As Guerlain Shalimar reaches its 95th anniversary, here are some thoughts on this most majestic of perfumes.
I wish I could remember the first time I encountered Shalimar. It feels as though it’s always been in my life, and yet I know that isn’t the case. I certainly wasn’t aware of it growing up in the UAE; as I think I may have written on these pages before, Guerlain didn’t really ‘arrive’ in that country until I was just a few years away from departing for different shores. I didn’t know anyone who wore Shalimar in Poland. I suppose there’s a possibility I may have caught it sashaying through the air in Iran when I was very young. But the Islamic Revolution – which broke out not long after we arrived in the country – ensured that no fragrance was ever worn outdoors, which means the only time I might have come into contact with it would have been inside someone’s home. The chances of that happening would have been low, I suspect.
This is something of a conundrum in my olfactory autobiography. It’s a scent that I consider to be one of my absolute favourites. I fought hard to get my publishers to agree to give it pride of place on the front of my book (instead of Chanel No. 5, which I adore as well, but get tired of seeing on covers). I feel like I’ve known it all my life. And yet I have no idea when it first began to cast its very particular spell on me.
A mystery. In fact, that’s the word I most frequently associate with Shalimar. The scent may well be the most irresistible perfume mystery I know. A deepening mystery — in the sense that it grows more profound the further you delve into it, the more you unfold it. The composition itself invites this sense of viewing it in terms of different layers: a core of truth surrounded by concentric circles, each one pulling you closer to the heart.
On the outside: that rightly-famed bergamot opening. Much has been written about Jacques Guerlain’s generous use of the material here. Its quantity in the formula, we’re told, means it almost acts like a solvent. That may well be true, but it doesn’t capture the effect of that sparkle of sunshine at the very start. It is curtains being pulled apart, blinds being pulled up, windows being unlocked. Arms wide open — a surrender to an embrace of heat and warmth. Perhaps the most brilliant light ever seen in perfumery.
Then we go further. Into the land of leather. This is animalic territory — as dark as the opening was bright, and yet it never feels wrong, never comes across as misjudged. Herbs emphasise the bitterness and florals add curves of softness, but the identity of the leather is never compromised. It is firm. Muscular. Steady-gazed.
Deeper still. That amber base. A magical trip to the Osmotheque once proved to me that yes, Guerlain certainly borrowed more than a thing or two from Coty’s Emeraude when putting this piece of work together – especially as far as the drydown is concerned – but I guess history was on his side and now Shalimar’s is the amber we celebrate. Vanilla. Resins. Smoke. Incense.Woods. A trap into which you’re so happy to collapse. Your body giving itself up to expertly-delivered pleasure. Again and again. A cycle of ecstasy from which you’re not permitted a single moment to step back, to breathe, to know where you end and the other begins.
And yet that outer circle remains intact. So radiant, so luminous, so downright innocent. Existing right beside the darkness of the base in the sort of conjuring trick that only perfumery can pull off. All facets experienced at once: the protection and the danger, the release and the grip, the stillness and the motion. You think you see one of them clearly – you tell yourself that finally, you’ve understood it, you’ve grasped its totality – but it slips away from you.
Maybe I can’t remember when I first encountered Shalimar because Jacques Guerlain’s genius was to create the scent of unknowability. A composition that slips inside us but then manages to hide itself in our most secret corners, our most private enclosures. Spaces in which it can lie in wait, while grafting itself onto the core of our being. The experience of smelling it for the first time has been subsumed in the mists of the scent’s own intrigue.
I don’t know how long I’ve known it. I feel I’ve known it all my life. I know I’ll never fully know it. Shalimar: a masterpiece of perpetual mystery.
Update 24th May 2020
Here’s a special episode of Love At First Scent broadcast to mark the 95th anniversary of Shalimar. You can watch it below or by clicking on this link: Guerlain Shalimar review 2020.
Persolaise
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My mom’s favorite.. .
Great choice!
Thanks very much for reading.
Thanks for your videos!
Not at all. Thank you for watching.
Many thanks for your review. Is it more challenging to review a benchmark classic like Shalimar, given that so many people have already espoused about it? If there is one specific point to take from your review, it is of Jacques Guerlain’s finely calibrated balance between the “lightness” and “darkness” in the creation of this classic and reference Amber.
