Rose Prick Perfume: An Investigation

I've been trying to figure out what it is about Rose Prick, a not so new, new perfume by Tom Ford that costs a fortune and for which there are no samples. I don't know why I ever tried it in the first place, or where this all started, though, presumably, it all started at Macy's. 

I've learned that Tom Ford is probably best is known for Fucking Fabulous–a perfume that I have tested and, in my opinion, smells really nice (fabulous, even). It, too, comes in a distinct chess piece shaped bottle, as does his entire line. Tom Ford is known for his slightly racy naming convention, which is either officially 'controversial' or 'not at all controversial'.

I'm not alone, certainly, in wondering why the company didn't name Rose Prick, 'F*ing Prick' or 'What a Prick'. These do seem like the clear, more obvious choices. And something like these examples was probably on the table and they just dropped the ball. It might have been corporate's attempt to tone down That Which Can Still Be Changed. Because maybe That Which Can No Longer Be Changed, Fucking Fabulous, was a very risky, over zealous error, never to be repeated again (yet, with the precedent set, and in an attempt to keep things of a piece with something like Fucking Fabulous–the tradition continues, But it's watered down). It makes me wonder if the name Rose Prick was decide before any perfume was actually composed. 

Perfume basically gives me a headache, but I enjoy the idea of perfume. I like reading perfume reviews. And I'm surprised so many people still wear perfume, especially since you really can't wear it in an office anymore. But I realize, even if I did wear perfume, I would never wear Rose Prick.

That said, there's just something about Rose Prick. There's some element or ingredient in it that reminds me of something. And this, in and of itself, causes a whole nearly-remembering-something chain of events–something I've learned is better known as 'presque vu', and is tangentially related to deja vu. 

I can't quite access whatever this memory is, nor discern the element in this scent that is triggering the memory. The elements in Rose Prick are pretty straightforward: Sichuan pepper, turmeric, May rose, Bulgarian rose, Turkish rose, patchouli and tonka bean, none of which have this effect on me in any other combination. Making the whole thing even stranger.

Having a memory triggered by Rose Prick is, for me, like having a word on the tip of my tongue. It feels like I am this close to figuring what it is about Rose Prick. But, I need to be able to smell Rose Prick in order to unlock the memory it triggers. And then, of course, it stops working, and by then I have a headache. And I give up.

So, when I'm out doing errands, which is not very often these days, finding Rose Prick is part of the plan. So much so that my significant other asked yesterday if we need to find 'rose something'. Which was so nice of him, because yes, we did. 

And, later, on the L, on our way back home, having stopped at Macy's for my dose of Rose Prick, to again try to figure out what it is that I am almost remembering, sniffing my wrist through both my coat and my mask, it was, as always, suddenly, briefly within my grasp. I had it. I knew what it was. It was right there. And then–it was gone. 

It's like forgetting a dream. Then having things just barely remind you of that dream all day long. Then, it stops working. And then I'm just stuck smelling like Rose Prick, and honesty, I'm starting to get used to it.   

It's almost like I'm chasing a dragon. And it's occurred to me that maybe that's the whole point of this perfume. That maybe this is the effect it has on everyone. That it's not just me, but part of the perfume's alchemy. That perhaps the scent is so bad because the scent isn't even the point.  

Maybe the real magic of Rose Prick is in it's chemical makeup which, as it is inhaled, intoxicates the wearer, targeting the memory. And all one has to do is apply more Rose Prick. Maybe the fact that the perfume itself is so bad while also being so addictive is the real 'f you', right there and really, how else for a designer to finally say FU to their customer base than via such a devious campaign!?!  

All that aside, my first impression of Rose Prick was that it had absolutely nothing to do with roses. Sure, it has an accord in part made up of roses. But if it were called anything else, something generic such as, 'Fleur-de-Lis', I would not detect a single roses in Rose Prick. What I do detect is something candied. And maybe something reminiscent of bath powder. Or, if there are any roses, they are made edible somehow, like Turkish Delight. But fresh cut roses? No, there are no fresh cut roses, nor anything else that is fresh in Rose Prick.

