Lenthéric Tweed: Am I Fabric-ating False Memories Of My Mother?

My mother would have been 92 this year. That is old, but by no means unusual these days: my aunt is 91 and my dad's cousin just turned 92, and celebrated by selling her life's work of paintings in one go (76 at the last count!).

But sadly, my mother died 13 years ago today, when she was 78. She had really hoped to make it to 80, but it was not to be. I miss her as keenly now as if it were yesterday. In a post in 2010 on Bonkers, I wrote about my mother's death and reflected back on her "scented past" - pretty threadbare basically - and not helped by a thoughtless Christmas gift of Rochas Byzance from me. I thought it worth linking back to it on this, her "anniversary", as Bonkers was even smaller back then, and some readers may have missed it. Apart from anything, it is notable for being a rare example of a Bonkers post written in a sombre and largely unfacetious tone.

Since I wrote it, I sought out a purse spray of Lenthéric Tweed, which is the perfume I think she wore of her own accord. I certainly remember seeing a chequered tin of the talcum powder, and had a notion that my mother also owned the perfume. I am not sure of the exact vintage of the one I managed to find on Ebay - it may not be quite old enough - but it certainly doesn't smell contemporary. It has that forbidding, rather manly, chypre quality to it of its Lenthéric stable mate, Style, or perhaps of Cabochard. I say "chypre" - Fragrantica describe the base as "oriental" - and looking at the notes it does seem to have a foot in both camps. I couldn't find a single "proper" review of Tweed, which in itself may be significant.

Top notes - bergamot, cinnamon and geranium
Middle notes - ylang-ylang, jasmine, lavender and orange flower
Basenotes - oakmoss, patchouli, sandalwood, benzoin, vanilla and vetiver

Hmm, the notes do look a bit austere to me. I was going to say "dog's breakfast", but that might sound disrespectful. I sprayed it on last night and again this morning, and it wasn't for me. I could imagine it being the signature scent of a very strict maths mistress with her hair scraped back into a bun, if she wore any perfume at all. Though that wasn't my mother at all - quite the opposite. I don't mean she couldn't count or anything - I am talking about the severity aspect. There again, Tweed does smell outdoorsy and a little masculine, and my mother loved the rugged scenery, rough fabrics and sludgy colours of the West of Ireland, which I think it does rather conjure up. And I am probably being unfair to it - Tweed is just of its time, and that style was simply too green / sharp / mossy for my taste.

So I don't really want to associate Tweed with my mum after all. Or maybe just the talcum powder, which I think was innocuous enough. And nor do I want to associate her with Rochas Byzance particularly. And when I cleared out her house I also found a bottle of Opium, which still smells good today. How did she come by that? I will never know.

So I guess I will just have to accept that I have this passionate perfume interest now, and I also have many happy memories of my mother. However, good - and genuine - perfume memories of her may forever elude me.


Photo of tweed fabric from harristweedshop.ocm, other photos my own

Damien Bash Lucifer No 3 - One Helluva Great Sandalwood Scent

According to my blog stats, two posts which have attracted a disproportionate amount of hits in recent months have been the ones about Suddenly d'Or, the own label perfume from discount grocery chain Lidl, and about Jasper Conran Woman, a poor man's Cristalle which I believe deserves greater acclaim. What these two scents have in common that could explain their high "traffic" is the fact that they are relatively uncommon - or more exactly, that there are few reviews, if any, about them in the blogosphere.

So today I decided to write about another little known perfume which could probably do with a bit of PR - Damien Bash Lucifer No 3. I was tipped off about Lucifer No 3 by a Swedish perfumista friend, who was trawling The Perfumed Court for the ultimate sandalwood scent - when she came across Damien Bash, she decided to look no further...

I found a few reviews on Basenotes and MUA, a mini-review by Nathan Branch and - most interestingly - long reviews on TWO Polish blogs, of which more later.

Without further ado, here are the notes:

"Rose, jasmine, frankincense, black pepper, sandalwood, myrrh, labdanum, ylang ylang, and elemi."

Ylang ylang - I had no idea! Another one to add back in...

Now elemi is an ingredient I always have to look up. It is a fragrant resin with a honey-like consistency distilled from a tree native to the Philippines. Its smell is described as a cross between pine and lemon. I found a number of its aromatherapy uses for conditions such as bronchitis and excessive phlegm, but it was the industrial applications mentioned on Wisegeek.com that really caught my attention:

"The resin is mainly used in commercial lacquers and varnishes. Many boat caulks contain the resin as well. In addition, some inks also contain the resin. In China, it is used to make transparent paper."

I smell of boat caulks, how great is that? "Caulks" is as offbeat a term as Lucifer No 3 is a perfume...

So how does Lucifer No 3 smell exactly? Well, the first thing to say is that it is not as dark and sinister as the name suggests. It is about as dark as PG L'Ombre Fauve, which does have the word "shadow" in the title, so let's say we are talking some dappled shade but not pitch black darkness. And Satan doesn't put in an appearance at any stage of the scent's development.

The opening features a pronounced ylang ylang note, yet I managed to miss this entirely(!), perhaps because it is swaddled in a resinous cocoon. For me the opening salvo is generically "medicinal", as with L'Ombre Fauve and SIP Magazine Street. Gradually the frankincense, myrrh and sandalwood notes come to the fore, and it is this latter stage with which my friend was so smitten. Lucifer No 3 is a dreamy, meditative blend of incense and woods - creamy and almost vanillic rather than smoky or rasping - doubtless thanks to the balsamic quality of the resins. It is stronger than a skin scent, but the drydown is beautifully soft relative to the harsh opening.

Several of the few reviewers I found of Lucifer No 3 - mostly men, I infer - complain about the fleeting nature of this scent, but it has tremendous staying power on my skin.

I haven't smelt any of the others from this line, but I get the impression that No 3 is the most biddable.

And would you like to hear Mr Bonkers' thoughts on Lucifer No 3? Of course you would! Well, he declared it to be "the toilet cleaner they use (in the customer toilets) at the craft shop". And given that elemi has a piney fragrance, that is a pretty creditable effort on his part.

Now as mentioned earlier, there are comprehensive reviews of this scent on two Polish blogs: Profumo and Co W Nosie Kreci. I risked an automatic translation tool on the Profumo review and the result was predictably random - the comparison to Opium just about survives the unintentionally humorous mangling by the Google software:

"If I had Lucifer No. 3 compared to an odor, it would be very YSL Opium and its summer limitowanki."

After "caulks", "limitowanki" is the other verbal delight of the day! I own a bottle of Opium Fleur de Shanghai and that is a good analogy in terms of the overall vibe of the perfume, although I'd say No 3 is more incensey and less floral.

Further on, we read:

"Lucifer No. 3 with its aroma of cloves, smooth wood sandałowym ideal to wear for every occasion. Extremely addictive opiumopodobny smell nice golden glow surrounds the vector of spices."

"Opiumopodobny" means "Opium-like" according to the Free Dictionary, in case anyone was wondering if it was a Polish cousin of oppoponax. And yes, this scent is indeed extremely addictive, and you will want to spend the day with nose glued to wrist. If, after eight hours, you have a Devil of a job prising your nose off your wrist, you will understand just why elemi is so popular in caulking.
: - )