The renaissance of bespoke has been a gradual process, but as the century turned, with the elite looking for ever more unique ways of spending their disposable income, I suppose it was somewhat inevitable. Long established luxury goods providers have been looking to their well-planted roots for the means to move forward, flourish still further in their specialist sectors and mark their territory in the new millennium.

Floris of Jermyn Street, St James’s, founded in 1730, is not about to be left behind. To me, the resurrection of its bespoke perfume service is a very happy occasion. In a consumer climate where fashion labels make on average 30% of their income from sales of their mass produced fragrances (Gucci, Prada, Chanel, I’m looking at you), who wants to smell like the person walking down the street in front of you? Who wants to smell like spring season’s Dior? Wouldn’t you rather smell of uniquely of ‘you’?

The time honoured tradition of bespoke perfumery is certainly one in which the gravitas of the Floris name can hold its own. Arriving in the shop for my first consultation I know I am in the right place. Maybe it is all the rosewood cabinets, fittings and drawers with their brass handles and blown glass windows created especially for the great exhibition of 1851. Maybe it is the serenity of the atmosphere of the place, much like Holly Golightly’s reason for choosing to breakfast at Tiffany’s “nothing bad could bad could ever happen to you here”, or maybe it’s just because it smells of good clean heaven. I feel safe in its hands. Greeted by the extremely warm and softly spoken Shelagh Foyle wearing a neat, clinical looking little white coat, I am guided through the shop into the back room, completely confident that this woman has the technical abilities to satisfy even my nose!

I have the immediate urge to inform her that I am about to be one very fussy customer, as knowing myself rather too well I feel an “all cards on the table” approach is best. The consultation unfolds itself rather like an odd form of therapy, starting with what my mother wears, what I have worn in the past and any associations these smells might hold. This having been covered, the next stage is to take a stroll around the shop itself and identify likes and dislikes. Apparently my “oh no I don’t like that!” and “oh yes that’s delicious!” are equally as helpful, especially with my heavy emphasis on the former. Apparently this narrows the goal posts rather more quickly than just loving everything.

We retreat once more to the back room where my nose is offered still more. This collection of delightfully pure looking little glass bottles are complete with pipettes is apparently called the “perfumer’s organ”, and I am reassured once again that “no” is as useful as “yes”.

I think I left Shelagh in complete understanding of my initial statement that I find it incredibly hard to find a scent for sale that I actually like. But I must admit I am hopeful that this woman, a frustrated chemical engineer, can concoct something to delight me.