BPAL reviews -- clearing out the imp backlog a bit.
As I study my shelves, I realize that I have a great deal of BPAL that's never actually been reviewed. This needs to be corrected, if only so that I will know which of the many, many imps currently cluttering my BPAL collection are safe to get rid of. And some of them need to go. They're threatening to overflow the bowl I store them in. Review time!
***
Stardust (Yule 2007).
What the Lab Says: When the holidays roll around, not everyone has mistletoe, caroling and cookies on their minds. This scent is a paean to celebrating hard: nights covered in glitter and dusted with cocaine, flutes of Cristal clutched in shaky hands, leather and lace, the Spiders From Mars in the background, and twisting, sweaty limbs entangled in dark corners. Hairspray and cigarette smoke is the incense in this temple to decadence, strobe and mirrors replace the devotional candles, and Bolan sings the hymns. This scent is for everyone that has every drifted off into Quaalude-induced reverie to the beat of a tribal 4-on-the-floor: the sound of Mott the Hoople, Sweet, Slade or the Dolls. This scent reflects the futurism, self-indulgence and excess of the Glitter 70's: champagne, hyacinth, tuberose, ylang ylang and flashing white musk with jonquil, tobacco flower, white sandalwood and a pale poppy.
What I Say: Upon sniffing my imp of Stardust, I was promptly clubbed over the head with sweetness, stickiness, and the almost overwhelming scent of hyacinth, which was somewhat exciting (hyacinth not normally being trained to attack with quite that little provocation). Further sniffing allowed me to pick out the sandalwood and musk, which made me deeply dubious of how this stuff was going to smell on me. I am not a friend to the musk, nor is the musk a friend to me. Still, I'm trying to test my entire backlog, so I put it on.
On my skin, I started feeling very much like Mary Sunshine in Reefer Madness -- it burns my lungs. Only instead of following the initial burn with mind-numbing pleasure, the perfume decided to settle into smelling like I'd just dumped a bottle of dimestore cologne into a bottle of equally cheap champagne, shaken briskly, and then dumped it out over my head. Not exactly what I'd been hoping for, but I figured it would probably change as it dried down, and waited like the foolishly patient girl that I am.
It dried. Specifically, it dried and turned soapy, with all the flowers ganging up on the sweeter notes and mobbing together in an explosion of soapy floral soapiness. Also, did I mention the soap? This is the perfect perfume for me to wear on days when I want to smell, I don't know, so clean that I couldn't possibly be charged with any sort of crime. It's the smell of the day after the big party, when the cleaning service shows up, drinks all the leftover booze, and has a giant soap-bubble-fight in the middle of the ballroom. Not my bag, baby.
My score: 4 out of 10. It's not causing me active distress, but I smell like evil soap.
*
Kill-Devil.
What the Lab Says: "Rum punch is not improperly called Kill-Devil; for thousands lose their lives by its means. When newcomers use it to the least excess, they expose themselves to imminent peril, for it heats the blood and brings on fevers, which in a very few hours send them to their graves." Sugar cane, molasses, oak wood, and honey.
What I Say: Okay, who the hell thought it would be funny to pour out my imp of Kill-Devil and replace it with rum punch? Because...uh...oh, wait. Seriously, in the bottle, this stuff smells like exactly what it's supposed to smell like. It doesn't 'imply' rum punch. It doesn't 'hint' at rum punch. It's a vial of rum-bloody-punch, and I hesitated to rub it on my wrists, because I don't normally go around making myself smell like alcohol for kicks. Marginally disturbing. Also potentially going to get me picked up for public drunkenness, given my inability to walk in a straight line under the best of circumstances.
On my skin, the smell of rum punch becomes even stronger. I am a pirate hooker. Most honey scents are subtle on me. Kill-Devil is not subtle. Kill-Devil is taking off its clothes and strutting down Main Street, singing 'Bring On the Men.' It's actually pretty impressive, especially since the stuff has the sort of throw that has a tendency to follow people into corners and suggest they do dirty, dirty things with it. The oak wood and molasses put in an appearance during dry-down, making the perfume deeper, richer, and a little less cloying, even if no less alcoholic.
