Scents & Sensibility

Moving right along...

2009-07-18T08:02:00.003Z

Surprise, we're relocating! Click here to come along for the ride. (Going all shockingly professional, etc etc.)

All of your comments should have been retained, let me know if there are any glitches in the new commenting system.

See you on the new, flashy site...

E

ScentOpera, the Review

2009-06-02T18:39:00.011Z

Oh, boy.

Okay. So I went to the "Green Aria" yesterday, the Guggenheim's scent opera for their Works & Process series. I made sure to be utterly scent-free, for obvious reasons. I even walked up through Central Park, to try and keep myself from carrying too much car exhaust in with me. It was a gorgeous day in New York yesterday, by the way, bright sun and just the right temperature to really enjoy being out and about. So obviously, I head right to the underground bunker-theatre at the Guggenheim.

First, I'd better describe the setup. The beige auditorium was small, maybe 100 seats, and curved around a small stage; through most of the opera, though, the place was pitch black. Each seat was equipped with a thing that looked like an articulated microphone -- you know, the kind they have on podiums and speakers can adjust the stem to get the mic in front of their mouths? It was attached to the right arm of each seat. Where the mic head would be, there was a short metal tube that had various holes in it, but mainly just the open end pointed at the attendee. If you looked into the tube, there was a nozzle inside, at the base. Engineering-wise, it really was incredibly unobtrusive, so thumbs up to those guys.

The talk with the librettist, composers and fragrance creator was quite cool, mostly because Christophe Laudamiel gave a really fabulous explanation of the technology involved in dispersing the scents. He started off by creating the scents (which he then sent to the composers), but once they got to the "scent organ" he realised he'd have to do a lot more work. A LOT, it turns out...

Problem 1: Each scent was traveling at different speeds through the tubing to the seats. A diffused scent could take anywhere from 30-50 seconds to reach the outermost seat's articulated mic, so he ended up having to carefully phase the scents in an deliberate order to ensure they emerged at the right time to match up with the right musical cue.

Problem 2: Within each scent, the NOTES were traveling at different speeds. So imagine a second layer of scheduling complexity to the task outlined by Problem 1!

And that's not even getting into the nightmare of having to make sure the scents cooperated when played sequentially.. So basically, Christophe Laudamiel is a genius. Now, to the event itself.

The scent organ started blowing cycled air at first, letting us adjust the attachments; the rate of air was similar to that overhead blower in a plane or bus seat. I figured out pretty quickly that aiming it somewhere around my throat seemed to let me smell without feeling windburnt. First, we were introduced to the "characters". These turned out to be a variety of scents with names like "shimmering steel", "chaos", "technology", "fire", and "evangelical green". But there were about 25 of these scents, and they came in bursts of about 3 seconds of scent and the accompanying musical cue. I have to admit, my nose was smarting from the quick changes, a stinging that wasn't particularly pleasant. About five of the scents were really rather unpleasant.

I got it, though. The scents were definitely in keeping with their names. Earth smelled like soil. Runaway Crunchy Green sort of made me think of snowpeas. Fire was brimstoney and burney. Absolute Zero was a very crisp frozen smell. The Airs I mentally bookmarked immediately, accompanied by flutes and generally being as close to a palate-cleanser we might get.

Then the screens up front broke the opera down into four movements. I can't really outline them here other than to tell you it looked like some sort of environmentalist opera: everything's green and natural, then there's tech, then they fight, then everything comes together in harmony. There was a lot packed in there, though, with individual "characters" carrying out specific actions... I guess what I'm saying here is that there was a lot to take in, and not much signposting as to how to follow along.

Then the theatre went dark, and we were off.

All I can say here is that I think this event was intended for more rarefied audiences than one that includes me. I found a lot of it very frustrating, to the point that I realised multiple times through the performance that top half of my face had tensed up in concentration and I had to will the muscles to relax again.

The music paired up very well with the "character" scents, but it was almost too much to take it. I'm supposed to be keeping track of the music, the scents, AND a story I've only just been introduced to in bare-bones form?! The music acted as a warning a few times for the scents I already knew I really didn't like: a kazoo noise meant that "Funky Green Imposter" was about to shoot out at me, so I'd lean away. Whenever I heard a deep cello chord I'd stop breathing entirely, because that meant a billow of burnt fiery smoke scent. And whenever the strings and flutes paired up I'd lean into the mic and breathe deeply, because that meant AIR.

I actually found an old high-school friend in the crowd before the lights went down and chatted with him about all of this afterwards, when we were back in the world. And these are my conclusions:

The lack of a familiar storyline really, REALLY hurt. I know I write a lot, and so probably have a bias towards plot, and that this was an experimental piece that is about twenty miles further out to left field than any practical application would be. But the total unfamiliarity with the story, paired with an unusual specificity in that storyline that was implied by the score but then emphasised by the bursts of fragrance, made this a very hard thing to knit together. I couldn't keep track of what was happening besides a vague recollective quality like "oh, wait, that scent was technology -- I guess we're at that movement now? Maybe?" Hugely disorienting.

I left this unconvinced that scents can play anything like the roles of "characters"; I suspect I've always thought of scent as an aura or descriptive sense, so tacking it directly to a character with its own (totally unclear) motivations was a huge mental struggle for me. If this had been "The Story of Man" or even "The Garden of Eden", or some other well-worn tale that most of the population have a working narrative to match, then I think I'd be coming away with a totally different opinion. But this entire event was like being blindfolded, spun around and shoved into a crowd. I got snippets of what was going on, and I could tell what character was around me at any given time, but damn if I knew why.

Clearly, I'm far too pedestrian for this sort of thing. The organ itself is a glorious creation, and the scents were very evocative (though there were very, very few floral/gourmands, making things like the fruity "Chaos" welcome whenever they puffed through), and I enjoyed the music but fear I was using it more as an early-warning system than actually listening to the composition as a whole.

I will absolutely be first in line to try again if anyone ever decides to write a score to tell a story, then uses the scents as supporting players to boost the illusion that the story's swallowed you whole. But using scents as primary actors, and then strictly pairing scent with sound -- that seemed too regimented. The scents couldn't emote, and the music was to busy keeping pace to really transport me. In the end, I just wanted a more visceral experience than the intellectual exercise I got.

(ETA: Oh, and also? 24 hours later, I'm still getting whiffs of some of the ScentOpera scents. I don't actually have any lingering on me, this is total hallucination, but it's also sort of unpleasant. Abrupt, too, just sitting in my flat minding my business when suddenly I get a whiff of arid green. Fingers crossed this goes away.)

CB I Hate Perfume "Violet Empire"

2009-05-21T19:47:00.005Z

I swear, it feels almost redundant to test CB perfumes. I suggest you go to his site, read all of his descriptions of his perfumes. They're so spot-on, I can't actually read them until I've already written my own impression, because otherwise I feel like I'm just cheaply parroting him.

Violet Empire is a gentle, airily sweet scent on me. It almost defies its floral moniker -- the feeling I get off of this is much more tactile. The velvet of moss, the warmth of sun. But it's a gentle sensation, not a sleepy one, because I also get a whiff of something sharper and brighter that keeps me awake: mint? Anise? The violet itself is under everything, but definitely underneath, and sometimes totally obscured by the notes on top.

I suspect that there's no sillage to this at all, but purposefully. "Violet Empire" is regal: the scent doesn't come to you, you come to it. Not flashy, not loud, but unlike anything I've smelled so far. No one would smell this on you unless they were close. It's like an aura that swirls around the wearer, full of vague implication but no direct statements. Understated and curiously powerful.

Verdict: You could wear this anywhere, absolutely anywhere. And to me, it smells like an alternate, hidden dimension.

ScentOpera

2009-05-21T19:19:00.004Z

From the Guggenheim Calendar. Ahem:

"The ScentOpera introduces a new art form created by Stewart Matthew based only on smell and sound. Matthew collaborates with renowned fragrance designer Christophe Laudamiel and composers Nico Muhly and Valgeir Sigurdsson. Original scents and music will be performed in the dark via a customized scent organ for a world premiere unlike any other. The creation of the ScentOpera is supported by Fläkt Woods, Thierry Mugler Parfums, and Arup."

It's been pointed out to me that "customized scent organ" is a dodgy term to use in polite company, so... sorry about that.

I actually was so taken by the concept that I purchased the tickets, and only then really registered the names of the sponsors. If you've been reading the blog, you may very well have had the same reaction to one of the names as I did: specifically, a sudden and vehement exclamation of "MUGLER!". But I don't think that Mugler's had anything to do with the actual scent collection itself, and to be fair I ended up being rather intrigued by "Alien".

I'm totally fascinated by the concept, of course. It's not far off what I do now anyhow; splash on perfume, close my eyes and sniff, usually with music playing somewhere in the background. But the designer of this extravaganza promises that some of the smells are not going to be particularly pleasant, and I'll be surrounded by other people in the dark.... I'm anticipating an experience very close to tripping on LSD, to be honest. Especially since at least one of those composers is Icelandic, and everyone knows that 70% of Icelanders believe in elves.

The event's in about a week, and I promise to report back. Unless Mugler IS participating olfactorily, in which case I will be sadly deceased.

CB I Hate Perfume "In the Library"

2009-03-12T21:35:00.005Z

I've been holding out on you.

Ages ago, I started writing a story that had a perfumer in it. The perfumer worked in a dark room in a windy tower, every surface in the room covered in vials and pipettes and handfuls of blossoms or mounds of ground spices. He was working in secret, because his work was outlawed. It was too real, too strong and too subtle to be allowed. I loved the idea that his little glass vials could be worn as part of a disguise, that a character could put on a certain outfit, alter their features, and then as a last touch use a dab of this illicit perfume to tie everything together and sell it.

The perfumes in this story are nothing like the ones I've reviewed here, which are mostly about enhancing your natural appeal with a totally alien scent. I mean, I have no excuse for walking round smelling like a flower, or a stick of incense. Those are sort of aspirational echoes; I like choosing a scent that might hint at an impulse or personality facet, but none of these are real-world smells. No one's going to think I've been running around honeysuckle trellises just before coming over for dinner.

That's why I enjoyed writing this story so much; all the scents were selling the image. Scents like "fishmonger" or "carpenter" or "airman". Scents that would make other people's senses lie to them, that would guarantee the wearer a hidden layer of assurance.

And then I discovered CB I Hate Perfume, and found the perfume-maker, stepping out of my imagination and landing right here in New York.

"In the Library" is a scent I can't really review. I can't reel out extended scenarios for it; they're all bound up in the scent itself. "In the Library" is vellum and parchment, places where dry leather has cracked and turned dusty, frayed edges of cloth-covered bindings. And it is serious. This is not romance or sitting by a fire or drinking a cup of tea, this is a book. I have very good memories of reading old books, so this is a happy scent for me. For others, who maybe got stuck researching back in the stacks and hated it? They probably aren't as happy.

No verdict, no judgement, this perfume eludes all effort at categorization. This is a scent for the wearer and the wearer alone. It actually changes my mood, or refines my personality. I've worn this under a turtleneck with tortoiseshell glasses and I have felt more scholarly, but still me. It works with Christopher Brosius's other scents in the same way: I know where I'm going to be that day, and there's potential for me to feel all sorts of different ways, and I pick a scent to bring out the way I want to feel.

I can't tell you to go out and buy this at all. I can just say that this particular perfume is not one I ever wear for the benefit of another. It's like a bottled landscape, and if I put it on, I can live in that landscape all day.

Scent Lab

2009-03-04T19:38:00.003Z

"I wear Pom Noir year 'round, but just layer it w/ other Jo Malone scents. For example, layered w/ her Nectarine & Honey Blossom, it keeps that scent from being too sweet and one-dimensional. Together, it's wonderful and perfect for spring. Jo's scents really almost are all at their best when layered, not worn solo." -- Amber

Amber, EXCELLENT tip. I'm a cynic at heart and so have never really taken Jo Malone's "fragrance layering" credo seriously (I just assumed it was a way to get us to buy more expensive perfume). But I stand corrected, because it turns out that a 2:1 ratio of N&HB to PN smells absolutely incredible!

Somehow the N&HB smooths out all of the PN's sharp edges, without actually blunting the lovely fruity scent. And just in case, I applied some just before I got into bed, knowing I'd be awake reading for a few hours and then would try to drop off to sleep. Sure enough, no headachey feeling, no sickly-sweetness. I'm not saying that the scent stayed the same the whole night, just that the pom syrup drizzle didn't wake me up.

Very good call! Anyone have advice for layering with Burberry's London? I liked it, but my mother says it smells "like body odor". Charming.

Jo Malone "Pomegranate Noir"

2009-02-13T04:02:00.006Z

(In a shifty nod to the economic disaster, note I'm now displaying a 30ml bottle. Ahem.)

I had no expectations for this scent. I don't really go shopping for pomegranates at the market, and though I do spend a good 30% of every earth day in total darkness, who knows what "noir" means? Will a gruff man in a fedora appear on my doorstep, call me sweetie, and then spend the next 2 hours struggling with a drink problem and a crime syndicate? (And is it worrying that I find that strangely tempting?)

So all I had to go on was the fact that I know Jo Malone's citrus stuff really doesn't work on me, but her rich florals and fruits do. To the scent lab!

