Bluestocking

In the imp: Okay, pray for me, I'm going in to face the vetiver monster. And oh GOD, there it is! Yup, the vetiver smacks me in the face and assaults my nose on the first whiff, although I think it is slightly less obnoxious than the vetiver in Highwayman and Saturnalia. This vetiver is less smoky and more green and weedy—still the smell of rotting plants, but not quite as pungent. It's hard to smell anything past it, but I think there is a tinge of white musk in the background, which actually seems to be what's lightening this. Hmm. It is brutal and corrupted, which is perfect for Bluebeard, the serial wife murderer. On, wet: VETIVER, with a side of vetiver, and an undertone of vetiver. Yet surprisingly, I don't despise it. I don't love it, but it interests me. The white musk really is lightening it up and making it tolerable, more of a pale green scent, and I think I can even smell some of the cool, sharp lavender. The violet and lilac, alas, are nowhere to be found. On, dry: Lilac and violet finally peeked through during the dry down. Vetiver is still hanging around, but it's softened and sweetened now by all the other components. I get sweet, somewhat powdery lilac and violets and some shimmery white musk, with an ominous chill from the lavender and an undertone of decay from the vetiver. It's cold and unsettling, a cologne for a refined gentleman whose proper exterior hides a total sociopath inside. In other words: Bluebeard in a bottle. Later: Basically unchanged. The vetiver is softer and the flowers are stronger, but otherwise not much difference. Overall: I can hardly believe it, but I seem to have found a vetiver-heavy blend that even I can admire. It probably helps that all the other components work well for me, but still, I think this is sort of a magical combination of elements, which tames the vetiver and yet retains enough of it to use it to good effect. It's an eerie scent, and I don't think I'm going to rush out and buy a 5ml of it, but I think I'll keep the imp and wear this again.

In the imp: Citrusy, foody, spicy; an interesting combination of light and dark. The mandarin is strongest, very tart and clean, like pure orange oil, but it's mixed with the warm cocoa and black tea—makes me think a bit of a chocolate orange. Other than that, it's quite spicy, and it's hard to pick out what's what—I get tobacco and saffron, but beyond that… ~shrugs~ Anyway, it's surprisingly appealing. On, wet: MANDARIN, earthy cocoa and black tea, with a little dribble of silky red musk beneath. The rest of the spices have really receded into the background, although I do get occasional whiffs of saffron and a bit of smokiness. It's a warm, almost fiery scent, very compelling. It smells strong and powerful to me, which is fitting. I can actually get a sense of conflict here, in that there are a bunch of strong notes that are sort of battling for prominence. On, dry: Red musk blended with the more subdued mandarin, with an earthier undertone from the cocoa and tobacco and a sweeter, smoky-creamy aspect that's becoming stronger as the tonka warms up and kicks in. Saffron pipes up from time to time, but it's just a light accent. It still has some heat, but is no longer fiery. Actually, it's almost comforting. Later: Tonka, red musk and tobacco, with a light, citrusy hint of mandarin and smidge of cocoa. It's actually gorgeous! Very creamy, warm, gently spicy and sweet. It's like the tonka just pulls all those strong, disparate elements together and makes them work. Tonka is apparently the peacemaker in this war. Overall: The "Come and See" oils have been very good to me so far, and this one is no exception. In the imp, it was almost overwhelmingly dark orange and spice, and I thought it would smell too much like Winter of Our Discontent to really impress me—after all, I already have a smoky/spicy/musky mandarin scent, and don't need another one. But. But! This one really won me over as it developed on my skin. By the time that creamy, sweet tonka rose up to tie everything together, I was hooked. I haven't tried 13 or Tezcatlipoca yet, so I can't compare them to this, but I do think this would work for anybody who likes foody scents and/or red musk.

In the imp: Sweet, fruity floral, very cool and pretty—juicy, not heady, and with a definite green streak that makes think of sweet pine. I could almost swear there were berries in here, too! There's nothing that shouts our "LILY!", but this is lovely and uplifting. On, wet: A little less fruit and more floral, and now the lilies are coming out, bright and clean but not soapy. It's very feminine but not fussy, fresh and dewy with a touch of damp green. On, dry: The fruity aspect is back, paired with lovely white flowers and a very pure, clean, airy note that feels like a gentle breeze, wafting through the blossoms. This is springtime in a bottle for sure, full of sunshine and growing things and hope. Later: Gentle, sweet fresh flowers and spring breezes—fainter, but still beautiful. Overall: Sweet, bright, breezy and clean, this is maybe the ideal scent for springtime. It's a beautifully blended floral, never soapy or cloying, with a juicy, fruity aspect that makes it very unique. There's never too much of any single note, and the lilies are elegant and restrained—in fact, I'd venture that even lily haters might find something to love here. I can't vouch for whether this smells like the city of Prague, but to me, it smells like hope, youth and a meadow filled with the first dew-covered blossoms of the new season. Like a lot of light florals, it fades fast, but it's worth reapplying.

