I promised myself I would follow IScent's philosophy this week and try new perfumes, so I went off to the department stores and scrounged a few samples. The ladies at the Dior and Givenchy counters were particularly helpful, so I'm starting with what I hoped would be the least offensive offering: Givenchy's summer release, which will doubtless be available at a counter near you.
Happy Easter, readers. The festival of sweet things has dictated my choice of fragrance today: Pour un Homme, from the French house of Caron, purveyors of the gorgeous Tabac Blond which IScent enjoyed so much. This is, as you might guess from the name, a masculine fragrance. I am female, but I wear it regardless, because it is a thing of beauty.
While my friend over at IScentYouA Day takes a well-deserved trip to the perfumeries of France, I shall be trying to fill her shoes by wearing a perfume every day and telling you what I think about it. I thought I’d also post my reviews here on my regular blog, even though they’re not related to branding. I hope I won’t bore you.
I always liked perfume, but I wasn’t fascinated by it. Until, that is, I went on holiday to France seven years ago, taking with me a book called The Emperor of Scent, which I’d picked up in the SciFi section for casual reading. It turned out to be real science, not fiction: the story of a talented biophysicist called Luca Turin who was researching how we smell things. It was a fascinating read, but what really inspired my imagination was Luca Turin’s comments on perfumes and the perfume industry.
Turin claims Mitsouko is the perfume he would take with him if he was being sent off on an inter-galactic space mission. He describes this peach chypre as lovingly as if it was his favourite child. I had to smell it. Being in France meant that I could spend hours in a handy branch of Marionaud, smelling many of the amazing things he described in glowing terms usually reserved for works of art. In a shopping mall in a provincial French town I was able to try things I would have had struggled to find at home in Wales, including the entire Guerlain range of classics – Jicky, Shalimar, Mitsouko, L’Heure Bleue, Apres L’Ondee, Vol de Nuit, Chamade, Jardins de Bagatelle, Nahema, Parure, Mahora, Champs-Elysees, L’Instant, Insolence… I came out of the shop reeling and reeking.
Some of those perfumes repulsed me – traditional, oakmoss-laden chypres were definitely not to my taste and I did not like massive florals or 80s stonkers – others confused me, some left me cold, a couple were interesting but difficult, and one or two were pretty.
But one made me come back again and again to sniff the bottle and then the inside of my wrist where I had sprayed it: L’Heure Bleue. It was strange, rather melancholy and just a little magical, wonderful and very grown-up. It did confuse me; I couldn’t say ‘this smells of x y and z’, as Luca Turin did in his reviews and when I read the notes listed, I could smell no particular iris, violet, heliotrope or carnation. Instead, I had an impression of face powder and a ladylike, delightful deliciousness, an edibleness like a rich almond pastry with a creamy vanilla custard filling. It hypnotised me and fascinated me and I was hooked.
If you haven’t yet got around to trying L’Heure Bleue I strongly recommend you do. Persuade the sales assistant at the Guerlain counter to pull out the beautiful little bottle with the heart-shaped stopper from under the counter and try it, I beg you. Failing that, somehow swap or buy a sample. I guarantee you will admire this pensive beauty, even if you don’t adore it. It is utterly unlike the modern watery vanilla/ thin floral/fruitichouili things that are being pushed at consumers nowadays. This remarkable perfume celebrated its one hundredth birthday last year, and like so many delightful Centegenarians, it still has powerful charm and character, which is no bad thing.
Photo: Angelica Huston photographed for US Vogue, Jan 1973 by Avedon
I am going to stick my neck out and say that too many brand identities are plonked onto companies without considering the realities involved. As our audiences become more and more able to investigate the realities of a company’s behaviour, we can’t underestimate the importance of a brand’s identity and personality being realistic and genuinely reflecting how the company, agency or product works and interacts with its customers, staff and the environment. When you try to force a company or product into an ill-fitting brand it will misbehave somehow and eventually the cracks are going to show. You might well end up with the kind of mess you get when a highly-strung beauty queen hits 40.
I believe the problem is related to cognitive dissonance – a disparity between the expectation and the experience – but I’m no psychologist. However, in branding as in life, I believe honesty and acceptance is essential for success. This might sound like ‘branding by Gok Wan‘, but bear with me. (And actually, Gok’s brand is so well-defined and cleverly diversified that it’s well worth looking at as an example.) There’s a tendency to regurgitate the same old same old values when you’re working with brands. I’ll put my hand up to it; I’m as guilty as anyone of slinging about brand values like: effective, trustworthy, forward-looking, innovative, reassuring. In fairness, we know that successful companies tend to have those kinds of values, and they’re all very positive – exactly how you’d like a ‘dream company’ to behave, and how you’d hope all companies would aspire to behave.
