Juushika

For Christmas I wore Inez. It as a Christmas gift; Morocco is my signature scent and Inez turned out to be exactly what I was looking for: Morocco but deeper, richer, and winter friendly. Plus, it has a nice carnation spice that well suits the holiday, and it lasted all day long. All in all, it was perfect. I don't celebrate New Years, so I'll probably just have any other night in with the boywhich means Penny Dreadful, his personal favorite.

A frimp for the Lab, or I would never try this—they're not my sort of notes. In the vial: Strange, bitter, unidentifiable florals? Honestly I have no idea. On me: This is not what I expected—which is to say, it's not a mass of busy florals. In fact, it's almost pleasant. The opium smoke tones down the florals into something suitably languorous, but this never becomes airy. A body in repose, Languor is palpable florals, rich in texture but light in color, smoked and subdued by opium. My skin is loving this, and somehow I think ... I am too. Verdict: I was expecting to hate Langour as I do most predominant florals, and yet I am somehow pleasantly surprised. This is not a cloying floral nightmare, but a smooth blend of fleshy florals hazed by opium smoke. It is unexpectedly lovely, suits the inspiration quite well, and I like it. This is outside of my usual tastes so I don't know how often I'll wear it, but I'll keep my imp for a while and find out.

In the vial: Sharp and sickly floral—lavandar and jasmine, I'd say. On me: Less bitter, more herbal, but predominantly jasmine. I suspect the honeysuckle rises to balance out the lavender a bit; the lavender loses its sharpness and grows more like a powdery herb, a nice dry backing for the scent. But the jasmine is predominant—it's not unpleasant, just strong, and so this reminds me of every other scent with jasmine in it (specifically Nyx). Verdict: Once it dries down, this is a pleasant scent: powdery herbal, slightly bright, starring well-rounded jasmine. Given how the jasmine amps, Twilight is surprisingly well-balanced. Unfortunately, I'm just not a big fan of jasmine—while it doesn't morph to anything strange, I don't want to wear it as a predominant note. And so I'll pass along this imp.

The darkening amber of faith’s sunset, deepened by the dark fruits of Proserpine. Another magical frimp from the Lab—I've been curious about trying this one for a while. In the vial: Well then, that's pomegranate—or at least I assume so, I've never smelled it before. It's a candied juicy bright red fruit, sweet and slightly cloying. On me: After a short hit of sugary artificial red fruit, this calms dramatically. The amber settles the pomegranate, smoothing and darkening it into something softly beautiful. Rich but not too strong, warm and red, dimmed and shadowed, smooth and just a touch powdery. The longer I wear it, the deeper, darker, and more beautiful it grows. The throw is low, hovering at the skin and sending out a few stronger tendrils of scent; the color is a shadowed, slightly muted, deep dark red. Verdict: In the imp the bright artificial red fruit scared me, but on the skin this is lovely. It calms and deepens to a remarkable scent, warm, dark, and intimate. The description is right on, this is dark amber and dark red fruits—but you have to sniff it to truly appreciate it. Though it hasn't jumped to the top of my favorites list, but I shall certainly keep my imp and I expect to wear this again.

A psychic frimp from the Lab—I've wanted to try this, and almost ordered it this time around. In the vial: Plum—fruity, bright, but a bit dusty. On me: I didn't know that craft stores had a certain smell but as it turns out—they do, and they smell like Frumious Banderstatch. Or, rather, FB is a craft store, a touch toned down and a touch more wearable. The plum is predominant, fruity, full-bodied, and bright; it does smell a bit like a candle, but not enough to put me off. Carnation and a touch of chrysanthemum back it up, a spicy accent which is slightly floral and sweet. To my sadness, I don't get any musk. The overall scent smells a touch artificial, a touch like potpourri, and definitely has the fruit-floral-spice scent of a craft store—but it's quite pleasant. Warm, cheery, vivid, this smells like winter holiday cheer. Scent color is highly saturated purple leaning towards red. The scent is strong but the throw is only moderate; wear length is average. Verdict: I'm not head over heels for Fumious Bandersnatch. I like the scent and the notes, but not the craft store image they conjure. Perhaps if it were a bit less vivid and a touch more subtleor if I got any of the muskI would love it more. As it is, I'll keep my imp around, wear it a few more times, and make my final decision as to its fate.

