Of all the senses …

… the one I think is the most seductive, even more than ‘touch’, is our sense of smell. It is certainly the most evocative, at least it is for me. And it’s the most difficult to capture with words. Which is why writing copy for a perfume can be so challenging.

Last week I wrote about memories and some of the triggers that cause them. A friend of mine commented on how scents trigger memories for her. She’s so right. They do. Powerful ones, at that. And then when I was at the market last week one of my first stops was for bread. No sooner did I idle up to the counter, then the sales gal helping me
inhaled deeply, sighed gently, smiled broadly and asked me if I was wearing patchouli.

She was referring to my perfume.

Indeed, it does have patchouli in it.

In case you’re not familiar with it, it’s rather woodsy, or musky. Earthy. I happen to love it; and every fragrance I’ve ever been attracted to has had patchouli as an ingredient. Not that I knew that until I dabbed the last few droplets remaining in my bottle of eau de toilette behind my ears.

Quite a while ago I blogged about the horror of having to find a new perfume after Gucci sold the Saint Laurent

The scent of summer …

Last Thursday morning when I returned home, from the market, they were mowing our front lawn. Yes, even though I live right in the heart of the city, in an apartment, we’re lucky enough to have lots of green, with both a large front and back garden. No concrete jungle here. We’re surrounded by lots of beautiful old homes, on gorgeous tree-lined streets.

Anyway, I LOVE the smell of freshly mowed grass. Always have, even when I was a child. It’s especially fragrant after it’s rained. No rain the other day.

But the scent was still so intoxicating I just had to stop in the middle of the driveway and inhale several times, breathing it all in, before making my way indoors. If I hadn’t been afraid the gardener would think I was completely out of my mind, I would have scooped up a handful and brought it upstairs with me.

Then I could have sat on my balcony, watching the world go by, sniffing away to my heart’s content.

In that instant I knew summer was well and truly here. Because to me, nothing says “summer” like the scent of just cut grass. Well that’s not quite true. This morning, as I made my way from my bedroom to the kitchen I seemed to walk right into a

Day 126. No Thanks

Quite a while back I wrote about my adventures, and misadventures, with perfume.  I’m on the hunt again, as it turns out.  The store where I found my last, great fragrance is now out of business; and it’s not available anywhere else in Toronto.  Woe is me.

This being the season when men buy perfume for women (and vice versa), yesterday’s Toronto Globe & Mail had a special section on fragrance.  Perfect timing for me.  Before I get too far along in this story, I’ll just mention I’ve written about fragrance in my careers as both a copywriter and publicist.  But never, ever, have I written, or read, a description like the one I’m about to share.

The fragrance is “Black Saffron”.  It has been created by Byredo Parfums, a Stockholm-based fragrance house, founded in 2006.  What you’re about to read is verbatim.  It is exactly what was said in the newspaper.  I mean it:

“Always expect the unexpected from this Sweden-based niche label with Canadian DNA (founder Ben Gorham grew up in Oakville, Ont.).  Black Saffron gives off spice and leather and if you inhale deep enough, you might even smell rubber tires.  Finishing with a delicate veil of violet.  It proposes a striking variation on sexy.”

Rubber tires?  A striking variation on sexy?  No kidding.  Yours, by the way, for a mere $235 for 100 ml (3.381 US fluid ounces). For the record, I went and gave it a sniff yesterday.  It smelled exactly like tires.  Insane.  Gross.

Forget the price for a minute.  What woman wants to smell like a BF Goodrich all-season radial?  And what man wants his