Merry/Happy, everybody!


(no, this isn't my house)


Let's hope the coming year will be filled with light.

Off Topic: Beatlemania

I don’t know if you saw Martin Scorcese’s two-part documentary about George Harrison that was on HBO recently, but I did, and have rarely seen anything so affecting. The next day I was poking around the web looking for another photo and I came across this one. 

He’s about twenty here, I think. Twenty.  A twenty-year-old man, er, boy. Now imagine the train car’s corridor — the viewer’s POV — filled with shoving, hustling photographers; blinding flashbulbs, buzzes and clicks. And then his face: the taking-it-all-in-stride studied nonchalance betrayed by his own clenched jaw. He was just a kid, when this was taken, one who grew up without indoor plumbing.

I wonder about the girl, too. What she’s doing now. Probably someone’s grandmother. Does she know this photo exists? 

I was too young to understand the armies of screaming girls surrounding the Beatles. Not hormonal yet, or something. I do remember Harrison’s face, the intense, nearly black, eyes, the sense he always seemed to have of being present, in those moments of insanity, but not really there. And then, what came later, the mysticism, the Maharishi, Layla, the landed eccentricity, his sad early death. 

What does this photo say to you?

I have searched in vain for a photo credit here. This looks like a photo from Life, but an hour or so spent viewing their Beatles photos has come up nil. If anyone out there knows, please tell me! I’d love to offer proper credit.

Book Review: "Coco Chanel -- An Intimate Life"

“Coco Chanel An Intimate Life” is a good book. 

I have not read any of the other books, around 60 of them, that have been written about her, although I did see the film “Coco Before Chanel,” in which she was played quite sympathetically by Audrey Tatou. Truth be told, I’ve  never been all that interested in her, so I really can’t compare this book to any of the others. I’m much more interested in her now.

 Fans of Madame Chanel will be familiar with the trajectory of her life, the orphanage, the leapfrogging over different well-placed men, the WWII years spent living at the Ritz in Paris and so on. Here’s what I kept thinking about, over and over: this woman was raised like an animal. Deserted, left in a shelter, then ejected to scratch out a lowly place in the world as a seamstress. What was it about her? Was it her times? Or was it something else?

Nowadays, in the U.S., children are viewed as hothouse flowers; delicate little creatures whose precious self-esteem is everything. I remember the comedian Bill Maher recounting an encounter he had with a boy around eighteen, who swaggered up to him in the street, saying “Dude. I’m gonna be on your show one day!” Astounded at this, he says, “Why? Why should you be on my show, dude? What can you do?” The kid has no answer. Finally he says “I just will, dude!” Lots of self-esteem, there. Based on nothing.

In the earliest available photo of Gabrielle Chanel, taken about 1904, she stares out at the world, as fierce as a badger. Beautiful enough as a young woman to draw many men; wily enough to pick the rich ones. Made mistress to one of them, Etienne Balsan, she could have just been that, as others like her had; been a grisette — a sort of early version of an arts groupie who dabbles. She chose otherwise. She opened her own hat shop, not realizing that her lover Arthur Capel was making bank deposits on her behalf, to keep his little Gabrielle in business so she’d be occupied in the afternoons. When he confesses that, it is her reaction that tells us what she’ll become. When he announces his intent to marry an Englishwoman of his own class, her determination only hardens.

Cheny traces her trajectory, from upper-class resort Deauville (fish where the fish are!) to atelier in Paris, friendships and projects with the likes of Cocteau and Diaghilev, and affairs with many men, Picasso, Stravinsky, and Bend D’Or, a.k.a. the Second Duke of Westminster, among them. During this time, she rises to success with her simple couture clothing, designed for corset-less ease. Chemise lines. Black and white. Flat shoes. Costume jewelry. All classics, today. “A dress is artificial, fabricated” she says, and, in a pronouncement predating “The Devil Wears Prada’s” Miranda by, oh, some seventy years or so, “No one is powerful enough to be more powerful than fashion.”

