The Scent Crimes Series: No 8 - 2.5ml Glass Atomisers With Plastic Tops

I have been decanting for a year now, mostly as part of the MUA swap scene, and after Christmas I thought it would be nice to upgrade my 2.5ml size atomisers from all-plastic to those with a glass base and a plastic pump mechanism/top. So I invested in a pack of 50 from the online retailer from whom I have very happily bought most of my previous decanting supplies. Imagine my dismay when the pack arrived and I found I couldn't get the top of the atomiser to fit onto the bottom. Okay, okay, the word "crime" in the context of an ill-fitting bit of plastic is perhaps a little excessive, but I was - and still am - very exercised by this problem.

I immediately fired off a perplexed email to the company's customer services:

"I recently ordered some decant supplies, including 50 x 2.5ml glass atomizers with plastic sprung atomiser tops/closures. I have wrestled with the top and the bottom of several of these today and I don't think they are meant to go together - the plastic ring will not engage with the glass base at all, the way a plastic dipper closure would have done - the sort you shove in, rather than an atomiser top. The 5ml ones I have ordered before are all in plastic and the top screws into the bottom fine. With this mix of glass and plastic, there is no thread for the top to screw into the base, if you follow me.

Please advise, as I cannot get any of these to fit together, though I am familiar with atomizer mechanisms of various kinds."

The company replied promptly to my plea for help:

"You are not the first person to have problems getting the pumps to seat in those -- myself included.

If you look at the 2.5ml Glass Atomizer on the webstore and scroll to the bottom, there are photos and instructions on how to get them to go in. Everyone reports that after they get one seated, they have no more problems. The bright side of this is the tight fit means they are less likely to fit (sic - a Freudian slip? - FS). I would recommend doing one without perfume in it and then wiggling the pump to remove it and repeating this a few times. You should be a pro by that time.

Other than this problem, hope you are having a great day on that side of the pond."

Well, that was a nice, helpful email! And there is indeed a detailed page of instructions on the supplier's website, including close up photos of how the atomiser should look before and after closure. The bottom line is that what is required to make the top fit into the base is SHEER BRUTE FORCE APPLIED BY A HEAVY OBJECT.

I had a go using a variety of heavy objects that came to hand - a fat book, an earthenware mug, a rolling pin - but the one that worked best was that familiar household utensil, a geode! You think that is a strange choice of weapon? Ah, but my dear, late mother used to tenderise steaks with a lump of amethyst, so geological implements clearly run in the family... The geode was unbelievably heavy and the top of the vial did eventually snap in after a few failed attempts - it required extreme force to be applied whilst holding the base perfectly upright on a non-slip surface.

So far, so good, and I informed the company of my progress to date:

"I have managed that now but it was quite hard work, trying a variety of techniques/solid objects to get both the pump and the collar to go down properly. I am apprehensive about doing it with a perfume in the vial at the time, though as you say, with practice it should get better! It does look like a good fit - it is just getting to that point that is a bit of a black art. : - )"

Notwithstanding this successful test run, I could see trouble ahead. For it was all very well ramming the atomiser into an empty vial, but what on earth would happen when there was perfume in said vial? Surely the very action of depressing the atomiser to "set" it in its base would activate the pump and simultaneously deliver perfume - multiple times, if the geode didn't do its masterful business on the first attempt.

Reader, it did deliver perfume, again and again, as I was trying to decant a spot of Cuir de Lancome for Gblue the other day. Within seconds I had been hit in the eye, the neck, the elbow - I was covered in the stuff. And my trusty tool was also impregnated with the scent. This may be the first - and hopefully the last -time anyone in the history of the English language will utter the words: "My geode reeks of Cuir de Lancome".

Should I have first taped up the hole in the nozzle with duct tape before forcing it in the base? But wouldn't the pump have sprayed anyway, and just wetted the inside of the tape? And holding my finger over the hole wouldn't have worked, any more than the little Dutch boy plugging the dyke. Maybe that isn't a good analogy, as he did manage to stem the flow, didn't he, at least for a while?

Can anyone help me? I have about 46 of these things left and urgently require a reliable MO! Tips on removing odour from geodes would not go amiss either.

Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit: Penhaligon's Orange Blossom EDT

When I started this blog I pretty much decided that I would not routinely review newly launched scents, leaving that job to the many other reviewers in the fragrance blogosphere endowed with more expert noses than me. As a rule, I have felt more comfortable reviewing less well known or offbeat scents I wish to bring to wider attention. However, every so often a new perfume is launched that is just too lovely for me to let it pass without comment... Ormonde Jayne Tiare was one such, and Penhaligon's Orange Blossom EDT (a new release in its Anthology Collection) is my latest "squeeze" (no pun intended).

Yes, those nice people at Penhaligon's happened to enclose samples of Orange Blossom and the new Eau de Cologne in the same package as Elixir, and it was love at first sniff. The fact that Orange Blossom is the creation of my "secret correspondent", Bertrand Duchaufour, in no may predisposes me to favour this scent. Oh okay, maybe just a little. Though it didn't work with Havana Vanille - or not yet, anyway - though HV is awaiting a retrial.

As for the reference in the title to Jeanette Winterson's Whitbread Prize winning novel, whilst shamelessly opportunistic on my part, is not wholly without foundation, for Penhaligon's Orange Blossom (from here on in POB for short : - )) also contains lemon-cedrat, peach flower and pink berries. Which is a bit of luck... I never thought I would be so quick to embrace berries of any kind in a composition, but there you go.

HEAD NOTES
Neroli, Violet leaf, Bergamot, Lemon-cedrat, Cardamom absolute, Pink berries
HEART NOTES
Orange absolute, Egyptian jasmine absolute, Tuberose absolute, Rose essence, Peach flower, Orchid
BASE NOTES
Sandalwood, Virginian cedar, White musk, Vanilla

So how does POB smell, apart from beautiful? These are my thoughts, without reference to the other reviews of this scent which have already appeared - I have purposely not studied them in case they influenced my own response.

Well, creamy and vanillic and a little spicy would be words that spring to mind. There is a citrus twist, but it is soft and muted. Is this a sort of Amaranthine treatment of orange blossom, you may be curious to know? Well, there is definitely a nod in that direction in terms of overall vibe, but POB is more demure, and there is absolutely no whiff of thigh here, nor is it as tropical as Amaranthine, or as creamy, or spicy, or (arguably) as sweet!

I would say POB has a lot in common with Serge Lutens Fleurs d'Oranger, of which it is a sanitised version. By that I mean that it enjoys a similar depth and creaminess, but is quieter, with no indolic twang from the white florals. This being a good thing in my book.

Here are the notes of the Serge Lutens, which have several key elements in common with POB - I promise I didn't peek at these before the comparison occurred to me!:

Orange blossom, white jasmine, Indian tuberose, white rose, citrus peel, hibiscus seeds, cumin, nutmeg

I have additionally conducted several side by side tests with Jo Malone Orange Blossom, which also comes across as indolic - soapily rather than skankily so, if that makes any sense at all. At the same time the Jo Malone is sparklier and brighter and more in-your-face than the Penhaligon's, and lacks its creamy depth. Can a perfume be simultaneously soapy and sparkly, I hear you ask? Well, if a washing up liquid can, I don't see why not. If JMOB was a handbag it would be all spangles and sequins, while POB makes a quieter statement in brushed suede.

JO MALONE ORANGE BLOSSOM
Top notes - cedrat, green notes and clementine leaf.
Heart notes - orange blossom and water lily
Base notes - orange blossom and lilac.

So, in summary, the new Penhaligons is a sort of de-skanked Fleurs d'Oranger or an Amaranthine that has been "tango-ed" in a demure way. And just as oranges are not the only fruit, nor does POB smell like the whole orange. And is the better for it.

And if a single reader gets my drift, I will eat the bow of the bottle I hope to buy some day...

UPDATE: Since this review was published, Penhaligon's has very kindly sent me a bottle of POB, so if the above imagery is in fact less than totally impenetrable, I may have soeme serious bow-eating to do! And it looks quite thick material....

Wearing The Trousers: My Induction Into Men's Designer Scents

Not a week goes by when I don't visit my local branch of a well known UK high street chemist. It dominates fragrance sales in the UK, capturing a third of the market in the latest published stats I could find (admittedly from 2004!). If there is a new scent tester on display, I will usually give it a squirt in passing, on my way through to the water filters or the paracetamol.

