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On the nozzle, I get milk and raw greenish honey. They should’ve skipped Davana and Bran and went with Patchouli. Thankfully it’s fleeting.
On my skin, I smell like I’ve been bathed in honeyed spiced rum by the maidens of a goddess. Heavily honeyed. Raw honey. Immediately the rum and cinnamon are boldly present, then davana and bran pass through sourly, just enough to keep this from giving you a headache.
This dries down really beautifully and is a perfect fall gourmand.
I am having an interesting moment with Bee from Ellis Brooklyn. Which is to say I don’t hate it. But I definitely don't like it. This is strange because typically gourmand scents aren’t my thing. I want to smell like a mossy bog witch or bioluminescent flora on an alien planet, or mottled parchment poetry penned by a lovelorn bookbinder. And honey is such a weird note, with its aromas both attractive and repellent, that ambrosial golden syrupy floral note that eventually devolves to the pungence of a filthy feral flower urinal in the height of August. Bee is not a super realistic honey, which is fine with me, I don’t want realism in my perfume anyway. It’s a floofy, poofy vanilla and sandalwood marshmallow dusted liberally with dehydrated buckwheat honey and clover pollen and layered with this dark, balsamic rich woody rumminess that’s not quite rum and at all, and it took me a few days but I worked it out. At its heart, Bee conjured the sweet, full-bodied warmth and vaguely fruity tobacco notes of a hot cup of rooibos tea. I don’t often want to smell like this, and I don’t even like rooibos tea, so while it's not the worst, it's definitely not for me.