Juushika

After falling in love with Death Cap, I went on the hunt for another mushroom and dirt scent. In vial: Sharp and bitter. A pale dusty soil. On me: The scent loses some of its sharpness, but it retains a bitter edge. The dust dies down, but the soil remains dry and thin. After the drydown, it develops something more organic, rounding it out—the fungus growing from the soil. It's a pale scent, white in color. Verdict: Destroying Angel is pale and dry, a bit bitter, rounded out by an organic note at the center. The Lab's description fits it perfectly. Unfortunately, the scent doesn't have much of a personality—soil and fungus, definitely, but nothing more than that. It's not bad or unpleasant by any means (though I'm not fond of the bitterness), it just simply doesn't stand out or appeal to me. I'll probably pass this one along.

This was a frimp from the Lab. In vial: A pale, mildly astringent, yellow scent. On me: As soon as it goes on, the scent develops a blossoming floral note which I can't quite pin down—it just feels generally perfumey. Although the scent is remarkably smooth, the astringency takes a little while longer to fade. When it does, it takes with it my ability to locate the scent—it's still there, but it's faint and elusive. Then the scent sweetens up (no doubt the vanilla), and becomes a sweet, light, pale generic perfume, skewed towards light florals and a pale fruit which I can't name. Verdict: From the notes, this scent isn't my style; wearing it doesn't surprise me any. It's pale, light, and elusive, a bit generic perfumey to my nose (which, admittably, is untutored in the way of pale and citrus and floral scents), unremarkable and just not my style. I'll pass this one along.

The notes were so promising when I first picked this up, but after a few tests it just seemed a little sickly—hazelnut sometimes tastes that way too me, a thick creaminess that almost upsets my stomach, like drinking way too much milk. However, I came back and retested it on a whim, and it amazes me how much these scents can change and how complex they are. I don't know what was different when I wore it this time: maybe my nose, maybe my chemistry, maybe my moods the last few days—since I've wanted something a little foody and quite smooth. This time, the richness which made me feel ill before is joyously decadent. With the hazelnut, vanilla, and honey it's a perfect match to the creamy foodiness I was after; the sandalwood and amber take it out of the realm of "what are you baking?" which I appreciate as I'm not at heart a foody. As a plus (when it works well, at least!), it has an incredible staying power: after six hours, it was still strong, after sixteen hours the whiffs of the resins are still there. I may have to add this back into my scent library. It's not an oil I'll wear often, because normally I'm not in love with it, but it's good to have because it perfectly suits this niche mood of mine. I'm pleased to have rediscovered it.

This was a frimp from a seller (it was on my wishlist before that, because, as a Leo, solar oils interest me), and I've worn it before—but I've yet to write a review. In vial: Cedar, strong, sharp, and almost medicinal, with a bright and sunny floral. On me: The first thing I get is a whiff of blossoming florals, which isn't much to my taste. The floral quiets on the drydown—it's still pretty strong on the skin, but is tempered in the throw, giving the oil a vague "perfumey" note. I actually don't get much of the amber except as a grounding note to balance the fresh florals and the sharp dry cedar—in fact, I wish the amber were more predominant, because it's one of my favorite notes, and more of it would better balance the rest in this case. The scent is hard to describe: it's sunny, not quite warm, and not firey, more like the bright golden light of a direct sunray than a sun-warmed surface or the sun itself. The color is certainly a pale yellow gold, creeping up on white. But for all of those positive qualities, there's something a bit sharp and medicinal about the blend, something too pointed, too sweet, a bit citrus-sharp. Reading up on it, I think it might be a calamus, which I've never encountered before. Verdict: I like the golden feel of this scent—it is mostly definitely a solar oil. However, I'm not a big fan of the florals, which are too drug-store perfumey for my taste. The sicky sharpness of the blend also turns me away from it—I think the combination of the cedar and the citrus aspects of the calamus are just too much for me. I've come back to this a few times because I want to like it, is has a few promising notes, and I like the feeling of the blend, but there are a few too many unpleasant smells in there for me to really love or wear it. I think that it's about time to finally let this one go.

