What Perfume Peggy Olson Really Wore in Mad Men: Fragrant Semiotics on Women's Roles

I'm feeling a bit like commissario Salvo Montalbano in cracking one of the toughest nuts in TV fragrance  sleuthing ever since the fragrance discussing community came online. You know, that exasperating freeze-frame practice, us nerds do to capture a few significant views of TV and/or cinema heroes' vanities to determine their assigned fragrance and think whatever that might mean for their character.

Mad Men has been one of the most complex and detail-oriented drama TV shows in television for as far as I can remember, sparking a hot fashion moment, and its byzantine character delineation and intricacies of decor, dress and decorum has been admirably analyzed in more than one venue. Surely one more would be redundant? After all I already composed a piece on the fragrances worn by the characters and have mentioned tidbits again and again.

Peggy's motto in a nutshell, apparently. Pic via screeninvasion.com

But deciding to re-watch the whole series, season to season, I stumbled upon a fragrance reference that really cracks the door open to a pivotal feminine character, Margaret "Peggy" Olson, in a light that has yet not been glimpsed.

If one fragrance has been mentioned categorically and early on on the show it was the classic amber oriental perfume Shalimar by Guerlain, as worn by office sex-bomb Joan Holloway, on her way out to town. This was in Season 1 Episode 10 "Long Weekend".  Her roommate leans to ask, "Shalimar"? We can also see the characteristic acqua-shade bottles of the Guerlain Shalimar body products (deo spray?) on Joan's vanity throughout the show.
The choice clicked in a "perfect prop" sort of way in that it perfectly embodied the character of Joan; voluptuous and generous with an aspiring tinge (Joan can play the accordion while singing in French as we find out in Season 3).

still via bornunicorn.com who searches for products in films/TV and compiles an impressive compendium

Image my surprise upon seeing another Mad Men character using Shalimar and not just the body products but the costly extrait de parfum...to go to work: innocent, prim little Peggy Olson! Nothing is as it seems indeed. 

For the longest time I had trouble figuring out just what that mysterious dab-on bottle had been in Peggy's hand during the first episode of Season 2.  It seemed like a pretty decadent use of perfume... dabbing behind ears and on wrists for a day in the office; unless one stops to recall that spray atomizers in a non pulverising manner were non existent back in the 1960s and that pulverising perfume containers risked putting on too much too easily.

Faintly I thought I could discern the fan-shaped blue cap of Shalimar. "No, that can't be" my inner little voice was saying. Lo and behold, in Season 3 Episode 2 ("Love among the ruins") there's Peggy singing Bye Bye Birdie in front of her mirror imitating Ann Margret, the episode's running theme. And right there on her right, we can clearly see this time an emptied little flacon of Guerlain's Shalimar. (This is around the 25th minute of the episode from those watching on DVD).
I guess we hadn't noticed before because we never looked for it.

Showing up twice in a show that has been as meticulous with its historical details and character descriptions as Mad Men couldn't be a coincidence. It had to mean something. Betty's fragrance tray in her Draper residence bedroom fittingly includes a pink-capped bottle of Coty's Muguet de Bois; a touch of the icy queen with her prim facade and her sexy undercurrent.

I was caught in a vortex of sought-for-clues for Peggy's fragrances. The game was afoot! What did Shalimar mean in this context?

Shalimar for a night out on the town in 1960 as worn by Joan Holloway would leave no one in any surprise. An established French perfume with a reputation, if a rather out there. Joan's professional decorum has never intervened with her femininity, even if the latter has on occasion intervened with the former. And her rich lovers (including Roger Sterling) could have been the generous gifters all right; after all that's how she got a fur coat in a flashback episode!

via telegraph.co.uk

But Peggy Olson is far from the curvaceous sexpot that Joan is and never attracted the attention of rich lovers. In fact, back in the start of Season 2 when she dabs it on herself, she is still a budding junior copywriter, surely not making much with the 1960s wage gap. Cut as she is from a totally different cloth than either Joan or Betty, her sexuality seemed like it would be completely independent from her image. For that reason, and because as a woman it's far easier to sympathize and root for Peggy who tries to stick to her guns and earns her badge of professional status with her brains alone rather than exploiting her sex, the perfume community had long accepted that Peggy must have been wearing a chypre fragrance.

I have elsewhere elaborated on why chypre perfumes -sensual by design- have become code word for brainy and possibly -sexually speaking- haughty. The tsunami of increasing sweetness in perfumery has left classic compositions, which were sensuous and seductive to begin with, feeling like a bitch that needs her distance. A dominatrix at very best.

