Ivoire de Balmain Balmain 1980 Eau de Toilette

The most heavenly mix of greenery, soapy creamy florals and a base of oakmoss and raspberry, smoothed out with vanilla and incense. This stuff is just oxygen to me. Inhale, exhale mmmmm!

Ivoire is a "problematic" scent for me. It's elegant, green, highly recognizable and a true masterpiece - and yet - I cannot warm up to it.
Years ago, I bought a bottle of it, gave it away, then regretted the "loss", bought another bottle and swapped it for "Jolie Madame" after 4 weeks.
I always enjoy Ivoire and its powerful green notes on other people, but I can't wear it myself. The scent turns soapy, harsh and uninviting on my skin. Nevertheless, a great classic and a must-try!

This perfume made me look up asofoetida. Ahh, so that was the strangely spicy, borderline garlic-sweat note in here. Let me make clear that it's not a bad thing but it was a very unusual note that I had not encountered in the past. I don't get "ivory" color from this but I do see shades of copper and bronze in my minds eye, like a sunset over a field of black eyed Susans. This is a weird perfume and while I like it a lot, I cannot wear it just any old place. It has a definite vintage feel, lots of oakmoss and bitter herbs mixed with sappy green wildflower stems. I wore this on a road trip to our family country house this summer. It was perfect for a weekend in the pollen filled air of the country, in a house built by my great-grandparents, full of dusty antiques and that mossy smell of the surrounding woods breezing in the windows. If you're not into challenging retro scents, you probably aren't going to like Ivoire. But if you are like me and will use scents to transport you into another era, please give this one a try. There is an intensive pepper note in here that will appeal to lovers of that. Asofoetida though. Wow, funny to say, funny to smell.

With thirty registered notes it is hard to decipher and explain, why Ivoire de Balmain from 1980 works so well for me. I do have a preference for several of their fragrances, such as Vent Vert from 1947 and Jolie Madame from 1953. I have two bottles of IdB, both, batch 1991, and I can only kneel and show my utter love and gratefulness for this to have been made. For it is divine.
No sharpness. No shrill citrus. No suffocating aldehydes. Nothing but balance and absolute beauty. This is a great Chypre for everyone who is not a fan of Chypres in general. It presents a perfectly balanced bitterness combined with a stunning floral aspect, and it slips slowly into the spicy dry down with the most charming raspberry note ever used.
I do love Chypres in general. No. 19, Gres’ Cabochard and Ô de Lancôme to name some. But my heart has room for more and IdB is definitely one of them.
I cannot recommend this enough, Chypre Lover or not.
Year 2, 244/365

A green chypre extraordinaire and devastatingly beautiful to my nose, Ivoire de Balmain would surely be new, uncharted frontier for younger noses who would be shocked, even appalled by the bitter, sharp, unapologetic greenness of its opening and its kitchen sink florals heart. If they were able to make it to its base, they'd be met with unrelenting oakmoss, resins, and muskiness. I imagine it would be alien for those who are accustomed to generous helpings of tonka, ambroxan, and iso e super to guide them along to safety.

I am a man of adventure, also a man aged 42, so much like I can recall a time before the internet, I can recall a time when scents like this were commonplace on your aunt, your teacher, a woman (or man) passing by. Speaking of men, this actually reminds me somewhat of Lauder for Men, a ferocious green aromatic that also showcased galbanum and unbridled verdance. With Ivoire, however, we have accents that startle and seduce the right nose. Curveballs, if you will.

Asofoetida, for example (why does Fragrantica show caramel cubes for its image?), a spice long loved in the East, particularly India (where it is most often referred to as "hing") for amplifying spice and flavor in cuisine. It is exceptionally strong, and on its own, is reminiscent of boiled eggs and burnt onions, foul and pungent. However, its magic comes when a pinch is added to oil. That same pinch approach is here, and it seems to exalt the green elements and florals. It isn't merely gilding the lily, nor do I find that it is quite as body odor like or animalic as others suggest. It's essential to the character of this composition, much like the marigold and the chamomile lending earthy and sweet qualities to counter all the cold green crunchiness. I also discern a pollen-like texture. Have you ever put your nose into a flower and found that some pollen has brushed against your nose? I feel that here.

Ivoire is the promise of spring to my senses as a cold wind blows on this March day.