CB I Hate Perfume- Soap Tabac Accord

**The Ayala Moriel Yasmin Giveaway is still open. Just leave a comment on this post**

Visitors to the CB I Hate Perfume gallery in Williamsburg, Brooklyn have the opportunity to smell and test the building blocks of Christopher Brosius' perfumes. Those are the accords, single scents that capture a particular smell, place or experience. The accords are grouped and categorized- food, flowers, wood, chemical, smoke, etc.  They give you a glimpse into the perfumer's world and the language he uses for creating his more abstract ideas.

I love playing with the accords. Sometimes it's an adventure, other times it's like indulging in Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, from boiled rice to a plastic doll head, it's all there. You can smell scenes from your childhood, romantic getaways or pure fantasies, and you can make your own combinations using them. Surprisingly, there is no cat accord. As far as I know, Brosius is a dog person, so he might not be familiar with the particular joy of burying your nose in your cats neck or kissing the forehead of a milky kitten. I'll pass on a tuna breath accord, though.

As simple as some of the accords seem, they still meld and react with your skin. Some of them actually have quite a complex development, often more than you'd find in commercial bottled dreck. My favorite is the Skin Series, that includes everything from Wet Sheep and Baby Butt, Clean to Fig Leaf, Crushed and Macadamia Coffee.

Soap, Tabac is part of the Skin Series. On my skin it starts very sharp, clean and soapy. The soap is ambery with more than a hint of powder (I suspect the husband finds it too powdery for his liking). It's a nostalgic smell, from days toiletries were less elaborate, bathrooms had simple white porcelain sinks and laundry smelled simple and clean. But there's a lot more here than soap and childhood. The Tabac part isn't smoky or dirty in any way. Instead, it's warm and natural. The longer it's on skin, the more familiar and personal it becomes. It's not a "shower fresh, I'm not wearing any scent" perfume. Soap, Tabac has too many naughty ideas to be that. It's more about the potential of what exactly you're about to do with that clean skin of yours. The possibilities are endless.

While some of the more popular accords can be purchased online (cbihateperfume.com), most of them, like Soap, Tabac ($25, 15 ml perfume absolute) are bottled to order and only available at the gallery, 93 Wythe Avenue, Brooklyn. That's where I bought my bottle.

Photo by Alfred Eisenstaed, 1940. Life.com

CB I Hate Perfume- Soap Tabac Accord

**The Ayala Moriel Yasmin Giveaway is still open. Just leave a comment on this post**

Visitors to the CB I Hate Perfume gallery in Williamsburg, Brooklyn have the opportunity to smell and test the building blocks of Christopher Brosius' perfumes. Those are the accords, single scents that capture a particular smell, place or experience. The accords are grouped and categorized- food, flowers, wood, chemical, smoke, etc.  They give you a glimpse into the perfumer's world and the language he uses for creating his more abstract ideas.

I love playing with the accords. Sometimes it's an adventure, other times it's like indulging in Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, from boiled rice to a plastic doll head, it's all there. You can smell scenes from your childhood, romantic getaways or pure fantasies, and you can make your own combinations using them. Surprisingly, there is no cat accord. As far as I know, Brosius is a dog person, so he might not be familiar with the particular joy of burying your nose in your cats neck or kissing the forehead of a milky kitten. I'll pass on a tuna breath accord, though.

As simple as some of the accords seem, they still meld and react with your skin. Some of them actually have quite a complex development, often more than you'd find in commercial bottled dreck. My favorite is the Skin Series, that includes everything from Wet Sheep and Baby Butt, Clean to Fig Leaf, Crushed and Macadamia Coffee.

Soap, Tabac is part of the Skin Series. On my skin it starts very sharp, clean and soapy. The soap is ambery with more than a hint of powder (I suspect the husband finds it too powdery for his liking). It's a nostalgic smell, from days toiletries were less elaborate, bathrooms had simple white porcelain sinks and laundry smelled simple and clean. But there's a lot more here than soap and childhood. The Tabac part isn't smoky or dirty in any way. Instead, it's warm and natural. The longer it's on skin, the more familiar and personal it becomes. It's not a "shower fresh, I'm not wearing any scent" perfume. Soap, Tabac has too many naughty ideas to be that. It's more about the potential of what exactly you're about to do with that clean skin of yours. The possibilities are endless.

While some of the more popular accords can be purchased online (cbihateperfume.com), most of them, like Soap, Tabac ($25, 15 ml perfume absolute) are bottled to order and only available at the gallery, 93 Wythe Avenue, Brooklyn. That's where I bought my bottle.

Photo by Alfred Eisenstaed, 1940. Life.com

CB I Hate Perfume- Soap Tabac Accord

**The Ayala Moriel Yasmin Giveaway is still open. Just leave a comment on this post**

Visitors to the CB I Hate Perfume gallery in Williamsburg, Brooklyn have the opportunity to smell and test the building blocks of Christopher Brosius' perfumes. Those are the accords, single scents that capture a particular smell, place or experience. The accords are grouped and categorized- food, flowers, wood, chemical, smoke, etc.  They give you a glimpse into the perfumer's world and the language he uses for creating his more abstract ideas.

I love playing with the accords. Sometimes it's an adventure, other times it's like indulging in Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, from boiled rice to a plastic doll head, it's all there. You can smell scenes from your childhood, romantic getaways or pure fantasies, and you can make your own combinations using them. Surprisingly, there is no cat accord. As far as I know, Brosius is a dog person, so he might not be familiar with the particular joy of burying your nose in your cats neck or kissing the forehead of a milky kitten. I'll pass on a tuna breath accord, though.

As simple as some of the accords seem, they still meld and react with your skin. Some of them actually have quite a complex development, often more than you'd find in commercial bottled dreck. My favorite is the Skin Series, that includes everything from Wet Sheep and Baby Butt, Clean to Fig Leaf, Crushed and Macadamia Coffee.

Soap, Tabac is part of the Skin Series. On my skin it starts very sharp, clean and soapy. The soap is ambery with more than a hint of powder (I suspect the husband finds it too powdery for his liking). It's a nostalgic smell, from days toiletries were less elaborate, bathrooms had simple white porcelain sinks and laundry smelled simple and clean. But there's a lot more here than soap and childhood. The Tabac part isn't smoky or dirty in any way. Instead, it's warm and natural. The longer it's on skin, the more familiar and personal it becomes. It's not a "shower fresh, I'm not wearing any scent" perfume. Soap, Tabac has too many naughty ideas to be that. It's more about the potential of what exactly you're about to do with that clean skin of yours. The possibilities are endless.

While some of the more popular accords can be purchased online (cbihateperfume.com), most of them, like Soap, Tabac ($25, 15 ml perfume absolute) are bottled to order and only available at the gallery, 93 Wythe Avenue, Brooklyn. That's where I bought my bottle.

Photo by Alfred Eisenstaed, 1940. Life.com

Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail

I have the same issue with the juice inside Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail bottle as I have with the packaging. I can't decide if it's cute or tacky. In both cases it's quite overdone, but I actually like it, except for the moment the perfume takes an over-sweet turn and for a brief minute or two makes me queasy as though I was  quickly descending down one of those too big and too modern theme park roller coasters. Then something else surfaces, a light woody incense note and the world stops spinning.

I'm not a huge fan of Lolita Lempicka fragrances and never found a reason to own any.The coral-colored box made me a bit suspicious that  Fleur de Corail was going to be a fruity mess, but the bottle inside is actually light blue (though that's hardly a recommendation. I like aquatic even less than I like generic fruity florals) and somewhat clashes with the box. But this is a Maurice Roucel creation, and that's a good enough reason to give Fleur de Corail a chance.

So, yes, it's sweet. An ambery vanilla with some spice: cinnamon and anise. There's a huge tropical thing going on there, frangipani flowers and orchids (vanilla orchid, according to OsMoz). While the opening and the initial development feel a bit dense and take up all the air around them (that's what causes my occasional stomach reaction. I'm usually pretty immune to syrupy sweetness), things lighten up later and I find myself really enjoying the drydown, including its sweet musky end tail. Maybe it's somewhat of a guilty pleasure, but I do find the composition quite unique.

Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail ($69, 1.7 oz) is available from Sephora.

Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail

I have the same issue with the juice inside Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail bottle as I have with the packaging. I can't decide if it's cute or tacky. In both cases it's quite overdone, but I actually like it, except for the moment the perfume takes an over-sweet turn and for a brief minute or two makes me queasy as though I was  quickly descending down one of those too big and too modern theme park roller coasters. Then something else surfaces, a light woody incense note and the world stops spinning.

I'm not a huge fan of Lolita Lempicka fragrances and never found a reason to own any.The coral-colored box made me a bit suspicious that  Fleur de Corail was going to be a fruity mess, but the bottle inside is actually light blue (though that's hardly a recommendation. I like aquatic even less than I like generic fruity florals) and somewhat clashes with the box. But this is a Maurice Roucel creation, and that's a good enough reason to give Fleur de Corail a chance.

So, yes, it's sweet. An ambery vanilla with some spice: cinnamon and anise. There's a huge tropical thing going on there, frangipani flowers and orchids (vanilla orchid, according to OsMoz). While the opening and the initial development feel a bit dense and take up all the air around them (that's what causes my occasional stomach reaction. I'm usually pretty immune to syrupy sweetness), things lighten up later and I find myself really enjoying the drydown, including its sweet musky end tail. Maybe it's somewhat of a guilty pleasure, but I do find the composition quite unique.

Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail ($69, 1.7 oz) is available from Sephora.

Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail

I have the same issue with the juice inside Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail bottle as I have with the packaging. I can't decide if it's cute or tacky. In both cases it's quite overdone, but I actually like it, except for the moment the perfume takes an over-sweet turn and for a brief minute or two makes me queasy as though I was  quickly descending down one of those too big and too modern theme park roller coasters. Then something else surfaces, a light woody incense note and the world stops spinning.

I'm not a huge fan of Lolita Lempicka fragrances and never found a reason to own any.The coral-colored box made me a bit suspicious that  Fleur de Corail was going to be a fruity mess, but the bottle inside is actually light blue (though that's hardly a recommendation. I like aquatic even less than I like generic fruity florals) and somewhat clashes with the box. But this is a Maurice Roucel creation, and that's a good enough reason to give Fleur de Corail a chance.

So, yes, it's sweet. An ambery vanilla with some spice: cinnamon and anise. There's a huge tropical thing going on there, frangipani flowers and orchids (vanilla orchid, according to OsMoz). While the opening and the initial development feel a bit dense and take up all the air around them (that's what causes my occasional stomach reaction. I'm usually pretty immune to syrupy sweetness), things lighten up later and I find myself really enjoying the drydown, including its sweet musky end tail. Maybe it's somewhat of a guilty pleasure, but I do find the composition quite unique.

Lolita Lempicka Fleur de Corail ($69, 1.7 oz) is available from Sephora.

CB I Hate Perfume- M4 A Room With A View

Something weird happens almost every time I visit the CB I Hate Perfume gallery in Brooklyn. I go there intending to buy a specific fragrance and end up getting another. I was going to get I Am A Dandelion and but home with Greenbriar 1968 (probably a mistake, and I still want that odd creature, Dandelion. It's much better than what you might think). Then last fall I was all about AmBrosius, but fell for A Room With A View after wearing it for the 15 or twenty minutes it took for its true face to reveal.

The opening of Room was instantly recognizable. I came to think of it as Brosiusade because it's so prominent in many of Christopher Brosius' creations (though not in some of my most favorite- Revelation and CB Musk). But Patty of Perfume Posse identified it as the perfumer's oft-used hay accord and she's right, of course.

