Jean Patou - Joy EDP, shot in the face with jasmine

An episode of The Simpsons featured a storyline where Homer decided to become an Inventor. Amongst his failed concepts was a double barrelled rifle that had been adapted to apply a full mask of make up. He shot Marge in the face with it. This is how I felt 3 hours ago in House of Fraser when I sprayed a large dose of Joy Eau de Parfum towards myself.

Joy resides amongst the group of perfumes that no longer gain a great deal of attention online, aside from a dedicated following of vintage collectors who speak lovingly of it’s decadence. It’s a shame that niche lovers neglect these Grand Dames as they offer a whopping great explosion of perfumey perfume that many of us would find delightful, especially those with an Amouage habit, a brand most certainly influenced by the immense aldehydic florals of the twentieth century. If you haven’t smelt them recently, please do get your nose around Joy, Arpege, Ma Griffe and First. I insist.

As you may know, I have recently been exploring my increasing fascination for jasmine, which both enchants and repulses me. So today I revisited Joy for a dose of the heady white monster. I sprayed with abandon and found myself agog with the intensity of this action. I was rooted to the counter for a few seconds as I experienced a great excitement and an almost instant headache. The Homer Simpson imagery was immediate, the effect of the scent being almost gunshot like – BANG! It’s perfume.

As I wandered outside, the air on the street offered some relief and diffused the fragrance, allowing me to appreciate its complexity without the migraine factor. The overwhelming feeling from Joy is that of an endless floral bombardment. They are all in there; jasmine, tuberose, lily of the valley, rose and ylang, and crikey do they smell authentic! Add to this Joy’s marginally urinous drop of civet and it becomes the archetype of glamourous perfume.

My estimated jasmine content of Joy!

If you’ve ever cooked Indian or Pakistani curries, you’ll be aware of the importance of fat. Low fat curries do not work. A big dollop of clarified butter acts as a sponge to absorb the many spices and herbs and hold their fragrance within. Within Joy, I can sense the process of enfleurage, where particularly fragile flowers are initially suspended in fat to draw out their scent. I am sure that I can smell fat, not actual fat, but the idea of a rich substance holding the fragrance together i.e. the ‘concept of enfleurage’. This has never happened to me before. It’s possible that Joy has reawakened my slightly flagging enthusiasm.

As I take a whiff of my arm now (4 hours later), I smell the perfect perfume, I'm not scattering my words lightly here, I mean it. The floral elements have quietened and the civet has merged with sandalwood to create a creamy and honeyed effect, as gentle and velveteen as the opening in loud and bombastic. Is it possible that this is the most beautiful dry down that I have ever smelt?

If I can ever get through the shock of the initial spray, I will buy this.

Last month I wrote about Salome by Papillon Artisan Perfumes. I now realise that Salome is Joy’s purple haired punky granddaughter who is currently at art school. If you would like to take a peak click here.

The Little Cat With A Surprising Belly - Avon Occur, Vintage Civet

My little stinker

The most thoroughly obsessed of the perfume community will understand that a scent purchase often stems from a peculiar chain of events that takes place online. The route that led me from Guerlain’s Vol de Nuit to a 40 year old Avon pussycat can be explained thus:

• My beloved Vol de Nuit EDT had almost run out.

• I searched the Escentual sale to price up a new bottle but was seduced by my long yearned love - the Parfum Extrait.

• Whilst waiting for my golden propellers to arrive I perused the web to read discussions about the extrait concentration of  Vol de Nuit and noticed that Avon’s classic cheapo chypre – Timeless has been likened to Vol.

• I performed an Ebay search for Timeless and discovered that it was winsomely populated by the kitsch novelty bottles of vintage Avon colognes from the 60s and 70s, Timeless, Occur, Moonwind, Charisma and Sweet Honesty were abundant.

• I encountered a curious little glass cat who had no box and despite being nearly full of ‘Occur’ was likely to have gone off given that he’s roughly my age, perhaps older. I found him charming and bought him simply for his quirky feline wiles.

• He arrived, he hadn’t gone off.

