Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts

Sunday, September 1, 2013

The Beauty of Bell Curves, with applications to perfume





As of today, September 1, 2013, at 10:34 pm Berlin time, the Parfumo database lists 31,748 perfumes. For the past few months, I have been attempting to pull all of my perfume reviews together in a searchable archive. I'm not quite finished, but as of right now, there are 2,114 reviews. 

The goal of Parfumo appears to be to list all perfumes in existence, whether discontinued or readily available. My goal? Just to travel around the olfactory universe a bit. Do I have any intention of reviewing another 28K perfumes? No, of course not. Maybe I'll call it quits when I reach 3K, but one thing is clear: I have no desire to sniff the vast majority of perfumes in existence. Why? The answer, my fragrant friends, lies in the beautiful bell curve:






Bell curves depict a "normal" or Gaussian distribution of some quality or thing covering a fixed range. They are perfect for evaluations of things which come in all sorts of varieties and specifically when we choose to rate those things using simple numerical scales. I rate perfumes on a scale from 1 to 10, with 1 being rock bottom scrubber, and 10 being incredibly wonderful, even transcendent. In a normal distribution of things along the x axis, the number of items (shown on the y axis) at the lowest end will be matched by the number of items at the highest end. The ratings eventually drift off to nothingness at both ends when continuous and not discrete measures are used.

Bell curves are useful for handling lots of things in real life, believe it or not. Take people, for example, but let's also stick with perfume. Of the people you happen to encounter in your life, how many of them are completely anosmic? Probably not very many. If we were to graph that trait, I imagine that only a tiny number would be completely anosmic, and it might well match the number of people who are hyperosmic to the point of throwing a fit whenever anyone wears a scent in their presence. Most people fall somewhere in between. 

There are lots of statistical nuances between mean and median, and so forth, but for our purposes, to think about what we should expect when we set out to test perfumes, this simple bell curve is good enough.





The numbers didactically displayed on this particular version of the bell curve indicate that 68% of things fall right down the middle of the range, and 96% of things fill the broad underbelly of the curve. Most things, including perfumes, are average. Some are above average; some are below average. The extreme outliers are the top 2% and the bottom 2%. 

Let's think about those numbers for a moment. If you test 100 perfumes, how many, realistically speaking, should be masterpieces? Well, if perfume ratings are plotted along a normal distribution, then you should expect the number of scrubbers to pretty much equal the number of masterpieces. This is not to say that any two perfume wearers will agree on which ones those are. 

Every single trait, every sensitivity to every scent (and ingredient) included in a perfume, and every single taste can also be understood in terms of a bell curve distribution. Consequently, we should not expect to see all that much convergence in opinions about perfumes, it seems to me. What we should expect, however, in every case, is that to any given perfume wearer, most perfumes should be average. This might even be a tautology.

I have often wondered how I could explain my innate disdain for people who throw temper tantrums about perfumes which they happen not to like. Yes, they are childish, of course, but how and why exactly? The answer, my fragrant friends, lies here in the bell curve. We should rationally expect the worst 2% of all perfumes to be just that. It would be crazy to expect more than 2% of all perfumes to be masterworks, would it not?

Not so fast, sherapop. It's all going to turn on the reviewer. If someone actually expects every perfume to be a masterpiece, then he will be disappointed 98% of the time. On the other hand, if a person has no powers of discrimination, then everything will smell great. Will it not? But what, you may by now be wondering, does the actual perfume rating distribution look like for a real live perfumista?

Inspired by Undina, the reigning Queen of Perfume Stats, I set out this afternoon to plot my very own ratings and determine whether or not I evaluate perfumes numerically in accordance with a normal bell curve distribution. Here's what I found:





As you can clearly see, my ratings lean to the right, relative to a normal distribution. Although my numbers of absolute scrubbers and masterpieces are very similar, I am more generous in bestowing ratings on the wearable perfumes in the broad underbelly of the curve. I give an unexpectedly large number of 6's and 7's, which is probably because my approach is to award ratings based on an "all things considered" system. I take into account the cost of perfumes which strike me as an exceptionally good value, and as a result, I'll give a Molinard a 7 which I might have given only a 5 or a 6, had it not cost me nearly nothing.

All of this makes me wonder whether I should try to not do "all things considered" ratings. Until I remember that people may read my reviews, and they may be looking for some useful advice, especially if they already know that we have similar tastes. Keeping those people in mind, I feel that I should continue on with my "all things considered" ratings. So if a perfume costs $800 and smells like an average designer launch, then I may give it only a 4 instead of a 5, even though it is completely wearable. In this way I am basically expressing my opinion that it is not a perfume which I would recommend purchasing. Why? Because I don't see the point in spending $800 for a perfume very similar to a perfume which costs $80.

There is another possible explanation for the right-side heaviness of my curve: I do not seek out perfumes which I am fairly sure a priori will not smell good. I tried a couple of the Coty drugstore scents, and they were so horrible that I simply decided to avoid liquids in that general territory. This means that I am not really sampling a normal distribution of perfumes. I am not randomly spritzing in the dark. I decide to sample some perfumes and not others, and that selection process weeds out more of the perfumes that might have shown up in the 2, 3, and 4 rating region of the curve. 

I also test a lot of niche perfumes. Whether or not I happen to think that they are great, they are often very nice, and because I care very much about high quality ingredients, even a solid niche perfume which does not break any new ground may receive a 7 from me, just because it smells so nice. 

Now I'd like to open up the floor. What does your ratings distribution look like, and why? Can you think of other explanations for the leaning to the right of mine? Of course, I could just be indiscriminate, but that does not explain why the far left and the far right do appear to be normal. Or are they? I need to do a quick calculation. 

The total number of reviews is 2114, so 2% is about 42! This means that my extreme termini are unexpectedly low--at both ends of the graph. 

So it's really true, after all: Most perfumes are average! Or at least I believe that they are...





Sunday, June 9, 2013

El perfume no te salvará—Ni siquiera un perfume de violetas...



Muchisísimas Gracias 
a Gabriela Cortés por esta traducción de mi ensayo en inglés,  




Reflexiones sobre

Nadie te oye: Perfume de Violetas (2001), 

  un filme de Maryse Sistach*







  La Historia

Perfume de Violetas está ambientada en la actual Ciudad de México en donde dos chicas adolescentes, Yessica y Miriam se vuelven amigas en cuanto Yessica llega a su nueva escuela. Ella había sido expulsada de su escuela anterior debido a mala conducta. Yessica es una chica decidida, pero sus conflictos con la autoridad parecen surgir con bastante frecuencia debido a un exceso de energía, además de su rechazo a someterse dócilmente a sus abusadores.

Yessica es una chica sensible con una gran alegría por vivir y esto es evidente en su amistad con Miriam. Lo primero que Yessica nota en cuanto se sienta en la silla detrás de Miriam es que su largo cabello negro huele maravillosamente bien. Ella admira a Miriam desde el momento en que se conocen y de ahí en adelante se convierten en mejores amigas.

 

Yessica vive en un sector pobre de la Ciudad de México, tan pobre que las puertas de su casa que se encuentran por debajo del nivel de la calle son solamente cortinas, una clara indicación de que su familia no posee nada de valor para proteger del robo. Su madre trabaja muy duro lavando ropa ajena y cuando Yessica está en casa, también tiene que trabajar, ya sea lavando ropa o trastes o cuidando a los hijos más pequeños de su madre. Su padrastro y su hermanastro son los estereotípicos machos latinos y ambos parecen apreciar muy poco a Yessica o a su madre.

Mientras la amistad entre Yessica y Miriam se va desarrollando, la diferencia de clases entre las dos chicas se vuelve más gráfica. Miriam vive en un departamento de dos pisos con ventanas y puertas protegidas con barrotes—algo usual en los vecindarios de clase media en Latinoamérica. Al principio, todos los barrotes pueden llegar a impactar a los visitantes de países prósperos donde el nivel de seguridad en general no requiere de tales medidas. En los vecindarios de clase media alta en Latinoamérica, hay guardias de seguridad vigilando en las esquinas y en áreas de mucha afluencia y también es común que vigilen cada casa individualmente.

El estándar de vida de Miriam podría considerarse parecido al de los trabajadores pobres de los Estados Unidos, ya que su madre tiene largas jornadas de trabajo vendiendo zapatos en tiendas como Payless, sin embargo desde la perspectiva de Yessica, Miriam vive en el lujo.


La primera vez que la chica va a la casa de Miriam, Yessica admira la opulencia de tales "lujos" como un refrigerador y una tina de baño. Las dos chicas se dan el gusto de bañarse juntas, jugando con burbujas y pasando tiempo juntas. Además de tener en común el amor al maquillaje y al perfume, Miriam y Yessica sienten una conexión por el hecho de que ninguna de las dos conoció a su padre, siendo las dos hijas de madres solteras, aunque la madre de Yessica se haya vuelto a casar.




 Mientras se va desarrollando su amistad, el aroma de las violetas se vuelve un vínculo que las une. Miriam le lleva una barra de jabón a la escuela a Yessica para que lo huela, confirmando que es el mismo aroma que ella olió en su cabello el día en que se conocieron.

En la casa de Miriam, Yessica constantemente está rociándose con los atomizadores que encuentra. Parecen perfumes baratos o rocíos corporales de perfumes que se venden en farmacias, pero para Yessica son un néctar de los dioses. Las chicas también juegan con maquillaje y bailan cuando están juntas en la escuela, pero la historia toma un giro inesperado y negativo un día en el que Yessica va caminando sola de regreso a su casa después de haber ido a casa de Miriam.
 

Esta escena desgarradora en la que Yessica es brutalmente violada, fue presagiada por conflictos anteriores. Al principio, las chicas se resistieron a las insinuaciones del hermanastro de Yessica y de su amigo, un chofer de autobús. Además, Yessica y su hermanastro están en constante conflicto en casa, sumergidos en una implacable lucha de poderes.


De forma escandalosa, el chofer del autobús sorprende a la chica cuando va caminando por la calle y la obliga a subir al autobús que se encuentra estacionado en un terreno baldío. Mientras tanto, el hermanastro de Yessica se sienta afuera del autobús para vigilar que nadie se acerque y se percate de lo que está sucediendo.

