Carolina Herrera is mostly a wonderfully deep and rich jasmine. Not green, fresh, screechy. It’s the deeply sweet and carnal variety, more like night blooming jasmine. The tuberose, present and strong lends its buttery fullness to the jasmine, while the other floral notes simply enhance and balance the formula. The base notes are rich and ambery, slightly dark, and the civet casts a slightly powdery/talcum veil that at once lends more carnality to the whole, and on the other hand creates a dreamscape. The vintage original formula is obviously stronger, richer, fuller; every note is amplified and feels decadent, while the base is darker, mossier, and far more animalic. It feels Beverly Hills, Rodeo drive shopping, New York businesswoman all at once. But at the same time, I picture a southern belle. Unlike other florals of the era, Carolina Herrera has a certain innocence, down to earth laid back attitude. She can be the perfect hostess, dress up for dinner, and unwind in her porch sipping spiked iced tea. Like a true 80’s fragrance it exudes class, sillage and power. It never smells artificial, but always mesmerizing and grand. The current formula is still quite good; it has a present sillage and longevity, the smell leans more towards a fresh green jasmine with a bigger dollop of tuberose to counterbalance, and the base is more woody. The cons? It’s lost it’s animalic beauty, the flowers smell more artificial (cellophane wrapped bouquet straight from the florists fridge) and the mossy feel is gone. The new one is similar to Gucci Bloom, albeit nicer. While it’s obviously different, it still smells like Carolina Herrera. If you can find vintage, go for it. Both edt and edp pack more than current edp. Review based on a mid 90’s edt, in the big black polka dotted box, and a 1988 edp.

Miss Dior - 1950’s edt splash reviewed. Miss Dior was born shortly after WW2, in a moment of devastation, shortages and despair. While the world was slowly picking itself up, Christian Dior launched the famous New Look Collection in a move of joyous optimism, to allow women to feel beautiful, strong, desired and independent. Miss Dior was the perfect first fragrance, an accessory more easily obtained than the more expensive haute couture. A fragrance full of joy, freshness, joie de vivre. The original incarnation is a beautifully elegant floral chypre, redolent of galbanum, aldehydes, white flowers, oakmoss and hidden animalic notes that lend a gorgeous parfum fourrure feel. The opening absolutely sings. Overcast dove grey skies, but not melancholic. Early spring. Fizzy aldehydes, galbanum, styrallyl acetate for the Gardenia rendition. A young fresh feel for all women, all ages. The scent of optimism. The heart starts to get a little darker. Among the flowers, rose, good luck lily of The Valley, Iris, carnation...voluptuous and spicy, with the discreet powderiness of Iris, to cast a veil of sensual femininity. At once, it smells expensive, debutant but mature; while the flowers and green notes denote elegance and good taste, a perfect first perfume for a young lady, there are hidden secrets ahead, making it perfect for a woman that is fierce willed and strong. Leather, buttery sandalwood, civet, most likely ambergris, costus root, nitromusks...notes that don’t scream but instead envelop the fragrance in a bouquet of luxury and naughtiness; silk underwear under a perfectly tailored suit. The desire to be loved, longed for, without being vulgar. The warmth that emanates from the skin is glorious. Hard to pinpoint notes, it simply sings. A masterpiece. Under the guidance of Christian, Paul Vacher and Jean Carles created one of the most beautiful fragrances of the era, and one of the most memorable masterpieces of the last century. As if the green floralcy of Ma Griffe and the sexual potency of Tabu had a baby, Miss Dior had the pedigree of the house that saw her to life. Elegant, sensual, powerful. The original has a wonderful tenacity on skin, and a potent sillage that becomes more languid as the day progresses. Easily worn by men, Miss Dior is simply put, an ode to joy and love and life. Not to be confused with anything bearing the name today; Miss Dior remained integral up until the late 80’s/early 90’s. Ages well, if you find intact bottles on eBay, they are a good investment. What is currently sold by that name is nothing but a sad joke.

