Eiderdown Press
Musings about Perfume and Life
Suzanne’s Perfume Journal
Click on Links to Previous Posts, below

A Conversation on Arabie

A Package from Christos: Greek Sandals & Oud Cuir d'Arabie

A Package from Ines

A Package from Lavanya

A More Affordable Olfactionary

A Week of Wearing What I Like

Amouage Dia (pour femme)

Amouage Dia (pour homme)

Amouage Epic Woman

Amouage Gold

Amouage Interlude Man

Amouage Jubilation 25 

Amouage Lyric Woman

Amouage Memoir Woman

Amouage Opus I

Amouage Opus III

Amouage Opus IV

Amouage Opus V

Amouage Opus VI

Amouage Tribute

Amouage Ubar

Annick Goutal Ambre Fetiche

Annick Goutal Encens Flamboyant

Annick Goutal Heure Exquise

Annick Goutal Petite Cherie

Annick Goutal Sables

April Aromatics Calling All Angels

April Aromatics Bohemian Spice

April Aromatics Jasmina 

April Aromatics Nectar of Love

April Aromatics Rose L'Orange

Aroma M Geisha Green

Aroma M Geisha Rouge

Arquiste Anima Dulcis

Arquiste Boutonniere no. 7

At the Moment (Chanel 22 & Marshall Crenshaw)

At the Moment (Contemplating Change & Habit Rouge)

At the Moment (Marron Chic & Paris)

At the Moment (More Midsummer Delights/Epic/Geisha Noire)

At the Moment (Saki & Lubin Idole edt)

At the Moment (Secret de Suzanne /D'Orsay L'Intrigante)

At the Moment (Spring Pretties/Un Air de Samsara)

At the Moment (Summery Things...Love Coconut)

At the Moment (Vera Wang & Fireman's Fair novel)

Ava Luxe Café Noir

Beatnik Emptiness Incense

Best of 2009

Bond No. 9 Andy Warhol Silver Factory

Bond No. 9 Brooklyn

Bond No. 9 Little Italy

Bond No. 9 New Haarlem

Bottega Veneta eau de parfum

Breath of God

Byredo Green

By Kilian Amber Oud

By Kilian Forbidden Games and In the City of Sin

Calyx by Prescriptives

Canturi by Stefano Canturi

Capote, Truman & Evening in Paris

Carner Barcelona D600

Caron Aimez-Moi

Caron French Cancan

Caron Parfum Sacre

Caron Tabac Blond

Caron Tubereuse

Caron Yatagan

Cartier II L'Heure Convoitee

Cartier IV L'Heure Fougueuse

Chanel 31 Rue Cambon

Chanel Bel Respiro

Chanel Chance

Chanel Coco

Chanel Coromandel

Chanel Cuir de Russie

Chanel Egoiste

Chanel No. 5 (vintage)

Chanel No. 22

Chantecaille Petales

Chantilly Dusting Powder

Clive Christian C for Women

Comme des Garcons Daphne

Comme des Garcons LUXE Champaca

Comme des Garcons Series 7 Sweet Nomad Tea

Costes by Costes

Coty Ambre Antique

Coty Chypre

Coty Paris

Creature by Kerosene

Creed Acqua Fiorentina

Creed Fleurs de Bulgarie

Creed Virgin Island Water

DSH Perfumes Bancha Extreme

DSH Perfumes Quinacridone Violet 

DSH Perfumes Vert pour Madame


Devilscent Project

Dior Diorissimo (vintage)

Donna Karan Black Cashmere

EnVoyage Vents Ardents

EnVoyage Zelda

Estee Lauder Private Collection

Estee Lauder Private Collection Jasmine White Moss

Etat Libre d'Orange Rien, Rossy de Palma & Noel au Balcon

Faberge Woodhue Cologne

Favorite Fall Fragrances

Fendi Uomo

Fragrances for Sweden

Frapin 1697 Absolu Parfum

Frederic Malle Angeliques Sous La Pluie

Frederic Malle Bigarade Concentrée

Frederic Malle Carnal Flower

Frederic Malle Dans Tes Bras

Frederic Malle Geranium Pour Monsieur

Frederic Malle Iris Poudre

Frederic Malle Le Parfum de Therese

Frederic Malle Lipstick Rose

Frederic Malle Noir Epices

Frederic Malle Portrait of a Lady

Frederic Malle Une Fleur de Cassie

Frederic Malle Une Rose

Geoffrey Beene Grey Flannel

Ghosts of Perfumes Past, Present & Future

Gone Fishin'

Gucci Eau de Parfum

Gucci L'Arte di Gucci

Gucci Pour Homme

Guerlain Angelique Noire

Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Lys Soleia

Guerlain Aroma Allegoria Exaltant

Guerlain Attrape Coeur

Guerlain Chamade

Guerlain Encens Mythique d'Orient

Guerlain Jicky

Guerlain Mayotte

Guerlain Parure

Guerlain Samsara Parfum

Guerlain Un Air de Samsara

Guerlain Vega

Guerlain Vetiver (vintage)

Guy Laroche J'ai Ose (vintage)

Happy Solstice

Hermes 24, Faubourg

Hermes Caleche (vintage)

Hermes Eau des Merveilles

Hermes Hiris

Hermes Iris Ukiyoe

Hermes Jour d'Hermes

Hermes L'Ambre des Merveilles

Histoires de Parfums 1740

Histoires de Parfums 1828

Histoires de Parfums Blanc Violette

Histoires de Parfums Vert Pivoine

Hometown Portrait, State College, PA

Honore des Pres Vamp a NY

House of Matriarch Carmine

How I Store Decants

Il Profumo Cannabis

In Memory (w/mention of Lanvin Arpege)

Jacomo #02

Jacomo #09 (Link to my review in Sniffapalooza Magazine)

Jean Desprez Bal a Versailles

Jean Patou Joy

Jean Patou 1000

Jo Malone Saffron Cologne Intense

Jo Malone Sweet Milk Cologne 

Juliet by Juliet Stewart

Kai Eau de Parfum

Kenzo Jungle l’Elephant

Kenzo Summer

Lancome Magie Noire (vintage) 

Lanvin Via Lanvin (vintage) 

L'Artisan Parfumeur Nuit de Tubereuse

L'Artisan Parfumeur Orchidee Blanche 

L’Artisan Parfumeur Passage d’Enfer

L'Artisan Parfumeur Seville a l'Aube

L’Artisan Parfumeur Tea for Two

L’Artisan Parfumeur Traversee du Bosphore

La Via del Profumo Balsamo Della Mecca

La Via del Profumo Hindu Kush

La Via del Profumo Milano Caffe

La Via del Profumo Oud Caravan Project

La Via del Profumo Sharif

La Via del Profumo Tawaf

Le Labo Gaiac 10

Le Labo Iris 39

Le Labo Patchouli 24

Le Labo Poivre 23

Little Lists

Lorenzo Villoresi Yerbamate

M. Micallef Vanille Orient

Maison Francis Kurkdjian Absolue Pour le Soir

Maison Martin Margiela (untitled) eau de parfum

Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Eau des Iles

Message In A Bottle 

Michael Storer Winter Star

Miller Harris L'Air de Rien


Missoni (original) by Missoni

Molinard Habanita

Mona Di Orio Nuit Noire

Mona Di Orio Oud

Mona Di Orio Vanille

Montale Black Aoud

Montale Boise Vanille

Montale Intense Tiare

Montale Patchouli Leaves

Montale Red Aoud

More Roses (rose cookie recipe)

My Heart Has Skipped a Beat (summer smells)

My Perfumes Have Theme Songs

Nasomatto China White

Neila Vermeire Creations Bombay Bling

Nina Ricci L'Air du Temps

Nez a Nez Ambre a Sade

Northern Exposure "A Dash of Chanel No. 5"

Odin 04 Petrana (Link to my review in Sniffapalooza Magazine)

Olivier Durbano Black Tourmaline

Omar Sharif Pour Femme

Oriscent Pure Oud Oils

Ormonde Jayne Frangipani

Ormonde Jayne Ormonde Woman

Oscar de la Renta Oscar for Men

O Tannenbaum Joint Blog Project

Parfum d'Empire Azemour

Parfum d'Empire Cuir Ottoman

Parfum d'Empire Equistrius

Parfum d'Empire 3 Fleurs

Parfumerie Generale Bois de Copaiba

Parfumerie Generale Indochine

Parfumerie Generale Un Crime Exotique

Parfums de Nicolai Sacrebleu

Parfums DelRae Amoureuse

Parfums Karl Lagerfeld Sun Moon Stars

Parfums MDCI Chypre Palatin

Parfums Retro Grand Cuir

Paris, je t'aime

Pascal Morabito Or Black 

Perfume Quotes - The English Patient

Prada Infusion d'Iris Absolue

Pretty Perfume Bottles 

Prince Matchabelli Aviance Cologne (vintage) 

Profumum Roma Acqua Viva

Profumum Roma D'Ambrosia

Puredistance I

Puredistance Antonia

Puredistance BLACK

Puredistance M

Puredistance Opardu

Puredistance WHITE

Ramon Monegal Cherry Musk

Ramon Monegal Cuirelle

Ramon Monegal Pure Mariposa

Recipe for Socca

Regina Harris Amber Vanilla Perfume Oil

Regina Harris Frankincense-Myrrh-Rose Maroc Perfume Oil

Robert Piguet Fracas

Robert Piguet Visa

Rochas Mystere 

Rome Vacation Photos

Sammarco Perfumes Bond-T

San Francisco Holiday

Sarah Horowitz Parfums' Joy Comes From Within & Beauty Comes From Within

Scented Reading

Scents of the Mediterranean

Scentuous Reading: One Hundred Years of Solitude

Serge Lutens Arabie

Serge Lutens Borneo 1834

Serge Lutens Boxeuses

Serge Lutens Chêne

Serge Lutens Chergui

Serge Lutens Fille en Aiguilles

Serge Lutens Five O’Clock Au Gingembre

Serge Lutens Fumerie Turque

Serge Lutens Miel de Bois

Serge Lutens Muscs Koublai Khan

Serge Lutens Tubereuse Criminelle

Serge Lutens Un Lys

Serge Lutens Vetiver Oriental

Slumberhouse Rume

Smell Bent Florist's Fridge

Snow Days

Sonoma Scent Studio Incense Pure

Sonoma Scent Studio Jour Ensoleille

Sonoma Scent Studio Voile de Violette

Sonoma Scent Studio Winter Woods (brief mention)

SoOud Ouris Parfum Nectar

S-Perfume 100% Love {More}

Stone Harbor, NJ Vacaton pix (non-perfume related)

Strange Invisible Perfumes Lyric Rain

Sweden Is For Lovers

Swiss Arabian Nouf

T is for Taxes

Tauer Perfumes: Incense Extrême, Incense Rosé, Lonestar Memories, & Reverie au Jardin

