Thierry Mugler Womanity (On a Man) (2010)

Summary: Though the name suggests a specific audience, I follow my aversion to gender
boundaries in perfumery and explore the aroma of Womanity... on a man. Having followed the near perfect split of lovers and haters of this controversial fig, fig wood and caviar aroma, I document my own fragrant journey and declare the scent a sweet success.

Pros: Manages to offer familiarity (fresh, tangy, aquatic citrus and red fruit) with something new (ashy wood and salt water caviar, or to my nose, taffy); lasts forever on my skin.

Cons: The flimsy paper box, the schizophrenic website, and the ridiculous tagline—“The Invisible Bond between Women.” Still not sure how I feel about the Fritz Lang-esque bottle; apparently that invisible bond between women also includes a metal chain with an almost-handcuff-like cap. The name ... well, I will wax poetic further on in this review; as for the scent, well I have little to complain about other than that it feels the least avant garde of all of Mugler’ s scents so far.
 

 

Notes: Fig, fig wood, fig leaves, caviar.

Perfumer: Fabrice Pellegrin

It’ s impossible to review Womanity without also considering the 18-year history of Parfums Mugler, a sensational partnership between Thierry Mugler and Clarins. When I first arrived to Europe at age 19, I brought along a small sample bottle of a new fragrance I had discovered that reminded me of a cross between freeze-dried ice cream and patchouli incense. It was being sold as a women’ s fragrance that no one had yet heard of when from my backpack I pulled out my bottle one night in a London nightclub. My friends and I took turns applying dabs to female necks and male wrists and each of us declared the aroma delicious and surprising, but was it for men or women they asked. That groundbreaking concoction turned out to be a true Angel of late 20th century perfumery. Love it or hate it, the scent has remained popular for two decades, often finding its wearers to be of both genders.

Next arrived A*Men or Angel for Men, depending in which country you live. I recall that when a tester arrived at the Neiman Marcus where I had been working back in 1996, my male friends at the fragrance counter gagged in horror. My mother, on the other hand, stole my first two bottles and declared it even greater than the women’ s version. To each their own; clearly Mugler’ s scents divided their audiences. Accompanied by numerous jokes about a possible third, alphabetically-themed men’ s fragrance, B*Men arrived on counters in 2004 with its Yohji Yamamoto-ish coffee and licorice theme and can still be found for slashed prices at discount stores everywhere, a commercial flop. Naturally, fragrance whore that I am, I owned a bottle and wore it from time to time, though without much love.



So many versions of Angel later and after an odd yet comforting “unisex” Cologne, an Alien arrived in 2005 and it would seem that aliens are both floral and more conventional than angels. The jasmine-themed aroma captured the attention of older female family members as easier to wear than its predecessor, but a partially-used 30 ml bottle gifted to me by a kind fragrance friend still sits half-used on a shelf somewhere. I’ m a fan, but I rarely keep company with that Alien.

 

You see, I’ ve never been one to pay much attention to ascribed genders for scents. It just never made sense to me. Anyone who understands the history of the art we call perfumery would know that gender is merely a trend, one that crosses from side to side century after century. In one decade roses and violets are masculine. Fifty years later, only a dandy would be caught dead smelling of roses. Fifty years past that and I’ d bet money that in a blind sniff test a general audience wouldn’ t be able to tell the genders of some of the most popular fragrances. Add to this argument the fact that what smells feminine in one cultural context is decidedly masculine in another and the recent trend of turning food and religious rituals into commercial perfumery and I conclude with this question: Who on earth would limit their enjoyment of fragrance to a label produced by marketing profiteers? Back in 2006, I ranted about this for Basenotes in my article "Wearing Whatever I Damn Well Please” and was relieved to find that I wasn’t alone in my rolling of the eyes over For Him or For Her.
 

