Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Far from the girl who ever finds her signature scent (maybe this time?), I've always been ever-evolving in the world of soaps and perfumes. I realized recently that this is because I'm rather forward-looking. And oh-so-sensitive to smell.
It seems that I just can't find it in me to revisit any past scent no matter how gorgeous it may be. Instead, I've been steadily moving through a series for years now. A waft of any particular odor brings memories, and whether or not they are fond ones, I feel stuck by all those nostril-invading molecules.
Then you can avoid the fact that although the milk soap is divine, all it will ever remind you of is the last time you had your heart broken and spent considerable time in the bath. Or that perfect soap that makes you want to head to the pics d'Europe where you eat tart sheep's cheese with apple slices. Then there's winters in Prague, summers in French castles, and some very memorable long showers. Which leads me to ponder if by eschewing the soaps that bring back bad times, and trying to revisit those that bring back the good - will I get to determine my future strictly based on scent?
It hit me when I was in the market for a new soap today, that sometimes it's just better to stop proving your identity from someone else's handiwork, and instead use it as a supplemental, and not a defining, pleasure.
Like the one scent I thought I could never live without Yet, I find that nearing the end of my bottle only touched on special evenings over a period of three years, I'm ready for something a little different.
Today I found a shea butter soap that smelled like soft spring lambs. New soap, new me. Life rolls on ... and sometime it smells really nice.
As an endnote to this olfactory adventure, read this, although I recommend avoid that particular l'eau.