Hermès- 24 Faubourg

I tend to think of high quality floral perfumes, especially the ones containing iris-hyacinth-orange blossom, as very French. It's that classic perfumy vibe that says well-dressed and very pretty. The thing is, Hermès 24 Faubourg isn't really Dovima in Dior or a 1970s heroine of a melancholy French film that is not about to end well. 24 Faubourg is spring at Luxembourg Gardens, a picnic for two and an exuberant laughter on a balmy night.

It's Hermes, true, but 24 Faubourg never feels haughty. The perfumer behind it is Maurice Roucel who is master of the sensual, tactile and sweet (Musc Ravageur, Dans tes Bras, New Haarlem, Insolence, Le Labo Labdanum and many others). 24 Faubourg is all warmth and femininity, the silk lining of an exquisite coat and the space between the white blouse and the collarbones.

I wear the EDP (not a fan of the EDT, at least in its current formulation) and enjoy every minute of it. It's happy without goofiness and sweet without a trace of being foody or juvenile. The flowers are mostly white ones- lots of sweet orange blossom and jasmine, and the base is a smooth amber. 24 Faubourg is not really cuddly but radiating warmth. There's a chypre feeling there, but it's about patchouli and not oakmoss, so the impression is more modern (it is a 1995 creation and not a 1960s one), while still maintaining a classic posture. And, yes, it's very French and very Hermes.

This review is for the eau de parfum version of 24 Faubourg ($165, 3.3oz) on hermes.com

Photo: Catherine Deneuve for Vogue UK by David Bailey, 1966

Klassy

1. LVMH can buy the rest of  Hermes shares. It all makes sense now.

2. "Jackie O Would not have a camel toe". --Tim Gunn, Project Runway, season 8


Photo of Khloe Kardashian: The Superficial

Hermès- Terre d'Hermes Pure Perfume

The first thought I had last summer when I heard about the new version of Terre d'Hermes, an extrait de parfum (pure perfume concentration), was: "Why"?

It's not that I don't like the original EDT. On the contrary- while it didn't work for the husband, I wear it myself and enjoy it a lot. But as anyone familiar with Hermès masculine bestseller will tell you, this stuff is very strong and tenacious. Terre d'Hermes is hardly the first candidate for a richer, deeper formula. Had anyone asked me which Hermes fragrance I'd like to see as a pure perfume I'd beg for Hiris. Obviously, they didn't request my input.

Jean-Claude Elena , Hermès in-house perfumer and the nose behind Terre in both formulas didn't think, either, that the world needed a stronger version of the original. Honestly, I cannot imagine such a beast- the EDT is indestructible and survives 24 hours and a shower when I wear it. Monsieur Elena decided wisely to fine-tune the notes and elements of his creation. The best way I can explain the difference between the two is by talking about a certain texture they evoke. Terre d'Hermès in EDT can feel a bit coarse, like a very grainy sand (it's the earthy mineral note). The pure perfume feels more finely-milled. It's smoother and a little more suave. The citrus notes are surprisingly darker, longer lasting and retain a lot of the orange rind.

The parfum stays closer to the skin and has a touch of sweetness that doesn't appear in the EDT. The wood is  a little mellow, polished and would probably appeal to more women who found the original too masculine to wear comfortably without compromising the core masculinity of the scent.

Terre d'Hermes Pure Perfume ($112, 2.5 oz) is available from select department stores and Hermes boutiques all over the world.

Photo: the  construction of Hermes Manhattan men's store on Madison and 62nd  from therealdeal.com

Hermès Amazone (Original 1974 Version)

I have a tiny bottle of Hermès Amazone in its original 1974 version. It's the parfum extrait and it's glorious. Of course it is- hyacinth, cassis, bergamot, geranium, rose and jasmine over a wood-vetiver-oakmoss base. Amazone used to be a very well-mannered fruity chypre. Less wildness and raw feeling than the vintage ads would let you believe, but still a lot of fun and depth.

Those of us who think of fruity scents in terms of BBW body sprays and other typical mall pink juices are often surprised when discovering how beautiful a fruit notes used to be when they were treated right and paired with oakmoss instead of vanilla. All of a sudden, cassis is just pulpy and sweet enough to make the rose more red and the other floral notes come alive and sparkle.

Was the perfume supposed to evoke the rain forest jungles or the fearless women warriors? The latter if to judge by the ads, but to be honest I get neither. It might be the hyacinth, but I find Amazone to be very romantic, well-dressed and coiffed and every bit as one would expect a vintage Hermes to smell- an elegant woman in a pencil skirt, good jewelry and a Kelly bag, her heels clicking on the pavement as she hurries to meet her lover in the afternoon. There's just a hint of naughty thoughts, a glimpse of lace under the silk blouse and a careful waft of the delicious perfume following her.

