Honoré des Prés Vamp à NY

Since I'm just back from a quick jaunt to New York, what better time to feature a fragrance inspired by the city itself? Honoré des Prés is a boutique French line that's set themselves a steep challenge - make artisan, niche fragrances, on par with the best, from entirely natural ingredients. Except natural is something of  an understatement. We're talking eco-certified and organic, with no phthalates, synthetic compounds, animal products or petrochemicals. Sounds easy, but it really isn't - without synthetic compounds, perfumes tend to be stuck in the pleasant and fresh category, lacking the weird and wonderful twists that make a good fragrance great. Luckily, Honoré des Prés has Olivia Giacobetti at the helm (famed nose and creator of classic, nuanced fragrances for L'Artisan, Diptyqye, etc), and in their second collection, three eau de parfums inspired by modern New York life, the weird and wonderfuls tend to come thick and fast, with mixed but very interesting results. I'm starting with the standout of the bunch - the boozy, candy-coated, tuberose extravaganza that is Vamp à NY ....

Vamp à NY starts out with a creamy, crass hit of tuberose – it carries all the wallop of the sultry white flower without that sharp, sometimes acrid note that makes me tend to dislike white florals. This is an altogether rounder, juicier take on the bloom, more like the flower in its natural tropical state. There's an almost palpable texture to the flower, a distinctive rubbery waxiness. If you know and love tuberose you'll know exactly what I mean. If not, well, this is only going to get weirder from here on out. After the first hit of tuberose, I smell a lot of ylang ylang creeping in, fleshing out the floral into something even headier and bolder - then a sweet, sticky rum note, a hint of pulpy fruit (banana skin? coconut flesh?) and an aromatic swirl of real, sharp, bourbon vanilla. There's hints of exotic resins and balms deep down in the vanilla, but to my nose they're faint and fleeting. Overall, I get the impression of bubblegum and hot pink sunsets and muggy, sultry evenings full of flowers. Once dried down on skin, the fragrance doesn't change or evolve much – it sticks around as a deep, sweet, sticky flavor – like candied tropical blooms, preserved in rum syrup. It teeters on the edge of feeling overpowering but settles quickly into something very wearable, with a definite modern uniqueness that suits the perfume landscape right now . I was expecting something much more demure, and I have to say, for a naturally sourced scent,  Vamp à NY is a bit of a loudmouth.

 

 

Which brings us to the name – I think it's ever so slightly misleading in English, suggesting that this is some sort of sophisticated screen siren's fragrance. For me, this is less femme fatale and more girly girl playing dress up as a cartoon vamp - red lipstick and slinky gown, but maybe some high tops peeking out under the hem, smacking her pink bubblegum a little too loudly. It's the sort of scent that could get you in trouble, or into a whole lot of fun. It's a playful, modern and youthful take on the classic vampy white flower perfume. I'm still not much of a tuberose girl at heart, so I'm unlikely to wear this very often, but I also can't help but appreciate what an endeavor it was to make a perfume with this much character and wit and panache, from ingredients that usually render altogether more staid affairs. It's almost wonderfully tacky, in a stylish, French sort of way – and I mean that as the greatest of compliments.

 

You can find Vamp à NY at Beauty Habit, Spirit Beauty Lounge and Anthropologie. 

Are you a tuberose kind of girl? Planning to vamp it up a bit with your fragrance this summer?  Let's chat below!

*This product was a PR sample from the generous people at Honore des Pres. This in no way effects my opinions - if I don't like a product, I don't feature it!

Posh and Pretty - Penhaligon's Peoneve

 

What is is about peonies? I'm not sure I've ever met anyone that doesn't adore them, the way their tight buds unfurl into those heady, blowsy blossoms, tipping drunkenly on their unsteady stems. There's a particularly dreary spring drizzle out today, so I'm splashing on some Penhaligon's Peoneve to transport my senses to a sunny summer day, knee-deep in a bed of the fragrant, velvety blooms.

