very reason - is St Gallen. Long term readers may recall that I based myself there one weekend in late October, 2011. I caught a gig by The Monochrome Set (I know - they get everywhere!) on the Saturday night, following a meet up with Swiss perfumistas in Basel and a solo perfumery crawl in Zurich. The impressive baroque cathedral in St Gallen gets a brief mention in this airport sniffing post.

So when I received an email out of the blue from an undergraduate student there, my ears pricked up:

"My Name is Nina Meier and I am currently writing my bachelor thesis at University of St. Gallen (HSG, Switzerland) about 'the influence of blogs on the perfume market'. In course of  my thesis I am now looking for qualified interview partners who are willing to answer a few questions regarding this specific topic."

Source: unisg.ch

Nina's degree is in business administration, and her professor, Claus Noppeney, has a special interest in scent. Nina drew my attention to an interesting post on the Scent Culture Institute within the university, which I see counts Andy Tauer as one of its collaborators. Here is an excerpt from the About page of the Institute's website, explaining the olfactory tie up in more detail.

"The sense of smell has long been disregarded as one of the lower senses. More recently, however, the cultural and social relevance of the sense of smell is increasingly recognized. The formation of the Scent Culture Institute reflects this development. It is involved in different kinds of projects focusing on the sense of smell in culture, business and society. Projects vary in orientation: research, consulting, education, scent design, etc. The growing number of projects show how olfaction, scent and smell are increasingly the focus of cultural studies, art and design practice, as well as management research."

Me in St Gallen - wearing my sample scoring coat!

Well, as a market researcher myself, I am always happy to help out where I can - I am often excluded from surveys by virtue of being a professional 'insider' - but no such criteria applied here. So Nina sent me - along with a whole clatter of other bloggers, many of them familiar names on the scene - her survey questions, and I plan to post my own answers on Bonkers shortly. I am holding off from doing so for a while longer though, so as not to bias any readers who wish to take part in a short online survey Nina has also devised.

"Furthermore my current research design is also intending a qualitative part, in which course I would also like to make an online survey with the followers/readers of your blog."

The aim of this parallel line of inquiry is to see what sources of information about fragrance are consulted by the perfume wearing public, and how relatively influential they are in shaping people's views of brands or individual scents. So clearly my saying whether I think Bonkers about Perfume has any part to play in all of that might prejudice the results of this related 'consumer' research.

So without further ado, here is the link to Nina's online survey. It only takes a few minutes - no, really, I did a dummy run myself to see! - and your participation would be very helpful for her thesis.

Online survey link

My answers to the bloggers' survey to follow...

Lily of The Hidden Valley (aka 'the drink not taken'): Decennial Lys du Desert review

Source: Tripadvisor

So the perfume sale has come and gone, and I have managed to move on a few things - most of which have yet to reach their destinations, so I am inevitably in a state of nail-biting limbo until they do. Crucially, I managed to shift the Bag of Hell / Indifference, which was going for free and went in the end to Samantha of I Scent You A Day, for whom it was a Bag of Possibility / Promise, which was great. She kindly sent me a handful of samples in return, having taken care to check my preferences in advance, so as not to end up accidentally giving me the starting material for the next 'Bag of Oh No, The Samples I'm Not Wild About Are Mounting Up Again'! ;)

Now the scent that really knocked me for six - in a good way - was Decennial Lys du Desert, which notwithstanding its Gallic character appears to have lost its accent somewhere over the Atlantic. For Lys du Desert is one of a quartet of scents launched by the iconic US perfume e-tailer/store, Luckyscent/Scent Bar, to mark its tenth anniversary. The nose is none other than Andy Tauer, while the other three fragrances were created by Jerome Epinette (who has at least one accent in his name, but a combination of inertia on my part and the interests of brand congruence forbid me from adding it). I have historically had a mixed hit rate with Tauer Perfumes, even though my only full bottle purchase last year was PHI Rose de Kandahar, and I have also taken a belated shine to Une Rose Vermeille. For years I was something of a Tauer refusenik - or Tauer 'reluctantnik', if you will - and found his early work too fuzzy and smoky and generally heavyhanded on the old Tauerade. The other perfume with 'desert' in its name - L'Air du Désert Marocain', henceforth abbreviated to LADDM, as is the convention in perfume circles - was the glorious exception that proved the rule, albeit it was also quite strong, and I had to be in the wood for it - I mean 'mood'(!), but that may be a cedar-y Freudian slip.

Source: basenotes.net

Before accepting Samantha's generous offer to let me have the remains of her sample, I googled the reviews of Lys du Desert and lit upon one by The Non-Blonde in which Gaia notes the kinship between Lys du Desert and LADDM, and reckons people may find this scent more wearable. I see that Jtd of Scenthurdle (writing on Parfumo.net) considers Lys du Desert a stylistic bridge between Orange Star and Noontide Petals. Well, I am retesting both of those (albeit my sample of Orange Star may have gone off on the QT), but I can't say I 'get' that connection myself. For me the obvious comparison is hands down with LADDM. Props to Jtd though for consistently adding the accent. ;)

The amusing genesis of Lys du Desert is narrated on Andy Tauer's blog, where he explains that over a breakfast of pancakes with Franco and Adam of Luckyscent, he agreed to compose a perfume for their commemorative Decennial line, which would be based on his own happy experiences of camping and hiking in the Joshua Tree National Park. He refers to this as not so much a formal commission as a 'pancakission'. A man after my own heart. Specifically, it was the scent of the fleshy, creamy Desert Lily itself that was the cornerstone of Tauer's inspiration.

