"Aromancing The Stone" - Scents Of Time: Night Star, Maya & Nenúfar

It is two years since David Pybus, author, “(al)chemist” and “aromancer” - a "dealer in aromas" - presented his idea for the Scents of Time range to the team of business investors on the Dragon’s Den TV programme. Two of the dragons, Peter Jones and Theo Paphitis, were impressed by Pybus’s concept of creating replicas of historical perfumes, and each bought into his fledgling business to the tune of £40,000. Pybus’s swashbuckling pursuit of ancient smells earnt him the nickname: “the Indiana Jones of the perfume industry”, and much has been written about the stories behind each scent, five of which have now been marketed (Night Star, Maya, Nenúfar, Ankh and Pyxis), with one more release planned each year. Originally stocked by John Lewis, the full range of scents is currently available via the Scents of Time website and its exclusive US distributor, Aquadeluna, while all the scents except for Night Star are also on sale in the British Museum shop in London.

Lovethescents kindly sent me a smidge of her own tiny samples from The Perfumed Court of three of the Scents of Time range, and as there are relatively few reviews of the actual perfumes themselves, I thought I would add our twopennyworth. On the Scents of Time website are links to pdfs of booklets accompanying each scent, with the rather thoughtful warning that the white writing on a brown background “might not suit your eyesight”. : - ) Fragrantica has reproduced the story behind Night Star here. The Scents of Time website also gives details of the exact techniques used to recreate each fragrance, comprising a mix of headspace technology, found materials, old formulae and anecdotal records.

NIGHT STAR (Perfumer – Christopher Sheldrake)

Mr Bonkers’ ears pricked up when I mentioned that a number of scent samples went down with The Titanic (in the luggage of a German perfumer, Adolphe Saalfeld), but had been recovered from the ocean floor in 2001. One in particular - the so-called “Rosa Maris”, or “rose of the sea” - was subsequently recreated by the Scents of Time team with slight concessions to modern taste. The reason his curiosity was piqued by this perfume is because according to Mr Bonkers, Titanic is “the best film ever made”, even though it doesn’t feature Nicolas Cage, “the best actor ever made”, and - unlike his usual fodder of corpse-strewn zombie films - only has “minimal violence”. (That's if you exclude the not inconsiderable impact of ship against iceberg.) Mr Bonkers has another personal interest in all things Titanic-related, for rumour has it that his family is directly descended from Captain Smith, who, like Mr B, was born in Stoke-on-Trent. You may say that that is not the most auspicious of family connections to broadcast, but still.

But anyway, Night Star is NOT the replica of the scent that sank with the The Titanic. Out of deference to the deceased perfumer and to the last survivor of the wreck, Elizabeth (Millvina) Dean, who was consulted on the matter, a completely different perfume was developed instead, which was to be "a fragrance of the future" - Night Star. As Pybus explains: "For steam ship read star ship. For latitude and longitude read galactic coordinates. And Night Star, a symbol of future hope, would be dedicated to Millvina, who, along with Adolphe, has now joined the night stars above."

The planet that was singled out as the destination for the "star ship" was Gliese 581d, which astronomers believe may be similar to Earth. The brief was to create “a fantasy fragrance based on earthlike aromas which would be both alien in make up, and yet have a comfortable, earthly feel, reflecting Gliese 581d’s potential as our new home.”

Top notes: bergamot and lavender
Middle notes: rose, violet, heliotrope, orris and lily of the valley
Base notes: sandalwood, vanilla and hawthorn blossom

Lovethescents’ comment on the three scents overall:

“I'm a bit disappointed because all three have a bit of a cheap quality to them in the opening, something I did not expect. After about half an hour, that alcoholic-y start disappeared in all three and they all improved.”

And specifically on Night Star…

“Night Star- reallllllly wanted to love this. Lots of violet and hints of powder in the middle, base is probably the best part here with less powder, although more violet than I would ever want/need.”

