Let's Play Samples Jeopardy!

After a few months of MUA swapping, I’ve got samples all over the place. They’re on the nightstand. They’re in little boxes here and there. They’re in my handbag and in my pockets and on kitchen counters. The other day I found one in the refrigerator.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if my house ever got searched. What would the cops make of all these little zip-loc bags, hundreds of vials, inch-high screw-top bottles (let's not go there), pipettes, eyedroppers and teensy-weensy funnels?

My derriere would be hauled off to the slammer, that’s what. Intent to distribute, well, I’m sure they’d figure out something.

I’m not the best at identifying “notes.” I’m in awe of those who can, with one delicate and refined sniff, say, “Ahhhh. Of course. Hyacinth. Ambrette seed. Isobutylquioline-hydrocitralcellu-benzodiazapine-18.” I’m not there. Actually I don’t think I’ll ever be there.

But I wanted to really kinda grok* these samples. So I made a whole bunch of little watercolor paper strips – one 18 x 24 sheet of Arches will provide a huge supply – and applied a drop from each sample. These hold onto the notes for awhile, as the paper is thick and fibrous (and besides, I’m not painting on it much these days anyway). I thought, I’ll sniff a random few of these and see if my nose has improved any lately. So I did, recording my impressions, and then went to Basenotes to see if I’d been right. For brevity here, let’s call Basenotes “Alex” and I will be “Contestant # 1,” a.k.a. “C1.”

Guerlain Chamade
C1: “Hmmm. Something woodsy, something sweet. Kind of dry. Classic, powerful. Smells kinda like a Guerlain. I want this.”
Alex: “The answer must be posed as a question! Ylang-ylang, blackcurrant bud! Woods and balsams!”
C1: “Uh, yeah. Right.”

Tauer Reverie du Jardin
C1: “Is it lavender, Alex? Sweet grass? Some kind of floral?"
Alex: (Impatient grimace) "and fir balm, galbanum, bergamot, orris, frankincense, rose absolute, ambrette seed, oakmoss, vanilla, cedar, amber and sandalwood!”
C1: “Oh!” (Slaps forehead in frustration) “How could I have missed those!”

Malle Angeliques Sous La Pluie
C1: “Ummm…herbal? Cedar? Is it cedar, Alex?” (Sniffs strip again) “Wait a second…it’s gone!” (Scratches head.) “I know! Is it a Jean-Claude Ellena?”
Alex: (presses buzzer) “Pink pepper. Juniper. Coriander. Yes…cedar. But I don’t see any…judges?” (Waits.) “No, no uhjohnclodelena. Not a note. Sorry.”

Tauer Lonestar Memories
C1: “Wow. Tar. Chilly air. Is that WD-40?”
Alex: “Not tar, Tauer. Sorry. Tobacco. Leather. Wood. But you were close!”

CDG Hinoki
C1: “Wait…don’t tell me. Hamster bedding! Is it that stuff you use to line a hamster cage?”
Alex: “No, dear. It’s perfume. Cedar and ginger…” (buzzer sounds)

DSH Special Formula X
C1: “Um…dirt?”
Alex: “Musk.”

Yves Rocher 8eJour
C1: “Wow. It smells kind of like Mitsouko, only sweeter. Maybe it’s me…though, is it Mitsouko, Alex? Chypre and, uh, what’s that stuff, persicol? A reformulation maybe?”
Alex: (riffling though papers) “Judges?” (Waits) (Waits) “Yes? We don’t have record of this substance? What is your ruling, then?” (Waits)

“Close enough? All right.” (Turns to contestant C1) “We’ll accept your judgment. And that means that YOU, C1, go home with fifty dollars and a lifetime supply of “Covet” by Sarah Jessica Parker!”

Of course there are more samples. Many more. And I know I’ll find that vial of Lutens Fleurs d’Oranger one day. Wait a second…maybe it’s under the bed?

See you next time!



*The word “grok” means, roughly, “to understand fully and completely.” It’s from Robert Heinlein’s Sci-Fi classic “Stranger in a Strange Land,” and is one of the few words from the Sixties, unlike “groovy” and “peaking,” that is still actually useful.

