It launched 20 years ago in September, and a single spritz is all it takes to wrench me back. I’m 17, lodged in the rhythms of suburban adolescence, with blonde hair and baby tees, all of it awash with the syrupy notes of Fantasy eau de parfum. I can smell it a mile away, even now, imprinted in my psyche alongside The OC, Swing by Savage and those stretchy belts from Supré that would go some way to covering the soft expanse of pelvis revealed to the world by your low-rise jeans.