Colonial Dames, the First California Perfume Comany?

I am enchanted by a new find this week, a wonderful vintage Lilac perfume with the evocative name Candle Light made by Colonial Dames. Marietta Bosworth Willats, an American stage actress, established the company in San Francisco in 1886.  Her picture, as well as some additional historical insights and photographs, is still featured on the official Colonial Dames website (http://www.colonialdames.com/). Colonial Dames was one of the first companies of its kind, particularly on the West Coast to offer its clients high quality skin care, toiletry products. In fact, the California Perfume Company- now Avon- is often touted as the first American perfume and tioletry company. It was also established in 1886 although contrary to it's name, on the East coast. However on the west coast  which was considerably less civilized at that time, Colonial Dames quickly became a favorite of Californian women. Actresses like Marietta and other modern-minded gals especially flocked to Colonial Dames seeking to enhance their natural charms. By the 1920s the company relocated closer to the heart of California's burgeoning film industry- Los Angeles. There Colonial Dames became an early favorite among professional make-up men and prop handlers, flourishing through the 1930s and 40s. In fact the company is still in existance although their current product line appears to consist solely of vitamin E oil and creams.

This photohgraph from the 1936 Three Stooges film short "Slippery Silks" provides us a glimpse of Colonial Dames products and among the jars, several perfume bottles. Reportedly the company produced a few perfumes after World War II, including Bachelor Button and Tra-La (1946), French Quarter (1956) and Cloud 7 (1961). Note that my own bottle has a foil/paper label, is made of very thin glass and has a panelled hand-blown mold construction. It has a tiny cut glass stopper as well. Considering its style and construction I estimate my Colonial Dames perfume bottle is from the 1930s. I was delighted to find the scent of the perfume seems to be well preserved!

At the very first whiff, I detected a strong animal, indolic note, and worried about the wearability of the perfume. But it was only a trace of fish, from the really sticky residue that had accumulated at the neck of the container. As soon as I dabbed some of fresher juice from inside the container onto my skin, I detected a much sweeter scent. At first, I had an impression of a jasmine, almost jonquil like scent, a spicy floral with a fruity, almost frambois quality. The perfume has a piercing intensity, animalic-turpentine touches and something harsher and woody, possibly vetiver, in the base. Yet the overall effect is sweet and floral and thoroughly wearable. As it wears, an ambery "play-doh" base with mild bready undertones emerges. I can detect a small amount of what may be fir balsam in the dry down as well. I asked my husband to give it a sniff in its full-on sweet phase- he's my 'control subject', and he said it smelled of fresh cut pine wood shavings and a spicy, incensy flowers.  He also gave it a thumbs up for wearability. Lilac is a classic flower that many of our grandmothers used in their own home brewed perfume concoctions and it has been largely ignored in fine modern perfumery. Aside from being lovely to look at, it is one of those flowers blessed with a complex nature and creates a soliflor that can smell like a fully developed composition. Candlelight is a lovely, rich and complex lilac. For as much as I can smell, the quality of the juice is apparent. For me, this is an important find because it speaks to the early history and high quality of commerical perfumery in California. I would say this humble creation rivals a period Caron in quality, which it reminds me of very much in terms of scent character.

The Vintage Perfume Vault, where the scent of yesterday's vogue lives.

Note: photographs of Miss Bosworth and the Three Stooges were borrowed from the Colonial Dames webiste, although the Three Stooges footage is available elsewhere. The shot of Candlelight Perfume bottle is my husband's.

Original Ungaro Perfume

You're looking at one of my new perfume cabinets which figures into my Ungaro story.

