I’ve often been told that I take a lot from my mum: my eyes, my curls and my ability to whip up a mean three-course meal in about an hour and a half. But by far the thing I’m proudest of is inheriting her nose – not her literal nose, but her impeccable taste for scent.
Many moons ago, like plenty of teenage boys of the time, I believed that shrouding myself in Lynx would shroud that pubescent funk (spoiler alert: it didn’t). Once I realised that a can of Dark Temptation can only take you so far, I felt like I needed something more.
The first perfume I chose for myself, after rotating three that I’d been gifted for about four years, was Bleu de Chanel ‘Eau de Parfum’, a classic scent that’s a bit of everything: citrusy, herbaceous, a little woody, a little warm, and undeniably manly.
For many men, it’s a perfect, mostly inoffensive and compliment-grabbing scent, but something wasn’t quite right for me. I’ve never been the most typically masculine-presenting person; that’s not to say I’m particularly effeminate, but I can’t wear a suit and I hate barbershops. I soon began a search for something a little more androgynous, a little less in-your-face.
A revelation came when I noticed that most niche perfumeries sold their scents as unisex. It seemed to me that, for the most part, gendered perfume marketing mattered much less than I’d thought.
This became abundantly clear when I was shopping for a Christmas gift for my fragrance-loving mother.
I was scouring the perfume room of John Lewis, smelling to a point beyond nose-blindness. After hours of searching, I found an incredibly popular scent that I had not yet come across – Jo Malone’s ‘Velvet Rose & Oud’.
While I frequently complain that many fragrances are too heavy, sharp or aftershave-y, my mother has always had the opposite problem, often finding things far too sweet or floral. With a warm, floral but deep scent, ‘Velvet Rose & Oud’ smelled luxurious and opulent: it was perfect for her… but I wanted it too.
That idea was swiftly nipped in the bud once I realised that there weren’t any bottles left in stock in that specific store. I needed another option, but my near realisation that I could buy her something a little heavier than the perfumes I’d been limiting myself to when perusing for her present meant that my horizons were broadened.
I eventually came across a different fragrance (one which has now become her signature scent): Diptyque’s ’34 Boulevard Saint Germain’. It’s a classy blend: a little spicy with a peppery note, a bit of sweetness with some vanilla and an incredibly smooth sandalwood.
While it’s her signature scent, I share it, also wearing it regularly. But here’s the confession: it isn’t exactly perfume sharing if I’ve been using it without asking her.
The scent is irresistible, perfect to feel a little special on the odd fancy night out, and it’s about as unisex, extravagant and mysterious as you can get in the world of perfume: complex, ambery, hard-to-pin-down.
It’s not all trickery and deceit, though. My scent shopping journey did inspire me to pick up a rose-y perfume of my own: Horace’s ‘Oud Rose’, which layers a sweet opening smell of rose with a luscious oud accord, ending with an earthy patchouli smell. Not too sweet, not too woody, and undeniably unisex.
After smelling it on me once, my mother insisted that it was the greatest thing to ever grace her seasoned nostrils. Since then, I’ve caught her taking a few spritzes before a lunch with her friends, but I’d be a hypocrite to try and stop her – I’m well aware that my good taste had to come from somewhere, after all…