But all that pales by comparison with the fun I had on Thursday in a large out of town store down south, where my friend Gblue (from Basenotes) works as an SA. It was a warm, sunny day, so the footfall was correspondingly light, and in the two and a half hours I hung out with Gblue, at the merest hint of the hovering form of a potential customer I would melt into the background. Well, not completely melt, if I am truthful, as several people asked me if they could pay for their purchases at my till. But before getting into the nitty gritty of what we tested, I just wanted to say for the record that NO SALES WERE LOST IN THE INDUCTING OF THIS PERFUMISTA.

Indeed, I even made a modest purchase of my own: a bottle of Yardley Geranium EDT for my Swedish friend (the owner of Penhaligon's Elixir featured in a recent post). This is a simple, pretty, slightly sanitised geranium soliflore with most of the earthiness stripped out, yet it stays the right side of twee. By contrast, the Hyacinth EDT in the range was sweet and twee to my mind, while the Orange Blossom was bizarrely oily, like comminute. (I used to market fruit juice in another life, and for anyone unfamiliar with the term, "comminute" is the ground up pith and rind which forms the basis of orange squash). So when a label reads: "Made with whole oranges", they really do mean "whole", just as chicken nuggets are reportedly made with "whole chickens"... : - )

But I digress...

Here is a list of the men's scents we sampled: in each case Gblue was able to talk me through their general style, key notes, and other designer fragrances they resembled. And whilst I did not like everything I smelt, I was pleasantly surprised to find that there is stuff out there amongst mainstream brands that is far removed from what Tania Sanchez dubbed the "Saddam Hussein School of Perfumery", meaning those shouty, astringently citrussy, hairy chestwig types of cologne that refuse to sell out to the "hint of" school, with its metrosexual penchant for the muted and discreet.

Paul Smith Man - carroty iris: am thinking TDC Bois d'Iris and MH Terre d'Iris!

Gucci pour Homme II - one of the standout scents of the day: notes of bergamot, violet leaves, cinnamon, pimento, black tea, myrrh, tobacco leaves, white musk, and olive wood - soft and elegant.

Armani (original) - rather like Eau Sauvage: bold but not quite brash, classic, but a little dated.

YSL Nuit de L'Homme - too coumarin-y, so pass! Prefer the original L'Homme.

Hugo Boss Elements - honking hedione note, one of those vapid ozonic numbers, but not offensive.

Dior Homme Sport - completely mad ginger beer opening, but mutes down to a pleasant tingle.

Armani Code For Men - quiet woody / milky scent. Improvement on the sticky orange mess that is Code for Women!

Paul Smith Summer Man - intense lemon and lime like a really pleasant washing up liquid. Sorry, Gblue - I know you like this one!

Paco Rabanne Millionaire - peculiar sickly sweet, rather foody scent. Apparently a huge seller! I disliked it so much I didn't even keep the blotter.

Dior Dune for Men & Gucci Envy for Men - liked these quite a lot, but for the life of me cannot remember why...
: - )

The following I know I either disliked or was fairly indifferent to, but again cannot recall the specifics:

Euphoria Intense, C K In2U Heat, Armani Diamonds Summer for Men (no raspberry note, at least!), Dior Fahrenheit Absolute, Paul Smith Extreme.

Other things of interest we smelled in our sniffathon - from the women's range -included Chanel Chance Eau Tendre (Daisy-like grapefruit opening, musky iris drydown), Coco Mademoiselle Parfum (rather pretty), Chanel No 5 Parfum (No 5 on steroids) and old and new Opium (no discernable common DNA whatsoever!). There was also a new women's fragrance that smelt exactly like Jammy Dodgers, but sadly the name of that escapes me too.

And my favourite scent out of all those tested? Bvlgari Eau d'Ete - marketed as a feminine, but we both agreed it had unisex potential. Reminiscent of Jo Malone White Jasmine & Mint. Very cool and fresh. It is apparently aimed at a younger audience, but I don't think it has any obvious age connotations.