The original Ungaro perfume came out in 1977. I'm not sure when it was discontinued but occasionally you can still find it from the usual on-line suspect (E***). The bottles are gem-like, deep sapphire blue glass with an elegant pattern, topped by brilliant emerald green glass stopper (for the EDP, like mine above). The EDP is dressed up with a ruby pink ribbon at its neck, the EDT has a green plastic cap and a gold metal band instead. Save the plastic cover over the neck of the glass stopper, the presentation is quite opulent. Suggestive of gemstones and finely hung fabrics, it is as rich as the scent it houses. Released in 1977, Ungaro is very much in the style of 1980s powerhouse scents- and like Ungaro's fashions of the same period, it was a few years ahead of its time. Also like his fashions, this first scent was a melange of all good things, marrying complex layers of ingredients like precious florals, spices and woods.

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The scent opens with aldehydes, rose, coriander, orange blossom, jasmine, neroli, bergamot and lemon, followed by middle notes of iris, turkish rose and lily-of-the-valley. The composition rests on a base of sandalwood, tonka bean, amber, patchouli, musk, vanilla, cedar and cardamom. An oriental fragrance, the notes promise something decadent and festive and Ungaro does not disappoint. Indeed, it is a sumptuous treat for those who like their poisons thick and sweet. In fact before I checked the dates, I thought Ungaro Women might have been a nod to Doir's iconic Poison. But considering the Ungaro preceded Dior's creation by over 20 years, perhaps it was the other way around. And although my initial perception was that the two scents were nearly identical, in smelling them side by side, I found that Poison actually does have a rather bitter heart, and so it is quite well named; Ungaro on the other hand is pure confectionery bliss. The spiciness is tamped down (no patchouli here!) and tightly wrapped up in a rosy Turkish delight, powdered with Iris sugar crystals, swimming in a bowl of vanilla-flecked musk cream. Maybe the bowl is made of wood, because it is classified as a woody oriental. But it's really a gourmand's scent, a fantasy of floralized nougat.

Ungaro is very sweet and it's longevity is stunning as well. The bottle you see in the top photo toppled over and an ounce or so of the EDP soaked into our new home's carpet right under the new perfum cabinet, so the whole area is embued with it. The rose, vanilla, musk and sandalwood have lasted longest and I keep catching whiffs of it as I walk by.

The Vintage Perfume Vault, where the scent of yesterday's vogue lives.

Le FEU D'Issey

Just a short post today- I'm wearing Le Feu D'Issey after wearing Aimez-Moi for Thanksgiving and most of Black Friday. The anise and rose notes shared by both bridges the two scents beautifully. But the thing that drew me to this 1998 Issey Miyake release was the bottle. A solid Lucite globe of reddish orange, it reminds me of a Christmas tree ornament. The firey orb also reminds me of the sun setting over the Pacific ocean on a cool fall evening. But despite the sun metaphor, Le Feu resonates cold to me- it's a frosty solar scent, if that makes sense. The heart of Le Feu is Bulgarian Rose and fresh Coriander, which creates a "modern contrast of energy and sensuality." Le Feu is an easy wearing, casual perfume, although it has a quirky, almost medicinal opening which fades quickly to reveal woody rose facets, smoothed over with a subtle milky-salty caramel note. Although it was created in 1998 and has been discontinued, Le Feu is incredibly well blended and perfectly balanced. It is one of the few perfumes I would describe as futuristic (even today, it remains so). Jacques Cavallier created Le Feu and he has authored a number of other perfumes that I've owned and admired including YSL's Cinema and Nu, Jean Paul Galtier's Women, Alexander McQueen's Kingdom, Stella by Stella McCartney, and Givenchy's Hot Couture. Unfortunately for those who haven't smelt it, Le Feu is something of a cult scent, and it commands ridiculously inflated prices on EBay. Sadly I haven't been able to find a substitute but Clarins' Eau Dynamisante may come close (I don't have any on hand to compare to it directly). So, what rare vintage, discontinued or throw-back scents have you been wearing this holiday?

The Vintage Perfume Vault, where the scent of yesterday's vogue lives.

Removing Frozen or Stuck Perfume Stoppers

Recently Melissa asked me how can you remove a stuck stopper from a perfume bottle. Hopefully I can help out since I've tried quite a few methods, so let's run down the list.

