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Post by Cynthia on Jun 7, 2005 16:26:25 GMT -5
A ... L'Air du Temps by Nina Ricci 
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Post by Cynthia on Jun 7, 2005 16:29:49 GMT -5
B ... Boss by Hugo Boss 
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Post by Cynthia on Jun 7, 2005 16:31:52 GMT -5
C ... Charlie by Revlon 
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Post by NorthernDancer on Jun 7, 2005 20:33:19 GMT -5
Dior...........their signature perfume.
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Post by sootycat on Jun 8, 2005 9:59:16 GMT -5
 Eternity |
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Post by NorthernDancer on Jun 8, 2005 10:47:06 GMT -5
Forever..................Liz Taylor.
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Post by sootycat on Jun 9, 2005 9:34:35 GMT -5
 G |
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Post by NorthernDancer on Jun 9, 2005 10:31:41 GMT -5
Happy by Clinique.
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Post by Cynthia on Jun 9, 2005 14:08:41 GMT -5
I ... "In Love Again" by Yves St. Laurent 
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Post by Cynthia on Jun 9, 2005 14:12:24 GMT -5
J ... The absolute tops!! The very best!! My all-time favourite ... Je Reviens by Worth 
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Post by NorthernDancer on Jun 9, 2005 15:53:52 GMT -5
KL by Karl Lagerfeld.
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Post by NorthernDancer on Jun 9, 2005 15:54:19 GMT -5
Love's Baby Soft.
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Post by Cynthia on Jun 9, 2005 15:59:53 GMT -5
M ... Midnight in Paris
Does anyone remember this?? - that ubiquitous dark blue arrowhead-shaped bottle? I've searched the Net - find lots of references to it, but nowhere an image to be found - even tried eBay France.
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Post by sootycat on Jun 10, 2005 10:14:32 GMT -5
Do they make that any more ??  Nude...........by Bill Blass |
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Post by Cynthia on Jun 11, 2005 14:06:43 GMT -5
M ... Midnight in Paris Does anyone remember this?? - that ubiquitous dark blue arrowhead-shaped bottle? I've searched the Net - find lots of references to it, but nowhere an image to be found - even tried eBay France.  Oooh! Am I embarassed!! It wasn't Midnight in Paris, but Evening in Paris and there are oodles of images available.  Apologies to all. So, for "M", I'll substitute Maia  and since Sootycat gave us Nude for "N", the next one will be "O". But before you go, while I was looking for Maja, I found this really interesting article about perfumes which I found both true and in spots hilarious. Have a read: The scent of a real woman; Julie Burchill; Saturday June 28, 2003 The Guardian ... When I was young, before "fragrances" were light, blameless and lifestyley, "perfume" was a rite of passage almost as scary and seductive as the idea of sex itself. In recent years, the fashion houses have tried to recreate those heady days with edgily named scents such as Dior Addict and Gucci Rush, but they still look, and smell, like what they are: the creations of squealing rag f*gs made with squawking f*g hags in mind. Similarly, the heavy 1980s smells such as Dior Poison and YSL Opium tried too hard to be shocking, and they stunk into the bargain, like bad, bitter sex bottled; suitable only for drag queens and Norma Desmond. For two decades now, the high street has offered the choice between smelling like a citrus fruit on one hand and an old fruit on the other - with the ceaseless exception of Guérlain, whose perfumes, alongside parliamentary democracy and the pill, make a very good case for the 20th century being the best of all possible times. When I was growing up, perfume was about enchantment, mystery and The Magic Hour: that time between daylight and darkness named by the great cinematographer Jack Cardiff as the slo-mo moment when everyone looks a little more beautiful. You didn't wear it in the daytime, and you didn't "spritz" or "splash"; it was far too precious. You put a tiny bit behind each ear and on each wrist and a dab on your throat. It was weird watching your mum do it at her dressing table on a Saturday evening, before she and your dad went to a dinner dance, as if she was this whole other person who had never worn a bri-nylon overall behind the cold meats counter or slapped your legs (ineffectually) or drunk too many snowballs one Christmas and mysteriously made a strawberry Rowntree's jelly in my gran's commode after we'd gone to bed, even though she never admitted to it. It set solid and gave my gran a terrible turn the next day; after that, she always warned me to keep an eye on Mum because, though she seemed nice, she'd do anything for thrills... And so perfume back then was the bottled Me-Time for a generation of women, a whiff of permissible and safe sex, when sex was still dirty and dangerous - even as late as the early 1970s, intelligent, kind, non-religious, working-class women such as my mother referred to cohabiting couples as "living in sin", and she wasn't joking or laughing. This was a long time before we were living in a nonstop Carry On film full of FCUK posters, chocolate thingyes in every corner shop and lap-dancing clubs on every high street; perfumes were called My Sin, Soir de Paris and, my childish favourite, Tabu, a deep, rich olfactory stew from Spain, whose ad featured a drawing of a girl boasting one neat horn, if you please, on her otherwise normal head. A bit too taboo, apparently, for she was replaced by a faux-Victorian painting of a brunette in a satin gown being crushed in a passionate embrace by a man holding a violin - shades of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler. Then it was the 1970s, and everything started getting a bit... messy. Those discreet grande dames such as Je Reviens and Arpège took a back seat to the light, flighty likes of Tramp, Charlie and LouLou. And as for Tweed, well, it was never going to be safe in the brave new world that belonged to FCUK. Where once girls had longed to be women and use the powdery, rich perfumes that would identify them as such, now women were desperate to be girls, and began to douse themselves with the fragrance equivalents of alcopops to prove the point. ... |
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