Tuesday, November 06, 2007

The Sweet Smell of Civet

I've always loved perfume. Strange, considering I don't embrace other typically feminine grooming pursuits such as applying makeup or hair brushing. But we all must embrace our contradictions.

Though I pretty much wear the same perfumes all the time--Halston alternating with a jar of Lauren body cream that I've been hoarding since the 80s--I'm always on the lookout for new scents. I have a vivid memory of sampling Poison at the mall with friends when it came out in 1985 and becoming so violently nauseous I thought I was going to puke while waiting for our ride, standing downwind, fervently wishing I could extend the distance between my arm and my nostrils.

Though his review is generally favorable, Marlen from Now Smell This says: "Somewhere between a triangle of incense, cough syrup, and tanning lotion lies the olfactory pyramid for Poison." I notice with some satisfaction that Poison has made it into Perfume Smellin' Things Hall of Shame.

The crop of scents in the late 90s left me cold--either they smell like fabric softener or they're so syrupy, more appropriate to pour over ice cream or to administer to a crashing diabetic than to intrigue and seduce. Until I wrote that I didn't realize that was what I was trying to do. Who knew I was such a vixen?

Recently, this article about the use of civet in perfume inspired me to try some scents by The Different Company. But after converting euros to dollars, I had to conclude that I really am too cheap to even consider shelling out $80 to end up smelling like the rear end of a wild cat.

You smell like my ass


I was disappointed. But persistent web searching turned up Lucky Scents and voila, they sell samples of all The Different Company scents at $3 a pop. I ordered five of them--stay tuned for a review.

3 comments:

themama said...

cleavage? vixen? Go mama!

Thanks to the professional critic and her obvious love of scent, I'm wearing a lovely lotion today: Thymes Fig Leaf and Cassis. I love it.

Batwinger said...

No, YOU smell like my ass. No, you SMELL like my ass. No, you smelly like MY ass. And so on.

Long ago and far away, a young man brought me White Linen from his trip to Paris, and I seemed never to wear it. Then a certain can't take no for an answer butch bought me Chanel's Chance, which I seem never to wear. Could it be I prefer my own sweet funk of coffee-breath, baby pee, and unwashed hair?

Professional Critic said...

The scent that will move us can be a mystery ... will it be a fruity lotion, or the smell of your own dirty scalp? Both have their merits. It's like comparing fine dark chocolate to a Snickers ... not sure which is which though.