by: Elena Vosnaki
In more than one respect the 1970s have been pivotal in the acceptance and sanctioning of shared fragrances. In part 1 of this series about the fresh scents of the seventies I reviewed the little-known Eau Libre by YSL, which was advertised indeed as a unisex offering. The flares on the pants worn by guys were directly competing with the wing-shaped tunics worn by women. Growing hair longer, smoothing hard edges and donning lots of jewelry meant that guys could feel totally at ease having a cologne that was really meant to enhance a human dimension rather than a sexualized one which was based on staid sex segregation and manly stereotypes. The chest thumping aromatic fougeres hadn't caught on in the first half of the 1970s; they were waiting to get their vengeance later on, but the "fresh" or cologne type scents that ruled in the first years of the decade showed the promise of revolutionary potential.
What began in the 1960s really culminated in the 1970s; the sexual revolution accompanied by societal and political changes that rocked the world.
Eau de Rochas really stands at the cusp of this change, alongside its sister scent O de Lancome, launched just one year prior and tied to the student movement that had already given us May '68. They were both marketed to women, sure, but they were (and continue to be) very much shared by men. Their unobtrusive, no frou frou packaging also played a big part in that, of course.
One can feel in Eau de Rochas the progression of the refreshing citrus luminescence, that was omnipresent in Lancome's cologne, into a living space accessorized with Tse posters on the wall, patchouli incense sticks burning all around and the fresh sweat of nubile bodies of the rowing team, as if living out the movie"The Strawberry Statement".
The introduction of a darker shade via the patchouli and oakmoss, as well as the more aromatic profile (mainly due to peppery basil, as in Eau Sauvage by Dior previously, and a green whiff of narcissus), give to Eau de Rochas a sense of foreboding. Patchouli is an interesting material for this, as perfumer Nicolas Mamounas no doubt saw. Obviously, it's a direct reference to the hippie oils that young people of those times heaped on. According to testimonies, these single oils were indeed mostly patchouli (natural), sandalwood (also mostly natural) and musk (definitely synthetic), sold at head shops.
The intricacy of patchouli leaf as a fragrance material is that it encompasses not one, but two succulently bittersweet facets; on one edge that of licorice (most modern consumers know this effect very well from Lolita Lempicka eau de parfum) and on the other one chocolate (this is the effect in Thierry Mugler's Angel, which is of course a patchoulifest). That chocolate edge is darker (no milk) and less dusty than the cocoa powder note found in iris. It all contributes to a louche effect that can be very becoming on the right skin and in the right dose. Too much patchouli on an unwashed body can quickly recall Haight Ashbury Fairs rather than Sea Cliff.
Rochas curiously enough didn't quite focus on these associations (which seem rather obvious given the fact that Eau de Rochas was the emblem of the Flower Power generation) and instead offers a sort of "thalasso" (French short for thalassotherapy, very popular in France), spa image.
Expanses of water (to account for the "eau" in the name, as there's no aqueous note in the fragrance itself), white stark buildings like the Versailles palace meet Volvic spring water, pebbles that levitate, even Carla Bruni in her pre-Sarkozy modeling days: poised glamorously in her sparkling white bathrobe in some posh hotel's chaise longue by the pool or clutching a bottle pensively while wearing tailored clothes (such a BCBG image).
Perhaps not so surprisingly, Eau de Rochas is HUGE in South Mediterranean countries (and big in Latin America, I suppose), where the name gets a pronounced sibilant timbre. Citrusy colognes with a mossy background are a god-sent in heat.
The really interesting tidbit, however, is that the fragrance launched in 1970 as "Eau de Roche", i.e. rock water, as if erupting fresh from the mountain rock, which ironically justifies the modern "water spa" images. At the time, however, it meant a reference to nature, and an uninhibited connection with the primary state of the human being, that out of the watery womb.
The fact that Rochas was an established couture house, with Helene elected "most elegant woman in the world" and the very popular Madame Rochas perfume a mainstay of the 1960s, meant that the transition to the more straight-forward Eau de Rochas was not without merit. The concept itself on the other hand was first conceived in 1948! One year before another citrus cologne by the house, this time tinged with the delectable manly whiff of leather, came out; Moustache, composed by Therese Roudnitska, wife of the formidable Edmond. Mamounas worked on this idea and produced something that corresponded perfectly to the zeitgeist.
The contrast of sunbeams and shade, of optimism and capitalist realities are at the very heart of the student movements of the late 1960s and early 1970s, which probably meant to do away with what Rochas used as its advertising calling card in recent "fat cow" years. And although Eau de Rochas is to modern sensibilities a quite "classic", therefore classy, rather sophisticated fragrance, its youthfulness and radiance cannot be hidden if it tried. It's still fighting the good fight, as witnessed bythe 2014 limited edition (same scent) in cobalt-blue packaging, beautifully illustrated by Aurore de la Molinerie.
If you missed them, the previous part of this series can be found on these links.