Don't blame me. It's the oakmoss. Maybe that's why the stupid bureaucrats banned it.

Today's version of Hermès Amazone is much more fruity, watery and altogether pointless. The vintage has become nearly impossible to find, especially in parfum, though it sometimes pops on eBay. Take note that sellers who use stock photos of the old bottles are often utterly unaware that they're actually selling the new version in the modern bottle.

Vintage Amazone ads: imagesdeparfums.fr

Hermes- Terre d'Hermes (EDT)

I'm not a morning person. It has become even more evident in the last couple of years as I'm finding it hard to function in the morning and require strong tea and silence before I can even make the bed. While the husband and felines are mostly understanding of this, sometimes the rest of the world requires my involvement and engagement. This means even more tea. And a perfume to get me going.

These are the times I reach for the masculine scents. My husband's collection of vetiver fragrances are always good for this purpose, but the one that always delivers and makes me feel energized and ready to go is Terre d'Hermes. The funny thing is that despite  its "pour homme" label,  the Terre d'Hermes  bottle is mine and the husband never wears it.

I got him a sample three years ago and neither one of us was impressed with the way the scent connected with his skin. It was a sharp, bitter orange that dried down into a flat artificial ceder with too much pepper. I considered it another proof that the minimalistic style of Jean-Claude Elena was not something I enjoyed. no matter how much Macgyvering he did with his ingredients, I could still smell the paperclips and wires, or in this case, the Iso E Super. Fast forward a year or two. I was out smelling and testing men's colognes in search of something for my father. My dad and I both have a very dry skin and perfumes smell on us pretty much the same (growing up I avoided my mother's Chloe like the plague while I always liked to try his colognes on myself). The SA at Saks desperately tried to convince me I was at the wrong counter and should try the lovely this or that from Annick Goutal. She had a hard time accepting I was testing something for a man on my own skin. I ignored her.

I was thinking about Hermes' Bel Ami but they didn't have it. Half distracted I sprayed one wrist with Eau d'Orange Verte that evaporated right under my nose, and for comparison- I applied Terre d'Hermes to my other wrist. Cue the violins.

I bought a large bottle for my father, who is a perfume serial monogamist and sprays with joy and abandon, and a small one for myself. I've been wearing it since then. I could tell immediately that it was significantly different than the way it smelled on my husband. Yes, there's orange in the opening, mostly the peel, both fresh and charred. And some grapefruit. But it was not the average citrus scent. It's not trying for  a lightweight freshness and is not something a person would wear if his or her goal is to not be noticed. Terre d'Hermes has a strong presence, even if it evokes the natural elements (the perfume's tag line has always been "the essence of earth and sky").

Terre d'Hermes moves between flavors. The wood is peppery and dry, the earth is salty and rich in minerals. It's warm and sun-baked, with bits that shine in the light and others that are smooth like a piece of wood that had weathered wind and water. I like to think of it as shortcut for twelve rounds of sun salutations in the morning. My old yoga teacher would probably beg to differ, but he's not the one who needs to deal with me when I first wake up.

In scenthead's popular culture there's a long-standing disagreement about Terre d'Hermes that has lead to countless notorious debates on the Basenotes forums. It enjoys the same status as Mugler's A*Men- some think it's made of awesome, others think it's overrated dreck. The funny thing is that I accidentally discovered that they layer well together, which I know sound utterly sick, but at least on me it works. Of course, you'll never be able to get rid of the smell-  they are extremely long-lasting, and Terre d'Hermes even survives a shower the next day.

Terre d'Hermes in EDT form (there's also a pure parfum version that was launched last year and is beautiful but somewhat different)  officially retails for $75 (1.6 oz) at Hermes boutiques and most decent department stores, but an online search would show you some discounters sell it for less.

Image: paperpursuits.com

Hermès-Elixir des Merveilles

One of my mother's greatest acts of sorcery is making candied citrus peels. Taking stuff that's normally considered trash and turning it into an amazing, vanilla-laced delicacy, has always amazed me. The process involves several days and makes the kitchen smell heavenly from the beginning, when the peel is cooked in a sugar syrup, to the drying stage, when large trays of them are set to dry after being rolled in sugar with a touch of vanilla. Naturally, some of my fondest memories involve this scent.

