Serge Lutens Bois de Violette eau de parfum

I first smelled Bois de Violette in 2005 on a perfume tour in Paris. My guide took me to Serge Lutens, a house I'd never heard of, on the first stop on the tour. I remember thinking, huh, nice perfume tour, why aren't we going to Jean Patou? Or Chanel? If only I knew then what I know now ... Bois de Violette would have been mine much sooner.

The sales associate at Serge Lutens sized me up and down and suggested I sample Un Lys. She put a drop on my arm and then had me compare it against each other fragrance I tested. Un Lys: so pretty and fresh! Next up was something or other-- Douce Amere, maybe; I liked Un Lys better. Then, Bois de Fruits; which did I like better? Un Lys. Next: Bois de Violette-- which did I prefer? I smelled both arms again and again and couldn't decide. Un Lys was gorgeous on me: all white lillies and dainty flower petals. Bois de Violette, however, was just as pretty, but in a darker, woodsier way. I smelled tones of vanilla and sweet wood, hints of violets and forest floor. Ultimately, I prefered Un Lys, but it didn't matter because in the end, I didn't buy either one. I told my guide, I don't want to blow my wad now when there's two more houses to visit (Guerlain and Montale). I left Serge Lutens with a small wax sample booklet and beautifully scented arms.

What a bust! Guerlain didn't do anything for me (although my aunt fell hopelessly in love with Mitsouko parfum) and neither did Montale (I did meet Monsieur Montale, who gave me a decant of Crystal Flowers in exchange for a kiss -- story to follow in a future post). I didn't buy anything at either house. I went back to Serge Lutens the next day while on a walk with my dad but they were closed. I did manage to get a small sample of A La Nuit from Sephora, but aside from that, I left France with no Serge Lutens.

Flash forward a year later to me unearthing that wax sample booklet. I retried Un Lys and found it way too heady and airy. Bois de Violette, however, was just like I remembered it: all cedar and violets swirling around in competition with each other. I couldn't wait to get to Serge Lutens on my next visit to Paris.

I bought it on the last day of my visit. I saved it for last because it was the biggest, most fragile bottle, and I didn't want it to break in my backpack while traveling. It's a bell jar and has no spritzer. It was wildly expensive, but worth it. Paris is the only place it's available. It felt so luxurious walking through the arcades and gardens afterwards with a tiny Serge Lutens bag on that sunny fall day. When I got it home, I decanted it to a small spritzer and gave myself a spray. I couldn't wait to bask in the glory of violets. I'd waited so long-- two years!

I didn't like it.

It wasn't how I remembered it. It was so ... unusual. The cedar just took over. I couldn't detect any violets. It turned strangely smoky on my skin after 10 minutes. It had a sweetness I couldn't place - not a candied violet sweetness, but a more vanilla smoky tea sweetness. I didn't wear it for weeks, months. The little spritzer on my dresser taunted me. Occasionally I'd give it a spray but it made me feel claustrophobic. It was simply too much.

Eventually, I decided not to spray it, but rather spray a cotton ball and dab it lightly on my wrist. I had to give it another go, especially in this cold weather. It's much more an autumn/winter scent to me. It works much better on my skin now that I'm dabbing it. A little goes a long way on me. I think when I sprayed, too much came out and it was overpowering.

I've been wearing Bois de Violette all week and it keeps intriguing me each time I wear it. To my nose, the first few notes are soda-like; cream soda, ginger ale, vanilla. It smells like a smooth cedar plank. It's so warm. The violet comes out on my skin after about 25 minutes. I get impatient sometimes waiting for it, but the warm woodsy cedar keeps me smelling. I still don't know if I'm in love with it or not; but for that reason, I think I must be. It's limitless on my skin. It keeps me on my toes. It's soothing and comforting. It's something I reach for when I want to feel warm. It's like a cashmere sweater. It's quite possibly the most intersting perfume I've ever smelled.

Violet Moss soap, by Fresh

I had high expectations for Fresh's Violet Moss soap. I just finished the Roger & Gallet Citron soap yesterday (I was spoiled; that bar lasted more than two months, kept its shape, retained its scent and continued to produce a wonderful lather). Seeing I'm on a violet kick, I reached for Violet Moss today.

The packaging is what lured me to buy it, even before the fragrance. It's gorgeous! All those purple and silver swirls, its little wire ribbon; this soap would make a perfect gift. I debated buying it; at $12, and no tester to smell, it was a bit of a gamble. I'm not entirely disappointed, but my expectations got the better of me.

The bar is good sized; in fact, I cut it in half. It's pure vegetable soap "enriched" with shea butter. First sniff, dry: very light and floral, like a sheer violet. I detected the tiniest hints of light greens, and a vague hint of earthiness. More than anything, it smelled like ... soap. Good, clean soap, but nothing special.

In the shower, Violet Moss was virtually unscented. I don't get nearly enough violet, and no moss whatsoever. My skin felt a little dry afterwards. It's nice, but overall, it's plain and unsatisfyingl. I'm glad I'm only stuck with half a bar. Hopefully, it'll go fast.

I feel most Fresh products are all about hype and good packaging. I used to love their soy shampoo, but after a while it dried out my hair. (It smells great, though.) Overall, I wouldn't seek out Fresh soap again, but I would certainly display a bar if I ever received one as a gift.

Joy, by Jean Patou, Eau de Toilette

Lately I've been craving roses and violets. I've built up a nice collection of rose and violet blends, but this week I've reached again and again for Joy. As you can see from the photo, I love this perfume. It's nearly half gone. I bought this little 30 mL bottle in Montpellier, France, in November, 2004. It was one of the first full bottles I've ever bought for myself; it's one of the scents that fueled my passion for perfume.

I'd read about Joy before ever smelling it; I'd read how it was the most expensive perfume ever created when it came in in 1930; how it took pounds and pounds of jasmine and roses to create a tiny bit of parfum. I did my research on how much it cost in France vs. America, as well as in different shops in France. I finally found this bottle at a Douglas perfume shop for about 30 euros. A veritable steal!

Joy is pure elegance. It's one of the prettiest perfumes I've ever smelled. I didn't love it at first. It felt a little too tight, like a stubborn rose bud. It also smelled old-fashioned and too refined, at least to my nose in 2004. I still agree with these first impressions, only now I'm more tuned into Joy's subtleties (its warm ylang-ylang) and more aware of its rose-jasmine wallop. Joy is the perfect dance of rose and jasmine. When the rose starts to lead, the jasmine takes over; when the jasmine gets too heady, the rose changes the tempo. The initial hit is antique - almost waxy - like a dried corsage; then a freshness appears, and it's all wrapped up with sharp aldehydes that keeps the scent on its toes (I think it's the aldehydes that gives Joy its old-fashioned feel.) All together it's classy and beautiful.

I've never tried the eau de parfum or pure parfum, but I've heard they're equally as gorgeous. Some people get a "cat pee" whiff from Joy; I'm guessing that's the jasmine, which doesn't fair well with everyone's chemistry. Some jasmines are super indolic (Serge Lutens' A La Nuit being one of them); which can anoint certain skin with an "eau de poop" smell. Too bad for them. Jasmine and I have always gotten along.

I love the body lotion; I bought a bottle in May, 2005, at the Paris flagship store. The saleswoman told me that Joy lotion is one of the best representations of the perfume she's ever smelled. I totally agree-- most lotions or creams smell nothing like their source, but Joy captures it very well. It's quite strong; I have to cut it with unscented lotion lest I go into Joy overload (not that that would be a bad thing). After a shower, it's heavenly to smell so pretty, and the tiniest bit of lotion lasts most of the day.

While I tend to reach for Joy in the colder months (I associate it with when I bought it), it's a gorgeous perfume that can be worn in any season.

Chanel No. 19 EDT

I've been wearing Chanel No. 19 EDT all week. It's a moody perfume. I reached for it last Saturday morning after a night of rain. And then I reached for it again on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday-- again and again up until today. I find it comforting in a cozy, grey-wool-sweater kind of way.

I've always been intrigued by No. 19. I think my mother had a small sample bottle as a child; I feel like I knew what it smelled like long before I actually smelled it.

It's not an easy smell to like. It's one of my more complicated perfumes. It's not at all sweet or fruity. No sugared vanilla or berries here. And I can't detect any warm patchouli at the end. Wearing it every day for a week, however, I've discovered some of No. 19's subtleties that had previously evaded me. Its most striking feature, I think, is its softness. At first spray, it's all angles and sharp edges; fresh cut grass and hay and crumpled leaves. Then, slowly, a soft leather rises up, followed by a sideways rose-- more of a green, antiqued rose (if such a thing even exisits!). It dries down into a warm, powdery finished, fresh in an earthy way; like freshly tilled earth.

When I got a sample of No. 19 earlier this year, I wrote in my little perfume notebook that it was like jasmine graphite, sophisticated, ladylike and heartbreaking. I certainly feel the same way now except I would add that it's very distinguished and very distinguishable from all my other scents.

Osmoz lists it as a floral green but I've always known it to be the queen of chypres-- an oakmoss that smells earthy and mossy and godly green. I have a small vial of the EDP that I hope to review later; I had a sample made at a Sephora in Paris as they only sell the EDT in the United States. While in Paris I also mustered up the courage to walk into *the* Chanel on 31, rue Cambon (no one hardly noticed me and it turned out to be not as scary as I thought), and was delighted to see a giant spray bottle of the pure parfum. I gave my arm a liberal squirt and spent the next 8 hours sniffing my arm every 15 minutes. It was absolutely gorgeous. No bitter angles at all; just soft, pretty green magic. I kick myself for not splurging on a small bottle of the parfum; a quarter ounce, however, was about 80 euros ... next time!

Samples again

Iles d'Or de Molinard is very, very vanilla, with bits of coconut and tropical fruits. It's nice and warm. Verveine de Molinard, on the other hand, is minty crisp, opening with astringent lemon and fresh verbena. Nice, but a little too minty for my tastes.

L'Artisan Verte Violette is very pretty, if a little ... watery. I can't place it; it's certainly smells like violets and greens but there is something aquatic-smelling to me. Is it the heliotrope? I'm not sure. I'm working from a tiny sample; this one might need a full spray to determine if I should invest.

I was surprised to like Piment Brulent by L'Artisan; anything with fire and peppers in its name certainly sounds more like a taco sauce than a perfume. It definitely smells like peppers, but it also has an unexpected freshness and zip to it. Again, it's definitely worth a spritz.

Finally, Sabi by Henry Dunay was recommended to me by Tracy at The Perfume House because of its violet notes (I'm a big violet fan)- while I can appreciate its prettiness, it quickly turned to dryer sheets on my skin. Comfortingly clean, but too laundry for me. Nieman Marcus lists the notes as "a blend of 250 oils, rose, jasmine, ylang ylang and exotic spices." It's worth checking out if you're looking for something unique.

Tidbits

Today's reviews are tidbits; smells in passing; first impressions of a handful of perfume samples. The first is Diamonds by Emporio Armani. The sample card lists notes as raspberry, lychee, rose, patchouli and amber; all I can smell is raspberry tartlet and sugar. It's very, very sweet.

Next is Diesel's Fuel for Life; notes on the card are mandarine and patchouli; the notes I get are nail polish remover and a sharp men's cologne smell that is rather unpleasant. Speaking of the dreaded nail polish remover, that's about all I could smell when I tested Lanvin's Rumeur. Smelling it gave me an instant headache. I also smelled banana peels, of all things, and later I could pick out icy white florals in the drydown but only after wading through the wallop of that headache.

I tried Missoni's namesake perfume out of pure curiosity (their new one, not the original); the sales assistant at Saks gushed about the chocolate notes when it came out last year. It does indeed have chocolate, but it's so fake I can't take it seriously. It also smells too much like apples. Chocolate covered apples! If the Strawberry Shortcake dolls had a chocolate apple character (would its name be ... Chapple?), this is what it would smell like.

I was surprised that I liked Tom Ford's Black Orchid Voile de Fleur. While I can appreciate the chutzpah of the original Black Orchid, its dirty patchouli notes are simply too overpowering on me. The original reminds me of dirty fingernails; it's earthy, strong, bold and stomps all over me. Voile de Fleur, on the other hand, still has the patchouli, but it's softened by violet, anise and a slight jasmine. It's a clean patchouli, way more refined and soft. Its drydown worked nicely on me and became a pleasant, warm skin scent. If the original is a trashy, vampy party girl, Voile de Fleur is her older sister, way more stoic and refined ... but still wearing slinky lingerie under that cashmere twin set.

Serge Lutens Fleurs d'Oranger eau de parfum

I first smelled Fleurs d'Oranger at The Perfume House this past summer. Serge Lutens is probably my favorite perfume line. Every time I'm at The Perfume House (one of the only places in the United States that carries the line, and, lucky for me, in Portland!), I always linger in the Serge Lutens section.

Even though I don't care for every Serge Lutens creation, I always find them interesting. They're some of the most innovative, different scents I've ever smelled. It's very black or white with me and Serge-- either I fall madly, deeply in love or the juice is totally, completely not for me. This is trouble. How do you not buy a perfume you fall madly in love with, at first sniff? I thought I'd had my fill with A La Nuit, a gorgeous blend of three types of jasmine. I couldn't wait to get to Paris to buy Bois de Violette (one that's not imported to the United States). I didn't care for Douce Amere, Datura Noire, Chergui or Fumerie Turque. Or even Sa Majeste La Rose. I thought I'd smelled what I'd smelled and had my fill (as had my wallet).

