hypatia

Yggdrasil smells like a breeze blowing through a forest -- faint underbrush-herbiness and birch (or maybe sassafras) bark.

In the imp: Hey, it's the same black tea note as in White Rabbit! Just applied: Green green grass. Very fresh, like standing on a great big just-mowed lawn. After a few moments the grass scent morphs into green tea. After a while: A demure, light, breezy floral (there's that peony) with the tea still on in the background. It's very springlike -- it brings to mind drinking tea outdoors on a pleasant day with flowers blooming, which, given that it's a Mad Tea Party scent, makes total sense. Verdict: This may yet make my large-bottle list -- if not this spring, perhaps next spring. A good floral for non-floral types.

I love BPAL's orange blossom and it loves me back. I was debating whether to try this one in my next order or save it for later, but the labbies sent a frimp of it in my Lupercalia order, thus saving me the trouble of deciding. Thanks, Lab! All the orange blossom blends I've tried so far have different personalities: Catherine is elegant, Vicomte de Valmont is hoity-toity, Dracul is seductive, Vixen and Jezebel are foody and cheerful. Les Infortunes de la Vertu is...stern. It's feminine but with an "I mean business" aura to it. It makes me think of a severe, terrifyingly beautiful French schoolmistress, raising a perfect eyebrow at you as she regards you from across her desk. There's something at once dominatrix-y and classic about it. It makes me pull myself up straighter and feel all assertive and intimidating -- and poised and sophisticated at the same time. I think I'm in love with it. I'm going to wear this to work the next time I feel like I need an extra shot of backbone.

I think this thread deserves a revival so Luperci can be added to the list. It's got a bunch of men's-fragrance components (juniper, oakmoss, a wood note) and a warm earthy patchouli-sweetness that keeps it from getting too rugged. All-around sexy, not so butch that a woman can't pull it off, but definitely androgynous. And it's very close to the skin in a "yes, lean closer and sniff me" kind of way. Also, I second what everyone else has said about Dracul. Ditto Saint-Germain.

On me, Dragon's Blood is like smooth, oiled metal surrounded by heavy flowers (gardenias, or maybe lilacs), with a whiff of cherry cough syrup. It's interesting -- especially the smooth oiled metal note, which isn't exactly metallic, but I don't know how else to characterize it -- but it's not me. The florals remind me of the flower note in Sacred Whore of Babylon, which is just about the only BPAL I've had to wash off my arm. Oh well. I'm glad I got to try it; maybe one of the other Ars Draconis scents will work out better.

I loved the description of this so much that I ordered a bottle despite fears that it would turn out to be too strong, too manly, and/or too sweet (I'm a bit leery of honey notes). I should not have been worried at all. This is great. In the bottle it's wood with a bit of a men's-cologne vibe to it. I think I catch a whiff of the oakmoss and juniper -- there's something green in there, and something sweet, but mostly, wood. On first application: Foresty. Then the wood note comes out. It's very light; I have to hold my wrist right up to my nose to smell it. A little later: Whoa. Is that the beeswax? Yes it is, and it's fabulous. My eyes are practically rolling back into my head. Oh my. The beeswax and honey are melding with everything else, making it hard to tell individual notes apart, but mmmmm. Later still: The greenery comes back, very subtly. Oh, there's the patchouli at last! It's interesting to contrast this with the patchouli in Alone -- that was sweet-spicy patchouli, whereas this is outdoorsy evergreen-edged patchouli. Like a clearing in a conifer forest, only more perfumey. Drydown a couple of hours later: Wow, it keeps morphing! Now it's woodsy-herbal with a faint floral tinge to it, with the earthier notes in the background. For some reason my nose is thinking "Lavender!" even though I know there's no lavender in it. Could that be the Samson root? And I can still smell the beeswax if I concentrate. It's as if Saint-Germain (aloof, dignified, lavender) had a one-night stand with Wilde (patchouli-laden herbal), in a room lit by beeswax candles. Aww yeah. This is a definite thumbs-up, and I hope we see it again some future February!

