Papier d'Arménie, and a zig-zaggy, concertina fold tale of four cities

Source: stedentripper.com

I am not sure if there are any current readers of Bonkers who might have caught this post from December, 2009, just a couple of months after I started the blog. It is an account of a snowy trip to Bruges with ex-Mr Bonkers' mother, whom my Facebook friends may also know as 'my elderly friend', noted for her random acts of largesse, 'random' being very much the operative word. Her 75th birthday fell while we were away, and I gave her a bottle of Coco Chanel at breakfast that morning. She had already expressed a liking for Coco, I hasten to add, which marked quite a stylistic departure from the only other scent she owned at the time, the inoffensively peachy Burberry Women. In my post I wrote:

"Her sillage was creamy and warm like a sable stole, cocooning her in this winter wonderland. Well, metaphorically anyway, as we both ended up buying hats."

Now obviously  I wouldn't compare a perfume to a cosy stole anymore, having set up the hoary trope equivalent of a swear box for it some time around 2013... ;) But I mention it because I was wafting an equally memorable trail of Guerlain Bois d'Arménie. I had recently acquired a decant and had fallen hard for its soothing blend of smoky incense and warm, sweet vanillic woods.

Notes: pink pepper, iris, rose, coriander, benzoin, Indonesian patchouli, incense, precious woods, musk and balsams

Back then, I was dimly aware that this 'Armenian paper' from which the Guerlain scent took its inspiration was a venerable form of room deodoriser: it came in booklets comprising strips of paper that you would fold into a concertina and light like joss sticks. I have since learnt that they were invented in 1885 in a suburb of Paris by one Auguste Poncot, and that the family still jealously guard the recipe to this day. The primary ingredient, benzoin, a resin from the styrax tree, is mixed with aromatic 'natural essences' and used to coat an absorbent paper.

Source: Nature et Decouvertes

Three years after the trip to Bruges, in June 2012, I received a card out of the blue from Woking - from my cousin Tim's wife, Sue, enclosing a book of Paper d'Arménie(!) and the following note:

"Now you are probably already familiar with these Papiers Arménie things, but they were new to me. One of my favourite blogs (Mr London Street, he's really very good) wrote about them so evocatively I had to try them for myself. And having eventually got hold of some through French eBay, I thought you might like them, as our resident scentaholic. Let me know what you think of them.

Much love,
Sue

PS Tim hates them, btw, says they're too much like joss sticks. But I'll wear him down eventually."

I was about to move house at the time, so I tucked the little booklet away in a safe place. Later that summer, it resurfaced in my shoe box of perfume paraphernalia, and I decided to take it with me to show Victoria Frolova of Boisdejasmin, along with the very few perfumes I owned that I thought she might not have tried. I was going to Brussels specially to meet her in fact, and also to visit the niche perfumery in Waregem, Place Vendôme (aka Birgit Heaven). During our time together - spent sniffing and eating the several delicious meals Victoria rustled up - we talked amongst other things about our shared love of Bois d'Arménie, and I passed across the booklet of papers for her perusal. Indeed, through an oversight I left it behind in Victoria's flat, and she confirmed to me in a message yesterday that she still has them, awaiting collection on a future visit.

Fast forward to last week, when I was in touch with my friend Jessica about an upcoming gig of hers I planned to attend, and also inquiring about the last stragglers she hopes to test in her ongoing rose perfume quest, one of which was A La Rose, by Francis Kurkdjian.

"I don't think I've tried the Francis K yet. (That sounds like a Kafka character, doesn't it?) I am addicted to 'papier d'arménie' which I buy by mail order from France - the best one by far is the limited-edition one by Kurkdjian. So I am sure I will like A la rose."

Well, well, up they had popped again! - we are clearly not out of the Armenian woods yet...;) Thus it was that I decided to take a sample of Bois d'Arménie with me to the Would-be-goods gig on Saturday, so that Jessica could compare the perfume to the papers she knew. The band were performing in an indiepop charity festival in Cheshire. To be more specific, they played in what looked for all the world like a shiipping container on its side in the car park of a family-friendly pub in Congleton. And the weather also caught me out. Heavy rain had been forecast, so I felt quite smug about my choice of wellies and hooded anorak. I was wearing a zip up hooded top under that (can't have too many hoods in a Glastonbury-type scenario), and had also brought an umbrella and waterproof overtrousers. I still had concerns that the toilet arrangements might involve a two day trek, as I was only going up for the afternoon. As a precaution, I popped into the ladies at the local Tesco superstore before heading for the festival site. In the event, there was just a bit of light spitting during the gig and ample toilet facilities in the pub. Outfitwise I felt a little cheated, to be honest, and I ended up leaving the wellies in the car. Andy, the bass player (the same one as in The Monochrome Set), admitted that he had rather expected 'a bit of a field'.

