doomsday_disco
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Not exactly my definition of a happy Christmas, but to each their own. Wild pansies, white honey, and frothy cream.
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Well, he was humming this hum to himself, and walking along gaily, wondering what everybody else was doing, and what it felt like, being somebody else, when suddenly he came to a sandy bank, and in the bank was a large hole. “Aha!” said Pooh. (Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum.) “If I know anything about anything, that hole means Rabbit,” he said, “and Rabbit means Company,” he said, “and Company means Food and Listening-to-Me-Humming and such like. Rum-tum-tum-tiddle-um.” So he bent down, put his head into the hole, and called out: “Is anybody at home?” There was a sudden scuffling noise from inside the hole, and then silence. “What I said was, ‘Is anybody at home?'” called out Pooh very loudly. “No!” said a voice; and then added, “You needn’t shout so loud. I heard you quite well the first time.” “Bother!” said Pooh. “Isn’t there anybody here at all?” “Nobody.” Winnie-the-Pooh took his head out of the hole, and thought for a little, and he thought to himself, “There must be somebody there, because somebody must have said ‘Nobody.'” So he put his head back in the hole, and said: “Hallo, Rabbit, isn’t that you?” “No,” said Rabbit, in a different sort of voice this time. “But isn’t that Rabbit’s voice?” “I don’t think so,” said Rabbit. “It isn’t meant to be.” “Oh!” said Pooh. He took his head out of the hole, and had another think, and then he put it back, and said: “Well, could you very kindly tell me where Rabbit is?” “He has gone to see his friend Pooh Bear, who is a great friend of his.” “But this is Me!” said Bear, very much surprised. “What sort of Me?” “Pooh Bear.” “Are you sure?” said Rabbit, still more surprised. “Quite, quite sure,” said Pooh. “Oh, well, then, come in.” So Pooh pushed and pushed and pushed his way through the hole, and at last he got in. “You were quite right,” said Rabbit, looking at him all over. “It is you. Glad to see you.” “Who did you think it was?” “Well, I wasn’t sure. You know how it is in the Forest. One can’t have anybody coming into one’s house. One has to be careful. What about a mouthful of something?” Pooh always liked a little something at eleven o’clock in the morning, and he was very glad to see Rabbit getting out the plates and mugs; and when Rabbit said, “Honey or condensed milk with your bread?” he was so excited that he said, “Both,” and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, “But don’t bother about the bread, please.” And for a long time after that he said nothing … until at last, humming to himself in a rather sticky voice, he got up, shook Rabbit lovingly by the paw, and said that he must be going on. “Must you?” said Rabbit politely. “Well,” said Pooh, “I could stay a little longer if it—if you——” and he tried very hard to look in the direction of the larder. “As a matter of fact,” said Rabbit, “I was going out myself directly.” “Oh, well, then, I’ll be going on. Good-bye.” “Well, good-bye, if you’re sure you won’t have any more.” “Is there any more?” asked Pooh quickly. Rabbit took the covers off the dishes, and said, “No, there wasn’t.” “I thought not,” said Pooh, nodding to himself. “Well, good-bye. I must be going on.” The Hundred Acre Wood’s resident Virgo (affectionate). The scent of neat rows and polite refusals: toasted oats and clover honey, crushed lemon verbena, wild carrot leaf, and white tea poured with exacting care. A dab of condensed milk on a clean spoon, a faint rustle of vetiver, and a courteous cough to suggest that your visit has gone on quite long enough.
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On Monday, when the sun is hot I wonder to myself a lot: “Now is it true, or is it not, “That what is which and which is what?” On Tuesday, when it hails and snows, The feeling on me grows and grows That hardly anybody knows If those are these or these are those. On Wednesday, when the sky is blue, And I have nothing else to do, I sometimes wonder if it’s true That who is what and what is who. On Thursday, when it starts to freeze And hoar-frost twinkles on the trees, How very readily one sees That these are whose—but whose are these? On Friday—— Hot, sunny cardamom amber and milky musk, honeyed rice and snowy slush.
