Smellies and the strangest perfumier in the world

[smokingboot]

Even as a toddler I had a keen sense of smell. My mother used to tell me off about it. '[Boot]' she confided to me many years later, 'You would lift your nose to the air and sniff just like a little dog. It had to be stopped.' Her way of stopping me was to train my olfactory enthusiasm in the niffing of perfume. Her perfume supplies were elegant and very expensive. For her, cheap perfume was a hideous anomaly; if it hadn't cost half a year's salary it probably wasn't proper perfume. Arpege de Lanvin, Jean Patou's Joy, Must by Cartier...these were her standbys. My father brought back some stuff called 'Prophesy' from Saudi Arabia. The bottle was beautiful, but the scent ended up being ignominiously poured down the loo. A hardworking woman all her life, my mother was only a diva when it came to perfume, but in her divahood, as in all things, she earned a pedestal all her own.

I remember her allowing me to wear a couple of drops of Arpege once, and a boy at the school following me round saying, 'You smell like a real girl.' I was puzzled as, in my experience, real girls smelt of gum, but years later he confessed he was experiencing his first 'proper erection,' because of the smell. Powerful stuff. I never had the heart to tell him his boner was born of whale vomit; for some revelations there's never a good time.

Years later, I still love perfume. I am careful about what I buy but I'll test anything, and if I like it, find out about the company's status regarding animal welfare. If they're on my list of good guys then all bets are off. I am well capable of filling our house with smellies no-one but me can abide. Now, disaster has struck. I liked Thierry Mugler's 'Angel' because I enjoy smelling of vanilla, caramel and chocolate, with a bit of patchouli thrown in, yum! I was the first to wear it at the studio two years ago. Now, everyone wears it, worse, the Babes all wear it. To explain the Babes; on the upper floors of the building where I work, interactive shows are aired where girls in bikinis pout into cameras and pant down phones. Each to their own, still I prefer to avoid anything quite as evocative of lips and nips. So no more Angel, boo! And I've been using Versace Crystal Noir all last year. Now where do I find a new signature scent?

It was in the search for an answer that I found myself facing the strangest perfumes in the world; the creations of Serge Lutens.

Take for example, 'Louve' a French word meaning she-wolf. This lupercal seductress moves beyond the midnight turrets of Lutenalia to the nurseries of Roman legend, her white fur glinting against the snow and moonlight. Bitter almonds, sweet almonds, cherries...it's like being hunted by a Marzipan werewolf. She won't even have to rip me apart with her claws; the reek of cold bakewell tart will shoot itself up my nose and tear into my brain like a silver bullet, only mercilessly slower. Ow.

Then there's Serge Noire. Oh my. This is a unisex perfume apparently. When the master of Castle Gothica has risen from the crypt, fed the vampires, and rendered his eldest copy of the Black Mass from the Necronomicon into Latin, he goes to the old club where he sits in his favourite leather armchair, (I think it's leather. At least it's stopped trying to tell me things) drinking the deepest red and waiting for me to arrive. When I do he'll give me the best advice in the world, especially if it's about corrupting cardinals or sewing cadavers together to create life. Really heavy incense, cloves, camphor and other reeks from the pit, this has got to be Satan's own scent. I can't wear this, they'll put me in management. I look forward to meeting the human this smells good on. 'Oh,' said the assistant, 'I love it.' Well yes, believe it or not, so do I. But have you noticed how empty the perfume counter is? Not usual for Harrods.

There are others, including Borneo 1834, ever so spicy with a gorgeous patchouli base that might be great for larians, and Douce Amere which smells like rice pudding with a little bit of absinthe, and dries down to smell just like barbie and cindy dolls did when they came straight out of the wrapping, especially their hair, kind of...latex-ish? I am not selling it very well. It is a bit milky but very lady-like with an underlying scent that's like gardenia but not old fashioned. I could wear it to meet my mother. Until my boyfriend gives it a whiff, I won't know if it's sexy.

I'll list my favourites in other posts so I don't forget. Right now, I can't work out if Serge Lutens is brilliant,horrible, or just a hype-god. Maybe I should listen to the advice of my nose. 'Run!' It says, 'Just run!'

Comments

[blackcurrants.livejournal.com]

I love the idea of 1000 Kisses Deep, but haven't smelled it. Oh! And Jasmine and Mint! yes, it's delightful. I tend to like floral things, or Boy's things. Which is why, I think, I love Vetyver so much. I got a 'fragrance combining coffret' on my last BA flight over here (transatlantic living is a terrible encouragement to buy lovely scent) which has 8 little bottles of Jo Malone gorgeousness, so it means I am wearing some things (like Grapefruit) that I wouldn't have bought, but nontheless enjoy.
Aaah, I could chat to you about lovely fragrances all day! What a glorious post this is! :)

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

Oh, there will be more pongposts to follow I assure you. After our conversation, I raided my old jacket pockets to find a teeny sampler of BPAL stuff given to me by ravenrigan and spilt it all over myself. I now smell of a light but pungent incense courtesy of Hand of Glory!

One of the reasons I love flying is the power of duty-free!

A 'fragrance combining coffet'? Nothing like that on the flights I've been on, with 4 choices of paint stripper and a sandwich desolate enough to make British Rail look gourmet.