Invidiana

This is a lovely lilac and violet cream in a cloud of ethereal musk. It blooms with purple petals and a pinkish glimpse of elemi, all of which eventually drift down and settle into the creamy and slightly vanillic backdrop, like a ghost that envelops you. 

This is both ethereal and intoxicating at the same time, like breathing in the heady perfume of gardenias entwined with tendrils of incense smoke. There is also subtle, slightly powdery and almost vanillic undertone that only makes it more enchanting. It conjures visions of a midsummer fae dance beneath gauzy clouds and a full moon. 

You might start wondering what planet I’m on, but bear with me here. This smells like cherry-colored lamplight. There is something, and I think it’s the particular type of amber, that gives it not just a warmth, but that particular smell you can pick up if you’re close enough to a light bulb. It starts off as a fruit punch burst of cherry lit up with a few extra watts of lemon and lime, but a glow starts to emanate from the amber the more it dries down. Now imagine the warmth of the glowing blow mold dusted with snow, as if there’s a gust of snow swirling outside the window. It doesn’t dim the light but adds to the atmosphere. This might all sound nonsensical but it makes perfect sense—at least on my skin. It’s exactly what you’d expect a vintage clown blow mold to smell like if it actually had a smell. 

Jolly is every treat at the autumn fair swirled together, something from the old mill shops from my childhood that have all but vanished. There is the creamy filling of pumpkin pies, the chewy burnt-sugar satisfaction of fresh caramels wrapped in wax paper, the fragrant, but not overwhelming, sweetness of local honey, and handfuls of candy corn and lemon drops. Maybe you will walk away grinning like a pumpkin and not notice the jack-o-lantern glow you think surrounds you is actually coming from your own face.

This is the smell of a shadowed room. Even the curtains are dark shades of amber and cacao and chestnut, with hardly a glimpse of light making it through. In the corner is an old mahogany piano that mysteriously plays itself, or maybe not so mysteriously, as a ghostly silhouette of ylang ylang and vanilla appears and disappears for fleeting moments. Enter this room and your daydreams will darken into the nightmares to come.

From an unseen kitchen comes the irresistible aroma of  buttery baked pumpkin with a delicious nuttiness, like walnuts roasted in the oven, and all of this is swirled with spices that welcome the colder months. This is not an overwhelmingly spicy pumpkin bread. It is deliciously realistic, with the comfort of the pumpkin and roasted nut notes, along with warming hints of spice, that wrap you up in a your favorite wool socks and blanket on a chilly morning.  

If there was a smell to the waning light of summer before the autumnal equinox, it would be roses drying in the sun, next to the bright yellow petals of sunflowers. Whispers of carnation and hydrangea are exchanged before their last breaths. There are hints of clove and pumpkin on the changing winds, brushing against what can only be described as antique velvet that has finally come down from the attic to have its turn dancing in the sunset.

This begins with a blood rush of something that is almost cherry but is really the almond. The initial pulse of living blood quickly settles down under the velvety petals of dark, night-blooming orchid that casts shadows of black musk and a cacao that is not chocolate, and is just slightly bitter but sensual. It is a night among the orchids surrounding an Anne Rice-esque mansion where vampires lurk.

There is a strange coolness to this scent, not so much actual cold as the absence of warmth in a vampire. The apparition starts off in a haze of white musk fluttering with pale petals, and if the rose isn't white, then it has just barely begun to flush pink. What appears to be a vaguely human shape is fleshed out by vanillic tonka and soft woods that may have the feel of a cashmere sweater, and cling as close, but this being can never feel warmth again because it is not human. 

These sheets are so clean all the sins you committed as Motel Ghost last night are immediately forgiven. This ghost is shrouded in freshly aired, lavender-scented sheets and what I think is clean, unsoiled white musk. This is a sleepy, gentle lavender that could easily float you to the otherworld. It seems there is no one under the sheets, but it casts a shadow of labdanum, all that is left of an earthbound spirit.

This is the dirtiest Halloween costume in a bottle, like taking a jack-o-lantern carved with a very suggestive expression and dressing it up in red lace lingerie. Pumpkin entwines with clouds of shameless red musk in a forbidden liaison, with a backdrop of deep and sexy resins with an enticing whisper of patchouli. This pumpkin is not actually raw pumpkin guts. Rather, it turns out to be smooth and voluptuous with just enough spice to do unspeakable things. As if this isn't already heady enough, the ylang ylang opens its petals wide on the drydown and makes the whole bedroom scene on Halloween night that much more erotic.

This is like standing in the shadows of an abandoned church, breathing what remains of your vanilla perfume and the residue of incense smoke long gone. It is as if the oud and unholy resins (which aren't bitter on me) are scorched at the edges but not completely blackened, though a shadow of black musk is cast over them. Metal gives this the shivers, and it doesn't have a metallic tang to it like some metal notes do, buth a cold feeling that has nothing to do with snow and ice but the total lack of warmth in the edge of a blade or the veins of the undead. The sins of the past are shrouded in vanilla, vampire-pale but still a sweet memory. 

Convertible Hearse somehow manages to be fresh and macabre at once. It reminds me a little bit of a gothic cologne a friend of mine wore in high school, a throwback those days when I was fifteen and thought it was rebellious to hang with my friends at the mall without any of our parents around. There's something of a new car smell about this. It's not the typical eau du new car, but if there ever was an air freshener was made for a hearse, this is it. The exhaust isn't anything like the overwhelming fumes of a gas station. It's a jolt of gas swept up by a cool autumn breeze that kicks up dry leaves as the hearse, not burdened by a casket yet, speeds down the freeway. 

