Invidiana

I've fallen hard for this, because it's basically tropical honey. There is an element here that reminds me of the Coconut, Vanilla Bean and Tiare hair gloss, possibly the jasmine which (even though star jasmine is a different species than tiare) comes close to that tiare note on my skin. The amber and beeswax meld together in one glorious sticky nosegasm that the jasmine takes to the tropics. It's honey, but not cloyingly sweet, just rich and golden. I am definitely going to try wearing this together with the hair gloss at the risk of doing nothing but sniffing myself all day.

Along with UOH34, I'm assuming this was a proto for Banshee Beat because I'm picking up the same notes but in different proportions. This one is the more vanilla-heavy of the two, and I believe there is more patchouli, and a more dirty patchouli, in this one than the released. However, there is enough rich vanilla to mellow it out enough so it doesn't stun my nose with patchouli overload. I used to be afraid of the dirtier patchouli notes but this one is downright sexy tempered with the vanilla. It has an even stronger through than UOH34 and a distinct personality; I wouldn't recommend wearing it to work. I get a tinge of hemp like in the released but it's not a note I amp and virtually disappears on the drydown. I would say this is like a wilder, more feral version of Banshee Beat, like Banshee Beat going from day to night. Another winner!

PALLAS ATHENE Pallas Athene, Gustav Klimt. Antiqued amber, cumin, saffron, frankincense, Atlas cedar, myrrh, mandarin, Ceylon cinnamon bark, and osmanthus. I didn't think this had a chance of working on me because of the cumin and cedar. Boy was I wrong. Sometimes I can amp cumin, true, but here I get only a tinge of it wet and then none at all. Cedar can alo be problematic but instead of the cedar death I expected a la Sacrifice, I get a surprisingly soft woody background. The real stars of this scent are the resins and mandarin, especially the amber. It's a rich, full-bodied "expensive"-smelling amber that is just sweet enough and thoroughly sophisticated. The frankincense and myrrh add even more golden resinous body to it and the mandarin adds to the Oriental luxury of the scent. I get a hint of spice from the cinnamon and maybe the faintest trace of floral from the osmanthus, but these are just details that round out the whole picture. It's a complex scent that reflects the ornate nature of Klimt's painting. The bottle I am testing from is not mine, but I'm definitely picking up one of my own with the next Lunacy. This is just way too lovely to pass up.

A bit of history: the Weisse Maus (White Mouse) was a Berlin cabaret where guests could choose a black or white eye mask to remain anonymous. It was known for the naked "beauty dances" performed by women after-hours. The proprietor claimed they weren't supposed to be sexual. Right. This one is very deceptive. At first sniff, this is an airy green floral with a lemony tinge, the greenness and lemony quality fading to give way to a certain "whiteness" as it dries down. To my nose it's probably white orchid, honeysuckle that actually behaves, possibly a non-cat pee jasmine and other white blossoms. It seems innocent enough. However, the further it dries down, the more its seedy underbelly comes through. There is a certain muskiness with a tinge of sweetness beneath, like a scented evocation of the supposedly non-sexual "beauty dances" that went on after the more wholesome crowd retired for the night. It seems to me like white musk and white amber (which must be what's adding the hint of sweetness)and white sandalwood. Even though it isn't a smoky scent, as a whole it's reminiscent of white smoke or vapor, like the characteristic haze flooding an actual cabaret.

PHANTOM TIME HYPOTHESIS Charlemagne? Fiction. What is the date anyway? Three-hundred year lie. All archaeological evidence that the years AD 614-911 took place is fabricated, and these years were added to our contemporary version of history due to the deliberate falsification of documents and manufactured artifacts. This year is, in actuality, AD 1713. A traditional Medieval perfume that never existed: balm, benzoin, damask rose, gumdragon, lignum aloes, orange water, ambergris, and vegetal musk. I had high hopes for this, especially because of the benzoin which has come to the rescue for me before in many other blends. Unfortunately it couldn't in this one. Initially I get a bracing menthol rush of what I actually jotted down as an almost metallic "time machine air" in my notebook and as it dries down I realize this is the dastardly work of the balm and aloe with the damask rose possibly being an accomplice. Despite vainly hoping it will turn into something amazing after a couple minutes, it ends up a predominantly medicinal old-fashioned ointment with VapoRub-type aloe (which is probably what gave me the "time machine air" impression), and the blending of the rose with these two already highly herbal and menthol scents only succeeds in making them sharper. There is a very slight sweet undercurrent, which must be the benzoin trying to break through, but it's too suppressed by the medieval medicine. Instead of taking me back in time, what my skin chemistry does with this just reminds me of being in bed with a nasty cold.

