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There's no doubt that FbK is a perfume to which people are seldom indifferent. It has a smell of quality, it's penetrating and powerful in its unnuanced sweetness. I don't experience it transforming over time at all, as others seem to. On me, it's signally reluctant to do anything but fade a bit. If I didn't wash, it'd hang on, getting stale, but still resolutely, recognisably itself.
I've had it and worn it, on and off, for several years, the same bottle. At first, I was enchanted by what I took to be its splendid girly innocence. I guess what's happened is: I find its lack of development over time, its insistent shout of sweetness just plain tiring. One can weary of the best perfume, but this one seems designed in a wearisome way. Any charm offensive can fail, it falls apart into charm... and offensive...
Someone mentioned Baudrillard and the idea of a simulacrum - something which is an imitation of something else that doesn't actually exist. What a wonderful insight - and about the art of modern perfumery in general too; modern perfumes being mostly made of aromachemicals. Yes, it's nothing less than Art.
Anyway, to get back to FbK, shallow is shallow is shallow. In FbK, the map has indeed become the territory. FbK goes nowhere slowly and is, perhaps, the appropriate scent for my last day. When I leave a wish-list of garments and so on for my body to be clad in, I'll ask to be perfumed with FbK. I won't be able to smell it and I'll be beyond weariness.
13 May, 2012