jj_j

My list of piney scents includes Jabberwocky (definite eucalyptus, but so, so good!), Old Dublin, and Black Forest. It seems like Beth tends to use pine and sharp greenery smells for the Yule LEs more than anything. Dracul is heavy on the fir and balsam - it's gorgeous. Great outdoors, but a different sort of forest. Might be worth a try, though. It's too bad the single notes have been discontinued. The white pine bark was amazing, and probably just what you were looking for. I know, that wasn't a lot of help, but you never know if someone has an imp of it they'd swap you for. Never hurts to put it on the Wanted lists.

I'm not a ginger fan, and scents heavy on the ginger (Siren) are just not for me. Even knowing this, I took a chance on Suda Segara - that's the spelling on my bottle - with high hopes for the mellowing effect of the milk, honey, and ambrosia. Much to my surprise, they did just that. While I can't actually smell milk and honey individually, this is a fresh scent with a moderate edge to it; it's creamy and soft at the same time that it has a bit of bite to it. I have no idea what ambrosia is, but I wonder if something in that note has a hint of white wine in it. Halfway through the drydown, I got very excited - for five minutes or so, Sudha Segara smelled like one of my favorite commercial scents, Botrytis, which is very autumnal and has notes of honey, candied fruits, quince, and white wine. I was soooo excited, because I'd rather wear one of Beth's amazing scents than anything else out there. Before long, though, Sudha Segara moved past this stage and into a warm, comforting honey lotion-ish smell. There's a little edge to this, but no bite left. It's nice, in a "slather-yourself-with-foody-lotion-and-head-to-bed" sort of way. Unfortunately, that's just not what I'm looking for in my scents. Sudha Segara has some great moments to it, and even the ones that aren't amazing are still nice. The scent has good staying power, moderate intensity that isn't overwhelming, and a warmth reminiscent of snuggling under the covers on a cold fall morning. If you like gently foody scents, comfort scents, or honey, you're in for a treat. Even those who aren't fans of ginger will probably enjoy how subtly it enhances the other notes in this scent.

I love iris and coconut, and while the soft/sweet/tangy/not nutty scent of hazelnut isn't one of my favorites, it was towards the end of the components list, so I had to give Black Pearl a try. Putting Black Pearl on, I'm surprised at the aquatic feel of it. Sure, Beth talks about the sea in the description, but she doesn't list any aquatic notes. They're present, though - gentle and swaying and something you could get lost in. The iris doesn't make much of a statement on me - I know it's what anchors this scent, but it's supporting cast, as is the musk. Occasionally I get a whiff of soft peppery powder (not baby powder, but something ground fine and dusty), which is the same thing that happened when I experimented with a drop of florentine iris and hazelnut from my stash of single notes. Add the coconut in, and you have a beautiful contradiction of the aquatic notes, the creamy sweetness of the coconut, and that interesting dusty - sandy beach? - combination. All in all, Black Pearl is fabulous. Almost as important in my book, it's interesting. Aside from BPAL fans, I'm not going to run into anyone else wearing this, and in fact have gotten several questions about what I'm wearing when I have Black Pearl on. It's a soothing scent, and I love that wearing it all day allows time for a few disquieting flashes of the iris and hazelnut combination, just to keep me on my toes. Black Pearl has good staying power, solid intensity without ever being overwhelming, and stays close enough to me that I can smell it while still having just the right amount of "throw." If you haven't tried it already, it's worth purchasing an imp to slather on yourself and see what you think.

