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A young Frenchman named Christophe Laudamiel was still in perfumery school when he first read Süskind’s book. What struck Laudamiel most was a description of ripe, juicy pale yellow plums and the girl who sells them to Grenouille, the first virgin he murders.
But what also struck him were his own similarities to Grenouille. Tall and painfully thin, the young Laudamiel wasn’t social. He didn’t always feel comfortable with people. He wore a red mohawk. In the novel, when Grenouille retreats to a cave in the middle of France to live the life of a hermit for seven years, Laudamiel understood. The day I become a perfumer, he said to himself, I will do something with this book.
Laudamiel would work on the novel’s scents alone, on his own time, evenings, weekends. No one knew he was doing it. He spent nights in the lab, mixing and remixing to find, say, the exact smell of freshly tanned leather, and would go home at 6 a.m. The first scent he created was Ermite (Hermit), the smell of the cave: damp stone, moss, pine, mountain wind, cold. He created Amour and Psyche, the best-selling perfume that Grenouille copies perfectly from scratch in the novel. Strangest of all, however, was Virgin No. 1, the scent of the girl who sold those yellow plums in the Paris streets. Years ago, an I.F.F. scientist recruited two young female virgins and, with their parents’ permission, recorded their aroma using a polymer needle. Laudamiel found this scent on I.F.F.’s shelves, then added the scents Süskind describes as clinging to the virgin’s skin: apricot, nuts, sea breeze.
Finally, Laudamiel took a deep breath and told Nicolas Mirzayantz, I.F.F.’s group president in charge of fragrances, about what he had been up to.
Mirzayantz was fascinated by one scent in particular, something Laudamiel called Human Existence. It was the scent the scentless Grenouille creates for himself. “You must remember,” Laudamiel says, “this character’s being born without a scent has made him terribly lonely, lost, ignored. Having his own scent makes him whole. It makes him human.”
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As Strubi and Laudamiel watched the rough-cut scenes of the film together, she came up with a different idea. What if you could create a perfume that would enhance your own unique smell, a perfume that would smell different on you than on anyone else? In other words, your scent identity.
Laudamiel was at once excited and dubious. Technically it was daunting. And they didn’t have much time; Constantin was shooting the movie quickly; they were hurrying to make the premier. He flew back to his lab in New York and started working on this perfume, which they eventually decided to call Aura. It would have to interact with skin. No head, no heart, no base. Perfectly dosed so that before you put it on, it essentially smelled like nothing.
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“You must remember,” Laudamiel said, “that the worst insult is to be ignored. That those who have no smell are nobody.”