Photo is Arlington National Cemetery, by RuthannOC at flickr
Photo is Arlington National Cemetery, by RuthannOC at flickr
So, how’s it going?
Pretty good. At least, I’ve written five of the seven days, and am sitting at 13,912 words with loads more to come and no writer’s block so far. Also, everyone has eaten this week, including two bottle-fed calves named Davy and Beth, and no one has run out of underwear. (Must give props to The CEO for doing laundry, though: ten loads. Eek. Note to self: don’t add any more children to the family.) I’m still looking waaay, way up at the top of the hill, but I can see it.
Scents worn this week:
Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille sample. Smells like gingerbread, which is kind of nice if you like that sort of thing, which I do, but it’s ungodly expensive for something that smells like, hello, gingerbread. Honestly, I’d rather just bake some.
Guerlain Chamade vintage parfum de toilette. Smells like spring. Is allllll wrong for this time of year, but one of my characters wears it.
Coty Ex-clam-a-tion! Smells like rose+violet+face powder, drenched in syrup. Was this an advance entry into the “I’m a teenager, I must smell like dessert” running? Same character wears this one at a different stage of life. She prefers Chamade, and I must say, so do I.
Guerlain Shalimar Light/Eau Legere, two different versions. Review may show up this week, if I manage to post it. Watch this space…
I have instructions for people who want something good to happen to them this week:
Go smell something good, even if it’s just dry leaves outside and some homemade gingerbread inside. (There, now you won’t owe Tom Ford $170 for the 50ml bottle. Or you could put a pouch of flavored pipe tobacco next to a bottle of Bath and Body Works’ Ginger Vanilla body wash, and pretty much get the same experience.)
Go read something good. Comic books are fun, but they do NOT count. Sorry. You only get a pass on this one if you have a newborn baby at home.
Go hug someone you love.
You have your instructions.
Image is Montsant, climbing up hill, by Monique vd Hoeven at flickr.
You know who holds the record for the most losses by a major league pitcher?
Yeah, that guy. The one they named the award for, the one that honors the best major league pitcher each year. The guy that pitched 21 seasons, the one who still – even close to a hundred years after he retired, in 1911 – holds the record for the most wins by a major league pitcher.
Total losses: 316.
Total wins: 511.
A lesson for us all.
Especially for me. This is my second attempt at NaNoWriMo. I failed last year, only racking up 47,000 words (“winning” means you wrote 50K during the month of November). But that was last year. Ol’ Cy lost a bunch of games, too, and it didn’t stop him.
So it can’t stop me.
I probably won’t post full-blown articles here for awhile, just brief notes on how things are going, with the occasional Scent of the Day comment, or something short like that. I’ll be back in full swing in December.
Image is from wikipedia. Click on the link to read more about Cy Young at baseballhalloffame.org.
All Hallows’ Eve approaches. I’ve been waiting to review this perfume for months, and so I suppose I’ve had months to think about it but had not yet written a post before today. I first heard of Magie Noire last spring, from a commenter on one of the perfume blogs. I no longer remember which one. In any case, the comment was something like, “Magie Noire is the most sensual potion I’ve ever smelled, I’m so sad they’ve reformulated it.” I didn’t know much about what to expect from a list of notes at the time, and I thought it would be a good idea to find a home for vintage Magie Noire, so I trolled ebay for it. What luck! A mini bottle of vintage edt for something like $12 including shipping. The seller had several on hand, having inherited her parents’ pharmacy. She was attempting to clear the back room of old fragrances they had bought in the 80’s and stored.
I bought it. On the day it was delivered, the weather here was warm and characteristic of early spring. Daffodils were out; I was wearing a spring green blouse. I came home from work and found my package in the mailbox. The box was ugly – black, with russet, orange and gold curving stripes and zodiacal symbols on it. I rolled my eyes (those crazy mystical types! The things they’ll buy!) and opened it, expecting the tones of the spicy floral oriental of Fragrantica.com’s listing. The top was a bit tight, so I had to work it loose, getting a drop on my fingers in the process.
