TokyoMilk No. 33 opens with poisoned alcohol, that metallic knife edge of distillation fumes called “the angels’ share.”
Dusty bruised apples roll in fast, brown sugar and rose–nice, but on me soon get lost in the forest green notes–and end in bittersweet musk.
A fairy-tale step-mother perfume.
Movie soundtrack videos are usually kind of meh, but this one is fun.
Clementines and waxy white flowers and vetiver–but sadly dry, not a tongue-crazy kiss on the Eiffel Tower at all.
I’d love this as a linen spray on chaste nights, a goodnight sweetness rather than un baiser amoureux.
A cute little song sung by the former first lady of France–
Cake and lemon sorbet syrup–and waxy sweet flowers that are probably poisonous to cats–hover a foot off the skin for an hour, then settle to sour fruity sugar.
I like it, but aside from the jasmine-scented pancake make-up note, I get no sense of Japanese theater.
A Swedish jazz group mash up with traditional Hogaku instruments.
I get dolls heads, when they break down and become sticky, flowery vanilla and non-dairy creamer.
There’s a naughty age-inappropriate edge to it–the nursery nanny in the push-up bra–but it doesn’t do more than flirt for a while.
The blackest richest dirt, and polished exotic coffin woods, vanilla sweet flowers to cover the scent of death—-but then it lingers for a while at a distance, ethereal with a breath of incense ash and mystery.
My not-so-inner goth-girl finds this utterly lovely.
How sweet is this song?!
A great one for sweet tooth cravings.
TokyoMilk #10 is a spilled pot of syrupy tea with cream, smoky jasmine and sugared violets.
Sandalwood at the bottom gives the honey a nice bit of bee-sting.
Pretty and warm, with good sillage and amazing longevity.
Santana and Michelle Branch came out with this sweet song in 2003, too.
If you could garnish a drink with a twist of rose peel, it would smell like this.
Nice on the skin, but fades too quickly; I prefer a stronger cocktail.