Born wealthy and gasp-inducingly beautiful she is, naturally, a difficult woman to buy a gift for.
From a distance, at a champagne reception gleefully devouring mini crème brulee canapes, she might be mistaken for a cousin, maybe two.
She shares their sparkling eyes and effervescent conversation, stage whispered between slightly parted pearlescent teeth.
But beneath the fizzing small talk and latest fashions she runs to greater depths.
She is less likely to cut a dash on the social pages, has no ambition be a couturier’s muse.
At the opera she doesn’t take a box, but can be found on the balcony amongst her musicologist friends.
She is happiest here, analysing the soprano’s coloratura technique, dissecting the dense prose of a nouveau roman or hunting down meaning in a vast abstract expressionist blur.
On a personal level some, most people, find her spikey.
Her razor sharp mind, mildly acid tongue and brutal directness is not to metropolitan high society’s taste.
She lacks manners they say, missing that what she has in quantities is grace.
Presents though, are a problem.
She is a likely as not to dismiss a diamond ring as ‘porn star bling’, return or send to charity unwanted silk scarves, the marks she says of ‘grand bourgeois conformity’.
The thought, you see, as always, is the thing.
So from six weeks out you begin to worry, with a fortnight to go you find yourself approaching mild panic.
For she’s not too grand or contemporary or unconventional to accept a token of affection at this time of year.
She expects it, sets up an annual ritual of exchange, makes of it a tournament of the interpersonal talents.
Who knows the other best? Who can read the other’s desires perhaps better than they can read their own?
Who loves who most?
It is a high takes game. She knows it, thrills in it.
If you had the money some Van Gogh irises would do, except you haven’t and she’s already set to inherit two.
A first edition of someone French and middle century would suit, but she’d end up donating it to a public library so it could go on show or better still be auctioned to buy hundreds of books more decidedly lower brow.
Jewellery? No.
Why buy her dresses when she’s happy in her relatives worn once cast offs?
A holiday?
She once asked “why would anyone want to take a break from their life if they actually enjoyed it?”
Then, some lucky Friday, a memory comes clattering like a subway train into your suburban station mind.
A smell.
The smell.
The scent of her mother.
She came from the same country as all those testing books, translated everything silently, internally to the language of Collete, Robbe-Grillet and Duras.
She had the aroma of a woman who had grown up in perfume.
Layer upon layer of fragrant complexity.
Depths exceeded only by her personality.
Why had she to die so soon?
Salt and pepper haired in an immaculately laundered white cotton shirt, tailored indigo jeans and burgundy patent brogues the parfumeur is not what you expected.
He has the air of a contemporary artist scrubbed up for a private view.
Earnest and almost scientific he approaches her apartment with an attitude composed of reverence and exacting curiosity in equal part.
He notices the roses left to dry in a baccarat vase on a book shelf, the well-used kitchen its refrigerator full of fresh herbs, rosemary to the fore.
He draws a finger across an antique amber dish and inhales the dust that collects there.
“Are there photographs?” he asks, innocent of the inevitable torture of the words.
If you had thought, for just one moment you could have found back copies of fashionable magazines of a few decades ago, scanned images of her radiant face peering out from gallery shows and gala nights.
You didn’t think.
The thought is everything.
It’s thought that counts.
Of course you know where the private family shots are. In a side drawer in the bureau in the bedroom.
Such an intrusion.
In the balance you weigh whether such an attack might be borne, the heavy price for a truly personal perfume.
The tiny key turns stiffly in the centuries old lock.
You hand him the bundle tied with a crimson ribbon.
The artist’s eyes follow every contour of her face, the cut of each dress, the angle of her smile, the curls of her hair.
Nothing betrays his thoughts, no flicker, grimace or raised brow.
Finally, after what feels like a feature film’s worth of time, he lifts the photographs to his nose and then returns them.
In turn you replace them, still unsure of your Faustian pact.
“It will take a month” he says unemotionally.
“But that leaves no time for me to try it before.”
“A month.”
In the end you elect for a plain flacon.
The Lalique bottle would have been too much.
Besides what a shame if she decided to smash such a thing of beauty.
So here it is, a simple glass cylinder in an unremarkable black box.
After making love, an uncommonly quiet city in the background, and a breakfast of scrambled eggs on buttered brioche toast, the moment arrives.
Your two hands outstretched like a Japanese assistant proffering an exquisite purchase, she accepts the package.
She opens the box.
Unscrews the cap.
Sprays the scent first into the air then onto her wrist.
Silence hisses.
A tear wells in her left eye.
“Maman”
She slaps your face, right side, hard.
For the first time you catch a little of the scent.
Perfection.
A pause.
“I forgive you.” She says.
Then…
“I saw. You left the ribbon untied.”
Liu by Guerlain is an elegant, unshowy aristocrat of a perfume.
It is a scent in possession of a certain near perfection born of impeccable breeding.
An apocryphal story has it that Jacques Guerlain and Ernest Beaux set each other a friendly rivals’ challenge. The man from Chanel would create an ape of Shalimar, while Jacques would formulate a fragrance to match the formidable No. 5.
Only the winning perfume would be available for public consumption.
Liu triumphed.
Whether this tale has any foundation in actual fact is largely irrelevant, it is, aesthetically speaking, the truth.
While it would be fantastically simplistic to describe this composition as a straightforward cross between Chanel No. 5 and the original Shalimar, there are undoubtedly strong elements of both in its lineage.
The opening is all aldehydes of the sparkling Champagne (no Prosecco please) variety. It is an expression of such opulence and self-confidence that even the familiarity of nearly ninety years leaves the pleasure of it undiminished.
What follows though is surprising, not the customary floral explosion or even a civet-driven walk on the animalic wild side. Instead, though not the full accord, we are presented a pared down version of the house’s eponymous luxuriantly enveloping vanilla signature: what I might call a ‘Guerlainette’.
The interplay between fizzing modernity and plush comfort is quite entrancing and would be enough to sustain most scents, for Liu though, it is merely a stage.
Next, the florals arrive: desiccated rose petals, dusted with iris and darkened with oakmosss (really, the last of these notes is not listed but there’s at least an allusion to it there).
Then an herbal twist, rosemary is prominent, but I sense too a bouquet garni that includes other savoury elements made slightly indistinct by a composition as fantastically complicated as Duchess’s family tree.
Then the ‘Guerlainette’ returns, then the initial fizz bursts forth again.
The impression of each of these many twists and turns is entrancing, but taken individually these moments, though awe-inspiring, do not encompass the majesty of the work of art as a whole.
The individual parts of Liu are superior to most modern perfumes, yet they are but movements in a symphony of scent.
Acts in an olfactory opera
This is a perfume to give to a woman, or a man, who has everything.
Happy first day before Christmas.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy.
The Perfumed Dandy. 
Swooning…
Dearest Cheryl
This is indeed a scent to swoon for!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
What a talented nose you have Sir Dandy, I was so engrossed in this review I didn’t notice my cooking timer going off (nothing burned though!). Also, beautiful photos as always.
A perfume that seems to reference Shalimar and No. 5 does sound like the ultimate – another one I must try having read your review! On the subject of Guerlain and Shalimar, I made the interesting discovery that Lys Soleia shares a similar lemon/cream note with Shalimar, so I decided to layer them one morning when I had to attend a tedious project meeting, a bit indulgent but it made all the difference to my day. Liu sounds like a mood-changing perfume indeed!
Dearest Rose
I’m proud to have been the cause of your dinner simmering a little longer!
I rather like Lys Soleia, and it’s creaminess, most often copared to tanning lotion, is quite splendid. Yes, even there the pared down ‘Guerlainette’ is indisputably present. You know, I find it even in the most inexplicable of places, like the rum note in house’s contemporary male flanker, the rather good ‘L’eau Boiseee’.
I think there at it all over, concealing their signature like master forgers all over their best work.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
Spectacular story and review. You truly brought them alive, and transported us with you, my darling Beau. Bravo!
Dearest K
The Dandy is humbled and bows, very low.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy (aka Beau)
My word, you have described this perfume in glorious fashion! I no longer have a choice, you have compelled me to find a little bit of Liu to try for myself.
Dearest Batkitty
It’s such a big, grand and beautiful thing this Liu, that I felt it needed an expansive back story.
Being part of ‘Les Parisiennes’ may have restored it to us for now, but I wonder for how much longer it will be around… hurry before it disappears for more decades!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
A divine whiff of madness.
Dearest Ginza
The perfume or the prose?