Source: calflora.net

As the blurb on the Luckyscent explains:

'The Desert Lily was in full bloom in the Pinto Basin - a rare occurrence only a few weeks out of the year. It's white lily scent was intoxicating, with hints of green freshness that reminded him (Tauer) of the oasis at Cottonwood Springs, a site with lush green vegetation at the north entryway. His ode to what spawned LA - the rugged yet delicate, unforgiving yet captivating desert - is captured in Lys du Desert.'

Notes: bergamot, rose, green lily, dry cistrose, iris root, ambergris, dry cedar

On first spraying, I get the characteristic warm, muzzy tingle that is Tauerade, but to my nose in the softest and most gentle register yet. The end is already in the beginning, and I have no problem with that. And the lily is not immediately apparent on my skin - I can just about pick up on what may be powdery iris and dry cistrose but it is hard to know, as they are swooningly melded into the arid, woody-amber base. I really don't mind if the lily is playing hide-and-seek though, as the overall impression is so gentle and dreamy - I'd even go so far as to say 'spiritual' if I was that way inclined. Yes, I think Lys du Desert could give Etro's Messe de Minuit a run for its money in the religiosity department, though it is completely free of that dank, ecclesiastical flagstone vibe. And if LADDM conjures up a bed in a hotel room directly overlooking a souk in Morocco, Lys du Desert makes me think of this room at the Desert Lily B & B in the Joshua Tree National Park.

Source: Tripadvisor

So... I have only just twigged that part of the Mojave Desert is one of two ecozones in this park.

Long time readers may recall my travelogues from California, but the despatches specifically from the Mojave Desert may bear repetition here - for although I was a ways to the North West between Mojave and Tehachapi, intent on winkling out Nissen huts that were home to maintenance engineers on the ginormous wind farm there, I cannot fail to have noticed umpteen examples of the tree in question, for the landscape is fairly homogeneous in that regard.

For your convenience, I have combined extracts from two relevant posts in one handy mash up. ;) If you remember them, jump to below the wavy line of tildes...!

The Mojave desert itself

'Finally, no catalogue of road surfaces would be complete without a description of my intrepid trip up a mountain (taller than Ben Nevis!) in the Mojave Desert. I had an appointment with an executive at a wind farm operating company, and his prefabricated office was conveniently located on the summit. When we arranged the meeting, he strongly recommended that I rent a 4 x 4, warning me of the dangers that could befall the hapless motorist if it had recently rained. The 5 mile dirt track to his office would have been transformed in a matter of hours into a river of mud, and a regular compact car risked becoming mired in the sludge, wheels spinning uselessly, if they spun at all.

I mulled over my respondent's advice long and hard, but in the end my phobia of large clumpy vehicles far outweighed my fear of mudslides, and I rented the sub-compact Chevy mentioned in my previous post. I decided that if it did rain the night before my meeting, there was nothing for it but to get up in the small hours, borrow a Miner's headlamp and a pair of Wellingtons - from where I hadn't quite figured out - and attempt the climb on foot.

As luck would have it, the day dawned bright and sunny - and windy. The 5000 turbines on this, the second largest collection of wind generators in the world, were earning their keep that day, like demented, oversized daisies. I made steady progress up the mountainside in second gear - or what I imagined would have been second gear if I wasn't driving an automatic. 40 minutes later I reached the summit, and when I got out of the car the wind nearly blew the door off! As for my hair...well, suffice to say that a single 80mph gust instantly transformed my slightly blowsy style into the most convincing faux-Puckrik ever! On balance, a blob of gloop probably remains a more practical everyday option.'

Now are those wind turbines or Joshua trees?

Followed by my brief desert encounter...

'But my finest stunt in a Denny's restaurant was picking up a 20-something airforce mechanic in a remote village in the desert. No, I will rephrase that - I did nothing of the sort - he merely struck up conversation with me from the next booth, and after we had both finished our meals, cordially invited me to accompany him to find a bar (this was a dry Denny's, to go with the local terrain).

Reader, I declined, pleading paperwork, but thinking that that would be too much excitement on a school night, while my inner Health & Safety Representative said I shouldn't be getting into any strange men's cars whom I had only known long enough for them to eat a customised French Toast grand slam. My heart, on the other hand, said he was a perfectly decent young man and a credit to his country, and the innocent invitation had been prompted by the inevitable loneliness that comes with chronic solo dining.

My hotel in Mojave - called Desert Winds! ~ Source: Tripadvisor

When I told Mr Bonkers about this encounter, he seemed quite proud of me for showing that I can still pull someone young enough to be my son. A feat even more impressive when you factor in the American Eagle Outfitters cable knit sweater and 9 yr old boot leg jeans - an ensemble strictly confined to in-home comfort wear (which of course Denny's had more or less become by that point : - ) ). And the non-deterrent effect of the outfit reminds me in turn of the time I was mistaken for a hooker down by the Hudson River while wearing a full length camel coat and aran bobble hat.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And the association of my time in the desert with Denny's brings us neatly back to pancakes - or almost certainly would have done, had it been morning. The flower whose tender sensuality is subtly and elusively woven through this composition I shall hereby dub 'Lily of The Hidden Valley'. As with the bag of samples I gave to Samantha, Lys du Desert is the scent of possibility that is blowing in the warm, soothing wind. It's the scent of throwing caution - and accents! - TO the winds, even. And it is the road - and the drink - not taken, my 'lily-livered' reaction to a chance invitation from an all-American boy...

But I am not sorry I said no. I did have work the next day. And frankly I felt empowered enough by my navigational exploits up hill and down dale tracking down these wind farm mechanics. In terms of logistical feats in my line of work, it may well have been my finest hour. So just as Lys du Desert is the scent of Andy Tauer's hiking holidays, for me it will forever signify the exhilaration of having my work take me to this remote and majestic spot. Take me there and get me safely out again, with the job in the bag.