I had such a strange Jekyll-and-Hyde (no, make that Hyde-and-Jekyll) experience with this scent. It went like this: First sniff: Dark, spicy, and earthy. If it were a color it would be a really deep brown with a mahogany tinge. So far so good. On, initially: Whoa, that's STRONG. The cardamom comes out in a great big rush. It melds with the patchouli into something that reminds me of molasses -- dark-brown and sweet and earthy and potent. It's like hyped-up Christmas cookies (the cardamom, probably.) Unfortunately, it's too much for my tastes. I love the smell of cardamom, but maybe I don't love it on me, after all. It's clobbering me over the head, and this after a really sparing application. Later: It calms down eventually to a nice sandalwood note, but the initial overwhelming phase lasts for hours. BUT: On a whim, several days later, I added a few drops to my bath. Surprise! Diluting it kind of spread the notes out so I could process them separately. I could actually smell the patchouli, and it smelled wonderful. The aggressive cardamom retreated into a pleasant background spiciness. I went to bed smelling lovely. And the next day there was still a faint, warm, friendly patchouli-scent lingering in my apartment, sweetened a little by the flowers, with the sharp edge taken off. I think it's just super-strong on me for some reason, but it's great at less than full strength. So I'm going to hang onto the bottle and experiment with carrier oils, or maybe mix it into some unscented lotion.

Oh, I really wanted to like this one, because I dig historical scents. Based on the notes, I thought Bess might turn out to be like a more complex version of Catherine (which I love) or like Hungary water (rosemary and herbs steeped in alcohol, one of the earliest alcohol-based perfumes). But on me the note that predominates is...grape. I get an initial whoosh of rosemary, a very fresh-smelling rosemary that made me think of roasting things on a spit -- not that it smells like cooked meat, but definitely a kitchen-herb rosemary. Maybe a breath of mint, as well. And then, grape. And it stays grape for the duration, with some florals peeking through. Darn pesky grape note. If it weren't for that, I'm sure I'd be able to smell all kinds of wonderful things, but my skin apparently really likes grape. One learns something new every day!

In the imp: Demure tea roses. Just applied: Rose, with a strange, almost ... briny undercurrent. The first thought that popped into my head was "Hmm, is that supposed to be the Thames in the background?" But the mystery note disappeared after a few minutes, before I could identify it. A while later: Roses, and nothing but roses. Hours later: Roses. Very pretty, but too rosey for my taste.

One-word review: Yum. Longer review: This is like a less-sweet version of Lust (red musk without the cherry-cola-esque notes I get from it) with Morocco's spices floating through it. And saffron. That's the only individual spice note I can pick out. It's more red-musky than Morocco and somehow a little less warm (but not much), and the drydowns are similar: the musk leaves behind a soft cocoa-like scent, very lovely. A fellow BPALer who knows how much I love Morocco recommended this, and she was completely right in her prediction that I'd like it. Scherezade and Morocco really are like two sides of a coin; Scherezade is more of an "evening" type of perfume and Morocco's more "all day long." I may end up alternating between the two of them and keeping one or the other on hand for warm Middle Eastern spiciness.

Just applied: Almonds. It reminds me of Jergens' original lotion scent, which was cherry-almondish. I'm not a huge fan of almonds, but I'm willing to see how it develops. Later: Oh, it morphed nicely! Now I'm getting the skin scent with a little light honey-floral note floating over it. It definitely stays close to the wearer; except for the occasional little whiff, I have to stick my nose right up to my wrist to detect it. This isn't exactly sexy in that "I'm floating in a cloud of irresistible perfume" way, but it's seductive nonetheless -- anyone else sniffing it would have to do so at very close range. Now if only I had someone to test its effect on...

Biblical witch, priestess of Astarte, and general troublemaker. A true role model for today’s upwardly mobile Modern Woman. A gloriously decadent blend of honey, roses, orange blossom and sandalwood. Jezebel is a bright, energetic scent: sweet candyish citrus-and-rose drying down to a fainter honey scent with the roses in the background. It's cheerful, girlish, rosy and a bit foody -- and the weird thing is, none of those are qualities I usually go for, but Jezebel is growing on me nonetheless. There's something winning about it. It probably won't go on my big-bottle list, but it's surprisingly enjoyable.

