April 9th, Unknown Pleasures & Roullier White

It’s no secret that perfume, or fragrance, is an obsession of mine. I wear it, over-wear it, and cannot shut up about it. It’s the only thing I’ll really let myself indulge in. It’s the physical thing I treasure most in this world. With a scent, a moment in time can be captured. The human capacity for memory, when it comes to scent, is unbelievable. Most everyone has moments where they’re hit with a smell, and a feeling of the past comes over them which feels almost inescapable. Like the feeling of being near someone they used to love, or the classic (the meme), the Scholastic Book Fair, 2009. The way things smell evokes much meaning in the mind. The art of perfumery is incredibly divisive, what may be one person’s favourite smell on earth, may be completely disgusting to another. It’s the least objective form of art. There’s certainly a way to make a well-formulated scent, but the question of whether that scent will be liked by any one person is completely up in the air. It’s always a roll of the dice. Even if someone likes all of the constituent parts of a scent, all of the notes, an individual might hate if these notes were to be played together.

One of the first scents I ever truly fell in love with, through the classic samples-in-the-mail system, was Unknown Pleasures by Kerosene. Named for the album by Joy Division of the same name. It was unlike what I’d imagine any of the member of New Order (née Joy Division, minus Mr. Curtis… RIP) would smell like. Gourmand to the nth degree. Flavourful, citrusy, an American perfumer’s take on these isles. Supposedly tea-like, London Fog-esque. Honey-ed. It was edible. A hunger inducing type of fragrance, the type to leave you wanting some warm baked good, knowing that there’s nothing on Earth that could possibly taste that good. Yet it’s sharp. Acerbic, almost. It’s got a sort of clean quality to it, as if a sip of lemon scented bleach were included in the formulation. And it works. That’s how it should be. It’s got the right kind of bite to it, it’s not a shy fragrance in the slightest. It’s subtle, but damn it, Unknown Pleasures will make itself known. The members of New Order/Joy Division, however, as rockstars, would be unlikely to smell this good, I think. I don’t know. I’ve never met them. Maybe this is what the studio smelled like as Unknown Pleasures, the record, fell into place. Maybe Ian Curtis’ grave reeks of the stuff. Regardless, the fragrance is a work of genius. Everyone seems to be talking about Followed from the same perfumer, but Unknown Pleasures is the true masterpiece. I’ve never smelled anything like it, and I’m an obsessive. A fragrance freak. Someone who goes out of her way to smell all, to inhale deeply walking around every corner, even if I am hit square in the face with the scent of dogshit or vomit, as is common on the streets here.

The only place in the entire United Kingdom which stocks Kerosene is Roullier White, deep in South London. An hour and a half trek away from my little flat in Kentish Town. Roullier White is the beating heart of niche perfumery in London. Nowhere else does it like they do. Department stores try to carry good brands. Liberty and Selfridges do a decent job, as they’ve picked up D.S. & Durga, Le Labo, By Killian, Nasomatto, and many other decent ones, but the only place you can go to in London and actually find something you won’t recognize is Roullier White. That’s a shrine to perfume, if I’ve ever seen one. The front part of the store is more gift oriented, but the back half, that’s where the magic happens for me. I think I know a lot about fragrance, but the collection they have blows me away every time I make the hike across the river, down past Elephant & Castle, Camberwell, Dog Kennel Hill Estate (that’s a real place), and finally into East Dulwich. I realise how little I know, how many fragrances are out there, and how many notes are possibilities for fragrance, every time I walk in those doors. 

Roullier White is one place, in a city of 10 million, where my little hobby has a home. This form of art, completely unable to be replicated by AI, unable to be sensed by any form of technology, such a different experience for each person, is clearly underrated. I know that fragrance people exist everywhere, the fragrance forums online reminiscent of the old “wild west” internet, and I recognize some lovely scents on people passing by. But there’s only one true storefront for niche perfume in London. Insane. How is this not something that everyone falls into, just a little bit? Perfumers make so many kinds of fragrances. From gross, almost bodily odours, to fragrances which exactly duplicate the scent of a ripening fruit, there’s something for everyone. The possibilities are genuinely endless. And it’s so incredibly fun to smell them all, and to try and find the strangest ones, the avant garde, the unique. The sweetest, the funkiest, the woodiest. The ones which remind us of those we care about. It can be so special, instead of something solely centred around attractiveness. I think that’s something people get wrong about fragrance, that it’s meant to be for beauty of some sort, or to cover body odour. I totally disagree. It’s art, if you know what you’re wearing, if you take the time to find fragrances that match your personality, that mesh with your body chemistry. It can be a most worthwhile pursuit. You can wear the work of a master artist, just like that. And people can love it or hate it. Simple as.

I’d been meaning to get Unknown Pleasures for as long as I’ve lived in England. I hadn’t had an occasion, but one came up. I had a reason, finally, after years of loving the fragrance. So after a few weeks of waiting for them to restock, deliberating, making sure that I had the money, I went down to East Dulwich, and got it. It’s bittersweet, because I had this fragrance in my mind as something to aspire to, and now that I’ve achieved something that I’ve worked quite hard towards, it almost feels hollow to reward myself so generously with something so beautiful. I have to remind myself that I deserve it, this treasure. This piece of perfection, this genius bit of American perfumery meant to be an ode to English culture, a little contribution to the economy of something I do genuinely care about, the form of art I most worship (aside from writing, that is). I hope that everyone on Earth feels the way about something, the way I feel about fragrance. A spray of a little EDP or EDT (or even a shitty body spray) drags me out of the worst moods. Picking what scent I’ll wear in the mornings is probably the best part of my day.

What a privilege, to experience the scent of things, and keep them in pretty little bottles, all lined up on my desk.