Of the five senses, smell is not something we talk enough about in relation to Bond. This is somewhat ironic considering that this is the very first sense Fleming triggers, setting in motion decades of olfactory curiosity, especially when it comes to 007 and gender.

This article is also available as a podcast wherever you get podcasts

Before we even meet Bond for the first time in the novel of Casino Royale, we are drawn into his milieu by our noses:

“The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling – a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension – becomes unbearable and the senses awake and revolt from it.”

Cover art by Fay Dalton for the Folio edition, their copyright

Moonraker opens with Bond returning to his office reeking of cordite after a session on the shooting range. In Dr. No, Fleming sets the scene in Jamaica by having us inhale the “heavy perfume of night-scented jasmine” (a description he had also used for the same setting in Live and Let Die).

So if smell is so essential to Bond, why is it that the other senses are more frequently the subject of books, documentaries and column inches?

Certainly when it comes to Bond on screen, sight is very important: the look of the character is something many of us admire and seek to emulate. Cinema is, of course, a visual medium, so it’s little wonder that there are plentiful books about the visual elements of Bond. In recent years, there have been several excellent books on Bond fashion and fitness, perhaps because we are more visually-oriented than ever before. Of all the social media platforms, Instagram is perhaps the most natural home for the cinematic 007.

Sound has always been integral to the success of Bond: what is the film character without his theme? Less remarked upon, but something I’ve always found intriguing, is Fleming precisely selecting popular songs of his day to underscore the motivations of characters or to foreshadow events. Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose, for instance, in Casino Royale and, briefly, in Diamonds Are Forever, where it conjures up uncomfortable memories of Vesper, in the same way Vesper’s leitmotif continues to haunts the film Bond in Quantum of Solace and No Time To Die.

Particularly in the books, taste is vital: Fleming makes us salivate with ambrosial descriptions of even the humblest foods and drinks. The films linger less on food but the practically pornographic shots of Martinis make us hanker for a sip.

Touch is also key: several of the films’ song lyrics explicitly mention touch, including every entry in the sexually-charged Bassey trilogy (Goldfinger, Diamonds Are Forever, Moonraker). The films’ tactile quality extends beyond literal expressions of flesh pressing against flesh: is there another film series which has so many shots of people pushing buttons in fetishistic close up?

The books invoke readers’ sense of touch by bringing them pain as well as pleasure - and often simultaneously. Awaiting the first thwack of Le Chiffre’s carpet beater in Casino Royale’s famous torture scene, Bond anticipates “a wonderful period of warmth and languor leading into a sort of sexual twilight where pain turned to pleasure and where hatred and fear of the torturers turned to a masochistic infatuation”. A sensory overload that’s enough to make anyone squirm in their seats!

Perhaps scent gets short shrift because it’s so subjective and so hard to pin down into words. According to Luca Turin, a biophysicist who has made the science of scent his life’s work, smell is objective. Scientifically-speaking, everything smells the same to everyone. But as soon as we start to interpret a smell - and particularly when we try to articulate what we’re smelling - that’s when things get interesting.

You know your perfumes

Tracy: I’m here for a business transaction.
Bond: Really? Isn’t L'Heure Bleue a bit heady for that?
Tracy: So, you know your perfumes. What else do you know?
Bond: A little about women.

Bond knowing his perfumes has always struck me as a particularly gay thing, which is weird really, as I would never pride myself - a gay man - on being able to accurately identify any commercially available fragrance. Add that to the pile of Things That Make Me A Rubbish Homosexual, alongside not being able to name more than half a dozen songs by Madonna, not being able to dance and not allowing myself to be wilfully late to any social function (gay lateness is A Thing apparently, although it’s nothing I have ever - or will ever - endorse).

I don’t know why being able to accurately identify a perfume someone is wearing after having a quick sniff of their wrist should qualify as stereotypically ‘gay’ anyway. Is the implication in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service that Bond spends lots of time around women’s perfume counters as well as women themselves? It could be read both ways. As ever, Bond is great at presenting possibilities without shutting them down. Maybe Bond just has a particularly attuned olfactory sense, something I cannot say about myself. Maybe I’m just jealous. I recall reading Live and Let Die for the first time and marvelling at Bond identifying that Solitaire is wearing “Balmain’s Vent Vert”. How, I asked myself, does he know these things?!

The online Encyclopedia of perfume periodical Fragrantica contains 75,000 entries, a number someone as olfactorily challenged as myself might find intimidating. Their entry for L’Heure Bleue, the perfume worn by Tracy that Bond correctly identifies, begins with the following description.

