Soul by Costume National (2015)

Nose: Dominique Ropion

This new addition to Costume National’s fragrances range represents the unnecessary confirmation that the only good Costume National scents ever made where the early couple of ones composed by Bruyère – 21 and Scent Intense. It almost seems the guys at Costume National share this feeling as well, since Soul smells basically like an unneeded rewriting of Scent Intense crossed with influences from some of those contemporary Middle East cheap brands which are quite invading the market lately – brands like Arabian Oud, Lattafa, Swiss Arabian and countless of similar ones, with their nuclear, and often sweetish spicy-smoky oud and/or leather blends. Soul is for me exactly halfway all of that, and I wonder why they hired some renowned nose like Ropion for such an uninspired, clerical copy-and-paste job. Soul definitely keeps Scent Intense’s peculiar bone structure of powerful, sort of dry and extremely synthetic amber-musk-fruity notes, and boringly crosses it with a smoky praline of vanilla and artificial, sort of medicinal-nutty oud with a dark shade of leathery patchouli and a greyish salty feel of ambergris. The result is basically “Scent Intense Oud & Patchouli” with a whiff of M7’s trademark ambery-medicinal oud.

Is it any good? Well, sort of. If you like Scent Intense, then that’s still way above this, as it smells richer, more quality and more fascinatingly complex, and also kind of more focused; if you don’t care for it, then Soul may be a slightly more peculiar than usual sort of “futuristic”, androgynous, dirty yet sort of “aseptic” take on oud and synthetic leather with an initially stomach-piercing galore of powdery-musky vanilla tinged with a nondescript candy vibe. A powerful sweetish musky candy with a drop of cheap smoky oud & patchouli, and an everlasting artificial and linear drydown... sounds familiar, eh? Nothing that probably some Middle Eastern drugstore brand isn’t already doing for ten dollars a bottle. Not abysmal, but go for Scent Intense anyway.

6-6,5/10

Panama 1924 by Boellis

Nose: Maurizio Cerizza (not sure)

Well, I’m impressed. Not that anyone should care, but I just realised that Boellis (or Panama 1924, I still have not clear which is the brand name of this line precisely) is perhaps my favourite Italian niche house. First because – pardon the pun - it’s out of Italian niche: out of tradeshows, promotional blog whoring, demented marketing ploys, absurd pricing range. Second because their products are truly good, and each of them really matches my tastes. I’m already a big fan of Panama 1924 Daytona, which quite grew on me over time, but I was still missing the classic Panama 1924; now that I tried it, I can’t say nothing but good things about this as well. A truly rich, solid and compelling tobacco-lavender “barbershop” scent with a veritable material feel of warm, vanillic ambery-powdery dustiness, perfectly supported by a really natural accord of something similar to a touch of anisic herbs, hay (both may be just nuances of lavender, though) and a gentle mossy-patchouli shade on the very base, briefly refreshed by an initial burst of refined, lukewarm and tea-like bergamot notes.

That’s it; mostly a tobacco-powdery scent, shortly, with a remarkably refined feel of dusty natural warmth. Basically something blending Odori Tabacco, several powdery scents for men (from Le Male to Jaipur Homme), anisic-lavender fougères from Azzaro pour Homme on, and a plain natural shaving soap bar. Panama 1924 does brilliantly evoke the shabby, yet refined atmosphere of a typical Italian old-school barber shop – which in the end, is Boellis’ (true and actual) heritage. The smell of soaps, powder, talc, antique woods, linen jackets with dusky tobacco in their inner pockets, all smoothened by a whiff of sweet notes (thus evoking the other pillar of the Italian, and specifically Neapolitan culture – food). All with the perfect sillage and a long, pleasant, non-artificial persistence.

I find this scent as much simple as amazing, I think it’s really well blended, with quality ingredients, and whoever composed this had very clear in mind what to take inspiration from, and for what type of audience. Nothing overly creative, nothing “luxury”, just nonchalantly classy and extremely enjoyable. A cozy little essay of “sprezzatura” in a bottle worth every penny of its price. Recommended.

