spicy

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Stunned

Rainbow blown glass, and Bel Rebel sample spray and envelope.

Y’know the skanky convenience store two blocks down, that has as much lampwork glass paraphernalia as munchie snacks on the shelves, and sells the best cheap vanilla incense anywhere?
The guy at the counter is fat and comfy with some nice swagger, and if you’re a regular he’ll give you a zip-lock bag of the green with your $50 roll of Butter-Rum LifeSavers.

Stunned is stunning.
Funky, verdant, sweet, resinous, and joyful.
Goes on with a draw of labdanum smoke, then exhales long–with sticky cannabis cupcake frosting and relaxing cloves–in personal space for most of the evening. You wake in the morning with a smudge of sugary patchouli on the skin, and only a vague idea of what actually happened the night before.

I love that Bel Rebel didn’t go the haute couture route that Florabotanica did–here they embrace messy weed culture full on, with head-shop cliches, creosote smeared bongs and gooey candy excess.

Medical card not required.

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Endymion

Tiny Penhaligon’s apothecary style bottle with navy blue tassel, and a mandarin.

Sweet oranges out of the bottle, with a bundle of lavender that hovers inside personal space for fifteen minutes.
Then, almost suddenly, the coffee hits, like it was spilled onto the skin, and it’s marvelous–supported by gruff spices and leather, almost grumpy, in a normally-nice boss arriving to work late way.
(How can a scent seem both surly and comforting at the same time?)

Lasts an hour or two, a little longer on cuffs.

The guy usually fusses when I wear men’s cologne, but this one he likes.

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A new one by a master. Both surly and comforting and so, so, good.

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Peach Me

Sample spray and promo package, with bottle test strip and some candle tins to make my photo a little less boring.

or, Kirkland’s in liquid form.

Seriously, this stuff opens with nice juicy tropical peach dangling-from-the-mirror car air freshener, or maybe even the clip-onto-the-vent-because-my-dog-barfed-on-the-way-to-the-vet, you-can-buy-it-in-wax-melts-too kind.
The fruit fades to the skin over the next six hours into spice mix potpourri from the store at the mall that starts selling cinnamon scented pine cones in September.

If you can afford to splurge, Tom Ford’s Bitter Peach is the surreal masterpiece–but an awesome, long lasting succulent peach for a tenth the cost of Bel Rebel is Outremer Pêche. Or if you want that retro spice bottom, go with Dior’s Dolce Vita.

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Proper nasty punk Peaches, that you won’t hear on the Muzak speakers in Kirkland’s.

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Poudre de Parfum Scintillante

Lolita Lempicka powder atomizer globe in a snowbank with lavender spritzed snow.

Lolita Lempicka shimmering powder. I fully own up to buying this for the bottle.

There’s something dreamy and cutely sinister about it–the sweetness doesn’t come through as much as in a liquid formula, so the licorice and and almond cyanide are really carried in the musk.

Leans unisex in a sleepy morning skull-print pajama bottoms way.

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Alabama 3 (or A3 in the U.S. because copyright shenanigans) came on everyone’s radar with the theme song to the Sopranos. They’ve got a crazy acid house country blues sound that I love–here’s one of my favorites.

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Moth

Cream honey on a tarnished spoon, with Zoologist bottle testing strip and a decant vial filled with slightly gray eau.

Starts with honey and the Di Da Jow bruise medicine my step-dad used after his Kung-Fu sparring workouts, and ends with a dirty penny.

Edit – 3/2/23

Wow, does Zoologist do honey well. (See Bee and Hummingbird.)

Di Da Jow is a lovely sweet camphorous mash of ginseng, spices, and herbs, meant to be used as topical pain relief. When I was little, I’d sneak drops on my cuffs to sniff at all day. I’m sure my parents knew, from the smell, but they never said anything.

Between the opening and the weird sweaty bit that comes across as screechy metal, somewhere inside the floral powder, are a few moments of smoke.
That’s kind of demented, honestly.

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Olivia Newton-John died yesterday. (Breast cancer sucks.)
She was amazing.

Like the perfume, this song starts marvelously, and ends with some odd squeaky notes.

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Eloge du Traitre

Dabber vial on promo card with Etat Libre d’Orange bullseye.

Sharp pine needles barely tempered with cloves, hard leather–but weirdly rich with sour milk–and broody green warlock herbs.
Heavy and wild, evocative and fleeting.

Performs like an eau de cologne, but Byronically.

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An elegy rather than a eulogy–but this Indonesian heavy metal band is kind of amazing.

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A*Men

Black A*Men sample spray on blue themed promo card featuring a flask with the Mugler iconic cut star.

Mint chocolate patchouli, camphor cool and creamy, with black coffee on the side.
Lasts an eternity.

Incredibly dynamic, constantly shifting from dark to bright, sugary to herbal, soft to sharp–and there’s something aggressive about the performance, the way it fills the room and takes up space. A*Men is definitely a manspreader, but gets away with it by being sweet and fun.

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“I think beauty is the human emotional vehicle between us and it’s very important.” – Manfred Thierry Mugler

The world has lost some sparkle today, and I imagine the angels and the aliens fighting for the honor of carrying him upward.

Mugler was an incredible fashion designer, responsible for so many history making outfits–Demi Moore’s Indecent Proposal dress, Kim Kardashian’s wet Met Gala number, David Bowie’s neon green suit, Cardi B’s Venus dress–and sooo many more, all bold, creative, sometimes divisive, and always attention getting, just like his perfumes.

He was a visionary and an activist, ignoring gender rules, racial bias and body shape stereotypes, making luxury fashion inclusive and exciting to all, and in the case of his fragrances, accessibly priced and environmentally conscious.

Rest in Parfum, sir, and thank you for all the beauty you have given us.

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George Micheal’s 1992 Too Funky video was set in a fictional Mugler runway show.

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African Rooibos

Paper test cutout of red flask and copper label wrapped sample spray on a china saucer with a cup of red tea.

Herbal tea that’s so spicy it puts hair on your chest, then rocks you to sleep.
Warm peppery cardamom at first sip, but slowly steeps into hearty yet smooth red tea with tonka.

Lasts the day on skin–intimate and sweet (orris root keeps it from getting syrupy)–with some soft wood smoke on the bottom.

I really like it, and had fun comparing it with yesterday’s sniff, Amouage Lyric Woman, which has a lot of the same notes under the rose. African Rooibos is much earthier–more knight to Lyric’s queen.

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Rooibos grows only in the Cederberg Mountains, north of Capetown.
Here’s some more South African goodness from the very popular pop duo Mafikizolo.

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Lyric Woman

Square, deep red mini flask with domed lid and Amouage medallion in silver, with a sprig of scarlet tipped rose sedum.

Lyric opens with bright bergamot and sharp green cardamom that slowly relaxes over chai tea–cinnamon vanilla sweetened with ylang-ylang–and dark velvet roses, for two hours or so. A lemony herbal note from the geranium drifts in and out, keeping it refreshing.
Amouage’s usual incense is anchored by sandalwood on the bottom, holding it more to clothes than to the body, and under that, powdery orris made creamy by an almond-ish tonka on the skin.

Absolutely lovely, with capricious projection–sometimes a huge flourish of roses at arms length, sometimes just a hint of intimate spice–but might be too sultry for me.
This one requires the rubies and Arabian horses and smoking kohl eyeliner type, and I’m more of a garnet and beat up jeep and mismatched cat’s eye gal.

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A sultry song.

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Grain de Soleil

A mini bottle of red amber eau with Fragonard’s iconic sunburst cap in silver, sitting on fresh snow.

I needed a bit of sun today, and this little beauty gives big powdery vanilla amber warmth with just one drop. (Really, just one–this stuff gives off melting honey rose trails a mile long.)

Sandalwood and cinnamon on the bottom keeps the marzipan-ish heliotrope from getting sticky, and adds some maturity to the vanilla.
Lasts all afternoon and through the night on clothes, leaving sweet spice dust behind like footprints in the snow.

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Stay warm, yeah?