Notes: mint, Italian lemon, amber, iris, cinnamon, benzoin and fir balsam

So, that was a very enjoyable and instructive afternoon - with a bit of a blue theme, you might say, in terms of my host's screen name, and the scent highlights of the day! Yes, I would like to thank Gblue for taking the time to show me everything, and for his gift of a goody bag full of samples for me to take home.

Finally, I can't resist mentioning that on the day Gblue wore a name badge bearing the name "Nathan".

"But you're not called Nathan." I protested.

"I know, but I have to wear a badge when I am working. And mine has gone missing, but there were a couple of spares - it was either this or Wilma..."

Scent Trail Sudoku

When I tell people that I am fascinated by perfume, spend all my free time smelling the stuff, or reading and writing about it, I am often broadsided by the question: "So okay, then, what perfume am I wearing?" The gauntlet is thrown, a defiant and faintly sceptical smile playing around the mouth of my challenger. I shuffle a few steps nervously, shunting the gauntlet an inch or two, before picking it up gingerly between my forefinger and thumb, and holding it with outstretched arm at a safe distance from my body.

"Er...um...this is the bit I'm not very good at, actually."
I detect a flicker of a smirk from the other party.

"I mean I have smelled loads of perfumes, but it is harder to identify them from cold - you know, without anything to go on, apart from the smell, that is."

"Well......?" The question is accompanied by an interrogative eyebrow and a broad grin - or is it a rictus?

"Okay, then...I'll go for Coco Mademoiselle." (When olfactorily befuddled, pick a UK best seller with very short odds.)

"Noooo - it is Paloma Picasso/Light Blue/Daisy/Chanel No 5!/Ysatis!!" (Or substitute any other well known designer brand that also smells nothing like my wild stab.)

This is my Achilles heel, you see. I am absolutely rubbish at this, the most popular party trick of them all for any self-respecting perfumista...

Except in the case of Mr Bonkers' mother. I am sharp as mustard there. I know instantly if she is wearing Coco Chanel or Burberry Women. This is because she only owns two bottles of perfume, both of which I gave her. And yes, I suppose that is the scent decoding equivalent of shooting fish in a barrel...

Thus I was particularly proud of myself the other day in T K Maxx. I was peering at the shoe fixture, deciding whether to buy a pair of wedgey Mary Janes in an unknown brand. I couldn't make up my mind whether they had that "artisan/geek chic" look, or were just plain nerdy. I bought them, and today they went back, which I think answers the question.

Anyway, as I was inspecting ankle straps and T-bars and such like, I suddenly caught a whiff of something familiar wafting from the general direction of the shopper next to me: a lady of a certain age, with white hair and unremarkably dressed - what is known round here as a "tidy woman" - connoting someone unassuming and fairly conventional, who doesn't really stand out in any way. Apart from her scent: a bold, spicy oriental.

Before I could stop myself, I was in there like the proverbial ferret up a cardboard poster tube.

"Excuse me, but are you wearing Coco?"

"No, it's - what's that one called again...?"

(SEE, EVEN THE SCENT WEARER MAY FIND THIS IDENTIFICATION BUSINESS TRICKY!)

"Opium, that's it!" Adding helpfully, after a pause: "By Yves Saint Laurent."

"Aha!" I replied, bursting with glee: "Same general idea. They are both spicy orientals, you know."

"Right" replied the lady, with a humouring smile, before scooting hastily round to the aisle with the 6-7s. This may have been a ruse to avoid the random bonkers person who just accosted her. I prefer to think she had oddly sized feet.

Whatever, I was happy with my work. This was true "guessing in a vacuum", even if ballsy spicy orientals only count as entry level in this game of scent trail sudoku.

There is in fact an official term for something that enhances mood in this way: an SSRI. It stands for "Selective Sillage Recall & Intercept". It's a game I hope to play again, and maybe I will nail it next time...

The Unsung Hero Of The Swap Scene - Electrical Insulation Tape

I am starting this week with a severe case of "Julie Andrews déjà vu", but I have greatly enjoyed reading the synchronised "Scents that Sing Spring!" picks (why, that is almost a tongue twister). Aside perhaps from the "vermiposting" dimension to ScentScelf's piece, with its disturbingly graphic imagery of writhing worminess aka annelids...

