Purrfume

Blog

  • Why We Do Not Test on Animals (We Are the Animals)

    Customers sometimes ask whether Purrfume tests on animals. We are proud to say that we do not. We do, however, test on cats, who are not animals in any sense we are willing to discuss, and who volunteer for the work with an enthusiasm that would unsettle a regulator. Our panel of forty testers is paid in treats and given a pension of one nap a day.

    Each tester sniffs a strip, considers it for a count of ten, and records a verdict by sitting on one of three coloured mats. Green is approval, grey is indifference, red is a complaint. Last year the panel preferred the green mat in 38 percent of trials and the box that the mats came in in 51 percent. We have therefore made the box part of the product.

  • Maceration: A Slow Love Story

    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.

  • Our Rejected Scents: A Hall of Shame

    In the interest of transparency, we present a short exhibition of formulas that did not reach the shelf. Wet Dog, Distant (rejected for being too close). Vacuum Cleaner at Midnight (rejected, by the testers, with a kind of screaming). Bath Water, Reconsidered (the less said, the better). And Postman (a rich, citrus accord, aborted after nine cats left the building).

    We include these failures not out of shame but out of respect for the process. Every great perfume stands on a pile of wrecks, and Aurelien keeps each in a cabinet, labelled in his careful hand. Recently we were able to restore one: Distant Dog, a mild, far away, almost respectful accord of wet fur, now available at $75. It is, we feel, a triumph of distance. Nobody asked for it. We made it anyway.

  • The Season of the Sunbeam

    In late summer, a sunbeam changes character. It grows slower, more golden, and a little heavy, like honey on a spoon. Our perfumers have observed that the beam which falls on a wooden floor at four in the afternoon in August carries notes of beeswax, warm dust, old paper and, faintly, a sleeping dog. We have composed Sunbeam Absolute to capture all of it, except the dog.

    At $160 for 50 ml, it is among our most generous scents, with a long, glowing drydown that will keep you warm through the first cold weeks of autumn. We recommend it for naps, for lying on cushions, and for the particular kind of afternoon in which nothing is required of you. Wear it, and be, for a few hours, a patch of light that has decided to stay.

  • What Does Rain Smell Like From Inside?

    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.

  • Fresh Litter Noir: The Controversy

    When we announced Fresh Litter Noir, the response was divided. Some called it brave. Some called it a mistake. One lady wrote to our Chairman to say that it was “the most honest fragrance she had ever encountered,” and then asked for a refund. We stand by the work. The scent is a dark, mineral accord of clay, cedar and the stern silence that follows an act of privacy.

    At $120, it is among our more demanding offerings. It is not designed to please. It is designed to be understood, in the way a closed door is understood. Aurelien describes it as “the smell of a decision.” Céleste has called it “a bold choice, for a bathroom.” We invite you to approach it, as we did, with an open mind and a closed window.

  • Letter from the Master Perfumer: On Catnip, and Restraint

    Dear friends, I am sometimes asked why Purrfume does not use catnip in any of its compositions. The answer is restraint. Catnip is the loudest note in the pantry. It enters a room and refuses to leave, demanding attention, and then collapsing on the floor in a state of joyful wreckage. A great perfume does not collapse. It lingers, and it leaves you wanting.

    That said, I confess that on a quiet Sunday last month I did work on a small formula, in a locked cabinet, using a single leaf. I will not describe the results. I will say only that the laboratory was rather damp afterwards, that Céleste was found asleep in the sink, and that the formula has been destroyed. Mostly. Yours in discretion, Aurelien Mewlet.

  • Layering: A Rule Book Written in Fur

    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.

  • The Atelier Opens Its Doors, but Only Slightly

    It is with great ceremony, and some reluctance, that we announce the opening of the Purrfume Atelier on Silk Street. The Atelier is a small, hushed space with a single chaise, forty seven bottles and a door that sticks. Visitors are received by appointment only, and appointments are given at the discretion of the house, which is to say, the cat on the chaise.

    Here you may commission a bespoke fragrance, composed over six weeks from your own particular notes: the corner of your sofa, the dust of your favourite hall, the lingering warmth where your human last sat. Prices begin at $1,400. A consultation costs $60, and includes tea, a stern look, and an assessment of your general aura. Please arrive freshly unscented. Please arrive on time. Please do not touch the chaise.

  • Cardboard at Dawn: A Meditation on Corrugation

    Corrugated board, at six in the morning, has a smell unlike any other. It is dry, faintly sweet, a little papery, with an undertone of the warehouse where it was born and the long journey in a van that followed. To most it is packaging. To us, it is a cathedral. Cardboard at Dawn, our Eau de Toilette at $95, captures the exact moment a delivery is opened and the contents removed, leaving the box, empty and entirely yours.

    Notes of fresh pulp, tape adhesive, a flicker of vetiver, and a trace of the person who just walked away. Wear it when you wish to be low, square and sheltered. Pair it with silence, a patch of floor, and a quiet conviction that you are the true recipient. The best things come in boxes. The best thing is the box.