Hidden Valley, Joshua National Park ~ Source: Tripadvisor

The 'Careful Whispers' series: No 3 - Tauer Perfumes Cologne du Maghreb review

Source: tauerperfumes.com

Before anyone mentions it, I am as surprised as the next person to be featuring a Tauer perfume in my 'Careful Whispers' series. As with 'first generation' Mona di Orios, I didn't really get on with the early releases from the line - or maybe, at that neophyte stage of my perfume j*****y, my nose was too easily overwhelmed by the robust style of scent Andy Tauer tended to favour then.  The stellar exception to that being L'Air du Désert Marocain, a haunting dusty-spicy-woody rose number I love so much I am prepared to go through the faff of giving it its proper accent.  And though LADDM is also potent, it is utterly mesmeric once it has worn on the skin for a while. But otherwise, back in those early days I continued to have issues with the bristly 'Tauerade' base, metallic notes generally (Zeta and the galvanised lily that is Carillon pour un Ange, which I do still like), and latterly also soap (Orange Star).

The release of Tableau de Parfums Miriam and Noontide Petals marked a definite turning point in my appreciation of Andy Tauer's work, most probably because these scents are in a quieter register.  The aldehydic notes in both were playful and ticklish, while the soapy aspect of Noontide Petals was eclipsed ultimately by the tang of ylang-ylang and the radiant glow of other white florals.  Now I know I haven't mentioned PHI Une Rose de Kandahar on Bonkers yet, but I made its acquaintance earlier this year thanks to a sample from Val the Cookie Queen, and was instantly smitten.  In PHI Une Rose de Kandahar the nuzzling fizz of the aldehydes is accompanied by a photorealistic rose note of such rarity that fans of the scent will have to wait till the autumn for production to be resumed when that particular material is available again. PHI might well be my first full bottle purchase of a Tauer Perfume, which is testament to how far my taste has come - or to how far Andy Tauer's work happens to have veered up my congenially wispy alley!

PHI Une Rose de Kandahar ~ Source: fragrantica.com

And so to Cologne du Maghreb.  An email from Jeffrey Dame, CEO of Hypoluxe, who distributes Tauer Perfumes in the USA, landed in my inbox the other day.  He inquired whether I wished to sample Cologne du Maghreb, which - as I have just learnt - is a relaunch of a limited edition scent from 2011.  If so, he would arrange for Andy to mail it out directly.  Well, given the intensity of my attachment to PHI, I was indeed curious to try this unisex summer scent, and within what felt like a blink of an eye the package was here, accompanied by a handwritten card - thanks, both!

Well, off the bat I would like to say is how impressed I was with the thin flat box the sample came in - a perfect example of 'packaging commensurate to the size of its contents', which is what I like to see.  A complete absence of ostentatious boxes, plinths, huge slabs of foam or extravagantly padded envelopes.

Next up, I thought to google Maghreb, as I felt I should clarify the geographical frame of reference for this latest addition to the Tauer stable.  Well, it appears to be a region of North West Africa comprising Libya, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia and Mauritania.  Mauritania?  Why, I thought that was a ship!  

So the first thing I should say about Cologne du Maghreb - or rather, I will let Andy Tauer say it - is that it is an 'all-natural, all-botanical fragrance, a traditional cologne, light and not made to last'.

A fulfilment operative at Tauer Towers

I completely concur with that - and it is such a startling aspect of a Tauer scent - yet it is a fact that Cologne du Maghreb is noticeably fleeting on me.  Or to be exact, after the stunningly bright, herbaceous opening - which reminds me very much of Guerlain Sous le Vent and also a little bit of the top notes of Mito EDP - Cologne du Maghreb quickly subsides into a very soft, ambery-vetivery hum covered in a light dusting of sherbet. There is rose in there I see, but I can't say I can pick it out, not that that means anything, for my nose is a blunt instrument at the best of times. Texturally, I'd describe the opening as granular - not in the bullshit bingo sense of 'granular', meaning 'detailed' or 'drilled down' (eep!) - but  in the sense of actual granules pinging off your nasal receptors, like finely crushed ice.

I tested Cologne du Maghreb before learning about its all-botanical composition, but I can well believe that now.   It was hyper-zesty, pleasantly tart without being acerbic.  The herbal facet was nicely under control, and didn't tip the composition into more fougere-y or other astringent male territory.  The citrus bouquet was sooo realistic that it was like sniffing a brace of neat aromatherapy oils simultaneously from the bottle. Or crushing the rinds of oranges and lemons in a pestle and releasing the sticky oil from the peel. (I used to work in the juice industry, would you believe, though even in 1985 we were a mite more automated in our juice extraction processes - on the one product not wholly made from concentrate, that is. ; -) ) Then conversely to the rose, I thought I picked up on petitgrain, but I see none listed.  No matter - it was a bracing, refreshing hit like nothing else I have tried in the cologne genre, quite possibly because of its all-natural provenance.

Source: guerlain.com

In terms of the rationale / inspiration for Cologne du Maghreb - I refuse to say backstory, not even as two words - Andy Tauer wished to combine traditional cologne-making techniques with an oriental twist. Though, as he is careful to point out on his blog, not the sort of twist that involves 'synthetic oudh and cheap metallic damascenone'.  No, we are talking lemon groves in Marrakech, cedar trees in Algeria's Atlas mountains, and rock roses in scrubby terrain pretty much anywhere in the region.