Once Kill-Devil totally settles down on me, but before it begins to fade, it smells incredible. It's a New Year's bash in Tortuga, it's a pirate whorehouse, it's exactly where all the rum has gone. All the rum has gone onto me. I half-expected dreadlocked men with funny accents to start following me down the street (not an entirely unwelcome expectation). The various brands of 'sweet' blended together with the oak wood as a connecting note, becoming something that was unexpectedly pleasant, and refreshingly long lasting. Definitely a winner.
My score: 7 out of 10. If I ever need to seduce Captain Jack Sparrow, baby, it is on.
*
Nuit.
What the Lab Says: She is the Goddess of the Sky, one of the Ennead, daughter of the air [Shu] and water [Tefnut], lover of Geb and Hadit, the Eternal Mother, and the Receiver, Reviver and Protector of the Dead, whose loving, divine embrace shields our souls from annihilation. She is love, rapture, splendor, continuous and eternal birth and rebirth, infinite space, and "the naked brilliance of the voluptuous night." Nuit is Earth’s guardian, and shields her lover and her mortal children from the primeval chaos that threatens Existence. Her perfume is starry and crystalline, a jewel-clad and glittering paean to night: dazzling white musks, white rose and night-blooming jasmine with the soft moss of moonlit meadows, a waft of Egyptian incense, and a gentle breath of moonflower.
What I Say: Oh, look; there's that white musk again. You'd think that eventually I might learn to trust my instincts when those instincts say 'do not rub white musk on your skin,' but as that would rather interfere with my 'test everything in the big imp bag' plan, I keep ignoring them. In the vial, Nuit smells like sticky floral sweetness. There's no wafting. There's no gentle. There's just HELLO WE ARE THE FLOWERS WE GET YOUR SOUL. This is a little bit daunting. There may be a trace of moss under there, but it's difficult to say, what with the flowers trying to strangle me as I sniff.
On my skin, the musk makes absolutely no appearance during the 'wet' phase, and neither does the moss; instead, I am being violently bludgeoned by roses and jasmine, with the incense and moonflower lurking in the background with daggers, threatening to stab any members of the floral army which venture too far into enemy territory. It's like a Wonderland war being played out on my wrists. Not exactly what I was going for, but at least it's interesting. As the perfume starts to dry, the incense vanishes, replaced by the musk, which is suddenly everywhere. Rose-dipped weasels are cavorting on my skin.
Dry-down just continues to bring the weasels out to play, although the moss finally appears. So now there are moldy rose-dipped weasels cavorting on my skin. To say that this was marginally displeasing is to understate things just a tad. The smell remained strong and sharply floral right up until it started to blessedly fade, quickly becoming sugared baby powder. The smell of sugared baby powder proceeded to linger for several hours, although thankfully, the weasels did not return.
My score: 2 out of 10. Rose-dipped weasels. Do not want.
*
Eden.
What the Lab Says: At the center of the Garden of Eden stands the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Though modern interpretations of the Bible claim that it was an apple that the Serpent of the Tree offered to Eve, it is widely believed that the true Fruit of True Knowledge was, in fact, a fig. This oil contains the innocence of the Garden, coupled with the Truth and Erudition found in the fruit of the Tree of Evil: fig leaf, fig fruit, honeyed almond milk, toasted coconut and sandalwood.
What I Say: In the imp, this smells like coconut. Just coconut. I'm sure that all the other notes are there, because the Lab is usually pretty good about that sort of thing, but it doesn't smell like the other notes are there. It smells like coconut. Lots and lots of coconut. Not exactly the most appealing thing I've ever sniffed, and if I didn't already own it, the smell of Eden in the bottle wouldn't inspire me towards acquisition. Still, there's always the real test.
