LiberAmoris

Mod Note: FYI, there is another 'Meditation' oil/review topic located in the TAL sub-category of Utility Blends. This blend helps calm internal static and silence the noise of fitful intrusive thoughts to better facilitate effective meditation. This post is merely a placeholder for future reviews of this TAL oil. Whoever is first to review, please report this post using the report button below, so a mod can merge it with yours. Thanks!

It's been a really long time since I bought an aquatic—I love them, but I find I just don't wear them that much on my skin. But I'm glad I took the plunge with Octopus. At first, it's like a wave, with the watery notes crashing hard. But receding, the drydown is subtle and nostalgic. I get as much ambergris after 10 minutes as I do the moss and kelp. It's clean and warm and elegant. Reminds me a bit of House of Mirrors, but Octopus is much softer, like something lovely seen at the oblique. I'll enjoy every drop of my bottle.

I'm loving Third Charm. I think it's definitely one to try for those who've enjoyed Snake Oil, Womb Furie, Infernal Lover and O. The honey comes forward on my skin, and after a half hour or so, it's a soft, musky, honeyed skin scent with the patchouli darkening the edges ever so slightly. And it smells a little bit like nag champa (!), which is a total bonus.

Strong black tea and milk with white pepper, ginger, honey and vanilla, spilled over the crisp scent of clean linen. This post is merely a placeholder for future reviews of this just-released scent. Whoever is first to review, please report this post so I can merge it with yours. Thanks!

Silence, Lucien Lévy-Dhurmer.White sandalwood, iris, blue musk, lotus root, moonflower, plum blossom, green tea, white mint and white peach. Silence was a must-have because of the notes---white sandalwood, blue musk, moonflower, plum blossom? Sign me up. That, and I am obsessed with the mysteriousness of the painting, the gorgeous blues, the strange landscape in the background, and the arresting expression and accompanying hand gesture...perhaps we shouldn't discuss the hand gesture. I'm sure it can be traced back to the Egyptian god Horus and Harpocrates the Greek god of Silence and other traditional gestures meant to convey silence. It feels like a very secret and symbolist gesture, charged with the pressure of the moment. I'll leave it at that. In the bottle, I can really smell the sandalwood and muted fruits. It smells...quiet. That perception changes when I apply it and a delightful chorus of fruits and tea plays out. The peach and plum blossom are on the top, then I smell the moonflower and green tea and iris, then the lotus and sandalwood, and lastly the mint, which on me is just barely detectable but gives a little glimmer or sparkle to the other notes. I have no idea what blue musk smells like, but feel like I can smell it edging the blend in its luminous glow. Silence gets better the longer it wears---the sandalwood and musk give it good staying power on my skin even though it is a quiet blend. It's a fantastic fruity-floral with a lot of complexity. I find it very relaxing and peaceful. As it dissipates from my skin, it smells like a hush has fallen over me. Like walking out from a room filled with many voices into a winter night. It's lovely.

Mourning Lace is perfect for people who step into Reccs and say they're looking for a BPAL that smells a bit like clove cigarettes. The clove is wonderful here, and although it is well blended with the other notes, it remains distinguishable through the dry-down, at least on my skin. The oak, frankincense and myrrh work together to create a resiny, oaky base that's lifted from heaviness by the vanilla blossom. The clove warms everything up and adds an enlivening spice. I think I can pick up on the cognac—something that reminds me of wine—but it's not prominent. ML stays close to my skin and hours later I get occasional wafts of what smells like a clovey skin-musk. There's something contemplative about it that seems true to mourning, but it also smells very comforting to me. I bought this for my boyfriend but I think we may have to share it.

Let me second the recommendation of Snake Oil, which I have long maintained is reminiscent of Emeraude. Of all the BPAL scents I've tried, it comes the closest, at least to my nose.

Oleander Honey smells like white oleander blossoms and honey. Like the other Rappaccini's Garden honey blends I've tried, it's sweet, but with an edge. For those who love honey and white florals, this is a dream pairing.

Chokecherry Honey really does smell like a mix of cherry and honey. My boyfriend says he likes it because it reminds him of the smell of cherry chapstick, which is a nostalgic scent for him. It's more nuanced than that, obviously, but it does share some elements. There's a slight bitter or astringent note here that's very faint and gives it a little bit of edge.

I bought Mastermind for my boyfriend, but I love it and kind of want to keep the bottle for myself. After opening and sniffing, I was pretty much transported back to 1989 because there's something about Mastermind that reminds me of Benetton Colors, the perfume I wore for many years as a teen. But I like this better. On, the woods and resins and floral notes swim together in the most delightful way. I catch sandalwood, then a bit of leather, then orange blossom, then the black amber. Woven through, there's that subverted, darkened jasmine that's so sexy. It's sophisticated, but it doesn't mess around. So good.

