Joy (1930)
by Jean Patou

This review is for vintage Joy extrait. I agree with JessicaGrace, all I'm getting is a rich, Jasmine soliflore. While I can appreciate the obviously high quality materials used in this scent, It just doesn't do it for me because it's too 'pretty", well-behaved and proper. I gravitate to scents with more of an edge. However, if you're looking for a Jasmine scent that's highly elegant and refined to wear to a special event, Joy is perfect. Even though it's not my "thing" I have to give it a thumbs up for quality and sillage and I'm happy to have it in my wardrobe.

There's lots of jasmine in the opening of this one, ans ass it begins tosettle something a little bitter comes out. It dances with the jasmine, rarely taking the lead, often just on the precipice of perception, but always there. It is the complex flower that dominates, beautiful, sweet, and strong. Joy is beauty amidst darkness, and I'm reminded of where, how, and why this perfume came to be. I feel knowing its full story is integral to the full appreciation of Joy. I feel beautiful in this perfume.

I was exposed to Joy first by an old empty 1/4 ounce bottle tucked away in my mother in law's dresser when she moved. I sniffed the glass tapered dauber beneath the red bakelite cap and instantly detected almost the only remaining basenote that had survived time and evaporation: a pure, beautiful ambergris.

I have toyed with vintage feminine fragrances for some time as the old formulations were so rich and dark that in the right circumstances they could light up a well dressed man in a suit who has enough security not needing to be swathed in "aquatics" that are on the market today, or the linallol/geraniol cliche that is supposed to be the naive olfactory touchstone that yells "masculine" from the discount store shelf.

In contrast were the vintages; brooding elixirs with complexity and no fear of having real body surrounded by heady topnotes of substance: tons of pure jasmine, peachy gamma-decalactone, real pissy civet, anise, all in a classy swirl of perfect blending that rises to the nose as a harmonious chord, not individual notes. The dissection of this fragrance takes patience since the materials are so seamlessly intertwined that the anise becomes an aspect of the jasmine, the green ripe fruit also adding to it. The high quality sandalwood binding with what's left and then what I insist is ambergris holding the bouquet together.

I wear this fragrance as a male scent often; perhaps not in the proportion that a woman of the 40s would use, but dotting it on a fresh washed chest, after the womanish topnotes evaporate in 20 minutes, I have come to feel it as a very comfortable melancholy men's sturdy floral with enough of a base to not have indolic bridal flowers leaping out at passers by. Context is everything, and in a world of Sara Jessica Parker and J Lo Glo, on a man, this scent is a statement that draws interest and, "What's that." It also layers well with dry scents, like Parfumeur et Gantier's Parfum d'Habit with its hay, caraway, light patchouli and light vetiver, to butch up Patou Joy. The basenotes are exquisite and linger for most of the day, unnoticed by those whom I am not close enough to allow it to reveal its beautiful self.

Jasmine soliflores -- and try as I might, I can't get much else out of Joy -- are always difficult for me. I associate the scent with guest soap, and the only associations it brings up for me are matching towels. Aldehydes might be enhancing the soapy/powdery effect. This doesn't smell dated to me as much as it just smells squeaky clean and ordinary. It does warm up over time, but nothing fantastic happens. I guess I just like my perfumes a bit skankier than this.

The Platonic essence of "old-fashioned women's perfume." Your choice whether "old-fashioned" means classic or dated. One things is for sure: they don't make 'em like this anymore. Because.e most people don't want 'em like this anymore. I can't help but smell a 40+ conservative high-end designer clad society-lady within these vapors. It would truly seem out of place on a young 21st century woman, in the way that Vintage Tabarome would seem like an olfactory oversized suit on a 20-year old bachelor. These may only be conventions, and the perfumista will ignore them - but conventions are pretty powerful, after all.
It is a brilliant perfume and I cannot add much to the descriptions. A peachy aldehydic top, which I find better-tempered than in Chanel No.5, whose aldehydes knock me over. A perfect heart of blended florals - indolic jasmine, noticeable muguet and rose (as well as Ylang, orris and orchid) and slowly emerging spicy sandalwood and musk. A pronounced civet note hovers above it all from the opening, to slightly recede into the floral mix, adding some raunchiness to the bouquet of innocence. Add the wonderful art deco flacon (though the current incarnation has plasticized the stopper) and you have one of the all-time greats of 20th century perfume culture.

Like Narcisse Noir, No.5, and Fracas, Patou's Joy is a monument from another era in women's perfumery. It's not the kind of scent that would be made today, except perhaps as an exercise in irony. Too bad.

Joy opens up with indolic jasmine, powder, a jolt of aldehydes, and a very well-integrated note of civet. The powder, indoles, and civet remind me (believe it or not) of Amouage's Gold for Men, only without the frankincense. Joy sweetens with age as the aldehydes calm down and tuberose and a very rounded rose note join the jasmine in the foreground. Within thirty minutes of wear Joy unfolds into a powdery, semi-sweet white flower bouquet. I can't honestly describe it as "light," but the dominant accord is certainly less heady and lush than it could have been. I consider this a good thing. The drydown is mostly sandalwood and powdery musk, with the civet still lurking in the shadows.

Is it "perfumey?" Yes. Is it "old school?" Yes again - but only in the manner of a true classic. Joy reflects another time and place, where sensuality was dressed in dignity and elegance. Joy is very adult and very ladylike, but there is also an element of animalic lust deep in its heart. It seems at once formal and romantic to me now, and I concur with earlier reviews that suggest it as a bridal fragrance - at least for a mature and self-assured bride.