Vent Vert The Original

First, a big Thank You to Svetlana at Fragrantica for adding this as of June 2018. So glad that we've got a separate listing now for the original Germaine Cellier brew. It's so much different than subsequent formulations and it definitely deserves its own time in the limelight. Imagine walking into the woodlands in a deep valley somewhere north of Paris. It's Spring; the narcissi and hyacinth are up, and everything is turning green with the new season -- so verdant, so vivid it almost hurts your eyes. You reach down and rub wild young grasses and herbs between your fingers, and on the breeze is the scent of sweet moss from the forest ahead. The whole world is newly alive and there is the sense that wonderful things are just about to happen. That's how I feel whenever I wear Madame Cellier's iconic 1947 creation. Interesting that there is more than one set of notes ascribed to the 1947 Vent Vert. One version -- to me, the one closest to my own impression, from my own well-preserved one-ounce bottle, and the one adopted by fragrantica -- lists: Top notes: bergamot, neroli, jonquil and violet leaf Middle notes: geranium, narcissus, basil, galbanum, lily of the valley, freesia, rose, jasmine and hyacinth Base notes: sandalwood, oakmoss and musk Others mention this set of notes: galbanum, citrus, gardenia, peach, rose, lily of the valley, hyacinth, iris, jasmine, oakmoss, vetiver, styrax, and musk. These are plausible as well. Apparently it's said that over 1100 ingredients went into Ms. Cellier's formulation, so adding up all of the above is still only scratching the surface! (Another description raves about the inclusion of oil of marigold. There is a note that certainly gives that particular impression. And it's been said that the iris in the second list above is more correctly the distinctive note of orris root. That would be my impression as well.) Any which way, it's said that galbanum comprises a whopping 8% of the formula. I wouldn't be surprised. If you love galbanum to distraction -- and bonus points if you can't get enough of the kind of sharp, complex bergamot they used to use back in the old days -- this might be the fragrance to have you fall in love all over again. To me, regardless of the notes, the beauty of Vent Vert 1947 is in the Whole-is-greater-than-the-sum-of-the-parts perfume trope. Inhale slowly, let all analysis go, and enjoy the deep, rich, glorious beauty that is the original Vent Vert. If you love intense, bitingly green florals, and vintage is your thing, this might be a new Holy Grail. It was for me.

(Review of the EdT, bottle c. 1960) I am lucky. I freely admit it and I recognize it. I came across my bottle of Vent Vert at an estate sale several years ago, and nearly fell over in disbelief at the find. The seller obviously had no idea what they had, probably just trying to offload their passed relative’s belongings as quickly as they could since they were selling it for pocket change, and it was barely used and kept in the box. I found vintage bottles of Joy and Diorella at this same sale. Lucky me, indeed. My Vent Vert is in pristine condition, and will hopefully remain so since I refuse to let it out of its box in my perfume refrigerator except for some very quick minutes when I apply it to skin. I hope it stays in pristine condition, since I refuse to buy new formulations; they are ghastly. It is criminal what Balmain has done to Vent Vert in recent decades. Just discontinue it, please? Green Wind is a beautiful name for a beautiful perfume that perfectly evokes the aromatic sensation of green florals on a warm breeze of a cool day. As has been written ad infinitum, the galbanum opening is one of the most strident in the green perfume genre and would give permissions to the green perfume craze to arrive more than a decade later. The hesperidics are just as strident, parched, and bitter. Hyacinth is the floral star here, overlapping seamlessly with indolic jasmine and watery muguet in which the latter gives you a bit of a break from the green potency. I find more so captivating than the shocking green opening that every perfumista rabbits on about is the floral heart. My word is it gorgeous. As Vent Vert dries down it loosens up and warms up to you with roses, orris, oakmoss, and gentle balsams. The oakmoss and woody vetiver make sure the green message stays loud and clear through to the skin scent. Simply stunning. Well, no, I shouldn’t say simply/simple. There is nothing simple about Vent Vert, but it feels that way. Walk down a sidewalk on a cool spring day, feel a warmer wind blow the aromas of fresh green florals across your nose, and the experience strikes you as incredibly simple but completely arresting, yet when you consider the science behind what creates that breeze and those aromas your mind is boggled. This is what Vent Vert does to me every time I wear it. There is a simple elegance in the experience, that the opening triggers you into realizing it is anything but simple, so relish it and relish the fact that you are able to be present and enjoy it.

