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Ten Monoliths: A Space Odyssey Posted by Dain, Thursday, May 08, 2008 12:06 AM (Eastern) I wonder, at times, how I ever got into this fine mess, the world of perfume appreciation—then I must laugh at myself—with eyes and wallet wide open, and that's the truth. To revisit my thoughts of January 22, 2008: "More than anything, I am amazed by how much of perfume appreciation is purely imaginative. This is not the same thing as our sense of smell. We smell a rose in Yves Saint Laurent Paris, we smell musk in Narciso Rodriguez, and even within the gradations of compositional complexity, it is fairly straightforward. But past the physical impressions, are dreams—mixtures compounded of memory and desire. People flock to Chanel No. 5 because Marilyn Monroe wore it, because their mother wore it, because it's a bottle of Chanel, because it makes them feel elegant and sophisticated. None of these things, I must point out, are actually real. They are associations, memories, impressions, and aspirations (respectively). That perfumes are capable of moving us to such profound ecstasies and aversions is a testament to our imaginative powers, perfumer and perfumed." In deference to the overwhelming importance of personal opinion, I had always vowed never to make a perfume list. However, some perfumes really are objectively great. This is a collaborative project with Helg at Perfume Shrine: ten to bury in a time capsule, for aliens to discover for a retroactive study of the olfactory capacities of humanity. You must go and read her historically oriented (and much more expert) take. After a dozen drafts, I finally decided on these ten:
To my estimation, there are five major categories of perfumes that a completely untrained individual will recognize: florals, gourmands, orientals, dense, and fresh, with gradations to account for variety and complexity. FLORALS I chose Jean Patou JOY as a midpoint floral—if rose had a voice, it'd be a high-strung soprano, while jasmine sings in seductive alto, one neutralizing the other—and just the right dose of aldehydes for uncontested grandeur. If you clarify the composition of aldehydes, you'll get a soliflore, closer to the material in nature, while an obfuscation of spices turns it into a floriental, nearer the center, where all elements are in play (this is how the chart works). The chart also works round its circumference. Counterclockwise: take the cool and salty rose, add plenty of rooty iris and silvery lily of the valley, amplify the aldehydes, freeze it with galbanum, and you've got a crisp, austere floral like Chanel No. 19. Clockwise: honey-sweet melon and candied violet bring warmth to softly indolic jasmine, a night-blooming tropical, in Frédéric Malle Le Parfum de Thérèse, the most sumptuous, refined fruity-floral. GOURMANDS Gourmands may be a blip on the wave of trends, but they seem fairly well established to me. They'll certainly be remembered as part of the age of the statement accessory, like the Art Deco creations of the 30s, the aldehydic florals of the 50s, and the obnoxiously loud florientals of the 80s. On the floral end of the spectrum, there are the fruity florals, violet soliflores, and tropicals. The true gourmand scent is dessert fare—fruits, sugar, caramel, chocolate, honey, and vanilla—before it wanders into spicier territory with amber. And no one does the gourmand better than Serge Lutens, such as the boozy Chergui, dark honey under the gravitational pull of smoky tobacco, hay, and the mixed spices of Morocco. ORIENTALS Here there be dragons: woods and spices, the resins that compose incense, animalics, and leather. A diverse and exciting group that usually signifies danger and intrigue, on the premise that that which repels also fascinates, as may be guessed by the names: Serge Lutens Muscs Koublaï Khan (sweaty cumin and the dirtiest musks), Robert Piguet Bandit (smoky green galbanum and leather), Caron Coup de Fouet (fiery carnations and pepper), and über-oriental Opium (everything). Wearable is usually not in their vocabulary, but Andy Tauer L'Air du Désert Marocain attains an unusual aridity with curls of aromatic cedar, coriander seeds slithering through your fingers, a whisper of rose, all under a sandy foam of lemon. And as an essay in dark, brooding frowns, Guerlain Vol de Nuit cannot be matched: narcotic jonquil layered with a smoky, animalic galbanum, all embroidered with Guerlinade, that softens into iris and leather. A lonely, difficult thing, we need one in there that gives hell. DENSE An abstraction, to be sure, but such is the nature of metaphors. Caron Parfum Sacré may at first be a brassy loud mouth of a floriental, but it soon settles into creamy rose petals and meditative incense, like sinking into a soft, downy bed—pure domesticity and comfort (opposite is socially ambitious JOY, so the chart still works). What list of top ten would be complete without Guerlain Mitsouko, the iconic chypre?