I am quicksilver, the fox in the night, emotional about the poetry, love & desire in scent, read me.
Sunday 25 September 2011
Papal Sugar: 'Loverdose' by Diesel
Loverdose by Diesel had me at the name alone. This is gothic sugar and liquorice overdose at the Chelsea Hotel styled by the Balenciaged Olsen Twins, slumped in papal darkness, air awash with vanilla, star anise, smoky woods and aftershocks of amber. The floor is littered with fragments of broken glittering hearts.
Loverdose is hardcore, loving at full tilt, rushing at life. Clinging to whatever you crave and kissing till your lips bleed.
Diesel has created something carefree and headstrong. It feels freeform, simple and shattering. It reeks of liquorice; sticky childhood, torpedoes, laces, sherbet dips, explosive heady hits of chewy darkness and powder.
I have very little time for perfume snobs. If I like something and it works on my skin I will wear it, no matter who makes it or what the bottle or the juice looks like. Hence the inclusion in my collection of Britney Spears Circus Fantasy. A neon-tastic harlot take on blue peony and orchid and god knows what else. Gaudy, brittle and throbbingly bright it may be, but it smells porny and gorgeous when I’m in the right mood. All pina colada and carnal cocktail skin.
Diesel’s Fuel for Life (for men) by Wasser and Menardo, another shrieking, pulsating neon blast of fruit and petrol. I posted a review of this on Basenotes as raspberries shredded through aircraft turbines and thrown onto the tarmac at Cannes airport, reeking of jammy, shimmering fuel. But again, it flows off my skin with violence and metallic beauty. (I am waiting with bated breath for the Wasser/Menardo collaboration on the new JPG men’s scent Kokorico; cacao, fig and woods). Please be good….please be wonderful….
I love some of the D&G Marseille Tarot series. Inspired simplicity. Not all of them work, but some are surprisingly rich and profound. LaRoue de la Fortune is glorious, crashing Côte d’Azur hits of benzoin, pineapple, vanilla, pink pepper and gardenia. We all need a little overdose in our lives, something a little vulgar, something bad for us, something we should stay away from, and just can’t resist. Like inked, metal-head boys, booze and married men. But what would be the point of life if we were always good? A little bit of bad is often incredibly liberating. Never ever forget the first rule of fragrance. If it smells good, wear it.
There is no denying Loverdose is vulgar. It practically chews gum and tells you to fuck off. The purple chunk of heart shaped glass is both tacky and dramatic. I can imagine hurling it slo-mo across a room in a rage and watching the shards sparkle and fly, purple tinted juice spilling like papal blood across the floor. And the name: Loverdose. A fractured film starring Lou Doillon as an anti-Monroe, just tinted pieces, silent, Lou-Marilyn wrapped in mauve, in a motel drinking martinis, endlessly smoking. Kissing young men through teary mascara, holding her fingers to their lips and smiling. The sun drips behind them. She turns to the camera, tips back her head and closes her yes.
The blend of notes is dissonant and sexy, sweet and earthy. They remind me of pick-and-mix bonbons and the swoozy-boozy kiss of JD&coke, cut with cigarettes and sticky lip-gloss. I remember the whiff of a leather jacket, fags and sweat, the burn of a bike, juicy fruit gum, YSL Jazz running down forearms. Sweat, leather, sex. The ‘I wanna be a rock star’ taste of teenage petting.... there is nothing quite like it when you’re young. Loverdose tossed me back for a while to attics and basements, to parties, pressed against walls, fingers bruising skins, necks exposed like yearning vampires. The eroding innocence of kidulthood, candy fumblings and sickly fragrance overdosing.
As soon as I sprayed Loverdose it reminded me of a boy I loved from afar. I wrote his name on the inside of my shoes. I imagined what he’d taste like if I ever kissed him. I suddenly imagined the two of us lost in each others mouths, drenched in Loverdose, spinning, kissing, slurring, heartbeats slowing in a locked down room. I’d hear the words I’ve always lovedyou as my heart failed.
Fabulously kitch and door-slammingly teenage, Loverdose is just what you need in your 40s to remind you you’re still alive and can be just as dramatically sexy as you want to be. All it takes is a little imagination and a dash of liquorice.