To catch up on the adventures of Nawt so far, if you’re new to the story, you can go here.  This is the continuing adventures of Nawt Agin, with a new installment most Fridays, rookie perfumer for Irrational Fruity Florals, who has been contracted, against his will, better judgment and perfuming principles, to make the celebrity scent for Voracia Tatas, who is famous for absolutely nothing.

When we last left Nawt, he had tracked down Jean Claude Ellena, Perfumer Par Excellence, bumped into Voracia Tatas, the woman he is making the celebuscent for, who turns out to know JCE since her early years, speaks 16 languages, and is not a dim bulb as we all had thought.  JCE turns out to speak English, and he promises to meet them both for dinner.  So we are left with Nawt and Voracia sitting down for a cup of coffee as Voracia tells the truth about who she is…

Nawt: I think I deserve some explanation, please, Voracia.  You really had me going with that dumb, vapid act.

Voracia:  Oh, pish-tosh, we’ll get to that. Listen, let me grab a cup of coffee for us both, and then I’ll explain.  BTW, the name isn’t Voracia, it’s Ann.

Nawt:  Ann?  Just plain Ann? No last name?

Voracia:  *giggles*  Oh, sorry, no need for that anymore.  Inegma. Ann Inegma, though my nickname has been Voracia for quite some time.  

Nawt:  Of course it is.  By all means, go, get the coffee, I’ll wait here. *Nawt drums his fingers on the table as he watches the spectacularly shaped Ms. Inegma make her way to the counter, order and head back to the table*

Voracia: Well, where were we?  Oh, yes, who am I? You do have some time, this could take a while?  I really feel bad that I played pretend with you, but it was necessary.  I need to go back quite a number of years.  My father and Jean Claude knew each other in Europe, which is where I spent quite a lot of time as a girl, until my parents were tragically killed in a Dodo bird accident when I was 8. 

Nawt:  A what?

Voracia: Dodo bird accident. 

Nawt: They’re extinct.

Voracia:  Well, they are now, but just hush, I’ll tell you the story. We were traveling in Mauritius on an expedition to find what, by one report, was a Dodo bird. The Dodo, as you say, has been extinct for 300 years, so this was great news, if true.  As we were traveling by night in the area the Dodo bird had reportedly been last seen in, a large object hit our windshield – the car ran off the road, hit a tree, and both of my parents were killed instantly.  I was in the back seat of the car asleep with Tantalus, my rag doll, and survived. *Voracia reaches in her purse and pulls out a slightly stuffed, reeking rag*  See, Tantalus? Meet Mr. Nawt.  I always keep him with me.  I know he’s worn and smelly, but I can’t bear to be parted with him.  Okay, Tanty, time to go back to bed.  *she places him gently back in her purse and stares lovingly at it for a while*

Nawt:  Voracia? Voracia!

Voracia: *Voracia looks back up and snaps her teeth, then shakes her head*

Nawt: *draws back quickly* I’m really sorry about your parents, but I’m also afraid… to ask… what hit the windshield?

Voracia:  The Dodo bird, of course. Now they really are extinct.

Nawt:  Of course. Please, continue on.

Voracia:  Well, the accident, of course, woke me up, and I must have gone into shock for days, as I wandered the woods with Tantalus.  This was a very remote area of the world, and I only survived because I was adopted by a pack of wolves.

Nawt:  Wait, wait, wait.  Wolves?  Like the big, gray, furry, wild animals? Those wolves?

Voracia: Yes!  They’re quite intelligent and put big store on the family.  Except for Hector, who I am still convinced was a lycanthrope and not an actual wolf, he just had a humanish look about the mouth.  After two years, a group of hunters discovered our pack, killed several of my family in some misguided rescue attempt and ripped me away from the bosom of my new family,  though I can’t say I was sorry to see that Hector was among the slain. I was quite distraught, as you might imagine, and it took me some time to assimilate back into just speaking instead of growling, barking, walking on all fours and eating small, furry, darting animals.  (drawing from Klaudia Marr Gallery)

My parents were very much do-gooders with no living family except me, and there was no one with the time and ability to deal with a little wolf girl who didn’t speak and was prone to biting with no warning.  My parents’ friends prevailed upon the Sisters of Unending Chatter, who had educated me before the accident, to take me in as a boarder.  It’s a little known Order who, instead of taking a vow of silence, takes a Vow of Chatter, talking 24 hours a day in 6-hour shifts. It is there that I slowly returned to being human… going from just snapping in annoyance at the ceaseless noise to howling, which turned into a more human screaming, then talking, and then taking my turn chattering.

