Confessions of a Gourmand Girl
How Mounjaro rewired my perfume profile
“I want to smell like the inside of an almond croissant.” Renaud Salmon, Chief Creative Officer (read: grand fromage) of perfume house Amouage nods excitedly, knowing precisely what I mean. He is a self-confessed ingredients geek but his eyes flash with mild alarm as I continue…
“I want to be smothered in warm, almondy and buttery frangipane paste, but I do not want to smell like a teenager. Nothing silly or cloying. I want expensive and elegant, like pastry made by the Gods dusted with a fresh, powdery glow.” Have I lost him? Possibly. My face is now the apologetic gritty-teeth emoji.
Renaud and I are standing beside a huge Amouage display inside Jovoy, one of Paris’ best perfumeries that stocks over 130 niche and independent brands. We also happen to be in the middle of Paris Perfume Week in March, at a party thrown especially for Renaud to celebrate his new fragrances. He’s politely ignoring the 200 people packed into the boutique (who are eyeing me with rage, impatient to get a selfie with him) because I innocently strategically said “you know what, Renaud, I’ve never really found my Amouage” *flutters eyelashes*, hoping for a mini private consultation from the person who knows this house inside-out.
It worked a treat and here we are: me, the proverbial piggy in poo, relishing his full attention and eagerness to match me to one of his beautiful perfumes. Him, gentlemanly and gracious, absorbing and untangling my lunatic waffle in order to prescribe me the perfect scent. Those laser stares are burning through my skull but I couldn’t care less. I am taking this incredibly rare opportunity by the damn horns.
“I want to smell edible and heart-stoppingly calorific, so that my kids want to eat me, but also ethereal and enchanting so that strangers chase me down the street to ask me what I’m wearing, drunk in the angelic trail I’ve left floating behind me.”
I, too, am slightly horrified by my words. Who the hell am I, a giant toddler? I used to be a chic, esoteric amber kinda gal, but all I’m craving these days are huge, creamy, squidgy and richly-textured gourmands with a billionaire aura you can smell from the moon, laced with caramelised tonka bean, milky-sweet woods and - crucially - an absolute ton of nutty, doughy, decadent almond.
“I’ve got something I think you’ll like,” says Renaud with hopeful eyes.
Please like it please like it please like it. I am suddenly and unexpectedly frozen with seriousness.