Or! If there are any roses to be found in Rose Prick, they've been boiled down with sugar for hours, made molten, then cooled into something hard, clear and artificial like a red lollipop, whose flavor is described only as "Red". But even then–it doesn't address the 'something else in there' element. And, again–this is where it all get so confusing. I am not simply mystified by the terribleness of this scent, but, as stated above, by what it evokes: by what it does. By what it is doing.  

And, if it even matters, what I'm almost remembering are the vaguest of impressions. And I feel like it's a mistake to attempt to put it into words, but if pressed, I'd say the memory has something to do with a hospital or cotton candy or a carnival or a nurse or medicine. 

So, these days, if I walk into Macy's it's not casually, but in order to accomplish the following: 

1. To spray Rose Prick on my wrist–a wrist that already has zero perfume on it because: 

A. I only wear perfume around the house, if ever.

B. I don't want to offend anyone else with my perfume, in the odd circumstance I am wearing it. Except in the instance of wearing Rose Prick, then clearly I don't care one bit! (Actually, I do care, quite a bit. Much of this story is completely made up). 

And

C. Given all of the above, I know I'm going to apply some Rose Prick to my wrist at some point if I am doing errands. I know this because I apply Rose Prick to my wrist at some point whenever I do errands. And having it clash with another perfume on my wrist, in the rare instance I am wearing any, would ruin this investigation.  

2.  To also spray Rose Prick on my sleeve. This, to occur while spraying my wrist, a sort of 'two for one' perfume grab, if you will. My sleeve, in this case, should be machine washable and comprised of 100% natural fibers. The reason for getting some of the perfume on my sleeve, as well as on my wrist, is due to the fact that perfume lasts much longer on fabric than it does on one's skin. Though it will smell differently on fabric than it does on skin, sometimes a person must make concessions when trying to conduct analysis on a perfume for which access is unpredictable. 

3. To get yet another dose of the perfume as a backup on one of those paper cards you find supplied at perfume counters. Even as I'm spraying perfume on my wrist and sleeve–this further spraying of perfume onto a card is all in an effort to get as much perfume out the door with me as possible during any one opportunity I get to do so, while still behaving as non-hoarding as possible.

4. However, if the person behind the counter is not paying attention or happens to walk away, I will proceed, as practiced, to quickly decant a sample of the perfume from the tester into a medical grade glass bottle* I've carefully hidden up my sleeve for this very purpose (and so many others). But, if at any time a clerk comes over, or starts to seem suspicious, I can–though I really, really don't want to–take my decant and the tester bottle and run out the nearest exit and walk** at a normal pace to the westernmost bank of elevators, look at my cell phone as I wait, go up to Housewares on the 8th floor, browse as though I'm shopping for flatware, take the stairs from the 8th floor to the 6th floor, walk over to the easternmost bank of escalators, take the escalator back down to the ground level, and, now that I'm situated on the opposite side of the building from where I began (having confused everyone who thought I was stealing with my completely dazzling lack of concern for getting caught) I exit the store.

Then, about a week later, I can return to the store, the tester bottle of Rose Prick tucked safely up my sleeve, and look at scarves then umbrellas then hats–all in a way that suggests to the most hardboiled of store security that I'm really shopping. Then, after winding up in the perfume department at the counter in question, I can with a gloved hand (the softest, deepest burgundy, bracelet length leather glove imaginable) place the bottle back onto it's rightful pedestal with the cap on straight, and perfectly centered. But first–! I can spray some of the perfume on my wrist and sleeve as though that was the whole reason I was standing there. Then, if a clerk does come over, I can talk to them about perfume and behave normally. And ask them for a sample of Rose Prick. Already knowing, of course, that there are no samples of Rose Prick. Then–if they are the type of clerk who relishes getting petit revenge on their workplace, but only in the most plausibly deniable ways–they can, as I depart, hand me a small shopping bag filled with 25 or so perfume samples, some of which I will realize only later are samples of Rose Prick––f*ing finally!

* purchased from overseas  

** But in reality: "Walk..." two steps away from the counter to spray it on my wrist, so as not to get it on the clerk, who no doubt has a headache every single day. –The End.