When I first encountered stuck stoppers, I was told to try ice or cooling the bottle. I guess the thought is that the glass will retract and things should loosen up a bit. Well, cooling methods haven't worked for me. Running a bottle under warm water may work- if the lid is a threaded plastic or metal type and dried perfume residue is causing the lid to remain stuck-tight. Then it's just a matter of heating up the metal or plastic and twisting it off. The water might damage any paper label that's there, so keep a towel handy.

But the real challenge occurs when you run across a ground glass stopper that has become stuck or frozen in the neck of the bottle. I've even cut the cord on a sealed bottle only to find the stopper is frozen in place. So what to do? If you can access enough of the underside of the stopper, which is not always easy, old Chanel pamphlets (which used to come tucked into the perfume bottle box), advised you to tap evenly all around the stopper while applying gentle pressure until it comes unstuck. Good luck with this method! It probably works but I found it's difficult to pull off- you need some special kind of tool small and weighty enough to tap on such a small area and it requires major-league dexterity. The method perfected by my husband, which seems to work best, requires two identical pry tools- try two butter knife blades or two identical pocketknife blades. He lines the bottle up (I hold it) and works the two blade edges along opposite sides of the bottle (that's 180 degrees apart) nestling the edge of the blade right at the stopper and neck junction. He does it so the handles of each knife are on opposite sides of the bottle. Then he quickly, firmly, evenly pushes up on one knife handle while simultaneously pushing down on the other. The resultant force pops the stopper off the bottle, usually on the first try. But he isn't shy or hesitant about the movement- I think you might just chip pr break off the stopper top if you aren't smooth and decisive. I might recommend wrapping the top of the stopper or taping it up first if you do try this, so the top isn't damaged as it flies off the bottle and lands on the floor. Another technique I've used, for smaller bottles with round stoppers (like a small bottle of Poison perfume), is to wrap the stopper top in soft cloth, grasp it with a small pliers and gently turn it off. This method is easy, so you might want to give it a try first but don't use too much pressure or you will snap the stopper off at the neck for sure. Good luck but remember, no matter which method you try- you do run the risk of chipping, cracking or worse yet, breaking off the stopper top. Below you see the tragic result of an attempted removal gone wrong. That being said, the two knife method has never damaged a bottle of mine.

And it's always worked. Except with one particularly old, square-shaped stopper on an older bottle (1800s) with no clearance between the stopper and the bottle (a short neck). In that case, I tried everything that I've told you about here and more but nothing worked. I held onto that bottle for quite a while, trying to decide what to do about it. I didn't want to ruin the bottle- it was so old. But the juice inside finally won over. I really wanted to smell it! So I went for the most extreme method I know- drilling and emptying. The procedure was achieved using a small masonry drill bit called a glass bit, that bores a round hole into glass. You need to build up a coffer damn on the glass so you can keep a puddle of lubricating fluid to cool and help the bit get through. To do it, make a ring of silicone putty, stick it to the glass area around where you'll drill into the glass. Fill the ring with a few drops of light machine oil, like 3-in-1, or another suitable fluid before you start. I held the bottle in place with more silicone putty. It went beautifully; I was able to drill through without any contamination by going slow, and I kept an absorbent towel nearby to soak away the oil as I got down to the last layers of glass. Then, I decanted the contents directly from the hole, plugged it up and I was able to display the 99% intact bottle. Well, I hope this helps at least one of you get into that bottle of perfume you've been hanging on to with the stuck stopper. Let me know how you do!

The Vintage Perfume Vault, where the scent of yesterday's vogue lives.

Is it Safe to Wear Old Perfume?

If you read down to the comments on my Chypre post, you will see a couple of my readers have asked some very good questions about vintage perfumes. So good, in fact, that I've decided to respond to those questions here in a separate post so more of you can share in the answers. Now for the disclaimer- I'm just sharing my own experiences and opinions; I do not recommend that anyone else should necessarily follow me! Use your own common sense and practice safety at all times.

