Mint juleps–sugary booze and spearmint–with a solid wood note on the bottom.
Becomes a skin scent quickly, but lingers louder on clothes.
It’s got some of the XY gene of Eros and Bleu de Chanel, but with an organic softness that makes me nostalgic for the head shop that sold the best handmade candles and always played B.B. King albums.
The scent might be too simple to represent the complex history of the barrelhouses of the South that gave birth to the blues–but there’s an earthy sweetness to it that I’d enjoy on a guy with a good voice.
This opens with a premier class take on Victoria’s Secret Love Spell, then it melts into amber-y burnt sugar, all business with extra legroom.
Tea rose with dark chocolate underneath for hours and hours.
Tilda Swinton’s first signature opens with more sugar than I expected–candied orange peel, neroli and honey and pumpkin spice. The immortelle (my mum called it “everlasting”) brings an enjoyable sweet yellow curry and wildflower note–but then I got a hay-fever reaction and had to scrub between sneezes.
The initial animal musk and asphalt is pure stray-in-heat, but soon gives way to some great cardamom. The balsamic vanilla is nice and chocolatey–and then it slides away quick, into the shadows.
A long sweet lemony opening, with black currant herb tea, and then birch bark. The pine needles develop an hour later, woodsy green but sugary, the way a forest smells after snow.
The solid goes on with cool waxy watermelon and warms up to a creamy tuberose with a bite of peach.
kira a. gold 