Dakota prefers Jicky

On Friday, a friend was over, and I told her about how Jicky had perked me up. She'd never sniffed it, so she did, and put a bit on her wrist. I also mentioned to her that I was enjoying Sarah Jessica Parker's Covet, much to my surprise, and that I had picked up an ounce of it at TJ Maxx for five bucks. So, she put a bit of that on her other wrist.

She told me that when she got home, her dog, Dakota, kept sniffing the wrist with Jicky on it. She completely ignored the Coveted wrist.

Jicky has a basenote of civet. It can't be the real thing for it's no longer 1889. If I'm wrong, someone please correct me. But the scent molecule for civet is there. Can Dakota recognize that? Or perhaps Dakota just prefers Jicky,for she's a dog of very good taste.

As for my reviewing Covet, I won't. I seem to have lost the ability to say more than "I like it" or "I don't like it."

Today's scent is Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant. I like it.

Photo note: Dakota, with a cow's hoof in her mouth.

Are my babbling days over?

I doubt it. However, I haven't felt the desire to blog as often as I used to.

As a reader of blogs, I know it's nice to see a new entry (or more) each day. And judging from my blog stats, I can see my readership is down. So, have you all caught up? There's a large amount of entries here, and the majority of them are not topical.

Jaime suggested I write about shoes, socks and mittens. I've written about shoes and mittens before, and there are even drawings of shoes (see the tag "EIIIProduct" in the sidebar). I started writing about socks last night and wound up deleting the entry. I guess I've got some sort of writer's block. Normally, I could write about socks for hours if I didn't stop myself. Last night, writing about anything was about as difficult and not worth the effort as trying to squeeze the last little bit of toothpaste out of its tube.

And normally, I'd now be writing about toothpaste. But that stream of consciousness has dried up, for now. I have no doubt that I'll be back to my normal babbly self at some point. When? I make no promises!

And now, a little story:

Last week, I was wearing Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant. Dick and I were standing in front of an open cupboard. I guess we were looking for food. Of course, that has nothing to do with anything, except to explain that we were in close proximity to each other.

He asked me, "Do you smell something burning?" I answered, "No." He then said, "Well, it's not really a burning smell. It's more like the smell of a dryer sheet." I told him I had just put on some perfume. I offered my wrist for him to smell. He wasn't sure if that was the smell he was smelling. And that was the end of that, for him.

It wasn't the end of it for me, however. I kept sniffing my wrist and asking myself, "Does this smell like Bounce or Snuggle or whatever the name of our dryer sheets are?" And the answer was a resounding "Yes."

Because I'm terribly lazy, I just googled "Snuggle" to see if the box looked familiar. Dick and I raced each other to see who'd find it first. He won. And Snuggle is the brand we use. I don't know why. I do like the way it makes the clothing smell.

And though I would assume that Annick Goutal would be nearly horrified to discover that Encens Flamboyant smells like a dryer sheet, it does. It's not a duplicate, but there's a definate similiarity. I think that only a nose who can differentiate between manufactured scent molecules would be able to explain this similarity.

Today, after I put my clothes in the dryer, along with a sheet of Snuggle, I had a strong urge to wear the fragrance that will now be forever linked to the mundane task of clothes washing. Do you think that Snuggle could be described as having "a mystical, arousing and intense scent?" That's the opening sentence of the Encens Flamboyant description. As for Snuggle, the original fragrance is only described as "fresh" and "clean". But, wait (and wow!) the Snuggle website says "Snuggle - on a mission for upliftment."

I didn't think that "upliftment" was a real word, but I found it in Merriam Webster's Dictionary. Is there something wrong with sentence? I was going to say that I didn't care for the sentiment, but that's not true. I'd be a hypocrite and a snob if I thought that only top of the line perfume had the power to lift one's spirits. After all, I'm the one who bought the Snuggle dryer sheets.

Photo note: I find the official Snuggle bear a bit creepy. Maybe it's because he (she?) has an open mouth. I can't think of another reason. The Snuggle bear is pretty classic in every other way. Since I like stuffed bears, here's a photograph of one I do like. I found it here.

Chypre Rouge: the mystery continues

Last week, I e-mailed Serge Lutens in Paris about the Chypre Rouge mystery. Why did my sample bottle smell completely unlike the Chypre Rouge sample I had from some years ago? Did they change the formulation? Is the export scent different than the scent sold in Europe?

I received a reply to my question within an hour of sending it. There was no reply, actually, but an offer to send me a new sample.

When I got home today, my neighbor stopped by with a package that had the wrong address on it and had needed a signature. Thank goodness she was home, for it would have been sent back! I was stumped as to what the package was. It was sent overnight mail and the return address was JFK airport. When I opened it, there was another padded envelope inside. And inside that, was a beautiful velvet pouch containing 15ml of Chypre Rouge, a regular sample of Chypre Rouge, and a holiday card from the Serge Lutens shop in France.

Well, the sample and the decant both smell like the Chypre Rouge I remember; rich, sweet and complex. So, the mystery still remains. Why did the other sample smell so different?

I'm glad I asked, for I've now got a lovely small bottle of Chypre Rouge. And I must commend their customer service for sending me not just one sample, but two, so I can compare. They are both the same. Thank you, Ms. Ardant, and thank you to Maria, who suggested I contact the company directly.

As for the tassel, I'm not sure why, but when I asked myself "what image do I want to use for this post?" I thought "tassels!" I wish I had found a more complex tassel to display, but I gave up after a few minutes. The art of tassel making is a wonderful one. If you like tassels, I recommend The Tassels Book. You can buy it on Amazon for only $4.95. I tried my hand at making small tassels some years back. It was a lot of fun, but when I started to want to make some really big ones, the price of supplies seemed exorbitant, especially when one can find some truly baroque and beautiful ones at TJ Maxx for under ten bucks.

A bit of pink history (warning: excessive unedited rambling ahead)

"When colors were first introduced to the nursery in the early part of the 20th century, pink was considered the more masculine hue, a pastel version of red. Blue, with its intimations of the Virgin Mary, constancy and faithfulness, was thought to be dainty. Why or when that switched is not clear, but as late as the 1930s a significant percentage of adults in one national survey held to that split."*

When I was in my twenties and having terrible migraines due to stress, I went to a psychologist who was obsessed with getting me to wear pink. How this would help my migraines was (and still is) beyond me. In spite of the fact that his office was but 20 minutes from New York City, then the capital of the all-black wearing world, this bit of style news had not reached Dr. I-forget-his-name. Besides his ridiculous assertion that my choice of wearing all black was an indicator of a morbid state of mind, I only remember a few things about this man, whom I saw once a week for a year. He hardly spoke, and spent a little too much time making distracting sucking noises and scrunching up his face. I just tried to make the same sound I remember, but wasn't able to do so. It sounded like he was trying to extract something stuck between his teeth. The strange movements of his mouth indicated to me that he may have been also trying to find that bit of something with his tongue. That, I can imitate, and the act of doing so makes me think of him. Seriously, I would have preferred he use a toothpick or excuse himself for a moment to go floss. But I suspect that there was nothing stuck between the good doctor's teeth. It was just a habitual act, and one I would imagine annoyed more than one patient.

