New Mown Hay
Floris (1850)

I cannot resist the rejection of the present that I feel, an almost pernicious disconnect. No, it is not merely the middle-aged malaise of a luddite clinging on to the past and refusing to remove the rose-tinted bifocals when recalling nostalgia. It feels more like a pathology: I shudder, sweat, feel unsettled, when I witness the rapid pace of information consumption spreading over humanity like a slime mold. It’s not that I refuse to accept—its just that I can’t. I’ve flirted with postmodernism and have admired new ways of thinking and learning, along with ways of unthinking and unlearning. Yet the ghosts of the past almost seem to warn me of the urgency: do not forget the way humans were before the rewiring of the digital age.

Why, you may ask, does this have to do with Floris New Mown Hay? It feels like a hologram of that ghost. Discontinued nearly 40 years ago, Floris has been known to produce small scale by “by request” since then, but for a hefty price. Thankfully, I received a tip from a good bean on Basenotes of bottles for sale and naturally I had to snatch one up, as I had only a small sample and was smitten. New Mown Hay, according to Floris “was created so that gentlemen could remember their country estates whilst in London.” Its charm is that it inhabits a liminal space between fantasy and realism. The notion of hay is embellished with romantic strokes, a bit more verdant than in reality, yet as coumarin-sweet as the cut grass under the sun. A significant amount of acetophenone, a powdery methyl ketone, smelling of almond-cherry-hawthorn-mimosa, harnesses it, along with a lot of lavender, geranium (with benzophenone), clary sage, and musk.

The result is sophisticated and proper, as to be expected, yet also dreamlike. It seems designed for reverie; a scented talisman to transport one to simplicity and leisure. Therein lies its magic for me: it is a fragrance that helps me reconcile the present, as it is very much obsolete. They argue that there is no such thing as "free will," but wearing something like New Mown Hay sure makes it feel real. Is there a "country estate" in my mind, in my imagination? If so, this sure comes close to it—at least a modest farmhouse to collect my thoughts and ponder my dreams.

A side note: it is alleged that New Mown Hay was a favorite of Cary Grant.

See also:
Oriza L. Legrand Foin Fraichement Coupé
Santa Maria Novella Fieno