In the imp: Cool jasmine and soft rose, with a distinct undertone of myrrh. It's similar to Wicked, but the different variety of jasmine makes this softer, not villainous or calculating. It's still an elegant, feminine perfume, though. On, wet: Jasmine city, which is not a bad thing for me. It smells much fresher than in the imp, heady and sweet with an almost citrusy aspect. The rose and myrrh are very faint right now, though, and as much as I like jasmine, I'm hoping for more complexity. As it is, this is almost single-note jasmine. On, dry: The rose and myrrh woke up on the dry down, so now it's a pleasant, soft floral balance of the three. Rose and jasmine are on top with myrrh beneath, giving this a darker feel. The rose is very and powdery, and when I say "powdery," I don't mean that it's like baby powder, but that it's quite dry and almost dusty to me, like dried rosebuds rather than lush, fresh petals. Maybe that's the "eternal desolation" aspect. Later: Mostly rose, with some sweet jasmine. The myrrh is faint, but still present. It's still a very stately, womanly scent. I keep picturing a beautiful woman at night, wearing a dark and flowing black cloak. Overall: A nice floral blend darkened by a constant undertone of myrrh, quite elegant and very feminine. It's also well balanced overall, especially considering that both rose and jasmine can be strong presences. I think the real success here is due to the myrrh, which is an accent, but strong enough to transform this blend into something more than the sum of its parts. It gives this a mysterious vibe, and it prevents the jasmine and rose from running away with the sweetness. Still, I don't think I'd recommend this one to jasmine-haters.

In the imp: Glowing, bright white flowers—sweet and slightly sharp, very serene and gentle, with a little tinge of honey. It's cool and has a touch of watery green from the herbs, so that I'm picturing this elegant, silvery unicorn in a forest, standing near a clear stream. On, wet: Elegant, white/pale green and floral, with green herbs adding some dimension. The linden is strongest, which gives this some sweetness and a bit of almost citrusy crispness, but overall this is just very light and pretty. It's a very soft perfume, not at all soapy or overbearing, and it has the refreshing coolness of a spring morning. On, dry: Most of the herbs have faded, but a variety of other white flowers came out on the dry down, and they've blended beautifully with the linden blossoms. Joy! It's very clean, ethereal and luminescent, exactly as it should be. I'd almost swear this had some white musk blended in, because it has that same shimmery, pure quality that I usually get from it. Later: Fainter, but essentially unchanged. Overall: Lovely. This really is the essence of a Unicorn, innocence in a bottle. It's sweet (but not TOO sweet) and fresh and slightly cool, perfect for the warmer months. I love white florals anyway, but the linden and herbs make this one unique, very graceful and delicate. My only complaint is that is fades fast, but it's not really a hardship to reapply.

In the imp: Soft white rose with slightly sharper wisteria and just a hint of lilac. It's a very pale, wispy purple floral and quite feminine. It has a dry, old-fashioned quality, almost Victorian, though it's not old ladyish to me. (I have a feeling that association depends on whether or not you've known a lot of old ladies who wear lilac dusting powder. ) On, wet: Not dried up at all now! Now it's a big bouquet of very natural white roses, complete with green leaves and stem, and some equally fresh lilac—not powdery lilac, but the real, glorious thing. This smells like my mother's flower garden in springtime, very innocent and fresh and crisp. The wisteria has almost disappeared, way far off in the background. On, dry: The lilac and rose have swapped, so this is mostly heady-sweet lilac, softened by the roses. The green stems and leaves are gone, so this is less fresh and a bit more powdery—not in a bad way, though. More like that big bouquet of fat lilacs and roses has been saved for a few decades, and is now faded, dry and crumbly. There's a little bit of the wisteria again, and it gives this an almost overripe, decaying edge—very subtle, but enough. Later: Rose and lilac melded together—dry, faint, but sweet and feminine. Overall: This reminded me of Veil, but I liked it much more—it's still a very pale, Victorian-style, lilac-based floral, but I think it plays better with the softer roses and subtle wisteria, because this one is only ever sharp in the imp, not on my skin. The rose keeps the lilac from taking over, and the wisteria plays its supporting role well. It's a ladylike, dignified sort of blend, and it has almost an air of faded gentility to it—a reminder of great fortunes or good times, now mostly forgotten. I can't say that it makes me think of Baudelaire, but it does seem a good fit for the Ars Moriendi section, and I like it.

