gwyllgi

The first time I tried this, the scent sent me gagging to scrub it off. All I could think was "Well, it goes to show that making money isn't easy!" as I rubbed my wrist raw. I'd thought it might have been because of my chemistry at the time - one of the many joys of being sick - but, alas, it doesn't seem to be, as my wrist is once again sending me gagging. I can pick out cherry/almond/vanilla-ish notes, but some of it (the almond, I suspect) has gone terribly, terribly bitter. It smells rancid. I really like the smell in the imp, so I think I'll keep it around for lockets and diffusers. With luck, though, it'll never touch my skin again.

I get buttercream from this - a lot of buttercream. Under the buttercream is a strange sort of rum. It reminds me of rum ball candies. The honey mead comes out a bit more once it dries down, at which point it becomes like Delphi on me, but sweet, rather than smoky. This is so very not a scent for me. I generally like the scent of buttercream and honey mead, but something in this is throwing it off for me; whatever it is, my nose really doesn't like it. It swings back and forth between smelling like one too many rum candies and the smell of a faux-antique country-style store. I can pick up enough of it to see how other people might like it - it's very foody, very heady - but it's so very not for me.

This was a frimp in my very first order, something that I never would have ordered for myself just from reading the description, but which I'm thrilled witless at having received. It was a big bottle in my second order. I can pick out the notes - primarily mandarin and red musk on me - but they also blend together so beautifully that it's easy to forget the components and regard it as a single entity. The scent isn't mandarin-musk-tobacco-saffron, it's just the Great Sword of War. It's a very hot scent, very stimulating, and quickly became one of my favorites. Strangely enough, this scent also amuses me terribly due to my association with the Four Horsemen with 'Good Omens', the novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. This is certainly a scent that I could match easily with War: seductive, aggressive, composed, and ruthless.

There's not a note in this I don't like; the description ensured that I had to try this. On me, though, it's not quite what I'd hoped. It's pretty - mandarin is the dominant note on me, tempered by laurel - but it fades so quickly that fifteen minutes later it's barely discernible. If it had more staying power, I'd absolutely love this. As it is, I like it enough to give it a try in a locket in the hopes that cotton eats it less quickly than my skin.

The first time I tried this, it smelled almost alcohol-based; it had that nose-burning not-scent. This time around, I don't get that... but I do get the presence of my bane: cedar. When it's wet, it's lovely on me. It's a lot of florals with the faintest hint of sharpness underneath. As it dries, though, the cedar comes out and promptly goes sour on me. If I let it sit for something like an hour, the cedar will recede a bit and the florals will come out again to match the description: a bouquet masking a sinister core. At that point, it's perfectly lovely, for a dark floral. The problem for me lies in getting to that point.

I couldn't quite pin down what Greed reminded me of until I stumbled across it perfectly in one of the past reviews: it smells like money. This isn't the smell of fresh bills. It's the smell of dirty coins and bills that have been around the block a few times. It smells like the whiff you get when you first open a cash register drawer and the confined scent wells up. As it dries more, a woody note comes out (the oakmoss?) and gives it the scent of a strongbox full of old money. While it perfectly embodies its name, it comes out just a bit too musty on my skin. It ultimately ends up smelling like a slightly milder Cathedral for me.

Plum owns me. Carnation and plum together could all but sell me for parts. I fell in love with the notes in Bathsheba, so it wasn't a far stretch for me to give Frumious Bandersnatch a try. If Bathsheba is innocent and intimate carnation and plum, Frumious Bandersnatch is brazen and raunchy carnation and plum. You wouldn't think that chrysanthemum would have that particular effect, but it makes this so full-bodied that I want to cozy up to it and let it take me home. This has stamina, too. My skin usually devours floral notes, but this is still full-bodied and spicy hours later. Of course, this means that I keep having to sniff it, but that's a price I'm willing to pay.

The first time I tried this, it was autumn leaves, autumn leaves, and more autumn leaves; it was as though the other notes were piled under them. Trying it again, it's still got a healthy dose of autumn leaves, but now they're autumn leaves over violets and lilies, with a breath of muguet. (I'm certain that the other notes are there, but I can't quite separate them from the rest.) It's much more subtle than my first application of it, although it does seem to need a bit of time to settle. It also fades fairly quickly, but it's a lovely, brisk scent until it's nothing more than wisps of scent.

This is the mother of all florals in the same sense as Echidna is the mother of all monsters. It's florals multiplied exponentially. I get nothing of vanilla in this, only jasmine and gardenia, with the strange bitterness that tea rose always gives me. It's not that vile in the imp, so I can only assume that it's something funky in my chemistry that spits it back as something set to send florals rampaging across the countryside. If I get brave enough, I may try this in a locket as it smells quite nice, if a bit strong in the jasmine department for my preferences, in the imp. On my skin, though... well. No.

I picked this one up on a whim; I like each of the notes but was angling toward heavier scents at the time, so this was thrown into my cart to round out a sextet of imps. The first time I tried it, it was okay but nothing spectacular; it struck me as the big brother of a linen scent. I tossed it in with the other imps, moving on to other things. When I pulled it out again today, I wondered why I'd ever disregarded it. The white musk dominates on me, sharpening the green tea. Above all else, it reminds me of the white tea and ginger collection through Bath & Body Works (which I sadly had to abandon when I started reacting badly to something in the products), though less artificial-smelling. The lemon adds a tartness as it dries, but it never gets too sharp or cloying. It is, indeed, the big brother of a linen scent, but it's the hot big brother you totally crush on. It's also perfectly cooling: it nearly screams for a white sundress, espadrilles, and a big, floppy hat.

This is one of the few scents that has reduced me to OMGLUV!!! I'm learning that I adore watery notes, and this is absolutely no exception. One of the things that I love about BPAL is that the scents evoke such a powerful imagery that I fall in love as much with that as with the scent. Danube brings to mind Germany, my brief time in München, and the gorgeous day I visited Schloß Nymphenburg. The only downside is that it makes me want to go back! Up to this point, I'd limited myself to 5ml bottles once I'd established that I wanted to graduate from an imp's ear. This may be the first to push me up to a 10ml, as I want to saturate my life with this. It's such a lovely, soft, blue floral, not overwhelmingly aquatic, not overwhelmingly floral, but the clean scent of crushed petals on a tranquil pool. It's innocent but mature, and absolutely perfect as a spring and summer scent.

It does indeed smell like gloom, but it for some reason smells like sour gloom on me. I'm not quite sure where the sour comes from, as none of the listed notes have given me problems in the past, but I smell like brine and wet books. This is one of the few I've had to wash off inside of half an hour.

This is a hard, hard leather. It's nothing like garment leather, nothing even really like a leather jacket. The nearest item I can liken it to is my chaps, sun-baked after a long ride and heated by the engine, with road-dust streaking them. It's an interesting scent, one of the purest leather scents I've ever come across. It's not for me, though, as the scent of leather when I'm wearing it is enough; I'm not particularly keen to recreate it.

I swear there's something of lime in this. It's a very hot scent, even though it doesn't smell particularly like flames or smoke or ash to me. It smells like sun-baked brick. And lime. The imagery it leads to is nothing short of fantastic, and I love it simply for that. The desert this conjures isn't any desert on this earth, rather a desert drawn from the pages of 'The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night'. This is a desert with tricksters and bandits, lost sons and flying wooden horses. It's a desert at once treacherous and beautiful, where fate may give or take at the slightest whim. It's a bit caustic for every day use, but it's perfect for special occasions - or simply to set a mood. I may just have to pick up a big bottle when my imp runs out.

Dirty is a lovely irony. It's very clean, a lovely light not-fruit, not-floral. I don't get laundry out of it, not really. It just smells like sunlight to me. (Well, okay, maybe a bit of laundry. Sun-dried sheets. More sun than sheets, though.) It makes me think of pear and gladiola, although I'm sure that neither are actually involved in this. It's not too sweet, just... comfortable in a way that I haven't quite come across before. It's comfortable in a different way than Antique Lace; Antique Lace was being comfortable with someone else; Dirty is being comfortable with yourself. This actually reminds me of a milder Lightning, a bit of ozone without the sharpness. Given how much I love Lightning, this can only be a good thing.

I generally like patchouli, so I was really hoping that it was overwhelm the apricot (which I hate) for me. Sadly, apricot quickly became dominant, overwhelming the clean dirt scent of the patchouli. I can see how this embodies the name, but I just can't get past the apricot.

This was one of my first imps; I usually flock to resin/incense scents. Something in this one just doesn't work for me, though. It's an interesting, musty scent, indeed like an ancient cathedral. On me, though, it becomes more must than interesting; it becomes less ancient cathedral than it does abandoned tiny wooden church, falling in on itself as sparrows nest in the cracked rafters. It spawns interesting imagery, but it also makes me uneasy on a visceral level. I've tried using this as a scent in a sachet also, and it works better there, although I nearly keeled over the first time I opened the container in which I'd been letting the scent set. When it's diffusing throughout a room, the mustiness recedes and instead becomes a somehow comforting scent, as though life is settling into the well-worn paths of tradition. It still makes me a bit uneasy, but much less so than when I carry the scent with me.

I have a deep-rooted fear of carnation scents, which almost to a one go wonky on me and end up smelling like petroleum jelly. I love plum and Arabian musk, though, so I decided to give this one a try. I had this in my list for large bottles in as long as it took me to move my hand from imp to mouse. The plum dominates on me, but it's not a strong, fruity plum. The carnation makes it almost spicy, while the musk gives it a depth that draws it even farther away from fruity goodness. It's an innocent scent, somehow, and makes me feel protected. This is perhaps one of the most romantic scents that I've ever come across - not because it's particularly floral or mysterious, but because it feels somehow intimate without feeling contrived.

Almost instantly, this becomes anise. Nothing but anise. Until it shifts and becomes sour. The mental image I come away with is stale black jellybeans, which is not quite what I was hoping for from this. I can't speak of the efficacy of this in regards to dreams because the one time I tried to sleep after applying this, I had to get up within 20 minutes to wash it off. Even without the sour note, the anise is just too strong, and breathing it in while trying to sleep was a quick recipe for insomnia and a headache. I wish that I could've liked this, as I find baku fascinating... but it wasn't meant to be.

This is a scent that goes through quite a few phases for me. In the imp, it's meh, and wet is much the same. The drydown stage goes through various phases of omgburningeyesdie, but after half an hour, this blends into a lovely, decadent scent. It smells like dark seduction - cloves laid over cherry wine, the air still heavy with the scent of spent passions. (I love vetiver.) Ultimately, I find that the final scent is well worth the drydown stage, especially as the final note of poppy emerges - it smells vaguely peppery as it filters through the other notes. This isn't a day scent. This isn't even a classy evening out scent. This is a scent for the hunt and all but demands a collar and red lipstick. It's a reckless scent, very powerful, and one of my favorites.

This is without a doubt the best chocolate scent I've ever come across. Most chocolate scents smell off, like chocolate after it's melted and solidified a few times, when it's developed that waxy coating. This smells like melted milk chocolate with a hint of baker's chocolate, still hot. It's the chocolate scent that makes me wish I liked the smell of chocolate. The straight scent of chocolate is a bit much for me, but I think this would be marvelous layered with something - not necessarily something fruity, but something nutty, maybe even coconut. (I'm suddenly craving Almond Joy.) The throw is also awesome - and I mean that in the literal sense of the term. It's as strong when my wrist is as far away from my nose as I can manage without actually chopping my arm off as it is when my nose is right against my skin, and it lasts forever. Overall, I couldn't see this as an every day scent, but I can understand why some people would consider it the best sort of therapeutic scent. It's just a bit overwhelming for me.

I'm suddenly craving marzipan. This is almost pure almond on me, with a buttery note that makes me want to lick my arm. It's a soft almond and a bit sweet, almond paste rather than natural almonds. I absolutely adore almonds, so this is brilliant. It lasts a surprisingly long time on my skin, too; although it softens after half an hour, the scent lingers for hours and hours after that.

Initially, I was able to pick out clove from this scent, but was absolutely stumped as to the rest. Smelling it again, now, it smells like baked apples and cinnamon, very much like a country store. This is definitely an oil that needs to be applied lightly for me. After spilling a bit from the imp and wiping it off on my wrists while the rest ran over my fingers, it's so strong that the baked apple goodness is being overwhelmed by something dusty - like a noseful of cloves. As it wears off a bit, though, it softs to more of that rural goodness, making it plausible as something to wear as a simple scent. Having not tried it when I had anything to accomplish, I can't speak much for its efficacy as a voodoo blend. Given the hell that is contract changes at work, though, I'm thinking that I need to give it a shot there; the power of suggestion, if nothing else, couldn't hurt.

The first time I tried this, it turned into a citrus-mint alcohol. The scent of alcohol overwhelmed everything and turned what sounded like a lovely oil into an astringent. I tried it again today, and I'm terribly glad that I did. It's still citrus-mint, but the grape spirit and rose are stepping forward and softening it. The grape notes remind me of Delphi, but the other notes lighten it, making it airy and regal, while the notes in Delphi made it more earthy. The only thing I don't like so much is that it's terribly fleeting on my skin; not even half an hour after applying it, and it's barely discernible. It's a scent that I'd love to get a big bottle of, but I think it would have to be worn only in lockets to try to draw the scent out more.

Every time I sniff this, I get something different. The first sniff is red sandalwood. The next is mandarin laced with opium. The next is pure lily of the valley. They never quite seem to merge, but they flirt together shameless. On my skin, it stays so beautifully round that I can't stop sniffing. It's like walking in to some posh club, smelling the perfumes of the stylish ladies occupying it as you pass through. They aren't the same, but they merge so beautifully that it seems almost dreamy. I'm gradually learning that opium and mandarin are two of my favorite notes, and the sandalwood accentuating them here make this one a definite keeper.