More myths drift around the creation of Chanel No. 5. Apparently, Chanel had an obsession with cleanliness, not at all surprising given her childhood. Speaking of the society women she encountered early in her rise, she said “They were dirty.” Unwashed. Given to powerful floral perfumes to disguise it. She had in mind a clean perfume, one designed to scent a clean body, one that, like her designs, would be modern; unabashedly fabricated. It was her acquaintance with Ernest Beaux, one of the first perfumers familiar with aldehydes, that led to it, and, ultimately, to Chanel’s status as a household name.

Tarnishing her reputation forever is Chanel’s war years “horizontal collaboration” with Baron von Dincklage, an officer of the Third Reich. It is true that Chanel spent much of the war living at the Ritz in Paris; it appears that she did what she felt she had to do, although she apparently continued the relationship after the war ended. Chaney asks us to consider her instinct for survival, and it fits her character, certainly, although it doesn’t redeem her. 

“Coco Chanel - An Intimate Life” seems to me to be a factual look at one of the first modern women. Who knows where her doggedness came from? I’ve known many people with wretched upbringings that have made them weak, not strong. We are oriented toward psychology in this age, and many excuses get made. So, what was it about her?

I still don’t know.

I do know, after reading this book, that Coco Chanel was not Nice. Had she been "nice" -- compliant, knowing her place -- chances are we would never have heard of her. She would lived as a grisette, or courtesan, until the inevitable aging took her allure, and then, in the best-case scenario, perhaps eked out an allowance from a sentimental ex-lover. But this is just speculation. The fact is that she seems to have been born with the fierceness, talent and — some would say — lack of scruples that put her on top of her world and have kept her name alive in ours.

“Coco Chanel An Intimate Life” is available in all the usual places. The ISBN is 978-0-670-02309-7.

Full disclosure time: This book was sent to me by its publisher, Viking, for review.

Delving Into Chanel No. 5

I’ve been reading the new book “Coco Chanel An Intimate Life” by Lisa Chaney — review next week — so have become more interested in Chanel No. 5 than before. (This is probably an admission of heresy for a perfume blogger, I know.) Having the requisite ¼ ounce bottle of the parfum and a little bit left in a 1 oz. coffret bottle of the Eau de Toilette I bought years ago, I didn’t think I needed to explore the subject further. I thought: really, what’s there to say about No. 5 that hasn’t already been said, and said better?

Then I went to an estate sale last Friday. I spotted a nearly full 2-oz. bottle of Chanel No. 5 Eau de Cologne, and bought it for ten bucks. It looked old, but one can never be sure with No. 5 — I’ve avoided buying it on Our Favorite Auction Site, as it’s the most likely of all perfumes to be fake. It smelled very different from either of my early 90’s versions, and I wondered if I'd been burned. I’ve been doing research on it all morning, have found that it is real, and could actually be significantly old, since the Eau de Cologne formula was discontinued some time in the 90’s. (The bottles are pictured to the left.)

The label has a very different typeface than the modern ones, finer sans serif lettering in a different arrangement than is used now on Chanel bottles — the “Eau De Cologne” is above the No5, and the name “Chanel” is at the bottom. The circled double C logo on the top is etched into the material — probably plastic, maybe bakelite, it’s hard to tell — whereas, on the new bottles, it looks and feels painted on. The back of the bottle reads “Chanel, Inc. New York Distributor,” painted on. The bottom has the word "Chanel" embossed, and, below it, the number 8.

How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?

Generally, I don’t give a rat’s about bottles. This one intrigued me, though, because its contents don’t smell like any other formulation of No. 5 I’ve tried. I get old aldehydes at first, of course, but then there is a slightly soapy, dark, nearly masculine quality. Aspects of it remind me of an old 60’s bottle of “Woodhue” cologne I have, which, I’ve been told, is chock-full of nitro musks, and I think maybe this is, too. I don’t really know, though, because I’ve only been able to date it as being sometime between 1951 and the 90’s. I read that the “New York Distributor” phrase on the back was used between the late 40’s through the 50’s. I found a print ad from 1969 showing the same label as my bottle, but without anything on the back — although that doesn’t mean much; it might have been airbrushed out for aesthetic reasons. 