The magic happens once the wet hay dries down a little and makes room for the other notes: fennel, dusty earth and some of the most romantic violets I know. Brosius was inspired by a scene from the E. M. Forster novel- the first time George kisses Lucy in a violet field on the hills above Florence; a kiss that begins Lucy's path towards freedom and true love. I remember the Merchant-Ivory movie starring a very young Helena Bonham Carter (pre-Tim Burton and Bellatrix LeStrange and oh so beautiful) and how it made me sigh wistfully. The perfume has a similar sensibility and delicacy- it's not the equivalent of a costume drama, but a soft projection of emotion. Speaking of his love for this scene, Brosius says:

...the point of this passage, and the reason I love it so, is what it represents: the moment when one simple beautiful gesture can transform an entire life.

A Room With A View smells like a simple beautiful gesture. It's understated in comparison to many other violet scents, has none of the too popular purple candied sweetness or creamy wood notes. It's light but not airy or watery- instead it takes into account all the accompanying smells one might encounter in a real violet field. It makes you wish you were there.

A Room With A View (M4) by CB I Hate Perfume ($90, 15 ml perfume absolute. Also in a 2m travel size for $17) can be found online (cbihateperfume.com). I bought mine at the gallery on 93 Wythe Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Art: Field of violet flowers by Italian painter Paul De Maria

CB I Hate Perfume- M4 A Room With A View

Something weird happens almost every time I visit the CB I Hate Perfume gallery in Brooklyn. I go there intending to buy a specific fragrance and end up getting another. I was going to get I Am A Dandelion and but home with Greenbriar 1968 (probably a mistake, and I still want that odd creature, Dandelion. It's much better than what you might think). Then last fall I was all about AmBrosius, but fell for A Room With A View after wearing it for the 15 or twenty minutes it took for its true face to reveal.

The opening of Room was instantly recognizable. I came to think of it as Brosiusade because it's so prominent in many of Christopher Brosius' creations (though not in some of my most favorite- Revelation and CB Musk). But Patty of Perfume Posse identified it as the perfumer's oft-used hay accord and she's right, of course.

The magic happens once the wet hay dries down a little and makes room for the other notes: fennel, dusty earth and some of the most romantic violets I know. Brosius was inspired by a scene from the E. M. Forster novel- the first time George kisses Lucy in a violet field on the hills above Florence; a kiss that begins Lucy's path towards freedom and true love. I remember the Merchant-Ivory movie starring a very young Helena Bonham Carter (pre-Tim Burton and Bellatrix LeStrange and oh so beautiful) and how it made me sigh wistfully. The perfume has a similar sensibility and delicacy- it's not the equivalent of a costume drama, but a soft projection of emotion. Speaking of his love for this scene, Brosius says:

...the point of this passage, and the reason I love it so, is what it represents: the moment when one simple beautiful gesture can transform an entire life.

A Room With A View smells like a simple beautiful gesture. It's understated in comparison to many other violet scents, has none of the too popular purple candied sweetness or creamy wood notes. It's light but not airy or watery- instead it takes into account all the accompanying smells one might encounter in a real violet field. It makes you wish you were there.

A Room With A View (M4) by CB I Hate Perfume ($90, 15 ml perfume absolute. Also in a 2m travel size for $17) can be found online (cbihateperfume.com). I bought mine at the gallery on 93 Wythe Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Art: Field of violet flowers by Italian painter Paul De Maria

CB I Hate Perfume- M4 A Room With A View

Something weird happens almost every time I visit the CB I Hate Perfume gallery in Brooklyn. I go there intending to buy a specific fragrance and end up getting another. I was going to get I Am A Dandelion and but home with Greenbriar 1968 (probably a mistake, and I still want that odd creature, Dandelion. It's much better than what you might think). Then last fall I was all about AmBrosius, but fell for A Room With A View after wearing it for the 15 or twenty minutes it took for its true face to reveal.

The opening of Room was instantly recognizable. I came to think of it as Brosiusade because it's so prominent in many of Christopher Brosius' creations (though not in some of my most favorite- Revelation and CB Musk). But Patty of Perfume Posse identified it as the perfumer's oft-used hay accord and she's right, of course.

