Nostalgia is the kitschiest sentiment. Or is it?

Young and older people alike love to reminiscence about things they loved in the turmoil of puberty or their formative years, from La Vie Est Belle by Lancôme to Tobacco Vanille Tom Ford via Coco Mademoiselle Chanel or Jungle Gardenia and White Shoulders; I suppose it gives us a sense of nostalgia, the strange excitement of reliving a period of our lives when we were not so sure of certain things, innocent enough that we had faith, before life bore its heavy blows crushing our dreams.

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 Whether it was something cheap, brash or immature (Victoria's Secret body sprays perhaps?) does not matter; the memory is there and the hold it has over our hearts reads like the delicious thrill we feel at the borderline segregating damnation from redemption. 

 And because it is such a thin razor's edge, we continue our lives with a precarious, perverse pleasure derived from seeking for the elements we loved in every subsequent scent to be met, almost like a golden standard against which we judge everything that follows; the Mr.Darcy against which everyone else pales, the Heathcliff whose darkness embodies our secret yearnings, yearnings we have buried and mourned only on the surface. 

 Yes, all too frequently the first fragrances we have loved remain our loves throughout our lives, unless perfume Nemesis -in the guise of allergens restrictions or business behemoths pennies-pinching- shutters the gilded foil and makes them unrecognizable. But what about fragrances we like from the get-go which are new and fresh and so novel? Fragrances which grab us by the lapels and with golden retriever puppy eyes beg us to love them back? Sometimes they succeed and we love them instantly. Which are they? Mine has always been Opium YSL, the pillar of memory, the apex of heart-twinging. And then others too, my mom's Dioressence and Cabochard, her Bourjois Soir de Paris. The introduction of niche via Serge Lutens and L' Artisan Parfumeur. And the snowball that followed. 

 The L'Artisan was among my first incense purchases and it still remains a firm favorite for summer-wear (not that it does not shine in winter equally well). Passage d'Enfer L'Artisan Parfumeur gives me the eerie feeling of a trance-like session, lost in the spiritual reveries of a body ritualistically sprayed with all the lilies of the field. It balances on the edge of sanity sometimes, clean (thanks to the white musk) but mysterious at once, ethereal yet subtly odd, like an emo-goth type dressed in head-to-toe white. Fleurs d'Oranger Serge Lutens is not too old, not too young, just perfect in that middle ground between contemporary and traditional, a potent yet fresh (!) mix of lush orange blossom and insinuating tuberose, likened to a heaving bosom. A true compliment getter too! I was stung by a bee, outside a graveyard, wearing this scent, one fateful Easter, and forever since I subconsciously seek to touch the sting spot whenever I wear it.... 

There are so many, really. Please share yours in the comments.