Juushika

In the vial: A sweetish woody floral, a touch powdery around the edges, and perhaps there's some fruit in there--that's probably the coconut. On me: The scent grows muskier when it hits the skin--it's a pale, light musk, but adds body and texture to the other notes. There's a flash of coconut, but the scent rounds out within a few minutes into a fuzzy, gentle, but surprisingly full-bodied woodiness. There's a hint of many other things--a touch of floral and coconut flesh, and of pale furry muskiness--but you have to seek those out; the whole of the scent is a smooth, brown, gently fuzzy woodiness; it's warm and slightly shadowed, overwhelming on no fronts but still possessing a distinct sense of self. Wear-length is only moderate, though, and there's an overall subdued sense to the scent and its throw. Verdict: I think it bothers me, a little, when a scent is this hard to pin down--I can appreciate the subtlety, but for personal wear I prefer a scent I can grasp on to. On that note, Black Pearl is intriguing and has a surprisingly strong character for something so unusual and subdued, but some of its quietude makes me nervous. It's one I'll have to test again before I know quite what I think of it, but this is a good start and an interesting experiment.

The Gnostic goddess of Wisdom. A solemn, deeply profound draught of lavender, soft musks, star jasmine, black rose, delphinium, and gentle spice. In the vial: Lavender, but not the herbal or dry lavender I'm used to--there's something almost ... minty? clean aquatic? maybe light citrus? here. In the background, a bare hint of musk/spice. On me: A fougère as it hits the skin: clean and aquatic lavender, perfumey but not feminine. The scent rounds out in drydown, with the other florals peaking their heads up and just a hint of musky spice to ground the scent. And then there was rose. Most rose goes screaming single note on my skin; this black rose is a bit deeper and doesn't have the fleshy tropical sharpness of red rose at its worst, indeed it might almost be pleasant--but it crowds out all the other notes and I get just rose rose rose from the five-minute mark onward. Verdict: As I don't think Sophia is supposed to be rose rose rose, and as I've no need of another oil that's just rose rose rose (even if this is a better rose than usual, and piques some casual interest in a well-rounded black rose scent--if such a thing could exist on my skin), this obviously isn't for me. I'll scrub it off and rehome my imp.

In the vial: Basically, I have no idea. Green but not fresh, herbal but not dusty, perhaps there's a bit of moss and a touch of fruit in there. It's a clean, faint, but not indistinct scent, and it's so far outside my realm of experience that it's hard for me to describe. On me: Fruit and herbs on application, but the combination is surprisingly non-foody. The herbs amp with wear--I think it's a combination of moss and lavender that I'm getting, which is dry but not dusty, herbal but not medicinal, almost a clean scent. There are fruits in here which give the scent body, but they're primarily light citrus; they have no bite, but nor are they the juicy, sweet and/or robust fruits I expect in fruity/floral blends. It's a surprisingly dry scent despite the fruits; not very vivid, for all the color and variation in the notes; it sure is unusual, though, and distinct, and difficult to describe. This is something of a desaturated, mattified version of a fruity floral, with a heavy helping of lavender. There's nothing of the chocolate peppermint, to my nose. After about two hours it fades to just herbal lavender backed by some fruit; soon after it all but disappears. Scent-color is reminiscent of a watercolor painting. Throw is fairly low. Verdict: This is almost as strange and unique as I was expecting, in part because of the contradictory notes, in part because it's a twisted mimic of more traditional scents--but I still feel like I'm missing something. It isn't quite vivid enough to live up to its description, and lacks punch. It also doesn't last long, which adds to the sense of disappointment. Regardless, this just isn't a scent for me.

