tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89034380123887769442024-03-06T21:02:46.480+01:00Ye Olde Civet CatColin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.comBlogger238125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-46767992953466779402017-05-12T15:26:00.001+02:002018-08-02T14:43:42.484+02:00Citrus & Wood by Yardley (2011)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Poor man's Terre d'Hermès" indeed, but given the price, that's definitely a plus. And it's not the only one, actually. Citrus & Wood is definitely similar to Ellena's bestseller to many extents, as it is basically the exact same "airy", hyper-clean, very contemporary Iso-E infused woody blend with a zesty, classic eau de cologne-inspired top accord of citrus notes. But it has a couple of unexpected twists that make it quite worthy the purchase regardless of whether you like and/or own Terre already.<br />
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First, Citrus & Wood is even cleaner and crisper than Terre d'Hermès, slightly more soapy and floral, a bit spicier at heart, and somehow overall less syntethic as well. I've tested it extensively in the past few days and that's probably the feature I enjoyed the most - the fact that it smells very laid-back, very natural even if it obviously isn't, not cloying and not "plastic" at all as one may expect. The citrus notes do smell like proper citrus, properly fading in a couple of minutes as proper citrus notes do, and the woody notes do smell like realistic, freshly cut, sharp wood (Ikea stuff, don't expect any raw- dirty smokiness). It's obviously that ubiquitous industrial cedar-pencil aromachemical again, but Yardley's staff did a great job in infusing some life in it and making it smell smoother, softer, less dry and less blatantly artificial as many others did. Partially thanks to the use of the floral tones and partially to the quality top citrus accord, it all smells very uplifting, fresh, vibrant and classy.<br />
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Shortly this is a great clean citrus-woody scent which can be perfect basically anythine and anywhere, more than safe and greatly inoffensive but classy and pleasant. A great alternative to Terre d'Hermès (and similar scents) with a smoother, lighter and cleaner presence. The projection is decent and the persistence is a bit short - as you'd fairly expect with this type of notes, but given the cheap price and the fantastic top notes, it's a pleasure to reapply.<br />
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<span style="color: #783f04;"><b>7/10</b></span>Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-51813041293752630122017-02-01T19:14:00.000+01:002017-02-01T19:16:20.836+01:00Patrick by Fragrances of Ireland (1999)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVnqj2WGFgUkzvezttkd_teMRa-Hdsj6kFG7B99s4oz_IUyKcldUl0_vq-biB4be4mDbkyz6WK9SaEZ7FxPk2aGYeY_sOJTErRxyUiV-1JxAXXemxIIEjnvF6bIVDF8ni1ZTKiQTCMhiC/s1600/patrick_main.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVnqj2WGFgUkzvezttkd_teMRa-Hdsj6kFG7B99s4oz_IUyKcldUl0_vq-biB4be4mDbkyz6WK9SaEZ7FxPk2aGYeY_sOJTErRxyUiV-1JxAXXemxIIEjnvF6bIVDF8ni1ZTKiQTCMhiC/s640/patrick_main.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Out of the dozens of classic "clean" fougères I tried over the years, Patrick is - to this day - the absolute winner of the category for me. Others are more complex, more refined or more praised, but when it comes to comfort, I think this is the ultimate grail. It's subjective, I know, but it works for me. As other reviewers said, the structure of Patrick is fairly simple, but not simplistic; it's basically a soapy fern scent, so there's a ton of sparkling crisp greenness laced with a fresh breeze of soap, all supported by a sort of nondescript mossy-earthy feel. It smells natural (sort of), deep enough to let you appreciate the notes, yet not too powerful - actually the contrary, this is a rather distinguished and discreet fragrance (contrary to many vintage examples of this same category, which may contain thicker and more natural ingredients, but mostly smelling way too rougher and bolder than Patrick).<br />
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Think of being on a fall holiday in the mountains and spending a day out in the woods, then coming home, having a relaxing bath and going out again for a quick stroll before dinner. That's Patrick, that calm, sunset-like feel of balsamic cleanliness, the artificial soapy notes blending with the smell of earth, leaves and cold branches. I know that hundreds of scents feature these notes, and yet I never found such a perfect balance of vibrancy and quiet haziness, creating a feel of deep comfort I basically never experienced with any other fragrance. Out of the many masterpieces I know and the few fragrances I "love" more than this, to this day Patrick is the only scent I can wear for several days in a row without getting tired of it. It's not particularly creative, doesn't scream "art" or utter quality, but it feels "home" in the purest and most irresistible way. Best "cheapo" ever made for me.<br />
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<span style="color: #783f04;"><b>8,5/10</b></span><br />
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-26646500612697573612016-05-23T09:16:00.000+02:002016-05-23T09:16:37.622+02:00Pentachord Verdant by Andy Tauer (2011)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Nose: Andy Tauer</b><br />
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Pentachord Verdant shares the same issue I personally detect in many fragrances by Andy Tauer. They’re intellectually very fascinating and thrilling, they’re exceedingly evocative and realistic, they succeed very well in keeping a decided, peculiar sort of artificial vein well combined with a truthful organic nature; but they don’t smell like something I would wear. Ever. Or that I think anyone would want to wear. Tauer hasn’t admittedly a formal training, and while that is surely a plus when it comes to creative freedom and composing “out of the box”, it sometimes turns into a disadvantage for him. And that is the case for Pentachord Verdant in my opinion.<br />
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Pentachord Verdant is basically a tremendously intriguing “smell” which brilliantly evokes the smell of damp grass, wet soil, freshly-cut branches, all with a sort of dark, cold, sharp feel, brilliantly combined with an artificial sort of quite heavy oily-gasoline greyish note that smells basically like someone pouring fuel on grass – <i>You and Your Lawnmower, a Romance by Andy Tauer</i>. As usually with most of Tauer's fragrances, the smell is quite sharp and almost harsh at first, stuffed with cold salty ambroxan and a thin, cutting layer of nondescript metallic spices giving the natural side of the fragrance that peculiar “artificial trim” which characterizes many scents by this nose. I don’t get any tobacco actually, to me it’s all a cascade of nose-tingling spicy sharp greenness seasoned with steamy gasoline. The evolution is just more about the volume decreasing, but I detect no particular transitions or movements – just the same identical thing losing strength and projection as hours pass (but that’s fine, and it actually gets almost pleasant after a while).<br />
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And, well... you may guess my conclusion (there’s not much else to say about the notes or the evolution, so we can skip to the end). I can’t help it, call me a tight-ass “classicist”, but this is too much on the very extreme fence between a perfume and a smell – not a stink, just an experimental smell which has little to do with perfumery. I mean, it’s not that any smell can automatically turn into a perfume just by a linguistic transition. It’s just too edgy, unstructured and crude to work as a fragrance in my opinion. It’s great to spray it and smell it, it’s amazingly realistic and it’s fantastic how it evokes the combined smell of wet grass, soil and gasoline, truly a hyperrealistic portrait of Mr. Smith’s Sunday morning mowing the lawn. But why on Earth shall I want to smell like that?<br />
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<b>5,5-6/10</b><br />
<br />Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-86904496446399094492016-05-23T09:09:00.001+02:002016-05-23T09:09:53.517+02:00Noir Epices by Frederic Malle (2000)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Nose: Michel Roudnitska</b><br />
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Noir Epices effortlessly fills the last spot on my personal chart of Malle’s fragrances - I mean the worst spot. The bottom of the barrel. I don’t get the “black” and ultimately I don’t even get the “spices” that much as well, or not as I would assume at least. I don’t want my spices laid on a corpse, and instead that’s basically how Noir Epices smells. “Carnal”, overdosed nuances of metallic rose-geranium and a nondescript sultry musky note blended with a ridicolously loud concoction of spices and waxy floral-citrus notes, finally infused with a really bizarre and discomforting sort of sugary-watery vein, almost musty and milky. Sounds messy, eh? That’s how it smells, too. It’s loud, vile, ultimately a bit cheap as well, as besides being cacophonously blended, the materials don’t really seem that top-notch either. As hours pass it gets a bit better as it tames down a little at least, becoming slightly sweeter and smoother, but still remaining basically the same awkward and screechy mishmash of musk, soap, wax, spices, expired citronellol candles and blood-stained rusty metal bars. I’m genuinely sorry to sound so tight-butted and unable of getting the magic here, but I find this blatantly atrocious on every level.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #990000;">4/10</span></b><br />
<br />Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-23814846041945720662016-05-21T17:49:00.001+02:002016-05-21T17:49:40.473+02:00Oud & Bergamot by Jo Malone (2010)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Nose: Christine Nagel</b><br />
