I have always been struck by one passage about love in the critic and teacher John Bayley's memoir of his forty-year marriage to the novelist Iris Murdoch, Elegy for Iris. The two are on their honeymoon and people-watching. Bayley notes:
Iris seemed to be in a reverie, too. I took her hand and it pressed mine. What was she thinking? I had no idea... I knew very well there was no way to find out. But this realization reassured me deeply... Such ignorance, such solitude! They suddenly seemed the best part of love and marriage. We were together because we were comforted and reassured by the solitariness each saw and was aware of in the other.
This is, of course, not the sort of all-consuming passion one normally yearns for as a young person, but as the years pass, it seems more and more to me that a lifelong love is indeed composed of two entirely separate, interested and mysterious people, mucking along together. I've come to suspect that most of the success of a marriage like Murdoch's and Bayley's is in the ability of each to play muse for the other. A muse is, first and foremost, somebody who is comfortable left to their own thoughts, their human, inevitable secrets. It is this comfort that we call confidence, and that we find so attractive in a lover. Confident scents are ones that please the wearer and project her pleasure. I feel most confident in quieter, glowy fragrances, perfumes of clarity that nonetheless whisper something different to me each time I wear them. Here are the three that most often lend a little sensuality, class and mystery to my day.
Le Parfum de Thérèse by Frederic Malle: From the perfume made for her, I can only conclude that Mrs. Edmond Roudnitska was a wise, elegant and serene woman. Despite the complex development, there is a weightlessness to the scent throughout that never fails to captivate me. I love in particular the melon, a note many people find objectionable. I think it is handled expertly here, its transparency blending with the jasmine to vividly conjure light seen through water.
Sublime by Jean Patou: Luca Turin has compared this scent to Minerva/Athena, "in full armor and helmet", "arrestingly handsome, rather than pretty". There is indeed a metallic note that has no time for mere "pretty", sounding a beautiful and surprising chord with more traditional oriental staples such as amber and sandalwood. There is an expansive, proud ease to the golden drydown of Sublime that makes me think of it as a warmer version of Guerlain Vetiver.
Odalisque by Parfums de Nicolaï: A delicately sweet, spare perfume that strikes an odd balance between sensuality and restraint. The listed floral notes (lily of the valley, iris, jasmine) give no hint as to what creates an almost incense-like impression in the later stages. Odalisque is "serious" in the best of senses and endlessly intriguing to me.
For more Valentine's Day perfumes, see: Bois de Jasmin, Perfume Posse and Perfume Smellin' Things.
And see also: Perfumes For Valentine's Day Romance, Part 1: The Big Guns & Part 2: A Little Subtlety, Please.
Great choices! I particulatrly second LPdT.
Erin, what a moving passage you quote, and what gorgeous scents to go with them! I'm so glad to see Sublime, too–I don't feel like it gets enough attention.
You have reminded me that I need to retry Therese. I was immune to its charms the first and second time I tried it. ;-P However, I have a hunch that it would be grist for an embarrassing about-face if I resmelled it.
And I think your observations on lifelong love: fantasy vs. reality (at least for some people) were provocative. If we can't maintain some mystery for our lovers, and feel comfortable with that mystery, how do we go on?
This is killing me!!! My chemistry does not pair at ALL with Therese. I turn aldehydes into sour, musty, ugly monsters that beat up all those other beautiful notes. Just yesterday I went back to try it yet again in the hopes that my willingness to love it and my ever-more-educated nostrils would combine to overcome the forces of nature transpiring against this romance! Alas, it is not to be.
Despite this frustration, and my ignorance of the other two scents mentioned, I'm so happy to read this piece. It is lovely writing and that is a beautiful, thought-provoking quote. I understand entirely about the kind of relationship he and Iris had. May we all have something like it in our own lives, and appreciate it just as fully.
I'm feeling a little jealous; these are the kind of scents I'm just not 'big' enough for. I haven't tried Odalisque, but both PdT and Sublime sit on my skin shouting 'PERFUME! GREAT BIG PERFUME!' and refuse to evolve into anything I can deal with.
Erin, a really beautiful post. Sometimes I think having a muse is better than having a soul mate. Thanks for letting us know about these frags – now I am curious to try all three. Have a wonderful St. Valentines Day!
Thanks! Hope you're feeling better….
Elegy for Iris is a moving book. I keep meaning to read Calvin Trillian's memoir for his late wife, Alice, as well – it is also supposed to be a very wise and loving tribute. You know I love the Ma Collection scents, but I also love the JK-era Patou scents. 1000 is great, too. I have the Sublime parfum solid, which is gorgeous, but doesn't have a lot of sillage so I sometimes spritz a little EdP on overtop after 20 min. or so. I don't even mind Sira des Indes, which I wear occasionally.
You put that last bit perfectly – exactly what I wanted to say, in perhaps a clearer form than I gave it myself! And Therese is certainly the sort of perfume that is owed a second, third and fourth chance – but as Katie from Scentzilla would say, “No Neville Chamberlaining” along. Sometimes it just isn't going to work. Have you tried Odalisque? What do you think of it?
Too true, sometimes something is just not meant to be, and we keep trying to make it work! I have this problem myself with Eau de Merveilles, and I suspect many people have a similar problem with Sublime. Thanks for you kind words. I think the most moving and interesting thing about Bayley and Murdoch's relationship is how fully they appreciated it.
Great post as always, Erin.
My partner and I married after 11 years of life together last fall. I was struck by the similarity of the passage you quoted to the one we used in our ceremony from Rilke:
“The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be/ the guardian of his [or her] solitude/, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives
them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole
and before an immense sky.”
“A guardian of one's solitude” — such a tender, tender, idea. I feel extremely lucky to have one.
Ugh — forgive the formatting glitches! Couldn't see them in this tiny box..
Then you must try Odalisque! It's a very different sort from the other two, less heady and “perfumey”, more discrete. Nicolai is one of my favorite lines, but I find many of her women's fragrances, though beautiful, a little too vanillic/tonka-ish and sweet for me to wear regularly. Odalisque is sweet, too and comforting, but somehow also a little aloof and poignant.
Thank you, and you too! I wonder if soul mate is one of those phrases that has become discredited through overuse (in People magazine, for example, like “fairy-tale romance” :). It seems funny that in such a supposedly individualistic culture like we are supposed to have in North America, there is such heavy promotion of the idea of two becoming one, dissolving yourself into love.
Didn't even notice the formatting, that's such a lovely quote (and indeed it is *very* similar in spirit to the Bayley passage, isn't it?). Thank you for commenting: I've always neglected Rilke, and I've become increasingly convinced that's a major error that I must correct! And congratulations on your relationship – sounds like you sealed it in a beautiful, intelligent way.
Here are three fragrances that remind my of Valentines Days past:
Chopard Madness
Giorgio Red
Valentino
And they are all red!
I just want to thank you for an fascinating article, Erin – you've given some food for thought on three fragrances of which I may take a second look.
Very interesting choices. I love Sublime madly, and I do believe it is sadly overlooked.
I did not know there was another Odalisque out there – there is a vintage perfume called that by Nettie Rosenstein, and it's magnificent, but nothing like the one you describe. It's rich and complex, a little powdery, and smells like wealth. I adore it.
Erin, thank you for a very deep and inspiring post!
It's texts like these that reassure us, perfume lovers, that there is so much more to perfume than just chemistry. That perfume is, among other things, often an expression of self, an interpretation of how one feels in a relationship and of letting your partner know how much you appreciate him/her. And that potential depth is, of course, fascinating and one of the reasons I love perfume theory:)
Thanks, D, and sorry I took so long to repsond to your comment. Sublime is one I had to try on myself several times before I was hooked – it doesn't perform particularly well on paper, I find.
R, thanks for sharing some great choices. It's been a long time since I tried Red, I'll have to give it another go. A sexy scent (in a red container!) that I love is Gucci's Rush.
Ah, the *other* Odalisque! Was it you that brought that one up on Bois de Jasmin on the occasion of Lenin's birthday (I believe) when Victoria posted about discontinued fragrances? It sounds wonderful. PdN's Odalisque is a little powdery too – lots of iris – and is complex for a fairly linear perfume, but I wouldn't call it rich. Is the Rosenstein an oriental?
Well, thank you for enjoying my strangely serious post! I appreciate your kind words, though I promise to say something silly next time. I love Luca Turin's description of perfume as “portable intelligence” and I fail to see how perfumery can be anything other than an art, just like novel writing, painting or composing symphonies. As such, it certainly deserves its own theory as well – although I must stress that I'm not at all qualified to be engaging in the theory end. While I too am fascinated by the more academic writings on fragrance, I try to remember when reading it that I'm just a fan looking to justify the time and money I spend on this obsession! Robin here at NST has that rare virtue of taking her subject seriously, without taking herself seriously, and I admire that.
Of course I agree on just being fans, but very devout ones! I myself am not at all much knowledgeable about perfumes, I guess you could call me a burgeoning perfumista. And yet, it is still fun to learn so much about such a fascinating subject. After all, we all have our own personal interests in this – we wear perfume, it's part of our daily lives. It's nice to know art is a part of your life, wouldn't you say?
And as for Robin, I think her seriousness without seriousness is exactly the reason I started reading NST:)
It *is* nice and it's cheaper than owning, say, Degas sculptures.