by Mandy Aftel
Here is a method50 for familiarizing yourself with a given essence:
Set out your materials in a room that is free of other odors and where the air is relatively warm and humid. (Very dry or cold air reduces your sensitivity to odors.) Label a blotter with the name of the essence, the time and date, and the numeral I. Dip it into the essence and smell. Record your impression of the top note.
Fifteen minutes later, smell again and note any changes.
After another fifteen minutes, label a new blotter with the date and time and the numeral 2, along with the name of the essence. Dip blotter number 2 into the same essence. Compare the two blotters, smelling blotter number I first. (Otherwise, the newer, fresher scent will dominate your olfactory perception.) Record your initial impressions of the essence’s body note from blotter number I. Refine your description of its top note with reference to blotter number 2.
Half an hour later, smell blotter number I to make a final evaluation of the body note, comparing it to blotter number 2 to get a sense of any odor differences.
Continue to smell blotter number I at half-hour intervals to determine how long it takes for the dryout note to emerge. Write down your description of the dryout note. (It is here that you sometimes can detect the adulteration of natural essences, if the last note you smell seems off, chemical, or inharmonious.) Make note of how long it takes for the scent to disappear completely.
Whenever you work with natural perfume materials, beware of olfactory fatigue, which can set in after you smell too many scents in a row. When essences begin to smell weak, it is time to refresh the olfactory palate. The easiest way to do this is to inhale three times deeply through a piece of wool—a scarf or shawl works well—which revitalizes your sense of smell. Other people report the same effects from sniffing fresh coffee beans or putting a chunk of sea salt on their tongue.
CARRIERS
When you begin to blend essences to make perfume, you will need some sort of medium to blend them in. By far the most common carrier for perfumes is 190-proof ethyl alcohol. It mixes completely with essential oils and absolutes and will dilute the thickest of resins, balsams, and concretes. It also helps to lift and diffuse the essences and allows them to blossom further together.
A good perfume alcohol can be a bit of a challenge for amateur perfumers to procure, however. The isopropyl (or rubbing) alcohol you can find in the drugstore is strong-smelling and unsuitable for perfume-making. Vodka is often touted as a readily available substitute for perfume alcohol, but I have experimented with it extensively and found it useless. You may be able to find good-quality ethyl alcohol at some drugstores (ask in the pharmacy) or at local chemical supply houses; I have also provided mail-order sources in the appendix. Ethyl alcohol is available in both denatured and undenatured forms. Commercial perfumers use the denatured, but I prefer the undenatured version, as it is less processed. (It is also a controlled substance and hence may be more difficult to find.) Both forms are very flammable and should be stored well away from sunlight and heaters.
If you cannot find a way to get perfume alcohol, or prefer a heavier quality to your perfume, you can blend in an oil instead. Of all the carrier oils (wheat germ, apricot kernel, almond, hazelnut, and many others), I prefer jojoba oil, which is actually a wax, not a liquid oil, that closely resembles human sebum and is therefore an excellent moisturizer. It comes from the seeds of a desert shrub and is a lovely golden color, with no fragrance of its own; it is also much less prone to rancidity and oxidation than other oils.
Jojoba oil can be used as a liquid carrier. It can also be mixed with beeswax to make solid and semisolid perfumes, known as unguents. These have been around since ancient times, when they were made by steeping plant parts in animal fat, or mixing fragrant oils with fat and beeswax. In Egypt they were shaped into cones and worn on the head—dispensing fragrance, health, and spiritual purity as they melted down from the heat of the body. (In tomb paintings, the presence of these cones functions a bit like haloes in Christian art, signifying the state of being blessed.) Other peoples carried them close to the body in jeweled cases.
And so can you. A compact of solid perfume is easy to carry in a handbag, briefcase, or backpack. The scent is a little denser than alcohol-based perfume, and the experience of spreading it on with your fingers is more earthy than spraying a cologne from a short distance. But solid perfume is also extremely discreet; it will scent only you, not the environment around you. I package mine in vintage compacts and pillboxes that I find on the Internet or in junk stores and antique shops.
The texture of a good solid perfume is similar to that of a good lipstick, creamy and waxy and firm enough to offer some resistance to your finger, but not so hard that it takes any real force to get some to adhere to your finger. I prefer natural yellow beeswax, which I purchase in one-pound blocks, enough to last most home perfumers for many years. It lends a sweetish fragrance and a warm amber glow to solid perfumes, and the process of grating it, melting it, and smelling the delicate honeyed scent it gives off contributes to the meditative aspects of making perfume. A bleached beeswax is also available, but I do not recommend it—the texture is thin, the bleaching gives the wax a chemical smell, and the resulting perfume is pasty in texture and appearance.
EQUIPMENT
The tools you will need to begin making perfume are simple and readily available, as well as easy to use. In addition to the perfume materials themselves, and the scent strips and carriers I have already mentioned, here is what you will need to get started:
Beakers for blending. You can purchase these from any chemical supply house. Small ones that are calibrated for 15 and 30 ml are most useful.
