shmellings

Only full sized bottles, excluding testers and minis.

Dresser

Hermessence Cuir d'Ange 

Love this one. It makes me feel like I’m inside an expensive leather handbang, wearing the softest, cuddliest sweater imaginable. My go-to comfort scent

Chanel No. 19 EDP (vintage 1980s splash bottle)

Makes me feel like a classy, but not boring lady. Bitter galbanum and powdery iris to me. I wear this when I want to feel put together

Guerlain Mitsouko Parfum (vintage 1990s)

Love Mitsouko. Bergamot and oakmoss to me (I don’t really get the peach). For days when I feel out of the line.

Aesop Tacit

Herbal greenness. A little minty to me. Makes me feel like I’m in a botanical soap shop. Love layering this on one of the Aesop body balms.

Collection

Serge Lutens Chergui EDP

Sweet tobacco. One of the first perfumes I bought myself when I moved to Singapore. I find it more suited for cold weather, so I haven’t been wearing it much.

Serge Lutens Tubereuse Criminelle EDP

For all my tubereuse needs. Bought a bell jar on the secondhand market.

Chanel Exclusifs Eau de Cologne

Everyday scent. Citrusy freshness. Got anosmic after awhile, so this is out of rotation.

Chanel No. 19 Parfum (vintage 1970s)

A more subdued but richer version of the EDP.

Guerlain Shalimar EDT (vintage 1970s)

My favorite Shalimar version.

Guerlain Chamade EDT (vintage 1960-70s)

Conflicted about Chamade. Find her interesting to smell but too sweet to wear.

Hermes Caleche Parfum (vintage)

Old, powdery leather goods.

Vintage Shalimar opens with bergamot oil. It is smoky, and unlike the modern Shalimar I have smelled, is well-rounded. Vanilla flickers in the background. Jasmine and powder quickly follows. 

20 minutes later, Shalimar evolves into a fluffy lemon meringue. I finally understand the reference now -- meringue accurately captures the lightness and delicate nature of this Shalimar’s middle notes. The bergamot now takes a backseat and the vanilla comes to the forefront. The powder becomes more prominent, but is never in your face. I detect sandalwood, but more of a sandalwood incense than the wood. So lovely.

Like a fancy lady’s perfume. Smells like perfume. Very fruity on top, definitely get the raspberry juiciness. Rose is more prominent on drydown, a note my skin doesn’t seem to favor much. Noticeable presence in closed quarters (e.g. in a car).

Penhaligon’s Amaranthine

Summer 2013 in Wisconsin, I started to notice that he had such a wonderful, fresh, aromatic scent. I had thought that he must have used some amazing detergent of sorts. I wanted that detergent. Upon inquiry, I was disappointed to find out it was just good ole Tide. But how did he smell so good? From the shirts he wore to the misplaced sheets, the scent was so distinctive, and I secretly adored it when it would cling to my hair the morning after. Then again, I've always been fascinated by how people smell so nice. Or rather, how they got their laundry to smell so nice. This was before I discovered that you could perfume yourself to smell however you wish (isn’t that amazing?). Though, I hadn't realised till recently that smells are so strongly linked to memories. Summer moved on, I graduated and left for my home country. Two years later, I found myself again in the States, but in New York City this time. Excited to be back, and longing to fulfil certain need, I find myself going out with yet another boy. 

And guess what? It was Bleu de Chanel, once again. My train of thought pretty much went “oh, he smells nice. but wait, I’ve smelled this before, I think? Hmm, strange, what does this remind me of? Oh my god. I know who else smells like this!”

A slender vial of lavender oil gifted to me. I was told to rub a few drops on my temples when I couldn’t sleep. Cherished it for the longest time and didn’t want to use it up. Since then I’ve always had a soft spot for lavender.

Grandma’s huge perfume clouds of powdery floral scents. I don’t know which she wore, though I do remember seeing a bottle of Jean-Paul Gaultier’s Fragile on her dresser once.

Perpetually fragrant clothes of an aunt, courtesy of her dry cleaners. A classy, light fragrance that was her signature scent.