When I first tried Night Star, I also got this alcohol-y, oily note, which jarred with the powderiness of the formulation as a whole. Today, however, the opening was less rasping, and the scent dried down to a much smoother and almost creamy finish. Fundamentally, however, for at least some of its development, Night Star still has that austere, powdery iris-violet thing going on which I struggle with in Creed Love in Black (even though I own a bottle). So, texturally speaking, for me it lacked the crisp, bright feel that I would expect from a perfume inspired by a star in a clear night sky. I do detect the “earthlike aromas”, however to my nose there is an old fashioned quality to Night Star (thanks to the violet and iris), which would have fitted right in with the original Titanic scenario, but seems at odds with its positioning as a symbol of the future, and the notion of intragalactic travel. I guess I was envisaging something clean and futuristic like Thierry Mugler Cologne, say, or one of those ozony, "now you sniff it, now you don't" Escentric Molecules.

MAYA (Perfumer - Jorg Lee)

Below is a short excerpt from a description of the story behind this scent on the Aquadeluna website, involving chocolate and the watery sacrifice of young Indian women:

“Maya (Mystic Scent of the Americas) takes its name from the central and North Americans who inhabited present day Mexico and Guatemala…. It is believed that young maidens were drugged at a temple by concoctions using the narcotic effect of tropical flowers, vanilla and chocolate as well as the smoking incense of burning copal resin and that this aroma was their first sense of eternity and led them more willingly to sacrifice.”

Top notes: sweet copal incense and ozone
Middle notes of night blooming jasmine, foliage, tropical fruits and tropical flowers
Base notes: cacao beans and pure vanilla extract.

Lovethescents’ comment:

“Maya - hints of bitter chocolate with some light florals and light incense. A bit bland; might be better with more incense.”

Although the notes are only broadly similar, Maya reminded me stylistically of Romea d’Ameor’s Les Grandes Pretresses Incas.

Notes: mandarin orange, grapefruit, orange, red apple, mango, orchid, sea water, lily of the valley, jasmine, sandalwood, oakmoss, teak wood, nectarine, dark chocolate, caramel and musk.

Both scents combine fruit and chocolate, which has always struck me as a curious match, and while this is my "favourite" of the three tested, I didn’t really care for it. I certainly didn't find it compelling enough to allow myself to be tossed into a Sacred Well.

NENUFAR (Perfumer – Montserrat Moline)

Nenúfar (The Sacred Scent of Cleopatra) is based on a recreation using headspace technology of the blue lotus flower or blue water lily, which was a sacred bloom to the Pharaohs. According to Pybus, Nenúfar "is as near as we can get to the aromatic experience of the ancients".

Top notes: green watery accord, nutmeg and angelica
Middle notes: muguet with a sweet watery floral accord
Base notes: sandalwood, musks, orris, heliotrope, almond and patchouli.

Pybus adds that the blue lotus flower's chemistry contained a hallucinogen, myristicin. Egyptians apparently made a kind of home brew by steeping the flower's petals in wine and drinking the resulting heady concoction – as recounted in Tennyson’s poem, The Lotus Eaters. Myristicin is also found in nutmeg, which has been included in the formulation for reasons of pharmacological exactitude!

Lovethescents’ comment:

“Nenufar- a very familiar floral-aquatic. Nice enough, but completely unoriginal. Reminds me a bit of a high-end body wash in 'water lily' or the like.”

I agree with her Body Shop / BBW analogy, for this scent was the least innovative for me, and I would never have guessed it had such an ancient pedigree. Cleopatra is the sort of diva-ish historical personage with whom I would have associated a scent with a lot more oomph – perhaps a sumptious oriental of some kind. So whilst I am distinctly underwhelmed by Nenúfar the fragrance, it is still interesting to learn more of its antecedents.

And finally, on the FAQs section of the Scents of Time website, I was surprised to read the following answer to a customer’s question – which may have been prompted by the limited distribution of this range:

“Q - Can the fragrances be in any way linked to modern perfumes - just so I know without testing that I would like them?

A - Well we use Michael Edwards' fragrance families to describe my perfumes so there is a loose connection as follows:"

The perfumes listed to illustrate the fragrance family of each scent are as follows:

NIGHT STAR

"Quelques Fleurs Royale (Houbigant),Nina (Nina Ricci), Fleurs de Rocaille (Caron) L'Air du Temps (Nina Ricci), Dolce Y Gabbana Light Blue."

