Dzing! (L'Artisan Parfumeur, 1999, Olivia Giacobetti)

I hope Ms Kolinsky, Ms Sutphin and Mr Atrocity aren't too peeved that I'm bagsying Dzing! as my debut fragrance. To my knowledge, they're all fans.

Back in the days of Roman imperial decline, the satirist Juvenal opined that the people had lost all interest in the serious matters of war and governance, distracted as they were by the pursuit of bread and circuses. But even Juvenal would not have been able to stop his grumpy mouth watering as he strode through the forum in the morning and the smell of hot stonebaked ciabatta briefly overpowered the stink of unwashed slave and regurgitated dormouse. So, too, may we admit that the smell of circuses is a powerful evocation.

As the plumed showgirl riding a tiger on the bottle implies, Dzing! is intended to smell of circuses. Mainly, this means sawdust and tiger armpit. The practised nose (or imagination) may also detect traces of toffee apple and greasepaint. It was concocted by the sublimely imaginative Olivia Giacobetti, whose various creations for L'Artisan - including Premier Figuier, Tea for Two and Safran Troublant - have all broken new ground. For me, though, Dzing! is her masterpiece. Spraying it on yourself is like putting on a motheaten but extremely lustrous fur coat made from something horribly endangered. It's bold, shocking and totally conspicuous. I won't wear it in the day unless I really want to fuck some mad shit up.

If you wear Dzing!, you can expect a variety of passionate responses. Certainly it will not pass muster with the Terrence Howard school, which regards women who do not rigorously disinfect their undercarriages as filthy sluts. Mr Howard is exactly the sort of freak that Dzing! will handily scare off at 100 paces. Other reactions are diverse. Dzing! is one of a few scents that has provoked a total stranger to come up to me and ask what I smelled of; I think she was being appreciative. More than once, a gentleman has sniffed my neck for rather too long trying to place its elements. And, just a couple of weeks ago, a friend greeted me with "What's that fabulous smell? It's gorgeous; really clean, somehow." I told her that I actually smelled of pies, leotard crotch and raggle-taggle gypsy child, but she didn't believe me.

It warms and mellows a bit, like everything else, but Dzing! is actually remarkably consistent: still hitting most of the same notes four hours after you first drench yourself in it. It's a unique, heavy and borderline-dangerous scent. As the victorious Roman gladiator staggered forth from the Colosseum, having shown a bunch of big cats the business end of his toasting fork, you can bet the back of his knees smelled like this. Grrrrrrr.