Casablanca

From the 2018 restock: "Sheer vanilla musk" is the perfect summary of Ava's dominant note on me. It has a shimmery quality, pale and a bit warm, like cream-colored lingerie in candlelight. Surprisingly, the tuberose and almond, both of which often take the lead for me, are quiet and restrained. I get a little more tuberose than almond, but they're both mild and well-blended into the vanilla musk. I love working with red mandarin in making soaps and lip balms, so I looked for it specifically here. It's present, especially in the early phase, but also faint and well-blended. Mostly this is sheer vanilla musk on me. I'd guess that in a few months, the other notes will be rounding things out a bit more. Love it.

Agreed! Sept is my current frankenfave.

The first queen, daughter of giants: radiant amber, black fig, and rose oud. This is a bright reddish carmine fluid. Fresh on my skin, Bestla starts strong: primarily as a dark red rose, with some dark weirdness mingled in. I realize it’s the oud, but it’s different from usual. It’s strange. But it’s a strong oud! From the notes list, I realize it’s the black fig that’s giving the earthy-woody oud the weirdness I’m getting, which is a darkly sweet fruit-fleshiness. The black fig blends almost into oneness with the oud, darkening and sweetening it, a part of it. Soft amber lives in the background. Once Bestla has dried, she fully blends: a dark, potent rose oud with tones of black fig and soft background resin creating fullness. I don’t have anything quite like this. It’s close to what I’d wanted Daruma Doll to be, from last year’s Lupers, without the Doll’s red musk that did so poorly on my skin. A keeper.

My laundry but better, Wensleydale is a breezy, pale floral, cottony scent. I get an aquatic hint, like a little clean water. He has none of the cheap or powdery qualities of dryer-sheet smells. I love to wear this next to Cottonmouth on my arm. Cottonmouth's linden blossom, calla lily, passion flower, and narcissus seem to have something in kind with the floral aspect of this blend. I've tried Dirty and Boober, and prefer this one's classy-but-comfy vibe.

Sudanese myrrh, papyrus, champaca flower, black lotus, amber, and honeyed leather. Spicy-hot myrrh, like, myrrh as the hot blast of air from the desert that smells the sweetest of all, according to the locals. This blend reminds me of a book I read about the Empty Quarter of Saudi Arabia, and a fascination with such an environment of extremes and challenges to live in, and people who do. A little cinnamon edge to a blast of hot myrrh that's also champaca-spiked, golden with amber. I didn't remember the notes for this when testing it, except the myrrh. I loved the hot champaca-myrrh opening. But then after drydown, I realized it smelled like the papyrus from Mr Ibis wrapped with leather. I didn't think they were in it, and thought I must be having a skin chemistry weirdness that would be funny in the morning. But hey, they're there! I wasn't making it up. I remember I had hesitated on Seth because the Ibis papyrus wasn't very good on me. I found him a new funeral parlor where he is more loved. But this myrrh is really the desert, and the champaca a tiger. The lotus is sweet and well blended in. Love this.

In the bottle, Velvet Cthulhu just smells green and strange. But it's been one of those blends that changes a lot in the open air. Freshly applied, this Cthulhu is still green, but more pleasant and nuanced. Green tea, grainy-green with wasabi and slightly spicy-sweet, comes out first. Along with a coriander hint, I get a gingery impression. A few minutes in, I catch a little sugary spearmint tea, a Moroccan mint: the Tuareg tea. This seems now to have been the source of the early sweetness. The spearmint grows for a bit, becoming the strongest note. It's soft and fresh, with the green tea and a little sage, and a faint base of frankincense when I look for it. I don't catch any myrrh or vetiver. Eventually, the mint subsides and this becomes a soft and complex green tea until it fades. On my friend, this blend was far less layered -- mainly spearmint, with a little green tea, throughout its life.

