First is the only perfume I ever bought as a disguise. I was feeling fragile and needed to appear unassailable, a force of nature, indomitable until I remembered it was true.

So I wandered around Selfridges until I found an assistant who looked like she ate oligarchs’ hearts for breakfast and never smudged her lipstick, and explained my quest. She looked me up and down, from my scuffed brothel creepers and striped tights to my bad-breakup perfect hair cut, asked whether I wanted to smell heartless or terrifying –both, obviously– and stalked off. She plucked a bottle of First from the @vancleefarpels stand and held out her hand for my money without space for questions.

While Chanel no.19 might be the most famous psychic armour, First is a fragrance that can sweep down Oxford Street in a ball gown and combat boots at ten on a tuesday morning without a flicker of self-consciousness or the slightest snigger from a stranger. It’s as absurd and uplifting and overwhelming as the Leningrad Cowboys performing Sweet Home Alabama with the Red Army Choir. But it’s so perfect you can’t laugh at it, and you’re sure as hell not going to pick a fight with it. It’s fucking huge, and it owns everything.

I still find it ridiculously entertaining that Jean-Claude Ellena, the master of minimalist watercolours, created this glamorous monster.

So, Selfridges sales assistant circa 1997, you were a bloody genius. Thank you. Has anyone else made the perfect fragrance decision for you?

originally posted 10 June 2019