Nuit de Bakélite

Bakelite is an interesting material, the world's first fully synthetic plastic made out of a phenol-formaldehyde resin, which makes it fully moldable into whatever shape is desired before curing. This how we got the famous Bakelite telephone (which, if land lines were still a thing, I would totally have one - and maybe a rotary too!). As someone who has been in medical laboratories for nearly the majority of my life I find the formaldehyde component particularly interesting. Formaldehyde is a nasty chemical, and I am acutely familiar with it. Its aroma has been programmed to ring an alarm bell in my head; a spill or a strong gaseous presence means that I and the entirety of my team need to evacuate the area. It will preserve the structures in tissues so that they are able to be used for diagnostic purposes. This function has advanced medical sciences in incalculable ways. Yet in order for the structures and tissues to live they need to be able to change (i.e. cellular replication, respiration, protein synthesis, and transportation); this means that formaldehyde kills by way of preservation, which is a fun thing to wax philosophic on. Let's use it to make a cheap, long lasting and convenient material for the home! Let's capture it in a perfume! Neat! We humans are adventurous and baffling creatures sometimes. I get the alarm bells in the opening of the perfume. They ring loudly like a klaxon. The gaseous and white heat of fuel-like chemicals from a violet leaf note pairs with an ice cold and chalky green pea type galbanum and a bitter green herbal angelica. If I mute the alarm bell to attempt an alternate identification, my mind goes next to a strong menthol cigarette type note - an equally challenging aroma for me. Yet something lurks underneath, a floral semi-sweetness that says "be on guard but not afraid" and I continue to be lured in by this highly unique, compelling and challenging character. I’m not evacuating despite the instinct to do so. Once the noxious gases dispense, the florals rejuvenate... sort of. Continuing the theme of evaporative cooling, or TRPM8 receptor binding - or just simply danger - are orris, tuberose, and davana in a truly remarkable floral heart. The orris is cold, starchy, silvery and metallic; the tuberose connects to the opening via a hardened, pale green edge like a dull knife, rounded out by a waxy indole and almond muskiness; the davana is its natural boozy self, not letting you forget the herbal and noxious gas from the opening, but lessening the danger with its raisin-blackcurrant-like balsam bass note. Nuit de Bakelite continues to warm up and reveal itself to you, its claws and poisons coyly turning to open arms and a gentle smile. A slightly smokey and animalic styrax presents a supple and rich suede like note, while the floral theme is carried into the dry down with a cistus labdanum note that is not cold, metallic, and green as it was in the preceding layers but now plush, pink, and a bit sweet and fruity. They rest on a strident dark wood base of earthy guaiac. In the beginning Nuit was frigid, brittle, poisonous, gaseous and unforgiving, but now that character has shifted to a stiff but more pliable and curious warmth where you can still clearly smell that earlier personality lurking around inside. Simply hit its hair trigger to see the transition between Jekyll and Hyde. I am completely taken with Nuit de Bakelite. It crosses so many boundary lines between the unnatural and deleterious, the human and warm but complicated, sharp and lethal neon green fumes and natural Mother earth browns, yet it never loses cohesion, legibility, or purpose. It is rare for a perfume to have such an expansive breadth of character but still feel focused and whole. Excellent work.

