dimanche 5 avril 2009

Why would I want to smell like a place?



Sometime in the late 90s, I came home proudly wafting of Comme des Garçon’s Avignon. Waving my wrist under the nose of my flatmate, another nun-raised Papist wench, I blurted: “Doesn’t this smell just like church?” To which she replied, unimpressed: “Yeah, but why would a woman want to smell like a place?”

I’ve been mulling over this point ever since. And I’ve decided that, no, I don’t want to smell of a place, an atmosphere or a trip, thus missing out on a major chunk of niche perfumery gems. Something has to mesh with my idea of what a woman’s skin ought to smell like for me to actually wear a fragrance, as opposed to sniffing it greedily, admiring it, swooning over it, and not buying it. It isn’t a matter of liking or disliking certain notes; nor is it a question of the “masterpiece-I’m-meant-to-admire-but-just-can’t-get-into”.

So what’s missing – for me, at least – in the “smell-like-a-place” compositions? Is it a type of note or accord? Say the animalic base notes or the indolic florals that pick up on the scent of moist flesh? I’d say it is, in part: otherwise, why would classic perfumery have always woven its artifices around those notes? But I suspect it is more a matter of concept, and a rather post-modern concept at that…

Take the much-reviled Serge Noire. I bought a full bottle of this without even finishing the sample within two days of its launch. And there it’s been standing in its box on my dresser, periodically sniffed but untouched ever since. I love its incense-y, charred fumes but somehow, there’s nothing in there to actually link it to my body. It is what the French would call désincarné: disincarnated. Best left to its own devices. A skillful, beautiful evocation of some otherworldly, archaic temple where I have no place.

Same goes for Annick Ménardo’s gorgeous Bois d’Arménie, in Guerlain’s L’Art et la Matière collection. I would happily loll about in a wooden palace by the Black Sea that smelt of this, but I can’t be moved to carry it around on my skin. A great many of Olivia Giacobetti’s compositions have the same effect on me. They are brilliant evocations of atmospheres, complex and wonderful landscapes bottled up: her personal fragrances and her parfums d’ambiance (a much more poetic designation than “room spray”) have a seamless sort of creative consistency, which is probably why many commentators on last week’s post about room sprays said they could easily swap one for the other. Jean-Claude Ellena’s Jardins series for Hermès elicits the same response.

Perfume is a kind of portable aura: both an invisible bubble of beauty into which we can periodically retreat from mundane realities, and an olfactory identity badge (“Today, this is me.”). So there isn’t any reason why the smell of a place, an atmosphere, a mood, shouldn’t act as this portable aura – and clearly, for a lot of perfume lovers, it does.

But somehow, some of these compositions feel to me as a perfect still life or landscape painting: so self-sufficient my presence isn’t required, save to admire them. They can be moving, startlingly evocative and original – but they can’t be me, because they don’t need a “me”.

So what about you? Are there any “smell-like-a-place” fragrances you love to visit, but can’t see yourselves carrying around like some invisible snail shell?

Or is it just me?

Image: Henri Matisse, Spanish Still Life (1911).

36 commentaires:

  1. Yes, I completely agree. Last night I sampled Timbuku and another "Place" fragrance and while they wre very interesting and quite lovely, I kind of like smelling nice not necessarily like a place, although I am really entraced with Dzing! I am so happy you wrote about this because I was starting to feel a little less of a proper perfume-addict (if you know what I mean) by wanting to smell like a woman, say more chanel-like, than the desert.

    Thanks for the encouraging words today!!

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  2. Tara, well I feel less alone too, now! Dzing is also an exception for me: but then, the circus backstory does include a lot of living creatures...

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  3. Yes...I am thinking of the "campfire" scents, CDG Ouzarate, Lonestar Memories...when I was younger and would actually go camping and cook with fire, I'd smell like that. I am not so sure now that I want to remind myself, or anyone, of burnt carbon or charred wood. However, if I was camping now (little chance of that!) I might wear it. I wore Zagorsk in Alaska and it seemed perfect. Perhaps perfume of place are better in the place they resemble.

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  4. Olfacta, yes, that would be the right occasion to wear such fragrances. Although it's always hard to tell how they'll react in situ, isn't it? Diet, moisture levels, etc... I always get weird surprises when I travel, and need to bring an array of scents to make sure something meshes.

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  5. I agree with you absolutely; there must be a connection for a relationship to work (as with other things, I suppose). I feel that way about citrus or lavender, though these are smells I love, and perfumes accepted by tradition. I have found though, that these are lovely to enjoy in bath & body products, because it's not a contact that it about you and your conceptions of personality, but an enjoyment of the moment.

