Habanita and Regret

In the days before air conditioning, well-bred Southern ladies covered themselves with dusting powder after each bath. This was applied generously with a large puff, while humming “Dixie” and dreaming of gentleman callers….uh, probably not! My guess is that you didn’t make it from the tub to the towel without breaking a sweat.

Most of the dusting powder became exactly that – dust. I can still remember my very un-southern mother complaining about having been expected, as a young wife, to clean sinks, mirrors, floors and bedroom furniture thickly coated with dusting powder after her mother-in-law’s baths.

This very Blanche du Bois-like scene comes to mind whenever I smell vintage Habanita. It is a perfume out of time. Released in 1921, it was invented to scent cigarettes, so that they would smell more feminine; at some point, the daring smokers began applying it to themselves.

There is a bitterness to the vintage Habanita. It is thickly powdery, and opens with a scent that reminds me of cherry cough drops, but it morphs quickly into that bitterness with very little of the aromatic tobacco note Habanita is supposed to have. (I’m not sure how old my bottle is. From the way the gold foil peels off the sprayer, and the engraved, not stickered, bottom of the bottle, I’d say it was surely pre-Eighties.)

I have a modern decant, too, and it is a little different. As it opens, the powder is there, but in the background, and there are other notes: florals, and an aromatic note that I suppose is the tobacco. On the drydown, though, the powder eclipses them -- just not quite as much.

I thought I’d love vintage Habanita. As soon as I smelled the modern version, I began looking for an old bottle. I found it and (never underestimate the power of cognitive dissonance) and set about convincing myself that I loved it. I also found some vintage extrait, in a strange, squatty little gilded glass bottle, and grabbed that, too.

Of the three, the vintage extrait is the most appealing. The tobacco is very much out front, and the powderiness is less obvious even at the end. Was this how Habanita originally smelled? Without a visit to a fragrance museum, I guess I’ll never know.

The truth is, though, that Habanita is a relic.

I say this as someone who loves and wears vintage perfumes all the time. I even wear Coty Chypre, as its austere quality speaks volumes. Fracas is lush, Bandit bitter, Ma Griffe spinsterish and strange. But Habanita, to me, is oppressive, as oppressive as coating yourself with powder lest anyone see you sweat.

This is what you learn by doing. Reading about painting isn’t painting; reading about travel isn’t traveling; reading about Habanita isn’t wearing Habanita.

I wish it was.


Notes for Habanita include bergamot, orange blossom, galbanum, oakmoss, jasmine, rose, ylang ylang, heliotrope, amber, leather, sandalwood, benzoin and vanilla.

Goodbye Summer Hello, uh, transitional scents

This is a difficult time of year.

You want summer to be over, but it isn’t, and you don’t, but you know it will be.

Here in the hot and humid South, we’ve got another month before we can pull out the long-sleeved shirts; two before we can wear flannel (not that we would). But everything, the nearly golden afternoon light, the slight blush on the leaves of the trees – they’re tired of pumping out chlorophyll, day after day, they want to rest – says so. The squirrels and chipmunks are busier and fatter than ever, thanks to our backyard “bird” feeder. The Black-Eyed Susans out front are blooming like there’s no tomorrow. Summer’s nearly over.

I’m sick of the lightweight citruses and aquatics we have to wear in hot weather here in the Land of Manners, where it’s considered impolite to choke innocent bystanders. Even a white floral is just too…too, when it’s 90 degrees and 80%. This time of year, I want impact. I want those ambers and incenses and woods. Alas, it’s just not time yet.

But…remember “transitional” clothing? Stuff you wore when it wasn’t quite summer/not quite fall? Not sure what happened to that. It seems to have gone the way of patience.

Anyway, here are a few fragrances, which I (just coincidentally) happen to own, that work well in this time of time standing still.

Fleurs de Rocaille by Caron – This is the 1934 Fleurs, the plural. I’m pretty sure it’s the modern version. (How I’d love to get my hands on some of the vintage Carons, but the perfume budget is a little tapped right now and where do these people get off charging what they do on Ebay!? Okay, I’ll stop now.) Anyway. I’ve chosen this one for this week and next, because, although it is a white floral, it’s cool, somehow. (The bouquet-like notes include gardenia, violet, lily of the valley, rose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, lilac, mimosa, iris, sandalwood, cedar and amber.) There is a slight heaviness to it, the jasmine, which comes up fast on my sugary skin, but not too heavy. And, much as I’d love to wear Tubereuse Criminalle to church, not that I go, that sort of thing just isn’t done here. But this, you could wear to church. And then to the Colonnade, in Atlanta, for that after-services Singapore Sling.


Kelly Caleche by Hermes - starts out citrus, then floral, then a smooth leathery drydown. It’s mid-August to mid-September in a bottle, but there’s no question that Kelly Caleche is a difficult scent. These transitions are bumpy. It’s a Jean-Claude Ellena, and it has that clarity. But it was named after a purse, which was named after a mercurial, perfectionist actress, and a spindly carriage. I’m not sure what to make of the horsey references (hay, saddles) other than hey, it's Hermes, and the flowers (violet, mimosa, the dreaded tuberose, although it’s very subtle here) other than the reference to Grace Kelly.

This is one that must be tried on skin. On mine, it’s completely different than on paper. It’s sweeter, of course, but the notes of mimosa and hay predominate, whereas on paper I don’t even perceive them. There, it’s the tuberose and a wood, possibly cedar or sandalwood, maybe a little patchouli, and the synthetic molecules like quinoline that comprise the “leather” drydown scent. Kelly Caleche is, ultimately, as elusive as Grace was. But we are talking about transitions. This one has them and then some. I wonder if Ellena knew what Grace was really like, in her day?


Habanita by Molinard – Ahhh, Habanita. It really deserves its own post, and I will do that one of these days; so much history (flappers! Used to scent their cigarettes!) but right now it just seems perfect for the season. Because it’s sweet, but smoky, definitely too strong for church, even in the EDT. And it lasts. The kids are back in school, or on their way to college or otherwise out of house and hair, Thank God. Looking for something to spritz on just before you run to the Costco?

I have the modern EDT and some vintage parfum. Now, we definitely don’t wear the vintage perfume to the Costco. No, you put that on (long) after the kids are asleep. Or save it for when you’re by yourself. The notes (orange blossom, ylang-ylang, vanilla, heliotrope, iris, leathery base) are well-mixed, but that unmistakable topnote – can it be? Cigarette smoke? In this day and age? Well, yes. That’s what makes Habanita so…daring. More daring now than it was in 1921. The checkout person might think you’re one of those...(shudder) smokers.

And?

Interesting, isn’t it, how history repeats itself?

All of these scents are readily available in the usual places, and vintage Habanita isn't too hard to find on Ebay or in flea markets.