This is a breakfast to die for. It reminds of me of those times when I've stayed at a hotel and used it as an excuse to grab everything semi-forbidden for breakfast, especially a fluffy stack of syrup-drenched, butter-slathered pancakes, except the syrup here isn't the imitation stuff but that elusive dark maple syrup you can really only find at farmers' markets a way off. The steaming mug of black coffee next to that plate is definitely not decaf. As if this isn't enough, a donut fresh out of the fryer has been sneaked in there as well, and it makes itself known. Hearse of Pancakes almost makes me want to be a morning person. Almost.

Whether the leather here is the upholstery on the inside of a hearse or the tattered leather jacket of a maniacal ghoul on a horse, it is definitely black, the impenetrable moonless-night black he rides out of. The leather is scuffed by fallen branches which dead leaves swirl around as he tears through the forest (on his horse or in his hearse). I know it isn't listed, but I swear I can pick up that signature Dead Leaves note rustling among the wood. The pumpkin head he holds in one hand blazes with a sweet, slightly burnt smell, definitely not pumpkin pie but pumpkin flesh. Beth has managed to bottle the Headless Horseman.

This is the kind of hearse I'd rent for a party. Think champagne poured over a lurid pink concoction of guava, strawberry and grapefruit, with a shadow of blackberry syrup, rimmed with sugar. There is also the feel of a clean car scent underneath all this macabre glamour. That might be the bergamot, like a gust of air from a window briefly rolled down, even the chrome note, thought it doesn't flash in your face as chrome over all the pink on pink on pink. If there was actually such a thing as a Barbie hearse, this is exactly what it would smell like. 

This is a throwback to my aunt's lipstick from the '90s (though it was nude and not black), whose waxiness is infused with a subtle rose scent. I don't know where I'm getting rose from. Maybe it's just my skin, but something about it is vintage and familiar, while also being slightly more shadowy and mysterious than the smell of what my aunt wore back then. It's a realistic lipstick scent made slightly darker, suggesting dark lips exhaling a curl of clove cigarette smoke right outside the goth club. Does it smell like The Cure? Bauhaus? Siouxsie? The Sisters of Mercy? London After Midnight? I can't decide, but it suits all of them. 

Throw all your candy corn and toffee into the bonfire, then stand back and revel in the smell of burnt sugar rising from the flames. The melting mass of candy corn has an undertone of sweet almond, and there is also a something of a caramel undertone from the toffee. There is something both recognizable and unrecognizable about the candies that has been sacrificed. They are, and they are not. When the fire goes out, the edges of this monstrous lump of sugar have been completely burnt, while the rest has been caramelized,  a ghost of what it used to be and also a monster.  

There is something sinister about this treat, far from brightly colored candies eagerly received on an well-lit porch, but something curious offered by the gnarled hands of something that is reluctant to let you see its face until its head emerges from the shadows and you run shrieking into the night, forgetting whether or not you dropped whatever it gave you. The sour apple mash is some strong moonshine, with something of a dusty feel coming from the dried apple, and while the molasses is not at the forefront, there is an undercurrent of it adding a dark but mild sweetness. This is the type of apple scent that makes me think of the creaky old cider press at a local farm that has long since been razed to the ground. While there are no woody or dust notes here, it feels as if there are jars of dried apples and apple liquor and molasses sitting in the kitchen of an abandoned farmhouse that is almost definitely haunted.

This is what happens when trick-or-treaters grow up. Imagine the peanut butter chews from your Halloween plunder melted into a sticky gloop, swirled into spiced pumpkin fudge, and drowned in bourbon. It's decadence and naughtiness that makes no apologies for an egregious amount of calories. Of course, this is primarily a pumpkin spice confection, but there is plenty of sweet and creamy pumpkin fudge to balance the spice. The peanut butter note is almost chewy like those Mary Janes you either love or hate (I love them) and would inevitably get a handful of from some neighbor every Halloween. What seems like an innocent treat is made devilish with a hefty swig of bourbon whose fire you would definitely be able to taste if this was actually something edible, not the sort of thing you shouldn't drive home wearing, but boozy enough to give that tired witch costume thigh-highs and fishnets. 

Synaesthesia-heavy review incoming. This smells like a disco ball. Not that I've ever smelled a disco ball. It's just that if a disco ball had a distinctive smell, this is what I would imagine it would smell like; sparkly facets of icy mint catching different colors of light as it twirls around. It's really the snow and mint notes that stay at the forefront for me, with whiffs of different fruits coming and going. I smell something different every time I move. 

 

ETA: More of a frosty sugarplum scent comes out on the drydown. This is certainly a morpher!

YE GODS. This is so much more than your average caramel macchiato. The caramel is delicious and chewy, less of a milk caramel and more caramelized sugar, and the coffee balances it out with just the right amount of depth and bitterness to keep it from going into cloying territory, but the scent as a whole is not bitter at all. There is something musky about it on the drydown; I think it's my skin, but I'm here for it. If only someone could make an actual drink that tastes like this smells, I'd die happy. 

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.

Vetiver, you and I just can't get along...you overpowered everything as this dried down. I'll never know what lovely shadows this could smell like without the vetiver, but on me, at least, it overpowers everything, leaving just wisps of the other notes in the background struggling to make themselves known. That's what you get when your skin amps vetiver.

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.