L.T. Piver- Azurea (Vintage Perfume)

found the bottle of Azurea by L.T. Piver in a small store at a local antique mall. I first noticed the tall glass stopper, then the beautiful Art Nouveau label. The bottle was more than half full and a quick online search (how in the world did we survive before smartphones?) revealed Azurea was released in 1897.

From perfumeproject.com:

Azuréa was created for L.T. Piver by chemist/perfumer Pierre Armigeant (1874-1955) in collaboration with chemist George Darzens. It was launched in 1897 and, by 1901, was firmly entrenched in "better" stores throughout France and the United States — and other countries where Piver products were marketed.

A February, 7, 1907 copy of the Atlanta Constitution indicates that Azuréa was currently being sold at Keely's department store in that great American city.

There was also a box of Azurea powder next to it with the same label, and sniffing it helped me determine the juice in the bottle was, indeed, original. I didn't buy the powder because I don't collect vintage body products or their packaging, but the delicate aroma of Azurea won me over. I'm pretty sure my bottle is from a much later date than the turn of the previous century, though it's obviously old (it's identical to the one at the top left in the above 1927 ad); the fact the perfume is alive and wearable was thrilling.

The flower on the label is a blue iris, so it's interesting to note that the very same year Piver also launched Iris Blanc (via cleopatrasboudoir.com). I wish I could smell that one and compare, because Azurea smells like iris, though more like the smaller wild flower than the rooty and earthy iris butter. It's very powdery and has a hefty dose of heliotrope. It dries down to a sweet baby powder and lasts for about 2 hours on my skin.

There's something fascinating in owning and wearing something so long ago. It's pretty and it's different. I can see the clothes, hats and antique cars, Art Nouveau decorations in the boudoir, breakfast served on a silver tray and managing a huge household and its staff. Basically, I wear Azurea and become Lady Marjorie Bellamie from Upstairs, Downstairs for a couple of hours.

Paco Rabanne La Nuit

I was too young and nerdy in 1985 to partake in any real shenanigans. I haven't seen the inside of a real nightclub until 1987 or 1988, and even then it was all about dancing and hanging out with my friends. But maybe I was simply wearing the wrong perfume. If I had to do it all again my choice would be La Nuit by Paco Rabanne, the scent of debauchery.

Spanish designer Paco Rabanne was in his absolute best during the 1960s. He created some seriously sexy mini dresses, chic accessories and home accents that cause some serious bidding wars today (I considered selling my soul for a couple. It still was not enough). Salvador Dali called him "the second Spanish genius" and posed with Rabanne's creations. His earlier perfumes, from 1969 Calandre to the 1988 Ténéré all represent their era, and of course are now discontinued. But non of them was more out there than La Nuit.

I've seen La Nuit described as a floral-chypre, rose-chypre, leather-chypre. dry wood and who knows what else. It's kind of chypre-like, but the story here isn't oakmoss, it's civet. La Nuit is an animalic monster, once described by Luca Turin on his old blog as "Spray Tabu on a horse, and you’ll get the idea", and he meant that in the best possible way. The thing is that most versions and formulations of Tabu smell too cheap for my taste and no horse can fix that. La Nuit, on the other hand, smells like something one would wear to a scandalous Studio 54 party, especially if you want to hook up with Mick Jagger in the back room. Not exactly classy, but not Tiger Woods material, either.

I get a lot of honeyed leather, honeyed rose and honeyed wood before the civet and whatever other skank there show their teeth. It's nothing like Miel de Bois, but I won't be surprised if they have a common aromachemical. I wouldn't be surprised.

I've learned to wear La Nuit with a light hand- not more than a spray and a half. It lasts for 24 hours as it is. It's dirtiness is still shocking and I'm a regular wearer of MKK, Onda, Bandit and several other perfumes my mother would never have approved. This is not something to wear for a PTA meeting or around the "shower fresh" crowd. It would leave the average Sephora shopper speachless because most of them do not want to smell like that.

La Nuit, like most of the classic Paco Rabanne fragrances for men and women, is no longer in production. It can still be found online but the prices of this formerly common perfume have been climbing up- usually north of $100. The EDP is better than the EDT and there are rumors about a divine and long gone extrait de parfum.

I found both images on Flickr, I think, but forgot to note the original source. The first shows Andy Warhol and Jerry Hall partying at Studio 54 circa 1980. The second is of Salvador Dali and models wearing Paco Rabanne in 1960. It's from a book about the designer by Lydia Kamitsis.

Guerlain Après L'Ondée (Vintage Extrait de Parfum)

My first official  introduction to this 1906 classic Guerlain was through the newer EDT. I tested it many times and was always struck by the difference between the beauty wafting from the bottle and the way it smelled on me. I declared my skin as the place violets go to die. But that was not the  real Après L'Ondée.

Last year I had the incredible luck of finding a full bottle of the vintage parfum. I proceeded cautiously to make friends with it and discovered love. Apres L'Ondee is not so much about violets as it is about atmosphere. It's somewhat sheer and floral, but the notes that stand out to me are heliotrope, anise and lots of lots of very pale dry iris.  It's interesting how even with all the licorice and almondy heliotrope, the perfume never turns gourmand. It actually lacks that pastry shop quality you find in many Guerlain perfumes, even though the connection to Guerlinade (both the classic base and the 1998 special limited edition) and to L'Heure Bleu is there. It's just a very different kind of perfume.

Sometimes smelling Apres L'Ondee in parfum feels like entering a dream. It can be familiar, like a memory you can't quite place but you know you've been there, maybe in your subconsciousness. The iris is almost otherworldly. It's not earthy or dirty, nor is it buttery. How can something so rooty feel this sheer and delicate, like the wings of a dragonfly? That's the art and genius of Jacques Guerlain. He created an emotional experience of the first degree, which is perfume at its very best.

Art: Nocturne by Kirsty Mitchell

Helena Rubinstein- Barynia (Vintage Perfume)

Barynia by Helena Rubinstein was launched in 1985, but doesn't really smell like the eighties. Instead, this is an aldehydic floral with classic aspirations, a somewhat haughty demeanor and and just enough animalic notes in the amber dry-down one wonders how seriously to take the hyacinth, aldehydes and rose that preceded them.

I bought a sealed bottle of Barynia in extrait de parfum because the price was (very) right and I was curious. When it arrived I didn't take to it right away, at least on the emotional level. It didn't tell me a story and didn't take me anywhere I haven't been before. After all, we know the schtick, and personally I prefer it in various vintage Chanel perfumes and in Hermes Caleche, where there also used to be a hefty dose of oakmoss and leather. I was also more impressed with another Helena Rubinstein vintage fragrance, Courant.

I gave Barynia a chance, though, because it was pretty and easy to wear. Despite the extrait concentration and darker base, it feels a bit light-weighted, which worked well this past summer. It stayed in the background and never demanded much (or any) attention, but here and there I would notice how nice I smelled. There's a well put-together air to Barynia, without making much of an effort, and I've learned to appreciate it. An occasional compliment also helped endear it to me, especially when it came from my husband, who isn't exactly known for his love of (non Guerlain) vintage perfumes. All in all, Helena Rubinstein didn't really create a classic, but it's very nice to have around.

Barynia has been discontinued for ages. I don't even remember ever seeing it on mainstream shelves, but nowadays it pops online every now and then. The notes, according to Marina of Perfume Smellin' Things are:  bergamot, lemon, aldehyde, hyacinth, violet, rose, jasmine, tuberose, lily of the valley, orris, carnation, orchid, sandal, vetiver, amber, musk, civet, benzoin.

Images: 1985 ads for Helena Rubinstein's Barynia from vintageadbrowser.com

Bijan by Bijan (Vintage)

I can almost hear some of you giggling.

Bijan is as 80s as it gets and I love it, despite my habit of wrinkling my nose at most of that decade's aesthetics. Big florientals become me, I guess. This ridiculously baroque blend of just about any fragrant flower known to men over a high caloric ambery base ends up smooth and honeyed on skin. It's an ultra-feminine diva with all the subtlety of Alexis Carrington, her hats, cleavage and scripted lines, but when I (dare to) wear it outside the house  it adds a couple of inches to my already significant heels and makes me feel like I could throw Krystle into the pool with my bare hands.

The opening of Bijan is loud and sharp. All those orange blossoms and Neroli insist on being heard and seen. They don't exactly calm down, but the transition into sweeter and fuller floral notes (rose, jasmine, muguet and tuberose, among several others) is less piercing. This is where Bijan starts radiating its distinct signature sillage and the love-or-hate stage begins for most. Those who are able to ride the flower tsunami will be rewarded with a rich, somewhat powdery (there's heliotrope there) moderately sweet amber. It's lush and vanillic but not really gourmand- the eighties weren't so much about yummy, after all. Bijan is probably better dabbed than sprayed, and used judiciously. Let's face it, neither the 1980s nor the Mr. Bijan himself were ever about restraint.

Bijan was released in the 1986 or 1987 (when the bottle won some serious awards). I haven't smelled the most current juice, but I'd go out on a limb and guess it has changed over the years. The only concentration still in production is an EDT (usually a dead giveaway for reformulation) and it's official retail price according to Bijan's website is $130 for 1.7 oz. Seriously. Searching online reveals it can actually be bought from various sources for under $30, and the EDP is still around here and there.

Images:
Bijan perfume ad- vintageadbrowser.com
Bijan billboard in Los Angeles- belog.jigaram.com

Coty Chypre (Vinatge Perfume)

My Coty Chypre bottle is of the 1970-80s reissue, not the 1917 original. It's an EDT, fresh and sharp, and I feel extremely lucky to have and wear even a late edition of this iconic fragrance.

Coty's Chypre gave its name to the entire chypre genre. A bergamot top note, floral heart and a dry-down of oakmoss, patchouli and an animalic something or other- that's a basic chypre. It can and have been embellished, thickened and darkened, but the original one by Coty, at least the version in my cabinet is clean and streamlined with that very geometric art deco feel. It's brighter than I expected from a scent rumored to be worn by Dorothy Parker, but decidedly crisp and angular. Coty's Chypre is green and floral- it illuminates the road leading to Chanel No. 19 and Miss Dior among many others. Roja Dove writes about a gorgeous jasmine heart, but at least in this later version the heart is too abstract to single out any one flower. There's some rose there, but it's dry and pale, not a garden party in June.

The entire composition feels more subdued than I imagined it to be, but it makes sense. Chypre was a popular, wearable perfume, not an historic relic. It was composed to appeal and entice the elegant women of its time and as such it's perfect and beautiful. I wish the dry-down I'm smelling was more animalic and dirty- I get a really nice musk, but it's on the polite side of things and wouldn't offend in a crowded space. Still, Chypre is gorgeous, iconic and makes me wish I had spent the previous decades hunting down old bottles before everyone else was doing it.

Chypre and the rest of the classic Coty perfumes as they once were are no longer with us. I doubt sending angry letters to the corporate headquarters would make any difference. They're too busy churning out another J. Lo perfume.

Image: Dorothy Parker by Australian artist Deborah Klein, 1991

Coty Emeraude (Vintage Perfume)

Those who only know Coty and its classics from the drugstore versions of the last couple of decades would never guess the cheap smelling vile liquid called Emeraude used to be a magical and sensual perfume, something a well-coiffed fashionable woman would wear when dressing up. Four years older than Guerlain's Shalimar (1921 vs. 1925), the similarity between these two big orientals are striking, especially as the scent opens and unfolds. Emeraude has the same wood and vanilla lusciousness, and a distinct opoponax note.

Between the various versions and concentrations of vintage Shalimar I own and my small bottle of 1950s or 60s Emeraude parfum I doubt I'd be able tell which is which in a quick blind test. But the late drydown of Emeraude is gorgeous and so distinct- it manages to smell both cleaner and more animalic than Shalimar. Don't ask me how it's even possible. Maybe it's the absence of the somewhat murky and burnt note in Shalimar (not that there's anything wrong with that). It's also less powdery, I think, and feels a bit more hard-edged, which I enjoy quite a bit. Not more or better than Shalimar (my heart still belongs to the Guerlinade), just different enough to make knowing and wearing both worth my time.

The bottom line is that Emeraude used to be dazzling and majestic. It's one more example proving the fall of the House of Coty. Don't bother with the stuff at Wallgreens. Instead, go rummage through your great aunt's belongings and borrow the bottle she saved for special dates. Maybe she also have a good story or two.

Vintage Emeraude perfume ads from the 1940s and 1950s- vintageadbrowser.com

Lancome Kypre (Vintage Perfume)

I knew absolutely nothing about Kypre, a 1935 Lancome perfume, when I scored a sealed(!) old bottle of the extrait de parfum in an online auction. The name, of course, was hinting big time that this is a chypre, but that was about that, other than the very little info I gathered here and there. The authoring nose of Kypre was Lancome founder Armand Petitjean (1884-1969) who released it the year he started the company along with four other fragrances. So it was a thrilling moment when the package arrived and I could crack it open and start playing.

My bottle is probably from the 1950s or so (based on its style and the little insert in the box listing Lancome's address as 29 rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré). I was thrilled to discover the juice was very much alive, rich and sweet smelling. There's no question this is, indeed, a chypre, as I could smell enough of the structure right away. I don't know what else was in its top notes, but I was surprised to find out enough bergamot has survived and smelled like the remains of yesterday's Earl Grey tea- strong and a little bitter. The rest of the scent is a lot softer. There's a floral element that is probably a jasmine, non-indolic but a little heady even after all these years. Then comes the beautiful dry-down, a buttery leather, opulent and warm, and the oakmoss which is all velvet.

I never smelled the original Lancome Cuir, the more famous leather perfume Petitjean had created (originally named Revolte and released in 1936), only the reissue (which I love love love). The latter is a floral-leather, a bit crisp and somewhat related to Chanel Cuir de Russie (at least in its extrait version from the early 2000s. Who can keep track with all the changes and reformulations happening around us?), so I'll have to assume the style was somewhat similar. Kypre, while definitely leathery, smells like it belongs to the school of Mitsouko, though the dry-down is very pulled-together and a lot less dramatic. The part that makes me think of Mitsouko every time I wear Kypre is a certain boozy fruitiness when the heart morphs into the base of the perfume. Maybe fruitiness is the wrong word. It feels like the softest pair of exquisite boots in a dark cognac color.

The late dry-down is a muted soapy oakmoss that would easily appeal to a modern man just as much as to a woman. That is, if said man is the kind who trolls the net searching for long forgotten perfumes.

Vintage 1941 Kypre by Lancome perfume ad from hprints.com
Photo of Armand Petitjean from somewhere on the web (unfortunately I lost the link)
Photos of my bottle by me with the help of Lizzy.

Christian Dior- Diorelle (Vintage)

I don't often think of chypres as joyous perfumes. Elegant? Yes. Sexy? Definitely. Classy? Always. But they don't usually speak of a summer day and clear blue sky the way Diorella does for me. The other surprising thing about this classic Dior is how despite the ripe fruit notes (peach and melon, both usually send me running for my life), Diorella is nothing like a B&BW body spray or anything of the sticky juvenile genre. Of course, this is not the only Edmond Roudnitska creation that uses these same elements in a beautiful, chic and understated way: Le Parfum de Therese, composed by Roudnitska and launched under Frederic Malle's Editions de Parfum label is another beautiful variation on this theme.

Diorella hides the oakmoss and cheekbones behind its welcoming smile. The greenery is somewhat softened by citrus and flowers that also keep the ripe fruit from crossing the line. There's also a very interesting contrast between the reserved and elegant sillage that meets the nose and the air around its wearer and the lush sexiness that is only revealed when one is dangerously close to your skin- the fuzzy peach texture and human muskiness are a lot dirtier than the well-dressed and accessorized Diorella looks appears to those who don't know her well.  It's a little like wearing the most exquisite set of sexy lingerie under a prim and proper twin set.

Like all the classic Diors, Diorella has been reworked and reformulated too many times to keep track, especially in the last decade. The most current version of  EDT (exclusive to Saks and Dior boutiques, at least on our shores) has very little in common with the 1972 original. It makes me want to kick someone where it hurts due to the lack of respect to both the late Roudnitska and to loyal customers who kept buying Diorella for over thirty years. Vintage bottles can still be found here and there. This review is of the EDT in the old houndtooth packaging.

Images:
Diorella perfume ad from the 1970s illustrated by Rene Gruau vintageadbrowser.com
Dior dress photographed by Henry Clarke, 1955 myvintagevogue.com

Coty La Rose Jacqueminot- Vintage Perfume

The danger in getting into vintage perfumes is that sooner or later one of them will break your heart. The one that did it to me is La Rose Jacqueminot by Coty. It was one of Francois Coty's first creations, originally released in 1905 (according to Roja Dove. Other sources point to 1906). My bottle is the 1980s reissue of the eau de perfume, so it's not that I'm even yearning for something all that old and unattainable, but knowing that this beauty is gone and would probably not be seen again is painful.

I'm not even a rose person, but this is a very dark and thick rose. I don't know if it ever had lighter top notes that my bottle has lost or if it always been about red wine and roses right from the start. It's a date night perfume, low lights, silk and velvet, black eyeliner and hushed tones. There's quite a bit of spice in its heart which makes me think of faraway places.  I smell cardamom, nutmeg and a dirty wood base, a touch of oud, maybe, sandalwood and tobacco. It's rich, romantic, completely devoid of sunshine and so beautiful it makes me dress up to deserve it. La Rose Jacqueminot makes you realize just how much we've lost when Coty turned into a dreck for the masses company it is today, and that's a big part of the heartbreak involved.

Coty's La Rose Jacqueminot was discontinued long ago. Bottles of the later reissue pop up online here and there (there's one right now on eBay, but it's the EDT, so I don't know how it compares to the one I have).

Have you had your heart broken by a vintage perfume? Let's commiserate.