A frimp from the lab, or I never would have tried it. Only one or two of the notes appeal to me. In the imp: Juniper against melon and tobacco smoke. The smoke is particularly harsh. It's distinctive, and potent, and I don't like it. On me: For the first time, I feel brave just for testing a scent! On skin it's not near so smoky, and some of the potency and bitterness fades away. I can smell fruit (though I couldn't say which), cigar smoke, and juniper; I don't get any of the other notes except perhaps a touch of spice from the pepper. It's something of an odd mix: smoky, masculine, which an unexpected gleam of fruity brightness. A calmer, smoother version of the vial scent. Verdict: The scent calms down once it hits skin, thank goodness—but it's still not something I would wear. This is unusual but still distinctly masculine, rich with smooth tobacco smoke, and it's not really to my taste. But then I knew that before I even opened the imp. I'll pass this one on.

My Satyr is a medium red-brown color. I definitely think that with those, it all comes down to agingthe longer the better, especially if you want the thickest and darkest that you can get. Fenris Wolf didn't take long at all to age for me, but then it is in an impand those seem to age faster. My bottle of Satyr still looks pretty fresh, despite being a good few months old. Hopefully the longer it sits the better it'll get. On the same note, if you still have than new Fenris Wolf, and if it's in a bottle, it may be worth decanting so that the aging process speeds up a bit.

My bottle of Saytr is just about ten months old, and it's not thickI'd call its consistency average to thin. Ivanushka has become remarkably thick, although aging hasn't really affected the scent much. It's still golden in color. Penny Dreadful has become gloriously thick (my imp is one year old), almost like syrup, and I think it's darkened a smudgeit's now a deep coppery brown. That aging has also made the scent thicker and a bit darker. Fenris Wolf is average to thick with a deep red tone that's grown darker with age (mine is ten months old). Heavenly Love and Earthly Love is only (darkish) golden brown, but it's remarkably thick. And aged Snake Oil of course is very rich, very dark, and very thick. I agree with Paperrose on resins and musks growing thicker with age. Resins in particular seem pretty dark and thick both new and old.

I think "light" is sometimes harder to pin down than "strong." A strong scent is pretty obvious, be it a thick rich thread of lovely scent or an overwhelming dark cloud of perfume. Light scents can be scents with little throw, scents which seem more like skin scents than perfumes, scents lightly applied, or scents that just have a light feel to them. Therefore, it may be easier for us all to veto scents than suggest them. Do you have anything particular in mind? I'm sure that we all would be happy to tell you if it's a particularly strong/loud/heavy oil. Suggestions, meanwhile, aren't so easy and have quite a bit of range. If you have any idea of what notes or scents in general that you do/don't like, that may help people make better suggestions. I don't think you need to be wary of florals in general, especially since there are some in the scents you like. Not all florals are equal—some are light, some can be heavy or cloying, and they can even differ depending on what accompanies them. I'm absolutely not a florals expert (or even wearer, for the most part), but you may have good luck with "white" flowers, either as a general descriptor, as in The Unicorn, or as a particular, as in white roses. In my experience, those white florals are generally lighter and more gentle. Meanwhile, in the vein of direct recommendations: I think Apple's list is wonderful, and would add a few of my own, all of course subject to my particular measures of light/heavy and my particular skin chemistry: Velvet, Envelop yourself in the soft, sensual embrace of gentle sandalwood warmed by cocoa vanilla and a veil of deep myrrh. It's a subduded but lovely scent—soft is a good word for it. Morocco, Arabian spices wind through a blend of warm musk, carnation, red sandalwood and cassia. Like skin, but better. This is an intimate, gentle, close-to-the-skin scent and one of my absolute favorites. Ivanushka (LE), Soft, velvety fur and warm musk, brushed by forest woods and dusted by dry leaves. Applied with a light hand, this is a lovely personal scent, like fur replacing one's own skin—the most gentle musk. 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. I slather myself in this one and it's still a gentle, softly sweet scent. Some foody blends may be too rich/heavy/cloying for your tastes, so I mention this one as a lighter, whiter alternative. The Lion, The dry, glorious warmth of the Savannah. A golden, spiced amber, proud, regal and ferocious. Like Apple, I find this to be a gentle, warm scent. Death Cap, A warm, soft, ruddy scent, earthy and mild. A soft, vanilla-sweet, warm earth scent which is quiet and low-through—present, but never even close to overpowering. The Unicorn, A misty, almost luminous perfume: wispy linden blossoms, white flowers, and a touch of sweet herbs. It's like just a touch of body glitter: sparkling, white, lovely, but only barely visible/sensed. I also second Sudha Segara, which was indeed so faint on me that I could barely smell it.