Fidji - the scent of paradise. Vintage, 70’s edt splash. Created by the late Josephine Catapano (of Norell, Youth Dew etc), Fidji embodied a new style in perfumery, a green fresh spirit, inspired in part by L’Air du Temps, and later on inspiring the mythical Anaïs Anaïs. It was a dreamscape, faraway islands, exotic beaches and the magic of the orient. But not in a heavy oriental manner; Fidji was the daytime version, a more hip hippie fragrance giving its emphasis on patchouli and sandalwood, and bitter green notes. Back then, when tropical didn’t mean fruity pink drinks and coconut suntan lotion, Fidji was seen as a breath of fresh air. And righty so; galbanum in abundance, aldehydes, hyacinth, jasmine, ylang ylang, cloves, orris, ambergris, oakmoss, sandalwood... a fresh but sensual fragrance that read in its first ads ‘a woman is an island, Fidji is her fragrance’. Review of early 70’s edt splash. And indeed it was. Seen through the lens of a gauzy dreamscape, Fidji startles with its soapy aldehydes and bitter herbal opening. Fresh, savonneux, the cool touch of skin freshly showered. Lemon and bergamot add further sparkle without making the opening citrusy, instead enhancing the galbanum, and making way for the florals. Flowers that are caressed by the Pacific breeze. Rich but never demure, the flowers are enhanced by the spicy cloves, with a slight carnation feel, hence the association with the more serious and mature L’Air du Temps; Fidji was younger, carefree, emancipating. Exploring new lands, breaking new boundaries. But even though there’s an innate breath of fresh air running through, Fidji still manages to smell sensual at the same time. The ambery base with ambergris for its lick of salty skin, sandalwood from Mysore that conjures the exotic and faraway India, sensual musks, oakmoss... notes that anchor Fidji on skin for hours, developing and mesmerizing, enveloping the fragrance in sensuality and transitioning it to the night. Fidji was seen as a perfect scent for young ladies. The allure of the exotic was becoming a reality, Woodstock was about to take place, and the hippie movement was in auge. But while a young lady could perfectly wear it, a green fresh floral, so could a more rogue one. Deep basenotes, rich patchouli and sandalwood, animalic beauty running through. Fidji was the dream of a generation, a perfume that made a reality the new world and the breaking of boundaries. A still frame of a generation that was breaking free of restrictions and embracing opportunities. Fidji is and was for everyone, and today it feels more unisex than ever. In its early 70’s formula, which is the one I own, it positively sings on skin for hours on end. The version sold today, while thinner and flatter, still manages to convey the smell of exotic islands and faraway lands. A woman is an island, but Fidji can be worn by anybody. Green, fresh, sparkling; timeless and elegant. A true masterpiece and what exotic fragrances should smell like!

Mon Parfum Cheri, Par Camille! A wonderful tribute to Annick by Camille, just like Annick created years before Eau de Camille for her daughter. One, playful and young, for a little girl. The other, dark and nostalgic, a late tribute to one of the pioneers of the French niche scene. Mon Parfum Cheri is a tribute to patchouli with the aid of violet (one of very few fragrances where I actually love the note), Iris, plum and heliotropin. Underneath, the famous Prunol base which harkens back to wonders like Diorama and Femme de Rochas. All three could stand proudly together, scenting the black and white Hollywood movie stars of the early 30’s. Glamour like you don’t see anymore, in dark purple hues and heavy velvet drapes. MPC opens, shifts and ends with patchouli; raw, rich, earthy in full glory, avoiding hippy associations but instead showcasing notes and accords that accompany the note. Violet, a note I don’t particularly enjoy, lends its ozonic quality to provide bursts of freshness along the ride. There aren’t citrus notes like in so many fragrances; instead, violet provides the glass of water to this rich chocolate cake. Plum, a succulent and erotic fruit, provides juiciness and warmth, accompanied by peach and coconut lactones that together make the fragrance become creamier as the day progresses. Instead of sweet notes, these here provide the softness and slight sweetness that comes and goes, making MPC more approachable and less stoic. There are hints of cardamom, a cool spice, that provides hints of warm spiciness. Could there also be some cumin? The fragrance is slightly animalic; the smell of warm skin, lost kisses, embraces. Cumin is definitely there. Heliotropin, with a slight almond nuance provides the forbidden, the mystique. A fragrance that is dangerous is always more intriguing. Femme Fatale, Homme Fatal. Passionate and sensual. Iris, profound and solemn, rich and fatty in its orris butter facet, is threaded throughout the evolution. At times powdery, at times dark and rooty but always beautiful, Iris evokes the softness of a lovers kiss. Velvet gloves that are slowly removed to caress a peachy cheek. Softness and strength. MPC is a fragrance of emotions. More chypre in feel although not technically one, it is both heavily charged with associations of past creations due to its complexity and heft, but also because of the tribute behind it. Simple notes that are easily identifiable, deft in their combination and masterful blending. Evolving and evoking of loving memories, rich nuances and strong presence; it lasts easily a whole day with ever present sillage. And this is the edt! For me, one of the best Annick Goutal creations and one I was smart enough to buy 2 bottles of as soon as it was launched, fearing it couldn’t last too long on the market. Unfortunately, I was right. My ruby red bottles with black lace bow will have to last me for ever. Thankfully the 2/3 sprays one needs to stay fragrant for many hours will help achieve this. Lovers of vintage perfumes; absolute must try!

