ANTM's Dream Come True

Once my friend in college was 69ing her boyfriend and she came so hard she pooped on his forehead.    

Speaking of forehead, Tyra Banks.  You know, I never thought of her a "supermodel".  I saw her on the cover of Sports Illustrated and stomping down a Victoria's Secret runway in panties but that's about it.  She wasn't really on my radar like such luminaries as Linda Evangalista, Cindy Crawford, or Naomi Campbell or any other model listed in the song Supermodel which was the extent of my Supermodel knowledge circa 1996.
So, in the 2000s she makes this show on the tiniest shoestring of a budget designed to take young women, exploit every drop of money making drama out of them, and spit them back out wrinkled, unable to ever get a real job,  and with an often hilarious haircut and color that goes against their facial features, skin tone, and personality.  Teeyie-tye would always wear these gals down to the nubbins by giving impossible advice to follow like "hey lady we picked for your exuberant personality, tone it down" and then later, "you were so boring, so dial it up, what happened to that girl with the exuberant personality", and then "you're cut , because you can't 'work' the Crystal Gale length Olgilve curled weave with the tightest of curls, shaved eyebrows, and Coco from SWV's nails; in addition you're dialed up high enough with your exuberance but what we needed was for you to tone it down".
She knew to strike when the iron's hot and pumped what seemed like 4 to 5 "cycles" a year until the whole thing puttered to a stop cartoon jalopy style.   It might still be on but I can't suffer to do a google. One of the cycles had the girls shilling a parfum called Dream Come True of which they probably saw a paycheck that Tyty would use to wipe her rich-ass but then let's face it, would probably still deposit the now fecal encrusted cheque because she seems kind of on top of her finances.
One fragrance stands before me, and it smells like slouchy salt crusted vanilla Ugg boot in a bowl of berries and an un-ironic side pony. Perfect for those times when you have to pick up the shattered remains of your life, with no job prospect in sight, after being embarrassed and exploited in front of millions of people.  So slather it on Millenial-Teen-Dreamer as Ty-ty laughs maniacally, puts her Ty-fingies together Smithers style, husks, "eeeeexcellleeeeent" and cashes her poo-cheque.

I got a half used 1oz tester from Marshals for like 3 dollars.

Katy Perry's Purr

Katy Perry started her entertainment career by singing in church.  After witnessing a mob execution she was forced into hiding in a convent where she inspired the lesbian and/or rotund nuns by singing 60s covers to the pope and then got her dress got hilariously caught in a paper shredder.  After years of chastity and this clean living, jump cut to her on a trampoline bouncing her pendulous double d's that  alternately shoot whip cream and molten lead and a thong somehow fashioned out of an Entenmann's.  I heard she wears provacative ensembles when performing as well.
Katy Perry's Purr is what critics and bloggers lump into the "floral fruity" or "fruity patchouli" genre where sweet candy fruit is paired with an intentionally blandly-engineered patchouli note that no longer really resembles patchouli.  This thing smells like a sorority girl shopping at target with a messy bun and yoga sweatpants.   If there was a loaded breast, I mean gun to my head I'd say it smells of cola, red berries and amber.  If someone was wearing anything from this genre and you asked "what [they] be wearin'", you would get 100 different answers but 80 of them would be something from Victoria's Secret (they really have a hold of this fruity floral "patchouli" market).
So what's it like to wear Purr? Well, dudes will think that you smell "nice" as they clumsily fumble at your bra strap behind a Chili's dumpster; after he hitches your legs up after getting you propped up on a stack of collapsed cardboard boxes it might occur that you smell "sweet".  Legs akimbo with a high heal dangling off your right big toe, he pounds home as you desperately grasp a dumpster for leverage, it will occur to him that your hair not only smells of cigarettes but also like "cupcakes".  If you want your dumpster hookup to dive head first into your nethers while thinking of his mom's PTA Bake Sale then you've hit paydirt.
Yes, people will tell you that "you smell nice", which will encourage you that this was a good life decision. But you know what, don't wear perfume for compliments, you're a grown ass woman or gay man so put that flacon that looks like an intermediate-level attachment for a Sybian away.  Put it down. *hands tissue* Wipe your nose. If you want a dryer more nuanced take on fruity try Jo Malone Blackberry and Bay or if you're on a budget and looking for something smart try Lolita Lampicka (which is a TJ Maxx find and I'll be reviewing at some point). Day drinking? Mademoiselle by Jean Paul Goultier. If you want straight up sweet and delicious try Prada Candy.

Next week on PDM:

We've got a throwdown next week:

Britney Spears' Fantasy, Madonna Truth or Dare and Lady Gaga's Fame.  Ladies love it when you force them into a sexist competition they didn't sign up for but kind of did and make millions by participating in!  Its complicated!