This is what went through my head: What the heck? This is NOT an Oriental! I jerked my hand away from my nose. What the heck IS thi – wait a second, I want to smell that again. I did smell it again. And again and again. I sat at the computer desk in the basement for what seemed like hours, just sniffing. I didn’t have to bring my hand to my nose; the sillage was tremendous.
I was immediately transported to an evening from my first year at college, when I was walking back to my dorm after a choral dress rehearsal that had gone late. It was not raining, but it had rained earlier in the day, so that the dead leaves, oak and maple, felt like just-made papier mache’ under my feet. A huge harvest moon sailed overhead, shining pale orange as clouds scudded behind it. The wind blew in swirls. I remember being stunned by beauty. I didn’t stop at my dorm; I kept walking in this windy November night: through the little cemetery, through the Dell, up Observatory Hill. It grew chilly. I walked back to my dorm. I barely slept, for the moonlight and the drama and the silence, for the romance and the longing.
Coming back from the past on that spring afternoon, I realized that the weather had changed. It had been sunny and pleasant, but while I was dreaming the clouds had come in and covered the sun. It had begun to rain. I had the eerie feeling that Magie Noire had effected the change all on its own.
Notes for MN: Created by Gerard Goupy, released by Lancome in 1978. I keep seeing it classified on perfume forums like fragrantica and basenotes as a floral oriental. This is crazy talk (at least for the vintage version). It is clearly a woody chypre with floral elements, and a Big, Honkin’, I Mean Business Chypre to boot. A man could wear this, if he had enough confidence and a very, very light hand on the applicator.
Top: Blackcurrant buds, galbanum, raspberry, hyacinth, bergamot.
Heart: honey, tuberose, orris root, jasmine, ylang, lily of the valley, cedar, narcissus, Bulgarian rose.
Base: spices, sandalwood, amber, patchouli, musk, civet, oakmoss, vetiver.
Some fragrances are far, far more than the sum of their notes. This is one of those fragrances. I could not tease out individual notes at all the first few times I wore it. I still cannot identify more than a few: the cassis buds stand out as always. Narcissus has become a favorite, and after falling in love with PdN Le Temps d’une Fete, I can pick it out now. There is a ton of oakmoss and vetiver in this, too. And although it’s not listed, I seem to smell something quite herbal, like coriander, in the top notes. Everything else is a blur, even tuberose and rose, two more favorites of mine. I freely admit that my bottle may not have been stored properly. In fact, I can’t imagine that it was kept properly in a warehouse in California for 25+ years. It doesn’t matter to me whether it smells the way it did when it was created, because it smells amazing.
I cannot wear Magie Noire frequently – I have only worn it a handful of times, and only in very small doses. For one thing, it seems to call for cool weather, and particularly weather in which one might wear a sweater and boots. For another, the sillage is so enormous that it seems wrong to subject other people to it. Lastly, Magie Noire hijacks my thought processes. If I wear it, I can think of nothing else, but am lost in the sensuality, the elemental earthy quality of it. It makes me think of people who worshiped the Earth and its powers, its changing seasons, in centuries past and – who knows? Even now. I am not comfortable in it, but when I wear it I do not want comfort. I am like Bilbo Baggins, unceremoniously yanked from his cozy burrow and set on a quest for treasure.
Magie Noire turns. It turns like the turning of the seasons – it cartwheels, rotates, opens doors ponderous on their hinges. The wind blows in with a blast when the door is opened into November forest, floor damp and spongy with leaf mould, glowing rose at the heart like shafts of sunlight through treetops. It is the death of many leaves and the life of trees, the heart of the earth beating under a blanket of dead leaves and moss. It is warm under the blanket, when the night air is chilly. There now, don’t cry at the loss of the summer: we will make our own. It will be fecund and humid with exhalations from our mouths, and this will be our own summer. It is a kind of magic, do you see?
One of the songs we’d been rehearsing that November night was a piece by Samuel Barber, with text by James Stephens: The Coolin (The Fair Haired One). Here is the poem, and following it is a link to a beautiful rendition I found on youtube.
Come with me, under my coat,
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat,
Or wine if it be thy will.
Reincarnations: The Coolin (Barber/Stephens), about 3:45 minutes long.
And we will talk, until
Talk is a trouble, too,
Out on the side of the hill;
And nothing is left to do,
But an eye to look into an eye;
And a hand in a hand to slip;
And a sigh to answer a sigh;
And a lip to find out a lip!
What if the night be black!
Or the air on the mountain chill!
Where the goat lies down in her track,
And all but the fern is still!
Stay with me, under my coat!
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat,
Out on the side of the hill!
I have no info on the top image, having found it on a free image site – but I can’t remember where or when. If you know, please tell me and I’ll credit it properly. Bottom image is my own bottle of Magie Noire, bought off ebay.
My nose is stopped up. This is rotten. Not only can I not smell anything, I wake up at night because I can’t breade drough by dose.
Sigh. Well, I suppose I wouldn’t go back to being 15 again, but I can watch The Outsiders and pretend that it was a lot better than real life.
Fisher-Price has released a new toy: Elmo Live. This animatronic wonder sings, laughs, stands, sits, tells jokes, and plays games. Holy cow, what’s the world coming to? I hereby confess that I always hated Elmo. Kermit was cool, Big Bird was dumb but sweet, and Oscar said what I always wished I had the guts to say. Elmo is a toddler in red fur. What’s so great about that?
NaNoWriMo starts on Sunday. I’m getting ready. Squee!
And, most importantly, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to The CEO! Lots of love to my favorite husband (yes, I know you’re the only one), and many years of happy life ahead. Mwah.
* Apologies to Sir John Suckling, for cribbing/messing with his poem “The Constant Lover.” Image is from moviestore.com.
In 1994, Rochas released this honkin’ ugly bottle of wonderful stuff, created by Maurice Roucel. Thank goodness I read a positive review of it before ever seeing the bottle, which is one of the cheesiest things I have seen in my life. The bottom part of it reminds me of the pretty shape of the Femme bottle, but it’s topped with a cylinder and a coolie hat in plastic Made In China colors. It’s a shame, really, about that cap. It’s too tall. It’s pointy. It’s plaaaaaaastic.
Ahem. Muses in Wooden Shoes never, ever, buy perfume for the bottle. And isn’t that lucky for us? Tocade – which means “Infatuation” in French – is just lovely, and a genuine bargain at $25-30 for a large 100ml bottle.
Here are the notes for Tocade:
T: green notes, bergamot, freesia, geranium
H: magnolia, iris, orchid, jasmine, lily of the valley, rose
B: patchouli, amber, musk, cedar, vanilla
Tocade is primarily a rose-vanilla-patchouli fragrance, and like Organza Indecence, it’s right at the edge of my low patchouli tolerance. Other people might not find it very patch-forward, but I do. Tocade opens with a breath of galbanum and a whisper of something my brain calls “fresh” – it’s probably the freesia – before heading full tilt for that rose-vanilla combo. It’s a lovely rose, neither the fresh lemony rose you smell in, say Perfumer’s Workshop Tea Rose, nor the winey rose of Parfum Sacre or Voleur de Roses, but, rather, a glowing deep pink rose, smooth as painted china. I do smell the magnolia and lily of the valley, and although I can’t pinpoint the orchid, there’s a smooth floral quality to the heart that seems to be common to orchid scents. And although the base skates toward the sweet side, it’s not the marshmallow variety of vanilla/amber – there’s enough backbone in the cedar and patchouli, and enough dirt in the musk, to keep it honest. Although it doesn’t smell like Shalimar, it does have that dirty, smoky vanilla vibe in the drydown.
