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In addition to their usual fragrance lines' large hand blown glass atomisers, imported from the generations-old, family run Verreries et
Cristalleries in France, B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful has, since they first opened their doors in 2003, also offered exquisite
antique perfume bottles with vintage dates ranging from the 1880s - 1930s, all coming with twenty four grams of the B Never Too Busy
To Be Beautiful fragrance of your choice.
Originally, these antiques could not only be found on display at the posh, Victorian gold and crystal chandelier filled Carnaby Street B
boutique, housed in a gold gilt étagère of mirrored glass, but this ever-changing collection of well over 50 fine antiques at any given
time could also be purchased online, managing to become an integral part of the overall B experience, and serving as the final
touches to this parfumerie's ability to transport you to another era of intricately detailed elegance.
Even as B was only months into its existence, celebrities were quick to take note of B's unique atmosphere, eager to buy up these
exquisite pieces of European boudoir history. Britney Spears, for example, at the height of her career, chose a small crystal bottle that
could be attached to one's belt, choosing to fill it with 1000 Kisses Deep which, incidentally, is the fragrance that Mark created for his
wife, Mo, to celebrate thirty happy years of marriage. (Now two years later, with Britney on the verge of divorce, is anyone else noting a
touch of sad irony?)
However, in 2005, B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful was essentially relaunched. Their website was reconstructed, sans the
availability of antiques. Simultaneously, while they worked to open a second boutique in Covent Garden, their Carnaby Street location
was given a makeover, with the aim being to create a slightly more modern and approachable ambiance. In tandem, away went the
exquisite gold and glass étagère, to this day replaced with small, modern square wood bases topped with glass cubed showcase
lids, placed here and there throughout the store (and eventually needing to be locked, thanks to less considerate customers opting to
thieve their precious contents), and away went half of the antiques collection, which was now being divvied up between two shops. In
essence, the original vision of an antique boudoir was being played down a bit, and the changing availability and display of actual
antiques ultimately became part of that new presentation.
Me, ever since I first stepped into the Carnaby Street shop a mere month after its grand opening, I must confess to the sin of
covetousness, with a deep desire to be able to call one of their stunning antique perfume bottles my own. Each time I'd enter the
boutique, I'd immediately be drawn to that beautiful étagère, and would have to do my level best not to leave a longing nose print on its
glass door. And yet, owed to the triple figure price tags on each bottle (which, according to my research are actually a bit high, even
when you consider that the listed prices include a 24g refill bottle of fragrance valued at over £25 on its own), coupled with there being
so many beautiful luxuries to choose from, I'd stalled. Simply put, if you're going to drop £300 on a bottle, you'd better be certain you've
walked away with the absolute perfect choice, one that you're sure to never question. And frankly, I've never been the slightest bit good
at decision making. I'm of the "oh, just buy one of everything" camp, which wouldn't exactly serve me well in this case sans
consultation with a bankruptcy attorney!
So when they eventually opted to narrow down the selection, spreading their displays across the store where they were far more easily
overlooked sans a great deal of discipline, my credit card breathed a sigh of relief.
But that relief wouldn't last for long...
Two years later, in May, 2006, I had an appointment to spend the afternoon with Lush and B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful founder
Mark Constantine, meeting him at the Carnaby Street boutique (which is my favourite location, by the way, in no small part owed to the
fabulousness of Charlotte, the vibrant store manager.)
Before he and his lovely wife Mo so kindly and generously took me for tea at Liberty, he asked me if I'd like a tour of the B boutique. Of
course, not even knowing what sort of tour he had in mind, I still said yes. (I'd initially assumed he was going to show me the
basement, as he'd waved his hand about and said "well, you know all about this part of the store" to which I replied, "Of course I do.
This is where I spend about 90% of my income!"
I'll admit to being fairly nervous at first, happening to be in the one-on-one company of a creative man whose talent and perseverance
in life I genuinely admire, some of whose difficult beginnings happen to mirror those in my own life. Truly, his rise to become the
success he is today is nothing short of inspiring (and he should genuinely consider writing a book about it, as his life's journey could
doubtless set aglow the spirits of millions.) One of the first things you note about him is not just his passion and love of the art he so
playfully creates, but also the fact that despite a difficult early life of longing and abandonment, he has managed to maintain behind his
twinkling, childlike eyes, a deep faith in romance, peace, and beauty, infusing that faith into every aspect of his work. This in itself can
be a bit intimidating for those of us who have sadly traveled similar roads and yet turned out a bit more jaded at the hands of a life lived
with heartbreak's love and leave companionship.
