Perceptions of Sweetness: Facets and Surprises

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by: Elena Vosnaki

Do you have a "sweet tooth?" Are you attracted to the flavors that caress the tongue or are you one of those people who appreciate the piquancy of sour or salty over the smoother palate pleasing of sweet stuff? And do you find that your predilection in flavors extends to fragrances?

Yet, to take matters at the top, what makes for a sweet fragrance? Which perfumes exhibit a sweet character?

The first obvious answer leaping to the eye would be gourmand fragrances. Technically as these are built on vanilla and sweet ingredients they're a subcategory of the Oriental family of fragrances. Talking with perfumers, however, I realized their appetizing quality is markedly different from perfumes in which succulent notes, such as peach, spices or vanilla, appeared previously. Gourmands actually evoke desserts in a more concrete, identifiable way. Jessica Simson had even named her first line of scents after their respective desserts evoked.

And instant evocation aside, one doesn't really have much trouble identifying the candy-floss, burnt sugar note of Angel or the caramelized popcorn of the first edition of Miss Dior Cherie, whereas the classics only hinted at the pleasures of food and drink they were meant to accompany via abstraction (for instance the delicious honeyed pollen of Farnesiana's sweet acacia, the cinnamon-sprinkled peach skin ofMitsouko).

Another obvious answer would be the fruity "notes," so popular these days, either as a segment of the fruity floral, or the balancing act of the fruitchouli, a modern genre of pungent patchouli-centered woody scents which "lighten" the mood by covering the top in berries and apricot-peaches. Naturally patchouli is sweet by its own nature, giving chocolate facets when squinting and noticing nuance. One shouldn't irritate the gods.

It seems like sweetness is indeed de riguer in modern perfumery, the sine qua non of commercial success as endless sales of La vie Est Belle, Flowerbomb and Prada Candy say. I dare you to find something as bitter as—say—Bandit eau de parfum orChanel No.19 eau de toilette in the production of the last 15 years.

Even forms of perfume which do not lend themselves to the culinary, such as the powdery softness of contemporary "makeup-like" accords (enter Lipstick Rose, Chloe Love, Flower by Kenzo with their abundance of ionones) or the soapy aldehydic glow of the lathered soapy scents, such as Narciso Rodriguez Essence, exhibit a sweet tooth. Which serves as the springboard of another thought.

What if sweet notes were always popular, merely set in a different context?

Take Chanel No. 5 or No. 22 for instance. The radiance of the aliphatic aldehydes which give both perfumes their clean "dry snow" glow project at a high pitch sweetness which is enhanced by the floral components and flanked by other sweet materials such as sandalwood or musks! It is mainly the balance of animalic and smoky materials to the ratio of sweet ones which brings them a polished surface, the smooth graceful profile we have come to appreciate. Like a well-judged nouvelle cuisine dessert, the sugar does not "burn" the throat like it does with cheap chocolate squares in plain wrapper.

Let's take another illustration, this one from contemporary perfumery. SmellingNarciso for Her, one is struck by the candied floral aspect of the ersatz orange blossom and osmanthus, segueing into downy softness of musk. And yet smelling Narciso one wouldn't identify it as syrupy per se. Neither would one characterize Light Blue pour femme as syrupy, its freshness belying its actual quota of sugar.! And yet its very top note is one of lemon meringue, extended into the drydown via powerful woody-amber. Which brings me to ... amber.

The Amber "base" (the traditional resinous mix involving such things as benzoin, styrax and vanilla notes) forms the very basis of the Oriental fragrance family. The invention of the "modern" oriental perfume is an olfactory trope of the late 19th century, made possible by the invention of two important synthetics: vanillin and coumarin. The coupling of ladbanum/cistus (a traditional resinous plant material from the rockrose, used since antiquity) and of vanillin produced what we refer to as the "amber" chord. The core of Obsession or Ambre Precieux is languidly soft and succulent, like sweetened double cream.

Coumarin on the other hand was synthesized from tonka beans, where it appears in almost pure crystalline form; it has a sweetly herbaceous, cut hay scent. Which brings me to my next point.

Cut hay and newly mown grass are two more sweet aromas. Just think about it. beyond the chlorophyll, which erupts into the air as soon as the lawn mowers come out of hibernation; the air is sweetened, almost nectarous and oddly fresh and invigorating at once, with the feeling of renewal and filling our lungs to the brim which we associate with pleasurable comfort and leisure. Makes sense, doesn't it?

What struck me as particularly interesting—nay, fascinating is a better word for it—is how leather compositions—those butch, dominatrix and naughty perfumes which are as hard as nails—bloom in the heat we're having into a rather sweetish, honeyed, waxy bouquet! With the exception of Bandit eau de parfum, nota bene, where the naturally bitter galbanum, artemisia and isoquinolines triumvirate conspire to give one of the few resolutely not sweet perfumes in continuous existence, but all the other leathers out there from Knize Ten to the less leathery, more resinous Messe de Minuit (Etro) and Gomma (also by Etro) to Mon Cuir (Ramon Monegal) seem to sweeten as the temperatures rise. The latter especially is a shape-shifter, exhibiting a much naughtier animalic side when the air is cooler and a more narcotic orange blossom and white florals heart when the humidity and heat of the atmosphere are intense. Who would have thought it?

Taking into account how breast milk and baby food have sweet facets, we're met with the hen and egg question: Are human beings naturally hard-wired to instinctually like sweetness, if not outright, then in balanced, measured quantities, or is it a long (very long indeed) process of nurturing which makes us respond pleasurably to sugar and its constituents?

I'd love to hear your thoughts and related experiences on the matter in the comments.

Petit Fours Image: Lola en la cocina