Anyone who loves Benetton Colors (it was my signature perfume when I was in my early to mid-teens) should try Mastermind.

Maybe Dana O'Shee?: "Offerings of milk, honey and sweet grains were made to placate these creatures, and it is that the basis of the scent created in their name." It's definitely creamy and oaty.

Showers you with blessings of good fortune. Use to attract prosperity in all areas of your life. Note: my bottle says 'Perpetuum Bonuum', but if memory serves, the Latin could/should be 'Perpetuum Bonum.' I've always been of the mind that nulli est homini perpetuum bonum (there's no such thing as unending/perpetual good fortune), but even if I got some transitory good fortune from this, I'd be happy. Wet and on the skin, this smells a bit like Horn of Plenty to me. It's an herbal cherry with a kind of waxy overtone that reminds me a bit of the classic cherry chapstick smell. This is not a bad thing in my opinion, as it brings back some good memories. There's something very soothing and relaxing about it, almost reassuring. I anointed a candle with a few drops of this oil last week as I was feeling in need of some good fortune. I'm happy to say that I got some. It looks like I might have some positive changes on the horizon. I'm not sure if it was the oil or the fact that it allowed me to focus on bringing myself some good fortune, but either way, it worked. ETA: The proofreader can't spell. Tsk tsk.

Paduan Killer Swarm is kind of rocking my world. On my skin, I feel like I can smell each one of the notes, but the overall effect is a kind of blurred, nested, ambery-dark coziness, much like a beehive. With the gourmandy notes of licorice, ginger cream, clove, cinnamon, and coconut shell, it's the kind of BPAL where I find myself wanting to call it delicious, because there's something so mouth-watering about it. And yet it's definitely not defined by those 'yummy' notes because it offers a different texture than one expects from anything foody---there's something vaguely fuzzy and warm about the amber that seems just like the fuzz on a bee, and the nettle smells restless, like the green, unceasing growth of something dangerous and without conscience. When I was a kid, I used to pet the backs of bumblebees while they gathered pollen, because they were so soft. But you only have to get stung once to learn that things in the world are more complicated than they seem. This blend definitely captures the warmth, sweetness, restiveness and threat of a killer bee. I'll definitely enjoy using every drop in my bottle.

Skin musk, honey, carnation, French magnolia, patchouli, sandalwood, and immortelle. I have happily been wearing Judith and Holofernes for months after picking up a bottle at ECWC, and it's become one of my go-to comfort blends. I think it might be the carnation and sandalwood here that lulls me into a state of relaxation---it's like a very mellow incense, although I wouldn't call it incensey. But the sandalwood definitely gives it a meditative, calming vibe. The skin musk, honey, and patchouli add to the smoothness and bring a sweetness to the blend that is far from cloying---it smells like the sweetness found in nature, like honey and flower nectar. The magnolia note lifts up the blend and gives it some height and a bit of sharpness, and the carnation is fulgent and a little spicy. But I wouldn't consider this to be a floral, at least not on my skin. It's all about the bottom notes, the musk and sandalwood and patchouli. It's one of those blends that smells like idealized skin on me, like Morocco, Hod, and Sed Non Satiata.

My thoughts exactly. I got one sniff of this, dotted myself all over, and was happy all day long just luxuriating in the creamy glow. It has the same feel to me as an old favorite, Chaste Moon. Like CM, it feels like a 'white' blend, clean without smelling like soap or flowers. I can pick up on the moonflower if I concentrate, but I can't detect any rose to speak of. I get a smidge of ozone, and lots of white amber and beeswax, and then of course the 'opaline notes', which are indeed similar to the notes in Black Opal---lush mineral tones that manage to convey both a glassy surface and fiery depth. However, the opal here is definitely white opal, and that is the persistent impression I get while wearing this---it smells like a glorious white opal, full of fire and the water that the faint smell of the ozone seems to suggest. It's ridiculously gorgeous both on its own and as a blender. It makes everything it touches rich and dreamy.

Mmm, rose-swirled amber. The bright tumult of pink grapefruit is the uppermost impression I get from The Presence of Love, but as it dries down, it's mostly rose and amber on me, with an impression of jasmine, like if someone crumpled a bloom in their hand and then went about their day. The white musk is light and warm with that ethereal glow that Beth's white musk always seems to give off. The grapefruit lifts the rose and makes it cheery and bright, even after the bright and bold citrus-y facet evaporates. This is just lovely. It's such a happy, cheerful blend, like the glow of new love.