This is one of my sexier perfume options, I confide. It’s a casual, comfortable, party-girl kind of sexiness, a white tee shirt and jeans sort of sexiness, not the femme fatale variety. It’s so friendly and affectionate that one imagines Tocade to be unable not to flirt outrageously with everyone (yes, everyone) she meets. In fact, I usually refer to it as That Slut Tocade.
Which is probably unfair, but since it amuses the heck out of me while expressing that “friendly sexiness” that is Tocade, I’m going to keep using it. That Slut Tocade. Heh. Beavis and Butthead would be so proud. (By the way, according to a French-speaking friend, it’s pronounced toe-COD. Just in case that might be helpful.)
True story: I bought Tocade this past spring, just about the time the weather was getting too warm for it. I promptly put it in my closet, inside a box with a few other cold-weather scents. Two months later, I opened the closet, and a big waft of Tocade stumbled out and threw her arms around my neck, slurring, “Hiiiiiiii! I’m Tocade. I’m a little druunnnk (hiccup) and I’ve somehow (giggle) lost my panties, will you take me ho-ome?” Whew. I promptly made sure the (ugly) top was on firmly, and then put the bottle inside a plastic bag inside the box. That was three months ago, and I continue to get hints of Tocade when I open the closet.
(So be careful with this stuff, willya? Don’t, you know, spill it on your closet floor or anything.)
I’ve used the phrase That Slut Tocade often enough now that I think I’d better clarify: I like it. I really, really like it. It’s comfortable without being a real wallpaper scent, and my husband likes it too.
But it really deserved a better bottle.
Inspired by the Fall Picks posts on many perfume blogs this week, I’m doing my own. And I was going to make it Ten Picks, but since I’m hoping to be doing this again next year, I’ll keep the list short so I can explore different scents in 2010.
I love fall. Love it, love it. The temperature’s generally comfortable. The sunshine (when we get it) is a golden shade we never see in any other season. The wind is bracing rather than icy. The trees change colors; hickory nuts and black walnuts drop onto the drive. Squirrels and chipmunks are busybusybusy. Woodsmoke begins to fill the crisp air, and there’s frost on the ground in the mornings. More than that, autumn has always been for me a time of new beginnings. Feelings rise up in me and can’t be quashed – or forgotten.
For those warm golden days when the sun pours warm cider over distant tweed hills: Sonoma Scent Studio Tabac Aurea. To me, it smells of dry leaves, pipe tobacco, fresh hay, a worn leather bomber jacket, and the warm skin of one’s sweetheart, and an aromatic mossy forest floor, with spiced cider wafting by from somewhere in the distance.
For cold rainy days when you just want a sweater (and a good raincoat!), I want Givenchy Organza Indecence. This is spice cake eaten near a bonfire, so that you smell the spice and vanilla just as much as you smell the smoke and the wood. Cozy, it sticks fairly close to my skin and only wafts gently when I move. I like that.
For romantic evenings, Ormonde Jayne Ta’if casts a spell, with its peppery rose and saffron creaminess. It is delightful, sensual, and a bit dreamy, as if it can’t quite keep the memory of stars out of its head.
For dreary days, when the sun is slow to wake and the sky remains gray, I love Lanvin Arpege. I have a small bottle of the reformulated EdP, and also a tiny bottle of vintage extrait. I really, really wish there were some way to merge the top and heart notes of the reformulation with the drydown of the vintage – the new stuff just disappears when it gets past its harmonic floral heart, but the basenotes of the old are symphonic and jaw-droppingly gorgeous, with creamy sandalwood and crisp vetiver. The middle stage of development in the original is so rich it feels almost decayed. Of course, that effect still seems to fit with leaf mould on the ground and the richness of fruit that ripens in the fall.
For anytime I need a close-to-the-skin veil of loveliness, I would want to wear Tom Ford Black Orchid Voile de Fleur. I still haven’t smelled the original Black Orchid, but VdF has plenty of personality, and I think the original would, um, scare me. VdF races through plum and very smooth florals (ylang and gardenia, prominently) through cinnamon and woods to a very creamy, luxuriously feminine ending. It’s like a bowl of Feminite du Bois with milk poured over, and it doesn’t disappear on me like Feminite du Bois.
Others I’m enjoying: Lancome Magie Noire, Chanel 31 Rue Cambon, Amouage Lyric, Gres Cabaret, and Shalimar Light. It might soon be cold enough to break out the Bal a Versailles, too.
Image is Fall in Forest from nancymeowdrew at flickr; it was taken in Virginia in 1991. This is very much what fall looks like around here.
I feel like going off the deep end with some luxuriant, voluptuous, carmined, velvety Dark Rose scents. SOTD is Tom Ford Black Orchid Voile de Fleur (did anybody think a name that long was a good idea?), and while it is lovely, I’m waiting for it to wear off.
I simply want Take No Prisoners Rose at the moment. I want to reread Philippa Gregory’s sensual and frightening Wideacre; I want rose petals in my bath; I want a cashmere sweater in the richest deep red. I am longing to sniff a couple of new ones – the Francis Kurkdjian Lumiere Noire PourFemme (you can read Helg’s voluptuously-written review here– she’s clearly smitten!), and DS&Durga for Anthropologie East MidEast (Kevin’s more straightforward review is here).
I’m not sure what to wear next, but here are a few of my options. Most of these are decants, the full bottles being a little out of my price range, which is why I’m careful with dosage – something in my brain goes cha-ching! every time I spray. Not to mention that most of these are also Grande Dame Perfumes with corresponding sillage…
Amouage Lyric Woman – deep wine-y rose and dry, smoky, astringent incense. Piercingly beautiful, Leontyne Price singing Vissi d’Arte. Quite expensive, but in this case, price indicates quality.
Ormonde Jayne Ta’if – a rose of the desert, sweet and deep, dusted with pepper and saffron, standing barefoot under the stars.
Caron Parfum Sacre’ – lemon-spice-pepper and rose, flowing into warm vanilla-woods and cool myrrh. This is the mother that tenderly kisses her sleeping children before becoming a lover again in the bed of her marriage.
Gres Cabaret – rose curled atop a down comforter before the fire, letting its smoke twine through her hair. Wonderful fragrance, ugly bottle, unbelievably great price. I think I said something about “toasted marshmallow” before, but it’s not sweet – what I was getting at was that cushy, pillowy musk.
Juliet Has a Gun Citizen Queen – rose dolled up for the nightlife, in a violet bustier, fishnets and leather stilettos – and a killer-diller red lipstick. Very, very sexy.
That Slut Tocade is little too flirty and shallow for the current mood, L’Arte di Gucci a little too imperious. I’ll take my roses rolling in passion today.
Come slowly, Eden
Lips unused to thee.
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,
Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars – alights,
And is lost in balms!
– Emily Dickenson
When I was young, Opium was the Hot Ticket in Fragrance. And not just Opium, but Cinnabar, Coco, LouLou, Poison, Obsession, Tabu, Youth Dew, and Shalimar. Seems like everyone was just drenched in resiny, spicy, heavy Orientals that, to my young nose, were related to Chemical Spills, Nuclear Power Plant Accidents (anyone remember Three Mile Island? Or worse, Chernobyl?), and Industrial Waste. Opium ruined more cultural gatherings than I could shake a stick at, and all I really knew about it was that it was, duh, an Oriental.
