I smell this and I'm suddenly time traveling back to the olden days of 2014 when I did a thing on the internet which some of you may remember though you may not have known it was me. I shared daily missives of love and self-acceptance from Eternia's most nefarious skull-faced villain, as he progressed on his journey of healing. I am speaking of course, about Skeletor is Love. The facebook and tumblr pages still exist, if you have no idea what I am talking about. Anyway, someone on Makeup Alley realized that was me, and tickled that the creator of that weird thing was a also fragrance enthusiast, we became friends. Miyako from Annayake was a rare scent she insisted I find, she pointed to an eBay listing for it, and it was soon in my possession. Inspired by Japanese incense rituals, it was a perfume I'd never heard of, but was intrigued by, and it's unexpectedly lovely. It's warm, richly-scented amber, copious dry, dreamy spices and woods, and a shifting but utterly ambrosial note of smoky green floral cardamom. It is lush and hypnotic and when I wear it calls to mind the strange connections we make in life and how if you're not open to them, you might miss out on something spectacular.
Tibetan Mountain Temple does not smell like my idea of a blend prepared in accordance with centuries-old traditional Tibetan Buddhist methods to accompany prayer offerings or spiritual purification rituals. But what do I know! This is more like the snack aisle in a tourist shop *next* to the monastery but the only thing they sell are orange creamsicles and those ridiculously delicious Newman ginger-Os, which if you've never had them, they are basically like Oreos in concept, but instead of a chocolate cookie sandwich, it's a ginger snap.
I was a little kid who never paid attention to anything. I perpetually had my head in the clouds. Of course, when you’re forever checked out of what’s going on, things happen without you noticing. Sometimes these are things like your mother signing you up for summer camp and you don’t know anything about it until she’s packing you up on a bus with a lot of kids you don’t know to a place you’ve never heard of. Still, there’s daydreaming and imagining to be done, so I’d just find a seat by myself, lean my head against the filmy glass of the bus window, and breathe in the clean, cool morning air of an early June morning in Ohio, as the vehicle picked up speed and we drove out of the suburbs into the sunshine. Demeter’s Fresh Hay smells like honeyed red clover blossom, warm, dusty earth and soft woody grassy vetiver; the fertile ground of summer daydreams and limitless expanse of a young person’s imagination
Poets of Berlin from Vilhelm Parfumerie is a vile bioluminescent mutant blueberry thing. A blueberry subjected to a sketchy, underfunded experiment in a prototype telepod but there was also a particle of lemon-aloe-bamboo Glade air freshener in the chamber before it was hermetically sealed as well as a smashed bedazzle gem that fell off of an intern’s acrylic nail, unnoticed. Torn apart atom by atom, the small jammy fruit merged with the glinting shards of sugary bling and a blisteringly caustic glow-in-the-dark citrus-lily. I don’t think David Bowie ever wrote a song about this monster but there was a movie adaptation with Jeff Goldblum
We've got a date with Old Scratch and we're gonna meet them wearing Idole de Lubin and nothing else. This fragrance is marketed for men which is a bunch of malarkey because this woodsy, darkly spiced scent with notes of saffron, rum, teak wood, and sugarcane would be devastating on anyone who possesses a human body. And speaking of possessing human bodies, our bae Beelz is due to stop by at midnight and this infernal gourmand redolent of unholy smoke, syrupy booze, and leather-clad sin, will make them feel right at home.
This is modern perfume hyperbole, so strong it should be impossible. One tiny dab somewhere on your person is MORE than enough, and 10ml will last a lifetime. Personally I'm sick of the dearth of akigalawood Bischs but this one is one of the best. I can't decide if it's more or less brutal than Tubéreuse Astral, I think more.
This is magical stuff. Boozy, pagan, woody, spicy... absolutely fantastic to wear in cold weather. And the bottle is stunning. COmpletely unisex.
Enormous, sexy, RUDE, delicious fragrance. Definitely for date nights. This lasts forever on skin and is glorious.
