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Chanel #5 smells like an airplane bathroom. Or is it that
they modeled the scent of airplane bathroom cleaners off Chanel #5. Every time I see a glittering duty-free
display of perfumes, I have to try one (or several, until a clerk approaches
me). Sometimes I like spritzing on the Dior perfume that’s been my favorite
since eighth grade. I like the smell of Light Blue, because it’s what my best
friend used to wear freshman year of college. I feel like a person from ancient
Rome, hiding my underlying grubbiness with perfume. (Another note on ancient Rome: I recently learned that they
loved bestiality, and specially trained a huge variety of animals, from
gorillas to bears, for that purpose, and also that Locusta, a “poison master”
who helped Nero kill Britannicus, was executed by a bestiality-trained giraffe.)
My mother likes Jean Patou 1000 but they have stopped making
it. It’s the only perfume she likes, and very hard to find (certainly nowhere
in North Carolina). My mother always impressed upon me how rare and precious it
was, so many years ago when I was so angry at her that I felt I had to get
revenge, I went to her dresser and poured out a bit of her perfume.
My brother, at age six or so, remarked that a Jelly Belly
jelly bean (the popcorn one?) “tastes like a sneeze.”
I used to find airports incredibly lonely and boring, but
these past few days—in Oslo, and now again on my long day of travel from Berlin
to Durham—I’ve found them comforting, and with a better atmosphere than most
places I’ve been spending my time recently.
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