8-8,5/10

Habit Rouge Dress Code by Guerlain (2015)

Nose: Thierry Wasser

By far the best novelty of 2015 for me, even if the year hasn’t ended yet. I must start by saying that I am not crazy for classic Habit Rouge; I really respect and appreciate it, but I like it really mildly – for no specific reasons, it just never completely “clicked” for me. Dress Code instead, I fell in love with it from the very first sniff, and I wouldn’t know where to start with to motivate why. It smells at once really complex, really quality, completely new for me yet robustly rooted into the classic heritage at the same time (starting from Habit Rouge itself), and just tremendously good. Basically, I think Dress Code may basically and inaccurately be described as a sort of remarkably inspired blend which brilliantly mixes Habit Rouge, the Guerlain Homme line (notably Intense), several classic French masterworks like Mouchoir de Monsieur or Monsieur de Givenchy, an apparently unrelated contemporary designer vein (mostly for a subtle and sharp smoky-woody base layer) and a tiny bit of vintage Hermès Bel Ami too, especially the way leather gets a floral-sweet treatment there. There’s some echoes of Tom Ford Noir too for me, which was however a clear tribute to Guerlain’s classics, so here we are again. There’s a lot going on here, and yet it is all so well blended it’s really hard (and eventually pointless) to “read” it.

Anyway, shortly Dress Code opens with a fresh and soapy bergamot-rose-barbershop accord with some quality vanilla, a sprinkle of mild brownish spices (cloves and nutmeg above all, as a distant whiff of a classic Bay Rum) and a dry, sort of incense-infused leather woody base, all tinged with a really peculiar and quite prominent sort of really sophisticated dusty powdery-gourmand feel of what I think Guerlain calls “praline” here – which is basically a gentle cascade of delightful vanillic powder with a truly clever sort of spicy and “toasted” aftertaste, perfectly keeping the “autumnal” feel of Habit Rouge and balancing the sweetness. I expected something more cloying, while this sweet accord is really subtle and mannered, and yet decidedly there.

At first, Dress Code is quite uplifting, even fresh and well more Oriental than classic Habit Rouge, also pleasantly “barbershop-clean”, showing some slight boozy nuances as well – hence my reference to Guerlain Homme Intense; that same sort of distinguished woody-herbal booziness is partially here too (and actually, with a hint of 2003 Gucci pour Homme’s incense woodiness as well) just evolving then under a completely different light. A darker, more luscious, dirtier and, say, “ambiguously sweeter” light – where the ambiguity lies in the Frenchies’ tradermark fondness for sweetness and dirtiness . The evolution is truly dynamic and shimmering, and is in fact all about a descent into a dandy’s closet; powder, nondescript sweet dust, dead flowers, a whiff of salty antique woods (maybe vetiver), luxury leather (true luxury: tanned, rich, comforting, really smooth but sharp – paired with spices, floral notes and a hint of sweetness, here’s why I mentioned vintage Bel Ami). The freshness goes almost entirely away soon except for a hint of citrus, leather becomes earthier and saltier, a gust of warm wind spreads the dirty, spicy, sweet powder all over. And still, Dress Code remains inexplicably gentle, distinguished and almost weightless. This scent is quite all about that - sweet but dark, innocently powdery and dirty at once, mature and really sophisticated yet sort of light and youthful, comprising a whole timelapse over Guerlain’s history in a whiff. It’s quite hard for me to describe this fragrance and its evolution properly, as lots of nuances and notes smell really new to me (better say, the way they are presented and how they evolve); but well, you can just expect a brilliant, refined, cozy combination of classic and contemporary bearing a lot of echoes of stuff you know (more or less the names I mentioned so far), and yet smelling like nothing else. The evolution is really great, and the performance is really fine – this scent is quite more discreet than it may seem from the composition, but it’s not ephemeral at all.

