Scent Signals

Does Your Perfume Say What You Think It Says?

Your perfume is talking behind your back. It's saying all sorts of things about you. It's like a radio transmitter, sending out the subtext of your life. But who's it talking to, and what message is getting through?

If you wear a scent that makes you feel like a sex kitten, does it automatically telegraph "I am a sex kitten" to those around you?

If you're feeling happy and decide to wear one of your "footloose and fancy free" scents, does the scent communicate that lighthearted mood to friends and family?

If you spritz on a "confident and strong" scent, do others believe you are both?

Many of use choose our scents of the day based not only on how we feel (and how we want to feel), but on what we want to communicate. I know I do. And I can probably tell you which scents convey what messages more easily than I can describe the way they smell.

For instance, in my mind, Vivienne Westwood Boudoir is a very sexy scent. It's in my bombshell-sexy category. But does it say "bombshell-sexy" when I wear it? Am I the only one who hears its siren song, or do others find it (and me) alluring and seductive?

Is the way we respond to and feel about our perfumes all in our heads or something that can be shared with others?

I think it would be interesting to find out, so I propose a little experiment. I will wear Boudoir, a scent with a clear message, and ask others to tell me what they think that message is. I'll narrow it down by giving them four or five choices. We'll see how many people interpret Boudoir's message the same way I do.

I may even try the same experiment with other scents, just to see if I'm hallucinating when I think a perfume is saying something specific about me.

You know how we never quite see ourselves the way others see us? I wonder if the same is true when it comes to scent. Do we smell ourselves the way others smell us? I'll let you know what my little experiment reveals.

Editor's Note Added 07/05/08: I've worn Boudoir three times since writing this, and each time I've enjoyed it immensely, even in the heat and humidity. But at no point during the three days did I feel like carrying out my little experiment. So I have no idea if anyone else finds this perfume sexy. And I'm not sure I care!

It's as if Boudoir puts me in a rebellious mood where I don't give a rat's ass what anyone else thinks about my perfume. Don't like it? Tough ta! Maybe it's this devil-may-care attitude that communicates sexiness! Aren't we supposedly more alluring when we're confident?

I didn't conduct my experiment, but I did get to introduce Boudoir to a co-worker (she had read this article and asked about it - and it happened to be one of the days I wore Boudoir). She sprayed some on, and the next day she told me that all night long she had wanted the scent to go on and on. So, if no experiment, at least a convert!

The Ghost in Gain

My dear friend Isabell told me a ghost story last night. It was about her love Matthew, who died years ago in a tragic accident. It seems Matthew has been visiting Isabell for the past few weeks, showing up in her dreams, in her thoughts, and now, her nose.

This last visitation was, not surprisingly, extremely powerful for Isabell. It happened when she hugged another man, Brandt, goodbye. Brandt uses the same detergent Matthew did, and for an eternal instant, Isabell's mind was flooded with memories of Matthew.

Isabell knew the detergent, Gain, because she's consciously avoided it since Matthew's death. And yet here she was confronted with it in the arms of another man.

Of course, it's not just the smell of Gain that she remembers about Matthew. She says he had his own wonderfully rich, clean-man smell which not even Gain could disguise.

After the first waves of grief had passed and Matthew's scent had faded from the shirts he'd given Isabell, she'd decided that one way to keep the sadness at bay would be to not smell anything that reminded her of Matthew. So, no Gain detergent for Isabell.

But now here's Matthew and his Gain popping up all over the place years later. Is he trying to tell her something? Is he pointing to Brandt and giving him the thumbs-up as his successor? Or is he trying to warn her off and protect her from something?

Isabell wonders if it's time to let Matthew go, so she can be open to a new love. That is something she will have to decide for herself. If she does choose to bid adieu to Matthew, she would like to perform a letting-go ritual.

There are many aromatic traditions she could borrow from - smudge sticks, incense, aromatherapeutic oils, anointing oils - but I think it would help to use the fragrance she most closely associates with Matthew. That way she could confront it and take away its emotional hold over her.

Isabell is one of those wise women. She'll know what to do. And in fact, she may not need to do anything at all. Once she figures out what Matthew is trying to tell her, he'll move on. And of course, it might not even be Matthew she's dealing with, but old fears and grief surfacing to be healed.

But if there's a ritual to be done, I'll bring the box of Gain.

My Summertime Scent Theory

Happy Summer Solstice! This is one of two days during the year when the Sun stands still (the other being the Winter Solstice).