REPTOID DOMINION Reptile overlords We serve you unknowingly. Hello, Antichrist. Some 300,000 or so years ago, bipedal reptilians from the constellation Draco (who are also, coincidentally, from the lower level of the fourth dimension) came to Earth in order to pillage the planet's monoatomic gold supply. Monoatomic gold enables these reptiles, who appear exactly like humans, to process unthinkable amounts of data, travel trans-dimensionally, and shapeshift. The Reptoids, who formed the basis of the race of Gods known to the Babylonians as the Annunaki, made their homes in the bowels of the planet. These reptilian beings are also called the Watchers, the Fallen Angels, the Sons of God, Nephilim, or Grigori, and their evil machinations have been recorded as far back as Biblical apocrypha. Monoatomic gold isn't the only thing that fuels their formidable powers; they can also utilize human fear, aggression, guilt, frustration, and anger to the same end. In order to promote the chaos and discord necessary for generating as much of these negative human emotions as possible, the Watchers crossbred with specifically selected influential humans. There were three primary breeding programs: the first resulted in the creation of the creature that the Bible calls Adam. To date, the vast majority of political and financial leaders of the world are half-reptile, and they have a vice-grip on all aspects of human society. The prophesied False Messiah, (the Antichrist, or Dajjal), will be a product of the unholy union of Watcher and human. Malevolent superintelligent para-dimensional shapeshifting reptoid musk. I was positive this would turn out to be an unholy disaster on me, but I was too curious to resist testing it. From sniffing the bottle I immediately picked up a musk note very similar to that in Hunter Moon 07 and Ivanushka, both of which went to Coty powder on me in 2.5 seconds. This musk is in the same vein but more pungent; wet it hit me like a very potent animalic, which is why I'm guessing it must have some sort of civet bouquet and a strong one at that. On the drydown it does indeed go powdery, but a very masculine sort of powdery with a pungent undertone (the components of which may have been intended to distinguish this as "reptoid" musk) whose deathgrip keeps growing more and more powerful and is just plain wrong with my chemistry to the point that I need to wipe it off. It's clear my skin will never play well with Hunter Moon/Ivanushka-type musks no matter the blend.

While the released Sugar Plum Fairy had a candy aspect to it, this one is pretty much all yummy candied fruits. Wet it actually reminds me of sticking my nose in a bag of gummies, and then as it dries down the types of fruits make themselve known. There is definitely a lot of sugarplum, which I expected; there also must be candied cherries in here, almost like a maraschino cherry note and candied apricot that is sweeter than the apricot note in the released. There is also hint of candied citrus, what I believe is orange, lemon and lime, though it isn't dominant. I also get the tiniest hint of spice from what I think might actually be a type of gumdrop note. It's actually more in league with scents like the Confectionary proto (more fruit candy) and The Kingdom of Sweets (less tart) than its released version, but delicious all the same.

No 138 West 27th St. Mrs. Lizzie Goodrich, the dashing brunette, whose smiling face is ever ready to welcome her patrons keeps this house. Mrs. Lizzie as she is generally called, has five good-looking lady boarders whose cheerful dispositions tend to drive away the blues. There is a regular physician attached to this house, and every attention is shown to visitors. As a first class house, it is neatly and comfortably fitted up, and is very quiet and orderly. A merry honeyed carnation dotted with dried ruby fruits. I was crossing every limb on my body this would work on me since my name is Elizabeth. By some kind of magic it did! Sometimes I amp carnation to the point of it crushing everything else, and red or purple fruits can sometimes go cloying on me, but not this time. What stays at the forefront is honey, honey, golden and glorious honey. Full disclosure: I amp honey. The carnation is not too strong, more like a decorative flower behind the madam's ear, and the fruits add a bit of a tart (see what I did there?) element with a blush of red. First-class house indeed.

