Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
A long absence, I know – one exacerbated by a fuzzling conundrum – what to wear in infernally humid weather? My part of the globe was terrorised by ferocious heat, its handmaidens being headaches, ailing languor, and fatigue – whatever could provide a tonic to the endless Satan-scorch outside? In my hazy hallucinations, I even imagined that Herba Fresca was a paradisiacal balm of Alpine ice, Mentafollia pools and glaciers. The traditional summer refreshers, eaux de
Intended for children, Petit Guerlain is a simple, ethereal scent. Opening with exuberant mimosa and citrus notes, it later softens to a whisper-quiet, smooth violet and jasmine floral. Orange peel lies very low in the background, adding a gentle tart note and preventing the fragrance from becoming too ballerina. PG is sherbet-coloured, pastel nonpareils, dreamy and serene like the best Helen van Meene photographs. It is soft diffused light, wildflower honey, and meadowsweet. Wearing it makes me feel like I am in possession of a treasured secret – it clings close and warm to the skin, only faintly detectable to those around you. In its own way, PG is a small wonder of watercolour and mist – it is uncomplicated, dewy, so fresh and genuinely pretty that after being graced by it, other perfumes seem plodding and mutton-like. It makes me dream of garden tea-parties and cottage getaways. Never mind the original audience – PG is yours, no matter what age, for private idylls and fancies. Now don’t you want to know what dreams Petit Guerlain could give you?
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Add a syrup made from 2 cups (500 grams) of sugar and 2 cups (500 grams) of water. Filter once more. Bottle.
1st American edition of the Larousse Gastronomique
Monday, June 8, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
This is the scent that I think wafted from the sets of Melies movies (in between the plaster, paste, and varnish) with their dozens of lady extras, hourglass-shaped Pierrettes in daring body stockings, large cruppers, the smell of a cafe-concert dressing room after a performance.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
I think this lessened my immune system's resistance to infection.
EDIT: Had to wash off, because my throat was constricting.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Shu Uemura output is genuinely, genuinely strange. Give them your money.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Me: scented pantyliners.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
That's a hunk of horseshit story, and I nearly threw up in my mouth writing that. (I think that rotten cliche is oneupmanship for snobs as to who wore the most rarified juice, etc etc)
My mother hated, HATES perfume.
Yes, she she had bottles of Magie Noire, Volupte, Anais Anais, and Youth Dew, but these were ill-judged gifts and resigned to a bottom drawer along with hideous orange-and-fuchsia doilies stitched in the late stages of her pregnancies.
My mother relied on powder, always faintly scented, and potpourri for her drawers.
No perfume, ever.
The only exception - and this was for practical purposes - was Limacol, an astringent Guyanese lotion roaring of artificial lemons and citruses that haven't been invented yet, all magnified to 50,000 kHz through a blaze of rubbing alcohol. Think of it as the West Indian 4711, splashed on liberally in the sweltering Jamaican heat.
In the summer we used it all - Mum, Dad, and I - and smelled like the humming of an army of shortwave radios.
Shocking, in its vintage eau de cologne concentration, has that medical, utilitarian shrillness, if it were coddled with talc and preserved in a chest-of-drawers, due to the bergamot and tarragon in its top notes. An hour later rich honey and rock-sugar civet develop.
It is a dead ringer for my mother, and I'm cackling about how if I offered her my wrist, she would turn her head and grumble (like she does for every perfume), even though it is her scent-doppelganger.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
There's something cold and Vermeer about it, yet with a winedrop, eggwhite GLUEINESS that seeps and murks all over the chequerboard tiles. A sickly sample? This puce-tinted mollycoddle is at home OL-style, being an amanuensis, or scrubbing floors with drawers slit open.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
I had a lot of rude things to say, but I've calmed down now. It all involved bloodsucking twats and douching and envy and anger and undeserved luxury and choking on Poilane bread and $250 creations and flying to Paris and settling for Jem and the Holograms and pink plastic dream houses and Debbie Gibson and frantic misspelling but it was all very Courtney-Love-y and besides, I've calmed down now.
Monday, January 5, 2009
I'm hot, you're cold
You go around like you know
Who I am, but you don't
You got me on my toes
I'm slipping into the lava
And I'm trying to keep from going under
Baby who turn the temperature hotter
Cause I'm burnin' up, burnin' up
For you baby
(sung while taping up Jonas Brothers posters in yr. room)
Saturday, January 3, 2009
EDIT APRIL 29, 2010 - Now in possession of a vintage bottle. Purrs like a kitten, silk and sway, soft hips and shoulders.