Perfume: First Sniff: Tom Ford Jardin Noir Ombre de Hyacinth

Eh.

When I want hyacinth, I’ll wear Serge Lutens Bas de Soie instead.

When I want expensive soap, I’ll wear Balmain Ivoire instead.

When I want New Barbie Doll/Liddle Kiddle, I’ll wear Jo Malone French Lime Blossom instead.

Tom Ford Jardin Noir Ombre de Hyacinth is Perfectly Nice. At about a third of the price, I would call it surprisingly good. As it is,  I just call it surprisingly expensive.

That is all.

Oh, except for the cat picture:

(Fragrance source: purchased decant.)

(I really must start reviewing an occasional scent that’s less than three years old.)

Image 1: Wikimedia Commons.

Image 2: By carterse. Wikimedia Comons.

Image 3: By Dinagoldstein. Wikimedia Commons

Cat picture: By Atlantiscats. Wikimedia Commons.

Perfume: Reviving the wish list

I just made up a Ziploc of samples of decants for a friend. In the process I remembered a bunch of old favorite perfume. More dangerously, I was reminded of perfumes that I planned to buy but never quite did.

For example, The Pour un Ete. I love tea fragrances, and I always felt that this one occupied a special niche in the tea fragrance crowd. It's bright and feminine and cold and warm and just a little bit stern. It's not weird, but it's still not dull or eager to please. As I re-read reviews, I see that everyone reads it as jasmine tea, and that might be part of the difference--all of my other tea favorites are black tea.

Then there's Din Dan. I was wandering through my "fresh citrus" fragrances--Fresh Lemon Sugar and Mandragore and ... well, see that's the problem. I only have two, and neither of them provides quite enough of a lemon blast. I remember that blast from Din Dan, though my Review Roundup post doesn't quite reflect that memory.

Then, while I'm looking at LostMarch, there's Lann-Ael. It always used to make me sad, but I never stop wishing I had another sample.

Then there's Serge Lutens Chene. I didn't buy Chene when I fell in love with it, did I? And, see how far I've drifted from my perfume collection, when I don't know if I own a bottle? My Basenotes wardrobe says I don't, and it's probably right, it's just that I remember a day and a Barney's counter and a credit card and tremendous temptation. Looks like I resisted that temptation. Good for me?

Regularly, like clockwork, I consider buying Dzing! and Luctor et Emergo. I think that's because both perfumes are seen as being weird, and I love the weird. The problem is that they're not really that weird. Elephant musk and stale popcorn? Play-Doh and cherries? Meh. Far too normal.

Sometime in the past year or so, I did acquire my highest-priority weirds: Aftelier Cepes & Tuberose, Comme des Garcons Garage, and a partial bottle of Tubereuse Criminelle. Mushrooms and buttered tuberose. Gasoline and dirty tires. Gasoline, mothballs, and decaying tuberose. Yum.

Fumerie Turque was similarly weird; as I've said before, it smells like tigers prowling around a campfire where tobacco-smoking campers once were. (Until the campers met the tigers.) I want it. I've wanted it since (lemme see) Decemer of 2009. Why don't I own it? I see it joining the above three, all of them strutting through the collection sneering at the well-behaved ladies like Estee Lauder Jasmine White Moss, and sending Rose Ikebana and Lemon Sugar fleeing in terror.

Of course, No. 19 would unsheath her claws and restore order. She can out-elegant the most ladylike, while simultaneously being beyond weird and approaching surreal. I do wonder, sometimes, why I need any perfume other than No. 19. Maybe she scares me, too.

It's Last Saturday. Din Dan?

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

Perfume: January Clip Show

So, several days ago I wore L'Artisan Tea for Two, as I recall because I was late getting ready to go to lunch and it was up near the front and so I sprayed it on, even though I thought I wasn't in the mood for something so sweet and foody. And it was perfect - not sweet and foody, but smoky and comforting, like wearing something with the warmth and squashiness of wool but the skin-softness of... well... not-wool, because I always find wool scratchy.

A day or two later I had plenty of time to choose my fragrance, and I chose Chanel Cuir de Russie, because I was absolutely positive that that was what I had wanted when I put on the Tea for Two. And, no, Cuir de Russie was entirely wrong. On that day it felt sour and thin and not at all comforting; cold slick leather upholstery in a cold car when all you want to do is go inside.