I was stunned. I even emailed to seller to ask the provenance of the whiffy feline. Apparently he came from an elderly aunt who collected cat figures. She must have displayed him so I can only guess that the opaque milk glass bottle somehow managed to deflect the ravages of light and kept his liquid belly in tip top condition.

He’s very pungent. On first whiff I smelt an archetypal fougère, so close to Brut that I wondered if the splash-on style hole could have been refilled at some point? Comparing notes on Fragrantica, the similarity could be explained. Both share a whopping dose of oakmoss, musks and bergamot, peppery floral notes (carnation for Occur, geranium for Brut), plentiful herbs and spices and a sweet base of all sorts of sticky tonka-tastic and honeyed wonders.

When the initial Brut sensation wore off, up crept (or pounced) the feral animalistic heart of the fragrance for which it is famed; civet and (the now banned) nitromusks. I knew at this point that I was certainly smelling the wondrous filth that is Occur.

If you’ve ever smelt Francis Kurkdijan’s Absolue Pour Le Soir or Parfum D’ Empire’s Musc Tonkin, you’ll recognize the heady whiff of animalic uber-notes. In fact Occur contains an even stronger dose of ‘eau de urinal’ than either of them. It takes at least half an hour for it to emerge, but when it does I am walloped by the wonder of pre-IFRA fragrant toxicity. I am very happy to poison my skin with this stinking brew. Fortunately, a creamy combination of white florals and milky sandalwood sit alongside this pissy whiff, recalling aspects of Arpege and Ma Griffe that render it more splendid than rancid.

Fittingly, my first ever perfume was by Avon. I can't remember which one as I was less than ten years old. My mum sold Avon and gifted me a plastic daisy shaped brooch filled with a solid scent that I recall smelling deliciously of honeysuckle. Perhaps Avon was responsible for the inception of my obsession?

My lucky American readers will be able to pick up these quirky Avon vintages for a mere few dollars on the USA Ebay site. They are collectible but not valuable given the enormous number of them produced in the 60s and 70s. In Europe prices are a little higher given that, although very common, Avon was not quite as mightily prolific over here. 

Take a peak at these curious Avon creatures lifted shamelessly from Ebay, I wonder what scented wonders their bellies contain?

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Adventures In Scent At 4160 Tuesdays: Day 1, The Magnificent Wall Of Wonders

Last weekend I ventured to London to visit my first real life perfumery, the multi-coloured abode of indie brand 4160 Tuesdays.

I was familiar with 4160 Tuesdays after featuring it’s (more or less) self taught perfumer, Sarah McCartney in a feature exploring the spirit of British perfumery last summer. You can read it by clicking here.

I was primarily visiting to attend a Saturday workshop on the chypre genre, but Sarah kindly allowed me to call in the day prior to have a nosey around with my camera.  I fully intended to shoot a fantastic batch of photos, with my best camera in hand (rather than my ‘travelling light’ camera phone) that would beautifully illustrate the nature of a perfumery - a pictorial treat for my readers. What actually happened was this:

I arrived, we had a fine natter on her mum’s vintage sofa over some top notch coffee, said hello to her assistant Agnieszka who was urgently bottling by hand and then I was let loose upstairs.

I was immediately faced with ‘The Wall of Scent’.

A small section of the wall featuring citrus and Vanilla scents

Imagine that you are faced with EVERY scent that you’ve heard about but never tried, the vintage mythical ‘scent unicorns’ that have long since been discontinued, those which you have curiously stalked on ebay and never quite got round to blind buying, the hoards of rare bottles that you found in a scent shop in Mallorca but couldn’t spend enough time with because your partner had started sighing with boredom half an hour ago, the historical wonders that Turin and Sanchez raved about. It was all there.

The top shelf of the vintage section (there is a huge cabinet full underneath that I forget to photograph in my state of shock, my journalistic abilities having been smacked in the face after confrontation with YSL's In Love Again.