Tauer Perfumes Vetiver Dance

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

The Bechdel Test

The Diary of a Nose, Book Review

The Different Company Jasmin de Nuit

The Intimacy of Scent

Thoughts of a Perfume Collector


Tokyo Milk Ex Libris

Unlocking an Unknown: Webber Parfum 6T

Velvet & Sweet Pea's Purrfumery Bed of Roses

Venimus Vidimus Vicimus, or How 3 Perfume Bloggers and a Husband Took Rome

Vero Profumo Kiki, Onda, and Rubj

Vero Profumo Mito

Viktoria Minya Eau de Hongrie

Viktoria Minya Hedonist

Viktor & Rolfe Flowerbomb

What I’m Lovin’ Now

Xerjoff Mamluk

YOSH Perfumes Ginger Ciao

Yves Saint Laurent Nu

Links to Other Blogs I Enjoy 

All I Am - A Redhead

A Perfume Blog (Blacknall Allen)

Another Perfume Blog (Natalie)

Ars Aromatica

Australian Perfume Junkies

Beauty on the Outside

Bloody Frida

Bois de Jasmin

Bonkers About Perfume

Ca Fleure Bon

ChickenFreak's Obsessions


Eyeliner on a Cat

Fragrance Bouquet

From Top to Bottom - Perfume Patter

Giovanni Sammarco (artisanal perfumer) blog

Grain de Musc

I Smell Therefore I Am


Katie Puckrik Smells

L'eter - Blog of Olfactive Experience

Memory of Scent

Muse in Wooden Shoes 

Nathan Branch

Natural Perfumery by Salaam

Notes on Shoes, Cake & Perfume

Notes From Josephine

Notes From the Ledge

Now Smell This

Oh, True Apothecary! 


Olfactoria's Travels 

Parfumistans blogg


Perfume Posse

Perfume Shrine

Perfume-Smellin' Things

Purple Paper Planes

Redolent of Spices

Riktig Parfym: Ramblings of a Fragrant Fanatic

Scented Salamander

Scents of Place

Scents of Self

Smelly Blog

Sorcery of Scent 

Sweet Diva

The Alembicated Genie 

The Cow Jumped Over the Moon

The Fragrant Man

The French Exit 

The Non-Blonde

The Perfumed Maze

The Perfume Magpie

The Scented Hound 

The Sounds of Scent

The Vintage Perfume Vault

This Blog Really Stinks 

Undina's Looking Glass 

WAFT by Carol 

Yesterday's Perfume

Scenes from a Train and L'Artisan Parfumeur Traversee du Bosphore

I fell asleep on the train
With the towering mountains rolling by
And woke to the sound
Of thunder crashing in the sky

The air was ghostly blue
The mist was rising slow
It’s still a vivid memory
From a few thousand days ago
From a few thousand days ago

As we passed through small quiet towns
Crossed miles of burning desert sands
And fields of green and gold
I began to see and understand

The wonders great and small
That this world has to show
In a way I never had before
A few thousand days ago
Just a few thousand days ago

 - Lyrics from the Marshall Crenshaw song, A Few Thousand Days Ago

The above lyrics are excerpted from a wistful song of Marshall Crenshaw’s that is the perfect end-of-summer song. Mellow, introspective, shimmery, with a steady rhythmic melody that somehow creates the sense of a train ride, of peaceful continuous churning. Whenever I hear this song, I feel he could only have written this one in middle age (and will assume he did, since it was released in 2003 and Crenshaw is 61 now). “Small quiet towns” and “wonders great and small” are not the things one usually observes and appreciates in one’s early years, when the crossing of burning desert sands is not regarded as a journey so much as an obstacle one navigates in order to arrive someplace else. Someplace bigger, bolder, more foreign, more exciting or more you. There is a lot of ego involved when one crosses burning deserts in one’s 20s, 30s and early 40s, and that’s exactly as it should be. Achieving one’s dreams – the many acts of creation and re-creation involved – require the ego’s fuel. But there comes a point when a body wants to slow the journey down and savor the ride, and though some would say “turn inward,” I would venture that it’s a turning outward, to people, places and things that are otherly from oneself and one’s destination. It’s a form of surrender, but a very beautiful surrender; perhaps it’s more accurate to call it a deepening stage of one’s life, for it seems to add another layer of wonder, astonishment and connection to the world at large.

Those are my thoughts at the end of September, when another birthday has just passed and I’m more aware than ever before that “a few thousand days ago” slip by rather quickly. A fine spate of end-of-summer weather, with blue-sky days that seem as fragile as they do serene, underscores this feeling: everything I love is so vaporous. I fear it will float away before I can take it all in, and so I spend more hours than I should outdoors: running in the fields, reading in my yard, and watching my pet rabbit in his play pen, where he expresses his freedom in a series of twisting jumps and kick-outs. On my wrists, I am wearing a languid fragrance with an exotic sounding name: Traversée du Bosphore (“Crossing the Bosphorous”). Launched in 2010 from the perfume house L’Artisan Parfumeur, it was created by perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour, who, taking inspiration from a trip to Istanbul, constructed the fragrance around an olfactory accord that smells like the powdery, jellied rose-and-pistachio confection known as Turkish Delight. He is not the first perfumer to do so; I can think of three other Turkish Delight perfumes (Montale’s Sweet Oriental Dream, Serge Lutens’ Rahat Loukhoum, and Keiko Mecheri’s Loukhoum), but the one I’m familiar with, from Montale, is sweeter than the candy itself, whereas Traversée du Bosphore is a soft fragrance with drifts of other scents that accompany the Turkish Delight like a silk scarf floating softly at the neck; not for warmth but as a means of completing a look, achieving a certain effect. There is suede leather (courtesy of a velvety iris note), a dusty hay-and-vanilla smell that smacks of coumarin (whether it’s in there or not), and an ambery base that is not at all cushy or exotically oriental, but more of a feather-weight amber grounded by what I'd guess is an elegant fraction of patchouli (again, this might be a note of my imagining since it’s not among the list of notes the company cites). The official notes are apple, pomegranate, tulip, iris, leather, saffron, Turkish delight accord (rose and pistachio), vanilla, and musks, but since I can't detect the apple, pomegranate and tulip notes, I'll simply talk about the notes I do smell in this elegant gourmand perfume.

