Insolence by Guerlain
Day 9 of the Heapnose Perfume Diary. Today I’m wearing Insolence by Guerlain.
Hilary Swank isn’t the most obvious choice to be the “face” of a fragrance. Yes she was good as that lez in “Boys Don’t Cry”. And she was also good as that fighting lez in “Million Dollar Baby” and as that flying lez in “Earhart.” Hilary Swank is a lot of things – an Oscar winning actress, a high-earning Hollywood heavyweight, and the proud owner of a rare African parrot. But she’s not exactly feminine. Her own IMDB page admits as much
“For a few weeks before Boys Don’t Cry (1999) began filming, she went out in public dressed as a boy. Many were fooled by the disguise.”
One can only wonder who Guerlain asked before they hit upon the Swank. Diane Keaton? Kofi Annan? Yogi Bear perhaps
? Regardless, Swank it was, and, upon reflection, and after a quick glance at the dictionary definition of Insolent perhaps she’s not such a bad choice after all:
in-so-lent
adj.
Presumptuous and insulting in manner or speech; arrogant.
In fact if you precede this with “Swank is likely to punch you if you are…” then you’ve pretty much got a text book definition of our friend Hilary. Combine this with an ad campaign which Guerlain no doubt would call Fierce and Heapnose no doubt would call Threatening bordering on terrifying and you have yourselves a match made in heaven.
I just wish they’d gone all the way with their campaign. If you’re going to use Swank and you’re going to get her to look a bit moody, then hells bells, let the poor lass dress in her customary overalls…give her a toolbelt. Don’t make her wear pink and stand next to a flower, she looks like a bull about to be let out to pasture.
But what of the fragrance? Insolence is apparently Guerlain’s attempt to break free of the shackles of its “posh” reputation and entice a younger breed of client. Guerlain is the world’s oldest parfumerie – My great grandmother (Jennie) actually used to wear Mitsouko and the traditional Guerlain base notes are still prevalent in the house’s modern fragrances
Your friend and mine, Mimi Frou Frou remarks that the perfume’s true notes are not immediately obvious
“Insolence is seen as a hidden force rather than as exhibited as immediate proof and demonstration of one’s mettle.”
This is true actually, you need to wear it for a good twenty minutes before you can get an accurate read on it – whether or not this is a demonstration of my hidden mettle I couldn’t say. What I can tell you is that the perfume includes hints of orange blosom, rose, sandalwood, raspberry and..erm tonka bean. I know what you’re thinking – thank goodness for the tonka bean. The lady on the Guerlain counter today informed me gravely that she rarely wears any fragrance which doesn’t include a Tonka Bean. I tried to summon an appropriate response that didn’t sound like I was taking the piss…
“Yeah, I know what you mean…”
…was the best I could come up with.
Is it nice? Yeah, it is. It’s different to your standard Clinique or Dior, and with the current rage for all things Vintage, the old fashioned under-belly of the fragrance is actually surprisingly relevant. It’s a bit like a funky talcum powder. I like it. But the best thing about it is Swank.
Usually a fragrance I like will either transport me back to a favourite childhood memory, or forward to a life of charming idyll with Beardy, in which we live extravagantly but happily off the Royalties from the Heapnose book, TV series and 3D IMAX experience. Conversely, Insolence transports me to a parallel universe in which Swank and I live happily together…perhaps on a small-holding in America’s midwest . She’d teach me how to knock up a treehouse from a few bits of wood. I’d show her how to preserve the pears from our orchard. Perhaps we’d have a goat. And a cheeky front door mat which read ”Meet the Swankers” It would be a simple life. But a good one.
Until tomorrow noses
x Heapnose x
L’Eau D’Issey by Issey Miyake
Day 8 of the Heapnose Perfume Diary. Today I’m wearing L’Eau D’Issey by Issey Miyake.
I’ll begin this diary entry by explaining that Issey Miyake’s signature fragrance has spawned a wealth of (badly written) reviews, ranging from the vaguely nob-like
” I love to wear [L'Eau D'Issey] in order to achieve a detached peace of mind, or as a releaf for mental thirst for water-derived tranquility”
to the completely bizarre
“If l’Eau d’Issey could have a sound, it will definitely have the sparkling, chilly & magnetizing synthesized studio sound of Donald Fagen and Steely Dan.”
