I swear the older I get, the more I BECOME Cheers‘ Diane Chambers.
Why? It means, literally, a “noisy quarrel,” a passionate chaos that Diane secretly adores. The splendid tuberose classic is a little scent confection I can imagine her picking up during a summer semester at the Sorbonne she will bring up to no end for the rest of her life. (She and I may or may not have that in common.) The juice was blended in 1948 by Germaine Cellier and remains one of the most famous scents among fragonerds. In 1996, it was reformulated and relaunched. There are legions who maintain that its original sparkle was lost. On a trip to London, I tested out the perfume (a favorite of Marilyn Monroe—she didn’t remain faithful entirely to Chanel No. 5) in Liberty and promptly fell in love as deep as Norm’s feelings for beer. I thought about Fracas hours later and wound up purchasing it in Fortnum and Mason, despite the fact that I could certainly obtain it at my local Sephora. VAT be damned. It’s buttery, carnal, feminine. Typically, a floral created so long ago would register a bit octogenarian to me (No. 5 does, alas), but Fracas’ effect is more Lorraine Baines 1955 than Lorraine Baines McFly 2015. It’s a very heavy scent, delivered with Cliff Claven efficiency, so no more than two sprays. Its powerful punch would suit Diane well. It’s a noted man magnet despite its ultra-feminine appeal, a balance so difficult to achieve that is much like Diane’s old world romantic allure in and of itself.
Fracas is not for the faint of heart: Its sex appeal is immeasurable. It’s the type of scent that makes other women teem with envy.
But you’re used to that, aren’t you?
Buy Fracas by Robert Piguet here. And tell me: Are you a Fracas fan?
Welcome to R18 series feature, Fictitious Fragrance Fans. Fragrance is one of the most difficult areas of beauty to discuss and I find myself trying to convey a scent to you, more often than not, by the pop culture character it embodies to me. So why not make it a thing?