If I Were a Gentleman

I remember first opening the pages of Alain Lesieutre's "The Spirit and Splendour of Art Deco" and being completely overwhelmed.  The cover of the book was different to the one pictured below.  It was metallic gold rather than brown; a lush, rich cover.  This was my introduction to the extraordinary style of arts and crafts produced in France from the 1910s to the 1930s.  Nothing had prepared me for the richness, the sophistication and the extravagance of what I found inside these golden covers. 

The book itself, first published in 1978, is a lovely publication; beautiful photographs and elegantly produced.  But the one thing that made this book sink deeper into my psyche, even more than the lavish photographs of Ruhlmann's furniture, was the smell of it.

I had borrowed the book from my local library (I borrowed this so much that they may as well have just given it to me) and the previous borrower had left a cigar butt wedged between the pages.  A repulsive idea, I know, but having blown the debris out of the book, what remained within the glossy pages was a distinct smell of tobacco, not smoke, but fresh tobacco.  The paper and ink melded with the tobacco to produce an exciting and distinctly masculine smell.  I'm not one for saying 'this is a girl's colour and this is a boy's colour', but what I mean is that the smell reminded me mostly of what men might want to smell like, or, more particularly, what a gentleman might want to smell like. 

I have no idea what this refined and aloof gentleman from Melbourne smelt like and I must say, I don't really care!  What I am interested in is the nature of that complex smell that came from the library book, one which conjured up so much in my mind and was inextricably linked to the sumptuousness of the content and subject of the book.  How I'd love to recreate that smell; tobacco, paper, wood.  I guess I could take up smoking a pipe and surrounding myself with old books (halfway there), but I just can't justify taking up what I know to be a high risk habit for the sake of smelling like "The Spirit and Splendour of Art Deco". 

In the meantime, I must content myself with the occasional sniff of a pipe, or leave a notably fragrant  book open on my lap with no intention of reading it. 

Vintage photograph from my private collection.

Comments

[a thousand shades of twilight]

I'm not being entirely flippant when I say that I love the smell of Old Spice. That to me was the scent of the hairy 70s he-man! It takes me back..
I also like the smell of tobacco. It reminds me of my father. He used to smoke Dr Pat (which came from round green and black tins)in his pipe. It reminded me of a foreign, grown up masculine world which was very mysterious to me at the time!

[Furniture Quest]

Thanks for turning us on to the book. Will have to find it to add to our library of resources.

[Bali Hai]

A Thousand Shades: Yes, I kind of still like Brut, it's still a classic fougere fragrance.
Furniture Quest: It's a pleasure!

[Elizabeth]

I know what you mean. In that wonderful Proustian way, smell takes you so directly back into an experience. For me the smell of mildew and dust (achoo!) baked in Southern heat takes me back to my grandmother's attic and the joy of exploring the treasures stored there. I can still smell it distinctly and wish I could re-experience it - though it would be absurdly silly and messy to try and recreate it!

[Bali Hai]

I can recommend Diane Ackerman's "A Natural History of the Senses" which has a wonderful chapter on smell. That book makes me just want to rush out there and eat, smell and touch everything, well, almost everything.