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Christine Nagel at her finest, no surprise she’s been chosen to inherit Ellena’s throne. A charming whiff of sophisticated, mellow, androgynous, hyper-modern, clean yet somehow “mysterious” and moody spiced Oriental orange-infused woods. This is Oud & Bergamot by Jo Malone, a refined, minimalist, very well conceived experiment around the contrast between the aromatic, luscious smokiness of oud and cedar (and suede, I think), and the graceful, pastel, zesty and slightly floral touches of bergamot and citrus, with a hint of cinnamon-like touch of sweet – just as in Fendi Theorema for women, also composed by Nagel. All done with an amazingly well-engineered weightless texture taken to the very extreme – basically, pure thin scented air. It feels like a perfect olfactive rendition of some abstract watercolour featuring harmonic drops and brush strokes of pale orange, pale brown, pale black. All smells even, smooth, airy and pale, yet totally “there” under your nose. It’s like smelling a linen shirt previously sprayed with a hypothetical “true” substantial version of Oud & Bergamot – this is how the actual Oud & Bergamot smells. It’s there, and yet it isn’t. Like the suspended memory of a scent, more than an actual scent, and yet it’s there materializing under your nose. Fascinating to say the least. And it’s all done so terribly right, as all notes manage to smell crisp, smooth and clear, yet subtle.<br />
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The scent is very simple actually, basically a fairly linear and “white-ish” sort of musky-suede rendition of (synthetic) oud and cedar tinted with some orange and cinnamon. It’s the way Nagel made it that makes it so special. It takes some guts and skills to take these notes and turn them into an impalpable whiff of watercolour mist (I mean, it takes some guts to do it right and not end up with an ephemeral fart of a constipated princess). More than compelling and more than a scent, a little piece of minimalist art. Obviously not a “bomb”, very subtle but quite persistent, more than one may assume: somehow you smell it around yourself for hours and hours even if it seems disappearing from your skin soon. This close to smelling just dull and weak – and maybe it is, and I’m just overestimating it – but I find it just lovely.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;">8-8,5/10</span></b>Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-72985822304986780232016-05-05T17:14:00.001+02:002016-05-05T17:14:48.578+02:00Black Vetiver by Phaedon (2013)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzaJNBStD_-Fdnc4V5431_CY1IlamqIr-EoNvSsUt100OPpTK6F37PcS_XJdiCqZ7s3BwBvXl4lUWyBezKS1D77Z7-oVikN56xwK0_ZZ53V1tQyUcdLvkQhdnkl61YmX9n1uhWhpw4-Hq_/s1600/Black+Vetiver-1000x1000.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzaJNBStD_-Fdnc4V5431_CY1IlamqIr-EoNvSsUt100OPpTK6F37PcS_XJdiCqZ7s3BwBvXl4lUWyBezKS1D77Z7-oVikN56xwK0_ZZ53V1tQyUcdLvkQhdnkl61YmX9n1uhWhpw4-Hq_/s400/Black+Vetiver-1000x1000.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Nose: Pierre Guillaume</b><br />
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I am missing the “black” part here, at any stage, but nonetheless... what a compelling smooth and modern vetiver this is. Along the line of Tom Ford’s Grey Vetiver, but noticeably more quality to any extent for me: crisper, more natural, more vibrant, with a more “dimensional” texture, slightly rawer too (or, say, maybe just more “genuine-smelling”). A bit similar to Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier’s Racine as well, mostly for the citrus-vetiver combo, but somehow more transparent, slightly colder and overall more “minimalistic” than that – shortly, more contemporary. The evolution of Black Vetiver is quite simple, basically it starts off with an invigoratingly vivid splash of zesty lemon supported by an initially toned-down elegant accord of smooth, salty vetiver infused with something which smells like a sort of aldehydic musk to me; it’s very subtle, but it gives a peculiar texture to the woody base accord, making it smell as a sort of a greyish, breezy vetiver “mist” sprayed on dry concrete. Well, I’m making it sound more avantgarde than it is, but that’s more or less the effect I get here.<br />
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Once most of the greenish top notes of lemon fade away, it’s all about some really great, high quality, vibrant yet pleasantly civilized grassy-salty vetiver still surrounded by that breezy sort of dusty mist I mentioned above – and still lightly infused by some citrus nuances. But most of all it’s vetiver though, and it’s completely, indisputably pleasant as only good vetiver can be. It smells very natural, very woody and grassy-salty (no “inky” nonsense or whatever other ill synthetic rendition of it). And like good vetiver does, it smells also at once very elegant, yet terribly laid-back and easy to wear. As the drydown progresses, some more somber, smokier and slightly sweeter nuances arise, but at no point it will get too “black” – just a bit quieter and moodier, but with a palpable salty-breezy feel underneath. More than “black”, a “grey-yellow vetiver”.<br />
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That’s it, it may sound simple and it actually is, but it’s a pure, vibrant kind of simple, something more than pleasant to wear. Thank God none of Guillaume’s trademark mish-mash concepts are here, no weird mojitos and no chubby gourmands gone wrong. This doesn’t smell at all like one of his creations for me, and maybe that’s why it smells so nice. By far my favourite “modern” vetiver, a refined everyday gem and a perfect contemporary companion to the nicest old-school vetivers like Guerlain’s or Carven’s. Still quite overpriced but totally worthy if you can get some discount.<br />
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<b>8,5/10</b>Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-80484224478982301082016-04-06T15:49:00.001+02:002016-04-06T15:49:57.740+02:00Baie de Genièvre by Creed (1982)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Another discontinued Creed scent way superior to the near majority of their current abysmally insipid range. Baie de Genièvre is an impressively solid masculine spicy fougère straight out of the early 1980’s (still quite 1970’s-inspired, with all that herbal-stale dryness) with some quite peculiar features making it surely worthy a sniff at least – not a purchase at those “vaulted” prices, but surely a try. I mean, it’s very good, it’s a Creed, that’s already quite something.<br />
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What I really enjoy about Baie is how simple, robust yet very inspired it smells: basically it’s a crisp, tasteful blend of citrus-infused, herbal juniper notes with their recognizable sort of very aromatic, edgy, bitter, metallic, super dry and dark-boozy nature; then some sharp, earthy, smoky and salty vetiver (“the vintage kind”, rooty and dirty, such as in Maitre’s Route du Vetiver or Goutal’s Vetiver), some very well-fitting sort of sweet-spicy dash of Oriental aromatic powder (they say cinnamon, I trust that, although it smells a bit more generic to me – just something slightly sweet, lukewarm and exotic, even slightly fruity at first) and a light note of lavender - which isn’t listed, but I think I smell it. A sharp, dry, distinguished and very aromatic blend with a palpable sort of “antique” vibe – rusty metal, smoky old woods, sharp herbal spirits. With just the right amount of late-1970’s mojo. There’s some evolution, too: it gets progressively warmer, gentler, powderier, less dry and bitter and a bit smoother and smoky-sweeter, with vetiver and herbs creating a sort of “powdery barbershop” mood. Nina Ricci’s Phileas is maybe a distant relative of this, mostly for the same bold herbal-spicy vein and a very similar sort of “rusty” feel – Phileas is more complex than this, but I think they’ve something in common.<br />
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So that’s it, a very old-school, refined yet quite “rugged”, extremely vibrant and very natural-smelling gentleman’s scent with nothing wrong in it – it smells just very good, period. Maybe not overly exciting, but truly impeccable, with solid materials (juniper and vetiver especially!) and a totally neat composition. Very “vintage”, and probably a bit dated for many fans of today’s Creed’s offerings, but definitely a nice option for all fans of classic masculine stuff (nothing macho, but definitely a “virile” blend). By the way, by “vintage” and “dated” I don’t mean generic or boring, though: it’s actually quite of a “statement” scent, due to its metallic-smoky-spicy edginess and sharpness which creates a dark, “raw” vein brilliantly contrasting with its subtle, warm Oriental sweeter side. Extremely versatile as well, it projects quite good without getting too obtrusive. Totally recommended – again, not at full vintage prices though: it’s good, even very good, but not a Holy Grail.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #b45f06;">7,5-8/10</span></b><br />
<br />Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-84674076785983288732016-03-15T16:40:00.002+01:002016-03-15T16:40:55.700+01:00Cuoio Fiorentino by Farmacia SS. Annunziata (2016)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Farmacia SS. Annunziata is among the very few Italian brands which keep offering good, sometimes brilliant products with a classy, humble, understated and totally appreciable attitude. Most of their fragrances are simple, maybe simplistic sometimes, but straightforward, very decently priced and with solid performances and quality. And most of all, they share a sort of melancholy, of distinguished darkness, which quite reflects their antique allure and their connection to their ancient roots (which for once, are real).<br />
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This new addition to their range got me intrigued from the name already, as I figured that a “Florentine leather” in Farmacia’s style would have surely been interesting to smell. And in fact, it’s quite like I imagined. It’s dark, gloomy, elegantly dry thanks both to the rusty, tanning, sharp and whiskey-infused leather accord, the subtle inky-woody smokiness, but oddly enough also to the sweet-tangy top notes of bergamot and elemi. They should be “bright” and fresh theoretically, but together with the resinous-ambery base notes, they create here a sort of powdery, dusty, sweet-candied and almost moldy “Guerlinade” evoking dusty furniture, vanillic aged paper, an overall sort of “moody Mediterranean” kind of inspiration as you would imagine if thinking of a Medieval Florentine pharmacist boutique. Which is quite a dark inspiration if you think of it, given today’s perception of the “dark ages” of Middle Age. Classy, gloomy, totally Italian. Foreign people tend to associate Italy to “freshness” and “joy”, but I think we’ve quite a dark-veined history and national attitude, and some fragrances did or do reflect that (think of vintage glories like Ferré for Man, Moschino pour Homme, Krizia Moods and so on).<br />
