LE JASMIN by ANNICK GOUTAL (2004)

“So, this old lush asked me to write this thing about perfume.” 

That’s how my gracious host suggested I start this post, but I thought that might be crossing the line a little so I decided not to do it. Oh, wait. Just did. 

Incidentally, that’s how I met a friend of mine, B. She was crossing the line, I was ignoring said line of social acuity and we bonded just like that. She made a joke about my height, so I made one about her perfume. Well, I’d say calling it perfume is far too generous. Some god-awful, shelf-born, cloying body-spray-wannabe positively suffocated those within her radius. 

A few weeks into our friendship, I ask her about this monstrosity. “Do you have anosmia?” 

She tells me to eff off. I tell her it’s the only logical conclusion given the tropical paradise bullshit that rolls off her. She says she doesn’t really believe a perfume can suit a person. I have a cardiac incident and tell her it’s alright, We’ll get you the help you need. 

I’m quite young. Just thought I ought to be upfront about it with you. But the scents I revel most in would never betray it. I find that smoky, leather and amber feel to Guerlain’s Shalimar strangely bewitching. I’d never wear it, of course. The first time I ever encountered it was when a friend’s grandmother wore it to brunch. I asked her what perfume she was wearing. She said if I could name all the notes, she’d tell me. I surprised her, by getting all but one: the lemon. I maintain to this day that it is rather disguised by a piercing orange scent, but that remains to be seen. So, she laughed and just said, “Age, darling. I’m wearing my age.” That’s what I hope for. It’s what I want for B, too. 

And thus, our International Perfume project began. I give her recommendations, which she buys back home. She flies home for the holidays, and I cry over Brexit and the cost of importing perfumes. Kidding! If I did that, I’d have been long dehydrated by now. I have her try samples of some florals that I think suit her. That crystal-clear warmth we all know and j’adore by Dior goes down quite well but I’m not a fan, so we scrap it. Youth Dew by EL is a flat no.  

Summer comes and goes. I let that strange, timeless Dorian Gray-ish European escape feeling invade and have a wonderful time. It feels like time doesn’t count there. That nauseatingly planned-to-the-minute structure to my British day dissolves around me. It would feel…wrong, to bring such conformity to some of the cities I visit. Cruel, even. Which is why, one afternoon, I find myself in a small boutique en Genève calling B to tell her I’ve found her scent after all. 

In a city I’ve fallen in love with despite its peculiar marijuana, opulence, and large Hadron Collider perfume. During a stressful time in my life. I’ve found my friend.  

In an irritatingly shiny, boring, normal vessel – really don’t like this bottle – lays an extraordinary girl. She speaks 3 languages fluently. We share an utterly irreverent sense of humour and I have found her in the back of a store in a city far more exciting than the clockwork stereotype that hangs over its country. A creation of Isabelle Doyen and Camille Goutal, I can’t help but feel that really, I’ve found a perfume not unlike Geneva’s La Jonction, pictured above. Rich, almost painfully present ginger works its way in underneath a note of Sambac Jasmine so strong it could kill a horse, yet so refreshingly light that I remember that this is what it feels like to ride one. Perhaps a perfume sinecure for those uninterested in perfume. Disturbingly addictive, but not to be toyed with. White magnolia colours this scent, aging it to create something sweet and punctative some may dislike. But I don’t care.  

Mesdames et messieurs, allow me to introduce: B. 

You may know her by another name, though. Annick Goutal’s Le Jasmin. This is a short post from a short girl, with a long history of liking very different scents. The same goes for my friends, too. The more eclectic, the better. Yet they remain fresh and exciting. Like the new jasmine growing in my grandparents’ garden in Greece. 

I don’t know if I’ve given B her signature scent. I think so. We tried around 21 different scents in total. But I’ve certainly left my perfumed imprint on her. 

(guest post by Maryam )