The next day I put on Tea for Two and it was, again, perfect.

And today I put on Aftelier Cepes & Tuberose, because I was wearing that new pink silk blouse for the first time and I wanted something feminine. I though that it might not work for winter, but, no, I found that it had the same deep squashy comforting feel that Tea for Two had, but with an added feminine vibe--a sort of "optional feminine"; I think that a man could wear this too, in spite of the tuberose.

It appears that I don't know my January tastes as well as I might have thought. So I went through the blog to see what I was loving this time last year and the year before. Trends that I didn't expect include:

• I seem to have a January craving for smoke. Last year I was longing for Heeley Cardinal and snapping irritably at Serge Noire for failing to satisfy. This year Tea for Two is doing the job; I must try to remember for next year.
• In January 2010 I predicted that Cuir de Russie would be one of "the scents at the core of my wardrobe, the ones that make me smell like me". In January 2011 I didn't wear it once. So this year's lack of enthusiasm may not be a fluke.
• In 2010 I was less than thrilled with Un Lys; in 2011 I was delighted with Parfums de Nicolai Number One. I've always considered these two perfumes to be functionally redundant, though I long to own them both all the same. Maybe January is an excuse for buying Number One?
• I called Parfumerie Generale Cuir d'Iris "lovely" and "very satisfying", and I mention the sweetness in the drydown. I'm tempted to send off for some, though I said similar things about Iris Taizo. I suspect that these two are functionally redundant.
• I surprised myself by being delighted with Balmain Ivoire, a scent that I never would have thought of as belonging to winter. I should wear it tomorrow.
• I praised Aftelier Cepes & Tuberose, in a post that was more focused on crispy poultry skin.
• I enthused about biehl parfumkunstwerke hb01, a perfume with orange blossom and all sorts of fruit that I shouldn't like in January. what's with that?
• I enjoyed Cadjmere, and Daim Blond, and Aomassai, and Fendi Theorema, and Feminite du Bois. At least not everything is a surprise.
• And I wore Orange Star twice in a row.

So what does it mean? I'm not sure, but I'll be pulling out some of the bottles that the above says that I loved, to see if there's a January trend. And I may need a decant of that parfumkunstwerke thing.

Image: By Petritap. Wikimedia Commons.

Perfume: Hermes, The Ziploc, and Decluttering Weakness

Yesterday, I read a Basenotes thread "What house(s) do you collect?", so I went through my Basenotes wardrobe out of curiosity. I wasn't the least bit surprised to find Parfumerie Generale and Serge Lutens amply represented, but I definitely didn't expect to learn that Hermes is one of the top three in my collection. That's not to say that I disapprove of Hermes or anything like that, but I didn't think that liked them all that much.

So I had to go through the list of Hermes fragrances that my wardrobe claims I own. Hiris, sure, I love that. Oh, yeah, I bought a Discovery Set from Hermes plus a couple of stray Discovery Set bottles from The Perfumed Court; that should show all those other houses that tiny bottles can inspire purchases from other-than-favorite houses. Eau d'Orange Verte, didn't I give that away? And Terre d'Hermes, too? So I went to look at the actual collection, and, yes, no Eau d'Orange Verte, no Terre d'Hermes.

That was when I made my mistake: I went to look at The Ziploc.

The Ziploc is a gallon ziploc crammed full of fragrances that I plan to give, sell, or swap away. (Probably give, locally; Postal Regulation Phobia continues to rule.) It's the product of much decluttering heartstrain. Actually looking at The Ziploc, rather than stuffing a rejected fragrance in with eyes averted and running away again, is a mistake.

This is because The Ziploc makes me go "Ooh!" and then fragrances come out and then I spray on things that I had firmly given up, like Creed Original Vetiver, and then all that decluttering is in danger of going out the window. I smell strongly of Original Vetiver right now. If I've got my terminology right, my superego filled The Ziploc; my id ("Pretty! Smells good! MINE!") wants to retrieve everything from it.

It's all the more dangerous because we moved and combined our households and therefore all of my Perfume Breadboxes are in one place, and it was the crowding of the Breadboxes that made me declutter in the first place. You'd think, of course, that the Breadboxes would be just as full even though they're reunited, but that's not true - two homes meant bottles in one place and decants drawn from the bottles in another, and I boxed up the decants and that means that Breadbox Real Estate is freed up.

