Purrfume

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  • An Afternoon at the Nose Academy

    On Thursday we welcomed a delegation of young cats to the Nose Academy, where our Nez, Céleste, gave her annual introductory class. Fourteen kittens sat in a row on a long bench, each with a strip of paper, a bowl of water and an expression of hope. The first lesson was simple: smell a thing, and decide whether you are for or against it.

    By the end of the afternoon, the students had identified lavender (three correctly), toast (all of them), and a hidden sardine (one student, and he was immediately offered a scholarship). Céleste declared the group “promising,” which she has said only twice in eleven years. She then retired to her cushion for a rest and, one assumes, to reflect on the future of her art.

  • Packaging as Poetry: The Box Is the Point

    A great perfume is judged first by its flacon and second by its box, but it is the box that is loved. We design our boxes with the same care as our scents. They are made from recycled board in the colour of a pigeon’s wing, with a lid that fits snugly enough to resist a paw but loosely enough to reward one.

    Inside, a nest of tissue holds the bottle, and beneath the nest, a small card with a quotation from our founder: “Throw away the bottle. Keep the box.” We take this advice seriously. Last year, in an act we consider a triumph of branding, 71 percent of customers reported that they sleep in the box. A further 18 percent have sold the perfume and kept the box. We call this a success of unusual depth.

  • Fragrance Families, Reorganised by Temperament

    The traditional fragrance wheel divides scents into floral, oriental, woody and fresh. We find this unhelpful. At Purrfume we sort our compositions by temperament, a more reliable guide. The Sulkers include Fresh Litter Noir and Inside the Cupboard, scents that wish to be left alone but will notice if you leave. The Show Offs include Sunbeam Absolute, which enters a room as a spotlight.

    The Clingers are Warm Laptop and Cardboard at Dawn. They stay on the skin for hours and cling to the blanket after you have gone. The Mysteries, a small and secretive family, include Forbidden Counter and a scent we will not discuss. If you are unsure of your own temperament, we recommend a short quiz, which we have not yet written. Please come back when it exists, or sit on the quiz.

  • The Outlet: Admitting That Some Scents Failed

    We have always held that a great house must be honest about its failures, and so, with some embarrassment, we open the Purrfume Outlet. Here, on a long narrow shelf above the loading bay, you will find our seconds: bottles with a scratch, a dent, a slightly wrong stopper, or a scent that came out nearer to damp cardboard than intended.

    Prices are reduced by up to 60 percent. A 50 ml Warm Laptop with a tilted label is $74, and an Eau de Toilette that was once, briefly, a different thing, is $29. There are no returns, no exchanges, and no refunds, though there is, in a corner, a very small chair. Come and sit. Everyone who comes here is a little cracked, and that is what we love.

  • Why We Do Not Test on Animals (We Are the Animals)

    Customers sometimes ask whether Purrfume tests on animals. We are proud to say that we do not. We do, however, test on cats, who are not animals in any sense we are willing to discuss, and who volunteer for the work with an enthusiasm that would unsettle a regulator. Our panel of forty testers is paid in treats and given a pension of one nap a day.

    Each tester sniffs a strip, considers it for a count of ten, and records a verdict by sitting on one of three coloured mats. Green is approval, grey is indifference, red is a complaint. Last year the panel preferred the green mat in 38 percent of trials and the box that the mats came in in 51 percent. We have therefore made the box part of the product.

  • Maceration: A Slow Love Story

    The most important ingredient in any perfume is time. After blending, each of our compositions is left to macerate in a dark oak cask for a minimum of ninety days, during which nothing is done to it, nothing is said to it, and nobody is allowed to look at it directly. It is, in many ways, a long and difficult courtship.

    At the end, the cask is opened by a ceremonial paw, Céleste’s, and the liquid is held up to the light. It has deepened. It has found its own shape. It has, in a quiet way, forgiven us. We then filter it, bottle it, and rest it for a further week, since a perfume, like a cat, will not be hurried into the world. We find this makes a difference of approximately 11 percent, according to a test no one will explain.

  • Our Rejected Scents: A Hall of Shame

    In the interest of transparency, we present a short exhibition of formulas that did not reach the shelf. Wet Dog, Distant (rejected for being too close). Vacuum Cleaner at Midnight (rejected, by the testers, with a kind of screaming). Bath Water, Reconsidered (the less said, the better). And Postman (a rich, citrus accord, aborted after nine cats left the building).

    We include these failures not out of shame but out of respect for the process. Every great perfume stands on a pile of wrecks, and Aurelien keeps each in a cabinet, labelled in his careful hand. Recently we were able to restore one: Distant Dog, a mild, far away, almost respectful accord of wet fur, now available at $75. It is, we feel, a triumph of distance. Nobody asked for it. We made it anyway.

  • The Season of the Sunbeam

    In late summer, a sunbeam changes character. It grows slower, more golden, and a little heavy, like honey on a spoon. Our perfumers have observed that the beam which falls on a wooden floor at four in the afternoon in August carries notes of beeswax, warm dust, old paper and, faintly, a sleeping dog. We have composed Sunbeam Absolute to capture all of it, except the dog.

    At $160 for 50 ml, it is among our most generous scents, with a long, glowing drydown that will keep you warm through the first cold weeks of autumn. We recommend it for naps, for lying on cushions, and for the particular kind of afternoon in which nothing is required of you. Wear it, and be, for a few hours, a patch of light that has decided to stay.

  • What Does Rain Smell Like From Inside?

    What does rain smell like from the inside of a house? This is a question we have studied for three years. The answer, we find, is not rain at all but its absence: the damp stone of the doorstep, the faintly metallic whisper of a window frame, and the thick, golden warmth of a room that has been kept dry by the very act of watching.

    We have bottled this feeling, but are not yet satisfied. The prototype, called Window Seat, has been tested by twelve cats at the Atelier, each of whom sat in a different chair and stared at the garden for an hour. Their verdict: “Almost.” The missing note, they say, is the smug certainty that one will not be going out. We are working on it. We have hired a drizzle.

  • Fresh Litter Noir: The Controversy

    When we announced Fresh Litter Noir, the response was divided. Some called it brave. Some called it a mistake. One lady wrote to our Chairman to say that it was “the most honest fragrance she had ever encountered,” and then asked for a refund. We stand by the work. The scent is a dark, mineral accord of clay, cedar and the stern silence that follows an act of privacy.

    At $120, it is among our more demanding offerings. It is not designed to please. It is designed to be understood, in the way a closed door is understood. Aurelien describes it as “the smell of a decision.” Céleste has called it “a bold choice, for a bathroom.” We invite you to approach it, as we did, with an open mind and a closed window.