Niche Perfumes: Style, Substance and Finding the Balance

What is ‘niche’?

The dictionary defines the word thus:

1. a shallow recess, especially one in a wall to display a statue or other ornament.“each niche holding a shepherdess in Dresden china” synonyms: recess, alcove, nook, cranny, slot, slit, hollow, bay, cavity, cubbyhole, pigeonhole, opening, aperture…

2. a comfortable or suitable position in life or employment. “he is now head chef at a leading law firm and feels he has found his niche” synonyms: ideal position, calling, vocation, métier, place, function, job, slot, opportunity…

ECOLOGY a role taken by a type of organism within its community. “the niche left vacant by the disappearance of wolves”

3. a specialized but profitable segment of the market. “a niche market for quality food”

The word is being bandied about with increasing frequency within the perfume industry and because of this it seems to be losing some of it’s potency. Niche, for many people who love perfume, represents a company that solely produces scent; in small batches using quality ingredients. Niche means buying into exclusivity, of wearing a scent made by an artist dedicated to their craft.

There is also the assumption that a niche perfume will be special in ways that fragrance from a large company isn’t. It will be different, maybe even unique; it will step over the boundary from wearable perfume into art, to be spritzed on and marvelled over. Considering the price tag attached to many niche perfumes, the customer has come to expect all of the above mentioned plus exquisite packaging and a ’boutique shopping’ experience; be that physically or digitally via the company’s website.

This demand for something special, something other than what’s available at the counter of the department store, has led to a huge influx of ‘niche’ perfumes created by big brands, marketed to ooze luxury, quality and exclusivity but which in reality are no more ‘artisan’ than the mass produced offerings in the local chemist. Meanwhile, there are genuinely talented perfumers who feel they are struggling to carve out their own tiny niche within this larger ‘niche’, their product becoming overshadowed and wildly outsold by their wealthy competitors.

During the time that I have been writing this blog, I have come across many small brands, tentatively introducing the fruits of their labour to the market. As a rule I do not publish a review about a perfume that I have not enjoyed. Because most of my interest lies in discovering these truly niche companies, I somehow feel that in writing negatively I would be damaging the already tentative hold that has been established. I understand that there is a need for honest opinion, if the only reviews available on a perfume are positive then a potential customer can be led to a misguided purchase. I seek out what intrigues me and if I don’t like it I don’t review it. There are other exceptionally talented writers out there who are willing to be critical about a perfume; I don’t feel that I am one of them.

There is one particular factor that I do feel needs to be critically addressed however and that is the importance of product branding. As this blog evolves and I discover more about the industry, I find myself increasingly bewildered by extreme cases of style over substance. Even more frustrating is when the opposite happens; when a lovely perfume is branded poorly, the lack of aesthetic appeal leaves a lingering feeling that the scent is not somehow worth the money required to purchase it. The subjective nature of perfume does indeed extend to the way it is presented, as olfactive tastes differ; so does one’s idea of what is aesthetically pleasing. I feel strongly that there is no room in this cut throat industry for poor quality when it comes to branding. If a perfumer is proud of their creation then the huge amount of work that has gone into it should be evident to the customer in every aspect of the presentation.

Companies that have obviously placed priority on style and marketing over the quality of the actual perfume infuriate me. But I feel equally exasperated when I come across a lovely fragrance that looks like it’s packaging was made at the kitchen table; and not in a deliberately quirky, homespun way. As a reviewer I feel duty bound to sing it’s praises, help generate interest so that other people will discover that inside the cheap bottle there is a beautiful perfume just crying out to be worn and appreciated. But other people’s initial reactions will probably be the same as mine: The perfume doesn’t look like a luxury item, why does it cost so much? In much the same way that I feel begrudging towards cheap juice inside an expensive bottle, I wonder at the massive oversight made by some perfumers when it comes to the importance of presentation. Balance is required for both parties and I’d really like to see it happen more often.

So what steps can be taken to enable small businesses to find that balance on the increasingly slippery ladder to success? How does an artisan with a limited marketing budget get their product noticed? I can only answer this question from the perspective of a customer, former merchandiser and fragrance writer. I am by no means an experienced business woman and if I were a perfumer I would have lost my nerve long ago. This industry is brutal, it’s like haute couture fashion except even more subjective. The restrictions and regulations hanging over the heads of perfumers are increasingly inflexible. The cost of production is high so the price point in turn must be high. And it’s solitary work, hundreds of hours spent at the organ blending, re-blending, perfecting, pondering and deliberating.

It takes a pretty spectacular individual to create, package and sell their product successfully and it’s very true that not all artists are good communicators. The process of making a scent, conveying emotion and mood through olfaction is an art form; actually selling that art is a whole different ball game and requires a different approach. Not every artist is a salesperson. It would also be true to say that some of the most effective salespeople have little real appreciation for the product they they are touting. They may have no artistic flair at all. Companies trying to relaunch a once established name, or those whose first thought for their business was how they wanted their product to look before it has even been created would also benefit from a little more balance; beautiful packaging will be enough for some but it will never convince the connoisseur.

Those perfumers inexperienced at sales and those working with a limited budget can find their scents woefully overlooked because the branding isn’t strong enough to hold it’s own. Without the help of designers and PR people, that beautiful perfume might never sell to it’s full potential. On the other hand, perfumes that are placed into the hands of salespeople who care very little for the juice they are marketing will most likely be unable to convey the message that is intended by the perfumer. As scent is so subjective, package and market it wrongly and it’s illusive beauty will be scrubbed out by inappropriate branding.

The saying ‘never judge a book by it’s cover’ springs to mind here, but in this fast paced age of instant gratification it is becoming a more and more outdated concept. Until the invention of digital smellovision it will be impossible to convey the contents of a bottle of perfume without first offering the customer guidance via it’s wrappings. For small niche perfumers this is even more important because the price point of the fragrance is so high and their own marketing budgets are often very limited. There are no megastars available to pose seductively, eyes closed in rapturously golden photoshopped billboards. The truly niche companies have to give their customers another reason to consider spending upwards of £100 on a bottle of perfume, before they have even smelt it. People are becoming increasingly savvy when it comes to spending. Luxury items need to be dazzling.

Dazzling doesn’t have to mean blingy. Nothing says quality better than chic simplicity. As a customer I believe it only takes five things to make a good perfume stand out from the crowd: a beautiful bottle; crisp, excellent quality packaging; clear photography; engaging copy and the opportunity to sample.

The bottle and it’s box are the first physical contact a customer has with a scent. It needs to be a tactile experience, one which will encourage them to remove the lid and inhale the scent within. Shape, weight and colour should all be taken into consideration. The customer will be imagining that bottle in their own home, sitting on the dresser or in the bathroom cabinet; a luxury item, the finishing touch to their daily beauty routine.

The logo should be artistic without compromising clarity so that the customer can actually read the name of the brand. I believe simplicity is always most effective because it allows for a diverse range of tastes to become intrigued by the contents of the bottle. If the budget doesn’t allow for expensive embossing or colouring on the packaging then the typography should be strong enough to convey quality and luxury on its own. The same applies for the website. Simple, strong graphics and accessibility far outweigh the need for fancy Flash animations.

Photography should be professional, artfully shot and above all it should express the mood of the fragrance. The visual identity of a perfume will stay in a customer’s mind as they take their first sniff. As most niche perfumes are only available in a select number of boutiques, the majority of custom will come via the internet; therefor the imagery of a brand has to entice and excite the customer’s eyes before it can excite their nose.

Information about the company, it’s ethos and descriptions of the perfume is entirely personal to the creators and therefor is perhaps the most subjective aspect of all. As a customer I like to know about the personalities behind the brand, their motivations and inspirations. I like to see a note listing, however vague it might be; I also prefer a concise description of the scent without too much elaboration. (As a writer I tend to go off on my own creative, sometimes obscure tangents about a perfume and I find that easier to do when my own interpretation isn’t coloured by lots of flowery prose. I appreciate that this is personal to me and will not apply to the majority of customers.)

