written about this remarkable fragrance by Marc-Antoine Corticchiato for Frapin
a lot recently on the Fox’s Facebook page and I picked it as one of my five
fragrances I wanted from Papa Noel. I became somewhat consumed with the idea of
Speakeasy and what I would smell like,
how it would evolve, how the carefully assembled notes would unfold and seduce
my senses. I imagined the tobacco, liatrix, mint, leather, tonka, white musks
and immortelle all tumbling and writhing across me. I realised I was obsessed
with the idea of a fragrance I had never actually experienced.
friend in olfactory exploration, Bertrand, visited Nose, the new temple of
scented wonder at 20 rue Bachaumont in Paris and fell for its charms… (Amongst a
number other things it must be said!). He is becoming quite the perfumed rogue.
He and his partner Dounia sent me the loveliest gift for Christmas, a box of perfumed,
edible and heartfelt delights. In it was an atomiser brimming with Speakeasy. Now, I didn’t know what it
was it when I first tried it on, as Bertrand & Dounia had deliberately not labeled
it. I had no idea. It smelt so weird, sweetly tannic and green, like a shot of whisky
and wheatgrass strained through a rusty sieve by a woman smoking Gitanes
through a veil. I realised it had to be something Bertrand had bought and
guessed it was Speakeasy.
reason I wanted to write this post is because I am rarely wrong-footed by a
fragrance. But the disparity between reading so much about Speakeasy and the actual smelling of it was truly visceral. I don’t
think I’ve sampled something in a long time as complex and idiosyncratic that
smelt so utterly different from how I expected it to be. It felt so good to be thrown
laughed out loud when I realised how peculiar the scent was, how the notes I expected
actually coalesced into something else altogether; a portrait of ambivalence,
shared desires, cocktails, secrets and laughter in the night. Leather and smoke
became alive and whispered of jolting love in cars. Davana, styrax and orange
spoke of abandonment, straying fingers and lacquered nails. The mojito accord
of mint, lime and rum is the sweetener before the break-ups in a louche deco
bar. There is innocence too, a sweet bready background note of patisserie, a
whiff of rum baba, a childhood memory of cake shops and kitchens mixed with a
mother’s smile. Perfume fills the bar; a smear of lipstick stains a glass. I
can smell the fuzzy scent of hairspray mixed with booze and cigarette trails.
Speakeasy is all this and more. Ephemeral. Never heavy.
The images it raises shimmer and blur like a mirage, never quite fully coming
into focus. I had imagined something so much deeper. A dark, echoing room with
everything swirling like amber whisky rolling around the base of a cut crystal
glass in the light of flickering fire. I expected density, the notes to weigh
down on the skin, to be almost tactile. But the layers of scented effects shift
and slide seamlessly over each other like a series of perfumed Japanese
screens; transparent enough to allow the admittance of light and shade but
still opaque enough to permit a certain privacy and structure.
oeuvre for his own house Parfums D’Empire is often very dramatic, so I guess I
was expecting echoes of this in Speakeasy.
I am huge fan of his Ambre Russe, an
opera of leather, black tea, ambergris, vodka, smoke and an almost gleeful
violence of notes marching through the composition. The cacophony of effects
paint a picture of a cavalry officer’s boots flung aside before passionate sex
on fur and silks, smoking and smashing vodka glasses into an open fire. It has
a glorious intensity, getting stronger as it settles, and the boozy weaving of
oriental and ecclesiastical notes rising to the heavens like a guilty whispered
other two outstanding fragrances from the line are Musc Tonkin and Cuir Ottoman.
Marc-Antoine’s extensive experience with the composition of natural raw
materials has served him remarkably well as a perfumer. There is a minute
attention to detail and for me an intrinsic awareness of texture. He seems to embroider fragrances, into luxurious
fabrics of olfactory wonder, the notes woven together seamlessly to create olfactory
tapestries of drama and harmonious beauty.
is Corsican, born however in Morocco and raised partly amid the citrus groves
of North Africa and the family home of Cuttoli Corticchiato amid the fabled
Corsican maquis. From a background in chemistry and an interest in the scented
life cycles of aromatic plants, he completed his training at the world famous
ISIPCA, the École Internationale de Parfumerie De Versailles.
