N'Aimez Que Moi (1917)
by Caron

The heart of this vintage is the rose. But it does not sit alone. Violet, lilac & iris are listed but as support players they exist as nuances, and are not quite as easily identifiable as the central rose accord. To smell the rose, one has to get really close to the skin. It is a deep dark rose with a slight metallic tinge, certainly not of the dewy-fresh, budding variety. I'm testing the parfum which has depth to spare and unveils each layer at its own languid pace.

While I wouldn't exactly describe this bouquet as 'fusty', the freshly powdered aura represents a style that was popular in that era but may well be viewed as 'out of its time' particularly by a generation raised on a diet of 'instant gratification'. A true fragrance connoisseur however will have much less of a problem appreciating this composition from Ernest Daltroff.

26th September, 2011.

I feel it is quite a shame that this great classic (nearly 100 years old) enduring the challenges of times (with rather completely different tastes in the perfume market today etc.) gets very little mention and obviously very few reviews.
It is very easy to dimiss this as musty and dated. Most of all, it has to do with the fact that today we hardly understand the nature of grand classic extraits de parfum that take their time to settle down and notes melting together on our skin, in order to create a dense, complex and rich olfactive experience.
Violet is certainly an important contributor in here at times while the fragrance shifts, which makes it tricky territory for myself and also adds much to the dated feel. The dark musty rose with a slightly smoky (I can't help but thinking of a component this shares with Tabac Blond) musk don't really help to change the mood of this composition. Actually, this stage in its really long-drawn drydown, where the smokiness is clearly perceptible, is my very favorite. It is the almost nocturnal blend of these exquisite dark rosy facets with a violet candy touch, a distinctive vanilla (not too sweet) and exactly this smoky muskiness that is very alluring.
N'aimez que moi is an old-world beauty from times bygone with class and eventually less innocence than the first two hours make you believe. Moderate sillage (elegant and comfortable) with very good longevity. Again, I only care for the extraits of the great Caron fountain perfumes. One last comparison: N'aimez que moi is far superior and interesting than Amouage Opus III to me.

13rd August, 2011. (Last Edited: 26th August, 2011.)

A few miles down the road from me is the (in)famous Winchester House, built by the unfathomably wealthy widow of the Winchester fortune. If you don’t know the story, she lost her husband and infant daughter at a relatively young age, and spent the rest of her life in a depressive state, supposedly haunted by the spirits of all who met their fate by a Winchester gun.

She believed if she ever stopped building her mansion, she would die, and today the house stands as a testament to her state of mind. Staircases lead nowhere, walls were built and not finished with plaster, and after the 1906 earthquake an entire wing was boarded up and made off limits, proof that the spirits were out to punish her.

The one shining exception to this shrine to insanity is Sarah’s bedroom. As you climb an uneven set of 3 inch stairs (she suffered from arthritis later in life), you stumble into a room where you are hit by a blast of opulence. Deep, red velvet curtains and tapestries cover the windows, chairs and sitting couches. Her four poster bed and dressers are made of dark, well polished wood. The floor is made of intricately weaved overlay, and the marble fireplace is stunningly ornate.

If you tour this house may I suggest wearing N’aimez que moi. It is THE scent for this landmark, as it opens as a moth-ridden, mess of a fragrance that appears to go nowhere. But then… it turns the corner and bursts forth with an incredibly rich Bulgarian rose and violet accord. It’s as if you were channeling Sarah herself, who at one point was one of the wealthiest persons in America. I love this complex scent; it is mysterious, grand, and utterly original.

28th February, 2010. (Last Edited: 28th April, 2010.)

N'Aimez Que Moi was created in 1916, int he midst of World War 1, to bring some hope and the promise of faithfulness to the many couples that had to part ways until the war was over.
You don’t need to know all this to enjoy N’Aimez Que Moi gives a sense of intimacy and comfort. Despite the fact that it is in a sense “an old fashioned” scent, it is so well made and artfully blended that it is timeless. N’Aimez Que Mois opens dark and dense, as most Caron perfumes do. The rose is nearly hidden in thorns and darkness of notes of cedar, moss and what seems to be the crying out loud of the Caron base… Slowly but surely, fresh roses start to bloom and open up with dewy petals but an almost green intensity. There is something very convincing and real about them – they are just about as close to true rose as I’ve ever smelled. But the roses don’t stand out on their own. The companionship of candied violets and powdery orris softens the green edge of the blooming roses, with a softness akin to kissing a very soft, freshly powdered cheek. And once you’ve reached the dry down, animalic tonalities of both jasmine and civet* create a sensuality and a sense of intimacy and closeness that lingers even longer than a kiss.

Top notes: Cedar, Rose
Heart notes: Rose, Violet, Orris
Base notes: Civet, Jasmine, Moss

* The drydown is so utterly similar to Joy that I am wondering if N’Aimez Que Moi wasn’t the inspiration for that perfume. However, N’Aimez Que Moi is so much more delicate and wearable for me, with none of the intense sharpness of aldehyde and lily of the valley that Joy attacks me with for the first couple of hours of wear.

12nd November, 2007.

I'm afraid I got nothing but Liddle Kiddles...does anyone else remember those little scented dolls? This is powdery, oversweet and very young. My husband said 'Yuk.' It's not actually offensive, but I definitely don't want to smell like I'm five years old. I detect nothing sophisticated or elegant about this. Makes me sad: It's another historical scent that just smells outdated on my skin. Glad the others here have found it more pleasing.

7th June, 2007.

It has a certain vintage charm, I give you that. Very old-fashioned powdery/soapy violets and roses, neither sweet nor freshly natural. The base is a little ambery and perhaps a hint animalic. It seems to me most classic Carons have this cold/metallic/sharp quality to them. It might be my skin chemistry that makes them exceptionally soapy too, and that's not an association to a certain scented soap, I mean the nose-tickling quality of unscented soap.

26th February, 2007.