Sultry, dangerous, poisonous, sensual..it all falls short to describe Poison, le grand monstre that came from the house of Christian Dior in 1985, causing commotion and disbelief among innocent passerby’s. An innocent apple shaped bottle holding a dangerous elixir. How could this be? But, there it was, unaware to everyone; the hit of the decade, the blockbuster, what everyone would try and imitate. None succeeded. Poison edt, review based on bottles from 1985 to 1992. Poison, above all the extremes, the sensuality, the bite, was about fun. Yes, it was deep and narcotic, carnal, mysterious...but it never took itself too seriously. At least the edt. Powerful like a bulldozer it could be smelt from around the block. 1980’s carpets still have traces of it, and elevators permeated with Poison still have a purple hue in their mirrors, a smoke tendril of the fun that was ahead. You can still hear the laughter of the lucky wearers. And the lament of those who hated it. Stewed plums, red and blue and black berries, hint of coriander, lots of honey and you get a hell of an opening. Just like a fruity cocktail; too sweet to know it gets to your head. The flowers on the other hand, oh, the flowers are all past their prime, dripping in carnality. Tuberose, jasmine, orange blossom, damascones galore with their wine-y tonality between rose and violets. Concentrated to the extreme, the best absolutes to accompany this crazy party, that had the warm company of cinnamon, opoponax, amber, vanilla, sandalwood, plus a castoreum bouncer at the door to keep things on the wild side named Hulk. Poison was a night out made perfume. So addicting that it lingered on skin until the next day, when you sprayed some more just so you could take the day ahead. Wearing Poison had to be because of love, because once on skin it stayed there. Sometimes for the whole week! Poison was worn by everyone and everywhere, and it’s the main reason it was banned from restaurants and repulsed by many. On top, it was worn with abandon! Too much of a good thing ain’t so good it seems. Unfortunately, I missed those days by some years, and even though my bottles smell perfect, the settings around me are not quite the same. One has to cope with what one has, but wearing Poison and smelling it until you scrub it off, it all feels better, even if I’m not greeted by big hairdos, lamé dresses, power suits or looks when entering restaurants! For better or for worse, Poison, this little masterpiece from 1985 hasn’t fared well. The internet is still full of bottles mass produced for eternity, and you’re better of buying one of those than what is currently being sold under the name; if you want to experience true Poison, you need the real deal, not the impostor. After all, who doesn’t look good in purple hued elevator mirrors? And if you close your eyes, you can still smell it!