Notes: citrus accord, cistus, ambreine, cedarwood, Java vetiver oil, bergamot, lemon, neroli, orange blossom, lavender, rosemary, rose absolute, rose essential oil, clary sage

I really like Cologne due Maghreb, and the fact that you would have to reapply it quite often - not least to enjoy the revivifying rush of the opening again and again - would not bother me.  Hey, I am always looking for ways to use up more perfume, and extreme tenacity is not necessarily a virtue in my book.  Given how I struggled with the likes of Lonestar Memories, I feared it might be too butch, notwithstanding the unisex billing, but it really does sit smack in the middle of the gender divide (for anyone who believes there is such a thing, as I guess I still do).  And readers mourning the recently discontinued Sous le Vent might be reassured to know that there is a worthy - if whisper quiet - substitute on offer.

And and in case you are curious, and not already familiar with its topography, here is a photo of Mauritania!

Source: wikipedia.org

And here is the ship in question, which has a slightly different spelling after all, as Wikipedia put me straight: 'The ship's name was taken from Mauretania, an ancient Roman province on the northwest African coast, not the Modern Mauritania which is now to the south.'

But best of all, this very ship was renamed HMS Tuberose for a year...  I don't make this stuff up, you know...!

RMS Mauretania ~ Source: wikipedia.org

A Tauering oversight! - Tableau de Parfums Miriam and Noontide Petals reviews

Summertime by Ash Straker ~ Source: deviantart.com

Andy Tauer is one of the most accessible and 'interactive' perfumers in the niche sector. He reveals a lot about his work - and his life generally - through his blog, and is active on Facebook, engaging with readers and fans through posts, competitions and the odd polemic.  Here he is in his hotel room in Chicago, there he is catching a plane to Russia (I use the term 'Russia' loosely).  Although I have never met him, I've been several times to the bookshop in the Spiegelgasse in Zurich run by his friend and carrying his perfume range, and have ambled in streets with which he must be very familiar.  Yes, Andy Tauer feels almost 'hautnah' (literally 'skin near' in German, or perhaps 'up close and personal'), plus I know several people who have met him... Why, Freddie of Smellythoughts has had dinner with Andy Tauer and Vero Kern - at the same time no less! - while Sheila Eggenberger of The Alembicated Genie caught up with him at Pitti Fragranze in Florence last month.  Okay, so I haven't actually met Sheila either, but you know how it is...;-) Then of course I did once see a remarkable Doppelgaenger of Andy Tauer at a popular nightspot in Edinburgh.  And back in 2008, when my interest in perfume was relatively new, I won a sample set in an Advent giveaway, and I am sure I still have the handwritten card that came with it stashed away somewhere...

And maybe, in hindsight - or im Nachhinein, as the lovely German phrase goes - I had too much exposure to Andy Tauer's line too soon, before my taste had become robust/evolved enough to appreciate his work. For with the exception of the transcendental L'Air du Désert Marocain, that dusty-ambery-spicy rose scent inspired by an arid wind wafting the curtains of a Moroccan hotel in the early evening breeze, none of the early releases worked for me.  I found the 'Tauerade' base in most of them - to borrow March of Perfume Posse's amusing coinage for their signature drydown - too raspy and scratchy, in a wire wool-ish kind of a way.

Medieval, Andy Tauer's friend's bookshop in Zurich 

But over the years one or two of Tauer's later creations seemed exceptions to this - Carillon pour un Ange, for example, though even that scent had a distinctive metallic tang, in a clear case of 'galvanising the lily'.  I didn't mind Zeta either, which also had this metal facet that never tips over into abrasive Brillo pad territory. Orange Star, meanwhile, I struggled with on account of soap, not metal, and when I was in Paris in June with Undina, I dismissed Noontide Petals on similar grounds.

The next thing that happened was that Freddie gave me a sample of Tableau de Parfums Miriam to try and I was immediately smitten.

Notes: fresh citrus accord, geranium, violet blossom, rose, jasmine, ylang, violet leaf, lavender, vanilla, orris root, sandalwood

Source: luckyscent.com

There is a slight sparkle of citrus and aldehydes in abundance in the opening, but they were ultra quiet, like the vibration of many tiny humming birds' wings, or bubbles of Prosecco streaming to the top of a flute.  And I am not talking about the violent fizzing of a cheapo bottle of Highland Spring here, but more along the lines of a delicate 'petillance'.  Or - if anyone has ever had physio delivered by one of those machines that massages your muscles with micro-pulses - it was the olfactory equivalent of that mildly buzzing sensation. Not unlike the polishing brush at the dentist, come to think of it - you know, the one with the insane tickle!  Yes, I found Miriam pin prickingly effervescent, elegant and feminine, and vintage / retro in feel.

I can best sum up the general style of Miriam as 'finely milled Chanel No 5' - or Le Dix perhaps, on account of the greater presence of violet.  It is more restrained than either of those, more dialled back, making it more wearable in my book.  And greener and earthier and more chypre-ish than those two.  Kind of 'murky' or 'muddy' to be honest, but not in a bad way.  Can you have aldehydic murk?  Clearly you can in my world, and on my wrist.  In fact the more times I tried it, the less citrus and fizz and the more of this earthy quality I got instead, as if the brightest of the aldehydes had actually risen to the top of the vial, and I was now sniffing the olfactory 'lees', which were still nice.  Oh, and in its final stages Miriam assumes a smooth yet powdery, snuffed out quality, which is also lovely.  In short, Miriam has all the good attributes of a vintage fragrance and none of the bad (aggressive aldehydes, aggressive galbanum, aggressive oakmoss or animalic notes etc).

Heartened by this unexpected epiphany, I decided to fish out my sample of Noontide Petals next, and before spraying it on I studied the notes.

