Finally! A perfume openly marketed to people having a shit house Neptune transit. This chick looks like she sat up late on the Dream Weed commenting on Marilyn Monroe Conspiracy Theory forums and doing online Do You Have What It Takes To Join the Illuminati? quizzes. Now she is on the way to the hairdresser (“blonder, fuq you” but she’s fine to sign a legal waiver to say the breakage is not their fault) when suddenly, she spies her Space Dust dealer coming out of the Botox Clinic. “Synchronicity,” she sighs to herself, inwardly relaxing and giving herself permission for another Love Zombie Bender.