Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab's Magdalene

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.

Guerlain's Après L'Ondée

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.

Rory Rants: Thoughts on Shalimar

As Robin wrote in her NST review, "Shalimar is so iconic that there isn’t much to be said on the subject that hasn’t already been said." Writing about it is simply an indulgence on my part, because it is such a dreamy, inspiring scent.

My journey into perfume can be traced back to my desperate attempts to replace my signature scent (first J'adore, then Hypnotic Poison) with something new. Guerlain's site has a "Fragrance Consultation." I took this while living a bohemian lifestyle in Berlin, and I was recommended Shalimar: "You like the voluptuousness of sensual notes."  After receiving my test results, I went with my French friend, Yoann, to a department store in Alexanderplatz. I found Shalimar, and certain that the online quiz had yielded my new signature scent, I excitedly sprayed it on my wrist, only to recoil in horror- what was this dense, animalic, woody, smokey, oriental- old lady?- scent?? To my nose, used to the squeaky clean fruity florals and watery scents of American department stores, this was just too much. Yoann, on the other hand, was smelling the bottle happily. "Mmmm, Shalimar! My mother wears this- a classic!" I tried to wrap my head around his acceptance of this scent, and couldn't.

After returning to Boston, I went with my fellow perfumista Megan (who had scored Mitsouko) to a department store to show her how strange Shalimar smelled. This time though, the scent of Shalimar was not horrifying to my nose, but to my surprise, rather alluring! Smelling it against the backdrop of Versace Bright Crystal, Marc Jacobs Lola, and other loud, shiny synthetics, there was something very mysterious and sexy about Shalimar. The dark, animalic base gave it more humanity than the other fragrances, a sensual appeal underlying the spicy, vanilla top. I ordered a bottle with my next Fragrancenet order, and it has been love ever since. I now understand Yoann's familiarity with this scent. Shalimar has a bold, almost crude, sexiness, and as Robin says, it "hails from an era before fresh-from-the-shower became everyone’s notion of sexy; Shalimar is sexy precisely because it smells unclean." Yet over that raunchiness is the sophisticated composure of a classic oriental. The harmonious oriental spiciness gives it an effortless sophistication, while the dirty edge makes it human and sexy, so that almost a hundred years after its creation, it is still a recognizable classic.

The history of Shalimar is as fascinating as the history of Mumtaz Mahal and the Shalimar gardens, but what I find even more interesting is the fact that Shalimar was created the same year as Chanel No. 5. The common myth is that Shalimar was created when Jacques Guerlain poured a new synthetic vanilla, ethyl vanillin, into a bottle of Jicky, thus bringing us into a new age of perfumery. In 1921, both Shalimar and No. 5 paved the way for the classic perfumes of the following decades. Somehow between the two, I find myself gravitating towards Shalimar. I love the story of No. 5- the creation of an androgynous perfume for a flapper generation- yet I find No. 5 to be very feminine. Maybe it's the aldehydes, the fame of being Marilyn Monroe's favorite perfume, or simply because it's a popular floral embraced by so many contemporary women, but whatever the reason, No. 5 feels a little stuffy to me, whereas Shalimar feels more sexy and wearable. Or perhaps No. 5 really is the more modern and forward looking perfume, but I prefer Shalimar because it is timelessly nostalgic. Shalimar looks back to a dreamier, sexier past of mythical gardens, love stories, and fantasy. It can be easily reinvented for these backwards times, pairing well with Grimes and a wardrobe of vintage leather and lace.