it's a bit unexpected, really
I smell like an old-fashioned fuck in the middle of a Moroccan bazaar.
Let me explain.
As you know, I purchased some new stinkum at the end of February and they gave me several trial vials of various other scents I liked, lagniappe.
Today, I put on L'EauIt started with a blast of cinnamon and clove, brash and masculine, and has become, over the ( Read more... )
Let me explain.
As you know, I purchased some new stinkum at the end of February and they gave me several trial vials of various other scents I liked, lagniappe.
Today, I put on L'EauIt started with a blast of cinnamon and clove, brash and masculine, and has become, over the ( Read more... )
On the one hand, I feel like it's such a strong, bold scent that I'm plainly announcing, "Hello, lovely, I'm rampant, how would you like to be ravished?"--and there's something positive to be said about that. I walked out of my apartment feeling like a rock star. A particularly louche and slightly dangerous rock star*, but a rock star nonetheless....as usual, I'm left wistful for the lack of smell-o-vision. Although given some of the other topics on my f-list today, that's probably a good thing ( ... )
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And I'm in the camp of people for whom scents can trigger a raging migraine, too... which is part of the reason I'm delighting in these scents from Diptyque: no headache. That said, this current one (L'Eau) could probably give me a headache if I'm not careful with it--I think it's the sandalwood, in this case, or possibly the clove. But so far, so good.
And for Betan-style communication via perfume... there's a story in that, I think.
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I would love to read the story behind that prompt! I am imagining complications like "having a cold" or "born with anosmia" (or acquiring it), but...not my skill at this stage in life, the spinning of stories beyond that. (I can manage little vignettes.)
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