I dumped my camera on the floor and stuck my greedy hands into the vintage section of the wall, in fact a sliding glass windowed cabinet. Had it not slid smoothly I’d likely have smashed it with my bare hands. I lost my ability to speak and made a sort of whispery “unnnhh” as I picked up a perfectly preserved bottle of Givenchy lll. Close by sat a teeny bottle of Schiaparelli’s Shocking “wooah”, Dior’s original Eau Suavage “wow” and Houbigant’s Chantilly “ooohee”. It was difficult to allot a proper sniff at these grand elderly ladies and gentlemen because I was transfixed by what was behind them – very old Guerlain boxes. You’ll recognise the squiggly geometric lines in the picture. But take a closer look and regard the misty blue box, yup, 1930s L’Heure Bleue! You’d imagine that by now it would be reduced to the scent of nail varnish but this Goliath bottle was unsealed by Sarah herself and smelt like L’Heure Bleue on steroids, an enormous wet vat of history, perfectly preserved. Shockingly, her 1930s bottle of Mitsouko EDT smelt almost identical to today’s formulation, who’d have thought it?

Sarah McCartney pictured with her beloved treasure - L' Heure Bleue

Also nestling among the mythical Guerlains was a beautiful blue crystal flacon of Guet Apens, the impossibly rare discontinued chypre that brings unfeasible amounts of moolah on Ebay.

Somewhere around the time that I saw the Guet Apens, I became overwhelmingly hot and had to de-robe. My cardigan and silk scarf were thrown to join my forgotten camera on the floor and a sip of water allowed me to continue.

Atop of the vintage section was a little tray of samples, recognisably 4160 Tuesdays, some with names that I had not heard of. I enquired about ‘A midsummer Night’s Breeze’.

“What’s this Sarah?”

“Oh, it failed IFRA completely. You can have it.”

Stunned and grateful, I took a whiff and pocketed the little bottle of the distinctly ‘breezy’ and outdoorsy scent. My feelings of excitement were more than the fume junkie’s standard “I’ve got perfume, woohoo!”. They were increased by the fact that I had been gifted a unique scent that violated IFRA regulations ‘completely’.  This made me happy.

Although there are many delightful reasons to sign up for a day of making perfume at 4160 Tuesdays, massively violating IFRA is one of the most seductive. As Sarah said, IFRA allow just a minuscule 0.07% concentration of Oakmoss to be included in a scent. This is because 1 to 3% of perfume users develop (get ready to be worried), eeek, a rash! As Oakmoss is the essential base to what we know as a chypre perfume, this restriction is a bore. But if you are making it for your personal use, you can include as much as you damn well like. I discovered that I can apply a whopping 20% concentration of Oakmoss on my skin without it giving me a rash/the plague.

Oakmoss, apparently dangerous enough you a slight rash

After spending around an hour ogling the vintage section of The Wall Of Scent, I pondered how much of the rest of it I wouldn’t experience on that day. There’s simply too much to take in. I estimate that I smelt about 1/8^th of the collection. I wasn’t concerned that I’d miss out on smelling plentiful bottles of niche brands, that’s an easily possible activity that you can undertake at Les Senteurs, Bloom and Roullier White. For me, the ‘must smells’ were the recent and ancient popular scents that we simply can’t test anywhere because they are not currently stocked in mainstream department stores or indie shops, such as Laura Biagotti’s Roma or the Lagerfeld Kapsule scents. 

Sarah offers afternoon group sessions to explore The Wall of Scent, priced at £60. This includes your choice of a 30ml bottle of 4160 Tuesday’s scent (worth £40), a guided tour through the various genres and notes, leisurely sniffing and the devoted camaraderie of other obsessive fumies. This is all topped off with a glass of fizz and cakes whilst lounging around on some funky vintage sofas.

Who would I recommend it for?

Newbies can learn a great deal about the history of scent and gain a clear idea of their personal preferences. They’ll get chance to do this in a friendly, relaxed environment without the pressure of sales assistants. Hardcore fumies will get to see and smell some scents that they’ve only heard and read about and may experience dizziness and a sense of euphoria. They’ll probably make an enormous list of things to buy on Ebay. Vintage fans will possibly offer up prayers to the ancient perfume gods and weep quietly into their Liberty print handkerchiefs in admiration.

Here’s a link if you want to join in: http://www.4160tuesdays.com/4160tuesdaysscentshop/prod_2831585-The-Wall-of-Scent.html

A report on day 2 of my scent adventure will be posted later this week where I’ll be discussing Saturday’s adventures in creating my own chypre. I apologise for my rubbish photographs, as you can imagine, I was distracted!