The main reason I am able to write this blog is because I can purchase samples. I live in a sleepy little corner of the UK where perfumeries are few and far between. I cannot simply wander into town to get my fix. I believe making samples available for purchase via the website is an essential part of selling a fragrance and they should be presented to an equally high standard. Sampling always feels to me like a kind gesture from the perfumer, it say’s “try this, I hope you like it.” It encourages a return visit. Personal touches are very much appreciated, as long as it’s done with elegance and style.

I feel I should state again that I am no business woman and I can only imagine the difficulties of establishing a brand in such a crowded industry. I can simply offer the perspective of a merchandiser and writer who is constantly searching for new scents to inspire me. I’m bewitched by aesthetics almost as much as I am by perfume. For me the two are closely linked. As a customer I want the whole package; the luxury, the feeling that I own something special; beautifully crafted and presented to reflect the amount of money I have paid for it. When I buy a bottle of perfume it is not a throwaway purchase, it’s a treat I can afford myself only a few times a year. I don’t want to regret that purchase, I want to enjoy every single spritz from beginning to end and I want to save the empty bottle because it’s just too lovely to dispose of. I don’t believe I am alone in wanting all those things from a perfume.

I believe that’s what it takes to create long lasting success, that and lots of shouting on social media sites. Word of mouth has incredible power these days. As long as the perfume can deliver what it promises then why wouldn’t people want to buy it? Looks can only carry a brand so far though, at the end of the day if the juice is of a poor quality then the truth will out eventually. I want to see more talent shining though while the glamorous facade falls away in tatters. I want to see importance placed in the right areas: If the brand is strong then make sure the perfume matches it; if the scent is glorious, dress it appropriately. I have enormous respect for those who have already struck the perfect balance, I am grateful to be on the receiving end of all your hard work.

Gorilla Perfume ‘The Smell of Weather Turning’

I have been waiting to write about this perfume for quite a while. I was first introduced to it whilst working for Lush and although the specific notes faded from my mind, ‘The Smell of Weather Turning’ left an indelible mark on my consciousness. I know that my memory of scent is sometimes skewed, altered by emotion and association. It can be a crushing blow to smell something again and realise that you’ve remembered it very differently. With this perfume I couldn’t remember the notes, just this feeling that it needed to be revisited, that I needed to spend some more time with it.

The manner in which the slim black vial of perfume arrived back into my hands, a gift from an old friend, has made smelling it again even more poignant.

Along with ‘Breath of God’- which made it into Luca Turin’s top 100 scents- ‘The Smell of Weather Turning’ is the most widely praised and sort after from the Gorilla Perfume line. It is described by almost every person who has reviewed it as ‘weirdly beautiful’. It is not a scent that is easily worn, it is more a scent to be spritzed onto skin and puzzled over. The combination of notes is intriguingly bizarre- oak wood, hay, beeswax, nettle, peppermint and roman chamomile. Green, dry, waxy sweet, menthol and herbal, looking at the note listing one would expect to be reminded of an old apothecary chest, filled with ancient remedies to cure ills. There are certain aspects of that within the perfume’s development but mostly I feel an almost visceral sense of time receding, sun and moon hurtling backwards across cloud darkened skies until I am transplanted into an imagined vision from long, long ago….

‘Weather Turning’ opens with damp earth and grass, moss creeping across the brittle bark of a fallen tree. This decaying giant lies at the foot of a barrow, outside an entrance sealed by grey stone. Beyond the ridge the flat plains of Somerset stretch out toward rising hills in the distance, flood water reflecting the brooding clouds above. It is a bruised and tumultuous sky, blue-grey with inky smudges, rolling over the horizon with gathering menace. The wind whips around the barrow in chilly gusts as I climb, crushing the greenery beneath my rough shod feet.

The air is oddly still at the top, electric with an inaudible hum that is sensed rather than heard. Adrenalin crackles up my spine in anticipation. There is a farmstead at the edge of the plain below, woodsmoke from the fire drifts up to mingle with the scent of harvested crops. The tiny figures in the fields are rushing to load their carts, to bring the bales in before the heavens open. From my perch I watch them toil like ants beneath the gargantuan sky. I shudder as a distant rumble of thunder cracks the silence.

Although the rain is still far away, I pull my leather cloak more tightly around myself. It’s scent is tanned hide and last night’s campfire, thick and unyielding across my shoulders. It is a comfort to settle in beneath it’s weight, a talisman of protection against the elemental hugeness all around me. As the clouds brew up their storm of noise and drenching darkness, I watch the light scurry away behind the hills, the shadows deepen and the hairs on my arms prickle with primeval foreboding. Every inch of my being screams at me to take cover, but the terrifying beauty of nature when she is angry keeps me rooted to the top of the barrow. The bones in the earth beneath seem almost to judder with the thrill of it.

It seems to me that I am balanced on top of the world, a world about to be ravaged and soaked and split open by lightening. The first splintered flash stops my breath in my throat. In the sudden brightness the landscape jumps out in stark monochrome, a terrifyingly alien vision that sends me hurtling off the ridge towards the farm, down to the comfort of the fire and the shelter and the closeness of human bodies. Nature is too big and I am but a speck on the hillside…..

‘The Smell of Weather Turning’ brings to mind a number of unsettling dreams that I remember vividly from my childhood. I would be going about something normal like playing in the garden, when all of a sudden a low hum would begin to resonate through my dreamscape, bringing with it a terrifying sense of foreboding. Nothing would actually happen in these dreams except this, but I would wake in a panic, scared and disorientated. Later in life I have felt this in the atmosphere as a storm is brewing and I’ve learned to relish the anticipation, yet always as the thunder smashes overhead I feel a spike of real fear that sends me running for cover. That instinctual need for protection is never fully rationalised. The combination of herbal, woody and leathery notes in this perfume seems to trigger some response in me that feels distinctly primal, it touches a long dead nerve, sparking it back into life.

‘Weather Turning’ is an elemental fragrance, green with crushed herbs, fragrant with grasses and mosses, leathered and smoked in burnt umber hues. In it’s dying stages there is a comforting closeness about the scent which is quite at odds with it’s atmospheric opening. There is a feeling of human vs. nature in this perfume. It is about savage wild beauty and man’s existence within it. The leathery smokiness represents the small comfort of fire and shelter in a landscape of rolling earth and storm ridden skies.

Or, if you are less imaginatively inclined, it is a pleasantly green, slightly smoky herbal scent with a deeper leather accord running through the base. When I wear ‘The Smell of Weather Turning’ I’d much prefer to experience the whole story, even if it does vaguely terrify me. Another superbly weird creation from the house of Gorilla and one that really must be sought out by lovers of deeply earthy, aromatic perfumes. It may not be an easy fragrance to wear, it seems to sit rather uncomfortably in these modern times. But this is what sets it apart as unique, fascinating and definitely worth experiencing.

Shay and Blue- three bright spaces.

When one comes across a new niche perfume house with an incredibly strong visual identity, it is easy to jump to conclusions. I have had the misfortune of encountering a few such brands that have all the style and panache, all the engaging, intelligent blurb and enough hype to ignite a forest fire of interest in the perfumes. Sadly, the juice simply hasn’t been able to live up to the glowing picture rendered expertly by the PR company. The money has gone into the look and left very little for the product itself. At the other end of the spectrum there are extremely talented perfumers out there, creating beautiful fragrance, but with a limited budget and no commercial marketing experience the result is poor visual representation that turns the customer off before they’ve even caught a whiff of scent.

