Sex and the sillage - Page 4  

Well, I'm afraid I'm perfectly lost at this point. Scarcely any of the above makes sense to me: Tori looks like a troll, yes: So eloquently put by Fleurine, who has a way with franchise, as we all know. Kirsten Dunst is about as hot as hot gets, except when fallen victim to sub-par stylists on a mission, and......some cats may love dogs, and some dogs may love cats......nothing i've ever witnessed personally, yet how to argue with such a sweet photo? As for the "I now know what it is because I asked an host of people and have had my education" JERSEY SHORE: NC. I'm afraid you've all left me in your dust on that one. Where's the allure in that? (Please: I don't want to know. I saw a bit of it on someone's pocket pal today. Not at all my fancy. In fact, it was downright depressing, so please do let's consider leaving the subject alone, or else you lot go and do a Snookie Thread, and I'll stick around here on my own, pondering on my new theory about attraction and how it works via scent, which has been a source of interesting data coming from certain people whom I have interviewed concerning it, including my dogs, who LOVE civet, yet, unfortunately, have a fierce, murdering loathing of cats: As they say, "Tel Maitre, Tel Chien," or vis versa.)

WELCOME BRIAN CHAMBERS

Do let's get back on track, shall we? After all: This is SEX & THE SILLAGE. I'm STILL waiting for someone to manifest as single and active, though I'm afraid it may be a long haul: You can't, isn't that right now? because if you do, your GF's & BF's will all hold you accountable since, naturally, they are all spying on your every move. Such a pity we have erased mystery from our lives, isn't it? Me I just make sure everything I say and do would not be a source of discomfort, which revelation will surprise many of you, I am sure: But then, you know, I have no shame. It appeared to me quite awhile back that shame is useless. As for falling into jacuzzis and peeling out on the rocks around the pool and falling out of taxi cabs and dancing drunk on pool tables, I already do all of that more than i would care to admit, so I suppose this is why I have no interest in such antics filmed and televised, not to mention that I do not own a television. The thing is, though, you sort of have to give them a break, too, don't you?: I would imagine that my life, viewed by them, would be equally to their distaste, so I certainly don't pass judgement. They're the sort that say: "Get a tan, Bro!" when passing me on the street, which remark, to me, is always a source of amusement: Somewhat like the time I heard a young girl tugging at her mother's sweater and pointing at me, saying: "Look, Mommy! That man must be colour blind!" (I've a fondness for eccentric colour combinations) So.......until we're back on track, I'll leave you all on your own. Wake me up when we get to the bit about the matter at hand. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

WELCOME CELLO !!!!!! DON'T BE A STRANGER !!!!!!

Well, now, that's a very weighted question. I'm afraid that myself, I could only wear my usual cocktail, which depends on the season. Assuming it was a June wedding, I'm sure I would wear:

-Yardley English Lavender (From England) Soap
-English Fern (Penhaligon's) bath oil
-All over body dousing of Jicky Eau de Toilette
-G-Gentleman Deodorant
-Yardley English Lavender powder
-Jicky Parfum de toilette at birth of neck, middle chest, back of neck at hair line, inner elbows, backs of knees
-Jicky Parfum at birth of neck, in beard, and on wrists
-Mouchoir de Monsieur Eau de toilette all over linings of tux, and on handkerchief
-Comme des Garcons "Carnation" on cotton batiste pocket square
-three pumps vintage G-Gentleman eau de toilette in the lower abdommen

The reason for this is that I feel that I could not possibly be distracted with my own effluvia in an instance such as marriage: This cocktail above allows that I feel fragrant yet "quiet," and the sillage doesn't disrupt my thoughts, and behaves on the dance floor. Even if I wear something "close" to this, say, for example, vintage Monsieur de Givenchy, which i find to be "the perfect scent for a groom," and also is the choice of my friend Merely, in whose taste I have a certain amount of faith, I'm afraid I would be distracted by my own scent, which would be catastrophic on one's wedding day. Of all gentleman's scents that i know of, vintage Monsieur de Givenchy must be the most perfectly tailored for a groom. (I've never smelled the current "Mythiques" version) For a bride, also assuming it is a June wedding, I would recommend the following scents: (This is interesting because I once wrote a feature article on just this subject for a major fashion rag, omitting the part about the groom, whom, in the article, was not discussed at all. Scents perfectly suited to be worn in bridal attire are as follows, according to taste:

-Bellogia, Caron
-Muguet, Guerlain
-Miss Dior, Dior
-vintage l'Air du Temps, Nina Ricci
-vintage Coeur-Joie, Nina Ricci
-vintage "Fille d'Eve," Nina Ricci
-Jicky, Guerlain (assuming you're not marrying me)
-vintage Ma Griffe, Carven
-vintage Apres l'Ondee, Guerlain
-vintage Caline, Jean Patou
-vintage Amour-Amour, Patou
-vintage Moment Supreme, Patou
-vintage Nombre Noir, Shiseido
-Comme des Garcons Red Series III ROSE
-Penhaligon's Bluebell
-vintage LE DE, Givenchy
-vintage Ombre Rose, Jean-Charles Brosseau
-vintage Je Reviens, Worth

