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

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

Top 10 Memorable Masculine Fragrances

In honor of Father's Day, Elena of Perfume Shrine and I wanted to honor men and the scents they wear.

Fathers, spouses, old boyfriends, scent twins- they all have one thing in common: they (and us) create memories. Nothing is more emotionally triggering than scent. Think of your father's old cologne from the 70s (did he wear Old Spice? Did he later graduated to the original Polo?) or the Drakkar Noir of your first boyfriend. Did you ever date a man who wore Creed Green Irish Tweed and made you think of Cary Grant (the story is that GIT was created for him)? Did your little brother drench himself in Axe before his first date? Maybe you had a great teacher or work mentor who used to wear Grey Flannel, or had your heart broken by a Chanel Égoïste fan (I did). The point is that it's not just our Shalimar that creates special moments.

Things have changed since the days of the ubiquitous bottle of Polo, and the choices are many. Here's my list of (very) memorable masculine scents for the unforgettable men in our lives. In no particular order:

1. Tauer Perfumes-Lonestar Memories
Smoky, strong and outdoorsy at times, warm leather, herbal with a hint of Lapsang Souchong. More interesting and sophisticated than the cowboy image.

2. Tom Ford Private Blend-Tuscan Leather
Soft, smooth and as leathery as they come. Warm and inviting, evokes both a leather jacket and an old study full with leather-bound books.

3. Mazzolari-Lui
An animalic patchouli like no other. Sweet and dangerous (especially if over-applied).

4. Serge Lutens-Gris Clair
Burnt lavender. A bit brooding, yet clean and crisp.

5. Guerlain-Vetiver
A great classic. Citrus top over green vetiver. Perfectly tasteful.

6. Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier-Iris Bleu Gris
Dry to the bone, earthy without being dirty.

7. JAR-Shadow
Damp and mysterious. A visit to dark cellars and forgotten attics.

8. Frederic Malle-Vetiver Extraordinaire
Dry and bitter vetiver, yet still green. A scent to take over the boardroom before going out to take Manhattan.

9. Hermes-Terre d'Hermes
Perhaps the most popular in this bunch, yet somewhat controversial. Orange peel and minerals, crisp and strong.

10. Comme des Garcons-Monocle Scent One: Hinoki
Incense, evergreens, a forest floor.

Please visit Perfume Shrine for more unforgettable masculine fragrances.

Hermes Caleche (Parfum)

As a 1961 creation, Caleche has been around nearly a decade before I was even born. thus, by the time I started to be aware of perfumes and the women who wore them, it was already a fairly recognisable classic. I never gave it any more thought than to other aldehydic scents like Chanel No. 5 or Arpege. It smelled soapy and perfume-like and neither my mom, Queen Of White Flowers, nor I, who preferred big orientals, had any reason to keep it around. Chanel, Hermes, Lanvin... they were French, elegant and I probably considered them boring for longer than I care to admit.

Hermès perfumes pre-Ellena might have lacked the marketing concepts and direction that would have put them on the best seller list, but many of them made strong aesthetic statements and were quite iconic in their own way. Caleche, a crisp, well-tailored chypre, is an excellent example of a mostly-extinct perfume style. These scents that used to define femininity would probably be appealing and wearable to a modern man.Caleche is dry, clean and very understated, once you get over the fear of aldehydes and flowers.

The bottles I own are both of the parfum extrait. One is from the early 80s and the other more recent. It's important to note, because just like any other veteran perfume and perfume house, Hermès have reformulated Caleche (and probably more than once).

The differences between my two bottles are quite striking. The older one has a dark streak hiding just behind the prim and proper soapiness. The oakmoss tramples the floral heart quite easily and takes Caleche to secret places. I find it sweeter and a touch more feminine than the newer version, which is decidedly cleaner in the opening and dries own to a warm and pleasant vetiver, albeit pale. The new Caleche feels less French, more no-nonsense and a bit faceless. I still like it well enough to wear it when I need something calm and centering to start my day, but I can't really say that it's an interesting perfume. I guess it's more of a nice relic.

Once again, all of the above is about the parfum extrait. The juice sold as today's Caleche EDT is not even funny.

Caleche in parfum extrait can be found at Hermes boutiques ($130 for 0.25 oz), but both my bottles were eBay finds, which is the way to go for vintage.

Photos of Jeanne Moreau with Annette Stroyberg and Roger Vadim from life.com

Rouge Hermes And Parfum d'Hermes- Who's Afraid of Powdery Scents?

Five or six years ago I got a mini of Rouge because the little red bottle was irresistible and I thought that an oriental was a safe bet. But I was so overwhelmed by the powderiness and less-than-contemporary feel (said the woman who wears Caleche and most of the classic Guerlains), and ended up giving it away. I stayed away from Rouge until a few months ago, when a quick sniff at my local Hermès boutique showed me why when it comes to perfume, never say never.