—ultimately an abstract representation of a forest. What bridges the gap determines the particular ecosystem, and in the case of Mitsouko, it is the gold-leaved, silver-barked mallorn trees of Lothórien. There never was a perfume so suave and intelligent, an introvert in a state of utter relaxation. FRESH Though light of heart and understated, these perfumes also have surprising range. They may play on textures, like the diaphanous Narciso Rodriguez, smoothly dimpled as the face of a manikin, but so inured are we to the presence of floral musks that it registers as utterly unobtrusive, deliberately bland. Or, to bring us full circle, the crisp transparency of Chanel Cristalle, which cuts through oppressive humidity with a diamond-edged knife: bitter lemons and mandarins, a scattering of jasmine petals, and gentle oakmoss sustained by sparkling aldehydes. Purely based on empirical evidence, this is merely a system that makes the most sense to me, but approach with the proverbial grain of salt, all empiricism is limited by the breadth and depth of experience, and I am but a fledgling fumehead. My iconic representations, they may be wrong. My chart was deeply influenced by Frédéric Malle's schema: I admired how it addressed the sniffer's perceptions above all. Tell me, what are your favorites (floral, gourmand, oriental, dense, and fresh)? Labels: andy tauer, caron, chanel, frederic malle, guerlain, jean patou, narciso rodriguez, perfume, philosophy, serge lutens, the mnemonic sense Culture Notes: My Real and Serious Thoughts on the "Beauty Blogger Controversy" Posted by Dain, Saturday, February 02, 2008 8:45 AM (Eastern) I wrote The New York Times Declares War, Apparently after a marathon of watching Absolutely Fabulous, so that might explain some of its frivolous mood as I bemusedly crept out of Youtube into Blogger. I straightaway told Colleen it was a stupid issue when she forwarded me the drama. Really, it is absurd that Ms. Schaefer wrote the article in the first place. She was hardly a consequential journalist, and I have a really low opinion of journalism in the first place. Without the glittering shield of the New York Times, she'd have been labeled a "troll" on the internet boards: selfish attention whores. It wouldn't have been right to pass it by, of course, but I quite agreed with Colleen that we paid her exactly what she wanted by ranting about her inane opinions. But now, that I have had some time to reflect on it, the issue actually seems very important, so I decided to make a more reasoned response. Modern philosophy, for the most part, embraced science as a liberator, an equal partner in the cause of reason. In retrospect, there is no fool like a wise fool. For nothing could have been further from the case. While philosophy raked down the old idols in its apostatic zeal, technology harnessed itself to money-making practices from the start, and rightly understood there was no profit in philosophy for the sake of philosophy, while morality, bemoan its lack as some may, took a feeble hold on political correctness. It is a chokehold, now. Respect everyone, especially minorities, the corporate PR motto (unless they threaten the profit margin). At least the Church had the wrath of God (e.g. eternal damnation in hell) on its side, and by "at least", I mean there is at least a good story in it. Suited representatives with plastic smiles aren't half so romantic, and now people who consider themselves practical sneer at books in their inner hearts: Books! Dead stuff! For useless thinkers and elitists! ![]() Political correctness is an invisible wall, and throw yourself at it as you might, it stands solid and stalwart. Comedy makes it tangible for a moment, but once the laughter subsides we forget what it is we were looking at. Our great comics mine our buried sensitivities, our racial slurs and sexual innuendos. Politically correct, we stand on moral ground. But this is specious, as when Franciscan friars, a brotherhood founded on such an utter devotion to poverty that St. Francis refused to touch money, grew so fat and lazy atop their ambling donkeys that they'd carry extra long ladles to collect their donations. Political correctness has been with us for a very long time, and greed even longer, but the emphases change. History is not a nightmare from which we are trying to awake, but an endless shifting of the same bloody human elements, sordid or transcendent or just plain mundane. Every time a new technology arrives on the scene, it explodes