Of the whole Lupercalia update, this was the blend that most interested me. I waited for reviews to go up before purchasing, and the descriptions of the blend sounded perfect—even though lotus blossom is new to me, and I'm generally wary of florals. In bottle: I get primarily teakwood, rich, polished, a bit spicy. But I can pick out all of the notes, which is rare for me—I usually have a hard time picking out anything in the bottle. It's a very unique scent, warm and smooth at the heart and accented by spice and sweetness. I've never smelled lotus blossom, but it's distinct here: not precisely floral or foody, but a little sharp and fairly sweet. I'm actually quite fond of the in-bottle smell, which is also unusual for me, but I wish the teak and lotus were a bit softer. On me: The unique and particular character of this blend doesn't change much from vial to skin, but it does rebalance itself a bit. As I was hoping for, the spicy and sweet tone down, and the amber (which my skin often loves) comes into itself. What I notice most now is the rich, smooth, polished heart of the scent, and the spice of the teak and sweetness of the lotus blossom are accents, although the lotus is still a little bit sweeter than I'd like. I wear a lot of amber, but this smell completely different from anything else I own—there's something indescribable about it. The core of the scent is like exotic, polished, skin-warmed wood: it's rich, smooth, reminds me a bit of a skin scent, and has an unusual edge to it. I agree with others that it's very sensual, like the scent of satiated warm skin. The amber is light enough, and the sweetness brightens it, so I expect this will work well for warmer weather. The lotus doesn't make this blend "floral" to me, which I'm glad for. This blend stands out—it's unlike any other BPAL I've smelled. Verdict: I'm really glad that this scent doesn't morph too much from bottle to skin—in fact, the changes are minor and all for the best. The unique quality of the blend is just too lovely to lose, so I'm glad that it sticks around unchanged. It is so pleasurably, so subtly unusual: it stands out while still being sexy and very wearable. The cream (alongside the teak) gives it a wonderful rich smoothness, the amber is warm, and the teak and lotus play on top of them to give this scent lovely character. In a way, this is a cousin to the warm/smooth/spicy amber-based blends that I love: it has the same basic construct, but an entirely different character. That difference will make it a great addition to my collection, and I'm quite happy with it. Plus, the boy loves it on me, and it's a great match to the painting. What a lovely scent!

I'm in search of a tears scent, and unlike many of the salty aquatics on my wish list, this one is a readily available GC—so I bought an imp to check it out. In vial: Something spicy, and along side that—yes, I do believe this is my first brush with an aquatic. I wasn't sure what that would smell like in a perfume. On me: It's salty. That's a hard scent to identify or describe—but it's there. It makes the aquatic a little bit sharp. Easier to identify is a vague floral base that is generically "perfumey" in a very mainstream way. I want to find carnation in it, but mostly it's just a mixed classic floral. The perfumey note is too heavy against the aquatics, which are fairly light and pale. The throw is pretty strong. However, after the first half an hour the perfuminess and the throw both tone down. It's a nice change. At this point the scent is salty, a bit sweet, with just a breath of florals beneath it all. It's also fairly faint, and the salt still has a bitter edge—but all told, it's quite nice. I like it, and so does the boy. Verdict: Because I'm looking for the scent of pure tears, the accessory notes in Pool of Tears aren't quite what I want. This isn't the scent of pure tears—clear, liquid, crystalline—but it is a wonderful match to the original inspiration: the scene of Alice drowning in her own salt tears. The slightly exaggerated notes, the florals and the sweetness, could easily equate to Tenniel's original drawing, which is slightly stylized and of course includes Alice as well as her salt pool. I'm no big fan of the dry down period, but it's not a huge issue to wait half an hour before going into public. All told, this isn't quite what I wanted, and I'll still be in search of a perfect pure tear scent, but I like it well enough to keep it. It's an unusual scent, but hardly unwearable, and I think it would well suit a slightly contrary, slightly odd sort of day.

Patron of the Aztec pantheon, he is the personification of light within darkness, warmth in the cold, and life in, and after, death. He is a creative and destructive God of Fire and Light, and is appeased only by sacrifice, trial, and the slaughter of his people's enemies. Copal, plumeria and sweet orange and the smoke of South American incense and crushed jungle blooms. I purchased an imp of this on the basis that it's similar to the commercial fragrance "Angel"—I figured I'd try it, and if it didn't work, pass it on to my sister, who likes Angel. In vial: It smells like the orange in a chocolate orange—a citrus, rounded rather than sharp, well sweetened. On me: Jungle flowers blossom over the orange, almost concealing it. The smell is distinctly tropical and unlike anything that I've tried to describe. It's the shadows beneath a jungle canopy, where the vines and leaves overhead form a bower that traps scent below, heavy with florals which seem to thicken the air, spiked by the barest breath of citrus, heavy with tropical humidity. It's just on the safe side of cloying, but is still very rich and sweet. There is something of cocoa in here, rich brown sweetened by the tropical air, which rounds out the scent. Along with the copal, the scent is well rounded at the base notes but creeps outwards in the top notes in whiffs of heavy-blossomed florals that can't be constrained by the resin. Verdict: I'm not a fan of strong florals (and on me, this is one) or tropical scents, but Xiuhtecuhtli took me by surprise. The blossoms are heavy, the scent in humid, but it is undeniably lovely. The florals are so well mixed that they don't compete but rather flow together in a cloud of scent, and that specific, indescribable tropical characteristic makes me breathe deep, trying to understand and describe it. This scent makes me feel like I am somewhere else—a world away, a place I'll never see in person. I like it. However—it's so out of character for me that I can't imagine ever wearing it. I'm an amber and cocoa girl, a musk and parchment girl, not one for tropical canopies. I'd love to smell this on someone else, but I don't think I can keep it for myself. It makes me feel like a different person in a different place.

The red feralness of this scent intrigued me, and I've had good luck with musks in the past—so I ordered an imp of it with my last order. In vial: Red, spicy, sharp, and something unpleasant, almost medicinal. I'm not entirely loving it. On me: It goes on red musk, warm, full, and slightly animalisitic. Then the musk quickly does what musk does on me: it becomes slightly sweet in the most delicate and flattering way. As it dries down, sweetness aside, this is a warm fuzzy scent that is just a touch spicy and has a rich base, smooth and slightly powdery. The sweetness of the musk balances out its possible feral aspects, and the scent never becomes strictly masculine. The scent is definitely leaning towards red in color, but that provides a comfortable sense of warmth rather than candy-bright coloring or too much spice or heat. On me, the scent lasts for about three hours before it dies down to skin-level, and there it lingers. Verdict: At a certain level this is just a repeat of the other musk-heavy smells that I own, since they are all similarly sweet and animalistic on my skin. Each has its own character, however, as does Fenris Wolf: the red base gives the blend a living comfort and warmth. It suits me and flatters my skin chemistry, and the boy loves it on me. I'm not "ohmygod new favorite!" blown away, but this is a lovely scent and I imagine I'll get a fair bit of use from it. I'm definitely keeping the imp.

After falling in love with the fig in Intrigue, I was interested in trying more of the BPAL fig note—and what could be better than a predominant and almost pure fig? In vial: Strange—I can barely smell anything at all! On me: The scent doesn't morph in the least. From start to finish, this is green and sweet. The green is a bright chartreuse, the self-same color of the skin of a fresh fig still on the tree—not deep green at all. The sweetness is sugary and almost crystallized—and is so strong and pure that it is almost nauseating, like oversweetened food that makes your teeth ache. The combination of the two, compounded by the scent's impressive strength and throw, is cloying and overwhelming. With wear, the strength dies down a bit and the scent becomes more palatable, but it never loses its bright greenness and sugar sweetness. I get nothing of the roots or wood, but I wish I did—they might provide a solid foundation and help tone down the heady sweetness. Verdict: I really wanted to like this. I didn't expect it to be like the fig in Intrigue, which is a rich deep purple, and I actually like the bright green color of the scent. But the sugary sweetness is so strong that I find this blend a bit nauseating and certainly overwhelming. Perhaps it would work better if I layered it with something that had the woody/rooty/herbal notes that this lacks (with my skin chemistry, anyhow), and I may have to experiment—but as is, I'm disappointed and not sure if I'll be keeping this around. ETA: Six months later, and the oil has aged a bit. The hyper-sweet sugar note has died down, though the scent still goes on a bit sweet and bright; the darker woody notes have come out, and make the scent a rich deep green after the first hour or two of wear. This is a drastic improvement, much more nuanced and a whole lot more wearable. I'm glad I kept the imp around, and will wear it more often now.

Having discovered a love of pepper, I've been in search of a good spicy blend—one I can wear on its own, or layer under other scents. In vial: It's hard for me to pin down, and not entirely pleasant. Ginger, I think, with a nondescript cloying perfumey smell in the background. Why do I always dislike the smell in the vial? On me: At first, the only note that I can pick out is the pepper, which is very similar to the pepper in White Rabbit. But it's not particularly spicy—the background notes make it warm and sweet, almost soft and skin-close. To my nose, it doesn't change much during drydown and wear. The boyfriend says he can smell ginger, pepper, and honey; I only get pepper with that background skin-level warmth and sweetness—and maybe just the slightest touch of golden ginger. Within an hour or two, the perfume has faded almost to nothing, but it retains, just barely, at the skin level and in brief whiffs of an aura of scent: it's skin musk sweetened by the lightest honey, and warmed by spices but never sharp or hot: honey-golden and carmine red. It's pleasant, but almost secretive: the boy reported that he couldn't smell it anymore, and ten minutes rolled towards me and said that I smelled wonderful. It's only there right on the skin, but you catch whiffs when you wouldn't suspect it. Verdict: This is far from the dominant spices that I was hoping for. I never get the cinnamon or clove, the pepper is warm and almost sweet, the ginger is smooth and golden. The base is the heart of this blend, a skin musk that ties the scent to skin level and the smoothest skin-warmed honey, not sticky or cloying in the least. The perfume is faint, low throw and low wear length. But for all of that, the blend is still nice—it's not exceptional, and it's not what I wanted or expected, but I like it and so does the boy. It may make a good scent for cuddling in before bed, when wear length doesn't matter and the skin-level scent would be most appreciated. I'm still on the hunt for a good spicy blend, but I'll probably keep this one around.

