The fragrance Chanel No. 5 recreates a scent that perfumer Ernest Beaux whiffed while traveling where?

— That was the (badly worded) $500,000 question yesterday on the TV show Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?. Answer below the jump…

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What is not in doubt, however, is the talent and taste of Ernest Beaux, nor his temperament which allowed no one the privilege of telling him what to do. His best composition was not No. 5, which has always been cleverly promoted, but rather the magnificent Bois des Iles of which Chanel has never taken full advantage.

— Perfumer Edmond Roudnitska, in the foreword to Michael Edwards' Perfume Legends. I have owned this book for years but somehow never read the opening.

In Perfume: Joy, Obsession, Scandal, Sin, Richard Stamelman quotes from a 1936 Chanel publicity text about Chanel Cuir de Russie:

…I easily imagine this perfume floating in the wake of a tall, slender brunette, whose moves are confident, who voice is accustomed to giving orders, and who fingers are slightly darkened by tobacco. She is one of those women who always wears a suit, even at midnight at the Savoy; one of those women captivating to watch at the casino in Monaco, who after having lost a sum of money, takes bills and a money order from a love letter hidden in her fine leather handbag, where they have taken on a pungent, slightly wild odor, and with great calm throws them on the green baize of the gaming table.¹

Wowee! Who could resist a fragrance like that? (Let’s hope the copy writer went on to a career as a novelist.) But by dint of perspective or reformulation, today’s Cuir de Russie is still beautiful, but not the butch aristocrat of yesteryear. Instead, it’s as if the Cuir de Russie of 70 years ago earned an advanced degree and spent time on the therapist’s couch. She’s still elegant and self-possessed, but she’s not getting written up in the gossip columns…

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In my mind's eye, it was a warm day, and the rumble of traffic competed with fans whirring in the corner of the office. The visiting French executives bemoaned the bottle of chilled white wine they would have had at lunch had it not been Prohibition. “Coty has a stranglehold on lipstick in this country. Let's try a fragrance,” one of them said. “We can get Chanel's perfumer to do something for us, but nothing as upscale as No. 5. We want something friendlier, something that will appeal to the businessman's wife in Iowa, or even to Margaret.”

Margaret was the stenographer. She looked up when she heard her name but continued taking notes. What the heck, let's give her a bob and a lilac drop-waist cotton dress. She didn't like to say it, but she had a large bottle of Shalimar Eau de Cologne at home…

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Nothing says Grand Perfume like a classic aldehydic floral, and nothing says classic aldehydic floral like Chanel No. 5. But I’ll be the first to admit that I often have trouble with aldehydic fragrances. In the name of personal olfactory growth, I’ll be reviewing a week’s worth of classic aldehydic fragrances in the order in which they were created. At the top of the list, by birth date and by reputation, is Chanel No. 5.

Ernest Beaux created Chanel No. 5 in 1921 as part of a suite of nine fragrances he presented to Coco Chanel. Depending on which story you believe, No. 5 was an accident when too much of a particular aldehyde was added to a scent or was a deliberate attempt to replicate Coco’s modern and blatant use of synthetic materials — think of her ropes of faux pearls.

As is true of many perfumes, No. 5 contains more than one type of aldehyde. Aldehydes provide sparkle and can boost the dispersion of some notes. When you get a strong hit of aldehydes right away from a fragrance, chances are that you’re smelling an “aliphatic” aldehyde. Although some people think of a dose of aliphatic aldehydes as “perfume-y” and old fashioned, when Beaux made it the signature of No. 5 (and No. 22), it was revolutionary…

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Earlier this year I owned up to my shameful failure to properly appreciate the classic Guerlains; today, I’ll come clean on Chanel. The heavy-hitters from Chanel’s back catalog, Nos. 5, 19 and 22, are masterpieces which I admire but have no real desire to wear. I adore Cristalle, but that probably doesn’t count, does it? Bois des Iles, launched in 1926, is the only classic Chanel I really love, and I have never understood why it is not readily available at Chanel counters everywhere.

Bois des Iles was created by Ernest Beaux, and was re-released in the 1980s along with Cuir de Russie and Gardénia as part of Chanel’s Rue Cambon Collection. The fragrance notes include aldehydes, coriander, bergamot, neroli, peach, jasmine, rose, lily of the valley, iris, ylang-ylang, vetiver, sandalwood, benzoin, vanilla and musk…

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If you don’t count my grandmother’s crushed velvet bedspread or the beaded doorway of the bedroom of the prostitute who lived across the street, my life at age fifteen was largely devoid of glamour. I was just learning about perfume, and I’d saved enough from babysitting to buy a bottle of Babe, but I scouted the mall for something more sophisticated, something people who had passports and ate caviar might wear. Then, one day at the mall, I discovered Chanel.

A saleswoman placed testers of Chanel Nos. 5, 19, and 22 on the glass-topped counter, but she pushed the bottle of No. 22 forward. “I think you’ll like this one,” she said. To me, Chanel fragrances were the epitome of chic. They didn’t need an elaborate bottle or television ads of a man pretending to be a prince in a puffy shirt to signal quality. I ended up buying the No. 22 bath oil. The oil was fragrant and much less expensive than the Eau de Toilette. (The prostitute had been terrible about paying her babysitting bill.) The inside of my wrists and behind my ears were well moisturized that year…

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