[later, in living room]

Well, gosh, this somehow isn't what I expected. When I first put it on, there was a sort of "oh, holy god" reaction, the feeling that that small spritz certainly packed a punch. It takes a few minutes to untangle what's going on here, and even then I can't really isolate the notes, I can just get a feeling. This is pine forests and lichen and candied plums, velvet and fragrant woods. The pomegranate's in here too, freshly split in half and lovely, and I think that might be what saves the scent from being too strange and heady and incense-thick.

I know I'm going to have to put this scent back into my cabinet and wear it this autumn, probably in October. Initially I thought I'd just say this is a Christmas scent, but the longer I wear it, the less I want to pigeonhole it. There's a gentle time in New England, when the leaves have all fallen but are still fresh on the ground, and the night begins to fall very quickly, seemingly 10 minutes earlier by the day. And I remember walking home from friends' houses in that unexpected dark, with a chill in the air that heightened the pine and dampened sound so that I was just this warm live young note, walking through a stillness that seemed almost mystical.

That quiet satisfaction somehow carries through to this scent. The difference is that it feels more knowing: the same quiet night, but an adult woman with dark flowing hair and a long burgundy coat in the distance, walking into mist. (Test before you buy, though -- this doesn't stay long on me unless I'm wearing enough layers for it to really simmer against my skin.)

EDIT: Well, that's unexpected. I thought the perfume was gone, and then boom -- pomegranate juice. Like it's been boiled down to a syrup, then drizzled on my wrist. Longevity? This doesn't fade, at ALL. But it really is a much different scent two hours in, and to be honest, I'm not sure I could sleep with it on. Pomegranate juice is very, very very sweet, and there's not much else happening at the last stage. Yikes.

Verdict: Wonderful for the start of cool weather -- when everyone else is wilting from the lack of sun and sullenly wrapping up, this lush scent wards off any chill from within. But when the scent turns syrupy... Well, I'm not sure I can take it.

Public Service Announcement

2009-02-10T20:37:00.005Z

Attention Jo Malone shoppers:

I just got an email notifying me that you can get 25% Jo Malone products. It only lasts until the 11th because it's a Valentine's promotion (accursed holiday!), but try this link and see if it's still in action.

Quoth the rules:

OFFER VALID ONLY AT JOMALONE.COM (NOT VALID AT JO MALONE SHOPS OR DEPARTMENT STORE LOCATIONS). VALID FROM 2/10/2009 - 2/11/2009 ONLY ON JOMALONE.COM. VALID ON IN-STOCK MERCHANDISE ONLY. NOT VALID ON PURCHASE OF GIFT CARDS, EGIFT CARDS OR CUSTOM GIFT SETS. NOT VALID ON PENDING PURCHASES OR PURCHASES MADE BEFORE OR AFTER 2/11/2009. ALL PURCHASES ARE SUBJECT TO BANK AUTHORIZATION PRIOR TO PROCESSING. ONLY AUTHORIZED PURCHASES WILL BE PROCESSED AND SHIPPED. WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO CANCEL ANY ORDER DUE TO UNAUTHORIZED, ALTERED, OR INELIGIBLE USE OF OFFER AND TO MODIFY OR CANCEL THIS PROMOTION DUE TO SYSTEM ERRORS OR UNFORESEEN PROBLEMS.

Obviously, I've got a bit of a soft spot for this particular retailer, so that's making this temptation particularly acute.... Mmmm, Jo Malone. Here's a roll call of the Scents & Sensibility reviews of Jo Malone products:

Red Roses

Nectarine Blossom & Honey

Lime Blossom

Amber & Lavender

Orange Blossom

Vintage Gardenia

DKNY "Be Delicious"

2009-02-10T19:37:00.005Z

It took me a while, but I finally got my hands on a tester of DKNY's "Be Delicious" (no the real one, not the impostor).

Right off, this smells like a long, twirling peel of granny smith apple. When my dad made cobbler in the summer, he'd put all the apple peelings in a dish and we'd snack on them like they were potato chips. They were chewy and waxy and made the inside of your mouth feel a little prickly if you had too many, but they were also the only thing to tide you over until the cobbler got out of the oven. It's a good smell for me, and the first spray was clean and bright and fresh.

So maybe my expectations are memory-based, and when I don't get a follow-on of baked apple or sugar or cinnamon, I'm confused. Instead, the drydown on me is... salty. A heavy, steamy saltiness that's hard to describe. Like peeling an apple in a saltwater sauna. And then trying to eat slices of the apple, now coated in this hot-rock salt mist. Am I making this sound gross? Because on me, this smells gross.

I'm going to give this another shot in summer, I think, just in case this is getting smothered under winter clothes and a heating system. Because I just can't take the idea that my skin curdles citrus AND salts fresh fruit!

Verdict: Regrettably, for me this is a bad apple.

State of Play

2009-02-04T05:12:00.006Z

Dear reader,

Well. Things have not precisely gone as expected.

For one, I started working at a corporation where perfume in the office was not exactly banned, but certainly not encouraged. The mix of coworkers at the office changed too -- I was used to like-minded people around my age, and suddenly found myself the youngest member of a team full of married workaholics. It was also a corporation where I sat 9 hours a day at a desk, staring at a screen, and feeling as though my soul was steadily being drained dry. And did I mention that it qualified as a "finanical", aka the corporations that were particularly damaged in the economic collapse? Going to work got to the point where it was like reporting for detention... or an execution. When you're at a job like that, it has the effect of bleeding everything else in your life dry too; you come home and have no energy to write or cook or think or do anything more than slump in a chair and watch cable news or crime procedurals. You lose all sense of perspective, and it all gets rather unhealthy.

And so it went, for 10 long months. And then? Then my company downsized, and I was unemployed. Strange, isn't it, that it took losing my job to wake up?

So now I'm back. Luckily, I wasn't in a total coma over the past year; I managed to amass quite a range of samples, as well as a few local perfumes that are truly a breed apart (not always a good thing, though always interesting). So I'll be able to start posting sample reviews pretty swiftly. Now that I have time to kill and need to save money, I'm also posting on a slightly more off-topic blog, Hobo Kitchen, which is about budget cooking. Make of it what you will.

Check in when you can, and I know it's a tough job market out there and people have all sorts of responsibilities to keep in mind, but -- man. I can't tell you how much better my mental state is now that I'm not at that job anymore. It wasn't my choice to leave, and I miss the income, but it might have saved my mind.

Eliza

Jo Malone "Red Roses"

2009-02-04T04:35:00.006Z

Every time I saw this scent described, people referred to it as a "young rose". I did not know what that meant. It made me think of the waxy roses your boyfriend gave you on Valentine's Day when you were fifteen, the ones that smelled both watery and sharply sweet (mostly likely due to the plant feed dumped into the buckets of bouquets at the local supermarket). And if that was what a "young rose" is all about, no thank you. I'll stick with other memories.

But in December, as I was returning from a fabulous trip to the UK, I found myself wandering past the Heathrow Jo Malone store. I was a bit high off the absurdly advantageous exchange rate, and so splurged on an entire bottle of "Red Roses" without even taking a spritz (never a good idea to apply an unknown perfume before a transatlantic flight -- might have an "Angel"ic experience). As soon as I landed I broke out the bottle, and I've been wearing it frequently ever since.

I get what they mean by "young rose". This is like waking up early, putting on the teakettle and wandering outside while there's still dew on everything. It's still cold out and everything's slightly chill to the touch, but you bring out your tea and a book and settle at a table on the patio right by a rosebush. And as the sun rises and everything warms, a gentle, soft warmth of rose builds in the air mixed with dew drying on greenery and that very clear smell of early morning.

This isn't a big bloomy scent that brings to mind velvet and dusk and the Phantom of the Opera, and that's why it's something I can wear frequently. Not to get graphic, but some rose scents can be a little porny on a 20 year old woman, but might be perfectly appropriate on a 50 year old -- it's a sensuality and depth I think older women have earned and can balance, while on a younger woman it tips over into neon sign territory. There are occasions to wear a scent that shouts "lush" and "ripe", but... I prefer to choose those moments carefully.

"Red Roses" doesn't cause that sort of confusion. It's no simple bud rose in a vase, or even a gorgeous storebought bouquet. It's living, breathing roses all around you, distilled into liquid form -- full of potential, and one of my favourites.

Verdict: If you're the type who loves spending time in hedge mazes and gardens, this one's for you. Lovely and classy, possibly a rose scent for people who can't find the right rose.

Paris Hilton "Can Can"

2007-11-19T18:07:00.000Z

Seriously -- I went to the Macy's counter, and this is the only sample they had. Freaking Paris Hilton will be my first return-to-US review. How perfectly twisted is that?

First on, all I could think of was Flowerbomb. There's that same sweet petal hint, but difficult to untangle -- there's something plastic overlying this scent that muddles the notes, and it runs straight through all the stages of the perfume.

After the intial Fauxerbomb hit, the first distinct note was confectioner's sugar, like when you're dusting a cake and some of the sugar gets caught in the air and you breathe it in. It really gets into your nose and the back of your throat, very aggressive, and actually resulted in me going to get a glass of water to cut the sensation a little. Just as I thought "too much", the sugar died down a bit and a more muted tone appeared.

Unfortunately, I didn't like the next stage any better. All baby powder and floral and sugar, like the perfumes in a child's makeup kit, alongside the miniature lipstick and waxy eye tint. There's a sour flower in here, possibly a lily that's just going off... Ah! Got it!

You know those sachets of plant food you get with flower arrangements? You're meant to mix it in with the water and it supposedly makes your roses live longer. I think it's mostly sugar, and if you let the roses stay in that water even a little past their bloom, this insidious smell shows up. Sickly sweet and decomposing.

Verdict: It's tempting to try a witty comparison between Paris Hilton's perfume (plasticky, saccharine and decayed) and her persona (no comment). But in the end, this is just Flowerbomb well past its sell-by date.

Back from Beyond

2007-11-19T17:17:00.000Z

New Zealand is a lovely country, reader. It's green and lush and gorgeous, surrounded by turquoise waters stretching out forever under cornflower-blue skies. The clouds racing by overhead are just as white and puffy as the sheep dotting the hills. Goofy orange-billed black birds with absurdly gangly red legs watch you from the roadside, and Christmas is marked by an explosion of red spiky flowers on the pohutukawa trees.

In my experience, it's mainly a visual experience. Granted, this could have a lot to do with the fact that I was mainly based in Wellington, where the wind enjoys blowing old ladies over at the slightest provocation. The wind eagerly seeks out anything it can and promptly whips it out into the Pacific -- scarves, documents, children under 10. Facing such odds, mere scents don't really have a chance.

That's not to say I didn't try; but here's another thing about NZ. There are 4 million people there. In a city like Wellington, that means you will soon find yourself recognising people on the street. And if you're skulking around their perfume halls, that means the staff at the beauty counter will soon become quite suspicious about you.

So if you're looking to test perfumes, don't go to New Zealand. If you're looking for espresso that will ruin you for all others, for vistas that will strike you dumb, and lovely fabulous people with a dry sense of humour and a bloody annoying accent, then book your tickets now. I've only been back in the US two weeks, and I already miss it dearly.

Dear All

2006-07-01T01:00:00.000Z

Was it the JLo fragrance that did it? I'll never know. All I can tell you is that my laptop suddenly started making this awful fan noise, the software collapsed, the power system fried, and I kept getting a very elusive whiff of "Still". After a month of toting the machine around town, I finally managed to find a kindly repairperson who did his Mac-whispering thing and ordered new parts. So we're back.

Since regaining access to the blog, I've noticed that there are a couple of readers who are less than pleased with my assessment/knowledge/general comportment. That's understandable -- perfume's a pretty personal thing, and at times a very emotional thing. If I scoff at something you were wearing when your husband proposed or the scent your late mother used to wear, it's not surprising the reaction is indignant.

I stated pretty frequently in earlier entries that my judgements are coloured not only by my personal body chemistry and age, but also by my own sense memory. Admittedly I tailed off on those sorts of disclaimers recently, mostly because I felt it was getting repetitive -- but it does still stand. This is by no means an impartial perfume blog; it's completely partial and very particular to my own reaction.

Please do continue leaving comments, good or bad. But I did want to assure all readers that I'm not trying to lay down a comprehensive judgement on perfumes -- it'd be foolish to even try, given how vivid the difference can be from wrist to wrist.

(And as a side note: Given that I have relocated to the far side of the ocean, I don't have the most brilliant access to fragrances. If you'd like to see a perfume reviewed on this site, feel free to email me or leave a comment suggesting it and I'll do what I can to source it. If you happen to have a sample of it lying around and would like to pop it in an envelope and post it, email me and I'll give you the address. I guarantee that anyone who takes the time to post a sample will get a prompt review.)

And with that bit of housekeeping done, back to the fun stuff.

Eliza

Sarah Jessica Parker "Lovely"

2006-06-02T23:50:00.001Z

I am not a "Sex & the City" fan. I'm just not. The characters all make me itch, and I could not imagine a worse afternoon than one spent in their company. But given their omnipresence in the media during the past few years, I'd have to be blind and deaf not to know a little about each one of them. And so, if this perfume were to suit any one of those women, it would be Charlotte's.

"Lovely" is the first perfume that I've tested and totally forgotten about. It's just there. A perfectly serviceable white floral, understated to the point of being invisible. There's no pollen harshness, just a touch of throatiness and a hint of stem. And that's it. Not exactly bland, but certainly not exciting, "Lovely" is inoffensive, unmemorable, and generally a thesaurus's worth of other words that essentially can be summed up with the noise "ehhh" and that wobbly-hand movement that indicates you could go either way.

Verdict: Wouldn't go so far as "lovely", but does earn itself a "nice".

Yves Saint Laurent "Paris"

2006-06-02T23:25:00.000Z

Unlike other powdery perfumes, which just remind me of grandmothers in general, this one pegs a particular sort of grandmother. The sweet baby powder scent is certainly there, as is the lacing of icing sugar, which is proving to be a hugely popular combination, and at first I thought I'd just set myself up for disappointment all over again.

But then a second line emerged -- a greenhouse. Like in "My Fair Lady", when Eliza is sitting in the Winter Garden, this has a humid, earthy, flowery note to it. It's generally overwhelmed by the sugar-powder, but does diversify the scent and make it a more complex fragrance overall. Not what I'd call a youthful perfume, and perhaps a little dated, but genteel and interesting.

Verdict: Tea in a plant-filled conservatory with your great-aunt.

Alexander McQueen "Kingdom"

2006-05-29T08:49:00.001Z

"And then, I pulled my lover's still-beating heart from his chest, and turned it into this charming vial."

This is the sort of perfume that pretty much declares to everyone around you "I AM WEARING PERFUME". Not necessarily a bad thing, and "Kingdom" is by no means a bad scent. It's just not shy about making itself known. I was first reminded of a much stronger version of some of the Jayne Ormondes -- sandalwood and pine and a jumble of warm earthy spices, brought together in a heady mix that really seems to hang in the air, but escapes that weird "musky" flavour that some scents carry.

At one point, I actually stopped mid-sniff with the thought that maybe I'd picked up a man's cologne. And then I decided that it really didn't matter -- though the scent was aggressive and heavy and powerful, it could work just as well on either sex, something that isn't often true. On a woman, this is heavy-lidded, full-kohl perfume. There aren't any romantic delicacies here, no coquettish looks. Weirdly, to me it smells sort of like bottled feminism, or at least feminism as I'd envision it; confident and completely assured, grounded and unapologetic. So sexually assured that it wouldn't even strike her to be abashed about "unladylike" behaviour. This is not a "ladylike" scent.

There's also a blend of some sort of menthol smell, and a bunch of elements that strike me as masculine, but they don't sink very deep into the perfume. Most of these elements are actually things I typically associate with a clean sweat smell, deoderants and aftershaves, so I think I'm getting an echo of sweat out of my own scent memory, rather than in the perfume itself -- either way, the vague sheen of it is actually kind of sexy. If these odours were more embedded, then maybe the scent would trend too masculine, too typically cologne-ish. Instead, the male notes lay over the very sultry female elements underneath. It's an absolutely fascinating fragrance, though one that should be worn with care. It'll give you confidence in a dramatic setting, but if you wear it in a place too mundane, you could feel conspicuous.

Verdict: It smells like I've just had my way with a very attractive and well-kept lumberjack -- and let it be widely known that I shall do so again. And again. And again.

Elizabeth Arden "Provocative Interlude"

2006-05-25T12:39:00.001Z

I just cannot win with the EA scents.

This was my first day of doing a perfume hall drive-by, so there are a few things I need to get used to. For one, I forgot one very key element of saleswomen, which is that they are trained to reel off the notes and influences in a fragrance as though they've memorised the press release (which they probably have). So when I sidled up to the giant poster of Catherina Zeta Jones and picked up the bottle, ready to spray and flee, I was totally blindsided by the woman who instantly materialised out of nowhere and told me it was a "floral gourmand with white chocolate, berries..." and a bunch of other stuff that I honestly don't remember. She was extremely fast.

I'm going to try to screen out any of that, but given the fact that I smelled apples in JLo's "Live" when I still thought it was "Be Delicious" (thanks, Frederik!), I can clearly be influenced.

But back to "Provocative Interlude". It went on sharply, though I can't give a great analysis of the first 5 minutes, given how much of that was spent fending off the vendor and not being able to scribble down notes. As soon as I got a chance to get a better sniff, I was disappointed to find out that there seems to be a nasty, fermented streak running through this EA that reminds me very much of the other EAs I've tried. I think I get the white chocolate that was mentioned, but boy, it is weird. I also picked up citrus, berry and floral, mixed in an unsettling way that made me think of a lime-infused chunk of white chocolate covered in thick pollen, sprinkled with dry cranberry skins. It made me think of how nice this could have been if it was, say, a Terry's white chocolate orange with raspberries and a sprig of freesia. It is not.

An hour later, it died down to something less offensive, but still with that musky, hot-mess quality that just drives me insane. I can only guess that this element is something that smells fabulous on some women, and those women are the ones buying EA perfumes.

Verdict: Weird and musky and bleh, the rogue Elizabeth Arden fermentation element strikes again.

Do you know this perfume?

2006-05-24T11:34:00.000Z

I suspect this might be DKNY "Be Delicious". The green one, because I don't think the red one was out yet. It's unusual, to end up with a totally random (and quite generous) sample and have no marking on it and no idea of its contents. The reason I think it's "Be Delicious" is partly what I get off of it when I wear it, and partly because there's only one time I can remember getting unlabelled perfume, and that was at Sephora in DC with Olive. She might tell you that I ruthlessly browbeat a salesgirl into handing over a decanted sample of "Be Delicious" and in doing so, so terrified the poor thing that the girl also included a few other random vials in a panicked rush. In which case I would tell you that Olive is a recent engagee, and thus her head is so full of frivolous notions and taffeta and color schemes and wedding marches that she really can't be relied upon to give a straight account of anything as she's in a sort of meringuey bridal haze, and that she had better remember to be nice to her Maid of Honour if she knows what's good for her, because even though the MoH is very far away, the MoH is still in charge of the bachelorette party and is very skilled at evil plotting.

Anyhow.

Mystery Perfume With a Green Stopper is very nice. Straight on it reminds me somehow of "Flowerbomb", but for no good reason whatsoever. It's like "Flowerbomb"'s fruity, peppery, saner second cousin. Where one requests that someone devour you immediately, the other is a much more confident, understated, knowing scent. I think one of the big differences is that I would wear this one on a first date, whereas "Flowerbomb" would certainly be later on (you want to be careful with olefactory "Eat me!" cues).

This isn't a crisp, fresh apple sliced in half; it's not warm apple cobbler; it's not anything that makes your mouth necessarily water. This strikes me as more of an orchard scent, possibly on a sunny autumn day after apples have already been picked and only the occasional fallen one is still around, warming and slightly bruised in the sun. Which sounds a little awful, as a theme, if you're thinking of the entire dating-as-fruit-on-tree metaphor, but is also kind of nice in that it's natural. Fallen apples are the ones that produce new trees, and that's sort of what this perfume makes me think of -- an assured and good scent, an all's-right-with-the-world scent, with just that hint of peppery zing to stop it being too linear. It's even got a slightly arid/acrid tinge, like there might be a bonfire a county over and just a hint of it's snuck into the orchard.

The only downside I can see is that it fades on my wrist really quite quickly, so I have to load it on if I want to get anywhere at all with it. And even then, the end of it's a little too sharp on the pepper for my tastes -- I don't think it increases at all so much as the apple just fades away entirely, making the pepper seem almost ominous by comparison. Shame.

Verdict: Afternoon events or lazy Sundays curled up on the couch with someone. Sadly, it won't last longer than that.

Dear Reader...

2006-05-24T10:06:00.000Z

Good lord, I am sorry.

Absolutely inexcusable, this entire vanishing act. As it happens, I did go to that job interview wearing Jo Malone's "Nectarine Blossom", which I absolutely treasure and makes me very happy. It also seems to make others very happy, because I got the job that night. And THAT is what I have been doing lo these many months -- full-time, nonstop work. Literally, 36 hours after having my passport stamped in Auckland, I received a contract via email at the B&B. Jo Malone works in mysterious ways, that's all I have to say.

So that stash of untried testers ended up languishing at the bottom of my suitcase. Frankly, I'd expected more down time while being deeply unemployed, during which I could amuse myself by sniffing at my wrist in a lunatic manner while basking in sunshine at sidewalk cafes -- but starting work within four days of arriving (and while still severely whacked-out from jetlag) sort of put paid to that. Due to prior experiences with demon concoctions like "Angel", I was really hesitant to start dousing myself in the unknown before either socialising with my new flatmates or heading into the enclosed space at the office. One prefers not to earn the moniker "The Woman Who Smells", even if that's later qualified with "...no, good! She usually smells good!".

There's been another hurdle as well -- I can't seem to find a department store in NZ willing to hand out testers. In the UK and US, you just stroll up to a counter, feign interest, and there's a 50-50 chance that someone will lob a vial of something your way. But I'm told that here, they only give them out if there's a promotion running, which means I'd have to skulk through the perfume department on an almost daily basis just to catch them when they come out. Which might seem dodgy.

And at that point, if I'm going to be vaguely dodgy, why not go the whole way?

So here's the plan, dear reader: given that I already work in Wellington's CBD, I am going to implement a cunning scheme wherein I take a detour through the perfume hall at about lunchtime and pick a scent to test, then spritz it directly onto my wrist. I'm only going to be able to do this a few times a week, because I actually DO have an embarrassment threshold, and even the slightest chance that the staff might start publicly querying me about using up all the perfume in the store would have me blushing deepest puce for a good few months. But as you can see from the image above, my personal stock is running perilously low (I've already tested most of those, I think) and drastic times call for drastic measures.

As for my current coworkers and what they'll have to suffer through as I attempt to test "Angel: Rose" or whatever the hell that monstrous house is currently trying to foist off on an unwary public -- I've tried to warn them. I've tried to train them to expect various scents with a rotation of Romance, Nectarine Blossom and Flowerbomb. And of course, they have met me now, so they're somewhat used to my personality and I doubt this sudden bout of perfumemania will come as a surprise.

All is well, though, and thanks to all who've left a note on the blog! I am happy and ensconsed and employed and generally in fine fettle for a person who's uprooted and travelled to the opposite side of the planet, and am now ready to get back to the taxing task of pursuing the perfect scent.

Eliza

New Zealand

2006-03-08T16:41:00.000Z

And then she landed.

So I'm officially here in NZ now, for a whole 24 hours at this point, which means that my mind is warping things like a fisheye lens and I'm totally disoriented and having bipolar moments consisting of "oooh, this place is lovely!" and "WhathaveIdonewhathaveIdoneohgod!" Now begins the flat/job/life hunt, which is always very exciting but also a lot to take in all at once. It does mean I'll have a bit of time, though, during which I will be sitting in cafes and able to surreptitiously take notes on something I've put on my wrist.

But before I unwrap the samples I brought (wrapped in about three layers of plastic wrap and a couple of ziplock bags, due to air pressure in the hold as I took about five flights), I'm going to my job interview today wearing Jo Malone's Nectarine Blossom and Honey. That's the lovely black tissue paper the shop assistant at Heathrow gave me, as I actually didn't have enough room in my luggage for their bag. And that's the giant bottle of Nectarine on the left, which I shall have to make sure not to leave out where light can get at it and break down the scent. And on the right? Well...

Seriously, is it sad that I actually purchased a small vial of Amber and Lavender just in case I date someone here? I think it might be. But there it is. I've actually made my own life difficult by recommending this scent to any guy I know and like, so now Gil's wearing it, as is my Liverpudlian ex Audio Science, and I've now managed to mentally associate that scent with nice men. Though all of my EEG coworkers assure me that there are no nice Kiwi men, so I've nothing to worry about. In which case I shall just wear it myself and curl up and watch John Hughes movies, so there.

Verdict: New Zealand is nice, and I think shall only get nicer as I get over my jet lag and figure out how things work more. Also, I smell delicious -- thanks, Jo Malone!

Dolce & Gabbana "Light Blue"

2006-01-27T06:49:00.001Z

And lo, I went into the outlet store, and there it
was: a sample of the "most popular perfume on the market", according to whoever tabulates such things. I'll admit, considering the amount of buzz this stuff got, at one point I was thinking of shilling out for an entire bottle (I then remembered the Coco Mademoiselle episode and regained control
of myself). But a sample bottle for a buck? Done.

Aaaaand... done. Sooo not a fan. Citrus, for one. Not just citrus, but a
smell like an entire lime thrown into a blender: lime, leaf and possibly
bough. There's also a sherbety buzz, which strays across the line and
becomes dusty ever so often. I really had to wait for the more subtle notes
to come out -- a definite marine, plus a sweet grassy smell, like dune
grass. Those two scents I liked, but not enough to wait around for, and
certainly not if that wait takes the form of lime incarceration. Hopefully
everyone else who purchased this perfume has the opposite experience; a day
at the seashore with lime wedges in their cocktails, maybe?

Verdict: They're singing songs of love, but Light Blue is
not for me.

"Nnnnnngh!"

2006-01-27T04:51:00.000Z

I would love to know what's up with me and official photos. Looking at me, you'd think I'm perhaps capable of a good photo. I haven't any evident deformities, I've shiny hair, straight teeth that betray nothing of my British heritage... But for some damn reason, if there's a photo that's going to be used in some sort of official capacity? Oh, man. Doom.