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“Piglet,” said Rabbit, taking out a pencil, and licking the end of it, “you haven’t any pluck.” “It is hard to be brave,” said Piglet, sniffing slightly, “when you’re only a Very Small Animal.” Rabbit, who had begun to write very busily, looked up and said: “It is because you are a very small animal that you will be Useful in the adventure before us.” Piglet was so excited at the idea of being Useful, that he forgot to be frightened any more… Pink clover and wild strawberries, red bean paste, pink vanilla, sweet acorns, apple blossom, caramelized almond, and a shy puff of sugar.
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Winnie the Pooh is among my very favorite books, and Eeyore is my favorite character from the series, so this was the Hundred Acre Wood scent to which I was most looking forward. I used to have a mug with Eeyore's good morning quote on it, too. I wish I still had it! I'm not familiar with the thistle note, but I, too, get lots of purple and grey from this scent, with the iris, lavender, and lilac swirling together to make that grey and purple floral bouquet, and the high-pitched iris and lilac being particularly loud on me (although this grey lilac seems to be tamer than some other varieties). The floral notes combine with the rain-soaked moss, which I believe may be the same note found in 2024's The Storm, to just exude melancholy -- but over time, the grey musk peeks out and smooths over the loud iris, lilac, and moss notes, so that it is less like having a cry and more like a deep sigh. I mean, you would be sighing the deepest of sighs, too, if you lost your tail, or your house made of sticks kept falling down. By the end of the day, I'm left a soft, clean scent of grey musk tinged with tea leaves, a few flower petals, and some raindrops on moss. Needless to say, this one is a keeper and a must-try of the Hundred Acre Wood collection. I haven't tried layering this with The Donkey's Tail yet, but I'll update this review once I try layering them together. I adore that scent even more with its lavender, vanilla, and fuzzy cotton notes and may just have to get a back-up of this for more of The Donkey's Tail. Petition for The Donkey's Tail to be released as a bottle in a future installment of the Hundred Acre Wood scent series!
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“Good morning, Eeyore,” said Pooh. “Good morning, Pooh Bear,” said Eeyore gloomily. “If it is a good morning,” he said. “Which I doubt,” said he. “Why, what’s the matter?” “Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.” “Can’t all what?” said Pooh, rubbing his nose. “Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush.” “Oh!” said Pooh. He thought for a long time, and then asked, “What mulberry bush is that?” “Bon-hommy,” went on Eeyore gloomily. “French word meaning bonhommy,” he explained. “I’m not complaining, but There It Is.” Every solid friend group has at least one goth kid representing. Soft grey musk, pink thistle, lavender ash, tea leaves, pale iris, grey lilac, and rain-soaked moss. Each purchase of Gloomily, Gloomily comes with a 1/32 oz imp of The Donkey’s Tail. The Donkey’s Tail is not available for sale on its own, and make sure you keep it safe as you never know where it might end up.
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A handful of dates and black figs plopped into a frosted glass frothing with cranberry champagne.
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After thirty years of reluctantly drinking coffee, Ted has become a bean aficionado thanks to a local shop called the Head Nut. Recently, we bought French vanilla and bourbon chocolate beans from them and ever since that day, Ted has been hooked. Of course, Ted’s morning coffee is the breakfast beverage equivalent to a cozy hug: a slow-simmered swirl of brown sugar melting into steamed milk, wrapped around the soothing, sweet warmth of vanilla-infused espresso.
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A molten heart of slow-cooked milk caramel swirled with vanilla bean and a faint whisper of toasted coconut.
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I like Rabbit's scent more than I thought I would! It starts off with a blast of lemony white tea, followed by some lemon verbena, and a smackerel honey. Then the oats and condensed milk emerge and eventually overtake the bright notes, making it more like a sweet, toasty oat scent. I am pleased to report that the vetiver seems to be missing in action on me, so if it's lurking beneath these notes, it is very well-behaved and not a strong, smoky variety. I think this would be perfect to wear during spring and am so glad it worked out (especially since the White Rabbit from the Mad Tea Party collection does not jive with my chemistry).
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Snake Oil and Candied Pomegranate.
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Pomegranate Loukoumi and Champagne.
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“O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy? My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy; She shall bear thee so lightly thro’ wet and thro’ wild, And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child.” An ethereal lure crafted with milk and honey.