D’Empire is a collection of fragranced publications inspired by Marc-Antoine’s
passion for history. Each scent echoes an aspect of great empires: Russian,
Ottoman, Alexandrine, and Napoleonic for example. He also sees the skin as an
empire to be conquered by perfume, his perfumes. The fragrances are notable for
their glowing depth and quality of raw ingredients. Cuir Ottoman has a truly beautiful dirtiness, a reveling in the
baseness of skin.
limited edition Musc Tonkin is slutty
and oily, swimming with balms, resins, fire and of course an massive overdose
of musks. There are no notes listed for this concentrated extract, but the
composition reeks of fucked skin, the heat and exhalations of post-coital
flesh, perfumed and wantonly sweaty. An homage to Tonkin musk, a very rare musk
produced by Himalayan deer, the juice waxes and wanes with a fevered honeyed
intensity. I sampled it on a visit to London and felt pornographic for hours.
It spreads out and amplifies, ripples of musk becoming huge waves until you are
knocked off your feet by the force of the effects. It made me feel vaguely
unwell too, headachy and dizzy, like that point on an evening out when you know
you really should go home…. but you don’t. The lure of the night is too
addictive. If you get a chance to try it, please do, it makes the skin a dirty
canvas begging to be licked and bruised.
own words: “. My scents are an invitation
to explore the most complex and mysterious of empires: the realm of the senses.”
Frapin & Cie was established in 1270 in the heart of the Grande Champagne
region of France, establishing themselves in the Chateau de Fontpinot. The
estate covers 300 hectares and the family has been distilling cognac for over twenty
live in Scotland I have over the years learned a lot about the whisky industry
and while I cannot say I am massive fan of the amber nectar (I also stopped
drinking 7 years ago), the variety of regional styles and odours that permeate
the trade still amazes me. The scent of distilleries is kaleidoscopic, the
older the better. Coastal ones for example can have an oceanic, iodine tang
mixed with the woody, yeasty scents of the actual processes. Some of the
distilleries have a whiff of must and dirt, some are gleaming new chromatic
wonders with a steely sharpness of citrus and beery foamy wonder. The language
used in the whisky trade is astonishing, ranging from fruity innuendo to
downright abstract and goddam filthy and vile. From Weetabix, hen’s mash and
oilskin to Madeira cake, nutmeg and bubblegum.
in Burgundy some years ago I had the opportunity to visit several vineyards and
wineries. Again it was the smells and textures of the air that I remember, not
so much the tastings and wine we bought. The dry vineyards themselves have a
particular fluttering salad aroma and I remember the tannic dust and burnt
fruit tones in the cellar air. In one old vineyard there was a weird humming metallic
scent in the extraction chambers that felt comforting and oppressive. And finally the incredible boozy lullaby of
cavernous rooms where casks of wine lay slumbering in semi-darkness as the
elements slowly macerated and blended, creating a dense and complex palette of
tastes and aromas.
these cask memories started coming back as I wore Speakeasy and concentrated on the oddness of the drydown, the shift
from mojito fruity top down through the blond tobacco, leather, resins, tonka
and musks. It shouldn’t really work, draping the ghost of a rum-soaked gourmand
over the tough skeleton of a resinous leather scent. But the sweet aftertaste
works, it allows the skin to love the cellar notes and bar smoke, the potential
pitfalls of olfactory abstraction. Frapin have centuries of experience in the
fine art of maceration and blending in order to achieve the perfect balance on
the palette and in the brain. Bringing the weight of this knowledge to bear on
perfumery was always going to yield intriguing results.
In 2002 Frapin
decided to launch 1270, what they
like to refer to thier parfum des
origines, the scent of their roots, or the scent of the soil if you like.
Created by the daughter of the family, Beatrice Cointreau with the Frapin
Cellar Master, 1270 was designed to
celebrate the vertiginous heritage of the Frapin legacy and the terre itself, the fruits of the vine,
the Folle Blanche grape and the obsessive stages of the cognac’s history. Built
around a duet of vine flowers and the dry green licquorice tones of immortelle,
1270 mixes candied orange, nuts,
prunes, cocoa, tonka and coffee over a sublime and harmonious base of honey,
vanilla and woods.
1270 was the first Frapin I came across on a New
Year trip to Paris and I was blown away by the resonance of the accords and in
particular the controlled booziness of the drydown. Like the flickering heat of
burning Christmas spirits, the blend of woods, spice, fruit and floral facets
is masterly. Everything smells finished, smoothed off and matured. This boozy
woozy sexiness was pushed even further by Bertrand Duchaufour’s 1697, a celebration of the year that
Louis IX bestowed the Frapin family with the status of nobility and a coat of
arms. Rum, rose, patchouli, jasmine sambac and ambergris meld together with
dried fruits and spices, producing a voluptuous, head-spinning eau de parfum of
unique power. It burns off the skin like fire, woody, moreish, giddy and so very
So for Speakeasy, Frapin turned to Marc-Antoine
Corticchiato. Speakeasys were all about coded signals, what to say, who to talk
to, passwords and the potential dangers of drinking during the Prohibition era.
