The ad copy for Lehmkuhl’s new fragrance would have you believe that between tapings of The A-List Part Deux, he wandered about an organic greenhouse like a blind girl, letting only the aromas of plants and herbs lead him. He then plucked the choicest scents asunder, proceeded to grind them up in a pestle like some sort of witch-boy, and then smeared the oils on his orange man pies while moaning like an injured cow in heat. He called that experience: Reichen.
He calls the scent a fragrance rather than a cologne or a perfume because the word “fragrance” is so unisex… so indecisive… so desperate for good marketing. Just like Reichen.
The only upside to smelling like Queen Flopsweats is that part of the proceeds go to The American Foundation for AIDS Research and the LGBT Centers of New York City and Los Angeles. But you should probably just to send them a check for $39 or $70 directly rather than paying for Lehmkuhl’s man-musk.
Between Reichen’s cologne, Derek’s Tansxl self-tanner and Nyasha’s wig line, The A List is a greeting-card aisle away from becoming a CVS. Maybe Austin can release a line of tampons?
Then again, maybe we shouldn’t knock”Reichen” until we smell it: It could be the CK One of the 2010s.