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I don’t know if all kids love Krampus, but mine sure does. She first met him a decade ago at Dark Delicacies, where he was portrayed by our dear friend, Bill Rude. She loves Krampus so much that we took her to the Gnigl Krampuslauf in Salzburg in 2017. Her intention to join the Los Angeles Krampuslauf as a wee Krampus was curtailed by the pandemic, but hope springs eternal. Kids love horror. They’re attracted to the strange, the uncanny, the mysterious. This is why they love characters like Krampus, despite the threat of being scooped up into a bag and tossed into a river. Kids embrace horror. They always have. Children understand that the world is stitched together with shadows, and that sometimes the shadows have teeth. They’re drawn to the strange, the uncanny, the impossible; they see the edges where reality blurs. Horror is not a trespass for them, but a playground: a place where the monstrous becomes knowable, where fear becomes understanding. Terror tales are a ritualized fear, safely cocooned in myth. This is why they love figures like Krampus, even with his clanking chains and sacks full of disobedient little souls. To a child, Krampus is not simply a morality lesson or a grim parental warning – he’s a symbol of freedom, of things that are wild, dark, and uncontrolled. Children instinctively know that monsters serve a purpose, that they give shape to anxieties too formless to name. They let kids practice both bravery and defiance, and they teach kids that though the world can be frightening and unpredictable, they can traverse its tangled forests and survive the darkness. I believe that children also know in the deepest part of their mythic, dreaming souls that monsters protect, challenge, and guide. Sometimes, the monster under the bed is the only one who truly understands you. Kids love Krampus, not in spite of his menace, but because of it. His is the shadow that makes the light shine brighter, and the rattle of his chains reminds them that stories, both light and dark, belong to them. A playdate with monsters: crimson musk stirred into molten sugar, ruby pomegranate syrup, tart cherries, a dusting of clove-spun candyfloss, and a drizzle of warm vanilla resin.
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Tangy cream cheese folded through warm bakery dough, still puffed from the fryer, and thick, dark wild blackberry jam.
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And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart: Your seeds shall live in my body, And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart, And your fragrance shall be my breath, And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons. – Khalil Gibran, excerpt from “On Eating and Drinking” Crisp orchard air draped in morning dew, a bite of sun-warmed apple that bursts with honeyed clarity. The seeds carry whispers of tomorrow: green leaf, tender blossom, sapling wood. A breath both luminous and eternal, where fruit, flower, and branch entwine.
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The dark, roasted bite of freshly crushed coffee beans folded into the sinuous heat of Snake Oil’s infamous bestseller. Bitter espresso grounds smoldering under a curled-up hiss of sugared patchouli, spiced amber, and velvety vanilla.
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Freshly roasted coffee beans releasing their dark, velvety warmth amongst ribbons of molten caramel and a haze of deliciously radiant golden amber.
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Strawberry preserves twisting through clouds of pink cotton candy and marshmallow fluff.
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Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think. First of all he said to himself: “That buzzing-noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing-noise, somebody’s making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you’re a bee.” Then he thought another long time, and said: “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.” And then he got up, and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.” So he began to climb the tree. He climbed and he climbed and he climbed, and as he climbed he sang a little song to himself. It went like this: Isn’t it funny How a bear likes honey? Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! I wonder why he does? Then he climbed a little further … and a little further … and then just a little further. By that time he had thought of another song. It’s a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees, They’d build their nests at the bottom of trees. And that being so (if the Bees were Bears), We shouldn’t have to climb up all these stairs. He was getting rather tired by this time, so that is why he sang a Complaining Song. He was nearly there now, and if he just stood on that branch … Crack! “Oh, help!” said Pooh, as he dropped ten feet on the branch below him. The bees were still buzzing as suspiciously as ever. A golden gourmand for a philosopher. Wild clover honey buzzing with mead fizz, a gust of woodsmoke, and a dusting of ambered pollen.
