The Fragrance Foundation UK

‘The funny thing about scent is how difficult it is to describe and yet how much meaning it lends to a memory. Much like how Patrick Süskind poetically put it in Perfume; ‘all the grotesque incongruities between the richness of the world perceived by smell and the poverty of language.’  I always be reminded of my childhood when Jasmine arises, as my father used to buy my sisters and I, garlands of jasmine to wear when we were small. I suppose it’s the commonality and familiarity of scents which pull us all together and really bring nostalgia into being.’

“When I was a child, my mother used to wear a flowery green robe, which resembled a lot the curtain in her bedroom. I could not fall asleep without stealing it off her back, sneaking into the bathroom to spray it with her Chanel N5, and run to my bed with this very intense smell”

‘My Scent Memory is of Jean Patou ‘Joy’. Every Saturday night this would linger in our hallway after my Dad had taken my mother out to dinner. I’d like to think this attention to detail, to the final touch is something I have claimed in my life.’

‘A distinct scent memory that lingers both in my visual memory and my scent memory is my fathers rolling tobacco pouch in the late 80s (when it was still cool/acceptable to smoke). He would sit in our paved kitchen in a navy sailor jumper and roll cigarettes from a yellow pouch in which he put cuts of apple to keep the tobacco fresh. The combination of tobacco and the sweet apple was surprisingly pleasant, and maybe kicked off my love of scent as a way to lift the spirits as well as being profoundly reminiscent. A love of fragrance that of course lasts today!’

‘Sunday’s in the Northumberland countryside followed the ritual of a long lie in, then a windy walk along the beach or riding bikes through the nearby wood. Returning home was the smell of lamb roasting ready for our weekly roast and a fire burning to warm up our freezing hands. Probably explains why I love burning the woody aromas of the diptyque Santal Candle on a weekend. It creates the perfect cosy atmosphere!’

‘In the late 80s I painted a hard-boiled egg for an Easter art project at school, and foolishly decided to transport it home in the front pouch of my fluorescent ski jacket. On the way home I stopped off at a friend’s house to play one of our favourite games – hurling ourselves the bannister of his parents’ staircase and landing on a mattress placed in the hallway below. I didn’t think twice about the egg until a week later when the putrefied stench of its mashed contents filled my wardrobe. Even after washing the eggy smell lingered, the solution to which my mother reasoned was a liberal spritz of YSL Rive Gauche. To this day I cannot smell that fragrance without gagging!’

‘Paloma Picasso is my scent memory, it’s what my wife was wearing on the night we met!’

‘The smell of creosote/tar at a railway station takes me back to when my mum used to take me on days out when I was little on the trains.’

‘I remember the smell of my Dad cooking mushrooms as a kid, and the smell filling the house, which I hated. Funny thing now is that I love the smell and taste of mushrooms!’