Mexican Vanilla. This is how it smells in Mexico

Sep 2

3 min read

Updated: Oct 16

Chilini Private

She breathed into her scarf, and by lunchtime a crust of ice had grown on the wool at her mouth and scratched her lips with every word. The skate-hire window was so narrow that a pair of skates only went through it sideways. The heater under the counter warmed only her knees, and her back, in its down jacket, froze against the iron wall of the booth.

In January the rink opened at ten. Before leaving the house she sprayed perfume on her neck under the scarf and on her wrists, always Mexican Vanilla, and in the frost the scent sat quietly, close to the skin, so that she forgot about it until evening.

After two the schoolchildren came. The skates came back wet, the laces froze into knots, and she picked them apart with bare fingers, because in gloves she could not get under the knot. Her fingers went red, then white at the tips. The queue stretched to the lamp post, and the window let in a steady draught.

At four the sun went down behind the buildings, and the frost at once grew harder. She lowered the shutter, pushed her hands towards the heater and pulled the scarf off her neck. The skin beneath was warm. A smell of honey and roasted hazelnut rose from her collar, and the vanilla under it grew thicker by the minute.

She raised the shutter. First in line was a boy with skates over his shoulder. He sniffed, drew in the air once more and said to his father: "Dad, someone's baking round here." The father looked round at the white rink, at the fir trees along the barrier, at the empty path to the metro. She handed over a size thirty-four and said nothing.

At eight the rink closed. She hung the scarf over the back of a chair by the heater. The crust at the mouth melted, the wool darkened with water, and while it dried it smelled of vanilla.

This is how it smells in Mexico.

How it wears

Vanilla arrives at once, thick and moist, and pine needles cool it from above, like the frosty air that comes into a hallway with someone from outside. Cumin adds a warm, slightly salty spice. In the cold all of this stays quiet, close to the skin.

In warmth the scent opens: roasted hazelnut comes out, and honey and beeswax make the sweetness dense and soft, with no stickiness.

Towards evening everything settles into wood. Benzoin lies down as a warm resin, mahogany gives a dry dark wood, and the vanilla stays on it until night, at the neck and in the wool of the scarf.

What sets it apart

The brand calls Mexican Vanilla a realistic vanilla that subconsciously recalls the smell of mother's milk and lifts the mood, and its motto is short: "This is how it smells in Mexico". It is a woody oriental from 2011, part of the Chilini Private collection, for women and men. In the brand's words the composition runs from appetising pastry to deep smoked shades, and the vanilla is surrounded by hazelnut, honey, beeswax, cumin and pine needles. One long-time admirer calls it a love across three generations: she wears it, and so do her thirteen-year-old daughter and her mother. Reviewers say it opens especially beautifully in the frost and warms you, and for some it lasts more than twelve hours. It is worn for the warmth that comes from your own skin when everything around is cold.