My father’s presence in my life, though a brief 14 years, left an indelible mark on me. Unlike many men who can rely heavily on fragrances, my dad only needed the simple things—a steaming shower and a bar of golden Dial soap—to face the world. He’d often boast, with that twinkle in his eye that I remember, that this method helped catch any lady’s attention, too.
When AIDS claimed him in June 2005, just days after my 14th birthday, it left a void that time has struggled to fill. While the funeral remains a blur of faces and formalities, one moment stands forever stained in my memory: my mother’s trembling hands as she misted my boutonniere. This was an arrangement of white carnations finished with a single calla lily—and his favorite: Curve for Men by Liz Claiborne. This fragrance became a ghost that would forever walk beside me.
Those who lived through the early 2000s will recall Curve’s cultural significance; it was a rite of passage for young men coming of age. Today, my appreciation for fragrance has led me to understand its composition: Bursts of neroli, lavender and crisp lemon notes mingled with earthy vetiver—all anchored by amber and sandalwood. The magic of this particular blend fares well with the initial burst of freshness that settles into an intriguing green finish, where coriander and cactus notes take the lead.
For my father, this version of Curve was his signature for life’s grandest moments—whether it was a family fish-fry, a graduation ceremony, or a wedding—that demanded one’s Sunday’s Best.
In his final days, which my young mind couldn’t fully comprehend, a fresh bottle sat by his hospital bed. He had transformed his sterile surroundings into a cloud of familiarity and home. I distinctly remember his hospital gown and blankets were doused in the fragrance he loved so dearly.
As the years have marched forward, two decades now, the day-to-day memories of my father have begun to fade, such as the feeling of his embrace, the texture of his skin, how it felt to touch his bald head. However, that distinctive green bottle of Curve with its gold lettering remains vivid in my mind’s eye, and its contents continue to tell his story.
There are many scientific studies that draw out the connection between scent and memory— our olfactory bulb’s intimate dance with scent almost creates a supernatural link between aromas and our deepest emotions. This biological truth has become my personal miracle.
While time may continue to fade away more of my father’s memory, I find profound comfort in these unexpected moments when his presence arrives on a phantom breeze of Curve for Men by Liz Claiborne under my nose. In these instances, the veil between past and present grows thin, and I’m reminded that, as long as I can experience this scent, whether real or remembered, I carry a piece of him with me. In this aromatic inheritance, I’ve found something more lasting than memory: I’ve found immortality.