"Dear Husband" And Beyond - Monikers For Our Menfolk

This will be a shortish post - I just popped over to my neighbour's, where we chewed the cud about our respective T K Maxx habits, and I drank a large glass of rosé on an empty stomach. I sense the wine may not be conducive to writing coherent content on any topic. Or "cogent content", even, which I see someone has registered as a domain name.

Anyway, as the perfume blogosector is a predominantly female community, and my brain prone to silly diversions, I took a moment out the other day to consider the different names commonly used to denote our menfolk. To avoid discrimination, I should probably have been more gender-vague there and said "spouses and partners", but the alliterative power of "menfolk" was simply too compelling.

Six months into my perfume hobby, I discovered Basenotes, and learnt a great deal about the subject of fragrance from the absorbing array of forum threads. For the first time I also came across the acronym "DH" for "Dear Husband", swiftly followed by those well known Significant Otherly flankers, "BF" and "GF" for "Boyfriend" and "Girlfriend", not forgetting "SO" itself. The latter should not be confused with "SOC", which stands for "Scene Of Crime", and is only likely to be invoked when the Other becomes significantly less significant, veering to dead man walking. Or woman, obviously.

Which brings me neatly to my point that "Dear Husband" is a bit of a "one-spouse-fits all" kind of a term. What about a word for the husband who persistently snores and forgets to put the bin out, who hogs the remote and tells you you cannot have a birthday present because you were away and "the moment has passed". So either we need a range of counterbalancing qualifiers, such as "Damn Husband" or "Periodically Infuriating But I Am Quite Fond Of Him Really Husband" OR - and this is the approach perfumistas seem to have adopted - we need a more neutral style of moniker.

So here is a small shortlist of ones I have observed - by no means exhaustive - so I would be glad to hear from you if you have one to add.

MR BONKERS (sounds more pejorative than neutral, I hear you say. Ah, but not in the context of a blog called Bonkers about Perfume. Moreover, I am prepared to stand up and be counted as "Mrs Bonkers". Or even "Ms Bonkers", as we are not married.)

HIMSELF - Chickenfreak's Obsession

THE CEO - Muse in Wooden Shoes (For quite some time I thought the CEO was Muse's boss, but this interpretation made for an implausibly racy read, so I re-assigned the name to her husband, which suited the context much better.)

BIG - Wordbird (Facebook / Twitter / Basenotes)

MOTH (Man Of The House) - Bloody Frida

MY OTHER NOSTRIL - The Left Coast Nose (I am proud to say I had a hand in this one - or do I mean a finger up it? Anyway, I made this one up, and The LCN toggles between My Other Nostril and Bazr when referring to her other half.)

B-MAN - Notes from Josephine

MY HUSBAND - Hortus Conclusus (I admire her naturalism - and after all, it was going spare!)

And then there are titbits we learn about other people's spouses, without their having a nickname as such. For example, we know that Katie Puckrik's husband is freckled. This could be a crucial nugget of information if he ever went missing, and the perfume community was called upon to assist the LAPD in their search efforts.

I am sure there are more, but those are the ones my rosé-fogged brain can readily retrieve. Staying with the weekend's Mediterranean theme, I will sign off with a photo of a "blissed out Mr Bonkers" in Greece in 1996.


Photo of "Dear Husband" card from indiacarddukan.com, photo of rose-coloured glasses from Google images.

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.

Chanel Paradoxal And The Peculiar Pull Of Plum-Themed Perfumes

This week my brother is attending a conference in Toronto on "Earthquake Engineering" (I take it that that means building structures which withstand earthquakes, as opposed to trying to "engineer" their occurrence. I am quietly but fervently hoping that he will find time to pick up a bottle of Chanel's "must have" nail polish colour, Paradoxal, at The Bay, a very fine department store within striking distance of the conference venue. Mind you, an epically bearded seismologist might cut an incongruous dash amongst the make up and perfume counters; plus he runs the very real risk of being plonked on a stool and "made over" with something like Lancaster's Light Enhancing Adaptive Sublime Fluid Foundation SPF 6.