OK, so let's get down to business. First, Alessandra asked about the safety of wearing vintage perfumes. The short answer is yes, it is safe to wear vintage perfumes.

Now for the long answer: it is safe, but only in as much as it is safe to wear any perfume. Skin can definitely become irritated by many different perfumes and other scented products, like soaps and creams, but that is regardless of the age of the product. I know that my skin can become irritated by a few perfumes, but they tend to be carnation-spicy scents (eugenol), chypres (oakmoss) and certain musk oils. The worst effects I've experienced amount to some slight burning sensations and in more extreme reactions, transient redness of the skin in the area where I applied. I've had problems when those scents are applied right after a shower or bath or in lavish amounts. I find the perfume in extrait or oil form can be especially problematic probably because the scent molecules are more concentrated in those formulas. I avoid applying over large areas, soft areas, untanned areas or along the insides of skin folds, or anywhere skin is often rubbed. But if one was actually to become allergic or chemically sensitive to a particular scent molecule or any scented product, old or new, the reactions could be quite severe. But I stress to you that for me it does not matter whether the product is old or new, just the particular ingredient.
On a tangentially related subject, I have read on many blogs the myth that perfumes expire quickly and must be discarded after a certain age. Well, I think that is just pure myth. Scents, especially fine scents, do change over time, just as fine wine or liquors change as they age. Certain scent molecules are more prominent in younger formulas, lending a boldness or brightness, while other notes are created and accumulate as things stew in their own juices. As some notes fade others emerge or become uncovered adding depth to the formula. So the character and color of a juice usually changes as it matures and ages.

As an industrial perfumer or any modern-day scent brander I can see where one would aim to capture a particular scent and set the scent profile in stone. In those cases, the formula might be designed specifically to be stable and consistent over time and from bottle to bottle as possible. It's fine for my Gain or Downey fabric softener but I reject that type of thinking in fine perfumery! I tend to think more like a vintner or gardener. You have to approach each harvest, each batch and each bottle of scent as it's own thing. You may know you prefer a certain type of wine or variety of flowers, but you probably also recognize that sometimes the scent or taste quality of these things are exceptional but sometimes, they are just OK. I say Carpe Diem provided you don't have to pay a premium for the bottle. The bottle or historical import of a presentation tends to impart most of the value in cases where vintage perfume bottles command premium prices. I am not a bottle collector, so I avoid those deals. But if you can manage to find a second hand bottle of perfume offered at a reasonable price, consider giving it a try. Because in the end, I've found that vintage perfume is a lot like life; things change, but mostly in predictable and agreeable ways.

The Vintage Perfume Vault, where the scent of yesterday's vogue lives

Perfume Musings (of an ex-smoker)

I'm not sure I've ever said it or even thought about it much but I used to be a smoker and I believe that's where my fascination with perfume began. I may have lacked a true appreciation for the dangers of that bad habit but I certainly realized the reek of smoke clinging to one's clothes, hair and hands was not pretty. I recall selecting my signature scents, partially on their ability to blend in with and mask the residue of my cigarettes. And so I leaned naturally towards sharp greens, smoky leathers and spicy orientals from early on. Those types of perfumes seemed best suited to masking fumes and after repeated wearings they became my preference. While my love of proper perfumes waned and laid dormant for a long time after I quit smoking, I continued to have a keen interest in incense and the head-shop variety of scented oils. Now it's been some time since my interest (being polite) in perfume has been rekindled but recently I found a nifty little bottle of Bandit parfum, that famous leather scent by Robert Piguet. This is the vintage version, not the horrifying newer release (which I keep, unopened and wrapped in it's cellophane- as a punishment, on my lower shelf). The tarry, almost skunky-tart green leather of the original version is mouth-watering. The scent memory is pure bliss as well: my smoker's hands redolent of comfortably roasted tobacco, my back warmed by the autumn sun, strolling through the Tenderloin, with a group of junky musician friends, on our way to a friend's flat. No bills and no cares- and an innocent ignorance of everything to come, the vigor of youth stinging in my blood. Those were the days, lol.