On my skin, it starts out as, well, coconut. I have slathered myself in sweetened tanning lotion. After a few minutes to settle, however, the fig notes begin to put in an appearance, slinking out from beneath the coconut with slightly mortified expressions, as if to say 'oh, were you looking for us in your perfume?' The sandalwood comes on next, and it comes on strong, for as long as it lasts. On me, 'as long as it lasts' seems to be somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen minutes.
After the sandalwood leaves the party, the fig puts in a too-brief appearance, since the coconut appears to have gone to the Bahamas or something to work on its tan. For a few minutes, this is a perfect, sweet, textured fig perfume, underscored with just a trace of honey and almonds. It's divine. And then...it's gone. After putting me through hell to reach something awesome, the awesome wafts away in minutes. I feel teased.
My score: 3 out of 10. It's not offensive, it's just not for me, and it doesn't last.
*
Debauchery.
What the Lab Says: A sinful, licentious scent: self-indulgent and luxurious. Mingled heady civet and red Egyptian musk, thickened with opium.
What I Say: This perfume smells like pencil shavings. Third grade pencil shavings, when half the girls have those weird vaguely-scented fashion doll pencils that cause the pencil sharpener to smell like it's just come back from an orgy in Milan. Since I know that can't be the musk, either civet or opium smells like pencil shavings to me. That, sadly, makes this perfume seem like a much more appealing thing to smear on myself, as deep in my secret heart of hearts, I would totally wear pink eraser and chalkboard dust perfume.
On my skin, this starts out as a very dry, leathery scent (although still with that delightful undertone of pencil shavings). I can't decide whether this is a somewhat manly, 'I am secure enough to smell a little sweet and thus attract the ladies with honey' scent, or a dry and dusty 'I've been the madam in this saloon for the last twenty years and what I say goes' scent. It could probably go either way when it first hits my wrists, as it's basically occupied with being sweet, dry, and full of pencil shavings.
As it dries, the undefined sweetness -- I'm assuming that's the opium -- really takes over, although the overall impression of the scent remains one of surprising dryness. The pencil shavings fade into sawdust, really making it smell like a time-slipped saloon that could probably double as a whorehouse. Lily Cavanaugh wore this perfume when she was trying to get into character. It's pleasant and interesting, with a long-lasting throw. No complaints here.
My score: 6 out of 10. Time travel pencil shavings for the win!
***
Stardust (Yule 2007).
What the Lab Says: When the holidays roll around, not everyone has mistletoe, caroling and cookies on their minds. This scent is a paean to celebrating hard: nights covered in glitter and dusted with cocaine, flutes of Cristal clutched in shaky hands, leather and lace, the Spiders From Mars in the background, and twisting, sweaty limbs entangled in dark corners. Hairspray and cigarette smoke is the incense in this temple to decadence, strobe and mirrors replace the devotional candles, and Bolan sings the hymns. This scent is for everyone that has every drifted off into Quaalude-induced reverie to the beat of a tribal 4-on-the-floor: the sound of Mott the Hoople, Sweet, Slade or the Dolls. This scent reflects the futurism, self-indulgence and excess of the Glitter 70's: champagne, hyacinth, tuberose, ylang ylang and flashing white musk with jonquil, tobacco flower, white sandalwood and a pale poppy.
What I Say: Upon sniffing my imp of Stardust, I was promptly clubbed over the head with sweetness, stickiness, and the almost overwhelming scent of hyacinth, which was somewhat exciting (hyacinth not normally being trained to attack with quite that little provocation). Further sniffing allowed me to pick out the sandalwood and musk, which made me deeply dubious of how this stuff was going to smell on me. I am not a friend to the musk, nor is the musk a friend to me. Still, I'm trying to test my entire backlog, so I put it on.
On my skin, I started feeling very much like Mary Sunshine in Reefer Madness -- it burns my lungs. Only instead of following the initial burn with mind-numbing pleasure, the perfume decided to settle into smelling like I'd just dumped a bottle of dimestore cologne into a bottle of equally cheap champagne, shaken briskly, and then dumped it out over my head. Not exactly what I'd been hoping for, but I figured it would probably change as it dried down, and waited like the foolishly patient girl that I am.
