Talk about "different" and "off", L'Anarchiste is it!
Funeral and wedding at the same time.
Rough and gentle, warm and cold, loud and silent, happy and sad, sane and mad.
Fruity notes and fresh mint combined with woods and musk create a feel of iron or copper to be precise. Highly unusual fragrance, hard to love and hard to hate at the same time. Absolutely unique.
This anarchist is more that of a nobility. Educated and calm, but had his rough time on the streets once. Now he's brooding while drinking a fine cognac, watching the parliament building in the distance from his window. Soon it'll burn. He knows, it's all settled. The clock is ticking final hours.
This was an extremely familiar smell. I must have smelled it on a thousand people in my life. It smells old-school and I was surprised to see it was just released in 2000. It's very much not my style and the "sandalwood" drydown smells like a spicier, masculinized Samsara. Overall it's a soapy, spicy, well-composed smell that just isn't for me.
I enjoy this fragrance and while it's unique, the candied fruit, spices, and woods remind me of Egoiste, which I prefer.
Finally picked up a sample of L'Anarchiste and had optimistic expectations for it, but sadly it's quite short of what I had hoped for. Basically, this smells like the potpourri isle from your local World Market store. It's a clash of odd orange, citrus and mandarin notes supported by cheap smelling cedar and a dash of stale spices. It brings to mind a repressed memory of a canceled flight home and the scent of a worn out hotel room near Newark airport. I can't recommend this one.
L'Anarchiste is a minty/woody fragrance from Caron. At first spray I detected the mint with the cinnamon. The dry down is very woodsy as sandalwood makes it's appearance with vetiver. The mint never goes away but it's much softer in the dry down. L'Anarchiste is sophisticated and very well groomed. It has a character of it's own.
The opening of this one reminds me of the sour apple-and-spices found in Catalyst for Men by Halston. It just relies much less on the spices. Ultimately it just smells like orange blossom with some slightly spoiled fruit. If you wait an hour or two until the juicier aspects have gone you'll find something like a pocket-warmed penny - sort of a Dr. Frankenstein's Pear, which is nothing like Azzaro's Chrome but sort of a robot's version of a Bath and Body Works fragrance. This is, of course, an olfactory trick, so give some credit (it also smells a bit like unsweetened barbecue sauce), but don't be wary of it. Nobody will think you smell undead. Maybe just a little odd. It is, in retrospect, so pleasantly different than most of what comes my way that I can't help but like it. If you like the idea of a ripe, cybernetic pear, give this a go.