Fragrance Reviews by Leifer

The name "Hubert de Givenchy" will ring like gold to our French friends, for his astonishing impact on fashion during the 1950's, and again in the 1970's when his "Givenchy Gentlemen" line is launched and received extremely well. His involvement in Audrey Hepburn's fashion life, as well as his friendship with Cristobal Balenciago, only accelerate his progress in the fashion industry. However, we're not the French, and we're not going to discuss fashion -- so let's get down to his colognes.

His reputation for fine clothing had set the stage for such fragrances as "Monsieur de Givenchy", "Vetiver", and "Givenchy Gentleman" to be launched, invoking the interest of those who were already into the Givenchy fashion scene to enter the world of elegant scent. While Monsieur de Givenchy and Vetiver were before the time of the male fashion line, they are not without taste; a warm and soft blend of ingredients with passion equivalent to masterpieces in today's fragrant scene. Givenchy Gentleman, however, was launched a year after his line of clothing for men, and thusly was meant to complement high-end attire -- and it did. A charismatic blend of patchouli, leather, and citrus; Gentleman was a classic scent of the 70's, and still holds it's place as one of the finer colognes of the past; and these classic scents continued throughout the life of Givenchy's own formulations. While they are not numerous, they each carry their own soul and dignity. Through the Gentleman's, Xeryus', Insense's, Monsieur de Givenchy II's, and Insense Ultramarine's, we arrive to our destination: Xeryus Rouge.

To put it politely, the scents before Xeryus Rouge were... unobtrusive. They were simple, classic, lovely, and anybody and everybody could handle them -- they were the exotics that were so genuine in compilation that they were loved. Xeryus Rouge, on the other hand, is a demanding, attention-whoring, in-your-face liquid made from the most unfathomable of ingredients, including volcano-fresh lava, a jump-kick to your face, an assault of brass-knuckled punches to your gut, a spiked baseball bat to your knees, and quite possibly T-Rex skulls from the pre-historic era. This is nosegasm-inducing bottled masculinity somehow captured against its will.

So then, I think we've established that Xeryus Rouge doesn't follow the previous "Gentlemen" line that Givenchy had produced in the past -- and for a damn good reason, too. In 1995, aquatics and floral scents were blossoming like pretty little flowers, and dainty, cutesy fragrances that were "light" and "floral" were sweeping the world of colognes -- Givenchy, balls in hand (probably both hands necessary), strutted forward and burned the Lavenders, the Lily of the Valleys, and the citrus notes -- replacing them with the very things that man was not made to touch, for the fear that excessive bleeding would occur. Cactus, for example, and a slew of spices that would make Columbus sail around the world yet again in search of them, were all thrown together to create a Frankenstein of scents; the only thing in the world that says it's middle name is "dangerous" and doesn't bullshit around; a scent that is synonymous with "manly", and has a name which appears to be French for "Lethal Amounts of Testosterone"

But don't let that fool you, because underneath this beast lies a beauty. Believe it or not, when Givenchy created Satan's Lotion, he actually put some human soul into it; and there's alot that people tend to miss. For example, the top notes are smooth and mellow, with softly-sweet notes of living cactus and kumquat, which give off such a powerful vibe, that it seems to cause a ripple in the fabric of space itself. Every whiff you get fluctuates between mellow and powerful; the harmony between evil and good is in a fine balance as you inhale the soft subtleties of kumquat, followed by the harsh dryness of cactus -- but it's this balance, this yin and yang to Xeryus Rouge, that accentuates the fragrance as a whole. There is no overload on sweetness, nor is it shy on the woodsy backdrop; everything in balanced in a divine way. It's really quite hard to get tired of this cologne, or to not be able to appreciate it, because of the way it is constructed. The kumquat and cactus are the primary top, heart, and base notes, penetrating through the triangle as a duo, and being enlightened by the other ingredients in the scent. The setup is similar to a Boucheron's Jaipur, but rather than being heliocentric, it remains triangular, except as you descend in each layer, the ingredients favor the cactus and kumquat, which is a remarkable achievement, considering that every layer has a handful of ingredients that are placed specifically to complement the cactus/kumquat combination -- and this is absolutely crucial to how wonderful this scent really is.

Consider it this way: you have a setup of Cactus and Kumquat that are always present, but since those are relatively "fruity" (in the manliest way possible), the strong woodsy and spicey subnotation gives way to a relatively large influence of smell, based on whichever note is coming out. Now, since we have a duo acting as the center of the stage, we can assume that any two of our spices/woods are going to blend in with the scent at any given time, but given the similarities between the woods/spices, they won't blend together. The effect is literally an everchanging cologne, with a slightly different rendition of cactus and kumquat every hour. There is always that apparent notation of these two key ingredients, but the scent that lingers along with them is what's evolving. You may find yourself with a cactus/cedar and kumquat/pepper combination, but half an hour later, you might smell cactus/musk and kumquat/germanium, or any mix of the wonderful plethora of ingredients that make up Xeryus Rouge.

However, the fact that it is so complex brings up a huge problem: in the same way that most of our minds cannot comprehend quantum physics, most of our noses cannot discern between the minor differences every half an hour, and so that makes casual wearing very hard. Unless you're going out for 4-5 hours, wearing a suit so masculine that Clark Kent himself could not justify wearing it, and you don't mind not having a proper drydown and scent-life, then Xeryus Rouge isn't your scent. Don't get me wrong, I love it, it definitely is one of those scents that you just don't have to care about drying down properly, because it never really does, it just constantly changes, but some may find it frustrating that the scent never seems to progress in the way that most others do. Regardless of that, Xeryus Rouge scores a very well-earned 8/10.

