Welcome to a week of reviews of drugstore classics. It seems fitting to start the week with a review of Dana Tabu, one of the most loved, reviled, illustrious, and cheap of the perfumes you’ll find at the local Walgreen’s.
In 1932, Jean Carles, the nose behind such genius compositions as Christian Dior Miss Dior (with Paul Vacher), Carven Ma Griffe, Schiaparelli Shocking, and many of the Lucien Lelong fragrances, created Tabu…
Take two perfumes: both are made by luxury perfume houses, they smell very similar, and they come packaged in equally attractive bottles. One costs $75, and the other, which is discontinued, costs twice that. Which one will I buy? Assuming that my budget is up to it, chances are I'll go for the discontinued scent. What is that all about?
There's something about a discontinued perfume that makes me crazy to smell it and maybe own it, even if I never would have bought the scent were it still in production. Thanks to this illogical urge, I have enough discontinued perfume that had I saved my money instead I could have replaced my living room windows. I have bottles that I can't swap away (hello vanilla fruit of Lagerfeld Sun Moon Stars), bottles that I like well enough but wouldn't have bought otherwise (that means you, “smoking in a cafe with roses and a spicy plum tart” Guerlain Parure), and bottles that I adore (witness my lifetime supply of vintage Miss Dior, the skanky variety). And, of course, there are all the bottles I can only dream of…
The concept of cologne is so alluring. A true cologne should be sparkling and clean and disappear soon after it is applied — almost like an extension of the soap you just used in the shower. It all sounds so fresh, pure, and energetic. The problem for me is that a cologne never really feels like “me”. Just like meditation, camping, and taking up a sport, cologne sounds like something I want to love but, to be honest, really don’t. That is, until I met Eau de Rochas…
A few weeks ago I bought a November 1937 issue of Harper's Bazaar at a yard sale. It was a warm afternoon, and I brought the magazine home, poured myself a glass of iced tamarind mint tea, and sat on the couch with the fan whirring quietly in the background. Then I settled for a few hours into a different world.
In those days, Harper's was a magazine of aspirations. The first few pages are ads for Bergdorf Goodman and feature a pouty Danielle Darrieux modeling a lamé gown, an ermine cape, and metallic Delman evening slippers. The lines of the dresses in the ads to follow show the late 1930s strong shoulder and shoes with high vamps. Almost five ads feature the new Talon “slide fastener” (known to us now with its catchier name, “zipper”) touting how smoothly it closes a garment…
As the cashier at Walgreen's rang up my sale, I watched the cash register's display. Stetson — $2.00. (Big sale at the fragrance aisle.) Stetson Black — $2.00. Charlie — DO NOT SELL. The cashier yawned and continued to toss items into my bag. Tabu — DO NOT SELL. I glanced up at her, but she seemed unconcerned and pushed my bag toward me. The last time I got a “do not sell” from the cash register, it was for a recalled bottle of Love's Baby Soft. What has to happen that's so bad that a bottle of drugstore perfume is recalled?
I happy to report that none of the bottles of perfume I bought that day burst spontaneously into flames or ate holes in my skin. In fact, Stetson may be my best two-dollar investment ever…