A couple of months ago, a neighbor saw me outside, and rushed over with an empty Chanel ¼ oz. perfume bottle that had been his mother-in-law’s. He was sure it was a rare and valuable treasure. It was probably from the 80’s, as best as I could guess, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that there were approximately a million of them just like it out there. This is what bottle buyers go through, I suppose. I referred him to a Chanel perfume bottle dating site. 

Anyway, what I find to be interesting about all this is the different formulas for No. 5. My 90’s EDT smells of jasmine, a synthetic one, as I’ve read that only the parfum uses real jasmine or rose any more (and who knows if they still do.) The perfume is very different from that, sweeter, with a mellowness that says “naturals” to my nose — and there probably were at least some in the early 90’s. The old EDC screams aldehydes, almost like My Sin or Lanvin’s Rumeur. It could be that the midnotes are just degraded, though; eventually, it sweetens a little and becomes recognizable.

I’ve read that there have been around 60 books written about Coco Chanel, at least two films, and more books coming out. She was this; she was that, no she wasn’t, yes she was! She seems to me to have been a fierce sort of chameleon, someone who could, and did, adapt. All these versions of this perfume, her most enduring product — the formulae, the bottles, labels, fakes, controversy, quibbling over detail — could turn out to be her most recognizable legacy.

Any Chanel bottle experts out there? Fill me in!

Full review of “Coco Chanel An Intimate Life” will appear here next week. 

Like Nothing Else: Loulou

I wondered if there was anything in my collection that was truly unique. That really didn’t smell like anything else. 

Awhile back, I’d made a purchase of 40 or so minis, always a risk because minis are usually the first to go “off.” I lucked out, though. Only a few had. The rest — vintage Caleche, Ombre Rose, even the original Chloe — were still good. Among them was a strange, squat hexagonal blue bottle with a maroon spire cap: Loulou. I vaguely recognized it. I put it away for further reference.

Last week I finally got around to smelling it.

This does not smell like anything else I have. I think it’s one of those Rashomon perfumes — eight blind men, one elephant, eight widely varying guesses. Reading comments here and there on the forums, I seen everything from “too sweet” to “tuberose,” and I wonder, once again, if they’re just smelling something I can’t.

To me, “Loulou” is anything but sweet. It’s heavy and dark, full of wood and spice; cassis, a little jasmine, the herbaceous flower tagetes, plum (skin, not flesh.)  Aldehydes. Some heliotrope, certainly not enough to make it sweet! I’ve seen it compared to L’Huere Bleue, but to my nose they’re no more than minimally similar. (Having just applied a little LHB vintage extract to my other hand, I can see the resemblance, but this A to B comparison leads me to a new “note” in Loulou — coffee. That is to say, molecules assembled in such a way as to remind me of coffee. And I haven’t seen “coffee” listed anywhere else.) 

“Notes.” More and more, we hear they’re marketing-speak, nothing more; useful to prospective buyers, as one wants to have some idea about what one is getting, more or less. From reading descriptions of “Loulou,” it would appear that one is getting The Eighties in a bottle — “a frag with shoulder pads,” somebody said.

Well, I don’t think so. It’s true that this is powerful stuff. And I guess it does have something in common with Opium, the darkness and spices. But there is much more of the former than the latter here. When I think of the Eighties I think Little-Shop-of-Horrors tuberose: choose your Poison. This isn’t that. This is a truly dark, mysterious scent, a femme fatale perfume if there ever was one, reaching much further back into time than The Eighties. (The name “Loulou” refers to Louise Brooks, with the Twenties pageboy bob.)

My little mini is vintage, made of the same opaline glass as the big bottle (the spire top, though, is plastic). Judging from the label on the bottom, it’s pretty old. And I swear I keep smelling castoreum in there somewhere.

