Immortelle Beloved

Immortelles (helichrysum italicum) – those aromatic, button-like golden flowers found along vast stretches of Mediterranean coastline – are the stars of Annick Goutal's rich autumnal brew, Sables (1985). Sweet and dark like the maple syrup notes the flower produces, Goutal’s accord is grounded in precious Mysore sandalwood and vanilla, with just the right amount of Indonesian pepper for a subtle spiciness. Like Serge Lutens’ Chergui minus the coumarin, Sables is a deeply individual “comfort” scent which is eminently wearable by both sexes. Lacking the vocabulary capable of embracing phenomena which fall outside the male-female dialectic, one is tempted to call it masculine. It exudes notes of cigar humidor (sans cigars), Indian temple (altar and floral offerings), wild honey and celery seed, albeit without the wormwood edge of Caron’s succès de scandale Yatagan (1976). It is the type of scent that one longs to smell on a cashmere scarf or a Pendleton wool shirtcoat: unique, artistic in temperament, but kind. And it has the longevity to make that sort of encounter a strong possibility.