You would have liked them, I think… the wolves. Keen sense of smell. Though they tended to like things that smelled more of rotting flesh.  Jean Claude spent a lot of time with me through those years, using smell to help bring me back into the more human realm. It was during that time that he created my perfume, “Untamed Beauty,” and now you probably understand the source of the name and my nickname, Voracia.  Great scent, I do need to bring you a sample.  Animalic base, almost wolfish, little leather and fur, a slight hint of rot and skank — well, maybe not so slight – from the jasmine and gardenia, enveloped by raw woods and crushed leaves, with a perky top that lures you into thinking it’s just another pretty scent until your nose keeps bumping into what’s under the leaves… something dead and a little mangled. Doubtful it would have broad appeal.

Once I came of age, there was no money for college, it was up to me to make my way in the world. There is very little call for a young woman who looks like me, speaks 16 languages, and was raised by wolves and nuns. 

Nawt: Pity. 

Voracia:  Yes, it sure is.  I moved to California, hoping to escape some of the painful memories Europe held for me. Unfortunately, I am not a particularly talented person in any one area, so I wound up with a couple of bit parts in bad movies, which were panned – my performance and the movie - universally, and I slowly slipped into the Hollywood party circuit, mostly because they remind me a lot of the Chattering Sisters and the Wolves — felt like home, you know? – but without the morality, compassion, intelligence, and charity.  In Hollywood, it’s easier and better to play dumb than to let people know I was smart, so I slowly cultivated this exterior. It cut down on the questions of why I sometimes growled or pounced on small, furry animals or chattered nonstop for hours. 

It did occurr to me at some point that I could be a “good hot bad girl” too, but Santa Badgerlina already has that reality role locked up. How in the world did she get sainted? This woman is tattooed over most of her body with badgers, plays with scythes and fangs, used to wear her ex-husband’s kidney around her waist, offhandedly remarkr to “Vanity Fair” that she’s into bestiality, and somehow she’s now regarded as all that is good, moral and wonderful in the world?!  Sorry, it’s my early training, I really never know when to shut up once I get going — well, I do know, but I have to remember I’m not on the Talk Clock ® anymore.

Anyway…  I had to find a way to make a living, and so far all I’ve managed to do is play dumb and get paid to show up at parties.   My parents would be horrified if they could see me now… my life is truly an agonizing scream of superficiality.  I’ve gotten the act down so well, I’m actually starting to become Voracia on too many days. 

So… that’s all.

There is silence for seconds and then minutes as Nawt just stares, and then he bursts out laughing

 To be continued…

Patty

We´re on the countdown to Bangkok, and today´s my day to post, and I´m thinking you´re looking for something more edifying than “I´m still wearing Courtesan pretty much every day and loving it!” Am I right?

Okay, okay. I know what I´m supposed to be doing. I´m supposed to be blogging on something new, something different, something plucked from the tsunami. The release of new fragrances is seemingly endless; pretty soon we´ll be blogging 24/7 just to keep up with the flow. But we´ll never keep up, will we? With Tom Ford, Dior, Chanel and your uncle Bob releasing scents in groups now, it´s only a matter of time before we´re all buried in bottles of perfume. I can think of worse ways to go.

So, as I mentioned recently I wasn´t hot with desire when I saw the new Eclat de Jasmin (the sixth scent in the Armani Prive line) sitting on the counter at Saks. I walked by without a second glance. After all, I have Donna Karan’s Jasmine, Montale Jasmin Full and The Different Company´s Jasmin de Nuit, and, frankly, what more do I need? As far as I´m concerned, Armani´s unlikely to come close to the pinnacle he achieved with Bois d´Encens, although I like the other Prives to varying degrees, and I like Cuir Amethyste more than most folks. And Armani´s amping up the rate of releases to a frenetic level: nine fragrances in 2006 and 2007 alone, and we´ve still got half a year to go. You can´t help but feel the emphasis is not on quality.

But back I went to see what I´d missed. The notes according to the SA are: bergamot, citrus, jasmine, osmanthus, rose, patchouli, amber, vetiver. (Basenotes also lists plum).

