Swamp Thing
By Donna Hathaway
Lately I have been pining after perfumes that are no longer made, or are exclusive to some boutique across an ocean, or are otherwise unobtainable. I thought I would take time off from my longings to appreciate something that is freely available without having to jump through any flaming hoops on eBay or learn a new language just so I can order it.
It is time think about real summer perfumes, the ones you put on when the days slow down and the ceiling fans whir and you can’t even stand to look at the fall fashions that start hitting the stores right about now because they have wool in them. There are two basic ways to go, as I see it – wear light, fresh, ethereal, green fragrances to cut through the heat and humidity, or just wallow in it with big white florals and indolic blends that give off their own brand of heat as the temperature rises. I do a little of both, but the latter does not work in an office setting most of the time. (If you try it, use a light hand and choose wisely.)
In the former category I have some favorites, of course. My current standby for summer is Ines de la Fressange, a lovely composition featuring mandarin, neroli, bergamot, white rose, lily-of-the-valley, peony and vetiver, among other things. It is steadfast in the heat and never turns sticky. Then there is my bargain-basement discovery of Le Couvent des Minimes Orange Blossom from Bath & Body Works. It seems to have disappeared from their web site at the moment. I hope it is still around, because it is just delicious, and unbeatable for the money – I have the body cream, the EDT, and the shower gel. The clean soapiness of the orange flowers is warmed by a hint of vanilla, but it never fails in the warm weather. Max Mara is a delightful concoction with an unusual cool, fresh birch sap note that I find irresistible.
Moving on to the more sophisticated summer scents, Annick Goutal Gardenia Passion is great in any season, but it just loves summer, and it blooms on my skin like nothing else. Serge Lutens Un Lys, about which I have written before, needs no introduction except to say that its chilly perfection comes into its own it hot weather, revealing a warmer heart than you ever thought possible. Then there is Jean Patou Colony, that oddest of birds, a pineapple chypre, and pure sensuality when the mercury rises. Of course there are such classic white florals as Fracas and Joy that are best kept for romantic situations in the summer. I define a “romantic situation” as: anytime I feel daring enough to wear one of them when the temperature is over 80° F.
The one I really want to talk about, however, is another Serge Lutens – the delirium-inducing hothouse flower called Datura Noir, released in 2001. I only heard of it less than two years ago, and when I went looking for the Lutens line I discovered that my local boutique had just started carrying the SL Export line. (This was back in the day when Un Lys was part of that. Sigh.) I went to the store and tried every single one, and every one was a revelation – I had not been so stunned and amazed by an entire fragrance collection since the original and dear-departed Jean LaPorte line. Now, Datura Noir was already on my list of things to try, but I had no idea I would be so utterly captivated. If anyone had told me that I would fall in love with a perfume that had a distinct powdery note in it, I would have scoffed at the idea. I am not a powdery sort of girl at all. Yet here it was – and I was enthralled.
With one whiff of this essence, I was whisked back to my early years and the lake where we spent our summers trying to escape the punishing heat and humidity of New England. There were three beaches on “our” lake. The one we visited most often was the free public beach, which was okay but the water was deep and cold and the shore was rocky. (In northern New England the lakes don’t really warm up all that much in summer.) Another beach was also free but it was where all the boats launched, so we had to watch out for speeding outboards all the time, and it smelled of marine fuel.
Beach number three was by far our favorite, but there was a catch – in order to gain access to it you had to pay to get into the drive-in movie that was playing. We did see many a movie there, but we always tried to get there early so we could swim first. Sometimes we missed part of the show because we did not want to leave the water, which was like a warm bath on very hot nights. The footing was soft and sandy, and the water was shallow so it was never cold like the rest of the lake My memories of that beach are bound up with the drive-in experience as well – the excitement of the previews, the chill of the night air after the last movie ended (those were the days of double features!), the thunderstorms flickering in the distance, the foil-wrapped hot dogs, and drinking Tahitian Treat soda, which was like carbonated Hawaiian punch. The water smelled different too – it was sweet and a little swampy, filled with little spidery waterweeds, but never dank, just a bit on the tropical side. It was this aroma that caught me by surprise when I smelled Datura Noir. It was the smell of a hot summer night and the relief of water on sunburned skin, of a body-temperature lake and feeling like you’re getting away with something. (It could have been called “Nightswimming” after the R.E.M. song.) It is a scent of memory and of transgression, of barely understood longings and sexual awakenings, of feeling like something is about to happen but you’re just not sure what, you just want it to happen, and soon.
