Perfume: Words and winter and stuff

So, I was going to sniff a perfume and write about it. I rummaged through the Largeish Decants drawer, sprayed on Vetiver Tonka, and waited for words to come.

Um.

"Medicinal."

That's all I've got.

This happens. The lack of words. Comes and goes. It may be part of the season change; it's hard to tell.

Now, Vetiver Tonka has never been one of my favorite perfumes. I don't adore it and I don't hate it. That could be part of the issue.

And I suspect that it's a late-winter perfume for me, rather than early winter. Right now, I'm craving oily, animalic, smokey perfumes. I seem to recall that as winter drags on into spring, I crave scents to sweep out and sanitize all that fur and sweat and smoke. So I'll return to Vetiver Tonka in, oh, March.

Meanwhile, what are the sweaty things that I'm seeking?

Caron Alpona has that smell of freshly-bathed cat, with oranges. Serge Lutens Fumerie Turque is lions prowling around the campfire. Robert Piguet Bandit, the modern version, is musky, if far too polite, rather like a tiger got an MBA and turned up in a double-breasted suit. Papillon Salome, now, that's a a fine batch of skankiness. Daim Blonde is  a very clean nest of white fur. I suspect that I'd like to bury myself in Aftelier Cepes & Tuberose, but the bottle is too tiny for truly enthusiastic drizzling. Oh, and the thought of Tom Ford Velvet Gardenia, and MCMC Kept are appealing.

Aside from the honey in Kept, I'm not, it seems craving the food fragrances. No syrup for me yet. Not even any tea; the thought of Tea for Two does nothing for me. When I check blog posts from previous years, this appears to be off kilter; a few years ago, I was enthusing about Ayala Moriel Guilt.

Hmm.

Image: By Tomitheos. Wikimedia Commons.