Thursday, August 11, 2016

Jimmy Choo: I Can't Fight It Anymore

Every time I take a 'what's your signature scent' quiz online, it points to Jimmy Choo eau de parfum. This started to annoy me because it's not that I hadn't ever tried Jimmy Choo, it's that I didn't get the appeal.  At first, it seemed like just another fruitchouli, all mainstream and ordinary.  


The thing is, I couldn't get it out of my mind and thoughts of Jimmy Choo stalked me relentlessly until one day earlier this summer when I visited a nearby Ulta to decide - once and for all - if Jimmy Choo was for me.  Every Ulta in the valley recognizes me because I can't seem to pass one without going in.  'Oh hi - we haven't seen you for a while.'  Or, 'Oh, hi - you're back again so soon.' Introverts never want to be called out this way.  You may greet me casually but don't comment on the frequency of my visits or ask if I need help. Just go about your business and never let on that you know I'm the crazy perfume lady that sprays paper strips and leaves them sitting by the appropriate perfume while wandering back and forth to smell each one at various stages of drydown.  Just look away.

What's worse is I never actually buy perfume at Ulta, but instead turn to discount outlets online.  Inner Farm Girl is nodding her approval.  However, I do buy make-up, hair stuff and nondescript clearance items that I neither want or need, which end up in our hall closet on the shelf above the towels and underneath the toilet paper.  Inner Farm Girl just shot me a dirty look.  Point is, I buy enough stuff at Ulta that I felt comfortable that day as I sprayed Jimmy Choo liberally on both arms before walking out of the store with no purchase at all. My car was parked a short jaunt away and I braced myself for what I was sure would be sillage to match Paige's dog farts (thick, oily and cloying) once inside the car. Whatever happened, this issue would be resolved.  The stalking had to end.

First thing that hit me was the barely chewed Wrigley's spearmint gum. Then the toffee, smooth and deep and then, finally, the patchouli.  Spoiler alert: it's not a bomb at all.  In fact, I wish it had a little more blast to it, if you want to know the truth. Something about it reminded me of the smell of, after a long walk in the cool, early morning air.  That, or I am in complete denial about the allure of my body odor and morning breath. Jimmy Choo feels familiar.

No one can smell it on me which, as a compliment whore, is a crushing blow.  B-man did smell it once after I doused myself with it and sat right next to him on the deck. 'Mmm, what smells good, did you just put something on?' Part of me wanted to say, 'Ya think? I've been wearing this every frigging day for weeks.'   But I was so giddy with excitement that he noticed, I couldn't help batting my eyes, leaning toward him and saying, 'Really?  Do you like it? Really?'

Jimmy Choo owns me.  My first bottle is nearly gone, and I still can't leave it alone.  

Picture from Fragrantica


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