Juushika

In the vial: Aquatic with a half floral, half salty edge. On me: A smooth and stable scent of warm salty water with a floral edge that's almost tropical but not quite perfumey. It barely dries down, doesn't morphthe experience of wearing the scent is as much a match to the description as the scent itself. The fullness of the floral balances out the crystalline salt, and the result is smooth as a glass sea, a calm and practiced aquatic. Throw is moderate to low and wear length is moderate. Verdict: Sea of Glass is an accomplishment, but hasn't won my heart. It well suits the description, but its fleshy floral fullness—despite evening out and opening up the scentisn't to my personal taste; I'd prefer a saltier, sharper water. Objectively speaking, however, this is beautifully done.

In the vial: I'm not suresomething clean, or like cleaning fluid, and almost citrus but not quite? And as I continue to sniff, tobacco. I don't even know. On me: Tobacco as it hits the skinand this is what I least want from the scent, but it's a gentler tobacco than I'm used to, more akin to vetiver than stale cigarettes. There may be leather in the background. And then the carnation comes out, and this is fantastic. The tobacco is welcome now, and while I don't get coffee or leather distinctly they help too; those dark notes provide background and shading to compliment the carnation, and make for the darkest, strongest, spiciest carnation that I've ever encountered. A spicy dark red scent, brick-toned but with a powdery-the-way-spices-are-powdery texture, a touch smoky, not masculine but leaning towards gender neutral without losing any sensuality. Throw is fairly low, but the scent begs fairly heavy application so it can wrap itself around the skin. Wear length is moderate to long. Verdict: Without overselling The Ta-Ta, this is the carnation that I've always wanted, spicy and dark as dried red petals, shadowed and deep, well complimented by other notes without being forced to share the spotlight, and beautiful. It's my holy grail for one of my favorite notes, so I'm glad I tried it despite being dubious about both tobacco and leather, and I see a bottle in my futureyes indeed I do.

In the vial: Medicinal, a bit spicy, a bit sweet, a hint of smoke. On me: Blood/dragon's blood in color and warmth, vetiver/tobacco in smokyness, and a touch of pepperish spice. It's surprisingly warm, especially in the throw, and has a certain lightness within—laudanum maybe, or linen, a bit sweet, pale; it opens up the scent. It reminds me of a remixed The Tell-Tale Heart, and not just because of the Poe connection, but the pale note hiding within makes it unique. Unfortunately at the one hour mark it's already faded to a ghost of that pale scent touched with a hint of spice and smoke. Scent-color is ... well better just to say that this evokes the moonlit red and black landscape of the description. Throw is moderate dying down to low, and wear length is short. Verdict: Beautifully realized, perfectly to my taste, and also heartbreaking—it hurts to see something so wonderful fade so quickly. Luckily I get enough similarity to The Tell-Tale Heart that I can just turn to that blend instead, but if Blood Moon had more staying power then I would probably want a bottle of it, too.

In the vial: Salty and slightly dark/organic water. On me: The word I want to use is brackish—a pure aquatic, impressively salty, with a dark, organic element. The description is indeed so spot on that there's not much else to say about the scent, except some congratulations may be in order. Over time the black water recedes and are purer, slightly more crystalline salt water comes to the fore. Throw is moderate, dying down to low; wear length is about four hours, but the scent fades dramatically at its tail end. Verdict: Ameles Potamos is too unique a scent to be called straightforward, but it's exactly what it says on the tin: black waters touched with salt, pure but deep, utterly convincing. I don't know how I like it as a perfume, but I admire it as a concept. For a while now I've wanted a scent that reminds me of crying, and this is a beautiful interpretation of such—so I think I'll keep it around, and scratch that want off my list.