with possibilities. When the printing press made books cheap and pamphlets cheaper in the 15th century, every one who had an opinion was free to express it. Perhaps it was years of blogging, but my particular interest within English literature was the 17th and 18th century, because it is incredibly diverse, chaotic, and fluid. Think of what came about because of the printing press. Martin Luther and his 95 Theses. The Enlightenment. The Novel. The Scientific Revolution. Capitalism: commerce overtaking land as the basis of economy, urbanization (and subsequent suburbanization), colonialism, industry, consumerism. The decline of the aristocracy and the rise of democratic republics. Darwinism. Marxism. World wars. Never, ever scorn the power of the idea, the idea that catches. The internet, dear reader, is an invention akin to the printing press, and I make that claim solely on account of its uncontrollability by the powers that be. If that threatens print journalism, then let them quake in their fucking boots. Or, at least, write mealy-mouthed articles bitching about what they themselves lack. Please, bloggers, thunder your opinions as loudly, and as long, as you can, before the inevitable standardization sets. Let Youtube replace movies, Limewire replace CDs, eBay replace the mall, and Wikipedia replace the Bible*. While we're at it, I'd like to tear down that bloody wall. * I mean the Bible as a historical, not religious text, implying that they were composed in the same manner: piecemeal, a vast and comprehensive literary work containing all sorts of knowledge. Most Biblical scholars agree that the Pentateuch was not in fact written by Moses, but several authors, usually noted as J, E, D, P... and memory does not serve me further. I think it is called the Documentary Hypothesis. Google it if you like. Google knows all. ; ) Labels: culture notes, internet, philosophy The Mnemonic Sense: Perfume Kismet (Part 3) Posted by Dain, Wednesday, January 23, 2008 3:42 PM (Eastern) For a little context and background to these idiosyncratic to-dos, please read Part 1 and Part 2 if you have not already. All of these articles owe their existence to The Perfumed Court's generous sponsorship, because they are really spillover from Beauty Notebooks—there was just so much food for thought that it seemed necessary to provide a general context. An interview and an exploration of orientals are due for February, pastorals for March (just in time for spring). ![]() Signature scents are an old idea. Who wears just one perfume any more? One desires different fragrances for different moods, but at heart perfume kismet is an idea similar to the signature scent—same impact, more perfumes. Just as I do not find purple prose or notes lists particularly helpful, olfactory families strike me as equally vague. It is true that perfumes often have a consonance of moods, but they are not necessarily what one might expect, and for that reason, I have made categories for myself (because who else can dictate what I want?), very fluid, so I can explore "what I am looking for" at will, a-ramble through possibilities. I take a perfume I like, lift the elements that intrigue me, and follow them in other directions. You build experience, not knowledge, though it takes knowledge to make those experiences worthwhile. Reviews are handy, not because they are "accurate" but because they provide welcome direction. You test, you sample, you reject, you consider, and sometimes, you find something that stops you in your tracks. From here, the process may begin again or you may have found exactly what you are looking for. ![]() Actually, I did have a signature scent once, in high school. It was Givenchy Organza Indécence, a golden fever of vanilla and amber and woods, honeyed o'er. Like many, my introduction into this mad world was a gourmand. By the time I was at university, I decided I'd venture into the world of perfume, but I knew next to nothing. Through a combination of research, hearsay, and accident, I have wandered far afield from my first love. This chart is far from complete; I have probably tested twice this much. There was not enough room, for example, to show that Tabac Blond was inspired by a personal love of Caron and Fumerie Turque in addition to ecstatic reviews. It still has me in its throes, and thanks to Tabac Blond I am curious about leather (Cuir de Russie, Montale Oud Cuir d'Arabie), spicy carnation (Coup de Fouet), leather AND carnation (Bandit), and Mitsouko. In fact, all things point to Mitsouko: that Nancy told me it reminded her of me, someone describing Tabac Blond as "Mitsouko naked", my enjoyment of Bois et Fruits, the general adoration expressed by those who "know" perfume, my discovery of new-age chypre 31 Rue Cambon (too confusing to add an arrow). It is a very intuitive process, and yet it is highly idiosyncratic. Accolades from experts are not enough for me, nor is the fact that chypres like my skin, nor that I enjoyed the peach in Bois et Fruits, nor that it is contemporaneous to Tabac Blond, but all of these things combined assure me that I really ought to order a sample. I suspect, if you are not a collector, this is how we all work. The following are my "families", so to speak (I imagine everyone will have very different interpretations). In some cases, the searching is finished, while others are works-in-progress to be detailed in February and March. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Up for review (tentative list): Frédéric Malle Musc Ravageur, Guerlain Shalimar, Fifi Chachnil, Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan, Parfums d'Empire Ambre Russe, Satellite Padparadscha, Andy Tauer L'Air du Desert Marocain, Shiseido Féminié du Bois, Guerlain Mitsouko, Caron Tabac Blond, Caron Coup de Fouet, Chanel Cuir de Russie, Robert Piguet Bandit, Montale Black Aoud, Creed Angélique Encens... and err... I think that's it. ![]() Since I intend to explore this category in greater detail in our March Beauty Notebook, please stay tuned. It ought to marshal together the following perfumes: L'Occitane Eau de Miel, L'Artisan Parfumeur Premier Figuier, Parfumerie Generale Bois Blond, CB I Hate Perfume Lavender Tea, Caron Pour un Homme, Guerlain Après L'Ondée, Jean Patou Normandie, Frédéric Malle En Passant, Chanel No. 19, Chanel 31 Rue Cambon, Christian Dior Diorissimo, Serge Lutens Bois et Fruits, Guerlain Mitsouko, and Il Profumo Musc Bleu. You'll notice that some of these are not, strictly speaking, very pastoral. Some of the perfumes led me to others, it is a great labyrinth. Labels: caron, givenchy, guerlain, people of the labyrinths, perfume, philosophy, robert piguet, serge lutens, the mnemonic sense
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The Mnemonic Sense: Perfume Kismet (Part 2) Posted by Dain, Tuesday, January 22, 2008 1:23 PM (Eastern) ![]() No perfume review I have ever read has proven to be accurate. And lest anyone rise up to make war, what I mean is, when you spray a perfume and sniff for yourself, that experience is yours alone. Perfume blogs such as The Perfume Posse, Perfume-Smellin' Things, The Scented Salamander, and Bois de Jasmin do this far better than I ever could, all due respect. But. No matter how evocatively and eloquently written, you only come away with a sense of what it might be, and the fact remains that perfume, a very vague and personal thing at its best, is something you can only know if you try. That brings us to the subject of Part 2: style (substance is covered in Part 1). Style, in perfume reviews, consists of something known as "purple prose", a kind of heady lyricism. When it is good, it is very good. But, as Strunk and White put it, "rich, ornate prose is hard to digest, generally unwholesome, and sometimes nauseating" (p. 72, The Elements of Style). What's worse, many reviews tend to piggyback on each other, so a researcher is baffled by a battalion of opinions that more or less agree with each other, and is bound to resent their own experience rather than realize that there is no authority but one's own. Why does this happen? ![]() More than anything, I am amazed by how much of perfume appreciation is purely imaginative. This is not the same thing as our sense of smell. We smell a rose in Yves Saint Laurent Paris, we smell musk in Narciso Rodriguez, and even within the gradations of compositional complexity, it is fairly straightforward. But past the physical impressions, are dreams—mixtures compounded of memory and desire. People flock to Chanel No. 5 because Marilyn Monroe wore it, because their mother wore it, because it's a bottle of Chanel, because it makes them feel elegant and sophisticated. None of these things, I must point out, are actually real. They are associations, memories, impressions, and aspirations (respectively). That perfumes are capable of moving us to such profound ecstasies and aversions is a testament to our imaginative powers, perfumer and perfumed. The best perfume descriptions are concise but pithy one-liners, rich in evocation, perhaps, but well aware that all perfumes leave limited impressions*. A waft of Chanel No. 5 smells expensive and classic, rose-and-jasmine-and-aldehydes: these are the impressions that nearly everyone will have. Everything else, is in your mind, and your mind alone. It is not a bad thing that so much of the style depends on the wearer's imagination. Not at all. That is the real power of perfume. We all dream different dreams with the same potion. But that is the real reason why I find perfume reviews kinda, sorta, useless. It is not that other people's experiences lack visionary potency, it is only that they are never mine. On the other hand, there are perfumes that strike like lightning, how and why is sometimes a mystery. Without purple prose or fancy labels or exotic bottles, it explodes into a sort of divine radiance on your skin. Does it have good reviews? Bad reviews? A legendary history with an even more legendary perfumer? Or associations with celebrities? Is it love at first sniff or the kind that grows with better acquaintance? Is it more appropriate for spring or summer? Is it familiar or strange? Do I really care? Perfume appreciation comes with all of these trappings, and yet they cease to matter if the perfume has that magical quality of... of? It is hard to describe. It feels great. Like true love. Like an epiphany. Kismet. Ultimately, that is all I'm looking for. Perfumes I really, truly love, just because. Perfumes for quiet, contemplative moments, for sexual empowerment, for outright "I'm a bitch, fuck off", for being a real lady with impeccable, mysterious chic. I am my objective is terribly practical. Perfume kismet is difficult to describe or attain, but I will try to detail how one goes about the search in Part 3. * I have noticed Luca Turin tends to do this. Labels: chanel, philosophy, the mnemonic sense The Mnemonic Sense: Perfume Kismet (Part 1) Posted by Dain, Monday, January 21, 2008 2:11 PM (Eastern) I have been drowning in perfume samples of late. It is strangely very exhausting. Every perfume review looms on the horizon like a Herculean task, because it requires such a marshaling of lyricism, nods to history, anecdotal evidence, and olfactory capacities that I feel I lack. Some of these samples are intended for Beauty Notebooks in the coming months, but I find myself in great disorder, so I needed to air out a few thoughts beforehand, about what I've learned about perfume thus far. Consider it a build-up to the main event: ![]() Without their generous sponsorship, these articles would not have coalesced. The truth is, perfume reviews burn me very often. Since Bois Blond, I have learned to exercise caution and tread lightly with samples. But aren't reviews supposed to provide guidance? Why do they guide me so awry? Don't get me wrong, there are people who are very good at this, far better than I could ever hope to be, but let us face it, I am no great connoisseur. I lack the skill and the desire to view compositions with peerless objectivity, like God looking down at his creations. I want a good dinner wine to enjoy with my meals, not some rarefied existence to quaff over—just enough education so I know to steer away from cheap champagnes and go instead for a comparably priced but far smoother muscat. Likewise, I would like to think that my nose is good enough to smell sense. There is nothing very special about Serge Lutens Un Bois Vanille so far as I can tell; it is just a decent vanilla with a little licorice for amusement, hyperbolic syrup. And yet, in spite of the fact that Jean Patou JOY quite outclasses me, in spite of the fact that Patous are rather conservative for me, in spite of the fact that jasmine and rose don't suit me, in spite of the fact that I would not wear it, it is equally obvious that this is a very great perfume. ![]() When it comes to perfume reviews, there is a certain style (purple prose) and substance (notes descriptions) that are standard. These are both very helpful and very misleading, and I hope in dissecting I can clarify why it is so, so I can write better reviews in the future instead of butting my head up against a bottle. Most of the time, I don't pick out the jasmine until I look up the composition, because it is such a ubiquitous "perfumey" note that I sometimes only smell it when I know it's there. I cannot be the only one. For one thing, those lists are partial, and not every player is intended for a starring role. For another, we all seem to smell differently: raunchy animalic musk has a habit of disappearing from my skin, while gourmands seem to amplify into screeching fluorescence. Of course, the interactions between notes are the substance of perfume appreciation, so a composition seems reassuringly concrete next to the vague abstractions of purple prose. But suppose you did point to something very concrete, such as, "I love tuberose," can you really explain why? "Yes," you say, "it is sexy and feminine." But why? What makes you think that? After all, the tuberose in La Chasse aux Papillons is quite as innocent as Fracas is seductive, and it is very quiet indeed in Angélique Encens, mere background noise. This is especially confusing to a beginner, who soon discovers a rose is never just a rose in perfumery. To a more jaded nose, that is exactly what makes perfumery so great, that a single note has so many interpretive values. As for myself, I get very holistic impressions. Most are pretty enough, approachable and comforting—not just mass-market lines, but also niche brands like Annick Goutal, Parfumerie Generale, and Jo Malone—but nothing that commands my attention, no queer feeling of joy that flares up in its presence. Scents that do make an impression tend to fall into two camps: quality of the materials and quality of the composition. The former tend to be newer lines like Serge Lutens and Montale, which counter simplicity with the fullness of the particular note(s) under examination. If the note(s) is(are) one(s) you love, then you are bound to love it, such as the roses of Montale. But otherwise, one is more inclined to admire from a distance, as I do Douce Amère or Clair de Musc, rather than make the commitment. In the latter camp are the classical houses, bastions of perfumery: Chanel, Caron, Jean Patou, and Guerlain. In such cases, you are dealing with celebrities who generally get their own way. It may not turn out to be your way. And yet, I treasure L'Heure Bleue and No. 19 though they are both strange and difficult—if you are used to Aquolina, that is. Tabac Blond is actually rather gross, but which among my samples do I reach for again and again? You got it, Tabac Blond. Regardless of whether the style suits you (discussion continued in Part 2), a perfume with substance commands respect. It is like any person worth knowing: individuals with infinite interest and often strange habits, but with the true grace of being comfortable with one's imperfections. Tabac Blond, in the beginning, is something that might be concisely described as "dirty ashtrays and ball sweat" before moving onto a carnation-and-leather accord that is equally bizarre but inconsistently glorious. People talk about Serge Lutens being "difficult to get to know", and it kind of makes me laugh. Some do demand a little patience, but it is a matter of minutes. Carons sometimes take weeks to get to know. I am still weirded out by Tabac Blond, quite a lot actually, and yet I return to my sample out of instinctual impulse, sheer intrigue draws me in. By contrast, how many Serge Lutens has that kind of pull? One. Tubéreuse Criminelle, and that is because I love tuberose (it is myself that I am making fun of, above). I've reviewed most of them and they have already dribbled away from the forefront of my consciousness, while Tabac Blond whispers from around the corner, "Wear me," and willy nilly, here I am. Labels: caron, jean patou, perfume, philosophy, serge lutens, the mnemonic sense
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Beauty Notes: The Four Stages of Minimalism Posted by Dain, Thursday, December 27, 2007 4:57 AM (Eastern) One night, I had taken too many amphetamines—not a common occurrence, mind, one of those youthful indiscretions—and in that queer frantic frenzy (you are a bit like a piranha on speed), I spoke to God. Now, I am Buddhist by upbringing, so this was highly unlikely, but an immense pressure laid me prostrate and choking, and I felt rather than heard the following: "Why do you not believe in me?" None of Schopenhauer's bitter philosophies rose to mind; why fight philosophy with philosophy? I told him, "There are many of those who claim belief without living it as it were as truth, which is belief itself. You of all know that in matters spiritual that appearances matter least." And he agreed with me, because the pressure that threatened to crush me suddenly lifted. I have a certain perverse antipathy towards all normative modes of thought, belief, and of course, shopping—including my own. Minimalism is not for everyone. I like people who think for themselves, who are more inclined to disagree than agree, and admit that the greatest absurdity of all is some paradisaical belief in human perfection. It is just, I take offense at the notion that I can make up for my faults with material objects, where "the things you own end up owning you". Some are necessary for practical matters of form, such as a well-cut suit for work, and others for the enjoyment of life, such as a significant piece of jewelry, and all else is "shit you don't need." (Both quotes from Fight Club.) In times when consumer drive has more power than the right to vote, minimalism is a queer philosophy, hinging on the rarest of maxims: I have enough. Three little words, so difficult to say. Not surprisingly, it requires much patience, and in fact hones your taste and discernment to a greater degree than mere accumulation. There are four stages: (1) casting about not knowing what you like, (2) an accumulation in which there are standouts and surplus, (3) the deliberate process of tweaking and keeping an eye out, and occasionally being struck by lightning, (4) nirvana. ![]() Here is where I stand:
