gwyllgi

At my local mall, there is a stand that sells candied almonds, pecans, and cashews. Their slogan is "This is what smells so good." That was the first thing I thought when this hit my skin. Right after the 'mmmmmmm'. The first thing that hits me is the almond. It's definitely a sweet almond, like baking with almond extract, as opposed to some of the bitter almond blends. At first, that's all is it - and, honestly, I would've been happy even if it had never evolved. As it dried, though, the mandarin came out at the very tail-end of each sniff, just a hint of tartness to top off the almond. Fifteen-ish minutes later, I can finally pick out the Snake Oil base, which tones down the almond and gives it a cozy sort of feel, like sitting on the couch in your favorite sweater and sipping a cup of almond tea. It doesn't seem to last terribly long on my skin, but I fully intend to stock up on this enough that frequent applications shouldn't present a problem at all. Mmmmmmm.

I'm ambivalent toward foody scents, so this could have gone either way for me. I think, though, that it edged just enough over the 'too foody' line for me to not regret that it's only available as a gimme. To my nose, it smells like buttercream layered over cloves. It's not overly sweet or cloying, but it's heavy; every time I look at where I dabbed it, I expect to be able to see cream on my skin. It settles down a bit as time goes on, and, though I lose the overwhelming impression of buttercream, the impression of cloves (inaccurate though it may be) amps up, bringing the Snake Oil base with it. From there, the Snake Oil stays at the fore, with burnt sugar replacing the other scents as an accent. I like the mid-stage where the Snake Oil is just starting to emerge, less so the beginning and end stages, so I'm quite content with only having the imp. (As a gimme, I'm grateful that it didn't end up like Imp of the Perverse. Compared to my wrist smelling of stale urine, I can totally deal with slightly-too-foody.)

When I first applied this, the word 'effervescent' popped into my head and stuck. Initially, it is indeed effervescent, sweet and fruity and sparkling. It flirted with being too sweet, but never quite crossed the line. As it dries on my wrist, the white pepper comes out more; it's no longer bubbly. The pepper is strong for a few minutes - almost overwhelmingly so, but, again, never quite crossing the line - before settling in, giving the other notes an exotic twist. Once it's set, it weaves back and forth between the fruit and the pepper - all around very nice! I like this a lot more than I'd expected to. It doesn't last terribly long, but it's nice enough while it's there that it's going right on my bottle list.

Needing to narrow down the choice of my first experiments with the Salon, I closed my eyes and pointed at two. Orpheus was one of the ones I ended up with and I'm definitely glad chance led me to it. It's a very, very green scent initially; it reminds me of Machu Picchu (as I've never tried Ides of March to get that association) with more oomph when it first hits my skin. As it dries, though, it sharpens and develops a bit of a bitter edge, with hints of softness flitting just behind it. The sharp-bitter doesn't detract at all, like a sudden burst of staccato in the midst of a legato passage, drawing even more attention to its inherent smoothness. From there, it evolves into something softer, a misty sort of romanticism. I'm particularly thrilled that cedar's animosity toward me didn't manifest in this blend; cedar usually takes over any blend on my skin, but it's not even discernible as an individual note, instead just combining into the beautiful whole. It's a lovely, complex scent that can fit any mood, I think; it's calming and exhilarating all at once. It doesn't last terribly long on my skin... but that may just be because I can't keep myself from burying my nose in my wrist and inhaling every five minutes. Given everything, though, it's certainly a lovely introduction to - and has given my high hopes for the rest of - the Salon.

When this hits my skin, it goes straight to wood in a fresh-out-of-the-workshop sort of way. It's a nice wood, a very pretty, sweet wood, but still wood. Slowly (slowly, slowly), the wood sweetens a bit more to smell like a resiny incense, at which point it becomes amazing. I never really get much leather out of this, but the rest blend together into something warm and timeless. It stays sweet enough that it never becomes particularly masculine, although conversely it's not a scent you would traditionally regard as feminine, either. It straddles the line beautifully. On me, it fades fairly quickly; the wood is the first to go, leaving a ghost of old parchment that lingers. At that point, it's lovely. The scent makes me think of quiet competence and understated self-assurance; I can already foresee using it for a study-aid on those nights when I've got three projects to prepare and I've been putting them all off for weeks.