My childhood photos are just going to have to be called an even draw, mostly because I was actually kind of cute, if androgynously so. They're called "page boy" haircuts for a reason, Mom. Then... uh, well, there was an overbite. A pronounced overbite. A serious, serious overbite. And you may all be thinking "braces" at this point, but I will one-up you with this: Headgear.

I don't want to talk about it.

Aaanyhow. The braces coincided rather frightfully with the early 90s, which means that there is a photo out there of me "accessorising" in 5th grade: I chose the pink-and-blue laser backdrop for my school photo, then wore a matching sweater, AND alternating blue-and-pink elastics on my braces. There may also have been a puffy black satin headband, but I really couldn't say, because to look at the photo in that sort of detail would surely bring on blindness. Thank god the grade school photographer was a head-and-shoulders kind of guy, because I don't think anyone could really handle the pegged-jeans, scrunch-socked monstrosity that clearly lurked out of frame.

I think I might have actually looked pretty cute in my mid-teens, but by that time the awfulness of prior photos had finally sunk in, and I avoided camera lenses as though they'd steal my soul. So as much as I claim I looked good, there's no real proof. Also, this hiding technique may have angered the photographic gods, because I've not been able to get a sensible official photo out of them since.

Age 16, driver's license: I believe the glasses I'm wearing occupy about 50% of my face. I do not know why no one told me this at the time.
Age 18, US passport: Drunk foreign exchange student
Age 18, UK passport: Stoooooned foreign exchange student
Age 20, ACIS card: Oh, okay, I forgot this one - Olive had just given me a haircut that made me look like Cleopatra, and I looked damn hot. I knew it at the time, too, as evidenced by the fact that I peeled this photo OFF of the expired ACIS card and proceeded to submit it the next year as a Tube pass photo. No joke.
Age 22, replacement passport photo: My friend Anna came with me for this photo during a break from work, and oh my god. It's winter, and I'm wearing a scarf and my off-day glasses, and there's something disastrously wrong with my hair and I'm wearing a black turtleneck to boot, and the guy only has black-and-white film to take the photo with. The result is that I look like I have arrived directly from Cold War Russia, KGB division. Anna and I are in the middle of discussing exactly how impossible it will be for me to travel ANYWHERE on that passport photo without being immediately detained and questioned when I get a call that someone's found the original passport, making the entire thing moot. I keep the photo, though. It's just that weird.
Age 24, rail card: We are late for a train down south. Olive and I have run to Paddington, run to the departures board, run to the ticket office, realised I qualify for a discount card, run to the photo booth to take the photo. I look like I've had a lobotomy -- like, I have this blank, blowsy, dazed look. It's a photo that should say "Oh, lord, we're going to miss the train and it's all my fault!". Instead, it says "Mmmm... eh? Hallooo!" In all, this saves me £3 with the rail card, which is about the same cost as the photo itself. Daft.

And then there's getting my license today. I tried today, people. I found the oddly-located RMV behind a train station with moderate difficulty. I filled all the paperwork out in advance, so as to avoid that thing where you fill out a form while resting your forehead in your palm and end up with greasy fringe and a red pressure splotch in the photo. In fact, it was all so smoothly done that I was waved right in and found myself before a deeply bored (and undoubtedly depressed) public servant within a matter of moments. Yeah, I was a bit shocked, too.

"Look in the thing heeyah," said the public servant, motioning towards a spot on the front of his booth. I took a moment to think. I didn't wear the black KGB turtleneck. I put on nice makeup. I wore the shapely black frames. I even wore the earrings that Olive's boyfriend gave me for Christmas. All should be well, right? Well, maybe one quick prayer to the soul-stealing photo gods would be goo... "Arright, yah done." What?! There wasn't even a flash!!!

Obviously, I end up looking like some sort of assassin-librarian. It's the sort of photo that makes me realise why old cockney geezers would sidle up to me in London and jolly "Cheer up, luv! It might not happen!" Looking at my new license, I wouldn't blame you for thinking that I spend my days quietly stacking books in the local library and shushing people, only to be occasionally interrupted by ninjas, at which point I flip open the P volume of the enyclopedia to reveal a razor blade embedded in the spine and go to town. It's just that sort of photo.

And so, despite my hopes, 2006 is apparently not the year that I finally take a good photo. If I could remember where I took the Cleopatra photo, I might be superstitious enough to go back, see if there's some sort of magic to it. Alas, that's a mystery as well. Or it could be that I need another haircut from Olive, except that could be unwise at this point, due to an unfortunate incident involving me, her, her freshman year, and the anguished words "too short!". But let's not dwell.

Let's cross our fingers for the passport renewal of 2008, shall we? Bah.

Givenchy "Organza First Light"

2006-01-26T21:52:00.000Z

I really like this one. Some 'white floral' scents try too hard and finish up covering you with a wash of soapy odours, but "First Light Organza" has a very light touch.

It starts off with a gentle talc, like a grown-up baby powder. There's a hint of powdered sugar again as well, but this is a more mature, refined sweetness. And then the florals, which begin as an indistinguishable bouquet and then drift apart at the end. It's like finding a flower girl's posey on a chair at the end of a wedding reception, then separating out each bloom and holding it up to your face: slightly sweet from dusted sugar cookies smuggled to keep the toddler quiet, the talc scent where the bride hugged her, and then the white rose, narcissus, gardenia she's been carrying around carefully all day until her mother finally made her set them down and took her home to sleep.

And then there's another scent in there, which is green and peppery, and I think that's what tips the scent over from being cloying into being a great dressy, summery scent. Because in the end, you're not the flower girl in this scenario -- you're the guest who tucks one of the flowers into her hair and then spends the rest of the night with one of the groomsmen.

Verdict: A great white floral with just the right amount of adult edge.

Anna Sui "Sui Love"

2006-01-19T05:04:00.000Z

I've actually worn this a few times and been totally unable to write a review. Usually I multitask: go shopping, go to work, read a book, whatever -- I just jot notes down on a scrap of paper and keep sniffing my arm like a lunatic, and by the end of the day I've got something to say. But "Sui Love" is an ever-changing jumble of so many different things, it's hard to pull out any specifics unless I sit down and actually focus on what's happening on my skin. So, with the help of "Beauty and the Geek 2", I finally sat still long enough to get through it.

At the start, there's a sweet, fruity incense over some sort of herbal mix. Cleanly smoky, it has an edge on it for the first five minutes before calming down to a nice thrum. This would have been a great scent to bridge the work/date divide (such as those weird times when a guy asks you to lunch and you can't tell if it's an actual date date or just convenience because you work in the same area, and you don't want to wear a very sexy scent because if it's casual he'll get all twitchy, but if it's a date date you want to be wearing something different than what you wear everyda... Uh, not that I think about this a lot. Ahem.)

But it turns out none of that matters, because only about fifteen minutes in, the entire thing goes all watery celery-and-pepper on me. There's a sweetness in there, but it's more like the natural sugar of the celery rather than a candy-sweetness. Reminded me a bit of the Malle "Therese" because of that very unexpected peppery tone, but the Ormonde layer was there too. Lurking.

And then there's the final stage of "Sui Love", which is totally weird, because this is when the Ormonde note suddenly becomes the dominant (and only) pitch. This note's not even an identifiable scent, really -- it's a warmth, like something mulling against your skin. I know you usually mull cider or wine with spices, but this isn't a spicy or smoky smell. All I can think of is a stemmy flower, like an iris. Take that iris and leave it in a vase for days on end: at some point, the iris will hit a turning point where it's stopped smelling fragrant and has just begun to die ever so slightly, almost creating a hint of heat as the flower begins to turn on itself. Okay, now somehow imagine mulling that scent of dying flower against your skin. It's definitely a weird thought, but it also an element I detect in almost every Ormonde I try. I'm sure there's something very lyrical I could say here about the beauty of burying a hint of overripeness or death in perfume, but I think I've been wordy enough for what is, in the end, a lackluster effort.

Verdict: Only worth it from the 5-15 minute mark; both before and after that, it's been done better.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends...

2006-01-18T05:01:00.000Z

So here's the thing with international moves -- no matter how impeccably you plan, you're always going to run out of time. You'll leave something out of the shipping boxes, or forget to finish a bit of paperwork, or bury your passport and flight confirmation in your suitcase, or pack every single perfume sample you own in the safest place possible, which in this case was swaddled in a set of curtains in the centre of Box 2 (of three) destined for the slow boat out of London. A box which only reentered my life YESTERDAY.

So hurrah! All of my belongings from London have rejoined me at the family manse, where my parents view them with a growing sense of trepidation ("...and where do you intend to leave all this stuff?"). Tomorrow I'll be able to unearth my collection of scents and we'll be back on track -- at least until the next move, which is only about a month away.

And here's where I need your help, dear readers: Do you know anything about Wellington, NZ? I'm all set up to move there at the beginning of March, and I'm going in relatively blind. Any stories or tips would be greatly appreciated, or if you know anyone who wants to hire a writer-ish person? Feel free to give a heads-up.

And tomorrow? Perfume review! Seriously! For real! It's been so long since the last one, my iBook doesn't even smell like J-Lo anymore.

Ghost de Lopez!

2005-11-30T05:54:00.000Z

Totally unexpected side-effect of collecting perfume samples and then storing them incorrectly: at some point during my London-Reykjavik-Boston hop, I managed to knock the top off one of those daft little bottles of "Still" that salesman foisted on me a few months ago. This bottle was lurking at the bottom of my backpack, which at the time was also serving double duty as the guardian of my laptop.

What I'm saying is that my iBook marinated in "Still" for at least three days and two plane rides, and now it wafts up at me every time I open the damn thing.

Could be worse, obviously. I could have accidentally left a bottle of "Angel" in there, I suppose. But still! Very! Unnerving!

Cacharel "Promesse"

2005-11-28T20:16:00.000Z

I'll admit, I've been using this scent as an all-rounder during my international move (apologies for the extended absence -- turns out that moving transatlantically is VERY TAXING). I'd accidentally left a handful of vials in my purse and those are the ones that will be seeing me through the next few weeks as I wait for my shipped boxes to show up. All of the others are somewhat niche, too specific to wear without specific intent. And when you choose to unconsciously grab a certain fragrance right after putting down the stick of deoderant... Well, I'm not sure that's a good thing.

It's an eclectic bunch, and "Promesse" is the least obtrusive. It's got a grapefruit burst to start, but then florals out. It's got good staying power, but I can't shake the feeling that this scent is cheap somehow. I may have been totally spoilt by "Flowerbomb", and "Promesse" is just coming away like a low-grade knockoff. It's pleasant, and it's certainly what I've been throwing on while dressing for a day of lurking about town, but I probably wouldn't be returning to it were it not for the fact that all my other scents are somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. (Hopefully not "bottom of" the Atlantic -- dear god, I hate international moves!)

Verdict: Kind of a teeny-bopper take on "Flowerbomb", really. Less complex, less enjoyable, but serviceable all the same.

Jo Malone "Nectarine Blossom and Honey"

2005-10-16T16:16:00.003Z

This is my summer scent.

I'm saying it now, I'm saying it loudly, and there will be no going back. As much as I can't wear the citrus scents, straight-up nectarine goes on bright and fresh and stays forever. I want to wear this scent from May to September for the forseeable future, under white shirts with skirts and sandals, over thin sweaters, being brushed across the nape of my neck by a high ponytail. It's the sort of scent that makes me think of ribbons.

It's not complex. Nectarine, nectarine, nectarine. But unlike the way an orange scent sours on my skin, the nectarine merely warms and simmers. Like nectarine cobbler, or a peach pie, this is a fruit that smells just as lovely warm as it does straight off the tree. And I'd guess that following Jo's layering technique with another one of her scents would probably change this from a summer scent to something spicy and thick, a baked good right out of the oven.

And as an added bonus, it turns out that Olive is actually allergic to nectarines -- so not only does this scent make me feel lovely and springy, but it makes my sister think of itching and rashes! It's like there's a built-in anti-theft device! Brilliant!

Verdict: MINE!

Jean Paul Gaultier "Gaultier 2"

2005-10-16T15:10:00.000Z

You have to give them credit for a snazzy sales campaign. The back of the bottle is magnetised, you see, which has made it possible to affix these giant metal plates onto the arms of the salesgirls in a holster-like fashion. They shoot you, then make a big show of putting the bottle against the magnetic holster, where it produces a satisfying "click". As our jaded, beholstered salesgirl deadpanned, "It's the best part".

For all I can tell, this one's unisex. The weird thing is, there are two very distinct, almost parallel scents at work here, and they come together at the end in the same complimentary fragrance. It's a neat trick.

The first hit is of baby powder and tobacco, then an old leather armchair, an attic that smells of mothballs and lemon. The strangest thing in all of this is that the scents really do balance -- the sweetness of the feminine baby powder with the masculine tobacco, then the muskiness of the male leather and the female attic lemon. The finish is a lingering sensation of a thicket of sun-baked flowers on an otherwise deserted, windy, salty beach: again, unexpectedly complimentary. This is the first perfume I've tested that hasn't bothered to find the middle ground from the start in a unisex fragrance; it keeps the male and female scents running alongside each other until they meet at the seashore. I can only assume that the floral is more pronounced on a woman, the marine more pronounced on a man. Fascinating.

Verdict: Intriguing. Could be good for work, for socialising, or just for puzzling over. Definitely worth consideration, though.

