jasmine

First applied, this is a high, thin floral scent with a slender support of wood underneath, like an arching bridge by night. The flowers are pale blue and pale violet in scent, but more blue than violet, which is interesting. It’s the first floral that has struck me as being so blue. Concentrating, I detect the frankincense as a grace note to the top, but it doesn’t stand out particularly, and I would not have noticed it without concentrating. Similarly, I spot the lily, but it is unobtrusive. Virahotkantita is lovely in its blend and balance; no single note stands out. The overall effect is one of restrained elegance. It does not invoke sorrow so much as self-containment and sophisticated grace. Over a few hours, it faded from a firm, quiet presence into a ghostly memory born on scent, with just a hint of soft flower and wood remaining. Even then, it retained an ethereal beauty. Although there are other scents that are more noticeable and distinctive, the subtle qualities of Virahotkantita -- that pale, unusual blue-purple quality -- make it worth returning to over time.

Fresh from the bottle, I like it immediately. There’s a blend of fruitiness here with a hint of floral that appeals strongly to me. I can pick out the orange most of all. Once Fire Pig is on my wrist, I notice the wood, and the wood is lovely -- without being overwhelming, it provides a base for the rest of the scent to spring forth. The citrusiness fades down after a few minutes, but nothing amps up to take its place. As a result, the scent is low, and it has a lovely balanced quality. I also note that the dragon’s blood is, as promised, only a splash. Even after a few minutes have passed, I couldn’t detect it if I weren’t concentrating on finding it. Given more time, the fruit reemerges, but it isn’t so straightforward as "citrus". There’s a trace of peach here, a trace of tangerine there, but it all blends gracefully together. This is a complex scent, if I track down various notes, but it doesn’t announce itself to the nose as complex. It seems perfectly suitable to its name -- an exotic-yet-playful celebration of the new year. Except... it has no staying power. Within an hour and a half, it was almost undetectable on my wrist. I am very startled. It was so pretty! It’s still pretty on the cotton that I used to apply it -- perhaps this is best used in a scent locket. Still, I’m very glad to have purchased this scent, and it is with pleasure that I announce another victory for the Lab. I know I will wear it often this spring.

Sophia smells like ground cover, although I couldn’t tell you what kind. It just smells like low leaves rambling across the ground in the woods. There’s an earthiness to the smell that I hadn’t anticipated. I would blame it upon patchouli, except that the lab description swears there isn’t any. Perhaps it’s the musk instead? I’m not sure. The musk is getting aggressive. I expected the white musk that I’ve enjoyed in other scents, but this is black or red -- not the same as Czernobog’s nostril-slayer, but certainly not white. I still can detect something flowery over it, but the musk is quite powerful. The flowers are jasmine and lavender, but they’re darkened so much by the musk that they smell grey instead of white. The ground-cover greenness is gone into shadowy flowers and musk. Frankly, the whole effect is rather weird. I feel like I should dislike this smell, but I don’t quite. Somehow, the flowers make the muskiness tolerable. I don’t outright like it, but I do think the whole affair is rather intriguing, and I find myself sniffing at my elbow repeatedly to try to figure out what Sophia has done now or what it’s doing next. Although I’m glad to have tried it, I don’t see myself wearing this again. While the flowers are making the musk tolerable and interesting, I don’t trust them always to do so, and if the musk in this scent comes out on a full rage, I’ll be miserable for having put it on.

My first thoughts after applying Nyarlathotep were, “Whoops -- oh, no -- CRAP -- argh, have to clean that up!” which would be because the imp squirted straight out of my fingers and I dumped Nyarlathotep everywhere. Initially, Nyarlathotep struck me as a very high-pitched scent. Once I took a few more minutes to clean up the spill, it seemed more woody on my skin -- not woodsy, but a thin, slightly exotic blend of green woods. The observant will note that this doesn’t sound a thing like the lab description. I don’t know what to tell you -- what I smelled is what you get. Usually, I’m the first in line to complain about smelling like a full ashtray where incense is involved, but this is rather pleasant. I can’t detect anything that announces itself as ozone, either. I didn’t apply Nyarlathotep lightly, but it’s staying green and thin and present without being offensive, which is nice. Right now, I rather like this, but I do take note of what it’s supposed to smell like, and I recognize that it may go evil on me without warning. I’m going to wear this with caution in the future... well, what little I have left.

When I first apply this to my wrist, it is a broad, warm scent with obviously sensual intentions. I’m rather anxious, since experimentation has shown that skin musk on me is usually a bad idea, but I’ve become a believer in trying anything I can get my hands on... so... yeah. Here goes. Luxuriant is a good word. This scent is sprawling all over my wrist like a big, sleepy cat. Myrrh is the most evident aspect, but I can pick up the ylang ylang nearby, and, to my surprise, the skin musk hasn’t gone screaming and evil. Yet. I will give it time. Time passes, and there is still no raging evil. In fact, after fifteen minutes, this scent remains broad, luxuriant, and sprawling. Since the lab’s description demands a response, I report that, if anything, it seems like an afterglow scent: that period of time when people are lying around feeling good and warm and terribly pleased with themselves. The myrrh is muting down, now, and the scent is turning velvety and quiet. In its velvetiness, it becomes sufficiently subtle that one might mistake it for my own natural scent rather than a cosmetic addition, although sniffing my arm and comparing it to my wrist demonstrates that it definitely isn’t. This scent has staying power. So many of the BPAL scents metamorphose on me, and that can be a bit frustrating, because I will find that I enjoy them in one phase and then not in another. La Petit Mort doesn’t do that, and it increases my approval dramatically. Once it settles into the velvety myrrh-and-ylang-ylang phase, it stays. The ylang ylang adds just a touch of lusciousness to it that I do like. I’m not sure that I will wear it often, but this is a scent to revisit in the future. Checking other people’s reactions against it couldn’t hurt, either.

Hail, the peach! And, to my astonishment, it doesn’t immediately smell like fake peach pastry syrup (which is what happened with Imp) but smells flowery and sweet around the peach. It’s still a touch artificial, but in a pretty way. From moment to moment, I believe in this smell, fail to believe in it, and believe in it all over again. I don’t seem to have quite the right skin chemistry for BPAL peach, but this is good enough to be deceptive, especially at the moments when it shifts toward being a bit more perfumey-flowery and a bit less fruity. The amber top note and the musk underneath flesh out the peach and give it complexity. It doesn’t strike me as winey at all. Most telling of all, I keep smelling my wrist because it’s pretty. I don’t know yet whether Aglaea will grow on me or lose my interest, but right now, I’m willing to give it a shot.

Highly perfumey when first applied. A bit woody, a bit floral... no fruitiness. Warm and dusky and sensual. Shortly afterward, layers of resin take over. The smell lightens a bit simultaneously. Definitely a powdery amber. Mutes down to be very, very amber, and I can’t detect anything else. Now, instead of being sensual, it’s completely powder. Within fifteen minutes, Brisingamen has gone to sort of the same outdoorsy tenor that the Lion has, but with no spice to make it interesting. Such a pity.

When first applied: forget black, that’s pink! It’s a rich, dark pink with a lighter pink above it, but it’s an astonishingly pink smell. It isn’t precisely bubble-gummy, but it’s very sweet, and it smells like there’s fruit blended into the flower, though no specific fruit -- just a broad fruitiness. After a while, something dusty and dry appears under the lotus. I can see now why the name "Black Lotus" was picked for it, but it isn’t sandy so much as it is dead. It’s suitably named. This is also strong: it survived detectably over eight hours. The sheer pinkness of the smell is a bit too much for me. It didn’t actively offend me, but I think I’m just not a lotus fan. I need lotus to be an underlying component rather than the active primary ingredient if I’m going to appreciate it.

Initially, this is a high-pitched scent that strikes me as resinous, which is a peculiar combination. As soon as it touches my skin, it settles into a smooth, clear, pale yellow blend that is surprisingly pretty. The aquatic note in this is the same one found in Danube; it doesn’t have the same startling beauty as Danube, but it has that same transparent quality that I appreciated so much there. (And it is a reasonably strong aquatic, though there’s nothing fishy about it.) I find myself checking and rechecking my elbow. This isn’t a scent that says “me” to me, but it’s undeniably lovely. Despite the wood and leaf, the lilies and aquatics are dominant, and it doesn’t seem like an autumn scent to me. It’s a spring rain scent. Over the course of its slow fade, this scent never really loses that quintessential loveliness. This is subtle and fresh and appealing, and I approve.

Smells like exotic dirt: ah, patchouli. I haven’t learned to pick out most of the other notes yet, but the patchouli is really enthusiastic. Given a few moments, the blend warms, the patchouli backs off, and I discover to my surprise that I like it. It’s a low, mysterious scent. With many scents that I try, I find that the scent immediately suggests an environment -- scents for a winter day, scents for after work only, and so forth -- but I really have no immediate impression from this scent. It’s a calm, composed scent that seems dark brown in hue. It’s had both a warm phase and a cold phase. I like it better in the warm. As it goes cold, it thins out and seems sparse. The warm phase had power; the cold phase seems frail. It’s starting to smell earthy again, which is, while quite expected, not particularly appealing. I have no desire to smell like dirt.

On the wand, it’s slightly spicy and rather sharp. On my wrist, it melts into a thick, furry scent with multiple intersecting elements. The clove is very strong. This is a dry scent, and I wouldn’t describe it as sensual. The dragon’s blood is basically asleep right now, though I can pick up a touch of what I recognize as BPAL cherry. It’s a sour, slightly off note -- there’s no true fruitiness at all to this scent right now. The dragon’s blood resin must be comparatively very slight, because it is contributing spiciness without contributing any of its characteristic full, fruity weight. This continues as it began: spicy, slightly sharp, and dry. It isn’t metamorphic, and it has good staying power, but I’m just not drawn to the smell itself.

Loud on the wand; quiet on my wrist. After a moment, it manifests in a low, slightly fruity tone. I detect woods and pines here (the notes don’t reflect pines, but I can still pick them up at first). It’s very nice. This is a very warm, rich wood scent; I think it’s the dragon’s blood resin making it so very warm. The pine fades out after a bit, but the sheer woodiness of it stays. I’m startled by how much I like it. The description sounds very complex, but it doesn’t smell anywhere near as complex as it sounds. I find myself sniffing my wrist over and over because I’m so surprised and pleased by this scent. It isn’t feminine at all, but it isn’t masculine either. It’s sophisticated without being haughty, and I love its warmth. The wine isn’t obtrusively alcoholic, and the two notes that concerned me (musk and leather) aren’t popping out of the mixture. Really, nothing is unpleasantly obtrusive in this blend. It’s all warm halls and hospitable grace, and I am delighted by it. Goes a bit soapy a couple hours later... darn. Still, not bad soap. Just less pretty than it had been.

This is acrid and sharp on the wand, but once it reaches my wrist, it goes all prickly. There’s some floral in this, but I can’t place it off the top of my head. Checking the notes informs me that it’s violet, but it doesn’t smell the way I expect of violet. After a few minutes, the violet becomes prominent and rounds out in a voluptuous fashion. The vetiver remains prickly underneath. This doesn’t have the unpleasantness that I usually associate with BPAL violet on my skin, but it hardly seems licentious to me -- it strikes me as a haughty, distanced scent. There’s no sexuality to this at all when I wear it, and it isn’t a pretty scent, either. It’s sort of antiseptic, even if it doesn’t smell outright like toilet cleaner. I don’t actively dislike Saturnalia, but it’s definitely not for me.

Fresh on my skin, I smell... nothing. Not quite right -- there’s a transparent wisp of floral, but really, I can’t smell anything of note. This is very odd. Given a moment, it starts coming in, but very softly, very subtly. Pele is not going to be an impressive scent -- this is an inhale-and-concentrate scent, a ghost of ethereal tropical floral across my elbow. What I perceive is fleetingly lovely, but so fleeting! Given further time, there is still really no scent on my arm. What I can pick up doesn’t have quite the same beauty as before; it’s just a transparent trace of... what? I have no clue, and I haven’t a prayer of saying anything useful about something that I can’t detect. How disappointing. I give up. Still, I want to like it, from the bare tinge that I could catch. I’ll try to come back to it in summer and see if it will manifest more in hot weather.

This was in my first order from the Lab. I remember being disappointed at not liking it, but I didn’t apparently review it, and I don’t remember much about it, so now seems like a good time. It’s a sharp, yet not overly sharp spice combination. I recognize the saffron, and there’s the musk underneath it, though it isn’t an unpleasant musk. This is distinctly exotic. Given a couple minutes, the musk arrives with a roar. I see why I didn’t like it -- the musk is much too heavy for me. This doesn’t strike me with the same sewer-y “oh freaking gods what is it GET IT OFF” reaction that Czernobog did, but I detect the exact same musk here, and when the spices kick out and the musk kicks in, I don’t want to be anywhere around it. The musk just continues owning and owning and owning the scent... ugh. That’s fine. I was taking a shower today anyway.

I expected something high-pitched and unpleasant, but instead this is a simple, warm (not spicy, just warm) medium tone that seems a bit masculine to me. Given a bit of time, it layers quietly to itself and stops being so masculine. I would almost swear I had a floral on top, now, though there isn’t one in the notes list. The mints are polite and do not announce themselves. This is nice, but it’s difficult for me to describe it to myself in a way that will make it come to mind later. It’s not generic, but everything I have to say about it sounds generic; this scent blends together so well that no aspect of it is obtrusive. I need to learn to recognize the scent of ambergris alone so I can try to pick out the ambergris and the oakmoss. It still strikes me as masculine, but in a nice, unintrusive way. Good enough; I’ll try it on somebody else.

That is strange. I can’t say exactly what I’m smelling, but it’s a blend of spice and citrus that I can’t remember ever smelling before. (The elements seem familiar -- the result, unfamiliar.) It’s not a prickly spice, but a warm, soft buzz. Immediate reaction: I don’t like it. This is too peculiar for me. As the buzzy spice fades, this grows on me a bit. Without a notes list, I find it hard to determine what spice I’m smelling, even though it seems so familiar. Took a re-sniff of the wand, and then wandered off to the spice cabinet. Did some comparision checking in the cabinet, and it seems to be cinnamon. Why was that so hard for me to place? Resorting to the forums, I see people are citing coconut and lime. The citrus doesn’t seem precisely lime to me -- there is lime, yes, but it’s a citrus blend, and it seems a bit more exotic than just lemon-lime. No one seems to be getting that funny spice reaction. The spice has faded out, and I’m getting something creamy under the citrus now, after enough time to sort through three pages of forum reviews. Although people are citing coconut left and right, I don’t really think it’s coconut; it’s just creamy and smooth. The citrus starts fading out, and the cinnamon comes back. I suppose there might be a trace of coconuttiness about the smell, now, but it isn’t pina-colada coconut, it’s just a trace of coconut milk.among a wider white creamy scent, and there’s still a light sprinkling of cinnamon. After the initial cinnamon-citrus blast fades, I found this kind of nice, though I’m still not sure I’ll reach for the imp with any speed.

If I say "this is a dry, tawny smell," I know it looks as though the name is completely controlling my review, but that is the initial impression. It is a lightly spiced blend of rich, yet not heavy amber. For me, this scent evokes the smell of summer wind blowing through dry grasses. It isn’t a vegetative scent, but it suggests vegetation all the same. It’s a free, enticing, breezy scent. At home, the dogs used to smell a little bit like this after running through the back field at noon. Smelling this makes me feel happy and relaxed and liberated. It’s completely unisex, too; I wouldn’t bat an eye at smelling it on a man, but it doesn’t seem out of place at all on me. This scent feels out of place in winter, but it will be a spring and high summer scent for me, I think... something to bring the feeling of summer into the office when I have to be working instead of out playing.

On the wand, this is dark, sweet (without being sugary), and rich. On my elbow, it is much the same, and I am startled by the beauty of this scent. Everything balances so well that I can’t be confident which aspects I can detect best; the orchid and the rose most, I think, with the sandalwood beneath them, but everything blends wonderfully. This is a much-praised scent on the forums, and I can readily see how it deserves its accolades. It just grows lovelier over time. Rather than smelling layered, it smells complete and whole, like the scent of a single fruit that grows in some countryside that I have never visited. I am appropriately stunned. This isn’t a metamorphic blend. I’m learning that it’s hard to know what will stay in one scent-form on my skin, and what won’t, but that I generally like the ones that stay put best. It grows quieter as it lasts, but it doesn’t mutate at all. I can tell I’ll be wearing this again in the future.

This scent is gorgeous. I can detect the apple, the rose, and the honey, and the ylang ylang buoys it all in a flowing wave of scent. At first, this is a very juicy scent, but after a few minutes, it dries down and becomes more subtle. The apple fades away; the ylang ylang grows more prominent. The scent goes from being reddish-gold to a deep reddish magenta. This isn’t bad, but I am disappointed; I really liked the first stage. As an evocation of Eve, however, this transition works wonderously. At first, there’s the gorgeousness of Eden, lush with fruit and splendor; then it fades, and what remains behind is darker and sexier. Time passes. The honey is completely gone, but the apple has slowly worked its way back into existence, and the apple combined with the ylang ylang is a low, voluptuous, sensual smell. It has a medium throw and decent staying power. I like this.

I don’t know what is in this, but it’s quite distinctive... musky, yet a second-skin scent all at once when it is first applied. A very physical scent. After a bit, something higher pitched manifests, and I am reasonably sure that I smell frankincense -- or some other high, cool mint, at least. Beneath the frankincense is a faintly spicy melange of resins and musks. With a name like this, I had been afraid that Sacred Whorewould be obnoxiously loud, but it isn’t. It isn’t soft, either; it’s a medium-strength scent that possesses confidence and grace all at once. What this reminds me of, actually, is Lucy’s Kiss. I tried it recently and concluded that the rose seemed out of place in the midst of the spices. By contrast, this is a beautifully balanced blend in which no note is obtrusive. I very much approve. The throw gains power as time passes. After a while, the lower part of the blend tapers out, and most of what I can smell is resin and frankincense. At this point, what remains is very reminiscent of Penitence, and that raw physicality from the beginning has entirely evaporated. I won’t complain; it’s nice, though I’m not sure it’s me.

First applied, Danube gives me a shock: not only doesn’t it seem like its description, but it does seem like another scent’s description entirely. It reminds me instantly and intensely of tulips and cut grass, to the point where I wonder if I have Amsterdam instead. Fortunately for my confidence, the effect doesn’t last more than thirty seconds or so. (After the cut grass effect faded, I took a moment to smell the wand again, and the wand still smells like cut grass. How bizarre!) What circles up next is no less attractive, though, because a wash of low, lovely aquatic notes ripples through the smell. The floral remains convincing through all of this, even as it metamorphoses from one to another. Danube is is the first aquatic I’ve really liked. Instead of overwhelming me with a salty aquaticness, it carries a scent like a freshwater river covered in flower petals. The effect is downright gorgeous. The throw is present, yet subtle, and refreshing in its grace. I’m not confident that I will wear this often, but I can see it as a scent for a late summer night, something cool and liquid in the steamy evenings. Really, this is gorgeous. I recommend it as the aquatic for people who don’t like aquatics.

On the wand, this is so high-pitched that it’s almost ephemeral -- the ultrasonic of perfume: no less loud, but too high to hear. Once touched to my skin, it metamorphoses instantly into a cool pink cloud of scent. Given a bit more time, the pinkness of the scent shifts from a pale pink down to a smoky rose. (Not literally smoky -- not even a trace of incense or smoke scents here -- but it’s the color evoked in my mind.) It’s a full, lush rose, but without the raw beauty or savagery of a red rose scent. It doesn’t have the conviction of Zombi or some of the other rose blends, though -- while it isn’t actively artificial, it does seem like a rose scent instead of the scent of a rose. The scent is very straightforward, with no layering whatsoever. Moon Rose is nice enough, but there are other Black Phoenix roses that I prefer.

On the wand, this is spiny and high-pitched, but it immediately warms once it touches my skin. I’m inclined to think that there’s orange blossom in here, but a quick check of the ingredients informs me that I’m wrong. The spices are very nice. They clothe the rose in a warm, elegant haze, subduing the floral nature of the scent in favor of something more intangible. Lucy’s Kiss has sophistication without haughtiness -- a casual sophistication: the innate class of a woman to whom it has never occurred to be unclassy. As time passes, the rose seems a bit misplaced and forward in the scent. It appears above the rest of the smell, but this would be pretty enough with the spices alone. As it is, it’s too high-pitched and it doesn’t quite seem right to me. It’s a nice enough blend, but I’m looking for something more.

Disclaimer: I have an old imp of Seraglio, sufficiently old that it has the black-bordered label with a black satin cord instead of the paper flag label. It may have aged funny, and, as a result, this may not be characteristic of a fresh imp. Sweet. Sharp. Strange, yet not exotic. It’s a blast of high-pitched fruity floral straight to the brain -- not actually fruit, but something sweet enough to be fruit. Eek. This is way too powerful. Fortunately, first impressions are just that, or I would be scraping my wrist raw in terror. After a moment, it settles down into a darker, lower floral, and something spicy manifests. The rose is quite detectable. Above the floral, however, there is still an astringent draft of alcohol that seems misplaced -- this would be very elegant and seductive without it, but as it is... not so much. The entire effect is a bit artificial. The artificiality doesn’t stop it from hinting at sex but it’s a clumsy, pawing kind of sexiness instead of a seduction. In the end, I just don’t see myself wearing this again. It’s too blatant for what it is, and it seems a bit off. If I wind up with another Seraglio imp, I’ll test that one separately to see whether this is attributable to age, or whether it is simply a failing of the blend.