LouLou isn’t discontinued. It’s available on the discounters for a song, although it’s in a big ordinary bottle and, dollars to doughnuts, the bottle is plastic and the scent inside is reformulated beyond recognition, at least compared to the mini I have. Maybe that’s what all the commenters who call it “sweet” have been smelling. These minis like mine, though, show up all over, and they’re not expensive; around ten bucks usually for the EDP.

I will wear this out some night, the kind of night where I might otherwise wear L’Ombre Fauve — one that calls for some dark, sultry scent. One I know the DH will like, because he’s already told me he does. I’d like to see what others say about it. I think it’s in the same conceptual ballpark as the real (read: wildly expensive) ouds.

The garish colors of the bottle, the maroon and cyan, aren’t about the Eighties, either. They were used by Matisse often enough to become associated with him.  That’s one his paintings, “The Casbah Door,” from 1912. 

“Loulou” was released in 1987. The perfumer was Jean Guichard, who also did “Obsession” for Calvin Klein.

The painting image came from here.

A Southern Thanksgiving Classic: Sweet Potato Casserole with a Praline Crust

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

I make this every year, but only once...

A “praline” is a divine regional candy, made with sugars, butter, nuts and vanilla.  If you can’t get pecans, use walnuts.

2 large eggs, slightly beaten

1 cup granulated (white) sugar

1 3/4 cup brown sugar, divided

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened

1 teaspoon vanilla

5 cups (3 large or 4 medium) sweet potatoes*, peeled, boiled and mashed (don’t used canned, too mushy)

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup finely chopped pecans

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) butter, melted

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Spray a 9 x 13 x 2 inch baking dish with nonstick cooking spray or or rub with softened butter.

In a large bowl, beat the eggs, granulated sugar and 3/4 cup brown sugar together. Add the softened butter and vanilla; mix until creamy.  Stir in the sweet potatoes (it's OK if there are some lumps) and pour into the prepared baking dish.

In a small bowl, combine the remaining cup of brown sugar, flour, pecans and melted butter. Spread on top of potatoes. Bake 45 minutes.

*in some regions these are called “yams.”

Calories, fat grams, etc: You don’t want to know. Hey, it’s Thanksgiving!

Random Thoughts at 3 a.m.

The EU is in the process of, or already has, banned (are you ready?) balloons. It seems that a child could choke on one while blowing it up. 

How did I ever survive my childhood?

My first job? Filling balloons with helium at a theme park. Most common request from customers? “Don’t tie a knot in it!” First surreal experience? Watching 12-year-olds lurch around talking like Donald Duck.

Caron’s En Avion — smells like a refo; dentist’s-office clove and something ghastly sweet. The older stuff must have been great, though. 

I smell a ghost.

SmartPhones don’t make you smarter. They do make their users stop in the middle of the aisle to read whatever is so important, thereby causing shopping cart pile-ups. I personally saw three of them yesterday.

(Why do you think they call them “users?”)

“Hung” (HBO) was a surprise last season. Very good writing and characterization. This season? I think they replaced the writers with a bunch of high school boys. Even “Ray” looks embarrassed to be in this sleazy mess.

Last night: EL’s Tuberose Gardenia. Firmly in Fracas territory. Is this being discontinued?

I sold a couple of old drawings last week. Made just enough to pay for the print rack I had to buy to display them. 

Parfumerie Generale’s “L’Ombre Fauve” — could well be the quintessential fall fragrance. 

(Ever notice how the declarative statement has disappeared from the lexicon? Now it’s “possibly” and “quite possibly” and “just may be” and “could well be” — see above — instead. What does this say about American culture?) 

I think it’s the troll living in Mom’s basement at age 35 that we’re all scared of. You know the one. Has nothing better to do than research obscurities, then write complaint letters whenever some hapless writer gets some factoid Wrong.

(Well, him — funny how it’s always a him — and the lawyers.)

