So it says something about the cultural saturation of this image that before, let’s say, August 2009, when I started relating all of human existence through the lens of scent, even I was aware that there was an ad campaign out there—for something—featuring the great Erykah Badu.
Now, I know who Erykah Badu is, and I hope all of you out there do too. Magnificent law unto her own, she’s the one who told all us bag ladies to pack lightly. (If you don't know who the First Lady of Neo-Soul is, a couple of my favorite videos she did from the 90s are here and here.)
And who can get away from the power of that image: the fantastic ‘fro, the manicure, the light on her skin. She manages to be both soft and fierce everywhere at once. She out-Diana Rosses Ms. Diana Ross, and I didn’t know that could be done.
Regular readers of LCN know that I have a mad crush on Tom Ford, but even now, I’m no Tom Fordologist. I don’t follow the ins and outs of his marketing decisions. But back when my attention did begin to focus in on perfume as a casual consumer, it became clear to me that he had a whole bunch of niche-y no-face scents, the omnisexual Private Blend series, and then he had the two crushers for women: “Black Orchid” and “White Patchouli.”
I got to BO first, and that was very, very good. It took me a little longer to get around to WP, and when I did, I spent quite a bit of time with it. First, because I find BO so exciting, and second because, well… It’s Erykah…damned…Badu, people.
I’m going to go ahead and review the perfume now, and then, Tom, you and I need to have a few words.
Out of the bottle, WP is saturated at about a 5 on a scale of 1 to 10, and it comes out as a big, green fresh “wow.” Lots of perfumes have bergamot openings—this is bergamot cranked up to 10. Bright and brassy, there’s a lemony-green goodness to WP in the first few minutes that make me, to be honest, a little high.
I’ve had varied reactions to WP on first smelling it—one time, standing in Sephora, though a confluence of sensory over-stimulation—the subliminal flickering of the fluorescent lighting, the ceramic ribs on the bottle, I wrote in my notes that WP actually “hums.” My nose experienced this… vibration coming off of it. Other times, I’ve had what comes close to Technicolor hallucinations when initially smelling it—one vision had me sitting in the midst of a vibrant multi-color meadow swaying in the breeze under a clear blue sky.
I’ve read reviews all over the map about WP, including a few people who say they don’t smell much patchouli in WP. Well, I went to U.C. Santa Cruz, hippy school extraordinaire, and I can tell you from patchouli: it’s the fresh green-grass patchouli that’s in here, and it made me realize how often other patchouli scents smell dried out and brown. Not WP.
But then what happens? After about the first 5 minutes of olfactory complexity, of depth and meadows and big sky and architecture, the thing just starts falling apart. All the freshness and greenness flattens out and smells muddled. After about 15 minutes on my skin AND on paper, it dissolves into too much rose and lots of fruit, smelling like “David Yurman” through a wet blanket. The drydown is a steady whine of green apple and lychee and nothing else. I don’t care what the scent notes say: there are no woods, there is no incense—believe me, I would welcome that. There is no spine to “White Patchouli”-- there is no there there.
WP is a scent without purpose or focus, and somehow, I just can’t quite believe it. Love it or hate it, “Black Orchid” has a point of view and a story to tell—not to mention perhaps my favorite cedar/sandalwood drydown in all of scent. But after the first 5 minutes, WP shoots its proverbial wad, and no amount of sniffing makes it make any more sense to me. (I could say something cynical about how much time it takes to form a favorable impression of a fragrance, pick up a bottle, stand in line, and pay for it, but I’ll just let you draw your own conclusions.)
As I mentioned before, I spent way more time with WP than I would have if its name had been, say, “Private Blend Moss Breches,” and didn’t have one of the most glamorous ad campaigns featuring a woman of color in recent memory.
You, who have pushed the envelope of sexuality and gender and desire with so much skill and so much balls. You’ve made us laugh, you’ve made us squirm, you’ve made us hot, you’ve made us gasp, you’ve made us believe, all the while shaking our heads in disbelief. You have had very interesting things to put out there on sex—please think harder and give us something thoughtful to chew on about race. I know you can do it.
And I know you can do this too: Next time, make some juice worthy of Queen Badu, please?
Now, I know who Erykah Badu is, and I hope all of you out there do too. Magnificent law unto her own, she’s the one who told all us bag ladies to pack lightly. (If you don't know who the First Lady of Neo-Soul is, a couple of my favorite videos she did from the 90s are here and here.)And who can get away from the power of that image: the fantastic ‘fro, the manicure, the light on her skin. She manages to be both soft and fierce everywhere at once. She out-Diana Rosses Ms. Diana Ross, and I didn’t know that could be done.
Regular readers of LCN know that I have a mad crush on Tom Ford, but even now, I’m no Tom Fordologist. I don’t follow the ins and outs of his marketing decisions. But back when my attention did begin to focus in on perfume as a casual consumer, it became clear to me that he had a whole bunch of niche-y no-face scents, the omnisexual Private Blend series, and then he had the two crushers for women: “Black Orchid” and “White Patchouli.”
I got to BO first, and that was very, very good. It took me a little longer to get around to WP, and when I did, I spent quite a bit of time with it. First, because I find BO so exciting, and second because, well… It’s Erykah…damned…Badu, people.
I’m going to go ahead and review the perfume now, and then, Tom, you and I need to have a few words.
Out of the bottle, WP is saturated at about a 5 on a scale of 1 to 10, and it comes out as a big, green fresh “wow.” Lots of perfumes have bergamot openings—this is bergamot cranked up to 10. Bright and brassy, there’s a lemony-green goodness to WP in the first few minutes that make me, to be honest, a little high.
I’ve had varied reactions to WP on first smelling it—one time, standing in Sephora, though a confluence of sensory over-stimulation—the subliminal flickering of the fluorescent lighting, the ceramic ribs on the bottle, I wrote in my notes that WP actually “hums.” My nose experienced this… vibration coming off of it. Other times, I’ve had what comes close to Technicolor hallucinations when initially smelling it—one vision had me sitting in the midst of a vibrant multi-color meadow swaying in the breeze under a clear blue sky.
(I had to google a photo of patchouli. How disappointed I was to realize that rather than looking like this: 
it looked like this:
Oh well. No matter.)
Oh well. No matter.)I’ve read reviews all over the map about WP, including a few people who say they don’t smell much patchouli in WP. Well, I went to U.C. Santa Cruz, hippy school extraordinaire, and I can tell you from patchouli: it’s the fresh green-grass patchouli that’s in here, and it made me realize how often other patchouli scents smell dried out and brown. Not WP.
But then what happens? After about the first 5 minutes of olfactory complexity, of depth and meadows and big sky and architecture, the thing just starts falling apart. All the freshness and greenness flattens out and smells muddled. After about 15 minutes on my skin AND on paper, it dissolves into too much rose and lots of fruit, smelling like “David Yurman” through a wet blanket. The drydown is a steady whine of green apple and lychee and nothing else. I don’t care what the scent notes say: there are no woods, there is no incense—believe me, I would welcome that. There is no spine to “White Patchouli”-- there is no there there.
WP is a scent without purpose or focus, and somehow, I just can’t quite believe it. Love it or hate it, “Black Orchid” has a point of view and a story to tell—not to mention perhaps my favorite cedar/sandalwood drydown in all of scent. But after the first 5 minutes, WP shoots its proverbial wad, and no amount of sniffing makes it make any more sense to me. (I could say something cynical about how much time it takes to form a favorable impression of a fragrance, pick up a bottle, stand in line, and pay for it, but I’ll just let you draw your own conclusions.)
As I mentioned before, I spent way more time with WP than I would have if its name had been, say, “Private Blend Moss Breches,” and didn’t have one of the most glamorous ad campaigns featuring a woman of color in recent memory.
LCN applauds Tom Ford for using images of Ms. Badu, especially since, in the past, Tom has received a LCN WIKY To Award (Would It Kill You To Award) that asked Would It Kill You To Have More Interesting Looking Models? (Note: If you don't know what an LCN WIKY To Award is, you haven't been reading my on-going Credits and Commentary Section. Boo!! That's where I have half my fun!! I try to make an effort to be nice over here, but in the C&Cs-- it's knives out!!)
That being said, Tom, you need to hear me when I say this: You need to do better. You have to do better than having an ad campaign for a perfume named “White Patchouli” featuring Erykah Badu, and one named “Black Orchid” featuring her:
That is sloppy. That is lazy. Especially when there are no other models of color anywhere to be found in your own public porn loop.
And, what’s so especially disappointing about it is you are the master of shock and awe when it comes to fashion photography. You are the genius who believes the world needs this image seared into its retinas in order to sell $5,000 off-the-rack suits and smelly water:
That is sloppy. That is lazy. Especially when there are no other models of color anywhere to be found in your own public porn loop.
And, what’s so especially disappointing about it is you are the master of shock and awe when it comes to fashion photography. You are the genius who believes the world needs this image seared into its retinas in order to sell $5,000 off-the-rack suits and smelly water:
You, who have pushed the envelope of sexuality and gender and desire with so much skill and so much balls. You’ve made us laugh, you’ve made us squirm, you’ve made us hot, you’ve made us gasp, you’ve made us believe, all the while shaking our heads in disbelief. You have had very interesting things to put out there on sex—please think harder and give us something thoughtful to chew on about race. I know you can do it.And I know you can do this too: Next time, make some juice worthy of Queen Badu, please?
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