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Well anyway, back to the smell: leather’s surely the main accord here, especially in the central hours of the evolution of Cuoio, and it’s done perfectly. Leathers are quite tricky today, they often tend to smell very synthetic and predictable, either in a dry way or in a sweetish Tuscan Leather-like way. Here, you can clearly get the efforts to create a more credible, nuanced, compelling leather accord. It’s quite dry, dark and extremely sophisticated in its whispered texture, raw yet smooth enough, with a mature boozy touch, a very realistic sort of ashy-cedar frame, and some interesting Oriental nuances of saffron and pepper. Sweeter and more resinous at first, getting drier and spicier as hours pass, ending in a smooth, martially simple pure leather drydown still supported by a sharp, slightly salty cedar note.<br />
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Shortly a refined, moody leather scent infused with ashy woods and a clever touch of zesty-resinous powdery amberiness letting a lukewarm ray of evening Mediterranean sun in. Somehow restless and somehow laid-back. Subtler than I expected and definitely lighter than most of other Farmacia SS. Annunziata scents I tried, but not a skin scent (almost, though: that would be my only remark). Surely worthy a sniff.<br />
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<b>8-8,5/10</b><br />
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-46651790739559678832016-03-10T23:19:00.001+01:002016-03-10T23:19:21.300+01:00Cuir Vetiver by Yves Rocher (2016)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShJPsGu10Vl84KYOjKjmiYXgErV4dZODiuwtzVjvUUQF2vszldXSURJWWKa4L_h1678atrx-RcOG36_75bSv4Ab8zHKVW5pqiLHQtEW3nu-goAXYNNHDi738AIz8nabGY5RDuhz_GMNe1/s1600/_____20160209_1388688638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShJPsGu10Vl84KYOjKjmiYXgErV4dZODiuwtzVjvUUQF2vszldXSURJWWKa4L_h1678atrx-RcOG36_75bSv4Ab8zHKVW5pqiLHQtEW3nu-goAXYNNHDi738AIz8nabGY5RDuhz_GMNe1/s640/_____20160209_1388688638.jpg" width="332" /></a></div>
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<b>Nose: Sonia Constant</b><br />
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One of the most honest, worthwhile and affordably good releases in a long while. I am not a fan of Yves Rocher usually, as despite I respect the brand, none of their releases seemed that interesting to me so far (not even for the price); but Cuir Vetiver quite got me. It is by no means inferior to many decent designers easily showing double the price tag – Hermès, for instance: for the similarity of the notes, the composition and the quality, this could have easily been a budget-mainstream release by them. In fact Cuir Vetiver is basically a cheaper, yet absolutely solid sort of fresher Vetiver Tonka meeting Terre d’Hermès with a thin shade of some smoky tonka-infused suede (and that’s the only “cuir” you’ll get), and also some tangy cardamom nuance which reminds me of another Hermès scent for men – Voyage.<br />
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A poor man’s Hermès digest, shortly, with a surprising good quality and a not-so-ordinary texture. Specifically I detect here a more than compelling sort of fresh-woody-powdery transparent clarity dangerously close to Ellena’s style, and despite Cuir Vetiver smells quite close to the stuff I mentioned above, for some reasons it doesn’t feel just like a blatant ripoff of it. I don’t get what precisely, but there’s more than that. It’s like if more than a simple passive carbon-copying activity to monetize on other brands’ ideas, this was just more a genuine “tribute” simply taking inspiration from them with enough skills and budget to elaborate the brief a bit. It’s still 90% close to Vetiver Tonka and the other couple of Hermès I mentioned, but the remaining 10% is, well, a little sparkle of uniqueness (after all, it’s fresher than Vetiver Tonka, and smokier than both Terre and Voyage – unique, in its own and a bit derivative way).<br />
<br />
So, all in all, totally recommended. It smells good, classy, versatile, smoky yet fresh and breezy enough to be perfect for any climate and circumstance. And surprisingly natural, too, considering the level of flat syntheticness you usually get at this price range. Sadly the persistence is a bit weak, but it’s so inexpensive that you can simply reapply it on and on. For 29 eur/100 ml or so, a total winner in my “everyday-replacement-for-more-expensive-stuff” book.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;">8/10</span></b><br />
<br />Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-83242690270729719312016-03-07T15:20:00.001+01:002016-03-07T15:20:55.536+01:00Mr. Burberry by Burberry (2016)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUAOAAkAt_SCu2K6uqc4GSRSeyyn-2-UFC-fEhcPxfCFqH6nZvnL2W1gxmxGNK8gzROoeIanCuqb9Bqq2Kngha0pJghGYvHKScEQyVUW0VedsDz0xx29bSG-uwrInBoleXOfQni4DXFKOD/s1600/MrBurberry-fragrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUAOAAkAt_SCu2K6uqc4GSRSeyyn-2-UFC-fEhcPxfCFqH6nZvnL2W1gxmxGNK8gzROoeIanCuqb9Bqq2Kngha0pJghGYvHKScEQyVUW0VedsDz0xx29bSG-uwrInBoleXOfQni4DXFKOD/s400/MrBurberry-fragrance.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Nose: Francis Kurkdjian</b><br />
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By far one of the most irrelevant, pedestrian, nonsense new launches I smelled in a long time. If something like, say, Dior’s Sauvage seemed like that for you, then Mr. Burberry will make your nose explode. Someone on Basenotes’ forum mentioned an Axe deodorant, and I now regret having used that same term of comparison for scents which compared to Mr. Burberry don’t really deserve that. Because in fact, in my experience Mr. Burberry is the scent which absolutely went the closest to that. Actually it even went further and below– no kidding, the 2,50 EUR deodorant I carry in my tennis bag smells more appealing, nuanced and rich than this garbage.<br />
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Basically this is a truly nondescript, extremely artificial, puzzingly uninspired sort of a counterfeit Bleu de Chanel meeting a sport deodorant with a drop of Interparfums’ irritating signature musky-tonka base accord (Armani Code all over again- please fix that time machine, Interparfums!). There’s some synthetic citrus, some extremely generic woody stuff with a pointless sort of subtle minty-creamy nuance (a bit as in Paul Smith London), something sweet-spicy, and that’s it. I’m using the term “something” not out of laziness but because it’s truly the best approximation I can use – I read the composition, but none of the notes mentioned is remotely detectable here for me. It would be a joke to mention cardamom or vetiver here. It’s just woody stuff, spicy stuff, citrus stuff, cheap lab replicas of some “idea” of woods and spices. The same exact materials you find in supermarket deodorants in fact. Just a big generic “something”. And it’s so vastly nonsense that I can’t even think of a possible audience for this, neither can I understand how could Burberry approve to invest money for something so desperately unappealing and cheap. <br />
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So shortly, if it wasn’t clear enough, my opinion is that this is a complete depressing trainwreck on every level – quality, inspiration, identity. And if you want to understand better how it smells, I can’t really describe it better than I did above – I know my description sounded generic but this is truly how this scent smells. I’ve never been a fan of Burberry but I’ve always (kind of) respected Kurkdjian’s work on commission, even recently – for example, Carven Homme from 2014 was quite good, and if you compare it to Mr. Burberry you can definitely sense the immense gap of budget and efforts that separates the two scents. This is on the contrary easily the worst scent Kurkdjian ever put his name on, and one of the worst scents by Burberry ever.<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">3/10</span></b>Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-12398016620046578582016-02-14T13:54:00.000+01:002016-02-14T13:54:10.760+01:00Dia Man by Amouage (2002)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOxOwm3d4383G2sHxvtBp8qRp4u8jxtBGB3iEuBaJGA_sisGL2P_1GbmyXUn0Xc5ykgSCxnIq8gOv37pEAhvdP_NgYmMQVlXPK0sjq2NZ8VdgIK_-2IznTrYBf72KVohgxoPV1FSvuozU/s1600/amouage036_0001-original.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOxOwm3d4383G2sHxvtBp8qRp4u8jxtBGB3iEuBaJGA_sisGL2P_1GbmyXUn0Xc5ykgSCxnIq8gOv37pEAhvdP_NgYmMQVlXPK0sjq2NZ8VdgIK_-2IznTrYBf72KVohgxoPV1FSvuozU/s400/amouage036_0001-original.png" width="300" /></a></div>
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Dia Man by Amouage is stunning. Stunning! Not my favourite Amouage to wear “daily” and forget about it, due to its very subtle presence on skin (which for me would be a crime to miss, so I’d rather wear it when I’ve enough attention and peace of mind to appreciate it), but surely and by far, probably my favourite ever of their range as a work of... hell, there, I’ll say it: a work of art. I think it accomplishes a level of vibrant creativity and impeccable perfection no other Amouage ever did, except maybe for Ciel. But Dia probably pushes the limit even above that. It manages to be smoother, to subtract even more, to make an even more precarious, complex and thin balance perfectly stand still as a transparent ice sculpture. Just replacing ice with air. Others in their range are more easy to love, richer and more fulfilling maybe, surely performing better and thus being more appealing and easier to wear. But Dia Man is just something different.<br />
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On paper it is seemingly quite a simple, understated floral-suede-vetiver scent with spicy-green accents – and you could wonder where’s the deal. The deal is precisely in how Dia transform that mildly promising, yet probably not-overly-exciting structure into something completely amazing. And that sadly can’t really be described with words, which would only make it sound undeservedly boring. Or well, mines would surely. I could mention a mind-blowing weightlessness, a unique sense of natural refinement, an amazingly, almost hypnotic slow evolution bringing in and out vetiver, smooth smoke and posh powdery suede, quiet clean woods, delicate breezy flower petals (orris, peony, ylang) which you can almost feel agitated by some gentle wind, an incredibly crisp yet almost unperceivable sort of grassy-minty aroma breezing erratically through the notes as a fairytale ghost of an elf, a genius touch of silky fruitiness... but that would all make Dia sound “just as another good scent” – while it isn’t. Not because it isn’t good, obviously, but because it’s beyond a scent - it’s a world, really. I would add “totally unparalleled” if Hermès Cuir d’Ange didn’t exist, as in some way, I think these two scents share some connections – both in some notes (especially the powdery-suede treatment), in their stunning quality, and in their general texture and inspiration. But creativity-wise, Dia is probably a tad superior to that, as it dares a bit more in terms of minimalism and complexity. The palette is broader here, so to speak, but surely they share some roots.<br />
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Pardon this personal detour but in a way, Dia Man reminds me of some summer holidays I used to make in Switzerland, Engadin valley, some years ago. I always admired and deeply enjoyed the sense of cleanliness, clarity, purity and almost unsettling calm you can feel wandering through the lakes and the Graubünden mountains in the summer season, together with the warm, cozy, subtle yet somehow also very austere, pragmatic, even slightly decadent neat elegance of many houses and cafés there. In my memories the world there was all green and blue with a sprinkle of flowers, a constant uplifting crisp breeze, a Swiss sense of restrained elegance combined with a deep, archaic love for nature and for the mountains, with their dark shades and primitive secrets (which a couple of clouds are enough to transform from heaven to the most frightening place on Earth). I mean, Nietzsche spent his holidays there, in Sils Maria’s village – you get what I mean. It’s not only about some fresh air and good food to seek some rest. It’s like wandering through human nature. Now ironically Amouage’s heritage hasn’t much to do with of all that (or maybe it has?), and yet the refreshing, soothing sense of sophisticated, almost meditative yet also very “civilized” raw naturalness is quite the same. Probably “natural elegance” hasn’t ever make so much sense as it would for Dia Man. And it’s something really beyond simple charm, or a simple “natural feel”. It’s truly the modulating smell of a whole ideal world in a bottle, a blend of crisp archaic nature and modern cozy refinement. And the choice of giving it such a discreet, subtle texture is just pure genius to me, as it really feels like a call to your sensitivity and intellect to appreciate it at its fullest. Brilliant!<br />
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<b><span style="color: #990000;">10/10</span></b><br />
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-41523788602338942952016-02-06T18:11:00.000+01:002016-02-06T18:11:08.093+01:00Leather by Franck Boclet (2013)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixuIR3HW6zFYU0NvLVIm4omlIS2Bc6JMj-3-kPLdsiz2YOOO67MddZ7VC7IymJOmY1nuf3ip5BCeMnZdOTpvFcv7O69jxFU_FGXpb6z0Srib9BtoEJeyXIgD1tng1Qk6A1Na-vFVntclU7/s1600/IMG_COFFRET_LEATHER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixuIR3HW6zFYU0NvLVIm4omlIS2Bc6JMj-3-kPLdsiz2YOOO67MddZ7VC7IymJOmY1nuf3ip5BCeMnZdOTpvFcv7O69jxFU_FGXpb6z0Srib9BtoEJeyXIgD1tng1Qk6A1Na-vFVntclU7/s640/IMG_COFFRET_LEATHER.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>Nose: Melanie Leroux</b><br />
<br />
I recall I tried this once a couple of years ago and was more pleasantly surprised than I would have liked to admit – it’s niche, it’s quite overpriced, for a die-hard “anti-niche” like I was (and partially still am) it’s sometimes hard to admit that something smells nice. Now I got the chance to smell this again and yes, it smells definitely good. By “good” I mean here my favourite interpretation of the term, applied to perfumes: “solid and creative”. This is in fact something quite different and finally, quite more unusual than the majority of today’s niche leathers (which smell either like bitter rubber or whatever other ill, unwearable idea of leather, or just like Tuscan Leather clones). It opens with a sort of medicinal-nutty accord of amber, mild patchouli and some quite good saffron, mixed with a delicate sort of salty, salicylic-musky “polished” leather with a hint of rubbery oud, topped with a crisp, very mild yet perceivable “fresh” balsamic whifff of woody-floral notes. Quite unusual, as I said: it blends some clean, musky-modern leather as in Lang’s Cuiron with M7’s “nutty-medicinal amber” (actually, the resemblance to M7 is quite bold here for many aspects, and that just hits a soft spot for me), perfectly blending them under a sheer floral-balsamic light. The result is extremely pleasant, compelling, flawless and totally nice to wear. It feels nutty and woody (or better say mostly “cedary patchouli”), quite spicy but in a smooth crisp way, at the same time also feeling “musky” clean with a hint of salt. Overall it does convey a sense of modern, clean, freshly-polished “leather” without involving the usual clichés of these types of scents (and without basing the concept on a load of uncooked rubbery aromachemicals). I’d also mention Cuir d’Ange as a distant reference for the musky-powdery leather part, although Boclet’s Leather goes on a totally different path – nutty, ambery and medicinal as I said. But in a way, it also has this “breezy” powdery side which definitely echoes Ellena’s masterpiece, too.<br />
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Just to be clear, I dropped some really big names here – Cuiron, M7 and Cuir d’Ange. It’s not that Boclet’s Leather can be compared to them, as it definitely can not: it’s just that the inspirations seem to me recalling these works, whether that’s intentional or not, and that’s really a plus since the majority of leathers today seem often pointing towards other, vastly more trite directions. This one instead tries at least to think leather out of the box and do some - at least, partially - creative work on it, with just the right touch of 2000s nostalgia. And the materials work fine too, it smells very nice, rich enough yet totally smooth and discreet as a proper “modern refined leather” should. Partially synthetic too, sure, but it fits the concept and there’s some work around it. Still a bit overpriced and with a slightly disappointing longevity, but a more than worthy addition to any leather fan’s wardrobe.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;">7,5-8/10</span></b>Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-31875077532477958852016-02-06T18:08:00.001+01:002016-02-06T18:08:12.879+01:00Dzongkha by L'Artisan Parfumeur (2006)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4wT71-c1DAyhbCJWQ0du_NQ08LpFWUuTxjwXnb5I-Cd45jTcNrGjTmbcJyPnfZ0g5oI4AMXAN47KmegoNAXGmuaqQ6OO-JgEcYXdVjfAfYn9mKt9ZatOUrCHCWWGGN8P0pnRceTvBEMgF/s1600/lart-edt-dzongkha-100ml-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4wT71-c1DAyhbCJWQ0du_NQ08LpFWUuTxjwXnb5I-Cd45jTcNrGjTmbcJyPnfZ0g5oI4AMXAN47KmegoNAXGmuaqQ6OO-JgEcYXdVjfAfYn9mKt9ZatOUrCHCWWGGN8P0pnRceTvBEMgF/s400/lart-edt-dzongkha-100ml-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Nose: Bertrand Duchaufour</b><br />
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I’ve never been a fan of L’Artisan fragrances, let alone the uncontrollably prolific Bertrandingo. But one thing I’ve to admit – in the extremely seldom circumstances where they both work at their best, with decent budgets and some solid inspiration, the results are great. And this is definitely the case. This is easily one of the best woody-iris scents on the market, brilliantly succeeding in blending the utmost versatility and wearability with a tremendous level of creativity and quality. Basically I agree with the reviews (including Luca Turin’s one in his Guide) which connect Dzonghka to Timbuktu, as this is indeed basically Timbuktu with iris, which is amazingly blended within that peculiar sort of transparent cypress-woody and subtly leathery structure adding a powdery, rooty, dry and earthy-waxy texture which fits it just perfectly. It’s like to smell the smoky, greenish, autumnal “papery” woodiness of Timbuktu shyly blossoming in early March. Not a “floral triumph”, just some faint, pastel, still quite dark accent of rooty-floral notes rising from the soil, soon joined by a subtle, warm tea note. This is pretty much of Dzonghka smells, and it’s just achieved perfectly. It’s graceful, elegant, natural, breezy yet very cozy: no cheap musks, no plastic iris. The concept is simple, the execution is clever and well mastered. Just some genuine, palpably realistic sprinkle of orris powder on smoky woods with a “mineral” salty aftertaste and a slighty touch of sweetness which will grow in strenght on the (impeccable) drydown. It’s poetic, complex yet quite straightforward, masterfully executed keeping Timbuktu’s great ability of smelling “airy” but totally substantial. And it smells fantastic anyway. Heart-warmingly austere and very classy. Plus, finally a decently-projecting, decently persistent L’Artisan, for God’s sake. Recommended!<br />
