The marriage of Mouchoir de Monsieur

The Marriage of Mouchoir de Monsieur

[I]Understanding the new formulations of Mouchoir de Monsieur, sister Jicky and exploring methods of revenge[/I
1.DRIFTING
2.TWISTING
3.WHITEOUT
4.BLACKBIRD BRAILLE
5.WENCESLASAIRE
6.AVALANCHE
7.SWANS-A-MELTING
8.DEAMONDI-PAVLOVA
9:EIDERFALLS
10:SANTANYEROOFDIKOV
11.STELLATUNDRA

Tomorrow is Hallowe'en, October 31st, Jicky's last day. She has been silent and sullen, packing her bags and trying to be brave, holding her champagne cork stopper high while she weeps. I on the other hand, have been heartless, ruthless, selfish; even cruel:
Into the reject drawer I sling the half empty vapo refills of eau de toilette, bereft of their brass decorative cannisters: I no longer bother with these: I go through the refills so fast, they're just a nuisance. I could hear her scream and moan as my Georg Jensen vapo was unfurled and its contents poured back into the latest 30ml parfum, now 75% empty and polluted with molecules of "En Avion." Non! she cried....[I]Non!!!! You can not! first you rape me with this....with this Austrian....and now you....you [/I]abandon me! Non! Mais Non! C'est Pas Vrai! Me, I'm completely nonplussed. Jicky devotees will imagine this as a kind of horror grind house porno flick, and me, I'm half American Psycho, half charlie manson, half jeff goldbloom, Half Vicent Cassell in Black swan:
I am heartless. I press the flacon back into its cheap white cardboard box, further imprison it in its cheaper-still pearlised champagne outer carton, take a sharpie, and write on the outside "Raped. 1% En Avion." Even double boxed I can hear her screaming, as I thrust her into the perfume cave, where I grasp an enormous white elongated rectangular box that's waiting for me there: A 1000ml bee bottle of Mouchoir de Monsieur Eau de Toilette, which I place on my dressing table, Jicky's cries echoing in the background......until I slam the door of the "cave a parfums." Silence.
12:HUNTER'S DREAM

This is the first "transition day" when both the Jicky, all three strengths, and the Mouchoir de Monsieur, are of the new formulation. For six months I have been "on" fully reformulated Jicky: Now, I begin the journey into the next six months with the fully reformulated "Mouchoir." It is while refilling all of my empty vapos with Mouchoir that some of the juice dribbles all over my left hand: It's hard to decant with such huge bee bottles: they're so heavy! My first impression, as first impression it was: I have last seen Mouchoir de Monsieur at the opening of the Opera, some three weeks ago, but did I care/pay any attention? No, drunk as I was on my date's Je reviens. Now alone in the privacy of my dressing room, no charmeuse clad goddess dripping in diamonds and emeralds to distract me, all I can think is: "Oh la la: This is so different now!"
13:FALOOPN'APOOLA

It seems that in the new world of reformulated Guerlains, Jicky and Mouchoir de Monsieur have each had plastic surgery and, while both look and behave slightly differently (Jicky's nose job went wrong and she now has that tell-tale sniffle), They look less and less like Brother and Sister; on first impression, it's hard to believe they are related at all.
14: PHLEGM DE NEIGE

Jicky was sick and tired of hearing people tell her she looked like Edith Sitwell, so she figured a nose job would do the trick: As these sorts of interventions usually go, she was delighted at first, until the sniffling began. Now, though she no longer looks quite as much like Edith Sitwell, she has come to realize that everybody imagines she's a cocaine addict: Being naturally long, thin and somewhat gaunt, she also now seems eternally to be plagued by a runny nose. At first, this was unnerving. Now, she and her entourage are quite used to it: This non stop drip requires that she be equipped at all times with a mouchoir, of which her renegade brother has an unending supply, hand rolled and variously coloured each one: He has so many, that Jicky feels free to select her favourite colours out of his collection, and swipe them behind his back: Of all of these, Mouchoir only noticed that the lavender one had gone missing; and figured he had left it in the pocket of one of his winter blazers, all of which are now being brought upstairs from the basement clothing storage spaces. He knows he offered his indian pink one to a "flirt" last spring. Jicky looks younger with her newly plained nose: She feels more feminine, more like the English model they cast in the ad they did of her back in the early eighties: the one where she's driving, [I]steering wheel [/I]noticeably on the right, with Hermes unlined gloves on. When she recovered from her intervention, certain fans of hers said she seemed prettier, but had less character. Jicky herself, though initially shook up, has taken to her new persona well, and feels less alienated from the rest of the world. Here's what most people say about her current formulations:
15:ZEBRANIVEM

**************NOTHING/RIEN**************************************************
16:SPANGLADASHA

Ha! see that, Guerlain? You just got what looks to be two big giant "Meh"'s...and not from just anyone: Six Star Hednic, and all around "beyond stars" BN Heart throb SoS: Jicky may feel as though she's gone from "Edith Sitwell to Tilda Swinton," but judging from beyond wan/no reactions, silent yawns, she apparently is leaving important BN commentators without even the energy to comment. Though it may have been out of misplaced anger from having been trapped in my bed for over a week with a nasty case of Bronchite, I myself put her to rest in my cave a parfums with no regrets whatsoever, witness the calculating and heartless cruel misogynist MDM above in his machine-like "Get out of my life, Bee-atch" tidying and sweeping. She could cry all she wants: accuse me of shacking up with an harlot, I'm giving her a rest: Perhaps six months of further aging will re-endear her to me. As it stands, here's my low down, in all honesty. I will try to temper my vicious, embittered tendencies, having shamelessly staged a public all-out melt down and the the life-changing mid-life crisis that ensued on "Why?", all induced by my first uncorking of the formulation, devoid of its beautiful green box, and shoved in a common as mud white cardboard clap trap: These observations based on comparisons with the gold and black boxed vintages, still commercially available as of two years ago. I use the French scale of grading, 1-20, with a grade of 20 being virtually impossible to attain, and a grade of 13.5 being pretty impressive, a 15/15.5, mind blowing.
17:ALBADUNE



1. Eau de Toilette: Grade 7/20 Observations: It's hard to say that the eau de toilette, now available commercially, special orders excluded, only in the ugly pressed glass gold canister refill, is *totally useless,* because it does still work as linen spray. At that price, it's no wonder I was trying with all my might to whip up a fake batch as of a few weeks ago. On skin, this has a barely there "baby wipe" freshness to it, with about 15 minutes of longevity, and a hint, so subtle, of the Jicky complexity to which we accros have become addicted, so I feel it's grade of 7, (USA equivalent: C-/D+) is warranted. It's not *totally useless,* provided fans are willing to spend such an exorbitant amount of money on 90ml of linen spray: For the same investment, you can get 120ml of Comme des Garcons "Carnation" which your writer finds to be the most intoxicating/comforting linen spray in the world, and a skin perfume (six hours at least of longevity) that is appropriate for certain occasions. (Recently I wore it to a crazy hippie "love in" of sorts--where I knew that none of the attendees would be "ready" for anything complicated. It was a toss between three Comme des Garcons brews, "Carnation," "Avignon" and the "hippie appropriate" "Comme des Garcons" (original) --I opted for "Carnation," and it was the right choice: Three hairy free-love advocates told me "you smell good, man." -triumph)
18:HIRONACRASHKA

2. Parfum de Toilette: Grade: 10.5/20 Observations: The Parfum de Toilette, available commercially only in the Parisian Guerlain flagships, and available to special order in bee bottles from any Guerlain Boutique, from 250ml to 1500ml by size, fairs rather nicely considering its' train wreck off-spring, the afore mentioned eau de toilette. It still smells like "Jicky," albeit slightly brighter, and this famous "bumped up civet" that everyone mentions in so many reviews is now very noticeably toned down, yet still present enough to mold the impression from eau de toilette's "Baby Wipe" to "Jicky Light." I would compare the Parfum de Toilette to the old (Black/Gold box) Eau de Toilette, as it has a good amount of purpose and seems worth it's investment: About a three to four hour wear-time, with moderate sillage, and not particularly expensive if you calculate it's price per ml compared to the special order eau de toilette prices, and not to the gold canister refills. (USA equivalent, B-) Wearing Jicky Eau de Parfum is essentially the same sort of gesture as drinking a Diet Coke: You're getting something, you're just not sure what it is, other than the fact that you're convinced that "you just had a coka." In red pencil, I would attach the word "Passable" in french to this assignment, along with: "Vous Pouvez Faire Mieux."
19:HOODED WEPT

3. Parfum: Grade 12/20 Observations: To me, once I got over the initial "Lemon Pledge" shock (an affair of several months,) and eased into wearing Jicky Parfum on a daily basis, I in the end came to find it somewhat pleasant and perfectly bearable. It's clear that there has been an effort made to transform Jicky into something more palatable to the modern sensibilities, and this might not be such a bad thing. We wearers were all thoroughly enthralled with its previous status as what Larimar, the "Scent Medium" would call a "Weirdo," but who knows what others were thinking? by that I mean those who were smelling it on us? I *always* loved the strange "Ca sent les pieds" vibe it had--*always* delighted in its bizarre poopy backdrop: To me, it was quintessentially organic--totally human--and utterly singular: The only perfume in the world where the raw civet is clearly noticeable. (You have to have smelled raw civet to grasp this) To my grade, (USA equivalent B) I would attach the words "Bon travail. Continuez." meaning that there is room for improvement, but all in all, of the three re-incarnations, this is the only one that I truly find worth the investment, especially when purchased in the 250ml special order bee bottle, which brings its' cost per ml down considerably. You get a wear time of about 6-8 hours, depending on your skin type, and a really stellar amount of sillage, more so than before, provided you apply this with a vapo: This, most definitely, is *not* a "dabber." The main difference is it's brighter and fresher than we would like: It's lost a fair amount of its skanky depth, and this does not have to do just with it's civet content/origin: the "santal" is also sputtering/down, and other basenotes have become distant/absent as well: It's final dry down is like a toasty vanilla, where as before it was still something wildly seductive; now, in it's end of the day "vest" incarnation, it's a kind of powdery soft abstraction that has lost most if not all of its facets. Still, even though she's screaming and moaning entrapped as she is in the cave a parfums, slightly polluted and feeling invaded with en avion, I'm not giving up on her. Just don't tell her that: I want her to suffer a bit.
20:MOUNTAINSOB

