Category Archives: Cologne

Risking my usual tendency to overshare, I am neither uncut nor much of a gem. I do think an argument can be powerfully made that I’m a raw and rough jewel, in dire need of faceting and polish, but I’m not a jeweler, and sadly I don’t know any or my jewelry collection wouldn’t be in such a shambles. My cologne cabinet, on the other hand, is pristine, and I’m putting out this Valentine’s Day request to add what may very well be the crowning jewel of it all: ‘Uncut Gem’. 

According to the typically over-the-top verbiage of the Frederic Malle website, ‘Uncut Gem’ “…is an unapologetically manly scent, diamond-hard and absolutely fresh. Clear, spicy top notes of ginger, bergamot, mandarin, angelica root and nutmeg lead you to the sensual fire within: a leathery accord, vetiver, frankincense, generous amounts of amber, and a musk that vibrates with the skin. This is a scent that plays with the tired codes of masculinity while extracting their telluric force to create something beautiful and irresistible.”

Man, that’s a lot to take, and I can boil it down to this: the scent is wickedly gorgeous – the precise dose of freshness and brightness with a heart of warmth that makes it work just as well in winter as in summer. That’s no small feat, as most of my colognes fall in one or the other; only the best ones straddle all the seasons. I tried it on a test strip on a breezy and too-brief trip through Copley Square the last time I was in Boston, and it was exquisite. (I also tried the pair of new Tom Ford cherries and neither was impressive or worth their hefty price tag.)

And so this is my Valentine’s gift wish – the 50 mL bottle of ‘Uncut Gem’ – which may be found at Frederic Malle, Neiman Marcus, and Saks Fifth Avenue. 

{If all else fails, I won’t be mad about a bottle of Tom Ford’s ‘Tobacco Vanille’ either.}

When one crosses the threshold into fall, it doesn’t always feel like fall. There are days when the sun is strong, and the heat builds like it does back in summer. The idea of a heavy and musky cologne at such a time feels as out of place as a wool cardigan on a hot July day. This makes fragrance a tricky thing, as I tend to be seasonally oriented when it comes to choosing what to wear on my skin. 

The solution is to find something that straddles both summer and fall, and for me that has been the fig. As much a part of high summer as it is the harvest season, the fig is a transitional fragrance that can swerve to sweet and fruity, while being reigned in with something more sharply aromatic. That marriage can be found in Diana Vreeland’s ‘Staggeringly Beautiful’. 

A little bit of background on how I came to be in possession of such a glorious gift: I’d had this on my wish list for a little while. It was an impulse add, an extravagant and lavish wish of high-hopes that I never quite expected to receive, as much as I would have liked to receive it. It was also a risky blind-non-buy selection – I usually don’t ask for something I’ve never tried, fragrance-wise, because that can be crazy dangerous. Notes and scents listed out on paper are often nothing like the actual aroma that the final combination might produce. (Luckily enough, some previous blind-buys have turned out to have very happy endings, such as Viktor & Rolf’s ‘Spicebomb’ and Tom Ford’s ‘Oud Minerale’ – still, it’s a risky business.) 

I wasn’t expecting anyone to choose such a lovely item for this year’s uneventful birthday, so when I opened up the pretty bag that Sherri and Skip had bestowed upon me and found this spectacular item, my heart jumped – as much for the perfume itself as for the touching generosity and thought that went into it. Sherri always knows the perfect gift to pick out, when even I’ve forgotten what I really wanted. She has a sixth sense about such things, the way she can pick out a pregnant woman practically on the morning-after. It’s also a testament to my friendship with both Sherri and Skip that they were kind enough to deliver this magnificent present. 

As for the fragrance itself, it joins a small but beloved collection of Diana Vreeland perfumes on my shelf: ‘Vivaciously Bold‘ and ‘Absolutely Vital‘. This third jewel in the Vreeland crown is the missing piece to a glorious triumvirate. ‘Vivaciously Bold’ is the bright spring awakening that often accompanies us to our Memorial Day adventures in Ogunquit; ‘Absolutely Vital’ is the winter sandalwood that has been present at holiday gatherings; and ‘Staggeringly Beautiful’ is the summer/fall beauty that will now remind me of happy power dinners with friends, planning what is going on with this very website.

‘Staggeringly Beautiful’ carries some of the same gorgeous threads that weave their way through the Vreeland perfume line, but avoids the cloying florals that some of those offerings fall prey to (which is why I will only have three). It opens sweetly with fig and citrus – a blast of fruity rich decadence – which is the perfect summer celebration. There is a green freshness that carries through, keeping things from going too sweet, and after an initial blast of some potent sillage, it dries down to something much closer to the skin – perfect for those days that are hotter and more humid than you think fall could ever be. Elements of bergamot and daffodil temper the ripeness of the fig with spring-like elements, hanging onto a bit of the sunnier seasons the way fall sometimes does. This is a beautiful transitional scent for the tricky time between summer and fall – many thanks to Sherri and Skip for bringing it into my world. 

