#1947 Perfume

[aliraza112]

Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume by J.

Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume stands as a beacon of national pride, a testament to the harmonious blend of scent and culture. It’s not just about smelling good; it’s about feeling connected, grounded, and proud. Get ready to embark on a fragrant journey that transcends time and borders.

Fragrance Accords

Unisex Appeal

One remarkable aspect of this fragrance is its universal appeal. Designed for both men and women, it breaks conventional barriers and becomes a symbol of inclusivity. Whether you’re a man embracing the woody notes or a woman drawn to the sweet-citrus tones, this perfume celebrates diversity.

Cultural Significance

Beyond the delightful aroma, Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume in Pakistan encapsulates the spirit and values of the nation. The sweet-citrus fruity notes mirror the vibrant colors and languages, creating a sensory experience that goes beyond scent and becomes a cultural statement.

Sensory Experience

Close your eyes, and let the perfume take you on a journey. Feel the burst of freshness as the top notes unfold, experience the blooming floral heart, and finally, sense the grounding woody and musky base notes. It’s not just a fragrance; it’s an immersive sensory experience that lingers.

Application Tips

To make the most of this fragrance, apply it to pulse points—wrists, behind ears, and the neck. Let the scent emanate subtly, creating an aura that reflects your connection to the rich cultural tapestry.

Patriotic Aromatherapy

In a world saturated with scents, Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume offers more than just a pleasant fragrance. It serves as a form of aromatherapy, connecting individuals to their roots, invoking a sense of pride, and creating a personal sanctuary in the midst of everyday chaos.

Packaging and Presentation

The visual appeal of the perfume bottle is as enchanting as the scent it holds. The packaging is a work of art, a visual representation of the essence within. It’s not just a perfume; it’s a piece of history, encased in a bottle that demands attention.

Celebrating 1947

The choice of the year 1947 is not arbitrary. It’s a nod to the historical significance of that era, a time when a nation was born. Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume celebrates the resilience, the sacrifices, and the pride of that momentous year.

[men--fashion]

Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume by J.

Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume stands as a beacon of national pride, a testament to the harmonious blend of scent and culture. It’s not just about smelling good; it’s about feeling connected, grounded, and proud. Get ready to embark on a fragrant journey that transcends time and borders.

Fragrance Accords

Imagine an olfactory journey that begins with the freshness of grapefruit and mandarin, dances through the floral elegance of jasmine and rose, and settles into the warm embrace of cedarwood and musk. This unisex fragrance belongs to the floral and fruity categories, creating a harmonious blend that is both invigorating and comforting.

Unisex Appeal

One remarkable aspect of this fragrance is its universal appeal. Designed for both men and women, it breaks conventional barriers and becomes a symbol of inclusivity. Whether you’re a man embracing the woody notes or a woman drawn to the sweet-citrus tones, this perfume celebrates diversity.

Cultural Significance

Beyond the delightful aroma, Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume encapsulates the spirit and values of the nation. The sweet-citrus fruity notes mirror the vibrant colors and languages, creating a sensory experience that goes beyond scent and becomes a cultural statement.

Sensory Experience

Close your eyes, and let the perfume take you on a journey. Feel the burst of freshness as the top notes unfold, experience the blooming floral heart, and finally, sense the grounding woody and musky base notes. It’s not just a fragrance; it’s an immersive sensory experience that lingers.

Application Tips

To make the most of this fragrance, apply it to pulse points—wrists, behind ears, and the neck. Let the scent emanate subtly, creating an aura that reflects your connection to the rich cultural tapestry.

Patriotic Aromatherapy

In a world saturated with scents, Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume offers more than just a pleasant fragrance. It serves as a form of aromatherapy, connecting individuals to their roots, invoking a sense of pride, and creating a personal sanctuary in the midst of everyday chaos.

Packaging and Presentation

The visual appeal of the perfume bottle is as enchanting as the scent it holds. The packaging is a work of art, a visual representation of the essence within. It’s not just a perfume; it’s a piece of history, encased in a bottle that demands attention.

Celebrating 1947

The choice of the year 1947 is not arbitrary. It’s a nod to the historical significance of that era, a time when a nation was born. Dil Dil Pakistan 1947 Perfume celebrates the resilience, the sacrifices, and the pride of that momentous year.

