Blithgunde

Clermont has a clear bitter opening that slowly develops a rosey sweetness. The rose builds and blends seamlessly with the opium tar create a bitter-sweet scent, evoking Autumn twilight. So lovely! The rose is definitely a Damask Rose, rich and intense, and an equal partner with the opium. Once the scent develops it stays the same for several hours, then fades gently away. Clermont has become one of my favorites this summer. It's refreshing in the heat and humidity, undemanding, and gentle without being bland.

In the bottle Interfector smells like something you'd mix with oil paints; strong and sharp and resinous. The oil is thin and clear and sinks into my skin, where it blooms suddenly to a bright sweetness that hangs over a sharp woody base with a tobacco patina. Over time the sweetness softens and settles into the rest of the scents while the frankincense comes up and twinkles. I am surrounded by a scent that stamps itself on the air as a distinctive and self-contained presence. It is as if I have generated a gentlemanly Edwardian doppelganger. Ah yes, it's good to be the apex predator.

OMG! Tinfoil Hat is C3PO's cologne. It's not a scent for carbon-based lifeforms, although it might work for Jamie Hyneman. Very metallic, lots of ozone, a sharp smell like battery acid, and a little soapiness. It's very strong. I can taste the metal in the back of my mouth when I sniff it. I think of bright halogen lights, whirring sharp edged machines, yellow warning notices, and cabinets of explosives. It didn't seem to moderate at all after I put it on. I didn't want to sleep in it so I washed it off. But it wouldn't wash off! It just softened down to something ozone-y and aquatic that reminded me of the body spray my teenage nephew uses. I can't imagine wearing this under ordinary circumstances, it's just too metallic and pungent on me.

Death Cap smells just like an almost done compost heap when you turn it for the last time. It's a deep, earthy, primal scent. Very alive. As it dries it softens and becomes sweeter and smoother without losing that fresh earthiness. To me the oil expresses the concept of the fungus in the soil, then the mushroom coalescing, and finally rising into the air and releasing soft and powdery spores. I do wear Death Cap when I'm gardening but I find I often reach for it on work days since it counteracts the sterility of the office building where I work. A comforting compost heap in a bottle.

The lab sent me a frimp of Wicked (thank you!) and it was love at first sniff. Wet I just smell vetiver even though he is not listed in the notes. Maybe he is Wicked's bodyguard because he fades right away as a deep heavy myrrh sweeps in, jasmine carrying her train and rose trailing way behind. The rose, myrrh, and jasmine drydown to a deep delicious scent with a don't mess with me vibe. Worldly, dangerous, lovely - I'm ready for my own bottle!

Rose! Lovely old-fashioned roses spring out of the imp, enhanced by the citrus notes and balanced by the myrrh. After a while the musk makes himself felt. If I concentrate I notice the jasmine, but on me it's gentle and distant. Drydown is a delicious musky myrrh rose. It's soft and rich and sophisticated. I can imagine wearing it when I want to wrap myself in something traditionally feminine and attractive.

At first Black Phoenix smells like almond filled croissants, then honey wells up all over everything, followed by roses. Ye gods, everything yummy swirling around me! Eventually, after an hour or so, musk and something woody settle in, and the scent becomes warmer and sweeter with a hint of powder. Black Phoenix has become one of my go-to oils because it morphs so, and I enjoy all the stages. It's a seductive meal of many courses and does increase self-love - I love my wrists to excess while wearing it.

Bezoar is a wonderful spice resin. It's a chord of deep woodiness, cardamom, and high clear resins. They combine into a bright clear delicious scent that reminds me of what the inside of my violin case smelled like. I find I like to wear Bezoar on days when I have some little thing to celebrate: it being Friday, or dinner at a favorite spot. And .. . I love the way the name sounds!

For me Ogygia is one of the fascinating lab creations that tell a story. You begin by getting off a boat on a very green island. Sea air and sea weed give way to an intensely green, sappy note; as if you are walking up a steep path inland. Then you smell pines and a faint sweet waft like a nearby flowerbed. There it settles to a creamy crisp refreshing scent. I could keep putting this on all day just to smell the progression from just applied to drydown. Ogygia reminds me of Irish Spring, but only in the best way. Ogygia is what Irish Spring aspires to be. They both have the same elements: aquatic, pine, and green. Bur Ogygia is the cream to Irish Spring's skim milk. So if you've ever enjoyed Irish Spring, as I have, you could really love Ogygia.

Marie exactly fits the description, tea rose and violet. The violet is strong and sweet, not a shrinking violet at all. The tea rose is a perfect tea rose, and smells just like a fully blown blossom at around ten in the morning on a humid June day. Combined in equal measure they are a lovely sensual scent. Marie is one of my favorites for spring and summer.

Squirting Cucumber smells like lush new grass to me. It's a wonderful bright green scent for Spring.

I wear Clemance or Hermia. They're both spicy floral scents, and they get even better after dancing. Must be that body heat!

Oberon, Fenris Wolf, and Rhinotoros all smell wonderful on my husband.

Chaste Moon starts out as a bright citrusy floral, like certain daffodils, with a hyacinth-like note. As it dries it mellows and becomes creamy and more herbal. A faint musk hovers like a mist. This is a cool delicate scent. It becomes almost lemon-y over time but stays delicious.

The Little Bird is bright fresh and sweet. The night air smells just like night air, and threading through it is an intensely sweet fruity scent along with fainter green scents. It fits the concept perfectly, I feel like I'm standing under a tree by a swamp at sunset, in the early Spring. Underneath last year's bent and broken thistles the yellow flowers of marsh marigold dot the greening grass and butterwort tufts the mud. Above me a robin begins to sing his spring song, but quietly, a little tentatively. He's practicing, not performing. The night air rising, the bird singing, the budding branches against the darkening sky all combine in a piercing sweetness, the magic of Spring. The moment lasts long enough to take a walk in the park, but fades quickly.