 

Peoneve starts out with the sharp, peppery, unmistakeable hit of peony - a very lifelike facsimile that other peony-based fragrances never quite seem to capture. The note is is fleshed out with more than a litle tea rose, which shares a similar note and compliments and strengthens the peony . This isn't your typical perfume rose, but more of the fresh, prickly, antique variety, very bright and tart.  A natural hint of violet leaf ties all these blooming notes together, and though it imparts a strong freshness, a certain dewy garden quality, I wouldn't consider this a stridently green fragrance at all - it's far too...well, pink. There's a fresh, almost watery impressionistic feel to it overall, like freshly plucked peony blooms floating in a delicate, china bowl.

 

 

All this bright, tart freshness dries to a very clean, very faint base with just the tiniest hint of creaminess. Unfortunately, the simple, light feel to the fragrance translates into very little staying power. What lingers is lovely and subtle, but it never really changes into anything different or unexpected on skin - what you first smell is basically what you get, which will be a selling point for some, and a disappointment for others.  

 

Overall I find it very pretty, very polite, but am left wanting a bit... more. More depth, more realness, that little hint of something unusual or even a bit off to really pique my interest. I personally like that old fashioned hint of powderiness or spice to really round out the base of a fragrance, but it's also very out of fashion these days, and this offering is a clever way to bridge that gap for Penhaligon's. It's the perfect choice for people who like the idea of an elegant, simple floral but have found the London landmark's more classic offerings too old-fashioned for their tastes. Peoneve is the perfect scent for a May wedding or a lazy summer picnic on a cool, green lawn - light, tart and modern without sacrifing its feminine prettiness.

 

August Favorites - Lazy Summer Beauty

I don't know about you, but I get awfully lazy when it comes to beauty in the summer. A hint of sun on the skin and some healthy outdoor living, and I can just about forgo all the fuss so required in greyer months. Hair is left easy and undone - a spritzing of Surf Spray through damp locks leaves my straight, fine locks wavy and tousled with minimum effort. NARS brilliant new tinted moisturizer somehow covers imperfections thoroughly while leaving skin sheer and glowy - with a good helping of SPF included. A slick of juicy, pink Beach Tint dabbed on cheek bones leaves a healthy looking flush, and several lashings of Dr Hauschka's soft and simple mascara is the perfect natural-looking definition for my sensitive eyes. I love the deep shine and Aegean teal hue of Butter London's Slapper on toes - and accept that the name is alarmingly fitting, though somewhat accusatory. Shins and shoulders on show get a golden sheen from a few drops of Huile Prodigieuse, and a dab of Philosykos solid perfume on wrists and neck leave a light, fresh cloud of tart, green fig in your wake. 

How do you pare down your makeup routine in the dog days of summer? Any hero products? Share them below!

The Scents of Summer....

I'm over at She Said Beauty this week, sharing my picks for five charming, wearable, and wildly summer scents. Is your favorite on the list? If not, tell us about it below.....

Penhaligon's Bluebell

Since we were on the topic of bluebells anyway...

I've worn Penhaligon's Bluebell since I was seventeen, and I hope the day never comes that I tire of it. I live in fear that it will be discontinued, and don't feel really comfortable unless I have at least two bottles in the house as back ups. I practically bathe in it - on my pillows, in my hair, it's spritzed liberally and extravagantly as I try to capture its ethereal beauty for a little longer. Come to think of it, I probably I reek of bluebells most of the time, and maybe everyone is just too polite to say anything.

I wear it with such abandon because I don't see how would it be possible to reek of something so delicate and fleeting and light. I have trouble breaking down its notes at all, because I know it so very well, and because part of its magic is that through layering it's created almost a very basic soliflore - the simple scent of a spring bluebell. There's tiny blue bell-like blooms - fragrant and a little sharp, like a slightly shyer, more demure hyacinth - then the dew-laden, green stem, icy and crisp, pulled from cold, damp, dark soil with the tiniest hint of earthy spice at the roots. The beauty of it is, none of this smells like a synthetic blend of notes - nothing about it shouts "perfume" - it's just pure, quiet, peaceful English woodland, a beautiful captured moment from a perfect day. Its lasting power isn't terribly strong, but the tiny whisper of scent it does leave behind is exquisite, understated and charming, just like the flower itself.

I know it's not for everyone - people tend to feel quite polarized about its charms - but I'm perfectly happy with that - it's mine, and I don't want everyone splashing it about carelessly anyway- and I'm sure those of us who love it will be quite content to go in living in our bluebell-scented haze forever.

The Scent of Spring

Happy April! No, that's not snow falling outside, shh. Ignore it and it may go away. Instead, why not come on over and visit me at She Said Beauty, where I've rounded up five of the prettiest, freshest, greenest scents for spring?

Do you have favorite spring fragrance - is it the smell of a cool rain, green grass, apple blossoms, hyacinths, the damp earth, or the potted flowers on your front step? And have you found a perfume that captures that feeling yet? I'd love to hear about it below.....

Creed Aubepine Acacia

I really thought I had found my signature scents. Two perfumes that were perfect, both familiar and beautifully unsettling, and between the two of them suited to my every mood. Ah but then I was foolish and had to go and open up a bottle of Aubepine Acacia. Created by Creed in 1965 for Brigitte Bardot, it evokes dry, scrubby pines, honeyed mimosa and powdery hawthorn blossoms in a rocky, sunbaked Mediterranean forest. I get a lot of beeswax and pine sap in at first sniff - not a masculine, green pine but a drier, more arid kind. The beeswax settles into a beautiful honey scent, with notes of bright citrus, fragrant hawthorn and sweet mimosa - though all the floral notes are very dry and sunbleached, all the greenery tart and almost astringent.

The Bardot this was created for and worn by isn't the pin-up we all know so well, but the much more real one - the Bardot strolling barefoot down a dusty path in the hills above St Tropez, pants rolled up and flowers in her hair, a baby lamb under her arm and a dog or two trotting at her feet. How could I not love a scent that evokes all that? It's me. Well except for the great hair and the St Tropez part....

This reminds me just slightly, in it's dry hay-like accord, of the lovely Santa Maria Novella Fieno- though this a very different combination of notes and to my mind even lovelier, they do share a sunbleached and aromatic character. I was completely floored by how much I love this scent - I thought I had found my perfect signatures, but this may have found the heart of me more than any before.

There is a hitch in all of this I'm afraid. Always amongst the Private Collection and therefore difficult to obtain, Creed has now discontinued Aubepine Acacia. I lay on the floor and beat my fists and yelled, but it didn't change anything, and I've had to face facts. Clearly the fact that this scent feels so personal to me means it probably didn't suit a lot of people. Or possibly people are idiots, which is probably more likely. Either way, I haven't just introduced you to this gem to snatch it away from you so cruelly - you can still find decants at online boutiques like The Posh Peasant and The Perfumed Court. If you'd like to sample its loveliness, by all means, go ahead. Just make sure you don't clean out all of their stock, or you'll have me to answer to - I had better be left at least enough to last me through copious spritzing for the rest of this lifetime.

pics via pinterest

Lazy Links

Believe it or not, I had planned on talking about Golden Globes dresses this week, but then it all got boring, and nothing blew me away, and they do it all SO much better over at Go Fug Yourself, so that was that. I didn't write anything, and had another cookie, and forgot all about it. I don't think I've ever been so desperate for the weekend before, so let's all relax, have a drink and a little mosey 'round some lovely links....

The Library Phantom Returns! It's hard to live up to a headline like that, but read on and marvel, because it does.

Did you know that The Blossom Shed is on Twitter? It's true. I've finally figured out how to work it. Sort of.

The Nars Spring Collection is finally here. It's not what I would call terribly cohesive.

However I dare you not to become completely smitten with Bobbi Brown's punchy neons.

For some strange reason, the lovely Erika of Fashion Chalet is GIVING AWAY Balenciaga bags. She must be insane, but enter anyway.

