How you perceive, classify and evaluate
scents fundamentally depends your broader socio-cultural and personal
biographical scent socialization. There is no doubt my high
sensitivity towards monomolecular synthetic aromachemicals is owed to
the abscence of most functional perfumery in our household: for
decades we have only used unfragranced detergents, cleaners etc. and
only naturally fragranced cosmetics and soaps. As a result I perceive
much of the world and people around me as regular synth-bombs reeking
of dihydromyrcenol, calone, ambroxan, ethylvanillin etc., all of
which they seem hardly even to register. At such moments I sympathize
with perfume prohibition in the workplace, though that will not
eliminate the fascinating phenomenon of long-unwashed clothes still
exuding „april-fresh“ wafts of fabric softener scent. Many of my
fellow citizens, children and adults alike, seem completely desensitized
when it comes to this olfactory overkill, while at the same time
finding the natural smell of a body to be completely inacceptable and
"unhygienic." I ask myself sometimes: what should be the consequence of the fact
that all humans are principally entirely and intuitively capable of
differentiating between monomolecular and complex natural
scents, between phenethyl alcohol and rose oil? Considering, as a
legendary Slow Food experiment showed, that children not exposed to
unprocessed foods tended to prefer the synthetic aroma of strawberry
yoghurt to the challenging complexity of a real strawberry, a sign of
gustatory and olfactory impoverishment, of a brutal sensory
limitation to engaging the complexity and sensory reality of the
world. This is not so much an immediate health issue, but one of
aesthetics and of aisthesis (humans as sensorily perceiving bodies) ; it raises fundamental questions about
the nature of our being-in-the-world. Perhaps it is time to consider
the question of naturals and synthetics (a difficult differentiation, but if you prefer: complex naturally sourced scents and monomolecules)
in perfumery from this vantage point, rather than the misleading
debate about allergies (which are just as likely to be caused by natural
oils with hundreds of secondary and tertiary components than by synthetics).
Soooo....As Chocolat Irisé has once
more proven to me, the fact that I detest with a passion the great
majority of gourmand perfumes has nothing at all to do with the genre
as such, but with its consistent cultivation of artificiality
grounded in massive monomolecular overdosing. A good crème brulée
can only be made with real vanilla pods, not vanillin flavouring, and
a good gourmand requires a high percentage of natural oils with a
complex olfactory spectrum. Sure, Jacques Guerlain's Shalimar
contained vanillin, but it also brimmed with tonka, iris, 30% (!)
bergamot, as well as jasmine, rose, birch tar, patchouli, sandalwood
and more and more and more. The beauty of unobtrusive complexity!
And so we come to Annette Neuffers take
on the oriental gourmand, Shalimar naturelle en cacao, so to say. The
absence of synthetics and the quality of the natural raw materials
means that balance and complexity reign sovereign here; the perfumer's
talent ensures that the chocloate-vanilla soufflé does not collapse
into olfactory porridge; and the all-natural compositon prevents outré
displays of sillage and intensity. It is, in sum, wonderful. The opening is powerfully
citric-floral, I get stronger „orangey“ impressions from the
tangerine over the tart bergamot and more white-floral aspects than
rose (which, however, rises a bit later). Cocoa notes come into play
very quickly and prompt associations of old fashioned hot chocolate
made from the real thing rather than industrial powder. A wonderful
olfactory baldachin of floral notes unfolds supported by the
cocoa-vanilla scaffold, with the gentle iris building a bridge
between florality and vanilla sweetness. The smokey earthiness of
patchouli also gently holds hands with that aspect of the oh so multifaceted vanilla, the rest of the base
remains softly at the back. Close to the skin you can cherish the
lusciously complex exotic pod that our culture has so unjustly turned into a signifier of blandness. The whole composition settles down
after about half an hour to a wonderfully woven skin scent with a
gentle aura - gentle in no way connoting feminine here, but really a
unisex quality. I actually feel it is the nose-searing loudness of synthetic
gourmands tha project a sort of misguided hyper-femininity of the
worst sort.
Chocolat Irisé is true to its name, a
beautiful, classy, but easily worn pleasure scent recommended to all lovers of
Guerlinade and traditional hot chocolate, friends of natural
sweetness and spice, and those who have wondered why the can't handle
gourmands, even though they love a fine dessert.
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