In the vial: Mostly a sense of darkness. Some oudh, but precise notes mostly escape me; a slightly scratchy, slightly floral/fruit, dark scent. On me: When it first goes on this is currant in the throw, red and fruity, and something darker against the skin, with a powdery/incense bent. The currant dies to reasonable levels during drydown (although there's occasional overstrong hits of it in the throwbut to be fair, currant amps on me), contributing a fruity fullness, but the color is purple now, dark, over a smoky/powdery base of musk and incense. There's a very clear sense of color from this scent, and it's all purple. The vague powderiness atop all that color creates a slight candle/soap vibe, and however vivid and clearly conveyed that dusky violet don't make for a particularly deep or nuanced perfume (I wish I got more dark musk, or something else that would ground and deepen the scent), but its not unpleasant. Throw is moderate low, wear length is moderate long, mostly due to a lingering skin level perfumeyness. Verdict: A Nocturnal Reverie isn't unpleasant, but neither is it winning my heart. I have a fondness for scents which are classifiable by color, and so this helps to scratch a purple itch, but it lacks depth overall and that background hint of candle/soap isn't my style. Aging may help bring out the darker notes that would counterbalance all the color, but on the whole I think this is destined for swaps.

In the vial: A sweet, airy, Jack-esque pumpkin. On me: The pumpkin's earthiness comes out as this hits the skin. Initially, Pumpkin Princess is surprisingly spicy and pumpkin-y, darker, drier, and not as sweet as I was expecting, but never heavy. There's some amber warmth and a dusting of sweetness, and perhaps a touch of extra fruitiness (currant, I think), but those are subtle; the pumpkin is predominant. A warm, sweet, dark-toned, full-bodied scent. The sweetness comes out as it wears, and the pumpkin grows less earthy, tending towards Jack's pumpkin but without the waxiness. Unfortunately, the scent develops a certain fruity/floral perfumeyness at its tail end (about three hours in), which may be what others are calling tropical but to my nose seems pretty much a generic perfume. Scent-color is a glowing golden orange. Throw is moderate low, and wear length is moderate. Verdict: I love Pumpkin Princess upon application—its a warm, welcoming pumpkin scent, but errs towards the raw honey side of the other notes: its sweetness is gentle instead of cloying, and there's something earthy and warm in its golden fruits. But it conforms to expectations more and more as it wears, and I don't love that as much—the glowing golden pumpkin is pretty nice, but the tendency towards perfumeyness isn't my style. All in all a wash-up; I'll keep this around and retest it, but I'm not won over yet.

In the vial: A familiar cologney smell that I can't name. Woods? Linen? On me: Bourbon vanilla as it goes on the skin, almost as dark and dirty as tobacco. About ten minutes later, an earthy pumpkin emerges, spicy and earthy, made that much darker by the bourbon vanilla. The scent has a surprising sweetness, thick and dark but not quite cloying, and a certain perfumey quality, especially in the throw. The background hides a dry/cologne note, somewhere between blonde wood and linen, which makes the scent a little airy and counteracts the dark spice of the pumpkinand I don't love it for that. Throw is surprisingly high, and wearlength is incrediblebut many hours in The Changling morphs into a pure perfumey, fruit-touched, insistent sweetness. Verdict: I quite like The Changling for an hour of two, when the pumpkin emergesthe lean towards rind makes it dark, spicy, earthy, unique and quite lovely. But the occasional off note in the background keeps me from falling in love, and bourbon vanilla does its best to run away with the scent. For a few hours it's fine, casting a dark sweet dirty shadow over the scent, but the almost-cloying perfume that it becomes at the tail end of wear is frankly offputtingso much so that I washed it off. Aging may help the notes settle, and I'll hang on to my decant, but this is is more than a miss than a hit for me so far.

In the vial: Chocolate and vetiver. The cocoa absolute is thick, dark, and almost impossible to reintegrate into the oil. On me: A hit of chocolate on the skin, which burns off to leave behind a beautiful mellow darkness—patchouli and ash (which leans towards full-on smoke as the scent wears) with a touch of warmth from the hay and pepper. The cocoa gives some lingering dark color and a bit of sweetness, with occasional appearances as an actual chocolate note, Boomslang-dark and beautiful—a pleasant surprise, as cocoa absolute usually vanishes on my skin. The Seekim already feels aged: it's warm and dark, smooth as smoke with slight powdery ashiness and a pepper kick, and beautiful beyond words. Scent-color is a deep smoked brown. Throw is moderate low, wear length is fairly long. Verdict: I'm in love. Bless that I get nothing of the lemon others report, because The Seekim is a dream come true on my skin. The notes meld together into a rich dark warmth, more distinctly cocoa than I was expecting but far from foody. I may have to spring for a full bottle, because I think this will age like a dream—and I want to find out.

