floral

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I Made You A Mix Tape

Silver lidded perfume pot with TokyoMilk crest and matchbox package featuring a glittered clear cassette tape.

I sometimes wonder about how perfumes get named–is it made with the intent to smell like a specific thing, or is the name a retro-fit, an oh-we-meant-to-do-that?

I Made You A Mix Tape absolutely has a cellophane vibe, that sweetly nostalgic chemical plastic note of audio tape, which works rather well with the white rose musk.
But would it be special to anyone under thirty?

This has really good performance for a solid–a foot of the skin for two hours, over half the day on skin–but it makes my head throb after a while (which is what my parents said about my music, so fair enough.)

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“I made you a playlist” doesn’t have the same ring to it…

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Mon Jasmin Noir L’Eau Exquise

Solid perfume pot shaped like a gold and mother-of-pearl pocket watch, on a pale green gift box.

Refreshing grapefruit tea, at the edge of a swamp.

Edit – 1/20/23

Found a solid of this and am enjoying it much more than the spray tester I wrote off years ago–the cedar musk is cleaner, the almond topping less muddy–much more pretty marshland than bog.
I’ve seen a few comparisons to Un Jardin Sur Le Nil, and while I get a bit of that sunny water garden vibe, this one is more crystalline.

Collector prices are fairly steep, so snag it quick if it’s within the budget. Or just get a bottle of Guerlain’s Pamplelune, if you want a slice of grapefruit.

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I’ve been stuck on this song lately.

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Envy

celery
Tall, square, matte-black bottle of Envy Eau de Parfum nestled in the heart of a bunch of celery stalks.

In a happy mood, Envy shimmers with lime and hyacinth and spring pine, but when it’s angry it sulks with celery and wilting roses and verdigris tarnish.
Amazing in the rain.

This was my “divorce perfume,” twenty years ago, my splurge at the duty-free shop when I’d run off to cry on a few shoulders, along with the new haircut and leather jacket.

This song, like Envy, came out in 1997–I saw it in concert.

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Chanel No. 5

Mini Chanel bottle in the center of a fuchsia daisy.

Chanel No. 5 is the most famous fragrance of the world, and for good reason.
No other perfume manages to be such a combination of opposites–clean yet filthy, powdery but also syrupy, delicate and heavy, soothing yet provocative, mature but gamine–all at the same time.

The 80’s eau de parfum splashes on with soapy peaches, juicy but aldehydic, and starchy boned lingerie falling to the floor, in a release of structure giving way to voluptuousness.
The flowers in the middle blend to effervescent floral cordial, chased by a Southern Comfort base–smooth woody whisky sweetened by vanilla.

I love it, but I’m no Marilyn Monroe, and this one takes a hefty pair to pull off. (I was 16 when it came out, and Lady Stetson was a bit more my speed.)
Wear with a corset and no shame.

Edit – 7/9/21.

Perfume in time of COVID-19:
Out of curiosity, I sniffed my mini bottle yesterday, and it smelled like mustard.
Today it smells like nothing at all.

The guy asked, “What texture should we have for dinner tonight?” (Flavorless potato chips are very strange!)
I’m sure I’ll be okay–I’ve been double vaxxed–so hopefully this will pass soon.

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This song also came out in 1986. Madonna was our Marilyn back then.

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Diorissimo

diorissimo edgy
Vintage Diorissimo bottle with houndstooth black and white printed label and ceramic cap, filled with pale gold eau.

Muguet and nostalgia.
Titania gracing an outdoor wedding, the Snow Queen in her sled in winter.
Pure lily-of-the-valley, budding green, blooming to ringing white bells and fading to pungent roots.

My mother wore Diorissimo, which is the only thing I’ll ever have in common with Prince Harry, I’m afraid.

Dior released this one in 1956. The same year Alfred Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much featured Doris Day singing Que Sera Sera.

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Believe

Full sized bottle with pale rose motif and back printed with handwritten script, capped with gold tall top, and a bright pink cabbage rose from my garden.

“Cabbage Rose & Citrus”

Matronly green apples and roses on top, sweet florals and wicker furniture on the bottom.

Doesn’t last long–I reach for this one when I want a splash of rose that’s more comforting and less business than Tea Rose–both the fragrance and the packaging has a maternal cottage-chic vibe, but sometimes one is in the mood for that, y’know?

Edit – 6/7/21

Pulled this one out of a box in the back of my closet today.
I’d forgotten how much I like it–there’s a clear sweetness that seems really refreshing when compared to so many of the muddy caramel stuff that’s out lately.

The roses I planted this spring actually managed a few blooms–and I had fun comparing the raw materials to the bottled fragrance. Believe definitely captures the softer, apple-ish aspect of the cabbage rose (named for the appearance, not the scent!) versus the sharper lemony quality of the hybrid tea rose.

I’ll leave it out for a while.

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Another comfort rose–

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Scarlett

TokyoMilk solid perfume and adorable matchbox with a glittered botanical illustration of a rose.

Raindrops on roses.
In a swamp.

This is supposed to be a blend of hyacinth, geranium, rose, and spices–and Scarlett is exactly that, though the spices are rather subdued, and the rest of it is kinda murky.
The opening roses are lovely but the geranium soon turns them too lemony and green, and as it heats up the dewy water hyacinth notes turn into sweaty green funk.

Not quite what I was hoping for, but might be nice cut with tiger balm for a mild muscle rub.

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Some rosy acid crunk.

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Opium

Mini flask of Opium with a half pearl cap, gold eau and dark red lettering, sitting in a blush carnation.

Sexy Grandma.

Normally I dislike the “old lady” ageist cliche of describing vintage perfume–but my grandmother actually wore this, and damn if she wasn’t the swimsuit model at the pool in her retirement home’s brochure.

And I’m going to be that guy too, and complain that ~ThEy DoN’t MaKe It LiKe ThEy UsEd To~ but the original was much sweeter, with big banging cloves at the top sweetened by peaches and plums, and a resinous dry-down held in place with charred wood.

The 2009 version still has the carnation and myrrh at the center, but her rockin’ bottom has grown a bit soft, droopy amber patchouli and vanilla with no verve, rather than rounded out with sandalwood, cinnamon and incense.

If you need a hit of classic eighties balsamic spice, grab a vintage bottle–and pair with a pussy-bow shirt belted over culottes.

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Opium came out in 1977, the same year Al Stewart’s Year of the Cat hit the charts.

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Wisdom

Yeah, I totally bought this for the packaging–a glass cigar tube, with a corked ceramic stopper base, the black bottle inside decorated with a white botanical drawing, and kelly green label listing the notes.

Victorian herbalist chic? Yes, please!

Wisdom (TokyoMilk Dark #26) starts with a muddle of plant-stuff in a mortar and pestle, with some aquatics to make it soupy.
The earthy sweetness of the walnut listed on the label comes through fifteen minutes in, and sadly doesn’t linger long.
The base is nondescript woodsy musk.

All that adds up to forest lake, in an elusive dryad way, but to be honest, I got this one for looking at, not wearing.

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Another dark take on wisdom-