Luca Turin changed my life

Way back when, I would go to my favourite second-hand bookshop and then browse the second-hand magazine shop, before going for coffee. That was how I spent most Friday nights, because by the end of the work week I am usually tired and grumpy, and a little belligerent. One of my finds was The Emperor of Scent, a biography about Luca Turin. It is an A5-sized hardcover with a swirling dark cover that was hidden between the larger books in the Science section. I can't now remember what interested me about the book when I bought it but I am not exaggerating when I say it changed my life.

Luca Turin is a biophysicist turned chemist after following his interest in fragrances into the science (and industry) of scent. He has a delicate and trained nose, with an almost poetic style of writing that matches his liveliness. For example, take Angel, a perfume I wore in my late teens. I would maybe have said it was sweet and if pushed that it had a saltiness that reminded me of seawater. Says Turin:

"Angel certainly is a joke... a handsome resinous woody patchouli straight out of the pipes-and-leather-slippers realm of men's fragrance... in a head-on collision with a bold blackcurrant  and a screechy white floral. These two halves... share a campherous smell, which kills the possibility of cloying sweetness. Buy the perverse, brilliant original, but wear it only if you know how to tell the joke properly.

Now you are thinking, well, this is a bit like wine tasting. In a blind taste test, experts can rarely tell the difference between certain estates and vintages. because our senses are subjective.(Yes and no.) Honestly, I don't care. My nose agrees with his - when I need a pick-me-up, I visit a perfume counter, then describe and rank five perfumes before looking up his reviews. I rarely disagree, even when I seem to disagree. For example, Balmain's Ambre Gris. The bottle is innocuous and not publicised. The name is the name of a generic sandalwood base, so the scent is rather predictable. As Turin notes, in making a scent dominated by a single base, the result is diluted and disappointing. On the other side, you get what it promises: a single sandalwood note that lingers without changing.

Turin can break down scents into their ingredients so effortlessly I am tempted to call him a savant. (He says the skill only takes a few hours to learn. Maybe a few of his biophysics, chemistry-dabbling savant hours, yes. I bet you anything he plays a musical instrument and can cook.) Half of his review is usually devoted the technical details: the elements, the notes, the construction, history, even price. The other half is flowery comparisons that make you want to track down that fragrance immediately and never wear anything else - or track it down and then pour it down a drain.

On his five-star review alone, I asked my mom to pick up a bottle of Bvlgari Black on her flight back from Australia. I had become interested in darker scents via citrus. Luckily, it was love at first breath. I remember sitting at a small breakfast table next to the kitchen, in front of a window. Wrapping paper and ribbon higgeldy piggeldy on the table. I sprayed the perfume on my left wrist and smelt something so purple it may as well be black, with a smooth skin, that smelt like sweetened liquorice.  Now, having worn it sparingly for eighteen months, I would agree with Turin, who calls it "hot rubber" (in a good way). He continues:

"At different times, Black will strike you variously as a battle hymn for Amazons, emerald green plush fit for Napoleon's box at the Opera, or just plain sweet and smiling." 

He always explains his choices, making you feel like an expert by degree. The perfumist, he says, went one step closer than using a pair of contrasting bases to using trio. The result has no "top notes", so the scent does not change, only your perception of.

Bvlgari no longer makes Black and Bvlgari's Jasmin Noir makes me smell like a bog monster, so I am always on the hunt for another bottle (mine is dangerously low) or a new favourite. I already wear Cool Water (not the diluted women's version) by Davidoff. My shortlist includes:

• Balmain's Ambre Gris
• Gucci's Intense - I have 'blind' smelt this twice, having forgotten the brand; both times I could still smell a trace of it this morning and it still had the sweet darkness that is slightly sweeter than Black
• Michael Kors' Signature - the clean top note reminds me of a sharp herb or aloe; like Intense I smelt the perfume and forgot the name
• Yves St Lauren's Opium - legendary
• Issey Miyake's Limited Edition - which predictably is sold out

Trusting Turin and various Internet forums hosted by fan girls and boys of Black, I am awaiting a delivery of Patchouli 24 by Le Labo via my sister. Said fan girls swear that this is a good (although not complete) replacement for Black, although they said the same of Khorous by YSL, which (yes, me of Cool Water) find too much like a cologne, with occasional, more muted notes.

See how much fun this is? For me, at least. Maybe you should try it yourself.

Once upon a time, I said I wanted to become an Epicurean, thinking this might ground my nihilistic shades. Something outside of myself to get me to stick a forefinger in the air and feel the direction of the wind (does that even work?). This hobby of identifying and describing scents - nevermind wearing them - is that wind. They need words and I have many (not as many as Turin, but reading and comparing his descriptions is cathartic, too). These words as well as the scents helps me find and steady the parts of myself that find themselves here, and on and on.

Luca Turin changed my life. Perfume changed my life - and sometimes saves my life. My bookshop is in Jo'burg and I am in Cape Town now, where there are few second-hand bookshops and none as well-stocked or organised, leaving space on Friday nights for my new hobby.

This is what I wearing as I type this

PS. I have eight fragrances, most of them cheap knockoffs, most of them interesting:

• Black
• Cool Water
• Issey Miyaki's floral - magic
• Le Occitane's Magical Leaves - given to me by sister, with a soap; heady and rich; one of my winter daytime scents
• A knockoff of Cacharel's Anais Anais - although the base fragrances argue among themselves like most knockoffs, I enjoy that and I but can't say why
• DKNY's Be Delicious - sickly sweet, repeats on me and gives me a headache
• A knockoff of Lacoste's Play - I once had the original, given to me by a friend; makes it good for casual days
• The Body Shop's Sun Kiss - me summer daytime fragrance; like colour-dyed sugar water