Gallivant
The Gulf Collection
I’ve known Nick Steward, who founded Gallivant in 2017, since we memorably met the day before Esxence in Milan at the Bar Zucca—now Campari—on the basis of an open invitation I had made to him, along the lines of what sapper Vodička said to soldier Švejk:"See you after the war, at six p.m.”
I am full of admiration for the way he has pursued what must be one of the hardest, most competitive endeavors ever: a niche perfumery firm. Consider the obstacles of smallness, the extortionate demands of distributors, the fickleness of the aficiòn, and the fact that an entrepreneur in this field must be a one-man band, minding everything from raw material quality to the cardboard of the packaging.
Nick picked a city theme for the names of his fragrances. I am in general skeptical of this approach. It is undoubtedly useful in associating name to brand, avoiding copyright issues, and making people dream about faraway places. My beef is with the tenuousness of the association of name with smell. Unless your perfume smells like vongole veraci in white wine, why call it Naples?
This said, my objections evaporate when faced with his Gulf Collection. I did not know this till now, but Nick studied Arabic at university after falling in love with the Gulf in the late ‘80s. The place must have been utterly different then. The magic of a part of the world dedicated to seafaring trade comes through in his nostalgic descriptions, a million miles from the pandering, oud-with-everything of phony arabisant stuff.
For paid subscribers, reviews of Ar Riyād, Dubai and Souq Wāqif.