In the bottle: There's something in here which I can't name but is very familiar. Soft, dry, slightly powdery moss and herbs. Color is somewhere between sage and moss green. On me: Lurid Library—that's what this reminds me of. The blends don't share similar notes, but mayhap it's the combination of smooth, barely-powdery sandalwood and the darkness of patchouli which reminds me of parchment tinged by time. I'm not sure, and honestly I don't care; I just want to bathe in it. This parchment is gently touched by mosses (which are not nearly as masculine as I expected), and it's thinner and lighter than LL, but on the whole they're very similar oils on my skin. Color is creamy, muted, pale moss green; throw is moderate to low. Verdict: Lurid Library is one of my top ten, and so the similarities I smell in Mole delight me. On my skin, to my nose, they're definitely scent cousins: Lurid Library is a thick stack of expensive cream-colored parchment and Mole is a piece of thin parchment abed dry moss. It's a beautiful scent, unisex and soft and comforting. If a decant lands in my lap I'll be thrilled, but I already have a bottle of LL so I'm not in too much a hurry to get more than this sniffy of Mole.

In the vial: Why hello there, rose. This is white rose to my nose, sharp but pale. There's just a hint of some other note in the background, but I can't pin down what. On me: Roses and spices, indeed. I still believe this is white rose, because it's light-toned and gentle and hasn't begun screaming bloody murder, as other roses are wont to do on my skin. The sharpness has fled, leaving the rose petal-smooth and softly sweet. I can't pick out individual spices; warm, slightly powdery, more smooth than sharp, they seem like a sprinkling of powdered clove over a smooth dark resin. Verdict: The boyfriend likes Lucy's Kiss, but the boyfriend is fond of rose. I am less so—I'm not a big fan of the scent in general, red rose goes awful on my skin, and I already have a preferred white rose blend (Magdalene). Still, this is far more pleasant and well-behaved than I expected. The rose is light but distinct and spices are a beautiful compliment, grounding and warming the scent. I'm almost fond of this, but I'm not sure how often I'll wear it. For now, I'll keep my imp.

In the vial: Sharp sugary pink floral—that's lotus all right, with anything to tame it. On me: Gross cloying bubblegum, a rise of bitter companion notes, but within half an hour they both calm down. The drydown, is unexpectedly fruity: fruit by the way of lotus, similar to dragon's blood resin. A reddish-pink tone with a kick of sharp and sweet, not a real identifiable fruit but no longer a floral. The resins mute and darken the color of the scent, providing a smooth, warm, slightly smoky base. Verdict: I had great hopes for and fears of this blend, but it's managed to fall somewhere between. This is an unexpectedly fruity scent, reddish, sweet, shadowed—but not particularly complex. The lotus is palatable, but the notes which temper it strip away its defining brightness without adding complexity or character, creating a moderate scent which is nice but unremarkable. I'll retest this once more, but I expect to trade it away. Hopefully someone else will have better luck with my imp.

It's not a tart fruit, but there is always Banana Peel in a Graveyard, A banana peel discarded among tombstones and crypts. And along the same line, since reviews theorize patchouli in Banana Peel: perhaps (black) patchouli as the dirty/earthy note in your dirt + (tart) fruit combination? That opens up a lot of possibilities. Off the top of my head: Depraved, Earthy black patchouli swelling with apricot. (Seems like a good bet to me.) Samhain, Truly the scent of autumn itself -- damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein. (Which is the only one of these I've tried, and it seems like a good bet.) Fortunato, A deep, rich sherry encased in dusty darkness, touched by oak, and damp catacomb stone. The scent begins with a sense of drunken glee, of orange peel, bittersweet berry and rose hip, and moves inexorably towards the dread and terror expressed in black patchouli. Tweedledum, Absurd! Green mango, fig, patchouli and green tea. And there are, I dunno, approximately a billion other patchouli blends—so it gives you a bit more content to browse through for fruit combos.