Most of the sessions I had started with at least fifteen minutes of silence. He didn't believe in starting a conversation, even with the smallest of talk, such as "How are you?" No. He was most assuredly a tabula rasa kind of shrink. I knew nothing about him besides his propensity to make sucking sounds and the probable search for foreign objects in his mouth. He always wore a sharp looking suit and combed his jet black hair straight back, giving him more the look of a gangster than a psychologist. Maybe he led a double life. It never occurred to me until now, but I'd venture to guess he did not, and that I only suspect so because I watch the TV show Criminal Minds, which may lead me to believe any one of us is a potential serial killer.

For one year, I sat in near silence with this man. Finally, I decided to call it quits and he said, "Now you're ready to begin therapy. Would you like to start coming twice a week?" I had to laugh, for I then realized he was pretty much quoting the last line of Portnoy's Complaint. My answer to him was a definate "No thank you."

Besides his annoying sucking sounds, he really irked me with his pink-wearing prodding. I finally caved in and showed up one day wearing a dusty pink suit. I remember he thought this was some kind of breakthrough, though I'm thinking that was the day I started thinking I was wasting a good deal of money paying this silly man to badger me with gender stereotypes while I still continued to suffer from killer migraines. The suit did nothing to help my headache. It was ugly, unflattering, and a terribly dull, too pale shade of pink, a color which I've come to enjoy quite a bit, and not in the least because I've embraced my girly-girl side. There are pinks that are quite strong. It can be an intense color, unlike the insipid light pastels that grace many a baby girl's bedroom walls.

It's quite funny, thinking back, that I decided this fellow was completely useless as a therapist when I realized he couldn't see that my pink suit was just ugly. I have a vague recollection that I considered it a test of some sort. If he just approved of my ability to comply and nothing more, then I considered him a failure of a therapist. I had such odd notions about aesthetics; in truth they were terribly snotty and elitist. A person who couldn't judge the difference between shades of pink or see that I had intentionally worn something atrocious was not someone I could trust. I shouldn't have trusted him after the first fifty minutes of teeth sucking, but I was pretty insecure at the time, in spite of my snobbery.

I really was a jerk when I was young. I certainly can be a bore now, but I hope, at least, that I can recognize it when I am. Then, I did not, or when I did, I rather enjoyed myself. That kind of behavior is the behavior of the truly insecure, and I'm sometimes surprised to see it in people who are over thirty years of age. Snotty posturing is okay when you're in college or younger, but afterwards, well, one should really see a (good) shrink if you're still acting out of such insecurity.

I've seen quite a few terrible mental health professionals in my life, sad to say. At the age of fifteen, I was forced to see a therapist and this man gave me some of the craziest advice you can imagine. If it was today, he could be sued for telling a teenager what he did, which was "Go out and get laid. Smoke some pot like everyone else." Huh? Thankfully, he did not suggest I do this with him. And thankfully, if he had, I probably would have slapped him across the face. Yes, I've been known to do this, though it's been over ten years since the last time I've had the need. The last time, I felt awfully bad about it. I knocked the poor guy's glasses off, and that seemed far worse than a little slap for being a pig.

Please note that I'm not advocating hitting people. Diplomacy is the best option, but I think there must be something primal and old-fashioned in me that overrides my normal judgment when confronted with digusting commments made by men. And I fully admit to having a double standard. Women have made inappropriate lewd comments and such to me, and none of them got slapped. Maybe that's because they aren't as much of a physical threat. That's the only thing I can think of. Well, these days this stuff doesn't happen any more, so I don't have to torture myself thinking about it.

Phew. This is what came out of thinking about the color pink?

Here's a good place to stop and take a break. A cup of tea perhaps? The subject is about to change, not once, but twice. Two breaks may be in order. Or you can come back. One needn't read an entire entry in one sitting. You wouldn't eat an entire pie at once, would you? If you said, "oh sure I would!", then proceed. . .

Since I'm babbling and rambling, I might as well tell you about some of my day. I won a Christmas gift basket, which included a 22 pound turkey and all the food needed to cook up a feast for a family of six. I had forgotten I had bought a raffle ticket on Election Day. When I answered the phone and heard it was the woman from the Town Office, I thought, "Uh oh." I do owe some taxes. But no, I won the raffle. Now, I don't need a big turkey, but I suppose I could have used the rest of the groceries. I asked the woman if she knew of any families that were really in need that might be better recipients. She seemed surprised that I wasn't all excited about winning. I was surprised that I won something, no doubt, but it didn't seem right to accept it as there was a high probability that some family with children would appreciate it more than I. So, I asked her to please give it to someone else. I have to admit (do I really?) that I would have liked to personally deliver it, but that's really a selfish desire on my part. It doesn't take all that much largesse to give away an unexpected raffle prize. I do hope that it makes someone's holiday a little nicer.

On the perfume front, I discovered that I really miss having some Serge Lutens' Bois de Vanille. It's such a soothing scent, even if it smells pretty much like cotton candy (though I try to convince myself it's "a sophisticated cotton candy"). I keep thinking there must be a cheap-o perfume that smells like this, but I haven't found one. When I discovered that indeed there wasn't a drop left of the stuff, I decided to re-try Louve, and once again was taken with how truly ordinary this scent is. It's opening is overly sweet, even painfully so. Every time I've tried it, I recoil to the point of not being able to tell you (or understand myself) what in the world I am smelling. It's screams at me to close down my senses. What's truly strange is that less than a half an hour later it's so banal a scent that I don't even notice it. To me, it smells like talcum powder for tweens, a truly drug store perfume smell that I still can't identify. A hint of candied cherries? Oddly, I neither like or dislike it. That is the definition of banal, I suppose.

So, I crave the smell of sweet vanilla and turn once again to Hanae Mori's Butterfly, a truly unsubtle scent. But it satisfies my craving. It's like getting Edy's when I really want Haagen Daz iced cream. Or maybe not. I'm probably just trying too hard. And come to think of it, I keep dismissing the Hanae Mori scent, for no reason that I can think of. Maybe I still am a bit of a snotty elitist. No, the Hanae Mori is not as good as the Lutens' Vanille, but the Lutens Louve is a fairly wretched, pointless scent and I'm not constantly writing about how lousy it is. Poor me. I'm so positive that a Lutens is good, while something I can get at Macy's can't possibly be, that I am missing the fact that I've been enjoying Butterfly over and over again. I must give this some thought.

Well, my dear reader, if you've made it this far, you deserve some sort of award. For what, I'm not entirely sure. There were other things I meant to write about today, but it's been another weird day that feels like it's been a week long. So, I'll save whatever else I have to write for another time. Maybe next time, I'll be more terse. Lately, that's been almost impossible. I will end this entry here. Abruptly. There's no conclusion, for this entry is one big mess. I could delete it with one keystroke, but I won't. This big mess is rather like my life at the moment. Well. No wonder that's what I'm writing!

I just realized that the impetus for this entry was never even mentioned. I should have a good laugh at my expense. I stumbled upon a fun little thing called Instant Flowers, an on-line tool to create pretty somewhat cartoonish bouquets. It's quite a bit of fun. Unfortunately, their save-to-blog feature doesn't seen to work. I suggest giving it a try. It's a sweet, nice diversion.

Painting note: Henri Matisse Woman in Pink 1923 On my laptop screen, she looks like she's wearing coral. What do you see?

*I had read about this years ago, but don't remember the source. This quote is from Peggy Orenstein's New York Times article "What's Wrong With Cinderella?"

