One recent morning, as my Metro North train made its way south to Grand Central Station, a passenger stepped into my car and settled into the seat in front of me. My super sensitive nose caught a whiff of her fragrance, and let’s just say it wasn’t my cup of t’eau. (See what I did there…???). The sillage of her peppery, sweet scent entered my nostrils so strongly, I felt I had no choice but to get up and move to the next train car.
This has happened more than once recently, and instead of moving to the next car or crossing to the other side of the street, I started to conduct a bit of research, kindly asking these wearers what they were, well, wearing. Implementing my best fangirl voice, I’d ask, “Excuse me. Do you mind if I ask what perfume you’re wearing? I know I know it, but I can’t figure it out!”
Like the couples on the Instagram handle @meetcutesnyc, as soon as the completion of my initially nosy query is out, most people become flattered. After about half a dozen enquiries, I quickly confirmed what I initially suspected: it was not one fragrance, but each bore the same main notes. It’s a huge trend, and one that’s very conducive to emitting a mighty sillage.
“Sillage” is French for “wake,” as in the wake of a motorboat. In perfumery, it refers to the olfactive trail that a fragrance can leave behind. The stronger the scent, the bolder the sillage.
The thing is, many of us don’t realize we’re emitting a sillage. While most are flattered, more than once when I’ve asked someone what they’re wearing, a look of surprise nearing embarrassment befalls their face, as if I asked, “Is that your body odor I smell?”
I once had a meeting with a colleague who emitted such a bold, sugary-sweet sillage. After, I asked him what scent he was wearing. “I don’t wear fragrance,” he responded, somewhat perplexed. I later discovered, after purchasing a certain hair product, that it had been his hair gel. Oh my!
All of this sillage has made me reconsider my own. I freely admit that I’d been a proud and confident sillage thrower for decades, but now I wonder whether I offended those around me.
Back in the early Nineties, when ozonic scents, like L’Eau d’Issey and Aqua di Gio, were huge, I found my love in Aramis’ New West For Her, and doused myself accordingly. My boss at the time could not even bring herself to enter my office. When she had no choice, the interaction went something like this.
Me: Hi boss!
Her (one hand pressed firmly over her nose): Oh god, Jane, you’re wearing New West. Sorry, I can’t stay in here.
I did not let her opinion faze me. After all, she wore Shalimar. You decide.
But I digress. If you are aware that you’ve got a sillage going, it is a bold presumption that either others will like it, or others won’t mind it. Agreed? The problem is, as my former boss and her nose-covering hand confirmed, scent is so subjective. Will everyone love your fragrance as much as you do? There’s a high likelihood that they won’t…and isn’t that maybe kind of…rude?
The conundrum here is that when we wear the same scent for a long time, we can’t smell it anymore, which is likely why we douse ourselves more and up the sillage levels.
I’ve been guilty of this for decades. A decade or so after my New West phase, Le Labo Santal 33 became my signature scent, and clearly, I needed everyone to know this. I remember a work colleague mentioning that whenever she walked into the ladies room on our floor, she could tell I’d been there (Egads, let’s hope it was the Santal…). I instantly felt flattered, but for all I know, she was doing the same thing I did on the train. “Yep, Jane was here, with practically a full bottle of Santal joining her. Somebody get me a face mask.”
For the past few years, I’ve started wearing my scent differently. Instead of spraying both sides of my neck, I apply one quick spritz into the back of my hair. This pretty much ensures that the only ones who get a whiff are those I embrace.
But that’s me. As subjective as scent is, how we choose to wear ours is equally subjective. Let your fragrance flag fly, people! But if you ever notice someone move away once you’ve plopped down next to them, don’t be offended. Scent preferences are like snowflakes, and that’s ok. The world (and trains, and sidewalks) is big enough for both your sillage and mine.