I started wearing it again, first from another mini and later a full bottle and all of a sudden it clicks. Yes, Rouge is still powdery and sweet in a non-gourmand way, it's a rose-amber scent with a spicy resinous core that smells like it belongs in another decade. It's one of those scents that some discounters site would say "recommended for evening wear", but I don't really care and wear it whenever I'm in the mood, just because. Then again, I'm not exactly the jeans and t-shirt type, even when going for groceries, so I guess Rouge goes with my shoes.

Rouge is actually an updated version of the 1986 Parfum d'Hermes, which is still available (but only in EDT). My bottle is of an older (though not the 80s original) parfum extrait, which is a bit darker and richer than the current version. It starts with a vicious and malicious burst of aldehydes which make me question my sanity in buying and wearing the thing, but quickly moves past it, into a thick, sweet, playdough-ish and very perfumy realms. I find Parfum d'Hermes to be less powdery than Rouge with quite a bit of sparkle. They both feel retro, like polka dot accessories and have a plastic doll note somewhere in the drydown, but I find them pleasant and pleasing.

Both Rouge and Parfum d'Hermes smell loud on top but settle rapidly into a very manageable respectable sillage. They rarely last more than 4-6 hours and don't project too much (I tested them while working out. Everyone survived). My guess is that with the wrong skin chemistry it can be disastrous, but lovers of proper florientals have a good chance of loving both PdH and Rouge with their lack of fresh or fruity notes. The bald guy running after you, muttering that this is "an embarrassing mess" and "heavy on the stomach" is Luca Turin. Just sniff your wrist and ignore him.

Both Rouge and Parfum d'Hermès are available from Hermès stores and online, $140 for 100 ml, but at least Rouge can be found found at discounters in the discontinued 1.7 oz bottle (not to mention the mini) for significantly less. I'm talking under $40, which raises the question of Hermès involvement in the gray market, but that's a whole separate discussion.

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

Brand Dilution

Heidi Montag's Chanel manicure (click on the pictures for full effect) and Kim Kardashian's Hermes belt.

Rue du Faubourg, we have a problem...

both photos: The Superficial

Take Your Daughter To Hermès Day

There's something perversely fascinating in this photo of Katie Holmes and the ever adorable Suri shopping in NYC (more here) and emerging from the Hermès boutique with matching shopping bags. These photos are just as cute as the ones of Angelina and Zahara with matching Valentino Histoire bags. But is it the state of our economy that makes one raise an eyebrow? Or are we just jealous? I honestly cannot tell.

I wonder: If I were on the same budget as the Holmes-Cruise family, would I take my nieces on a similar shopping spree?

Would you?
(and what do you think is in Suri's bag?)

photo: Dlisted

The Aquatic Melon And The Disgusted Husband

There's a stage in the perfume obsession journey when one becomes acutely aware that behind every bottle there's an artist, the professional nose. It happens sometime after you get confident enough to say which notes and accords are more likely to please you than others (and you already know enough as to not make sweeping generalizations and allow exceptions for every rule), and your perfume identity begins to take a defined shape.

You start remembering more and more names of important noses and several of their creations. Suddenly, you learn to identify their "signatures" and can make a semi-learned observation about unique styles. You get excited for future releases from your favorite perfumers, but also develop an attitude about those whose work is most likely to leave you cold (or nauseous). And if you're me, you also get snarky.

It's not exactly a secret that there are a bunch of perfumers whom I'd like to take home with me. There's a shelf in my perfume cabinet that should be named the Christopher Sheldrake shrine. My love for Andy Tauer and Pierre Guillaume is well documented here, and I have a serious girl crush on Olivia Giacobetti.

At the same time, there are noses who tend to produce scents I consider Kryptonite.

I own one perfume by Jean-Claude Ellena: Elixir de Marveilles. I'm also quite fond of his creations for Frederic Malle, even if none of them is wearable on my skin, and of his Bois Farine. But it stops there. I can place most of his work on a scale between "why bother?" and "kill me, now". The first category includes all those transparent, watery scents that have no teeth or staying power and seem to thrive on a culture of perfume that desperately tries to smell like absolutely nothing (The Vert is a perfect example). Personally, it drives me nuts. Then there are the scents that upon contact with my skin turn sour and sickly, like Kelly Caleche, Cartier Declaration and the Malles. But the biggest offenders are the one I perceive as vile just from sniffing the bottle and get homicidal every time I dare try them on. Hermes Jardin Sur Le Nil is the stuff of nightmares (and, yes, I know it's one of the most beloved scents across blogs and message boards). Rumba (Balenciaga) has tried to kill me on more than one occasion, and I hope to live the rest of my life without the Van Cleef & Arpels.