As with many essences that contain a hefty amount of rather "controversial" ingredients (The combination of lemon and pineapple is very risky), Nightflight isn't for everyone. That being said, I'm glad it fits well for me, because it'd be a shame to let go of such an exquisite scent. The richness and zest that exudes is so multifaceted and stimulating; there's not a simple way to describe this fragrance -- it's powerful, it's apparent; yet, it's strangely pleasant and mellow; soft on the nose and invigorating on the mind. It's a rare powerhouse fragrance that redefines nobility, adding its own spicy-sweet hint of passion to complete the proper execution of one of the most luscious and manly scents in the world.

However, it's not all perfect. While it's lemon notes would make Dolce & Gabbana blush, they are a bit clotting on the nose, and too demanding of attention. The addition of pineapple, adding a citrus tone, enhances the strength of the lemon, and thusly is responsible for its prevalence throughout the life of this scent. Nevermind the conflict of interests you have either; this scent is very hard to balance correctly. It's a scent you can't overspray because it WILL induce headaches, but you don't want to wear too little, because every person in this world absolutely needs to smell this on a body whose chemistry does it justice, and so it is not for the shy man who goes without attention. So then; this is not a fragrance for the newcomers or inexperienced in the world of cologne.

Nightflight is vigorous proof that the most beautiful of things are only so in minute quantities. It lays it's faults down at your feet, where others weave them throughout their heart and base notes in an attempt to hide some of the imperfections. Most people are turned off by this scent due to it's initial overwhelming bombardment of lemon, pineapple, and Corander. The corander adds a very dry, spicy kick to the lemon and pineapple's wet, juicy punch, and it creates a wrinkled nose at first, because it smells extremely powerful. Fear not, though, because the drydown is absolutely marvelous. As the base notes yawn into life, the natural fusion of lemon to cedar and pineapple to sandalwood is absolutely mind-blowing. For those of you who can appreciate a remarkable fragrance, I encourage you to at least view this scent from an editorial standpoint, and revel in the majestic synthesis of top, heart, and base notes; united as an entire body of a proper fragrance.

No, this isn't a signature scent, nor is it an every day scent, because that would destroy some of the magic. Nightflight was forged with the notion of being mysterious and curious, but by accident, they have created a scent that is truly remarkable beyond all other scents I have tried.

The easiest 10/10 I will ever give.

I almost want to call this one Jaipur l'Homme, because it rolls right off the tongue so sweetly. A name really can make or break the magnificence of the fragrance; names are all too common nowadays in the mainstream world. Surrounded by the Unforgiveables, the Obsessions, the Blacks, Double Blacks, Cool Waters, "For Him"'s, and the Reactions, a name like "Jaipur l'Homme" holds alot of promise. The harder it is to pronounce, the sexier it sounds. Don't believe me? Try telling a girl you're wearing "Angeliques Sous La Pluie" when she's going nuts over your scent, as opposed to saying "Armani Code". Sure, there's a huge difference in price, but that's just Frederic Malles we're talking about, so there's not many comparisons

So, with an exquisite name like Jaipur, let's see if this scent is up to the challenge of defending a unique name with an equally unique fragrance. The first and foremost quality that needs to be recognized is the fact that Jaipur is, plain and simple, vanilla done PROPERLY. It's not deep, provocative, spicy, rich, nor does it contain the oscillation of notes that many others do. It's relatively plain and straightforward; the vanilla is countered with a transparent cinnamon touch, and anchored to reality by amber and clove. These notes don't add their own sparkle or twist in the scent; rather, they work behind the scenes to contain the epic vanilla note, and deliver it in a safe fashion. It's linear, non-aggressive, boasting of a single essence, and the ingredients are too close in notation to add any diversity to the scent -- but you know what? That's what makes this so magnificent.

If fragrances were musical pieces, you'd have your Beethovens, Vivaldis, and maybe some Elton Johns (haha?) of the lot -- and then you'd have this. A straightforward, soothing piece that Buddhist monks could meditate to. Jaipur is the gentle rain, lightly tapping the windows in a melodic, relaxing fashion that never gets old. The vanilla, in itself, is such a beauty, that it would be destroyed if it stood out. It doesn't make sense to wear it to a party, nor does it make sense if you want to stand out or be recognized for how you smell; but, as mentioned above, that's what makes this SO magnificent. It's the coffee-house fragrance; the thing you wear when it's chilly outside, and you're going to a cafe with your friends. For those of you who know vanilla, you can agree that as soon as you walk into a cafe where scones, biscuits, coffee, and tea are served; the potential of Jaipur is going to be unleashed. It's not a violent or heavy fragrance, but given just the right circumstances, it's one of the most pleasing on the nose. It's warm, soft, rich and pure in texture; the vanilla you want envelop your crush when you give her a warm hug and only she gets a whiff of one of the most breathtaking vanilla scents ever composed.

I love this scent, I really do. And it pains me to say what I'm about to say... Jaipur is a heartbreaking let-down. The longevity is terrible, and the sillage is worthless; I can hardly smell it on my own skin after I spray it, and step back to inhale lingering traces of evaporating scent. Nevermind that when you put on your clothes, you had better sprayed at least 6-7 spritzes on various hotspots so that what little scent is noticeable evaporates nicely from your skin. Like Nightflight, by Joop, this scent is very hard to wear in the right occasion... except, with Nightflight, that's a good thing. I want nothing more than to be able to wear Jaipur every single day, but it's simply not possible. It's not strong enough, nor is it smooth enough to be in-your-face without attitude, so finding the right occasion is painfully difficult. It almost makes wearing it not worth it, because it's literally a gamble every time you do.