In the vial: Dark, and a bit herbal, with a berry chaser. It's an organic scent, but refined--very much a perfume. On me: The fruitiness expands when it hits the skin, and for a little while this comes together perfectly, each note fleshed out but the sum beautifully melded and balanced. It'd a dark, woodsy, rich berry scent--the greenery adds shade and depth instead of sharpness, and there's no medicinal herbiness; the musk adds depth, too, tempering the berry so that it doesn't go candy-sweet. And that berry juicy red berry is bold and beautiful beneath its shades. The scent is full-bodied but not cloying, instead achieving its depth via darkness. Unfortunately, as it wears the berry continues to amp, ending up a little too strong with just a touch of that back of the throat sugar-sharpness. Instead of dark woodsy rich berry this becomes berry with a hint of woods, and more's the pity. Scent-color is a smokey red with a green shift; throw is strong without being overpowering, and wear-length is impressive: the scent lasts twelve hours easy, and whiffs of it lingers even longer. Verdict: It's almost a pity that goes through a perfectly balanced stage before the berry gets too loud, because that balance is divine--powerful but not cloying, unique, vivid, shadowed, and gorgeous. So while Bewitched's final stage is decent and I applaud its impressive longevity, it's a disappointment by comparison. The vivid berry hidden in the briars of the wood is a jewel of a scent; berry with a touch of darkness is too familiar, and not nearly as desirable. I like it well enough, but not half as much as I like what this scent could be and what it briefly is; all said, no, I don't need it.

Black tea leaf, invigorating wasabi extract, sweetened by honey. In the vial: A fairly generic masculine soap. The wasabi influence is there, but hardly as spicy as I was expecting. On me: During the drydown, the soapiness dissipates and the spiciness comes out. In the throw, this is lovely but hard to describe: it's spicy, dry, semi-powdery but not stodgy, reminding me more of wasabi powder than fresh wasabi; it smells almost like the autumn leaves in A Blade of Grass, but with a lighter/greener hue. It's gorgeous but a touch elusive. At skin level, the spice and honey are both more obvious: the spice almost pricks the nose, but the honey smooths it; it's a mild, pale honey, filling out the scent but fairly subtle in its own right, and in no way sweet or thick. Occasional hints of cologne/soap/generic light man-smell linger, but in bulk this is spice and honey. With any other spice it'd be pretty traditional, but wasabi is cleaner, greener, and wholly original. I don't recognize any tea, but it's not a note I'm good at picking out. Scent-color and -texture both remind me of the pale powdery green of (dyed) wasabi powder; throw and wear-length are both moderate to low. Verdict: Nostrum Remedium is not quite what I was expecting from the description, and (thank goodness) morphs dramatically from vial to skin, but I think I like it. It's unique without being big and bold, warm and spicy while maintaining a sparse cleanliness, and subtle without being tame. I'm glad I had the chance to try it--I think it's a scent that has to be smelled, not described. That said, I don't think it's enough my style that I need it.

A frimp from the Lab which I'd not have tried any other way—mixed fruits aren't my thing. In the vial: Fruit on top, and that woody, musky-weird base down below. On me: Unique fruity and gardenia perfumey. The fruit is mixed but not indistinct—it's primarily watermelon but I get a hint of mandarin's brightness and a bit more blackberry over time, and it's colorful but not overpoweringly sweet or bright. The gardenia come and goes, and it caries with it an airiness that I often get from florals. I don't get much of the base, which (especially when the gardenia is present) makes the scent a smidgen ungrounded, but I think the lack of "musky-weird"ness benefits the scent. This is a summery, fruity (with a touch of floral) scent that has more character than I usually get from that scent family: watermelon is a unique base, the mixed fruits provide variety, and like most of the Mad Tea Party scents this has plenty of character. Verdict: I generally dislike fruity florals, but 'Tis the Voice of the Lobster is unique enough that I find it surprisingly pleasant and successful. Nonetheless, it's not even remotely my style. I washed it off and won't keep it, but I wouldn't mind smelling it one someone else.