So, foolishly nervous as I was, when one of the first things he asked me as he led me through the store was "Which is your favourite
scent?", silly paranoid visions of me giving the wrong answer on The Weakest Link and getting booted off the stage to the tune of a
shameful glance immediately danced through my overwhelmed head!
I put up a brave front, though, and confidently replied "Cocktail", which luckily met with his approval. "You have excellent taste," he said,
giving me an approving nod, as he led me not to the basement, but rather to a fragrance counter to begin our tour.
As it turns out, the tour he'd wanted to give me was a counter-by-counter exploration of B's various fragrances, with his sharing a
personal, inside creative look at what had inspired them. We began at the back of the store, fittingly beginning with Dear John, a
fragrance that captured his feelings about his father, who had left his mother when he was a mere 18 months old, and his life without
a male influence to guide him. Rounding the corner, I was introduced to 1000 Kisses Deep, being given visions of peaceful
hand-in-hand strolls along mossy banks with his beautiful wife, as well as heartfelt recollections of their times spent in Majorca, the
scents of which had created a cherished mental scrapbook in his amorously nostalgic mind.
At each counter, before providing an introduction with words, he'd spray the fragrance onto a tester strip so that each perfume could
announce itself through the silence of our senses. This was particularly fascinating to me, because soon after my nose would quietly
welcome each scent into my mental room, he'd begin to tell their individually unique and romantic stories with such soothingly warm
passion, that by the time he'd finished, the entire fragrance would change from base to top, as would my opinion and aromatic
perceptions of it. It's hard to describe the emotions that would run through me each time this occurred, but perhaps one word will
suffice: liberation. Liberation from judgment, from ego, from jadedness.
Each note of every fragrance he described in such detail, as if explaining the creative process of each brush stroke in a master
painting. Every fragrance had such a personal and fascinating birth, and each natural oil contained within was born of a specific
memory or muse. I found myself smitten even with scents I normally wouldn't have been drawn to, simply owed to how enamoured I
was with the organically evolved vision behind them, and all of the skilled artistry that had gone into bringing those creative visions to
aromatic life.
Of course, my jaded nature was bound to give me away at some point, and it's certainly no coincidence that it bubbled up to the surface
when we got to the Love fragrance counter. I complained about the new soap, now formed in the shape of two lovers' faces, the wind
seemingly blowing through their hair. I had only ever been able to justify wearing something called "Love" when it was previously
shaped as a "slightly broken" heart. He gave me a warm, knowing smile, explaining that most people simply didn't seem to want to
buy something that represented heartache. And yet, when he described the scent of Love, an ode to the first girl who broke his heart
as a young boy and similarly, the first to break his son Jack's heart (Jack's heart breaker actually going on to become a television star!),
I was quite pleased to learn of what's supposed to be an underlying "rotten apple" note. The alluring scent of warm, soothing,
comforting, softly sweet spices under which a slightly rotten core was hidden -- I was dealing with a romanticist, but one who didn't
base sentimentality on the classically beautiful and safe, but rather celebrating the ups and downs and all arounds of even the most
painful experiences life can offer.
This was underlined by the fact that he found Keep It Fluffy to be a little too "all is well, pink bedrooms and fluff, in a life that is perfect
and safe." I responded with my far less romantic perspective: "Well, as a New Yorker, I sometimes wear this because life isn't perfect
and safe. It just instantly makes me stop and be a nicer person. I've actually said there should be a law that every New Yorker must
own a spritzer of Keep It Fluffy. It will remind them to find an inner place of pink fluff from which to relate to those around them, even
while trudging through the concrete jungle at full speed." His eyes became thoughtful. "Really? I hadn't thought of it that way. I think I'll
have to keep that one in mind."
I must say I felt rather proud to be able to alter his perception of one of his works of art, in return for his already having done so
repeatedly for me. (Needless to say, my initial bout of nerves had by now completely vanished.)
And that pride quickly grew: soon after, I was able to prove my product privy prowess, catching him in an error regarding the history of
one of his own products, dating back to his Cosmetics To Go days in the early 1990s. "This used to be such-and-such when we were
Cosmetics To Go," he said. "Are you sure?" I asked diplomatically. "I think this was actually such-and-such." He even called his son
over to make certain I was correct. (Surely, he didn't think I had failed to study the gift box of Cosmetics to Go catalogues he'd sent me
as though they were bibles and textbooks, did he?) "She's right," said Jack. Mark practically doubled over laughing. "I knew you could
do that to me! I knew that was going to happen, and I was working really hard at avoiding it, too!"
He swiftly got his revenge, though. Fair and square, too. I was so desperate to learn about my beloved Cocktail perfume, that as soon
as we'd finish at one counter, I would deliberately wander over to the violet-hued Cocktail counter, sneakily trying to lead my own tour.
Only I'd look to my side and my guide would not be there. I'd find him casually standing at another counter, all on his own, waiting
patiently for me to join him, pretending to not even notice my strategic subliminal control tactics. After about the fourth time of this
happening, I joked, "You see what I'm doing, don't you?" He laughed. "Yes, and I'm not going to let you do it!" (This, of course, didn't
stop me from rebelliously giving it at least one more unsuccessful try. In fact, I think it may have subconsciously encouraged me!)
When we finally did make our way over to the Cocktail counter (which, of course, he saved for last), his revenge automatically doubled.
Nay, tripled in my eyes! He sprayed a bit of Cocktail onto my wrist and then sprayed a bit onto his own, his point being to show me how
this particular scent smells completely different on each person. And turns out, it was a point well taken. It really does smell
completely different on every single person! I sniffed my wrist and proudly announced that this fragrance, his own clear favourite based
on his earlier remarks, smelled positively fabulous on me. He sniffed it as well, spoke not a word, and then raised his own wrist to my
nose.
And what did I find? (Cue envy.) My beloved Cocktail smelled better on Mark than it did on me! So much better, that it altogether
became an entirely different perfume and one that I found myself absolutely desperate to own! With one inhalation, my trademark
scent had utterly betrayed me! I felt like I hardly knew her; all this time, she'd only been giving our relationship half effort! Even later,
over tea, I kept smelling my wrist to see if time would carry me through to victory in extra minutes. Yet though the artist himself was
indeed thoroughly impressed with the blossoming of this scent on my skin, even exclaiming "wow" at one point, we'd have yet another
sniff of his wrist and it would still smell twice as beautiful on his skin. To this day, I can't tell you how jealous I am of his natural body
chemistry. I want the version of Cocktail that he is wearing! And I want it now! But alas, I can throw a million Veruca Salt tantrums in
this particular Willy Wonka's factory, and it will still never be mine!
Add insult to injury: I got so caught up in how good Cocktail smelled on him, that I didn't even get my romantic detailing of Cocktail's
history. All I got was a mention of old Hollywood glamour, and a long stream of shared laughter following his cheeky declaration of
"Well it bloody well smell better on me! I created it!"
Final score: 3 - 1 to Mr. Constantine!
He then took me around Lush and gave me the creative background to each product there, as well. (I managed to ask a few decent
questions. Which product line is he most proud of at Lush? Massage Bars. Mo's favourite personal creation throughout her career?
She answered Angels On Bare Skin. Mark's favourite creation? Without pause, his answer was Dream Cream.)
And then we were off to have tea at Liberty. (Great minds think alike: we both chose jasmine blossom tea, and if you ever get a chance
to take tea at Liberty, you must try it. This is some of the best jasmine tea you'll ever find, I promise.)
It was at tea that I was able to fully absorb my wonderful experience at B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful with Mark, even as we were
chatting away about all sorts. To me, it felt as though I'd just toured the National Gallery with the head curator as my guide!
Every work of art requires proper framing, I thought. And so I decided that I needed to "frame" my favourite Cocktail fragrance in one of
B's extravagant antique bottles. My time had come to finally call one of those lovely luxuries my own, the perfect souvenir to remember
such a perfect, sensually enlightening day.
And to overcome my three year fear of actually having to choose my own antique -- something I'd no doubt cherish for many years to
come, if not regarding it a family keepsake that could be passed down through future generations -- I decided that I wanted Mark
Constantine, the founder of my all-time favourite cosmetics company, to choose a bottle from his collection for me.
And this time, I didn't care about the shockingly expensive price tags, even as Mark cringed at the mere mention of my wanting to make
such a large purchase. He was quite nervous about taking on the responsibility of choosing such an expensive piece for me, firmly
having practical matters such as finances on the mind as he tried to get off the hook by saying "well, how about you choose the bottle,
and I give you a discount?" Not good enough for me. I didn't want the discount. My only wish was that after having been so moved by
the thoughts, feelings, people, relationships, and experiences he'd infused into each of his works of art, that he would pick a bottle for
my favourite perfume -- one that he, the fragrance's designer, felt best embodied the spirit of Cocktail as he had envisioned it.
So, we returned to the boutique and had a look around the shop at various cases containing preciously etched crystals, some dated
as far back as the 1800s, with his favourites seeming to be from Czechoslovakia.
And then he quickly recruited his son, Jack, to our cause, praising him for his "exquisite taste."