However, in the midst of all of the downfalls, I still would own this bottle rather than not. I love the soothing quality, and the warm aroma that can be so blissful and welcoming. For the very light waft that you're blessed with every now and then, Jaipur is a reminder to us all that good things come in moderation.

Amid the spicy and herbal, fruity and citrusy, woodsy and musky, there lies an aquatic genre; perhaps the most controversial of genres -- and for a very apparent reason: When you have your spices, it's either too strong or too bland; when you have your herbal, it's either too "green" or too transparent; and, when you have your fruity or citrusy, it's either reminiscent of Lysol (how many times have you heard a cologne compared to house-hold cleaning products?) or it's severely lacking proper notation in the heart or base. And, you guessed it, the same goes for your woodsy and musky scents -- they're either synthetic, powdery, or just plain yucky.

And now we're at a halt with aquatic scents. Inspirations such as Cool Water, by Davidoff, and Green Irish Tweed, by Creed, have stimulated the production of hundreds of lines of "aquatic" and "fresh", or even "sporty" and "energetic" fragrances. Fast-forward twenty years, and here we have quite a collection to pick and choose from -- so then, what's good and what's not? Let's start with the English "Hugh Parsons Blue" and move onto one of the most famous colognes in the world -- Cool Water.


Firstly, Hugh Parsons. Not much out there is known about this fresh fragrance, except that it's licensed to Nordstroms exclusively (and, as far as I know, a smaller chain called Perfumerie). More than likely because it's caught up in the mix of Adidas, Polo's, and Nautica's; all of which, great fragrances, albeit it a tad on the common side. It's not too popular, or well known -- but don't let your guard down, because this scent has some kick to it.

But, before we get more in-depth about Hugh Parsons, let's talk about what makes an aquatic fragrance "unique" (and I'll leave this open to opinion, so feel free to add on); undeniably, the fresh essence of air and water is captured and prized above all. There has to be very little, if any, musk or strong wood; and spices have to be rendered void to achieve that "smooth" and "clean" feel, so feel free to kiss that black pepper and tobacco goodbye! Instead, the tendency is to focus on light fruits that are pleasant and light on the nose.

Here, your apples, grapefruits, dashes of mint, touches of eucalyptus (Body Kouros, we're looking at you) and the slightest pinches of orange and lemon add a pristine charm to our concotion. Moving further down the pyramid, herbal notations are often introduced here to anchor the sweet top notes and keep them from dissipating; namely, lavender, jasmine, rose leaves, light basil and iris flowers. The affect at this stage is already favorable -- a smooth transition from a light and captivating opening that gently cascades into a soothing and relaxing heart, filled with the beautiful breath of nature. At this point, as the natural herbs sigh, and the final notes awake from their slumber, perfumers often rely on the aromatic woods -- sweet amber, piney cedar, variations of light sandalwood, cedar, and white mosses, and others that are known to be friendly to the transition between heart and base notation.


--- (take a break, folks, and let those thoughts simmer in your mind... there's a LOT more to come) ---


Unfortunately, what we picture in our minds is often not what we smell on our wrists, and the tendency is to forego the qualities of nature, and to use synthetics. Synthetics last longer, project somewhat better, and are a little stronger -- but, my oh my, they are nowhere near as captivating. Take Hugh Parsons, for example; a scent that unfolds with a squirt of crisp lemon, and guides you through a rich and piney forest, filled with the lightest of lavenders, mints, mosses, and cedars, and finally rests in an earthly bed of warm patchouli and faint musk. As an essence of nature, Hugh Parsons is quite beautiful. It doesn't scream attention, it doesn't barge into the noses of those around you, and it doesn't make the girl you just walked by turn her head to take a second whiff, in contemplation of whether or not she likes it. The bottom line is, Hugh Parsons is a wonderful scent; it shimmers with natural essence, (which that girl we mentioned earlier does like on the first whiff ) and caresses your sense of smell ever so gently.


But, there are a few issues. The lemon, with grapefruit undertones, does a marvelous job of drawing attention and truly making the fragrance "light", but it leaves you hanging just a bit. For something so awe-inspiring and hooking, it lacks a spicy/bitter companion, which could accentuate the citrus and result in more of a two-dimensional opening. In addition, for how well-orchestrated the heart is, it might have been a little too much. With close examination, the combination of so many heartstrings results in a mix... an output of a single note that is a tad on the bitter and bland side, thus it plays out to be somewhat indistinguishable. Given our lemons earlier, it doesn’t seem like we’re in for a pleasant ride. Don't be alarmed though, because the base is done perfectly; like a sunset, the remnants of the day are illuminated, and the most beautiful notes of the heart and top notes are relived gently and without force. Furthermore, unlike other aquatics, the purpose of this base is not to continue the life of the fragrance, and add a third batch of notes; rather, it is to allow the heart and what's left of the top notes to gently fade away in an envelope of patchouli and musk. Truly resembling nature; Hugh Parsons is a fragrance that understands that death is just as beautiful as life; it cannot be elongated or drawn out. Right down to the last molecule of life, Hugh Parsons is a journey with a hypnotizing birth, and a mesmerizing death.

You might think I'm being a bit harsh, or pessimistic; but, what cologne doesn't have flaws and blemishes? Our ability to forgive the minor mistakes and bask in the beauties of the scent are truly what define the love we have for it. Yes, the opening is straight-forward, and yes, the heart is dangerously multi-faceted; but that's coming from a critic, who must keep the balance of compliments and criticism to achieve a neutral verdict -- well, neutral until I tell you that I love this fragrance above all aquatics I've smelled.