The stated notes, which are very likely not complete due to the aura of mystery surrounding the Lutens line, are as follows: Datura flower, mandarin peel, apricot, lemon flower, tuberose, osmanthus, bitter almond, coconut, heliotrope, myrrh, vanilla, tonka bean, and musk. It sounds like it could be a bit sticky-sweet by reading that, but no – its sweetness is damp and muted, hushed by the powder and the bitter almond, and there is absolutely nothing gourmand about it despite the presence of apricot and coconut. On me that does not come out too much, but the Datura and heliotrope (hence the powder) do. I adore all of these notes in other perfumes and by themselves as well, but the Datura is what makes it a standout. This night-blooming and poisonous beauty lends coolness to the composition that both keeps a lid on the sweetness and adds a hint of danger. I can imagine that I am some overwrought Tennessee Williams femme fatale when I put this on. It’s a white-flower fragrance that no one will mistake for ladylike, and its fans like that just fine.
(If you want a Datura fragrance that is just a little more proper, try Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier’s Secrete Datura. She is Blanche Du Bois to Datura Noir’s Maggie the Cat.)
Image sources: neimanmarcus.com, “Swamp Thing” poster by Eric Powell, cover art to Swamp Thing comic book #23.
13 comments Posted by Donna on July 9th, 2007
I don’t know what has possessed me in the heat of summer to even think of Angel but I have, and today’s post is about venerable Angel substitutes. Why venerable? Because in this day and age we live amongst numerous Angel clones, and most of them in my humble (but educated) opinion are rather pathetic. No matter how you feel about Angel, it is undoubtedly a modern day classic, and as is the case with classic perfumes, they’re bound to be replicated. Personally, I see no wrong in replicas as long as they have a certain twist of their own, are able to make a statement, and have a general healthy olfactory self-esteem. Below is the list of such smell-alikes of Angel. I’d also like to add I call them “Angel substitutes” for a reason - they can be easily liked and worn if Angel is just too much for you or if you like only certain aspects of it.
Probably my favorite Angel substitute, this Italian-made scent features the notes of bitter orange, bergamot, pineapple, peach, red fruits, honey, patchouli, vanilla, chocolate, ambergris. You get the same chocolate/caramel/patchouli blend but with added honeyed fruity depth (which in this case is a positive thing). Smooth and polished.
A playful take on Angel, with notes of bergamot, rhubarb, melon, rose, jasmine, hyacinth, patchouli, vetiver, cedar, caramel, vanilla. The emphasis here is on the green, freshly picked rhubarb that’s made into a luscious dessert on your skin. I’d call this the best summer version of Angel. Very gourmand but extremely wearable.
Nuits de Noho is a sophisticated, glamorous take on Angel. Built around the notes of musk, vanilla, bergamot, rosewood, jasmine, and patchouli, it’s unbelievably urban and chic. The scent is pleasantly free of Angel’s caramel, gourmand theme, with emphasis on floral notes underlined by soft patchouli. Guaranteed to warrant compliments.
Created in 1955, Nirmala can easily be called Angel’s Grandma. Based on mango, passion fruit, grapefruit, mandarine, jasmine, tonka bean, sandalwood, vanilla, and cedarwood, this sensual blend showcases tropical fruits on the creamy, woody base. Not a hint of patchouli, hence a great Angel substitute if patchouli is what bothers you.
If Nirmala is Angel’s Grandma, then Borneo (although created only a couple of years ago) could easily take Angel’s Grandpa’s place, the kind that loves his patch like tobacco, drinks his bourbon like there’s no tomorrow, and occasionally treats himself to coffee liquor filled dark chocolates. A smoky, hay-like, dry version of Angel. Patchouli, camphor, cistus, cardamom, galbanum, cocoa.
