Perfume and Me: I bet I know what you’re wearing

“Go on then, what am I wearing?”

Nine times out of ten I will get this right. The times I don’t, I am very disappointed in myself.

I think this ‘skill’ – if it can be called that – comes from time spent in perfume departments, and also not being able to let strangers pass if they smell nice. I have to know what it is so I can spray it and obsess about it from then on. 

One male fragrance I never fail to identify is Givenchy Play/Play Intense. With notes of my favourite ingredients, bergamot - at the top - and, vetiver - at its base - with amyris, pink pepper and coffee in the middle, I cannot get enough of it. 

For example, the first time I encountered it, I was at the theatre with a male friend of mine a few years ago. He smelt incredible. So much so that he went from being someone I’d only ever thought of as a friend to someone I suddenly found very attractive indeed. Powerful stuff, fragrance. 

However, lucky for him, I managed to control myself but it is a scent that I insist on being a permanent fixture in my boyfriend’s collection (which, of course, has expanded rather significantly since we got together), not just so he can wear it, but me too. And I get a lot of compliments when I do.

However, my love of Givenchy Play has also led to one particularly embarrassing situation. It is the fragrance of choice by someone I work with, not at my company, but at UKTV. Years ago I realised he – David – wore Play, and smugly announced, “I know what you’re wearing: Givenchy Play!” I was right, of course. David was impressed, I think. Any normal person would have left it there but not this perfume enthusiast, oh no. Because I love this scent, I feel that everyone else should know about it, and so at a work event, where free wine and cocktails flow, but alcohol-soaking canapés are scarce, I insisted, quite passionately/forcefully that people sniff David because “he smells amaaaaazing.”

And so now when I smell Play, I get bergamot, coffee, vetiver and an underlying note of...embarrassment.

Perfume and Me: I'm sure that girl is always in here

I cannot walk through a department store without working my way round the entire perfumery first. In fact, that’s usually the sole purpose of my visit – that, and torturing myself by pawing the Mulberry bags I want but can’t afford.

I can walk into my local House of Fraser and know exactly where to find my favourites; Creed, back left, Aqua Di Parma, also back left, Tom Ford, again back left, Bulgari, back right. However, you only have to look in the direction of the Creed counter and five heavily made-up assistants are all over you, protecting their most expensive brand.

Looking back, at the peak of my tester-spraying addiction, there was a time I thought I might very well get barred from entering Debenhams. It wasn’t my fault, I had to walk through to get to the gym. Well, I didn’t have to, but it was a short cut, in my defence, Your Honour. So in my tracksuit, hair scraped back, I’d stealthily flit between displays, picking up fragrances I knew would still be with me two sweaty hours later; Givenchy Play Pour Homme (much more on this one later); Chanel Allure Homme Sport; Emporio Armani He, (also much more on my male heavy choices to come), and I'd adopt a facial expression that I hoped made the loitering sales assistant assume I was merely a perfume novice, amazed by all the never-before-seen offerings in front me. I’d look at one of my old favourites like I’d never seen it before and engage my best acting skills (I worked on cop show The Bill, I know how it's done, OK?), “Oooh what’s this? I wonder if it is new? Mmm smells nice, think I’ll have a spray(s).” Fine, no problem.

Two hours later, post-gym sesh, I’d re enter Debenhams (because it was the quickest way back to my car…honestly!), tracksuit swapped for skinny jeans, tight t-shirt where my hoody had been, and my unwashed, scraped back hair, now washed, straightened and shiny. And so it began again, because surely they’d never recognise me from my previous spraying spree? And they probably wouldn't have had this ritual not taken place four times a week. It was only a matter of time before I was rumbled.