Issey’s aim in creating this fragrance was (reportedly) to capture the smell of water. Or as one inspired blogger writes
“…most importantly, it is the only water that can be enjoyed when drunk through the nostrils.”
Whether you choose to read this comment as profound (as if) or bat-shit crazy (more likely) there is a hint of the aquatic about L’Eau D’Issey. Perhaps it’s the notes of Water-Lily, the rain-drop bottle or even the completely transparent colour; but there is a certain freshness to the scent, supported by a terrific sweet honey fragrance. This combination makes it a good-for-all seasons perfume and explains its continuing popularity, 18 years after its first release. Or perhaps the ever-resourceful British public has been using it as a “releaf for mental thirst for water-derived tranquility.” Yes, actually, that must be it.
Earlier, as I was drinking it through my nostrils I asked myself why I’ve never bought this perfume. I’ve always really liked it, it’s reasonably priced, and, on the whole I have nothing against the Japanese. Plus, it easily passes all three stages of the Heapnose perfume test – I can even pronounce its name without sounding like a knob-head. For a fragrance which has been around for nigh on 20 years it’s remained refreshingly contemporary without ever becoming a classic. It can be dressed up or down, and, you know, most importantly it might releaf my mental thirst for water derived tranquility.
Plus, according to my new favourite perfume blogger
“It can even be used as a substitute for a shower if necessary…”
Sold. I might nip into town and see if they’ve got any post-Christmas gift sets on sale.
Stella by Stella McCartney
Ms Stella McCartney
c/o Paul McCartney
London, England
15.02.10
Dear Ms McCartney
I am writing to you from the popular fragrance blog www.heapnose.com to express my recent enjoyment of your original fragrance Stella by Stella McCartney.
As I’m sure you’re aware www.Heapnose.com has fast become the go-to internet site for all things fragrance related. Our readers are as varied and disparate as our fragrance reviews, hailing from such far flung locations as Toronto, Cardiff, Washington DC, London, Paris, LA and Weston-Super-Mare. The rich diversity amongst Heapnose readers is never more obvious than in the google searches which have led visitors to the Heapnose blog. Yesterday “is Richard Armitage dating?” and “Guy girl dog threesome” were the order of the day, whereas this Monday morning saw “Digestive biscuits” and “Lesbian games” the mots du jour.
Recent press reports confirm Heapnose’s rising status among fragrance aficionados. I’ll refrain here from quoting yesterday’s articles in the Sunday Times Style Magazine and American Vogue (Thanks Anna, luv u 2) and direct you instead to the smorgasbord of incisive comments left by Heapnose fans on the blog itself. Described by Rita Silvan Editor-in-Chief of Elle Canada magazine as “Funny…which is a good thing” and by my friend Claire G as “Getting much better” Heapnose truly is at the forefront of modern fragrance reviewing – which is why, barely eight years after the release of your eponymous fragrance I chose to wear and review Stella by Stella McCartney on Day 7 of the Heapnose Perfume Diary.
Stella, I can only congratulate you. Choosing a classic fragrance (rose) traditionally associated with old women (piss) was 
a bold move, but one which you executed with aplomb. Your fragrance succeeds in being both elegant and contemporary, slightly austere yet somehow sexy. Although critics have traditionally objected to your “ugly bovine eyes” and “dour expression,” with regard to this fragrance, and indeed in light of your father’s recent costly divorce, they cannot fault your judgement. You were, after all right about Heather.
You’ll no doubt be pleased to learn that you fared well on all three stages of the stringent Heapnose perfume testing. In the “Effortless Elegance” category you performed moderately well – losing points not on the fragrance itself but rather on your own somewhat try-hard friendships with the now not-so-young Hollywood set. Do you actually like Gwyneth Paltrow? Because nobody else does. For longevity you achieved a solid 6 out of ten, and, in fact your lightweight bottle makes “on-the-go” touch ups so easy that you there’s scope for improving this score over the coming months/years. As for “Can I pronounce (your) name without sounding like a knobhead?” . Stella, you passed with flying colours.
I am also relieved to read of your corporate commitment to lacto-ovo vegetarianism. Heapnose readers will no doubt rest a little easier tonight, safe in the knowledge that no animals, plants or unfertilized eggs were harmed in the making of the Heapnose Perfume Diary Day 7.
Stella, I hope you’ll check in with your friends here at Heapnose from time to time. Ongoing litigation re: the naming of your latest endeavour “Nude” will no doubt prevent you from being a regular Heapnose commentator, but don’t be a stranger.