This made everything sparkle at the edges with alarm and threat. With the
booze-swilling culture we have now it is quite hard to imagine a time when
Prohibition could have been a real state of affairs. Now that tobacco has
become persona non grata in so many countries across the western world, more
and more of us are less exposed (probably a good thing) to the smell of
tobacco. I gave up smoking years ago. Yet I still have days and minutes when I
imagine a Marlboro Light in my hand, the strange anticipation of my heart
rising in rhythm to meet the first draw. But most of my smoking memoires are
linked to Gauloises in Paris, and coffee, nasty endless cups in Bastille cafes,
idling time with ratty wannabe punkish boys and bored au-pairs. Smoking until I
wanted to pass out or die and then just tearing open another soft pack and
mentioned earlier I was expecting Speakeasy
to be more amber toned, tawny in the glass as it were. So the blond tobacco
note that floats out of the notes early on was quite a shock. It is clean and damp,
lip-wet. This soft smoky come-hither feel is deepened by the use of immortelle
and its addictive aromas of burnt sugar and sweet grass. Liatrix (deer tongue)
and tonka bean enhance the sense of hazy interiors even more; a fan overhead
slowly chop chopping through the air as the smoke rises and falls around
lipsticked mouths and blue unshaven chins.
magnificence of Speakeasy is the
playfulness, the laughter at the bar, the couple unafraid to laugh, crash their
glasses together and kiss with abandon. This joy is the incredibly beautiful
mojito accord that Cortcchiato has built into the top of the fragrance. It
smells expensive; a cocktail mixed with the world’s finest ingredients, in this
case, rum, Russian mint and fizzy lime from Brazil. It works brilliantly, cool
and laid back, wrong-footing anyone expecting the tobacco and base notes to
throw themselves forward demanding attention. Cortcchiato is far too subtle a
perfumer for that. A touch of orange and the sweetness of Davana keep the top
notes exhilarating for far longer than one would expect.
has ciste, styrax, labdanum, musks and leather blended with the tobacco and
immortelle. They are heavy hitting notes. But nothing ever feels weighed down
or muddied. As Speakeasy dried down I
was continually surprised by the complexity of the evaporation curve, the
evolution of the materials assembled by Corticchiato. I kept picking up a really
compulsive rum baba note, sticky, heady and very nostalgic. Paris again. Tearooms
in winter with hot chocolate served properly in jugs with milk to thin it out.
The bustle of veiled cruising happening all around as I nibbled and dipped my
booze-drenched baba, catching eyes and looking away with a smile. This
delicious patisserie note, tempered by the curveball mojito effect at the top
is what makes Speakeasy so unusual
and desirable on the skin. I think however it is the addition of immortelle absolute
that swings it for me; it is one of my keynote materials. I wrote about it
extensively in my post on L’Être Aimé by Parfums Divine, which is shaped by this
delicious scrubby wonder.
particular burnt sugar and scorched chlorophyll facets of immortelle; along
with a whiff of licquorice left in the sun bolster the off-kilter gourmand
jazzy vibe that comes off Speakeasy.
It runs through the scent like a tenor sax note as the other elements mingle
and coalesce into a soft-focused noir bar scene, plaintive yet persistent and
very taken with this skewed and bluesy scent. It has a certain laid back
quality to it, a tension of illicit love, of stolen kisses and lipstick in the gloom, stubble
against one’s cheek, a whiff of cigarettes, the smell of the streets on a hat
and fingers. Speakeasy is bravura
perfume making, a maceration of themes and ideas from a perfumer and an ancient
cognac House. Together they have created something innovative and singularly
Guillaume’s background in chemistry and his assiduous devotion to creating
fragrances that continue to be provocative and intensely luxurious has made him
one of most intriguing people working in the perfume industry today. I regularly
have Musc Maori and Felanilla in my collection, both of
which burn off my skin with the intensity of supernovae. The banana wood note
anchored under the saffron, vanilla and iris absolutes in Felanilla is incredibly clever and never fails to make me close my
eyes and dream a little when I wear it. Musc
Maori is just the most sensual mix of white musks, coffee and cocoa
accords. Guillaume uses cumaru wood to drip a creamy filling through the notes
as the fragrance heats up. It transforms the skin into a trembling sensual
canvas, awaiting the touch of fingers and lips to trace pictures and words.
ability of Guillaume’s to add something particular and tremendous into each of
his fragrances; to explore new olfactory landscapes and play with sensory story
telling has made him a quietly devastating force within the fickle world of
niche fragrance. For example, he uses a technique called photo-affinage, utilising ultra violet radiation to shatter,
diffuse and smooth notes in his creations. This is used in two of his
fragrances: Cozé and L’Eau de Circé. It is an expensive and
demanding technique that seems to inject a sense of expansion and aching delirium
into the notes, pushing at the edges of the spaces between the accords.
Parfumerie Générale house style of glassy ambience and architectural beauty
wrapped around meticulous and often breathtaking notes has created a unique and
very exciting body of work. Parfumerie Générale perfumes are divisive. I like
this polarising aspect, all good scent should be; all of us liking similar
bland perfumed strands would be terribly dull. I don’t like all of Pierre
Guillaume’s perfumes, but the smooth oddness that permeates his work is very
addictive. When you find the right one for your skin the results can be
Générale fragrances smell like the work of a man obsessed by the very atomic
being of scent. By considering the emotional response of the wearer and how the
trousseau of notes dazzle, the fragrances bind the senses like contemporary
spells. I consider myself lucky my skin loves his fragrances.
always been fascinated by the alchemical aspect of fragrance, where the
construction of notes and accords moves past itself into something more
instinctual and spiritual. Great fragrance should have the ability to move us,
haunt our spaces, and draw people to us like light-struck moths. Wearing Parfumerie
Générale fragrances we notice ourselves or a facet of ourselves that was not
generic world of mainstream perfumery is surprisingly still pretty rigid in its
guidelines for genders. Woods, aromatics and citrus for men, floral, chyprés
and gourmands for women. There are of course exceptions, but generally most big
names rarely deviate from established patterns in fragrance production. This is
then carried across into marketing and PR, the need to sell quickly, make money
back and try and establish the scent in a volatile, fickle market. This is
where niche tends to differ. The rules and lines are there but they oscillate,
allowing smaller niche houses to be much more free in their choices and olfactory
directions. Don’t get me wrong, some niche Houses are just as rigid, but
increasingly there a number of what I think of as concept houses redefining the definitions of how we wear scent and
what we consider fragrance in the first place.
like Nez à Nez, Blood Concept, Etat Libre D’Orange, Huitième Art (Pierre
Guillaume’s other sensual and more minimal line…), Magnetic Scents, Lez Nez, CB
I Hate Perfume, Bex London, Jul et Mad, Arquiste and Tauer Perfume to name a
few are redefining the way we look at the concept of fragrance. The juice
itself is the sole focus of attention. It is
the art. This shift towards the skin and its interaction with the complexity of
aromachemistry and the perfumer’s art seems obvious; yet in recent years
moneymaking and marketing have become the driving force in the perfumery
industry. An increase in awareness via social networking media and consumers
demanding more information and eclecticism for their dollar/euro/yen has
allowed niche fragrance to flourish in the disparate cracks of the high street.
Like glorious underrated wild flowers, they have slowly become increasingly
important and flagrantly beautiful. Stealth perfumery and all the more
beautiful for it.
have to work a little harder to find a scent that suits you, but surely that is
part of the pleasure? Sometimes the notes are oblique, difficult, challenging,
the textual settings obfuscating and tremulous. It can seem a tad pretentious
and chilly, but in terms of travelling, the journey will be littered with
unexpected details and ideas that maybe confound and confront the senses. The
destination however will be luxurious and worthwhile, a fragrance that seems at
once personal and eternal. The perfumers working in niche seem intrinsically
aware of the effect of their creations and the beauty of having such unique
scents on the body. Wearing something this beautiful and connective ensures osmosis
of perfume, skin and soul.
top? Well many of us feel somewhat raw and exposed without scent. It provides
olfactory armour, comfort and sometimes weaponry. I am always searching for new
skin sensations, something that will shock me, thrill me and seduce my fussy
synapses. Once you have found the right connection between your skin/self and a
perfume, the sensuality will unfold around you like a never-ending story.
head over heels for Pierre Guillaume’s No
25Indochine when it was released
in 2011. I was drawn initially to the name; Régis Wargnier’s film, Indochine is one of my favourite films,
a film I watch over and over, the languid glacial beauty of Catherine Deneuve
betrayed against the backdrop of French colonial rule in Indochina from the
1930s to 1950s. Soaring, dramatic and bitterly passionate, Indochine swept me away when I first saw it in a small damp and
fading Edinburgh arthouse cinema in 1992. The lushness of the rubber
plantations, the vast looming scenery, magnified emotions, claustrophobic
relationships and the awareness of times changing made for compelling and
devastating viewing. Deneuve is always at her best when her exquisite patrician
exterior masks deep caverns of seething sexuality. She is a true force of nature
and flickers through the film like golden fire.
