I’m looking forward to this movie, due out next month. I don’t know why the book stirs me so, but there’s something in there of the smell of fallen leaves in a stand of birches after one of those slow drizzles of October.

I haven’t chased down all the little bits that come out on much-hyped movies, the same way I don’t read book reviews. I don’t want to know. I want to walk in there with hope, and trepidation, and that willingness to be surprised.

But I did run across this;
weloveyouso
We Love You So, a website dedicated to sharing what people do in honor of the book and the movie. And to sell stuff, too, but whatever.

And listed is a perfume company, I hate perfume. Here’s his manifesto;

I hate perfume.

Perfume is too often an ethereal corset trapping everyone in the same unnatural shape

A lazy and inelegant concession to fashionable ego

Too often a substitute for true allure and style

An opaque shell concealing everything – revealing nothing

A childish masque hiding the timid and unimaginative

An arrogant slap in the face from across the room

People who smell like everyone else disgust me

* * * * * * *

Perfume is a veil that reveals the soul

Perfume is the fanfare of our individuality sounding differently to everyone who listens

Perfume is a signpost to our true selves – a different journey for the brave to travel

Perfume is the weather of our inner world bringing life to a personal landscape

Perfume is an art that shows us who we can be if we dare – an invisible portrait of who we are

Perfume is discovered fully only by our lovers when we are together – naked

* * * * * * *

I encourage you to be yourself,

expand yourself and please yourself

Allow yourself the luxury

of your own vision

Perfume is an adventure

I encourage you to explore

I love making perfume

I love being a perfumer

Christopher Brosius
Originally Written 1992
Copy-written & Revised 2004

It makes me happy.

E.T.A. I got reading in the gentleman’s journal, and I came across this bit;

Over the past few years I’ve come to the decision that there are certain parts of New York that are to be avoided at all costs – particularly on the weekends. The sidewalks are over-packed with men dressed as if they’re about to paint the house or fix the lawnmower and women in clothes that are much too tight, much too short, and much too cheap. They teeter along on stilettos which they clearly can’t operate correctly. Indeed as I watch them stumble along, I wonder if they’re really accustomed to walking on two legs in the first place.

Dude. I so hear you. I feel like walking up to women who are dressed like they care and thanking them.

That’s right. I am a snob. I blame my mother.

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