Amarena is the vanilla ice cream and sour cherry cough drops after you get your tonsils out. Medicinal, comforting, delicate, soporific… one to wear to bed when sleeping alone.
The sugary musk on the bottom is delicate and delicious, but also metallic, like the scent of a tin of silver dragées.
I’ve doled this one out over a decade, my Rx at the end of a rough day. I’ll be heartsick when the last drops are gone–I look for it at every airport shop, every high end thrift store.
Tabu was that night you wore thigh-high stockings but forgot your fake ID, so someone’s older sister gave you rootbeer schnapps and after the party you watched the sunrise drinking Constant Comment tea with the guy your friend wanted.
A stray cat in heat reeking of orange and cloves.
I wore this once in high school and the boy who never noticed me asked my name, and the skirt I’d worn all year got measured with a ruler twice. My mother took the bottle away and told me I could have it back when I went to college.
In a happy mood, Envy shimmers with lime and hyacinth and spring pine, but when it’s angry it sulks with celery and wilting roses and verdigris tarnish.
Amazing in the rain.
Thierry Mugler’s Eau de Star bottles up that summer you spent with the bleach blonde stoner cutie who carved a bong out of a watermelon.
Fresh and wet and high and unforgettable.
So Sweet is burlesque in a candy-by-the-pound store. Raspberry, rose and tawdry flirting.
Like panties with ruffles–it’s not meant to be taken seriously.
I love it.