Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The air of nothing
Yesterday I finally got a sample of Lutens' Serge Noire. It came in a spray bottle, and I unwisely sprayed it directly on wrist, instead of a piece of paper. My first reaction was "yuck" or something equally non-descriptive. It was both dry and fruity at the same time, sometime Serge Lutens can do well, but not in this case, at least for me. But, I didn't hate it, so I left it on. It was interesting enough, not offensive (all yucks aside), and I wanted to see how it developed. It developed into something I wanted to scrub off. But I didn't. I was on my way to a perfume disaster, but I didn't know that yet.
Instead of scrubbing, I put yet another unsniffed scent on top of it. That was Les Perfume de Rosine's Rose D'Argent (the rose of money?). It smelled like a light tea rose, and for some reason I thought it would be nice over the Lutens. I was wrong. The rose started to bother me, just as many roses do, and I'd really had enough of the lingering Serge Noire.
I have been wanting a new scent to love for some time now, and once I had scrubbed both the offending samples off, I reached for a scent I always like, that's comforting and totally unoffensive - Hanae Mori's Butterfly. In my haste, I sprayed on about twice what I usually do. This was a mistake.
I hated it. I felt like I was choking in a haze of Butterfly juice, whatever that scent is, so vanilla without any vanilla in it anywhere. I figured it would pass, this sudden revulsion for a favored scent, but it did not. Soon, I was scrubbing that off. I loathed the smell so much I imagined I would not be able to smell it again for months.
This morning I went scentless. It's not unusual. I don't wear fragrance all the time. But I've been hungering for a new scent. I've tired of all my favorites, not that I don't like them (except for the now offensive Butterfly). I wore Chergui last night a few hours after the offending episode and even that didn't move me. It was Chergui, again. Yawn.
I was determined to find something I liked amongst the samples I've swapped or received from lovely people such as Nika (thank you, Nika). I sat down with a dozen or more vials to sniff earlier and each one smelled worse than the other. I imagined saying to the juice, "It's not you. It's me. I'm sorry." It is me, of course. If nothing smells good, it must be me.
Right now I've got on Miller Harris' "L'air de Rien", which at first I had a wonderful reaction to (besides thinking that it figured I'd like "the air of nothing"). I like dry vanilla. I like oakmoss. Just the two would probably suit me fine. But it is a little too "nothing", after all. I don't feel like jumping up and down, not that I would, mind you, but I'm just not moved.
In the beginning of my discovering perfume, everything seemed so exciting and wonderful, even if I didn't like it. Will anything surprise me now? I wonder.
Is that what being jaded is? Definition:
adj jaded [ˈdʒeidid]
(of eg a person or his interest, appetite etc) worn out and made tired and dull.
Painting Note: Flaming June by Frederic Leighton. 1895