La violación deja a Yessica muy lastimada. Cuando regresa a la escuela, otros estudiantes se dan cuenta de la mancha de sangre en la parte de atrás de su falda durante la clase de deportes. La maestra la lleva a la oficina de la directora, en donde la regañan ambas mujeres y Yessica es incapaz de explicarles lo que acaba de ocurrirle. La directora se parece de forma escalofriante a Condoleezza Rice, recordándonos aquella frase que dijo: "No queremos que la evidencia irrefutable sea un hongo nuclear" y se comporta de manera hostil, abusando verbalmente de Yessica y lastimándola todavía más.

A pesar de todo lo que le ha sucedido, Yessica se tranquiliza y sigue adelante, negándose a permitir que la intimiden.

Pero la violación le ha 
pasado factura a la chica y cuando va con su novio a La Fuente, una especie de mirador donde las parejas se reúnen para pasar tiempo a solas, ella lo empujabruscamente cuando él intenta tocarla. Ella salta y corre, dejando atrás al chico que se queda confundido con el comportamiento de la chica. Claro que todo tiene sentido,tomando en cuenta lo que le ha pasado recientemente.
  



Miriam y Yessica continúan pasando tiempo juntas y un día que están viendo ligas para el cabello en un quiosco, Yessica roba una pequeña botella de perfume de violetas al que no puede resistirse. La chica corre con la botella, dejando atrás a Miriam, quien tiene que enfrentarse a la ira de la dueña de la tienda.


Miriam paga por el perfume y queda en estado de shock al ver que su mejor amiga fue capaz de hacerle tal cosa, va a la tienda donde trabaja su madre y le cuenta lo que sucedió.

La madre de Miriam ya estaba preocupada por la amistad de Miriam y Yessica, ya que anteriormente se dió cuenta entre otras cosas, de que fumaron en el departamento, lo que la enfurece ya que para ella fue muy difícil dejar de fumar.


Después de que su amigo, el chofer del autobús violó a Yessica, su hermanastro a quien el incidente le parece cómico, le advierte que no le diga nada a nadie acerca de lo que sucedió "o si no..." Él acepta el dinero que le da el violador como pago por hacer guardia durante la violación y usa este dinero para comprarse un par de tenis nuevos.




Durante la película, la fascinación que sienten los personajes relativamente pobres con objetos comerciales como objetos del deseo se muestra una y otra vez. Simbólicamente es la madre de Miriam quien le vende los zapatos al joven, ignorando por completo su conexión con Yessica.

La amistad de Miriam y Yessica ha sufrido una ruptura severa debido al robo del perfume de violetas y a la humillación y la vergüenza que esto le provocó a Miriam. Pareciera que no hay manera de reparar el daño, pero Yessica hace un collage de fotografías de ella y de Miriam y regresa a su casa para dárselo, disculpándose por lo que ha sucedido. 



Las chicas sienten alivio al reunirse de nuevo y Miriam desobedece el consejo de su madre de alejarse de Yessica. También le permite entrar a la casa en contra de las órdenes de su madre

En una de estas visitas, Yessica roba un fajo de dinero escondido dentro del joyero de la madre de Yessica, el cual le da a su propia madre, quien se ha quejado en reiteradas ocasiones de sus problemas económicos. El dinero robado son los ahorros de la madre de Miriam para comprar una televisión y cuando descubre que el dinero no está se enfurece. Acusa a Yessica e insiste en que no es solamente una ratera, sino una golfa. Básicamente, su explicación acerca de lo que le sucedió a Yessica (la violación) es que "ella se lo buscó."




Increíblemente, el chofer del autobús y el hermanastro de Yessica la vuelven a interceptar de nuevo para violarla en el autobús (al parecer se trata de violaciones seriales, aunque en la película solamente se muestran dos incidentes explícitos). Esta vez Yessica está aturdida y confundida, encuentra la manera de ir a la casa de Miriam pero no hay nadie.





Todas las puertas y ventanas están cerradas con cadenas y candados para evitar que alguien entre. Cuando comienza a llover, Yessica se esconde bajo la escalera y se queda dormida.

Al día siguiente, Yessica logra llegar a la escuela, donde la madre de Miriam ya ha hablado con la directora acerca de los robos que ha cometido Yessica—el perfume de violetas y el dinero—y mandan llamar a Yessica a la dirección, pero dos de los miembros del personal se percatan de lo que le ha sucedido (sus rodillas tienen moretones y su cuello está sangrando).

Por fin alguien en la escuela admite lo que ha sucedido y le dice a Yessica "Nadie tiene el derecho de hacerte eso." Mientras que la chica está en la enfermería de la escuela, Miriam le avienta un avión de papel por la ventana con una nota que dice que se reúnan en el baño.


Yessica va al baño esperando una reunión con su amiga. En vez de eso, Miriam la insulta verbalmente repitiendo las palabras con las que se expresó su madre acerca de Yessica: ¡ratera, traidora, puta! Las dos chicas están muy enojadas y comienzan a pelear, culminando trágicamente en la muerte de Miriam cuando se cae y se golpea la cabeza con la taza del baño.