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The Scent of British Spirit, Part 2: The Majestic Fragrance of Grossmith and Floris

Last week I began to investigate the spirit of British perfumery. Part 1 of my 3 part series considered an introductory take on the industry and focussed on the innovative humorous marketing and contemporary creations of Penhaligon’s. To read the post click here.

In this, Part 2, I will explore the connection between fragrance and the concept of royalty and patriotism.

Firstly, I must explain that I’m not much of a royalist, which has made this article especially tough to write! My disdain was probably forged when, as a small child, I waited enthusiastically, drenched in rain with my fellow soggy school mates, to watch the Queen’s procession down our lane. After 3 hours of chilly sodden anticipation, her vehicle passed. Expecting her gracious smile and stately wave to lift our spirits we waved our flags with grinning abandon. We soon deflated at the sight of the back of her head viewed in a 50 mph blur. With questioning eyes we turned to our cross looking parents, how could she ignore us, a hoard of eager little children? Crushed! However, despite this non-event, it would be perverse of me to dismiss the importance of the royal patronage of perfumery, particularly when we look at the birth of perfume retail.

In Sixteenth century France, a fashion arose for wearing attractively fragranced gloves to keep the skin soft and protect the hands of the upper classes from the filth and squalor of the city. Indeed even now, our Queen dons a pair of gloves when out greeting the crowds (and even when shaking the hand of the Pope, who I’m sure is unlikely to give her scabies/warts/flees/the plague etc..) 

Naturally, the perfuming of gloves progressed to the practice of perfuming the environment and body. As Europe’s highly influential royal and courtly citizens patronised the development of bespoke perfumery, this of course ultimately filtered down to ‘off the shelf’ products that could be purchased by less majestic customers. What better way than to be viewed as flourishingly successful than by donning an exotic smell rumoured to be gracing the courts of the reigning family?

Today, the ownership of a royal warrant signifies a connection to royalty, specifically that a company with a warrant has supplied a product to a royal family for a minimum of 5 years. Floris gained their first royal warrant as suppliers of a ‘smooth pointed comb’ to King George the IV. Today, one of their warrants is held as perfumer to our own Queen Elizabeth. I wonder which one she wears? I can imagine her in a traditional floral such as Lilly of The Valley, though you never know, she could be secretly anointing herself in Etat Libre D’ Orange’s ‘Malaise of The 1970s’ or some other such fabulous eccentricity.

Another company trading with a royal warrant are Grossmith, launched in 1825, Grossmith ceased trading in 1980 and rose again in 2009 back under family ownership. For an enchanting tale of the company’s resurrection with detailed photographs of the ornate vintage bottles, read an article from The Telegraph by clicking here.

Grossmith deserve an entire post to themselves really as I was overwhelmed by the gorgeousness and raw pungency of their fragrances. Most interestingly, their collection of three classic orientals (Phul-Nana, Shem-el-Nessim and Hasu-no-Hana) which were composed using the original Victorian formulae without a budget restriction, are highly reminiscent of classic era Guerlain. The curious aspect is that all 3 were released BEFORE Shalimar, L’Heure Bleu and Vol De Nuit. Interesting eh? As I sit here writing, I have Hasu-no-Hana on one wrist and Shalimar on the other. It’s astounding to think that Hasu-no-Hana, ‘killer oriental’ preceded Shalimar by 33 years. I’m wandering off the point again but it does make me question the originality of what I thought were groundbreaking leaders in the genre. Did the Brits at Grossmith actually invent what we know as the benchmark oriental?

 

  Contemporary bottles of Betrothal and Diamond Jubilee Bouquet

The original Betrothal bottle

 

Grossmith currently produce two scents associated with royal events. Diamond Jubilee Bouquet was released in 2012 to mark the Diamond Jubilee, the astute amongst you may have already guessed that! Betrothal was launched in 2011 to mark the wedding of William and Kate. Though this was an update of the original Grossmith Betrothal, which was created in 1893 to celebrate the marriage of Queen Mary and King George.

