Of pretty glass bottles and grape gum

I’m a girly-girl at heart. Granted, it’s buried pretty deep - but it’s there nonetheless. Though I’m more familiar with Levi than Coco, and I’ve only a nodding acquaintance with Mr. Laboutin, (I’ve never met him, but I think the red soles are fab; and those pointy heels? Very useful for self-defense) I do enjoy a little sparkle in my life.

Poking around cosmetics counters is almost as fun as trolling through a bookstore; and perfume bottles inspire me into flights of fancy. While I spend my days in comfy trousers and walkable shoes, there is another me in an imaginary world wearing pretty, flowy dresses, cute little Audrey Hepburn hats and gloves, with works-of-art on my feet. That me has long wavy hair in always perfectly tousled updos, and has figured out the perfect mix of trimming and waxing her eyebrows. (a picture would be worth a thousand words here). Imaginary me never bumps into doorways; she strolls confidently in heels, and swings both legs elegantly out of the car. She also has found the perfect shade of lipstick and of course has a signature scent.

Think Catharine Zeta Jones in Oceans 12. Remember the scene where she and Rusty are in the hotel room in Amsterdam and she refreshes her makeup, dabbing gently at her lipstick? I was imagining myself as her up to that moment…then the happy dream skidded to a halt, whimpered once, and lay on the ground, defeated with that one gesture.

Though I know lipstick and I are not destined to be a happy, forever-after couple, I still persist in dreaming over the shiny tubes enticingly labelled with names like “Carmen”, “Barely Blush”, “Sateen”, and “Luscious”. I occasionally bring one home with me, where it becomes like a postcard of Paris - a tangible remembrance of my happy place.

Perfume has the same allure: the packaging draws me in, with the names and bottles offering the fantasy that I am Holly Golightly, throwing on my little black dress to visit Sally Tomato in Sing Sing. How effortlessly she did it, with the shoes, and the hair. That hat! Those sunglasses! Heavenly.
That’s the fantasy of perfume, offered by Lancome and Chanel. The reality reminds me rather more of grape gum than French wine. Perfumiers promise tuberose in the way that Hubba Bubba promises grape. They deliver a reasonable facsimile, but if your only experience of tuberose or grape came from them, you'd wonder what the big deal was all about.

Still, tuberose and Luscious, Coco, Audrey, and Christian Laboutin keep the imaginary me in happy girly-girl dreams.