Straddling the gorgeous crux of spring and summer, the scent of ‘Soft Lawn’ by Imaginary Authors is my first foray into this fragrance brand, and it’s a surprisingly impressive entry. This was a blind-buy request as an anniversary gift, and quite happily it was a raging success, fulfilling the descriptive literature that likened it to the scent of a tennis match day in a lifestyle to which I have never been accustomed, but I love the way it smells. Taking its name from an imaginary novel by Claude LeCoq (an imaginary name if ever there was one), it’s meant to be worn as a leisure scent on weekends, or days that you wish were weekends, which is pretty much every day right now. 

This was a welcome addition to my cologne cabinet, lightening the load of Tom Ford and filling in for the lackluster latest from the Hermes Jardin line. ‘Soft Lawn’ lists the tennis ball as one of its notes, but I find that may mostly be for the image it conjures instead of the actual scent. The other notes are more what I detect and adore, starting with the lovely linden tree, whose blossoms are just now coming on to perfume the local air. Some grapefruit helps open things up, before ripening quickly into something greener with oak moss, vetiver, and laurel and ivy leaves lending the dappled light of a forest to the proceedings.

It’s an ideal scent for this time of the year, and it is courteous enough not to stick around for more than a couple of hours. I don’t always admire that in a fragrance, but at $95 for 50ml, this is practically a steal. The packaging is exquisitely whimsical, conjured to perfectly resemble a book, and the bottle art is the sort of art-deco beauty that suits its lofty literary references. I’m going to order a sample set to see which one will see us through mid-to-late summer. 

It was on my birthday trip to Boston this summer on which I discovered the oud offerings from Byredo. That house has never been one to produce particularly potent scents – they err on the lighter side of things – whispers of elegance ad slivers of sophistication – but nothing strange enough to merit the higher price points. (‘Black Saffron’ is one of the main exceptions.) They have a pair of oud frags – ‘Oud Immortal’ and ‘Accord Oud’ – and it was between these two that I was torn. 

After sampling both, I decided on the ‘Accord Oud’ and its rich, leathery darkness. Opening with a powerhouse trio of blackberry, saffron and rum – it has elements of the exquisite ‘Straight to Heaven’ By Kilian and and undercurrent of Tom Ford‘s ‘Oud Wood’ and ‘Tuscan Leather‘. After a while, the scent deepens with the leather accord, clary sage and patchouli – and the rollercoaster has begun. 

The first time I tried it, the city was hot and humid, and I showered it off after an hour or so – much too soon to get the full fragrance journey, especially of this beast. Still, it was enough to sell me – except for the Boston Saks, which did not have this one in stock. I had to wait to order it online from Bergdorf and Goodman. You snooze on your inventory, you lose on a sale. 

It arrived a few days later, and when the calendar clicked to fall, I hastened to give it an office whirl. All the excitement and anticipation for a new fall fragrance – something I’d missed during the stay-home doldrums of 2020 – was dampened with a disappointing first time out. It smelled more synthetic and harsh than I remembered, and then it tapered quickly off – the worst of both worlds. Luckily, that may have only been the first few squirts of the bottle, for the next few times I tried it, the magic of that first try was back in full effect.

This is testament to the notion that the mark of a decent perfume or cologne – and how it performs – depends on numerous individual factors, and requires time to fully appreciate and understand. When this goes on me now, it still develops differently each time, and it varies based on whether it lands on my clothing or skin. The last time I tried it there were elements of Tom Ford’s ‘Soleil Brulant’ in the best possible way, when it rose up after a full day on the front of my shirt. On quiet days, and when it stays close to my skin, the leather is what comes out most. I like such unpredictability in our vastly unstable world, and I’ve come to appreciate it more than ever. 

Summers in Boston can be brutal. Once that heat and humidity seeps into the ground, and the subway, it simply sits there, bothering and annoying even in the midnight hour, and stubbornly lingering until October at the earliest. When the days creep into the 90’s, and the sun is not abated by cloud or tree cover, it becomes difficult to cool down, and when you’re trapped among the city blocks of concrete and cobblestone, the only relief is found within the mind. 

Such were the warm circumstances in which Suzie and I found ourselves on a recent Saturday walking along Newbury Street. To alleviate the heat, we ducked into the Aesop shop, where the temperatures were cool and the lighting was dim and everything suddenly felt tranquil and calm. So much of being hot has to do with noise and bustle, and if you can master that mental game then the world instantly becomes more comfortable. In this case we also had a big sink with cool water in which to sample their body washes and products. A fan since I purchased their delicious ‘Tacit’ fragrance, they have a number of sweetly-scented items that neither overpower nor overwhelm, and we set about to giving them a try.