It dried. Specifically, it dried and turned soapy, with all the flowers ganging up on the sweeter notes and mobbing together in an explosion of soapy floral soapiness. Also, did I mention the soap? This is the perfect perfume for me to wear on days when I want to smell, I don't know, so clean that I couldn't possibly be charged with any sort of crime. It's the smell of the day after the big party, when the cleaning service shows up, drinks all the leftover booze, and has a giant soap-bubble-fight in the middle of the ballroom. Not my bag, baby.
My score: 4 out of 10. It's not causing me active distress, but I smell like evil soap.
*
Kill-Devil.
What the Lab Says: "Rum punch is not improperly called Kill-Devil; for thousands lose their lives by its means. When newcomers use it to the least excess, they expose themselves to imminent peril, for it heats the blood and brings on fevers, which in a very few hours send them to their graves." Sugar cane, molasses, oak wood, and honey.
What I Say: Okay, who the hell thought it would be funny to pour out my imp of Kill-Devil and replace it with rum punch? Because...uh...oh, wait. Seriously, in the bottle, this stuff smells like exactly what it's supposed to smell like. It doesn't 'imply' rum punch. It doesn't 'hint' at rum punch. It's a vial of rum-bloody-punch, and I hesitated to rub it on my wrists, because I don't normally go around making myself smell like alcohol for kicks. Marginally disturbing. Also potentially going to get me picked up for public drunkenness, given my inability to walk in a straight line under the best of circumstances.
On my skin, the smell of rum punch becomes even stronger. I am a pirate hooker. Most honey scents are subtle on me. Kill-Devil is not subtle. Kill-Devil is taking off its clothes and strutting down Main Street, singing 'Bring On the Men.' It's actually pretty impressive, especially since the stuff has the sort of throw that has a tendency to follow people into corners and suggest they do dirty, dirty things with it. The oak wood and molasses put in an appearance during dry-down, making the perfume deeper, richer, and a little less cloying, even if no less alcoholic.
Once Kill-Devil totally settles down on me, but before it begins to fade, it smells incredible. It's a New Year's bash in Tortuga, it's a pirate whorehouse, it's exactly where all the rum has gone. All the rum has gone onto me. I half-expected dreadlocked men with funny accents to start following me down the street (not an entirely unwelcome expectation). The various brands of 'sweet' blended together with the oak wood as a connecting note, becoming something that was unexpectedly pleasant, and refreshingly long lasting. Definitely a winner.
My score: 7 out of 10. If I ever need to seduce Captain Jack Sparrow, baby, it is on.
*
Nuit.
What the Lab Says: She is the Goddess of the Sky, one of the Ennead, daughter of the air [Shu] and water [Tefnut], lover of Geb and Hadit, the Eternal Mother, and the Receiver, Reviver and Protector of the Dead, whose loving, divine embrace shields our souls from annihilation. She is love, rapture, splendor, continuous and eternal birth and rebirth, infinite space, and "the naked brilliance of the voluptuous night." Nuit is Earth’s guardian, and shields her lover and her mortal children from the primeval chaos that threatens Existence. Her perfume is starry and crystalline, a jewel-clad and glittering paean to night: dazzling white musks, white rose and night-blooming jasmine with the soft moss of moonlit meadows, a waft of Egyptian incense, and a gentle breath of moonflower.
What I Say: Oh, look; there's that white musk again. You'd think that eventually I might learn to trust my instincts when those instincts say 'do not rub white musk on your skin,' but as that would rather interfere with my 'test everything in the big imp bag' plan, I keep ignoring them. In the vial, Nuit smells like sticky floral sweetness. There's no wafting. There's no gentle. There's just HELLO WE ARE THE FLOWERS WE GET YOUR SOUL. This is a little bit daunting. There may be a trace of moss under there, but it's difficult to say, what with the flowers trying to strangle me as I sniff.
