This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
For many years, I have flitted here and there between a variety of fragrances in the search for one that would suit me long-term. Since my early twenties, I’ve owned most of the popular ones: Acqua di Gio, L’Eau D’Issey, Jean Paul Gaultier’s Le Male, Versace Blue Jeans, and so on. I even owned the very first Paul Smith fragrance, before the multi-striped maestro was as huge as he is now.
At some point I learned that most of these fragrances were mass produced for fashion houses in a factory on an industrial estate somewhere on the outskirts of Paris—at least, that’s what I’ve understood to be true, and please correct me if I’m wrong—and I decided to start hunting for something more unique.
After reading all of Ian Fleming’s 007 novels, I became a devotee of a bona fide perfumer on Jermyn Street, Floris. It had to be No.89, named after the store’s streetnumber and, according to Fleming, Bond’s fragrance of choice. I wore it with pride for many years, until a then-girlfriend proclaimed my scent to be ‘too soapy’!
Now, to each their own: we all have scents we like and dislike, and in a relationship scent is important. To me, it felt clean and classic; but she did have a point, and to be honest I was beginning to tire of it. So I moved on.
I kept faithful to Floris and moved to No.127, then to Limes and finally Spencer Hart, which I loved but was eventually discontinued. Then came the Turnbull & Asser collaboration 71/72. When that eventually ran out, I flip-flopped between Tom Ford’s Neroli Portofino & Adolfo Dominguez’s Vetiver. I was back where I had started, and I was not content.
And then, as it always seems to happen, the universe lent a helping hand. I went to a sample sale on Savile Row and I picked up—for a very reasonable price, nonetheless—a bottle of Tabacco Toscano by Santa Maria Novella, the oldest still-operational perfumer on the planet.
This was exactly what I had been looking for, and it had found me. Something subtle, suited to who I am at this point in my life and with the merest hint of how my late father used to smell. It was comforting, and it felt right. Sure, it’s an investment, but I only use it sparingly; and thanks to its quality, its scent lasts all day.
It also feels familiar, much like an old friend returning to your life and shaking you warmly by the hand before enveloping you in a firm and reassuring embrace. That’s the kind of feeling that you want to carry with you every day and for all time.
Finally, my fragrance journey may well have reached a fitting conclusion.
