Perfumer Carlos Benaim
People who lived large and loud in the 1980s will tell you that the bigness of the era was a reflection of exuberance and the sense of endless potential. It wasn’t. It was mostly just un-nuanced and noisy.
Enter Carolina Herrera, the perfume, not the person. It’s a child’s stick-drawing of a tuberose blown up to billboard size, shaken with a shot of over-concentrated artificially sweetened grape kool-aid. Both monstrous and shrill, it was overconfident where it should have been self-conscious. Classically 80s in style, Carolina Herrera reminds me how tedious and draining those conversations with people on blow were.