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Fragrant
Memories
Perfume
is the unseen but unforgettable and ultimate fashion accessory.
It heralds a woman's arrival and prolongs her departure. |
Jan Moran, Countess de Lemnos
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For
me, perfume always represented the luxurious life, a life to be
lived to the fullest, not hoarded away for special occasions and
future days. Life was a voyage and perfume was the passage. It was
the olfactory key to a glamorous life far beyond the confines of
my small hometown. It was to my senses what books were to my soul:
an avenue of escape to a grown-up F. Scott Fitzgerald world, a world
where days were pretty and kind and sweet, and nights were sultry
and languid and full of mystery. A world where each dawning day
held the promise of glittering adventures.
I remember as a little girl, barely five years old, playing at my
mother's old-fashioned vanity, where I would perch on the velvet-covered
stool and sample her finely-sifted face powders and youth-enhancing
cremes. Then I would gaze at myself in the mirror, imagining the
elegant, sophisticated woman I would surely grow to be.
But the pièce de résistance, the ultimate glory, was in her carved
crystal decanters of perfume. I reveled in their exotic names: Shalimar,
Bal à Versailles, Mitsouko, and Arpège. Whispering these names,
I was whisked away to the streets of Paris, the palaces of India
and the gardens of Japan, filled with worldly people, mystery, romance,
and opulence. I remember the day I learned to pronounce L'Air du
Temps and Quelques Fleurs, and understood their meaning. I had unlocked
a door; my voyage had begun.
It was before that mirror that I first experienced those fragrant
creations. Of course, I had smelled them long before, on my mother
and grandmother. My grandmother favored White Shoulders and Normandie.
My mother, who often smelled of Shalimar, never stepped out of the
house without looking perfect. Their attire was important, but the
perfume was absolutely mandatory, even at home. Perfume was applied
in the morning, touched up during the day, and added to the evening
bath water. In a home that knew few luxuries, fragrance was deemed
an essential, like milk and bread.
Whatever the reason behind my mother's and grandmother's love of
fragrance, I understood it instinctively. I remember my mother would
let me dab the precious oils on my wrists and neck, and spritz the
eau de toilette lavishly on my hair and shoulders. As a little girl
I learned to distinguish the scents: the florals and spices, the
greens and woods. I just didn't realize it until I was much older,
when I would search for words to describe a scent. Instinctively
I knew when and where to wear a fragrance. I'd choose spicy, rich,
opulent scents for romantic dates and fresh citrus and white flower
eaux de toilette for daytime and school.
I assumed that everyone understood and enjoyed fragrance as I did.
Never would I travel without selecting just the right scent, a fragrance
light and not too overpowering for a confined airplane or train.
No sooner would I venture out into the world without my tiny vials
than would Napoléon have forged into battle without his saber. Or
without his vats of eau de Cologne, a practice that inspired Guerlain
scents and their famous "bee bottle" flacons, created in
honor of the Emperor. Later, as a struggling student at Harvard,
I wouldn't dream of going to class without a suitable scent, even
if I had just rolled out of bed with ten minutes to class time.
Now, fragrance goes on first in the morning, even if I don't plan
to leave the house or the garden that day.
Fragrance weaves through my life like the silken tasseled cords
that entwine my handblown perfume bottles. Name a fragrance and
memories flood back. Like Opium, the perfume an old boyfriend brought
to me from French Martinique. Or Joy, the one I bought in Hong Kong.
The Boucheron and Coco a girlfriend gave me before she moved from
Beverly Hills, fragrances my husband likes so much on me. The perfume
I shan't name that I gave away, even though I loved it, when my
husband said he hated it on me--I loved him so much more. The Lagerfeld
and Bijan he wears so well. The Chanel No. 5 I was given as a teenager,
the day when I felt really grown up. And more--the essences I blend
today, always in search of a magical composition. Each fragrance
is fraught with memories.
A scientist once told me that our olfactory sense is our most retentive
sense, a trigger for memory and emotion. Even ancient cultures knew
this, and prized their fragrance and incense. Mystical, magical,
mercurial. Enchanted memories, entwined with fragrance, these are
the memories I draw on today, for my writing and my creations.
I love the art of perfumery, and I also adore the accoutrements
of perfume. I love the opulent packaging, the satin ribbons and
golden seals, the fluffy powder puffs, the glimmering crystal flacons.
I love the immediate confidence and poise garnered with each application,
and the luxury of smelling the scent on the back of my hand in order
to spark my imagination when I'm bored. I enjoy it all, and the
ability to create, appreciate and share all the elements. It is
my most enjoyable work, my voyage, my adventure.
I love the memories and I love the dreams, and most of all, I love
the fragrances--part of the nuance and essence of life. Come, share
my fragrant journey.
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Jan Moran, Countess of Lemnos, is a writer and beauty authority.
She is the author of the best selling book Fabulous Fragrances
II, a guide to the world's finest fragrances, available at
Saks Fifth Avenue. Her company distributes the Michael Edwards
fragrance books, the Fabulous fragrance line, and licenses
beauty content. She writes fiction and non-fiction articles
for Complete Woman magazine and others.
Visit www.fabulousfragrances.com
or call (888) 258-2322.
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