Originally published in the February 2014 edition of British GQ.

Image by Tim McDonagh

PART THREE

Richard E. Grant
(Or the A-Z of how I got set up in the Scent business)

In the third chapter of Richard E Grant’s journey into the scented universe, the Withnail star battles the moneymen before a new friend rides to the rescue

No sooner have I bid au revoir to Grasse, than chief honcho at Robertet, Francis Thibaudeau, email-intros me to their London representative, Julie Harris. He suggests that we meet up and “make his perfume dream come true”. Atta boy! The French have taken me seriously, which bucks my day up a good deal.

Malcolm Gladwell’s book Blink: The Power Of Thinking Without Thinking revealed that we make assessments of strangers within 15 seconds. It takes half that time to feel the warmth and kindness of Julie Harris who patiently outlined how the perfume market worked – high-end luxury brands sell well, as do their low-price counterparts, but the mid-range products are struggling in the current credit crunch.

Advising that it was “near impossible to go it alone”, Julie -suggested I meet up with someone who is essentially a one-stop-fits-all operator whose company will license, bottle, package, label and product–distribute via their in-house sales team.

I need to decide whether to aim for the luxury-store route signposted Harrods, Harvey Nichols, Liberty and Selfridges, or head for the Via Appia of Argos and Boots.

The Langham hotel is the rendezvous for our one-man-band meeting but it took all of one blink to know that this wasn’t going to go anywhere. If you’d called Central Casting for a “used car salesman” type, he was a perfect fit. Talked the talk and gabbed the gab. Ten to the dozen. As much as Julie had loved my perfume sample, indicating the direction I was headed in, this bloke loathed it and bluntly said so.

His invisible thought bubble popped up above his head and I could make out the word “ponce” beginning to spell itself out. Interspersed with a verbal fusillade from below opining that, “This ‘juice’ business is all a load of crap, just a bit of scented water bunged inna fancy bottle and blinged up inna box. Child’s play. Nothing to it. Done loadsa celebrity scents. You name ’em, I’ve done ’em. Did a straw poll of what people thought of you and they all said, ‘Quintessentially English and a bit of an oddball – an eccentric type’. So there you ‘ave it.” Topped off with a run-down of what profits we could make -together in less time than it would take to wind up a toy monkey.

I felt a pang for Julie because Mr Blokey and I were in no way a business fit and my aspiration to make a luxury perfume with integrity was kiboshed at the get-go. In other words, a no-go – a “thank you very much, we’ll be in touch” over-and-outski.

A few days later, Annalise Quest, the beauty merchandise manager at Harrods, meets me for some business advice detailing which perfumes are top sellers, the cost of floor space and staff, the short shelf life of celebrity perfumes and advice not to try and brand it with my name. “Why the vintage Union Jack flag idea for the packaging?” she asks.

“I’ve obsessively collected flags and bunting forever and want my packaging to be unmistakably British.” She also says that having a very clear vision is vital to success. “What are you going to call it?”

This question has been pin-balling around my head for a while and Anya Hindmarch suggested using my initials. However, the -prospect of a perfume called “R.E.G” conjured up images of Reg Varney or Terry-Thomas bounding up to a counter and demanding, “A couple of bottles of your finest R.E.G please, and don’t be shy with the wrapping!” Something quintessentially British, but what?

Annalise says she is having lunch with Kenneth Green, whose company is the biggest distributor of luxury brand perfumes in the UK and will ask him if he is prepared to meet me.

I’m overwhelmed at how generous people have been with their time, advice and help. A “do-re-mi” domino effect, with each contact opening yet another door that I had never imagined entering before.

May 2012: I drive to Weybridge, summoned by Mr Green himself, and upon entering the building, the big-name brands he distributes are all on display and seemingly following my every step, like those moving-eyed portraits in old horror movies. Kenneth Green is the original “no-shit-Sherlock” self-made man who gives you your medicine straight up. Identifying my chicken and egg -situation; needing a licence to make the perfume and -register its formula on the one hand, then needing to find an agent on the other, get it distributed and taken to market.

Sounds like a phrase from a fairy story, which at this moment this is all beginning to resemble. Confirmed by his follow-up email, while full of suggestions of whom to approach, a licence specialist friend of his in New York has warned that, “The market is very tough and I fear that Richard’s idea may be too niche to find a suitor.” “Niche”, “suitor” and “to market” have segued into fairy-tale Grimm-speak!

While sharing his contacts and business acumen, Mr Green’s prognosis is decidedly, “Stick to your day job, boyo” and be done with dreaming scents.

Two days later I interview 30-year-old multi-millionaire Dan Fleyshman who patented the phrase “Who’s Your Daddy?” for a line of drinks which made his entrepreneurial fortune.

Dan gives me this advice: “The story of why and how you do it, is the thing. No amount of advertising can compete with the story. Smell and packaging is important, but the sales distributor is everything. Avoid the giants. The corporate Goliaths will gobble you up and spit you out. Get the best team around you. Keep it simple. Can you identify your product or brand from ten feet away? Editorial is all!”

June 2012: But then, like all fairy stories, you need some magic and luck for a happy ending. And the wizard who came to my rescue, yet again, was Mr Roja Dove. And here’s how: “I want you to meet Catherine Mitchell at IFF perfume company.” That sentence caused a chain reaction to everything that happened next. Not only is the IFF office in Roehampton, a five-minute drive from where I live, but as Roja intuited, Catherine and I proverbially “clicked” in a blink.

Richard E Grant’s diary continues next month. His fragrance will be launched in April 2014 at Liberty.