If I had to describe N°5 cologne in one word, I’d choose furry. Give me more and I’d go with balsamic and animalic. This long discontinued beauty is the closest to the original extrait, and even though it’s a cologne in name, it rivals most modern edp’s. Vintage mid 70’s splash bottle. N°5 eau de cologne, opens with dimmed brightness. You can sense the aldehydes in there, but they’re somehow dark. They’re not gone or flat, because there’s still a jolt and a sparkle that’s unmistakable. But they’ve somehow gone richer and deeper if that makes sense. They feel like velvet as opposed to freshly bottled chiffon lights. The floral heart, with undoubtedly real rose and real jasmine, is made deep and sensual with some heavy ylang and you can already sense a gorgeous Mysore sandalwood, a smoky and earthy vetiver, all wrapped up in some gorgeously potent nitromusks and civet. You can’t miss it here; they become the stars not long after it’s applied and they start stealing the show slowly but steadily. There’s also a ton of oakmoss, and leather even if not listed. The base is so rich and balsamic, with a swirling sweetness that feels like the finest licorice. There is 0 trace of sweetness as it’s known and used today. This richness here is fatty, unctuous and enveloping. It feels like a potion aged and macerated in ambery gooey sweetness. The oakmoss further deepens it and the leather provides a ‘masculine’ touch, lending a certain dryness that balances it all. Forget the traditional edc designation of splashing liberally for 30 glorious minutes of freshness. N°5 isn’t about it. There’s the same furry animal quality you find in the likes of Miss Dior, Tabu, Tigress, Joy, Shalimar and many more; an animal hidden and waiting to be unleashed with the warmth of skin. N°5 edc is basically a lighter extrait, and it shares far more similarities than differences. Think of it as a lighter pure parfum. The vintage edt does have more sparkle and feels more daytime appropriate. But as it dries down, the same animalic base emerges. Modern formulas have a glorious and bright aldehyde opening, because Chanel indeed does aldehydes like no one else, but after an anemic floral glimmer, they dry down as simple soapy scents. Finely milled soap of course, but just that, there’s no trace of the warmth and danger that abounds in the vintage formulas. Are they similar? Well, after many decades of tweaking and many perfumes that came after, you are better of with modern versions of First or Arpège, which have aged extremely well and convey the essence of N°5 far better than current iterations. Modern N°5 has retained the allure and mystery, the glamour, all that was lost through reformulations but only in image and marketing. It keeps bringing customers to Chanel but they have long abandoned their signature in favor of modern creations. Nothing wrong with that, but they should have taken more care in preserving their heritage. If posible go for vintage, there are still many formulas and bottles available, and leave the soapy and creamy scent of the modern version for the soap and body line. The ancillary products have more pizazz than the perfume line. Sillage and longevity is worthy of a full night with Marilyn. Breakfast included!

Dalí’s first perfume is a hard one to crack. Is it a floral? A chypre? An oriental? Aldehydic? It’s everything but at the same time so different from what you’d expect. Dalí opens with some major aldehydes, giving of a very Chanel vibe, but at the same time they’re tinged in green. Deep resinous green that reminds me of Scherrer’s eponymous first fragrance. While the aldehydes take some time to start burning of, the floral heart soon takes over. The flowers are huge and sweet and all over the place. It’s hard to pinpoint them, but I smell a distinct lily. Not the white variety, but the deeper red one. It somehow stands above the rest of the flowers, making the whole bouquet feel like Boucheron’s first creation. Hugely sweet and floral, kind of like a caricature of 80’s bombasticness. Dalí feels and smells unique but it keeps reminding me of other perfumes, and when the oriental and creamy drydown arrives, I’m reminded of Gala, Byzance, and even Scherrer 2, which in turn reminds me of Shalimar! Is it unique or did it borrow elements from classics to make it familiar? I’ve no idea, all I know is I absolutely love it. It combines some of my favorite genres and perfumes and makes a gorgeous mix out of them so for me it doesn’t feel redundant. It mesmerizes me, like I’m seeing Dalí’s melting clocks, drifting of into an abstract place. There’s green, there’s aldehydes, some (well, a lot) florals and a creamy, powdery and languid drydown that oscillates between spices and oakmoss. It’s abstract, just like Salvador’s paintings, without ever going into trashy territory even though it mixes everything but the kitchen sink. Stunning silllage and longevity, as is to be expected from a designers offering of yore. Unlike today’s releases, here you do get what you pay for! Mid 80’s vintage Parfum de Toilette reviewed.

