Perfumers have structures just as buildings do, and many perfumers, like many architects, have imbibed modernism’s early 20th century precepts: eliminate ornament, simplify line, derive form from contemporary materials.

In 1999, the perfumer Michel Almairac produced a perfume for Gucci that was (and remains) virtually perfect. Its scent is marvelously, explicitly unnatural, as if one were smelling a coat made of the most expensive lycra. But beneath the surface, Gucci Rush runs on lactones, marvelous synthetic molecules that give off the fresh-chilled aspect of yogurt, with a hint of the plastic container it comes in. The genius of Rush is clarity without cleanliness. Its architectural cognate is the Bank of America tower, now rising at Sixth Ave and 42nd St. The skyscraper’s guts are advanced materials like slag-mixed concrete, but its facade even more closely reflects the perfume. This box is angled, complex, multifaceted. Its clear glass skin is washed in a milky, pearly whiteness, keeping it both warm and cool. Astonishing.