Truly, never before has a compliment been so well deserved. Bringing Jack on board was a darn smart move on Mark's part, and one
I'm so very glad he made (even if I did chide him for being as poor a decision maker as myself, considering we were both clearly
actively seeking to pass the buck!) Not only did I now have the pleasure of meeting his warmly welcoming, outgoing, upbeat, and
attentive son (as well as his daughter -- I swear I felt like I was spending the day at a Constantine family do), but considering B's
antique collection is now scattered around the store as opposed to being confined to one étagère as in times past, Jack was also able
to immediately direct us to yet another otherwise unseen case in a remote corner, behind a counter. This case, he said, contained his
unquestionable favourite.
Inside sat an exquisite Art Deco Czechoslovakian diamond-cut crystal bottle from the 1920s (this decade incidentally bearing my all
time favourite social, art, and fashion era). Much larger than all the others, with three colours blown into the glass, thus giving it an
entirely different look from every angle, I instantly fell in love with its bold elegance, set off by a strikingly powerful lid: in yellow-green
crystal was what almost appeared to be a warrior's spearhead, indicating not only femininity in its curvature, but also great strength. It
was like no other in the store -- and in fact, like no other I've ever seen on display in all my years as a B customer -- even regally having
been displayed on its own, unlike the other smaller bottles in the shop that were forced to share each case's stage with several others.
Mark took out his reading glasses and closely examined this bottle against all of the others on offer. For him, it was between this
bottle (pictured at the top of this page), and a small red glass Czechoslovakian bottle (pictured below with several others). The red
bottle he felt, while not nearly as eye-catching, was guaranteed to retain, if not increase, in value, simply because Czechoslovakian red
glass remains particularly sought after, due to the painstaking process by which it was manufactured in the early 1900s.
Concluding his examination, he said "For appearance, I'd go with the bottle that Jack showed us. Otherwise, I'd go for the red bottle,
but that's only because I'm trying to be practical."
"Practical? Practical?!" I was shocked! "Considering you're the man who created Shower Jellies, the most impractical things on earth
-- may I never have to chase another down the drain again -- this is not the time to suddenly go all practical on me!" I laughed.
He instantly smiled, stepped away from the red bottle and made his decision. "Go for the other one. It's more elegant, like you."
And so, it was a done deal. Charlotte ran off to retrieve a gigantic metallic gold box, while Jack gingerly removed my bottle from it's
case, setting it on the main counter where it could be admired one last time by both staff and customers alike who had already taken
quite a shine to it. One sales associate, in the most solemnly earnest voice, even explained, "No, no. I'm so sorry, but they've made a
mistake. You can't buy that because it's been placed on reserve for someone." I swear my heart stopped beating. It wasn't until she
playfully yelled "It's mine! It's mine!" that I narrowly escaped going into cardiac arrest!
Once all the necessary shimmering accoutrements had been gathered, Charlotte wrapped my delicate piece of vintage gorgeousness
in layer after layer of golden tissue, threw in several handfuls of glittering confetti, and then my hero for the day, Jack, put on the
finishing touches with a lovely gold bow.
I had a fabulous day learning about Mark's creative process for each product in both B and Lush. I will forever be grateful to both him
and his wife for taking time out of their hectic schedules to spend several hours with me, chatting about all sorts over tea, introducing
me to their family, and sharing stories about their lives and careers.
My elegant (like me!) bottle now sits proudly on display in my home -- on a Louis XVI style vanity table that I have since purchased
specifically in this bottle's honour (because nothing less would do). I finally own a piece of history displayed at B Never Too Busy To
Be Beautiful, chosen and packaged for me by several members of what's clearly a remarkable family built on over thirty years of love,
respect, and shared creativity -- a family with whom I was blessed to spend a lovely spring afternoon in London.
Eh, maybe I'm not that jaded after all. But even if I am, every time I look at my beautiful antique souvenir from that day, filled with the
physical manifestation of one man's undying faith in beauty, romance and the continued creation of unbridled elegance from bygone
eras when life seemed so much simpler, yet was painstakingly handcrafted with so much more carefully applied detail, I'm reminded
that I shouldn't be.
La vie et l'amour sont beaux.
And that includes all of the little so-called ugly bits, because they help to make us who were are.
And there's nothing more beautiful than that.
Cristalleries in France, B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful has, since they first opened their doors in 2003, also offered exquisite
antique perfume bottles with vintage dates ranging from the 1880s - 1930s, all coming with twenty four grams of the B Never Too Busy
To Be Beautiful fragrance of your choice.
