I haven't tried Dianne Brill's perfume. I just received a sample. Here's the thing: I don't want to like it. Isn't that awful?
Reason #1. Just read the first sentence of the ad copy:
Diane Brill's lifetime up to this moment provides the inspiration for her signature fragrance.
I am not a stickler about the English language, but honestly, with all the money that goes into developing perfumes and cosmetics, don't you think that this opening salvo could have been better written?
It's such a badly written sentence. I don't know why it sticks in my craw so much. It's causing all sorts of snarky responses in me. What if they left out "up to this moment"? Thus; Diane Brill's lifetime provides the inspiration for her signature fragrance. That's a perfectly good sentence. I suppose it sounds like she's dead. Ah. That's why someone threw that "up to this moment" bit in there. I see it now.
Okay. I'll let that one slide.
But wait, here's sentence #3: Dianne Brill's Perfume is the essence of Ms. Brill's philsophy, which is to deliver a feeling.
This stuff reads like the bad English put out by Japanese companies. Ms. Brill's company is not in this category. What's up with their writers?
As to that philosophy, yeah, I agree. It's really good to want to deliver a feeling. What feeling exactly are we talking about? I suppose it doesn't matter.
Oh sorry. There is a next line, so the question will be answered.
The feeling that you get when you open a present of lingerie, jewelry or exquisite bonbons.
That was it. What feeling is that? It depends, doesn't it? If someone gave me one of those S-shaped diamond necklaces, I'd be speechless and stupefied. Well, that's not exactly a feeling, is it? What if a stranger gave me a diamond engagement ring? I might be scared. If I received a gift of lingerie from a relative, I'd be shocked. Bonbons? Does anyone give bonbons as a gift? Well, I like those Lindt chocolates with hazelnuts inside. I suppose they are bonbons, so if I got some of those, I'd be pleased.
Ms. Brill, am I to believe I will feel all the emotions of a lifetime by wearing your perfume. That is what you mean, right?
Somehow, I think not.
Dianne Brill was the nightlife queen in the early 80's club scene. I remember liking her some, only because she wasn't thin and seemed to be totally okay with that. I was rather saddened to see, that on her website, she gave up being an proud big woman a while back.
I will try the perfume. Oh, how I want to hate it!
Photo note: Diane Brill and Elvira
Bobby Sheehan, 1977-82 (unspecified)
Addendum: I felt a bit disturbed after posting this. It was the photograph that created this uneasy (queasy?) feeling that I have. The black and white photograph above reminds me how innocent "we" were thirty or so years ago. Elvira was someone who was fake. Look at her, how truly fake she is. It's a fun fake, like Dianne Brill or Amy Winehouse's bouffants. And Diane B. back then? Honestly, I love her weight. She looks like a real person, all dressed up and having fun.
Go over to Dianne Brill's website (link above) and look at the photographs of her today. Oh, sure, she "looks good." No, I'll disagree with that statement. It's creepy for someone to look younger at middle-age than they did when they were twenty-something.
Last night, I watched the original CSI for the first time in at least a year. The woman who plays Katherine, whatever her name is, looks younger than when the show started. I watched her forehead during the entire episode. Did it move? Not really. Botox strikes again. So much for having models of good looking older women.
When I was a teenager and my mother started her flipping-out-over-I'm getting-old-and-undesirable phase, watching the changes in her were upsetting. I thought I was just a selfish little brat, wanting my mom to stay the same. In retrospect, I think there is some of that in there, but there was a larger issue. I wanted to see her grow old gracefully, for then I'd know I could do it too. I would have also been less worried about her mental state, but that's another story. I basically missed the last year of my mother's life because of her face lift. She didn't want me to see her until she was all healed.
I kid around about how I'd like to get a chin job, a neck resurfacing, a bit of surgery on my lower belly (and if I think about it, a whole host of other places). Heck, I don't have kids. Why should I be a decent role model? But why should I care at all? This is my body. It's falling apart, both on the outside and the inside. Gravity takes it course, as it should. My grandmother's boobs hung so low that they rested on the top of her apron waistband. That was what grandmothers looked like in my mind. There was something almost reassuring about it.
Why do we have to look perpetually young? Greater minds than I have asked that. I've read about this subject in so many places, yet not one person has written about why the youth standard has become so imperative right now. Maybe it's those aging baby boomers. They were in love with their youth and don't want to give it up. I think that may be part of it, but it certainly isn't the whole thing.
I want to admire old crones, women with creped skin and white hair. Why should any of us spend our whole lives worrying about what we look like?
It's odd. I didn't think I'd be someone susceptible to this. I never thought I was attractive and certainly didn't use my looks, such as they were, to any advantage. Youth was never an advantage to me, anyway. I "suffered" from the opposite problem of many. I actually looked too young for a good amount of my adult life. It was hard to get people to take me seriously. I looked like I was a high school student until I was in my late thirties.
What is the standard? It's Miss America, still, after all these years. That age is neither too young nor too old. Let's call it the perpetual 29. That sounds about right.
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