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Lines Written by a Bear of Very Little Brain
doomsday_disco replied to doomsday_disco's topic in Yules
When I first sniffed this, I thought this would mostly be a cardamom and amber scent (even though it had plenty of rest before that first sniff), but it's actually mostly about the milky musk (which isn't buttery whatsoever!) and snow notes on me, with some welcome cardamom, a bit of honeyed rice (which isn't super buttery like some rice notes can be on me), and a little amber in the background. Although the description says slushy snow, I swear I smelled Snow White's sweet snow note with the musk when I tested it for the third time yesterday. It definitely does not contain the berry-infused slushy snow of Skadi, the bright, maybe white tea-infused slushy snow note, the mentholic snow of Nuclear Winter, or the evergreen-infused snow of Snow Bunny. I wore this as my scent of the day on Friday last week, and I did a big slather. I felt like I got more of the cardamom that way, but this scent stayed close to the skin on me despite me slathering it along my forearms. I really enjoy this one and would wear this whenever there's a need for a comforting scent, in winter, when one is longing for the warmth of spring, or in early spring, while watching the last signs of winter fade away. -
This is, of course, the most honey-forward of the Hundred Acre Wood scents. The honey is the dominant note throughout wear, and it smells floral, pale, and thin instead of thick and gloopy to me. There's some effervescence from the mead to go along with it (and maybe there's a squeeze of orange in the mead?), which is most noticeable during the first few hours of wear, and some woodsmoke, which, fortunately, isn't overbearing, but does smell a little odd on me combined with the honey. I'm not really getting any amber from this (maybe because my skin is running away with the honey). I'm not sure how often I'll reach for this one, with its honey and smoke, but I'll be hanging onto the bottle regardless since I was gifted the whole collection. I think this would be best worn in late summer or early fall.
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I may have won the skin chemistry lottery with Edward Bear, but my skin chemistry is ruining Piglet's scent, which was one of the Hundred Acre Wood scents to which I was most looking forward. The red bean paste (Beth's red bean paste note is so good!), apple blossom, and caramelized almond notes are the most prominent notes on me, with that caramelized almond note being almond toffee-like, like almond brittle, so it is very warm on me with that note and the red bean paste, and then the apple blossom drifts through, which helps to lift the scent. But then it does something that some scents do on me, even when there's no similar notes, and I don't know what it is causing it -- but it starts smelling soup-y on me, like... it ends up being somewhat tomato soup-esque? This is something I have had happen to me with some scents even before COVID, so it's not my sniffer being broken -- it's truly my skin chemistry, as it's not like that at all in the bottle or during the wet phase of the scent. I asked for and was gifted the entire Hundred Acre Wood perfume oil set for Christmas, so I won't be parting ways with my bottle, even if my skin chemistry is being rude to me. Time to go the scent locket route to enjoy that lovely red bean paste note!
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I feel like I won the skin chemistry lottery on this one. Freshly applied, I get the blast of buttered toast, but then a deep amber shows up and steals the show. It's the dominant note throughout wear on me, backed by the fuzzy cotton stuffing note, which is not laundry-like on me at all or problematic like some fabric notes are (huzzah!), a bit of toffee-like honey, and the roasted vanilla. I only get a whiff of the butter and milk notes when I sniff up close. Drink Me is actually more buttery on me than this scent. I feel like this perfume perfectly encapsulates our favorite honey-seeking bear -- we have the gourmand elements, but then we have the amber and roasted vanilla adding more cozy warmth, and then the fuzzy cotton stuffing note to remind us that he's a stuffed animal, as Tom mentioned in the livesniff of these on YouTube. This will be perfect to wear on chilly days when you're staying inside and wanting to wear something warm and cozy (or even when it's not -- just honor Pooh by saying, "Tut tut, it looks like rain" and slather some on when you need some comfort ).
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Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. And then he feels that perhaps there isn’t. Anyhow, here he is at the bottom, and ready to be introduced to you. Winnie-the-Pooh. When I first heard his name, I said, just as you are going to say, “But I thought he was a boy?” “So did I,” said Christopher Robin. “Then you can’t call him Winnie?” “I don’t.” “But you said——” “He’s Winnie-ther-Pooh. Don’t you know what ‘ther’ means?” “Ah, yes, now I do,” I said quickly; and I hope you do too, because it is all the explanation you are going to get. Honey-slathered buttered toast, glittering amber beams of sunlight, warm milk, cotton stuffing, and cuddly roasted vanilla.