These shorts WILL be mine. As soon as it warms up a bit.

Looking for the perfect winter fragrance? Here's four lovely ones for any mood, chosen by yours truly.

Need a refresher on season one, or to catch up on last week's episode? Read Hello Giggle's hilarious rundowns of Downton Abbey here.

All caught up? Now make a Downton Abbey cake!

Don't worry, this happens every year when Masterpiece season comes around. I get overexcited and have a fit if I'm not home and snuggled up on the sofa by six on Sunday evenings. Just wait until the Dickens start - that's when I go ALL out.

photo via Pinterest

It's the weekend. Have a drink.

Penhaligon’s ad campaign for their new gin-inspired Juniper Sling fragrance is a charming homage to the flapper era, and during the month of its release the bar at the Dorchester in London created and served a cocktail in its honor. Should you feel like adding a little jazz age flair to the new year, whip one up yourself and toast to a hedonistic and happy 2012. Good luck finding the bergamot syrup and forbidden fruit liqueur. The recipe is below for the adventurous amongst you. I think I'll just have a g&t myself. Bottoms up and happy new year to you all!

The Dorchester Bar’s Juniper Sling

30ml London Dry Gin
30ml Sloe Gin
10ml of The Dorchester’s Forbidden Fruit Liqueur
15ml Bergamot syrup
20ml Lime juice
10ml Sugar Syrup
20ml Pineapple Juice
Sprinkle of fresh nutmeg

Shake and serve on crushed ice and garnish with lemon grass, rose petal and mint.

Pics via Pinterest.

Penhaligon's Juniper Sling

I think the start of a new year makes everything seem bright, shiny and fresh, so what could be a more suitable scent for this weekend than Penhaligon’s newest concoction, Juniper Sling, which the British perfume institution describes as “A playful, chilled and mysterious homage to the Bright Young Things of London’s roaring twenties.”

In the bottle, Juniper Sling does smell very much like a beautifully mixed gin and tonic – cool, sharp and smooth. This is an excellent start for a gin lover like myself, and I can’t pretend that a little part of me didn’t want to pour a splash over ice and settle down for the evening. But thankfully for those who don’t want to reek of booze anymore than they already do, once on the skin it settles and softens into something more sweetly aromatic and much more nuanced. The peppery crispness of angelica, orris and juniper settle softly onto a faint bed of smooth leather and a suprising hint of brown sugar sweetness at the very heart. It’s a very interesting departure for Penhaligon's - while it harks back to another age, it’s also one of their most modern and linear scents for me, and could be worn beautifully by both sexes . The lasting power is a little fleeting, but keeps the scent light and subtle.

I highly recommend at least sampling this if you can – I love the icy etherealness of the scent, the snappy name and the fantastic art deco style styling of the bottle – it makes me want to revamp my dressing table into something mint green and mirrored, and start shingling my hair. Samples are available from Luckyscent, or visit Penhaligon's if you'd like to own one of the beautiful bottles.

Have any of my lovely readers tried this, or any other Penhaligon's scents? Do you have a favorite? I adore Bluebell above all, and practically bathe in it daily.

My sample was kindly sent by Penhaligon's for consideration.

Photo via Pinterest

Gift Guide - Penhaligon's

Much as I would love to receive the beautiful goodies inside these Penhaligon's Gift Boxes, they're really just a bonus - I'd be quite happy with just the incredible cardboard houses straight out of Victorian London, with secret scenes on the back to give you a glimpse into each household. I'm dying to pull out my old Victorian dollhouse and its eccentric cast of Playmobil inhabitants and add stacks of these boxes to make a dark, foggy street plagued by a spate of Ripperesque murders. I even know who the first victim will be. Aunt Lucinda. She always looked like trouble.

For the more mentally mature among you, their perfume and products are gorgeous classics, and they make the most wonderful gifts. I adore Penhaligon's, and will be reviewing their lovely Jazz Age inspired scent, Juniper Sling, next week. I may go crazy and do a whole twenties themed weekend. Prepare yourselves.