Images:
1939 fashion photo myvintagevogue.com
La Rose Jacqueminot ad from allposters.com
Coty ad from 1943 by Carl Erickson paperpursuits.com

Armani by Giorgio Armani (1982)- Vintage Perfume

I fell in love with the original (and very discontinued) Armani after getting a free tube of the shower gel when I bought some other vintage gems. Even in its sudsy form, Armani (sometimes known as Armani Black because of the packaging, but not to be confused with Code Black and other older Giorgio Armani perfumes) was very obviously a bitter green chypre. I started showering with it before wearing either Bandit or Niki de Saint Phalle, as both share several prominent notes with it- the oakmoss-glabanum in Bandit and the bitter marigold from NdSP. But I also went on a quest to find and acquire the real thing.

I now own bottles of Armani both in EDP and EDT and I'd be in heaven if I could also find it in parfum and fully indulge in its crisp and somewhat leathery drydown. But I'm very happy with the two concentrations I have- green, grassy and herbal from beginning to end, with a softer floral underbelly that is more evident in the EDP (very similar to the modern re-issue of Piguet's Bandit) and a gloriously mossy base of the kind we haven't seen since IFRA stomped all over our perfumed lives.

The original Armani was labeled a feminine but to me it's an androgynous just like Bandit. After all, Armani's iconic1980s work utilized masculine shapes and fabrics for women and nothing was sexier (well, in 80s terms). It should appeal to hard core chypre lovers and anyone who gets high on galbanum and marigolds and other angular notes that are not traditionally "pretty". Now, if it only was easier to find...

Images:
Giorgio Armani perfume ad- okadi.com
Gia Carangie in Armani ads from Vogue Italia, March 1980- giacarangieditorials.blogspot.com
1982 Armani fashion- fashionmoment.blogspot.com

Coty Les Muses (Vintage Perfume)

I don't have a complete list of notes, any official (or semi-official) information or even a copy of a print ad from the 1946 release of Coty's Les Muses. All I have is my bottle of the 1970s-80s reissue, my nose and a slew of compliments I get whenever I wear it. Seriously, even my husband likes it and doesn't complain about it "smelling like vintage", probably because it doesn't have a thick layer of expired aldehydes in the opening and the overall impression is sweet and smooth.

Les Muses smells pretty. Very pretty. It's enthusiastic and uplifting to the point of elation- something in the sunny floral blend, I assume. I smell tuberose and muguet and they hang in the air and reverberate like the sound of a silver bell. It makes sense that such exuberance was created just after the end of World War II. It's the kind of scent that makes me want to take the stairs two at a time, wear a cute dress and skip outside.

I smell wood in the drydown, especially a very nice sandalwood- a little sweet, not too creamy. Les Muses lasts and holds its structure for hours, even though my bottle is only of the EDT (it looks the same as the Chypre reissue from the same time period). It's another reminder of Coty's past and heritage, now sadly gone and drown in a vat of celebrity perfumes and cheapened drugstore scents.

Les Muses was originally released in 1946, discontinued at some point in the 60s and reissued again in the late(?) 1970s together with Chypre and La Rose Jacqueminot. Bottles keep popping online, though mostly are of the later incarnation like mine. I have no idea if and how much it differs from the original.

Photo by Alfred Eisenstaed, life.com

Helena Rubinstein- Courant (Vintage Perfume)

There is very little information about Courant, a 1972 fragrance by Helena Rubinstein. Other than the year of creation and a general agreement that we're dealing with a chypre, nobody seems to list the notes, the nose or any other information and there is no reference to an ad campaign other than the commercial below.

You only need a semi functional nose to identify Courant as a chypre. The oakmoss can be smelled from here to IFRA and there's a sharpness in the top notes that suggests bergamot and probably some other faded citrus.The middle is fairly spicy- some clove and carnation, a hint of cinnamon and there's something bitter and fairly green that dries down into wood, moss and leather. It smells very crisp and very 1970s in the best possible way. It is more woody than Jean-Louis Scherrer and not as warm as Apercu. Back then I'm sure it was considered very feminine, today a man could easily wear it, if he found a bottle, that is.

Helena Rubinstein's Courant is another discontinued gem. It disappeared from the market even before IFRA's long hand has reached our chypres, just like Rubinstein's most other perfumes. My bottle of the EDP looks cheap with its periwinkle plastic cap that doesn't match the lovely scent inside. The EDP can be found a bit more easily than the pure parfum that came in a nicer bottle and seems to get shockingly high prices online.



