hortus conclusus

Last night I had to go directly from a yoga class at my local YMCA to a dinner with my thesis adviser and my husband, so I dabbed on a few drops of my favorite dinner perfume, Samsara , that love-it-or-hate it child of the eighties. It was only when I was sweating my way through my seventh sun salutation that I realized that the samsara was radiating off my body in waves because my body temperature had gone up. I was a little embarrassed. Although I love Samsara , many don’t, and the peace-loving essential oils or bust crowd assembled in that room probably was not appreciating my parfum de choix. I was perfectly happy, of course. The sandalwood and vanilla was going nuts, and I was enjoying my little fantasy journey beyond the confines of the utilitarian gym space filled with grumpy yuppies. Then the irony of the whole thing struck me; here we were, a bunch of overworked white professionals, trying to snag a moment in our days to seek enlightenment, and here I was, brin

I have to sit in a graduate seminar on Chaucer and Gower today, and it’s a tight space; I’ll need to wear something that is super close to the skin and unoffensive; most of my colleagues are of the modern perfume-haters school. I guess I will choose one of the least offensive—and least interesting—frags on my shelf. Bvlgari’s Thé Blanc will fit the bill. It is pleasant yet not far-reaching, wears well, and doesn’t smell anything like white tea (LOL). At times I enjoy its nondescript, expensive soapiness—it smells less like perfume and more like a good shower. And it certainly won’t distract me from my profound cogitations on Middle English poetry ; ). There; I put it on. I will report back later to let you know whether I am still pleased with my nondescript self when I get back from the university today. Back now: no one noticed. ; )

I have been thinking about two of my favorite teas, and wondering if an analysis of their properties might not get me closer to understanding my own fragrance preferences. They are as different as night and day, but equally wonderful in my mind. The first, Russian Caravan , is a deep, extremely smoky, black tea. It smells like tea and smoke in the most fabulously romantic way in the pot, and has a deep blackish brown color. There is, in my opinion, no other tea that goes as well with as many savory foods. Its smokiness makes it perfect for brunches with meat and eggs—it tastes absolutely lovely with sausage, bacon, and all that, for its depth of flavor matches or even exceeds the foodstuffs, and it complements the meaty, creamy flavors of breakfast so well. I love it with a bit of milk with some fat content, for it rounds out and enhances the smokiness of the tea and eliminates any potential bitterness. The other tea is very different from Russian Caravan, but no less exotic. Chi

-Guerlain Vetiver -Chanel Bois des Iles -Estee Lauder sensuous -Cade -Tea Rose -Burt's Bees Bay rum -L'occitan Pour Homme -Zents Earth -Guerlain Samsara -Pacifica Waikiki Pikake (March 31, 2010)