Gets better after an hour.
(The guy called it a mean old lady perfume.)
Edit – 2/24/23
I was so hoping this would be as fun as the dark flankers to the original Lolita Lempicka.
Si Noir is a lot richer and sweeter on the bottom, but still has that pink pepper and sweet pea sharp pinch on top and the patchouli cigarette ash in the middle, but I’m not willing to wait for it.
Better than the first, but it’s no Minuit Noir.
*
“Mean old lady caused me to weep and moan…”
Artificial raspberries and vanilla in the most nostalgic way.
This is like getting pulled back in time, listening to Aerosmith while coloring a school poster with a Mr. Sketch scented marker–the fuchsia one.
We thought we were cool, drinking French vanilla powdered cappuccinos and sneaking sprays of our mother’s Hypnotic Poison before the dance.
Love this cover.
Scentbird asked me for some write ups. This one was an extra in the samples they sent.
Get A Room glitters on the skin like cheekbone highlighter, and opens that bright, a juicy twist of citrus that immediately turns sweet and creamy and seductive, a kiss of lemon custard shared with a lover.
It soon brightens to fresh iced tea with sugar, a few inches off the skin, and stays there, dreamy and light, with a pinch of mysterious herbs and a flirt of vanilla all night long.
I want to spray my pillowcases with it.
*
Another dreamy one.
Sweet roasted nuts. (TWSS.)
Nice. I’d burn the candle in November.
Edit – 8/30/21
Talking to a cosmetics savvy friend the other day about Replica–By the Fireplace is her favorite of the house.
I still have the same reaction to it, that it’s lovely, but I want the smoke and heat of a candle to cut through the sweetness. The spice is nice, and the cashmeran dries it out, but the chestnuts get swamped by the vanilla, and they’re the most interesting facet of the fragrance to me.
Lasts all day in socially distant space with long trailers.
On the caramel top of unisex.
*
Mushaboom by Feist is sweet and a bit nutty.
This guy can dance, and knows how to choose a drink for someone else based on what shoes they’re wearing, but he’s got a dark gleam in his eye, and won’t hesitate to get you drunk.
Opens with Sambuca–aniseed liqueur–with a touch of absinthe to make it herbal, then gets almondy with an amaretto chaser for happy hour. Sandalwood tones the sweetness down, then the evening ends on smooth and smoky vanilla single malt scotch.
You let him take you home.
One of my favorites from Lazaretto. Definitely not smooth.
Manly mint, and lemon.
Nice, but stuffy at first. This guy orders Woodford Reserve on the rocks when he really wants a Malibu and Coke with a straw loaded with fruit.
After a bit it loosens up to vanilla and vetiver, and longing glances toward the karaoke bar.
This was the biggest song in Italy in 2012, when Versace released Eros.
Ariana Grande’s Moonlight opens with prunes and clean sheets–but then dries down to peach yogurt cups–the lactose free kind with the pro-biotics.
The bedroom pillow marketing vibe doesn’t quite jive, either. The stuff smells more like a desperate middle-of-the-night countermeasure to imminent digestive issues than mattress lingerie.
Ariana and Miley in pajamas covering Crowded House is marvelous, though.
This is all the ingredients for an Italian cream cake stored safely in Tupperware bowls.
Vanilla for days, orange flower water, ground nuts, sugar, but with a note of plastic underneath.
It’s such an odd fragrance–too pretty, like the buttercream frosting no one will swipe with a finger for a taste so as not to mar the icing; the child with the best manners and cleanest white dress that no-one will play with, for fear of getting her dirty.
Undeniably sweet and somehow slightly sad.
I saw Tori do this one in concert. It was amazing.
Vosges used to make a violet chocolate cream truffle that tastes like Midnight Sun smells straight out of the bottle.
It dries down quickly to aniseed powder and vanilla, anchored in place by vetiver–and lingers until dawn, a sexy Cinderella losing more than her shoes as she dances.
This was my date-night signature until I discovered Lolita Lempicka Minuit Noir.
*
Love, love, love this sultry cover.
An orange Dreamsicle and beachcombing date on Fire Island.
A drag queen in a glittering sherbet gown gets her train caught on a boardwalk nail, spilling sequins and she chooses to laugh, because it’s too nice an evening for swearing, isn’t it, darling?
Much later, sweet spicy comforting chocolate and cinnamon and flirty caramel musk, reggae night at the Latin bear club across from the Sandcastle–all the fabulous mustaches–and someone brought a marshmallow gun.
Miles of sillage.
I’m talking on the other end of the ferry on the way to the Pines. Against the headwind. They can smell clementines and vanilla before the boat has left Bayshore.
This stuff gets under the skin, deep into the hypodermis layer, untouched by ocean, shower or chlorinated hot tub–lingering tangerine peel and nutmeg and cream soda dum-dum pops–for days.
You find a glittering spangle in the sand when you come back next weekend, and it still smells like Myrrh Maid’s citrus spice smirk. She’s got a regular show in Cherry Grove serving sea-witch realness. Come see me, darling.
*
Hedda Lettuce is my favorite.
(NSFW!)
kira a. gold 