Shakespeare’s description of Cleopatra’s barge would be as nothing without her lavish sails, “so perfumed that/The winds were lovesick with them”. Ostensibly, this is literature’s consummate example of a signature scent in operation: one breath, and empires are imperilled, heroes felled. And yet, why would so coruscating a seductress equip her armoury with merely one weapon? Surely the old asp-embracer would have cultivated one aroma for her sails, another for her public and a still more devastating concoction for her most intimate engagements.

It is a strategy that 21st-century womanhood will recognise. For, according to the industry’s best guesstimates, women deploy an average of seven fragrances, veiling themselves in innocence or debauchery according to whim. Out goes the notion of slavish fidelity to a signature scent; in comes the beguiling promiscuity of a perfume wardrobe.

The perfume wardrobe may be a sign of sluttishness or connoisseurship: of the duty-free dabbler or the addict who eschews a single fix for multiple mainlining. Moreover, as with the armoire proper, a fragrance wardrobe must be equipped for all eventualities. Just as one would not sport an Aquascutum leather corset to meet one’s in-laws, so Caron’s Tabac Blond may be too civetous for tea on the lawn.

Mood, of course, is everything. While YSL’s bracing Rive Gauche and Guerlain’s Chamade can both lay claim to being aldehydic (sparkling) florals, the former is all scarlet lips and scraped- back hair, the latter as tender as the right sort of kiss. Mood may also be a euphemism for age. As it is deemed tasteless to wear diamonds before 30, so one may mature into the creations of greats such as Edmond “Diorella” Roudnitska. A friend confides: “Should I need to feel 18 again, I wear Calyx, but I couldn’t do Anaïs Anaïs – too gymslip by far.”

Multiple contingencies have a bearing on what aroma one might exude: the hour, the season, one’s immediate objectives. A woman who wants to smell uncontroversial by day (the elegantly herbaceous Acqua di Parma) may prefer to kick up a storm after dark (Dior’s sweaty-chested Eau Sauvage). An opulent oriental in the style of Samsara might feel perfect for December, but be traded for a lighter floriental come June (try Fendi’s new Palazzo – it’s bottled slink). A woman’s f***-you fragrance will differ from her f***-me perfume, for which a “knicker scent” such as Westwood’s Boudoir, Piguet’s gussety Bandit or Lutens’s resplendently obscene Ambre Sultan might artfully be deployed.

As a conventional wardrobe may encompass Prada and Primark, so the perfume wardrobe may embrace both up- and mass market. A fashion acquaintance wears the orris-infused Tiempe Passate by Antonia’s Flowers for “deep and meaningful encounters. But if I want to pull someone obvious, I’ll slap on some Paris Hilton – an olfactory in-joke,” she confesses. Moreover, perfume, like clothing, can serve as emotional armour. Chanel No 5 is such a morale-booster that when a beloved friend died at a tragically young age, my mother dispatched a flacon to his widow. At the funeral, it proved a bulwark to us both: I will never forget the vivacity of its aldehydes holding us together against the scent of dug earth.

My own magnificent seven is immediately apparent. I favour a chosen genre: mossy, animal, leather chypres. But I also relish a couple of glacially sophisticated florals, and there must always be room for some new obsession. That’s the wonderful thing about a perfume wardrobe: not only does it offer infinite sensuous satisfaction; it is also provokingly character-revealing. For some, it will record consistency; for others – myself not least – a rapturous schizophrenia.

Spritzophrenia - Hannah's seven selves

1. Caron Coup de Fouet, £49 for 50ml - A crack of the whip/fist of mace for when one must take on the world.

2. Guerlain Derby, £95 for 125ml - My ultimate, most revered leather chypre. Intimate, sensual a second skin.

3. Gres Cabochard, £46 for 100ml - A softer, warmer, less castrating leather for rare feminine moments.

4. The Knize Ten, £47.50 for 50ml - Ultra-ballsy leather, worn by Dietrich and in the 1970s gay S&M circles.

5. Serge Lutens Chene, £50 for 50ml - An oak of almost metallic purity: natural yet cerebral, austere yet lacerating.

6. Guerlain Apres l'Ondee, £60 for 100ml - My elemental, orris-rich other self; worn entirely for my own satisfaction.

7. Hermes Hiris, £33 for 50ml - An impeccably feminine floral that acts as male catnip.

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