Are you a collector laying down good money on vintage perfumes? Put your wallet and credit card down right now! You're probably wasting precious time and money. Now that I have caught your attention, dear reader, let's investigate why hawking over online auctions for mystifying bottles with dark liquids and tattered boxes may be a doubtful if entertaining hobby rather than an investment or an art lesson, as you might have originally thought. I fully anticipate the controversy which such an argument might raise, but isn't dialectics at the heart of every intellectual investigation? If perfume is more than just a weapon of seduction or a moment of unadulterated pleasure, then it can surely withstand the scrutiny of a cerebral deconstruction.
To take things at the top, the belief, held close to the heart like an initiation ritual of a secret cult, that perfume acts like wine, while allergens guidelines to restrictions of perfumery ingredients are out there to efface every scented masterpiece of yore (partly true), is at the core of vintage hunting. A large number of perfume collectors exasperated by discontinuation or horrible reformulations of commercial perfumes turned themselves to older bottles of things they knew and loved. But the original syllogism is faulty on relying on both its tangents and I set out to prove it.
First of all, as any wino worth their salt will tell you, only people who have absolutely no idea about wine go on about how wine is "better with age." Obviously not all wines are fit for maturing in the bottle or in their oak barrel, or else the Nouveau Beaujolais would be the scam of the century. And our salads would be vinegar-less too. Not only that, wines require specific attributes for them to attain greatness and that is only eligible for a specific time window beyond which decline is inevitable. Keep a great bottle of wine for too long and, like the anti-hero in Sideways finds out, the opportunity of stupendous greatness may irrevocably pass you by. But what is perhaps more important is that fragrance isn't necessarily wine-like to begin with. The arbitrary correlation between perfume and wine was made when the (artificial) necessity for perfume critiquing came to being in the early 2000s.
Perfume was a new field for establishing authority, after witnessing the rise of an audience that discussed fragrance on online boards at great length, and therefore creating a paracosm of business positions peripheral to the actual manufacturing of perfume, yet detached from the distribution and advertising channels or the established beauty editorials (which were—and continue to be—largely thinly veiled ploys of advertising), seemed like a really sound idea. The return of an allegedly "fed up with perfume" critic, as per own admission, to perfume critiquing in order to fund his increased family is a case in point.
Devising a scale comparable to Robert Parker's rating system was especially important for the fledging work of the perfume critic back when it all gained moentum. It was historically first implemented in the New York Times when Chandler Burr came on (August 2006), fresh from his publishing success The Emperor Of Scent and his New Yorker piece about the creation of Un Jardin sur le Nil by perfumer Jean Claude Ellena.
It made sense too, because Parker offers independent reviews and The New York Times column, originally called "Scent Strip" and later on renamed "Scent Notes," founded its success on offering, exactly, an independent consumer's guide to fine fragrances. This was different from magazine editorials from the get-go; perfumes were regularly given one star or, the seal of mediocrity, 2 stars.
Since Burr is a writer (a good one) and he often went on tangents that nudged at the arts to drive home his core philosophy (indeed his mission was and continues to be that perfumery should be elevated to the status of any other art form; valid if perhaps far-fetched), the peril of losing the "long story short" focus loomed large. And brevity of message is at the heart of all American business; after all, publishing is business too! Therefore the star-spangled marking of perfumes which NYT implemented served a two-fold purpose: an easy, code-able, eye-catching message as direct as a blow to the cojones and also a seal of authenticity via indirect reflection of the widely esteemed wine ranking system.
The Emperor Of Scent The Perfect Scent
Perfume however continues to be undeciphered enough, for anyone beyond those who actually produce it, since all subsequent "critics" after Burr adopted the 5-star markings, vastly less nuanced and more "formulaic" than the 100-point scale that Parker and most wine critics use! One could argue that film critics use the same 5-star ranking system and it serves them just fine, cinema undoubtedly being one of the fine arts, yet there's one stumbling block behind this argument: film critique has a long and honorable tradition behind it, what with its "Cahiers du Cinema" and its thousands of avenues of expression in a pleiad of media for at least a century; perfume critique (especially in English) is NEW.
In all this clamor, it's easy to lose sight of how the industry (and indeed the nature of fragrance itself) works. Most fragrance professionals are opposed to vintage perfume stashing, clearly not because of some devious scheme to have you buying more new perfume (there are plenty of marketing and advertising opportunities for that!) but because it implies a sort of malpractice. Some of the most meticulous professionals even chronicle the passage of time in specific terms.
Jeffrey Dame, an industry figure for 34 years and counting and president of one of the most carefully curated niche perfume distribution companies in the USA, Hypoluxe, puts it plainly (also dispelling the myth that you can somehow "pinpoint" which version of a scent you own, going by the packaging alone): "There is really no way to know what percentage of vintage scents have mixed and matched old boxes and labels with various newer scent updates. Just know that packaging carries on for years. I will say that scent is a living thing, and the character of the smell changes over time. A scent made within the past year will be brighter in top notes, a scent 2-3 years old is mellower, as everything melds together. A scent 4-5 years old starts to lose character, and can often be turning bad. Anything over 5 years old is highly suspect for quality, and anything 8 years old is dreck and turned. Buying any fragrance on Ebay over 10 years old tells you nothing, as you either end up with fragrance which is completely unwearable, or even if it is wearable, bears no relation to the original scent when it was first made. Fragrance goes bad. Fewer brands were introduced back in the eighties and nineties, and if a brand aged too long in the warehouse, it was destroyed, and no longer sold (usually past 5 years). In today's modern perfumery world, so many brands are launched and pushed through the market that you end up with brands sitting around in secondary market wholesalers for years and years and years, and reaching the consumer in all sorts of poor states." [1]
It's enough to buy an old Eau de Cologne, the name denoting not concentration but rather the time-honored recipe for a citrus and herbs concoction that is traditionally beloved around Southern Europe, to know that some essences can't survive no matter how well you preserve something. Citrus notes go first and sometimes herbs lose their piquancy. Spices can go flat. Flowers can sour. Jasmine gains a bright tangerine hue with the passage of time, vanilla becomes brown, some resins and balsams as the alcohol evaporates slowly turn again into their primordial sticky goo consistency that makes them so mystical. It's not easy to keep track.
Youth Dew by Lauder looks medicinal brown even when freshly brewed, but it can be menacingly black when old. Then again, the company's perfectly contemporary Private Collection Amber Ylang Ylang gains a similarly disturbing "blackness" with the passage of only a couple of years, so clearly there are no hard and fast rules. It's also a fallacy to consider that only fragrances of an inferior quality (or the reverse, those rich in natural essences) deteriorate; it's a bit more complex than that.
A member of an international board of perfumephiles puts another aspect of the lure of vintage in these words: "Many vintage scents to me are like a time capsule of the era in which they debuted and so, to sniff one is to be taken back…in a good way." [2] Anyone with a history-loving bone in their body (and I'm obviously one of them by both nature and nurture, i.e. formal studies) can sympathize with this view, but ultimately it's an ILLUSION.
Frederic Malle of Editions de Parfums, one of the patron saints of niche perfume (certainly the one who gave popular prominence to perfumers as "auteurs" around 2000) has been critical of the vintage mania of collectors ever since. Chuckling under his well-tailored sleeve, he dispels the myth that you will be able to smell the perfumes as they wεre intended to smell by their creators. Plus, you can never be sure what you're buying, especially since many sellers aren't experienced enough themselves to describe the smell accurately for you. The problem with buying from an online auction site is you may be buying vinegar-smelling or nail-polish-remover-smelling juice and you can only find out when you end up testing the perfume yourself. Flea markets aren't a much surer bet, because the mere process of transfering things around and exposing them to light poses a risk to the content, although testing can happen on the spot. Maybe estate sales, antique shops or buying off reputable collectors who know what they're selling is the least risky proposition, but not a widely available one.
And sometimes one can't be safe even with contemporary perfumes! "I have had one perfume fall apart, unfortunately it was one of my favorites (Frapin 1697), I have later heard from the perfumer, Bertrand Duchaufour, that this is not uncommon with this particular perfume, and he blames the davana essential oil in it, which has a tendency for instability." [3]
But considering (even entertaining the thought) that something can withstand the passage of that most destructive force of them all, time, is at its core vastly ROMANTIC. Much like the 19th-century European Romantics discovered again the lure of the ancient and medieval world and meticulously resurrected all its awe at the spontaneity of things, the impromptu, and of untrammeled nature, people with romantic aspersions hunt for the pearl amidst the swines. As one perfume collector put it: "Vintage scents represent a time when perfumery was an art, not just means to make a huge profit by slapping a celebrity name on yet another fruity floral that will be discontinued in a few years."[2]
Romanticism also championed the legitimization of the imagination of the individual as a critical authority (the "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" axiom), modern romantics opposing the industrialization of perfume and its increasing "sterility"champion their own individual critical perception. Maybe it was that last part that was so seductive to both the collector and the fledging critic: if everyone is entitled to their individual assessment on a par with everyone else regardless of expertise ("perfume is subjective") then there can be no critical dismissal of vintage and there is no adherence to any classical notion of form in art. One can claim ANYTHING and if enough people come to believe it, it becomes "fact." Hence the "glamazon" appeal of vintage in all its forms and declinations, the calling card of bygone envy for something only the connoisseur can appreciate.
The issue of allergens and perfume restrictions implemented by regulatory bodies, such as the International Fragrance Association (IFRA) have played a significant part in vintage perfume hunting, true. But the thing is so many times the difference is not really perceptible because of the reformulation itself (in some cases meticulous attention is given by people vastly equipped to substitute with great agility), but because of the time lapse between a freshly produced bottle and an aged one: molecules are in a continuous dialogue in the bottle and they tend to react.
Dame to the rescue once more to explain how it all works: "In modern manufacturing the scent oil is mixed with alcohol and sits for under a week, usually 2-3 days and then it is chilled, filtered and typically filled into the bottles. Fragrance which has just been made is much more 'toppy,' very bright and clear with evident top notes and pitched much higher. This is evident from time of manufacture up to a month or two when the scent settles down a little and the top notes descend into the scent, the edges smooth over and it all melds together. The mellowing and melding continues on for many months, becoming richer and richer—and different. Depending on the scent, from six months to a year it settles into norm and stays this way for 18 months to 30 months, when the character changes as time goes on." [4]
Many perfume collectors agree that there are detrimental changes in the vintage bottles they amass. They talk about "bruised top notes," "an opening that reminds me of nail polish remover," a whole section of the formula being "missing" (the aldehydes, the vanilla, etc.). Still, they buy them. Is this folly? As one artisanal perfumer and perfume fanatic puts it, Giovanni Sammarco, "I tried to understand this, but it’s very difficult for me. It’s a trend and like many trends there isn’t a real reason behind it. But you can’t think that a perfume bottled 40 years ago is the same today. It’s not possible. Sometimes I read: 'Wow,I have a new vintage, it’s terrible for 30 minutes then it’s very nice.' Why spend a lot of money to wear a perfume [that's] terrible for 30 minutes?" [5]
Excellent question!
Sometimes vintage collectors go as far as saying that they actually prefer the perfume that way. "A half-full splash bottle of Chanel No.5 eau de toilette from (I think) the 60s-70s has a gorgeous soft roundness that my new spray bottle doesn't. It may just be that the old stuff has lost some of its bracing, aldehydic top notes, but if that's the case, well, I prefer it that way." [2] This pronouncement from another collector puts the seal on the peculiar contradiction of adherence to authenticity and a "manufactured" pliability of the formula to one's own particular needs.
Perhaps the answer is again one of romantic adventure, as admitted by a seasoned fumehead: "There is nothing quite as exciting as the thrill of the chase which involves research, time and timing." [2] Vintage hunting validates the hunter, even if the chase isn't fruitful or turns out into less than anticipated.
It would be extremely tempting to consider that perfume lovers have been brain-washed en masse by pushers of vintage juice, who want to make a quick buck on what had laid dusty in their back cupboards for decades and which they tentatively started selling as memorabilia or crystal collectibles before realizing people were after the contents as well. Indeed since there are cases of vintage fraud (infamous ones on Ebay and elsewhere) and small-case businesses operating exactly on the premise of "vintage" goodness with continuously escalating prices on "old juice," then the natural laws of the market suggests that since there's offer, there's got to be demand.
But I'm afraid that people aren't as stupid as all that, though they are highly suggestible and this is where the responsibility of the perfume writer comes into play. It is the experience of many seasoned perfume dabblers that at least a few of the perfumes that have been kept in good conditions (away from light and heat, maybe told fairy tales to lull them to sleep) and which were by nature fit for "maturing" withstood the passage of time rather well. You see, some orientals and some chypres, thankfully possess such a chemical structure and such preponderance of heavy, less volatile, sticky materials that they might withstand the passage of a few decades without turning their smile into The Joker's. This may be true for Shalimar for instance, but it can't be for Diorissimo, no matter how you cut it. To think otherwise is akin to believing that there is a magic cure for slimming or hair loss: market baloney.
Ref:
[1] Jeffrey Dame From Pyrgos interview
[2] Perfume of Life board
[3] Birgit Olfactorias Travels
[4] Jeffrey Dame on Perfume of Life
[5] Giovanni Sammarco blog