Yessica se escapa y se dirige a la casa de Miriam donde se acuesta en su cama.

Cuando la madre de Miriam regresa a casa esa noche, encuentra la puerta entreabierta y se preocupa por su hija hasta que ve que su cama está ocupada. Se acuesta al lado de Yessica, quien está completamente cubierta con una cobija en la oscuridad. La madre se siente aliviada de ver que su hija está en casa, sana y salva porque piensa que la persona en la cama es Miriam. La película termina con el teléfono timbrando, es la llamada de alguien en la escuela para darle la noticia acerca de la horrible muerte de su hija.




Discusión

Perfume de Violetas es un filme depresivo y casi nihilista. Ciertamente es un ejemplo extremo del cine negro, si bien se sitúa en la Ciudad de México, donde la corrupción cubre la historia por completo. La única persona entre todos los personajes que es completamente inocente es Miriam, quien muere asesinada como resultado de todas las fuerzas malignas que la rodean.

¿Cómo se hubiera podido prevenir esta tragedia? Tal vez si Yessica hubiera denunciado la primera violación tan pronto como sucedió. No lo hizo porque vivía en una cultura donde se asume que la culpa es de las mujeres quienes deben aceptar cualquier cosa de parte de los hombres. El comportamiento de las mujeres hacia otras mujeres a través de la película nos revela que ellas también han sido infectadas con el insidioso sexismo.

Mi reacción inicial a este filme fue que el final es exagerado e incluso siniestro, estirando nuestra credulidad más allá del punto de ruptura. El desenlace de hecho me recordó mucho al que es probablemente mi filme noir favorito (¡también en centelleante tecnicolor!): Plein Soleil [Purple Noon] (1960), dirigido por René Clément.

El trauma que experimentará la madre de Miriam al darse cuenta que la chica en la cama de su hija no es Miriam, quien de hecho está muerta, es verdaderamente difícil de imaginar.

La película está bien hecha y tiene un buen ritmo, cubriendo una impresionante cantidad de temas en tan solo 90 minutos. Claramente es una producción de bajo presupuesto pero está bien dirigida y las actuaciones también son muy buenas. También quedé impresionada con la ingeniosa selección de música. Mi queja principal acerca del filme fue solamente que la trama es tan terrible que es poco realista. Me quedé en estado de shock al enterarme en IMDB.com (la base de datos de películas en internet) que Perfume de Violetas  está basada en una historia real. Así que aunque la historia sea poco realista, resulta que los eventos que nos presenta realmente sucedieron, lo que hace que sea todavía más horrible.

Perfume de Violetas es una obra importante. Resalta las condiciones de vida de los pobres y de la clase trabajadora en la Ciudad de México y sigue la tradición de los autores de filmes en español como Luis Buñuel, quien durante su estancia en México dirigió Los Olvidados  (1950), un filme crudo en blanco y negro que también trata acerca de la situación apremiante de los pobres en la Ciudad de México pero se trata de gente en peores condiciones que Miriam o Yessica (y sin acceso al conocimiento o a los perfumes). Las Hurdes  (1933), dirigida por Buñuel en España también trata sobre un nivel de pobreza más bajo que el que se presenta en Perfume de Violetas.

En esta película el perfume juega un rol importante. El perfume es lo primero que atrae a Yessica de Miriam—o más bien el aroma de su cabello, que ella se lavaba con jabón de violetas. El perfume sirve como un medio a través de la historia por el cual Yessica escapa de su condición sórdida a un mundo de delicias olfativas.















El perfume representa la promesa y la esperanza. También mitiga el dolor de la chica violada. Después de haber sido violada, Yessica intenta reponerse y se niega a derrumbarse, acercándose al perfume para escapar a un mundo de fantasía en donde la maldad de la gente que la maltrata no existe.


El perfume también sirve como tentación. Yessica roba una pequeña botella de perfume de violetas del quiosco porque lo desea, pero no tiene el dinero para comprárselo. De esta forma, el perfume es una fuente potencial de peligro, ya que provoca que Yessica actúe en formas que afectan lo mejor que ha tenido hasta ahora en su vida: la amistad con una chica tierna y amable que es tan inocente que todavía  no hace distinciones sociales y económicas entre la gente.

Miriam acepta a Yessica como es, sin cuestionarse si ella está "del lado equivocado," por así decirlo. Incluso cuando Yessica lastima a Miriam en varias ocasiones, ella la perdona. Pero al final, no solamente pierde su amistad con ella y es por esto que este fime es tan nihilista. La esperanza y la belleza quedan destruídas, como cuando la madre enojada de Yessica rompe la botella de perfume, tirándolo al suelo en un despliegue de ira sin sentido. Prácticamente a través de esta acción le dice a su hija que no tiene derecho a tener un perfume porque ellos son pobres.

¿Cuál es el punto de este filme, para los perfumistas privilegiados como nosotros para quienes la única preocupación monetaria risible es si podemos comprar el último lanzamiento super nicho? ¿Cómo debemos interpretar esta historia tan perturbadora?