Boy, were we wrong.

Peggy Olson is far from a dominatrix but her sexual identity is far more complex than generally given credit for. Possibly because seen through a patriarchal lens she is deemed less "desirable" (or trophy-like) than either Joan or Betty (or Megan Draper or Jane Siegel...) and as women we have been guilty of often looking through that lens too. We had been definitely seeing Peggy through the eyes of the men around her.
Even in the pilot, when Peggy arrives at Sterling Cooper ad agency as the new secretary to Don Draper, she is exasperated by the overt sexism of the early 1960s office environment. She questions "why is it that everytime anyone asks you [girls] to lunch around here you're dessert". Office manager and guide Joan tells her to relax and take it within her stride: "You're the new girl. And you're not much to look at. So you might as well enjoy it."

For all her effectiveness Joan Holloway is still a woman impressed by patriarchy. Very much so.
Her self worth is still defined by how men view her. Betty Draper is too. ("As long as men look at me that way, I'm worth my keep", Betty intimates to her friend Francine)

Peggy nevertheless is different.

Despite her strict Catholic upbringing, she is no prude. In sexual matters she takes things into her own hands and asserts her sexual persona pretty directly and determinedly. She opts for contraception even though she has "no steady, just playing the field". She has a one-night-stand with a drunken Pete Campell who only a few hours ago offended her with his sexist comments. She determinedly gives her unwanted baby for adoption. She hangs out with the guys upon becoming a junior copywriter and even shows herself all dolled up in a strip joint if need be. Sure, she ends up sitting on the lap of the client, but we feel that she could have just as easily declined. We see her reject guys too. She challenges her colleague Stan Rizzo into nudism. She is in control. Later in the show she even jerks off a stranger at a public cinema!

To all this, there is nevertheless a fascinating angle that had been missing till this very  discovery I just made. Peggy for all her strong-headed, autonomous thinking is consciously molding her sexual semiotics partly after Joan. She doesn't dress like her, of course, but in Love Among The Ruins there is a very crafty, and well crafted, analogy between the ad pitch that Don and the guys work on for Patio, a new diet drink by Pepsi, and the way Peggy views herself as a sexual being. Throughout the Patio project Peggy's point of missing the target audience (i.e. catering to men's ogling of the commercial's heroine rather than to women who would buy the product) is dismissed. There's a disparaging line from creative director Don telling her "he's sorry if it makes her uncomfortable". The scene is subtle, but we're led to believe it would be because she can't compete with the sexiness quota, that she's just jealous. When the Pepsi people shoot down the pitch, even though they were the ones to ask for the copy of the Bye Bye Birdie sequence in the first place, Peggy can't help smiling to herself.

It is in the same episode (S03E02) that we see her bottle of Shalimar, she actually copies a line of Joan's to make men interested in her when venturing out in a bar. Once there, she picks a young college guy, still socially awkward, and they go to his house for the night. In the lack of a Trojan, which she markedly demands amidst heavy petting, self-assured and very much a sexual being, Peggy suggests "we can do other things". In later seasons and later episodes we understand that this involves practices that back then were probably not deemed "sex per se". Again the patriarchal lens colors our definition of sex as only vaginal intercourse. But Peggy takes things to hand. Literally. 

This "emulation" of a sexual persona in order to turn sexual expectations on their head takes further nuance with another memorable scene in Mad Men involving perfume and a sexpot. A different one.

It's in the Season 6 finale.
Peggy in a tiny black dress with a pink bow (and bright lipstick) is heading out for the evening. The office hasn't cleared yet.

-"Is that Chanel No.5?" , asks Frank Gleason smiling the air.
-"It's all I wear...", Peggy quips with a knowing smirk and leaves.

photo still AMC via NYMag.com

The brilliant line directly reflects Marilyn Monroe's memorable one regarding her exclusive use of Chanel No.5 in bed. Not only does Peggy's line then assert her status as a classy customer of Chanel's (remember, the French house is mentioned in the pilot as the epitome of class), but it stresses her emulation of a sexually uninhibited and desirable woman. Contrary to Marilyn though, Peggy can have her cake and eat it too.

One might think that a sex symbol like Marilyn would hardly be a model for a woman of the determination and proto-feminism that Peggy exhibits. But the brilliance of the show and the depth of the characters is the interweaving of lines and ideas throughout the seasons. Back in Season 2 Episode 6 ("Maidenform") an imaginative bra pitch involving "two sides of a woman" implied that every woman is either a Jackie [Kennedy] or a Marilyn [Monroe]. " A line and a curve".  Peggy is doubtful; and left out by the guys who see her as neither.  Copywriter Paul Kinsley presented showing women working the floor at Sterling Cooper as either one or the other archetype. "Marilyn...[he says, pointing Joan to the other guys] Of course Marilyn is really a Joan, not the other way around."

