Fracas On The Dance Floor: A Friend's Fabulously Fragrant Fortieth Birthday Bash

My friend Sharon (my first and most resounding convert to Roja Dove Scandal, as some readers may recall), turned 40 on Friday 13th and celebrated in style. It turned out to be a more auspicious date than it may sound, for some 30 family and friends converged on her home town from all over the country, bearing gifts and trailing party outfits in garment bags. Sharon's birthday haul included some beautiful pieces of jewellery, flowers and champagne, while I gave her a bottle of Piguet Fracas, having noted that it was her favourite of the "big white floral" samples I had given her lately to try.

As I was getting changed at Sharon's parents' house (from whom I am equidistant in age!), I cast my mind back to a few of my own milestone birthdays, which went roughly like this:

18th: Revised for my English Literature A-Level on the fire escape. Parents gave me a suitcase. Was that a hint?

21st: Cleaned the bungalow I had been sharing with two other teaching assistants in France, my housemates having already cunningly skipped the country. Then treated myself to a solo moped ride and a picnic.

30th: Unintentionally played gooseberry on a yomp in the New Forest with a friend and her...person of interest. Ended up lost - possibly deliberately shaken off - and covered in nettle stings and scratches. This was in those dark pre-GPS days when (as I learnt to my cost) orienteering skills really counted for something.

40th: Checked into a spa for a day of solo pampering. Failed dismally to crack any of the yoga positions, and had a blart in the grounds when I realised I would never receive another greetings card from my mother, who had died a few months previously. Spent the evening doing serious damage to a bottle of Bollinger, which rallied and ended up doing considerably greater damage to me.

So in view of my own mixed bag of mostly solitary birthday celebrations, I was pretty confident that Sharon's 40th would comfortably top them, and so it proved. She had booked a table at a popular nightspot with panoramic views of the sea from its upstairs bar. When we arrived, we were already several sheets of pink cava to the wind, and if I am honest, not all the squinting I found myself doing could be attributed to the dazzling rays of the setting sun.

By 8pm, after more pre-dinner drinks, we were seated at our table in a prime spot close to the stage, all set to tuck into a surprise three course meal (surprise in the sense that none of us could remember what we had pre-ordered back in February...), and to be entertained by a Robbie Williams tribute act with the disappointingly normal name of Paul Reason. Now I am not saying we would have preferred the more punningly satisfactory "Blobbie Williams" instead - that's with or without "Gary Lardo" in tow - for that particular Robbie Look-alike-ish is reputed to be quite large, and this Paul chappy was on the stocky side as it was. He did, however, have the obligatory weird eye/eyebrow combo, and a lot of Robbie's moves.

Understandably, given our high liquid intake over the course of the night, repeated trips were made to the ladies, not least by me. Both in the toilets and on the dance floor, I was struck by how fragrant the air was, and enjoyed deeply inhaling this pleasant pot pourri of contemporary women's scents. Everyone at the venue was very dressed up (well, I say that, but we did also spot one or two vertiginously high hemlines, which skimmed their wearers' bottoms more by luck than design. Which in its way I suppose is a sort of dressing "up".) And though people may have skimped on fabric (not in our group, obviously), crucially, no one seemed to have skipped the finishing touch of applying perfume.

For example, in our party there was birthday girl Sharon, wafting her freshly opened bottle of Fracas on the dance floor, Angela in Gucci Guilty, Ruth in Chance Eau Fraîche, Max in Parisienne, Sarah Jane in Gucci II, while I gave Amouage Honour Woman another spin (chosen with care for its tuberose note, which Sharon loves, but no vanilla, which she hates!). And beyond our table there was the throng of unknown women contributing to this beguiling cocktail of scent...

And my overriding feeling at that moment was one of pride. Pride in my relative sobriety such that I could capture highlights of the night on my camera phone. And I'll admit to a bit of self-satisfaction at the part I had played in helping Sharon find another diva scent to love.

But most of the pride I felt was directed towards women in general - all these unknown women at large having a great night out, myself included. Proud that they cared enough to wear fragrance - any fragrance - not that I smelt a duff one.