Then Fleurs d'Oranger wacked me upside the head.

I was at The Perfume House to meet Angela for the first time. She's a writer for my favorite perfume blog, Now Smell This, and when I found out she lived in Portland, too, I suggested we meet at the shop for some sniffing.

I'd already sprayed it before she got there. I met her, shook her hand and then said, "Ok, smell this!" And shoved my wrist under her nose. Without missing a beat she said, "Wow, that's gorgeous on you!" and I said, "Yeah, I know, OH NO!"

$110 later, I was the proud owner of a 50 mL bottle, all wrapped up in a polkadotted black bag (I also bought Louis Ferraud's Love Story, for a whopping $33! Couldn't pass it up).

Where do I even start with such a great scent? In the beginning, I get the most perfect, equal blend of tuberose, jasmine and candied orange peel. It sparkles. It shines. It illuminates. It brings me such joy. Underneathe all that is the most gorgeous, freshest rose I've ever smelled in a perfume. It's subtle; the jasmine and tuberose definitely fight for the front row, but there it is: rose rose rose.

What follows is a touch of cumin (Angela picked this out right away and it was confirmed from the little list of notes the store had). I don't think I would have picked it out myself, but now that I know of it (and smelled a jar of powdered cumin back at home to verify what it smells like), I can smell it in the background. It's slowly simmering on the back burner. It grounds the sweetness, diminishes the potential cloyingness and most of all, gives the perfume warmth. This scent is far from cool; it radiates sparkly rays of sunshine and always cheers me up.

Coincidentally, one of my male friends fell in love with it, too, about a month ago. He's a fellow perfume fan, and is the person who introduced me to The Perfume Shop a couple years ago. All Serge Lutens fragrances are unisex. On him, the orange really shines through, along with a bitter tea note and lots of woods. I love that-- how the same scent can smell so different on someone else.

Narciso Rodriguez For Her Eau de Parfum

Tonight I'm reviewing one of my favorite perfumes, ever: Narciso Rodriguez For Her Eau de Parfum. I smelled this for the first time at a perfume show at Nordstrom about a year ago. The perfume show, while fun, was exhausting. My nose was wrecked after smelling so many scents at once in a small room-- and too many fruity/florals-- and I was tired of overly-smiley, borderline-pushy sales associates shoving their wares under my nose. The small, understated (and pink!) Narciso Rodriguez table in the corner of the room was a respite, calling my name.

It's gorgeous. It's Egyptian musk that isn't overly animal or musty. It melts into my skin and smells like a warm human. It starts off with a slight peach hit and slowly warms up into amber, sandalwood and musk. I get a little bit of rose at first, too, but I would not call this a floral scent. It's the kind of scent that smells like comfort-- like burying your nose into your loved one's hair. After I bought it I wore it for three months straight. I literally forgot all my other perfumes. It's the closest to my signature scent as I've ever smelled (up there with Joy by Jean Patou and Chanel No. 19).

The Eau de Toilette is remarkably different. It's more tinny and metallic and fruity. It sours on my skin. And the lotion and creme don't smell anything like the EDP. I did, however, buy the scented powder. All products are available at Sephora, Nordstrom and Macy's. I'm almost finished with that first bottle; I bought my second bottle at the Nordstrom perfume show last spring!

Kelly Caleche Eau de Toilette - Hermes

The bottle to this perfume is gorgeous-- all tall and elegant, with pink-hued perfume. I'd been eager to try this; it was created by Jean-Claude Ellena, Hermes' in-house perfumer. I became a big Ellena fan after reading an article in The New Yorker about how he created Un Jardin Sur Le Nil in 2004. Chandler Burr wrote that article (and is now the perfume critic for The New York Times) and chronicled Ellena's process from start to finish. Reading that article kickstarted my interest in perfume.

Back to Kelly Caleche. It's very, very pretty. According to Ozmos, its notes are: Top: green notes, lily-of-the-valley, rose and narcissus; Middle: climbing rose, mimosa, tuberose; Base: iris, woodsy notes, leather accord. What I smell most is lemon, followed by tea rose and soft leather. The leather isn't as overwhelming as walking into a leather store but more like burrowing your nose into a supple leather handbag. It's subtle. Upon first spray last night I said, Oh! Now that's a scent for me! It's softly layered and opens very quietly and gradually. I get hints of green lemons and menthol and the softest rose. It's less in my face that Coco Mademoiselle.

Ultimately, I don't think I'll invest in a full bottle. It's too similar to Un Jardin Sur Le Nil for me to fork over $75. In France, many perfumes are available in 30 mL, the perfect amount, in my opinion. Just enough, especially if, like Kelly Caleche, it's pretty but not mind-blowing.