These all share a certain air of white glory and pious happiness, whilst being tainted more or less according to choice with light musks. I feel it is important for the bride to remember that she will systematically overheat, and wearing anything heady or too resinous could be a dire mistake. There must be a lightness about the scent, and a near impossibility for it to be considered unpleasant, as the bride will be hugged, and intimate with many people on her day. The list above limits itself to scents that are on the shy side, yet have the spectacular aura that is required, and expected, of the bride: All also go very well with white, and none misbehave on the dance floor. Obviously, there are in the choices mentioned above, many different personality types: From the utterly innocent CdG "Rose"/Penhaligon's "Bluebell" to the more knowing Ricci scents, all the way to the slightly daring Jicky and Je Reviens. Before all else brides should remember to use a maximum of fragrant products that compliment her choice in her "toilette." Jo Malone Bath Oil is unmatched, provided the right scent is chosen, which is tricky. (they can be blended to achieve the perfect balance) Bath oil, fragrant soap, and or bubble bath, as well as scented powder should all be used profusely: Choosing which ones depends on the scent. If it is "Ombre Rose," for instance, Roger & Gallet "Tea Rose" Soap, Jo Malone Ginger-Nutmeg bath oil, and Laura Ashley "English Rose" cornstarch powder would make a lovely melange. The bridal toilette is of primordial importance, and all products used to perform it must be very carefully selected as well as repeatedly dress-rehearsed: Before all else, the bride must feel comfortable in her scent, and comfortable in her shoes: Misjudgement of either could be disasterous to the bridal experience.
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Who here reading has any opinion of Killian Hennessey's "Back to Black"? I gave in to the black lacquer box with the key awhile back then forgot i had it. I remember I bought it while traveling somewhere: I can't remember precisely where it was I happened to be: My take on this runs thus: First of all, there is something annoying about the suave Killian insisting on giving two names to each of his scents. I imagine it would be different if they were truly clever names, but they all seem overwrought and forced. Back to Black has the "subname" of "Aphrodisiac," so I imagine this may be relevant to our subject at hand. The whole picture sounds very erotic when it is explained to you by Killian himself. He has a way about him, there is no question. He could use a pair of YSL Johnny Boots, but aside from that, he's all charm, elegance, and perfect facial features. He himself insisted that I wear "A Taste of Heaven," which we all know is "A Taste of Pour un Homme de Caron Only Stronger." He told me he created this scent for himself, and that he wears it regularly. I found it interesting that he should insist that I wear it, as our colouring and stature are so radically different. I did buy it, but I actually detest it. It's got so much lavender absolute in it that it becomes quite sickening after awhile, and never, ever seems to fade: Nobody should ever put this much lavender absolute in a perfume. As for "Back to Black," I finally think I "cracked the nut." It's a dabber. I could never wear it because, as all of Killian's scents are bottled in atomizers, however luxurious, they are just too potent to be worn this way. I figured this out by filling an antique presentation bottle of Le Gallion with it, and merely touching my writs with the wet stopper: Finally, I think I have it. It is *very* similar to Habanita, but somehow it is smoother, perhaps creamier. Habanita would be black tea, whilst Back to Black would be white tea. As for it's being an aphrodisiac, it is very sexy, but i can just tell this is nothing i would dare put on in bed, unless I were alone in it, nor in its aroma would i dare approach a dance floor. Just the one touch from a glass stopper has lasted all day, with remarkable sillage. It's smoky, but not so smoky that it feels as if I have actually been smoking at the end of the day, one of the reasons I can't quite wear "En Avion." Mostly, it smells of beeswax. This is why I bought it. I *love* beeswax. On behalf of Killian Hennessey and Back to Black, and for anybody who has smelled it, or owns it, I now put on my blue satin shirt, leaving it unbuttoned down to my waist, and jump into my leopard skin jeans. After this is done, I ask: Do Ya Think I'm Sexy? Come on Sugar, let me know.

I can say one thing of which I am certain, and that is, what we do in Paris is indeed secret, so whomever it was that hatched out the name of that scent knew well of his/her assertion. One of the only things I still enjoy about Paris in its current incarnation, having been transformed from the Paris of my youth to "Parisland," is that this capacity to hold secrets is still intact: The Parisians are an intrinsically discrete tribe: I have not found this particularity amongst any other to the extent that it is reflected in the Disneylandesque City of Light. Personally, I don't have much interest in these modern comps. I have found that Comme des Garcons and Serge Lutens are the two "niche" houses that speak to me. It has taken me years to even "face" Killian: I am now somewhat intrigued and on a mission to better understand his work. The one thing I do not, and will not, understand is why he chooses to limit his presentations to atomizers, and not offer a single sku in flacon form: My problem with them has always been their oily strength and room-clearing sillage: Not their cost, as I find that, for what goes into them, as well as their immaculate presentations, they are very reasonably costed out from a commercial standpoint. I filled another of these Le Gallion crystal flacons with "Love" (Don't be Shy) and I have been testing that one: I was attracted to its recipe. I have in my office a commercial collection of every one of his scents that Killian gave me, that contains about 60ml of each fragrance, which has sat and collected dust. There is no other perfume made available to buy on the open market that contains a concentration of oils that can compare with his, which explains their incredible tenacity. When you consider the price of 30ml of any Guerlain "parfum," they are "as water" compared to these. There is a kind of "patte" that unifies them, and that is admirable. I find that when I research them, comparisons are constantly made to Tom Ford's line of hippie oils, which are all just copies of things that have existed in the past: Tom Ford's recipe for success is not a complicated one: he has made his entire career by blatantly copying historical references that are easily accessed and recognizable to any fashion/fragrance historian. His work is utterly devoid of originality. He has brought virtually nothing new to the table since his first day on the job at Gucci, which collections were simply redux of Halston and Yves Saint Laurent. Since he has gone off on his own, his entire "Universe" can be summed up very concisely from an analytical standpoint via this formula: Halston + Yves Saint Laurent + Calvin Klein = Tom Ford. I don't have much respect for this, though it has certainly proven successful. I have smelled every single one of his perfumes, and not one of them would I consider anything at all: Just a collection of musings, very much the way he conducts his fashion empire. This, of course, is a very American approach to commercial marketing: Give them what they know. Avoid anything that may confuse or confound. That is the opposite of the French viewpoint, which searches before all else to innovate. We see this reflected in Killian's work, though certain scents he has orchestrated are indeed "based" on others: Pour un Homme (A T of H), and Habanita (B to B), as we have seen, but rather than being pale copies, they are better, in different ways of course according to which one is examined. I couldn't find anything that "Love" (Don't be Shy) harkened, and it is indeed an interesting scent. The juice looks like Orange Oil furniture polish, and it is in fact so oily that even swabbing it onto the wrist a trail of grease is left behind. I can't imaging spaying any of them. I'm afraid the wearer would "Clear out an Hotel Lobby" with even one spray. Killian also makes a "Concreta," which as we know was the invention of Molinard: Perfumer's are forever looking for ways to use Jasmine wax, as this is a left over substance that is available in such quantities that usages for it are always and forever being explored: Patou made candles and soap out of it. Molinard invented the now defunct "Concreta," which is revived by Killian and presented in stunning containers. Jasmine wax makes for a perfect medium into which other fragrant oils my be immersed and blended, and as there is scarcely any comp that does not contain jasmine in one way or another, the scent of it is not obtrusive. The memory of watching Killian, as he told me of his inspiration for B to B, is forever indelible: With great and palpable emotion he told of wanting to capture those drunken soirees in Paris, which both of us know all too well, where there is smoke and booze and saliva flowing in profusion, ah! But, lest I forget, what we do in paris is secret.......