With all good wishes for the continued success of your clothing emporium, organic skincare line and perfume range
Yours Fragrantly
Heapnose and co.
Pomegranate Noir by Jo Malone
Day 6 of the Heapnose perfume diary. Today I’m wearing Pomegranate Noir by Jo Malone.
There’s lots of reasons to like Pomegranate Noir: The main reason being that this award winning fragrance forced me to learn how to spell Pomegranate…I’ve been foxed by that one for a while now, and I don’t mind saying that Microsoft spell checker completely hung me out to try. I almost stopped eating pomegranates because of it. Sunday Times readers might have celebrated when the damned things were hailed as the new superfood, but for this nervous blogger, they represented vast fruity fetters on my (largely) uncensored prose . For years I’ve been terrified to write about my penchant for pomegranate juice: I’ve been pretending that I start my day with a glass of orange, sometimes apple, but never that damned cursed pomegranate.
Now though, I feel as though I can write it about as freely as I would the humble pear, and it’s a cause for celebration here at Heapnose Towers.
Most Jo Malone fragrances have a bit of a “Ronseal” policy – ie they do exactly what they say on the tin. The Grapefruit Cologne
is great if you want to smell like a grapefruit, ditto the Red Roses Cologne, but Pom Noir is a tad more complicated, and features lots of plum, frankincense and spicy woods (see diagram right). Perfect for the cold weather.
Ms Malone is also famous for creating fragrances which blend well with one another to create a new and unique scent. So you could for example lighten this Pom Noir by layering it with Nectarine Blossom and Honey, or by using it in conjunction with the Orange Blossom body butter. Alternatively you could do neither and use the money you save to buy a car, put your kids through college or travel around the world. Twice.
No, Jo does not come cheap, nor is she one to jump on the oh-so-trite January sales bandwagon. I’ve often found her fruity fragrances a bit fruity (see Ronseal policy, above) and her florals a bit pissy, but Pomegranate Noir is well worth the investment, and, in fact, only gets better as the day wears on.
It’s that perfect blend of classic contemporary, modern but discreet, warm but not overwhelming. I love it.
“That’s purple that is”
announced Sion the Amiable Translator, in a flash of inspiration as I breezed past this morning. The man is a genius.
Pomegranate Noir is in fact the first perfume that my (then) housemate and (now) boyfriend ever bought me. I’m not prone to sentiment on this blog – but since this will likely be my last post before Valentine’s day, I hope you’ll indulge me just this once. Actually it’s not a terribly romantic tale…He bought me the perfume on a Thursday and we were an item by the following Saturday. The formula was simple but effective. I recall my (then) boss and (now) good mate Ife remarking, the morning after the giving of the gift that “ [your] housemate will be wanting more than a cooked breakfast from you my girl.” How right she was. 18 months and 2 immigration applications later, we’re pretty grand actually.
Happy Valentine’s Day Noses
Love x Heapnose x
Premier Figuier Extreme by L’Artisan Parfumeur
Day 5 of the Heapnose Perfume Diary and today I’m wearing…do you know I can’t even bring myself to say it, let alone type it. So let’s pretend that you all read the title of this post and already know which perfume I’m wearing. Let’s assume also that you are all painfully aware that this perfume did not pass the Heapnose “Can I pronounce it’s name without sounding like a knobhead?” test.
Why don’t Germans make perfumes? I would have much more fun doing a cod German accent “Ya I am wearing zee Eine Kleine Nacht Wasser by Wilhelm Schmidt” than I currently have, getting my tongue round these pretentious French names. Plus, I bet with a German perfume you’d know exactly what you’re getting “smells like apfels und roses”, the portions would be hearty, and the application efficient.
Nonetheless, somewhere in the midst of all this French there is a clue as to the base note of this fragrance. Yes indeed, figs are the order of the day. Often described as “nature’s sweetener” the rising trend in organic skincare and shit, means that figs are enjoying something of a heyday in fragrant circles, and I must say, I’m not averse to their perfume in the slightest, despite not being terribly keen on their taste.
I wish I could take my figgy self over to Sion the Amiable Translator’s office to bid him a Gutten Tag and get a decent report on today’s fragrance, but alas, work commitments have taken me away from office for the day so you’ll just have to make do with the Heapnose verdict for now.