But Bandit was there with me, covering up every trace of indiscretion and adding a certain flare, an unexpected dash of style to my low-brow ways. So now of course Bandit is an old friend. It understands me and I understand it. I discovered other soul-sisters in the guise of scents, specters and members of my perfume-spirit family, scents that took me back to down-home and my soul's roots. At one time there was Halston Couture (never just Halston, only the Couture!) which was the first perfume I actually inducted into the Vintage Vault. I went into absolute panic mode when that one was discontinued; it was before the days of the internet and trying to locate a bottle of HC was a truly monumental project. Chanel's Cuir de Russie and Opium joined the select group, and most of my old-school chypres now belong as well. These are the scents I reach for first when I want to feel wise and witty and warm but no one seems to get it (or me). I guess this is more a perfume reminisce and a chance for me to sing the praises of the heavy perfumes, those strange brews that were authored for a purpose even it was just to challenge, whose makers weren't afraid to use potent ingredients in generous proportions, and who succeeded in creating masterpieces capable of not only masking the repellent odours that haunt our very existence, but also seducing us with the very same breath.

The Vintage Perfume Vault, where the scent of yesterday's vogue lives.

True Chypre Perfume (Vrai Chypre)

Today I dove into a real find- Vrai Chypre from Frédéric Geille. I've been wishing lately for an old chypre, a new one to add to my collection. One of truest of grails and just the type of plunder to see one through even the roughest of patches in one's pursuit of scented nirvana.... especially the pursuit of a vintage scented nirvana. And Geille A Paris is perfect for me- a really obscure name, circa 1930-40s. There is another Geille perfume, Cœur Caucasien or Cuir Caucasien from 1943, also by Frédéric Geille, pictured on the Museu del perfum site.

Vrai's bottle strikes me as a release rfom an earlier date. The tightly wrapped cord of silk under tarnished metal- silver washed copper perhaps- had essentially rotted and clotted around the sealed bottle. After sawing through the cord, I found the stopper was stuck... and a single chip along the outer edge of the stopper, as if someone previously had attempted to prize it loose with a pliers sometime earlier. But my husband has gotten pretty good at popping stuck stoppers off. So yeah, it yielded without any further damage to the bottle or lid, which is always a nice thing.

I love the name of this perfume as well, it translates to something like "True Chypre". We're always looking for a real chypre, aren't we? Coty did not originate the Chypre but I like to think he codified Chypre into mythological status. A large, sealed bottle of late 1920s Coty Chypre is still the centerpiece of my entire vintage collection, hundreds of bottles later. Magically, it was the second original period Coty Chypre I've came across. my husband actually brought that first bottle home to me. I found it sitting unceremoniously on the coffee table one frosty autumn morning, surrounded by silver coins, pocket knives and fishing lures... glittering like a precious crown jewel . The bottle was open and I took to wearing it just long enough before letting it go on to another collector, to become thoroughly enslaved to that authentic, old school style of chypre. Crepe de chine, vintage Femme and several other "no name" chypres have followed, plus the more accessible classic 'modern' chypres (Ysatis, Paloma Picasso et al.) But there's nothing like the real thing, baby.

I don't want to bore you to tears but especially if you don't already know how older chypres smell, you might like hear about the notes. Vrai is a leathery floral chypre. Chypre is a formula built around earthy patchouli and loamy, smooth oakmoss plus labdanum. Labdanum is a richly fragrant lichen-like substance that was first combed from the hair of goats who picked it up grazing on the Mediterranean rock-rose shrub. The patchouli is refined and sublime without any of the spikey, sinus penetrating fumes. This base is rounded out by the classic harmony of citrus against a floral. The rose begins dusty pale; the bergamot was shy at first but it bloomed thanks to a muggy evening. The leather has a savory/creamy tang similar to goat's milk and under it all is a surprisingly familiar musky finish. I just wish I could share it with a wider audience.

The Vintage Perfume Vault, where the scent of yesterday's vogue lives.