Well, Lillybelle, it does make sense that "His" sweeties would be the sweetest, as KH is the most charming fellow, and nothing about him is offensive or unjust. I do maintain that were he just merely to adopt the wearing of YSL Johnny Boots he would reach perfection on all fronts. I have been thinking of some of the things he told me about his perfumes. Sweet Redemption is subtitled "The End," and it is described by him in true Baudelairian romantic terms, that are his own, and clearly ernest, as one detects these things, how he wished to capture the state of being led into grace by God after a life of sin: We are obviously here tasting the poetic thoughts of one born into French Catholicism, which indeed is an highly pure and very Orthodox one. Which, then, do all of you consider, knowing as you do my tastes, that I should test out? I have immediate access to all of them, as KH gave me a set of refill aluminum canisters of all of his scents, asking that I "taste" them, as he put it---Obviously, we spoke French. I have also a small binder that literally lists out recipes to each, with quantities and specifics as to origin. I found that somewhat surprising. Concerning this list, there are on it some of the finest raw materials available in the world. I don't think that it would have been the intention of KH to "out do everyone" the way it obviously is with a range like Amouage, but i can very honestly say that no expense was spared in the gathering of these fragrant ingredients, and where costs could have been cut, and the consumer most certainly would not have known, they weren't. There is an honest attempt evident here to create "true" perfumes that would hold up in comparison to any of the greats in vintage pre-regulatory forms. Hence, the longevity of these products, which, to me, is unmatched: I've *never* witnessed perfumes last as long as his: What's more, they last in a very winning way. B to B, for example, shines bright as a beacon eight hours later with mere molecules applied but once, and just gets better and better. My dislike of A T of H is due to my personal aversion to Lavender Absolute and how it lingers and develops. So, you like Love, then, do you Lillybelle? How ironic: You know how we have always marveled at the similarity of our tastes. I can't say that I was so smitten with Love that i would adopt it: I did enjoy it, and it is obviously a very fine fragrance, but I don't think I would wear it. I imagine that I would enjoy smelling it on someone else. Having studied the lists on the recipes I have found myself somewhat perplexed as to which ones to try: "trying" something, for me, is the affair of a week. I can not just whiff something and say yeah or neah. For this reason I filter what I try, limiting myself to things that conceivably i would like. There is one that lists coconut in the flight. I know for a fact, for instance, that I would detest this as I find coconut anything repulsive. I was forced to eat coconut bread pudding at a dinner party last night, as I was seated next to the hostess who had laboured over every course, and had to concentrate all of my efforts to not gag. For some reason Coconut reminds me of a bunch of pubescent boys in bed, boarding school style: This fetid odour of sweat and hormones that is so rank, which, unfortunately, I have "tasted" far too many times to enjoy in a perfume, or in anything. Cumin has the same effect on me: A perfume in which these notes were sublimated with musks and other things could be the very essence of "Boarding School Sex." I wonder which niche house already has this in place? I imagine it would be a roaring success in the Gay world. Most I know of seem to want to capture more adult situations, like "Duro," which to me smells like Gay Disco: All sweat and booze with the odd hit of nitrate thrown in for effect. This, what I call nitrate, is often referred to here on BN as "Rubber" or, "Burnt Rubber." Personally, I myself must always stick to beauty--I find there is enough "burnt rubber" in our universe already. I search always to spread a cloud of beauty in the true sense of the word, which explains, I think, my fondness for vintage Bal a Versailles, which, to me, is so unabashedly elegant and beautiful, whilst retaining the edge required in order that it not fall into there merely pretty, as so many scents do. In all things beautiful I have always believed that the touch of course or disbalance is what makes "le chic." The bordering on foul civet note in vintage Joy, for example, is what makes it truly sublime: Without it, I imagine, it would be untenable. Earlier I was thinking: So, here were are trying to decifer Sex in Sillage: But, what is it, precisely, Sexy? My thought brought me to this conclusion: Sexy is a mix of the UNKNOWN, the DANGEROUS, the FORBIDDEN, and the BEAUTIFUL.

Well, there is no current version of Joy as it is caught in flux, patou having been unlaoded to some cut-rate basement perfumer by Proctor & gamble who bought it from it's family and then proceeded to destroy it, marveling then as to why it still would not produce money: I think the clients of patou all jumped ship when they got of whiff of the P&G re-do's: Nobody who had been used to any patou as they were meant to be made could have accepted the crap that P&G was peddling. Patou is now owned by the same British company that currently owns Worth: We've seen what they did to that. As much as I adore orange blossom, and jasmine, and these sweet notes, I have a real aversion to tuberose. I really find "fracas," for example, somewhat offensive. Tuberose, even in its finest form, smells cheap to me, and by cheap I mean leopard spandex/lurex metallic knit/frosted orange lipstick/spray on Snookie tan cheap. Isn't it odd how we have these associations. In the 80's, when you would walk down rue Saint Denis, where all of the street whores lingered, you'd walk into walls of this type of odour, mixed with cigarette smoke and that odd "feminine deodorant" smell. Now, of course, the street whores are mostly gone: At least there are not armies of them leaning up against the walls jangling keys the way there were back in the day. Parisian bordellos reeked of this. There were many in that area, and in one I just happened to lose something very precious when I was a young man, guided by one of my mother's "Hommes a tout faire," (An "Homme a tout faire" is a very old school french profession: It translates as "Man who does all," which, admittedly, sounds suspicious. Typically, these were immigrant men who would do painting, electrical work, all of the honey-do "man" things around the house, usually while the lady of said house was away. In such an instance, one of these got me drunk on whiskey, poisoned me with cigarettes, then took me to a bordello when I was 17, and, yes, it had red velvet padded walls and gold gilt mirrors everywhere, and it smelled of tuberose. I was, of course, a very willing victim, and delighted with the outcome, though i could have done without the booze and cigarettes, I'm sure. I wonder if they still have such places? You'd never know, as they were in upper floor apartments. It's not like there would be a neon sign outside that said "BORDEL." he he that would be funny though, wouldn't it?) At any rate, just as coconut and cumin remind me of this rank smell of the moist sweaty socks and underwear of pubescent boys all stuck in close quarters and all unwilling to bathe, especially in the winter, tuberose reminds me of prostitutes, but prostitutes of the old school variety, that actually wore fishnets and plumes and glittery eye shadow. When I detect even an hint of this in a perfume, that's all I can think of: The power of scent! Isn't it strange how these odours stick to us for the rest of our lives, remaining buried deep within us?

