Mai

For me, Shiseido Mai Parfum was one of those fragrances that fascinated me from afar, yet I hesitated to actually try it. A perfume released by Shiseido in the 1960s—a company every Japanese person knows—felt like something worn by my grandparents' generation, or perhaps even an older one. I could not entirely dismiss the possibility that I would smell it and immediately think, "This smells like a grandmother." (I don't like that description immensely, so I did not want to arrive at that conclusion.) Fortunately, it turned out to have little connection to the people of my grandparents' generation as I remember them. It is undeniably a very classical fragrance. The first thing that reaches my nose is a generous dose of aldehydes, followed by cool, aromatic herbs. To me, it resembles clary sage, though it could perhaps be mugwort. It evokes images of irises and Japanese irises—not the powdery scent of their roots, but elegant flowers standing upright, with long stems and thick green leaves. Then the florals emerge. Not the expansive, radiant kind of floral bouquet, but something quieter and more reserved. For a long time I found it difficult to identify the flowers involved, but after reading the listed notes, lotus and lily of the valley made perfect sense. Yes, there are probably touches of rose and jasmine as well, but they remain in the background. The floral impression that takes center stage feels greener, like a watercolor painted in white and the palest blush pink. The drydown changes character entirely, becoming a warm blend of musk and resinous traces. It reminds me slightly of the drydown of Bal à Versailles, though simpler and more straightforward. Throughout the entire composition, there is also a persistent powdery accord. Face powder. The scent of thick oshiroi makeup applied up to the neck of a traditional dancer. And "舞" means "dance"—more specifically, the graceful art of traditional Japanese dance. Even the bottle resembles the silhouette of a woman wearing a kimono. The restrained movements of Japanese dance, the tension hidden within its stillness, its elegance and dignity—if one were to express those qualities through fragrance, I imagine it would smell very much like this. From what I have seen, Mai appears to have two sisters: "禅" and "琴." I would very much like to smell them side by side and discover how they compare.