An exquisitely blended, almost sheer patchouli, Cozé is an ode to pleasure. It takes hefty notes, balances them perfectly against each other and presents them in a manner that is carefree and comforting. I keep returning to ‘almost sheer’ in my mind – I am astounded by the delicacy of touch.
The major accord is of a patchouli gourmand, sensual and satisfying – smooth sweetish patchouli united with bitter chocolate, a touch of dry coffee, and a dusty marriage of cured tobacco and vanilla. I don’t know how the heck Pierre Guillame keeps this dark and rich accord buoyant but he does. Against it revolve two contrasting impulses - one is of a lifting green via the declared note of hemp (but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were other sympathetic notes in there) and the other comes via wood notes that smell of bark that suck the sweetness from the patchouli and give it a licorice aspect.
For a patchouli-phobe like myself (I’m fine with it as a base note but shrink from it in a starring role) to be so struck by Cozé is saying something. I hope it is saying: ‘Please do try this for yourself as it is a delight’, and not: ‘This is a patchouli for wimps’. Marvellous stuff.
Just lovely, masculine, contemplative bliss.
Not unlike Heeley's Phoenician melody, journey.
This though, is drier, dustier. Borders on sour. Any sugar is barely noted. It hits on the "high" points of wood, sawdust,Jasmine tea and Canadian tobacco, ethereal. Intoxicating, my brain cells say, orgasmic.
Goes to the top of my list, for procurement.
Ordered one day, delivered the next.
Today March 16th, I spent the whole day "high" bathed in this. Bliss.
15th March, 2016 (last edited: 17th March, 2016)
Clove and smoky earthy patchouli dominate this odd but pleasant masculine scent. It's as if one is in the potting shed, mucking about, and brush accidentally against the blooming carnations.
Odd that I get none of the tobacco, chocolate, coffee and other gourmand notes. This is strictly clove and patchouli for my nose. I am briefly reminded fleetingly of Equipage and its clove/carnation note, although there is no comparison between Coze and that Hermes classic.
This strikes me as being a lovely room scent if one could spray it about. It clears the air and is bright and heady. Not something I would be interested in wearing though.
On my skin this is first of all a tobacco fragrance. The tobacco leaves are wet and fresh and pleasant smelling. Other notes include patchouli and spices to add complexity. It is one of the most pleasant tobacco fragrances I have tried. Long lasting.
Coze smells like someone picked up the nicest smelling things in the world – coffee, pepper, dark chocolate, hash resin, patchouli – and shoved them into a perfume. Well, that’s not entirely true, because that implies that this perfume was a happy accident, whereas, in truth, Coze is a great example of a perfume that pulls off a complicated balancing act without alerting the wearer to the nuts and bolts of its underpinnings. In other words, it’s a smart, quasi-gourmand whose genius occurs to you when you choose to look at it closely.
For something that references both hash and the stuff we eat when we get the munchies, this is as far away from the druggy atmosphere of a teenage boy’s bedroom as can be. I think that’s because the hash note has been cleverly married to a host of green, herbal, and woody elements, thus yanking the whole thing outdoors. Whenever I wear this, I feel like I am in the company of friendly lumberjacks, sitting down in a forest opening to coffee, brownies, and a “funny” cigarette or two after a morning of cutting down trees. It is the type of perfume that makes you feel happy in an uncomplicated way.
The opening is rather dry and dark – a brief boozy moment is followed by ashy tobacco and a “brown” dust that can only be dark cocoa powder. It is delicious and also slightly spicy. I can smell hot pepper and maybe woody, dusty cloves. I like the way that this dark, dusty layer is fitted closely over a sticky green hemp base, and then finally set to smolder and smoke on a base of mahogany wood chips. It provides a perfect balance between edible and inedible, dry and balmy, and smoke and cold, clean air. Technically, it’s probably correct to call Coze a gourmand or quasi-gourmand, but its genius lies in dotting the foody notes so evenly around a dark, woodsy, smoky base that it would never occur to anyone to call it “yummy”.
I’ve heard tell that Pierre Guillaume composed Coze when he was just twenty-five, which might give any sane person reason enough to hate him, even if he weren’t so jaw-droppingly beautiful. But how can I hate someone who gave the world Coze? Or someone who apparently has sprayed Coze onto his skin during exhibitions and licked himself to demonstrate how natural and harmless his perfumes are when ingested? I too have licked my wrist while wearing Coze and I can confirm that no harm came to me. (I cannot say the same for Montale’s Chocolate Greedy, which gave me a third-degree burn on my lip when I tried the same thing). Lovely stuff all round.