I think Wasser did a truly remarkable job in bringing Guerlain’s DNA and specifically Habit Rouge autumnal formal and “dirty” elegance under a completely new light – not a “designer” light, not a “niche” light, just really new and out of boundaries and definitions, as if he almost tried to get rid of any formal training and just compose “out of the box” to create something quality and new yet solidly rooted into the past, avoiding any cliché. And he surely succeeded for me. Superb.

9/10

Collection L'Homme: Thé Brun by Jean-Charles Brosseau

Nose: Pierre Bourdon
Year: 2005

What an odd scent this is. At first, Thé Brun smells actually quite as a faithful, vibrant, extremely pleasant representation of some traditional Chinese tea (I thought of the Oolong, too). Genuine dark brown leaves out of the bag. Quite a complex and really vivid structure of earthy, pungent, dry nuances blended with an uplifting fruity-herbal-balsamic heart and some really mild sweet-vanillic-floral nuances. Now, the odd part is that to my nose there’s at least two other major accords which smell at the same time perfect, and completely random; a really bold, fairly cheap and almost acrid sort of musk-hedione base (sort of a damp, grassy, slightly milky and extremely musky accord with a hint of pungent fruitiness) and a greyish, ashy-rubbery note, quite synthetic as well, the same exact kind of ashy-mossy rubberiness found in Bulgari Black, or in several works by Rasquinet (notably the MiN NY line, or Bois d’ascèse). It’s a dark grey, dusty, salty yet slightly camphorous feel similar to ambergris, which for some reasons, goes just perfectly with the brighter earthy-herbal tea heart of the fragrance and the sort of “lactonic” musky-green accord - which is quite bold as well, with also nuances of tarragon and bamboo (and some woods too, but I can’t detect them in detail). I know it may be hard to imagine how Thé Brun smells overall, and in fact it’s quite a unique and complex blend – not necessarily a good thing (but well, it kind of is here).

So basically, for me Thé Brun smells initially and for quite a while, like a sort of intricated hybrid between something like O de Lancome pour Homme and something like Bulgari Black, both gravitating around a grey-brownish balsamic heart of woody-earthy dry tea leaves. Quite fascinating overall, honestly a bit screechy but for some reasons, with a really peculiar and overall fascinating feel of “something smells wrong, but I can’t stop sniffing it” (most surely it’s the fruity nuances meeting the rubbery-ashy ones causing that). It feels like a bizarre mosaic of diverse inspirations – the archaic heritage of Oriental tea, the smell of a moldy grass field under the rain, and a whole range of artificial smells of rubber, ash, dirt, damp wood, wet concrete. So well, now that I think of it, it may make sense to connect these inspirations and imagine a shabby suburban teahouse in some desolated Chinese metropolitan district. Somewhere you can still drink an excellent cup of tea, just not in a postcard setting, but rather sitting in front of a crippled window looking at uncultivated grass bushes erupting out of an abandoned parking lot. I’m not entirely sure whether Brosseau wanted to evoke such a post-communist forlorn atmosphere, but it’s still better than the usual Oriental clichés in perfumery.

Anyway, back to the actual smell: pretty linear for a while, until the grassy-herbal-tea heart progressively vanishes and on the other hand, the ashy-musky base becomes warmer, gentler, in a way absorbing the top notes as if the whole tea-herbal stuff evolves and disappears as a result of an “infusion” among the base notes. At this time some of the screechy “oddness” is gone, and Thé Brun gets surprisingly refined and soothing, with a discreet smoky-musky presence with a sprinkle of amber yet still a bit grassy and balsamic, lasting quite long and projecting just fine.

I’m not entirely sold, but this is surely quite worthy a sniff.

