Velvety green roses and lily-of-the-valley out of the bottle, soft in personal space for an hour, then sits with lime sherbet dust on the skin for a few more.
This one is the last of the newest TokyoMilk Dark set. I’m not so impressed with this release–First Base is good, but the other three seem weak in both performance and creativity.
*
Dreamy soft song…
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.
*
More tea.
Nocturnal short order cook.
Remember the guy who was the night closer at that blue-plate-special Cajun joint?
He was quiet and always smelled like dish soap, the étouffée spice mix–made of dried green herbs and woody thyme–and the dusting sugar that went on the beignets. No-one ever saw him in the daylight, but everybody liked him.
Black Widow has almost no projection and lasts as long as a dinner break.
*
New Orleans native Fats Domino revamped Junker’s Blues into The Fat Man–which became the first rock and roll single to sell a million copies–here’s a version of the original by Hugh Laurie.
TokyoMilk #99
Black Anise and Mint Leaf (Margot Elena is so marvelously extra) make for an intrusive yet great wormwood opening, but then the “Smoked Amber” tramples all the herbs into damp bachelor pad funk.
Touted as unisex, but it’s taking up waaay too much room on the subway seat while boasting about its car emissions.
Lingers a foot off the skin for half the day, and on cotton until a hot water wash.
Wear with a barbershop Ivy League cut, and mirrored aviator shades. (Maybe don’t wear it.)
*
Soundgarden covering The Doors. Also a bit rude, but in the best way.
“Long Covid” is a thing.
I’m getting better, just more slowly than I thought. It’s been 10 months, now.
(The guy hasn’t got his taste back properly, and says the sky looks pinker than it should.)
The waves of exhaustion come and go, with joint pain popping up in odd places–a ghost in the machine–and shrouding sensations that make me doubt my nose and my playlists.
Sometimes my most beloved songs seem flat, the blues going gray.
I took a break from the sniff tests for a few months, nervous that my receptors were too scarred to function properly.
I’ve found comfort in my old favorites–Tank Battle has been a constant through this two-steps-forward-one-step-back recovery–spraying more, pressing my nose deeper into my skin, rejoicing at the familiar notes in the muted performance.
Not all have stayed the same, though.
Poe’s Tobacco–which used to be an autumn go-to, with apples and amber and tea–now seems more summery, orchard blossoms and sun in trees, and maybe some jasmine I wasn’t aware of before.
The tobac still gives it depth, but the woods lean more floral now, and less toward books in shadowy corners. I’m sad about it, that the niche-but-accessible cleverness has worn off.
A nice, easy to find vintage–but not quite as offbeat and fun as I remember.
I hope it’s just me.
*
A haunting rendition that still rings true.
Orange flour water.
Seriously, this stuff has a weird dusty bread dough thing going on.
The bottle says Oolong Tea, Bamboo Reed, Orchid & Air (whut?) and White Musk, but I get sweet uncooked enriched buns, with that puff of powdery steam when you punch the rise down.
Doesn’t last or project much. Leaves a smudge of sugary floral musk on the skin for a few hours, but that’s all.
A good gift for home cooks.
*
I’m hungry, now.
This beauty is much more likely to make everyone around her blush.
TokyoMilk #72 lists Magnolia, Honeysuckle, Jasmine Vine and Bourbon, and does them slow and sexy–understated creamy white florals take an hour to fully bloom in personal space, leaving long honey trails behind as they grow.
Underneath, a few inches above the skin, a touch of charred whiskey barrel grounds the lushness of the flowers, keeping them earthy and seductive.
(The bourbon notes are well done–smoky oak caramel with a hit of vanilla spice–that stay dry and thankfully don’t turn into teenage praline on the bottom.)
(Our queen finds getting carded tedious–no one would mistake her for an underage girl.)
Lasts only half the day–through afternoon on cuffs, and into the evening in the hair–but the opening comes in so easy, a later spray seems like a continuation rather than a refresh.
My favorite TokyoMilk out of the newest batch, and might be the best since Honey & the Moon.
There’s an enticing maturity to it that I really appreciate, as if the cottage-core princess grew up and got provocative.
*
Love the way she grows up in this redo of Sting’s classic.
Five stars for the packaging, I’d like that design as a mural on my ceiling, but the first spray is a synthetic, skin-burning, cleaning solvent mess, and it doesn’t get better.
TokyoMilk #87 lists citrus leaves, water lily, frankincense and vetiver, which somehow adds up to the most abrasive lemon oil ever–
After fifteen minutes murky pond weeds grow a foot off the skin, just to add further insult, but luckily the base takes care of that with a nice dose of Pine-Sol fumes.
Might be a good one to keep for when guests call to say they’re coming by, and you can’t be arsed to clean–you’ll at least smell like they’ve interrupted you scrubbing the floor.
*
I’m fairly picky when it comes to covers of this song–Seven Nations’ is good, and so is Rick Springfield’s, but today I need Jimmy Little’s soothing version.
TokyoMilk #76 lists lemon balm (I might get this at the beginning, with some pine needles) amber, daphne and musk (which I don’t suss out at all.)
I mostly get sweet licorice, Lily-of-the-Valley, and a bit of earthy rubber, in a pleasant haze a few inches above the skin.
Off-beat, non-invasive, with very collectible packaging. Another on-brand issue from Margot Elena that would make a safe gift for anyone who would enjoy an herbal floral.
(For more of a sheer jewel vibe, check out any of Bvlgari’s Omnia line–Paraiba is very faceted.)
*
This Jem sparkles from Wales-
Now this is what a Halloween fragrance should be–weird, earthy, evocative, and tricky sweet.
TokyoMilk Dark #17 lists Absinthe, Vanilla Salt, Cut Greens, and Crushed Fennel on the bottle–and Arsenic lives up to that, and more.
Wormwood out of the bottle, a satisfying poison green, with a bit of dusty white frosting, both edible and stand-offish.
A twitch of licorice keeps it fresh and fun for several hours at the edge of social distance, and then slides down to intimate space with intoxicating herbal green woods and mineral salts–the the kind that smell a bit sour and glitter when the light hits them right–until the next morning.
The sweeter top notes linger longer on hair and silk, and the bottom blooms brilliantly in a steaming bath (or cauldron.)
Compelling and sexy.
Leans to the warlock section of the spell-book.
*
kira a. gold 