In more than one respect the 1970s have been pivotal in the acceptance and sanctioning of shared fragrances. In part 1 of this series about the fresh scents of the seventies I reviewed the little-known Eau Libre by YSL, which was advertised indeed as a unisex offering. The flares on the pants worn by guys were directly competing with the wing-shaped tunics worn by women. Growing hair longer, smoothing hard edges and donning lots of jewelry meant that guys could feel totally at ease having a cologne that was really meant to enhance a human dimension rather than a sexualized one which was based on staid sex segregation and manly stereotypes. The chest thumping aromatic fougeres hadn't caught on in the first half of the 1970s; they were waiting to get their vengeance later on, but the "fresh" or cologne type scents that ruled in the first years of the decade showed the promise of revolutionary potential.
What began in the 1960s really culminated in the 1970s; the sexual revolution accompanied by societal and political changes that rocked the world.
Eau de Rochas really stands at the cusp of this change, alongside its sister scent O de Lancome, launched just one year prior and tied to the student movement that had already given us May '68. They were both marketed to women, sure, but they were (and continue to be) very much shared by men. Their unobtrusive, no frou frou packaging also played a big part in that, of course.
One can feel in Eau de Rochas the progression of the refreshing citrus luminescence, that was omnipresent in Lancome's cologne, into a living space accessorized with Tse posters on the wall, patchouli incense sticks burning all around and the fresh sweat of nubile bodies of the rowing team, as if living out the movie"The Strawberry Statement".
The introduction of a darker shade via the patchouli and oakmoss, as well as the more aromatic profile (mainly due to peppery basil, as in Eau Sauvage by Dior previously, and a green whiff of narcissus), give to Eau de Rochas a sense of foreboding. Patchouli is an interesting material for this, as perfumer Nicolas Mamounas no doubt saw. Obviously, it's a direct reference to the hippie oils that young people of those times heaped on. According to testimonies, these single oils were indeed mostly patchouli (natural), sandalwood (also mostly natural) and musk (definitely synthetic), sold at head shops.
The intricacy of patchouli leaf as a fragrance material is that it encompasses not one, but two succulently bittersweet facets; on one edge that of licorice (most modern consumers know this effect very well from Lolita Lempicka eau de parfum) and on the other one chocolate (this is the effect in Thierry Mugler's Angel, which is of course a patchoulifest). That chocolate edge is darker (no milk) and less dusty than the cocoa powder note found in iris. It all contributes to a louche effect that can be very becoming on the right skin and in the right dose. Too much patchouli on an unwashed body can quickly recall Haight Ashbury Fairs rather than Sea Cliff.
Rochas curiously enough didn't quite focus on these associations (which seem rather obvious given the fact that Eau de Rochas was the emblem of the Flower Power generation) and instead offers a sort of "thalasso" (French short for thalassotherapy, very popular in France), spa image.
| Expanses of water (to account for the "eau" in the name, as there's no aqueous note in the fragrance itself), white stark buildings like the Versailles palace meet Volvic spring water, pebbles that levitate, even Carla Bruni in her pre-Sarkozy modeling days: poised glamorously in her sparkling white bathrobe in some posh hotel's chaise longue by the pool or clutching a bottle pensively while wearing tailored clothes (such a BCBG image). |
Perhaps not so surprisingly, Eau de Rochas is HUGE in South Mediterranean countries (and big in Latin America, I suppose), where the name gets a pronounced sibilant timbre. Citrusy colognes with a mossy background are a god-sent in heat.
The really interesting tidbit, however, is that the fragrance launched in 1970 as "Eau de Roche", i.e. rock water, as if erupting fresh from the mountain rock, which ironically justifies the modern "water spa" images. At the time, however, it meant a reference to nature, and an uninhibited connection with the primary state of the human being, that out of the watery womb.
The fact that Rochas was an established couture house, with Helene elected "most elegant woman in the world" and the very popular Madame Rochas perfume a mainstay of the 1960s, meant that the transition to the more straight-forward Eau de Rochas was not without merit. The concept itself on the other hand was first conceived in 1948! One year before another citrus cologne by the house, this time tinged with the delectable manly whiff of leather, came out; Moustache, composed by Therese Roudnitska, wife of the formidable Edmond. Mamounas worked on this idea and produced something that corresponded perfectly to the zeitgeist.
The contrast of sunbeams and shade, of optimism and capitalist realities are at the very heart of the student movements of the late 1960s and early 1970s, which probably meant to do away with what Rochas used as its advertising calling card in recent "fat cow" years. And although Eau de Rochas is to modern sensibilities a quite "classic", therefore classy, rather sophisticated fragrance, its youthfulness and radiance cannot be hidden if it tried. It's still fighting the good fight, as witnessed bythe 2014 limited edition (same scent) in cobalt-blue packaging, beautifully illustrated by Aurore de la Molinerie.
If you missed them, the previous part of this series can be found on these links.