This is a particular pet peeve of mine. I have a background in Visual Communication, merchandising and sales, so I understand the need for intelligent advertising and attractive packaging. In fact I would encourage any artisan perfumer to get their brand looking good before they present it to the customer. Niche fragrance is all about luxury and pleasure, we want to feel that what we are buying is special- a little decadent and extravagant. In my piece about fragrant motivations, I’ve spoken about how sometimes I feel the importance of the ‘look’ far outweighs the actual quality of a fragrance, especially within the realms of fashion and beauty. I have been guilty of buying a fragrance because I liked the bottle in the past. Now however, I care far more about the perfume, it’s beauty and quality, the craftsmanship involved in it’s creation. It makes me very angry to see perfume houses fling huge sums of money in entirely the wrong direction because they know that with the right marketing it won’t matter how bad the perfume is, people will buy it. Where is the artistry in that?

Shay and Blue, established in 2012, are a London based perfume house with fragrance veteran Dom De Vetta at the helm. With twenty years experience working at the very top for the likes of Chanel and Jo Malone, of course the Shay and Blue ‘look’ was going to be masterfully created and styled. And it really is a stunning looking brand. Powder blue packaging with striped ribbons and delicate aqua coloured bottles with golden tops. The typography is an intelligent and subtle blend of classical and modern, the photography a masterful, still life portrait of each perfume, surrounded by it’s key ingredients and styled to ooze sophistication and cool beauty. It’s all very, very well done and I am instantly intrigued. There is also a strong suggestion of artisanal exclusivity about Shay and Blue that I rather like, that ’boutique experience’ I enjoy so much when it comes to choosing perfume. The London boutique looks stunning, with it’s black and white tiled floors and richly hued interior of smoky blues and old wood….

Of course I have warning bells sounding in my head after becoming thoroughly jaded by past experience. Could the scents ever live up to my newly inflamed expectations? The six perfumes in the line have come with high recommendations from The Silver Fox, a man who’s nose I trust but who’s taste sometimes differs from my own. I ordered samples of ‘Almond Cucumber’, ‘Atropa Belladonna’ and ‘Amber Rose’. I’ve waited nearly a month for my sinuses to clear after a horrible cold and all the while the little blue packages have perched on my dressing table and quietly whispered to me about decadence and sophistication. The build up has been rather epic and may I say, thoroughly worth it.

Of the three fragrances I have tried there has been one big surprise, one rather hedonistic joy ride and one beautiful romance. Perfumer Julie Masse is an obviously talented and exciting new perfumer with style enough to match her fragrance’s gorgeous wrappings. Together Julie Masse and Dom De Vetta have created a strong theme throughout the perfumes, one that I can only really describe metaphorically.

If Shay and Blue is a fragrance house, then the fragrances themselves are rooms, each with it’s own stunning interior and filled with the voices and personalities of it’s notes. It is a Regency style house of the type built in my home town of Cheltenham, in the Cotswolds. Regency architecture in Cheltenham has a feel that you just don’t find anywhere else. Grand facades, like pale, square monoliths set within green, leafy spaces. Large, airy rooms, high ceilings, huge windows to let in all the light. I did not grow up in a house like this but I’ve always wanted to own one. That sense of light and space runs through all three of the Shay and Blue perfumes that I have sampled, along with a wonderfully controlled yet expressive imagery that just oozes class. I would happily spend time in all of these scented rooms, and there is one that I could easily never leave. We’ll end our tour there. Let us start in the Sun Room…..

‘Amber Rose’ has been the biggest surprise for me. If you’ve heard me talk about rose you’ll know that I am beyond fussy when it comes to the queen of the flowers. I am a self confessed snob and extremely hard to please. One of my least favourites are sweet roses because although I greatly enjoy eating the sugared petals in various forms, I cannot quite cope with that scent on my skin. ‘Amber Rose’ lists May Rose from Grasse and White Amber among it’s notes, as well as a very intriguing Dulce de Leche facet that really caught my attention. I adore Dulce de Leche. On toast, in crepes, straight off the spoon, it’s butterscotch goodness never fails to pleasure me. But I don’t like sweet roses and Dulche de Leche is so sweet…..I could procrastinate forever, so I thought I should just get on and try it.

‘Amber Rose’ is like opening the door into a room painted palest faun and white. The vast windows are open and behind sheer, drifting lace the sun is setting, filtering through the delicate curtains in a blaze of radiance. On every surface stands vase upon vase of roses, pink, peach, white and apricot, creamy petals fluttering to the polished wooden floor in the summers breeze. The occasional table between the silk brocade sofas is set with a delectable feast of soft white bread, rose lemonade and a huge jar of butterscotch sauce, the spoon all ready for scooping. The air inside the room is warm from the sun’s rays and fresh from the breeze, the blooms all around are sublimely fragrant. All you have to do it settle into the cushions and enjoy your delicious supper….

The beginning few seconds of ‘Amber Rose’ is about dewy soft petals, unfurling at high speed in the growing sunlight. It feels soft and sheer but the rose isn’t ghostly, rather it has a lovely luminosity that renders the pale petals whole. When the Dulce de Leche appears it immediately takes centre stage, growing in intensity and golden butteriness with every second. Five minutes in and ‘Amber Rose’ is all about butterscotch. My mouth is watering, it is a realistic portrait which avoids nasty synthetic sweetness. For a while I wonder if the rose will ever return but after about ten minutes she drifts back in. There is what I feel to be a necessary distance between the massive dose of golden butterscotch and the delicate pink of the rose, they hold themselves very separate from each other and from this point take it in turns to be more prevalent. This is undoubtably a very sweet, gourmand rose fragrance of the sort that I don’t usually like. However, I really like ‘Amber Rose’ for a number of reasons.

Firstly, that Dulce de Leche is difficult not to love. There is such an accuracy to this accord that it never develops an uncomfortable level of sweetness. It is exactly as it is straight from the jar. Secondly, the rose and butterscotch are the only two notes that I really notice, everything else seems simply to support the main players. I enjoy this because for me, gourmand roses are usually spoiled by the appearance of some very inedible note somewhere in the development. It is akin to enjoying a glass of milk then noticing that you can still taste the washing up liquid. In ‘Amber Rose’ all the notes are scrumptiously mouthwatering, deliciously scented, rounded and smooth. There are no sour moments. Thirdly, I find no powdery lipstick quality here, this is not a vintage rose. It is a very intelligently produced sweet, dewy rose with all the sophistication of a classic, but none of the showiness. I think I actually might wear this and that is saying something!

‘Amber Rose’ has a moderate projection and stayed on my skin for about six hours. I tend to apply cautiously though, so I should imagine a few more spritzes would last far longer. But if you are looking for a perfume with some serious tenacity then you’d better follow me upstairs to the Boudoir….

‘Atropa Belladonna’ has been another extremely enjoyable experience. A richly decadent and voluptuous interpretation of berries, white blooms and vanilla that has a narcotic, hedonistic feel in it’s opening moments. Cassis, Grasse Jasmine, White Narsissus, Bourbon Vanilla and Patchouli make for quite a heady concoction.

The door of the Boudoir is made of teak, intricately engraved with garlands of flowers and swags of ripe fruit. It opens with barely a whisper as you step into the velvet darkness within. The carpet is so plush that your feet sink luxuriously into the indigo fibres, not a chink of moonlight is allowed to escape from behind curtains that would not look out of place hung in a proscenium arch. They pool in endless shadowed folds upon the floor. Candles burn intensely in the gloom, the plum coloured wax bubbling and dripping into ornate holders. The flames themselves seem to burn with a bluish hue. A subtle sparkling outlines a figure seated within the depths of the room, the flames reflect from the rubies clinging to her throat. You bring the candle closer and in it’s flickering light you catch the impression of dark tumbling hair, bare shoulders and acres of damson velvet skirts. The woman’s eyes glimmer with a sultry menace, the pupils fully dilated in a face with lips like a stain of berry juices. Whatever she wants with you, it is both terrifying and thrilling….

The opening of ‘Atropa Belladonna’ is very visual, dark juices bursting upon the skin with characteristic sweet tartness. The cassis is so dark it is almost black and dense in texture. The jasmine appears next, swirling through the deep plum and indigo. The effect is one of opening petals in the night, pollen escaping to drift on the breeze.

