Coco

Coco is the fragrance that announced the Jacques Polge era. He had taken over as Chanel's in-house perfumer in 1978, and in 1984 he delivered a perfume that had nothing to do with the cool, aldehydic austerity people expected of the house. Chanel credits him by name and explains the thinking: the perfume was drawn from Gabrielle Chanel's taste for paradox, the baroque clutter of her rue Cambon apartment and her Byzantine jewellery set against the plainness of her clothes. The house calls it a mysterious, provocative ambery scent that gradually reveals its contrasting notes.

It opens on Sicilian mandarin, coriander and a soft peach, but that brightness is brief. What takes over is a spiced, resinous heart - cloves, mimosa, orange blossom and Bulgarian rose, thick and slightly church-like. Then the base does the real work: amber, opoponax, benzoin, tonka bean, labdanum, Indonesian patchouli and sandalwood, with jasmine absolute and Comoros ylang-ylang running through it.

Be clear-eyed about vintage. Coco has been reformulated repeatedly across four decades as restrictions on materials such as oakmoss and animalic notes tightened. The current eau de parfum is cleaner and slightly less growling than 1980s bottles, and anyone quoting an old review is describing something you cannot buy. It is still recognisably the same perfume - dense, spicy and unapologetic - but the edges are sanded.

This is cold-weather, after-dark perfume, and it belongs to the generation of big 1980s ambers that were built for rooms with coats in them. A Cape winter evening suits it; a hot afternoon does not, and the resins can turn heavy fast. Two sprays is a full dose and three is a statement.

Performance is excellent and always has been. Eight to twelve hours is normal, with a strong push over the first several, and it clings to scarves and coats for days. Coco is often confused with Coco Mademoiselle by people who have only met the latter; they are unrelated in character, and this is by far the older and heavier of the two.