BrianBuchanan
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BrianBuchanan
Platonic Flower
Fleur de Fleurs means Flower of Flowers; an abstract, Platonic Flower perhaps.
It's a floral, but not any one type of flower.
The reality is more prosaic than Platonic; Fleur de Fleurs is an old fashioned bouquet.
One point of reference is the naturalism of Patou's Vacances, a joyful invocation of French meadows in summer; lightness, green, flowers, it's one of the finest Nature Bouquets ever made.
Fleur de Fleurs has a similar flowery feel to Vacances, but there’s more to it than that.
It was launched in the early 1980’s. It’s a bit like Eau de Gucci, and has a soft Ambery feel like Vanderbilt.
However, it’s less like the Rose Chypres of Sinan and the original Armani which now typify the eighties.
FdF also has a powdery softness giving it a demure skin-like quality, which is sometimes dismissed as Old Lady.
And so, comparing it with it’s contemporaries, we can see how FdF is rather safe and backward looking.
FdF is an abstraction, but it's not rigorous like Ernest Beaux' No5; it has no manifesto and nothing to say about how women should - or shouldn’t - smell. Instead, rather than forging ahead into a brave new modernist world, FdF accepts the status quo ante.
In fact, with a grainy pollen and spice texture, Fleur de Fleurs is closer to the salicylates and carnation of l'Air du Temps than it is to the aldehyde fantasy of Chanel.
FdF draws on a combination of flowery meadow and classic feminine floral, and, in the face of more innovative trends, it sticks to the old fashioned, even pre-modern idea of Woman as Porteuse de Fleurs - or a sort of ambulant flower vase.
...
It’s possible to interpret this on a deeper level though. Spray on Fleur de Fleurs, and put on a flowery dress, and instead of the ancient folk image of the Green Man – whose face is made of leaves – we have the woman covered in flowers – both in perfume and print.
An image not unlike Blodeuwedd in the Mabinogion, a mythical being made with flowers of broom, oak, and meadowsweet.
There is something of a twist in the tale however. In the drydown, Fleur de Fleurs develops a quite bitter and dusty side, which undermines any overly-romantic readings.
And so, I want to give Fleur de Fleurs a positive rating.
It may be less classic than l'Air du Temps, have less joie de vivre than Vacances and be less ambitious than Number 5, but it has great appeal none the less.
It's a floral, but not any one type of flower.
The reality is more prosaic than Platonic; Fleur de Fleurs is an old fashioned bouquet.
One point of reference is the naturalism of Patou's Vacances, a joyful invocation of French meadows in summer; lightness, green, flowers, it's one of the finest Nature Bouquets ever made.
Fleur de Fleurs has a similar flowery feel to Vacances, but there’s more to it than that.
It was launched in the early 1980’s. It’s a bit like Eau de Gucci, and has a soft Ambery feel like Vanderbilt.
However, it’s less like the Rose Chypres of Sinan and the original Armani which now typify the eighties.
FdF also has a powdery softness giving it a demure skin-like quality, which is sometimes dismissed as Old Lady.
And so, comparing it with it’s contemporaries, we can see how FdF is rather safe and backward looking.
FdF is an abstraction, but it's not rigorous like Ernest Beaux' No5; it has no manifesto and nothing to say about how women should - or shouldn’t - smell. Instead, rather than forging ahead into a brave new modernist world, FdF accepts the status quo ante.
In fact, with a grainy pollen and spice texture, Fleur de Fleurs is closer to the salicylates and carnation of l'Air du Temps than it is to the aldehyde fantasy of Chanel.
FdF draws on a combination of flowery meadow and classic feminine floral, and, in the face of more innovative trends, it sticks to the old fashioned, even pre-modern idea of Woman as Porteuse de Fleurs - or a sort of ambulant flower vase.
...
It’s possible to interpret this on a deeper level though. Spray on Fleur de Fleurs, and put on a flowery dress, and instead of the ancient folk image of the Green Man – whose face is made of leaves – we have the woman covered in flowers – both in perfume and print.
An image not unlike Blodeuwedd in the Mabinogion, a mythical being made with flowers of broom, oak, and meadowsweet.
There is something of a twist in the tale however. In the drydown, Fleur de Fleurs develops a quite bitter and dusty side, which undermines any overly-romantic readings.
