MartinD28

I always laugh when I see reviews saying that a fragrance can get a guy “dates” (IYKWIM), but when I wore A&F Woods back in my 20s and early 30s, a lot of people (usually women) did speak up and ask about it. By the time my bottle ran out, I discovered it was discontinued. And then I sort of forgot about it, even after it was rereleased. I recently dusted off an old bottle of Bowling Green by Geoffrey Beene. To me, these two fragrances are very similar. So, I ordered a small bottle of Wood which just arrived, and it definitely smells the same to me, although it now seems like a younger man’s fragrance; perhaps because it reminds me of a younger version of myself. I still love this. And trust me, I’ll be wearing it often.

On a family vacation in the islands many years ago, my dad bought 4 bottles of Royale cologne; one for him, one for me, and one for each of my two bothers. For my brothers, he got the Bay Rum (which I like), and for him and me, my dad bought Royale Lyme. When he gave it to me, he said that he had a bottle of the Lyme some years before, and loved it, and when he saw it in a shop, he knew I would love it too. He was right.

Fragrance, as many of you already know, does something for your mood. In my case, fragrances elicit a conditioned response, linking me to my earliest exposure to it. Such is my experience every time I splash on Royale Lyme, and I’m not shy with it.

Since that first bottle my father gave me as a teenager, I’ve purchased a dozen, or more. A bottle of it goes with me whenever I travel, especially on vacation, and weekend trips to the beach. My ideal situation for wearing Royale Lyme is at the end of a long day on the beach, or off-shore fishing, after showering the salt and sweat away, it gets applied liberally to by face, neck and chest. Clean t-shirt, crisp summer beverage, sitting on the deck, watching waves crash in the fading light of the gloaming.

I miss my Dad.

4711 doesn’t last long, but I’m not sure I would have it any other way, because of the way I use it. It’s an after-shower, summer-go-to for me, or a refresher at the end of any day. I decant this stuff into smaller bottles for easy access when I feel the need. In fact, I think my wife thinks that I have a problem because she keeps finding bottles of 4711 stashed around the house. It’s not something that you just dab on. I practically dump the stuff over my head. A lot of it gets left on the floor, but the price is right for this type of compulsive behavior.

I like this cologne, but it caught me totally by surprise. As fragrances often to do, my first waft of Fico di Amalfi brought me vividly back to a particular day in my childhood.

I was 9 or 10 years old, and had discovered the delightful figs of my grandmother’s fig tree. They were perfectly ripe; sweet, and aromatic; warmed by the summer sun. It was late afternoon, and being focused navigating the tangle of limbs and leaves to pluck the last remaining fruits just out of my reach, I didn’t hear my grandmother come out of her kitchen door. I remember the rush of guilt I felt when I heard her say, “So, I see you found my figs?”. Although I couldn’t see her, I was immediately relieved when I detected the smile in her voice. I slipped down from my cluttered perch, bare feet squishing atop the spent figs, and sheepishly looked up as she smiled down at me.

I hadn’t thought of that day in many years, until I opened this bottle of cologne. The ripe, warm summer fig, which is the heart, and soul of the cologne, not only brought back palpable memory and emotion in me, it allowed me, through my years of living since, to recognize the pleasure in my grandmother’s face knowing that her grandson was enjoying something so innocently, and completely.

When I was 16, my girlfriend wore this scent. She was very special. Eventually, we would decide to date other people. We were young. We kept in touch for several years, but after college, I never saw her, or heard from her again.

Thirty years later, as I walked up to stand in line in a book store, a fragrance that I had not smelled in as many years, struck me, and as it did, I immediately said aloud, “Anais Anais”. A pretty young lady in her mid-teens standing in front of me turned, looked at me for a moment, and smiled. I smiled back, silently, only barely resisting the urge to tell her of the rush of emotion, and stirring memories that flooded my mind before I uttered those two words.

It’s amazing how that works; how a fragrance can instantly transport one back to a foregone place, and time, and leave you felling like you had just been with someone you had not seen in many years.

I love this fragrance, and I suppose I always will.