I have better: So, the "Homme a tout faire," who was persian and called "Ali," took me to this bordello, on a mission to make a man out of me when I was 17: As it happened, though i was afraid, I ultimately got such a thrill out of the experience. A detail you all will find fascinating: As I have always said, the French have a word for everything. Proof of that, they have a specific word for this: It's called "Depucelage." ("Un-Virginizing") There was a specific fee for this "job," at the bordello, and I remember Ali and the Madame haggling over it, as I paid for it with my own money, and Ali was determined to reap some sort of reward out of bringing, and handing over a new client, who was a "fine young man of quality," as he put it, even though I was a tall skinny trembling mess and a complete nerd, and I remember that this was the most humiliating part of the experience, standing there listening while Ali "sold" me to the Madame, telling her of my attributes and how I should receive the depucelage for free, and he should also be able to get a girl in the bargain. As it panned out, it cost 500FF, which by memory I can say would be about the equivalent of $100.00US, and I got to have my pick of any of the girls, though the Madame had her ideas about which would be the best choice: All of them seemed to want the assignment and cuddled me and cooed in my ear. It happened that I chose one called Rachelle, and, when we went off into a bedroom, I saw Ali go off as well with an older one. Once we were in there, Rachelle and I, we were joined by another: Her name was Dauphine. They were both young and very beautiful, and it ended up being a very good thing that Dauphine should join us of her own accord, as Rachelle would not kiss me. There is some sort of rule in Bordellos, or there was, that kissing had attached to it some sort of complexity. It's hard/near impossible for me to imagine any kind of sexual intimacy not involving kissing, and a lot of it, which I require now, and obviously required then: Rachelle and I were in the process of this discussion when Dauphine entered into the room, announcing that she would kiss me, which had for effect that Rachelle became furious and tried to shoe her out, until I insisted that she be allowed to stay: So Dauphine's job was keeping my mouth busy, which, chez moi, is a very important thing, while Rachelle did the rest. My mother was away when this happened, and I was alone in the apartment, as it happened in late july or early august and I was not at school. Another time, when my mother was having one of her legendary parties, and I was also home, and in my room trying to read, the daughter of her best friend, who must have been about 25 years old, came creeping into my room and, to my unbelieving eyes and indescribable delight jumped into bed with me, and asked me if I'd been "Fucking Around." (This interchange occurred in English. This best friend was from Mexico City, where my mother loved to go, and had many friends, and the best friend was visiting: Though the best friend had fluent french, her daughter, who was HOT, didn't, so we spoke English) I had been flirting shamelessly with her, as she was one of these latin bombshell types with massive amounts of long, jet black hair and T & A that simply would not quit. She was the subject of my fantasies for a very long time. She said: "You gotta fuck around, baby, otherwise the queers are gonna get ya!" Then she proceeded to tear her top off and sink her tongue into my mouth: The rest I will allow all of you to imagine, but I was not then victim of a depucelage: What I ended up being after that intervention was a "Demi-Vierge," (Again: Term for everything) A young man on whom oral sex has been performed to completion. Needless to say, when she left my room, to re-join the roaring party of adults, she left behind her what I would term not just a "Demi-Vierge," but no less than....ehm.....the happiest boy in the world. I believe I must have then been 15. So: Oud. I quite like Oud. I especially love Oud incense. I have the Incense-Oud candle by Killian, which, interestingly, I was burning in my office just last week. I *adore* Rigaud's "Bois Precieux" candle scent, the brown one, and this is the scent I burn in my home. So My house smells like oud, and so do, apparently, all of my linens and clothes, as I typically burn these candles everywhere but I have a nice concentration of them in my dressing room. I'm not sure how my body would do smelling like Oud, this said, as this type of comp is better suited to one with thicker skin. Oud based scents like this are ideal for people who have dark complexions and deep chestnut or black hair: I have neither. I think Oud is a good direction for an hispanic, arab, indian, of black man: I have smelled these types of scents on dark men and they *always* smell delicious. I don't think I would fancy them much on a woman, unless she was very specifically dark, and had a certain orientalist aura about her. I can not imagine a blonde, or anyone with pale, pink-type skin wearing oud, and that would include myself. Even though I am at the very deepest shade of "dark ash blonde," which appears to most to be "brown," I am still blonde: there is no question: I don't care how many people tell me I'm batty. I'm blonde. As such, only blonde scents work on my skin.

I tried "Sweet Redemption" and.....how well it wears its name! It is so.....SWEET! But I'm afraid I didn't like it at all: I felt as if I was hearing arias sung all day by a soprano. Alternately, It had the effect on me that certain, high pitched speaking voices might, where in they grate of your nerves and you just want to slap the speaker and say, like Catherine Deneuve says to Susan Sarrandon in "the Hunger" "CA SUFFIT!" I gave the "Oud" series a casual whiff and....ehm....WOW. THOSE must be indelible stains that *never* fade: Oud absolute is like tar. The one that seems the best to me is I think Amber Oud: The one that seems the scariest is Rose Oud, the one that seems downright unpleasant is Pure Oud: Now, I may be quite wrong on all of this, as I just opened the bottles and sniffed the caps, but they were so potent that you could almost see the vapours as the bottle was uncorked. There is a way to buy these Killian fragrances that is not exhorbitant at all--you've merely to buy either the travel set, (30ml = $125.00US) or the "Refill" which I think might even be less. Since they all must be decanted into flacons, it's just as well: i can't image vaporizing any of his scents: it's astounding to me that he only presents them in vapos.
I still maintain that Back to Black is the only one that, thus far, I would actually consider wearing. "Love" is pleasant, but i wouldn't actually wear it, and "Sweet Redemption" I found smelled like hotel soap. I shall have to try another one today. One thing is clear: When you consider 30ml of Guerlain parfum costs $425.00US, these comps are *dirt cheap.* I don't know why people harp on about the prices as they do in the reviews: You've just to buy them strategically, and not splurge on the full presentation. The travel spray is beautiful--especially in the Oud series: it's gold! (black in the others) and can be filled with something more vapo-friendly, like a Guerlain. As far as "sexy" goes, the *only* one I can thus far attach that ticket to is.....you guessed it....Back to Black, BUT: I've....how many to go?

