No Common Scent -- For The '90S, Fragrance Makers Choose Nature's Tranquility Over Flamboyance

When fragrance fans heard a new Christian Dior perfume was on its way, speculation ran wild: What would they name it?

After all, the last Dior women's scent, introduced to huge acclaim in 1987, was Poison - an outrageous name that capped a decade of increasingly provocative perfume names, from Opium and Obsession to Scoundrel and Egoiste and L'Insolent and Decadence.

What would the new name be? Sex, Lust, Death?

Try Dune.

We're in the '90s, a decade in which the drop-dead flamboyance of the roaring '80s has been replaced by what magazine commentators are calling "a new fragrance aesthetic."

Dune, like Poison, was created by haut parfum master Maurice Roger. But the advertising copy couldn't be much different: In place of Poison's aggressive seductiveness, Dune is supposed to invoke "a feeling of serenity. . . an escape from the complexities of today's competitive society. A sense of inner balance and harmony with nature."

If that escape motif sounds familiar, it's because there already is a new perfume named Escape. (A Calvin Klein fragrance that smells more or less like watermelon, Escape was very successfully introduced last year.) It sounds as if the perfume industry also is trying to escape from the '80s: "A fragrance which is genuine and pure, Dune's delicate, oceanic floral scent is the antithesis of an ostentatious, excessive perfume," Roger says.

Another feature in this "escape from the rat race, back to nature" trend is Safari, a Ralph Lauren fragrance launched by jillions of glossy ads of elegant women in retro outfits and lovely luggage and far-away looks in their eyes. The newest Giorgio fragrance is called Wings, neatly combining elements of nature and the let's-fly-away theme.

At Dior, the all-stops-out launch of Poison in 1987 has been replaced by a much calmer aesthetic with 1992's Dune. You can't have a fragrance these days without the backup of a specially designed room with accessories that present the advertising image of the product. According to Mirabella magazine, the New York launch of Dune was preceded by an invitation that arrived in a huge seashell, asking the recipient to "imagine the beach at sunset," leading to a visit to Dior's peach-colored headquarters on the beach, complete with sand dunes and a boardwalk. New Age music called "Journey to Relaxation" completed the effect.

So what does the perfume smell like? Seaweed?

All joshing aside, Dune is an original and complex fragrance that you recognize right away for its distinctive character. The ad copy calls it a floral (lily, wallflower and peony) with the oceanic scents of lichen, amber and broom, but it doesn't really smell all that floral.

What you notice at the top is a note that's almost reminiscent of vanilla, a top note also prominent in the fragrance Le Must de Cartier (and to a lesser extent in Calvin Klein's Obsession). After the top note, however, comes a profusion of green-type scents as well as the florals, which are pretty unusual (when's the last time you ran out to smell a wallflower?). It's a rich blend that develops more notes the longer you sniff, but it isn't overwhelming or terribly exotic. And in many ways it's the opposite of Poison, which (much as I love it) can be so overwhelming that in enclosed spaces you may wonder whether the concept of "death by fragrance" is a viable one.

In Dior's New York office, public-relations director Regina Kulik says the new Dune is designed to bring "inner peace and harmony with nature." That harmony is being enhanced by the company's three-year "Protect the dunes" program, raising $350,000 to help the environmental group The Nature Conservancy protect more than 2,000 acres of dunes in Long Island and in Northern and Central California.

"These days, all the companies want to donate to a cause," explains Susan Mayfield, Nordstrom fragrance buyer.

"It's a whole new trend. The first question is, whom are we going to donate to? The companies want to give something back, and they have tapped into everyone's concern for the environment.

"In the '80s, sensationalism was big. People wanted to be shocked. Now they want more balance."

Mayfield points to trend analyst Faith Popcorn's "The Popcorn Report," which describes our era as a more introspective one in which the home plays more of a role. People who run perfume companies have read that report. They're using images of the home - beautiful rooms with carefully chosen fixtures - to represent the image of the fragrance (Dune, for example, uses natural and modern fixtures, wood and metal, in displays).

Even Safari, whose title suggests a journey away from the home, is represented by rooms with pictures showing where women have been and where they've traveled.

"Our lives are a safari," offers Mayfield, "and the Safari ads focus on the physical and emotional things we have collected along the way."

The desire for simplicity and escape has prompted a new interest in the old classic fragrances; Nordstrom recently mounted a trunk show of Caron and Patou classics that went back to the early days of this century. Also doing well are "single note" fragrances, zeroing in on such notes as Rose and Gardenia for those who like to keep their smells straight.

How important is perfume? Aren't olfactory impressions mere frills in the more significant input from the eyes, ears, fingers and taste buds?

Scientists don't think so. Neurobiologist Dr. Pasquale Graziadei was among those who discovered that the olfactory neurons are unique among the body's nerve cells because of their capacity to replace themselves. Nerve cells in the brain, once lost, cannot be regenerated; the same goes for the spinal cord, the retina and the inner ear. Since olfactory nerve cells can be replaced, they must be important: Graziadei told National Geographic magazine, "Nature doesn't do anything for fun."

Writers as well as scientists have noted for centuries the nose's amazing ability to transport us in time and place, a phenomenon you've probably observed when you smell freshly cut grass and are bombarded with childhood memories of playing on the lawn.

Which comes first: Social change or trends in fragrance? Mayfield says it's definitely the former ("The change in society's psyche is reflected by the change in fragrance").

We'll see some more of those reflections in coming months, when several new perfumes will appear on the market. Don't look for Sex or Lust or Death on that list. The new titles will either be the names of the designers themselves, or their nicknames, or a "new" name reflecting a look into the future. Bijan is updating the concept of personal signature (one old landmark fragrance by Carven is called "Ma Griffe," or "my signature") with a new scent due out this spring, called DNA - a personal signature if ever there was one. In February, Donna Karan will launch a signature fragrance that contains elements of suede scent: Mayfield says "You can smell the leather notes in it."

It's the environment, that key issue for perfumers of the '90s, that may cause some of the biggest changes in the business. By 1998, according to federal regulations, fragrance makers will have to drastically reduce the amount of alcohol they use because it's harmful to the environment. They're experimenting furiously with substitute bases, trying not to tinker with the crucial notes of the fragrance.

In the meantime, maybe our olfactory nerve cells have been regenerating like mad, because buyers and companies say business has never been better - and what other business can say that these days?