We stopped paying attention to The New Yorker when they began publishing letters from readers (honestly, WGAS?). A bonus is that we’ve been spared the too-too predictable political ruminations of Hendrik Hertzberg masquerading as Talk of the Town. But that’s neither here nor there.
What drew our attention today was a post on The New Yorker books blog by someone named Deirdre Foley-Mendelssohn. (We’ve never met the lady but whenever we say her name out loud we see Margaret Dumont and we want to waggle our eyebrows at her.)
What put Deirdre Foley-Mendelssohn (waggle-waggle) in a posting mood was the launch by Fresh of a trio of fragrances “inspired by” (read: “trying to cash in on the popularity of”) the chick-lit blockbluster Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. [No relation—Ed.] [Nor would we ever read her book; our testosterone titers would flatline.—Ed.]
Ms. Foley-Mendelssohn’s no doubt very lady-like knickers (shade-grown organic hemp fabric colored with all-natural ecologically harvested annatto pods) were in a twist because she failed to find a textual basis in Gilbert’s novel for the theme notes in the perfumes.
(Yes: she word-searched the book for “smell” and didn’t find mango, sandalwood or juniper berry.)
Having tried our hand at olfacto-literary deconstruction in What the Nose Knows, we actually rather admire Deirdre (waggle) Foley-Mendelssohn’s (waggle-waggle) Birkenstock-serious approach to extracting scents from books. But in this case she is bested by Lez Glazman, fragrance director of Fresh, who says
I found myself trying to translate the words into scents. With each scent, I had the chance to create another emotion. And I also created them so that consumers can wear them together—each scent is a different chapter of experience.Ms. Glazman, being a marketer and therefore not a deep thinker, effortlessly subscribes to the conventional wisdom that smell is all about emotion. Cue the music:
Feelings, nothing more than feelings,D (w) F-M (w-w) has science on her side: the evolving view of smell is overwhelmingly cognitive, not emotional. But when it comes to perfume marketing, icky emotion beats cognition, memory and meaning every time.
trying to forget my feelings of love.
Teardrops rolling down on my face,
trying to forget my feelings of love.
BONUS: Lest you think we’re being too harsh on Deirdre Foley-Mendelssohn, here’s a photo of her with her mother in Havana listening raptly to a speech by aging communist dictator and gasbag Fidel Castro.
All hail Freedonia! (waggle-waggle).
2 comments:
why can't there be one for bridget jones' diary?
it would smell like booze
cigarettes
and hope for no reason
(is there any other kind?)
o wait
isn't that habanita?
"D (w) F-M (w-w)".
Great! Really, really love your style :)
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