In No 25 Indochine Pierre Guillaume locates
his perfume in the calm languid era of colonial ambience and stability before
the troubles. The tone, opulence and sheer drawn-out beauty of the time are carefully
painted into one of the most beautiful of his creations. Guillaume used a duo
of sepia images from the 1920s of Mekong River pleasure cruises as his starting
point. This captured moment of an era, portrayed in lacquered tones, planted
seeds of spice, resins and sweetness in a perfumed brain.
Kampot pepper from Siam, considered the finest in the world, cardamom from
Ceylon, Laotian honey, a really smooth and heavenly benzoin from Siam and that
trademark PG special touch, Tanakha, a highly fragrant wood paste used in
Burma, Pierre Guillaume has woven a intoxicating and cinematic portrait of his
inspirations. His olfactory camera grazes across the skin with unerring
sensuality and grace.
One of my
keystone scents has always been Annick Ménardo’s Bulgari Black with its aromas of rubber, smoky tea and vanillic
skin. I recognize a similar rubber note in Indochine; it nestles amid the
lactonic fruitiness of the bronzed heart of the scent. Like a bell struck in a
temple, the ripples of scent roll out through the air. I don’t think anyone
really does gourmand quite like Guillaume, he finds notes and facets that seem
impossible and creates melting intensity within seemingly simple structures.
Notes shape-shift. Resins become coffee, grasses resemble chocolate, citrus
notes bloom like the most hedonistic of tropical flowers.
So, to Cuir Venenum, one of Guillaume’s
greatest fragrances, but also I think one of his least understood. I have read
a lot of mixed reviews, perfumeheads bemoaning the lack of fuck-off leather,
the contradiction in the name, Leather Poison. They miss the point. It is slow
acting poison, gradually infecting you and consuming you to the point of madness.
LOVE all manifestations of leather in my fragrances: soft, porn, whipcracks,
suede, dirty, w
motorcycle, lipstick, sweat and floral. All are welcome. I adore the roar in
the animalic night of Dzing! by
Olivia Giacobetti, the woozy drifting of Michel Almairac’s gorgeous floral
leather for Bottega Veneta, the
piercing sluttiness of the Kelly CalècheExtrait by Jean Claude Ellena and the
Dietrich-fucks-on-a-motorbike glory of Tom of Finland by Etat Libre d’Orange. I
am liking the re-orchestration of Diorling
just now too, it smells astonishing on my skin, all dirty green and fucked up
powder. My most recent crush is the incredibly sensual new quartet of
leather-soaked Mugler fragrances. The incarnation of Angel with its shudderingly sexy combo of chocolate, fruits and tanned
leather is sublime and the compliments flutter to you like bees to pollen.
in scent makes me feel porny. Simple really. I would like to imagine I was a
highwayman in a previous life, swathed in black, a supple mask wrapped across
my face as I robbed and flirted my way through swathes of regency dandies and
coy powdered girls. The truth of the matter is that leather notes suit my skin
and my limbic system process the smells as something intensely erotic and
comforting. The echo of skin on skin, buried DNA memories of tooth and claw,
the savagery tamed by whipcracks, but only just.
Cuir Venenum is a very odd perfume, an abstracted and
elaborately built scent with layers that unveil with great dexterity and quiet
eroticism. There is a kiss of danger to it, a dripping of tattoo studio and spilt
beer. I spend so much time getting inked; the place has a very particular
scent, whiffs of ink, oil from the tattoo machines, antiseptic spray, Vaseline
and latex. My tattooist also has ancient leather trousers that add a certain je ne sais quoi to the general ambience.
eccentric friend who always rocks up and does the unexpected, Cuir Venenum delights and throws up
surprises each time I wear it. This is what good scent is about: difference.
