“Possibility in the blue air.”
Chandler Burr’s collaboration with ELd’O–in an homage to LA–is quite good.
A big fresh peel of grapefruit, then a mint mojito–with really nice white rum–and roses.
It’s bright and fresh and cheerful, loud projection and nice longevity, cool green musk at the end, kind of a Gucci Envy updated for this modern age.
I like it much better than the book, which is not cheerful at all, and has very little citrus.
Marquis de Sade–Attack the Sun.
On first blind sniff, I get an earthy animalic lemon with some smoky cedar resin. It’s marvelous, almost like wet oil paints–complex and changing with a hint of sweetness. Even my cat got nosy.
So I looked up the description, and discovered it’s pure labdanum. Rock-rose, and that’s all. The designer apparently doesn’t like it, so he made a solifleur in an attempt at immersion therapy.
Labdanum is at the heart of two of my favorites by LUSH, Tank Battle and Rentless, grounding the clove and the aniseed. On its own, it becomes airier, balsamic and musky, and decadent.
Projects at arms length for an hour, and on the skin for three more.
“How many times, good God, have I not wished it were possible to attack the sun, to deprive the universe of it, or to use it to set the world ablaze –” Donatien Alphonse François de Sade, The 120 Days of Sodom
Another riff on the decadent Marquis:
Big alpha leather with a lemon creme center.
This guy shows up at the party in work boots, carrying a box of chocolates. He appreciates your top shelf liquor cabinet, but doesn’t stay long.
I like him.
Ievan Polkka–also known as the Leekspin song to Bleach fans–by the Finnish group Loituma, is awesome.
Artificial cherry, and the dregs of cheap wine.
A bit of cigarette ash, too.
The ElDO ad copy is a big story about parties and shoes and iris centerpieces, and I get the booze and the hangover, but this scent has been done already, and better–without the feet–in Lolita Lempicka’s Sweet.
Here’s a much better Cherry.
Artsy bubblegum and I’m here for it.
The champagne and cardamom combination keeps it from being gooey, and the jasmine sweetens the sandalwood the perfect amount.
Sillage at arms length for an hour, and close to the skin for three more.
I wish I’d bought the big bottle.
Joan Jett is pretty remarkable.
Tilda Swinton’s first signature opens with more sugar than I expected–candied orange peel, neroli and honey and pumpkin spice. The immortelle (my mum called it “everlasting”) brings an enjoyable sweet yellow curry and wildflower note–but then I got a hay-fever reaction and had to scrub between sneezes.
Pair with a pretty autumn scarf and antihistamines.
This one also came out in 2010, and sweeter than expected–
A funeral in the rain.
Wet ashes and limes, rose thorns, black pepper, black umbrellas and dirt.
Over in two hours.
Rather elegant, actually.
The name is from a Victor Hugo poem: Hermann, at my side, seemed like a shadow.
A wet song:
Smoky neroli that dissipates into sweet iris, then completely disappears. An elegant one-hour-stand, but I don’t remember her name.
(Roland Mouret is a French fashion designer who is all the rage right now for his body celebrating dresses in all sizes.
I was hoping his perfume would somehow be more voluptuous.)
Amourette means “a fling.”
*(sigh)*
“Les Fleurs du Dechet” sounds so much prettier, but…
I Am Trash is found object art, a lovely re-purposing of unwanted scraps into elegance.
The opening is shocking–orange rind and a vodka note of fermenting potato parings, but then apple peel quickly takes over and blooms into bruised rose petals, and it’s suddenly gorgeous.
The flowers stay for an hour or two at arm’s length, then fade into a sweet woodsy musk that lingers comfortingly on second hand sleeves all afternoon.
I love the cleverness of it.
Charonge–carrion–sounds prettier in French.
Also, ew.
Edit – 10/21/21
Yep, this is as gross as I remember.
Starts out with white funeral flowers, then devolves into rotted meat and fecal smearing, with some vanilla on the bottom to make it even more disgusting.
*
A song about carrion crows–
kira a. gold 