Casablanca

Straight-up juicy green apple with a fresh, zingy twist of yuzu.

The green apple (very green) leans tart in drydown -- not full Granny Smith, but in the neighborhood.

I'm not getting much complexity here. There might be a bit of dry astringency from something, perhaps the ti leaf. But I don't find much that gets in the way of this bold apple and its bouncy yuzu sidekick.

Bright, green, fruity scent for anytime spring through fall.

Unarmed opens on me with a soft, dry, fizzy champagne. It's a champagne solo for a minute or so, and then a pretty, custardy sort of French vanilla emerges, smoothing over the playful fizz.

A delicate sugared amber joins this little social gathering in drydown.

The blend of these notes is lovely and super-huffable. I hadn't really had my eye on this one, but I'm taking some quality time with it now. It makes me imagine a few friends who've gathered together for a champagne sip under a mild afternoon sun, just to hang. It captures an ephemeral, companionable joy. I may need a bottle.

The first time I sampled this, it came out as a lovely, naturalistic woodland glade on me: cool from the fir trees, warm and forest-beddish from the green moss.

On this second sampling, though, over a week later: Pine-Sol! This is a change. It's now essentially Pine-Sol aerosol with some added greenery and vinyl-ish coldness, with the latter seeming to glisten like sunlight striking new-fallen snow. The vibe is more of the pine than the fir, now, and much more chemically toned.

Interesting, but not my bag.

Yum!

Blackened Pomegranate and her friends quickly draw me in. Brown Sugar and Inky Wine are her closest buds; while there seem to be others in the crowd, Pom, Wine, and Sugar are the charismatic trio. 

But, this is mostly Pom's show. The pomegranate is juicy and bright, but with a shadow cast over it. Sugary brown sugar and sugary red wine (Pinot Noirish, but sweeter) blend into it. As Through the Gloom dries, it develops a cheek-tanging sweetness through these three. 

By the time it dries, this blend has gone a little too cloying for me; I enjoyed the early phase quite a bit, though, and I think other pom lovers will find much to appreciate here. 

White peach has sometimes smelled overripe and mushy on my skin, but during the past couple years, it has worked more often than not. Either my chemistry changed, or my tastes did. 

In Prospering, white peach is the strongest note, and it's a little mushy-soft, but also sweet and friendly. Bergamot lifts it up; amber smooths and rounds it out. I don't really find other notes.

I would likely still reach for a glorious golden peach blend first (I've been so about peaches this summer!), but this is a great option for white peach cravings.

Neroli. (Which, on me, means high-quality orange Dum-Dums.)

Grainy Frankincense and Pink Pepper try to sneak over the barricade Neroli set up. I can catch little whiffs of them, but I don't think they're making it over. It seems they got caught and stopped.

Smoke, you made it! [hugs bestie Smoke] Of course, Smoke was stealthy... I didn't even notice her approach. But here she is!

I got Neroli and a little Smoke. I don't think anyone else made it to the party.

Rain-dewy, gassy beeswax and amber. That sounds much less pretty than this is.

Beeswax reigns, alongside a cool, rainy aquatic note. For me, there is a definite air-gassy note to this as well -- surprisingly appealing, despite its chemical nature. Its appeal comes from how it blends fantastically into the rain, making something that somehow reminds of both petrichor and oil lamps. Or beeswax lamps, perhaps.

Over some time, the gassy note develops a smokiness, and I can imagine the glass of a gas lamp going darker from its smoky film.

Lovely, unique scent.

Everything and the kitchen sink is going on here, but let's see.

Fresh on, there was an odd, light whiff of washed-out lilac against a complex background... and the whole is overtaken by a dark wave of spicy, blackened red musk. Sticky rocks of myrrh float in it, apparent and gone again with each wave.

Fruits slowly find a footing in this new, musky landscape: peach and mandarin. Mostly peach. 

Honestly, though, it's mostly fruity and blackened red musk on me. This might work for red musk lovers. For me, it's kinda sloshy and messy.

Brisk, snow-flecked white jasmine.

The snow melts quickly on my skin, leaving a soapy-scented residue that overlays the flowers. Which, unfortunately, are going shrieky. Eep.

This one isn't for me, but I've been out of the jasmine mood for a time.

This trio is a blend for red musk connoisseurs (which I'm not, but wth).

Pleasantly scorched red musk with an undercurrent of resinous darkness. Scorched, yet not ambiently smoky. Until the red musk stomps out any of the scorched/labdanum nuance on my skin, like a rhino trying to put out a fire.

I wouldn't say this blend is feral... exactly... but it's at least assertive. The faintly spiced quality of red musk even seems a little stronger here, compared to some other red musk blends.

But yeah, it's red musk and this is a red musky perfume. It boldly occupies a space within red musk parameters.

(Can you tell this is my friend's decant and I'm not a red musk person? I shall post this anyway, with that disclaimer.)

Hi. Neroli is here!

Vibrant neroli, telegraphing joy like a bank teller's orange lollipops. There isn't much of interest in a bank, which can make the lollies all the more noticeable. Likewise, at first, this blend's lollies are the only game in the room.

After a moment, wee whiffs of blood orange and tangerine.

Then, in drydown, someone throws a soft sheet of sheer gauze over the citrus. The blend develops a diaphanous, faintly musky vibe. This has become sheer, springtime-orange nightie-fabric. It's a pretty phase.

Unfortunately, the lovely sheerness fades, and the blend as a whole eases back into more of a kids' chewable orange vitamin scent on my skin. Still a decant to enjoy, I think.

This goat brings a lovely honeyed, candle-smoky goat's milk, with an abrupt, surprise chomp of vetiver now and then, as she finds something worth biting.

That something takes its time in showing up as flowers on my skin. In drydown, though, I start to find pink peonies mingling with the rest, soft as breath. But, they continue to grow, and then perhaps overgrow, until I don't notice vetiver, other than traces of smoke.

I'm going to enjoy this decant, though I think it winds up too flowery for me for a bottle.

Bright, playfully artificial strawberries alongside lily-pad greens and clean pond waters.

In drydown, a soft, floral blue lotus and warm-honeyish ylang ylang float to the surface but remain mild. 

It eventually rounds out into an odd greenhouse melange of strawberries, evaporating pond water and soft, flowered greenery. Playful and interesting to try.

Sable Garments is a naughty cacao bringing a somewhat mixed message: Slap on cologne for a roll in the dirt. 

I mean, sure. Why not?

This patch is sweeter and less fuzzy-dirty than what I got from another recent cacao-patch blend, Dark-Eyed, Delightful. But an earthiness still comes across through the patch and cacao. The mahogany woods and early cologne whiffs suggest refinement. There's a tamed <---> untamed thing going on here, and one suspects concessions on both sides.

The cologne wafting around places this perfume in the bag of what doesn't work for me, but others will find more to delight in.

First impression: Honeyed pink roses drizzled over something vanilla and nutty.

Every Sweet Thing carries a light honey infused with sweet pink roses, backed by a soft vanilla hazelnut. The goat's milk isn't taking me specifically to goat's milk, as it has in other lab scents. It blends well into the rest of the blend, and reads to me more as a simple, softly caramelized vanilla leaning more foodie through its closeness to hazelnut.

The rose remains noticeable on me throughout the wear of this one, albeit blended with creamy, nutty honey. It turns a bit shrill on my skin after it dries, so this blend would work better on others.

Freshly on, this is thickly creamy almond oats on my skin... immediately bringing to mind both Almond Blossoms and Nightingale, as though it were their love child.

As with Nightingale, my skin amps the crazy out of Precious Beauty's oats, making an intense vanilla-creamy oatmeal on me. My skin makes this an almond version of Nightingale's cardamom oatmeal... It's all the cozy winter breakfast you could wish for. I really enjoy the cream in this, Almond Blossoms and Nightingale.

Drydown brings out more of the honey, sugar, and cake -- so it's breakfast with honey cakes for dessert.

This blend is essentially bottled Winter Comfort Food to me.

Dark-Eyed opens on me with a swirl of potent cacao and soft brown sugar over fuzzy, earthy patchouli.

Starting in drydown, cacao settles down and cardamom spices up. I have a weak spot for sugar-spiced patchouli (having gone through two bottles of Don't Tell Me Heaven Is Under the Earth), so the blend enters a literal sweet spot for me here. I sniff and sniff, a little happier each time.

The scent settles cacao-vanilla patchouli with wafts of cardamom and brown sugar, sitting at the intersection of sweetness, spice, soft coziness, and dark agendas.

Freshly applied, this year's Strawberry Moon is predominantly strawberries, but also sugary and floral on my skin.

I had a couple earlier Strawberry Moons. I think they were a 2017 and some version of a prototype; they've been empty and done for years, so I can't compare them directly. But my memory of 2017 was a more wildflower-meadow and sappy-dandelion strawberry blend, while this one is playing out more as sugary-sweet and floral strawberries. It's a newly arrived summer bottle, so this might change as it chills out.

The strawberries smell similarly pinkish-red and playful to what I remember before.

