This perfume has always vaguely repelled me, on previous wearings being exceedingly heady, persistent, and pestilent. Today, it resembles a stupendous (I want to use the word "arsequaking" - there, I did it, it's typed!) avalanche of sweets (chocolate syrup, bubblegum, marshmallow fluff, vanilla glaze) overrunning a small village whose main industry was tanning hides. Or a Wonkalicious Mount Etna burying inhabitants in Magic Shell. Wow, I have no taste or tact.
Worn leather boots, lilies drifting in and out.
An interesting variation on the sweet/inedible, best represented by my (true love, only one) Borneo 1834 by Serge Lutens.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
You make me laugh - thanks! I love arsequaking and think you should patent that.
I'm with you on Borneo. Nothing challenges its reign of supremacy.
YES BORNEO STOMPS OVER ALL
I wish I came up with the phrase "arsequaking." But Catholic honesty compels me to admit that I stole it from either the NME or Select magazine, circa 1996.
Post a Comment