Fleur de Narcisse by L’Artisan Parfumeur - been wearing this daily at work and wondering how on earth did I allow this beauty to be so far from my skin for this long! Never again. I love, love, love daffodil, and I can safely say there’s no other perfume under the sun that conveys its scent as beautifully as Fleur de Narcisse does. What makes it even more appealing to me is the added leather and hay notes which tend to smell a bit off when first applied on skin but subside as the scent develops, giving way to the stunning narcissus. I see a bottle in my future.
Clive Christian X For Women - a complete opposite to the airiness of Fleur de Narcisse, this scent is all about opulence and presence. It’s the kind of fragrance that will speak louder than your demeanor or attire, hence I’d only wear it to accompany a very simple, classic look (like a black dress). A rich, almost brooding blend of pulpy peach, green ivy, tangy mandarin, and piquant patchouli that gets better the longer it stays on your skin (and it does stay!) The fact it’s one of the most expensive perfumes in the world and all the claims regarding luxury, exclusiveness, and the like hardly matter to me. I love it for its scent alone.
This smell-alikes post is a little different since I don’t own one of the fragrances and hence can’t do a side by side skin test as usual. Thanks to Chayaruchama, I have a decant of Chanel Coromandel, and upon trying it I was surprised to find the top notes smell just like a soft drink in the vein of Sprite or 7-Up! I hadn’t expected something sweet and sparkling and charmingly childish like that from an exclusive oriental. The rest of the scent is all dry patchouli and, yeah, it works. I get what people are saying about Chanel: they manage to make even a patchouli scent sheer and never heavy like most orientals. Even the sweet top note has the watery and transparent quality of a soft drink and is not rich and syrupy at all. In the drydown, another kind of sweetness appears, a more traditional ambery/vanillic sweetness, and on the whole the scent is a bit on the sweet side for me. I do however love the dry, earthy, evocatively musty patchouli note.
A while after I first tried Coromandel, I finally found a working tester of Prada. All I can say is it’s a perfectly decent replacement. And released before Coromandel, too, which doesn’t reflect too well upon Chanel. Prada has the same combination of dry patchouli and Sprite-like top notes. Perhaps the soft drink in Prada has lost more of its bubbles – it’s more like the soft, synthetic sweetness of apple and pear flavouring that made me not like D’Orsay Le Dandy. Here the fruitiness is more subdued and balanced by the patchouli, however, while in the pale Le Dandy there were nothing there to balance it. I’m amazed something so patchouli-heavy and dry can survive among the fruity-florals, and that alone makes Prada a greater achievement than Coromandel. Sure, Prada might not smell quite as expensive. The patchouli is not as exquisite, and I get more vaguely fruity sweetness than I’d like, especially in the almost gourmandy drydown. But I still think Prada is a better value if patchouli with soft drinks is what you’re going for.
Today’s Needle In A Haystack is such a fancy perfume that it would never allow any sort of association with needles or hay for that matter - Diamond Water by JAR Parfums. If you’re not familiar with JAR Parfums, it’s founded by an American, Paris-based jewelry designer (Joel Arthur Rosenthal, hence the abbreviation) “who has a stellar client list for jewels that are inspired by nature and render it more beautiful in gems” (iht.com). As far as I know, the fragrances are sold in only two places - a free-standing boutique in Paris and a posh little room downstairs in the Bergdorf Goodman beauty department (which I also had the privilege to visit last fall). I won’t go into too much detail as to in what manner exactly the scents are available for testing, other than saying you don’t get to do a lot of touching and spraying yourself (if any at all!). Instead, it’s all done with the help of a medium (a charming man) who with a masterly sweep of hand, one by one, presents to you the jars filled with perfume-saturated fabric. If you then desire to do what all normal, self-respecting perfume maniacs like to do, that is, to do a skin test, you’re asked which scent in particular you’d like to try which is later on applied by the same hand, once again pretty much leaving you out of the equation. (I guess I have actually gone into detail describing the process - oh well). The presentation and the whole experience is obviously really cool with a certain enchanting flair. My only reservation (and perhaps a partial reason for not taking to JAR fragrances that much) is the air of superiority - you just feel sort of unworthy to not only smell but also wear these perfumes (which is also intensified by the fact no perfume notes are disclosed). Nevertheless, it’s still quite a remarkable experience, and I highly recommend it. Out of all the fragrances available, my favorite are Golconda and today’s pick, Diamond Water.
