Serendipitous Perfume

A few weekends ago I was tasked with training my fellow Lush staff in Belfast regarding all things perfume. I try not to think of myself as an expert, however I do know a thing or two and what I love doing most of all is inspiring those around me about perfume. I really do believe there’s an infinite number of stories to be told about fragrance, from the perfumer to the personal, there’s a huge discourse already out there.

I relied a little on an event that inspired me to no end this summer in order to get this job done, and that was when Odettte Toilette visited Dublin. That evening I was left with an enlightenment of sorts. I never thought my imagination could be sparked, fired and soothed simply by smelling fragrance. I’ve always been intrigued by memory and smell, but that evening I was turning a corner into the present and appreciating the hear and now of perfume. How does it make me feel? Where am I imagining myself right now?

And so, I wanted to transfer some of that evening to my other Lushies. There was of course business things which I won’t share too much of here, but I hope below sheds some light on how serendipitous the mind can be when it comes to perfume.

Consequences

When Odette Toilette (Lizzie) came to Dublin, she had her attendees play the game of Consequences. It goes like this, one person (me) writes down a set of questions on a sheet of paper. Players each answer one question and fold over their answer so the next player can’t see the previous. At the end it reads a collaborative story where every player has had a say. What this usually means is, there are similarities, surprises and common themes to be found. The perfume twist is that everyone in a group, usually four or five, are each smelling the same perfume whilst answering their questions, and as such, it reveals certain things about that person and the group, based on their answer/s.

Below is group one and two’s answers when smelling Breath of God by Gorilla Perfume. Each answer from each question is from a different person which explains why things don’t match up. However it makes for an interesting read.

Who is this man wearing the fragrance?

1. This man is my grandfather. Sitting down on his favourite armchair next to the fire. Smoking his pipe while he flips through the Sunday newspaper.
2. Not a man, my grandmother. Smells like her bedside-table drawer—medicinal and cough sweets and hand-cream. Smells like her getting ready for bed.

Describe what his home is like.

1. Retro, lots of browns and oranges, leather sofa, clean, no clutter.
2. A ski lodge. Fireplace. Mulled wine. Winter all year round. Christmas tree. Warm.

What does he do for a living/what is his job?

1. Academic. Lecturer (English?) at a university.
2. Something “outdoorsy”—lumberjack!

What are his hobbies/what does he like doing in his spare time?

1. Skateboarding and surfing/wakeboarding in the summer. Playing frisbee in the park.
2. Mountain biking, taming dinosaurs etc.

When is he most happiest?

1. Sports—skiing/snowboarding, being outdoors/active.
2. When she is at the kitchen baking cakes for friends or making dinner for family. Caring for people through food.

What is his philosophy to life?

1. Live day by day, work for what you want or you won’t get, but remember to do unto others as you would like done to you :)
2. Go after your goals. Does his own thing. Makes his own rules.

When I read out the answers to everyone, we were all shocked to hear that the two groups matched grandparents to Breath of God and that he/she liked being outdoors, active and enjoying nature. Is this your grandfather/mother? Could you sell this perfume to a person perhaps wishing to buy their grandparent a gift?

Here’s the second set of Consequences.

Who is this man wearing the fragrance?

1. A young girl actually, in her teens struggling with her identity. Not sure of what she likes or what she wants to smell like during the day…?
2. French chef/owner of deli. Fun, jokey, bouncy, enthusiastic, heart and soul.

Describe what his home is like.

1. In the middle of nowhere in a forest or on top of some cliffs or both. Windy, wood fire, warm with a fresh breeze, white linens on the bed.
2. A tent or a teepee, orange or light in colour so when the sun shines on the tent in the morning it is warm and bright.

What does he do for a living?

1. Something that allows him to have a massive big beard.
2. Doctor/Vet

What are his hobbies/what does he like doing in his spare time?

1. Playing the banjo, building model ships and cooking stew.
2. Tent-building, fig gathering, scimitar-sharpening. There are not that many hobbies in the desert.

When is he most happiest?

1. Travelling/trekking, sleeping in tents etc.
2. Having a drink and dancing to a ska/reggae band.

What is his philosophy to life?

