Hera Papillon Artisan Perfumes 2022

You look at the notes and the description, and you think, ah, ok, a wedding bouquet perfume. Lush, creamy white and yellow florals spilling over a whale-boned corset of puffy marshmallow musk. Romantic, serene and beautiful in that conventionally feminine manner expected of brides. But you don’t actually get any of that from Hera. The first surprise is an atomic cloud of spicy violet-iris powder, a diffusive ballooning of molecules powered by what feels to me like aldehydes but is actually ambrette, a natural musk derived from the musk mallow plant. The apple peel and grappa facets of the ambrette sharpen the violet sensation of the opening and feathers the whole thing into an ethereal mist. But in no way does this smell pretty or candied or like face powder. No dainty bridal pastilles here, no Siree.

There is also – immediately – the tarry benzene edge of Extra or First Ylang, announcing the first of the floral absolutes that don’t really smell like their usual floral representations in perfumery. Ylang is always painted as banana-ish or custard-likebut in truth, the natural stuff (essential oil) often has this surprisingly creosote-like smokiness that most often gets smothered by perfumers with sandalwood or vanilla, in the hope of squishing it into a more banana custard shape. Here, the ylang is uncut and unsweet. And it definitely doesn’t smell like banana custard.

The surprisingly true ylang in Hera is soon joined by a spicy Sambac jasmine – again, not the creamy, sweet white jasmine of conventional perfumery, but more the authentically leathery-sour twang of Sambac absolute. The florals do not smell lush, sweet or traditionally feminine. In fact, Hera does not even smell particularly floral. The central surprise of Hera – its abstraction – is the way in which this tug of war between potent floral absolutes takes place inside this smoky cloud of iris-mimosa-violet powder, stacked one on top of another like a matryoshka doll. It is an incredible feat of construction that turns florals as heavy as jasmine, orange blossom, and ylang into a fizzy, violet-colored ether.

With time, another layer of the matryoshka reveals itself as a murky accord that smells like tobacco but is probably ambergris. This lends the perfume an aura of salty, powdered skin, like the glow on healthy young skin after mild exertion. Momentarily, the interaction between the purplish dry-ice florals and damp, tobacco-ish ambergris produces an impression of Caron’s Aimez-Moi (which itself smells like a pouch of moist, tobacco leaves dotted with anise and dried violets). But this impression is fleeting. Hera feels spicy but remains utterly air-filled and diffuse, as if someone has tried and failed to plug cinnamon sticks and clove buds into an ever shifting dust cloud of wood molecules. There is also something like myrrh, with its dusty, minty-latexy bitterness. But Hera never gets bogged down in the thick, sweet thickness of resins, thus neatly sidestepping any effort to pigeonhole it as an incense. Yet, the spices and the myrrh do give Hera a hint of what I imagine medieval candy might have smelled like, a sort of salty-herbal-fizzing concoction that, when ingested, banishes all evil.

The perfume seems to deepen, but the overall sense of its construction – a complex whirligig of chewy florals and tobacco inside a bright, acidic haze of floral high C notes – remains consistent. I picture Hera almost synesthesically, a violet-greige cloud of molecules that spark off each other like electricity. It is an abstract experience, similar to the hard-to-define Spell 125 or even Seyrig (Bruno Fazzolari), but that’s not to say that Hera doesn’t also meet the original brief, which was to honor Liz Moores’ daughter, Jasmine, on her wedding day. Indeed, Hera feels fizzy and bright and sensuous. It smells optimistic. What Hera absolutely is not is a re-tread all the tired tropes of traditional bridal perfumery, so if you’re expecting something conventionally feminine or sweet, then park your expectations at the door. Hera feels made for a lifetime of marriage – interesting, complex, wistful, packed with all the bittersweet moments of a relationships that morphs over time – rather than for one single shiny, glittery, picture-perfect day. And in my opinion, it is all the better for it.