Can I just mention that, for no good reason at all, I wanted to hate this? I´m bored with Giorgio and his nine fragrances and his Red Attitude Remix or whatever. Also on the two days I tried this it was in the upper 90s, and with jasmine that´s either great or instant migraine, depending.

Eclat does open with the bergamot/citrus twist, just a bit and short-lived, giving it a green freshness that I liked better than I thought I would. Eclat is quite strong, and it is mostly jasmine, whatever else those notes say, and if you´re going to look on it favorably you should probably keep this in mind. For the first ten minutes it is a gentler, sweeter jasmine-floral (probably the osmanthus/rose), then moves rapidly into a riper, richer, fairly indolic jasmine. The addition of patchouli and vetiver in the drydown give the jasmine a beautiful, unexpected twist – pushing jasmine´s natural dirtiness in a more masculine direction while muting its slightly-rotten-banana-smell. My sister-in-law, riding in the car with me, said it reminded her of when she lived next to horse stables in California and had jasmine blooming on a trellis outside her window (she teaches dressage, and she meant that essentially as a compliment.)

Do you need another jasmine, particularly at $185? Let´s compare it to the three I named above. Eclat is less green, more indolic and much more complex than Donna Karan´s Jasmine essence. It is creamier and less fruity than TDC´s Jasmin (my skin really amplifies TDC´s amber and jammy aspect). It starts off running neck and neck with Montale Jasmin Full in the skank department, with Jasmin Full being initially more in-your-face, and also a “truer” jasmine. But when the Eclat picks up steam and blooms on my skin it makes Jasmin Full seem sugary by comparison. The vetiver makes Eclat dirty the way DelRae Amoureuse is dirty, only Eclat is more sly about it.

After some consideration, I am shocked to report that Eclat de Jasmin may have nudged my beloved Montale out of first place in my heart. Eclat’s lasting power is extraordinary. Jasmin Full typically lasts the better part of a day on me, but Eclat was still going strong a full 24 hours later. Since Eclat’s drydown is the best part, I couldn’t have been more pleased. While it is predominantly jasmine, and thus a “feminine” fragrance, given its masculine elements, I think it would smell amazingly sexy on any man who thought he could get away with it. (Looking at you, Fracas-wearing dudes.) For women who like jasmine, Eclat’s unusual drydown should place it on your to-sample list.

Wearing Eclat de Jasmin, DK Jasmine, Jasmine Full and TDC Jasmine simultaneously is not for the faint of heart. But it was still fun.

By the way, the SA at Saks told me that, starting with this scent and going forward, Armani is making those gorgeous bottles refillable for the entire line. The regular bottle is $185 (Eclat has a pale pink stone, the white stone having been wasted on snoozefest Pierre de Lune), while the refills are $135.

March

Today we’re sniffing two wildly disparate but reputedly dirty scents: Pan, a unisex fragrance from Anya’s Garden natural perfumery, and the reissued Guerlain Voilette de Madame.

First up: Pan, described on Anya’s website as “created in homage to the Pan of Tom Robbins’ novel Jitterbug Perfume. Notes are white lotus, cedar, labdanum/ambreine, lavender, hay, patchouli, and tinctured hair of a rutting billy goat.”

Lee: I thought I’d got this muddled up with Ombre Fauve or Patchouli Empire when I first sniffed it, cos on me, it’s headshop deluxe in its initial blasts. Yeah duude. Pass the chillum. Musical pipes weren’t the only thing Pan was putting in his mouth, maaan (don’t look up when you read this – the words and pic don’t co-exist happily… Gulp indeed). Then it goes a little nutty / savoury or something. Now, shoot me if you need to, but I always get something similar from natural perfumes – at least the ones I’ve tried – that in my gauche way I’ll call an aromatherapeutic edge. I don’t want to insult Anya (who is, from all I’ve read, a truly lovely woman), but it turns up here too. Whether it’s there or just manifesting my apparent prejudices, I dunno. Anyway, it stays a little too much in patchland for me but I like the burnt umber quality it seems to develop 30 minutes in. I don’t get any of the willyness Patty describes below, the frisky frolicker (Matt said: sawdust).

Patty: I’ve found the rutting billy goat hair! Yowsah! Hay and patch dominate the open on this. When I was a kid, we had to go and get bales in from the field, and my silly parents would send us out unsupervised to do that. I didn’t work fast enough for my older brother, so he would be up in the back of the pickup and would start bouncing hay bales off my head. This scent is me being buried in hay, earth and fury. It’s no shrinking Pan, more like an engorged Pan… in heat.