Playing off of Hugh Parson's Blue cologne, I felt it would be proper to review Cool Water, since they're both aquatics and can be compared nicely... and, I guess you could make the pun of it being a "fresh" comparison, since it's back to back

Speaking of fresh, Cool Water was introduced in 1988 in an attempt to literally be fresh and crisp amid the leathery, spicy, manly colognes of its time. The effect it had on the fragrance world was colossal; left and right perfumers were cooking up scents to match Cool Water... but they failed. People simply loved Cool Water, and everywhere, everyone was wearing it -- and everyone loved it. Thusly, as it skyrocketed in popularity to one of the most famous colognes in the world, it was clearly one of the most attractive and easily worn. However, we all know time takes its toll on things of the past, and Cool Water is no different, so the prevalent question here is: How does Cool Water stack up to the aquatics today?

Fast-forward to today, close to twenty years after Cool Water was debuted, and take a look around. How many aquatics can you name just off the top of your head? How many can you discover after five minutes of googling? How about ten minutes? Twenty? An hour? You see, the problem with Cool Water does not lie in the formula -- it's a vintage formula, as beautiful now as it ever was; the problem lies in the perception people have of it. There always has to be a comparison to another (99% of the time it's a newer fragrance than Cool Water) cologne, and unfortunately enough, Davidoff's brilliance is often mocked.

People are often pessimistic, saying that it's too synthetic, or it smells too bland, but take a close look at the top, heart, and base notes of any aquatic scent post 2000. Heck, even go back to '98 if you want, or before that... and notice how most, if not all, aquatic fragrances in that era have bitter fruit/citrus top notes with herbal hearts and mossy/light woodsy bases (Those of you who read my Hugh Parson's review know a little more in-depth what I mean)... and now take a look at Cool Water. Lavender and Rosemary stare you right in the face as your top notes, with Oakmoss and Sandalwood as their heart notes, followed by Amber and Cedar as the base notes. Reading over these notes, in a fragrance introduced in 1988, leaves me speechless. For something that was a first of it's kind (Sorry GIT I'm completely ignoring you, this is Davidoff's moment!) the formula is near perfect. It's bewildering to think that people can say "bah well there's better scents out there". Yes, there are, just like a 2000 Porsche 911 is better than a 1988 Porsche 911, and a computer built in 2000 is going to spank some 1988 computer.

The point is, the world of aquatics has had a full twenty years to develop, so there are undoubtedly going to be fresher fragrances. If Cool Water is obsolete, then so is your Yatagan, Heritage, and Grey Flannel. But they're not; and Cool Water is an epic fragrance of immense beauty, representing the pinnacle of fragrant achievements in the 80s. Let's start by proving it.

First, let's dissuade disbelievers that Cool Water is "synthetic", by pointing out that since the top notes consist heavily of lavender and rosemary, they will blush out what little citrus/fruit influence there is -- which is just a touch of orange blossom. The peppermint and coriander, also subtle, fuse together to add a sparkle of herbal freshness to the lavender/rosemary combination, rather than levitating the orange blossom with a spicy sweetness. Had a bitter orange/strong peppermint combination been used, the scent would have been dominantly citrusy, and the lavender/rosemary combination would have to be softer. In turn, it would have been responsible for the blemishing of the severely bitter notes of the orange, and the suppressing of the extreme sharpness of the peppermint. Different quantities of ingredients, and setting priorities for notes, play a crucial role in how a fragrance is going to smell. Lavender and rosemary, of course, are not deep scents with character and zest; they are fresh, clean, and semi-transparent to the notes that lie underneath.

The result, then, is an incredibly smooth and neutral open, with herbal notation as opposed to a present-day standard of citrus/fruit, which is soft and mellow on the nose. The sequence proceeds to a soft-wood heart, which counters the fresh top-note herbal concoction slightly, and allows some depth to develop in the fragrance. Keep in mind there were no prior aquatic fragrances (I'm going to get slain for not mentioning GIT at this point, but oh well!) that Davidoff could base his aquatic scent off of, so the addition of sandalwood and oakmoss was clever. The herb-friendly oakmoss catches the fading top notes and accentuates them, while the soft sandalwood responsibly sets the base up for a proper woodsy transition; and this is where most people derive that Cool Water is synthetic. The fact that a transition is done so seamlessly gives the illusion that there is no change; while, in fact, the change is so subtle that it is not apparent until the base notes kick in. Cedar and amber, stronger woods with their own scent to carry, are prominent here in the base, as the oakmoss and sandalwood (transparently fused with top notes) fade away. However, to keep the smoothness, a friendly musk (remember, musk can be used to enhance the smell and life of other aromas) was used to provide the heart/top notes with a final breath, before fading away and leaving the scent dry, but not bitter, due to the relevant addition of yet another sandalwood note. From top to bottom, Cool Water transitions consistently, but does so in the shadows; where the effects will not be seen until the life of the notes dwindle to their vanishing points.

All in all, Cool Water is mathematically precise with ingredients, inspirationally diverse with composition, and logical as an entire fragrance. Assume the year was 1990, and the aquatic burst had not begun: would Cool Water not be a staple of the basenotes community? The amount of respect it would command would be IMMENSE. What's changed if the year is 2007? Why are there those who dislike the scent; claiming it to be synthetic, sub-par, obsolete, unoriginal, uncreative, uninspirational, cheap, and not worth the money? That kind of negativity demolishes a beautiful fragrance. Has the smell changed? Has the formula changed? Has anything of Cool Water changed? No, it hasn't. What's changed is the world around it, now brimming with other aquatics that are literally the children of Cool Water. Comparing the formula of any two colognes is ridiculous, because they both have their beauties, and they both have their flaws, but Cool Water is disregarded of any great characteristics, because somehow, the tendency in thinking is to assume that since there's newer aquatics out, it must be old and not worth the attention anymore. Following that logic, every scent is terrible, because five years down the road, something just a little bit better will come out and trump today's scent -- which will also be terrible, because in ANOTHER five years...