Originally, these antiques could not only be found on display at the posh, Victorian gold and crystal chandelier filled Carnaby Street B
boutique, housed in a gold gilt étagère of mirrored glass, but this ever-changing collection of well over 50 fine antiques at any given
time could also be purchased online, managing to become an integral part of the overall B experience, and serving as the final
touches to this parfumerie's ability to transport you to another era of intricately detailed elegance.
Even as B was only months into its existence, celebrities were quick to take note of B's unique atmosphere, eager to buy up these
exquisite pieces of European boudoir history. Britney Spears, for example, at the height of her career, chose a small crystal bottle that
could be attached to one's belt, choosing to fill it with 1000 Kisses Deep which, incidentally, is the fragrance that Mark created for his
wife, Mo, to celebrate thirty happy years of marriage. (Now two years later, with Britney on the verge of divorce, is anyone else noting a
touch of sad irony?)
However, in 2005, B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful was essentially relaunched. Their website was reconstructed, sans the
availability of antiques. Simultaneously, while they worked to open a second boutique in Covent Garden, their Carnaby Street location
was given a makeover, with the aim being to create a slightly more modern and approachable ambiance. In tandem, away went the
exquisite gold and glass étagère, to this day replaced with small, modern square wood bases topped with glass cubed showcase
lids, placed here and there throughout the store (and eventually needing to be locked, thanks to less considerate customers opting to
thieve their precious contents), and away went half of the antiques collection, which was now being divvied up between two shops. In
essence, the original vision of an antique boudoir was being played down a bit, and the changing availability and display of actual
antiques ultimately became part of that new presentation.
Me, ever since I first stepped into the Carnaby Street shop a mere month after its grand opening, I must confess to the sin of
covetousness, with a deep desire to be able to call one of their stunning antique perfume bottles my own. Each time I'd enter the
boutique, I'd immediately be drawn to that beautiful étagère, and would have to do my level best not to leave a longing nose print on its
glass door. And yet, owed to the triple figure price tags on each bottle (which, according to my research are actually a bit high, even
when you consider that the listed prices include a 24g refill bottle of fragrance valued at over £25 on its own), coupled with there being
so many beautiful luxuries to choose from, I'd stalled. Simply put, if you're going to drop £300 on a bottle, you'd better be certain you've
walked away with the absolute perfect choice, one that you're sure to never question. And frankly, I've never been the slightest bit good
at decision making. I'm of the "oh, just buy one of everything" camp, which wouldn't exactly serve me well in this case sans
consultation with a bankruptcy attorney!
So when they eventually opted to narrow down the selection, spreading their displays across the store where they were far more easily
overlooked sans a great deal of discipline, my credit card breathed a sigh of relief.
But that relief wouldn't last for long...
Two years later, in May, 2006, I had an appointment to spend the afternoon with Lush and B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful founder
Mark Constantine, meeting him at the Carnaby Street boutique (which is my favourite location, by the way, in no small part owed to the
fabulousness of Charlotte, the vibrant store manager.)
Before he and his lovely wife Mo so kindly and generously took me for tea at Liberty, he asked me if I'd like a tour of the B boutique. Of
course, not even knowing what sort of tour he had in mind, I still said yes. (I'd initially assumed he was going to show me the
basement, as he'd waved his hand about and said "well, you know all about this part of the store" to which I replied, "Of course I do.
This is where I spend about 90% of my income!"
I'll admit to being fairly nervous at first, happening to be in the one-on-one company of a creative man whose talent and perseverance
in life I genuinely admire, some of whose difficult beginnings happen to mirror those in my own life. Truly, his rise to become the
success he is today is nothing short of inspiring (and he should genuinely consider writing a book about it, as his life's journey could
doubtless set aglow the spirits of millions.) One of the first things you note about him is not just his passion and love of the art he so
playfully creates, but also the fact that despite a difficult early life of longing and abandonment, he has managed to maintain behind his
twinkling, childlike eyes, a deep faith in romance, peace, and beauty, infusing that faith into every aspect of his work. This in itself can
be a bit intimidating for those of us who have sadly traveled similar roads and yet turned out a bit more jaded at the hands of a life lived
with heartbreak's love and leave companionship.
So, foolishly nervous as I was, when one of the first things he asked me as he led me through the store was "Which is your favourite
scent?", silly paranoid visions of me giving the wrong answer on The Weakest Link and getting booted off the stage to the tune of a
shameful glance immediately danced through my overwhelmed head!
I put up a brave front, though, and confidently replied "Cocktail", which luckily met with his approval. "You have excellent taste," he said,
giving me an approving nod, as he led me not to the basement, but rather to a fragrance counter to begin our tour.
As it turns out, the tour he'd wanted to give me was a counter-by-counter exploration of B's various fragrances, with his sharing a
personal, inside creative look at what had inspired them. We began at the back of the store, fittingly beginning with Dear John, a
fragrance that captured his feelings about his father, who had left his mother when he was a mere 18 months old, and his life without
a male influence to guide him. Rounding the corner, I was introduced to 1000 Kisses Deep, being given visions of peaceful
hand-in-hand strolls along mossy banks with his beautiful wife, as well as heartfelt recollections of their times spent in Majorca, the
scents of which had created a cherished mental scrapbook in his amorously nostalgic mind.
At each counter, before providing an introduction with words, he'd spray the fragrance onto a tester strip so that each perfume could
announce itself through the silence of our senses. This was particularly fascinating to me, because soon after my nose would quietly
welcome each scent into my mental room, he'd begin to tell their individually unique and romantic stories with such soothingly warm
passion, that by the time he'd finished, the entire fragrance would change from base to top, as would my opinion and aromatic
perceptions of it. It's hard to describe the emotions that would run through me each time this occurred, but perhaps one word will
suffice: liberation. Liberation from judgment, from ego, from jadedness.
Each note of every fragrance he described in such detail, as if explaining the creative process of each brush stroke in a master
painting. Every fragrance had such a personal and fascinating birth, and each natural oil contained within was born of a specific
memory or muse. I found myself smitten even with scents I normally wouldn't have been drawn to, simply owed to how enamoured I
was with the organically evolved vision behind them, and all of the skilled artistry that had gone into bringing those creative visions to
aromatic life.
Of course, my jaded nature was bound to give me away at some point, and it's certainly no coincidence that it bubbled up to the surface
when we got to the Love fragrance counter. I complained about the new soap, now formed in the shape of two lovers' faces, the wind
seemingly blowing through their hair. I had only ever been able to justify wearing something called "Love" when it was previously
shaped as a "slightly broken" heart. He gave me a warm, knowing smile, explaining that most people simply didn't seem to want to
buy something that represented heartache. And yet, when he described the scent of Love, an ode to the first girl who broke his heart
as a young boy and similarly, the first to break his son Jack's heart (Jack's heart breaker actually going on to become a television star!),
I was quite pleased to learn of what's supposed to be an underlying "rotten apple" note. The alluring scent of warm, soothing,
comforting, softly sweet spices under which a slightly rotten core was hidden -- I was dealing with a romanticist, but one who didn't
base sentimentality on the classically beautiful and safe, but rather celebrating the ups and downs and all arounds of even the most
painful experiences life can offer.
This was underlined by the fact that he found Keep It Fluffy to be a little too "all is well, pink bedrooms and fluff, in a life that is perfect
and safe." I responded with my far less romantic perspective: "Well, as a New Yorker, I sometimes wear this because life isn't perfect
and safe. It just instantly makes me stop and be a nicer person. I've actually said there should be a law that every New Yorker must
own a spritzer of Keep It Fluffy. It will remind them to find an inner place of pink fluff from which to relate to those around them, even
while trudging through the concrete jungle at full speed." His eyes became thoughtful. "Really? I hadn't thought of it that way. I think I'll
have to keep that one in mind."
I must say I felt rather proud to be able to alter his perception of one of his works of art, in return for his already having done so
repeatedly for me. (Needless to say, my initial bout of nerves had by now completely vanished.)
And that pride quickly grew: soon after, I was able to prove my product privy prowess, catching him in an error regarding the history of
one of his own products, dating back to his Cosmetics To Go days in the early 1990s. "This used to be such-and-such when we were
Cosmetics To Go," he said. "Are you sure?" I asked diplomatically. "I think this was actually such-and-such." He even called his son
over to make certain I was correct. (Surely, he didn't think I had failed to study the gift box of Cosmetics to Go catalogues he'd sent me
as though they were bibles and textbooks, did he?) "She's right," said Jack. Mark practically doubled over laughing. "I knew you could
do that to me! I knew that was going to happen, and I was working really hard at avoiding it, too!"
He swiftly got his revenge, though. Fair and square, too. I was so desperate to learn about my beloved Cocktail perfume, that as soon
as we'd finish at one counter, I would deliberately wander over to the violet-hued Cocktail counter, sneakily trying to lead my own tour.
