An Olfactory Betrayal

I have a distressing confession to make.

My new favorite fragrance is Nirvana Black. It is full-bodied without being heavy. Spicy without being incense-y. With just a hint of sweetness, but not so much that you could be mistaken for a roll of Smarties.

It is manufactured by the Elizabeth and James brand.

Which is owned by Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen.

I am fifty-three years old.

I am too old to purchase a perfume from the brand which brought us How the West Was Fun and New York Minute.

Plus, I have never been a sucker for celebrity endorsement.

The first thought which pops into my head when I see someone's name on a bottle of perfume is: Why would I want to smell like Elizabeth Taylor (too divorcee) , Christina Aguilera (too Idol-y), David Beckham (too sweaty) or Jennifer Aniston (too friend-y).

Except for Judy Garland.

Actually, back from the grave Judy Garland.

It was the Clinique campaign using vintage video of Judy in her black bodysuit and top hat singing "Come on Get Happy" that prompted me to run out do just that. The fragrance is exactly as advertised. I can't wear it without feeling happy.

And now this.

Nirvana-Black.

I feel all mysterious and sophisticated when I spritz my sample bottle* to my wrists. I want to sit in cafes with striped awnings dripping rain and drink french press coffee in my long flowy skirt and oversized bowler hat as I wait for a dark stranger with a luxuriously full head of hair to arrive and whisk me away on his motorcycle.

Not at all the image I get when I think of a fragrance by two tweeny-bopper icons.

Have Mercy!

(Okay, this is NOT the catchphrase from that spunky Michelle Tanner (aka – MaryKate and Ashley) because seriously. I did not watch Full House for a goofy looking baby. Like every other woman in America I watched it for Uncle Jesse aka John Stamos. And thankfully that fact has not gone unnoticed by the Greek Yogurt Society.

Thank you Oikos.)

*This is in no way endorsed, nor paid for Elizabeth and James. My sample bottle is just that – a teensy little spritz which the counter girl at Sephora** filled for me after I spent one too many Benjamins on a cover stick.

**This is also in no way endorsed by Sephora. But should the marvelous people at Sephora consider contacting me, I am down with whatever you have in mind.