Cool Water, then, IS one of the best fragrances in the world, and it IS something that is unique, creative, and literally an artifact of change -- but, for that very reason, it has a major downfall. It's so popular and common, that people buying their first bottle of cologne buy Cool Water (Hell, it was my second bottle, and I blind bought it because it was famous) without taking the time to appreciate it as a fragrance. Because of the popularity it carries, the weight of the uneducated reviews pumped out by people who don't know which notes are which, and what notes add what effect, really tugs the perception of the scent down, and drags it through the mud. Cool Water deserves a 10/10, because it was impeccably made in a time where it was one of the first, and twenty years later, it still remains one of the most recognized and famous colognes. However, this is not a perfect world, and the grade must come from more than just a vintage factor. Still, I have no problem whatsoever giving this cologne a solid 8/10 -- only missing two points because it's lack of depth, even as one of the first aquatics. Let's face it, having a mainstream-defying scent in the 1980's doesn't give Davidoff an excuse to ignore crucial aspects of a cologne. In a time of spice and musk, the importance of having noticeable transitions was absolutely necessary, but done short-handedly in this scent.

Hugo Boss is a very well-known name in the German fashion industry, and Werner Baldessarini was his right-hand man. In honor of him, the fragrance Baldessarini was launched in 2000 -- and launched very well. Just by examining the pyramid, we see that tangerine, bitter orange, and green mint are our top notes, while patchouli, clove buds, and cumin seeds make up the heart, followed by more patchouli, sandalwood, fir balsam, tobacco, amber, and musk as the base notes.

With this setup on paper, it's hard not to get giddy -- the layout is absolutely marvelous, it's the perfect combination for a cologne that has the potential of being one of the best scents in the world. The notation is simply gorgeous and seemingly infinite in range; from the tropical, juicy tangerines that are succulent and sweet, bursting with liveli warmth, to the bitter, harsh notes of the tobacco leaf set us up for a majestic fragrance. However, right off the bat we have a problem... with such a wide range of notes, Baldessarini will inevitably run into some problems. The tangerine and mint are going to be rubbish in the cold weather, which leaves the scent smelling like dirt and cigarettes when the weather is nippy; and, for your warm summer-time days, the tobacco notes from this cologne are alone going to be responsible for your mother's lung cancer. We're already going down a bad road...

Baldessarini could have saved itself by not having such an absurd range of potent scents. The tangerine and bitter orange are unbelievable, they literally make you hungry, and the tobacco is so masculine, that manly scents like Grey Flannel and K10 become prepubescent in its midst. But having such an uncontrolled range is deadly, and a huge letdown for the scent. If you wear it during the summer or winter, you're going to be very disappointed to find that there's no real cohesion in the scent, it seriously is a vast multitude of ingredients that don't tie in together to make a single scent. There is no flirting between top and heart and base notes, and the mixture remains separated into just that -- your minty, tangy top, proceeded by a brand-new earthy heart, proceeded by a brand-new musky, tobacco base. It's too choppy, and split up; you wonder if Baldessarini is three separate colognes. Well then, bah for Baldessarini; it appears to be somewhat disappointing...

Until we wear it during the fall or early spring, when conditions are just right for the ingredients to shine -- and the effect is mindblowing. It's such a rarity to be able to wear Baldessarini in the right conditions, that it's worthless unless it's JUST the right time of year. Each ingredient works in harmony with the next to create a chain of scent that is so remarkable, that it's almost too much to handle. The initial burst of sweet tangerine is subsided by a strikingly smooth hint of mint leaf; both of which are guided to the heart by a soft bitter orange note, which opens the door to an herbal heaven. Here, the warmth of the patchouli fuses with the tangerine and projects a sweet, mossy scent, while the mint and bitter orange fade in with bitter clove buds and cumin seeds, striking out their extremeties; ultimately resulting in one of the greatest transitions ever. It doesn't stop there, though, because the heart-to-base transition is even greater. The shift from a slightly fruity/herbal/lightly woodsy heart to a tobacco/dark wood base is extremely hard, just because such strong bases carry their own dominant scents, and the mixture of powerful hearts and powerful bases results in a nauseating scent most of the time, that smells like nothing recognizable. However, in Baldessarini, the extra bed of patchouli serves as a median, allowing the heart notes to fade away without interfering with the scent of the base notes. The crucial difference that it makes is what literally makes the fragrance wearable; tobacco is such a harsh note, that when you mix it with tangerines and mint (of all things, those are the two worst) they become rotten, and the entire scent smells of week-old, half-smoked cigarette stubs that are rubbed in your nose against your will. But, somehow, the patchouli resists the mixture and allows a clash-free drydown, with proper diffusion of heart/top notes before the strong, woodsy base begins to release it's own scent.

Taking chances is always a great thing, because it allows for a range of concoctions to be produced, that deviate from typical boundaries, and push the limit s of what ingredients can and cannot be used. Baldessarini's ingredients are completely independant of each other -- consider Baldessarini to be a puzzle, and each note is a piece that aligns with the next, but they constantly spin in different speeds and directions, so the alignment is never quite right... one day it's too tangy and almost like a woman's perfume, and the next you find yourself smelling like a smoker's convention hut, but rarities do occur, and when the pieces fit together, the result is sheer bliss; Baldessarini becomes one of the classiest, well-done, diverse fragrances ever known.

Yuck, since when did my dog's poop come bottled? As soon as I smelled it on my skin, I ran to the bathroom to wash it off.

