Replica sample spray and promo card featuring the bare back of a blonde at the seashore.
Another citrus-coconut-floral for barefoot surf dodging–
A soft bergamot opening, with that squeeze of lemon juice to lighten the hair in the sun, then coconut creme sun lotion and sweet tropical flowers carried at arms length, ending in a sheer driftwood musk that melts to the skin after a few hours.
Grubby garden glove holding fallen tomato leaf, spotty rose, bruised apricot, and small bottle with St. Clair logo.
“Gardener’s Glove was a finalist in the 2019 Art and Olfaction Awards within the artisan/independent category,” according to the St. Clair Scents website, and yep, this stuff is magical.
The tomato leaf opens loud, the way I like it, jolly green with a nice hit of citrus peel– And then leather eases in, holding crushed herbs, bruised fruit and flower prunings, a pretty chaotic mess that gets super sweet with black currants and jasmine for several nice hours within personal space. There’s a dust-up of saffron and vetiver as it settles, then some pleasant animalics and benzoin linger with apricots for the evening, subtle on skin and all night on the cuffs.
Somehow this all adds up to a fairy-tale–a Folavril pixie wearing Land of Warriors armor–but not about royalty, this eau is about the groundskeeper who trained the thorny rose forest, pruned the poisoned apple trees, cultivated the giant beanstalk seeds.
Niche quality, with prices to match, but absolutely worth saving up for–I feel like I could grow moth orchids that flew and ferns that actually fiddled, while wearing it.
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Robert Smith (of The Cure) and Steven Severin (of Siouxsie and the Banshees) got together in The Glove to do a new wave album called Blue Sunshine. This instrumental tune also starts chaotic, then gets super sweet.
TokyoMilk barrel canister and bottle with botanical drawings of chrysanthemum, echinacea and clary.
From the newest set, TokyoMilk 80 touts Sweet Grass, Clary Sage, Verdant Florals, Citron on the label, and the clary–a lavender-limey herbal–is nicely prominent, I’m happy to say.
Opens bright, cologne-ish–green lemonade on lawn chairs in the hot sun–that settles to the skin within an hour. Turns a little sweaty in a pleasant bitter citrus pithy way for another hour or two. Fresh, soft, and unisex. I’d enjoy it as bath salts, too.
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Garbage covers U2 with a dreamy urgency that’s just lovely–(the whole album is great.)
Mini black capped Nest bottles, Wild Poppy in front with red flower illustrated label.
Whew. The rollerball application might not be the way to sample this one.
One stripe on the wrist and I get Enormous Fruits, in a Carmen Miranda hat so huge it makes my eyes cross. Scrubbing twice knocks it back to a heavy raspberry rose headache, three feet off the skin, that no amount of dish detergent or aspirin can conquer. I tried Goo-Gone, and Ajax. It’s been two days. I’m contemplating one of those foot peel masks. And acupuncture. Maybe an orbital sander?
Miniature iconic black Joy bottle with red domed cap and gold writing, sitting in the petals of a red-tipped cream rose.
Joy opens bright, rose and tuberose made extra sweet and loud with ylang-ylang. Jasmine soon blooms, indolic and spring green with rosebuds that slowly ripen then turn almost spicy and dry down to sandalwood. Musk with a hint of cat purrs at the bottom, keeping it from being too pristine.
There’s really no way to explain how perfectly blended the bouquet of flowers is, yet every single element is so distinct–the way a Matisse painting comes together perfectly, the way a string quartet becomes more than the sum of the strings–gestalt theory produced in perfume.
I still have the bottle I bought in Paris when I was sixteen, but I never wear it–I feel like I’m putting on airs (farting above my ass–to use a French idiom) or playing dress up in clothes I’m not woman enough to pull off.
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Joy came out in 1930. The next year Josephine Baker released the record that made the world pay attention to more than her banana skirt.
Vintage bottle of rose glass with pressed flower design, ribbed gold shaft cap with pink faux jewel on the tip.
Found this one in a vintage grab bag, with enough drops in the bottom to reminisce about the dorm-mate in college who stole my microwave popcorn, chewed tobacco and had really good taste in drugstore perfume.
Xia Xiang was an iconic late eighties Revlon, a sweet woodsy floral* with cringey marketing that embraced full-on exoticism of Chinese culture. Good perfume, though–a pretty lemonade splash on a mixed bouquet of everything, with a long lasting spiced peaches and sandalwood base.
Go with ChloeNomad for a modern take with a similar profile, or try Fragonard Belle de Nuit, with the same rose and ylang-ylang, and plum notes on the bottom.
*(Let’s get rid of the tone-deaf perfume label “oriental” while we’re at it, yeah? It’s offensive and we don’t need it. We say more with words that describe the scent, than we do using an outdated geographical term that stinks of colonialism.)
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T’Pau’s big hit, China in Your Hand, came out in 1987, but the debut release from the same album is a much better song.
Etat Libre d’Orange sample spray and box, and a power supply plug.
(Semi-Modern Vetiver.)
I love this stuff! At first, vanilla ice cream, sweet and a little sweaty, with that strange metallic smoke of burnt wire, but wonderful–y’know the scent in the air at McDonald’s, when the shake machine blows a circuit mid-pour? That.
The singed plastic note grows into the middle–the vetiver, hot and ashy, but sexy in a smouldering way–for a nice hour inside cuddling space, before melting down to the most enjoyable myrrh for the rest of the day.
ELdO spins a nostalgic story about the gigolo who aged out and had to go into trade (yay for artsy ad copy!) that reeks of classism and fatism and ageism–NoT aLL eLeCtRiCiAnS!–and yet, because this stuff is so fantastic, we get a marvelous tribute. The workingman’s ass crack made voluptuous, his sweat pheromonal–and who doesn’t love the guy who fixes the shake machine?!
Red faced gold Amouage mini bottle with domed cap, and apricots.
Opens with opulent spiced honey mead and elegant jasmine, then slices fresh apricots and sprinkles them with a bit of pollen dust. But Journey isn’t delicate–there’s a solidity on the bottom, like sturdy hospital clogs, leather and wood and rubber soles–that keeps her from being frivolous.
The dichotomy reminds me of my grandmother, who loved rich and exotic things, but didn’t hesitate to tie on a smock when nurses aides were needed during the war.
Stays within personal space for most of the day, then fades to the skin with sweet tobacco musk for the evening. I like it–though my wallet is a little too lighthearted for this kind of gravitas.
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Really feeling for healthcare workers right now. May their shoes never, never, never let them down.
Cute gold capped .25oz mini bottle, enameled with gray, white and green flowers.
This one is all about the bottle, which says Midnight Gardens & Wildflower right on it. The ad copy talks about night-blooming jasmine, cypress and waterlily, adding up to a sweet wet flower mush that’s pleasant at a distance, and hits the back of the throat with a bit of algae pond funk up close.
Performs reasonably well with some nice “lake mermaid” vibes. Not my thing–the Lollia line tends to be too soft for me–but the “Little Luxe” bottles are adorable and way too easy to collect.
kira a. gold 