"PEOPLE stank of sweat and unwashed clothes; from their mouths came the stench of rotting teeth, from their bellies that of onions, and from their bodies, if they were no longer very young, came the stench of rancid cheese and sour milk and tumorous disease," the German novelist, Patrick Suskind, wrote in the international best seller Perfume, a story of murder, perversion and perfume set in 18th century France.
In this chilling Gothic tale, the abominable and misanthropic Jean Baptiste Grenouille indulges in gruesome violence in order to become the finest perfume maker in the world. This eerie and ghoulish perfumer sets about murdering virgin girls and captures the essence of his young victims' perfume by wrapping the cadavers in oil coated blankets. Using their scent, he strives to create a perfume of outstanding and unearthly magnetism.
As the possessor of the "finest nose in Paris," the pathological Grenouille finally uses his unearthly sentient powers to create such a perfume for his own, exclusive use. All who come within olfactory range of him fall prostrate at his feet in a state of sexual fervour and religious apoplexy. It is a sweet victory for the rancid Grenouille.
Bear's Grease
The fictitious but hideous Jean Baptiste Grenouille would to an extent have been a fashionable man of his time. Only his murderous obsession with scent would have set him aside. As early as 1770, when Yardleys began to manufacture bear's grease for men's hair, a vast array of spices, herbs and blossoms were being crushed and pressed to make male toiletry preparations.
At first, only bohemian aristocrats and dandies could afford to venture into the bathroom to douse themselves in lotions and sweetly scented liquids. Centuries after it had become more affordable for men to buy assorted toiletries however, many still viewed such items with suspicion.
As late as 1965, many Irishmen were still uncomfortable with the notion of buying aftershave or follicle enhancing bear's grease, as an article in The Irish Times revealed at the time. "Toilet conscious males," as they were called in the piece, were only starting to emerge in the first half of the decade, as sales of men's toiletry preparations in a leading Dublin department store began to burgeon.
In 1960, only £400 was spent by men on after shave, deodorants and lotions in this store. By 1962 this had grown to £2,000, and two years later perfume counters were being mobbed by anxious men, spending in excess of £5,600 on toiletries. The perfume renaissance had begun.
Scent Revolution
This renaissance took time to take hold. "Toilet conscious males" had to tread cautiously at first. Those who harked back to centuries of glorious male oblivion to personal hygiene had to be persuaded of the virtues of being "toilet conscious". The scent revolution for men even occupied the letters page of the paper at the time.
"To be without trace of offensive body odour (with or without deodorant); to be discreetly scented after a shave; to be clad in a shirt with a clean, tidy collar; a trim tie to match... and a well cut, elegant but unobtrusive suit to complete the ensemble. That gentleman is not effeminacy but masculinity to a T," one reader wrote.
As advertisements in the newspapers at the time showed, the scent revolution was accompanied by a growing sartorial awareness among the "toilet conscious man," who was encouraged to buy "unobtrusive suits" and underwear mysteriously "tailored from 13 body conforming pieces," equipped with "heat resistant" waistbands.
Sixties man began to see "looking good and smelling good" as a prerequisite to economic success in the Ireland of T.K. Whitaker's Programme for Economic Development. "In an age of business, it has become good business to be good to be near. In other words, the man whose perspiration smells, whose cleanliness is dubious, is, not the man to encourage trade, or custom or business," readers' were informed, two months after Sean Lemass led Fianna Fail to its 1965 election victory.
Sweet Success
The article went on to state: "A number of big Irish firms, when they become aware of a problem of this kind among their staff, male or female, take them delicately under their wing and give them some tactful help." So employees who breached the code of olfactory correctness in "big Irish firms" stooped under the clean and lightly scented wing of their employers to be "tactfully" told that their personal odour and personal cleanliness were "dubious".
Virile soap on the rope was dispensed to those who had not yet ventured into "a leading Dublin department store", to buy unguents and deodorants.
Naturally enough, this toilet conscious generation forged ahead in a sweet future, as the Second Programme for Economic Development predicted a rise of 50 per cent in the gross national product and an increase in exports of up to 75 per cent by 1970. What had once been spending on non essential items became a prerequisite for economic success, and the foresight of the toilet conscious allowed Ireland to join the bloc of the biggest users of personal hygiene products on the globe, the European Community.
By 1990, Europe outstripped the US and Japan in its use of deodorants, after shave and perfumes, the Financial Times recorded in April of that year. By then, Europeans were buying 34 per cent of such products, with Americans purchasing 30 per cent and the Japanese coming in third with 19 per cent. A quarter of a century after the perfume renaissance had begun, Ireland was at last on the scent of success.