Let me tell you the story of Macho. The year was 1973. I was an excited but inexperienced apprentice, working for the visionary designer Raymond Bloewy. Faberge approached us about developing a new fragrance. We sat down with Faberge's vice president to discuss the project. "With
notes of geranium and lavendar, it must be elegant, for the high end market," he begins. "Certainly, it must be simple. The design should neither be too soft nor too hard. With base notes of moss and musk to round things out, it must be iconic, a symbol of power."
Since the brief was vague and uninspiring, Mr. Bloewy poured himself a scotch and put me to work on the project. I know this was my opportunity to impress him, but I was equally confused about what Faberge would want. As I stroked my french curve, I was struck with inspiration. Across the room was Bloewy's admin Jan, who we used to call a "secretary" back then, bending down to file some invoices. Her slip was showing. With a glimmer in my eye and blood in the tip of his penis, I grabbed the rapidograph and got to work.
This was one of the first anthropomorphic designs I had ever created. During course work at Cranbrook, I had experimented with the idea but my professors were skeptical of any anti-Bauhaus sentiment.

I worked late into the night, eyes heavy and legs sore. I stopped once to do some research, browsing a lingerie
catalog we kept around the office for inspiration. Stepping back from the drawing board, I shook out the last few drops of white gouache I had in me, feeling exhausted, hungry, and satisfied. I'd created an instant classic. I showed my sketch to Bloewy. "Hmm..." he started, scratching his chin. "What better to communicate heft, rigidity, and power than a guilded T? This bottle was obviously inspired from the traditional post-and-lintel construction that early architecture was founded upon. Bravo, young man. This metaphor has suited you well."

After the first sketch was approved, Bloewy added more generous radii to make the bottle smoother and removed some of the vein-inspired details (what he was calling "streamlining") I included originally. In a way, it only became more phallic, so I was pleased with the refinements. In 1976, Macho launched with great success. A year later, it was even awarded a
FIFI.
Currently, I'm in talks with Faberge to release a modern version of Macho. How do you improve upon perfection?