Sweet Treats Cate

I am certain this has amber in it, as it dominates the drydown hugely. This is an amber with trailing jasmine. Very sweet to the point of cloying.

This is a perfume I sprayed only once — into the air, never on myself. I didn’t like it, never have. But I decided to keep it in my drawer. Nine years ago, September. It was a Wednesday. I landed at London Heathrow at 5:45 a.m. to meet someone for lunch that same day — someone so significant in both my career and personal life that I can’t even explain how much. And this was after four years of not seeing each other, with huge changes in both our lives. Those were the years before I’d learned to be confident enough; I was far too self-conscious. The journey back to my hotel wasn’t long. After I settled, I still had three hours before the meeting — three hours to be more self-conscious than I should have been. Yes, great use of time, wasn’t it? How do I look? Do I look okay after a 14-hour long-haul? I ironed my trench coat — the first thing after I unpacked, of course — and put on some mascara. Damn, I didn’t refill my travel purfume atomizer! How could I be that stupid? Yes, stupidly self-conscious, and suddenly convinced that going unscented would ruin my entire plan because I’d planned to go in wearing perfume (yes, yes, stupid). The trip itself had already cost me a month’s salary, and everything was so damned expensive in London. What do I do? Lunch was at Heron Tower in the Bank area, on the top floor — a fancy Japanese restaurant. On my way there, I couldn’t stop fixating on not being in the scenario I’d planned (stupid, stupid!). Right by the tube station where I had to transfer to the Central line, there was a TK Maxx on Oxford Street. “Things need to go as I planned,” the stupid voice kept haunting me. I went in and spotted a 10 ml bottle of this in a triangular box. But there was no tester. The box was sealed and there was no notes description on the box. The only two decision factors were: it was purple — purple looks more serious than pink, so it might smell less cloying. The price said £7.50. £7.50 — not bad. If I only had a sandwich for dinner and skipped drinks, I could get this little perfume. So I grabbed it. “Are you close? I’m about to leave my office and head to the restaurant! SO EXCITED to see you,” my phone beeped — his message appeared on the screen. “Yes, I had to stop on my way, but I’m close. See you soon!” I replied. Waiting where we’d agreed to meet, I opened the box, took off the cap, put my nose close to the atomizer, and tried to sniff. I couldn’t smell anything, so I sprayed it into the air. Thinking back, it must have looked ridiculous and bizarre: on a Wednesday at noon, in a busy street in the Bank area where everyone was minding their own business and walking fast, head down — a Chinese girl, looking unsure about herself, spraying a bottle of cheap perfume into the air and anxiously waiting for a meeting. As it spread in the air, I realized the scent was exactly what I didn’t want on me: it was sweet and fruity, shouting, “I’m a girly girl — do not take me seriously.” That was £7.50 gone to waste. And there wasn’t even time for me to hesitate about whether to put it on. “Ah! There you are! I am SO HAPPY to see you. Come, give me a hug!” He appeared right in front of me before I realized. In a medium-gray suit, a super flowery shirt and tie. Tall, suddenly shading the light in front of me on an already cloudy day (welcome to London!). He extended his long arms to me and firmly gathered me into his. And I was hugged, unscented. All my insecurities and self-consciousness suddenly dissolved in that tight, warm, affirming hug. “OMG, you look great. I’ve missed you a great deal!” “Come with me, I have a table booked for us!” I quickly slipped that tiny purple bottle into my purse and quietly followed him... We had a wonderful time at lunch. It didn’t feel as if it had been four years since we’d last met in person. That same year, my employer put me on a global employment contract and sent me to different places. I started traveling across the globe, and my career soared. Now, almost nine years later, I can afford luxurious perfumes as often as I like, but I still keep this one in my drawer. That was the stupid, self-conscious me — full of insecurity — who always did her best to plan and tried to make things go as planned. Sometimes I see my current self hugging my younger self — the girl who was upset by her empty travel perfume atomizer, who was calculating the price in front of the TK Maxx clearance shelf, who was always in doubt — what if I’m not good enough? — who was overwhelmingly self-conscious. I want to hug that young self the way I was hugged that day — by him: my mentor, my best friend, my trusted career and life adviser, the person I deeply love and who loves me equally.