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<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">8-8,5/10</span></b>Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-89351919641514260612016-02-01T21:14:00.000+01:002016-02-01T21:14:09.475+01:00Colonia Intensa Oud by Acqua di Parma (2012)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIeJZRFPQb7bhBj2YsEyej4bCyjVjO_QENKPycJwqZOFewqLVgiPUjvDU4lBS1YZ-8mG6Rs07cQCe6Jqg7Weg88GSE7IVMp_cneUZM2D5688d97pRT1MU4Y5W-KgaVbEgmP_GuX2A0pjS5/s1600/Acqua_di_Parma-Colonia_Oud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIeJZRFPQb7bhBj2YsEyej4bCyjVjO_QENKPycJwqZOFewqLVgiPUjvDU4lBS1YZ-8mG6Rs07cQCe6Jqg7Weg88GSE7IVMp_cneUZM2D5688d97pRT1MU4Y5W-KgaVbEgmP_GuX2A0pjS5/s400/Acqua_di_Parma-Colonia_Oud.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Well, nothing more and nothing less than one may expect from an “oud” take on Acqua di Parma Colonia. A wannabe-posh, soapy, sheer, very smooth (and very synthetic) sort of citrus-floral-musk blend infused with a dark, rubbery, bitter yet overall quite tamed down and exceedingly artificial woody accord of oud and birch, becoming drier and muskier as hours pass. I must say that somehow, the initial “fizzy-soapy” frame which comprises the oud accord works, and makes Colonia Oud smell as a fairly pleasant sort of “bright oud” with a laundry vibe. There’s a tangy sort of citrus-geranium accord which fits in surprisingly well. Given the bitter rubbery dirtiness of the synthetic oud note, it creates quite a pleasant play of contrasts – which will eventually fade away and leave the stage mostly to rubber and synthetic woods, but until it’s there, it’s nice. Still though, even considering that, it’s all really too cheap and ultimately uninspired to sparkle some interest. The “Colonia” side is just as flat and artificial as in the Intensa version (I’m still wondering how the Colonia line can comprise gems like the Assoluta next to utter garbage like the Intensa), and the oud accord is for me nothing different from any drugstore oud accord you can find anywhere these days. The price and the “luxury” packaging would let you think we’re in the same ballpark of something like, say, Dior Leather Oud, but truth is, we’re more close to Ferrari Oud, or Versace Oud, a Montale imitation dupe or whatever other lower-key designer ouds. Just a matter of quality: flat, synthetic, as much generically refined as completely “muted”. Nothing against that class of scents by the way, but there’s a reason if they cost three or four times less than this.<br />
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Not sure why (or well, reading what I just wrote until now, I can see why actually), but at the very first sniff my mind just came out with a spontaneous association – “what an airport fragrance this is”. Out of the blue, I just imagined a mid-level manager waiting for his plane. Not a wealthy businessman snorting fine complimentary cocaine in some vip lounge, just some ordinary businessman playing with an empty cracked bottle of water, boring the hell out of himself, probably needing a shower after a two hours taxi ride to the airport. Think of focusing your nose on some details – the citrus musky cologne he wore before leaving the motel now mixing with sweat, the cheap smell of his ready-to-wear laundered suit, the rubbery smell of his trolley bag and of the airport seats, the overall sense of suspended, depressing boredom which fills such “non-places” like airports. That’s the mood of Acqua di Parma Oud, basically somehow a sort of slightly more pretentious “office scent” with a professional look (not refined, not sophisticated, just “professional”) and subtle dirtier vein. And by that I don’t mean something “sexy” , just literally dirty, sweaty and rubbery. It’s all filled with a nondescript, quite deep feeling of restrained, unemotional “nothingness”. And well, it smells a bit more cheap than it should anyway. Not blatantly cheap and not completely tragic, but definitely unworthy the price tag. Kind of similar to Indonesian Oud by Zegna (and just as much dull as that).<br />
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<b><span style="color: #660000;">5,5-6/10</span></b><br />
<br />Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-47303039030403641772016-01-30T15:14:00.001+01:002016-01-30T15:14:24.396+01:00Private Blend: Italian Cypress by Tom Ford (2008)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zHd1ceEztrPHcg6VIjDMoXsdzLhPT6ahWnTSFoAKKJhZSvX2GrDvD7ObpmyiOFd690OlZvMKt2jT5x1cTF4R58Q8kta-f4L92RX2u2Wgs5QUEJ_QR9q_-Le09AgZ-x0BUYQn5GrusExb/s1600/8066343_fpx.jpe" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zHd1ceEztrPHcg6VIjDMoXsdzLhPT6ahWnTSFoAKKJhZSvX2GrDvD7ObpmyiOFd690OlZvMKt2jT5x1cTF4R58Q8kta-f4L92RX2u2Wgs5QUEJ_QR9q_-Le09AgZ-x0BUYQn5GrusExb/s400/8066343_fpx.jpe" width="320" /></a></div>
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Bingo! My favourite Private Blend scent so far. Or better say, the only one I would say I truly like. I wouldn’t ever spend that money for this, but let’s be honest – this is very good. It’s basically a better (way better) Ralph Lauren Polo Green, which is a scent I moderately admire and really wanted to like, while I couldn’t really – pardon the blasphemy, but I find it (in both its vintage and new versions) too dry, unbalanced, screechily macho and almost vile. Italian Cypress just tweaks the right knobs and fixes that same concept to perfection, creating a very handsome, mature scent with a brilliant masculine vibe miles away the idiotic baseball-hatted “bro” attitude of half of the rest of the Private Blend line.<br />
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Basically it’s a very compelling, “virile” and old-school yet somehow totally contemporary green-woody fougère with an amazingly crisp sort of leafy-earthy feel of balsamic greenness and smoky woods. It covers the whole spectre of aromas you’d encounter in a forest, basically – from the thin fresh balsamic air, to the damp smell of woody roots. It may sound nothing special or new, but instead it manages to present such a conventional structure under a very different, and ultimately quite distinctive light. Probably the cypress accord is the key, as it’s green, minty and woody in a very peculiar way – a sort of bitter, watery, rooty, exceedingly realistic smell of crisp green woods. Now take that, surrounded by a half-macho, half-gentleman fougère-inspired aura of smoke-infused darker woods (slightly birch-y, too) and topped with an added dose of more rarefied citrusy greenness. Nothing really Italian actually, this smells more like some German forest to me, like in some Prussian area – it feels quite balsamic, uplifting, but at the same time somehow cold, dark, archaic. More “viking” than “macho”, so to speak. “Italy” shall mean probably more citrus, more herbs, and a more friendly, affable, laid-back mood, while Italian Cypress has some fascinating feel of dry, austere breezy darkness that definitely moves the inspiration way “more up-North”, in my opinion.<br />
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Anyway, inspirations aside this is a very well made scent, not overly creative but really impeccable. It smells just great: refined, quite natural, fascinatingly complex, subtly austere, it manages to do something I always love with fragrances – making you feel “home” with an apparently conventional structure (the early Eighties green fougère here) but yet refreshing and playing around with it a bit, just enough to smell distinctive and show some, say, “up-to-date” personality. Plus it also checks all the relevant performance marks – lasts well, projects well, no unpleasant surprises, very decent materials. Well done.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #38761d;">8/10</span></b><br />
<br />Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-21543422147073721212016-01-30T15:12:00.000+01:002016-01-30T15:12:05.686+01:00Tea for Two by L'Artisan Parfumeur (2000)<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: x-large;"><b>Get a job!</b></span></div>
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I had some expectations about this, as I really love tea, but as for tobacco (which I love, too), this is just another disappointment. I may be wrong or used to the wrong kind of teas, but I really don’t see how one could buy this cheap, synthetic, subtly (but I admit, pleasantly) zesty musky-spicy blend with a massive synthetic tobacco base for a “lapsang blend”. Or a tea blend of any kind, unless you reference tea is in your office’s vending machine. It isn’t dramatically bad, but it’s just a fairly cheap, extremely linear and massively uninspired sort of sweetish mish-mash between Gucci pour Homme II, Tobacco Vanille and Bvlgari Black and/or Céline pour Homme, in a clumsy attempt to rip-off Annick Menardo’s style and fondness for dry, smoky, elusively Oriental “weightless” textures (not the first time I notice this “talent” of the Queen of hipster parfumistas – Olivia Giacobetti). Again, just to be clear, it smells decent, but it’s really a depressing department store kind of decent. If you want a sweet tobacco, then stick to the plethora of cheap clones of Tobacco Vanille; if you want some versatile masculine tea-infused scent, the immensely richer, more compelling and more quality Gucci pour Homme II is there for you, and it’s still the nicest “tea-inspired” scent I’ve ever tried.<br />
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You know that joke: “when I went to parties and then people said things like «there was two or three people», I always was «or three»” - that’s Tea for Two. A flat bit of this, a bit of that, mediocrely diluted with zero inspiration and zero creativity. Last but not least, with a crap longevity. Meh.<br />
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<b>5/10</b>Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-14699621304849489522016-01-12T18:35:00.002+01:002016-01-12T18:35:58.019+01:00Endymion by Penhaligon's (2003)Many lows, but some highs indeed.<br />
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One of the most (or should I say, “few”) intriguing fragrances by Penhaligon’s together with Sartorial, both sharing the same peculiar feature – showing a sort of deceptive designer-oriented nature, but creatively elaborating it with what I’d personally consider an interesting and very compelling “artistic” twist (sorry for that, I hate the concept of “artistry” applied to fragrances; don’t take it too literally, it’s just meant to refer to the creativity involved in this). Endymion is basically a very gentle, impeccable, sophisticated and truly British in spirit sort of plushy powdery-gourmand Oriental scent with a fantastic smooth bergamot opening and a coffee-infused, musky-woody and slightly honeyed-resinous foundation, that overall undoubtedly contains echoes of many designers – from YSL La Nuit de l’Homme to Zegna Intenso to the drydown of Rochas Man, but it wouldn’t really be fair to compare them. There’s echoes, they may share a similar sort of inspiration, but that is really not enough to make a proper of comparison in my opinion, as their “substance” differs enormously. Endymion has a whole different quality and texture, which briefly put, is better – or well, surely more fascinating. It smells at once more substantial than them (except for Rochas Man maybe, that was a masterpiece already), more crisp, more quality, and most of all delightfully more ethereal, impalpable, boundless and sophisticated. “Emptier yet fuller”, if that makes sense. And it’s not simply a matter of lightness, I think it’s just a whole different approach and construction, and that’s what marks the difference.<br />
