In winter she smelled like fire. It was a mixture of new books, cinnamon, orange, raw writing and sunflowers that made everyone smile at her. She contrasted with the white landscape: she never smelled like snow.
Sitting on a bench, the figure ignored the sights which announced that spring was here: flowers and birds weren’t interesting at all. The crux of the matter was the museum’s newest exhibition about Mary Shelley and Lord Byron. She then smelled like ice, satin and pears; an uncommon scent for an uncommon person, who refused to wear anything floral in April.
In July, she was the exact opposite of summer breezes: she enjoyed high temperatures with freezing air conditioning, which spread her warm scent in the air. Basil, lilies and burgundy lipstick; dark stripes and round sunglasses, paired with gladiator sandals, because she was more dramatic than classic tragedy.
Autumn, then, came as a surprise. She wore white almost every day, as a protest against “season’s color pallet”. NYFW wasn’t the only fashion dictator there was. She competed with it every day, with her raspberry and lemons smell. A touch of washed hair, smoothie and mascara, and she was ready to fight the world.
Her great-grandmother used to say “Don’t forget to smell the world”. That was now her mantra, her life-decisions guide, which she religiously repeated every day, while brushing her teeth.
Her life goal was to show everyone that Carolina Herrera was too démodé.