aberrantvirtue

I've never been disappointed by a bay rum from the Lab. It's the one note I will always be willing to blind buy, no matter how "interesting" the scent. So this was an easy choice. After arrival I let it sit and settle for a few weeks...it's one I didn't want to spoil with the "rawness" of turbulence in the mail. And I'm glad I bought it, I'm glad I waited, and I suspect I'm going to be very glad as it ages! Wet this is the sharp aftershave smell of a high-end barbershop, a place with hot lather shaves and barbers who know how to use texturizers. The bay rum is astringent and assertive, but the woody campfire smoke provides an almost imperceptible roundness that keeps it from being harsh or crystalline. As it dries, it sweetens, becoming a rich, warm cloud of lived-in mid-century modern comfort. The kind of scent that evokes John Coltrane and sazeracs and unearthing a sweater that still, fleetingly, smells like the salt and smoke of the last bonfire of summer. There's a burnt caramel to it, like the clove in the bay rum once dreamed of being in a dulce de leche instead. It's a scent that sits close but hypnotic, luring you in and then holding you close in its cashmere-laced flannel arms.

I ended up ordering this on a whim, and now I think it may be the perfect Thanksgiving scent. The mix of Tombstone and pumpkin leather has immediately evoked the sense memory of a long drive home after a holiday dinner, childish face still sticky with the remnants of pumpkin pie and whipped cream as I dozed to sleep in a station wagon blasted by a heater that only had one temperature, high. I love that this is a scent that reminds me of how a pumpkin pie tastes, rather than how it smells as it's baking!

[2023 Version] This smells like an afternoon at the Dickens' Fair. Cinnamon sugar warmed on toasting nuts floats like a dream, cardamom chai steam fogging the windows of the tea shop. Crumbs fall from thick slices of gingerbread and spice cake to be crushed underfoot as children revel in their spoils. It's all warmed by the allspice and nutmeg wafting from the wine mulling over a small stove. I'm suddenly and eerily reminded of the smell of the Haunted Mansion's ballroom at Christmas, when the giant gingerbread house looms in the spectral party. Call this then the signature scent of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

I wore Hearth daily for a couple of months last year and then shoved it to the back of my storage box and forgot about it because the weather was warming up and Hearth was far too heavy for spring. Tonight, with a cold snap in the air, I pulled it out again and oh what marvels nine months of aging have granted. The pipe tobacco and chimney smoke have mingled and married into the rich smell that permeates the soft wool blanket tossed across the worn leather easy chair in a study that has become a personal sanctum. The cherry wood is a spicy-fruity note that lightens the warmth instead of pulling it down, like the difference between heirlooms and "antiques."

A woody, mature vanilla. It's rich, nuanced, and smells of incense rather than candy. The vibe is old handkerchiefs, scraps of slightly frayed ribbon holding together bundles of faded-at-the-edges love letters, half-melted beeswax candles, and softly romantic witchy girls. Bonus: layers nicely with my favorite sea salt spray, which has bergamot notes. The hair gloss pulls the citrus into a hug that makes the whole thing almost-but-not-quite smokey.

Ohmygosh. So, once upon a time there was "House of Mirrors." Part of Carnival Noir, the House of Mirrors smelled sharp and clean, the citrus and amber leaving that almost tingly 'glass cleaner' feeling on its passing. This scent might be the string of lights framing the door of the House of Mirrors. The citrus is softer, but still twinkling brightly in the distorted crystalline reflections. The amber floats around it like a hazy halo, while the musk and pumpkin rind hover in reminder of the Halloween of a loved childhood memory. This is a scent for lengthening nights that chill unseasonably warm days, and the laughter of children who will soon be taller than you.

Pulled this out of my archive and immediately remembered why I wore it daily for six months. 11 years of aging has given this beauty a complexity and depth, darkening the original bright astringent notes into a rich-if-medicinal melange. Threaded through them is a brown sugar sweetness laced with a drizzle of bourbon and vanilla. This is the most delicious and elemental version of a traditional aftershave (think Old Spice but nuanced).

My first sensation is an electric sugar sweet, like Kool-Ade or Jello-o before it's set. There's a cool sharpness to it that I think its the mint, but it's more of an icy tone than a minty note. It flirts with the breakfast cereal like lemon-tang of the candy that reminds me of Sticky Pillowcase (a personal fave). The amber seems to show up as a warm faint tootsie roll note, not quite chocolate (but the chocolate we have at home). All in all I'm sent back to claymation holiday specials and twinkling lights with fragile glass bulbs.

Sweets to the Sweet smells like my favorite sugar from BPAL, the one in Midway. It's like the dusty, crack sweetness of Midway with out any of the other smells. Wet, it's reminding me of gummi-bears, and it takes about a half hour before I can smell any of the honey. I am definitely getting that lemon oil thing.

This was a gift from a friend who originally thought she was giving me Jack. This is nothing like Jack. That's a good thing. (Not that I've smelled Jack yet.) The instantaneous reaction I had to this scent was that it smelled like "instant light" charcoal, like is used for hookahs and incense burners. Every so often now I'm getting a back hint of cedar. And it's the first scent that's had any real throw on me.