Fragrance du jour, recent sniffs, random notes.
Opens with unsweetened whipped cream, and rubber pants. Maybe some termite dust to make it scratchy.
And later, an eighty-year-old raisin. Just one.
This story might be published as women’s fiction, but it’s obviously ghostwritten by a man.
I stopped reading midway through chapter five.
Azzaro Chrome is the first cologne a guy buys himself after an ugly divorce. He’s just started dating again; a little shy, maybe socially awkward, but he’s charismatic and hungry enough to be quite sexy.
Limes and neroli on top, raw silk and alimony payments underneath.
I wish the cardamom were stronger. Our guy would get more dates if he had a bit more spice.
This came out in 1996, too. I love Beck’s weird.
The bottle is gorgeous. I want it to hold all my secrets and mist me with strength and sex and knowledge.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I am sprayed with slush and rock-salt from a road plow, and pelted with rotting strawberries, and wow, does Thierry Mugler ever blow loud and long on that truck horn.
Whew. Not for me.
All the love for this woman–and I adore this salty song.
This is a baby-sitting diaper change at a ridiculously rich family’s house.
A splash of lemon scented bleach that combusts to a cloud of talcum powder and finishes with high end floral musk potty-spray.
An enormous powder grenade, yet there was an ugly chemical plastic underneath. I’m a Lolita Lempicka fanatic and I was so disappointed I didn’t even keep it for the bottle.
I’m not so sure about this song either, but it gets stuck in my head a lot.
Triage at a burn unit.
Scorched rubber tires, plastic bandages, charred flesh. An hour later, it rests painfully with a smear of aloe, and then fades completely with an ominous gasp of sweet lilies.
It’s tragic–and yet still kind of gorgeous.
I’ve always loved this song.
This is amazing.
Opens up with glorious daddy issues of pipe tobacco and bourbon, then dresses in a chocolate velvet vest with a watch chain and takes me out to the lesbian billiards bar.
I drink vanilla shots until I’m cut off for spilling one and we go home to empty cabinets except for that fruitcake I re-gifted and got back two years later.
It’s delicious. Best date ever.
Filthiest song ever.
My cat just peed on the carpet.
No, that’s not what Civet smells like–it’s actually quite lovely. Leather and citrus and peppery carnations, smoke and it’s so lush.
But when I dabbed it on my wrist my cat freaked out, frantically pawed at my sleeve and then took a stress squirt on the rug.
Never have I felt so sexy doing laundry.
ETA:
Carpet is clean, cat is sleeping, perfume calmed down to sweet black coffee on the skin.
This Rolling Stones cover was the B-side of Jesus Christ Pose. (Best played loud.)
Fully loaded Bazooka Joe.
This stuff is like the sexy battle armor you put on before conquering your own world.
Tank Battle opens with a wet bubblegum pop, and a moment later a bright sulfur flare. Smoky haze sits at arms length–a burnt spice offering, a swallow of bourbon, metal shavings from a sharpened blade.
Sun-scorched patchouli and cloves settle to the skin after an hour, with an occasional whiff of daring and sweetness the whole day long.
The Seatbelts’ Tank! (the opener for Cowboy Bebop) is a lot of fun.
Imagine the Morton Salt girl in a pink raincoat and red rubber boots, blowing a bubble of strawberry gum.
The strawberries run the gamut from fresh picked berries in the sun, to red soda pop, then shortcake ice cream bars, and finally those smelly erasers from primary school.
The salt melts quickly and disappears into violets, then a breath of vanilla, a brief taste of hazelnut.
Sweet but strangely chaotic.
(In my head, this is what the Strawberry Letter was scented with.)
Yuna is amazing–this song was featured in an H&M video spread.
All I get from this is dried peaches in a plastic bag. Maybe a whiff of the incense aisle at the other end of the food co-op.
And it lasts as long as the 10-items-or-less line.
I’ve seen Encens et Bubblegum compared to Gorilla Perfume’s Tank Battle (from LUSH).
Nope.
This stuff is a stale sugarless dime ball from a reproduction piggy-bank next to Tank Battle’s fresh packet of Big League Chew. This is clove cigarette ash likened to Satya Sai Baba Nag Champa.
Twice the price, half the sillage and none of the longevity.
Doesn’t compare at all.
Edit – 7/3/23
(Wow. I was a bit angry about it!)
Here’s some more French bubblegum from 2006.
kira a. gold 