Perfume TMI

You probably have responsibilities: a job, family, house, maybe some other things you need to take care of. Call that “work.” Then there is spare time where you pursue the occasional interest. Start spending a lot of time at it and telling people: “Oh, Saturday mornings I always go _____ ing,” and you’ve got a hobby. Come Saturday night, if you’re still doing it in preference to food or , you are officially obsessed.

But the last condition mentioned is not yours. Yours is the well-balanced life, a pleasant mix of gainful, recreational and community-oriented activity. You enjoy creature comforts in moderation, neither glutton nor snob. A nice meal, a little wine, a light workout, Netflix, pretty dress, new drapes. Sensory stimulation, good, wholesome fun. Once in a while, you enjoy applying fragrance. A little perfume or cologne is uplifting. It feels good.

But always that niggling question: Which one? In 2007, according to Euromonitor, $3.3 billion was spent on fragrances in the U.S. alone. A good percentage of that on bottles opened once, only to sit on the dresser, maybe yours, as the sad reminder of an uninformed choice.

You want a great scent, but where is the fragrance equivalent of The Food Network, Cigar Aficionado or Consumer Reports? Where is someone to tell you the magic words that will send a cosmetics clerk scampering for your perfect scent?

If perfume is already prominent on your radar screen and you’d like to read more about 1,500 of your favorites, read Perfumes: The Guide, a spirited survey by Luca Turin and Tania Sanchez. See Amazon’s customer reviews for consumer and fragrance industry responses to the authors’ no-holds-barred reviews. To preserve the peace, the French used to say “les goûts et les couleurs ne se discutent pas” a rough mix of “to each his own” and “keep it to yourself.” Luca Turin, whose first guide was published in French, threw that advice out the window long ago.

Maybe you are still lost about finding your next perfume. Before we go further, please decide: Do you seriously want to spend six months or six years learning about top notes, middle notes and base notes, naturals vs. synthetics, dry-down and sillage? Do you see yourself making and trading decants on the Internet? Would you leave a decent paying corporate job to do this full time? Are you crazy?

My recommendation: Leave these expensive and time-consuming pursuits to the perfumistas, denizens of fragrant cyber-spots like Perfume Smellin' Things, Sniffapalooza, Perfume Posse, Now Smell This, Scented Salamander and Basenotes. After browsing sites like these, if you remain unconverted, consider yourself an occasional perfume website user. Still wondering about that perfect scent? Skip the next paragraph, but read on.

Having visited the sites above, you no longer view life the same way. I greet you as a brother, sister, friend. Please send me your contact information and receive details of my 12-step program for the likes of us, expected to begin 3rd quarter, 2009.

Take heart. It is reasonable not only to hope for, but also to find a wonderful scent without becoming a fragrance fanatic or researcher. Just as you would hire an accountant, dentist or electrician, you can hire a perfume consultant to ask you the right questions, have you smell some things, do all the thinking and move you quickly to the right bottle. Makes scents, no?

The Name’s Bond

She waltzed down the aisle, all shiny fur and shiny hair, a twittering entourage and more glamour than usually seen on a Thursday in Hartford’s Bushnell Theater. But she didn’t get past me. “What is your fragrance?” Surprised, she turned. “It’s fabulous,” I reassured her. Not like any I had smelled before, puffy, light and ethereal, but for all the delicate femininity, hinting at mischief. I liked it.

She registered my benign intent. “You know, I don’t know. I got it from a friend. I stayed at her house and she left me a sample.” But wait, she dug through her purse. Normally you’d get some details on the pocketbook, but tonight it was all about perfume. “Maybe...oh, here it is! Let’s see. Bond No. 9.”

“That’s good,” I encouraged her, “Bond No. 9 is the manufacturer; can you see the fragrance name?” “No, no,” she inspected the small glass vial as the houselights went down, “That’s it. Bond’s the name.” Oh, well, maybe Bond had its own house scent, something I hadn’t heard about. Then the incident slipped my mind.

Months later, I stopped into the lovely Madison Avenue shop for Bond No. 9. A gorgeous young Russian woman standing behind a display of well over thirty bottles (my estimate) greeted me warmly. I told her I was looking for a fragrance called Bond No. 9. She gently explained that all of the fragrances are Bond No. 9, exactly as I knew and feared to be the case. She and another salesperson who had joined the conversation giggled, but without a hint of condescension. Then he admitted “We have a problem.”

Undeterred, she asked me what it smelled like. I began to speak, but didn’t get far before she reached for a bottle and sprayed it on a round paper blotter. Handing it to me, she asked: “Is this it?” “Yes!” Nuits de Noho. She and I had landed a plane wearing blindfolds. The language of scent. Very handy.

Bond No. 9 flagship store pictured here.