Nuit de Bakelite from Naomi Goodsir, created by Isabelle Doyen. After unearthing my sample again, I could not help but wonder why I didn't own this perfume yet. It's not just that I love the fragrance, but I see it as a real olfactory piece of art that you hardly encounter in perfumery nowadays. NEZ magazine had it on their 111 pieces to smell before you die, and I couldn't agree more. I'd go as far as to say that even if you don't like the perfume but you have enough experience in this hobby and have smelled plenty, you should be able to appreciate the genius behind it and make it part of your collection if not to wear at least to marvel at it now and then and think: "Ah, this is what perfumery used to be." I can't think of too many fragrances like that. Off the top of my head, and without reiterating the old vintage perfumes everybody knows, I'd say the same about compositions like Iris Silver Mist or Une Fleur De Cassie. What is this perfume all about? Can I classify it? It would be difficult as it shifts constantly throughout the wear and never stays in the same place. I'd say it is a green-floral composition if I was hard-pressed to describe it in a nutshell. And then, it feels like explaining or talking about things like religion or the universe and giving your best description attempt in two words. I also noticed that different people experience it differently, so this short elaboration is based on how I experienced it over the years on my skin. I don't like tuberose for the most part, and I'm not huge on green scents, yet I adore this perfume. The way these two motifs are portrayed helps create something larger than the sum of their parts. The result is a cryogenic tuberose stomped on the hard pavement, showered by rain, only to be later dried up with a worn leather cloth and laid on a bed of slowly burning resins to further decompose. It unfolds on my skin in a clear four-stage progression that stays consistent most of the time. The opening is venomous! Bitter, green, chalky, and somehow dusty. I can see how most listed notes and accords play together to create this breathtaking introduction. Angelica, wormwood, galbanum, tomato and violet leaf feel like a tour-de-force into "poisonous green" and bitter territory. It comes across as smelling the roots that spread too much, reaching the pavement where unaware passer-byes crushed them by accident. A combination of dried green vegetation and wet rocks that have frozen over the cold winter night. The mid-phase can be divided into two smaller parts, but as a whole, it feels like a green-floral-chypre. Here, you get the tuberose that stays on the green aspects of the flower and never goes into the milky-creamy territory. I get a nice verdant mossiness and a bit of ylang, as well as the galbanum. The tuberose is not overly assertive, as it likes to be most of the time. The other elements keep it in check while the overall feel is walking into a green field at sunset during late summer nights when the air starts getting crisper. The last stage is where you'll get the slight warmth and smokiness from the resins, which makes the composition feel somewhat more inviting, almost warm. And still, the overall feel of "dried-up lifeforms" never goes away. Like a mummy's crypt, or in this case, a tuberose mummy's crypt. The air is hot, yet the atmosphere feels dry and dead. I can understand how this perfume might feel polarizing for many, and still, I urge any aficionado to at least sample it. It is a worthy addition to your olfactory cortex. It is a prime example of what perfumery should aspire to be and offer, and I'm delighted to have finally added a proper bottle to my collection. IG:@memory.of.scents

The Convergence of Nature in Perfumery NAOMI GOODSIR NUIT DE BAKELITE MY TAKE Initiation: It opens up with a huge blast of bright, non-citrusy yet uplifting tuberose, where a vintage ozonic nuance(accord from various long-chain aldehydes) exists as the backbone, which acts as the basic building block of the scent structure. An estery, almost acetic, starchy fruity aroma(banana) exists that gives the tuberose a very unique character in the best possible way. There is quite a bit of hydroxycitronellal, which smoothens the tuberose and aids in the binding of everything with its airy muget-like profile, increasing the diffusive property while keeping the entire composition "just" smooth enough to keep it non-abrasive. Fundamentally complex while remaining minimalist. Mid: As time goes by, the tuberose shows more of its natural beauty; the flower and the stem unite to create a fragrant symphony. This stem adds a stimulating spicy, cucumber-like nuance to the pre-existing starchy, banana-like profile, which represents an infinitely vast tuberose field over wet soil. This stage almost feels as if the epitome of nature engulfed me in its peace amidst anthropomorphic pollutants. Base: The ozonic breeze fades, and the tuberose reveals its sensual side with its indolic nature, pushing a creamy, musky, yet earthy tone of galbanum until the very end of the fragrance, accurately representing delicate, clean-oily human skin, inducing a pheromonic effect. The drydown, i.e. the animalic end of the composition, is not overly skanky, but rather warm, entirely orthogonal to how the fragrance began. The above accord feels like a blend of various odorous musk compounds tinkered to perfection. The indolic nature stamps an imprint of musk, connecting with the accord which reminds me of a cross between castoreum and ambrette seed tincture, leaving a base of the vintage "Golden" era of perfumery. The far drydown may be repulsive to some, but given the taste I share for vintage perfumery, I embrace it. Similarities: There aren’t many fragrances that revolve around a similar structured fragrances as this, but if you like fragrances like Jungle Jezebel, Annick Goutal Grand Amour, Vintage Chamade or even Chanel No.19; then you might like this. They're not similar, however certain aspects within the scent transformation reminds me of compositions as such. Scores: Uniqueness in profile- 9/10 Quality-8.5/10 Blending-9/10 Pricing-8/10 (8.625) Longevity-10/10 Projection- 9/10 ΣPerformance: 9.5/10 (9.5) Rounded Σscore = 9/10