MAYA

"Ambre Sultan (Serge Lutyens (sic) & Palais Royal Shisheido (sic)), Opium (Yves St Laurent) Youth Dew (Estee Lauder), Maja (Myrurgia), Coco (Chanel)."

NENUFAR

"L'eau D'Issey d'ete (Issey Miyake), Polo Sport Woman (Ralph Lauren), Sunflowers (Elizabeth Arden), Escape (Calvin Klein)."

Light Blue? Sunflowers? I know the aim is just to convey the "vibe" of each fragrance category, but hello...? Actually, Sunflowers is not a bad analogy for Nenúfar, but Light Blue is a million miles away from Night Star. I suppose L’Air du Temps has a similarly spiky quality, but completely different notes. Bvlgari Femme or Creed Love in Black might have been a bit nearer the mark.

And anyway, what in the world were the Scents of Time people thinking of, encouraging blind buys in this manner, even had the scents listed above been a closer match?

So in summary, I think the concept is a great one, in tune with the growing lobby for more memorable and interesting perfumes outside the tired formulae of the mainstream. Two of the three scents are unusual, but not particularly to my taste, while the third – though historically authentic - smells remarkably like a mass market fragrance to me. For anyone familiar with the Romea D’Ameor range (which also takes its inspiration, if not its formulae, from historical figures and cultures) - and purely based on the three I have tried, which is not strictly fair, I know - I'd say that the Scents of Time are similarly mixed in style and execution: for example, Romea d'Ameor's Les Princesses de Venise is a fairly bland fruity floral, and though others in the line had more of a twist, none moved me.

Historical replicas of scents lost in time? It is only one (highly subjective) opinion, but some things are lost for a reason...


Erratum - Mr Bonkers has asked me to point out that his comments about the film Titanic and Nicolas Cage were ironic. He does like zombie films though.

All photos from the Scents of Time website except the photo of The Titanic (from cruiseline.org), the Romea D'Ameor bottle (from dameor.fr) and the photo of Gliese 581d (from textually.org)

Perfume Protégé Puss - Because It's Never Too Late To Teach An Old Cat New Tricks

Readers of Bonkers about Perfume will be well aware by now that when it comes to being inducted into the sensuous delights afforded by fragrance, Mr Bonkers has thus far proved to be an intractable subject. It is therefore with great pleasure that I announce that our cat Charlie appears to have discovered perfume all by herself. She is 15 and stone deaf, so there would be absolutely no point in trying to promote perfume as a concept to her, as it is pointless talking to her on any subject. Not a day goes by when reprimands about her sitting on unauthorised surfaces (beds, conservatory furniture etc) literally fall on deaf ears.

But no, as luck would have it, Charlie chanced upon perfume on her own. The "tricks teaching" reference in the title was (as ever) just too good to resist. Yes, Charlie has taken to sleeping by the perfume fridge a lot lately, unfazed of course by its intermittent whirr. She regularly blocks me from opening the door of the fridge to take out a bottle to wear, and after entering the bedroom repeatedly to see if she has moved, I invariably end up pushing her out of the way to get at any of the contents. This persistent sitting by the door is a variant on that well known cat ruse of "sitting on important papers" or "half slumping across the computer keyboard", classic attention-seeking gestures to which all cat owners will attest.

Then on Sunday I went into the bedroom as usual and captured the following poses:

1) "So what is this cuboid thing the 'big cat' in the house seems so interested in? She's always taking bottles out and spraying them on herself. It's a bit like the squirty cream she very occasionally treats me to. Hmm, if there is any chance cream could be involved, maybe I should take a closer look..."

2) "Okay, now which one of these receptacles looks most like that Anchor aerosol thingy?"

(Answer - my Kenzo Power miniature, but unfortunately its contours were masked by the box.)

3) "Aha! This one smells of grass, which I like to eat! (It's all I seem to be able to hunt these days.)"
Yes, picture 3 is of Charlie sniffing the rather random place she applied vintage Blue Grass. I did have a series of shots of her prising the door open, removing the bottle from its 'dog-eared' box and spraying the perfume on her hindquarters, but sadly the quality was a bit fuzzy (she didn't half move fast!), so they didn't make the cut...

And I bet you are wondering why she didn't make a beeline for her namesake perfume, Charlie? Well, through an unfortunate oversight I don't actually have any, but if the cat really is developing a genuine interest in perfume, it is the least I could do to nip down Boots and get her her own bottle.


Photo of Charlie (the perfume) from namebrandsperfume.com

Beige - The Sequel: Chums Trousers And The Art Of Sexing Up A Saddo Shade

Yesterday I chanced upon a copy of The Daily Mail - discarded by Mr Bonkers' mother's neighbour (are you by any chance sensing that I wish to put some 'clear blue water' between myself and the source of this publication?). At the back was an ad for Chums trousers, which are described not only as "the ultimate comfort trouser" thanks to their elasticated waistband, but also as affording "at least 2" of extra growing room". Given that the average age of their target customer is probably the wrong side of 50, I am concerned that these men feel that it is appropriate for someone of their age to grow further. I have already had words with Mr Bonkers about this very matter - or rather his allegation that various garments of his have "shrunk" in the wash - which, as any careful laundry fairy knows, amounts to the same thing.

And of nearly as much concern is the fact that these elasticated trousers come in a beige colourway which the manufacturers are attempting to sex up by calling it "sand". Beaches all over Europe are receding with shame at such an association. Fashion-conscious holidaymakers are rejecting bucket and spade holidays in their droves in favour of Center Parcs and mini-breaks in major conurbations.

De-friend Chums without delay! Or if you really must buy some relaxed fit trousers any time soon, at least go for the lovat or navy instead.


Image scanned from The Daily Mail small ads

Eclipsed By Ecru: Scent Strategies To Upstage A Show-Stealing Cardigan

The notion of a beige cable knit cardigan being a head turner may strike you as a contradiction in terms. Tonally speaking, beige may only be a hair's breadth away from its modish cousins, "camel" and "taupe", but it has traditionally been the runt of the neutrals palette. Beige is the colour of choice of those who lack imagination and flair - indeed, the very word "choice" may be overstating the case, because plumping for beige suggests a lack of thought, a lazy, "line of least resistance" option. It is the fashion equivalent of magnolia paint.

Beige also connotes ladies of a certain age who have become invisible. They have long ceased to wear the top button of their shirt undone, if indeed they ever did. It is fawn by any other name, and that way lies no-iron Farah slacks (never trousers) and comfy skirts with elasticated waists. Yes, beige items belong in the small ads at the back of Sunday supplements, along with the offers on Stannah stairlifts and mail order bedding plants.

And though the title of this post reads "Eclipsed By Ecru", eagle-eyed readers will have spotted that that was merely another Bonkers alliterative liberty, for since the 50s, "ecru" has carved out a more stylish niche for itself: it is the unbleached, "milky tea" colour of delicate lingerie. Why, even the name is redolent of gallic raunchiness.

So all in all, beige has had a bit of a bad press - and yet my cardigan (the blandest item in my wardrobe after a clutch of plain white Tees) is almost universally complimented wherever I go: by family, friends, neighbours, dental receptionists, shop assistants, and an assortment of other random strangers. Not by Mr Bonkers, admittedly, but he usually speaks up only if he thinks something doesn't suit me. There again, it could be that the cardigan is in fact so bland that it doesn't impinge on his senses at all. He may be "sartorially anosmic" to its unassuming colour and understated pattern...

Meanwhile, the popularity of my cardigan is bugging me, because I never receive compliments about the perfumes I wear. And even allowing for my modest rate of application, you would think that somewhere along the line in the past two and a half years of daily fragrance wear someone would have said unprompted: "Oh, you smell nice!" I have occasionally elicited compliments from people under duress, by shoving my wrist under their nose and demanding feedback - much as I do with Mr Bonkers - but those results may be a little suspect.