[dozydawn]

[hibiscusbabyboy]

(Dividers by @dollywons )

[persolaise]

Christian Dior New Look review - Francis Kurkdjian; 2024

The gremlins were out in full force the other day when I tried to review Christian Dior New Look (Francis Kurkdjian’s latest addition to La Collection Privee) so much so that I had to abandon the first broadcast and start all over again with a different one. Thankfully, the second attempt was glitch-free. Here’s a link to it – Christian Dior New Look review – followed by a link to a Substack post…

[petaltexturedskies]

My body needs it—the hot baths, the care, the soft water, the perfume, the warmth. I take on the colors of the flowers, the bloom, the delicacy. It becomes me.

Anaïs Nin, Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diaries of Anaïs Nin 1939-1947

[shisasan]

Warmth, perfume, rugs, soft lights, books.

Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1939–1947

[milksockets]

'display of "sleeping" perfume, schiaparelli shop, paris, 1947' in the surreal body: fetish + fashion - ghislaine wood (2007)

[fashionbooksmilano]

René Gruau L'art de la publicité The Art of Advertising

Réjane Bargiel, Sylvie Nissen

Le Cherche Midi, Paris 1999, 128 pages, 23x28cm, English/French, ISBN 9782862746951

euro 90,00

email if you want to buy booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

Un G surmonté d'une étoile, griffe d'innombrables images appartenant à la mémoire collective. Des lèvres spirituelles qui attendent le baiser, des jambes sublimes jaillissant d'un nuage de plumes, des bras qui se tendent vers vous, des yeux splendidement expressifs qui plongent dans les vôtres. Voilà autant d'images emblématiques et célébrissimes de Gruau, affichiste et illustrateur qui constituent des repères incontournables de l'art publicitaire du XXe siècle. Autodidacte, nourri d'une culture classique et graphique à travers les travaux des grands peintres et illustrateurs du XIXe siècle, il a créé un style. Admirable synthèse graphique, son trait épuré parent de la calligraphie extrême-orientale, le chic de ses femmes mutines, toujours en mouvement symbolisent internationalement l'élégance. Depuis 1947, il imagine la publicité des parfums Dior, réinvente depuis plus de 30 ans l'affiche de music-hall pour le Bal du Moulin Rouge et le Lido. A 90 ans, René Gruau, très actif professionnellement symbolise à la fois l'héritage de l'art graphique et publicitaire du XIXe siècle et la modernité de la fin du XXe siècle. Gruau's trademark, the letter G crowned with a star, bas become a part of our collective memory. It has marked many memorable images: a spiritual set of lips just waiting to be kissed, a sublime pair of legs emerging from a cloud of feathers, arms that stretch out invitingly, splendidly expressive eyes like bottomless pools. Gruau's famous, emblematic images are at the core of twentieth-century advertising art. An autodidact thoroughly familiar with classical painting and graphic art, Gruau drew on the work of the great artists and illustrators of the nineteenth century in order to create his own unique style. In short, his work represents an admirable graphic synthesis. The purity of his line recalls Oriental calligraphy, while his chic, saucy women, always in motion, are an international symbol of elegance. He has been the creative force behind Dior perfume ads since 1947. For over 50 years he has reinvented the dancehall poster for the Moulin Rouge and the Lido. Still a working professional at 90 years old, Gruau symbolizes both the heritage of nineteenth-century modernism.

06/12/23

[g0j0s]

the girl with rituals

"I came home. I enjoyed my bath. I enjoyed perfuming myself. I knew I was born for this, to do it over and over again, the ritual of the dressing, the perfuming for love, for sensuality. I enjoyed everything sensually"

—(Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Mirages:

The Unexpurgated Diary; 1939-1947)

[citizenscreen]

Linda Darnell for Forever Amber Perfume, Harper's Bazaar, vol. 81, no 2827 (July 1947).

[cleolinda]

Sparking Joy (Jean Patou, 1930)

What's the best perfume of all time? Objectively, I don't think that's an answerable question; it might be that the absolute best perfume (which means what?) is something designed by an artisan outside the French tradition or the Arabian tradition, or not by a professional nose at all, but a single bottle mixed up by a hobbyist in some quiet little corner of the world. We just don't know. But much the way the American Film Institute decrees that Citizen Kane is the best [American] film of all time, what do Those in the Know think is the best? Chanel No. 5, right? The top seller in the world for decades?

Not at all. In 2000, the Fragrance Foundation FiFi Awards bestowed the public's choice for "Scent of the Century" on Jean Patou's Joy.

I remember reading this in the newspaper at the time, back when we had newspapers; I hadn't even worn fragrance since Sun-Ripened Raspberry body splash in high school, and I was shocked that it wasn't Chanel No. 5. I have to think "the public" meant "knowledgeable members of the perfume industry," because I had never heard of Joy, and most people I've talked to (who aren't hanging out on on fragrance forums) haven't, either. I feel like many of us would reflexively say "No. 5" because Chanel's done that good a job at shoring up their flagship's legend.