Leather, loukhoum (the Turkish name for this sweet) and even a touch of something that smells like a dark chocolate-covered cherry are the dominant smells of Traversée du Bosphore when it first goes on the skin, and while that combination sounds potent, all three are sueded and refined. Having eaten a pound of Turkish Delight years ago (when my niece was young and our reading of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe compelled us to do a mail-order of the sweet), I’d have to say that Traversée du Bosphore represents it more realistically than the other loukhoum perfume I tried, because loukhoum is actually a quiet sort of confection, more starchy and gently perfumed with rose and fruit flavors than candies generally are in the US. It’s not decadent in the way my niece and I thought it would be, from reading about it in a book, and neither is Traversée du Bosphore. That said, I don’t smell this perfume’s notes of rose and pistachio so much as I do the cherry-almond scent of heliotrope, a note I quite like (and which is utilized in at least two of the other loukhoum scents I mentioned above to achieve the scent of the candy), so that’s not a complaint.

In the first five minutes or so after application, a warm yet bitter element of the perfume reminds me of dark chocolate, which I attribute to the combination of saffron, which often smells inky and iodine-like to me, and iris, that shape-shifting note that goes from hard to soft, from bad-ass and aloof to oh-so-pretty, in so many perfumes in which it is featured. Although I don’t associate chocolate with Turkish Delight, there is a company in London that seems to be famous for its chocolate-coated version of the candy, and this chocolate facet of the perfume is so subtle here that it doesn’t detract from the loukhoum but just gives this fragrance a little bit of a sultry edge. The bitter chocolate smell probably wasn’t intentional on the part of the perfumer, and from reviews I’ve read, only a few people pick up on it, but for me it is just dark enough that it lets me know that this fragrance is not about candy; it’s about a mood. In the same way that when you bite into a piece of dark chocolate, you know that you’re not eating kiddie stuff, the effect of this underpinning of bitter chocolate in Traversée du Bosphore is atmospheric. When I smell it, I am reminded of two other iris perfumes that offer up a similar whiff and a similar effect: Nez a Nez Marron Chic and Parfum d’Empire Equistrius. All three are atmospheric iris perfumes with a similar spirit, even though they each have their own unique identity. Of the three, though, Traversée du Bosphore is the one that loses its edge soonest. As it dries down, it becomes fluffier and vanillic, albeit in a way that still reminds one of the perfume’s central theme of travel; a whiff of dusty hay drying in the fields, with a starchy marshmallow sweetness in attendance, makes me feel as if I’m on a small train in Europe on a summer’s day, with the windows open. By this time, the perfume no longer smells of loukhoum, but I still get drifts of leather, now as soft as glove leather, and a warm, fluffy, dry-amber scent that recalls the drowsy sunlight of late afternoon, with dust motes floating in it, as it streams through a train window.

The perfume doesn’t change much from this point forward; it maintains this wonderfully rustic-chic pastiche of smells for the duration of its wear (about six hours on my skin, which is quite good). Though the perfume's overall development from its opening accords to its base accords happens quickly, it does transition in such a way that I feel it symbolically conveys the sense of a journey. Maybe not the exotic journey suggested by its name – by its quiet nature and its gourmand leaning, it doesn’t speak of exoticism – but in Traversée du Bosphore’s opening stages, during the first ten minutes of wear, I do envision being on a train, in the morning when it’s too cool to open any windows and the smells of my train compartment and fellow travelers are more apparent. Leather like the leather seats on a train of yore; the parcel of candy someone has purchased for the trip, a piece of it removed to nibble on; the dark chocolate undercurrent that makes me think of tunnels and foreigners and foreign places … everything we can’t fully see, that is still excitingly shadowy. And then the perfume takes me to the other side of those shadows, when the afternoon sun is slanting through the window and I’m drowsy with the motion from the train, but still awake to the passing scenery, which, no matter how many times I’ve passed this way before, never grows old.

L’Artisan Parfumeur Traversée du Bosphore eau de parfum can be purchased from the L’Artisan website, as well as Barneys.com and LuckyScent.com, where a 100-ml bottle is currently priced at $165. My review is based on a sample I received from a perfume blogging friend.

Lyrics from the opening verses of the Marshall Crenshaw song "A Few Thousand Days Ago," written by Crenshaw and released on his 2003 album "What's In the Bag?" (from recording label Razor & Tie).

Image (top of page) of Istanbul scene is stolen from the website popsugar.com.

Perfume bottle image is stolen from the L'Artisan Parfumeur website.

Posted by Suzanne Keller, 9/27/2015.


“Critic asks: ‘And what, sir, is the subject matter of that painting?’ - 'The subject matter, my dear
good fellow, is the light.'” -  Claude Monet

Exploring the Light Fantastic with Hermes Jour d'Hermes

At the end of July I went with my family to Stone Harbor, New Jersey, and prior to leaving searched my drawer of perfume samples for something well-suited to the beach and new to me. Spying an unopened sample of Jour d’Hermes eau de parfum, a quick sniff convinced me that this was the perfect match: what I smelled in it was a quality of light, and one of the key attractions of Stone Harbor in late July is its sunlight, as all-absorbing as it is reflective at this time of year. Its high and splashy fullness creates diamonds on the surface of the ocean, renders the sand a whiter shade of champagne-pale, and imparts glisten to the rooftop decks of elegant beach homes and bounce to the flowers that spill from their window-boxes. Making me understand what Shirley MacLaine once referred to as “the golden hour” that envelopes Malibu Beach at sunset, the late-July, late-afternoon sunlight of Stone Harbor gilds beach walkers and other hangers-on, who aren’t yet ready to pack up their chairs, in such a way that I can’t imagine anyone not looking good in this light.

Thus Jour d’Hermes went along on my vacation, but while in theory it seemed perfectly suited to Stone Harbor, the beach with its volleying scents of ocean air and suntan lotions proved too distracting a place to wear this perfume. It wasn’t until I returned home and we lucked into some August weather that has been doing a fine imitation of Septemberwhich is to say, some unusual days in which the humidity has vanished and the sky has been endlessly blue that I came around to studying Jour d’Hermes and realizing just how fine its atmosphere is. This perfume requires ethereal weather and a bucolic setting to fully appreciate its delicate nature. It’s as gossamer as a cobweb sparkling in the morning dew, making itself known to those attuned to such things (or those who by accident or a kinder fate walk into its filmy embrace), while also proving the equal to the cobweb’s tensile strength in terms of its longevity. Created by Hermes’ in-house perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena, who’s known for his sheer, minimalist compositions, Jour d’Hermes truly does make me think of sunlight. Wearing it is like studying Claude Monet’s Rouen Cathedral series of paintings. In the same way that Monet wasn’t painting a cathedral but, rather, the filter of how that cathedral appeared under various conditions of light (through which it loses all solidity and is a shimmering mirage of somersaulting particles in pearlescent shades of white, grey and its various hues), in Jour d’Hermes, Ellena created a floral perfume that is described as “a profusion of flowers” yet strikes me as a study of the very fine light of day through which we see these flowers. Interestingly, Monet created his airy portraits of a Gothic cathedral using surprisingly thick layers of paint, and Ellena has created an equally airy portrait of flowers by seemingly loading his fragrance with citrus. Grapefruit and lemon are more than detectable in Jour d’Hermes: on studying the perfume from an analytical point of view, it seems there’s a Florida orchard full of them in the scentthe grapefruit is especially evidentyet because they are married to a floral accord and white musks, wearing this extravagant amount of citrus is like wearing spaghetti-strap lingerie. Certainly, they can be easily parsed as individual notes of grapefruit and lemon, but one does not smell them and think, “Oh, a citrus perfume!” Wed to the flowers and refreshingly sweeter than one would think, they possess a Meyer-lemon sense of brightness and delight, and so much lift that they function much like aldehydes. Despite how fleeting most citrus notes are, in this composition they prove lasting, and as the floral component in Jour d’Hermes becomes more developed during its wear, the citrus lens through which these florals are smelled has the effect of flattening them. The flowers are the notes I can't parse; they are like a thin pane of glass I can only identify as being “floral” but not as being comprised of, for example, jasmine or tuberose or sweet pea or what-have-you. The overall effect is a perfume that feels fragile and atmospheric, like seeing flowers through a partially opened window and the morning mist.

Jour d'Hermes reminds me more of a work of Impressionist art than it does perfume, and yet, of course, it is a perfume which I'll further describe as a refined and feminine take on the classic summer cologne. The list of notes in Jour d’Hermes are grapefruit, lemon, water notes, gardenia, sweet pea, white flowers, green notes, musk and woodsy notes, and this pretty accurately conveys how Jour d’Hermes smells, except that gardenia isn’t evident. The floral component resembles a combined magnolia and honeysuckle smell: lightly lemony and sweet, having no truck with anything that could be labeled thick, indolic or earth-stained. This sheer pane of floralness in which the flowers are one-dimensional might not sound pretty yet is, because it lets so much citrusy sunlight into the scent, as well as some aqueous liquidity. The white musk in Jour d’Hermes adds to its diffuse nature and gives it a silk-stocking elasticity in terms of its staying power on the skin.

All in all, Jour d’Hermes is a perfume I find fascinating to think about – so much so that I wrote this review for no other reason – and delightful to wear on a fine summer’s day. However, it’s not a perfume that would get much wear-time from me if I owned a bottle, which is surprising considering how much I like the things this perfume represents to me: light and more light and  Monet’s impressionism. I’m very much a child of nature, and Jour d’Hermes only captures a certain slant of nature's light: it's too pristine and separate from elements which otherwise might lend it a real, humid and human feel (a life-force, if you will). It's an exquisite study of the things I love, yet without enough stain of reality to make for a deeper connection.

Hermes Jour d’Hermes eau de parfum can be purchased from the Hermes boutiques and website, where a 50 ml/1.7 oz bottle is currently priced at $100. A smaller 30 ml/1 oz bottle can be purchased at Sephora.com for $72. My review is based on a carded sample I received from a blogging friend (thanks, Undina).

Please note that there is also a parfum/extrait version that I haven’t smelled (which I'm noting, as it might smell slightly different from the edp), as well as a flanker fragrance, Jour d’Hermes Gardenia, sold in a similar-looking bottle.

Image credits: (top of page) Rouen Cathedral by French impressionist painter Claude Monet, one of thirty paintings he made of the cathedral in the 1890s.

Image of Hermes Jour d'Hermes bottle is from the Hermes website.

Posted by Suzanne Keller, 8/18/2015.

Taking a Break from Perfume to Contemplate the Bechdel Test

On one of our recent morning discussions before he left for work, my husband told me about the Bechdel Test – a theoretical test that feminists use to gauge how well women are represented in the movies, as the prevailing thought is that too many movies exercise gender bias, either portraying its female characters as the stereotypical weaker sex who are man-dependent (the implication being that the thoughts and motivations of these characters largely revolve around the romantic endeavors of winning a man and keeping him, or of getting over the heartbreak of losing him) or not portraying women at all, except maybe as some background character who is very minor in terms of the story. As such, the Bechdel Test has become the measure of whether a film merits watching, for those who champion women’s rights, and it’s a very simple test (which makes sense considering it originated from a comic strip), stating that for a movie to pass it must have these three things:

1)     Two females (preferably named),

2)     Who talk to each other,

3)     About something other than a man.

Ah, that puts a whole lot of movies on the “fail” side, doesn’t it? The majority of them is the feeling of my husband and another gentleman, his close friend and colleague, who were discussing the Bechdel Test at work a day or two before he brought the subject home to me. In their opinion, movies generally portray women as being one-dimensional rather than as complex, capable individuals with rich and varied interests. Upon hearing my husband voice their shared concern that women deserve better representation, I suppose my own response should have been a solid “Bravo!”

Except that it wasn’t.

I came away feeling that, inherent with their belief that women in the movies are too often portrayed as needy romantics, any woman who avidly watches such films might just as well place herself in the same category. That would be the logical assumption, yes? And because I do love movies in which romance and relationships figure heavily, my sensitivity button was pushed, albeit not right away. My initial response upon hearing about the Bechdel Test was to paraphrase a quote from my favorite Anne Tyler novel, The Accidental Tourist. This quote requires some context: It comes from a minor character named Rose (sister to the main character), who has spent her entire adult life taking care of her brothers and now has a chance to break free from her spinsterhood, but who fears she is about to be thwarted by them. In actuality, Rose’s brothers aren’t trying to thwart her and only trying to prevent her from accidentally poisoning her new beau (warning him not to eat the Thanksgiving turkey she has painstakingly cooked at a salmonella-inducing temperature) but when she breaks down and accuses them of trying to drive him off, her speech strikes me as being every bit as true as it is humorous. “You three wasted your chances and now you want me to waste mine, but I won’t do it,” she tells them defiantly, declaring:

“I can see what’s what. Just listen to any song on the radio; look at any soap opera. Love is what it’s all about. On soap operas everything revolves around love. A new person comes to town and right away the question is, who’s he going to love? Who’s going to love him back? Who’ll lose her mind with jealousy? Who’s going to ruin her life? And you want to make me miss it?”

Looking back, I realize it wasn’t the best quote to use for this particular discourse due to its reference to soap operas. Yet that anachronistic reference is why the quote is so memorable to me: it’s both kitschy and real. Love is what makes the world go round, and it is through our relationships that we define ourselves: the kind of people we are, the boundaries we set in a relationship, the limits we transcend (in good or bad ways) to support or hold onto another person. We see our light, our places of deep darkness, our ability or inability to change, cooperate, to put our foot down or maybe to lift it for once. In the case of Rose in The Accidental Tourist, what’s fascinating is seeing the ways in which love to a truly good man expands her world but cannot break the slavish devotion and odd living arrangement she has with her brothers. Equally fascinating is seeing how her husband, a far more worldly man than she, is affected by their love – the accommodations he makes such that they can remain married while she tries to wean herself from this codependency. They are minor characters in this novel and the movie based on it; there is more to glean about what it means to be fully human—to love, lose, hurt, fail and fall in love again (to live again after the profoundest of losses)—through an examination of its main characters, whose romantic story plays out in such a way that it becomes an examination of how family and the social circles we belong to affect our choices.

Does it pass the Bechdel Test? As Rhett Butler would say, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” Which brings me to my next point: Gone with the Wind. Would this epic portrayal of the antebellum South and the Civil War’s effect on it have had the impact it did if Scarlett, Rhett, Ashley Wilkes and Melanie were out of the picture? Would it have been a better novel and a better film if Scarlett never cinched up her corset, lusted after Ashley and married unsuspecting men she didn’t love instead, doing from the outset what she did midway through the story, which was to go out and grub in the fields to try to save Tara? I realize that historical fiction might not apply to the Bechdel Test* because such stories pre-date women winning their rights, not to mention the women’s lib movement, but I do think there is a point to be made here. Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd, Charlotte Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover. These are just a handful of classic novels that have been made and remade into films, and not only is a love affair central to each one, but consider how many of these were authored by men. The level of passion, the obsessive nature of the romances in these works! They are proof that relationship drama is a subject every bit as compelling to men as it is to women. The greatest writers of our time weren’t writing such books to capitalize on the reading proclivities of women: these are serious and often rigorous works in which other themes – political, cultural, social, psychological – are explored alongside and in connection with the love stories at their core. And yet the love story is the central, beating pulse of these works and not a metaphor in service to a greater theme. Read any one of them and see how true it rings to the nature of romantic love in its various permutations, from naïve infatuation to deepest obsession and every stage in between.

