I am a terrible perfume wearer. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t keep buying it. In high school I was fairly committed to Clinique Happy (weren’t we all) and my freshman year of college I bought and religiously wore Lacoste Pink. By sophomore year I’d mellowed and I bought Burberry Brit Red (remember the Rachel Weisz ads?) for the winter because it smells like sweaters and Chanel Chance to wear in the summer because it smells like fresh air. During study abroad I coveted Agent Provocateur’s perfume so much it was unhealthy. I used to drag Mary into the basement of the department store downtown and make her wait while I sprayed it all over myself. I loved that all my scarves smelled like it and finally, right before we left, I broke down and bought it even though it cost more than I should have possibly spent. Somehow it wasn’t quite so magical in the US. I still wear it occasionally.
My youngest sister got Tocca’s Cleopatra from a friend for Christmas and it’s my current obsession. I am swinging by the cosmetics shop on my lunch break to smell all the Tocca varieties to see which one I want when I finally break down and buy it. I spent a lot of time trying not to be annoyed by life on student loans and secretarial salary but when I think about those trips to spray Agent Provocateur all over my pashminas in York I’m glad to be coveting and waiting and saving up my wee pennies to buy something that smells so lovely and rich. I’m going to practice wearing it regularly. A spritz on the way out the door. By the time I get my Tocca I’ll be ready.