Wooden or plastic chopsticks for stirring. You can also use wooden or bamboo skewers cut into manageable lengths, or glass cocktail stirrers if you come across them in a thrift shop.
Droppers for measuring essences and other ingredients. They can be bought in a drugstore or by the dozen at chemical supply houses.
Rubbing alcohol for cleaning droppers. This is easily obtained in any drugstore.
Measuring spoons for larger quantities of ingredients. An ordinary plastic or metal set for cooking is fine.
Bottles for storing essences and perfume experiments, and for packaging your finished perfumes. You can collect the latter at flea markets and thrift stores, or, for more money, in antique shops. For storing the essences and experiments, you will need an assortment of plain small bottles—from 10 ml to I ounce or so. Chemical supply houses are a good source, and I have given additional sources for both plain and decorative bottles in the appendix.
Small adhesive labels for your bottles. I like to use circular labels, white ones for experiments and colored ones for my bottles of top notes (yellow), middle notes (orange), and base notes (green).
Coffee filters and unbleached filter papers for straining out the solid flower waxes after a perfume has aged.
For making solid perfumes:
Grater for grating beeswax. The simple trapezoidal kind you use for cheese is fine. I use the medium-size holes and grate several tablespoons at a time. Store the grated beeswax in a resealable plastic bag.
Noumetal pan for melting wax. Ceramic or glass is best, the smaller the better. A small ramekin or soufflé dish is suitable. Chemical supply houses also sell extremely tiny heat-proof ceramic pans with a pouring spout; while not essential, they are perfect for the small batches of solid perfume.
Gas or electric burner for melting the wax. If you really get into solid perfume, it is extremely useful to get a small hot plate from a laboratory supply company. Corning makes a very nice small portable one with an easy-to-clean ceramic top.
Containers for solid perfumes. I prefer small compacts, not as large as regular department-store ones. Vintage metal ones with shallow flat pans work well, as do silver, enamel, or porcelain pillboxes.
A NOTE ABOUT SAFETY
Some natural essences have been known to cause allergic reactions when appli
ed directly to the skin. Others have provoked adverse reactions when used in very large quantities, ingested orally, or rubbed into the skin. Even though natural essences in perfumery are diluted in alcohol or other carriers, if you are prone to allergies or have sensitive skin, it may be advisable to try a patch test to see if a given oil is problematic for you. Apply one drop of the oil in question to the inside of your forearm and cover it with an adhesive strip. After a few hours, check for redness or irritation.
I have read that citrus oils in the bath can cause irritation to the skin, but I have included them in many bath blends with no ill result. If your skin is sensitive, however, you may want to put a few drops of a citrus essence in a basin of warm water, then soak your hand and lower arm in it and check for signs of irritation.
It is best to avoid natural essences on the skin during pregnancy. They can pass from the skin into the bloodstream, and some of them may cross the placental barrier. As Christine Wildwood observes in The Encyclopedia of Aromatherapy, “There is no evidence51 to suggest that unborn babies have been harmed as a result of their mothers using therapeutic applications of essential oils … Nevertheless, a number of oils stimulate menstruation and are therefore potentially hazardous, especially during the first three months of pregnancy, when miscarriage is more of a threat.”
The International Fragrance Association (IFRA) has compiled a list of recommended guidelines for commercial perfumers, which is updated periodically. You can find it on the Web at www.ifraorg.org/guidelines.asp.
3
The Calculus of Fixation Base Notes
He saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart in the sensuous life, and set himself to discover their true relations, wondering what there was in frankincense that made one mystical, and in ambergris that stirred one’s passions, and in violets that woke the memory of dead romanticism and in musk that troubled the brain.
—Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
52 WE CLASSIFY perfume notes into top, middle, and base notes according to their relative volatility, or the speed and velocity with which they diffuse into the air. Or we could look at this quality from the opposite perspective and say that they are grouped according to their relative tenacity, which refers to the length of time they remain fragrant on the skin before they fade away entirely. In a way, the two perspectives reflect the respective points of view of the perfumed and the perfumer: when you smell perfume from a bottle or beaker, you encounter the fleeting top notes first, then you move into the heart of the perfume, and finally you are left with the base notes. Many perfumers work this way, from the top down, but the few times I have tried this, I have had poor results. A good base note remains perceptible on the perfume blotter for one or two days. Because they are so forceful, base notes added last tend, at the very least, to alter the character of the scent dramatically; at worst, they may completely overwhelm it. So to me it makes the most sense to construct perfumes from the ground up, like a pyramid, beginning with the strong base note and building the rest of the perfume upon it, layer by layer.
Base notes are combined to form a chord, to borrow another term from music. Like a musical chord, a perfume chord consists of at least two and no more than five notes, or essences, mixed together, their individual identities subsumed in a harmonious new whole. Three is a good number to start with. In each chord, one note should ring out, should dominate the chord, with the others augmenting and supporting it, and the dominating base, middle, and top notes must harmonize. But the chords themselves are infinite, like the dishes that can be concocted from a well-stocked larder.