In the vial: Sweetish green sap with fruity undertones. On me: Goes on as the outdoors—winter trees with a touch of dirt and green sap; warm, organic, but late season. There's some smoke in the background, warming up the organics, and pumpkin underneath, warm and round and orange-gold. As it dries down, it grows sweeter—not quite candy, although there may be a touch of it there, but a maple, sappy, organic sweetness, sticky and thick. The smoke and warmth dissipates, leaving a cooler-weather scent, but there's still some fruitiness, plenty of pumpkin and perhaps a touch of apple, to provide body. In both forms, Halloween: Montreal reminds me of Samhain—it's in the same family certainly: seasonal, outdoorsy but touched by foody elements, sappy and sweet. Montreal leans green and orange (pine sap, maple, pumpkin) where Samhain leans black and red (pine forests, apple), and Montreal lacks some of Samhain's complexity (I miss the smoke and spice of the earlier stages of the scent), but it well suits the description. Throw is moderate, but the oil is potent—it just takes a drop, and wear-length is going strong so far. Verdict: As noted, I prefer the complexity of the scent's earlier stages. But the similarity to Samhain is telling—like Samhain, Montreal evokes human celebration on the edges of late autumn wilds. It's not as well refined a scent, but it still encapsulates a certain autumn experience. I'll be interested to see if it balances a bit better as it ages—the sappy sweetness can be a little heavy for me—but on the whole I quietly adore it.

In the vial: Strange to say, but it's almost a morpher. I get something masculine, then a hint of chocolate, then smoke, then a cologne/floral touch. On me: Opens up as smoke and fuzzy musk, a deep warm scent. Then there's a hint of oleander and an encroaching generic floral perfume/cologne—and it never goes away. The cologne deepens out into something more masculine, refined, and dark, but it's at its heart a traditional drugstore scent, and stays that way indefinitely. Throw is low. Verdict: Disappointed would be putting it mildly. There's a lot of promise in the vial, where I can smell almost all of the notes, but on the skin this is cologne all the way. It's a better cologne than I usually get from BPAL, but still nothing desirable or special. I may try this on fabric, to see if the vial complexity will sustain. But so far, Batty is headed to swaps.

In the vial: A sweet, cool, slightly damp scent that doesn't quite strike me as coconut, but could be milk, or coconut milk. On me: Immediately on the skin there's a burst of buttery sweetness, not too thick, distinctly sweet. I find it difficult to describe what the scent matures into, and I think that's because I've never smelled shea butter—because this could well be it. It's a fleshy, full-bodied, palpable white scent, creamy, buttery, and sweetened but not foody; it stays on the safe side of cloying but is strangely oppressive. A white, milky scent seems like it should be faint, but this is anything but: throw if fairly low, but the scent itself is potent and powerful, intimating, like drowning in cream. I can't comment on wear-length—I'll wash it off instead. Verdict: There's something here that I just can't tolerate—Obatala seems to do all the right things, but it overpowers and intimidates me with an unexpected smothering blanket of opaque, sweet, buttery milk. I've tested this twice now, and each time been surprised at the intensity and strangeness, and been forced to wash it off. This is definitely one for the swaps.

