Mind the (generation) gap...

2015 has proven itself a very successful year thus far, and is still going strong. During this unforgettable Earth's frolic stroll around the Sun, I managed to get my vintage perfumed paws on a gothic house and a swimming pool! The tiny detail that all this occured because of a fire in the place I live and a flood in my little seashore house, shouldn't avert me from being grateful to the conspiring fortuity that the universe has thrown my way now, should it? I alway believed that a swimming pool by the sea is more redundant than a humidifier in a rainforest, but life thought otherwise and provided me with one, although a little muddy.

So, my unexpected "tycoon upgrade" gave me some serious food for thought, in terms of pondering over what should I do with all these lemons that life has generously showered me with. Since lemonade is the second best beverage ever after whisky, I wouldn't say that I was that much frustrated or disappointed. Let alone that lemon is one of the most stapled staples when it comes to perfume notes and a staggering one nevertheless. So, lemons are certainly a great thing, but I think that no one would like to be burried under a truckload of them. I finally decided that the cinders would make a matching scenery for taking pictures of some fragrances whose "fire" was their middle name. And for those of you who are already signing petitions in order to have me expelled from the "Vintage Appreciation Society", 1 Million is just an empty bottle that I stole from my brother, so as to have an embodiment of tackiness (or should I say vulgarity?) close at hand. I think that it being the only one behind bars needs no further explanation, for it's not because it's precious...

My die-hard vintage perfume collection managed to come through the fire unscathed and sends its regards. It didn't surprise me a bit, since the firebrands that consist it have survived much worse stuff, like hipsters' scorn and modern interpretations. And I'm sure that had they decided that the fire was a solid excuse for exiting our reality once and for all, they would have done it in the most spectacular way; fuelling a fireball to remember and leaving a good part of my little city smelling like Paris and Milan alike in the '80s.

Upon entering my house after the fire brigade had left I saw their boxes covered in soot and fire extinguishing powder. And if such a thing is possible, they looked even more seasoned and battle-proven to my eyes. My whiskies also survived the ordeal, providing me with lethe galore in order to delve into some sort of delirious olfactory philosophy and re-evaluate what I nearly lost. Thus I thought that my usually misunderstood sang-froid about "tragedies" could manifest itself only by comparing a nearly irreplaceable loss to the modern sirens that lure the sailors of the perfume seas to their olfactory demise. It's not that I couldn't replace my humble collection had it been destroyed. It's just that I bought every piece of it in little backstreet shops for a tiny fraction of the irrational prices that are usually asked online. Being nowhere near to a rich man financially speaking, I decided to inform the world about what kind of memories and old passions could not be rekindled anymore if my loyal army had perished. For I believe that these things are the only wealth worth mentioning when the bucket is about to be kicked.

This, and the rather strange thought that a very interesting use of a time machine would be to watch how people interpreted the same term during different time periods. Or at least a term's closest equivalent, since I don't think that "badass" was around when Robert Piguet unleashed his badass Bandit in 1944.

So, since I'm famous (or notorious) for speaking about perfumes with pictures, allow me to have another go.

Two people arguing in the '80s wearing Drakkar Noir and Fahrenheit.

Two people arguing in the '10s wearing 1 Million and Invictus.

A seductress in the making, wearing La Nuit.

A seductress in the making, wearing Candy.

Imagine someone telling you to buzz off, while reeking of leather and oakmoss.

Sporting an Eau de Sport all plucky.

Sporting an Eau de Sport all yucky.

A celebrity fragrance, when said celebrity is Catherine Deneuve.

A celebrity fragrance, when said celebrity is Paris Hilton.

You are in a bar and a brawl is about to burst. Someone asks you what fragrance are you wearing. You'll never have the chance to add "...Lempicka au Masculin" as your last words. Upon finishing uttering "Lolita..." you'll be already floored big time! On the other hand, roaring "Drakkaaar!" could perfectly serve as a battle cry before charging in the swirling testosterone maelstrom.

Yes, yes, I know it's not nice to judge people by the way they look. I've been treated the same way many times, so I'm the last who would perpetuate such a wrong partisanship. After all Bruce Lee stood a mere 5' 7" and was one step away from being emaciated. And by the way, I really miss a possible fragrance ("Wata!" perhaps?) that might have been launched under his name. I'm sure it would sell for pennies and it would smell nothing less than awesome, giving "sidecick" a whole new, semi-literal meaning.

But how about judging people by the way they smell? And excuse me, but they're the ones who drew first blood. I definitely was not the one who started insulting people for their fragrance choices. Even in the numerous cases where I could stand neither the fragrance nor the person wearing it. But the "sagacious" brats who know diddly about perfume history felt obliged to segregate the perfume community in "très banalité" and (faux) "modernité". All while thinking that their irreverent attitude towards solid pieces of perfumery from bygone eras qualifies for drollery, and that forty-somethings' loyalty to them is something called archaeolatry.

No lads and fillies! It's called respect, and it's not sold in Sephora and T.J.Maxx.

P.S.: Apologies for the rather desultory structure, but psychography never omits to pay me a visit from time to time. At least I know who the spirits were in this case. And to get things straight, I don't claim any credit for being a perfume historian or an expert for that matter. I just believe that knowing a thing or two about the history of something one cherishes makes one to cherish it even more.