✨🧚♀️🦄🐞🪼🌙 Part of the Jitterbug Perfumes Special Collection ✨🧚♀️🦄🐞🪼🌙
Things have been happening in the Universe.
Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy.
Listen, sweet-smelling pilgrims of the olfactory highway: I've received a mystical download, sounding like a black Gibson SG guitar somewhere between the primordial scream of a newborn star and the last dying gasp of a Victorian rose garden. Here, in this place where Ozzy finds himself, there exists a scent so gloriously unhinged that it makes angels weep black mascara and causes demons to genuflect in leather pants. A fragrance for the beautifully damned.
The Cosmic Intersection Where Desert Monks Meet Heavy Metal Shamans
Opening Act: Bergamot, black pepper, lemon verbena, jasmine, saffron
The Plot Thickens: Dark rose, violet leaf, leather, frangipani, cedar, juniper, palo santo
The Sacred Middle: Patchouli (vintage, dark, unapologetic), sandalwood, pine, nag champa, lavender, sage, Japanese hinoki, ink
The Eternal Encore: Vetiver, ambergris, oud, amber, benzoin, resinous balsams, mineral earth
Beautiful disasters of the aromatic apocalypse: The universe has been doing some serious R&D, and it turns out that when you cross an Eastern Oregon desert ceremony with a Hawaiian meditation retreat, add a dash of vintage patchouli rebellion, and throw in the collective wisdom of three wise men who've been partying since the Mesozoic era, strange and wonderful things happen in the cosmic fragrance laboratory.
Ozzy Ozzy Ozzy has evolved—like consciousness itself, but with better hair and infinitely more attitude. This isn't just liquid rebellion anymore; this is what happens when rebellion gets a master's degree in mysticism and decides to open a head shop on the astral plane.
The aromatic insurrection still begins with bergamot and black pepper's matrimonial riot, but now they're joined by jasmine (who's been studying tantric aromatherapy) and saffron (that golden thread that connects earth to heaven and charges accordingly). Lemon verbena still crashes the party like a green-haired anarchist, but now she brings sage and lavender as her spiritual advisors—because even anarchists need proper guidance when dealing with interdimensional fragrance portals.
But here's where the plot gets mystically thick: Cedar and juniper arrive like ancient desert guardians, carrying palo santo's sacred smoke signals from ceremonies that predate the invention of irony. They're escorting dark rose and violet leaf, who've clearly been hanging out in monastery gardens where the monks understand that enlightenment and rebellion are just different names for the same cosmic joke.
In the sacred middle—and pay attention, because this is where things get properly shamanic—vintage patchouli emerges like the lovechild of Woodstock and a Tibetan monastery. This isn't your hippie aunt's patchouli; this is what patchouli becomes when it spends forty years in oak barrels contemplating the nature of existence. It's joined by Hawaiian sandalwood and nag champa, those three wise men who've been partying in bottles since the universe first figured out how to smell good.
Pine adds its evergreen wisdom while Japanese hinoki arrives like a zen master carrying architectural blueprints for enlightenment—that sacred cypress that knows the secret of building temples that exist in both the physical and aromatic dimensions. And then—plot twist!—ink appears, dark and mysterious as midnight calligraphy, adding the scent of every profound thought ever written by monks who understood that wisdom and rebellion often use the same pen.
Benzoin still provides resinous benedictions in the eternal encore, creating an aromatic cathedral where leather-clad monks might chant gregorian metal while burning incense made from fossilized rock star dreams and ancient Japanese temple wood. Vetiver still rises like ancient campfire smoke, but now it carries messages from Eastern Oregon's high desert, where the air is so thin it practically vibrates with visible enlightenment. Ambergris continues its whale-song wisdom while oud—that dark, resinous poet of the base notes—transforms the entire symphony into something that would make both Buddha and Lemmy nod in cosmic approval.
Ozzy Ozzy Ozzy isn't just super heady anymore—it's achieved full mystical weightlifting certification. This is for those brave souls who understand that the path to enlightenment sometimes requires leather pants, that meditation and mosh pits serve the same cosmic function, and that the most profound spiritual experiences often smell like they could either save your soul or get you arrested in three different dimensions.
This is liquid proof that the universe has a sense of humor, a subscription to High Times, and a direct line to whatever cosmic DJ has been spinning the soundtrack to existence since time began keeping time.
Wear this when: You want to smell like you've discovered the universe's most classified secret: that enlightenment and rebellion are just different playlist settings on the cosmic sound system.
Perfect for: Desert vision quests, monastery mosh pits, or any moment when you need to remind reality that you're not just visiting the mystical experience—you ARE the mystical experience, temporarily disguised as someone who owns deodorant.
Ozzy Ozzy Ozzy – Because sometimes the meaning of life requires both incense and amplifiers, and the universe's best kept secret is that they're playing the same song.
