Los Angeles. In this, the city of fallen angels, fantasy rules. In On the Road, Jack Kerouac wrote, “LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities.” It’s the city described by Woody Allen’s character in Annie Hall as the city where “the only cultural advantage is being able to make a right turn on a red light.” But they come, the dreamers, for the sunshine and the possibilities, to this land of opportunity, where hope springs eternal. Whatever they’re searching for — happiness, love, money, fame — the temptations lure them deeper and deeper into this concrete paradise.
Inspired by Chandler Burr’s novel of the same name, You Or Someone Like You is invigorating, evasive and beautiful. Set in the city of fallen angels, the fragrance blurs the line between fantasy and reality: the natural and man made aspects of L.A. architecture (both living and inanimate) converge here. If you’re after that new fangled mode of perfume, wherein a lush yet impenetrable surface (enumerating endless anachronisms) alchemizes skin, this is the cutting edge. There is, as Burr suggests, something distinctly botanical about Your Or Someone Like You: a crisp, aqueous stalk of cactus, the fresh air fragrance of unscented desert grasses, something sweetly floral but innocent, a blossom confined–by the exhaust, concrete, metal, modern architecture and bright, high blue skies that surround it. There is a surgical precision to You Or Someone Like You, but graciously there is nothing literally medical about it: rather, this scent implies the impossibility (or possibility) of the self in a city whose economy runs on transformation (and anonymity). As Burr suggests, if you need to know the precise notes, You Or Someone Like You is not for you. This scent encapsulates the malleability of a specific L.A. identity that is all about the privilege to see or be seen, at will.