The rivalry between me and my compliment-garnering garment has reached such a pitch that I have been trying to think of perfumes I could wear to offset its appeal. Now you may think that the answer would be a totally over the top, lush white floral of some kind, to knock the cardie right out of the park. The new Lust from Gorilla Perfumes, for example, which is the most obscenely tropical scent I have ever smelt. Or Amaranthine, which is relatively sedate by comparison. Or possibly Carnal Flower or Fracas.

But I think that is the wrong tactic - people could be put off by such powerhouse scents, however well done. The cardigan's popularity is all about its muted tones and versatility as a wardrobe staple - its very beigeness, basically. That is the scent style I have to replicate to be in with a chance of outshining my own outfit.

And before you say "Chanel Beige"!, I don't think that fragrance is quite right either, notwithstanding its on-message name. For Beige is a sweetly honeyed floral, but it feels no more beige to me than Tuberose Gardenia, say, which has the same feminine prettiness, albeit with very different notes. And actually, as you can see from the photo, one of my Beige samples has turned from translucent to amber! So even the colour of the juice doesn't particularly connote beige.

There's a bunch of other scents I quickly dismissed, because although they are in that comforting "mohair sweater" territory, they conjure up WHITE to me, not beige - scents like Perles de Lalique, Acqua di Biella Kid Mohair (thanks to lovethescents for the heads up on this one) and Bvlgari Omnia Crystalline, for example.

No, I think I have found the one...it is beige in colour, beige in smell, and even comes in a beige box!

It is LACOSTE POUR FEMME.

This is a very different scent from Touch of Pink, and could easily have been named Touch of Beige instead.

top notes: Jamaican pepper, purple freesia
middle notes: white heliotrope, Iranian jasmine, hibiscus blossom, Bulgarian rose
base note: Himalayan cedar-wood, velvety skin (sic), Mysore sandalwood, incense

Created by Olivier Cresp in 2003 (one of the noses behind Kenzo Amour and Amour Indian Holi, also Angel!), the "story" behind this scent on Osmoz is as follows:

"A free spirit, the Lacoste woman aspires to be swept away, and acts on impulse. Authentic, open-minded, captivating, a bit wild, she’ll try anything once, and she knows how to take advantage of the surprises life can offer!"

Ignore all the above - this is the scented equivalent of beige cashmere, end of. Yes, Lacoste Pour Femme is a snuggly, slightly powdery scent with a lovely woody/vanillic/incense drydrown. Now ambrette seeds are a note I am beginning to think I must like, though I don't know as I would recognise them if someone slapped a handful of them down on the desk - or their smell, for that matter. Heliotrope, on the other hand, is a note I don't care for normally - I don't get on with Herve Leger, for example, or Barbara Bui, specifically because the heliotrope is too pronounced in those - but I don't mind it here.

I must admit to massive prejudices about Lacoste as a fragrance brand, but Pour Femme is the jewel in its crown. Do they do opals in beige? Okay, then, maybe quartz or the beigey end of pink jasper.

So that is my plan - I will fight fire with fire - confront my cardigan with its scent nemesis, and report back. But hold on a minute....on closer inspection I think my cardigan might not be beige after all. In that photo it looks pretty darn "mink" to me. Or "pebble" perhaps. Why, "mink" is the pale-skinned younger sister of taupe! No wonder my cardie is such a show stopper! I may have to have a complete rethink and look for furry flagstone scents instead. Or if that sounds too hard, I guess I could always just wear a sweater.


Photo of skirt from binbin.net, photo of lingerie from bobbydene.com, photo of Lacoste Pour Femme from parfumuri4u.com, other photos my own.

