mountainwitch

Bay. Bay, bay, bay, bay . . . And then rosemary. These two herbs just march all over me. Eventually the other notes come out, making for a more rounded fragrance, but overall not for me. I'll pass this on to the boyfriend, who already wears one blend of bay rum; that in mind, I think it will work.

For the first twenty minutes this is all dandelion, and it’s fabulous. I want a dandelion fragrance! The memories of being a kid again, pulling up bunches and bunches of those plush golden flowers . . . It’s absolutely amazing, and then, suddenly, I smell like beer. Dandelions and beer. I smell like I've been sitting on a quilt spread on warm grass in the sunshine, ready for a fourth-of-July picnic--and while that sounds like a lot of fun, I don't really want to smell like the victim of a party foul.

OK, so there are already 13 pages devoted to the love (and, on occasion, the dislike) of Dorian. But I have to add my own mash note . . . OMG why didn't I buy 10 ml of this when I still could?! (I hadn't tried it yet, but that's not the point.) Dorian is just divine. At first he’s all warm sugar; then the pale musks slink out, sexy and seductive. Dorian is distinctive, long-lasting, and utterly perfect. What a sinful success.

At first this one goes on very sharp and very sweet. Not bad, but not particularly remarkable . . . And then, after about 30 minutes or so, the sharpness dies away. What's left is rain . . . Real rain on spring flowers. It's very faint, just a skin scent on me, but the likeness is just unbelievable.

At first very sweet and tart, like the sap dribbling from a fresh-cut Christmas tree, cut with the sharpness of ozone. I've tried this twice now, once fresh from the lab and once aged from a trade. In the fresh version, the sharp fir fades a little to reveal the mosses and earth--and then, just as it gets interesting, vanishes completely. In the older version, it seems both sharper and longer-lasting . . . It just turns into musty, earthy wet pine.

Juicy grapefrruit with the bite of ginger. What a fabulous combination! Unfortunately--and I've noticed that my chemistry does this to other grapefruit notes too--it has completely vanished within the hour. At least with some other grapefruit blends, what's left behind when the star of the show disappears is still pretty interesting on its own. In this case, though, grapefruit takes everyone else with her when she leaves the party.

Jasmine usually comes to the forefront of almost every blend when I wear it, but this one is not the jasmine love-fest I was afraid of. I couldn’t figure out what the other, lovely floral notes were; turns out to be orchid and especially daffodils. Plum is a good friend to my chemistry as usual, as is my old pal white musk. Overall a lovely blend, if a little more sweetness and light than I expected.

Thick, sharp pine sap over musk. A very dark perfume--if only the musk and juniper could balance the pine a bit more, I think I'd be hanging on to this one. Instead I just keep getting sticky dark pine sap.

Something about the florals reminds me of Antique Lace and, oddly, a bit of Odin or The Unicorn: a warm linen smell with traces of herbs. Warm, pretty, but not outstanding, this scent would make a very nice soap (although it’s not necessarily soapy itself). If I wanted a lovely linen fragrance, I would much prefer it married to the rich vanilla of Antique Lace; if I wanted a delicate floral with the fresh greenness of herbs, I prefer The Unicorn. Shroud is nice, just not something I need or can muster much passion about.

The Heavenly One is the Muse of Astrology and Astronomy, and guides all those who look to the stars for knowledge. She wears a flowing cloak embroidered with her beloved stars, holds a staff and a globe, and her eyes are skyward. Her scent is that of endless, star-clad space: glittering, cool, vast. Moonflower, Moroccan jasmine, benzoin, white musk, iris, moss and a flash of ozone. Gorgeous. Drop-dead wonderful, rich florals, featuring my good friends moss and white musk. For once the jasmine is part of the blend, but not the drama queen who steals the show; having finally decided to play nice with the other kids, she lends a little sweetness to this seductive "starry night" perfume. This reminds me more than a little of Night's Pavilion, which is also a favorite; if I ever manage to empty that bottle, I'll be getting a whole bottle of Urania. I think I've found my muse!

Is it possible to have a skin chemistry that amps up parchment? Of all the notes to overwork . . . I mean, jasmine or lemon is one thing, but paper? I noticed a similar effect in Dee, but the parchment note was more balanced by the very strong woods scent. Clio, however, has no such luck: even the usually-crisp lavender and orange is drowned out by the mixture of parchment and patchouli, which proves to be very "ornery" indeed. This could be very lovely on someone else, but I end up smelling like a musty stack of books . . . And while that's not necessarily a bad thing, there should at least be actual books involved!

The local swap circle was very proud of this one. All five of them had tried it, and all five of them agreed: "We finally found a scent that works for EVERYONE!" Well, it works for me too. The Crawling Chaos dusts my furniture . . . And he uses Lemon Pledge.

An imp of this first introduced me to the warm sexiness of a BPAL leather fragrance. At this point I had tried Black Tower and Highwayman, but the other notes--especially the vetiver in Highwayman--had hidden that note completely. I didn't think I'd like it; I'd smelled leather fragrances in candles and other fragrances before, and they weren't anything I'd ever want to smell like. Then I tried Loviatar, and I saw the light--err, dark. These were the perfect amber and musk notes for my chemistry, and the result was a little mysterious, very dark, and very intriguing. And it only got better--this one lasts for hours, warming into a scent that remains one of my favorites in the general catalogue. I want a bottle of this one!

