mountainwitch

Mmm . . . This is a darker one, never mind the "stark white ink" on the bottle. It actually reminds me of the Trick fragrances from the Halloween Inquisition; it's got that same kind of dark, intriguing sexiness. And blackberry . . . I love blackberry . . . It also reminds me of Bitter Moon--must be that blackberry and sage--but without the piercing or smoky quality Bitter Moon had for me. I can't usually wear patchouli, but this is one of those really happy exceptions. The citrus doesn't take over, either; sometimes perfectly good scents have been ruined for me by something vaguely lemony (lemongrass, verbena, bergamot, whatever) getting too big for its britches and deciding to run the show. I'm really loving the Heartache.

I've never had a pear scent I liked . . . But this could be the one! It doesn't scream "PEAR!" Or, for that matter, "ROSE!" None of these notes steals the show for me. Instead, together, they become a wonderful rich blend. I was afraid this scent would be pure fruitiness, and I didn't want another candylike blend . . . And Longing isn't. It's just this perfectly sweet, sexy fragrance that just makes me want to melt. Now that's a Valentine fragrance!

I was expecting something flat-out hot and spicy with this . . . Instead I was pleasantly surprised! This is a more subtle spiciness, like the light in the wild men’s eyes . . . These wild men are wearing well-tailored suits, horns hiding in their perfect hair. It smells pretty good on wild women, too.

Tapped a bit of this one out of the cap, and suddenly it looked like I'd sprouted an extra mole. Seriously, when people say this one is thick and dark, they are not kidding. Very strong cocoa, and very sweet. It's a sort of muzzy scent, as if the cocoa were intoxicated by the Snake Oil (or perhaps the other way around!). All of the other notes, for me, were fuzzed up by all that cocoa. I don't think this is the snake for me, but I can definitely see the appeal!

The tobacco and bourbon made for a very rich, dark combination on me, almost chocolatey. The "sleazy cologne" made things a touch too sweet, and bay rum usually strikes me as very masculine. However, I wouldn't say Isaac is necessarily masculine scent. Two of my friends, one male and one female, tried it simultaneously. Both of them have very similar chemistries; what one wears, the other can usually wear as well. On the woman, it started out too strong and heavy, but within about fifteen minutes it had settled into something sweet, intriguing, sexy. On the man, it was less sweet; more of the masculine bay rum scent "popped" . . . Same scent, similar chemistry, but on him it was undeniably a powerful masculine scent. Looking at the small number of reviews for this one so far, it looks like some fans may be a little leery of trying Isaac, but if you're curious I would definitely recommend giving this one a shot. You might be surprised . . . There's just no telling what might happen if you dance with the Living Skeleton!

Usually I can't wear caramel, but damn. This is a rich, warm, sweet, wonderful scent. Gluttony was too much for me; Sugar Skull 05 was very much like syrupy pancakes. But Anaconda had a warm slithery charm. I would absolutely buy a bottle of this if I could. My friends and I tried Anaconda at a party. (Some people do drugs at parties; my friends and I just sniff things. And drink. But at least we don't drink the BPAL. ) On one chemistry, it really did the awful plastic smell that some reviewers described. But on the proud owner of the Snake Pit, Anaconda was a sweet and sexy miracle. On him, it was . . . Fabulous. Divine. Drool-inducing. All the women at the party, suddenly finding themselves strangely hungry, started passing around his arm. I think we scared the poor guy . . . At least we left his arm attached. Anaconda may not guarantee everyone warm and sweet delights; this is one picky, picky Snake! But when the chemistry is a perfect match, and that sugary magic happens . . . It could just be dangerous going out without an escort.

Lycaon. It was a "might as well" kind of order . . . I thought it would be too masculine, and I'd end up giving it to my boyfriend! Lycaon wasn't a great combination on him, however. On me, it was darker than anything I've ever tried, even my Trick # 1 and Schwarzer Mond bottles. The scent was pitch black, but still--dare I say it--sexy and a little exotic.