On the positive side, my dogs loved it.

On the negative side, I'd rather impress girls.

I literally compared it to Febreze, which I sprayed in the air, and I literally compared it to my toilet bowl cleaner. Actually, in all honesty, I much prefer the smell of my toilet bowl cleaner over both of them. The initial spray of Desire Blue is an overdose of aldehyde, which poorly covers up the alcohol feel to it, and then it gets even worse. A burning-plastic scent couples with lemons to intensify the synthetic feel, and the backdrop is a very stale bathroom-cleaning product. I regret buying a sample of this, but at the same time, I'm also glad I didn't order a bottle of it. I absolutely despise this fragrance.

Well then, I can't just pick and choose how I review each scent, can I? I guess I have to mention that there "could be" some thought put into this scent. There are subtle notes of orange, and a hint of lotus, followed by a rather soft heart of rosewood, and a base of musk and a transparent tonka bean. I think the biggest letdown is that Dunhill has this beautiful idea, but falls flat on his face in the execution. Everything is lacking something; he tries too hard to tie the notes together and have "one" smell to his cologne. This could have worked extremely well, had some balls been put into this scent. The point of making colognes is not to please a majority; it is to fulfill your deepest desires, and manifest them into a liquid. The notes have potential; the bergamot can propel the aquatic tangerine with a zing, while the lotus aims to control the top and drive it to the heart of rosewood, orange flower water, and sea breeze accord. Those are very soft hearts; so the tangerine-opening has a chance to stain the woody-heart with its own tropical-citrus note, which then in turn, is sweetened by a soft tonka bean, and dried down properly by a hint of rich musk, and amber crystals.

Unfortunately, while the notes have potential in the hands of a skilled magician, this particular cologne does not.

Desire Blue is proof that mass-marketed fragrances are alluring in description, but cheap in execution. This is by far the worst fragrance I have *ever* sampled -- and I've raped every cologne store (short of Essenza and Barney's, where the clerks prevent me from doing so) three or four times, hungering for scents over and over and over, regardless of how much I liked them or not. I really like to keep an open mind, and make mental notes as to what I like and what I don't; that way, when I come back, I can ask myself "how has my opinion changed on this particular fragrance, which last time I didn't like because of ___ and ____?"

This, though, I will never sample again.

Strong and sugary fruit notes intoxicate a bushel of rhubarb, as giant sequoia grows with spiced moss out of a patch of vetiver. For what A*Men overdoes in sweetness, B*Men overdoes in bitterness; the initial spray is about as good as it gets. The rhubarb is too bitter and sour, relative to the "fruit notes" (sugared and caramel-covering, knowing the line of *Men!) which results in a nasty contrast of unpleasantness. Then, as it begins it's ascent into the heart, sequoia notes are present, but they seem rotten. Perhaps the rhubarb and fruits are still present as the sequoia grows, but whatever it is, it leaves the impression that, rather than being fresh and full of life, it's relatively dead. It smells exactly the same as what your dog brings back inside your house after a windy, Fall day of playing outside.... that includes some poop-infused dirt. Thanks to a grey and bland moss, the fruit notes are blushed out and the rhubarb becomes even more sour and bitter, and the base begins to crumble... even the vetiver here is out of place.

Oops, did I say ROFL instead of Rolf? I think I did. The reason is because I laugh at this scent, which seems to have a split personality. Given the jaw-dropping list of ingredients that would fill up a short story with ease, it's safe to assume right off the bat that Antidote will run into some troubles with itself. Here's a perfect example; mint and grapefruit don't play well together; the menthol voids the citrus notes, and you end up with a flat, Kool-Aid type of sugar-scent. What's worse is mandarin and bergamot; when they both compete for top-dog of the top-notes, it ends up smelling like decomposing matter, aka feces, because our oranges don't take kindly to flat spices (I say flat in the sense that bergamot cannot stand on its own without the aid of other notes) that overpower notes that are meant to smooth out an opening. With the right proportions, the top could have been exquisite; V&R, if you're reading this, please lay off the bergamot and let the orange provide a silky-smooth carpet for the grapefruit to waltz on, while the mint touches it every now and then.

Okay, so not a good start for our top notes. Hopefully our heart notes won't be as chock-full of "whatever" ingr-- nevermind, they are. Even in the heart, the ingredients are so sharp and so powerful, that it takes two of each family to get the message across - lavender and violet are BOTH used, while nutmeg AND cinnamon are both noticeable. I'm not saying that using nutmeg and cinnamon together is a bad combination; given the right styling, they can do amazingly well together, but V&R have different plans. You can assume that our base will be the same; there are more notes here than the middle or the top. The entire scent, right down the base, is uncoordinated and awkward. There is too much power in this scent, and not enough focus on empowering the qualities of each note. It's a slur of mintleavesitalianbergamotmandaringrapefruitguatema lancardamomfrenchlavendergeraniumnutmegcinnamonbar kfreesiaorangeblossomvioletamberindonesianpatchoul icistuslabdanumvanillairissandalwoodtexanwhiteceda rguaiacumwoodtreemossleatherwhitemuskandtonkabeans .

Apparently, Viktor and Rolf are two people working on one fragrance without telling each other what they're putting in. Split the fragrance in half; take out the strongest and weakest top, heart, and base notes and you have something worthy of a basenoters collection. Really now, imagine an Antidote with grapefruit, subtle mint, violet, orange blossom, patchouli, musk, and a slight vanilla accord; and another Antidote with bountiful orange, a hint of bergamot, a dash of cardamom, nutmeg, peachy-light lavender, amber, white cedar, and tonka bean. Sounds appealing, yes? It does to this nose at least; but what isn't appealing is a mixture of two like-scents, which cancel out the beauties of the ingredients they possess.