“Created by Jacques Guerlain himself in 1912. The fragrance is velvety soft and romantic, it is a fragrance of bluish dusk and anticipation of night, before the first stars appear in the sky. The top notes are opening with spicy-sweet aniseed and fresh bergamot that gently lead to the heart of rose, carnation, tuberose, violet, and neroli.”

From this description, the scent seems to fit the character of Tracy perfectly, as well as the situation. Bond interprets it as “heady”, indicating that it’s having the intoxicating effect as Tracy perhaps intended. “Anticipation of night” indeed! Whoever chose L’Heure Bleue for Tracy clearly knew their perfumes too. It’s not in the book version of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service so could have been any of the screenwriters, actors or the director. Perhaps the director and one of those writers being gay is a reason why I read this scene queerly, although I did so years before knowing anything about the personal lives of either Peter Hunt or Simon Raven. Some of us have a sixth sense about these things!

Smelling a rat

Bond’s pretty good at detecting when things are queer. But it’s more than his gaydar pinging when he unmasks Mr Wint at the end of the film of Diamonds Are Forever. It’s Wint’s after shave which gives the game away. Only after Bond has “smelled a rat”, recalling from their earlier encounter the “potent” aftershave Wint wears, does Bond confirm his suspicions by checking the erstwhile-sommelier’s knowledge of Clarets.

Of all the outlandish things which happen in Diamonds Are Forever, the one which strains credulity the most for me is Bond’s inert body somehow smashing open the perfume bottle which Mr Wint has left in the boot of their car. More than the moon buggy, the diamond-powered laser and a car somehow flipping over in the middle of an alleyway, it’s this which tests the bounds of physics to breaking point.

The breakage does, however, set up one of the most wonderful exchanges in all of Bond, although to call it an exchange is a bit of a stretch as one of the interlocutors is not capable of speech. Having been trapped in a pipeline by Wint and Kidd, Bond awakes to find his only company is a rat and a curiously unpleasant odour. Bond appraises the scent as something that might be found on a “tart’s handkerchief” before apologising to his rodent companion for inflicting it upon both of them.

Mr Wint’s signature scent is introduced early in Diamonds Are Forever, when he and Mr Kidd visit Mrs Whistler, setting up the eventual payoff. Chekov’s after shave if you will. We of course cannot smell it through the screen. As far as I am aware, no one has ever screened Diamonds Are Forever in Smell-o-Vision or its modern incarnations. Although if anyone out there fancies putting together a 4DX edition of Diamonds Are Forever I know of at least one hardcore fan (me!) who would definitely buy a ticket. [The mind boggles, really, at the possibilities. Inhale the canals of Amsterdam! Smell the scuzziness of 70s Vegas! Most of all, I’m eager to discover what Blofeld’s ‘mud pie’ smells like!]

Although Wint’s trademark scent remains essentially unknowable to our olfactory sense, we’re encouraged from Bond’s “tart’s handkerchief” remark to believe it’s very feminine and perhaps cheap. Wint is shown spraying it in an effeminate fashion, reinforcing the stereotype that a gay sensibility means carrying oneself in a womanly way.

For men? For women?

The gendering of scent is particularly interesting in the Bond books. As ever with Fleming, things are more complex than they might at first appear.

Men even using perfume is called into question in From Russia, With Love - straight men at least. When Bond puts forward the proposition that MI6 moves with the times and starts hiring more “intellectual” spies, the Secret Service’s Head of Admin, a homophobic dinosaur and relic of the Second World War, writes off the idea immediately:

“I thought we were all agreed that homosexuals were about the worst security risk there is. I can’t see the Americans handing over many atom secrets to a lot of pansies soaked in scent.”

Bond’s response (“All intellectuals aren’t homosexual”) questions the conflation of academia and homosexuality but doesn’t challenge the stereotype of perfume being predominantly - or even entirely - a predilection of gay men. Perhaps with this prejudice of an earlier generation lingering in his mind, Bond later claims never to use scent himself, telling Tatiana that, unlike Russian men, men in the West have no need for it because washing is sufficient, a classic case of protesting-too-much homonationalistic posturing if ever there was one.

This might cause readers to imagine Bond washing himself down with whatever ‘manly’ soap happened to be available, the more abrasive and unperfumed the better. After all, most post-war Britons - of all genders - would have very recent experience of using whatever they could get their hands on, soap having been rationed until 1950.

