Mmmmm, imagine what Gwyneth Paltrow’s vagina smells like. Go on, you know you want to.
I bet it smells fresh, real fresh, like limited edition wildflowers beside a members-only mountain stream.
Just two or three aggressive steam douches shy of the full Alpine.
At least that’s how it is in my dreams. Luckily, we don’t have to rely on my guesswork from now on.
Because Her Royal Hotness has launched a scented candle with the mossy musk of her own Goopy loins.
Its name? This Is What My Vagina Smells Like.
Ahahahahahaha. Good one, Gwyn! Except this isn’t a joke. It’s an eye-watering £57 testament to how shit-kickingly obvious we all are.
And the real punchline is that it’s already sold out.
When Paltrow first launched her lifestyle brand, Goop, in 2008, she wanted it to be a small affair offering neat little tips on “where to buy beauty products in Nice or where to eat in Sacramento”. Like Tripadvisor for entitled people.
Nearly 12 years later, goop.com is a $250m empire selling the kind of bizarro holistic silliness that can only have found its way on the site for a dare.
You can buy pubic hair oil, ‘sex dust’ and jade yoni eggs to pop up your baby tunnel for a libido boost.
In the Home section, a £400 leather 'firewood tote' and £60 gold measuring cups whisper at a tight-buttocks-and-cashmere life you thought could never be yours.
Yet thanks to your old pal Gwyneth, here you are. Poorer but somehow richer and on the path to a more Paltrow you.
That’s the magic of the Goop brand. We all want a bit of Gwyn (not that bit) in our lives.
A glossy, wholesome zombie, she beams at us from cookbooks and insists that we too can have it all.
The gluten-free kids, the mag-ready mansion, the panting hubby... and a gut so gleaming you can see your exhausted face in it.
We buy into her best-self dream and then spaff the cash on all this stuff to get there without leaving the house.
Gwyneth knows this about us too - she admits “the pursuit of optimisation” drives many of her customers.
And so it is that we come to her waxy vag.
Goop.com explains the happy miracle that brought TSLMV into being thusly:
“This candle started as a joke between perfumer Douglas Little and GP—the two were working on a fragrance, and she blurted out, ‘Uhhh..this smells like a vagina’—but evolved into a funny, gorgeous, sexy, and beautifully unexpected scent.”
At this point GP hates us all. Determined to change us for the better, she is instead forced to watch us shovel toast into our faces as we scratch our unoiled pubes.
So treating us with the contempt we deserve, she breaks… and chuckling slyly (yet still wholesomely) she murmurs: “Fuck it, these cretins will buy ANYTHING. Hold my beer.”
Hence, This Smells Like My Vagina - surely the most cynical marketing gimmick ever thrust at grown men and women who still laugh at knob gags (that’s all of us then).
She’ll have Trading Standards round, mind. Because [spoiler] the candle does not, as claimed, smell like her undercarriage at all.
Instead it’s a blend of “geranium, citrusy bergamot, and cedar juxtaposed with Damask rose and ambrette seed”.
Cue a lot of disappointed pervs with one less thing to onanise over and a sea of let-down Lululemoners who hoped to feel closer to their guru via the wafting scent of her chuff.
So it was all just a ruse to prove morons and puerile midlifers are soon parted from their cash, eh Gwyn? Bravo.
Your little wink to camera is both noted and applauded as a timely reminder that we’re all cunts.
May I suggest you don’t just stop at the eau de clam though? Why not test the hypothesis further with a broader range of intimate burners.
Coming soon: I Think I’m Going To Puke, This Deo Doesn’t Work and - a lovely choice for Valentine’s Day - Pull My Finger.