When I first put this on, it had been ages since I'd read the description and couldn't remember the notes in it. It has a sharp, almost medicinal edge that made me think 'benzoin' even though it doesn't smell much like benzoin. It's only now, reading the notes, that I realize that it's actually pine. BPAL's pine is different from most pine scents I've tried before - which is a good thing, as I usually despise pine. This is indeed a perfect snow scent; it makes me feel like I'm tromping through the woods just after a healthy snow storm. My woods aren't much for pine, but we have plenty of birch, and the sweet sharpness of Snow Moon perfectly embodies the general overview. It's perhaps not ideal for a summer scent, but it'll be nice once the temperatures start dropping again.

I'm a huge fan of bamboo, for all that it usually turns into celery on me. I had my fingers crossed that this wouldn't be the case here, and all that hoping paid off: it's a very crisp, green scent, with not a hint of celery. Once it's on my skin, the bamboo steps back a bit while the tea comes to the forefront, but no particular note dominates. Instead, they're a perfect marriage, a little bit sharp, a little bit tart, lovely and cool. It gets a hint of musk after a little while, but it blends well with the bamboo and tea. The throw doesn't last long on my skin, but it lingers for hours close to it. It's nice to be able to just sniff my wrist every now and then, and get another refreshing whiff.

Pepper and clove are two of my favorite notes, so I was really looking forward to trying Bengal. I certainly wasn't disappointed with it. This is a lovely, lovely scent, sharp and heady. Rather than chai, I get tandoori out of it; it's so clear that I can nearly feel the heat of the cooking fire. Despite this, it's definitely not a foody scent. It's enticing and almost mesmeric, and remarkably true from imp to skin. The only change I get is that the honey peeks out just the tiniest bit more on my skin. This is also one of the few blends that causes a reaction on my skin. If I apply it lightly, it's fine, but a good swipe of the wand ensures a burning red patch where it's absorbed. It's not quite bad enough for me to not want to wear it, but I'll certainly need to remember that light is good.

I can't for the life of me pick out the notes in this - primarily because one of the notes in this goes rancid the instant it hits my skin. I suspect cedar on some level (as cedar usually has this effect on my skin), leavened with some patchouli but still rancid. It smells like old wood on me - old, salty, rotten wood. Sadly, the stench my skin makes of it is not something conducive to meditation for me, unless I can meditate on the cloth as I scrub it off my skin.

Thick, sugared and bloated with sweetness. Dark chocolate, vanilla, buttercream, and hops with pralines, hazelnut, toffee and caramel. In the imp, this is hazelnut and buttercream - and divine. I'm not generally a fan of foody scents, but something in this one makes me salivate and want to slather it on. Wet on my skin, the buttercream and hazelnut fall back, pushing the pralines and toffee to the forefront, with a hint of hops. It's sweet with the impression of saltiness that makes me want to scoot up to Briq's and get a turtle sundae. And then something starts to go wrong. The buttercream comes out again, shouldering aside the toffee, and the hops join it. Unfortunately, the buttercream and hops seem to be mortal enemies, and their turf war catches my sinuses in the crossfire. Eventually, the hops win out, which for some reason leaves me with a scent that flickers between grass and old brass. Scrubbing it off at this point only helps a little; it lessens the throw, but the scent is still discernible. Despite the lack of success on my skin, I adore the hazelnut/buttercream goodness enough to want to use it elsewhere. If it retains that goodness in a locket or an oil burner, it'll definitely make it onto my bottle list.

Frimps are marvelous things, as this is one blend I never would have tried on my own. When I first put this on, it smelled like rose honey to me. I'm sure it's the ylang ylang adding that note to the honey, but I can't shake the impression of rose honey. After about fifteen minutes, the musks come out... and at that point I have to wash it off. The scent with the musks is perfect, perhaps my favorite of all the BPAL musk blends, but... something in it is a migraine trigger for me. It seems to defeat the purpose if I have to pop a pill every time I wear it, although some days it just might be worth it. I wish I could wear this because I absolutely adore it, but it's sadly not to be. It joins Scherezade on my list of lovely, lovely scents that hate me.

