Diptyque Do Son

There's something about Diptyque perfumes that makes so many of them the benchmark for their respective genres. Tam Dao is the essence of sandalwood and Philosykos is considered the ultimate fig scent. They are like perfect little representations of an idea, neatly wrapped, easy to wear and very straight-laced. It's not that Diptyque never went off the beaten track- after all, there are L'Eau Trois and Eau d'Elide, but neither one of them fared well. What I'm trying to say is that it's no wonder that Diptyque managed to take the great man-eater tuberose and civilize it by creating  Do Son.

I don't think I've ever come across such a clean and well-behaving tuberose that still manages to retain its tropical lush core and bloom spectacularly in the heat. White flower notes in general and tuberose in particular never make a real "dry" perfume (even when paired with ample of spice and woods, like in Serge Lutens' Cedre). But Do Son comes amazingly close to that idea through a composition of crisp green leaves that border on bitter and something that can only be called a musky iris (or maybe an iris-like musk?).

Do Son is east to wear, probably because it lacks both the Audrey II characteristics found in some of its relatives (Fracas, Carnal Flower, Datura Noir) and the weird pairings of my personal favorites- Anya McCoy's tuberose and chocolate truffle of Starflower, Uncle Serge's magnificent Tubereuse Criminelle, Parfumerie Generale Tubereuse Couture and the amazing Tubereuse 3 from Histoires de Parfums. This is both Do Son's strength and greatest weakness. It's nice. It has a good chance appealing to non-tuberose people and converting them to the dark side. But as fond of it as I am, I just can't see a reason for me to get a full bottle when I can wear something a lot more interesting.

Do Son ($88, 1.7oz EDT) and the other Diptyque perfumes can be found at Luckyscent, Aedes, BeautyHabit and also Saks and Barneys.

photos: myvintagevogue.com

Diptyque Vetyverio

Diptyque is somewhat low-key compared to most niche perfume houses, despite the many fans who swear by the line's classics. Without much fanfare, some of Diptyque's creations have become iconic examples for compositions that highlight specific notes- Tam Dao is considered by many as an reference sandalwood while Philosykos is a benchmark fig. Now they're trying to do the same with vetiver.

Vetyverio is an odd one. One usually expects a vetiver perfume to be big on green and often quite dry, bitter and grassy, or take an opposite direction and feel dark and swamp-like. Vetyverio is oddly fruity and pulpy for the first half an hour or so. The citrus notes are fruity and round- it's not even a proper citrus opening- it's much sweeter and edible, and I get an almost-fog, almost-peach and almost-apricot. I enjoy it quite a bit, but let's just say I prefer my vetiver to have some teeth. Otherwise, what's the point?

It takes a while for the actual vetiver to show up, and even then it tries to hide behind the the sugar and spice of the fruity and floral notes. I need to actually pay attention, spray a lot and smell it up close to get to the heart of Vetyverio. It's interesting- the vetiver is of the thick and murky kind, but they somehow managed to make it feel sheer and a lot lighter than in perfumes such as Encre Noire or Sycomore. I wish this stage has lasted longer before I'm left with a pale abstract wood covered in a very thin layer of leftover vetiver. The official notes list musk in the dry-down, but I'm most likely completely anosmic to whatever they used here, because I get none. I actually get very little out of Vetyverio past the first hour, and I'm guessing it's because I can't smell an important part of it. It's too bad, really, because the idea of a lush fruity vetiver over musk and wood is quite appealing to me.

Vetyverio by Diptyque ($88, 1.7oz) is available from Aedes, Luckyscent (currently on backorder), Saks and BeautyHabit. The latter has a tempting offer at the moment- 25% off with the code OPRAH.

Art: Still life with apricots by Carol Chambers

Diptyque- Philosykos

The figs on the box of Diptyque Philosykos always looked to me more like mutant hazelnuts than as my favorite fruit. But that's the only imperfection in this Olivia Giacobetti creation that set the standard for fig perfumes.

Philosykos has all the elements we usually find in a fig scent- green leaves, bleached dry wood, a little sap and just a hint of barely there sweet creaminess without going fully into coconut milk territory. The secret of Philosykos is in the careful balance between all these elements. I'm not brave enough to test myself on blind identifying each of my fig perfumes. I'd like to think that I can- each one of them highlights another aspect of the tree and its fruit. Philosykos would probably require the most attention because none of the notes takes center stage for very long. It's the most synergistic of the ever-growing bunch.

Philosykos maintains a crispness that makes it appealing for men and women alike. It has cool green leaves and smooth warm wood in a perfect (here's that word again) balance. I like my fig fragrances in winter, when they remind me of long summer days to come, just as I love them as the easiest choice when summer days finally arrive and one needs a perfume that can stand up to them.

Philosykos ($88, 50ml) is available from all Diptyque stockists- Luckyscent, Aedes and Beautyhabit, as well as Barneys and Saks. There's also a travel set and body products. I've been eyeing the body cream for a while now, so maybe it's time I do something about it.

Art: Study of a fig tree by John Singer Sargent

Diptyque Tam Dao Shower Gel

The Blond has discovered the joy of luxury bath products. It started when I got him the Guerlain Vetiver body wash (I think I bought every tube I could find before they disappeared from the market), the upgraded for the Frederic Malle Vetiver Extraordinaire shower gel (dreamy. Review coming soon). Now I got a bottle of Diptyque Tam Dao shower gel which he believes is his, but just like the perfume- I beg to differ.

Tam Dao is a wonderful sandalwood in any form, and the creaminess of the scent works beautifully in a bathing product. It feels and smells luxurious, lathers lightly and is gentle on my sensitive skin. The Blond approves the cleansing level and likes the way it feels.

I find that the scent lingers on my skin longer than on his, though you can't skip the perfume. Speaking of which, the shower gel has a drier scent than the EDT and is less spicy. Next on my list to explore are the Diptyque Philosykos body products. It's fig, after all, and there's a rich body cream. Stay tuned.

Diptyque Tam Dao Shower Gel ($44, 6.8 oz) is available from Barneys, Aedes, BeautyHabit and most other stores that sell the Diptyque range.

Photo of sandalwood elephants (there's an elephant on the pretty Tam Dao box) by RottieLover♥ on Flickr.

Diptyque Tam Dao

Some perfumes are sexy, others are calm and centering. Somehow, Tam Dao manages to feel mysterious, inviting and very zen. Named after a region in Vietnam, the fragrance is supposed to evoke the rich charms of the area. I've never been to those parts of Asia, so I have no idea if it's all about ceder and sandalwood, but Tam Dao most definitely is.

Those who love the dry-down and exotic hint in L'Artisan Bois Farine would enjoy this Diptyque perfume. I would also guess that Dzing! lovers will find some of that peanut and wood action here, only with less of the funk. This does not mean that Tam Dao doesn't offer something animalic in its depths, because it does. Just tamer and more like the belly of a well-groomed house cat (pet owners know exactly what I'm talking about. The rest of you are trying to fight the weird mental image and are asking yourselves why exactly you take beauty advice from a crazy cat lady).

However, Tam Dao is mostly about wood. It starts dry and clean and evolves into a creamy almost-sweetness. It has an addictive, nose-to-wrist quality and would have been considered a comfort scent if it wasn't also hiding a sexy skin scent secret, one that would cause a significant other to bury his or her head in your neck and follow the scent trail...

Vietnam images: TrekEarth

Diptyque fragrances are available at several stores. I bought my bottle from Aedes de Venustas in NYC. $70 for 1.7 oz.

The Nose Plays Funny Tricks

My love of the not-quite-feminine woody fragrance has been growing exponentially this winter. It's not that I'm not rocking some powdery vanilla scents or ambery roses, but some days it's all about bark, resinous sap and evergreen treetops.

