Obsessed with Perversion and The Illustrated Woman

It is utterly impossible, I think, not to fall in love with a company that does hand-blended perfume oils who has entire categories of scents inspired by Neil Gaiman and even (and the heavens open at the angels sing) Good Omens, that god-touched collaboration between Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, only the most stratospheric writing talents in my universe (Which could only be, perhaps, rivalled by Gerald Durrell teaming up with James Herriott.) : Famine (black tea, tobacco leaf, frankincense, lilac and white musk) and War (red ginger, black spices, patchouli, honeysuckle and three blood-soaked red musks) make prominent appearances. (And their scents have helped fund the Orangutan fund: smell nice and help the big red apes, hooray!)

How do you resist such a ridiculously OTT gothic-influenced aesthetic when macabre illustrations and gorgeous spine-tingly vignettes accompany each lusciously-described perfume? When they come labelled with such swoon-inducing names like De Sade (notes of black leather), Whip (leather and tuberose), Dragon's Blood (notes of aquatic salt and blood resin) and Laudanum (nutmeg, sassafras, black poppy and myrhh - effects are supposed to include a certain narcotic light-headedness.) They even (oh catch me while I swoon) have an entire list of scents named after snakes. Oh, my heart be still.

The names are driving me absolutely insane with delight: Two-Headed Goat, Arachinna, the Spider Girl, Penitence, Hellcat, Sin, Lightning, Snake Charmer, Titus Andronicus, The Ifrit, Wrath, Freak Show, The Tell-Tale Heart and Anubis (holy myrhh, storax, balsam and embalming herbs). I do not lie when I say that I've been bouncing in my seat as I read all the descriptions. How rare is it that you come across an idea or a concept that doesn't follow the well-trodden path of mediocrity which makes you yell and go "Damnit, that's GENIUS!"? It's fired all my creative neurons, my long-dormant fictive engine is cranked and ready to go. And I know just what scent to wear when I write that damned opus too.

I am madly, utterly, wonderfully in love already, and as soon as I get an answer from them regarding shipping, I think I will be completely unable to stop myself from whipping out that credit card and going to town. Who the hell wants to wear wimpy perfumes from Big Business with soppy names like Romance or Forever featuring doe-eyed women wth perfect hair cavorting in fields at sunset in pastel sundresses with perfect boring bland men? Perfume from Celine Dion? Mariah Carey? God help me, Parid Hilton? ("Smell like skank, lower your IQ today!") Ick, hell no. I want The Illustrated Woman, who sits talking to The Torture Queen as she files her pointed nails and tattoos writhe on her skin (Skin musk, smoky vanilla, pine pitch, patchouli, Indian resins, golden honey, and tobacco) and I want Perversion when I need a change from what I wear now. I want, crave, lust after Sin and Bastet and Death Adder and the White Rabbit. Viva la independent business!