To mark the occasion, here is a round up of my favourite posts over the last 5 years. They are articles that fizzed out of me faster than my typing speed, those which are an utter joy to write. I like to think that they are somewhat 'different' from what visitors expect to read and that they offer an insight into my often bizarre thought process! I hope you enjoy revisiting them. On Witches: It seems fitting to include my review of Ormonde Woman by Ormonde Jayne, it is Halloween after all. Highlights include references to my Grandmother's dubious home remedies and getting ferns in your knickers. click here to read On Music: A celebration of exuberant women in music, inspired initially by the technicolour wonder that is Regine Chassagne of Arcade Fire. What perfume would suit these musical marvels? click here to read On a truly saucy scent: When Anubis by Papillon Perfumery brought to mind salty pirates, Captain Nolan and the power of female sensuality. click here to read On an under appreciated Guerlain: Why is Idylle not hallowed in the Guerlain hall of fame? Here I speak of my love for the scent and swoon at Thierry Wasser. click here to read On heartbreak: A personal story of love and loss inspired by Jul et Mad - Terrasse a St Germain. click here to read On the great outdoors: A picturesque post where a walk in the Yorkshire Moors became an ode to the chilly aldehydes of Clinique - Wrappings click here to read On the significance of a Royal Warrant: A rather slapstick look at branding within the British Perfume Industry featuring discussions about the Queen's fear of warts and why Fergie was the only Royal I'd invite to the pub. click here to read On proper perfume: The most recent post, on how I was overwhelmed by the beauty of Warszawa by Pure Distance. This posts discusses the concept that we might all be 'a bit too expert' and ponders the days before the online fragrance community existed. click here to read On the cats of perfume land: How I fell in love with a furry little fella called Joseph and a photographic peep at the feline companions of my fellow perfume writers. click here to read To ensure that you never miss a fragrant post you can either subscribe by email using the box in the right hand column, or hit like at: https://www.facebook.com/odiferess/
It seems timely
that as Valentine’s Day approaches, I contemplate a fragrance inspired by love
- Jul et Mad’s Terrasse à St-Germain. The
fragrance tells an olfactory story of the moment that the couple behind the brand
first encountered each other (no prizes for guessing that it was a breathless
moment on a pavement in the Left Bank of Paris). I’ve had my sample for some
time now and despite judging it to be one of the most achingly beautiful scents
that has found me in the last year, I’ve found it awkward to write about. This
is why:
Jul et Mad is a couple. ‘Mad’ is
Madalina, a well respected cosmetics and fragrances industry executive. ‘Jul’
is Julien, a scientist and entrepreneur. Both are extremely good looking, well
educated, young, internationally travelled and high achieving. Their three
perfumes are composed around key moments in their love affair, taking in alluring
picturesque locations such as the streets of Paris and New York and a grand palazzo
in Venice. They are exceptionally well composed perfumes, inspired by, and this
is where it gets difficult – two very fortunate people having a marvellous moment
in time.
Julien and Madalina
Take literature and cinema, when
has a story line ever been enthralling when it features a romance that appears
to be perfect? There needs to be a struggle, some conflict to overcome, a
resolution to the conflict and a happy ever after/heartbreaking demise. It
helps if our protagonists are wrapped up in mystery and beset by tragedy. If
Juliet had moved into Romeo’s place shortly after their besotted first meeting
and had a brilliant time living it up around Europe, there wouldn’t be a story.
Although I find this couple’s narrative beguiling, I desire to know more.
It brought me to thinking about
the scents of my own great romance, which alike that of Romeo and Juliet’s, had
a rather tragic ending. I won’t be discussing much of the tragic ending the
blogosphere but I will reveal some of the moments of splendour and consider,
what did our love smell like?
My ex husband, ‘J’, truly was my
partner. If I could summon a definition of love, I would describe it as a
feeling of utter contentment, where there is no sense of a ‘relationship’ to be
analysed and pondered, simply a pairing where two people create an adventure
and a life truly lived. In this I recall the feeling of being alive, waking up
with an overwhelming sense of optimism and exhilaration. Even if the day ahead
would simply consist of a walk along the river park, a marvel at the uniquely
fudge coloured potentially hermaphrodite duck, a vinegary wrap of chippy chips
and a lazy peruse of the newspapers, with J by my side, this day would still feel blissful.
