I like organizing things, curating collections of things, I own things mostly so I can put them into groups and subgroups. I'd always classified this as a charming eccentricity (I even organize my eccentricities), but after wearing and labeling thousands of perfumes, I'm fed up. It's a lot of work and most of these perfumes, especially of late, are terrible. I'm organizing terrible things.
I've repurposed flatware trays, watch cases and soap boxes like I'm Hints from Heloise.
I have countless sachets of perfume samples and yet before I collected perfume, I didn't even know what a sachet was. (This hobby will feminize you in unexpected ways...and also in expected ways.)
|Mars vs. Venus|
And then there are my full bottles: shelves and cabinets of them, organized by designer. Unless perfumer supersedes designer, then organized by perfumer. Unless primary note supersedes both designer and perfumer, then by primary note. So my Hermès bottles are together, though the Jean-Claude Ellena ones are separated to sit with Ellena's other perfumes, except for Brin de Réglisse, which sits over with my lavenders, though it could just as easily sit with my licorices.
Apart from the frequent embarrassment, the biggest downside of owning all this perfume is the noise. I live right next to the Bay Bridge -- Evel Knievel could jump into my loft from the bridge for light practice -- and when the building's hallway windows are open, the traffic is loud and so is my perfume, which rattles like it's going through a perpetual earthquake.
Ever hear hundreds of rattling bottles, KP? The sound is so unnerving, the Geneva Convention forbids its use on prisoners. The rattling has come more frequently of late because I have new neighbors. New neighbors who are jerks and do a variety of jerky things. I won't bore you with the details, but the tech boom has attracted thousands of new people to San Francisco and almost all of them are jerks. If the government took a National Jerk Census, San Francisco may be the number-one jerkiest city. (And it had already been in the top ten because of people like me!)
|Artist's rendition of Dan's new neighbor.|
Last weekend my jerk neighbors threw a late party, during which they all gathered outside my door. (They often gather outside my door, for casual meetings or to talk on their cellphones, and I expect they'll eventually just move in with me.) When the party finally broke up, all the hallway windows were left open. So at 3:30 a.m., to stop the roar and rattle, I got dressed and went outside to close them myself.
Additionally, I might've yelled some threatening things in the direction of their loft. And I might've also kicked a hole in the wall. Though my version of events says I barely made contact and the thin drywall was so weak and inefficient, my gently approaching foot scared a hole in it. Either way, there's definitely a hole where there used to be a wall.
|Might be a hole.|
This is all to say that I'm currently wearing a fantastic perfume. It's called Lisa Kirk Revolution and it's supposed to smell like gasoline, smoke, tear gas, burnt rubber, gunpowder, sweat, urine -- you get the idea.
I haven't loved something this much in a long time. The fragrance is quite simple, but simple scents are usually citrus and spice or rose and wood, they're delightfully simple. But Revolution is ominously simple. Like The Blair Witch Project.
It was created by Patricia Choux, who deserves a medal for it. It's the closest thing to the civet-heavy first generation of The Different Company Rose Poivrée, but with gunpowder and gasoline instead of rose. It's a little nasty but so compelling! Once your nose adjusts and the initial shock wears off, it's addictive.
Revolution is obviously non-mainstream, but it also smells very human, though a rank, unruly, angry version of human. It's like wearing a threat, an indictment. And it makes me want to disarrange all my stupid perfumes! Y'know, right after I patch up the hole in the wall.