I expected to yawn at Betrothral. The idea of a royal wedding scent to me conjures imagery of ‘pretty pleasantness’. Indeed Kate herself is the ideal PR girl for the modern Royal. She is sweet natured, intelligent, politely charming and highly unlikely to get them into scandalous trouble, in short ‘nice’.

In honour of the royal wives, or dare I say divorcees? Those of you old enough to recall Sarah Ferguson’s exploits will remember her extraordinary sense of fun. Whilst the Internationally adored Diana was busy being photographed in portraits of beauty and enigma by the world’s press, Fergie was pictured in The Sun roaring with laughter, gob wide open, eyes goggling in the manner of a serious thyroid problem. She wasn’t ‘nice’, she had the manic air of someone who you’d probably have a darn good laugh with holed up in a pub for a night. I rather liked her.

I’m wandering off the point here, but what I’m trying to say is that nice contains connotations of boring and Betrothral is definitely not boring. It’s unexpectedly unusual and enormously sexy. Grossmith’s press pack describes Betrothal as:

“Betrothal is a romantic, floral bouquet combining Rose de Mai and Jasmine from Grasse to create a sensual bridal scent.” Grossmith

I agree with this in that it certainly contains extremely high quality natural ingredients (as you would expect from a Robertet creation, a company famous for it’s use of predominantly natural raw ingredients) and it does have a noticeably floral feel. What the statement doesn’t do is reveal the myriad of other fine notes that take it from ‘pretty floral’ to ‘decadent musk bomb’. This is how it works for me:

A striking opening is composed of citrus and ylang-ylang, both fighting each other for dominance. I’ve never been fond of Ylang but in balance with the citrus zest it’s wonderfully ‘shouty’, you certainly notice that you’ve just covered yourself in a perfumey perfume. See? It’s already more Fergie.. Quickly, a whopping great musk appears. Rather than lurking in the base it joins the scrum for immediate note dominance. I’ve not managed to work out what type of ingredients have formed the musk but whatever it may be is convincingly animalistic. I would love to smell genuine civet musk for comparison but these days we consumers baulk at the idea of an unlucky creature having it’s perineal gland scraped out for our olfactory pleasure. I smell very little in the way of standard Jasmine and wonder if this almighty animal whiff could be therefore caused by the combination of Jasmine’s notoriously filthy/lovely indole molecules and a synthetic musk, ultimately creating a highly carnal whiff? With this in mind, Betrothal is distinctly more ‘wedding night’ than ‘marriage’.

As it dries down, the initial notes remain easily detectable but a vanilla/heliotrope accord joins in to project a powdery softness reminiscent of that of Guerlain’s Vol de Nuit and the famous Guerlinade base that formed the structure of so many great Guerlains. At this point you can feel the shift from exuberant to romantic.

This little sample has made it to my ‘keep and eek out by micro milliliters’ box, where it shall be taken out with great care only in moments when I need to smell something extraordinary.

Ultimately Kate did not walk down the isle in Betrothral, she chose White Gardenia Petals by Illuminum. I haven’t smelt it but I imagine it was very much more polite than Betrothral.

In stark contrast is Floris’s Victorious. This isn’t strictly a royal celebration scent, their adaption of Royal Arms (originally created to mark the birth of the Queen and adapted to mark her Diamond Jubilee) is the most relevant for this post. However, I’m bending the rules as I much prefer Victorious! Victorious seems to echo the military connection of the royals, in particular the seafaring naval voyage aspect.

 

The patriotic artwork of Victorious

 

“Exclusively launched in 2012 to celebrate the spirit of Great Britain. Bringing together five fragrances families in a complex harmony to symbolise victory through endeavour. Marine, the oceanic freshness of a sea breeze. Citrus, the zest of mandarin and grapefruit. Floral, a heart of neroli, jasmine and petitgrain. Woody, deep enduring notes of sandalwood and vetiver. Oriental, comforting vanilla and warm spices weave through from the top notes to the base” Floris catalogue

Complex indeed, a veritable eton mess of notes (chuckling at my own toff pun). Somehow it works though, with the most dominant of the fragrance families being the marine and spices. Ordinarily I find marine scents a little lacking, in that they are not as ‘fresh’ as the sensation of citrus and cannot possibly replicate the beauty of hyper charged ozonic atoms rushing off the sea. What Floris has created is essentially a marine with unexpected note partners. If you cannot replicate the wonder of the sea and the exoticism of the early colony seeking voyages of our sea faring nation simply by making an Aqua Di Gio, why not stick a load of other stuff in there to make it more interesting. A very good idea.

