Let the tongue-in-cheek begin!
In the bottle, it smells like the first exhalation of a jar of maraschino cherries, and when it touches my skin, instantly I'm overpowered with fond memories of staying home from school sick and drinking cherry Robitussin by the gallonful. (Granted, "reminding others of their childhood illnesses" is probably not the signature scent I want to choose for cocktail parties.) Anyway, the overpowering cherry-tacularness subsides to reveal a quieter, more subtle aroma of...evergreen? Good lord. It's a toxic waste-ridden Kyoto, where all of the sushi has three eyes and the ancient pines have started sprouting cherries! In fact, I fear that if I leave this on for too much longer, my wrists will grow cherries, and I'll have to find a way to explain my sudden resignation to my boss.
Yeah, I'm not too thrilled with this. I could wear it if it were the last perfume left in a post-apocalyptic world, and I had the choice of smelling like a cherry blossom car air freshener or breathing deeply of nuclear decay - but seeing as we're not quite there yet, I'll probably pass this one along.
Verdict: Yummy in the bottle, but my skin mutates it. Horrifically. Oh god.
