Colère

When Fire of Love first arrived it smelled like really awful morning breath that could've potentially lead to divorce if the offending party didn't learn how to keep their mouth shut when sleeping. A few months later it settled down to a top notch patchouli (little on the dry side rather than the thick, syrupy kind I'm use to). If I smell REALLY HARD, though, I can still detect that bad breath note, but it's WAY at the bottom of the blend. Once on I'm the sexiest seasoned cedar box you'll ever hope to meet (or smell - but that's gonna cost your extra, sweetheart). The cedar exudes an aura of dry warmth, but it lacks that cottonmouth, 'super absorbent of any all moisture in the entire world' note that I'm more familiar with. I'm sort've wondering now if maybe I'm picking up cinnamon bark (a woody, more subtle cinnamon), or if it's cedar cutting through the patchouli I got earlier. Either way, it goes all Chicago Hope on me. The sexiest seasoned cedar box (ever) has turned into a medicinal smelling wet band-aide limply hanging off a scabbing wound. I mean, I could go all graphic and exaggerate the reaction, but, dude, is that REALLY necessary? DUH, OF COURSE! ...the sexiest seasoned cedar box (ever) has turned into a medicinal smelling wet band-aide limply hanging off a scabbing wound with debris caught in the adhesive (OH MY GOD, IS THAT A USED CONDOM AND EMPTY SODA CAN?!), and the adhesive's left sticky patches that've begun forming little black dirt rolls on the skin that get stuck beneath your nails when you try picking them off, and the skin beneath the half-hanging band-aide is all sweaty and clammy and sort've rank smelling, and the scab's gone all soft and mushy, and if you touch it plasma breaks the oatmeal-like surface and oozes over the festering wound and...

Dude. I was SO expecting 'cherry kool-aide' by the color, but it's more 'sweet scented flowering bushes growing wild in the Midwest'. As it's applied - and drying down - I get the impression that it SHOULD be insanely overwhelming, but it isn't. It's just the right touch of 'sweet' and 'heady'. There's something sodaish about the scent, but I don't mean in a fizzy or syrupy way. I'd almost say it's 'cola', but not one of the SUPER colas we all know and love. With the sweet, fruity tinge I'm getting I'd go as far as saying that it's almost reminiscent of...Diet Rite Cherry (sorry, Beth, but it could've been A LOT worse! I COULD'VE SAID TAB!).

A cheap lemon meringue pie (with florescent yellow filling that borders on being just a touch sour) sitting on a sweaty ass white and red checkered plastic tablecloth (which may, or may not be outside). That sourness I mentioned? It goes all BO in the matter of seconds (hooray!). If I inhale REALLY deeply I get not-so-fond memories of dank Ukrainian basements scented with decaying cat shit and broken mason jars filled with homemade sauerkraut - all of which I ignored because, dude, THERE WERE POOL TABLES IN THE BASEMENTS (talk about SWISH)! And beneath all of that - yes! there's more! - a cold, sharp hit of something that smells like high proof booze. Once I'm past sour pies, bad personal hygiene, Ukie basements, cat shit, kapusta, and moonshine I find myself in FORGOTTEN, OLD BATH PRODUCTS REDUCED TO SYRUP territory. You know what I'm talking about, right? In this case it's an ancient bottle of honeysuckle bubble bath buried beneath an explosion of tampons, a few bottles of untouched rubbing alcohol, and a shower cap growing weapons of mass (biological) destruction. And when finally rediscovering this bottle of yellow honeysuckle bubble bath you find that some of the liquid managed to ooze out from beneath the cap staining the label so the container's sort've oily and sticky at once, and, at the same time, there's residue the consistency of BBQ sauce looping the bottle's neck, and when you touch it you've got tar like stains on your hands but GODDAMN IT STILL SMELLS NICE because the AWOL bath gel has been reduced to fuck so it's all pure concentration and you wonder HOW THE FUCK DID YOU MANAGED TO LOSE THE BUBBLE BATH IN THE FIRST PLACE while wiping your hands on a clean towel leaving marks you'll have to blame on someone else and...uhm...heh. I mean...'laundry detergent for baby clothing and then soap', *whistles innocently*.