Fasten your seatbelts, because Hypnose is in for a rough ride.

This scent would be exquisite, with it's electrifying and vibrant bergamot / mint opening, coupled with a mandarin and cardamom whiff, on a heavy and empowering note of lavender. It would be stunning, with the amber bleeding through the heart of bergamot, and the patchouli flirting with the mint, while the musk accentuates the cardamom and mandarin. It would be a genuine treat; a sense-sizzling, sex-appealing, summer-time snowcone of sugary sweetness, except it's already been done. A lot. Too many times, in fact.

What we have here is a Le Male; a dash short on the synthetic sweetness, only to be accentuated by a fresher accord of spices. Not quite as synthetic and choking as Le Male, but definitely much sharper on the nose, in a very citrus, lemony way. Oh my, what else do we have here... Au Masculin? Yes; void of the licorice and vanilla base, and instead, fond of light woods which allow the top notes to direct the drydown of the scent. Which is strange, considering the pyramid for Au Masculin doesn't resemble the structure of Hypnose (Le Male does, though. They both share bergamot, mint, cardamom, lavender, amber, and a little musk; albeit very synthetic in JPG's rendering).

How then, do we arrive at such a conclusion? The answer is simple; while the top notes of Hypnose are somewhat related to Au Masculin, and the base is not, keep in mind that the top notes control the drydown in a scent where the heart and base are so weak, and the top notes are so strong. With Au Masculin, the progression is noticeable; your cedar and vanilla beat lighter top and heart notes out of the way and demand attention. Even to the heavy-hitting heart notes of violet (stronger than lavender), there is a very noticeable change. However, with Hypnose, the base notes are so weak, that the top notes remain dominant. There is no real progression, until it begins to fade away -- and that's the only real change.

Amidst all of this, I do think there was some creativity involved. Hypnose stands out as a fragrance with a very long-lasting top, which controls the fragrance and drives the heart and base to feed it, rather than eventually settling and being replaced by other scents. I somewhat like it's monotony, because for what it is, it's well done. I would never buy a bottle; the diabetes-inducing sweets aren't my forte, but for someone who likes sweet scents that make Boucheron's Jaipur seem bitter, I recommend this one.

Lemon? Orange? What are you talking about? Those aren't the top notes! Unless you're referring to the bitter-tasting roots that feed these plants, which we admire in fragrances. Grey Flannel, to this nose, is an exquisite treat. It's so rich and deeply spicy; yet surprisingly simple. The opening is marvelous; the topsoil from a vegetable garden fills your nostrils as you churn it over, and a warm sensuous backing of lavender controls the harsh minerals and dirty roots. This is purely and simply a Neanderthal juice. It's so primitive and simple, but for some reason, it is so timeless and classic. The oakmoss heart sprouts out very early into the life of the fragrance, and it just keeps on growing; untamed, dirty, and resemblant of a wild patchouli. The base of sandalwood is not real apparent, because the top and heart notes are so clingy, they stick right down to the base and grow with it. However, therein lies a problem, because, like the Earth, things that live past their lives tend to rot, and get old, and therefore smell bad. The lavender eventually turns into a compost-like smell; which, coupled with the oakmoss, provides a nice whiff of what appears to be manure.

Because of it's simplicity, there's not that much else that can be said about Grey Flannel. It's relatively cheap; and, for how powerful it is, it remains quite well-natured and seems to be liked by many. I quite like this fragrance, but it's a winter-*ONLY* scent. If you dare wear this in summer, be prepared to take a bucket with you, because people around you are going to want to throw up. In the winter, however, it will cut through your scarves and heavy jackets; even Jean Paul Gaultier would blush at how powerful GF projects, and how long it lives on the skin.

What an usual scent we have present here... the moment I sprayed it on, three fragrances came to mind: Body Kouros, Au Masculin, and Hypnose. The opening notes were sharp and obtrusive; but lacking of any real oomph, which is the exact same that I get from BK. It should be strong and citrusy, with a powerful accord of bergamot spices and a lavender backdrop; but it's not. After a moment, that faded, and it was replaced by a very strong green ivy and rum scent; the intoxicatingly sweet (and alcohol-infused) notes blushed out that stale introduction, which were further sweetened by what appears to be some musk and bay leaves. A turn-around for the scent; whose opening was uninspiring and bland, but will it continue?

Cascading through the heart, we begin to see that this won't be a spicy forest; rather, it is a clean cedar chest. So clean, in fact, that it's damn near sterile. A sprig of violet blossoms as the pseudo-BK/AM/Hypnose notes fade away, and the fir that replaces it propels the scent into a strong cedar base. As time passes, this scent gets even better, because the violet fades away, and you're left with just what you came for when you bought this scent -- cedar; and lots of it. There are no floral notes of violet, or any musk left; rather, there is just freshly-cut cedar, with a hint of pine and amber (to keep very little of the sweetness, so you don't smell like a lumberjack -- instead, you smell like a lumberjack wearing a tuxedo). The scent is relatively boring and uninteresting, in terms of development and complexity, but that's exactly what it needs to be in order to achieve the effect that it has. It's very clean, green, cedar-y, woodsy, and non-invasive to your nose. The woods aren't dark or dense; their whiffs are carried on the air, and you can tell there is a relatively transparent feel to this, which allows the scent to take control of the pine and use it in favor of the cedar.

