Scentoholism...
The amount of money I've blown on perfume oils and sprays in the past several years is a frightening figure that I don't care to know. Though, were I wealthy, "real" high-end perfumes would be all over the bathroom and vanity instead of BPAL vials, B&I bottles and myriad other heres and theres....and the tally would be much, much worse.
I don't know what it is. Is it like anything else, such as music...food items...makeup...books...etc....in that there is some greased-pig-like notion that if I only looked enough and tried enough options, I would open a magickal door into life-altering experience? Lame, I guess. Always looking for the next mindblowing sensory experience, though in my quiet and otherwise unadventurous way. Thank heavens I never latched onto thrill-seeking behaviors, extreme sports, shocking displays. Trying to find the perfect, sublime beer is a much safer pursuit, no?
And perfume is the same.
I like the old feminine archetype of the "signature fragrance." My grandmother certainly had one..."L'air du Temps." Occasionally...well, rarely because it's not popular at all now...I'll be somehere and someone nearby will be wearing it and it's like a 2X4" to the temple...WHAM. Right there in the checkout line at CVS or somewhere. Everything that is her is right there with me. And that's just a sort of manifestation of grandmotherly love, lost Southern elegance and mid-century feminine grace. After her death several years ago, I swiped one of the small glass bottles from her personal things. It's there on a shelf and whenever I am missing her, I tentatively open the stopper...carefully to avoid losing any molecules to the unsentimental air...and inhale. It's like she's there in the room and I can almost hear her tinkling laugh again. Ah.
My lovely, much-missed Gog.
And then, I've always been in love with the literary/poetic ideal of wisps of a woman's signature fragrance haunting some romantically tortured man.
There weren't many choices back in the day, though.
A client at the last clinic I worked at was a serious Chanel No. 5 user. Now that's oldskool (1921). Even iconic Marilyn wore it....though so did many, many. When I first met this client, I had some grandma-memory-brain-meltdown, because that was the sometime alternate for my grandma. But soon, it became, to me, this client's signature. I always knew when she was in with her tubby little Beagle before I'd even seen her, heard her or taken a look at the appointment book.
Nice to have that effect, if you ask me. I'd like to evoke a whole set of memories or at least a recognition when I walk into a place...it's some kind of quiet, nonchalant power. One that others must involuntarily submit to, being that everyone has to breathe. (And I'm not talking about over-doing it, of course!)
And imagine being dead and gone and still having that power. Fascinating!
But again, now there are too many choices. Too, too many. Particularly for a chronic searcher and scent addict. Too many choices even among the ones I have, which represent one atom in the scheme of What There Is Out There. Still...even the 30 second daily decision every morning is a small thrill...it's some sort of exertion of will or force against the day to come. What shall I smell like today? I mean, it could affect the whole day, even Life, in a Butterfly Effect way...
This, by default, excludes the possibility of having a true signature scent then.
Or so I thought.
Until I found my Holy Grail.
It's the most sublime expression of amber I have ever smelled...and that includes having sniffed actual chunks of the resin itself. It blends with any other scent...especially since I tend to wear rather simple perfumes with few notes and little complexity. I think it's a way to have a signature yet also variety. It has become the foundation on which any other is laid. Best of both worlds.
The only hitch is having to buy it at a local health food store owned and run by one of the subtly cuntiest ladies I've ever dealt with as a customer buying things. But it's worth it. And anything beats going to the mall. That's the damn troof.
One avenue I've been meaning to traverse for YEARS is these fine folks. Now, that's a quite a selection of classic perfumes of yore. Maybe worth a day trip sometime. Someday.
I don't know what it is. Is it like anything else, such as music...food items...makeup...books...etc....in that there is some greased-pig-like notion that if I only looked enough and tried enough options, I would open a magickal door into life-altering experience? Lame, I guess. Always looking for the next mindblowing sensory experience, though in my quiet and otherwise unadventurous way. Thank heavens I never latched onto thrill-seeking behaviors, extreme sports, shocking displays. Trying to find the perfect, sublime beer is a much safer pursuit, no?
And perfume is the same.
I like the old feminine archetype of the "signature fragrance." My grandmother certainly had one..."L'air du Temps." Occasionally...well, rarely because it's not popular at all now...I'll be somehere and someone nearby will be wearing it and it's like a 2X4" to the temple...WHAM. Right there in the checkout line at CVS or somewhere. Everything that is her is right there with me. And that's just a sort of manifestation of grandmotherly love, lost Southern elegance and mid-century feminine grace. After her death several years ago, I swiped one of the small glass bottles from her personal things. It's there on a shelf and whenever I am missing her, I tentatively open the stopper...carefully to avoid losing any molecules to the unsentimental air...and inhale. It's like she's there in the room and I can almost hear her tinkling laugh again. Ah.
My lovely, much-missed Gog.
And then, I've always been in love with the literary/poetic ideal of wisps of a woman's signature fragrance haunting some romantically tortured man.
There weren't many choices back in the day, though.
A client at the last clinic I worked at was a serious Chanel No. 5 user. Now that's oldskool (1921). Even iconic Marilyn wore it....though so did many, many. When I first met this client, I had some grandma-memory-brain-meltdown, because that was the sometime alternate for my grandma. But soon, it became, to me, this client's signature. I always knew when she was in with her tubby little Beagle before I'd even seen her, heard her or taken a look at the appointment book.
Nice to have that effect, if you ask me. I'd like to evoke a whole set of memories or at least a recognition when I walk into a place...it's some kind of quiet, nonchalant power. One that others must involuntarily submit to, being that everyone has to breathe. (And I'm not talking about over-doing it, of course!)
And imagine being dead and gone and still having that power. Fascinating!
But again, now there are too many choices. Too, too many. Particularly for a chronic searcher and scent addict. Too many choices even among the ones I have, which represent one atom in the scheme of What There Is Out There. Still...even the 30 second daily decision every morning is a small thrill...it's some sort of exertion of will or force against the day to come. What shall I smell like today? I mean, it could affect the whole day, even Life, in a Butterfly Effect way...
This, by default, excludes the possibility of having a true signature scent then.
Or so I thought.
Until I found my Holy Grail.
It's the most sublime expression of amber I have ever smelled...and that includes having sniffed actual chunks of the resin itself. It blends with any other scent...especially since I tend to wear rather simple perfumes with few notes and little complexity. I think it's a way to have a signature yet also variety. It has become the foundation on which any other is laid. Best of both worlds.
The only hitch is having to buy it at a local health food store owned and run by one of the subtly cuntiest ladies I've ever dealt with as a customer buying things. But it's worth it. And anything beats going to the mall. That's the damn troof.
One avenue I've been meaning to traverse for YEARS is these fine folks. Now, that's a quite a selection of classic perfumes of yore. Maybe worth a day trip sometime. Someday.
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