THIS... this.... I was looking for something new, something I haven't tried yet, something... to round my order off to free shipping. So I stopped by my trusty Powerhouse group on here and went to the beginning of the SOTD post there, flipped through a bit, noticed that among the ones I haven't tried yet, Pierre Cardin came up a fair amount. Looked it up, it's drug store priced, why not.
Ya know how sometimes when you try a fragrance that's new to you, ya put it on, you're kinda like, "Eh. (shrugs)", but at some point later on in the drydown it becomes something magnificent? This one travels in the opposite direction. It starts of eh, then dies, then I applied one more spray to myself thinking, "Well just how bad could it get?", and now I regret having done so. About an hour later it became this cloying... ya know that "crazy girlfriend" meme that's been floating about in various versions? This becomes that girl, but not even a little attractive, wrapped firmly around your leg. Perhaps with more experience I would be able to describe scent-wise exactly why, but... without being particularly powdery, it's juuuuuust a bit too powdery, and without being particularly sweet, it's juuuuust a bit too sweet. There ARE some interesting things going on in there, but I can't give a thumbs up to something I find myself wishing to escape about an hour in. MIND YOU, having recently purchased this, I'm pretty sure it's the non-vintage juice, or at least not the original.
*This is a review of the vintage Pour Monsieur (Made in France).
Pour Monsieur opens with an aromatic herbal citrus accord derived primarily of lemon and basil coupling with powdery lavender. As the composition enters its early heart the citrus quickly dissipates, leaving the powdery lavender to now join with supporting dull carnation and powdery oakmoss rising from the base that gives the composition's fragrance profile a green tinge. As it makes its way further through its middle the lavender fades as the powdery oakmoss gains in intensity, supported by dry powdery vanilla. During the late dry-down the powdery vanilla remains though now in diminished support as an uncovered stark leather and relatively dry sandalwood tandem controls through the finish. Projection is average and longevity very good at 9-11 hours on skin.
Pierre Cardin Pour Monsieur (vintage) was created in 1972, and in some ways it really shows. This is a composition whose style has long since passed. While the style may be out of fashion, the composition is just as worthy of notice and admiration now as it was back then. The first thing that impresses is how well the aromatic herbal citrus top notes have held up considering the age of the vintage bottle used for this review. They really tickle your nose as the powdery lavender blends in perfectly. It has been a long time since I sniffed Pour Monsieur in its vintage form, so I forgot just how much oakmoss is in this stuff. Don't go in looking for a very mossy presentation though as it presents primarily as slightly green powder here. The oakmoss derived powder can be a bit too much on its own, then as the powdery vanilla joins in the level does get higher than desirable for the powder averse. That said, just as the powder nears distracting levels it never quite crosses over that line and diminishes substantially during the dry-down. Oh, and what a great dry-down it is... The combination of the dry sandalwood with hard leather works fabulously with the remaining powdery vanilla to take off some of the bite. That late dry-down payoff has got to be the best part of the composition by far. The bottom line is the approximate $65 per 75ml bottle on the aftermarket Pour Monsieur (vintage) may be a bit out of style, but it proves they just don't make 'em like they used to, earning a "very good" to "excellent" 3.5 to 4 stars out of 5 rating. Recommended to perfume lovers who are more interested in old fashioned classics over the latest trends.
Brilliant. Unique. Not in vogue anymore to smell like this. But still smells sexy and sophisticated. For the guy confident enough to be different and small like a sophisticated french gentleman. Fine french perfumery at its best. 10 out of 10. But utterly unique.
It’s an apparently simple aromatic fougere that’s citrusy, balsamic, sweaty (very sweaty) and powdery. But there's a wealth of spice, gourmand and floral notes that give it depth and complexity--after three weeks of daily wear and I’m still learning. Among notes absent from most pyramids are anise, almond and musk. It's very skillfully blended, with 11 aroma chemicals that possess floral aspects listed.
It's unpretentious, somewhat vulgar and very entertaining with superior diffusion, persistence and evolution. (Awakening in the middle of the night to wisps of musk and citral is very comforting.) This is a near great; it's a gift that it sells for so little.
15th April, 2014 (last edited: 04th August, 2014)
If you dislike Trumper’s Spanish Leather, you will also dislike this. And I do.
I immediately inhale the powdery, intrusive pong of scented haemorrhoid cream, deodorising balm for intractable leg ulcers, or Greco-Roman wrestler’s loincloth dipped in sour milk.
I picture a mincing Regency dandy giving his wig an extra dose of powder as an alternative to the monthly bath.
I am reminded of the aerosol cans mothers-in-law leave on the lavatory cistern to allow their dinner guests to cover whatsoever tracks they may otherwise have left.
I recall the stuff the barber soaks the comb in, between customers.
If I had to pick out a single feature of the overall aroma as being the most offensive, I think it would be Geranium-Lavender accord, which is perfectly titred so that the beauty of neither note can be discerned, but the combined chord is loud, intrusive, and ugly, like the Sandersons from Poughkeepsie arriving at your barbecue.
I suspect that the ‘nose’ (if I may hesitantly attribute such an organ to the creator of this travesty) was aiming at a fougere structure: the lavender, bergamot, moss, labdanum (cited as amber), and coumarin (cited as tonka) in the pyramid would certainly suggest this text-book intention. However, none of these notes meld in the heart of the fragrance. The colours separate out, as if printed with a misaligned cartridge.
In the dry-down, things only get worse. After 6 hours, I am dogged by a curly-sandwich stale, wedding-singer flat, wilted funeral flower, chewing-gum-on-the-pavement, polyester-shirted traffic-warden, geist.