The seven weird random things meme (skip to the rules if you don't care about scent)

Two days ago TMC tagged me for this meme. Okay, I wasn't up for it. First of all, I was feeling like crap physically (as if you didn't know that). But more importantly, Dick's mother passed away on Thursday evening. Blogging about anything seemed completely inappropriate, and even right now, not writing something meaningful about her or about the preciousness of our oh-so-short lives seems absurd. Yet, I think back to when a friend of mine's father died, and how we played Boggle for hours on end. A bit of fun is neccessary. Anyway, Dick's mother wouldn't have liked anyone sitting around moping.

I had a long blog entry that I was in the middle of when I heard the news. I just looked it over and decided, nah, I'm not posting that. It was too "heavy" (a word I detest, but I'm feeling lazy) I feel like writing, and I've little to say that isn't too personal. Yes, you heard correctly; I actually do think that some things are too personal to blog about.

Scent Interlude: Thank you, Serge Lutens, for Chypre Rouge. It has helped cheer me up in the last few days. Luca Turin says there's no such thing as aromatherapy, but I respectfully disagree. I found wearing this scent to be truly helpful when I was down. When I'd bring my wrist to my nose, I would have a moment of pure pleasure. Now, that's not what aromatherapy is "for", but I consider it excellent medicine if one can be transported out of oneself while in any sort of pain. I also disagree about Chypre Rouge itself. In the Guide, Chypre Rouge is described as a "disaster" and "reminds [one]. . .[some] smells in nature serve to repel rather than attract." I'd plead that my sense of smell is impaired, but I've liked Chypre Rouge since the first time I sniffed it. Unlike some, I don't care a whit if The Guide and I disagree. So, maybe my nose is untrained and stupid. It's not my job to sniff perfume, nor am I suggesting that you go out and buy or even try Chypre Rouge. I hear most people don't like it, actually. Dick seems to, but he also said something mysterious the other day about my smelling like something akin to manure. I wish I could remember what it was! Now, that's not something one wants others to think, is it? Great, a scent that smells like you've pooped your pants or smell like cow dung. Hey, there's Bulgari Black, which is meant to smell like a rubber fetishist's dream. Maybe there's a scent for coprophiliacs that I haven't heard of yet.

I'm sorry if I've offended anyone. I would imagine I have.

I don't think Chypre Rouge smells like manure. It smells, to me over-ripe fruit, honey, dates, prunes, a touch of desert sherry, a big pinch of curry garam masala (quite a specific mix of curry spices), and yes, a bit of flowery dirt. It smells like a freshly made fruitcake (which, while much maligned, can be wonderful). Perhaps it's not the scent of sherry, but of rum. My nose for alcohol isn't all that good. I've never had mead, which is honey wine. I'm now most curious.

Well, the scent interlude is over, and I have no idea what I came here to write about. Oh yes: Seven weird and random things about me.

The rules:

* link your original tagger(s) (done above, click on TMC), and list these rules on your blog.
* share seven facts about yourself in the post - some random, some weird.
* tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.
* let them know they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their blogs and/or twitter.

Okay, here they are (and I'm thinking, is there anything that isn't random and weird about me? And what, exactly, does "random" mean in this context?)

1. Number one has to be, at least tonight, the fact that I love Serge Lutens Chypre Rouge, even though it is supposed to be lousy.

2. Since I've already mentioned Bulgari Black (which is supposed to smell like rubber and talcum powder), I'll admit to owning a latex tank top. It's way too small for me now, though I haven't a clue where and when I'd wear it if it did fit.

3. I didn't learn how to drive until I was two weeks away from turning 30. I passed my road test on the first try. When the tester said I had passed, I gave the guy a kiss on the cheek. I am not a touchy-feely person, so it surprised me as much as it did him. So did my passing the test. I thought I'd fail, for I still hadn't mastered the art of parallel parking. But the little gods of motor vehicles was shining down on me that day as I slid the car oh so beautifully next to the curb.

4. My dream job is being a stand-up comedian (and having a talk show).

5. I bicycled 75-100 miles a day every day for two months when I was 15 years old and spent months in training. This isn't weird, but it sure doesn't sound like something the person who writes ths blog might do. I also wanted to race on a track, but that never wound up happening.

6. I was fascinated with doing standing broad jumps when I was a kid. It seemed amazing to me that one could actually go all that far without running first. I was terrified of high jumping for no apparent reason. I couldn't explain it and still can't. I would run up to the bar really fast and then stop dead. I failed gym when I was in the 8th grade and was grateful that you didn't get held back on account of that.

7. We had to wear gym uniforms at the Junior High School I went to. We had to put our names on the breast pocket, either by using a cloth name tag if we had one, embroidering it, or using a waterproof marker. I embroidered my name. That's not accurate: I embroidered a fake name. It was Gertrude Singer. I knew who Gertrude Stein was (though I'm not sure if I knew what she actually did) and liked her name, but I didn't want to steal it outright. I got in trouble for this bit of silliness and for the fact that I didn't wear white socks. I had taken my white gym socks and tie-dyed them just to be contrary. I suppose this may have contributed to my failing gym class.

Okay, that's that. Now I have to tag seven people to announce seven weird and/or random things about themselves.

I'm going to change things up somewhat. I'm not tagging anyone. I am, once again, asking those who never leave comments to finally just do it. I am also going to post this link on Twitter. So, you can leave your lists in the comments section, you untagged folks. If you have a long response, you can e-mail me (see my profile), and I'll give you your very own post. How's that for an offer? Somehow, I have a feeling that the response to this is going to be poor. C'mon you folks, prove me wrong!

You're it! And again, you know who you are. . .

If you do have a blog, link back. Otherwise, you could ask the next person you speak to "What's something weird about you?", but that might be a real conversation killer. I would imagine the response might be, "Um. Huh?" Then again, you might find out something really interesting. Don't forget to report your findings!

Painting note: Detail from a painting that you can learn more about here. I was too lazy to read the entire article or to look for something else. And no, it wasn't straightforward. Most odd.

Reason for the image? It's a conversation. I doubt any of us look like this, but if you do, please mention it in your "seven weird and random things about me meme".

The smell of fire

Christopher Brosius did make a scent called "Roast Beef." However, according to him, he never meant to sell any.

On the other hand, this year you can get your meat-loving friends the new Burger King Flame body spray. You must click the link. It's very funny. If Burger King wanted to generate some attention in this lousy economic market, they've done a fine job. Hey, now I'm curious. For four bucks, I'm dying to know what it smells like: "Behold the scent of seduction, with a hint of flame-broiled meat."

I must confess that I love the smell of meat cooking over a wood fire. I love the smell of burning wood, too. I have a small bottle of fragrance oil called "woodsmoke." I don't really need it, since I've got a woodstove burning constantly during the winter. During the summer, we do barbecue a lot, always with wood.

I love the smell of burnt things. That doesn't include plastic, which I accidentally lit on fire last week when I was steaming some broccoli. That smell permeated the house for a day. But the smell of burnt leaves, paper and most anything natural is just lovely. I may also like it overmuch because of childhood memories. It's odd, out of a tragedy comes a love for the smell of fire. My parent's gallery burnt down in one of the biggest fires in Long Island, New York history. After the fire was out (a week later), my father put everything that was salvageable into our basement. I don't know why we kept it all. It was rather creepy, some of it. There was more than one sculpture of a human being that had become half a body. The figurative paintings were quite macabre with all their melted paint. A lot of the stuff was much more interesting melted.

I like fire. I don't like it if someone gets hurt or loses their house (just wanted to make sure you understand that!) Everyone loves fires in a fireplace, don't they? Many years ago, when I lived in New York City, there was a huge fire on Broadway in a huge old warehouse. It was unusually cold out and the water that hit the building was freezing. It was an incredible sight: flames bursting from windows and gigantic icicles forming below them. It seemed unbelievable that it was even possible. It felt hot, standing across the street watching; those icicles seemed to defy the power of the flames.

