Tags
afkc, alliance frança, expat, france, french, Girl, honeysuckle, international, journalist, language mistakes, le figaro, paris, perfume, sephora, travel
For the past few years, I have worn one particular perfume and it has really become part of who I am.
So, I was in crisis mode when the company decided to discontinue it (I guess it really was my special scent and no one else was buying it.)
Right after they discontinued it, I ordered a bottle off of EBay. But by the time I had finished that bottle, prices had skyrocketed. Guess there were other people who loved it after all.
It was sad, but true. I had to face the facts. I’d have to find another scent.
I came to that decision several weeks ago and I figured that there are worse things in life then shopping for perfume in Paris. I also had a teeny hope that maybe I could find an equivalent to my cherished perfume. With that goal in mind, I typed ‘honeysuckle’ into my favorite online dictionary.
When I saw the response, I sighed. ‘Chèvrefeuille.’ One of those over-vowelled French words that Anglophones like me shipwreck over. I kind of guessed then that this was going to be a difficult mission.
But I bravely set off. I went to Sephora, which happens to be close to my work. I approached the over made up woman standing idly by the perfume shelves.
‘Bonjour! Can I ask you a question?’ I asked timidly in French. ‘I’m looking for a perfume with the scent of chèvrefeuille.’
I kind of stumbled over the last word.
The woman’s face didn’t react except for eyebrows that shot up towards the ceiling.
‘You’re, umm, looking for a perfume with the scent of… chèvre?’
She had only heard the first part of the word. And there could not have been a more awkward result : chèvre means goat.
I had walked into a perfume store and asked to smell like a goat. That pretty much wins as far as language mistakes go.
I struggled to explain, but the damage was done. She had never heard of chèvrefeuille. Hoping to guide me in a better direction, she began to present me with random other scents. I thanked her and made my quick exit.
After a long search, I did find a chèvrefeuille perfume in France made by Annick Goutal. It smelled divine—absolutely perfect—but it was way out of my price range. So I adjusted.
New smell: rose petals, which smell exactly like the ‘perfume’ I made when I was little by gathering and mashing my grandma’s rose petals.