Top notes: bergamot, aldehydes, Bourbon geranium
Heart notes: rose, ylang, tuberose, jasmine
Base notes: patchouli, frankincense, vanilla, sandalwood, iris, with a hint of styrax and vetiver

Why, I thought, I absolutely should love this one, especially as we are talking just a 'hint' of styrax, and not the industrial quantities found in Yatagan or Amouage Tribute Attar.  So this time I decided to tough out the detergent stage and see what came next, which I had not had the patience to do at the time of my visit to Jovoy.  And was I glad I did!  For Noontide Petals gradually moved through into a phase which, while still soapy, was less detergenty so and more plain clean, cut with a bright lemony sherbet facet, like shafts of sunlight poking through a veil of cloud.

Or like Pez sweets, actually.  Does anyone remember collecting the different dispensers?  It may have been the ylang making its first appearance, as that has a zingy tang to it.  Whatever its origin, the cheerful sherbet note remained throughout the rest of the development, but the best was yet to come, for eventually the big white florals loomed into olfactory view, a veritable glowing orb of them, as the sun burnt through more of the soapy haze.  If I am honest, I would reduce the soapy quality in this if I could, but the florals are just about radiant enough to hold their own.

So I would be interested to know - how is your own hit rate with Tauer Perfumes?  

How do you get on with 'Tauerade', metal or soap - if you detect these elements indeed?

And have you - like me - had any late onset epiphanies with the range? 

Finally, here is Graeme, the Andy Tauer lookalike again - funnily enough, I am going back to that same venue tomorrow and will be sure to look out for him!

A Midsummer Bonkers Road Trip: The Perfume Bit - An Ill-Fated Sniffathon In Zürich

I find it strange to credit that a whole week has gone by and I have not written a single blog post. That happens routinely when I go away, but it is the first time in the history of Bonkers that I have been so majorly sidetracked whilst at home that blogging intentions have gone completely out of the window.

But as my Facebook friends know, I may have been at home, yet this has been far from a normal week. For in that time I have managed to cobble together another, longer road trip: I will be away for two and a half weeks this time, in seven countries. Okay, so that sort of excuses last week's posting hiatus, but I thought to myself that I simply cannot go off again tomorrow without at least finishing the account of the last trip, so here is the final instalment. And a very sorry tale it is too.

I found myself unexpectedly free one day of the second week, and arranged to meet Potiron from Basenotes in Zürich. When it comes to fumehead hook ups, Potiron and I are veterans, having already met three times in Basel: twice with Wordbird and Alicka61, and once on our own. This time Potiron was kind enough to offer to meet me in Zürich rather than Basel (where she lives), to save me making the detour west when my meetings were in the opposite direction.

We were due to meet in the Bahnhofstrasse, Zürich's "Golden Mile" in terms of perfume retailing, at about 2pm. I had driven down from Germany that morning in my very hot hire car - with the blower on at full blast in the absence of air con - and by the time I checked into my hotel in the suburbs, I realised that my burgeoning headache might just be shaping up to be a full blown migraine. The fact that I was copiously sick moments later tended to confirm this.

But there was no way I was going to miss this meeting with Potiron, whom I hadn't seen for a year or so, and who had taken the trouble to come a fair distance to meet me at my base. Nor did I want to forfeit the chance to sniff the latest releases in Zürich's finest perfume emporia, given that I might not be passing this way again for some time. I hadn't been to the Bahnhofstrasse since a solo visit in March 2010, so there would clearly be lots of new stuff to try.

How different my afternoon with Potiron panned out compared with the previous packed sniffing itinerary, when I took in no fewer than ten different stores!

I finally made it downtown by about 2.30pm or so, having kept Potiron informed by text of my progress on the tram ride to the centre. The first thing I did was sit on a bench, where Potiron found me - looking decidedly feeble and lacklustre. We agreed that the best plan of action would be to go for a drink first in a nearby cafe - in the shade, as I was troubled by the bright light. So troubled in fact that I chatted to Potiron with my eyes closed much of the time, which isn't terribly sociable.

Midway through our stay at the cafe, I sensed that I was going to be sick again, and scurried inside, my hand covering my mouth as a preventative measure. Unfortunately, the ladies toilet appeared to be locked, so I went up to the bar and mimed the action of a key turning, not daring to take the other hand away from my mouth. Recognising the urgency of my request, the bartender abandoned her capuccino-maker in mid-froth and escorted me back downstairs and into the gent's toilets, where I was promptly sick again.

I thought I might perk up after this, but it was not to be. After our tea we sat in a grassy square for a bit, but there wasn't much shade and the noise and glaring sunshine continued to disturb me. So we headed inside Globus, Zürich's most upmarket department store, whose cool, air conditioned, dark grey interior had an instant calming effect, though my migraine raged on apace...

We headed up to the perfumery department and had only been cruising the aisles for a few minutes before I had to dash to the ladies again - though not before I had pointed Potiron in the direction of Prada Infusion de Vétiver, which I remembered coming across in the men's section last year, and there it was still.

Having thrown up for the third time, I sat for a while on the cold tiled floor of the cubicle - also a soothing shade of charcoal - thinking this was probably the darkest and coolest place in the whole of Zürich. Realistically though, it was not a place where one could reasonably spend more than a few minutes, and I rejoined Potiron in the fragrance department, rallying just long enough to complete our perfunctory browsing of the fixtures. Potiron tried some Serge Lutens - I don't recall which ones, and felt too delicate to test any myself, in case I accidentally lit upon a camphoraceous or boozy spice number that would have been my nemesis even had I been in robust health.

After Globus we walked very slowly - for along with light and noise, I was averse to physical activity - down the Bahnhofstrasse to Osswald, the jewel in the crown in terms of Zürich's perfumeries. Had I been feeling better, we would doubtless have had a nose round the discount retailer, Import-Parfümerie, or checked out a branch or two of Marionnaud or Douglas. Not to mention the other department stores left unexplored this time, like Manor or Jelmoli. Knowing that we were on borrowed time in terms of my staying power, we were careful instead to target only the most prestigious outlets!