For those of us living in the southern half of the United States, it feels as if the Sun stands still every day from May through September, baking us into submission.

A few of you actually enjoy this heat. I think the Sun has fried your brains. It makes me wilt like a delicate blossom. All I want to do is stay indoors where it's air conditioned. This annoys me, because I'd much rather be outdoors.

I try not to bitch about it too much, but anyone who knows me knows how I feel about the summer heat - and the humidity, which may be even worse. Here in Houston we have the double-whammy of heat and humidity. (This is what happens when you build a city on swampy bayou land.) You perspire just getting to and from your car, and even a late evening walk leaves you sopping wet.

All the beauty magazines advise us to choose light, citrusy scents and colognes to fight the heat and humidity. And I know a lot of people do. Not I. My summertime scent choices go against the common wisdom. Yet they're logical in their own way. Summer is a season of rich odors - from plants and flowers to rain and fruits, dirt, sweat and decay. The scents I gravitate toward at this time of year have connections to the odors I find in nature.

That's the logic to wearing them now. They don't fight the heat and stickiness head on. Instead, they complement and accommodate it.

Here are some of the scents I've discovered work for me when it's icky-sticky outside:

Robert Piguet Fracas. This creamy white floral has a reputation for being loud and obnoxious, but it purrs on my skin, and stays surprisingly clean and fresh-smelling even when I'm drippy and droopy. And it seems to make others happy when they smell it. It reminds them of the beach and good times. Other white florals that work in the heat include The Different Company Jasmin de Nuit, Kai, Annick Goutal Songes, Diptyque Do Son, and L'Artisan Tubereuse.

Guerlain Mitsouko. A glorious, golden affair that screams sophistication even when I'm sopping wet. I first discovered Mitsouko could work in the heat when I smelled it on a friend of my mother's. I was shocked that she was wearing it in the summertime in Florida (which is as hot and sticky as ours), and equally shocked to find that it smelled fantastic. It blooms in the heat. Other fruity chypres that work well in the summertime include Vivienne Westwood Libertine, Patou Colony, YSL Y, Hermès Amazone, Patou Forever, and Femme de Rochas.

Eau d'Italie Paestum Rose. This beautiful blend of rose and incense is amazingly cooling and calming. It gives the impression of being watery and dry as a stone at the same time. I love the mix of roses and incense, so I riff on the Paestum Rose theme by wearing CdG Avignon with rose scents like Bond No. 9 Bryant Park, Keiko Mecheri Mihime and Creed Fleurs de Bulgarie. I find the incense works best with a crisp, rather than a powdery, rose.

Serge Lutens Clair de Musc. I have found that most any musk works well for me when I'm superheated. But this one is especially pretty with its touch of orange blossoms. You know the song I Feel Pretty from West Side Story? Clair de Musc is light and pretty in that way. Other musks that smell great when it's hot include Keiko Mecheri Musk, Jovan Musk Oil, Kiehl's Original Musk Oil and Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur.

Caron Narcisse Noir. Another heady floral with animalic undertones that handles the summertime heat and humidity. I wore this to a mid-summer, outdoor concert here, and even though my dress was soaked through and I was miserable, my perfume smelled great. Which means it didn't go sour or turn on me. Serge Lutens Fleurs d'Oranger, À la Nuit and Frederic Malle Une Fleur de Cassie are other heady florals that work well at this time of year.

My summertime scent theory: Complement and accommodate the heat and humidity rather than trying to overcome it with a citrus or cologne. Play around with scents you might not have considered for summertime. I think you'll find you have more options than magazine wisdom suggests.

Comfort Foods are M'm M'm Good!

We interrupt this perfume broadcast for a quick excursion into the land of comfort foods. A recent trip to the grocery store and a few seconds worth of navel gazing are to blame.

I love Campbell's Bean with Bacon Soup. I have loved it since elementary school. And, with the exception of McDonald's french fries, it is the only brand-name foodstuff I have continued to consume through decades of change.

As far as I can tell, they haven't messed with the smell, taste, or color (it's still the same reassuring nuclear orange), although they have made the cans easier to open.

The perfume industry should take a cue from Campbell's.

This is how you treat a classic.

Oh sure, there are other soups, but for some reason, if I know I have a can of Bean with Bacon Soup in the cupboard, all is right with my world. It is part of the comfort-food group, the one they left out of the food pyramid. The comfort-food group includes this soup, french fries, grilled-cheese sandwiches, cheeseburgers, orange juice, potato chips, cookies, tea, honey, eggs, cheese (there is no bad cheese, people), and bacon.

