Last night at the fancy dress ball you were so sure he was a woman.
Amongst all the counterfeit countesses and rugby players passing themselves off as runaway Romanov nieces, it was he alone who had you convinced he was a her.
This Empress Eugenie, so you thought, was the one exquisite item that had come as her own sex.
Set apart from all the debutantes dressed as racing car drivers and retired generals, ‘she’ alone, you foolishly swooned, had elected to don a dress.
You went so far as to ignore the Seville and bitter orange cologne ‘she’ wore and concentrated instead on the delicate dancer’s arms.
Focussed on the slight, slightly coquettish tilt of the head that sent long blond hair to one side and on the skin with the sheen you spent the evening imagining was smooth and soft to the touch.
The same skin you see now across his boy’s flat chest as he is poised to take a dive into the blue of the swimming pool.
A splash. Then a slender shadow the colour of lavender makes its way underwater to where you are wading just out of your depth.
He emerges right next to you, smiles with those same imperiously perfect teeth and brushes the same blond hair, now slick with water, out of his eyes.
Clear, bright, unembarrassed eyes that look straight at and in to you.
You catch the faintest remnant of that citrus smell and redden at the recollection of what you rather had not passed between you.
With a laugh he disappears into the depths again.
You struggle to the side and pull yourself clear of the water, the heat of shame cooled to goose pimples on your flesh by late Spring’s breezes.
You hear his laughter behind you and then some words in that courtly high-pitched French you listened to all last night.
Walking away towards the trees where you can change out of sight, you turn to look back.
He is gone.
You study the group of people by the water’s edge but cannot pick his face out amongst them.
You find yourself breathing deeply and wondering whether this short meeting is all you will ever see of him.
You wonder whether this is what you want.
Eau de Cologne Imperiale is Guerlain at its most gamine.
It is a fragrance as fleeting as the androgynous beauty of youth.
It may have seen more than one hundred and fifty years in production, but on the skin it is the matter of a mere hour or two at most.
This is a sliver of citrus history, an elusive and strangely sensual scent that one must allow to slip through one’s fingers, time and time again.
Taken together the notes are akin to a nursery rhyme in their simplicity: oranges and lemons, bergamot, neroli, lavender, some cedar and a little sweetness from the tonka bean.
The effect is at once refreshing and regal, partly from the perfume, partly one supposes from the idea of partaking in a piece of the past.
Eau de Cologne Imperiale is as much a ritual as a fragrance, like bathing, its effects are ephemeral yet enlivening.
There is no better way to free up body and mind for the complexities of the day ahead.
It seems absurd to talk of men and women so far as this perfume is concerned, it was made for both an Empress and her Emperor.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy.
The Perfumed Dandy. 
I love this review. I saw it last night by some glitch, I think. and now here it is again. When I saw it last night I had just finished watching Orlando with Tilda Swinton on dvd, and still had stars in my eyes from that, so this review was strangely, synchronicitously (is that a word?) timely a review. I just love it.
Dearest Lily
How observant you are that you see even the little mishaps that technology occasionally falls prone too!
I can think of no better film to have watched beforehand than Sally Potter’s amazing Orlando with the transfixing Tilda Swinton.
For The Dandy, Jicky and Imperiale are the two perfumes that perfectly embody the spirit of Woolf’s novel.
And yes, I believe in both synchronicity and serendipity!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
Well, I wouldn’t have mentioned it except that the timing was so oddly serendipitous. And it was there and then suddenly gone. It gave me such a strange feeling. But I’m over it now. Sort of. 😀 Jicky…perfect! I mean, perfect anyway…but also perfectly Orlando. 🙂
I have collected these Cecil Beaton’s pictures in my files. Love them. Great post, dear Dandy!
XOXO
Dear Luixe
You know, The Dandy had a feeling that you might be a fan of Beaton. These early photographs are my favourites of his.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
Of course I am, dear Dandy!
XOXO
Refreshing, androgynous, enchantment. I have a picture I’m going to send you of some folks swimming in the Serpentine circa the 1920s….
Ooooh V
I can’t wait.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
I couldn’t find it so I sent another favorite image of a high diver in 1932 😉
Dearest V
I shall hunt it down in my emails when the morning comes… all that sea air and sandcastle construction has tired The Dandy clean out.
By the way I do swim myself in The Serpentine, quite regularly in warmer weather actually.
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
I love this cologne. It is what I apply after each bath…Then I put on my corset, pantallets, hoop skirt, wig and Empress Eugenie Hat!
I loved this review on so many levels.
Dearest Lanier
I do think that once you are caught up with Imperiale it will never let you go… it becomes a part of one’s personal ritual. Though I have taken to alternating it with some of the Aqua Allegoria range…
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
OMG! So do I!! Herba Fresca!
Dearest L
Great minds so on and so forth… in my case it is Laurier Reglisse, now sadly discontinued so I may need to move on too!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
wow!
Off to find my decant now. 🙂
Dearest Ines
Enjoy! And do tell how your fleeting encounter went… fleeting though it might be!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy