bheansidhe

First impressions: Salty, transparent waves; crisp pear and a lightweight white floral musk over cedars. The base is slightly bitter in the way that fine department store perfume is sometimes bitter to me, but too complex to pinpoint a source. In fact, this is one of the most gorgeously complex BPAL blends I can think of, and I think the reason is the "theriac accord." From what I can learn online, traditional theriac recipes could include honey, cinnamon, cassia, ginger, benzoin, oppoponax, opium accord, myrrh, lavender, rose, lemongrass, bay laurel, parsley, anise, carrot seed, black pepper, St. John's wort, fennel, juniper, clove, wine, iris root, rhubarb, and valerian - WHEW. If even a dozen of those notes made it into the background, haunting complexity is a given. There's definitely a tinge of honey in the base, and I could possibly be convinced that I catch opium accord and carrot seed as well. The throw is gentle but prolonged. This blend seeps from enchanted ground and surrounds you in a seductive, potentially deadly mist. Once snared, your prey will want to follow you anywhere to find the source. Use it wisely.

What I wrote for my initial impression is "smells like an art museum." I'm not sure what that means - maybe something about a very gathered, formal play of light? The sense of a hushed and orderly and reverent space? Waxed and polished surfaces? Getting into the actual smell of things, I get a clear, watery (not aquatic), golden, vegetable musk. I don't pick out dragons' blood or plum. The primary impressions are warm and golden amber/frank lightened by citrus and moss. The moss eventually drags it into cologne territory for me, but the man wearing it is probably the human representation of an angel, so really what we have here is best summed up as "angelic host cologne." My nose is garbage. Lots of throw! Golden light as perfume! Give it a try.

My bottle is probably two years old. I don't get anything grassy, sappy, or particularly green from it. It reads as a black tea, possibly with jasmine and bergamot. It also has a chewy, fermented quality that reminds me of a fresh vanilla pod after you've scraped it, and a slight spiciness like star anise. The more it sits on my skin, the more I get a "perfume" hovering above the tea and distinct from it. I think there are touches of the Miss Spink and Miss Forcible blends in here. Miss Spink would explain the white floral overlay, and Miss Forcible would explain the touches of vanilla/anise - I see that another reviewer got "anise cookies" from Miss Forcible, which was what I was getting from this blend before I even looked at that review. Overall a clean, light blend that clings to the skin. Any tea fan should definitely try it.

A year ago, TASAC was FEROCIOUSLY cinnamon-forward. I'm pleased to report that in the course of a year it's mellowed and settled into a sweet eggnog-gingerbread-pumpkin blend well muddled with rum, ginger, clove, cinnamon, fresh-scraped vanilla bean, a touch of candied citrus peel, and a round eggy cream note that reminds me of pumpkin flan. The spices fade during wear, leaving sweet pumpkin pulp, flan, and touches of gingerbread. I'm not sure what the skull is supposed to smell like - an orris or dry resin? - but whatever the note is, its only effect is to dial the blend down to 90% foody, 10% neutral. If it was too much cinnamon for you then, try it now that it's got some age on it.

Tarry and headshoppy to the max - as if Madame Moriarty were left to char and boil down and then was smoked over an incense log fire, rolled in black silk, and sprinkled with garnets and indigo glitter. The finish is a flourish of garnet velvet ruffles.

This makes me think of a 1940s starlet's dressing table, back when makeup was infused with rosewater to mask the lightly bitter smell of the pigments. It's the olfactory equivalent of the visual perfection of a brand-new lipstick. I get zero soap and no grandmother; this is girlish, romantic, and somehow antiqued. If I liked rose, this would be a beautiful one; definitely water-infused and prettied up with the lilies and cognac.

This is, in fact, a sexy green tea musk. The star anise lends it a woodsy quality. The oakmoss tackles the green tea and wrestles it to the forest floor, then fades to the background. I don't get much throw and it stays close to my skin. Star anise can sometimes overwhelm, but this blend isn't sharp at all. I'm getting almost a pipe tobacco vibe from the anise/oakmoss combo as it dries down. The green tea floats on top. Gender neutral, foody only if you consider tea food, equally good for daytime or nighttime wear.