Reminiscent: If I may, allow me to suggest the following, which I have tried: On the naked body, douse yourself thoroughly with Mouchoir de Monsieur eau de toilette. Splash, use a sea sponge (my preference for all-over dousing), or spray. Once this had dried, spray your shalimar extract under your belly button (nombril) just above the pubic area, whilst protecting les bijoux familiaux. To finish yourself off, apply your three sprays of "Jicky" Parfum accordingly: One on each wrist, and one at the base of your throat. This makes a lovely melange, and a long lasting one, especially in the depressing darkness and fast invading chill of the Parisian Toussaint. leMdM

PS: This is definitely a Bump, "le Bump a trois." Unfortunately, I'm sure it could never rival the Partouziac "Menage a trois." I am on a mission to make "le Bump" le dernier cri, starting of course in Paris, whence all beauty originates, then invading the entire world. Reminiscent, KCC, AU BOULOT!
21:ANKLEBREAKER

My plot here is to BUMP mouchoir de monsieur eau de toilette with vintage bal a versailles extract: I have not done this as of yet; presently I am merely making like Queen Maria Theresa of Austria and arranging the contract, which, you will admit, is a titillating exercise: I went positively mad on evil bay and ordered tantamount to 90ml of the august vintage extract, in all different sizes, including a very fetching 7ml screw-cap one that will fit snugly in my waist coat pocket, and a wallopping 480ml of vintage eau de cologne, as, according to all observations on this forum, it's the "right" choice, faced as we are with three concentrations beyond the extract, all of which are now currently en route to me. I recently revisited this extract in its crystal lyre stoppered gallette and I very nearly fell into a swoon over it: I had a vague recollection of it from my childhood; it was quite the thing back then. Rarer and more expensive than "Joy," that recollection was a good one: What I had forgotten is the unbelievable depth of this extraordinary composition: It's much like looking down a corridor, all paneled and outfitted in the Louis XVI taste, with suites of matching crystal chandeliers, sconces and eternity mirrors, an hallway that is so long that you can not possibly see through to the end of it. What I wouldn't have remembered about it is what struck me the most: How much it resembles Mouchoir de Monsieur! Readers! I feel.....yes.....I feel that here, here, people, we have the perfect marriage! One that will save the kingdom! Save the kingdom, so that it may then conquer the world!
22:ERASE-O-DUST

-Ah, yes, indeed! he does! He does "like this kind of games," as long as he is in possession of the key, and not the one wearing the chains!

Today is All Saints Day, the official opening of "Mouchoir de Monsieur" Season, and the official return of le MdM, out of his slippers and into his shiny brogues, all awash, be-curled, pressed and starched, perfumed handkerchief at the ready! Up next:
Mouchoir de Monsieur, the homecoming: Resultats de l'examin pre-mariage
23:SHNAMISTOFLOPP'N

Update: from the Townhouse of le Mouchoir de Monsieur: Message:

The Bride has arrived. Le Mouchoir de Monsieur is presently attempting to make certain she is not Kim Kardashian disguised in curry-coloured duchesse satin. DNA tests pending. Lingering Bronchite complicating matters greatly
24:TERRABLIZA

A muddled message from le Mouchoir de Monsieur, currently in a state of confusion/pre-wedding jitters:

Is she a psychpath, or is she schyzophrenic? How many personalities does she have? She is very definitely potent: One touch of her, one tiny touch, embalms an entire room. He, on the other hand, though very much himself, his new formulation is so faint and so wan that a literal shower is required to produce any effect. It seems as though she, in her strident fervor, would devour him alive: Her extract is so dense and so deep that its strength and sillage would make the most heady caron extract behave like a sparkling eau fraiche by comparison. In all facets, she seems very brazen, scattered and angry. She has a bizarre ambiguity about her; a kind of confusion of gender. She's all pepper, dried roses, rust, floor wax, insect repellent, dust, pale light, cob webs: She's a haunted house. He's a ghost of his former self. If these marriage papers come through, he will be the diaphanous specter that roams around in her gargantuan Louis XVI marble and gilt fun house of warped infinity mirrors, tarnished brass and nicotine coated crystal. She seems as though she would effortlessly swallow him whole....digest him without spitting out his bones....It is clear that he in any event would be powerless before her. He would be meek, he would barely be there at all. The papers are submitted, and they are being studied: On both ends, there is trepidation. He is sitting quietly, lost in his thoughts, looking calm, though clearly delirious and pregnant with a rich inner life of nervous strife and melancholic nostalgia. She is parading about in a rustle of taffetas, screaming at the top of barrel-like lungs of wood, silver polish, and bee's wax, leaving a trail of powder everywhere she goes. She won't stop moving, he will not get off of his dusky lavender silk velvet lit a la polonaise. Both have an agenda; her's is clear: World Domination. His, as is everything about him, is of a muted complexity perfectly illegible under his veil of calm. Neither know if they will ever be able to get along. The strangest element of this dichotomy is the striking resemblance between the two that somehow manages to show itself clearly whilst both remain absolute polar opposites in every
detail: Le Mariage Impossible, the very one that could potentially touch the divine flight of ambivalent perfection.
25:WHIRLISSIMO

When I dug all the way back to the very depths of the cave a parfums to get to the row of tall white 1000ml bee bottle boxes, my dressing room floor became populated by countless others, patous, guerlains, carons: Someone on BN received a picture of this "Perfume Landscape." I had to photograph it. It was so absurd, especially when considering the fact that the stock in the dressing room is principally "recent acquisitions," and that the bulk of the collection is in fact deep in the underground storage beneath my house where the temperature does not vary as much. I think that if some fine reader is interested in starting a "Stop The Madness" "Group" we'd be certain to have a wait list of applicants: A kind of "Betty Ford Centre for Purfumistas." (were anybody kind enough to send me a PM with point per point instructions on how to post an image from i-photo, I will post it on this thread) As noted above, when I finally did locate the unsealed bottle of "Mouchoir de Monsieur" edt, and filled my vapos with it, I was struck by just how different it is in its current formulation vis a vis sister Jicky in hers. (Loungeboy, I'm afraid your Jicky still has her old nose.) As it stood, I had grown quite accustomed to the new Jicky, and even come to appreciate a certain novel smoothness in the extract that is very evident in the newer formulation. When in filling my various vapos I spilled Mouchoir all over my hand, I was very surprised to find it so much more dense in its flight: Lemon Pledge it is not. The principal problem with this, the new Mouchoir de Monsieur, of which I have yet another 1000ml on order yet to be delivered, is longevity: It is lovely to apply, but it has a life span of about an hour, after which point re-application becomes necessary; it does not hold up on cotton for very much longer. The second day I wore it I quite literally sponge bathed in it, and soaked the lining on my blazer, my linen pocket square, as well as my cotton handkerchief, yet by noon I could not detect a hint of it. Over the course of those four hours, it does reveal a very singular, winsome way about it: It "flicks" at you, the way the plume of smoke from a pie cooling in the window comes and taps on the shoulder of Tom or Jerry in Tex Avery cartoons: You find yourself sitting immobile and very suddenly, out of the blue, you get a nice, full, inhalation, pregnant with a dusky lavender/patchouli softness. Applying a reasonable amount is perfectly useless: I'm afraid those of you considering buying the small vapo that is offered commercially should know that it contains less than a week's supply. I feel as though in reformulating these two scents, Thierry Water has very clearly sought to give each of them an identity with a uniqueness that is far more pronounced than it ever was in the past, when, even at the Guerlain boutiques the hostesses would refer to Mouchoir as "a kind of Jicky." I have been wearing Mouchoir for at least fifteen years, and I have the stacks and stacks of empty "Travel Flacons," all in their boxes, to prove it. It was never this different: It really was "a kind of Jicky." Now, it wears a bit like Jicky edt, with a bit of "Givenchy Gentleman" thrown in for good measure, as the patchouli note is much more pronounced than ever before, which is by no means a bad thing; what is, though, is that, like Jicky in its edt form, one can expect no amount of duration whatsoever, even when it is literally poured all over the body. Because there is no other strength available, as there was at one time by special order, one is left with scarce few options save for "the bump." Finding the bump is the very decidedly tricky part of this experiment.
26:VANILLA SWARM