The magic happens once the wet hay dries down a little and makes room for the other notes: fennel, dusty earth and some of the most romantic violets I know. Brosius was inspired by a scene from the E. M. Forster novel- the first time George kisses Lucy in a violet field on the hills above Florence; a kiss that begins Lucy's path towards freedom and true love. I remember the Merchant-Ivory movie starring a very young Helena Bonham Carter (pre-Tim Burton and Bellatrix LeStrange and oh so beautiful) and how it made me sigh wistfully. The perfume has a similar sensibility and delicacy- it's not the equivalent of a costume drama, but a soft projection of emotion. Speaking of his love for this scene, Brosius says:

...the point of this passage, and the reason I love it so, is what it represents: the moment when one simple beautiful gesture can transform an entire life.

A Room With A View smells like a simple beautiful gesture. It's understated in comparison to many other violet scents, has none of the too popular purple candied sweetness or creamy wood notes. It's light but not airy or watery- instead it takes into account all the accompanying smells one might encounter in a real violet field. It makes you wish you were there.

A Room With A View (M4) by CB I Hate Perfume ($90, 15 ml perfume absolute. Also in a 2m travel size for $17) can be found online (cbihateperfume.com). I bought mine at the gallery on 93 Wythe Avenue, Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Art: Field of violet flowers by Italian painter Paul De Maria

CB I Hate Perfume- M3 November

Yes, I know it's March.
I had every intention to review November at the appropriate time, but that whole moving house thing came in the middle, and frankly, I'm surprised I actually managed to maintain a regular blogging schedule throughout the process. But in any case, spring is almost here and I'm talking about a perfume that smells of rotting leaves and pie.

There's something familiar and comforting in  the top notes of this Christopher Brosius' creation. It's the pumpkin spice, I presume, though on my skin it's more of a caramelized, crisply baked dough and not anything in the squash family. I smile the second I open the bottle and take the first whiff- it's such a warm, inviting and happy scent.

Things go a bit darker after the first 20 minutes or so. It's not CB's Black March or Burning Leaves, but there's some wet wood and newly raked patches of earth, a little decay here and there but also anticipation for joy to come, while maintaining the initial sweetness that was introduced at the opening.

I have some skin chemistry issues with the first part of the drydow. It happens to me with several of CB's scents- probably something he uses in the base- that turns a bit too chemical on me. It disappears at some point, in November much faster than in Greenbriar 1968 from his Secret History series, for example. It only takes a couple of hours for the scent to settle back into a much more pleasant smoothness. I get something almost incense-like, which I'm guessing is the hint of pine forest and more of that warm kitchen aroma. It's less a perfume than a mood, a frame of mind on the brink of a new season. It's cold enough here to wear it, so I'm taking November to bed with me tonight. The cats seem to really like it.

November (M3) from CB I Hate Perfume's Metamorphosis Series is available in perfume absolute and water perfume. I bought the absolute ($80, 15 ml) at the Williamsburg, Brooklyn gallery. It's also available online (cbihateperfume.com) and there's a 2ml trial size ($15).

Art: Brandi Milne- Naughty Boy

CB I Hate Perfume- M3 November

Yes, I know it's March.
I had every intention to review November at the appropriate time, but that whole moving house thing came in the middle, and frankly, I'm surprised I actually managed to maintain a regular blogging schedule throughout the process. But in any case, spring is almost here and I'm talking about a perfume that smells of rotting leaves and pie.

There's something familiar and comforting in  the top notes of this Christopher Brosius' creation. It's the pumpkin spice, I presume, though on my skin it's more of a caramelized, crisply baked dough and not anything in the squash family. I smile the second I open the bottle and take the first whiff- it's such a warm, inviting and happy scent.

Things go a bit darker after the first 20 minutes or so. It's not CB's Black March or Burning Leaves, but there's some wet wood and newly raked patches of earth, a little decay here and there but also anticipation for joy to come, while maintaining the initial sweetness that was introduced at the opening.