How could I have missed reviewing Old Dublin? I've had this scent for ages, as I ordered it as soon as Beth sent me an imp to try, and it's just gorgeous. When I went to put a drop on for review purposes, Old Dublin chastised me for leaving it to sit for so long. Even though I didn't tip the bottle, I had oil running down my wrist - it just jumped out of the bottle and onto my arm. I had intended to get a little spot of scent to work with, but so much came off the top of the bottle that it ran from the left side of my wrist all the way to right side. I'm sitting in a small cloud of Old Dublin, feeling for all the world like I'm deep in a morning light-filled forest. It's amazing what the forest greenery does to the white rose in this scent. Rather than smelling green and flowery, I smell crisp and winter berry-ish. The rose gets morphed into an underlying floral sweetness, and it's very much a background scent, but it combines in such a an interesting, alluring way. How Beth managed to work the scent of fog into Old Dublin, I have no idea. I'm suitably impressed, though, and there's no denying the damp, misty feel of the fragrance. God, but she's maestro (does that include the feminine?)! If you like Mistletoe, Yuletide, or even Skadi, you should give this a try. In fact, if you like the crisp spicy greenness of the outdoors even the tiniest bit, Old Dublin should be on your list of scents to experience.

Tiger lilies are one of my favorite flowers, so I couldn't wait to see how Beth's Mad Tea Party version turned out. The one thing I don't like about lilies is the cloyingly sweet smell they get after they've bloomed fully, and since Beth's single notes in calla lily and stargazer lily capture the peak of the flowers so perfectly, without any of that overpowering sweet ... well, stench, to me ... I had high hopes for Tiger Lily to do the same. There's a definite whiteness to Tiger Lily for me. I'd guess that Tiger Lily is a combination of calla, stargazer, and maybe a drop of carnation to get the spicy note that you get when you stick your nose down into a brightly colored lily. It's wonderful - it really does have the snap and crackle of a tiger lily - and the honey note is a nice complement, too. I was worried the honey note would push this wonderful floral back into the too-sweet stage I mentioned before, but there was no cause for alarm. In fact, the honey gives Tiger Lily a softness it needs - the scent is very vibrant, very "bam!", in Emeril-speak, all while retaining a gracious, classic scent feel before the honey comes out - it blurs the edges a bit and gives it a heat-wave shimmer that pulls the intensity of the scent back and forth. The honey gives Tiger Lily a chance to be fun, flirty, elegant, over-the-top, and subtle all at once. As seems to be the case with the "lighter" florals - I don't mean intensity so much as I mean their place on a scale, top to bottom, of scent .... picture vetiver at the bottom and apple blossom or dandelion towards the top, if that helps make sense of what I can't explain well - Tiger Lily gets soaked into my skin very quickly. It has beautiful throw and fairly strong intensity while it lasts - in fact, this small cloud clinging close to me is exactly what I like my scents to do - it just doesn't last more than about 45 minutes. I even made my mother, who can smell ridiculous small things across the room, sniff me, and she thought I'd just had a shower and was trying to fool her into finding a perfume I wasn't actually wearing. It's only the lack of staying power - on me - that makes Tiger Lily a swap-away.

This is such a pretty scent - it's light, it's lovely, and very aquatic without losing the feeling of spring flowers. Tulip - oh, yes. Not that cloying and artificial scent B&BW used to make, either. Transparent and full of the green freshness of spring, this is goooood tulip. I don't get much out of the peonies, but I have a wonderful mental image of ivy climbing a brick wall by a pool, complete with fountain. Old Amsterdam is flowing. It's not what I'd call a blue scent, because in spite of the liquid feel, it's more like crystal clear - and very cold! - water in a small pool or duck pond. It's more of a colorless aquatic; invigorating, with glints of light reflecting every time there's a breeze to make ripples in the water. I wish this had better staying power on me. My notoriously dry skin soaks up scent, but Old Amsterdam was literally gone in the time it took me to write this review. If I were going to wear it, I'd have to buy a 10 ml. and use half of it making lotion and a spray of the scent so I could layer. I don't know if that would get me four hours of this wonderful fragrance, so in spite of the beautiful blend, I'm going to pass on this one.

After reading other reviews of Ingenue, I went back to my bottle and re-checked the label. Okay, it says Ingenue on it, even though it smells nothing like that. Guess I'll take it for another test drive. How odd. First thing out of the bottle is sandalwood. Moderate, but no question that sandalwood is the main component of the contents of this bottle labeled Ingenue (yeah, I checked it one more time). There's nothing else to do but sit and scratch my head, so I wait. Sandalwood. What on earth?!?!! So I wait some more. Sandalwood. About the time I'm ready to give up on this mystery fragrance (a good five to ten minutes), it changes. It doesn't do this gradually, either, it just up and melts, like butter in a hot skillet. Ingenue is suddenly soft brown grass waving in an autumn hayfield, with the lightest, flickering floral note that's a tiny bit starchy. Water lotus, which took a trip to the local greenhouse/landscape company to confirm (winter isn't the best time to find it floating around in water gardens). Remarkably delicate for such a sweet and - I don't know another word for it - starchy scent. It doesn't take long for the water lotus to fade away, and when I'm about to say that my chemistry doesn't let the melon or rose scent come through, a faint, warm white melon note does indeed peek out. Even though I'm not getting the full showing of this scent, this changes things drastically. I have a perfect picture of a little girl growing up in the country, stretched out in the pasture on a blanket, reading with her chin in her hands and her toes pointed to the sky. While I love the water lotus and melon that make very quiet entrances and exits, and I enjoy the dried field grass scent, in the end we go back to ... sandalwood. My chemistry barely lets the melon or rose come through, although it does a wonderful job with the grass notes. In the long run, my body chemistry turns this into something other than what I was looking for. Side note - I put a dab of this on my mother, and she smelled like a fairy garden - riots of soft flowers, bright green springtime, a hint of sweetness, and fresh, gorgeous cantaloupe, of all things. Barely a hint of wood or dried grass notes. If only I could swap my body chemistry away, instead of this bottle!

Out of the bottle, Black Widow is sweet red wine and roses. They seem almost too sweet together for the first couple of minutes, but luckily the red wine backs off a bit. If the old-style bottle and label on this scent didn't give it away, the fact that the wine note doesn't turn sour on my skin is a sure sign it's Beth's original wine note, rather than the new one. When the red wine backs off, it doesn't disappear. It gives a very lush, fruity feel to the rose in Black Widow, and keeps the jasmine at bay. Oh, this is heady stuff - I can't discern the sandalwood or patchouli as individual notes, but they must be what give this rose scent such texture and richness beyond the florals. It really is a riot of half-opened blooms. Black Widow is really lovely, and my skin brought out the rose note more than anything. I'm absolutely delighted with Whip, though, and don't wear rose scents often enough to justify multiple bottles. This was my rose scent before Whip, though, and if you can get your hands on some, it's well worth a try.

Light and clear, Queen of Hearts is springtime in a bottle. Oh, this is beautiful! Think dewdrops sparkling on a open white tulip, and you get an idea of the easy, breezy, and very graceful feel of Queen of Hearts. Lily of the Valley always seemed a bit insipid to me, but combined with classic lily - I would have pegged it as stargazer lily, because of the sweet, almost fruity tone to it, but I guess that credit goes to the drop of cherry in here? - this is like a delighted little girl twirling and whirling with her arms out, dress belled out around her, and her face to the sun. It's just ... it's so ... unabashedly elegant and innocent, all at once! I love the contradiction of haughty and heartfelt all at the same time. Queen of Hearts is even more impressive if you know that I'm not a huge fan of floral scents - and this is one I immediately bought a bottle of. The only downside to this scent is the lack of staying power, at least on my thirsty skin. Reapplication was mandatory in about two hours, but Queen of Hearts is well worth the effort.

