Penhaligon's Violetta eau de toilette

Penhaligon’s Violetta starts out like death by violets. But unlike Le Dix, the violets in Violetta are only slightly powdery, and way, way more crisp and green. The tiny powder note almost completely fades after the initial drydown, and the greens emerge: think leafy greens as opposed to stemmy. Violetta smells like after a rain shower (similar in many aspects to Guerlain’s Apres l’Ondee, although I haven't spent much time with that one). It reminds me of a fresh spring day after it rains, when the earth is steaming and you can still hear the water dripping from the leaves high up in the trees. To me, it smells watery without the dreaded marine note. Rather, it reminds me of a watercolor painting. It’s very cool, light and delicate, and doesn’t have much sillage. It stays close to my skin and ends up just smelling good. From time to time, I get the smallest hint of pine and woods. It’s a soliflore and was created in 1976, the year of my birth. It was meant to be! It’s tough reviewing a perfume I really love. After a while, I can’t analyze it anymore. It just smells like me, like something comforting, and carries with it all my past associations of it.

I visited Penhaligon’s on a whim while in Edinburgh in 2005. I saw it on my way to Jo Malone, and only stopped in because I’d read about Bluebell being Prince Charles’ and Kate Moss’ favorite scent. I was on a Jo Malone mission—-funny--now it would be the total opposite. I loved the Jo Malone experience, but made an unfortunate impromptu purchase. I'm sorry I didn't spend more time at Penhaligon's.

I didn't buy anything that day- it wasn't until a random stop in Glasgow where I bought the little tin of samples and asked them for a sample of Violetta. The first time I got around to try it was the summer of 2006. At the time I was living in a terribly uninsulated upstairs apartment and it was really, really hot. I fell in love with Violetta's cool freshness. It ended up being the first bottle of perfume I ordered online (save an inexpensive bottle of Fiorucci that I bought years ago from Sephora, unsniffed, because I love the store in Verona, Italy, so much. Thank god I liked it! A fizzy, fruity floral, nothing I would normally wear, but yummy indeed). With Violetta, I felt like I’d arrived. I was officially a perfumista. I’ve never looked back!

Balenciaga Le Dix, eau de toilette

Le Dix starts out very powdery and full of violets. I tend to reach for it in the spring because of its violets, but it could be worn any time of year. Those who don’t like powdery scents may not care much for Le Dix; there are moments when it’s just a huge (wonderful) powder bomb. Then again, it’s super classy, and the powder is more violet-toned than baby powder, so you might give it a shot.

Anyway, it’s a burst of powdery violets at first which slowly melts into smooth, creamy violets. A few hours later and for the remainder of the day, it smells wonderfully fresh and nice and very comforting, like a warm mom or favorite auntie. It’s all at once floral and indefinable. It smells very French, and very old-school. Le Dix is quite aldehydic, which contributes to its vintage qualities. Aldehydes are hard to define. They're synthetic molecules that not only enhance other scents in a perfume, but also carry their own powdery and sharp odor, which, unfortunately, gives perfume a perfume-y or “old lady smell.”

I wish there was another title than "old lady." Perhaps instead we could call a perfume a generational smell, and refer to it as something so unmistakably between the two World Wars. I think "oldy lady" perfume got its name because so many classic, older perfumes contain aldeydes (Chanel No. 5, launched in 1921, was the first perfume to use them) and that older women, then in their youth, discovered these scents when they first came into fashion and quickly made them their own. And they still love them. I do, too!

Aldehydic scents are quite civilized, I think. I’d much rather have that “old lady smell” than the generic, watery, ozonic fruity floral that my generation will surely be remembered by (ahem, Calvin Klein, I’m talking to you). I think, too, that perhaps older people lose their sense of smell and therefore really pile on the perfume. Again, though, loads of Chanel No. 5 vs. Eternity is fine by me.

Some great suggestions for other aldehydic fragrances can be found here, and an excellent review about Le Dix can be found here.

I read that Le Dix is named for Balenciaga’s address on 10, avenue George V, in Paris. *le sigh*

I bought my tiny little 10 mL bottle (the perfect size, in my opinion) for $11.99 at Imagination Perfumery. I think I must have bought the last bottle, but they do still have bigger sizes available for decent prices.

Michael Kors Island Capri eau de toilette; Tocca Touch eau de parfum; Kenzo Flower eau de parfum

Today’s review is of three samples I received in my last Sephora order: Island Capri by Michael Kors; Tocca Touch; and Flower by Kenzo.

Michael Kors Island Capri. On the card it says “The Ultimate Vacation in a Bottle.” Right. Could my vacation be away from this perfume? I don’t even want to touch it to my skin. It smells like watery mangoes and Windex, an instant, clanging headache. It’s like an electric blue raspberry, emerging from the ocean. A teenager would love it. It fades into generic nothing. Help, get this off my arm. Oh wait, it’s gone. Faded. Nothing. Did I even put this on?

Tocca Touch. I’ve heard a lot about this perfume, and always see it at Anthropologie. It comes in a pretty little feminine bottle and the juice is pink. The card proclaims “The freshness of gardenia and Tahitian tiare flower, the succulence of pomegranate and the warmth of Egyptian balsam evoke the refined essence of Tocca.” First impression: cinnamon-scented dryer sheets. Then: Clark’s Teaberry gum and cloves. I smell a little ylang-ylang, a lot of vanilla, and tons of potpourri. It has this strange gum thing going on. It’s a clean gourmand. Not for me but not a total scrubber, either. It’s overpowering the Island Capri on my arm, so that’s good. Something about it reminds me of my aunt Lorraine’s house in New Hampshire, which is kind of neat. Her house always smells clean. The juice settles in nicely but takes over in a pushy potpourri kind of way.

Flower by Kenzo. I remember this being very popular in France when I lived there. My memory of it was that it was too powdery. Here’s what the card says: “Floral Energy—wild hawthorne, Bulgarian rose, cassie flower, Parma violet. Powder Power—Bourbon vanilla, oppoponax, white musk. Urban Energy—cyclosal, hedoine. Ok, what are cyclosal and hedoine? And I’m not sure what oppoponax is, either. This perfume takes me right back to France. It’s almost … minty, like when you smell someone’s breath after they brush their teeth. It’s peppery baby powder, slightly floral, a hint of vanilla. My memory was correct: this is all powder on me. Overpowering, dusty talc. Whew! Babies! After a few minutes, the powder teases me with violets. But overall, there’s something reminiscent about Comet.

Overall, if I had to choose, I’d go with Touch. Update, 8 hours later: The violet in Kenzo flower finally reveals itself. Too little, too late. It's very pretty, but not me.

Guerlain's L'Heure Bleu parfum on my left, Miss Dior EDT on my right (before I wash my hands)

I sought out some classics tonight; L'Heure Bleu parfum by Guerlain and Miss Dior EDT by Dior. I wanted to smell the parfum of Miss Dior but Saks didn't have a tester.

L'Heure Bleu has been reviewed a bunch, and I don't think I have much to add to what I've already read. Somewhere I read that it smells like Playdoh; I'm sorry to say that's exactly what I smell. Sharp, peppery, powdery Playdoh. I do like it, but it's not for me. It's very, very different than anything else on the market right now, which I can appreciate. I'm always a little relieved when I'm not hot on a perfume; it means I won't have to buy it!

Miss Dior, on the other hand (literally) started out super earthy and dirty green, then turned grassy, and finally settled into this lush, rich, comforting patchouli on me. It's warm and round and encapsulating. It feels familiar, but I don't know anyone close to me who wears it regularly. It's utterly classic and sophisticated, like the kind of scent you'd smell on someone once and instantly recognize if you smelled it again. It's a close, skin scent on me ... and yet I feel like I'm not wearing Miss Dior, but rather Miss Dior is wearing me. Quite lovely, though! It's a chypre, which I love. It smells like a heavier, oilier Chanel 19. Nothing wrong with that!

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.

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!

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.