floral

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Lilacs & Gooseberries

Shay & Blue’s iconic blue flask with black tall top, hung with a silver wolf medallion, sitting in a pile of sugared green gooseberry hard candy.

I was hoping this one would cast spells.

I’m a big fan of the show and the game The Witcher–for a male point-of-view medieval fantasy, it has some amazing and powerful women who call their own shots. (Side note: Henry Cavill looks so much better when he’s grubby.)
Yennifer, the main character’s usual love interest (and occasional foe) wears a distinctive perfume of lilac and gooseberry.
So of course I was excited to see her scent manifested in reality.

Shay & Blue’s write-up is pretty lush:
Nightmare dressed as a daydream. A twisted and addictive juicy floral. Obsessive Lilacs open to the thrill of dark demons. Twisted with sharp Gooseberries drenched in juice. Finishing this intoxication with smooth white amber.
And while that’s a great description of the sorceress’s vibe, S&B’s perfume interpretation is quite literal, and somehow more simple than I was expecting.

The eau goes on fresh and soft with light florals and tart fruits that linger somewhere between green peaches and Granny Smith apples at arm’s length. After an hour or two it settles inside personal space with a wet mineral amber that’s a little abrasive–not headache inducing, just a little prickly–and stays pretty for half the day.
The top notes grab cotton nicely.

I wish it were witchier, more chaotic, more like Yen, but I like it, and the geek factor makes me really happy.

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The bard in the series is an absolute drama queen. Jaskier (which means “buttercup” in the original Polish, though in the English version of the game he is Dandelion) is played brilliantly by Joseph Trapanese. Here’s my favorite song from season 2.

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Sun Moon Stars 2023

Black cat looking suspiciously at an iridescent white bottle with raised celestial motifs.
(Same, Luna, same.)

Strawberry sports drink, petroleum jelly, and secondhand embarrassment.

I have no idea why the original was discontinued, or why this mess was introduced, and I’m sad about it.

A pretty variation of the bottle, though.

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Today is a bit gloomy and melancholy-

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Citronelle & Geranium

Bottle and box with cute flower drawings, in front of a can of Deep Woods Off and a tube of Skin-So-Soft body lotion.

Holy shitballs, it works.

Mosquitoes LOVE me. The little vampiric assholes feast on my flesh like I am manna from above.
So I am always looking for a good smelling repellent, and while Diptyque actually makes no claim to Citronelle & Geranium being proof against the bloodsucking fiends, it boasts lemongrass and lemon eucalyptus. Both are effective bug deterrents, and along with citronella, can even kill the little effers in large enough doses.

This “summer body spray” goes on comfortingly strong, with that invasive green citrus that immediately stops the annoying tinnitus whine that is not “just in your head.”
In a half hour or so, orange blossom and neroli ease in to soften the sharp sting of the lemon leaves, for a glorious insect free afternoon.

Would it stand up to the fanged pterodactyls that live in Vermont marshes?
No. You need DEET for that.

Is it as sweet smelling and nostalgia inducing as Avon’s iconic Skin-So-Soft?
No, but it’s a lot less oily and doesn’t stain the clothes.

Is it pricey?
Yes, especially when compared to a can of Off from the drugstore.
But since hats with full netting aren’t apropos for garden parties anymore (a shame, that) it might be worth it for fancy outdoor events when waving and slapping and swearing and welting and itching seems undignified.

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Edge Effects

Edge Effects sample spray with b+w post card, and a peach, a clementine, tomato leaf and basil, and a big box of nag champa incense.

The inspiration for this scent is the dual world at the line where meadow meets trees, and it’s lovely–multifaceted, but without hard edges–and always changing from moment to moment.

Citrusy green peaches at first sniff that immediately ripen, turning sweet and spicy and lush for half an hour or so, not too loud, but very inviting.
Labdanum smoke breezes in, delicate and airy over earthy pine sweetened with jasmine. We we linger here for half the day in personal space, whispers flicker in and out: small musky animalics, pleasantly bitter leaves, sugared herbs–
The peaches and jasmine turn creamy toward the evening with a bit of vanilla, almost like benzoin but lighter and less sticky on the skin.
Gone by morning, with just a smudge of sweet greens on cotton cuffs.

