$26.00
It smells like spiders getting drunk. It smells like Seabiscuit and your parents getting divorced.
A scent for the consummate gentleman thrasher: Oiled black leather, grease paint, and aftershave.
Up late? Nothing on? Tune in to Two Minutes to Late Night, the world’s only heavy metal-themed talk show. Let host Gwarsenio Hall be your guide through a dark, smelly underworld of music and mayhem!
Filmed at St. Vitus in Brooklyn, featuring house band Mutoid Man.
Poster art by Brittany Naundorff
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A brace of loaded pistols
He carried night and day;
He never robbed a poor man
Upon the king’s highway;
But what he’d taken from the rich,
Like Turpin and Black Bess,
He always did divide it
With the widow in distress.
Stand and deliver! Vetiver with gardenia, blood red rose, night-blooming jasmine, a dash of cinnamon and a faint hint of leather
“And yet a restless, always unsatisfied craving for the nudity of paganism,” she interrupted, “but that love, which is the highest joy, which is divine simplicity itself, is not for you moderns, you children of reflection. It works only evil in you. As soon as you wish to be natural, you become common. To you nature seems something hostile; you have made devils out of the smiling gods of Greece, and out of me a demon. You can only exorcise and curse me, or slay yourselves in bacchantic madness before my altar. And if ever one of you has had the courage to kiss my red mouth, he makes a barefoot pilgrimage to Rome in penitential robes and expects flowers to grow from his withered staff, while under my feet roses, violets, and myrtles spring up every hour, but their fragrance does not agree with you. Stay among your northern fogs and Christian incense; let us pagans remain under the debris, beneath the lava; do not disinter us. Pompeii was not built for you, nor our villas, our baths, our temples. You do not require gods. We are chilled in your world.”
Along with Loviatar, she has become something of a Patron Goddess of all Dominatrixes, Wanda is the breathtakingly beautiful sable-wrapped marble queen of Sacher-Masoch’s fantasies. Her scent is a deep red merlot with a faint hint of leather, sexual musk and body heat over crushed roses, violets and myrtle.
A hint of leather and an understated vintage musk layered over the scent of lightly perspiring, honey-dusted skin.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Through sunlit caves of ice, roses unfurl amidst dancing waves of serpentine opium smoke and amber tobacco, golden sandalwood, champaca, tea leaf, sugared lily, ginger, rich hay absolute, leather, dark vanilla, mandarin, peru balsam, and Moroccan jasmine.
matthew-2762 –
I applied the Whiff-Lash smell grease then placed myself in her aroma-sphere. I pretended to read.
Minutes later, she informed me that my redolence bespoke fresh rain, fancy soap, and sitting naked in a leather chair. It worked!
Dio –
I’m a fan of both TMTLN and BPAL. On both the show and the podcast, the gang is always talking about how they actually wear “Whiff Lash”, and how even Jordan’s mother loves it. After trying it out for myself, I completely get why. This scent is amazing! It’s crisp, clean, mysterious, and sexy all in one. To me, I really pick up on the aftershave and leather notes. It’s very fresh, almost like the smell of a brand new car with a black ice air freshener. What’s not to love?
milkbrainmultigame –
Smells like if you took a nice supple leather jacket applied traditional masculine cologne to it (Drakkar-ish) then took it to a night out on the bar.
Its got that Drakkar crisp to it on the top end, with soft leather notes and a hint of tobacco at the bottom.
I really don’t like tobacco traditionally, but this does it well. It smells more like something well worn, well traveled, and got some funk along the way.