Twilly Eau Poivrée by Hermès

Let’s have a disclosure at the very beginning: I have a soft spot for Hermès. I loved Ellena’s Hermès, I love some earlier Hermès perfumes, love some of the alterations to Hermès concept Christine Nagel has done so far. I’m trying to keep an open mind to every change, and when the Hermès is in question, I’m curious to find out where the changes lead.

The rose in Eau Poivrée shed a different light on the tuberose in Twilly, which made me think about the idea and concept behind both perfumes.

Among many reasons why I have a soft spot for Hermès, one is the diversity of ideas or concepts behind the collections:

Behind the Jardins line is the idea of a garden or “nature with human intervention.” This frame is supported by the existing toponym and material motif of “water.” Jardins line is Jean-Claude Ellena’s baby, and though Christine Nagel followed the family concept with Un Jardin Sur la Lagune, she twisted the concept from “the spirit of the garden” to “the materiality of the garden” and added quite a different, more full-bodied member to the family. 

Behind the Merveille line is a different concept: it is based on the exploration and interpretation of a unique perfume accord, the line’s DNA. Unlike in Jardins, the interpretations surpassed perfume profiles and groups: there is a woody Merveille, oriental-fougere, floral one, gourmand, aquatic… Nathalie Fiesthauer and Ralf Schwieger created the pillar with distinctive salty-ambery DNA. Jean-Claude Ellena elaborated and expanded the concept, and Nagel, with her Bleue, followed the path of exploration and further interpretation.

Though there is a possibility that Eau Poivrée would be to Twilly a flanker-pair as is, among others, Rose Amazone to Amazone, Kelly Caleche to Kaleche, Equipage Geranium to Equipage or, more recently, Terre d’Hermès Vetyver to Terre d’Hermès, I found myself preoccupied with thinking that Eau Poivrée represents disclosure of a concept that might end up with more than one flanker. 

Eau Poivrée disclosed what could not be seen based on the original Twilly alone: 

An instantly recognizable Twilly profile surpasses the sum of the notes in individual perfume creations.

More to it: the Twilly profile ignores all the keynotes on which each of the two perfumes is built and remains recognizable.

No matter the colour/pattern or the notes, the idea/concept/identity can not be missed.
It is tailored. 

The idea behind the name of the perfume – Twilly, the scarf – is also the idea behind the concept:

Both “Twillies” are more about the way they are cut to a specific shape and dimensions than about their notes, colours, patterns, or textures.

Done with speculation, back to Eau Poivrée, and “Twillies”:

Without actually smelling it, Eau Poivrée could not seem more different from the original:

Eau Poivrée is built around a rose and Twilly around tuberose.
Here is a pepper, and there is ginger.
Here is patchouli; there is sandalwood.
One would expect very different perfumes with different flowers, spices, and woody backbones.

Well, it is, but it is not.

Eau Poivrée is an example of how clever substitution of all the key players in the perfume structure (spicy opening, flowery heart, woody base)can create a different character. At the same time, the olfactory identity remains untouched, thus forming a concept.

As in the original, Eau Poivrée opens with a freshly spicy note: the zingy spiciness that in Twilly comes from ginger is here replaced with a peppery spiciness joined with some citrusy elements.

The citrusy ting goes away quickly, but the spiciness remains. To my nose, peppery spiciness smells like any specific pepper.

Twilly-twisted pepper smells like red, black, and green pepper berries mixed together: it tickles a little, but it is also freshly aromatic, roundly sweetish, and a tiny bit woody.

There is also some fruity undertone at the beginning of the drydown, tempting to redirect the perfume into the fruity territory, but as in the original Twilly, the suggestion is misleading, and the perfume never really enters the territory of the common fruity stereotype.

The overall effect of this spicy opening is less sparkling and cheerful than the original, but on the other hand, it represents a proper introduction to the perfume, which left me with the impression of a more serious and calm character.

The twist with the rose struck me the most: 

I smelled a rose cut at the peak of its full-bloomed beauty and then dried out.

The shape of the bloom is preserved, but it somehow smells detached from its natural liveness.
The significant presence of rosy powderiness prevented me from thinking about the rose in Eau Poivrée as a young, fresh, breathing rose. I got the impression of a rose detached from time or some ever-young rose, detached from its body but referring to it. 

What Nagel has done to the rose in Eau Poivrée corresponds to what she has done to the tuberose in  Twilly:
The flower in the heart of both creations seems twisted from the very part of its nature/olfactive profile we connect with seduction.
Although the tuberose in the original Twilly is very playful, its carnal or indolic facets are cut out.
The rose in Eau Poivrée is tailored to form the shape of a bloomed flower and create plushness of petals, but the petals’ seductive voluminosity and liveness are cut out.

In “Twilly-concept,” the flowery seduction is soft but thoroughly tailored to fit the specific dimensions.
To become “Twilly”.
Being subtly but resolutely twisted to behave, the flowers in the heart of both perfumes are deprived of every youthful possibility to “misbehave”.
Tuberose kept the sparkle.
Rose did not.
Because of this intervention, Eau Poivrée feels calmer, more mature, and more serious. 

Woody drydown is dominated by patchouli. There is also some undefined woodiness, possibly a woody amber, greatly appreciated by Christine Nagel.
Comparing Eau Poivrée to Twilly, the base is a bit muskier.
This is thoroughly disinfected and cleaned patchouli—a perfect patchouli groom for a properly raised rose bride. The marriage came as no surprise: a good rose is expected to marry clean patchouli, and white musk is a traditional must—a veil.
Of course, the story about roses, patchouli, and musks could be less fitting, but clearly not in Twilly’s concept.
The rose in Eau Poivrée is everything but daring.

This is Hermès.
Hermès is always smartly traditional. This balance between traditional and modern is sometimes exquisite, elegant and casual, but not in Eau Poivrée.
I softly regret that the innocent and charming playfulness marked in the tuberose-themed Twilly vanished or that it was not replaced with other liveness. While the original Twilly charmingly managed to balance the casual and classic, it seems that Eau Poivrée got stuck in a limbo in between.

Based on presentations of charming and sparkling, free-spirited but decent tuberose-girl Twilly and a bit calmer and more mature rose in Eau Poivrée, I can’t help but think that there are plenty of flowers left to be subtly tailored to represent the same. But, I am not among those who know if some new member will be placed in the Twilly concept.

However, both Twillies comprehensively and coherently work within Hermès palette: Nagel’s take on flowers has undoubtedly resulted in nicely done perfumes.

I appreciate both – the concept and the execution.

As for the idea behind them, I can not help but wonder: Is this the expression of young, self-conscious, playful, or daring individuality?
Well… the question is merely rhetorical.