I had a friend at college who seemed to be going through the same things that I was – we suffered through first year together. We conferred, discussed, and giggled over all manner of issues. And we sighed, in tandem and at a distance, over Smoky Charles, who had stunning smoky gray eyes, and Gorgeous John from the Basement, who was as Cary Grant as a college freshman could be. We liked performing in musicals; we both played the piano (she far better than I); we both sang in the chorus; we loved novels and poetry and romantic English love stories. Suzanne and I dithered over whether or not to ditch our long-distance boyfriends, and rolled our eyes at our mothers’ ridiculous worries. We haunted the thrift store for elegant vintage night wear and cashmere shrug sweaters – which, at the time, were long out of style – and diamante’ brooches. Occasionally she let me borrow that thrift-store black velvet dressing gown with ivory crocheted lace. Together we counseled our friend Beth on how best to flirt with a fun, handsome boy we all knew: Mark ImpossibleLastName.
Three years later, Mark and Suzanne would marry, a few months before the end of college, telling her worried mother that they “just couldn’t wait to live together.” Gasp! How shocking! Getting married in order to have, you know, S-E-X!!
Suzanne had long wavy strawberry-blonde hair, loved Asian décor, and enjoyed making toast over the bulb in her desk lamp. She could make waiting for a bus fun. Her faults? 1) She simply could not manage to arrive anywhere on time. 2) She could be oblivious to other people’s moods. 3) And she wore Cinnabar.
She wore it discreetly, instead of bathing in it as so many Opium-lovers seemed to do, but it was the one most frustrating thing about her. I remember saying to her once, when I was having a supremely bad day (it involved a calculus test, among other things), “I could never wear those Oriental perfumes. They’re so heavy and dusty and strong.”
She serenely told me, “I know you couldn’t, but they’re very Suzanne.” She shook back her hair, releasing a wave of Cinnabar (ugh), and then smiled at me. “Let’s go find something for you.” The Something turned out to be a very, very small bottle of Coty Ex’clam-a’tion!, a straight-up sweet rose floral that I eventually ditched along with that boyfriend (um, yes, the one that SSS Tabac Aurea reminded me of). I don’t regret saying goodbye to either one.
I spent years afterward saying to people, “I like perfume, but no Orientals please. I don’t like them at all.” I had no idea what, exactly, an Oriental was, but I thought it meant, “nasty thing that smells like Dust of the Crypt.”
Fast forward fifteen to twenty years, and I’ve gotten interested in perfume again, now that the bombastic 80’s and the soap-and-clean laundry smells of the 90’s have fallen out of fashion. I rediscover an old love, Coty Emeraude… and am utterly stunned to find out that my Darling Emeraude is, yes, an Oriental.
Oh, yes, it is. And it turns out that many of the scents that I love, that I just adore and feel the most “me” when wearing, are Orientals too. Shalimar Light comes to mind, as does Natori, Tom Ford Black Orchid Voile de Fleur, Amouage Lyric Woman, Ormonde Jayne Ta’if, Bal a Versailles, Parfum Sacre’, Citizen Queen, L’Heure Bleue, Organza Indecence, Bvlgari Black, Rumba, Bois des Iles, Dolce Vita, La Myrrhe, and Tocade. Whew. And I don’t even own all of those – but all of them feel comfortable and warm and lovely, and in some way like a second, beautifully-scented, skin. They’re weighty and smooth – ornate and lushly detailed – luxurious and beautiful.
Suzanne and Mark did finish college; they’ve been married now for nearly twenty years and have four lovely children. I haven’t seen her since 1999, when Gaze was a baby and Suz was pregnant with her third. We’ve only been corresponding through Christmas cards for years, but I have recently found Suzanne’s email address and will be contacting her soon. I’m hoping for more news than will fit on a Christmas card. I can’t wait to find out what perfume she’s wearing these days, and I can’t wait to tell her how wrong I was about Orientals!
