Perfume Stories: My First Fragrance

When I was growing up, it seemed that my nose grew first, and the rest of me took about 20 years to catch up. I was obsessed with my nose, and it was a hateful relationship. I plastered my walls with ads of beautiful, button nosed models from the pages of Teen and YM magazine, and fantasized about one day having the offending body part surgically altered.

The early 90's Bonne Bell series of ads featuring tiny-nosed Denise Richards adorned my walls of self loathing. At the time, very sad, In retrospect, absolutely hilarious.

Of course, mine is a perfectly acceptable nose, and once I got older, I became friends with my nose, and we have lived happily together ever since. In retrospect, I think that my nose was smart. It had to grow up faster than the rest of me to accomodate my sense of smell. I have a dear friend who grew up feeling similarly about her own nose, and is also wildly driven by her love of perfume. Together, we agreed that we would never have been able to enjoy all the luxurious fragrances we adore with crummy little button noses. Thus, years of youthful angst were forgotten, and new lives embraced! I can build my life story out of perfume bottles, as every story has a scent, and each scent a thousand stories. From the Avon Tranquil Moments stocking stuffers in the 80's, to my current day love of Hermès, my nose and I have had many an adventure. I shall start at the beginning.

Incidentally, when I learned to write in cursive, I tried to make my J's like the J in Jean Naté. Yes, I did.

Most of my earliest memories take place in the bathtub. Perhaps since bathtime is full of soaps, hair products, bubbles and other luxuries, it is the perfect place for scented memories to form. I can still remember the smell of the wheat germ shampoo that my mom would wash my hair with, and the Jean Naté talcum powder she would sometimes let me dust myself with. On special occasions, I'd get to use the after bath splash as well. Very exciting stuff. Mom wore Yves Saint Laurent's Rive Gauche back then. It clung to her skin, and her snuggly sweaters, and was such a comfort to me when traces of it would linger in the room after she had kissed me goodnight. Even though she hasn't worn it in at least 25 years, it is the fragrance that will always remind me of my mom.

Even though I had limited access to the Jean Naté after bath products, I really wanted my very own perfume. After all, what five year old doesn't have their own signature scent? It wasn't until Christmas of 1984 that my dream came true. My sweet little friend and kindergarten classmate Louise, gave me a Cabbage Patch Kids perfume gift set. Oh, how I loved it! It looked exactly like Pine Sol, but thankfully it smelled a bit better. It was a rose scented elixir like nothing I'd ever smelled. Cabbage rose, to be sure, it's only fitting. I wore it constantly, surely in offensive quantities. I mentioned the perfume to my mom the other day, and her comment was, "You used to wear some really awful perfumes". She's right, and this was one of  them... but cut a kid some slack, I was only five! I think it was that dear little Cabbage Patch Kids scent that made me fond of rose for ever after. As I write, a Claus Porto Rozan candle is burning away on the mantle, and I shall raise a cup of rosehip tea in a toast. To Louise from Kindergarten, wherever you are, thank you!

My Cabbage Patch Kid looked just like this one, a redhead like me! I got her for my birthday when I turned six. Her given name was Cleo Adrienne, but naturally, I renamed her Twinkie.