Heeley's Cardinal isn't supposed to be in the evergreen category. The notes as listed on Luckyscents are incense, cistus, grey amber, patchouli, vetiver. Reviews all over the net talk about darkness and church. Being Jewish, I'm not exactly the biggest authority on such matters, but I swear, on my skin it was just pine. My skin has eaten every note and all the depth and left me with nothing but the memory of pine-scented liquid soap from my childhood (to which I developed a terrible itchy allergy). It wasn't so bad once I layered it with my beloved Anat Fritz, though. It added a much needed dimension.

Woody fragrances are perfumes that I try to share with my husband. Sometimes with interesting results. The first time I tried Anat Fritz he quite liked it on me. What's not to like? Lavender, cedar, sandalwood and a few other dry woody notes. I've talked about it here and have gotten a full bottle that I enjoy very much. I still need to decant it into a spray bottle, so I can use it on my sweaters and coats, but in the meantime I enjoy wearing it. A few weeks ago, I asked my husband to wear it. I figured that he'd enjoy it just as much as his beloved Gris Clair.

The results were quite surprising. To my nose it was stunning. Lavender loves him. However, The Blond hated it. With a passion. He grew up on a dairy farm and has spent way too much time unloading wood shaving to line the ground for the cows, which was exactly what this fragrance made him think about. This is the farm boy who didn't flinch when smelling Ferme Tes Yeux. He just couldn't stand the cage lining note here.

It is no wonder that the first time I tried Diptyque's L'Eau Trois he had a similar reaction. So much so, that I washed it off immediately, not letting it go past the opening, which is very cedary in its most woody interpretation. But I had to try it again. I put it on one day when The Blond was still at work. The wood chips were quickly gone, replaced with this gorgeous aroma of sun-soaked Mediterranean shrubs and herbs. I could smell the dusty green quality of the green, the crispness of the twigs, and the feeling of a long sunny afternoons.

The beauty of this drydown was not lost on my husband. He approves a full bottle. Maybe I'll even share it with him.

(A big thank you to March from Perfume Posse for the sample and this new love)

On a Bad Note

I've mostly given up on trying to predict a reaction to a scent based on a single note (or notes) that I supposedly like or dislike. At this point, the only fragrance element that has never let me down is fig, and I was really hesitant in writing this sentence. Just watch how the next celeb to come out with a fragrance would be someone of a Kimberly Stewart caliber and the scent would be as comparable to great fig scents as Kim is to Stella McCartney.

But this isn't about figs. It's about oranges. Orange in its many incarnations appear as a note in many perfumes and defies classification. It can be a heady bloom or a rich fruit. It can smell sharp and spicy or comforting and sweet, candied or fresh. The options are many and there's an orange for everyone.

Apparently, it can also be cloyingly sweet. Lately, I've been coming across way too many of those. It began with Tocca's Stella. I've written about it here (scroll down a little to get to the part about Tocca). Stella's middle notes were of the orange creamsicle variety. It wasn't bad, just boring.


Next came Diptyque's Eau d'Elide. From the first whiff until the scent disintegrates and disappears completely (20-30 minutes later), the note I'm getting is of the candied orange peels my mother used to make. The listed note is of bitter orange combined with wild lavender and aromatic shrubs. On my skin, it moves from the very candied and sweet with a tinge of the bitterness of the peel to the soapy and cleaner lavender, but the sweetness is always there in the background. I don't hate it, but I don't like smelling like a candied anything.

The worst of the bunch to my nose is Dulcis in Fundo by Profumum. The listed notes are citrus fruits and Mexican Vanilla, and I'm willing to believe that this is all there is to this heavy, cloying pudding-like concoction. It smells completely edible, like an orange dessert, maybe a rich ice cream, until the vanilla cream drydown takes over (it lasts, close to the skin, for several hours).

I like vanilla in many fragrances and there are several rich gourmand scents that I enjoy. This isn't one of them. Smelling like a pastry shop isn't my idea of a good personal fragrance. I want something that blends several elements, that flirts with my personality as well as with my skin. Marshmallow simply doesn't make me feel sophisticated.