Page Six - Gwyneth Paltrow just loves the smell of her own scent.
Tuesday on “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon,” the Goop queen introduced the latest to her odiferous collection of candles, inspired by Paltrow’s own B.O., called “This Smells Like My Orgasm.”
The 10.5-ounce candle costs $75 and is available on Goop’s website, alongside a colorful description: “A fitting follow-up to that candle — you know the one — this blend is made with tart grapefruit, neroli and ripe cassis berries blended with gunpowder tea and Turkish rose absolutes for a scent that’s sexy, surprising and wildly addictive.” ...
Earlier this year, the 47-year-old actress made headlines with another candle, dubbed “This Smells Like My Vagina.”
As Paltrow waxed on (get it?) about her fragrant climax, her son, Moses, was apparently sitting just outside of the frame before Fallon invited him to chat. The 14-year-old son of Paltrow and her ex, Coldplay frontman Chris Martin, 43.
I have an unspoken agreement with Gwyneth Paltrow. She gives me hours of entertainment as Pepper Potts before randomly showing up in sexy Iron Man armor during the big battle in "Endgame":
... and we don't tell each other how to parent. It's an arrangement that's worked well for both of us.
I admit, I was raised by a very, very different sort of woman. My sainted mother was old school Irish Catholic who went her entire life without ever uttering the words "orgasm" or "vagina" in her children's presence. I've mentioned before when my older son turned 13 my own beguiling Irish Rose suggested it was time he get "The Talk" and I said, "Absolutely. Let me know how it goes." And when she incredulously pointed out that I'm the father and it's my responsibility, I gently reminded her that she knows better than anybody the repressed depravity existing in my head and that there's no way she wanted her precious, innocent boy exposed to that. And we agreed to leave it up to the public schools, the internet and stuff he hears from the older kids on the bus. And it worked out pretty well for everybody.
So who am I to judge a mom who not only talks about what Jules Winfield referred to as her "holiest of holies" in front of her kid, but markets it as a scent? Who not only keeps the lad around while telling him and the world that her O-face smells like tart grapefruit, neroli and ripe cassis berries blended with gunpowder tea and Turkish rose? That kind of open, honest, extremely descriptive talk about the place he popped out of might sound like bizarro hippie nonsense to me, but maybe it's much healthier than my Catholic repression and awkwardness.
But just to be safe, I'd bank some of the proceeds from these $75 jars of orgasm-scented wax to pay for the therapy the kid might need. Because if she was my mom, her next candle would have to be "This Smells Like My Crippling Oedipus Complex."