My wife bought this for me at Caracas Airport, a strange place to find a classic French fragrance. It had long been on my wish list, and I was not disappointed when she brought it home.
Such a superbly crafted, subtly blended fragrance. You know you're going to smell good whenever you put this on.
And yet, after a year or so of fairly regular wear, I became too accustomed to it. Was it really that great, after all? Was it a little too artificially, dare I say it, sickly sweet?
I persevered with it, but I had my doubts.
And then, this Wednesday, I was jogging along by the old canal on my break at work, sweating and looking shabby in my Brighton & Hove Albion football shirt and tracksuit bottoms, getting more and more bedraggled in the warm, late-summer rain, when I saw a Chinese man on the towpath up ahead of me in the distance.
As I got closer, I could see he was dressed smartly in a not-so-expensive suit, but he looked dapper enough. He was just standing there, holding an umbrella in the rain, staring at nothing in particular, contemplating the canal, as if he were waiting for the rain to stop. It was a curious sight to see, among the usual parade of joggers and cyclists and mothers with prams, and as I ran past him I caught his scent, and it was, undeniably, Chanel Pour Monsieur.
It smelled divine, sublime, and whenever I might find myself doubting this scent again, I will remember this Chinese man, with his suit and his umbrella in the rain, and I will know I have made the right choice to wear it again.