This is not your usual pretty tuberose. What makes me love this fragrance isn’t simply that it’s green, or even that it features tuberose; it’s the unmistakable witchy vein running through it. A dark-green, unsettling scent that refuses to please everyone. Judging by the reactions I’ve received (which never influence my choices anyway), people either find it astonishingly beautiful or say I smell like a walking vegetable stand. It’s very much a love-it-or-hate-it kind of fragrance; and I’m firmly in the love camp. Rather than opening with a bright, lively greenness, it begins with a cynical blend of damp stone and incense. Vegetal, herbal, and indolic; yet never bubblegummy; this is a a tuberose, devoid of sweetness; cleansed and austere. Angelica and bitter, sharp green galbanum hit hard and unapologetically; and to me, this pairing is one of the key elements that gives the fragrance its unmistakably witchy character. Deep in the base, I detect immortelle; not extinguished, but restrained; dry, hay-like and a resinous, smoky leather. It feels as though this green, vegetal tuberose has been locked away in a dark, damp cellar, left to struggle and grow without light, fighting for survival; and succeeding. There’s also a very clear presence of orris root, though unlisted: cold, austere, and unmistakably chalk-dry. Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of this perfume is the complete absence of warmth and sweetness. It evokes shades of deep green, muted green, and icy white. Stunning. Lately, I wear it with just a single spray; anything more overwhelms and dilutes the very sensations I love, as it’s intensely potent and concentrated. This fragrance deserves a small story: A Necromantic Witch with pale green skin, thick emerald waves of hair, translucent flesh beneath which dark green veins are visible, large grey eyes, and an arrestingly elegant presence. She has no friends, nor does she need any; except for the familiars she resurrected from the realm of the dead: Bell Ghostlet (tuberose), Nightshade Hare (immortale), Thimble Crow (galbanum), and Black Stitch (styrax). Her life is devoted entirely to the forest, harvesting rare and deadly herbs. From these, she brews toxic essences to nourish corpse-blooms that grow in grave-soil. With each flower, she replaces one of her organs, slowly shedding her humanity; her ultimate goal being to transform into a garden entity.... Tag(s): witchy, gothic, green, bitter, herbal, green tuberose, leathery, dark, flower stem, vegetable root

Nuit de Bakélite makes me smile. Not because it's a particularly cheerful fragrance, but because it's so darn brilliant. Bakelite was an early form of plastic (the first, I think) that peaked in popularity in the first half of the twentieth century. If you've ever encountered it—and you probably have, knowingly or not—you know it has a characteristic look and feel (smooth and brittle), as well as a unique smell: something synthetic and warm, almost sweet; certainly a far cry from the more sophisticated, impersonal plastics we know today. It is this note that makes NdB such a clever fragrance, both vintage and postmodern. Honestly, I'm a bit stumped by the composition: I definitely detect angelica and wisps of tuberose, green notes and leather too, and the carrot seeds mentioned in the note pyramid. What I don't understand is how they come together to produce what others have insightfully identified as an "artificial flower" accord. The name is perfect: I spray this on and am transported to postwar America. I'm Julianne Moore's character in The Hours, or perhaps Betty Draper from Mad Men. With the children in bed and the husband passed out in a drunk stupor on the couch, I'm savoring the one quiet moment of the day. I relax, letting the stiff kitchen chair support me. All the lights, save the one above the nook where I'm sitting, are out, and I only have the humming refrigerator to keep me company. There's an ashtray full of cigarette butts an arm's length away, and a bouquet of dying white flowers that seem to be looking at me in an accusatory manner. I sigh, and it all comes to me at once: the flowers, the earthy ash, the spice cabinet a few feet away, but most of all, the bakelite. It's everywhere. In many ways it's me: glossy yet translucent, new but timeless, scratch-resistant but imminently breakable. I don't know what occasion Nuit de Bakélite is best suited for, but I do know that it's one of the most artful fragrances I've had the privilege of owning. All-season, all-gender, and good for day or night. Take with a grain of salt and the drink of your choice. EDIT 27 DEC 2020: It just occurred to me that this is also an homage to, or riff on, Serge Lutens's Nuit de Cellophane, a fragrance I only recently discovered and sampled. Like Nuit de Bakélite, it uses clever floral and herbal accords to integrate a sweet plastic note into the composition. I found NdC more subtle, but also much less interesting and evocative, than NdB.