I find it hard to describe the wear of this scent as it’s so incongruously quirky (I could see it sitting comfortably amongst Etat Libre D’ Orange’s range rather than on the polished genteel shelves of Floris). So, here is a list of things it reminds me of:

Biscuits containing bits of ginger and candied citrus like those lovely Scottish ones that I can’t remember the name of, lovely old fashioned waxy furniture polish in National Trust properties, dried coriander seeds and fresh coriander stalks, iodine infused seaweed after it’s attached itself to rocks on the beach. There you go, not entirely to do with it’s listed notes but that’s how it appears to my nose!

Some final thoughts on what the other royals should wear:

Princess Anne: Bottega Veneta – Bottega Veneta (highly natural chypre with notes of hay and leather, obvious equine associations).

Prince Charles: Gorilla Perfume from Lush – Flower’s Barrow (all natural ingredients with a charitable donation from it’s geranium oil, ideal for the champion of organic agriculture)

The Queen Mum were she still with us: Penhaligon’s - Juniper Sling (she notoriously adored gin and was a very pretty girl in the Art Deco period).

Prince Harry: Adidas - Sport Fever (self explanatory)

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Shalimar Eau de Cologne, my first vintage. Plus a giveaway!

This week marked my foray into a new and potentially expensive fragrant habit – vintage scent.

I’ve always been wary of buying a dud, a vessel once lovely, that’s been open for an age or has sat looking pretty (and turning rancid) in the sunlight of somebody’s equally vintage dressing table. That, alongside the possibility that you are wearing the scent of a deceased stranger, put me off.

But spurred on by multiple readings of Elena Vosnaki’s wonderful descriptions of vintage Shalimar at Perfume Shrine, I decided to look out for a safe bet. My safe bet came in the form of a completely sealed early 1980s Shalimar EDC in an elegant Art Deco style watch bottle. As the ebay seller had only photographed the box and not the bottle, it became mine for a fortunate price.

As the days passed since the auction, I waited with torturous impatience for it to land in my hands. I was curious to test it, fearful of it’s potentially stale juice, yet desperately hopeful to be overwhelmed by leather, civet and sandalwood from a time when they might be profuse. Daft really as I’m old enough for the bottle of Shalimar I bought in my late teens to be considered vintage!

Upon it’s arrival I sat staring at the package on the floor for some time. I wanted to delay it’s unveiling with a sense of ceremony, so I reached for my camera to document the grand opening..

I love the screw box, so incongruous!

The first glimpse of 80s Glamour

A peak of the metallic minaret, I emit a gasp as I clock the perfect untampered seal..

.. and at sigh at the beauty of this Art Deco wonder

 I sit and stare for some time before daring to break the seal.

So what does it smell like? Well, unsurprisingly it smells like Shalimar. However, there is an extraordinary opening that projects mighty lemon and bergamot notes. Not sharp, but copiously bright and euphoric. I adore citrus, and this bottle gives it to me underpinned with the depth that you’d expect from Shalimar’s army of pungent smoky balsamic notes. I’ve never thought of Shalimar with the same adoration as I allot to Mitsouko. Mitsouko is supernaturally beautiful, while Shalimar is a bit gaudy and wanton.

This EDC bottle however, provides a Shalimar ‘for me’, in that a lot of the vanillin is missing and is replaced by a stronger slap of the leathery/musky/animalic dirtiness, less sweet – more erotic. I think I smell the sandalwood as much as the iris because the powdery quality of Shalimar, whilst still there, seems tempered and creamier. The smokiness is unexpected in a cologne (more wood smoke than incense) and it adds a magnificent androgynous depth to the otherwise uber femme concoction. I really need to smell a current EDC to see exactly how different (if at all) the 80s version is to it’s contemporary daughter.

