Go to York.
It's a beautiful place, with its Minster (not a cathedral because it was built by public subscription), Betty's tea rooms, the medieval walls, tiny cobbled streets to get lost in, the National Railway Museum, river boats, and Burgins Perfumery. It's at 2 Coney Street, YO1 9NA.
In York, I generally arrive at the station, get on a bus, visit my mother, get on another bus and go home. Yesterday it was sunny and I decided to walk to the town centre, find something to eat, then take the bus from further along its route. On the way, I spotted a shop I'd only ever seen when it was closed, a small Victorian perfumery with a huge range of scents. Yesterday I was there during opening hours and in the window was a bottle of Ma Griffe reduced from £70 to £22. (It was still in its box of course.) I'm not a huge fan of Ma Griffe, but as I didn't have any and as it's one of those your really ought to have in the collection, in I went.
It's November. They have the new releases that you'll read about in Grazia, and the Christmas gift boxes, but on their beautiful, original wooden shelves they've carefully arranged a huge, floor to ceiling range of classic scents. They have perfumes that most department stores don't bother with because they aren't all the rage: Chanel Cristalle, the more obscure Guerlain masterpieces, Dior gems from the 50s, 60s and 70s (the modern versions, not the originals to be fair). They don't have Lancome. "Department stores" said my chap. Perhaps L'Oreal, their owners, don't bother to supply independents. Stuff L'Oreal; they're missing a trick. There was an abundance of masterpieces at Burgins to satisfy my olfactory desires.
I left with Poison, the original, not one of new watered down versions, ("Courageous," commented the helpful, professional and completely un-judgemental chap who was serving me. Mr Burgin perhaps? I promised not to wear it outdoors.) I took one of the bottles of Ma Griffe; there's one more at £22 for the person who gets there first. I also wandered away with a 50ml Miss Dior, and Tocade by Rochas, one which Luca Turin praises to the skies and which I'd never smelled before. Stunning stuff.
So today I'm wearing Miss Dior. Burgins of York (and my mother) can expect frequent visits.
Sunday 20 November 2011
Friday 2 September 2011
Sea Salt
I've bumped into two different sea salts recently. One is a clothing shop in Cornwall named in English: Sea Salt. It sells organic cotton things with stripes, canvas bags and coats to keep the wind out. Just right for a British summer holiday.
The other - which goes perfectly with the clothing - is Sel Marin, French for sea salt of course by Heeley. Put on your stripy top and matching stripy socks, and perhaps add an elegant stripy cotton hair band, then you're ready for a spritz of the sea.
I've been searching for the right seaside scent. It's something to do with being brought up by a beach, but the smell of wet sand and seaweed evokes limitless freedom. It's not much to do with sunshine, more with waves splashing high against sea walls, fast-moving clouds and boats bobbing up and down in the distance. Northern European sea salt.
James Heeley kindly lists his notes: Lemon, Italian Bergamot, Beech Leaf, Sea Salt, Moss, Algae, Cedar and Musc. He also talks about sunshine, but I think his inspiration is the same as my impressions. Yorkshire beaches.Summer holidays in Scarborough, Saltburn, Whitby and Bridlington.
L'Artisan Parfumeur's Cote D'Amour is a seaside scent, but it's for people with yachts and loafers. Frederic Malle's Dans tes Bras reminds me of the end of a long long day at the beach. Sel Marin is the scent of the seaside first thing in the morning, for people with picnics, windbreakers and plastic buckets and spades. I love it.
The other - which goes perfectly with the clothing - is Sel Marin, French for sea salt of course by Heeley. Put on your stripy top and matching stripy socks, and perhaps add an elegant stripy cotton hair band, then you're ready for a spritz of the sea.
I've been searching for the right seaside scent. It's something to do with being brought up by a beach, but the smell of wet sand and seaweed evokes limitless freedom. It's not much to do with sunshine, more with waves splashing high against sea walls, fast-moving clouds and boats bobbing up and down in the distance. Northern European sea salt.
James Heeley kindly lists his notes: Lemon, Italian Bergamot, Beech Leaf, Sea Salt, Moss, Algae, Cedar and Musc. He also talks about sunshine, but I think his inspiration is the same as my impressions. Yorkshire beaches.Summer holidays in Scarborough, Saltburn, Whitby and Bridlington.