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  6. I like the country or city-place scents more than the building scents. I am not much for cdg "garage," or for Messe de Minuit (tho I love other incenses). But I really like bpal Morocco, and Shaal Nur which to me smells like the south of italy somehow.

    I am starting to wonder if I am the only person on the planet who loves and covets Serge Noir, now too! LOVE the stuff.

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  7. Dain, you're right, it must have a connection with one's sense of personnality... But I'm thinking also of the relationship a composition has with a person -- with human flesh as opposed to a mood or a place. Plain lavender or citrus wouldn't be wearable directly for me either, not really as a personal fragrance anyway, if it weren't combined with other notes. But in Jicky, Moment Suprême or Veroprofumo Kiki, lavender works fine for me. And citrus, well, just ask any chypre!

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  8. A thought provoking post, as usual.

    The idea of skin and body is very important to me when thinking about/feeling perfume. Perfume was one of the things that brought me out of my head and back into my skin. I think I understand what you are saying about there needing to be a link back to that incarnated self. A human-ness.

    And yet...sometimes I don't need to radiate or meld with my perfume, to have it become my aura. Sometimes it is a portable place, a room I carry with me. And sometimes it is an entertaining performance. While it is true that I don't wear the latter perfumes very often, I do delight in them. And the former, the portable rooms, are very important to me. A lot of my incense or smoke-based perfumes fall into this category. I am thinking particularly of the oppoponax in Paestum Rose, which on the right day is so very, very right. It is an air that surrounds and protects me.

    All that said, I'm sure there must be *some* link for me, back to the skin for it to work--I can't wear Avignon (the dark rose in Paestum Rose helps warm and ground the incense for me) but perhaps it is a different one than, say, the fully embodied Mitsouko or Scandal... All of this is purely subjective of course--someone else would no doubt substitute different examples entirely.

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  9. Oh, Fountaingirl, I *do* love Serge Noire, I just never seem to be able to connect to it as a personal fragrance -- and it's kind of too expensive to be a room spray.

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  10. Alyssa, see, that's exactly why I wrote this post: to hear about other relationships to this skin vs. place thing... I can't do "portable rooms", but clearly they bring a lot of pleasure to others, and it *is* a major source of inspiration to perfumers.

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  11. Very interesting post.

    I definitely think of the more classical perfume creations as having a person-like quality, but I tend to associate them in my mind with specific people! They're kind of like a costume I would put on to channel a specific personality...for example, Chamade makes me think of Catherine Deneuve in the yellow raincoat in Les Parapluies de Cherbourg. As delightful as that is, I don't always feel up to the challenge of wearing the spirit of Deneuve...it's a little challenging, what with the perfect hair and the formidable emotional reserve.

    So perfumes that are a place or a concept often feel more comfortable than the other kind...I can hang out in the figgy garden of Philosykos on a bad hair day, when I feel grumpy and put-upon, and not worry about those things clashing with the spirit of my perfume. There's less pressure, in a way, with the "portable room" genre.

    Hope that doesn't sound completely crazy. It is interesting to hear all the different points of view on this.

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  12. Well, you've got me thinking, in the best possible way...so many levels...

    First, thanks for introducing me to the idea of desincarne / disincarnated; that's a concept to roll around with without even adding on the perfume aspect. But, this space is for the perfume... :)

    I don't know. I tend to start from the other corner. The idea of "skin scents" always makes me think twice; do I really want my perfume to simply be "more me"? (Is this a variation on lipstick options, namely the "your lips but better" option?) I know that sometimes, yes, I very much want the scent emanating from my skin to be somewhat animalic, but warmer, better...

    ...on the other hand, I still tend to find certain smells--what was the term you used, "gusset"?--such as "panties," to be a cosmic joke, kind of like the emperor's new clothes. Hey, nothing against that smell...but why am I paying for it?

    So, I am of two minds on "skin scents," and the one mind seems to be of a similar bent as your wariness of "scents of place."

    How do I feel about a scent meant to evoke a place? I think that, depending on the scent, it is either a "smell scent" (like CB Black March; not so much a perfume as an experience), or it is indeed a perfume, because after all, can't the smell of the sea, of a woodshop, of the woods, end up clinging to your skin? It depends on the blend, and the effect when it sets on *my* skin.

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  13. Hello, D. Lovely, thought-provoking post. I think in general that I agree. To be truly wearable for me, a fragrance usually does have to have something that, as you say, links it to the human skin. I've often made a contrast between these two fragrances for Frederic Malle: on the one hand, JCE's L'Eau d'Hiver, which despite being a "winter water" has a warmth to it, versus Olivia Giacobetti's heartbreakingly beautiful En Passant. Both are limpid and transparent, and yet L'Eau D'Hiver has a human warmth to it that En Passant does not have. And yes, I find L'Eau d'Hiver more "wearable" than En Passant as a result (although I'm very happy to own and occasionally wear a little bit of En Passant in one of those travel atomizers).