At last! A scent based on the Victorian notion of ennui as man's downfall! Ennui is French for boredom, which was thought to be a one-way street to damnation in those days. Before my fascination with 19th century writers obsessed with decadence--Baudelaire, Mallarme, Huysmans et al--bores everyone to death here, this smells fantastic. It's like furniture made from the most expensive of aged exotic woods, which seem to be mahogany and teak to my nose, and well-worn brown leather alongside the finest of dark chocolates and a goodly shot of booze which I'm taking to be cognac. It isn't a booziness that clubs you over the head but it's present. There may even be a trace of cigar smoke in here. It's dominated by the woods in the wet stage, but as it dries down the chocolate and booze emerge, make themselves and settle comfortably on the woody background which warms up as it keeps drying down. It has a certain sweetness to it probably contributed most by the cognac and chocolate. The chocolate here must be a dark chocolate note because I get that really rich smoky type of cacao that goes perfectly with the wood notes. This is not really a foody chocolate blend; exotic cacao is just one aspect that contributes to the whole idea of rich Victorians who are up to their eyeballs in luxuries succumbing to boredom and turning to illicit pleasures to get a rise out of themselves. In other words, I love it and can't wait to see its final iteration.

HAUNTED HOUSES All houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses. Through the open doors The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, With feet that make no sound upon the floors. We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, Along the passages they come and go, Impalpable impressions on the air, A sense of something moving to and fro. There are more guests at table than the hosts Invited; the illuminated hall Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, As silent as the pictures on the wall. The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; He but perceives what is; while unto me All that has been is visible and clear. We have no title-deeds to house or lands; Owners and occupants of earlier dates From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands, And hold in mortmain still their old estates. The spirit-world around this world of sense Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere Wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense A vital breath of more ethereal air. Our little lives are kept in equipoise By opposite attractions and desires; The struggle of the instinct that enjoys, And the more noble instinct that aspires. These perturbations, this perpetual jar Of earthly wants and aspirations high, Come from the influence of an unseen star An undiscovered planet in our sky. And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge of light, Across whose trembling planks our fancies crowd Into the realm of mystery and night,- So from the world of spirits there descends A bridge of light, connecting it with this, O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends, Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Quiet, ineffective ghosts haunting the realm of mystery and night, stretching dusty hands back to homes and lifetimes unforgotten: pale gossamer musks swirling in thick, dense otherworldly vapours through cracks in dry wood and old, old stones. I've always wanted a haunted house scent that could work as a perfume on me. There have been so many I tried in the past that would have been great as atmos, but just didn't like my skin for one reason or the other. I think I finally found the big exception in Haunted Houses. It's a scent that evokes the feeling of a ghostly, abandoned house without actually smelling musty or moldy but more ethereal and even feminine, in an unexpected way. In the beginning I got the wood first and I was gritting my teeth hoping this wouldn't die an untimely cedar death on my skin, but it ended up doing a complete turnaround to show off the pale musks instead. They have a lovely cool, crystalline feeling that evokes things like fleeting ghostlike visions and dust swirling in late-afternoon light. There still is subtle wood in the background, and a bit of a cool stone note; they round out the scent more than anything else, adding to the feeling of a house from a forgotten era. Come to think of it, this really reminds me of the actual haunted house in NYC that I went to visit a few years back. I can almost feel the invisible presence of a ghost.

A WORLD WHERE THERE ARE OCTOBERS October was a beautiful month at Green Gables, when the birches in the hollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchard were royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on the loveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green, while the fields sunned themselves in aftermaths. Anne reveled in the world of color about her. "Oh, Marilla," she exclaimed one Saturday morning, coming dancing in with her arms full of gorgeous boughs" 'I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it? Look at these maple branches. Don't they give you a thrill--several thrills? I'm going to decorate my room with them." An armload of maple boughs and a swirl of autumn leaves. October has a sister! Almost anything with dry leaves has my heart and this is no exception. The leaf notes definitely remind me of October, but I feel that while that one is evocative of late October when there are cold winds and crunchy leaves everywhere, this one is more evocative of early October when all the leaves are ablaze. The maple wood note is actually very close to oak, perhaps just a tad sweeter. The sweet undertones come out more as this dries down, and it seems like there is a hint of sap here too, though somewhat lighter than the sap note in October. It's not maple syrup or the least bit foody but there is a very, very slight undertone that hints at it being related to maple syrup if that makes any sense at all whatsoever. Like something that says this is the raw state of what eventually ends up as maple syrup. Maybe that makes a bit more sense. Keep in mind I could potentially be high from all the Weenies I've already assaulted my nostrils with. But I love how this one brings out a distinct "redness"--there goes my synaesthesia again--in the leaf note. It just so clearly illustrates brilliant red leaves, along with memories of apple picking in upstate New York, in my mind.

The house No. 99 is presided over by Mrs. Bunce. It contains twelve lady boarders. The house is well furnished, very pleasant, and is well stocked with beautiful girls. It is the most quiet and orderly house in Mercer street, and frequented by men of taste. Tobacco leaf, amber, sweet golden musk, blonde sandalwood, and hay sugar. I had such high hopes for this, from the tobacco leaf to the golden musk to the hay sugar and amber. I wanted it to be like an autumn sunset in a bottle. As an atmo it probably would be an autumn sunset in a bottle. The only thing I was leery of was (skin chemistry strikes again) the sandalwood. Sandalwoods that are blonde to white tend to screech on my skin, and unfortunately, this one gladly gobbled up all the gold gloriousness I could smell in the background. In an effort to get past the sandalwood takeover I tried picking out the other notes. The combination of those is like the last honeyed rays of sunlight falling upon the hay bales of a harvested field. Sigh.

Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer. Let me remember you, voices of little insects, Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters, Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us, Snow-hushed and heavy. Over my soul murmur your mute benediction, While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest, As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to, Lest they forget them. - Sara Teasdale A myrrh-darkened amber chypre sweetened by newly-ripened black pomegranate. The first sniff of this transported me straight outside to the depths of an autumn night. Granted the air outside doesn't smell exactly like resins and pomegranate, but what I really mean is that it evokes that feeling of a September (or October or November) midnight. This is a seriously dark pomegranate note, not nearly as bright as that in Persephone or The Fruit of Paradise. I love how this pomegranate is almost dark enough to be akin to blackcurrant, but still retains that characteristic "red" quality. This is the last pomegranate of the season, whose juice is as bloodred as the edges of an autumn sunset. The resins work to add depth on the drydown, which I can best compare to that same autumn sunset purpling and darkening before it succumbs to completely to nightfall. While the pomegrante note is perfectly balanced between sweet and tart, I believe the myrrh adds just a hint more sweetness--I tend to amp a subtle vanillic sweetness in myrrh. I feel September Midnight is the counterpart to Autumn and Winter, a prequel for what's to come as the days grow shorter and the nights deeper.

AUTUMN AND WINTER Three months bade wane and wax the wintering moon Between two dates of death, while men were fain Yet of the living light that all too soon Three months bade wane. Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain, Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune That death smote silent when he smote again. First went my friend, in life's mid light of noon, Who loved the lord of music: then the strain Whence earth was kindled like as heaven in June Three months bade wane. A herald soul before its master's flying Touched by some few moons first the darkling goal Where shades rose up to greet the shade, espying A herald soul; Shades of dead lords of music, who control Men living by the might of men undying, With strength of strains that make delight of dole. The deep dense dust on death's dim threshold lying Trembled with sense of kindling sound that stole Through darkness, and the night gave ear, descrying A herald soul. One went before, one after, but so fast They seem gone hence together, from the shore Whence we now gaze: yet ere the mightier passed One went before; One whose whole heart of love, being set of yore On that high joy which music lends us, cast Light round him forth of music's radiant store. Then went, while earth on winter glared aghast, The mortal god he worshipped, through the door Wherethrough so late, his lover to the last, One went before. A star had set an hour before the sun Sank from the skies wherethrough his heart's pulse yet Thrills audibly: but few took heed, or none, A star had set. All heaven rings back, sonorous with regret, The deep dirge of the sunset: how should one Soft star be missed in all the concourse met? But, O sweet single heart whose work is done, Whose songs are silent, how should I forget That ere the sunset's fiery goal was won A star had set? Bitter currant and dry leaves. Winter wind at dusk. This one hasn't gotten any review love yet? I'm shocked. Now I am a sucker for anything involving dry or burning leaves, and the dry leaf aspect of this scent is amazing. It really is dry leaves--not rotting leaves, not wet leaves, just dry crackling leaves. The blackcurrant is the perfect type for this type of scent, dark and bittersweet. It adds a hint of sweetness (just like the sap note sweetens October a little), but isn't foody at all. While I love my foody scents I don't feel foody would be appropriate for this particular one. There is also somethign extra in there that indeed reminds me of cutting winter wind; it's very difficult to describe, but that wind during November/December has a distinct cold but dry smell it carries with it and I think Beth captured that perfectly in this blend. For anyone who loves dry leaf scents and October as much as I do, don't hesitate to pick up a bottle of this.

