Muguet
In Paris, Muguet is everywhere on the first of May. It’s a relic of the pagan past that hasn’t been snuffed out by a puritan disdain for adornment. So, as well as buying a sprig for reference, I always wear a muguet perfume.
The other night I dipped into a sample bag and – as if the gods were guiding my hand – out came Sophie Labbé’s Iceberg from 1989, a light, fresh, transparent bouquet of mixed flowers and muguet with sour and powdery facets.
It does have a slightly feminine feel, but it’s so far from the current gender codes it could be worn by anyone.