    That said, I do wonder about the different ways that people use scent. While I usually want to have to wear something on my skin that has that human touch, there are times that I do like the appreciate a scent on its own. I might spray it on clothing or even on skin, in order to give it a place from which to diffuse.

    Perhaps there is a link to be made to haute couture: there are certainly creations that are worn to make a statement, with little regard for utilitarian concepts like comfort, versatility, or what have you. Yes, wearing those sorts of things takes a bit of a "commitment," but the world would be a little duller without those flights of fancy...

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  14. Ce commentaire a été supprimé par un administrateur du blog.

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  15. I personally love to smell like a place or a concept or a piece of art, as long as it's one I enjoy. I wear scents for my own sake, not caring much what others think of them and of how they "become" me, and putting them on skin is the most convenient way to carry them around with me.
    That said, I do understand the problem. I tend to want a certain animalic warmth in a perfume, something that can marry with my skin chemistry, otherwise I'm uncomfortable in it. I'd go so far as to say I find it nauseating when perfume and body odour obviously clash. I don't like scents that just "sit" on my skin all cool and aloof and "perfumey", and I gag when I smell those extremely cold and ozonic/aquatic "fresh from the shower" men's scents on a hot and sweaty man. Not because the sweat stinks per se or something, just because there's something so offputting about the clash between warm, living body and obviously synthetic "fresh"-but-not-really fragrance. So yes, I think there has to be something in the perfume that makes it "wearable", some kind of warm or musky base that can blend into the smell of human.
    For me it's very much a question of "warm" vs. "cold", I tend to only like "warm" perfumes yet my idea of what is "warm" and not sometimes seem to completely contradict that of others. I think my idea of "warmth" is really my way of judging whether it fits with (my) body odour or not.
    So yeah, in short, I love to smell like a place as long as it's a "warm-smelling" place. And I think incense scents generally qualify, both the warm, fresh and spicy/woody kind and those that smell like damp and murky crypts. Just not Tauer's extremely cold and minimalistic Incense extreme. Brosius' CBMusk I also found extremely cold and not marrying with the skin at all, despite the animalic name.

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  16. Oh, this was such an interesting post! I've been looking for new perfumes lately, having been one of those people who have worn the same scent for years and years I finally got bored with it. Now, when I'm looking for something new, I find that I am extremely picky, and what I look for is that scent that will "melt" unto me. Like Solander, I hate it when scent just sit on my skin. I shall think of this post and the expression "portable aura" next time I go testing perfumes.

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  17. Charlotte, that's an interesting notion -- that the "portable room" isn't linked to self-image; that it enables us to wear beauty without *being* that beauty (unlike a piece of clothing or make-up). An entirely different type of narcissistic indulgence, as it were.

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  18. ScentScelf, I'm not usually keen on the "my skin but better" compositions (or MLBB lippies for that matter): what I look for is at least a note or accord that anchors the rest of the composition to my skin.

    The "gusset" notes of Schiaparelli Shocking, to which you refer, would only be a burst of laughter followed by a "no thank you" if they didn't serve as a base for the rose -- they are actually why I can "do" that particular rose scent.

    The CBs I don't know very well (I have a series of samples sent by a sweet fellow), but they do strike me as being "odeurs" rather than "parfums" and I've never been driven to wear them, though I do enjoy Black March tremendously.

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  19. Jarvis, the Eau D'Hiver vs En Passant dichotomy was very much in my mind as I was writing. Much as I find En Passant lovely, the narrative it creates somehow interferes with my experience of the day. It's probably a more pleasant narrative, but it's a little too schizophrenic an experience...

    I wouldn't follow you entirely on the haute couture vs RTW analogy though: it seems to me that "place scents" are not necessarily at that level of complexity, artistic statement or commitment on the part of the wearer. The "couture" thing I often feel when I'm wearing the grand vintage scents.

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  20. Solander, what you're driving at is another line of reflection for me: the notes that divorce a scent from skin (rather than the concept that inspired the composition).

    It's probably very individual, as you say. For instance, in my case, though I really think Annick Goutal Un Matin d'Orage (to take a recent example) is great, that vibrating, mineral, Calone + incense top note just stops me from appropriating the scent. The extremely cold incenses would have the same effect.
    "Warm" is a good (if very general) descriptive for what is needed to make a scent wearable.

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  21. Breathless, you've got hours and hours of pleasant exploration ahead of you -- just don't think that there'll be just the one! We have many auras...

