On the nose

I nearly hugged the fragrance consultant when I spotted the master French perfumerie range L’artisan Parfumeur at Bourke Street Myer. Perched pristinely on the top shelf in vintage-look bottles it was calling me to envelope myself in its deliciousness.

I first discovered L’Artisan Parfumeur in a side street in the Marais Arondissment in Paris. All I can say is the French know a think or two about sensory experiences. The shop attendant wouldn’t let me purchase a fragrance until I had tested it on my skin and let it react with my own chemistry. My perfect match was Premier Figuier bottled and spritzed the scent of summer ripened figs balanced with. Every time I spray my fabulous Figiuier it takes me back to Marais.

It’s amazing how a scent can cause you to travel back to another time when that fragrance defined you or what you were experiencing at that moment. The sweet smell of just baked almond croissants, incense burning in a yoga studio or the captivating cologne of a past lover.

Speaking of lovers…. Have you ever stopped seeing a guy because of his smell? I am not talking bad-body-odour-needs-good-wash-and-some-deoderant kinda smell. I mean the smell of a guy’s skin that just doesn’t do it for you? Or conversely have you ever been mesmerised by a man’s smell that made you keep following your nose despite your head or your heart?

My next L’Artisan Parfumeur experience will be Papillon. A little bit of Paris in the laneways of Melbourne. Try it before it becomes as common as Chanel No 5.