I have some skin chemistry issues with the first part of the drydow. It happens to me with several of CB's scents- probably something he uses in the base- that turns a bit too chemical on me. It disappears at some point, in November much faster than in Greenbriar 1968 from his Secret History series, for example. It only takes a couple of hours for the scent to settle back into a much more pleasant smoothness. I get something almost incense-like, which I'm guessing is the hint of pine forest and more of that warm kitchen aroma. It's less a perfume than a mood, a frame of mind on the brink of a new season. It's cold enough here to wear it, so I'm taking November to bed with me tonight. The cats seem to really like it.

November (M3) from CB I Hate Perfume's Metamorphosis Series is available in perfume absolute and water perfume. I bought the absolute ($80, 15 ml) at the Williamsburg, Brooklyn gallery. It's also available online (cbihateperfume.com) and there's a 2ml trial size ($15).

Art: Brandi Milne- Naughty Boy

CB I Hate Perfume- M3 November

Yes, I know it's March.
I had every intention to review November at the appropriate time, but that whole moving house thing came in the middle, and frankly, I'm surprised I actually managed to maintain a regular blogging schedule throughout the process. But in any case, spring is almost here and I'm talking about a perfume that smells of rotting leaves and pie.

There's something familiar and comforting in  the top notes of this Christopher Brosius' creation. It's the pumpkin spice, I presume, though on my skin it's more of a caramelized, crisply baked dough and not anything in the squash family. I smile the second I open the bottle and take the first whiff- it's such a warm, inviting and happy scent.

Things go a bit darker after the first 20 minutes or so. It's not CB's Black March or Burning Leaves, but there's some wet wood and newly raked patches of earth, a little decay here and there but also anticipation for joy to come, while maintaining the initial sweetness that was introduced at the opening.

I have some skin chemistry issues with the first part of the drydow. It happens to me with several of CB's scents- probably something he uses in the base- that turns a bit too chemical on me. It disappears at some point, in November much faster than in Greenbriar 1968 from his Secret History series, for example. It only takes a couple of hours for the scent to settle back into a much more pleasant smoothness. I get something almost incense-like, which I'm guessing is the hint of pine forest and more of that warm kitchen aroma. It's less a perfume than a mood, a frame of mind on the brink of a new season. It's cold enough here to wear it, so I'm taking November to bed with me tonight. The cats seem to really like it.

November (M3) from CB I Hate Perfume's Metamorphosis Series is available in perfume absolute and water perfume. I bought the absolute ($80, 15 ml) at the Williamsburg, Brooklyn gallery. It's also available online (cbihateperfume.com) and there's a 2ml trial size ($15).

Art: Brandi Milne- Naughty Boy

Temptation- CB I Hate Perfume Revelation (and Musk)

You'll never convince me that the fruit of temptation was an apple. I like apples well enough, but for me, sensuality, danger and passion are symbolized in fig. I might be on to something, because Michelangelo seems to agree with me, as the serpent in his Temptation and Fall has taken up residence in a fig tree, from which he's conducting his evil business, resulting in Adam and Eve's fall from grace and condemning us, their offspring, to a life full with many unpleasant a scent, far from the heavenly fig tree.

Brooklyn might not be the first place in which you'd think to seek that magical tree. However, in his Williamsburg studio (93 Wythe Avenue), Christopher Brosius, the artist behind CB I hate Perfume, has managed to recreate it, from the roots up. Revelation is very different from other fig fragrances you may know. It's honeyed instead of fruity; there's not even a faint hint of coconut, a note which is often paired with fig, to bring out the lush green of this note. The sweetness is hidden under a dry, woody, twiggy surface.

On my skin, the development of the perfume absolute is not exactly linear as much as cyclic. The scent goes round and round, exposing its more leafy facets only to cover them up again with wood sap. The result is rich, sensual and makes me want to plant my nose firmly in my wrist so I wouldn't miss a thing.

