Why I Wear Perfume – Top 10 Reasons

The most frequent question I’m asked about perfume is: what’s your favourite? (Answer: I genuinely do not have one, and even picking 10 is a process so agonising, I can almost see it turning my hair grey before my eyes). But perhaps the most interesting question I’m asked about perfume is why I wear it. Even though it’s come up a few times over the years, I feel I’ve never given it a satisfactory response. Sometimes, the context hasn’t been quite right (a noisy event where it isn’t possible to exchange anything more than pithy soundbites). At other times, I have the suspicion the person asking isn’t actually prepared for a full answer (and as you know, I don’t do brief). And then there are the days when I simply don’t think I’m capable of articulating all the emotions and sensations that would need to be part of an honest and comprehensive reply. 

But today is the day when I try to address the issue once and for all: an attempt to express, in as much detail as possible, precisely what it is that has made me reach for my bottles of scented magic, day after day, for several decades. And what it is that keeps making me reach for them. 

In true nerdy Persolaise fashion, I’m presenting this as a Top 10, but I ought to point out that the reasons aren’t in any special order. And although I’m sticking to 10 for the moment, I suspect there are many more, some of which I don’t even consciously know yet. Perhaps I’ll need a few more decades to figure them out. For today, 10 will do…

1. It allows me to be lots of different people.

This is perhaps the single most commonly cited reason for wearing scent, not just by me, but by others as well. Perfume allows me to adopt the persona of, for instance, someone with deeper reserves of confidence than I have (the familiar refrain of ‘it’s my protective shield’), or someone who’s more spontaneous, or more sensuous, or more introspective. It can transform me into a courageous mountain climber, or an empathetic negotiator or a trend-bucking fashionista. But more importantly, it allows me to be several different people at the same time. I remember a psychiatrist friend saying years ago that he always supports people who challenge norms. And that lies at the core of this particular reason for wearing perfume. I can put on a crisp white t-shirt, skinny black jeans, biker boots and a Perfecto jacket. But the perfume I can choose to go with that outfit might be a cheeky, fizzy floral. And as I walk through the world, I see people doing a double take, tickled and perplexed by how the look doesn’t quite match the scent.

To smell what I mean… wear a fragrance that you would absolutely never wear, and then step back and try to observe the effect it has on you and on those around you. My personal ‘shake me out of my own skin’ scents are many and varied, from Guerlain Nahema (which transforms me into a breastplate-clad gladiator) to Tauer Lonestar Memories (the last thing I am is an outdoorsy cowboy type, except when I don this masterpiece) to Etat Libre D’Orange La Fin Du Monde (through which I channel the inner Paris Hilton I never knew I had).

2. It satisfies the geek in me.

Perfumery lends itself terrifically well to geekery. There might be a notion out there that scents are created by long-limbed poets frolicking through sun-baked fields of Provençal lavender. And I’m sure there is a fair amount of frolicking that goes on. But most of the time, perfumers are lab rats poring over formulae, while using their astonishing memories and their intimate knowledge of hundreds of odorous substances to create very specific, precise effects. This nerdiness then extends to the product itself, and the fact that it can be catalogued according to a brand’s portfolio, or which scent family it belongs to, or which perfumer made it etc. As a consequence of all this, perfumery is ripe for an activity which many scenthusiasts find irresistible: figuring things out. I love trying to consider why, say, a brand has released fragrance X on the back of fragrance Y. Or how a new lily of the valley accord has been put together. Or what a perfumer has done to tweak and update the formula of a vintage scent. At heart, I am a geek. And perfumery never fails to send my endorphins (or should that be nerdorphins?) into overdrive.

To smell what I mean… take samples of Sisley Eau De Campagne, Cartier Declaration and Hermes Un Jardin Sur Le Nil. All three were, of course, made by the same person (Jean-Claude Ellena) across a period spanning nearly 30 years. Consider the similarities and differences between them. Think about how they demonstrate the progression of Ellena’s artistry, how they highlight the recurring themes in his work. Remark on their use of green notes and spices and woods. In short, have a total geek-out.

3. It connects me to the past, but also lets me reframe it and, if necessary, conquer it. 

The ability of smell to evoke memories has been documented and written about far more than necessary. Indeed, in my view, this particular attribute of perfumery has been somewhat overplayed. What’s written about rather less is the way in which this conduit to the past can enable us to analyse almost-forgotten experiences: to reappraise them with the benefit of hindsight and perhaps to re-remember them in subtly wiser, more constructive ways. I’m not saying perfume is therapy (although: why not?), but it can form part of a toolkit for self-examination and growth.

To smell what I mean… you must decide what you need to do. This has to be a personal choice: only you know the scents that have an utterly unstoppable power to pull you back to the experiences of the younger you. Speaking for myself, the most recent ‘memory shock’ I had with a perfume was caused by Akro Smoke. It reminded me of visits to relatives back in the late 70s and early 80s, when we were living in southern Iran. In particular, I was transported to the vision of a family member smoking a simple, clay hookah. That recollection made me revisit the time we spent in Asia. And the rest is best left to me, my memories and the hyper-realistic tobacco note in Smoke.

4. It lets me tell others that I care about their world, and about the shape I create as I walk through it. 

I’m not the first to say that dressing well is a form politeness. By extension, dressing poorly – and by that I mean, dressing in a manner that shows a disregard for the effect one’s attire might have – is a form of rudeness. (Please note: I absolutely don’t want to come across as fascist about this. And I must emphasise that I consider dress to be an important mode of self-expression, and that I believe it’s probably possible to adopt any form of dress in a manner that is, in a broad sense, considerate.) When I’m choosing an outfit, I don’t think just about how it’s going to make me look: I also think about how it’s going to be perceived. I want my clothes to say: “I hope you like what I’ve decided to wear, because I acknowledge that what I wear becomes part of what you see in your world. And I don’t want to be a source of ugliness in your world.” The same goes for perfume. It is yet another method for me to say: “I’ve tried to bring some beauty into your space. Because I care about the effect I have on your world when I step into it.” 

To smell what I mean… try to track down a few drops of Parle Moi De Parfum Papyrus Oud. Although I mostly keep the Day Job under wraps on these pages, I’ve never concealed that it’s in the field of education and that, over the years, it has involved invigilating exams. On these occasions, I’ve always opted to wear a few discreet sprays of a scent with a marked incense note (such as Papyrus Oud), on the basis that it calms people down and helps them focus and concentrate. So: not just a way of showing I care, but also of trying to help.

5. It gives me a vision of the future. 

I love the idea that perfume is something I carry around on my skin throughout the day, rather than something I merely wear. And I make this distinction in order to point out that perfume is an intellectual construct – an invisible form of art, if you like – which mustn’t always be lumped in the same category as clothing or shoes or accessories. At its most absorbing, scent is an olfactory expression of an idea, and sometimes that idea can be a sci-fi notion of the future. This is an incredibly difficult feat to pull off in perfumery, because fragrances tend to create their effects by playing on associations they spark off in our mind. And of course, associations are all based on experiences from the past. But every now and then, a composition comes along that, for whatever reason, makes you think not of years gone by, but of a time so distant, you’re probably not even going to be alive to see it. When that happens, the stars align and, rightly or wrongly, you’re overwhelmed by the certainty that all is well and that the future is in safe hands.

To smell what I mean… spray Dominique Ropion’s Cologne Indelebile for Frederic Malle and allow the striking, unexpected mix of citruses, narcissus and musks to transport you to a pristine hydroponic garden, growing somewhere on the other side of the asteroid belt, just around the corner from the 23rd century. Oh, and by the way, don’t ever discount the ability of perfume to form future memories. If you’d like to remember an event in a lasting way, pair it with a perfume you haven’t worn before. In years to come, that scent will conjure vivid recollections of the event in question.

6. It allows me to marvel at the skill and genius and brilliance of humanity. 

Most people who’ve ever tried making a perfume will tell you that it isn’t terribly difficult to create something that smells pleasant. But it is fiendishly difficult to put together something that smells stupendous: a composition for which you would seriously consider taking out a loan. Putting luck aside, a great perfume is the result of hard work, experience, clear-sightedness, unflagging determination and sheer discipline. Just the sorts of qualities that sometimes restore your faith in the human race. When I smell a perfume in which it is possible to detect the efforts and talents of its creator, I am filled with the same awe as when I see the pyramids of Giza, or an A380 taking to the skies, or a tiny mobile phone connecting people across all the corners of the globe. Miracles of ingenuity, one and all. 

