Photograph by Annie Collinge
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I empathise as the flat I share with my pre-teen daughter is filled with the sickening scent of her Sol de Janeiro, right when we’re trying to define what “belongs” to her and what is mine – an essential process of us separating so she will one day be self-sufficient. I remember this feeling from the other angle with my mother – how the scent of her Chloé perfume made me gag (though as an adult, it’s lovely to me).
From my experience, it is difficult to date someone who doesn’t smell “right” to you and I hope this will be the next frontier in dating apps – knowing how someone smells before agreeing to meet them.
That the note unsettling you has connotations of cloying, immaturity and dullness (“The sex was vanilla”) doesn’t help. But trust me, vanilla doesn’t have to be sexless. Vanille Leather by BDK Parfums has, on my own skin, nothing I want, but were it on the body of someone I found attractive, would make me follow them into any room.
I’d suggest you buy her Deep Dark Vanilla by DS&Durga, a beautiful rum-drunk vanilla that evokes wandering off into a corner of a garden party away from everyone else and falling asleep entwined under the sun. I also recommend Encore Une Fois by Infiniment Coty – a comforting vanilla where the silage does not linger (in your case, a good thing).
The key thing with perfume is working out how to master volume control
All gourmands, the family to which vanilla belongs, can get attention-seeking. Pistachio and fig, for example, can sometimes feel like shrieking “Mum! Watch me dive!” I used to wear Un Jardin Dans La Méditerranée by Hermès, but began to worry that bold teenagers sitting on walls might snicker as I passed, so I switched to the more coy Philosykos by Diptyque.
Whatever perfume note a person gravitates to, the key thing is working out how to master volume control. My favourite scent of all time is Fracas by Robert Piguet, a heady tuberose from Hollywood’s Golden age. Women who wear Fracas don’t have easy lives – ask Rita Hayworth or Rose McGowan (the first person I ever smelled it on). It speaks of sex goddesses and trail blazers, and that can be an exhausting promise to make, especially when you have to buy cat food before the shops close. So even though it is my favourite, it’s not one I wear any more, akin to how the person you had the best sex of your life with isn’t the person you marry (it’s the three-night stand who is maybe in jail now).
Instead I wear Jardin De L’Orangerie by Dries Van Noten. Like Fracas, it’s a white floral, but it’s sensual rather than sexy, conjuring an attractive stranger making eye contact on the top deck of the bus, but it’s also non-committal like, “I enjoyed your gaze but I am currently en route to Sainsbury’s, and I cannot kill for love tonight”.
Spots and stripes A leopard-print plaster is so chic, no matter what. It takes the sting out of a cut or scrape, though I use them like this: both my kid and I are mosquito-prone and love picking, so we cover bites in these as a kind of deterrent modesty guard. Wild Stripes Classic Sensitive Animal Plasters, £3.95 for 20, Boots
The eyes have itMakeup artist supremo, Kay Montano, turned me on to this soothing eye lotion. I use it for hay-fever swollen eyes and, for absolute cooling, I keep it in the fridge for just the right occasion. Put it on two cotton pads, and lay back on the sofa for 10 minutes, dreaming of being able to wear mascara again. Liz Earle Eyebright Soothing Eye Lotion (150ml), £18, Sephora
Secret weapon Isamaya Ffrench’s groundbreaking makeup line is terrifying to me in a really exciting way, like it’s the room in a horror film I can’t help wanting to see into. This multifunctional face-massage tool is intended for lymphatic drainage and sculpting, but I keep it in the fridge to scrape my neck tendons when fighting off headaches. You could buy two and act like you’re a dainty Freddy Krueger. Isamaya x FaceGym Sculpt Tool, £50, Isamaya