While it might sound like a bad idea to include brand values like ‘lying’, ‘cheating’, ‘greedy’, ‘lazy’, ‘mean’, actually those are real-life attributes that we and the people we know and love do have. They are realistic. They reflect the ways in which our companies operate. And when you think about it, aren’t all the most successful businesses differentiated by some kind of quirkiness of character? Some companies are shockers when it comes to paying their bills, but hey, that’s OK, because they work in ways that are interesting and exciting and they’re fun to do business with, so we don’t mind too much having to send a reminder invoice. Others are punctilious and prissy, but the products they make are so well-engineered and robustly made that you can’t argue with their fussiness. Others are insanely demanding and beyond annoying, but so uniquely visionary that in working for them you feel you’re part of an incredible movement for universal betterment. It’s a part of their character and part of why they excel at what they do. But I doubt you’d see ‘slapdash’ ‘diva’, ‘fussy’ or ‘nitpicking’ written up on their list of brand values. I think it should be. Be brave. If your company has a reputation for being a little stingy, do the Yorkshire thing and say ‘we care about not wasting money, which means we’re going to give you good value’ – channel that potential negative and let it take you somewhere positive. (And this is where we’re back to Gok Wan – I’m not saying companies should just let it all hang out. There has to be an element of spin to turn a possible negative into a definite positive. It’s the branding equivalent of Spanx pants.)
You don’t think that this tactic would work? Well, isn’t ‘greedy’ pretty much the USP of the delightful and very successful Nigella Lawson? I have every one of her cookbooks and her recipes are fantastic because as well as tasting good they are very dependable, and she is a very honest writer. As for greed being appealing, well, several gentlemen of my acquaintance tell me that Nigella is the ultimate in posh totty and a major sex symbol for blokes over 40. (That’s a whole different kind of aspiration though, chaps.) Nigella is greedy, so you trust her to write recipes that are a whole lot more delicious than Gwyneth Paltrow’s (I saw her terribly healthy cookbook knocked down to £3 in WH Smith yesterday).
The French phrase ‘jolie laide’ literally means ‘pretty ugly’ and describes someone who doesn’t have conventional beauty but is nonetheless very attractive; I think it’s well worth considering when talking about branding. Embrace the ugly bits of the business and find the attractiveness within them to create an honest brand with some self-knowledge and originality, not just some cookie-cutter blah. How much more appealing is Angelica Huston than the bland pneumatic blonde in the Guess jeans ad whose name I can’t remember?
I had an interesting experience last weekend, one that few people are lucky enough to enjoy. I traveled around London smelling perfumes with a group of other fragrance geeks that included three perfumers. In St James, I visited the Floris shop at 89 Jermyn Street with Karen Gilbert, a respected perfumer, trainer and product developer who has worked for well-known brands and has a phenomenal grasp of the industry.
The oldest British perfumery, founded in 1730, Floris has a very well-defined brand, which draws heavily on its history and tradition for imagery and positioning. The shop is a glorious mahogany-lined High Edwardian vision, with a marvellous dapper French-accented manager who understands the fine line between helpfulness and intrusion. While the point-of-sale materials and window displays are modern, the bottles and packaging are resolutely 1920s in styling, and give an impression of solidity as well as luxury, and the online presence is absolutely in tune with the physical. Both in the shop and online, Royal Warrants from the Queen and the Prince of Wales are discreetly displayed, as are letters from customers including Florence Nightingale, Winston Churchill and Marylin Monroe.
The overall brand image is of a very British quiet elegance and insistence on quality, that places Floris squarely in the ‘upper’ bracket of our class system. It is so immaculately curated that it veers close to Disneyfication, but doesn’t quite become a caricature because of the subtle and intelligent use of modern touches, such as simple black and white website imagery, the modern point-of-sale materials and an ongoing product development programme which has seen new fragrances released that fit with current market trends.
This was when it became very interesting to be smelling perfumes with a professional perfumer. While I would spritz a paper strip and say ‘oh, this is modern, nice and fresh’, Karen would sniff several times, mutter mysteriously about Dihydromyrcenol, Galaxolide and Hedione and say ‘this is a nice twist on CKOne, made with good materials’, placing the scent squarely in the context of the successful products on the market. Karen explained that this is something most perfume-making companies do; take the fashionable or iconic form that customers understand, and simply add a half-twist of this or that to keep it from being a straight copy. This is a particularly intelligent thing for a company like Floris to do, because it keeps the brand’s offerings current and relevant to a larger and younger audience.
However, one of the problems with exclusivity and perfume is that your potential customers need to be able to physically smell the products, but you need to maintain your brand image. Consequently, Floris is stocked in John Lewis department stores and independent pharmacies in county towns; exactly the kinds of shops frequented by the fictional tweedy Honorables that are the backbone of a very British perception of what is ‘upper class’. Interestingly, the Cefiro fragrance which Karen described so precisely as being similar to CKOne is Floris’ choice for their range of hotel toiletries, used by selected five star hotels – another way to very efficiently place their products in potential customers’ hands while maintaining brand values and equity.
While that bottle of Floris perfume or bath essence might look as if it belongs in the bathroom of a Duchess’ country house, it’s equally likely to be bought by a tourist, as a present, or by someone who has used it in a hotel bathroom and enjoyed it. Whoever is managing the Floris brand is exceptionally skilled and I take my hat off to them.