Skincare: 3 ½ A bit premature to declare 4 (I should wait till a year rolls by to be absolutely certain of its fitness), but it is close: Lancôme Bi-Facil, Primavera Refining Exfoliating Cleanser, Jurlique Herbal Recovery Cream, Embryolisse Lait-Crème Concentré. The heart of this routine is very simple and pure, the Primavera cleanser and the Jurlique treatment, and though softer, brighter skin is apparent from the first, the effects are cumulative. What you end up with is healthy, normal skin. This is hardly a poetic description, but it is exactly what skincare should do, for when the skin is normal and healthy, it takes care of itself. Of course, my skin tends to be dry, and I wear makeup, so some additions are necessary. Hair: 4 By default, because I'll admit, as long as I have Phyto 7, which I go through as other women do mascara, it does not matter. It keeps the parched ends of my long, dry hair silky soft, and again, the effects are cumulative. I prefer basic products that smell good—a shampoo that does not strip, a conditioner that moisturizes—I daresay I'll return to Nature's Gate. I tried the CO Wash, but I just... don't like the way cheap conditioners smell. Closet: 3 I have more to say about this, but it is an ongoing project, chronicled in greater detail in Closet Confidential. The ultimate goal is to fit my entire wardrobe in one generous piece of luggage, an ambitious project, to be sure, but I think I'll live. It requires very careful consideration, though, so it has progressed slowly thus far. Perfume: 2 Pathetic, I need to work on this, though I have begun the process of paring down what I have gathered heedlessly from ebay and the occasional press kit. Thankfully, The Perfumed Court has graciously allowed me to sample a few of their myriad offerings, and the interview and reviews shall be forthcoming, in the ongoing series, The Mnemonic Sense. Labels: beauty notes, minimalism, philosophy
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Fashion Notes: Why It Matters Posted by Dain, Saturday, December 22, 2007 12:18 AM (Eastern) There is much I have to say against the world of fashion. Here are two. The egomaniacal designers... ![]() The vapid celebrities wearing their shit... ![]() Anyone with the least glimmer of intelligence can easily oppose hyperconsumerism/lifestyle obsession/the cult of skinny/celebrity voyeurism/youth worship: it is vulgar, shallow, and ultimately it is The Man preying on your insecurities. But I don't like holier-than-thou intellectuals ragging on fashion and beauty and shopping either. Really laidback, down-to-earth people don't get zealous or sneering. It is hypocrisy: it takes genuine self-knowledge and discretion to dress well, and to assume otherwise is to look at the surface and make assumptions about the individual's value. There is absolutely no reason why a rich inner life must necessarily constitute ugly clothing. It is undeniably shallow to place too much importance on being fashionable, but it strikes me as equally shallow to be too important for fashion. Much has been made of how clothing is a form of communication, but I take offense at people who would ruin their faculties of taste in favor of ego. Fashion is neither that important nor that unimportant, and always there is a very great difference between dressing fashionably and dressing well. When Paris Hilton goes to jail in head-to-toe Chanel, she is communicating, "I am fabulous and important and everyone cares that I am a felon. I have the interlocking Cs to prove it." But someone who scoffs, "Why waste your time and money? If you are an intelligent, serious person then you don't want to be mistaken for a bimbo like Paris Hilton," she's got it wrong, too; that's just anti-style. Style isn't a celebration of ego, but of taste. I prefer the more graceful view of sartorial communication: a well-dressed individual tells the world, "I enjoy life". Style it turns out, has nothing whatsoever to do with expense, gender, age, or trends-consciousness: Labels: chanel, fashion notes, philosophy Closet Confidential: Introduction Posted by Dain, Monday, November 12, 2007 1:43 AM (Eastern) From the general to the specific. Now that my stash is well in hand, it seems natural to put my closet in order. Neither my taste nor my approach may suit you, but as I've said before, style is a sort of controlled display of eccentricity, and for better or for worse, this is personal. Here is the mission statement: a wardrobe so intensely minimal that