[700] Germaine Cellier may be my favourite perfumer of all, and that is a big statement coming from this fan of Roudnitska, Ropion, Ellena, Coty, Chant, Jacques Guerlain et al. Considering her limited output, it is a case of quality (read: wizardry) over quantity, and Vent Vert is perhaps her most celebrated creation. It was groundbreaking at its time of release, using materials that were not deemed feminine or fashionable. Cellier was an undisputed genius, and it is hard to understand exactly how she composed her scents. I initially fell in love with Jolie Madame, also a Cellier creation for Balmain, and I since was lucky enough to get my hands on a miniature of VV - the green perfume of my dreams. I'm a lover of green scents in general, wearing copious amounts of Chanel No. 19 and Lauder Private Collection in the spring, and Balmain Vent Vert was (to my knowledge) the original and best. Great name aside, this galbanum-rich green scent is dense and mutifaceted, floral and vegetal at the same time, damp yet powdery - spring in a bottle. VV opens with hazy galbanum, a real vintage note, richer and more dense than anywhere else I've experienced it. Some bergamot adds tart zesty freshness, and a prominent green violet note initiates the floral bouquet. Green-tinged citric neroli is an inspired addition, bringing the dewy springtime effect to life, followed by grassy, slightly smoky narcissus. There is a rooty, vegetal effect to the opening, powdery and herbal, utterly green. It is like fresh foliage. As it develops, other floral notes unfurl. The hyacinth is surprisingly subdued, fresh and dewy, and I get green lily-of-the-valley. Some powdery rose follows. There is a damp, herbal undertone. The galbanum persists. As it dries down, a vintage chypre accord emerges, mossy and earthy, a now natural progression for a green scent (albeit pioneering at the time of VV's creation). Soft woody notes ground the greenness, and it becomes softly musky as it fades. Sillage and longevity are moderate. Unisex and made for spring days. The greenest green scent I've ever had the pleasure of smelling, VV is lush, dense, mossy, vegetal, dewy, floral, leafy, herbal, hazy, fresh and woody at various points, yet utterly cohesive - masterfully put-together. Like emerald-green silk, bottled. The work of a true genius. 5/5.

I'm lucky to own the original masterpiece. Imagine a large container that has been stuffed completely full with fresh and damp grass clippings, white flowers, moss and dirt. Someone probably sprinkled citrus juices in there too. The container is then left somewhere where it's very hot and steamy. When you open the container what does it smell like? Probably something like the opening of Vent Vert. At least that is the picture I have in my mind every time I smell this. This is the greenest fragrance in the world. It's full, deep ans vital. No other fragrance comes as close to capturizing the scent of freshly cut grass, which is actually the scent of chemical reactions caused by plants trying to save themselves from injury. This is the smell of freshly cut grass in steroids. This is greenness screaming "I WANT TO LIVE" at your face in full blown panic. In some hours it mellows down to be a more classic white floral scent. It doesn't lose it's edge, but the edge becomes a little less sharp. I adore Vent Vert, but I can't wear it often. I find it easiest to wear in a rainy spring day when it's still cool outside, flowers are already blooming and the young leaves of trees and grass are almost neon bright. Germaine Cellier was a genius. Like other perfumes created by her, the original Vent Vert is an extraordinary piece of art.

97°F today in Ohio. The air is SOUP and Vent Vert is the perfect garnish. Grassy, earthy, and cool--but not too clean; it cuts through the heat like an industrial shop fan. Feminine despite a distinct lack of sweetness or indolic florals. I can imagine well-heeled young women of mid-century finding respite by splashing this liberally on an oppressively sultry summer day. Wearing her feels like stepping into a cool, dark evergreen forest insulated from the sun trying to poke through the canopy. Green chypre lovers will smell the lineage pointing straight back to Vent Vert. It's worth it to seek out a vintage miniature and get your nose on this branch of the family tree. Even with the later reformulations, its herbal, sharp, absolutely non-modern character remains. Sad it's no longer produced; corporate buyouts, amiright? Chanel no.19 comes close, but she's a prude & won't take off her spectators to run barefoot on the lawn. No one can out-green the Green Wind. Thank you Germaine Cellier (your breezy spirit lives in my bottle.) Long live the old-school classics! 💚