Where There's Smoke

The first time I smelled CB’s I Hate Perfume “Burning Leaves,” I thought “L.A. Riots.”

I wanted to see if I could duplicate that experience conceptually, through scent. I layered it with some night-blooming jasmine, the signature scent of west Los Angeles. If I’d had Bulgari Black, I could’ve put that in there too, for the so very necessary burning-asphalt-shingle note. But how do you duplicate a fiery palm tree, burning like a torch? Tons of smoldering insulation? Exploding cars?

Christopher Brosius, the perfumer behind Burning Leaves, has been quoted as saying “perfume is the weather of our world, bringing life to an interior landscape.” Flashing on the smell of a burning city from a perfume meant to evoke peaceful autumns was not what I expected, either, but it was what I got. And it’s always good to be able to surprise yourself.

Now, though, I’m looking for that autumn scent. Burn. Whatever that molecule is. It’s the opposite of what most people think perfume is. You could say that it’s the opposite of “perfume.”

A few discoveries:


Black Cashmere (Donna Karan) – This reminds me of a log cabin in northern California, the logs themselves aromatic with the absorbed smoke of many fires. Someone is burning vaguely floral incense, and there’s a hint of patchouli somewhere, too – maybe on a pillow left there thirty years ago. There’s an oak fire going. I’m drinking spicy, hot mulled wine. It’s everything good about autumn.

This is a love it or hate it scent, and even those who love it caution the uninitiated. It’s been called “dark” and “ink” and even a “fierce, growling beast” (March – Perfume Posse). On me, though, it’s perfect; not too sweet, not too much, just right for autumn. Eureka! I have found it! (This month anyway.)

The notes for “Black Cashmere” vary, but include (depending on the source) saffron, clove, rose, white pepper, incense, patchouli and African wenge wood.


Sycomore (Chanel)

I just love this. It’s so weird. It opens with a citrusy blast, and then it’s a dash through the tall grass, just ahead of a brushfire. At first I couldn’t identify the burn note, but, apparently it’s a particularly smoky variation of the Vetiver root, from Haiti; other accords include “smoke” (now, that’s illuminating) and “burning woods.” It really doesn’t smell like anything else. I suppose a better arena for comparison would be with Tauer’s “Vetiver Dance,” but that one just isn’t this…smoky. Here’s what else: it lasts and lasts. It’s everything “Beige” isn’t. Unisex, risky, unique. I love it on myself. It’s one of those where you can’t stop smelling your wrist.

Notes (from various sources) for “Sycomore” include grapefruit; Haitian vetiver, licorice root, cypress, juniper, pink pepper, burning woods, smoke.

Lonestar Memories (Tauer Perfumes)

This is the big-mack-daddy of the smokes. The Gary Cooper/High Noon imagery is unmistakable, of course; its aim is true. It is a European vision of the American west. Like all of Andy Tauer’s perfumes, it’s complex, multilayered, anything but simple. I’ve heard it compared to a campfire, but that would be too easy. It’s Guy Stuff. An old Western saddle, black with age and horse sweat. A V-8 engine in pieces on the floor of a barn. Hay, wood, smoke, desert-plant resins, that chaparral sap. An olfactory Frederick Remington. I would love this on a man.

Notes: Geranium, carrot seed, clary sage; birch tar, cistus, jasmine, cedar wood; myrrh, Tonka, vetiver and sandalwood.

Of these three, I’m pretty sure that only Black Cashmere was supposed to be a “perfume” in the old sense; something to put on that makes you smell intriguing, or alluring, or shocking, or whatever, and it does. Sycomore is, well, something, exactly what is unclear; like a grapefruit tree on fire, it makes no sense, and to me, anyway, that’s its appeal. Lonestar Memories is a fully developed concept, a beautifully crafted and executed composition, a work of art.

Oh, and “Burning Leaves?’ That’s an electrode in the brain, the purest scent-memory I’ve had yet.



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