Not to worry - it was a most enjoyable afternoon regardless! After the band came off stage, Jessica and I sat on a bench by a table laden with raffle prizes, and I gave her the sample of Bois d'Arménie. She applied it immediately, and wrote back with her verdict later in an email, namely that she had enjoyed it, but it wasn't quite 'her', before adding:

"If I haven't said so already, the best Papier d'Armenie by a long way is the 'Armenie' version with the pale blue cover. I find the rose one (also by Francis Kurkdjian) a bit sickly and the original version somewhat harsh by comparison."

Source: naturasellina.de

This is interesting, as I wasn't aware of the rose version by Francis Kurkdjian to which Jessica had referred earlier, and now here was yet another - blue, superior! - variant to consider. And even though Victoria has the booklet, I am pretty sure it is the original one that I had...

A bit of googling led me to this review of Papier d'Arménie by Robin of Now Smell This, in which she also nails her colours to the blue mast!

"This is the perfect Papier d'Arménie. It is even creamier and sweeter than La Rose — the powdery myrrh, incense, benzoin and vanilla scent of the unlit paper would be wonderful in a personal fragrance (or dusting powder) and would make a nice follow up to Guerlain's Bois d'Armenie."

So the smoky incense trail of Bois d'Arménie and its associated paper has led from a snow clad Bruges to Woking, to Brussels...to Congleton(!)....that's a fair few 'wegomleggings' along the way!

And then to Now Smell This, and now to Amazon. Because of course I am keen to try this ultimate blue version by Kurkdjian without delay...

UPDATE: In response to Sabine's inquiry below about the practicality / safety of burning these papers, I had a go today with one of two remaining two strips I found that didn't go to Brussels. All was well - it was over very quickly! - though the little concertina needed relighting twice, as my dining room is on the draughty side. ;)

Talk By Pierre Guillaume At Les Senteurs: Learning The Specifics Of Parfumerie Générale - Part 2

Right, so where on earth do we go next after the incredible Coze licking demonstration? I could mention that there was lively debate amongst the audience as we discussed the correct English term for the type of sugar we detected in Sucre d'Ebène (the scent also featuring PG's favourite macrocyclic musk, if you recall): "Demerara", "muscovado" and just plain "brown" were three possible contenders.

Bestial scents

Or I could tell you that Pierre Guillaume referred to L'Ombre Fauve with its distinctive earthy notes of Amber 83, patchouli and musk as "liquid sex". He also described it as "very dirty" - quoting Francis Kurkdjian, and replicating the gesture more commonly seen on football terraces which FK used to describe his own creation, Cologne Pour Le Soir. And none of that is surprising really, given that the name of L'Ombre Fauve roughly translates as "bestial shadow".

So moving on swiftly on from raunch to another upcoming launch...

Corps & Âmes EDT Apaisante

There will only be one new Limited Edition scent released in the main PG line this year, a reworking of Corps & Âmes, called Corps & Âme EDT Apaisante, "apaisante" meaning "soothing" or "calming" in French. The original Corps & Âme reminds me very much of the civet cloud that is YSL Y, while the new LE - a chypre with notes of geranium, lemon verbena, jasmine sambac and a patchouli heart - had a slightly acerbic citrus / herbal opening, on card at least, and I wouldn't have said they were all that closely related. In fact I detected echoes of Guerlain Sous Le Vent (which PG said he would take as a compliment, when we were discussing our initial impressions). Then PG agreed with those who spotted a resemblance to Aromatics Elixir as the scent wore on. To give uplift to the chypre structure, the new version of Corps & Âmes will contain a linear musk called Serenolide, developed by Philip Kraft, German fragrance chemist with Givaudan.

PG's favourite scent from the Huitième Art range

"The new one!" (ie the "Polywood" blockbuster featured in Part 1).

Finding the balance between commercial success and creative freedom

PG talked about the fact that he has to strike a balance between following his muse in creative terms, producing scents that challenge and interest him personally, while ensuring that there are some more "commercial" perfumes in the mix (this is of course a relative term when applied to a niche brand). The latter can be relied upon to generate sales, including the funding of his more edgy creations such as Papyrus de Ciane, the scent that he is most proud of as a technical achievement.