Keats's odes were one of my first literary loves, so I'd have tried this even if I'd been dubious about the notes. Luckily, I wasn't and it all goes together beautifully. It's a light, barely-there floral. Amazingly (given my chemistry, which seems to play up rose scents and makes some florals sickly-sweet) it's not heavy or cloying at all. It's kind of aquatic, actually. The rose doesn't take over (yay) and I can't really pick out the lavender or the wisteria -- or the sandalwood, for that matter. The musk is there in the final drydown. And on me it's lasted all day without being overwhelming. I wouldn't call it sad, exactly, but it's certainly not a bright bubbly cheerful fragrance. It does have an aura of salt-sand waves and beauty that must die, now that I think of it. This Keats fan is impressed. (Will Ode to a Nightingale be next? Please, please, please!) I'll definitely keep Ode On Melancholy in mind if I'm in the mood for something floral or Romantic-poet-esque!

Wow, this one is hard to pin down. It's forest-like but not evergreen. It's woodsy without smelling like wood (there's none of the pronounced sandalwood or rosewood notes that feature in some of the Lab's other woodsy blends). It's herbal but -- on me, at least -- not green or leafy. I don't know what it is, but it's a very pleasant, calm, plant-like fragrance. If it's the World Ash, it's the World Ash in a soft glimmering twilight where everything looks a little transparent. I think what I'm smelling is birch. I'm having the oddest scent-flashback to childhood memories of birch beer, or maybe chewing gum. (Was it birch-flavored gum? Is there such a thing?) Verdict: Fascinating.

First sniff: Iris. Reminds me of Hermes's Hiris, a bit. After a while: Iris, spices, amber. I can just barely smell the berries in the background. It ends up as a soft, refined amber with a hint of iris to it. Interesting; if I didn't know the name, I'd have associated it more with France than with Italy. It intrigues me enough to make me want to finish the imp, though I don't think it'll go into regular rotation.

Wow. I've found my next 5ml bottle. Dracul is cool and minty and outdoorsy at first. Then it's all warmth and cloves and orange-spiciness. Both of those stages smell wonderful. I've been looking for forest scents and spicy scents, so it's neat to have both of them combined into one. But I think my favorite thing about it is what happens hours later when it's almost faded away: what's left is an indefinable warm basenote, hard to categorize but just delicious. I think the tobacco's part of it, but not the only part. The only thing I can think of to describe it is that it smells like me, only better. I would totally wear this on a date with someone I wanted to get (ahem) closer to. There's no stage of this I don't like, and it's so complex! I don't think I'd wear it year-round -- it's definitely got a cold-weather vibe to it -- but I'm ordering a bigger bottle forthwith. Must... restrain... self... until... holiday... bills... are... paid...

Definitely in the cologne family, with that lavender-citrus-aquatic quality to it, and whiffs of jasmine in the background... yes, the Vicomte is Wilde's haughtier, airier, aristocratic French cousin. It's like Wilde minus the patchouli and thyme, which makes it less earthy and more of a traditional cologne. On the whole, I think I like Wilde better. But this is nice all the same.

I love Morocco. It's perhaps my favorite BPAL so far. Wearing it is like wrapping oneself in a very fine, soft, lightweight, incredibly warm wool shawl and going to a spice market. It somehow manages to smell practically edible without being foody -- probably the combined effect of the spices, the carnation (which adds an almost creamy note to the mix), and the light buttery musk, with the sandalwood keeping it from tipping over into the "gourmand" family. It also has the advantage of always smelling lovely on me no matter what time of the month it is; wonky hormones don't seem to do anything to it (YMMV, of course). It's sexy, but it's also become one of my main "comfort" scents. The last of my initial imp got me through an exceptionally difficult and draining week, and I promptly ordered a 5ml when it ran out. And the next bottle may have to be a 10ml!

Vixen smells like cookie dough. Unbaked ginger-and-orange cookie dough, to be exact. Something about it immediately signals "BAKING!" to my nose. Must be the ginger, because neither orange blossom nor patchouli make me think of cookies. It's nice, and kind of vixenish, but I was hoping for something a bit sexier -- and on me this is more "relaxing afternoon making cookies" than "vampy and flirty." Pity.

Oooh. Dee is a little sweet, a little sharp, very woodsy. The sweet/sharp part comes out at the very first -- the leather's there, and a lot of incense. I can tell that there's rosewood, but it's not overpowering, the way rosewood sometimes is on me. I'm not sure I like the first stage; there's something intimidating about it. After about half an hour, I start to get the parchment note. I was sure I wouldn't be able to spot it, but it's there. Amazing! The parchment warms everything up, and the scent becomes softer and more inviting and more lived-in, if that makes sense. After several hours, the papery note mostly goes away, leaving a softened version of the initial incense-and-rosewood. And finally it dies down into a lovely, smooth tonka bean finish, a bit like Saint-Germain. Not every BPAL turns into a story in my head, but Dee does. The image it conjures up is the entryway of a house (an old, dark house, with lots of hallways, little wooden tables with paper on them, and an incense burner). The house is on the edge of a chilly evergreen forest, and night has fallen. The house is kind of forbidding and creepy at first, but then you're shown into the library, which is warmer than the rest of the house and full of fascinating old books, and you realize that you and the austere alchemist are going to get along after all. Oh, and I have to agree with this: Helarctos hits the nail on the head! It's totally a Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell kind of scent. It's kind of like Mr. Norrell's library in the very first chapter, now that I think of it.

In the bottle, White Rabbit smells exactly like hot sweet black tea. Uncanny! On me, it stays more or less constantly tea-ish. The honey is fairly prominent early on, and I was initially afraid it was going to be too sweet, but I shouldn't have worried; the honey settles down after an hour or so, leaving a nice milky tea fragrance with a little spice to it. It's very comforting -- you can practically hear someone saying "There, there. Don't fret. Here, have a cup of tea." I don't wear tea scents all that often, but I'll definitely hang onto this imp for whenever I'm having a stressful day. [update: White Rabbit has really grown on me. So wonderfully cozy. It's made my Larger Bottle list, maybe for next winter. And today I'm getting a previously undetected ginger undertone from it, which is an added bonus.]

For maybe the first fifteen minutes, Rome is very much a cool green herbal with rose in the background. I wouldn't have thought roses and juniper berries would be such a good combination, but they are. I love the juniper, which asserts itself without turning the whole blend into Eau de Gin and Tonic. It's fresh and springlike -- definitely the countryside outside Rome rather than the city proper. But then it turns into straight-up rose, and stays that way for the duration. I think my skin just likes to amplify rose notes, because the same thing happens to me with Wolfsbane and Water of Notre Dame.

In the imp: Eucalyptus, with a faint hint of citrus around the edges. Initial application: Eucalyptus, whooshing right up my nasal passages. And then there's the pine. I second (or third) the suggestion that this would be a good scent to wear when you have a cold. After 5-10 minutes: The orange comes out. It's the sweet juicy inside of the orange more than the peel. The eucalyptus has died down, but the pine is still there. This Jabberwocky is a surprisingly cheerful monster, which is fitting, I suppose -- I always did like how Tenniel's illustration makes the Jabberwocky look too goofy to be really menacing. Sadly, it doesn't last very long on me. But I bet this would be nice to add to a bath, especially first thing in the morning on a chilly day.

I like both sandalwood and vetiver, so I thought this one would smell good on me, but something about my chemistry messes it up. There's a faint green note in the background, but it gets drowned out by scorched wood and -- unfortunately -- armpit sweat. The armpit-note goes away, thank goodness, but I'm left with the burnt wood. After several hours, there's also soap. Bummer. No deep greens for me -- it smells like I'm in a forest after a fire has burned away all the undergrowth, and then some rain has fallen to make the ground damp. I really hope it's not a case of my skin reacting badly to vetiver, because that would be a great pity. I'll have to try some of the other vetiver blends to see whether the same thing happens.

This was a gift imp from the lovely Fishwomon. In the bottle, Hellfire smells kinda sorta like leather, but I'm starting to think that leather is one of those notes that either disappears on me or else my nose just doesn't recognize it for some reason, because I can't detect it after applying the oil. Initially, I get the cherry scent others have noticed, and the brandy. The tobacco comes out in the drydown. It turns into a dry, sweet, tobacco scent; I think there's some wood in the background. I don't smell smoke from it, but I can almost taste the smokiness on the back of my tongue when I sniff my arm. This is so evocative. I'm getting mental images of dark wood paneling and deep red paisley-patterned wallpaper. Or -- I know! I once read an interview with Edward Gorey in which he said his favorite genre was "the sinister-slash-cozy." That's what Hellfire is: sinister/cozy. Dark and warm all at once. I initially thought I wouldn't wear a scent like this very often, but there may be a 5ml bottle in my future.