doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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Tartly sweet, brusquely pavement-kissed, zesty with fermentation, dusted with leaf-litter, and relished by opportunistic squirrels craving a tipple.
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Sidewalk Apples starts off with a blast of tart (but not green!) apple and a whoosh of dead leaves on some pavement. I wouldn't let the fermented aspect of the scent scare you away, as I believe that is just highlighting the intense apple at first -- there's no whiff of decay! At one point, I couldn't help but wondering if there were some motor oil or something akin to the Lab's ink note on the pavement, as it veered into a more industrial phase, before settling into what I would describe as Dead Leaves and Cement Atmo plus apple. Dead leaves and I don't really get along, so this isn't a bottle for me, but if you and dead leaves get along and you're looking for a more atmospheric apple-y scent, give this one a try!
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Saying “bone apple teeth” instead of “bon appétit” seems to take on a special meaning in the context of Halloween treats. Here’s a scent commemorating the allure of everything our dentist would have us avoid: a luscious red apple rendered nigh impenetrable by armored plates of toffee and caramel, sprinkled with bone-dry cinnamon-glazed almonds and hard bits of popcorn.
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The red apple is the star of the show on me throughout wear. I say sweet because there's no tartness, not because of the caramel or toffee -- because neither of those notes are distinct on me (there's a candied aspect, but I'm not getting any buttery caramel or toffee), and the same goes for the cinnamon and almond, shockingly. I do get the popcorn by the end of the day, where it manages to cozy up to the apple note, but by that point, the scent is pretty faint. This comparison will probably help maybe only a handful of people, but it reminds me of the jar of scoopable County Fair wax I have from Zeep Bath (which closed this year). That one also reads mostly a sweet red apple to me, although it is said to contain funnel cakes, handmade caramel apples, and kettle corn. I'd recommend this to someone who wants a pretty straightforward, non-spiced, sweet red apple scent.
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Incandescent, glittering musks, pearls of sweet Florentine iris, and an indigo sigh of blue cypress, Italian bergamot, pink jasmine, cistus, white amber, mimosa, and black lilies.
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A glass of midnight stout, thick with black chocolate and roasted barley, its foam kissed with bitter espresso. A pale disc of buttered shortbread rests against the rim, crumbling into the inky depths. A strange eclipse of comfort and shadow: warm, crumbly biscuit and golden butter swallowed by a swirl of dark malt, molasses, and cocoa.
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A 99-cent drugstore eyeliner freshly melted with a Bic lighter, in concert with the leathery metallic gleam of a well-loved pyramid spike bracelet.
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Cracked leather and faded ink, dust-heavy pages steeped in echoes of prayer. Beeswax candles gutter in the shadows, their pale, amber light feebly holding back the dark. Low murmurs of frankincense and oakmoss anchor the stern hush of eternity. Vincent Van Gogh
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No shoes, no skin, no problem! Scorched sandalwood and polished bone shards spattered with tattoo ink.
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Does this look like it healed funny? Globs of vanilla cream splattered with a honk of electric cherry, red currant, and a spatter of ink.
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I've tested this three times on myself, and once on my partner. The first time I tested this was the best time I tested this. Here's the review I shared with another member of the forum: "Bright red cherry that's more like the cherry on the outside of a tootsie pop, similar to the cherry in Lilith Poundcake, but amped up, with some tartness from the red currant, a little bit of industrialness from the ink, and some creamy vanilla. The ink is really subtle in this, though!" However, the next two times I tested this, the cherry was quickly overtaken by the currant note. So bright cherry, quickly overtaken by the tart currant, and that just lasts and lasts with only a smudge of ink and hardly any vanilla cream anymore. This is also how it smelled on my partner, who said, "I'm not getting a lot of cherry from this" after I slathered it on them. But maybe we're just both amping the currant? It's still good, but I'm a little sad that it has gotten less cherry and vanilla forward as it has had some time to settle. I'll be hanging onto my bottle to see how this ages, but I really wish the cherry would stick around.
