There are few times I would ever recommend anyone not snatching up an adorable miniature vintage bottle from a brilliant costume and fashion designer, filled with tuberose and sweet smoky spice mixed by Francis Kurkdjian himself, that lasts at the most delicate arm’s length forever–
–but this mini Fragile is a pain in the ass. The press-on tab lid on the bottom leaks, because gravity. The gold detail on the bottle on the bottle decomposes with alcohol, and since perfumer’s spirits are usually 190 proof, that happens quick. And the mouth, one of those irritating single drop orifices (orifii?) that essential oil bottles have, gets clogged up with glitter particles and has to be cleaned out with a pin.
So don’t. Walk on by. Keep scrolling.
I do love me some Gaultier. His costumes in Fifth Element were amazing.
I feel a lot of kinship with Dolce Vita. She tries really hard to be that spicy peach tart who likes a good cinnamon roll (and a little sugar in her bowl…) but can’t quite get the pieces together enough to pull off the whole outfit.
The ingredients are all there–juicy ripe fruits at the beginning, spicy vamp seduction in center, and lingering vanilla woods at the end–but the top is too young, the skirt too brash, the shoes too cute.
I keep trying it, hoping somehow she might have gotten over the awkward stage and come into her own, but in thirty years all that’s changed is that the gold leaf has flaked off the bottle. Me too, Dolce Vita. Me too.
This song came out 90 years ago and is still one of the filthiest songs ever recorded.
Heated car seats can be rather disconcerting. The ass is rarely that warm without the shame–or satisfaction–of a good spanking, so one tends to squirm, waiting for the accompanying sting.
Eau Poivrée is such the perfect fresh-ground peppercorn that I get anxiety waiting for the sneeze that never happens.
Before the first spray even lands on my skin, I’m frantically taking a deep breath, holding it, waiting for my eyes to water, getting slightly melancholy that no one is around to say “Bless you!”–and I stay that way for two hours.
The delicate rose and sheer patchouli eventually temper the spice, but by that time I’ve already taken an allergy pill and called my therapist twice.
The last mini from the 4711 Acqua Colonia sample set.
Lime and dark spice, with a frothy hit of Ivory soap, but there’s a Coca-Cola vibe to it, too.
Green citrus projects a yard off the skin for five minutes, then the nutmeg slowly settles to the skin and disappears, over the course of an hour.
I dumped the whole bottle in the tub and it was marvelous.
Harry Nilsson was a such a brilliant (and strange) musician. His parents were Swedish circus performers, which makes me happy.
From Diptyque’s collection 34.
The copy says incense and osmanthus in “a tribute to Japan.”
Opens with sweet flowers and aniseed, then immediately ripens into a weird camphor with amarena cherry cough drop notes and smoke, and stays there for a long afternoon.
The end comes slowly, a leather on the skin that is more slick vinyl than soft cowhide.
It’s a strange one, chemical but pleasant. I’ll keep the sample in the medicine cabinet–it might be comforting on a sick day.
Here’s the very famous Japanese girl group Momoiro Clover Z’s collaboration with KISS, because why not?
Cocoa and loud roses, orange zest and white flowers. Coffee kicks in after 15 minutes and settles into personal space for another quarter hour.
The chocolate sticks to the skin, but the citrus lingers longer on clothes.
I’d like it on a guy, too–a laid back type who wears floral print shirts and has a good belly-laugh.
Incense that’s been soaked in sweet wine, an antique spice chest with gilt hinges, a library of flowers pressed in rare books–
Fills the room at first, labdanum fueling soft animalics, then slowly fades to the skin. Wormwood takes the sweetness from the cloves to make them leathery and rich, but roses soften the edges, making it feminine.
Lasts all day, and even longer in the hair, vintage luxury at its best.
Emaan Zadjali is an American-Omani online sensation who calls her music “trap-soul.”
I like this smoky tune.
“Black clove and cassia flung onto glowing cinders and mingled with slow-dripping poisons.”
Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s description beats even my purple prose–but it’s spot on.
Bright green leaves with that black currant sting, then–CLOVES. Big loud sweet woody spice, with a breath of smoke and an unnecessary dash of dirty cinnamon. After an hour it dries down to powder, a smudge of gingerbread dust and vanilla on the skin.
More insidious than godlike, but definitely good for tricky witchery.
Here’s an insidious witchy song with an awesome Bond-girl vibe.