1. Live life in the moment, be spontaneous.
2. Take each day as it comes. Live life to the fullest.

It was so revealing to discover that collectively, The Smell of Freedom by Gorilla Perfume was making several people think of tents. It is such a specific association to make and I can confirm that no one was sharing answers or whispering! In some ways it’s not surprising that people think of the outdoors. Perfume is plucked from nature, and so I think most people associate something in a fragrance back to nature.

It’s fun to create a fragrance character profile this way. Perhaps this man is indeed a vet? Maybe he lives in the outback of Australia, in the desert, in an orange tent with a big beard cooking stew for supper. He plays the banjo when the sun goes down and is spontaneous with his improvisation. His outlook on life is to take each day as it comes and live life to the fullest.

I couldn’t agree more myself.

Autumn Memories

“I’m going to blindfold you now. What I want you to do is relax and just let your memories and imagination run for a while.” An orange vintage silk scarf was wrapped around my eyes.

I was seated at the Gorilla Perfume counter in Lush Leeds when Pammy had instructed me we were going to do a perfume/smell/memory experiment of sorts. Much like a previous experience I had in Lush Henry Street, I removed myself from perfume expectations and ideas and cleared my mind.

“Now, if you had to choose only three odours or odour memories of yours, that you were to be left with, what would they be?”

I’m such a foodie a heart, “Easy, fried garlic and coffee,” I struggled for a moment for my third choice, “Perhaps, a particular autumn day when I was around eight or nine years old.”

“That autumn day, can you describe it to me? What were you doing?”

“I’m with my friends, we’re cycling on our bikes and we’re going to go past the point in the village that our parents forbid us to go. We cycled up the hill, past the witch’s house (a scary house at the the time we could have swore a witch lived in) and went up the road to a small patch of tall strong trees.”

“What are you doing there?”

“We were collecting conkers.”

“What else do you remember?”

“I remember the colours vividly. Yellow and gold leaves in the trees, a warm colour in the air, a damp mossy covered fence and brown, maroon leaves on the ground. Sifting for conkers. It’s a very cold day, a little fog in the air, cloudy breath, runny nose.” I think I can only just barely recall the smell in the air, but that might be my present-self projecting what I think I was smelling back then.

“Great. I’m going to place a glass in your hands and I want you to imagine that scene again when you inhale the fragrance.”

And so, as I breathed in the glass, I could straight away see the colours I remember of that day gathering conkers. It’s a very particular gold, yellow colour, and the perfume under my nose smells like that a little. It’s certainly a warm fragrance, suggestive of richness and warmth, but it wasn’t a strong association. I have a very familiar connection to the Gorilla Perfume range, but I was a little unsure what I was smelling. Perhaps my mind was working hard on the instructions given to me. Also, I think it’s important when (literally in this case) blind smelling, not to try and guess and figure components of a fragrance out, but to let go, inhale and appreciate or feel the fragrance working.

I told Pammy that this was pleasant and I was indeed “ah-ha’ing” and smiling.

“I’ll take that glass out of your hand. Now, with the same memory in place, smell this one.”

Glasses were swapped, still blindfolded I took in the second aroma. I had a much stronger reaction, or dare I say, association with the cool, menthol and slightly peppery perfume. I couldn’t tell which perfume this was either, but I was definitely feeling a cold autumnal day, cool pale blues, and fresh crisp air. As I’m writing this post up, I’m wondering if my reaction to this fragrance is because I smelled “peppery” decaying leaves last week in my Dentist Trip Odour Map. I had never before smelled pepper in autumn, and whilst this fragrance under my nose was peppery only slightly, I can’t help but think, is this my mind re-wiring itself?

Either way, without dissecting things, I was strongly feeling connected to the second perfume. It was The Smell of Weather Turning. The first perfume was The Smell of Freedom. Both to me are very opposite perfumes, one is literally warm the other cool. Where one reminds me of dryness, the other reminds me of dampness. Dust and dew.

I’m looking forward to going home now and seeing for myself a couple of days later if I have the same reaction or memories to each perfume.

The Smell of a New Home

It’s been a few days now in my new home with dad. We’ve downsized from a reasonably sized three-bed house, in a reasonably sized town, to a small sized three-bed, in a small sized village. To put it bluntly, I’m living further in the country than I was before. The house has a few noticeable features despite the change, it’s warmer for a start, there’s extra spiders and midges, oh we also have a bath here! That means lots of baths, with some lovely, fragrant bath bombs and bubbles to boot.

A few new smells

The new house smells, well, new. The carpets are fresh and they mix with the smell of faintly lingering paint. It’s literally a blank canvas of sorts and it’s interesting to note the changes we make as move in and live—like watching an olfactory canvas come to life.

There’s the smell of fresh lilies in the hall which radiate all over the hall and upstairs landing. They were at their best on the first day. I’m now beginning to notice the smell of sweeter decay. You can smell the rot starting and in a way I kind of like it.

There’s the smell of fresh laundry as I go about making sure we have a nice new start here and old habits are nipped in the bud.

There’s the smell of greenery in the back garden. In fact, my room overlooks a few trees and fields and it smells great when the windows are wide open and the room gets a little stuffy at night.

There’s the smell of bleach cleaning toilets and baths, and a smell that always reminds me of mum, dish clothes boiling in washing powder. A little reminder that she’s never too far away.

There’s the smell of newspaper everywhere as boxes are being opened and plates and glasses are unwrapped from their protective, dry, inky cover.

There’s the smell of rain. Rain that hasn’t stopped in two days, but it’s made a towel I left on the washing-line smell great and like it’s travelled somewhere and back.

There’s familiar smells in a new setting, like perfume I’ve worn in the last few days, Réglisse Noire by 1000 Flowers, The Smell of Weather Turning by Gorilla Perfume and Shalimar by Guerlain. Recently new to me, but familiar and comforting in their own individual ways.

It’s also interesting to recall the smells from our old home traversing over to the new home. My dad is a somewhat heavy smoker and I’m proud that he’s trying to kick the habit over the years. The cushions from the living-room sofa have absorbed that stale smell over the years and the new living-room has a mix of fresh carpets, lingering paint and stale tarry fabric. It sounds worse than I’m making it out to be. But I’ve always found cigarettes to remind me of people in my family and home in a way. I remember growing up with cousins and aunties and uncles who’d light up during every occasion. Those smells, whether it’s premiated in fabric and a little old, or recent and just sparked-up, with a freshly struck match, remind me of countless people at countless occasions during countless times.

Funny to think how home and family can travel with you in that sense no matter where you are in the world, even if it is a few miles down the road.

The Smell of Family History

As I’m knee-high in cardboard boxes moving house, I’m finding little gems in our 18 year old family home. Old ornaments I forgot we had, old toys I remember I did. There’s embarrassing photos, school sport’s day medals and dead curled up, dried up spiders at the back of wardrobes.

Treasure-trove garage

The garage proved to be a fruitful haul. Biscuit tin after biscuit tin of letters from people in my family, some going back to a grand-uncle who fought in the trenches. There’s old birth certificates, birthday cards, congratulations-on-your-new-baby cards, sorry-for-your-loss and sympathy mass cards. I found old wedding present receipts to my grandparents oddly enough, and reams of seismograph paper of my heart rate when I was days old. There’s no surprise that these finds just smell other-worldly, and indeed they are in a way. They come from a different time, when the world truly was different.

Some of these belongings, like a mother’s day teddy-bear, garbed in a dressing-gown and shower cap I bought a few years ago, smells of stale cigarettes now, where my mum kept it in her bedroom. A silver Canadian dollar coin from 1981, it’s like old leather and rusty metal. There’s a receipt from 1967 for an undertaker’s cost of services that smells like old paper—nondescript but paper-like all the same. Cost of services: £68 5s 0p. Paper money printed in 1970: 100 pesetas that smells dusty and used, like old money, familiar and dirty in a way. Stacks of old newspapers from the 80s smells exactly like old newspapers from the 80s, ink and print.

Amongst all the belongings and paper that smells like attics, fusty, dusty, dry and damp at the same time, there’s things with no odour. Like a father’s day card I made when I was 6. Or the lack of smell from (vividly smelling at the time) play-school poster-paintings, long since faded now. There’s no smell from certain letters sent from Scotland, and there’s no smell from tatty crime novels.

A poem, I think written by granddad, doesn’t have a smell either.

Absent

Sometimes between long shadows on the grass,
The brilliant little waves of sunshine pass;
My eyes grow dim with tiredness the while,
Thinking I see thee, thinking I see thee smile.

And sometimes in those shadows far apart;
The tall trees seem to whisper—
Whisper heart to heart;
There my fond life the eager answers fall,
Thinking I hear thee—thinking I hear thee call.

God bless, protect and guard thee on thy way,
Watch over and guide thy footsteps night and day
Until we meet on that Emerald Shore,
There we shall meet, love—to part no more.

When Gorilla Perfume Got Personal

One of my biggest olfactory milestones was joining Lush as a temporary Christmas Sales Assistant in 2007. I worked up, got permanent and passionate about cosmetics and perfume, then sadly had to wave farewell last year and give web design a serious go. I still to this day miss my Lush days.

So, maybe you’ve heard of Lush before, you know, “that smelly soap shop.” Smelly in the best possible sense mind you. When Lush launched Gorilla Perfume into the shops up and down the UK & Ireland, more fragrant wonders were added to a brimming array of tasty delights. These fragrant wonders weren’t a familiar bar of soap, or straightforward moisturiser, this was perfume. Perfume that had a point. And perfume that got personal.

Henry Street’s Gorilla Perfume Party

I was kindly invited along to Henry Street’s Gorilla Perfume Party to experience and try out all of the Gorilla Perfume range. On the day, Dublin was enjoying some cracking weather. The sun was shinning hard, not a cloud in the sky. As I made my way into town however, the sky was changing, the smell of rain was coming—you could say, the weather was turning. I was excited to no end. The smell of baked tarmac was giving off that familiar urban summer odour, and the sprinkling of rain was dashed from a hot bus that flew by.

On the evening, there were the current shop offerings from the likes of Karma, Vanillary and Breath of God to the affectionately named B-Sides such as Dear John, Superworldunknown and Cocktail. There’s the early year perfumes of Icon and Ginger. Not to forget about the exclusive Gorilla Perfume offerings of The Smell of Weather Turning, the fractured components of The Smell of Freedom: Old Delhi Station, Fire Tree and Oudh Heart. And duo parts of Breath of God: Inhale and Exhale.

There was a lot on offer as well as cupcakes, rooibos tea, chocolate delights, arm and hand massage and personal consultations. I opted for the tea and consultation. I wanted to be sold perfume and so, stepped out of current perfume and previous Lush shoes, and stepped into Joe Consumer shoes.

Personal perfume

I asked for some help and Emmet, the Gorilla Perfume Top Banana (knowledgeable Sales Assistant), asked me how I was keeping.

He sat me down, face to face, and told me we were going to play a smell game. There’d be a set of questions and I was to take my time, think about what the question was and choose the answers that come to mind naturally, without force and without dwelling on it.

Question 1. If you could pick only two smells in the world, because the rest would be taken away from you, what would they be?

I love food so much, I opted for fresh coffee and garlic.

Question 2. If you had your own perfume, how would you want it to smell? Forget about ingredients and notes, rather, imagine what you want it to say.

This one was tricky, I’ve often thought about my own perfume from time to time. I said, like me, or the person I want to be. I want it to smell self-assured, confident and grounded. Someone who is happy and with ambition and determination.

Question 3. What name would you give this perfume?

Too hard! I actually couldn’t think of one on the evening. However writing this up, I’d say “Deep Down Smile.”

Emmet paused for a bit, went off to the glasses of perfume, and brought back three for me. “Now, you can close your eyes or keep them opened—” I closed them, “and imagine some alpine mountain. Really high up, there’s a log cabin, it’s only you, and you step in through the door and shake the snow off your clothes and dust some out of your beard.” I smiled. “You sit down, and a hunky barista hands you a cup of warm, smooth coffee. Now smell this.” He places the glass under my nose and I inhale. It’s smooth, sweet and really slightly coffee-like. I smile again and feel content and happy.