Dryad feels and smells like an emerald jewel. And considering current restrictions, Liz has done an amazing job here, conveying a true chypre. Dryad feels decidedly vintage. Think countryside, enchanted forests, Irish folclore. It feels like something a posh Aliage would wear, or something a bohemian Vol de Nuit would use on the weekends. But I also smell similarities to Miss Dior. The opening is like a breath of fresh air. Fully loaded on herbs and galbanum, it somehow feels alpine in its coolness. Here, I kinda envision Dario Argento’s ‘Phenomena’, and it’s opening scene on the Swiss alps. This invigorating green beauty continues, as the floral heart joins the party. What I mostly smell here is a carnal narcissus and a slightly medicinal yet sweet lavender, which however doesn’t take over. The rest of the floral notes are so well blended that they simply enhance a ‘french core’; it smells just like a vintage floral smelt, when notes were so well blended that you simply smelt a whole. There’s a slight smell of unwashed hair, courtesy of costus, that makes me think of fingers caressing your lovers hair the morning after. It’s nothing short of wonderfully erotic. The base notes show an outstanding degree of old time oakmoss galore, and it amazes me how potent it smells given the low amount permitted. Along the way there are aldehydes, fruity sparkle without smelling fruity, a wonderful powdery iris and a leather feel, just like in Miss Dior. I’d call it a sparkling chypre, a powdery floral green. It smells decidedly like an old Guerlain, without feeling like one; it has the quality of one, made with true vision. And no one makes perfumes with ‘vintage Guerlain’ quality anymore, so this is a compliment to Liz’s skills. It also feels happy, vivacious. It’s not as serious as most chypres are, there’s a youthful quality here in the sense of exuberance. I love how it maintains throughout its development a dirty shadow, with civet and castoreum playing along (they’re there, guaranteed) a wonderful powdery iris. And I love that it focuses on all shades of green without losing focus. Flowers come second. If you have a collection of vintage chypres and greens you probably don’t need this. But then again, smelling a freshly bottled one, a real one, hasn’t happened since the late 80’s. So, for me, it’s a necessity since you can never have enough chypres. Excellent sillage and longevity and FBW!

Eau Capitale, to me, harkens to the chypres of yore (as in the mighty 80’s) but done in a modern way, with its ups and downs. It echoes stuff like Diva, Scherrer, Parfum de Peau, Knowing, Jacomo’s Parfum Rare, even something modern like Superstitious. It’s got the feel of a proper chypre, but alas it lacks what they used to have; oakmoss, stamina, and that entrancing embrace that made you either love them or loathe them. Eau Capitale opens bright and shiny, with just enough bergamot and aldehydes to make it instantly feel like a chypre. But, it feels washed down, kinda diluted, and after a while, it smells closer to a modern rose/patch perfume, moving close to something like Soir de Lune rather than Eau du Soir for example. The heart is mostly about rose, but unlike something like Tobacco Rose which showcases a black/red rose, here we get a lighter version. It smells like dew on pink buds, more geranium than rose. It smells natural but younger, fresher, brighter. As the drydown approaches, the patch gets a push to the front, and the slightly dirty musk cocktail makes the whole smell far more interesting, far more vibrant. It’s like an 80’s powerhouse seen through an Instagram filter. It dances between echoing the past, smelling futuristic (not modern) and getting more interest from me. It has base notes, something sorely lacking in modern fragrances, and what seemed to be missing in the opening, suddenly appears. As it dries down completely, I’m reminded of the green bite of Scherrer mostly, with a touch of Diva’s rose, and it smells as if there’s actually oakmoss. I love it. I love it because unlike current reformulated versions of the above classics, which have been cheapened down to poor copies, this feels as if it was made with care. It has evolution, and after a nice opening, albeit a bit dull, it becomes alive, it dances on skin and starts to show strength. Imagine you’re on a train, the Eau Capitale train, and every stop along the way is one of the above fragrances. Every time you stop, a piece of them gets on the train, and along the ride they mix with each other creating this here, Eau Capitale. At the end of the ride you have something that smells like and at the same time not like them, with a futuristic approach. It smells old and new, vintage and modern, truly French chic and absolutely beautiful. It could have been a super modern Paco Rabanne (the king of futuristic) chypre experiment! And while it doesn’t have all the ingredients that were available 40 years ago, it smells decidedly chypre; it’s got the panache, the style and the class. And fortunately, not a single woody aromachemical to be smelt! Very good sillage and excellent longevity!

