madame royale

Was this His coming! I had hoped to see A scene of wondrous glory, as was told Of some great God who in a rain of gold Broke open bars and fell on Danae: Or a dread vision as when Semele Sickening for love and unappeased desire Prayed to see God's clear body, and the fire Caught her brown limbs and slew her utterly: With such glad dreams I sought this holy place, And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand Before this supreme mystery of Love: Some kneeling girl with passionless pale face, An angel with a lily in his hand, And over both the white wings of a Dove. A pale, delicate, truly angelic blend. A scent created to emulate Adonis' halo of beauty: fragile, distant, and radiant. Rosewood with Sicilian lemon peel, red Mysore sandalwood, pale musks, sweet mountain sage and a dusting of lily, night-blooming jasmine and orris. AMGP is overwhelmingly white floral, with the woods rounding it out. I can barely detect the lemon peel and none of the sage. Musk reveals itself in the dry-down. I assume this oil is inspired by the Oscar Wilde poem (of the same name) that he wrote in Florence. It is very much on the mark, as AMGP reminds me of something I smelled at the Farmacia Santa Maria Novella many years ago. Classic, feminine, old-world. Around Easter, I love buying white lilies, as they are so beautiful and fragrant, but by the end of the day their scent gives me a headache. Unfortunately, this oil has the same effect.

There was a brief mention of this on another thread, but thought I'd expand upon it. I'm thinking of gifting 2 people some BPAL, one of whom is definitely pregnant, the other is not yet sure. Should pregnant people really avoid essentials oils? Which ones? I can't begin to fathom which BPALs might best be avoided. Any suggestions on how to wear the scents off of your skin and hair (besides a scent locket b/c the one friend does not like to wear jewelry)?

Hello, I've been lurking for quite a while now, but decided to come out b/c all of you seem so helpful and knowledgeable. Although I've already placed my order (and am impatiently waiting), what would you recommend for a scent that would engender a yearning or longing in other people (not me, the wearer!), with a touch of wistfulness? Probably something subtle and quiet as well....Thanks!

Queen Mab takes me straight back to a very specific moment in college. It was twilight, the first temperate evening in early spring. I had just come out of the library after many hours hunched over my books and stopped to stare up at the faint light of stars winking down on me. There was a magnolia tree nearby, its branches casting a long shadow. I stood for a long time breathing everything in. I could smell the promise of summer and, at the same time, saw my latent future unfurl before me. Such a sweet, but fleeting moment of clarity. I wish, now, that life would always hold that sense of limitless potential. At least I can revisit that feeling with QM. QM—young but wise, sweet but dry—is my favorite floral. I’ll always keep some on hand.

Ok, thanks for the tips everyone. My understanding was that perfume oil is comprised of essential oils. Guess I'll have to inquire with Beth.

I don’t know what I was expecting from Sin. Maybe something a bit sweeter, something that incorporates the visceral pleasure of sinning. All I got was the aftermath—the penance in church—which is not necessarily a bad thing. The sandalwood is so dry I was half afraid it’d leech the blood out of my wrists. Cinnamon’s there, but not as a prominent note like the sandalwood and patchouli. I like it. I like churches (that’s the Catholic in me) and their smells. Even though the Monsieur said it smells like BO (what does he know—he says my vanilla lotion smells like roach killer), I’ll keep Sin for layering.

Jebus. I’ve tried Veil a number of times and each time it turned out terrifically harsh on my skin. All I could smell was a bitter lavender (not the lovely lavender of Villain) and the same original-green-Palmolive scent that I got from Scorpio. I don’t mind soapiness sometimes, but this…this was beyond soapy.

Make no mistake—I’m not a citrus or a white floral kind of gal. Then why do I like Baobhan Sith so much? Could it be because the grapefruit, while strong at first, fades quickly into the background? Could it be because the apple blossom isn’t so overwhelmingly creamy and flowery? Maybe it’s because the white tea is the dominant note. And maybe it’s because the ginger gives BS such a nice zing. Whatever the reason, I will be buying a bigger bottle next spring—oh yes, this is a warm weather scent to me (and I agree that it’s very reminiscent of White Linen)—but it may be a nice pick-me-up in the dead of winter. Although BS strikes me as being somewhat “mature,” it possesses a crispness that mitigates the old-lady feeling. BS is my light scent of choice: once bitten, now smitten.

Tintagel is a merry scent. It seems to be composed of all top notes: minty pineyness of juniper and other greenery; high sharpness of leather; and the bright juicyness of the wine. After some time, a musky smoke wafts out. I’m not getting any cinnamon, but the wine is a spiced wine for sure. Sigh. I might have liked Tintagel if I liked juniper, leather, and wine. Yes, that’s right, put all the notes I don’t care for in a scent and you wind up with Tintagel. I certainly don't want to smell like a banquet hall. The quest for my holy grail oil continues.