I think I was predisposed to like Anactoria because I have an unholy love for Beth's daemonorops note. It's in Wilhelmina Murray, which was one of those bottles that I got, wore a couple of times, put away, then tried again and wore every day for like two weeks straight because I just couldn't get enough. It's hard to describe how it smells to me, but it's very distinct, and I can smell it in Anactoria and I it. This is one of those blends whose project is overtly and unabashedly sexy, and for some reason I was anticipating something more like Smut I think, because I was really surprised by how light it was when I first opened the bottle to test it. The anchors in the blend feel almost translucent---the amber and the honey feel clear and thin, as opposed to opaque and thick. The kush and currants and Arabian musk feel as though they've been steeped in this clear mixture and then removed, giving some warmth to the blend, like bare skin and the lingering remnants of a tryst on the air---a wood bed frame, candle wax, a bowl full of berries, and maybe some honey wine? Overall, it feels to me like O's sophisticated sister, carnal but more subtle somehow, like O if it drew the curtains around the bed first.

I couldn't pass up Sapphics because I love grey amber. Love. And sure enough, right out of the gates, there it is, that sweet and earthy note that's just so good. And happily, it stays. Even hours after applying, Sapphics on my skin is mostly that wonderful amber with the tonka, oakmoss, tolu balsam, myrrh, and muguet chiming in. The tonka and oakmoss combined with the amber give this the feel of an earth-bound Lyonesse on my skin. Whereas Lyonesse is aqueous and has a sea breeze running through it, this is definitely a blend with both feet on terra firma. I think this blend is wonderfully gender-neutral, and because of that, it's tremendously comforting to me somehow. This is the kind of blend I'd wear on a rainy day if I wanted to curl up with a book.

Yay, Ovid! I probably would have ordered The Emathides just for that reference alone, but the notes sounded too good to pass up anyway. On me, this is like Lavender Plus. Like lavender plus a million other little things filling in its cracks and fissures and rough places to make it smooth and dark and burnished. It's gorgeous and complex. It's like looking at the wing of a blackbird in sunlight and seeing all those other colors dashing about in what looks like solid black from far away. If I look at the note listing, I feel like I can detect the rose attar and the blue musk and the black currant. But the whole is so much more than the sum of its parts. So glad I have a bottle of this one.

I thought the same thing! Singing Moon really is the earth meets the sea. It's grassy and mossy and yet there's the salty tang of seawater carried on the air. There's also something smoky in this that gives it even more complexity. All in all, it strikes me as very elemental---as in water, fire, air, earth. They all meet and commingle in Singing Moon. I enjoy this on my skin but will likely also try it in the oil burner because it's such a nice atmospheric experience.

Gibbous Moon sounded right up my alley because I'm a Cancer and I love anything moon-y. That, and I have a thing for Beth's moonflower note. It didn't disappoint me---it's mostly moonflower on my skin with cucumber and moss. The orris is just a whisper and the lily and hyacinth round things out. I keep this next to my bed with my other 'nighttime' blends, because it's perfect for sleep. Very soft, comforting, and clean.

Spider is smooth. It's like a guy who always knows the right thing to say. Sometimes he means it and sometimes he doesn't, but he always says the right thing. Trying to summarize how it smells on me is difficult. It does have a cologney feel, but the kind of cologne that you'd have to go to Europe to get. I can smell the bergamot and lime, and it does smell citrussy, but not like it's been just squeezed. The ginger adds a little spark and spice, as does the nutmeg. But it's very refined. I'm not a fan of vetiver, but here it adds a greenish spike to the blend that is sexy but again, soft-pedaled. This isn't something that I wear too often, so I'll pass it on to a worthy guy and then make it a priority to give him a good sniff when he wears it.

Honey, myrrh, lily of the valley, rose otto, fig leaf, almond, ambrette, red apple, and warm musk. The almond note is so strong in Bilquis, that for the first ten minutes or so, it's a little much. But as soon as that dies down, it's all sumptuous honey and myrrh with the red apple and fig leaf. I can't smell the rose otto at all, and the lily is just barely there on my skin. The musk is similarly subtle. It's very pretty, and there's also something very sexy about it. There's something about this that smells like a vintage perfume---something classic and classy.

Mr. Ibis smells pale green to me, pale green and cream. It's incredibly gentle, even genteel. There's a natural elegance to it. As others have noted, it's very light, with not a ton of throw, but at least on my skin, it manages to stick around for a good long time. The musks with the vanilla flower and aloe are almost sheer and glimmering, and there is something 'clean' about it, but it doesn't strike me as aquatic at all. To me, it smells more like a whispery green floral with those musks working very delicately underneath. This fits the character from American Gods to a T, but it also smells to me like someone who's beautiful but does not know it. It's just a lovely, unconsciously radiant blend.