I love carnation, I recently discovered I like orange blossom, and on whole the notes and the reviews seem very promising. I'm looking for a good orange blossom BPAL, so I picked this one up. In vial: The orange blossom is the only note I can pick out, a gentle, sweet, but distinct citrus. Everything else is just background "perfumey." On me: The oil goes on smoky—probably the patchouli. It almost tickles the back of my throat. The carnation kicks up quickly, a spicy floral. These two notes tangle together, and there is no orange blossom. It's disappeared, and so there is no top note. The patchouli and carnation are low, smoky, spicy, and close to the skin. The ambergris is just barely there, a gray resin as a base note with little character of its own. Over time the scent dies down even more, leaving just a hint of incense and spice over the subtlety of ambergris. It's fine—the scent is a shadowed gray, the carnation is not a floral, just a hint of warm spice—but it hovers at skin level and is very faint. Verdict: The notes were so promising, but the scent is a bit disappointing. I wish that the orange blossom stuck around—I imagine it could give this scent the throw and character that it needs, because as it is I only get a skin scent, like a combination of base notes that should be background to something, not trying to be a perfume on their own. It's pleasant, but faint and almost indistinct. I'll have to try this again and see if I amp it differently under other conditions or like it enough as just a skin scent, but despite how promising the notes are, I may have to pass this along. That's too bad—I had high hopes! ETA: Over six months later, and my opinion has changed somewhat. The orange blossom still disappears on my skin, but with a touch of aging the ambergris and patchouli have come into themselves. They are slightly salty, earthy, a touch smoky; their scent together is subtle, like a thicker, darker, more alluring second skin, but the throw has increased. I still wish that the florals were stronger, and this scent is not quite what I expected from the notes. However, I have grown to love the combination of ambergris and patchouli enough that I don't mind—I wear it anyway, content with that soft cloud of very bodily, unexpectedly enticing scent.

This was a frimp from the Lab. I wouldn't have ordered it for myself: I've had unanimously bad luck with roses in the past, and predominant florals aren't to my taste. However, I did the tiniest test on the back of my hand and the roses didn't amp horribly, so I'm willing to give it a fair try. In vial: Mixed florals, slightly sweet and slightly bitter—I expect the latter is a rose. It's not that pleasant in the vial, but I'll try it on my skin anyhow. On me: Although the oil goes on almost indistinct, it quickly warms up, first growing sweet with a warm resinous base. The sweetness soon becomes floral, and the scent finally develops into fullness. The floral is mixed, and almost hard for me to pick out. In part, I think this is because the rose is not the bitter, screaming pink and red rose that I'm used to—instead it is pale and sweet, absolutely lovely. But it's not just rose: the orchid, I assume, complicates the floral with a darker, duskier note that gives the white roses a bit more depth. The labdanum is the basenote, not too rich, not too sweet, but providing a solid, somewhat warm base for the florals. Over time, however, the florals fade and the labdanum becomes the heart of the perfume. It's more of a "me" scent this way, richer, warmer, almost a little dusty. Verdict: I'm surprised to find that I rather like this. White roses are a huge departure from the red roses that I'm used to, and unlike red they don't go sharp and bitter with my skin chemistry: instead, they are gentle and a bit sweet, much like real rose blossoms. The orchid is duskier, but it doesn't turn this into a heady mixed floral, but rather shadows in the scent. The resin is a lovely grounding note, and even though the blend suits me better after the floral topnotes have died down, it's pleasant and wearable from start to finish. The scent is mature, a bit subdued, a bit darkened, but overall almost desaturated, ghostly. I don't feel tempted to bathe in it to make it stronger—it's just naturally gentle. This isn't as distinct or as unusual as some BPAL perfume, and doesn't stand out of the crowd for me, but it is a floral I like and can wear, and it's turned me towards white roses. I'll be keeping it around.

This was a frimp from the lab, and a blend that I've considered putting on my wishlist before. I have little experience with jasmine, but the overall concept and color of this scent seemed lovely. However, I have a bad history with rose, which tends to amp and go very bitter on me. In vial: An airy floral that to me seems mixed, but that might just be because I'm not very familiar with jasmine and can't pick it out. Oh, and there it is, that promise of rose that scares me, the note peeking up from the background. On me: There is no "promise of rose" here—the rose is strong and wavering between companion note and front-and-center. I really do amp this note. It's the same rose as in Chuparosa, which turns bitter and sharp on me, a combination of bright pink blossom and vivid greenery. Against it, the jasmine is indistinct and rendered into a generic, floating floral which makes up the background. The myrrh is jostling with the rose for first place, and is sweet and smoky. Over time, the rose tones down a bit, but it never dips into the background, never lets the other notes come to the forefront and blossom. I washed the oil off after an hour, so if the rose dies down further, I wouldn't know. Verdict: I amp rose so much that I can barely give a review of this blend—my experience is clouded by my own body chemistry. If the rose were softer, the jasmine might be able to come forward and meld with the myrrh, and this blend might be pleasant. Instead, the rose is predominant, very bitter against the background sweetness of myrrh and florals, and far too sharp. The result is a chunky, overbalanced blend with an unpleasant primary note, so I'll be swapping this out to someone who, hopefully, has better chemistry for and better luck with this blend.

This was a frimp from the lab, and nothing that I would have picked out for myself. However, after looking up the notes I was intrigued. I like musk, and I like unhinged, unusual blends. But I'm fairly feminine, so masculine blends are both intriguing and a bit worrying. The citrus note above all scares me, but I'm also not a fan of mint. Needless to say, I went in to testing this with mixed expectations. In vial: Citron, so strong and so sharp that I'm afraid to try the oil on my skin—but I never let a BPAL pass me untried. Behind all that lemon is just a touch of lavender, dry, herbal, a bit astringent (as of the blend needs any more astringency.) I'm getting no pennyroyal/mint in the least. On me: Initially, this is unpleasant to the extreme—men's cologne, lavender certainly but mostly heavy on the citron, huge, intrusive, and eye-wateringly unpleasant. I only just dabbed it on, but now I want to get my hand as far away from me as possible to somehow hide the smell. However, over time (fifteen minutes) the citron recedes. First, the overpowering strength and throw back off to something more reasonable, but I still smell like Boy. Then, the citron nearly dies away, and the other notes have a chance to come out, in particular the musk and lavender. The musk is grounding, warm, and really quite lovely; the lavender is both softly herbal and floral, slightly sweet but not the least bit cloying or foody. If the pennyroyal is supposed to be minty in this blend, then I get none of it. In many ways, the evolution of this blend is like Casanova taken to an extreme: it goes on overwhelming and blinding, biting and far too strong, but finally dries down to something that I'd consider wearable. Verdict: After the horror of the initial application, I was actually surprised by how lovely this blend turned out to be. When the citron dies away, it transforms: masculine in the darkness of the musk, but not overtly so; complex, herbal, a touch sweet, mature, a little bit unusual. This isn't so strictly a men's blend that I would feel uncomfortable (as a feminine woman) wearing it myself, at least in the final drydown stage. I'm also surprised at how different my impression is from the other reviews I've read: I get no mint, except perhaps in the hint of sweetness, and the citron is instead predominant. No matter—even with the lovely drydown, there's no way that I'm ever going through the biting, overwhelming, cologne-heavy cloud of smell that comes with the initial application, not again. Without the citron, I'd consider this blend for myself. As it is, I'll be passing it on.

I've always found descriptions of this scent to be intriguing, so I was happy to have the chance to try it ... but a little worried that it might be too unusual to be truly pleasant, or too masculine to suit me. In vial: Juniper and pine. On me: Juniper and something sweet (vanilla) to start, but it quickly begins to warm and lose the sharpness of the juniper and pine. Once it dries down, it's entirely different and really quite pleasant—like many people, I find it reminiscent of Snake Oil, a combination of rich wet sweetness from the vanilla and all number of grounding notes: golden amber (more yellow than red, it almost reminds me a cedar), something spicy (rosewood?), something a bit sharp (definitely the pine). While it is lovely to smell, it's just a bit unusual, makes me come back to sniff again and contemplate what makes it different. The overall impression is very warm, very distinct, but not overtly masculine or sexual. In fact, while it is a touch masculine for feminine-me, I don't know how I'd feel about smelling it on a man—there's a bit too much vanilla for me to imagine it. Verdict: I like this, and I'm glad I had the chance to try it. It's a unique scent, an odd combination that makes it seem perfectly normal at first blush but then, on second thought, a little sharp where you weren't expecting sharp, a little spicy without any spicy notes, just unexpected enough that you have to reconsider it. It's difficult to describe and truly unique. I don't know how often I'll wear it—I find the vanilla sweetness to be too full and a little cloying sometimes, and the masculine edge on me produces a strange gender ambiguity that I'd really have to be in the mood for. But for all of that, I really rather like it, and the boy likes it on me, so I'll be keeping the imp around for those certain whims and moods.

This was (yet another!) generous offering from a friend, and I was anxious to try it. I have no experience with opium/poppy, and the idea of dragon's blood resin toned down by something dreamy and smoky was very intriguing. In the vial: Dragon's blood resin (in its bright and fruity/floral form) with whiffs of incense or smoke that almost make my nose itch. Not very well blended at all. On me: Dragon's blood resin is usually very vibrant on my skin, sometimes blood-rich, sometimes a little too sweet or fruity. So I was surprised to find that the DBR here is entirely different—not bright, not sweet, it's toned down and richer, resinous, a deep polished ruby. It's not what I expected to find at the heart of this blend, but I love that it's there. Around it, the other notes are smoky and obscuring, a bit floral, a bit incensy, dark and cloudy but never heavy. Combined, this blend is very evocative but never too complex, still a lovely perfume: it's mysterious, rich, layered, never too busy, too dark, or too strong. Verdict: Poppy/opium was an entirely new note for me, and at this first whiff I'm quite impressed. It tones down the DBR into sometime completely different, something deeper and more subtle, and it makes for a lovely perfume. I'm not sure how often I'll reach for it, as it is a very specific sort of scent—a bit sultry, very dreamy, still with a deep red heart—but when I'm in that mood, this will be a wonderful imp to have around. I'm glad I got the chance to try it, and it makes me want to add poppy blends to my wishlist.