In the vial: There's some darkness and depth in the background, but mostly this is just a fruity red, slightly tart pomegranate. On me: A complex, shadowed, stunning pomegranate. Breaking down the notes in this is hard—they are so smoothly blended. Mostly I get opium and vetiver, a smooth and slightly smoky scent that adds substantial darkness; there's not much bite or spice, but the other notes (spices and carnation, mostly) add substantial nuance. Pomegranate stars above it all, and it makes for a jewel of a scent, pigmented but not too bright; the other notes provide so much shade and character, and ground the pomegranate so it doesn't go candy-like or grow too strong. The tartness and boldness of the pomegranate grows during wear, and I think the neroli contributes to give it some sharpness; the throw sometimes verges on candy-red. On the whole, though, the darkness keeps the scent well grounded, and I suspect aging will help preserve that. Scent-color is a deep, dark red; throw is moderate/strong dying down to moderate/low, and wearlength is moderate. Verdict: Pomegranate V reminds me of the dark fruit/carnation combination of Bathsheba (although pom works much better on me than plum) and even more of the dark, subtle fruits in Queen of Clubs. It's a rich indulgent scent, shadowed and secretive but never shy, warm and red, and so beautiful. It's subtlety in boldness, and, well, I'm impressed. Every now and then the pomegranate gets a little out of hand, which is my only compliant—and I think aging will temper it. All in all, I'm thrilled to have a bottle. This is beautiful.

In the vial: Parchment, maybe wax, but mostly a familiar, thick mustiness that I can't quite name. It's ... not that pleasant, actually. On me: This musty scent is so familiar—but I still can't pin it down. I think I got the same sort of impression from the early stages of Chaos Theory VI: Amber 100, so maybe that's it—but it's hardly a useful comparison.There's dust, must, wax, and maybe some leather here; much of that unpleasant mustiness fades during drydown but not all, and what remains is smoky candles in an old library: warm beeswax, dusty parchment, a touch of smoke, but an undercurrent of a fuggy unaired back room. It made the room I was in smell quietly fantastic, bookish and beautiful, but on my skin the mustiness never fades away quite enough. Throw and wearlength are moderate to low. Verdict: I want to like this so badly, and it has some aspects which I could love—but again, that mustiness kills it. I don't get the cologne that others report, and it is pretty similar to the notes and inspiration, but it goes a little bit wrong and I don't know if I can get past that. I'll hold on to my bottle for now, and retest later. ETA: A year has tamed this scent somewhat: it remains musty in its early stages, but that fades after drydown. What it leaves behind is a sheaf of parchment, a wide and mellow creamy scent, dark but not particularly complex, Lurid Library's broader cousin. I love Lurid Library, but I also like its delicacy, its sense of individual pages being turned; Philologus is similar enough to be redundant, but not as nice. I'll finally trade it away.

In the vial: A warm, red, thick, dark, slightly spicy scent, not quite foody—I warrant all the notes are here, but beyond the currant I mostly get impressions rather than precise notes. On me: Have I ever taken such copious notes for a BPAL review? I think not. The primary constant with Lawn Gnome was change—that, and the list of notes. They're all there: vibrant red currant, sometimes dark and rich, sometimes tart and candied; cream and molasses, smooth and thick and slightly sweet in a warm, not-entirely-foody way; earthy, dirty, slightly spicy moss and patchouli. But the balance between them is constantly changing. Sometimes it's a rich red scent, pigmented as berries but smooth as cream, with a surprisingly spicy kick. Sometimes it's a red sticky candy with some earthiness to balance it out. Sometimes it's smooth and sweet, tinted with currant and grounded by moss but mostly a vanillic cream. The scent that stuck around on my shirt cuffs was a bright candy currant with plenty of smoothness and character, but on the skin I got something different from Lawn Gnome every twenty minutes or so—a master morpher, without ever dropping or picking up a new note. Scent-color is red; throw is medium to strong and wearlength is long. Verdict: The candy red moments of Lawn Gnome were just a little too sharp and strongly currant for me, but on the whole the various remixes of this scent were enjoyable—unique, vibrant, and pleasant to the nose. But the lack of stability irked me. I like to know what I'm getting out of a scent. Morphers are fine if I know their strange and wild paths, but this skipped all over the place and never settled down. I want to like it, and sometimes do, but I don't think this is one that I'll often reach for.

