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I still believe this is the perfect musk; it lacks that overwhelming, sneeze-triggering intensity I've come to associate with Egyptian musk, while maintaining just the right hint of skankiness and an underlying bittersweet note that elevates what could have been just another warm, clean scent beyond the realm of the bland and ordinary. Kiehl's musk captures exactly what I imagine 1974 smelled like: sun-bronzed astrology enthusiasts in their flowing, hand-embroidered caftans, silver bangles jingling as they shuffle tarot cards between Tupperware parties, their living rooms heavy with incense and macramé plant hangers. The women wore turquoise rings on every finger and kept copies of Linda Goodman's "Sun Signs" on their coffee tables, while their children played with wooden toys on shag carpeting. Though I wasn't born until a couple of years later, I'm convinced this fragrance somehow bottled the essence of my early childhood – the lingering trace of patchouli and possibility that hung in the air as the Age of Aquarius gave way to the more practical concerns of the late 70s.
