You’re working on edits to your manuscript, or maybe you’re locked in your office, in your favorite sweats with a cold glass of carbonation and some cookies. Maybe you’ve washed your hair. Maybe…not. You struggle with yet another euphamism for the clitoris and as your fingers type the words ‘love nubbin,’ you realize… you smell.
But what do you smell like?
If you’re a romance author, I bet you smell like Danielle. Danielle who?
Click the page of her manuscript that floats gently in midair, and you’re invited, after you install Flash, to sign up for a free sample. I know I did. I’ll let you know how it smells.
But if the Bitchery takes time out from the nonstop reading of the Journal of Feminist Esoteric Studies for a short break with People magazine, and don’t lie because I know some of y’all do, you’ll see an ad for this lovely parfum featuring Danielle herself deftly avoiding papercuts as manuscript pages float around her. You can sample the floral madness right there in the gossip pages.
If only the internet had smell-o-vision – you’d get the full Danielle experience.
Now, this ad does beg the question: are writers the next celebrities to jump on the fragrance gravy train? Will there be Eau de James Patterson? Savage by Cassie Edwards?
And – most importantly – what does Nora, by Nora Roberts, smell like?
Why do I think they were actually going to invent some kind of fragrance reader for the internet at one point?
I know there was talk of a credit-card-swipey thing…
I’m probably drunk.
The description tells me absolutely nothing about the fragrance other than it’s modern floral.
Which means that it probably smells like every other drugstore perfume—thick, heavy, and oddly baby powderish at the finish. Blegh.
Course, I like men’s cologne, like an old fashioned 4711, so who am I to judge?
Success, of course.
The dress Danielle’s wearing looks like it was made out of what I fished from the shower drain this morning.
Btw I’d be 100 times more likely to buy a perfume called Bitch than one called Danielle. At least the former is representative of me.
I’m thinking Nora smells like snark. Ginger and capsicum over a base of rose and musk for sweet, sweet love. (Come to think, I’d buy that.)
It looks like an ad for the soap operas of old.
Must smell like…cheaps cigars and even cheaper champagne.
To be completely authentic there’d have to be a hint of tobacco in Nora’s. I’d buy it, especially if it was heavy on that ginger.
Now Beatrice Small—I’m not sure I’d even take the cork out of the bottle. Phheeeew
That’s some mighty fine airbrushing going on there (or a *fantastic* plastic surgeon). Miss Steele is about 60 years old, yet in this photo looks just like Tory Spelling’s slightly older sister.
Getting there was wayyyy too much trouble.
DS looked a little creepy.
Betcha parfum de Nora would smell all snarky.
Parfum de Bitch (do I have that right?)…I’d buy it.
D.S. is only sixty?!? Naw.
First the earth cooled…
Oh, I don’t know. I think she looks like Celine Dion after they scrape the Vegas off her and unplug the magically rejuvenating Titanic soundtrack she keeps playing in a continuous loop in her dressing room. And what a revolting shade of pink in the background.
I am absolutely heartbroken to see that this quality fragrance isn’t available in Canada yet, pity.
Hmm, my ‘submission’ word is forces57, I wonder what that could be suggesting?
dang… I bet Nora Roberts would smell like a big brick of crispy hundred dollar bills, yo. And heaven.
I’d buy eau de Nora, and I bet the ginger would be heavenly and the hundred dollar bill aroma would be very tasteful 🙂
Did anyone else read the Fragrance – the Notes section? “Optimism, Romance, and Intrigue” (as conveyed by things like “Mediterranean Mandarin,” “Butterfly Jasmine,” “Sunset Orchid,” “Hydroponic Rose,” “Blue Vetiver,” “White Amber,” and “Cashmere Musks” – what, no “Antique Ambergris”?) Wow. That’s all I’m sayin’.
Actually, because we just got our dogs a baby brother, I smell like puppy, a ratty old sweater and sleep deprivation. (You can make this fragrance, should you care for it, in your own kitchen and save the department store cost.) But I hope to smell like successful snark again after I finally get to take a shower.
I’m sitting here with my Smart Bitch Chemistry set – which I totally stole from Candy because her science is tight and mine, well, it is not – taking notes.
So instead of “hydroponic rose” and “butterfly jasmine” we need “ratty sweater” and “damp puppy.”
Huh. I think I can totally whip that up in my kitchen. I know all about eau de sleep deprivation. Will report back.
I still have to wonder, though – are any other writers coming out with a fragrance? The possibilities are endless – Fixed Lividity by Stephen King?
Congrats on the new puppy!
I totally want to make a comment involving the words “shovel” and “face” but it feels kinda wrong. I mean, Steel must have made big bucks too, she could totally track my ass down.
(Please blame any lack of sense or lack of funny on pregnancy induced nausea and exhaustion.)
Hmm, I ordered a sample as well but I get the feeling that I’d much rather smell like damp puppy and old sweater. Or ginger and hundred dollar bills, they’re both great scents!