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The moment when the vivid pigments of autumn recede and the forest exhales into browns and golds. It’s the taste of bark, the scent of soil, the quiet dignity of endings. The tannins remain when all else drains away, leaving a leathery resilience; the echo of structure, the memory of what once was green. It is autumn’s afterimage: subdued, steadfast, and softly beautiful in its restraint. Brown jelly with yellow and green micro shimmer.
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The art of surrender, the moment when green life releases its hold and transforms into fire. It’s the graceful unraveling of chlorophyll, revealing the hidden pigments that have waited all year beneath the surface. Each leaf becomes a brief flare of gold, crimson, or bronze — a final, luminous exultation before the fall. Antiqued brass red jelly with a golden-yellow and green shift.
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Sweet and strange, like a love letter scribbled at midnight. Soft pink jelly with an iridescent shift, semi-sheer.
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The fading of color under relentless sunlight, obliterating pigments until the leaf is nearly luminous, pale, and ethereal. It’s the quiet surrender of golds and reds to light itself, a whisper of brilliance that lingers in ghostly reflection. Like frost catching the last sunbeam, photobleaching turns vibrance into serenity, leaving the leaf luminous in its delicate, waning glow. Light consuming what it once created: a translucent pearl white with a glowing blue shift that can be painted on its own or used as a topper.
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Mellow, honeyed light that lingers after chlorophyll’s retreat. It paints the leaves in shades of corn silk and marigold, a gentle radiance that doesn’t blaze but glows from within. Lutein is the warmth that softens the edges of decay, the quiet joy that remains when all else fades. Sparkling sunny yellow.
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The dimming of autumn’s lantern: sunlight softening as it filters through thinning canopies, scattering into bronze and rust. The leaves catch what light remains, turning it to fire before letting it fade, the blaze surrendering to shadow. Shimmering rust with the shifting shades of dropping leaves.
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Witchlight in a bottle: crisp orchard green charged with supernatural glow. Spooky apple green with brilliantly eerie orange shimmer.
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The crunch of leaves beneath your feet: an autumnal jelly packed with glittering, falling flecks. The forest floor caught in mid-rustle.
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A sudden, passionate flare before the frost. It floods the veins of the dying leaf with crimson and wine, a defiant burst of color born from stress and sunlight. Where carotene glows warm and steady, cyanidin burns — fierce, fleeting, and emotional. It is the leaf’s last heartbeat made visible, a brief rebellion against the coming cold. Umber oxblood duochrome.
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The green blood of life itself, coursing through every vein with the vibrant glee of sunlight turned to sugar. As it breaks down, the forest exhales its last green sigh, and the world begins to dream in gold. The forest’s heartbeat, pulsing beneath decay — a vivid, vegetal gleam: deep olive jelly with orange and green spark.
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A semi-translucent orange jelly shimmer, gleaming with hope. Sunlight stored in secret through the long green months. When the chlorophyll fades, carotene rises like memory, painting the trees in gold and amber. It’s the whisper of summer lingering in every flame-colored edge, the warmth that endures even as the world cools. A quiet glow that says: even in decay, there is light.
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A rich bourbon cream skin musk, formulated to announce and enhance whatever version of oneself is currently coming forth.
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These are not soluble in lemonade, as clarified in The Awdrey-Gore Legacy. They are, however, most likely toxic. Pale crystals poured from a chipped glass jar, emitting a brittle whiff of bitter almond and cinnabar, swirling, undissolved, into sugar-clotted lemonade.
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I've tested this a few times, and I get a salty, mineralic lemonade from this, accompanied by some sweet almond and something silvery that's not a metal note (at one point, I thought I had this pinpointed, but I've since forgotten as I'm typing this review, so I guess I'll have to test it again to try to identify whatever that silvery note is). Of the three scents released in the second batch of Gorey scents, I enjoyed this one the most. It's not in the same league as La Dame Aux Pamplemousses, though! I'll be keeping my decant, and I'll have to see how much I reach for it to see if I need a bottle.