Note: my bottle of Salome has been aged for at least two years, so that might have an impact on what I'm smelling. In the bottle: Very sharp, strong star jasmine—definitely star jasmine, because it smells very distinct from other varieties—paired with a somewhat more subtle almond and a trace of musk. No oakmoss or sandalwood yet. This is a sexy and sinister scent, manipulative and seductive. While jasmine is normally sweet loveliness to me, this jasmine is the one in Wicked, which makes this feel… um, wicked. On, wet: This one is a morpher. In a complete reversal of most of the reviewers here, the almond comes out big time on my skin, while the star jasmine steps back--still there, still adding a dark and ominous aspect, but definitely a supporting player for all the sugary marzipan goodness. There's a subtle touch of oakmoss beneath, which boosts the darkness here, but that sweet almond makes this almost… nubile. On, dry: There was a brief hellish period during the drydown when this smelled like nothing but the sharpest, dirtiest parts of star jasmine and oakmoss. Thankfully it passed very quickly, and as it did, this scent morphed yet again into something really exotic and beautiful: spicy, sweet, round and full. No oakmoss, but the sandalwood and musk are hitting it off well and merging with the almond and no-longer-pointy jasmine to form a cloud of sexy, heady, come-hither perfume. Later: Drier now, and quite woody, but still appealing. This is mostly red sandalwood and musk, with a faint tinge of the almonds and very little jasmine—just enough to retain that ominous bite. Overall: This scent is perfect for its namesake, because it morphs so much that it seems to be doing its own dance of the seven veils: first frightening and then flirty, then forbidding, then voluptuous, warm and seductive. It's an extremely sensual, alluring scent, with a definite ominous undercurrent—it belongs to a seductress who knows how to get what she wants. I was put off by the very sharp star jasmine in the bottle, but I'm glad that I tried it on and trusted it, because the unpleasant bit doesn't last long on my skin and the end result is absolutely worth it. EDIT: Okay, there's yet ANOTHER phase to this one, and it's the most delicious stage yet: musky almond sandalwood with all the sweetness of the jasmine, but zero sharpness. I was standing in a crowded bakery, when all of a sudden I could smell this wave of warm, spicy-foody sweetness, which I assumed was the baked goods. It wasn't until I got home that I realized it wasn't my dessert smelling so good, but Salome!

In the bottle: Ohhhh, so pretty! It's so beautifully blended that it's hard to pick out notes, but right away, I get golden, glowing vanilla and musk, with a touch of maybe the lily, ambergris and amber—it's almost-but-not-quite like Kubla Khan. I can't pick out anything lorris, and the sea moss is a faint, ghostly, slightly briny note that keeps the sweetness in check. It's a beautiful, warm, burnished scent, like the sunset turning everything to gold. On, wet: A gilded city by the sea. This is less sweet and warm now, and there's some lily and dry white sandalwood and more of that briny moss, making this really complex. I still smell the vanilla and golden musk, but they're more of a golden aura now, rather than the main show. This is incredibly difficult to describe—it's watery, but not an aquatic, it's very sweet, smooth and mellow, and yet quite deep. It has incredible throw for such a light scent. On, dry: That wonderful sweet, golden quality from the vanilla and musk is stronger now, but it doesn't overshadow the beachy combination of the sea moss and white sandalwood, and the amber is down below, adding a different sweetness of its own. I can smell the lily and orris, but they're incredibly subtle here—actually, everything is. It's just perfectly blended, and it makes me feel like I'm staring out at the sea, surrounded by that amazing golden aura. Later: Amber, vanilla, golden musk and lilies, with a very light touch of white sandalwood. Beautiful to the point that I keep sniffing my arm like a weirdo. Overall: Gorgeous, smooth, classy and very golden—a little bit aquatic, a little bit floral, a little bit foody, a little resinous, but it doesn't fit cleanly into any of those categories. This definitely has an air of the beach and the ocean, but that sweet, complex vanilla/musk/amber makes the whole scent just glow with warmth—like a beach at sunset, maybe. I've had unsolicited compliments about it all day, so I'm very glad that I have a whole bottle of it. This will be worn often.

In the imp: Pale pink rose and very strong, dirty patchouli, with a faint undercurrent of the sandalwood. It smells like freshly turned dirt in a flower garden on a warm and sunny day. Very unpretentious, simple but appealing. On, wet: A brief burst of light pink rose, followed by a stronger wave of patchouli and sandalwood. Despite the soft rose in the background, this really isn't sweet or especially floral, because the emphasis is on the strongly earthy patchouli. I smell something almost lemony here from the combo of sandalwood and patchouli, which gives this some zing… hard to tell if it's really there, or if it's an illusion because this smells similar to Namaste. On, dry: Perfect. The patchouli has backed off and allowed the rose and sandalwood to come forward and blend together, while the patchouli is now a much more restrained grounding note—still earthy, but this is more about the garden than the soil. It's warm and lightly sweet, exotic but unpretentious and gentle. Later: Woody, spicy rose, light but warm and sweet. The patchouli is only a very faint undertone now. Overall: Bright, warm, woody and earthy, with a very light and pretty rose to sweeten it up. Even though I quite like patchouli, it was somewhat heavy and dirty for me at first, but on the dry down it becomes a pleasantly earthy base for the drier, spicy rose and sandalwood. This is a good everyday scent, particularly for those who want to be feminine but not floofy or girly, because the rose is very subdued. It's a bit like Namaste without the lemongrass.

In the imp: Pink lemonade! The zingy pink lime and pink grapefruit jump right out in front. They pair very well with the white nectarine, which is giving this a mellow, delicate sweetness, and I can smell a touch of patchouli and musk in the background. A pale pink scent, light and bubbly and feminine, but those background notes suggest depth. On, wet: Bright, tangy pink citrus, mellowed by the juicy white nectarine and rose and complicated by the clean, fresh bergamot and sage. The patchouli and musk give this a nice, almost creamy base… the hedgehog may be ornery, but his musk is mellow to me. On, dry: This is extremely well blended and balanced—no one element stands out or steals the show. The rose really bloomed on the dry down, but it's a soft subtle rose, and it kind of forms the heart of the fragrance now, though all the other elements are in play. The white musk is also giving this a very innocent, clean (NOT soapy) quality that really makes me think of poor little Alice trying to manage her flamingo. Later: Soft, glowing white musk with traces of pink citrus, sage and patchouli. At this stage, it almost reminds me of Oberon a bit—very fresh, very clean and natural. Overall: I expected to be "meh" about this, but I actually really, really love it—it's just perfect for spring or summer. It's effervescent and youthful, juicy but neither too sweet nor too tangy, and the white musk and patchouli give it a depth that you wouldn't expect. It's a very pure, fresh scent, the kind that you could absolutely wear anywhere, and it makes me happy just to smell it.

In the imp: Silky red musk with some very soft spices—sweet, and yet not really. It smells like a combination of a really high-end luxury perfume and my very favorite incense-filled head shop in college. On, wet: This is muskier now, more womanly and… woody? I swear there's something woody in here, like red sandalwood. I get small touches of the saffron and various other spices, but nothing jumps out. It is quite strong and perfumey, but not unpleasant. On, dry: The saffron has really come out, and when combined with the musk and other spices, it really makes a difference, holding back the sweetness and grounding everything. The really perfumey quality is gone, and the saffron just makes this warm and sensual. This is a very red scent to me, but it's an orangey or yellowish red. It's very subtle, very exotic, but quite comforting. Huuuuuge throw, so don't slather this unless you really want everybody to know that you're wearing it, or else apply thirty minutes before you have to go anywhere. Later: The saffron is less obvious, and everything is very well blended with that satiny, sensual musk—there's an incense vibe again, but… it's really nice incense. Overall: Warm, spicy, musky and smooth. Scherezade is exotic in its components but very smooth and well blended--no jagged edges, so definitely a master storyteller's perfume in the way everything comes together. I want to say that this is seductive, but not in the sense of being overtly sexual—more in the sense of personal charisma, seducing your audience into hanging on your every word. It exudes confidence.

In the imp: Spicy, musky honey! It's very sweet but golden and sensual, and it definitely evokes the feeling of being in a hot spice market. I'm getting mostly cinnamon bark (dry, woody bark) and clove, with a little bit of ginger. Reminds me of Plunder, but without the tobacco and warmer and… juicier, somehow. Not at all dry. On, wet: Warm skin musk and honey, sprinkled with sweet spices—quite foody. There's more ginger and less clove now, but something about the way these are combined makes me think of a spicy, buttery, honey-drenched pastry, oozing out honey goodness on your fingers and tongue. So, like, the best baklava you've ever had, washed down with a cup of chai. The peppers aren't a big presence on me, but there's a little punch. On, dry: The honey and musk are basically one creamy unified note now, which is nice—the musk keeps the honey from getting too sweet and sticky, and it gives it this a very languid, hot, sweaty, sexy vibe. Ahem. And still with the spices dancing around, so I guess it's sex with a cup of chai for afters. Later: Creamy, sexy musk with a drizzle of spiced honey. Mmmm. Overall: Cinnamon scents don't usually do much for me, so I wasn't expecting to really like Bengal… but wow, was I wrong. The skin musk made all the difference in the world for me—it keeps the honey well behaved, it ties all the spices together in a nicely foody way and it adds this creamy, silky, sensual quality. I was planning to give this one a perfunctory test before passing it on to a friend, but something tells me I'll be sending her something else instead.

In the bottle: "Regal, majestic and somber" about covers it, but I'd also add that this smells purple, ripe and fruity, both complex and subtle. The first sniff brings me myrrh and plum with some wine grapes, but I can also smell the lilac and plum blossoms, with a faint whiff of booziness from the cognac. These are sweet, rich fruits, marinated in cognac. Surprisingly, I'm not getting much violet from this, but possibly that's because this has been aged. On, wet: The orris, lilac, wisteria and violet come out in a big way, backed by the purple fruit. The plum blossom is fainter, but still adding to the blend, and the cognac and myrrh are grounding this. This is all woman, but not in a frilly or sexy way—this is a confident and mature femininity, sort of queenly. On, dry: Amazing! It's a subtle, heady bouquet of candied purple blooms, rounded out with the plums and grapes and enriched with the cognac. The myrrh is what makes the whole thing work together, providing a slightly ominous base for the scent. It keeps the sweetness in check and makes this a very deep, dark sort of purple—think heavy purple velvet drapes. It's a profound, wise scent. Later: Lighter, much drier, but still a sweet purple scent. It's mostly the florals now, but they're so well blended that it's impossible to pick them out individually, and there's still a boozy/fruity tinge from the mixture of plums, cognac and wine grapes—it's a bit like plum wine. (Everybody talks about the grapes here, but it's the plums that really stand out most for me.) Overall: How happy am I to have two aged bottles of this? It's magnificent. Fruity and floral, boozy and ripe, but never too much of any one element. Maybe it's the aging, but I find it to be really mellow and well balanced—there's a lot going on here, but in a subtle way. It is very majestic and regal, but not at all cold, even with the myrrh giving it some darkness—it's just elegant and womanly and purple and gorgeous.

In the imp: Warm, spicy-sweet and aromatic—reminds me of a classic Oriental cologne. Definite amber, with some cedar and saffron. On, wet: Wow, much more cedar and lemony something (the litsea cubeba?). Not overpowering, but definitely much stronger than the amber at this point. I'm getting a LOT of musk, too. I think "savory" is the wrong word, but this certainly isn't sweet. Hmm. I'm not in love with this stage. Later: Aaaand we're back in balance, thankfully. Amber and musk are most prominent, with an undertone of the cedar and saffron. Now it's really very pleasant, deep and resinous—like I initially thought, a warm, classic Oriental cologne with a slightly exotic tinge. Unisex. Overall: There's a brief funky phase during the dry down that I don't much care for, but it resolves very quickly. Otherwise, it's pleasantly warm, golden and spicy—very nice, but not a total stunner for me. I'd definitely give it a try if you're into amber and musk, though.

In the imp: Oakmoss and leather with orange blossom and the slightest hint of amber. Very green and mossy, confident and masculine. The oakmoss and leather make this sharp, but the sweeter orange and amber soften that edge just a touch. Still, something about this scent makes me think of a sharpened dagger. On, wet: Primarily the sharply green moss and softer, sweeter orange blossom, with some sensual leather beneath. The other florals are way in the background, and there's nothing incensey here yet. The amber is faint, but it's slowly warming up and turning golden. Yeah, this is a sexy, smirking, wicked villain's cologne. On, dry: Sweet, amber-gilded flowers on a smooth base of leather, with the oakmoss still piping up sharply every now and then. Still very chypre-like and masculine, but more gentlemanly—a really appealing, smooth and sophisticated sort of blend, but that leather underneath strongly suggests (not so) hidden kinkiness and very little conscience—he's going to charm you and then do unspeakable things to you. The florals are well blended and indistinguishable from one another—there's nothing that screams "rose" or "orange blossom." Still no incense for me. Later: Sweet amber, incense and flowers, still backed by the leather. This is much more feminine now… maybe it's the despoiled innocent, praying for forgiveness? ;-) Overall: This is very complex and very well balanced on me. It's quite sharply masculine in the imp, with that oakmoss and leather, but once on the skin, it warms up, sweetens up and becomes more charming and androgynous. The leather note is lovely, especially after the dry down, when it's anchoring the ambery flowers and incense, but there is something unsettling about this one. It's very appealing, yet somehow… sociopathic? It's not too mannish for me to wear, but I would like to smell this one on a guy.

In the imp: Heavy cedar and silvery sage on first sniff, with an undertone of leather—very masculine. On a second sniff, though, I get some of the vanilla and lavender, which mitigates some of those stronger notes. This is complex and interesting—very cool and dry to start, which I suppose is fitting. On, wet: Cedar, sage and leather—still very cool and masculine, not at all comforting, but imposing. Already, the cedar and leather are sinking down to the base, while the sage and some lavender hang out with a touch of shimmery white musk. Hmm. That's actually… sort of sexy. It's a little bit herbal, a little incensey, and surprisingly appealing. On, dry: Oh, WOW. The vanilla and lavender have soared to the top on a wave of white musk, a great tag team keeping each other in check--lavender adds freshness, while the vanilla sweetens everything up and the white musk makes it glow. Right underneath that is a very restrained carnation, just adding a touch of spice. Then the base is deep, dark cedar and warm, smooth leather. It's multilayered and complex, and yet all these strong notes just sing together perfectly. Whoever said this was like a bad boy with a heart of gold is dead on. Later: Fainter, smoother, but basically unchanged. (Thank goodness!) Perfectly balanced and blended. Overall: Amazing. This didn't smell all that great in the imp, but when it's on, it's… uh. Heavenly. Which is a little strange for the perfume of the Antichrist, but there you go. This is one of those scents where every single note works, and they all work together to create something glorious on your skin: classy, complex, very smooth and confident. Above all, it's drop dead sexy. It would be drool-worthy on a man, but it's not so masculine that I feel strange wearing it—which is a good thing, because this is a scent I want to smell over and over.

In the imp: Sweeter and more fruity/floral than I expected, as I'm mostly getting the amber what I assume are prickly pear and tulip poppy. I get a little bit of sharpness from the hyssop, but the other herbs are far in the background. It's a lively, sweet, warm fragrance, possibly a bit golden. On, wet: Still a resinous, fruity combination of amber and prickly pear, but now the sage and hyssop and coriander are rising up, green and herbal, adding a lot of crisp freshness, like they've just been crushed underfoot. This smells like a desert, with scrubby, spiny plants and dust and hot sun. The tulip poppy has backed off a bit, but I still smell it in the background, sweet and lightly floral. On, dry: The scent of dry desert breezes, carrying the aromas of juicy prickly pear and sweet wildflowers and distant fresh green herbs. The amber is beneath and surprisingly subdued; it's just giving everything a sweet, warm, golden glow. This has a lightness and freshness that amber scents don't always have. Later: The herbs are gone, but the amber, prickly pear and tulip are perfectly blended into a fruity-sweet-floral. It smells like honeyed pear nectar! Overall: I probably never would have picked this one on my own, but I got it as a frimp and I'm very happy with it. I expected something herbal and dry, but the combination of the prickly pear and tulip poppy makes this actually quite juicy and vibrant. It's a fruity, bright, hot weather scent, sweet but not heavy, and it's perfect for summer.

In the imp: Gah! The vetiver monster from Highwayman is back, and he's stinking up Saturnalia! …Seriously, I've liked several scents that have included vetiver in the blend, but in this one, the vetiver is smothering everything else and it smells really, really rank. (I agree with Violet Chaos: it smells like poop.) It's dark, extremely earthy, smoky and green with a strong edge of decay. There's the faintest after-whiff of something purple, which I think is the violet, screaming for mercy. I wouldn't call this masculine or feminine—heck, I'm not sure I'd call it human. I'm scared to let this touch my skin. On, wet: Putrid. A massive pile of rotting lawn clippings, old tires and fertilizer, dumped on top of a teeny-tiny little violet and then set on fire. I'm holding on to see if the dry down changes this, but as it stands, I'm very glad that I only put on a tiny amount. (Even so, this is wafting like nobody's business. Thank God I don't have to go anywhere today.) This is not even remotely purple or sweet; it's dark green and brown and yuck. On, dry: …Wait. After an hour of olfactory misery, I think I can actually smell some violet breaking through, a faint tinge of purple sweetness in the gloom. The vetiver isn't so poopy anymore, but it does smell very strongly of wood smoke, like a campfire. This is actually tolerable, if not exactly my cup of tea. Still, this is 95% smoke and 5% violets, if that. Later: Campfire weenie roast, with an occasional hint of violet starting to poke through at the three hour mark. I wish the violet was stronger, because what I can smell of it is lovely, but the vetiver is just too assertive to let much of it through. Overall: I hate to knock down a BPAL blend, but Saturnalia is one of the most unpleasant blends I've tried, second only to Highwayman. They both share the same downfall, which is an unrestrained, overly aggressive vetiver that smells kind of nasty in its own right and smothers out the other elements. I'd love to say that this just doesn't work with my skin chemistry, but the truth is that this smelled just as poopy and vegetal in the imp as it did on my skin. I think the real problem is that my nose just doesn't like the smell of strong vetiver. If your nose isn't similarly impaired and you love all vetiver all the time, then Saturnalia will probably be a good fit for you. EDIT: I woke up the morning after testing Saturnalia to find that my wrist smelled like purple, slightly dry and spicy violets, with not a trace of vetiver. Although faint, it was actually a nice smell, and now I can see how those who aren't put off by the vetiver can like this one. However, I think ten plus hours after application is a bit long to wait for the perfume to reach a smell that I like and can wear, so when I want a violet fix, I'll reach for Faith or Violet Ray.

In the imp: Sweet, fruity and fresh floral against a subtle backdrop of blue-green aquatics. I'm getting mostly the melilot (sweet clover) and peach blossom with a touch of rose, but the aquatics are barely there underneath, deepening this and adding interest. This has a breezy, light, feminine feel. On, wet: Very fresh, beautiful flowers, still with a cool, restrained aquatic undertone. The wild rose and green myrtle bloom when this hits my skin, making this less light and sweet and more voluptuous. The clover and fruity peach blossom have stepped back so that they aren't as prominent, but I am also getting a deep tang from the pomegranate and a hint of ozone that suggests the promised autumn breezes. It's the perfume of a beautiful woman, but not a painted lady—this is a very natural sort of beauty. On, dry: Nothing's gone away, but the melilot and peach blossom have come back alongside the rose and pomegranate, while the myrtle is melting into the aquatics beneath. Still quite lovely and feminine, though the overall scent is becoming much fainter—the memory of the beautiful woman, rather than the woman herself. Later: Blended so well that no one note stands out. It's just sort of coolly elegant, yet melancholy. Overall: This really captures the poem very well for me, so much so that I can practically see the Bella Donna herself. Scents usually have "colors" for me, but this one is really more like a portrait—pale skin from the airy melilot, blushing cheeks from the peach blossom, red, red lips from the roses and pomegranate, her crown from the myrtle, her deep sadness from the blue aquatics and the fresh breeze. It's a haunting scent to me—not one I'd want to wear everyday, but definitely worth keeping the imp.

In the imp: Sweet, creamy, both fruity and nutty, and very delicious-smelling. I get mostly the juicy green fig, surrounded by honey, almond and coconut,. This smells like a plate of fresh figs and coconut macaroons, drizzled with sticky honey. On, wet: The fruit, leaves and sandalwood really bust out when this hits my skin, so now they're front-and-center with the coconut, with the sweeter elements tempered by the dry sandalwood and lush green fig leaves. It's less creamy now, and almost exactly like the garden of Eden itself—fresh and green and perfect. The honey and almond are just in the background, biding their time. On, dry: The creamy elements are back, but they haven't elbowed the fig and leaves out of the way at all—it's just a symphony of sweet/nutty/fruity/fresh/creamy/woody bliss. The sandalwood is a nice woody base for all the other elements: sweet honey, juicy figs, glossy green leaves, creamy almond milk. The toasted coconut (emphasis on toasted) dances around all of them giving off these brilliant little whiffs now and then. And for all the foody elements, this isn't heavy or too rich. Later: Coconut is most prominent now, followed by the figs and honey. Fig always takes on a kind of brown sugary smell on me after a while, which in this case blends perfectly with the honey and coconut. The sandalwood is nice and mellow underneath, grounding everything. Much later: Coconutty sandalwood—sweet, dry, toasty wood. Overall: Eden is the right name for this blend, because it smells like paradise. I've been searching for a honey scent that wasn't too heavy or overwhelmingly sweet, as well as a scent that had as much coconut as I wanted. Lucky me, because Eden satisfies both of those needs! It's complex, combining many different elements (fruity, green, creamy, foody, nutty, woody) into one smooth, beautifully blended perfume. This also had great throw and wear length, so I was walking around all day trailing a little cloud of warm, coconut-fig paradise everywhere I went. (And people noticed, too, because I got a ton of compliments.)

Plum juice, lilac, leather, and a smattering of herbs. In the imp: Sweet lilac and supple leather, with just a touch of herbiness. I don't really get any plum at the moment. It's slightly sweet, slightly masculine and really rather gentle. On, wet: Much more leather, but the lilac isn't overwhelmed at all. I actually don't know how to describe it, but the two of them blend together very well. There's a shadow of plum beneath, but it's very faint. It's somewhat cologne-like, mostly because of the leather and the twinge of herbs, but it's a young man's scent. On, dry: Juicy plum (similar to the one in Prunella) and slightly powdery, sweet lilacs, with an undertone of leather. The plum came out in a big way on the dry down, so now this is very purple, distinctly fruity floral and gender-neutral. It's lovely, as the fruit, flowers and leather blend well. Later: A big bowl of ripe juicy plums next to a bouquet of lilacs cut from the garden. The plum is really the heart of this now, and the leather and herbs have largely disappeared. Overall: Like Prunella, this scent is smooth, very purple and has a youthful, Springtime feel about it. The leather gives Bensiabel some depth and keeps it from ever getting girly, despite the sweet plum and lilac, and it's a very nice leather, mellow and soft. It's a good complement to Prunella, but given the choice, I think I'd probably pick Prunells for my big bottle purchase, just because it's more feminine and creamy. Still, Bensiabel is very good and different, a refreshing and unusual combination of scents that's worth smelling just for the yummy lilac-and-leather combo.

In the imp: Tart blackberries, green leaves and sweet/herbal heather with a healthy aquatic/ozone zing to it. This isn't as sweet as I imagined it could be, and that's good. Just from sniffing it, I can imagine being out in the Scottish countryside, rambling through the heather and smelling the ocean breeze. On, wet: The heather is definitely rosier on my skin, and it blends nicely with the blackberry, which is fresh, tangy and fruity. I'm still getting green leaves, although not as much of the sea air—just enough to keep the sweeter berries and heather in check. This is a beautiful, slightly wild and ruggedly beautiful place. In fact, this reminds me just a bit of the Jersey Devil, in feel if not in substance. On, dry: Very rosy, lovely heather. There's only a trace of the ocean breeze and greenery now, but the blackberry is warm and sweeter, like delicious blackberry preserves. This is mellow, round and very lovely, a pale rosy purple scent with a trace of subtle green. Later: Blackberry jam and a fat bouquet of heather, still with that lingering hint of green. It's sweeter and much fainter, but still delicious. Overall: Given my own Scottish roots, I just had to try this one—and I loved it. It's subtle and beautiful, feminine but totally unpretentious, and it really captures the spirit of the place, from the sea air to the heather on the hill. It's sort of an instant pepper-upper, because it's hard to smell this bright, cheery scent without feeling a little bit happier.

In the imp: Rose, rose, rose, rose! There's just the faintest trace of green, which doesn't smell like grass to me so much as green leaves and stems, but on the whole this is a sweet, dewy, freshly-cut rosebud. It's a very pink rose to me, oddly enough (maybe that's what you get when you mix white and red…), and it definitely smells like a bud rather than something in full bloom. It's surprisingly light and delicate. On, wet: The roses bloom when this hits my skin, so no more demure little buds; these are big, fat, lush and beautiful roses. It's like rolling around in a bed of fresh, damp rose petals… and just when I think this is all rose, here comes that promised hint of green grass to accent the rose and keep it from getting too heady. On, dry: A little bit sweeter, but otherwise unchanged. This is just the heady, intoxicating scent of sitting in a rose garden, and it really brings back memories for me—my mother, grandmother and next-door neighbor all had very lush rose gardens, and this perfectly captures the way they smelled in the early summer. It's the closest thing to a real rose scent that I've ever smelled in a perfume. It's also a wet, dewy sort of rose—not at all powdery or dry, nothing like old lady perfume. Later: Fainter, sweeter, but still the smell of a rose garden. Overall: The most glorious, velvety, true-to-life rose I've ever smelled. Though I've frequently enjoyed rose as a supporting note, I could never imagine myself going for such a rose-centric scent—until I tried this. My one quibble is that it doesn't last all that long, but it really isn't a hardship to slather myself in something that smells this good.

I can't say that I have frequent nightmares, but I've had a lot of trouble getting restful sleep lately, and I got a frimp of Baku in my most recent order, so last night, already anticipating another tough night, I thought, "Why not try it?" I'm a huge skeptic, but I decided it couldn't hurt to give it a shot, and so I dabbed Baku on my wrists and temples last night before going to bed. Now, I'm not going to lie. Baku is not the most lovely BPAL scent I've ever smelled. It's potent, and it smells mainly of strongly herbal lavender and equally strong anise. However, I wouldn't say that it's a bad smell, and in fact, I have some very strong childhood memories tied to lavender and anise, so I found the combination to be very calming and reassuring. Pungent, yes, but in a mind-clearing way. Interestingly enough, I had the most solid, restful night of sleep last night that I've had in weeks. I didn't toss and turn, and I woke up feeling refreshed. Only time and repeated use will tell if it really works for me, but I'm definitely intrigued and would recommend it to others. Mind you, I don't think I need a big bottle of this and I'd never wear it as perfume, but I'll keep my imp. Another bonus: as strong as it is, Baku seems to disappear while I'm sleeping, as though it was never there. When I woke up, the only thing I could smell on my wrist was a little whiff of the Glasgow that I wore yesterday.

In the imp: A pale lilac scent, surprisingly sharp—flowery perfumes don't usually strike me that way, but this one does. First sniff is lavender and ylang-ylang, but behind the sharpness there's more mellow sweetness from gardenia. Smells like a fresh-picked bouquet of flowers. On, wet: Still a bit sharp, with a big burst of ylang-ylang and lavender again, but it begins mellowing almost instantly as the orris, lilacs and gardenias rise up. The wafts of this are already turning quite beautiful—sweeter, softer and mellower. I agree with previous reviewers who called this a Victorian perfume, because it has that feel. On, dry: Oh! Now this is gorgeous—soft and ethereal, like a spring wind bringing you the scent of the blooming flowers from the garden. I don't know quite how to describe it, but the lilac and gardenia have melded into this sweet, heady scent that combines the best of both of them, with touches of violet and orris and a very, very subtle sandalwood beneath--very gentle, very serene and ladylike. As always, the ylang-ylang disappeared on me after putting in a memorable early appearance, but I don't miss it. Later: Lilac and sandalwood, with faint wisps of the violet and gardenia. It's powdery now, but in a good way—not baby powder, but just that natural powdery quality that fresh lilacs have. It's already faint, so it's the sort of smell people have to be close to you to notice. Overall: In the imp and wet, it's not my favorite floral, even though I expected to love this based solely on the notes. It's really quite sharp before it dries down, with that one-two punch of lavender and ylang-ylang. Still, once the gardenias and lilacs bloom and the lavender blends in, this is beautiful, delicate and very feminine, and the lilacs in particular are so good that I'll want to keep this imp. Unfortunately, it calls for frequent reapplying, because it's a light scent and not especially long-lived, but frequent reapplication is worth it.