PASSION FOR SURVIVAL

I remember watching television airings of Cleopatra as a child, my mother knitting on the couch, lamenting the perfection of Elizabeth Taylor’s eyebrows while I sat on the floor with my knees under me, enthralled instead by the way her headdress jewels danced around her face.

Last week the ever graceful Liz Taylor underwent heart surgery, twittering (honestly, I’m still not used to this as a news forum) to the world late Thursday that she was back at home again already, healthy and recovering. And it shocked me, how much time had passed between her glowing role in the 1963 film to the recent pictures of the frail but still glamorous actress on the covers of supermarket tabloids.

When her Passion perfume came out in ’87 I felt like I was at a passion peak in my own life: I was 18 and about to finish high school, was awaiting my new beginnings at an out-of-state (thank god!) college, and at a legitimate adult life—- finally. I remember my wild Aunt Sheila just oozing the scent, her stiff bangs scratching against my cheek when she hugged me at graduation, while my mother raised an eyebrow.

My mother disapproved of Passion and anything else that suggested anything sexual. She was always a stern advocate for Chanel No. 5 and I’ve never heard of her even flirting with another fragrance. She lectured me the whole drive home from graduation about making sure I wouldn’t be one of “those” girls at college, wearing loud perfumes and short skirts, skipping out on class (and therefore on my future, she said). She also reminded me of the time she let me have dinner alone at Aunt Sheila’s, who let me have a glass of wine with the meal and I, a little tipsy and paranoid, drenched myself in my aunt’s Passion perfume to cover it before my mom arrived to pick me up.

I didn’t understand perfume very well then, or smells in general I suppose—- because it was the same as when I tried cigarettes and thought a piece of gum would cancel out the stench they left in my jacket. And little did I know at the time about “oriental fragrances “or “intense bouquets” , because about five minutes into the drive, Passion was just starting to hit its heart notes of rich jasmine and tuberose. And my mother’s back stiffened once the sensual blend wafted beneath her nose. As if it were a preview to my college debacles.

Luckily though, unlike the smoking, I still wore perfume after getting my business handed to me about it. Just the same as I continued being a fan of Elizabeth Taylor long after Cleopatra faded into the middle of her long filmography.

Liz, if you use Perfume.com (as you should) as well as Twitter, I’m glad for your recovery!

By Kiki D
Published October 16th, 2009 10:43

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