‘A Pocketful of Miracles’ : 30 Fragrance Tips You MUST Try!

 

A wee frivolity for The Glorious First Of June.

Possibly the professional question I am asked most frequently is –

‘Where may I spray my fragrance? How should I apply my parfum?’

Behind the ears, upon the throat – and always with pleasure. But you can cast your net so much wider than this. Be always open-minded to experiment and adventure.

Accept this nosegay of handy hints to help you enhance your aura and exaggerate your ambience. Be remembered and well-beloved for the fragrance and harmony in your wake.

“I did but inhale her passing by:
And yet I love her till I die” ¤

Here we go.

* They say the canny Parisienne – “pas folle, la guepe!” – applies scent behind each KNEE. A hangover from the 1920’s, when the female knee was exposed and fetishised for the first time in history. Knees were not only perfumed, but rouged and powdered. And before the knee, the ANKLE. Hot air rises so the wearer – and those very close to her – should appreciate her own delicious odour all the more. By the same token, perfume on dress (and trouser) HEMS works well, too.

* Newly-washed porous HAIR¤¤ is a great conductor of scent for both sexes. Some  old roues and voluptuaries might  recommend that the EYEBROWS should also be anointed with a discreet dab. We are told that Assyrian ladies & gents daubed their LASHES too – but I wouldn’t try that. Follically-challenged males should apply their cologne to the SCALP – and/or to the inside of their CAPS and HATS. On a lady’s elaborate chapeau it’s amusing to perfume artificial flowers, feathers and veiling.

* Team your TRIMMINGS & ACCESSORIES with your own signature scent. Use fragranced artificial flowers for a home-made tropical LEI – or weave a fresh garland of real flowers. Marigolds and jasmine are traditional – and the marigolds¤ will also repel noxious insects in a healthier way than CIGARETTES. (You CAN dip the tips of your 20 Players in fragrance though – as did all those depraved Noel Coward characters, aeons ago).

* Mary Queen of Scots went to the scaffold wearing hollow golden rosary BEADS stuffed with ambergris. Avid rummagers in bric-a-brac shops still  occasionally discover beads that be filled – or soaked – with perfume. Amateur potters can make their own and string them as bracelets and necklaces. Or simply scent lengths of RIBBON to adorn a well-turned wrist and swan-like neck.

* FANS – as long predicted in this column – are now madly back in fashion. Make up a perfumed collection to cool and seduce on the Tube, the street or in the ballroom. Fans look so glamorous when held in beautiful GLOVES. The trend for scented Spanish leather gloves and gauntlets goes back to Tudor and Jacobean times. Back then, the raw material – tanned in human excrement – needed to be sweetened a little. Now you can afford to be more sophisticated.

* And inside the glove, do spray your not only your WRIST but also your PALM. You’ll leave your mark on everyone you touch. I noted that Marlene Dietrich had perfected this trick when I got to kiss her little hand back in ’72. Her perfume was mine for the night.

* With your redolent hand, now write a billet-doux on perfumed PAPER with scented INK. The first, you can prepare yourself. The ink you may have to search for, but quite a variety are still available. Put your flaming heart on paper in notes of lily, lilac and leather.

* Of course, before you dress, you’ll have added a few drops of essence or extrait to your BATH; and blended some more into a neutral skin CREAM. That’s if your favourite fragrance House does not supply bath and body products. Layering is the way forward for richness, tenacity and depth.

* Washable natural-fibre CLOTHING can be sprayed with most fragrances once you’ve done a discreet patch test. FUR is a delicate and controversial issue but – like hair, of course – it does carry superbly. A whole race of long-ago perfumes were created especially to be worn on and with pelts. Your great great grandparents’ preference for scented HANDKERCHIEFS should also be noted. Spray a hanky liberally and make great play with it or let it trail from your pocket.

* If you have your own long-term favourite CUSHION or PILLOW and can’t face breaking in a new one to fit the exact angle of your sleepy head, then you’ll need to freshen the inner pads. Air them in hot sunshine, toss them up to make the feathers fly; then spritz with your favourite scent.

* Dining at home? A quick dab on CURTAIN linings and under the RUGS works wonders. Then, make like the ancient Greeks, and rub your wooden kitchen FURNITURE with a bunch of fresh mint, parsley, marjoram or thyme. The aroma of bruised herbs will sweeten the air, stimulate the appetite and appease the household spirits.

* Gather ye rosebuds and other edible FLOWERS while ye may, to garnish the FOOD. Orange flower or rose water is wonderfully luxurious when discreetly added to your cooking. Try delicately perfuming your creams, jellies, custards and rice dishes.  Kindle your scented beeswax CANDLES, add a sprig of lavender to the mint sauce and you’re ready for anything. Hand rose, violet and geranium chocolates separately. Go so far as to taste your own scent on the TONGUE as recommended by Pierre Guillaume of Parfumerie Generale; or lightly touch your GUMS. You’ll remember, too, Scarlett O’Hara lurching downstairs to the parlour after gargling eau de Cologne – and brandy.

Tomorrow IS another day – and another perfume!

