bodyshop

Our regular tribute to products we have loved and lost.

For me – and maybe any man who had their first fumbling encounters in the late 80s – three aromas whisk me right back there: Impulse body spray (“When a stranger suddenly gives you flowers, that’s Impulse”), Cacharel Anais Anais and The Body Shop’s Dewberry range. All girls seemed to smell of these back then. Sickly sweet, fruitily floral, heady high street fragrances that evoke thrilling assignations at school discos and Wimpy bars. If you were lucky, you might visit her bedroom, which also smelt of these things – plus perhaps joss sticks or a sandalwood scented candle. There’d be a Monet print Blu-Tacked on the wall, a smattering of Penguin Classics on the bookshelf, alongside some Judy Blume, Jilly Cooper or Jackie Collins. You’d snog until your faces were sore, then float home with a soppy grin. As you went to bed that night, you’d catch a whiff that had rubbed off onto your Avanti at C&A shirt, have a secret smile and slip into Dewberry-scented dreams of love.

 

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