Photo: Vogue, 1972

Bat-Sheba by Judith Muller (Vintage Perfume)

Bat-Sheba was the most beloved of King David's wives and the woman who made him lose his head and commit sin after sin just so he could have her. Her first husband was Uriah, one of King David's generals. The king saw Bat-Sheba bathing on the roof of her house and made up his mind to have her. Bat-Sheba got pregnant while her husband was away on the battlefield, so in an effort to cover up the adultery, the king sent for Uriah. However, the husband refused to go home and see his wife while his soldiers and brothers in arms are in danger. King David then gave orders for Uriah to be placed in the most dangerous post and got him killed. These actions  carried some serious consequences for all involved. Death, war and loss followed.

Cheerful, I know. And apparently also inspiring enough for a perfume.

Bat-Sheba, a perfume by Israeli designer Judith Muller was launched in 1966. An unconfirmed story has perfumer Sophia Grojsman as the nose who created it (note to self:  ask about this if I ever meet Ms. Grojsman). The painted glass bottle is quite nice and has become a collector's item even without the juice. The perfume was most likely discontinued in the very early 80s.

Searching online, I've found several lists of notes with little in common. What would a bible-inspired perfume smell like? To my nose, Bat-Sheba is a fruity-floral chypre. It's quite unusual, actually, and took me a while to warm up to its charms. The fruit note in the opening is too abstract to pinpoint its origin and very ripe. Almost too ripe, actually, which is attractive and repulsive at the same time. It remains in the background even when a robust floral heart takes over. I smell carnation, rose and dirty jasmine. Some also list orris and ylang-ylang.

The drydown retains a honeyed fruit quality while patchouli and oakmoss make an appearance. That's where the chypre quality becomes apparent and very interesting. I like the way the perfume hangs to my clothes more than what happens on my skin, but that might be due to the age of my bottle and a few missing notes. All in all, there can't be too many real chypres in my collection.

Judith Muller perfumes have been gone for decades now but can still be found occasionally on eBay and other auction sites.

Art: Batsheba by Gustave Moreau, 1885
Photo of Bat-Sheba perfume bottle by me.

Complice de Francois Coty (Vintage Parfum)

The photo at the top and Complice have something in common. Both are from 1973 but were made to look and feel about 40 years older. The early 1970s were about the last time Coty (the company) actually cared about making real perfumes instead of regurgitating lame formulas for even lamer celebrities.  The notes for Complice were left by Francois Coty before his death in 1934, hence the direct reference to him on the bottle and box. The bottle design was also made to evoke the days of yore, when Coty perfumes were poured into Lalique bottles.

Complice has a very aldehydic opening, which makes the husband wrinkle his nose, shrug and say it smells "like vintage" (interestingly enough, he's learned to recognize Chanel aldehydes, vintage or not, and no longer complain about them). My bottle is old enough that the other top notes, bergamot and orange blossom, have been eaten by time and aldehydes. Thankfully, the floral part takes over pretty quickly, and it is dry, elegant and quite lovely. You can argue about the peach and lilac (I get the former, though not the latter), but what makes Complice so attractive to me is a long lasting heart of orris and narcissus. It's borderline bitter and feels  almost formal in its crispness.

The drydown, mossy, woody with just a hint of animalic heat feels like coming home, kicking the high heels, unbuttoning the white shirt just a little and taking out the pins holding your hair up. At this point the perfume is not very feminine in today's standard, but I find it quite sexy and I suspect other vintage and oakmoss fiends would feel the same way.

Complice was discontinued by Coty about 25-30 years ago. Bottles can still be found online here and there. I have the parfum in the bottle you see in the ad, but have never tried the EDT.

Images:
Fashion photo from British Vogue, 1973 (myvintagevogue.com)
1976 Complice de Francis Coty ad (hprints.com)

Fashion by Leonard (Vintage Perfume)

I don't know why the French fashion house Leonard is only a faraway rumor here in North America. Looking at runway photos from Paris of silk dresses in colorful prints with a vintage vibe (think Emilio Pucci with an ethnic flair) makes me want to order an item or two on the spot. But it seems like Leonard never had much of a presence here except in perfume, and I suspect even those were never all that popular. I used to wear Tamango when I was in high school, though even back then I felt it was too safe and tame for me. I just don't do cute all that well.

The Leonard perfume I should have worn is Fashion, a 1970 release. The notes according to Fragrantica.com are: plum,  tarragon, violet, raspberry, peach, bergamot, neroli, lemon, lilac, carnation, tuberose, iris, orchid, jasmine, ylang-ylang, lily-of-the-valley, rose, sandalwood, tonka bean, amber, patchouli, musk, benzoin, vanilla, vetiver and cedar. This list reads like they dumped the content of an entire perfumer's organ, gave it a quick stir and bottled the juice. But Fashion is a complex oriental with quite a bit of dark spicy fruit. Some might regard it as too busy and opaque and not very modern. Personally, I adore the retro feel and love the way a real perfume smells in all its womanly, powdery glory and velvety smooth amber base.