I'm not a firebug. There were plenty of people watching this fire. It was extraordinary and noone was in the building, so one could watch guilt-free.

Well, all that on account of Burger King's "fragrance." Don't forget to click the link. It is a hoot!

Photo note: "Crisp Fire Safety is here to help you to meet your Fire Safety obligations."

Addendum: I had said to myself "don't write." Eh. My writing is not up to snuff, but it makes me feel better. Fire deserves a more well-crafted piece of writing than this one. Another time, perhaps.

One more reason I don't like celebrity scents (with long afterthought about aging)

I haven't tried Dianne Brill's perfume. I just received a sample. Here's the thing: I don't want to like it. Isn't that awful?

Reason #1. Just read the first sentence of the ad copy:

Diane Brill's lifetime up to this moment provides the inspiration for her signature fragrance.

I am not a stickler about the English language, but honestly, with all the money that goes into developing perfumes and cosmetics, don't you think that this opening salvo could have been better written?

It's such a badly written sentence. I don't know why it sticks in my craw so much. It's causing all sorts of snarky responses in me. What if they left out "up to this moment"? Thus; Diane Brill's lifetime provides the inspiration for her signature fragrance. That's a perfectly good sentence. I suppose it sounds like she's dead. Ah. That's why someone threw that "up to this moment" bit in there. I see it now.

Okay. I'll let that one slide.

But wait, here's sentence #3: Dianne Brill's Perfume is the essence of Ms. Brill's philsophy, which is to deliver a feeling.

This stuff reads like the bad English put out by Japanese companies. Ms. Brill's company is not in this category. What's up with their writers?

As to that philosophy, yeah, I agree. It's really good to want to deliver a feeling. What feeling exactly are we talking about? I suppose it doesn't matter.

Oh sorry. There is a next line, so the question will be answered.

The feeling that you get when you open a present of lingerie, jewelry or exquisite bonbons.

That was it. What feeling is that? It depends, doesn't it? If someone gave me one of those S-shaped diamond necklaces, I'd be speechless and stupefied. Well, that's not exactly a feeling, is it? What if a stranger gave me a diamond engagement ring? I might be scared. If I received a gift of lingerie from a relative, I'd be shocked. Bonbons? Does anyone give bonbons as a gift? Well, I like those Lindt chocolates with hazelnuts inside. I suppose they are bonbons, so if I got some of those, I'd be pleased.

Ms. Brill, am I to believe I will feel all the emotions of a lifetime by wearing your perfume. That is what you mean, right?

Somehow, I think not.

Dianne Brill was the nightlife queen in the early 80's club scene. I remember liking her some, only because she wasn't thin and seemed to be totally okay with that. I was rather saddened to see, that on her website, she gave up being an proud big woman a while back.

I will try the perfume. Oh, how I want to hate it!

Photo note: Diane Brill and Elvira
Bobby Sheehan, 1977-82 (unspecified)

Addendum: I felt a bit disturbed after posting this. It was the photograph that created this uneasy (queasy?) feeling that I have. The black and white photograph above reminds me how innocent "we" were thirty or so years ago. Elvira was someone who was fake. Look at her, how truly fake she is. It's a fun fake, like Dianne Brill or Amy Winehouse's bouffants. And Diane B. back then? Honestly, I love her weight. She looks like a real person, all dressed up and having fun.

Go over to Dianne Brill's website (link above) and look at the photographs of her today. Oh, sure, she "looks good." No, I'll disagree with that statement. It's creepy for someone to look younger at middle-age than they did when they were twenty-something.

Last night, I watched the original CSI for the first time in at least a year. The woman who plays Katherine, whatever her name is, looks younger than when the show started. I watched her forehead during the entire episode. Did it move? Not really. Botox strikes again. So much for having models of good looking older women.

When I was a teenager and my mother started her flipping-out-over-I'm getting-old-and-undesirable phase, watching the changes in her were upsetting. I thought I was just a selfish little brat, wanting my mom to stay the same. In retrospect, I think there is some of that in there, but there was a larger issue. I wanted to see her grow old gracefully, for then I'd know I could do it too. I would have also been less worried about her mental state, but that's another story. I basically missed the last year of my mother's life because of her face lift. She didn't want me to see her until she was all healed.

I kid around about how I'd like to get a chin job, a neck resurfacing, a bit of surgery on my lower belly (and if I think about it, a whole host of other places). Heck, I don't have kids. Why should I be a decent role model? But why should I care at all? This is my body. It's falling apart, both on the outside and the inside. Gravity takes it course, as it should. My grandmother's boobs hung so low that they rested on the top of her apron waistband. That was what grandmothers looked like in my mind. There was something almost reassuring about it.

Why do we have to look perpetually young? Greater minds than I have asked that. I've read about this subject in so many places, yet not one person has written about why the youth standard has become so imperative right now. Maybe it's those aging baby boomers. They were in love with their youth and don't want to give it up. I think that may be part of it, but it certainly isn't the whole thing.

I want to admire old crones, women with creped skin and white hair. Why should any of us spend our whole lives worrying about what we look like?

It's odd. I didn't think I'd be someone susceptible to this. I never thought I was attractive and certainly didn't use my looks, such as they were, to any advantage. Youth was never an advantage to me, anyway. I "suffered" from the opposite problem of many. I actually looked too young for a good amount of my adult life. It was hard to get people to take me seriously. I looked like I was a high school student until I was in my late thirties.

What is the standard? It's Miss America, still, after all these years. That age is neither too young nor too old. Let's call it the perpetual 29. That sounds about right.

Sometimes the superficial is not

Perfume. Just the word conjures up the trivial and superficial in most people's minds. What could beat it, in the category of superficial? Mascara beats it hands down. Those weird contraptions that curl one's eyelashes. Having a discussion about the relative merits of hair gel versus styling putty. . . Oh, the list is endless. What's the most trivial thing you can think of (and what's the most trivial thing that interests you greatly)?

Well, today, perfume lifted my spirits considerably.* I am not wearing something I'm all that thrilled about, but still, just thinking about perfume instead of my personal suffering was a sign that I could transcend my drama. I even got myself to walk a little further than I felt I could go, just to get my hands on some Guerlain Jicky, which wasn't right at my fingertips.

Jicky, which I've written about before, sometimes is a disappointment. It's quite refreshing, but can bring to mind the scent of Lemon Pledge. Once I think of that, like getting a bad song stuck in one's brain, it's hard to shake.

Perfume certainly can be trivial. It isn't to the companies who make it, but I don't care about that. And I don't particularly care for the celebrity scents (okay, I dislike that phenomenom tremendously). But, perfume is somewhat like watching birds for me. The stuff has the power to lift me out of my mood, to transport me to another place, and even to disgust me, which in itself is no mean feat.

It occurs to me, that if I lived in New York City, I might have walked to Aedes de Venustas, even if it practically killed me, to raise my spirits. Unfortunately, a stroll to the Freedom General Store would not have the same affect. Eau de Whoopie Pie? Vienna Sausage Pour Moi? Non!

Hey, I do have a couple of scratch tickets in my bag. I'd forgotten! I got them from my big ten buck win on Friday. I'll go scratch them. I bet I don't even win two bucks, but who knows? If I hit it big, every one of you will get a wonderful gift. I'll be back.

