Eau Delilah: Searching for the perfect Christmas gift for yourself
December 24, 2006 | 12:00am
Over a dinner party where many of us more or less forgot that we are animals with opposable thumbs, we started to reminisce about our very first memories as children. Marcel said he remembered dropping soup in the kitchen, while my other friend DJ started remembering watching a movie with his father – pretty random stuff. Mine, on the other hand, was the memory of my sister spraying Nenuco in my eyes.
So it’s safe to say that I didn’t have a good start in the world of fragrances. However, the presence of scents is deeply embedded in every phase of my life.
As a child, I remember tasting the bitter alcohol flavor of Dior and, later on, Calvin Klein scents on my father. A man of many indulgences, he would inexplicably splash cologne like water on his face, not aftershave – cologne or sometimes even perfume.
My mother seemed to radiate scent as a barometer of her many moods. When she was calm, her Chanel Cristalle and First by Van Cleef and Arpels (she wore it alternately and even had a controversial stint with Poison by Dior) seemed almost powdery and sheer. Like a whisper of wind, you had to get really close to her to smell it. When she got angry, however, the scents seemed to acclimate to her mood, becoming almost as damning as her admonishments. My favorite uncle Emmanuelle had a great romance with the nose of Nina Ricci for almost 20 years. He helped create L’Air du Temps, one of the most ubiquitous fragrances in the world.
As a child I was always intrigued with fragrance. I was doused with baby cologne frequently by my nannies, thankfully not in the eyes. However, my first expensive bottle of cologne came from an aunt who has dying of cancer. It was Anais Anais by Cacharel; I was enraptured by the virginal white bottle dotted with delicate blooms. I sprayed it only once on my pillow every night, thinking it was too precious to waste on non-occasions, taking it in my dreams instead.
My mother grounded me for being a freeloader and after much pleading, both from me and my aunt, I was allowed to keep the perfume. My first trip to France was insane. I bought every perfume bottle that caught my eye. I was more into the flacons than the fragrances themselves, and going home I literally had a suitcase filled with perfume. I arranged them in an almost religious manner in my bedroom and I just looked at them like they were precious Fabergé eggs.
It was only years later, when all the liquid in each bottle dried, that I found my signature scent. It really does take years and you’ll slowly realize that you can have 10 signature scents, each personal and intimate in its own way. Sometimes it doesn’t even come in an elegant bottle. When I was going out with a very elegant and grown-up man at 19, I was wearing, ironically, Burt’s Bees Milk and Honey lotion. That scent always takes me back to that time where everything was new, exciting and illicit. No notes of ylang ylang, amber, musk or even Tom Ford’s elusive black orchid; rather it was the country bumpkin freshness of dairy that reminds me of my impish days.
Today I rotate around 10 fragrances. Each discovery has its story. My favorite is Comptoir Sud Pacifique’s Amour de Cacao. It’s strong, almost vulgar, but still innocent at the same time, like me (gag). I’ve worn it for years and it seems like I was making cookies all day in a Valentino evening gown. I love that dream scenario, a tragic and well-heeled Betty Crocker. Other fragrances are my best friend’s Wendy Hotungs’ Lily fragrances which are unfortunately not available anymore. It reminds me of those silly summers when we were both still single. I wear it when Marcel and I fight. I also love Guerlain’s Herba Fresca, which is like a grown-up baby cologne: I wear it on first dates so my pervy dinner companion won’t get any ideas. I discovered it when I rubbed a magazine sample strip on my neck during an impromptu night out and Colin McKay of Sala asked me what I was wearing. Only then did I realize that the scent did indeed go well with my lamb shank and immediately got myself a bottle. Of course, I have some embarrassing choices as well, ones that I stand by. I went through my drugstore phase just like any other teenager that inhaled everything Seventeen magazine said. I bought Charlie and Exclamation by Coty. My main teenage scent, however, was Love’s Baby Soft. I also became obsessed with body splashes and bought bottles of Dewberry in Body Shop and mixed it with water. I also got every variant from Victoria’s Secret and Bath and Body Works. I must have really loved the fragrances because the container lacked the artistic grace of French colognes and yet I cramped my style lugging them in my Kelly. Today, I have one shame scent. It was Elle magazine’s fault.
After sniffing an almost candy-like scent, I flipped through the whole magazine to find it. Sadly, it was Paris Hilton’s Heiress fragrance. I sneakily bought a bottle online and when people ask me what it is (they like it, you see) I say it’s from Bath and Body Works.
So for Christmas joy I find that, after ticking off your Christmas list, indulge in that breathless adventure of fragrance. It may sound like your knees buckling to the pressure of capital consumerism. However, if it brings you back to that first kiss (sadly I was wearing Giorgio Beverly Hills Fragrance Impostors cologne) or your carefree days as a flirt, then go back. If it’s new memories you’re looking for, spend a day at your favorite department store; bring with you a bag of coffee beans (refreshes your nostrils after they get nums from testing too many scents) and sniff yourself to caviar wishes and champagne dreams.