2010 version. In the vial: A cologne/aquatic take on snow, with a touch of backing florals. On the skin: Potent, headache-inducing drugstore cologne as it hits the skin, but that dies off in drydown. I get a surprising amount of florals from Jólasveinar. They're cool florals, leaning towards masculine, a touch outdoorsy. For the first half of wear the sweetness of the pastries nudges the scent towards traditional; as the sweetness dies down the florals persist, snow-touched but full bodied, primarily orchid. The coolness occasionally presents as cologney and aquatic, and fails to be convincing as a result. Throw is moderate low, wear-length is moderate low. Verdict: On one hand, pine is one of my death notes and, while others get it, it doesn't show up on my skin--a welcome reprieve. On the other, all I really get from Jólasveinar is florals. Occasionally they're wintery outdoor florals, and their lean towards masculine/neutral is refreshing, but for the most part they're not particularly interesting or unique, and there's not enough of the other notes—dirt and moss would be particularly welcome—to balance them out. This is a scent for the swap pile.

In the vial: A dry white scent withI'd sweara touch of vetiver. On me: Black musk as it hits the skin, dry and sharp as pepper. There may be some patchouli here, but it really feels like vetiverperhaps the myrrh is just that dark. Dries down to a dry, harsh, incredibly beautiful scent. I still get black pepper and vetiver, but that may be a reflection of the scent's texture rather than its notes. The black musk is potent, but pristinely dark rather than animalistic. It's a surprisingly straightforward and stable scent, but its bold harshness is far from simplistic. The catch is that it fades to a white pepper-ish pale dry spice within 1.5 hours, and is all but gone by 2.5 hours. Scent-color is smoky monochrome. Throw is moderate, and wear length is short. Verdict: I'm not sure what magic makes Dance of Death so beautiful in the midst of its intense harshnessthis isn't an innocuousness, palatable scent, but it is striking, proud, and intensely lovely. It's a disappointment then that it has such a short wear-length, but the fact that the scent is so stablewith a straightforward drydown and no real morphingmay be its saving grace, because it could easily be reapplied. I still prefer scents with more staying power, so I may not reach for this often. But I will keep it around.

In the vial: Spicy dragon's blood. On me: Primarily herbal. There's an occasional touch of hot dry spice, probably cinnamon, and an even rarer hint of sweetness, but this is herbs overall: potent, dry, mildly bitter. Hardly indistinct, but not particularly robust either, and doesn't much morph or grow once it hits the skin. Scent-color is a dusty green. Throw is low. Verdict: French Love does just about nothing for me, but then out of the vial I don't get any of the dragon's blood, etc. as reported by others. Nor am I particularly attached to this scent's intended purpose. I washed it off, and won't keep my imp.

In the vial: Pale woods with a hint of greenery. On me: The greenery amps when it hits the skin—not a fresh green, but not quite rotten or choking either; it's living, thriving, ancient plants—and during drydown, this reminds me of Oblivion sans saffron: old, living greenery, calm but powerful, not quite oppressive but occasionally threatening. Post-drydown, moss comes to the forefront with an almost fuzzy texture and sweater-like warmth. This ends up as a warm, soft, barely powdery and even less sweet scent of mossy golden wood which is lovely on the whole—but there are still hints of something bitter and threatening on the edges, which taints the scent but brings it closer to its inspiration. Scent color is a luminescent olive green. Throw is moderate low. Verdict: For better or worse I get nothing black or rotting here, but that doesn't mean that The Twisted Oak Tree completely abandons its dark inspiration. I wonder if it should, though. The moss-heavy, golden woods final stage of this blend is often gorgeous and comforting while maintaining adhering to its wild, organic origins, but the bitterness that haunts the edges never quite settles out and, frankly, it's disconcerting. An interesting scent, and one I'm glad to have tried; I'll test it again to see if my opinions change, but for now I think this errs just on the wrong side of unwearable. Certainly an intriguing blend, though.

In the vial: Floral, mostly lily. Potent, but pale. On me: Oppressive fleshy mostly-white florals, with just a touch of death rosethis is a pink/white version, not a screaming red, but rose tends to be a universal death note on my skin. There may be a touch of sandalwood and/or frankincense in the background, giving this some incense-variety spice. With wear the rose amps, no surprise here. It's still a pink/white rose, a lesser of evils compared to the atrocity that red rose becomes on my skin, but nonetheless it verges on single note. With the touch of incense spice in the background, it's reminiscent of Lucy's Kiss. Verdict: Seraphim isn't to my taste to begin with, but it would never work on me given my skin's enormous ability to amp rose notes. I washed this off and obviously don't need it.