And suddenly it all makes sense. 

We are also reminded of the advice of another emancipated and sexually liberal woman to Peggy. That of Bobbie Barrett, the sex interest of Don Draper during Season 2: "Don't be a man. Be a woman. It's powerful business when done right."

So... Guerlain's Shalimar and Chanel No.5. A full on "oriental" perfume and an aldehydic floral fragrance.  Not at all what we expected of Peggy. The fragrant moments of Peggy Olson's evolution arc in Mad Men prove that the semiotics of perfume are both powerful and evocative of women's issues throughout the 20th century and beyond.

Fragrance Intertextuality: Homage or Creative Dialogue?

In Opera aperta, Umberto Eco argued that literary texts are fields of meaning, rather than strings of meaning. He proposed therefore that texts are open and internally dynamic, thus deeply engaging from a psychological point of view. Literature works repressing potential understanding to a single, unequivocal line are the least rewarding, according to this view, while those that are most open and most “active” between mind and society are the most lively ~and ultimately much more satisfying too! In my turn I am arguing that perfumes are not different than literature oeuvres in that scope and that in fact the elective affinities between them provide immense satisfaction of the cerebral as well as the sensory. And although the assessment of perfumes in terms of their psychological subtexts and their historical background is not uncommon, the study of their “language” and semiotics entering into the context of perfumery is less usual. To further this idea I should bring into the discussion a literary term: intertextuality!

Venus of the Rags, via fashionmedium.blogspot.com

Intertextuality is the shaping of texts' meanings by other texts. [A notion championed by post-structuralist Julia Kristeva’s semiotic, according to whom the emotional reach dwells in the fissures and prosody of language rather than in the denotative meanings of words. Therefore semiotics opposes the symbolic, which attaches meanings to words following a reasoning process]. Umberto Eco simply said: "books speak of other books”. Substitute with "art works" in general and you're there. It can therefore have a dual meaning: refer to an author’s transformation of a prior text into a new creation or to a reader’s referencing of one text in reading another. Do we interpret Joyce’s Ulysses as a modernist exploration of the novel, as a response to the epic tradition, as part of some other conversation, or as part of all of these conversations at once? Is Arturo Pérez-Reverte’s witty intertextual thriller El Club Dumas more enjoyable because it prompts us to revisit the French writer? And is there some degree of intellectual vanity at play, a flush of pride when you recognize an allusion? I am certain that there is!

When Homage Gains Momentum
If we consider perfume creation as authoring ~and indeed several perfumers and perfume enthusiasts consider it as such~ and if Süskind’s “Das Pafum” novel is full of intertextuality, then the theory could be applied in fragrances themselves as well in both its meanings. Just think of how many times we sense a perfume as homage to another one, usually a revered classic. We can find two prime examples of such a treatment in the F. Malle line: both L’eau d’hiver by Jean Claude Ellena and Dominique Ropion’s Une Fleur de Cassie are artful interpretations of a spermatic idea first explored in Guerlain’s Après L’Ondée (as is their own later marvel L’Heure Bleue!). The dialogue between the delicate cassie garlands of Guerlain’s classic with the fluffy cloud of L’Eau d’Hiver is soft-spoken and tender ~the undoubted modernity of the latter is sweeping its revolution under the rag: quiet but unshakeably there, the beginning of a new era. Une Fleur de Cassie, on the other hand, has more spirited one-liners with the Guerlain classic; injecting at once a carnal aspect (when there was miniscule before) and an increased intensity of the prime material. Whereas the archetype holds on to the heliotrope and aniseed to speak of the tentative rays of the sun coming up to fondle the branches, the modern candidate washes the landscape in saturated hues of deep vermillion. If we attenuate it into more distant allusions, we can reference Cologne Blanche by Dior as having a secondary dialogue with L’Eau d’Hiver and Caron’s Farnesiana being the old sage pre-empting Une Fleur de Cassie.

