Splendid Molerat

The initial moments of Katharina are slap-in-the-face, stinging tart. You're left standing there slack-jawed in surprise, wondering if you liked it.

The sweet notes come out, and you realize you've been slapped by a 98-pound, snack-sized vixen with apricot freckles and strawberry ringlets.

I liked it, but the lazy, wasted quality of Depraved appeals to me more.

Othello is initially passionate red.

After several minutes the roses are much subdued, and the warm musk remains. What's left of the passionate red impression becomes a dark purple. I think I'd be afraid to meet the man who could carry off this scent.

Antony is a very clean, masculine scent -- someone in the husband/father category.

Sort of like walking with the man on a cool, early Autumn day, the warmth of his skin and leather jacket mingling, thin wisps of woodsmoke and burning leaves, and that lovely scent of hair with the last grass pollen of the season blown through it.

Thanatopsis is a sombre evergreen fragrance.

Makes me imagine a freshly planed, white pine box. It's strangely beautiful, but not a place I'll visit often.

I have this imp courtesy Madame Nyx.

I got a powerful visual off this one -- Torment smells like Carolinian forest, mid-June. Little sunlight gets through the canopy, there are dead trees and moldering leaves, and all kinds of pale green shade plants. Beautiful, but...

The mosquito whine makes the whole ear vibrate, sweat trickles down the back, burrs stick to socks. It's the torment of the school's annual nature hike.

::shudder::

This will have its uses.

Mars smells like hot metal. It's a combination of cinnamon and cloves, over something quasi-metallic (like violets).

For me it rushes right up the sinus, and flips a switch in the brain that's labelled 'F**k off and get out of my way!'

Sometimes a girl needs to put on that attitude to get stuff done.

Anathema has the same heavy, steamy honeysuckle that I like in the New Orleans fragrance.

Vetivert makes this an earthy, gritty floral, and the black opium note is smoky and compelling.

This is less "laissez les bons temps roulez" mischief, and more trouble of the shadowy and deliberate variety.

Umbra.

When I was little I used to play with a pair of bongo drums that had belonged to my brother. This is like the inside of a wooden drum, with weathered goat skin stretched over it.

Cedarwood and patchouli have a welcoming quality for me.

I'm surprised I hadn't reviewed this already -- I've had a 10mL around for months.

De Sade is fresh smoky leather. Not soft suede or calfskin gloves, but serious leather. Corset-weight leather.

Not for casual wear.

In the old sailing stories, they say you could smell the spices miles out to sea before you saw the islands. So in my mind, Port-au-Prince is a tall ship with the spice breeze in her sails.

The almond burns off quickly, and for me the follow-through is lemon, bay leaf, and a background of spiced rum. It's a little dry for my tastes, but I can understand the appeal of this one.

Hamadryad is a dark, velvet-y brown. I can imagine when the Black Forest was vast and impassible via this oil.

The cinnamon bark subsides quickly, letting the other woods come forward. Florals are of the woodland shade type, growing close to the mossy ground, with only a tiny amound of sweet scent that disappears if the flower is pulled.

I can see wearing Hamadryad on a day when I need to feel tall and beautiful.

Carnal gets together with my skin and does some odd things. I've tried it several times, with very little variation in the outcome.

Initially I get a craft shop and citrus peel scent. Then the mandarin turns brightly metallic. The skin-warmth of the fig appears, and I soon receive a kind of blood-metallic flavour.

After the ten minute progression, Carnal is fresh citrus over a really high quality cut of meat. The scent-pun is a bit comical, but I can't leave the house smelling this way.

Once again, I've got a powerful craving for a blue rare striploin.

Bewitched is tart blackberries and woodsy herbs on me. The image I get is a warm June morning, half-shade, before the real heat starts.

If a medicine woman spent the morning gathering and then touched her hands lightly to your face, this would be the fragrance.

Ravenous starts out like a mouth-watering aperitif, something like orange & Campari. The red patchouli adds a skin-warmth to the blend, making it very wearable.

Overall this reminds me of the Lagerfeld men's fragrance, but made with a feminine orange blossom rather than a bergamot top note.

Wanton was a very sharp, heady incense-rose combination. In the drydown it reminds me of Tears.

The whole over-the-top, laugh-til-you-cry feeling would really work on a more romantic woman...

Scherezade really reminds me of Spellbound, likely because of the red musk.

The spices add an inviting warmth, and I think it's the saffron giving this oil the peppery, dry heat. There's nothing overtly displayed here, just a whisper of "come closer" in the air.

Pluto is very close to what I was imagining: ice and stone.

There's a kind of turpentine/menthol coldness on application, followed by the dusty smell of snow. I can see myself wearing this when I want to be distant and opaque.

The Body Shop has made some Ayurveda products, and Hearth shares a few notes with the "Air" Element in that line. My skin is quite cold this time of year, so on me the two fragrances are identical (mostly medicinal).

Hearth really needs fire to bring out all the scents, so I've got it in the oil burner. Now it's an exact match to the Lab description: burning cherry wood, pipe tobacco, and a cozy, crackling warmth.

I could see this as a man's fragrance, if the man in question were a natural radiator. The cold-blooded need to find other applications.

Vinland is a perfect Winter fragrance.

It's the combined scent of a forest clearing during a thaw -- it's cold, but you're out of the wind, and the sun-melt around you gives the illusion of warmth.

Little wafts of Vinland made scraping ice from the car an almost pleasant interlude.

Saint-Germain is a gentleman's fragrance: self-contained, utterly charming, and unattainable by seduction.

It's the sort of man who, if you placed your hand on his knee, would smile at your folly, return your hand to you with some gallant compliment, and leave the room.

I've sprayed my husband's linen handkerchiefs with Saint-Germain. Should keep the other cats off him nicely...

Sugar Cookie smells like a long table full of baked sweets. There's vanilla, and carmelized sugar, and allspice, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, butter...

This also shares a note with Gluttony that my skin transforms into something acrid, so I'll be using this in the oil burner.

I foresee hordes of little children and Atkins-crazed dieters scratching at my door on Christmas morning.

I'm digging the Eggnog.

Creamy-brandy-nutmeg. Almost the crème brulée scent from Chimera, but without the cinnamon.

Sweet and mild on me, should be a show-stopper in the oil burner... Glad I got it!

Initially Mata Hari is roses and jasmine on me.

As it warms up, there's a sinuous fig and tonka blend close to the skin. In the background is the coffee note, which is kind of smoky and bitter.

I can imagine an older, still desirable woman drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes the night before the firing squad.

Darn, again.

Could have gotten some Sagittarius if I'd known it would smell this good on me.

Right out of the vial, it took me a moment to place the scent/taste of freshly split sunflower seeds. That subtle flash is followed by something like rosemary, eucalyptus, black pepper and camphor.

Overall impression is warm, green and earthy. It clears the head.

Marie makes an interesting progression from sweet innocence to cruel depravity. I'm amazed at the stories Beth can convey with just a few notes.

In the vial and fresh on the skin are the dewy soft tea roses, sweet as a child. As the violet warms up it seems to overtake the roses, they dry and decay in a matter of minutes. The violet remains, very pretty, but with a hard, metallic quality.

This would be a scent appropriate for when you want to convey precisely how little you think of someone.

[sets the time machine for New Year's Eve 1998...]