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As Diamondflame brilliantly explained below in fact, Endymion belongs to that small family of “airy”, weightless (yet more than substantial and rich in character) scents together with Hermès Cuir d’Ange or Prada Infusion d’Iris: stuff which doesn’t smell like a “normal” blend of notes, just rather a unique heavenly whiff of “pure scent”, which you’ve to take and enjoy for, well, just what it is – in which the materials are so good and blended so effortlessly well and out of any formal pattern, that you only get “it”, as a whole. And that’s truly a delightfully, poetic effect on skin, as you almost feel you aren’t wearing a fragrance – you rather feel surrounded by an impalpable, almost nondescript yet perfectly detectable and enjoyable scented aura of distinguished lavendery-gourmand British class, tightly blended and masterfully balancing a sort of “double cleanness” – clean zesty top notes of bergamot, clean “laundry-talc” musk and soapy sandalwood on the base notes, wrapped around a warm, velvety heart of lavendery-gourmand-herbal elegance with a perfectly mannered shade of woody smoke (which will arise more prominently on the drydown). It’s warm, sunny, cozy like an English sunset. It feels familiar, but unique. Truly irresistible. I’m probably over-romanticizing this and I am not sure if I made some sense with my description, but just I enjoy immensely the way Endymion disguises its evocative uniqueness under a deceptive, easy-to-dismiss designer-oriented look. And regardless of that it just smells fantastic, surely more on the discreet side of the spectrum projection-wise (albeit quite persistent), but it fits the scent and the inspiration perfectly. A lovely uplifting gem.<br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><b>8,5/10</b></span><br />
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-58370053473565730762016-01-06T16:56:00.002+01:002016-01-06T17:00:43.190+01:00Ciel Man by Amouage (2003)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One of the most unusual Amouage scents I’ve ever tried, and overall also one of the most unusual fragrances I’ve ever sniffed in general. The uncommon nature of Ciel lies to me in its very complex texture made of, say, several thin layers perfectly matching one onto another, which I would have never thought that could blend so perfectly together considering them singularly. It’s basically an amazing sharp symphony played around several nuances of green, peach and white. A lot of inspirations come into play here, from a herbal-mineral masculine fougère (Guy Laroche Horizon anyone?) to a slightly creamy-green sort of Gucci Envy for Women type of blend, connected by an old-school, extremely sophisticated Chanel-esque soapy-fruity axe of white flowers – jasmine, mostly – and peachy notes, all framed within a gentle yet very crisp “barbershop” layout of lavender, sandalwood and vetiver. Basically a sort of bizarre “feminine fougère”, so to speak, as it smells clearly rooted into the classic family of green/barbershop fougères but throwing in a bold “feminine” aura of floral and fruity-powdery notes, and most of all, a very peculiar – and again, more on the feminine side – substance: very breezy, clean, sharp, transparent, almost “crunchy” in its crisp leafiness, at once graceful and silky. I’m not that into gender categorizations but one can really see this isn’t exactly a range of “macho” features – and I fear this is why many men seem disappointed by Ciel.<br />
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So overall, something completely different from most of other Amouage offerings for men. No opulence, no somber incense-resinous sumptuosity, actually the complete opposite: Ciel Man, surely aptly named to this extent, is all played on a very clean heart palette of pastel colours which are all about floral silkiness, faint greenness, gentle fruitiness, sharp cleanliness, somehow feeling kind of “formal” and almost aseptic (oddly in a good way, a “calming” and soothing sort of asepticness). As I said there is indeed a subtle green-barbershop fougère vibe though, a sort of very discreet frame made of “mineral” herbs, light vetiver, soapy sandalwood and spices, perfectly acting as the manlier counterpart to the breezy feminine heart of Ciel. But still it’s probably more leaning towards the “floral-green-clean delicate stuff”. The drydown leaves most of the stage to the woody-spicy notes, so as time passes Ciel becomes more and more “masculine”, dry and woody, with a whiff of smoke too, still with a decided green-white mood.<br />
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The quality is more than remarkable to any extent for me, both of the creativity and of the materials, as I smell a lot of notes and nuances with an astounding clarity and richness – which is one of the things I love the most in the nicest Amouage scents, their intricate yet very clear texture, something only top-notch quality materials can allow you to build. It’s all consistent and harmonic, and yet perfectly “separate”, allowing you to dive into the composition and smell the notes with a heart-melting clarity and deepness. Overall an unusual, crisp green-azure unisex gem with some hidden darker nuances which I’d really recommend to any fragrance fan, at least for a try. Many seem to mistake it cleanliness and apparent light breeziness for dullness, while it’s actually an incredibly creative, complex and interesting blend for me (or I maybe wrong, of course). It could, and maybe should be a bit more powerful, but I appreciate its discreet yet long-lasting presence on skin.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">8-8,5/10 </span></b><br />
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-25047976011672807112015-12-26T14:06:00.000+01:002015-12-26T14:07:00.631+01:00La Collection Privée: Fève Delicieuse by Christian Dior (2015)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Nose: François Demachy</b><br />
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I wouldn’t say that Fève Delicieuse (“delicious bean”, or in North-Center Italian slang, “delicious d*ck”) smells completely horrid, but it’s really almost there. It doesn’t really “smell Dior”, and surely not “Collection Privée”. Not that the rest of the line was breath-taking, but Fève is basically nothing different quality-wise and overall concept-wise from the cheapest Oriental-gourmand ranges of fragrances and grooming products sold in drugstores or supermarkets. Stuff like Italian brands I coloniali, or Tesori d’Oriente - but way below Les Nereides or L’Erbolario, to give you a rough idea of how cheap this is. Imagine that kind of stuff blended with some sort of clumsy imitative Mugler-esque kind of “allure”, sort of echoing some A*Men flankers but without that consistency and playfulness (and they cost half of this anyway).<br />
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Basically Fève Delicieuse is a thick, annoyingly flat and cloyingly artificial Oriental-gourmand candy of vanilla, amber, tonka, cedar, powdery-caramel and spicy notes tinged with a tame hint of smoke and some pleasant sort of earthy-vegetable suble nuances, which are quite nondescript but help in lowering the diabete-inducing ratio of sweetness and represent the only sparkle of interest in this disgraceful bucket of dullness. There is basically no evolution and no particular “twists”, just a sticky slap of melted toffee candies laying on your skin, decreasing in power as hours pass – thus becoming more pleasant. Sweetness is the main and most feature of Fève Delicieuse: mediocre, cheap, unrealistic, alienating sweetness, truly comparable with any low-brow drugstore gourmand scent for teenagers. I was not the most enthusiastic fan of the rest of the “Collection Privée” collection apart from Leather Oud, but still I clearly got a sense of decent quality, complexity and craft among the others – or at least, some efforts for that. To this extent Fève Delicieuse is an astonishing ugly duckling among them (minus the happy ending), since it smells not only cheap, but also completely uninspired, simplistic, tired, a more than generic “déja-vu” with a crazy price tag and no reasons to exist. If you’re a fan of The Office US, then I’m Michael and this is my Toby.<br />
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<b>4,5/10</b>Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-34954116717045022152015-12-23T19:27:00.000+01:002015-12-23T19:27:24.296+01:00O/E by Bogue (2015)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I’m very puzzled by the distance between the hype which has graced this brand from the very beginning of its journey into niche, and the actual quality of their fragrances I’ve tried so far. Both MAAI and Cologne Reloaded seemed to me some very dull and pedantic exercises around very classic structures, something I guess pretty much any nose working for any company anywhere between the 1950’s and the 1990’s would have been able to compose blindfolded; and now this, “O/E”. If on one hand it’s at least a bit more modern and more creative than the other two, on the other hand it kind of reinforces my conclusion that toying around classic structures seems really the main and only skill of Gardoni, or whoever is the nose behind Bogue fragrances. Because O/E smells horrid. A trainwreck. Pardon my French but it really is. Theoretically it would be a “citrus-green leather chypre”, so to speak, so imagine – on paper – a very bold citrus-green top accord built on a dark, herbal, even skanky and slightly powdery-vanillic foundation of woods, oakmoss, and some rusty tan leather. <br />
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The problem is that it seems the brief was then handed to a clueless janitor with the specific request of cutting costs and sourcing materials in his storage closet. The citrus-green top accord smells astonishingly cheap, acrid, artificial, flat and harsh, something way more suitable for cleaning tiles than scenting skin. And it’s just clumsily sticked as-is on a more than mediocre leathery chypre foundation, which smells no better than any robust pre-world war II drugstore aftershave did. Mennen quality, to get you an idea. The notes smell from bad to dull per se, and they’re significantly poorly blended, thrown one against the other like a toddler would do with his toy cars. All topped with spices, with the same grace (and purpose, ultimately) of someone rapidly throwing a handful of sand in your face to rob you and run away. I’ve nothing against modernity and “clashy” compositions, as long as there’s some talent behind them. Here I don’t really see any. It’s just noise, cheapness, itch. A decent idea completely gone wrong. Persistence is remarkable though, which is good if you’re into scrubbers; evolution is close to zero, just some lemon and herbs fading away and (surprise, surprise) synthetic cloves growing in presence together with some vanillin and cheap leather aromachemicals. Probably the nicest part, if compared the early abysmal stages. Nothing different from the drydown of any 1 dollar aftershave, but at least it’s wearable (at 180 times more the price). I wish the best to Bogue but seriously... not with this, really.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">3/10</span></b><br />
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-89760363899922724172015-12-15T19:26:00.003+01:002015-12-15T19:26:29.722+01:00A Quiet Morning by Miller et Bertaux (2008)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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A Quiet Morning by Miller et Bertaux is quite a nice little discovery I’ve made recently, together with the fact that Miller and Bertaux aren’t, as I imagined, the umpteenth irritating couple of 30-something niche hipsters dressed in white garbage bags, rather two eccentric, laid-back middle-aged beardy gents. I’m not crazy for the other scents of this brand I’ve tried, but A Quiet Morning works darn good instead. It’s very minimalistic, but for once, it doesn’t seem to rely to the same trite array of synthetic aromachemicals which are in fashion in the “minimalist” side of perfumery. In other words don’t expect just another ripoff of some Comme des Garçons/Andrea Maack-like stuff. Neither a dull citrusy or floral faint nonsense. This is a pretty different take on minimalism – for the better. It takes (well, it took me) a while to appreciate it and it’s probably easy to dismiss it at first, but the truth is that it manages to smell somehow very natural and breezy, yet amazingly modern in its transparent thinness, still keeping it not cold or blatantly synthetic. It creates instead a very peculiar “aura” of warm, sophisticated clean subtleness and lightness which contrary to many other cases, at no point becomes “dullness”. It’s actually a very substantial scent with some seriously enjoyable transitions and depth: it’s just filtered through clear, thin pastel glass, smelling rarefied and delicate, but so to speak, very robust “in spirit”. And briefly put, it doesn’t smell like anything else. </div>
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The fragrance opens with a quite sharp yet weightless sort of bitter cedar, and actually oud-like note (emptied of any “animalic” dirt), quite woody, dry and spicy-medicinal, blended with a nose-tingling accord of ginger (or something similar to that) cumin and saffron, and a touch of rose – or, again, something similar to it, slightly floral and fresh-juicy. A tasty, dry, almost edgy spicy-woody-floral accord which soon starts to unravel a warmer heart: clean, soapy hints of sandalwood blend with a really enjoyable, very subtle yet crystal crisp accord comprising something like a honeyed saffron note paired with a microscopic drop of warm floral soap. I’ve mentioned the word “soap” a couple of times but don’t get me wrong; A Quiet Morning isn’t really a “soapy” scent, it just has some light hints of that (and this scent is all about shimmering, light “hints” of things). It’s dry, dusty and breezy, but has indeed a sort of slightly soapy-sweet and “juicy” base texture, mostly due to sandalwood and that touch of honeyed-floral spices. </div>
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On the drydown it becomes more and more warm and a tad sweeter too, before turning again more dry and woody, with a slightly bolder presence of (good, seemingly quite real) sandalwood still lightly infused with a sort of medicinal cedar-oud note, and a simply, quiet but somehow distinctive floral-spicy accord – which after some time starts reminding me of tea a bit, as some herbal accents pop out. All still feeling very light, clean and “peaceful”, albeit slightly smokier and darker than the first hours. The overall effect is very nice and enjoyable, achieving a rather unique sort of “spicy-woody airiness” that I basically never found so far in fragrances. It’s indeed a “quiet morning” feeling - soft, clean, cozy. It’s a very light scent, but somehow it projects and persists well better than it seems, staying more “around you” than on skin – which is an effect I’ve often noted in many (good) sandalwood scents, so maybe it is due to that. Probably too light for many given all the “bombs” we’re used to today, but an unusual, fascinating little gem. </div>
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<b><span style="color: #783f04;">7,5-8/10</span></b></div>
Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-71365278711700826342015-12-12T15:07:00.001+01:002015-12-12T15:07:43.456+01:00Gentlemens' Eau de Toilette by James Bronnley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As a longtime fan of classic British horror movies produced by Hammer or Tigon, I’ve always lived with a sort of “mythical” imaginary of the British countryside - permanently foggy, rainy, unwelcoming, with small shabby cottages and ghastly antique boutiques where everyone looks like Peter Cushing or the Shadmock from “The Monster Club”. Well, this little gem by James Bronnley I acquired by a complete casual chance, is the closest, most vibrant thing to all that world I’ve ever smelled. It has them all: while being apparently a very traditional citrus-herbal “barbershop” cologne, it has an impressive feel of dusty-camphorous decadence, impeccably blended with a distinguished smell of powdery moss, grass, aromatic herbs, vetiver and a nondescript, quite bold sort of “damp wood” feel (I think due to moss again, infused with something resembling to chamomile or sunflower), and a top accord of greenish citrus and neroli – which isn’t really “zesty” or particularly fresh, rather more bitter, dry, slightly floral and creamy.<br />
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Besides being exceedingly compelling and elegant, the overall feel is just quite more bizarre and puzzling for me, and surely I wouldn’t really associate this fragrance to summer. It may be just me, but I get a very dense feel of grayness, of dusty “countryside” mossiness, definitely something more autumnal for me. Think of entering a shabby cottage and catch a whiff of the inside – the smells of musty dust, cracked damp furniture, dry soaps, old books, cider dripping out of a cracked glass, the dapper landlord lying murdered on the stairs. Basically what many would refer to as an “old man” fragrance – and by “old” I would mean here two, three thousands years old. It’s a spooky and amazingly fascinating foggy mist halfway archaic and funereal, it smells sophisticated and very natural, breezy yet almost oppressive, very distinguished and neat yet almost off-putting. Associations aside, as I said (and as others already said better than me) it’s basically an impeccable “barbershop” citrus-mossy classic eau de cologne with a powerful sense of dusty melancholy, projecting just fine and lasting for long with an utterly enjoyable herbal-powdery drydown, still bearing a decided neroli note. Shortly a British decadent take on 4711 and the likes. Surely quite mature and fairly austere, but truly classy and pleasant. A true little gem far more unique and distinctive than it may seem by the composition, definitely worth it if you’re into classic “gentleman’s” stuff.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #b45f06;">8/10</span></b><br />
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-60089969094237325352015-12-03T21:06:00.003+01:002015-12-03T21:06:51.971+01:00Five by Bruno Fazzolari (2013)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wow. The opening (and well, the evolution too) of Five by Fazzolari is just “wow”. Powerful, deep, extremely clear and completely unique, at least for my experience. A very innovative sort of classic “eau de cologne” with citrus, edgy green notes and a very light powdery-mossy base... but richly infused with a sort of thick, evocative salty-watery feel. I would use the term “ozonic” if it wasn’t so abused and associated to so much garbage. But it is indeed “ozonic” in the most truthful and genuine sense possible. I know what you may think then – “well, basically an ozonic citrus scent?”. Theoretically yes. But actually no, not really. That would be the “concept”, but the notes and the way they’re blended smell deeply different from what you may think and surely from any ozonic-fresh scent I know. Mostly because of the herbal-watery feel, which is truly puzzling. It’s mindblowing for how realistic, faceted, shimmering and deep it is, and for how it interacts with the other notes. It smells truly like damp seaweeds and wet rocks with a gentle uplifting herbal breeze – imagine that, impeccably blended with a more formal “eau de cologne” fragrance (so citrus and lavender, basically).<br />