In the vial: Coffee, mild without being milky or sweet; I'm not sure if I'm smelling pumpkin or just projecting it, but there is a distant warmth to the scent. On me: Goes on strong coffee, but this was a lesson to me to let bottles rest after shipping: fresh from the mailbox the drydown was all harsh espresso, but after a few days that settled into a much smoother, gentler coffee. Warms up into, well, a pumpkin latte: golden, smooth, warm, comforting, pumpkin and coffee—the milk and vanilla do more to give a sense of smoothness than a distinct scent, and the spices bring out and warm up the pumpkin. Again, fresh from the mail this was too powdery, but within a few days that died down to just some texture to the spice. The major drawback (for me) with Pumpkin Patch V '09 was its powderiness; Pumpkin Latte is admittedly a very similar scent, but it does away with the cocoa and with the strange texture that came with it, and what remains is the warm, comforting, golden scent of a pumpkin latte at Starbucks—although perhaps not quite as good as the real thing. Scent-color is creamy burnt orange; throw and wearlength are both moderate. Verdict: All told, I'm pleased. Pumpkin Latte isn't precisely perfect—perhaps it's too faint, perhaps just the pumpkin is—but it is beautiful, comforting, and pretty much what it says on the tin, in the best possible way. I look forward to seeing how my bottle ages.

In the vial: Slightly earthy, slightly fruity, slightly tropical/fleshy, orange floral. On me: That tropical fleshiness fades during drydown, thank goodness; the scent also grows a bit earthier, a little more like that dense spicy floral I expect from marigold. But once it's settled the scent is a little bit powdery, not too earthy, and quite faint; it's a sweetish golden floral, more of a suggestion of a marigold's color and shape than a precise recreation of its scent. Sometimes it feels a bit too powdery, and it's subtle and short-lived. Scent-color is pale golden orange; wearlength and throw are both very low. Verdict: I want so much to like this, but it isn't all that I had hoped for. Perhaps it's just me and my experience with marigolds, but I had expected a spicier, earthier, different sort of floral—something more like a golden carnation than an autumnal orangeblossom. What I got instead is pleasant, but not quite satisfying, and so faint and brief as to hardly matter. I'll hold on to my bottle to see how it ages, but honestly I'm a bit disappointed.