Scents by other perfumers PG wishes he had created himself

- YSL M7

- Thierry Mugler Womanity (he admires its huge power of diffusion: "I think we will talk differently about it in 10 years' time")

- Lolita Lempicka au Masculin by Annick Mennardo ("she is the mistress of diffusion")

Thoughts on the fragrance market and why small doesn't equal niche

PG singled out a couple of mainstream scents which had particularly impressed him - JPG Kokorico and Terre d'Hermès - describing them as "a few pieces in an ocean of new launches". He finds the co-existence of mainstream and exclusive ranges within houses such as Tom Ford, Dior, Hermès, Chanel etc bewildering - "I am lost" - and assumes the public must be equally confused by these two-tier marketing strategies. PG also laments the fact that certain perfume brands are springing up which - on account of their small size - automatically position themselves as niche. PG doesn't feel this necessarily follows, and considers some of these ranges to be overpriced.

"That is not my version of niche. (By comparison) I am the discount of the niche!"

The PG distribution strategy and why small is beautiful

PG's distribution strategy is to limit the numbers of points of sale and grow the business slowly, as the use of distributors can lead to loss of control and dilution of the brand. This explains why, a year ago, I had been surprised to see the main PG line carried in a small independent perfumery in Holland, yet when I went back last autumn it had mysteriously vanished from the store.

How many tests does it take to develop a fragrance?

Not as many as you might think. PG cited the case of a perfume house which advertised the fact that some 500 tests/iterations had gone into the creation of one of its scents. PG puts this down to marketing spin, and gave 60 as a more typical number, while Intrigant Patchouli he got right first time!

"A good perfumer doesn't need that many tests."

Falling in love with fragrance and why "we are all reptiles on the Discovery Channel"

Actually, PG didn't actually quote this song lyric, or even the original version with "animals" in it, but he did say that the act of falling in love with a perfume is involuntary and more or less instantaneous. He explained how the process is governed by the hypothalamus in the brain and described it as "reptilian", leaning in towards the audience to emphasise his point, like a crocodile eyeing its prey. I have just googled "reptilian brain" and looks to me as though the limbic system may be more where the action is at, but I am not one to split hairs (or cut them in four, as the French say).

I interjected that we sometimes fall in love (with a perfume or a person, indeed) only to fall out of it again pretty smartly, as the scales - to stay with our reptilian theme - fall from our eyes, and we realise we made an expensive mistake...

Pierre Guillaume and Francis Kurkdjian - a whiff of bromance?

PG and Francis Kurkdjian are not exact contemporaries - PG is 35, FK 42 - and PG described their relationship as competitive but friendly. "We fight a little bit...and we go to the same place in Spain for our holidays."

It was in fact Francis Kurkdjian, who, on smelling Coze, PG's first creation, encouraged him to pursue a career in perfumery.

They also both attended the recent awards ceremony in Paris, where the order of “Chevalier des Arts et des Lettres” - an honorary title granted to those who have made outstanding contributions in the arts world - was bestowed upon five perfumers chosen from each of the main fragrance and flavour houses. (Kurkdjian had already received this award in 2009.) PG described it as an emotional occasion punctuated by episodes of horseplay and banter: Dominique Ropion took a photograph of the Minister of Culture, while Maurice Roucel amused the audience with his trademark spoonerisms.

The talk overran considerably - PG was so diligent about fielding questions that (as I later learned) he and the Les Senteurs team missed their dinner reservation. At the end of the night I saw him sitting quietly on a sofa at the back of the store and went over to say thank you and to show him the bottle of Brûlure de Rose I had bought on behalf of a friend whom I had just introduced to the scent. He stood up and kissed me on both cheeks in that gallant way the French do. The "bi-cheek bise" made my night, and it occurred to me that though I hadn't associated any particular memories with the main - supposedly "talkative" - PG fragrance line prior to the talk, I surely would now.

And my iPhone hasn't been in its cover since...

Oh, and today I realised that my phone is not the only link with the whole PG experience - he mentioned that Ambre Ceruléen was inspired by the so-called "cerulean speech" in The Devil Wears Prada, in which Miranda teases Andie about her ignorance of the precise colour of her old sweater:

"But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise. It's not lapis. It's actually cerulean."

Well, as it happens, I own a (distressed PVC) replica of the messenger bag worn by Andie - a gift from a friend who works in PR. It isn't blue, sadly, but I think I have enough memories of the talk to be going on with...

