Blame it on Talitha Getty. From the moment Patrick Lichfield snapped that photo of her and husband John Paul on a Marrakech rooftop in 1969, the great migration was on. And not merely to points Near East-- anywhere new and unspoilt, really.
London, New York, San Francisco? Those cities were so old and tired, darling; used up and played out. Every corner teeming with kids from the suburbs, all those hippie-come-latelies newly arrived to demand their god-given piece of the countercultural pie. It was all a fabulously wealthy trendsetter could do to stay one step ahead of the lumpen masses. No wonder Talitha looked so tuckered out! She wasn't posing on that rooftop-- she was hiding!
If you look real close, you'll see she's giving us the finger.
Come on, honey, don't be hatin'. You can't blame the little people for wanting to live it up like rich Bohemians with no concept of a budget. We may not be able to jet off to Rio, Ibiza, Cairo, Tangiers, Kathmandu, Montserrat, or Bali. Hell, we may not even be able to get as far as Bonnaroo. But we can dress -- and smell -- as if we do.
All it takes is a smoky coconut accord that evokes a thousand nights spent sleeping on the world's most expensive private white-sand beach, the kind that can only be accessed with excessive bribery or a real estate agent on permanent retainer. Mix it up with some standard hippie-issue aromas -- incense and amber, plentiful and cheap -- and throw in a touch of Indonesian kretek cigarettes for an allusion to tastes acquired abroad. Charge an arm and a leg for it, but make it smell like something you could buy on the Boardwalk.
The only problem? You can buy it on the Boardwalk, and for a pittance. But if you have money to burn, you might as well make it burn pretty. Do that trust fund proud!
Scent Elements: Black coconut, spices, burnt sugar accord, nag champa, amber, ambergris, clove tobacco, patchouli