Coco Mademoiselle - Chanel

I've read so much about Coco Mademoiselle lately, what with the new Keira Knightly commercial (which I love, by the way). I haven't had the best luck with Chanel perfumes, save No. 19 which I wear and love. I used to wear Allure, but burnt out on it. Plus, a woman in my old office used to wear it and left a trail everywhere she went, so I started associating it with her.

Anyway, Coco. I smelled a tester strip in a magazine last week and was pleasantly surprised-- enough to ask for a sample at Nordstrom. They made me a rollerball sample (a nice way to get a feel for a scent-- more perfume came out than from a pilot vial) and I tried it tonight. (I'm not sure if they made me the eau de toilette or eau de parfum; I'm guessing the edt.)

I wouldn't say it was a complete disappointment; Coco Mademoiselle has many redeeming qualities, they're just not all that apparent on me. What I like: the patchouli, surprisingly. It's a weighty contrast to the floral, grapefruity overtones. It's reminicent of Flowerbomb by Viktor & Rolf, which I like-- lots of clean patchouli and vanilla. What I don't like: its strength! This perfume is big! In my face! Giant! And very commercial. I feel like I've smelled this on every gum-snapping blonde out there. It's pretty, but fairly one-dimensional on me. It hits my nose with a thud. I can't take it seriously; all I can smell is an expensive version of a cheap perfume. Nearly headache-inducing. It's one of those scents that would smell great on someone else.

That being said, there's something about it I like..! I think it's because it's unlike anything I have. It's a big, fresh, fruity floral with patchouli-- three strikes in my book, but intriguing and different once in a while.

Cattier Tilleul & Fleur d'Oranger Bath-Shower Gel

I discovered this shower gel in my friends' shower in Reims. My friends N & G have the best shower in all of Europe. It has great water pressure, a huge shower head and lots of space ... and also because it's always full of fun soaps and shaving creams and shampoos, including Cattier's Tilleul & Fleur d'Oranger (Linden and Orange Blossom) Shower Gel. I took one sniff and had to have it!

One of my favorite things to do while traveling is to browse through drugstores and pharmacies. I can spend hours gazing at all the soaps and face creams, all new to me, all in another language. I'm convinced I'll find a real treasure-- something heavenly I've never seen or smelled before. N and I share of love of lotions and potions; lucky for me she had the afternoon off so we went shopping!

The best way I can describe the scent of this shower gel is stemmy. It smells like the stem of a lily and fresh cut leaves. Have you ever bought clementines at Christmas, and come across one with its stem still attached-- the little twiggy thing? That's how this gel smells: a bit citrusy, a little woodsy, a little green. I get more orange blossom than linden (linden, by the way, is also known as lime blossom, and smells like the freshest spring day you can imagine).

It's almost bitter, a little earthy, a little herbal. It's wonderful and not overpowering. It has a great later and my skin feels very soft after use. Sadly, the fragrance doesn't last very long on my after toweling off. Normally I'd hate it if a shower gel left too much fragrance behind, but with this, I'd be happy with a little more scent.

Information (in English and French) on Cattier can be found here. From what I can tell, they're all organic and don't test on animals. I think they can ship to the United States; one of the drawbacks to buying French goodies is often times it's nearly impossible to find them back home - or very expensive to have them shipped. I'm already lamenting not buying violet tea (none to speak of here!!) and splurging on Chanel No. 19 pure parfum and Serge Lutens' Sarrasins. Next trip!

Roger & Gallet Cedrat-Citron soap

I bought this soap for 4 euros in Reims, France, while visiting friends earlier this month. Cedrat is French for Citron, a type of citrus tree that yields a lemon-like fruit. (Confusingly, "citron" in French means "lemon" in English.)

The soap smells very woodsy and lemony, bordering on Pine Sol, but fresh nonetheless. It starts out with hits of cedar and pine which quickly parlay into lemons; less lemon zest and more lemon juice, or how lemon curd smells. It's more of a masculine scent than I'm used to, and while its scent lingered in my bathroom for a few hours, it only left a light fragrance on my body. The soap itself is light yellow, as big as my palm and about an inch thick. It has a great lather without being too drying or giving my skin an overly squeaky-clean feeling.

Roger & Gallet soaps are long lasting and have a 100% vegetal base. The company created the first round soap; according to their website, up until 1879 all soaps were square or rectangle shaped.

I'm a little obsessed with orange blossom right now, so after using this soap yesterday I wore Neroli by Annick Goutal (review to follow).

*photo courtesy of beautyexclusive.com