And so, I want to give Fleur de Fleurs a positive rating.
It may be less classic than l'Air du Temps, have less joie de vivre than Vacances and be less ambitious than Number 5, but it has great appeal none the less.
Good but Not mye Flora
Released in 1905, Floramye is from a time when perfumers moved away from nature and started to use chemical compounds.
As a result they were less reliant on natural products, and - just as crucially - their imaginations were no longer tied to the garden.
Floramye is a green iris bouquet, a natural type of subject, but there's amber, and a hard fizzy overtone that clearly isn't natural.
Like the name : Flora - which is flower in Latin, with the fantasy suffix mye, Floramye is a hybrid - largely natural and a bit synthetic.
This is not a soft, rounded, romantic bouquet - as the label would have you believe. There is a certain sweetness, but it's also dry, and slightly angular; breaking with the naturalistic mould - even if it's rather timid in doing so.
It reads quite unisex to the modern nose, but then perfume was less hung up on gender codes in those days; Guerlain's crossover hit Jicky would appear seven years later.
Floramye is all good, but there is a problem.
I have an old, or even vintage sample which comes from a mini flacon sealed with a metal plate over the neck. Not a modern issue.
The problem is, I've put on nearly three ml over the course of a day - and now I can barely smell it.
It smells good; but no matter how good it smells, if you can't really smell it, it can't be that good.
As a result they were less reliant on natural products, and - just as crucially - their imaginations were no longer tied to the garden.
Floramye is a green iris bouquet, a natural type of subject, but there's amber, and a hard fizzy overtone that clearly isn't natural.
Like the name : Flora - which is flower in Latin, with the fantasy suffix mye, Floramye is a hybrid - largely natural and a bit synthetic.
This is not a soft, rounded, romantic bouquet - as the label would have you believe. There is a certain sweetness, but it's also dry, and slightly angular; breaking with the naturalistic mould - even if it's rather timid in doing so.
It reads quite unisex to the modern nose, but then perfume was less hung up on gender codes in those days; Guerlain's crossover hit Jicky would appear seven years later.
Floramye is all good, but there is a problem.
I have an old, or even vintage sample which comes from a mini flacon sealed with a metal plate over the neck. Not a modern issue.
The problem is, I've put on nearly three ml over the course of a day - and now I can barely smell it.
It smells good; but no matter how good it smells, if you can't really smell it, it can't be that good.
Cold Iris and Vanilla-Carnation
There was often something edgy about the work of Jean-Paul Guerlain. For me, he was at his best when he gave vent to his anger: the onslaught of insole in Flora Nerolia, or this - an enclosed woody vanilla-carnation, slightly sick, plastic, sweet and sour with a tacky fruit in the back; insouciant cold iris - like a bloodless sunrise in a graveyard.
There was a crass side to his personality too: making racist comments on live TV; ripping off the name of a world famous rock band...
Metallica: a sickly vanilla ice cream and woody sherry trifle; smell it if you can, try before you buy.
There was a crass side to his personality too: making racist comments on live TV; ripping off the name of a world famous rock band...
Metallica: a sickly vanilla ice cream and woody sherry trifle; smell it if you can, try before you buy.
Onslaught of Indole
Neroli, orange flower and jasmin. That sounds like a lovely combination of flowers, and it could be...
But this is no 'hello birds, hello sky, what a beautiful day' kind of scent.
The delicate neroli and petitgrain has barely time to settle in before it's brutally assaulted by an indolic orange flower, and - I would guess - jasmin sambac with their dominating crunchy undercurrents.
What could have been a gentle orange cologne becomes an onslaught of white flowers and indole, a rotting blast of tooth decay sharpened by tiny pricks of incense; these are flowers with attitude, and they bite!
Flora Nerolia is crude - yes; direct in its simplicity - undoubtedly; and it's daring - it doesn't give a damn about the rules.
It kicks over the floral traces by boosting what is often a polite modifier (that adds smoothness, or in larger quantities backbone to a pretty floral) until the it takes over and dominatinates like a thug. This indole overdose brutally mashes up the gender codes and demands we ignore them.
You can't wear something as challenging as this and remain a perfume innocent for long, you're obliged to abandon easy gender conventions and cross into unknown territory.
