L'Heure Bleue Guerlain Eau de Parfum

L'Heure Bleue in its current formulation never interested me much. It always struck me as the wallflower sister of the classic Guerlain family of Mitsouko, Shalimar, Jicky and Apres L'Ondee. Although LB seemed pleasant enough, it couldn't hold a candle to its more interesting relatives in my mind.

Recently, I was gifted with a generous sample of vintage LB from one of the old "donut" bottles. The color alone was enough to get my attention. It had that deep garnet hue that confers a certain gravitas to perfume and is never associated with anything light, simple, aquatic or gourmand. Testing vintage LB brought home to me how much perfumery has been crippled by the loss of eugenol/iso-eugenol and heliotropin. The current miniscule allowance of these ingredients permitted by the IFRA accounts for the vast difference between the nice LB of 2012 and the glory of Jacques Guerlain's original creation. Belatedly, I can understand why LB inspired so many other perfumers to strive for that same powdery perfection with Insolence and Kenzo Flower, or the "blueness' imparted by clove/carnation in Bluebell, Blue Grass and Wild Bluebell.

LB really was trend-setting, ground-breaking stuff in its day, but along with the loss of its true, natural carnation note, the current juice is also handicapped by lack of heliotropin. Whereas my precious vintage vial contains a luscious, almondy heliotropin that whispers, "I'm what's for dessert," today's version of the flower simply says plastic doll head. I never got the melancholy, the "blue hour" poignancy of this perfume until now. I can see the progression from the wistfulness of Apres L'Ondee to the voluptuous but pensive moodiness of LB like lavender deepening into navy on Jacques Guerlain's palette. If you can find it, do try the vintage in order to fully appreciate this beautiful wonder. Thanks again to the lovely person who made this revelation possible with their generosity. :)

What can one say that's not yet said about a perfume whose name casts a big shadow and is on the same shelf as Mitsouko, Jicky, Vol de Nuit, Liu & Shalimar? Classics that helped define our taste in perfume. Countless of people grew up with these scents as the epitome of french perfumery...Long before Chanel made a name for herself Guerlain was selling these beauties that still are coveted by reputation alone. Complicated classics that might confuse, nay even repel the modern perfume palate.

So, what do I think of this much discussed and reviewed L’Heure Bleue? Well, after reading some reviews I came across sentences like: "it smells sad" - "It smells dusty like an old attic" et cetera. I understand these statements, or, more accurately, I understand what evokes them. L'Heure Bleue is very unusual and very polarising, I understand both ends of the spectrum that people feel/smell in it.

To a nose that has never smelled L'Heure Bleue before and might not have smelled anything like it...it might come as an olfactory shock! Moth balls? Hospital hallways that just got cleaned with an antiseptic? Dusty rooms? Oh, dear! Poor LHB, I make her sound as though I feel the same...I don't; I love her because she is unique, unforgiving, ever-changing and represents her era so impressively well.

But she also reminds me of a lot of things that I love: Antique book-shops where a lady just walked through the aisles perusing books as she permeated the air with a light floral perfume that mingled with the stories in the books...paper and florals, and I inhale deeply thinking of all the adventures, dramas and love stories locked up in these books that are waiting to be released by the reader.
I smell the ancient Roman-Greco wings of the British Museum where the mummies are wrapped in linen that was scented with precious oils and adorned long ago with wilted and dried flowers....Do they really still permeate any floral scent? Perhaps not, perhaps it is in my imagination...I mingled the images of the dried floral wreaths and oil amphoras with the slightly dusty smell of old civilisations that fascinated me my whole life.

LHB is not just something you can discern and explain by listing the notes and trying to see which ones your nose can pick up. No, to me LHB is a mood that captures you --for good or bad-- you must smell LHB and see what trip it takes your senses & imagination on. It's a time-machine in a bottle that might transport some of us to their (great)grandmothers bedroom where she always had fresh flowers on her vanity next to her luxurious body powder with big fluffy puff. Or, to a Cathedral where you walked in on a sunny day...it's warm and bright outside, a big contrast with the cool, solemn mood of the inside where the smell of beeswax candles, polished pews, hymn books and the flowers on the altar mingle into an image of all the prayers that were spoken.

LHB is kaleidoscope of nostalgia is every drop, and nostalgia conjures up many different moods. I love LHB because I have always been fascinate with history, old books & antiques. But what I love most is that LHB makes me travel back to many nostalgic places from my own past...it mirrors the nostalgia of your own life too......It does that, you see.

Even when one loves/likes LHB it's a scent you have to be in the mood for; I wear it as such...To bed when I am reading before sleep. To the office...when I know its going to be a busy day, because it's such a calming scent to me. On an autumnal walk with the dog...or to a party - It's all up to the wearer.

