Twilly, Hermès

Hermès Twilly, marks a clear departure from (previous in-house perfumer) Ellena’s airy, minimalist aesthetic, towards refined, subdued indulgence. It is by no means though, a complex scent, in the sense that it is not overladen with accords, making it difficult to distinguish its individual elements. The few main notes that it does have (mainly ginger at the top, tuberose in the middle and sandalwood at the base) are highlighted so beautifully, so effortlessly, so as to truly make me marvel at the mastery of Christine Nagel in arranging it the way that she has ( she is also responsible for such über-successful scents such as Miss Dior Cherie, Dolce Gabbana The One and, along with Francis Kurkudjian, Narciso Rodríguez for her).

Christine Nagel, reportedly, had the idea of “twisting” her main accords, the same way a Twilly (essentially a long, thin piece of Hermès printed silk) is twisted so it can be accessorized in a variety of ways - mainly of course a Twilly is tied around the handle of a Hermès bag, to protect the leather from the everyday grime of dirt, sweat and hand lotion. It is a classic piece of fashion history and one that has a place in the wardrobe of every self-respecting Parisienne, whether or not they can afford the nose-bleed-inducing high prices of Hermès bags.

The packaging for Twilly makes a fine job of bridging the concrete classicism of its namesake with a youthfulness that Hermès is obviously trying to inject into the brand and its products, and furthermore, it is done incredibly well. The bottle for the perfume is shaped like a carriage lantern (how drôle!) and the cap is a black bowler hat with a miniature Twilly strand tied around it.

The actual scent itself, I had not paid any attention to upon its release, for the sheer fact that it was a scent aimed at a young audience, which usually means one thing: artistic Siberia. I just happened to randomly spray it on my wrist one day, during one of my casual perfume-testing strolls around a local ‘Julia’ store (the Spanish equivalent of Sephora). On my other wrist, for contrast, I had sprayed Balenciaga Paris (I always test two perfumes together and let them talk with each other a bit as I make up my mind about them). Now, Balenciaga Paris, after fifteen minutes of smelling like a particularly stealthy violet-scented air-freshener, has progressed to limp violet air-freshener mixed with  low quality, fig-leaf perfume oil, straight out of the bottle - think Parma violets sitting next to a laminated picture of a fig tree, inside a heavily air conditioned waiting room. Twilly meanwhile, is the gift that keeps on giving.

It opens up with surprising bubbliness, a crescendo of warm happiness, undulating with fizzy, rounded bursts of ginger, a ginger that is coaxed into smelling luxurious and ‘expensive’. Gone is the green, raspy spiciness of the real thing upon freshly slicing through it on your kitchen counter. This ginger is grown-up and generous; it is smiling warmly at you. As it slowly evolves, it turns into a charming and full-bodied tuberose. So much so that I am taken aback. Is this still Twilly I am smelling?

The fizzy, orange-colored hues of the first two hours, have given way to splashes of burgundy on a canvas of sensuous, deep mauve. Five hours in and the tuberose develops a quirk; it starts to smell like orange blossom. Seven hours in and the orange blossom gives way to an enveloping, comforting sandalwood that wraps around you like a blanket - the kind of blanket you keep on the sofa to lie under, on lazy Sunday mornings. And this is a scent for teenagers?

As I previously mentioned, given its teenage target audience, and added to it, the fact that it came with a brilliant ad campaign and classy and inventive packaging, I was convinced that the consistency of the design would prove too good to be true and that the juice would be horrendous. Never did I expect it to surpass all expectation.
(A little side note here: I am so enamored with Twilly’s ad campaign and packaging, that I am pushing to see it reused on other Hermès perfumes as well. For further proof, see my review of Jour d’Hermès here.)

Now, the fact that the target group for this perfume is millennials, has driven me to astonishing conclusions. I am beginning to suspect that the executives at Hermès must have faith that the new generation of perfume wearers is capable of educated decisions and good taste, untainted by previous fads and fashions; that they believe them to be a virgin territory of consumers, that can be educated to expect inventiveness and artistic vision in their perfumed products, not to mention a certain Quixotic individuality.
It also tells me that they (the Hermès creatives, along with almost every other perfume-industry executive at the moment, judging by the state of said industry), has resigned themselves to the fact that all women past their early teens, have developed and unshakable fixation with nondescript white florals and sticky, tooth-rotting gourmands and it is so far progressed that it is impossible to change. The decision has been made, therefore, to reserve all interesting creations for the next generation and to continue to supply the current market with their bottles of  “Gabrielle” and “La vie est belle” until the last one of them had dropped dead and is no longer shopping, by which point the perfume industry can start refreshingly anew.

In conclusion: if Guerlain’s Vol de Nuit is Beethoven’s 9th, then Twilly is The Rolling Stones’ “Under my thumb”. It is less dramatic, less elaborate, less ‘perfect’. Nevertheless, it is intensely memorable, intensely whole and within its era and genre, a classic.

Books and Perfume Final Verdict: 9/10