Photo note: How to Use An Eyelash Curler.
I dare you to come up with something more trivial than that!

*As did some wonderful people who helped me when I cried for some help. I can't thank you enough. Really. It's remarkable, really, for without the Web, it wouldn't have been possible.

ADDENDUM: I won five bucks. Not enough to buy a new mattress, unless I traveled back in time. Perhaps I'll figure out how to do that if I stay up late enough.

Revisiting Cristalle, again

Only because I was too lazy to go upstairs, I reached for a bottle of Chanel Cristalle. This is one of the very few full bottles of scent that I own. It was exactly one year ago that I purchased this for myself, as a birthday gift (three more days to go, in case you're wondering).

Before I moved to Maine and gave up wearing scent, almost twenty years ago, I had a small collection. Here's what I remember of it: Chanel Cristalle, White Shoulders, Hermes Caleche, YSL Paris, and Ralph Lauren (his first fragrance). There were probably others, but these have made it through the ravages of time and memory. The YSL was much too much rose intensity for me to wear, but I loved to sniff it now and again, and it had such a pretty bottle. Caleche was my first love, Cristalle was my second, and White Shoulders, the stuff you can now buy at Walmart, was the third.

These have all been reformulated since.

My first reaction to the "new" Cristalle was disappointment. It also gave me a small headache. So, my bottle sits in its box, unused.

I'm wearing some now, and it smells delightful, much more flowery than I remembered. My nose is a bit stuffed up, so I may be missing quite a bit of it. It is decidedly feminine, but lately I've been so taken with woods and incense that anything else would probably scream "feminine" to me.

This is very strange. I remember reading someone describing Cristalle as the smell of money. I smell that - the scent of new money, crisp bills with a band around them, never touched by anyone before, never used. . .and here it is, the whole image: A huge round glass vase bursting with flowers, no single one standing out, but overflowing, and beside it, a neat pile of new bills. The white tablecloth that I envison ripples slightly from the sea breeze that enters through the open French doors. The white cloth looks bright against the backdrop of the deep blue ocean and the cloudless blue sky. I see a woman near the table, tanned, and quite fit. There are sounds of quiet laughter and ice cubes in heavy glass tumblers.

This is not a scent. It's my fantasy. Actually, it's an old neighbor's living room (but without the pile of money on the table).

Sitting here with my cat beside me, still in my bathrobe, listening to the pop and crackle of the woodstove, I am far away from the place that Cristalle takes me to. It is certainly not summer. I do not live on the ocean, nor am I fit and tan. You'd be right if you said my sudden imagery was a stereotype of a certain type. That woman would not be writing this. She'd be sitting down to dinner right about now, or at least in the first course. She'd also wonder how anyone could live with a woodstove. Sure, it's quaint, but all that wood and ashes leave a terrible mess. A fireplace is acceptable, and creates a nicer ambiance, don't you think?

Well, my woodstove heats my house. I sniff my wrist. Such a pretty scent. It just doesn't match my life at all. Does it matter?

Photo note: I googled "all white living rooms." This is pretty close to what was in my mind. Not only that, the house is on Peaks Island, right here in the state of Maine. The article? "A Life in the Clouds" from Cottage Living. The window treatment is all wrong for this room. I can't even think of the nicer term for those venetian blinds. Those things always make me think of Brooklyn, not the new hip version, but the Brooklyn where my grandparents lived, with venetian blinds and plastic slipcovers for everything.

Secretly (as if it's an awful thing!), I've always fantasized about having an all-white living room. If I lived alone, I could pull it off. I suppose that side of me who likes this is the one who likes Cristalle (and Cristal, too).

Addendum: Cristalle is cloying after an hour or so. I'm thinking of scrubbing. . .

Addendum II: For the record, I don't like the living room that graces the top of this post. When I said it was "my fantasy", I meant it was where I envisioned my imaginary Cristalle wearer to be. I dislike this room so much, that when I've revisited this post to respond to a comment, I've bristled. So, here's an all-white living room I like, and a link to lots of photos from the Country Living home tour:

We are all connected

I just discovered that Tania Sanchez, the co-author of "Perfumes: The Guide", participated in this year's National Novel Writing Month. This makes me happy. I'm not sure why. Tania, if you happen to stumble onto this blog, did you write about perfume? My book has not a single word about the subject. And, of course, congratulations for making it to the finish line!

It occurs to me that discovering that Tania Sanchez, whom I adore from afar, was participating in the same activity as I was during the month of November makes me feel like we are close in some way. I don't mean "close" in some creepy, stalking way, but close in that knowing she did NaNoWriMo, too, makes her more of a real person to me. Of course, I knew that she was (and is) a real person, but there is something unreal about celebrity crushes.

Everything I write makes me sound like a stalker. I've written about Tania's husband, Luca Turin, in my post "I finally found a hero of sorts". I got a thank you e-mail from him, which was most gracious.

So, these are real people, living their lives, just like the rest of us. They certainly have a larger collection of perfume in their household than the rest of us. And neither of them, I'm sure, judge scents with phrases like "I dunno what this smell is" or variations of "I don't know much about perfume but I know what I like" that are inherent in many of my assessments.

Then again, maybe even the finest nose has "I dunno" moments.

Painting note: Amazingly, I've just spent fifteen minutes trying to find out who painted this portrait of Catherine de Medici, with no luck at all. I obtained the jpg on Wikipedia Commons, where it said nothing. Google searches supplied me with more pics, but no info. Most odd.

I'm glad I went on this search, for I wound up at a delightful site, The Racous Royals, where I learned we can hold Catherine responsible for corsets and high heels.

I was trying to remember why I wanted a painting of Catherine de Medici at the top of this post and couldn't. It was only this: I Profumi di Firenze says that they were "inspired by original 16th century secret formulas commissioned by Catherine de Medici."

I am fickle

It wasn't exactly summer when I wrote about my indifferent response to Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant, but we did have an unusally warm Fall until about a week ago.

I've gone from indifference to true love. A lovely woman was, well, lovely enough to send me a 1ml vial of the Annick Goutal scent, which I have enough left of for one day's wearing. I am nearly bereft!

Note: Hyperbole is essential when writing about perfume.

A perfume I had truly loved, L'artisan Parfumeur's Passage D'enfer has fallen off my adoration list, replaced by Encens Flamboyant. They are quiet similar, but what I once loved about the former, I now find flat.

I had previously said it was dry without being dusty. Now I smell dust. I had thought, "Oh, I liked it when it was warm out, but now it's cold." Not true! Just read this post, and you'll see how fickle I can be.

Really, I was positive that my change of heart had to do with the weather. It makes sense. Passage D'enfer is such a dry fragrance, without any warmth. So, it would stand to reason that as the weather gets colder, I'd not want to wear it. But the truth is exposed in old posts (many of them, in fact). My taste has changed. Pure and simple.

I had hoped that I'd be able to obtain some Encens Flamboyant on Ebay by 9:00pm today, but the expert bidders will outdo me by a penny every time. I have never won any auction on that site. Maybe someday this particular Annick Goutal will wind up on one of the big perfume discounter's sites, but I suspect that by then, I'll have moved on to loving some other incense fragrance.

Painting note: Giovanni Bellini
Naked Young Woman in Front of a Mirror 1515

Floris China Rose

You may be thinking, "What does that image have to do with something that has the word rose in it? And isn't she writing about a perfume?" I'll get to that shortly.