Both of us are fans of geranium, which seems to originate neither from the popular annual plant that bears its common name, or the true perennial variety that blooms in subtle shades of purple. It’s a very green scent, herbal and pungent, yet soft and delicate. Cool enough to withstand the summer heat, and bright enough to dispel winter’s darkness. And so it was that I found myself with a ridiculously-pricey pair of products, all worth it in the end when I realized I could pair them so perfectly with the ‘Geranium Pour Monsieur’ fragrance by Dominique Ripion (in Frederic Malle’s exquisite line) that I had in my cologne collection. This is an ideal fragrance to use for the summer months, as it dissipated rather quickly, doesn’t rest heavily on the skin, and is light and bright enough to cut through the humidity that characterizes the muggiest days.

“Whatever life you lead you must put your soul in it–to make any sort of success in it; and from the moment you do that it ceases to be romance, I assure you: it becomes grim reality! And you can’t always please yourself; you must sometimes please other people. That, I admit, you’re very ready to do; but there’s another thing that’s still more important–you must often displease others. You must always be ready for that–you must never shrink from it. That doesn’t suit you at all–you’re too fond of admiration, you like to be thought well of. You think we can escape disagreeable duties by taking romantic views–that’s your great illusion, my dear. But we can’t. You must be prepared on many occasions in life to please no one at all–not even yourself.” – Henry James, ‘The Portrait of a Lady’

This is merely a holding space for an evening memory sometime in the not-too-distant future, a memory not yet made but happily on the hopeful horizon. As such, it is difficult to tell you what ‘Portrait of a Lady’ means to me, because I don’t yet know. I’ve worn it at home to get a feel for it, and to indulge in its dark beauty, but I’ve been holding back on fully experiencing it by melding it to a particular experience. What I have now is a slightly ephemeral experience, an amalgamation of a couple of try-outs in Copley Place back when one could test colognes, before the world hid safely behind masks.

It actually took quite a while before I decided to try it on me. The name didn’t quite appeal to my preferences. I’m all for ladies with an attitude, and portraits of ladies for that matter, but Henry James? Not my favorite. Give me Edith Wharton over James any and every day. However, in researching some quotes from the book, I am finding a new appreciation for his words. The same thing happened the first time I tried ‘Portrait’ as a fragrance. It wasn’t quite my thing, not in those early days, and not in my earlier years.

“One can’t judge till one’s forty; before that we’re too eager, too hard, too cruel, and in addition much too ignorant.” – Henry James, ‘The Portrait of a Lady’

Returning to it on a trip to Boston about two years ago, I released my issues with the name, embracing ‘Portrait of a Lady’ and trying it on as I made my way home one night. As I lifted one sprayed wrist to my nose and walked through the Copley Place Mall, I felt its mysterious pull, the incense-like smoke that so beautifully curled around the central notes of rose. For Christmas and Valentine’s Day I hinted at my desire for it, but when other lovely gifts arrived in its stead, I took it upon myself to treat my own desires. Like the complicated people Henry James grappled with, I didn’t want to depend on others, and maybe I needed a reminder that I could depend on myself. Whichever it was or wasn’t, I procured my own bottle and in the darkness of this past winter I held onto it, wondering if there would ever be a time when I would wear it out in public.

“The years have touched her only to enrich her; the flower of her youth had not faded; it only hung more quietly on its stem.” – Henry James, ‘The Portrait of a Lady’

More time, stolen away. More lost visits with friends and family. More lost everything. At certain ages, you feel how quickly it all goes. You sense the fleeting nature of our quick lives. By the time I had that precious bottle of beautiful fragrance in my possession, we weren’t even allowed to travel to Boston without a 14-day quarantine, and we were being cautious by not going out in Albany. Then I realized something I’d forgotten in my desire to be out spreading my sillage: I didn’t wear a fragrance so that others would admire me – I wore a fragrance because I loved it – loved the way it scented my space, loved the beauty of how it lingered in the air, loved the minor memories as they were culled and created. And so, on a recent April evening, after the day had given us a bright blue sky and a warming sun, after I had just begun working on the garden, I took my evening shower and sprayed a bit of ‘Portrait of a Lady’ and read over these passages from the novel. There was hope in the air – Andy had mentioned opening the pool, and I’d stopped by to see my parents and prepare for a delayed Easter dinner – and if that was the memory this scent would evoke, it would be enough.

“When you have lived as long as I, you will see that every human being has his shell, and that you must take the shell into account. By the shell I mean the whole envelope of circumstances. There is no such thing as an isolated man or woman; we are each of us made up of a cluster of appurtenances. What do you call one’s self? Where does it begin? Where does it end? It overflows into everything that belongs to us – and then flows back again… One’s self – for other people – is one’s expression of one’s self; and one’s house, one’s clothes, the books one reads, the company one keeps – these things are all expressive.” – Henry James, ‘The Portrait of a Lady’