Hope by Tallulah Jane

Tallulah Jane is a small, independent fragrance house in NYC that follows the traditional craft of Bourbon perfumerie, producing small batches made from only the highest quality organic and wildcrafted natural oils - no synthetics, parabens or fillers.


Because the scents are entirely natural and handcrafted, there's a degree of uniqueness to each bottle which I think is lovely - you're getting something one of a kind, whose scent was influenced slightly by the weather that year, or the degree of sun on the blooms. Tallulah Jane was kind enough to send me a lovely little package of their newest fragrance, Hope, an uplifting, sunny scent which donates 50% of all profits to the American Cancer Society. I was extremely suprised to find that the natural oils could produce such nuanced layers, and a distinct drydown - while it's a soft, quiet scent, it's still beautifully and subtly crafted.

It opens with the fresh, very natural scent of clementine - not the juicy, acid citrus, but the aromatic oil that's released when you tear open the rind - it's a warm, sunny smell, that gives way to a fresh, bright floral, blending the green scent of white champa leaf with mimosa and jasmine. The jasmine is particularly pleasant because there's none of the sultry, heady wallop so common in fragrances - this is the smell of jasmine creeping up a garden wall or fence, with fresh air and sunshine all around, softly sweet and fragrant. The base has notes of amber, which last nicely on the skin, and ties in very nicely with the citrus - overall, it smells less like a perfume and more like a place, which is what I love in my fragrances - this transports me to a casual California garden, with orange trees and creeping blossoms, and cool green grass underfoot.

This isn't going to pry me away from my boozy Guerlains, but I think it's a lovely scent that doesn't shout - a wonderful gift for a young teen as a first fragrance, or someone who likes quiet, distinctive scents. Because of the clementine notes, it actually is quite appropriate for the holidays as well - I'm going to wear it a lot come December when I want to smell that sweet burst of citrus oil that reminds me of opening a Chrismas stocking. And like all the very best scents, it grows on me more each wearing.

Hope is available on Tallulah Jane NYC's website for $48 - and you can take a look at their several other unique and handcrafted fragrances that I look forward to trying in the future - Leotie, which is based on meadowflowers - has really caught my eye. The line also includes some gorgeous looking natural bath and body oils - much as I hate to start thinking about the holidays, I'm keeping them on my idea list for luxurious but affordable gifts.

(product was a PR sample)

Diptyque Philosykos

The beauty of Diptyque's Philosykos lies in its simplicity - a vibrant, unique facsimile of a green fig. As someone who steers away from the gourmand and fruity scents, this was the most beautiful suprise when I first sampled it years ago - there's no jammy, sticky fruitiness - it's the green, dry, rough, almost unripe bounty of a sundrenched tree - a smell of resinous bark, the pulpy, pithy, creamy fruit, and the sunbaked rocky ground around it.

It's a green scent, absolutely, but there's no sharpness or acidity- it's sundappled and bright and soft, and transports me instantly to Durrell's wild Corfu. It's like a snapshot of a precise moment, and what a lovely moment it is. Some people detect a hint of coconut, and I do as well - but it's not a note so much as a texture - the rough, succulent outer of the green fig shares a shadow of a scent with the former.

Wearing Philosykos you're unlikely to ever be asked what your perfume is - it's too subtle and evocative to be instantly recognized as a synthetic fragrance - to me it suggests a feeling of place more than any other scent I've experienced, and smells its very best on salty, sunkissed skin. I tend to wear it in summer because of this, but I like to crack it open every so often in the depths of winter just to be transported to that grove of trees on the rocky hillside, the bright sun beating on my face, goat bells in the distance and the hot dust between my toes. Then I stopper it back up and go put my snowboots on, and slog through another winter, wondering why I don't just pack it all in and go raise honeybees and goats on a Greek island. I may yet.