Bwahaha.

So I'm eyeing the Ziploc and questioning my decisions. For example, why is Mandragore in there? I love Mandragore! Could I possibly have decided to get rid of it on the flimsy grounds that I haven't worn it in three years? Unthinkable! It's going on the "maybe" shelf.

Then there's Coty Wild Musk... OK, I can give up Coty Wild Musk. I bought it for the Drugstore Series, and, no, I'm not going to answer to the part of my brain that's asking, "But did you review that one? Shouldn't you hang on to it until you do?" No. Just no. Goodbye, Wild Musk.

Demeter Dirt?! I love Demeter Dirt! How could...

Oh. Yes, I love some of Christopher Brosius's current dirt renditions more. That must be the reason. Back in the Ziploc with you.

Fresh Lemon Sugar. I loved that. I lift the cap and I still love it. I suspect that it went into the Ziploc based on snobbery ("Too sweet. Teenager fragrance.") and citrus overload. But I'm pretty sure I still love it. It's going to a Breadbox. If and when I buy Din Dan, Lemon Sugar may go away.

Sand & Sable. Drugstore series again. I enjoyed it, I enjoyed writing the review, I enjoyed the comments conversation that ensued. I never ever wear it, because there are heavy white flowers that I like better. Pass on the enjoyment to someone else. Do you hear me, Id? Back in the Ziploc. Back!

ElizabethW Sweet Tea. It was once my very, very favorite. I never wear it any more. I can't look in Sweet Tea's sad eyes as I put her back in the Ziploc; she's going in "maybe" until I'm stronger.

Kiehl's Pear 1977. (Why 1977?) A nice pear and nothing but pear. I enjoy it but it's so simple that I will never wear it. I reassure myself that perfumers will keep on making pear notes, and put it back in the Ziploc.

Eau d'Orange Verte. Its appeal is based purely on "But Hermes makes good fragrances!" and "But I paid money for it!" Not enough. Ziploc. It's a relief that I apparently already got rid of Terre d'Hermes; it has much more snob appeal for me, and I might be unable to resist it today.

Fresh Hesperides. I loved it once, but never bonded with it like I did with Sweet Tea, and it smells aggressively synthetic to me now. It's going back without a qualm.

L'Occitane Bergamot Tea. That makes the Mandragore eviction all the more puzzling; that was my other bergamot fragrance. But if I'm keeping Mandragore I don't need Bergamot Tea; off with it.

Y'know, I have a new theory about Mandragore: I suspect that I was going to buy a real bottle to replace my existing mini, and then the bottle got outprioritized. I'm telling myself that anyway, because it makes keeping the mini a sensible deicison that saves a bottle purchase, rather than a decluttering weakness. Yeah, that's my story.

A "spare" Vetiver Tonka. At just 15ml of fragrance per Discovery Set bottle, I'm reclaiming that. But it reminds me of why I got rid of Original Vetiver -- for me, there are no circumstances under which Vetiver Tonka doesn't beat out Original Vetiver for the SOTD decision. So the giant green Creed bottle goes back in the Ziploc.

And that strengthens my decision to keep Love in Black in the Ziploc - I can maintain my prejudice against Creed that way. Sure, yes, Creed has some nice scents, and I really like the Creed reps I've met. But all the people running around insisting that Creed uses All Natural Materials Woo Hoo! annoy me, and so does the advertising copy that feeds that impression. And I feel no obligation to be rational and unprejudiced about luxury products.

Jo Malone Sweet Lime and Cedar. Smells lovely at first, and then on my skin the lime grows and grows and grows until I want to saw my arm off. Best to get rid of it, to resist the temptation to try it just one more time.

Rochas Tocade. I adore the circus-colors bottle. The scent itself is a "comfort" rose, but I don't like roses enough to want them in my comfort scent, so it has no function for me. Back in the Ziploc. Back. I said back. Look, Id, you can get a picture of the pretty bottle, OK? That's better; thank you.

The bottom of The Ziploc is full of decants and samples; I refuse to look at those. If I don't even see them until I dump The Ziploc out and tell friends, "Take something!" then I'll feel bad saying, "Oh, I changed my mind about that one; give it back." Of course, my friend are polite enough to undermine that by repeatedly asking, "Are you sure you want to give it away?" but I'll tell myself that they'd be furious if I said no. Decluttering calls for mental guerilla warfare.

