starbrow

I'm a sucker for green tea blends. Spectral Erection sucker-punched me into an early blind bottle. Why yes, I will take one ghostly boner! This smells like no BPAL I've ever smelled like before. The closest I can come is Zombie Green HG, which is a dark green and vaguely swampy/weedy chypre. Spectral Erection is an electric green chypre that bursts out of the bottle with explosive power, both whiffing the uncapped lid and once sprayed on the hair. The moss and ambergris are incredibly potent, overwhelmingly so to my nose. They sound earthy, but in reality they zing with bright green ferocity and zip right up my nose and to the back of my throat. I get no white amber, the barest hint of florals, and no green tea other than, perhaps, the kind of matcha powder that might indeed contribute to the one-two punch of that ambergris and pale moss. I picture this on an older Southern gentleman, one who chomps on cigars and runs a newspaper office and writes all the checks. It's not even cologney, with all the implications of Aqua and Axe; no, it's old-old-old school men's wear. And it is SO STRONG and lasts SO LONG. (If you have a Spectral Erection lasting more than four hours, call your perfumer?) Alas, I ended up getting massive headaches everytime I smelled or (only one time) tested it. So, sadly, this phantom penis is getting the boot.

Chaos Theory VI: Vanilla 464 (Notes from recip included vanilla musk, strawberry peach?) Whoa trippy! Vanilla musk is way different than I thought it would be! From the first sniff in the bottle, it's a whole lotta vanilla put on blast by something perfumey and quite fruity. My nose immediately wants to translate this as plastic, but it's more than that; there's just some extra stuff in there that's coloring the vanilla, and I wish I was more versed in notes that could do that, but it must be some musk-type element. Definitely some fruity interpretations of things, not "fresh" fruit, but fruit syrup. A pretty direct trip from bottle to skin-scent, except that once it starts drying down, the musk creates a really pretty wafty cloud of fluffy vanilla. It's very poofy, to the point of marshmallow, but only from a distance. Up close, like nose-to-wrist, it stays in that hovery-plastic realm for the first hour or so, with a trippy spice that I can't identify. Cardamom? Coriander? A weed of some kind? If I ever figure it out, I'll update. It sits staring down the "fruit flavoring" strawberry and the perfumey peach that's hanging out in the background thinking hard about what it would be like to be an actual peach. This is such a strange, wild, cool ride. I can't decide if I'll keep riding it or pass it along, but either way, it's fun!

Cloves and incense are two of my favorite notes! Cinnamon I can take or leave, and needless to say, that is the note that dominates here. I compared it with my cinnamon bark essential oil, and it's so similar, Al-Shairan might as well be a single note. There is a touch of something fruity, that splash of orange and peach bringing to mind some of my essential oil blends that are 'spiced cider' or 'harvest spice' themed, but Al-Shairan doesn't actually smell like cider to me, more like an essential oil version of it. I get zero clove, zero incense, and no noticeable patchouli. If you love cinnamon bark essential oil, this is the scent for you. Personally, I turn to BPAL for more artistic interpretations than what I get from my EO blends, so I won't be needing more of this than my standard one GC imp.

Really and truly black hole-dark. One of the inkiest, 3-am scents I can think of. Black Supermoon is the smokiest of vetivers, ferocious and yet shadowy. It has teeth, yet it doesn't actually drag you from the road and shoot you down like The Highwayman. It is girded with the velvety purple of opoponax and armed with a cinnamony patchouli. The sun is not the only one who can burn, for this moon is searing the inside of my elbow! The crust of salt and slight glimmer of brightness (must be the lime and mandarin) throw a welcome lifeline into the darkness of the black hole. With time, the intensity fades to a dull roar and it is a beautiful smoky, shadowy purr in the crook of my arm. Much like a cat who dreams of days stalking the grasses and bringing down small mammals. There is even a furriness to the darkness that strikes me as feline. The drydown is my favorite part. Unf.

Upon first sniff, it's that wet dirt/cold stone/dark forest vibe that the Lab loves to bottle, it's showed up in so many blends and always falls just short of actual geosmin. Once it hits the skin, the cold stone recedes and it's wet dirt and cement, with a pinch of incense. On drydown, I almost get...spearmint? Weird. I don't like the spearmint note at all. I want wet dirt to come back. This should be dark and insidious. It is a little...dentisty.

Portrait takes Scherezade to new heights. On the one hand, there is a creamier vanilla and slinkier silk (if you've smelled the Lab's silk note, you know what I'm talking about) that debauches the red musk more fervently than Scherezade. (Ruby musk, in this case, translates for me as a darker-tinged red, perhaps some resin rendering it a rich burgundy.) And on the other hand, the herbs come out more potently with the first spray: earthy fennel, hulking anise, green-tinged cardamom. Both have saffron, with Portrait a stronger hit of it. I would wear either one while in the mood for richly spiced red musk, although Portrait has almost a 2019 Shunga kind of spicy uniqueness, so I would have to be in more of a mood to reach for it. It is very glorious. It is also a helluva lot. But I am so here for it.

2006: Death Adder starts off like an aged Snake Oil painted black. The same musks, vanilla, ambers, spices, with a dark sheen that is intoxicating. I even death-matched them, and that was when the black coconut was noticeable to me. Before the contrast, I couldn't identify any coconut, but there, the glimmer of the Body, Remember coconut was like a desert mirage, shimmering and deceitful. Don't fear the suntan lotion! Go into the sun bare-skinned! It'll be fine. The more this dries down, the darker this gets. The more purple it gets. How even. Is it the opoponax? It is surely not the vetiver, which is of the smooth and sultry kind, declawed and softly grinning from a velvety comforter. That may be making this resiny fruit more velvet, but I do believe it is the opoponax turning this Snake a deep and rich purple that I am adoring. No secret plum, right? Are you sure? Living for this. Never letting my bottle go.

Plum Shortcake and Vanilla Scratch-n-Sniff sticker. This is giving me a lot of Strawberry Shortcake doll vibes with the plasticky fruit, just in a plummy variety. I can't decide if I like that or not! It is sweet, which is not by default a bad thing, but it is not a natural fruit kind of sweet. If I think of it in plastic 90s toys terms, I'm not into it, but then @Missanneshirleyofgg mentioned plum sufganiyot and I was instantly more into it. Because I can pick up the similarity to Neptunbrunnen, a plummy jam pastry Lilith Travelogue, and I love that one. Sugar Plum and Vanilla Bean Atmo is not a shy scent, whatsoever. She sashays into the room and is here in all glory. I'm going to keep trying her out and see how she evolves, I am so into plum, I may end up loving her!

Very, very interesting. The patchouli is super thick and rich, not dirty, and the resins dripping, and the black musk grounds it all almost in a Raven Moon kind of way. But the peeks behind the dark notes are definitely naughty and perhaps not fit for all viewers. Something really tart and sour, and something juicy and bawdy and fruity. I might not have guessed plum, which I was hoping for a big old hit of. But it does smell darkly fruity beneath the obscuring view of the dour patch and resins. I am not sure exactly when I would wear this, but I want to sit with it for a while and see where it lands in my repertoire.

CMXXXV (935): The notes from my source of this blend were "pink musk, lotus, like a Shunga". YUM. In the bottle, I can kinda see this! It has a sandalwood kind of calmness, definitely a bubble-gum pink bubble of lotus, and...something chemical. Er.... let's try it and see where this goes. Wet, the chemical note amps. I can't place it at all. It's a little hair-developer, to be honest. That strong blast of chemicals whose names you can't pronounce and probably don't want to know the long-term side effects of. I still get the lotus, I don't get the pink musk, and I guess I get some moss because this is going a little in the fougere direction. (Not a fan of the colognes in general.) The more this dries down, the more I'm associating the chemicals with...anise. A black licorice that is not playing nicely with the lotus. I mean, can you imagine cramming a Double Bubble and a Red Vines black licorice piece in your mouth and chewing? Oof. It's very, very interesting, a wholly unique experience, but I've repeated it twice and I'm not anxious to try it again. I like anise in the right settings, but for me, this is not the collection of notes I'm most comfy with.

A scent with a huge sense of humor. I am in love with the concept, the foodie tea classics paired with the masculine soldier elements. In the bottle, I wouldn't guess red musk; I get pepper, pie, a crackle of leather, creamy tea, and then....the anise starts emerging. Wet, the red musk makes a dazzling appearance before whooshing into a saucy and wholly uncredited appearance by ANISE. No surprise if you've read the other reviews, and I had before I got this scent, but it still is a fun surprise, like knowing spoilers but still enjoying seeing exactly how they're executed in the story. So this stage is all black licorice and PIE. Yes, pie. I get crust, some kind of jammy filling, but what kind of fruit exactly is a mystery because the anise is such a diva. I am okay with it here! It totally fits on stage, it is not clashing with anything. Act II: a couple hours later. Red musk returns. HAAAAA-llelujah! She is beautiful, tangoing with the anise. The creamy tea is a dreamy background, the vanilla a subtle touch of sweetness. The pie is pretty much gone. What a crazy, fun morpher The Soldier is. It really is like a whole ballet in one bottle. If you have any luck with anise, give it a whirl!

Amber and vanilla are two of my all-time favorite notes, consistently winners. Why was I scared to try this? The shard of glass? How silly of me! I love the lab's sparkly note. And it does not let me down here! The warmth of amber comes soaked in a resiny vanilla, perhaps benzoin? It is magnificent, wafting strong from the start and becoming creamier and sweeter over time. The presence of the resins holds it back from true gourmand-land. House of Mirrors is more nostalgic, a glimpse into a time past. Perhaps even trade in cedar of the 2019 duo Cedarwood and Smoked Vanilla for creamy amber, and it might be a fair comparison. Then that sliver of glass? It is indeed sparkly yet not fuzzy. It is not cologney, not in the slightest, because cologne notes give me headaches. There is something creamy like...coconut milk? A very pale and creamy floral? It is so hard to tell. It adds a dimension to the more familiar notes of amber and vanilla that I am loving as much as puzzled by. It strikes me as comforting, natural; no chemicals. This is what I wanted Antique Lace to smell like. House of Mirrors atmo, sprayed on clothes, lasts for many hours. I will turn my head and catch whiffs of something wonderful. To my delight, it's me!

I am on a quest to learn to love lavender, as so many in the BPAL community do. Its therapeutic properties are legendary, and its blends are so often gorgeous. On this quest, I took the blind-bottle jump into a Lavender Lace. Holding my breath until it arrives.... Welp. I might just be a lavender convert. Just a sniff, and I could tell this was a strong herbal lavender blanketing a lot of other good stuff in the bottle. I couldn't wait to see what was lurking in there. It emerges once on the skin: a delicious sweet tobacco that is rich, warm, yet not too chewy, with some coy drops of cognac lending a faint waft of boozy green to the dusty purple. The more it dries, the more the lavender dissipates into a soft cloud of vanilla-lavender poof that I am adoring. This throw is doing something magical, something more than the sum of its parts. I love it from a few feet away, just as much as I love the stronger mouthful of caramel-tobacco-vanilla confection right up against my wrist. For those looking for a big, bold, vibrant lavender start to finish, this lace may be a little anticlimactic. What starts out as fierce as lavender oil very quickly fades into the coziness of a lavender sachet made many years ago, tucked into the vanilla-tinged folds of vintage lace that was once worn around a sweet pipe tobacco. It is so perfect for this lavender-shy wearer. In short, Lavender Lace is beautiful. I could not be more astounded by my instinctive reaction to this blend. I don't have to learn to love it. I already love it.

I am convinced this has almond in it...and it's the first almond I kinda like. The incense is mildly sweet in a nutty almond way, with perhaps drops of kyphi lending a distinctly Egyptian atmosphere. A very warm and deserty incense (not desserty :P) tinted with sandalwood and perhaps amber, which glows more beautifully the more this dries down and the almond calms its bits. This is a contender for my 'find some almond I like' campaign. It seems to fit in this blend. I'm not mad at it. Keep my imps!

It's amazing, how long it took for me to try this! Purple is my favorite color, plum is my favorite note, and all-around Purple Phoenix seems like a slam dunk. I am so ready to get purplefied. In spite of the double plum in the notes, that isn't the dominating presence in this Phoenix. Rather, it's a sweet, bawdy grape, rendered into a musky perfume by the presence of powdery myrrh and creamy florals. I have a pure fragrance oil of violets, and that is indeed the standout floral among the others, with perhaps a brush of lilac and the wistful nostalgia of wisteria. They keep the grape and plum from becoming too juicy, an almost darkening and certainly tempering presence. This is a true royal purple, unlike the reddish-plum of Madame Moriarty. I would in fact like more plum in Purple Phoenix, and a touch less powder. I could have done without the orris, and swapped out myrrh for another resin, to make this a more well-rounded and toothy blend. Those are personal preferences, of course! I think this is a three-and-a-half to four-star purple blend for me, better than Bordello, just below Moriarty. I will hang onto it for a while and see how we get along.

How fickle skin is! Here's our wild ride for the night: Silver fir needle trickling in as....tinsel! Oh how fun. Sparkly Christmas tree. Maybe something herbal in the form of the mugwort, but it's a sheen of a background. This is really bright and almost nostalgic. It's not as intense as pine usually is. I'm not getting individual notes like I usually do. Maybe frankincense is contributing to the holiday feel, but there's no tobacco flower, hawthorn wood (I smell forest, but who knows what hawthorn actually smells like?), orris (powder oof), or distinguishable rose wood. Just a twinkly evergreen, party-ready. I let it drydown, moving on to other scent-testing. What is that I'm smelling? The scent of....laundry day, circa 2000. Dumping Costco powder by the scoop into a top-loading washer? Oh yes. That is the smell. Of my To Hope. Oh gosh. It's laundry soap. Like that's it. The sparkly tree has left the building, and we are just washing a million holiday linens with some old Kirkland brand powder. I am sorry, my friends. I wanted more.

Surprisingly soft and skin-hugging from the start. With these notes, I would expect something really popping, but fresh, Song of Hope stays close and quiet. I can tell this one will intensify with age. I kind of want to be here for that. To me, this smells like a sultry, carnation-tinged version of Resuscitation's drydown. They share peru balsam, a dry and fragrant wood, along with the musky ambergris and (arguably) the choya ral and ochre leather, both earthy leather-leaning notes. Song of Hope is more traditionally pretty, not a shocker with the carnation giving some feminine spice, but it is not a carnation bomb either. The clove is unusually subtle. I think I get more pepper and berry, piquant and rich from the back of the spice cabinet. Whatever vanilla is here is just here to sweeten things up a bit rather than gourmand the joint up all the way. It's really cool. It just doesn't throw past like an inch right now. I want more than a .5ML, maybe less than a bottle. Huff.

The crazy thing is how perfect a Venn diagram No Man Is an Island makes between gourmand and dank. Like on one end you might be expecting some hazelnut cream coffee tinged with vanilla/tonka, and the other a spiced darkness of patch and purple sage and cassis (blackcurrant minus the problematic "cat pee" edge). It's neither and it's both. This is not a hazelnut cup of coffee, and this is not a dank cesspool, but this is a beanie-wearing, Doc-Martened cutie hanging around the coffee shopping clutching a warm creamy hazelnutty cup, clothes scented with sage and patchouli and a tobacco-like vanilla. It might not be gourmand enough for gourmands, or dank enough for danks, but for people like me who like to float between, it's super wonderful. Somehow, something is reading like the good tobacco. Could it be the bourbon vanilla? The warm patch? I get a touch of sage - not clary sage, but I don't know that I know what purple sage smells like - but whoof that herb is good stuff. I'm loving it with the coffee. I am so, so into this. Fans of Cafe Mille et une Nuits should check No Man out, not because it's a dupe but because it's in that spiced, herbal realm of exotic coffees and teas. This is better for me than any of the coffee Yules. I am so here for this, warmed from the inside by the goodness that it brings.

Unf. Yes, this is one of those unf smells for me, right from the start. And I totally wouldn't have guessed it just from the list of notes! Mimosa, opoponax, and linden blossom are all question mark notes in my brain's scent catalogue, beeswax can go wonderful or too sharp, and frankincense (though a winner) itself is usually a quieter note. This could have easily gone floral-bomb, so I wisely decanted. Okay, first up, French beeswax. (What makes it French? Is it extra fancy?) So I am getting hand-poured beeswax candle. Some people find candle universally uncomplimentary, but in this case, it's a boutique candle that has been poured with deliciously goth scents. Like they've poured beeswax that most people would burn at Halloween to feel extra spooky, but that a goth could just burn (or in this case, wear) at any time year. I'm getting a heckin ton of Oman frankincense, which is just this spice-laden frank that conjures up desert panoramas, cool and dry by night and hot glimmering vistas by day. Could the smoky opononax be helping with that? Mayyyyyybe? I will report back if I figure out what it actually smells like. What about the other unknown notes? The mimosa, which theoretically has notes of "almond, honey, violet, craft paste and fresh cucumber", and linden blossom, "honey, honeysuckle, and grass"? They emerge not as florals but as teas with florals, the way jasmine tea and other craft teas can bloom with the sylvan echoes of their infused blossoms. The spices are just enhancing the tea-and-candle effect of the scent in ways that my hygge-loving soul is responding to in every single way. I need this Hope in my life. Bottle, please!

Bulbs. This smells like bulbs. That's not helpful. I mean, I've smelled this before in a car full of plants on the way back home to be planted. A waft of potent rich dirt and green growing things and a whiff of floral. But then there's a perfumey element that's really confusing, because it's tangling with the freshness and I don't know quite what to think. A lot of poofy vanilla, powdery greens. (How are greens powdery? Like in the way that you can break grass and herbs down into that green powder stuff you put in shakes. YUM.) I would never guess there was fig here. Never. And I love fig! I could use more fig. I love orange blossom too, yet it's leaning jasmine. The more I smell this, the more I'm glad I didn't blind-bottle. With medium throw on me, I'm not mad at this scent for hanging around, but it is not the insta-love I thought it could be. I am not in love with the powder, the perfumey-ness. Some things I think smell really great when they smell like fancy perfume. This, I would have loved as actual green grass and sweet vanilla and dirt-grounded florals. It's a big meh for me. No bottle.

Plum ho, reporting for duty. I will take all the plums, thank you. There were enough "hmm" notes to keep me from bottling, enough "hmmm" notes to get me to decant. Here we go. In the vial? Beautiful honeysuckle. Light, playful, springtime, agave nectar. No honey, no big-ass florals. She's here to play. I'm here for it. Let's skintest. OH. Oh no. No no no. I should disclose that amber cream and I have already been not on good terms for a few months. It went crazy-cologne-cream on me back before Christmas and it still hasn't forgiven me for whatever I did to it to piss it off. It's still pissed at me. It's conspiring with honeysuckle and the other blossoms to go straight up cheap gardenia White Rain shampoo ferocity on me. It completely bypassed real jasmine into horrible fake white-floral land. As I skin-test other things on that arm and shoulder, it's bossing its way into the party. Please, just go away. I get zero plum, and I'm plum's number one fan. I get zero cherry blossom, and I am here for some cherry blossom love, fancy soap or no. This is a huge no. I am so so so glad I didn't blind bottle. Horrific. One of the biggest disappointments of the year, so far! But I am minority!

This trio got a ton of buzz, and I was super curious and unsure if it would work on my skin. Smoked chilis! Sounds a little scary, maybe? But turns out, there could be WAY MORE smoked chili in here and it'd probably be pretty awesome. In bottle and wet, I can just make out the thread of something smoky over spice, nothing actually spicy; it's less present than in, say, a Mexican hot chocolate. The caramel is HERE, made richer and sweeter by the vanilla without, for me, a huge vanilla presence. On my skin, the caramel dries down to something so rich, I physically feel a stomach-ache smelling it. Like I've just eaten two McDonald caramel sundaes back to back and it hurts. I would welcome the temperance of more smoke and spice, but alas, they have left the building and it's just me and caramel, staring down head-to-head. I think it's winning. Rich-foodie-chewy caramel lovers will probably get a huge kick out of this, and shouldn't be alarmed by the smoked chilis. Unless this baby ages into the spices, it's all gourmand, all the time. Maybe good for layering?

Just perusing the notes of the spring collection for what to blind-bottle, The Instinct of Hope made itself known to me, somehow. I needed it. Something was telling me to get it (my own instinct of hope?) and so I did. In spite of oudh, which appears in the best of times blends and the worst of times blends. I took the leap. And oh, it's beautiful. It's the same deep cedar that I picked up in Cedarwood and Smoked Vanilla. A dark, spooky cedar from an old Victorian house that's seen lots of ghosts in its time. Right now, several days fresh, that is the dominating note. Underneath it is the most gothic of violet oudhs. What does that smell like? A deeply amethyst floral rendered both creamy and ghostly by precious wood. It has seen sorrow, but it has not become bitter or tainted. It is nostalgic for past days, yet it has hope for the living. I adore plum musks and plum oudhs. Those are woven with sensuality as well as shadow. This is shadow, cloaked in regal sobriety. Violet oudh may once have been a sensual being, but she is now stately, somber, melancholic. She does not trail in barnyards; she would not be caught near a washroom; she laughs at the follies of men drinking their cognac. She wears a dark purple mantle that sweeps throughout the cedar-and-balsam tinged halls with grace and a kind of glamour. I want this ghost in my life.

I ended up being a big fan of "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," in spite of not being a cherry lover at all (I usually hate it, because of the dreaded almond effect), but that Lilith was a beautiful smoky-resinous patch with a drop of blood-dark fruit. Wild Cherry Chypre and Smoky Patchouli looked like it would be the HG to match Bloody Mary, so I took a nice juicy bite of it. Alas, for me it's the exact reverse of Bloody Mary: a full-fledged almondish bright cherry with a drop of the lightest, most baby patchouli that ever patched. This barely even smells smoky to me at all. The brightness of the cherry took me by surprise. But nevermind that! What does it smell like in the hair? A poof of almond-cherry. A breathy whisper of patch. And then poof, gone. Like, shove my face into my hair and sniff, and nothing. I am all astonishment. Cherry bomb, keeping me on my toes. This hair gloss is one that is sure to age into something beautiful and more robust. It's not the one for me, but I think somebody will enjoy this a ton a year from now when it is rich and gloriously cherry with the smoky patch.

Oh my gosh yes. A refined beauty, three notes of sheer simplicity that combine into a sister scent of A Vision of the Courtesan (my early #1 Luper), but this time, Rendezvous brings foodie, homey comfort from the first sniff. Everytime I huff it, either in the bottle or on my skin, it's the equivalent of a warm glass of milk or bowl of rice pudding and a well-loved blanket . In the bottle, you may notice the sweet grassiness of the hay more than the other notes, but then once it gets on the skin, it turns into a vanillic pile of fuzzy things and sweet rice milk. My nose wants to believe this is vanilla wool. It is so very snuggly, just shy of gourmand. Where A Vision has an intoxicating Mona Lisa spice in the background (nutmeg? cardamom?) and a serenity from the frankincense, Rendezvous burrows right down into a plush armchair with sweetness and warm. They are different enough to my nose to warrant a bottle of each, maybe even backups. When I need strength to face the world, A Vision's got my back. When I just want to read with a candle and a hot drink, Rendezvous will keep me company. If I had to compare it to anything (besides A Vision), I'd say replace the coffee from Cafe Au Lait and a Wool Blanket with rice milk, and you'll have a pretty good idea of what Rendezvous will smell like. Delicious, cozy, and supremely comforting. It's Shunga hygge; a treat for wool lovers, foodies, and those in need of a warm hug. In its newness, the throw is close and soft, but I believe it will deepen over time. I just want to slather in it this season and hunker down.