I woke up bleary and knew that I wouldn't be able to take a shower for a few hours, so I reached into my nightstand for a packet of new samples I have. I figured I'd just pick something at random. Not my usual modus operandi, and not the best of ideas when one has a bit of a headache.

When I have a plan, even if it's very small, I stick to it, so I opened the vial of Floris China Rose and sniffed it. My first reaction was "this smells like acetone." Great. I put some on in spite of my reaction. After all, I was bleary.

The card the vial is attached to was something of an alert. It's a bit too pink and pretty, suggesting something innocent and rather straightforward. Yet, the description promises a good deal of richness: "Top notes of rose, jasmine, violet and hyacinth lead to middle notes of peach, clary sage, clove, ylang ylang and geranium. Base notes include patchouli, tonka bean, vanilla, honey, amber and vetiver."

I sniffed my left wrist and the acetone smell was gone. In its wake was violet, a sweet and cloying violet, one that reminded me of something long past, but I couldn't put my finger on it. By the time I got myself to my pot of coffee I realized what it was - the violet candies and gum I used to adore when I lived in New York.

It took a few seconds of googling to find them. Choward's? I had no idea that was the name of the company, even though I've chewed their gum and eaten their candy since I was in grade school. I've never seen these candies sold in Maine, but when I'm in New York City, if I think of it, I buy a few packs. They still sell for under a buck.

Both the gum and the candy are just plain weird, but they truly are wonderful, once you get past the idea of eating violets. Now, that once was not unusual. In the Victorian era eating candied violets and other flowers was quite popular.

Getting back to the China Rose, it is truly awful. The sweet violet is pretty much all I can smell, though I am always a bit stuffed up in the morning. And that acetone scent? It's back and hovering around me. Where's all those other notes? I've had the stuff on for close to an hour and, well, perhaps I can smell a bit of amber, but it's just sweet, fake-smelling violets and chemicals. It doesn't deserve all this analysis.

I'm glad for one thing, however. It reminded me of those candies and gum. I will keep a keen eye out for them here in Maine. And if I don't find them, I'll be in New York in December. Those violet candies do sweeten one's breath. They do a better job of it than any icey-cold breath freshiener gum does. Curious? You can buy them on-line at the Victory Old-Time Candy Store.

And if you're also wondering why I have to wait to have my shower, I have a well. No city water for me (and I sure do miss it). That well fills slowly and if I'm doing laundry (as I am now), if I do something else that takes a good amount of water, like having a shower, the pump will start sucking air. Then poor Dick has to go into the cellar and do a lot of dirty and annoying work. So, I'm careful.

Not all natural is good for you

I tried, in vain, to find where I had read the difference between synthetic and natural patchouli.

I had remembered some of it, was sketchy on the details, and thought "better get it right on the science", but here's what my memory offers up: I had once thought I was allergic to patchouli and could just not be around it. I've sent workers home because they were wearing patchouli, asked tattoo customers to return when they're not, made a rule where I once was boss that noone was allowed to wear it, and once had to leave a restaurant where my waitress smelled of the stuff, for I was nauseated and couldn't imagine eating.

Now I wear some scents with patchouli in them and think, "This stuff smells wonderful." Not always, of course, but there are a more than a few.

What's going on here? Not much. I still can't abide by what's sold in the health food stores or artsy clothing shops.

The difference is this: The patchouli in my perfume is not natural. Does that surprise you? After all, natural is supposed to be good, and synthetic is bad.

Here's what Luca Turin has to say in his book "Perfumes: The Guide"; ". . .the difference between naturals and synthetics is complexity. If you smell them, pure, natural raw materials are more interesting than aromachemicals. That's because most naturals are mixtures of tens, sometimes hundreds of molecules, and the nose recognizes this. . ."

So, if I remember correctly, there was just a whole lot more to be sensitive to in a natural patchouli. Who knew what it was exactly that was bothering my sensibilities?

Don't forget - everything is made up of chemicals. Just because it's natural doesn't mean it's good for you. My mother grew lovely foxgloves in her garden, but I was told quite strenuously that I should not eat them. Not a silly warning, for I had been known to eat flowers (and even caught once on camera doing so). And not a silly warning, for eating digitalis can cause a heart attack.

Latex, which looks absolutely unnatural, is not. There's so much latex allergy in this country that most doctors and hospitals ask if one is allergic to it on intake forms.

Last week I layered a bit of Oshadi Roots, an all natural organic scent over some Bulgari Blu, which most assuredly has nothing natural in it anywhere. Neither scent smells great on its own, in my estimation, but the two together were heavenly (though not enough so to purchase either). The point? Together, naturals and synthetics can make a lovely brew.

I once thought I'd only wear cotton, wool and linen, but I've been thrilled with the jeans that have a bit of spandex in them. I'm not casting aside their comfort and their accomdation for a bit of weight change or a big meal just because there's something unnatural in them.

Image note: I've having quite a time of it today. My head hurts and my eyes ache and I can't find where I've read this or that. The discussion of natural vs. synthetics and allergies does continue in Perfumes: The Guide. I must apologize to Tania Sanchez for not mentioning she is the co-author. And, last but not least, somewhere is a quote from one of them about patchouli and the "dreaded dirty hippie smell".

Live blogging Guerlain Habit Rouge

Note: I started this in the Shoutbox. I had settled down for some non-web reading and as I am assessing my reaction to this new-to-me scent, I figured, hey: live blog!

4:33 First impression: strong lemon. Wait up: strong rose/rosewood?
Quite complex. I'm curious how this plays out.

Thoughts that waft through my brain: This was first released in '65. What did it smell like then?
I can't remember what Luten's Chypre Rouge smells like. Was the rouge part a nod to this scent. I suspect so.

I have an untrained nose.

4:53 Why does my left and right wrist always smell differently? That is a true mystery.

4:54 My right wrist smells quite a bit like Dzongkha. Mmmmm. My left wrist, I think, has not caught up. It still smells sweet, while the right is more dry. Ah, the mystery is solved, I suspect: the right wrist is further along in the drydown.

Checked Basenotes to see what I'm missing. I got the lemon/rosewood thing right, at least.

4:59 I find it hard to identify woodsy notes, though I love them. I'm discovering that patchouli isn't the horrible thing I've always felt it to be.

Thinking back to when I managed a clothing store, I realize I must have seemed like a monster of a boss when I told a girl, "You can't work here today because you smell like patchouli. You can wash all you want, but I'll still smell it. Don't wear it to work again."

Then, when I hired a girl to work at my tat shop, I told her I only had three rules:
1. No patchouli.
2. No showing up to worked stoned or drunk.
3. Be on time.

She failed on all three, but that has little to do with Habit Rouge, does it?

5:04 This one is a winner, so far. Could even wind up on favorites list. Time will tell. Stay tuned.

5:11 More Dzing! than Dzongkha, though sweeter and certainly not as weird. Yes, Dzing! is weird. Not the type of description that makes me sound like an authority on anything, but I never claimed to be. Dzing! was meant to remind one of the circus, elephant poop and all. How could it be ordinary?

Habit Rouge? I'd say it was ahead of its time.

6:08 Ah, the highs and lows of first sniffs. . .I'm now disappointed. Let this be a lesson to anyone who tries a scent at a store, knows enough to let it drydown, walks around for half an hour and falls in love. This love affair may be over sooner than you think and you'll be stuck with a scent that you're trying to trade away to someone else.

