doomsday_disco

This smells like a milk chocolate cocoa. It's not as strong as any of my other lotions -- sometimes I can smell the base of the lotion more when applying it and it takes a bit for the milk chocolate scent to waft up at me. But there's no funky dairy froth, which was why I opted for a sample pot, and it pairs well with my chocolate scents (and I don't have any other lotion that does!), so I'll probably end up with a bottle before it goes away, since I've already used up most of my sample pot in the two days I was applying it to my hands last week.

Milk Chocolate Froth.

This is mostly about the sweet cream on me, which smells good in the throw, but a little too buttery up close after it has been on the skin for a few hours. I get a hint of the kyphi's incense in the background, but it's not a main player on my skin. Layered with its moon, it gave the emphasis in Strawberry Moon 2026 a boost before it doused it in buttery cream. This wasn't a win for me, but it was fun to try it.

Kyphi and Sweet Cream.

This smells absolutely delicious. It does smell like a super sugary, rich, fudgy brownie, or at least its batter. It doesn't last long in wet or dry hair, and I could only smell it when holding my hair up to my nose, so it doesn't have good throw, either. Since it doesn't stick around for very long and I already have too many chocolate-y hair glosses, I don't feel the need to grab a bottle. But I'll be keeping my decant to pair with my brownie scents.

A dense square of molten chocolate bliss: rich cocoa, melted butter, brown sugar, and sticky ribbons of dark fudge.

This is a citrusy floral hair gloss, with the grapefruit, plum blossom, and honeysuckle honey being the standout notes to me. The grapefruit is the strongest note at first, but the floral notes are noticeable when freshly applied, and they seem stronger at the end of the day, when the grapefruit has calmed down (but is still present and has decent longevity for citrus). The honeysuckle honey has a quality to it that makes me think of honeysuckle nectar. I can smell the scent whenever I hold my hair up to my nose, but there is no throw when I walk around. And I think the white tea is there to support the grapefruit. But I don't get any of the amber cream or apricot, and that's fine with me. I don't feel the need to upgrade this one to a bottle, as fruity floral scents generally aren't what I gravitate towards, and I'm more likely to reach for a straight-up citrus hair gloss for my citrus fix... but I think I'll keep the decant.

Plum blossom, amber cream, honeysuckle honey, white tea, grapefruit, and apricot.

I haven't tried all of my hair gloss decants from the Lupercalia update yet, but I can already tell that this one is my favorite. This smells like the same poppy from Sugar, Poppy Tar, and Red Currant, which I adore. The black honey adds some sweetness, but it plays a supporting role and doesn't declare dominion over all like Nocturne Alchemy's black honey note does. While I have trouble smelling some hair glosses in wet hair, I could smell this one in both wet and dry and did not have to apply a ton of it to smell it, but even though it is strong, it's not so strong that it engulfs you in the scent, and I didn't get hit with a cloud of it in the shower before washing it out, either. This is opium poppy perfection and I absolutely need a bottle.

Black Honey and Opium Poppy.