NOCTIPHOBIA Fear of nighttime. The vast, endless canopy of the night sky, dotted with cold, harsh pinpoints of light under a bulging white moon: If there ever was an "essence of night" captured in a bottle, this is it. I cannot begin to express in humble human-derived words how amazing this is. I don't normally spring for bottles of scents that don't have notes listed, but anything with that has the general idea of all-encompassing darkness is the big exception. This is so well-blended to capture that feeling of thick, dark night that it's difficult to pick out notes but I'll make some feeble attempt. There is no single note that dominates from the wet stage all the way through the drydown. I can detect lavender, but not the kind of gun-toting lavender that pierces your nostrils with no mercy. This is a soft, mysterious lavender that spins itself into a veil of what I'm assuming to be a dark musk. Definitely a subtle backdrop of dark woods here too, but while I can't tell exactly what they are (might be a bit of teak or sandalwood somewhere in here) I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that there's no cedar or cypress because my skin amps those to eleven. Possibly a hint of black amber or something close resin-wise anchoring it; there's a very slight smokiness on the drydown. There must be some night-blooming florals here too, not jasmine, but I feel it shares a few things with Midnight and I have no idea what a lot of the floral notes in that smell like on their own. Maybe evening stock, maybe nicotiana. Educated guess. In fact it is kind of like Midnight's older sister, kind of like Death is to Delirium in Sandman. In other words, if you like Night's Bridge, or my discontinued first love Midnight, run.

PHASMOPHOBIA Fear of ghosts. Whispers in the darkness and cold breath upon your neck: calla lilies, white sandalwood, snow rose, white amber, and iced wine. If there was ever a beautiful way to interpret ectoplasm, this is it. I love white florals and the lily note alone makes it an absolute win. There is some rose in the background, but it's not a dry or dominant rose that shrieks its presence out to the world. Think more along the lines of velvety white petals mingling with the heady (but not cloying) calla lily. It's all floral in the wet stage, and then as it dries down something moderately sweet enters the mix--that must be the ice wine. As someone who has actually tasted ice wine I can say that it isn't nearly as strong a flavor (or smell) as red wine, and while sweet enough, it's not saccharine. Same goes for the wine note here. It balances the ethereal florals and allows them to maintain that ghostly quality while still adding something extra. If there was any phobia here it was the white sandalwood. Some types can go bone-dry on my skin but it turned out there was nothing to fear because it's very soft and subtle. Phasmophobia conjures images of spectres in flowing white dresses forever haunting an abandoned attic. I do believe any self-respecting phantom would approve.

There's all manner of shenanigans in this year's pumpkin patch! Pumpkin'ized hybrids of GC BPAL scents abound! This one makes me think of a pumpkin centerpiece at Alice's tea party. It's surrounded by flowers, and alongside a pitcher of milk and a jar of honey. The creamy milk and golden honey are a natural match for the warm, sweet pumpkin, and the milk note works to make the already smooth pumpkin even creamier. There's just a hint of spice that warms up the scent as a whole but doesn't amp even on my notoriously spice-amping skin. As is its nature, the carnation adds a tiny bit of spice as well, but it's very subtle. The interplay of the foody and floral elements here is actually very pleasant. The florals of Alice, as in the original scent, are not overbearing here either (even the rose I swear). They add a feminine element to the whole thing, and I swear that "feminine" and "pumpkin actually can belong in the same sentence. Somewhere in the background there is just a bit of bergamot tea. This is more of a daytime pumpkin, the pumpkin you wear when you're going to meet the parents, perfectly nice and sweet with nothing scandalous about it. I can almost see it wearing Alice's bow and pinafore.

CLYTIE This Clytie knew, and knew she was undone, Whose soul was fix'd, and doated on the Sun. She rag'd to think on her neglected charms, And Phoebus, panting in another's arms. With envious madness fir'd, she flies in haste, And tells the king, his daughter was unchaste. The king, incens'd to hear his honour stain'd, No more the father nor the man retain'd. In vain she stretch'd her arms, and turn'd her eyes To her lov'd God, th' enlightner of the skies. In vain she own'd it was a crime, yet still It was a crime not acted by her will. The brutal sire stood deaf to ev'ry pray'r, And deep in Earth entomb'd alive the fair. What Phoebus could do, was by Phoebus done: Full on her grave with pointed beams he shone: To pointed beams the gaping Earth gave way; Had the nymph eyes, her eyes had seen the day, But lifeless now, yet lovely still, she lay. Not more the God wept, when the world was fir'd, And in the wreck his blooming boy expir'd. The vital flame he strives to light again, And warm the frozen blood in ev'ry vein: But since resistless Fates deny'd that pow'r, On the cold nymph he rain'd a nectar show'r. Ah! undeserving thus (he said) to die, Yet still in odours thou shalt reach the sky. The body soon dissolv'd, and all around Perfum'd with heav'nly fragrancies the ground, A sacrifice for Gods up-rose from thence, A sweet, delightful tree of frankincense. Tho' guilty Clytie thus the sun betray'd, By too much passion she was guilty made. Excess of love begot excess of grief, Grief fondly bad her hence to hope relief. But angry Phoebus hears, unmov'd, her sighs, And scornful from her loath'd embraces flies. All day, all night, in trackless wilds, alone She pin'd, and taught the list'ning rocks her moan. On the bare earth she lies, her bosom bare, Loose her attire, dishevel'd is her hair. Nine times the morn unbarr'd the gates of light, As oft were spread th' alternate shades of night, So long no sustenance the mourner knew, Unless she drunk her tears, or suck'd the dew. She turn'd about, but rose not from the ground, Turn'd to the Sun, still as he roul'd his round: On his bright face hung her desiring eyes, 'Till fix'd to Earth, she strove in vain to rise. Her looks their paleness in a flow'r retain'd, But here, and there, some purple streaks they gain'd. Still the lov'd object the fond leafs pursue, Still move their root, the moving Sun to view, And in the Heliotrope the nymph is true. Excess of love begetting excess of grief: heliotrope, frankincense, muguet, osmanthus, and neroli. I was born here to Greek parents and grew up with these stories, so the Great Duets in Tragedy series is especially meaningful to me since this mythology is s a part of my heritage. When it comes to florals, I tend to be extremely picky. There aren't many straight florals I like; I need my florals taken with spices, resins, musks or gourmands. Now take the florals in this, add frankincense and suddenly something magical happens. It turns into a golden, exotic blend with the frankincense shining at the fore and the flowers backing it up with a dreamy and sweet, but definitely not cloying, sweetness. This is not a dark and brooding frankincense (which I'm equally fond of) but one that I can imagine is the color of liquid gold. I can't pick out a single floral because everything is so well-blended, but they all merge into something exotically feminine. There is also something in here, something poignant but not bitter, possibly the neroli, that clearly evokes the grief of Clytie. It's a beautiful and very accurate evocation, and I'll treasure it along with all the rest of the scents in this series.

Mrs. Dunbar conducts her house of assignation, at No. 44 Grove street in the best manner. The utmost decorum is observed, and every facility is furnished to those who call for passing the time in the most agreeable manner. This is a first class house. A decorous, agreeable experience: crystalline vanilla musk, freesia, and white tea. Be still my beating heart. The vanilla musk had me at first sniff out of the bottle, and it only blooms on my skin the longer it dries down. This is more of a translucent vanilla as opposed to the foodier ones, but there is still something irresistible that could almost be called "delicious" about it. Ethereal freesia and white tea swirl into what is really an enchanting, almost fairy-like scent that would make me think more of a Victorian virgin ghost bride than a mistress of ill repute. I'm conservative with what I get backups of, but I had to get a backup of this one.

Puffy clouds of pumpkin candyfloss with a trickle of blackberry juice. What? I live all the way in New Jersey and I'm the first to review this? So I'm a notorious pumpkinphile, as some of you may know. Given that, it's probably no surprise this was one of the first Weenies I scrambled to order this year.In the bottle and wet, it seems to be just spiced pumpkin; it really needs some time on the drydown to reveal itself as "blue pumpkin floss" as opposed to strictly (still pretty damned delicious) spiced pumpkin. I have this dabbed on one arm and the proto on the other; I find the released to be sweeter and richer than the proto, with a more buttery pumpkin note (as opposed to the more squashy/fresh pumpkin of the proto) and more pronounced candyfloss and blackberry notes. Also, the proto seems to have more spice while the released seems to have no more than a pinch if at all (I do detect what may be a dash of cinnamon). The blackberry is not one of those cloyingly sweet and/or artificial berry scents at all but a real true-to-life dark, tart blackberry that adds a tart edge and even a wicked dash of evil to the sweet buttery pumpkin. The tartness of the blackberry also counteracts the sweetness of the pumpkin and candyfloss, with the candyfloss acting as a sugary support base for the two, not overtaking either of them but rather balancing them out on puffy sugary clouds as the description suggests. All in all it's a dentist's nightmare with a distinctly autumnal feel, which in a scent (for me at least) is an extremely good thing. If you're as crazy about pumpkin as I am, or just a foodie in general, don't miss out on this one because it's a uniquely delicious and very craveable variation on our favorite spooky gourd. :pheart:

Peony blossoms and vanilla orchid. We used to grow these huge fluffy peonies out back when I was a kid so this will always have some nostalgic connection for me. I remember sticking my nose in them and just inhaling, and the peony note here reminds me of just that: an airy yet sweet and unmistakably pink floral, a "pink" scent in the way that sweet pea and tea rose smell "pink" but a different type of pink fragrance than either. I hope I am making some semblance of sense so far. Now I cannot imagine this delicate scent being blended with a heavy buttery vanilla, but vanilla orchid is its perfect match. It adds that creamy sensual sweetness that I recognize from scents like Moonshine and Mist and Opuhi. The more it dries down, the more the vanilla orchid emerges to entwine with the peony into one harmonious creamy pink whole, thus the more I keep falling for it, right to my knees like that lady in the pink kimono.

The next house, No. 55, is kept by Miss Addie Blashfield, the dashing brunette, who has eight or ten boarders, both blondes and brunettes. These are a pretty lot of girls, of pleasing and engaging manners. It is regarded as a first class house, very quiet and orderly and is visited by some of our first citizens. Night-blooming wildflowers, indigo musk, black currant, and clove. Anything night-blooming is a win for me, so this lady of the night gets along with my skin chemistry very well. Something in it reminds me of my beloved long-discontinued Midnight. It's all glorious, heady jasmine (and possibly gardenia, possibly even moonflower) that you'd expect to find growing around haunted Garden District houses in an Anne Rice novel. The midnight musk and deep purple shadows of blackcurrant only makes it even more intoxicating. It's like jasmine-scented skin wrapped in a velvet cloak. Wherever the clove is, it behaves. While it must be adding something, maybe a the barest hint of warmth, like the debauchery behind the brothel walls, but stays distant in the background. This makes me want to go read The Witching Hour again.

THE BRITISH BLONDES In 1868, Lydia Thompson’s British Blondes took New York City by storm, introducing burlesque to the Americas. A cluster of hothouse orchids with smoky vanilla-touched skin musk and burnished golden amber. Complex and sophisticated, sensual and beautiful, and very "golden". There is no one element that really stands out above the others in this blend but they all harmonize together into something amazing. It isn't a screeching floral though the orchids are present, and it is not gourmand though the smoky vanilla musk is definitely there, merging with the mysterious and sexy aroma of orchids on a bed of sweet golden amber. It makes me think of an old-school Hollywood actress spraying on perfume from a tasseled atomizer before going off to a movie premiere. I sprayed this on my shirt and couldn't stop huffing it the rest of the day.

Opium tar and Damask rose. Do NOT be afraid of the rose in this one; on a blind sniff without looking at the notes, rose didn't even come to mind, but wonderfully sinister opium with a backdrop of something soft and feminine to balance it. It could be I'm amping the opium, since I do amp resins, which of course I don't mind one bit. The opium and rose just blend so well that it really just seems like a softer and more feminine version of opium rather than a distinct opium and rose blend. It's definitely an intoxicating scent, conjuring images such as a well-reputed manor overshadowed by specters of the past and a wholesome-looking socialite with dark secrets up her sleeve. This is already darkly lovely adn only going to get deeper and more mysterious with age.

TRAIPSING THROUGH THE CROP CIRCLES Mystery doodle Vast: in corn, maize, or barley Aliens or what? Alien navigational landmarks? Extraterrestrial communications? Plasma vortices? Manifestations of the mystic power of ley lines? Miles and miles of flattened wheat, barley, and maize. I was really hoping for the bready and slightly sweet type of grains that are warm and foody and comforting, but my skin had a mind of its own with these because they came out pretty grassy on me. As it dries down it does warm up and a bit of that bready quality does emerge, but not enough to overtake the dominant smell of crushed plants. I'm guessing it really isn't the grains themselves that are at play here as much as the actual plants that produce them. However, if you like the scent of open fields and plains on a warm spring day and aren't so much into the foody type of grains, give this a try, because it is a very accurate rendition of that.