I must tell the truth. Something made me want to hate Flowerbomb from the very start. Even though several perfume bloggers love it--and lord knows I am no snob--I wanted to turn my nose up at it. And I almost succeeded. For one thing, this is the kind of perfume you apply and then think, "God help the person who has to ride on the elevator/sit next to me in a meeting/stand in line at Starbucks with me this morning." It made me snicker a little. Ha, ha, Flowerbomb, I thought. I've got you seriously pegged.Except. Well.
I'm not saying I started liking it or anything, but I did sort of notice that it was somewhat pleasant smelling. Kind of. That is, if you completely ignored the overwhelming wafts of rose and jasmine all sort of mixed up and made sweeter by the freesia. Overwhelming in a soft way. Cozy pink cashmere blanket kind of way. Not that I like cozy pink cashmere blankets, because I don't. They're very pink and girly. In a soft way.
I mean, I'm girly, but come on.
Just because my thoughts wandered a little away from the marketing launch meeting I was attending--er, running--just because I started thinking to myself, "Hm, you know, today isn't so bad for a Tuesday. The weather's been so nice. I should relax a little," in between thoughts of "Oh my god, I'm sure they're hating my perfume right now. I'm suffocating every man in this room. I just know it!" doesn't mean Flowerbomb has some magic spell that it was working on me. Some flowery hocus pocus. I'm immune to that sort of thing. Even if I surreptitiously...uh...accidentally sniffed my wrist a few times during the meeting, pretending to remove a stray eyelash that was tickling me.
Look, let's get this straight: I pretty much go around feeling like a sexy number all the time, so I don't think it was the perfume. That's all I'm saying. And so what if the dry down is slightly addictive? So what if you might start thinking to yourself that you can make it through the heady beginning (heady yet sort of refreshingly dark...is that tea?), that you can wade through gardens packed full of freesia, rose, jasmine, and orchid, just to get to the end, this patchouli for a hippie who's not only rich but also refined?
So what if you turn on a little Janis and spray on a little perfume and pretend you're at Woodstock, only wearing an Etro halter dress and not muddy and tripping on the brown acid?
Oh, hush anyway. The Who is on next!
*photo from Neiman Marcus