I hate to say that Morgause and I don't get along. The description is so beautiful, and I love both violets and incense, so I expected this to be a favorite. Those night-blooming flowers killed me. I mean, they're gorgeous, and they're silvery-white, and this is truly a beautiful scent. Its just that it sends sharp pains through my head when I smell it. Now, keep in mind that "white" flowers (jasmine, magnolia, carnations, ylang-ylang, etc.) and I notoriously clash. It's not that Beth doesn't use the most fabulous distillations of them, it's that sharp pain through the forehead thing. There are obviously one or more of those scents in Morgause, and they come out in full force at the first application of the scent. Oddly, this is a GOOD thing, because those of you who love those white florals can delight in Morgause; my headache is proof positive. The scent mellows as time passes, and there's a creamy softness to Morgause that's feminine and mysterious. The violet I love so is more of an accessory to the night-blooming flowers, but it gives them a weight and, at the same time, a wispy-ness that's enchantingly contradictory. Sorry I can't tell you anything about the incense or the fruit. I've sniffed all of Morgause I can manage, and I haven't found them yet, so you'll have to do it on your own.

Saint-Germain, once I got it on my skin, was a revelation for me - this scent is a "wowser!" as my mother would put it. The lavender note just out of the bottle led me astray. I had no idea that carnation and lavender could combine like this. It's such an interesting and beautiful blending that I really had to think about what the notes might be. With the green touch of moss, I felt like I was in a grove of lime trees for just a minute. Dry down is just as surprising. The lavender asserts itself a little more, and the carnation fades into light spice, but this isn't a floral scent. It's amazing how crisp Saint-Germain is, considering the liquid warmth of amber - and this is definitely a scent with heat. Incredibly masculine. Incredibly refined and masculine. I wish this worked as well on my other half as it works on me, but he and I get very different vibes from lavender. Very nice, and very well worth the investment of a bottle if you like to share BPAL with the man in your life.

I do much better on scent recommendations when I'm at home with my spreadsheet in front of me, so I may edit this post and add a couple of other ideas in later ... I just tried Gaueko, and out of the bottle I would never have suspected how gorgeous this dries down - beautiful incense. There are a couple of others that did the same thing for me; I'll look them up for you tonight. ETA: Okay, now that the spreadsheet is in front of me, I'd say Black Lotus, Cathedral, Serpent's Kiss, Old Sybaris, Scorpio, and Mars. They're all incense-y, but in different ways. Hope this gives you some options!

I'm coming off of a search for just the right rose, now that Whip has crossed my path, and tea roses have never been my favorite of the bunch. Tea roses are what I expected from Havisham - white and yellow and pink in a wedding bouquet - but they're not as crisp and, well ... uptight? as I thought when I sniffed out of the bottle. Havisham is a more open, slightly faded rose. Not dried rose, but a tea rose that's bloomed and moved past its peak to that slightly rumpled, droopy stage. It makes it much softer and more nostalgic than other tea rose scents. There's an interesting complement of citrus that I wouldn't have pegged as lime; my nose can't sort it out of the roses, but I would have guessed orange blossom, with an emphasis on orange zest, and a bit less on the blossom. This is a straightforward scent - not lots of layers, and moving in its simplicity. There's not much that's more "all my eggs in one basket" than a wedding bouquet, and a wedding is something that moves half the audience to tears, in part because of that simplicity and promise. Impressions are all about the person getting them, and I have to say that Havisham doesn't make me think of Miss Havisham; it's not bitter or hard enough for the woman she is in my mind. The scent, however, is soft and flowing and truly lovely, and the impression of a wedding bouquet is firmly entrenched for me.

You know, I was going to buy a bottle of Whip for my mother, but now I'm not so sure.. She loves rose scents, and while I got her a bottle of Rose Red again, Whip is a completely different kind of rose. Rose Red is a perfectly crisp tea rose. Whip, on the other hand, is huge red roses, dozens of them in vases around the room, all fully bloomed and starting to droop. They're heady and almost over-ripe, and they are simply gorgeous. The leather never shows itself fully to me. I know it's there, because there's a heavier note to the rose than it would have on it's own, but it's never obvious. Don't think saddles or leather gloves - think of a very, very good german leather briefcase with suede inside, and stick your nose into it. Hold your breath long enough to grab one of the roses in the room, and breathe in one more time. Whip is all about the rose, but this is a woman's rose, not a girl's. In fact, it's a lover's rose, vibrant and full of passion; no rosebuds here, but wide open, fully bloomed, and just past their peak after a gracing the hotel suite of a lovers' reunion. This is the rose scent that I can wear. Not innocent, not springtime in a bottle, but big and bold enough to match my Scorpio intensity, any time of the year and for any occasion.

I ordered Manila thinking the banana leaf would smell like greenery and not bananas - which I absolutely despise; texture, scent, color, flavor, the works - so I shuddered when I opened the cap and smelled ... yep, bananas. Thank goodness I give all the oils a try. I steeled myself for some serious difficulty writing the review, but luckily, there was no need. The banana smell was only from in the bottle. When I put Manila on, I very quickly had a delectable starfruit impression - tropical, lightly sweet, and the faintest bit of tartness. Slick, with water droplets still on the skin from washing it, and very juicy. I have no idea what some of the notes in Manila smell like on their own, but I can tell you that they combine beautifully. It's interesting to me that Manila is such a marine scent - not just wet, but marine - without any salt, water, and especially that air-freshener note that commercial scents classified as marine often have. This is sitting on a beach, watching the waves roll in and eating fresh fruit from a local market, while the sun goes down. Striking, perfect for summertime, and even more perfect for the days you need to slip away from the stress of everyday life and feel like you've gone back to that beach resort where you spent your honeymoon or spring break.

I'm a fan of iris - Hiris was a favorite in my pre-BPAL life - and the combination of iris and berries was too much to resist. I went straight for the 5 ml. of Florence, and I'm delighted that I did. When I first put it on, Florence is all iris, with a distinct earthy note. Beth's single note of iris always smelled to me like it included leaves, root, and flower, so it's no surprise to me. It's not the heavy earthen and root-like smell of vetiver, more the scent of dirt clinging to your gardening gloves as you plant bulbs; subtle but grounding. It doesn't take long for the berries and amber to wind their way into the blend, and my expectations for the berries are met and exceeded. They're a bit tart and very juicy, and when you add the warmth and liquid tones of the amber, you have a scent that's out of this world. Spices aren't dominant at any point in this scent, at least not on me. They're very much a background note, and they get melded into the amber and heighten its effect. When I let my mother try Florence, the spices and amber turned baby-powderish on her at this point, so that may be something to consider if you know your body chemistry plays that particular trick with those notes. All in all, a fabulous scent. Not the full-blown grandeur of Old Venice, but all the expensive richness of it. Florence is about luxury, heady and obtained at any price, with only the finest and most lush in texture being good enough. For me, Florence was about texture, where Old Venice was about color - the difference in velvety purple iris petals and softened, candle-warmed amber versus bright lemons, red currants, and the most vibrant of flowers. I have a feeling I'll go through this bottle very quickly, and will have to re-order.

Oh, how nice! Chiroptera is exactly like a summer evening spent in the middle of a flower garden, with all the scents swirling in the air as it cools with the setting of the sun. I love the lemon balm in this, and it's one of the first scents that waft off my wrist. Honeysuckle is a beautiful complement to the lemon balm because of its sweetness, and the thyme rounds things out by anchoring the components together. In a roundabout sort of way, Chiroptera is like Cheshire Cat. Cheshire Cat is one of my favorite scents, and only partially because it sends little bursts of individual notes to my nose throughout the day. Chiroptera doesn't have the intensity or staying power of Cheshire Cat, but it does the same little scent bursts up while I'm wearing it, like bubbles floating past my nose and popping to release the single notes. I love it! There's not a lot of lavender in here - I imagine it would overpower these softer flowers - but what there is gives Chiroptera a bit more backbone. It's still soft and glowing; the scent shines like a reflection of water in mist and moonlight. Really lovely, and with good staying power for so many light, subtle florals. Not what I would normally wear, but I'm very glad I bought a bottle. I'll wear this one a lot in the coming spring and summer months.