AMBER 100 In the vial: A musty dusty resin. It reminds me a bit more of Heavenly Love and Earthly Love's incense and resin combo than straight up amber. I can't understate the mustiness of the scent. There's another note in the background which I can't pin down. On me: Smells like ... cooking? With spices. Savory spices. Maybe cumin? As it hits the skin this scent is rather confused: it's a powdery dusty amber with powdery savory spices, and that's an odd combination, however texture-consistent it may be. Things improve during drydown, as the savory spice morphs into something closer to a baking spice. There's some brown sugar sweetness to the scent, and it has a warm resinous base; the powdery musty aspect is still there, although it's leaning more towards spice cabinet than unaired closet. This is in a way a cousin to Gunpowder: it's the scent of foodstuffs or food preparation, but its other aspects (here, resin and mustiness) keep it from being foody. Scent-color is tan and scent-texture is powdery; throw is moderate-low and wear length is average. Verdict: Application is a bitch, because the first stages of this scent are frankly unpleasant. But the drydown is growing on me. Amber 100 is still a bit strange, a little too musty and powdery even for me (and I love powdery ambers) and there's still something a little odd going on in the background. But the resin/spice/brown sugar combo is ... quite nice, actually. I'll have to give this one another go sometime, to see if both my fondness and interpretation of the notes stays stable, but for now I'm pretty pleased. ETA: Over a year later, and Amber 100's mustiness is gone, taking with it much of the powder. It's savory spice and brown sugar over a resin base now, with almost no morphing except for some heavy, almost sour spice in the vial and during drydown. Stabilization does this scent many favors—it's still quite strange, something of a masculine and distinctly un-foody take on this sort of spice combination, but everything I liked best about the fresh oil is now consistently and perhaps more potently present, savory and rich without being heavy, made palatable by the touch of sweetness, unusual and subtly fantastic. AMBER 124 In the vial: There's no real scent in the vial—a hint of pale yellow-golden amber, but not much of anything at all. On me: Goes on as amber, amber, amber—Haunted's golden amber, without any black musk but with a touch of the lemony note Haunted has when wet, and unlike Haunted more resinous than powdery. Drydown is amber, amber, amber—almost a single note, warm and light and just a touch powdery now, a simple but lovely golden amber. But after a while I'd almost swear there's some cocoa in this, adding a touch more powder and giving the scent a bit more color and body, as well as a bit of sweetness. It reminds me of Gelt, except where Gelt is dry and almost arid this is warm, gentle, and much more welcoming. Scent-color is golden and scent-texture is slightly powdery. Throw is moderate—it's a gentle scent, hard to catch intentionally but floating around in a pleasant, accidentally-noticed haze. Wear length is pretty long. Verdict: I'm quite pleased. This isn't a bold scent, and its initial gentle, pure amber might be a bit of a disappointment if I weren't such an amber lover. But it dries down to something gently wonderful: the most palatable sort of golden amber, warm and soft—and, unless I'm mistaken, dusted with a bit of light cocoa. There's beauty in Amber 124's simplicity: it's not complex, but it's lovely and the cocoa (if it is cocoa) gives it just enough depth to hold one's attention. I'm quite enjoying this, and it's a definite keeper. AMBER 184 In the vial: Drugstore-perfumey men's cologne, alcohol-based and nondescript. On me: Goes on as that same miserable cologne, which isn't a scent I know well or much like, so I can't pretend to pick out notes. Drydown, however, is a marked improvement. The alcohol/aquatic/ozone aspect dies off, leaving behind a pleasant but somewhat generic masculine scent. A touch of cologne remains, and I still can't pin down specific notes—especially because it keeps morphing, from spicy herbal resin to something sweeter, maybe by way of musk. Sometimes it reminds me of an unrefined Robin Goodfellow with a punch of excess sweetness. Before too long (an hour or three), though, it fades away. Throw is moderate, wear-length is low. Verdict: Well that was an adventure. This is a little too masculine a scent for me, and I'm not familiar enough with its general category to pretend to dissect its notes. My general impression, however, is mixed. Amber 184 begins poorly and ends quickly and somewhat overbalanced towards sweetness, but there's a middle period where the scent is fairly pleasant: a spicy, herbal, sweetened amber, masculine and warm, unrefined and indistinct perhaps but not bad. Regardless this isn't a keeper, for me—I'll pass it along.

In the vial: With some hesitation I'd say bourbon vanilla and white sugar—but without the sweetness you'd expect from either. It's a pale, almost arid scent, and I'm really shooting into the dark with the notes. On me: There's a punch of cardamom at first, spicy and brown and delicious, leaning towards a single note. But within half an hour, the scent develops depth and grows delicious. It's mostly in the throw—at skin-level the scent is a little unrefined and slightly sharp, bourbon vanilla with a bitter, pale white sugar which reminds me of Sugar Skull. But the throw, which I keep catching accidentally and unexpectedly, is spicy and sweet without being too much of either—I wish I could give it a better description, but it's quite lovely and inviting, vanilla/sugar/cardamom but not foody. As it wears, however, the cardamom continues to die down and what remains of Gypsy is quite similar to Dorian (bless the reviewer who mentioned the similarity! you're absolutely right), that same slightly odd and oddly seductive combination of vanilla, musk, and sugar. Verdict: I wish that the cardamom lasted as long as the other notes, because it's wonderful and Gypsy's middle stage of cardamom/vanilla/sugar is just divine. But as the cardamom fades, so does Gypsy's magic. That spice is what makes the scent wonderful and unique; without it this is just a cousin to Dorian, and I'm not a fan of that scent. But I'll hang on to my decant for now—perhaps aging will make for a richer, more distinctive oil. ETA: What a difference a year makes. Aged, I no longer see a similarity between Gypsy and Dorian; Gypsy retains its cardamom through to the end, although the sugar now dies off during drydown (so much so that I sometimes want to layer this with a sweet scent). It has more body and longevity, and the spice pricks the nose and is none to shy, but it's still an elusive scent, something savory and gorgeous that flits off the skin and dances through the throw. It's subtle but compelling, and surprisingly addictive. I'm glad to see this age well.