The 1970s Fresh Scents, Part 1: YSL Eau Libre
07/20/15 16:43:24 (13 comments)
by: Elena Vosnaki
For a unisex fragrance meant to embody the fresh liberty of the spirit, as attested by its name, comparison with today's standards on a similar concept is fascinating. The trending vision of a "refreshing" lifestyle fragrance is far removed from the world of the 1970s when Eau Libre first came on the stage (1975) only to be shortly eclipsed by other fragrant releases by that magician couturier, Yves Saint Laurent.
To wit: Smell bestseller Light Blue by Dolce & Gabbana (the women's version, which could be equally worn by men as well, would do) and consider its character: sweetly "clean" and with a sharp tang that aims at catching the sinuses. And even though it is meant to be used as a dry skin veil (the Med's idea of groomed, where humid is abhorred) it still recalls a lemon sorbet!
In comparison fresh scents of the 1970s, such as Diorella or Eau Sauvage (both byDior) will strike you as totally abstract with no naturalistic depiction proclivities, intense and complex, like a green cocktail whetting your appetite by its very magical appearance.
In comparison fresh scents of the 1970s, such as Diorella or Eau Sauvage (both byDior) will strike you as totally abstract with no naturalistic depiction proclivities, intense and complex, like a green cocktail whetting your appetite by its very magical appearance.
 |  |
The green juice inside the bottle of Eau Libre smells dry, intensely so in fact like bitters. There are no syrupy fruity notes but only citrus resinous ones as those of the rind instead of the juice. It's also quite aromatic and with a bitter note reminiscent of galbanum. Eau Libre, clear and unbridled, takes flight into the wilder arpeggios of freshness. It's the freshness of meadows and undergrowth instead of the fabric softener emanating from the washing machine. Today citrus colognes still signal "clean" but their load owes a heavy debt to the laundry atmosphere of musks more than to grassy vetiver (khus) and its traditionally cooling aura.
 |
Year of release: 1975
Notes: aldehydes, bergamot, neroli, petitgrain, hedione, cedar, vetiver and musk.
|
The structure of the traditional Eau de Cologne demands a certain balance of cooling tangy hesperides with the bitterish tinge of herbs; the medicinal side of one is balanced by the edible juicier side of the other, while both mesh in the middle where their respective non-edible facets overlap. The herbal aspect is the "aromatic" part of the equation. The total is traditionally anchored by musk tincture. The latter is replaced in the 20th century with a careful and restrained dosage of synthetic musks plus woody notes such as a bit of sandalwood or Vertofix to make the by nature volatile top notes not evaporate into thin air immediately.
Still, the classic Eau de Cologne is meant to be incadescent and ephemeral; to be refreshed all along the day. The 1970s fragrances tried to bypass that latter characteristic by offering a twist into the classical cologne of ther 18th and 19th century; a challenge that is still relevant nowadays when niche fragrance brands such as Biehl (trying with white musk, to bring but one example) continue the search for that perfect "last touch of grooming preparation" olfactory product. Historically speaking, no one did it quite so well as Edmond Roudnitska for Christian Dior with his somewhat chypre leaning compositions (namely Eau Sauvage and Diorella, both perfect in a heatwave). But feeling Eau Libre and seeing its cool-toned emerald hue makes me think that this unknown contestant is just as nice; just as perfect for warm weather.
The progression from citrus into the more mossy earthy elements is quite speedy in Eau Libre by Yves Saint Laurent. Contrary to modern colognes that take their time to establish the synthetically enhanced citrus notes before sinking into an indelible loop of scrubbed musk the depths of Eau Libre seem to appear almost immediately under the effdrvescent affluence of soapy hesperides (no doubt thanks to aldehydes); like a lining that's beginning to show at the point of overstretched seams, it hints at what's beneath.
The progression from citrus into the more mossy earthy elements is quite speedy in Eau Libre by Yves Saint Laurent. Contrary to modern colognes that take their time to establish the synthetically enhanced citrus notes before sinking into an indelible loop of scrubbed musk the depths of Eau Libre seem to appear almost immediately under the effdrvescent affluence of soapy hesperides (no doubt thanks to aldehydes); like a lining that's beginning to show at the point of overstretched seams, it hints at what's beneath.
 |  |
The ads for Eau Libre were revolutionary for the times; long before CK One made it safe for fragrance designer brands to champion social activism by representing majorities and minorities "as one." Top model Marie Helvin and a beautiful black guy I can't quite place displayed a languorous attitude, leaning back to back with their eyes closed in sensuous rapture. A very French view of fragrance image that must be the antithesis of "dynamic" as attested by the American-generated images of similar concept scents of the "go-getter." Just look at Charlie, the first "lifestyle" fragrance of the 1970s showing Shelley Hack striding in pants. Eau Libre is clearly a different breed.
We will continue with more scents of the 1970s in this category. Stay tuned!
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário
COMENTE O QUE VOCÊ ACHOU DA NOSSA MATÉRIA!