A headier, smoother version of the original Sì. The vanilla has been culled and the alcoholic woods replaced with benzoin, making the rose and currant syrupy and delicious–almost chocolaty–with a resinous base.
If the first version is meant to be worn on rosebud and champagne day dates, Intense is meant for falling petals and cream sherry evenings at home.
Lasts all night long, and forever on silk scarves.
*
A sultry silk scarf song.
Angel Iced Star is the best Piña Colada ever:
Blend until smooth-
4 parts pineapple juice
2 parts ice
1 part Coco Lopez cream of coconut
2 parts Malibu Coconut Rum
Top with vanilla flavored whipped cream and a dash of nutmeg.
I could drink these all day long–but I wouldn’t want to smell like I bathed in them.
*
I remember ’70’s summers and all the parents on the block getting stoned and making the kids virgin coladas, and telling us to go out and play and not come home until dusk–
This is an amazing gem of a scent!
Lanvin Me seems to have simple ingredients, but the blueberries juxtaposed with licorice is almost dissonant, and the sandalwood–which makes an evocative smudge of smoke–is surprisingly alluring. The bit of tuberose sweetening and roses keep it pretty, but they’re unanchored and a little wistful–
And somehow, it absolutely works.
There’s an unexpected cleverness that elevates it out of fashion/pop-star fruity-floral territory and makes it unique–a multifaceted aspect that includes all four seasons: spring blooms, summer berries, autumn campfires, winter spice.
Lasts a nice six hours in personal space, and another six on clothing, and can easily be worn any day of the year.
Affordable and accessible online–definitely one I’ll recommend.
*
or, Kirkland’s in liquid form.
Seriously, this stuff opens with nice juicy tropical peach dangling-from-the-mirror car air freshener, or maybe even the clip-onto-the-vent-because-my-dog-barfed-on-the-way-to-the-vet, you-can-buy-it-in-wax-melts-too kind.
The fruit fades to the skin over the next six hours into spice mix potpourri from the store at the mall that starts selling cinnamon scented pine cones in September.
If you can afford to splurge, Tom Ford’s Bitter Peach is the surreal masterpiece–but an awesome, long lasting succulent peach for a tenth the cost of Bel Rebel is Outremer Pêche. Or if you want that retro spice bottom, go with Dior’s Dolce Vita.
*
Proper nasty punk Peaches, that you won’t hear on the Muzak speakers in Kirkland’s.
Starfruit & White Flowers is a lovely fruity floral, with crystalline green peachy-citrus notes, their sweetness carried deeper by the gardenia-neroli mashup. Pretty and linear, projects across the room for 10 minutes, then settles to the skin over the next half hour.
I’ve enjoyed most of the 4711 Acqua Colonia offerings, but this one is rather special–delicate, refreshing and cheerful, and even a bit sexy in a see-through summer evening sundress way–
–but there’s also a crisp sugary vibe that works for daytimes in winter, too.
Very sniffy and maybe a little addictive.
*
Just in case you haven’t heard this one–
Oh, Junk, how I love you–one part Tiger Balm, one part black currant cough drops–you heal my soul with comforting ’70s vibes of beaded doorway curtains and rusty VW micro-buses, JOB rolling papers and Aquarian tarot decks.
The solid is much preferable to the spray, so it can be rubbed into the skin like a curative salve. Apply every four hours or as needed.
My little pot expires next year. I cannot wait until someone asks me what I’m wearing, so I can nonchalantly say, “Just some old Junk I had.”
*
Sloth’s timeline:
0:01 – Chamomile tea and loud mushrooms.
(The cat is deeply offended.)
0:05 – A bit of fruit and honey, then spiced coffee, with testicles.
Up close, in my personal space.
And they need a wash.
(I’m offended too.)
0:15 – The boys get a nice shower, with lavender.
0:20 – Unoffensive berries. (Not a euphemism.)
0:30 – Haaay!
Greens. Grassy greens, in the sun.
1:00 – Berries again, grapefruit sour, black currant bite. Nice.
2:00 – Oakmoss and resins 6″ above the skin.
4:00 – A smudge of herbal teabag dregs on cuffs.
Edit – 3/3/23
Aside from the dirty ball sack stage, this is a reasonable fragrance.
This designer made Bat, too, which has a lot of the same measured storytelling progression.
The mushrooms are odd–Tom Ford does them better in Black Orchid–but they’re brief, and kind of fun.
I like the acai berry very much, but it’s not my cuppa.
*
A proper Sloth playlist would have Dirty Head’s awesome NSFW Sloth’s Revenge, Tim Minchin’s hilarious Lament for the Three Toed Sloth and Sloth & Turtles’s jam A Song for Ants.
…but I’m stuck on this song today.
“Long Covid” is a thing.
I’m getting better, just more slowly than I thought. It’s been 10 months, now.
(The guy hasn’t got his taste back properly, and says the sky looks pinker than it should.)
The waves of exhaustion come and go, with joint pain popping up in odd places–a ghost in the machine–and shrouding sensations that make me doubt my nose and my playlists.
Sometimes my most beloved songs seem flat, the blues going gray.
I took a break from the sniff tests for a few months, nervous that my receptors were too scarred to function properly.
I’ve found comfort in my old favorites–Tank Battle has been a constant through this two-steps-forward-one-step-back recovery–spraying more, pressing my nose deeper into my skin, rejoicing at the familiar notes in the muted performance.
Not all have stayed the same, though.
Poe’s Tobacco–which used to be an autumn go-to, with apples and amber and tea–now seems more summery, orchard blossoms and sun in trees, and maybe some jasmine I wasn’t aware of before.
The tabac still gives it depth, but the woods lean more floral now, and less toward books in shadowy corners. I’m sad about it, that the niche-but-accessible cleverness has worn off.
A nice, easy to find vintage–but not quite as offbeat and fun as I remember.
I hope it’s just me.
*
A haunting rendition that still rings true.
“Take these seeds and put them in your pocket, so sunflowers will grow when you die here.” -Ukrainian curse
Elizabeth Arden’s iconic 90’s soapy melon salad smells of Scooby-Doo fruit snacks, Beanie Baby pellets, and Bill Clinton’s saxophone spit, and nothing like sunflowers, or war.
I’m a bit sideways today. The world seems unreal, sometimes.
*
The Ukranian Armed Forces asked a soldier–Taros Borovok–to write them a fight song, the day Putin invaded. He praises the Turkish combat drones that slowed the Russian forces that day.
There’s something oddly coquettish about about this one, as if the perfume flirts with the wearer.
Opens with pink candy fruit and spring flowers (Do I get a whiff of banana or am I just looking for it because there’s one on the package?) that immediately settle to an inch above the skin, and stay there all day long, blanketed down by the softest wood musk–
–but in that intimate space, Perfect is an attention seeker.
I can only smell it when I lift my hands near my face–during a drink from a glass, resting my chin on my fist, smoothing my hair–but those moments are intensely sweet and distracting, a private tease with a wink and a smile, meant just for me.
The notes aren’t that special (seems like rhubarb and cashmeran are in everything right now) and a bit too girlish for me, but the performance is clever and fun.
I’d love to see more designers explore this topography.
*
Duran Duran’s cover of Lou Reed’s classic is perfection.
kira a. gold 