Tuesday, 13 January 2009

And now about something superficial.

It's a less known fact that I'm a fragrance lover. Sometimes, I go sniffing. Usually, I'm bored; most of the readily available fragrances are somewhat boringly floral with an undertone of soapy indefinable Let it sell well. I love Le Jardin sur le Nil - maybe it's the lotus in it. I love Dolce Vita, that's flowers who do not care that they may offend anyone by smelling too loud.
I do like Emilio Pucci's design. I read somewhere that he was one of the first fashion designers to use abstract patterns for his fabrics. The bottle of Vivara uses one such pattern. I didn't like the fragrance too much, it seemed vague to me. The Silver Edition... well, I didn't expect anything. It just was on the shelf and I wanted to give it a try.
The top notes hit my nasal mucose with the power of paint remover. I found that it should be orange blossom and neroli, not acetone and who-knows-what. After a brisk walk outside, I smelled old melon peels and my eyes started to water. Even later on, the middle notes evolved to a fruit salad of no longer definable fruits that lay too long on the bottom of the fridge. Now, it needed to be served so it was covered with lots of whipped cream and those little coloured sugar thingies that look like dirt on LSD. And lots of sugar. A block farther, the scent hit the bottom of the olfactory pyramid and a warm, wet, ugly smell reached what remained the inside of my nose. I had always imagined that bad sex would stink this way.
I took back streets on my way home - I smelled like an itinerant bordello and I didn't want to meet too many people.

Back home, while making coffee, I wanted to was the damn thing off. The ordinary and cheap kitchen detergent and the kitchen scrubber didn't help. I still stank like an itinerant bordello. I adopted a sophisticated approach and used a decadently and strongly scented Luxe Noir body scrub from Sephora which should take away the layer of the offending fragrance and whatever may remain would be covered by the other scent. After vigorous rubbing, I gave in being afraid that I might hit the artery. The result was itinerant bordello gone two streets away.

At the end, I had a long hot shower. I made a good guess that Le Jardin sur le Nil could cover the worst, very fresh scents are often able to cover hardcore crap, and left the sweater in the hallway.
I perused fragrantica.com to check what is the thing made of and found out that I happily own and use fragrances with all the ingredients listed there; I obviously like them, too. I guess that two evil things combined: allergic reaction to one of the components and the thing that sometimes happens - it reacted with my skin to create a foul smell.

I suppose the sweater is mothproofed until 2025.

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