Home from an exhausting trip (is there any other kind now?)
I've been lax lately. End-of-summer doldrums, when you're waiting. Waiting for something to wake you up.
Some of my perfumes have been giving me interesting thoughts, stream-of-consciousness and dreamlike.
Let's start with some cognitive dissonance, shall we?
Barbara Bui Le Parfum:
Now I know what lactonic means. I like it, I think. I mean, I just bought a full bottle. Of course, it was only $25. And I don't have anything like it. A big gap in my FB collection: no musky scents. It was supposed to be an Oriental though. Is it? I should know this, but I don't. I mean, I did sample before buying. But it was a recent blog entry (someone else's) that pushed me over. Hardly ever happens. Fer chrissakes it was only $25! Layering? Will soften some of those hard chypres I adore? Time to get creative. Yeah, creative: I love this.
And a fragrance-induced flashback:
Vintage My Sin:
So Mad Men. A room full of wives, circa 1960, the Officers' Club at Tachikawa Air Force Base, Tokyo, Japan. Women in brocade cocktail dresses and Mikkimoto pearls and mink stoles. I'm 8, staring up at them in wonderment. It came to me at first sniff. My Sin: a mink stole in a bottle.
Four New Loves:
Rosine Rose d'Homme:
So good I want to drink it. Earth and patch and spice and rose.
The magic carpet ride. How could anything on earth be this lush and decadent? Help me somebody! I had to own this. Have I reached perfume Nirvana? Will anything ever smell this good again? Where do I go from here?
A rack full of gauzy David Hamilton photographs of young girls. In vaguely sapphic poses. In a railroad station in France, circa 1975. I gave some to a friend's daughter for her birthday. She'll probably trade it for some Jessica Simpson, but anyway, I tried.
Opium (a rediscovery):
I wear it to sleep. To dream in color.