I did something strange today. I went to the local drugstore and bought a decently-sized bottle of Tommy Girl for £32.

Two reasons:

First, they tell me that the “lily-of-the-valley” aldehyde bourgeonal is now restricted by the perfume regulatory body IFRA. That stuff is present in large amounts in TG and essential to its smell. There are many such aldehydes, all bright and slightly aggressive, but bourgeonal was among the best, used in fine fragrance because of its silvery radiance without the plastic edge of florhydral or scentenal. No doubt Givaudan will reformulate TG, but I wanted to have the original before they change it.

Second, just as important, I and others have noticed that TG does not last indefinitely in the bottle and, in fact, goes off within years, even when kept in the dark. I have no idea what dirty trick of fragrance chemistry is responsible for this, but it seems to happen.

I feel strongly about Tommy Girl for many reasons. I loved it from the start, and it represented for me the first instance of a style of perfumery which turned out to be short-lived. This was the overexposed floral, suffused with the blinding light you’d normally only get when boarding an alien spaceship. Also the perfumer was my dear friend Calice Becker, whom I met while she was composing it, her first big success. I also loved her other creations in that seamless, radiant genre, from Beyond Paradise to Oscar Flor.

In all my years of perfume reviewing, the reviews that have caused the biggest pushback from the afición, bordering on outrage, have been Tommy Girl and Beyond Paradise. These have been taken variously as evidence of my bias towards a personal friend, appalling taste, neurodegenerative disease, monetary corruption, or plain perversity.

I stand by every word of praise. In fact, smelling Tommy Girl today, I was once again struck by what a uniquely, euphorically bright perfume it is. I am almost certain it could substitute for a daily dose of the rack of neon lights used to combat Seasonal Affective Disorder. I also remain convinced that it makes a great masculine, for once devoid of the customary poorly lit nooks and crannies that the genre seems to demand.