What then of the films we can’t really call films? (In other words, the films that aren't classics or serious works. If we’re going to judge things, then we’d better call those entertaining little numbers by their popular name: “movies”.) Thanks to the Internet, I watch a lot of films and I watch a lot of movies, too, and I’m quite sure that many of the latter not only fail the Bechdel Test but offer up as much intellectual nutrition as a packet of jujubes. And yet, sometimes I can go a long way on a little sugar rush, and that’s the way I feel about movies like The Holiday, Bridget Jones’s Diary, He’s Just Not That Into You, Return to Me and Only You. With their formulas of love lost and found, these movies offer up comfortingly familiar portraits of human nature. They’re a reminder of the sorrows and joys we all share at some point in our lives, and seeing them on the screen allows me to laugh out loud at my foibles (which bear no small resemblance to Bridget Jones’s embarrassing moments); remember what the true rewards of life are (the first kiss, the hour-long phone call, the time I was running with my cross country team and a certain guy doubled back and held my hand to help me up the toughest hill on the course); as well as to realize that there is an ideal in love that’s worth reaching for, even if it doesn’t come with the sexy bells and whistles and happily-ever-after assuredness of movie love. I will admit that watching romantic movies sometimes makes me wistful, wishing I could go back in time and experience the moonstruck stage of “new love” again, and that kind of yearning isn’t useful. But it is a reminder to treat my longtime partner well – to flirt and keep some sweet playfulness between the two of us – as well as a reminder of some other important things too: mainly, that while I enjoy a great degree of solitude, life is better when it's shared, whether as part of a couple or with friends that cheer or commiserate with you on the sidelines, just as they do in the movies. Romantic movies almost always feature two things that are very true to life and worth remembering: the first is the friend who is always there as a sounding board and source of comfort; the second is the dream person who comes along when you’ve given up on ever finding him or her. Life is never over when you think it is, a pool of unexpected surprises ebbs and flows the entire length of our lives. I know this is true, and I only have to think about my maternal grandfather in the final years of his life when, twice widowed, he met a woman whom he fell head over heels in love with, enjoying her companionship for many years.

These are the reassurances of the frothy romantic movies that, whether they pass or fail the Bechdel Test, probably wouldn’t rate well on the feminist’s watch list. They are often formulaic, but like most clichés, they speak of enduring truths. That said, for those who don’t share my enthusiasm and are wondering, like my husband and his friend, why there aren’t more films portraying women in the full, complex, light they deserve, can I suggest that you put aside the Bechdel Test, poke around the movie streaming sites and take heart? There are many films featuring women of every age and type in roles of impressive ingenuity and strength; I believe it to be so just from doing a quick survey of the movies I’ve watched online over the past six months: The Imitation Game with Keira Knightley playing a code breaker during World War II; Annette Benning very competently handling both the management of a Hilton hotel and Al Pacino, its rock-star guest, in Danny Collins; Sandra Bullock as an astronaut single-handedly piloting a space capsule back to Earth in Gravity; Melissa McCarthy single-parenting her son in St. Vincent; Lake Bell as a vocal coach who wins a voice-over gig for a blockbuster movie in In A World: Carey Mulligan running a large sheep farm, in 1860s England, in the remake of Far from the Madding Crowd; Kate Winslet as a garden designer during Louis XIV’s rule of France who lands a contract to design a fountain garden and outdoor ballroom at Versailles in A Little Chaos; and Keira Knightley again, this time making a music album her own way in Begin Again. I could go on and on – this represents only a small sample of the movies I’ve recently watched in which women are portrayed as leading ladies who lead in the feminist sense of the word, with confidence, determination, creativity and, most importantly, with a sense of independence they rarely have to declare because they already own it.

*Apparently historical fiction is applied to the Bechdel Test (you can see the full list of movies at BechdelTest.com). After writing this piece I was astonished to learn that Gone with the Wind passes the Bechdel test based on one conversation in which Scarlett is asked by Melanie (whom Scarlett hates since Melanie is married to Scarlett’s dream man, Ashley Wilkes) if she will look after her baby if she dies during childbirth, and Scarlett agrees. This (as the dialogue that gives the movie it's passing mark) strikes me as more than a little ironic; go figure!

Anyway, of the handful of historical films I’ve mentioned here, Anna Karenina, Doctor Zhivago and Wuthering Heights fail the test, while Gone with the Wind, The Great Gatsby, Far from the Madding Crowd and Lady Chatterley’s Lover all pass.

Posted by Suzanne Keller, 7/24/2015.

