Last week I was in Denver, and smelled several things I hadn't yet had a chance to. Here are some impressions:
Tom Ford - Violet Blonde
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....................
(I set my alarm for I think 7 a.m. before I drifted off on Violet Blonde's "aroma". I had a dream. In my dream, Violet Blonde wasn't Violet Blonde but Le Labo Iris 39. We were in love. We had sex. She was going to leave - okay, in the dream she was a he - and I started crying, because I thought, how can I live without you? I knew things would be really boring without her/him. Compared to this dream, which I knew was a dream while I was dreaming it, real life, waking life, would be super boring. Watered down. Musky floral like. Sure enough, I woke up, briefly, and smelled what was left of Violet Blonde, and it put me right back to sleep, which was fine by me as I immediately starting searching the Chirico contours of my dreamscape for Iris 39 again.)
Bond No.9 - I Heart NY Series
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...................
(Phone rings. I wake up. It's Broadway Nite calling. We chat for about an hour, catching up on old times. My how things have changed. I can't remember but I think I tell her I have no idea what's going on with her younger siblings. I met some of them at the mall. They're always smacking fruit-flavored bubblegum. I can't make out a word they're saying. They wear tube tops and short shorts and flip flops and use slang that makes no sense to me. My God, you have no idea, I said, how happy and relieved I am to hear from you after all this time. Broadway said she picked up and moved herself as far away as possible not too long ago. She doesn't want to be mistaken for kin. Don't worry, I told her. I don't see how anyone could make that mistake, unless they have a really low IQ and slam their clothing in the car door before driving off on a regular basis and require strangers to let them know their vehicles are hemorrhaging their outfits. I said I might be persuaded to go out with one of these smackers once in a while, maybe to a movie or something, but only with the intention of stranding them there.)
Bottega Veneta - Bottega Venetta
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(I dreamed of a so called chypre that smelled more like a weak, drugstore celebrity leather, if such a thing exists. Smelling this, I felt certain it did - and how. In my dream I was talking to Bottega and I said I could understand why a lot of people like her, the way I can understand why a lot of people like wood and plastic and Lara Croft, Tomb Raider - though Tomb Raider has a lot more going on, admittedly, as do wood and plastic. I showed her the vintage minis I'd found on the road into Denver in an antique shop - something I feel pretty sure, though it wasn't labeled, contained pre-reformulation Tabu, and various iterations of Youth Dew bath oil. I put these on my wrists so Bottega could smell them and perform a comparative analysis, then we smelled her, and after all this she was like, Yawn. And I was like, Exactly. I told her the beige choker around her neck suits her - but might be a little too tight, or not tight enough.)
Tom Ford - Neroli Portofino
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(I wake and my sister, who I'm visiting in Denver, is standing there with a spread-eagle magazine open to an ad for this perfume. WTF, she says. I know, I tell her. I mean, don't ask. This is perfume, she asks? Do they wrap it in a brown paper bag before you take it out of the store? I know, I say. I know. The thing is, if you smelled it, you'd be like, okay, this is so the opposite of sex, this is so the opposite of titillation, and you'd look at this picture again and you'd be like, Nice try. This ad, selling this perfume, is like a porn mag promoting chastity. It makes no sense, until you consider that for this brand the crotch is a lingua franca, like the dollar sign. Why don't they just use the dollar sign, asks my sister? Let me sleep on it, I tell her, and I roll over, hoping I don't run into Violet Blonde all over again.)
During my trip, the following, old and boring by today's standards, really perked me up. I ran into them at a discount perfume store. Each by itself is infinitely more dynamic and interesting than any of the above: Trussardi Donna (the original), Nu EDT (compared to the re release even the EDT is potent), Leonard Tamango (I'll have to review this Calandre/Rive Gauche reminiscent fragrance soon; it's amazing), Boucheron Initial (No immortelle listed, but it's written all over the stuff). Thank God for the bargain bin.
