Chanel No. 5 Eau de Parfum
"The grandma scent." The original scent. Created in 1921 by Earnest Beaux, its been told Coco Chanel chose this concoction out of ten, hence the name No. 5. Powdery, exotic, precious, fantastic.
It's got the rap of being not friendly to the girls of today who prefer their signature scents sugary, sweet, gooey and straight from the oven, girls who prefer their Lindsay over their Fiona. Chanel No. 5 is for a particular type-of-bird.
My first bottle of Chanel No. 5 was arrived in my life while grinding the gears near Columbia U. Proper, with a Broadway mailing address, just around the corner from Ira's place.
What I do distinctly remember is the day I was prepping thyself for work and accidentally dropped the vessel in my sink and it shattered. The precious liquid slowly seeped down the drain. Not the ether of life! I salvaged what was left and cossetted it into a decanter given to me by my older sister Ann Marie who drove her own Pink car courtesy of Mary Kaye.
It took me a few years, but I ended up getting my own new bottle from my very friends at Chanel. It was my Christmas gift to honor a few years of business projects. I call it plain devilish desire under glass.
I smell the precise notes of ylang ylang, neroli, jasmine, mayrose, sandalwood and vetiver and I am returned to my floor-length black velvet dress purchased at Strawberry's for $25, wanting to look like a million dollars wearing it with my slate blue faux-snakeskin chunky platforms "Strawberry, Strawberry, the neighborhood ho." Some rap song from my youth emerges.
The strawberry getup: A suitable outfit for dinner at Le Cirque with my two guys, then drinks at Motor City. A night I would be walking up the stairs while one Kurt Vonnegut was walking down the stairs to Le Cirque's bar. A chance meeting on the stair-steps of life. I wanted to be the Franny to his Zooey. His wrinkled features and waterfall eyes peaked my curiosity. His book was written all over his face. All for a night of turning 23 in the best city in the universe.
The scent also reminds me of my fashionable, yet low-key first editorial boss. A mid-western gal who chose me for the red jacket I wore and later admitted it. Her cousin being Nick Nolte, she is an unsung hero of magazine editorial with twenty years in the bizz. From weight watchers to babies--Nolte writes and cares about what women really give two shits about.
Miss Nolte taught me a few things about life. She taught me that you can't ever not have the right lipstick or too few for that matter. She taught me that you can go a long ways with a rice krispie bar. She taught me about savoring the finer things in life. I spied her years later outside the Plaza (where else?) in her full-length fur stole, always the lady. And to this homage of Chanel's Number Five, I most sincerely dedicate.
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