Rezime: Pati nan natirèl la JoAnne parfumeur Bassett “Franse Koleksyon” nan parfen enspire pa fanm pi popilè franse, Camille se yon melanj nan osmanthus (kinmokusei) ak iris.
Pou: Yon floral yon-floral, Camille imedyatman sezi m 'ak senplisite dwat li yo ak bote. Mwen renmen swedwa nan, ton tè nan mete a iris kont pi dous petal yo osmanthus.
Kont: Although it is an all-natural perfume bearing its own merits, Camille lacks the vibrant punch of more mainstream fragrances while the cost is higher as well.
Nòt: “Osmanthus, Iris Root from Italy, Mimoza, Tubereuz, and others.” JoAnneBassett.com
Raple m nan: Hmmm, this really doesn’t smell like anything else I’ve yet encountered – utterly unique.
Deskripsyon Designer a: “Camille is a very proud woman and being French she is very seductive. It is a part of her charm. Let her perform her magic on you. Ooh la la!” JoAnneBassett.com
Kantite fwa nan tès: 4 times within the last month from a sample sent to me by the perfumer.
Kantite spwey aplike pou revizyon sa a: A couple of dabs to the back of my hand.
Fòs parfen: Perfume
Devlopman: (Lineyè / Mwayèn / Konplèks) Camille begins with a cool, doughy breeze of iris root and then quickly reveals it’s more floral heart of osmanthus, mimosa and tuberose. Kòm mansyone pi wo a, the scent is surprising because even though the ingredients suggest “bèl”, Camille is far more grounded and earthy than the notes would lead one to believe. There’s an antique quality about the composition as it develops, at times I think I smell smoked tea, other times old wicker chairs and pepper.
Lonjevite: (Kout/ Mwayèn / Ki dire lontan) Camille lasts about 90 minutes on my skin before disappearing. Twice I thought I detected a little sillage rising a couple of hours after application.
Sillage: (Yon ti kras / Mwayèn / Yon Lot) Trankil…
Ki kote mwen ka achte li? $20 US for a sample set of all 4 fragrances from the French collection; $40 US, Travel size Eau de Parfum; $125 US for a 1oz Eau de Parfum in French bottle; $145 US, 1/4 oz Parfum from JoAnneBassett.com
Liy anba la: As I’m admittedly a natural perfumery novice, only now beginning to realize that comparing natural perfumes to mainstream synthetic perfumes is like comparing apples and elephants, I’ve tried to look at fragrances like Camille from a slightly different angle. Sa yo te di, it’s still hard to consider shelling out the bucks for a few drops of a quiet scent when for half the price I could have a year’s worth of a super-sillage scent by…Hermes. Se konsa,, why exactly is this Camille fragrance so bewitching and what has perfumer JoAnne Bassett accomplished? First let me tell you a little story about a very special tree that grows just blocks from a train station in a place I used to call home.
Walking from the Higashiyodogawa-ku Hankyu train station in Osaka, Japan to my small flat just minutes away, I used to pass this small patch of undeveloped land/raized lot (a complete miracle in suburban Osaka). In the middle of this fenced patch stood a huge, glorious, old tree that every late autumn blossomed with firey orange petals. At first, I was unsure of what I was smelling or where exactly it was coming from. Was there a laundromat nearby (I kept thinking how similar this mystery scent was to my favorite laundry detergent)? Could it be the smell of incense wafting from one of those small shrines typically found on Japanese street corners? The aroma that caught my attention was sweet, unlike anything else I had ever smelled, and incredibly intoxicating.
One day while walking through a park I came across the smell again; this time I was able to conclude that it was from the blossoms of a bush that looked suspiciously similar to that majestic old tree. I picked off a couple of flowers, mashed them between my fingers and then rubbed the pulp into my skin. Heaven. The next time I passed my tree, I simply stood in front of it, letting the breeze carry its perfume to me and wondering what the heck this flower was.
Enter Joanne Bassett’s Camille, the first perfume I’ve tested that smells nearly identical to kinmokusei, or Japanese osmanthus, the name of those firey, zoranj, miniature blossoms. By using another favorite ingredient of mine, iris root, JoAnne has tempered the sweetness of the blossoms with a cool dryness, as I wrote before, almost buttery…aktyèlman, almost leathery. As a natural perfumer friend of mine has pointed out, natirèl, pure ingredients smell differently from their laboratory-tweaked synthetic counterparts. Though I love Ormonde Jayne and The Different Company’s Osmanthus fragrances, they really don’t recall the aroma of the natural blossom in my opinion. JoAnne’s Camille, Sepandan, does.
The fault I find with Camille is that after this scent gets going, it quickly slows down and fades. It almost feels unfinished and I would have loved some woods in the base to prop up the scent and help its longevity. Not being a perfumer myself, I’m not sure if this would have been effective due to the nature of the ingredients. But nevertheless, I was left wanting more.
Though named and described as a feminine fragrance, I find Camille to be somewhat masculine and wonder if the perfumer wouldn’t consider re-visiting this scent to create a masculine counterpart, keeping the osmanthus and iris focal point but perhaps strengthening them with some darker basenotes. Who might Camille’s male equivalent be? How about Kane…as in Citizen?
Pou nou fini, Camille is a surprising creation from a little-known perfumer that deserves to be sniffed! If you’re an osmanthus or iris lover, go on over to JoAnne’s site and order yourself a sample! Leave all of your expectations behind and I doubt you’ll be disappointed.
Any “off the beaten path” iris or osmanthus scents that you know of? Leave a comment below!Vizitè: 15862