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It’s actually hard for me to do this scent some justice only with words, but yes, probably thinking of a classic “eau de cologne” rich in citrus and powdery notes blended with the invigorating smell of a sunny late afternoon lying on a damp rock on some cozy Sardinian cove, may more or less suggest what Five is about. With a clarity, a richness and a persistence I’ve never, ever experienced with this genre of scents. Truly perfect. Maybe Villoresi Uomo is a similar, and similarly amazing, unusual and rich Mediterranean interpretation of a classic citrus-herbal cologne, but lacking in what makes Five so special - that bold “iodine-watery” element which is, well, just brilliant – and is actually the main vein of Five (I mean the main “accord”, it’s quite powerful). Again, please don’t imagine any “calone” thing, or some flat chemical “salty” garbage as in many “sea-salt” niche scent – this is lukewarm, organic, rich living sea water diluted with a distinguished vintage citrus-powdery cologne and a sort of somehow fitting metallic aftertaste (which paired with citrus and a subtle darker mossy base, kind of reminds me of <a href="http://yeoldecivetcat.blogspot.it/2015/01/christopher-street-by-charenton.html"><b><span style="color: #666666;">Christopher Street by Charenton Macerations</span></b></a>). Fantastic drydown, with the “sea” effect taking the stage over the “eau de cologne” part, leaving a trail of fresh herbs and marine water on your skin. Probably the most interesting, clever and well executed variation on a classic citrus-herbal scent I’ve ever tried, and surely the bes t “marine” fragrance on the market for me.<br />
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<span style="color: #666666;"><b>8,5-9/10</b></span><br />
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-59967924634960972612015-11-29T13:32:00.001+01:002015-11-29T14:29:03.629+01:00Années Folles by La Parfumerie Moderne (2015)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rfDggZjdfRFME7kz8rALVLD3SR4FMBqW42D4KxE71lqUQ1hMprYEspvCKZyrjx93FRx7jM-Sn58aJZ_vaGsmukrLYyN1RyVBgasDLChkap-ro9IYiMEbSdbUCq-BbogViItAmtono4l9/s1600/3418-thickbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rfDggZjdfRFME7kz8rALVLD3SR4FMBqW42D4KxE71lqUQ1hMprYEspvCKZyrjx93FRx7jM-Sn58aJZ_vaGsmukrLYyN1RyVBgasDLChkap-ro9IYiMEbSdbUCq-BbogViItAmtono4l9/s400/3418-thickbox.jpg" width="370" /></a></div>
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I was very eager to try this new creation by <a href="http://yeoldecivetcat.blogspot.it/2014/06/la-parfumerie-moderne.html"><b><span style="color: #20124d;">La Parfumerie Moderne</span></b></a>, which is nearly the only new French niche act (of, say, the last 2-3 years) I personally consider worthy consideration and praise. And I surely appreciate the fact it took nearly two years for them to come up with a single new offering – in a time when niche brands launch a whole line once, sometimes even twice a year, that’s a true mirage. And well... once I sampled this, my expectations were decidedly exceeded. You can skip my boring detailed review and just trust me: Années Folles is absolutely great, probably the best offering by this brand, and in my opinion, one of the best works by Corticchiato. Années Folles surprised me for several reasons in fact, the first of which in chronological order being its breathtakingly rich opening. The fragrance starts with a truly sumptuous, yet actually rather simple structure of lavender (bold, deep, balsamic and “skanky” double-distilled lavender absolue) blended in a dusty-herbal frame of Mediterranean herbs and spices (thyme, nutmeg) and paired with a very clever and delightfully harmonic core of geranium and vetiver, which is quite subtle at first, but the drydown will do it justice. A veritable triumph of lavender (I think this was missing in Corticchiato’s portfolio?) and woody herbs supported by a gentle cascade of dusty resinous notes of tonka, patchouli and myrrh, vith a vague aftertaste of dry vanilla. </div>
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So basically Années Folles opens as a creative, remarkably well-executed mix of a breezy Mediterranean green-woody cologne, a formal, dusty old-school French “barbershop” lavender-based fougère, and a tangy, warm Oriental spicy-ambery-resinous blend. Floral, herbal and resinous, melting together a classic French inspiration (powdery, soapy, at the same time kind of dirty traditional fougère notes) with a whiff of Mediterranean rawness following Corticchiato’s fondness for herbs and green notes, brilliantly warmed by a touch of Oriental aromatic and dusty spiciness (blending with the French part to echo a sort of “Guerlinade”). All in the most genuine quality, almost an “artisanal” quality of materials, but with a rather mannered appearance – a sort of sophisticated, distinguished, kind of melancholic look in which the “rawness” and the depth of lavender and of the Mediterranean and Oriental inspirations are elegantly tamed down, as if the center and the perspective of the fragrance still remain rooted in a certain French sense of discreet, slightly decadent “chic”. Mediterranean and Parisian at once, so to speak, all filtered in faded, dusty sepia tones. </div>
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The evolution brilliantly unravels the vetiver heart, with a transition towards a powdery and smoky drydown tinged with masculine nuances of geranium and darker spices, and still a sharp hint of thyme. Some of the initial lavender-herbal “raw” greenness slowly fades away, bringing in a warmer, sort of talc-like and slightly sweet feel, reaching a (rather close to skin – maybe a tad too much for many) final drydown based on a very simple, delightfully cozy whiff of spicy-floral vetiver dusted with fine talc. Lavender remains as a “fil rouge” throughout the scent, with a shimmering transition from a bolder initial phase, to an ethereal, discreet powdery-soapy presence on the drydown.</div>
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So, to cut it short, Années Folles smells fairly “old school” on one side (a French digest ranging from Guerlain’s Mouchoir de Monsieur to Pierre Cardin pour Monsieur), and very modern on the other – the “modern” factor being an extremely fascinating weightless texture, which smells as much rich as crisp and somehow very breezy and almost thin, with a dark shade, or better say a “mist” feel. French, Mediterranean and Oriental inspirations are very effortlessly blended together in a sophisticated, natural, discreet blend with a very neat composition and a fantastic refined presence on skin. For some reasons this fragrance smells quite different from any other work by Corticchiato, both for the materials used (there’s a more massive natural feel here for me) and for the way its is composed and how it behaves on skin. I think this it is at once the most “old school” scent by him (except maybe for Musc Tonkin) and the most creative one, and it seems he really tried to use at best the natural behaviour of the materials with no “synthetic help” and no formal patterns – rather combining some of them. I really enjoy this fragrance, as it smells rich and fulfilling yet very approachable and actually simple to enjoy, extremely sophisticated but very cozy and versatile. As regards of the projection, Années Folles won’t be a bold “compliment getter” bomb as it soon sits rather close to skin, but that’s how most of elegant and quality scents perform. But well, I don’t want to start sounding servile or suspiciously enthusiastic, so... Just support the last good niche we have, don’t miss this.</div>
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<b>8,5/10</b></div>
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903438012388776944.post-35282052065315196492015-11-27T16:58:00.002+01:002015-11-27T16:58:54.361+01:00Bois d'Iris by Van Cleef & Arpels (2009)<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<b>Nose: Emilie Coppermann</b></div>
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I must admit it: I’ve a penchant for iris fragrances. As long as they’re even just decent, I always like them a lot. It amazes me how versatile this material can be, and how many nuances it offers. It can smell warm and luscious, dusty and cold, “grey” and “red”, plushy and earthy, and always so refined and mysterious. Anyway, Bois d’Iris is surely a remarkable must for any fan of this material, probably even more than other more praised ones in my opinion. It explores the colder-dustier and more balsamic side of iris, pairing it with dry resins, warm amber, a very peculiar sort of “greyish”, massively incense-driven crisp woody note, and a sort of rarefied foggy pine-forest feel. So imagine a breezy, balsamic, woody and above all, dusty-powdery incense scent, completely unisex and actually quite dark somehow, or better say “cold”, peaceful yet somehow aloof. Almost “lunar”, I’d say. And extremely refined: the dustiness has some very fascinating sort of sparkling texture – “silver powder”, so to speak. Dior named a scent “Bois d’Argent”, but that name would be so better for Bois d’Iris actually. By the way the two scents are indeed quite similar, but I prefer Bois d’Iris, for a couple of very simple features: less pretentious, more substantial.</div>
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What fascinates me about this scent is how it creates a shimmering, rarefied sort of “silver incense” vibe played on iris powder and resinous-balsamic woody notes, without using directly incense. I mean, this fragrance smells quite incensey to me, but in a peculiar way, “incensey and not-incensey at once”. Maybe more than incense I should say “a whiff of cold, azure-grey smoky breeze scented with iris and luxury resins”, as it feels weightless and airy yet surprisingly substantial, balsamic, enveloping. Truly one of a kind, extremely enjoyable and fascinating. Shortly – if it wasn’t clear already – I really like this scent: it feels quality, it’s extremely sophisticated, it’s delicate but not light or too close to skin – just elegantly discreet. I own other iris based scents, and this has definitely its own personality which makes it worth owning even if you think you’ve “smelled them all” when it comes to iris. Maybe a tad too expensive, but a true class act!</div>
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<b>8/10</b></div>
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Colin M.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07705076908856459638noreply@blogger.com0