The sweet smell of the season

It’s the most wonderful time of the year. That’s what they tell us. “They” being advertisers. It’s the Lexus to December to Remember and Toyotathon, when unexpected vehicles show up in snow covered driveways across America with big red bows on Christmas morning. It’s when you “tell her you love her all over again” with a hideous Pandora bracelet or other tacky bauble from Kay Jewelers. They really lay it on thick at Christmastime. And nobody lays it on thicker (or weirder) than the perfumers. In all my 45 years, I have yet to see a perfume commercial that makes sense. 

Chanel has Keira Knightly sitting in her ballgown alone in a hotel room playing chess and, presumably heavily doused in Coco Mademoiselle “for the night”. There’s a lot to unpack here . . . does Keira live in a home where chess is forbidden? Is that why she must run away one night to play, alone it seems? And because it’s such a special occasion, she dresses up in her best dress and all the necklaces she owns? It still doesn’t explain the perfume -- I mean, sure, there are those times when we just want to smell good for ourselves. Or maybe, she’s trying to get all fresh-as-a-daisy smelling for the room service guy who knocks at the end? Or perhaps the knock at the end is Gary Kasparov for a late-night chess rendezvous and she wants to impress him, not only with her secret chess set, but also with her taste in French perfume . . .

Or what about the one where Chanel (again) sends Marian Cotillard to the moon? Marian runs around the (oddly glitter-covered) moon without any sort of space suit, dancing and floating with a dark stranger. Are we supposed to believe that No 5 protects her from smothering to death in zero gravity? And, while she’s not smothering to death, she’s also moved to ballroom dance in first regular gravity which then turns to floating as the dark stranger rubs her pulse points (perhaps that’s so he can get a better whiff Chanel No 5 on the moon)? But then, she’s back on earth . . . was it just a dream? Or a flash forward to her welcome-home-from-space party where she and the mysterious stranger stare longingly at the moon, only hints of perfume to remind them of their very special time dancing around in moon glitter . . . 

Have you seen the one where Charlize Theron is in a seemingly-palatial bathhouse surrounded by a bunch of women lounging casually on the floor in sequined gowns? Naked Charlize emerges from the languid pool (which nobody else is using), totally naked and strutting as if she owns the place. (Maybe she does own the place; maybe that’s why nobody else is allowed in the Turkish bath with her; maybe that’s why she feels comfortable enough to strut in all her naked glory, because let’s be honest, who besides Charlize Theron would feel good enough about themselves to march around in front of a bunch of other people totally unabashed in their birthday suit?) The perfume doesn’t show up until the end, but perhaps the pool Charlize has been soaking in is full of Dior J’Adore? And the lounging women are overcome by the fumes and trying simply to hold their heads up while Charlize is immune because she’s otherworldly or something? They all emerge in their gowns at the end, golden and glistening and ready to take on the world with their perfume army . . .

Dior also gives Natalie Portman her own weird (and volatile) world where she fights with her boyfriend/partner/paramour, jumps of a pier in a dress, runs down street, drives a classic car on the beach, and does other things happily/angrily/defiantly/coquettishly while (probably) wearing the perfume. Or perhaps she’s having some sort of allergic reaction to the perfume which is causing her to act so erratically? This is all while Sia’s Chandelier plays in the background, yet strangely enough, of all the thing ole Nat does do, chandelier swinging isn’t one of them. But the very best part (and by that, I mean the absolute worst part) comes at the end when Natalie looks directly into the camera and slurs, “Anju? What wooju do for love?” It’s enough to make me want to jump off a pier in a ballgown . . . 

Without question, though, the best worst perfume commercial of all time is the Elizabeth Taylor classic for her signature White Diamonds scent. The commercial starts off real enough. Liz flits around the world, in the glare of the paparazzi. She sparkles in diamonds (probably from Richard Burton) as she demures for the camera. Then . . . plot twist! She walks in on a high stakes poker game and offers up her diamond earrings, which “have always brought me luck.” I never could figure out what she was doing with these squirrely looking poker players, and why she’d offer up her $3 million diamond earrings just for chance. Was she, like her sisters in other perfume commercials, high on the fumes, thus impairing her judgement? Was she tired of the earrings or so assured of their luck that she knew it was no gamble? I guess we’ll never know . . . 

So, however you’re spending your holiday dollars this year, please do your homework and ensure that the perfume you purchase is such a fragrance that it inspires and moves and implores your behavior as a woman of power. A woman who doesn’t take no for an answer. A woman who sees the sky (or the moon) as the limit. A woman who feels comfortable naked. Or playing chess. Or driving a classic car. Or gambling with mountebanks in white linen shirts. Because that’s what perfume’s for, isn’t it?