without twiddling its toes and knocking its knees. However, it can be bribed. I
have a long, full skirt in carnation pink, which goes easily with a spring green
collared shirt. Sweet looks at the outfit and is mollified, but requires a small
offering to seal the deal. Cabaret by Gres will not do. Daim Blond will make me
feel like I’m in drag. Myrrhe et Merveilles will rest uneasily on my cheerful
skin, as a vintage couture gown on a
gamine.
So out comes the hoard of sweet,
uncomplicated fragrances.
L’Occitane’s
Honey Gentle Water is a mischievous little girl with honey smeared around her
mouth and stuck to her flower-entangled hair. It comes in a rounded-bottom
bottle that makes me think of acrobats balancing on balls. The fragrance inside
is water-based, and if you spray it on your hair, you will float in a mist of
sweetness all day.
If Yves Saint
Laurent’s Paris is the haughty, most gorgeous rose, Paris Roses des Bois is the
rose next door, running around with the wild berries. It is a kiss within a
laugh, a sonnet on a table napkin, champagne for no reason at all.
Calycanthus is my favorite from Acca
Kappa. Think of sampaguita doused in heavy cream, sprinkle on some pinipig
(pounded sticky rice), and you have an idea of how luscious, yet clean, this
soliflore is.
Annick Goutal’s Petite
Cherie, on me, is pear, pear, pear. The first bite into a chilled pear, the
delectable, crisp flesh bracing itself against your teeth and suddenly giving
way, the trickle of juice tickling your tongue – this is how that smells.
Now I must spritz on something
complicated and intense and moody, or else I shall have a
toothache.