There was a woman sitting on the grass, under a tree, with a paper tablecloth spread in front of her, and a variety of Tupperware dishes on the cloth. She was—not fat, no, far from fat: what she was, a word that Shadow had never had cause to use until now, was curvaceous. Her hair was so fair that it was white, the kind of platinum-blonde tresses that should have belonged to a long-dead movie starlet, her lips were painted crimson, and she looked to be somewhere between twenty-five and fifty. As they reached her she was selecting from a plate of deviled eggs. She looked up as Wednesday approached her, put down the egg she had chosen, and wiped her hand. “Hello, you old fraud,” she said, but she smiled as she said it, and Wednesday bowed low, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. He said, “You look divine.” “How the hell else should I look?” she demanded, sweetly. “Anyway, you’re a liar. New Orleans was such a mistake—I put on, what, thirty pounds there? I swear. I knew I had to leave when I started to waddle. The tops of my thighs rub together when I walk now, can you believe that?” This last was addressed to Shadow. He had no idea what to say in reply, and felt a hot flush suffuse his face. The woman laughed delightedly. “He’s blushing! Wednesday, my sweet, you brought me a blusher. How perfectly wonderful of you. What’s he called?” “This is Shadow,” said Wednesday. He seemed to be enjoying Shadow’s discomfort. “Shadow, say hello to Easter.” Jasmine and honeysuckle, sweet milk and female skin. What a pretty blend. Freshly applied, jasmine is strongest on me, but it's as closely entwined with honeysuckle as flowering vines on a trellis. The jasmine smells heady at first, but not high-pitched. Honeysuckle and a creamy milkiness add a lovely fullness to the blend. I also get a subtle musk. Once this dries, I mostly get smooth honeysuckle milk. This reminds me of this past year's Poor Monkey, which I loved, but with a little more throw (Poor Monkey had almost no throw on me once it dried). I wasn't expecting this and am so pleased by it. The milk is combining with the honeysuckle in a way that brings the ylang ylang milk of Monkey to mind. This sort of thing loves my skin.

I've been craving herb (and especially mugwort) fragrances lately, so I opted to try this. I'm so glad I did. Freshly applied on me, the motherwort, bergamot, and a mild jasmine are out in front, combining beautifully, with hints of tea, ambrette, and cedar behind. This probably sounds like an odd combination, but it works. I looked up motherwort and it's not mugwort, but this still smells like the Lab's mugwort notes I've tried before. It's quite potent in this blend on my skin, and that's just what I sought. The motherwort and bergamot are the strongest initial notes on my skin, the first note feeling gentle and healing, and the second uplifting. This soft ambrette, which grows in drydown, smells very close to the Lab's ambergris to me, but without the ambergris saltiness. Its nutty aspect comes out on me in time, but I thought it was ambergris at first. The cedar also warms the blend more after a while; by that time, I've lost the bergamot and most of the motherwort. I only get a hint of peony, a little pinkness, like the newborn theme. This is a calming, comforting, and mood-lifting blend.

Globe didn't blip on my radar at first, but I went for it from reviews. On my skin it begins as a woody, spicy cologne in front of a patchouli that's soft and a bit sweet, and a hint of dark tea. This doesn't read as a rough or dirty patchouli at all, and it's lovely. I keep smelling a cardamom spiciness that reminds me of Unicorn and Ram. Actually, there's a cozy, warm-sweater mood to Globe that reminds me very much of both Unicorn and Ram (woolly musk, soft leather, cashmere, cardamom, leather oudh) and Hoiru (bourbon vanilla, suede leather, tonka, patchouli, pale amber, blackened tea leaf, coconut husk, cashmere). This feels to me like a cologne version of them. After this dries, as others have mentioned, the cologne part steps back. I seem to amp some spice in this, and drydown leaves me a well-blended spicy, woody patchouli. Sophisticated and mature.

Winters unmeasured | ere earth was made Was the birth of Bergelmir; Thruthgelmir's son | was the giant strong, And Aurgelmir's grandson of old. The father of a new era of Frost Giants, survivor of the deluge of blood that erupted from Ymir’s mutilations. Winters unmeasured: blue spruce blanketed in sleet, cypress smoke, yew berry, and frozen, brittle stems of lavender. First, in the bottle and wet on my skin, I get blue spruce as the strongest note, but its needles are woven with lavender threads. After drydown, I get lots of a somewhat woody-toned berry, which I take to be the yew berry. After a while, I find that this berry has taken over. Bergelmir has an overall quality of faraway, remote conifer woods, perhaps slightly haunted in the tales of a few villagers, with a distant smoky quality. I like it! For me it's wintery, but nature-based and a bit moody, rather than having any sort of constructed holiday vibe.