I’m trying to brainstorm perfumes for various writers, but first I need to know: Does purple prose smell like violets?
Sorry. It’s just that I’ve had only one giant mug of coffee this morning, and I just looked at the post of the Changeling Press covers. In short, I’m rather loopy at the moment.
Also, I’m giggling because my confirmation code is head16, and I am (mentally) twelve years old.
I’m coming out with my own perfume based on the life of unpublished writers. It’s called, The Incivility of Writing. It smells like a copy of a copy of a copy of a rejection letter with a coffee stain on it.
(submission word is wrong51…)
Writers just smell like all the things they let go to hell in order to meet deadlines: dirty dishes, piles of laundry, stinky catboxes, unwashed bodies, leftover ramen, etc. No thanks!
In my writing circle, they constantly remind me that a SELECTIVE use of adjectives is more useful than ALL of the adjectives one can possibly think of. Mandarin, jasmine, orchid, rose, vetiver, amber, musks – I mean, PICK ONE. NOT ALL. The environment is threatened enough as it is.
And Danielle turned 59 in August… Wikipedia continues to rock on!
Purple prose smells like pansies … not violets.
And, Nora’s cool and all, but I’ll pass on eau de puppy. I’ve got sleep deprivation on tap, but all my ratty old sweaters smell like cedar. I suspect my husband may have a cedar fetish.
That actually does smell kind of good, except I’m not big on rose scents. Maybe an oriental lily to complement the ginger.
my honey (reading over my shoulder),
remarked on my excessive collection of vampire romances.. (feehan, kenyon,harrison, etc)
he said all my authors probably smell like blood….then he must have thought of the female/blood connection and he yelled “EWWWWWWWWWW” as he rolled back into his room laughing at his own wit and the things i read ……..
(wonder if i can rig his wheelchair to just go around in circles….)
lovelysalome wrote:
“And Danielle turned 59 in August… Wikipedia continues to rock on!”
Yeah, but we all know anyone an edit the ‘facts’ on wiki! Maybe we should go in and crank her age up to 75 and see how long it takes before her assistant edits it back down again? Not that I’d ever do something like that, of course …
I remember reading my step-mom’s copy of “The Promise” when I was like, eleven…Just seems like forever and a day. But I also looked her up, and apparently she published when she was 19.
The Biography Channel page says her first novel was published in 1973, making her 26 when it came out. That’s still pretty impressive!
If they were going to base a perfume on a romance writer, is Danielle Steel really the best choice? I assume she still sells since I see her books in Walmart, but I haven’t actually seen anyone reading her in quite some time. Maybe I’m hanging with the wrong crowd. *snark*
P.S. My verification word for this entry is story69. Okay, I have a dirty mind, but that made me laugh.
Yeppers. You aren’t hangin’ with my in-laws. . . .
So there I am in the PX (Walmart’s sickly, undernourished cousin, dedicated to the military) at lunch time with my husband. “There it is!” I squealed. A whole display table’s worth of Danielle out in the middle of the aisle.
“There’s what?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Danielle Steel’s perfume.”
“Who’s that?”
Sigh. I uncapped the sample and took a whiff. I’m not good enough to be able to pretend I can smell different notes but the definite impression I got was “old lady perfume”. Not to mention strong as hell. I still vote for Nora’s ginger/cash/snark/sweater combo
so, not that I have too much time on m hands or anything, but there are a bunch of websites out there where you can design a perfume for yourself (or a loved one). I input my impressions of we, the assembled smart bitches, and this is what they gave me:
“An oriental with a fresh fruity top of bergamot, lemon and coriander with a floral heart of rose, jasmine, coriander, lily of the valley and orangeblossom drying down to a sweet, musky, woody base.”
dude. I’d totally wear Eau de Smarte Bitchez.
“sweet, musky, woody base?”
My brain just stuttered to a complete halt when all the jokes ran for the exit and blocked the door.
I think we’d have to call it “Eau de Man Titte.”
DH asked me if this was real or not. Sadly, I saw the ad first in one of my magazines.
And can we ever have perfume that DOESN’T include floral or musk notes? I’d so buy one that did. Floral scents give me a migraine. Give me something citrus-y.
And I think purple prose smells like overpowering roses. The fake perfume smell, not the real stuff (of which I have on my table since DH surprised me with some yesterday).
I think we need to have DS over for dinner and give her a biscuit. She really need to have some meat on them thar bones.
I have to say it smells bad! I saved the page out of a mag with the sample to remind me to ask Nora what she would smell like and I got a HUGE headache from the sample!
Not a good sign!
I have a feeling the classic romance writer’s fragrance would be coffee scented with high notes of old sweatpants and hair in need of shampoo, with a finish of a slight, woodsy scent evoking last night’s supper that burned because you were caught up in your heroine’s travails.