Fictionary: Whoroma

Fictionary is a column showcasing beauty-related words that don’t exist, but should.

The other day I was out to dinner at a fun Russian restaurant when I recognized one of the strongest cult-favorite scents (which I will not name as it’s perfectly fine in moderation) applied by the GALLON on a fellow dining patron a couple tables over–but her perfume was so strong, I could practically taste it. She was on a double date, scantily clad in a micro-mini (no judgement) and a metric ton of makeup. Mostly I felt bad for her date. If she was making my scallops taste like her Whoroma from several feet away, (an expression Andrea Lavinthal so gracefully bestowed unto me) how could he enjoy his meal right next to her?

The world may never know.

Have you experienced a Whoroma? Share. Go.

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