Inner Beauty
Let’s workshop this poem about a girl who feels more victimized by people struggling to be polite than by their open cruelty, because it insults her intelligence
scent of the day: Camel, by Zoologist
Civet (2016, Shelley Waddington)—an animalic-floral chypre paying homage more to the life of civet cats free-roaming in the wild than to the spoon-scraped undertail musk made famous by Chanel Number 5 and other whorehouse vintages (that yellowish paste secreted from the perineal gland in potent Cardi-B quantities especially when the cages, to give my stress-is-best tip of the day, are not only too tight to turn around in but also prodded and kicked and thrown and shaken and spit on and screamed at like an infant in the grip of a 90s British nanny)—
opens with various tropical-Asian florals (carnal-crotch jasmine, nectarous-apricot frangipani, butter-dildo tuberose, banana-coconut ylang-ylang) whose opulence overshadows the many temperate-European florals (dewy-grassy muguet, rooty-powdery orris, peppery-citrus carnation, minty-rosy geranium, almond-powder heliotrope, stemmy-grape hyacinth, leafy-nectar linden blossom) enough to set the location in the Palm Civet habitats of South-East Asia (Indonesia, Vietnam, or other such tropical nations),
these florals—although lifted into frenzied pizazz by salty-radiant ambroxan plus a combo of citruses (zesty-sweet orange, tart-sharp lemon, bitter-aromatic bergamot) and herbs (fennel-wormwood tarragon, herbal-tea clary sage, celery-pepper coriander) and spices (woody-singed black pepper, molasses-bark cinnamon)—all rooted down in a buttery base of sticky-smoky resins (bitter-fungal myrrh, piney-lemony frankincense, leathery-sweet labdanum, burnt-log birch tar) and foresty-rooty vegetation (shaved-lumber cedar, milky-velvety sandalwood, fungal-damp oakmoss, musty-chocolate patchouli, bitter-peppery vetiver) and nuzzly-furry musks (jasmine-fecal civetone, orange-blossom skatol, fatty-fuzzy muscone, salty-radiant ambroxan, clean-skin galaxolide)
that—even with the addition of weighty gourmand elements (coffee, vanilla, tonka, honey)—somehow do not contradict the fragrance’s spic-and-span cleanliness (an aroma never too far from baby wipes) or its sunny ebullience (an aura of open-space freedom from the confines and cigar singes of the musk-harvesting cage)—
the overall result being an bright-amber fragrance that, despite panning back to give us the civet cat’s territory (patchouli and vetiver, together with the tropical florals and woods, suggesting the forest undergrowth where it hides and forages for insects and roots) as well as its world of concerns (sniffing our coffee beans and other fruits, dragging its dingleberried perineum over wood and stone to musk-wall its territory, climbing trees for shelter and safety), does not entirely shy away from the puckered-gland paste we know and love, a fact some might fail to appreciate given that the salty-sour-musky aspects of the paste (the spicey, buttery, chocolate aspects too) outshine the pissy and fecal aspects here (perhaps intentionally since those dirtier-gamier raccoon-WAP aspects come into greater prominence only under high-stress circumstances, like that of cage confines, and this fragrance seems all about freedom);
the overall result being, in other words, a floral-resinous fragrance that combines a Bortnikoff-reminiscent tropical joviality (its sour-cherry orange-vanilla musk reminiscent, in particular, of Oud Hindi) with a French-chypre style (Mitsouko the most obvious influence) to give us what we might describe as a sibling of Teatro Alla Scala (the more masculine and resinous sibling especially given how it replaces Teatro’s sweet honey and diva aldehydes and powdery orris with Honour-Man-like black pepper, Follow-like bitter coffee, and Knize-Ten-like Russian leather)
and perhaps even more so as the sibling of Zoologist Camel (it is almost as if, despite both having that buttery-urine warmth and that honeyed-animalic timeless quality, the sensual-velvety-incensy-cozy-fruity-boozy-syrupy-sweet amber of Camel were swapped out in Civet by a sensual-musky-soapy-floraly-leathery-salty-peppery-powdery amber), the differences between the two important to enumerate for better understanding both Zoologist releases:
(1) Civet’s animalic side, which radiates that creamy sourness of other civetone ambers like Afrika Olifant (and even at times a saliva element) and also increases the gooeyness of the florals, is in a sense more prominent than in Camel (and I hedge with the phrase “in a sense” because, even if the dosage of animalic ingredients is higher in Civet, the syrupy sweetness of Camel, especially in conjunction with the agarwood, brings out a boozy and queasy side to the animalics, which can make them read as more intense);
(2) Civet’s lush bouquet of florals lend it a powdery and soapy elegance whereas Camel’s sour rose serves more as complementary element to its dried fruits and resins;
(3) Civet achieves its sweetness mainly through honeyed-creamy florals (creating a rich yet powdery balance, not too far from buttered-cream under the nails that scratched a back in orgasm) whereas Camel leans on dried fruits (dates, figs, raisins) and a spiced vanilla-benzoin accord (which leans it much more into syrupy-dessert territory);
(4) Civet has an expansive and radiant presence (a mustard-roasted-gold vintage-style aura) while Camel’s warmer and more inviting bubble, sitting closer to the skin, seems both gooier and darker (red-syrup-gold just like the juice color);
(5) Civet I find to be less immediately transportive than Camel, which brings me squarely (albeit tritely) into a middle-eastern souk (and I say less immediately because, after studying the notes and how they relate to both the civet cat’s territory and world of concerns, I now find myself transported to South East Asia, although the visuals are still more vague than with Camel);
(6) Civet, despite lacking the cumin-BO of still-in-bed-after-climax chypre like Rochas Femme (a chypre that Civet is nevertheless quite close to since its Bortnikoff frangipani gives hints of plum and peach), is easier than Camel to see as a postcoital scent, Civet having enough of a salty-sour-musky leatheriness to make me picture at least a man (no syphilitic gigolo, however) walking to the coffee shop on a bright day just after having sex (perhaps leaving a seductive spring-blossom sillage behind him in his rush to get back to his motel affair);
(7) Civet, although bringing me to Bortnikoff-Prin zones of tropicality, leans more European, wormwood-like greenery over the mossy base of a French chypre, whereas Camel is more distinctly Middle Eastern (a more resinous amber and spice-laden profile).
Inner Beauty
Moist-brow refusal to stare
burned crueler than heckling ogles
(even spitball thwacks)
because the insinuation,
a brazen backhand to all those hours
hidden in library stacks,
was that—as if only retards
sprouted moles—she was too dense
to spot strained mercy.
"Inner Beauty" is a poignant and sharply critical poem that delves into the subtle yet profound cruelty of perceived pity and the damaging insinuation of intellectual deficiency. The poem functions as a commentary on the subjective nature of beauty, social awkwardness, and the cutting impact of perceived condescension.
The title, "Inner Beauty," immediately establishes an ironic tension with the poem's content. While the phrase typically refers to the value of character over physical appearance, the poem proceeds to explore how physical perceived flaws can lead to judgments that undermine a person's inner worth and intellect.
The poem begins by detailing a specific social interaction: "Moist-brow refusal to stare / burned crueler than heckling ogles / (even spitball thwacks)." The "moist-brow refusal to stare" suggests a deliberate, perhaps uncomfortable, avoidance of direct eye contact, possibly accompanied by an expression of pity or discomfort. The poem immediately establishes that this seemingly benign act of avoidance is perceived as more painful than overt bullying like "heckling ogles" or "spitball thwacks." This highlights the insidious nature of subtle social cues, which can inflict deeper wounds than direct aggression. The use of "burned crueler" underscores the emotional devastation caused by this specific form of non-engagement.
The poem then articulates the reason for this heightened pain: "because the insinuation, / a brazen backhand to all those hours / hidden in library stacks, / was that—as if only retards / sprouted moles—she was too dense / to spot strained mercy." The "insinuation" is the core of the poem's critique. It is described as a "brazen backhand" to the subject's intellectual efforts, represented by "all those hours / hidden in library stacks." This directly links the social snub to an undermining of her intellect. The poem reveals the specific, cruel implication: that her perceived physical flaw ("moles" are implied as the source of the "refusal to stare") is linked to intellectual disability ("as if only retards / sprouted moles"). The most painful sting is the idea that "she was too dense / to spot strained mercy." This means she is not only judged for her appearance but also deemed too unintelligent to recognize the pity being extended to her. The poem thus exposes a profound level of social cruelty, where physical perceived imperfections lead to an assumption of intellectual inferiority, and even a show of "mercy" is delivered with a dismissive arrogance that further demeans the recipient.
social critique, inner beauty, perception, cruelty, pity, intellect, appearance, social dynamics, bullying, insinuation, emotional pain, self-worth, condescension, stigma, intellectualism, judgment.