Antaeus it seems, never really took of for Chanel. While it could have been for the maison what Coco became, Antaeus was a hit of the moment, spawning a short lived Antaeus Sport flanker, and then took refugee in the back. Few use Antaeus, even today, and even though Chanel has kept it for its followers, it hasn’t bothered to promote it; the vintage enjoys cult status, while the current, stripped by laws and cost cutting could have benefited from a newer flanker if only for the spotlight to shine on the original. Review based on a 200ml splash from 1982. Antaeus is one of the few perfumes that always brings two specific movies to my mind every time I use it; Cruising with Al Pacino, discovering his wild side in the meatpacking district leather clubs. Given the fact that Antaeus was rumored to be a huge success with the gay collective circa 1980’s, I wonder if this association isn’t that far fetched. But Antaeus is so much more than that. Less popular, less in-your-face than the popular brute Kouros, launched the same year, Antaeus always maintained a more suave appearance, a distance, just like Richard Gere in American Gigolo; is he really a killer in disguise, or has he always had the instinct all along? Herbal, dry chypre, rich in woods, leather and castoreum, with a beautiful beeswax note that got lost through the years. A deep rose, N°5 in a way that links it to the house and the grand dame. This is what the vintage smells like. Antaeus opens with herbal accents of myrtle, sage, coriander, basil... Polge’s intention was of a classical composition. But it’s 1981 and whether you like it or not, the market and tastes dictate power and strength. So Polge played with the oakmoss and the leather and the castoreum with maybe just a smidgen of civet to give the base all the power and longevity that men and women demanded, and gave the heart a more somber treatment. The rose and jasmine that glow in the background smell distinctly Chanel; there is a brief link to N°5 in this beautiful floral vein that runs among the more classic herbal/chypre feel, and the more contemporary animalic growl. The leather, abundantly rich creates the signature of Antaeus. And it’s the deep tanned leather, Cuir de Russie meets Peau d’Espagne. Classic gentleman meets his dark side. Was it there all along? Antaeus is always a pleasure to use, and a challenge to the senses. While it is unequivocally Chanel, the treatment of the notes is the work of genius. Polge created something that was in the realm of classic and respected but he also played his brutal animalic side, playing with shadows and contrasts to create something bigger than the sum. Class, elegance, sexuality, debauchery. Was Antaeus a killer all along? The longevity is outstanding, pulsating from the skin like a heartbeat in the heat of the night, while the sillage is mellow and discreet. In this sense, it doesn’t shout, but he’s always lurking in the shadows. And when he comes out, there’s no escaping.

The 90’s were a good decade for nectar-ish florals and amber-ish sweetness. So many fragrances launched during those years featured them prominently; as the other side of the Calone coin and airy cleanliness, heavy honeyed florals were the other end of the spectrum. And Jean Paul Gaultier (nicknamed Classique at the end of the decade) came busting like a boudoir on fire, powder and orange blossom vanilla! JPG starts with subtly fruity and slightly spicy bergamot and aniseed. The orange blossom shows from the start, this is the note on which the whole fragrance revolves around, and it’s bigger than life. Supposedly there’s tuberose and ylang ylang, but honesty I can’t really smell neither one of them. There’s a certain ‘full fat-ness’ that I assume is the buttery quality of ylang, but the Queen is nowhere to be seen. I wonder though if you can sense her in brief glimpses of green that flash for nanoseconds before disappearing. There’s also a pronounced nail polish effect which I assume is either aldehydes or a combination of notes. After all, the inspiration behind it included powdered wigs, nail enamel and dusty theater curtains. The heart and base notes show the orange blossom in full bloom; heady and heavy, honeyed and spiced up. But the spices are gentler than what previous decades offered, and here we get cinnamon and ginger primarily, at times evoking the scented potpourris that permeated the air in homes, stores and everywhere in the mid 90’s; come autumn and winter, you couldn’t escape the scent of cinnamon and vanilla that permeated many a store! The base shows said spices, but softened by creamy vanilla, amber and sandalwood. The powderiness doesn’t show up on me until the very end, and then it’s a soft violet powder, reminiscent of Oscar de la Renta; mysterious, solemn, beautiful. The bottle which I own comes from 1995, when it was simply called Jean Paul Gaultier. And while the bottle looks like a modernist tribute to Elsa Schiaparelli’s Shocking bottle, the enfant terrible created something equally avant Garde for its time; it was the 90’s and early 00’s equivalent of what Poison, Giorgio and the likes were to the 80’s. Loud, bombastic, never taking itself too seriously. And it succeeded because it was fun and well made. A modern classic and one of the nicest orange blossoms. The formula of today is quite thin, pale and soulless (what else is new?), heck even the color is almost transparent compared to the deep amber of the vintage. The 2016 Essence de Parfum is the closest to the original release and one of the nicest flankers; while not the same, it has the same huge orange blossom, ‘modernized’ with the current novelties, whipped cream and chili. But totally worth it if you miss the old Classique. And equally strong and powerful.

