Perfect for young teen things who still decorate their bedrooms with twinkle lights and ruffled throw pillows, but whose musical tastes are surprisingly quite refined.
Opens with orange juice and pink pepper, then settles into a nice peach Hawaiian Ice–that really wants to be a Bellini when she’s old enough to drink–inside social distance, and ends after a few giggly hours of sheer vanilla musk on the skin.
Cute and lighthearted, but not silly.
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Isla Crall is a very impressive young woman.
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.
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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.
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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–
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.
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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.
Starts with honey and the Di Da Jow bruise medicine my step-dad used after his Kung-Fu sparring workouts, and ends with a dirty penny.
Edit – 3/2/23
Wow, does Zoologist do honey well. (See Bee and Hummingbird.)
Di Da Jow is a lovely sweet camphorous mash of ginseng, spices, and herbs, meant to be used as topical pain relief. When I was little, I’d sneak drops on my cuffs to sniff at all day. I’m sure my parents knew, from the smell, but they never said anything.
Between the opening and the weird sweaty bit that comes across as screechy metal, somewhere inside the floral powder, are a few moments of smoke.
That’s kind of demented, honestly.
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Olivia Newton-John died yesterday. (Breast cancer sucks.)
She was amazing.
Like the perfume, this song starts marvelously, and ends with some odd squeaky notes.
“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.
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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.
Half the price of Tom Ford’s Tobacco Vanille–and smells like it.
Edit – 3/5/23
Less a jazz club and more a seedy casino that hasn’t had the upholstery changed since before the indoor smoking ban and serves cheap house bourbon. The gift shop sells chocolate covered mint cream candies that actually aren’t bad.
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Ms Ella F., at a club in Berlin, messes up the lyrics and turns it into one of the best jazz improv moments ever.
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.
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I’m hungry, now.
Mint chocolate patchouli, camphor cool and creamy, with black coffee on the side.
Lasts an eternity.
Incredibly dynamic, constantly shifting from dark to bright, sugary to herbal, soft to sharp–and there’s something aggressive about the performance, the way it fills the room and takes up space. A*Men is definitely a manspreader, but gets away with it by being sweet and fun.
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“I think beauty is the human emotional vehicle between us and it’s very important.” – Manfred Thierry Mugler
The world has lost some sparkle today, and I imagine the angels and the aliens fighting for the honor of carrying him upward.
Mugler was an incredible fashion designer, responsible for so many history making outfits–Demi Moore’s Indecent Proposal dress, Kim Kardashian’s wet Met Gala number, David Bowie’s neon green suit, Cardi B’s Venus dress–and sooo many more, all bold, creative, sometimes divisive, and always attention getting, just like his perfumes.
He was a visionary and an activist, ignoring gender rules, racial bias and body shape stereotypes, making luxury fashion inclusive and exciting to all, and in the case of his fragrances, accessibly priced and environmentally conscious.
Rest in Parfum, sir, and thank you for all the beauty you have given us.
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George Micheal’s 1992 Too Funky video was set in a fictional Mugler runway show.
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.
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Duran Duran’s cover of Lou Reed’s classic is perfection.
kira a. gold 