Aside from apricot, this isn't a blend that I can pick notes out of - which is probably just as well, as picking out notes would make me focus on the apricot. This would be bad, as I like apricots nearly as little as I like peaches, which is not at all. Something in this blend - the ylang ylang? the tonka? - keeps this reined in and warm, rather than letting the apricot get the bit in its teeth and bolt. I didn't expect to like this at all, but it's a surprisingly nice fruit blend, sweet without being too sweet. Apricot is still pretty low on my fruit scent list, but the other notes bump this scent up quite a bit. I don't know that I'd want a bottle of it, but I'll certainly be using my imp.

It starts out as almost straight musk, with a teeny-tiny hint of carnation. As it dries, though, it warms and sweetens and becomes something exotically lovely. Most things that I classify in Morocco's scent category have some note that makes my head hurt (usually red musk), but this has a spicy woodiness over a faint floral that makes it smell like a dusty old shop down a dark alley, where junk tumbles out the door but treasures can be found if you know how to ask. It's sadly a bit fleeting on my skin; by the time it really rounds out, it's fading away. This would be marvelous as a room scent, I think, or even a sachet; it's not something I need a big bottle of right away, but it's on the list once my short list is filled.

When Wanda first hits my skin, it turns into roses and violets - nothing but roses and violets. A few minutes later, it's roses, roses, roses, which my skin turns into a cloying sweetness. After an hour or so, the roses finally release their stranglehold and let a bit of the merlot through to warm them; at that point, it becomes lovely and elegant, with a hint of darkness. This stage is short, though, and suddenly it's De Sade - hot, dirty leather. In the imp, it's a lovely blend, but the notes are ones that my skin slaughters. The change from cloying sweetness to hard leather is evocative of its namesake, but it just doesn't work on me. I like it in the imp enough to try and find another use for it, as soon as I can figure out what it suits.

Initially, my nose insists that this is... mandarin? As it dries a bit, it separates enough to be able to determine with reasonable certainty that this is the combination of the poppy and bamboo pulp (mmm, bamboo...). I can't pick out any of the other notes individually, but, then, I'm not trying too hard, as the whole is such a lovely, quiescent blend. This is a scent for remembering the pleasure in being alone, not needing anyone or anything for company or entertainment. It doesn't strike me as a blend to use for sleeping, but it might be a perfect meditation blend.

I'm not usually a fan of mint, so this was quite an impulse bid. (eBay, I love thee. Especially when I come in too late to catch interesting things elsewhere.) It's definitely mint, with a hint of toothpaste but not chewing gum, but... wait... the toothpaste edge is melting away and it smells like fresh spearmint leaves, cracked and oozing minty goodness. It's got a hint of greenery under the mint (whether entirely in my nose or not) which makes it more herb than food. For a Yule scent, this is a remarkably perfect summer scent. It's 90 degrees and humid at the moment, but every time I sniff this the temperature drops and I feel just a little bit less grossly overheated. (Hey, I'm a Northerner. Anything over 80 - anything over 70 - is too hot.) It stays such a lovely, herby mint on me that I'm terribly glad I let myself be ruled by my impulse, as I never would have tried this if left to my usual logic.

Love, thy name is Peony Moon. Few blends reduce me to mindless squeeing. This happens to be one of them. Mindless squeeing isn't very indicative, but I completely lack the words to summarize the scent of this. It's so beautifully oriental, calling to mind the beauty of tradition and history, elegance no less amazing for its contrivance. It makes [bme[/b] feel beautiful and elegant. I'm terribly, terribly sorry that I only got one bottle, especially as my hoarding tendencies are at war with my hedonistic tendencies, one crying for preservation as the other cries for indulgence. I may end up mixing some of this into a lotion to draw it out - and so that I can smell like it everywhere.

This is such a pretty, pretty green. It's not just a scent impression; the smell is the color green, the bright leaf green that announces that Spring is finally here to stay. It never goes grassy but stays sharp and bright, with lovely notes of light. It smells like a fresh-plucked leaf and makes me think of catching wooly bear caterpillars on oak leaves. My favorite use for this scent is in a locket. It's stays so beautifully clear and is understated but long-lasting enough that I can smell it just as frequently after two solid days of wear. It's such a happy scent that I can't help but smile every time a whiff of it rises up to my nose.

Initially, this is... hmm... sugar. Sugar and vanilla rum. (I'm suddenly thinking of the Whaler's in my pantry and thinking that I need to pick up some orange juice.) Slowly, the saffron comes out, spicing it but not really warming it, just kicking the vanilla into a higher gear. As it dries, the saffron comes out more, drawing it away from sugared rum and closer to foodiness. (To go with my craving for Whaler's, I now want Thai food.) It doesn't change much from that, flirting with spicy sweetness. Much as I like the scents, it's not anything remarkable on me. It's pleasant and I'd wear it for the imagery, but this isn't something that I'd wear to make people stop and sniff me. Overall, I'm glad I got it, but I doubt it'll be getting as much mileage with me as it's Closet-originating cousin.

Wet in the vial and on my skin, this is pure red velvet cake with buttercream frosting. Given that red velvet cake is one of my ultimate weaknesses/comfort foods, this is absolutely gorgeous, although it makes me want to nibble my wrist. As it dries, the blackberry comes out - another good thing, as blackberries are my favorite berries - then falls back under the press of the bourbon, which dominates it until it wears off, though it gives the blackberry a little wiggle room after another hour or so. I love the initial and secondary stages, but the bourbon sadly is a little bit too boozy on me. Fortunately, I've found that wearing this in a locket avoids that sad fate! Admittedly, it leaves the blackberry lacking, too, but I do still get to revel in the heady scent of red velvet cake all day. It's a bit decadent when sitting at a desk, but having the impression of comfort food when dealing with people's health insurance issues never hurts. The throw stays decent, the scent heavy but not terribly so, and it lasts for hours. The label is adorable, too! (It's still adorable even when it's smudged by my not noticing that the cotton pad I'd just wet was touching it, oozing oil up it. Whah.) In the end, I'm terribly glad that I picked this up when I had the chance, as I would have been very sorry to have missed it.

Cinnamon and clove, tasty! It smells like a store my mother used to drag me to when I was younger, a country craftsy store, with knotty pine floors and a labyrinth of stacks. I can't shake the 'country store' vibes, but it's very homey and comforting. It's got a good throw and lasts for hours on my skin, although it can be almost too strong initially. This is a very warm scent, though - given that it's 90 degrees and humid right now, I'm thinking there were better scents to apply for a review refresher. This is better saved for autumn, when it will fit in perfectly with falling leaves.

In the vial and wet on my skin, this is teakwood. Lots and lots of teakwood, gradually softened by soil. As it dries, the cypress comes out surprisingly quickly also, leaving the scent supplying the strong imagery of an old, small cemetary, probably for one family, framed by crooked cypress. It's a surprisingly pleasant scent; the teakwood is sharp but reined in by the other notes, leaving it with a sense of gloomy mystery. It's surprisingly long-lasting for me. Anything on my right wrist tends to be gone within an hour or two, as it rubs against my mousepad all day, but this held firm until the end of the day, as lovely at the end as it was initially.

In the imp and wet on my skin, this is honey and rose, sweet and sharp. As it dries, it evolves drastically; I can suddenly pick up the clove and carnation, with the others swirling madly in the background. It lingers in this stage for quite a while, lovely and complex and heady. Slowly, the patchouli creeps through - rather like a stalking Death - trailing tobacco in its wake. The labdanum adds a veneer of mystery that fades away quickly under the press of the patchouli. This is the perfect scent for its namesake, revelry underscored by tragedy. This is perhaps my favorite of the Maelström scents, giving Berenice a run for its money. I'm only sorry that I didn't get more bottles of it.

Incense is one of those scents I thought I'd love, which generally ended up smelling like an attic on me. Cathedral nearly broke me. Given this, I was a bit leery of this. Although it's definitely incense, it's a much sweeter incense than Cathedral; rather than smelling like an attic, it smells more like what I remember of church. It's a much more wearable incense scent, and absolutely beautiful when burned. It's not too heavy, but it has decent throw, and hours later it's still wafting from my skin.

Wet, I can certainly pick up the oak and stone - they are in fact the only notes I can pick up in the bottle or wet on my skin. The orange peel is the next note I can pick out as it dries a bit, and the other sweeter notes fall into line as it dries more. It's a bittersweet scent, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, and timeless. It's another of what I classify as 'old house' scents, tradition and secrets and tragedies soaked into the walls of an empty manor, long-dead flowers forgotten in vases, the furniture covered in dusty sheets. I never pick up overt patchouli, but I can sense it lurking under the bittersweet, giving it a hint of lurking rot. It's not something I'd want to wear everyday, but it's certainly a perfect scent for particular moods or when inspiration is needed.