The perfume blossoms forth in waves, filling out and taking form. I detect a very distinct pollen note which I believe comes from the narsissus and this is what takes ‘Atropa Belladonna’ from dessert into a narcotic fuelled night of decadence and hedonism. The slightly nose tickling narsissus, the head spinning indolic quality of the jasmine, paired with the sweet/tart cassis and a developing rich vanilla is really trippy. There is also a sense of something slightly herbal in the base, the idea of incense burning without the actual scent of it. I believe this to be a very clever use of patchouli and sandalwood, supporting the slick and sweet vanilla/cassis combination and helping it to last.

The cassis note has impressive longevity and carries through the whole development of the fragrance, along with the incredibly rich and almost burnt vanilla. The trippy pollen-like narcissus subsides to allow the jasmine to fully breathe her night time secrets into the dark. Patchouli stays submerged below the surface, supporting the other notes until the final dry down, where it becomes more prominent and develops a jam like quality, next to a drier sandalwood and berry custard dessert of cassis and vanilla.

‘Atropa Belladonna’ is almost obscene in it’s sweetness at times, but it comes purely from a clever blend of cassis and vanilla and never stumbles over into artificial sugarplums. The patchouli is no where near as prevalent as it is in other gourmand patchouli fragrances like Mugler ‘Angel’ and the berry juices far more sophisticated than ‘Nina’ by Nina Ricci. There are comparisons certainly and if you love either of those fragrances then I’m sure you would adore ‘Atropa Belladonna’. I feel that it deserves special recognition for that incredible narcotic quality in it’s opening moments, so fitting considering the effects of Deadly Nightshade, from which it’s name derives. After the unspoken debauchery of the night, it’s time to freshen up. Come done into the Garden Room when you’re ready….

The third scent that I chose to sample from Shay and Blue is ‘Almond Cucumber’ and it is the one that I have fallen head over heels for. For me it is the epitome of understatement, something that I am forever searching for in perfume. With a nod to the 90’s, the era in which I was discovering scent, ‘Almond Cucumber’ was bound to woo my nostalgic sensibilities. It’s no watery blue pool though, there is light and space in this perfume that draws it firmly into the now.

Stepping through the glass doors of the garden room, the sensation is one of wonderful coolness. The walls are white, the rattan furniture bleached by the weather and the tiled floor carries a faded pattern of sage coloured flowers. Beyond the glass the garden spreads out in seemingly endless greenness, drooping willow against shiny rhododendron, rolling lawns disappearing beneath shaded boughs. This is where you come to think, to work, to refresh a tired soul. Pulling a chair up to the french doors, you sit between the flowing white linen curtains and slowly pick through a bowl of melon and cucumber, breathing in the bright air of the garden and letting your thoughts wander. The afternoon passes in dappled light and shade until finally the sun can be seen dipping below the horizon, a perfect golden orb framed with bluish cloud. Stretching, you set aside your notebook and wander out into the evening mists, dew already forming on the grass. It is deliciously cool beneath your bare feet….

‘Almond Cucumber’ is simplicity itself, a superb combination of cool and milky notes with incredible longevity. Cucumber, Winter Mimosa, Almond milk and Almond wood are the notes listed. The scent opens like freshly peeled and sliced cucumber, crushed onto a white china dish. Chasing behind comes a luscious green melon, ever so slightly sweetened but always chilled and mouthwatering. There is a nostalgic hint of a facial toner I used to use as a teenager but the effect is not astringent or alcoholic, it feels pure and succulent.

The almond, when it appears after about five minutes, is what truly makes this perfume a winner for me and sets it apart from the watery, melony musks of the past. It is freshest almond milk, white and smooth and nutty, cold from the fridge. It seems to blend seamlessly with the pale green cucumber, blitzing the slippery flesh and turning it creamy, almost frothy. There is no soap, no washing powder, just a very realistic white and green fluidity. Occasionally a little sweetness rises in the development, reminiscent of macaroons but this always subsides again under the steady misting of milk and light.

‘Almond Cucumber’ feels spacious, luminous and airy. The balance between nutty and cool is ever perfect and a certain dewy moistness presides. However, the fragrance never feels drenched and watery to me. There is also a very pretty floral quality that lends a dainty texture. Subtle in the extreme but then, that’s what I love the most.

For all it’s dainty politeness, this perfume has lasting power beyond my wildest dreams. I think that the notes really suit my skin and that helps. I wouldn’t call it a perfume of great sillage, it doesn’t project greatly but it lasts and lasts from early morning into the evening. In the closing stages it feels comforting and still so creamy, warmer now with woody shavings. ‘Almond Cucumber’ is the ultimate in cool, reserved and seamless simplicity. I adore it.

A wonderful and surprising bonus comes written on the price tag. At £30 for 30mls and £55 for 100mls, these perfumes are affordable. I honestly couldn’t believe the price. I normally just assume  that the price of the fragrances I review will be close to £100 at least and I had to double check the website to be sure. There is obvious craftsmanship and high quality ingredients at work here, the structure may not be overly complex but the resulting perfumes are all worthy of praise.

Shay and blue have delivered on all fronts. The brand looks stunning and the fragrances have been a joy to write about. ‘Almond Cucumber’ will be arriving, beautifully packaged, as a full bottle on my dresser in the near future. I still have three more scents to try, the vivacious sounding ‘Blood Oranges’, the zest infused ‘Sicilian Limes’ and the very intriguing ‘Suffolk Lavender’. I’m greatly looking forward to exploring more scented rooms within the house of Shay and Blue, I hope that you will seek out these bright spaces for yourselves too.

Let’s talk about Rose

The Queen of blooms, an ancient representative of love and beauty. In Greek mythology, the sea foam falling from Aphrodite’s body as she is born from the waves turns to white roses, a sign of her innocence and purity. When she must heal her wounded lover Adonis, she sheds her blood onto a white rose, turning it’s petals crimson with her passion and desire. After the wedding of Eros and Psyche, Zeus instructs his children the Hours and the Graces to set everything aglow with roses, spreading the blooms throughout the whole of Ancient Greece and carrying all the power of the gods.

Of the thousands of myths surrounding the rose, the story I find particularly beautiful is about the Roman goddess Flora, queen of the spring and protector of flowers. When one of her beloved Nymphs dies, she begs the other gods to help turn her into a beautiful flower. Apollo gives her life, Bacchus bestows nectar, Pomona gives her fruit, Vertumnus creates for her a beautiful perfume and Flora crowns her with petals. The rose becomes the united effort of multiple gods, making it the most magically powerful bloom of all.

Personally I have lots of memories surrounding roses. I’ve spoken about it before but my grandmother used to wear a rose scent, I don’t know what it was but that particular perfume is trapped forever inside a still frame of her dressing table, jewellery boxes overflowing with pearls and paste gems, golden cased lipsticks and my granddads old war medals.

In the city where my grandmother lived there was a garden on the seafront filled with roses. During late summer we would go and wander through the rows of carefully tended bushes, surrounded by high walls to protect the delicate blooms from the sea breezes. It’s the colours that I remember here. White, yellow, peach, pink and red, all glowing against a backdrop of azure sky. I can also remember an intense urge to pick the flowers from the earth and gather them into a huge bunch to take home. I was severely scolded for trying.

Another memory from my childhood is of the Cotswold Perfumery, in Bourton-on-the-Water close to where I grew up. It’s a beautiful place, limestone cottages with a wide stream running through the centre of the village. The perfumery makes very classic fragrances, as well as running courses in perfume making. As a child I was mesmerised by the shop, all the twinkling glass bottles and the wonderful smelling perfumes within. For a couple of pounds you could buy samples of the perfume, except instead of packaging them in the traditional test vials they were artfully encased in perfect, minuscule bottles, complete with a tiny label and a lovely box patterned like watered silk. I’m sure you can imagine that for a little girl in love with perfume and also firmly insistent that fairies were real, owning a bottle like this was about as wonderful as you could get. I had a rose perfume, I think it was called ‘Rosa’. I used to put a tiny dab on before I went to bed in the hope that the flower fairies would visit me during the night. We went for a lovely walk around Bourton on Boxing Day and although the perfumery was closed for the holidays, peering through the window was enough to bring the smell of that perfume back into my nose.

