bheansidhe

Smells like greasepaint and theatrical makeup in the vial - I'm definitely getting the steampunk-y "gear oil" and maybe the sweet fire note from The Lights of Men's Lives. A tiny, tiny background of burning leaves or scorched wood, but it's not a smoky blend. I have such an aged tester that I'm sure it's not accurate; it's mostly sweetened gear oil to me, really.

This is one weird morpher.  I have an (obviously) aged sample to test, and I'm getting mainly wintergreen wet on the skin. I'm going to guess one of the published notes will be "lacquered wood floors" because that often reads as wintergreen on my skin -

 

... which now it does not, even a little. It's now unfolding into something like a grapefruit-tinged skin musk, a powdery white floral, and something that smells REALLY familiar (like a very familiar GC BPAL) that I can't put my finger on - I think maybe Alice? Yep. It's not an Alice dupe, but it has an Alice vibe, if cherry blossom substituted for the carnation note.

 

Welp!

 

 

The weed note dominates during application, so I get cannabis car freshener out of the gate. However, it rapidly becomes something more bitter-pithy and sophisticated, dominated by the grapefruit (which I love), lavender, and tobacco, cushioned by gentle fruits. (No pot stank at this point.) The bittering agents keep this from veering into fruit cocktail or fruit loops, which is the sad fate of most fruit-based perfumes on my skin. I utterly love it at this stage and would drink gallons of any cocktail or mocktail that tasted like this blend. 

 

The perfect spring or summer perfume.

I'm getting a touch of cinnamon red hots without the cinnamon, if that makes sense; flaming myrrh in the vein of Wrath or Priala the Human Phoenix, with billows of hot sweet incense, lightly spiced with pepper, and rooted into the patch/opoponax. This should be a huge hit with incense lovers.

 

Sweet, dry, resinous, and spicy, with a hint of flame.

What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of immediately buying two full bottles as backups to my partial. 

 

This is the only marshmallow blend that has ever really worked on my skin from first slather to final poofy drydown, and that gloriously warm, nutty, chewy-sweet patchouli rolls over that oily benzoin like caramel over midnight-black chocolate.

 

Can't hear you, too busy huffing my arm.

Like almost everyone else, I'm getting lemon verbena and a sweet, lightly camphorous mint off the top. There's bunchteen other ingredients, none of which I can pick out; they're having like a rave back there in the lemon-mint warehouse? Ooh, I smell something like sharp, freshly snapped marigold stems, and maybe hyssop or bee balm (monarda). And, to round out my barrage of guesses, myrtle leaves. I'm sure there must be a resin binding all of this together, but it's a minty melange of wild herbs to me. 

A sweet, powerful, smooth floral and musk blend. According to my online snooping, Sesen (or Seshen) was supposed to be "a combination of Frankincense, Blue lotus absolute, Cinnamon." I would definitely believe this contained a lotus and a blue Egyptian musk or skin musk. It has a sweet, watery green quality as well, like cucumber or melon pulp. Sweet, soporific, mellow, languid; has the feel of water lilies in a pool at dusk. 

This is an odd one. Right off the bat there's a smoky, sour-tangy note that smells SO familiar, if I could only put my finger on it - it's not quite vinegar, pickle brine, gunpowder, wood ash, or pine terpenes. Maybe I'm smelling a very raw, gnarly galbanum, with hints of cedar woodsmoke and vetiver? And now it's got some sweet sandalwood rounding it out; possibly cardamom as well.

 

I'm not mad about any of this, mind; it's an olfactory roller coaster to be sure, but I like the funky, herby blends. It's definitely mellowing on the skin. I get zero florals. This is ... a slightly smoky, slightly spicy resin blend.  And hints of annatto seed on the far drydown.

The clearest description I can give is "amped-up peaches." Very juicy, very strong peach brings out the fruity herbal note of bay rum. It's bright and brash and gender-neutral.

So very soft and warm and creamy. The coconut cream is so realistic that I'm reminded of my favorite desert, Thai mango sticky rice. The peach blends in, present but not overwhelming. It's hard to form a strong impression in the convention hall, but so far I'm happy with my blind buy.

 

Edit: now that I'm home and can properly sniff. Wet: definite peach and sweet coconut cream. It rapidly develops hints of vanilla, honey, and almond (true almond, not Amaretto extract), and then some warm, nutty pistachio. I could swear there's the tiniest sprinkle of dry pie spice in there, like a faint dusting of mace or nutmeg, and sea salt. The blend stays sweet and fluffy, but never goes cloying. It stays low to my skin in a warm, peachy cloud.

Ridiculously sexy indeed! It has a peach-drenched Smut vibe. I originally thought it reminded me of Snake Oil, but when I got home and smelled them side by side, I realized there's none of SO's tooth or drag or silt in this blend. It's sweet, musky, and clear.

 

I can't pick out individual notes, but it's a very well-fitting little red dress indeed. 

Very sweet, realistic peach and what smells like the scorched milk note from Snake Milk (caramelized, not powdery). I would snatch it up if either of those appeal to you.

Obviously this has aged for twelve years since the prior reviews, but it's largely the same. Wet, it's herbal lavender and clary sage, a perfumer's note like orris root or iris root, and a horsey note like sweet oats. I always interpret orris root as astringent, but the scent mellows fast into lavender and sweet oats floating over that slightly bitter herbal-green base (orris? a touch of violet?). Oh, wait - I think the bitter tinge is Beth's carrot seed note, which does dry down to an earthy sweetness to me. Overall, this is like a lavender-based Gunpowder.

 

I love lavender, and may try this one in a diffuser for sleep.

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.

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.