A woman's perfume tells more
about her than her handwriting.
Perfume, for me, is about more than the scent. I love the whole experience: the big, glassy counters at the department store**, searching for just the right scent, the beautiful bottles that are brought home and displayed.
|Images courtesy of This is Glamorous|
I was taught early by my mother that finding that perfect scent is a deeply personal, unique journey. We take it very. seriously. For example, the women in my family almost all wear the perennial classic, Chanel No. 5.
And it smells different on all of them. On my mother, it is powdery and crisp. On my grandmother, it is earthy and warm. On me, it is God awful. Really just smells very bad. So, I've been searching. At the tender age of 14, I settled on Fragile, by Jean Paul Gaulthier. I had saved up my pennies for years in anticipation of a trip to Harrod's in London where I bought my first fancy bra, lipstick and this beautiful bottle:
I've loved it ever since, but they recently stopped making it in the states (and I neglected to buy it in Paris, which I am seriously regretting), so I've been forced to look elsewhere. Now, when I buy perfume, I smell dozens of options before settling on two, one for each wrist. Then, I leave them both on all day before buying one. In other words, I am a salesgirl's worst nightmare. But it means I haven't yet bought a perfume that I didn't love. Like this one: