Perfume understands entrances.
It arrives half a second before you do.
It introduces your presence without explaining anything and remains in the room after you have already left.
Very few people manage timing this well.
Unlike clothes, perfume cannot be photographed.
It does not care whether the light is flattering or whether anybody noticed the shoes.
It works invisibly.
And perhaps that is why it becomes so personal.
A familiar scent can return an entire person to a room.
Not their face.
Their presence.
The distance at which they stood.
The atmosphere around them.
A moment you had completely forgotten until one note in the air opened it again.
Some perfumes make an entrance.
Others come closer before they reveal themselves.
Some belong to daylight, clean shirts and open windows.
Others clearly expect dinner to become more interesting than originally planned.
The right perfume should never disguise the person wearing it.
It should make their presence more precise.
Not louder.
More recognisable.
It is the only thing you wear that becomes partly a memory belonging to somebody else.
A photograph can prove that you were there.
Perfume can make someone remember how it felt.
Silvia
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