Silverfire

YSL's L'Homme begins as the classy, gentlemanly scent, but after announcing its presence, it quits the scene. Its projection on me is usually short, but when it does last, it's barely there. It's like someone showed up with a bang, sat down, and melted into the furniture.

It begins with a vibrant pear smell, and then hits an aromatic sandalwood sort of smell. This is much like Michael by Michael Kors with a little bit of the baby oil undertow, but not enough to be obnoxious. It is gentlemanly without being old-fashioned (in a bad way); it is modern and urban. I can smell it around me.

Next it hits a fresh/synthetic smell, not unpleasant that, then gets into warm, clean cotton smell and the projection amps up to 6". By the next hour or so the projection dies down and it becomes this vaguely oily-just-oily-enough musky/soapy smell that is quite nice. I 'm beginning to miss the projection at this point.

When it does last, it's a skin scent after hour four, which is disappointing and makes L'Homme just not usable for me. L'Homme Le Parfum, here I come.

With a name like Burning Rain of Death, you knew I would end up reviewing this scent. What I discovered was not some awe-inspiring scent heralding the end of the age, but instead something initially promising, but eventually confusing.

My first experience began the best, with mulled wine; clove showed up next to amp up the spices, followed by the spices growing arid. This is the first thirty minutes and so far, as they say, I'm loving it. Then the dragon's blood announces itself, like the guy who has to attend every party but nobody ever invites. Before an hour is up, it's dusty dragon's blood, and it's gone by hour four.

Somewhat warily, I tried again. This time, I sacrificed the back of my wrists. There it blossomed into faint dragon's blood and stayed there, barely perceptible, for hours.

I resigned myself to one last shot. This time, the patchouli showed up, brightened a bit by stryax. Dragon's blood comes around (of course!), but the combination is generic and so uninteresting it hurts to type about it.

So, what do I make of this scent? It has some notes in it that I love and they seem to work, but only sometimes. Even when they do, they don't last, and the projection is never fantastic. At best it's 1' in the first thirty minutes to an hour. A chasm opened up between the name and the experience; between the bottle and the scent, falls the Shadow. Life is so very long...

Less poetically, this one is an epic miss. Perhaps on a different skin type it would work, but for me, it's like a fizzling sparkler, not a burning rain of death.

If you've read my other reviews of fragrances from this line, then you know what you're in for. If you haven't, let me just say that there are fewer things more vitriolic than a dark romantic who has been disappointed. Buckle up.

The Drowned Choir begins with the Strange South's go-to of dragon's blood. Stryax shows up and the combination is slowly overtaken (drowned?) by soap until the scent becomes a soapy linen. This is no ordinary soap aroma, however. This is super-soap. It's strong, boring, triple-milled French hotel soap, and the experience reminds me nothing more of motels that have seen better days or perhaps hotel laundromats.

The notes promise swamp, natural sweetness (honeysuckle), and something odd, eerie, and haunting. What you get is full-on nope. If the imagery isn't meant to be haunting, perhaps it's meant to be literal, and someone thought that heaven was supposed to smell like hotel laundromats stinking of generic soap. I don't know which is worse.

The scent eventually peters out as a forgettable soapy linen, but to me it smells more like lies, false promises, and deceptive advertising delivered with a smile.

Carrion Son goes on as amber-cognac, turns a touch spicy, reverts to the initial scent, and then stays that way. It's not a bad scent, but it's not a terribly creative or interesting scent either. I expected much more from the name and from the imagery of wolves. The notes I found utterly at odds with what I experienced, and I know what fuel smells like (hello Fahrenheit). At least the longevity was done right -- at least eight hours. Verdict: not bad, but not great either. You can find something to close it almost anywhere and it's definitely not wolflike as its webpage suggests.

In the first five minutes, Glamour radiates that a natural flower smell combined with old-skool bathroom, and powdery cosmetics. In short, a fecal cosmetics aroma. Bleah.

With that said, it's quite realistic. I can totally smell myself in the bathroom of my grandparents, sampling my grandmother's cosmetics. However, I wouldn't want to do that, as in ever.

As it goes on, the fecal undertow diminishes, leaving a clean, Noxzema-like, powdery, faintly fecal smell. It nails the cosmetics vibe, but it's a retro cosmetics vibe. Could this be the scent of aging female movie stars? Yes! Someone apparently smelled DS & Durga's Spirit of the Glen and said, "Hold my (craft) beer."

If you ever wanted to smell like an aging female movie star, this is your ticket. Look no further.