Is this how it will be for me now? A fixation with comparing formulations over the years? A beef with IFRA for restricting beloved ingredients? A search for sealed bottles at lofty prices? I’m going to try not to get too involved, there are enough perfumery playthings in the world to satisfy me for now.

I’m giving away a small sample of my delightful Shalimar EDC to one lucky reader. To enter the draw, simply leave a comment below. Sorry, but due to postal regulations it’s only available to readers in the UK.

To end this article, I’ll refer you to a wonderful post from Club Fragrantica by perfume enthusiast – Jacster, writing of the lure of vintage:

“You'll be amazed to find that your spending priorities will undergo a gradual change. What was - perhaps just a few months ago - an indulgent and irrational purchase will begin to assume the status of an essential purchase.

You may find that you'll endure the shame of wearing old clothes and down-at-heel shoes as long as you can accompany them with a generous splash of vintage Mitsouko parfum, applied of course from a bottle you unsealed yourself.

Living in a candle-lit and wood-fired home so that you can save on power bills and thus wear Dior-Dior will become second nature. An added advantage of this is that you'll look totally gorgeous and line-free when you catch a glimpse of your faintly illuminated self in a mirror.

Watery home-made soup will taste so delicious when you're wearing your original No. 19.

And truly - who needs a car when you can walk in your Vent Vert?

Oscar Wilde was spot-on!”

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3 Guest Writers - stories and poems inspired by scent

I am lucky to know a talented circle of women writers based in Lancaster who met whilst studying. After completing a Creative Writing A Level, they agreed to convene regularly to continue to set each other creative briefs and critique their resulting work. Some years later they remain supportive friends and passionate writers. 

I asked them to consider scent, either in the nature of perfume or indeed the act of smelling itself. Here are their responses:

Perfume

by Jean Lindsay (a factual memoir)

 She had this buttercup yellow dress – my mum. I watched her sewing it on the treadle machine that stood in the hallway and thought it was the loveliest dress I’d ever seen. It was made of figured taffeta, and had a skirt that spun out into a perfect circle with a sweetheart neckline and little cap sleeves. I suppose it would be the height of fashion in post war Britain of the early 50s. She was a single mum, and in those days it wasn’t a fashionable thing to be, unless of course your dad had been a missing soldier - and mine hadn’t. I know for certain that money was tight, but she loved dancing, and whenever she could, she went to the local dance hall on a Saturday night with her friend, Alice, and I stayed with my granny who I loved dearly.

            But before she went out, I loved watching her go through the ritual of getting ready. The careful make up - so much more basic than nowadays: powder, a little spot of rouge on her cheeks and the red lipstick – always red – and the combing of her flame red curls into little fat sausages. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and I thought she looked beautiful.

            The highlight of this lengthy preparation however, was the moment when the dark blue, glass bottle ofEvening in Paris was taken out of her dressing table drawer. I would hold my breath as she dabbed a little of the precious elixir behind each ear. Then, heaven of heavens, she would dab some behind my ears as well, and we would both breathe in deeply and sigh at the exquisite scent. Once ready, she would give me a hug, tell me to be good and we would walk hand in hand to Granny’s house.

            All my life, just like my mother did, I’ve loved this ritual of sitting at my dressing table getting ready for an evening out, and of course the last thing I do is apply my perfume. I can’t imagine that I would feel properly dressed without that finishing touch.

             Mum wasn’t the only one to enjoy her night out, granny and I used to enjoy ours too. We would watch television on her tiny black and white screen in the centre of a great big wooden cabinet – we didn’t have a television at home, and granny would put a pinch of snuff on the back of my hand. I would sniff it gingerly and sneeze and splutter. I don’t think I ever told my mum though. Then she’d have a milk stout and I’ve have some cream soda. The odd thing is that although I can’t remember the smell of Evening in Paris I can distinctly remember the smell of the snuff. It was a menthol, eucalyptus, camphor sort of a smell and to this day I love anything that smells similar. I’m in my element when I have a cold because I can rub Vic on my chest, and steam under a towel with boiling water and Olbas oil.