Wow! I was definitely not expecting this. On my skin and with my chemistry, I get a jammy rose a la Rose Jam (Lush), on a test strip it smells like a true rose/oud (there is 0 oud here) and on drydown (on me) it smells like a smoky blood red rose. Talk about a chameleon!! On my skin, the opening takes about two hours to settle down. While it’s there, I can smell one of the richest, reddest, most dark roses. It only allows the geranium to lend a slight element of air, with a slightly green/herbal/lemony piquancy. It reminds me of when Rose Jam was packed with the real stuff, and make no mistake, the rose here smells like a million bucks. The formula ain’t cheap, not by a long shot! Slowly, the sweetness becomes honey like. It’s beeswax, but on me it’s more like honey, raw honey with a humongous animalic side. It must be the ambergris combined, because it smells sweet/carnal/dark/smoky. Drydown takes ages to arrive and sillage is heavy all the way through. When it gets there, the rose subdues slightly, and I’m left with a smoky, salty (thank you true ambergris!) rose, that is kicking the last remnants of honey. I was expecting something else, and once again in true Papillon style, I get something completely different, but 100 times better. There’s an unparalleled richness, a herbal quality, it avoids cliches and becomes one of a kind; This is Rose with a capital R in all its dark crimson glory. Natural ambergris and honey/beeswax anchor it to the skin, just like oakmoss used to do it in the past. Do not expect a light or modern perfume. While not vintage smelling, Tobacco Rose is made in the old fashioned way; art, skill and quality. This is for those who love their roses as deep as they get, with lashings of animal essence and a dark green halo that oversees the development. And even if you don’t like roses, or the idea of them, try it. You can confirm, or change your mind, if you try a true rose in all its glory! Stunning! FBW!

It’s been years since a Serge Lutens made an impact on me. Last one was the wonderful metallic hyacinth Bas de Soie. Everything else that followed felt (and smelt) like a Serge on absence. And then came Fils de Joie earlier this year. And I smell uncle Serge again!! Nutshell? Take Tubereuse Criminelle and add a dollop of vintage Poison Esprit de Parfum; Fils de Joie. Tubereuse Criminelle, along with MKK and Miel de Bois, are my Serges. The ones I truly love. That amazingly glorious camphorous mentholated opening is here again. Although this time, it feels 100 times stronger. Take that into account. Impolitely carnal, slightly metal like, hellishly camphorous, it makes everything cold, stark, and to my nose, sexy as hell. I can’t shake the association with tuberose, and there might be a smidgen hidden here as well. But what starts to show, slowly, after an intensely large opening, is the night blooming jasmine. And I know it’s smell by heart! Called Pakistanos in Cyprus, I grew with a plant outside my window. In the summer, the smell of it at night could be smelt for miles, and on a hot humid night, breathing was sometimes imposible. Here, the scent recalls the flower at dusk on a dry evening. The smell is less suffocating and more sappy/green; the honey makes it sweeter than it actually smells but doesn’t feel cloying, because the jasmine is always present in a green budding shade, as if to counteract the heaviness of the Pakistanos. Two flowers, side by side, smelling both at once. After Joy, my second favorite jasmine! Where does Poison come? There’s a dark fruity veil that hovers over the entire fragrance, with a heady and dirty musk or civet that makes this fragrance meaningful; you couldn’t have it clean and white musk smelling, it needs (and thankfully gets) an animal around to truly spark its sensuality. It all feels and smells like a Mediterranean neighborhood at night in late summer. Jasmine everywhere, the heat starts to dissipate, but you still need all your windows open. And at night, when flowers start to show their full potential, right there is where Fils de Joie lies. Sillage is not that big on me, but projects well and easily with a couple of sprays. Longevity is very good though. And a fragrance like this needs heat to bloom, so I feel like late spring/summer are going to smell far better now. Very dark, it does stain light colored clothing so beware! Welcome back uncle Serge :)

