Ida’s bottle of Caron Infini

Reviewing vintage fragrances always seems to involve a certain measure of falling down the rabbit hole. As one becomes engrossed, up pops a plethora of contradictory information. Honestly, I don’t do this on purpose; perhaps you have found yourself in the same position when you seek to know as much as you can about a particular perfume – which has either been reformulated or/and been discontinued. You might wonder how I deal with this conundrum.

 

Caron Infini ad via The Scented Hound

When faced with conflicting dates, lists of notes, spellings, and other contrary data – I take a hard look into who is doing the writing; their background; my personal experience with the author (Do I actually know them personally? How long have I known them? Are their sources sound?). Often these variances aren’t intentional, but it does make you question which version is closest to reality. In the end, I veer towards sources I have known at length, and who I consider reliable and diligent researchers: they are thoroughly invested in their careers, and harbor no desire to compromise them.

 Ernest Daltroff courtesy Fragrances of The World   

This brings us to Caron Infini, a fragrance which I have adored since 1972, when I first encountered it in a small but highly-regarded pharmacy in Harvard Square. While the original was composed by master perfumer Ernest Daltroff in 1912, most of us are familiar with the reformulation of Gerard Lefort – the 1972 iteration. I have found Infini to be dated both 1970 and 1972; although most writers name Gerard Lefort as the nose, others have referred to him as Gerard Lefortis: thus, my consternation. Yes, the year of release was 1972 – and the nose is Gerard Lefort, although there are those who cling to the belief that Ernest Daltroff was responsible for the reformulation. In truth – I have not been able to smell the 1912 original, or locate a reliable source for it in hopes of sampling the fragrance. There also exists a relatively new revamp of Infini: in 2018, perfumer William Fraysse composed an entirely different, vanillic-fruity-floral bearing the same name which in no wise resembles either of the Infinis which came before. Confused?

As far as Infini’s notes are concerned, the waters are distinctly muddy. I have read several reviews which claim that galbanum is present (galbanum is a very unique, potent green material – and I believe that you can’t mistake it for anything else), but nowhere is it listed. The indolic narcissus, hyacinth, and even lilac are referred to as well – and my best guess is that these elements were particularly present in its oldest incarnation. I bring this up to illustrate the challenges one encounters in the process of understanding how the greats were composed. Whenever I’m able, I attempt to de-mystify these perfumes for both myself and you, our readers.

 1972 ad of Caron Infini via Ebay

Now that we are both bewildered, let’s smell the 1972 Infini, shall we? It has been said that this Caron was fifteen years in the making! Even the bespoke flacon designed by Serge Mansau is unique: a wonderfully jagged, asymmetrical flacon which was inspired by the race for space (remember, it’s the 1970s) and the mathematical sign for infinity. Infini is first and foremost an aldehydic floral, with an eruption of scintillating aldehydes, diffusive and slightly metallic in their charm. True to classical standards, it is a shape-shifter. The first dabs of the parfum reveal a glorious verdancy accented with spice, fruit, and underscored with florals which manage to skew both warm and cool – penetrating and creamy. Bergamot and neroli somehow converge as warm, woody/peppery coriander provides its spicy accent. A gentle peach (aldehyde C-14?) sidles up to rosa centifolia, much as it does in Guerlain’s Nahema. At this juncture, Infini smells velvety, and there are moments when I feel as if I am picking up tones of jasmine and lilac enveloped in carnation and iris. Some of this perfume’s greenness surely correlates to lily of the valley, hyacinth, and vetiver. If there is narcissus, tuberose, or patchouli, they don’t register as such to my nose – and I confess that ylang-ylang whispers most delicately, considering that she is an indolic, potent player at baseline. Infini’s base is an exceptionally lovely one, replete with an abundance of sandalwood, plush musk, and tonka. Civet appears as a mellow insinuation – and the chief constituent of ambergris, ambrein, contributes a discreet animalic presence which was likely more prevalent in the 1912 original composition; it’s a joy nonetheless.

1972’s Infini, despite its age, has worn well with the passage of time. It retains its individuality while keeping its classical structure – yet it’s far from stuffy, and it never quite smells the same each time you don it: this is because it develops over time, unveiling different facets all the while. It’s fascinating and easily worn by by all genders – and particularly warming in the cooler seasons. She may be elegant, but Infini is only marginally aloof. She has earned her perfumed pedigree.

Notes: aldehydes, bergamot, coriander, neroli, peach, rosa centifolia, jasmine, iris, lily of the valley, carnation, ylang-ylang, musk, sandalwood, tonka bean, vetiver, civet, ambrein

Notes cited in other sources: narcissus, night-blooming hyacinth, lilac, tuberose, patchouli, cedar

Caron Infini is part of my vintage collection (all of which I purchased), which I have amassed for over 50 years. My nose is my own…

~ Ida Meister, Deputy and Natural Perfumery Editor

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