            As for my own perfume tastes, I am addicted to Clinique Aromatics Elixir and have been faithful to it for thirty years. I try new perfumes but can’t fall in love with another scent. I just dread the day that Clinique decides to discontinue it. I’m not familiar with the ingredients of Aromatics Elixir but wonder if there are any notes in it that subconsciously transport me back to my childhood and Evening in Paris or more likely granny’s snuff.

The smell of love

by Eve Edmonds

Soft and crumpled sheets on an unmade made
The pillows lying on the ground
The duvet rumpled on the floor
A locked door!

A room now silent at the dawn of day
But for the chorus of the birds
That twitter in the trees
Where no one sees

The curtains drawn, the day awakes
with myriad insects in the air
The light announces that it's day
Or so they say!

The taste of love is on the sheets
And on the bedclothes too
The juice of love is on the bed
And in the head

The smell of love is in the air
The smell of sweat and scent
I wonder why it lingers on
When you are gone...

Smells like Deceit

 by Dee Daglish

After working all day on the perfume counter, her senses were almost overloaded with the onslaught of musky, flowery and spicy scents, but as she opened her front door and stepped into the hall, she couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable scent of ‘Poison’.  She thought she’d caught the occasional heady aroma of it in the house for the past few weeks now, but had always put it down to it being a remnant from work.

‘Hi,’ she called out to her husband.  She walked into the kitchen just as he was switching on the washing machine.

         ‘Oh, hi love.  Have you had a good day?’ he asked, kissing her cheek. 

         The scent of perfume was so strong.  She felt a wave of anger and fear rush through her body as she noticed his lips, redder than usual, with what looked like the remains of lipstick embedded in the crease of his lower lip.  She stared at him, unable to even speak.

         ‘What up?’ he asked, the smile disappearing from his face.

         ‘Has someone been here?’ she asked, clenching her fists until her knuckles turned white.  ‘You reek of perfume, and you’re covered in lipstick!’ she shouted, pushing him away from her. 

         He hung his head for a moment, then looked up, sighing deeply.  ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said, taking hold of her hands.

         ‘Don’t give me that!’ she snapped, ‘Just tell me the truth.’

         He led her by the hand, across the kitchen towards the cellar door.

         ‘Let me show you,’ he said, switching on the light and leading her down the steps towards the corner of the cellar.  He reached under his work bench and pulled out an old suitcase.  He unlocked it and lifted the lid. 

         ‘I meant to tell you, but there never seemed like a good time,’ he said, lifting out a selection of women’s clothes, shoes and a transparent holdall filled with makeup and bottles of perfume.

         ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, staring at the pile of clothes on the workbench.

         He held up one of the dresses.  It was massive.  Big enough to fit – well, a large man.

         ‘It’s mine.  They’re all mine,’ he said.

         She stared at the dresses, shoes and makeup then looked back at her husband and began to laugh.

         ‘Oh my God, I’m so relieved’, she said, hugging him tightly.

         ‘So it’s ok then, you’re not going to leave me or anything?’ he said, hugging her back.

         ‘Well, it’s a bit of a shock, but better than you having an affair.’  They kissed - the scent of his perfume strong in the confines of the musty cellar.

         Later, as she prepared dinner, he popped out to the shops to buy a bottle of wine to mark the occasion.  On his way there he made a call on his mobile, listening for a few moments before speaking.

           ‘You’d better delete this voice mail after you’ve listened to it, but just wanted to tell you that, well, she fell for it, just like you said she would,’ he laughed.  ‘And you were right, you don’t have to worry any more about your perfume when you come round, or about leaving lipstick marks,’ he laughed again.  ‘So see you next week, same time, same place.  Love you.’  He walked into the shop, assuaging his sense of guilt by buying a box of chocolates and a cheap bunch of flowers for his sweet, yet gullible wife.

         She stood in the kitchen and quickly prepared a salad to go with the leftover chicken from yesterday’s dinner.  Her mind raced with the events of the past half hour.  How could he have kept something like that hidden from her for all these years?  It seemed a bit strange.  She felt the same wave of fear and anger rush over her again.  He was seeing someone else, she just knew it.  Maybe she’d finish work early next week, she thought, forcing a smile as she heard his key in the lock.  As he entered the kitchen, bearing a guilty man’s gifts, her smile almost slipped as the smell of another woman’s perfume overpowered her once more.