This is my perfume for when I want to hang out between the lines, taking no recognizable stance except that of my own strictly unaffiliated interior scaffolding. Perhaps this is because Narciso Rodriguez for Her itself seems to take no stance, preferring to lurk in the hazy middle ground between dark and light, a place of muted yet eerily bright colors reminscent of the sky fifteen minutes before a spectacular thunderstorm. You also get the feeling that this fragrance is the only knowable by-product of some intense, inarticulate, and private process that can only be sensed around its edges. Narciso Rodriguez for Her is that old abandoned industrial site that only you have seen at exactly the right angle, the right time of day, under the right set of circumstances to makes it look like it grew that way, out of the ground. It’s the unintentionally revealing expression on the face of a stranger that leaves you with a frozen-frame snapshot of what the word “solitude” really means. It’s a room that has existed for itself with no people in it for a very long time. It hits that lonely, ecstatic point of “hover” just right, that heightened state of relating to the world as an autonomous party that turns everyone into a secret photographer.
This effect is largely due to the neither-here-nor-there quality of egyptian musk scents in general. They all smell a little bit like a lot of things, probably because musk has been used to fragrance a range of products that go far beyond those offered up at cosmetic counters. Bathroom soap, incense, laundry detergent, probably even things like toilet paper. Narciso Rodriguez for Her adopts musk’s utilitarian omnipresence and doctors it up with an ethereal sunshower of orange blossom, a furry honey note that somehow manages to smells more animalic than the musk note, and an enchanted swamp of stagnant, fermented amber. All this provides the perfect set for the weird apocalyptic creatures that are going to come crawling out of this everylandscape, this Ridley Scott location, this moonage daydream. Narciso Rodriguez for Her stops there, though, and lets you come crawling out instead, population of one.
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