The final verdict: If it had stayed the way it was at 5:11, I'd be delighted. But no, the final lasting impression of Habit Rouge is one of rosewood,or really, a old musty rose. I think of a bottle of German rosewater that my mother once had, never used (but pretty to look at) and the small tin of cold cream that my grandmother carried in her black purse, or maybe even the exact scent of her lipstick. From "ahead of its time" (which still may be true) to "old-lady-ish". Yet, I still find it likeable and admirable. And I will try it again. Well, maybe not. We'll see!

Photo note: Jean Paul Guerlain with the new Habit Rouge

Finally, something about scent

Last week, I received a collection of samples that I've wanted to try for quite some time. So far, nothing has thrilled me.

Ginestet Botrytis had a whiff of rotting teeth in it, which (thankfully) was gone in the drydown. It figures that there'd be something rotten in there: Botrytis cinerea is a fungus that affects many plants, though it is most notable for its use ("noble rot") in sweet wines like Sauternes. I remember being disappointed in this scent, for it was supposed to be similar to Frapin 1270, which I adore. I went through the Shoutbox and found nothing but my complaints about the "bad teeth smell". Some review, this is. Now I'll move on.

L'artisan Parfumeur Mure et Musc: "Boring" and "Why'd they bother with this?" I love L'artisan scents. This was the first time I was underwhelmed by anything from that house. I did make a note, "The drydown is rather nice", but that's not very descriptive. I'll try this one again.

Frapin Caravelle Epicee: First impression was that this was Frapin 1270 "but not as good". Drydown was basically vanilla with a bit of prune/raisin thing going on. Nice, but there's plenty of scents like this. There's supposedly no fruit note in here, so I don't know what's up with my nose. You might want to distrust any of these mini-reviews.

Which brings me to the Guerlain Spiriteuse Double Vanille. Very nice. To my nose, it's Vanilla with pipe tobacco. My first impression was "vanilla! so what?". That other smell, robust, yet dry (and perhaps not even tobacco), was lovely. I still prefer Serge Luten's Un Bois de Vanille, with it's cotton candy burnt sugar smell (which impossibly, smells sophisticated).

Right now, I've got on Amouge Jubilation XXV. First sniff was "Ack! Alcohol!" Then I walked out to the mailbox. I felt like I should have a very expensive gray men's suit on. It smells like so many other men's scents. It gets rave reviews from Now Smell This, but what can I say? I don't like it. That's all. Dick came in, said hello and then asked, "You've got a new perfume on?" I put on very little, but it's sillage, I'd imagine, is huge, if Dick asked me that. I can't smell any of the notes that it's supposed to have. It's just screamming at me with "I'm an expensive men's scent! Look at my just polished shoes!" Shall I scrub it off? Nah. It's not offensive. I hope it fades, but I fear it won't do it fast enough.

I was surprised to learn that it was created by Bertrand Duchaufour, for he's responsible for many wonderful scents, including one of my favorites, L'artisan's Dzongkha. If you type the word Dzongkha into the "search this blog" box, you'll find it comes up alot. Here, I've saved you the trouble.

OMG (something I do not regularly type): Serge Lutens Chergui is now being sold in the United States. Shameless begging: please see the little "Help support this blog" over in the sidebar? Wanting something this expensive is insane. But Chergui is my first love! I do have about 9ml of it left. . .

These reviews were not much, I admit. I'm still hating the Jubilation, which is an awful thing to hate with such a nice name and all. I have about a dozen more new scents to try and hopefully the next bunch of "reviews" are a bit more interesting than these. Maybe this requires my finding the scents more interesting. The winner of this bunch: The Guerlain.

Photo note: Grapes with noble rot. For some pretty serious wine tours, click here.

Addendum: At 5:45pm I had to scrub. I felt like I was being suffocated by the scent of Jubilation! How I scrub: First, I use a Spanish black soap (name forgotten) and then I follow up with Burt's Bees Carrot Nutritive Lotion if I have to wash so much that my hands are dried out or just washing doesn't do the trick. In this case, both were true.

Burt's Bees Healthy Healing Carrot Nutritive Body Lotion (which smells lovely): $9.00 for 8oz.

Amouge Jubilation XXV: $245.00 for 1.7oz.

Addendum #2: Luckyscent has the Chergui for twenty bucks less than Aedes. . .

Perfume update

I should label this post "Scent, or lack thereof".

There have been very few posts about perfume lately. I miss them, too.

The lack of entries about scent are not because I'm distracted by politics or anything else. It's because I have had few new scents to write about.

I had been furiously swapping fragrances with folks on MUA. Besides trying new scents, I met some wonderful people. Lately, noone wants to swap, at least with me. I have even better things to swap than I've ever had, so I don't get it. Do I have cooties?

Image note: These are computer generated cooties. If you are of a scientific mind, please go to this link and then explain what the heck they're writing about to me. I don't get it.

Revisiting an old scent

My first "real" perfume was Hermes Caleche. I received it as a gift from my roommate's boyfriend. I'll always be grateful to him, even though I don't remember his name.

I had a birthday coming up and I remember whining that noone ever gave me "feminine" presents. I always got books and records (I almost typed CDs and then had to remind myself they weren't around then). I believe (but I wouldn't swear to it) that I even specifically stated that I'd like to receive perfume as a gift.

Whatever it was I said exactly, this nice young man gave me a bottle of Caleche. Not only did I not expect a gift from him, for I hardly knew the fellow, but I certainly didn't expect a bottle of French perfume.

I found it an enchanting scent, feminine without being flowery. It became my "signature scent". When I used up my first bottle, I wanted to buy another, and went to a department store. They didn't sell it! The sales woman told me I had to go to the Hermes store or that, perhaps, one of the perfume discounters in lower Manhattan might have it.

I was terribly intimidated by the idea of going into the Hermes flagship store. That place sold little scarves for hundreds of dollars! But I didn't have to, for the woman behind the counter at Altman's was right - I was able to buy some Caleche at a small discount perfume store. I still remember the shock on the store clerk's face as I asked if they carried Caleche. Such an old-fashioned perfume, and I certainly didn't look like anyone who would wear it. The Hermes came in an awfully dull beige bottle which just screamed conservative. I, on the other hand, wore strange clothes I made myself, nearly white facial powder and red eyeshadow. Not your typical Caleche wearer.

When I moved to Maine in 1991, I brought my perfume collection with me. But soon, I realized that wearing scent was just not part of my new life. I could not imagine wearing perfume while attending to my sheep. It didn't fit. Besides, I was so in love with all the new smells of nature, I didn't want anything to stand in the way of that. So, I gave my perfume to the Salvation Army. I'm sorry I didn't keep it, for everything I had has been reformulated.

Tonight, I finally opened up the sample vial of Caleche that I have in my possession. I've been putting it off for months. Knowing that it would be different (and having read all the bad reviews) I felt like revisiting it would be like smelling the scent of dissapointment. I'm in a bad mood this evening, so I figured it couldn't make it worse, but it might make it better. Either I would be pleasantly taken back to one of those lovely firsts in life or I would be, well, dissapointed. But, really, I was expecting something truly awful, so there was nothing to lose.

I opened the vial. My first impression, "No! It smells the same! What were they talking about?!" Ah. I smiled.

It took, at most, a full minute for my reaction to take a sudden turn. That first impression was about as fleeting as they come. Around the time I started to smile, my nose sent me a message, "Hold on a moment. That was a ruse."

And so it was. What has changed? The first moment, so perfectly like the original, turns immediately into baby powder. And not a nice baby powder, but used baby powder. Not a pretty picture. And certainly, not a nice scent.