Oh, Dear. Well, people, as it stands I've an enormous assignment: I am traveling by plane to another city to attend a most spectacular party, which is given in a kind of castle, and has the particularity of being done entirely in the manner of the Court of Louis XVI, with a guest list of over 500, and all in costume. My costume is sorted out. What isn't, is my beard: I'm loathe to remove it, so I must study the film Marie Antoinette for beard data. I will be in full regalia, including having my hair spray painted silver, etc: What to do with my beard is an issue. If I must remove it, the process is to begin now, if I'm not to be irritated under all that make-up. I tested "Amber Oud" today and, while lovely, it is so potent as to "Clear out an hotel lobby." I put one finger dab on each wrist at 9:45 this morning. It is now close to 12 hours later, and I can smell it wafting from my wrists as I type. My question is: If K.H. can do this, why can't Guerlain? Fleurine I'm not quite sure what to make of your question: Of course cigarettes are dead sexy, and of course they are putrid and disgusting. My personal point of view is that they are sexy in the way certain pornography can be: Not particularly applicable to real life, yet erotic just the same. Kudos to you, Brian: We all applaud your courage, I am sure, and your point of view is admirable. Exemplary even. For that which concerns myself, it would be entirely out of the question, for reasons too intricate to recount. Were I able, I would most certainly approach the issue as you have. Now.....Excuse me while I examine Sophia Coppula's M.A. for some kind of "Beard Data." Otherwise: My beard---R.I.P.

Tres drole, Reminiscent.

BIENVENUE, REMINISCENT

My Beard: R.I.P :-( It's confirmed. Excuse me while I begin steaming. Gulp.

Well, i actually ended up having recourse to something by kiehl's, and I had only one blood incident, when I was expecting a dace full. Tori Amos now looks like a troll, and I now look like an Ugly German Lesbian, alternately, the joker: My mouth looks so ridiculously red, my skin so waxy. I can't get used to it, but I must need shave one more time before the party, after which, I may never shave again: Orthodox Monk style. I've sprayed my wrists with "Liaisons Dangereuses" -slash- "Typical Me." I'm afraid the suave Killian and I haven't many tastes in common, as I have been desperately trying to find one of his scents that I would deign to wear: I have all of them, and, I'm afraid, I don't much care for any of them, save for "Back to Black" -slash- whatever, which is really only a gentrified "Habanita," and I'm quite fine with the street walking version. The worst, by my take, is "Sweet Redemption" -slash- "The End." It's ironic that it should be subtitled "the end," as it would be enough to end any number of situations. I really haven't the heart to tear any of them apart, K.H. is such a Dear, and clearly every little detail of his presentations has been laboured over endlessly, but, somehow, I've not thus far smelled one that I admire the way I would admire one of my chosen ones. This "Liaisons Dangereuses" smells first like coconut, then, seconds later, turns to frozen grapefruit concentrate, then morphs back into coconut, and it smells very much like that one last chocolate in the box nobody will eat, and usually gets thrown away: I just don't understand. The Oud series is quite lovely, but, with such ingredients, and the nature of oud, it would be difficult to get those wrong: My favourite I think is "Amber Oud." The "Rose Oud" is a gong show of mid-eastern delights: When you first smell it, it is so strong, you can hear it. I've spent all evening dress rehearsing my ensemble for this party: Ribbons, ruffles, bows, diamond maltese cross broaches: As it panned out I look very much "Adam Ant," less Compte de Fersan. I suspect it will be different once my hair gets spray painted silver, and I get a bucket of white make-up thrown at me. "Liaisons Dangereuses" now smells like cheap asian nail salon: It's got that weird mix of sandal wood incense, nail polish remover, and hair spray. Fleurine, you would hate this. Now, people: Someone must PM me with instructions as to how precisely to post photos from my i-photo library, as I very much look forward to sharing some pictures of this party: Imagine--almost 500 people in Court drag, all gathered in the hills on the largest private estate in the land, all done up in "Le Gout Rothschild." Surely you would like a glimpse, no? Anybody who's game is invited to PM me. It seems to me that these "Liaisons Dangereuses" concern the perils of Nail Salons: Who knew? It isn't frightening, like "Sweet Redemption," but it's borderline hallucinogenic. It smells so much like a nail salon-slash-hair salon, that it teeters on the brink of farce. Perhaps K.H. named it "Typical Me" because he has a fetish for mani-pedis, or a maniacal inclination to spend all of his time in an hair salon? He does look about as perfect as a gentleman can, though I do insist, yet again, that he would be greatly benefitted by making an habit of YSL Johnny Boots: That's all Zack Posen wears. From what I've heard, once you get used to them, they are not as uncomfortable as they look! I'm still sniffing, I haven't given up, but these K.H. scents seem to have it all, yet they are all somehow jejune. Only "Back to Black" seems alluring to me. Stay tuned. Mr. Reasonable, there is a fascinating "What to do with After Shave discussion" to be had: Now that I've a closet full of 7.5oz flacons of G-Gentleman "Apres Rasage," vintage late-seventies, I have found so many uses for it!

