My highest femme fragrances
Femininity is a social construction. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the world of perfumes where woods are marketed to men and florals to women. I used to resist the idea of ascribing gender to any fragrance because it all seemed so arbitrary. I do believe that anyone who enjoys a perfume should wear it regardless of who it’s being marketed too. Having said that, I’ve started to appreciate the use of scent in the artifice of signifying gender, so without further ado, here are six feminine fragrances that signal to me the heights of high femme presentation.
Starting off with the most obvious choice, Femme is an aptly named fruity chypre. Opens with a brazen hit of cumin and unfurls sensuously into plush florals under which pulse rich musks. Originally conceived by Edmond Roudnitska, Femme was updated in 1989 by Olivier Cresp who introduced the cumin I find so attractive about the formula.
Parfum de Thérèse by Frédéric Malle
Another Roudnitska composition, released posthumously in 2000. Here we have a more reserved, elegant version femininity. Instead of Femme’s forward sensuousness, the unusual limpid melon and cucumber notes of this floral scent present an air of emotional distance. Ahead of its time, the scent wears as both unique and timeless.
One of my favourites of this house, Myths Woman is a chilly affair, evoking a sense of hardships endured and dried tears. Pitiless and world-weary, Myths Woman suffers no fools. There is a tactile dampness to its green and floral notes that do not suggest dewy blooms, but rather, moisture on stones. Although it was released in 2016 and has a modern sheerness to it, it also possesses a vintage, complex, almost chypre-esque character. A unique, challenging and dangerously beautiful scent by nose, Nathalie Lorson. [edit: I blanked out and assumed the nose for this was Christopher Chong when of course, he was the Artistic Director of the house.]
Le Sillage Blanc by Dusita
Between Dusita’s Blanc and Piguet’s Bandit why did I settle on Blanc? Although I love Bandit, there’s something very offputting about its drydown, an unsubtle, unctuous tuberose paired with a butch leather that steers the fragrance away from savage beauty toward outright disgust. Bandit was composed by a woman, Germaine Cellier, but it recalls to mind the patriarchal idea of a woman’s leaky, hysterical body as monstrous or grotesque or, from a woman's point of view, her need to be on the offense to protect herself against male violence. Blanc on the other hand, takes the opening of Bandit with its bitter galbanum bite and smoke and supports it with florals, resins and a touch of leather. There’s something marvelously self-contained and chic about Blanc. We women live with our powerful bodies everyday. We wake up in them and go about our business, subjects of our own narratives. With Blanc, Pissara Umavijani reappropriates a classic leather chypre in a way that is to me, the ultimate in chic femininity.
Fracas is the other legendary scent by Germaine Cellier. Originally released in 1948, I’ve only smelled a much later reformulation that I’m sure isn’t quite as bold as the original. Nevertheless, it remains the tuberose by which all other tuberose perfumes are measured against. Like Bandit, Fracas has a reputation for being heady, narcotic, fleshy, even intimidating. But unlike Bandit, I find there is also a kindness to it.
Salome by Papillon Perfumery
I made sure to include female noses on this list because the first three two perfumes, composed by a man, present a gender normative vision of femininity with none of the requisite high femme queering irony. While Salome isn’t an ironic take, it does in its own way, slay. With the greater inclusion of women in the fragrance industry, women are creating scents that defy the desire to be an innocent lollipop Lolita or an Amazon sexpot. It’s like having the world wake up to the fact that women may not be all that interested in being a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Like Japanese Lolitas taking feminine cuteness to its logical overkill extreme, Liz Moore of Papillon outdoes all the 80s orientalist visions of the femme fatale seductress with Salome, a fragrance that has become legendary for its filth, its animalistic aggression only equaled by its beauty. Salome daringly out-cumins Femme, its lusty musks perfectly balanced with stunning rose and jasmine. One of my first full bottle purchases!