Scentzilla!

Thanks to a nice Christmas gift, I had a gift certificate for Sephora. Unable to resist their online clearance (Odeur 53 for only twenty bucks? Whee!) I rounded out the order with two other fragrance selections.

Gendarme recently lauched their “7 Sinful Scents” line. I appreciate that all art extrapolates elements from other works in order to create something new. However, this strikes me more at mimicry than an honest expression of received inspiration, which is what I was (despite all odds) hoping for. Please compare Gendarme’s byline below and this “7 Sinful Scents” concept to S-Perfume’s aesthete and Sacre Nobi’s Seven Deadly Sins installation. I really wish I had put more thought into my purchase, frankly, and am mostly feeling peeved with myself for my undue optimism.

Here’s the blurb for the house from Sephora:

Gendarme founder Topper Schroeder wanted to design a cologne that would not irritate his sensitive skin. Humble beginnings for a fragrance dynasty….

Rather than relying on expensive packaging and huge celebrity campaigns, Gendarme concentrates on making magic inside each bottle, allowing the fragrance to speak for itself. Each long-lasting scent is carefully formulated with a high percentage of oil, ensuring a classic profile and distinctive character.

There are, like, at least five things wrong with that entire spiel. Dynasty? Rather than relying on expensive packaging? The packaging would benefit from being a little more expensive - one of the atomizers I had was leaking, and the other seems like it could break if I spray even slightly too hard. Magic, classic, distinctive? Bah. Humbug.

These two “sinful” scents have caused me to consider creating my own graded ratings system. It’s highly idiosyncratic, I suppose, and I’m a little nervous about it. But oh well. I had more fun thinking it up than I probably should’ve.

Moving from best to worst, today I’ll be using the following scale:

+petite mort
+ inhaling the air God breathes
+ “… unicorns are kick-ass!”
+ instead of paying attention in math class, I’ve written I ♥ “(insert name of perfume here)” over and over on my PeeChee folders
+ birthday cake
+ Tom Selleck and his super fantastic pornstache
+ everything’s just ducky
+ Jackie-O
+/- Jackie-O Motherfucker
+/- Burt Reynolds and his moustache
+/- baby eating, (a modest proposal that’s frankly great, but I’m betting is terrible in practice)
+/- Hasselhoff (yes, baby eating ranks above David Hasselhoff)
+/- Buck Nekkid
+/- Hang in there kitty posters
- that’s hot
- “cupcake accord”
- dude, whatever
- Have you hugged a desiccated mummy today?
- Get thee behind me, Satan!
- Tetsuo
- Carrot Top

Also an honorary category,
?/! Full Octave: so bad it completes a full octave of awfulness, thus circling back around to awesome. For examples, please see this video by one Dennis Madalone or Aquolina’s Pink Sugar.

The first one I test drove was Excess. I… don’t even want to write a full bodied opinion. I don’t think it requires one.

Here’s someone who rocks. Here’s a poseur.
Here’s Angel. Here’s a poseur.

Rating? “Dude, whatever.”

The second one I got was Greed. It started out with an acrid blast, then quickly moved into a slightly interesting mix of lime and extinguished wooden matches. This melted into Diet Climat. Yet the drydown ended up being weirdly like linden blossom (what the hell?) I think it’s a fairly good buy for $10 for a 1/3 oz, especially in light of the fact that a similarly sized bottle of Shania Twain’s fragrance would set you back the same amount. I guess what I’m saying is that it’s perfectly nice for the price, and might find a happy spot in more than a few people’s collection.

Rating? “Jackie-O Motherfucker”

I won’t be trying any more fragrances from this line, frankly, and I’m secretly glad the Excess leaked so I can send it back to Sephora for a refund with a clean conscience.

Oh, let’s end this on an up note. Anyone care to share their own goofy rating system?

Apothia Velvet Rope is the creative collaboration between perfumer Rayda Vega (thanks Robin!) and Gary McNatton, who says he drew inspiration for the scent thusly:

“I was sitting in a hotel in London having a vanilla martini. And looking at the icy glass, there was this brown speckled oil on top, which was the vanilla seeds. Then I smelled and tasted it, and it was wonderful.”

