Crêpe de Chine

I've long been drawn to old-fashioned perfumes, especially chypres. They are, perhaps, the most evocative, majestic, and timeless of fragrances. However, my main chypric encounters have been with contemporary embodiments of the genre; any of the classic fragrances I've grown to love have inevitably been modern reformulations of past glories. Some, like Mitsouko, are available in extrait strength, and therefore can reincarnate the approximate intensity and complexity of their past selves—usually at a price. So, it was high time for me to try a true vintage chypre, which just so happened to be this. By a strange serendipity, the last two reviewers here—Anamandy and Judespeak—were the ones who suggested that I try Crêpe de Chine. Their reviews were beautifully written and incredibly comprehensive, so I'm going to limit my remarks to my own impressions and contemplations on this magical fragrance, after having spent some time with the tiny unopened bottle I got from an online retailer. The name does this perfume justice: crêpe is a kind of thin, delicate fabric (hence the name of the pastry) that has been treated and worked to retain waves or wrinkles. In 19th-century Europe, black crêpe was often worn has a sign of mourning, a hommage to a lost loved one. This, however, is "China Crêpe", something altogether less forlorn and much more refined. This perfume has a fullness to it, an aged velvety richness that is doubtless the product of its genesis in a pre-regulatory era. The first thing my nose detects is rich benzoin and leather, dark sienna resins and animalics, nocturnal skin incarnate. Then comes the keenly grassy, almost bitter galbanum, holding hands with warm moss (true, multidimensional oakmoss!) and fuzzy-fizzy aldehydes (which never become too waxy or soapy). The carnation and iris contribute their powders in perfect complementarity: the former tired, contemplative, travel-weary and the latter light, airy, curious. The only other note I can detect individually is the wonderfully pungent and acidic bergamot, the greatest, oldest, and most regal of the fragrant citruses. There are a host of other notes, but it would take a nose much finer than mine to untangle them in their complicated unfolding, particularly in a potion this old and rarified! Crêpe de Chine revels in early- and mid-century splendor. There remains, perhaps, something of the mournful gravity suggested by its textile name. More importantly, though, there is something here of the exotic, of the oriental, at least in the way it was conceived in the occidental imaginary: dark, mysterious, esoteric. The allure of absolute otherness, rendered knowable and approachable through a few deft touches of familiarity (was not that, after all, the secret of orientalism: a core of the self wrapped up in a shroud of the other?). Such are the subtle methods by which Crêpe de Chine attains the heights of its sophistication, by balancing a prim distance with an expansive welcome, by weaving together fibres of such disparate quality in such sensuous tension that they ultimately warp and bend in upon themselves. Coarseness in gloss, weight in diaphanousness, difference in identity. In terms of the logistics of wearing Crêpe de Chine, it's hard to say, because it's such a singular composition nowadays. This feels like it would work in any season but summer, and is perhaps more fitting at night than in daytime. Though this was originally marketed towards women, I believe anybody could wear it in the right context. What a treasure, what a pleasure.

Oh Lord, how did mere mortal men make such heavenly creations? As soon as I unsealed the bottle of parfum and applied a drop, I was entranced. This is one of the most beautiful floral chypres I have ever smelled. This may seem strange, but for some reason the first thing I thought of on smelling this was original Miss Dior. But while they share a lot of the same notes, and both are floral chyres, Miss Dior is more lighthearted and youthful. Crepe de Chine is Miss Dior's darker, deeper, and more worldly older sister. She also predates Miss Dior by over 25 years. I'm sure this scent had some influence over the composition of Miss Dior, just as I'm sure Coty's Chypre did. Maybe it's just because it is a chypre, and all chypres resemble each other to a degree. Or maybe Dior wanted to challenge one of the reigning fragrances of the day. Whatever the case, I think lovers of Miss Dior should try this. They might love this scent as much too. This really is such a sublime creation. It was wildly popular in its day, and it is no wonder. It is exquisitely crafted. Soft, warm, earthy, sensuous, mysterious, deep, mossy, herbal, green, with a lovely floral heart and a light terpenic spiciness. It is all so beautifully blended, creating a classy, subtle, and elegant vibe. It should not have come as a surprise that I would love this fragrance as much as I do considering the perfumer, Jean Duprez, created it. I adore his other masterpiece, Bal a Versailles, just as much. I would one day love to try his other creations, Jardanel and Sheherazade, but prices and lack of availability have now put those masterpieces out of reach. While researching this fragrance I came across a lot of advertising material. The advertisements certainly give me an image of the type of woman Millot seemed to be targeting. Smart, sharp, sexy, polished, and witty. Some of the ads were so entertaining I thought I'd share them here. One of the ads showed a half-empty bottle of perfume with the tagline, “By this time you should have quite a past.” Another read, “A dab or two can't last forever. Not when it's constantly circulating your message.” There were others cited, and all just as amusing and sophisticated. I wish I could travel back in time to see the beautifully coiffed, exquisitely tailored, very stylish, svelte ladies who wore this scent. If the advertising is any indication, they must have been a sight to behold. Overall, I am so happy with this lovely scent that I now own not only 2 bottles of the parfum, but also a sealed (though now opened and used) big bottle of the Eau de Crepe de Chine. It's just as wonderful, but lighter and somewhat different in composition. It's as bright and crisp as the spring green color of its perfume. It even feels like spring! I love it just as much. Grab this scent while you still can, and while prices are still within range. Otherwise, it will go the same route as Jardanel and Sheherazade and become out of reach too.

My mother (b. 1941) recently gave me her old bottle of Millot CRÊPE-DE-CHINE. It's an EDC that dates to the 1960's, so I am almost certain it's full of all-natural things like real oakmoss, real deermusk, real sandalwood, etc. There is now about a teaspoon of liquid left in the bottle, and it has turned to a dark brown over the years... the color of molasses. Surprisingly, it does NOT smell "turned" or "spoiled"... If anything, it smells richer and more burnished... like a parfum! I remember this very bottle from my mother's dressing table, from when I was a child (me, b. 1963). I remember not liking the smell of it as a young kid! It's a green chypre, of course, and this olfactive family is probably one that's an acquired taste for just about anybody.... sweeter, vanillic and fruity things, which this is NOT, probably please children more. My current sample smells dark, musky/animalic and woody, very "Yin", with hints of bitter galbanum, sandalwood, cedar, and patchouly. Loads of benzoin, giving it that curious "cocaine" smell that select 20thc scents possessed. A rose element is still quite noticeable. The jasmin is there, but its tartness is highly muted now. Civet is not listed in the above pyramid, but there is no doubt in my mind that this jus is brimming with it. Something-- the elemi?-- is giving it an herbal/aromatic quality, almost like black pepper (or even a subliminal, entirely pleasant chive-y/onion-y note, like asafoetida?). Nutmeg is unquestionably the most prominent spice here. In far drydown, the sandalwood appears, giving that warm, quasi-Oriental leaning, as, say, Guerlain VOL DE NUIT possesses. Perhaps surprisingly, I am not getting much of a leather quality at all. It reminds me of other famous chypres from the 1930's, especially Schiaparelli SHOCKING, Desprez JARDANEL and Coty CHYPRE. This smell is the mother of later scents like Balenciaga CIALENGA. This stuff that I disliked as a kid, is sending me into raptures today, and I wish I had a full bottle of it. One of those grand old scents that makes you say, "Now THIS is perfume!".

Finally, a spot for real F. Millot Crepe de Chine instead of the Long Lost abomination. Mossy, herbal, musky, dark beauty; CdC is vintage chypre at it's best. It would no doubt be considered too masculine for a female by those who follow the current fruity 'floral' feminine standard, but there's no reason CdC can't be worn by any gender. It works with jeans or a little black dress equally well. Though I've worn it for decades, I didn't know it was created by Jean Desprez until I read it here, but I'm not surprised to hear it. Two of my favorite fragrances, Bal a Versailles and Sheherazade, are Desprez creations too, and all three are similarly well composed in classic old school french perfume style. If you like true oakmoss, it's a star here, smoothly blended with an all star supporting cast: bergamot, resins, sandalwood, carnation, heather, musk, patchouli. I have both cologne and perfume (have had the tall bottles and the shortys, both are good.) The perfume is often available in good condition for decent prices and I would recommend going for it over the cologne, if you have to choose. Crepe de Chine is one that seems to have held up through the years very well. If it's sealed and boxed, my experience is that even the top notes will be intact when it's opened - even in bottles a little older than me, which is old. The term chypre gets thrown around mercilessly these days, very often applied to fragrances that just don't meet the requirements of the term. Crepe de Chine is a real chypre. And I have to second Grayspoole: Millot Crepe de Chine is anything but a clean, fresh out of the shower scent. It's neither soapy nor noticeably rosy. Not even close.

I wish I could get my hands on a bottle of this. I had one for many years that my dad gave to my mum in the early 60s. She didn’t like it and gave it to me when I was a young girl. I used to pull it out and have a smell and it always used to calm me. Only a few times did I put any on, as I dare not go through it as it was a loved treasure to me. Years later I’ve gone to look for it and it’s gone, must have got lost in one of the many moves I’ve made in my life. I’ve looked on EBay to try and locate some, and there have been a few but costing hundreds of dollars. Then there’s the issue of having it posted to Australia - my understanding is that this can’t be done. I’ve bought so many perfumes trying to replace the precious smell of this beauty and am always disappointed. I’ve spent thousands in the pursuit. I would give anything to get my hands on another bottle. Edit: I bit the bullet and bought a bottle and this time it arrived from overseas. It’s a full, never used bottle from 1963. What a joy to finally have it back in my possession again. It smells the same now as it did all the years I had it. I’m over the moon that I got this and nothing comes near this stunning scent in my opinion.