We were young when we met, just
16. I was at art college with his brother, through whom I met J. We first
encountered each other on the dance floor of Jenks, a local indie nightclub in
Blackpool. Although a vague memory, we danced in a much crazed state to The
Fall’s weirdly bendy single ‘Telephone Thing’. Weirdly bendy more or less
summed up J. He was a deeply creative and inventive soul with a soaring
imagination which gave him both his magnificent sense of wonder and also his
debilitating mental health problems. He didn’t think like other people, and for
that, he was enchanting.
J had a really
strong scent of man. He didn’t look particularly masculine with his halo of golden
brown curls, his pretty ‘cartoon cow’ eyelashes surrounding limpid eyes and a
love of vintage girls shirts from the 70s which he could pull off with his
slender frame and quirky attitude. He must have had really strapping hormones
as showers cleaned him but didn’t take away his musk. He had a definite warm
and heady personal smell that I can still recall if I try really hard to bring
it back.
We lived in a
small Victorian mill town in the hills of West Yorkshire named Otley. Looming
large behind our house was the Chevin, a grand hill topped with dense pine
woods. We played amongst the pines most weeks, they were our ‘set’ had our
romance been a stage production. We picnicked atop a bit of ‘sticky out’ cliff
and gazed down at what felt like our kingdom. He kissed me in the woods in the
manner of Lady’s Chatterley’s gamekeeper and reduced me to terrified giggles whilst
tearing after me in the twilight shrieking of the Judderman. Today, so many
years later, the smell of pine needles and mossy bark still transports me to
place of both elation and melancholy in equal parts.
Our sticky out picnic rock
Our first home
was a damp and chilly rented flat above a stinking fish and chip shop. Our back
yard wore the sad must of mouldy potatoes. I have never felt happier.
J loved perfume,
perhaps as much as me. With York in easy reach by train, many a day was spent
rooting through it’s fusty junk shops and ‘high reward’ charity shops. Nowadays
they are filled with terrible cheap clothing from Asda and Primark, but years
ago they’d yield bountiful treasure in the form of characterful 50s silk
scarves and J’s aforementioned beloved flamboyant shirts. York possessed a
Crabtree and Evelyn shop that sold divine masculine colognes. J bought West
Indian Lime Cologne and the original Sandalwood (oh my that was a thing of
beauty).
Sadly, these
perfumes later concealed the smell of his breakfast-booze, a regular prop for
facing a ‘down-day’ in the horrific grip of bi-polar disorder, that eventually
led to our demise.
Gulp.. Back to Terrasse à St-Germain:
What I recall
most clearly about the onset of our romance was the extraordinary feeling of
optimism. Citrus notes have always uplifted me, which is probably why they
feature so prominently in my collection.
Terrasse à St-Germain
projects radiant beams of tangerine, grapefruit and rhubarb, a metaphor for the
fizzing excitement of the ‘first glance’ at a future beloved. The floral heart
reveals a vintage sensation, perhaps invoking memory and sentimentality, after
all, shared histories build love and life. In the note descriptor, a ‘blue’
rose is mentioned. I have no idea what a blue rose smells like but I like to
think that it hints at melancholy, bringing balance to the euphoric citrus
notes. No romance exists without sadness, even within a blissful 70 year long
marriage, someone will ultimately die and leave the other bereft. The base
combined of sandalwood and Indonesian patchouli is detectable from start to
drydown, with the patchouli delivering it’s familiar associations of a damn
fine time in the clutches of bohemia. Maybe it speaks of the late nights of
excess that decorate the narrative of the commencement of love stories?
It’s virtually impossible to
describe the overall effect of this perfume. It’s the blogger’s nemesis, in
that it’s seamless. How do you describe the perfection of a marriage of truly
harmonious notes? Perhaps that’s why I find it tough to engage with the tale of
Madalina and Julien, they too appear to have achieved a perfect harmony.
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