On me, Queen of Diamonds is heavy on the pale flowers. Very pale, perhaps like a diamond with the faintest of purple tint to it. The mandarin warms up with a few minutes of wear and takes this down a notch, making it pale flowers in an orchard. Sweet, and reminiscent of bees buzzing in my grandmother's orchard in the late springtimes of my childhood. The rose and orchid come through not long after the mandarin appears, and the rose is a much softer, subtler rose than I expected; misty scented, like the Sterling rose is in color. Orchid gives a creamy sweetness that I hadn't been expecting, and makes Queen of Diamonds a bit more lush and exotic than the initial application suggested. As much as I love this scent, Queen of Diamonds loses out to my skin chemistry and becomes a cross between a commercial floral perfume (a damn good one, I might add) and bathroom air freshener. I'm going to keep using the imp to see if it changes over time, but at the moment, I'm not putting it on my list of scents to get more of. I love the pale silvery-lilac color this leaves in my nose!

Crystalline is a very good descriptor for the King of Diamonds. He's cool and clean and glitters a bit in my nose. Not a complicated scent, but not a simple one, either. Clarity like this must be hard to acheive in a fragrance, and there's no sweetness in the blend to help that impression along. To me, oakmoss always smells like new dollar bills, and I don't get that out of King of Diamonds at all. He's not a green scent so much as he is citrus combined with the freshness of leaves, and it's a beautiful interplay. There's a subtle earthy quality to this, but only enough to make it grounded and masculine without being heavy in the slightest. King of Diamonds is what a man should smell like in the summer - clean, fresh, and attention-getting without being soapy or weighted down by woods or spices. Refreshing to the wearer and those graced by his presence. I'm looking forward to smelling it on my fella as soon as the weather gets warmer.

Oisin starts out bright green on me, and the musk comes through quickly. It's fabulous, and I am running into the living room as soon as I finish typing to slather it onto Matt. The catch will be leaving the room after I do ... I may not be able to resist him, even if he is deep in the throes of the X-box, while he's wearing this. Whatever those Irish blossoms are, they're blended in so deep I can't discern them individually. In spite of being such a masculine scent, Oisin has a luminous quality that I usually don't find in men's colognes - they always seem dull to my nose, like they're missing out on a resonance that the fruit and florals in women's fragrances provide. This is amazing. I know exactly what Matt's getting for his birthday, and I'll be slathering it on him every chance I get. He always worries that he's put BPAL on too heavily because of the scent intensity of the oils, but he won't have to with this one. Long-lasting, it's not something I'd worry about him wearing into an elevator - it doesn't seem to move more than about 12 inches from my skin, and if it did throw more than that, I don't know if I'd let him out in public wearing it. I'll have to beat other women off of him with a stick when he smells this good, and I have other plans for my time with him when he's wearing Oisin.

Carnations have never been a favorite of mine, probably because of the clove-like scent they put off. I love to look at them, but you won't catch me sticking my nose in one if I can help it. In spite of that, I think that carnation works beautifully the way Beth uses it in blends. It doesn't hurt any that the single note she starts with is such a true, robust, sweetened scent - for me, it's more like carnations before they get too far into bloom and the clove scent, still holding onto that delicate sweetness deep inside. Very true, and with a hint of green; almost like the green cup at the bottom of the flower (I have no idea what that part of a flower is called - where all the petals are held together at the top of the stem) got processed along with the petals and interior workings. Carnation lovers will sigh with delight over this remarkably accurate single note.

