Opaque black bottle with silver cap, box and slate blue inner liner with Rocky Horror lips, and toothpaste, toothbrush and floss.
TokyoMilk No. 85 lists Crushed Ginger, Thai Pepper, Frankincense and Vanilla Orchid on the box, but it opens with Cinnamon Toast Crunch. The pepper kicks in immediately and makes the ginger, cardamom and clove mix a bit antiseptic, in a comforting way–like Band-aid adhesive–then it all soaks into the skin, leaving a smear of vanilla frosting and a dusting of head-shop olibanum. Within two hours, it disappears, gone completely numb.
I really like it. There’s a laid-back medicinal feel to it, with good self-care cuddles. Good for the guy who’s still too young or shy to pull off Old Spice.
Mini Nest trio, with black caps, the bottle in front with a black label and blue flower.
The most popular perfume of the brand, and with good reason.
A lovely beginning of spicy jasmine ice cream over powdery patchouli, that gives way to a seductive dark boozy vanilla for more than half the day at arms length, while the usual Nest wet floral base blooms in the shadows. Gourmandish, but without the chewy praline one finds everywhere lately. There’s a sheerness that keeps it from seeming sticky, and the woods at the heart give it a nice backbone.
For those who’ve grown out of Bath & Body Works Warm Vanilla Sugar, but aren’t ready for Tom Ford’s Tobacco Vanille.
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This album is a great tribute to all my favorite rock queens–here’s a celebration of Stevie Nicks.
Etat Libre d’Orange sample spray and box, and a power supply plug.
(Semi-Modern Vetiver.)
I love this stuff! At first, vanilla ice cream, sweet and a little sweaty, with that strange metallic smoke of burnt wire, but wonderful–y’know the scent in the air at McDonald’s, when the shake machine blows a circuit mid-pour? That.
The singed plastic note grows into the middle–the vetiver, hot and ashy, but sexy in a smouldering way–for a nice hour inside cuddling space, before melting down to the most enjoyable myrrh for the rest of the day.
ELdO spins a nostalgic story about the gigolo who aged out and had to go into trade (yay for artsy ad copy!) that reeks of classism and fatism and ageism–NoT aLL eLeCtRiCiAnS!–and yet, because this stuff is so fantastic, we get a marvelous tribute. The workingman’s ass crack made voluptuous, his sweat pheromonal–and who doesn’t love the guy who fixes the shake machine?!
Coreterno promo card with arcane eye motif and sample spray on tiny gray pillow.
I keep trying to understand why this one was named No Sleep, when it’s the most cuddly, sleep-inducing scent ever.
Opens with big sweet dream roses and jasmine, then envelops the soul with heady vanilla, creamy and soft, and so relaxing it’s soporific. Stays a foot off the skin for a two hour nap, then drifts down to a calm patchi woods with a hint of light rain for two more.
I wish it came in smaller bottles–I’d get one for a pillow spray on insomnia nights.
TokyoMilk rollerball wand and pink and black packaging, with skeleton key motif and a big brass key.
TokyoMilk No. 62 lists Dark Vanilla Bean, Orchid, White Tea and Sandalwood
Sour fruity vanilla, with very little projection, until pleasant smoke drifts in after a few minutes. Artificial flowers slowly creep up, weird sentient flocked velvet things with plastic stamens, a cute graveyard horror two hour movie anecdote, then the vanilla comes back, warm and powdery, bolstered by bottom woods to linger on the skin another hour more.
Guerlain long glass sample phial with pink eau, on black box embossed with gold foil sun face.
Big boss benzoin that morphs into cuddly cloves, and swanky.
Splashes on with spiced sipping vodka and a squeal of brand new tires, (I should probably spell it tyres, because these are definitely fancy imports) and cracks a leather licorice whip at everyone for a while. Then it relaxes, and slowly settles just above the skin with soft smoky vanilla powder–rich sweet incense ash–and whispers complements all day long.
I’m crushing hard on this one. Very unisex, but wouldn’t be offended by the assumption of male pronouns.
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This grunge oldie is smoky and sweet, with a nice aggressive edge.
Fuchsia capped red-to-orange ombre rollerball bottle on mound of pink sugar.
Loud strawberry freezer pop, from the concessions kiosk at the middle school dance. Artificial sweetened berry pulp with nuances of scented doll, and sassy caramel licorice on the bottom. Fun, but could be overwhelming during a slow dance.
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This was the dance anthem when I was in junior high…
Opaque cream, silver capped, full sized and mini Amouage bottles, in a pile of pale pink and yellow flowers.
Love Tuberose is a huge ice cream cake cuddle of a scent, and became my favorite comfort fragrance at first sniff.
Starts with a bouquet of white flowers sculpted from sugar paste, with milky sweet notes that slide tropical and faintly fruity–I get a breath of apricot that is most likely me imagining things–so pretty and feminine and uplifting. A half hour later the fun happens. Puffs of whipped vanilla rise from the tuberose, with the creamy lightness you’d expect from jasmine, but they’re pure bubblegum, flirty sass with a hint of powder–if a scent could sound like laughter, this one does. The sandalwood on the bottom keeps it from being too young and giggly. The wood notes are a support for the flowers, giving them strength without taking over, and are more apparent on cotton than silk.
Lasts a good three hours in personal space, then sleeps on the skin with a smile.
All Amouage perfumes are expensive–high end top-shelf bottles with quality ingredients and master blending–but for me, this one is a self-care mood-lifting therapy session with each spray, and worth the cost of a big bottle.
Fuchsia capped rollerball bottle on mound of turbinado sugar. The eau de toilette is quite viscous, as syrupy as honey.
One of everything in a pay-by-the-pound candy store stuffed into a bottle.
Aquolina’s best seller is one of the most accessible gourmand fragrances out there. Cheap and available, and marketed with childish sweet-shoppe vibes, Pink Sugar is the Candy Crush Saga of perfumes.
And I’ve finally recovered from my daughter’s teenage obsession with Bath & Body Works’ Warm Vanilla Sugar, (the only way to exorcise that stuff from the house is to paint the walls–seriously, there isn’t enough sage in the world) to sniff this without instinctively reaching for aspirin.
Opens with screaming marshmallows and raspberry gum-drops and orange Pixy-Stix, loud as elementary school recess. The rush soon melts into huge clouds of cotton candy nicely dirtied up with a little licorice. A bit more grown up, a little flirty, red heart-shaped lolly-pops get passed like notes in the cafeteria. At the bottom is caramel, with just enough musk to keep it from being completely cloying, chewy vanilla that lasts all day and sticks to clothes like toffee.
And yes, the stuff is mind-numbingly sweet, but it’s also fun, and I can see why so many bottles peek out of the purses of grown women, too.
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I saw her in concert when I was 14. She was amazing.
Coreterno sample card and spray, with some artsy marketing swag featuring Baroque boys in tights.
One to wear with ratty Converse All Stars, sucking down an Orange Julius–while you’re shopping at Tiffany’s. Like there’s a comfortable I-don’t-give-two-shits vibe, but it’s really high end.
Marshmallow citrus at the start, a bit of rose meringue in the middle, creamy vanilla and salty musk at the base. Rather than being sticky, the sugar is airy and light, yet also very rich.
Stays inside the clothes for half the day, and leaves a faint sweet funk on the cuffs ’til evening. If I could actually afford to shop at Tiffany’s, I’d bathe in the stuff.
kira a. gold 