I had no idea what she was wearing.Never did I attempt to describe it, nor enquire about the identity of her fragrance, such had my obsession with all things perfumed faded since my last purchase about five years before I had met her.
Soon, it was to become emblematic of comfort for me: from solitude and the wilderness in general.
Rewind the tape with me if you will.
The year was 1997. The so-called Asian Financial Crisis had wiped me out financially, when I was barely out of University.
Catherine and I met in very casual circumstances two years prior,but somehow we clicked. Soon, I was sharing my passion for the stockmarket with her, and discovered that she too, had a history, albeit forgettable and largely painful in that arena as well.
She tried to matchmake me with her daughter Vivian, who was slightly younger than I(sorry to disappoint those of you who thought I was writing in romantic overtones, but maybe you won't be so disappointed if you keep reading :), but that never got far.
But the relationship continued, and she soon became a mother of sorts to me; one who was even better at it than the one who had physically birthed me. For she truly cared and listened, and did not merely pretend to and then go back to her vanity endeavours.
A year later,there was no one I needed more, as failed joint investments nuked by the cascading waterfall of the Asian financial quake drove my best friends away and I was affected badly enough that I could not even hold down a job without preoccupation with my predicament.
A job in her establishment(which until now, is the best work environment I've ever had the privilege to be involved in) helped me tide over these times, allowing me to pay the rent and stave off hunger. Part of the time, I was even working for the now merged SmithKline Beecham, promoting their products to undergraduates.
Such a mule I was(pig-headed,not slaving), insisting that the markets would recover quickly, that I even convinced her to invest her own dough in the bombed-out markets in 1998. She bought mincingly and sparingly considering her resources(but also her bad experiences past), and there was an informal agreement to divvy up the profits equally, with me doing all the legwork: dredging up old charts of blue-chip stocks from the '80s in the process.
The markets continued to head south after our 'venture' began, but not before we had scooped up some quick easy speculative profits but buy she did, though only what I recommended.
A few months in, even she lost heart and insisted I pick up the stocks of more wobbly companies on my own(I took out virtually all my spare savings from the job to do this).
When my birthday rolled around, she was up to her own predetermined spending limit, and although afraid, I was so convinced that I would be vindicated soon, that I just faced the future calmly, even eagerly. I saw the bargains and never believed they would stay that way forever.
Towards the end of 1998, signs of life appeared. An infamous premier thumbed his nose up at the IMF, while the Government of Hong Kong did a battle royale with hedge funds on the local dollar and the Hang Seng Index, and the markets turned the corner.
In the next few months, I was almost in a dream: sitting back and collecting not-insignificant profits as the stockmarkets rallied strongly.
Cruising past the Greek islands and Turkey, she sent me a postcard at every opportunity she could, and she was informally my foster mother.
She wore her signature scent throughout this 'wild and crazy'(as she put it recently) period of our life together:a somewhat fruity and luxurious smell that I never had the presence of mind to have her reveal to me all this while.
Since then, our relationship has cooled somewhat : to an occasional e-mail now and then.
Fast forward to August 19th, when I received a shipment of estate Chanel bottles bought off eBay. I had been looking for a replacement for the crystal bottle of No.5 that I had broken eons earlier, and was drawn by a bottle that resembled it,but had a black squarish label instead of a white one.
When the lot arrived and I opened the empty bottle to sniff it, the memories of that halcyon period surged up from my subconscious, and I knew it was Catherine's signature scent in less than the time it took to draw a breath.
I read the black label: Coco.
A quick e-mail to & fro got an affirmative answer.
The warmest and least aloof of the longest serving Chanels I know, Coco eau de parfum is fresh fruitiness to me, predominantly orange, but also with a hint of peach. I don't detect the aldehydes much at the top, nor the rose and cinnamon or spices at the heart.
Sandalwood and amber? Maybe a hint, but I don't know what the latter truly smells like. And civet is the LAST thing I would guess is present in the formula for it!
Be that as it may, Coco is simply joy in a bottle, uplifting freshness that can haul your soul out of the gloom, a metaphor for how my 'God' mother coaxed me out of the depths of depression, and hauled me to my feet again.
Unusually, this creation of Jacques Polge from 1984 manages to temper this warmth with restraint, elegance and refinement, embodiments of the attributes that Catherine stood for, with her booming laughter and her endearing reactions to being teased by me.
A towering symbol of the towering status of Mademoiselle Gabrielle Coco Chanel, but also of the virtuous Catherine.
1 ml vials of vintage Coco eau de parfum are available at $8.99 per vial + shipping.E-mail zirdex@yahoo.com.sg to receive a Paypal invoice.
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