First, the folks at Perfume Fairy in the UK are sponsoring a giveaway of a 50 ml bottle of Marc Jacobs Daisy.  To enter, like all of our giveaways, just leave a comment to this post, and I’ll draw the winner via random number generator (I assign a number to each original reply, not to the replies to replies) and announce it next week.  Perfume Fairy will send the bottle directly to the winner.

Daisy is one mainstream, commercial scent that I think was well done and very much fits the target audience it was aimed at and is really easy to wear.  If it’s not a scent you wear yourself,  I’m sure there are a lot of people who would love it as a gift

So when I pull out a new celebrity scent or mainstream scent, I keep that in mind.

Which brings us to Jennifer Aniston’s new perfume, with notes of citrus grove, rose water, jasmine, violet, amazon lily, musk, amber, sandalwood.  It’s designed to encompass some of her favorite memories of jasmine and the ocean.

Okay, it’s just not me, but I’m guessing most of you already knew that. I’m trying to evaluate it with an open mind, thinking of who her target audience is and if it fits. It’s a clean white floral, running light on the TFA, which sorta blooms over into a slight aquatic feel on the open.  Blessedly that watery feel diminishes..  It seems to be aimed at the 20-something, but the naked Jennifer on the front of the box confuses me a little.  Naked, sex?  Um, no, there’s nothing naughty about this at all or that even hints at naughtiness to come. It’s a 10 on an innocence scale. That doesn’t make it bad.

It seems to be pretty well made, the aquatics and clean underpinnings give it a little bit of a plasticky smell on the white florals that I’m not a fan of.  The drydown does soften that out a lot to where it’s mostly undetectable or at least it doesn’t jump up and annoy my nose.

Nice clean white floral.  Not groundbreaking or particularly different from lots of the same out there, but if you’re a fan of hers and like squeaky clean white florals, you won’t go wrong getting this.  It does wander into Daisy territory of being easy to wear with broad appeal.

Okay, yes, yawn. There, I said it.  I hate to say this too loudly, but I’m looking forward to the Lady Gaga perfume that smells like sperm and blood. Of course Etat Libre was there first, but nobody’s been there second or will get that sort of scent on every Target/Macy’s/Sephora/Ulta/massmarketmassmarketmassmarket perfume display, which cracks me up. She better not wimp out on this because I’m looking forward to sitting quietly in the patio furniture area of Target with binoculars and watching people sniff that.

Has there been any celebrity perfume that was groundbreaking? Sarah Jessica Parker’s Lovely came the closest, all musky, and I really do like that one.

Patty

by Tom

One of the things that happen when you’re a voracious sniffer, inveterate freebie ‘ho (there, I said it) and unable to toss crap is that you will run across a sample of something that you have no idea why or where you came to get it. DId it come in some gift with purchase?  Was it forced on you by one of the people at Sephora?  Did you have an alcoholic black-out and ask for it?  Did clever and passive-aggressive Aliens stick it between your gas and cable bill?  Hmmm.

I’m thinking that it was the last one, since I can think of no amount of alcohol that would cause me to slur a request for a sample of “marine” anything, even if the SA had abs I could grate cheese on and the melting eyes of a puppy.  Of course under those circumstances I would take said sample, so perhaps that was the reason it was sitting there when I was checking the exact date I must call in to Time Warner to give them entirely too much money for another month of exactly six channels I want to watch and about 237 that I don’t.

But I digress..

Bvlgari is not a company noted for subtlety (svbtlety?).  Marine notes are ones that are entirely dependent on subtlety.  A sure hand will result in something like L’eau Serge Lutens; crisp, clean and as refreshing as a new Frette robe and icy Perrier after a dip in the Mediterranean on a warm summer afternoon.  In the less a svre hand that water tvrns brackish, the day too hvmid and the drink’s more like a frooty Big Gvlp.

Not only is this not a great fragrance, it’s not a great reflection of Bvlgari.  Those of us (vs?) who are more of the quiet-good-taste types, as well as shall we say slightly impecunious can give a well-bred pearl-clutching shudder at the bvlgarity of the jewelry, but you can’t fault the quality of the goods.

This makes me shvdder, period.

Verdict?  http://perfumesmellinthings.blogspot.com/2007/03/i-tawt-i-taw-puddy-tat-apologies-to.html“>Secretions Magnfique </a> Lite.

Available at Sephora, where I am guessing I got my sample.

by Anita/Musette

I had a perfume-related post almost ready for today.  Then Life (and its mirror, Death) stepped in.

All of us has That Person – some of us are fortunate to have more than one – but sometimes One is all you need.  That Person is the one who, by an action small or large, maybe a steadying hand or an ongoing friendship, somehow validates you beyond your own reasoning.  They are jewels beyond price and even if we don’t stay fully connected to them we are, somehow, never completely disconnected – that connection helps our continued growth.  Sometimes they come to us in our youth, sometimes as we wade through our later  life.  But no matter when, they are instrumental in our ability to appreciate who we are and who we struggle to become.

I grew up in middle-class Chicago, going to Catholic grammar school in the early 60s.  Rough times.  I was  the Smart, Slightly Weird one.    BVM nuns and the cool kids tortured me with equal abandon.  You know this drill – we’ve all got stories to tell.   Geek before Geek was cool – and back then it most certainly Was Not Cool.  The social/academic missteps  (if she would only apply herself...) went on and it looked as if I was headed for a Sleepwalk  through undergraduate school (the most wonderfully indulgent, slipshod place )  – until I came under the tutelage of Dr. Reta Madsen.  A brilliant scholar (Yale PhD – how she ended up at our little artsy- bonky college is still a mystery), she managed to take a passle of smart, underachieving psychopaths and turn us into some vague version of critical thinkers.   None of us had a thought in our head about why we were there  (this was in the 70s, remember).  Sloppy, silly, entitled kids.  This should’ve been Bad Match 101 but somehow it worked.   Our admiration for this woman was borderline cultish.  At a time when everyone else attended class in  pajamas (when they attended at all), we Dressed, like 50s throwbacks,  for 19th Century Lit with Dr. Madsen.  Not her idea.  Ours.  That, plus our classroom civility and attempts to actually pay attention was the only way we could show our appreciation for her.    We were all ridiculous but somehow, the approbation of this brilliant, eminently sane woman validated us – and in doing so, lifted us out of the quagmire of an undisciplined approach and set us (even if it was just a toenail) on the path of rational adulthood.  She abhorred a lazy mind – you could be less than brilliant, but you couldn’t be lazy.  Not with her.  So we strove to align our pinball-bouncing synapses, clean up our syntax, just try to use our minds a little bit.  Sometimes it only lasted for the duration of her class but sometimes that’s all it takes to help rewire a mindset previously hell-bent for mediocrity.

She didn’t hang out with us.   She wasn’t a pal.  She was Dr. Madsen (again, our idea.  She preferred Mrs.).  We were always Mr or Miss.  She taught us, by example, how to behave with courtesy and grace.  We should’ve been wild to challenge and upend the tone she set in her classroom, instead we snatched at it like starving lions.  After graduation, for those of us fortunate enough to become friends with her, time spent together  meant that you sat up a little straighter..and thought for a minute before you opened your mouth. Dining with her was always a sparkling occasion, full of wit and down to earth humor, resisting all efforts to freeze her in Time (she was the first to get the OED on CD.  I was scandalized!!! “oh, get over it.  I’m tired of lifting that damn thing” she said, in her soft, Middle Tennessee drawl) .  She was something else.

Our friendship grew from those first, shaky steps (have you ever tried to write a letter to a PhD in English?  Punctuation checks nearly did me in)…to a comfortable, deep regard.   I couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t be sitting across the table from me at Duff’s, glowing like a beacon and laughing at some weirdness.  Alas, that time has come.  And I am devastated  But not sad – at least not now, when I’ve had a chance to think about it.    I haven’t lost anything except the corporeal.  Every moment I stop to actually THINK  I owe to her.  She will be with me forever.

So I’m sorry it’s not a perfume post.  But what started out as a sobbing mess of a post is actually a paean to That Person – for all of us.    I would love to know who has made the kind of difference in your life that Reta made in mine.  Names aren’t important, if it’s inappropriate to identify them thus.  It doesn’t matter.  What matters is that they matter to you.

photo:  Ocracoke Island, Outer Banks.  Reta’s retreat.

Sorry for the “punt” last week. I was in a haze of exhaustion from schlepping boxes and unpacking. Now, it’s all over, save for my 3 boxes of DVDs that have yet to find a home outside of their cardboard confines.

For those of you who read my post, In Memoriam, from last November, I have an update: My furniture, my clothing, and most of my belongings have been returned, save for the balance of my perfume collection. My aunt has chosen to hold my bottles hostage; why I don’t know, and I really can’t be bothered to call her attorney to find out. I don’t want this to turn into the “airing of grievances”, but I never in my life thought that perfume could be used as a bargaining chip. Jewelry, yes; art and antiquities, absolutely; but perfume? Come on. As Patty said yesterday, “Life happens”, and I’ve sure as hell had a lot of it happen to me lately. So, “Auntie”: enjoy my ‘fumes. I’m sure they smelled a hell of a lot nicer on me than they will on you. Oh, wait! You don’t wear perfume. Well, if onions and garlic count; that’s about as subjective as Mitsouko and Chanel No. 5.

Moving on…The bottles I do have in my possession include the 5 Comme des Garçons Incense Series scents. I’ve been finding a lot of comfort in incense lately, and for the past week I’ve been bathing in Jaisalmer, Avignon and Ouarzazate. They’re all spicy, dry and slightly sweet; just what the doctor ordered. I’ve also been cooking up a storm with curry, tofu, vegetables and rice, so I’m guessing my food cravings have caught up to my scent cravings. My three choices draw their inspiration from Morocco, India and France, so at some point, I’m going to have to find a good steak frites somewhere.

What is it about incense that captivates me so? I’m not a Roman Catholic, so the answer is not “because it reminds me of church”. It’s the warmth and calm it brings, not to mention its exoticism. I read a post on Facebook yesterday that said something to the effect of, “Oud is the new vanilla”. I must admit, I’m not particularly fond of oud; it suffocates me, and in my current digs, I’ve had the window open in -10C weather. Yes, I am sans thermostat in this place, and I can already tell that my scent choices (such as they are) will be affected by that. I’m not looking for any big bear hugs as I once did; now it’s all about gentle envelopment. Incense certainly does the trick on that count. When I was 24, I didn’t mind not having a thermostat; 20 years later, I mind. I don’t think I have to explain why.

I’m glad I still have these precious bottles in my possession. Incense is an underrated ingredient in fragrances, and usually, you can barely tell it’s there. I’m referring to the mainstream concoctions we’re all so fond of slamming. I think Sarah Jessica Parker’s Lovely paid a nice homage to incense, but try finding a bottle of it now. Estee Lauder Sensuous has a wee bit of it, but nothing to get too excited about. No, you have to go searching in “nicheland” to find all the really good incense scents, and I’m fine with that. Like oud, it’s not for everyone, but when you love it, you really fall for it. I’m content to let oud have its 15 minutes; maybe next year, I’ll read that incense is the new oud.

I’ll be residing here every Friday from now on. Please plan accordingly.

Do you like incense? If so, which ones are your faves?

Disclosure: The scents mentioned are from my own (diminished) collection.

One of those days. My mom was having a skin graft on a portion of the wound from her surgery in December. 8 am start

Silly woman is Peckish this morning and a little light headed and smarts down one small spoonful of peanut butter. Tells me in the admitting waiting room and says she’s not telling the doctors. It was small.

So wrong. She tells the doctors after I explain all the horrible things that can happen to her if she aspirated into the mask.

Peanut butter delay for six hours which turns into doctor time of nine hours.

Here it is almost 7. We have another hour until she gets sprung from recovery and my post on that new atelier vanilla incensee did not write itself.

What I can say is it’s still on my hand after 12 hours and has comforted me greatly all day. I’ll supply more details later but it’s a nice vanilla entry.

Best parts of the day. Dr Betts the super cute anesthesiologist. First time an anesthesiologist came out post surgery to talk to me. Which totally made me happy just so I could look at him a little more and pretend he wanted to go steady with me. Btw. You all should see the movie cedar rapids if it plays near you. There’s a great promise ring joke in there that almost made me pee my pants.

Next best part. I can’t make my dinner but I still have time for wine which I need desperately after this marathon day of waiting. How exhausting is that?

I have no idea what our question of the day should be except what perfume should I wear to convince Dr. Sofreakingcute to not worry about a 20 year age difference?

Patty