I'm testing the original formulation, circa 2004. In the vial: Sappy, piney woods and, dare I say it, a touch of wintergreen or eucalyptus. On me: Whatever the methanol-like note is, it disappears in drydown (thank goodness), but so does the sap of the woods—this is a light and gaseous scent. It is a breeze floating through dry woods touched by moss, and the florals are only a bare touch of sweetness in the air. The note are all very light and indistinct, and I get nothing of the spices from other reviews. More than anything, this is the scent of air—thin, dry, still, cool. Color is a light mossy green, texture is as light as air, throw is very low. Verdict: On my skin, to my nose, it's like Yggdrasil mixed with evaporating alcohol—the same dry herbal woods, lightened into air. I prefer the solidity of Yggdrasil, and even then I only use it to layer with other blends. This, by contrast, feels almost like an absence of scent, and it's not something I want to wear. I don't dislike Hamadryad, and it was nice to try, but I'm not sad to have missed this blend.

This made me think immediately of El Dia de Reyes, Hot cocoa with cinnamon, coffee, and brown sugar. Different notes, and cocoa rather than creme brulee, but a similar sense: it's a powdery dark gourmand, reminiscent of brownie mix powder, but a wearable perfume and not too sweet. (I, in fact, am wearing it now.) As a GC cousin, I second the recommendation of Velvet. It's not as dark and not quite as foody, but it's a similar powdery gourmand cocoa with the slight sweetness of vanilla (similar to tonka).

What amber blends have you tried? How and where have you applied them? There are different sorts of ambers, which may each behave differently on your skin. Sometimes I find that if I over-apply some amber-heavy blends, they go powdery—those may require a more gentle hand. And you could always try them in a scent locket, on your hair, or on a hidden scrap of cloth, where the scent can warm and waft without reacting to your body chemistry. If you're looking for more ambers to try, I would reach far and wide for remarkably different amber based blends to see if certain parts of the spectrum work better than others. For example... Ambergris (a salty, light, amber-like): Masquerade, Patchouli, ambergris, carnation and orange blossom. The small selection of notes really showcases the ambergris. Perhaps Lyonesse, Golden vanilla and gilded musk, stargazer lily, white sandalwood, grey amber, elemi, orris root, ambergris and sea moss, where it's one note among many in the softly-aquatic of ambergris. Egyptian amber (in my BPAL experience, a lighter golden amber, slightly cedary): Leo 2007, Egyptian amber, walnut bark, chamomile, frankincense, and saffron.. The only GC to contain it is Hollywood Babylon, The essence of innocence shattered: glittering Egyptian amber and heliotrope, infused with the sweetness of strawberry and vanilla - dragged into debauch by lusty red musk and a dribble of black cherry. Black amber (as implied: dark amber, rich and shadowed): I've actually not tried any from BPAL, so here's the full list. Lucretia looks great, Iris, black amber, sage, Kashmir wood, vanilla musk, mandarin and violet. Grey amber: Another I've never tried; I'd look to Lyonesse, as it may be similar to ambergris, and here's the full list. Golden amber (that softly glowing amber, BPAL's most common specific amber variety): Jacob's Ladder, golden amber, galbanum, benzoin, ambrette, rockrose, costus and tonka, a beautiful glowing golden epitomic amber. For GC, Haunted, Soft golden amber darkened with a touch of murky black musk. Just amber (the general, unspecific variety; I think there's some overlap here with golden amber in particular): The Lion, A golden, spiced amber, proud, regal and ferocious. O, Amber and honey with a touch of vanilla. Bastet, Luxuriant amber, warm Egyptian musk, fierce saffron and soft myrrh, almond, cardamom and golden lotus. This is also where you're most likely to find amber medleys: Brisingamen, five ambers, soft myrtle and apple blossom, myrtle, and carnation. And you'll find amber as a supporting figure, but of those there are simply tons. And there's gilded amber, amber musk, brown amber, blonde amber, red amber, rose amber, white amber, Tunisian amber, Nepalese amber, Sudanese amber, each appearing once or a handful of times in the BPAL catalog. Golden amber and "just" amber are the most common, and they're probably that golden, slightly sweet, gorgeous resin that you like—and have tried. It is possible that golden amber will always go bad when it interacts with your skin chemistry. But, because there are so many blends, because there may be different formulations, because there are other notes to temper it, or just because there many be a random exception to you skin's no-amber rule—you really don't know what works until you try. I would ... Try selection of different varieties, to see if something like dark amber or Egyptian amber behaves better on your skin than golden amber. I would try a handful of different golden/plain ambers (Jacob's Ladder, Haunted, and The Lion are each very different on my skin while still being personal favorites and strong ambers) to see if they all react the same. Try applying more or less to see if that changes the reaction on your skin. Keep your eye open for amber as a supporting character, and don't rule that out just because you have a problem with strong amber. And if all that fails, I'd try a scent locket or my hair, because amber is just too good to go without. Good luck! I know I've written a novel, and I'm sorry, but hopefully it helps.

