Nose: Jean-Paul Guerlain
Notes according to Fragrantica: “Top notes are Hiacynth, Aldehydes, Rose, Jasmine and Bergamot; middle notes are Galbanum, Rose, Lilac, Jasmine, Lily-of-the-Valley and Cloves; base notes are Tolu Balsam, Benzoin, Peru Balsam, Amber, Vetiver, Vanilla and Sandalwood.”
Year: 1969
This is a truly beautiful piece of olfactory art.
It’s tangy…if a fragrance can be tangy. Yet it’s also opulent, the epitome of all things truly posh and exciting. It’s based on a love story.
It smells lovely on my skin. But…I can’t relate to that kind of emotional response in love. …To me romantic love is terrifying. One the most beautiful and the most important of all things…a human can experience. But…not being loved myself in a way that was real…I have no idea what it’s like to relax and enjoy one’s self in romantic love.
It’s a beautiful thought. But to me it’s also…delightfully, deliciously…naive. …People don’t love that well. Even when they love. And maybe by some miracle you can feel that safe and it can be real. But it takes effort to establish that sort of trust. Time. Experience. Proof. Unquestionable proof.
Some people like me…know themselves well enough to know when they’re in love. But a lot of people don’t know that sort of thing well and make devastating mistakes. Love is dangerous. …And of course God sorts it all out in the end…but in the meantime it too often hurts miserably. …Chamade is joyful and unaware. It’s not caught up in death or betrayal or lies or witchcraft or tragedy. Not really. I don’t care what the story is about. It’s happy. And I love their happiness. The people who wear Chamade without reservations. …But it’s not…my experience at all. Ever.
To me romantic love is…anxiety producing because of death. Wars. …Lies. People…abandon you. Betray you and leave you for vultures of Hell. And maybe they didn’t mean to. Right? And there’s a perfectly good explanation. Right? …But life is Hellish…far too often. And maybe…it’s lovely but…almost impossible for people to be that happy in love without being stupid, sheltered, naive, narcissistic, or…incredibly lucky. …I’ve never been that lucky possibly ever.
So is it real? Yes! But most people don’t experience it. Even if they’re mutually madly in love. …I could make someone that happy. But I can’t make them happy by being happy with them anymore. I have no trust at all left in humanity in regard to love at all in that way.
…If there’s reincarnation I’ve never been that happy. Men have withheld reassurances. Out of insecurity. Or their own fears of being abandoned by me. I’m very attractive. I’ve always been very attractive I bet. …So…they loved me…or could…possibly more than enough to make me that happy…but I’ve never been given that kind of reassurance. And I’m too smart to assume things. Too not narcissistic to not worship God’s view of love. …So…I desperately savor every morsel of love I’ve ever even potentially received. …But men are worthless sods when they reject Christ. So…there’s no happy ending for me.
Love wins? Tell that naive, cheap bullshit to children being sold for molestation. God wins. And God is loving. But love itself is meaningless outside of the context of God. It’s like the wind. It’s a force of nature in a fallen world. Does it win? Sometimes. Not every time. And maybe at times…there are greater loves. Better loves.
What did I miss? What was it like being that remarkably happy in a fallen world? Dammit. That’s the one thing I wanted. Or one of the things I wanted most. To experience all the beauty romantic love had to offer. But I’m tired.
How about this: I’ll tell you what it’s like to be better. And have very little love. Of any sort. I’ll tell you what it’s like to care and see children suffer and wish you could blow-up the whole fucking world on their behalf…but also know you can’t and shouldn’t. Not yet anyway. I’m not an Irish terrorist. God bless the good ones. …I’ll tell you what that’s like though, to be superior and not give a damn. Why? Because it’s all a fallen, rotted, shithole world without Christ anyway.
“You wearing Chamade!? That’s enough to turn any man straight.” said a (closeted bisexual) openly gay male friend of mine once. Years ago. Maybe this perfume is triggering to me. But I welcome triggers. They’re cathartic.
No. No…Chamade isn’t actually all that seductive on me. It’s pretty but not…seductive. Or is it? See…I don’t even know. Maybe it is.
I suppose it could be. Men do tend to like white florals on me. …And there’s something in the Guerlain DNA that comes through beautifully in Chamade. It’s…exquisite. Maybe the combination of the requisite Guerlain design and white florals is seductive. But…it’s not easily perceivable to me and it’s never been explained to me.
…What fragrance is love to me? Dirt. The smell of dirt. Wet dirt. Why? …Maybe that’s what I smelt the only time I can be sure I was loved. Or experienced what is love. But I’d never wear dirt perfume. So…what perfume is it? Violets. Floris violets. Violets in general. …Why? Because despite what lesbians did with it…or maybe because of that…I get quiet when I wear violet. As in, it’s FINALLY FUCKING QUIET. …Nobody thinks of violet as a sexy note but for me it is…and I’m left alone.
I’m not you. I’m not your wife. I’ve probably never met you. “Fuck off” as they say, if you can’t get it straight and be respectful of my humanity. But know that I care. And I don’t want you in Hell. Not now…not ever. Try to someday care about me and every other human being to ever exist that much. And when you get there…you write a review of Chamade. And if you’re happier than I am…I’ll be happy too. And if you’re not…*smile* don’t say I didn’t warn you. God loves us…but it’s a TERRIBLE WORLD. It’s fallen. Don’t let the lingering beauty of Heaven trick you into thinking there’s no Hell. Don’t let it trick you into thinking that there’s not more…and more…in Heaven. For you.
Keen to Cross the Pond 
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