I open my eyes again and Emmet is smiling too. He’s a guy who really enjoys this process. He tells me at this point, this is when we name (what was Dear John) the perfume I stated in my earlier response. So for me, Dear John becomes Deep Down Smile.

Other personal perfume profiles

He goes on to tell me about a lady who came in one day and was looking for a perfume too. He walked her through the same process. She tells him how her life isn’t exactly where she wanted it to be at the moment. Her job is hard, her boss isn’t pleasant. Boyfriend, friends the lot! Through the same methods, she really took to Karma. He tells her the sun oils of orange and lemongrass should make her imagine positivity and encouragement. I can’t recall what she named Karma for herself, but she came back a month later and informed Emmet of a new job, a happy social circle, a better life.

This really impressed me, and it was Emmet’s idea, to transform perfume on people. To make it them. They’re not wearing Lust any more, they’re wearing Skin Hungry because one lady wanted to feel heat, passion, scratch marks and…

Karma transforms one wearers outlook. She’s not wearing Karma anymore, it’s something much more personal, it becomes her personal odour. The idea is great. Because we know the perfume isn’t doing anything at all, but it’s allowing us to alter our mood and feelings into something else we wish we could feel. The perfume ultimately becomes whatever the wearer wants it to be and so, they change their state of being in a way.

Dear John isn’t Dear John any more when I wear it, it’s Deep Down Smile. I hope to wear it now with an attitude that is more confident, more happy, more warm and more smiley. And if that hunky barista chooses to make himself known I’ll be ordering a box of Dear John at some point.

Oh and a bottle of The Smell of Weather Turning was also purchased because the weather in Dublin that day couldn’t have turned more quickly or more differently if it tried.

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What do you think?

Do you believe perfume can change your life? Would the smell of something positive make you more positive? Would Skin Hungry be a literal aphrodisiac?

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Smelling Emotional Responses

The following is an obvious statement: smell is linked to emotion. For a long time I’ve been in awe about smell and memory, but often overlooked how smell makes me feel. It’s a hard reaction to listen to, especially for me, who’s usually sensitive by nature.

Those close to me (and unfortunately for them sometimes) know I am a sensitive person. I take things seriously, to heart. Sometimes, I don’t know when to let go. My fault is my blessing. I admit my faults and I’m happy with who I am. Why is it then, by my very nature, sometimes when I smell something, I can’t quite feel a certain way about it? Let alone figure out a reason why I did in the first place.

Robot response

My usual behaviour when I smell something is to figure it out, “What is that?” “Where is it coming from?” “Smells sour.” “Smells… like meat.” “Is that lamb?” “Why is it from the dishwasher?” “Someone have a kebab for lunch?” “Nah, rogan josh.” “Christ, it’s really pungent, piercing, tart.” “Is it the water? Dull dishwasher water.”

I think about it and think about it and think about it. Meh.

If I can’t figure it out, I’m not necessarily outright about it either. Smell is so internal for everyone and nine times out of ten, you don’t share every single smell experience. But sometimes I like to, especially if it’s english tea, turf, fat, roobios tea or candles.

With odours, my reactions are inquisitive and memory inducing. I’m not a heartless robot either, but my feeling toward a smell sometimes isn’t present.

Not necessarily true

When I smelled Arpège by Lanvin for the first time I was overwhelmed. My reaction was of goosebumps, the hairs on my neck standing up and the feeling of my mum’s presence. She never owned a single bottle of Arpège, but my reaction was longing and tearful.

The contrast between short, sharp command-like internal questions of a lamby dishwasher and the knock-me-to-the-floor reaction of Arpège, couldn’t be further apart.

When I think of smell and memory, the facts didn’t add up. My mum never owned a bottle of Arpège. Yet my feelings bubbled to the surface. How can something that never happened move me so?

Maybe, a material in the perfume, an ingredient, was shared between Arpège and something my mum would have worn over the years. Maybe I was thinking of her that day in the back of my mind.

Maybe I was experiencing a heightened response this time. Perhaps I feel at least something towards every smell I come by, and there’s a sliding scale in place for each response. In any case I’m not sure I’ll figure it out any time soon.

So should I have an emotional response to that dishwasher? Should I well up over the smell of the tiniest thing? Probably not. I would deserve a slap in the face otherwise!

