Black Orchid (Tom Ford) - 1st Impressions

Everyone has a certain opinion of themselves, which waxes and wanes according to their self-image, the mantle upon which personal style rests. I know, I know, run-on sentences about fashion philosophy are a drag. But only a lazy, introverted, swarthily-handsome (in a guy-next-door kinda way), overworked, overfed, and underfucked American with an abbreviated artistic sensibility could start a blog post like this. Welcome to "Being Bryan Ross," the straight-to-text sequel to Being John Malkovich, the most unique and original motion picture Hollywood has ever crapped out. This straight-to-text version - not so unique or original.

So what does a lazy half-artist - one who believes he was a Bolshevik in his last life - wear when he's feeling most himself? When his mojo of cereal killer madness kicks on, and he kills, then eats a box (yes, A BOX, with milk judiciously poured into it) of Corn Flakes next to the body? Then kills again, this time using just his thumb, because he can't hold the controller with both hands while he's eating? What does a world-conquering geek-A-rama sport in the wee hours of the morning, while fantasizing about sexing that really tall female co-worker who is a little bizarre but a lot beautiful all the same? You know her, she played basketball in college, and now she's just doing what you're doing until she finishes school, which is why she doesn't really make eye contact with you or say anything to you. What does a guy like this, with all his free time, and all his video games, and all his spilled milk and leftover soggy cereal, do?

He wears Black Orchid. That's what he does. At least, I get the impression he does. Allow me to expound on this further.

Black Orchid is fittingly dark, glamorous, rich, full of textures and tonalities and spoiled things. I get semi-rotten fruit, but only marginally, and not even enough to say there's a "fruity" element. I get some sort of odd lipstick note, which smells really trite, sweet, chemical, greasy, and like nothing a heterosexual guy would gravitate to. I get bubblegum, I get makeup powder, I get grape candy. There's a very twangy and cold (read: frigid) orchid note, tempered with creamy ylang, and rubbed with indolic jasmine, but nothing smells overripe, per say. Just blotted. Densely mixed. Heavy. Acrid, even. This is a convoluted, aggressive, feminine, dramatic perfume. It boasts a darkness that few other perfumes in its class ever deign to convey. You wear this to the opera, and you wear it as you pull that silenced Browning Hi-Power from your cummerbund and aim it at the Sirroccan who sits, under the mistaken assumption that Americans give a crap about diplomatic immunity, three boxes from your cross hairs with his wife. The curtain call comes early for him tonight.

These are the first impressions I get from Black Orchid. More to follow. Stay tuned.


  1. I am still on the fence about Black Orchid. Are you trying the EdT or EdP?

    John Cusack: Hurrah!

    1. The EDP. I tell you what - this fragrance is not easy to like. Mr. Cusack's estimable career, however, is.


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