New Zealand

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"

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!"

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"

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"

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...

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!

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"

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"

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"

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

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"

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"

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"

"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"

"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"

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"

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"

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"

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"

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.