I've had a crush on this perfume for over 10 years. It started when I was a Boston newbie, seduced by the splendor of the city, entranced by the sparkle of storefronts and the scents of bistros. And Neiman Marcus. I was entranced by Neiman Marcus.
I recall spending weekend days in the city when it was shiny and new to me, before I became jaded by the subway funk, and the lack of umbrella etiquette (seriously, I should have worn safety goggles) and before the sheer fatigue of commuting to a soul-sucking job started to show on my face.
I'd meander my way into the city, one day to Haymarket for produce and flowers, another day to ogle the window displays on Newbury St. and dream of a day (soon!) where I could go into any dayspa and order one of those $400 Days of Beauty and not blink an eye. Maybe another day I'd browse books on travel and fine food and nurse a $2 cup of coffee for hours. And then another day when I would go to Copley, the 'mall' that really isn't a mall for most of us. It's a showcase of the most expensive boutique stores you can imagine. Where people drop thousands of dollars on handbags and jeans. Where there isn't a fast food joint in site (but through the glass tunnel is a California Pizza Kitchen, which is analagous to a Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits in a regular mall for us normal folk) but espresso bars with $7 pastries and bottled Evian only. This is where I stepped into Neiman's.
I didn't realize at the time, as it was my virgin tour, that Neiman's only accepts cash and American Express. Although at 23, I'm not sure that it would have mattered because I was living pretty large (remember now that I was 23) with a low overhead and I had just discovered my love of makeup palettes. I wandered through the clothing sections, glancing at price tags well above anything I had seen in my Marshall/TJ Maxx days. Hundreds for a blouse? Is it magic? Is there a jacket that comes with it? Maybe it's a chameleon shirt that actually changes to match the color of your pants? No. Just expensive and there was no way that I'd ever allow myself to partake. I did have my limits (let's go out to dinner only 3 nights a week, okay? I totally have to watch my budget).
So, on my way out, I happen to pass the perfume and cosmetics bar. This place, I would learn, would be the gauntlet for me, the intersection I had to muscle through if I wanted to get out of a store safely. And it was even more true in a place like Neiman's. Trish McEvoy brushes, Shu Uemura creams, Chanel perfumes. It was intoxicating.
And then I saw this beautiful little bottle. Delicate. Gold-embossed label. Refined. Wrapped in fancy gold ribbon. French. A true fit for Neiman's. It was everything I wasn't. I was a White Musk girl from The Body Shop and had been for years. Wasn't it time for a change? Wasn't I ready to be refined and French and fancy with gold ribbon around me?
It turns out I wasn't. Maybe I had enjoyed some gluttonous weekends and thought the price was too steep at that moment, maybe I wasn't convinced I was ready for such a big change. I mean, I had a signature scent after all. I left Neiman's and figured I'd get it next time.
Of course I didn't, but each time I'd go to Neiman's, I'd go through and give her a sniff. My Neiman visits have been few though, and over time I forgot the name of it and moved on to other perfumes that I've loved. I have recently run out of my latest signature scent and my other two scents are not for everday wear. I didn't think too much about it, knowing I barely wear perfume every day anyway.
I had a playdate in the city with my girl Kathryn (you remember her, she sang with my oldest while folding my laundry because that's how she do) who lives in NYC but thankfully is considering a trip back this away (hands in prayer position). We sipped Italian coffee. We talked about the things that workplace Russians and toddlers wouldn't permit on phone chats and of course, took in the city and I could see the splendor again. We went to Copley. I remembered a perfume I once loved, but what was the name of it? Something with the word petite. That's all I had.
We went to Neiman's and started to meander. I couldn't find it on any of the glass trays on the countertops. It was alright though, because the perfumier Ann saw that we were struggling and swept in like a chopper to answer our eau de toilette prayers. It two seconds, "I think it has the word petite in it...?"
Oh, there it was.
Petite Cherie. Annick Goutal.
There was the bottle! There was that fine gold cap, the delicate ribbon, the ballooned bottle with etchings down the side. The bottle of who I ain't.
So Kathryn and I sniffed and whiffed and Ann did her best Neiman spiel (but not too pushy, that would be gauche and very un-Neiman-y) but I passed (hello? diapers and gluten free foods and a husband who hand-splits and chops our wood...am I really going to come home with bottle full of ridiculous? No. I'm no martyr, I just want to play fair, you know?). She did, however, hook a broke sister up when she gave me 4 sweet little samples. I knew in that moment that I could stretch them out for months.
And so today, it came for me in the mail.
Kathryn did it.
She decided it was time. For me to be the golden bottle, or just to smell really really lovely.
And I don't know what was more moving; the fact that she did it, or the fact that she knows me well enought to know that I wouldn't do it myself.
I could blast you with some serious corny right now, but I think you get it. Kathryn is the kind of girl who knows I'm really a clearance gal but who thinks I deserve a little Neiman's once in awhile. Thanks.
And if you were wondering, this is what I'm rolling with right now: A fruity-floral fragrance in which vanilla, peach, musk rose and freshly cut grass recall purity and boldness. Like a naive and determined woman-child who both stirs the senses and moves the heart.
Yeah, that'll work.
