I once saw a photo of the Pope (I think it was John Paul II) inspecting some building renovations being carried out on a beautiful old cathedral, and he was striding along with a posse of paparazzi snapping him as he examined the blueprints and inspected the masonry. He was dressed in his usual pope uniform and was sporting a construction site helmet. The caption read ‘In between a Frock and a Hard Hat’… I liked that. Today I feel exactly like that.
Some good advice was recently given on renovating my brand (logo and packaging and all that jazz). I became very focused on redefining the way I want to fit in (or stay right out) of the perfume juggernaut.
I know the mad hauter’s perfume party is all about selling the fantasy of glamour and opulence and that everybody in the fragrance biz is going all-out for ‘prive’ – money-spinning exclusive stuff with ornately fancy packaging and many claims *cough* that the fragrances contain high percentages of ‘real’ plant essences. Flamboyance abounds… it’s like perfumery botox – all the way from the logos to the labels and the bottles and the boxes and the ribbons and the marketing and all the supercilious sucked-in cheeks when speaking with the customer… that stealth glide of perfume sales assistants attempting to hypnotise and seduce Patsy into forking over the dough. Enough dough, in fact, to buy a getaway car (albeit an old Renault with a worriesome rattle, but nonetheless!)
In the end, I threw my hands in the air and said to myself… I actually don’t have to do it like this. I don’t have to follow the trend. I can’t afford engraved (or embossed) gold metal label plates or designer flacons or French catwalk models or cocaine launch parties or nouvelle cuisine luncheons sur l’herbe (unless the folks like pretty scrum’ home made quiche). I’ll just do it my way. I can have a different logo whenever I fancy. I can throw all caution to the wind and be frivolous and reckless and minimalist or baroque or wotevs. Maybe one day I’ll settle down…
Today’s black labels are a smash-up between Versailles gold-gluttony and my unswerving childlike bliss at pouring fragrances. Sometimes a little bit spills. My New Guinea rosewood desk will one day be adored by someone in the future who will lovingly run their hands along the gorgeous satin grain and inhale deeply. ‘My great grandmother made a lot of perfume here’.
It doesn’t matter to me about all that marketing guff about consistent branding. I’m not McDonalds, I’m an artist. At TRNP, the luxury lives inside the bottle.