Image: By H. Zell. Wikimedia Commons.
(What does it have to do with the post? Nothing whatsoever. It was just pretty.)

Perfume: All Season Fragrances

I've rambled on about seasonal fragrance preferences. Wood and leather and musk and smoke and coffee and sticky-bun gourmands belong to winter. Lemons and peaches and aquatics thrive in summer. Flowers most often belong to summer, though a craving for the white floral monsters can inexpicably grow on one in winter.

And, of course, cold weather diminishes scent, while warm weather enhances it. So the heavy, smoky, animalic or syrup-coated scents that are perfect in winter could clear a room in the summer. Well, and then there's the vole theory.

That all makes sense. At least to me. But today I'm curious about the scents that break that rule, the all-year scents. What makes an all-year scent? For me, the notes that make it happen, and the fragrances that it happens for, are:

Oranges: Fruit normally belongs to spring and summer. But in the midwest in the seventies and eighties (and no doubt for many decades before that), in frugal households, which is when and where and how I grew up, oranges were the main winter fruit. Frozen reconstituted orange juice (in small doses - "that stuff is expensive!") was the anti-cold magic potion. Happier associations come with tangerines eaten at holidays, and the big fat naval orange in the Christmas stocking.

All of this means that any scent with a significant orange note has strong winter associations for me. Pacifica Tuscan Blood Orange, Dawn Spencer Hurwitz The Color Orange, Hermes Eau d'Orange Verte and Terre d'Hermes, those Merveilles things - all of these are fine for summer or winter.

Grapefruit picks up a little of this association, too - if the fruit in front of me in winter in childhood wasn't an orange, it was likely to be a grapefruit. I'm in the market for a winter grapefruit fragrance - Fresh Hesperides, my old favorite, is no longer working for me.

White flower bombs: Again, flowers are associated with spring and summer. But killer white flowers also work in winter for me. I think that this is largely about the indolic notes, on the theory that whatever makes us crave leather and musk in the winter also makes us crave the animalic aspect of the major white flowers.

But I also have a "corsage theory". Indolic white flowers tend to be tropicals that refuse to grow in the midwest in any season. They're only encountered as florist's specimens on special occasions, and those special occasions tend to cluster in the winter. So these warm-weather tropical flowers seem particularly suited for winter, rather like the floral equivalent of white velvet.

As a result, Parfumerie Generale Tubereuse Couture, Serge Lutens Tubereuse Criminelle, Robert Piguet Fracas, Tom Ford Velvet Gardenia - they're all wintery. But, of course, they'll also all do fine in summer, at least in a large enough room.

Tea: I suppose this is simple - tea is a preserved food, just as available in winter as in summer. It is a little more summer than winter for me - my iced tea to hot tea consumption is probably several hundred oversugared glasses to one overhoneyed cup.

But still, the dried leaf, the stern edge that's almost, but not quite, entirely unlike smoke, makes it work for winter, in fragrances like Parfumerie Generale L'Eau Rare Matale and Harmatan Noir and Comme des Garcons Tea. Only L'Artisan Parfumeur Tea for Two, of all of the tea fragrances that I've tried, is season specific - for me, it's a winter fragrance only. I think it's the hot-tea and smoke vibe.

Bergamot: This travels with tea, in my mind. It's a little brighter and sunnier, so that would tend to push it to summer. But it's a flavoring in Earl Grey, a tea that I would only drink hot, so that pushes it to winter. The result is that bergamot and bergamot-heavy fragrances, like Annick Goutal Mandragore and L'Occitane Bergamot Tea, sit tensely between summer and winter, never definitely falling to either side.

Mint: I don't recall encountering fresh mint as a child. I primarily tasted it in candy. So to me, mint has no season. Jo Malone White Jasmine & Mint and Ava Luxe Moroccan Mint Tea are all-season choices.

So, what makes a scent an all-year candidate for you?

Image: By Tylicki. Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Daim Blond, and Assumed Names

I seem to have a fondness for scents that aren't what they think they are.

I adore Le Labo Patchouli 24, for example. The common wisdom is that it doesn't smell like patchouli, it smells like birch tar. And to add another level of complication, to me it smells like tea.