Para ser honesta, a veces me pregunto si no estamos viviendo en una gran burbuja perfumada. Cuando nos quejamos acerca del precio de un perfume o cuando discutimos entre nosotros sobre si la perfumería es un arte, estamos concediéndonos un lujo que está más allá de la realidad de la mayoría de la gente en el planeta y el de algunas personas cuyas condiciones se presentan en este filme que raya en lo obsceno.

A pesar de nuestro elevado estatus socioeconómico—como se puede evidenciar por el hecho de que podemos comprar perfumes y apreciarlos como un pasatiempo—nos parecemos a Yessica en nuestra fascinación con los perfumes. Estamos dispuestos a abstenernos de otras cosas, para poder comprar nuestros perfumes tan codiciados. Pero también hay un mensaje positivo.

Realmente, disfrutamos el perfume precisamente de la misma manera en que Yessica lo hace. El perfume es una fuente de placer para nosotros, como lo es para ella. ¿Importa que describamos esa fuente de placer de una manera u otra? ¿Por qué no podemos simplemente aceptar que el perfume nos produce placer? ¿Por qué tendría que haber algo más acerca de los perfumes? ¿Le tememos a nuestro propio hedonismo?

También a veces me pregunto si la energía dirigida hoy en día a defender la afirmación de que la perfumería es una de las bellas artes, no es desproporcionada en comparación con las consecuencias de tal opinión si se confirmara por unos cuantos de la élite. Obviamente la experiencia del perfume por parte de personas como Miriam y Yessica no cambiaría en lo más mínimo.

¿Cambiaría nuestra propia apreciación del perfume si lo describiéramos en los términos idealistas de alguna teoría difícil de comprender? Yo creo que no. Aún amaríamos a los perfumes precisamente por la misma razón y precisamente de la misma manera en que Yessica lo hace. ¿Por qué? Porque huele bien.




*Advertencia: Si te encuentras entre los millones de personas que están intentando desengancharse de los SSRIs— habiéndose percatado por lo menos de la dolorosa epifanía de que todo fue una trampa compleja concebida para llenar los bolsillos de los directores generales de Pharmafim y al mismo tiempo lograr que te calles—entonces te recomiendo que te mantengas muy alejado de este filme crudo y casi nihilístico.


Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Between Charybdis and Scylla: Is There a Third Way?



The Professor's Signature Scent:
Escentric Molecules Molecule 01
Thurston Howell III's Signature Scent:
Creed Royal English Leather (vintage!)




???





The world of perfumery is swiftly transforming in so many ways that it is becoming progressively more difficult to navigate the territory, as it shifts constantly under one's feet. The once-independent designer houses have now nearly all been swallowed up by corporate giants such as Procter & Gamble, Coty, Estée Lauder, Elizabeth Arden, Puig, L'Oréal, and LVMH. Are the perfumes being produced by designer houses under the aegis of corporate masters more or less the same as they were before? Or have they essentially and irrevocably changed?

Perhaps no grand and sweeping generalizations can be made, but we can consider individual cases and may discover that the perfumes all being signed by one perfumer under LVMH but issuing from ostensibly distinct houses are converging in style. Similarly, we may take note of the convergence of Rochas and Patou under P&G, or that of Marc Jacobs and Calvin Klein under Coty Prestige.

Even while being conducted by publicly traded companies, the business of perfumery remains a secretive one, and it may not be possible to ascertain whether corporate suits get the final say on what happens after a perfume has been approved by the house's creative director. We really don't know. All that we can do is attempt to divine what is going on at P&G, Coty Prestige, LVMH, and the other corporations now in on the perfume business game. We can do this by considering the quality and type of perfumes being purveyed by the houses under their control.



The Skipper's Signature Scent:
P&G Old Spice

Recent restrictions placed by the IFRA on the use of what formerly were regarded as indispensable materials to the twentieth-century classic perfumes have produced a rash of reformulations, which may or may not have been undertaken first and foremost in order to comply with these industry standards. After all, reformulations were carried out by companies long before the IFRA began championing these restrictions—indeed, long before the IFRA existed.

All of this leads some critics to suspect that the IFRA serves the interests of those who stand to benefit from the progressively more abstract surrogates for natural materials being used in perfumery today. When self-appointed "experts" tout the allegedly superior quality of perfumes made with "abstract" florals, such as Estée Lauder Beyond Paradise, it is natural to be suspicious of their intentions, given the seemingly inexorable march forward in the twenty-first century toward maximum abstraction.

It's bound to be a lot less expensive to produce perfumes in a laboratory than it is to harvest tons of flower petals and extract from them the essence of the scent via a labor-intensive method such as enfleurage. Yes, abstract florals are superior from a purely business perspective, which sees only the bottom line. But our noses don't care about dollars and cents; they care about scents.


