The other day I was dum-de-dumming around the mall, doing my mildly psychotic Sephora ritual where I absent-mindedly cover my face and arms with little scribbles of make-up and squirts of perfume. (The scene in David Lynch’s freaky Wild at Heart where Diane Ladd colors in her entire face with red lipstick comes to mind.)
By the time I was a patchwork quilt of pretty smells, there was really no distinguishing what I had carelessly spritzed into various nooks and crannies. Except...drifting over the sweet sludge was one accord entirely unexpected in Sephora: incense.
Incense? I love incense! And there seems to be some unspoken taboo against it in mainstream perfume. But this was definitely incense -- a mild, bittersweet Nag Champa, to be exact. I was forced to retrace my nose’s steps, past the eye-watering harshness of Caroline Herrera 212, the disconcertingly manly Chanel Coco Mademoiselle, the delightfully loopy Jean Paul Gaultier Ma Dame - until I found the source. It turned out that my incense was Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail. Perfumer Maurice Roucel has successfully smuggled my smoky delight into the mall. What a fine fellow he is!