Ramon Monegal Cuirelle: Sueded Enchantment

I’d forgotten that my friend Ines (All I Am – A Redhead) had sent me a decant of Ramon Monegal Cuirelle, and though I had worn it once or twice when she initially sent it last year, enough time had passed that I’d forgotten what to expect from it (apparently), as reacquainting myself with it has been a surprise. Firstly because the name Cuirelle had me expecting a full-on leather scent – which it decidedly isn’t – and secondly because it’s the exact sort of perfume I’ve been craving over the last year: the soft kind. Cuirelle is a delicate, gourmand-like approximation of suede leather, and if I were allotted only one sentence to describe it, I’d draw a verbal picture of a beautiful young woman in suede go-go boots eating a slice of pineapple-upside-down cake somewhere sunny and spring-like. It’s an Enchanted April kind of scent: a scent that puts one in mind of Lady Caroline Dester luxuriating in the Italian countryside when the temperatures are warming up, and everything is in bloom, but it’s not sultry yet. The ocean is down a winding path, more or less a stone’s throw away, and Lady Caroline is in the polite company of her English traveling companions, so naturally some kind of polite, fruit dessert is involved. Why pineapple-upside-down cake? I include it as part of my description because five or ten minutes after application, attendant with the smell of suede leather, delicate florals and ocean mist, there is a whiff of pineapple (an imagined pineapple, as there is no fruit listed among Cuirelle's notes) in an accord that also smells brown-sugared and creamy. Equally fitting with the vibe I get from this perfume, there's a warm whimsicality to said dessert. It’s casual and unfussy and the kind of thing one might be served in the countryside, far away from the city and its patisserie shops. Cuirelle shares that appeal: elegant, loose-limbed and relaxed, it’s a fragrance that strikes me as feminine and pretty (perhaps its name is a combination of cuir, the French word for leather, and elle, the French word for “she”?), and not overly dramatic or serious. Any perfume that smells softly of leather, and softly of tropical fruit and dessert, is a perfume that must be said to have a sense of levity or humor about it. If the perfume was deeper, either in terms of its leather or its fruit, it would be a different matter, but this one isn’t balanced that way.

My only reservation about this analogy is that it might lead you to assume that Cuirelle has a retro, vintage-y composition when in fact it’s modern. Modern in the sense of uncluttered and not overly cosmetic. As such, kindly replace any thoughts of leather gloves and flapper regalia with an imagined remake of Enchanted April, in which Lady Caroline is wearing suede leather boots in a pastel shade like violet, since there is something sexy about this perfume without it ever coming close to being over the top. And imagine, too, that we are at the stage where the magic of the month-long stay at San Salvatore has had its curative effect on the women in attendance there (Enchanted April is actually a story of four women of different backgrounds who experience a profound shift of values while embracing the natural beauty of this paradise) leaving Lady Caroline at peace, able to accomplish what she set out to do: To leave behind the trappings of her own physical beauty. Not the fact of her pulchritude nor the enjoyment of beautiful things, but the way her beauty and wealth have shackled her into leading a superficial existence. If this statement seems at odds with my asking you to imagine her in sexy suede boots, then recall (if you’ve seen the film or read the novel) that Lady Caroline doesn’t ditch her beautiful clothes and stop bathing during her stay at San Salvatore. At the conclusion of Enchanted April, she is as exquisite as she is at its start, only all the more so because now she’s operating from a soulful level. Similarly, Cuirelle strikes that rare balance, whether one is talking perfume or talking about character (which is how I think of perfumes), between the politely mannered and the assertively confident. Whenever I find this combination, I conclude that a high degree of intelligence is in attendance, as it’s a fine balance to pull off.

"Strength and texture. Not the essence of leather, but an interpretation of it. Cat-like flexibility and musk sublimated with shades of honey and incense and balanced with green Cedar and Vetyver grass,” is how the Ramon Monegal advertising blurb describes Cuirelle, and to a large degree, I concur.

While the word “strength” is not one that comes to mind for this scent in terms of its actual smell, it fits it conceptually. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I did compare Cuirelle to Lady Caroline, who does indeed possess a “cat-like flexibility” that is a statement of strength. And in terms of texture, it’s truly there, if you spend time examining this perfume in the close manner that perfumistas do when they are trying to parse notes. Doesn’t matter that I guessed the notes for Cuirelle all wrong (to me, it smells like suede achieved via an accord of iris, heliotrope and jasmine – notes that would also account for its fruity nature – and a veil of chypre notes that might include bergamot, saffron, oakmoss and patchouli). Doesn’t matter that I can’t detect the actual notes that Ramon Monegal lists for Cuirelle, those being olibanum, Indonesian patchouli leaf, bourbon vetiver, Virginian cedar, cinnamon and beeswax. What matters is that this incredibly suave perfume, when studied closely, has depth. Reiterating what I mentioned at the start, for me its textures are the combined whiffs of suede leather, sea air, vague florals that merge to become a tropical pineapple, married to a base accord that is too delicate to be called rum-like, but which nevertheless echoes the butter-rum scent of a pineapple-upside-down cake.

Wearing it yesterday, I got an unsolicited compliment on it from my hairdresser, which surprised me considering Cuirelle's languid nature. It does have some sillage, but for the most part it’s a perfume that acts a bit like Lady Caroline when she first embarks on her Italian holiday. It’s content to keep its own company and to grin at passers-by like a Cheshire cat.


Ramon Monegal Cuirelle eau de parfum can be purchased at LuckyScent.com, where a 50-ml bottle is currently priced at $185. My review is based on a decant of Cuirelle I received from my blogging friend Ines (All I Am – A Redhead), whose luscious review can be found here. (Ines, if you’re reading this, I can’t believe how similarly we characterize this perfume. I just re-read your review for the first time since you originally posted it, and it hits on the same themes as mine. Thanks for introducing this to me!)

Image, top of page, of actress Polly Walker (playing Lady Caroline Dester) and Joan Plowright (as Mrs. Fisher) is from the 1992 film, Mike Newell-directed film,  Enchanted April, based on the novel of the same name. Middle image is also of Polly Walker playing Lady Caroline.  Bottle image is from Luckyscent.com.

Posted by Suzanne Keller, 7/2/2015.

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