Paris Hilton "Can Can"

Seriously -- I went to the Macy's counter, and this is the only sample they had. Freaking Paris Hilton will be my first return-to-US review. How perfectly twisted is that?

First on, all I could think of was Flowerbomb. There's that same sweet petal hint, but difficult to untangle -- there's something plastic overlying this scent that muddles the notes, and it runs straight through all the stages of the perfume.

After the intial Fauxerbomb hit, the first distinct note was confectioner's sugar, like when you're dusting a cake and some of the sugar gets caught in the air and you breathe it in. It really gets into your nose and the back of your throat, very aggressive, and actually resulted in me going to get a glass of water to cut the sensation a little. Just as I thought "too much", the sugar died down a bit and a more muted tone appeared.

Unfortunately, I didn't like the next stage any better. All baby powder and floral and sugar, like the perfumes in a child's makeup kit, alongside the miniature lipstick and waxy eye tint. There's a sour flower in here, possibly a lily that's just going off... Ah! Got it!

You know those sachets of plant food you get with flower arrangements? You're meant to mix it in with the water and it supposedly makes your roses live longer. I think it's mostly sugar, and if you let the roses stay in that water even a little past their bloom, this insidious smell shows up. Sickly sweet and decomposing.

Verdict: It's tempting to try a witty comparison between Paris Hilton's perfume (plasticky, saccharine and decayed) and her persona (no comment). But in the end, this is just Flowerbomb well past its sell-by date.

Back from Beyond

New Zealand is a lovely country, reader. It's green and lush and gorgeous, surrounded by turquoise waters stretching out forever under cornflower-blue skies. The clouds racing by overhead are just as white and puffy as the sheep dotting the hills. Goofy orange-billed black birds with absurdly gangly red legs watch you from the roadside, and Christmas is marked by an explosion of red spiky flowers on the pohutukawa trees.

In my experience, it's mainly a visual experience. Granted, this could have a lot to do with the fact that I was mainly based in Wellington, where the wind enjoys blowing old ladies over at the slightest provocation. The wind eagerly seeks out anything it can and promptly whips it out into the Pacific -- scarves, documents, children under 10. Facing such odds, mere scents don't really have a chance.

That's not to say I didn't try; but here's another thing about NZ. There are 4 million people there. In a city like Wellington, that means you will soon find yourself recognising people on the street. And if you're skulking around their perfume halls, that means the staff at the beauty counter will soon become quite suspicious about you.

So if you're looking to test perfumes, don't go to New Zealand. If you're looking for espresso that will ruin you for all others, for vistas that will strike you dumb, and lovely fabulous people with a dry sense of humour and a bloody annoying accent, then book your tickets now. I've only been back in the US two weeks, and I already miss it dearly.