Photo of bestiary, reptiles and the Palais Royal from Wikimedia Commons, photo of PG bottle from basenotes.net, photo of Anne Hathaway from fabsugar.com, other photos my own

APOM Pour Femme - And Another Bonkers Road Trip

For my 100th post I thought of doing a review of Ajne Calypso, on the basis that it is a perfume I love, and the most valuable one I own. Very little has appeared about it on the Internet, and I thought it might be fun to write the review equivalent of a Googlewhack, as my piece on Lidl Suddenly D'Or rather bizarrely turned out to be. When I started this blog at the end of last October, I would never have thought that the most viewed page would be one featuring a fragrance that costs just £3.99 for 50ml. So from that point of view it would have been fitting to have showcased a scent at the opposite end of the price spectrum.

But something else hijacked my attention this week, which felt even more apt as the subject of this milestone post: Maison Francis Kurkdjian's APOM Pour Femme. I received a sample in a swap the other day, and it really made an impression. This is partly because it is a lovely, if somewhat indeterminate scent, and partly because it sums up what has happened to me in the past two years, namely that I have incorporated fragrance into my daily life in a way that still surprises me. In short, perfume has become "A Piece Of Me", to give APOM its full title.
In naming the scent, that is not exactly what Francis Kurkdjian had in mind, though. As I understand it, he intended this soft, skin scent - the feminine counterpart of APOM Pour Homme - to be a fragrance you could transfer to your partner, presumably whilst snuggling up on the sofa. If Mr Bonkers got to hear of the rationale for APOM he would be appalled, as you might well imagine. The last thing he wishes to bring upon himself is the depositing of scent molecules on his person, whether deliberately or through an inadvertent affectionate gesture.

The notes for APOM Pour Femme which have been publicly released are:

Orange blossom, ylang-ylang, cedar wood

The description on Luckyscent has me baffled, mind, as do the reviews I have found elsewhere referring to this as anything remotely approaching a heady white floral:

"..the fragrance comes in a feminine and masculine version, both drenched in orange blossom as lusciously honeyed as a bite-sized oriental pastry."

I don't get honey or an oriental vibe from this, indeed if I hadn't googled the scent I would still be puzzling over what on earth was in it, as the notes are so subtly blended that not a single one is identifiable to my rather inept nose. There is a faintly powdery, faintly soapy feel to APOM, and the sense that it contains stronger notes simmering underneath that have been held in check. The net result is an elegant, restrained scent that leans towards the feminine side of unisex, but only just.

I would not compare it to Amaranthine, though both have ylang ylang in - APOM is much more muted and blurry - indeed the word "inchoate" springs to mind, probably for the first time ever. I do get a teensy resemblance to Penhaligon's Orange Blossom. But the orange here is so quiet and abstract that even this comparison doesn't get us very far. The slight soapiness could be due to the orange or possibly to an undeclared musk note. After all, old Francis did include a laundry product category in his new range, so suds may have permeated his creative thinking elsewhere.

I'd say APOM hovers agreeably and UFO-like over a no man's land between clean and soapy and "hint of sultry". Whilst it is gentle and indistinct, I can truly say that it is indistinct in a way I have never smelt before, in the same way that I find Byredo's Bal D'Afrique not to smell of its component notes particularly, and yet to be quite unique. So APOM Pour Femme is another such fuzzy conundrum.

The fact that I get a fuzzy conundrum rather than a big white floral may be attributable to my skin a) causing scents to "go splat" and b) amplifying cedar, thus taking the edge off any heady lusciousness.

Now although I was careful not to smear APOM on Mr Bonkers' person, I did ask him to sniff it on my wrist versus Byredo's Gypsy Water, which came in the same swap package. Of the two he preferred Gypsy Water: "That one is better because I can't really smell it."

Another thing to mention is that I am off early next week again on a Bonkers Road Trip - lasting nearly a month(!) - and covering similar ground (France, Germany, Switzerland), though I will be driving in an even bigger loop this time. There are plans afoot for a reunion of that redoubtable and cosmopolitan bunch dubbed by Wordbird: "Ladies Of Switzerland (Resident Or Visiting)", and Maurice the Mini has had new brake discs and two new tyres fitted in preparation for the long road ahead.

All of which means that I shall have to sign off from the blog for a few weeks, but any adventures from the trip - sniffing-related or otherwise - will be fully documented on my return.

And I shall of course be taking my sample of APOM Pour Femme along with me in my travelling packs of samples - for after all, like the world of perfume as a whole, it is a piece of me now...

