His beauty would have been his greatest asset. One imagines he was raised in the big air of Texas, his soft skin scrubbed by ears of wheat, his eyelashes curled by grappling with grace against a blinding sun. A Steve McQueen lost on city asphalt. A fisherman without a line, he was made to be hooked by others, to believe in his fate without knowing it, to wreak havoc and forget it over time. Youth for women-of-a-certain-age, stock for late-night parties, a partner to accompany the wealthy of Palm Peach on nature walks, his splendor is consumed in the service of others. Now, a Fat Electrician in New Jersey, his talent depleted in his sexual decline. To celebrate this beauty which cannot be recaptured, a splendid vetiver is required - an ode to bygone eroticism. Antoine Maisondieu has willed him white, metallic, silver like the ancestral green of olive leaves. But also sweet, demure, addictive like a chestnut cream – vanilla bean, opoponax and myrrh in the bottom notes. Intensely concentrated, resinous, flawlessly unrefined, it conveys a sensuality of contradiction. Because all beauty carries within itself the knowledge that it will not last.
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