March: I hear Anya is a lovely, lovely person, and I am loath to criticize something with a lovely person attached to it. This is probably the hardest part of blogging for me. Anyway, this sample doesn’t go through a ton of development on me. It’s nice. I get mostly patchouli and a spicy note (which I love) and lavender (which I love less.) I’m not getting anything dirty out of it. It doesn’t really bloom on me. Honestly, it’s a pretty smell, but it doesn’t seem that qualitatively different than, say, layering a couple of essential oils at the co-op, and it causes me pain in my heart to write that. Maybe I’m too used to the bombast of aromachemistry to appreciate natural perfumery.

Bryan: I was pleasantly surprised that this didn’t get all aromatherapyish on me. I am totally stealing that word from Lee, with whom I agree that naturals tend to lean that way…think millefiori (sic) scents. I love this actually. The hay and patch are subdued somewhat by the lavender. Although it is a blast of masculinity in the beginning, it dries to a more unisex/ambiguous earthy delight. By the way, I am using masculine and unisex in a very apolgetic manner here. I hate those terms, but they do come in handy in a conventional sense sometimes. This is elegantly done and by the way, look ma, no tuberose.

Next, here are our impressions of Guerlain Voilette de Madame (madame’s veil), which many of us spent weeks anticipating incorrectly as Violette de Madame (madame’s violet) prior to its re-release as a limited edition. Notes are iris, ylang-ylang, narcissus, violet and sandalwood.

March: We’ve been jokingly referring to this in our emails as madame’s panties, because someone (Legerdenez?) months ago talked about how ripe it was. I had this one vial from Guerlain, which I thought was Voilette, but I wasn’t sure, because it was unlabeled and the juice was soooo tenuous. I’ve now smelled a fresh samp courtesy of Patty and the Frip, and … am I anosmic? I don’t get it. It’s got a little musty perfume smell, like Vol de Nuit if you found an empty flacon and sniffed the stopper after 60 years. I’m smelling mainly the sweetness of the violet and the musty hay-leather of the narcissus, but unlike, say, L’Artisan’s stunningly forceful Narcisse, or Caron’s sublimely hay-skank Narcisse Noir (one of my favorites from a line I esteem rather than covet), the whole thing is very, very faint. Dirty bits? Nah.

Bryan: I fell hard for this dark veil. We of the obsessive perfumers guild (yeah, I’m looking at every single one of you too) every so often forget we have applied until we get a whif of some gorgeous breeze. Suddenly it occurs to us, “OMG That’s Me!…I rock!” Ok, I threw in the I rock for fun, but really that happened to me with voilette. I confess I usually can not stand violet. I rather loathe it. Patty, please don’t kick my ass. I love it here. And yes, this is violets in a below the waist kind of thing…I mean thang. I am so tracking a bottle of this down….or four.

Patty: March, are you out of your mind? I get all dirty bits right out of the chute, and it is a very feminine dirty bits, to be sure, violet dusted genteel bits, not like rutting Pan above. But I don’t smell anything musty other than the normal mustiness associated with hay or narcissus. It’s definitely not a forceful perfume, but it, along with Djedi and Jasmiralda, are my favorites from the anciennes they have redone. Where the L’Artisan’s narcissus is much more earthy, this one is more refined and easier to wear, but I get a lot of violet and iris in the drydown and very little narcissus, just enough to give it some depth. I’m totally smitten by this one, and when I originally read Legerdenez’ description, I expected to hate it.

Lee: You know, I think this is lovely. It’s a supremely elegant floral with a dusting of dirt, like a nineteenth century skirt worn by a early 40something lady (auburn hair, slight dishabille quality to her dress and demeanour, as if she’s rushed from somewhere and her bosom is heaving) visiting Sherlock Holmes. He’d tell from the vague mud splatters and crinkles where she’d travelled from and how. There’d be a frisson of unspoken desire cutting through the smoke filled room, never to be consummated. She’s carrying a spring bouquet, for some reason, but the daffodils are already turning, becoming lifeless in her never still hands. (Matt said: I can hardly smell it).

image: www.didaskalia.net

March

Some things are just made to be attractive and repelling — riding that  love-hate see-saw until one side or the other dumps you off, and Guerlain’s new Iris Ganache is at the top of my list of that kind of oddity.  Notes of bergamot, iris butter, white chocolate, floral notes, cinnamon, patchouli, white musks, cedarwood and vanilla.  Huh.

