Fahrenheit, quite an interesting title, what is Christian Dior trying to provoke?
Fire and brimstone? The sweltering sexuality of the wearer? The pretentious friction induced Heat generated between wearer and his Mark?
Seasoned marketers would be onto their second round at some swanky bar after reading this definition, saluting to a job well done ..None of them however would be wearing this scent.
The initial blast unfortunately reminded me walking through a gaggle of mechanics, 4 hours into their work day..towards the office where I will be inevitably charged far more than I anticipated.
After the intense black smells of motor oil and pneumatic drill lubricant or whatever instrument they use to cause holes in my $600 exhaust pipe reside, you find yourself sitting in some kind of oversensitive purgatory.
A purgatory embodied by the office itself. The freshener on the wall set to release its pre-timed overcompensating spicy-sweet humanitarian aid on the doomed receptionist. Yet the door still swings open sending an occasional reminder of the mechanical workplace outside..
After 30 minutes floating, wondering more or less what the price tag will be..You get called to the counter snapping you back to reality..
You reluctantly pay your bill, paying more attention to your exit strategy than questioning the replacement of your brake fluid reservoir. Get handed your keys and sprint to your car.
Reversing quickly you breathe in and raise an eyebrow..You notice they have put some kind of gentle chili and cinnamon air freshener dangling from your rear view mirror..This is daringly left on because you signed a petition recently supporting the criminalization of littering our streets, and turns out, you were charged for it anyway.
On the long drive back you do get a chance to catch a glimpse of the bill. The price tag leaves you wondering if one of life's most unenvied errands can be possibly avoided altogether.
Fortunately Fahrenheit is...ooo...