This was my way of admitting that I'm not very objective when it comes to a Jean-Claude Ellena perfume. So when it was first announced that his newest release in the Hermes Jardin series was going to be an aquatic melon, you could have heard me making obnoxious and very unladylike gagging noises from here to Paris.

Still, I love perfume and I blog about it. The same curiosity that made me stick my nose and finger into a bottle of Secretion Magnifique led me to give my wrist a hefty spray of Jardin Apres La Mousson and hope for the best. However, I needed an unbiased nose to make the call.

Enter a long-suffering, unsuspecting husband. Since he shares my views on all things aquatic and melonic and is also aware of my anti-Ellena views, I didn't tell him what it was when I smiled sweetly and stuck my contaminated wrist under his nose. I wish I could take a picture of that moment. The look on his face was priceless.

Then he said, "Please don't make me smell this thing again. Ever ".

This thing sells like hot cakes. Make of it what you want.

Image: Pepino Melon And Hyacinth Beans by Jeanie Chadwick.

What I smelled

Nothing in depth tonight, despite a few Serge Lutens that need to be discussed. It's just a case of so many perfumes, so little time. There were several sniffing trips and a handful of samples that are worth documenting here, even if it's not a full review yet.

Lalique Encre Noire didn't win me over at first sniff, though I liked its vetivery goodness. I only tested the EdT version out of fear I'd really like the EdP (priced at JAR level), so maybe that's why the "noire" aspect of this fragrance has been a bit lost on me. The grapefruit in the opening and some other clean notes are making it dry, light and luminous to my nose. Still, it has captured my attention and my nose enough to the point I can recall and dwell on the scent's memory. I came to really like it, though between the sweet sensuality of Vetiver Oriental and the sexual power house of Malle's Vétiver Extraordinaire (and a future release from Andy Tauer), I'm not sure I really need another full vetiver bottle.
Available at Aedes.

Tom Ford for Men Extreme is much more related to the original Black Orchid (which I adore) than to the recently released masculine scent that carries his name. From the beginning there's the recognizable darkness and funk of that weird black truffle note. The fruity part is different: the blackcurrant is replaced by a richer note, rumored to be fig, which turns into the familiar vanillic base. Unlike Tom Ford for Men, which is wearable, likable and always appropriate, this one might not be the scent to give your father-in-law for Christmas. The controversial ad campaign makes much more sense now that I've smelled the Extreme. It's a limited edition that will be gone soon; exactly the stuff perfume obsessions are made of.
Available at Bergdorf, Saks and Neiman's.


Hermès Brin de Reglisse is the newest release in the exclusive Hermessence collection. I was looking forward to this modern take on lavender and licorice and initially was not disappointed. It's sweet, almost candied, the lavender is gorgeous and as far from the craft fair's aromatherapy sachets and pillows as can be. The sweet anise is rich and satisfying, the combination works well, and then it's gone. Twenty minutes after lavishly spraying there was not a trace or a hint of the scent, so I can't talk about any dry-down or development.
I tested Brin de Reglisse at the newly-opened Hermès boutique near my house. The store was completely empty except for my husband and me, but the three sales assistants did their best to ignore us. I'm not sure how many Birkin bags they sell at that store, but apparently enough to make trying to sell us perfume not worth their time.
Available at Hermès boutiques.

The sample of Penhaligon's Lily and Spice has been sitting in my drawer taunting me for weeks. I'm not big on lilies, but I was curious about the spice part, and something in Penhaligon's Britishness has always appealed to me. I cracked it open and hoped for the best. After the first seconds of lily alarm, I realized that I actually like it. A lot. The flowers are as far from Holly Hobbie as can be, and the scent is much more about the spice than you'd suspect. I have a peculiar skin. It amplifies spicy notes and makes everything smells like carnations and clove. There's some saffron in the mix, but on me it's almost sweet and gingerbready. Like a warm cake on a nicely made table that has a small vase of fresh lilies as a centerpiece.
Available from Aedes.

As much as I like the French perfumery meets the streets of New York concept of Bond no. 9, the only Bond I love and own is New Haarlem. Most of them are just too airy, floral and unoriginal to my nose, except for Chinatown that becomes an indescribable vile abomination as soon as it contacts my skin. Still, I was curious about the recent release of their Andy Warhol Silver Factory perfume. An incense perfume is something I can't resist, and this one didn't disappoint. It's got a lot of character. It smells "big". Not necessarily feminine, but a woman wearing it has to feel all "woman" and not girly in the least. The scent is complex, changes between the woody, ambery notes and the layers of incense, and feels dark and sexy. I liked it a lot, but in a wardrobe rich in incense fragrances (and about to get richer with the two upcoming incense scents from Tauer Perfumes) I'm not sure I need a 3.4 oz bottle of any juice. Had they offered a smaller option I'd have bought it upon the first sniff.
Available at Saks and Bond no. 9 boutiques.