Sara Jessica Parker's Lovely

You know, its TRENDY so say that SJP has equinous facial features. To say she's horse-like is an easy comedic go-to and just plain lazy. So I won't 'Fumey Reader, resort to cheap shots like how Sara Jessica Parker gets her Manolos fitted at the Ye Olde Grenwich Village Blacksmith. You deserve better. Its like saying Madonna's body is gross, which like, sure, you wouldnt press a button that gave you her Italian ass and thighs, chiseled shoulders and pert tits. SJP horsiness is a straight up urban myth the opposite of how Tom Cruise nurses on Puerto Rican track-stars junk for breakfast and how Ricard Gere actually did put a gerbil up his butt. Imagine! A live Gerbil! In. HIS. BUTT.  In sum, what you're not going to get in this review is a joke about how SJP walks down cobblestone streets and poops as she goes and Mathew Broderick has to shovel it into a pale that's monogrammed SJPpp.  This is a classy blog about parfum. So no, I WON'T be telling you how SJP goes to Magnolia Bakery to carbo-load for her races or how her idea of takeout is an oatbag and apples.
So back to the task at hand. Here at Parfum du Maxx not every perfume is going to be subject of snarky ridicule. This is one of those examples. SJP's Lovely is GREAT. Many a blogger has gone on about this being unisex and I agree to a point (PS this whole idea of gender assigning fragrance is a relatively new concept and guys at one time didn't get all upitty about smelling what we'd say in present day is "feminine" AND also, avoid saying "[you] don't like perfume" because you just have smelled bad perfume for a long time so get out of your house and experience some good smells you ingrate).  Saying its unisex is limiting. Think of perfuming yourself as a surprise attack. Its the salt on your salted carmel.  A tattooed hipster in a knitting circle.  A stripper with a baby in a bar.  Imagine  Tyrese Gibson or David Beckham in a dapper suite with Chanel No5. Or a Angelina Jolie or Nicole Kidman in a gown with Serge Luten's Muscs Kubla Khan.  So men, grow a beard and spray on this cuddle-bug in a bottle. Go for the pits it makes a great deoderant. It starts off somewhat shrill which was a disappointment to me after hearing so many good things about it, but quickly dries down to laundry musk, but like, HOT laundry right out of the dryer; your favorite zippy still warm. Its a shower and then a jog, a bit personal and lived in but not dirty. Straight guys, this would be a panty dropper. It all hey babe, why don't you finish this story about your cube-mate's pen stealing while I make you dinner and do dishes. People will grab you by your collar and press their face into your chest while you're at your local Sport Bar watching a your favorite team make scores and plays in a Sport Event. You know, straight stuff. 'Fumey Reader, go to your TJ Maxx or Marshals and see if you can spot a bottle. I got mine for about $30 and have stocked up a few in reserve.

Mackie by Bob Mackie

True confession: I was a ceramics major.  I had no idea what the hell I was going to do for a living after, but I did know that on Melrose Place Heather Locklear would storm into D&D advertising in a pencil skirt and a fitted white shirt and slam her briefcase down and yell at people around the dark mahoganny table telling them not to "low-ball" her and "don't FUCK with me fellahs".  That happened right?  So yeah, I move to Chicago and actually landed an advertising job somehow that made inserts for newspapers for a department store I shouldn't name here buy I will say it rhymes with LEARS and starts with an S.  I'd ride home on the El after wringing my hands all day about some damn thing and see the subway car littered with the inserts that I stressed out about.  I was literally, literally making garbage. The confessional actually starts here as I would clock in Flinstones Style and proceed to the restroom and defecate.  Yes, I'd wait to poop because time is precious(!) and thats MY time assholes, so I'd wait to clock in so I'd get paid to poop.    This is all to say that this is Bob Mackie's version of getting paid to poop.  As a friend on Facebook pointed out, the M in Mackie really looks like a butt and butt's are where poop comes out of.  Its like this is made by Mackie with one bead of sweat coming down his odd pulled tight face and grunted and it slipped out into a toilet.  NOT a clean break.  

Mackie by Bob Mackie is in the "oriental" family and sports a laundry list of notes:

pineapple, raspberry and peach; middle notes are tuberose, orange blossom, narcissus, jasmine, ylang-ylang, rose and honeysuckle; base notes are sandalwood, amber, patchouli, musk and vetiver.

Mackie is a linear and QVC safe, with characterless musk that anchors some indiscernible stone fruit of some kind, and a nose stinging top note that smells like a cab air freshener which I get, is totally a fragrance review cliche to say that but its truly what it smells like.  Its just missing curry/meatball/hoagie farts and motion sickness.  

I just heard that Bob Mackie will not be doing Cher's costumes for her next tour which is kind of heartbreaking especially if he's dedicating his time in to endeavors like this and getting paid to poop.

I bought a 1oz bottle of Bob Mackie (distributed by Elizabeth Arden) for 7.95 at Marshalls in Gold Coast Chicago