While in L.A. just before Christmas, I discovered that the son of one of my oldest friends has an intense and well-informed interest in perfume. I told him I had just written a post on men's fragrance in 1959. 1959? Then that must have been . . . and in short order a bottle of genuine Knize Ten appeared on the table. Along with several original formula members of the Dior family and the Mitsuoko. Was there a Chanel? It was all a blur.
An original Tabu reminded me strongly of my mother getting dressed to go out, circa 1967, a pioneer in computer dating. Either the black chiffon floral with a yellow coat - or the perfectly shocking white mini with the black see-through drop-waist top. So hard to imagine my mother in a dress!
But what serendipity! I had been wondering where I would ever find Knize Ten. It's not something I'm going to look for again, though. A small drop on my forearm lasted through the day, the night, a sweaty cardio ballet class and a shower, only fading away finally the next night. I didn't really get the leather -- there seemed to be a blanket of something sweet and strong; something that reminded me more of the boardroom than the stables. I couldn't really imagine it on the one man I know who has played polo - Ten refers to a polo score. It did remind me of one of those pink Oxford shirts that only very confident men can wear. That would be my polo-playing friend.
Unfortunately, there was no time for a field trip to the Scent Bar in West Hollywood. Next time. But Chris was kind enough to give me a copy of Perfumes, The Guide and, best, volunteered to answer my questions as they arise. As in: How much Chanel No. 5 exists? How much can there be? Enough for every woman in America? Because no woman - or man - in America could escape this year's ad campaign.
(In the there-is-no-justice-in-this-world dept.: I had confided I didn't seem to be woman enough for Chanel No. 5. Within a few minutes Chris had found me old Diorella, based solely on my inability to wear anything stronger than Fresh's Citrus de Vigne coupled with my forlorn desire to become a femme fatale. And this is the kid who couldn't get an interview this year for a part-time perfume sales job at a department store. No experience. He's 18.)
Skipping part two of the nice spread on men's cologne and jumping to back-of-the-book:
Just do what I did just now -- give up! Just go and get some Yardley and call it a day. Good enough. The blurbage describes the packaging and says you can get them at Bloomingdale's. Not that would have worked this year.
But over at Sephora, you've got 27 sets to choose from. Seems rather quaint.
Holiday + family + job = no movie again. In real life, too!
Next -- classical music of 1959.
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