Opium! Den of pleasure, carnal delights, ecstasy. Forbidden euphoria. Blockbuster since day 1, Opium is (was) the unparalleled success of Yves Saint Laurent. Cleverly following the footsteps of Youth Dew (Lauder once said it was ‘Youth Dew with a tassel’), Opium landed like a bomb in 1977 taking the whole world by surprise. In a time with no social media and focus groups, Opium alluded to the thrill of the forbidden and the state of mind; guilty pleasure and erotic ecstasy via the heavy spice route sweetened with exotic flowers. The Opium den that Yves conjured and which caused an outrage in the Chinese-American population, banned in many Arab countries and sold without its name on the bottle in some European countries, was nothing but hedonistic pleasure in liquid form. Opium didn’t endorse drug abuse, something that was increasingly the theme du jour in the late 70’s, nor did it condone it. It simply alluded to the state of trance and sensuality one feels under the right circumstances. Opium was either understood and immediately adored, or rejected like the plague. True vintage Opium, with all its forbidden notes, ingredients and allergens is one of my most loved and cherished fragrances. Nothing, absolutely nothing comes close. And sadly, this makes it extremely hard to replace. Long review/homage based on various bottles, splash and spray, from 1977, 1978, 1980, 1981 and 1984. When Opium launched, Yves sought to create the complete opposite of Y, his debut fragrance which was a beautiful and elegant aldehydic chypre. He wanted a heavy, languid, extremely powerful and sensual oriental that would make women go crazy, and men completely surrender to its charms. He enlisted Jean Amic, Jean Louis Sieuzac and Raymond Chaillan and together they created a legend that catapulted to success before its official launch, resulting in stolen testers, ripped publicity banners, sellout within hours of hitting shelves, all the while causing a little dementia in the population. Oh, Opium! Heavily reliant on cloves, carnation, incense, Mysore sandalwood, resins, myrrh, opoponax, adorned with orchids, rose, lily of the valley, jasmin, peach, plum, orris and mystified with labdanum, castoreum, bay leaf, pepper, balsams and musks, Opium was like the breath of a raging dragon. Deep reds, golden ambers, the flowers of fire; the flowers of life. Up to this day, words elude me when talking about Opium; I find it so masterfully blended, so true to its meaning, that I cannot (and don’t want to) analyze it or dissect its notes. It’s inevitable that some of them pass right under my nose and are easily detected, but Opium is such a state of mind that the real pleasure comes from surrendering to it. Yes, it’s spicy, floral, aldehydic and mysteriously powdery in the drydown, yes, none of what was used freely to create it can be used with the same abandon today, but why break it to pieces? If for nothing more, the pleasure is smelling it all day long and watch it’s evolution, how it caresses the senses and how it embraces the ones lucky enough to love it and adore it. Opium is highly polarizing, and for most people, it stirs up memories; any kind of them. Good, bad, the ones who wore it, the elevators it permeated, the boss that doused in it...love it or hate it, this most recognizable magnum opus cannot leave you indifferent. Consider yourself lucky if only you can even smell it in your mind. While Opium does not go bad, it does mellow with age. Vintage bottles still pack a punch with enormous sillage and 24 hour longevity, but they have lost the fresh sparkle that was there in 1977; they have mellowed and concentrated in a way that it smells richer and more dense. The patina of time, but still unbeatable. And my personal opinion; up until the early 80’s, Opium was not reformulated, maybe only having suffered minuscule changes. It was so unbelievably expensive to produce that it was simply inevitable. By the late 80’s/early 90’s, the changes were a bit more pronounced but it was still itself. At the dawn of the new millennium, Opium started to suffer the consequences of cost cutting, change of taste and society’s evolution, and by 2005/6, Opium was not Opium anymore. L’Oreal simply murdered it completely, and what has been selling under the name Opium since then, bears nothing, zero relation but the name. It should have been discontinued altogether. While future generations will likely never have the pleasure of getting to know this gem, anyone that has had the pleasure of experiencing it is extremely lucky. And I thank my lucky stars and eBay for allowing me to have the pleasure of dowsing in it. My sillage is free of charge; no thank you needed.