And I love it. It’s all green figs wrapped in coconut milk, and it’s so gloriously different from the standard Romantic scents that the design houses wheel out year after year. Diptyque’s Phylosykos (which I will review anon) is its nearest rival in the fig world, and probably holds more cache amongst the Liberty Perfume Hall set, but I really think that this is the nicer fragrance of the two. It’s a less pure fig scent, but to be honest, who wants to smell like a bona fide fig orchard when they’re popping down the local for a swift half before last orders. On the minus side, it is bone chillingly expensive (starts at about 50 to 60 quid in Britain), and can be tricky to get hold of. Unless you live in France.
I’m sorry that it’s just me weighing in on the old fragrance today: I had a look at what our friend Bois de Jasmin had to say about this one, but frankly anyone who uses the word “orchestration” in a perfume review, should by rights, be gunned down, so I’ll refrain from quoting her. Suffice to say she thought it was sehr gut as well.
x Heapnose x
Eau Des Merveilles by Hermes
Day 4 of the Heapnose perfume diary. Today I’m wearing Eau Des Merveilles by Hermes.
Traditionally, I’ve never been a fan of this perfume. I’ve always thought it smelled like a really nice men’s fragrance…that’s been dunked in chip fat and seasoned with pepper. Plus, as far as the “Can I pronounce its name without sounding like a knobhead” part of the test goes, it’s an Epic Fail. Epic. What old Hermes no doubt thought was a stylistic flourish is bordering on a social handicap.
If I thought you cared I would tell you that Eau Des Merveilles is first in a family of three Merveilles releases -the second and third being Parfum and Elixir Des Merveilles, respectively. But I don’t really care, and I doubt that you do, so let’s get to the good stuff. THE BOTTLE DOUBLES AS A MAGNIFYING GLASS. Jonesy and I are going to have a riot with this one in the office today… I hope there’s some sort of magnifying glass emergency which calls for me to whip out my trusty bottle of Hermes. I only have three days remaining on my contract and truth be told I’ve been looking for ways to make myself indispensable. Starting rumours that my co-workers steal things has not proven fruitful so far (and in fact has somewhat diminished my popularity in the office) so this might be just the tool I need to win favour with my producer.
Now, to the fragrance itself. Your friend and mine, that bastion of popular fragrance bloggers “Bois de Jasmin” remarks that
“An inky note appears in the heart of the composition, and although slightly sharp at first, it develops into salty undercurrent touched by dry peppery warmth.”
See I was right about the pepper…And the “salty undercurrent” might account for my chip fat theory. Time to ask Sion the Amiable Translator if he can detect the inky note at the heart of the composition. If he’s thinking in colours today, we may strike gold.
“Green grass, brown bread and…my mother.”
Today, it appears, he is thinking in foliage, food and family.
Rachel in the office reckons it’s too spicy, Anne thinks it’s lovely but a bit like her Great Aunt’s bathroom, and Jonesy is too busy marveling at the magnifying glass to care too much about the perfume.
I’ve been wearing it for three hours now and as the scent settles it does get more palatable. But on the whole, my feeling is that liking this perfume requires far more time and effort than not liking it. Plus I sound like a knobhead everytime I try and say its name. When a perfume’s main selling point is its bottle, you’re on dodgy ground – so, I reckon, sod it and on with the next.
Love x heapnose x
Coco Chanel
9th February 2010
Day 3 of the Heapnose perfume diary. Today I’m wearing Coco Chanel.
But before we get to that, some administrative notes. First and foremost a huge thank you for the recent surge in Heapnose visitors. Whether you visited because you like it, because you value my opinion and respect my nose… or because you still believe that you’ll get free cheesecake if you see it through to the end. Whatever the reason, yesterday Heapnose had so many 
visitors that they had to make the statistics graph (well my statistics graph) BIGGER in order to accommodate the inflated readership. Yes indeed. 146 Visitors. Only 854 readers away from being able to sell advertising space. To Britney Spears. Heapnose will only ever endorse Britney Spears’s Fantasy. And that’s a promise.
I’ll refrain from thanking you all individually. Actually I won’t. Expect phone calls tonight everyone.
Enough sentiment. On a more serious note – to the person who found Heapnose by googling “Lesbian Dogs” – Dude, I’m not sure that this is the blog for you. And no cheesecake for you either. That’s just weird.