A scent of bright fortune through abundant resources: wheat accord, hay absolute, and petitgrain with roasted nuts, toasted vanilla, golden honey, and sweet vetiver. The first impression of Himalia on my skin is of toasted nuts and grain floating in creamy vanilla, like some otherwordly oatmeal. Then I smell the honey and hay mixed in, the former blending into the vanilla, and the latter into the grain. The creamy grain reminds me of Dana O'Shee, but this is, on the whole, more rich. It's been a while since I sampled Dana, and I should do a side-by-side, but this seems a bit like Dana but more complex and rich, and with less overt almond. There's an almost chalky texture in the sniff -- not in a bad way. It makes me think of oatmeal softening and breaking down into smaller and smaller parts, very slowly, in milk. And then, on the end of a sniff, I get an undercurrent of vetiver. There's a goodly amount of sweetness in the rest of the blend, and it's hard to tell where that ends and the sweet part of the vetiver begins, but after a minute or two, the specific tone of it reminds me an awful lot of Death Adder. The Death Adder vetiver in this grows as Himalia dries on me. This is a harvest vetiver blend! Completely dried, Himalia softens considerably, with even its vetiver snake resting its head on its coils and going to sleep. It doesn't vanish, but blends in. The fragrance goes Full Cozy. I like it.

Crushed Baltic amber, golden fig, oud wood, red patchouli, white clove, and saffron. Mm, this is a nice amber. When I tested it I only remembered it was an amber, not the other notes, and it smelled to me like amber (primarily), blonde woods, redwood, carnation, and saffron. I looked up the notes and it seems like maybe the golden fig and oudh together remind me of blond woods. :-) I was reading red patch as redwood and the clove as carnation. OK then. Why haven't I tried to do it this way more often, where I don't remember what I'm smelling, and then get to see? It's literally Christmas in July. Probably because I look at the scents so much when they come out that I memorize them. This time I looked a couple times, ordered, and not again. This is much better than testing scents without listed notes. Reading the list is like opening the Christmas prezzie after you've rattled the box enough and made your guesses. Ramble. So yeah, good blend. :-) Another one I'd like to hang around to age. I might have to forget I have her for her to avoid my attention that long, though.

Gardenia and champaca reign as the benevolent, yet mildly intoxicating, queens of this garden. There's a sense of other flowers, but these two stand out for me. I agree that this smells like pale, waxy flowers among carved blonde woods. I can catch a little oakmoss, and a faint, warm, golden breath of tobacco. But before I looked back at the notes, I thought instead of blonde woods. The tobacco increases a bit once the blend dries, but remains light and restrained. The flowers, on the other hand, are more lush and heady. This is the champaca from Fortuna Tranquilla, I think. It's decadent. I'm pleased with this.

Another pretty and golden scent today! On the wand, Progressus is a woodsy, saffron-threaded amber. Coming out onto the skin, the oil is a lovely amber color. It warms up and blooms on my skin immediately, with more throw than I expected. It throws out even more saffron, along with the lovely amber, and now the cedar and a light honeyed and floral sweetness. The cedar adds a bit of a rustic quality, but the blend is polish-smooth. This is really balsamic, and solar, and I love it.

I loved Hanerot Halalu. I was concerned about the olive oil, but it blends in wonderfully, and adds some richness and spirituality. (To me, HH feels like a more spiritual scent than Lights of Men's Lives or Flickering Lantern, but it's hard to write that for a recommendation, because it's so personal and varies with everyone...) The 2018 Luper Dalliances by Candlelight reminds me a lot of Hanerot Halalu, but more honey-saucy and sexy than spiritual. In its opening, it's my current favorite beeswax-honey blend! I wish that phase lasted longer on me.

While I don't mostly think of it as a vanilla scent, the overall moods of Lullaby and Zorya P feel very similar to me. Lullaby is more lavender to me than vanilla, though it does list vanilla orchid. I think the mood comes from the moonflower-vanilla combination that they share. I get such a gossamer, night-fairy feeling from it. I wonder if that would be worth playing with?