Woke up, got undressed and took a sniff at my pyjama shirt. Hmm. Doesn’t smell. Guess it goes into the good pile of used laundry and lives to see another day. Took a shower with an inoffensive palm oil soap and got dried. Again, sniff of a towel to make sure it’s still acceptable. It lives to see another day too.

Then I got to my morning routine. Spritz of a mist and lotion. Reached for perfumes to chose from and realized to my horror that I couldn’t smell any of them. Not my usual citrus-sharp Un Jardin sur le Nil, not even my diva of Narciso Rodriguez’s For Her. Spritzed a new decant I’ve never smelled before (Eau de Orange Verte) to make sure it wasn’t anosmia. Got a whisper of the top notes, then none. I stuck my nose to my arm and tried to smell the bath soap that would usually linger. Zilch. Nada. Distraught, I sniffed a pair of pants from the day before that should be rank. It smelled... acceptable.

Horrifying.

I quickly decided that it wasn’t so bad after all, because this meant that I could finally bring out the big, sillage bomb perfumes that I’ve been unable to wear due to how big they were. Blessed/cursed with a sensitive nose, smelling them loud va-va-voom perfumes all day would drive me nuts. Time to break out the Shalimar!

It was also a good time to take the week-old trash out (something that the occupants of my apartment doesn’t seem to enjoy doing). Where the smell of the rotting garbage would usually make me queasy, it was nothing but a walk in the park this time. Hey, having a stuck nose ain’t so bad after all.

I couldn’t wash things properly, though. Where I would usually rely on smell to decide if my cup is sufficiently clean after a scrub, I couldn’t tell anymore. The smell of residue milk is such a good sign that I’ve been sloppy at cleaning that I had to keep on double-cleaning everything.

Dropped by a local Isetan today to do a quick sniff session. Probably sniffed way too many perfumes but here goes, just for reference:

Hermes Voyage EDT -- gin and tonic accord, rather fresh, with that signature Ellena fruitiness. Quite similar to the EDP version, which I smelled first.

Hermes Jour d’Hermes -- fruity floral, wasn’t too interesting. Pleasant though.

Van Cleef and Arpels First -- I’m on an Jean Claude Ellena kick here. I just got aldehydes that reminded me too much of Chanel No 5.

YSL Paris -- liked this a lot. fruity floral, and I detect pear/peach?

Chloe L’eau de Chloe -- Citrus and patchouli

YSL L’Homme and La Nuit L’Homme -- pleasant colonges, clean and safe, slightly masculine. La Nuit is slightly spicier.

YSL Opium -- Familiar, but old. Not surprising considering it was all the rage back then.

Elie Saab EDP -- Didn’t spray, just smelled the nozzle, but this I like. Orange blossom.

Chanel Coco Mademoiselle -- A blackberry fruitiness! Super young and refreshing.

Dropped by Hermes last weekend to get a whiff of their store-exclusive Hermessence line

Rose Ikebana: Very fresh rose, with sappy cut stems and a facefull of fragrant pollen

Osmanthus Yunnan: Osmanthus, gets slightly peachy on drydown. Something reminiscent of oriental scents, but could not identify. Very faint

Iris Ukiyoe: Floral notes and... acetone

Vanille Galante: Very light vanilla, reminds me of a banana cream pie. Then all I got was banana. Very strange

Amber Narguile: Spices, vanilla and thick, sweet caramel-y amber. Like a lighter and more beautiful version of TF Tobacco Vanille

Vetiver Tonka: Vetiver, quite smoky. It was interesting.

Not one to usually wear makeup and nice shoes, my fondness for Narciso Rodriquez’s For Her EDT came as a bit of a surprise. For Her, a longtime cult perfume is famous for it’s musk and sexiness, though for me, it’s always been about the sweet, honeyed orange blossom.

Disclaimer: I have never smelled orange blossoms in person, but judging from a number of reviews of perfumes with orange blossom in them, I’m fairly certain I can pick it out as a olfactory note.