Anyway, in the light of this comprehensive coverage of the spring scent theme, I thought the blogosphere probably doesn't need any unsolicited suggestions from my side (Ajne Printemps! - sorry, that just slipped out). Instead I am going to sing the praises of a humble, utilitarian, yet vital accessory in the armoury of any perfumista who is serious about swapping: PVC electrical insulation tape.

I had just finished the roll I bought when I first got into swapping on Makeupalley. Twelve months on, and some 60-70 swaps and RAOKs later, I needed to restock. As it happens, right next door to my local post office is a neighbourhood hardware store. It has a large sign over the doorway, which reads:

ARCHITRAVES
DADO RAILS
PERSPEX SHEETS

I pondered why the shop decided that it would focus on these three lines in particular. Could they really be best sellers? It seemed unlikely. Perhaps they are amongst the slowest moving products, and the proprietor reckoned a bit of shop frontage advertising would give a much needed filip to sales. Hmm, that seems unlikely too. Musing on this, I went inside and noted how sparsely filled the shelves were. Some of them were so empty that they could have doubled up as (rather uncomfortable) bunks.

Rather than jump to the conclusion that there had in fact been a run on cable glands, cavity wall anchors and boat varnish, with fresh deliveries expected any minute, I got the feeling that the store might be running stocks down. Clearly they had missed my patronage since last April's 99p purchase! I hurried to the till with a roll of insulation tape - £1.19 this time, but it looked bigger. Should I buy two? Will they be here next year if I don't? My sense of philanthropy didn't quite rise to the occasion, and I came away with one roll.

As anyone engaged in swapping perfume knows, this tape is the vital membrane that protects the precious liquid cargo from the ravages inflicted on packages by unsuspecting postal workers and their machinery. Plain old Sellotape (or Scotch, as it is known in some parts), is nowhere near as effective for sealing the tops of decants. Anyone using common or garden sticky tape would be a pariah in the MUA community - or at the very least branded as semi-pro.

I have only ever seen black in my hardware store (local demand probably wouldn't support a rainbow palette), but I have noticed that the tape used by Canadian and US swappers is often yellow or green. From such subtle cultural differences we may deduce that North American electricians are cheery, upbeat souls.

What else can I tell you about this workhorse sealant? Well, for starters it is resistant to biting. Also, very fastidious swappers may use it to seal up the hole in the nozzle before putting a second layer around the top to secure it to the body of the atomiser. NB This requires a very fine gauge of tape and very nimble fingers. If I attempt this double seal stunt, I dismally fail to get the top back on over the trussed up nozzle.

I would be lying too, if I gave the impression that insulation tape is infallible, even when applied with practised dexterity. I had a parcel leak only the other day, causing one label to flirt off completely and the lettering on another to blur.

But for the most part the tape performs very well in its unusual (and covert) calling, given that the sending of perfume flies in the face of many countries' postal regulations. It is our partner in crime, our sticky-fingered friend.

And if you were very strapped for cash - and exceedingly shortsighted - you might just be able to pass off a roll of tape on your dressing table as a bottle of Bvlgari Black.

Rising Damp! The Flight of The Flacons - II

Ever since acquiring a beer chiller to "curate" the key bottles in my collection, I must confess to feeling rather virtuous for taking such pains to care for my perfumes, keeping them in their optimum temperature controlled environment of 10 degrees C - well, except for the citrus ones, that is, who allegedly prefer it a little chillier - but I refuse to pander to minority groups.

Any feelings of smugness have been gradually eroded of late by the appearance of icicles on the inside roof of the fridge, which gradually lengthened, their sharp tips grazing the top shelf bottles. Perfumes may like it cold, but they do not like it wet.

Then this week - an odd one meteorologically speaking, what with this volcanic dust cloud and all the downstream aviation chaos it has wreaked - I realised that the icicles had now all melted and dripped through the fridge interior, forming puddles on boxes and depositing droplets of condensation on dozens of decants.

