First scents
A decade ago, a friend took me to a restaurant I couldn’t afford on Ile de la Cite in Paris where I tried le lapin and esgargo for the first time. That was the most gustatorily interesting day of my life so far, the flavors so alarming and satisfying. And if I had to say, my first visit to Galleria d'Arte Moderna in Rome was the most visually interesting day. I saw much that I knew, but also so much that was new--the odd textures of Tapies, a real Yves Klien--that my sensorium spun wildly trying to make sense of a world cast this way. But among these sensuous heights, most olfactorily interesting day I've had so far in my life was yesterday, when I went with my wife to select a new cologne.
As with other forms of beauty, I've been interested in the aesthetic of smells for most of my life. When I moved to my own room for the first time, eight years old, in the attic, the first thing I did was obtain a scented candle. I didn't have a desk, or even a chair to sit on, or a bed frame, but I could sit on the rug and appreciate the wonder of existence because it smelled nice. Ditto when I started making forts at ten years ole: I hardly played in them, but was terribly concerned about the structures' design and the experience of being in them. Once I spent the better part of a summer scrubbing the walls and ceiling (!) of a barn I wanted to convert to a fort, an idea I abandoned after I couldn't get the hay smell out.
Tingling
In high school, I followed colognes and what they meant, as do many at that age. Particularly, I was impressed at how certain scents bonded to certain chemistries. My friend Steve-Dave wore Drakkar Noir and it smelled like him. When I tried it, nothing. That first Hugo Boss scent I still associate with my friend Kelson. There to, on me, it smelled like I was flopping around in Kelson's huge shoes. I toyed around with the blockbuster scents then available, Cool Water, CK Be, that citrusy Tommy launched in 1995, but in college, I found one that was perfect.
There are dozens of fan pages dedicated to the now-obsolete Gucci Rush and mostly empty bottles go for a fortune on eBay, so I won't go on about its qualities, but for me, it was just right. The perfumer who designed that scent fo Gucci has since gone on to create so much that is valuable he needs no further elaboration: Rush was the first scent designed by Tom Ford as head of that house (or anyway, he worked with a team who later when on to make beautiful scents for Comme de Garcons, another favorite.) I ran out. They stopped making it. There was a persistent wale of mourning all up and down the left coast.
I thought about these things but never in a very rigorous or intentional way until I read an essay by Andre Aciman "On Lavender and Longing," and followed that up with this one about Britney Spears' perfume longevity. These and a story from my former pastor about how is grandfather always smelled a certain way and how he, wanting to give that experience to his kids, buys a new bottle of the same cologne every Father's Day made the search more urgent.
On my birthday this year, Mrs. Willett arranged for a babysitter to come during the day so she and I could go out and smell things. At Nordstrom, we found the right salesman immediately. Did he remember Rush? Did he have anything like it? So he spent the afternoon spraying little bits of paper with various attempts. We gave up finding a substitute Rush--one can't replicate a bygone scent any more than one can replicate a given day apparently-- but we did encounter many scents wonderful to behold.
Maison Francis Kurkdjian
Then I noticed that of all of the scents on offer, the finalists kept coming from the same house. Mind you, spatial organization, bottle shape and packaging, price, none of this affected those first decisions. They couldn't have. I was comparing spritzes on white business cards. But time and again the ones that made us both sigh and say "interestiiiing," rather than just "yum," came from Maison Francis Kurkdjian. I started to understand this perfumer's aesthetic, what things meant in these combinations, if it makes sense to use a term like that.
We chose one. Thrilled with my birthday gift of Grand Soir, I sought some more information about this Rodin. Turns out he made, and some 20 years ago as his first scent commission, the only other scent apart from Rush that I've truly loved: Jen-Paul Gautier's Le Male. What are the chances? I love that a person can have an aesthetic so varied, but consistent enough to appeal to the same reader, me, in this case, across decades. I love that--how do I say it?--we found each other again across a heady sea of competitors, that we didn't lose touch, or that he didn't lose his.
This post isn’t really about this scent or this house, so much as it is about consistency and serendipity, but if you’d like to learn more about these wonders, here’s a video from the team.
If you’re interested to follow more of what’s happening in the world of men’s fragrances, this is my favorite reviews website: What Men should Smell Like