But it had already been established that Bond is accustomed to the finer things in life. Towards the end of the previous Bond novel, Diamonds Are Forever, Bond had planned to cable his housekeeper to pick up some flowers and “bath essence from Floris”. While it could be read that Bond was taking steps to make Tiffany feel welcome in his flat, it’s not clearcut. Perhaps, like Fleming was himself, Bond was intended to be a fan of Floris. Fleming name-dropped the Jermyn Street perfumiers as early as 1955’s Moonraker. In the book that followed From Russia, With Love, Dr. No, Fleming has Bond being impressed by the villain’s taste in toiletries: “There was everything in the bathroom--Floris Lime bath essence for men and Guerlain bathcubes for women.” (Incidentally, Floris’s Limes is the favourite fragrance of Edward Fox, who played M in Never Say Never Again. Sadly, the bath essence version beloved of Bond and Dr. No and - one presumes, Fleming - is hard to acquire as Floris only produce it in very limited runs.)

Fay Dalton’s illustration of Honey in the bath for the Folio edition, their copyright

I find it fascinating that, trapped in Dr. No’s lair, Bond makes a distinction between Floris bath essence for men and Guerlain bathcubes for women. As if he doesn’t have more pressing matters on his mind (such as saving the world and escaping?). Maintaining the gender binary is surely not essential for mission success here, James?

Bond selects the bathcubes for women, which fill the bathroom with a orchid aroma. Later, we’re told Bond takes a bath and a shower. It’s not stated that Bond draws a new bath or takes a dip in the one he drew for Honey.

Elsewhere, he doesn’t complain too much about lathering up scented products marketed at women. After defeating the hoodlums who terrorised him and Vivienne Michel in The Spy Who Loved Me, Bond is too weakened to wash himself so asks Michel to do the honours. She washes away the gunpowder smell with a new bar of Camay soap. Camay was explicitly marketed at women since first emerging onto the market in 1926, something they doubled-down on in later decades by making the product pale pink. Bond whinges a little that he smells “like Cleopatra” but he doesn’t stop her. She salves his masculine ego with a joke at the expense of the marketing claim that it has a scent “like costly French perfume”.

As we find with so much else in society, fragrances are complicit in reinforcing the gender binary. Or rather, the marketers of fragrances are complicit.

For everyone?

When I was a teenager in the 1990s, the boys’ changing room at school smelled of one thing (besides sweaty PE kit): Lynx, known as Axe in other countries. There was nothing especially ‘masculine’ smelling about Lynx Africa, Aztec, Atlantis and the rest but Lynx was ubiquitous among those who sought to assertively affirm their masculinity (especially those of us with something to hide). Lynx gained notoriety with their advertising, including one where billions of women converged on a man liberally spraying himself with their deodorant. More recently, they significantly changed their branding, targeting gay and bisexual consumers and partnering with charities to tackle toxically masculine behaviours. A 2015 advert for Lynx hair products urged customers to “Kiss the hottest girl, or the hottest boy”.

Since 2019, they have been very visible sponsors of Pride events. Because of their previous pre-eminence in the heterosexual male marketplace, this has been widely seen as a watershed moment.

Anyone with a sense of smell should be able to discern whether a scent is more ‘citrusy’, ‘floral’ or ‘spicy’. But it’s totally on us if we prefer one scent over the other and it’s on society if we view some as more ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’ than others. This is all to do with the associations we have with particular smells. These associations may be the result of personal experiences (smells are powerful memory triggers, like me with Lynx) or social conditioning.

In her 2013 doctoral thesis entitled ‘Perfumes between Venus and Mars’, an investigation into whether “gender smelled”, Dr Anna Lindqvist, summarised the conventional gender associations of scents:

“Feminine odors have been described as “flowery” or “fruity” while masculine odors are described as “spicy” or “tangy”.

“Sweet odor qualities appeared more typical of perfumes classified as feminine, and smoky and/or woody odor qualities seemed more typical of perfumes classified as masculine.”

However:

“When rating the femininity and masculinity of perfumes, no significant difference between women and men has been identified.”

In other words, removed from their gendered packaging, there’s no evidence to show that we can readily tell the difference between pour homme and pour femme.

Lindqvist herself conducted three studies and found that men and women could not reliably distinguish between products marketed at men and those marketed at women. The perfumes participants of all genders preferred were those that were not perceived as being either strongly feminine or masculine, but somewhere in the middle. Lindqvist was keen to point out a limitation of her work: her participants were all heterosexual 20-30 year olds from Sweden, a country with a generally more progressive approach to gender, so they might be more welcoming of ‘unisex’ fragrance. But even so, with a paucity of studies from other countries, it’s tempting to generalise her findings and hypothesise that we might find similar results around the world.

Lindqvist acknowledged that “Perfumes are… one factor in social communication between human beings, in which women and men want to increase their gender-specific associations.” However, her research indicated that, if you want to increase your pulling power (I’m extrapolating a practical application from Dr Lindqvist’s research here!), you’d be better off not spraying on something too assertively masculine or feminine.

Scent perfected yet?

There have been numerous Bond branded fragrances over the years, many of which have been marketed as pour homme and pour femme.

