Iris has an elegiac, opalescent quality that reminds me of dying naiads. I cannot wear it - it tastes too much like tears. Would fare better on a pale blonde racked by consumption, attended by a slyly necrophiliac suitor.
This blog is titled so because I know near-nothing about the perfume world, yet I am going to dash in and write about it anyway. Enthusiasm gets you everywhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment