gwyllgi

Initially, this is a light, aquatic mint that thankfully resists the minty gum association that most mints take on my skin. The tea blurs the mint a little bit, I think, while the currant gives it a hint of depth. It doesn't change much after the initial drydown on me; it stays light and fresh. It's a cooling, bracing scent, understated and elegant, and would be perfect for a summer night at the theater. Mint was one of those notes that I thought I'd hate before I found BPAL, so I'm thrilled that this works on me. Given that the Maelström collection encompassed almost all of my first order, I couldn't have asked for a better introduction to feed my growing addiction.

When I first put this on, it was a lovely, soft sage over a hint of floral. Since sage usually hates me, I was thrilled by this - finally, wearable sage! And then it dried. I now smell like Mr. Bubble. I'm suddenly missing the old Mr. Bubble, with its stylish cardboard box that inevitably got wet when I was too lazy to measure the powder out first. The new liquid formula just isn't the same. As a scent, it's not quite what I was expecting, but is nevertheless pretty and interesting. Mr. Bubble isn't something of which I would've expected to like smelling, but it's a scent that makes me feel young and buoyant, without being something overly little-girlish. It's got decent throw and staying power, without being overwhelming. Overall, I like this one quite a bit; I'm certainly glad I took the chance on it.

Berenice for some reason makes me think of outdoor parties, where the women are in stiffly-starched dresses and the men are in waistcoats - the kind of party where 'outdoor' is a technicality, and everything is as perfectly orchestrated as the stuffiest indoor function. It's a pretty scent, but cold and distant. It's actually a cooling scent - the aloe, I think - as though you're sitting in a draft, no matter how hot the day. The lily dominates early and keeps the lead, the other notes merging beautifully in its wake. I'm rather sorry I only picked up one bottle of this, really.

Initially, this is (as virtually every other review indicates) jasmine. Jasmine, jasmine, and more jasmine. Sickeningly-sweet jasmine. Very, very strong jasmine, too - I could smell it as I went about preparing dinner. When you can smell perfume over browning hamburger, it's strong. As it dries, the jasmine thankfully stops flaunting itself and lets the other scents creep through. The juniper berry adds a sharpness under the sweet, while the geranium softens it, somehow blurring the scent. All told, it's just a wee bit sharp and sweet for me. I'll hang on to the bottle regardless, as I'm a packrat and eternally optimistic, but it'll be a while before I give this one a shot again.

Reading the other reviews, I'm terribly glad that I'm not the only one who cracked the imp open and instantly thought of urine. I'm going with some of the statements that this was intentional here, for it truly is perverse. In that case, it's marvelously clever. As it dries, I can separate it a little more into 'rose' and 'cognac' rather than 'urine', but they're too thoroughly blended to manage it completely. Even if I can get a small whiff that's roses and cognac, the next noseful is urine, all the way. Clever or not, I totally have to wash this one off.

Fig, why do you hate me? We used to be such great friends, spending long summer afternoons together, content in each other's company. Now, it seems that you go out of your way to kick over my sand castle. I just can't get past the fig in this. The mandarin periodically peeks through, but the fig generally strong-arms it back again. The fig stays so overwhelming that it nauseates me. Sadly, this doesn't change much as it dries, so I think that this just isn't an oil for me.

Chimera is the first of the BPAL cinnamon scents I'd tried and, while not one of my favorite scents over all, it's a lovely example of the note. On my skin, it's definitely cinnamon, but not Red Hots or cinnamon sticks, but rather like mulled cider. It flirts with an almost cloying sweetness, but the myrrh and copal rein it in. It's a very warm scent - or, rather, a very warming scent. I think it'd be perfect for autumn, less so for summer, unless it's summer in a much more moderate clime. Strangely enough, Chimera is one of the few oils that actually stain my skin. It doesn't have a particularly strong color in the imp, but it turns my skin a sickly orangey-yellow color that just doesn't scrub off. This usually ensures that it's relegated to lockets, but the scent is still just as lovely there.

I'm not a big fan of pine or fir scents in general, so I didn't have particularly high hopes for this. Still, I leave no oil unsniffed, so on my wrist it went. I do get yew - not what people seem to traditionally think of as pine, but the scent of a fresh-cut yew bough. It's reminiscent of wintergreen, which is all right, but nothing that particularly does it for me. As it ages on my skin, I get a strange, chemically scent. It took me the longest time to figure out what it reminded me of: my skin turns it into bromine. That's the point at which I have to wash it off, because I just don't want to smell like a hot tub. It's nice enough in the imp, so it's just my skin running with it. It's a pretty scent, if fir, so I'll certainly hang on to the imp, even if I don't invest in a larger bottle.

I have the hardest time pinning this scent down. The first time I tried it, it went pine on me. The next time, I could pick out the loganberry and perhaps the birch, but the rest eluded me. The scent reminds me of the log jams and various re-enactments that litter the spring and summer calendar in the area. Ultimately, it's nice scent. It's a unique floral with interesting woody undertones and, while it's pretty enough for me to keep the imp, I don't like it quite enough to invest in a larger bottle.

Just when I think I know what notes play nice with my skin, they play switch-up and slap me silly. I've not had many (if any) problems in the past with orange blossom, ginger, or patchouli, yet something in this blend goes... off... on my skin. When I was younger, I worked at a gas station. My most hated duty was changing the garbage cans outside; they filled up with half-filled soda bottles and started to ferment. This smell takes me back to yanking the bag out of the can and trying not to gag at the sickly-sweet boozy smell. It's not necessarily something I want to revisit. If I let it sit for a while, the orange blossom comes out more and edges it away a bit from the smell of fermented soda, but I don't think that I can hang on through the nostalgic stage to be able to appreciate it.

Wet, this smells like fruit. I'm not quite sure what fruit, but my brain keeps insisting it's neither peaches nor oranges. Still, fruit and cream. It's terribly tasty. It doesn't quite mesh with my interpretation of The Chariot, but who cares when it smells like this? The cream fades fairly quickly, but it never becomes overwhelmingly fruity. It's a charming scent - it makes me think of the card peripherally, as though this is the scent of the fruits of victory, rather than the victory itself. It's heady and decadent and also terribly strong, strong enough that I need to remember to barely touch it to my skin as a dab is enough to give me a headache.

I do, indeed, get lilies. Lots of lilies, very little honey. I like lily, but something in this blend is making it go soapy on me, like the bars in a better quality of hotel, but still soap. It's also terribly fleeting; 15 minutes after it hit my skin, it was gone. Ah, well. Off to a better home it goes.

This is a strange blend, sweet and sharp yet dark. ...it reminds me of Red Hots. The fact that it stains my skin red (thank you, dragon's blood) doesn't help this impression. It'd be an interesting scent for the depth of winter, I think; it's certainly warm and bracing. For the humidity of summer, though, it just doesn't work. I think I'm going to be making a note to myself to pick this up around December, though. Right around then, it'll be perfect.

I like violets, I like vetiver, but something about this blend... well. My original notes were that it came out smelling like sweaty leather. Trying it again, I've got nothing to change that impression. Of course, I like the smell of sweaty leather. It's hot in all the right ways and makes me want to do things not able to be spoken of in mixed company. I just don't want to smell like sweaty leather myself, because the smell of sweaty leather on myself is inextricably linked with horseback riding - hardly something terribly sexy. On myself, it leaves me nostalgic and wishing I could afford to board a horse somewhere. On someone else, it makes me want to strip them. With my teeth. It's perhaps not something I necessarily need to get a large bottle of, but I'm definitely holding on to this imp. Heh.

I really like this scent. I like it enough that I don't even bother trying to pick out the individual notes. It's a spicy-sweet red musk, perhaps a slight bit more sweet than spicy. It certainly smells like its namesake, or like a very good, hole-in-the-wall restaurant specializing in Middle Eastern cuisine. It's very heavy, so a little bit goes a long way, and it lasts for hours. A bottle of this is not in my future, however; red musk seems to be a migraine trigger for me. I like the scent well enough to wear it regardless, so I'm going to end up doing away with temptation by finding another home for the imp just so that I can't push my luck.

There's this interesting trend in frimps: the majority of my oil loves originate in frimps of things I might never have tried otherwise, while the number of successes in things I selected myself are middling. Santa Muerte is one of those frimp success stories. I get only the faintest whiff of roses in this; on my skin, the dominant notes are vetiver and cactus flower. (I can't pick out the chrysanthemum at all.) It's floral and sweet, but grounded by the vetiver. The cactus flower keeps it just this side of general floral, giving it a breath of the exotic that makes it gorgeous. It makes me think of the house in Colorado where I spent a few years in my early childhood, with sandy soil and scrub and a field of wild growth. It didn't smell particularly like Santa Muerte, but I can't shake the association.

Wet, this smells almost like straight neroli to me, and man but is it ever strong. As it dries down, the bergamot hijacks it, then turns control over to the mimosa and orange blossom. The hint of clove only comes out once it's fully dry. Once the bergamot has released its hold, it becomes almost sickly-sweet on me. For a time (before my skin started reacting badly to it), I used the Body Shop's satsuma-scented items almost exclusively, and this smells like that to me: orange, but terribly sweet orange. It's pretty, but it can be a bit overwhelming. Ultimately, I just don't like what this becomes on my skin. Off it goes.

Initially, this is lavender - lots and lots of lavender, with maybe a hint of amber. It's sharp and sweet, almost citrus. It mellows fairly quickly; within 15 minutes, the mosses have come out, giving this a lovely forest scent. It's not woodsy, but it smells like deep, old woods. This is a scent that makes me think of an older gentleman of leisure escaping the rush of the city for an extended trip to the lodge that's been in the family for decades, casually elegant even when on the hunt. This is definitely a masculine scent; it's certainly wearable for women (I'd hope so, as I fully intend to wear this!) but it's inescapably masculine. It's comforting, as though you've borrowed a man's shirt and are smelling his cologne lingering in the fabric. I don't think I'll ever upgrade my imp simply because I don't know that I'd use this anywhere other than on my skin. It's not something I generally like for a room scent or mixed into a sachet, sadly. Still, I'm definitely keeping the imp.

...huh. This smells like citrus Listerine on my skin. Or maybe citrus mint toothpaste. It smells like some sort of oral cleansing substance, either way. I don't see anything in the description about mint, but I can't seem to escape it. Perhaps it's the jasmine going strange (as it's wont to do) on my skin and twirling the citrus into a mad dance? Wet, in a locket or burning, it smells much better: citrus with a strong hint of lavender, just a wee bit of jasmine to sweeten it (and almost over-sweeten it). It smells a bit like how I imagine Santa Eulària des Riu in relation to Ibiza to in general: peaceful, tropical, and refined, with a whiff of gaudiness just outside.

I sadly seem to be one of the people for whom Snake Oil just doesn't work. It goes from spice straight on through to sour. I don't know if there's red musk in this, but it gives me a headache - which I've only experienced with red musk thus far. I can't pick out what would be making it sour, but it sadly just doesn't agree with my skin or my nose. Fortunately, it seems that it will be very easy to find it a good, loving home.

My chemistry does wonky things with this, and I'm not quite certain why. I was expecting a floral ozone, and I got... bleach? Yes, it smells just like scented bleach, a thin veneer of floral over nose-burning bleach. This is depressing, as it's lovely in the imp, sharp and not-green, with the ozone notes I was looking for. It'd probably be marvelous as a room scent and I'm going to give it a shot in my car diffuser, but I doubt I'd use it enough to justify a big bottle.

Months ago, I picked up a number of products in the Body Shop's milk line, unsniffed. When I got them home and opened them, I was disturbed to find that they smelled without exception like powdered milk; I expected them to fly up my nose if I sniffed too hard. They're still sitting on my shelves, barely touched. Sudha Segara is what I wanted those to smell like. It smells of deliciously smooth hot milk. It's a scent that's at once familiar and exotic, a comforting scent. It's also very soft. As such, I think this is better for a scent to wear in the comfort of home, rather than out and about. I want to scent my linens with this, I think. Onto the big bottle list it goes!

Hm. Wet, this smells like lemongrass to me. It goes from lemongrass to lemon-scented detergent before fading away half an hour later. I like the wet scent enough to use this in a locket, but I'm less wild about the detergent scent it morphs into, so I doubt I'll pick it up beyond the imp.

Frimps are marvelous things, especially when they're of scents that one would probably never try otherwise; none of the notes (barring tobacco) sounded appealing to me, so I rather ignored this one. Trying this, it has two distinct stages for me. It's not necessarily wet and dry, but... hmm... fresh and aged? When I put this on my skin or apply it to a fresh cotton pad in a locket, it smells almost exclusively of dandelions. It's so strong that I have to keep checking myself to be sure that I'm not covered in yellow smears. It's not something that I'd expect to like the scent of, but it's a surprisingly nice floral, very unique. When I'm reusing a cotton pad in a locket, it smells almost exclusively of booze. Beer, specifically. Stale, warm beer. It took me the longest time to figure out what was smelling that way, as I'd associated Roadhouse with dandelions; I'd thought it was the lotion I'd put on my legs that morning, as that has a strange scent after a while. When I was still getting whiffs of it hours after the lotion had soaked in, it finally occurred to me that it was coming from my locket. Given that I'm so very not a fan of beer, it rather shocked me to discover that I liked this decidedly white-trash manifestation. Altogether, this is definitely just what the description promises: truck stop sleaze. It's a delightfully tacky scent, and just perfect for summer.

Warrior, Trickster and Goddess of Magic and Poets, she is one of the Tuatha De Danaan and the Queen of the Faeries. A very complex scent, both shadowy and fierce: black orchid, sandalwood, night-blooming jasmine, osmanthus, Somalian rose, and Chinese musk. This is perhaps one of the few scents including jasmine in which the jasmine doesn't dominate everything else on my skin - which is just as well, as I'm so very not a fan of jasmine. When I first apply this, I don't get much of the sandalwood, just a pretty blend of musky flowers. The jasmine puts forth a strong showing during the drydown, but eventually fades back into obscurity. Unfortunately, the jasmine takes almost everything but the sandalwood with it, so I end up with sandalwood with the barest hint of floral, rather than floral with the barest hint of sandalwood. I like the wet scent well enough that I'm perfectly willing to give this a try in a locket. On my skin, though, it becomes nothing spectacular, and the wet scent deserves better than that disregard.