Spectacular doesn’t have the ba ba boom factor you’d expect from the alter ego of Alexis. Instead, it is Alexis, just with the fur off and the negligee on. It’s Alexis by night; once the clothes come off, it’s time for seduction. Spectacular, for me and on my skin, falls in the realm of Passion, Occur, the first Versace from 81..meaning it has the same opulence, the same animalic floralcy, but a bit dialed down. While I believe Alexis would wear a heavy night time fragrance during the day, at home it seems fitting she would wear something as equally sensual but less intense. Don’t get me wrong, Spectacular is intense and heavy and heady, and I own a 1989 edt. But the aldehyde cloud that surrounds the most prominent gardenia, surrounded by a silky peach, tames the beast. The flowers are hard to pinpoint, the gardenia steals the show and only allows the incense to make a statement. That, and an unmistakeable civet that never stops roaring. It’s like the day counterpart of Passion. Was it trying to imitate it? Underneath it all though, there’s a gentle green streak that gives a powdered and chypre feel to the fragrance. While it’s heady, sensual, floral and highly animalic, it does so in morning attire. It’s not a gold lamé dress covered by an exotic fur, it’s more like a hot pink ensemble, with black lace underwear and silk stockings. What Alexis (again) would wear to the office on any given Monday. Is it Joan? Is it Alexis? It’s hard to tell, given that depending on the persona, one would feel it’s both and neither. One thing’s for sure, it’s an 80’s child thru and thru; a powdered floral with a classic feel, an assertive chypre with enough drama to fuel a soap opera and a sexy animalic light oriental with enough pizzazz to compete with anything from La Nuit to Fendi passing through Opium. So, for me, this is Joan Collins/Alexis Carrington Colby to a T. She’s just showing us her ‘delicate’ iron clad side. Spectacular sillage and longevity, as would be expected! Edit: the more I wear it, the more I smell a crossover between Passion and Occur. Simply…spectacular!

The famous Red Cap! Reading reviews, and people commenting on its bright aldehydes, I was curious but never really looked for it. But a month ago I found on a French site a sealed bottle of the original, with a 1991 batch code. Price was good, I love aldehydes and Italian bombastic-ness so I jumped right in. Now, I have to say that while I love it, I don’t find it the aldehyde bomb it’s made to be. Maybe I’m so used to them in vintage jewels like Calèche, Rive Gauche or Chanel N°5, that they strike me here as effervescent bubbles ready to pop. The jewel here is the creamy, languorous drydown that follows the spicy floral heart. Yeah, the aldehydes brighten and lift, giving volume and texture to the other notes. But what shines is a spicy carnation, big as a 1980’s Teatro Alla Scala, softened by jasmine and lily, and made even more fiery by a wonderful coriander (why isn’t coriander used more often??) note and a pinch of basil. The notes dance with each other, and it’s hard to pinpoint them. There’s artistry in the blending, and as a whole I can see why it’s so hot tempered. It’s exotic, erotic, sensual and big, just like perfumes used to be. The florals take a more oriental turn as the drydown approaches, and the vanilla/sandalwood combo reminds me slightly of what the future Addict would employ in its own basenotes. I love it. And I can see why everyone misses it. There’s a slight hairspray feel to it which I love, but more of a boudoir scent, not richly coiffed hair. The woman (or man) using it, is ready to take the world by the balls and make it their own. If only D&G had stayed on that route...of real perfume that is. Sillage/longevity; from Rome to Milan, all the way through the Italian countryside.

I’ve never been a fan of Alien. When it came out, it just rubbed me the wrong way. Too strong, too obnoxious and chemical smelling...in a way, it was a radioactive amber, disguised as the new millennium Poison. And you could, just like the 80’s monstre, smell/feel/taste it everywhere. For a couple of years after it came out, I avoided elevators! Fast forward to 2020, the pandemic, time in, and the need to feel excitement and positivity. I scoured the net, and out of curiosity I ordered a 2005 limited edition, a cute 15ml bottle called The Secret Stone. And, much to my surprise, I absolutely fell in love. Now, I’ve tried Alien before, in modern formulas, and never liked the way it smelled on me. But when the vintage touched my skin, the intergalactic jasmine and the extraterrestrial amber somehow took me to that planet. Simple note list, major twists and turns. And when I wear it, there’s a moment when I’m in a solitary galaxy, light years away from Earth, somewhere in the future. In a dark empty room, with only neon lights out the window, there’s a 60’s TV set. And when it captures a signal from Earth, from the past, there’s a commercial for Ribena. Anyone remember that ‘all kinds of berry and lots of sugar’ juice? Well, in that precise moment, I’m in love. And Alien basically, is the loudest, weirdest, most static jasmine/orange blossom there is. It creates a new meaning for floral. And the teeth grinding base, suddenly makes sense. Without any similarity to Poison (well, maybe 5%), Alien feels from the future, time traveling to 1985 and being entranced by Poison. I feel as if Alien is the purple hue that still permeates elevator mirrors and carpets of Poison users back in the day. I may not love it (yet) as much as I adore Poison, but I’m actually beginning to think that I’m more of an Alien person than an Angel one. And luckily I’ve been able to find a 2006 backup eau de parfum, so I’m set for some light years. And also, Alien is one of the last modern perfumes where the original ad, perfectly captures the feel of the fragrance. Down to a t. Masterpiece.

‘Gloria, you’re always on the run now...’ Vanderbilt, issued briefly after Oscar, takes some cues from it, as well as L’Heure Bleue. But there are differences. Oscar, created by one of the masterminds behind Opium, is creamy, floral, languid...but it covers its floralcy in a myriad of spices and resins, as if Opium had taken a day at the spa before a long haul flight to JFK. L’Heure Bleue...well it’s a classic for a reason, and a wonderful window to early century Guerlain. Vanderbilt takes the classic touch of the latter, but 80fies it. All through a vapor wave filter, complete with pastel shades, pink carpeted bathrooms and palm trees. Kinda like a Miami Vice intro. Vanderbilt tries to eschew being too classical, showing no restraint in the use of tuberose, and a rather big dollop of vanilla. There’s a brief glimpse of a spicier direction, but the carnation can’t seem to tame the White Queen. On my skin, Vanderbilt is a wonderful floral, more tuberose than anything else, with a restrained sweetness from the vanilla, and the glorious powdery qualities of LHB. It’s the naïve side of it, pretty, innocent and sweet just like the movies that are showing in the nearby theater; Sixteen Candles, St. Elmo’s fire or Just One Of The Guys. Gloria Vanderbilt created a beautiful debut fragrance, mixing the floral with the powdery in a classical manner, added vanilla for a modern (and for then, quite sweet) touch, and light animalic musks to envelop the wearer in a fantasy, just like the first ads with the swan and the couple; romantic, womanly, without hitting major league like the big guns everyone wanted to grow into; Opium, Poison, Giorgio, Coco... On me, vintage early 90’s Vanderbilt has big sillage with very good longevity. In this age of extreme sweetness, Vanderbilt comes along as something clean and unisex with still a big fan base; it’s trail is easily noticeable from its wearers, younger, older, male or female and the current formula seems to have kept the original spirit. The only thing missing from today’s offering is the slightly dark and animalic base of the original, that keeps reminding me that this baby, no matter how innocent it might seem, comes from the mighty 80’s.