The alarm goes off bright and early with vodka drizzled fresh fruit, then takes a shower with lily-of-the-valley body shampoo, and after that, the roses get pruned. The dishes are done before the laundry gets hung on the clothes line, and then comes the hardwood floor sanding, so the dust needs a wet mopping, and the musky rugs should be aired out while we’re at it–
I’ve only been wearing this two hours and I’m exhausted.
A powder burst opening, chalk clouds of green violet and a mimosa pollen bomb, that slowly settles to social distance with brassy cedar sawdust. Orris drifts in with smooth musk–Insolence‘s iris grown out of her silly fruity sweetness–and hovers a foot off the skin all day long.
Leans to the well-groomed boss end of the spectrum.
Inspired by jazz saxophone notes and Chris Collins’ father’s violet colognes. I get the “Blue” in the name, but I have no idea what Tokyo has to do with any of it–but I’ve never been there.
Not badly priced for a well-performing niche fragrance.
Wayne Shorter died the other day. He played sax on a lot of amazing stuff–including my junior high personal anthem by Joni Mitchell, Be Cool.
Shirley Temple cough drops–medicinal grenadine, sweet and mentholated–that fade by the time the lozenge melts. The combination shouldn’t work. Camphor and red fruit should be dissonant, but here they ring bright and clarifying and joyful.
I love it–not to wear, it’s too ridiculously cheerful–but my entire house, my linens and my gifts will all smell like this next holiday season.
John Wick and Wednesday both sample Vivaldi’s Four seasons. It’s still winter here.
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.
Lolita Lempicka shimmering powder. I fully own up to buying this for the bottle.
There’s something dreamy and cutely sinister about it–the sweetness doesn’t come through as much as in a liquid formula, so the licorice and and almond cyanide are really carried in the musk.
Leans unisex in a sleepy morning skull-print pajama bottoms way.
Alabama 3 (or A3 in the U.S. because copyright shenanigans) came on everyone’s radar with the theme song to the Sopranos. They’ve got a crazy acid house country blues sound that I love–here’s one of my favorites.
Demeter Fragrance Library’s Bubblegum is the best pure pop out there–exactly what it says it is, the way it should be–cheap, sweet and fun.
Yes, Fracas‘s smutty fabulousness is amazing, and several niche brands have a highbrow interpretation (Bubblegum Chic by Heeley and Bel Rebel’s Bubble Gum are nice) but for a moment of uncomplicated selfish joy, go with this one.
Sugar, spun with cloves and wintergreen, and a tiny hit of synthetic musk just to keep it soft, and that’s all. For anyone of any age. Lasts a loud hour or two on skin with a bit of sticky residue, and hard to get out of clothes.
I got Covid again this summer. The flu symptoms lasted only a week or so, but the sinus fuckery is still ongoing–sometimes plain tapwater can smell like garlic mush, and milk will smell like fuzzy marmalade, and I lose all confidence in my nose–but then I have days where everything is crystal sharp and exactly as it should be.
Today has been lovely–crisp cool autumn with no allergens or humidity–so I’m sniffing all the things.
And the “handcreme”, though nice and rich, smells even more deliberately boring. I’m not one for lotions, but I’ve been gardening today–my neighbor (who probably wore some slinky Chanel back in the day, but doesn’t bother with all that silliness now) gave me a Dior sized heap of lily-of-the-valley bulbs–so my knuckles are thirstier than a pumice stone.
I have no idea why Margot Elena thought anyone would want to smell like this. Lollia This Moment is a much better choice–not weird or fusty at all–and the bottle is cuter.
Orange flour water. Seriously, this stuff has a weird dusty bread dough thing going on. The bottle says Oolong Tea, Bamboo Reed, Orchid & Air (whut?) and White Musk, but I get sweet uncooked enriched buns, with that puff of powdery steam when you punch the rise down.
Doesn’t last or project much. Leaves a smudge of sugary floral musk on the skin for a few hours, but that’s all. A good gift for home cooks.