These sorts of fundamental changes—on the one hand, corporate control of houses; on the other other hand, a move to use more and more synthetic materials in modern perfumery—have generated a fair amount of disgruntlement among perfumistas and various kinds of response. Two very clear and distinct—and diametrically opposed—approaches have been marked out by a couple of my favorite perfume writers, Bryan Ross at From Pyrgos and Bigsly at Bigslyfragrance. If you have not yet had the pleasure of reading these gentlemen, I encourage you to visit their blogs where they have carefully and meticulously argued for their respective positions. I have certain sympathies with each of their approaches, but what I most love about reading them is that they offer so many intelligent reasons that I invariably find myself questioning my own beliefs and sometimes even swaying back and forth like a pendulum. It's great fun to read them because they disagree so deeply and yet both seem so eminently reasonable. It also does not hurt that they have excellent senses of humor...


Mr. Ross and Mr. Bigsly may not be philosophers by profession, but they are truly philosophical in spirit. They are what I call "olfactory truth seekers" because they relentlessly examine the state of perfumery through the application of their searching intellect to the many puzzles which arise as the terrain evolves incessantly. They are not engaging in this search for truth with any ulterior motive such as profit in mind. They are not shills, nor are they starf*cks. They call it as they see it, and although they disagree about nearly everything, they do so thoughtfully, offering reasons and adducing evidence for their bold contentions. It is refreshing to read what both of these thinkers have to say because, whether or not one agrees with their views, it cannot be denied that they are very well thought through.


I do not wish to summarize the perspectives of Bryan and Bigsly, only to encourage you to brew yourself up a stout cup of dark roast coffee and spend some time at their blogs. Here I prefer to generalize a bit, following the From Pyrgos and the Bigslyfragrance approaches to their farthest limits. I do not mean to suggest that the ideas which I shall discuss here are subscribed to precisely by either writer. In fact, the two approaches which I'd like to outline may be viewed as caricatures of sorts (hence, the selection of images, above...), lacking the subtlety to be found within their texts. My hope is to outline two general approaches which illustrate two different and very distinct tendencies: for and against sticking with tradition or, in the case of perfume, vintage.





That was then. This is now.


No one can deny that perfumery and perfumes have changed radically over the course of the past decade. Pre-Y2K perfumery arguably produced many if not mostly perfumes of integrity, which can be attributed in large part, in my view, to the very fact that they were composed over years by professional perfumers. Back then, a perfume launch was an event. Today, it is tantamount to a Tweet.


Post-Y2K perfumery is really all over the map, literally and figuratively. Not only has the perfumery branch of once-independent design houses been handed over to corporate giants, but at the same time, the niche scene has transformed beyond all recognition. Niche houses began, it is sometimes said, with L'Artisan Parfumeur back in the 1970s. At that time, "niche" meant “exclusive” and “difficult to find and access”. In the age of cybershopping, virtually nothing is difficult to find or access anymore. What, then, does it mean to be “niche”?


A further complicating factor is that at this point in history everyone and his mother, brother, cousin, and uncle appears to be jumping on the perfume business bandwagon, asserting their claim to a piece of the perfume pie as "creative directors" of “niche” firms. As a result, 'niche' has become more of a marketing term than anything else. Much niche (non-mainstream) perfume is relatively expensive, but the term can also be applied to some scattered houses offering less-expensive wares, including several of the traditional houses of France, some of which remain independent and based in and around Grasse. Houses such as Molinard and Fragonard appear to be overlooked by some snobs precisely because of the modest cost of their wares.


At the traditional and designer houses now under corporate control, such as LVMH-owned Guerlain and Christian Dior, there has been a radical increase in the number of launches, including seemingly endless lists of flankers and limited edition releases. In tandem, the number of new niche houses continues to augment, and each arrives on the scene touting the virtues and distinctness of their vision, with a slate of multiple, sometimes dozens of, perfumes. What to do?

One way of approaching the situation is to look back to the great classics, and track them down wherever they may be found. Vintage hunters spend untold amounts of time and energy in their quest for the treasure at the end of the rainbow. Often what they find is not gold but pyrite, but sometimes they have no way of knowing that this is the case because there is nothing to compare it to which might validate—or refute—the seller's claim to absolute integrity and authenticity. Nonetheless, the hunt continues.



Vintage hunting is to some a form of low-stakes gambling. Something about gambling appeals naturally to human beings, and for some people, hanging out at ebay and bidding in auctions is as much a form of entertainment as it is a way of acquiring vintage treasure. Of course, victory in this game is to have "scored" the rare and splendid jewel among the wide array of objects being sold there. Ebay has done a lot to make participation in the auctions a positive experience by implementing rules to prevent fraudulent transactions and protect consumers.

I have laid out the reasons for my skepticism about the general enterprise of hunting down remaining bottles of the vintage classics in The Question of Vintage. Probably my biggest concern regarding the hawks themselves is the very fact that people should be selling their supposed masterpieces and treasures at all. This implies that they are not great amateurs of perfume. But if they do not value perfume, then they may think that dilution or other other forms of tampering are perfectly fine. They may truly believe that “no one will notice” because they would not notice. Even stronger grounds for skepticism lie in the nature of the substances which make up perfumes: they degrade, and hence change, over time. It's anyone's guess what a perfume produced thirty years ago is going to smell like today, even if it was stored with the utmost vigilance and care.

