Cinnabar

Original Cinnabar, throughout the 80s, was my signature scent. I had just left home, and was finally on my own in the big City. My long, strange immersion into counter culture was beginning. I had inherited a genetic predisposition to seek out this world from my Monkey Block, Black Cat, Co-Existence Bagel Shop (et al) habitué/unwilling housewife/beatnik mom. It was time for my own version of Bohemia, and to forge my own identity. Since perfume is so synonymous with identity, I wanted a fragrance to accompany me during this pivotal life change. Prowling around in the downtown Macy’s, I walked over to check what was on offer at the Estee Lauder counter. Among all the pretty-pretty, gold-topped clear glass bottles was one with an eye-catching deep red cap. (I admit- the lush vermilions in the Cinnabar ad display also drew me in.) The fluid in the red-capped bottle was not a traditional perfume pale yellow. It was the rich color of Baltic amber, which conveyed potency. The name of the fragrance also intrigued me: Cinnabar. Cinnabar is mercury sulfide. It is an ore of mercury, once widely used to make jewelry and trinkets due to its gorgeous deep russet hue. It is quite toxic. A perfume with toxic and beautiful connotations was a perfect choice at that stage in my life. Original Cinnabar didn’t mess around. After you spritzed it, you were held captive. You didn’t own Cinnabar; it owned you. It is said that scents from the 70s and 80s were different; they were more powerful, with room-filling presence. This is absolutely true, and Cinnabar was no exception. It was a smoldering femme fatale; a contrast to the penetrative, white floral, aldehyde-heavy scents that were seemingly everywhere back then. Nothing wrong with those kind of fragrances. I just needed something different. Something slinky- that woke up at one in the afternoon. Something with kohl-rimmed eyes, wearing a drop-waist black dress, elbow length gloves, and draped with necklaces of glittering black glass beads. A something that smelled the way Pola Negri looked. After a spritz from the tester, I knew instantly that Cinnabar was that something. As the ads for it implied, original Cinnabar could conjure an exotic realm. Close your eyes: you are transported to a tapestry lined tent, lit by oil lamps. A profusion of knee-deep, colorful silk pillows invites you to recline languidly. A shrouded figure approaches, and offers you a hookah full of a mystery substance that fills the air with a spicy, cinnamon citrus cloud. Midnight at the oasis. I loved Cinnabar. The only flaw with it was, when reapplied in the late afternoon, it became oddly heavy and sludgy on me. I probably didn’t need to re-spray it after the morning’s application, but I couldn’t resist. Any shirt I wore while in my Cinnabar phase continuously radiated the scent until it was laundered. It was as though the fabric was clutching at it. The shirts were in the laundry basket, with the lid shut, inside of a closed closet- and you could still smell the Cinnabar. Powerful stuff, indeed. For a birthday one year, I splurged on a tiny frosted glass bottle of Cinnabar pure parfum. I'm remembering the color of the parfum as being quite dark- the deep tone of long-steeped, potent, exotic tea. The intensity of that stuff was-- beyond. I seem to recall that my skin would sting very slightly wherever I tapped on a precious drop. Only a tiny sting- but still. There must have been a very high ratio of essential oils in the parfum. This magical substance was reserved for very special occasions. I can still see that little bottle, sitting on the small platform in my medicine cabinet I made for it to honor its preciousness. I also had the scented body powder, which was a gift with purchase of the parfum. Unexpectedly, this form of Cinnabar turned out to be the most beautiful of all. Although a powder, it had a surprising richness, a deep spicy sweetness that enveloped you like a hug. With a vault full of these memories of the original Cinnabar, I was apprehensive when about to test my decant of the reformulated Cinnabar. What had been done to it, after all those years? Would it have become sharp and floral, or soapy? Would it be a pale, sad “imposter” imitation of itself? Or worse, would it be— boring? Eyes closed, I took an anticipatory sniff. After a moment, I smiled. And thought- “well hello, old friend.” No- it was not the Cinnabar of my youth. It was lighter, softer, and sweeter. But it did evoke the spicy, citrus cinnamon warmth I remembered so well. Familiar, yet not familiar... It felt a bit like greeting a beloved friend from decades gone by at the airport. This friend had changed of course (as had you), but as you hugged them hello, you remembered all of the reasons why you loved them. New Cinnabar did lack the original’s depth, but was still quite lovely in its own way. I spritzed it again. This lighter new formula was reminding me of something. At Christmastime, my mother used to push cloves into oranges in a decorative pattern. She would then nestle them into fresh pine cuttings arranged on the mantel. This new Cinnabar took me right back to the scent of those freshly spice-studded, juicy Christmas oranges. It’s funny- I had forgotten all about those fragrant offerings. Come December, I will make some of my own spiky spiced oranges in her memory. At this phase in my life, I have no interest in lying on the floor sunk into pillows in a dimly lit, smoky tent. There is nothing wrong with any of that; now, I just prefer a comfy chair, and a well-lit, orderly work space. This new softer Cinnabar, I think, suits the present era of my life. If I had the original on hand- sure, I absolutely would wear it. New Cinnabar would be my daytime choice; original Cinnabar would be reserved for after five. I would not recommend wearing the original version to the office, but this newer Cinnabar is work-friendly. However its designation as office-friendly is not to imply Cinnabar has lost its exotic spiciness. Its gorgeousness is now declared a bit more quietly, as opposed to when she parted the beads across the doorway with a dramatic swift gesture, her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes smoldering, declaring, in a sensual growl, "I'm... here." The resinous aspect of the original gave it a depth this new one lacks. And no question, the original for sure beats the new for wear time. The new persists for about four hours till skin scent phase. Original Cinnabar easily lasted through to next day’s shower. The new version does call for refresher spritzes, but I’ve found it doesn’t get that weird dark denseness when reapplied, the way the original did. There are twelve notes (!) in original Cinnabar that are absent in the new formula: “spices,” cinnamon (which really surprised me, as the new formula does smell cinnamon-y), incense, tolu balsam, amber, peach, bergamot, vanilla (also a surprise this is absent), vetiver, carnation, and ylang-ylang. With that long list of notes missing from the new formula, I am amazed new Cinnabar is as recognizably Cinnabar as it is. The addition of olibanum (frankincense) to the new formula gives it a nice bit of warm sweetness. Is the new Cinnabar “better” than the old version? No. But this modern version IS identifiable as Cinnabar, and has its own spicy sweet charm. I was worried the reformulation would be so far away from the old scent that I wouldn’t recognize it. But I can close my eyes, and sniff, and be transported- for just a moment- back to the Casbah. In the here and now, it is time to make new memories. I'm happy Cinnabar is in my life once more, to accompany me as I am attempt to negotiate the strange landscape that is the present. My experience with this new Cinnabar made me realize that yes- sometimes, in some small way-- you CAN go home again.

Spice Bazaar with a Powerful Cinnamon Accord... When I first spray this, I get the comparisons to Youth Dew Estée Lauder & JHL Aramis, and a similar Coca-Cola fizzy-spiciness that some people get in Youth Dew Estée Lauder. But as it's drying down the cinnamon-incense (listed in the original) come more and more forward. It has vintage vibes and it falls somewhere between a vintage amber-spicy & vintage amber-woody to my nose. Overall I get a powerfully built cinnamon-incense accord - true to its name - on a vintage amber-woody-spicy scent. Jasmine here is a licorice-leaning soft purple, while orange & orange-blossom tilt it faintly orange. Olibanum is there, but it's helping to build the cinnamon accord. Patchouli is there lending some faintly soapy facets, and over time I notice the sandalwood giving me reminders of Organza Indécence Givenchy (although this isn't a dupe). Contrast to Youth Dew Estée Lauder: These are different, but there's a similar vintage amber-spicy vibe. Cinnabar is more of a disco-queen, with forward cinnamon (like the name suggests), while Youth Dew is more clove forward, and ladylike with slightly soapy aldehydes. Both have excellent performance. Contrast to Opium EDP 2009 Yves Saint Laurent: These are different, but again there's a similar vintage amber-spicy vibe. Opium has a more forward fresh-spicy accord and a wilder, raw vibe, while Cinnabar has a more forward cinnamon warm-spicy accord and 70s vibe. Both have excellent performance. Contrast to Cinnabar (1978) Estée Lauder: My grade 2 teacher used to wear the 1978 original and I always loved it. This 2015 version smells very similar - but if anything, the 2015 version smells slightly less vintage without the tolu balsam than what I remember, although overall it's a very good reformulation imo. Both have excellent performance. This is a must try for fans of cinnamon & incense. It's a longtime love for me. 10/10. Enjoy!