There was nothing for it but to evacuate the bottles for the second time and defrost the fridge properly. So once again, there was a sprawling refugee camp of perfume migrants on the bedroom floor. I closed the curtain to prevent the spring sunshine from inflicting any more damage. Having wedged a towel into the fridge to soak up the moisture, I set about examining the boxes to see what state they were in. Well, sadly there were about half a dozen, including PG Brulure de Rose and Creed Love in Black, that have water marks and some warping. And Ferre by Ferre is positively undulating, to the point that the lid no longer fits! So bendy indeed, that the Downward Facing Dog would be an absolute breeze for it. I'll call that Warp Factor 9. But mostly the damage was around the 3-5 mark, and it was the matt cardboard boxes rather than the glossy ones (Bvlgari Jasmin Noir, EL Sensuous) that were worst affected (packaging designers, please take note!).

Now, the other day I burned an indelible brown ring onto the kitchen work top in two very visible places, so in the grand scheme of things this is not a big deal. And Mr Bonkers is being very supportive about the kitchen disaster: "I hated that pattern anyway!"

I have learnt from this that keeping perfumes chilled and dark is easy (a fridge), dark and dry is easy (a drawer), but chilled, dark AND dry presents more of a challenge.

Penhaligon's Elixir - Pulpit or Pulling Scent?

The day I was in Zürich on my solo sniffathon, specifically when I was in a branch of Starbucks above a bookshop, peering at the price list to see what exorbitant sums they wanted for a cup of Tazo tea (with milk!), my mobile rang. It was a Swedish friend of mine, who was spending a few days in London and felt an urge to call me from a branch of Penhaligon's to tell me she had just bought a bottle of Elixir.

Well, my first reaction was puzzlement, as I thought I knew the whole line, but Elixir was a new one on me. My friend described the notes to me over the phone, and I have since found the whole list on NSTperfume:

"eucalyptus steam, cardamom, orange blossom, cedar, Turkish rose, jasmine, cinnamon, mace, rosewood, benzoin, tonka bean, vanilla, incense, red sandalwood and guaicum wood."

It sounded like a woody oriental, and is in fact a masculine, which may explain why it wasn't on my radar. The perfumer is Olivia Giacobetti, she of the enviable cheek bones and creator of minimalist ethereal beauties like FM En Passant, Diptyque Philosykos and L'Artisan The pour un Ete. That said, she is also the nose behind Idole Lubin, which is a scent with boozy, spicy heft.

The SA apparently positioned Elixir to my friend as a "pulling scent", and I was very excited about this, as I already consider several woody-incensey orientals to have that important property (important in an altogether theoretical way in my case, you understand): Ormonde Jayne Ta'if, Kenzo Flower Oriental and Tauer's L'Air du Désert Marocain to name three.

So I rang the Penhaligon's mail order line and they kindly sent out a sample of Elixir, plus one each of their new Orange Blossom EDT and Eau de Cologne (which deserve their own review).

On Saturday, to motivate me to double dig the flower beds and de-dandelion the drive, I applied Elixir for the first time. In the opening I got a dusty, spicy note that reminded me very much of SL Femininité du Bois and a little of DSH Nourouz (the scent formerly known as Tamarind Paprika). This quickly morphed into straight up church incense, but a very soft version of same - like DKNY Black Cashmere but less piquant, or like Etro Messe de Minuit, but mercifully devoid of its foetid flagstone note. A bit like Heeley Cardinal even, but without the Lemon Cif riff. And the whole tone of Elixir is even quieter, even more zen-like and meditative than any of those mentioned above.

Today I tried Elixir again. Now it may well be that the perfume was understandably apprehensive about my forthcoming review, for it decided to show me a few more facets this time. Today I get the incense still as the dominant note, but it is partnered with more woody notes and the rose. I would be lying if I said I got any jasmine or orange, mind.

On balance, it is still a little too incense-y, but it is very beautiful in a bone dry, austere, Simeon Stylites kind of a way. Could I pull someone wearing this? Hmm, if I was on one of those retreats where burnt-out business people go to detox, paint, learn reiki, gamelan drums and generally how to be their Best Possible Self, then I would say most certainly.
In Stafford's local nightspots, frequented by gaggles of 20-something girls with exposed midriffs and vertiginous heels, I am not sure it would quite cut the hair gel. Beyonce Heat or Britney's Midnight Fantasy might be nearer the mark.

Me, I will happily continue to wear Elixir whenever I want to escape the hurly burly of the working week. It is a fragrant way to achieve inner calm without having to focus on my core breathing or contort myself into a Downward Facing Dog.