Monthly Archives: May 2025

In my continuing supine meanderings today I came across a miniature bottle of the original Valentino de Valentino, a scent I thought I already knew (colorblinded by the legendary ‘Valentino Red’ my brain had splotched tomato ketchup all over this perfume, assuming it smelled red as well – some kind of Red Door or Venezia Biagiotti meets Beverly Hills Red by Giorgio type of affair – lethal as lipstick – deeply rosed and probably spiced – but in my advancing fragrance senility I think I was just mixing it up with the later and fruitier (and definitely more mischievous and genuinely red-smelling) Valentino Vendetta.

Smelling Valentino, the meticulous couturier’s first ever perfume ( and the first Valentino scent I have ever written about ),this evening I am struck how fragile it is, striking an intricate balance between a very concerted vivacity and an Achilles’ heel of vulnerability . An effervescently delicate green floral, preluded by calming green notes, citruses, and basil over sprays of freshly cut flowers that cede into peach, and civet, plus an ever so queasy note of quivering pink cyclamen, this is a loquacious, champagne bubblebath of a perfume in the manner of Paco Rabanne Metal and the aqueous floral cleanliness of Byblos de Byblos – but registered in a different (and less oblivious) key (A# major ?) She is always the belle of the party, this diffidently charming creature – bubbles in hand, inevitably a delight to all of her guests, strenuously outgoing — but simultaneously nervous;self-doubting; easily wounded.

The vintage ad for this perfume proclaims that Valentino De Valentino is a ‘perfume of passion and magnificence’ – and I would say that it is: an ardently romantic and ‘classy’ perfume that might sweep you off your feet. I am glad to have (re)discovered it. Though there is perhaps something a little sickly in all the frothed up , ladylike performativity towards Pygmalion perfection in the earlier stages of all the quiet fireworks, the generous flourishes of candour in this perfume do also make Valentino De Valentino perfect for the beautiful, wide-eyed flirt, secretly dying to wear her true heart on her sleeve.

I go into hospital for what I call the ‘filet-o-fish’ bolt removal – the metal nails and plates that were put in during my osteotomies eight years ago to be xylophoned out like a mackerel in order to make way for my total knee replacements in August and November —- this coming Thursday.

A week ago, I started to feel rundown and throaty and was wondering if I might be given a stay of execution I mean reprieve, I mean a postponement of the procedure – but the gung-ho, ultra-positive, trust-inducing surgeon who will be taking out what he himself inserted in 2017 – says I heartily that I am fit enough to go – so Frankenstinian robo removal butchery here I come !

Off par and apprehensive, have been very idle the last few days , just reading the paper, watching Netflix, and smothering myself with perfumes not even getting up from the futon – my darkness and palpitations morphing recently into a calmer, contented, excited state of mind; in particular for perfume. I have been smelling things – just all the amazing perfumes I have in my collection – with added relish and deep aesthetic pleasure and have been truly enjoying, , post shower ( essential for proper perfume testing ) test six or seven perfumes in different places – wrist, back of hand, upper arm- simultaneously, to compare them with each other as they develop and gradate through the day – to see eventually who comes out the winner

Today’s loser was definitely Cardin De Cardin. In the interest of fairness, I found my second 3.5 ml of this recently for about a dollar, thinking I should give it another chance as it couldn’t possibly be as boring as the other times I had tried it.

In fact, as it turns out, I think it was even more boring.

It is possible that the top notes have frayed ; the opening is not so bad in a dull glinty half-hearted fashion in the first boxed extrait I got of this – the second is even more compromised – here are the notes – quite complex – from Fragrantica in case you are interested –

but it very soon progresses (regresses?) to the most generic acrylic tights and hairspray beigey must base – that staid old perfumey smell that could come out of any hairnet strewn chamber where the cobwebs have been gathering, and it reminds me quite a lot me of the final basenotes of vintage Shiseido Zen. What starts off wistfully, green, momentarily elegant and vaguely Kyoto-esque, eventually, on me at least, becomes a dul lukewarm mush of meals on wheels — despair, and grey-follicled cardigans.

I think, in truth, that the competition didn’t help. On the back of my right hand I had a cheap rose oil roll on I bought at the Mustafa Center in Singapore for about two dollars and that I rediscovered last night and found delightful. The hospital has a total edict on perfume – on me in particular – I had an email sent to me showing my reputation has preceded me – the two hospitals are about fifty miles away from each other but the next one is already aware I am a scent terrorist (I don’t think the Bergamot Incident from my last hospitalization did me any favors with all the frowning Head Ratchets. When a 30ml bottle of bergamot essential oil I had kept on my person for lavatorial dignity but which unfortunately emptied itself into my pyjama pockets and down my legs, burning my thighs/, it caused throat-clutching, cheek puffing and and hive-sensitizing biohazard panic among some of the freshly operated and I was admonished for it by the no nonsense Head Nurse the next morning :: but I am fairly confident that a sly dot of this gentle pot pourri with its fresh graceful green notes and gentle calming qualities after a soapy hand wash will surely reinvigorate the olfaction buds nicely – and quietly – when I am in sagging pajama mode, and I am definitely taking it with me furtively in my new black toiletry bag.

Right wrist : an imperfect Armani Pour Femme edt (fine) ; arm was Carven Ma Griffe vintage parfum – always a pleasure, thanks very much mademoiselle; left wrist, vintage Ungaro Diva edp (wow what a beauty with its spiced, chocolatey rose and animal depth; it will never suit me unless I start to dress like Maria Callas, but I did really enjoy re-experiencing it today in all of its effortless, operatic warmth.

Courreges In Blue extrait was the undoubted winner. This is one baroque rose I can pull off – for some reason- it must be all the herbs and marigold freshness – and it has been fuzzing through into my black cashmere sweater unawares this afternoon… oops, the nurses might have to put up with a few subtle whiffs of Andre Courreges rather than the farting sulphur of untreated gum decay and the greasy haired zomb-crew of so many others who will be happier to slide into olfactory neglect instead of this optimistic 1983 Nice Riviera beauty drifting out into the ward like Isabelle Huppert onto the Croisette – oh, how dreadful for them! ! What a pity ! But at least, they won’t be yawning, yawning ! themselves to death , eyes watering from the sheer dullardry ot their weird patient’s eponymous first perfume by Pierre Cardin that would have them dull-eyed and distracted from their jobs, syringeing in the wrong places and unable to tend to their leg sutured nose twitching neurot. No, I will spare them. This is surely one of the blandest, most featureless vintage seventies extrait that I have ever encountered.

The above photo shows my friend K hugging a random pooch in a park having just liberally sprayed her gorgeous green Hong Kong tailored coat with current edition Fahrenheit.

She smelled great when we met and hugged at Kannai station on the way to the cinema in Isezakicho : aromatic; dry; androgynously beguiling. I didn’t pick up any of the burning leatherette or gasoline or violets in her scent aura, although all these notes were more apparent with liberal fresh applications.

It was strange that I didn’t immediately recognize Fahrenheit on K as I wore gallons of it in my early twenties, particularly when I lived in Rome. ‘Neil, sei profumatissimo’ my friends would tell me when I had really overdrive it for a night out clubbing in Testaccio; I practically drank the stuff.

Why didn’t I know what it was straight away?

Possibly because it is a new formulation – a good one, I would say; fresher, lighter- I might even prefer it – but it was definitely lacking some quintessential elements that pinged the automemory: the ‘nutmeg flower’; the underwray of gaseous florals ?

It wasn’t until the next day, when I took her to my secret Aladdin’s Trove down a nothingish street in a certain city in Kanagawa prefecture and she screamed with pleasure at discovering a 50ml bottle of the vintage ( which goes for hundreds of dollars now on eBay and the like because it is different : in essence, what the perfumers intended, in its original form, not a remixed attenuation); it was only then, as we sprayed it on in the precincts of a local shrine garden – along with an unbelievable haul – I ask you to brace yourselves – that all the real, visceral memories came rushing back; not a willed and somewhat forced attempt to bring back the past; but in true Proustian style, to physically relive it.

LOOT, THE BOOTY; THE BOUNTY

For less than a bottle of Tom Ford, but slightly more than the amount paid for the sledgehammer oud floral that K picked up in some airport somewhere ; Orchid Leather by Van Cleef and Arpels – erotic, I suppose, but with no breathing space – just so heavy and in your face – for the price of just one such niche meh bleh sprayable artefact we had all of the following artful blissfulness for less than two hundred pounds sterling ( with my current situation I just made a token contribution to the kitty… )

Vintage Fahrenheit Dior, 50 ml edt

Mitsouko 7ml extrait x2 + 100ml eau de cologne (in divine packaging)

Jean Desprez Bal A Versailles mounted/boxed extraits x 2

15ml YSL Paris extrait de parfum spray (rare!)