The latest carries no such label. To their credit, Floris do not use gendered labels - or language - on anything. Even the ‘Gift Guide’ on their website is pleasingly undivided along gender lines. Whereas third parties - including reviewers - may make up their own minds about Floris’s fragrances being for men or women, Floris themselves leave it up to customers.

Fleming led us to Floris. First of all, my husband bought me a bottle of No. 89, Fleming’s favourite scent, for my birthday. And then, upon visiting their flagship store at No. 89 Jermyn Street, where it has been since 1730, we purchased two fragrances which have become our favourites: Vert Fougere and 1976. But it was treating ourselves to their 12 Days of Christmas, a sort of advent calendar with a sample of 12 different scents, which opened our noses to how pathetic gendering perfume really is. Some, like Leather Oud, oozed traditional masculinity. Others, like Cherry Blossom, could be lazily labelled as more feminine. Others were harder to pigeonhole, and it was more fun not to bother. We used them all up pretty quickly, wearing whatever took our fancy on a particular day.

When it was announced that Floris were making a new fragrance for the 60th anniversary of the Bond films, I was intrigued but wary: would they be tempted to slide too far down the ‘masculine’ end of the spectrum to (mis)represent 007, reinforcing the (mis)conception of him as embodying only supposedly manly qualities?

I was delighted, when we finally had the chance to pop into their Jermyn Street store, to find I couldn’t have been more wrong. While it will inevitably be ‘too masculine’ for some and ‘too feminine’ for others, I would say it’s impossible to place anywhere on the gender spectrum.

The marketing blurb states that No. 007 is “fondly distilled from 60 incredible years of 007 on the silver screen” and it’s not an idle boast. I would say it goes even further than that - by an additional ten years at least. The staff in the store informed us that No. 007 intentionally recalled Fleming’s beloved No. 89, which he was no doubt wearing while writing at least some, if not all, of Casino Royale.

A top note shared by both of these scents is bergamot; the strange inedible fruit which gives Earl Grey tea its distinctive flavour. Perhaps Ben Whishaw’s Q would be a fan?

A heart note of both No. 007 and No. 89 is rose, and therefore may signify to some a sense of doomed romance, which is rather appropriate for Bond. Ardent Fleming fans may recall that use of the Edith Piaf song ‘La Vie en Rose’ as a motif for Vesper. Another possibility - for anyone who has not expunged 1967’s Casino Royale from their memories - is recalling David Niven’s Sir James Bond taking delight in drinking in the scent of his prize black rose.

Among the base ingredients is sandalwood. A gorgeous scent in its own right, sandalwood is the ‘fixative’ which extends the longevity of other ingredients with less staying power. It’s an appropriate base for a character who unswervingly served Queen and country for so many decades.

Of the ingredients which are present in No. 007 but not No. 89, juniper is perhaps the most significant. Juniper is the only botanical which is essential for all gins. Plain and simply, if your gin doesn’t contain juniper, it’s not gin you’re drinking. But some gins are more heavy on the juniper flavour than others. Like perfume, preference in Martinis is down to the individual. But for me, a classic gin Martini benefits greatly from being made with a gin where the juniper is to the fore. It makes sense to make juniper a top note: the perfume equivalent of that first shiver-inducing sip of an ice cold Vesper.

And who doesn’t enjoy a Vesper?

No. 007 is an entirely apt fragrance, then, for a diamond anniversary of a character with non-gender specific qualities right from the beginning. It’s the sort of scent we could imagine Bond himself wearing. And to paraphrase the inimitable Bond-imitator Gustav Graves, the diamond anniversary is for everyone, so why shouldn’t its perfume be the same?

Please note that, unlike Fleming, I did not receive anything from Floris for mentioning their products in this piece! The new scent is genuinely staggeringly good and, if anything, I have undersold it. I wear it most days.

References

Ball, S (2015) ‘The Lynx effect: ad land begins to reflect the lives of gay men’ The Guardian 22nd January 2015 Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/media-network/2015/jan/22/lynx-tiffany-lgbt-gay-lives-advertising

BBC (1979) ‘Edward Fox’ Desert Island Discs Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p009mxhl

Lindqvist, A (2013) ‘Perfumes between Venus and Mars: How gender categorization of perfumes is (not) related to odor perception and odor preference’ Doctoral thesis in Psychology, Stockholm University

Miss Monmom (2021) ‘Testing vintage Camay soap’ Available at https://missmonmon.com/2021/05/31/testing-vintage-camay-pink-soap/

Turin, L (2022) The Secret of Scent (2006) London: Faber

Pour homme, pour femme and for everyone in between: making scents of more than 60 years of Bond fragrance