Fragrance Blotters And Other Absorbing Matters

Regular readers of Bonkers know that I am much exercised by issues of perfume storage in all its aspects. I worry about condensation and heat, about leaky decants and warped boxes. Well, this week I have mostly been worrying about keeping my....paper whatya-ma-call-its separate. I can't believe I have been a perfumista-type person for more than two and a half years, yet until today I wasn't sure of the correct term for those paper tester strips you spray perfumes on in shops to try them. Yes, I have been mightily confused on this point, and some extensive googling has thrown up a bunch of alternatives, all with equal currency as far as I can tell:

FRAGRANCE BLOTTER
SCENT BLOTTER
SMELLING STRIP

I also found one or two mentions each of "perfume test blotter", perfume blotter", "fragrance strip blotter" and "touche à sentir" and "mouillette", though the latter two are of course French phrases not in general use over here - except possibly in very chichi circles. And what these things are NOT called are "fragrance strips" or "scent strips" - I can confirm that both terms refer specifically to those peel off flaps in women's magazines which are impregnated with a scent.

But come on...do you refer to these small, thin absorbent lengths of card - because they are more the gauge of card than paper, and of course sometimes they can be square (Chanel) or oblong - as "fragrance blotters", or even "smelling strips"? The very first phrase I came up with when I sat down to think what I do call them is "perfume tester strips", and that didn't come up anywhere in my Internet research. Terms like "fragrance blotter" and its ilk are simply not top of mind for me. Indeed, I would be more likely to use a roundabout locution, along the lines of: "Excuse me, have you got one of those paper strip thingies I can spray this perfume tester on, please?" But that may just be me...

Mind you, based on a cursory trawl of common search terms thrown up by Google Keyword Tool, it would seem that the public at large shares my uncertainty. In fairness, there were 91 global monthly searches for "smelling strip", but crucially NONE for "fragrance blotter", "scent blotter" or "perfume blotter".

Out of interest, I put the word "mouillette" into Linguee, an online dictionary, and it gave me this translation:

blotter (a special paper strip for testing fragrance)

So, you see, the Linguee people are not making any assumptions either about the public having especially high levels of blotter awareness.

Going back to the Google keyword searches, I suppose you might not expect anyone to be looking for these things at all, as they are usually provided in-store. Even on the swap scene, while a perfume swapper might routinely purchase decanting supplies, there is no obvious need to purchase blotters for home use.

But....and this is a big but....I think I have identified a gap in the market for retail sales of blotter HOLDERS. By this I don't mean the devices known in French as "porte-mouillettes", certain designs of which resemble the smelling strip equivalent of a kitchen knife block. And I certainly don't mean this curious homemade contraption fashioned out of clothes pegs.

No, I mean the little greaseproof?/tracing? paper bags/holders that I was once offered in a branch of L'Artisan Parfumeur in Paris to slip my smelling strips in. The idea is that they preserve the scent for longer and also keep the strips from cross-contaminating one another at the bottom of your handbag, which is the place the strips inevitably end up getting tossed when I go on a serious sniffing outing.

Now at the Roja Dove master class last year - about which I may do a retrospective post some time - one of my suggestions for improving the session was the provision of just such bags, in which to keep the strips Roja circulated of his semi-bespoke range. For these are very rare and special scents, and we all wanted to preserve our tester strips for as long as chemically possible, knowing that we were unlikely to encounter them again. But apart from that one L'Artisan store, I don't remember ever seeing such bags anywhere else.

That said, the principle of the protective bag is perfectly commonplace for other products - that is how you buy a French stick in the supermarket, for example. And let's face it, you're not even likely to have a load of loaves knocking about at the bottom of your handbag. And then you've got things like these eye shadow applicators, which come in an articulated plastic case with a slot for each sponge, a bit like an ammo belt.

Whilst separate bags would work fine, a single holder with compartments for each would be an ideal way to keep all the strips in one place for ease of reference. I also checked out artists' pastel boxes and screw organisers, but the compartments were not long or shallow enough. So the perfect "smelling strip organiser" continues to elude me.

Meanwhile, however, I tracked down a French supplier of "touches à sentir" to L'Artisan Parfumeur, and gave them a call. The first thing I wanted to confirm was the name for these individual test strip holders and it is "étui en papier cristal" or "étui cristal" for short. Predictably, these things are not sold in retail outlets, but only to perfume companies, though the chap I spoke to would have cut me a deal on 500 for 250-300 euros. Why, that is about 45p each! Gallic robdoggery of the first water!

So the search for a suitable "touchebag" - or bags - continues. :- ) And meanwhile, I have got a whole bunch of smelling strips stuck between the leaves of a plain notebook and I am hoping for the best.


Photo of "paddle"-style smelling strips from persephenie.com, photo of "arrow"-style smelling strips from whatwedoissecret.org, photo of improvised porte-mouillette with clothes pegs from bio-byte.com, photo of baguette from durobag.com, photo of make up sponges from blogger-index.com, photo of ammo belt from odsurplus.com.

"Chanel Singulière" - Part Bare, Part Particulière...

I was very excited to receive my duo of Chanel nail polishes from Lovethescents in Canada the other day, and couldn't wait to try them on. As a chronic nail biter, I have worn nail polish on only a handful of occasions - the last time was about nine months ago. So while I eagerly awaited the package, I set about the serious business of growing my nails - not long, particularly, just fractionally longer than the tips of my fingers. By the time the polishes arrived, three fingers on my left hand had grown to the requisite length, and just one nail on the other hand. Nothing daunted, I followed the old axiom: "Half a loaf is better than none", and applied Particulière to half a hand (give or take).

I then asked Mr Bonkers what he thought of my new, 30% elegant look. I thought that he couldn't not approve of nail polish, as it doesn't smell like perfume. Well, not once it is dry certainly, and while nail varnish remover has a very strong odour - albeit nostalgically reminiscent of the pear drops of our youth - I wasn't planning on exposing him to that. He jokingly inquired if I was trying to camouflage myself agains the newly painted alcoves in the living room. They are indeed a mushroomy colour (slightly deeper than in the photograph), and on reflection, the tricky challenge of sidling up to the arm of the sofa and wresting the TV remote from Mr Bonkers' vice-like grasp might be a lot more manageable now that I blend into the décor more. Even three nails might do it. Or I could wait until all ten are at an optimum length before attempting such a feat.

Mind you, waiting for nails to grow takes even longer than watching paint dry.

Floris Snow Rose: "Spiky" And "Fluffy" Scents Revisited

Hard on the heels of lovethescents' successful custom purchase for me of Chanel Paradoxal and Particulière nail polishes (pictures to follow...), the other day I managed in return to "custom blag" a sample of the new Floris Snow Rose for her. And one for me, as luck would have it. And Snow Rose isn't all that new to be fair, but the tide of new perfume launches moves at a glacial pace round these parts, "glacial" being on the face of it an appropriate image for a scent purporting to be "snowy" and "icy" - of which more anon.

I scoured Google - and by "scoured" I mean I went as far as Page 4, which is pretty darn deep, given that most people click no further than the first hit on Page 1, I am reliably informed by Mr Bonkers' website whiz - and I could not find a single review of this scent. A few short features announcing its launch, with some note information (Now Smell This, The Scented Salamander), but no proper reviews as such. And as anyone who isn't a first time visitor to this blog knows, you won't be getting a proper review from me either. Coming to Bonkers about Perfume for an authoritative critique of a fragrance is not unlike those hapless Japanese tourists who turn up in Stafford town centre, and ask the way to Anne Hathaway's Cottage (Shakespeare's childhood home.....in Stratford-upon-Avon).

But I digress...

Lovethescents' febrile keenness to try Snow Rose piqued my curiosity, and while we don't like exactly the same sorts of perfume (I hope she won't mind my mentioning her greater capacity for booze - in fragrance, obviously : - ) ), there is still considerable crossover between us.

So here is the lowdown on Snow Rose (with note info) from Floris's website:

FLORIS SNOW ROSE

"A sunlit unfolding of warmly scented rose petals crystallised within a winter wonderland.

Icy cool leafy green top notes introduce the rich and vibrant floral heart of rose, enriched with geranium and jasmine. Warmed with soft sweet oriental base notes of vanilla, musk and sandalwood."

While we are here, it might not go amiss to post the notes of White Rose, another scent from the Floris line with a quite different vibe.