7-7,5/10

Extract of Mysore Sandalwood by Crabtree & Evelyn (1970)

I was really eager to put my hands on this mythical vintage “Extract of Mysore Sandalwood” by Crabtree & Evelyn, since it is apparently considered among the most vibrant and truthul representations of authentic Mysore sandalwood in perfumery, as it shall contain some. Now, I am not an expert of sandalwood, so I can’t comment on the degree of authenticity and quality of sandalwood here; all I can say is that this fragrance smells terrific, period. Easily the best scent I’ve ever smelled among the ones containing “sandalwood” in their name. It’s just magic, and it truly makes you consider other sandalwood scents in perspective.

At first, there’s a tremendous blast of balsamic, slightly anisic and creamy sandalwood with a drop of citrus and an impressive “material” woody texture, joined by a really peculiar sort of earthy, almost ashy and even slightly fecal undertone; it’s truly subtle, but it’s there, creating a really vibrant dark and organic shade blending with the luminous, soapy, balmy uplifting creaminess of this wood. It feels like an instant Polaroid of a sandalwood plantation, which I’ve never even saw in pictures, so it’s just my imagination speaking - but that’s the beauty of fragrances. It’s soapy and exotically sweet, but now I see what “synthetic” means in relation to sandalwood – it’s a whole different kind of sweet soapiness the one you smell here. It’s just natural, deep, imperfect. It doesn’t pierce your nose or go right into your stomach, it’s not musk-driven, it doesn’t smell like laundry machines or cheap candies. It’s the kind of sophisticated, weightless woody sweetness you maybe got in the drydown of some vintage masculine scents like Egoiste or Tiffany for Men, just in a free, pure, complete and more “amplified” form here.

The evolution is quite dynamic then, and I guess that’s another key point of difference from any synthetic sandalwood scent. And again, it just feels as the natural course of an “organic” smell – it becomes warmer, dustier, drier, lighter too but it doesn’t entirely fade away. It just gently sits on skin with a peaceful, yet intricated harmony of soapiness, creaminess, dry woodiness, and a whole range of “rural” nuances coming and going – from hay, to indolic nuances. It gets darker and smokier for a while at first, then progressively breezier and brighter, and also simpler, more purely soapy and balmy. More and more discreet as well as time passes, but long lasting. Finally, just a note: don’t expect anything complex though, as this is a truly simple fragrance. Lots of nuances,but still gravitating around almost a single accord. Outstandingly, sumptuously, richly simple and quintessential, if you get what I mean, easy to love like a piece of perfect blue sky.

So overall, a true gem in my opinion. I must say though that the subsequent “Sandalwood” which Crabtree and Evelyn made in 2004 (discontinued as well, I think, but easier to get) is a truly remarkable and successful effort of bringing back some of these feelings and nuances of the original Extract, in a synthetic sandalwood fragrance. Some, if not most part of the magic is gone, and indeed you get a flatter, more artificial texture, but the final smell is amazingly close to this. The Extract is still worth its money in my opinion, since besides the smell there’s just a fantastic “experience” flowing out the bottle, but “Sandalwood” comes just right after with its tolerable compromises on quality. I own both and despite they smell similar, they don’t feel redundant.

9/10

Brioni by Brioni (2014)

Nose: Raymond Matts

So, finally I was able to try this expensive, sought-after (and discontinued?) “gem”. I’m usually quite a fan of tailors/bespoke brands fragrances, they often seem to put some more budget and care in their products, and seem able to infuse them with some true sense of class and discreet elegance contrary to many other designers - not to mention niche. To this extent, Brioni is not an exception and would be surely worthy a normal high-end designer price. Is it worthy *that* price I see on eBay and online shops now? Absolutely no. Not at all. It’s as much nice as far from being particularly memorable from any extent. It is basically a really decent, refined masculine citrus-woody fragrance with some smoke, cedar, lavender, some balsamic and crisp herbs and spices – shortly, a really classic citrus-green cologne with a classy Mediterranean vibe and a subtle woody-soapy bone-structure. A competent, classic “sunny” scent with some smoky wood and an above-average refined presentation. But still, really nothing more than a good designer, something dozens of other fragrances are as well – either designers, or niche’s “designer in disguise”. From some Hermès, to some Dior (Eau Sauvage line in particular) to some recent Guerlain (Coriolan meets Homme L’Eau Boisée), to Boellis, with a sprinkle of Kenzo too - bearing in mind you can almost get one for each, at the total price of a single Brioni Eau de Toilette. Unremarkably solid, with a completely insane price tag.