My own version of the original sin is layering Revelation with Brosius most infamous creation, CB Musk. This is the scariest juice I've come across. Animalic doesn't begin to describe it. I have yet to dare leave the house wearing it alone, but safely tucked under Revelation, it's a magic potion. The result is every bit as sensual and sexual as you can imagine: Adam and Eve's last night of passion in paradise.

Perfume images: CB I Hate Perfume, to be found in Brooklyn, Bergdorf and other locations.
Painting: Michelangelo. To be found on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the vatican, where you might be able to catch a glimpse after fighting dozens of other cranky tourists.

Temptation- CB I Hate Perfume Revelation (and Musk)

You'll never convince me that the fruit of temptation was an apple. I like apples well enough, but for me, sensuality, danger and passion are symbolized in fig. I might be on to something, because Michelangelo seems to agree with me, as the serpent in his Temptation and Fall has taken up residence in a fig tree, from which he's conducting his evil business, resulting in Adam and Eve's fall from grace and condemning us, their offspring, to a life full with many unpleasant a scent, far from the heavenly fig tree.

Brooklyn might not be the first place in which you'd think to seek that magical tree. However, in his Williamsburg studio (93 Wythe Avenue), Christopher Brosius, the artist behind CB I hate Perfume, has managed to recreate it, from the roots up. Revelation is very different from other fig fragrances you may know. It's honeyed instead of fruity; there's not even a faint hint of coconut, a note which is often paired with fig, to bring out the lush green of this note. The sweetness is hidden under a dry, woody, twiggy surface.

On my skin, the development of the perfume absolute is not exactly linear as much as cyclic. The scent goes round and round, exposing its more leafy facets only to cover them up again with wood sap. The result is rich, sensual and makes me want to plant my nose firmly in my wrist so I wouldn't miss a thing.

My own version of the original sin is layering Revelation with Brosius most infamous creation, CB Musk. This is the scariest juice I've come across. Animalic doesn't begin to describe it. I have yet to dare leave the house wearing it alone, but safely tucked under Revelation, it's a magic potion. The result is every bit as sensual and sexual as you can imagine: Adam and Eve's last night of passion in paradise.

Perfume images: CB I Hate Perfume, to be found in Brooklyn, Bergdorf and other locations.
Painting: Michelangelo. To be found on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the vatican, where you might be able to catch a glimpse after fighting dozens of other cranky tourists.

Temptation- CB I Hate Perfume Revelation (and Musk)

You'll never convince me that the fruit of temptation was an apple. I like apples well enough, but for me, sensuality, danger and passion are symbolized in fig. I might be on to something, because Michelangelo seems to agree with me, as the serpent in his Temptation and Fall has taken up residence in a fig tree, from which he's conducting his evil business, resulting in Adam and Eve's fall from grace and condemning us, their offspring, to a life full with many unpleasant a scent, far from the heavenly fig tree.

Brooklyn might not be the first place in which you'd think to seek that magical tree. However, in his Williamsburg studio (93 Wythe Avenue), Christopher Brosius, the artist behind CB I hate Perfume, has managed to recreate it, from the roots up. Revelation is very different from other fig fragrances you may know. It's honeyed instead of fruity; there's not even a faint hint of coconut, a note which is often paired with fig, to bring out the lush green of this note. The sweetness is hidden under a dry, woody, twiggy surface.

On my skin, the development of the perfume absolute is not exactly linear as much as cyclic. The scent goes round and round, exposing its more leafy facets only to cover them up again with wood sap. The result is rich, sensual and makes me want to plant my nose firmly in my wrist so I wouldn't miss a thing.

My own version of the original sin is layering Revelation with Brosius most infamous creation, CB Musk. This is the scariest juice I've come across. Animalic doesn't begin to describe it. I have yet to dare leave the house wearing it alone, but safely tucked under Revelation, it's a magic potion. The result is every bit as sensual and sexual as you can imagine: Adam and Eve's last night of passion in paradise.

Perfume images: CB I Hate Perfume, to be found in Brooklyn, Bergdorf and other locations.
Painting: Michelangelo. To be found on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the vatican, where you might be able to catch a glimpse after fighting dozens of other cranky tourists.