Fashion belongs to an era when the use of fruit notes wasn't meant to smell like spring break in a tropical hell full with Girls Gone Wild. Surprisingly, it's not very sweet, maybe because the top notes are perfectly balanced with green herbs. The only fruit note that really stands up to my nose is plum, which I adore, and find that it morphs beautifully into dry powder and woody amber. I have the vintage EDT, which is light enough for casual wearing, but I would dearly love to find the parfum. I'm sure that even in this lower concentration some would feel Fashion is dated. As a 1970 launch myself, I just ignore them and have fun wearing whatever I want.

While Leonard is still making/selling perfumes, Fashion was discontinued at some point, but can still be found online quite easily.

Images-
Fashion by Leonard 1975 ad: okadi.com
Model at the Leonard ready to wear runway show, October 2009: Life.com
Leonard catalog cover and handbag: Leonard.com

Cher- Uninhibited (vintage perfume)

Celebrity perfumes were not invented by Paris Hilton, though I hold whoever gave her the deal responsible for the downhill descent of the trend. Without the Paris Hilton fragrances we probably wouldn't have gems from Kim Kardashian, Jenna Jameson and Pamela Anderson (and we wouldn't be playing a "guess the next luminary to have a scent" game. Take your pick: Snooki, Shauna Sand or Mrs. Ice T).

Uninhibited by Cher (a 1989 release) has something in common with Catherine Deneuve's perfume. Not any olfactory similarity (Deneuve was a hardcore chypre), but a certain point of view regarding the concept of celebrity scents. These are fragrances that actually try to represent the actress without patronizing the target audience.

Like Cher herself, Uninhibited is a big bottle of contradictions. The opening is bright and floral, before it turns to the dark side of extra dirty ylang-ylang and orris. It's bold, loud and strong, but at least on my skin it doesn't cross the lines of vulgarity. I never cared for Cher's music* but loved her movies. It was always difficult to reconcile the talent and sensitivity of her performance as an actress with her red carpet appearances. The larger than life costumes were quite tasteless and made Cher look like she was trying way too hard. Didn't she know she was already gorgeous without the feathers and bellybutton? Did she want to be remembered for showing her pelvic bones at every opportunity?

Uninhibited dries down to a non-gourmand vanilla mixed with some serious animalic notes. I'm pretty sure there's quite a bit of tonka in the composition, and maybe also civet, though I can't find any verification. It's a bit too heavy handed to be considered a "fine perfume". Wearing it is fun, but requires a little self irony and some restraint in application, as it's an aggressive scent that can take up all the air in the room. Even the EDT has a phenomenal staying power (24 hours on my skin), and it might never leave your coats if you get a drop on them. The late drydown is my favorite part. By the time you can no longer smell me from across the street, Uninhibited becomes an elegant oriental, more Oscar winner than an obnoxious diva.

Uninhibited was discontinued years ago. According to the information on Basenotes, there was (is?) an LLP dupe from the late 90s, but the original Cher bottle is a big part of the fun. It can sometimes be found on eBay, but I bought my bottle at an antique store for far less than I'd have paid online.



*There was an episode in season 4 of Buffy The Vampire Slayer where Buffy suspected her new roommate was an evil demon because she had a Celine Dion poster and had her Cher CD on repeat. You have to admit it makes perfect sense.

Jean Patou- Cocktail Dry (Vintage Perfume)

The DVF boutique in NYC has a large seating area in the middle of the store where you can usually see a few guys who came in with their wives or girlfriends playing games on their phones, texting and trying to pretend they're not really there. Jean Patou had a better solution in the 1920s: his couture studio featured a cocktail bar where the gentlemen could lounge while the ladies were being fitted. It probably helped put the men in a good mood and made paying for the gowns a lot more palatable.

By 1930 Patou decided to convert the space into a perfume bar and asked his house perfumer Henri Alméras to create a perfume trio: Cocktail Dry, Cocktail Sweet and Cocktail Bittersweet. These are the ancestor of the better known Cocktail that is part of the Ma Collection.

Cocktail Dry and its siblings have been discontinued for decades and rarely appear anywhere. I was incredibly lucky to find a sealed albeit half evaporated bottle of the parfum and discover that while it's probably aged significantly, it still smelled beautiful. In its prime, Cocktail Dry was probably a lot greener, especially at the top. What's left is still very herbal and aromatic which makes me suspect it might have been a fougere. The surprising part of the scent is a round and full animalic base which I adore. The husband says the late drydown on my skin smells like honey. I think that's his perception of a certain type of animalic skank- think Miel de Bois or MKK.