Yep, as much as I enjoy opulence, sophistication and a certain je ne sais quoi in my fragrances, I am pretty pedestrian in my food choices. My last meal request would probably be for a rare steak, golden pommes frites, a plain, boiled artichoke, a juicy orange, a handful of ripe Bing cherries, a hunk of cheese, and a cup of tea with honey. Okay, maybe with a warm snifter of Grand Marnier or Cointreau to cap it all off. Simple, but good.

Some of the most memorable and comforting meals I've eaten have been in France. But they weren't rich affairs smothered in creamy sauces. One was in family friend Mimina's home, where she fed us a simple vegetable potage I couldn't get enough of, which shocked my mother, who thought I didn't like vegetables. Turns out I like vegetables, just not the frozen-then-boiled vegetables I'd been given until then. Another simple meal of grilled fresh trout from a local river marked the first time I realized I liked fish.

What may be my favorite meals of all time were consumed at L'Entrecôte in Toulouse. The only items on the menu were entrecôte (thick slices of beef served rare on the inside, charcoal-black on the outside), heaps of perfectly cooked pommes frites, and a simple green salad with walnuts. There may have been the ubiquitous cheese tray to finish, I don't recall. They were the most perfect steak-and-potato meals I've ever had, and if we'd eaten there every day I would've been content.

Have you ever read a Martha Grimes mystery featuring the handsome Scotland Yard detective Richard Jury? They're great reads, partly because Jury and his colleagues are always stopping for tea, which always includes food, and always commenting on the state of British cuisine. Because of them, I am keen to try beans on toast and other quintessentially British fare. It all sounds right up my alimentary alley.

Fortunately, until I travel there, I can content myself with this food travelogue called "eggbaconchipsandbeans."

The guy runs around England - maybe the British Isles - taking snaps of the food at what we would call greasy spoons. He also documents the cafés themselves, from the seating to the décor to the condiments. It is, simply put, food porn. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. (Thanks to the Austin-based scent site mossy loomings for finding it.)

I don't know about you, but I could eat a full, traditional hot breakfast - eggs, potatoes, bacon or sausage, toast, juice and tea - any time of day. And a meal of steak, eggs and potatoes sounds like a slice of heaven to me. When I lived in Dallas I knew which dive diners served the best of this comfort food, and my friend J and I would frequent them (I miss you, J!). And my friend Bill and I would while away hours talking over the food at the Original Pancake House (which he loved because of the buffalo china and heavy flatware). But I've just realized that here in Houston I don't have a favorite hole in the wall for this kind of food. Maybe that's what's been missing, and why this place doesn't feel like home to me. I wonder.

Femme de Rochas: THIS is Perfume!

If I had to pick one perfume to represent my idea of perfume, one perfume to put in a time capsule for humans centuries hence, one perfume to explain perfume to an extraterrestrial, I would pick Femme de Rochas.

Each time I smell Femme, I think, THIS is perfume. This is what perfume was meant to be. This is what perfume can be. This is what perfume should be. Femme has set a standard for me and set it high. This, I realize, is what I am looking for, hoping for, each time I try a new scent.

I've worn Femme since the mid-1970's. In my mind it is inextricably linked with France, where I discovered it. Or did it discover me? I read somewhere that the genius behind Femme, Edmond Roudnitska, liked to ponder the ideas of time and space. This doesn't surprise me. Femme is truly a molecular time machine.

One sniff and it is autumn in the land of Gaston Fébus. I am wearing a plum-colored sweater as I sip Armagnac through a sugar cube and smoke a slim cigar with my mother's cousin André. Later I am walking through misty rain with Jean-Pierre, exploring the streets of Toulouse. We stop to listen to a piano concert in the cloister of the Cathedral of les Jacobins. Then I am at the upstairs window of my grandmother's house, watching my great-uncle walk the cows to the fields, bells tinkling soft and low.

In a recent post about the ways in which we use perfumes as invisible masks , I chose Femme as one of my talismanic scents. It is a most powerful talisman.

Femme means "woman" in French. The scent is said to have been created by Marcel Rochas as a wedding present for his young bride Hélène. The bottle is reputed to be shaped after the womanly curves of actress Mae West.

Everything about Femme whispers "woman." Femme captures the exquisite beauty and pain of being human, of being fully woman - the longing, desire, sexuality, love, joy, adventure, loss, even death. And it makes it all all right. It is talisman and panacea.

