Scent Signals

Sniffer Dogs: Keeping You Safe or Invading Your Privacy?

Found a fascinating article about the use of sniffer dogs and other scent-sensing devices in the security industry in today's Guardian UK newspaper.

What clues do your body's scent signals give away?

As the following quote shows, the latest technology can sniff out much more than a person's exposure to drugs and explosives. Your scent signals can reveal such things as your level of aggression, where you are in your menstrual cycle, even your race. Is it fair to sniff and judge us law-abiding citizens? You decide.

Perfume lovers might also find this an interesting application of the headspace technology used to create many modern perfumes.

"But odour detection is not limited to the discovery of drugs and explosives. Scientists and electronic nose entrepreneurs claim headspace analysis can reveal everything from the substances people have been in contact with and their emotional state, to their personal identity and ethnic origin."

The article is long (for my short-attention-span readers) but it is something we all need to be aware of, so I recommend getting a cup of tea and sitting down with it.

Even if you're not worried about the invasion of your privacy you might find it interesting from a crime-solving perspective.

Here you go: Sniffer Dogs and Other Scent-Detectors Coming at Your Crotch and Other Body Parts. That's not really the title of the article, just the gist of it.

Can Do Paris Hilton Can Can Perfume

As a dedicated lover of fine French perfume, I feel I should hate Can Can. After all, it's the fashion, among those who take their perfume seriously, to write off anything Paris Hilton ("that slutty, no-talent poseur") does or makes.

As a confirmed lover of expensive perfume, I should say something snarky about Can Can, like, "Can Can smells better than mildew" and end it there. That would in fact be a true and unbiased review.

The first time I caught a whiff of Can Can was at the television station where I work. Someone had spritzed it into the air in anticipation of a big studio audience giveaway. It wafted down the hallway and covered up the mildew odor which emanates from our carpeting.

As a died-in-the-wool lover of high-quality perfume, I should tell you that the only good thing about Can Can is the fantastic pink boa that came with the gift bag.

I should, but I can't.

Because my first exposure to Can Can was actually quite pleasant. Not only did it cover up the mildew odor, it made the place smell happy, as if something good could happen at any moment. It was only later, when I found out what the fragrance was, that I started making (harsh) quality judgments about it.

Still, being an inveterate collector of scent, I begged a gift bag and boa (thank you, Berry), and toted them home. Where I made my darling cat George model the boa (check out that face - he's putting up with me, but just barely).

Well, months have passed since that photo opportunity, and George and I have now decided we like both the boa and the scent.

The marketing for Can Can calls the fragrance "elegant but fun." I'd call it "casual and fun." It has a burnt sugar-cotton candy accord that takes it out of the realm of elegant for me. The official notes include: clementine flower, cassis, nectarine, wild orchid, orange blossom, musk, amber and woods. It is said to have been inspired by the film Moulin Rouge and the song Lady Marmalade.

It reminds me a little of Thierry Mugler Alien in its sweetness, and Aquolina Pink Sugar in its burnt sugary-ness. I can't wear either of those scents, (too sweet, too burnt, respectively) but I can wear Can Can. There is a touch of caramelized citrus fruit that saves it from being a sweet mess on my skin. Maybe that's the marmalade?!

It will never replace my Malles, Lutens, Guerlains, L'Artisans, Carons, Creeds or any of the other snooty-patootie scents I love (nor would I expect it to), but Can Can has its place in my collection. When I want something happy, simple and yes, pretty, I will call on it. I haven't tested it around guys yet, but I suspect they will like this.

Should you like Can Can? I should say it's entirely up to you.

I actually hate "shoulds" when it comes to perfume. Perfume is a personal adventure. Only you can decide what smells good on your skin.

We who write about perfume are simply tour guides to the marvelous world of perfumed attractions. For me, Can Can is one of those rides you go on between the wild roller coaster and the spider - it's like those softly swinging chairs at Six Flags - soft and easy.

The Terrible Beauty: Serge Lutens Un Lys

I don't think I've ever been intimidated by a perfume before Un Lys. It's not that it's too strong - it has great presence but doesn't smother. It's not that it's too sexy - it is sexy but in an understated way. Un Lys intimidates me because it is just so beautiful. It's a terrible beauty I've never before encountered in a perfume.

Perfumes have the ability to amplify certain facets of your psyche while toning down others. Depending on the fragrance, you can feel more confident, sexy, womanly, manly, playful, innocent, etcetera. Un Lys seems to amplify my self-doubt. It makes me wonder, "Am I up to this? Am I beautiful enough to wear this?" I know it's "just a perfume" but perfume is a powerful key that can unlock many emotions, not all of which are fully under our control.

To anoint myself with Un Lys I find I must get quiet and center and breathe. It's a mini-trial and reward of the spirit. The reward being Un Lys's transcendent trinity of lily, vanilla and musk. Un Lys shimmers and glows. It is its own aura. Whether it becomes one with my aura is up to me.

I fasted from buying perfume during Lent, and it is with Un Lys that I broke my fast. I think it is the most appropriate perfume I could've chosen to celebrate the light and renewal of this season.