The story of Jean Patou's Joy is the opposite: when a fragrance isn't given the respect it deserves.

(Joy ads, 1947 and 1978; more here)

Famously, back when Joy was famous, perfumer Henri Alméras created Joy for Parisian couturier Jean Patou, as an oddly defiant, perhaps even life-affirming reaction to the 1929 Wall Street crash. At the time, it was "the costliest perfume in the world": "One ounce of the lavish scent contains 10,600 jasmine flowers and 28 dozen May roses"—and it cost $40 ($728.45!!!). And I might say it's a little obscene to create such an extravagant thing in the middle of the Great Depression—and yet, somehow, Joy was a huge success. A master perfumer created a work of art for a luxury vendor, and people bought it, and they loved it. Jackie Kennedy wore it; Vivien Leigh wore it. I've been wearing Joy for three weeks, and if I could have saved up enough pennies in 1930 to buy a tiny vial, I could see myself doing it, just to have that little something.

Joy was explicitly intended to be "a lighthouse" in a dark time of deprivation, and it wasn't overpriced just for the hell of it; it was the costliest in the sense of quality. It might best be known for its rose-jasmine pairing, but besides the entire region of Grasse crammed into every bottle, Joy also contains "leafy green notes," tuberose, ylang-ylang, aldehydes, peach (our old friend undecalactone?), lily of the valley, orris root, orchid, civet, musk, and sandalwood; Wikipedia also lists "michelia," which may mean magnolia here.

I'll admit up front that I have no idea when the sample I bought last month was produced, but the “juice,” as they say, looks very new; it doesn't have the deep dark color that I've seen on vintage bottles of Joy. It's got to be one of the newer formulations. Tom at Perfume Posse can speak for the older ones:

The [2022 sample] I received smells thinner than I remember - more skimming over those fields of flowers than just bashing into them, face-first. The Joy I remember reveled in the excess: bowers of roses, masses of lilies, clouds of tuberose backed with some of that “don’t F with me” musk that must have been civet back in the day. This is nice. Nice and sweet, with only a hint of the previous hedonist.

Angela at Now Smell This:

For the longest time, to me Joy smelled dense, like a Victorian room with the curtains pulled. I couldn’t feel my way around in it. The turning point for me came from hearing current Patou house perfumer Thomas Fontaine describe Joy’s sillage as lush and old fashioned. I’d been trying to make Joy a light, happy perfume. Really, it’s a gorgeously constructed velvet overcoat, heavy and plush and meticulously made. It’s red wine, not champagne.

The Scented Hound:

Joy (current version eau de parfum) is truly a joy when it first goes on the skin as it’s full of lush ylang-ylang and soapy white flowers and bright aldehydes. [...] As Joy continues its slow and deliberate path, a jasmine blends itself with the rose…but combined, they’re still very controlled and incredibly proper. Joy doesn’t transform or morph very much, but in the end, the florals fade and soften a bit, and what you’re left is a lightly warm breeze of light floral sandalwood musk.

The version I have is clearly the newer one—I actually would say it's more like champagne, not in the literal effervescent way (see the Coco Mademoiselles), but in the sense that this Joy is light. Not weak, but light, the way I described the aspect of No. 5 that I could stand as "limpid." In my head, Joy is a beautiful sunset pink color, sheer, almost verging into red. The jasmine comes out the strongest for me at first, maybe with the slight presence of an aldehyde, but then, on top of that, the biggest, fullest, realest rose I've ever smelled in a perfume. If I get cut flowers for my birthday, I always save any roses in the bouquet and dry them. Jean Patou's Joy smells like a rose that is so fully blown that the petals fall apart in my hand when I try to pull it from the vase. Not decaying, not that far gone, but the rose's absolute full potential of bloom, and so vividly that I can see the texture of the petals. If you want to tell me there’s 336 roses in here, I will believe you.

On my skin, the rose floats there on top, on a bed of headier florals, for at least half an hour; in my notes, I jotted down that a spicy ylang-ylang "with a slight bubblegum connotation" (see Samsara for more on the bubbleylang) shows up then, and by an hour-twenty, the whole thing has come together, all flowers present at once in a sweet, soft, heady, slightly spicy, rose-pink glow.

