I haven’t sniffed a new perfume so far this year, I realised yesterday in talking to a dear friend on the phone. That’s a quarter way through the year with very little drive or urge to try stuff out. There might be a number of reasons for this – the new aquatic/watery mode hasn’t really sold itself to me and therefore Vanille Galante / Un Matin d’Orage et al, doing little to ring my bell and tickle my feathers, can bloody well wait until I can be bothered; same story for limpid lightweight fruity florals such us ‘night wrapped in cellophane, with a sprinkle of formication’ (at least the copy had me imagining a couple of bugs checking each other out on my flesh, I don’t know about you); there’s so much other stuff that interests me I sometimes find it hard to make room; perhaps the economic situation has made me feel my fumania is a frivolity and not worthy of as much room as I used to give it.
But these speculative reasons don’t answer why I’ve no real drive to sniff out Oud 27 for example, or one or two other launches that should be singing a siren song to me and making me feverish and foamy as I fail to resist their allure. I’m funny that way.
And that isn’t to say I’ve entirely lost interest: I’ve just recently bought a perfume – a blind buy of Korres supposedly natural (and oh how I doubt it) Saffron/ Amber/Agarwood/ Cardamom number that was a steal at close to 20 euros. My first blind buy in a couple of years. I’ll let you know how it works out. And the copy for the May launched Editions de Parfum, Geranium pour Monsieur, has me jumping with glee. Dans tes Bras left me cold and a little headachy – that salty perfumed richness seemed too overplayed, an awkward mix of classical inspiration and modern aesthetics. But, as someone who grows and loves scented Pelargoniums (and it’s perlargoniums we’re talking about here, not geraniums – which is an entirely different genus, botany bods), likes minty freshness with a touch of aniseedy fennel-like edges (anethol, I believe), and adore a benzoin and incense rich drydown, this sounds oh so dreamy. I read somewhere – probably the Sorcery of Scent? – that the inspiration comes from fancy soap and clean sophistication with a desire for freshness and molecular level precision. Or something. I’m like so totally psyched.
So I hope, in two weeks’ time, I’ll write an actual review. We’ll see. Will it be written in ponderous convoluted post-structuralist style:
‘The exacting harmony of the initial accord posits a complex question. In making us traverse territories and meet an ineffably more refined version of ourselves behind the mirror, are we wearing this perfume or has it sprayed us on its radically, yet inchoately, mutable self, in recognition of its evanescent yet lasting presence? Yadda ya’
or chemical precision:
‘The benzyl salicylate drives the engine of this fragrance, the gear changes from mid to basenotes made seamless heliotropin and celestolide’
or mua snark:
“Smells like an old lady ready for death. I don’t mean to be nasty, but it totally does”
or some other style? You tell me. I’m not sure it could ever be any.
And to end on fluff, here’s the lovely Rodrigo, vlogger Katie Puckrick’s loyal assistant.
And here’s a younger Katie Puckrick, attempting to interview a shambolic Oliver Reed, in the early 90s. Must’ve been, erm, fun. This is worse than Shatner’s Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.(The Word must be one of the worst ‘so bad you have to watch it’ tv programmes ever transmitted in the UK. Here it’s close to tragedy. Good to see Katie doing better now).