|Johnny Depp: he who smelt it, dealt it.|
Deep in the Mojave, Johnny Depp is rolling down his sleeves after fixing a flat on his Volvo 245 DL. Suddenly, a mephitic odor assails his handsome, kohl-rimmed nostrils.
Johnny's brow crumples into furrows, his mouth into a moue as he strains to identify the source of the stench.
Roadkill? The sun-ripened remains of a coyote's dinner? A faulty septic tank behind a meth cook's trailer?
He urgently scans the landscape. His forelock swishes, then stills to a quiver with the dawning of the horrible truth.
“Christ. It's me!”
Johnny had forgotten he'd accepted a token spritz of that Dior cologne when he shot the ad a week ago.
“Goddamn! Now I have to take a shower.”
The folks behind the campaign for Christian Dior's latest men's fragrance have a wicked sense of humor. Apparently, no amount of skull jewelry and talismanic tattoos can protect their spokesmodel from the pure, “this stinks!” effect of Sauvage. And the truth is written all over Johnny's face.
Can you blame him? Sauvage is a backwash spat from an unholy mouthful of three indifferent men's colognes. Despite the name, Sauvage bears no family resemblance to the sunny, relaxed elegance of Eau Sauvage, and little indication that it belongs to a brand that has produced other such iconic masculines.
For Dior is a house of legendary perfumes, like the elegant chocolate cash of Dior Homme and the petroleum leather mystery of Fahrenheit, which both smell good -- and have personality. By dispiriting contrast, Sauvage is an ugly, sneezy, featureless bunch of yuck. A spicy aerosol apple. A duty-free mistake.