I am wearing my ailing Comme des Garçons 2 today. I don’t know why. I don’t really like the way it smells on me. CDG2 is a complicated scent and it evolves wildly thru out the day.

When I spray it on, I reminds me of the stale cherries they put on top of sundaes at Ponderosa. On my drive to work, it reminds me of overstuffed makeup rooms. It disappears briefly as a step out of my car and into the building. But, it comes back again — lord, it comes back again, as an over-riped cantelope. By lunchtime, it is the artificial watermelon lipbalm on 13yrs old girls. And, as I get ready to leave work, as I throw my leather jacket over my shoulders, a whirlwind of it spins into my nostril: pink and greasy lavatory soap.

CDG2 and I always had such drama and history.

I have had this body for a little less than a decade. It just kind of lie there on the nightstand by my bed. (it can’t really sit; the designers made the bottle all flat and rounded, so you have to rest it on its side, label facing up.) I guess I always feel bad neglecting it like that. The little aluminum paint chips pealing off the glass bottle like elementry school craft glitter. I like the bottle. I try really hard to like the olfactory revolution that is CDG2…. I just don’t.

Oh CDG2, Oh CDG2, why can’t I like you like Eau Sauvage?


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