I adore this about smell. There’s days you can go idly by. Sniffing here, sneezing there. You could be in your garden, kicking back just relaxing and enjoying the easy breeze. You could be in the opening of a new restaurant and the smells of everything whizzing past you tantalise your belly. There’s that briny day at the beach. Or there’s that one day, when you didn’t expect it, an arbitrary weeknight. BAM. That emotion, the feeling you have. Loose yourself in it. Stay put, feel it. Let yourself enjoy the smell if it is wondrous and happy. And if it makes you feel glum, feel glum.

Tomorrow you’ll step in dog shit and smell it for weeks.

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What do you think?

Smell has probably reminded you of somewhere, some place or a person. What has it made you feel? Has something made you elated? Overjoyed? Wistful?

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[Update] I’d like to share with you a post from Christopher Kowalewski. He too has a very similar emotional response and affinity to Arpège and his grandmother.

Really, Really Bad Odours

It happens occasionally doesn’t it? That really horrid, rank smell. The one that not only annoys you in the littlest but can make you retch—heave ho.

I’ve just left a cushiony desk job—literally, it was a comfortable cushion. I worked in Dublin city centre as a Digital Designer for one of the country’s top agencies. Working in town was great, it was so central to everything. However at certain times of the day odours would seep in through the windows, or sometimes bellow in. They came from the rear vents of the kitchens and restaurants to the alley behind us.

For the entire year I’d say, the odours were pleasant enough. Warm rising-bread-like smells, or insanely garlicy garlic, like one-hundred and one bulbs were being smashed to smithereens. Sometimes it was belly-rumbling-terrific, like near-ready sausages, bacon, and fried eggs in a frying pan. Other times, it was of Chinese food, ginger, spices and lemongrass.

Last month it was all about fat. Watery soupy fat. Fat that was melting slowly, fetid and grey. It was obnoxious in every possible way. It never made me gag, but it would bring back the strongest memories of growing up.

Smells that make me sick

There are a couple of smells that truly make me gag. One of them is fresh vomit. Yes no one likes this. But I have a sensitive stomach at the best of times and even the sound of this is enough to make my toes curl. The other smell is the fat refinery in the town that I grew up in.

I remember moving to my home town from a small village when I was around 6 or7. My vaguer memories of pre 6 years old in that country village was a couple of summers and autumns that are gold, yellow, green and red.

My home town has a big old fat refinery in the middle of it. Right beside the bus station, you can see the excess steam pissing into the depot. A beautiful welcome for all.

When I first smelled this I remember having to pass it with my school jumper over my mouth. The odours of beef dripping, lard and melting fat was (and sometimes still is) gut-turning. It’s like creamy off butter, gloopy, sour and rotting. It’s so powerful a reaction when you think about it. Something that isn’t necessarily bad or poisonous, let’s say, can make you want to throw up. “Natural defence system” is one reason I see when I look this up. But what is curious to me, I got used to the smell. Is this my “natural defences” telling me it’s ok now?

Working with bad smells

I’ve since worked in a number of jobs with questionable odours, a butcher and fishmonger. Not surprisingly some odours in those jobs become undetectable as your nose familiarizes itself to it, the smell of dried blood on the fridge floor, fish, in all it’s rainbow shades, an abscess in a cut of meat, pustule and terribly sour. Even as a barman, some toilets can be left in a very, very odd state.

Really, really bad smells are a necessity I think. Whilst they’re obviously unpleasant, I notice a lot of effort made by some to cover up not so pleasant smells. So what if you’re trainers are a little woofy. Or the kitchen now smells of trout for a day or two. If you’re smelling a little of BO don’t waste half a canister, have a shower when you get home.

I’m the first to raise my hand and say I’m guilty of covering up too, I think everyone more or less likes to appear presentable. But I wouldn’t be fanatic. Why are some people though? Are they truly unimpressed even by the faintest pong of a gym bag? Or the slightly musty, attractive quality of perspiration? Is it sensitivity? Does it bring back unpleasant memories?

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What do you think?

What smells are truly the foulest of the foul for you? What can turn your gag-reflexes all the way up to 11? Is there somewhere near you that is just so unpleasant?

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