Heart of Glass

This week I ran into an antiques dealer in my local bakery/café. She had spent some time in Quebec as well as France, and eventually I steered the conversation around to perfumes. She was truly startled to discover that I had any interest in the vintage juice; to her, the only reason anyone would be excited to find grandma's crystal amphora bottle of Diorissimo would be, well, the bottle itself. Later the same day, I went to an exhibit at the Glenbow Museum on art of the ancient Mediterranean world and found a display of perfume bottles. One specimen, of cast glass intricately patterned with fired threads of precious metals and minerals, was particularly striking. It looked like it could be one of the pieces for sale at the annual upmarket art and crafts show going on across the street in the Convention Centre, and yet it had been found in a tomb sealed in 783 B.C. While I was stunned by the artistry of this treasure, I must admit that I found my mind wondering from the artifact itself to its former contents. To play off Gray: What perfume had in solemn darkness slept unseen/ To waste its sweetness on the desert air?

I am one of those perfume addicts for whom the bottle matters very little. If I like the scent, a great bottle is a bonus. Usually, though, I only notice the bottle in so far as it annoys me. If it is tall and slender, like Yohji Homme, or narrow at the base, like Iquitos, I am going to knock it over. Many have neat designs - like Bvlgari's Black hockey puck or the Christmas ornament in a can of Histoire D'eau Topaze - but the spraying mechanism is weak or dysfunctional. Often the heavy elegance of a bottle is topped with a cheap, feather-weight cap. I don't own any full-sized fragrances in whimsical novelty bottles - Lolita Lempicka or Betsey Johnson, for example - but I have been tempted by Kenzo's Amour abstracts and Bond no. 9's Chinatown ginger jar, both of which my husband has pronounced "hideous". Regardless of who is right, the bottles would live in the darkness of a cupboard anyway (I don't have a tomb). By not displaying my bottles, I protect the juice - for future generations, really, as I'll never make it through them all. Because of my needs, then, I like spare, utilitarian packaging of the Federic Malle sort. If I ever own a Lutens bell jar, it will be for the contents.

It is hard to deny my childish pleasure in a good mini, though. I own a 3ml Annam (Tan Giudicelli), the discontinued and long-lamented comfort scent that smells like Martha Stewart baked a theme custard for an Ikebana article. The bottle design won a Fifi and is supposed to be a beautiful, tactile pleasure. A poster on Now Smell This commented that it looked like a hearing aid, however, and the mini's size, of course, only strengthens this comparison. It looks like nothing so much as a slightly oversized, futuristic sound-amplifying device. My hearing is fine, but I can barely keep from putting it in my ear.