Cabotine by Grès

I was doing the research and fact-checking for this review of Cabotine by Grès and was surprised to realize the perfume, which I thought has been there all through my youth, was actually a 1990 release. I didn't wear it back then, but my sister went through at least one bottle if not more, and the scent is so deeply ingrained in my memory I was certain it was also part of my own high school years and not just hers.

I belong to the Breakfast Club and Pretty In Pink generation. Neon colored socks with matching nail polish, Madonna's Boy Toy belt, Converse Chucks worn with black lace tights and so much black eyeliner you could barely tell we had eyes. Cabotine fits perfectly with all of the above. It's loud enough to be noticed among the other 80s artifacts, has a fun vibe and never takes itself too seriously.

The owners of Parfums Grès conceived Cabotine on a low budget, purposely aiming it for the young generation who would never be caught dead wearing the house's true 1950s masterpiece, Cabochard. Just a year before Mugler's Angel took the world by storm (and probably caused the backlash trend of perfumes that smell like nothing), Parfums Grès offered us a different take of youth in perfume: a bold chemical green floral over a sweet ambery base.

The green plastic flowers on the cap look better from a distance, just as Cabotine smells better if you're not fully drenched in it. It smelled quite fabulous on my sister (she was around 15 years old when it was her signature scent), and I sort of like it on myself in the morning after- whatever is left loses the screechy synthetic top and the discontent of too many competing flower notes. The fragrance dries down into an abstract green, marigolds and vanilla- quite nice. The problem is that it's hard to fall asleep when the equivalent of a Janet Jackson/Michael Bolton duet is happening on my skin.

Cabotine by Grès is available from every online discounter and mall kiosk for under $30. I can't vouch for the current juice on the market. I smelled it and it's not quite like my vintage bottle, but probably close enough to get an idea.

Cabotine ads from the 1990s: couleurparfum.com and Gres Facebook fan page.

Parfums Grès Cabochard (Vintage)

Some reviews write themselves. You look up the launch year of Cabochard by Parfums Grès(1959, the perfume's advertisements from different years (the ones I used here are from 1966, 1974 and 1985) and the note list (bergamot, mandarin, galbanum, ylang ylang, jasmine, Bulgarian rose, clove, oakmoss, tobacco, musk, iris, sandalwood, vetiver, leather, castoreum, patchouli and labdanum) and you know the whole story. Cabochard is a leather chypre of the kind that is no longer made and will never be seen again because of IFRA.

Cabochard has the same cheekbones as Bandit, though not as outrageous. It's aesthetics is so different than what we consider feminine and refined today that I'd be interested to see how young women (college age, for example) who grew up in the age of empty aquatics and reformulated perfumes would react to something so strong and uncompromising. Other than feeling old, it made me think of something photographer Richard Avedon said about Dovima, the stunning model who ruled the 50s and retired in 1962:

“The ideal of beauty then was the opposite of what it is now. It stood for an extension of the aristocratic view of women as ideals, of women as dreams, of women as almost surreal objects.

It's a good reminder both of the period as well as of some of the best reasons not to idolize it. After all, we all love watching Mad Men and picture ourselves in the clothes, cars and old New York, but none of us really want to switch places with Don and Betty. But just as much of the fashion then was heartbreakingly beautiful, so were the great perfumes, and vintage Cabochard is a perfect example.

I have several bottles of both parfum and eau de toilette from various years, mostly 70s and 80s. Each smells a bit different, due to age, formula changes and who knows what else. All have the same galbanum green storm that is somehow tempered with beautiful citrus. In a couple of my bottles the citrus smells off at first, before whatever is left of it settles on the skin. Then there's smoke, a multi-layered tobacco note, an abstract (and somewhat perverse) floral hint and the glorious leather chypre base.


Returning to the Mad Men reference (obsessed? me?), Cabochard is something I could picture Rachel Menken wearing. From her statement hats and tailored outfits to her looks and personality.


Parfums Gres is no longer what it used to be, and I have a feeling that Madame Grès, a real couturier who created exquisitely draped gowns, wouldn't have been happy to know how the formulas were cheapened and the perfume mutilated again and again. The current EDT, sold at mall kiosks and discount stores for around $22 has very little to do with the real thing, just as the clothes you'd find at similar stores are not exactly Madame Grès. In The Guide, Luca Turin put it perfectly: "This is Cabochard chewed down to a frazzle by accountant moths".

Vintage bottles (the ones with the abstract black and white pattern) can still be found here and there, though their price on eBay has been climbing steadily. An EDP (in the new glossy black box) was available some years ago and is not a bad buy- it retains quite a bit of the original character.

Images:
Cabochard ads- okadi.com
Mad Men photo- amctv.com
Dovima- The Errant Æsthete
Model Suzi Parker in a Madame Grès gown by Richard Avedon, 1957- myvintagevogue.com

It's not you, it's me: L'Artisan Mure et Musc, Grès Cabaret

Before I've learned about anosmia, I thought either my skin was making certain perfumes evaporate upon contact, or the fragrance makers were playing the Emperor's New Clothes trick on me. Only, it wasn't the emperor who was naked. It's my nose, which has a completely blind spot when it comes to certain musks. Not all of them, mind you. I get a musky drydown in many popular scents (Valentino V Absolu, several of the Bonds and others), and have no problem smelling and enjoying Serge Lutens Clair de Musc, a beautiful, coy gem of a fragrance that I never expected to enjoy as much as I do.

L'Artisan Parfumeur Mure et Musc, both the regular and the extreme versions, are the best examples for my anosmia. The EdT starts sharp, soapy and mildly unpleasant. Even the blackberry isn't recognizable to my nose. I can't say I'm sorry to see it all gone without a trace within 10 minutes. The berries are much more prominent in the EdP (the extreme fragrance). It's sweet but still soapy. I couldn't confirm it, but my nose insists there's a touch of white flowers, possibly lilies somewhere behind the fruit, but that's about it. It's much longer lasting than the original, especially when sprayed, with an almost sickening sweetness. My bottom line is: Berries, lily of the valley and a non-existent base do not bode well for me and my nose.


Another scent which gives me a hard time is Parfums Grès Cabaret. I can't say for sure if it's my skin swallowing and destroying most of the notes or a nose thing again (the base is supposedly musky), but as far as I'm concerned, the lovely bottle holds nothing but a pale rose soap. Pleasant, harmless, very clean but far from exciting or interesting. I really wanted to love this perfume. It was supposed to be very sexy, as the corset bottle hints. The semantic field of cabaret associations and images are dark, moody, dangerous, glitzy and sexual. I know several people who swear by this fragrance, but once it meets me, other than a pale chyper-like kick at the top, it folds the notes head-to-tail, and leaves me with nothing but a floral and demure disappointment. If what I'm smelling is true, this scent can be worn by a young girl as well as by her schoolmarmish great aunt. Then again, it might just be my nose.