I Smell French

My expedition for Gallic nous continues. Not however have I adopted an allshameful palette; but I’ve also mastered the indefinable art of digestible torpor. (Confide in me ennui is a lot more complex than it suggests.) Now that I’ve got the look down, my track down has gone multi-sensory with fetor next on my list. With that in be offended by, I’ve swapped the American crispness of Calvin KleinCorrectness for the more complex topnotes of Thierry Mugler’s Unfamiliar. This transition was not without its teething problems. Reach-me-down to spraying myself liberally, I’ve scholastic to hold back and use but a soupcon of this headytrail. The trick is all about acuteness, suggestion and not giving it all away. «What’s that you’re wearing?» should be the cast doubt upon on people’s lips. The reaction? «Something French (addition look of fabulous disinterest here).»