How does it smell? Warm, golden, sensual, and animal. And very, very personal. Intimate beyond compare. It's the sort of aroma you want to roll around in and get all over you. Something you wish you smelled like naturally. Roudnitska and Rochas knew and loved women, if Femme is any indication.

Femme is categorized as a fruity-chypre. Various sources include these notes: bergamot; peach; plum; aldehydes; sandalwood; rosewood; cinnamon; clove; lemon; mai rose; ylang-ylang; jasmin; orris; oakmoss; patchouli; musk; amber; civet; leather; vanilla; and, in the reformulation, cumin. That last note is scary to some people, who think they smell B.O. instead of cumin, but I like it.

Unlike some, I have little interest in pulling Femme apart to examine each note. I know there are spices. I know there are flowers. I know there are fruits. I know there are animalic notes. But they don't dance or reveal themselves one after another like marchers in some strange olfactory parade.

Femme is Femme from start to finish. There is never a time that I don't know exactly what I am dealing with. It is present and alive and ready to play, like a cat. And its sum is so much greater than its parts. Because Femme has the spirit of Roudnitska in it, and that's a note you'll not find on any list.

Femme just is. If you're lucky enough to befriend it, it radiates from you like an aura, having become one with you. When you wear Femme you reveal things about yourself, yet you're in control. This interplay of revelation and control is very sexy. I can see it intimidating the hell out of an insecure man. Or woman for that matter.

I enjoy both the vintage (circa 1945) and the 1989 reformulation, though of course, they really had no business tinkering with perfection. At least Olivier Cresp didn't completely ruin the scent as has happened with so many remakes.

This is one of those scents where people fight over which version is best. Just find some Femme and smell it. If you're the least bit interested in knowing how amazing and powerful a perfume can be, Femme de Rochas is a must-try.

Banana Republic Classic Perfume Release: Behind the Smoke and Mirrors

Ever wonder what it's like to be one of the country's top beauty editors? Those special few who get invited to those fancy perfume-release parties, where companies regale you with the dazzling delights of their new fragrances (with the unspoken but clear expectation that you will dutifully turn around and tell us, the buying public, about those dazzling delights)?

Well, wonder no more.

Joshua David Stein attended the recent luncheon for Banana Republic's newly tweaked and re-released Classic perfume celebrating the brand's 30th anniversary. Here's a taste of the goings-on:

Back in the safari-jacketed days of 1995, she explained, Banana Republic Classic was an eau de toilette. De Metz was very excited to be able to announce that today’s Classic was a more concentrated eau de parfum. The editors clapped politely.

Enjoy this tongue-in-cheek peek behind the perfumed veil of scent marketing as the New York Times crashes the Banana Republic party.

Thanks to Joe for bringing it to my attention.

Sweet Dreams are Made of This: Christian Dior Hypnotic Poison

Hypnotic Poison is more than a perfume. It is a magic potion. One that allows me to easily leave this world and enter the land of dreams. When I wear it to bed, I am guaranteed to sleep deeper and better. Perhaps it is a form of scent-hypnosis. Hypnotic Poison = Hypnotic Potion.

I look at the list of notes - bitter almond; caraway; jasmin sambac; sandalwood; oakmoss; jacaranda wood; vanilla; musk - then sniff my skin to try to figure out how Annick Menardo created this sweet lullaby. No one note sings more loudly than the rest - they harmonize seamlessly.

I don't think it's simply a question of vanilla, which is traditionally a comfort note, because no other vanilla-centric scent has this effect on me. For instance, Shalimar, while comforting, does not deepen my sleep the way Hypnotic Poison does.

In fact, at night Shalimar and most other fragrances seem to remain separate from me, still clearly perfumes, while Hypnotic Poison somehow melds with me and my psyche. Even Jicky, which feels so personal and so much like me, doesn't put me into REM sleep mode the way this one does.

It's not because the scent is perfectly pretty, because Hypnotic Poison has an unusual bitter-metallic twist that makes it more interesting than just "pretty." I'm not even 100% convinced it smells "good" on me, yet I love its aroma. There is a warm, vegetal aspect to it that keeps it from being dessert on skin, even though it is sweet.

I have to admit, my deep appreciation for Hypnotic Poison crept up on me. This wasn't a coup de foudre the way others have been. But it is now an enduring love affair, and I don't want to be without it.

Many others have said Hypnotic Poison is a sexy scent. I would agree, though I haven't actually tested it on men. In fact, I'm not even sure I've worn this out in public yet.

