CB I Hate Perfume "Violet Empire"

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

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"

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

"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"

(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

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"

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

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"

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"

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

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

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"

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"

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"

"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"

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?

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...

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

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.