OUR PARTY WINS THE AWARD FOR BEST SHOE OF THE NIGHT!

HOPING THAT POSING WITH A YOUNGER BALLOON WILL SHAVE YEARS OFF MY AGE


Now they say that alcohol oils the wheels of a great party, and it would be fair to say that the wheels of ours were pretty darn lubricated. Yes, we bonded through sharing a drink, through making fools of ourselves on the dance floor, and through making light of the burnt bacon (my fault!) at our fry-up breakfast the next morning.

But over and above that I felt an invisible extra connection with every woman in the room who had chosen to put on a Scent Of - and For - The Evening.

Yes, it was as fabulously fragrant a fortieth bash as you could wish for, and I look forward to doing it all again in ten years. Which gives us ample time to find a Robbie act with a snappier name. And next time, I shall remember to smell him as well when he does his mock stage diving routine...

Photo of Fracas from perfume-malaysia.com, other photos my own

The Scents of the Mediterranean the World Over

In my childhood, fashionable clothes were frowned upon as needless “fripperies” – by my father at least, who was keeper of the household purse. But when it came to foreign travel, our family was ahead of the curve. For we started taking package holidays to the Mediterranean in the early 70s. Smitten by the climate, scenery and cuisine, I have been going back regularly ever since.

So when Ines of All I Am - A Redhead invited me to take part in this joint blogging project (co-hosted by Ines and Elena of Perfume Shrine), I was delighted to accept. I saw it as more than just an excuse to dig out old holiday snaps (though it was also that), for it prompted me to impose a semblance of order on the multinational jumble of smells evoked by the region.

My earliest scent memory of the Mediterranean (age 12) is my face hitting an aromatic wall of heat, as we stepped off the plane in the small hours at Mahon airport in Minorca. I have absolutely no idea what herbs or flowers I was smelling – let’s just call it “Mediterranean accord” - but it was a potent blend that stirred the senses and is now hardwired in my brain as the scent of hot, languid holidays abroad.

In tackling this theme, I am slightly hampered by the fact that - whilst I have "scent" memories of various countries - I have no “perfume” memories as such, as my interest in fragrance only dates from 2008. So I thought I would approach things by drawing up an inventory of scent associations with specific places (from whatever source - not all pleasant!), followed by six perfumes I would choose now to capture different facets of the Mediterranean.


THE FRENCH RIVIERA

In 1979 I was posted to the Côte d’Azur for a year as a teaching assistant in a lycée in Cannes, so this area holds most memories for me, with its rugged coastline, glittering blue sea, private beaches and palm-fringed promenades.

General scent associations

Mimosa, lavender, pine trees, sun tan oil, warm plastic sun loungers, bouillabaisse, pistou soup, fennel, aioli, Socca (pancakes made with chickpea flour), ripe melons, beeswax candles, olive wood and soap, ivy geraniums, plus unidentified perfume sillage from patrician-looking ladies wearing recklessly pale trouser suits and carrying miniature dogs.

Perfumes

L’Artisan Parfumeur Mimosa pour Moi

Notes: mimosa (flower, leaf and stem), violet leaves, blackcurrant bud

Spring comes early on the Riviera – as early as February, sometimes – and this scent is mimosa to the max, capturing the dazzling bright sunlight and the feeling of warmth on one’s skin after the dank days of winter. Cheerfulness in a bottle. : - )

Urban Retreat Rêverie (by Roja Dove)

Notes: geranium, bergamot, lavender (all I could find)

I am not mad on lavender, yet I associate it very closely with this part of France. So I am including a (relatively unknown) scent by Roja Dove, where the lavender is understated and blended with two other notes that are also typical of the area. I look upon it as a dumbed down “garrigue” scent for wimps, for which there should be a place on the shortlist.

Jil Sander Sun

Notes: bergamot, rosewood, jasmine, lily of the valley, rose, orange blossom, patchouli, amber, vanilla

When I lived in Antibes, the cult of sunbathing was bigger than it is today, and people slapped on factors 2 and 4 and Hawaiian tropic tanning oil with carefree abandon, as though “melanoma” was just another word for a fancy cocktail. How Jil Sander Sun manages to capture the smell of sun cream with that particular set of notes beats me, but the patch-amber-vanilla base (for which I am always a sucker), doubtless has a lot to do with it. Thanks to Wordbird for the sample of this one!


CORSICA

Corsica is France’s wild child little sister (though it wouldn’t thank me for saying so). It is craggy, untamed, proudly independent and still largely unspoilt. Home to the Foreign Legion, its cliff top towns have an “edge of the world”, frontier feel. Vegetarians may be treated as alien life forms.

General scent associations

Forest fires (some set by terrorists!), miscellaneous aromatic plant matter, salty mountain ham, sharp sheep’s cheese…. and antiseptic (I came off my moped at the same bend two years running, and on each occasion received first aid in the nearby monastery. Having grazes anointed with pink disinfectant by monks – twice - is something that stays with you.)

Perfume

Parfums 06130 Lentisque

Notes: lentisque, ambrette seed, jasmine, melon, orris root, Turkish rose, musk, vetiver, amber

Named after the pistachio tree, a fragrant shrub common in Corsica, Lentisque is a sheer yet creamy, amber scent shot through with sharp herbal notes and a slight nuttiness. It is unlike anything else I have ever smelt, and serves me well as a symbol of this “miscellaneous aromatic plant matter” found throughout the Med that my nose finds so hard to deconstruct.


GREECE

When I think of Greece, the Cyclades always spring to mind first, with their white sugar cube houses and windmills, against a backdrop of cloudless blue sky. Other memories of island-hopping holidays include straw-roofed beach tavernas, fishing boats and nets, octopi drying on clothes lines, whippet-thin cats, Greek salads, wizened old ladies in traditional black dress, and entire families riding a single scooter (on Spetses, where cars are not allowed).

General scent associations

Bread baking in stone ovens, Greek lamb and rosemary, barbecued seafood with lemon, retsina & ouzo, figs, honey, donkeys (their warm fur AND droppings), Greek coffee (strong black sludge), occasional dodgy plumbing, sea spray washing over the rails of the inter-island ferries, mosquito coils (incense, but not as we know it…), outboard motors.

Perfume

Parfumerie Générale Jardins de Kerylos

Notes: fig, sycamore, musk

This scent neatly links Greece with the French Riviera. It was inspired by the gardens of Villa Grecque Kerylos in Beaulieu-sur-Mer (pictured above), which in turn was modelled on a Greek villa on the island of Delos. The name Kerylos means “sea swallow”, the harbinger of happiness, according to legend. I certainly find this lush yet green rendition of a fig as mood-enhancing as a plate of the ripe fruit, drizzled in honey and served with a blob of thick yogurt.


ITALY

Italy is a beautiful country, if not very ergonomically shaped and lawless in parts, though this is greatly offset by a fine selection of leather goods. It has the hairiest driving conditions in Europe, but the best coffee, and affords occasional glimpses of the Pope.

General scent associations

Orange groves, cypress trees, mouldy church crypts, vellum paper, amaretti biscuits, ragu, basil, cappuccino, sulphur (from the Solfatara volcano), the smell of fear! (I was briefly kidnapped in Naples, but had a lucky escape at traffic lights – needless to say, this was before the days of central locking.).

Perfume

Tom Ford Private Collection Neroli Portofino

Notes: bergamot, mandarin orange, orange blossom and amber, vanilla

A Mediterranean selection would not be complete without a citrus scent, and this one contains pretty much every part of the orange, though happily not in an “orange comminute” kind of a way. This is a crisp, “grainy”, bracing orange fragrance to lift the spirits when you find yourself driving the wrong way round the Colosseum in rush hour.

So those are my six picks, which collectively – and retrospectively - “distill the essence” of the Mediterranean for me.

Thanks to Ines and Elena for their work in organising the event! And assuming I have finally mastered the necessary technical wizardry, here is a list of the other blogs taking part:

I Smell Therefore I Am

Notes From the Ledge

Olfactarama

Eiderdownpress

The Non-Blonde

WAFT...what a fragrancefanatic thinks

hortus conclusus

A Rose Beyond the Thames

SmellyBlog

Katie Puckrik Smells

Sonoma Scent Studio Blog

Roxana Illuminated Perfume

Scent Hive

Perfume Shrine

All I Am - A Redhead

Under the Cupola

Photo of Villa Kerylos from eliteshoretrips.com, photo of Portofino from clickz.it, photo of Corsica courtesy of David Gleeson. Others are my own.

Roja Dove Scandal And The Thorny Issue Of Sillage Projection Projections

My friend came for lunch on Sunday, on her way to a blind date near her home in Lancashire with a man she met on the Internet (which seems to be the technologically savvy way to find a partner these days).

Obviously, she needed a spot of lunch to quell her fluttery stomach (I remembered to keep the raw onion component of the salads to an absolute minimum); then she needed a mirror for the frequent re-application of make up (it was a real eye opener to me to learn how many discrete cosmetic zones there are within the brow area!), not forgetting access to the bathroom for additional nose powdering.

And naturally she also needed a sympathetic ear to offload her mounting nerves about this imminent and momentous encounter. For Sharon had been chatting to this chap over the phone and by text for some six weeks before they finally agreed to meet. And I guess the date wasn't going to be blind exactly, as they had exchanged photos already (assuming he had selected snaps of himself that bore a reasonable degree of verisimilitude.)

Half an hour before my friend was due to arrive, I sent her the following text:

"Choose perfume with immense care. : - )"

This prompted an instant phone call, to tell me that she had already applied her chosen fragrance, and to challenge me to guess what it was. I reviewed her smallish full bottle collection quickly in my mind. Until she fell under my influence, her default/signature scent had been Gwen Stefani's L.A.M.B, but I had since sold or gifted to her - or persuaded her to go to London herself to buy - a number of other fragrances.

"Er....as it is early doors, maybe Eclat d'Arpege - or a dab of DKNY Gold?"

"No!" she rejoined triumphantly, with a pronounced seductive burr in her voice: "I'm wearing Scandal!"

Okay, I thought, flattered that she would choose a scent to which I had introduced her, and which she had recently elevated to the status of new all-time favourite. Yet at the same time I was slightly concerned that this luxurious, animalic diva of a scent might be a bit of an overkill for late afternoon in a retail park near Bolton.

In the end we agreed that as she had applied the scent at 12.30pm, and the date was not slated till 6pm, there was ample time for this heady white floral blend to die down to a whisper. A "whiff" of Scandal, if you will.

By 3pm, my friend was getting antsy and was about ready to leave, to give herself ample time at her destination to scope the area, check out potential restaurants for later on, comb her hair, re-touch her make up, practise deep breathing etc. Before she left my house, though, she was keen to re-apply some perfume from my own bottle of Scandal. Now how many of her mates could offer a pitstop with such comprehensive facilities?

And so it was that, having already calculated the sillage projection purely based on a full application of scent at 12.30pm, I now had to estimate its likely projection factoring in a top up application at 3pm. I supervised this procedure, allowing a few very short sprays to the neck area and one on each wrist. Pronouncing my friend "good to go", I forecasted that by 6pm the scent would have dried down - perhaps not to a whisper exactly - but to a tone which could still be classed as sotto voce.

As it turned out, Sharon and her date both had the same idea about getting to the area early to get their bearings, and bumped into each other outside Next at approximately 4.30pm. Whereupon all my precisely calibrated projections suddenly went straight out the window, but from what I can gather, it didn't matter - she and the other party got on famously, and I am eagerly awaiting further bulletins.

Hmm, maybe I should offer my services as a "sillage statistical modelling consultant" to operators of matchmaking sites. Because a pretty face and a good personality are all very well, but there is clearly more of a science to this dating lark, and perfume may yet turn out to be its fragrant fulcrum....