Strangely, I read the other day that Eau De Rochas is currently the venerable company’s best selling scent in France (I have never seen it sold anywhere else.)
There is a vintage bottle in my collection, but for some reason I never want to wear it.
This sharp, lemony perfume is an anomaly. A depressed, serotonin-dipping citrus – the image evoked, for me, of a valiumed up California housewife, staring out, trapped in suburban hell.
The sun blazes outside her white 70’s condo. But all she sees is clouds, in her pressed, grey slacks. The shadows under plants: a schizoid effect achieved with two very opposing accords that constantly dim and sync with each other: a bright top note of Calabrian lime, tangerine, bergamot and Sicilian lemon, giving a quick flowing glimpse of freshness and easy optimism. Her inner world, though, where the lights seem to have gone out, stems from a much darker undertone of patchouli, narcissus, Croatian oakmoss, and sandalwood.
She blinks for a second, straightens the ironing board: wills herself to get ready.