A Bottle of Travel Memories
Florence, Italy
When I returned from my fabulous, 12-day European jaunt in late November, I informed my husband that absolutely, under no circumstances was he to buy me any presents for under the tree. The trip was, I said, a Christmas/birthday/all other holidays gift rolled into one—and, bonus for him, it counted for the next five years.
So, what did he do? Went in halfsies with my daughter on a bottle of perfume, which she wrapped and put under the tree.
A bottle of perfume: whoopie, you might be saying. And, if this was just any bottle of perfume, I would be saying the same thing. Actually, what I’d be saying is, “Oh, umm, wow, thank you,” and pasting an overly bright smile on my face and trying to act like I’d been longing for such a gift, even though I rarely wear perfume.
But the 100 ml bottle that awaited me in packaging nearly as exquisite as the scent itself contains no ordinary perfume. My bottle of Officina Profumo-Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella’s L’Iris is an extraction of my favorite memories of Florence, distilled to their essence.
I flew to Italy in November to visit my studying-abroad daughter, who was understandably eager to show me her favorite places. (Some of them, anyway: I’m not naive enough to think that my 20-year-old took dear old mom to ALL of her Florentine hangouts.)
One of Lucia’s must-sees was a perfume store. While I truly didn’t care what we did, as long as we did it together, I admit to not being super enthusiastic about visiting a profumeria. When my issue of Vanity Fair arrives each month, the first thing I do is rip out the perfume samples and bury them deep in the bowels of the kitchen garbage can. On the rare occasions when I find myself at a department store, I circumvent the perfume sector so that I don’t risk getting sprayed. It’s not that I’m opposed to perfume, it’s that I dislike concentrated blasts of musky, hothouse floral, and/or eau de bug spray, which is what magazine perfume samples, the Macy’s perfume counter, and too many old ladies in CVS smell like.
“Umm, sure, okay,” I said when she floated the perfume store idea. Worst thing that could happen was that I’d get in the line of scented fire and have to change clothes, best thing was that we would be in and out of the profumeria in under five minutes and could move on to a wine window.
I realized immediately upon opening the arched, ornate wood-and-glass doors of the Officina Profumo-Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella (which hereafter will be known as “OPFSMN”) that I would not be having a Macy’s-at-the-mall experience. Founded in 1221 as a Dominican friars’ monastery, the place’s present-day vibe is “medieval chapel meets posh, old-money hotel.”
My interest was piqued.
Lucia and I walked down a high-ceilinged hallway and entered what originally was the chapel’s sacristy—basically, the priests’ locker room—that subsequently was a storeroom for cosmetics, fragrance, and wellness products. My interest was further piqued by vials of essences—amber, bergamot, cinnamon—once used in creating these concoctions, and by an ancient book promising to reveal “secrets against the plague.”
For the history of this now-swanky place is intertwined with that of the Black Death, the infamous bubonic plague pandemic that killed about half of the European population between 1348-1353. The friars’ home-based business boomed during this time, when their rosewater was thought to ward off the plague. It didn’t. If you want to learn more about the profumeria’s origin story, I highly recommend the article When Medieval Monks Couldn't Cure the Plague, They Launched a Luxe Skincare Line.
My interest having been thoroughly piqued, I attempted to head from the magnificent storeroom across the hall to a magnificent-looking showroom, but Lucia guided me down the hallway to a pink-curtained doorway.
“Blooming in Paradise: Immersive Art Experience, Artist Felice Limosani” announced a sign over the doorway. With a huge smile on her face, Lucia drew aside the curtain and revealed what is accurately described by the artist as:
“a paradisiacal landscape in constant bloom, painted with the detailed enchantment of digital light. A suggestive soundtrack completes the environment, which is pervaded by a suspended, enveloping fragrance. An immersive and all-encompassing project: without narration, it is meant to be experienced with one’s senses.”
I just wanted to dance around, grasp the projected flower stems, and breathe in whatever that delicate “suspended, enveloping fragrance” was, so I did. I think Lucia would’ve been more embarrassed except that she was doing toned-down versions of the same.
When we finally managed to say goodbye to Blooming in Paradise, we immersed ourselves in the adjacent paradise of OPFSMN’s showrooms.
We sniffed our way from one room to another and then: I saw it. L’Iris. Honestly, it was the packaging the attracted me—Italians are as all-in on gorgeous packaging as they are into ensuring that you pay for your ticket before you get on the train—but I was soon sold on the scent (olfactory family: green-floral-poudré) as well.
According to OPFSMN’s website, L’Iris “reinterprets the history of Florence, celebrating its many and multifaceted connections with the flower that stands as its symbol still today.”
For me, L’Iris evokes the happiest moments of my trip to Florence, from spinning delightedly in the chapel turned profumeria to which we returned twice more during my stay to discovering artisan workshops and vintage clothing stores on untouristed side streets with my daughter.
That’s why my protests of “you guys shouldn’t have gotten me anything” transformed into shrieks of joy and gratitude once I unwrapped this truly priceless travel memento.
I might even try wearing it—sparingly, of course.
What an interesting and beautiful place--thanks for sharing it!
This was lovely! I've been to Florence once, in 2013, and I still think of it often.