[Sidebar: At three hours, Joy reminded me in some non-literal way of Murray & Lanman's Florida Water, also billed as "the Richest of All Perfumes" in the late 1800s. (Of course I got myself a bottle of an actual Gilded Age perfume they still sell today for $4, are you kidding me?) I've seen a lot of Florida Water formulas (which are still used today in various spiritual traditions), and I've mostly seen lavender, clove, and multiple citrus notes as the components, sometimes with rose, ylang-ylang, and/or cinnamon as well. Unlike many, many French perfumes, Jean Patou's Joy doesn't have any citrus top notes at all, so I'm not sure what I'm getting in common with Florida Water, other than the florals and a certain spiciness that comes out late in Joy's game for me. I'd like to think it's purely the "richness" that reminds me of the Costliest Perfume in the World.]

"Warm breeze" is a good way to describe Joy's drydown; it's not heavy or old-fashioned to me at all, and I can't specifically pick out musk at any point (clearly, this sample was made after real animal musk was banned in 1979; anything animalic still here would be synthetic). I barely get sandalwood—it's just gorgeous florals, and if you (I) haven't smelled the original Joy, you aren't capable of missing it. Now Smell This has a breakdown of how the eau de toilette and the eau de parfum differed as of 2008; I got the EdP. I don't feel like it goes from light to dark, but it does smell very lush and complex to me. It feels like it sings, and you know what? When I first smelled it, I thought it smelled like a number of things I'd tried recently, particularly Coco Mademoiselle L'Eau Privée. That glowing pink rose-jasmine-ylang-sandalwood combination—and then I realized, no, those perfumes smell like Joy. Joy is so iconic that it's used as a building block, a quotation, in so many fragrances that came after it.

And it's so, so easy to wear—in fairness, I haven't worn the heavier original formulation, but I'm not even sure I'd want to. This Joy is so easy and lovely and gorgeous—I've been wondering if I'd ever find my one signature scent to rule them all, and while Joy doesn't have all my favorite notes, I wouldn't mind if it became mine.

But here's the thing: they don't manufacture Joy anymore. You can still buy what's already been produced, for now, but as existing supplies sell out, it'll only get more expensive with time. Because someone bought the rights to Jean Patou's Joy for the sole purpose of not producing it.

You're about to get a second post about who did that and why.

Perfume discussion masterpost

[talonabraxas]

THE ALTAR OF ARTEMIS by: Aleister Crowley (1875-1947)

HERE, in the coppice, oak and pine

And mystic yew and elm are found,

Sweeping the skies, that grew divine

With the dark wind's despairing sound,

The wind that roars from the profound,

And smites the mountain-tops, and calls

Mute spirits to black festivals,

And feasts in valleys iron-bound,

Desolate crags, and barren ground;--

There in the strong storm-shaken grove

Swings the pale censer-fire for love.

The foursquare altar, roughly hewn,

And overlaid with beaten gold,

Stands in the gloom; the stealthy tune

Of singing maidens overbold

Desires mad mysteries untold,

With strange eyes kindling, as the fleet

Implacable untiring feet

Weave mystic figures manifold

That draw down angels to behold

The moving music, and the fire

Of their intolerable desire.

For, maddening to fiercer thought,

The fiery limbs requicken, wheel

In formless furies, subtly wrought

Of swifter melodies than steel

That flashes in the fight: the peal

Of amorous laughters choking sense,

And madness kissing violence,

Ring like dead horsemen; bodies reel

Drunken with motion; spirits feel

The strange constraint of gods that clip

From Heaven to mingle lip and lip.

The gods descend to dance; the noise

Of hungry kissings, as a swoon,

Faints for excess of its own joys,

And mystic beams assail the moon,

With flames of their infernal noon;

While the smooth incense, without breath,

Spreads like some scented flower of death,

Over the grove; the lover's boon

Of sleep shall steal upon them soon,

And lovers' lips, from lips withdrawn,

Seek dimmer bosoms till the dawn.

Yet on the central altar lies

The sacrament of kneaded bread,

With blood made one, the sacrifice

To those, the living, who are dead--

Strange gods and goddesses, that shed

Monstrous desires of secret things

Upon their worshippers, from wings

One lucent web of light, from head

One labyrinthine passion-fed

Palace of love, from breathing rife

With secrets of forbidden life.

But not the sunlight, nor the stars,

Nor any light but theirs alone,

Nor iron masteries of Mars,

Nor Saturn's misconceiving zone,

Nor any planet's may be shown,

Within the circle of the grove,

Where burn the sanctities of love:

Nor may the foot of man be known,

Nor evil eyes of mothers thrown

On maidens that desire the kiss

Only of maiden Artemis.

But horned and huntress from the skies,

She bends her lips upon the breeze,

And pure and perfect in her eyes,

Burn magical virginity's

Sweet intermittent sorceries.