If it’s the latter I blame the advocat…. not that I’d drink the stuff you understand but the smell of it can turn a Dandy all befuddled at fifty paces.
And that yellow!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
Incidentally, if you didn’t read my ‘Japanese Christmas’ thing, I invite you to. It’s all there. And more.
Dearest Ginza
What a splendid piece that is on Nippon Christmas.
Though I wonder whether we’re all quite happy to try one and others traditions on for size when it suits us.
Diwali does draw non-Hindu crowds to parts of London now, and I’ve been invited (and attended) end-of Eid feasts.
Perhaps the Japanese were just a little ahead of the curve, or maybe it’s always been that way…
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
wow
Dearest Leather
I thank you on Liu’s behalf.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
I enjoyed reading the story. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name (I’m still not a Guerlain fan – even though I found a couple of scents to love) but I don’t think it would work for me: I really dislike both icons – Chanel No 5 and Shalimar. But still, good story.
Dearest Undina
Oh my goodness no, if you like neither No. 5 nor Shalimar then Liu is definitely not for U.
The name is unfamiliar for it’s on very restricted release as part of the Parisiennes range, prior to which I have a feeling it had been unavailable for some time, though it was originally created way back in 1929.
We can’t get it at all in the UK and I tested this in NYC of all places.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
splendid fragrant Tale!
Dearest G
Why thank you! And might I say how much I’m continuing to enjoy your globe-trotting adventures over at Team Gloria.
Why travel when one has a wonder like you to do it for one!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
Wonderful!
This should be made into a fragrance commercial by Guerlain.
I never had the chance to smell vintage Liu, this story makes me wonder what I missed out.
I WANT IT!
Ooh, Liu sounds lovely! I might have to add it to the ever growing list of Guerlain exclusives I must try one day.
Dearest Nena
Aren’t Guerlain’s exclusive and limited edition ranges just so tempting!?! Liu was a lucky find in NYC of all places. Sous Le Vent (I’m not sure if I ever posted that scented letter!) in Paris and Lupin in Berlin.
Well at least it gives one an excuse to travel too!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
I recently fell in love with the beautiful Gourmand Coquin. A combination of vanilla, chocolate, rose, rum, and spices, it’s more grown up than most gourmands on the market. I’m on a no-buy for most of next year, as I have a trip to Melbourne to save up for, but I might make an exception for this.
The tale made me gasp, and the description makes me want to investigate further… ‘Guerlainette’, so very intriguing!
This sounds amazing. I have always wanted to try this scent, but the price is rather forbidding! I could order a tiny decant and maybe I will. Your story and your review are very intriguing…. Thank you! I know exactly what you mean by the Guerlainette. I smelled it recently in a NON-Guerlain and I was really intrigued. Try Teo Cabanel’s new Barkhane. When you first spray it on it’s like the first initial notes of Shalimar- that Guerlain tag. Mr. Cabanel’s scent goes on to be different from the Guerlains but that first whiff when the perfume is still wet on your arm is quite intriguing. Perhaps the Dandy could try this new scent in the new year? It’s perfect for winter, a spicy, cozy amber fragrance. Ciao RR
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As i started to read it got more interesting and had to finish it. Growing up in New York I remember Liu. My farther was one of those men that only the best for my mom. Today I do my best to do the same for my wife, a wonderful woman. Now I’m setting on a journey to get it for her, she is so deserving.
Dear Ramfis
Welcome to The Dandy. Do make yourself at home!
Your Dad sounds like a very wise man and you too. I hope your journey proves successful, if I recall correctly it was Saks that had Liu in stock when I was in NYC in May.
Happy hunting and thank you for popping by!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
Thank you for sharing this beautiful story of a perfume to covet. Rosemary and roses~ divine. Is it in NYC at the moment in a “tiny decant” for the lovely yet common woman? Dandy, which Jo Malone scent do you recommend?
Cheers!
~ Grace
Dear Grace
Hello! So nice to have you pop round, please call again!
Liu is rather divine. Now, I tried it at Saks, whether they have samples… well, I’ve yet see one of any of the Parisiennes range. But perhaps a pre-Christmas spritz might make your mind up if the search for a more substantial sample is worthwhile.
As to Jo Malone… now let me give that a little thought…
Season’s greetings.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
That. Was brilliant.
Merci pour ce petit rêve…
Cher Heather
Merci a vous.
Amities
Le Dandy