This week a friend and I were talking about her blog and something came up which started me thinking about ‘norms’ – those essential stereotypes we use all the time in marketing. The blog is about perfume, a pet subject of mine and a market which I understand well. It’s very clearly divided between high-end niche perfumes from brands such as Amouage, Editions de Frederic Malle, Serge Lutens, Caron, Guerlain, that you can only find in boutique perfumeries or exclusive department stores; mid-range such as Chanel, Dior, YSL, Vivienne Westwood, Prada, Clarins, Lancome that you can find in all department stores; lower-mid range like Cacharel, Diesel, Britney Spears, JLo, Beckham and Hugo Boss that you can buy in pharmacies and chains such as Superdrug and Boots and then the rock-bottom cheapies, copies and ‘in the style of’ versions you pick up for under a fiver in discounters. Anyone who has ever bought a bottle of perfume knows exactly how this works, where their favourite fragrance sits in this market and exactly where the line lies when buying a Mother’s Day present.
This week my blogger friend has been reviewing celebrity scents; about which there is much snobbery. The rise of celebrity perfumes is a recent phenomenon, even though there were a few notable perfumes released by actresses in the 1980s (Cher’s Uninhibited, Catherine Deneuve’s Deneuve, Elizabeth Taylor’s Passion). Since Jennifer Lopez released JLo Glow in 2002, to great financial success, the celebrity perfume model has been so profitable that the trickle has now become a deluge, with reality show personalities and pop stars releasing a new fragrance each season and actresses replacing models as the ‘face’ of a fragrance. Evidently, this is a money-spinning opportunity like few others. With raw ingredients costing relative peanuts compared to the final sale price, most of the financial investment goes into marketing and branding – from designing the bottle to funding launch parties and a media-blitz to launch the product.
Yet there has always been a little moue of distaste at the idea of wearing perfume sold by a celebrity. Somehow it’s not a chic as a perfume from a saddler such as Hermes or Gucci, or a dressmaker, like Dior, Chanel or Yves St Laurent (though admittedly, they do know a few things about being chic). But what qualifies them to know anything about perfume, apart from a well-defined sense of personal taste and an understanding of the changing fashions? Coco Chanel was no more trained as a perfumer than Jennifer Lopez, Britney Spears or Snooki. (Whatever Snooki is – an orange cartoon character, I believe?) But it’s exactly that kind of sniffy little comment that makes most of the population unwilling to admit ‘I smell of Paris Hilton’s CanCan’, but perfectly happy to say ‘I smell of Lancôme’s Ôui!’
Admittedly, there is often a small but essential difference in the money spent on the juice in the bottle. Higher-end perfumes often contain rather more expensive ingredients, and are developed by a prestigious ‘nose’ – effectively an olfactory creative director who composes the formula to address a loose and evocative brief. For mass-market celebrity scents, less is spent on ingredients and the brief is usually dictated by a marketing team who tightly focus-group how the target market wants to smell, rather than giving the nose creative control. This explains why there is so much uniformity among the mass-market scents – a fairly universal fruity/sweet/patchouli-based fuzz seems to be what the teens and early twenties focus groups said they wanted a couple of years ago, so that’s what Proctor & Gamble and Coty are putting into bottles and stickering with random celebrity names. And let’s be honest – the celebrities are signing up because it’s a great earner. Popstars and tv show personalities know that their fans will want to buy a £20 bottle of perfume so they can smell like their favourite star. These aren’t classic perfumes created to stand the test of time, they’re FMCG, to be used up and moved on from.
This flood of mass-market fragrances from celebrities has shifted the stereotype and reshaped the market, and now perfumes ‘created’ (perhaps ‘approved’ is more honest) by actors seem to be given more credibility, placing them with fashion designers, jewellers and saddlers, albeit on the bottom end of that mid-range. With financial constraints having an impact on our buying habits, the days of splurging at the Chanel or Guerlain counter are over, and consumers are looking for less expensive alternatives for everyday wear to the office or supermarket. The early-adopters SJP and JLo have been taken into the fold and accepted as vendors of quality goods, with SJP’s Lovely inheriting the mantle of Lauder’s White Linen as a school-run classic for Boden-wearing mummies, while Halle Berry, Kate Walsh, Jennifer Aniston and the Beckhams’ are producing surprisingly good affordable perfumes and aftershaves that are impressing the ‘squeezed middle’ market and critics alike. As for the originals I listed earlier, check out eBay, where vintage bottles of Deneuve now sell for astonishing prices.
It seems that the way to get a marketing stereotype to shift and allow your product to move upscale a little – to come in from the cold to become a popular lower-mid-range fragrance – is to float on an enormous tide of poor-quality mass-market copycats and to pay attention to your brand and imply better quality by injecting some of your personal taste and insisting on slightly better quality ingredients and slightly less focus-grouped formulae.
Integrity, it seems, actually does smell better.