Through Smoke

[French parfum, from Old Italian parfumo, from parfumare, to fill with smoke : par-, intensive pref. (from Latin per-, per-) + fumare, to smoke (from Latin f m re, from f mus, smoke).]

Each day as part of my ablutions, my favorite thing is to choose the scent that will make up my day. Before I choose my clothes, before I poke my head out the window to see what Mother Nature has in store for me, I choose the perfume that will be the pleasure of my olfactory senses for the day.

Coco Chanel once said, “A woman who doesn’t ear perfume has no future.”

Chanel was one of the first perfumes that I had the privilege of knowing. I smell it and think of the expensive little square bottle, and my mother running the glass stopper across her elegant collarbone and behind her ears. It was femininity to me-what it meant to be a woman. So, of course, I wanted to wear it-NOW-at seven years old. Of course, it was inappropriate for a child. For that matter, if what some of the fashionista’s and those in the know seem to believe, I’ve another 20 years before it will be appropriate for me to wear the sultry scent. Just thinking of this makes me recall Holly Golightly standing at the diamond counter at Tiffany's saying "I simply adore diamonds darling, they're wonderful on older women, but not right for me, you understand."

If you think about it, I’m sure you can conjure a few people in your life, maybe someone long past, maybe someone you only met for a second, with the memory of their perfume. If you want to be irreplaceable-be unforgettable. There are few memories that can be locked away deeper than those we associate with a distinct scent.

There are three or four perfumes in my arsenal. I sometimes layer them, but I like the purity of one complex perfume. I’m sad to say that my taste in perfume is much like most of the things in my life-terribly expensive. Earlier this year I was in a famous department store in New York City and a lovely girl waved a scented piece of cardstock near my nose and I was trapped, like a deer in headlights. “I’ll take it!” I huskily replied. She was taken aback at my instant response, though I doubt I’m the first or last who will have it. Sadly-I left the store without anything other than the little piece of scented cardstock and a deep yearning in my heart. My picky little olfactory sense had betrayed me again. I had fallen rock hard in love with the most expensive perfume LITERALLY made- Clive Christians’ No. 1. The bloody stuff comes in a hand-cut Baccarat beaker with a carat diamond in the 18K gold collar of the bottle. Priced at a modest $2,150.00 an ounce I figure when I win the lottery I’ll just fill a bucket with the stuff and slosh around in it till I get pruney.

Meanwhile, I’ll have to be pleased (which I most certainly am) with my few favorites. My scents of choice are as follows; Angelique Encens by Creed, George Sand by Perfumiers Historique, Voleur de Roses by L’Artisian Parfumeur and Mitsouko by Guerlain. As I said while walking down Park Avenue in New York after buying my first bottle of George Sand, “I smell like money”. No 50 Cent-I will NOT give you the credit for that quote!

It may sound utterly conceited to anyone who finds no value in the art form of scent. My perfumes remind me that each day a little grace must fall into your life to keep you truly alive. It assures me that if nothing else, while some people think that "luxury is the opposite of poverty. It is not. It is the opposite of vulgarity.”