Perfume, Power and Emmanuel Macron
Photograph Source: governo.it – CC BY 3.0 IT
Apparently, he is addicted to it. The French President, Emmanuel Macron, adores using perfume. The variety: Dior Eau Sauvage. Dior states that the perfume is characterised by notes of Calabrian bergamot and Papua New Guinean vanilla extract. The company is also keen to glorify elements of power and nobility in the scent.
Apparently, the use of that particular fragrance by the France’s head of state happens to be “industrial” in application, “at all hours of the day”, intended to impress “less-accustomed visitors” with “the floral and musky scent, as refined as it is powerful.” A former aide is quoted as claiming that the President’s use is far from subtle, a way of “marking his territory”. Former minister Stanislas Guerini is also found stating that “everyone holds their breath for a few moments before [his] arrival.” That’s if we believe the findings of Le Parisien journalist Olivier Beaumont in The Tragedy of the Élysée (La Tragédie de L’Élysée).
The field of scent and odours teems with what might be loosely called analysis of the self-evident and palpably obvious. Scent is worn for calculated reasons: for impression, the pursuit of sex, an expression of power. An article in Women’s Wear Daily from June 1990 is pungent with examples, much of it featuring garden gnome psychology. “Those who select a different fragrance for every occasion use scents as a means of shaping their social image,” Mark Snyder, a professor of psychology at the University of Minnesota is quoted as saying. “All odors trigger an emotional response,” one Susan Schiffman, medical psychologist at Duke University blandly states.
According to the book, Macron’s choice of fragrant dousing is driven by power – and ensuring that everyone else working with him knows about it. “Just as Louis XIV made his perfumes an attribute of power when he paraded through the galleries of Versailles, Emmanuel Macron uses his as an element of his authority at the Élysée.”
These revelations about Macron’s excessive use have caused something of a ripple. “It is one thing at a school dance or nightclub when you are a horny teen,” writes Zoe Strimpel in The Spectator. “Outside of these contexts, it can be a nauseating, terrible thing.” The Daily Telegraph dives into the shallow currents of social media to use the term“blusher blindness”, meant to signify “an inability to objectively gauge how much blusher one is applying – often resulting in overly roughed cheeks.”
Tips are offered for Macron with unasked, hollow generosity, many amounting to a shoddy excuse to plump for preferred products. (The “Mr President Could Do Far Better” discipline.) Fragrance journalist (they do exist), Alice du Parcq is more than up to the task. “Scent can be truly very potent, so if you’re spending time in close proximity to a lot of other people you should be a little more gentle with your approach,” she chides. Avoid, she advocates, spraying on wrists. Why not the top of each forearm? “This makes the scent last longer as it’s less likely to come off every time you wash your hands.” The fragrance lingers, as “the skin is more textured and it also clings to an arm hair, which is porous.”
The advertising note emerges from the opinions of Thomas Dunckley, who markets himself as “fragrance expert, writer, trainer, event host and speaker”. He suggests that products less concentrated in fragrance oils might be appropriate when seeking a balance. “An eau de cologne is a good way for a man to wear a pleasant fragrance without making a statement or overpowering.” He throws in the recommended products: Eau de Guerlain and Acqua di Parma.
The disciplinarian view is most evident in the commentary that accuses the French leader of revealing a character fault. As with one of his predecessors, Nicolas Sarkozy, size and stature are matters of comment regarding Macron, implying that a manufactured defect requires remedies of exaggeration. Small men demand large substitutes, broad covers, gargantuan distractions. The spare frame will not do.
If one has to use perfume, suggests Strimpel, why not do so differently? “A French leader might, one would think, go for something more openly, proudly elite, since he is not hamstrung by the modern British obsession with appearing to be one of the people,” she squawks. A fault is swiftly detected: immaturity. Perhaps Macron confused his abode of power with the school where he met his wife, Brigitte, “planting the seed (or perhaps it was the scent?) that would eventually lead her to return his passion.”
The fragrance analysts and perfumeries will be delighted to know that a head of state is so enamoured with a specific product. Those wishing to make a fuss about workplace attitudes and dispositions will also add, and have added, their worthless observations. Ultimately, the use, or otherwise, of French power would not come down to a fragrance but a decision marked by other considerations. The fragrance cabal and tabloid titterers may have you think otherwise.
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