Return of the Eliza

2005-10-16T14:49:00.000Z

Hello, lovelies! Apologies for the unannounced, unexplained absence -- first I got a cold (thus scuppering any testings), then Olive came to town, then all sorts of interesting and fascinating things happened. But in keeping with the blog's theme, we'll just say this: Miss Eliza Bennet went to Bath to take the waters for a month. She's very sorry for the inconvenience, and deeply appreciated your letters.

Shall we start again, then? Good.

Pilar & Lucy "tiptoeing through chambers of the moon"

2005-09-14T18:10:00.000Z

Stupid name? Check. Maddening grammar? Check. Silk flowers and a feather boa? Check.

Welcome back, ditzes.

I know, I know, just let it go. The bottle's cute! The name's quirky! Don't be such a snob! Yeah, well, I don't care. And this time round it's even worse, because I actually kind of like the fragrance. But will I buy it? Hell no. To pay for this bottle means that the silk-and-feather cabal win.

Not to mention that the bottle makes it look like it's all about roses and romance, which are the furthest thing from my mind when I wear this fragrance. My mother has a giant candle she keeps for Christmastime. She uses it mostly as a centrepiece and rarely lights it, which is why it's been present at every Christmas I can remember. She puts it on a low table in front of the fireplace, which is usually home to a raging fire. Without ever being lit, that candle can perfume the entire room in a cranberry, woodsy, piney, spicy, slightly waxy way.

That's exactly what this fragrance smells like to me. There's even a gourmand current running underneath, a jumble of delicious and warm foody smells like the aftermath of a fantastic dessert course. To me, this scent is the bit of Christmas you remember the rest of your life: a dreamy ambiance of decoration and family and food and warmth and happiness.

And I still wouldn't buy a full bottle due to the irk level of the packaging. Gah!

Verdict: Merry Christmas, depressing packaging. Ditzes.

Jo Malone "Lime Blossom"

2005-09-14T16:52:00.000Z

This was brilliant at first! Smelled just like a cool lime grove, very breezy and very powerful, but somehow perfect. There's not a single false thing about it when it hits your skin, it's a big and enthusiastic fragrance.

But then my body chemistry struck again and brought in that milky carbonation edge I get so often with citrus notes, especially on the wrist sporting my watch. The other wrist's okay, but not the exhilarating burst from the first 15 minutes. If only the opening had some staying power, I'd be hooked, but much like a real lime you pull off the branch and slice up to garnish cocktails, time and heat get to "Lime Blossom" and just make it "blah".

Verdict: Might be suited to cooler blood than mine (would make a lovely air-freshener, though).

Issey Miyake "L'eau D'Issey"

2005-09-14T13:59:00.000Z

"L'eau D'Issey" is green. Green like a bent sapling, green like a flower's stem, that sharp and watery and aggressive scent. Usually I like green, because when combined with other elements it freshens everything up a bit. But here the main focus is the green tone, and it's really a turn-off. Just imagine getting a lovely bouquet of beautiful flowers set off with twigs of berries and woody boughs... and then someone chops off the top half of the bouquet and hands you the beribboned stump. Not something you'd really want to bring to your face and inhale, is it?

And that might be my problem with this entire fragrance: it has elements of very nice concepts, just gone horribly awry at some stage. There's incense sticks that have been kept in a moist basement for too long; thawing spring earth that's been dried out in a hot attic until it's a sharp dusty powder; the ghost of Thérèse Roudnitska wafting about with her peppered honeydew melon slices. Top that off with a decapitated bouquet, and you've got "L'eau D'Issey".

Verdict: Bertha Rochester might have worn this -- mad, off-kilter, and gothic in a bad way.

J. Lo "Still"

2005-08-31T13:15:00.000Z

"Here," the nattily-dressed salesman said, shoving four samples into my hand. "Quick, put them in your bag, I'm not meant to give you that much! This isn't even my zone!"

Ah, the danger and intrigue of the Oxford Street fragrance departments.

Of course, now I've got a ludicrous amount of "Still" I've found that it smells of nothing more than soap. Nice soap, but soap. As though I've taken a shower, then scraped my nail along the top of a moist white bar and rubbed the residue on my wrists and collarbone. Soap made up of white florals, maybe, but... That's it for four hours. Then a spicy/citrus whisper right against the skin that is so absolutely faint it might as well be a hallucination. Then... poof. Gone.

The bottle's easier to wax on about: the back's got this nifty refracting thing going on, so it looks faceted from the front. But then there's also a ridiculous plastic ring with a huge "diamond" settled around the atomiser! Now, this isn't an inexpensive perfume, so why on earth they'd spend the time and money making the really nice old-Hollywoodish bottle and then chuck a Crackerjack ring on the top, I've no idea. You can remove it, thank goodness, but... To what? Wear shoddy plastic imitation J. Lo "bling"? Silly marketing move there.

Verdict: Soapy fragrance with bizarrely contradictory packaging.

Viktor & Rolf "Flowerbomb"

2005-08-30T12:53:00.002Z

This is a favourite of Lank's, which surprised me given that his wife apparently can't wear florals and is big on gourmand scents. I mean, "Flowerbomb" kind of implies floral overload. Now, though, I get it.

Firstly, how adorable is that bottle? Shaped like a grenade, yes, but I choose to see the design as a clever subversion of a violent object rather than something tacky. As for the fragrance itself: if you look at that bottle and imagine that the glass is actually candy, a sort of berry-tangerine boiled candy shell encasing a sherbety floral centre, then you're getting close to what this perfume's all about.

Much like hard candy, the sweetness is syrupy rather than sugary. (I tend to think of "sugary" as "a flavour with added sugar", whereas "syrupy" is much more integrated, with the sweetness and flavour blending so seamlessly you can barely tell them apart.) The first hint of floral I got was about an hour in, and that's only because I began to pick up a hint of powdery/polleny scent. I suspect there's a layer of jasmine between that candy shell and the actual bouquet -- it's the sweetest flower I know, and would explain the rather subtle segue. Then the fruity candy fades into the background and the burst of flowers is much clearer.

There is something vaguely dry about the floral accord, a little bit fizzy, which is why I'm thinking of a sherbet centre rather than a liquid one. Dried, powdered petals, maybe -- rose and freesia and lots of others, like confetti. Altogether I like the bottle, I like the concept, and the scent is a mass-market crowd pleaser. Would be suitable for Olive or Blondie, but I don't think I'd be able to wear it long into my 30s. I can't even wear it frequently now, given I'm not exactly the "effervescently sweet" type of personality. That said, I really wish I'd tested this one last night when out for a coworker's birthday drinks -- I wore "Une Rose" instead, and it was really a bit too classy for the occasion. Eh.

Canadianne likes it a lot, but was sidetracked by asking after "the sexy man one". Which is really funny, because I think she's going to use it on her boyfriend, and we both recommended it to her friends Dolphin Boy and AlternaScot last night, and Gil's just run off and gotten some in the States this weekend as well... Sexy men for everyone!

Verdict: A nice gourmand for those who avoid vanilla, and a nice floral for those who don't suit flowers.

Elizabeth Arden "5th Avenue After 5"

2005-08-29T12:33:00.000Z

Ever wonder what Catherine Zeta-Jones smells like? Well, according to the ad campaign, she smells like "5th Avenue After 5". So, in order, like this: a grape out of a tinned fruit cup; dusty fruit; half-hearted cheeriness; the dregs of mixed juice left in the bottom of said fruit cup once it's been eaten; mustiness; a touch of compact powder.

How do you even create the smell of "dusty fruit"?! By adding coriander and saffron to the mix, if I'm reading these notes right. From what I can see they've tried to make a Middle Eastern-themed perfume, but while also trying to keep it young and cosmopolitan. Which is exactly what's ended up happening -- this is a woman who lives in the Middle East, eats Middle Eastern food, has all of those fragrances naturally embedded in her skin -- and now she's inexplicably splashed on a blend of citrus and honeysuckle-brightness and chosen a Mary Kay powderpuff over her black kohl. Oh, and don't forget the musk. Totally incongruous! I wouldn't be surprised to find a note of "kitchen sink" in this thing.

Verdict: This isn't a confident city girl; this is a deeply conflicted woman trying to be something she's not. No wonder Zeta-Jones looks so dead-eyed in the print ads.

Thierry Mugler "Alien"

2005-08-28T17:45:00.003Z

I can't find a proper picture of the "Alien" bottle. Suffice it to say, it looks like a prop off the set of Stargate. To the right: an artist's rendering of the scent.

Selfridges had the entire entryway into the perfume hall set up to launch this fragrance. Women standing around, strategically zapping people as they walked by; a huge screen with an extra-terrestrial looking model apparently oblivious to the dangerous yellow octopus perched atop her head; displays with the various packagings on little plinths; the word "Alien" all over the place in Spooky Serial Killer font. Aside from the ET push, the theme seemed to be "Purple!". With a thought for the buspeople, I declined to get spritzed (get thee behind me, Mugler!) and instead made off with a tiny purple vial for later use.

On first application? BAM. Seriously, I sometimes wonder if Thierry Mugler could take the extended break between "Angel" and "Alien" because they've actually branched out into the development of chemical weaponry for shady government departments. If you like "Angel"'s sillage, you've got another contender here. But this isn't a gourmand scent on me -- unfortunately, what I immediately identified was the smell of tiger lily. Tiger lilies: beautiful, exquisite flowers that have the most appalling stink in close quarters, with pollen that will stain your clothes and never, ever wash out. "Alien" is like living in the heart of that deep lily throat, covered in rank pollen. It turned my stomach a little, it was so aggressive. I actually left Starbucks because I was self-conscious at how much this fragrance stank.

Once home, though, I began to come around. An hour and a half in, the green and jasmine notes asserted themselves, and the sillage died WAY down. There's something lurking underneath all of that green, something that is definitely out of place logically but also smells rather nice (it turns out to be a marine note, which intensifies as the day wears on until it becomes the dominant drydown note). The vanillin is very understated as well, emerging and taking over a few of the green notes as time goes on. The woodsy scent's been around since the tiger lily left, but in the background, eventually blending with the vanilla in a way that knocks any sticky-sweetness off.

Here's a bit of weirdness: my clothes still smell like the tiger lily-stage, but my skin moved on to woodsy green-vanilla and is rapidly giving up the ghost entirely only three hours on, leaving the strong marine element. Hm. The sillage die-off will disappoint fans of "Angel", and I'm leery of the tiger lily pollen. I admit that the stages after the opening are winning me over; it's a very eccentric scent, certainly not easy to pin down.

Verdict: A very nice and unusual fragrance, but not truly out of this world solely due to the opening. A very good alternate Mugler for those who can't stomach "Angel", I'd guess.

Christian Dior "Miss Dior Cherie"

2005-08-27T10:36:00.000Z

Ah, now I'm regretting the "Coco Mademoiselle" purchase. Whoops.

"Miss Dior Cherie" is like a fresh fruit salad dressed with "Coco Mademoiselle". I caught a strong whiff of strawberry and melon on first application, which has settled down to a dry, fruity/woodsy musk. I'm surprised I like this as much as I do; my experience with the citrus side of things had me convinced that any fruits would immediately sour against my skin. I enjoy the sweetness of this fragrance, for once not laced with sugar or vanilla -- just a clear, clean fruit-sweetness. To be honest,there's also a sharpness in this scent that really is right on the edge for me; it's like a clump of lichen and a tangerine have gotten into a scuffle with a gatecrashing poof of powder somewhere in the background, but the situation is generally under control.

When I told Lank that I'd bought "Coco Mademoiselle", he was surprised -- said it was a little old. And honestly, he's right. If I'd known about "Miss Dior Cherie" from the get-go, the more powdery "Mlle" would still be on the shelf. Ah, well. Live and learn. And get a sample.

Verdict: "Coco Mademoiselle"s younger, fresher sister. While Mlle's meeting friends in an upscale restaurant, Cherie's enjoying a pub lunch outdoors on the riverbank.

Stila "Midnight Bloom"

2005-08-26T13:51:00.000Z

I cannot escape the thought that this is a perfume designed as an evening fragrance for teenagers; the second perfume they've ever bought, the one they start wearing out at night. It's as if someone took a look at the entry-level teenage daytime scent of powder and vanilla and just substituted musk and gardenia for the vanillin. There's not much of a progression with this fragrance: it arrives in a burst of powdery gardenias and stays that way for ages, that giant bloom hanging heavy over any other notes for the rest of the day.

It's a sweet enough fragrance, I suppose, but very basic. The notes smell a little canned, and that gardenia will kill you. There's also an initial syrupy-sweet hiss that is the main development, eventually evaporating into a more typical vanilla note that brings a bit of cedar with it. Six hours on, it finally escapes the looming gardenia, becoming vanilla pudding with a few petals swirled into the dish -- a nice, perfectly pleasant scent and executed really well here, just coming in too late to really make up for the opening. I'd love to be able to say it smells like a trellis of gardenias or something, but the scent just doesn't lend itself to grand imagination. And man, this stuff is strong -- it almost overpowered me in the first two hours, so go easy on the dose. In the end, it hits me as yet another generic, kind of hamfisted design, available in hundreds of incarnations at the nearest pharmacy.

Verdict: A teenager's purchase for her first real date; unfortunately, the stage truly worth the amount of allowance she forked out for it is at the very end.