OMG. So, I drive up in my hearse, which was ALREADY FILTHY and now covered in dead bugs after a ten hour drive--It doesn't fit in the garage & lives on the street--into the MOST chichi hotel valet parking gig--looking like a drug dealer--with abstract luggage: Could not get myself together last night--(among shopping bags, 1 major piece Hermes: Thought maybe would save me, but they didn't even notice.) Now in room. So, what do you give the valet? A Blunt? Pfff! I'm confused. Thank God I packed a bottle of vod. Don't dare touch the shit in the mini bar. They said champagne was complementary--big fuckin deal. I hate champagne. Yeah so Fleurine I think maybe K.H. loved Amy Winehouse, but probably MARCY PLAYGROUND too--there's that song: "I smell sex and, can-deh......" I'm giving up. Don't like any of them. they all smell like....."Nothing in Particular," not to say he likes Morrissey but ya never know. All I can say is:

Yeah, Mama, this surely is a dream. Dig it.

*pour Reminiscent: "Enfin, Maman, c'est forcement un reve. Tu te rends compte?"

My babe, who is now caught in traffic in a limo, said: "I hope you're not going to get into bed wearing that weird cologne." So, since i got here before her (she flew) I just doused with Jicky EdT--a little GG deo--No Bal a Versailles. Damn it! It's hot here. the party tomorrow will rage on & on & on: I'm just planning on GG deo & Jicky everything: I packed three concentrations & a vial of Habanita extract if I feel like pissing her off, which I'm probably gonna anyway, so--I figure--better be prepared.

So, I obviously wanted to piss her off after cocktails; she "brought a friend up" to the room for arrivals: Luckily, she was steaming hot and ready: Even took cigarette smoking breaks on balcony. That's hot. See, Fleurine, good example. Shows's your ready. Then she was saying: "Suck it!" when I was nursing my cocktail and they were ready to leave: Not only did I slap my veins with Habanita parfum, which, btw, is worth the $250.00 an ounce, but also renewed application so it was very clear that that I was "getting into bed wearing some weird cologne." No use being subtle: I pressed my wrist to her nose, forcibly, and asked her: "What does that smell like......Smell it. Tell me what it smells like!" She said: "Wood. Wood. Fire wood......Fire wood....wood." I'm happy with that. Now she's sound asleep because she insisted on taking 10mg of valium, even though I tried to suggest 5 mg was plenty. I like it here. People are very elegant. Granted, we are/were in the very best part of town, there is no better, so really that's not surprising. Yeah I totally drove: It was like 10 hours & at least 3 of them were bottle neck no-move situations. Happy bout my Habanita. I wonder if she would have said: "Spice.....Spice.....Spice Bread!......Spice!" If I had been wearing "Back to Black"????????

Wood! Burning Wood! It's so beautiful here! Nothing like room service. Why is it that in the US, no matter where you go, short of very few exceptions, you can't get a decent pot of tea, properly made? I have two hour before Madame emerges from her spa, massage and facial. (I am excused duty for performance of facial) We were out last night & It was SO GLAMOUROUS......AND......I actually smelled people wearing noticeable perfume! SO: G-Gentleman it is for me, this morning, while I have a nip about.....then report back for.....GULP.....SHAVING!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, I am back, so you see my plans of becoming someone else before your eyes, as someone above suggested, came to naught: I did have a plan: I was meant to assume an identity during this trip that was not my own, then, magically, re-appear as myself upon return, which, sadly, has come too swiftly: There was no time to assume an identity. I did try: Witness my "Marcy Playground" post above--here in I am speaking in tongues. Note my usage of ther term "babe." Having driven a staggering 900 miles in a hearse, I lost no time: for at the very first opportunity I fired up my dear little lap top, an epic post brewing, only to be advised to "keep perfumed and carry on." Very annoying. Some of you may have heard me scream on Fragrantica where i'm afraid i caused a minor commotion by reviewing, of all things, Lady Gaga's new scent, "Fame," (Yes, Lillybelle: I mentioned the Corday original, speaking of which, did any of you know that the house of Corday (Toujours Moi, Fame, etc) was named after Charlotte Corday, the brave young lady who stabbed Marat in his bath tub? Just like Jean Desprez, who, most likely did indeed exist, but is more of an ancient folk hero of France and less of a perfumer? He who we all know and love as Jean Desprez was really called Francois Millot II; precisely who was hiding behind Corday, I am not at all sure, but yes, in the review, I do mention that "Fame" was not the most original choice of names. I also pointed out that "Fame" and "Femme" sound exactly the same when pronounced in French. Education, you know. We must educate. Because (the new) "Fame" will not be available to the public until mid September of this year, my in-box on Frag is now jammed with adoring fan letters: I thought I was merely making a comment--this was not one of my usual novella type reviews. As it turns out, it is the first and only review: Good thing I admired the scent, which, in fact, I did: It's fascinating, having for only defect a linear quality which I personally find somewhat tiresome.) Among other things, I called out "Help!" to Lillybelle, who, of course, being Lillybelle, came so immediately to my aide that in fact she was hammering away at a PM before even receiving mine: That's just how we operate. I also called out to Rubegon. It does seem as though the Viscount is holding court elsewhere, doesn't it? Rube? Where are you? At any rate, presently, I am in hysterics laughing because Fleurine called me Gossip Girl. I'm afraid I'm at a loss for words, which, as all of you know, never happens, to explain just how funny that is. Now (poor) Tori Amos looks like a troll. Now le MdM looks like a really ugly German lesbian on hormones: Stubble! Yes! On this, more to come. This is Sex & the Sillage. We must discuss facial hair. It's obligatory. Dutifully, today, because, you know, I am just that devoted, I suffered through "A Taste of Heaven slash Absinthe" per our Comedienne Nationale's request: Here's my review. Ugh! I do not embellish the truth when I maintain I applied one dab to each wrist twelve hours ago; just one tiny stopper dab, and I can still smell it "Sure as you're born" as my assistant would say: Fleurine, you would detest this. It just never ever stops exploding lavender absolute, and has a deep, dark base that harkens to so many generic men's colognes. I loathe this type of odour. Honestly, I don't think it's even worth trying, unless you're a fan of "Pour un Homme de Caron" and long for it in deeper, darker, semi-permanent incarnation. It is specifically designated for men, and rightly so. It may start off all sparkly and lavender-like, but it devolves into something a bit like Halston N-12, or some other 70's disco era men's testosterone enhanced chest hair groom. As for honey, it is so listed in Back to Black, and in MAJOR doses: At least in the tiny booklet KH gave me, it lists 250g of "Honey Accord," which would make it the highest dosage in the formula. I have to say: I'm afraid I prefer "Habanita." It's grittier, but it's got so much more sex appeal. In fact, I just doused myself in it to masque this stench of "A Taste of Heaven" that's been plaguing me all day. It's divine. I love it: When one considers 3.7oz of the now discontinued formula can be had on e-bay for $19.00US, in an EDT strength that rivals any parfum, it's no wonder I have amassed at least 50 bottles, along with 5 ounces of extract, at $250.00US per 15ml: It's largely worth $500.00 an ounce. Personally, I believe it has pushed Shalimar off the throne, and now may be seated there as "The Sexiest Perfume in the World." I just *can't* get enough of it. Naturally, it's discontinued, and now comes in a reformulated EDP. Get the original while you can. It's difficult to compare it to Back to Black: they are so similar. I would say "Habanita" is more bawdy, whilst "Back to Black" has a kind of Bourgeois politesse about it, all the while being somewhat the same scent. I don't know about you, readers, but I like my sexy scents a bit on the less delicate side: None of this "Sainte Nitouche" distance. On you, Fleurine, "Back to Black" may very well be a better choice: It is, unquestionably, more elegant, and, yes, could be tucked away for your cougar moments, as I'm afraid it very well could drive just about anybody wild with desire: Both of these scents send your tongue out. It's just that, with "Habanita,' the tongue might be a bit redder for use, and may very well emerge from a bruised throat. Now: This party. Where to begin? I'm afraid I'll have to ponder a bit. For the moment, suffice it to say, there are not very many parties on Earth given in this way. It was an immense honour for me to be there, and, truth being told, it was nothing short of unforgettable. I'm not sure how much press will be given to it. There were no cameras allowed, and none of the usual flashbulb "Speak your name into the camera" nonsense, which are so tiresome. The snippets I have seen thus far, I' afraid, have been somewhat unkind, intimating that conducting such an affair in this day and age is "politically incorrect." Of course, none of the journalists who wrote them were there. Naturally, this, to me, is a quality. Today I went on record stating that the only thing that party was missing was an orgy room filled with immaculate sex workers of both genders equipped with certified paper work. Everything else anyone could possibly ever ask for was there, in wanton abundance, everything save for Robert Smith, who won my vote as dream entertainer of the evening: In the Limo, as I blurted this out, one of my cohorts sniffed: "Yeah but then everyone would just be crying rather than dancing." Begging to differ I state my case: I saw the Cure open for Oasis of all people, and, believe you me when I tell you: It was a magnificent performance given by a very somber Robert Smith, standing alone out on a kind of pier in the middle of a stadium crowd, barely moving, but singing.....with a depth of beauty that even I never knew was in him. If we cried, the tears were born of Joy. Luckily, the property upon which the party was conducted was large enough that we rap-haters, all betraying our age, I imagine, yet none the less unconcerned, quite a large portion of the crowd as we were, could stay far enough away to avoid being assaulted. Stay tuned for more Gossip Girl. Next. In Colour.