So it’s safe to say that I didn’t have a good start in the world of fragrances. However, the presence of scents is deeply embedded in every phase of my life.
As a child, I remember tasting the bitter alcohol flavor of Dior and, later on, Calvin Klein scents on my father. A man of many indulgences, he would inexplicably splash cologne like water on his face, not aftershave – cologne or sometimes even perfume.
My mother seemed to radiate scent as a barometer of her many moods. When she was calm, her Chanel Cristalle and First by Van Cleef and Arpels (she wore it alternately and even had a controversial stint with Poison by Dior) seemed almost powdery and sheer. Like a whisper of wind, you had to get really close to her to smell it. When she got angry, however, the scents seemed to acclimate to her mood, becoming almost as damning as her admonishments. My favorite uncle Emmanuelle had a great romance with the nose of Nina Ricci for almost 20 years. He helped create L’Air du Temps, one of the most ubiquitous fragrances in the world.
As a child I was always intrigued with fragrance. I was doused with baby cologne frequently by my nannies, thankfully not in the eyes. However, my first expensive bottle of cologne came from an aunt who has dying of cancer. It was Anais Anais by Cacharel; I was enraptured by the virginal white bottle dotted with delicate blooms. I sprayed it only once on my pillow every night, thinking it was too precious to waste on non-occasions, taking it in my dreams instead.
My mother grounded me for being a freeloader and after much pleading, both from me and my aunt, I was allowed to keep the perfume. My first trip to France was insane. I bought every perfume bottle that caught my eye. I was more into the flacons than the fragrances themselves, and going home I literally had a suitcase filled with perfume. I arranged them in an almost religious manner in my bedroom and I just looked at them like they were precious Fabergé eggs.
It was only years later, when all the liquid in each bottle dried, that I found my signature scent. It really does take years and you’ll slowly realize that you can have 10 signature scents, each personal and intimate in its own way. Sometimes it doesn’t even come in an elegant bottle. When I was going out with a very elegant and grown-up man at 19, I was wearing, ironically, Burt’s Bees Milk and Honey lotion. That scent always takes me back to that time where everything was new, exciting and illicit. No notes of ylang ylang, amber, musk or even Tom Ford’s elusive black orchid; rather it was the country bumpkin freshness of dairy that reminds me of my impish days.
Today I rotate around 10 fragrances. Each discovery has its story. My favorite is Comptoir Sud Pacifique’s Amour de Cacao. It’s strong, almost vulgar, but still innocent at the same time, like me (gag). I’ve worn it for years and it seems like I was making cookies all day in a Valentino evening gown. I love that dream scenario, a tragic and well-heeled Betty Crocker. Other fragrances are my best friend’s Wendy Hotungs’ Lily fragrances which are unfortunately not available anymore. It reminds me of those silly summers when we were both still single. I wear it when Marcel and I fight. I also love Guerlain’s Herba Fresca, which is like a grown-up baby cologne: I wear it on first dates so my pervy dinner companion won’t get any ideas. I discovered it when I rubbed a magazine sample strip on my neck during an impromptu night out and Colin McKay of Sala asked me what I was wearing. Only then did I realize that the scent did indeed go well with my lamb shank and immediately got myself a bottle. Of course, I have some embarrassing choices as well, ones that I stand by. I went through my drugstore phase just like any other teenager that inhaled everything Seventeen magazine said. I bought Charlie and Exclamation by Coty. My main teenage scent, however, was Love’s Baby Soft. I also became obsessed with body splashes and bought bottles of Dewberry in Body Shop and mixed it with water. I also got every variant from Victoria’s Secret and Bath and Body Works. I must have really loved the fragrances because the container lacked the artistic grace of French colognes and yet I cramped my style lugging them in my Kelly. Today, I have one shame scent. It was Elle magazine’s fault.
After sniffing an almost candy-like scent, I flipped through the whole magazine to find it. Sadly, it was Paris Hilton’s Heiress fragrance. I sneakily bought a bottle online and when people ask me what it is (they like it, you see) I say it’s from Bath and Body Works.
So for Christmas joy I find that, after ticking off your Christmas list, indulge in that breathless adventure of fragrance. It may sound like your knees buckling to the pressure of capital consumerism. However, if it brings you back to that first kiss (sadly I was wearing Giorgio Beverly Hills Fragrance Impostors cologne) or your carefree days as a flirt, then go back. If it’s new memories you’re looking for, spend a day at your favorite department store; bring with you a bag of coffee beans (refreshes your nostrils after they get nums from testing too many scents) and sniff yourself to caviar wishes and champagne dreams.
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