Ungaro

Ungaro! Ungaro! Ungaro!

The three owners of the haute couture empire appeared on the catwalk to be greeted by the vast uplifting applause. The audience endlessly applauded the talented threesome, all heroes in the eyes of audience. The house of Ungaro was at the peak of its success. Just like guards protecting their VIP it was strange sight to see the much taller elegantly attired ladies clasping the arms of the smaller man, no taller than 1.65m in the centre. You didn’t need a degree in body language to interpret; to understand he was the kernel in their successful partnership, he was the hub and inspiration behind their celebrity status.

He may have been small in stature, but he exuded charisma as the energy sparkled from his laser flashing eyes, taking note of every detail. He had the dark looks of a Caesar, a roman emperor, which held some truth, as his parents were immigrants from southern Italy.

Sonja, the tall sentry of his left whispered playfully in his ear. “Do you know what I’m wearing darling?”

Before he could answer, she answered her own question. “Your perfume darling!”

“It’s something I will never take off, and probably never need a stitch of clothing when I wear it!” She concluded seductively.

He concentrated his senses on her perfume and instantly recognized the top notes of bergamot and lemon, heart notes of rose, jasmine and elder, base notes of patchouli, cedar and moss. He was immediately intoxicated by the mixed flavours and notes of his creation, and all the memories of his childhood flooded back in celebration of his contrived concoction.

The fresh smell of the perspiring fruits of bergamot and lemon from the small town of Francavilla Fontana, southern Italy. The daily picnics under the shade of these trees in the orchard reminded him of the few occasions he had spent time with his loving grandparents. The separation of the close loving family, as his mother and father decided to move to France due to the constant persecution by Mussolini’s fanatics - Fasci Italiani di Combattimento. The bullies and tyrants who were later legitimized into the ruling National Fascist Party of Italy.

As a consequence, Emanuel was born in France not Italy, together with his five siblings. Under the constant threat of reprisals by the Italian ruling party as well as living as a poor migrant family before and during the war caused a prolonged period of separation from Emanual’s grandparents. After years of absence, the few times he and his siblings managed to travel to see their grandparents were full of laughter and tears of joy. The love and passionate nature of his grandparents reminded him of the bergamot citrus fruit which is almost exclusively cultivated in southern part of Italy. In fact, the entire Calabria region; earning the fruit the nickname “green gold of Calabria”. The unforgettable memories glistened in his mind like the unique fragrance of the bergamot fruit ripening under the burning summer sun, sounds of laughter, as Emanuel’s family played together under the shade of the orchard trees.

It was important for Emanuel to capture this ambience in his signature perfume with the deep citrus tones of bergamot and lemon; these were the origins of the Ungaro’s Italian ancestry.

His father was a tailor by profession, and so the immigrant family set up their business in the region of Provence, in a small town named Aix-en-Provence, the heart notes of rose, jasmine and elder in the perfume were based on the underlying fragrance of the region and its natural aroma. The redolence lingered in the air above the town, above the fields, and the wild meadows from the beginning of its creation. The distinct smell of rose was smoothly pungent and abundant in the air, in the water, and for Emanuel the aroma carried with it a vivid picture of his mother.

Emanuel held a unique and special relationship with his parents, especially his mother. He was the second eldest, but his mother always whispered in his ear that he was very talented and destined for great things, a celebrity style of life. She always purchased rosewater from the many local treatment spas, and the fragrance of roses, lavender and jasmine conjured a picture of his mother happily attending to her daily tasks.

Although his father was a tailor, it was his mother who was into fashion and design. She had no training, only a liking for fashionable clothes from the pictures in second-hand magazines. The small boy, Emanuel, shared her interest in women’s clothing, until one day their interest in designs blossomed to obtaining pattern books. Customers of Emanuel’s father would often provide patterns for making new clothes for men, women and children, so the introduction of cutting out shapes, and stitching all the pieces together to make an item of apparel was commonplace in the Ungaro household.

Nonetheless it was through the eyes of his mother that Emanuel gained a wonderful feminine insight into the emotional feeling behind women’s clothing. This close bond behind mother and her special talented child was the catalyst to Emanuel’s early explorations into design. The most lasting memory was the smell of rosewater that his mother used to splash on herself frequently, to refresh herself, and surrounded herself in its wonderful fragrance. The vision of her smiling face always looking on in wonderment and respect towards her clever little boy genius Emanuel never left his heart. Only passionate soft tears moistened his eyes at these early childhood memories.

Yes, rose fragrance was the predominate heart of his new perfume for women.

Unexpectedly, his father one day would buy Emanuel a sewing machine, it was a signal to Emanuel that the boy could help in the small family business. His father thought he was a capable male seamstress with the craft of sowing and was willing to invest by buying him a sowing machine. Considering the family were living near to poverty levels, buying the sowing machine was a serious investment, which did not go unnoticed by the thankful Emanuel. The family continuously experienced unfairness, and uncertainty as immigrants, as the years leading up to war and the war years; these were years full of conflict and division.

Although the family had moved to France to avoid dictatorial rulers in Italy, France was later invaded and ruled by another dictator with Hitler and the Nazi’s. Living in Vichy France which had been annexed from the German occupied part in the north was ruled by yet another dictatorial governing body. Life for the Italian immigrant family was difficult, and they suffered during the war years.

In memory of those hard earthy times, Emanual had used the base notes as fragrant triggers.

The base notes of his masterpiece, unusually patchouli was added, and then cedar and moss. Patchouli is a tropical perennial herb renowned for its fragrance notes of rich, earthy, musky, and slightly sweet aroma that is deeply grounding and instantly recognizable.

Patchouli’s scent is complex and layered, often described as earthy, reminiscent of damp soil or forest floors, musky, giving it a sensual and mysterious quality, its woody fragrance evoking aged wood or forest undergrowth. Some varieties carry subtle sweet or spicy hints, adding depth without overpowering the main earthiness, but by adding this perfume to cedar and moss, Emanuel had conjured up a smell of the deep forest, that grounded all emotions, which subsequently created an erotic, spicey notes he knew women would feel comfortable wearing.

The pungent smell of the woods near his home gathered more personal memories. Walking home from school and often being chased by a gang of kids from the school, sometime waiting to ambush the immigrant family. Those graphic scenes of hiding in the woods with his brothers and sisters, as the local chasing school children searched for the children deep in the woods. The chasing gang of children would often tire from the chase as their own trepidations prevented them from acting upon their evil intentions. If the Ungaro children were ever captured, they would suffer from the raining of blows from their perpetrator’s sticks. Emanuel’s older brother would guide them all deeper into the darkness of the woods, where the smell of decaying debris on the floor was so different. Deep in the woods silence prevailed, and smells became more profound. After rainfall the sweet aroma of the surrounding trees as the fresh moisture intoxicated the air with aroma of foliage and moses.

“Dirty Dagoes.” and “Smelly Wops” came the shouts from the retreating school children, as all the children huddled together, only Emanuel and his brother ventured out to see if the way out of the woods and home was safe to venture for the others.

The children didn’t burden their parents with stories of these frequent assaults. There was nothing their parents could do to stop it, the ongoing world war had put everyone on edge, and the resulting division in the community was rife.

Emanuel had created his signature perfume from the early chapters of his life, something that all the women of the world could wear as badge of honour least anyone forget the fast-receding past. Faded memories? Not whilst his beautiful customers wore it.

“You are welcome, Sonja.” He finally replied absentmindedly.