Velvet Rope is like a montage of all sorts of random aromas from a very classy bar. Dress up, head out to the swanky nightclub for a night of tasteful indulgence and intelligent conversation. It is not the smell of a sweaty danceclub crowded with people cresting on alcohol binges. Cocktails are poured into elegant barware, and the cigarette girl walks by holding her tray of wares.

The top layer of the fragrance is served with a twist of citrus. Grapefruit zest decorates the vanilla concoction in a nodding homage to Shalimar. As the citrus evaporates, the vanilla comes on stronger, while pushing foward a tumbler of gin and tonic. The gin note is smooth, delicate like Bombay Sapphire. Just as I start to think this is all that’s there, I begin to perceive a really enjoyable black peppery note. On me the black peppery note too quickly turns into what seems like a cigarette butt. But on my sister, the black peppery softens into an indistinct tobacco that is lovely on her. It wears as dark and a little smokey without being too strong. I really wish I wore it like she does.

On a seperate and (yet another) boozy note: My favorite gin is that made by the Bend Distillery. Now granted, I can be accused of heavy local bias, but their Cascade Mountain Gin is a real treasue. It is the gin equivalent of one of Jean Claude Ellena’s perfumes, stripped of unnecessary elements, and beautiful in its refined simplicity. The clarity of juniper in it is unparalleled by any other gin I’ve tried. If you spot a bottle of it at your own liquor store, or at your favorite bar, don’t just pass it by.

Very Irresistible for Men was introduced last year, and in my opinion was one of the more interesting commercial men’s scents of the year. The marketing put me off a bit, since frankly I’m weary of getting sold on Liv Tyler and her wide-brimmed millinery. But pretty face and floppy hat aside, the men’s version of Very Irresistible is much more interesting than the commercials would lead you to believe. And a bit smarter than the name implies. (Listen, Givenchy, either it’s irresistible or it’s not. “Very” is useless because it’s redundant. But I digress.)

The initial ten minutes shine brightly with overtones of citrus zest. The citrus tapers off to reveal a delightfully warm but bitter chocolate. Givenchy describes it as “sesame-mocha sensuality,” but you know, I don’t smell nuttiness or coffee - just a slight toasted darkness. What it really reminds me of is the way some porter beers reveal their chocolate elements as roast-y yet still sweet. Mint is layed across the chocolate like a finishing touch of garnish. It makes for a herbal addition rather than one like chewing gum, sprinkling green tones across the brown-black. Buried deep at the base of Very Irresistible is a piquant cedar that implies freshly chopped green bell peppers. The cedar seems very much like a note used in Givenchy’s Xeryus Rouge. I’m not complaining - I like Xeryus Rouge very much, and that slight sharp bottom nicely compliments the cuddly gourmand middle of Very Irresistible. This fragrance is not a perfect piece of art, but it is a delightful fragrance to wear. Not everything has to be art - sometimes it just has to smell good, and this one passes my “smells good” test.

It’d make a great gift for Valentine’s Day for the special men in your life. Don’t forget, boys need chocolate, too, you know.

And since I’m on the subject of chocolate, I’d also recommend the awesome truffles from Euphoria Chocolate. My faves are the Amaretto Truffles, while my husband is taken with their Cabernet Wine Truffles.

And for no reason other than this chocolate theme (and the fact that I’ve been looking for an excuse to share this) here’s one of the more amusing celebrity endorsements I’ve seen. This old commercial is for Lanvin Chocolate:

Press the arrow to play. You must have flash software enabled on your computer.

As a joint venture with Chanel, Frederic Fekkai launched two fragrances in 1997. The scent in question today, Bouquet de Provence, and Eau de Jour, are both credited to Jacques Polge (via Now Smell This.)

Notes in Bouquet de Provence include:

peach, cassis, lemon, rose, oakmoss, and cypress

I would classify it as a fruity chypre scent.

It opens up with a strong blast of what I am going to call “just got back from the hair salon” note, which leads me to wonder if this fragrance was developed to compliment (rather than clash with) Fekkai’s heavily scented hair products.