When I first dabbed For Her EDT on, I recoiled. This... smells like a generic, department store perfume! Augh! And proceeded to scrub my skin with antibacterial handsoap.

First off, before I started reading up on perfume, I hated it’s commercial abundance in department stores. My sister and I used to dash through the local mall’s beauty section, breath held in. To us, all perfume smelled the same -- strong, floral, and were a thing for grandmothers and girls who wore too much makeup. 

I dismissed it. But then I stumbled upon Luca Turin’s description of For Her in ‘PERFUMES The A–Z Guide’ -- something about how For Her wasn’t groundbreaking but does well at what perfumes do, which is smelling nice. I gave it a second sniff.

First, a blast of sharp florals. I let it sit. As it warmed on skin, a candy-like sweetness emerged. I didn’t recoil this time around. I haven’t been one for florals, but half-an-hour in, as the florals smoothed out, all I could think of was of candied white flowers on a white fur rug. Very showy, very loud, and rather... sexy in a feminine way. Makes me wanna put lipstick on, and I don’t even own lipstick!

I had a bit of a rough night and wondered what would make a good perfume to put on while you cry. I actually did a quick Google search, which disappointingly turned up nothing. Lots of autocomplete for ‘what perfume to wear...’ though, with ‘what perfume to wear on a first date’, and ‘what perfume to wear on your wedding day’. Perfume, as far as I can see, is a thing of celebration -- something to wear to feel beautiful/sexy/dashing/mysterious/etc, and not something associated with sad things. It’s a thing of luxury -- not to be worn at teary funerals nor at sombre hearings.

I cracked open my tiny toolbox of samples. Florals and fruits are too happy and I wasn’t in the mood to be cheered up, y’know? Orientals too lush, ouds and spices too exotic and escapist. So I poked around in a bunch of samples I never got round to.

A small vial of Dzongkha by L’Artisan Parfumeur had been sitting in my sample box for months, unopened for lack of inspiration. Dzhongkha. Couldn’t imagine what that would smell like. Sounds exotic, but slightly austere.

I cracked open the plastic vial cap. Waited for the alcohol to evaporate off the wand and took a tentative sniff. Then another. Hmm. Cedar and incense. Incense seems like the perfect austere notes to feel miserable in. A little dab on the back of my hand. Definitely spicy, dry woods, incense, and a bit of vetiver, I think? And somehow... comforting. I dabbed a little more on my wrist, first with the plastic wand, but then greedily by pressing the little vial to skin.

Peppery cedar, incense and vetiver makes such an cohesive flow. There is also iris and peony in it, but I didn’t catch those -- my flower scents vocabulary is somewhat limited, never having sniffed most of the listed floral notes. Also listed is cardamom, but it’s more a medley of spices to my nose. It’s not a loud perfume, and wears close to skin. Soft and diffuse when sniffed at a distance, but spicy cedar can still be identified when I hold my wrist close.

The spiciness fades quickly and a slightly salty note comes forth, which combined with the woodsy incense, was amazingly comforting. Not a salt-water saltiness, but a savoury one, like a salted plum, minus the sourness. I’ve had other incense perfumes, but nothing quite as quiet and personal as Dzongkha. Dzongkha goes, ‘shush, the world is as peace’ in your ear, and you can’t help but breathe a little slower, a little deeper. Strangely spiritual. I later found out that Dzongkha was inspired by the incense of Buddhist temples in Bhutan, the spiritual aspect of which the perfumer, Bertrand Duchaufour captured perfectly. I grew up smelling incense (though not of Dzongkha’s variety) in temples, places of quiet and worship. Up till today, the smell of incense never fails to inspire peace.

For the first time in a while, I was left alone in my recently-straightened room, feeling quite like myself. ‘Feeling like yourself’ is only a slightly strange concept -- aren’t we always ourselves -- we just happen to display different facets of ourselves in different contexts.