Back to the task at hand -and the perfume du jour. The one, the only Coco Chanel. Ordinarily I wouldn’t waste this on the office, but a.) it’s unseasonably cold outside so ordinary fragrance hierarchy rules don’t apply b.) I thought it was time to hit the second floor with a fully fledged classic c.) It’s not actually mine – it belongs to Pat Heap, so I don’t mind so much.
Jonesy told me in the lift that it smells like “old woman…covering up piss.” Ian the Nice Northerner asked when it might calm down. (Honestly, no chance, I brought the bottle with me for a lunchtime top-up) before observing that it smelled “slightly like talcum powder…but not in a bad way”.
Granted, it is a little more mature than my usual choices, and I am asking the office to take a bit of a leap with this one – nonetheless I knew I’d get something sound from Sion the amiable translator. As it turned out, today Sion was thinking in places, not colours.
“St David’s Hotel…Cardiff”
Madonna stayed there, the cast of Doctor Who live there, and you can’t buy a drink for less than a tenner. Classy it is. Wise is he.
Coco did have a propensity for spouting a load of old wank “In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different…” but fair play the old dame could knock out a decent fragrance. Despite the mixed reviews received from the office, Coco Chanel is still absolutely unique, and absolutely timeless. Quite simply the quintessential classic. She even added a touch of class to my acid wash jeans, pony sweatshirt and plastic pearls combo – a laudable feat in and of itself.
It’s a phenomenal fragrance. I won’t belittle this with talk of effortless elegance (she typifies it) or of longevity (she lasts longer than the longest night) or even whether or not I can say her name without sounding like a knobhead (her name falls from my lips like gentle summer rain). Coco Chanel. Simply Perfect.
x Heapnose x
Ps Don’t buy Coco Mademoiselle. It’s crap.
Rosewood by Banana Republic
Day 2 of the perfume diary and I’ve opted for a high street scent…well a high end high street scent, which, I think, is preferable to a low rent designer perfume (Yes, that’s you Ted Baker).
Reactions have been concededly mixed, ranging from bewilderment (“Why are you asking me how you smell?” Guy who cleans the windows) to complete indifference (“Why would I care how you smell? Lady in Post Office). Clearly gaging public reaction to my perfume is not going to be a daily component of the perfume diary.
Fortunately, Sion, the amiable translator who works on the same floor is both a.) short on visitors and b.) prone to smell in colours.
“Violet” he declared, as I poked my fragrant wrist round the door. Perfect. More from him tomorrow.
Jonesy thinks it’s too sweet so does Ian the nice Northener. I’m inclined to agree though I do think the woody notes temper the sweetness somewhat. Impressive staying power for a High Street scent too – I’m on hour 6 now and it shows no sign of waning. A great office perfume – inexpensive, not so nice that you resent wasting it on the office, and off the beaten track somewhat (well for UK residents at least – it’s not like I’m wearing CK One is it?) Long lasting subtlety is a difficult note to strike, but Rosewood does so with aplomb. Given it’s sweet overtones though, perhaps it’s better suited to a Tuesday or a Wednesday though – when the last vestiges of the weekend hangover have finally cleared.
Eau Dynamisante by Clarins
Today I’m wearing Eau Dynamisante by Clarins. My friend Donna gave me this, and despite not passing the “Flies Aint Dying I Aint Buying” test, a more subdued perfume can sometimes be a good thing. For days when you’re dressed in a tracksuit (ie 
today), when you had an exuberant drinking session the night before (ie yesterday), when you woke up to find your (beige) carpet covered in red wine vomit (ie this morning), when your Aunty Norma suggested dousing it in white wine vinegar to soak up the smell (ie this afternoon). Yes sometimes, just sometimes the idea of adding say Mugler’s Angel or Versace’s Crystale Noir to the heady red-wine-vinegar-vomit-febreze combo in your bedroom just doesn’t sit well.
Fortunately the good people at Clarins are prepared for days like this: “Vitality, Freshness, Firmness” is what it says on the bottle – it’s as if they somehow knew.
Hangover Sunday was a good day to track reactions to this perfume, notably because the palpable absence of my usual trappings (2 layers of foundation, a shit hot concealer, 6 inch heels and a sturdy pair of control tights) meant that the only way I could possibly garner any sort of favourable reaction from the opposite of sex, or in fact anyone at all, was in the way I smelled.