See it as a virago cologne, or an old fashioned dandified floral of the pre-gendered age, but you won't find this easy to wear; an ordinary cologne - it is not.
What's extraordinary though is that something as radical as this came from a conservative like Jean-Paul Guerlain.
It seems his sense of rigour went completely over the top this time, leading him to do something closer in spirit to that iconoclast Germain Cellier than the impressionism of his grandfather Jacques.
Hardly surprising then to see it's been culled since Jean-Paul left the helm, and that's a shame. Flora Nerolia would make a natural jumping off point from the spiky woods if it were still around, and if a young buck were to dare...
But this is no 'hello birds, hello sky, what a beautiful day' kind of scent.
The delicate neroli and petitgrain has barely time to settle in before it's brutally assaulted by an indolic orange flower, and - I would guess - jasmin sambac with their dominating crunchy undercurrents.
What could have been a gentle orange cologne becomes an onslaught of white flowers and indole, a rotting blast of tooth decay sharpened by tiny pricks of incense; these are flowers with attitude, and they bite!
Flora Nerolia is crude - yes; direct in its simplicity - undoubtedly; and it's daring - it doesn't give a damn about the rules.
It kicks over the floral traces by boosting what is often a polite modifier (that adds smoothness, or in larger quantities backbone to a pretty floral) until the it takes over and dominatinates like a thug. This indole overdose brutally mashes up the gender codes and demands we ignore them.
You can't wear something as challenging as this and remain a perfume innocent for long, you're obliged to abandon easy gender conventions and cross into unknown territory.
See it as a virago cologne, or an old fashioned dandified floral of the pre-gendered age, but you won't find this easy to wear; an ordinary cologne - it is not.
What's extraordinary though is that something as radical as this came from a conservative like Jean-Paul Guerlain.
It seems his sense of rigour went completely over the top this time, leading him to do something closer in spirit to that iconoclast Germain Cellier than the impressionism of his grandfather Jacques.
Hardly surprising then to see it's been culled since Jean-Paul left the helm, and that's a shame. Flora Nerolia would make a natural jumping off point from the spiky woods if it were still around, and if a young buck were to dare...
Cult Leather
Maître Parfumeur et Gantier, which is now the name of a perfumers on the rue des Capucines, was once the title given to artisans who would supply Louis XIV (d.1715) with scented gloves - and other items that were used by the royal household to keep away the stench of poor hygiene at Versailles.
It's also possible that MPG's fragrant leather Eau de Parfum was inspired by the gloves worn by Louis and his entourage, items that were first made fashionable by Catherine de Medici his distant ancestor (b. 1519).
So, calling this Cuir Fétiche - which can be translated as Mascot Leather - is appropriate because it can be seen as emblematic of the brand's co-opted origins. It's also a good catchy name for the product.
Although it's hard to know what Louis' gloves smelled like, never mind the original ones given to Catherine by an unknown Grassois glove maker, the modern scent isn't without precedent; but it's not quite as grand as all that.
In fact it's a good evolution of Knize Ten (1924) - although it's more complex than that. Enriched with fruity and deeper animal facets, honeyed flowers and powdery iris, the rubbery-bitter aldehydic leather is still there all the same.
Which gives Cuir Fétiche, or - by another translation - Leather Talisman, an old time feel. The name can then be traced back to Medici as well, who knew astrology and was said to be a magician.
It's also possible that MPG's fragrant leather Eau de Parfum was inspired by the gloves worn by Louis and his entourage, items that were first made fashionable by Catherine de Medici his distant ancestor (b. 1519).
So, calling this Cuir Fétiche - which can be translated as Mascot Leather - is appropriate because it can be seen as emblematic of the brand's co-opted origins. It's also a good catchy name for the product.
Although it's hard to know what Louis' gloves smelled like, never mind the original ones given to Catherine by an unknown Grassois glove maker, the modern scent isn't without precedent; but it's not quite as grand as all that.
In fact it's a good evolution of Knize Ten (1924) - although it's more complex than that. Enriched with fruity and deeper animal facets, honeyed flowers and powdery iris, the rubbery-bitter aldehydic leather is still there all the same.
Which gives Cuir Fétiche, or - by another translation - Leather Talisman, an old time feel. The name can then be traced back to Medici as well, who knew astrology and was said to be a magician.
