karmicdreaming.

>It’s rare that I find a floral that is as wearable as Après l’Ondée. My body chemistry makes every scent turn sweet, to the point where my significant other classifies a large portion of scents I’ve tested as “cotton candy. *sniff* More cotton candy. *sniff* Yep, cotton candy.” For that reason, I tend to stick with heavier orientals and chypres, like Guerlain Mitsouko and Shalimar. In fact, when I received a sample of Après l’Ondée, the only reason I even tried it was because it was a Guerlain. I knew it was supposed to be the soft, floral Guerlain, but I figured it had been around for so long (since 1906) for a darn good reason, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

If I had to describe Après l’Ondée in only one word, it would be lovely. The fragrance is rain-drenched carnations and violets, soft vanilla almond with the slight spice of anise to keep it from settling into gentleness. It is the scent of a March morning in the south, when the sun is warm and the grass is still misty. It is what countless powdery-florals have since tried to be and failed.

This, of all the classic Guerlains, is the one that is the most approachable, especially among perfume novices. It is appropriate for any age to wear, including teenagers, although I feel it would be best suited to a quiet, romantic-natured young woman. It is sweet, maybe a little naive, and emotionally vulnerable. Après l’Ondée has a wistful quality about it that stops it from being cloying, and allows it to mellow to perfection. This perfume would be a great alternative for anyone who wants a softer (read: Not Shalimar), beautiful scent and is tired of the fruity, cheap concoctions pervading the market today.

>Today’s perfume has a back story that’s almost as interesting as the scent itself. Shortly after the stock market crash that led to the beginning of the Great Depression in 1929, Jean Patou commissioned perfumer Henri Alméras to make an extravagant fragrance for his customers who could no longer afford his fashion line. He wanted it to be indulgent, so the women who wore it would not feel they were entirely without luxury. The scent that Alméras delivered the following year used 336 roses and 10,600 jasmine flowers in every ounce of perfume extrait, and was the costliest fragrance in the world. That scent was Joy, which went on to become one of the most iconic fragrances ever, worn by the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Josephine Baker, and Jacqueline Onassis, and second in sales only to the indomitable Chanel No. 5.

It seemed only right that I wear it today, after the recent fears of a crumbling global economy, to bring a little of that luxury into my life, as did generations of women before me. Despite being 80 years old, Joy does not smell dated to me. The first notes are bright greens and aldehydes with a shock of tuberose that would be vulgar if it didn’t quiet down almost instantly, softening into the lovely jasmine and rose blend that is instantly recognizable to anyone who’s ever smelled it. The drydown contains sandalwood and civet, which brings depth and character to the florals. True joy is a complex emotion, and so is this fragrance, being at turns subtle, calm, optimistic, and unabashedly beautiful, while remaining classic, timeless, and adaptable.

Joy requires emotional maturity to wear well, in my opinion. There is nothing here for the flighty teenager or young woman with little life experience and no knowledge of her own feminine power. The scent respects the difficulty and pain of life while still looking forward with certainty to better times, and it remains just as fresh and relevant as it was when it was first introduced, in times that appear to foretell our own future.

>Since fragrance is such a subjective and personal thing, I’m always amazed when I sample a Christopher Brosius creation. How does he know? How can he tell exactly what I’ve experienced and remembered, and recreate it so perfectly? His perfumes resonate with me on an almost spiritual level, whisking me back to emotions from years ago with just a gentle waft from the bottle. I’ve yet to find another perfumer whose scents can affect me so profoundly.

CB I Hate Perfume scents are not the typical fragrance offerings. They’re memories in a bottle, stolen pieces of time stoppered up and lovingly cherished until the time comes to once again experience them. These scents are nothing less than a celebration of collective humanity. If you think I’m going overboard here, you haven’t smelled them. Do. I’ve yet to find a CB scent that I dislike.

The fragrance I’m wearing today is CB I Hate Perfume In The Library. It smells of leather book bindings, old ink, dusty cloth, and just the slightest note of lemon and beeswax furniture polish. Libraries, for me, have always been hallowed ground, and this perfume captures that feeling precisely- the hushed quiet, the occasional muffled shuffle of books being arranged on a shelf, the absorbed turning of a page. Surely, this is the scent of knowledge, both stored and sought.

This fragrance matched the internal quiet I’m feeling today. I’m recuperating from a cold, so my mind likes to turn inward, seeking a comforting, stress-free cubbyhole while my body heals. That place smells of In The Library.

>I love fragrance. I sniff obsessively. I feel naked without perfume. I like to express myself through the scents that I’ve chosen. These are the reasons why.

The what is my thoughts on anything fragrance related. I’m not the type to buy all the newest perfumes on the market. Instead, I stick to the ones I love, because each of them is so faceted that I discover something new to enjoy about them every time I wear them. Those are the scents I adore- the timeless, classic masterpieces full of beauty and depth. It doesn’t matter if the scent is 50 year old or 5 weeks old. If I don’t feel that subtle pull when I wear it, it goes back on the shelf.

I’m not a perfume expert. I’m not even that good with the perfume notes. I’m definitely not a niche snob. I’m just someone who loves scents and wants to talk about them. I like rooting out the patterns between what I chose to wear on certain days, so I’ll be tracking the weather and my mood on each day.

If you’re looking for someone who understands all the subtle nuances of perfume-making, this isn’t where you’ll find that person. If you like perfume and reading what others have to say about it, I hope you’ll like it here.