Powerful sensual chypre. Just like many others that belong in the same ballpark and share similarities (Paloma, Diva, Eau du Soir..), Knowing goes from executive decisions in the morning to a theater function in the evening, before winding in an underground club. While the others feel more ‘take no prisoners’, Knowing shares the debauchery of La Nuit; they don’t smell alike but they could be sisters. Carnality is the theme du jour! Honey is majorly present in Knowing, just like in a fragrance 20 years younger and inspired by it; Soir de Lune. And if it’s not, then it must be the pitosporum which does a similar job in Blonde (Versace). Opening with a rush of aldehydes, Knowing feels animalic and honeyed from the very start; melon? Not so much, but plum adds a beautiful juiciness that wraps the whole composition. On some days, I get the florals distinctly but on most the blending is so well made that I just get lost in it. Some days it’s powdery and I think ‘oh, there’s the mimosa and the orris’. Some days the woody facets shine more, or the spicy side, and I sense the patchouli, and the sandalwood, and the spices...always floral, narcotic, and never demure. Oakmoss shines big time from the heart onwards and never fades away. Civet is a major player from the opening to the drydown, and this erotic dirtiness that never fades away, but engulfs the other notes in unashamed badness is what links it to La Nuit; elegant, well made, classy, but with a dirty side that can’t be hidden. Knowing is a gorgeously sweet chypre, less on the rose side, and more on the oakmoss and white floral one. Gorgeous on both men and women. Reviewing a first release vintage splash, and comparing with a sample I have from the mid 2000’s, up until then Knowing held pretty well. I don’t know about current bottles but my vintage packs the punch of a lifetime. And it’s all the better for it! One of the best Lauder creations; the woman knew what she was doing!

Vintage 1973 Joy extrait, black snuff bottle (cute as hell btw) My jasmine benchmark! Elegance is simplicity. Joy is elegance in a bottle. For all complexity of the formula, which arrived sealed and perfectly preserved, this is a stunning jasmine simply warmed by the real civet and musks inside. It’s not dirty, it’s not extravagant in a more contemporary way (think 70’s/80’s stunners); it’s simply beautiful. Jasmine and I have a love/hate relationship. I adore the flower itself, the smell in the air, sucking the stem and savoring the nectar. I grew among jasmine trees and at night, especially summer, the scent was intoxicating. For me, not one perfume has captured that smell. Some have come close and some are real beauties. Joy here is a trip to my childhood and I finally smell the real thing. Jasmine flower bottled and preserved in a little bottle that serves as perfume history. Beauty from a time, not so long ago, when quality was the measure up and houses like Patou produced ART, even if the financial gains where next to nothing. Who would today, in their sanity, bottle a perfume so expensive to make, that there is zero profit from sales? Aside from this little story, what predominates on my skin other than the jasmine, is a shy rose. Shy because my skin doesn’t bring it forward. The star is jasmine, while all the other notes simply enhance it. It feels and smells rich, rounded, warm, well put together. Nothing screams, nothing smells out of place. The sandalwood is creamy, real sandalwood, the oakmoss albeit not strong, is wonderful. And the civet, my beloved civet, has manners, simply providing the necessary warmth that Joy needs to shine. And the musk, beautiful sexy musk! I didn’t think it’d be this good, and I’m happy to report it holds up to its status. Times like these I wish I could time travel and buy perfume from when everyone thought it would be this good forever. Trust me, if you come along bottles that have the baudruchage seal intact, invest. Perfumes so well made that stand the test of time decades later, willing to unfold under a perfume lovers nose! Obviously, the Joy made today it’s not the same. IFRA happened, laws about allergens came into play, many ingredients became banned or simply disappeared, naturals are very expensive, and tastes changed. But the edp I own from 2013, from Designer Parfums, is very near, very true to what Joy is all about, and given the circumstances exceedingly well made. Yes, it’s a bit more shrill, more commercially friendly, but it still smells like it, and I’m happy to see that, at least now, Patou is in good hands and that it’s perfumes haven’t followed the footsteps of other once glorious brands. My little snuff bottle will serve as my drug, when only the costliest perfume in the world will do!