A more recent memory, one that still makes me feel tingly with happiness, are the roses that grew around the door of the house we lived in (pictured above) when our daughter was born. It was November and having been in hospital for nearly two weeks, I came home to find a single pale yellow rose blooming just at head height, perfect in every way. The scent of that rose was so delicate and fresh after so many days inside stuffy hospital rooms that it felt like a gift from nature. I don’t know the variety of rose it was, it had a soft citrus character that I found extraordinarily beautiful. I have yet to find that exquisite delicacy in a perfume and I wonder if I ever will, sometimes things are only beautiful when they are growing in nature.

The only time I’ve actually chosen a rose fragrance for myself was in my early twenties. I was a teenager in the nineties when scent was all about clean, watery and unisex. I spent much of my teenage years covered in ‘Tommy Girl’, Davidoff ‘Cool Water’, Issy Miyake ‘L’eau d’Issey’ and ‘CK One’. I also had some Elizabeth Arden ‘Sunflowers’ and Clinique ‘Happy’. You can see a theme developing there. It wasn’t until my early twenties that I began to tire of the citrus- water- white musk triangle and go in search of true florals and more gourmand fragrances. The first perfume I bought that broke my previous perfume rules was ‘Stella’ from Stella McCartney. I really don’t like this perfume anymore but it seemed so chic and classy at the time, a very feminine floral like a sheer tumble of pink and purple petals. It’s the only rose perfume I’ve owned since my tiny bottle of ‘Rosa’. I cannot seem to find the right fit somehow and it’s not through a lack of trying. I am incredibly fussy when it comes to this particular note in perfume, even more so than my beloved orange, to the point where I’ve pretty much dismissed everything I’ve come across so far. I believe my expectations to be rather too high.

I have a bottle of expensive Turkish rose essential oil that I use very sparingly in my bath water. I’ve tried it directly on my skin and incredibly as it warms it turns woodier and drier until the moist petal quality that I love completely disappears. I smell like pot pourri after an hour which is not what I was aiming for.

I’ve been on this rose quest for a while now. I’ve worked my way through quite a few of the best known scents that sounded appealing to me and so far I have not found what I’m looking for. Admittedly I have probably only scratched the surface and I’m sure people would have hundreds of recommendations. I believe that for me, the vision of a rose that I hold in my head doesn’t ever quite fit the perfumes I have thus far tried.

I also feel a clear divide between rose as perfume and rose as confection. I adore Turkish delight and rose scented cream chocolates and there is always a bottle of rose water in my kitchen cupboard. ‘Une Rose Vermeille’ from Andy Tauer is a light, frothy, rose, lemon, vanilla and raspberry delight that I would feel proud to place on the table in a cut glass dish but somehow cannot quite handle when it’s on my skin. I have some odd prejudices when it comes to gourmand perfumes. Only certain ‘foody’ notes seem acceptable for me to wear on my skin and unfortunately sweet rose is not one of them. So you can imagine that rules out a fair few fragrances.

Frederick Malle ‘Lipstick Rose’ is far too powerful for my rather delicate sensitivities. My skin turns it completely to powder, to the point where I actually feel as if I am inhaling the fine dust from a lady’s glided compact. For all the love out there for this perfume I just cannot make it work for me. The same is true for ‘Une Rose’, a perfume I was sure I would adore as it draws the lightness of rose into the shadows with an earthy truffle note. Although I found wearing this perfume an interesting experience, the earthiness was not somehow dark enough for me, the truffle note turning musty and smudged on my skin, dirtying the rose petals with road dust rather than the loamy earth that I was hoping for. Again, I know I am in a minority here, ‘Une Rose’ is much praised. It is simply not what I’m looking for.

‘Imogen Rose’ from Gorilla Perfume is a lovely, very simple rose and vanilla scent that, when worn in very small doses, is pleasant and reminiscent of baby soft skin. However as with all Gorilla scents it is easy to overdose and the result is an almost visible cloud of pink that is dry and too sweet for me. Lush also make a shower gel called ‘Rose Jam’ that I adore, maybe because, like the bath oil, I leave the majority of the scent behind me in the bathroom, only a whisper stays on my skin. Lush turned ‘Rose Jam’ into a limited edition perfume that my friend The Silver Fox loves, but he mentions a ‘hot plastic’ quality that I just know I won’t like. Are you beginning to understand how fussy I am about rose perfume now?

The closest I get to really enjoying a rose perfume is when I wear Serge Lutens ‘Sa Majeste la Rose’. It’s not quite right but it’s nearly there. ‘Sa Majeste’ has a lovely, dewy opening like delicate pink petals collecting water droplets. It becomes more honeyed and dry, with a very subtle woodiness that gives the green and pink some depth. It is rather sweet but not in a jammy way, there are very gentle wafts of clove that don’t encroach on the soft rose centre. ‘Sa Majeste la Rose’ is extremely pretty, beautifully made and in many respects is a perfect rose fragrance. Alas I find it a little too airy and a little on the sweet side for my ridiculously critical tastes.

                

I think I want a rose with a dark heart. A rose that exposes her delicate skin in leather fetish wear. But I don’t want a cheapened rose, one who will give up all her secrets willingly. If I could find something that balances the purity and freshness of perfectly furled petals with a deeper, more lush undertone of decadence and debauchery then I would be overjoyed. A rose perfume that isn’t too sweet, isn’t too dry, isn’t too powdery yet isn’t too light. A rose that carries all the power of the ancient gods. A perfume with petals as a costume but perhaps a harder, darker secret hidden within. That’s not asking for too much is it?

There are rumours that Vero Kern’s next perfume is focused around roses. If she can’t make rose into something beautifully twisted then I don’t know who can. While we all wait with baited breath for that launch, any suggestions for rose perfumes that you think I might like would be greatly appreciated…. I’ll try not to be too hard to please…..

Lost Senses- some writing about why I’m not writing.

My most sincere apologies for the lack of content on the blog of late. I feel I should explain why I’m not writing as much as I should at the moment.

Of course it has been Christmas, which is always distracting, especially because we have a little one to make it extra special for. We had such a wonderful time, dampened only slightly by the presence  of a particularly nasty cold. My daughter had it just before Christmas, mine started on Boxing Day.

I have to say that it’s knocked me for six. I’ve developed sinusitis which is both painful and exhausting. Worst of all, I have totally lost my sense of smell. I hadn’t realised how much I had come to rely on my nose- for all sorts of things. Of course I miss sampling perfume, I have a stack of fragrance that I’m desperate to sniff but at the moment there is simply no point putting it on. It’s strange but I’ve found the more mundane aromas of life the most sorely missed. I can’t smell the food I cook, nor really taste it. I can’t smell my shower gel or my lipstick, clean clothes smell exactly the same as dirty ones. I can’t even tell when my daughter’s nappy needs changing, which some might say is a blessing!

I know that this is not a permanent affliction. It will hopefully come right after a visit to the doctors but it’s left me feeling oddly paralysed and very afraid of what life would be like if I couldn’t smell anymore. When my sense of smell comes back, I shall be even more grateful for it and I promise you lots of lovely reviews.

Happy New Year,

Susie x

‘The Scent of Winter’ A guest essay for Scentury

Back in the summer I discovered Scentury, a beautiful website dedicated to capturing our emotional and instinctual reactions to perfume. Founded by designer Helder Suffenplan, the site features fascinating interviews with up and coming designers, artists and musicians. The aim is for them to discuss fragrance like a story, a memory,  doing away with all the jargon that, if you don’t understand it, can make talking about perfume very difficult.