Sadly though, even in this fragrance mecca I couldn't summon up much enthusiasm. My brief attempts at sampling were interspersed with longer bouts of sitting down - as discreetly as I could muster - on the wooden ledge surrounding the wall displays. I limited myself to smelling just a handful of scents I had been wanting to try. Under normal circumstances - as on my trip to Berlin earlier this year - I might well have taken a perfume house previously unknown to me, like Memo on that occasion, and systematically sniffed my way through the entire line.

In accordance with this tightly focused strategy(!), I spotted the Xerjoff range prominently displayed on a table near the front of the store, and homed in immediately on Oesel. I tested it on a prime skin site, remembering Olfactoria's hugely enthusiastic review of it recently. It reminded me of a more vivid and luscious version of Penhaligon's Orange Blossom cologne, maybe with a slug of Jo Malone's Orange Blossom tipped in to make it really zing. I remember Oesel as rich and radiant, and I also detected similarities - both stylistically and in terms of the actual notes - with Ajne Bloom de Nuit, though it is a while since I have smelt that one:

AJNE BLOOM DE NUIT

Notes: neroli, citrus fruit, green leaves, rock rose, amber and sandalwood.

XERJOFF OESEL

Notes: orange blossom, petitgrain, Bulgarian rose, Sambac jasmine, mimosa, white flowers, Indian patchouli, cedar and tobacco flower.

Ajne scents, doubtless due to their being all-natural, have this unique, Dolby surround sound quality, of which you occasionally find bright echoes in other high end fragrances. DelRae Début is a lily of the valley and citrus scent, but it has that same sunshine-y, almost palpably tangy quality as the floral Ajnes, and Oesel is in similar vein. It is a great tribute to Oesel that I liked it so much in my fragile state, and that such a fulsome fragrance managed to beguile rather than repel. It beguiled and persisted on skin well into the next morning, outlasting my headache by some 12 hours!

I also tested DelRae's Coup de Foudre on skin, and didn't dislike it, but can't remember much about it - it can't have been all that remarkable, notwithstanding my impaired faculties. I retried the softly musky Geste from Humiecki & Graef, but that didn't set my world alight either, though I think Potiron may have pronounced it her favourite of the scents I sprayed on skin.

I had a sniff of two new Byredos, Palermo and Sunday Cologne. Palermo was too herby and acerbic, while Sunday Cologne was pleasant but entirely forgettable. I will stick with Gypsy Water, with its slight undercurrent of mystery lent by the incense. Then I tested both Maison Martin Margiela Untitled and Untitled L'Eau on skin. The latter was a tad sharper, but I think I quite liked both. They were green and citrussy and that is all I can dredge up from the memory banks. Nuls points for the boring minimalist packaging though, which appears to be trying to rival Le Labo's apothecary bottles in the clinical blandness department.

Now Ormonde Jayne had been launched in Osswald since I was last there, and it was nice to see this very familiar British brand so far from home. The line had its own portion of shelving, while the tester bottles - along with explanatory cards about each scent - were dotted around the store at regular intervals, like scented stations of the cross, if that is not too crass an image!

Once Potiron and I had exhausted Osswald, or more correctly, once Osswald had exhausted me, we repaired to a shady bench a few yards away to consider our next move. We opted to make one last assault on the book shop in the Spiegelgasse that stocks Andy Tauers, where we got to try Zeta for the first time, and I even blagged a small sample. I say "even", because this shop couldn't be more different from chains like Douglas, where hustling for samples is standard perfumista procedure.

Zeta was to linden what Carillon pour un Ange is to lily of the valley. Both have a distinctly metallic character - with Zeta Tauer is clearly "galvanising the lime". I joked with the shop proprietor about the fact that The Pentachords weren't available to test in their homeland, and he remarked ruefully that perfumers aren't necessarily celebrated - or their creations showcased - in their own country. I may be paraphrasing slightly, but it was something along those lines.

After another cup of tea in a shady square nearby, I had shot my bolt, staminawise, and we made our way back to the train station, where Potiron caught the 7pm train back to Basel. I jumped on a tram across the street, and was tucked up in my darkened hotel room by 7.15pm.

So it wasn't my finest hour as sniffathons go, but I am glad I got round the places we did, and was pleased to see Potiron even under these difficult circumstances. Looking back, it was a good job that I knew her already, so I felt able to be so conspicuously ill in her company without either of us batting an eyelid. Oh, and I took this photo of Potiron, but didn't feel like having mine taken in return. That might have been a Photoshop challenge too far!

PS Waiting for me when I got home was a surprise package from Bonkers reader Tara, containing - by a spooky coincidence - a generous decant of Zeta! She had clocked my comments on other blogs about this scent, saying how much I would like to sniff it, and had the kind thought to send me some from her new bottle. Pictured in the photo below is Charlie Bonkers helping me sort the post the day after I got back. Remarkably, she didn't knock the Zeta atomiser over...




Pboto of Bahnhofstrasse from fineartamerica.com, photo of cafe from blogger-index.com, photo of Globus from buildingtechnologies.siemens.com, photo of Osswald from ormondejayne.com, photo of Oesel from parfumsraffy.com, photo of Untitled from highsnobiety.com, other photos my own

Up Against A Tauer Of Strength: Can Swiss Army Perfume Cut It?

