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.