You Don’t Wear No Perfume

Posted in Smell-O-Rama |

By Less Lee Moore

Geneviève wears Dior
Margaret wears Trésor
Mary Jo wears Lauren
But you don’t wear no perfume. . .
—Sparks, “Perfume”

Other than the ones that came in Avon perfume bottles shaped like princesses, I didn’t know much about perfume as a kid. I do remember liking the scent of Hibiscus when I was small although I don’t know how I would have even known about it; I might have gotten some perfume oil from a relative who visited Hawaii.

In the early 80s when Giorgio Beverly Hills was all the rage, I used to get sample vials from the cosmetic counters at the mall and douse myself in their contents. Secretly, I thought it was stinky and old lady-ish, but I figured if I wore it enough I’d grow to appreciate it, the way adults did with wine and bourbon. I believe I even had a Giorgio tote bag at one point. Ah, designer fashions.

When I was a little older, my great aunt took me on an all day shopping expedition, which included lunching at our local department store café (either Maison Blanche or D.H. Holmes; both are long gone and much missed). She told me I could buy whatever fancy perfume I wanted. For whatever reason, I picked Christian Dior’s Diorrisimo. Maybe it was the pink box with black and white houndstooth or maybe it was because this same aunt had bestowed a subscription to Vogue upon me and I recognized the Dior name. In either case, it was an extremely heady scent and in retrospect, one far too strong for a budding teenager. But I wore it faithfully.

Sometimes, I’d sneak into my mom’s bedroom and steal her White Linen by Estee Lauder. Now this I truly adored. I’ve never smelled anything quite like it since. It truly did smell like white linen to me. If you were to spritz some past me today, I’d be transported back to eighth grade parties, add-a-bead necklaces, Ralph Lauren polo shirts, and New Wave music.

The similarly feminine Anaïs Anaïs by Cacharel was the first perfume, however, that I felt was my own. It came in a pink and white bottle with flowers, perfect for someone who daydreamed about Duran Duran videos set in Sri Lanka. No matter what other fragrances I found, I always had a bottle of this in my room.

Oddly enough, the next scent I started wearing was the jasmine-y Pearls and Lace by Avon, which was probably a bit of a step backwards, fashion wise, but a friend of mine wore it and since I thought she was pretty and glamorous, I started wearing it, too. I went to school with girls who wore Yves St. Laurent’s Paris, which was more restrained than I was used to and thus intriguing. It almost felt watered-down but to me, that made it even more alluring. Then there was the aptly-named Beautiful by Estee Lauder, which for many years I thought was the loveliest thing I’d ever smelled. However, both were far too expensive. After all, I was still rocking that Diorissimo bottle from a few years earlier.

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