Only I'd look to my side and my guide would not be there. I'd find him casually standing at another counter, all on his own, waiting
patiently for me to join him, pretending to not even notice my strategic subliminal control tactics. After about the fourth time of this
happening, I joked, "You see what I'm doing, don't you?" He laughed. "Yes, and I'm not going to let you do it!" (This, of course, didn't
stop me from rebelliously giving it at least one more unsuccessful try. In fact, I think it may have subconsciously encouraged me!)
When we finally did make our way over to the Cocktail counter (which, of course, he saved for last), his revenge automatically doubled.
Nay, tripled in my eyes! He sprayed a bit of Cocktail onto my wrist and then sprayed a bit onto his own, his point being to show me how
this particular scent smells completely different on each person. And turns out, it was a point well taken. It really does smell
completely different on every single person! I sniffed my wrist and proudly announced that this fragrance, his own clear favourite based
on his earlier remarks, smelled positively fabulous on me. He sniffed it as well, spoke not a word, and then raised his own wrist to my
nose.
And what did I find? (Cue envy.) My beloved Cocktail smelled better on Mark than it did on me! So much better, that it altogether
became an entirely different perfume and one that I found myself absolutely desperate to own! With one inhalation, my trademark
scent had utterly betrayed me! I felt like I hardly knew her; all this time, she'd only been giving our relationship half effort! Even later,
over tea, I kept smelling my wrist to see if time would carry me through to victory in extra minutes. Yet though the artist himself was
indeed thoroughly impressed with the blossoming of this scent on my skin, even exclaiming "wow" at one point, we'd have yet another
sniff of his wrist and it would still smell twice as beautiful on his skin. To this day, I can't tell you how jealous I am of his natural body
chemistry. I want the version of Cocktail that he is wearing! And I want it now! But alas, I can throw a million Veruca Salt tantrums in
this particular Willy Wonka's factory, and it will still never be mine!
Add insult to injury: I got so caught up in how good Cocktail smelled on him, that I didn't even get my romantic detailing of Cocktail's
history. All I got was a mention of old Hollywood glamour, and a long stream of shared laughter following his cheeky declaration of
"Well it bloody well smell better on me! I created it!"
Final score: 3 - 1 to Mr. Constantine!
He then took me around Lush and gave me the creative background to each product there, as well. (I managed to ask a few decent
questions. Which product line is he most proud of at Lush? Massage Bars. Mo's favourite personal creation throughout her career?
She answered Angels On Bare Skin. Mark's favourite creation? Without pause, his answer was Dream Cream.)
And then we were off to have tea at Liberty. (Great minds think alike: we both chose jasmine blossom tea, and if you ever get a chance
to take tea at Liberty, you must try it. This is some of the best jasmine tea you'll ever find, I promise.)
It was at tea that I was able to fully absorb my wonderful experience at B Never Too Busy To Be Beautiful with Mark, even as we were
chatting away about all sorts. To me, it felt as though I'd just toured the National Gallery with the head curator as my guide!
Every work of art requires proper framing, I thought. And so I decided that I needed to "frame" my favourite Cocktail fragrance in one of
B's extravagant antique bottles. My time had come to finally call one of those lovely luxuries my own, the perfect souvenir to remember
such a perfect, sensually enlightening day.
And to overcome my three year fear of actually having to choose my own antique -- something I'd no doubt cherish for many years to
come, if not regarding it a family keepsake that could be passed down through future generations -- I decided that I wanted Mark
Constantine, the founder of my all-time favourite cosmetics company, to choose a bottle from his collection for me.
And this time, I didn't care about the shockingly expensive price tags, even as Mark cringed at the mere mention of my wanting to make
such a large purchase. He was quite nervous about taking on the responsibility of choosing such an expensive piece for me, firmly
having practical matters such as finances on the mind as he tried to get off the hook by saying "well, how about you choose the bottle,
and I give you a discount?" Not good enough for me. I didn't want the discount. My only wish was that after having been so moved by
the thoughts, feelings, people, relationships, and experiences he'd infused into each of his works of art, that he would pick a bottle for
my favourite perfume -- one that he, the fragrance's designer, felt best embodied the spirit of Cocktail as he had envisioned it.
So, we returned to the boutique and had a look around the shop at various cases containing preciously etched crystals, some dated
as far back as the 1800s, with his favourites seeming to be from Czechoslovakia.
And then he quickly recruited his son, Jack, to our cause, praising him for his "exquisite taste."
Truly, never before has a compliment been so well deserved. Bringing Jack on board was a darn smart move on Mark's part, and one
I'm so very glad he made (even if I did chide him for being as poor a decision maker as myself, considering we were both clearly
actively seeking to pass the buck!) Not only did I now have the pleasure of meeting his warmly welcoming, outgoing, upbeat, and
attentive son (as well as his daughter -- I swear I felt like I was spending the day at a Constantine family do), but considering B's
antique collection is now scattered around the store as opposed to being confined to one étagère as in times past, Jack was also able
to immediately direct us to yet another otherwise unseen case in a remote corner, behind a counter. This case, he said, contained his
unquestionable favourite.
Inside sat an exquisite Art Deco Czechoslovakian diamond-cut crystal bottle from the 1920s (this decade incidentally bearing my all
time favourite social, art, and fashion era). Much larger than all the others, with three colours blown into the glass, thus giving it an
entirely different look from every angle, I instantly fell in love with its bold elegance, set off by a strikingly powerful lid: in yellow-green
crystal was what almost appeared to be a warrior's spearhead, indicating not only femininity in its curvature, but also great strength. It
was like no other in the store -- and in fact, like no other I've ever seen on display in all my years as a B customer -- even regally having
been displayed on its own, unlike the other smaller bottles in the shop that were forced to share each case's stage with several others.
Mark took out his reading glasses and closely examined this bottle against all of the others on offer. For him, it was between this
bottle (pictured at the top of this page), and a small red glass Czechoslovakian bottle (pictured below with several others). The red
bottle he felt, while not nearly as eye-catching, was guaranteed to retain, if not increase, in value, simply because Czechoslovakian red
glass remains particularly sought after, due to the painstaking process by which it was manufactured in the early 1900s.
Concluding his examination, he said "For appearance, I'd go with the bottle that Jack showed us. Otherwise, I'd go for the red bottle,
but that's only because I'm trying to be practical."
"Practical? Practical?!" I was shocked! "Considering you're the man who created Shower Jellies, the most impractical things on earth
-- may I never have to chase another down the drain again -- this is not the time to suddenly go all practical on me!" I laughed.
He instantly smiled, stepped away from the red bottle and made his decision. "Go for the other one. It's more elegant, like you."
And so, it was a done deal. Charlotte ran off to retrieve a gigantic metallic gold box, while Jack gingerly removed my bottle from it's
case, setting it on the main counter where it could be admired one last time by both staff and customers alike who had already taken
quite a shine to it. One sales associate, in the most solemnly earnest voice, even explained, "No, no. I'm so sorry, but they've made a
mistake. You can't buy that because it's been placed on reserve for someone." I swear my heart stopped beating. It wasn't until she
playfully yelled "It's mine! It's mine!" that I narrowly escaped going into cardiac arrest!
Once all the necessary shimmering accoutrements had been gathered, Charlotte wrapped my delicate piece of vintage gorgeousness
in layer after layer of golden tissue, threw in several handfuls of glittering confetti, and then my hero for the day, Jack, put on the
finishing touches with a lovely gold bow.
I had a fabulous day learning about Mark's creative process for each product in both B and Lush. I will forever be grateful to both him
and his wife for taking time out of their hectic schedules to spend several hours with me, chatting about all sorts over tea, introducing
me to their family, and sharing stories about their lives and careers.
My elegant (like me!) bottle now sits proudly on display in my home -- on a Louis XVI style vanity table that I have since purchased
specifically in this bottle's honour (because nothing less would do). I finally own a piece of history displayed at B Never Too Busy To
Be Beautiful, chosen and packaged for me by several members of what's clearly a remarkable family built on over thirty years of love,
respect, and shared creativity -- a family with whom I was blessed to spend a lovely spring afternoon in London.
Eh, maybe I'm not that jaded after all. But even if I am, every time I look at my beautiful antique souvenir from that day, filled with the
physical manifestation of one man's undying faith in beauty, romance and the continued creation of unbridled elegance from bygone
eras when life seemed so much simpler, yet was painstakingly handcrafted with so much more carefully applied detail, I'm reminded
that I shouldn't be.
La vie et l'amour sont beaux.
And that includes all of the little so-called ugly bits, because they help to make us who were are.
And there's nothing more beautiful than that.
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| Horn And Gilt, Edwardian, 1900 |
| Flower, 1940s - 1950s Green Malachite Glass, Czechoslovakian, 1930s Green Glass With Gold Top, Oxford, England, 1890 |
| Silver Encased Bottle, English, 1860 White Cut Glass, 1800 Bohemian Red Glass With 24kt Gold Etching, Victorian, 1870 White Glass With Silver Top, 1800 Clear Cut Glass With Silver, Victorian, 1860s |
| White Glass With Feather Dip Stopper, Czechoslovakian, 1910s By Viard, French, 1920s Clear Glass With Stopper, 1915 |
| Bakelite Necklace,1930s |
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