I adore the candy-red apple bottle. It's both innocent and tempting. It makes me think of fairy tales in which princesses prick fingers and sleep for ages until princes awaken them with kisses. Hmmm, maybe I do need to test this out on guys and pronto! Then I could sleep like a baby and wake up next to my own Prince Charming.

Bálla Ball Powder for Men: Yes, Scented Talc for the Testicles

Just when you think you've seen it all, you stumble upon a product which restores your faith in the world's ability to surprise and amuse you. Bálla Powder for Men is such a product. Bálla is ball powder. Talc for testicles. Sad-sack sachet. Or as the folks at Bálla call it, the "ultimate men's anti-wetness solution."

I didn't even know there was a problem let alone a solution. I mean, I know men sweat in the nether region, but it never occurred to me that it was a problem. Because, I mean, it's never been a problem for me. Or the men I've known.

But the fine folks at Bálla argue that it is indeed a problem, right here on their web site. And if you fork over fifteen dollars they'll solve it for you with one of three powders: the original, scented with oak (oakmoss?) and musk; a minty and tingly powder; or an unscented one.

I can only imagine how having minty-fresh, tingly balls must feel, so please, please, someone I know please try that one and let me know!

I think the silliest part of the Bálla sales pitch may be where they tell guys how to apply the ball powder. Come on, do we really think men are this dumb?

Just in case, a proud Bálla customer, John, offers even more helpful (and graphic) advice on how to apply ball powder in his positive review on the menessentials.com site (10th review down).

It's the whole notion of ball powder that makes me laugh, not just the accent on the word Bálla. The product itself might be fine, and customer reviews seem to support that, but I still think it is a waste of a guy's money.

But since I'm not a guy (though some might say I have a pair), I wanted to know what real men thought. Because, you know, maybe I'm being insensitive to a very deep, very real need men have and don't know it.

So I asked two members of my Man Panel to weigh in on Bálla Powder. Here's what they had to say:

JKJ:

"Maybe I just haven’t known the right guys, but, in 52 years – and almost a decade spent daily in the gym and dating and hanging out with lots of gay guys who fussed over themselves and talked about literally everything imaginable – I’ve never heard any discussion of a need for much use of baby powder in the shorts."

WJB:

"I don't experience whatever problem they seem to be addressing with this product. Anybody heard of baby powder? In my mind this is an "exploit insecurities" type of product. The thing is I don't know how many people harbor this stupid notion. I suspect not too many."

JKJ, honey, I know you knew the right guys, so I totally trust your take on this. And I agree with you, WJB, that this is the sort of product that can prey on men's insecurities, like all those feminine hygiene products that want us to believe we smell funny and need to fix it. When I saw that a woman was listed as a co-owner of Bálla, I even wondered briefly if she were somehow trying to even out the playing field - tit for testes or something like that.

My two cents? If you're healthy and you wash regularly and practice good bathroom hygiene (remember, it's front to back, like Oprah taught you) you don't need ball or vagina powder. You just need to relax. Everybody sweats. And sometimes we smell.

And sometimes that natural body odor is incredibly good. As much as I enjoy a nice cologne on a man, there are few things sexier than the smell of his clean sweat. That smell has made me do silly things like hug the pillows men have slept on and sniff the shirts they wore. And I know I'm not the only one.

But if you absolutely, positively believe you do need to control wetness and odor down yonder, let me offer an alternative that will save you some coin - Burt's Bees Baby Bee Dusting Powder. It's only $6 for 4.5 ounces (a savings of nine bucks), and it smells great (it doesn't smell like the baby powder you know from childhood). It's talc-free and has clay and cornstarch to help keep you dry. Here's the product description.

The Perfumista's Dream, Part One

The grape-velvet curtains exhale as the ancient door opens and cold air rushes like a scampish dog into the hall. Torch flames snap and lick, painting wild shadows on tapestry and stone. Oak chairs ring a massive ash wood table. Only one chair is empty. The seat of honor.

Those assembled rise and turn to watch as I slink, cat-like, into the room. Something catches my attention. I stop, cock my head and sniff the air, eyes closed.

Satisfied, I slowly walk around the table toward the open seat, greeting everyone with a nod and a smile.

Before each of them sits an offering meant for me. Jewels wink like stars in the coffrets of metal, leather and wood, hinting at their gleaming contents.

I take my seat and motion for them to join me. As they settle I am amused to see them surreptitiously eyeing each other's coffrets and rearranging their own to best advantage.

One by one they grow still. But the unspoken questions ring loud in their minds: Is what they have brought me tonight good enough? Or will I toss it, like so many before, into the rank waters of the castle moat?

