It wasn’t until I worked in cosmetics that it occurred to me that fragrance could be individualized, selected much like a dress which suits your own unique curves. I wore them each without thinking, sprayed on last, almost as an afterthought. In high school and college I was spoon fed the mass market favorites: Skin Musk by Bonne Belle, Vanderbilt by Gloria Vanderbilt, Liz Claiborne, Ysatis by Givenchy. It took me years to connect emotionally to an actual juice. (It has since been reformulated and relaunched in 2012). I really have no memory of the smell of the fragrance itself. A genie shaped flacon it still adorns my vanity to this day. As seminal as that gift was it was the bottle that mattered. What I internalized was that one day I would grow up to become a lady and ladies wear perfume. It was more than a gift, it was a message. I was so impressed that I got my own bottle of perfume. The first two categories did not suit but a bottle of perfume could be justified a full-size bottle of Mademoiselle Ricci (original formulation 1967) by Nina Ricci. The holy trinity of Duty Free shopping was, and remains, alcohol, tobacco, and perfume. In those days Duty Free shops were the sole retailers in airports (no Disney). It is likely that he reached the airport and realized that he had forgotten to buy me a souvenier. When I was eight years old my father went on a business trip and brought me back not a child’s gift but a bottle of women’s perfume instead. Photo: Liza’s original bottle, vintage Nina Ricci Mademoiselle Ricci ![]() The smell of hot pavement after a summer rain, crushed leaves underfoot in autumn, crackling fireplace in winter. My grandmother who smelled like a pleasant mixture of baby powder and lilac.The attic of my childhood home which reeked of must and mystery, a great-grandfather’s trunk. My earliest memories involve smells, although not perfume.
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