Absolutely big bottle worthy, and my birthday is coming up soon.

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Another Edge, much edgier.

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Zinnia

Vintage Floris bottle with iconic royal blue label and cap, and dwarf orange and pink zinnias from my garden.

I wish my zinnias smelled like this.
Mine smell like dusty bee pollen, green stems and maybe some petrichor from this morning’s rain.

Floris Zinnia smells like peach sweet tea and clove carnations and a bouquet of powdery roses and lily-of-the-valley–that should seem matronly but are pure coquette–in a garden, with lawn games involving a mallet or a racquet or something, played by people who say “ta” and “cheers” a lot.

Good performance, fresh and bright in social distance for several hours, then spicy and warm in personal space for the rest of the afternoon.

First in the catalogue in 1860 and relaunched in 1990, bottles can still be found at reasonable prices. I’m surprised they aren’t snatched up more quickly.

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Looks like evening rain, too.

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Cow

Promo card with a rather judgy bovine, sample spray, apple and kid’s cloisonne cow pendant.

Nestlé apple flavored Quik.
And Crayons.

Opens with some herbs and a basket of fresh apples, that soon turn milky sweet with lily-of-the-valley and violet powder, and then slides down to the skin with waxy musk for half the day.

I don’t know how to explain how silly this smells.

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Some ridiculous NSFW Doja Cat

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TokyoBlue

Copper accented sample spray and bottle cutout paper tester, with a pile of smashed up Chowards violet mints.

A powder burst opening, chalk clouds of green violet and a mimosa pollen bomb, that slowly settles to social distance with brassy cedar sawdust.
Orris drifts in with smooth musk–Insolence‘s iris grown out of her silly fruity sweetness–and hovers a foot off the skin all day long.

Leans to the well-groomed boss end of the spectrum.

Inspired by jazz saxophone notes and Chris Collins’ father’s violet colognes. I get the “Blue” in the name, but I have no idea what Tokyo has to do with any of it–but I’ve never been there.

Not badly priced for a well-performing niche fragrance.

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Wayne Shorter died the other day. He played sax on a lot of amazing stuff–including my junior high personal anthem by Joni Mitchell, Be Cool.

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First Base

TokyoMilk Dark black bottle with a white lipstick motif, in a china cup.

Tea-time lingerie.

A splash of milky Earl Grey bergamot with a bit of fresh fruit on the side–a flirty opening that quickly gets shy, retreating to a hand-span off the skin, cologne weight–but it lasts for over half the day with a constant tease of voluptuous florals and bit of wood inside clothing.

There’s a brilliant stilted sexiness to it that’s hard to explain, kind of like art house porn that’s been edited to a PG-13 rating.

I might hang onto this one for a while.

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More tea.

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Golden Nectar

Nest mini roller-ball bottle with dogwood blossom illustration, on pile of other Nest mini bottles.

A dentist’s office–kid’s fruity toothpaste, floral hand sanitizer, fish tank salt, vague panic and rubber soled shoes.
Gets a bit into the face and lasts as long as that smooth feeling on the incisors after a polishing.

This is the second time I’ve thought, “Maybe I won’t bother trying the new Nest when it comes out.”

I think I’ll go floss my molars now.

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My dentist pipes in “Hits of the Seventies.”

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Coeur de Parfum

Gilded micro-bottle with red necktie in a velvet heart-shaped ring box, in front of a vintage mirror to show off the rose on the lid.

(Happy Valentine’s Day to all those who participate. Love is cool, yeah?)

I absolutely bought this vintage beauty for the box, but the extrait inside is a walk through Borsari 1870’s magnificent flower garden.

Starts with jasmine, then moves to rose, next to lily-of-the-valley, then freesia, then violets, then narcissus, then, then, then–but each is separate and distinct, like a line of different soliflores–until we finally rest on a sandalwood bench.

All the flowers are are lovely–that’s Borsari’s thing, precise distinguishable florals–but what makes this so interesting is the timing of them all. Each bloom moves on to the next with no blurred edges, garden plots kept neatly bordered on a path.
The progression is kind of a technical masterpiece–I can’t imagine the expertise that must have taken to orchestrate.

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A heart song. Sort of.