The Different Company "Bois d'Iris"

2005-08-25T18:47:00.001Z

"Bois d'Iris" is absolutely not what I expected. Because The Different Company is Jean-Claude Ellena's brainchild, I assumed that this fragrance would have similarities with "L'Eau d'Hiver" -- that vivid single iris from the florist shop, but out in the wild. What I didn't expect was to apply this scent and suddenly experience a powerful impression of incense wafting out the censer waved by a Roman Catholic priest. It was the very specific scent I remember as a child, sitting in our clean modern church, as Father Tim made his way down the aisle trailing that cloudy, heavy odor.

But much like memories become idealised over time, I'm aware that "Bois d'Iris" is missing some of the negative elements of the real Roman Catholic incense. The oppressive smokiness, for one, is gone, as is the stinging spice. After 15 minutes the notes began to separate and I picked up cedar and wood and lichen, then the clearer florals between.

It's funny; I came into this expecting a flowery meadow for some reason, and so was blindsided by the entire religious experience -- what did that have to do with a woodland full of irises? But having wholly dismissed the name as ludicrous, the way the notes emerged actually brought me right back: willowy cedars clustered on a thick carpet of moss, pockets of irises jostling for any leftover space, like unexpectedly stumbling across somewhere totally idyllic and secret after a long hike. It's a full fragrance, kicking off with a heavy punch that doesn't so much mellow out as clarify, which makes it a lot easier to take. Unfortunately, the fragrance does fade rather quickly -- which I don't mind, as I prefer its lighter incarnation to the more gothic first impression.

Verdict: It somehow pulls off incense without actually being incense-based, and warm without being smoky. Really fascinating, and overtakes "Jasmin de Nuit" in the "I Must Own One of The Pretty TDC Bottles, I Must, I Must, Which One Though?" contest.

Guerlain "Aqua Allegoria Gentiana"

2005-08-25T01:29:00.000Z

Fair warning, this is a bottle I unexpectedly unearthed while clearing up the flat. It is one of those bottles I mentioned in my very first post, the tiny airport testers my father brought back for Olive and myself. My friends, this bottle is probably about twelve years old, and has been treated abominably, and yet somehow managed to cross the Atlantic with me and survive three different England moves. So I tried it today more out of loyalty than anything else.

The aldehyde smell is pretty sharp. There's a dried orange smell, like the candied fruits you can get at specialty stores, coated in fine granulated sugar. Spices as well, like a packet you're just about to put into mulled wine. I'd imagine that there are potpourris that smell exactly like this on sale at Christmas. But the dried orange slowly changes into a powdery packet of orange gelatin, and the floral scents that emerge are incongruous with the entire holiday scene. They fight against the spiciness somehow, and that clash finally results in an oddly musty tone -- like a freshly halved grapefruit covered in pollen, gelatin and cinnamon? Sprinkled, of course, in aldehyde.

Verdict: A winner at the start, but the drydown's just a random crush of things out of a dried goods pantry (I'm choosing to blame the aldehyde on the sample age).

In other news, I just got back in touch with my high school friend Lank, who is getting married this fall. My neighbourhood boy from childhood, Gil, has been keeping us informally updated about each other, and finally I rang Lank up. Apparently he is now some sort of hotshot at a NYC perfume house, totally unbeknownst to me, and the first thing out of his mouth?

"Gil told me you're interested in fragrance!"

Ack! Thanks, Gil. Unexpectedly caught in a situation not unlike a tai chi novice discussing martial arts with Bruce Lee, I babbled incoherently for a while, and am still too humiliated about the entire thing to really focus on it for any amount of time. Then again, lovely Lank could end up being a bit of a sample source?

Bond No. 9 "Hamptons"

2005-08-20T14:48:00.000Z

I've never been to the Hamptons, mainly because I view it as Cape Cod for Famewhores. Celebrities who want to have an actual vacation go to Nantucket or the Vineyard; celebrities who want to be available to Page Six photographers go to the Hamptons. That said, I've always imagined the environs are similar (bar the Hamptonsesque stench of collagen and desperation).

So "Hamptons" was familiar, mostly. Bug spray (but the nice sort), an unlit citronella candle on a wooden deck, sunscreen faint on your skin, a breeze coming in off the ocean through the dune grass and maybe a hint of seaweed drying out on the sand. Nice and a little reminscent, even if I think that the bottle is naff.

Here's the thing, though: after a couple of hours, I suddenly noticed a salty sting in the back of my throat. And not sea salt. Table salt. A doctor once told me to gargle with salt for a throat infection, and that weirdly stale salt coating is right there now at the back of my throat. I'm not sure if this has somehow changed my sense of smell, but suddenly I'm getting an undertone of black sand (the churned-up, foul-smelling, probably rotting-shellfish-based sand that gets exposed at very low tide). But... with whiffs of beach flowers on top. So that's salty, sickly-rotten and super-sweet-flowery all on one wrist. It's not got a patch on my personal Perfume Archnemesis, "Angel", but for me this is just not happening.

Verdict: Starts off fun and genuine and clean and breezy, only to end up as thinly-masked corruption that literally leaves a bad taste in your mouth. "Hamptons", indeed.

Editions de Parfums "Une Rose"

2005-08-20T14:08:00.000Z

Whoa. Hello, roses.

I'd just begun to wonder if I really don't like roses on their own. As a booster for another floral scent I could take them, but all one their own they immediately make me think of the tinny, watery perfumes I got as a five year old, prepackeged with a fake lipstick and transluscent eye shadow compact. This bias held as I first applied "Une Rose" -- a single rose in a plastic wrapper, possibly purchased at a filling station. Green and not particularly fragrant and disappointing.

But then imagine that the person who gave you that single rose leads you to a room, opens the door, and it is full of giant, blossoming, boisterous roses. Those roses have been in there for a while, warming in the heat of the tealights dotted about, and the air is a deep swirl of heady, velvety roses. Mature roses -- not innocent, hopeful sweetheart roses. Provocative roses.

I spent the whole day bringing my wrist to my nose and inhaling this scent. It's not the close-to-the-petal scent of "L'Eau d'Hiver" -- it's a thronging mass of fermented blooms somehow working in reverse: instead of wafting by you in the air, it's clinging to your skin. I'm so glad I didn't wear it to work; it would be so out of place. But I would adore wearing this out in the evening, and carrying the scent of the best part of a rose's bloom with me everywhere. For the people around you who get the sillage coming off you, it will be as though YOU are a rose.

Verdict: Damn sexy and damn seductive, and damn worth the investment.

Burberry "Weekend"

2005-08-20T13:25:00.000Z

This is one of the hard-won samples from Selfridge's, which I picked up on the recommendation of my high school friend Pidge. Burberry's got a bit of a chav-tastic reputation lately in general, and the bottle looks downright stupid, but Pidge is a classy lady so on it went.

A melon wash at first, which then blurred into an almost alcoholic woodsy spice on me -- not boozy, just bright. That freshness lingered for a good three hours, then mellowed into a muskier tone that deepened the spices a little. There was a touch of powder at the end, but totally devoid of flowery insipidness, so it didn't bother me at all.

"Weekend" is somewhat utalitarian for me -- it's a good scent, and I certainly wouldn't turn away a free bottle, but it's very much a take-or-leave perfume on my skin. Pidge's body chemistry is about as far from mine as you can get, though, and I'd be interested to see if the flowers come out on her.

Verdict: Inoffensive, clean scent that is as casual as they come, but won't be setting my world on fire anytime soon.

Ormonde Jayne "Ta'if"

2005-08-17T19:45:00.000Z

First, an apology.

My dear fellow passengers on the top deck: I am so, so sorry. I only darted into Selfridge's briefly after dinner. But then the perfume lady zapped me with "Vera Wang" before handing me a sample of the Men's version. And then another lady hit me with Stella McCartney's "Stella". And then I put Serge Lutens "Blond" on voluntarily (mistake) and then scored my second sample by allowing myself to get spritzed with "Burberry Weekend". But the truly appalling final act was mine, oh buspeople. Because I was the idiot who, completely of my own volition, picked up a tester of "Angel" and put it on the back of my Vera Wang'd right wrist.

Why I didn't realise that this is like putting a sleeping fairy and a soaked gremlin in a small room and then walking away, I don't know. Because the VW slumbered on prettily until the Angel crawled right around my wrist, smothered it, and then began an attempt on the life of the man sitting next to me. I tried to muffle the Angel against my jeans, but it only came back stronger. And you buspeople were very nice not to chide me publicly for smelling like a chemical weapon of mass destruction, though I suspect it was because some of you saw the samples in my hand and feared Angelic retribution. So... sorry.

Love, Lizzie

That done with, it's "Ta'if" time. Honestly, this was repellant first on -- horrible and musty and evil. It took a good 15 minutes for it to die down a bit, at which point the mustiness settled into a very heavy, dry spiciness mixed with roses and other flowers. It made me think of clouds and dusk, something muddled and swirling and dense, but at the same time not strong. And then at the end my old nemesis powder made an understated cameo. There was something alluring about "Ta'if", sly and slightly unpredictable, which I found attractive. I'm just unsure that I can ride out the musty opening and the powdery finish enough to enjoy it.

Verdict: Subtle and smoky at the same time, it's nice at the midpoint, but the start and finishing notes are killing me. (Though not as badly as "Angel", frankly -- I may never run this one as a true test, I feel ill.)

Editions de Parfums "Cologne Bigarade"

2005-08-16T15:32:00.000Z

Jean-Claude Ellena finally makes something I don't like. Not a huge surprise, as it's a bitter-fresh citrus that is another in the vein of "unisex... not so fast, missy". But Chandler Burr got my hopes up, dammit:

"The best way to describe Jean-Claude Ellena’s Bigarade is to say, first, that it is a vast smell. And second, that it smells like a human being in the summer in a complex weather system; whoever this person is, we can smell them, they're showered and clean but it’s warm and they have a smell all the same, and the lovely, complex smells of summer are all around and clinging to their skin, and also it seems to have just rained because there's the scent of rainwater on pavement and perhaps a bit of ozone, plus some flower petals and grass that got washed into the puddle they're stepping in. "

So you can see how I would lust after this, right? Right. Wrong!

It hits me like a brick. Most household cleaning products are scented to take the edge off the chemical stench, usually with a lemon scent. And that's what this is to me: the straight-up additive they design to be so terrifically powerful that it will overtake the bleach you've just swabbed across the bathroom floor. A big vat of unadulterated "fresh"ness, with lemon zest swirled in and maybe a couple of car freshners bobbing around for good measure. It's household detergent times a thousand, and it is slowly making me utterly nauseous. There's other stuff in here, some sort of spicy/floral something, but both notes are like needles in a haystack. A noxious, lemony, eye-watering haystack.

Verdict: As usual with the unisex scents, this one hates me. Like bathing in lemon-fresh Clorox.

Editions de Parfums "Le Parfum de Thérèse"

2005-08-15T17:51:00.000Z

The nose on this one is Edmond Roudnitska, who designed the perfume exclusively for his wife in the 50s. It goes on like a juicy honeydew rind sprinkled generously with black pepper, a startling scent. The melon scent fades, though, leaving behind a simple watery pepper odour. That scent lingers for absolutely ages, strong and shallow, before getting a hint of woodsy/floral/spicy/leathery depth. But I do mean hint -- I have to really focus hard on distinguishing any notes at all other than "this smells like something other than my skin". And it's still all lurking water, hidden pepper as well.

I do finally understand what a leather note smells like, and I like it here: an almost indistinguishable whisper, like you've been wearing your date's jacket all evening and even after you've handed it back, there's just that hint of leather softness left on your skin. Too bad your date likes pepper so much.

I can only assume that this is a chemistry thing, because I know people really like this scent and get a lot more out of it than I did. On me, it's just weird and confused.

Verdict: Not my kind of Malle -- and I really hope Thérèse didn't smell like pepper. Achoo.

Pilar & Lucy "the exact friction of stars"

2005-08-14T21:36:00.000Z

Oh, Pilar. Oh, Lucy. Did someone watch "Clueless" a few times too many in college? Because -- a far cry from the suave sophistication of my divine Different Co. -- your bottles are offensive to my eye, what with the twee silk flowers and absolutely stupid fuzzy boa-thing twined about the bottleneck. I can only imagine the poof of feathery crap gets kind of manky halfway through the bottle, no? Sticky and greasy and horrible-smelling? Isn't it bad, Pilar and Lucy, that I am thinking all of this about your product on sight alone?

I wanted to try this line because of the names of the perfumes, which are insane. I realised they were foody scents (and am currently avoiding "to twirl all girly" because atrocious grammar AND threatened ubergirliness is just too much), so I gave this one a go on a non-work day when I'd be able to wash it off if it was really repellant.

When I was a teenager, I had an oil burner, one of those little dishes you put above a tealight and fill with perfumed oil. I believe the only reason my mother allowed me to have the thing was to stop me from burning incense in my room (which, given my forgetfulness, would have been a conflagration in the making). This perfume smells EXACTLY like the vanilla oil the moment I lit the tealight -- weirdly sharp and sugary and thick and vanilla vanilla vanilla. Oil burners are meant to perfume an entire room, though, and this scent is like having your nose right next to the saucer, which gives it an artificial, chemical rasp. As the day's worn on, it's morphed into homemade vanilla custard: creamy and buttery and eggy, but with a touch too much vanilla essence. Or maybe a tub of Betty Crocker vanilla frosting, complete with preservative edge. Altogether, it makes me resent the froufrou name and ditzy bottle even more.