It works....it doesn't work.....it seems to me that there is one thing upon which all of us can agree: Rubegon works. All let's cheer for our hero national, off braving the desert heat and.....potential beheading.....all for the sake of sheer studliness. All Hail! (However: I will insert here, Rube, that you came dangerously close to a potential demerit by even mentioning "Clinique Happy" on Sex & the Sillage. Although....even if you had bought the equivalent of your 9oz BAV and declared it your new signature, I'm sure any such punishment would be revoked immediately by popular demand. Don't lets see you get ideas, though, hmmm? Stay away from the Chanel Bleu, OK?) I had my eye on that very same 9 ounces of heaven: Typically, though, I only buy sealed in box. I also do already have one of these. I believe it's the oldest BAV I own, as it is wrapped not in the dull yellow matte paper that was used through to the end of the 70's, but in a taupe coloured paper: Through research I have since learned that BAV was originally colour coded in this tone, and switched over to the dull yellow in 1965. I have also one 29ml parfum wrapped this way. You know, once you've worn this, I'm afraid nothing else in the world will come close to it. While "Habanita" may have de-throned Shalimar as "The Sexiest Perfume in the World" in my book, BAV, in the appropriate vintage and concentration, now proudly displays the title of "The Finest Perfume in the World" -as all of you know, I've smelled some, and I'm afraid I can't think of a single one that can compare to this. For me, it strikes every single note perfectly, with such a perfection of pitch that the mind is boggled. I will caution, though, Rube: BAV may sku a tiny wee bit feminine on you, even in this, it's smokiest, most mouth watering incarnation. I would recommend that you procure a sterile vaporizer, and decant this by no more than 60ml at a time: You may find that 60ml will last a year. The remainder should be kept sealed, and in a dark place where the temperature of it will not fluctuate. I'm glad to know that I am here among Robert Smith lovers: I have been a fan since "Boys Don't Cry," which poster I had on the ceiling of my "piaule" during my first year at uni, and which vinyl I played so often, I had to buy it twice. To this day, I remain a devout fan. Having known them and followed them since their inception, even before, when Robert was the guitarist for Siouxsie and the Banshees, I can honestly say that "Disintegration" is perhaps my all time favourite album in the world. How could anyone resist the scintillating opening and subsequent crashing romance of "Plainsong"? A Masterpiece. Sophia Coppula's usage of this stunning piece of music in the crowning scene of Louis XVI brought a flood of tears to my eyes: I believe, when I first saw this magnificent movie, (I was in France and made a point to see it in Version Francaise) this particular scene caused me to think, through my tears: "This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." The friend with whom I saw the movie asked me afterwards: "Why were you crying so much?" -At which point, I just began crying again. Merely thinking about it brings a tear to my eye. All of you, then, will imagine, with what gusto I attended this party: I do so wish I could post some images from my i-phone. Of nearly 500 guests in attendance, (number and cost consistently misquoted in press I have seen thus far) I believe I was the only one wearing real clothes, and my real hair: The silver hair spray worked so flawlessly that people who didn't know me all imagined It was natural: I also loved how I looked in it--I kept it in for three days! It pays to keep your clothes. Vivienne Westwood pewter silk high neck "poet blouse" with enormous ruffle front and sleeve cuffs, John Galliano frock coat with at least 50 large-ish grey mother of pear buttons, an authentic Royal Purple silk moire sash from a Paris flea market bought in the 80's and lovingly maintained, Paul Smith grey knee breeches, Pewter Donna Karan opaque tights turned to thigh-highs with pelvic area cut off, (Girls: HOW do you wear these things?) Pewter Pierre Hardy booties, and some family heirloom diamond Orthodox Cross broaches was all it took, and yes: I had all of it. The only thing I did was replace the laces in the booties with pewter taffeta ribbons. It was interesting to witness people's reaction when I nonchalantly replied to their compliments "I just threw it together." Facing Protests of disbelief, my posse had to come to my rescue, nodding in unison, all saying: "No. It's true. He just had all of it. Sometimes he just dresses this way to go out dancing." (Not entirely true: I don't believe I have ever had that amount of diamonds on in a night club) What's really funny is that I had three choices of frock coats: 2 John Galliano ones, and one Dries van Noten. I must admit that i must have been the most comfortable man there, as all others looked a bit "tight" in their damask costumes and wigs. One guest, whom all of you would know as there was a movie made about his life recently, showed up with a buddy of his, both dressed as peasants, with signs around their necks stating "Bread For the People!" (or something), complete with fake dirty hands, with fake dirt in their fingernails, which, upon inspection, looked to be eye shadow. Oh, and it just went on and on and on. The most sumptuous party anyone could imagine. The attention to detail was nothing short of miraculous. How the party planners pulled this together I don't know: A six course sit down dinner served on Limoges china, Saint Louis crystal, and mountains and mountains of the best sterling, in breath taking tents with ostrich plumes and crystal chandeliers: Mind, these were not those hideous ones that seem to be popping up in shops everywhere now, made from that vulgar Austrian crystal: These were gorgeous, bronze and rock crystal ones with candles: Everything was like that. And the flowers! The food! I mentioned somewhere I think that I thought it ironic that all of this should be a young man's fortieth birthday party "He threw for himself" (Not true: His wife threw it for him), as, for my own forty fifth birthday party, which I actually did throw for myself, I stuffed my old BREE backpack with provisions, including a gallon bottle of Listerine which contained pure vodka and a drop of food colouring, and took to the streets alone, having bid farewell to my home before I left it. Two days later, a Sunday, I awoke at 4:30am in an alley with my cheek propped up against a dumpster. I consider that, after living through that three day suicidal mission, I shall never have to be depressed again on my birthday, and I haven't. Granted, only two have flown by since. You see there are parties....and then there are parties.

