People are born with synesthesia, and when you’re about a year old you lose it. Only five per cent of people walk around as adults with synesthesia. But the neurons you have now are the same ones you were born with. You can wake them up, and that’s what we’re going to try to do today.
— Perfumer Ron Winnegrad, talking to students at a workshop on synesthesia. Read more at Scents and Sensibility at The New Yorker.
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…