Monday, October 18, 2010

Do our gay ballet on ice, bluebirds on our shoulders...

Etat Libre d'Orange Don't Get Me Wrong Baby, I Don't Swallow

I'm back from my anniversary trip. We had a lovely weekend that went by, in my opinion, far too quickly. Since the 5th anniversary is "wood" and David, very sweetly, always buys me something along the anniversary theme, he bought me a very nice wooden box, a wooden book mark, two wooden magnets, and even a card made of wood from my favorite stationery store in town, oblations papers.

 Not just any wooden box, though. He got it for me specifically to hold perfume! That's right, perfumistas. It is exactly the right height to hold all of my decants, which were falling out of the sides of the wire basket I had them in previously. See the picture (to your right)?  They fit so perfectly!  And the box also fits great inside my cabinet. So now my unboxed scents are in the basket and the decants are in the box, and he even offered to buy me more boxes for my 1 and 1.5 ml want samples if it would help me store them properly.

I swear to you, if I weren't already in love, that would have won me over right there.

But enough gushing. Let's get back to perfume reviews, shall we?

First up for review this week is Etat Libre d'Orange's Don't Get Me Wrong Baby, I Don't Swallow.
It all starts with a hand on the nape of a neck. The hand of a man familiar with the practice of attracting young women, accustomed to crumpling their sleek hair and to getting the better of their well-behaved manners. This is the story of a man in a car at night, of a manly hand that draws a perfectly fresh face towards him - expressed at the start by a bouquet of white flowers: lily of the valley, jasmine and orange blossom –, and who anticipates the chocolaty taste and tenderness of a mouth. It is also the story of a woman who at first resists and finally goes down on him. The art of the “American kiss” unfurls on accords of ambre solaire, almond, sugar cane and marsh mallow. The man will discover everything there is to know about her: the warm roughness of her tongue, the rousing sensation of her back and forth. All there is to know and no more than that! The appetizer ends in a whisper: “Don’t get me wrong baby, I don’t swallow”.

Notes: jasmine, aldehydes, lily of the valley, orange blossom, solar amberey accord, patchouli, cacao, musk, and guimauve.
Don't Swallow, as I internally think of it, is so sweet and innocent it's hard for me to reconcile the naughty name with what's going on under my nose. I get the cacao and amber a bit right up front, which combine with the jasmine and lily of the valley to create a sort of bubblegummy sweetness. It's strangely delicate, though, and pretty soon just devolves into a light floral. It's a strange juxtaposition against the name, which I would expect to have a harder, edgier scent that was defiantly sexual. But maybe its just the shock value that makes me read it wrong. Maybe I'm supposed to encounter it as the gentle tease it reads as, like what one imagines occuring after they cut away from passionate bedroom embraces in films from the 1950s. It's a nice enough scent, which gets a bit musky and warm on its way through the dry down, but it reminds me of L'Artisan Mûre et Musc because I just find it too nice to wear.

I'm never gonna be a white lace dress with wrist-length gloves and a lavender satin ribbon around my waist. At my wedding I wore a dress with red bordering the bottom and corseting down my back and ending in a long blood red trailing bow. I wore nail polish called "I'm Not Really A Waitress" and bright red lipstick. Plus, I got married in the attic of a historic power station house on an old poor farm that has been converted to a pub and hotel with a bar two floors below me. I'm not really a sweetly demure, eye lash fluttering, bubblegum pink type. In musical theatre terms, I am not and have never been Sandy; I'm Rizzo, right down to the bad reputation.

That said, if you like the idea of flirting in too tight sweaters and pencil skirts while wearing thigh highs with seams up the back like a character from Mad Men, you might just love this scent. I can think of at least one friend I'd spray it on before we went out to bar hop, me in ballet flats, chucky jewelry, and heavy eye make up and her in tea length dresses and pearls. If that sounds like you, or at least someone you like to be on the weekends, check this one out.

You can get samples of Don't Get Me Wrong Baby, I Don't Swallow from direct from the perfumer.

"Stay out super late tonight
picking apples, making pies.
Put a little something in our lemonade and take it with us.
We're half awake in a fake empire."
- "Fake Empire," The National

Want more? Try...
~ a review from Perfume-Smellin' Things
~ a review from The Scented Salamder
~ a review of the line from Bois de Jasmin

3 comments:

Ines said...

I love your review! :)
And what a lovely and considerate husband you have, I am really happy for you - Rizzo. ;)

P.S. That's one of my favourite movies of all time.

Diana said...

Ines, it's one of my favorite movies, too! I've loved it since I was a little girl, one far too little to know what all those naughty lyrics were about. I remember as a tiny little blonde thing I wanted to be Sandy; as an adult, it's Stockard channing's performance I admire.

And yes, I got lucky with David. I'm lucky in a lot of ways.

JoanElaine said...

I love that box! It really adds to the whole experience of having perfume when you keep it in a special place.

I need something like that, instead of old make-up bags from "free-with-purchase" offers.