Well, cats and kittens, in addition to being on my home at Perfume Smellin Things, I’m going to be posting here on Tuesdays for a while. I’m considering it a “special guest star” type of deal, since I’ve secretly always wanted to be Amanda Woodward. Really I’m thrilled.
For my first review, I’m not going to do a review. What I’d like to do is get a discussion started about buying perfume. Personally, I’m at the point where I don’t think I need to buy any more perfume. That’s right. Even ones that I’ve tried and absolutely adored I don’t necessarily want to buy. Why? I can’t do so without thinking about The Collection. I think if I actually numbered them for you all some of you would sneer- it’s most likely not even up to the number of my age. So many of them are sadly neglected, and not because I don’t love them.
Some are just too, well, too much. For instance, Ambre Sultan. It’s stunning: the penultimate amber, thick, warm, almost glottal in its resiny heat. It’s also almost unwearable for me outside of my house. Somehow this tall pasty WASP cannot pull it off.
Some just get lost in the shuffle. The other day I rediscovered the bottle of French Lover (Bois D’Orage in the States, but I had it shipped from France so I could have the name) and wondered where it had been all my life? It smells like Clark Kent about to rip off his shirt in a phone booth.
Some are kittens that sometimes develop claws. I love the bottle of Mandarine Mandarin that my friend brought be back from Paris as a thank you for some task I had done, but once in a while that happy satsuma delight becomes celery tendrils that threaten to strangle me.
Of course some of this could be that I have chosen to write about these scents. I’m not getting paid in any way to do so mind you, and I would most likely do so even if there weren’t the internets for me to post to, much in the same way that I would continue to try to find the perfect gelato, hair goop or bath salts. I suppose in my own way I am a sensualist: I cannot afford to indulge myself with trips to glamourous locations or luxury automobiles or designer duds. There’s also the reality that I hate to fly, don’t care about ostentatious transportation that’s going to be at the tender mercies of supermarket parking lots and could neither afford nor fit into those clothes.
But I can (sort of) afford the sniffage habit.
I think I’ve reached a tipping point. I’m going to sample endlessly, write perhaps more than you’d like to read. But I’m not going to buy. The bottle of Cravache I got last week I don’t count because that was a gift certificate from Bitsy for Christmas.
illus. pourya’s blog (terrific Iranian music reviews). some rights reserved