Exciter76

I have never seen Somewhere In Time but I used to love the VHS cover for the movie. On it, Christopher Reeves is wistfully looking into the distance, dreamily wishing for the woman he loves, while a superimposed sketch of Jane Seymour represents his daydream. There was something so beautiful, so romantically vintage, and so surreal about that cover. If there ever was a fragrant interpretation of that VHS cover, Parure is it.

Wistful roses, an enchanted forest, whispering spices—all these things are trapped within the beautiful bottle. The roses contained within this perfume are a bit dusty but they are also opulent. If roses are the floral representation of eternal love, then Parure spends its days professing undying love. The oakmoss reinforces the ethereal aura and brings enchantment often found in fairy tales. The oakmoss sets up a scenario where a princess is imprisoned within a forest and a prince comes to save her, relying on unyielding love to be his weapon. Eventually the scent quiets down but never fully leaves, depositing sweet spices as a reminder that love never fully leaves either.

I am probably over-romanticizing this masterpiece of a fragrance. I suppose the cast and crew of Somewhere In Time over-romanticized time travel and art. But fantasy is one of life’s greatest gifts. I am contented to fantasize and over-romanticize a period of time—for me, I imagine dabbing Parure on during the Harlem Renaissance, before taking in a night of dancing with a handsome stranger. I am grateful for the chance to travel with Parure.

Enchanted Forest lives up to its name. Few fragrances cause me to conjure up their back story but EF is among the few. I smell a fictional forest of many fairy tales, complete with a heroic prince, the beginning of a new romance, the joyous aspects of cold, dark winters.

I wore it about a week ago when it was atypically cold and wintry here in the Los Angeles area. It was the perfect scent for such weather: dark and chilly but yet bright and cozy. Maybe this is a bonfire in the forest while the damsel in distress is protected by her prince, no? It all seems like a bottle of juxtapositions—and it is—but the constant contradictions work themselves out to be complimentary, interesting, stunning.

I love men’s fragrances; I even have a few beloved male-oriented scents in my collection. However, I cannot see myself wearing this. Every time I have worn it my mind wanders to my hypothetical lover: a strong, silent intellectual who would stop at nothing to protect me. It’s an archaic fantasy but it’s mine nevertheless. Should I encounter a man wearing this scent, I’d believe my search for a one-true-love to be over.

I'm gonna apologize in advance. This is a review of sorts but it's also my meandering thoughts about what this fragrance has meant to me. If you want a solid ingredient listing and description of Coco's phases, pass this review. If you want to know one woman's experience WEARING it, keep reading...
________________________________________________
Have you ever had a friend who was nothing but trouble? You know you’re none the better for hanging out with her but the adventures the two of you embark upon—it’s the stuff of legends! She’s the friend who’d love to bail you out of the local jail cell if it weren’t for the fact that she’s sharing a bunk with you. She’s very, very naughty but you are guaranteed a good time with this gal pal. Coco is that gal pal.

I was a good girl growing up. I never really snuck into bars before I turned twenty-one, I never crept out of my bedroom window for a secret rendezvous with young men, and I never took a discrete drag off some rebel’s cigarette. I was good. Once I turned twenty-one, all bets were off. Around the same time I received a bottle of Coco for my birthday. One whiff nearly knocked me down. (Keep in mind, I became of legal drinking age the same year Happy was released, so broad-shouldered divas such as Coco were no longer en vogue.) As a personal act of initiation, I wore Coco whenever I went out bar-hopping or clubbing with my friends. Older men wanted to “get to know me better” and women wanted me ousted from the various bars we frequented. Liquor has always had the dubious honor of being called “liquid courage” but, for me, that honor goes to Coco. She was hissing come-ons to the more experienced gentlemen behind my back and instigating fights with young, insecure women while I stood across the bar. She was a vixen, not for the faint of heart.

One night I got sloppily drunk while flirting with a gentleman fifteen years my senior when I decided to empty the contents of my purse. Sadly, I left behind my beloved bottle of Coco on the bar. Much time has passed since that fateful incident and I was recently reunited with a bottle of Coco (thank you fleaBay). It was like reuniting with an old friend who still looks as fabulous as ever. She still likes to stir up trouble but she’s mellowed with age, at least when she’s in my presence. I am curious if she still creates a social maelstrom when she’s out gallivanting with young girls and boys.

Right now, we’re reminiscing about that one time when we… Goodness, she was a bad girl but did we ever have such good times?!

I know some women feel uncomfortable wearing fragrances designated for men. There are some scents that feel too masculine, either by past associations or by standard men’s fragrance conventions (the use of ‘fresh’ ingredients, aromatics, et cetera). Then there are some fragrances for men that beg to be snagged by the girls, much like a classic crisp white button-down shirt (and wearing nothing else, because this is flat out sexy).

To me, Habit Rouge is the most timeless of fashion pieces. It’s at once fresh and powdery, dated and of-the-moment. HR begins with a strong lemony freshness and a touch of suede. It is quite lovely, but it only gets better with the passing hours. HR’s drydown is one of the most sublime, with a base that rivals Shalimar’s iconic vanillic base. It is absolutely decadent and delicious! In typical Guerlain fashion, this phase seemingly lasts forever, and how glad I am for that.

Any woman who turns her nose up at this wonderful scent is sincerely missing out on a masterpiece—it would be equivalent to snubbing a chance to wear a classic Rolex watch simply because it is designated a men’s timepiece. I would love to smell this on a man but I’d never want to share a bottle with him.

Let me make a declaration now: I cannot do grapes and all their subsequent incarnations in perfume. A handful of raisins? Yes, I’m enjoying some right now as I type. A spritz of something akin to a Cabernet Sauvignon? I smell like a sloppy dipsomaniac. It’s not okay. Declaration, over.

Now that I’ve said my generalized piece about grapes in perfume, I can honestly tell you I have found the closest contender to an exception: Bashert. It is truly glorious. With Passover around the bend this is an appropriately festive scent for the holiday. One element of the Passover Seder to which I look forward is the Charoset; anyone who has not tried this boozy, spicy, sweet chopped salad of sorts is missing out. I know it is loaded with religious symbolism, but it’s yummy, too. Bashert is definitely Charoset encapsulated, but it is also the essence of various perfumes worn by close friends and beloved family members as everyone gathers for the Seder dinner. I know, it sounds like bottled dissonance but it’s really fantastic.

I’m still on the fence about buying a bottle. Grapes and I still do not play well together but I’m willing to set aside my differences for this juicy treat. If nothing else, I can feel good knowing I performed a mitzvah when I made my purchase: 10% of the proceeds go to The Institute of International Education.