I don’t know why it should occur to me to write about a Swiss perfume just as I was getting ready to go to Germany, but for some reason one popped into my head the other day. It is a sample I received from Wordbird during our four handed fumehead meet in Basel in March of last year. Or four headed fumehead meet, perhaps that should be. It is distinctive because it is in a little pillow pack packaging, like one of these bulky padded cases Swiss army knives come in – or Mr Bonkers’ knock off version does, anyway. I have had this sample for a full year without testing it, because I couldn’t bring myself to rip open the packaging and deflate the pillow, as it were.

But I was in one of those decisive moods on that particular morning, having a good old rummage in the paper horse’s nose bag that originally contained all my Gorilla perfume samples – and still does in fact, along with various waif and stray extras from swaps - when my hand pulled out this Swiss Army perfume and I decided that that was the day it would go pop! Obviously I had the foresight to photograph it first...

I guess part of my hesitation prior to trying this scent has to do with a fear of disappointment. I may be completely misguided in this belief, but apart from Andy Tauer’s line and my oddball love, Shared Water by Michel Comté – the subject of a post I wrote a while back on squirrelling away back up bottles – I don’t really associate Switzerland with iconic perfumes – what the French might term “parfums de grand standing”, but almost certainly don’t. If Potiron happens upon this, she will doubtless be able to put me straight on whether I am in fact overlooking some other famous Swiss brands.

And even Andy Tauer, who just the other week won a UK FiFi award for Orange Star, and who is something of a national – and international – treasure as perfumers go, mostly creates scents that aren’t up my alley, if I am honest, owing to my shifting but largely troubled relationship with Tauerade. That said, I love L’Air du Désert Marocain and actively like Carillon pour un Ange, to which Bloody Frida recently introduced me. So just based on those two scents, Tauer would be a tough act for another perfume house to top or even half way respectably follow (the keen-eyed reader may detect some German sentence construction creeping in here as I get linguistically into the zone…).

And what scent do we have in the ring pitting its mainstream molehill against the mighty Matterhorn that is the house of Tauer?

Answer: “a fresh, floral fragrance for active, contemporary ladies. Charismatic, inviting & sensual” according to one e-tailer, while another site describes this scent as “dedicated to female adventurers” – why, that would be me! (Not in a Gorillas in the Mist-Ellen MacArthur sailing single-handed round the world kind of a way… no, more your female adventurer taking a chance on a motel that – let’s just say – doesn’t have the most twinkly star rating in the hotels.com galaxy.) Oh, and the same website describes Swiss Army perfume as “an ode to the lofty Swiss Alps”.

Well, that sounds fairly promising, given that I like Shared Water, which has a tranquil mountain stream and small alpine flower vibe, plus an intriguing if slightly incongruous steamed rice note. The note list for Swiss Army Perfume is in vaguely similar territory, though on the face of it mandarins don’t sound quintessentially Alpine. No, I have just checked, and the top three producers of tangerines, mandarins and clementines collectively (sorry that I couldn't find any more cultivar-specific stats) are in fact China, Spain, Brazil, Japan and Morocco.

Notes: edelweiss, blue buttercup, mountain daffodil, muguet, organic ginger root, crisp green watermint and fresh mandarin, with sheer woods.

Now I do worry when I see a muguet note listed, because it is one of those tricky customers which, when done cheaply or just badly, can be very bad indeed, and sure enough it wasn’t great in this scent.

My first impressions of Swiss Army perfume are of a fragrance totally at odds with any of the usual connotations of a knife, such as precision engineering, sharpness, rigour, cold metallic aloofness and so on. By contrast, this was a cheap smelling, chemically, fruity, ditzy fruity floral of the most forgettable kind. I guess I should be glad it is forgettable. If I had to choose between only wearing this perfume for ever and not wearing perfume at all, I would definitely go scentless...

So much for the massive build up as I deferred my testing of Swiss Army perfume for all that time. I can categorically state that it does not cut it vs Tauer’s range, though it did muster enough serration to burst the bubble of the pillow pack – and my expectations.


Photo of matterhorn from about.ch, photo of mandarins from ingredientrade.com, photo of Swiss army knife from vagabond journey.com, other photo my own

PS German sniffing report will be along shortly!

Tauer Carillon Pour Un Ange: Galvanising The Lily

I like Switzerland. I go there quite often for work. Why, I even have an expired 2010 vignette on my car, which permitted me to make unlimited use of the country's scenic and densely betunnelled motorway network last year. I also like Andy Tauer, who is THE perfumer everyone associates with Switzerland. Following a tip off from Wordbird, I have visited the Aladdin's Cave of a little bookshop run by his friend in the Spiegelgasse in Zurich. It famously inspired the creation of Le Maroc pour Elle, and cheek by jowl with the books and art cards, the full range of Tauer scents is displayed in the doorway, bizarrely suspended on pieces of string.

Now I have never met the man himself, but there are quite a few of us out in the blogosphere with his handwritten compliments slips, which we have squirrelled away with other fragrance keepsakes, or - in my own case - stuck up on my office pinboard next to the business cards of a couple of other olfactory benefactors. This perfumer is not only very generous with his prize draws - I won a set of samples during the Advent series of 2008 - but he does his own mail outs. Yes, on the basis of these little notes and his blog, Andy Tauer comes across as friendly and approachable. He hikes, he cooks, he is like one of us! Well, except for the hiking, the cooking and the famous and talented nose part. Speaking for myself, anyway. And if I ever were to meet him, I could speak to him in German! Though not his native Swiss German - goodness me, no.

So given the fact that I have always warmed to Andy Tauer as a person, it has been a source of regret to me over the past three years of this hobby that I haven't had a very good "strike rate" with his perfumes, by which I mean I have only liked a small proportion of the total line. Well, pretty much only L'Air du Désert Marocain up to this point, which continues to exert a visceral pull with its haunting blend of rock rose, bone dry cedar and dusty spices, warmed by a soft amber base. The image conjured up by this scent is perfectly summed up by its creator:

'Imagine finding peace in a room, lying on the bed, exhausted from the heat of the day, with the window open, letting the cool air in which still is very dry and filled with the scents from the near desert and overlayed with the spicy scents of the streets below.'