It is a brilliant concept. Fresh, exciting and just what the perfume world needs. The website is beautifully designed, the photography excellent. I have read every interview with great interest so you can imagine my excitement when I was asked to contribute the first essay for the new ‘We Say’ section. It is a few musings on the scent of winter.

Im chuffed to bits to be a part of this. Click on the link above the picture and come and have a browse!

To read my essay for scentury.com click here!

‘Hedonist’ by Viktoria Minya

I have been lusting after this perfume for quite a while. Everything about it seemed to indicate that I would fall head over heels. Golden, glowing peaches and woods? Yes please! A bottle filled with delicate amber beads? Stunning! The scent of hedonism? Well why not? It has got to that time of the year when I just want to indulge all my senses with wild abandon. I’ll repent in the new year.

‘Hedonist’ is the first signature fragrance from Viktoria Minya, a Hungarian born, award winning perfumer with classical french training. ‘Hedonist’ has received high acclaim since it’s launch earlier in 2013 and the perfumer herself much praised and admired for her talent, dedication and beauty.

The Viktoria Minya website describes ‘Hedonist’ thus:

 “A powerful and provocative perfume for a woman who dares to be true to her desires. Lush notes of jasmine and orange blossom absolute flirt with the dark intensity of rum and the world’s finest woods for a scent that is as captivating as it is unforgettable.”

With a name like ‘Hedonist’, this perfume promises to lavish my senses with all things pleasurable, to transport me into a land of delight, to do away with the mundane and gild everything in golden sensuality. I have great expectations of intoxicating, mind spinning moments, of turning every head as I sashay down velvet carpeted halls…..

Ok so maybe I got a little carried away. I found ‘Hedonist’ extremely pleasurable, in fact I’m totally in love with it but not because it is the perfume equivalent of ultimate gratification. For me it is far too restrained and flawless to be classed as hedonistic. On my skin ‘Hedonist’ is a whisper of plushest velvet peach skin, warm honey and golden tobacco leaves with dark rum and bright amber citrus. I find myself sinking into the enveloping embrace of this perfume in an almost peaceful way. It has the hushed anticipation of the theatre before a performance rather than the rush and swoop of a heartbeat aroused. It is decadent, it is golden, in a sophisticated, classical way. It has depth, brightness, sweetness and smokiness, stitched carefully into tailored perfection. I found no wild abandon here. ‘Hedonist’ is sexy in a very soft way. Slightly flushed skin, dusted with rouge, breath sweetened with herbs. It has a glowing intensity that does not slip into a pervasive glare, warmth in the most comforting, baked peach and honey dream. It is a sublime experience while it lasts.

Usually a perfume with citrus top notes bursts upon the skin right away. ‘Hedonist’ has the sensation of honey and fruit juices drizzled onto my wrist. There is the bright sparkle of orange which is immediately sweetened and warmed by the most delicious nectar of honey and rum. That wonderful baked peach accord blooms like a sunlit smile and feels very classical yet also light and breezy. The woods beneath are smoothly polished with beeswax and a suede cloth. All is seamless and golden.

As the perfume warms into my skin it becomes more full and I notice a beautiful tobacco note. Not burning tobacco but flaked amber leaves, damp between the fingertips. The dark rum becomes more prominent amidst the dripping peach and orange and honey, deepening the colours into autumnal tones. It is comforting as the softest eiderdown and I feel soothed by these sweet depths.

‘Hedonist’ is not a radical shapeshifter, it steadily breathes it’s golden light forth, losing only the initial feeling of drenched juices. The orange subsides ever so slightly and a more floral orange blossom and soft jasmine blend themselves smoothly, so smoothly that I barely notice their arrival. That amazing tobacco is ever present, mingling with the honeyed peaches to make this a perfume of incredible balance and intricacy. Rum and woods could so easily have dominated the main development but here they remain controlled below the top fruity layer, smoothing, supporting and cushioning the lighter shades.

Towards the end of this perfume’s life a dryness develops. It is a fine cashmere shawl draped across shoulders warmed by evening sunlight. The tobacco begins to smoulder and the smooth woods absorb the golden nectar. Little white flowers crown it all. It is heartbreakingly lovely and over far too soon.

This is the only sadness that I felt whilst sampling ‘Hedonist’. It does not last longer than three hours on my skin. I wondered at first whether I was being stingy with my sample. It was a surprise gift from my dear Silver Fox and I wanted to make it last! The third time I tested it I practically doused myself with it, (by my standards, about a third of the vial) hoping for a more lasting pleasure. Alas, after three hours there was nothing left but a faint woody sweetness. I am not someone who likes to radiate scent like a force field, but ‘Hedonist’ is so lovely that I would have been quite happy for others to catch a drift of it’s golden goodness as I passed by. Other reviews I have read do not seem to mention a problem with longevity, so maybe I have been too careful with my application. But there is just enough in the tiny vial for a few more glorious hours and I am not about to waste it!

To conclude, ‘Hedonist’ is a truly lovely, deeply comforting and highly crafted perfume that deserves all the compliments that have thus far been lavished upon it. The fact that wearing it brought me so much pleasure makes it deserving of it’s name in many respects, but those looking for dizzying heights of gratification may find it a little too warm and gentle to satisfy those deeper urges. I would dearly love to own a beautiful bottle of ‘Hedonist’, but knowing that beauty is fleeting makes me concerned about how quickly I would fritter away it’s golden nectar. Perhaps I will ask Father Christmas for a bottle to keep for special occasions….

4160 Tuesdays ‘Urara’s Tokyo Cafe’

There is something special about Sarah McCartney’s perfumes. I have been living with two of them for the last couple of weeks and both have enchanted my nose and cradled my senses in their spellbinding embrace. ‘Sunshine and Pancakes’ was, and continues to be true love, with it’s simplicity shining from my skin like the glow of pure happiness. ‘Urara’s Tokyo Cafe’ has taken a little longer to find it’s voice but I feel that it becomes all the more powerful for being mysterious…. But more on that later.

The question that burns at the heart of this new love affair that I have going on with 4160 Tuesdays is this: Is Ms. McCartney a genius, or is she just blessed with a natural flair and lots of luck? You see, when I think of the process involved for making fragrance, I have this idea of a poised and immaculate perfumer in a white shirt, sitting at their organ, drawing from a huge catalogue of knowledge as they painstakingly mix and blend and calculate. It seems so clinical and controlled, all the passion of the perfume contained within the glass beaker, to release it’s emotion only when it touches skin. When I think of Sarah McCartney I imagine a lady wearing excellent glasses and stripy tights, chucking stuff into a big mixing bowl and having a cup of tea at the same time. The resulting perfume one would assume to be of a lesser quality to that produced by the perfumer in white. That is simply not the case. Somehow, in her spontaneous, seemingly haphazard way, Sarah McCartney has created fragrance with as much beauty, structure and credibility as any classically trained perfumer.

The stories behind the perfumes explain a lot about Sarah’s work ethic. They all started as gifts for friends, as bespoke scent made to measure for a particular person, as perfume to be worn by the characters in a book. Her perfumes are personal, they have not been made for a wide audience, although they certainly seem to appeal to an awful lot of people. They have a wonderful homespun quality that only adds to their attractiveness. The idea that she might be able to sell her fragrance still seems to be rather an afterthought for Sarah McCartney, this being one of a dozen different projects she has on the go right now. It is hard to know whether it is this spontaneity and freedom that allows the fragrances their unadulterated appeal, or whether Sarah is one of those mad workaholics who does an amazing job of making everything look effortless. 4160 Tuesdays has the organic feel of a brand built purely on instinct and a lot of luck, but Sarah McCartney has the look of a warrior, albeit wrapped in multiple, brightly coloured layers. Which ever it may be, I like the outcome very much.