I didn't get the suntan oil phase in the single note of Coconut until I'd had it on for a while; this started out like fresh coconut meat being pried out a shell that's just been cracked open. My great-grandmother had a tradition of doing just that every Christmas - she'd been doing it since she was a child - and there's no question for me about the authenticity of the scent. My body chemistry, though, did a number with this one. When it started to dry down, Coconut went into that suntan oil phase others have mentioned and started to get a plastic smell that was just ... off. I grabbed my bottle of Virgin Coconut Cream Oil from African Shea Butter Company, which also smells a little "off" to me, and that scent was very similar. It's not unpleasant, but it's not the standard scent of coconut that I think of, so I was a little disappointed. The bottle of Virgin Coconut Cream Oil tells me, though, that the single note is very authentic in its stages of dry-down. I think our noses have probably become so used to the artificial coconut smells surrounding us that it's easy to expect something other than the real thing, which this very definitely is.

It's pretty obvious what a fan of Beth's single notes I am, and pineapple is no exception. While I don't find this to be a "true" scent, it's lovely nonetheless. Fresh pineapple, even over-ripe fresh pineapple, has a distinct tang to it. The single note of Pineapple I tried doesn't have that at all, and leans more towards the syrup out of a can of pineapple rings. In fact, it most reminds me of a scoop of pineapple sherbert; light, but sweet and very creamy. Definitely edible, and beautiful in the blends Beth's been working it into lately. Not what I'd want as a scent by itself, but only because I'm not a huge fan of food smells. I mentioned in another review that if Beth ever comes up with bath and body products, Blood Orange would be wonderful to start a kids' line with. This single note of Pineapple would be a lovely addition to it, as well, provided you could resist living out the phrase, "You're so cute I could just eat you up!"

My grandparents had a mimosa tree just like the one in the first post. It was huge, and since they lived in the country with not much for us kids to do, we climbed it every chance we got. Threw the pods at each other, picked the little round parts of the frond apart and made it into mush ... all that good stuff. Beth's single note in Mimosa is the scent I remember coming from that tree in the late spring and early summer. I don't remember it having such strength to it; in fact, I have in my head that it was a very faint, gentle scent that had to be searched out. Of course, this is a concentrated state of scent, so that may have something to do with it. Mimosa is sweet and gently flowing. Grandma Jewell's house is along a dusty country road, with lots of rocks and trees that aren't anything like the part of the state I live in - with only a two and a half hour drive, even the dirt is a different color, with mine being a true red clay and hers being a chalky grey-white. Nothing ever seemed quite ... real? ... to me when we there because of those differences, so it's no surprise that I hadn't filed mimosa away as a limpid and liquid scent - that dusty dirt road skewed my perceptions more than I realized. In fact, this single note in Mimosa warms up to something more like my perception of lily of the valley, just a bit more delicate and much dewier. I think this single note could be worn on its own and taken at face value as a perfume. It's not a "little old lady" scent, but it makes me think of the custom scent I got from Bourbon French years ago, minus the powdery notes. Elegant, gentle, and very southern belle.

When I put on the single note in Lime, I immediately thought of Life Savers - then I read Andra's review, and I think she's exactly right! With a little wear (about 45 seconds) this settles into fresh-squeezed lime juice that's headed into a mixed drink. Clear, sweet but not sugary, and with just enough oil from the zest to cause a zing, it's perfect and certainly not bitter. More like the bottle of Key Lime juice I have in the fridge than the plain stuff. Final dry-down is more candy-like than I expected because of the first two impressions. It ends up being the pale lime hard candy from a bag, not the "POW!!" of the lime Lifesaver, and combining that with the notoriously fast fade of citrus oils makes this one hard to justify as a purchase. In all fairness, this single note does exactly what citrus oils do - and you can see why it would cause exasperation for a perfumer. Great scent, fast morph, and fast dissipation ... a true citrus scent that lasts is impossible to find. Just because I wouldn't purchase this single note doesn't mean I don't love it.