Zibeline
Weil (1928)

This review is for an EdC of the original Zibeline, probable date of bottle 1960s.

So much has been said by others on here, much better than I can express my love of Zibeline. While my bottle has, perhaps, lost some of its sparkle of the top notes, it has retained its honeyed warmth of a classic elegant fragrance full of very rich tones.

Zibeline - perfect for a chilly day, invoking visions of hushed Continental cafes with clinking china, hot drinks and pastries, all warm inside while the Spring is trying its best to make itself heard outside against the raging of an only slightly unseasonal blizzard, all haute elegance and comfort – stoles, silks, tweeds, a smattering of new-fangled jersey skirt suits, good shoes, hats and bags. However, with its original release date - 1928 - there is also definitely a change of mood, a sense of danger of a then more fast-moving world, perfectly capturing the zeitgeist of Bright Young Things, in a pre-Depression era filled with more freedom, much shorter hemlines, cocktails, jazz and adventures, motoring, flying, television, female emancipation with the Vote.

Something of this is, to me, mirroring Jadis/the White Witch of the Chronicles of Narnia – the strength of her power over her surroundings, both the natural landscape and the living beings who belong to it. Something… perhaps not aligned with the world to which CS Lewis and his comrades were comfortable with in their writings. Something – feeling stronger than them and their faith, perhaps, more in tune with the way the world was moving. Evil? Perhaps…

Still beautiful, although sadly not that long-lasting (it is an EdC, after all), all the notes remain discernible – aldehydes, coriander, tarragon and bergamot; I can also sense the middle note flowers lingering. The honey, which now runs from top to bottom, as a base note would have been unexpected at the time; juxtaposed with the civet and vetiver, along with the sandalwood, tonka bean, amber and musk this feeling is reinforced throughout that this is for a woman who means it, elegant, powerful, strong, with character.

I love it.

The fur of a sable: this is what "zibeline" means. In modern times, most of us now see the cruelty in wearing fur, but as we rewind over 95 years, the fur was a status symbol; the ultimate luxury. Weil's Zibeline was meant to evoke the feel, the plushness, of wearing a sable, in the olfactory sense. It was originally advertised to be applied on fur to aromatize and keep mustiness at bay.

Aldehyde rays and dusting powder are underlined with an impressionistic wash of aromatics and coriander. The jasmine reminds me of mock orange, the satin iris falls just short of intimidating, as a light custard ylang, honeyed musks, and pitter-pat of civet, renders a warmheartedness and pulse. A cherry fluff heliotrope hovers. The lines are so blurred, not a single sharp edge; it's all dreamily out of focus.

Sharpened pencil cedar and hazy tonka (suggesting tobacco) mingle with golden topaz opoponax. It's all so gauzy, like plumes of smoke in a seedy nightclub, with corners saturated in darkness. There is restraint in its sensuousness, like a sneak peek at a garter rather than full knickers display. The atmosphere it paints from another age feels so palpable, even as this particular bottle dates from the early 90s—perhaps the last incarnation that was mostly true to its original form.

I'm reviewing a 1960s bottle of the parfum de toilette. Zibeline pdt is a beautiful example of an abstract, beautifully blended classic 20th century perfume. It doesn't smell like Arpege, but it has the same style. Tonka fanatics will love Zibeline pdt. Cherry, almonds, spicy flowers, sandalwood, powder and musk. Gorgeous. I don't own Sable furs, but I did attempt to scent my Mouton furs with this. My advice: not the best idea. Mouton seems to repel liquids rather than absorb them. Oh well. Nothing ventured nothing gained I suppose.

This review is for the vintage 1928-formula Parfum de Toilette (essentially an Eau de Parfum); my batch appears to be from the 1960's or 70's. Interestingly, it is a pressurized aerosol, not solely a pump atomiseur, and I am glad it still has enough propellant in it to dispense the jus.

An opening of brilliant, very sharp aldehydes, with a tinge of boozy tarragon, a tart note of "Pledge"-like lemon oil, muted bergamot, followed by an immediate impression of civet. Then a muted woody impression, colored by a subtle gardenia and nostalgic orange blossom emerges, laced with a faint, oldschool jasmine and hint of ylang.

Gradually, the basenotes appear: honey, opoponax, tonka, orris, and a curious, nigh-gourmand impression of butter, yellow pollen and caramel. Cedar is quite prominent, in its "sharpened pencil" guise. It is at this point that ZIBELINE seems very similar indeed to Lanvin PRÉTEXTE, and somewhat like Lanvin ARPÈGE. Perhaps this is no surprise, as Claude Fraysse, the father of Andre and Jacqueline Fraysse, was the nose behind it.

Like the classic Lanvins, there is not a strongly etched, focused smell profile to the perfume (as you'd start getting in the late-1970's and 80's); rather, it has that soft-edged, powdery, mutable quality of the first half of the 20thc, suggesting it will smell differently on different skins.

In drydown, there is the marriage of a "golden" smelling opoponax and a pronounced tonka bean, with its curious tobacco-like "burn" and deep quasi-vanillic, caramelized qualities (which is found amplified tenfold in Coty ÉMERAUDE). All swaddled in a chalky, diaphanous iris silk. Though opoponax is not mentioned in the above olfactive pyramid, it is a MAJOR player in this scent, let me assure you. Honey, musk, iris and faint jasmine color this sweet accord.

ZIBELINE is a gorgeous, decidedly oldschool aldehydic/floral/woody, laced generously with animalics. As I say, it is, to my nose anyway, extremely similar to Lanvin PRÉTEXTE and not too far removed from ARPÈGE-- but sweeter and more white floral.

I confess, I am not picking up on the suggestive "naughty knickers" qualities that others have ascribed to ZIBELINE (read the Scented Salamander review online). In fact, I get more of that marine/ambergris note from Lanvin MY SIN than I do from this fragrance.

Even with a generous application, this Parfum de Toilette maintains a discreet powder-puff quality, with no glowering basenotes or room-filling sillage. I like it very much, and it has become a tous-les-jours go-to for me... it's perfect when you don't want to go full citrus eau-de-cologne, but you don't want to go sweet and dark Oriental either.

Created in 1928 to apply to a sable fur, Martes Zibellina, to keep mustiness away, this a blend of bergamot, lemon, coriander and tarragon in the top notes, rose, jasmine, yang yang, orris, gardenia, hawthorn and muguet in the middle, and vetiver, civet, sandalwood, amber, musk, honey and tonka in the base.

It starts out with a cherry almond note, which is spicy and sweet, then moves to a rich floral melange that manages to smell vintage without smelling old-fashioned. The warm, balsamic base notes carry the floral medley into the dry down.

A true classic in its complexity, balance and beauty. They don't make them like this anymore.

What a treat. I never thought I would smell this amazing, rare perfume which was designed to be applied to fur. I carefully researched the notes, I applied it to my hand, I prepared to identify those which stepped to the forefront as most representative, and I inhaled. Imagine my surprise when I smelled… cherry almond. What is the matter with me? It's similar to almond extract albeit fainter, richer, and more complex, maybe like heliotrope or scented tobacco. But I won't lie; I don't smell what I'm supposed to be smelling in here. If it's any consolation to you Zibeline aficionados, I love this. I keep continually smashing my face into my hand for hours as it dies down to a delicious, sweet, but cryptic combination of notes. My nose totally flunked this test.