I have to hand it to Calice Becker: she was faced with the formidable task of reformulating what was at the time a certified classic, limited to the restrictions in perfumery as they were in 1991, and she had succeeded in preserving the spirit of the Cellier original. This is still Vent Vert, still has a fair share of bitter, stemmy yellow-green galbanum (even if it isn't quite as much as the original), and there's that trace of asafoetida (I only elsewhere have seen this note in the other Balmain classic, Ivoire, and Carven Ma Griffe). The asafoetida has that minute hint of sulphurous pungency that really brings green note alive. On a side note, onion essential oil in extreme dilution has been known to be used in traces to create a similar effect, however, asafoetida is considered easier to work with.
This chlorophyll pageant with all matters of herby, leafy, vegetal, is soon joined by, naturally green florals, like hyacinth and lily of the valley, but its most worth noting the presence of marigold. This flower is not for its fragrance but it doesn't necessary come to mind for most as one that we put in a vase and take in its aroma. The scent of the essential oil is reminiscent of ripe apples, green leaves, bitter herbs, almost acrid in nature. But a wafts of the flower bring a smile to my face, and as an accent, a modifier, as it were, only makes sense in exalting the ultra-verdancy of Vent Vert. I almost get the sensation of chicory in the heart as well, fresh, bitter and astringent.
I must reiterate, this 1991 version is by no means a slouch, as it continues its radiance through its dry down, seamlessly transitioning to shades of violet, vetiver, orris root, and a touch of styrax presumably to fix the galbanum resinoid deep into its base. Only as a skin scent do we eventually have its greenness recede into the woods, and a warm, winsome woods at that.
1991 Vent Vert is not "a shadow of its former self." The 1999 version, however, that's an entirely different story, which I cannot yet tell.
I was given a cute 4 ml mini of the new? EDT. This version has polka dots inside the box and a cap that looks like green flowers blowing in a breeze.
Unfortunately, it's not "my cup of tea". The deep green has been turned waaaay down in this particular formulation. I detect some freesia and synthetic hyacinths. Overall it smells kinda cheap, VERY powdery and not as green as I had hoped. I couldn't wait around to experience the basenotes, I had to scrub it off my wrist. This version of Vent Vert isn't offensive and I've certainly smelled worse fragrances. But I personally never want to smell like this, FAR too powdery for me.
I never smelled this before so, I don't know how much it has changed. I have the bottle with the "golf ball" cap.
I enjoy this. I'm not a huge fan of greenish-florals, either. At first I get basil, lime, green notes, some fruit - all settling down together. Copious amounts of freesia kick in. A flower I am not always keen on. Here, it's friendly. Then notes of hyacinth and jasmine take over. Lily of the valley and rose then add to the bouquet. Finally, a gentle base of amber, oakmoss, musk, and sandalwood. Lively fragrance with some summery refreshment.
The aldehyde laden galbanum and cut grass opening is fiercely refreshing, though it soon softens under the influence of white floral notes. The central accord, established within just a few minutes, is soapy white flowers, grass, and powder. The effect is spotlessly clean and prim, but truth be told, it also smells frigid. Where even the notoriously unyielding Chanel No. 19 warms its heart with a generous dose of iris, Vent Vert in its current incarnation is outright antiseptic. Vent Vert is both linear and ephemeral, leaving me with the impression that I've washed my hands with green floral scented soap.
Whatever Vent Vert was in 1947, it no longer stands among the best green fragrances. For that I'd turn to the aforementioned Chanel, Bel Respiro, Eau de Campagne, Jacomo's Silences, or the recently defunct Virgilio.