Everything you do is simply Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everything you do is quite delicious!

Rube, what are you going to do with that nine ounce bottle of BAV? I'm afraid you may get some odd looks wearing it, you know: not anything you can't handle, of course. Perhaps you might be willing to swap for a full bottle of VINTAGE silver iris mist? I knew Serge when "Les Salons du Palais Royal" were completed, and I was at the opening reception. At the time, only Femininite du Bois was sold there: I remember thinking "All this, for just one perfume?" then came the now famous bell jars, and three different versions of F du B. A bit later, three unrelated scents were created: Rose de Nuit, Iris Silver Mist, and Ambre Sultan. When I knew Serge, he made a gift to me of this trio. Someone on BN who may or may not be reading now, has the full bottle of Rose de Nuit: I've since been told this is somewhat priceless by one who knows, I used the Ambre Sultan to the last drop: This and F du B remind me so much of the 90's and my "pink period," and I still have the original Iris Silver Mist, in its original box, full: I tried it once, and, like rose de nuit, found it reminded me of the catacombs: By 1993, which is the year I believe these were given to me, the catacombs were so 1983. Just a thought. This is vintage. 1993. Perfectly preserved. You know I've had the temperature controlled "caves." Go try to find that elsewhere.......

Fleurine: I have given up on these KH scents. I just can't seem to take to them. Only "B to B" does it for me. Here: I'll give myself a swipe: I've put it in one of my Patou "Flaconettes," so it has a dauber. I say, it is suave. I suppose I should re-think my statement asserting it and Habanita are the same. They're not, really: Habanita is not subtle, by any means. This is. There's a very distinct boozey cocktail element in it around the flight. Habanita has no flight: It explodes on the runway. I know your taste and I can imagine your wearing this on certain occasions, but not just any occasion: This, I think, for you, may well be your "Dive Bar" scent; a bit like my Molinard "Patchouli" or my CdG "Zagorsk" are for me: The one you wear when you know the crowd just isn't going to "get" something exquisite, like vintage Ombre Rose. In answer to your question it wins hands down the best honey/beeswax note award: In fact between the two, there is no contest. Furthermore, it would be smashing with that baby blue Balenciaga biker jacket of yours: I can see you wearing that, sexy jeans, a rock T, hot shoes, perhaps boots, and going to a concert, or some sort of East Village affair. The others: I'm just not convinced. I've now tried all of them and between the awkward names, the incessant sweetness, (Sweet Redemption has to be the most offensive "good" perfume I have smelled in quite some time: Right up there with Fracas. My apologies, Lillybelle: I know you love it.) and the longevity that will not, under any circumstances, be quenched, I give up. I admire what he is trying to do here, but, for me, they all just lack....intrigue. Only B to B has it. By "intrigue" I mean what, for instance, any vintage pre-wasser Guerlain jus always had: That thing, you know, that makes the whole experience thrilling. These are not thrilling fragrances, at least not for me: Some are tiresome, others downright repulsive (Rose Oud) I suspect I simply don't have a taste for them. I did try, though. I think, for myself, I would choose Habanita any day over B to B, but simply because it is, like BAV, somehow virile, whilst B to B skews precious, even fey on a man: I believe I may make a very nasty habit of buying those candles, though: In B to B they remind me of my favourite Dyptique "Foin Coupe" and they're prettier, as well as being equipped with a snifter: Always an attribute.