Bottle: Vial screams 'luxuriously thick, syrupy Sandalwood' with just a hint of powder - both manage to superficially cover a real awful, sour note that smells like bad breath. I think I'm getting some sort of tropical white flower, too, I'd hazard a guess and say it's a little gardeniaesque. Skin: Noxious bad breath morphs into something dry (arid?); it's kind've like cedar but without the cottonmouth effect. There's a certain level of candylike sweetness, and a trace of cinnamon. I'm also getting a really gritty and smokey vibe, fairly reminiscent of BPAL's Brimstone. Skin, Later: Ah, fuck me. It's orange blossoms, isn't it? ISN'T IT? The bad breath keeps coming back and is TOTALLY GETTING IN THE WAY OF ME REVIEWING THIS BLEND. Whenever orange blossom(s) hit my skin I get this nauseating old people smell, like their body musk (super old, stale skin that's CLEAN but hasn't been washed in days). I'm trying to sink my fingers into other notes, but I'm just fumbling. All I get is 'nice and resiny, but possibly too tropical sweet and - HOLY FUCK I SMELL LIKE ONE OF THE GOLDEN GIRLS!'. Verdict: I still reign as queen of exceptions! All Night Long (a BPAL voodoo blend) and Flame of Desire just don't groove to my body chemistry, and I bought BOTH for their intended amorous effects. When in doubt I'm always the one who has an opposite reaction (what more can you expect from a chick who seems to have an ancient Mesopotamian god of destruction and famine as her guardian angel?). I don't know if Flame of Desire DOES have orange blossoms (or not), but I'm hedging a bet it does since the old people/bad breath is a very unique reaction I get with that particular note. If things couldn't possibly get worse this blend SCREAMS of my mother's bedroom, like SPOT ON scary, in an unnerving 'dude, she like died less than a year ago and somehow someone managed to bottle a perfume that smells like her and her room' way (that's right, I'm ending this review with some FREE EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE FOR YOU, enjoy!).

Aw, you're welcome, darlin. I haven't sat down with every single one yet to eye up their finer details, but I can certainly appreciate from a distance. They're just gorgeous - a new round of snaps to Beth & the team!

Snaps to Mr. Colere for putting up with my nagging and taking/resizing these pictures for me. So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the entire A Demon in my View / The Hideous Throng Ensemble line (please be sure to click on the images since these are thumbnails)... 01. The City in the Sea, Al-Araaf, Alone, Annabel Lee, & Dreamland 02. The Evening Star, Spirits of the Dead, Lenore, The Sleeper, & The Haunted Palace

Ha HAH! Thanks to Galen for pointing me here! The SECOND my husband wakes up I'll jam the camera into his hand and force him to take pictures of the Demon line (yes! they're here! THEY'RE ALL HERE! *dies*). The artwork is tres fan-tas-ma-fique (I invented a new word - in another language, no less)!

Bottle: Scorched, stale cinnamon quills. Less 'hot & spicy' more 'charred & bitter'. My gut feeling tells me that this particular blend isn't going to like me, even though cinnamon and I are on fairly friendly terms. Skin: From bad to worse. I smell like the noxious herbal tinctures (arnica, anyone?) my mother used to force me to take when I was sick. It's medicinal, it's herbal, and it's bitter as fuck. I'm resisting the temptation to wash it off. Skin, Later: Very little change save an appearance of something resembling burnt oranges. Verdict: I was in the mood for love, and then All Night Long happened. I'm thoroughly gutted with my reaction towards it. After reading glowing reviews (I usually make a point of NOT reading reviews until I've written mine, but since there were no notes listed in the description I needed to get a general feel of what people had experienced) that consistently mentioned 'cinnamon' and 'almond' - two notes that usually adore me - I couldn't wait to get my hands on an imp and amp up my sex drive. Unfortunately, this blend hated me before it even got to touch my skin. Somehow it almost feels fitting (i.e., an aphrodisiac working opposite on me), *face*. Depressing.

Bottle: I keep smelling the damn imp and my mind keeps drawing a blank. If I wasn't so fucking stubborn I'd admit defeat and stamp Brisingamen 'indescribable' (at least in bottle form) and put myself out of misery. What I do get is 'heavenly', 'golden', and 'sweet' - but then the sweetness intensifies and I begin feeling nauseous. And then, dear God no, I detect a trace of Snake Oil.... Skin: There's something not quite right about it when it hits my skin. That golden warmth I mentioned earlier becomes cold and biting. Even though I can't place it there's a bodily scent; a muskiness that transforms into a sharp, ammonia-like smell. Rancid bitterness mixes with the ammonia and I end up smelling like an outhouse (that overpowering hit of fermented urine that just SLAMS you in the face when opening the door). Beneath the in-your-face slap of ammonia something organic lurks, but not necessarily 'fresh' or 'green'. Skin, Later: From a distance it dries too sweet on me, way too powdery. But when I rub my nose in it ('You've been bad, Colere! Bad!') I get a breath of spice that's gorgeous, but it's choked back by a yellow-brown bitterness (burnt mushrooms?). It's frustrating because at first whiff Brisingamen is lovely, but when you catch the last of it the scent goes off (i.e., 'cough syrup', 'foamy plastic candy', 'dirt', & 'Lush's Karma' - which, for some reason, I really don't like). Verdict: I somehow convinced myself that amber and I were best friends despite not having had any experience with it. As it turns out, we aren't. I'm hoping that I've incorrectly attributed the 'ammonia' and 'yellow-brown bitterness' to amber since it's one of those notes that I (conceptually) love. Something went off (myrtle?), but I'm not sure what. I'm really disappointed with the reaction because I was totally prepared to love this blend. DAMN YOU CHEMISTRY, DAMN YOU.

Bottle: $%#@ - soapy, TGI Friday's happy hour! Cold Moon screams thick, mouth-watering sugar of the bubble gum variety. A hint of gentle powder makes the gum scent more pronounced, and not even the touch of cold in the background can ease off the Bubbalicious attack. Skin: GAH, PINK BUBBLE GUM REIGNS SUPREME! It's a continuous assault of PINK, PINK, SUGAR, SUGAR and I can't stop salivating, even though I really hate 'foodie' scents. Oh dear God, no! Cantaloupe, what are YOU doing here?! Skin, Later: On me Cold Moon isn't cool at all, it's sort've warm (reminds me of the colour 'salmon' which is neither pink nor orange, but somewhere in between). Thankfully the saccharine sweetness backs away and leaves the all too familiar impression of CRAFT STORE versus WAX (so I meet you again, my well-known foes!). Verdict: Damn you, Cold Moon, and your nefarious bubble gum agenda! I'm now stuck itching for anything Bubbalicious or Hubba Bubba just to sate my craving (two brands I just can't seem to find in this godforsaken country). About six hours later I catch a gentle breath of non-descript, honeyed incense with just a touch of vanilla extract and some dirt. On the plus side (is there a plus side to smelling like dirt and cooking extracts?) it has staying power.

Bottle: Crisp, cold, and cutting. There's a breath of freshness (mint-without-mint), but it smells frosted over. Even though it isn't listed I get a hit of dark chocolate, the intensely acrimonious kind that screams 'GREEN!GREEN!GREEN!' and makes you wonder if the bitterness can be attributed to ground grasshoppers (or other green tinted insects). Skin: SWEET JESUS! Pain packs an unsuspecting punch! It's minty ammonia, and it goes STRAIGHT for your diaphragm (just like the Hardy Boys!). Menthol - or what I identify menthol to be - is apparent, but it isn't as intrusive as Loup Garou (aka 'Vick's Vapo Rub Without the Vick's or Vapo or Rub'). Skin, Later: Formaldehyde! But, uhm, not really. The dry down really reminds me of a preserving fluid, sans flattened animal. It's not medicinal, it's not astringent, it's...science? It's science and toothpaste, inching more and more towards toothpaste as time passes (without the chalk and fluoride - the silent killer!). Verdict: Christ, I don't know. This is the third scent I've tried this week that simply disappears on me, hardly giving me any time at all to make up my mind. I caught a gentle whisper of lavender, but it was restrained and practically negligible. In less than an hour Pain was gone, but returned in the form of stomach cramps (no, THANK YOU low-carb chocolate and caffeinated coffee!) - hooray!