I definitely feel more affinity to Chanel No. 5 (and the Les Exclusifs collection) but that does not prevent me from admiring the quality and longevity of Shalimar. Do you happen to know if there have been any significant reformulations to this fragrance due to IFRA regulations?
Also, just wanted to say that you are doing a great job on “Love At First Scent”. I was thrilled to discover that 3 of my favourite Chanel Les Exclusifs made it to your list the other day!
Michael, it’s very kind of you to write, thank you.
It’s interesting that you bring up the issue of reviewing well-known scents, because it’s something I’ve been thinking about myself. In one sense, it’s definitely a difficult thing to do because, as you say, a great deal has already been written about the classics. However, in another sense, it’s much easier, because the oldies are perfumes I tend to know extremely well, and which have become a part of my personal ‘scent-scape’. I guess this makes the reviews more autobiographical, and therefore more subjective. But perhaps that’s also what might make them more compelling to read…?
Dear Persolaise,
Yesterday, which was Christmas Day here in Brisbane, my perfume-loving pen-friend from Hawaii, Peter, emailed me the link to this post on Shalimar. He knew that I would enjoy reading/watching it, and I did indeed. Thanks to him, I have seen a few of your other videos as well. I frequently comment on Bois de Jasmin as Tourmaline, and now I shall check out your blog regularly as well.
Unlike you, I do happen to remember the day I first smelled Shalimar, and I thought you might be interested to hear about it.
While I was working as a receptionist at a doctor’s surgery back in 1981, the doctor had a brief affair with a nurse who was one of his patients. I had suspected that something was going on, but the following incident confirmed this, and also introduced me to the voluptuous Shalimar.
One morning, I saw what I now know was the older Guerlain packaging (black and white) for a small product, possibly the half-ounce bottle of perfume, sitting on the lunch table in the back room of the surgery. Early that afternoon, the nurse visited, and about half an hour later, a strong fragrance wafted its way into the reception area where I was sitting and across the waiting room. Later, after the nurse had left and I walked back through the other three rooms of the surgery to make a cup of coffee, the scent was intoxicating. It was the sweetest, richest, “roundest” perfume I had ever smelled.
Another half hour or so later, as I walked through the rooms again, the sharp smell of ether was overtaking the perfume. It appeared that the doctor had released the ether in an effort to disguise the perfume, which the nurse had apparently sampled. It didn’t really work. In retrospect, it smelled like a much stronger version of the rather medicinal Shalimar top notes! The fact that the doctor’s wife was liable to drop in at any time of the day was no doubt relevant. The doctor mentioned something to me about his use of the ether, but I kept my mouth shut about having seen the perfume.
Some weeks later, the doctor’s wife informed me, “Ms X is doing the best she can to bust up our marriage”. In no time, the nurse had been banished from the surgery, and the wife had written, “NOT TO BE SEEN AGAIN!” in large capitals across the front of the nurse’s patient file. Sometime later, the doctor told me of his dalliance, which he probably realized had been fairly obvious to me, but was rather dismissive of it. (Recently I learned that the doctor’s wife had eventually ditched her philandering spouse, and later married someone else.)
When I rediscovered Shalimar in a department store about four years later, and sprayed it into the crook of one arm, the dry-down smelled like burgundy silk-velvet. I bought my first bottle and began wearing it whenever I wore my burgundy crushed velvet jacket. I became addicted, although it is probably a bit rich for a very pale blonde. Fortunately, the older I become, the more confident I feel about wearing deep or rich perfumes, and, frankly, just wearing what I love, as long as it suits the time and place.
Ah, fragrant memories! I hope you have a very happy New Year.
With kind regards,
Tourmaline
Oh my goodness, Tourmaline, this is one of the best comments EVER! Thank you.
I’m sure I’ve seen some of your comments on BdJ. You’re very welcome on these pages, and I’m grateful to your friend for introducing you to my work.
My very best wishes to you too.
Hi Persolaise,
I’m glad you enjoyed reading about my memorable introduction to Shalimar.
I’m the one on BdJ who can’t write a brief comment to save her own life! (Well, perhaps just occasionally…)
I, too, am grateful to Peter for introducing me to your website. I look forward to reading and viewing more of your work.
Well, I certainly look forward to more comments from you.
👱🏻♀ 🌷
🙂