I’m afraid I have no recollection as to whether there was any explanation of the name and such, and I don’t know the official notes so I have to trust my nose. Diamond Water is a floral oriental with the emphasis on carnation. It starts out somewhat chilly, with a bite of cloves. It’s soon softened by what seems to be coconut (which adds certain creaminess) and nutmeg (which accounts for a gentle, dusty undertone). There’s probably some pepper thrown in for kicks. The scent really warms on skin, turning into an enveloping, fluffy blend. That’s about all I can say as far as the notes and development are concerned. I realize it’s hardly regal and fitting with all things JAR but, hey, you gotta do what you gotta do. Diamond Water to me is a very appealing carnation fragrance, conjuring up deep, golden-purple satin. I’d very much like to own a bottle, if it didn’t have such a prohibitive price tag. Meanwhile, my sample suffices for occasional sniffs and visual effects in my memory.
Which finally brings me to today’s topic: perfumes that reveal their true beauty only in heat. Perhaps it’s all subjective and a matter of perception but with Carnal Flower, never before did it smell like it does now. This opulent white floral with crisp, green opening and radiant, milky drydown has always appealed to me. However, it often seemed to clash with my skin - too sharp, too cloying, too cold, too unlike me. Then came the heat and polished off all the rough edges. Carnal Flower in heat is what I believe it’s meant to be - a mesmerizing, warm, opulent bouquet of tuberose, jasmine, and orange blossom. The longer it’s on my skin (and the hotter the air is), the more lavish it becomes, as if pouring out its entire soul to intoxicate me. I really wish I had a poetic talent to describe its beauty. What I find particularly appealing about Carnal Flower is that, in spite of its spell-binding, unconventional charm, it is not haughty and does not demand a certain approach. Quite on the contrary, it’s unconditionally at your disposal, giving her all…
I have in my possession a tiny sample, nearly gone, of a limited edition perfume, Ghost Deepest Night, originally released in 2002. This is not to be confused with Ghost Deep Night, which can still be bought on discounter sites. I ran across a description of it a couple of years ago in my ramblings through the various online merchants’ sites, and I knew when I read about it that I had to have it. It seemed to be the closest thing yet to my long-departed Holy Grail, Jean LaPorte’s L’Eau des Merveilleuses, truly a marvel of composition, a symphony of mango and vanilla. (Before you who fear fruit and vanilla together wonder why that would be a good thing, please remember that Jean LaPorte discontinued his eponymous line to create L’Artisan, and then moved on to found Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier. Jean LaPorte does not create cheap fruity-florals. Ever. Sadly, the original LaPorte scents did not continue on when this happened, a great loss in my opinion.) When I first smelled this in a boutique, I thought it was the sexiest fragrance I had ever smelled. The vanilla was dark and complex, dangerous even, and not in the least foody. The mango was not the watery, fleeting top note found in so many fragrances today, from drugstore body wash to mainstream designer perfume. No, it was the buttery, seductive, perfumed living fruit, fleshy and seductive. I wanted to wear it, roll around in it and devour it, all at the same time. I felt like a different person when I wore this perfume. For a while it was my signature scent, back when I believed in such things. Then it was just…gone.
So what is Deepest Night like? At first, it seems to be a simple mango and vanilla scent, with the vanilla just a bit sweeter at first than the L’Eau des Merveilleuses vanilla note. The mango is plump and juicy, though not quite as prominent. Thankfully, it is definitely not the watery travesty I was dreading. It is not as “big” a fragrance as the other, which could be a good thing under some circumstances. The Jean LaPorte stuff could take over the whole room; it was exhilarating and expansive, almost dizzyingly heady. Deepest Night is quieter, more secretive, and aptly named. As it develops the vanilla becomes darker and less sweet and more like what I remember of the old LaPorte perfume, or like the much-lamented older Comptoir Sud Pacifique vanilla was. (I bought the original version of CSP Tiare several times, and loved every minute of wearing it.) There is a leafy greenness to this fragrance as well, just peeking out from the lushness. A hint of spice – my favorite cardamom as far as I can tell, due to an almost complete lack of available information on this perfume – rounds out the sumptuous feel of this scent as it dries down. It does not have the sillage of the LaPorte but stays close to the skin, like your own seductive secret, waiting for someone to come closer…