FLASH MEMORY

My trip to the Fragrance Foundation Awards (don’t ask)

The economy might stink, but some industries are still determined to smell like flowers. Or, more specifically, like fougere, neroli, ambergris, patchouli. On one recent evening, the Fragrance Foundation took over the Lexington Avenue Armory to host their annual awards ceremony, the FiFis, which the group calls the Oscars for the perfume world. The celebrity perfume designers were playing their parts. “This is just like one of those weird dreams that you just accept and you’re happy that you dreampt it,” Diddy said backstage, after he won Fragrance of the Year for his Obama-inspired cologne I Am King. The ceremony, which featured crystal award statues, salmon canapes, the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack and many bottles of Veuve Clicquot, was somewhat of a departure from reality, he admitted. “It,” the recession, “effects all of us, you know what i’m saying? I have a business that appeals to middle America—if they feel the crunch we feel the crunch.”

Yes yes yes. But what, exactly, did the recession smell like? “It stinks it’s like garbage, stank garbage,” the entrepreneur and fragrance-maker explained (it can sometimes be hard to remember what to call him, and a few people referred to him, embarassingly, as “Puffy.”).

“A wet dog,” volunteered Simon Doonan, “but not in a nice way,” the way his Norwich terrier Liberace smelled. Despite – and because of – the stinky economy, the Barney’s creative director insisted men be more scent conscious than ever. “It’s good if men wear fragrances. I remember that time in the ’70s when it was part of a man’s virility to slosh on some High Karate or Old Spice. That whole anti- thing, thinking fragrances were somehow unmasculine, it’s not life-enhancing. You want to smell swashbuckling and pirate-y and fabulous, like Louis XIV, like the glamrock era. You think people weren’t pouring fragrance over themselves then? That whole austerity movement you’re part of, it’s very self-puntative. You need to just go home and drink a bottle of Dolce and Gabbana. The attitude of, ‘how freaky it is that person is reeking of perfume,’ it’s very 90s, very post-grunge.”

But grunge was, probably, the scent of the moment. “Smells like teen spirit,” said Marc Jacobs, Hall of Fame inductee (he was wearing something called Terre d’Hermès). “Smells good to me,” the polo player Nacho Figueras said. “I was just named the face of the world of Polo fragrances. I have a three year contract.” His job that weekend, he said, involved wearing the Polo cologne while competing in a charity tournament against Prince Harry’s team on Governor’s Island. (His favorite smell, he added, was “horses,” which do not smell like the cologne but rather “like horses”.) The actor Ernest Borgnine, 92, was less sanguine about the recession. “That’s why I’m not workin!”

On the red carpet, Dustin Hoffman (who once worked as a fragrance tester for Maxwell House coffee) said his proclivity for perfume was impaired by scar tissue in his nose. Still, he couldn’t escape the stench of the slowdown. “It smells like shit, but that’s what anyone would say.” He thought about it. “We need a metaphor for an answer, because the question is metaphorical….Decay! The culture and the smell. We – not we, collectively – but the people behind it were wanting something for nothing. That’ll catch up to you.” It had not exactly caught up with Paris Hilton, the winner of female fragrance of the year. “I’m doing my part, getting really involved in philanthropy work, and also continuing to go around the world and shop. People need people to shop. If I can do it, I will. People need people to buy things still.” Like, for instance, her new fragrance, Siren, a “sensual and sexy” perfume with a mermaid theme. Both men and women should be scenting themselves throughout the recession. “I was just in Europe and a lot of people don’t even believe in deodorant,” she said. “Not a pretty smell.”

Outside the party in the armory’s foyer, a few national guardsmen who were drinking beer in red plastic cups concurred with Ms. Hilton. “Definitely in Iraq, when you’re working sixteen hours marching the fucking land, you gotta spray yourself with something,” said Sgt. Steve Proctor, who served with the 42nd infrantry division in Tikrit last year. His solution: “Claiborne Sport.” Shortly afterwards, he and his colleagues climbed up the stairs to the armory’s balcony to survey the award’s after-party. “We can’t go down there,” another sergeant, Miles, said. Their staff sergeant, Stacy, disagreed. “We have military ID,” she said. “Let’s go. Now!” They marched downstairs and past the velvet rope. At the open bar, Stacy ordered her sargeants beers, slipped twenty dollars to the bartender and turned to face the party. “We’re going to find Dustin Hoffman.”