#49 Get Fresh

There are two fantastic scent blogs on the net - http://www.mimifroufrou.com/scentedsalamander/ and http://nowsmellthis.blogharbor.com/. Both have highlighted the dearth of smart scents launching onto the fragrance market and mourned the new, easy, commercially-foolproof direction i.e. FRESH & LIGHT. So, we've got the new Dior Midnight Poison which bears no resemblance to the original ethos in that it's easy to wear and utterly inoffensive. We've also had Gwen's L.A.M.B offering and Kate's KATE - both of which are about as enigmatic as, well, Jordan - and her scent too for that matter. That's not to say that they're not wearable - personally I wouldn't, but it's your nose against mine - just that they're easy, but not in a chino and white shirt sort of way, nay, not in a breezy Sunday morning sort of way, but more in a sugary, foam shrimp sort of way. They're obvious, they're saccharin, they're... too tutti fruity. They're the equivalent of the Rosé wine that everyone and their aunt now seems to be drinking... rather than the smoky reds that will make you FEEL something. So, it's a good thing that Prada are taking the saccharin edge off the season with their Infusion D'Iris - a fat mix of earth, wood and flower that'll knock ten shades of crap out of the competition. Bravo Miuccia-cia-cia.

#15 Message Scent...

I've never succumbed to the idea that a woman should have a signature scent. It seems to be just the sort of thing that is advised by Debrett's, or Coco Chanel, or eccentric ex-Vogue fashion directors who wear the same precious musk every day and leave notes in their wills about getting doused with the stuff before being buried in it. Personally, I can think of nothing worse. How I wish to smell is dictated by one thing only - my mood. Today I was a Chanel No.19 girl. I needed a classic floral with a grown-up twist to counterbalance my girly sundress and topaz heels. Spot on. Yesterday, I wanted to feel sexy and as it was a little black dress night, I went for Jo Malone Pomegranate Noir - a scent that hooked my nose in seconds. On really happy days, when the sun is shining, but it's not too hot, I make a beeline for Miller Harris Fleur du Matin - I've sprayed it so many times that it's absorbed into the towels and tiles of my guest bathroom, for which I always receive compliments. When I want to lift my spirits or if I'm feeling slightly unwell and can't bear to wear a prim perfume, it's the new Aveda Yatra PureFume. It is how you'd expect to smell after a deep, calming Aveda massage. It uses a blend of four essential oils, two of which (rose and sandalwood) are among my favourites and also crop up in the glorious Aromatherapy Associates Rose & Sandalwood Facial Oil - which I've been known to rub on my wrists and neck in place of parfum.

I love them all - and hundreds more - Prada, Vivienne Westwood, Cerruti, several Miller Harris, Nina Ricci, Antonia's Flowers... Each one will smell 'correct' on a different day and not a single one is fitting all of the time. The joy is in deciphering the day's mood and matching it to the scent. The result can be harmonious - or disastrous. I once wore Miller Harris Citron Citron on a very dark day. A bad mood, bad weather, bad hair day. All day long it jarred - it was hitting major, sharp, citrus notes, while I wanted to be left alone to stomp around in the minors. I should have chosen something smoky, something musky or, perhaps, nothing at all. Then, at least, I wouldn't have had a beautiful scent sullied by my shady temper. But, you see, that is what I love about perfume. It requires a decision to be made that will not only have a visceral effect, but will ultimately also reveal a lot about you to the world at large. It's as communicative as a slash of red lipstick, an Amnesty International bumper sticker, a swastika. And the idea that a single bottle of scent could encapsulate my myriad moods or aptly express my everchanging mental state is nothing but ludicrous. Yet, because I've been asked to name my favourite scent so many times (even during a particularly odd job interview), I almost cultivated a fake one. No one would've known. No one but me...

No, for me, a signature would be nothing more than a fughese, a fake - a forgery.