✨🧚♀️🦄🐞🪼🌙 Part of the Jitterbug Perfumes Special Collection ✨🧚♀️🦄🐞🪼🌙
Things have been happening in the Universe.
Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy.
Listen, sweet-smelling pilgrims of the olfactory highway: I've received a mystical download, sounding like a black Gibson SG guitar somewhere between the primordial scream of a newborn star and the last dying gasp of a Victorian rose garden. Here, in this place where Ozzy finds himself, there exists a scent so gloriously unhinged that it makes angels weep black mascara and causes demons to genuflect in leather pants. A fragrance for the beautifully damned.
The Cosmic Intersection Where Desert Monks Meet Heavy Metal Shamans
Opening Act: Bergamot, black pepper, lemon verbena, jasmine, saffron
The Plot Thickens: Dark rose, violet leaf, leather, frangipani, cedar, juniper, palo santo
The Sacred Middle: Patchouli (vintage, dark, unapologetic), sandalwood, pine, nag champa, lavender, sage, Japanese hinoki, ink
The Eternal Encore: Vetiver, ambergris, oud, amber, benzoin, resinous balsams, mineral earth
Beautiful disasters of the aromatic apocalypse: The universe has been doing some serious R&D, and it turns out that when you cross an Eastern Oregon desert ceremony with a Hawaiian meditation retreat, add a dash of vintage patchouli rebellion, and throw in the collective wisdom of three wise men who've been partying since the Mesozoic era, strange and wonderful things happen in the cosmic fragrance laboratory.
Ozzy Ozzy Ozzy has evolved—like consciousness itself, but with better hair and infinitely more attitude. This isn't just liquid rebellion anymore; this is what happens when rebellion gets a master's degree in mysticism and decides to open a head shop on the astral plane.
The aromatic insurrection still begins with bergamot and black pepper's matrimonial riot, but now they're joined by jasmine (who's been studying tantric aromatherapy) and saffron (that golden thread that connects earth to heaven and charges accordingly). Lemon verbena still crashes the party like a green-haired anarchist, but now she brings sage and lavender as her spiritual advisors—because even anarchists need proper guidance when dealing with interdimensional fragrance portals.
But here's where the plot gets mystically thick: Cedar and juniper arrive like ancient desert guardians, carrying palo santo's sacred smoke signals from ceremonies that predate the invention of irony. They're escorting dark rose and violet leaf, who've clearly been hanging out in monastery gardens where the monks understand that enlightenment and rebellion are just different names for the same cosmic joke.
In the sacred middle—and pay attention, because this is where things get properly shamanic—vintage patchouli emerges like the lovechild of Woodstock and a Tibetan monastery. This isn't your hippie aunt's patchouli; this is what patchouli becomes when it spends forty years in oak barrels contemplating the nature of existence. It's joined by Hawaiian sandalwood and nag champa, those three wise men who've been partying in bottles since the universe first figured out how to smell good.
Pine adds its evergreen wisdom while Japanese hinoki arrives like a zen master carrying architectural blueprints for enlightenment—that sacred cypress that knows the secret of building temples that exist in both the physical and aromatic dimensions. And then—plot twist!—ink appears, dark and mysterious as midnight calligraphy, adding the scent of every profound thought ever written by monks who understood that wisdom and rebellion often use the same pen.
Benzoin still provides resinous benedictions in the eternal encore, creating an aromatic cathedral where leather-clad monks might chant gregorian metal while burning incense made from fossilized rock star dreams and ancient Japanese temple wood. Vetiver still rises like ancient campfire smoke, but now it carries messages from Eastern Oregon's high desert, where the air is so thin it practically vibrates with visible enlightenment. Ambergris continues its whale-song wisdom while oud—that dark, resinous poet of the base notes—transforms the entire symphony into something that would make both Buddha and Lemmy nod in cosmic approval.
Ozzy Ozzy Ozzy isn't just super heady anymore—it's achieved full mystical weightlifting certification. This is for those brave souls who understand that the path to enlightenment sometimes requires leather pants, that meditation and mosh pits serve the same cosmic function, and that the most profound spiritual experiences often smell like they could either save your soul or get you arrested in three different dimensions.
This is liquid proof that the universe has a sense of humor, a subscription to High Times, and a direct line to whatever cosmic DJ has been spinning the soundtrack to existence since time began keeping time.
Wear this when: You want to smell like you've discovered the universe's most classified secret: that enlightenment and rebellion are just different playlist settings on the cosmic sound system.
Perfect for: Desert vision quests, monastery mosh pits, or any moment when you need to remind reality that you're not just visiting the mystical experience—you ARE the mystical experience, temporarily disguised as someone who owns deodorant.
Ozzy Ozzy Ozzy – Because sometimes the meaning of life requires both incense and amplifiers, and the universe's best kept secret is that they're playing the same song.