I am not sure what’s the deal with the name of the scent… I don’t really think “fruit salad” when I think “Provence,” but then, I am not intimately familiar with the gastronomical habits of the area’s denizens.

However, there sure is a rose in it. But some funky thing happens to me with the other notes. You see, on my skin, they all somehow add up to “banana peel.” If I think about it I can perceive them as peachy and mossy. But really, when I don’t intellectualize it, it’s a rose on a banana peel. It’s unusual, and rather flummoxing. I have no idea if I like it, dislike it, or am “meh” on it. What do I do with a scent with appeal a peel?

Perfume possesses the power to invoke all sorts of emotions, and Bouquet de Provence induces a loopy mood in me. Usually I post images to accompany my words, but today, there can only be one thing to properly convey what I feel when I wear this scent. A song…

It’s been stuck in my head for two days now, and I’m hoping the earworm works like the flu does: once you pass it on to someone else you can finally get better.

I’m posting this today instead of tomorrow because it’s my birthday, and if all goes well, I’ll have an awesome hangover in the morning.

Enjoy the earworm!

Both Fekkai scents are discontiued, but occasionally one can spot them up for grabs on eBay.

Song entitled “Bananaphone,” by Raffi, off his album of the same name. It can be purchased through Djangos and Music Millenium.

First, I’d like to thank Barry (a prince among men, heh) for sharing this fragrance with me. It’s nigh on impossible to find in the States, and not easy to come by elsewhere either. Czech & Speake no longer list this as part of their regular line up, for example, but as a “new” offering. The scarcity of it is allegedly due to production problems, which in turn means supply problems. Scuttlebutt has it that Czech & Speake will begin producing Dark Rose again sometime early this year, but sadly, I recall hearing the same things last year, so who knows what will become of it?

Dark Rose begins with a lonely chill: a solitary walk down an empty corridor that’s filled only with the sound of your own footfalls. Near-frozen reedy notes cast long winter shadows, and give no clues as to what will follow. I hope this won’t be off-putting to anyone, but that opening blast reminds me of strolling through the market and smelling the fresh fish on ice. It’s cold, and weirdly iron-rich like the taste of blood.

Slowly the eponymous “rose” asserts itself, but not without its saffron companion. The two are intertwined here, and form the fragrance’s core character. In certain respects, they do lend Dark Rose a resemblence to Agent Provocateur, but where Agent Provocateur is headstrong and marked by wild, nearly maniacal sillage, Dark Rose behaves with reserve and austerity. I would go so far as to refer to it as a stoic rose, for while it is full of its own life, it seems comparatively passionless compared to other rose fragrances. This is not a criticism.

Notes of sandalwood, arid resin, and a resolutely transparent amber fill out the rest of the composition. Intonations of tightly stretched leather seems to be implied throughout the body of this scent, though I am unsure if this is an actual note.

This fragrance feels compressed, like a ball of prepared masa harina rolled flat into a tortilla. Again, in this case it is not cause for criticism. It adds to Dark Rose’s austere air. Plus, I must point out it’s much easier to wrap a tortilla around things than with a big ball of dough. And so it goes with this cologne, which wraps around my skin with an ease that not all rose scents possess. I’d specifically suggest Dark Rose as an option for folks who might think that they can’t “do” roses.

The stoicism with the cologne makes it ideally suited for men. Not to discourage women from seeking it out, of course, but I think I’d be drawn helplessly to any man who wore it. If I were to pick any scent from this line for men, it would be this one, which was I feel incorectly designated as a female scent by Czech & Speake (if I recall correctly, that is.) It is not my favorite, that one being No. 88, but thus far I have been very pleased with all four scents I’ve tried from their house.

Top image entitled “Stoic,” by Patick St. Germain, from art.com. Second image is from a series of strobe photos taken of a bullet shot through roses dipped in liquid nitrogen - the credits, and information about the photos can be read at http://web.mit.edu/luminea/Public/strobe-lab/about.html. It’s neat, and I totally recommend looking at the playing card photos, too.

