Everything misted glass. Texturally, like a pearl. Varied and circular stages but minimal note separation--polished into abstraction. The way the notes are sheer, intricate, feminine, delicate, pictorial rather than literal, patterns of flowers rather than flowers crushed: this all recalls fine lace. A peach that smells of a kiss, jasmine that is breath, and the rest is poetry recited softly, dutifully or maybe a prayer. Rosary beads, circles, string, fingers, thoughts, wants, time, soft clicks, murmurs; breakable but shining beatific. Eve's daughter is making up for her mother's sins with total purity, but she takes her mother's gift of knowledge as a private love though she is quiet and chaste. She does not blush.
(A review of perfectly preserved, temperature and light controlled vintage extract from the mid Seventies)The thing about "Fille d'Ever," and all of the Great Nina Ricci comps, the thing never to forget, is that they are all perfect illustrations of what the French would call "Parfums de Seduction." Outside of the realms of fantasy, and in the real world as we know it today, if you were out to actually captivate and then ultimately seduce someone to fall wantonly into the sheets of your bed, you'd be well served to wear something like "Fille d'Eve." In the language of fashion that is specific to the XXe Century, the very word "Romance" is synonymous with the very crisp, sing song sound of "Nina Ricci," and everything about this House and all of its manifestations has been about the dreamy, real life haze of love, and how it is always a gentle, somewhat secretive thing, not necessarily understood by anyone but the two parties involved. Thus, no Nina Ricci ever screams, knowing only secretive whisperings. "Fille d'Ever" is never wan or so delicate it's not detectible. It just happens to be breathing "Bite Me!" very suggestively from start to finish. What a logical gesture on the part of Marc Lakique himself to chose to encase this comp in an apple, perfectly fitted out with a cunning glass ground stopper in the form of a leaf, and this prior to the advent of Apple Records, and, obviously, Apple. The colour code defines it very specifically as one of those rosy brown ones, often called "Bitter Apples." Further irony: The name implies it to be rich, dark and blood red, which colour code, ironically was later used for "Farouche," a name which only the French would invent, that means "Terribly Shy yet Utterly Ferocious." Fille d'Eve, though, simply means Girl of Eve. Girl, or perhaps more concisely, Daughter. Upon first whiff on litmus, this extract breathes a rush of Spring: The kind of "First Hint" that can be detected as early as mid March, when it is clear that the worst part of the grisly, dark days of Winter are finally slinking away to mercifully hide for another six months. There is, by all outward appearances, no "perfumey" quality to Fille d'Eve, a Germaine Cellier comp: One of two masterworks orchestrated for Nina Ricci, the other being Coeur-Joie. In spite of the fact that Germaine's "patte" was always somewhat strange, often groundbreaking, this one does not announce itself by a blasting fanfare of presence, as do some of her others, Bandit, Vent Vert....Clearly, Germaine Cellier had in mind to channel the inimitable quiet hush that is the Hallmark of Nina Ricci, who in the XXe Century produced some of the worlds greatest, and finest, perfumes, with a standard rivaled only by Jean Patou. On litmus, this extract begins slowly, all daffodils in bud, paperwhites, cool, chilling wind, but within ten to fifteen minutes begins to heat up: The Birth of an Early Spring Day, which promises to bring a thaw. References are difficult to summon. At first whiff I was reminded of Chamade, but only for an instant, as this has nothing of a Guerlain. As it warms, Patou's "Caline" is harkened, though very distinctly lacking the boozy depth that every Patou, save for Joy, seems to have in spades. The warmth that announces the unfolding of delicate spring blossoms and pale, linden yellow leaves quickly becomes stable, and no dark, resinous base can be intuited, save for a slight pepperiness that does emerge, though no more harsh than that which emanates from a perfect, full blown carnation.
The singular qualities found only in the great Nina Ricci comps are intrinsic to this scent: Very obvious, in fact: One of these, perhaps the most remarkable, is the capacity to forever maintain softness, and never become heavy or overbearing. For a perfume destined to be held captive in a masterful work of crystal, in spite of being powerfully equipped with an abstract apple note, Fille d'Eve seems unwilling to be called "Fruity." The small amount of obvious fruit that could be found here would smack of the pineapple accord that is so obvious in Patou's "Colony," yet, again, remains so expertly woven within the context of a scent that it is, very clearly a fragrance distinct unto itself, which as I can thus far surmise has no peers: Fille d'Eve is Green, but it is not. It is a Green Floral, but it is not. It is a Green Chypre but it is not. It seems to refuse to behave within the context of perfumery, and instead maneuvers more in the realm of Nature itself. A built in aroma of skin that develops ever so discretely, for instance, could scarcely be called "Leather," or "Musk," and quietly blooms somewhere within the heart. Nothing about this scent can be analyzed or mapped out by any means typical to the art of perfumery: A phenomenon at which Germaine Cellier excelled, and in fact, owned. Though now settled in to the rich, luxurious middle notes, Fille d'Eve still blows as gently as a soft breeze through the delicate, budding leaves of naissant Spring, when flowers and fruits are budding, but have not, as of yet, become full blown, all the while carrying upon it a very faint lyric: Nina Ricci. Nina Ricci. But, as with all classic Nina Ricci comps, Fille d'Eve never speaks in any tone other than than a lilting whisper. The only obvious thing about Fille d'Eve is that it poses no questions as to the gender of its creator: This is a chic woman's decent, designed by a tall, beautiful, quirky and impeccably chic woman: Germaine Cellier had legendary style: Signature? Among many, her cigarettes misted with Bandit extract, a scent she was known to devise exclusively to this end, and a maid attendant to her at all times, including in public.
30th January, 2012 (last edited: 20th February, 2012)
This is probably, without a doubt, one of the greatest fragrances ever created. It is such a perfectly balanced scent and has so many facets, well it is almost hard to categorize it.
It does fall into a chypre/floral family, but it seems to be so unlike the well known creations in both that it almost needs a new family created for it.
It has such sweetness, softness and femininity, yet it also is very strong willed and recognizable, with a fabulous tenacity. It has warmth, softness and an exotic quality yet it does not have anything in it, exactly, that would bring about this quality. It is just the masterful blending of ingredients, many of which will probably never be used again, that give it such a fabulous persona.
Definitely an unique scent that would not be liked, nor loved, by many. But a true work of art, and pretty close to perfection.
Fille d'Eve, of course discontinuated, is an incredibly beautiful chypre, with a very strong personnality, because it has been created by Germaine Cellier, who made also Fracas and Bandit, for example. The chypre note is here mixed with a strong and strange costus note (costus is nowadays forbidden), which is somewhere between the plaster and the goat!!! A must try for all the vintage fans, and for anyone who is a little bit curious!
I have just my grand'ma bottle(cristal apple)and just a "smell"
Iam found of parfume and in love with
vintage juice and bottle!!!!
I'm french and I dont speek fluent English!!!but I read all about perfumes
HI from Paris!!!