Jo Malone "Pomegranate Noir"

(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.

DKNY "Be Delicious"

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.

Jo Malone "Nectarine Blossom and Honey"

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!