Opens with loud fecal spice, like something large and furry shat cardamom pods in your personal space. Just as your eyes start to water in protest, the cedar tamps down the fumes with some nice florals, and then the softest powdery musk takes over. The orris root makes this brilliant–not like Lolita Lempicka’s pulverized violet candy–more fae monarchy walking in the forest, raising sugary pollen that glitters in the sun.
The base woods stay sweet on the on the skin for half the day, with the musk trailing a foot above.
Unisex. Leans delicate, after the feral beginning.
Opens with mild fruits and green violet leaf, sweetly pleasant in personal space, but five minutes later becomes a mush of flowers and spice and odd salt and enough pink pepper to be a bit headache inducing. Coconut and vanilla woods settle to the skin after an hour or two, with no residue on clothes.
I wanted more. Zoologist is usually polarizing, love-or-hate animalics with strong reactions. Chameleon is a bit too boring to represent a color changing lizard with a tongue twice the length of its body and eyes that move independently.
(I adore The Voice blind auditions.) This is a haunting cover–Boy George did not even recognize his own song at first.
Did the dodo go extinct because they actually smelled like this? Recent studies of their oversized beaks have suggested they had an acute sense of smell–were they so offended by their own species, they refused to mate?
Zoologist’s Dodo smells like screeching black currant cat pee, cheap body spray over unwashed teenager, and fresh basil. For way too long.
Eventually settles to fruit salad with herb dressing tinged with feather musk–but unlike Snowy Owl, it’s not cute downy fluff, it’s molting fowl.
Down Under barbershop bloke. Zoologist went for environment rather than animalics on this one, though apparently koalas do smell like cough drops.
Opens with a big bar of masculine eucalyptus soap, and rinses down to herbal spice and vanilla mint. Within half an hour there’s a splash of smoky tea that I wish stayed longer, then it dries down to soft wood musk on the skin.
I like him, even if he’s not giving out Vegemite sammies.
I’m old enough to remember when this first came out on the radio.
Snowy Owl is clever and gorgeous and a little wistful–
Opens with wintry wind notes, and a weird animalic beat that really does smell like feathers (that anyone who has kept chickens would immediately recognize, and can be found in new down pillows, too) but is freshened by sugary alpine mint. There’s a tease of spring florals, green and sharp but distant, and a vaguely earthy sweet resin that’s somehow creamy, like ice milk that hasn’t been flavored yet. Projection is mild, but not exactly linear, with white forest floor musk shyly creeping in now and then. Lasts most of the day, and even longer on mitten cuffs.
Recommended for ski instructors, Swan Lake dancers, and anyone else–but only when the temperature is below freezing out.
I love this melancholy winter song–and how amazing this party must have been!
Drunk pine cones and combat boots, but comforting. This is that big guy at the bonfire who wrapped me up inside his motorcycle jacket to keep me warm, and whispered dreadful jokes in my ear all night long, and I’ll always be a little in love with him.
Fills the room then eases into personal space for the entire night, and lingers on the skin the next.
Rhinoceros was a supergroup experiment by Electra Records in 1969. There’s a good stampede in the middle of this one–
Green grass and green tea and green coconuts and jasmine at the beginning–playful jungle notes that I like very much–but then the patchouli makes it rain, and the sweetness is lost. Wood notes at the bottom dry it up and add some gravitas, but I wish the cocoa came through deeper, to give more weight. There’s a lack of presence, in both scent and sillage, that I find disappointing.
The elephant in the room should fill the space, and this one doesn’t.
This one is gorgeous: beeswax comb filled with vanilla and flower nectar and a bit of tonka that manages to come across as animalic, and so incredibly sweet you expect it to be sticky on the skin. The heliotrope–which I’ve not been a fan of lately–gives nice structure to the benzoin, and a lovely powder dryness to the honey-syrup.
There’s a brilliant smudge of labdanum on the bottom, a perfect hint of beekeeper’s smoke. Fills the room like a summer swarm and lasts forever.
I loved it passionately until the guy said it reminds him of that scented toilet paper from the ’70’s and now that’s all I smell and I’m so sad about it.