Other perfume lovers have mentioned smelling lilacs in Un Lys although the note is not listed. They are right, there are lilacs in it. But I didn't recognize that I was smelling lilacs in Un Lys until I sniffed it next to another fine lily scent, Lys Mediterranee. Only then did Un Lys's lilacs unfurl, and there I was, back in seventh grade in Mohegan Lake, New York, standing next to the most beautiful, fragrant bower of lilacs I've ever seen. Now that my brain knows about the lilacs, I can smell them without the help of Lys Mediterranee. It makes this perfume even more special to me.

Serge Lutens Un Lys eau de parfum is in limited release in the States. I found mine for $140 at my favorite local perfume shop, Kuhl-Linscomb, Houston. They should have a few bottles left. Ask for Haley, Therese or Andrew, and give them my regards.

Happy Easter, Darling Lily!

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin: even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

- Matthew 6:28-29

The lily is the flower we most closely associate with Easter but its popularity pre-dates Christianity. A Greek myth tells us how the lily came to earth.

The goddess Hera's sneaky husband Zeus, who'd fathered Hercules with a mortal woman and wanted the baby to have more godlike qualities, drugged Hera, then stuck the baby Hercules to her breast to nurse.

When Hera came to her senses and realized what was happening, she flung the baby away from her - in the process spraying enough milk to create the Milky Way. A few drops of Hera's milk made it all the way to earth, and voila - lilies were born.

Despite its ties to adultery, deception and violence, the lily stood for tenderness in Greek poetry, and was referred to as the voice of the muses.

Lilies were also said to be found growing in the Garden of Gesthsemane after Christ's crucifixion. The beautiful white flowers sprang up where drops of His sweat had fallen. Pure white lilies are also connected with the Virgin Mary. The Archangel Gabriel is shown giving her white lilies in paintings depicting the Annunciation. And legend has it that three days after her burial, her tomb was found empty except for bunches of magnificent white lilies.

In yet another story, Eve is said to have cried tears of true repentance upon being cast out of the Garden. Where her tears fell, lilies grew. So it's no surprise you see so many lilies in churches at Easter. For Christians, the lily is a symbol of purity, virginal love, and repentance.

Lilies have been cultivated for over 3,000 years. In China, the lily signifies "forever in love." In ancient Assyria, the lily was a holy flower. Lilies have been used in medicinal remedies, as lucky charms, and against the "evil eye," but can be highly poisonous to cats.

If you'd like to learn more about the way lilies are grown (only ten farms along the Oregon-California border generate over 95% of all the millions of Easter Lily bulbs shipped each year!), and how to take care of them, click here for plant answers from Texas A&M's Horticulture Department.

May you all have a blessed and fragrant Easter!

(Beautiful lily courtesy of Bill Brennan of http://shootdc.com)

Since When Does Baby Powder Smell Sexy?!

A couple of weeks ago, while in the cold, hard grip of a fever, I bought this perfume sample at Walgreens. I was there for a thermometer (Winnie the Pooh), tissues and other sundries to get me through what turned out to be four days of respiratory hell.

The perfume was to be a treat for when I could smell again. Being a great lover of musk, I actually harbored hopes that it would smell good, even sexy. I was ready and willing to take their dare to try "the World's Sexiest Fragrance." It wasn't just the fever talking - I've found more than one good musk scent at a drugstore price. I've also found some expensive ones, but that's a musky tale for another day.

What happened when I finally popped open the vial and applied Sexiest Musk to my skin? Well, I discovered that - to my nose - it's neither sexy nor musky. In fact, I believe the marketing brief for this fragrance must've read: "Make a perfume that smells like a very cheap blend of Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur and Johnson & Johnson Baby Powder. Oh, and please make it fresh."

Whoever the nose is definitely had Musc Ravageur in mind, but didn't have the budget to mimic it well. You totally get the MR reference at the top, in a hit of candied citrus and spice. It's actually pretty clever. And the scent might work if it stuck with it, since Musc Ravageur is one of the most obviously sexy musk perfumes around. Alas, a sharp baby powder note asserts itself to the degree that instead of ravishing musk I get lemony baby powder. There is also a weird ozonic note that reminds me of the way it feels when I inhale nitrous oxide at the dentist's office. It's strangely sweet and fresh and a little scary.

Prince Matchabelli Parfums de Coeur says the perfume contains vanilla, amber and musk. I'd say it's much heavier on the vanilla and amber than on the musk. I could also be anosmic to the musk they're using - because I definitely wouldn't have called this a musk perfume. I've tested it several times on different days, and find it more of a take on amber than musk. The amber in it makes me think of Cartier Must of all things.

In the far dry down, after the lemons have gone, I am left with ambery baby powder. As soft and comforting as that may sound, the scent itself is not soft - it has pieces poking out all over. It's as if it doesn't quite know what it wants to be - sexy or childlike - and so remains unsettled.

For me, the overall effect of Sexiest Musk falls far short of sexy. Unless you find baby powder sexy. I don't. I think baby powder belongs on baby bottoms and not on grown women. It's a little creepy to me that some people connect such an iconic scent of childhood with sex.