"Psionicist, but make it steampunk." Or, possibly, "Steampunk, but make it blue glass instead of opaque brass." Or maybe "Perfume, but not for humans; this is blended for and by sentient robots who want to smell like pretty metals and gears." This has a steampunk vibe, but in a completely new olfactory colorway. When wet I get a clear viscous motor oil, a glassine metal musk, ozone, and blue light. (This artificer makes elegant ballroom jewelry that hides clockwork spy instruments or tiny mechanical poison dart throwers.) It has a light but steady throw and doesn't seem to morph, though the oil loses its chemical edge and becomes more of a watery dew. It continues to smell blue and metallic, but never sharp or cold.

Comfort smells like buttery shortbread cookies soaked in lavender syrup. I know there's lavender in the blend because my particular bottle is about half plant material. It manages to be warming and cooling at the same time; jammy, thick, yummy, and yes, comforting.

This smells like the highest of high-end, bespoke bath unguents, sold only by a discreet proprietor in Mayfair who keeps a hand-written list of clientele and posts no shop hours. If you even know how to find the storefront (the 17th-century one, not the modern one), it's because your grandfather brought you along when he stocked up on his favorite shaving cream and pomade. It is not herbal; it is not soapy; it is not faintly resinous; it is all of those notes, swaddled in fig as dark as the fumed oak table in your grandfather's study, flecked with olive blossoms that breathe notes of the fruity oil instead of the flower. When someone smells this blend on you, they will know (without a word being spoken) that University of Oxford has at least one reading room and an endowed philosophy chair named for your direct ancestor, and also, that you are luxuriantly clean, well-read, and a touch indolent. Alas, the blend is a push-pull between two notes that never love me - orris and ambergris - against a quartet of notes that normally play very well on my skin. It loses the high-end-shading-to-masculine feel and edges into my grandmother's dusting powder. Still damn expensive dusting powder, mind, but not anything I can wear.

This is more like "Gingerbread and More Butter" when freshly applied. As it dries it becomes less baked good and more sweet candied ginger with a lemony bite. Gorgeous in both stages.

Pumpkin candyfloss, funnel cake, apple cider, a swirl of dead, dry maple leaves, greasepaint, chewing tobacco, and sawdust. I had the good fortune to test this one at Will Call. I liked it best of all the foody/gourmand Weenie atmos except Pumpkin Popcorn Balls (my other favorite). Halloween Carnival Atmosphere Spray throws together all of the best carnival smells - salty kettlecorn! spun sugar! sweet funnel cakes! fresh sawdust! autumn air! - without the overlay of animal dung, diesel fumes, and overworked porta-potty that invariably accompany a *real* carnival. It's a glorious cacaphony that hangs in the air like a handful of glittering sawdust before gently subsiding to the memory of funnel cakes.

It's always fun to run across a BPAL blend that doesn't smell like anything you've ever tested. I get the lavender when the blend is wet, but on my skin this is a billowing dusty-sweet rosin, balsam, and white sandalwood, sharpened by a bit of worn leather in the background. Whoever's wearing the leather might have just sauntered through a sun-warmed field of lavender, but it's just clinging to the background. The blend has an almost foody vanillac warmth while still coming across as a mix of rosins and resins. White sandalwood can be powdery, but the sappiness of the balsam keeps it from going to baby powder. It cuddles down warm and low on the skin. This is a great everyday scent, gender-neutral, and office-appropriate. Sadly, this rosin seems close enough to the beeswax/honey notes that inevitably doom a blend. For me it's the Alan Tudyk of notes.

Pure cedar-frankincense love. The cedar is dry and woody and sweet, and the tobacco gives a round warmth to the back end. I don't get any cognac (which is for the best honestly), but I do get a pungent black pepper sprinkled on top. It does remind me of the cedar in They Lie Thus Chambered and Cold to the Moon, which was another personal favorite.