Sweet smell of youth

Can a scent make you smell younger,  or does your good old favourite spray give your age away?  This vexing question occurred to Crone as she sniffed new versions of grand old classics currently gracing beauty counters now. 

Thanks to a generous puthering of iris, Chanel No.19 Poudré is a softer and more, well…powdery version of the 1971 original.  Ah, 1971.  Biba,  loons (remember falling over those ludicrous, flapping 22 inch flares?) and the sad demise of Coco Chanel, just months after her 87’th birthday the previous year. 

A green and gamine chypre, Chanel No.19 (Mlle Coco was born on 19^th August) became the bra-burning kid sister to grown-up aldehydic floral No.5.  Nothing sissy about this - Gauloises-puffing intellectuals loved No.19  for its bracing, tomboyish edge. It seems an irony then, that this pioneering ‘youth scent’ should be powdered down for a post-post feminist generation raised on amorphous  fruity florals. But Crone reluctantly admits that pumping up the iris (powdery bit) has put No.19 back on trend in a beautifully suave, easy-on-the-nose kind of way

Around the same time as No.19’s launch, Crone discovered Guerlain’s magnificent oriental, Shalimar.  Created in 1925, the year of the International Exhibition of Decorative Arts (Art Deco) in Paris, exotic Shalimar went perfectly with the ‘20s and ‘30s frocks Crone snapped up from Oxfam. (Can’t get them for love nor money, not even on Portobello these days!).  Crone’s beau de jour never failed to point out that the billows of vanilla reminded him of custard powder.  (Was she apple crumble of his eye? She didn’t stick around long enough to find out). Yet according to Guerlain nose Thierry Wasser, his 17-year-old neice found the original scent intimidating. Fair enough, beneath vanilla’s sweetness lurks a darker, more hormonal vibe.  Vanilla is, after all, an aphrodisiac - Jacques Guerlain used to say that he made Shalimar like an outrageously low-cut dress.  Wasser’s redesign, Shalimar Initial, is simpler, lighter, a little bit fruity and even more powdery.  It’s that iris riff again.

So the big question. If we loved the originals, will we embrace these new versions too? It’s been 85 years since the first Shalimar and 40 since No.19. During that time, many of the original ingredients used have now been restricted or banned.  So no, it’s not your hormones or failing sense of smell - your old favourite fragrance is almost certainly not what it once was.  Times have changed, too - and brighter, more vibrant new ingredients have given many old classics a new lease of life.  So can your scent make you smell  younger?  It’s worth a go…

• Chanel No.19 Poudré, 50ml Eau de Parfum, £61 available nationwide from July 15^th 

• Guerlain Shalimar Initial, 40ml Eau de Parfum, £37 available nationwide from August 1^st 

Liz accepts a lift?

Things are looking up for Liz. Think she's been photoshopped, too? 

Well, slap my thighs - 52 year-old Liz Jones has gone and had a facelift.  Gone is the familiar cat butt  scowl. Mooning out from today’s Daily Wail like a hyperventilating chipmunk are her newly wide eyes and preternaturally plumped skin. All courtesy of blepharoplasty, dermaroller, Botox and fillers, not to mention the lift itself.  Hmmm.  Let me get my calculator.  So that’ll be not a lot of change from £6,000, at my purposely conservative estimate.  That’s if she paid for all of it herself.  

For while she’s grease-lightening quick to bemoan the thousands she’s wasted on anti-ageing skincare -  ‘I used to spend £400 a month on creams and facials and nothing worked’ she trills - she’s curiously schtum about the price tag on her new improved fizz. And while she’s wagging a nibbled finger at the beauty editors she accuses of colluding with big name brands in the interests of advertising, Crone would love to learn how such a life-affirming newspaper feature actually came to pass.  Has Jones selflessly laid down her own flesh for a story?

But hey, that’s what she does.  Remember, this is the woman who sacrificed her marriage in the interests of truth and integrity and now has only four-legged friends to pay attention to her isolation, poverty, anorexia... Her emotional auto-evisceration is surely a lesson to us all. 

Don’t get me wrong, Crone’s all for sharing experience - it’s precisely what she’s done for the past 40 years.  Experience has, in fact, taught her that women who ‘do’ surgery rarely look younger, just tense and miserable about their age.  Surgery’s a high-maintenance programme. Liz Jones has now embarked on a costly process of Botox and filler top-ups which in time, may prove as great a financial burden as her extreme cream habit. Because there inevitably comes a point where reality leaves the house and takes with it the sense to see when enough is enough.  And while we're talking perspective - fix one thing and the rest looks odd. Jones has already noticed how crabby her hands are compared to that baby-smooth face…

So what’s next on her agenda?  Will she, like the French performance artist Orlan, embark on more shape-shifting ops in the name of her art?  Will her surgeon, Alex Karidis stitch her up with a perpetual 'Jack Nicholson does the Joker' grin? Oh, for the love of sanity,  give us the face cream…..

 Cat got your makeup?  The way she was 

Eye of the beholder

Oh, no Dell'Olio...

Couple of items in the Daily Wail caught Crone’s eye yesterday.  And she’s not just talking Nancy Dell’Olio’s braless beauties. Right below those untrussed puppies on the very same page, was a report that suggested women become invisible at 46. This bombshell comes courtesy of Clarivu Total Vision Correction, a lens replacement technique that corrects both long and short sightedness - a pesky visual oxymoron Crone knows only too well. Their poll of  2,000 women found that by the time we reach our mid-50s, many of us say we no longer attract admiring glances from strangers or compliments from blokes.  The rot sets in somewhere towards our late 40s, when a glitch in confidence isn’t helped by having to wear specs, the report states. 

So that’s the ‘soon-to-be-50’ Dell’Olio syndrome finally explained, then. A deficit in the chutzpah department is hardly the problem. Yet were she able to focus, she’d of course agree that after a certain age, uplift should come less courtesy of 6-inch Louboutin heels and more  from strategic underwiring.  The trim waist is enviable, granted.  But clearly visible nipples drooping over your cummerbund ain’t a good look, girl.  At least she’s had the sense not to flash a crinkly cleavage - if, in fact, she has one. Her toned arms could give Michelle O’s a run for their money and approaching their half century, the pins are more lissom that Crone's were at 12.  You might call this envy - but the thigh-high hemline looks desperately naff.  In the name of elegance, just because your bits are still loved up doesn’t justify getting them out for all and sundry. Thing is, Nancy has a truly beautiful face that’s often rendered invisible by her truly blinding lack of taste. Compared to the old tousle, the short hair is a chic move - classic and fresh at the same time.  Now she’s moving in more artistic circles, Crone would like to suggest Nancy lives up to her new role as muse by embracing that good old ‘less is more’ philosophy that always leaves 'em wanting, well.....more. 

Friend of Crone watching Murray v Nadal at Wimbledon has just squeaked she’s spotted Trevor Nunn in the crowd. Let’s hope Sunday morning tennis isn’t a feature of his courtship with Nancy. They’re oddly matched in the first place, but imagining her outfit’s a call too eye-watering even for Crone. 

Staycation, fakation...

Well, it’s two days past the solstice and the sun’s still playing hard to get.  As we speak, a billowing grey mass of cumulus is obliterating the shard of great blue yonder Crone can just about spy through her window. Going, going….  If ever a break clause was needed, it’s now.  But, like the 40% of stay-at-home Brits outed in the press this week, Crone’s coffers are the driest thing about this summer’s long term forecast.  Looks like a fakation’s the only resort… 

Happily, the inconceivable has actually occurred - Crone has finally found a self-tanner she likes. Not that it comes cheap. Costing twice the price of an Easy Jet fare to the Costas but perhaps more dependable, Perricone’s No Sun Tanner’s virtually foolproof.  Just a smidgen of tan developer DHA (dihydroxyacetone) in the mix gives Crone’s beyond-the-pale limbs a subtle and convincing golden glow. The formula, designed to be built up successively (although Crone finds a single application does her nicely for three to four days) is creamy and easy to apply evenly, so streaking’s minimal if at all. Mind you, Crone doesn’t hedge her bets.  A serious buff around knees, elbows and ankles with an exfoliating Japanese wash cloth seems to avert those hideous orange stains that so characterise d-i-y do’s. And snapping on latex gloves not only looks professional, it gives a smoother finish that won’t Tango your palms. Most amazing of all though, is the lack of acrid, burnt biscuit whiff that makes so many fake tans visceral turn-offs. Okay, there’s a teensy hint of vanilla-ish something, but not enough to clash with your much-loved eau de quelque chose. 

However subtle, self-tans are strictly for bodies in Crone’s book. Faces, with their lines and wrinkles are tricky - then there’s the delicate matter of your eyes. (Sssh - but someone known to Crone tans her face  ritually, so her pores are like freckles and her skin looks seriously dingy!)  Coaxing a glow with a palette like Nars Blush Bronzer Trio is, on the other hand, a doddle. This little beauty co-ordinates best-selling shades white-gold highlighter Albatross with Laguna bronzer and thrillingly-named Orgasm blush to stunning effect. Don’t brush Laguna all over - just under your cheekbones, over your brow and along your jawline gives a sunny impression without overload. But after you’ve picked up colour with your brush, do buff it onto the back of your hand so the bristles are evenly coated. You’ll get a much lighter, subtler, easily-controlled effect on your face. Next buff Orgasm onto your cheek apples (smile if you’re not sure where they are) and without re-charging the brush, sweep it up onto your temples and browbones. Just a smidgen of Albatross highlighter swept over your cheekbones near your outer eye corners and finger-blended just under your brow arch and inner eye corners gives your whole face a lift.

