The other day, I was downtwn to run some errands, I got a full dose of disappointment at I Profumi di Firenze as described in previous post so I went to improve my day to Chanel's.
Some of the scents from Les Exclusifs range are re-releases of older scents.
I have rather a subversive sense of humor so I did my best to get hold of one of the old versions of something, the plan being that I can go to Chanel's, fish out a bottle of Bois des Iles, for example, and start comparing whether it's the same. (The other subversive plan involves Lancome and it'll be blogged about some time later.)
I got No. 22 which I started to love madly. Very aldehydic, soapy, with roses and violets and I was sure I wanted more than the little extrait that was left. Now, after I got pissed a few times this week already and after I checked that my financial situation allowed it, I put that old No. 22 in a ziploc bag, ready to go, should I feel like it.
After the impossible stench of Spezie de'Medici (sorry but the tissue on which I spat in order to wash my hand wanted to kill me two days later), the time came.
I went to Chanel's. The doorman remembered me since the last time, or at least he said Welcome back, madam.
I aimed for the shelf with perfumes, asked whether I can try the No. 22, tried and casually - obviously, it was the perfectly thought-out and practiced casual because only such seems to be actually so carefree - took out my old bottle, chatting something along the lines whether the new stuff is reformulated or moreless the same. The shop assistant made this Oh, shit! look and ran backstage to call the other shop assistants to have a look. Three or four other Chanel ladies came to check and I had one of those moments that I'd press, dry and stick into an album. I tried some of the other fragrances, got my No. 22 - they could've given me a sample of something but, well, one can't expect everything. And it still made my day.
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