A scent for sadness

My grandpa, Jakob Sigurðsson, and myself

In everybodys life there are ups and downs. Some days are good, some great, other not so good. There are times when whatever is pulling you down can be successfully shrugged off, maybe by go seeing a friend, read a couple of blogs or have a long hot bath. And there are occasions when it's not so easy. Sometimes, sadness must be met head on. You have to embrace it and let it do it's thing because then, and only then, it'll pass.

I had a bout of the latter kind a while ago, as my grandfather passed away. It wasn't unexpected, he'd been very ill for a long time, but still, when death actually strikes, it's always devestating. All of a sudden the livliness of floral and fruity scents felt wrong. Gourmands, especially the sweeter ones, I couldn't stand at all as I'm the kind of person who looses apetite when sad. Loud, dramatic scents with a lot going on in them were just too much, I had enough of issues of my own. I tried going scentless, but that didn't feel right either. I wanted something. An olfactory equivalent of a funeral dress. Something functional and no-fuss to get me through the day without demanding any attention.

And what kind of a scent would that be? There was one that came to mind. It was released earlier this year and when I first tried it, back in February, I didn't think much of it. But now, under these new circumstances, there was something about it that kept tugging at my sleeve. I had a try. And yes, Serge Lutens L'Eau Froide did hit the spot.

It starts out with grapefruit. But there is no sun kissed Florida goodness here. When I say grapefruit I mean grapefruit zest of grapefruits 20 years ago. Before ruby was the norm and your face puckered up at every bite. On top of that I get a mint, but it's compeltely stripped of all its herby facets. Only the cold is left.

There came a card with my sample and, if I remember correctly, it said that L'Eau Froide smelles like cold water running through rusty pipes. That is a very accurate description of how the scent moves on. There is water, metal and cold, and that's it. There is supposed to be somali incense in there but as that's not a note I'm familiar with so unfortunately I can't pick it out.

If I'd envision L'Eau Froide as a person it would be as a stiff and solemn old fashioned butler. One who keeps a respectful distance but still is always ready to do whatever needs to be done, day after day after day, without ever letting the tiniest inch of personal emotion slip out through his face. He might never smile but he got me through days when my body felt numb with grief and my mind was so muddled I compeltely lost track of what I'd actually been been saying and doing, thought about saying and doing and dreamt I'd said and done. Thankfully I'm through the worst of it now, the flowers have regained their colors and the food has taste again. I wouldn't call L'Eau Froide either joyful or adventurous but it stood by me when I mostly needed it - and for that I'll be forever greatful.


Images: Fragrantica and my own.

Comparison Jo Malone "Orange Blossom"+"White Jasmine & Mint" vs "Tubereuse Criminelle"

When thinking about the notes in Tubereuse Criminelle, two other samples in my perfume collection came to mind; Jo Malones "Orange Blossom" and "White Jasmine and Mint". Jo Malone fragrances are made to layer, shouldn't these two add up to something similar to TC? They both have white flowers (ok, no tuberose, but jasmine will have to do in a pinch), orange blossom and mint. I decided to do a little comparison. One drop of Serge Lutens Tubereuse Criminelle on one wrist and a small spray of first JM Orange Blossom and then White Jasmine & Mint on the other.

Smelling these two next to each others is like having a chat with a seductive but slightly insane femme fatal on one side and a innocent little girl on the other. TC just keeps expanding in all possible and impossible directions. There is good, there is evil and there is the just very strange stuff in between.

JM Orange Blossom first smells exactly like when you use your fingers to peel an orange. No more, no less. A safe smell. The "White Jasmine and Mint" isn't very noticeable at first. I suspect it takes the edge of the orange but I don't really notice it. Half an hour later the jasmine is more prominent. The little mint that there is feels vaxy and plasticy, like the first seconds when you put a Mentos in your mouth. You feel the smooth surface, there is a hint of mint, but it hasn't started to dissolve yet, releasing its menthol. About an hour later, I'm getting mandarin and lemon. There might be a hint of dirtyness, but when compared side to side with TC, it's hardly worth mentioning. This is an ok scent. Relatively fresh with lots of citrusy notes. I have to try it on its own on a warm summer day. And I think I might have been very hash when I've said before that I hate orange blossoms. I now recall that I was pregnant when I formed that judgement. They are not that bad.

So, the verdict of today's exercise: The result of layering Jo Malones "Orange Blossom" and "White Jasmine and Mint" is not bad, but it's NOTHING like the legendary Tubereuse Criminelle.