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  22. Hi, D. Ah, I see what you mean about "couture" vs. "place" scents. I was thinking about Dans Tes Bras when I wrote that, which is very complex, and does feel a bit couture. Upon reflection, I wouldn't call it a place scent, since it's far too complex. It does have a saltiness that is supposed to evoke skin, but still feels very alien on me, and hence, I never wear it.

    But thinking to your example of CdG Avignon -- I wouldn't call it "simple," but you're right, it doesn't have that human dimension of complexity to it. It *is* more like a sort of parfum d'ambiance. I suspect that you will find the Diptyque Essence of John Galliano to have a similar quality (after all, it *is* a parfum d'ambiance).

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  23. An interesting thing about perfume is that it is multidirectional in the information it conveys. Your choice of perfume can send a message to the world about who you are. If that’s your objective in wearing perfume, then certainly it should have some human connection, unless you are choosing to project some degree of alienation on a particular day. However, perfume also carries information about the world to you, and if that’s your interest in wearing it, then place perfumes can be quite wonderful. Especially when I’m by myself, I enjoy perfumes that bring back memories of places I have been or invitations to places I would like to see. As for En Passant, for me it summons the Walt Whitman poem “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” and all the emotions I’ve felt reading it in years past. I wear different perfumes for different reasons, for different occasions and for different company. In the span of thoughts and emotions I hope to evoke for myself as well as others, place perfumes have their place.

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  24. Jarvis, I'd be at a loss to classify Dans Tes Bras as well -- to me, if this is a skin scent, it's the skin of pod people...
    But a number of CdG qualify more as "odeurs" than "parfums" to me.

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  25. Kathryn, I'm not sure I wear perfume mainly to convey a message about myself (though of course that's certainly a dimension of it), but the alienation I feel towards what I call "place" perfumes is that I feel alienated from them when they are devoid of a connection to my own flesh. This is purely my own perception though, I'm not making a rule of it. In fact, I'm very happy to read comments stating a very different relationship than mine to this type of fragrance: that was the aim of this post!
    So thank you for your insights...

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  26. I do know what you mean, but equally I love Un Jardin Sur Le Nil and obsessively love Avignon (although it doesn't work on my skin very sadly).

    Perhaps layering something skin like into the mix would make them seem more like a scent for a lady and less like one for a room?

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  27. Hrm, what does this mean, "because it's not a contact that it about you and your conceptions of personality"?

    I meant to say, "because it's not about you and your conceptions...". I don't know what happened there. Bad brain, bad brain.

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  28. Rose: I'm pretty much dead set against layering, as I figure the perfumers knew what they were doing when they composed in the first place, but some people are saying they wear something on their clothes (the "place") and another thing on their skin...

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  29. Dain, I answered you in a cafeine-deprived state and got the gist of it, so...

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  30. Ce commentaire a été supprimé par un administrateur du blog.

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  31. I guess if the "place" felt like my skin, and the perfume evoked that place, it would all meld together. Typically, when I want to smell of a "place" it involves flowers, (indolic ones usually) or something green, or woody so I'm not sure I can speak to the churchy/temple issue.

    So I hear what you are saying D. As even when I wear woods, or something tobacco-ish, I like the fullness of an indolic flower to meld into my skin. Make it fleshier as you say.

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  32. I know what you mean about layering, I was set against it but I have warmed a little. It is tricky though, I think it only works for me when I am adding one note- like musk or citrus.

    Really I want to be a perfumer and maybe a bit of layering lets me play that I am!

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  33. Oooh, I love how sexy everything sounds in French -- including "this comment has been removed by the administrator." Whisper that in my ear... where was I? I really enjoyed this post and the comments. I feel differently about my relationship than most (all?) other commenters. Happy to wear scents that seem to have nothing whatsoever to do with me or my existence. Some of my favorite scents, which probably don't exist in France, are the CB I Hate Perfumes. The smell of leaves, damp earth, tea, incense, dandelions -- all of these appeal to me for their sheer, strange other-ness. (Avignon does too.)

    I do love the reviled Serge Noire as well. I don't own a bottle, but would cheerfully wear it if I did! And honey, if it makes you happy to spray it in the air, by all means do so!

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  34. March, LOL! The comment in question was Chinese spam,of all things... Nothing sexy about that.
    I know you love the CBs, which aren't available in France, but I did get some from MattS. How could you not love Black March?

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  35. Rose, I *do* sometimes cautiously experiment layering with "solinotes", to bring out something in a fragrance... But I don't own many solinotes, I guess.

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  36. Trish (sorry for answering this upside down, I haven't had enough coffee yet), I guess that would be the trick for me too. Trying to think of examples... (too early in the morning for me...).

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