I don't and of course would never wear fur, but the image created in my mind when smelling Cocktail Dry is standing in a bar, sipping something sophisticated (funny. I hardly ever drink) while having a luxurious fur casually draped over my shoulders. I'm also a lot taller in this picture and also speaking French, so I guess I really got drunk on this vintage cocktail.

1952 ad from hprints.com

Lancome Magie Noire

A 1978 release, Magie Noire occupies a similar place in my memories with the other beasts of that era, Opium and Charlie. I need to ask my mom, but I'm pretty sure several of her acquaintances wore it, including at least one of my teachers. And all of them overdid it and wore it at inappropriate times , thus ruining the black magic and making it into a cartoon version of itself.

All of the above means I didn't discover Magie Noire's real beauty and power until it was too late- while there's an EDT by the same name on every Lancome counter, it smells cheap, synthetic and completely devoid of magic, black or other. This is, of course, where one do two things: Turn to eBay and pray, which surprisingly worked for me, as I found a bottle of the parfum and didn't have to sell one of my cats to pay for it.

The notes (from Perfume Shrine) are: bergamot, blackcurrant, hyacinth, raspberry, honey, tuberose, narcissus, jasmine, incense, Bulgarian rose, patchouli, vetiver, castoreum, labdanum, musk and civet. This is quite an impressive list that can tell you this is not for the faint of heart. All those animalic notes (castoreum, musk and civet) create a strong foundation with an incredibly sensual touch. It doesn't smell dirty, though- no sweat or bodily functions- instead, this is a siren that tempts and calls for you to get closer and closer, to try and smell what it's really like to be there. The road to that point is quite irresistible. Out of all the floral notes listed what I get most are the hyacinth and narcissus, beautiful and dry, but in this case they are laced with an incredible honey note. This is probably my favorite of the scent- the way it changes and morphs seamlessly, like a sexy montage. My skin also amplifies the berry notes, and for once they don't feel silly. They are actually dark and while tempting and juicy, they play a part in the seduction without ever crossing the fruit cup line. It's not about being "yummy, it's about being Nigella Lawson.

I haven't seen oakmoss listed anywhere as part of Magie Noire, but at times I could swear it feels and wears as dangerously as a chypre. Whatever used to be in there, it's a true beauty, and I'd suggest you raid the dresser of any aunt who might have a pre-reormulated bottle to get a taste of it.

Magie Noire ads from 1982 and 1984: paperpursuits.com and couleurparfum.com

Paris by Coty (Vintage Perfume)

In 1921, many years before YSL has commissioned Sophia Grojsman to create Paris, François Coty had his own vision for a perfume capturing the city. It's interesting to note that Coty's Paris was a contemporary of Chanel No. 5, one of those fragrances that say "French Perfume" from the very first whiff. I've never smelled No. 5 in its most original form (if some well-meaning but utterly misguided Chanel rep is going to jump in with the "Chanel No. 5 is the same as ever" line I'm going to through something heavy at them), and my bottle of Coty Paris doesn't go quite as far back (it's most likely from the late 1960s), but I suspect that there were some similarities there, at least in the general feel of the two perfumes.

Octavian Coifan's breakdown of Paris' formula reveals an aldehydic floral with a typical (to that period) rich, animalic base. What I smell from both the EDT and the Parfum de Toilette  I've tried is a somewhat abstract floral heart- the specific seems to have been blurred and smoothed over the years, so I can't say I get any hyacinth or lilac (though I definitely wish I had). It's very full and round, though the EDT is sharper, as is usually the case. The next phase is a delicious heliotrope-peach. It's beautiful and very satisfying, making me think not so much of a ripe peach or its skin, but of the stone inside.

The lovely almost-sweet-but-not-quite lasts for hours. I've been decanting into a small spray atomizer, because the perfume grabs the skin better when sprayed. It feels womanly and sexy in a rich, understated way. Is it very Parisienne? I'm not sure- Paris for me is just much about Guerlain, Lutens and the other usual suspects. What's obvious is that we all lost a large piece of perfumery's history when Coty turned its back on tradition and quality and signed Jennifer Lopez and Shania Twain (Coty the company, that is. Monsieur Coty has been rolling in his grave for many decades by that time).

Paris, like many of Coty's original classics was discontinued years ago. Bottles pop up on eBay from time to time.

Original Coty Paris perfume ad: okadi.com