L'Artisan Parfumeur's Cote D'Amour is a seaside scent, but it's for people with yachts and loafers. Frederic Malle's Dans tes Bras reminds me of the end of a long long day at the beach. Sel Marin is the scent of the seaside first thing in the morning, for people with picnics, windbreakers and plastic buckets and spades. I love it.
Tuesday 10 May 2011
Gorillas
I did say I'd get back to them, so I have. Gorilla Perfumes. First, may we just say that Gorilla Perfumes is a dreadful name? It's not even funny. Yes, yes I know the story. It was supposed to be Guerilla perfumes but they couldn't spell it and anyway and Simon thought Mark Constantine looked like a gorilla or vice versa. It's still silly. Shame, because as usual with Lush, the scents are gorgeous.
The Gorilla Perfumes range is made up from Lush's own scents, some from B Never Too Busy to be Beautiful, Lush's indulgently unprofitable sideline in colours and fragrances, and some brand new ones. They're often started by Mark and finished by Simon Constantine, because Simon says that even when his dad thinks his perfumes are finished, they aren't. Their assistant perfumer and assiduous blogger is Pia Long, AKA Nukapai.
There aren't many perfumeurs who can make free with the world's precious materials without having number-crunchers stepping in and telling them to use the synthetic version to save money. At Lush they have that freedom and they do use it with lavish abandon, or rather with lavish control. They do it because they love to think they are funding fields of roses, jasmine gardens, orange groves and sandalwood plantations, where wildlife can live and birds can sing. It's not about money; it's about beauty. Of the perfumers wo do have that freedom, Lush is the only one whose scents are even halfway affordable.
In the cosmetic world, manufacturers generally spend 80% of their product costs on packaging and 20% of materials. With Lush it's the other way around. To get a perfume this spectacularly luxurious from anyone else, you'd pay four times as much for the same amount. (Maths: If materials cost £20, Lush's total would be £25 and the industry standard would be £100. We've not even factored in the advertising spend, and Lush don't have one.)
So forget the daft name for the moment; they did it on purpose to irritate people like me so they won. Go for their take on violets, Tuca Tuca, Vanillary (try it then wait 20 minutes as it takes it times to turn into something beautiful) and their pure lovely Orange Blossom; for once, a scent with a straightforward name. Then explore the more unusual ventures like Breath of God, with its five stars for originality, The Smell of Weather Turning and LadyBoy, as unusual a fruity floral as you'll ever find.
While they're sorting out their hacked website, visit their temporary home; you'll find the link hiding right at the bottom of the home page at Lush. They might shoot themselves in both feet sometimes by behaving like troublesome two-year-olds, but Lush's scents are too lovely to miss; go get some.
The Gorilla Perfumes range is made up from Lush's own scents, some from B Never Too Busy to be Beautiful, Lush's indulgently unprofitable sideline in colours and fragrances, and some brand new ones. They're often started by Mark and finished by Simon Constantine, because Simon says that even when his dad thinks his perfumes are finished, they aren't. Their assistant perfumer and assiduous blogger is Pia Long, AKA Nukapai.
There aren't many perfumeurs who can make free with the world's precious materials without having number-crunchers stepping in and telling them to use the synthetic version to save money. At Lush they have that freedom and they do use it with lavish abandon, or rather with lavish control. They do it because they love to think they are funding fields of roses, jasmine gardens, orange groves and sandalwood plantations, where wildlife can live and birds can sing. It's not about money; it's about beauty. Of the perfumers wo do have that freedom, Lush is the only one whose scents are even halfway affordable.
In the cosmetic world, manufacturers generally spend 80% of their product costs on packaging and 20% of materials. With Lush it's the other way around. To get a perfume this spectacularly luxurious from anyone else, you'd pay four times as much for the same amount. (Maths: If materials cost £20, Lush's total would be £25 and the industry standard would be £100. We've not even factored in the advertising spend, and Lush don't have one.)
So forget the daft name for the moment; they did it on purpose to irritate people like me so they won. Go for their take on violets, Tuca Tuca, Vanillary (try it then wait 20 minutes as it takes it times to turn into something beautiful) and their pure lovely Orange Blossom; for once, a scent with a straightforward name. Then explore the more unusual ventures like Breath of God, with its five stars for originality, The Smell of Weather Turning and LadyBoy, as unusual a fruity floral as you'll ever find.
While they're sorting out their hacked website, visit their temporary home; you'll find the link hiding right at the bottom of the home page at Lush. They might shoot themselves in both feet sometimes by behaving like troublesome two-year-olds, but Lush's scents are too lovely to miss; go get some.
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