¤ Thomas Ford 1580-1648 (arr. LW)

¤¤ Editor’s note: we have just heard that the Maison Francis Kurkdjian hair mists will be arriving from the city of light in June

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You spoke of a room, a lovely room…

Jean Harlow - Bombshell Lola in bed

Which is your favourite room of the house? I was told many years ago by a woman in analysis that my preference for living in the bedroom was a Bad Sign. She took me to task for making it a retreat from life, an opting out, exacerbated by my bedroom being at the rear of the flat, looking out over gardens and remote from the world. I should have been in the sitting-room, gazing down on a busy street, my blood thrumming in harmony with the traffic: not lulled by Hungarian goose feathers and muffled by pillows, a bottle of cologne tucked under the coverlet.

Well, at least I wasn’t living in the bathroom as Maria Callas did in her final years. I delighted in defying all these Freudian strictures and still love to make a cocoon of my bedroom which I can arrange exactly as I choose with all my favourite things about me and all my perfumes stacked in a deep dark drawer. It’s good to come in and find a memory of your current favourite hanging in the air. I like the informality of a bedroom, in the manner of an C18th print: an artful dishevellment, a private laxity in a room where shoes are not worn – or never should be, though I am constantly amazed that when folk throw themselves on beds or sofas on tv or in films they NEVER remove the footwear which has trekked in the muck of the streets.

You can see from the makeover shows and the magazines (not to mention the estate agents) that the kitchen is now more than ever the heart of the house. I’m all for this, although in this eccentric world of ours it seems to me that the bigger and better the kitchen the less people use it to actually cook in. Kitchens should be full of delicious smells, not just of meals in preparation but of warmth, stored ingredients, spicy dry goods, flowering plants, cleanliness and fresh air. We still bottom through here, with mop and bucket – I always get a Pavlovian jolt at the clang of a metal pail and the hot tang of Flash (or Flash-type cleanser) which takes me back over 50 years. Flash used to come in powder form in a packet: sodden, gritty and lumpy, emitting a strong smell of damp cardboard and bleach. Nowadays it streams liquid gold, the colour and scent of lemons, full of citronella, easy-to-pour from the bottle.

BetteDavisJane6791_3

Kitchen windows: keep them open! Florence Nightingale was a a great one for stressing the importance of having rooms sufficiently warm for health but simultaneously well-aired at all times. Nowadays there is a pleasing vogue for aptly scented candles in the kitchen – mint, lemon, herbs ,woods all go good. Don’t – obviously- burn a candle in a draught or by an open window: it will flare and sputter and the wax will burn unevenly. But what you can do is, create a little protective niche away from the air flow and have your candles there, quite still and safe, while the outdoors streams in and blends in. The scent of a coming meal in a kitchen is a perfect heaven; the odour of one long gone is a most unappetising thing. And I have noticed that since ‘No Smoking’ became the rule even the grandest of fine dining eateries often smell dismayingly of old stale food: the staff no longer throw the doors & windows wide to sweeten the place as they were happy to do in the days of brimming ashtrays and cigar butts. Nowadays when I enter a restaurant what I first take notice of is not menu, decor or staff promptitude but the smell.

I wonder if all the above has something to do with my wariness of a dining room. This is the room I have always instinctively avoided in a house. When I was a tot, the dining room had an alien remoteness about it: children ate there only on Christmas Day; adults occasionally held mysterious dinner parties, heard from the stairs but never actually witnessed. Dinner parties announced by peals of over-excited laughter, fumes of drink and loud exotic perfumes floating upwards to the bedroom landings. One might find short-lived traces of strange feasts in the dining room next day – a bowl of walnuts; rich crumbly forbidden Roka biscuits in a sharp-edged blue and yellow tin which hurt small fingers (“it does serve you right: those are for your father”); muddied decanters covered in stars like the ones that go mad in “Alice”. Otherwise the room reverted to its chilly solitary state. We ate in the kitchen: the dining room was used an occasional study by my father’s typist, a storage space and, in the very early days, as a television room.

Dining-Room-at-Manderley-in-Rebecca

So there’s an eye-opener! – and I remember other households like ours in the late 1950’s. A tv set was (with qualms) subscribed to, but – as something slightly shameful – was hidden away in the dining room for limited viewing. “We have it for the children”: the children who were reluctant to sit in that unwelcoming chamber – a room as unnatural, unfriendly and stiff as best clothes – to watch it. It was only when Coronation Street and That Was The Week That Was arrived post-1960 that the television was promoted to the sitting room and the old social contract crumbled. Meanwhile the dining room was left abandoned once more.

The gloom of this room has nothing to do with decor or lighting – I have known dining rooms flooded with sunlight through French windows, opening onto gardens and terraces, furnished in ice-blue satin or pink leather and hung with ivy-patterned chintz. Some of them lovely and elegant but few of them exactly welcoming or inviting one to linger. The ones that do work are what I’ll call supper rooms, intimate cosy snuggeries just by the kitchen. Does anyone have an unnatural aversion to a particular room? I think my dislike of state dining rooms has something to do with an over-solemn approach to food, a business that’s always irritated me. More practically, the dinner loses essential heat as it is trundled down the draughty hall. And maybe too there’s a essential tristesse about a room devoted entirely to eating and the sustenance of the body but lacking the creativity and bustle of the kitchen.

‘Shall we join the ladies?’