Comptoir Sud Pacifique Vanille Abricot

...turns you into a piece of walking cake.

When it comes to sweets, I’ve got a monkey on my back. I’ll wait patiently in line for stupidly fashionable cupcakes for an hour. At restaurants, I always consult the dessert menu first. In bakeries, I survey rows of glistening pastries with the adrenalin surge of an art lover viewing a masterpiece. (While choking back my drool, which I’m pretty sure the art lover doesn’t do.)

Basically, candy and I have a permanent standing date. So you’d think I’d be gung-flippin’-ho for all the sugary fragrances sprinkling perfume counters like jimmies on an ice-cream sundae. You’d think, but you’d be wrong.

In fact, I find it really frustrating to smell an edible smell and not actually be able to eat it. In the face of perfumes scented of bubblegum or fresh-baked waffle cones or carnival candyfloss, I feel like a bee tricked by a flower into pollinating it. Hands off my pollen, Pink Sugar! Buzz off, Angel!

For cookie-shovelers like me, dessert perfumes are a hollow rip-off, and they get my dander up. But that’s because I obviously have a problem. Those of you who can take or leave a slice of caramel cake (gasp!) must regard overtly foodie notes as just another color on the perfumer’s palette. Gee, I wonder what that’s like?

So when it came to wearing Comptoir Sud Pacifique Vanille Abricot, I entered a “feel the fear and do it anyway” zone. Because Vanille Abricot smells like the sweetest, fruitiest, lick-your-chops-like-a-cartoon-wolf cake ever. And what was I gonna do? Gnaw off my arm? Well, no. But there was plenty of choking back my drool.

My Perfume Pen Pal Dan thinks Vanille Abricot smells like ”the Santa Cruz Boardwalk: a super-sweet mix of cotton candy, ice cream, saltwater taffy, funnel cakes, Dippin' Dots. It's fun. And surprisingly well-balanced and non-headache-y.”

Spoken like person without a sugar problem. How nice for him.

Vanille Abricot is available from, and, starting at $43 for 3.3 oz.