Fizzy rose leather! I have no idea how JC Ellena does it. Delightful.
A dash of Fils de Joie with the dank papyrus from Figment Woman, old school plum in a supporting (but restrained role) and fruity ylang ylang. Amouage is my favourite house for a reason, every composition is a triumph (I'm taking Chong era and before, recently there are highs and lows), and this is no exception.
I don’t think I’ve had my nose on a prominent blueberry note before. This is really interesting.
its not what I would consider a blueberry tastes like, at least here in the UK. It’s more like a lip balm, but not cloying or artificial.
The citrus isn’t too sharp, but helps keep balance.
I would have sworn there was tobacco and maybe light patchouli here in the opening, there’s a suggestion of spice somewhere, I’m guessing it’s a mixture of the green notes and dry vetiver!
The green fresh bamboo is almost mouth watering. It adds a juicy fresh note which again keeps the fruits from getting too sweet.
Settling down, the blueberry comes and goes from the spotlight.
We’re at an hour in. I’ll update in a while.
Around 5 hours now - settled into a slightly sweet floral with soft and creamy undertones. Still get the blueberry note too.
very different from anything I’m used to smelling, really like it!
Amouage's whole mojo has been lost for me. The output of their fragrances hasn't completely 'gone to shit' under Salmon, as some would argue but despite liking a couple of recent releases there's definitely less excitement and anticipation about them for me personally now. There's an insipid, homogenization which feels commercially driven rather than passionate. The whole colour palate and concepts the pastel (and in this case beige) bottles a telling indication of exactly what I'm grasping at. I personally like Bertrand's work, could and would easily wear this perfume, it's fine, (SPOILER ALERT:) it just doesn't excite me. It's milky lactone body is pebble smooth and actually has much more going on than you'd think, I bet Berty used a million materials to make this but the average person (or even avid enthusiast) would dismiss it as boring, woody dross. So I get a tickle of spice in the top, potentially that marriage of pink pepper and cinnamon, very Amouage you'd think but that is fleeting and it soon retreats to a comforting cashmere wood, cardamom, nutty hazelnut/pistachio, sandalwood cream. The mention of cypriol here might be haunting it slightly and the strangeness of palo santo (thankfully without that awful off rubber note) could be playing a part in augmenting that sandalwood accord too? It's all to vague though. I am a sucker for nutty, broadly musky driven, low lying perfumes but this isn't quite doing it for me. Perfectly nice, somewhat creative but lacking the flare of Amouage in the Chong era. For the money, you're not getting the experience you used to get with Amouage, and for that REASON, I'm out. Update: 07/12/24 Yeah I'm wearing it today and I can confirm that Reasons is definitely not for me. I like the muskiness in the base and I think it's a creative perfume, I've smelled stuff like this before and it's not my scene, I don't hate it but I'm not a fan either.
Plush white florals and earthy leathery dreamy oakmoss and woody, close to the skin musk; it's classic perfumery with a wink. While there's definitely that sense of powdery, vintage glamour, it's lensed through a cracked-looking glass, there's something shimmering and strange about it too. It's the faded photo of Siouxsie Sioux reading Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit that never existed in this world, but I'm certain it does in some other reality.
Origins Ginger Essence is like waking up on the first day of summer vacation and launching yourself out of bed with a whoop and a holler into the magnificence of a beautiful cloudless day, a sky so blue you feel you're staring eternity in the eye, and eternity is having a pretty great day, too. The first day of knowing you've got two and a half months ahead of you where you have obligations and no one is making any demands of your time. As adults, we probably haven't experienced that complete and utter and glorious freedom in a long time, and this bright, effervescent, zingy scent of spicy fresh-chopped ginger, and aromatic tangy citrus peels (and a nearby saucepan of simple syrup, just outside our peripheral vision) is as close as we might get to those storybook early summer holiday feels. See also all the lyrics from The Decemberists song June Hymn. "A panoply of song" is exactly how I'd describe this fragrance.
mlleghoul04/13/21 05:53
I need to be in a specific, special mood to reach for this one. Which is to say deep in the throes of a massive sugar craving. For context, the official description of Kerosene's Unknown Pleasures mentions a picturesque vision of walking down a cold street in Manchester, listening to Joy Division, sipping on a warm cup of London Fog. And then a whole bunch of stuff about cozy vanilla and zingy lemon." Ok, so this is less some idyllic goth afternoon tea stroll in the UK, and more a trendy bar in Austin's house special creme brulee pina colada topped with those lightly spiced airplane shortbread cookies that are tastier than they have any right to be. This is like coconut, pineapple, and toasted vanilla custard Mcflurry with an add-in of Biscoff cookies. And by the way, I am not picking on Austin. I traveled there once, and forgot to pack perfume -the horror!- and I bought this bottle of Unknown Pleasures from a lovely little boutique there. It's an almost horrifyingly bonkers dessert perfume and I gotta say, I love it.
I'm revisiting Serge Lutens' Daim Blond, a scent I thought I didn't care for. It's objectively "nice", but it just doesn't resonate with me. I smell the things that people love about it: the elusive whiff of soft suede from the inner pocket of an expensive handbag, the cool floral iris, the bowl of apricots basking in a beam of afternoon sunlight. But those things, they're over there. And I am here. And we don't connect. It's the career woman who got married, had kids, holds an executive position somewhere, and does hot yoga and spin class. So very not me. It makes me think of that photo of Maureen Prescott that you see in the first Scream movie. She looks like a put-together lady. But you later find out she had a past, and it was complicated and fraught, and the catalyst for the entire franchise. Today when I smelled a previously undetected bit of pensive cedar, and wistful violet it made me think about Maureen's pain and trauma and tragedy, and I recognized how layered we all are, and how no one's life is ever quite how we imagine it from the outside. That's something to sit with, and so too, I suppose, is Daim Blond.
Tom Ford's Sahara Noir is a scent in my cupboard I've long been ignoring and I couldn't tell you why. It's intensely evocative in an incredibly specific way, so first my nerd review and then a translation for those who don't have a tolerance for silliness.
Sahara Noir is the blazing binary sunset seen from the still, dry heat of sand dune on the desert planet Tatooine; a midnight canyon campfire crackling with the spicy resin of the Japor tree, the aromatic blossoms of the molo shrub, and acrid ribbons of poonten grass incense while the ground rumbles with the snores and snuffles of a slumbering bantha herd nearby.
Which is to say this is the driest frankincense, lemony woodsy pinon sawdust, a circle of fragrant burning woods, and brittle, smoky papyrus ash.
Whatever your preferred fandom or even if you stick solely to reality, Sahara Noir is utterly divine.
I've found interpretations of hinoki varies from perfumer to perfumer, ranging from lemony and coniferous, to tarry and peppery. This version is a deeply unpleasant boyscout campfire burning with bandaids and liniment and makes me feel the way I do when I'm dreaming and I walk into a darkened room and flip a light switch for illumination...and then nothing happens. At that point, the dream invariably descends into a nightmare, but I have learned to wake myself up at that moment, my brain boiling, electrified and panic-stricken. As a writer, at times I crave this scent when I need a freaky, feverish jolt of agitation. It's also great for layering to add a touch of artful anxiety to a scent that's pretty, but perhaps placid.
The Afternoon of a Faun feels like the olfactory equivalent of a proper meal after you've been subsisting on extremes of cheap, trashy snacks and the avant-garde weirdness of sneaking into a gallery opening to pilfer nibbles from molecular gastronomy art installations. It's not a rib roast or a tofurkey or any meal in particular, but it's that thing you dine on, whatever that might be for you, that satisfies your belly and nourishes your body and makes you feel good. I suppose this analogy is my way of admiring how extraordinarily well-balanced this perfume is. Inspired, I believe by both a poem of a faun recounting his horny dreams and the scandalous ballet based on the poem, The Afternoon of a Faun is a mossy-spicy-woody-aromatic-green-floral subscription box of a scent wrapped in a bow of bitter herbs and peppery celery enveloping a heart of immortelle's smoky tea and burnt sugar note. If you enjoy chypre scents, you can't go wrong with this one. If you are not sure, or are new to perfume, this is a great one to start with.
Me Myself & I by Egofacto is scent marketed as a bewitching and disturbing floral with voluptuous tuberose, mysterious hemlock flower, and smoky and vetiver. At the time I first learned of it I thought, wow, OK YES PLEASE take my money. A few years later I still consider it an exceedingly sound investment. It smells overwhelmingly to me of an unlit package of cigarettes in an impossibly expensive leather handbag, and I love that smell. I should know better. My mother smoked all her life, and she died of cancer in 2013. Me, I'm a nerd and have never smoked the slightest bit of anything, but I've still got this romanticized notion of sitting in a Parisian cafe, drinking espresso, smoking French cigarettes, scribbling poetry, and looking very cool. You can't convince me otherwise. It's a fragrance that conjures a somber, moody atmosphere that hearkens back to its very name in that you'll want to be alone with it, and I promise you'll both be in exemplary company.
Ambre Noir from Sonoma Scent Studio is dense and intense and the darkest amber you could ever hope to meet. Both somber and smoldering, with notes of labdanum, rose, incense, moss, leather, and woods, it is a blackened forest fireside frolic when the veil between worlds is thinnest. See also: the final moments in the film The VVitch. If you like outrageously dark, spellbindingly smoky amber fragrances, I believe you'll enjoy this one.
I received so many samples of Nirvana Black in my Sephora orders in 2014 but I never took the time to try it. I was convinced it wasn't going to be very good. I have since procured a mini-bottle, which isn't too much of an investment in case I hate it. For the record, I do hate the clunky, ugly bottle, whatever size it is. This begins as Vanilla Fields from Coty, which I recall from my 20s as a fairly cheap, but unexpectedly lovely, dusty, musky vanilla sandalwood. If I wait a minute or two, it then becomes a simple combination of warm whiskey and deep woods. I'm not sure what/which woods, though? Maybe a wooden box, where you stored the whiskey? This isn't a complex scent, but then again, I believe there are only 3 notes listed and sometimes more doesn't always mean better.
When I was young, my mother didn't drive, so my grandmother tootled us around with her on errands and took us where ever we needed to go. Her purse was a bottomless supply of Dum Dum lollipops and if we were well-behaved, we got one as a treat. This was a massive thrill when I was 4, but some arbitrary switch flipped when I was 5 and suddenly I found them utterly vile. No thanks, grandma! Imagine shaking sticky shards of fruit punch, cherry, and butterscotch flavored candies out of your best Belk's church purse, and... that's basically Fancy. It is Dum Dum dust. Interpret that however you like. You might say, well, oh, Sarah, it's not made for you. Ok, I get that. But tell me... who is it made for? And do they keep their toy lipsticks on a hot pink plastic vanity and cook with an EZ bake oven?
I purchased Hwyl on a whim solely because someone included it in a listicle of fragrances that smell like camping-- noting that this one, in particular, smells like how they imagine Totoro's home might be scented. Did I want to smell like the woodland abode of an acorn-eating supernatural Japanese forest folk creature? Need you ask? Initially, I think due to the cypress and woody notes that they have in common, I thought Hwyl smelled very similar to Comme des Garcons Kyoto, and that perhaps I didn't need both. But where Kyoto is a meditative prayer in a cool forest temple, Hywl is earthier, greener, and warmer. A mushroom-strewn, leaf-littered path leading to that temple, the sun streaming through the forest canopy, the cypress, live oak, and bamboo swaying with an afternoon breeze and rustling with the invisible movements of racoons and foxes, and maybe little forest spirits, too. Is there a Totoro following you? Or does it wait for you patiently at the Temple? Maybe we do need both scents, just to find out.