it will fit in a single (but generous) piece of luggage, but impeccably chosen for seamless mixing and matching, yet is completely expressive. A high order, but why not? I think a great deal on why women shop and how women wear things. So much of what one reads, in print and on the internet, extorts the things themselves, which is wonderful for inspiration but useless in practice. There will be small doses of fantasy here and there, but for the most part this will be a real-life experiment. As such, it will follow the vagaries of my own taste rather than a systematic "I need this" approach. It might take years before I can [afford to] gather everything together, but once it's done, it's done. I need only replace. Though there are some women who execute an immense closet masterfully, so many others struggle with an overflow of very little style. I really believe that there is a discrepancy between the clothes we wear and the clothes we buy: a sort of functional redundancy. Who hasn't felt the fleeting joy of an unnecessary acquisition? Self-control is so dull. And yet, if you never buy anything that inspires lukewarm feelings but rather genuine adoration, even if it is as simple as "this black t-shirt has the perfect fit!", you will never feel the lack. As your eye sharpens, so will your wardrobe, pared down to the beautiful things you love. You may worry, "Won't it look a little odd, wearing the same things all the time?" No. No one cares. If you are well dressed, you are well dressed. If someone gives you crap, they need to get a life. First purchase, American Apparel Nylon Weekender Duffle Bag ($32): ![]() Labels: american apparel, closet confidential, minimalism, philosophy Beauty Notes: Color Theory (part 3) Posted by Dain, Wednesday, November 07, 2007 1:44 AM (Eastern) This isn't so much part 3 as it is an addendum. These are my colors (as opposed to concealer and mascara, which are not "colors"), palette-esque layout, though I rather prefer tubes for lipcolors. Odd how I keep linking to these posts, but I recommend perusing part 1 and part 2 if you are interested in what led up to this brief blurb. I don't have very many face shots as I'm generally camera-shy and when people do take pictures of me I tend to stare off into the distance. ![]()
Everyday Lipcolor NARS Gothika is essentially my first favorite lipcolor (Jane Loco Cocoa) all grown up: a burnished rose with soft gold shimmer, with substantial berry undertones a slight browned peachiness—so superbly balanced that it supplants all other lipcolors Intense Lipcolor except when I desire drama, in which case Giorgio Armani Armanisilk #46 Bordeaux, a creamy raspberry-tinged crimson (cool, but more subdued than a purplish blue-red) that flatters exemplarily Smoky Liner the easy-smudge formula of MAC Teddy Kohl, with its better-than-basic sable shimmer, pairs with absolutely everything "Fleshtone" Eyecolor the silvered champagne of NARS All About Eve may look a boring beige, but the conglomerate of many shimmers (silver, beige, peach, gold, even pink and green) mimics light itself Complementary Eyecolor for something fresh and pretty, I trade in Chanel Lavande as a wash, an ethereal lilac of stunning complexity that goes not the way of inferior lilacs: over-frosty, superpastel, too blue, too pink, delicate but not ephemeral Contrasting Eyecolor the moody sea blue of L'Oréal HIP Sassy is gorgeously edgy as liner (applied over black pencil, thusly included), especially in concert with the brown of my eyes I should make a disclaimer. In no way do I support a uniformity of style, because style is always personal. I do believe that minimalism hones your taste because it forces to you make more deliberate choices, but it's hardly for everyone. As for the "Unified Color Theory", it is merely a far more certain method of choosing colors than that warm/cool/neutral nonsense or stuff like "Asians should wear such and such a shade." In truth, I wear the same sort of colors as a cool blonde (this may sound odd, but it makes sense when you consider that blonde hair is actually the same pigment as black hair, just extremely dilute), which makes very little sense according to stock advice. As for these frivolities we buy and spend so much time on (at least, I do), what's the point if they don't make us feel better about ourselves? What I object to is the abuse of shopping as a crutch. It's sort of like the difference between someone who enjoys a cocktail and an alcoholic. If you haven't seen Hedwig and |
May 8, 2008 3:08 AM,
I like your reasoning and it does make sense. There is something to be said for a composition's resonance with people too and some of those are popular for a very good reason, as you succinctly point out.
Lovely piece!