Remember that green gum that looked like pillows that squirted sugar syrup when you first chewed it?
Saint Julep is the sparkliest perfume I’ve ever sniffed. It’s that Turkish iced tea that knocks your drunk off at four in the morning, the half an Adderall you saved for finals week.
The mint itches on your skin, keeping you awake, jeering at the insomniacs who are too tired to enjoy the starlight, and then kisses you in the morning with still-fresh breath.
Eye of Civet and Thorn of Rose, Rind of Bergamot and Moss of Swamp.
This is Shakespeare’s Macbeth in a single spray: opens with “Enter three Witches,” and in their cauldron is a bubbling neon chartreuse potion.
By the third act it tries to come clean, the murdering queen taking a skinny-dip in a hidden spring, but it fails to wash off all the traces of evil.
Savage green, in a weird fertile spell-chanting way.
Mia Farrow in the ad for Coriandre, Jean Couturier 1973
Tomato by Demeter is every urban gardening hipster chick sunbathing topless on the roof. Stray honeysuckle and dandelion weeds are overtaken by crushed tomato leaves and the great red globes ripening on the vine. A smudge of pollution and sweat and dirt sticks to the skin, but doesn’t stop the invasive Organic Goddess green.
I’d worship her in the summer.
Forget what you think and buy the big bottle.
My cat just peed on the carpet.
No, that’s not what Civet smells like–it’s actually quite lovely. Leather and citrus and peppery carnations, smoke and it’s so lush.
But when I dabbed it on my wrist my cat freaked out, frantically pawed at my sleeve and then took a stress squirt on the rug.
Never have I felt so sexy doing laundry.
Carpet is clean, cat is sleeping, perfume calmed down to sweet black coffee on the skin.
Beekeepers smell like this–honey and smoke and sweet resin. Flowers and wood and hard sweaty work underneath.
Bees make a sticky glue from pine sap called propolis to secure the honeycomb. It’s been used for centuries to varnish violins and in traditional medicine to soothe irritated throats.
Smoke gets the buzzy girls high, so they don’t mind the beeman in their home. He’ll say hullo to the queen and admire the brood before leaving.
Summer afternoons, when it’s too hot for even the roses, the propolis gets soft and the honey makes a mirage of heat over the hives–this is Pour le Soir.
How can something so pretty smell like teenager feet?!
See also: Valerian
BEST INSOMNIA ZOMBIE IMPULSE BUY YET.
Three fancyass toothpastes with little stories and descriptions like bottles of wine!
Orange, rose and nutmeg.
Tastes like you’ve said something naughty and got your mouth washed out with Marilyn Monroe’s soap. In a good way.
Pineapple, mango and mint.
Or, foaming Juicyfruit.
Cardamom and peppermint.
A mouthful of iced chai that finishes dusty.