Difference from the general scented pack but also difference on a more finite
level, the everyday interaction of skin and senses. I love scents that smell
different each time I wear them. Be it mood, attitude, heat, season, whim,
carnality or sheer bloody mindedness it is always interesting to perceive the
shifts in quality scent; the roll and tumble of the notes, the sudden
appearance of an impression not noticed before.
wearing Cuir Venenum for a couple of
sumptuous days when I kept thinking of a booth in a favourite bar years ago
when I was still drinking. The seats were leather, the walls dark wood and the
smoking ban was still in the future. I went so often with a friend, our drinks
magically appeared without us saying anything. My favourite barman was a
beautiful redheaded boy with amazing translucent skin and a way of making you
feel private, eroticised and cared for. I had a passion for raspberry beer; the
kind that came wrapped in paper. The taste was weirdly brown, tannic and fizzy
with a delicious hoppy aroma. It was addictively sticky and all my memories of
laughing and bitching and occasionally crying in that aromatic booth came
flooding back as Cuir Venenum dropped
onto my skin and exuded its soft beery leather whimsy.
usual with anything created by Pierre Guillaume, the notes assembled to create Cuir Venenum are of the very highest
quality and read like a roll call of desire. If recited softly over my skin as
I lie tied to a bed; I would chew through my restraints with desire.
notes have a bubbling citrus accord, orange flowers absolutes mixed with
hawthorn; a very odd note that always reminds of my summer garden as a sullen
unpredictable teen. An unruly hawthorn tree hung its head over a wall at the
top of the garden and the thick, bitter scent was intoxicating, awash with foraging
bees. My mother always told me it was bad luck to bring hawthorn (or May
blossom as it sometimes known) into the house. The tisane is very popular in
France, exuding a yeasty, sillage aroma as the water hits the herbs. I can
really smell it in the top of the scent, it is quite distinctive. Interesting
fact: trimethylamine, a natural chemical present in hawthorn blossom is one of
the first chemicals given off as animal tissue starts to decay. This explains
the sometimes off-putting bouquet that drops from hawthorn as it starts to turn
on the branch. It can be suffocating.
is where the leather sits, soft and a little tear-stained, cocooned in a quite
lovely note of coconut sugar alcohol. This polyalcohol has been very subtly
combined with musks and adds background and sweetness to the structure in much
the same way Gomme adds sweetness to
cocktails. The most unusual note in the perfume is Tamanol. This is actually a
rosin-modified phenolic resin and goes a long way to explaining the hops and fruits
beer effect I love so much. This is an odour of Edinburgh skies; the city’s
breweries leak a hoppy damp, mulchy aroma into the air and it carries through
the air across the rooftops and trees, permeating swathes of the capital. I
have always known this smell. Ever since I was a student here many moons ago,
this smell links me shockingly to this, my city. When you pull into Waverley
Station on the train sometimes, peering up at the formidable drop of the castle
rock, the smell of hops leaks in through the windows mingling with diesel and
the smell of wet stone. This is Edinburgh.
of Cuir Venenum has an unexpected
honeyed note, soft and cleverly executed, it drips over the musks and
potentially harrowing myrrh note to delicious and breakfasty effect. It is the
overall harmony and polished eccentricity of Parfumerie Générale fragrances
that I love so much. I never tire of their inventiveness and élan. Their
ability or intention to provoke an emotional response is often cited in
articles and in interviews with Pierre Guillaume himself. He is a rarity in
perfumery, a genuine sensualist. One with a vision of a million skins, all of
them radiating his unique elixirs.
his oeuvre quite intoxicating. The ones I have worn have stayed alive in my
memory and I can accurately recall how they developed and haunted the skin. I
don’t like everything, but this is to be expected. He is pushing at and
twisting the rules of established perfumery. He is sometimes criticised for
being too clever and producing work that is cold and overly artistic. But if
this is coldness, I will happily freeze in its embrace.
I find a
tantalizing darkness in Cuir Venenum,
almost just beyond my reach. It starts out all fizzy and sharp with its lick
of orange blossom and citrus top notes really buzzing the senses. Then it begins
to unsettle me for reason I find hard to really explain. The fruity beer heart spills
over leather and perhaps burns a little round the edges; a whiff of phenolic
sulphur mingling with the coconut and musks. There is a turning, a fermentation
on the skin. Then a falling, a descent into resinous exhaustion. The sweetness
lingers, but it is dirty now and worn to the nub. It is a scent of residues and
traces. I feel I should be collapsed on a mussed bed, wrists chaffing from soft
restraints, loved to utter lassitude.
the energy to walk into a night exuding the worn remnants of leather and bar
room exhalations. It is at once liberating and crushingly sad.
For more information on Pierre Guillaume & Parfumerie Générale, please click on the link below: