I love the night
The day is okay,
and the sun can be fun
but I live
 to see those rays slip away
                                         
Once upon a time,

Private Collection was the personal perfume of Ms. Estée Lauder. When those close enough to Ms. Lauder to get a whiff asked what perfume she was wearing, she told them it was from her private collection. After receiving phone calls from Saks Fifth Avenue requesting her “private collection perfume” she made it available to the public in 1973.

Presented like a magic potion in a frosted cocoon, Private Collection is the essence of sunlight made from blades of grass. Perhaps perfumer Vincent Marcello dabbled in alchemy on weekends – it was the ’70s and everybody dabbled in something

The eau de parfum is a happy tune: notes of narcissus, honeysuckle and jasmine ride a frosty galbanum breeze.

The parfum is acid green, a little sour, a little soapy. Eventually it sprouts tiny wings, but it’s mostly earthbound. This is not such a bad thing, for the ground is blanketed with moss.

If you need a touch of light to brighten your day, you can’t go wrong with Private Collection. If you need a little magic at night, Private Collection will happily pull a double shift.

Private Collection is the green pill. A spritz, a dab, it doesn’t matter how I take it – it all leads down the same mossy rabbit hole, to a shadowy forest. Under a dark canopy of trees, every bud, every bloom, glows the green of a Luna moth’s wings. A gust of wind blows through like a comet, it’s tail made of sparks and fireflies. Crickets chirp, owls hoot. 

I have all this space, this time, to myself. All paths lead to the distant future. Each minute lasts an hour. I don’t notice the time slipping by. I close my eyes. Soon the sun will rise. The air smells creamy, like sandalwood…it can’t be….Perhaps I’m dreaming….

If only you had been there, my dear. We could have shared this together.

Sources:
I Love the Night lyrics by Blue Oyster Cult
Estée: A Success Story by Estée Lauder
Users Will Feel Rich, and Probably Are by Angela Taylor, New York Times, Sept. 15, 1973.
The Perfect Scent by Chandler Burr
Image: Geoff Gallice, Wiki Commons

Advertisements