I had to laugh when, trolling e-bay for more Bal a Versailles, I came across one of the original print advertisements dated two years after its creation. The slogan: "For a certain kind of woman." Thanks to one very generous reader of this thread, I received a pristine bottle of vintage extract, ground glass stoppered and still in its bizarre lace coffin, that is so decidedly delicious that it spurred a buying frenzy that has proven beyond the shadow of a doubt what many reviewers indicate: Bal a Versailles decidedly is several different comps, all with their own specific identity. This science is very clearly spelled out on the packaging of the hard to find vintage eau de parfum, in its beautifully designed elongated lyre shaped flacon with a clear glass marble stopper: "Bal a Versailles Eau de Parfum, the fragrance to compliment Bal a Versailles extract:" A very French notion of classic perfumery, virtually extinct today, where in each concentration is in fact a separate composition entirely, in and of itself. Having purchased the most extraordinarily enormous screw-cap bottle of vintage eau de cologne, a whopping 16 fluid ounces, I found it to be so light that it is barely noticeable mere minutes after application: Just a hint of powdery rose and spice, nothing more. The extract, on the other hand, is fiercely concentrated, regardless of provenance. The well preserved extracts from the sixties and the more recent vintages have but one thing in common: The capacity to showcase a peerless tenaciousness unmatched by anything. When their gallette shaped flacons are uncorked, it is as if vapours can be seen emanating from the open bottle. Previous to my experimentations with Bal a Versailles, I used to look upon the caron extracts as stains: one dab and the skin that has received it is fragrant for days, even after a hot bath. Caron now trumped, Bal a Versailles may well be the only "permanent" perfume in the world: Once it is applied, nothing will get it off, not even time. One wonders, then, faced with its original launch advert, precisely which kind of woman they had in mind. There is no discussing that she is indeed specific, for Bal a Versailles brings a brazen presence that would erase even "tabac blond:" Admittedly, something at which all of us can only marvel. It was very clear as soon as I re-discovered the new Mouchoir de Monsieur that these two could never be applied in their natural states, so out of the different concentrations, I made the following: In 7ml of vintage eau de cologne, (circa 60's or 70's, according to my research) I immersed one single drop of recent extract, not wishing to waste any of the precious vintage. It was fascinating to watch this drop curl its way through the eau de cologne, looking exactly like oil poured into vinegar. All shook up and then sprayed once onto my wrist, it produced a throbbing mass of skanky rose and musk that, with one application, filled the entire room with a kind of incense. Considering that this would be "the basenote," I waited a good three quarters of an hour, and then bombarded the same wrist with three drenching sprays of Mouchoir de Monsieur. Immediately, I knew that somehow, this could work, only this was decidedly not the moment: As soon as my wrist, previously dripping in Mouchoir, as if washed by it, was dry, I was left with the most exquisitely scented appendage anyone could ever hope for: Knowing I was wearing a powder keg capable of filling a stadium sized venue with vapours, I left for the day, over the course of which I could not remove my nose from my left wrist. Well after lunch, it seemed not only to have not faded, but, on the contrary, grown more intense. I "test whiffed" it on many people: Everyone marveled. "It's so fine." "Sexy." "Gorgeous." --Just a sampling of the reactions I heard. In my profession, it happens daily that I sit for hours in deep discussion in what I call my "Consulting Room:" A windowless chamber that is sound proofed, and strategically lit to produce an ambiance of calm and comfort: In this room, I will sit each day with a different person, very often for hours on end, and deep discussions are had. The day I had on my "Bal a Versailles" concoction, I had a late afternoon appointment with a very famous astrologer: She and I can sometimes sit for up to five straight hours and talk. The minute she was escorted into the Consulting Room by my assistant, she said: "Oh, God. What do you have on now?" I could not refrain from giggling. "Here--have a whiff." I lifted my wrist to her nose. "That's incredible! You smell like sex!" The conversation progressed: "What does it evoke to you?" "It's just....well...it's out of this world! What is it?" "You know I won't divulge, so why bother asking? Just tell me about what it conjures in your mind." "It's totally decadent! You smell like a heap of rubbish left out in the sun. It's like you just had sex with an entire army of women and men. It reminds me of that book "perfume." You smell like a brothel!" "A brothel?" "Yes but a very expensive one: That's the most profoundly disgusting scent of profligacy I think I've ever experienced!" "But do you like it?" "Like it? I love it! What is it? I want some!" "You know I'm not going to tell you." "Of course you're not, you rat. You're a sadist. You just like torturing me. All I can say is this: That is the trashiest, most vile smelling odour I have ever witnessed, and you love it, don't you?" "I'm trying to figure that out." "Don't give me that crap! You know you love it. I know you love it because it smells like trash: That's so you! Only you could make an odour like that seem appealing" "But what do you mean, trash?" "It's just.....well it's ridiculous. Nobody should smell like that. Whatever that is, it should be illegal. But, please, don't go and tell me you don't love it. It's the very essence of your soul! it's your mind in a scent." Here, I had to laugh. "What are you laughing at? I'm telling you it smells like an orgy with very expensive pay-for-players: That's so you. Tell me what it is!" "No. I'm still trying to decide if I even like it. If it happens that I come to hate it, you can have the whole lot." [I]"Yeah, as if! I could smell it in the waiting room! You are not going to sit there waiving that wrist under my nose and tell [/I]me you don't love that! You can't fool me. I'm an astrologer. You smell like a f*#&ing orgy in broad daylight: How could you not love that!?!" Needless to say, I found these observations fascinating. What was more fascinating still is how that wrist wafted over the course of the entire day, all through evening, and, by the next morning, still had not faded: Not faded in the least. The question is now, how to dose the 16 ounce bottle of eau de cologne without fumigating my entire existence: After my bath the next day, sitting at my dressing table all steaming and wet, it was as if I were bathing in it. I brought my wrist to my nose once again: Bal a Versailles, unfazed by soap and water, which begs the question: What is it? and how did they make it? "For a certain kind of woman." -Clearly- but is she human?
27:ICYSKIDSKI

Question: Do any readers know what his majesty Luca Turin has to say about Bal a Versailles? As is well known, I personally am not a fan of his in any way. I know he has published a "guide" where in he describes all the different scents in his definitive "holier than thou" tone: Would anyone care to transribe his words onto this thread? And the real master of the question, Mr. Roja Dove himself, does he have anything to say about it? Helpful readers who would like to enlighten us are begged to go fishing in their libraries and post observations by these two men, "the little nothing king" and "the gargantuan emperor"....en attendant..... -le MdM
28:ROBBER'S VEIL

In response to the observations above, all of you Guerlainistas out there, any Guerlain boutique will fill a special order on bee bottle decants: The price per ml of any comp, in any strength, is RADICALLY reduced when you take advantage of this service. In the case of Mouchoir de Monsieur, for instance, (I'll use US$) if you buy the one and only sku publicly available for this scent, the 100ml bee bottle spray, you are paying 1.16$US per ml. If you special order a 1000ml "white" bee bottle, -not the gold one with your initials on it--you are paying about 40% less per ml, and the "deal" gets better if you go for the 1500ml size--which I have never done--the 1000ml size is already so big it's difficult to maneuver--Naturally, this discussion is valid only for daily "users." In Jicky parfum de toilette & parfum, it's the same, and even more pronounced. Anyone can special order these bottles, from any Guerlain boutique: They have a 3 to 8 week lead time for delivery. You can also "book" an "auto-replenishment" system that automatically refills you on a yearly basis: I do "go through" 1000ml of Mouchoir eau de toilette in 6 months--and 250ml of Jicky parfum in one year, so if you are a "signature scent" type, which I most definitely am, and have been forever (I believe in this) it's really the only way to approach the question if your signature scent happens to be a Guerlain. The bee bottle program is limited to the "classics," though: They do not offer it in all of those newly launched comps like "Cuir Beluga" and the like, but the whole range of house classics, including Shalimar, is available this way, and I suggest that all of you take advantage of it!
29:CREAKY-CREAKY

I was meant to revise the comments above, but here, instead, is the content of my planned revision, and a precise answer to Matthew's question:
I am not absolutely positive of my dollar calculations above: the 1.16$US per ml is actually based on the price of "Eau du Coq," which I know to be far less expensive than "mouchoir," but as it happens I do order eau du coq in 1000ml bee bottles, yet I also regularly buy the 100ml sprays outright, because they are handy for travel/keeping in the office/week end getaways, etc. Eau du coq is a very effective under arm deodorant, and a peerless anti-moustique, if any of you out there did not already know that. Essentially, I would say, yes: The 1000ml "white" bee bottle of Mouchoir would cost, I believe, just short of 700.00$US--I have never bought the 100ml bee bottle spray of "mouchoir" so I don't know how much it costs. The main point here is the following: If you are a daily user of any Guerlain classic (including Apres l'Ondee), there is strictly no sense whatsoever in buying them in the commercial packaging, unless of course you enjoy wasting money. Depending on the boutique, Guerlain will fill these special orders reasonably quickly: In Paris they sometimes can do it on the spot, depending on the scent. In Provincial France the lead time is two weeks, in Western Europe three weeks, and in the US anywhere from three to eight weeks. There are also differing policies as to payment procedures: If the staff doesn't know you, they will require pre-payment before submitting the order. The main thing to keep in mind when placing these orders, which you can do over the phone (in which case 100% pre-payment is required) is that you STAUNCHLY refuse the SA's begging and pleading that you order the "Gold" bee bottle. Anything that comes in the "Gold" bee bottle will erase the savings you would incur with the plain "White" version. Twice I have succumb to the temptation of ordering the "Gold" instead of the "White." These bottles are somewhat disappointing in that they are -not- ground glass stoppered, they are just the exact same ones as the white ones with gold paint all over them, and eventually your initials. You can expect this discussion will be had with any Guerlain boutique SA: They systematically attempt to talk you into the gold version, and often will "trick you" into believing that it is the only packaging available. You MUST specify--I would like the WHITE bee presentation and NOT the gold. The boxes are the same: Cheap white cardboard trimmed in "pacotille" gold paper, and everything else is the same: You just end up with a very gaudy looking bottle, and your savings erased, as they are significantly more expensive. The gold is indeed hand painted, but it's messy, and, at least per my judgement, not particularly well executed. The sizes offered in bee bottles are: 250ml, 500ml, 750ml, 1000ml, 1500ml and 2000ml. I find the 250ml parfum to be a very reasonably priced affair, but naturally if you go into ordering 2000ml of parfum, you are looking at quite an investment. The one thing that I wanted to make clear is that you "arm yourself" against the pernicious behaviour of the Guerlain SA's, who will go to any length to entice you into committing to these gold bee bottles, including, as specified above, blithely suggesting that the parfums, for instance, don't come in the white version, which they absolutely do. So: By all means--do take advantage of this program. They will not refill anything. As for vapos, they have a "bulb" type that inserts into the 250ml size only, that you can request: The order is given to you sealed with the "ball" stopper, and they just "throw in" the bulb device, which is designed as a kind of stopper equipped with a spraying mechanism. Unfortunately, though, these have about a 90% fail rate: I have repeatedly tried to use them, and they go defective within a week or two, and don't vaporize enough, nor very well: a somewhat awkward application, which sadly hardly ever works for very long, at any rate: I have examined these "bulb" systems, which are encased in common clear plastic cellophane, and they are clearly marked: "made in china," something I think is unacceptable coming from Guerlain, among other things. The problem is this: Once you are addicted to Guerlain, nothing else works on you: Everything seems coarse, even vulgar. It's an identity thing. One "is" Guerlain, or "Isn't." Try as I might to boycott them, there is just nothing out there that doesn't somehow drive me crazy, and not in a good way, one way or another. My argument for Guerlain has always been that they "die a graceful death," and by that I mean that they *NEVER* get repulsive and cloying as they age on the skin, and disappear in a very becoming way. No other perfume house can match this. (including Caron) It is said in the perfumer's art that anybody can pull off a delicious flight, some people can orchestrate a delicious heart, but hardly anyone can manage a graceful base: That, very precisely, is the main advantage Guerlain has over every perfumer world wide: The capacity to be flawless in each stage, and, mostly to seemingly effortlessly make an elegant exit.
30:PSYCHOHAIL

And now, back to the marriage arrangements:

An idea hit me in my sleep this morning: Often, the best ideas "wake me up" with all the subtlety of a sledge hammer. In spite of my reluctance to toy with my new arsenal of Bal a Versailles, for fear that it will only be tainted by the poisonous memory of the worst Bronchite I have ever had, I can not help myself: I have been spraying it, dabbing it, comparing the different vintages, the three different concentrations, each with varying provenance. The "New" ones, of which I have only the parfum, was marketed and packaged by a company based in the US, ironically. The outer boxes are metallic gold, and on the back is written: "Genisis International," and "Fragrance made in France/Origine Francaise" which is commerce speak for the "Blended in the US with fragrance oils imported from France," such as we have seen with ranges like Dana. Nowhere on the boxes does it say "Made in France." The bottles are cheap pressed glass, and the beautiful lyre-stoppered bottle is rendered in the cheapest possible way, including an all plastic stopper. The beautiful lace coffin of old is now clearly made in China, and is quilted in an hideous "lace print" on viscose satin. What's in these bottles is truly something to be reckoned with: It's the "Genesis" provenance that produced this ultra dry, angry, explosive scent that is so fierce that one wonders how anybody could ever wear it at all in an undiluted strength: One drop of this in 7ml of vintage eau de cologne vaporized on my wrist is what lasted forever, days, several baths, and would not go away. What applying this in its pure form would do, I can not imagine: Set you on fire? Burn through your skin? Here is a perfume that should most definitely have a skull and cross bones on it. The interesting thing about it is this: It's quite yummy. Of course, as my astrologer friend pointed out, "quite yummy," for me, translates as "trash heap left to rot in the sun" to most. The problem with it is that it just wont go away; ever. Interestingly, though, it never stops...being yummy: I would classify this as a true "Leather" scent, if roses, big overblown red ones, by some other worldly alchemy, happened to one day bloom from the earth with petals made of calf's hide. Essentially, a very linear sketch of it would run thus: Rose, Leather, Incense. Powder. The vintage Eau de Cologne would be: "Faint roses. Faint powder. Faint leather." The vintage extract is another story entirely: For the moment, I'm afraid I will have to leave that one alone. Readers must by now all be wondering how I could possibly make the connection between this brazen screeching witch's brew, and the Patrician silence of Mouchoir de Monsieur, a study in subtlety. What they have in common is a certain idea of sex: Both suggest the orgies of the Regency or all of the excesses of the XVIIIe Century, blood in the mix. Both very clearly smell of a different epoque, with different morals, and a different approach to personal hygiene. The idea that struck me this morning was this: What Bal a Versailles is missing is lavender. It's interesting how, from top to finish, which must come weeks later, because I have not been able to get it off my left wrist, Bal a Versailles evokes a very close reminiscence of the base of vintage Mouchoir de Monsieur: That is the connection. I only know this base because I have used Mouchoir for so many years: It used to have the most exquisite end, that lingered for hours. In it's current formulation, I'm afraid it seems as though Walt Disney bought the rights to it: Just precisely as certain quartiers of Paris now look to me like "Parisland," Mouchoir, in it's current state, reads like "Monsieur Toad's Wilde Ride," which, frankly, is not all that wild: One can comfortably bring a toddler on it with no fear whatsoever. People who remember the real Mouchoir will understand what I mean by this: The real Mouchoir was sort of dangerous, not this effete dandy crap they are selling today: It used to be downright raunchy, but in a very gentlemanly way: If sister Jicky "smelled like feet," brother mouchoir smelled somewhat like hairy testicles. (See my review in fragrance directory) Bal a Versailles smells somewhat like the nether regions as well, as it is so heavily musk laden that I'm sure if one were to wear it in the forrest it would attract all manner of beasts. This, I think, is what my astrologer friend meant when she said "it reminds me of that book 'Perfume'" What Bal a Versailles does not have, is the lavender. I have so many different lavender essences in my laboratory decants, I haven't a clue which to select: I am willing to "pollute" the small 7ml parfum with as much essential oil as is required, but, knowing lavender and how it "behaves" in a comp, I just can't imagine any of the countless types that could compete in a cauldron like Bal a Versailles: If there were such a thing as true "Lavender Absolute," (There isn't, to my knowledge, at least not in the way of a rose or a jasmine, although there is a thing that is called "Lavender Absolute," I feel as though it would be swallowed whole and erased entirely by any amount of Bal a Versailles.
Proving my point, this morning I dropped one full pipette of my strongest lavender oil into this, now 5ml of Bal a Versailles, and initially, I was jumping up and down screaming, fully convinced I had "done it," and, effectively, for about an hour, the perfume, which of course I further diluted in Bal Eau de Cologne, one drop in 7ml, smelled EXACTLY like the old Mouchoir....THEN, it just faded into....the old (new) Bal a Versailles! When I sprayed this, I went and dug out some of my vintage Mouchoir to compare them, applying vintage mouchoir, at least 30 years old, on my right wrist, and the ad-hoc "Monsieur goes to the Bal" on the left, and by God, for awhile, they were identical. Now, nine hours later, my right wrist smells like nothing, and my left wrist smells like.....Bal a Versailles. What lavender could possibly stand up to the Brazen Bitch? If this one can't, nothing can. I'm just not sure where to take this arrangement at this point: My next step may involve one drop of Bal in 7ml of Mouchoir: I really don't want to muck about with my Dear Monsieur, though: Yes, he has alzheimers and no longer knows his name, but I still respect him.
31:WHIPPOCCINO

In response to Matthew's question: "How is my 'bumping' going," (on PM) it's going this way:

On my dressing table, there sits the small gallette shaped 7ml Bal a Versailles parfum that now contains 5ml of (recent) Bal, and roughly 2ml of my best lavender absolute. It looks full, and the color of it has changed as "what's called" lavender absolute is a very dense shade of green: The juice it contains is now a sort of chartreuse rather than the curry yellow it once was. I continue to be amazed by this diabolical liquid which penetrates the dermis, takes up residence there, and will not decamp. As predicted, two days later I could still smell it on my left wrist, and, what's more, detect wafts of it all over my house and on my clothes: Out of the blue I would turn around and get slapped in the face by Bal a Versailles, perfectly unfazed by 2ml of the best lavender absolute available. Also as predicted, this scent now reminds me of nothing save for being unwell and bed bound. I had to laugh as, getting ready to leave this morning, having drenched myself in Mouchoir de Monsieur, then vaporized it all over my clothes, and fairly soaked the batiste "lavaliere" that I wore today, I could smell the delicious signature "flicks" rising up all around me...that singular finesse that only Mouchoir has...the shy elan that envelops you in comfort and reassurance: It's still intact in the new formulation, it just happens to last only for about fifteen minutes. I looked, with revulsion in my heart at the small round bottle, sitting there looking innocent, and unwittingly began cursing at it in French, surprising even myself:

T'es vraiment une pouffiasse de premier ordre, toi! (with mounting anger) Ah! La salope!

This is what amused me the most: Our first explosive lover's spat, where MdM let lose and let BaV have it "en plein dans la geuele." I was angry at her. I wanted to shove the cheap little pressed glass harlot back into her viscose satin made-in-china pacotille jewel box and hurl her into the rubbish, where she belongs. Contemplating this, I opened the left drawer of my dressing table and lifted out the 30ml of Jicky parfum, in the box marked "raped. 1% en avion" and opened it: Ah, even dressed in perfectly common white cardboard, Jicky still looked every bit the sovereign next to this little street walking tramp: This daughter of darkness. I uncorked the flacon and dabbed some on my neck, and on my wrists. With relief I felt the lemon pledge vapours swirling around me, still sparkling and scintillating even darkened as they were by the invasive en avion. I looked at the little gallette bottle, with its fake brass screw top and wanted to spit on it. Before I got up to leave for the day I saw myself, as possessed, sneer at it in the mirror and, with a great amount of earnest disgust, say:

Connasse, va!

Le Mouchoir de Monsieur and Dame Bal a Versailles have officially had their first Royal Spat. Presently, they are not on speaking terms.
32:SHIMMERGLISTEN

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33:sorbetdeluge

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34.zhivagogamarbletash

Lest anyone be wondering, the two posts above were resultant of my banging on my lap top like a child impatiently trying to slam up the post, which produced it thrice over: Home alone with no assistant to scream at, I've done what I could to erase them. So the bumping continues, yet this cantankerous elderly shadow of a man staunchly refuses to be bumped: He's simply not having it. Waving his cane with his fresh butter hermes gloved hand, he just keeps rasping: "Young whipper snapper! Damn you!" before he disappears entirely under the bump, whatever it might be, leaving behind no trace whatsoever. Today I remembered I had stashed away somewhere this breathtakingly beautiful bottle of perfume that was given to me by a breathtakingly beautiful young man: One Killian Hennessey, who, not content to be handsome, charming, winsome and perfectly polite, happens also to have had the good fortune of being born of that Hennessey blood line: Yes, that one. True, he could be a bit taller, but with manners such as he has, one is willing to forgive and forget. I remember he told me that one of his creations, all of which have the particularity of having several names, which, all of you will admit, can be confusing, would be perfect for me: When we met, he guessed the fragrance I was wearing: He told me: "You will love this. This is my favourite creation. I wear it myself." Killian Hennessey's perfumes are so luxuriously packaged that one is tempted to buy them regardless of how they smell. The one he gave me is simultaneously called "A Taste of Heaven" and also "Absinthe." It is so strong and so thick with essential oils that when you apply it, it leaves a kind of veil of emollient residue that is visible on the skin. I was very thrilled to receive this, as it comes in a decadent precious metal hinged box of finely honed wood, painstakingly lacquered, lined in pure silk satin, and equipped with a key, so that it can be locked. The bottle is a work of contemporary art: Very discrete, but fascinating to behold. My take on this scent, which I wore only once, the day he himself sprayed it on my wrists, was that it was a carbon copy of "Pour un Homme" de Caron. Naturally, I did not say this to him, but this was my impression. As the fragrance aged on my skin, I found that it maintained integrity for hours and hours: a surprising thing in a lavender based scent. Lavender is not as simple as most people believe, and it is tricky to create a perfume of any depth and beauty around it: One of the reasons "Ma Liberte" and "PPH Prive," both by Jean Kerleo, are so highly esteemed: Few perfumers will touch lavender in this way: Many will make use of it in flight notes and even heart notes but rarely has it been successfully orchestrated into the base of any fragrance. Only two exceptions come to mind, "Moment Supreme," an Henri Almeras creation for Patou from 1930, and of course the august "Pour un Homme" itself: The Gold Standard of lavender soliflores. This scent by Killian Hennessey is a slam dunk for anyone who loves "Pour un Homme" and wishes it were still available in its original extract form. I can not imagine that the recent relaunch of "Impacte," the disappointing Caron extract meant to replicate the original, comes close to the finesse of the very first men's perfume: This potion made by Killian Hennessey, on the other hand, does, and in no imprecise terms. Killian told me that his perfumes are made with 80% essential oils, and 20% alcohol, which is somewhat hard to imagine, but yet upon application it is obvious that they are of a strength not usually found in anything known today: they are beyond parfum, beyond extract: There is no name for what they are. I remembered this gift I had received because I was racking my brains trying to remember all of the different things that were in the underground cave, which might help tame the ever growing stock (more came today) of liquid anger, the Dame Bal a Versailles, to whom the now aloof Mouchoir is no longer speaking. This evening, the following experiment was conducted: I was so sure of my "coup." Into 7ml of Bal a Versailles vintage eau de cologne, keeping in mind this is a very faint, very delicate blend, I put one drop of this Killian Hennessey nuclear strength "Pour un Homme," shook it up, and sprayed my wrist with it, approaching the assignment from the top, rather than the bottom, as in previous experiments: The musk and rose arrangement apparent in the Bal "base" does much to calm the strident lavender of "Absinthe," and, effectively, the diluting that occurs produces a very wearable "strength," an interesting sum of two parts that matter of factly does quite resemble Mouchoir, but somehow does nothing to sublimate it: After it dried down, with MdM I blasted my wrist again, in three drenching sprays. Within thirty minutes all I could smell was this strange mixture I had produced, and nothing else. It's coming to light that the *ONLY* thing that will successfully and harmoniously bump the old geezer is sister Jicky:
In the last few days the one and only time I felt as if I smelled like myself was the day that I bathed in Mouchoir, drenched my clothes in it, then bumped the lot with Jicky parfum, very slightly altered with "en avion." Could it be that Guerlain just doesn't fraternize with underling comps, and will only in-breed? Would anyone have a suggestion? MdM with a touch of....what?
35:STREETPOOT'N