In the vial: It's hard to say, but to be honest I think I mostly get citrus—there's other details and notes underneath, busy but unnameable; mostly it's bergamont and neroli. On me: The patchouli and vetiver are the easiest to pick out at first, but they're not alone—they're potent notes I know and can easily recognize, but the rest of the list is mixed up beneath them. After a minute the incense comes in, warming up the scent, and that's the heart of The Caterpillar: smoky, dark, resinous, but not particularly overwhelming, a warm and smooth blend of patchouli/vetiver/incense classics. The other notes are there, but they pop up one at a time, unevenly, each combining well with the base scent but no more than one or two ever appearing at a time such that this never becomes a single unified blend. There's a mossy herbal, and then a surprisingly and pleasantly potent carnation, and then something a bit perfumey (jasmine? I doubt it's iris) with a powdery edge, and then there's something sweeter and fruitier (perhaps the neroli/bergamont again), and then more carnation, and a continuing random parade of the other notes come one by one. A master morpher indeed. Throw is moderate. Verdict: It's hard to say. Each of the facets works well on my skin, with the occasional exception of the jasmine (as florals aren't my style, and this one goes a little grandma's soap on me). Some, like the carnation, are quite good—carnation likes to get swallowed by other notes on my skin, but here its a rich spicy-sweetness and absolutely fantastic. I'm fond of the heart notes, and they combine well —they're less headshoppy on me than they seem to be on others, and also remarkably smooth and calm despite their tendency towards potency. But I like to know what I'm getting out of a scent, and The Caterpillar never does decide. Its rotation of notes is unusual and surprisingly successful, but I don't know if I'd be able to wear it with any regularity. I'll hang onto my imp and test again.

In the vial: Hay and perfumer's alcohol. On me: Perfume on application—it's that sort of nondescript perfumey scent that's mostly perfumer's alcohol, but not entirely so; it's also very light. The scent warms post-drydown, but remains thin: golden, warm, but I wouldn't say hot; retaining an airy perfumery quality that tries to mimic winds but doesn't entirely succeed. Long into the wear length the scent becomes fainter but more polished, losing much of that perfuminess and gaining something of an amber base note with a barely sweet edge. All in all a strange scent—it's almost but not quite a single note, but that single note is more of an impression than a scent. It's an apt but not perfect echo of its inspiration: the wind-blown hay fields are there, but they're not scorched. Throw is low. Wear length is moderate. Verdict: I don't get the harshness that others get, and thank goodness for that. I'm not overly fond of the scent's various similarities to commercial perfume, but I do like it's late, toned-down stage. This is one to test again (and in large quantities) to finalize my impression. So far I'm intrigued but not quite satisfied, in part because of the similarities to commercial perfume, in part because I wish the scent had the punch of its description—instead it's faint, if more palatable.

In the vial: A sweet fruit—I feel like I should be able to name it, but can't. On me: The fruit gets fuller and riper—almost to the point of overripe fermentation—on application. There's some apple in there, but I think there's other fruit(s) that I don't find as easy to recognize; all in all, a pinky-red golden full scent with just a touch of cinnamon, more in powdery texture than explicit scent. During drydown the cinnamon amps—there's clove in there too, and maybe some patchouli; it's darker than I was expecting, and continues to amp until it becomes a dry, potent, dark, warm spice over the memory of a ripe red apple. It's not sweet, too pure-spice to be foody, bold but absolutely lovely if you want to curl up in some spice. A few hours into wear, however, the fruits reemerge and grow dominant—apple, and perhaps some peach, almost overripe, making for a seasonally-inclined scent which I find much less appealing. This scent is potent, with a strong throw and long wear length, so the fruit stage sticks around for some time. Scent-color is vivid red. Verdict: I didn't have particularly high hopes, but the dry spices in the middle of Block Buster were almost perfect, rich and dry and hot and potent, at its best absolutely divine. I'd be won over, but for the fact that the fruit eventually reemerges—and while cinnamon apple is pleasant, it's too much a change from the pure spices and a little too seasonal; it might work better as a room scent, and I don't particularly want it on my skin. As a result, Block Buster was ultimately a personal disappointment (although it makes me eager for a pure spice blend). But for whatever it's worth, I got a lot of work done the day I tested the scent—more along the lines of overcoming internal procrastination than working around external obstacles, but still a powerful blend for a productive day.