Pat Heap gave me the knowing ”rough night” nod on the landing earlier when she smelled it (though this was quickly replaced with a look of absolute horror as the door to my bedroom opened and the aromatic chaos within was revealed). The acne-ridden teen on the counter at Morrison’s seemed pretty pleased about the perfume too – though I think he was just relieved to see somebody else with weeping spots and a hint of a ‘tache. The scent probably didn’t register.
Still, I really like it, and it makes me feel sporty and fresh in a hint-of-tanned-midrif way, not in an intense-sunday-gym-session way.
Tomorrow I’ll return to the knock outs. But for now, I must turn my attentions to the dark stain on the carpet….
x Heapnose x
Idole d’Armani
Holy Noses I am Dying!
I’ve decided to look for what is possibly THE most elusive item in a lady’s fragrance collection. The Every-Day Perfume.
Having quickly decided that Michael Kors was too good to waste on the office and Jo Malone too expensive, I embarked on my EDP mission with a view to achieving three simple goals
1. Effortless Elegance
2. Longevity
3. Can i pronounce its name without sounding like a knobhead?
Effortless elegance was not going to be a problem. Stand next to the Calvin Klein counter, move three paces right and up ten quid, and you’re golden. Idole d’Armani was my fragrance of choice. Mimi Frou, who writes Another Less Good Perfume Blog describes it thus
“Idole d’Armani is, as it turns out, is a sociologically interesting and fine-smelling attempt to conciliate the olfactory codes of fast and fickle love and slow and enduring one in the sphere of perfumes.”
What I gather from this, is that Mimi Frou is a twat. She does however present a strong case for preventing perfume writing from making the leap to the mainstream. Well done Mimi.
I hadn’t realised, when i chose to review this fragrance as a potential EDP that Armani had in fact intended to create this perfume as a signature scent for women. ”As a real tribute to femininity, a big thank you to all the women who have inspired [Armani] over the years”.
Well, a better thank you might have been to give us the stuff for nothing. Still. The bottle itself is round (to represent femininity) and ribbed (to represent strength). Or, to put it another way, Armani thinks that as well as being fickle in our fragrance choices, women are also fat and argumentative.
Putting our personal differences aside, however, Big G really did strike gold with this one. I love a fragrance which has a faintly soapy undertone, and this is deliciously feminine without being either overtly sickly or overtly sexy.
Longevity, on the other hand, the holy grail for all would-be EDPs was going to require some stringent testing. This being Saturday night, and me being 26, sociable and, if not hot, then at least in possession of the makeup and underwear to fake it, I had big plans. Fortunately one of those Music Channels that isn’t MTV or VH1 was running a 4 hour marathon of Britain’s Top 100 Wedding Songs. I settled in.
Fair play, Idole d’Armani lasted effortlessly throughout numbers 79-50. It even survived a change into the pyjamas, some left over paella and two glasses of wine. By number 39 (Westlife- The Rose) she’d settled into a really warm, comforting scent that seemed to wrap me up, but didn’t overwhelm the room. At around number 27 (Foreigner- I Want to Know What Love Is) responding to a palpable absence of junk food in the house, I made myself a buttered-digestive-biscuit-sandwich. By number 18 (Sinead O’Connor – Nothing Compares 2 U) I’d fashioned a crude buttered-digestive-biscuit-sandwich-tower, and still Idole D’Armani remained.
Beardy called just before the top ten and after trying (and failing) to convince him I was in a club (“Sweetie, what club plays Toni Braxton – Unbreak My Heart?) and then a wedding (“Baby, if you’re at a wedding, why are you eating buttered digestive biscuit sandwiches?”) I realised I was too drunk to lie, and concentrated instead on playing a solo game of Jenga with my biscuit-sandwich-tower while Beardy talked about something else.
By number 5 (Lonestar – Amazed) I’d decided that Idole D’Armani could survive anything. By number 3 (Bryan Adams – Everything I Do) I’d proved that this included photocopying my own head using my parents’ new scanner. I’d found my winner.
As for the “Can I pronounce its name without sounding like a knobhead?” part of the test: I decided that in order to avoid another “Hermes – Un Jardin Sur Le Nil” debacle, i could, for now, just say casually, “I’m wearing Armani…you know, the newest one.” Problem solved.
Number One (Whitney Houston – I Will Always Love You) found me slumped amongst the remnants of my buttered-digestive-biscuit-sandwich-tower in a forlorn but fragrant mess. Idole D’Armani. Highly Recommended.
Love
x Heapnose x