This wasn't a blend that I was too interested in trying, but when a friend offered to send it along with some I did want, I figured it would be as good a time as any to try leather. I don't have any strong affinity for or associations with leather, so I had few preconceptions going in. In the vial: Something bitter, acrid, and indistinct. On me: I got nothin'. Well, almost nothing. The scent seems very white to me—there just isn't much there. I think my skin swallows most of it, leaving an empty space where it should be. The only remaining fragrance is the bitter, artificial smell of low-quality leather, the kind that is almost waxy to the touch. It's reminiscent of the vial scent, a little bitter. Verdict: In a way, this experiment was a fine success—I wanted to know if predominant leather notes work for me, and the answer is a pretty clear "no." That's not too much of a loss—I tend to have pretty good skin chemistry, especially for the notes I want to wear, so I don't mind missing out on leather. As for the imp itself, I won't be keeping it, but I'm sure I can find someone else who wants to try it.

I received this scent (a whole bottle!) from a friend who had bad luck with it. The description has always intrigued me, so I was interested in trying it, but the more I read the reviews the more worried I became. It was too sweaty-goat for my male friend, and I'm pretty darn female, so I was worried it would be way too musky. In the vial: Spicy musk, with just a little too much bite—there's something in there which is almost bitter. It's not unpleasant, but it seems a mite strong. The oil itself is brown and shows up clearly on my skin, which is wonderful for application—as just a little swipe is enough. On me: The blend sweetens as I wear it, so after the drydown the musk pairs pretty equally with a full sweetness that does remind me a lot of vanilla. It's not cloying, not sugary, but is very well rounded and is almost but not quite foody. The musk (civet?) is almost single note animalistic: it's furry, wild, like sniffing deep on a beast's fur. This reminds me of Ivanushka, not so much in smell but in sensation: Ivanushka is the velvet tan fur of a deer, and Satyr is the dark brown shag of a bear or, well, a satyr—made more wearable by the vanilla, which lightens and rounds the scent. Verdict: I need never have worried. Satyr is, which my skin chemistry at least, very wearable. The boy loves it on me (although he says it almost smells like something he should eat), and I love that the vanilla sweetness amps on me enough to pair with and balance the musk, which might otherwise be too heavy. I love the furry animalistic feel of it, and on me it's more comfortable than sexy, like cuddling up against a big protective beast, leaning in to his sweet warmth. Will I ever get through the whole bottle? Probably not, because I only need a little swipe of it and 5ml is an awful lot. But I'll be happy to have it, and it will be a great alternative to LE Ivanushka when I want to cuddle with a furry animal—scent-wise, at least.

With select exceptions, I care little for floral, so I didn't expect to like this very much. However, I'm fond of violet and my boyfriend is fond of rose, so I was willing to give it a go. In the vial: Nondescript florals. Granted, I have little experience with florals and so I'm no good at picking them out, but I still can't differentiate violet from rose in the vial. The scent is definitely floral, but not overly complex or cloying. There's a slight sharpness to it, but it's not unpleasant. On me: The scent doesn't change much on my skin but, pardoning the pun, the fragrance does blossom and so develop into fullness. The same mixed floral is there, but I can pick out the rose, which begins as cloying and then goes sharp and almost bitter—as rose always is on my skin, or at least has been so far. I find it harder to pick out the violet, but it rounds out the scent to a well-blended, simple floral and is a little sweet against the sharp rose. Although I have an easier time picking out the rose, it's not predominant: the scent is evenly balanced between the two flowers. There's an odd touch of what seems like lavender and might be the greenery from the rose, something sharp, dry, and almost herbal. Verdict: I don't find Marie unpleasant, but I don't particularly like it either. The rose is sharp and somewhat harsh on my skin, and the violet is too sweet. The blend isn't artificial, but it does lack a certain depth and character: it's a rounded pair of florals, a little sweet and a little bitter, unassuming, and somewhat simple. I also just plain don't care for straight florals, so this isn't the scent for me. I wouldn't recommend this as a floral for people like me who usually avoid them, but floral lovers will probably have better luck with it.