The Maître Parfumeur et Gantier line is the brainchild of Jean Francois Laporte, who also founded the popular L’Artisan house. According to Basenotes (link at right sidebar), his Rose Opulente was released in 1988.

On a whim yesterday I reached for a sample vial that had been passed along my way. Normally I like to ponder over a scent before I feel like writing about it, but it charmed me straight away.

Rose Opulente opens with a tart edge. The tartness initially had me worried, as sometimes tart turns to outright sour on me, but it thankfully never turned. Rose and jasmine unfold slowly in an almost cold and medicinal start. However, the scent warms on me, transmuting as the tart edge evaporates. Grass grows inbetween the cracks of the rose and jasmine notes in a perfect balancing act; It never overwhelms, but delicately adds complexity to an otherwise fully floral bouquet. At the very base of Rose Opulente lies sandalwood, and the smallest touch of what I perceive as a slightly spicy amber.

Rose Opulente is not quite as opulent as other rose perfumes I’ve tried, nor is it an overly unique composition, but I’d still single it out as particularly lovely and well done. Its fragrance is like what I always want a vase filled with lush roses from the florist to smell like, but of course they never do.

Samples of the Maitre Parfumeur are available through a ton of places. They can be purchased in a pack of your own selection for a nominal fee through Aedes de Venustas, Beautyhabit, and Luscious Cargo. Aditionally, eBay seller Aesthetic 11 also sells carded samples individually, including Rose Opulente. Samples of the line can also be found through First-in-Fragrance.

Iris Gris* was released in 1946/47, and per Bois de Jasmin is credited to Vincent Roubert. Roubert also created Green Water for Jacques Fath. (Additionally, he’s credited on work with and/or for Francois Coty, such as A Suma, L’Aimant, L’Or, and Vertige.)
I’m not sure which perfumer is responsible for another Fath fragrance from the era, called Canasta, but I have to wonder if he didn’t have something to do with it as well - there’s something in the feel of Iris Gris that reminds me of Canasta. (Some sort of fruit up against a wall kind of thing. Sweet but not light.)

I believe my poor little parfum of Iris Gris has likely lost most of its top notes, so do take that into account when reading this, please.

Iris Gris exercises strange contrasts. The cool dusk-steaked earthiness of orris washes over me just as I get accostomed to Iris Gris’ warm orangey fruitiness. I can’t help but notice a note that I characterize as the smell of my father’s grapevines after he’s finished harvesting. Walking by his vines you smell an abundance of green leaves hanging off the dry woody vines, with just a few half mutilated grapes left for the birds to peck at and consume.
It is a crisp note, whereas the rest of the perfume comes in slow curving waves. Hard and rather dark woods exist as shadows under surprisingly soft folds of what smells animalic (civet, musk?), lending Iris Gris a pleated texture. I sniff something that smells almost caramelized in the mix, too. What sticks at the very end to my skin is like the smell of scotch cross-breeded with the taste of a dessert wine. Rather unusual, I think.

I am piqued by a small detail of information on the bottom of the box. It lists it as “No. 22;” My box of Fath de Fath lists it as “No. 58.” I can only wonder at all the numbers in between, and what they must have been like! On the back a line of text informs me “Box Made in France,” which makes me giggle. Guess it must have been pretty important for folks back then - gotta know if that box is domestic or import, heh.

Alas, I have yet to find any old print ads for Iris Gris - there must have been some, but they appear to be as hard to find as Iris Gris itself. I like looking at older perfume ads in general, however I’d especially enjoy seeing the visual depictions Fath chose for this scent.

Jacques Fath was quite a character, who loved hobnobbing with Hollywood stars and attending dinners and wild parties with those famous faces of the movie-making city. Yet his designs seem characterized with a certain restraint. They all seem so wearable, and it is not hard to picture yourself in any of his outfits. Even the more wild ones seem doable. I suspect this quality earned him a fair share of scorn back in the day from his contemporaries, but it is what I admire most about them.

They are beautiful creations that are actually meant to be worn, rather than simply admired. Oh, and his suits! They are pehaps the best thing he made, and I cannot help but prefer them to, say, the slightly more foofy suits that Dior was making around the same period. Fath’s smart form-fitting suits credit the woman who wears them for having sensibility and intelligence. This is not to say others’ from the era aren’t also lovely, of course, but I don’t find them quite as appealing.