Sept is gorgeous, a rose blend for those who love golden scents. Sept gives a first impression of creamy, warm, golden frankincense, the height of ancient world elegance. The vanilla bean and pale rose open up, too, but very blended in. The frankincense, with its texture that sometimes reminds me of lightly encrusted gold jewelry, is the star. The vanilla bean is beany and the rose seems yellow-white, and the three listed notes blur into one another. This smells like the warmth and rich, gold-suffused light of a late-afternoon summer sun.

Oh, this is so lovely. Polished, white, pearly, creamy, soft, sophisticated, elegant, educated. Besides the amber cream, and a tasteful mahogany, there's a blend in it that reminds me some of orris butter, some of a soft white vanilla, and some of blonde woods. I take it these are the tortoiseshell and ivory. Whatever they are, I'm in love.

Softly cool (not chilly at all), fresh, and herbal. First on my skin, I get mugwort, bay, and green tea most prominently, with blue juniper and powdery iris hints, on a blended, complex background. After a bit, sometimes I get whiffs of fresh lettuce and cucumber, sometimes tropical ylang ylang and cooler flowers. Once Blue Moon dries, I mostly get a soft, floral aloe. The powdery quality lingers. Sometimes it seems to come from the iris, sometimes from the herbs. Maybe it's a bit of both. This is a low-throw, personal skin scent. Overall, I'm getting the clear, moonlit pool in an herb garden that I sought. I wish it were less powdery, but I'm liking it.

Frankincense, dried red roses, and myrrh with soft orris, labdanum, and red clove. In the bottle, Crucifixion smells to me like frankincense, dried red roses, and a little myrrh sweetened with clove. On my skin, my first thought is that the red roses are too dried for me, which was my only concern about this one... but after a few moments on me, they become more like very mature roses, perhaps in their last night of full bloom before they start to wither. The frankincense is prominent up front, too. It's not as grainy as in some frank blends; it's more smooth. After a while I find the labdanum coming out, but it always seems like a note permanently in stealth mode to me. Around the same time, the clove grows on my skin, but it's still acting as a support note. This is a spicy floriental rather than a floral or resinous spice, if that makes sense. The throw on me is a lower than I expected; age might change this, but it's a close skin scent for now. I like this as it is, but I'm very eager to know what it'll be like in a few months or more. ETA: This is beautiful layered with Rose Cross for a fresher and deeper combined rose note.

Pink Fuzzy Handcuffs is intensely pink rose on my skin, with a vanilla cream hint. It reminds me a great deal of Rose Mallow Cream from Solstice Scents, if one took away the mallow. I was also hoping for more cotton candy and vanilla sugar, but I'll see how it settles over more time.

Sugared lemon-vanilla cream, swirled with a little waxy honey, atop a barely detectable Snake Oil base that will perhaps come out more with age. I worried about the mentions of lemon, but it's soft and plays nicely. Lovely.

Profoundly sensual. The echo of caresses: raw black coconut, ambergris accord, ambrette seed, champaca flower, and sugar cane. 2018: Body, Remember is a surprise because I get all listed notes from the first inhale. Strongest on me is a very green and syrupy sugar cane, followed by a more floral than usual champaca (it seems like there might be other hidden flowers with it), dark coconut, and a musky and almost woody ambergris-ambrette mix. An appealing blend that would be interesting to pair with The Pleasure of Aristocratic Women, with its coconut-almond-teak thing.

Wet on my skin, Alabaster Vulva strongly features the Florentine orris butter from Mythological Scene, one of the Unicorns. That note grew on me over time, and I'm pleased to find it here. A silky vanilla and narcissus blend is draped over the iris butter, like some lingerie tossed lazily onto a pale, satiny cushion. A waft of summer bergamot now and then lifts a corner of the draped silk, like a breeze from a sunlit window that no one is troubled to close. This reads as privileged, idle, floating, and refined. Love it.

Wild Rabbit has a dominant -- but delicate -- vanilla floral white tea. Behind that is a sort of chewy, waxy support that I assume is the honeycomb. It seems to be how beeswax notes might smell without their smoky and hot-melting tones: it's plain, pale, and soft, and somehow malleable. I barely pick up sandalwood. A curious blend. Mostly I see it as a variant of vanilla flower white tea.