When summer turns to fall, I wait as long as I can to turn on the furnace. Usually the afternoons will warm up enough that I can wear a sweater in the morning and be fine. But finally the time comes when I dig out the fleece-lined slippers, pad my way to the thermostat, and hold my breath as my ancient furnace kicks in. Within a few minutes the living room fills with warm air and the smell of the first heater run of the year: dust and hot metal. Add a slice of toast with jam, imagine yourself in an ancient church, and presto! you have Balenciaga Rumba perfume.

Rumba is big and deep, and is a strange but compelling combination of a hot electric burner, fruit, and beeswax. Even as an Eau de Toilette, Rumba has maximum sillage. I’m tempted to say that it’s juicy, but its fruit — and there’s lots of it — quickly turns to something richer, like Madeira. Rumba’s flowers appear then disappear then gently reappear amidst the churchy wood, as if they’re blowing in from a night garden. I’ve read reviews of Rumba that compare it to a nightclub, and I imagine a Cuban bar with an outdoor seating area and a palm reader in the corner ready to tell you your fate while you sip your second El Floridita…

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