But anyway, by ‘feeling myself’ I refer to feeling like in the most neutral state. Neither bursting with joy nor slinking into depression. Just... me. Neutral. Which called for my first full-bottle perfume and signature scent, Penhaligon’s Lavandula. It’s not very popular as an offering from Penhaligons, to my surprise considering how lovely it is.

Starts of spicy -- a blast of black pepper and herbaceous greens (it says basil, but I just get a green aromatic). Sometimes sneeze-inducing, but definitely a wake-me-up to have in the morning. Lavender comes swirling in soon, bringing a soapy-cleanness about it. 

Within the hour, Lavandula turns powdery -- but not overly so at all. A very clean, baby-powder. Makes me feel as though I’ve just taken a shower and got powdered down, all day long! Great for when you wanna feel clean till the end of the day. The lavender lingers, aromatic but not manly at all (never understood why lavender is considered a male accord. I have always thought of it as very unisex and family-friendly)

Mom is working in the back kitchen, preparing the New Year's spread. The stuffy air is pregnant with a mismash of food smells. From the green herb-slathered chicken roasting in the oven, to the Thai green curry laden with creamy coconut milk. A bunch of basil and mint lies in the corner, ready to garnish the spicy-sour tom yum soup bubbling on the stove.

On the other counter lies a half-peeled green papaya, sap leaking from it’s unripe skin. I’m halving limes and juicing them in a steel bowl, the citrus sourness sometimes squirting into my face. I lift a handful of discarded lime halves to my face and breathe in the bitterness of it's peel. Later on we peel garlic cloves and pound them with chillies and fish sauce to make a spicy papaya salad with little dried shrimps and green beans. It is umami-laden, salty and stinks of seafood.

Or also, which perfumes did I bring back to my hometown for the weekend (because obviously you can't just have one)

Atelier Colonge's Orange Sanguine, because what are Chinese New Year celebrations without mountains of red plastic-wrapped mandarins. Orange Sanguine opens up with that freshly juiced blood orange, not unlike the fresh bitterness you get when splitting a mandarin with blunt fingers

Diptyque's Tam Dao, ritualistic as the temple visits we never fail to make. Josstick smoke will cling to your hair as soon as you towards into the flower-ridden altars, overflowing with candle and food offerings to the dearly departed. A touch of Comme des Garcons' Incense Series Kyoto completes the accuracy of sacred incensed air.

A dry greenness I've come to associate with dried grass in the sun. An opening of citrusy freshness that reminded me of pineapple. Just enough to add juiciness to the dry green, but not too much that it becomes fruity. The heart emerges with a touch of woody incense of a comforting variety.

Finally got my hands on a vial of Un Jardin sur le Nil, the EDT on which an article in the New Yorker dragged me down this rabbit hole. Before this, if you'd have uttered my name and 'perfume' together in the same sentence, most who know me well would have balked.

Un Jardin sur le Nil out of the bottle was all about green mango, surprisingly quite accurate to the real thing. Prior to getting my nose on this, I'd made a point to start sniffing mangoes. Having read so much about this perfume but not be able to smell it was driving me up the wall. Reviews were all about the mango, so I figured I could get my pseudo-fix by burying my nose into the mangoes I get every other week from a favorite fruit shop in Centrepoint BU.

So when I finally received a sample vial from Surrender to Chance, an online perfume sample store (after nearly 50 samples in), you couldn't have imagined the bubbling excitement with which I dabbed it on the back of my hand.

Top: A burst of citrusy grapefruit and mango. Not mango flesh per se, but tropical mango skin, much like the mangoes we get here in Malaysia. Extremely fresh and definitely was an eye opener this morning. Rather sour, but fresh and not at all unpleasant (think citrus sour rather than milk gone bad sour)

Heart: Has the familiar floral that I found in Un Jardin sur le Toit (will be written at some other time). Although a fresh perfume, I found the florals slightly sensuous, slightly flirty even. If I smell hard enough, I get a faint impression of incense.

Base: Notes listed were incense and sandalwood, but I didn't really get either of those. Some woodiness, but not quite sandalwood I'm familiar with. Will report back later. Still smells surprisingly fresh a few hours in!