This Blog Really Stinks. (A perfume blog): cb i hate perfume

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Aftelier Week: Cacao

I do not generally care to smell like food.

Gourmand fragrances are not a genre to which I tend to gravitate. That makes sense, since I do not generally care to smell like food.

There are exceptions. The yeasty note in En Passant is to-die-for, though I wouldn't consider that perfume "a gourmand". When it comes to bread, you can't beat Jeux de Peau by Serge Lutens. Now that's a scent I really adore --- but I never pick it up and wear it.

I enjoy the coffee notes in Cafe Noir by Dawn Spencer Hurwitz and in New Haarlem by Bond No. 9. Those two, yeah - I'll wear them. They're fabulous. Cafe Noir is my preference, though if a bottle of the Bond scent fell in my lap I wouldn't swap it away.

I find that vanilla appears as a listed note in many a scent I enjoy, though that doesn't necessarily make them gourmands.

I think Angel (Theirry Mugler) is a really interesting scent. I really, really like it. As with many perfumistas, though, I don't like to wear it. This is in part because a lot of people wear it and I don't want to smell like other people. I also don't enjoy wearing anything that is likely to drive people towards their migraine medicines, and Angel seems to be one of those scents that the anti-perfume crowd can recognize immediately. So, no Angel for me in public. Truth be told, I never spray it at home, either.

To summarize: I enjoy reeking of coffee or bread. I like vanilla swirled in my perfumes, but wouldn't like to walk around smelling like vanilla extract. I do not care to smell like any other food.

What ever possessed me to sample Mandy Aftel's Cacao?

I mean, it's right there in the name: we know we're going to get some chocolate going on. I must have bumped my head when I agreed to this...

But request it I did, and here we are. And I'm oh-so-glad we are.

Aftelier Perfume's official description of Cacao is this:

Possibly the world’s most seductive form of chocolate, with jasmine and blood orange. I create the chocolate alcohol that is the foundation of the perfume. I tincture very aromatic organic cocoa beans from Costa Rica, hand-selected by master chocolate-maker Steve DeVries, along with some very floral Tahitian vanilla beans. Using both grandiflorum and sambac jasmines, their richness marries well with the full chocolate base.

Featured NotesTop: blood orange, pink grapefruit.Heart: jasmine sambac & grandiflorum.Base: chocolate, vanilla.

Blood orange. Grapefruit. Jasmine. Vanilla. Chocolate. Vanilla. It seems so simple.

The first notes are akin to biting into a rich and masterfully-made chocolate candy when you haven't had one in ages. I experience that same heady feeling, that sensation of AHHHHHH....

It's a little like this...

... only add in unicorns and rainbows and orange sparkles and dark chocolate stars.*

*No, I don't know either - just go with it.

It's not super-sweet, like a store-bought candy. It's not like those nifty chocolate oranges that you whack on the table (<---how cool are those, by the way?). It's not even like those delicious orange peels dipped in dark chocolate (<---also delectable. is anyone else getting hungry?). Nope. The opening to Cacao is the finest dark chocolate, heavily bitter and cocoa-y, wrapped around an orange cream center made with really special orange extracts.

After about 5 minutes, this heavenly chocolate-orange swirling feeling fades and you're suddenly standing on a beautiful patio with one of those orange chocolates in one hand and a glass of something bubbly in the other.

Did I mention the patio is surrounded in blooming jasmine?

It's like this.
Don't be jealous of my art skillz. It's bad karma.

The jasmine in Cacao is amazing. Simply sublime.

And eventually the cocktail party winds down and you're left with vanilla-tinged jasmine and, eventually, just really lovely memories -- and a little craving to do it all again.

Blood orange. Grapefruit. Jasmine. Vanilla. Chocolate. Vanilla. It seems so simple. I'm sure it wasn't simple at all. If it were truly simple, it would have been done this well before. It hasn't been. Cacao is one-of-a-kind. Truly masterful.

This is a gourmand I'll wear. A lot.

sample provided by the perfumer

though the opinions here are my own

Perfume Review: Ambre Fetiche (Annick Goutal)

I haven't done too many reviews lately, because I started feeling fairly inferior compared to all of the excellent perfume writers there are. My nose is immature, too. But then it occurred to me, "Hey, dummy! This blog is about having an inexperienced nose and learning about perfume! Duh....!"