Base notes are the deepest, most mysterious, and oldest of all perfume ingredients. Every ancient culture used them—indeed, for centuries they were the essence of perfume—so when you work with them, you literally have ancient history in your hands. You hold the ingredients that camels carried along the spice routes and that Cleopatra mixed in her workshop. Sandalwood, for example, has been in continuous use for four thousand years; its soft, soothing scent made it an obvious choice for spiritual practices. Distilled sandalwood is said to have been used in Ceylon for embalming the corpses of native princes since the ninth century.
With the exception of sandalwood, amber, and vanilla-scented essences such as benzoin, Peru balsam, and tolu balsam, however, base notes strike most people as powerful, even overwhelming, sniffed straight from the bottle. They tend to be dark green or brown in color and heavy and thick in consistency, syrupy liquids gathered from barks (sandalwood), roots (angelica), resins (labdanum), lichens (oakmoss), saps (benzoin, Peru balsam), grasses (patchouli, vetiver), or animal secretions (musk, civet). Often they must be melted or tinctured—mixed with perfume alcohol—before they can be incorporated into a perfume. Sticky, resinous, treacly, they are intensity incarnate.
A caged civet
Base notes call forth a complementary intensity on the part of the perfumer. They are thorny and difficult, and to be comfortable with them requires effort and imagination. Learning to love them is a challenge to the novice. The weak of heart may recoil from their animal and earthy heaviness, and even the adventurous may find their intensity off-putting at first, especially to a nose whose sense of smell has been cultivated at department-store perfume counters. The synthetic fragrances found there have almost no natural base notes; their dryouts have been chemically manipulated to give them tenacity without depth.
When I am creating a custom perfume, I tend to use base notes as a litmus test of a person’s sensual depths. The timid always choose vanilla; the daring sometimes go for costus or blond tobacco or black spruce absolute. But the perfumer must learn to embrace them all, bearing in mind the words of the great perfumer Jean Carles, a.k.a. Mr. Nose (his was insured for one million dollars) and founder of an important perfumery school in Grasse: “The perfumer should be totally unprejudiced53, should entirely disregard his own taste. Woe to him who hates vetiver … He should be aware there are no incompatibilities in perfumery, that apparently clashing materials will blend successfully on addition of another product playing the part of a binding agent, making their odors compatible.” What is important is not whether an essence smells beautiful on its own but how its idiosyncratic capacities and elements merge and blend with chosen others to create a beautiful new smell. For a perfumer to dislike patchouli or civet is like a painter disliking green or yellow. Essences are simply materials with which to realize a vision, and while every perfumer will have favorites, every essence has a place in skilled hands. Edmond Roudnitska echoes Carles: “The motivated and experienced perfumer54 no longer distinguishes between pleasant and unpleasant smells. This is like the music composer who considers notes to be elementary forms which can be combined into intricate music. The composer no longer judges the notes but the rapport he has created between them.”
Substantive but often unpleasant-smelling in their undiluted form, base notes require imagination and artful selection on the part of the perfumer, who must be able to fathom the depths—congenial, seductive, boring but reliable—the diluted substance will add, avoiding an overpowering or muddy effect. Becoming familiar with the base notes’ changing character as they evaporate helps. As the hours pass, they smell softer and more pleasant, and this evolution accurately reflects how they will affect a perfume over time. With experience, the perfumer learns the characteristics of a given essence and remembers which other essences are its friends, and which its natural enemies. In the heat of composing, fully responsive to the sensuality of the moment, the perfumer will intuitively choose the notes that can set the desired tone—exotic, sweet, powerful, chaste, tame, erotic—for the perfume. And yet there is always an element of surprise in working with these deep and complicated essences.
Thick, unformed, gunky, base notes are a reminder of the unconscious—of all that is shadowed, thick, obscure, but fixed and defining about us—and the inertia and resistance that guard it. Working with them conjures a sense of going into the unknown, into the dep
ths. Many of them can’t be blended in their unadulterated form; first they must be lightened up and made to flow by heating them.
This stage of perfume-making corresponds to the alchemical process of solutio, in which a solid is turned into a liquid, or, in more abstract terms, in which one form disappears—dissolves—and a new form emerges. As base notes are the foundation of a perfume, solutio is the root of alchemy. Only that which has been separated can be joined; the movement implicitly involves the unification of opposites.
In human terms, the process of transformation begins with suspending fixed attitudes and habits. As Richard and Iona Miller put it in The Modern Alchemits, “The first phase of the alchemical process55 involves coming into awareness of the heights and depths of your character. Solutio heralds another crisis where the contents of the deep subconscious erupt from below and overwhelm both body and mind … You are held in thrall, fascinated, even hypnotized by the powerful images and forces welling up from below … Solutio is obviously an irrational process. It derives from meditation on the objective products spontaneously arising from your depths, like dreams and fantasies.”