Parfums MDCI Rose De Siwa: The Loneliness Of The Long Distance Quality Controller

When I acquired my wine and beer chiller last year to take better care of my scent collection (intermittent icicle issues notwithstanding), I spoke of how keeping products chilled was something by which I set great store - something "in my blood", almost - ever since my stint as a Brand Manager at St Ivel. Exploding yoghurts, mouldy cheese and rancid orange juice were regarded as signs of professional and moral failure, and to this day I remain keenly vigilant about things going off - whether food, or now perfume.

However, where the job of self-appointed Quality Controller becomes tricky is when faced with a perfume which is mutating in an unfamiliar way. It doesn't smell as you remember, but it doesn't have all the hallmarks of a completely "turned" scent - the brown, viscous liquid, the strong alcoholic smell and so on.

This is the problem currently troubling me in the case of Rose de Siwa by Parfums MDCI. I have an 8ml decant of it, which I loaned to a friend for nine months, and which has recently come back into my possession.

Here is a rather lyrical description of Rose de Siwa from Luckyscent:

"Named after the flowers of the Siwa Oasis in Egypt, the perfume is delicate and fresh, truly an exhausted traveler’s dream of a paradise in the midst of a hot desert…with beautiful fountains, and luxurious trees and roses fresh with the morning dew. The scent is a charming, playful rhapsody in pink, a joyful, flirty, truly feminine composition that features pink peonies, pink roses, and pink fruits, with violets adding a darker depth to the blend. It winks, it smiles, it twirls in its gauzy, pink dress…what a little charmer!"

And for more empirically minded readers, without ado here are the notes:

Lychee, peony, hawthorn, Moroccan and Turkish roses, violet, cedar, musk and vetiver

So overall the vibe of this scent is "fresh" and "limpid". The lychee alone rather points in this direction. And that is in fact how I remember it - quite modern in feel, and linear - a straight up rose like Lancome's Mille et Une Roses.

And this seems to be the feeling of Abigail in I Smell Therefore I Am:

"Rose de Siwa is the truest sweet pink rose in fragrance form. There’s nothing soapy or powdery – all you need to do is bend down, feel the heft of the petals in your hand and inhale deeply."

But.....and it is a big but....this is not how it smells anymore. It does smell powdery - but not in a way that seems deliberate. More in a slightly choky way that makes me think of inhaling all those clumps of dust lurking amongst the writhing tangle of computer cables on the floor beneath my desk. I was vividly reminded of these yesterday, when I had to crawl on my back down there to reconnect the fax line. There may also be a sharp alcholic note, though I am less sure of this. But it doesn't smell of an oasis, or like burying your face in dewy rose petals. It is acidic and powdery and depresses rather than lifts the spirit.

Now this scent was created by Francis Kurkdjian, who doesn't like working with rose notes apparently, prompting Abigail to go on to say:

"I think this makes me like Rose de Siwa even more, like it’s an unwanted child, left on my doorstep in a basket, that I’ll gladly take in and care for. I’ll put pink ribbons in her hair, and dress her up in the cutest pink gingham outfits, oh we’ll have so much fun me and little Rosie de Siwa."

Well, something tells me that she wouldn't feel so inclined to adopt this particular Rose de Siwa. Our little girl has aged rapidly and would look most incongruous in pink ribbons or gingham. She is considerably older than Kate Moss, who is also doing a spot of writhing in the back of a taxi wearing Parisienne. This is the scent my Rose de Siwa most closely resembles in its current degraded state. But at least Parisienne smells intentionally powdery - it doesn't conjure up musty corners and household neglect, or unidentified tangy fluids.

It's a shame. I can't remember how I came by this decant, whether in a swap or bought from a split site, but its trading value would have been quite high, Parfums MDCI prices being what they are. And I cannot blame my friend necessarily, who kept it at ambient temperature in a bedroom as far as I know, though not in a provocatively sunny spot.

But my disappointment is also compounded by my uncertainty. For when your experience of niche scents is mostly through mail order and occasional forays to major cities, you lack the opportunity to re-sniff something to verify how it is meant to smell. I can only compare this decant to my hazy memory of how it used to be, and am greatly helped here by these reviews on the Internet, which tend to confirm my suspicions once you decode the fanciful imagery. If this were a vial of No 5, I could just toddle down to Boots to refresh my memory of what it is meant to be like, but when it comes to niche scents I am woefully isolated and lacking in such points of reference.

The upshot of all of this is that if anyone out there has a sample of Rose de Siwa in good nick, I would be happy to send them my decant for forensic examination, to see if I am genuinely on to something - as in on to something being off. Assuming I am right, this wouldn't restore my Rose de Siwa to its previously dewy glory, but I would at least have closure...