When you take Route 8 North through Waterbury, Litchfield, Torrington, you eventually reach the end of the road in the form of a T-junction. Turn right and take a picturesque drive to Massachusetts. A left brings you to a massive antiques warehouse with about a hundred vendors and no air conditioning. Xanadu.
Tucked amidst the trinkets and overpriced crap are some cool pieces of furniture, old books (usually late nineteenth, early twentieth century), and if you're really committed to picking through the rubble you can find an interesting cologne or two. I happened across a shelf of Avon bells from the seventies, and bought two of them for ten bucks each, the Liberty Bell men's cologne, and the women's Hospitality Bell. They were unopened, in excellent condition, and priced well. What the heck.
The Hospitality Bell reminds me of a short story by Robert Arthur, The Rose-Crystal Bell, probably because it's heavy glass filled with rose cologne. Rose crystal, also known as rose quartz, is unlikely to be fashioned into a bell, a verity which is probably the least unlikely element of Arthur's memorably bizarre story. Still, the fact that the bell comes with a detached clapper makes it nearly impossible to not think of that little horror story.
Anyway, I expected Roses, Roses to be sickly sweet garbage, but it surprised me. It's a simple but decent soliflore, similar to Perfumer's Workshop Tea Rose. This type of basic soapy rose is just a lemon aldehyde built up with various rose ketones (damascones, damascenones). The interesting thing about this one is that the quality of the materials used here is clearly good, given that they've survived the decades without turning sour. The fragrance has held up for over forty years, and contains a bit of real rose oil, but it isn't very deep. Its drydown arrives quickly, and it's a simple floral tone that could probably double as an aftershave. Can't complain for ten bucks.
This is an instance where a crapshoot on vintage worked out. I've said it a million times before, and I'll say it again: roses are unisex. Sure, Americans aren't tuned into that, but a shave, a splash of Thayer's Rose, and a slap of this stuff works. A guy can pull it off pretty easily, given how light it is. (Longevity, however, isn't bad - three hours.) For those curious about why men have "rose" as a shaving scent option, there's volumes written about it; history books posit that Edwardian Englishmen considered it "Gentlemanly" to smell of woody florals, and roses fit the bill. It's also always been culturally popular with Middle Eastern men, usually paired with oud, something I don't love.
My history with notes like rose, fruits, white florals, has been fairly neutral. We're living in strange times, when Victorian and Edwardian trends have come full circle. Pre-war men lived with green flowers in their alcohol splashes, plenty of lavender, lilac, and rose, but by WWII the conscripted considered any scented product beyond perhaps Skin Bracer and Old Spice "girly." Then the 1960s hit, hippies took over the world, and by the 2000s our sense of humor had returned. Few people comment when I wear rose.
Can you find a Hospitality Bell today? They're all over eBay, with the "Moonwind" scent enjoying an edge in availability. If you're interested in a cheap rose cologne to follow a shave, here's something in a bell-shaped bottle to consider. Just don't try ringing it.