Fragrance ad pitch, starring yours truly

The best thing about Christmas is that all the fashion designers mercilessly push their fragrance lines in sumptuous, goregous TV ads shot by the likes of Stephen Meisel and Terry Richardson.

Now some people have aspirations of being actors, popstars, etc. Some even want to design furniture. But not me. I want to be the star of a fragrance ad, for something like, I don't know, "L'Etranger Pour Homme" by Fifi De La Froo-froo.

Rome, Italy - it's early morning and in black and white and sepia tones I run through the empty streets of the city to the beautiful strains of Elgar's Variations. I am dressed in a black tuxedo, white dress shirt underneath, buttoned down low, tie loosely hanging around my neck. My hair is all messed up but still, I am crushingly handsome. I carry a bunch of roses in my hand. I look and search everywhere: down side streets, in tiny chapels, into cafes that have just opened, but I can't find the object of my affection. Eventually I give up. Tired, exhausted I stumble backwards and fall onto some marble steps leading up to a beautiful fountain. I put the flowers aside and rest my head in my hands. I am a lost soul.

At that moment a hand comes into view and caresses the side of my face. I look up, wide eyed, my mouth slightly open. My surprise becomes a smile. It's him. He found me. He kneels down and rather than kiss, in slow motion we rest our foreheads together and look adoringly into each others eyes. A shaft of light appears and the scene morphs into a lovingly extended shot of the fragrance bottle (designed by Phillipe Stark) against a midnight velvet backdrop. A husky masculine voice utters the immortal words:

"L'Etranger Pour Homme. Be a stranger no more."

Fade to black.

First gay fragrance ad ever. Not a dry eye in the house. Somewhere in Hollywood Nicole Kidman curses Baz Luhrman for lack of vision.