Verdict: The stars are made of egg and vanilla and powered by tealights, and the friction's probably not friction at all, just residual teenage angst.

The Different Company "Jasmin de Nuit"

2005-08-14T20:09:00.000Z

This is Jean-Claude Ellena's company, and they have really, really pretty bottles. Hefty solid glass things that would look wonderful on any vanity -- if I were tempted by lovely casings, these would certainly be at the top of my list. Mmmmm. Pretty. Mmmm...

Sorry.

I put this on to go to Tankard's garden barbecue. I figured it'd be a good pick for an August night out in the backyard -- unfortunately, the weather did not agree and as soon as I left the house I got drenched. I loved this scent going on; it's delicate and solid and warm, a very grounded floral but not earthy. After the downpour and whilst stuck on a crowded Tube, I was quite nervous that the scent might be really billowing, but due to a large man eating a series of pungent mints across from me I wasn't able to judge. Another trek through muggy, misty, rainy weather may have washed the rest of the perfume away -- and if the weather didn't, then Tankard's beautiful eight-month old daughter Emtoo drooled it right off my neck.

So I can't say much for the longevity of this scent, though I liked it enough to give it another test run in the near future. It might actually fare better in cold weather than in hot, and I continue to be rather suspicious of perfumes I can't atomise. But all other issues aside, it is lovely. It's what the air smells like on a garden patio at night after a fantastic dinner, with the remnants of coffee and tea and biscuits on the table. A scent like jasmine doesn't need to be complex if it's done beautifully, and this one is beautiful.

Verdict: The more I think about it, the more I love it. Feminine and gentle but also subtly persistent, it's also very age-appropriate. And pretty bottle to boot!

Antica Farmacista "Vaniglia, Bourbon & Mandarino di Sicilia"

2005-08-12T15:22:00.000Z

This was a freebie with a set of other samples. Vanilla, bourbon and mandarin? Hmm. Foody and boozy and citrusy: throw in some powder, and it sounds like my olfactory nightmare. But also free, and I am nothing if not cheap when given the chance.

This goes on like a moist slice of Grand Marnier cake drizzled thinly with vanilla icing. But that phase vanished within 15 minutes, replaced by a thick, creamy vanilla with a slight mandarin sheen. In other words, I smell like a creamsicle. (Another foody description could be a glass of cream soda with a large dollop of vanilla ice cream bobbing on top.)

Applied from the sample vial, this is pretty strong; I can only imagine that a sprayed application would increase the sillage. My coworkers like it, but in an "mmmm!" way rather than an "oooooh" way. And I do enjoy the scent (though I'd've preferred the Grand Marnier cake to linger instead), but it is very young, or very... disingenuous? Basically, this is so sweet on me that it verges on childish coquettishness, and while that's a nice scent for a picnic or a day at a theme park (you know, where there are actual creamsicles present), it's not something I'd ever put into regular rotation as a grown woman. I can imagine this is sweet on a teenage girl, so I may pass it on to my cousin Blondie and see if it suits her better.

A last note on the creamsicle effect: I think I've been a bit spoilt by the two icy-fresh Malles. I was looking for a creamsicle right out of the freezer; I got a creamsicle that had melted as I ate it, dribbled down my wrist, and left behind a sticky film that I'd better wash off fast before the ants find me. And that melted-creamsicle scent was the one that lingered all day long, so much so that my stomach turns every time I catch a whiff of it (eight hours on).

Verdict: Sweet and thick vanilla with faint orange glaze, it's a creamsicle to the end. If you're someone who could conceivably have just eaten a creamsicle, then this might be for you. If you're not, then save it for the occasional picnic.

Silver Fox

2005-08-11T20:38:00.000Z

So I'm lingering at a long red light, absently sniffing my wrist (as I am prone to do now), when a Volvo pulls up beside me. A trim mustached Englishman, probably pushing 85, grins up at me on my bike.

He compliments me on the fact that I'm wearing a flashing indicator on the back of my pack, and we agree that it's clearly only right given the way the night's begun closing in again at 9 pm. He asks where I work, and I name the Extravagantly Gigantic Group. It turns out that his son-in-law works at EGG too, though is in a different department entirely. I shrug, smiling, and say that I guess I've just not met him yet.

"Do you like fat swallow?"

I'm pretty sure I've misheard that, so I ask him to repeat himself.

"Do you like Fats Waller?" He grins and turns up the car stereo, which I can now hear is playing mellow jazz. It's nice, and he bobs his head a little, in the groove. I laugh and say that I do like the music, mostly because I do.

The light changes. "Goodnight!" I say, and start to pedal away.

He slowly peels off to the left, one arm jauntily hanging over the doorframe, and calls out with the sort of style Bogart would have envied: "Bye, baby!"

I'll bet he was quite the catch.

Editions de Parfums "L'Eau d'Hiver"

2005-08-11T19:00:00.000Z

Jean-Claude Ellena is one of the more well-known noses in perfume. Some perfume addicts trail Ellena from house to house, snapping up anything he creates -- but again, those fragrances are guided by the needs of the house, rather than the will of the nose. With Editions, Ellena's imagination is allowed free rein.

I had intended to space the Malles out a bit, but when choosing a vial this morning I found it very hard to pick anything else -- "En Passant" delighted me all day yesterday, and the thought of lacing myself with something heavy just didn't appeal, especially as they're mostly vanilla or incense fragrances. By name alone, "L'Eau d'Hiver" seemed out of season, but then again, a splash of wintry water would be welcome in the summer heat. So on it went.

On me, it's the first crocus after winter, emerging while there's still a little snow on the ground. That scent alone is one I find incredibly beautiful, and incredibly unusual, but then it progresses in a way that's practically a narrative of the life of a flower. From the snowy crocuses to a cool greenhouse full of annuals, all ready for the first planting of the spring. Then it's as though I'm bringing my nose very close to an iris, right against the petals -- the fragrance is wholly tied up with the greeny plant-ish smell of the petal itself. As time goes on I smell a pollen note emerge, and then the florals just ripen and deepen like a bouquet on your living room table. Absolutely stunning, from start to finish.

It's an intimate scent, both in that it feels like you're getting to know one specific flower personally and in that it lingers very close to the skin. Canadianne liked it, but Tankard just proclaimed it "very weak". Which is fine; to boost the sillage on this fragrance would mean changing that concept of a single stem into a field of them, and the feeling of intimacy would be lost. So go somewhere else to get hit over the head with a bouquet.

Verdict: The life cycle of a flower framed by the progression of springtime. Private and subtle and gorgeous, this is another light scent I would wear in a heartbeat and enjoy all day long.

Editions de Parfums "En Passant"

2005-08-10T17:38:00.000Z

After yesterday's disorienting and traumatic cult experience, I went in search of something soothing. I rummaged through my Box o'Samples, getting steadily more concerned about the descriptions tacked onto each bottle that threatened lurking musks and spicy surprises -- I wanted reliable! I wanted obvious! I wanted sanity, dammit! So it's very lucky for me that I finally came across "En Passant".

I remember stumbling over Frederic Malle's Editions de Parfums story while starting this whole perfume fandango. Usually a house hires a "nose" (the actual perfume alchemist) with a specific steer; sometimes they've even got the name and launch date all set, long before a single trial is created. But Frederic Malle has taken a different route by approaching some of the best noses in the business and basically saying "have fun". These are the scents that the creators themselves find most intruiging, without any fussing by higher-ups. Fascinating, no? And very cool.

With a story like that, I'm a little concerned that I might give some of the Editions higher ratings out of fondness for their freewheeling hippie background. But I'll give it a go anyhow.

"En Passant" went onto my wrist with the most vivid burst of floral/wet/cold scent. Apparently the floral is lilac, which isn't a scent I'm attuned to, but it reminded me most of a corsage a few moments out of the fridge, just at the second you open the protective box. Then there was a very definite watery element: imagine sniffing a slice of watermelon, and then taking away the melon-ness. It's like that -- clear, cold, sweet water. On me, the floral notes then die down and are infused with a sweet grasses scent, like laying in a dew-covered hayfield at dawn. The perfume is remarkably steady in its progression, just tipping the scales ever so slightly in favour of floral, water or grass at any given time. Overall it's just fresh and bright and beautiful.

Olivia Giacobetti’s design is truly lovely, sincere and very approachable. Light and brilliant, with no heavy notes at all, perfect for warmer weather. Where "Sampaquita" is a classy garden party already in progress, "En Passant" is simpler, a promise of something wonderful just out of sight.

Verdict: 1950 Hollywood's version of an Iowan prom night; pure and clear and heady, and totally enchanting.

The People of the Labyrinths "Luctor et Emergo"

2005-08-09T19:37:00.000Z

When numerous publications name you "cult scent of the year", are you really a cult scent anymore? I have no idea. But if the word-of-mouth and critical acclaim managed to raise PotL's profile, at least the incredibly insane price will prevent a lot of people from getting their very own bottle, and thus the scent remains exclusive. (Not to mention the name of the creators, The People of the Labyrinths, brings to mind "The Clan of the Cave Bear", and does anyone really want to smell like Cro-Magnon erotica? Or more frightening still, encourage Cro-Magnon erotica behaviour on a date? Eeek!)

"Luctor et Emergo" has quite the reputation. Apparently it changes not only according to who's wearing it, but it reacts to the atmospheric conditions AND the season during which you wear it. All of this makes it very difficult to pin down a specific review, unless you revisit the sample every few months.

So, in August in London on a sunny day when it's probably in the mid 70s: cherries, first and foremost, then almondy marzipan. Then incense and woody smells, but warm and close; this isn't a fragrance that lends itself to wide-open spaces. I've heard a lot of talk about a Play-Doh undercurrent, and I definitely see what people mean, but it's not strong on me, and besides -- children eat Play-Doh, so clearly it's not totally repulsive. But then... there's this sweet kick that's almost sickening a few hours in. Not a talc smell, just horribly sweet. And then it dies down again and smells like the nicer bits of your spice rack.

It doesn't really help that I conducted this test sitting next to the barista at Starbucks on what was apparently coffee-grinding day, so my sense of smell is largely shot. I'm also a little concerned that this scent might disappear on me very, very quickly, which would put me RIGHT off the thought of buying a bottle. I'm going to wait a bit and try another go-round, this time wearing it into the office and getting a wider response. I'm leery of foody scents (if a man really wants me to smell like a sponge cake, he can bloody well help me in the kitchen while I cook), but if this turns out to be one of those perfumes that makes me think "eh, nice" and makes others react very strongly, then maybe I'll start scrounging the sales.

Verdict: Like eating marzipan and dried cherries in an old wooden Catholic church during Easter week, then spending the rest of the day running around in the sun-baked grasses and woods. And then it turns into goddamn "Flower"! Gah! Wait, no, now it's okay again... Oh, god, I can't take it. I'm confused. This stuff is evil genius. Come back when I've edited this entry about a million more times. I think I need to lay down in a dark room for a while.

Ormonde Jayne "Ormonde Woman"

2005-08-08T21:36:00.000Z

Okay. Upon first application, this is a major hit of herbs, which was not the most pleasant impression. But I'm willing to shrug that off as personal bias, completely related to a summer job working under a tyrannical florist who made me weed dill beds for hours at a time, so much so that the smell of dill now makes me ill. Luckily, this died down (the scent, at least -- the horrible, scarring florist memories remain).

Sandalwood, cedary, spicy, and apparently involving black hemlock, which is the selling point of this perfume in the literature. I have no idea what hemlock smells like, though I'm sure Socrates could give me some pointers, but it made me think of truffles. Have I ever eaten/smelled a truffle? No. But there you go. This one's got a powdery smell to it as well, but softly, and really very subtle -- nothing like the kablooey of talc that others have.

It ended up smelling like a wooden box that stored expensive incense at some point. I thought it was rather nice -- something you might want to wear on a summer night out, but with kohl rimming your eyes and wearing something sultry and sexy. I caught a bit of cinnamon and spice off it, like a marketplace in somewhere like Turkey. There's also something clear and minty in it, but comes off as "fresh" rather than "chewing gum".

I wore this into the office on a weekend, and as my coworker Siborg was in and subjecting me to bloody cricket, I in turn made him critique the perfume. His reaction, in short: "It smells like an auntie".

Mmmmm. I get what he's saying. It is a mature scent that will age you, which is why I'd never wear it every day. The problem is, other women WOULD wear it every day, and those women would be older women wearing Hermes scarves. We tried a second test a few hours after the first reaction, and sadly, the auntieness remained. I think it's also got something to do with the powder scent, which gets stronger as the day goes on.

I like this one better than the Malone "Vintage Gardenia" version, but I'm going to have to reluctantly side with Siborg; I'm 25. Unless you dress yourself up and make sure to eradicate all association with an older woman, you're going to end up reminding your date of his lovely auntie June. And if he still wants to ravage you after that -- well, you've got more pressing problems than perfume selection.

(I did pay for this critique, by the way. Before this weekend, I was deliciously oblivious when it came to cricket. Now I know that there is such a thing as a "golden duck", that there's a position called "silly mid off", and when the entire crowd cheers and holds up signs with the number 6 on them, which momentarily makes it look like a Satanic gathering, it actually just means that someone's scored outside of the boundaries and earned six runs. But I also got to hear such illuminating commentary as "He must be glad to get his hands around some balls. Finally be able to really get a hold on them!")