... Deep cocoa laced with patchouli, leather armor, ritual incense, and a touch of Xochiquetzal’s flowers. Let me preface this by saying that I fear patchouli. I tried this one only because a friend ordered it and I caved to the peer pressure. I fully expected to run for the kitchen sink in five minutes. But this one works. It could be the floral or incense notes, but I suspect it's all that deep, rich cocoa. It's not an edible scent here, but a dark, rich, full scent that draws me in close--what is that? I like that! Lesson learned . . . Taking a risk is always interesting, and sometimes it makes for a real reward. To think I might have missed this complex, intriguing scent because I feared a single note.

The rose here comes through after a few long minutes, but it lingers. This is one of those really lovely roses that works very well with my chemistry, and the other notes provide an intriguing balance. There's something about the "tears" here that remind me of what I wanted Jolly Roger to smell like for me. Roses aside, this reminds me of the salt wind on a real beach in gray twilight. In the end, this one is so different from other fragrances I've tried that it's an immediate favorite.

I was afraid of the “Pearls” at first because I figured the coconut would make them all smell like suntan lotion. Boy, was I wrong. The coconut has a certain crispness, like a real fresh coconut split open and smelling of milk and shell. It softens into a sweet, warm, definitely red fragrance, hinting a bit more at that suntan-lotion fragrance I was dreading, but never really crossing that line. It remains different, striking, even sexy.

As other reviewers have remarked, the dragon's blood gives this a lovely sweetness that balances the sandalwood. I love a good warm wood scent anyway, and Dragon's Claw definitely fits the bill, but I was surprised by that touch of sweetness. This was one of those scents that inspired the boyfriend to ask "What are you wearing?" (In the good way, not the "Good Lord, woman! What were you thinking?!" kind of way. ) I'd love to have a bottle of this one on hand.

A delicate and lovely rose, neither overwhelming nor too brief, balanced with lily and something else delicate and sweet that I can't personally identify. This is a great "rose-plus" scent that reminds me of Parlement of Foules. Parlement is ultimately much more intriguing for me, but of course I do have a finite suppy of that beauty. I guess if I ever succeed in using the bottle, Hymn would make a pleasant replacement in the BPAL box.

I remember reading a story about a little girl and her grandmother making caramel icing--not for cake, but because they both loved caramel icing! The grandmother's wisdom is that everyone should have enough of what they love a least once . . . Of course, the little girl gets sick from all that sugar. Gluttony reminds me of this story, and not just because of the theme. On me, this one is all caramel. A little nutty, very sugary, a litle burnt. The sweetness turns almost sickly under its own weight, making it a perfect scent for the concept: it's too much of what I thought I loved, turning into something that's just revolting. Not everybody gets the BPAL morality play that I did. On a friend this smells like the most fantastic, nutty toffee . . . Maybe there's always room for just a little more . . .

This starts out smoky and tough, a strong leather scent, but eventually that's overwhelmed by the sweetness of dragon's blood. Generally I like leather, while smoky scents are kind of hit-and-miss; here the combination has something syrupy-sweet poured all over it. The longer I wear it, the sweeter and smokier it gets . . . And in this case that's not a good thing.

I've put off reviewing this one, precisely because I adored it so immediately and powerfully that it took me a while to figure out what to say. I've never had a perfume quite like this: undeniably exotic, both golden and warm, and unrelentingly sexy. Honey and spices and the same palm and fig notes that make Intrigue so, well, intriguing. (I can't believe I just said that . . . ) It has definite throw and lingers for hours--in fact, my only warning would be to apply with a light hand. It is definitely a potent blend, and a little goes a long way. edited after doublechecking Intrigue description

Oh my. This is wonderful. This one came highly recommended by Moonminx, and now I see why. Night's Pavilion is the fourth Lupercalia fragrance that I've tried; of those four, three are among my favorite oils of all time. This particular blend is clean, just a little sharp at first, with a hint of exotic mystery. White musk usually works for me, and here it turns outright seductive. You know, BPAL just might redeem the entire "Valentine's Day" season for me.

Wow, this one's sweet and strong; "potent" really is the perfect word for it, as edenssixthday mentioned. I love the apple, which is a note that I can definitely pick out, and I generally do well in floral-fruit-musk blends. Perfumed Garden wasn't one of those blends for me, however. There's too much sweetness, especially of the jasmine, which my chemistry tends to work too hard anyway. It was definitely powerful--until about the third hour, when it took its quince and went home.

I had to try this one for the literary reference. I nearly died when I opened the envelope and saw the bottle with its fine detail, too; I really wanted this to be a keeper! At first Montresor was all sharp and sweet, a fruity-boozy fragrance much like what Monster Bait: Closet turned into when it hit my skin. Montresor turned woodier and darker, however. I was starting to really enjoy it . . . Until it turned into a dead ringer for the cherry tobacco that my uncle used to smoke. The smell was powerful and rich, and I know some people might like that smell in itself, but the memories it triggered were just too powerful for me. (My uncle was a victim of a violent crime several years ago.) I did find a good home for Montresor with a friend for whom it was reminiscent of chocolate and cherries. Now, if I can just talk her into giving me the empty bottle . . .

Sleepy Moon was part of a very kind offer from a forum seller, and I was very excited to try this one out. Bamboo and poppy and chamomile . . . How cool, to try a lunacy blend that I totally missed the first go-around! Unfortunately, all those lovely notes turned into an incense cone on me--not an incensy blend, but an Asian-themed incense cone that I had the poor sense to start rubbing on my pulse points. Even the lavender, which usually pops out sharp and fresh on me, was lost in the dusty cloud. But as usual it smelled great on one of my swap partners, turning into an exotic, green, lovely fragrance she can wear even in the most professional setting. Sleepy Moon was fun to try, and it's found a loving home, but in the end I'm left a little green myself . . . With envy, of course!