When the slow wind from her sweet word

In all their conchéd ears is heard.

And like the slumber of the seas,

There murmur through the holy trees

The kisses of the goddess keen,

And sighs and laughters caught between.

For, swooning at the fervid lips

Of Artemis, the maiden kisses

Sobs and the languid body slips

Down to enamelled wildernesses.

Fallen and loose the shaken tresses;

Fallen the sandal and girdling gold,

Fallen the music manifold

Of moving limbs and strange caresses,

And deadly passion that possesses

The magic ecstasy of these

Mad maidens, tender as blue seas.

Night spreads her yearning pinions,

The baffled day sinks blind to sleep;

The evening breeze outswoons the sun's

Dead kisses to the swooning deep.

Upsoars the moon; the flashing steep

Of Heaven is fragrant for her feet;

The perfume of the grove is sweet

As slumbering women furtive creep

To bosoms where small kisses weep,

And find in fervent dreams the kiss

Most memoried of Artemis.

Impenetrable pleasure dies

Beneath the madness of new dreams;

The slow sweet breath is turned to sighs

More musical than many streams

Under the moving silver beams,

Fretted with stars, thrice woven across.

White limbs in amorous slumber toss,

Like sleeping foam, whose silver gleams

On motionless dark seas; it seems

As if some gentle spirit stirred,

Their lazy brows with some swift word.

So, in the secret of the shrine,

Night keeps them nestled, so the gloom

Laps them in waves as smooth as wine,

As glowing as the fiery womb

Of some young tigress, dark as doom,

And swift as sunrise. Love's content

Builds its own monument,

And carves above its vaulted tomb

The Phoenix on her fiery plume,

To their own souls to testify

Their kisses' immortality.

[hibiscusbabyboy]

La Véritable Eau De Menton

(Depuis 1947, Prestige de Menton)

Fragrance notes: Bergamot, Lemon, Petitgrain

(Divider by @plum98 )

[theaur0rman]

Intro to Alastor

Name: Alastor Phillip Moody

Age & Birthday: 13th February, 1947, 32.

Gender & Pronouns: Cis-male & he/him

Sexuality: Straight

Occupation: An Auror

Blood Status: Halfblood

House: Hufflepuff

Side: Order member 

Family: Moody family

Residence: A flat close to the ministry.

MAGICAL:

Boggart: n/a

Patronus: A brown bear.

Amortenia: Brownies, Butterbeer, Whiskey, Caramel, a female perfume he came to associate with Rosmerta.

WAND:

12, Fir, Unicorn tail hair, Solid - Just like its owner, this wand is loyal and will always remain a "survivor" of great tragedies. It's good to say that this wand represents his master's heart. Once it's set that is the only option for him.

PERSONALITY: 

+ loyal, fast thinker, a good mentor, and teacher, determined and dedicated to the greater good.

- Rash to anger, harsh, crude even, and Overly cautious bordering on beginning stages of paranoia.

BIOGRAPHY:

There is not much special to say about Alastor's childhood. He came from a long line of police officers on his muggle-born mother's side. His father was a half-blood from Scotland, raised in a small magical village. The two met in school and fell in love both going to become members of the ministry. Alastor's father was an Auror and his mother worked as an unspeakable. Having close contact with her parents Alastor grew up valuing justice and the government be it magical or muggle.

When it came to sorting he took after his father, getting sorted into the Hufflepuff without the hat thinking too much about it. The choice seemed pretty obvious. His school years were nice, peaceful, filled with laughter and Edgar.

It was once Alastor left the school and joined Aurors that sinister things picked up their pace. Of course, he would never stand by and let such a thing keep going unpunished. It had to be stopped. So he joined the resistance without a backward glance... That was not fully true, when he joined Alastor gave up on something that would always squeeze his chest with pain and desire in equal measures. He gave up on his love, leaving his heart forever in her arms even if she didn't truly realize it.

To this day he carried the ring he wanted to give her to ask her hand around his neck. Sometimes that small object weighted down his body far more than fatigue and pain from hexes he has taken in his line of work. Insomnia and vigilance growing to be his one true company.

QUOTES:

"Semper Fidelis" - "Always faithful" "Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat" - "They all wound and the last kills." "For the greater good, there is no price too high I shall pay." "Justice is meant to be for each of us, just like death."

His Fc: Oliver Jackson-Cohen

[petaltexturedskies]

I came home. I enjoyed my bath. I enjoyed perfuming myself. I knew I was born for this, to do it over and over again, the ritual of the dressing, the perfuming for love, for sensuality. I enjoyed everything sensually.

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1939–1947