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I have always adored bergamot tea
In which I BPAL, because I'm curious.
(Cut for Hecate, because that's what I tried first.)
You must understand that normally I'm allergic to perfume: my eyes prickle, my throat closes up, and it is bad. I've had to walk out of rooms because people in them are wearing particularly insistent perfumes. A friend of mine in middle school once playfully shpritzed me in the face with her favorite scent, unconvinced that my allergies were anything more than a pseudo-scientific excuse for a dislike, and had to watch me wash my eyes out and blow my nose for hours afterward. I am therefore automatically biased toward the geniuses behind the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, because I put one of their perfumes on my wrist, sniffed experimentally at it, and half an hour later I still don't appear to have any trouble breathing. This is cool.
Whether I would really wear these perfumes is another matter. For the aforementioned reasons, I don't even use scented soap; I'm not used to smelling like anything other than me and my shampoo, and I'm not convinced that my nose (not to mention my bronchial tubes) wouldn't rebel if I were suddenly to plunge into a world of freewheeling aromatic experimentation. But we'll see.
Description*
Magnificent three-faced Goddess of Magic, the Dark Moon and the Crossroads. She is the Mother of Witches, and the midnight baying of hounds is her paean. Her compassion is evidenced in her role as Psychopomp for Persephone, and her wrath manifests as Medea's revenge. Deep, buttery almond layered over myrrh and dark musk.
*I stole my analysis template from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks. Plagiarism is the highest form . . .
Vial
I need a better scent-vocabulary. The oil registers as sharp and flowery, and that's about as specific as I'll be able to manage until I have some basis for comparison: I can't tell the myrrh from the musk. Still, I'm not sure I'd recognize this scent as crossroads and underworld. Over-enthusiastic cathedral censers, maybe, and I believe that's rather the polar opposite of the intent here.
Wet
Okay, whoa, hold it. Is this that skin-chemistry effect I have read about? It's gone all sweet. As in, honey-sugar and bakeries. This must be the almond. And the butter. Damn. My wrist is made out of marzipan.
Drydown
Er . . . the sweet is gone. Or the sweet has mostly vanished, such that I need to inhale to find it underneath the sharp and flowery, which has likewise become dryer and more spicy; pressed flowers rather than picked ones. I have randomly decided this is the myrrh. Could someone who actually knows about perfumes give me a hand here?
Later
Okay, the sweet came back, although much more softly. It's less identifiable as almond, and no longer cloying, but the predominant flavor is still sweet and cloudy rather than spice and somber. If the combination is meant to suggest a rich darkness, that's not what happens on me. This is a murky scent, at best. It sort of climbed up into my nose and clings there. I don't dislike it, but I think I'll hold out for something more vivid.
Hm. Forty-five minutes. For a seduction, I think that was a record.
(Cut for Hecate, because that's what I tried first.)
You must understand that normally I'm allergic to perfume: my eyes prickle, my throat closes up, and it is bad. I've had to walk out of rooms because people in them are wearing particularly insistent perfumes. A friend of mine in middle school once playfully shpritzed me in the face with her favorite scent, unconvinced that my allergies were anything more than a pseudo-scientific excuse for a dislike, and had to watch me wash my eyes out and blow my nose for hours afterward. I am therefore automatically biased toward the geniuses behind the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, because I put one of their perfumes on my wrist, sniffed experimentally at it, and half an hour later I still don't appear to have any trouble breathing. This is cool.
Whether I would really wear these perfumes is another matter. For the aforementioned reasons, I don't even use scented soap; I'm not used to smelling like anything other than me and my shampoo, and I'm not convinced that my nose (not to mention my bronchial tubes) wouldn't rebel if I were suddenly to plunge into a world of freewheeling aromatic experimentation. But we'll see.
Description*
Magnificent three-faced Goddess of Magic, the Dark Moon and the Crossroads. She is the Mother of Witches, and the midnight baying of hounds is her paean. Her compassion is evidenced in her role as Psychopomp for Persephone, and her wrath manifests as Medea's revenge. Deep, buttery almond layered over myrrh and dark musk.