One fun find from the era (I love you Internet!) is a brief promotional film from Amsterdam about Fath clothing from 1955. I don’t understand a word of the Dutch language, but I do enjoy seeing the models move about in his clothes. If you have Real Player installed on your computer, you may click here to watch, or please go to this site and scroll down the right hand sidebar to choose the Windows Media Player format. The same site also has promo films from other designers you might enjoy as well, so take a gander if interesed.

I find it a shock that there is but one book available about his designs in English, and no biographical works. Out of all the countries he sold clothing in, it was the English speaking United States where he found the most success. Someone needs to write this book. Uh, not me, though, heh. I would, but I have neither the training nor the resources, obviously. The book covering his designs is rare, and I’ve yet to stumble across a copy even in Portland, which a city that takes books seriously.

If you wish to read a little about him, click here for a short bio and details of his work on the movie The Red Shoes, or click here for another brief bio.

*According to Nigel Groom in his book, The New Perfume Handbook (2nd ed. 1997), Iris Gris was not Fath’s first forray into perfume. He cites one called Chasuble from 1945. If anyone reading this has seen or smelled Chasuble, or has inklings of what it might be like, please share. I would appreciate it so much! Also, he writes 1946 as the year of release for Iris Gris, yet other citations I’ve seen list 1947. I’m not sure which is correct.

Images: Top, still from 1948, source forgotten as I’ve had it on my computer forever (sorry!), and the second entitled Duet by Sherry Casper from Beppu Gallery. Third image is of a proof released to the Associated Press in 1950 announcing Fath’s as an “exponent” of “The Puritan Look,” and fourth is of Tiger Lily from Disney’s Peter Pan. Fifth image is a still from a 1955 campaign Cadillac ran utilizing the stylish image in the States of Jacques Fath’s house, and sixth image is called Tiger Lily Bud by Laura Ingraham from postershop.com. Seventh image is a photo by Herve Bruhat contracted for in 1992 to celebrate the Jacques Fath house from hervebruhat.com, and eighth is a photo by Jerry Uelsmann, title unknown, and source forgotton because I unfortunately have also had it on my computer for forever.

Amarige arguably consititutes a modern classic. She is a big-boned mama: redolent of body, and full grown in spirit. She is not discreet, yet she is not brash. She walks into a room, and announces her entry by virtue of her presence alone. This sort of character can instantly earn either enmity or admiration without intending to do so.

The scent of Amarige whomps you over the head with a frying pan of gardenia. To put it less colorfully, it is heady and rich. Plonked down with the gardenia are notes of creamy, rubbery tuberose, sweet fruits and sweet woods. The wee-est touch of spiciness rises up on me through midwear, but it lasts only briefly. (The spiciness smells a little like this braided bread plyed with generous cardamom that my mother-in-law loves to bake at Christmas time.) I often feel overshadowed by this fragrance when I try to wear it. Consequently, I now keep a mini of it on hand, but never a full sized bottle. I appreciate it without being able to use it, I guess.

At the tail end of 2005, Givenchy released Amarige Harvest Collection, a limited edition vintage fragrance focused on a specific mimosa harvest from Grasse. If you haven’t yet had a go at Chandler Burr’s NY Times article about the trend of vintages in perfumes, here ya go. Or you can simply read the September 16th release from Women’s Wear Daily about Givenchy’s Harvest Collection as transcribed by a member of the Basenotes community.

As stated in the Times article and WWD, mimosa is indeed pumped up in the Harvest version. However, what I find most notable is Amarige Harvest’s steady heartbeat of neroli, giving a fresh burst of life into a perfume that is 25 years old. The mimosa floats into the air like gossamer caught in a delicate jasmine breeze. The sillage is unbelievably lovely.