Please note that I do not deny that, as a form of entertainment, ebay vintage hunting may have a value to the participant which transcends his or her ability to actually score great perfume. I have instead argued that there is something vaguely irrational about this hunt for treasure, given the nature, first, of perfumes, which fall apart over time; and second, sellers, who, being human beings, are subject to vices such as greed and unscrupulousness in their quest to maximize profit.

As a matter of fact, greed and unscrupulousness in the quest to maximize profit are the virtues of Gordon "Greed is Good" Gekko big corporate business types, precisely, I hasten to add, the types of people who head up conglomerates such as Procter & Gamble, Coty Prestige, Estée Lauder, Elizabeth Arden, Puig, L'Oréal, and LVMH. They, too, may not care about the products which they peddle. They, too, may think that it is “no big deal” to remove all of the natural components from the Guerlain Aqua Allegoria launches. “No one will notice,” the person who makes such calls may mutter to himself as he issues an executive decree, in the hope of improving the company's bottom line.

A generally realistic view of human nature would seem to imply that any skepticism which one harbors about the shady gray market operators who trade in now-discontinued, once-classic perfumes, should transfer directly to the purveyors of perfume by the once-independent but now corporate-conglomerate-ruled design houses. Greed and unscrupulousness are everywhere, my fragrant friends, when money is what is at stake.

I part company with both the vintage hunters and those who "believe in" the possibility of relaunches of the classics by the companies currently holding the keys to the safes where perfume formulas are stored. Call me a
cynic, but I trust neither the design houses under management by megacorporations, nor the peddlers of old vintage perfumes at ebay and elsewhere. And, with my solid background in chemistry, I found it preposterous that so few people acknowledge the reality of chemical degradation, which virtually guarantees that once-classic perfumes produced years ago are no longer the same.

Even when the peddlers are honest, they have no control over the condition of the perfumes which they peddle, which have changed hands many times over the course of the decades since the perfumes were produced, adding yet more cause for skepticism. As for the houses “under new management”: it's anyone's guess what the new boss thinks—or likes and values. Maybe he believes that Joy edp should be preserved in tact. Maybe he finds it stinky and will therefore order his minions to cut costs and “tame” the perfume in one fell reformulation.

We've seen plenty of blunders on the part LVMH, just to pick on them again. They discontinued nearly every Fendi perfume upon acquisition of that house. Clearly, someone did a miscalculation in cases such as Theorema. Perhaps the perfume did not do well because it was poorly distributed and marketed. Perhaps a more savvy marketing team could have squeezed some profit out of that beautiful perfume. No, the decision was made: destroy it. Now, if they announce that they are going to “bring back” Theorema, should we trust those very same decision makers? Or should we be skeptical that the same fools who axed the perfume in the first place (and therefore did not recognize its greatness), may also see nothing wrong with fobbing off a muzak version and calling it a relaunch of the original?

Who knows? Maybe the relaunches will be good. Once again, it's a numbers game, but when we see poor decision after poor decision being made by the powers that be (the renaming of Miss Dior Chérie as Miss Dior? Pray tell, whose call was that????), then it becomes less and less rational to believe that we should have any hope for anything that they will do in the future. This is not to deny outright that a relaunch might be good, but it is to predict, based on past behavior that it is not likely to be. That's just a question of probability based on prior experience. It's not irrational doom and gloom, it seems to me.

There are other possibilities as well. Should we perhaps hold out hope for tweaked relaunches of old classics and reformulations undertaken in order to appeal to new, modern sensibilities? This would seem to be an amalgamation of the vintage-valuing with the forward-looking approach, recognizing that "it's not 1988 anymore", but upholding the sanctity of the classics. The nature of consumerism has changed radically over the course of the past decade, with cybershopping achieving its furthest expression in the recent phenomenon of social shopping, made possible by the capitalization of sites such as Facebook and a general frenzy among cyberworld denizens to share with their "friends" everything they do, including buy.



Mrs. Howell's Signature Scent:
Why Chanel No 5, of course!


The same forward-looking attitude applies equally well, however, to the science of perfumery, as synthetic organic chemists endeavor to create new molecules for use in perfumes to supplant rare and expensive natural materials and also to create brand new scents. Indeed, the story of Chanel No 5 is that of a new idea applied to the perfume of its time. By adding aldehydes, never before successfully used (they had been used, but not widely), to a floral perfume, a classic icon of twentieth-century perfumery was born. Gabrielle Chanel proclaimed that women had no business smelling like flowers, and derided the “backwards” nineteenth-century soliflores dominating the perfume scene.


Maryann's Signature Scent:
Parfums Berdoues Violettes de Toulouse

There is a curious logical tension, it seems to me, in believing in the possibility of excellent relaunches of vintage classics, which seems to involve the very same nostalgia of which vintage hunters are sometimes accused. Should we really be wearing the perfumes of the twentieth century in the twenty-first century? Or is it not time to move on?

Like it or not, perfumery continues to march ahead and will soon be leaving "classics" such as Chanel No 5 behind—not only because using the precious jasmine of Grasse will be financially prohibitive from the perspective of the suits running the businesses, but also because consumers' preferences will continue to be transformed as new scents are created and widely marketed and disseminated in venues such as Sephora, which literally create tastes in mass market perfume.

