Chanel Chance is my perfume jam. It was the first ever designer perfume I bought and I wore it for years. It became my go to. My scent. The one I was known for.
Then it got to the stage where I didn’t feel I could justify dropping £70 on a 50ml bottle of Chance Eau De Parfum. So instead friends sent me their high street fragrance recommendations, hello Rosie for Autograph. I even bought a mini Chloé to take with me on a work trip to tide me over until I had some spare coins.
Then I found myself back in the shops this weekend, my nose taking me on autopilot to the Chanel counter, and my arms reaching for Chance and giving myself with a hefty spritz. And it smelt divine.
Exactly as I remembered.
It brought back memories of going with my mum to buy it while she replaced her bottle of Coco Mademoiselle. Memories of spritzing a cloud of it and walking through in a twirl, then straight out the door to a party. It smells like summer and friends and laughter.
And on my wedding day, I not only want to look like me but smell like me. And Chanel Chance will always tick that box. And now I have it back in my life, I can’t stop admiring it.