And that's almost it. This doesn't shift a lot as it dries, except to develop a bit of chewiness like honeycomb wax.

Strawberries, floral sugar, and a texture like a bit of chewy honeycomb wax.

Freshly applied: Creamy, almost chalky coconut cream swirled in white chocolate. 

Drying and dry: A sprinkle of clove mingles with the predominant creamy coconut-chocolate-vanilla thing going on. It's a soft sprinkle, only hinting at the clove, and it's also a teeny bit peppery and white-sugary to me. But I mean really teeny. It's a playful amount, not a commitment.

And once this is dry, I get some well-blended, cushiony-soft carnation bloom as well. It's mingling so well with the coconut cream and white chocolate that I don't find a clear line, and I love it.

I passed on this one at first, but eventually blind bottled it because of coconut cream cravings and the other reviews. I'm happy to have it.

Misty, pale, and powdery, this one does evoke a wander in foggy woods.

Misty orris and osmanthus come out most noticeably on my arm, smoothed over by a creamy mallow and pale sandalwood-ish incense. The osmanthus, I think it is, has that bit of orange-like tone to it that I noticed from... I think it was an osmanthus duet. The peonies become apparent on drydown, and the cream strengthens then, as well.

This is a dreamy mood of a blend --- misty, creamy and floral --- but also powdery on my skin. This one will suit the style of others, though.

This trio comes out thick with a chewy sort of leather-shop tobacco swinging hard, but a blackened clove and cinnamon follow close behind. 

I cannot get away from some leather-shop impression, here, from the horse-riding days of my youth. Yet, this dark spice combo also pulls some of my focus toward a cinnamon-broom craft shop place... leaving a bizarre bazaar of rustic shops in my nose on balance.

I'm just going to put the word rustic here for this one. This is a Wild West craft shop party.

Green, ozonic, fuel-gassy cologne is a good description of where Sheepfold begins on my skin as well.

This is quite a different direction than I imagined from the bare-bones notes list. It's kind of like new-mown hay and dried, woody stalks mingling together with a soft chemical gas and, gradually, an emerging, oily sort of wool.

As this dries, the chemical hay-day (🤨) settles down, leaving more wool. After that, this pretty chill, really... It becomes a lazy afternoon-to-evening in a warm field, watching cut grass dry and the sun sink and color the world an ordinary gold. The blend becomes pleasantly mundane and everyday, if your everyday is slow, pastoral and steady with peace.

This 13 is really lovely, and now that I have a decant, I'm sorry I missed its short life on the shelves.

Sweet-honeyed, sugary cacao with hints of smoke and caramel.

As this starts to dry, I pick up the brown sugar, amber rock sugar, and a little molasses, though the latter is not as heavy as the note can sometimes go. I think this is where my early caramel impression came from. Still lots of honey and other sugar riches swirled in with cacao. 

Then the smoke wafts out more richly for a time, so gorgeous with the chocolate and other notes. Smoke and sugar always draw me in, and together, they're just ahhhh.

This settles into a sweet, nuanced cocoa. I haven't always been a 13 person, but this is glorious from start to finish.

Rich, deep purple, juicy blackberry.

Tones of wine and bergamot soon start to develop in tandem. I get a few green tea whiffs early in, too, but they fade out. Juicy blackberry wine and bergamot.

In drydown, I find a few bramble-green leaves, too, and this becomes the scent of a memory... I'm 20, wandering an Oregon blackberry orchard with a friend, two buckets, and a jug of blackberry wine. We're on a mission to collect more berries, for more wine. Our buckets fill with berries, our bellies with wine. It's a time of beauty.

Much later, Blackberry Moon brings out little whiffs of fig and patchouli. They are pretty scant. I want to add a couple drops of patchouli EO to a bottle of this if I upgrade (when I upgrade) to see how that goes...

I agree with others --- this one is for devotees of the berry. I think it's reminding me most of Blackberry and Oudh... with a little of Painted Scars' blackberry wine splashed in.

This one is a bit of a tease.

On the wand, it's a soft but fairly lush plum, almost entirely. But when it makes the leap to my skin... it's a shrill jasmine, almost entirely.

And, sadly, this jasmine quickly develops more indole to its flower than I usually get. I'm not sure if something in my chemistry has changed; I haven't worn any type of jasmine in a long time. But before long, I smell pee. It's kind of suboptimal.

I ignore this one on me for a while. When I come back to it, dried, I catch green tea and a hint of soft plum. The jasmine abides, still a bit indolic, but thankfully air-breezed and lighter. 

Overall, I don't think this one works for me, though.