*I stole my analysis template from
rushthatspeaks. Plagiarism is the highest form . . .Vial
I need a better scent-vocabulary. The oil registers as sharp and flowery, and that's about as specific as I'll be able to manage until I have some basis for comparison: I can't tell the myrrh from the musk. Still, I'm not sure I'd recognize this scent as crossroads and underworld. Over-enthusiastic cathedral censers, maybe, and I believe that's rather the polar opposite of the intent here.
Wet
Okay, whoa, hold it. Is this that skin-chemistry effect I have read about? It's gone all sweet. As in, honey-sugar and bakeries. This must be the almond. And the butter. Damn. My wrist is made out of marzipan.
Drydown
Er . . . the sweet is gone. Or the sweet has mostly vanished, such that I need to inhale to find it underneath the sharp and flowery, which has likewise become dryer and more spicy; pressed flowers rather than picked ones. I have randomly decided this is the myrrh. Could someone who actually knows about perfumes give me a hand here?
Later
Okay, the sweet came back, although much more softly. It's less identifiable as almond, and no longer cloying, but the predominant flavor is still sweet and cloudy rather than spice and somber. If the combination is meant to suggest a rich darkness, that's not what happens on me. This is a murky scent, at best. It sort of climbed up into my nose and clings there. I don't dislike it, but I think I'll hold out for something more vivid.
Hm. Forty-five minutes. For a seduction, I think that was a record.
May I borrow the hat for a minute?
First that different oils have different volatility, and therefore what something (especially something you make yourself) smells like at first may smell very different later, especially if you're using fmously volatile oils like lavendar or peppermint. Some people for whom I've mixed oils have found this out at their peril.
Lavendar oil is a nice thing to just have since it is naturally antiseptic, viral, bacterial, fungal, microbial in general and gentle enough for people to use neat on their skin (if you have very sensitive skin, which I very much do not [a plus for experementing in oil, esp when you pour clove oil in your lap - DO NOT DO THIS]) - lavendar has the side effect of attracting men which may or may not be desired at any given time but should be noted (having taken an unofficial poll boys really do like the smell of it, so if ever I need to finish the brass and cast iron man-trap in the basement, a playstation, hot pockets, and some lavendar oil will serve as bait)... right...
Second, it's important to be very aware of how you smell, how your chosen health & beauty aids smell (which sounds pretty easy in your case) and find something that complements. For me this is, both sadly and expensively, sandalwood oil. This has also been recently thrown into slight confusion by the increasing gender dimorphism that's taking place in deoderants where they reformulated and marketed the baby powder scented Degree (which I had been using since high school) entirely for women and left me with things like "Extreme Blast" to choose from (sadly genetics does not permit me to use non-aluminum versions, even when I was a vegan living next to the only organic food co-op in CT). This takes trial and error and a good sense of smell. I don't much care for my body's scent (nor for that matter the scent of most everyone I've ever met), so finding a way to make myself bearable to myself was a big priority.
Orange is probably the safest fruit oil to work with, scent wise, however, it is also the meanest to your skin. Add orange to almond and a little sweetness, and you will smell like a creamsicle. I have made this mixture for others who have had good things to say about it. I've never really had the courage to use it myself. Orange is pretty good for cutting heavy stuff like myrrh
Dragon's blood is a resin that comes from a palm in (I think) western Africa and is used to make a certain type of ink. People who make witchy charms and stuff use it like a street racer uses Nitrous Oxide. That is to say as much as one can possibly get away with before burning out the whole works.
Yay, all the memories return...
If you can imagine (he says if) the scents as colors, then you'll do much better with mixing them. I am a rotten painter with most media, but I was a passing watercolorist, so I have to sort of build scents very slowly from very dilute up to strong, otherwise they're crap, all muddy and horrible. As such I almost never do it anymore.
no subject
(having taken an unofficial poll boys really do like the smell of it, so if ever I need to finish the brass and cast iron man-trap in the basement, a playstation, hot pockets, and some lavendar oil will serve as bait)
*snerk*
People who make witchy charms and stuff use it like a street racer uses Nitrous Oxide.
That's also a marvelous line.