However, at no time is the essential character of Amarige lost in the Harvest, and it could not ever be mistaken for anything but Amarige, even with the alterations. The subject is the same, though the portrait differs. But in Harvest the gardenia seems more tamed, pushed back a bit, allowing for more light to shine on the other notes. Funnily enough, taming gardenia seems to do wonders for the tuberose. Especially on the dry down. It’s rendered more palpable and less tangental than in regular Amarige.

The skinny here is, if you already know and love Amarige, and have been pondering whether to get a bottle, I would choose the Harvest Collection. The price difference is all of ten dollars, and worth it. If you already know and despise Amarige, the Harvest Collection version has nil to offer you: you’ll continue to despise it.

I don’t think this newish trend of releasing “vintage” blends is an inherently bad idea. What I fear will happen, though, is that it’ll become a sales crutch. Despite the proclamation this effort is to steer away from the cosmetic industry’s use of “stories” to sell its wares, the flat fact is that limited edition vintages employ every bit of gimmickry the stupid stories do. In Givenchy’s case, this will at least spare me (albeit briefly) from being sold first on Liv Tyler’s face, and then on the perfume. That? Is good by me. Most regrettable about this gimmick mimicking wine/champagne makers is the fact that many times the NV (Non-Vintage) selections from wineries can be happier finds than those with a distinct year of vintage broadly listed across the label.

Images: First is L’Arlésienne by Van Gogh. He actually completed two of this woman, this one from 1888, and a later one done appoximately in 1889 before he left Arles, which bears the same title and is the third image. Second is Night Café by Gauguin. All are paintings based on studies sketched at roughly the same point in time of Madame Ginoux, a widow who ran a small cafe that the two would frequent while they were still friends. The subject is the same, though the portraits differ. EDIT: For visual insight into their friendship, please delve into a tidy little slideshow of pieces from the Art Institute of Chicago.

P.S. Skip the Amarige Silk Veil lotion - it kind of sucks. It starts out okay, but within minutes it goes straight to a watery gardenia that drowns the other notes. I don’t know about the cream lotion though: the Givenchy creams are a little too rich for me, so I’ve never tried it.

I screwed up my back the other day, and am miserable. I swear I was lifting with my knees, not my back, but eh… apparently it was fated to happen. If I can swipe the laptop from my husband so I can write while I’m lying down on the couch, I might be back this week, but I guess I shouldn’t hold my breath. Anyhow, hope everyone is having a much better and much more mobile week than I am, and take care when lifting heavy boxes!

If you came for a perfume review today, I apologize. Wednesday and Friday will bring my impressions of Fath Iris Gris and Givenchy Amarige Harvest Collection. My friend Micki sometimes tries to prod me to open up and blog a little about myself, and well, I guess I think it’d be kind of boring to read, but she has other ideas. And her ideas are almost always good ones.

Yesterday I talked to someone who I haven’t really spoken with in nearly six years, which is the sort of thing that always puts me in an excessively nostagic mood. A walk down Nostalgia Street is one thing, but it inevitably leads me straight to the turnoff for Memory Lane. Ah me, what happened during those six years? And for the sake of this blog’s subject matter, what does my nostalgic sentimentality have to do with perfume?

My twins were born extremely premature (29 weeks) roughly that long ago, too. They were so very small, each weighing in at under three pounds. After birth, they were placed in a NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) for nearly two months. In retrospect, I realize just how scary it all was, but I think at the time I must have been in a complete state of shock. In fact, the shock remained my permanent emotional state for a year after they came home even. They arrived home on oxygen tanks. They also wore fetal heart monitors 24 hours a day for roughly the first six months after returning home. I cannot properly explain the horror of seeing your son turn blue, and having to get him to breathe and help him get his heart started again. There are no words in the English language that express what that feels like. There probably aren’t ones in any language.

We were warned while they were still in infancy that they may well possess developmental problems. And they did. We found when they turned age two that we could no longer chalk up some of their diffuculties to the simple differences between how individual children blossom. Taking them into see a specialist at the hospital revealed they suffered from Autism Spectrum Disorder. The word “disorder” makes it sound as if they just need to be reorganized. I suppose in some very small ways that’s true, but not overall. My twins both had severe language delays. In addition, they had some physical problems and manifold tactile difficulties. The feel of many fabrics would make them uncomfortable to an untoward degree. Taking a simple bath was not a simple matter at all, because the wetness of the water would make one of them howl as if he was in pain. Strike that - not as if. He WAS in pain. Water, water caused him pain.