100ml vintage Calvin Klein Obsession edp (swoon!) – I have been dying

7ml Givenchy III extrait – great on her; I am finally starting to get it

Madame Rochas eau de cologne 100ml

Miniature Paloma Picasso Mon Parfum edp

Armani Pour Femme black spray extrait (ultra rare!) and pristine edt miniature

( these two were meant for me; as you will know from former reviews I really love this perfume but her reaction when she smelled it – throwing her head back with an almighty oh my god – made me realize that these beauties would inevitably have to be hers)

Nina Ricci L’Air Du Temps baccarat parfum

Nina Ricci Fleurs de Fleurs Parfum de toilette (heavenly) ; and Nina edt 30ml – two of my ultimate bedtime comfort scents

Roger and Gallet Santal miniature

Patou Joy boxed unopened vintage extraits – black bottles with red caps x 2

Torrente L’Or miniature

plus – at the least minute – an incredible 80’s Mugleresque leather jacket so perfect for the donning of the all the above leather chypres and vintage classics we were brimming and frothing at the gills with the very ecstatic acquisitional bargainhood.

In the morning, before we left the house, I had already bestowed upon K a Balmain Jolie Madame extrait and a parfum de Cabochard, both of which had her cat-eyed with pleasure ( she wears these perfumes so well; so much better than I do… ). She essentially left Japan with an entirely new vintage perfume collection.

You want leather ? Oh, we got leather

There are still plenty of old temples I haven’t yet been to in Kamakura, and today I randomly stopped off for the first time at the only Buddhist nunnery in the city, Eishoji.

I was the only one there. A welcome solitude, given that Kamakura – a former ancient capital but nowhere near as well known or mass-trampled over as Kyoto, is still on the fast track to overtourism like a miniature Japanese Barcelona or Venice.

It had its own bamboo grove.

And the faint, but replete, lingering years of incense palpable in the wooden rafters.

I was just at Kamakura City Hall attending to bureaucratic matters – something that always puts me on edge. Gaijin cards, visas, the new social security system that everyone in the country is expected to apply for – as a foreigner, especially, these are never occasions to especially look forward to. How nice, then, that the staff there today were so gentle, friendly, and calm.

Initially I was just about managing it all in Japanese with a very accommodating lady who threw in the odd English word for good measure; when things started to get more complicated and my vocabulary brain began to crumble, she called over her fluent English speaking colleague – without embarrassing me in any way -and I continued the proceedings with an exceedingly pleasant, humorous and very well put together lady in her sixties or so who not only talked me through the correct procedures while also giving me encouraging words about the success of her knee replacements – but also smelled lovely.

I told her I wrote about perfume and asked her what she was wearing (to me the aura – sillage she was emanating from behind the semi-separated perspex screen was chypric, classical, rose/ floral but not outdated): ‘Dior L’Absolu – : is it too strong ? ‘Not at all’, I told her, though I can’t vouch for her colleagues who are all working in rather a cramped and crowded work space. ‘I usually wear this one in winter and spring and move on to the mist when summer comes along’.

All the exchanges today, in what took less than twenty minutes in total, were polite, sincere, dare I say it even life affirming. The employees in question didn’t hesitate to draw my attention to the importance of certain issues – you really don’t want to be stuck in a Japanese immigration detention centre – or experience the infamous hose pipes of Nagoya prison: such places are to be avoided at all costs, and everyone involved, my self included, is thus taking the facts and documentation suitably seriously.

But at the same time, some simple humanity, gentility, empathy, kindness, humour – as well as a lovely perfume as an aesthetically pleasing added bonus – made what could have been a protracted, nerve-wracking experience actually pleasurable and engaging. Knees or no knees, my eyes slightly moistening, I practically skipped out the building.

Like the over-baked but enjoyable crap I watched on Netflix yesterday ( ‘Nonnas’: what, Susan Sarandon seventy eight ?!! – look at hah !) this everything in the sink beach perfume – coconut, sunscreen, tiare, The Waves, a small tub of salt, is perfectly agreeable and yet not. I actually laughed out loud this afternoon , on the first Proper Hot Day, in the Ginza, at the zebra crossing, at the thought of Helen somehow wrongly spraying on two squirts of it