Jonquille de Nuit Tom Ford 2012

There is a certain wistful shiver that comes from wearing a spring floral in August. It's sort of like that sad feeling of hearing Christmas music in March. I just couldn't help it, though: I had to revive my mind to the joy of jonquils, and what better way than to visit Jonquille de Nuit, which embodies, in my humble opinion, one of the more accurate depictions of the blooms. Putting my nose up to my wrist is like leaning right into the corona of a sunny and vivacious flower.

There is that quality to flowers in the narcissus family that smells a bit sharp and almost mammalian, giving these flowers their unique character. There is a jot of barnyard that's underneath the joyful floral radiance and sticky pollen greenness of the flower, and it is captured with near perfection here. Mimosa and orange blossom elevate the accord, adding the flesh and enthusiasm. I also admire that the dewy nature of flowers is adroitly captured here.

Here's to a small slice of vernal promise during the waning summer.

It’s not hard to separate the Ford sales pitch from the perfumes. The pitch is so bare, so hungry. ‘Tom Ford has everything that could be desired. Don’t you wish you were Tom?!’ I won’t go further into the reading of the marketing, since I believe I just captured it in its entirety.

But one bit of marketing that catches me with Jonquille de Nuit is the mix-and-match bit. Whether in the press or in person, the perfumes are sold as spectacular on their own, but also amazing in combination. I think the pairing the Bloomingdales sales associate was telling me about today was Neroli Portofino and Arabian Wood. Interesting as a cultural notion, I suppose, but really? Really?? I thought the assemble-your-own esthetic was considered fairly dime-store and ran out of steam at about the sophistication level of the Jo Malone line. But then I tried Jonquille de Nuit.

Jonquille de Nuit isn’t a narcissus solifor, but it does seem to paint a the notion of a particular spring floral tone, albeit a very jasmine-like one to my nose. I’ve read others who’ve have called it indolic, dirty. Tom calls it “de Nuit” and in the TF world that means dinner jackets and gowns, or oiled bodies---nothing in between. But to me it’s springtime sunshine. It has that bursting at the cell wall acceleration of Spring flowers that suggests water, oiliness, flow, viscosity, rigid stems, crisp flower and dirt all at once. The topnotes are not terribly complex, but Jonquille de Nuit is balanced and buoyant. As the topnotes fade, though, it gets plucked petal by petal and lands on ‘he loves me not’ with a recognizably floral note, but one that is thinner, flatter and sweeter than the opening Spring still-life. Here, I suppose, is the flower of the mix and match premise.

If these perfumes are to be combined willy-nilly to form ‘personalized’ fragrances, they must be fairly simplistic in construction or the outcome would be a pile-up. So although Jonquille de Nuit appears to aim for a deliberate simplicity that might lend itself to the indiscriminate combining of perfumes, I don’t really buy it.

from scenthurdle.com

"What are ice flowers??" I could now ask mockingly in the group.
In the absence of a "winter," at least until now, the existence of the aforementioned may have been "forgotten" by many.
I was able to admire them as a child at my grandma's window in the unheated bedroom.
Delicate icy formations, like transparent paintings, each one different and beautiful.
And cold down to the little toe.
"The touching of the figures" soon brought them to melt, only to form new and different patterns again.
These ice flowers did not have a scent, but if they did, it would smell quite similar to "Jonquille de Nuit" by the imaginative Tom Ford.
The "color" of it is just as pastel (cool blue and turquoise tones) as those wonderfully cold formations.
An "icy iris," powdery like powdered snow, waiting outside to be shoveled, but which cannot be properly "stored" because it slips away again...
A violet that defies the cold March winds and endures beneath the snow.
Daffodils at the icy beginning of April with night frosts down to minus 5 degrees...
And somehow this cold fascinates me.
Both in nature (ice days, frost, with a brilliantly blue sky) and in fragrances.
And the unfortunately discontinued "Jonquille de Nuit" is one of the coldest I have ever smelled.

There are plants that develop shoots for the next spring before winter and then overwinter in this preliminary stage. These shoots are called 'Hibernaculum' or 'winter bud', in which - if you cut them open - tiny leaf and partially flower structures are already recognizable, protected by outer leaves like an embryo. From these shoots, growth can proceed very quickly after the frosts - when the spring sun finally has enough strength and endurance - sometimes almost overnight.

Jonquille de Nuit, Tom's nocturnal daffodil, makes me think of such a winter bud - and this is rather unusual for a Tom Ford Private Blend (even one from the Jardin Noir group). The delicate, quiet word is actually not Mr. Ford's language at all - on the contrary, he likes to approach it powerfully and expressively, so my impression of Jonquille de Nuit and its unexpected winter bud association surprises me all the more. Especially in the top note, this is a rather shy scent - the daffodil (or perhaps something resembling an iris?) is already noticeably there, yet strangely muted and overlaid or enveloped by a green accord - just like the tiny bud inside the Hibernaculum is embedded in its layers of leaves. To avoid misunderstandings: the floral aspect is present here from the very beginning. It is the very unusual development of this fragrance that stands out - and that one remembers. The oddly indifferent, damp green is followed by an awakening - just as spring sometimes explodes in April within two weeks after a long winter. And from here on, this is a 'real Tom', as it is powerfully enchanting and intoxicating, an ocean of flowers - the pale March is forgotten, even April passes quickly, and now - in May - life vibrates everywhere.

Conclusion: an unusual fragrance. It begins - and this is a quote and not from me - 'like a pale morning in spring, still infused with winter's chill' and only later grows into its full splendor. Dark or nocturnal is only its wintry beginning; its heart and base are bright and playfully beautiful.