On my skin, the musk makes absolutely no appearance during the 'wet' phase, and neither does the moss; instead, I am being violently bludgeoned by roses and jasmine, with the incense and moonflower lurking in the background with daggers, threatening to stab any members of the floral army which venture too far into enemy territory. It's like a Wonderland war being played out on my wrists. Not exactly what I was going for, but at least it's interesting. As the perfume starts to dry, the incense vanishes, replaced by the musk, which is suddenly everywhere. Rose-dipped weasels are cavorting on my skin.
Dry-down just continues to bring the weasels out to play, although the moss finally appears. So now there are moldy rose-dipped weasels cavorting on my skin. To say that this was marginally displeasing is to understate things just a tad. The smell remained strong and sharply floral right up until it started to blessedly fade, quickly becoming sugared baby powder. The smell of sugared baby powder proceeded to linger for several hours, although thankfully, the weasels did not return.
My score: 2 out of 10. Rose-dipped weasels. Do not want.
*
Eden.
What the Lab Says: At the center of the Garden of Eden stands the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Though modern interpretations of the Bible claim that it was an apple that the Serpent of the Tree offered to Eve, it is widely believed that the true Fruit of True Knowledge was, in fact, a fig. This oil contains the innocence of the Garden, coupled with the Truth and Erudition found in the fruit of the Tree of Evil: fig leaf, fig fruit, honeyed almond milk, toasted coconut and sandalwood.
What I Say: In the imp, this smells like coconut. Just coconut. I'm sure that all the other notes are there, because the Lab is usually pretty good about that sort of thing, but it doesn't smell like the other notes are there. It smells like coconut. Lots and lots of coconut. Not exactly the most appealing thing I've ever sniffed, and if I didn't already own it, the smell of Eden in the bottle wouldn't inspire me towards acquisition. Still, there's always the real test.
On my skin, it starts out as, well, coconut. I have slathered myself in sweetened tanning lotion. After a few minutes to settle, however, the fig notes begin to put in an appearance, slinking out from beneath the coconut with slightly mortified expressions, as if to say 'oh, were you looking for us in your perfume?' The sandalwood comes on next, and it comes on strong, for as long as it lasts. On me, 'as long as it lasts' seems to be somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen minutes.
After the sandalwood leaves the party, the fig puts in a too-brief appearance, since the coconut appears to have gone to the Bahamas or something to work on its tan. For a few minutes, this is a perfect, sweet, textured fig perfume, underscored with just a trace of honey and almonds. It's divine. And then...it's gone. After putting me through hell to reach something awesome, the awesome wafts away in minutes. I feel teased.
My score: 3 out of 10. It's not offensive, it's just not for me, and it doesn't last.
*
Debauchery.
What the Lab Says: A sinful, licentious scent: self-indulgent and luxurious. Mingled heady civet and red Egyptian musk, thickened with opium.
What I Say: This perfume smells like pencil shavings. Third grade pencil shavings, when half the girls have those weird vaguely-scented fashion doll pencils that cause the pencil sharpener to smell like it's just come back from an orgy in Milan. Since I know that can't be the musk, either civet or opium smells like pencil shavings to me. That, sadly, makes this perfume seem like a much more appealing thing to smear on myself, as deep in my secret heart of hearts, I would totally wear pink eraser and chalkboard dust perfume.
On my skin, this starts out as a very dry, leathery scent (although still with that delightful undertone of pencil shavings). I can't decide whether this is a somewhat manly, 'I am secure enough to smell a little sweet and thus attract the ladies with honey' scent, or a dry and dusty 'I've been the madam in this saloon for the last twenty years and what I say goes' scent. It could probably go either way when it first hits my wrists, as it's basically occupied with being sweet, dry, and full of pencil shavings.
As it dries, the undefined sweetness -- I'm assuming that's the opium -- really takes over, although the overall impression of the scent remains one of surprising dryness. The pencil shavings fade into sawdust, really making it smell like a time-slipped saloon that could probably double as a whorehouse. Lily Cavanaugh wore this perfume when she was trying to get into character. It's pleasant and interesting, with a long-lasting throw. No complaints here.
My score: 6 out of 10. Time travel pencil shavings for the win!