If Dior’s Cuir Cannage (reviewed last week) is an attempt to conjure the ghost of a parent, Jean Patou‘s Chaldée is a near-archaeological endeavour to revive the spirit of an entire civilisation. I confess I wasn’t at all familiar with this fragrance until news of its current re-release reached my ears, but I gather it started life in the late 1920s as the smell of a tanning oil which Patou decided to release as a fine fragrance in response to demands from slavering patrons*. I am in no position to comment on the faithfulness of Thomas Fontaine‘s new version to Henri Almeras’ original, but I can say that if someone released this stuff as a sun lotion today, I’d be baying for it to be turned into a proper perfume too. In fact, I need to be careful that I don’t lose all sense of critical decorum here, because I have been utterly in love with this stuff since I first encountered it a few weeks ago, and I am in serious danger of consuming my entire supply of it.
But enough of the histrionics: you want clear-headed descriptions. Trouble is, I’m not sure I can provide them on this occasion. Even though Chaldée seems to rise up from the fervour of some orgiastic, pre-Stone-Age bonfire dance, it also operates on an abstract level, defying attempts at simplistic note-spotting. This unfathomable quality recalls that great masterpiece of non-literal 1920s perfumery, Ernest Beaux‘s No 5; indeed, it’s fascinating to note that both Chanel’s monster hit and this lesser-known piece of work make prominent use of powdery notes. ‘Powdery’ is actually a useful starting point from which to begin an exploration of Chaldée‘s modus operandi. It unquestionably hints at talc-inflected cleaning rituals: the steam emanating from a bath, the laundered plushness of a fresh towel, the subtly marine-like taste of water on warm flesh. However, despite all this, it resists being labelled a ‘powdery’ perfume, even when it reaches its fine-grained, gossamer drydown. Beach connection notwithstanding, it isn’t anything like the scents of a modern, Western holiday resort, either: there’s no suggestion of coconut oil or biscuits-fresh-from-the-oven butteriness.
Did I say I’d try to avoid histrionics? Forget it, I don’t think I can. The simple fact is that I adore this stuff. Not all my perfume guinea pigs have fallen for its charms – ‘old-fashioned’ has been the main criticism – but I am smitten. I smell Chaldée and I feel the urge to shut down my Twitter account, throw my iPhone into the nearest river and move into a shed along the banks of the Tigris. After all, the present is vastly overrated… or at least, it seems to be when I’m wearing this sort of sorcery.
[Review based on a sample of eau de parfum provided by Jean Patou in 2014.]
Persolaise
* Not all sources agree on this version of events.
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Intrigued. Can it be found and smelled in London?
Moodypaws, it'll soon be available at Harrods.
After reading your enticing review, and wondering if I would ever have the chance to make a close encounter with a tester, I stumbled upon the complete Patou lineup in the least expected palce (a furniture and design concept store).
So Chaldée testing time it was!
The first thing I noticed was the most prominent pee not I have ever met against the familiar aldehydic floral signature of classics of yore (n°5) and today (iris poudre, une fleur de cassie).
The subdued character of Chaldèe didn't convince me either, but as time went on the fragrance became more and more beautiful: the most wonderful floral bouquet started to bloom against a warm, cuddly base that made me want to lick my own skin.
So I am intrigued and puzzled and must try this again.
The pee note, however was just too huge for me to ignore. You got none, I gather, mr persolaise? I noticed another commenter at auparfum was troubled by that note, so maybe it is a matter of nose-to-brain subjective interpretation of a note.
In case you wonder, Jicky, shalimar, pamplemousse rose, miel de bois (and any of the usual suspects I can think of) have never smelled "problematic" to my nose, only deliciously warm in a very human kind of way.
Chaldée: must test again. But that HUGE pee note! wow and gah, at the same time!!!!;)
Zazie, thanks for your comment.
No, I'd be lying if I said I picked up a prominent pee note, but there is definitely something quite animalic in there. Opoponax can also smell quite fungal, which isn't miles away from a urinous feel, I suppose.
Do let me know if you try the perfume again. Perhaps this is going to be a divisive release… which would be no bad thing 😉