The Scent of the City

First published: November 1, 2013 by France Today Editors

Particular scents can evoke memories of times, people or places that have long remained dormant, allowing you to relive unforgettable moments in the Proustian sense. When I moved to Paris, I decided that since a fresh chapter in my life was beginning, I should choose a new perfume to accompany it. My hope was that, over the years to come, I’d always associate its scent with my Parisian life.

However, selecting a new perfume when you’re in one of the world’s scent meccas is a challenge. Should I err on the side of the truly Parisian Chanel No. 5? Or perhaps evoke a touch of the French Riviera with Lubin’s Gin Fizz, which was created specially for Grace Kelly? Then there are the perfume houses of Fragonard, L’Artisan Parfumeur, Hermès, Robert Piguet and many others to consider, all with menageries of exquisitely bottled scents, just waiting to attach themselves to my memories of Paris.

After a long olfactory exploration, I finally settled on Olène, a fresh floral fragrance from Diptyque – rather fitting since the parfumier’s beginnings lie in the quartier of Saint-Germain, which isn’t far from my apartment.

It’s a chilly spring evening when, having applied a final spritz of my new scent, I head out towards the Odéon métro. The moon smiles knowingly from behind the elegant rooftop silhouettes of the sixth arrondissement, casting its gleam across the steps of the Odéon-Théâtre. A city filled with perpetually rosy cheeks is a sign that summer is still a while away. But although the evening air is brisk, it’s not unpleasant, and is made all the more cosy by the full moon’s cheerful presence.

My footsteps echo down rue Racine as I trail my fingers absent-mindedly along the cold, hard stone of a building. I see the silhouette of a young man walking towards me, the glow of the street light catching the strands of his tangled curls. I notice the tactile texture of his tweed coat when we pass each other on the narrow footpath, even as I fumble to find my métro ticket. When I round the corner onto rue Monsieur le Prince, the ticket flutters from my pocket. Stopping to retrieve it, I hear the cadence of rapid footsteps on the path behind me.

Having been subject to the wiles of more than one unseemly character on the streets of Paris, my first instinct is to keep walking – quickly. But as I turn to a male voice calling “Excusez-moi! Mademoiselle!”, I quickly recognise the man who I’d passed moments before, running breathlessly towards me. Checking to see that there’s no-one behind me who he could be pursuing, I do a mental inventory of my possessions, thinking perhaps I’d dropped more than a métro ticket. Thankfully, all is intact.

Puzzled, I stop and turn. “I’m very sorry to bother you,” he says in rapid French, “but I must ask – what perfume you are wearing?” I pause, momentarily thrown by the fact that someone has chased me down the street to ask such a question. I stammer my response, telling him the name. “Well,” he smiles, “it’s a very beautiful scent.” I muster a thank you and, as I turn to leave, he grabs my hand, smiles and twirls me around in a little pirouette. “Bonne soirée,” he grins, then turns and walks off into the night.

It was a beguiling yet quintessentially Parisian moment, and a perfumed memory certainly worth keeping.

Originally published in the August-September 2013 issue of France Today

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