In late 2024, I undertook the largest professional transition of my career, moving from the private sector to civil service, and spent the next twelve months struggling to feel even minimally competent again. It’s not lost on me that the perfumes I bought in that year fell into one of two categories, namely A. perfumes that broadcast a sort of clean, steely confidence in the office, and B. perfumes that soothed my nerves as surely as a down comforter or a plush toy. Cométe by Chanel is the rare bird that straddles both.
It has exactly the type of violet I wanted – soapy, chalky, and a very light hand with ye olde violet pastilles. The structure is streamlined compared to L’Heure Bleue, to which I’ve seen this compared. And, apart from an almondy thickness to the texture, it doesn’t really smell like most perfumey interpretations of cherry blossom I’ve smelled, which is good, because cherry blossom can smell a bit trite and girlish if not handled with rigour.
What really makes Cométe sing is its discipline. A self-sustaining spurt of ferrous aldehydes acts as the perfume’s whalebone corset, pulling the spray of stodgy florals together into a rigid zip. Everything that could be heavy now feels like thousands of soap particles exploded into space, drifting and fizzing silently around each other. What reads as soap to my nose could read as powder to others, of course, but I never get the impression of make-up, so this may even work as a dandified floral for men. I think the fact that the florals feel slightly chemical helps, adding an arch sensibility that almost approaches ‘man with a monocle’ levels.
Though strictly speaking Cométe is probably too strait-laced to perform the role of the fluffy blanket I needed, I moulded it to my needs by forcing it into uneasy company with my fluffy slippers and chenille robe and my seedy hotel room meals of shame (peanuts, crisps, gummy bears). And then I would pull it out again the next morning to armour up for the day ahead, like a three-piece suit fashioned entirely out of Laura Ashley print. I bought the jeroboam-sized bottle because, even though I now feel semi-competent again, perfumes that stiffen spines and soothe the soul in the same breath are few and far between.
Cover Image: Photo by MOHAMMAD AL JANNAT RAKIN on Unsplash
