Contrary to popular belief, Vicky Tiel did not invent the miniskirt; Mary Quant did. With that aside, she did release a fragrance called Ulysse, which hit shelves in 1998. It's one of those oft-forgotten classic masculines that I'll occasionally spot in the dusty corners of fragrance shops, a relic of the nineties with a minuscule fanbase that has somehow kept it in production. I finally got around to wearing it this month, and I have some thoughts.
Fragrantica claims that Ulysse conveys a prominent mignonette note. Reviewers there and on Basenotes also frequently mention that it has a yuzu citrus note in the opening accord. Here's my problem with all of this: Precious few Westerners have ever actually smelled yuzu (zest or juice), and even fewer have any clue what mignonette is. Reader, I suggest you take all reviews of Ulysse that mention in gushing detail its rendering of these notes with a grain of salt. They aren't truthful.
However, I'd be lying if I didn't admit outright that I've spent weeks pondering exactly what Ulysse does smell like. As it lights on skin, it smells distinctly fruity, sweet, fresh, yet none of its top notes elucidate on a particular congener in nature, and thus they elude description. The perfumer briefly achieved the pinnacle of success in his field by cleverly assembling conventional materials into an unorthodox and original form. During its first ten minutes, Ulysse is a compellingly abstract fragrance that manages to evoke a wistful sense of mystery, despite the obvious presence of conventional citrus aromatics and "grapey" methyl anthranilate. It reminds me of Laguna, which was released seven years prior, although it's ironically more feminine.
At around the ninety-minute mark, I notice the unique opening of the fragrance giving way to a more common powdery fougère scent that is reminiscent of Avon Wild Country or Pinaud Clubman. An inert and sour rose note resolves itself amid a green haze, and a woody and mossy side of Ulysse settles in. It's a puff of dehydrated lavender permeated by soft florals (rose, carnation) and moss. After seven hours, Ulysse hangs close to skin and fabric, but I still get complimented on it. This tells me it's potent enough, with respectable longevity and sillage.
Its strength reminds me that Vicky Tiel's fragrance is a product of the nineties. I can't appreciate its trees, but I like its forest, a pine-green and terracotta expanse with muted floral-patterned curtains and VH1 playing on a Sharp television. Ulysse was the fragrance that college students wore when they saw "There's Something About Mary" and "Saving Private Ryan." It's fresh, which appeals to women (my girlfriend perked up when she caught an early whiff), but it turns dry and floral and a bit old-school woody (she then wrinkled her nose). It's worth far more than I paid, and I'm glad it's still around. She may not have invented the miniskirt, but Vicky did release a very good and surprisingly emblematic fragrance for men.