To smell what I mean… seek out Serge Lutens Feminite Du Bois and think about the skill and patience and imagination that must have gone into making it the perfect Swiss watch of a perfume that it is, with nothing out of place, and all the elements ticking together to create one of the most harmonious, distinctive and swoon-inducing olfactory effects ever.

7. It speaks to me throughout the day – a conversation with the maker.

It’s been said that perfume is the most portable form of intelligence or of art — an idea I subscribe to wholeheartedly. Perfumers create fragrances in order to convey messages in olfactory form. And their best scents are conversations that unfold over the course of an entire day: silent exchanges where one surprise here leads to a twist there, before reaching a conclusion that can be surprising or satisfying or unsettling or edifying or somewhere in between. As in a verbal discourse, how much you get out of it depends on how much you put into it.

To smell what I mean… find Bertrand Duchaufour’s Ashoka for Neela Vermeire. Duchaufour has long been one of our finest ‘story teller’ perfumers, but in Ashoka, his skills go up to an even more breathtaking level, as he uses a progression from violent notes to more contemplative materials in order to tell the tale of the eponymous figure’s transformation from brutal warrior to spiritual sage to culture-defining myth.

8. It engages a sense that I simply enjoy having engaged. 

Some people take pleasure in the visual aspects of their surroundings, noticing straight away if someone has had a new carpet fitted, or they’ve changed their curtains, or they’ve dyed their hair a slightly different colour. Others are especially sensitive to noise, insisting on listening to their favourite music through nothing but the finest sound systems. I have always found smells fascinating and thought-provoking and pleasurable, whether it be the metallic edge of blood, or the sizzle of garlic as it falls onto hot ghee, or the life-affirming sunshine scent of washing taken off the line. What can I say? My nose must have a speed-dial connection to the bits of my brain that scream, “Yes! Yes! Yes! Give it to me. Now!”

To smell what I mean… I’d recommend Hermes Cardamusc. The scent of cardamom is nothing short of knee-weakeningly extraordinary (hot and nutty and cool and lemony and roasted, all at the same time) and it is bottled in all its multi-faceted glory in this deceptively simple piece of work by Christine Nagel.

9. It gives me a sense of the continuity of history. 

Is it just me, or does everybody stepping on one of the bridges across the Thames have to stop and pause for a moment, just to consider the sheer volume of history represented by the band of water snaking its way through London? The wars. The invasions. The fireworks. The music. Even the whales! Monuments and statues have a similar effect: they place us within a certain moment in time – the ‘now’ we happen to inhabit – while reminding us of eras that have come before. Consequently, they make us appreciate that one day, our individual time will end. Perfume is no exception. For one thing, it is literally composed of the past (all those flowers and spices and woods had to give up their lives before they could be bottled). For another, it comes to us as a creation from a particular place at a particular point in history. Wearing it makes us think of that lineage and of our unique connection to it. It is as important a part of our culture as anything hanging in a museum.

To smell what I mean… we could go for several perfumes, but it makes sense to choose the one that celebrates its 100th anniversary this year. Chanel No. 5. You may have heard of it. Through the conflicts of the 1940s, the social upheaval of the 1960s, the barrier-breaking of the 1970s, the optimism of the 1990s, right up to our current battle with a frightening, microscopic threat — it has always been there. And hopefully, it will always be there – long after you and I are gone – threading itself through the fabric of our collective story.

10. Because, ultimately, I cannot fully explain the almost instinctual, primal pull of wearing scent, but I know that I simply couldn’t go through life not wearing it. 

And there’s not much more I can add to that. I have been wearing perfume – as a conscious choice – for nearly four decades. In fact, I can barely remember a time when I wasn’t wearing scent, or when I didn’t have a fragrance collection. It is as much a part of my being as my voice, the colour of my eyes and the way I’m capable of devouring ten scoops of ice cream just by looking at them. It is me. And so, without wishing to sound over-dramatic, not wearing it would feel like a denial of my very self.

To smell what I mean… get closer to the Guerlain Habit Rouge I’ve just sprayed on my neck. Breathe in. And be in no doubt: you have just got to know me a whole lot better. 

And now, over to you.

What are some of your top reasons for wearing perfume? Please share them in the comments section below.

Persolaise

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