Serge Lutens Iris Silver Mist

I've spent the last hour trolling the internet trying to find a photo to illustrate the exact feeling of Serge Luten's Iris Silver Mist. The problem is, I have a perfect picture in my head of what it should look like - a French wood, the sort that you hunt for truffles in, probably in the Loire Valley if I'm being geographically precise, with widely spaced trees and deep mulching of moss and dead leaves on the ground. It could be early spring or late fall, but there's a touch of frost on the ground, and a low hanging mist, stretching to a crumbling chateau far in the distance. This is difficult to search for on Google Images as you'd imagine, and I'm having trouble finding all of these things in one shot. In the end I went with a Monet, simply because it was vaguely misty.

So I'm going to have to try and be descriptive for you. Iris Silver Mist is not for everyone. Some people will say it smells of carrots. I understand where this comes from, but disagree. It smells of roots. The cold, damp rhizomes of an Iris, to be precise, pulled from mossy, loamy forest soil. It's a very cold scent, but a natural cold, with metallic edges that warm as the iris scent dries down - it's like nothing I've ever smelled, and yet beautifully familiar. It's unsettling, and slighty otherworldly, and there's something in it that reminds me a bit of Guerlain's Apres L'Ondee, but with none of the soft sweetness - something in the melancholy coolness is similar, but this is so much more aloof and sharp. I think it also smells slightly of old books. A musty parchment scent that I find sad and beautiful. So a strange, cold, magical wood, that leads into an ancient library. Something like that.

So now you're probably wondering why anyone would want to smell of roots and old books - I can't tell you, only that this is simply one of the most incredibly beautiful fragrances I have ever experienced - it manages to capture a feeling, place and mood all at once that as you can see I have trouble putting into words - it makes me think of Walter de la Mare's The Listeners, and it's "forest's ferny floor" in that strange, empty, moonlit hollow. It has to be sampled to be understood. For some people it will be much too difficult and cold to wear themselves, for others they'll revel in it's strange beauty.

Whichever you end up feeling, you should sample this once just to appreciate the incredible science and craft that must have gone into making it. Like everything I tend to fall in love with, it's hard to get - it's part of the Serge Lutens non-export line, so is only available from their Paris boutique or to EU addresses. I get mine decanted from The Posh Peasant, a wonderful little online shop that makes it easy and affordable to try every unusual and rare scent under the sun - but one day I dream of getting my own bell jar bottle of if from the Shiseido boutique in Paris, where they'll engrave your initials on the bottle for you. Sigh...

Santa Maria Novella Fieno

Santa Maria Novella is a beautiful little apothecary in Florence that's been in the business of colognes, incense, creams and soaps for hundreds and hundreds of years, with most of their packaging, ingredients and recipes remaining the same. They have a lovely selection of scents, all unique and most with a hint of rich depth and incense to them, which is logical since they were formed in 1210 by Dominican Monks. They were big on incense.

My all-time favorite scent of theirs is Fieno, the Italian for hay. It doesn't particularly smell like hay, unless you chose only the sweetest, freshest blades of meadow grass from the bale - to me it's dried, sunbleached wildflowers and herbs, wild rose and myrtle, from a freshly cut Florentine meadow, stalks that have been left to dry in the strong late summer sun. I can faintly smell the golden domes of Florence in the background, and maybe a bit of resin from the surrounding trees. I constantly refer to it as smelling "of myrtle", though I actually haven't a clue what myrtle actually smells of. I can only assume it smells like this - soft, disheveled, sunbleached and pastoral. Basically, (cue soaring Puccini intro), this......

I had trouble with this at first simply because I'm not a fan of rose scents, and there is definitely a lot of rose in this. But it's grown on me by leaps and bounds every day - it's not a cultivated, garden rose, it's a wild, scrubby, creeping field rose that's tart and bright. Now I can't live without a full bottle - it's unusual and charming and perfect.

f you'd like to try a whiff of it, Aedes de Venustas carries the whole Santa Maria Novella line, and they offer a wonderful sample program - $15 for 7 fragrance samples of your choice - they carry every beautiful, niche and rare scent you could want.

 - photo ia the moviedb.org