Lookin' at Vanilla #15 In the vial: Sweet, foody/fruity but with a touch of floral, thick but powdery, and it reminds me a bit of Sweet Tarts. On me: There's a bit of resin/amber as it hits the skin, and the scent on the skin smells less liquid than it did in the imp. All in all, though, not much changes: this is a powdery soft fruity floral with a Sweet Tarts edge. It reminds me a little of the combination of opaque white vanilla and dry florals in Antique Lace, and of the powdery sweet floral of Regan. Scent-color is a very pale, opaque lilac; throw is moderate-low and wear length is fairly short. Verdict: This isn't one for me. As in Antique Lace and Regan, I find the vanilla and powdery/dry floral combination is a little stuffy and cloying; the fruity Sweet Tarts aspect doesn't help matters. Vanilla 15 is somewhere between vanilla candle, cheap candy, and grandma's soap, yet stays pretty tame and fades in an hour or three: not desirable, but fairly inoffensive, and still one I'll send away.

In the vial: Sugared darkness, perhaps a hint of tea. On me: This is the second time I've tested and tried to review this scent, and I'm running into the same problem I had before: I can't pick out notes and can barely describe my impressions. Not that it's faint or nondescript, just that the words fail me. Sweetish (but toned down from the bottle scent) by way of white sugar; a touch of lemon that gives a bit of etheral haze over the scent; the heart of the scent is what I find hardest to describe: something dark, a bit aged, but (because of the other notes) never heavy. That mystery heart is probably a combination of tea and musk, but honestly I don't get either note distinctly. Scent-color is brown, throw is moderate to low. Verdict: I wish I were able to give a more precise description of this scent, but that escapes me. My inabilities aside, Dorian just doesn't grab me. It's pleasant enough and I wouldn't mind it on someone else, but it isn't to my taste—it leaves me with a distinct "meh" impression, and I wouldn't be drawn to wear it again. I'll give away my bottle.

2006 version. In the vial: I'd wager boozy, fruity, and a touch musky, but really the scent is hard to pin down—it's dark, a little medicinal, and faint. On me: Immediately on the skin there's a whiff of strong dark musk and something medicinal, almost cedary. The drydown is as faint and indescribable as the scent in the vial. It reminds me of Snake Oil, which also pulls a disappearing act on my skin; the hint of scent left behind is a similar combination of black vanilla, incense, patchouli, and musk, a scent which is faint and dirty and slightly "off." Scent-color is dark brown; throw is low, low as low can be, adhering to the skin. Verdict: The Snake Oil family tends to do this to me: despite lovely, tempting descriptions and reviews, they're oddly faint and a little off on my skin, a skin-level hint of crusty vanilla with sundry dark bases. Smut follows the same trend, so the result on me is a simple disappointment—although perhaps not a surprise. Oh well! I'm glad I had a chance to try it, and I'll pass along my decant.

In the vial: Mostly golden apple, but there's something a little darker in the background. This reminds me oddly of a lighter, golden Fearful Pleasure—that's probably just the apple/wood combo, though. On me: Yellow apple and musky wood. The apple is dominant, golden-yellow and slightly dewy—the aquatic goes a little strange on my skin, but mostly behaves itself. (When I first got this scent from the Lab, the aquatic made me nauseous; it's had some months to age, and that note has toned down a lot.) The woods aren't dark but they have a strange musky fuzz to them—or perhaps that's the leaves? Either way, there's a fuzzy, almost-powerderiness to the woods. Scent-color is yellow, throw is moderate to low. Verdict: A not unpleasant scent, but not quite good. It's distinctive and it fits the notes and name, but to my nose the bright golden apple doesn't mesh well with the fuzzy musk/leaves, and while the combination isn't quite unsettling it is strange—and not in an intriguing way. I'm also not a fan of aquatics, even when well-behaved. In short, not offensive but a little strange, and not something I'll wear again. I'll pass my imp along.