New HBO show: “Enlightened.” Starring the woefully underappreciated Laura Dern (who also conceived and developed it.) Goofy, scary character you can’t help but root for, trying to retain her humanity in the horrifying modern workplace.

European readers — still think the EU is a good idea? (This isn’t snark. I would really like to hear your thoughts.)

Balloon photo used under much too expensive license from Dreamstime.com

Compare and Contrast: Stoned

More and more, I love perfumer Lyn Harris’ work. There is a suggestion of bitterness in the bottom notes of the Harris creations I’ve tried that just sort of sends me. Somewhere along the line I developed a taste for that; I even like Campari, which when mixed with soda produces a supremely bitter aperitif I haven’t found a match for to this day. 

Both of these have been out for awhile. I became a convert to “Fleur Oriental” when, during our icy winter of last year, I picked up a ratty acrylic sweater on which I’d sprayed it the previous day, and got, well, high on the scent. There’s no better way to describe it. At that point it had dried down to a slightly bitter heliotrope-based powder.  I realized that here was the perfect sleep scent, home alone scent, studio scent — in other words, it’s domestic, but hardly domesticated. It’s a little like “Habanita’s” drydown, without the choke factor that one sometimes produces.

“Stoned,” concocted by Lyn Harris for Solonge,  isn’t as unusual. It’s opulent and gorgeous, in that way that keeps you smelling your wrist all day. It opens with a bergamot/citrus top and slides smoothly down into florals — rose and jasmine, mostly —  but they’re subtle. I’m thinking these must be natural absolutes (at this price point they should be) or at least there are some in there. Other notes say labdanum, but I don’t smell the resin or the tar. I do smell the Bourbon vanilla. This has been compared to Shalimar, and although it’s in that arena, it's smoother, without that one's  tarry growl. Nothing unusual here, just a beautiful perfume. The “diamond dust” which is supposed be mixed into the fragrance, um, that — well,  that’s just too silly to discuss.

The perfume is called “Stoned,” because the fragrance comes from jeweler-to-the-stars Solange Azagury-Partridge. It refers to gems, not the outcome of some illegal activity. Azagury-Partridge’s work, particularly her rings, can be found adorning the fingers of many movie stars appearing on the covers of many magazines. The bottle is…well, unusual — sort of like a garnet-red spiny blowfish, with a fertility goddess figure on top. It would certainly command attention on anyone’s vanity table! “Fleur Oriental” comes in a relatively unadorned bottle, as with the other perfumes in Harris’ line, Miller Harris.

Assuming that you can pay the price, I think that “Stoned” would make a great gift. (Of course, it would have to be for somebody you really like, a lot; you, maybe?) They’re both great fragrances. Of the two, I think the Fleur Oriental is the most daring, opening nutty, almost meaty, followed by a clean and spacious carnation/clove, a green undertone and then the slightly bitter powdery drydown. “Stoned,” when it dries down, has just the merest touch of that; except for “Rein,” the other Miller Harris scents I’ve tried have it as a sort of signature, too.

“Stoned” isn’t easy to find. Certainly, the discounters I’ve checked don’t seem to have it. Didn’t see it on ebay either. Nope; this one is going to be Full Retail (or a decant). The Miller Harris line does appear on Amazon, with widely varying discounts. 

Something tells me it’s going to be another cold winter here in the U.S. These va-va-voom orientals just don’t make it in summer, at least on my skin. But it won’t be summer again for quite awhile.

Notes for “Stoned” include Italian bergamot, classic rose, jasmine absolute, labdanum, tree moss, musk and vanilla bourbon. 100 mls retails for around $285.

Notes for “Fleur Oriental” include carnation, Turkish rose, Indian jasmine, amber, vanilla, sweet musk, heliotrope, orange flower.

Full disclosure: I got my decants from a friend and a swap.

The photo of Arizona’s Antelope Slot Canyon is by Chief Tsosie, of  AntelopeSlotCanyon, by way of Google Images.