Notes: Coriander, Petitgrain (Bitter orange), Lemon, Bergamot, Jasmin, Cistus, Bourbon, Geranium, Cedarwood, Vetiver, Vanille, Patchouli and Ambergris

L'Air du Désert Marocain is one of the most affecting perfumes I have ever smelt, which I wouldn't say of all the fragrances I am very drawn to or find easy to wear. I should perhaps add that I only love L'Air du Désert Marocain (henceforth LADDM for short) when it has been on for an hour or so, as it is a bit intense and raspy to start with. Which brings me on to the reason why I may have problems appreciating most of the other scents in the range, namely the Tauer "house accord" aka "Tauerade". This term, coined by Marina of Perfumesmellingthings in her review of Tauer's Orris, is the subject of a recent post by Josephine of Notes from Josephine, in which she wrestles with her nose's existential angst in relation to the Tauer line.

Marina reads this accord as a "sweetly-ambery, spicy-herbal, slightly leathery, woody SOMETHING", so no wonder she wanted to come up with a snappier name for it(!); Josephine, meanwhile, detects cough syrup. For myself, I do get a medicinal aspect, also a fuzzy, almost wire wool consistency. It was particularly noticeable in Incense Rosé, Une Rose Chyprée and Lonestar Memories, though there was a lot else going on in that last one, from lighter fluid to bacon, "fuelling" its oddity.

I persisted in this view of Tauers - accepting that LADDM would forever be the one scent from this particular stable on which I could happily ride off into the sunset - until I began to hear good things about the new release, Carillon pour un Ange. I heard it had ylang-ylang and lily of the valley, two favourite notes of mine, though the latter can be tricky and descend into soapy toiletry territory if you are not careful. I also heard that this scent wasn't like other Tauers in terms of the whole medicinal Brillo pad vibe. And though my hasty sniff of a tester nozzle in (the) Scent Bar wasn't too promising, I am three skin trials in now and enjoying the fragrance very much indeed.

For starters, Carillon pour un Ange has an unexpected luminosity for a Tauer - a radiant, almost irradiated quality. Bury it 200 foot underground and its bright heart would still beat, and its bells peal. It has the same intense and bright quality as Ajne Printemps or SIP Magazine Street or DelRae Début, which may partly be to do with the natural ingredients used, for it is mostly in scents with a high proportion of natural materials that I have experienced this "High Definition" phenomenon. The heady hint of lilac, the sensual oomph of jasmine and the tangy clang of ylang-ylang(!) help magnify this impression, aided and abetted by some miscellaneous greenery - none of it bitter like galbanum to my nose - but rather a bright, sherberty linden greenness (which Printemps and Début share, come to think of it, while the DelRae also has ylang-ylang).

Now, having said that I don't detect Tauerade, with its telltale wire woolliness, I DO detect metal all the same, at least in the opening. This may well be intentional, given that the name of the scent refers to a "stationary set of chromatically tuned bells in a tower, usually played from a keyboard" OR "a composition written or arranged for these bells". My first impression of Carillon pour un Ange (or CpuA for short - not to be confused with anything from the Periodic Table of Elements). was of a glade of lilies glimpsed through a wire fence.

Has anyone ever made a peephole theatre out of a shoe box? And if so, do you remember that deep sense of perspective due to the arrangement of different fixtures and fittings at staggered intervals along the box's length? Well, that is how I could best describe the sense of olfactory perspective I get with the accords in CpuA.

The metallic quality hangs around for a while in the foreground, and grounds the scent nicely, stopping it from coming over all Diorissimo. Now don't get me wrong - there is a place for that more feminine, "capering-on-hilltops-in-flouncy-petticoats"-style of springtime scent, though not on my skin particularly. But with CpuA, there's an edge, a metal-strip-in-a banknote bite to it. I may conceivably be chomping on the wire fence initially, as I survey the green dell beyond. Stranger things have been known. I am also reminded a little of the sensation of smelling Nahema, which was like sucking on powdered iron girders, but there the iron note was diffuse and powdery, whereas here the metal is whole and glinting - like sunbeams glancing off the bells in the tower. This is not a gilded lily, but a lily in an iron fist. The lily equivalent of "steel magnolias", if you will. : - )

Notes: lilac, rose, ylang-ylang, green lily of the valley accord, jasmine, leather, ambergris, moss and woods.

Now I see no mention of ferrous material in the note listing, so I am guessing that the metallic impression I get is coming from some combination of moss, leather and woods. Either that, or I am imagining it completely, like the phantom ylang-ylang I detect in Ajne Calypso. And as time goes on, the metal bite disappears, and the radiant piquancy is muted slightly by a musky-woody-leathery trail. It is as though the sun were veiled by a wisp of cloud, behind which it continues to burn brightly.

So there is a threefold learning from this latest scent trial:

1. I like anything Bloody Frida sends me
2. There are more Tauers out there to put a spring in my step and make my heart leap...
3. I like my lilies to be not so much giddy and girly as galvanised.

Yes, Andy Tauer has really "rung the changes" with this one...and I am very happy to have found it.




Photo of Easter card with angel from flickriver, photo of hotel in Marrakesh from concierge.com, photo of Carillon pour un Ange from ry7.ru, photo of brooch from collectibles-articles.com, photo of theatre in a box from papergoods.com, photo of angel from fast-autos-net, photo of galvanising process from bellespics.eu.