On the plus side, I do like the marketing of this perfume. For 99 cents I get two discount coupons worth $3.00. Not a bad deal if you like the perfume and want to buy it (the price points are $9.99 and $3.99). I wouldn't mind seeing other perfume manufacturers make similar offers.

I Enjoy These - You Might, Too

Memory and Desire. A wonderful mix of perfume and poetry.

Les Ateliers du Parfum. In French - thoughtful reviews and commentary about perfume and perfume-making materials.

Nathan Branch currently lives in Dallas, where he crafts well-written reviews of men's, women's and unisex scents.

Helg's Perfume Shrine is a great place to learn about history, culture, and of course, perfume.

Marina's Perfume Smellin' Things. Perfume reviews with a unique cultural perspective. Always a satisfying read.

Mossy Loomings is an Austin-based website full of scent musings by someone named Aimee L'Ondee (a playful female Guerlain lover if I'm not mistook).

This is Sake Cat's perfume inventory and unique flash-impressions of scents. An interesting way to blog.

Gaia - The Non-Blonde. Stylish blog about perfume, fashion and celebrities.

Gritman Essential Oils. A fantastic source of quality essential oils, blends, and information right here in Texas.

Le Critique de Parfum. In French - possibly the most to-the-point perfume reviews out there. Makes me glad I can read French. I love his style.

Perfume Bloggers. An impressive collection of perfume-related blogging and other interesting things.

Larmes du Phénix is a site written by a scent-lover in Poland. Must be a bit of a romantic - the name, Tears of the Phoenix, is very romantic.

The Scented Salamander. Thoughtful reviews and tons of perfume news.

Perfume Posse. You never know what they'll say next about perfume. A good read, often good for laughs.

Nosthrills is the site of a perfume lover in Poland, I believe. If I could read Polish, I could tell you more about it. Looks interesting and dramatic.

Parfum da Rosa Negra. A bi-lingual (Portuguese/English) blog by a Brazilian perfume lover with a poetic soul.

1969 Histoires de Parfums. The marketing blog for Histoires de Parfums, a niche line in France, with its scent "1969" at the center of the marketing effort.

Spring Has Sprung!

"The splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its scent or the daisy of its simple charm.

If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, Spring would lose its loveliness."

- Therese of Lisieux

(Charming daisy courtesy of Bill Brennan of http://shootdc.com.)

When Our Perfume is Just Right

"Her perfume smelled like perfume, like all perfumes, but on her it seemed an almost natural odor."


Simone de Beauvoir
The Mandarins
Translated from the French by Leonard M. Friedman

The Intoxicating Scent of Azaleas

The azaleas are in bloom here in Houston. I love how they can make even the most humble of abodes look like something out of a story book.

Of all the colors, my favorites are the richly hued pinks and reds. They’re so intense I want to just dive into a blossom and be surrounded by it (see my happy little poem below).

Until now, I thought azaleas had little to no fragrance. I stuck my nose into some of the blossoms in these pictures, and smelled absolutely nothing.

And I checked with my mother, who grew glorious azaleas in Florida, to see if maybe I’d remembered wrong, but she said no, the azaleas we had in our yard had almost no scent.

Sniffing around for this article I discovered that the scent has been bred out of many azaleas, in favor of display attributes. But happily, there are a number of cultivated azaleas with an intoxicating scent. Some are said to smell spicy and sweet, but one, Azalea Alabama, is lemon-scented. They all sound yummy.

I even found three types of fragrant azaleas that share the names of famous perfumes! Azalea Arpege (Arpege by Lanvin), Azalea Soir de Paris (Soir de Paris by Bourjois), and Azalea Antelope (Antilope by Weil). There is also an Azalea Jolie Madame (Jolie Madame by Balmain) but shockingly (to perfume lovers at least) it has no scent!

If you would like to add delicious fragrance to your garden, and attract lots of butterflies, hummingbirds and bees, here are some scented azaleas to look for:


Luteum
Berryrose
Rosata
Delicatissima
Hammocksweet
Rosy Lights
Northern Lights
Irene Koster
Exquisitum
Marydel
Popcorn
Ribbon Candy
Alabama
Oconee
Lollipop
Weston’s Innocence

I’m no gardener, but from what I can gather, these scented azaleas like to bloom in the summertime, so you may still have time to plant them.

Those who are lucky enough to have forests to hike in will find that wild azaleas are highly scented and quite mesmerizing. But experts recommend against taking them out of their native setting - unless you are saving them from highway construction or other imminent destruction.

Oh, and I learned something else about azaleas. They make wine out of azalea blossoms in Korea (it's called Dugyeonju). Just one more reason to grow these intoxicatingly glorious plants.

Here's my happy little poem:

Honey Bee

Wish I were a honey bee

I’d tease

I’d flirt

I’d tickle

Golden grains of pollen from proud stamens

And be intoxicated with the pure pleasure of being inside a flower

Wrapped in velvet walls so vivid i could drown

My chubby velour body would hum with such ecstasy

I’d want to share the beauty I’d found

And I would

I’d make honey.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Peter Cat says, "For a little Luck o' the Irish, remember to stop and smell the clover."