Art of Shaving Sandalwood is said to smell mostly of eucalyptus. I can't judge, because Art of Shaving Sandalwood is what defined sandalwood for me, but the word comes from authorities that I trust.

I love Tom Ford Velvet Gardenia for the beeswax, and have limited use for it when it does smell like gardenia.

Comme des Garcons Leaves: Tea? Dry cleaning fluid. Yum.

And while Daim Blond does have a little suede, today it's dominated by the apricot pit and fruity heliotrope, and that's just fine.

I like contrariness.

Review Roundup: Is here.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Serge Lutens A La Nuit, and the waxing/waning model

Remember those voles?

My fragrance cravings have been changing for several days. Bottles that were hidden behind the green- or tea-focused summer scents have been coming out, and some of those summer scents have lost their appeal. This makes me think about the day length thing again. Days are getting shorter now, and I wonder if that's why my taste preferences are very different from my preferences in late June, when it was just as hot as it is now.

In mid-July, A La Nuit was perfect - I wanted more more more. Today, it was still pleasant, but just barely pleasant - it was on the edge between "Mmmm, jasmine immersion..." and "Help! I'm drowning!"

And in June, I couldn't imagine wearing Cadjmere as a comfort scent, and I wore Tubereuse Couture instead. But yesterday, Cadjmere was perfect, and I couldn't imagine wearing Tubereuse Couture at all, much less perceiving it as a comfort scent. I loved Cuir de Lancome in February, and loved it again on Sunday. I suspect that the thought of wearing it in June or early July would have been horrifying.

And was Osmanthe Yunnan unexciting recently because I missed the window of time when it was hot and days were growing longer? Would it have been magnificent in early June?

So the theory is that my scent preferences are determined by hot or cold weather in combination with the current day length trend - and that the day length may be the greater factor.  So "hot" or "cold" give way to more complicated designations like "hot waning", for hot weather when the day length is shortening, like now, or "cold waxing", for cold weather when the days are getting longer, like February or March.

Did I mention that I'm a geek? Can you tell that I'm thinking of making charts?

I also wonder about the definition of day length.  Is it strictly the number of hours of daylight, as if I were an onion or a flower bulb, or is it about the earliest sunrise or the latest sunset? If I got blackout curtains in the bedroom so that sunrise became irrelevant for another couple of months, would my fragrance taste suddenly shift?

Questions, questions.

Review Roundup for A La Nuit: Is here.

Image: By Bruce McAdam. Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Parfumerie Generale Iris Oriental. And Statistics.

Today I wore Parfumerie Generale Iris Oriental. Lovely, incense-dusty, starts out dry and dries down toward sweet. I'm considering a bottle. But how often would I wear it?

That makes me consider, how often do I wear anything? I've been logging almost every perfume-consuming day since I started this blog in October. I realized today that, hey! my tag counts give me an approximate idea of how much I've worn each fragrance. ("Approximate", because sometimes I tag a post based on a mention of a fragrance, rather than a wearing.)

So what have I been wearing? The top ten are:

• Serge Lutens Un Lys
• Chanel Cristalle
• Bois 1920 Sushi Imperiale
• Parfumerie Generale L'Eau Rare Matale
• Parfumerie Generale Tubereuse Couture
• Issey Miyake A Scent
• Parfumerie Generale Cadjmere
• Chanel Cuir de Russie
• Chanel No. 19
• Fendi Theorema

The most wearings for any scent, in the ten months since I started the blog, is eleven. That suggests that I shouldn't own more than a decant of anything. Let's just ignore that fact and move on quickly.

Parfumerie Generale is heavily represented - that's no surprise. I wouldn't have expected Un Lys to lead the pack, but it is an all-season fragrance, while Cristalle and Sushi Imperiale are seasonal. No. 19, my favorite, was several positions down from the top, but that's logical - I'm very protective of its scent associations, and generally save it for special occasions.

Issey Miyake A Scent is an unexpected entry in the top ten - I would have said that I mildly like this scent and only bought it to support the "green" trend. But it appears that I'm quite fond of it.

Cuir de Russie is the only fragrance in the top ten that I don't own in a full bottle. I shy away from the huge Thermos-sized bottle, but maybe I should break down and buy myself a one-ounce decant, and find a pretty old-fashioned atomizer to put it in. Or maybe I should just buy the Thermos and run around town forcing half-ounces on everyone who's ever expressed an interest in perfume. (Postal Regulation Phobia bites me again; without that, I could do a bottle split and keep the bottle.)

What aren't I wearing? What "investment" scents could have been skipped? Well, when I want incense, Paestum Rose can't compete with Serge Noire.  Cuir Venenum loses to Daim Blond or, when I want something less sweet, Cuir de Russie. Original Vetiver loses the battle with Vetiver Tonka. Cedre Sandaraque fails to beat the simpler Art of Shaving Sandalwood.

I remember loving Cuir Venenum and Cedre Sandaraque, so I'm going to resolve to wear them more often, until they find their niche. Paestum Rose and Original Vetiver, on the other hand, may be bottles that I'm ready to let go. If I could do so without mailing them, that is.

I still want that bottle of Iris Oriental. But the numbers have me persuaded that that would be Wrong. We'll see how long this sensible phase lasts.

Review Roundup for Iris Oriental: Is here.

Image: Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Chanel Cristalle EDT, and the mythical reduced wardrobe.

This is one of the perfumes that makes me ask myself, once again, why do I have so many perfumes? Do I really need anything more than Cristalle, No. 19, and... well, let's think about this. "This" being a theoretical pared-down perfume wardrobe.

Cristalle and No. 19 would be the galbanum representatives. And they're incomparably beautiful, so I need them both.

I'd need some florals. A La Nuit for jasmine, Un Lys for sheer gorgeousness, and... I'd have to pick a tuberose.  Picking just one tuberose would be difficult, but I'm leaning toward Tubereuse Criminelle.

I'd need an incense. Serge Noire, of course. Turns out that picking just one incense is easy.

Then I'd need a woody fragrance. I have yet to find the perfect woody fragrance. It would fill the function of Art of Shaving Sandalwood, but it wouldn't be Art of Shaving Sandalwood - while I love it, it's not the ultimate, lifetime-loyalty wood. In fact, the perfect wood for me might be cedar.

Then I'd need Sushi Imperiale. Because I'm me.

Then I'd need something warm and animalic for winter. We're not in winter, so I'm not sure what that would be, or if I even own it yet. Vintage Bandit might be the one... no. Of course. I need Cuir de Russie. "Warm and animalic" isn't an altogether accurate description, but it's what I need all the same.

I'm missing at least three major categories - sticky gourmand, tea, and citrus. Much to my surprise, especially given how much I love teas, I feel that I can live without them all. Well, except for the mythical perfect orange - if I find that, it'll be in the lineup.

So that's, er, nine fragrances, assuming that I find the perfect wood and don't find the perfect orange. More than any normal sane person has, but a drastic reduction from my current collection. Could I be content with that?

It could be interesting to try, for a month or so. Theoretically. Y'know, someday.

Meanwhile, tomorrow I think I'll try Fire and Cream. Just because.

Image: By S Sepp. Wikimedia Commons.

SOTD: Serge Lutens Daim Blond, and lightweight musings on leather

OK, so I decided that I was going to wear a perfume today. Absolutely. Positively. Going to.

I wanted Cuir de Russie. I craved Cuir de Russie. I couldn't find my Cuir de Russie sample. So my first choice was out. But I still wanted leather.

Cuir de Lancome didn't seem quite right when I sniffed the cap, though I can't quite say why. Too spicy for spring?

Cuir d'Iris seemed, in memory, too aggressive and dry.

Cuir Venenum, also in memory, had too much curing chemical and too little animal.

Bandit would have been great. My craving translated effortlessly into a craving for Bandit. Which, as it turns out, I'm out of. The sprayer's right there. Empty.

First lesson of the day: I like an awful lot of leather perfumes.

So I ended up with Daim Blond. Soft pale suede and fruit.

Second lesson of the day: A Cuir de Russie craving cannot be satisfied with Daim Blond. They are not colleagues. When my nose wants Cuir de Russie, Daim Blond - usually a fragrance that makes me close my eyes and do that blissful drinking it in thing - is no better than Perfectly Nice. It was all fruit today, hardly any leather.

Third lesson of the day: It's time to buy a large decant of Cuir de Russie.

And now I'm headed for more rose-scented bubbles. Hey, does anybody make leather-scented bubble bath?

Review Roundup: Is here.

Image: By Geierunited. Wikimedia Commons.