All perfume, in a sense, is aspirational. When you put it on in the morning, you're already thinking ahead to what sort of day you'll have. You hope that it will be a positive one-- and that the fragrance you've chosen will enhance the experience.
I know full well that I am in charge of my own good mood; the day is what I make of it. But this morning, when I tried on Idylle for the first time, I felt my spirits sink. In the space of three swift spritzes, my optimism quit on me and I went from raring-to-go to can't-possibly-go-on.
Thierry Wasser, Idylle's creator, would hate to hear me say this. He effusively describes his composition as "a subtle yet incisive freshness, balanced by sensuality... an ode to life and love... an ambiguity of feeling... a comfortable, intimate, physical sensation... tender and ethereal, sensuous and romantic, fleeting and eternal." Really? I smell pissy honey and damp cardboard, and that's about it.
Idylle is none of the things Thierry Wasser wants it to be. Neither is it terrible and cruel. It never resorts to brute force to win you over-- instead, it hangs around your neck like a limp albatross and annihilates you with boredom. What little it has to say is delivered in a weak, namby-pamby whine that wears you down after mere minutes. You can't say it isn't sweet, but what good is sweetness when there's no character to go with it?
You think I'm kidding? Ponder this: my Mennen Speed Stick deodorant gave me more jollies today than my fancy French perfume. Few confessions could be sadder-- but there it is. I'm off to lather up with some Ivory Soap. If I faint from the intensity, call the paramedics.
Scent Elements: Bulgarian rose, patchouli, white musk, lily-of-the-valley, lilac, peony, freesia, jasmine