Wardrobe malfunctions are nothing new, as this infamous photo of Sophia Loren and Jayne Mansfield, taken at Romanoff’s restaurant in 1958, proves. I chose it to illustrate this post because it comes from the era of the knock-em-dead perfumes, formulated to stand up to a room full of other ones and a fog of cigarette smoke, the ladylike-at-first Arpège and the don’t-mess-with-me My Sin. Also, let’s face it, “versus” had to be the reason why these two ladies were seated (and photographed) together!
My mother wore Arpège, but I don’t remember ever smelling My Sin. I suspect that My Sin wasn’t supposed to be applied while children were around, while Arpège could be worn, by the daring, during the day. In my own time of madly collecting the classics, I got a nearly full quarter-ounce bottle of My Sin extrait. I received the matching bottle of Arpège not too long ago from a generous perfume pal. Both are vintage, in the rectangular flacon with the squared Bakelite top. My best guess is that these bottles are from the Fifties or Sixties.
Of the two, the My Sin is by far the most abstract, the most modern, in the sense of modern art. It’s nearly non-representational, and hugely aldehydic.
I waited for the florals to appear. And waited. And waited. They really never did. Instead, there’s incense, clove, more aldehydes, an abstract idea of flowers -- and it’s only an idea. “My Sin” is a chewy, challenging perfume, one I’d be very unlikely to wear in daylight. Maybe to an after-hours place. This is a night perfume. Late night.
I waited for the florals to appear. And waited. And waited. They really never did. Instead, there’s incense, clove, more aldehydes, an abstract idea of flowers -- and it’s only an idea. “My Sin” is a chewy, challenging perfume, one I’d be very unlikely to wear in daylight. Maybe to an after-hours place. This is a night perfume. Late night.
Arpège opens aldehydic too, but the abstract notes are less so, and within a minute or two I can detect rose, and a sweet suggestion, probably of ylang-ylang. These are flowers, not a cubist painting of them. It’s much sweeter than My Sin. Much more pleasant, but also less challenging. It could be worn during the day. It could be worn to the bank, in a time when people actually went to banks, and although it fades faster than My Sin does, that errand-running Fifties housewife might want to get home before the drydown kicks in, because that part is, well, not quite, um, nice.
When I think of the aldehydic florals, the spinsterish Madame Rochas comes to mind; the equally abstract Chanel No. 5, and this. My Sin would take them all out in less than one round. That said, it is the most intellectually interesting, the most demanding, the least wearable in our time, but the most essential as a reference.
I noticed in researching Arpège that the notes list “Ambrein” as one of the ingredients. (Just how many variations on the phrase “fake ambegris” are there?) Ambrein, according to one source, is a conglomeration of bergamot, vanilla, coumarin, civet, benzoin, opoponax, Tolu balsalm and labdanum, all standing in for real ambergris. Another source says it’s merely extracted from purified landanum. Who to believe? At any rate, I think that this Ambrein contributes softness and smoothness to Arpège, while styrax, civet and those gargantuan aldehydes make My Sin a rough ride.
What are these vintage perfumes to us, anyway? To me they are a way to touch the past, and I love wearing them. But I’m careful about where, because, truth be told, I’m actually a wimp when it comes to offending others. I can just imagine what a guy in his thirties might say about “My Sin.” I did wear it once, though, to a late night art opening, but I layered it with vintage Habanita. I know, that sounds strange, but it got compliments. Lots of them. Mostly from men, mostly of an age unlikely to have ever smelled “My Sin,” or “Habanita” for that matter.
But back to Sophia and Jayne. “Arpège” just seems like a blonde’s perfume, while “My Sin,” with all its darkness, would be better, more fitting, somehow, on a dark-haired woman. Sophia, I’d say. (But, geez, Jayne, that dress!)
If you want to try these vintage perfumes, leave me a comment by midnight, U.S. Eastern Daylight time, July 25th. I’ll pick a winner at random, and send her (or him) a generous sample of each.
The photo of Jayne Mansfield and Sophia Loren is from Wikipedia, and its usage here falls under Wikipedia’s fair use definitions.
“My Sin,” called "Mon Péché" in Europe and introduced by Paris couturier Mme. Jeanne Lanvin in 1925, was discontinued in 1988. The perfumer was one “Madame Zed,” who was apparently a White Russian exile who created a number of perfumes for Mme. Lanvin prior to 1925. “Notes” include aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, clary sage, neroli, ylang-ylang, jasmine, rose, clove, orris, Lily of the Valley, jonquil, lilac, vanilla, vetiver, musks, woods, tolu, styrax and civet.
“My Sin,” called "Mon Péché" in Europe and introduced by Paris couturier Mme. Jeanne Lanvin in 1925, was discontinued in 1988. The perfumer was one “Madame Zed,” who was apparently a White Russian exile who created a number of perfumes for Mme. Lanvin prior to 1925. “Notes” include aldehydes, bergamot, lemon, clary sage, neroli, ylang-ylang, jasmine, rose, clove, orris, Lily of the Valley, jonquil, lilac, vanilla, vetiver, musks, woods, tolu, styrax and civet.
“Arpège,” also from Lanvin, was introduced in 1927. It’s still available, albeit in a 1993 reformulation. The perfumer was Andre Fraysse. “Notes” include bergamot, neroli, peach, rose, jasmine, Lily of the Valley, ylang-ylang, sandalwood, the accord “Ambrein,” vetiver and musk.