This was a frimp from a seller, and since I'd never heard to it and it has no listed notes, it came to me without preconceptions except for a general wariness of everything rose. In the vial/On me/In the air/Everywhere: I've never tested a blend that was so steadily unmorphing. Chuparosa changes not a bit for me from vial to skin to anywhere else. The scent is incredibly familiar, but I can't quite name it. The closest I can get is a pure, distinct sharp green bright pink rose, like a bright full pink rose just freshly cut from the bush, the green stem still leaking sap. It's not cloying or heady, but it is overwhelming because it is so strong. Just touching the closed vial makes my hands smell like Chuparosa. Wearing it, the scent pervades the whole room. Chuparosa feels to me like a very enthusiastic young lover: HELLO I AM CHUPAROSA! NICE TO MEET YOU! I swear, this blend talks in all caps. With exclamation points. It's not bad, precisely, but I do feel the urge to wrap it in plastic and shove it in a sock to muffle it a bit. Verdict: This is not for me, and I'm a bit hesitant about giving it to someone else, just in case it is as loud to them as it is to me. Most of the people I mail my rejects to are newbies or non-BPALers that I'm trying to enable, and I wouldn't want to scare them off. The scent isn't unpleasant, it doesn't morph, it's not remarkably complex, but it is very bright! green! pink! rose! and lacks any sense of subtlety. I'd never wear it. I also can't speak for it's voodoo/magic use, except that potent it certainly is.

This was a frimp from the Lab, which is the only way I ever would have tried it. I don't like predominant or mixed florals, and I don't like predominant fruits, or pear or peach at all. In the vial: Fruits and florals. Of the fruits, the pear is predominant; of the florals, I get a mix, but I think I can pick out the sweetpea and the rose. The smell is bright and wet, and it reminds me a bit of any commercial blend of fruits and flowers, almost like a Glade candle, if Glade candles didn't smell like chemicals and artificial scents. Perhaps I should say it's what every other Glade candle is intended to smell like. On me: The blend doesn't change much, although the fruits step up and the flowers step back. The pear is first, the peach a ghostly second. They are very fresh, very wet, and maybe a bit overripe, but at the same time they don't quite smell real ... there's something too perfect, too pure about them. The florals are now impossible for me to discern from one another, and are instead blended, smooth, like the breeze off of a wildflower field. There's a distinct sweetness to the blend, but fruit sweetness, natural sugars, not thick honey or added sugar. There's no wild morphing going on here as far as I can see. Verdict: I can't talk about longterm wear on this one because I ended up washing it off after about an hour and a half. It's not unpleasant by any means, but it's absolutely not my style--in fact, it contains just about every note I would never wear. I wouldn't mind smelling it on someone else. It's very bright and pure and cheery, sparkling fruits with a floral base. There is something a little commercial about the scent, and it does make me think of Glade candles. As such, this might be a good blend for someone transitioning in from commercial fruit and flower perfumes. (I plan to pass my imp off to my commercial-perfume-wearing, fruit-loving sister.)

I purchased this while in search of a purple scent. Generally, florals don't do much for me. I've had limited experience with plum and grape, and good experiences with incense. In the vial: Vaguely unpleasant, and I think also vaguely medicinal. It's smoky, a little bittersweet, and might smell like ... grape cough syrup, but less sugary. On me: The medicinal smell disappears almost as soon as the oil goes on, and the scent warms up into a very distinct coupling of rich, slightly sweet purple fruit and heavy incense. The purple fruit has the decadent sweetness of fig, but, unfortunately, that's where the goodness ends. It's purple, flat, and the sweetness is almost cloying or fake, reminding me again of grape cough syrup. The incense is smoky black and very strong. The two elements aren't very well blended on me, and instead almost seem to compete. Over time: I've tested this blend three times. After about an hour, it's dried down twice to unpleasant and unnatural flat sweet purple fruit, and once to a pleasant smoky purple/dark gray/black incense. I don't much care for the fruit drydown, but the incense drydown is pleasant. All told, the scent has a pretty substantial throw and is very potent close to the skin. Verdict: I wanted to like this scent (Shakespeare geek, looking for a "purple" blend, and I like the incense drydown), but I'll pass on this imp. Not an easy decision, and I did have to test it three times--if my body chemistry were more predictable, I'd feel better about either keeping or passing on this imp. As it is, the overall blend is too strong for me, and the purple stages and drydown aren't to my style, even though I rather like it when it goes black incense on me. I don't want to take a risk with the fake purple fruit each time I wear it. For those that are curious, Phantom Queen is my current pick is a purple blend, but I'm still looking for more.

I'll admit, I added an imp of this to my order because of the name—but also because I hadn't yet tried any dirt notes, and red loam seemed like a good starting place considering the scents I usually like. In the imp: I have a hard time pinning down in-the-imp smells, but this one is primarily a gentle spice, warm red-brown in color (a lot like the oil in the imp, actually). It has plenty of character without being sharp, and the spices feel full, almost like they've been roasted to bring out their full flavor. On me: Going on wet, Penny Dreadful goes quickly through a few extremes. It's warm wet loam, it's a waft of fairly strong florals, and there's a bit of that spice from the vial. After the first ten minutes it settles a bit, becoming red loam, warm, slightly damp, and very full-bodied, with an undercurrent of mixed florals that are a little bit too strong. All told, the scent entire is a little bit too strong during the drydown period, but after about half an hour, it calms and develops into itself. Over time: After the drydown and during wear, Penny Dreadful is absolutely wonderful. The red loam is predominant, the body of the perfume, rich and moist. It's not dry dirt, or gritty under the fingernail dirt, but rather rich, a bit clumpy, and with a velvet texture, and a very solid and full base to the perfume, making the overall scent a gentle but warm red-brown. The florals waft over the loam scent, making the scent pretty and feminine, but not girly or strongly floral. They are very gentle and very well-mixed, so they smell more like faint perfume than flowers, and no one floral note overwhelms the others. Since I generally avoid florals, I consider that a Very Good Thing. Finally, the spices from the vial come in every now and then, and grow stronger as the scent wears on the skin. By hour three or so, the florals recede and it's loam and spice, rich red fullness at the center but with sharper accents, to keep things interesting. The scent clings on for a while: it's discernible as perfume for about six hours; the next morning, the scent still clung to my skin, but it was very faint and very close. Verdict: I'm in love with this scent, and it's already climbed its way into my list of current favorites. I think it's a great perfume for people who are cautious with florals, because the floral note is so gentle and well-mixed, just enough to make the scent pretty but definitely not enough to overwhelm it. I also think it's a great first dirt note, as the loam is rich and warm, and feels a bit like more conventional notes like amber and dragon's blood. The three aspects of the scent—loam, florals, and spice—are wonderfully balanced to make this a lovely scent that still has a lot of personality. I adore it. The boy loves it, too. He picked it out for me to wear last night from the vial scent, liked it on, and happily sniffed my faintly-scented skin the next morning, so that must be a good sign.

I had high hopes for this scent based on the notes and description, but I wasn't eagerly adding it to my shopping list. When a frimp arrived from a seller, it was a good chance to try this scent without consequences. That turned out to be quite lucky, because despite my hopes, I found Penitence to be a little lackluster. On Me: This goes on very strong, almost smoky, and takes about half an hour to calm down to a wearable level. While it's not the worst drydown that I've experienced (that would be Casanova), it had me worried for a while. After the drydown, the heady and loud smoke dissipates and the true nature of the oil emerges. On me, Penitence is paired incense and resin: the incense hovers over the skin around me, rich, earthy, a little dusty, and fairly smoky; the resin sits just at the skin but is still strong and quite sweet. Over Time: This scent doesn't morph, but it gently recedes. The incense top layer fades at a faster rate; the sweet resin sinks deeper into the skin, but becomes the dominant note. All told, the scent lasted about five/six hours on me. Verdict: While this scent isn't offensive by any means (at least not after the drydown), I'm not particularity drawn to it. The smoky and sweet notes are so simple and distinct that they almost feel unblended. As a result, the two notes are too smoky and too sweet, and I can't quite catch both of them at once. If it were a bit more delicate, I think I'd like this scent more, but as it is Penitence was nice enough but nothing amazing. I don't see myself reaching for the imp, and so I'll probably send it off to someone else to try.

Cottonmouth took me by surprise. Prior to it, I had had no positive experiences with anything more floral than an incidental carnation or apple blossom note, and so the floral notes worried me. However, I gave it a go when I received a frimp from a sale, and I was pleasantly surprised--even amazed. On me: This scent is Snake Oil's prettier, lighter sister. Obviously they share the same base, but unlike Boomslang (the only other Snake Pit I've had the chance to try), the Snake Oil roots in Cottonmouth are much more distinct. It has the same complexity in the incense and spices, and the same sweetness in the vanilla. The floral notes, however, make the blend a bit lighter and a bit more gentle. They are soft florals, more pretty and delicate than they are heady, and they tone down some of the richness of the Snake Oil base. I couldn't pick out any of the specific flowers, and nothing grabbed on and over-amped. It was a very delicate, balanced blend. Over time: Like Snake Oil, Cottonmouth didn't morph on me. After the drydown period, it stayed relatively constant. What amazed me, however, is that I was constantly leaning in to sniff deeper, to make sure that that beautiful scent really was coming from there. Like I said, I didn't have high hopes for the florals. ;; The scent had a moderate lasting length on my skin. Verdict: Sometimes I think that sellers know me better than I know myself. I never would have picked this out myself, but having been frimped it, I am so glad to have the imp in my collection. Since it shares so many similarities to Snake Oil, Cottonmouth isn't one that I would search out and buy a lot of. The floral notes, however, make it a lighter and more delicate relative, and I see myself reaching for this in warmer weather, when Snake Oil becomes too heavy and too cloying. It's also, I think, a great choice for people that usually avoid florals, like myself. It is sweet without being sugary, delicately floral without reeking of flowers, and truly a lovely blend. I can't think of any descriptor better than beautiful.