And then came Womanity. When I first read the name and concept I cringed a little. I understand the concept of associating a smell with a specific type of sexual allure, and I concede that my perspective on gender and scent is surely influenced by my own studies and journeys through human sexuality, but after a decent array of ostensibly genderless fragrances in his Les Miroirs collection, I was surprised that Womanity was the place Mugler and Clarins would venture to next. Still, I waited impatiently for a chance to smell the odd new pairing of figs and caviar and was somewhat crestfallen by how tame the aroma felt on my skin when I finally got a hold of a tester at Bloomingdale’ s earlier this summer. Tame. Not a term I want to use when describing a Mugler scent but tame nonetheless. I wish I could have tested it without any knowledge of the composition, name or packaging, but no such luck. I was perplexed by the bottle, the website the name, and the composition. Figs and caviar almost seemed like a wink, wink, nudge, nudge concept—red, fleshy fruit and salty, oceanic eggs. Come on. Why not just name the scent Secret Garden or Sacred Womb? Oh right...Womanity. Even better than Sonia Rykiel’s ridiculous Not For Men.

And yet, I liked where the aroma went on my skin. After the initial fruity blast, the scent
managed to avoid the now cliched trend of fig and fig leaf scents, never done quite as well as in the groundbreaking Premier de Figuier by Olivia Giacobetti for L’ Artisan Parfumeur, and instead resulted in...taffy? My mind went to summer beach bonfires and boxes of saltwater taffy. Yes, that’ s where Womanity takes me. And to me, that is hardly the Secret Garden.

What is womanity, anyhow? Is it the ability to give birth to a child? Is it a shared global minority status? Is it an ancient matriarchal paradigm of rulership? The website for Womanity allowed readers to offer their own version of what it means to be a woman, as if this has anything to do with the actual notes named in the aroma... because figs and caviar can only be enjoyed by women and what woman would want their man to smell like that? So I decided to wear Womanity a couple of times (thanks for the samples, Bloomies) and was pleased with the range of compliments I received: “Is that the new Paco Rabanne for men?” was a strange one compared with “Wow that’s mind-numbingly sweet!” I treasure the responses of my friends and family; I’m ever the qualitative researcher when it comes to eliciting opinions on perfume.

Upon arriving to my new home in Finland, the land of lakes and islands, I got homesick for weekly perfume shopping and splurged on Ebay. A number of scents later, two emerged as total successes: Dior’s magnificent Fahrenheit Absolut (review forthcoming) and surprise, surprise, Womanity.

On my skin, Womanity does some weird tricks. It turns into an ashy aquatic, like a marine incense accord. Never do I experience dead fish or urine as some reviewers have reported, nor do I really get figs or even fig leaves. It’ s neither particularly green nor all that odd. Instead, I get an addictive, sweet, woody aroma that calls to mind creamy tolu balsam resin with a twist of orange-cranberry juice. As I mentioned earlier, there are moments when it also reminds me of saltwater taffy, the odd combination of synthetic fruit flavor and sodium. And somewhere around hour two, the scent even gets downright ashy—dry, powdery, almost bitter. This only lasts a short period before the scent settles back into its aquatic-wood accord. A few reviewers have decided on “pink aquatic” and I think this is an apt description.

So is it feminine or masculine? Could a guy really pull this off? Well, if those are the questions you’re still left wondering, perhaps I haven’t quite made myself clear. My apologies. All that I can leave you with is that Womanity is a powerhouse scent with an odd name, package and marketing scheme, that sensibly (???) appears to be aiming at the lowest common denominator and the widest audience possible yet still retaining that Mugler edge. Judging from comments on Fragrantica and other websites, they’ve both succeeded and failed. The color of the juice and the bottle looks perfect for goth teens while the commercial seems geared towards a slightly more mature audience. Is this a scent with an identity problem? Perhaps. Does it warrant a test on male skin? Absolutely. Perhaps we could drop the Wo- and -man- and stick with -Ity? If figs and caviar are Womanity, one can only shudder with fear as to what a male counterpart might be composed of...I’ ll leave that to your own imagination and I’m happy to smell of figgy caviar.
 

Fragrance Strength: Eau de Parfum

Number of Times Tested: 10, from an 80ml spray bottle I purchased myself.

Development: (Linear / Average / Complex): Womanity truly changes on my skin, moving through three primary stages: fruity and tangy; creamy and salty; and finally sweet, aquatic and woody.

Longevity: (Short / Average / Long-lasting): 8-10 hrs from 3 sprays.

Sillage: (A Little / Average / A Lot): This one lingered on my pillowcases, on my pj’s and even in the air while I slept. I sprayed it on around midnight, dreamed of winning a shopping spree at the Paris Guerlain boutique, and awoke once again to Womanity.