In the vial: Cologne. Spicy, alcohol-based cologne. That's probably the aquatic talking, echoed by the combination of rum/leather/musk/gunpowder. On me: The cologne impression fades significantly after drydown. What's left behind is about what you'd expect: a spicy, but not sharp, mix of salt, musk, and plenty of grainy gunpowder (with a hint of vetiver smoke). I'm willing to bet that all the notes are in there, but those are the ones I perceive best. (But I get nothing floral, fruity, or sweet.) The scent has a lot of bite without quite growing harsh. Unfortunately, the vetiver somtimes amps too high, morphing from textured gunpowder into a much smoother smoke—in short, turning the scent into a mellow single note vetiver, which is nice enough but not really what Mary Read is meant to be. Scent-color is gray with a touch of brown; throw is moderate. Verdict: I like Mary Read well enough when it's multifaceted, grainy, spicy, gunpowder-and-sea. It's a fascinating, unique scent, although not really a match to my personality—something I'd like to smell on someone else, I think. But the times when the vetiver amps are a bit disappointing—it strips most of the depth and personality from the scent. All in all, one I like but will pass on. It's just not something I'll wear.

Another vote for Boomslang from me, but I think the key can be using it as a room scent or in a locket. The cocoa absolute vanishes on my skin and I don't think I'm the only one; using it almost any other way lets the cocoa stick around for ages. I actually don't get too much Snake Oil from it--it's mostly a undercurrent of liquid spices which help tame the cocoa so it never reaches foody. I had wonderful results with Cottonmouth, which surprised the hell out of me because I dislike both Snake Oil and florals. For the record, I find Snake Oil universally disappointing, but it doesn't do weird powdery things with my skin chemistry. New and aged, it goes on a little sickening, just "off" in a way that's hard to pin down, disappears during drydown, and remains just a hint of lovely dark vanilla during wear--but such an elusive little hint that there's no point in wearing it.

In the vial: A yellow-green scent which I would guess to be lemongrass, but honestly I can't pin down notes. Regardless, I already think it's not my sort of scent. On me: Immediately on the skin it's an Asian restaurant: lemongrass and blond woods. After about fifteen minutes the patchouli amps a bit, dimming and grounding the airy, fresh yellow-green of the lemongrass. But after a half hour the scent reaches its final stage—and it's full of florals. There's a fleshy, damp jasmine, but rose tends to amp on my skin so that's what I really get here: a heady pink/red rose with a touch of lemon citrus and patchouli's darkness. Verdict: I'm not a fan of lemon, so it's very odd for me to say that I actually prefer the earliest stages of this scent. It's a fresh lemongrass with a bit of dimension from the patchouli, cedar, and sandalwood—and really quite pleasant, although it's not the sort of scent that I'd wear often. But the fleshy rosy florals are the same old sin of skin chemistry, and to my nose quite unpleasant. Other skin chemistries will probably have more luck, however, in keeping this scent balanced. I'll pass along my imp.

A frimp from the Lab. This is not one I would have ordered on my own—I like some of the notes (orange blossom, amber, oakmoss, incense) but others (leather, rose, florals) I dislike or are deathnotes. In the vial: I get exactly what I don't want out of the blend: a cologne-like scent, dry and vaguely floral but masculine. On me: The dryness of the scent dies off during drydown, and the amber and incense amp up a bit in the first half hour—they provide a firmer grounding for the airness of the florals. But this scent's perfumey, cologne-like aspects never fade. It's a dry, slightly powdery, slightly soapy mixed floral, and while the rose never amps (as it is wont to do on my skin) there's still too much floral here for me to appreciate or accurately analyze the scent. Verdict: As I feared, the florals and the leather/oakmoss blend make this too much like a drugstore cologne. To my nose it's simply unpleasant, so no, I won't be keeping my imp.