Bottle: Ahoy, Vick's Vapo Rub! I kind've sort've recall the description mentioning (in passing) that this blend has a trace of eucalyptus, but that's ALL I smell. After several deep inhales I'm pretty sure my sinuses will be clear for the next ten years. Skin: The medicinal quality doesn't improve, and it's so over-powering that I'm starting to feel sick (shouldn't that be the opposite?). There's an icy feeling in my gut that's beginning to make me feel nauseous whenever I catch a whiff of the perfume. I'm going to persevere in the hopes that this could turn into Ulalume style situation (severely disliked the bottle scent, but absolutely loved the transformation once it hit my skin)... Skin, Later: Ha HAH! Good-bye menthol! I smell vanilla but it's a non-vanilla vanilla with a creamy quality to it. There's definite warmth, but I associate it with dry woodiness (i.e., shredded, seasoned bark), I'm pretty sure that it might be cypress. I also detect sweetness, but it's neither sugary or syrupy - it's natural, with a dried 'organic' tone. Verdict: Loup Garou hated me, mildly tolerated me, and then left me the second I turned my back (that's all right, I FAKED IT ANYWAY!). I wouldn't say I was BIASED when it comes to eucalyptus, but we do have some unpleasant previous experiences (i.e., I applied an entire bottle of Vick's Vapo Rub to my hair when I was a toddler and my mother spent a week trying to get it out). The blend eventually dried down to a nice (albeit faint), non-descript gentlemen's cologne and then completely disappeared just over an hour. My reaction towards it didn't greatly differ, it was pleasant when it was around, and then when it was gone I didn't really miss it.

Bottle: OH NO, IT'S SNAKE OIL IN DISGUISE! 2 Days Later: I wasn't even going to give this blend a second thought BUT IT KEPT STARING AT ME FROM ACROSS THE DESK. And after forty-eight hours I said 'Fine, bitch, you want to rumble? I'll go all West Side Story rumble on your ass...'. This is a showdown of epic proportions, move over OK Corral! Bottle, Again: Totally, totally, totally Snake Oilesque (perhaps an illegitimate child?). However, it's not as overwhelmingly medicinal as Snake Oil is/was/is for me. Samhain is sweeter in a foodie sort of way, which makes my stomach churn (hooray!). There's a near non-existent touch of mint, but it comes across as something artificial, something chemically fabricated. It's mint, but not-really-mint mint. Skin: Ergh. The mint-but-not-really mint becomes powdery, and the noxious scent/taste/memory of envelope adhesive reigns supreme. A flash of heat warms the mint until it become uncomfortably hot thanks to AN INFLAMED SCRATCH ON MY WRIST THAT I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT. Skin, Later: The warmth remains as pain tapers off, but there's a block to it, like there's something acting like a barrier. Christ, it's so fucking FRUSTRATING because the warmth and mint is so pervasive, and so damn familiar but I just can't put my finger on what it reminds me of...moth balls? Oh, God, wait. Not moth balls - A URINAL CAKE (slightly minty, slightly antiseptic). Verdict: Bitch KNEW I wasn't going to like it so it waited until I had a fucking CUT on my skin to instigate the challenge. Urinal Cake 2004 gave away to creamy sweetness at the very end (much like those ping pong ball mints given away at restaurants), but it was a last desperate bid for my affection. Something sharp and brown did manage to squeeze through (apple cider?), but only for a second. And now, a day later, the blend's left a tobaccoy afterthought on my skin reminding me I know fuck all about my body chemistry, never seem to get CLOSE to what other people experience, and can't seem to pick out notes that I KNOW I should for the life of me.

Bottle: Fucking hell - MEDICINAL VANILLA (as if vanilla couldn't get any worse)! Somehow the blend manages to catch nearly all of the unpleasant scents you encounter when visiting the doctor's office (dry gauze, in-your-face antiseptic, & powdered rubber). Skin: Ugh, Jesus, the perfume glides on like iodine. As it dries my skin starts to tingle, but the sensation quickly disappears as the notes become more clear. Bitterness surfaces (black coffee that's way too strong), only to mowed down by old leather. There's something paper dry lurking in the background (like those goddamn sheets of parchment covering the examination table that you always end up tearing even though you try really fucking hard not to). Vanilla stays constant, but it's more smoky tobacco than sugary sweet. A sharp wisp of rubbing alcohol cuts through everything making the blend even more unbearable. Skin, Later: I have no fucking clue. Five minutes into wearing this scent I became nauseous as fuck and the only thing that cured the unexpected reaction was a six hour nap. My very unhappy, irritated forearms reveal how I spent the remainder of the day (washing, scratching, gagging, and washing some more). Verdict: Despite my initial reaction to the scent I courageously marched on (I admit it, I'm biased - I really, really fucking hate vanilla). After reading so many glowing reviews I thought 'MAYBE THIS IS THE POSITIVE EXPERIENCE I NEED TO CHANGE MY MIND ABOUT VANILLA'. One half-day nap, several dry heaves, and one bar of soap later I'm thoroughly convinced that vanilla will remain my arch-nemesis (it's war, bitch).

