synesthesia [sin-uh s-thee-zhuh, -zhee-uh, -zee-uh] noun 1. a sensation produced in one modality when a stimulus is applied to another modality, as when the hearing of a certain sound induces the visualization of a certain color.
Usually, I find a perfume that interests me, and then from that talk about it, weaving together the name, the notes, associated thoughts, and finally music that reflects the style, either directly or indirectly. I also usually write on Tuesdays. However, I've been swamped with casting and Light Asylum happened.
In our many hours storyboarding and casting, my DP and I can't stop watching the music video for Skull Fuct. Everything about it is amazing. So, it needs a perfume.
I wanted something with leather, something dark. I pulled a couple leathers off my shelf to choose from, and tried Lancôme's Cuir by Lancôme (too feminine) followed by Parfum d’Empire's Cuir Ottoman (too fancy). I wanted Caron's Tabac Blond to pair with the video. It was made in 1919 as an ode to the woman who smoked, and that concept seemed androgynous, lost in time, and appropriate for the film's content, but the actual scent felt too pretty, complex, and lush. A beautiful perfume, but not stark enough to match the black and white aesthetics of the video.
Then, I dabbed Tom Ford's Tuscan Leather on my wrist. It is all smoke and leather and absolutely perfect. "All smoke and leather" isn't really an official list of notes. Tom Ford lists a couple others, and actually, I think what reads as smoke to me is actually the agarwood (oud), but ultimately the leather note is so strong it dominates everything else. The whole scent is perfect for this video: androgynously masculine, leathery, raw, smokey, dark. I want to meet Shannon Funchess, and I want her to be wearing Tuscan Leather.
I love perfume because it allows me to explore. Each little vial is a mystery. While the internet makes it slightly easier to discover the nose behind a particular scent, much of the creation process (or following reformulations) remains unknown. Marketing materials describe perfume notes in colorful language, but are those really the notes in the bottle? Moreover, if it is "rose", what kind of rose- a liquid diluted from a flower, a chemist's precise reconstruction of the smell or a more abstract impression, or some combination? Then there is the name, the bottle, and a number of other artistic elements that affect your overall perception and understanding of the perfume.
Psychotrope, from Parfumerie Generale's Private Collection, is a mysterious perfume. Googletranslate gave me "psychotropic" for "psychotrope," which did not make sense, so I looked it up in French:
1(pharmacologie)désigne une substance ayant une action sur le psychisme
n inv
2(pharmacologie)cette substance
psychotrope
adj inv
1antidépresseur
n inv
2hallucinogène
From that I've gathered, "a substance having an effect on the psyche," "antidepressant," and "hallucinogenic." Good enough. The fun comes not from fully answering the questions, but enjoying the curiosity and reveling in the unknown.
Psychotrope fits this mysterious, rainy spring mood I've been feeling for the past week or so. The top is all green, jasmine, and a kind of freshness that smells like the rain outside my window. The florals then come forward, jasmine, cyclamen, and violet, followed by an effortless drydown to a leather base, almost reading as vinyl, with a subtle hint of musk. These unusual notes complement each other harmoniously, and despite the dark, strange, leather base, the whole composition reads as elegant and sophisticated. The overall effect is beautiful and unnerving.
MAGDALENE A stirring yet gentle perfume. The scent of love and devotion mingled with an undercurrent of heart-rending sorrow. A bouquet of white roses, labdanum, and wild orchid.
Magdalene is a sadly discontinued scent from the Sin & Salvation (General Catalog) collection. In the bottle, what first strikes my nose is a sharp, green rose note. BPAL roses are really unpredictable, though- they can range from absurdly stuffy to hysterically shrill to utterly deranged. This is an unexpected BPAL rose, with a pleasant, rather "normal" floral roundness, a reasonable, refreshing greenness, and an unusual depth.
On first application, Magdalene has a burnt note that reminds me of the off top notes of my vintage Le Galion Snob. There is something about these burnt chemicals hovering over an otherwise pleasant floral that I really love. It's like a synthetic rebelliousness, a shabby chic dress, the chaotic beauty of imperfection.
Magdalene then settles down into one of my favorite BPAL rose scents. Everything about the description is true: roses, orchids, labdanum; stirring yet gentle; love and devotion mingled with heart wrenching sorrow. The order of words is important here- it is first, love and devotion, then sorrow. The sweet, gorgeous floral notes are grounded by the labdanum, and it is the conflict between them that makes the emotion of this perfume so expansive.
It reminds me of a more gothic take on the same expansive conflict present in Guerlain's Après L'ondée. Après L'ondée is a play between wet, tearful florals: rose, iris, and heliotrope; and the grounding bouquet de Provence: thyme, rosemary, and sage. The result is revelatory: it is the shift from rain to sunlight, from tears to a smile.
Whereas Après L'ondée has a holy, transcendent quality to it, what I love about Magdalene is its shift, not to clarity, but to darkness. Après L'ondée's play between sorrow and hope seems to pray that hope will conquer. Magdalene, on the other hand, lets the darkness in, and the play between love and sorrow suggests that sorrow will win. The scent passively, but seductively, accepts this idea, and dries to a dark, rosy labdanum. The entire experience is sexy, complicated, emotional and beautiful.
Certain scents are difficult to explain but easily inspire the adjectives "breathtaking" and "heartbreaking." Après L'Ondée is one of these scents. Gaia, the Non-Blonde describes smelling Après L'Ondée in parfum "like entering a dream. It can be familiar, like a memory you can't quite place but you know you've been there, maybe in your subconsciousness."
Like any other art form, at its finest perfume can convey a distinct idea or emotion. The more complex the idea, the more moving the artwork. Après L'Ondée means "after the rain shower," and between the floral, herbal, earthy, and watery notes, it literally translates as a garden after the rain. Yet there is something more to this scent, that inspires consistently more romantic reviews.
At its debut, La Liberté said it had "something of the melancholy of a poet's thoughts." (Monsieur Guerlain). Turin's review is also full of dark metaphors, describing the base accord as a "funeral", but for the fact that "Guerlain suffuses the whole thing with optimistic sunlight by using, as in so many of their classic fragrances, a touch of what a chef would call bouquet de Provence: thyme, rosemary, sage. This discreet hint of earthly pleasures is what makes Après L'Ondée smile through its tears."
Après L'Ondée does smile through its tears, for the scent of the earth following the rain parallels a feeling of calm after the passing of grief. The sadness behind Après L'Ondée makes the beautiful notes all the more real, precious, and poignent. This scent brings you deep within your own reflections. It is undoubtably one of the greatest perfumes ever made.
