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Capote, Truman & Evening in Paris
Comme des Garcons LUXE Champaca
Comme des Garcons Series 7 Sweet Nomad Tea
Estee Lauder Private Collection
Estee Lauder Private Collection Jasmine White Moss
Frederic Malle Bigarade Concentrée
Frederic Malle Une Fleur de Cassie
Histoires de Parfums Blanc Violette
Histoires de Parfums Vert Pivoine
In Memory (w/mention of Lanvin Arpege)
L’Artisan Parfumeur Passage d’Enfer
Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier Eau des Iles
More Roses (rose cookie recipe)
My Heart Has Skipped A Beat (summer smells)
Olivier Durbano Black Tourmaline
Parfums Karl Lagerfeld Sun Moon Stars
Perfume Quotes - The English Patient
Sarah Horowitz Parfums' Joy Comes From Within & Beauty Comes From Within
Serge Lutens Five O’Clock Au Gingembre
Serge Lutens Tubereuse Criminelle
Tauer Perfumes: Incense Extrême, Incense Rosé, Lonestar Memories, & Reverie au Jardin
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

Guerlain Jicky. Because it’s summer and…need I say more?
No, probably I don’t need to, and obviously I shouldn’t, but this is a perfume post, so certainly I will.
Because I have a suspicion that people who really, really love perfume also love something else more than other people do: s-e-x. My thinking is, if you’re the type of person who is willing to spend the time and money to hunt down samples of every form of jasmine perfume, from the tenderly sweet to the dirty lowdown, then there’s a good chance you’ll bring that same curious, eager and indulgent mindset into the bedroom. That’s what I would like to think, anyway—although I also suspect there are more than a few people out there for whom perfume is an addiction not unlike drugs or alcohol or food or gambling, that titillates the senses to a degree that it becomes somewhat of a replacement for sex. But I don’t want to think about those people. Or maybe I do.
Yes, I suppose I’d rather think of them than that other small group of people (God, I hope it’s small) who are now rolling their eyes and listing the myriad reasons they love perfume that have nothing whatsoever to do with s-e-x. I’m sure their reasons are lovely and legitimate—and no doubt on most days I share some of them—but, c’mon! It’s summer, people! The wanton heart of summer. Time to proudly hang your “Perfumistas Make Better Lovers” banner on the wall and go dab on some Guerlain Jicky pure parfum.
(By the way, did you know that you can watch The Harrad Experiment in its entirety—the whole one-hour-and-thirty-seven-minutes of it—on the Internet? Google Videos, you gotta love it. I’m sure Don Johnson does, because he really did look good in 1973.)
Anyhoo, Guerlain Jicky in the parfum concentration. Truth be told, I often go for months without wearing it, because the bracing combo of lavender and rosemary is a rather daunting masculine hurdle for me to clear…until I’m actually straddling that hurdle and then I realize just how perfect and doable it really is. Oh, tender young perfumista, don’t be afraid! True, the lavender in Jicky is quite manly: a forceful, "hard" (as in unyielding) note that recalls something cool and chiseled out of stone. But something wondrous happens when Jicky’s soiled and sensuous accords move in, softening the herbal astringency of the fragrance, turning what initially seemed flinty into flesh.
Civet, with its distinctive eau de derrière, puts a rakish smile on Jicky’s face (the kind of grin he makes at you when he’s about to get undressed). The vanillic Guerlinade base warms, sweetens and imparts body—not just complexity but something corporeal, the olfactory equivalent of skin, of breath. Ah, yesss! It’s always at this juncture when I understand how Jicky’s arrangement of notes is pure genius and why the virile lavender, transformed but never fully tamed, is so crucial to the scent. Jicky evokes, in as much as a fragrance possibly can, a flesh-and-blood man. It’s like the perfume equivalent of Michaelangelo’s David: a gorgeous creature in marble, the male equivalent of Aphrodite, that from the moment you begin studying it comes to life.
Of course, the Guerlain company chose to market Jicky with the romantic story that it was named for an English girl who broke Aimé Guerlain’s heart. English lavender, English girl. Good story, smart marketing. But take one sniff and I think you’ll find yourself trying to imagine the real Jicky for whom the perfume was named (supposedly, Jicky is the nickname Aimé Guerlain gave to his nephew, Jacques). Go ahead, inhale deeply and whisper the name in your best French accent. He’s so sexy, no? Much too sexy to be English, much too chiseled to be anything but male. A bit like having your own personal version of Michaelangelo’s David on your wrist…or wherever else you might like to take him.

__________________________________________________________ 1000 Fragrances Scented Salamander
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Notes on Shoes, Cake & Perfume
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WAFT by Carol