Sikkim by Lancôme

Is it an oriental floral? Sikkim is a bookish, green-floral chypre. Moss, galbanum, vetiver, aldehydes – it’s not hard to get a sense of its scent. The green, metallic acidity of the moss, the herbal and raw tone of the galbanum, the dampness of the vetiver, the tight and effervescent aldehydes at first, which later seem to revive when they join the spiced tinkling of the carnation and the narcissus, both very soft but evident. I must not forget the fresh leather reminiscent of Cabochard; here, it is executed just right, not to be the star beyond giving a regal air to the other notes. The iris and the flowers, already in their death throes, unify the rest of the genre like a blue mist. Sikkim opens strong, a machete blow of herbaceous vapours similar to tearing a bunch of dried herbs with your hands and rubbing their juice into your lungs. Then it calms down, moving into that range of seventies herbal and crisp fragrances, almost masculine, for working women to whom nothing evoking glamour or princess romance could seduce anymore. Finally, it makes a very beautiful transition, retaining green and winter-leather nuances towards a talc of cool, velvet flowers and herbs, with almost no sweetness in a precious green-blue range. It was not as sharp or gloomy as the herbal chypres of the style of Eau de Soir or Scherrer, nor did it reach the narcotic, crisp and soapy flowers of Madame Rochas, nor did it have the adolescent and fun grace of a Caleche. Could it be a distant cousin of Aromatics Elixir, much greener and sportier? Could it even have that masterful combination of leather/vetiver/patchouli with echoes of the wet jar of the original Cabochard in the parfum version? It might have memories of these I cite, but saving distances, Sikkim was a much more resolute, more functional perfume, less historical and closer to Dioressence. Indispensable for lovers of perfumes without any sweetness and essential to know the history of the world in the seventies. One of the best from Lancome, a house that until the nineties knew how to adapt to trends without losing a single scrap of prestige along the way.

A unique opportunity: a vintage from the seventies in perfect condition, something that does not usually happen to me, but there is always someone with treasures. SIKKIM, small state in northern India at the foot of the Himalayas. An unknown fragrance for me, with ingredients that IFRA has already banned. SIKKIM DE LANCÔME: welcome to the world of aldehydic floral chypres of the classic school, there is nothing like it. This is how they must have smelled in the dawn of time: Joya, Chanel No 5, Youth Dew, Miss Dior, Arpège, Cinnabar, Aliage… just pronouncing their names makes me fall flat on my face and ask for forgiveness! The beauty of an authentic seventies chypre: its potent and exultant greenness, its passionate and carnal flowers, its deep and intense resins, its coriaceous mosses, and its mossy leathers. The aldehydes at the opening are what I remember when smelling ladies coming out of Sunday mass: aldehydes bright like fireworks. Aldehydes that produced respect and admiration in me, looking up from my short stature, knowing them to be unattainable. Aldehydes of rich ladies and sumptuous mansions. The green of the galbanum, freshly cut grass, which can even evoke a turpentine pine, joined with the citrus bergamot, the spicy green of caraway, and the push of the aldehydes, achieves a brilliant summer accord, but of a luxurious summer in the Italian countryside, in a Renaissance villa accessed through a long road flanked by cypresses. And the floral heart. The dry floral of the gardenia, along with the carnality of some sensual and not overly sweet flowers, arising from a dark rose and a carnation and a softly indolic jasmine, confer on SIKKIM that aura of green floral majesty, of perfume belonging to the Ladies of the Forest. Its dry-down is beautiful, deep, bosky and earthy, with an oak moss that fixes its notes dragging them into its fungal dampness, enveloping them in an embrace of intense leather and concentrated patchouli, which narcotises the senses and faints the heart. SIKKIM DE LANCÔME: splendour in the grass and glory in the flowers.