Hoth-level Cold. I’m barely opening the door to get the mail, that’s how COLD it is. So I’m stuck at home, with plenty of time to muse. And this is how it starts.
This morning, after I put 90 minutes on the mat (this weather is brutal on my cracked sacrum – working it out sounds like a gun range, every time I move my spine. But needs must and all that)… I took a shower and, on a whim, decided to use Amouage Dia soap, which led to Dia lotion and a hit of the gorgeous EDP.
And with that, Gaia was in my thoughts.
As most of you know Gaia Fischler was the soul of The Non-Blonde. What a lot of you might not know is Gaia was the sole reason I even thought about trying Dia – and I am forever grateful. Her evocative post pulled no punches but, in doing so, painted a beguiling portrait of a very pretty perfume. It’s a really cold day, so I needed something ‘pretty’. Dia it is – and thanks, Gaia! You are forever missed and your memory is a blessing.
Mitsouko. Always March. And always Tigs (because she gave me a really good EDT of it, back during Chicocoa, which resparked my interest). I use Mitsy as battle armor. March uses it as a cashmere throw. And whenever she gives me something fabric, she sprays it with Mitsy, which makes me beyond happy. I love it forever – just as I love her forever. Thanks, March and thanks, Erin. I owe you both, bigly!
Clinique Happy. Years after my sister’s passing the smell of Clinique Happy still has the power to render me dumbstruck with grief and joy. A lot of power for a little, light fragrance. Interestingly, she didn’t really wear Happy – she wore Juicy Couture (to which I introduced her) – but for eternity I will supplant that with Happy, whenever I think of her. Go figure. Memory is mutable.
And sometimes it’s a not pleasant (to you) scent that evokes a pleasant memory. My mother wore both Norell and Shalimar as her signature scents – and I don’t like either of them. Norman Norell’s eponymous scent has a bit of a screech in it (and on me it smells like I’ve been on a weeklong Scotch bender) and I’ve never really been a fan of Shalimar edt, which is the iteration my mother wore. Yet. And Yet. A sniff of either of those scents brings back such a wave of longing and of love. Again. Go figure.
Memory of Kindness. Sweatergawd, is there anyone who can create a scent memory like Christopher Brosius? Memory of Kindness is every hot late-Summer’s day in the garden, from childhood through to the memory of childhood as we age. ‘Love, like youth, is wasted on the young’ (The Second Time Around by Sammy Cahn and Jimmy Van Heusen) is Memory of Kindness personified. After all, we can only hold a memory once we’ve had the experience and MoK is one of those scents that requires a depth of experience to let the memory shine through. Such evanescent, bittersweet, sunlit beauty. I can barely wear it, it’s such a gorgeous, emotional pull. I once put it on in the dead of February and burst into tears. Because it’s CB, those tears were joyful and grief-filled, intermingled. I’d say thanks, Christopher, if only you’d stop ripping out my heart.
Well, thanks anyway, you fiend. I love you.
What are your perfume scent memories? Do any of these resonate with you?