le Mouchoir de Monsieur is now traveling and in a duty free shop, where, as described in his review of "Tabac Original," he loses all self control and money means nothing. Under the spell of memories of the wickedly seductive Monsieur Killian Hennessey, described above, le MdM was powerless before a scent, previously unknown to him, irresistibly named: "Back to Black,' and, as is common with Monsieur Hennessey's scents, also bares the suggestive name "Aphrodisiac." Now in possession of yet another stunning black lacquered, lockable box containing a breathtaking crystal flacon of the highest quality nestled in padded white satin, he wonders: Would Mouchoir de Monsieur ever consider dumping Dame Bal a Versailles, or if nothing else putting her "on hold," say: locking her in a closet along with her cleavers, daggers and guns, and going off on a tryst, hopefully not of the "baise sans lendemain" variety, with the ghost of Our Lady, the much mourned and tragically misunderstood Amy Winehouse? She, among countless other bang on perfectionisms, coined the phrase that means so very much to our le MdM: Those readers who know him will chuckle: "They say that I should go to re-hab....I say: No. No. No." Does anybody out there have any hint of an opinion about what the Old Geaser will say, and what sister Jicky will do, if either or both find out that he's shacking up with a bee-hived, doe-eyed spectre? For the moment le MdM himself is under the spell....walking around with the tawdry juice brushed into his beard and moustache and high outright on tobacco fumes. Mouchoir de Monsieur, that fine hermes gloved gentleman seigneur has been left behind in the town house: le MdM took off and forgot to pack perfume--damed aeroport restrictions--: Yet another argument for walking out of the duty free that much poorer. What is he to do? Dear Amy....Dear, seductive, suave Monsieur Hennessey: Seems like he's in good company, non? What Mouchoir de Monsieur will do if polluted by these two is anyone's guess: Will SOMEBODY please comment? le MdM needs guidance. He's....he's faltering........
36:MELT-O-BLAST

Oh, Larimar. You are so used to flicking your Hermes riding crop, shaking that 4 meter long natural sable stole, art directing with your fan. How can any of us resist? Such is the power of taste, I suppose. All of these scents have indeed pushed me somewhat over the edge: The Nail Gun, Dame Bal a Versailles, which I believe should henceforth be called "Balle a Versailles" (Balle = Bullet), the bitter sweet Back to Black, with its superb lacquered coffin. This mind boggling beauty, En Avion. All of them, such wildly decadent and exuberant fragrances, each with their own charm: Bal a Versailles, the scent of fear...Back to Black, a walking illustration of how cheap, easy and common can be irresistibly chic and unfailingly attractive...that breath taking En Avion, the very air of an imaginary forest pummeled by a crashed jet, all smoking and burning, whence with great irony you've heroically escaped without one nacre button chipped: Somehow, I love all of them. The easiest to find attractive would be Back to Black, no contest: Traveling I wore this and received compliments everywhere I went, the most touching of which came from a beautiful, luminescent young girl of no more than ten, who looked up at me with skin such as we can only imagine on an angel, and enormous blue eyes, all sparkling: She followed me, running behind, crying out "Excuse me!" When I turned around I was perfectly flummoxed to find such a young girl standing at attention, out of breath and gazing up in wonder. "Excuse me, but, may I ask what fragrance you are wearing?" Before I could respond, an embarrassed looking mother caught up with her, quickly enfolding her with both arms, as if I would swipe her up off the pavement and run off with her: "I'm sorry," she said. "My daughter loves perfume and we've been discussing your cologne for the last 45 minutes." At this I could only crack a huge smile: I'm very fond of little girls. I have two beautiful young nieces whom I adore. "It's called "Back to Black," I said, thinking it wise to refrain from tacking on the added sub-name, Aphrodisiac. "Can I smell it?" the little girl asked eagerly, at which point her mother looked to be in an outright panic. I had to bend down, and crouch on my haunches in order to get a look at this beautiful little girl: Her face was so white that she seemed to be radiating light, her eyes so blue they reminded me of sapphires. Knowing that her mother was not remotely amused that her daughter should run after a strange man in the street with such a question, I assumed my most gentlemanly air, and slowly removing my glove, gently held my wrist level with her face without getting too close: She leaned in and inhaled with such relish, as one would inhale the scent of an enormous, full blown rose. "Hmmmm! That smells so good!" "Do you like it?" I asked. "It smells like honey!" "Does it now?" "Ehmm Hmm." She then turned to her mother. "Can we get some?" The mother started laughing nervously, then asked me where she might find it. "Bergdorf Goodman, maybe, I'm not sure." I said, to which she replied: "Bergdorf Goodman, huh?" Then she looked at her daughter and said "We may have to wait a few years before we go looking in Bergdorf Goodman for perfume, sweetheart, but one day, I promise we will." The girl looked distressed. "But...But I want some!" It was at this point that I remembered that I had several card samples in my briefcase: I had planned to entertain myself during my trip by analyzing all of the different Killian comps.
"Well," I said, unzipping my bag, "I may just have a bit for you, just one moment, let me see." There were so many in the side pocket that it seemed as though I had every one except "Back to Black," and I was getting a bit nervous as the mother clearly was uncomfortable with this exchange, yet the little girl was pivoting in anticipation. Finally I found it, and held it out to her. "Here. There you are. Your very own." Both mother and daughter were now smiling: I somehow gained a bit of trust as soon as the mother began examining my briefcase in detail, after which I noticed she had her eye firmly planted on the ring I wear on my right hand: It's amazing how one can go from child molester to potential friend by jewelry alone. "What's your name?" I asked. "My name's Flynn." "Flynn! My, what a lovely name. And so unusual! Well, Flynn, now you can try it out for yourself." At this point, Mother had released her grip on her progeny and obviously was feeling fairly secure. Both were smiling broadly. "What do you say, Sweetheart?" "Thank You!" Standing back up I looked at the mother, bemused. "Your little one has very good taste!" Mother, now batting her eyes at me and blushing, giggled and said: "A little too good, if you ask me!" I smiled back at her. "Nonsense. There's no such thing as taste that is too good. Even bad taste, sometimes, is a blessing. It's no taste that's offensive." With this I winked and looked down at the lovely little girl, now reading the sample card like a book. "Goodbye Flynn." She gazed up. "It smells so good! Thank you!" It smells so good. Back to Black. Precisely what I personally found to be its principle fault: Personally, I feel as though I'm far too ugly to smell so good. Just as my astrologer accused: I have to somehow smell repulsive and good at the same time. Furthermore, I really don't want to smell that much at all, to the point where people, even innocent little girls, are running after me on the street: A further illustration of what makes any Guerlain singular, and inimitable. They're more an "air," less a perfume. Clearly they will only inbreed. Every single juice I have tried to bump both Jicky and Brother MdM has done nothing but erase them, they, on the other hand, bump themselves fluently. Bathing in Mouchoir de Monsieur, literally drenching the body with it, then spraying it all over clothes, and finishing it off with three sprays of Jicky parfum produces a perfect blend, an aura of discrete air that circulates around you: Of course this must be refreshed multiple times over the course of the day. So the Old rake is still single, and Jicky is still a skinny old maid with mousey hair. The Guerlains, en fin de compte, are so very like the French themselves: They really don't earnestly approve entirely of anyone, or else, could it be that I am, as Larimar points out, merely losing it?
37:SLIPPERELLA

I'm sure that all readers here will agree: There's nothing like scent to conjure very precise memories of times gone by. I've only to think of Caron's "Pour un Homme" and immediately I am a young adolescent, oozing hormones, and trying desperately to finally become a man: No easy feat when you're too tall, too thin, broken out in spots and feel cramped and somehow too big everywhere and in everything. Back in the day, the first class seats on Air France flights came each equipped with a lovely dob kit filled with toiletries, specifically chosen for the gender of the individual passenger: I would look forward to these flights, as nothing delighted me more than this bag of decidedly adult-themed tricks: Inside, Caron everything. My mother would complain when I would return from my prolonged intermissions smelling like a lavender field: The men's kits contained full size units of "Pour un Homme" eau de toilette, baume apres rasage, a tubular container of scented talc, along with a razor, and a small aerosol tin of "Pour un Homme" shave cream: The ingredients of a particularly horrifying incident I remember all too well:
The very first time I shaved was high up in the heavens, locked in an airplane WC: I got a vigourous scolding when I emerged with a complexion enflamed, with nicks and cuts all over it: My experiment had very quickly turned into a panicked attempt to hide my indulgences, which included the sorry dusting of my face with scented talcum powder. The smell of "Pour un Homme" represented for me the utmost in adult sophistication. My mother considered Penhaligon's "English Fern" to be the only appropriate fragrance for me to wear, and so she would buy it for me, along with the scented soaps, the shampoo, which came in a ground glass stoppered bottle, and when I asked for it, usually for Christmas, I would also get a bottle of the eau de toilette. To this day I am still fond of English Fern, though it smells considerably different now in its current formulation: It seems much heavier than it was back in the days of ground glass stoppered bottles and dark forest green gros grain ribbons. Oh, but "Pour un Homme!" Just the name of it! "For a Man!" The very second I was free to parade about on my own with no chaperone one of the first things I did was purchase an enormous 500ml bottle of it, and how I relished pouring it all over me when I would emerge from the bath in the morning. In my day, in Provincial France, there would be held regularly what were called "boums." A boum is a kind of dance party, where the boys were allowed to dance, unobserved, with the girls, and, naturally, it was at these "boums" that most every boy plotted to conquer the heart of his cherished love interest. The thing that made "boums" specifically thrilling was that, since they had nothing to do with school, we were allowed to attend out of uniform: In and of itself a huge privilege. I remember dancing in teal over-dyed levi's with red lace up boots and an aqua "John Wayne" style leather bomber jacket to David Bowie in a nuclear strength cloud of "Pour un Homme," gyrating my hips suggestively and bumping up strategically at my paramour, one Fabienne. In the pocket of my vibrant aqua leather biker jacket, with its many brass zippers, was not to be found a hip flask full of whiskey or vodka, but one filled with "Pour un Homme," so that I could intermission, all dripping in sweat from the pulsating dance floor, la piste, as it was called, and douse myself with it. I remember being very clearly convinced that the more I put on, the more irresistible I would become, and, at one of these "Boums," my strategy worked: I shared my first kiss with Fabienne, who must have been quite drunk on lavender and vanilla! "Pour un Homme" seems always to have been part of my life. To this day, I still sometimes crave it, so I always have a good stock on hand. When "Impact" was launched, I bought it immediately. I was so thrilled to think that finally, a house had realized that there was room in a man's fragrance wardrobe for an extract: I have never quite understood why all of mens perfumery does not come in extract form. Unfortunately, though, I could never quite get used to using it. Being Caron, one tiny dab of it will emit fragrant waves for hours and hours, and the fragrance itself seems over wrought to me: It also has that strange "glue" undertone throughout its development that is barely noticeable in the eau de toilette: The very same note that is so jarring in the flight of Jean Patou's "Moment Supreme." Through all of this experimentation I have sadly come to realize that nothing at all will "bump" Mouchoir de Monsieur, nothing save for his own fraternal twin sister Jicky: Everything, even in diluted strengths, seems merely to erase it. It is as if it runs screaming as soon as there is to be found at the party an uninvited guest not affiliated by blood: I have successfully bumped Mouchoir in the past with the tiniest dab of "Shalimar" extract, a molecule of "Vol de Nuit," an ultra light sprinkling of "Sous le Vent," but nothing else has worked. As for Larimar's suggestion of adding any raw materials directly into the juice, it was already a breathless, brazen gesture for me to pollute 28ml of Jicky parfum with 2ml of "En Avion" extract: That sweetened hybrid that is currently refilling my pocket atomizer. As I go through this bottle, it has dawned on me only very slowly that the this tiny ratio of Caron to Guerlain has turned the entire lot into something noticeably Caron: Very good thing indeed that I don't dislike the result.
I'll toy with and play with most anything, as illustrated by my thread "Incestuous Mixes," but I feel as though there is no need to alter any Guerlain classic: Even in their current wan, barely there strengths, they are perfect. Isolated Aristocrats. Lonely, but noble just the same.
38:BOOMERANGAPLANGA

NEWS FLASH: leMdM SUCCESSFULLY TURNS (NEW) BAL a VERSAILLES PARFUM into (OLD) MOUCHOIR DE MONSIEUR EXTRACT!

I knew I could do this. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. By the time the third shipment of Bal a Versailles came in I was determined to reign this screeching harlot in and forcefully transform her: It's obvious that she is into S&M and I have no problem assuming the "S" role. As stated above, there has been no question of toying with the actual Guerlain extracts, yet fussing around and abusing all of this new Bal a Versailles parfum presents no problem whatsoever as I know I could never wear it as it stands. Here is how I tamed the lethal weapon wielding she-beast, the "Tazmanian Devil" dervish of perfumery:

I used the small round 7ml size of Bal parfum as a mixing container. Starting off with unaltered Bal, in its "Genesis" incarnation (metallic gold boxes) I removed 2ml of the 7 and put it aside to allow room in the bottle. In place of this 2ml, I dropped the following:

1ml of Killian "A Taste of Heaven." (This had for effect a distinct "softening" of that harsh in your face whip-smack of the Bal)
.5ml of pure bergamot essential oil, finest grade, italian provenance. (This "sharpened it" into a very close "Jicky-esque" comp)
.5ml of pure Benzoin essential oil, mid-eastern provenance. (This turned it immediately into a "Guerlinade")

What was then missing was the very hard to handle civet. I trembled to even touch the bottle I have of this. Just touching the bottle has for effect that your fingers smell like shit and virtually nothing will get it off. It's so potent that it really has to be handled in a "molecular" fashion.

Using a Tailor's Wool Pin, (these are longer, and thicker than dress makers' pins) I immersed the sharp end of the pin into the civet, then in turn immersed it into the 7ml of re-blended jus. I shook it up, test whiffed it, and finding immediately that I was very distinctly on the right track, repeated the maneuver again, in exactly the same way: immersing the pin into the civet, then dunking it into the 7ml bottle, re-capping it, shaking it vigourously, then allowing it to sit for a few hours to "take." When I re-tested this endpoint on skin, to my delight, the result smells EXACTLY like the old Mouchoir de Monsieur extract I had specially made for me back in the 80's when I had a really close contact at Guerlain who worked in their lab. I've had it on for the last several hours and it continues to smell EXACTLY like vintage Mouchoir de Monsieur, and nothing like Bal a Versailles. The strength of this new altered extract is so potent that I don't foresee it fading anytime soon: We shall see if it ends up smelling like a dirty public toilet by tomorrow morning: This is the danger of toying with pure civet. Thus far, several hours in, I can *only* smell a fantastic interpretation of vintage Mouchoir de Monsieur in an extract form. Keeping my fingers crossed, I will continue to monitor it's development and keep all of you posted. As I write, sniffing my wrist, I am in a swoon: Hoping that the Royal Wedding will be a happy and harmonious one, even though the bride is a Class A Bitch.
39:GROUNDBERRY DOWN

Four hours later it still smells like vintage Mouchoir de Monsieur with the taste of Dame Bal a Versailles' juices in his mouth and all over his handkerchief. Three drops further of italian lemon pure essential oil recreates the fight, fine tunes what was missing. Eight hours hours in it's going strong and hasn't a hint of Public Restroom: Just the meekest suggestion of dirty crotch. The People are chanting "Vive le Roi!" and folowing it up with "Que la Reine Soit benie!"
40:MUERRINGUEPEAKS

after a full day of wear this concoction still smells so deep it's as if it has just been applied. The sillage of the first several hours is monumental, defying anything previously known to man. Were this sprayed on it could take down a football field full of revelers. Interestingly, the-twelve-hours-later-effect is still more "Bal a Versailles" than anything else: It goes on exactly like "Essence of Mouchoir" and then, over the course of twelve hours, slowly morphs back into a softened form of Bal a Versailles, which phenomenon prompted the following adjustments to the marriage contract: Removing the juice in its entirety from its 7ml round botle and putting it into a 30 pyrex lab vial, I added: 5ml more of Killian's Taste of Heaven, 1 more tailor's pin of pure Civet, four more drops of pure Benzoin, two drops opoppnax absolute, two drops pure lemon essential oil, two drops bergamot essential oil, 5ml Bal a Versailles eau de cologne, 5ml Mouchoir de Monsieur eau de toilette and one drop of Lavender Absolute. I hesitated using the lavender absolute: Of all the different kinds of lavender essences, this seems to be the most difficult to use, as it is the only one that will taint flight, heart and base. It's thick and dark green and so potent that misuse of it can cause many a mishap. I found I had to resort to this as 12 hours later there remains no hint of lavender whatsoever, though the Killian addition does soften the harsh, dry quality of the base comp. Adding the small amount of lavender absolute asserts this and hopefully will be able to live long enough to maintain the "Mouchoir" effect throughout the experience. This base juice, even diluted as it is with Bav edc and MdM edt is now so potent that it will have to be diluted by at least half, with 3.5ml, if not by 3/4, 5ml, of Bal a Versailles vintage eau de cologne, which is really just a kind of springboard: a very pale musky rose scent with hardly any tenacity. We'll see what this revised essence gives tomorrow when I reapply it after a nights rest. It's uncanny how, when first applied, the effect is 100% Mouchoir de Monsieur: The addition of the pure Benzoin oil does much to keep it from skewing more Jicky, taming the newly orchestrated lemon/bergamot flight noticeably. I do hope that this insane brew is not seriously toxic, because if it is it is now flowing in my blood. I'm sure that with this 7ml of essence and 13ml of eau de cologne I can achieve a wearable "parfum" strength. As it stands it is so dense it could be considered noxious. Any of you readers who did not believe Luca Turin when he suggested that it was hard to believe the 3.5ml (1/8 oz) Bal a Versailles perfum size "could fit so much scent in such a small bottle" should definitely believe. I don't know what they put in it, but it is indeed explosive. A suivre......
41:CREME BOUFFANT