Nowhere is the dependence of the range of perfumes available upon the whims of fashion—as molded by companies—better illustrated than in the current oud craze. The “need for oud” has been created out of nothing for people with no knowledge of that substance whatsoever by perfume companies! What next? Elves' sweat and fairies' breath?

The formidable forces of fashion explain how sweet laundry scents and gourmand and fruitchouli scents (in the model of Thierry Mugler Angel) before them flooded the market. Consumers came to view those types of scents as "appropriate" perfumes. The reason why people describe loud, megasillage perfumes as "so 1980s" is because back then people wore those scents, but very few people do today.

These changes took place not because Christian Dior Poison was objectively good twenty years ago and has now become objectively bad. No, this came about only because fashions change, and perfumery is part and parcel of fashion, as should be obvious by the very fact that so many clothing design houses launch perfumes as accessories of sorts, to embellish their line, not to replace it.

This also explains why designer after designer, beginning with Gabrielle Chanel, have handed over the perfumery end of their businesses to other parties to tend to. Fashion designers are first and foremost concerned with clothing, not perfume, so it is not that surprising that so many of them have handed over control of their perfumery branch to major corporations in the twenty-first century. From Calvin Klein to Fendi to Kenzo to Givenchy, Christian Dior, and Yves Saint Laurent, the perfumery end of things has been delegated to another entity, the multicorporate conglomerate.




The Third Way



If all of these people are selling their rights to control their perfume output, then whom ought we to trust? My view is that the way forward is not to hunt down decaying bottles of juice from times past, nor to hold out hope that the new corporate masters have any intrinsic interest in producing excellent perfume. The only people who really care about producing excellent perfume, in their heart of hearts, are perfumers. The third way which I propose today is to stick with the independents, where there really and truly is a perfumer in the house, not just a bunch of hired hack-chemists working under restrictions imposed upon them by their employer.


Independent perfumers offer us today the best hope of finding perfume which embodies the integrity found more often than not in early-twentieth century perfumery. Think about it: back then perfumers worked in small ateliers and both composed their elixirs and balanced their own books. They did not issue perfumes as frequently as Tweets. They invested time and energy in their creations rather than producing dozens of perfumes using combinatorial permutations of a set of fixed notes.


All of this may sound vaguely quaint in the twenty-first century, but independent perfumers represent the only case where we have rational grounds for believing that the fresh perfumes will not be either a con job (as in nasty, cheap, and insulting reformulations), or the creation of new tastes to shape a market solely for profit-making purposes (as in the case of launching the scents of laundry and personal hygiene products as perfumes).

There are no good reasons to cling religiously to vintage perfume nor to quixotically hope that the business people in charge of multicorporate conglomerates are somehow going to start caring more about matters olfactory than about their bottom line. Business is driven inexorably by a quest for profit. Nothing is sacred but the bottom line.

In making this proposal, I am emphatically not claiming that all niche houses are purveyors of excellent wares or perfumes of integrity, as I conceive of what all of us are really looking for in the end, whether we tend to look backward, forward, or around us right now. No, the niche scene is filled with façades in front of crass labs where, too, perfumes are being quickly composed and poured into fancy bottles and hyped in part by slapping on exorbitant price tags. So one must tread carefully in this realm as well. Many of the glut of current "niche" ventures will fold like a house of cards in a gust of wind, and their creative directors may move on to running fast-food franchises or selling real estate.


Nonetheless, within the vast sea of niche perfume being pumped out today, there are small islands of true perfumery, where people who are generally committed to producing beautiful things (and you may call them “artists” if you like, but you'll mean that in the pre-twentieth-century sense). That is where we are most likely to find the sorts of perfumes which vintage lovers remember and cherish as they slowly disappear, never to be replaced.

The Third Way, then, is not to look back to the past, nor to dream wistfully of the future, but to look into the true perfumers plying their trade at independent houses today. These people are much more believable than either the anonymous chemists composing at IFF or the “rock star” perfumers attaching their names to dozens of perfumes simultaneously across all categories. In many cases, “super-star” contracted perfumers appear to be signing off on perfumes which are then left to the chemists and accountants to modify with the aim of cutting costs. That would explain how some of the perfumes allegedly created by big names such as Calice Becker and Yann Vasnier are as mediocre as they come.

My advice, for those who wish to find the treasure at the end of the rainbow without having to travel back in time, and for those who are understandably skeptical about future “relaunches” of previously reformulated or discontinued perfumes—reformulated or discontinued in some cases by the very company claiming to be about to “bring them back”—is not to cling to the past, nor to hope for something logically possible but unlikely to occur. Instead, focus on the currently active and identifiable (not dead or anonymous) perfumers who run their own businesses and make their own creative decisions, over which no other person has veto power. There and there alone you will find the integrity of perfume still alive and well, and that is our best chance for finding great perfumes here and now, even today, in the ever-advancing age of abstraction.


Ginger's Signature Scent:
Keiko Mecheri A Fleur de Peau



Carpe Diem!





Screen captures were taken from Gilligan's Island, season 2, episodes 1 &2, 1965.