Let It Rock (Vivienne Westwood)

Where have I smelled this before?

Everywhere, my nose claims.

Everywhere? Really?

Yes. Can we go now?

Come on, I chide. Is it REALLY that bad? It's ambery, flowery--

And completely fucking tedious, my nose replies. Seriously, how long did you pay attention to it after applying it? A minute? Two, tops? Did you get any poetry from it in that short space of time, or can I rest my case?

Well, at least it wasn't a scrubber, I remark.

You're right, it wasn't. But that's not enough. A perfume should be an experience you want to repeat. I don't feel any particular compulsion to repeat this. Do you?

Jesus, you're philosophical all of a sudden.

You made me smell it and asked me what I thought, so I'm telling you. You're right-- Let It Rock isn't that bad. But it's not good. Nothing this forgettable, this generic, could be. It's totally clichéed, and if you notice, even its clichés are out of context-- I mean, wasn't punk supposed to be a BACKLASH against all things hippie? Yet here you have Vivienne Westwood, punk's grand high priestess, shilling the most by-the-book head-shop fragrance imaginable. What's THAT all about?

Sorry I asked, I find myself muttering.

You ought to be.

Scent Elements: Bergamot, freesia, jasmine, amber, patchouli