Bois Blond by Parfumerie Générale first came to me from the well-edited collection of the admirable Mrs Howe.
Bois Blond is part of Pierre Guillaume’s Private Collection and was created in 2007, it was a limited Edition once, but PG took pity on devastated Perfumistas all over the world and made Bois Blond part of the permanent Private Collection. Such a thing gives hope! Notes include cereals, grass, galbanum, cedar, hay, blond tobacco, amber and musk.
A summer’s day in a bottle, Bois Blond is reminiscent of Cartier L’Heure Fougueuse and Serge Lutens Chergui, but it is less. Sometimes less is more and in this case that is definitely true. Bois Blond is less cluttered, less notes, less development, less volume.
Bois Blond starts green and grassy. Galbanum reigns supreme for a few minutes, then the drier, woodier notes kick in. The relentless sun has bleached the green grass over an entire summer, dried it, yellowed it, Bois Blond goes through that summer in a few minutes. Hay, glorious hay and tobacco make up the heart together with a beautiful cedar note. The drydown is like sun-warmed wood, dry, amber-y and musky and comfortable.
If I saw an entire farm scene including the pipe-smoking Grandpa Walton in Chergui, or a horse ride over the fields on a summers day in L’Heure Fougueuse, Bois Blond is the free vista over the prairie. Nebraska on a clear day, acres and acres of sun-bleached grass and crops. Not even a cow in sight, clear blue skies and the feeling of utter freedom in the face of the vastness of the land.
The Frenchman Pierre Guillaume recreated my ideal America in a bottle.
When I was young(er) I spent all my free time and my money on traveling the US. I saw a lot and I am so glad I did, it opened my horizons coming from provincial Austria, and I learned, among other things, how to properly curse in English (not that I would ever need that. 😉 ) What I loved most was the driving. Here in Austria I feel exhausted if I have to go visit my parents, a two hour drive from Vienna, but in America, I would drive for hours every day. Racking up 10 000 miles in four to five weeks was a typical trip.
Sitting in a car, nothing there but the road, visible for miles and miles ahead, left and right only the land. Nothing man made. The vastness of rural America always fascinated me, the wide open spaces, the sheer amount of air to breathe, the sky taking up most of the view. Those drives across the Great Plains, across the desert, they showed me the world was big, the world was beautiful and I was happily still looking for my place in it. Now, years later I have my place, but inside me I also hold on to those wide open spaces of freedom, even when in reality I cannot even cross the room without being asked why.
These days I open my bottle of Bois Blond and breathe just as deeply as I did then.