Orchid tubers have been used extensively by witches in their love philtres, both to promote amorous attention and the attainment of true love, and, conversely, to wither misplaced passions and sever romantic bonds. This perfume is a dusky orchid, subdued and ethereal. In the vial: Sweeter than I expected, and slightly powdery in its duskiness, but yes, a purple orchid floral. On me: The same, but bolder, richer, more distinct—scents really do blossom on the skin, no pun intended. Thankfully some of the sweetness fades, but a little too much of it lingers, pushing the orchid towards heady and cloying. There's a bit of dusty duskiness in the scent's purple tone and in the throw, but for the most part this is a heady, fleshy floral, and quite potent too. Throw is moderate to high. Verdict: With few exceptions, I tend not to like florals. Orchid is usually one of those exceptions, thus my interest in this blend—but it's just too strong for me, too heady, too floral. It's not unpleasant (although I'm not fond of the persistant sweetness), it's just not the scent for me. A drop of it may be decent for layering but in the end, I think I'll pass along my imp.

In the vial: A warm and heavy scent, thick with beeswax and resin, golden in color, with a waft of fleshy orchid perfume. On me: Much the same as it is in the vial, but the notes mellow and meld. This is the scent of sex-hot skin: a gentle sensual musk, fleshy golden resins with the smoothness of beeswax, and still a waft of that thick, slightly tropical, vanilla orchid perfume. Despite the notes I don't get much sweetness from the scent; in fact it feels so fleshy, so similar to sex, that the scent's actually a bit salty and sweaty. Scent-color is pale gold, and scent-texture is very fleshy; throw is low. Verdict: This is such a unique scent that I'm glad I had the chance to test it. It's a brilliant match to the inspiration, even moreso than I expected from the notes: a thick, sexual, feminine scent, not quite vulgar but quite unabashed, obviously sexual. It's distinctive, beautiful, but not a scent that I would wear often—so I find myself in no need of a wearable amount. It's fascinating, but I'll pass.

A frimp from the Lab—I would never have ordered this myself. In the vial: It's floral, but it has a fleshiness that almost makes it seem fruity, round and full. It's a sweet, frosted, pastel scent. On me: Much as it is in the vial. Some of the fruitness disappates, leeching some color from the scent. I'm no good at discerning specific florals, so mostly what I get from Prague is the fleshy, white, opaque scent I associate with lilies. It's fairly tame, however, rounded out by a slight purple fruitiness, frosted with a pale powderiness that tones down the scent. It remains quite sweet, however, to the point of becoming cloying. This reminds me oddly of a tamer, gentler version of Regan, despite the dissimilarity in the notes. Scent-color is a frosted, opaque, purple-tinged cream; throw is moderate. Verdict: I wasn't expecting these results from this blend—it's far fruitier and tamer than I anticipated. But even then, Prague just isn't my sort of scent. It's pleasant enough, but I'm no fan of floral/fruity perfumes. I'll pass along my imp.

A frimp from the Lab which I would never have ordered for myself—I'm not a big fan of florals, but mostly it's that rose tends to amp to epic, horrific levels on my skin. In the vial: Oh yeah, that's floral all right. Unfortunately I'm not very good at picking out individual floral notes. On me: Because I'm not good at discerning most florals, this may be an entirely pointless review. My sense of this is largely fleshy white flowers, I suspect mostly the muguet and calla lily, which have a thick, almost cloying scent with a bit of sharpness. But the rose peeks its head out soon enough—a thick, pink, sharp scent, the rose never quite crowds out the lilies but it sure tries. As the lily and rose vie for supremacy, they combine into something fleshy and vivid pink, sharp and strongly floral—it lacks humidity but mimics the texture of tropical florals. I sometimes catch something a bit powdery (violet? chamomile?), and sometimes something a bit sweet, lurking in the background. Scent-color is pink; throw is moderate to low, and wear length is incredibly short—perhaps an hour? Verdict: It's not unpleasant, but it's a little conflicted in its constant battle between lily and rose—and regardless, the florals in Ephemera just aren't to my taste. It also fades so quickly that there's little point in applying it in the first place. Neither my skin nor my nose much like this blend, so I'll send it on its way.