Nothing is more evocative of time and place than scent. And
you need to carefully consider the right one for your skin
Scent of a woman … but which is yours?
You know when there is a "something" that hovers
just out of reach and you can't quite put your finger on it?
While I was watching The Joy of the Single (a documentary about 45rpm records, not marital status), there was a snippet, a mere 10 seconds, of a young and svelte Roy Wood, shimmering in blue sequins, warbling Blackberry Way, and something stirred. I had a vivid recollection of my beloved sequinned Biba tank top, but that wasn't it. It was something more … sensory. A smell. It took me a whole 24 hours to finally nail it: the scent of the Biba tank top when I put it on.
While I was watching The Joy of the Single (a documentary about 45rpm records, not marital status), there was a snippet, a mere 10 seconds, of a young and svelte Roy Wood, shimmering in blue sequins, warbling Blackberry Way, and something stirred. I had a vivid recollection of my beloved sequinned Biba tank top, but that wasn't it. It was something more … sensory. A smell. It took me a whole 24 hours to finally nail it: the scent of the Biba tank top when I put it on.
I was remembering the scent of Aquamanda. You must remember
Aquamanda? We used to marinade ourselves in it during the early 70s. Everything
I owned was saturated with the scent of orange blossom. How odd that I should
remember a smell without actually smelling it. Then again, is there anything
more evocative of time and place than a perfume? I bet Daisy Buchanan wasn't so
much moved to tears by the sight of Gatsby's "beautiful shirts" as by
the memories stirred by the scent of them – and him.
Since the 70s I've worked my way from Revlon's Charlie to
YSL Rive Gauche by way of Chanel Allure and a brief infatuation with Armani
Acqua di Gioia – and thence to Chanel No 5 – which my daughters still call
"Mummy Smell". I can't honestly recall it, but I know my own mum
favoured Worth's Je Reviens. My nan sprayed everything (and everybody) with
lavender water or 4711 eau de cologne. I've learned that although I adore the
scent of roses I cannot abide tuberose and that, for some reason, Nina Ricci's
L'Air du Temps brings me out in spots. I'm not fickle with my perfumes – it
turns out that I am one of those people who remains loyal to a handful of
favourites and in my case those are currently Chanel No 5, Acqua di Parma and
Escentric Molecule 01. The first is a classic, the sharp bergamot tang of the
second reminds me of a lost love and the third is a welcome confidence boost,
which I should explain: Escentric Molecule 01 contains pheromones and, as my
own pheromones are retiring due to middle age, some additional and more lively
ones are very welcome. Pheromones are supposed to make people like you more and
therefore be nicer to you. It's probably all nonsense and any effect may be
entirely imagined, but I don't care – it's the one I'm always asked about when
I wear it and I love it.
Scent is a very personal thing and I think we don't always
give enough attention to the business of choosing and buying one. The selling
of designer fragrances is a massively profitable business, worth an estimated
£10.5bn worldwide and with an equally hefty advertising budget to go with it.
We may aspire to dress from head to toe in Balenciaga but the bit of Balenciaga
we can actually afford is Florabotanica Eau de Parfum, as advertised by Kristen
Stewart. Every time we run the gauntlet of a perfume hall – strategically
positioned so there's no way round it – we emerge from the other side liberally
paintballed in a multiplicity of confusing whiffs, unless we are very firm
about saying no. This is not the way to buy a new fragrance. Everything smells
subtly different on each individual and it takes time to develop as it sits on
your skin and warms up. Very occasionally it warms up and smells like the
ginger tom next door, so getting a little spritz on your wrist and walking
around with it for an hour or so will tell you whether it's really for you.
I wish I could say that my mum taught me this but she died
as I grew out of my teens so I missed out on a good deal of what mothers and
daughters do together. As time passes and memories fade, I find I can remember
the rustle of her skirts and the tap tap of her high heels on linoleum but I
cannot, for the life of me, remember the scent of her.
Δεν υπάρχουν σχόλια:
Δημοσίευση σχολίου