Verdict: Too close to call; occasionally might work as a summer evening scent when carefully orchastrated with wardrobe and makeup, but will age you in the daytime and make men think of their aunts. Not advantageous.

Jo Malone "Amber & Lavender"

2005-08-05T12:45:00.000Z

This is billed as "unisex". Yeah, not so much.

I smell like a boy. To be precise, a sexy man who's just on his way out the door in the morning to his job in the city, straightening his tie around his crisp white collar, all shaving creamy and aftershavey and minty. In other words, an absolutely maddeningly wonderfully sexy scent. On my boyfriend. Not on my wrist.

Apparently Jo created this for her husband, which certainly makes sense, as it is exactly what would cause you to make your boyfriend (very) late for work. Canadianne thinks it's brilliant, but agrees that it's really more masculine than I can carry off (which hasn't stopped her from grabbing and sniffing my wrist every time I walk past). There's a touch of something arid and liquorice in here, and maybe even fern.

To be honest, I might pick up a couple more testers of this scent; even though I'd never wear it out of the house, it is a really crisp and attractive cologne that would probably be nice and twisty worn on a night in. In the meantime, I'm going to attack some male friends with samples and see how they fare.

Won't make the mistake of wearing it out again, though -- I've been getting some double-takes just walking through the office, and I'm not sure if people think I've just mauled an attractive man in the lifts or if they're all spontaneously questioning their sexuality.

Verdict: Absolute sex in a bottle on the right guy. Yowza.

Ormonde Jayne "Sampaquita"

2005-08-04T22:37:00.000Z

Apparently there's citrus in this one, and for once? I can wear it!

This one is lovely and light and airy, but tethered enough at the base to make me not smell like a bridesmaid at a tacky wedding. Fabulously, each floral scent (and though I can't identify them, the literature notes magnolia, freesia, rose and water lily) comes together in a beautiful, musky way that is entirely entrancing. There's also bergamot perfectly played, emerging rarely like a breath of fresh air -- not a fizzy Fanta in sight. I hadn't read the description of this tester before trying it, and so found myself peering at coworkers trying to find out which one was eating a satsuma only to realise that those brief, elusive wisps of fragrance were actually coming from me.

I hate lychee nuts with an absolute passion, but apparently there are some of those in the mix as well. Maybe that's what's mellowing all of the floral and citrus stuff? I did catch the water lily a couple of times at the start, I think, which was a really pretty addition. There's also the tiniest spiciness, but it's just a hint.

This is noted as a summer scent, and I think I can see why -- it's like walking through an ornate English garden in the late afternoon, when all of the flowers are beginning to cool and the ornamental ponds are fragrant and the trees causing the breeze to eddy all the scents around you, and somewhere just out of sight someone is eating an orange. Just that sort of lazy, hazy, perfect summer day. I would certainly make this edp a top pick, and am delighted to have found a perfume that tames the citrus enough to agree with my skin.

Verdict: Were it a painting, it'd be a Monet, and that's exactly the sort of summer day that will see me wearing it. Delicious.

Ormonde Jayne "Tolu"

2005-08-04T00:01:00.000Z

This goes on strong and a little bit alarming, but swiftly dies down to a nice, pleasant scent. Nothing special on me, though it has lasted absolutely ages. Warm and sweet but not at all sugary, it's a mature floral powder that doesn't get too girly or too grannish. Unfortunately is does get a shade mumsy, which is why I won't be making this a staple in my mid-20s. Maybe in another couple of decades when I'm looking for a clean, mature talc.

Verdict: Long-lasting powder with underlying florals, but not young enough for me.

Jo Malone "Orange Blossom"

2005-08-02T19:37:00.000Z

Unfortunately, this smells of nothing more than Fanta and fizzy sherbet on me. I can imagine that it would smell lovely on others, but to my skin it's flat and dull with a bizarrely dairy sourness to it as well. Like someone poached a satsuma in milk, then dropped it in carbonated water. Bleh! The only good thing was that it swiftly disappeared.

Verdict: I smell like I just lost a fight with a sugar-hyped toddler

Jo Malone "Vintage Gardenia"

2005-08-02T14:35:00.000Z

The Jo Malone offices kindly sent along a slew of samples and test strips, so I was spoilt for choice this morning. After a quick deliberation (during which I sniffed so much I got a bit lightheaded), I settled on what was billed as a floral, "Vintage Gardenia with Cardamom & Myrrh".

Immediately, I was worried that this was too heavy to wear to the office. Spicy and musky and piney and mulchy, it's quite a knockout on first application. And then... it vanished. Spooky.

I'd been warned about the staying power of Jo Malone's line, and was ready to write this one off at the one-hour mark. But then it suddenly came back, more mellow and warm, and now I like it very much.

The sandalwood and spice remind me exactly of a carved wooden fan my father brought me from Japan when I was little. The fan itself was scented sandalwood, and I would take it out and briefly flutter it in my face to catch the heavy scent before quickly trapping it back in the box in an attempt to preserve the fragance. I loved the odor, but even then I knew it was too mature for a child.

Any gardenia in this scent lurks well below the woodsy spice on me. My boss Pun Fu liked it a lot, saying it smelled like the inside of a candle shop, but in a good way. I think it's a bit much for a summer day at the office, but I will certainly try it again when we're well into autumn. Sadly, it does seem to largely cut out at the four-hour mark, surging infrequently after that point.

This might be an excellent cologne on a man. I'm not really into the male/female scent split, but on a man's skin this might come across as more natural than it does on mine. I'm in no rush to go beyond the sample at the moment.

Verdict: Good all-around warm-me-up on a gray November afternoon

Chanel "Coco Mademoiselle"

2005-08-01T15:01:00.000Z

It was an impulse buy after hearing many good reviews on blogs and from friends -- a whole 50ml bottle off the shelf at the pharmacy, and without even testing it first. Madness, I know. Then again, as I was waiting for the clerk to process my payment I did quickly blast some edp on my wrist -- and half an hour later, some random guy chatted me up at my coffee shop. (For those who wonder if I'm giving the perfume too much credit here: I was wearing running shoes, jeans, a misshapen gray shirt and a thermal vest. Sex-aay.) So on a high from the unexpected flirtation, I tripped along home with my lovely new bottle to apply a little more and give it a good run-through.

First thought: This is my aunt's perfume. Second thought: Ugh! PUG!

Interestingly, these things are linked. My aunt always wears perfume, and in a concentration that makes me wonder if any of it touches her skin at all. Only after getting a sniff of "Coco Mademoiselle" straight out of the bottle did I realise that this is certainly her fragrance of choice. On my wrist it changes, of course, and I apparently didn't notice the correlation in the pharmacy test.

The second thought is completely related to the fact that my aunt has two small, meatloaf-shaped hellbeast pugs. Apparently, my mind is so used to catching the unadulterated whoosh of fragrance that it supplied the smell of dog all on its own. Thanks, brain. Gah.

Anyhow, down to the actual scent. I'm wearing it again today, having carefully NOT inhaled it until it was well and truly blended with my skin. I was alarmed to smell something sharpish and stingy for the first time, and then cucumber, and then a sort of rot... Very odd. Luckily this swiftly changed over to what I can only describe as the inside of an old, warped blanket box in a cottage, where someone's just reached in to get a well-used patchwork quilt. A warm, secure scent on me. This is, along with "Romance", one of those scents that makes me think of being in a familiar, comfortable relationship.

It's shallowed out now to a powdery scent, but thankfully lacking the sugary residue that so put me off "Flower". A lingering, floral talc. Very nice, and probably something I'd wear for a day out -- but it does strike me as a tad intimate for the office.

And we do have a Canadianne result: the streak has been broken. On her, "Coco Mademoiselle" smells exactly like the powdered grit in my grammar school's soap dispensers. Ha!

Verdict: A long lunch out with the girls

Kenzo "Flower"

2005-08-01T14:50:00.000Z

Oh, my.

I got this one off of Canadianne, who just happened to have a tiny sample bottle in her purse. She was already wearing the "Romance" she'd gotten off of me, so I went solo on the "Flower" testing. It's a shame, because now I'm very curious as to how it smells on her, because on me? Eeeeh.

It kicked off with a smell that reminded me of nothing more than high-end industrial bathroom cleaner. You know how you walk into the bathroom at the Four Seasons and it's clearly just been cleaned because you smell talc and flowers everywhere? On the scale of the various ways bathrooms could smell, it's one of the better options -- but in the bathroom where you can leave it behind, not on me. The high-end bathroom (complete with soapy, angular elements) then turned into someone's frail grandmother. Then into a baby-changing table. Then those little Italian doughball cookies that are almost sickly-sweet and leave a film on your tongue.

In other words, "Flower" is not a happy scent on my wrist. I love the bottle and I occasionally liked the sweet-baby-powder element, but then it went all twee on me and I couldn't take it anymore. Hopefully Canadianne will wear it in sometime soon and I'll be able to tell you if her skin cuts out some of the more aggressive sugary notes and turns up an actual flower or two.

Verdict: Part cradle, part grave, and for me all wrong

Ralph Lauren "Romance"

2005-08-01T14:24:00.000Z

This is the one that started it all for me. Olive bought it, it smelled nice on her, and my sister and I are enough alike that I essentially though "Eh, that'll be fine on me, then". And it is. But now that I'm branching out, I thought I'd revisit it and really focus on it for a day.

What starts out as windy and brisk mellows into a very nice crisp scent on me. It made me think of Iceland, with wide-open spaces and scrubgrass and a slate-blue sky (no sulfur from the geysers, though). To place it in a more day-to-day setting, it smelled like Oxford shirts and confidence.

This is a scent that is quite contained; it makes me feel organized and very together, both personally and professionally. It's something I would gladly wear to steady a slight case of nerves -- what came to mind was meeting up with an old friend from high school whom I've not seen since, and wanting to come across well. A touch of adult complexity bound together with a coherent, confident wholesomeness. On me, this just isn't a flirty or passionate scent; it is assured and clean and lovely, but too contained to attract interest. Very suitable for officewear, but not an evening scent for me.

Canadianne, on the other hand, smells much sexier in "Romance" than I do. On her the spice is much more promising and the crispness is subdued, which would make it an excellent date-scent.

Verdict: Everyday at the office

The Signature Scent

2005-08-01T13:09:00.000Z

Like many girls, I grew up in a family where the women each had a "signature scent". Every Christmas my mother would open a bottle of Estee Lauder's "Beautiful" with a rapturous smile, then allow each of us girls a tiny spritz.

It might as well have been liquid gold; Mum made it very clear that her perfume was not something for children. We would bob around her like corks as she readied herself for a night out, waiting for the moment when she would uncap the glass bottle and spray it on her neck, her wrists, her collarbone. The stray particles of perfume would inevitably drift down and settle on us where we stood in ponytails and pyjamas; it made us feel very grown-up.

My father fed our addiction with tiny rows of sample bottles from airport stopovers, which we inevitably either lost, broke, or saved for so long that the perfume inside went a bit whiffy. I used CK One for a good while in high school, mostly because it was given to me by my first boyfriend. I don't think I used anything at all in college except for a tiny vial of The Body Shop's "White Musk", and that only because I had it lying around. Like many of the utterly fascinating things that get left behind in childhood, my interest in perfume just evaporated.

Then my sister Olive (the younger but more "together" sibling) decided to find "her" scent. She trawled Sephora, boyfriend in tow, finally emerging triumphantly with Ralph Lauren's "Romance". In a moment of total lunacy, she told me of her find.

And I promptly stole her perfume.

I have since learned that this is something of a cardinal sin amongst sisters. Clothes, shoes, hair product -- all of these things were mere annoyances when compared to filching Olive's perfume. She is kinder than I am, and did not kill me; as luck would have it I was anticipating a move to the UK, and so we created a vey handy rule. I am allowed to wear "Romance" as long as I am inhabiting another continent. When we are on the same continent? The scent is Olive's alone.

"This is all very nice," you might say. "But what does it have to do with Scentsibility?"

Well. After four delightful years in the UK, I am now looking at moving back to the US. In fact, I'm looking at moving back to the same city as Olive. While neither of us is as territorial about "Romance" anymore, I thought it might be nice to find my own scent, or better yet series of scents. And after a brief whirl through the various blogs, reviews and articles on the internet, I realised that I will never, ever be able to be one of those very accurate reviewers who comments on notes and drydowns and compares to the Great Perfumes. I don't have the best nose on a good day. And while I love the word "patchouli", I have no idea what it smells like (...yet).

Scentsibility is just a simple blog of my thoughts and reactions to various samples that I scrounge as I go through London. I'm trying to focus on some of the more European fragrances, partially because I'd like to stand out a bit when I get back to the US. I'm sure I'll mix in some more well-known brands and houses along the way.

As always, the same fragrance smells wildly different on different people, so do NOT rush out and buy a bottle just because I say it's lovely. Body chemistry goes a long, long way -- my colleague Canadianne will be doing a Scentsibility cameo every once in a while, and we're always surprised how some fragrances I find absolutely wretched suddenly transform into something mystical and sexy on her.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy following along. If you'd like more professional insights, there are plenty of really top-notch blogs out there which will be able to tell you all sorts of wonderful technical details. I admire them tremendously.