Before Laurent moved forward with the trials, he had one last question for me.
I wrote up what reads more like a shopping list than what is probably a helpful answer, I’m afraid. Poor Laurent – he has to wade through my rambling and then try to divine some sense out of it. It dawns on me that perhaps in addition to having both technical and artistic skills, a successful perfumer must also acquire psychic powers for reading the minds of those who place demands on him or her. In this case, there’s just me, but having to read the minds of, say, a table full of focus group people… ugh. It sounds impossible, and utterly maddening.
You know, that aromatic quality is something I think I’d not worry over – I tend to appreciate more the overall balance of a perfume rather than individual notes. (Which? I suddenly realize sounds awfully funny given all the talk about individual notes, heh.) And, generally, I don’t usually care for a medicinal-seeming aromatic quality in perfumes except in the Frankincense & Myrrh and in Serge Lutens’ Santal Blanc.
I think the same goes for floral notes. There are those that please me, and some that pique my interest when I read they are contained within new perfumes, but I rarely ever love a perfume solely because it has some specific floral note.
I love, and I mean REALLY love Pre de Provence’s Linden Blossom edt and soap: I think it might be the cheapest linden blossom on the market, but it’s my favorite. There are much more refined and elegant perfumes employing linden blossom in them, of course. The Pre de Provence is the one I happen to like best. It causes me to feel irrationally happy when I use in the morning.
I love the ylang ylang of J&E Atkinsons’ Cananga di Java, though I don’t find the note as compelling in other fragrances. I think I like it in that fragrance because it never interferes with the rich woodiness, it simpy rises and soars above to float across the other notes.
I do like rose, but I don’t think I’d like rose in our perfume – I don’t know why however, and can’t articulate the reason I feel that way. Maybe it’s a tad too prosaic? I really don’t care much for powdery roses. Actually, I don’t personally care for powder particularly with perfume, period. I can appreciate and enjoy powdery ones, but I don’t like it. Except in Desprez’s Debutante de Versailles, but only because it’s a powdery perfume with, uh… I don’t how to put this politely… it’s a powdery perfume with balls.
To me, one of the most relaxing scents is lily-of-the-valley, yet I don’t care for it always, and the only perfume focused on that note that I wear with any frequency is i Profumi di Firenze’s Mughetto di Primavera.
I dig Weil’s Antilope (vintage, not this newer cologne stuff, sigh) with it’s lily-of-the-valley and chamomile combination, yet weirdly I hate chamomile. I hate it in tea, I hate the scent of it in a garden, I hate in compresses, etcetera.
I like the cool, almost creamy marine-infused floral bouquets of Compagnia delle Indie’s Donna, CB I Hate Perfume’s Mr. Huilot’s Holiday, and my John Frieda Kelp Help hair conditioner, but I’d never describe myself as a fan of marine perfumes. In fact, those are the only marine scents I really like. There is something about the soft bouquet of those products that smell like a comforting hug to me.
I like gardenia every now and again, but I find it is far too oppressive to wear very often.
Hyacinth and lily are notes I can appreciate, but I don’t really like them per se.
Freesia is a tricky little bugger – while I do like the candied way the note generally comes across as used in most perfumes, I don’t want that to be in THIS perfume. The only fragrance I’ve smelled that captures a freesia flower with any accuracy is Antonia’s Flowers, and unfortunately, that particular fragrance as a whole smells like a bad hangover on me.
Sweet pea is a very pretty note, but alas, it’s a note that seems to go to die on my skin. It comes and goes within all of a minute – and that’s only a whole minute if I’m lucky.
Jasmine is one of those notes I rarely pay any mind to. Which is awful, because it’s, like, in every other perfume made. Sometimes it reads as clean on me, nearly like a laundry detergent. It’s usually in only the older vintage perfumes that jasmine comes across as something very profound on me. And even then, it’s nothing I pay much attention towards. It’s a nice note when it works in a composition, but I rarely ever seek out jasmine focused scents.
Two actual flowers that I love to catch sniffs of when walking by are rhododendrons and bridal veil, but I do not know if one could honestly translate either of their aromas into a perfume accurately. Both possess such ethereal, gently floating smells. One flower I grew (by accident, which is a whole long story) last year was the crown daisy, and the blossoms had such a fine, rather delicate scent that I deeply appreciated. They look like this:click here. But again, I do not know whether or not it is possible to authentically translate that aroma into a perfume.
The other notes you mentioned I am sure will be fine. I am mostly hoping for a very good, rather dry smelling resinous quality with the frankincense, anyhow. Just not sweet, please – I think I may be cursed with sweet-amplifying skin!
Let’s hope you can pull some common thread out of this list, because I sure can’t. Perhaps I am rather random in my tastes? GAH! I will clarify anything you would like, since I am thinking this may not contain anything of consistency or use. Although I can’t tell if I was being too specific or not specific enough…
Cheers, and thanks again,