So to the fragrance in question. From what I can garner, Urara was the owner of a cafe in Tokyo where Sarah McCartney hosted an event. Literally translated Urara means ‘breeze in the cherry blossoms’. If that’s not inspirational for a fragrance then I don’t know what is! The perfume contains  notes of Rose, Violet, Geranium, Raspberry Leaf and Tangerine, with a resinous base of Opoponax and Tolu Balsam. One look at the note listing and I was rather excited. I also (although I generally make it a rule not to) read a very lovely review of the perfume from The Scent Critic which is quoted on the 4160 Tuesdays website, which describes the fragrance thus:

 “It’s probably the ‘easiest’ of her scents to wear:  a gorgeous fuzzy marshmallow of a perfume, baby-powder pretty but with a touch of green grass.  And then when you’ve had it on for a while, quite a while, it gets quite sexy.  But it’s probably the hardest of the 4160 Tuesdays fragrances to review:  so seamless it’s virtually impossible to identify any one note.  To me, it is essence-of-spring blossom.  Imagine lying under a cherry tree in a dream, while petals gently float down and shroud you in their floral sweetness, as if on time-lapse.  It smells like all the edges have been lovingly buffed off this perfume, till it’s smooth and soft as a baby’s bottom.  (Only a lot more deliciously-scented.)  It is also quite seriously, seriously addictive.”

I definitely agree with the seriously addictive part. However, such is the wonder of personal skin chemistry that in other respects I feel as if I’m wearing a different perfume to the one described (beautifully) above. My initial reactions were similar but very quickly all turns shaded and mysterious….

‘Urara’s Tokyo Cafe’ opens with lovely fresh rose, petals unfurling in the daintiest of pinks. Atop this  sparkles grapefruit and tangerine, the feeling is very bright and airy. Almost as soon as those petals have opened a slightly more aromatic accord appears, herby and green. The perfume is now dappled with shade between the rose bushes.

From beneath, the resinous warmth of sweet Myrrh stains the green and pink with umber tones. I usually find Myrrh way too prevalent in perfume, my skin makes it cloyingly sweet and churchy. Here it gives the wonderful impression of a great splash of strong green tea, saturating the base of the scent with an almost tannin-like tang. It’s such a pleasant experience to smell the resin balanced by the green goodness of geranium and rose. It has all the atmospheric depth that incense can bring to a fragrance, without any of the smokiness. It took me a good few tests to identify it for what it was and I was so pleasantly surprised.

‘Urara’s Tokyo Cafe’ stays brooding darkly on my skin, like forest mosses. For the longest time it doesn’t change, seeping colours across my wrists, olive green, deep umber with tiny pink blossoms opening like stars here and there. For all it’s depth it stays translucent, like gouache, projecting with amazing vibrancy.

Only after about an hour does the perfume start to shift, warming and sweetening. The sweetness is fruity from the raspberry leaf and warm from the resin and slightly powdered from the violet. I try to enjoy violet in perfume but I often find it rather challenging when done ‘artistically’ and stifling when done ‘classically’. Here it is just a pleasant dusting over the richness of the main body. Very subtly done. ‘Urara’s Tokyo Cafe’ is still brooding and shaded, but now it seems also to glow with warmth. A very enigmatic effect that leaves me with my noise glued to my wrist, trying to breathe it all in before it fades….which it doesn’t, for about ten hours.

There is some seriously clever perfumery at work behind this fragrance. If I hadn’t been testing it over and over to pick out different notes I could have just let it flow over me in one continuous drift of shadow and light. It is at the very end that I can imagine lying under the aforementioned cherry blossom branches, as the notes all blend together and sing me softly to sleep. It has wonderful balance, clarity and structure, it flows beautifully from the skin, last for hours and is undeniably alluring. There is only one tiny hole I would pick in this perfume and that is a very slight laundryesque, musky note at the very end that seems out of place and a bit artificial. It may just be my skin.

So, Sarah McCartney. Talented self taught perfumer or just lucky with the pipettes……..? Without a shadow of a doubt she is getting it very right, whatever she’s doing. I suspect a big splash of magic goes into each bottle she produces and the result is right here on my skin. I sincerely hope that she continues to build 4160 Tuesdays into a brand that gains as much recognition as it deserves and long may her intuitive and very individual approach to perfumery continue.

Scent is my Story Book

I don’t believe there to be anything more subjective than scent. In whatever form, be it the rising vapours from the kitchen, a whisper on the breeze or held within the faceted confines of a glass bottle, an olfactory experience reaches deeper into the soul than any other. What it discovers there is entirely personal, completely unique and utterly fascinating.

One could argue that writing about scent is a self indulgent pastime. The only story I am telling is my own and a ‘review’ of a perfume doesn’t really inform the reader of anything except the emotional reaction of one person. Even the most factual reviews can seem utterly at odds with the perfume that you smell on your own skin, a breakdown of notes, composition and development make for interesting reading but were you to write it yourself, the analysis might be quite different. The beauty of writing about my experiences with scent and reading other people’s is that it opens a little window into the soul, and the story is unique to that soul. It is coloured by memories, twisted by personal interpretation. I believe that asking someone to tell you what a smell makes them think about is more revealing than asking them to draw a self portrait.

I began writing about perfume because it moves me emotionally and creatively.  I also like to examine the inner workings of my own mind. The experiences I have with scent present me with memories, pictures and emotions that are sometimes very personal, sometimes unnervingly alien. A stirring happens somewhere deep in my subconscious and struggles to break through the fog of other stuff that swirls around in there. It can be like having a thought that doesn’t belong to me. I am  continually intrigued by these reactions. There are stories to be told about these perfumes. The scent fuels my imagination and helps me to create characters that couldn’t exist without it.

As a writer, I fear a blank page above all else. It exudes malice and demands to be written upon. The biggest challenge is finding words to fill the vast expanse. Even with a hundred ideas chattering in my mind, typing a coherent sentence has sometimes been beyond me. The moment I decided to try writing about a perfume was the moment my fear evaporated. Perfume gives me instant inspiration, it takes me on a journey into a scented story book where all the characters and landscapes are there waiting to be rendered descriptively upon the page.

Often I draw from my own experience and memory. There have been times in my life that I hadn’t realised were connected with a scent until I came across it again. Even a single note in a perfume can be enough to transport me back through time. Lemongrass reminds me of a summer overshadowed by thunderstorms but glowing with love beneath the heavy skies. Powdery rose is an instant vision of my grandmother’s bedroom at the house in Stansted Road where she lived for many years. I am a little girl again, sitting at the dressing table, surrounded by vintage perfume bottles and searching through her costume jewellery as if it were treasure.

We all have scent associations. The comforting vanilla of sweet pastries, berry picking in summer, incense wafting through lofty churches. Green grass, orange citrus, coal fires and rainy streets. A mother’s embrace, the scent of a father’s briefcase, the crush of too many people on the tube. All that imagery is to be found in perfume. Even unfamiliar scents can conjure a vivid portrait. For example, I have never seen or smelt frangipani blossoming in the wild, but the scent of it in perfume is a pollen filled, fleshy wallop of tropical humidity that is expressive enough to paint a picture of paradise.

Scent has colour too. If you close your eyes and try to see what you are smelling, even if you have no idea of the components, the perfume will develop shape, shade and tone. Sometimes it is obvious, sometimes a complete surprise. Not all woody notes have autumnal hues. Sweet doesn’t always have to be pink. Often there is texture to accompany the colour. Cashmere, water, silk, fur. Fuzzy fluff, spikes and grit and sandpaper. Flushed skin, oiled skin, waxy petals and freshly unfurled leaves. Ash and fire, dry baked earth, talcum and lipstick. Frozen stone, wet pavements, mulch and murky ponds.

It can be difficult to use your imagination when a scent is thrust out into the world, branded to the hilt. It struts down the red carpet in glamorous designer wrappings, with a superstar on its arm. Such dazzle is hard to ignore. I do so wish that perfume was not marketed in this way because I prefer to make up my own characters. I believe that fragrance can look just as attractive in abstract clothing. But scent is big business. Everyone likes to smell good and with directional branding it is simple to find your perfume and believe you smell great in it. For many, fashionable and popular fragrance is the only fragrance. There are so many of these to choose from, with new releases coming thick and fast. It is affordable, accessible, but most importantly, it conforms to the ideal.

