Last week’s Posse post comments made for eye opening reading for me, even more than usual. Specifically, for some reason, I was left thinking about perfumes that are loved but which are horrible on me. In my Monday post, I had mentioned that the Guerlinade (which I think I had spelled incorrectly) generally worked well on me vs the overarching Caron (pre-reformulation) and Chanel offerings.
Ah, except for one perfume which no matter how many times I’ve tried it always smells the same and always smells awful.
So, I thought I’d focus on it in this post.
L’Heure Bleue gets a lot of love. People say it’s classy; it’s evocative; it’s memorable. It represents beginnings and endings; change; turmoil, due to its associations with that suspended time during which day has not yet become night.
I apologise in advance. Alas, no. It’s playdough. In any formulation it’s never been anything other than that great childhood clay-play on me.
And, for reasons I won’t examine too closely, that sort of pleases me.
Playdough is made up of flour, a lot of salt, cream of tartar, water and vegetable oil (and colouring) – at least that’s the recipe I could find online. I loved playing with it as a kid. Thus, I have a reasonable memory of what it smelled like: slightly sour cardboard. I recall tasting a number of thing I played with as a child (dirt [yes, seriously – this was before parents warned you off ingesting any and everything – and my mother was very hands off when we were growing up]; crayons; white Elmer’s glue … to name but a few) – but please note I was never ever attracted to the idea of tasting playdough (even given the word ‘dough’).
As I’ve said I adore a number of Guerlains (Shalimar, Mitsouko); I admire many others (Vetiver, Muchoir de Monsieur, Jicky).
L’Heure Bleue’s notes list includes anise, bergamot, clary sage, tarragon, orange blossom, tuberose, vanilla, sandalwood, iris and heliotrope.
Nothing out of sorts for perfumery there — you wouldn’t think from the list that one could end up with playdough.
Powdery, yes; delicate, maybe; sharp, sure.
Anyway, I’m afraid that my associations with L’Heure Bleue are now all negative – and it’s really too bad it has a great name. It’s just never ever going to be something I want to wear (and smell of).
So, happy Monday holiday – whatever its name is where you are.
Any of you out there have a L’Heure Bleue sort of perfume – ie, something that’s just never going to be good, no matter how many times you try it; no matter how good it is in the bottle; no matter how good it is on other people?
NB: Photos Pexels