In the vial: The spicy, musk, wet, red-blue scent of the leaves in To Autumn with just a hint of sharper greenness. On me: On wet it's a bit of rotting vegetation and too-sharp grass, but upon drydown this is lovely. I was expecting (and wary of) crayon-bright red leaves and green grass, but this is a beautifully subdued and more realistic interpretation. To my nose, the leaves are predominant: deep red edged with purple-black, gently spiced, dusty dry but also damp—they remind me precisely of the maple leaves that fall from the tree at my house. To the boyfriend's nose, the grass is predominant: green but not sharp or bright, more like the rain-fed and rain-hushed lush grass of autumn. There's nothing but the leaves and grass, but they are wonderful together. Unfortunately, the throw is very low. Verdict: I'm in love—my only wish is that it were stronger. Blade of Grass is a natural, artistic, beautiful rendering of autumn leaves fallen on grass—shades of deep red, muted green, and tinges of purple-back, a touch damp, a touch dusty, softly spiced. This one is worth slathering to make it stronger and longer-lasting, and I'm very glad to have my partial bottle. Exquisite.

The 2008 version. In the vial: Slightly bitter golden resin. But don't mind me, I never love the bottle scent. On me: The bitterness fades, but the sweetness of the tonka never comes out. As this dries and warms on the skin, it blossoms into something beautiful. It's not particularly complex, nor that different from the vial, and no one note is distinct to my nose. But together, they create an epitomic golden resin: not an individual, but an ideal. Golden, softly glowing, smooth, not too deep, powderless but not quite polished to a shine. I don't get any powder, or sweetness, or women's perfume—just lovely golden resin. Sadly the throw is short, but the wear length is long. Verdict: This is not my perfect amber blend (that's Haunted), and so it doesn't quite send me into throes of ecstasy. But Jacob's Ladder is undeniably beautiful. This is golden amber, pure but never simple, exactly what I wanted. It's a must for amber lovers, and I shall treasure my decant—and I'm considering a bottle because it's sure to age well. Lovely.

The 2008 version. In the vial: An astringent woody scent, but not quite balsam—this is probably the cypress. It's pungent, a touch bitter, and clears the throat and eyes. On me: The cypress is joined by a slightly less pungent balsam fir. Together they're light (in scent, not in strength) but astringent, almost like eucalyptus. The woodiness is gone—this is the scent of freshly crushed foliage. And that's it. No matter how long I wait, I don't get any of the other notes, there's no morphing, the blend never grows dark or bitter. The scent is colorless to my nose; the texture is gaseous, like evaporating chemicals. It's potent with a strong throw. Verdict: I was hoping for the brightness of mandarin against a dark setting, but all I get from Winter of our Discontent is astringent pine—which isn't my favorite scent. I'm a bit crushed. I don't think I'll hold on to my decant. Unless a week or two of aging makes a significant change, this just isn't the scent I was hoping for or one that I can come to love.