They don't know this, and I will never tell them, but these few moments before we begin are the most delicious to me. Because anything and everything is still possible. Someone sitting at this table could still fulfill my wildest dreams. It's why I take my sweet time getting started.

I call the servants from the shadows to fill goblets with mead, wine, water. Then I can delay no more. It's time.

"So, my noses of the round table (they hate when I call them that), what have you brought for me tonight? And which of you is brave enough to go first?"

To be continued...

R.I.P. YSL: A Week of YSL Perfumes as Tribute

Am I the only one who was surprised to learn how young Yves Saint Laurent was when he died Sunday? Only 71. Ancient to you twenty-somethings, but not really old to those of us who've been on the planet a while longer. He was busy while he was here, though, revolutionizing fashion, helping women find attractive new ways to express themselves, and making some lovely fragrances along the way.

In tribute to YSL, I will be making this a week of YSL perfumes. Turns out I have seven YSL fragrances, having given away two (Baby Doll and Vice Versa), so I can make it through the entire week. I knew I liked me some YSL, but I was a little surprised to see how much. I'll probably never own a piece of his designer clothing, so I have to make up for it somehow!

Two of my YSL scents rank among the most talked-about and polarizing perfumes on the market: Opium and Kouros. You either love them or you hate them. If there's middle ground to be had, I haven't seen it. You know which camp I'm in. If you haven't smelled them, you really should. They are intense and wonderful perfume experiences full of spice and color and life.

Opium is such a sweet little kitty cat on my skin (which, for some reason, also tames such wild beasts as Fracas and Poison), I've never quite understood why people react to it as violently as they do. Maybe it's because it was everywhere for a time and wore out its welcome. Kinda like Angel.

Yes, I wear Kouros, even though I'm a girl. It smells like sweet incense on me, and I love incense. And when I wear this I can't stop smelling myself. Yes, I realize some smell urinal cakes and cat pee in this. Too bad for them. It's one of the best incense and spice scents around (think nag champa).

Another in my collection is YSL's first foray into fragrance (1964), the golden, glorious and oh-so-classy chypre, Y. My first exposure to it was the eau de toilette, which is pretty darn good for an edt. Then I was lucky enough to snag it in the pure parfum. Oh, my. You want to know how a great perfume smells? Smell this one. Every time I return to Y, especially the parfum, I wonder why I don't just wear it every single day. It's truly lovely.

I just wore Yvresse (the former Champagne) this past week and enjoyed every minute of it, so it will be a pleasure to revisit it this week. It is as yummy a fruity chypre as you can find, from its sparkling top notes to its rich bottom notes. Makes me feel womanly and sexy. Both Y and Yvresse are fruity chypres, but quite different in character. If Yvresse were a woman, she'd be Y unbridled and free and living in the '90s.

I already mentioned YSL In Love Again Jasmin Étoile Edition in my post highlighting five footloose and fancy-free fragrances. This one is happiness and sunshine in a bottle, and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves jasmine but wants a break from heavy indolic notes.

Rive Gauche I came to late, after the formula had been tweaked, but I still enjoy this crisp aldehydic rose scent which is probably the most "couture" of the YSLs I own. It makes me want to dress up. Probably a good thing.

M7 is another men's YSL that I love and wear. It was released under the aegis of Tom Ford. I won't hold that against the scent. It smells fantastic - warm, woody, and sexy. I would love to smell this on a man, but I will do in the meantime.

Oh, crap, I can't count. I forgot I had YSL Paris. I held out for years on this one, because my mother wore it to the point where I didn't like it (sorry, G, 'tis true). But not long ago I found a bottle for cheap at an antiques store, so I said why not. I'm still not totally in love with it, which is strange to me because I am such a rose fanatic. I actually prefer the limited edition Paris Pont des Amours to the original. And between the two YSL roses, Rive Gauche and Paris, would probably choose Rive Gauche nine times out of ten.

YSL made scents that were and are classy, colorful, controversial and fun. A lot like his fashions. Which YSL fragrances are your favorites? Will you be joining me in a fragrant tribute? I'd love to hear.

You can read about the full and interesting life of Yves Saint Laurent in this article from the Sydney Morning Herald.

See pictures of the designer, his models and muses, in this slide show from Yahoo.

And here are the memories of Suzy Menkes, from the New York Times.

Thank you, Yves, for your creative contributions. You made the world look and smell better - no small things. May your soul rest in peace.