Oh well.

Image of the day

Since the last two posts had no images at the top, I felt obligated to post one. This is apropos of absolutely nothing. Well, that's not totally accurate. I intentionally led myself down the rabbit hole of the Web, following odd links and unknown languages, until I found this photograph. I don't know why it stopped my search (but I didn't know what I was looking for). The model is wearing a 1912 Paul Poiret gown. When did women start adopting this exact pose? I think that's a question someone needs to answer!

Perfume note: I am in love with Frapin 1270. According to Frapin the notes are "exotic woods, spice, raisin, vine flowers, pepper, candied orange, nut, hazelnut, prune, cocoa, coffee, leather, woods, white honey, vanilla." Rather a redundant list, what with both nut and hazelnut, exotic woods and (plain ol' regular?) woods. Well, no matter. I adore this scent. It's first blast is intoxicating. The drydown is a bit of a dissapointment after the richness of the opening, but I still like it, and like it a lot, which is truly bizarre, since it smells of patchouli with a hint of vanilla. I've hated patchouli, since, well, forever.

Addendum: In light of the post above, I thought I'd add this: This woman did not have the right to vote. So, I exhort you, whoever you are, whether you're for McCain, Obama, Ron Paul, Nader or want to write your cousin's name on the ballot, get out there and vote!

Just nice

In a recent post, "Perfume lust", I was practically moaning with, well, lust, for Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant. Here's the description from the Annick Goutal website:

A mystical, arousing and intense scent.
An ode to frankincense, masterfully blended in three formats: Frankincense essence emerges first, a distillation of tears of frankincense, whose ethereal and mineral freshness evoke cold stone. Black pepper and rose berry bring a pungency and edginess.

Then comes frankincense resinoid, a warm and balmy scent, steeped in precious spices, cardamom and nutmeg. Finally, "Vieille église" frankincense deliciously burnt and warmed by woody balsam fir, welcoming and sweet, and pure extract of lentisque. Drawn from arid vegetation, it is also used in Kiphi, the prized Pharaonic perfume.

Now, I'm not usually swayed by ad copy, but this caused me to feel weak in the knees. I wanted some and wanted it badly. It's hard to find a good incense smell. I love L'artisan's Passage D'enfer, but wouldn't mind a change now and again. But at $175 for a bottle of this stuff, I could only yearn and hope that it would wind up on Ebay or some discount perfume store sometime in the future.

As I write this, I am now wearing some of this precious stuff, the supposedly flamboyant incense. It is a nice scent. That's it. Nice.

Don't you think for one hundred and seventy five bucks it should be a bit better than nice?

But I'm not rich, so what do I know? One hundred and seventy five bucks is chump change to one of the CEOs of Lehman Brothers, even if they've just lost their business. Perhaps some discouraged banker bought a bottle of this stuff for his wife on his way home from work -"Here, honey. Things aren't as bad as they seem. I got you a bottle of perfume!"

Hell, one hundred and seventy five bucks doesn't even get two people a good meal at the kind of restaurant a person who worked at Lehman Brothers would go to after a day of work. (Oh, I keep forgetting that someone who is middle-class makes 250K).

And you thought this was a perfume review?

Well, it is.

Encens Flamboyant is nice, and I'd certainly wear it. It is to my taste. It certainly is an incense fragrance. It lacks any hint of head shop (and at that price, it darn well better). I can smell the "burnt" frankincense and that is, again, nice.

Now that I've tried it, I can see why it doesn't come in smaller bottles. It is pretty weak. I needed to use half the vial (.5ml) to really smell the stuff, and I don't think I'm suffering from any anosmia.

So, there it is, folks. The big letdown. I'm glad for it. What if I had fallen in love?

Painting note: Edouard Manet Nana 1877
Would this woman wear something Flamboyant? I think not. She'd wear something nice.

Addendum: Thank you, Nika, for sending me a sample.
Also: I realize it was sexist of me to assume that a businessman might buy some of this for his wife, so I'll add: Perhaps at the end of the day, after hearing that she'd lost her job, some businesswoman at Lehman Brothers decided to walk uptown from Wall Street and stopped in at Aedes de Venustas on Christopher Street to cheer herself up with a new scent. It would be a shame if this is what she had settled on.
And no, I don't get anything for consistently linking to this wonderful store (sigh). And I presume I won't get anything for giving this scent such a pathetic review, will I?

Addendum II: Last night, the Encens Flamboyant seemed to fade away to near nothing. As I'm having a lazy Sunday morning and haven't had a shower yet, I notice its lingering scent. I would have bet good money that this scent would only be a memory the next day (and I would have lost). So, what did I do? Put some more on. It seems fitting on this terribly gray and rainy Autumn day.

Usually, I wake up with a stuffy nose. This morning my sense of smell seems more acute than normal. Was I indeed suffering from a bit of anosmia last night? Or perhaps one needs even more of this juice to really smell it. I didn't quite apply an entire .5 ml of the stuff yesterday - it was just an estimate - but now the vial is indeed half empty (or half full, as the happier person would say). Still, after one more application, it shall be gone, and it will not be replaced.

Addendum III: 4:10pm Uh oh. I felt a strong desire to apply more (and I did). This morning, while I was meditating, I felt keenly aware of the scent. This is not a good thing! Now I associate it with meditation, so I find it calming. Maybe I should ask my doctor for a prescription. I don't know how much street drugs cost, but what can one buy for around 60 dollars an ounce?

One more thing (and then, hopefully, I'll be done with this!): It does smell quite a bit like the super cheap incense I burn in my meditation room - Nippon Kodo's Morning Star Pine ($7.50 for 200 sticks). The Goutal doesn't smell like balsam fir and the real incense doesn't smell like pine. . .maybe it is me (and my poor untrained nose).

Addendum IV! I do smell the balsam. Last night, as I was falling asleep, with my hand pressed up against my face, I realized I was wondering "What ever happened to the little bag of balsam needles that I used to have?" Sniff. Sniff. It was my wrist sending me that thought. When the incense finally fades, there it is: balsam.

The end.

My favorite scents, so far

I feel like I'm stuck on a selection of fragrances and that I can't find anything that compares to these. I thought I'd list them. As we say in Maine, "It's something to do."

Undying Passion:

L'artisan Passage D'enfer
L'artisan Dzongkha
Serge Lutens Chergui

Love:

L'artisan Safran Troublant
Serge Lutens Douce Amere
Serge Lutens Chypre Rouge
Serge Lutens Un Bois Vanille
Guerlain Jicky
Bulgari Black

Fickle Love:

Hermes Un Jardin sur le Nil
Guerlain Shalimar Light
Yves Rocher Rose Absolue
Chanel Les Exclusifs Eau de Cologne
CB I Hate Perfume Memories of Kindness
Diptyque Philosykos
Annick Goutal Neroli

Lost loves:
Chanel No. 19
Chanel Cristalle
An old bottle of White Shoulders
Hermes Caleche

There's many CB I Hate Perfume fragrances that I truly admire and find fascinating, but don't want to wear. I just like sniffing them.

Truthfully, there isn't anything by Lutens or L'artisan that I don't like to some extent. I wonder what it is about these two that appeals to me so uniformly. Any ideas?

Painting note: Francois Boucher La Toilette 1742
What to do for an image? Find something French. Well, that's done. I've never been one for the Roccoco period, but I find this absolutely charming. It reminds me of the paintings of cats dressed as people postcards that I collected when I was a child.