Moment Suprême (1929)
by Jean Patou

Oh, I’m going to add a review. * giggle* YOU ARE NOT ALONE. I do appreciate Jean Patou prior to Proctor & Gamble. I cursed in frustration when they announced that 1000 would henceforth be available in a “limited range” because we all know what that means: end of production. Then I lavishly applied the rest of my last bottle in defiance, rage, rage against the dying of the light. Member: Over-reactors Anonymous.

I was happy to try Moment Supreme because lavender perfume hasn’t occupied much space in my wardrobe over the years, and I’m always glad to find one that I like. Silly me, Yardley English Lavender remains my benchmark—that and a small, straw basket full of dried lavender buds that I loved to open, stick my face into, and inhale deeply. Lavender isn’t a note that needs to be “fancied-up.” It doesn’t request the full menu, only a few á la cart items. Clean and spare works better than over-burdened with contrasting notes. Moment Supreme accomplishes just that. It makes use of lavender that is herbal to the point of smelling evergreen. To accentuate the dry, woodiness, it adds a little black pepper, but subtly, I’m glad to say, because too much of that note tips the scales into the repulsive zone for me. At the bottom of this gin-like concoction is a nice amber that steps forth and pushes the final phase into a sweet soapiness. Moment Supreme’s airy nature causes it to waft away sooner than I would like. Yet it left my skin smelling like it had been washed with fine hand soap.

29th December, 2011.

it's amazing to me that mine will be the only review of this singular masterpiece of French perfumery by Henri Almeras. It's difficult to render Moment Supreme in words--it is truly unmatched in history, being a heady oriental that uses lavender of all things as a central theme--Jean Patou's suave answer to Jicky, but so entirely unlike Jicky in all ways--not even related. To find relations, one must in-breed, as aristocrats do: When Jean Kerleo unveiled Ma Liberte in 1987, the boxes designed by then art director Christian Lacroix's assistant Sylvie Skinazi got more attention than the actual fragrance--itself a stunning creation. Monsieur Kerleo told me once that "he got some flack" (or the equivalent in French) for making such copious use of lavender--which by that time was completely out of the question by modern standards, unless you were Penhaligon's, or Creed: The "Don't even counts" by Patou standards. Ma Liberte, and, to a certain extent Patou Pour Homme Prive, also by Monsieur Kerleo, are it's only family relations. Today, Jo Malone's Amber Lavender is the closest by any stretch of the imagination, but a pale, pale suggestion of Moment Supreme it is. To describe MS, one must be familiar with the richness that was the hallmark of all Patou fragrances previous to the house's sale to P&G Beaute Internationale. The original patou's--everyone--had a density that no other fragrance house could imagine replicating, save perhaps for caron, but with none of the emotional confusion and hints of tawdry vulgarity that mark the great Earnest Daltroff compositions Like all patou's, it was seamless--yet facetted to infinity--each layer melting suavely into the next. First spray: Glue. I was always shaken by the Elmer's Glue Kindergarden Paste quality of the flight--very very unusual--but lasting mere seconds, to morph into the softest dry lavender--more english than french--anyone can imagine, the note that is its' signature. One must envision the halcyon days of pre-war Paris--the 30's--to fully put it into context. This lavender, it grows from the unmistakeable "patte" of Patou: like the Guerlinade of Guerlain, Jean Kerleo and Jean de Mouy called their unifying olfactive image "La Patte" (the paw print--literally): Amber/Black pepper/whiskey. It was said that Jean Patou himself, who, from his own family legend, was a lothario like never there was, loved "booze." And women. Jean Patou was decidedly not gay. From Lavender in a pot of booze, it's flight and it's heart, emerge a cloud of rooty resins, which evokes a kind of "Whiskey-Coca" cocktail--Over the course of two months, I sampled and re-sampled at least 10 different vintages to come up with the following analysis: Here's Moment Supreme's menu of delights in order of appearance: Glue. English Lavender. Amber/Black Pepper/Whiskey "Patte," Coca Cola, Benzoin, Beeswax, Orris, Caramel, Rosewood. The bitter end, the very last vestiges of scent, evoke dust, smoke, and sleep. Sampled in Parfum strength, the sillage proper is the main event. Patou fragrances were never, not one of them, conceived to be whiffed too closely, and were very much pre-occupied with sillage: (This is the key to understanding "1000") This is soft, dry, peppery lavender, always, with more or less resin according to the stage of development. People interested in imagining Moment Supreme should wash their hands with Jo Malone's Amber Lavender shower gel: That's as good as it's going to get--This scent is gone, and will never return. If it did, nobody would get it--it's just that sophisticated. Remember, Giboulet's "Caline"? That was Patou's idea of fresh, innocent and young in 1963--by today's standards it borders on pornographic, playboy forest nymphe.. I have no idea how people could qualify Moment Supreme today: it's just that much of a reflection of a time, and a standard of elegance, that are gone--and so very far gone that nobody remembers them: Just like the name says--"Supreme moment in time" captured in sillage--but forgotten, and evaporated, forever.

28th June, 2010. (Last Edited: 25th December, 2010.)