During spring and summer, the Northwest has some of the most beautiful and dramatic “blue hours” I’ve ever experienced — the lustrous sky turns every shade of blue, from chalk blue to blue-black. While wearing Guerlain’s L’Heure Bleue fragrance for the first time, I went outside with my cat (who is blue himself) and experienced a blue hour; I sat under my second-story porch, behind a curtain of blossoming clematis vines that swayed in the cool breeze, their pink and blue, vanilla-scented flowers glowed like stars against the dark shiny leaves of the laurel hedge. The ornery blue jays had gone to nest and refused to participate in my blue reverie, but a robin “trio” sang soothing avian folk songs till dark.
The “blue hour” is the time between sunset and nightfall when everything seems tinged with blue. I’m a lover of the blue hour; in fact, I like the world best between twilight and dawn. I could easily keep vampires’ hours, since bright sunny days wear me out, wear me down and make everything seem too focused, exposed and raw.
I’ll spare you the oft-told tale of the creation of L’Heure Bleue (easily read on Guerlain’s website) but I will say that people who have reviewed this perfume often find it “sad” and “melancholy.” I bet many of those people love the daytime, the sun, brightness and heat. To me, L’Heure Bleue is “quiet,” not sad, but I do find it “chilly” and a bit harsh, especially in its extreme dry-down phase…
This July, 