Meanwhile...

You're waiting for a bus at the stop outside work on a crisp fall day, the late afternoon sun flickering against the grey sidewalks and the brick building behind you. You scrape a brittle, faded leaf into bits with your toes against the texture of the sidewalk and find yourself tempted to check your news app to pass the time. There's nowhere to look without your gaze mirrored by polite but awkward strangers, so you settle on the crumbled leaf.

What were you getting up to tonight? There are leftovers, for sure, so that's covered. Was there something on later? Who knows. You should probably get out of the house, but where?

You hear the zip of a vehicle pulling into the bus lane and "Burning Up" by Madonna blaring out of its windows. The rest of your leaf whips away instantly, and you look up to see the iridescent glint of the sun shining off what can only be described as a semi-clear Barbie-pink SUV from the future. The body appears to be made from some pink-tinted lucite, as do the seats and interior. You can see through the semi-transparent covering that the car's internal machinery is a bright eggplant, parts of it stationary and other parts whirring fast in a purple haze. You're shocked to see that the car is hovering, bits of road debris being blown around underneath. The dry and dusty smell of fall leaves and hot pavement is immediately overpowered by fresh red berries and a lush, damp sweetness you didn't know you were craving.

The driver calls out to you, "Hey! Get in!" She appears to be a young adult in a Jazzercise outfit, as vibrantly pink and purple as you could imagine. She's twirling a big springy curl in her wildly teased and sprayed 80s hairdo, complete with terrycloth headband. Despite her dark aviator sunglasses, you can tell she's looking right at you, as is her dog - an immaculate but giant white poodle sits next to her in the passenger seat, also wearing aviators and sporting a bright purple headband, staring straight at you. The strangers at the bus stop are all looking at you to see what you do.

You approach the hovercar and look past the giant poodle to the driver. "Can I help you?" you call out.

"Ha! I'm here to help you!" she says, "and I don't want a massive ticket for being in the bus lane, so get in!"

You look around at the strangers, wondering if you should entertain the offer despite your high curiosity. They're all looking away, uncomfortable, leaving you to decide.

She seems harmless enough, so you step even closer. You reach for the passenger door, and the poodle turns its head to you and looks down its sunglasses.

"Oh no. Laney rides up front," the mystery girl says. She waves to the backseat - "But it's nice back there - I've got spring water in the mini cooler if you're thirsty. Get in! Get in!"

You hop in the backseat and slam the car door behind you. Seeing your bag and feet floating above the pink-tinted asphalt below is disconcerting. You click your seatbelt, and your new friend slams on the gas, jumping into traffic with honks from surrounding drivers.

"I'm so glad I ran into you!" she yells to the backseat, the music still playing at total volume, "It was time for tea!"

"What?" you yell.

"It's...time...to...party!" she yells back, "Geez!"

The Madonna playlist moves to "Material Girl," and the driver turns it up. The poodle pushes its nose out the window and huffs. You sit back and wonder: where's the party?

You barely have time to think about it before she pulls into a spot in front of an old mansion in the historic district. You see movement below you as parking gear deploys and the car's motor shuts off. The doors open, and your driver encourages you to follow her into the mansion.

You enter and are immediately struck by the interior design - far from what you'd expect from a historic mansion. The walls are covered in silver, the ceiling awash in pulsing LED designs, and disco music blaring from unseen speakers. A staircase, also covered in reflective silver, leads upstairs. Partygoers in retro-futurist outfits drink and dance throughout the large ballroom just to the right of the entrance—the same berry-tinged scent wafts through the air and a certain soapy freshness.

"I'm not dressed for this!" you yell to your new friend. She turns to you, smiles, and snaps. You look down and see a holographic tracksuit. Oh, okay.

"Let's go get something to drink!" she says, leading her poodle to the bar with a rhinestone-encrusted lead.

You both sit down, and the bartender asks what you want. "I'll handle this," your friend says, and she leans in to whisper in the bartender's ear. He walks back with two lavender-tinted Aviation cocktails with iridescent powder on top. It's tacky, but you're having fun.

You take a sip - it's sweet and mildly floral, and the gin is bracing. You observe your party companion. Now, sitting down and without her sunglasses, she seems a bit older, and the way that she's looking out into the crowd makes you feel like there might be more substance behind her fizzy personality. Her outfit seems different than when you first met her - she's still in her Jazzercise outfit, but the leg warmers have disappeared, replaced by sheer stockings peeking out at her ankles. Her plastic bangles and earrings are now 1940s costume jewelry. It's a choice, but it works.

You lean in, "So, why me?" She looks back at you and flashes a warm smile.

"You work so hard. You put in your time with all the serious stuff. You deserve a moment to let loose."

You may not feel fully merged with the party atmosphere, but you take a deep breath and relax. Your shoulders feel less tense. You start to sway to the music. You close your eyes and sip your drink with a slight smile.

At that moment, the music switches to a Vivaldi concerto, and you open your eyes to see that you're now in a parlor with a well-dressed middle-aged lady in a burnt orange 1940s cocktail dress. You realize this is the same woman. You're both holding cups of warm pink-hued tea. She is seated in front of a large painting of a Paris street just after the sun has gone down, with deep blue hues from the sky to the shadows. A Scottish terrier sits asleep at her feet. She seems lost in the concerto.

You close your eyes again, squeeze them harder, and take another sip, warm this time. The disco returns, and you feel like you're waking up from a dream. You look down to see your original clothes. You set down the drink on the bar. "I gotta go," you tell her, "thanks for inviting me." You pat her dog on the head.

She shrugs, with a playful sparkle in her eyes, "Oh well, I tried!"

After closing the iron gate behind you, you pull up your map app and realize you're only a few blocks from that cafe you've been meaning to go to. You decide to stop in before heading home.

Back to Reality...

Ever since I fell in love with Lolita Lempicka’s original EDP, I haven’t shied away from trying perfumes marketed heavily towards women. In fact, my personal experience is that traditionally female-marketed scents wear better and receive more compliments in a nightclub setting than when I wear more male-marketed scents like colognes and fougères. I think it’s likely because everyone associates a nightlife encounter with a Lothario or similar creature of ill intent with something in those fragrance classes (while one wouldn’t have a similar connotation in an office setting, perhaps). Fruity florals or a sweet ambrée play well, cutting through any fog or smoke with notes that say “I’m interesting and unconventional” versus “I will graze your butt too many times on the dance floor to be an accident.”

When I read the Turin review, I was sold; something trashy and fun for going out - and from Guerlain, which was an added twist, considering I’m used to their lineup playing the role of A+ student, who raises their hand for every question, versus the friend you go to a rave with. Then I saw that iconic bottle in person, smelled the sample’s top notes, and bought it immediately.

I love the opening with the sweetness, berries, and a bit of floral - for me, it projects an aura of electric Swedish fish. It’s definitely an opening that screams, “Let’s get on the dance floor!” - and you can catch that moment, albeit with ever decreasing intensity, for the next half hour or so. After that, the scent settles into a remarkable postcard of "L'Heure Bleue" (or "Après L'Ondée" to many, which makes sense), toning down the more dated aspects. There’s also a certain fresh soapiness for me, which isn’t typically what I’d ask for in a party scent but can be a godsend in more sweaty environments, provided I want to stay squeaky clean.

For the duration, Insolence toggles between an audacious contemporary hologram and a classical core, which feels transgressive in some situations and too on the nose in others.

I think the most quirky thing about this party girl is that, when you least expect it, she’s at home in her pajamas with a warm cup of hot cocoa, wondering why you’re still out on the town when you have work in the morning - the dry-down sticks and becomes super smooth and comfy, and decidedly Guerlain.

I love this one when I want to inject a little good-natured chaos into my day or night. It’s not one I always reach for, but it’s always a good time when I do…as long as I let go and let her drive.