You also, Hyacinthus, would have been set in the sky! if Phoebus had been given time which the cruel fates denied for you. But in a way you are immortal too. Though you have died. Always when warm spring drives winter out, and Aries succeeds to Pisces, you rise and blossom on the green turf. And the love my father had for you was deeper than he felt for others. Delphi center of the world, had no presiding guardian, while the God frequented the Eurotas and the land of Sparta, never fortified with walls. His zither and his bow no longer fill his eager mind and now without a thought of dignity, he carried nets and held the dogs in leash, and did not hesitate to go with Hyacinthus on the rough, steep mountain ridges; and by all of such associations, his love was increased. Now Titan was about midway, betwixt the coming and the banished night, and stood at equal distance from those two extremes. Then, when the youth and Phoebus were well stripped, and gleaming with rich olive oil, they tried a friendly contest with the discus. First Phoebus, well-poised, sent it awhirl through air, and cleft the clouds beyond with its broad weight; from which at length it fell down to the earth, a certain evidence of strength and skill. Heedless of danger Hyacinthus rushed for eager glory of the game, resolved to get the discus. But it bounded back from off the hard earth, and struck full against your face, O Hyacinthus! Deadly pale the God’s face went — as pallid as the boy’s. With care he lifted the sad huddled form. The kind god tries to warm you back to life, and next endeavors to attend your wound, and stay your parting soul with healing herbs. His skill is no advantage, for the wound is past all art of cure. As if someone, when in a garden, breaks off violets, poppies, or lilies hung from golden stems, then drooping they must hang their withered heads, and gaze down towards the earth beneath them; so, the dying boy’s face droops, and his bent neck, a burden to itself, falls back upon his shoulder: “You are fallen in your prime defrauded of your youth, O Hyacinthus!” Moaned Apollo. “I can see in your sad wound my own guilt, and you are my cause of grief and self-reproach. My own hand gave you death unmerited — I only can be charged with your destruction. — What have I done wrong? Can it be called a fault to play with you? Should loving you be called a fault? And oh, that I might now give up my life for you! Or die with you! But since our destinies prevent us you shall always be with me, and you shall dwell upon my care-filled lips. The lyre struck by my hand, and my true songs will always celebrate you. A new flower you shall arise, with markings on your petals, close imitation of my constant moans: and there shall come another to be linked with this new flower, a valiant hero shall be known by the same marks upon its petals.” And while Phoebus, Apollo, sang these words with his truth-telling lips, behold the blood of Hyacinthus, which had poured out on the ground beside him and there stained the grass, was changed from blood; and in its place a flower, more beautiful than Tyrian dye, sprang up. It almost seemed a lily, were it not that one was purple and the other white. But Phoebus was not satisfied with this. For it was he who worked the miracle of his sad words inscribed on flower leaves. These letters AI, AI, are inscribed on them. And Sparta certainly is proud to honor Hyacinthus as her son; and his loved fame endures; and every year they celebrate his solemn festival. – Ovid Beloved of Apollo, the Spartan prince Hyacinthus was cherished above all companions. They raced beneath the open sky, hunted together, and Apollo trained his beloved in the art of prophecy, the lyre, and the discus. Some say Zephyrus, the West Wind, grew jealous and bent the arc of the throw one day and the shining disc, meant as sport, struck Hyacinthus down. Though he used all his skill in the art of healing, the god could not save Hyacinthus’ life. … when he beheld thy agony Phoebus was dumb. He sought every remedy, he had recourse to cunning arts, he anointed all the wound, anointed it with ambrosia and with nectar; but all remedies are powerless to heal the wounds of Fate… – Bion Apollo gathered Hyacinthus in his arms as the light dimmed from mortal eyes and wished to join his lover in the realm of death, but it was not to be. Where the blood touched earth, Apollo pressed his grief into the soil and from that wound sprang the hyacinth, petals veined with lament, marked with the cry of immortal love and immortal mourning. The flower became a living testament, renewed each spring, a sign that love does not vanish. The Lovers revealed in their most tender truth: that though love and devotion cannot provide a shield from the slings and arrows of the Fates, memory makes love eternal. It is love that refuses oblivion. Blood into blossom, rubedo unfolding in vegetal fire. Beauty bound to mortality, and through that binding made eternal. Golden laurel and sun-warmed skin, cypress shadow and noontide amber, crushed violets, lilies, and poppy, gilded myrrh, date palm, and hyacinth petals.

Bamboo, green fig, narcissus, white patchouli, tobacco flower, white tea, lemon verbena, and oakmoss.

The wild strawberry note is the star of the show here. It is super realistic -- it definitely creates the visual of a bright red strawberry studded with lots of little seeds -- and it's also the same one found in this year's Strawberry Moon and its Wild Strawberries and Inky Musk duet. However, the strawberry note is so strong in this that I never get any of the other notes. If I were going to opt for a wild strawberry scent that's currently available, I'd go for Strawberry Moon 2026, because it is more complex.

Estonian The fleeting sweetness of a stolen bite pressed into sunlit skin: wild strawberries and sweet apple dipped in sweet cream and blush amber.

Sogblettur ended up being pretty funky on me during the first few hours of wear, and I attribute that to the amber musk. I think this must feature the fossilized amber note that my skin does not always do very well with. The funky amber, combined with the slightly salty, musky ambergris, just are creating a good combination on my skin. These notes are accompanied by the lemon zest, which adds a refreshing quality to the scent, but can't cover up the funk of the amber musk. I sadly did not get much cloudberry like in Gnome Fracas, which was the main reason I wanted to try this scent. This was a skin chemistry fail on me, but I think it would be nice and refreshing for someone who can pull off this particular amber musk.

