So I dab it on. There's some clean, gentle musk. There's some whitewashed vanilla. There's a whisper of peach in the opening, the barest hint of an anonymous flower in the heart. On one of my wrists I'm smelling sandalwood. No wait, that's yesterday's Vetiver.
My first thought was the nursery, but this would be an infant that never once howled with rage or pooped its jammies. (For the real thing, check out Petite Cherie.) This scent is so . . . passive. Like it's sitting in an easy chair in a scrupulously maintained nursing home where the smell of antiseptic has been expertly masked by the softest air fresheners
.This is society's collective fantasy of what women should smell like: completely free of experience, devoid of all signs of life. It's skin that never sweats, never ages, never reeks of lovemaking or garlic or gasoline. It is, in fact, perfect. "Perfect Veil" is therefore the perfect name for this profoundly ideological fragrance.
Ugh, I'm going to go douse myself in Vetiver now.
3 comments:
oh my god. that ad makes me want to puke, then go have wanton sex with the next stranger dude i see, the grosser the better, then maybe get a tattoo of his erect dick on my face and never speak to him again.
ugh.
Yeah, that's totally what the smell makes me want to do.
Even the name, for god's sake. Veil your womanly odors with this perfect smell! Oh yeah, also, wedding veils! Ideology has never smelled this . . . invisible!
HAHAHAHA!
We should think of some ritual for the perfumes that end up being this ideologically offensive...
we could get an empty soup can, take it outside at dusk, then burn the perfume in it. i bet that would be a crazy smell. or maybe it would just smell like fire, or like scented candle.
speaking of which, i think i have to go outside now and get something to eat!
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