Toxic Orchid

I’ll just go ahead and apologize now for what will take place over the next few weeks: it will all be griping about the cold. It’s true. So that kind of already sets the stage for today’s anecdote.

Yesterday, I caved and went to a mall. I’m not totally anti-mall, but meh, whatever. I could take them or leave them. I was half-heartedly shopping for summer dresses because my new approach is to stonewall winter. I mean, if I just pretend it doesn’t exist, it won’t, right? Existentialism and all. I wandered into Sephora and made my way through the perfume wall, testing out different samplers. Tom Ford’s Black Orchid has been on my hit-list for a while and I liked it on the paper strip, so I got all bold and spritzed my wrist.

Oof.

See, here’s the problem. I’d read reviews of the heady tropical florals and spice and musk, and hey, that seems right in my wheelhouse. But, I need to read reviews more carefully because if I had, surely I would have noticed that this is One Big Vanilla Bomb.

Basically, I’d expected to smell like this:

Image

… sexy, sultry, exotic, and still classy. This should have happened.

But no, I smelled like this:

Image

… loud, dated, and with really bad makeup. Basically, I felt transported back to Long Island, circa 1990.

So for now, my dreams of tropical exoticism will have to stick with what they know because this Orchid only conjures up Alice Cooper’s “Poison.”

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