A noted perfumier once referred to my favourite scent as having the rancid, burning odour of ‘hot electronics’. Another championed it as ‘that rarest of things, namely a mass-produced scent that has asserted itself proudly’. I am no perfumier (and actually have only one functioning nostril), but I feel that both of these classifications are unjust. Davidoff’s Cool Water posesses an ethereal, refreshing quality for me, that in its very nature defies classification. It has an almost haunting odour that I have always found to be arresting. It took me several years to find its name, after catching faint wafts on trains, at school and in lifts. My eureka moment happened on a night out, when an inebriated drinker sprayed it directly in to my face in a moment of nozzle misdirection. I actually hugged him when he told me what it was. Then he sprayed me. I felt annointed.
Anybody who reads this blog even fairly regularly will know that I am obsessed by the colour and qualities of water, and I suppose it is almost inevitable that I would be attracted to this. Originally crafted in the Nineteen Thirties to resemble the earthy, moistened scent of wet Harris Tweed and earth-activated petrichor, I feel thast it truly does have a lucid, water-like quality. Like a soft drenching, its scent also remains long after the initial deluge. Indeed, it trickles away imperceptibly once I buy it, spray by subtle spray, and in this sense is perhaps truest to its watery muse. I wonder where it goes? Of course, I know that it probably evaporates, but I still imagine a subterranean cavern where it slowly collects. I would dive in to that cool water, and not want to ever surface.
Copyright Tom Tide 2017