Bottle: I don't even need to open the damn bottle to catch a whiff of this one. There's an artificial sweetness that I associate with 'craft store'; a heady mix of plasticy potpourri, cheap scented candles, and dried flora. Greenness is evident in the mix, but it's a sticky green which reminds me of the lacquer they use to 'enhance' dry flowers. Skin: The thick, amber yellow oil offers a very pronounced mint scent when it hits my skin. A gentle breath of green warms the heart of stinging white coolness, but when combined with a powdery dryness I'm left smelling like a giant stick of Wintergreen gum. My stomach, in retaliation, lurches and I fear an unexpected evacuation of breakfast. And I thought I LIKED mint... Skin, Later: The icy edge is gone due to a sudden burst of earthy sweetness. Mint thankfully backs away but leaves a curious (and slightly nauseating) aftertaste of envelope adhesive. A subtle sharpness slices through the saccharin, allowing less invasive notes to peek through (autumnal fruits and bitter herbs). Verdict: I was somewhat biased from the start. A lot of blends end on a 'OH GOD, NOT A CRAFT STORE AGAIN' note on me (Dublin is the most recent culprit), so I didn't have high hopes for a scent that STARTED that way. For a split second I managed to catch the evasive scent of pine smoke people mentioned, but it was a fleeting encounter. The flick of smokiness tapered off into a sickening medicinal sweetness which reminded me of cough syrup. The 'craft store' laid the 'I don't know about this...' foundation, the 'wintergreen' tilted the scale in the foundation's favor, and the 'sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so you can rest and have a good morning medicine' end sealed the 'NOT 4 ME, MKAY THNX!' deal.

Bottle: A biting, astringent 'green' smell. There's a touch of sweetness that's downplayed by organic bitterness (not too dissimilar to old lettuce). Skin: Sour, but not. A Ukrainian word that's hard to translate immediately comes to mind. The best I can do is 'sour, but lacking the intensity that makes it unpleasant'. Water (rain?) lurks in the background, but gets momentarily displaced when a fierce stab of rubbing alcohol takes center stage. Cold urine, and flowers - but only vaguely sweet. Skin, Later: Something smells artificial, but it's a welcoming scent that reminds me of Rose Petal figures (or any doll that was supposed to smell like flowers). A gentle waft of perfumed smoke covers the childhood memory and leaves a taste of stale incense. Flowers finally bloom, but they lack freshness. They're past their prime, wilted and dying, but not rotting. The sweetness emerging is soft and gentle, just a fleeting breath. Verdict: 'Cold urine' was a knee-jerk reaction to the scent of salt, but the kind excreted from the body. Once the scent of SALT and WATER combined I interpreted the blend as TEARS, which added an emotional depth. The mournful scent of faded, salty roses in a funeral parlor blossomed and lingered on my skin. Penthus is both comforting and appropriate (I've recently lost my mother), and strikes an emotional chord that's hard to ignore. A beautiful, haunting fragrance.

Bottle: Sweet seasonal (i.e., winter) candles. A gentle touch of pine that's being restrained by waxiness. Nice, but more potpourri than perfume. Skin: It's Christmas in a craft store! Pine finally breaks through with a clean, crisp scent of evergreen behind the candle wax. There's an astringent freshness that reminds me of dried eucalyptus, but a hint of standard pink/red potpourri (not 'rose', but not entirely dissimilar) takes off the medicinal edge. Something eerily familiar lurks in the mixture, but I can't put my finger on it. Skin, Later: The sweetness becomes organic until the green, foresty note reminds me of berry tobacco (beats cherry, I guess). There's a ghostly remnant of the blend's former incarnation, but this time the evergreen is accompanied by a cinnamony kick. It's Christmas, again, and I've got bayberry scented candles on my mind (and skin). Verdict: Eh. It's nice, but it's not GREAT (hey, I have to be SOMEWHAT selective otherwise BPAL runs the risk of bankrupting my ass!). The pine's pleasant enough, but the overall feeling was just too waxy. I love the winter holidays, but not on my skin. Still, there's worse things to smell like than Christmas scented candles...

Bottle: Delicious. A viscous sweetness, bridled by smoky musk. A nefarious touch of sharpness that causes the sweetness to melt into an aftertaste. Sugary sandalwood, blanketed by something earthy, something warm. Skin: Dry (powdery/ashy?). A mesmerizing heat that quickly becomes sweltering lust once trapped in a bottle. There's heavy middle eastern spices I can't put my finger on, lightened by an acidic, almost biting, sweetness. Ancient, heady aroma of liquid resin and burning gold. Skin, Later: Sweet Jesus, this is sex in a bottle. Salome is absolute intoxication, a scent that smothers like black magic. It's evil, it's deliberate, and it's very conscious of what it does. This blend is seduction of the cold, malicious kind. A tantalizing fragrance that starts off as temptation but ends up as a non-negotiable command. Verdict: Salome brought out the calculating femme fatale in me. The second it hit my skin I wanted to seduce, dominate, and destroy - a reaction so strong that the only thing that saved my husband from being mauled in a restaurant bathroom was the lack of a condom. All he could say was 'how large is their largest bottle?' (and 'I'll never leave home without one again'). Sex magic 101, baby.

Bottle: Sweet leaves that've dried green. There's a ribbon of cinnamon looping together the understated perfume of wildflower meadows and freshly cut grass. Very pretty, very...different. Not your normal foresty scent. Skin: Wood; both old AND new. The dustiness of seasoned wood compliments the fresh bitterness of green wood. There's a sweet spice between the layers, fairly reminiscent of a subtle Chai blend (with the woodiness of nutmeg and the pleasant cinnamon sweetness of Red Hots). Skin, Later: The spice deepens to a clovey cinnamon, but, interestingly enough, it's more 'cool' than 'warm'. There's a sort of non-foodie foodie feeling about it the longer it sits. There's the freshness of autumn apples, the syrupy loveliness of my grandmother's preserved pears, and the tantalizing sharpness of apple butter. Verdict: I was THIS close to panicking when autumn fruits began bursting through, but now, several hours later, the scent has cooled to it's original cinnamon woodiness. It's faint, it's delicate, and it's just the right amount of sweet. Delectable. I think I'll celebrate my close brush with smelling like preserves by getting a larger bottle. Edit: Scratch that (the verdict, specifically). The cinnamon woodiness I was so fond of mutated into cough syrup. And seeing how I have deep rooted aversion to cough syrup (I DON'T CARE IF I'M 25, YOU CAN'T MAKE ME TAKE IT!) I'm going to have to change my mind on this one. Très frustrating.

Bottle: Lovely white, watery florals. There's a kick of sweetness reminiscent of sweet peas, but it isn't overbearing thanks to the aquatic note. There's a wisp of bitterness lurking in the background. Smells absolutely delicious, I hope it doesn't change... Skin: CHRIST, the second the blend hits my skin the water is gone. There's an overly sweet quality to it that reminds me of rotting hay. The candied mold eventually leaves behind the scent of freshly cut wood. And then? Cinnamon, like Christmas candies I grew up eating. Skin, Later: Gah, it just gets worse. Strike 'absolutely delicious' off the record. There's this sugary, fungal scent of wild mushrooms. The earthy odor only intensifies as crumbling forest decay and walnuts! Seriously! There's this papery, nutty scent that reminds me walnuts beneath decomposing wood. Verdict: The water note(s) desperately tried to break through the mustiness, but didn't have the strength needed for a coup. The scent faded within minutes on me, leaving a peculiar remnant of discount perfume (too artificial, too sweet, etc.). I really, really, REALLY wanted to LOVE this one, but my body had a different opinion (bitch, whore, skank!). Lady of Shalott = swap fodder (grr!).

Bottle: Sharp (but sweet) department store perfume. Skin: Forget sweet, this is all about green! But not any green, a sort've bitter yellow-green I associate with summer weeds. And, dude, is that SALT? It's sort've like Playdough warmed by your hand. Weeds and Playdough; not feeling this one yet. Skin, Later: Ah HA, there's the cheap 50s perfume again! There's a creamy powderyness to it, like expensive talc. Under the migraine inducing sweetness there's a subtle spiciness that's a little more grown-up, but it's not pronounced enough to dominate (damn!). Verdict: Nope. Too dime-store perfumey for me. It also comes across as a bit sentimental (like something my grandmother wore), and overly generic. The scent stays, though, and left a nice touch of high class soap on my wrist in the morning.

