Divine eau de parfum was one of the first indie perfumes I wore when I was discovering niche in the late nineties. In fact, it was created by Richard Ibanez and Yann Vasnier in 1986, which might explain why it harkens back to the adult perfumes of the seventies. Divine smells of tuberose and peach and incense, and reminds me of the original Chloé, although my exalted memory of Chloé is jaded by smelling the version available now. Or maybe it's my nose that's jaded.
Divine is a contemporized throwback, like Acqua Di Parma Profumo or Theo Fennel. Divine's florals lead complicated love lives, led astray by overripe peach, shadowed by spicy mossy musk. It has the rich elegance of Chanel No. 5 or No. 22, but with the aldehydes turned down and creamy-sweet fruit turned up.
I used to wear the eau de parfum in the furnace heat of Los Angeles Indian summer, and the aridness of the atmosphere set off the muggy glamour of the perfume. Aswirl with Divine, I was plunged into a fantasy decadence, an emotional Studio 54. When my original bottle of juice tipped over and impregnated the wooden floor of the Laurel Canyon castle where I was living, that was the end of my smelling aspirationally louche.
|Studio 54: loucheness fully actualized.|
I've always wanted to get back to Divine, to that sweet/sour spot of yearning for an idealized grownup world of cocktails and Halston gowns and beautiful melancholy, soundtracked by Joni Mitchell's The Hissing of Summer Lawns and Sergio Mendes & Brasil '66.