Okay, today we’re going way downmarket for the review of our next Chanel No. 5 clone: Bath and Body Works Moonlight Path. I’ve long been a customer of B&BW – largely because if I want anything fancier than drugstore body products, they’re it. I do have a few favorites among their offerings: I dearly love their Aromatherapy Orange Ginger lotion, their Velvet Tuberose is a terrific, low-budget Fracas Lite, and I wore the Freesia bath products all during my honeymoon.
On the Late & Lamented List: Freesia is gone. It’s been replaced with Sheer Freesia, which is simple and pretty but lacks the crisp greenness I remember smelling in the old one; I think there may have been some aspect of lily of the valley along with the freesia in the old version. Sigh. Well, I still have some Diorissimo.
My husband’s sister and her husband once gave me some really rich hand cream scented with Moonlight Path for a birthday. I opened it, sniffed and exclaimed, “Chanel No. 5!” My brother-in-law gave me the fish eye, and I hastened to explain that it wasn’t exact, of course – it just reminded me of my mother’s scent. And then I had to explain that I liked No. 5 but didn’t wear it because, well, it was my mother’s scent, “and you know how that is, right?” And then I shut up, because I was Just Making It Worse. (Sorry, K. It was a nice gift you and E. picked out – I used it all up with pleasure, and it smelled nice, and you have good taste. And I love you both. Which you know. Grin.)
So when I began seriously sniffing No. 5 Smell-Alikes, I remembered Moonlight Path, and went back to the Bath and Body Works store at the mall to retest it. It’s not as close to the icon as Mariella Burani is, and even farther away than Eau Premiere, but it does echo some of the facets of No. 5, particularly the powdery aspects.
Here are the notes for Moonlight Path:
Top: Bergamot, lavender, mandarin, coriander
Heart: Rose, jasmine, violet, tuberose, ylang, lily of the valley
Base: Sandalwood, vetiver, oakmoss, vanilla, amber, musk, patchouli
I never smell the lavender in Moonlight Path, which is probably a good thing, lavender being an un-favorite of mine. The congruencies of notes between the two scents include bergamot, rose, jasmine, ylang, lily of the valley, and all the base notes. Indeed, it’s the drydown of MP that reminds me most of No. 5, and since MP is fairly light, it’s the drydown that I spend the most time in while wearing it. I do smell that rose-jasmine-ylang-LotV combo that is such a pleasant part of No. 5 for me, and that’s enjoyable in Moonlight Path, but sadly, it doesn’t last very long here. It is powdery. Very powdery. Intensely powdery, even – and I’m not all that big a fan of powder. The list of basenotes sounds more complex than it actually is in Moonlight Path, contrasted directly with No. 5’s rich and shimmery sandalwood and musk base.
It’s perfectly nice. But powdery, you know… and if you like that kind of thing, the body products might layer very nicely (and, um, cheaply, if you care) with No. 5.
Top image: Moonlight Path body butter at B&BW; bottom image is Fillable Puff Patter with Powder at ebay, which my late grandmother would have absolutely adored. She’d have bought one for every woman she knew, bless her heart.
This is going to seem ridiculously familiar to some of my perfumista friends: The American Mall – at least in bucolic suburbia – is a perfume wasteland.
I had the rare chance to go to the mall yesterday. The CEO insists that all errands be combined as much as possible, so I don’t often go to the small city/big town in which the mall is located. It’s twenty miles away, a good half-hour’s drive – but I had a dentist’s appointment today, and afterward hit the mall. Our mall has four anchor stores: Sears, JC Penney, Belk, and Dick’s Sporting Goods. Only one of those, Belk, has sniffies available. They’ve got a big sale going on at the moment, so I went in.
I should explain that it always sort of depresses me to read a blog entry about some new commercial release, because I know that I’ll maybe possibly someday get to sniff it – but only if it’s at Belk, which is mainstream all the way, baby. I won’t get to stroll into Aedes and smell the new L’Artisan, but things like Marc Jacobs Lola, Idole d’Armani, and Lancome Hypnoses Senses are available.
There were testers for all three at Belk. I sprayed each on a card, and they were either “Bleah, too sweet” or “Meh, boring.” What a waste of aisle space. Belk has all the Estee Lauders, except the new Private Collections – which does me absolutely no good because of that Horrible Lauder Base. They’ve also got some Escadas, the Jessica Simpsons, Queen, Juicy Couture, Ed Hardy, a few Lancomes (Tresor, Hypnose, Magnifique, and Hypnose Senses – no La Collection here), and Ralph Laurens. Oh, and of course they have Chanel (no Les Exclusifs, obviously).
The SA who came over to talk to me about Chanels… doesn’t like them. Oh, except for Chance Eau Fraiche. Which she pronounced Aw Fresh. I mean, I grew up here and I’m used to the local accent, but really. I told her that I liked Eau Premiere and got a blank look, like “what’s that?” I pointed. “Oh. I don’t like No. 5, it’s too heavy and old fashioned. But try this, it’s nice and soft.” She sprayed Allure on a card for me. This SA, at a guess, is at least 40, judging by her skin (and yes, I know that’s not nice of me). Hey, I’m 40… ish… too!
I asked to sniff Coco, having heard from a longtime wearer that it smells softer these days. “No, it hasn’t been changed,” the saleslady says. “You like that? That’s an old one.” She sprayed it for me anyway. I was hoping it would be less Opium-ish than it used to be. I don’t hate it as much as I used to, but… still NO. Dear God, NO.
So now I get why people are always complaining about the arid landscape of mainstream, and why they hate that SA’s are so uninformed about what they’re selling. True, all true. Recently over on Now Smell This, Angela reviewed vintage Millot Crepe de Chine as something of an antidote to an unsuccessful sniffing trip; the comments about perfume SA’s are interesting to read. You can access it here. I just hadn’t realized how bad it is – gosh, if you’re going to sell something as luxurious as perfume, perhaps you should find out something about it, hm?
Lost in the scented desert, trying to find my way out, I finally saw an oasis: Shalimar. At the bottom of the case, lovely blue-and gold tester bottle locked up, the only Guerlain in the place sat on a shelf and glowed at me from amid the dreck. I don’t even wear it – it goes pretty tarry on me and can scare the horses, if you know what I mean – but boy, did it look good! Shalimar is still the Grand Old Diva – and to quote Luca Turin, “God bless Guerlain for still doing this stuff.”
I went home and put on a drop of vintage Shalimar parfum de toilette, and then topped it with a little spritz of Shalimar Light. It was lovely; the Shalimar TarNilla was just right in the woodsmoke-laced rainy evening. Ahhhh.
Top image: Sahar (Kavir) by Hamed Saber at flickr; Shalimar extrait at ebay.
In my rant of yesterday, I completely forgot to wish Gaze a happy birthday. Dear Gaze, Noticer Par Excellence, you’ll never completely know how wonderful you are. I consider myself privileged to be your mother. Many more years of life to you, sweet baby.
Two drops of vintage Magie Noire EdT does indeed turn out to be way too much. In a glorious sort of way.
Scent of the Day: Parfums de Nicolai Vanille Tonka. The weather is cold and wet and nasty, and VT is a good antidote. For some unexplained reason, this scent always makes me happy. I love the way it makes me feel like Miss Piggy, sipping champagne (fine sparkling muscatelle, actually, a bargain at 95 cents) and complaining that the bubbles get up her nose and make her all giggly. Limes, vanilla, carnations, Dr. Pepper and frankincense – what’s not to love about this scent? Heck, no, it’s not Serious Perfume, but it’s not some candy-coated fruity teenybopper blah either. And for your viewing pleasure, here’s a small clip from The Muppet Movie, showing Piggy and Kermie on their first date and featuring Steve Martin. It doesn’t go long enough to show the bubbles, but they’re there. Trust me.
I’m off to sniff the bottle cap, myself.