For those looking for something ‘other’, there are also hundreds of niche houses to explore. Here the perfumers are usually more dedicated to the quality and individuality of their creations and it is within this realm of scent making that I have found the most challenging and genuinely moving perfumes. There is a lot more room for interpretation and personal experiences here. The branding does not seek to guide the consumer in the same way as mass market perfume does. Of course it is still designed to intrigue and bewitch, but in using more subtle visual communication we are made to feel that the discovery of a perfume has been truly our own. I cannot deny that I am a sucker for beautiful packaging. The fragrance I first chose for myself when I was twelve, I chose because I loved the illustrated label. I don’t think I am alone in this, a lot of people’s first infatuation with scent starts with a covetable bottle. I wonder, if we were to smell those long lost scents again, whether a whole different set of memories would dredge themselves up. Memories we had forgotten about. Such is the wonder of our own minds.

Perfume is also a way of communicating something about myself, similar to my choice in clothing, music, lifestyle. My scent represents me. In many ways it is easier to express myself in this way. It may be invisible but fragrance can leave a lasting impression on the people around me. I can speak without words, impress my image into another’s mind with a simple spritz onto warm skin. I can disguise myself or bare my soul, depending on which perfume I choose. Personal chemistry plays a huge part in this communication. The sound of a scent sings a different melody for me than it may do for you and that is what makes it so beautiful. When a perfume touches skin it becomes a deeply unique expression of self.

Scent is the most intimate kind of art. I think about the motivations of the perfumer as a fragrance takes shape in their mind. I seems to me that they create a beautifully bound book, the delicate pages impregnated with essences and oils, the outlines of a story sketched in brilliant ink. It is up to me to fill in the details. Only my skin can bring the painterly brush strokes to life and summon the characters from the page to tell their scented tale. Every person will tell the story differently. To make something that is so open to interpretation must take courage. In comparison writing about it is easy.

Of all the knowledge that there is to garner out there in the world of perfume, the most fundamental lesson to be learned is that of enjoyment. Too much deconstruction of a scent renders it lifeless for me. To truly enjoy perfume my advice would be this: find something that appeals to you aesthetically and intellectually. Spray it onto your skin. Forget everything you’ve read about it, close your eyes and just let it take you on a journey.

Remember, reflect, imagine. Be emotional, be truthful, wear it however you want, as long as you make it your own.

4160 Tuesdays ‘Sunshine and Pancakes’

For all of you who are regular readers, you will know that I am at the stage in my perfume journey where I become infatuated with scents on a regular basis. I believe it is a phase that all perfumistas go through, before the sheer number of new releases begins to wear a little thin. I am enthusiastic by nature, so when I come across a fragrance that challenges me and fuels my imagination I write as I feel. The thrill of discovery is still providing me with the rush that I crave. Give me another year and maybe I’ll be a little more picky with my adoration.

I am self aware enough to realise that although the experience of a perfume may be intense at the time, it is unlikely that I will be wearing said perfume on a regular basis. I think I know straight away, the moment a scent touches my skin whether it’s going to push all my buttons. A little like visiting an art gallery, you appreciate the art, become involved in the experience, but you know which pieces you’d take home to hang on your wall. I only review perfume that engages my interest in a positive way, but of the twenty odd fragrances I’ve written about so far, there are only five or six that I love enough to wear.

These perfumes I love for different reasons. They provoke memories, they give me confidence, they clothe me like a costume. They relax me, or invigorate me, or help me to think. Each scent has a purpose, fits a mood, suits an environment. For me choosing perfume has become just as important as choosing clothes. I am an epic over thinker, my inner monologue is constant and at times intensely irritating. Everything becomes a fairy tale in my mind, it’s why I love to write, but sometimes something just is what it is. Simple beauty is a concept that rubs my mind up the wrong way, but my soul rejoices in it because the opportunity to silence the incessant chattering is right there for the taking. Just experience and enjoy. It’s something I do not do enough.

This brings me to the subject of this review, a perfume called ‘Sunshine and Pancakes’ from a wonderfully fresh and inspiring London based perfume house named 4160 Tuesdays. For your information, 4160 is the number of Tuesdays we will have if we all live until we are eighty. Sarah McCartney, founder and perfumer, believes we should be making the most of them. Previously head writer for Lush, hers are words that I have been reading faithfully since I was thirteen years old. Since retiring from ‘solving other people’s problems’ as her Lush Times alter ego Auntie Pamela, she has been writing novels and making perfume for loved ones. At some point she must have realised she was damn good at it, and 4160 Tuesdays was born.

I chose ‘Sunshine and Pancakes’ for review because I’ve had an experience with this perfume that until now I have been lacking. An experience of pure joy. I have actually struggled to find words to express the way that this perfume makes me feel, not because it is overly emotional or complex, quite the opposite really. This perfume doesn’t trigger any scent memories or conjure up a story for me to tell you. When I dabbed it onto my skin and sat with my nose pressed to my wrist, I just felt really, really happy to be smelling it. Six hours later I was still just so enchanted by it, I wanted to put it on like a wooly jumper, or climb into a bed with it, or run through a field full of it. I wanted to eat it, shower in it, spray everyone else with it. ‘Sunshine and Pancakes’ is simply lovely.

I suppose you’d like to know how it smells. Well that’s very simple too. It opens with a tart lemon zing of freshly squeezed juice, tangy sharp and sunny yellow. This goes on for a while and you think “oh this is nice, this is fresh.” Then the scent becomes a little honeyed and sweet, still very light. Again this continues for a while, warm sunshine through the curtains on a summers morning.

Vanilla arrives all melting and mouthwatering, not too much, never too sickly. Jasmine floats through the window on the breeze, smelt from a distance, the animalic, sexy thrust of it’s concentrated form filtered by the citrus and vanilla into gauzy prettiness.

Then all of a sudden a heart of cedar opens in the airy brightness, settling the perfume into delicious, warm, woody sweet joy that stretches on and on for hours. I continually caught whiffs of scent through the whole afternoon, my husband came home and said that the house smelt yummy. I kept raising my wrist to my nose and the only word that came was “good. I smell good.”

I put more on. I could happily have continued to cover my entire body in it until the little sample vial was empty. Only the fact that I wanted to wear it again tomorrow held me back. Yet more happiness comes in the form of the price tag. At £40 for a 30ml bottle, I can own this perfume as soon as my next pay check arrives. And I shall own it to be sure. I might just pull off the top and empty it over my head in one go, then order another one.

I am thrilled to have discovered ‘Sunshine and Pancakes’. Part of it’s joy is that is so accessible. I feel no pang of resentment that such beauty is out of my reach, as I have with other, ludicrously expensive niche perfumes. Sarah McCartney had created something here that ticks every single one of my boxes, although on paper I initially thought I would find it a little dull. How wrong I was. How speechless I have been rendered. Her voice, that I have heard though the pages of the Lush Times for so many years, has acquired even more strength and individuality in the form of her fragrances. Sarah McCartney should be applauded for setting herself completely apart with such fresh, beautiful scent making. I believe that she has an understanding of human nature that is rare. We all need perfume that makes us feel good in the most uncomplicated way, it reminds us to stop occasionally and just be happy. To cater for the simple pleasures in life rather than making a bold, artistic statement is brave in the ever expanding market of ‘niche’ perfumery.

For me in particular, coming across 4160 Tuesdays has reminded me that serious and complex doesn’t always equal successful. Sarah McCartney’s perfumes are by no means gimmicky or contrived in their lightheartedness. This is scent packed with genuine and intelligent humour, presented with a smile.

In retrospect, ‘Sunshine and Pancakes’ does remind me of something. My daughter. She will be one year old in a few weeks and when I look at her little face I see pure joy shining back at me. If she remembers me smelling of this perfume then I hope her earliest memories of me will be as filled with happiness as mine are of her. Now pass me a tissue.