In the vial: Thin, white, powdery—almost an absence of scent. On me: The lily is predominant when first applied, but then some warmth comes up behind it—a powdery sort of warmth, white musk and white pepper and maybe just a touch of mandarin, with woods providing a little body. It's a thin scent, a barely sweet, clean floral sprinkled with white powder; there are occasional spikes, the pale spiciness and phantom heat of white pepper, which keep it from tending towards baby powder. As it wears, pepper becomes predominant, atop lily, touched with white musk. All in all a pale floral, but without the airiness or fleshiness that I usually associate with that scent family. Scent-color is opaque white. Throw is moderately low. Verdict: Grandmother of Ghosts is much better than I expected—I'm not a fan of most florals, but the other notes keep the lily dry rather than oppressive, and the scent's pale whiteness is elusive but gently intriguing. Nonetheless, this is far from my style and I find the scent's overall inaccessability (a more more than subtle, a little too ghostly) somewhat offputting. I'll trade this away.

In the vial: Tropical, but darker than just fruits or florals. On me: It goes on perfumey—the airiness of the breezes combine with the fruits and florals for a department store, spray-on scent. Thankfully, it loses that perfumey quality on drydown. What emerges is dark tropical fruits, familiar insofar as it fits nicely into BPAL's catalog of tropical scents, but its darkness makes it unique. It's not quite greenery, but rather the shadows cast by jungle branches: depth, darkness, almost like cocoa without being too similar to Xiuhtecuhtli, cutting the airiness and brightness of the tropical fruits and flowers. The scent is still quite sweet, but not cloying or sharp. I don't get much amber in its own right, but it may contribute to the general well-roundedness of the scent. Scent-color is a dusky, dark pink. Throw is fairly low, but that may be because I applied very little. Wearlength is moderate long. Verdict: To my great surprise, I rather like this. Tropicals aren't my style, but this one is—well, not exactly toned down, but smooth, round, shaded. It's a very full scent without being overpowering, its sweetness makes it palatable, and its dark tropics have great individuality. I still don't think it's a scent I would wear, in the end, because however lovely it's still not my style. But it's an interesting one to try. (On the other hand, I also tried this many years ago, as a frimp to my first BPAL order, but didn't review it at the time. If I remember correctly, it was brighter and more generic tropical fruity floral to my untrained nose, and I had no particular love for it.)

In the vial: Floral. There's a white floral in here, but on the whole it's a mixed, sweet, strong floral with a hint of soap. On me: This is familiar but I can't name it, probably because florals aren't my strength. But there's probably some rose in here, because this is a pink, moderately fleshy floral. It's not as cloying as drugstore perfume, but does remind me of Glade by way of BPAL: a mixed and well-rounded, but absolutely unabashed, almost pure floral. It's on the sweet side without going sharp, and has the fullness that I associate with fruity-florals without any actual fruit. There may be a hint of herbs—just enough to counteract the floral tendency towards a cloying airiness. I don't get soap, but again this is a more natural take on a scent that might be added to soap. As potent as the florals are, they're surprisingly likable; I amp rose horrendously, so I may get more of it than others, but to my surprise it hasn't reached death note levels. Scent-color is somewhere between opaque white and amaranth. Throw is moderate low, but I only applied a dot. Wearlength is better than short, but I'll wash it off soon. Verdict: This is more than entirely not my styleit's not a scent I want to wear or to smell or to ever encounter, if I can help it. But for all that, Come to Me is surprisingly pleasant. It has all the hallmarks of a potent, unabashed mixed floral, the sort of thing I'd expect in an air freshener or soap, without the offensive chemical haze that usually comes with them. I never need to wear it again, but it wasn't bad to test.

In the vial: Vetiver. On me: It warms on the skin—some fire joins the char, and the scent grows broader and smoother. The other note is probably musk—sometimes it has the warmth of red, but it also exhibits the cuddly and mildly villanic nature that brown has on my skin. With wear, the scent balances more and more towards musk. Vetiver still touches it with some warmth and smoky shadow, but this is largely a rich, warm, sensuous musk, just barely fuzzy, spiked with a mild sweetness that resembles brown sugar. Whatever the exact notes, it's gorgeous on my skin. Scent color is somewhere between auburn and burnt umber. Wear length is moderate to long, but the throw dies down to low after the first few hours. Verdict: I love it—but that's mostly because I love musk and vetiver. In itself, Fire of Love isn't a particularly unique scent—it begins as mostly vetiver, ends as mostly musk, and doesn't have a strong independent identity. But musk in particular is fantastic on my skin, and this is a lovely all-rounder in that category: smooth, warm, barely sweet, cuddly but sensuous, straight up but beautiful musk. It reminds me to wear musk more often, but it isn't a must-have musk in its own right simply because it's not unique. Still, this is the only wearable Conjure Bag that I've ever tried and as such a fantastic surprise and, however, unoriginal, still lovely.

In the vial: Primarily vetiver, but there's something under it which is smoother and more colorful. On me: This goes on as something golden, smooth and subtle, and slightly sweet. Drydown offers up almost nothing but a hint of background smoke. It takes a few minutes for this scent to perk up again, but when it does it's vetiver and citrus. The vetiver is surprisingly smooth, a wisp of saturated, savory smoke; the citrus is similar to orange oil (rather than blossom or flesh). The two aspects don't quite mesh—for a while they each appear and disappear, less like a morphing scent and more like two separate perfumes; with time they begin to find more overlap, but it takes hours for them to become consistent and by then the scent has slipped into the background. It's yellow-bright and smoky black-brown, and certainly strange, but Devil's Claw never quite melds into a united scent—the two aspects are desperate in both character and presence in the blend. The throw wavers and spikes, averaging out at moderate; wear-length is long, but throw dies down near the end. Verdict: This is one of the better vetivers I've ever smelled—it's almost creamy-smooth, thick but mild, never harsh, half sensual and utterly delightful. It's also one of the best orange citruses I've ever tried—they tend to pale out on my skin, but this one is thick, vivid, and satisfying. But the fact that those two aspects never quite merge into a single scent is a disappointment—it feels unbalanced and unfinished. If they did, would I like this? I think so: the dimorphous golden shadow that lingers near the end is beautiful and unique, but too subtle and too long in coming. On the whole, Devils' Claw is more weird than wearable. I find myself unexpectedly pleased by what it tries to do, but what it achieves isn't quite good enough.

In the vial: Sharp, slightly astringent herbal—or perhaps tea, which isn't a note I'm good at recognizing for itself. On me: The Dormouse is a full of notes I don't recognize and therefore find hard to describe—so bear with me. If someone told me this was tea, herbs, and peony, I'd believe them; what I get is a clean herbal scent that's not fresh or crisp, nor powdery or dry—it's more like a tincture. Magikfanfic wrote, "The tea and the herbs combine effortlessly to form a very light green/light brown scent, the way I picture of cup of herbal tea after having been brewed," which is a better description than I can come up with, save that the color is a bit more intense to my nose. There's a citric sharpness in the background, and a bit of floral body and sweetness up front. The overall scent is surprisingly familiar, but that may just be because my roommate wears it. Post-drydown it settles to a low throw, but isn't shy at skin-level. Not sure about wear length, as I plan to wash this off. Verdict: This isn't at all a scent for me because tea just isn't my thing, but it's fine on someone else. It holds a pleasant balance between being likable and retaining a unique personality, and it's a scent I easily and immediately recognize after just one test. I just don't need any.