The sun protection is, of course wishful thinking. But should we ever feel those hot rays again, Nivea’s Invisible SPF50 spray and handbag-sized SPF30 are simply genius blue sky thinking. Now, must mow that lawn.  Oh, pass the Pimms, do…

 Wish you were here? Close your eyes and you're on Devon's jurassic coastline... 

 • Perricone MD No Sun Tanner, £50,  0800 917 8698 and www.perriconemd.co.uk

• Nars Limited Edition Blush Bronzer Trio, £39, Liberty and www.narscosmetics.co.uk

• Nivea Sun Invisible Protection SPF50, £16.84 and Pocket Size SPF30, £5.10, Boots and Superdrug.

What's it all about, algae? Why, our clean and pleasant sand...

 

Alright, alright. The puns are truly terrible, but Crone just couldn't resist. And there are worse things - so to business. This Wednesday June 8th^h was World’s Ocean Day, honouring our seas and all who swim and sail  them. Co-ordinated by the World Ocean Network and recognised by the UN, this annual celebration encourages us not only to enjoy marine bounties, but encourages us to consider what we can do to respect and protect our seas.

To this end, Crone shimmied down to shingly Whitstable with thalassotherapy (marine beauty) experts Thalgo, whose detoxifying, anti-ageing treatments based on mineral-rich Brittany algae she’s long admired.  The mission was a spot of intensive beach cleaning, so rubber gloves snapped purposefully on and brandishing telescopic pincers, under the watchful eye of Helen Bennington, Environmental Promotions Officer at Canterbury Council an intrepid team of beauty colleagues braved salty gusts and jibes of ‘Where’s yer tags?” (Helen’s more usual task forcers are young offenders on community service) and filled a minor mountain of bags with assorted crap. We then paid due honour to a deliciously slurpy, juicy lunch at the world-famous Whitstable Oyster Fishery Company’s beachside restaurant.  

Job well done?  Hmmm. Here’s the thing, Why, oh why did we need to scurry around picking up after people too cynical, selfish or stupid to take responsibility for their own detritus?  Are they blind?  Did they miss the strategically placed bins? Oh, don’t get me started. 

Much to Mr Crone’s dismay, rubbish dumping is becoming something of an obsession with Crone. But her mounting fury is proportionate to the rise in routine tipping Crone sees just walking down her own North London street. But what’s really harrowing is the casual desecration of wild and beautiful places by those who evidently enjoy them, then make damned sure no-one else - and that includes vulnerable wildlife - can. It’s as if, diminished by the grandeur and spirituality of nature, your average tip-head is compelled to assert themselves by making a mark with their crass calling card. Or am I over-intellectualising this? Sadly, I suspect the real reason is, they literally don’t give a toss. Call Crone a litter fascist, but zero tolerance is too cushy for ‘em.  People who dump trash are trash, I say.

Top of Crone’s hit list is dog walkers who feel they’ve done their bit by scooping a poop….then parking it, black bag and all, under the nearest tree. What a spectacularly mindless act of double-dumping.  Oh, a parcel! For me? Someone has to pick it up, don't they... Last summer as Crone wandered peacefully though Derbyshire’s verdant Dovedale (well, it was a weekday) she was horrified to see what looked like mutant Gothic bunnies dangling from riverside branches as if sinister votive offerings to the National Trust. Well, we found some of that at Whistable too, in spite of the clearly visible pooper bins…

Apoplectic? Moi? Moaning Crone had better go dowse her BP in a soothing  Thalgo algae soak before Mr Crone speed dials the paramedics. But she’ll leave you with a couple of final thoughts. An inscription on the wall of the Marine Display in the basement of the magnificent palm house at Kew Gardens brings it home how precious and delicate the interaction between marine, land - and human life really is. ‘Without algae there would be no life on earth, the seas would be sterile and the land uncolonised,’ it advises. After all, algae provide 50% of the earth’s oxygen and absorb copious amounts of carbon dioxide in a spectacularly generous gesture of give and take. World Ocean day reminds us that, unless we all want to be in the soup, it’s up to us to practise a bit of the old quid pro quo ourselves. Responsibility begins at home and cleaning up after ourselves - whether on streets, woods or beaches - is an excellent way to start.

Sea view?  Shame wrappers, tissues, tins and plastic bottles are now the benchmark 

The Yellow horned sea poppy (glaucium flavum) brightens shingly British shorelines. Pity ice cream tubs and plastic beer cups do too….

Who you calling rubbish?  The beach-cleaning team lead by Helen Bennington (check shirt) hard at it

                  Marion Green, Thalgo’s UK MD with unidentified plumbing objet trouvé

Bin there, done it. So why can't dumpers do the same?

Just so you know we scrub up well -  Thalgo’s detoxifying Bains Marins Thalassobath with Algae and stimulating Ocean Memory Deep Sea Scrub

               Sea you in the bar - the world-famous Whitstable Oyster Fishery Company HQ

                     Slipped down a treat - six of Whitstable’s finest native rock oysters on ice

• Thalgo is available in over 500 UK salons and spas. For stockists contact 0207 512 0872 or visit www.Thalgo.com

• The Whitstable Oyster Fishery Company, Royal Native Stores, Horsebridge Road, Whitstable, CT5 1BU. 01227 276 856 www.whitstableoystercompany.com

These little sweeties

Oh, I know.  Crone did a bit of a wince when she first saw these nail polishes. After all, bright comes as a bit of a shock after all those Chanel-a-like buffs and putties.  But then came the gauntlet moment.  Apparently, these juicy little Bourjois lacquers were made with the adventurous UK in mind, rather than the more precious Gallic market. Which made Crone think, well… French women may have chic stitched into their DNA, but we’re the one’s with the chutzpah. So, since toenails are the safest place to pilot a provocative (and let’s face it ,demanding) new colour, that’s where Crone’s flying the flag.  And although her teenage step-grand-daughter will almost inevitably inherit the chrome yellow option (shows up tough skin and cuticles!) Crone’s unaccountably taken quite a shine to the lime.  Followed closely by the violet.  But not together - that really would be trotters painted as piggies.

The giant jelly beans by the way - which just happened to match the polishes perfectly - come from the new range of party sweets offered by the beyond delicious Grocer on Elgin, in Elgin Crescent just off Portobello market and round the corner from Crone Central offices. These wickedly moreish munchables guaranteed to revive the inner child, set Crone thinking again. As this pesky recession trundles on, retailers reckon sales of old-fashioned sweets, puds and biscuits are rocketing. The positive cheer of simple pleasures?  Bourjois’ smiley, vynil-shiny  polishes with their chip-resistant 7-day finish could be just the pazzaz we need to get us through an uncertain summer.

• Bourjois So Lacque Ultra Shine, £5.99 available from June at Boots, boots.com and Superdrug (0800 269 836). Giant Jelly Beans 250g, £2.45 www.thegroceron.com

Just a little green...

Capturing scent’s sensory impact in words is one of the most challenging tasks a beauty hackette faces. Do you risk the Pseud’s Corner-style pretentiousness of waffling in fluent metaphysics like some farty pastiche of Proust? Try to sound impressive by talking aromachemicals and molecules? Or gush about the bottle because a hot designer label’s splashed across it?

Oh, let’s not lose the will to sniff. It’s Crone’s belief that emotional honesty’s the best policy. Never mind the label - how does the smell make you feel? That’s why right now, you’re gazing at a tranquil but hazy, green and pleasant summer evening scene, just as the dusk pixels down. (Actually, it’s Rutland Water in Leicestershire and the only thing missing from the frame is a long, cool Mojito but Crone was driving after all….)

So this was the image that flashed into Crone’s mind when fashionably edgy Maison Martin Margiela’s [untitled] l’eau arrived on her desk this week. A lighter,  more citrusy version of Margiela’s first [untitled]  Eau de Parfum (which, incidentally Crone adores) this fresh, slightly minty Eau de Toilette still has a tantalising dark side, thanks to a healthy whack of galbanum mixed with a deliciously dirty smidgen of patchouli. Now, galbanum is an intensely sappy, resinous gum with a slightly woody, mossy undertow which  is extracted from a fennel-like, Mediterranean umbelifer. In the tradition of Balmain’s fabulous 1945 classic Vent Vert, it gives scents an exhilarating rush of crushed leaves, while hinting at something much less immediate. 

For [untitled] eau, Perfumer Daniela Andrier (who incidentally is also responsible for a host of Prada ‘infusions’ including the lovely Iris) reckoned she ‘took the existing fragrance and drenched it in water making it even more invigorating and direct, while adding an element of mystery.’ Crone couldn’t put it better herself. She’s still not sure about Margiela’s strategically distressed designs - there comes a time when raw hems and unfinished edges just look dilatory. But if you fancy something green but not naïve, here’s your scent for summer.  Now about that studiedly minimalist bottle….

• Maison Martin Margiela [untitled] l’eau, £60 100ml Eau de Toilette, available exclusively at Selfridges from 23^rd May.