I don't recall a relaunch of "les Plus Belles Lavandes," but by all means this is what "Pour un Homme" was called from inception all the way through the early seventies. I have a full bottle of Caron "Pour un Homme/Les Plus Belles Lavandes" and it is interesting to note that it is far less obvious in its approach to lavender than the "Pour un Homme" we have always known. The juice is not green, and neither is the box: Both are a kind of "jute" yellow: The colour of dried wheat. Having tested the vintage bottle, which I believe is from the 50's, along side some of the stock I keep, probably last bought in the early nineties, the original "Pour un Homme" was much softer and somehow more elegant: It does not have the bracing quality of the formula all of us have known and loved. I believe this bottle is in near perfect condition as when I got it the box was still cellophane wrapped, so the bottle, which is identical to the one we know with its screw cap, save for a metallic bronze cap where I had always known it to be black, also has a slight variation in the graphics on the label, including the name "Les Plus Belles Lavandes." As old as it is, it is still very distinctly "Pour un Homme," just a smoother delivery, with perhaps less of a staunchly asserted vanilla note. I must reluctantly admit that, having bought "Impact" as soon as it was launched, I never could get used to it: It was very strange in the flight, with a glue like aura that would not disappear for quite some time, and then so tenacious as to be disruptive. I actually gave my flacon away: I knew I would never wear it. The bottle was again that same standard design equipped with a stainless steel metal screw cap that once removed was quite heavy. I believe it came in a 60ml size. It was obvious to me that in this formula contained a pretty massive dose of lavender absolute, which would explain its rich green colour. The problem with lavender absolute is that it is a fairly "permanent" note, when most lavender/lavendin essences are fugacious by nature. I don't find the dry down of anything based on this raw material to be palatable to my taste, and that is why I don't much care for "A Taste of Heaven." It is the perfect example of misuse of lavender absolute: Several hours in, there's something about it that is just plain unpleasant: Unfresh in a suspect way and definitely difficult to remove from the skin. I love Caron's "Pour un Homme." As explained above it has been part of my life for as long as I can remember: As it happens, though, it doesn't quite fit into my current lifestyle. Interestingly, having found it so suave and racy in my early teens, I now find it borders on twee, "Fleur Bleue" as the French would say. It is by all means a beautiful lavender soliflore, and if someone is looking for this kind of fragrance, it is peerless: The "Impact," though, I could not take to at all. It's interesting that you should bring this up as I was considering using PuH edt to dilute my home brew above until I sampled it this morning and found that just that tiny drop of Lavender absolute had dominated everything: This is not obvious until the final stages of the evolution, and by that I mean 20 hours later: The sillage from my left wrist is still so potent that it almost hurts the nose if sniffed to closely. Waiving the wrist quickly in front of my nostrils I get a lovely effect that is absent if the wrist is brought to close to the nose: The next step will be figuring out how to dilute this. At this point I am veering toward the Bal a Versailles Eau de Cologne route, as this could be considered mere water next to the essence. Diluting this will be tricky. Thus far I have been testing by dipping a glass wand into the mixture and slapping it on my wrist. It's quite oily. I haven't a clue how to dilute this to a modern "parfum" strength. It seems as though I would need my entire stock of Bal EdC (16oz) to get to "Parfum," which I am not willing to surrender for an experiment that may not work. I'm letting the whole thing sit for awhile to settle: It seems to me I have lost the capacity to properly judge this mixture: I need to step away for awhile. Interestingly, we think alike on the great Caron comps: I have never been a fan of any of them. They are far too confusing and potent for my taste: As an exception, I do have a fondness for Bellogia. I can not ever smell "Tabac Blond" again, as it has very tragic associations for me: Just reading Larimar's excellent review had me beating back tears as it is so deftly described that I could smell it in my mind. Of all the Caron greats the only one I can consider wearing is "En Avion." This is fairly singular in the Daltroff vocabulary as it lacks the neurotic qualities all of the others seem to have: It is a delicate leather scent that is absolutely superb, save for those first few minutes after application when it explodes that strange "caronade" that seems to be in all of the Daltroff creations. When this dies off, it is a lovely, comfortable scent for me, albeit quite potent: One would expect nothing less from a Caron. If you haven't read it, I did post a review on this magnificent scent in Fragrance Directory. Of all of the Caron classics, (I don't count "Pour un Homme") I think this is the only one that I find wearable today. The others just have too much "action" for my taste, and are too remarkable. I am not one who likes to embalm an entire room when I make my entrance, thus my fondness for Guerlain. In this respect, I am most definitely a Cocotte, and only have pretensions of someday being a Grande Dame.
42eDtaH'ej chIS op

Interesting that you should comment today, Mikeperez23. I was thinking that I left the "Boudoir shot" up on my profile page for far too long: Originally I had meant to keep it up for just a week, paying homage to your prolific activities on BN and astounding number of posts: I finally just removed it for something slightly less....revealing. IngaMi and Knit at nite both expressed interest in my embarrassing "bee bottle habit." The current image, though less decorative, speaks volumes of the levels of indulgence to which these sometimes lead.....
43EEPN'HIDDEN

Fascinating. I believe I have never heard of this "purple" re-edition of "Les Plus Belles Lavandes." Somehow, that would have escaped me. I can't imagine how a Caron could ever evoke Yardley: The very essence of Yardley is in its' lightness, and, for all its mock simplicity, it is very definitely an intricate composition, so much so that I would not even call it a "Lavender Soliflore." I'm fussy about lavender. (Surprise, surprise....) The only true lavender soliflore that I know of that I love is Puig's Agua Lavanda, and of course, this truly is an "Eau," with hardly any tenacity, but that's just it: I think that, though I love lavender, and, somehow, I must always evoke lavender in every fragrance I wear, I have an horror of lavender absolute. It's so easy to witness what it is I mean by "lavender absolute." Monsieur Hennessey's "A Taste of Heaven," and Czech&Speake's "Oxford&Cambridge" both make copious use of it, as does Tom Ford's new "Lavender Palm," which, not surprisingly, like so many of the TF products, is nothing more than a carbon copy of something that already exists: "Lavender Palm" and "Oxford&Cambridge" are identical. All three of these that I name by example last too long, and the lavender note goes sour in the heart and in the base, giving off a very "perfumey" kind of vibe that I personally find impossible to wear and unattractive on others. Penhaligon's used to make a superb lavender, called "Esprit de Lavande," now discontinued, and it was the only true, long lasting lavender I have ever experienced that I didn't end up finding cloying and noxious in the base: This has been replaced in their range by "Lavendula," which definitely gets sweet and weird, where as "Esprit de Lavande" dried down ultra smooth and somewhat peppery. Brommley also made an interesting "Lavender" eau de cologne that was somewhat tenacious years ago, the very same now smells like an old lady's hall closet, to be avoided at all costs. Two peers that Yardley does have are Crabtree&Evelyn's "Lavender," and Casswell-Massey's "English Lavender." Both of these are lovely and wear beautifully. I can bring myself to wear Yardley English Lavender any day, but only because it does not last: These others, personally, or, as you all say, IMO, are just too much of a statement for me: I'm not fond of anything that speaks its name this clearly in any realm, be it fragrance, fashion, music, art, and beyond: In most all things of style I crave always a certain abstraction, even if it's subliminal. Yes, I love and wear perfectly tailored clothes, but my blazers are lined in unexpected cotton in contrasting colours and prints, and often I will have one red button misplaced somewhere on them, or some little something that is somehow out of place: I am a great believer in this sort of subliminal gesture that can very easily go unnoticed but is none the less present.
44:BAD FOR TRAINS

ROYAL WEDDING UPDATE:

I had to step away from this experiment for several days. The brew that resulted from all of my dosing and dropping had become so potent that the flesh of my wrists and inner arms had become saturated with it and no amount of bathing would remove it. I even feared trans-cutaneous poisoning at one point. I've let the "essence" settle for a few days and I have diluted approximately 20ml of it this morning with with 30ml of actual Mouchoir de Monsieur eau de toilette, which I in turn let settle for several hours. Having just slapped some on my right wrist, it is actually quite delicious upon application: It evokes both Bal a Versailles and Mouchoir de Monsieur simultaneously, as if it were a child of this union. 30 minutes in and the bergamot and lemon top notes emerge, where as, on application, it wafts a warm, comforting aura that almost evokes "Old Spice." This mixture, which I can tell could now be considered an "extrait de parfum," is a sillage monster: 10cm from my wrist with one dab I can smell it loud and clear. I also have a feeling that it will be a stain, somewhat like a Caron extract. Interestingly, were someone to blind test this on me, I would immediately suspect that it was a Caron jus: it has a crazy complexity about it, and a singular quality that would rival "En Avion," (minus the neroli blast "caronade" flight) As I inhale it I must admit that it is really very nice, though only time will tell what it will give in its final stages: At one point I know it had become frankly destroyed by one mere drop of lavender absolute, which mishap I had to offset with the addition of about 7ml of (new) Bal a Versailles extract, which, it would seem, would kill anything. I would describe this now as an abstract, powdery spice scent, with hints of rose and lavender, and a wank load of musk: In many respects, this does evoke Mouchoir de Monsieur, but only in the last stages of the dry down of the vintage formulations, which came several hours after application. It also evokes Bal a Versailles: But all of the manipulation has very successfully tamed this seething beast; the snarling monster that bursts out of the bottle and attacks you like a diabolical genie even before it is applied. As best as I can re-connect the dots, here is the the formula a it stands, which, now perhaps 45 minutes in, I am quite pleased with:

15ml (new, "Genesis Version") Bal a Versailles parfum
7ml Hennessey "A Taste of Heaven"
3 drops pure lemon essential oil
4 drops pure bergamot essential oil
4 drops pure benzoin essential oil
2 drops opoponax essential oil
1 drop lavender absolute (this was a mistake)
3 "tailor's wool pin" prick-ends immersed in pure civet and swirled around in the mix
30ml (Current formulation) Mouchoir de Monsieur eau de toilette as a diluant

I'm letting this stand for the moment to see how it develops. Judging from my last testings it was just too potent to decifer. I can tell now that I "killed" the lavender absolute; unless it emerges in 3-5 hours, I will be very close to a satisfactory end point. I can already tell that what it wants is a good amount of plain old lavendin, a tiny touch of patchouli, and perhaps a bit more civet. I am out of both lavedin and patchouli and I'm afraid to touch it with any more civet before I test out the effects of a good dose of lavendin. Unless this transforms into a skank beast of lavender absolute and musk within the next several hours, I feel as though I may be very close: Once revised again, It will require at least another 30ml of Mouchoir de Monsieur eau de toilette to dilute it down to a "parfum." If all goes as planned this Royal Wedding will have produced over 90ml of very convincing fake "Mouchoir de Monsieur" extract: Were a real version available commercially, I would pay any amount of money for it. Since Guerlain prefers to spend all of its time concocting an endless stream of cupcake novelties and limited editions, clearly in hopes of captivating the "youth" market, and obviously is unconcerned with its core clientele, (save for those who are devoted to "Shalimar") we must do what we can, whatever that entails, to remain true to ourselves.
45:SHOVELCRUSTED

...
46:anechoic

ROYAL MARRIAGE PAPERS NEARLY SIGNED!

