Tuesday, 4 September 2007
Is That Bull Sh*t I Can Smell?
So, I was reliably informed, yesterday, that, ‘Kate Moss has her third Top Shop collection out, like and it’s soooo gorgeous and she has these reeeaaaally cool scarves which go down to your feet, like, (handy for tripping over and blaming, when you are high as a kite (or should that be 'kate'?) on cocaine) and ohmygod, I just reeeaaaallly, have to have a pair of her new kick leg jeans. Like.’
I was dragged over to look at the collection displayed in the paper and my immediate thought was, Bloody hell, there’s that talentless, ill-looking tosser, creaming money off the public to fund her bloody drugs habit AGAIN! The clothes were OK, but no better than what I could get in the charity shops for a fraction of the price.
I am so bored with these B-listers releasing their eponymous perfumes, handbags, aftershaves, jeans, salad dressings etc. Is there a single Po’ White Trash B-lister who hasn’t released a fragrance yet? I think Britney has about four out, so far. And they’re all to mask the smell of spew when she decides to barf (again) over anyone within a five metre radius of her. Kylie has a fragrance, J-Lo has a fragrance, Jade Goodie (she of one brain cell and racist tendencies) has a fragrance, even David Beckham has a fragrance. And do you know what? They All Smell The Same. Honestly.
For the purposes of research, I toddled off down to our local chemist on Saturday morning to annoy the hell out of the lazy shop assistants, who like nothing better than to analyse the prescriptions from the doctor and go into a huddle at the back and gossip about Mrs Pritchard’s most recent STD, Amelia Smythe’s boil and where it might be, and my addiction to Solpadeine, instead of bloody serving me!!
So, I harrumphed and coughed at the perfume counter, until one of them waddled over. And it was the one who really unnerves me as she has football eyes (one home, one away), teeth that remind me of roof slates, sinus problems, and the broadest Cheshire accent you could stumble across (for broad Cheshire, read, thick-sounding).
She immediately tried to fob me off with one of the Beckham Brand toiletries, but I was there for the duration, and demanded to go through all of them, exposing various pale and uninteresting parts of my body in the name of science.
First up, Britney’s Curious, a ‘white floral wrapped in the sensuality of vanilla-infused musk with base notes of puke (I made that last bit up)’. The bottle is nasty. A squat, plasticky-looking blue thing which just screams Trailer Trash at you. The smell was revolting. It reminded me of one of those perfumes your Dad buys you for Christmas when you are eight: always by Lentheric.
J-Lo’s Love At First Glow was next. Even the name made me cringe – that woman goes through blokes like a dose of Epsom Salts. And when I was in my yoof, there was an expression we chanted: ‘Ladies Glow, Men Perspire and Horses Sweat’. So basically, we stick this perfume on at the first sign of BO, eh? The smell was cloying, sickly and my temples started to pulse alarmingly.
So, I moved on to Jade Goodie’s ‘Shh…’, which is a superb brand name, as it is exactly what the British public would like her to do. Sales of this perfume have plummeted since her racist faux pas on one of the Big Brothers, I believe. Somehow, though, I don’t think it would be high up on any discerning woman’s Christmas Wish List. Insipid, cheap-smelling and nothing to recommend it. At all.
Celine Dion’s Belong ‘was inspired by a woman’s inner beauty…’ So, if you are butt ugly on the outside, squirt some of this behind your ear lugs and all of a sudden, your inner beauty will be revealed. Is that what you are trying to tell me?
I wish I could write some of this marketing tosh. I’d be laughing all the way to the bank. My ageing mother had tried Belong on last time she was carted off to hospital and had thence escaped to the hospital gift shop. I think she was hinting strongly to my father that she wouldn’t mind a bottle, but he was having none of it and changed the subject to the progress of his runner beans. This perfume, too, was nasty and reminded me of those sweeties that pull your fillings out as your jaw desperately tries to masticate them - Chewits.
I was starting to get a thumping headache by this time and decided that I would call it quits, but not before casting a beady eye over the men’s fragrances. Aftershaves possess such namby-pamby names these days, such as ‘Style In Play’; ‘Instinct’; ‘Le Male’ (which just sounds as though somebody is experimenting with Franglais); ‘Declaration’; ‘Ultravoilet’ and ‘Loser’ (probably). At least we knew where we stood with Brüt. Naff as it was, there was no risk of it being mistaken for women’s fragrance. These days, all men’s stuff has to shout its gender-orientation at you - Pour Homme, For Him, Men’s Fragrance - as the bottles, smells and names are so effeminate, you could quite easily purchase some for a woman.
So, I staggered out into the semi-fresh air and walked back home, marvelling at how easy it is for talentless oiks to make even more money these days, purely by putting their name on some scented water.
When I become rich and famous, I am going to launch my own product range. And I shall call it Mersey. Mersey for Blokes, and Mersey for Lasses. All perfumes will be authenticated by containing pure River Mersey water; the lotions will contain a bit of Mersey Trout; and the scrubs, a smidgen of riverbed dredging to really take the dead skin off. If I tap the river up by the pet food factory, you may even find some chicken’s feet in there too. A sure winner, of that I am certain.
Photos courtesy of stock308.com; Daily Mail; Kelkoo