Penhaligon’s, Bayolea I was wandering around Rite Aid the other day, doing my standard song and dance, the one where I enter with a strict mission (get in, get Scotch tape and Viva paper towels and Goody hair elastics, get the hell out) but then find myself caught in the Bermuda triangle that is browsing nail polish colors under the neurasthenic canopy of halogen lighting and tinny Top 40 songs. On this particular lackadaisical browse, I came across a half-off bin full of citronella candles, next to deflated beach balls and plastic adult sippy cups shaped like pineapples and watermelon slices. I don’t know why I decided to buy a candle; maybe it was the fact that the jam jar holding the wax was neon pink with a little umbrella coming out of it, and I am a sucker for garish tchotchkes in the tutti-fruitti family. Or maybe it was the smell, which was pungent and tangy, like sour gummies, or freshly emulsified lemon aioli. Once I sniffed, I felt a pang, all the summer afternoons of my youth zapping back into my mind like a mosquito flying into a blue light.
Perfume Diary: Zap 'Em (RS)
Perfume Diary: Zap 'Em (RS)
Perfume Diary: Zap 'Em (RS)
Penhaligon’s, Bayolea I was wandering around Rite Aid the other day, doing my standard song and dance, the one where I enter with a strict mission (get in, get Scotch tape and Viva paper towels and Goody hair elastics, get the hell out) but then find myself caught in the Bermuda triangle that is browsing nail polish colors under the neurasthenic canopy of halogen lighting and tinny Top 40 songs. On this particular lackadaisical browse, I came across a half-off bin full of citronella candles, next to deflated beach balls and plastic adult sippy cups shaped like pineapples and watermelon slices. I don’t know why I decided to buy a candle; maybe it was the fact that the jam jar holding the wax was neon pink with a little umbrella coming out of it, and I am a sucker for garish tchotchkes in the tutti-fruitti family. Or maybe it was the smell, which was pungent and tangy, like sour gummies, or freshly emulsified lemon aioli. Once I sniffed, I felt a pang, all the summer afternoons of my youth zapping back into my mind like a mosquito flying into a blue light.