Elegant: 188 posts

The first time I smelled iris absolute, I stood for a few minutes with a paper blotter under my nose before I regained my senses. In one instant, I saw frozen petals and snow covered trees, and while the image of a winter garden that the essence conjured was vivid, I couldn’t easily describe the fragrance of the material in front of me. It smelled like nothing I had encountered before, and pinning down its radiant but surprisingly potent scent proved difficult.

When perfumers talk about the materials in their palettes, they distinguish between those that provide character and those that give effects. Vanilla, for instance, bestows a touch of sweetness onto anything that brushes past it, be it fruit or leather, while patchouli has so many facets that it will change the whole impression of a composition, to the point of drowning out other more subtle notes. In the same vein, even a small dose of iris can change a perfume and lend it polish and elegance.

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To inspire those of you who will be taking my Osmanthus classes.

Once the weather turns cool in Tokyo, a sweet perfume fills its streets. It escapes from the parks and enclosed gardens and for a few weeks it becomes a familiar presence in a city better known for its skyscrapers, electronics and cuisine than for its flowers. The tiny blossoms that give Tokyo its aroma are easy to miss, but the perfume is so vivid that osmanthus is sometimes called “a ten mile fragrance” tree. In Japanese, it’s known as kinmokusei, and in English it may be referred to as a “fragrant” or “Chinese” olive, hinting at the plant’s origins, but by any name, the aroma of ripe apricots, jasmine petals and leather is irresistible.

Perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena was likewise enchanted by osmanthus, and he chose to pair it with a tea note in his fragrance for Hermès, Osmanthe Yunnan. Although Ellena was inspired by a visit to the Forbidden City in Beijing, his creation captures my memories of Tokyo in autumn. Every element in the perfume is delicately rendered, from the fruity notes that recall the softness of peach skin to the transparent white blossoms soaked in tea. The marriage of tea and osmanthus is a classical one, because both ingredients play up each other’s facets of fruits, woods, sweetness and bitterness. Osmanthe Yunnan is a happy perfume, and whenever I put it on, I feel as if I’ve stepped into a pool of sunlight.

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Whenever I browse the accessories racks in vintage shops, I furtively sneak a whiff of the leather purses. They are always full of surprises, these old handbags, still bearing traces of melted lipstick and ink on their silk linings. Their worn leather can smell smoky or sweet, reminiscent of salty tobacco or spicy wood. I trace the cracks in the leather with my finger and imagine the places where the purses accompanied their owners. Had this beige minaudière decorated with pearls seen many a cocktail party? Did the faux crocodile leather doctor’s bag conceal important documents—or love letters?

Leather accented perfumes inspire similar daydreams for me. Though leather accords have the reputation of being dark and brooding, the versatility and range of leather notes lend them to many styles, including romantic.

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“What makes a perfume beautiful?” I pose a question to Maurice Roucel knowing fully well that it is a complicated question to answer. Roucel is a perfumer with more than 40 years of experience in creating exquisite perfumes, such as Hermès 24 Faubourg, Donna Karan Be Delicious, Frédéric Malle Dans Tes Bras, and Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist, and he’s devoted much effort to promoting the notion of perfumer as an artist, rather than a mere “nose.” “We use our imagination and our brains more than noses,” he says.

Perfumery as an intangible art can be hard to champion. Although scents are related to the intangible cultural heritage protected by UNESCO such as cuisine and certain arts, they don’t benefit from the recognition or documentation. (The Osmothèque, a scent archive based in Versailles, is the main institution studying and preserving the historical fragrances today.) Perfume is generally seen as too subjective to define or even describe, which makes definitions of artistic worth complicated.

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When the Hermessence collection was first launched in 2004, it was conceived as an olfactory haiku—a few subtle details combined to create a complex impression. I still remain partial to the original creations like Vétiver Tonka and Ambre Narguilé, but the Middle East-inspired trio of Myrrhe Églantine, Cèdre Sambac, Agar Ebène has become my favorite. The compositions are complex and layered, with the classical Hermès radiance.

Myrrhe Églantine, for instance, plays with the shimmering effect of rose, setting it against a velvety background. This contrast has fascinated me from the first time I tried the perfume and the more I wear it, the more beguiling it becomes. The fragrance starts out on a sweet citrus, followed by a dark glimpse of violet. Unexpectedly, however, the notes fuse into an illusion of a crimson rose. When later, myrrh, a plush, resinous material that smells like licorice, woods and unburned incense, stakes its claims, the rose becomes even warmer.

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