As children, my friend Marian and I spent hours at her home pulverising flowers in water and leaving them to soak – to make "perfume."
We used mainly ixoras, perhaps because those were the most plentiful blooms in their garden and/or because the drop of nectar that we children often sucked from the end of the removable pistil must have given us the impression that the flower held exotic, aromatic properties akin to the sweetness of its "juice."
We would decant our olfactory masterpieces into old perfume bottles collected from wherever we got them. Once my younger sister Kathryn, probably impressed by our juvenile perfumery skills, gave a small bottle of our "product" to a friend of hers as a birthday gift.
Thinking back, I can see how perfume is a bookmark of sorts in my formative adult years.
In my early teens, I received a bottle of Anais Anais as a birthday gift from my godmother, Aunty Evril. The soft floral design on the bottle, as well as its alluring scent and the fact that it was what I considered to be my first "grown-up" gift, made me feel important and special, as if I had graduated to some other level of my existence.
The first perfume I ever bought for myself, possibly also in my teens and maybe when the bottle of Anais Anais had finished, was called Sunflower. I had a fascination with sunflowers – not just because of their appearance, but because of something I had read, which resonated deeply within me. The passage had mentioned that sunflowers "track the sun from sunrise to sunset" – which to me, was a symbol of devotion to that "one big thing" – a feeling I longed to experience and express.
At some point in my early 20s, I discovered patchouli oil. Captured by its deeply alluring scent, I acquired a bottle of pure aromatherapy oil (not the cheap version usually sold on the street). The scent is so strong, that all you need is a tiny drop.
Patchouli became my "second skin." For decades since then, I have worn it every day. Without it, I feel like something is missing.
Sometimes people who know me enter a room where I have been and, smelling the lingering patchouli, say “Was Elspeth here?”
Sometimes people approach me and say something like, “Mmm, you’re wearing patchouli. That takes me back to my hippy days in the 60s!”
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The scent of patchouli is described in various online sources as "a mix of earth, woody, sweet and musky"..."quite strong and slightly sweet and spicy"..."the aroma that comes from wet soil"...and an "intoxicatingly rich bouquet."
I filmed an ad recently for a woman named Allison who has an enterprise known as ScentSationally Yours By Allison, through which she sells FM (Frederico Mahora) fragrances, described as a "reputable brand from Poland with signature perfumes; 20 per cent fragrant oils per volume alcohol." FM apparently uses the same recipes as popular expensive brands, but makes them available at more affordable prices, minus the famous brand names (which is where the cost c
