When I first started perusing the fragrance reviews on MakeupAlley a few years ago, it wasn’t long before I stumbled on the acronym “HG”, for “holy grail” (this while still deciphering NIB and FBW). I was reading the reviews in the hopes of finding my own HG, in fact. I’d dreamed of having a scent that would reflect me perfectly, that I would be known for. And, as Coco Chanel said, I would always be able to pick out my coat by the smell.

Signature scents run in my family. My mother, along with many of her coworkers in the County Clerk’s office, wore Jontue for years, until a supervisor finally complained of the viscous cloud of perfume lodged near the bank of filing cabinets. She then switched to Toujours Moi. One of my grandmothers lived in a double-wide with a walk-in closet that my grandpa tricked out with shelves to hold her Barbara Cartland novels. She had a green compact of Moonstone solid perfume on the dresser next to her Virgin Mary jewelry box. My other grandmother, who I associate more with the smell of cigarette smoke and bleach, still wears Youth Dew…

Read the rest of this article »