This is a gorgeous Iris fragrance.
For years I searched for the perfect Iris and eventually settled down with Odori Iris, Naiviris and Cuir Fetiche. Then I discovered Francesca Bianchi and her approach to Iris, which is a whole new dimension of Iris.
Reading the reviews, it seems like this smells very different on different people. On me, the opening is all indolic jasmine and screechy orange blossom. I’m really not a fan of white florals so my sample was tossed unceremoniously onto the swap pile in moments, only to be retrieved an hour later when this unbelievably gorgeous Iris took over the composition, as the white florals exited. From the end of the first hour to the days long dry down, it’s this beautiful, slightly powdery, slightly musky, sweet floral with a bit of an almost cola like effervescence.
The note pyramid surprised me because I expected some type of resin. Texturally, it reminded me of something like Puredistance Gold with the hints of powder and effervescence. I wish I knew what narcissus smelled like. That might help me understand what I’m smelling.
For comparison, I’d say this is closest to MPG Cuir Fetiche though much less powdery and with a different floral profile. This one stays fresh and sheer, cheerful and natural smelling all the way through.
Anyone searching for a bridal fragrance should pretty much start with Hera.
As for me, I really didn’t want to love this. The price is quite eye watering, and I dislike the opening, but it just won’t let me go. The dry down just gets better and better, the kind of scent that I put off showering so I can keep smelling it.

A flower perfume, simply.
I understand that it is very difficult to innovate in this type of scents, but I think you can expect more from a perfume of this level and under the Papillon signature.
Its performance is quite normal in duration/lasting for a niche quality, and little or non-existent projection/sillage.
For me one of the least interesting in this house.

Hera is a vintage soapy floral chypre. I warn you to test before you buy, it is not for everyone. I feel like I am in an imaginary garden where I am pulling out carrots while surrounded by narcissus, jasmine and orange blossoms. It is quite soapy and ever so sparkly, later a little animalic. And it lasts forever on the skin.

Misses Moores seems to have a real fondness for mythology, judging by the names of her fragrances. Who knows what kind of gods and legendary figures will come to the fragrance world in her future creations.
On Olympus lived 13 main gods: Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Demeter, Apollo, Artemis, Athena, Ares, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hephaestus, Hades (who only rented a room in the underworld), and Hestia. All of them a scheming bunch and often not on good terms with each other. There would certainly have been murder and mayhem if these gentlemen weren't immortal.
Hera was the goddess of marriage and family and the wife of Zeus, the chief god. She had a tough time with dear Zeus, because against the old rascal, Casanova was just a little boy. He also liked to mess around with mortals and all the other girls who weren't up a tree by three. When nothing else worked and the ladies wouldn't let him have his way, since not everyone is into a scruffy beard and a belly, he transformed himself into an animal. He delighted Leda as a swan and appeared to the princess Europa as a white bull. Who knows what the ladies were smoking that made them fall for cattle and waterfowl.
When Ms. Moores does something, she does it thoroughly, and this Hera is bursting with flowers, and I could swear that the perfumer is hiding half of the ingredients from us. Hera must have had quite a large body for all those flowers to fit on.
Demeter brought all the flowers and threw wagonloads of daffodils around. Athena, always wise and calculated but also vengeful, dusts so much with cool iris that Artemis first runs away, flees into the wilderness, and calls upon the moon not to suffocate her with jasmine oil, because that is powerful and some call it indolic, which she cannot stand.
Hermes, the messenger of the gods, flies in on a musk creature, and Zeus threatens to take away his winged sandals if he doesn't immediately give the musk creature Buscopan for its flatulence.
This fragrance is a real floral powerhouse. However, it never slips into sweetness or gourmand territory. Hera also strongly reminds me of Anonimo Veneziano by Nobile 1942.
Those who love a lot of flowers will be well served with Hera.
I’ll see where Poseidon is hanging out. I need a little storm surge now.