The allusion needs some getting to know, like conversationalists who have become acquainted and share common interests peripheral to those expected of them. Patricia de Nicolai’s Sacrebleu is an eavesdropper who can’t hold off injecting a witty quip with its mellow deliciousness or its very name. Alternatively think of the evolution of aldehydic fragrances ~ which ties them into an olfactory family but also references them into distinct personalities meeting at a posh tea-party of ladies who lunch. The whole game is here uttered in different fabric allusions: The iconic Chanel No.5  is clad in chic black crepe (but wears garters underneath) while her prettier, sweeter sister is showcasing her own ivory chiffon. They both talk spiritedly with cousins who don light merino-wool twin-sets in pastel hues, right out of a Douglas Shirk film: Le Dix by Balenciaga and Madame Rochas. Whereas the estranged aunt with the bombastic presence is sporting White Linen and talks about the new and improved alkaline soaps of the United States with a heavy accent. We could be almost forgiven for not noticing behind her the discreet and elegant debutante Iris Poudre and her twin Ferré by Ferré, clad in salmon organza (both by eloquent Pierre Bourdon), if it weren’t for the pang of sudden recognition that seeing all of them lined-up ignites!

via valerie6.myweb.uga.edu

It does not matter if the accord of oak moss and peach or plum denotes the synergy between moss, damascones or undecalactone: the alliance is always representative of the golden nectar off a woman’s skin or the buoyancy of a glamorous epoch. From the wistful Mitsouko to the exuberant Rochas Femme to the contemporary Jubilation 25 by Amouage one cannot fail to hear the grandeur reverberating though their throaty tunes; but it wouldn’t be far off to claim that segments of that tale are surfacing in unlikely candidates such as Eau d’Hermès and Cartier’s Declaration.

Intertextuality in the Eye of the Beholder
Linda Hutcheon however argues that excessive interpretation through this line of thinking obscures the role of the author, because intertextuality is often "in the eye of the beholder", not necessarily entailing the communicator's intentions. She prefers the term “parody”, based on the notion that the latter always features an author who actively encodes a text as an imitation with critical difference. As semiotic is closely related to the infantile pre-Oedipal stage (as elaborated by Freud as well as Lacan), its subconscious effect is more impressed into our memory than the conscious, logical attributions which we place through knowledge and rhyme. Something mystically whispers in our ear that perfumer Maurice Roucel transports the problematic of salty, warm, pulsating skin from Musc Ravageur into L by Lolita Lempicka, L’Instant by Guerlain and Le Labo’s Labdanum 18 all the way through the stripped to its earthier, almost bulby notes of Dans tes Bras for F.Malle. Even if we didn’t know those were all composed by the same “nose” we might feel the generous, sensuous touch of the author’s signature having them converse. But does the author, Roucel in this case, intend a sense of parody, in the context above explained?

Conversations in the Horizontal and Vertical Planes
Additionally intertextuality can be divided into another two planes. Taking in mind the Danish film theoretician John Fiske’s distinction between 'vertical' and 'horizontal' intertextuality we can segregate between different media. Horizontal intertextuality denotes references that are on the 'same level' ie.books referencing other books. This is what we have analyzed so far. However there is also vertical intertextuality, showcased when for instance a book references a film or a song or vice versa. In the language of scent this could mean a difference of olfactory medium: a fine fragrance referencing a material (manifested in the niche market most obviously, where several fragrances aim to interpret rose or vetiver or patchouli etc.), or alternatively a functional product, such as a cleaner, fabric softener or insecticide, referencing a fine fragrance of established acceptance so as to inject familiarity, a necessary constituent to generate sales.

The exercise can be blatantly obvious such as Pledge translating as "lemon" to the point of Americans instantly equating the smell of lemons themselves with cleaning products. (A company in the 1950s decided that it should be so, apparently!). Pine Sol acts on a similar plane with -of course- pine. But it can also act in a more subtle, yet memorable way. Baygon Green insecticide (and others following it) is deliberately taking a page off well-known 80s bestseller Poison by Dior and the era’s “big” rose & tuberose chypres; thus accounting for several consumers equating the commonality between the two into the “bug spray note”!
 Fabuloso functional home cleansers pick other mainstream successes as the inspiration behind their scents, as do Intim Care feminine products by Frezyderm which directly reference L’Eau d’Issey by Miyake, the purity of “water” and lotus acting as a simulacrum for hygiene. Fabric softeners with their hydrophobic musks, as well as dryer sheets, have in fact acted in reverse: their equation with cleanness in the mind of the western world consumer of the second half of the 20th century has spawned a plethora of fragrances which mimic their laundry day notes from mainstream Glow by Jennifer Lopez to exclusive Cruel Gardenia by Guerlain.

In conclusion, that Eureka moment of intellectual euphoria upon recognizing kindred spirits where one wouldn’t expect to is half the fun in being a perfume collector. We wouldn’t trade it for the world!

NB: the above article appeared in a longer format on the Sniffapalooza Magazine of 12 May 2009