He smelled like gin, jasmine, Savile Row suits, the scuff of leather soles on a polished ballroom floor—I fell head over heels in love. With the scent, not the man who inspired it.
I was told it had been created for The Duke of Windsor in the 1930s, and if you could bottle elegant, somewhat wistful decadence, this was it. When I received a tiny sample from Creed, I stashed it away like Gollum hiding his ring, sniffing it occasionally and with great ceremony whenever I wished to be transported elsewhere in space or time. I eventually lost it in the chaos of an apartment move and was bereft.