And with that thought, I'm jumping back into the fray with a true favorite: Ambre Fetiche by Annick Goutal.

As the name suggests, this scent is all about amber. The picture I chose to the right is pretty much what I imagine when I wear this. I feel like I'm enveloped in a drapey, flowing, gauzy saffron-colored silk.

This amber isn't furry and sweet. In fact it has a bit of bite in the beginning, in part thanks to frankincense. It's not medicinal and sharp, rather it's a bit boozy. Nearly heady, it jolts you a bit before eventually lulling you to sleep - just like a nice whiskey. After the nightcap, a sexy leather shows up. It's not birch tar-heavy, thankfully, since that gives me a headache. And it's not butter-soft-leather like an expensive purse. Nope, this one is a little aged, a little weathered, but still smooth.

Later, when the cozy part starts, the raw silk opening and supple leather turn into the softest caress. And boy does it last! I applied it yesterday morning and can still smell wafts today.

Honestly, I wasn't sure I'd like wearing this in the Summer. I initially tried (and instantly purchased) this in December. It's definitely the perfect late-Fall, chilly winter amber for me. I'm glad I tried it on a hot and humid day, though. It's like wearing a silk blouse that cools you in the Summer and keeps you warm in the Winter. I found out that the heat surprisingly brings out the best of the silky nature of Ambre Fetiche, while cool air brings more of the spice. I'm so glad to know that this staple perfume is even more versatile than I gave it credit!

Do you like ambers? What's your favorite? Do you wear them in the hot weather, or reserve them for colder times? Do you have a favorite Annick Goutal scent? Let me know in the comments!

Perfume Review: Black March (CB I Hate Perfume)

March, being my birth month, has always been a favorite time of year. The fact that Spring usually makes itself known during March only makes the month more special.

One of the best things about Spring is the smells of the earth. Even before I woke up my nose, I enjoyed the scent of wet, fresh earth; the first Spring blooms - hyacinths, daffodils; the heady and overpowering blooms pushing free of the trees and shrubs. Even a diehard fan of Winter like myself can appreciate these optimistic signs of rebirth.

Maybe you read my post "Scents I Love"? In it, I named fresh soil as one of my favorite scents. Even inside the house I enjoy it: the fresh and dirty combination of highly oxygenated air and moisture coming off of just-watered houseplants makes me close my eyes and inhale each and every time!

via

I'm not alone in my enjoyment of this odd scent, this quirk. Perfumer Christopher Brosius began his former company, Demeter, with the hyper-realistic fragrance Dirt. It's still a big seller from the line, from what I understand (I haven't had the pleasure of smelling it, yet).

His second and current business, CB I Hate Perfume, springs up from where Dirt left off, giving us Black March. Based on the poem Black March, by Stevie Smith (who died 4 days after I was born), the perfume epitomizes all of the things I love about the beginning of Spring.

Brosius says, "I have thought about a perfume that reflects this poem for years. Now it's finished. Both the poem and my perfume contain a secret that you must discover for yourself. That's the metamorphosis of Black March."

As amazing as the poem is, the perfume is possibly more so.

When I first put it on, it's like opening a bag of damp potting soil and taking a sniff. On me, it evolves beautifully, like Spring. I smell soft greens pushing out from bark and budding flowers erupting from bulbs planted deep in the soil. I can almost hear the tiny twigs snapping as I lean in to examine the plants, maybe pulling a weed or just enjoying the smells. After a bit of time, I realize that it has just rained. There's no rainshower - no ozone or marine downpour - but magically these new flowers are covered in the dampness of rain. And so it stays until it's gone... a breath of fresh air.

I have read speculation that the subject in the poem is death, that the perfume smells like a fresh grave... Maybe. I'm dense about metaphors and poetry¹.

It's not nearly so somber or dark as all that in my mind. I smell no death, no endings (but I'm a Pollyanna). To me, I smell new beginnings. Hope. Renewal. Though, they're not necessarily incompatible ideas, now are they?

House: CB I Hate Perfume
Fragrance: M #2 Black March
Perfumer: Christopher Brosius
Released:
Notes: Rain Drops, Leaf Buds, Wet Twigs, Tree Sap, Bark, Mossy Earth and the faintest hint of Spring
Sample: purchased from Lucky Scent

Final Word: Art. Olfactory sculpture. A must-have.

Other reviews of Black March