FLORIS WHITE ROSE

Top notes: aldehydic, carnation, green
Heart notes: iris, rose, jasmine, violet
Base notes: amber, musk, powdery notes

Both these rose perfumes are powdery, but while (to my nose) Snow Rose falls squarely into the category of a "fluffy" scent - as explored in my earlier post on the subject here - White Rose is definitely a "spiky" scent. In brief, by "fluffy" I mean a comforting and feminine scent that enfolds the wearer in a powdery cocoon. Snow Rose is in the same vein as Parfums MDCI Promesse de L'Aube (if a tad more powdery), but falls short of the marshmallow fluffiness of Kenzo L'Eau Par Kenzo Indigo Pour Femme (this is good). Nor is it AS powdery as M Micallef Note Poudrée or Lorenzo Villoresi Teint de Neige (which is also good).

Important to mention that Snow Rose is also slightly sweet, like some kind of cachou or dainty patisserie, though it stays well the right side of cloying. Snow Rose is also billed as "icy", and the opening green notes are a little on the chilly side, but this wears off in a matter of seconds, or it does on my warm, hormonally challenged, drydown-grabbing skin. It so happens that I am a sucker for vanilla and sandalwood, and the geranium and green notes probably stop Snow Rose from becoming the sticky sweet mess of Viktor & Rolf Flowerbomb and its ilk.

Now Mr Bonkers' take on this was most illuminating, and surprisingly near the mark for him - he described it as "sweet and sickly, like a poncy fairy cake". I apologise for the un-PC tenor of his comment, but I was pleased that he picked up on the cake aspect - we will simply have to agree to differ on the level of sweetness. And Mr B has got me thinking now of intricate cake decorations in icing sugar, like the "snow rose" pictured above...

Floris White Rose, on the other hand, is most definitely "spiky", a term I defined in my earlier post as any of the following: "austere, craggy, cold, uncompromising and complex". White Rose has a pinched and aloof quality to it. It is...dare I say it?...borderline "old lady", by which I mean powdery in a frumpy way, rather than in a "vintage" way that still feels current. I think the particular combination of aldehydes, iris, violet and especially carnation (an über spiky note!) give it that dated feel, whereas Snow Rose feels like a classic scent for a modern girl.

Stylistically, I'd say that Snow Rose has a fair bit in common with Agent Provocateur and Les Parfums de Rosine Rose Kashmirie, though AP has a flinty edge to it which Snow Rose lacks, and Rose Kashmirie is spicier. Snow Rose also has little in common with the "disgruntled purple talc" that is YSL Parisienne, one of my major disappointments of last year.

Another powdery, slightly sweet scent which I love, and which I believe pulls off this "one foot in the past, one foot in the present" stunt very well, is Guerlain Plus Que Jamais, but even Plus Que Jamais has a slight hauteur about it by comparison with Snow Rose. So Snow Rose is the best "powdery, classic/modern crossover, girly, slightly sweet vanillic" scent I have smelt. It is guileless and accessible. Perhaps too accessible for some people's tastes, possibly even for mine. Time and repeated wearings will tell..

Now in my "spiky" and "fluffy" post, I riffed off rabbits quite a bit, and the moment may have come to riff off furry creatures again, starting at the most "spiky"/"dangerous" and working down. I may need to annexe a few felines to complete the set...

Floris White Rose - a Snow Leopard

Agent Provocateur - a Lynx

Rose Kashmirie - a Lynx in a Sari

Guerlain Plus Que Jamais - a Maine Coon (a house cat, but only just)

Les Parfums MDCI Promesse de L'Aube - a long haired, non-pedigree white cat (not a Persian, as they can have an "attitude" problem)

Floris Snow Rose - a white rabbit

In short, Snow Rose is no glacial beauty, no Snow Queen or platinum blonde Scandinavian model. It is more like a platter of frozen petits fours, served just before they have completely defrosted. A "Sensodyne" scent if you will. Or a fluffy bunny called Snowy.


Photo of Floris Snow Rose from flickr, photo of Floris shop from flickrivr, photo of white rose cake decoration from partykiosk.co.uk, photo of fairy cakes from elizabethjamescakes.co.uk, photo of snow leopard from Wikimedia Commons, photo of rabbit from flickr.