jasperdezoet

If the average perfume marketed to women is supposed to say “I don’t chase, I attract,” then Black Orchid says “not only will I chase YOU down in the subway if you look at me weird, I WILL make it a terrifying experience for you.” Like icons such as Paloma Picasso and Portrait of a Lady, I jokingly refer to Black Orchid as a “girlboss territory marker”. Except I’m never joking.

Black Orchid is polarizing for a reason. If you wear it out, everyone around you will have very strong opinions about how you smell. With the black truffle, black orchid, black plum, dark chocolate, ylang-ylang, and patchouli, expect this perfume to be rich, strong, and magnetic like incense in an ornate Russian Orthodox Church or a chocolate lava cake in a gourmet restaurant. It’s also undeniably witchy and, perhaps because of the patchouli, a little gross. It’s how I picture the smell of a hallucinogenic brew a movie protagonist would have to drink to get visions of the afterlife.

In conclusion, Black Orchid is 50% sexy, 50% disgusting. Amen.

There comes a time in every fragrance-loving goth’s life where they aspire to smell like a vampire. Alas, even the greatest of minds are not immune to good marketing, and I must consign that my decision to spend seven (7) entire American dollars on a sample (not including shipping and tax) would be scathingly described by the kids of today as “taking the L.”

When a perfume enthusiast is fated with a sample that is especially heinous, they are met with a grace decision: they must choose to give the sample away or throw it out.

It must be noted that either out of immense bravery or egregious myopia, I had tested my sample of Transilvania on my bare flesh. After a rather fruitless 30 minutes of scrubbing the cherry cough syrup ripe wombat zoo enclosure juice off my hand, I deliberated that I could not allow any of my comrades to succumb to the same fate that I had.

Into the trash it went. Bye Felicia, and take Karen with you.

Sit down everyone, I’m going to tell you about my high school days.

When I was taking 10th grade biology class, we had a unit where we were expected to get into groups. Each group was then allotted one (1) dead fetal pig that we would collectively dissect. I’m not sure if this fucked-up team-building exercise is exclusive to American public schools or if fragheads worldwide can relate and shudder, but I digress…

Anywho, the pigs fetuses came sealed in plastic and marinated in formaldehyde. It’s hard to put the smell of formaldehyde into words, other than it’s what I would call an “emetic wonder” of scents. It’s like if full-strength rubbing alcohol were mixed with every ripe body fluid possible and then left out in the hot sun in a jar for a few months.

What does all this have to do with Vanilla Sex? Dear reader, it has EVERYTHING to do with Vanilla Sex.

Vanilla Sex is essentially what would happen if you siphoned out all that dead fetal pig juice and then dumped some vanilla extract into it.

I do not know what kind of sex Mr. Ford is having, but clearly he must be stopped at all costs.

If Vanilla Sex weren’t so gosh darn costly, I would have at least recommended that every parent with young children keep a bottle on hand in case of an emergency. If little Timmy has swallowed a tide pod and Poison Control Center says he needs to cough it back up, this could save his life.

I can see how Bloody Wood comes off as vampiric: the sour wine and hints of smoke do a great job evoking a cold, damp, mouldering crypt full of hedonism and debauchery. But in my opinion, the smell is also very human.

One of my favorite things to do is to explore antique co-ops and thrift stores. In my mind, this perfume smells like stepping into a thrift store in the basement of a historical building. There’s water damage, and the woman who runs it chain smokes. The shop is also filled with bold, flashy vintage clothing from the 80s, and the fabric absorbs the smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke. Party clothes. People who have danced and drank and smoked to their heart’s content. People who wore their hair big and teased up. People who lived, got older, and passed on. People who grew tired of their party clothes and loved ones who would have sorted through the party clothes and relinquished them on the deceased’s behalf.

I suspect it is the cherry, oak, and wine notes together that give Bloody Wood a stale, musty quality. I would argue that the mustiness is central to Bloody Wood’s identity.

While the concept is fun, I would not recommend that anyone go out of their way to buy a full bottle of this. It’s too expensive for the too short lasting power.

Smells exactly like walking into a small business that sells high-end or hand made Christmas decorations once the weather starts to turn. Very warm and comforting as an American New Englander.

This perfume is a powerhouse. Baking spices, cedar, and bourbon by nature have big personalities that demand an audience.

Best for cold weather and cold weather only.

My only criticism about Whisky is that it’s a great scent with even better marketing. If this had been marketed with wholesome “home for christmas” imagery, I wouldn’t have given it the time of day. But leaning into a romanticized 70s rock aesthetic, complete with a beautiful woman in a shag cut, was a brilliant move.