The entry to my house is so full of boxes, many from France, that I had no idea that one of them contained what I require to continue this experiment: 1 300ml aluminum "bidon" of pure French lavendin, and a small amber vial of 30ml of pure patchouli essential oil: Both "perfumer's grade." Cello made an inquiry this morning about how the soon to be married couple have been getting on, and it has, indeed been somewhat of a rocky road: She over powers him, henpecks him, drowns him out. He sits still, looking wan, and can't be bothered with her brazen wailing, as if barely there at all. Unfortunately,
this has been the ongoing story for the last several weeks. However, about 3.5ml of the current "extrait de parfum," syphoned off into a pyrex mixing vial, and mixed with 10 drops of lavendin, applies like Jicky yet has been behaving EXACTLY like Mouchoir de Monsieur for the last hour. Interestingly, this same "test run" dose, augmented with a tailor's pin head dipped in the thick, dark patchouli oil, goes all funny and abstract in the application yet develops eventually into a STRIKINGLY EXACT replica of Mouchoir.
I'm afraid dosing this thick, dark, disquieting hippie oil from Indonesia is going to be very tricky indeed. I'm not sure how to even begin to do this: I've a fresh pyrex 200ml ground glass stoppered bottle now drying on the radiator: I believe that my +/-50ml of current "extrait de parfum" will require at least the same amount of lavendin: It's the lavendin (NOT lavender absolute) that really kicks her into submission and turns her into an obedient wife: It's also clear and perfectly colourless, and will do much to change the hue of the current jus from a deep amber to a more appropriate "Mouchoir de Monsieur" tone, at which point I will only have to sort out how to dose the patchouli, which could take weeks: This is almost as dangerous as the civet, and, even in 100ml of base, can only be added by tailor's pin head: A single drop would surely destroy the entire comp, I am convinced. Once this is done, The final stages of dilution will begin, to attain a wearable "extrait" or "parfum" strength, which should not be oily under any circumstances. What I'll use, I have thus far not decided: I'm half inclined to use Jicky eau de toilette in it's current formulation, as this is nothing at all, and has about as much essence in it to last about 15-20 minutes. The other choice is to use eau du coq: I think this will depend on which way the final outcome evolves. It could also happen that I dispense with the Patchouli all together: The Bal extract base must have quite a bit of this from the get go, and who knows what else! (it is said that it contains over 350 essences, not counting the usual preservatives, diluants, etc.) As I write, my right wrist contains one dab of the current base + lavendin, which smelled EXACTLY like vintage Jicky upon application, and my upper forearm contains one dab of the same test run augmented with the pin head of patchouli: Now, I can't decide which smells more precisely like MdM: Time will tell......
47:VANISHING WORLD

I hereby proclaim to all who are more (or less) interested, and also to those who don't give a fig: I am no lab technician! It is a pity that I have not been dosing my comp with more precision: As it stands I know I am certain that I would never be able to recreate it exactly, as I have merely a scribbled.....ehm.....a kind of "treasure map," which, itself, happens to be written out in three different colours of inks on the back of a bank statement! It's terribly pathetic. I wish I could photograph it and post an image of it on this thread as it is so abstract as to have "modern art" sensibilities: Nobody else could possibly read it: Some of it is in french, other parts are in english, and certain details are lain out in a secret inner language of my own, being a kind of hybrid of french, english, and gibberish: A language developed by myself and my best friend of thirty-five years, who very recently inexplicably rose early one morning while visiting his brother, walked into the kitchen stone cold sober, and drove a 20cm carving knife through his heart with the precision of a surgeon. We had developed a spoken means of communication that we used together, and only to each other, so intricate that people would regularly interrupt us in public and ask what language it was that we were speaking: Interestingly, since the unfortunate demise of my best friend, I now speak the language aloud to myself, mostly in the morning while making tea, and still half asleep: I'll be standing there waiting for the kettle to achieve the requisite roving boil, and surprise myself, day after day, checking this abruptly, thinking: "only madmen speak to themselves. stop it." I've also noticed the language popping up in written form: In days of old, when letters were still written, we would by post send each other long involved, multi-page confessions and plots, scrupulously written out in this language. Now, I find that, when writing out things for myself, I'll often, without thinking, write them just this way: As such, the "recipe" for this brew. Monkeybars offers an excellent suggestion, though: Handling the patchouli will be a much easier task if first diluted with something. The civet, on the other hand, whilst definitely more easily handled this way, presents still an unimaginably unpleasant assignment: Just touching the bottle leaves the fingers smelling as if they have been somewhere questionable, and opening it allows molecules to escape that linger in the air for days. This smell is so vile it is difficult to describe: One reader of this thread actually received from me a tiny pyrex decant containing a few drops of it, though he never commented on it, being exceedingly delicate and refined mannered. Civet and "Potty Talk" share in common the peculiarity of never being appropriate subjects of discussion, as proven by a certain conversation I remember having face to face with one who may, or may not, be reading this thread. Cello has decided upon the name of this brew, to which will henceforth be referred as "Bal des Mouchoirs." An appropriately surreal title, very fitting.
48:BLOWN FROM POLAR FUR

You are all hereby invited to the long awaited BAL DES MOUCHOIRS

It seems that my predictions were spot on correct: In order to tame HER, no easy feat by any stretch of the imagination, and almost 100ml of lavendin went to the wind and countless other drops and measures of other oils in order that she finally be gagged, tied and bound, and flung into one of the "hidden doorways" concealed in the panelling of that long, endless, infinity mirrored Louis XV corridor, and locked in forever, the perfect balance of HER and HIM has finally been achieved, and tested overnight, with very satisfactory results: To recreate it, follow this treasure path, which is, by all means, somewhat sketchy and unclear. (Sorry, Monkeybars. Wish you were here with your scale. Mine got tossed when my "weed" phase ended years ago)

Starting with the recipe mapped out above (post #45), which yields about 45ml of dark amber jus of positively nuclear strength,
add the following:

The same amount (+/-45ml) of plain Lavindin
Five drops of pure indonesian Patchouli oil

The Lavindin, being fugacious even in its oil form, performs brilliantly to gag Dame Bal. The Patchouli oil, being dark, thick, and scary, is not quite as terrifying to manipulate as I suspected, and also does much to kill that mega-rose-musk that is Dame BaV's hallmark. The result, now very heavy and oily, smells EXACTLY like vintage Mouchoir de Monsieur, but only about 15 minutes after application: The initial "flight" is strange and almost camphorous, most likely due to the vapourous nature of the high anounts of aromatic lavindin. I am now in possession of 90ml of what would appear to be "Mouchoir de Monsieur Huile de Bain." How to dilute this is anybody's guess: For the moment, I'm just letting it age. Suggestions for dilution (the obvious choice would be plain old Mouchoir de Monsieur edt) would be appreciated. Final documents not yet signed, but the Bitch is finally tamed.
49.MISTRAIDESPAIR

One last word, which monitors are begged to forgive, being very distinctly off topic:

Here is the soundtrack, with commentary, of mixing above concoction:

ON DAME BAL'S TEAM:

FLORENCE & THE MACHINE: "Ceremonials" (French grade 15.5/20, USA grade A-)
Commentary: A *very* surprising follow up to the groundbreaking and "must own" debut "Lungs" (FR Grade 16.5/20 USA Grade A) which lands lead singer/songwriter/musician Florence Welch squarely on the very exclusively reserved forum of legendary divas with a mere two LP's, furthermore apparently effortlessly breaking the age old "First album=Brilliant Second Album=Rubbish Third Album=Genius" rule.

ON MOUCHOIR DE MONSIEUR'S TEAM:

KATE BUSH: "50 Words For Snow" (French Grade: 14/20, USA Grade B+)
Commentary: Though less effected with "Mom-itis" than on Ariel, (even though her 13 year old son does lead vocals on opening track "Snowflake," and, by God, with the voice of an angel: He goes so high, and with such power, on certain notes, it's difficult to imagine the sound emanates from an human) a stunning follow up, making abstraction of the footnote Director's Cut which wouldn't count. Backed by a large group of male vocalists and an erie church choir, not the least of whom none other than Sir Elton John himself, Kate proves once again that she can deliver something completely unexpected and original, even compared to masterpieces of 20th Century music such as "Hounds of Love" and "the Dreaming." A beautiful, secret voyage very clearly not meant to be summarily dumped into i-tunes and heard randomly: This is an LP not to be toyed with or remixed. 65 minutes of sheer delight. Perfect and seemingly tailored for the dark days of winter.

PETER GABRIEL: "Scratch My Back" (French Grade 16, USA Grade A)
Commentary: I saw this "Concept Album" performed live, and there after immediately purchased 25 original issue CD's to distribute to my friends. This is the Master of Alternative Rock himself, some would call the very inventor of it, (those familiar with his early days with Genisis, prior to his unfortunate departure as lead vocalist and replacement with sub-par lead singer Phil Collins) absolutely KILLING with a long set of carefully chosen and *very daring* covers, including landmark works by David Bowie and Radiohead, backed by an 80 piece philharmonic orchestra, and no drums whatsoever. An heartbreakingly beautiful experiment. To hear the CD is a mesmerizing experience. To see it performed live, an unforgettable one: Opening the show, as well as the CD, with David Bowie's "Heroes," an entire stadium was weeping and reduced to tears within three minutes. An AMAZING gift for anyone, young or old. Baby Boomer parents will rejoice. Gen X, Y and Z members will enthrall and be enlightened.

Peter Gabriel (now competely bald and looking like a kind of wizard) and Kate Bush (still beautiful and seemingly unaltered by plastic surgery), ironically once lovers (explaining all the back up vocals she did for his solo work--that's her on "Jeux Sans Frontieres")--Both prove that being in your 50's does not mean being irrelevant to the evolution of modern music.

Florence Welch proves that in two LP's, she can kick Tori Amos's ass clear off the planet, staunchly illustrating that vocalists and musicians, no matter how talented, should never fall asleep upon their laurels, whence the "Mom-itis suffering Tori delivers her ridiculous latest, a "good for the rubbish heap" mess, heavily laden with a no-talent teenage daughter doing vocals, and sloppy musical arrangements that are flat out tiresome, an absolute train wreck further exasperated by visuals showing a formerly beautiful Tori so altered by bad plastic surgery that she is now a dead ringer for Cher in a red wig.

Showing my age with Music, and unafraid.

-le MdM
50. SNOW