Kabuki captures the visuals of kabuki theatre in scent form. Bright red cherries covered with fuzzy vanilla and musk mimic the striking makeup—white and deep reds—usually seen in kabuki. Smells like the way Cherry Nibs taste. It starts with quite a bang (take a deep whiff of ammonia and you’ll get the same effect, though not smell, mind you), but finishes with a whimper. I’ll admit the anise is nice, but there’s an imbalance with too much an emphasis on musk IMO. I’ve also decided I don’t like cherries in my scents. No repeat performance for me.

I find violets to be too sweet for me, but Marie’s violets are quite fresh. The rose gives it a spicy kick, while the tea adds some dimension. This is a surprisingly straightforward scent, from start to finish. According to Antonia Frasier’s revisionist biography “Marie Antoinette: The Journey,” MA was a fiend for flowers and liked to wear floral essences as opposed to the musk everyone else at court wore. This is definitely Marie Antoinette at the height of her reign at Versaille—languidly playing her harp, enjoying her garden at Le Petit Trianon—not the little Hapsburg girl growing up at Schoenbrunn under Maria Teresa’s iron fist. I’ll reach for Marie whenever I need a little sweetness. Oh, read the biography, it’s great. It will debunk all of the myths surrounding MA and give you a more realistic and, hence, engaging picture of a much-maligned queen.

Bon Vivant is quite the sybarite. It’s a slightly tipsy strawberry blonde who just wants to have a good time; you don’t even have to buy her dinner first. When you first meet her, she *sparkles* so--you don’t mind if she spills her drink on you. Then you get to know her a little better and realize she hasn’t any depth and giggles a bit too much. Her perfume? Sweet, but you probably won’t respect it in the morning. Time to leave the party, alone.

A quiet, verdant scent, The Hermit is. It’s pungent in the manner of plants (and the air around these plants) after a rainstorm. The plants are a mystery to me--strange flora that hasn’t yet been categorized. Something is also lurking beneath the surface, a darkness. Hermits aren’t necessarily benevolent, and many can be menacing after all those years of living only with their thoughts. The woods are lovely dark and deep, this imp I’ll definitely keep.

Villain is Victorian in all of the classic Victorian ways: stiff, proper, buttoned-up. This strikes me as being a scent for a man who cares about his toilette. There’s nothing harsh about Villain—all smooth and soft. Lavender is the predominant note, with the musk giving it depth. Unfortunately, the citrus (lime, was it?) fades quite fast. On me, it smells like expensive Fortnum & Mason lavender soap, on Monsieur Royale, it smells très soigné. I would have him wear this on civilized and formal occasions. His response? *shrug* "Smells good." High praise from him. 5 ml is on order.

This was the last imp I tried since, quite frankly, I had no idea what it was and what notes were contained therein (thanks for the freebie Lab goddess). Two words: burnished wood. Cedar, to be exact. This is not the same cedar of Lear. Where Lear was freshly shaved cedar slapped around by a bunch of herbs, KA is a deeply polished cedar, rubbed with a little lemon and peppercorns. Lear is spring & summer, KA is fall & winter. The vetiver is most noticeable when wet, but when dry it prevents the wood from drying this scent out too much. This would be unusual and elegant on a woman, urbane and polished on a man. Very nice. Very, very nice. Me likey. Will use up my imp and decide from there.

Scorpio smells poisonous to me—something about it buzzes. Like a Scorpio, this oil is biting, but subtly sweet; overwhelming, but aloof; green, but dark. Although I admire Beth’s ability to translate the essence of a sign into a scent, particularly this one, Scorpio does not appeal to me aesthetically. Pity, really, as I truly wanted an oil for my sign. What does this smell like on me? Original green Palmolive.

This was also a freebie in my first order and it happened to be the first BPAL oil I ever tried. My first reaction was that it was dry and unremarkable. I must have been anxious to try all of the other *flashier* imps since I set this aside without much thought. Now, the prodigal nose has returned to it and I don’t remember it smelling this good. Strike that, I don’t remember it smelling this great! In the vial, it’s subdued spicy: woods, cinnamon, clove, nutmeg. Wet, very woody and dry, but a green woodiness. As it dries, wildflowers pop up along with a sweet cinnamon. The moss lends a brightness to this oil that otherwise would have been overshadowed by the woods. This is what you’d smell like if you spent a day wandering through a forest, rolling around on mossy earth, picking flowers to put in your hair. I, myself, don’t do this very often, but it sure doesn’t hurt to smell like I do. If you love subtle (but long-lasting) non-girly girl scents, this one’s for you. A big bottle for me please.

Oh dear. Here's a very prosaic review for you. I hate to say it, but to me OPaP smells like...Old-Port-O-Potty, the cleaner used in every public restroom. You know, the pink stuff. It's hard to wax poetic for bathroom cleaner. Oddly enough, when dry, one wrist smells like this chemical, the other wrist smells nicely spicy and cinnamon-y. Is it possible that each arm has different chemistry? Maybe I'll try this one again some other time--I'm a little too stricken to try it again in the near future.

Sometimes, I just don’t want to smell like a bouquet of flowers. Or a basket of fruit. Or a spice rack. Or wine. Or anything else that can be defined or categorized. Sometimes, I just want to smell like me, only better. I’ve never found that scent until I tried Incantation. Wet, it doesn’t smell like anything truly discernible: something green, something sharp, something fresh. On, it blossoms into nothing truly discernible: something soft, something clean, something deep. Although it has flower-like qualities, I wouldn’t say it’s floral, and it’s certainly more complex than any floral I’ve met. This is a scent that you can own, where nobody will immediately recognize the notes of what exactly you’re wearing. It will eventually become, quite simply, your personal smell. Beth deserves every hosanna bestowed upon her—Incantation is a revelation. A 10 ml bottle for me, post haste. ETA: After wearing more of this, I still love it, but it's turned a bit too masculine for my daily use. I'll still buy a big bottle for monsieur royale on whom this is delicious.

By title alone I was expecting something dark, perhaps brooding. How wrong I was. I was surprised by a very vibrant, sweet lemon. I like lemon well enough, so I gave it a whirl. Lemon was all I could smell, it was so overpowering. It then morphed into…eau de Pledge polish. A bit disappointed, I forgot about it and went to bed. This morning, another surprise. Pledge was gone and in its place was an exquisite amalgam of cedar (which I adore) and sandalwood, with the barest hint of a very sophisticated, non-grungy patchouli. There was still a trace of lemon, but only enough to brighten the woodsiness. Ah, I get it now. You can’t have a shadow (the woods and patchouli) without light (the lemon). This is an intriguing blend and a larger bottle may be in my future if I can get through the Pledge phase.

Wine soaked leather indeed. Wanda isn’t as dark as I imagined it’d be—it’s quite bold and round. Very juicy. Uncomfortably close to being too sweet, but redeemed by the leather. I can smell the violets and rose only on the exhale, oddly enough. After many hours, it’s faded to a subtle muskiness. Love its unusual composition and its sassiness. Definitely will purchase another imp, if not a large bottle. I’ve stored my 30-odd imps in a cedar-lined box and every time I open it, one particular scent keeps tantalizing me (and I can’t believe one scent can overpower all the others). Wasn’t able to pin-point it until now. Wanda is one strong, sexy bitch! She hurts so good. ETA: I've come to realize I don't like leather in my scents, so Wanda's been brought down a notch, but she's still pretty impressive.

Midnight, though whitish in feel, is neither a young, innocent floral nor a proper, old-ladyish one. Rather, it is full-bodied, wise, and…triste. There's an infinitesimal trace of powder around the edges--not enough to turn me off--which eventually disappears. Midnight is incredibly well blended, as its notes are simultaneously familiar and alien to me. The refrain is: what is that scent? The woman who wears midnight is witness to the vicissitudes of life and all of the disappointments therein. She prefers to live alone, looking at the world by moonlight, and takes comfort in her nocturnal garden. What is that scent? Lovely.

Lear is to me what the madeleine was to Proust. It’s redolent of cold, overcast fall days; the quiet of a library in the late afternoon; the roughness of a man’s stubble. There’s nothing floral or affected about this scent—it’s for the anti-metrosexual. Wet, it’s bracing and herbal, and entirely edible. Dry, it’s a clean, clean, clean cedar. As much as I would devour any man wearing this, I am keeping it for myself. This is what a bookish bobo of either sex would wear. This non-girly girl who dislikes powdery florals and treacly fruits adores Lear: it will be my first big bottle.

This is a lazy scent, revealing itself in slow, sluggish stages. Bayou reminds me of early summer in the south, before endless weeks of rain and humidity wreak havoc on the season, but warm enough for me to appreciate an occasional breeze. Wet, it is sharp like an undefined citrus, but not citrusy. It’s like the flash of light reflecting off of water—quick and almost blinding. As it dries down, the air thickens into a green cloud. Yes, that’s the moss and trees choking me. I want to turn away, but I catch the scent of water and flowers. It’s coming to me with a torpor that makes it almost still. Breathe deeply. The water and flowers aren’t going anywhere, and neither am I. Don’t rush off, stay around and enjoy the bayou with me.

You all have me convinced this is something I want to do, even though I have yet to receive my first BPAL order! I gather that this is quite a long and involved process, particularly since Elizabeth is quite busy, so my question is: when do you pay? Do you pay for this at the outset and then wait weeks/months for it to be formulated, or do you pay when you receive your prototypes, or the final product? The financial wizard in me cringes at the thought of the first option b/c of all of the interest (albeit very very minimal) lost on my $$ w/ no product to show for it for a while.