My imp is aged two years. In the vial: Thick, dark, unsweet vanilla and red musk. On me: Snake Oil goes on as dark vanilla, dark spices, and a whiff of musk. It's not a sweet blend, initially, and the spices are the furthest thing from foody. It reminds me of the cap of an old bottle of mid-grade vanilla extract, where the extract has dried to a thick, crusty sludge, the scent is too dense to be sweet but is still somehow cloying, and the alcohol makes it smell medicinal. Needless to say, it's interesting but not particularly pleasant. No matter how much I slather, the scent disappears after about ten minutes. But some time later when I least expect it, up pops a ghost of deep, dark, sweetened vanilla infused with a wealth of rich foreign spices—complex, sensual, dark, and beautiful. This belated drydown is divine but frustratingly insubstantial, only enough to catch whiffs of glorious vanilla from an uncertain source. Verdict: I keep returning to Snake Oil, hoping that now that I've tried again, now that it's aged, it will be as miraculous as everyone else claims. Sadly, in two years it just hasn't worked out that way. I love the concept, and long for those ghostly whiffs of dark vanilla, but the oil itself is pretty unremarkable on my skin. I'll save my imp for oiling my hairstick—as that dries down, it releases more potent tendrils of that beautiful dark vanilla for days, a much more satisfying way to enjoy the scent. (On a similar note: Boomslang, the only Snake Pit I've ever tried, also does a perfect disappearing act on my skin after ten minutes, leaving not even a whiff of Snake Oil behind.)

Perhaps: The Lion, The dry, glorious warmth of the Savannah. A golden, spiced amber, proud, regal and ferocious. The spices are light, and perhaps they'll more counteract potential sweetness than be outright spicy. It has a warm, dry-grasses feeling which makes it dry rather than sweet. or Leo 2007, Egyptian amber, walnut bark, chamomile, frankincense, and saffron. Similar to The Lion, it's a golden warm dry amber, and the bark, chamomile, and herbs may counteract potential sweetness with a touch of herbal dryness.

I definitely second Wezwanie/Hold. It's a strong, golden, creamy hazelnut. Very nutty and absolutely wonderful. It looks, from early reviews, like some people are getting hazelnut and chocolate from Gelt. I'm hoping against that, myself, but it still may be worth checking out.

It could be any of the above, but my theories: Imps age faster, because they have more exposure to light and (with the wand and the push-cap) more exposure to oxygen—which deteriorates the oils but also makes them age faster. Some blends, especially if they're not citrus or floral, become deeper and more potent with age. Therefore, the "aged" imp might seem more vibrant and complex than a "fresh" bottle. You may find that the bottles smell better the longer you hold on to them. Imps warm faster and mix easier, because of their size and the wand cap. Have you tried gently rolling bottles between your palms before use? A glass wand cap might also help. Warming the oil to skin temperature before applying can bring out the nuances of the oil. Rolling the oil or using a wand also makes sure that you're getting the entire mixture of oils, not just what has separated out to the top, making for a more complete and complex scent.

In the vial: Chocolate and dark herbs. Color is dark algae green. On me: I once saw this described as an algae-covered fish tank, but in a good way—and, oddly enough, it is. The heart of the scent is dark, bitter chocolate—bar chocolate, not cocoa powder, but not the least bit foody. It's accompanied by dark green herbs, damp and almost rotting. They remind me distinctly of green algae, and make the scent dark and organic. Thirteen is deep, dark, unexpected, almost unnerving—but somehow delightful, in a way I can't quite explain. The oil is incredibly potent, and both the throw and wear length are strong; the color is a dark algae green shadowed by black. Verdict: I find this scent easy to describe but impossible to convey. Chocolate and rotting herbs may seem disgusting, but Beth manages wonders. This is an intense, deep, organic scent. The scent of rotting vegetation sometimes sits on the line between disgusting and enticing; Thirteen has just crossed that line. It's cocoa without being foody, herbal but not dry, and unusual but somehow amazing. It's my favorite Thirteen, one of my favorite chocolate blends, and I cherish my imp.

In the vial: A slightly bitter, golden scent which is too complex for me to pin to down notes. On me: The bitterness fades, revealing a heart of warm amber, a touch of golden hay, a whiff of opium, and (over time) a touch of sweet smooth vanilla. But it's much more complex than that description implies—I can pick out those notes because I know them, but the scent has a well-blended, indescribable complexity. It's warm, golden but gently smoked, and slightly perfumey. The color is light gold, the throw is low, the wear length is moderate. Verdict: I picked up Kubla Khan for my love of the poem that inspired it. The perfume is a partial match: it beautifully represents the golden facade of the pleasure dome, and the opium smoke begins to hint at its shadows, but the perfume never delves into the darkness beneath. This complex, well-blended, golden scent is a bit too perfumey for my usual tastes, but I keep my imp handy and when the mood strikes, it's lovely.