The bottle is gorgeous. I want it to hold all my secrets and mist me with strength and sex and knowledge.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I am sprayed with slush and rock-salt from a road plow, and pelted with rotting strawberries, and wow, does Thierry Mugler ever blow loud and long on that truck horn.
Whew. Not for me.
All the love for this woman–and I adore this salty song.
Thierry Mugler’s Eau de Star bottles up that summer you spent with the bleach blonde stoner cutie who carved a bong out of a watermelon.
Fresh and wet and high and unforgettable.
It was my favorite candy perfume until the guy said, “That reminds me of what (our hot European neighbor) wears.”
She’s ten years younger than me and a flight attendant.
I love this live version of Madonna’s Candy Perfume Girl, bitchy and hard and still sweet.
kira a. gold 