I love iris. I’m not a fan of the gourmands normally. Pairing iris with a bunch of delicious cupcake ingredients seemed to be the kiss of death, but the iris totally saves this.  As it dries down, you start to get more of the pastry notes for a while, then the iris seems to rein it back in, and it keeps doing this little pastry/dirt dance for quite a while until the musk and vanilla steps up, puts an uneasy truce in place, but one that makes this thing pretty addictive.  Do I love it?  I don’t know. Do I hate it?  Absolutely…. not…. yet. Do I find it interesting? Yes.  It’s doing a weird balancing act that somehow seems to work and keeps my interest.  Weird little lovable ganache-covered iris debbill.

Cartier Declaration — Dusan, you’re going to kill me, but…. gag!  This thing went to pure sweat on me, and it’s taken about four hours before I see what you love about it. I’m assuming it doesn’t do that for you?  Lord, that just wasn’t pretty for a while.  Notes of orange, cedar, birchwood, and oakmoss, but I’m only attesting that there was a very big, powerful cedar b.o’ish notes for far, far toooooo long. 

CB’s new Wild Hunt has notes of torn leaves, crushed twigs, flowing sap, fallen branches, old leaves, green moss, fir, pine and tiny mushrooms.  It is meant to smell like the ancient forest in the heat of the summer afternoon. Check… right on target.  This is every bit of what it should be, it is dark foresty perfection.  Mirkwood Forest, but with the sun coming in a little between the branches and some magic happening just underneath that carpeted forest floor you can’t see.  This is a quiet, beautiful happy place, and in the drydown, it has a very soft sweetness to it from the sap, which leaves almost the exact same scent that is left on your hands after you have been plunging through the forest, a very slightly sweet green.

Guerlain’s Mayotte, the do-over for Mahora, is a stunner.  One of a short list of Guerlains that work for me all the time, every day. Notes of frangipani, neroli, tuberose, ylang ylang, jasmine, sandalwood, vetiver and vanilla. It starts off fresh and bright and beautiful, like a happy child greeting the dawn, and the drydown just gets happier and warmed by the basenotes, and the vetiver lending an earthy touch so it is never too sweet, but  it retains that same joyful exuberance that it has in the beginning. I like that in a perfume. This thing is just stunning.  If someone were new to Guerlain, I would tell them to try this and Apres L’Ondee first, very approachable and just gorgeous, and not a drop of powder or fussiness in it anywhere!

Okay, it’s official. I have tried every version of Guerlain Shalimar that I know of, having finally attempted the parfum today, and it is just fantasically awful on me in all iterations.  Now I know!

So which perfume do you keep trying to wear over and over with no success? And which perfume has struck you as the oddest one you’ve smelled so far this year?

Patty

If I could figure out how to make my digital camera talk to WordPress, I´d be treating you to my “organizational guide” of my perfumes, particularly the samples. I have large swatches of the guide (mentally) written, and I am telling you, if I ever figure out how to do it, you will be rolling in the aisles. Instead, today´s post was triggered by my recent sad discovery:  I´ll dig out a sample vial or atomizer and and discover that it´s … all gone. It´s evaporated, and there´s nothing left except the faint lingering smell and some memories.

My samples are organized alphabetically. The problem is my non-alphabetized samples, which at this point are all over the house. I have various “systems,” revolving around the samples I´m not done playing with yet, or the ones I haven´t gotten to, or the ones I´ve managed to group together by subspecies (the Patou Ma Collection samples, the vintage Lanvin), and – oddly—the fact that I like to keep sets of samples together when they´re sent by the same perfumista, so I can email him/her with feedback. Here´s a peek at my candy sample life, courtesy of a set sent by hausvonstone (unless it´s the set from dinazad?), so you will have a better understanding of why I am crazy.

Molinard Habanita – I hate these narrow-neck vials. I routinely accidentally snap them off at the narrow point. What is wrong with me? Habanita is (Robin, are you reading this?) the consummate “Old Lady” fragrance, to use a phrase that drives her (and me) up the wall. Old Lady Fragrances being, in general, something with character, interest, leather, and (frequently) skank. Doesn´t say, but I´m guessing the EDP. There´s an interesting note I hadn´t noticed before (this must be an EDP) that´s almost foody – a burnt-toast smell – and I mean that as a compliment. Mildly sweet florals, oakmoss, amber, dirty bits (leather, vetiver, sandalwood), with something sweet in the base.

