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Splogger Jason Reviews Ladies' Fragrances

Splogger Jason Reviews Ladies' Fragrances

By Jason Saenz

Instagram / Sephora / wide inset courtesy beautybylerenda

As a SparkLife blogger, it is my duty to push myself beyond my comfort zone to bring to you, our loving Sparklers, fresh perspectives on the world around us. I already blogged about my experience reading Vampire Academy (short review: it was torture) but never did I think I had to endure what was coming next.

I was going to try ladies' perfume.

As soon as I walked in the store, I was beset by a headache. The amount of perfume in the air rivaled any Abercrombie & Fitch store I've ever been in, and I wondered how the employees could work without gas masks.

After the initial olfactory shock wore off, I looked around the grand space. It look liked Willy Wonka's, but with makeup instead of candy, and tall, thin men in eyeshadow beavering away instead of Oompa Loompas.

My pupils constricted in the bright light, and I encountered three of my reflections when I unwittingly walked into a dead-end hall of mirrors containing hair products. I felt lost and frightened, and had the distinct feeling that I was being watched.

Finding my bearings, I walked over to the perfume wall, which shimmered with fancy bottles as far as the eye could see. There were classics like CK and Juicy Couture, but I was headed to smell the more "eclectic" brands; to break new ground; to journey to the New World.

The first was an "I LOVE NY" perfume collection. The bottle looked like something someone would sell at a souvenir stand. I hesitantly grabbed the bottle and sniffed. It didn't smell like subway and vagrancy like I thought it would—it smelled more like Febreeze (which I guess is what'd you'd spray to cover up that subway smell).

Next was a collection from Desigual entitled "FUN, LOVE, SEX." These bottles looked more like fairy potions than perfume. I grabbed "FUN," anticipating a bouquet of pizza and Netflix, spraying some FUN into the air and inhaling. It smelled liked cherries. Cherries are fun, I guess.

Next I reached for "LOVE." Okay, I thought, this one has got to smell better than FUN. This one has to embody the sense of losing oneself and becoming entwined with another soul. I sprayed a little... STRAWBERRIES. That's what LOVE smells like? Desigual really has got get over this fruit fetish.

Lastly, I grabbed "SEX" and sprayed some into the air. CHERRIES AGAIN! What the what? It was the exact same smell as FUN! I sprayed both again to be sure. Yep, they both smelled like cherries. I couldn't take it anymore. All perfume smells the same. I ran over to the lotion area to get some fresh air, passing an assortment of lipsticks standing ready to attack in battalions on a wall. "Do you need any help?" I heard a voice say, and spun around. There was no one there.

I hurried on to the lotions space, sweat beading on my head, and was greeted by the smile of a beautiful woman: Jennifer Aniston. Not the real Jennifer Aniston, but a display for her beauty-product line "Living Proof." Her smile invited me in to try her hand lotions. "Lavender," I thought. "Now that's a classic." I rubbed some over my hands and ventured further into the warehouse of beauty.

Jennifer's lovely face was torn from my mind as I realized with fresh terror what lay beneath the glass of floating island.

There, in columns stacked five high, was a horror show of disembodied eyelashes—a display case of eternally unseeing eyes collected like taxidermy and done up in death with glitter inserts and feather trims and sparkles (oh, the sparkles).

It was as though I had stumbled onto a serial killer's basement collection winking at me as if to say, "You know what I did to the rest of the bodies, right?"

That's when I started to hyperventilate.

I ran past the nail polish station, amputated fingers threatening to grab my throat, past the two beauty classes in session to train future mass murders, and out into the street, gasping for air, terrified and glad to finally be out with my eyelashes and fingers intact.

The natural light and wafts of traffic fumes and vaporized urine returned me to my senses, and I took deep breaths as I got a grip on myself, willing myself to believe, It's just a cosmetic store. Girls go there all the time. You're safe. No one wants your eyelashes.

I am not sure I would recommend any of the fragrances I sampled, but I did go back for some of that Jennifer Aniston hand cream.

A guy has gotta take care of his cuticles!

What advice do you have for Jason the next time he steps into a makeup store?

Topics: Life, Beauty
Tags: perfume, sploggers, beauty, reviews, fragrances, american horror story, one man's tale of survival

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About the Author
Jason Saenz

Jason Saenz is a writer in New York City. Follow him on Twitter @JasonSaenz!

Wanna contact a writer or editor? Email contribute@sparknotes.com.