How Snowmageddon has anything to do with Chanel Bois des Iles.
First off, my apologies to those I offended Monday with my remarks about idiots shoveling their cars out. I was attempting to be flip and funny and, as sometimes happens, I ended up being offensive. Of course I am grateful for all the emergency, road and other personnel who have dug out and driven in and worked nonstop. If it weren’t for their efforts, everyone here would be much worse off than they are. The remark was intended as a lead-in for the idea of a perfume that could be enjoyed indoors like a blanket. Furthermore, everybody here, including us, got out and dug our cars out, because a) it was something to do, and b) at these volumes, that snow isn’t going to remove itself. An aside: I noticed yesterday while shoveling that our neighbor’s holly tree fell over in our yard. And the way I noticed this is by finally realizing why the (bare) side of their house looks so strange. I still can’t see the holly tree, which should give an idea of the drifts. I’m glad it fell on that side and not the side with the power line to our house.
Also, here’s a link to the Snowmageddon reader-submitted photo section of the Washington Post — I think their staff/professional photos are a total snooze, but the reader photos are great — lots of dogs and kids, sure, but also photos that give a real sense of the scale of the fallout, as well what I think would be (for those of you from other parts of the country/world) an interesting peek into the Washington, D.C. that isn’t located on the Mall. There are some excellent snow-creatures in there as well.
They’ve closed school for the rest of the week, and as I type this it hasn’t even started snowing again (Snowmageddon Part II: 10 – 20 More Inches, Punk). It’s still pretty trashed here; it took me 45 minutes to make our ten-minute drive to the kids’ dentist this morning. But the reward was: the parking lot of the dentist belongs to Saks. Squeee! Civilization! Less Donner Party, more Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I even put some lipstick on.
I spent an hour in there just enjoying pretty things. Sniffing Chanel Les Exclusifs again, I drew some conclusions.
First: much as I love 22, I don’t love it enough to need a bottle.
Second, Beige appears (from the amount of liquid in the bottle) to be far and away the most popular in our store. Smelling it again, I was assailed with that kinda-musky-warm-comfort scent that seems to be distinguished by how undistinguished (and undistinguishable) it is. I won’t back away from my previous statement that I still like it, but that’s only because it’s generically pleasant. I can see why it’s popular, but every single one of the others is more interesting, and (one could argue) more beautiful.
Third: I have heard (and faintly recall) that Chanel Bois des Iles before Les Exclusifs was better: richer, stronger, deeper, more sillage and longevity, plus it did your dishes and rubbed your feet, all while preventing cavities. I put on a couple modest squirts after sniffing the cap and being reminded of how nice the sandalwood is. You know what? Maybe Chanel Bois des Iles back in the day used to be hugely better, but Chanel Bois des Iles sitting right there on that counter is more beautiful than almost anything I might have been inclined to sniff among the tester bottles at Saks that morning. So if you’ve been holding off sniffing this one because of all the perfumista breast-beating about how its glory days are gone, guess what? It’s still worth it.
(Clarifying, for anyone who read the para above and is concerned I’m having memory issues: yes, I smelled and reviewed three different iterations of BdI maybe a month ago. What I meant to say is: 1) the (new) extrait smells pretty different to me than the EdTs, no surprise there; and 2) I think the new EdT I smelled at Saks held up to my memory of the vintage-y EdT, which is maybe 10 years old but not ancient. Also, old (vintage) EDT of BdI seems to be pretty variable in quality. Clear as mud?)
Two squirts of BdI comforted me through a trip to the grocery store after the dentist, to join the panicked post-blizzard/pre-blizzard throngs, and all the joy that entailed. And then back in the car, still wafting, for the tricky, icy trek back to the house, which is rather like running an old-fashioned maze at this point, with various dead ends and backtracking required. (We live in a funny old neighborhood with narrow streets that even without snow requires cars to pull over and yield to oncoming traffic. Only now there isn’t anyplace to pull over.) Every time I felt myself defeated, I took one sniff of my wrist, glanced at Buckethead in the rear view mirror and thought: patience.