Although I Have Never Read Proust, I Too Have Eaten the Madeleines.

Although I have never read Proust, I too have eaten the madeleines.

In his book In Search of Lost Time, Proust uses madeleines as a metaphor for the evocation of involuntary memory. A character eats the madeleine, and something overcomes him. The essence of something previously known, intangible, and soon remembered after the feeling had passed over him. Although this episode refers to the feeling of taste, I feel that scent has a greater hold over me. 

I’ve always loved fragrances. When I was growing up, my mother had a box of perfume samples in the bathroom. She would go to the mall and somehow get them all for free. She had such a collection. I remember opening that box, and feeling the scent rise and hit my face. It was fruity and flowery and musky. When she got into patchouli it grew to have an earthy tone. I would visit that box once a week or so, smelling each individual vial. Now I am sometimes hit with a wave of nostalgia when I walk down the street and someone passes by wearing one of those scents. It takes me right back to sitting on the cold tiled bathroom floor, holding that wooden box in my lap, getting to know intimately the world of fragrance.

As I got a little older, my parents would let me buy body sprays, which I would inevitably overspray and over use, coating myself in the sickly sweet scent of something cheap. I still loved them. Sometimes my mom would let me use some of her other perfumes, the ones in the big bottles. She always loved Poison by Dior, but the bottle of Cashmere Mist by Donna Karan was a favourite too. 

I remember thinking that Cashmere Mist was different. It wasn’t just fruity or floral, it was something new. It was rich yet light. It was almost friendly, something to be held close. Like a sweater or a quilt knitted by a dead relative. It almost smelled like skin, I loved it. We had first come to know that fragrance from my Great Aunt Nancy, when we were visiting her in Florida. Nancy was an older Italian woman, and the most clean person I’d ever met, the type to scrub the walls of her apartment. She always wore polyester, somehow tolerating it in the Florida heat. Every time I smell it, I think of her. 

Scent was always going to be important to me. Both sides of my family seemed to love it. My father’s father, Bill, was a VP at a perfume company - Prince Matchabelli. The founder of the company was a Georgian nobleman who came to the United States in 1921. He and his wife, who was an actor, founded the company in 1926 after opening an antique store years prior. The company was sold, and eventually it produced the famous scents Wind Song and Cachet. Prince Matchabelli has changed hands a few times since then, but the scents have remained a drugstore favourite. I have a bottle of Wind Song, and as much as I find the scent interesting, it’s just not for me. 

It’s no surprise that I collect perfumes now, it’s been more than a few years of obsession. Pretty much as soon as I had money of my own, scent became the thing I’d yearn for and sometimes (when I had the pocket change) treat myself to. I’ve never been one for the more expensive scents. The accessible, cheapie, drugstore type scents ended up becoming a particular fascination of mine. Pop-scents, believe it or not, are the best formulated. Perfumers spend hours on days on weeks making them smell just right. That’s why they get mass manufactured.

The best perfumers of our time may be working on scents for fabric softener and Victoria’s Secret body sprays, but I still love niche scents made in small batches by random people who are just trying to get an idea across. Those are interesting. Similar to how one can almost grasp someone’s personality through the books they write, perfume can tell you a lot about the person who is crafting it. It’s an art. All art can communicate something deeper, something unsayable. Perfume especially.

One scent which calls to mind the past for me is Eau de Lierre by Diptyque. It’s meant to smell like leaves of ivy. I got a sample of it right before I left to go on pilgrimage walking the Camino de Santiago. For the month that I was trekking across Spain, through the Pyrenees and over the meseta, I wore that scent. It was the only sample vial that fit in my little bag. I knew I needed to have something to smell as I walked, to keep hold of the memories. This one worked like a charm. I got a full bottle when I finished my month of walking, as a reward for a job well done. I wore it every day that summer, I almost drained the whole bottle. Now every time I crack it open, I’m filled with the feelings of that walk and that summer. It makes me feel the sun is warming my skin. It feels like freedom. It feels like writing my dissertation. It feels like using my mind and body and youth and knowing that these are the good days.

Saint Moritz by Youssoful also has a power over me. It’s figgy and musky and soaked in grapefruit juice. When my husband and I were first dating, he went on a long trip to Japan and Korea. He knew how much I loved fragrance, and decided to bring one back for me. He hit the nail on the head, and it’s since become one of my favourite scents. I don’t wear Saint Moritz very often, but when I do, I remember how much he loved (and loves) me. How we knew that we were meant to be together.

Every fragrance I own holds memories for me. They’ve been with me in the best and worst of times. I mourn every bottle I’ve finished, and I anticipate the memories I will someday make with different perfumes. Or the same scents. It doesn’t really matter. I will admit that I’m not the best when it comes to journaling and writing down the memories and feelings I may have at any given moment, but scents can help me grasp these things. Scents prevent the memories and feelings from slipping away. 

I don’t think we need perfumes in particular to remember the details of our lives. Memories can come back to us from a tinge of scent on the wind, from the taste of a familiar meal, from wearing the same underwear you wore on the day your life changed forever. Although we must keep the future in mind, there is value in the past. Value in understanding who we were before the present moment and in knowing how we have changed.