LHB is special and most certainly a required taste. Don't be sad if she isn't for your chemistry/olfactory. Not all people like to revel in the dust of time. Just make sure you sniff/test her at least once in your life...Because she is a scent every Perfumista should have experienced.

Silage is: I could embrace you forever and keep you safe - Longevity is: One century of memories and countless flowers.

I'm not especially good with notes, and when you are trying to tear apart notes for classic Guerlain, I find it even more daunting. So I won't try.

First, let me say how curious I find some of the reviews below. But then, I often notice that we all react very differently to fragrance. Cold? Dusty? Mothballs? Antiseptic??!!???

To me, this is a fragrance that takes me to a warm, safe cocoon. It's softer than soft, protective. The powder is certainly there in the drydown, but it's not alone. There is sweet sophistication, like cashmere and feathers.

I own both vintage extrait and current EdP and I love both. Oh, and some vintage Lotion Vegetale. I enjoy all three and often layer them together to get the full effect of my favorite comfort scent. When I wear L'Heure Bleue, I feel more like a woman, full grown, strong, yet also a safe haven for others. It's comforting, I'm comforting. It's a classic for a reason.

From the Guerlain website:

"The sun has set, but night has not yet fallen. It’s the suspended hour… The hour when one finally finds oneself in renewed harmony with the world and the light. L’Heure Bleue is the moment when the sun disappears beneath the horizon and the sky is painted with night’s velvet. It is an atmosphere, an inexpressible rendering exceptional moments.

L’Heure Bleue was born in 1912 of the fleeting sensation that inspired the Impressionist painters whose works Jacques Guerlain collected. He pictured this bouquet of roses softened with iris, violet and vanilla, which evoke his favorite moment of the day when, as he put it, “the night has not yet found its star” and all of nature’s elements are cast in blue light."

I am testing the EDT, a decant of which was sent to me by EvaK (thank you!!) when she learned that I'd never tried this classic fragrance.

I am truly puzzled by it! If this is a bouquet of roses softened by the twilight then I should ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT. To be quite honest, on my skin L'Heure Bleue has absolutely no mystery whatsoever ... she simply sits there, dower-like, smelling strongly of talcum powder and faintly of mothballs ... and very much like a vase of dried roses made to smell by adding potpourri oils. It's very sad!
To add insult to injury I just nipped over to my long suffering guinea pig's house (my adorable mother teehee) and hit her with a few hefty sprays to make sure I wasn't going out of my mind. "Ooooh," she coo-ed ... "that's gorgeous!". Now to put things into perspective, my Mom is a glamorous 68 year old who could pass for 52. On her, L'Heure Bleue erupts into the most beautiful cascade of scintillating hesperidic top notes before softening to a glorious symphony of soft florals in a lipstick like base of Iris and powdery woods. It's just fabulous!!
Back on my skin ... there she sits ... Whistler's Mother, cackling maniacally and smacking her toothless gums (no disrespect to Whistler intended) ... how unfair!! Truly ... all I get from L'Heure Bleue is overdone, plasticky violet and the aforementioned heaps of talcum. So sorry Eva ... I tried to love it!!

All of that said ... when I smell how beautiful this is on my Mother I can see what all the fuss is about. Her birthday is in two weeks ... I think I'll treat her to some! I could certainly enjoy someone in my life smelling that way :) ...

L'Heure Bleue is a perfume that brings a caleidoscope of images to my mind.. memories that aren't memories, but should have been. A journey in time.
It's the faint smell that rises from a forgotten scarf in the Orient Express. It is the whiff from an aristocratic lady passing by, wearing a fur coat and a hat. That kind of lady that makes men throw their coats in the gutter for her to step so she won't ruin her shoes.
It's the silk lining in an old, expensive crocodile purse. The enormous staircase in the grand hall from an old hollywood musical, and the diva slowly walking down, her dress floating on the steps. It is the view from the balcony once you escape the laughter and the shallowness of the party. It's a golden powdercase with enamel decoration and a facetted mirror in the lid. It is pearls, gold and diamonds. Gas lights in dusk. An abandoned bench covered in autumn leaves in an empty park just after rain.
It is the very atmosphere of Hotel Paris in Prague - or any other fabulous original Art Noveau-interior.
It is warm and sophisticated, bold and distant, yet intimate and romantic. Old-fashioned? Yes. It makes me feel I live in the wrong era. Not the perfume, but me. 'Old lady'? Well, I can't imagine a teen girl wearing it, but everything is possible. Just as I couldn't wear it with jeans, but some could probably pull that off too.
L'Heure Bleue is fabulous. It is divine. The ultimate perfume. This is what defines 'classic'.