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What We Talk About When We Talk About Fragrances

05/18/15 16:50:47

by: Juliett Ptoyan

Atrbazan.com     The perfume Refrence

What color is Fougère Royale? What does Habanita aim for? How many facets doesCaleche have, if it has any? Some readers would confidently answer that the first fougère fragrance has a translucent green aspect, more like muddy, glossy and meditative. A matron-like woman born in 1921 is flying to the sky—and that’s fair enough, they’d say. And which facets of Caleche are you talking about? It’s rounded and woolen! Others would become outraged proving that Fougère Royale is metallic grey, Habanita isn’t going anywhere in a hurry, and even if Caleche is rounded, there’s nothing woolen about it.

The main group of respondents would say that the first one smells like a standard fougère, the second reminds them of leather and amber and the third is like expensive soap and the author should come down to earth—which colors and hurry, what are you talking about?

In the past, many debates arose due to such varied readings, but nowadays everyone keeps in mind the following phrase: “difference in perception” and tolerantly mentions something like “I can’t feel any cardamom” or “I feel honey cake here, rather than tea” or “I’ll try this in the evening, maybe the rose will prove itself.” I think, to read something like “Smells like rotten pear and plastics—boring and trite” about your favorite fragrance is a bit unpleasant, even if it was written by someone you hardly know. However, we learned to cope with it; that’s just as well—this is the way to feel less nervous and get more of the joy of possession.

We won’t speak about the mystique difference in perception today—instead, let’s talk about the language we use to speak about the scents.

It is widely thought that to describe the scents like those who are in the perfume industry is quite difficult. A majority of modern cultures don’t pay much attention to scent—we retrained from hunters and foragers to journalists, designers and managers; we no longer set traps, less often gather herbs and even more rarely make sacrifices. Therefore, we don’t give special attention to such specific terms in our language. On the other hand, we devote much attention to the other spheres: we started using fine cashmere cardigans instead of animals’ fur, learned how to cook panna cotta, began reading books and traveling. And, of course, we created many new words in order to compare our impressions of using those blessings of civilization. We often use the same words to describe the fragrances and that, fortunately, makes sense to other people, especially those who have the same cultural background as we do.

We can see a distinctly different situation in southern Thailand. Maniq, the language spoken by a discreet local ethnic group includes at least 15 words which have a direct relationship to the object of the scent even more than to its characteristic. For example, the hog badger’s skin, the sun, the old cabin, and the moment of drinking from a bamboo stem have their own adjectives. And, of course, olfaction plays a big role in the lives of the native Maniq speakers: they treat diseases with herbs, hunt wild animals for food and perform many other rituals which require keen scent even more than smartness or deceit. Thus, they don’t bring to their houses the bodies of the animals, the smell of which attracts tigers—and yes, this scent also has its name in Maniq. Interestingly: such words sometimes mean not the very scent emanating from a particular subject, but only one of its edges. For example, the scent called сŋεs has something in common with the smell of diesel, wild mango and ginger root. A person with a trained nose would easily understand what we are talking about.

As I’ve said before, olfaction doesn’t play much of a role in Western culture, so a person with an insensitive nose being irrelevant to the perfume industry will not distinguish, for example, Bulgarian rose from Moroccan, or fleur d’orange from neroli. All of it will be for such a person no more than just pleasant floral notes. No wonder that he will speak about the fragrances he got fascinated with using the language of his own olfaction: for example, “sweetie pie,” “summer bloom” or “something woody.” That’s because for him it really smells like sweetie pie and something woody. It’s neither good nor bad—it is a statement of fact. Finally, our vocabulary when facing something new and unknown is rarely notable for accuracy and originality …

For an enthusiast, the process of trying new fragrances is a Russian roulette: you can read as many reviews as you like, fall in love blindly and throw yourself in the way of the subject of your love, and it can break your heart in the end—not only does the rose not unveil, but the sandal is too dull. Absolutely everyone experiences the anguish of disappointment. But what language do we use to talk about the moments when our expectations don’t meet reality?

“Yes, there’s surely something like suede but as for me it’s more beige and brand new than blue and faded. Like it’s just been taken from a Milan fashion salon”

“I’ve found the rose, but it’s a bit fidgety: now it lightens up, then it fades, but I need some more tranquility”

“Which monotony are you talking about? I feel both sandal, tropical flowers and frankincense—very boho!”
 

It’s a distinctly different language—we use it speaking to those for whom it makes sense and who are able to imagine how the scent could be blue or beige suede or even a bit cranky. Like they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

Working with scents from perfumers’ view is a daily routine. Their vocabulary is considered to be the most interesting for one thing: their advanced sense of smell.From Carnation to Sandal, the book written by Russian natural perfumer Anna Zworykina contains a chapter called “The ABC of a perfumer: learning letters, making words,” in which the scents’ descriptions are put to visual, tactile, flavor and music vocabulary. For example, rose de Mai is characterized as flossy, bergamot sheds soft light and iris is compared with an alto string instrument. By the way, it’s a perfect, quite exact classification and it’s very interesting to compare your own feelings with it. Does the jasmine sing an aria? Which texture does the lemon have? What is heavier: patchouli or vetiver?

In my opinion, at the dawn of our fascination with fragrances many of us faced quite an awkward situation during a conversation with people less interested in perfumery. Sometimes relatives ask you to recommend something or your friend needs an advice, tired of using conventional Miss Dior for the last five years. People ask you as an expert, telling you something like “you’ve got billions of bottles, you know everything,” and here comes an awkward moment. You start asking your vis-à-vis what kind of freshness, which flowers exactly does he or she want, starting to fantasize … and suddenly you understand that all the person needs is “the same, but not the same.” You’re lucky if you’ve seized the moment before your friend got bored and started thinking about buying another Miss Dior bottle …

That is what we call “the mischief of being clever.” It happens that sometimes a person needs from the fragrance much less than you do. That’s why there’s always a risk to fall into prolixity, starting to enumerate the notes—what’s the saddest that could be? And, what is worse, the person still has no answers after all … The safe choice is to appeal to associations, like Uer Mi or Jo Malone or many other brands do: everyone has touched cashmere, latex or silk at least once in their lives. We can also refer to Montale, but only at a stretch. The point about Montale is when a person wants something like Roses Musk, it makes less sense to look for the rose in other brands than something flower-like from the same line. Finally, the brand is valued not for its timid flirtation with floristics.

Aurora Carrara (CEO of Uer Mi) talks about the same thing: “We like to share our feelings though we know that they are subjective. For example, when I say that VE Velvet is stingy, people usually reply something like 'Why not.' Otherwise they would probably notice the texture of the scent or its notes, but the most keen perception usually happens via interchange of views, associations and feelings.”

I think it’s a good way to describe a fragrance to a person who used to think that a perfume smells “something” and nothing more. Privately, that seems to me some kind of vaccination of sensitivity. When your vis-à-vis realizes that he met the freshness ofSilver Mountain Water while rafting, he gets used to the scent and starts to analyze: what do I find familiar here except the freshness? That cool green tea—where is it from? Where could I have met it? Maybe, during plantation walking? Exactly! In Sri Lanka!

Tell us how you speak about the scents. How do you discuss them with other people? Did you ever lack the words to express the composition and how did you solve that problem?

Juliett Ptoyan is a perfume journalist who collaborates with several glossy magazines, organizes perfume workshops and regularly writes for her own blog,bouquetjuliett.ru.