Separate the works from the artists? Unthinkable, you might say! But do you even know who is behind your favorite perfume bottles? For the second edition of the Paris Perfume Week, we have the immense honor of welcoming the renowned perfumers who shine a light on contemporary perfumery. While some need no introduction, all will share their stories, reflecting on both their journeys and their legendary creations. Among these brilliant headliners, a very special guest: Isabelle Doyen.
Isabelle Doyen is something of an exception, co-creating almost all of her fragrances over the past 30 years without ever seeking the headline glory. The self-effacing Goutal perfume house doyenne, co-founder of her brand Voyages Imaginaires, is a determined champion of the concept of chic perfumery, one that merges respect for traditional codes with a dose of audacity. Interview.
You grew up in Polynesia. Was that where your appetite for scents blossomed?
My mother was a midwife and my father a meteorologist. He was posted to Tahiti when I was five-years-old. Men and women would turn up to mass on a Sunday, their hair slicked with Monoi oil. In the small church with its corrugated iron roof, baked white in the sun, I would be overwhelmed by this aroma. I went to a school run by nuns where it was traditional to arrive each morning with a small bouquet of tiaré flowers. It’s funny when I think about it: lily-of-the-valley, lilac and lime blossom are all still exotic to me, hibiscus and tiaré are much more familiar.
What are your earliest olfactory memories?
We were on the terrace at a friend’s house for an aperitif, and right there in front of us was a tree with yellow flowers. It was six in the evening, nothing in the world could have made me move from my seat, so intense were my emotions. I was intoxicated by this warm, very slightly fruity smell. It was a ylang-ylang tree, I found that out years later. On Sundays, we would take a picnic into the Tahitian valleys. I loved the smell of the coconut trees and of the ferns that were everywhere. And then there was the mango we used to eat on our way to the beach and which would drip all round our mouths.
Did people wear perfume around you?
In Tahiti, people generally wore little or no perfume. But my father used to spritz on Ice Blue Aqua Velva, a pleasant smell that has become his smell in my mind. I noticed that, when my mother was getting ready to go out to her friends’ houses, having slipped into a pretty dress and put on her makeup, she came out of the bathroom with something extra, an indefinable aura. The wife of one of their friends, ultra-sophisticated, who always wore sublime earrings, gave me the same feeling. There was always this haze of femininity surrounding her.
Were you aware that this smell, this aura, came from their perfume?
Not at all! I thought that, once they reached a certain age, women exuded this exquisite and fascinating smell. Perhaps when they became a mum. But I had no idea that it was down to perfume and that this perfume had been composed by a human being.
Did you already have a sense that olfaction was your milieu, your familiar territory?
Let’s say that smells were a preoccupation. At primary school I had to learn A Sleeper in the Valley by heart, my first encounter with [19th-century French poet, Arthur] Rimbaud. The grasses, the proud mountain, the sun, and then this line, ‘He sleeps with his feet in gladiolas’. I asked myself, why has this poet chosen these ugly flowers which smell of nothing? I remember the mother of one of my friends, a very sophisticated lady who had been a model for Dior, wore Parure and Chamade. She had a small dachshund called McArthur, whose strange smell blended wonderfully well with Guerlain. I did have these kinds of thoughts, but it was my secret world, I didn’t share it with anybody, not with my parents, nor my friends. In the bathroom, those sachets of Dop shampoo smelled so good to me that I chewed on them.
Do you remember your first perfume ‘shock’?
A great-uncle bought me a bottle of Vent Vert [by Balmain] as a 15th-birthday present. I opened it and smelled an unusual scent. It was the galbanum that was first to escape from the bottle. Since that day, I get a jolt every time I put my nose near it. But it isn’t glamorous in the first instance, I find the smell is like an old sack of potatoes at the bottom of a cellar. But – and is it because of that original sentiment? – I use the ingredient a lot, in Grand Amour – Annick and I thought that we might have been a bit heavy-handed, but in the end, we left the formula as it was –, Eau du Sud, Ninfeo Mio, Nuit de Bakélite. The funniest thing is that galbanum originates in Iran. When I first met the man who would become my husband and I found out that he was Iranian, I felt he had ‘galbanum’ written across his forehead. That made him even more precious in my eyes [laughs].
When did you decide you wanted to be a perfumer?
I think it was when I was about 20-years-old. I had managed, with difficulty, to pass my bac C [sciences and maths baccalauréat]. At the time, I had a vague idea to launch myself into a career as a herbalist. That didn’t last long, I was quickly made to understand that there was barely a single herbalist left in Paris. So, I studied plant biology at Orsay [Paris-Sud University]. On the occasion of a dinner at a friend’s house in Versailles, her father, who worked at Guerlain – the husband of that lady who had modelled for Dior –, did something that I still cannot explain: he handed me a brochure for a perfumery school in Versailles. It was like a veil had been lifted. So in 1979, I started at ISIP [later renamed ISIPCA] after an interview with the old director, they did not yet have entrance exams. I felt an immense happiness, I was exactly where I should be. At that time their courses took three years, and we were trained simultaneously in perfumery, cosmetics and flavours, so we clearly skimmed over some stuff.
What is the first perfume that you put your name to?
That must have been in 1986-1987. I had developed a collection for Pain d’épices, a wooden-toy company. I remember that one of the perfumes was called Berlingot, a sort of gourmand ahead of its time, and another Petit Tambour, a woody-musky-conifer note. We had a blast.
Was there a degree of pride in having been recognised in that way?
Not particularly. I remember having thought: ‘I’ve had fun, and that’s the important thing!
Join Isabelle Doyen on the Smell Talks stage on March 21 at 6 pm for an exclusive Masterclass.
This interview was conducted by Lionel Paillès; you can find it in Nez #6, Body and Mind.
Photo: Meyer/Tendance Floue.
