The Map and the Territory: How Many Notes in the Fragrance is Enough?

by: Serguey Borisov

I have read a wonderful comment on one of my Fragrantica articles: “... the number of notes is getting close to the good old pre-IFRA formulas.” Does the quantity of notes mean something? Is it a sign of a good perfume? What is the general meaning of all those notes referred to in the pyramid and is it possible to be navigated by the notes? Let's puzzle it out.

Imagine two perfumes, of which we know only their description. Notes, as they say. One perfume pyramid specified: pepper, freesia, apple, violet, hibiscus, jasmine, heliotrope, rose, labdanum, sandalwood, incense, cedar and leather. Thirteen notes total. The other fragrance pyramid is composed of bergamot, lavender, cedar, sandalwood, vetiver and ambergris, a total of six notes. Does this mean that the first perfume is better, stronger or more long-lasting than the second one? Or maybe, the first fragrance is more complex than the second?

It is not necessarily so. It means that the people who described the first fragrance (Lacoste Pour Femme, 2003, by the way), decided to add more words to describe it than people who described the second (Creed Bois du Portugal, released in 1987). That is, it says more about people than about perfumes. For example, brands which have commissioned perfumer Bertrand Duchaufour to create perfumes like detailed descriptions and François Demachy (in-house perfumer of Christian Dior) prefers short pyramids. Nothing else can be pulled out from any perfume description.

Or maybe, the second perfume is more natural? After all, unlike the first perfume, which included notes of obviously synthetic origin (freesia, violet, apple, leather), the second perfume components corresponding only to the essential oils (and ambergris tincture). No, not with any certainty.

Perfume brands know how suspicious customers can be when dealing with chemistry (and some brands cultivate ignorance, focusing not on the composition but the expensive natural raw materials) and avoid mentioning hydroxycitronellal and butylphenyl metilpropional. Instead of the synthetics in the perfume pyramids there usually appears the note “lily of the valley,” sometimes “linden blossom,” “cyclamen” or “fresh floral accord”—but you could find both with their real names on the back of packaging, in the list of potentially harmful substances. And that is reasonable: “Muguet” fragrance will sell millions of flacons, but I doubt that a perfume called “Hydroxycitronellal” will make the same profit. Everyone has smelled Lily of the Valley in their life, probably, and this chemical—could you spell it first, before I push myself to smell it? (By the way, I strongly advise all perfumistas to try every natural and synthetic material—it helps to clarify what do you smell in any perfume, without any written notes).
 

Molecular genius from Germany Geza Schoen was promoting synthetic materials for several years. Now some success has been achieved. Iso E Super, Ambroxan, Vetiveryl Acetate, Hedione, Cashmeran and some other materials might already be mentioned in the text on Fragrantica—but in the press releases youc an instead read some perfume euphemisms: rare wood, cedarwood and sandalwood, ambergris, vetiver, jasmine, Cashmere wood ...

Infamous anti-perfume Comme des Garçons Odeur 53 became an anthem of perfume descriptors that no one could beat till now.

Freshness of Oxygen, Flash of Metal, Fire Energy, Washing Drying in the Wind, Mineral Carbon, Sand Dunes, Nail Polish, Cellulose, Pure air of the High Mountains, Ultimate Fusion, Burnt Rubber, Flaming Rock, etc.—there are 53 inorganic components.

 

And so what happened? Were perfumers able to get Fire Energy Distillate? Or Sand Dunes Absolute?

Of course not. This work was not done by perfumers, but those who describe smells: evaluators and copywriters. They can pick 20 notes or just two—in the same smell. They choose what to write: “jasmine,” “sparkling flower dew,” “fresh floral accord” or “Hedione.” After all, they choose how to describe something that was not created by Mother Nature, and the only way is to write with the help of the most similar concepts.

Take Hedione as example. Firmenich described it as an “elegant, transparent floral jasmine note with citrus freshness;” Indukern F & F company described it as “sweet floral citrus fruit” and in Wanxiang company they feel it as “floral jasmine green oily lactonic note.” Little wonder that people could argue about a perfume's smell when the description of a single perfume building block has such diverse interpretations. And when dozens of materials are combined into a perfume, will someone collect all the descriptors of each material? Of course not—they write about just A FEW. The description of a perfume and its pyramid are a basis for advertising and promotion, and partly help with education for sales assistants.

(By the way, why do some ridiculous perfume descriptions appear in glossy magazines? You know, those of the “refreshing lavender and vetiver of Xerjoff XJ 17-17 Homme” and “legendary amber fragrance Caron Pour un Homme.” It happens when the author did not actually smell the fragrance, but only read the press release, so he/she is not able to select the most prominent notes and highlights the secondary notes. Even the accurate reviews of a respected author with whom you usually agree do not cancel a simple rule: “try before you buy!”)

Now, changing the notes and their numbers in the official press releases is the prerogative of the perfume house, its perfumer, its advertising and marketing departments. (Well, every blogger now can do it, too.) Every perfume house reveals as many notes as it finds possible. Some marketers believe that notes distract from the perfume advertising image and don't help with sales. Some understand that notes are a more or less accurate translation from the language of chemistry into the language of people, and therefore see no point in a perfectly detailed specification. The notes themselves do not create an impression. Consultants in stores sometimes do not know why they are forced to memorize the notes! Any art collector purchasing a piece knows it is not a purchase of the paints, canvas and gilded frame. Instead he/she is buying impressions, emotions, catharsis.

An example: Some years ago, I copied from the official website of Christian Dior a pyramid of their iconic Eau Sauvage: bergamot, lemon, rosemary, petitgrain, basil, Hedione, coriander, jasmine, rose, carnation, orris, patchouli, oak moss, amber, musk, vetiver. Visit the official site of Christian Dior now, and you'll see a new pyramid for this fragrance: bergamot, lavender, Hedione, oak moss, patchouli. That's enough, believe in Christian Dior.

Does that mean that the composition has been changed?

Well, maybe.

They may have changed the composition since then, but you will know about that by your own nose and your brain but not from the pyramids; by your own feelings, your own ability to compare, to describe the perfumes and its changes. Notes in a perfume pyramid are only an approximate map, but fragrance is a real territory. And just like a map helps us navigate a hike through the woods, notes help us navigate through the sensations of a perfume's development. But we can never say that the flat dull map dotted with some icons is an Earth territory with its fields and rivers, winds and forests. Take it into consideration, but never live in the pyramid.