Their tactile sensitivities carried over to the sense of smell. I rarely wore perfume for the first few years of their lives. During therapy at the hospital, the boys were exposed to one technique that their physical therapist described as a scent therapy. Scent therapy consisted of little more than various objects, spices, and solutions in jars held up for them to smell one by one. The therapist then jotted down their reactions, and tried to get them to smell as many of these jars as she could during the session to “teach” them to tolerate their own sense of smell. We decided to discontinue this portion of their therapy after it became clear that it did more harm than good - it was just too overwhelming, and only served to frustrate them.

It was shortly after this time that I began breaking out the perfumes again on a regularish basis, despite their doctors’ warnings. I needed it. Really. It sounds completely selfish and trivial I suppose, but at the time I needed something nice to do that would be just for myself during those days, especially the hard days. When you’ve got twins with ASD, most days turn out to be harder than you wake up thinking they will be. The easy ritual of perfume certainly was one I’d always enjoyed. I missed it. Besides, they’d react to all sorts of things, yet lightly wearing perfume for my own enjoyment didn’t seem to cause too much distress for some unknown reason.

Then one day, something most wonderful and surprising happened. I had recently bought a bottle of Miss Dior, and was spritzing it on when one of the boys expressed curiosity over it. He signed the American Sign Language word for “more.” “Do you want to smell this?,” I said as held out the bottle for him to hold. He clutched at it and held it up to his face, inhaling with a smile. He tried with his little stubby hands to inexpertly spray it onto his chest, but failed. I peeled away his fingers to retrive the bottle from him, and soothed that Mommy would help. Onto his wrists I squirted out a weak half-spray. He recoiled at the sensation of liquid hitting him, but no tears. Nor did he emit any screeches of displeasure. The next morning? Same thing. “More.” So “more” I gave him, and his brother too, who indicated he wanted at a bottle of The Body Shop’s Dewberry sitting on the back of the dresser. Both again were repelled by the feel of the liquid, but a couple days later, they were lying in wait in the bedroom, waiting for the next perfume. CK One, and then Dazzling Gold. Dazzling Silver, Organza Indecence, Dragon’s Blood oil, Frangipani oil, Poison, Magie Noire, etc… I was running out of smells, and while they still reacted viscerally and slightly negatively to the perfumes, they kept coming back for “more.”

Their strong negativity towards strong scents seemed to evaporate over the course of months and years. And nowadays they happen to be the biggest six-going-on-seven-year-old perfume fiends I have ever known. I think they may have even adopted their own snobbish aesthete - they are quite particular now over what is “a good one” and what is not. I cannot fathom why exactly perfume gave them what a therapist and her empirical studies and techniques could not. But how grateful I am that something (read: anything) worked. For the curious, the six year old syndicate within our household has only but a very general rotation of favorites. One’s regulars include Caswell-Massey’s Lilac, Givenchy Pi, Galimard Sindora, Sephora L’eau Orange, Disney Pluto, and lately he wears Fruits and Passion Hot Dog a lot. The other still wears Miss Dior with some frequency, as well as Molinard Habanita, Weil Antilope, Lulu Beauty Gigi and Gres Cabaret. Not that they aren’t like their mother - the curiosity of what’s new to smell has become irresistable to them.

This also isn’t to say they don’t still have problems that need addressing - they’re still using special education assistance for things like language. Even an inconsequential incident like getting muddy while playing outside can wreak emotional havoc for the rest of the day sometimes. But their sense of smell has become a pleasure rather than a pain-inducing liability for them, and for that I am grateful. DEEPLY grateful.

I have decided I don’t at all care for your modern incarnation, but I must thank you, Miss Dior. Despite my distaste, I love that you’re still around.

If you wish to read an excellent (and neutral) review of Miss Dior in her modern form, please go to Now Smell This to read the lovely Robin’s impressions.

Image of Miss Dior with box from mydesignerperfume.com