So why my feverish interest in this latest Chanel nail varnish? I am a chronic and seemingly incorrigible nail biter, and hardly ever wear the stuff. But Paradoxal is such a sublimely wearable shade - and would coordinate so nicely with a number of garments I own in offbeat shades of heather and plum - that I am prepared to sacrifice my anti-social habit at the altar of digital accessorising.

Some of the other recent Chanel nail colours left me cold, mind: the likes of Jade, Tendresse or Inattendu (mint green, pale pink and peach respectively). These ice cream colours are pretty enough, but exert no visceral attraction. Particuliere, on the other hand, would have been a different matter - a sludgy mushroom / taupe number now sadly changing hands for upwards of £30 on Ebay. So I am hoping that my brother will be able to surf the crest of this particular nail colour wave, and secure a bottle of Paradoxal across the pond before it even reaches a stockist near me, never mind before said stockist runs out of the darn thing in the blink of an eye.

And my mounting enthusiasm for Paradoxal also got me thinking of plum-themed scents that might offer a further "finishing touch" to my upcoming autumnal ensembles. For I doubt I will be in much of a plum mood before September, you see.

I should, however, mention that plum notes and I hsve a bit of an ambivalent relationship. I remain deeply scarred by accidental whiffs of Poison in the 80s. Les Liaisons Dangereuses, a newish release, is nothing more than "a Poison-lite" for the Noughties to my nose, complete with that proprietary By Kilian headache-inducing accord.

And yet...a couple of plum scents have wormed their way into my affections, and either one would top off my plum nails and sundry purplish garments. They are Indult Isvaraya and Natori by Natori.

I find them rather similar in vibe, with Isvaraya a slightly more masculine "bass" version and Natori the more girly "soprano". They are both woody, slightly powdery, comforting and dreamy scents. (A special word of thanks to Lovethescents for introducing me to Natori!)

INDULT ISVARAYA

Notes: patchouli, plum tree, jasmine

NATORI BY NATORI

Notes: sparkling aldehydes, rose, plum, ylang-ylang, purple peony, night-blooming jasmine, patchouli, amber and satin musk accord.

Well, well, both have patchouli, plum and jasmine - this is the first time I have scrutinized the two scents properly - and while Natori has a bunch of other things as well, it appears that my nose is genuinely on to something in detecting a resemblance!

I would liken this pair a little to Shiseido Féminité du Bois, if you lost the pencil shaving note, the overt dustiness and the spices. Okay, not much like Fém du Bois at all, really, and yet these three scents are calming in a similar way.

FEMININITE DU BOIS

Top notes: cedarwood, orange blossom, peach, honey, plum, and beeswax
Middle notes: cedarwood, clove, cardamom, and cinnamon
Base notes: cedarwood, clove, cardamom, and cinnamon

Yes, you did read right... it is cedarwood for breakfast, lunch and supper - those notes are from The Perfumed Court, so they're good enough for me. Pencil shaving frenzy, as I say. There is, crucially, also some plum in there.... I mention FdB only because people cite it as a meditative scent, which I feel Isvaraya and Natori are up to a point. "Poignant" and "earthy", the Perfumed Court description goes on to say, which is spot on. I am sure someone somewhere likened Natori to the scent equivalent of a silk teddy, and that is a pretty nifty simile too.

So I am all set, bar the nail polish. If my brother manages to score me a pot, I hope he remembers to put it in his hold luggage, otherwise it will languish in a perspex tower at Toronto airport, along with umpteen pairs of confiscated scissors, penknives and other weapons of putative destruction - till long after its fashion moment has passed. I guess the authorities are right to be cautious - I am not sure how easy it would be to keep a 747 airborne while being forcibly made to have a manicure by a bearded scientist who knows all there is to know about engineering disasters, natural or otherwise...

Photo of Chanel Paradoxal from Flickr, Indult Isvaraya from Luckyscent, Natori from Fragrantica. Photo of Vivienne Westwood dress from Fashion Beans. Photo of sharp items from Bullworks.

There Is Nothing Either Good Or Bad...

The other day, when I was picking a perfume to wear, I caught myself actually feeling excited by the huge choice at my disposal. As I pulled out various bulging gauze bags from the beer chiller, spilling dozens of samples on the carpet, I felt a warm proprietary glow. I fingered each 1ml vial in turn, and took pleasure in my imaginary wearing of it. Imaginary because there is simply not the time to get round to most of them. As my signature on Basenotes reads: "So many scents, so little skin!"

What was interesting is that on this occasion my overriding feeling was one of pleasure and well-being. I found the size and variety of my collection comforting, as my father used to do with books. Towards the end of his life, these were stacked from ceiling to floor in every room of his small flat, including the bathroom, and though completely entombed and with barely anywhere to sit or lie or put things, he always referred to books as his "friends".

I, on the other hand, flipflop between feelings of pride and accomplishment: "I built this collection from EL Intuition up!" "I am lucky to own all these lovely perfumes - I am really spoilt!" and feeling "spoilt for choice" in a negative sense. In other words, "option anxiety" weighs heavily some days, and I fret about things going off (which they are starting to do), and after some listless rummaging I end up wearing any old thing that comes to hand and start the day on quite the wrong "note".

Now... nothing changes from one day to the next, yet I may feel differently about my collection. It is a prime example of "glass half empty or half full" syndrome. Or in the case of my perfume fridge and drawers: "well stocked with a great selection" versus "ram-packed to overflowing and on borrowed time". Hamlet's famous line also serves my purpose of ethical relativism rather well: "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so".

Years ago, I took my mother on holiday to Crete, and it rained all week except for the day we travelled home. It was the "mother of all wash outs", a deluge of Biblical proportions - the worst rain the island had ever known since the 1920s. Fishing boats and public transport were grounded, there was a thriving black market in pac-a-macs and wellingons, and holiday makers were soon confined to their hotels, having run out of dry clothes and shoes.

One afternoon, the two of us were lying on our beds. My mother was knocking back miniatures of Metaxa brandy and reading Henry James, while I was looking forlornly out of the window at the lashing rain. Suddenly Mother piped up out of nowhere, in a bright, Pollyannah-ish voice:

"Ah, but think how the plants must be enjoying a good drink at last!"

At the time, clearly I wanted to punch her. But recently I have been giving this incident some thought, and reckon that there is a lesson here, namely that my attitudes towards my perfume collection correlate with how I am feeling generally. When I cannot see the computer screen for a fringe of post-it notes, and as fast as I cross things off my to do list several other items appear, hydra head-like...on such days negativity and pessimism tend to infiltrate every corner of my life.

On the day of which I speak, when I was feeling upbeat and positive about the wealth of choice at my fingertips, I suddenly came across a sample I didn't know I owned, called "Gratitude" by Zorica of Malibu. It is a 100% perfume oil, containing just oils of grapefruit and vanilla.

On the accompanying card, it says:

"Carry it in your purse and experience Gratitude every day."

I'm not a big fan of grapefruit, as regular readers may recall, and the overriding impression is of an artificially flavoured foodstuff of some kind. A reviewer on Fragrantica puts her finger on it by likening Gratitude to an "orange creamsicle". Without even knowing the meaning of "creamsicle", this sounded very apt to me. I started to imagine frozen cream soda flavoured with fruit - then I looked it up to find that it is in fact the American word for an ice lolly with an ice cream centre. Aha - so we are talking about a lolly like Wall's Solero. That is bang on.

There is a sickly confection quality to this scent, and an oily texture - which it can't really help I suppose, being 100% oil. If someone out there remembers giving this to me in a swap, please don't be offended, for it has taught me a lesson, which I will put into practice on the days when I don't feel quite so upbeat about the humungousness of my perfume collection.

"Experience gratitude every day that you own many perfumes other than this."

Or possibly: "Be grapefruit for small - or in the case of my collection, quite substantial - mercies."


Glass half empty mug from zazzle.com
Photo of Gratitude by Zorica from Fragrantica.

Ajne Calypso - Embrace Your Inner Nymph(o)!

I had intended to feature Ajne Calypso (or Comme de Calypso, to give the scent its full name) in my 100th post in May. I figured that a review of this, my most expensive perfume, would make an interesting counterpoint to my earlier piece about Lidl's Suddenly D'Or, the cheapest bottle in my collection. For neither perfume appears to have been written about elsewhere. Instead, I chose as my subject Maison de Kurkdjian's APOM pour femme, drawn to the neat symbolism of the phrase "a piece of me" for the way perfume now permeates my daily life.

So, with summer in full swing, this seems like as good time as any to write about Calypso, a tropical floral from the niche natural perfumery Ajne, based in Carmel, California.

Notes: cardamom, frangipani, jasmine, vanilla

If there are any other notes in the composition - I thought I detected sandalwood and ylang-ylang at one point, but I may have imagined it - Ajne is keeping them under wraps. As a rule, its note listings lean to the coy side, as I doubt that all their scents do really contain as few ingredients as those declared.

I own the 15ml gold filigree bottle, which at full retail costs a wallet-busting $225. I did have a couple of gift vouchers to mitigate the pain, but Calypso still worked out (including P & P and customs charges) at 100 times the cost of the Lidl scent: £8 vs 8p per ml. Okay, I hear you all asking: "So does the Ajne smell a hundred times better than the fruity floral, spookily close clone of Ghost Luminous that is Suddenly D'Or?" Well, clearly I am not going to answer that, so let's just say that I like Calypso an awful lot - and more than the other one. It should also be borne in mind that Ajne's scents are made entirely from essential oils, and it isn't inconceivable to me that their raw material costs are in fact 100 times those of the Lidl perfume, whose bargain price may partly be attributable to the knock off packaging and lack of advertising spend.

As the notes suggest, Calypso is a sultry number - a bit like Ormonde Jayne Frangipani but with greater heft. Texturally (thanks to the vanilla?) it has more in common with the demure yet "come hither" style of SL Un Lys, so if you lose the lilies and substitute an even headier duo of frangipani and jasmine, plus a tangy but possibly fictitious hint of ylang-ylang, you won't go far wrong. Calypso is extremely intense on first application (which is of course a feature of essential oils). But relatively soon the scent mutes down to a smouldering tropical blend with no one note dominant.

As for the origin of the name, until now I had associated the word "Calypso" with Afro-Caribbean music, swiftly followed by other stereotypical images of a tropical paradise: cocktails, palm fringed beaches, hammocks, coconuts, avocado trees(?), sea shells, turtles, all-inclusive Sandals resorts, Rastafarian gigolos etc - with the odd spot of gun crime and drug running thrown in to pep things up. The scent is unashamedly sensual - veering to slutty even - but this is high end, sophisticated slutty. Calypso is staying at the Jalousie Hilton in St Lucia. She accessorises her sarong and maxi-dress with metallic flipflops, and is single-handedly - or rather, double-wristedly - pioneering the fashion revival of yellow gold jewellery.

Here is the description of Calypso from the Ajne website:

"Calypso celebrates the magical qualities of a woman. She is at once nurturing, yet independent - confident, yet tender. She will surround you in her mystery, creating a sultry aura of subtle sensuality."

So far, so Bo Derek (minus the sarong, even!). But having dug a little deeper, I think I have found a Greek nymph who may have been the ultimate inspiration for the wearer of this fragrance...

"The Greek goddess Calypso was described in Homer's Odyssey 2,800 years ago. Calypso, who lived on Ogygia, an island near Malta, was unmarried, independent, and history's first documented feminist. There she rescued the hero Odysseus from death as he drifted astride the keel of the his ship that Zeus had shattered with lightning. For seven years she kept Odysseus on her island, passionately loving him and offering to make him a god."

(from www.reverseskinaging.com!)

This account puts quite a positive spin on events, but others cast Calypso more in the role of captor - a sort of one-woman proto Baader-Meinhof gang, if you will. Whatever the truth of the matter (insofar as a myth can be said to be "true"), it seems that Calypso's influence may have had a stultifying effect over time:

"He (Odysseus) is forced to live a vegetative existence, perhaps at first a welcome rest, but then a womblike entrapment. The name Calypso means "eclipse," and indeed, Odysseus' long stay on Calypso's isle is an eclipse of all that he has known of life...and also of his consciousness of himself as a warrior hero and shrewd initiator of action."

So how much of this goddess/nymph back story chimes with Calypso the perfume? Most of it, I'd say. For the goddess and the scent are feisty and feminine, beguiling and comforting - but (as is sadly so often the way...), its sultry charms may pall somewhat if applied continuously for seven years.


Painting of Calypso by Arnold Boecklin, drawing by John Flaxman.

"Lord Mandelson Creates His Own Perfume"

The release of former Cabinet Minister Lord Peter Mandelson's much awaited autobiography, "The Third Man", has has sent shock waves rippling through UK political circles. This is a no-holds-barred insider account of spin and plotting, of frustrated ambition, hissy fits and general skullduggery in the corridors of power, in which his troubled triangular relationship with Tony Blair and Gordon Brown is painfully laid bare.

And now, according to Newsbiscuit, the satirical current affairs "ezine", Lord Mandelson has allegedly released his own perfume, MANDY, which - even more than Roja Dove's creation - will truly capture the scent of scandal...

You don't have to be remotely familiar with the UK political scene to find this article an utter delight! Read it here.

Photo image from Newsbiscuit.

Serge Lutens Daim Blond And The Art Of De-Furred Gratification

On Friday night we are going for an Indian meal with another couple to celebrate my birthday. It was in May, but things don't always go strictly to plan. I suggested two restaurants, and one of my friends emailed back to say that he would speak to his girlfriend about it later that evening, adding: "We await her rubberstampery".

This whimsical comment got me thinking of some well regarded perfumes which I fully expected to like - adding my own twopenny rubber stamp to the approval that has been heaped on these scents down the years - and yet whose appeal persists in eluding me...

One such is Serge Lutens' Daim Blond. The very name of it connotes super soft, buttery suede, that you just know will be smooth and silky on skin. I have a perfumista friend who wore this on her wedding day, and many leading bloggers whose opinions I respect are big fans, notably Katie Puckrik and Marina of Perfumesmellingthings.

Daim Blond was created in 2004 by Christopher Sheldrake, and the notes are as follows:

"Leather, Iris, Apricot Kernel, Musk, Hawthorn, Jasmine, Cardamom, Heliotrope"

On first application I am struck by a number of things. Yes, I get the suede-y quality all right, but the "nap" is much rougher than I hoped for. Instead of the caressing whisper of leather of Chanel's Cuir de Russie, say, this is rasping fuzziness to my nose, like suede-scented white noise.

There is additionally a slightly medicinal / antiseptic note, and the merest hint of something animalic that I cannot quite place. Actually, on reflection, the dominant impression of this fragrance is "sweaty loafer accord", and the faint antiseptic accent will be from an Odor-Eater insole someone has thoughtfully shoved down the shoe in a doomed bid to counteract it.

I have got to this point many times in trials of Daim Blond, and have usually lacked the stamina to smell it much beyond the two hour mark. The other day, however, I left it on for a good 10 hours, and made a point of checking on it at regular intervals throughout the day. I noticed that in the middle stages of the scent's development, the apricot became much more prominent; texturally the scent remained pretty furry, but then so is the fruit.

Much, much later, just as I was going to bed in fact, I realised that the perfume had finally shaken off this fuzzy aspect, like a well worn woolly you have got around to de-pilling, and the far drydown was just as I had hoped this perfume would be from the off: soft, smooth and comforting, with fruity undertones.

NOW I could "get" Daim Blond at last! So from this experiment I conclude that the delicate dermatological environment that is my skin prefers scents which are both low volume and "perfectly tuned" - think DAB radio, rather than the old transistor which is the opening of DAB, the scent...

Photo of Daim Blond from Fragrantica
Photo of gloves from Bloomingdirect
Photo of transistor radio from Dreamstime