I'm crazy about Khajuraho, and I like the Sensual Amber lotion too. (Incidentally, Tamora was a disappointment for me.) I can definitely see how Khajuraho and Sensual Amber might layer in a complimentary way . . . Now I have to try this!

Oh! I forgot Sin! The lab frimped me with that in my last order . . . I'm not keeping it just because I have other oils in the same vein, but boy was it a nice surprise.

Most patchouli blends don't work for me at all, but Mme. Moriarty does, so maybe my advice won't be too offbase. I've discovered a few patchouli blends that don't make me smell like a musty, dusty box in a hippie shop . . . The problem is that they're usually expensive! * Psychic Trading Post goblins sent me Trick # 1, which smells drop-dead sexy on me . . . No mustiness at all. * Trick # 2, while not quite The Sexy, was at least not musty. * The Salon's Two Monsters was very appealing, even with vetiver--another note that is particularly tricky for me. GC suggestions might be Tezcatlipoca, where the "deep cocoa" seems to make the blend. It didn't have the mustiness either. Oberon also had interesting things happening, such as white musk. I've had less success with other GC blends, particularly Anne Bonny, The Coiled Serpent, Masquerade, Omen, Voodoo, Malice, Nephilim, Clio, Verchenyaya, Wanton, Malediction, and Lust. I guess my "miracles" come with a price tag.

Wonderful smoke, leather, and woods. These are a few of my favorite things . . . And this blend smells great. It is not feminine, but it doesn't scream manliness (weirdly enough, my skin usually needs lavender and citrus for that). Wearing it, I don't feel "pretty," or even "seductive" . . . If this fragrance is sexy, it's sexy because it's so damn confident. I feel like a gunslinger striding into a dark western town. I need boots, and a duster, and tavern doors swinging shut behind me while dust swirls in the wind. My boots stalk across the wooden floorboards, spurs clinking, as I meet the beady eyes of a nervous bartender. The poker players glance over at me suspiciously as I order whiskey in a dirty glass . . . Um, yeah. I think this is a keeper.

A bright scent, fruitier than I expected. I ordered a decant of this before I learned my lesson: leave all things that smell like lemon citrus alone. Lemon, verbena, etc., all those wonderful things turn into Lemon with a capital "L." Antonino, regretfully, turned into something that was just too sweet; after about half an hour, it was a dead ringer for orange Pez. I wish I had kept my decant a bit longer; maybe the Carny Talker would have settled down, given a little time, and let some of those other interesting notes come out to play.

It's so funny to see so many reviews call this a "manly scent," considering that the first time I tried to describe Theodosius, I said, "It's like Dorian, but a less sugary and a touch more floral. It's sexy, and it's much more feminine!" And that is what it smells like to me. It doesn't have the "bite" I associate with some "masculine" fragrances; it's silky, a blend of light musk touched with vanilla and a hint of something floral. (I'm guessing that's the jasmine leaf?) On me this really does smell feminine. After reading the comments above, however, I'm very curious about smelling it on a masculine skin chemistry . . . But afraid too. Did I mention my boyfriend ran off with my whole imp of Dorian?! (Well, at least it wasn't another woman . . . )

There is some lovely stuff in this. Something in it smells woody and sharp on me, but not in a good way. It’s just a little bitter and off-putting, as if it's been left in a cedar chest too long. Ultimately the sharpness fades, leaving a complex and interesting floral. It's just not for me.

Cherries! Bubblegum! A candy I can't quite put my finger on . . . I'm probably showing my age here, but this reminds me powerfully of something I haven't tasted in years--red Bonkers! Eventually this settles down a lot, turning just a touch spicy. But it never loses a kind of strange of cherry-waxiness that reminds me of old candy, or possibly lip balm. I can't say that it's boosted my mood, but it has given me a sudden craving for 80s Saturday morning cartoons.

Caramel usually doesn't work on me, turning into a really burnt burnt sugar. Red Lantern, Midway . . . Disappointments both. Not so for Creepy. First a blast of coconut rum, like I've upended a bottle of Cruzan on my wrist. This lasts for only a few seconds, however, before it's replaced with pure, sweet caramel apples. Suddenly I'm a kid again, unwrapping Kraft caramels so that Mom can melt them, with a whole tray full of bright red apples ready and waiting.

The *tea* specifically reminds me of Severin, which I also like a great deal. It's a very different scent, however, with a note of leather instead of sugar. This seemed like a very odd combination to me--I would never have tried it if a friend hadn't bought it first--but it ended up becoming a favorite in the GC. It all depends on how leather works for you, however.

Mmm, lilacs. This is a floral among florals, with just enough grounding in musk and sandalwood. Summery, but a little wistful . . . Definitely (and appropriately) not a bright, cheerful scent. It really is the kind of scent used by a woman who still carries lace handkerchiefs, as suggested by themerrybaker. This is the fragrance worn by a lady--lovely, romantic, classy.

Experience says this should be evil, ravening STINK on me. Vetiver? Usually turns into Deep-Woods Off. Patchouli? Nope, I don't do patchouli. So why do I love this so much?! It's sharp, but sharp and wicked and dark. It's a spicy, dark fragrance that works for me, a shockingly-wonderful blend. I had no intention of trying this, but I picked it up as part of my decant circle for my vetiver-lovin', patchouli-wearin' friends. And now . . . THEY CAN'T HAVE IT! The Samhainophobia is mine, I tell you, ALL MINE!

Buttery! Not really the waxy sugar-scent of Brach's candy corn. More like some strange homemade recipe: butter, brown sugar, a touch of spice, and something dark and almost boozy-sweet. Very October, and very nice. Feels like it needs a little edge, but I can add just a touch of other scents for layering. The result is pure Halloween.

Cake! White fluffy wonderful cake! And a bright, sugary fruit--definitely the currants. I don't catch much of an incense scent, just a light, fluffy scent that's just irresistible. I was hoping for something a little more like this in Monster Bait Closet, but that was overwhelmed by the big blackberry-bourbon binge. I don't know that this says "autumn" to me, but of the "Halloweenies" I've tried so far, I'm really crazy about this one.

Ever since I read the Inquisition notes, I just had a hunch I’d get this one. And what a great reward for a hunch! If “sparkly pink” had a smell, this would be it. This is just heavenly rosy sweetness. I was afraid at first that it would be pure “Jolly Rancher,” but it’s definitely not. There’s a spun-sugar note, just like fluffy cotton candy. The goblins hit one for my skin chemistry--and they hit it out of the ballpark!

I asked for this one as part of a decant circle, mostly because a good friend had asked to try it . . . Now, however, she might not get the chance! As others have pointed out, this is a dark chocolate, rich with cocoa. Sometimes creamy and milky notes can turn a little sour on me, but that doesn't happen with Candy Butcher. It remains velvety and rich for hours; I caught hints of it all night, even after washing. (I had tried all my decants at once, of course, and smelling like flowery-chocolate-Antonino-Constantine was a little much.) Of the chocolate scents I've tried, this has to be my new favorite--unless 13 counts, of course.

When I first put this on, I was ready to swoon with delight . . . It was all sugar, with a lovely blend of flowers that was certainly not jasmine-heavy. Sugary and sweet and all wonderful . . . And then the sugar melted away. Suddenly I smelled like fruity incense, like I remember Spencer's when I was a kid. If only it still smelled like that wonderful opening, I'd be buying this one by the gallon.

Why is it so hard to describe this one without using the word "quiet?" I'm not kidding . . . This blend is clean, fresh, and very delicate. I was expecting a sharp edge of mint, or perhaps something with more of the green-tea note of Apothecary. That's not what I get here, however. The blend of mint, sandalwood and possibly iris/lotus root gives me a faint impression of juniper--but please don't let me scare you off with that! It's definitely not a cedar scent, but it triggers a memory for me: the clean, brisk mint over sandalwood reminds me of wild clouds of juniper under a white frosting of snow. Silence is lovely and understated. It's a contemplative scent, if ever there were such a thing, made for quiet study on a dark January evening.