6,5/10

Fate Man by Amouage (2013)

Nose: Karine Vinchon-Spehner

To my supercilious nose, Fate Man reveals itself from the very first minutes as one of the dullest and cheapest Amouage offerings for men, and sadly the evolution does nothing but reinforcing this impression. The opening is pretty much a mathematical layering of a ton of drugstore cumin with a fairly cheap Iso E-infused cedar-vetiver-guaiacol accord (we’re in the same territory of countless inexpensive woody scents here; I thought of Chopard Noble Cedar, Azzaro Visit or La Martina Secret Wood, but options are really infinite) and a darker, thicker shade clumsily emulating some favourite chords of several “dark Oriental” niche scents of the past years – an agreeable, albeit derivative and a bit nondescript blend of musk, rough spices and smoky balsamic-resinous notes (labdanum, mostly) with a sort boozy-tobacco flower note (immortelle – think of Histoires de Parfums’ 1740) tinted with a sort of oily licorice vibe and a robust base of something like birch tar with a hint of dry oud. So basically a moody Oriental rework of a conventional woody scent. All finally wrapped together with a polished, dry texture, quite on the dark-spicy side, and sadly (if that wasn’t clear enough) quite cheap too for me. By “cheap” I mean that I personally don’t get anything different quality-wise from several inexpensive designer woody scents, the woody notes smell clearly “average” with no nuances or richness or whatever may indicate a sign of a higher quality; and I also don’t get any other added value – nothing creative, or particularly refined. No surprises during the evolution as well. A really bland Oriental dry woody scent with a dark shade and a bit more thickness than usual in the unsuccessful attempt to bring Fate closer to a niche quality (if that ever existed). Still something you’ve to keep smelling to remember how it smells. It’s nice, but a true joke for the price.

5/10

Olympios by Missoni (1994)

I’ve been quite on a “vintage Fahrenheit craze” lately, since I’ve been finally able to stock a decent pile of backups of it, and I wore it quite often. Besides granting me hours of sinful delight, that helped me also in assessing something I wanted to check since long time –if, and how much Olympios Missoni is actually similar to vintage Fahrenheit. I own and quite like Olympios since a couple of years, and before getting some bottles lately, I only vaguely remembered vintage Fahrenheit, so I was unsure of what to think about the relationship between the two. But I was quite sure that as other reviewers mentioned, the two fragrances were quite similar. Well in fact, now that I can compare them, they are indeed. The bone-structure is clearly the same: violet, herbs, cedar, powdery flowers, a hint of leather, moss, altogether creating a similar sort of “dark terpenic violet” atmosphere.

Still, there is enough difference to avoid any redundancy (well, sort of); Fahrenheit is decidedly more powdery, gassier and darker, and way more rich and complex, while Olympios is quite more simple, more herbal, drier and quite more bitter too, ultimately a bit cheaper as well. It feels like taking inspiration from the general genius structure of Fahrenheit, bringing it on an “easier” territory, both notes-wise and quality-wise. Nonetheless I would consider it a little true keeper, as it smells basically like a sort of bitter-herbal flanker of vintage Fahrenheit, both fresher and drier at once. I wouldn’t ever recommend this as a replacement for the immense, out-of-this-world intricated beauty of vintage Fahrenheit, but it’s surely a little fascinating gem that would make a perfect “discarded flanker” of it.

7,5/10