Then there are the store-bought chocolate-dipped candied citrus peels, which are a quick and efficient way to my heart. La Maison du Chocolat has some really good ones, but I'm always willing to settle when Whole Foods' choclaterie offers them. The closest perfume version of this treat that I've found so far is Hermès Elixir des Merveilles.

The Merveilles series actually has three different perfumes. The original, Eau des Merveilles, is an eau de toilette, and is quite famous for its salty ambergris accord. It's a beautiful scent, worthy of its own review, but it does not satisfy a sweet tooth on a day one wants to smell edible. The parfum version, Parfum des Merveilles, is a darker, woodier version of the EDT. The subject of this review is the EDP, Elixir des Merveilles, which is technically a flanker. Composed by Jean-Claude Ellena (the other Merveilles were created by Ralf Schwieger and Nathalie Feisthauer), though not very Ellenistic in concept (chocolate? caramel? by the Overlord of transparent minimalism?), Elixir des Merveilles is a grownup gourmand, one that doesn't insult one's idea of tastefulness while still allowing you climbing into bed smelling yummy.

I've found several lists of possible notes that don't always agree with each other. There's no doubt we're dealing with a candied orange, cocoa or chocolate, creamy sandalwood and a patchouli-vetiver mix in the drydown that on the wrong day can smell a bit masculine, but I don't really mind. Then again, I own a bottle of Elena's Terre d'Hermes, the manly interpretation of the orange-wood theme, which I find to be invigorating and energizing.

While the chocolate-orange combination calls to mind winter holidays, celebratory liqueurs and truffle gift boxes, I actually like wearing it in warmer weather. I find that balmy days bring out more depth out of the Elixir, while it can be a bit flat on a cold day. Still, I know most people would rather avoid chocolate perfumes in summer and would enjoy it much better this season.

Elixir des Merveilles and its other relatives are available from Hermes boutiques and some department stores. The retail price for the 1.7 oz bottle is $100, but one look online would show you that it can easily be found under $40. Hermès website also offers a 13.3 oz (not a typo) bottle for $440. My husband called this bottle The Mouthwash, and frankly, it makes me wonder about the real cost of the juice inside and the enormous markup brought by the Hermès name.

Photo: browniepointsblog.com

Sniffing At Hermès- Vanille Galante And More

It's probably not the best idea to sniff anything by Jean Claude Ellena while wearing Robert Piguet Visa (take a minute and let that sink in). Especially when one is not the greatest Ellena fan to begin with. But today's visit to the Hermès boutique was a spur of the moment thing and I was too curious to smell Vanille Galante, the new release from the Hermèssence collection.

I was cautious and started by spraying a card. After all, the last time I tried a new Ellena I was assaulted by the infamous rotting melon juice. But Vanille Galante seemed harmless enough and quite nice, so my wrist was next. It was quite obvious that this was not a Lutenesque vanilla. There's nothing gourmand, thick or yummy about this fragrance. As expected, it was airy, watercolor-like, and the vanilla is only a whisper. Right from the start there were two distinct layers: a pale pink floral and a beautiful smoky, ashy undertone. The flower is a cross between that orchid I get from some vanilla scents and a big lily that smells like my wedding bouquet.

The problem, of course, is the lily. It takes over the scent, and as elegant and fascinating as the initial combination may be, I can't do lily. I get the idea behind this and I wish I could like it, but I just can't. I have a similar issue with L'Artisan Vanillia. The opening always makes me consider buying a bottle, even though I know well what's to follow. Then come the big orchid and gnaws at my wrist until I break down and run ascrubbing. Vanille Galante is at least not a scrubber and I know I will try it again and again, but it is just not meant to be.

Since I was already there, I gave the other Hermèssence a good sniff, just to remind myself why I don't own any. Ambre Narguilé is still a baked apple, Paprika Brasil is as vile as it ever was and Vetiver Tonka is lovely on my husband. I actually wish he liked it better, because I could have lived with sharing a bottle.

After spraying the Blond with Vetiver Tonka, I directed his attention towards the regular line. It's been a while since I've smelled the classic masculines and I wanted to see if he liked any. I had fond memories of Bel Ami, and now I'm kicking myself for not hoarding some of the pre-reformulated juice, because the new stuff, at least on my husband, is extremely cuminy and he does not wear it well. At all. For hours. Until the vile element disappears and it dries down reasonably enough (my opinion. He can't stand it).There was no enthusiasm on his part for any of the other classic Hermès scents, but then again, he was wearing Tom Ford Oud Wood, so it's not really surprising.

One parting thought: Hiris should be released as a parfum. I'm not buying until then.

Image: Bag Snob