Bottle: Hrm. Bitter, dusty (sandalwood powdery?), and almost earthy (a less intrusive patchouli?). Dude, is that SAFFRON? It reminds me of an ancient bottle of oil (frankincense, saffron, & cedarwood) my mother made for Vassago conjuring purposes... Skin: Dusty cedar shavings (hooray for smelling like a hamster cage)! Ah ha, THERE'S the arid/dry heat I was expecting, mingled with very distant, spicy sweetness. OH MY GOD, it becomes the wood section of a DIY store (one that also sells HOT, SMOLDERING ROCKS)! Way, way back there's a subtle sharpness that cuts through the heat; a slightly medicinal eucalyptus. Skin, Later: The sharpness is gone, replaced by a rounded scent of smoky incense. While sniffing my wrists at the cash register my husband said 'it smells like vanilla' (I disagreed, and still maintain the non-vanilla status since I REALLY FUCKING HATE IT AND THE SMALLEST DROP IS ENOUGH TO SET ME OFF). Powdery dryness? Still there. Verdict: The smoky incense I described borders on being 'generic, non-descript incense' after some time. It's a pleasant scent, but becomes increasingly weaker as time goes by. I also have a feeling that the end result isn't too dissimilar to Salome (at least on me), and Christ knows I'm superficial enough to choose one over the other just because of a name.

Bottle: Urgh. Dirt. Stagnant, moldy, dirt (do I even want to put this ON?). Skin: Nauseating dirt becomes bitter herbs once it hits skin. The dusty, organic 'greenness' suddenly becomes aquatic, but it's more 'algae' than water. Strike that - MILDEWY algae that gives the water note a sinister edge (Jenny Greenteeth, ahoy!). Fingers crossed that the stagnant odor will change because there's something lurking beneath the scent of decay... Skin, Later: Jesus Christ, what a change! The sense of festering mold is gone and replaced with a sharp, natural sweetness (sour green apples?). There's even a hint of spice (possibly a reaction with Villainess's Pyromania smooch). Ooo, baby, it's gone all earthy musk (a wonderful, amazing blend of grubby velveteen moss with a refreshing, crisp 'green' edge)! Verdict: Hated it, then loved it. Thank God I actually TRIED it before discarding it as swap fodder. It stayed on ALL day & ALL night, and by the time I woke up the complex scent had become delicate white flowers on virgin water. Gorgeous.

The perfect scent to wear to your next bondage ball, dungeon adventure or sojourn to your favorite pleasure dome. Smoky rum and black tobacco with a whisper of steamy leather with a splash of crystalline chardonnay, layered over a sensual, sweet, and deceptively magnetic base of tonka. Bottle: Oh, Christ. It's a candle shop. And not just ANY candle shop, one that exclusively sells sickeningly sweet vanilla scented votives (why votives? who knows?). Skin: Gag. Vanilla. I'm a walking, talking, bottle of vanilla extract. OH NO. There's something sweet and rich...CHOCOLATE? Dear God, please don't let this make me smell like a Godiva truffle! Now there's some coconut. Vanilla, chocolate, coconut. I'm smell like a fucking bottle of suntan lotion. The old, cheap kind you discover in the back of your cabinet that your mother bought in 1973. Skin, Later: Chocolate turns into tobacco, I don't know if that's better or worse. The rich, cloying sweetness tapers into cigarette smoke. Actual cigarette smoke, which would be super terrific great if I ACTUALLY SMOKED (I retch just walking past the smoking sections of restaurants). Verdict: Never. Ever. Not in a million years. I don't have that much experience with perfumes, but I know that I REALLY HATE SMELLING LIKE FOOD (truffles, cocktails, you name it). Now 'suntan lotion' has been added to the list. Worst of all THIS SCENT REFUSES TO GO AWAY. You'd think I had OCD with how many times I've washed my hands / taken a shower since putting it on...

Bottle: Sweet, very organic green. Skin: Gah! Sugar, sugar, sugar! I don't know if the sweetness is exaggerated since I've (more or less) cut sugar out of my diet, but it's overwhelming. There's a condensed, syrupiness that reminds me of a melted Jolly Rancher. What seems like an aquatic note is fleeting and is soon replaced by the scent of dime-store cherry tobacco. Skin, Later: Hobby Lobby or Michael's (a clash between the scented candles aisle and the dried flowers). Double gah, my husband says I 'smell like a new age store', and I can't help but agree. I smell like cherry incense, or one of those fruit scented cut-outs that dangles from the rear view mirror. Verdict: I desperately wanted to love Medea due to the concept, but my skin wasn't having it. The sweetness eventually tapered off leaving the ghostly remains of indiscernible (i.e., overly generic) incense.