A perfume of self-hatred.
For those in any way S+M inclined, or have a gimp, leather, or torture fetish, and have spent a lifetime searching for a corresponding scent, look no further.
This perfume is tar, this is rubber; your face pounded into asphalt and the apparatus waiting; for a night of complex, breathless and painful autoasphyxiation.
I myself wouldn’t touch this in any circumstances, but as a concept, from bottle to scent, and as a just about wearable anti-perfume, it is the best of its type.
Just spray it on the PVC and wait.
Notes: town gas, vapours of bitumen, opoponax, grilled cigarettes, pyrogenics.
But you took it too far. Those exhaust fumes, the car oil, the vehicle grease for lube…
And then the rafters. Even you knew there were limits. And so your quest for a very particular kind of gratification ended in tears. Especially for your bewildered relatives, who found you hanging, smeared in diesel; naked, and pitiful.
Notes: vetiver acetate, plastic florals, car seat leather, kerosene.
And so they went to work. Through your drawers, your pockets, your bedroom, as they carved up your loot. And from your daytime clothes, your presentable office work wear, were salvaged some more respectable garments. Which went to the dry cleaners and were treated duly with death-smelling chemicals to de-accentuate the memory of the same.
But you weren’t there for any of this, so it really doesn’t matter.
Probably the foulest perfume I have ever smelled: one that could literally make me vomit.
A product that dries out the oesophagus: shudders your innards.
Notes: ozone, nail polish, bay leaf, metallic incense, dissolvent vapours.
(not one for brides)