I haven't had an opportunity to smell the original Cinnabar, but I have been impressed with these current versions of the Estée Lauder classics. Youth Dew is the much more successful amber spicebomb from EL, and is undeniably beautiful, but I personally prefer Cinnabar, even this modern iteration. Less kitchen sink-y and more streamlined, featuring a lovely white floral heart, Cinnabar is more wearable for a modern audience than the aforementioned Youth Dew. The Coca-Cola element is absent, with a smooth balsamic base adding the sweetness here. It reminds me a lot of modern YSL Opium, with a frankincense-led balsamic base and an emphasis on white florals. Cinnabar has a sweet-spicy orange opening with the smooth, balsamic base evident from initial spray. The powdery white florals are clean and sweet, adding body and tempering the rich spices beautifully. I get sweet clove and perhaps nutmeg. It is wonderfully smooth and well-blended. The sweet, smooth amber base persists throughout, punctuated by some earthy patchouli and the remnants of the spices. It is wonderfully balsamic, with the non-smoky incense coming to the fore at the later stages. Soft woods complement it while lingering in the background. It is not the delicious Mysore sandalwood of vintage Opium, but is like a beautiful ghost of it. It fades to a dry, musky skin scent - it is at its most animalic here. Sillage is moderate and longevity is long-lasting. It is unisex by modern standards. Given its profile, Cinnabar is best worn in autumn/winter, but it is mild enough for daytime, everyday wear. A beautiful, underrated everyday amber, Cinnabar is a worthy alternative to modern Opium. Perhaps the same could be said for the vintage versions of both - Estée Lauder are known for remaining faithful to their original formulas. Great value too. 4.5/5.

This is unisex. I sprayed Aramis JHL, the supposed masculine counterpart to Cinnabar, on test strip to compare and JHL is a bit more masculine, especially in the opening. That's attributable to Cinnabar's white flowers manifesting more, I would think. But Cinnabar is still completely unisex. Estee Lauder's classic cinnamon trio are very similar to one another. And the brand description of Cinnabar is a bit funny. "In 1978, [Estee Lauder] decided the time was right for an Eastern-influenced fragrance." So in 1953 the time wasn't right? Compare Cinnabar with her Youth Dew. Cinnabar is a cinnamon-dominant fragrance (even though the florals manifest fairly strongly at times), although its interesting that this reformulation lists a clove note instead of cinnamon. But I consider cloves to be an earthier, darker cinnamon anyway, so its understandable. Perfumers do that. Lime instead of lemon was used in Martin Margiela's Under the Lemon Trees. I'm a cinnamon fragrance lover and these Lauder (and Aramis, which is owned by Lauder) classic cinnamon fragrances are great additions to my collection.

Estee Lauder Cinnabar Edp: 🗣Firstly I "LOVE" This Fragrance SO"Soooooo Much!! As My Dear Aunt, Used To Wear This, Youth Dew, And Elizabeth Arden Blue Grass!! And Just Before She Sadly Passed Away, She Started To Wear Gres Cabotine, After Smelling it On My Mum & I, And Really Liking It For The Spring & Summer, Bless Her!! All Smelt Absolutely "AMAZING" On Her!! The One Question That I Would Like To Ask The "Estee Lauder Beauty Company" Is Why They Allowed This Absolutely Stupid & Ugly Bottle Change Over, On Mostly ALL Their Classic Fragrances? Im Sure That Mrs Estee Lauder (The Founder) Would Absolutely Go Nut's, If She Saw How Cheap Looking, They Make Her Classic Fragrances Now Look!! If This Is Down To Her Grandaughter Aerin Lauder, For Godsake Girl, Catch Yourself On!! For Even Your Own Fragrance Bottles Used For Your Own Perfumes, Are Way Above The Glass Bottles Used Here!! And Remember We Are Talking About Real Classics That Suited Their Own Original Bottle Design!! Thank God, So Far, Youth Dew Seems To Have Escaped This Shameful Fate!!