Icelandic A cool breeze over flushed skin: cloudberries, ambergris, and lemon zest gliding over warm amber musk.

Malinka is mostly about the rose hip note on me, backed by the raspberry and currant. I'm not getting the honey or any creaminess from this as my skin really seemed to run away with the rose hip note. If you're waffling between this one and Suçon, I'd say get this one if you want more rose, and get Suçon if you want more raspberry.

Polish A mischievous mark: black raspberries, red currant, and rose hip cordial in honeyed cream.

This starts off with a blast of raspberry and white musk. These notes remain main players on my skin, but the powdered sugar sweetens up the scent. The rose in this is pretty subtle on me and not in full force like the rose hip note in Malinka. After a while, the benzoin emerges and adds a resinous quality to the scent, so that it ends up being mostly raspberry and benzoin backed by a little white musk on my skin by the end of the day. Of the two raspberry scents in the Love Bite collection, this is the one I prefer. I'll keep my decant, but I do not need a bottle.

French A sweet whisper against the throat: raspberry coulis and cassis steeped in powdered sugar and rose syrup, melting into benzoin, tonka bean, and a soft blush of white musk.

I tried this three times, in case it was a fluke, but I had the same result all three times. This is only lightly fruity on me with something akin to an undertone of anise when it is freshly applied. I have no idea what could be doing that -- maybe it's in the rock sugar? I'm not sure. The strawberry nectar is not as strong as an actual strawberry note, and I'm surprised by how light the lychee is in this as well. After a while, the sandalwood emerges and it ends up being a fruit-tinged sandalwood scent. This was not a win for me, sadly.

Mandarin A strawberry stain on scarlet silk: strawberry nectar and translucent lychee folded into rock sugar and creamy sandalwood.

A chewy delight made from a blend of rice flour and purple yam, fried in lavender-infused oil and dusted with granulated sugar.

Streams of frozen amber, snow-dusted frankincense, birch bark, Peru balsam, and rivulets of smoldering beeswax. Gustav Lange

In the book of Book of Genesis, the first pair stand in untested unity, formed of earth and breath, innocence and possibility. “And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him” (Genesis 2:18), and from that declaration arises polarity as gift rather than fracture, difference as the condition of communion. Bone of bone and flesh of flesh, they are not rivals but reflections, two aspects of one living mystery: the soul and the spirit of humankind. Yet the drama of the Lovers is not stasis but choice. When the fruit is taken and shared, consciousness deepens and the seamlessness of Eden gives way to the currents of history. “Therefore the Lord God sent him forth from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken” (Genesis 3:23). Through Eve’s invitation and Adam’s consent, spirit and soul descend into the rivers of Time, entering the full measure of embodied existence with its labor and ecstasy, its birth pangs and graves. Mortality becomes their teacher, and the dust from which Adam was shaped becomes the destiny to which he must return, “for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return” (Genesis 3:19). Esoterically, she may be seen as the animating impulse, the quickening spirit that urges experience, while he embodies the ensouled humanity that must walk the path she opens. Their so-called fall is also initiation, the necessary passage from unconscious unity into lived duality, where joy and sorrow are known rather than merely imagined. The Lovers here are not simply the bliss of Eden but the courage to enter time together, to face consequence side by side, and to seek, through exile and return, the restoration of a higher garden not of innocence but of awakened wholeness. In the first dawn of consciousness, before history clothed itself in shame, stand Adam and Eve as archetypes of a polarity not yet divided against itself. She is the descending brilliance, arching her consciousness towards the world itself, the soul drawn upward toward gnosis. He turns toward her, embodied will answering its own reflection. Above them burns the stark, pure radiance of unity and within them sleeps the yet-unforged Stone. The serpent coils at the axis of the Tree. It is the mercurial spirit, subtle and ascending, the luminous volatility of both knowledge and growth that refuses stasis. Through its whisper the fruit becomes the tincture that awakens innocence into awareness. Sulfur awakens in desire, Mercury stirs in receptivity, salt forms in the tears of exile. The expulsion is the separation required for conjunction, solve preceding coagula. What was unconsciously whole must become consciously divided so it may one day reunite in wisdom. In these Lovers, unity dissolves into duality, and in that darkening begins the opus. This is not the loss of Eden; it is the ignition of the Great Work. Skin musk, fig sap, pomegranate, apple skin, and the smoke and warmth of humankind’s newly-kindled fire.