Category: Craft

Sillage, from the French for wake, is the trail a perfume leaves in the air behind the wearer. It is a quiet signature, a ghost of a presence, and the sign of a fragrance that has been properly worn. A good sillage will announce a cat as she enters the room, and say something touching about her as she leaves it.

We measure sillage at the Atelier in units of the Whisker, a scale developed by Aurelien in 2017. One Whisker is the distance at which a mildly interested cat will turn her head. Warm Laptop projects 3.5 Whiskers. Tuna Dusk, 11. Forbidden Counter, according to our instruments, is 14, which is, unfortunately, the length of the corridor. We have asked the corridor for its comments.

The traditional fragrance wheel divides scents into floral, oriental, woody and fresh. We find this unhelpful. At Purrfume we sort our compositions by temperament, a more reliable guide. The Sulkers include Fresh Litter Noir and Inside the Cupboard, scents that wish to be left alone but will notice if you leave. The Show Offs include Sunbeam Absolute, which enters a room as a spotlight.

The Clingers are Warm Laptop and Cardboard at Dawn. They stay on the skin for hours and cling to the blanket after you have gone. The Mysteries, a small and secretive family, include Forbidden Counter and a scent we will not discuss. If you are unsure of your own temperament, we recommend a short quiz, which we have not yet written. Please come back when it exists, or sit on the quiz.

The most important ingredient in any perfume is time. After blending, each of our compositions is left to macerate in a dark oak cask for a minimum of ninety days, during which nothing is done to it, nothing is said to it, and nobody is allowed to look at it directly. It is, in many ways, a long and difficult courtship.

At the end, the cask is opened by a ceremonial paw, Céleste’s, and the liquid is held up to the light. It has deepened. It has found its own shape. It has, in a quiet way, forgiven us. We then filter it, bottle it, and rest it for a further week, since a perfume, like a cat, will not be hurried into the world. We find this makes a difference of approximately 11 percent, according to a test no one will explain.

What does rain smell like from the inside of a house? This is a question we have studied for three years. The answer, we find, is not rain at all but its absence: the damp stone of the doorstep, the faintly metallic whisper of a window frame, and the thick, golden warmth of a room that has been kept dry by the very act of watching.

We have bottled this feeling, but are not yet satisfied. The prototype, called Window Seat, has been tested by twelve cats at the Atelier, each of whom sat in a different chair and stared at the garden for an hour. Their verdict: “Almost.” The missing note, they say, is the smug certainty that one will not be going out. We are working on it. We have hired a drizzle.

Layering is the art of wearing more than one fragrance at a time, and it requires nerve. As a rule, begin with the heaviest scent, apply it to the chest, and add a lighter scent at the throat. Warm Laptop beneath Sunbeam Absolute is a combination of rare comfort, like a duvet that has been told a secret. Tuna Dusk beneath anything will, in all likelihood, win.

There are, however, prohibited pairings. Fresh Litter Noir with Cardboard at Dawn produces what our perfumers call “a basement,” and is not recommended for dinners. Forbidden Counter with anything else is considered an act of provocation. As Céleste puts it, in her single syllable: “No.” We have followed her advice in the matter, and in all others, for eleven years.

Many ask whether fragrance interferes with the whisker. We are glad to say that it need not. A whisker is a sensitive instrument, but it is also, in its way, a vanity, and a lightly scented whisker, treated with a single drop of our Whisker Veil, tells the world that you are a person of refinement who has thoughts about air.

We recommend applying Whisker Veil with the pad of the paw, from root to tip, no more than once a day. Avoid the nose. The nose is a delicate thing and does not need our help. A well scented cat will move through a room as a thought moves through a mind, noticed, a little puzzling, and rather hard to place. At $38 for 10 ml, it is a modest indulgence for an immodest face.

To make Tuna Dusk, one must first find the hour. Our team travelled to Gull Quay at five on a grey morning, where a fisherman named Old Bartholomew gutted a bluefin with the grace of a concert pianist. We took with us glass jars, a thermometer, and Céleste on a lead, which she resented.

The scent we wanted is not the fish itself but the second after it, when the knife is wiped, the gulls have gone quiet, and the light turns the sea the colour of a pewter spoon. We captured it in a jar, which Céleste sniffed, and then sat upon. Tuna Dusk Extrait, at $240 for 30 ml, is the result. It has hints of salt, steel, and the profound loneliness of a cat who has finished the tin.

The classical pyramid of perfumery has three tiers. The top notes are the first impression: brisk, bright, and gone within minutes. The heart notes follow, the true character of the work, lasting several hours. The base notes, last, are the deep and lingering undertone, the part that clings to a cushion long after you have left it.

At Purrfume, we recognise a fourth tier, the Hiss. It occurs about forty minutes into wear, when the composition suddenly asserts that it wishes to be left alone. The Hiss is not a fault. It is a signature. Customers who find that their fragrance has started to dislike them should not be alarmed, but may wish to apply it from a distance, and then withdraw, quietly, as one does from an opinion.