S-Perfume Lust – What a difference a year makes. I believe I described this as “possibly the nastiest smell I have ever deliberately applied to my person” the last time I blogged on it, which amused the perfumer Nobi so much he started sending me samples. He might even have had my quote on his website. I love that guy. Well, I have applied way worse things than this. This I would actually wear without shame, in public (although probably not in summer.) Mental note: try this in extreme heat to see what happens. I´m guessing leather, metal, sweat, rubber, patchouli, vetiver. It smells great with Habanita.

Guerlain L´Instant Pour Homme Extreme – Wow. We are hitting the jackpot today. She sent this because she knows how much I love L´Instant PH, that intoxicating brew of citrus, patchouli, tea and musk. Unlike its shrill, awkward sister L´Instant for women, Homme is smooth – like a magnolia petal, like your hand rubbing oil across dark, warm skin. Extreme ramps up the vague chocolate/patch note in the drydown to a non-edible semi-gourmand. Having a moment here. I´m not sure it´s better than the original, though. Maybe I need both?

CDG Tea. Cripes. Did you mix this label up? This doesn´t smell like tea, unless it´s compost tea. Oh, wait – no – it´s lapsang. Smoke, smoke, smoke and tea. Sticking your nose in the tea box, maybe even with a tiny, nonscary hint of camphor? Cool.

Speziali Fiorentini Te Nero (Black Tea). Empty. Evaporated. A faint, very pretty floral-tea smell. Waaah. I´m going to cry, this smells like a potential winner, and there´s no such thing as too much tea in summer.

Lorenzo Villoresi Incensi - I never get incense from this, and I´m so gratified to read the notes at the Perfume Shoppe – sour apple, orange blossoms, myrrh, poppy, resinous woods. Those notes make total sense; I´ve always gotten sort of a sweet mess on my skin, and there it is – a spiced, baked-apple smell, a little myrrh and a resinous incense note rather than smoke, along with a vanilla-like base. I don´t hate it, it´s actually kind of pretty once you stop waiting for the cathedral-smoke to waft, and I can even see some people finding this very comforting, but I am not one of them.

Kenzo Jungle Elephant — Mandarin, Cardamom,Caraway, Clove, Heliotrope, Ylang-Ylang, Mango Juice, Licorice, Vanilla, Patchouli, and Casmerin, according to some random perfume website. I´d totally believe that list, because this thing is weird. Definitely the heliotrope (hah, I´ve got, like, 20% of you running away screaming right there, don´t I?) doing the cherry-syrup iteration, and the sweet-sour anise note (up to 40%!). This is like … a fragrance experiment? It´s repulsive and compelling at the same time. The mandarin is surprisingly strong throughout, and the “mango juice” gives it an overripe, gamey fug. Really, mango and heliotrope in unison should probably be illegal. Anyway, it´s hard to believe this freak-show came from the Sephora-shelf folks at Kenzo, most of which is (however else you might feel about it) fairly tame.

(One hour later) This – this is why I looooove this non-job. This is why I sniff! Because after 15 or 20 minutes I got bored with Kenzo Jungle Elephant´s shenanigans – all its attention-getting high-stepping and yodeling and jazz hands – and resolutely ignored it. And then forgot it. And then … I sniffed again. And I had two magical thoughts: a) aaaaaaugghhh, that´s beautiful – all cardamom/clove against some not-quite-of-this-earth floral backdrop, can ylang smell that rich?; and b) it´s Kenzo!!!! There it is, the Kenzo vibe!!! There´s a definite note that reminds me of the woody pitch in Flower Oriental, and another part of the florals that reminds me of the Flower By Kenzo in the parfum strength. It´s like a Kenzo Flower LE: On Acid. Although, please, don’t buy this unsniffed. It´s the sort of absurd-chic thing Jacqueline de Ribes might have worn with the dress in that photo up there, which I am pretty sure I first saw in 1983 (which actually predates the fragrance by more than a decade), the year she was voted The Most Stylish Woman In The World by Town & Country magazine. I must have stared at that photo for an hour that day; for awhile it was on my bedroom wall. How smokin’ hot is she? In the mirror, sure, I look like Betty Rubble, but in my soul, I´ve always tried to cultivate a little Jacqueline.

Vicomtesse Jacqueline de Ribes, Victor Skrebneski, pdngallery.com

March