As soon as I put this on, I was completely shocked by it. THIS is the scent I've grown up around. When I was little, I would spend a lot of time around my family, and some very close family friends, who were all high-class, wealthy individuals. We would go over to their houses and the adults would socialize at their formal dinner parties, while the kids ran rampant and did their own thing. It seemed like every week we did this; and, every week, I would run by the group of adults and get a whiff of this, and I loved it. I would ask my mom what that smell was, and if I could have some of it to eat. Perhaps she didn't catch it as well as I did, because she ended up putting some nasty seafood on my plate (hey, none of us liked shrimp when we were young kids, did we?), but I could never figure out what that sweet, seductive scent was....

Until now. Ungaro III is a charming and classy mix of spiced lavender, sugared musk, and exotic woods. The opening is a beautiful combination of floral notes and spices; lavender is handled perfectly here as an aromatic and seductive bergamot playfully bites the nose and provides a scenic, rich impression. As it continues its descent into the base, our bergamot dies, and is replaced by a sweetly-accentuated musk, while the lavender gently fades into a cedar type of scent. Here, though, we begin to slip... the spiced opening leaves much for the heart and base to live up to; which, unfortunately, they do not. The sweetness is all too prominent here, without any real spiced counter to allow a proper drydown; had this been the base, and not the heart, then it would have been forgivable (spices have to die out eventually, and they tend to do so more quickly than woods or floral notes). Perhaps a touch of pepper with just a dab of cinnamon should have been used, in order to propel the bergamot/lavender combination into a solid heart, and to allow more development in the scent. Perhaps, though, the purpose was to have a golden-sweet nectar; because, for how much of a letdown the lack of spices are, the sweetness is done absolutely perfectly (In the intro, I promised that I'd forget what I want the scent to be, and rate the scent based on what it was envision to be, and what it really is). It's elegant and sweet, in a mature, masculine way. It's definitely a Bachelor's scent-of-choice to bring women to their knees (on all fours if you really get lucky!)

Outrageous is not a fragrance; it's a movie for your nose. Upon the first spritz, Johnny Appleseed awakes to a cheerful sun, and springs out of the bottle, dashing around on your wrist, playfully tossing seeds around, and allowing the crisp, green apple trees to bloom. The fertile soil supports the life of sweet mints, mouth-puckering limes, exquisite grapefruits, divine roses, and strangely enough, a social cinnamon which blends in quite well. As time progresses, the green apples, touched with spicy and fruity influences, drop from the tree of life. Their rich cores serve as nutrition for a hungry cedar, which creeps up gently; overshadowing the bountiful myriad of fresh tropics with it's own apple-influenced heart. Eventually, night settles, and cedar begins to creak and groan, as musk and moss crawl up bark and branch, until the scent remains no more.

Watch out Christopher Brosius, Frederic Malles is playing ball in your apple field. Poetic isms aside, I think Outrageous is an extremely well done scent. Like most other creations from the FM line, there is undeniably a marvelous progression, and all the notes are felt for respective amounts of time. Typically, fruity scents that appeal to men have some sort of synthetic feel to it, to avoid an overdose on sweetness. The tendency is to try to use "strong" notes of fruit-and-floral ingredients, because they tend to die out fairly quickly (so more is better?), which results in either a very "feminine" perfume feel, or a dead-beat scent that lasts for less than an hour. Paradise for Men, by Alfred Sung, is a perfect example of a juicy papaya-grapefruit scent that has terrible lasting power, due to the lack of strong woods. Outrageous, however, manages to capture light and fresh fruits without overdoing it; and sustain that feel throughout the life of the fragrance, using a soft and indiscernible musk (remember, musk can be used to enhance the smell and life of other aromas) which is stamped with the green, fruity accord of apples. The rest of the top notes fade out, as they are replaced by woodsy heart and base notes, which blend together marvelously well, to give the impression of a spiced-apple type of concoction. On my skin, and to this nose, Outrageous is spiced apple cider, which is amazing, since I've never smelled apple cider on my skin before... and surely there must be few replications of a drink as a fragrance

For all of its glory, there are some flaws... prior to this creation, the line of Frederic Malles was hardly recognizable as made by a mortal. The scents were so exquisite and well thought out, that we all assumed some divine influence was present during the development of our Noir Epices, Musc Ravageurs, and Carnal Flowers. But Frederic Malles has blinked, and we now see he is human; influenced by the ways of the industry today, he follows. The name, for example, really is Outrageous for such a prestigious line. I would've thought at least "Le Outrageous" would've sufficed; better yet, "Le Scandaleux", or a typical, abstract FM name, such as "Paradis céleste".

Out of the "common" and "mainstream" fragrances, I have to say I'm very, very impressed with Ralph Lauren. I tend to scoff and mock the mainstream, because they're always cheap ripoffs and low-budget impressions of Creed *cough* SEAN JEAN *cough*, but Ralph Lauren certainly has designed a marvelous scent. We've seen attempts such as Baldessarini at a broad scope of ingredients; and it's worked, but even DB is pushing it. Mango with pepper guided by roasted coffee and nutmeg, laying on a bed of juniper berry, spicy woods, and cardamom? It's almost as if Ralph Lauren sent a survey out and asked people for one, just one, ingredient that they liked in a cologne, and they randomly selected seven of those notes to make a cologne. You have to be insane to try to come up with something as far-fetched as this.

But don't let that fool you, Double Black doubles-back from it's seemingly unwelcoming list of fragrances as a wonderful scent. Who knew that mangoes could be so soft and transparent, or that nutmeg and roasted coffee fuse together to create a chocolaty-smooth scent, while the juniper berries and rich woods counter the sweetness and add a rose-like tone to the creation? It's almost as if Ralph Lauren, upon adding a new ingredient to the scent, went back and changed everything else so it all worked together. The progression of the scent is fascinating too, because notes gently ebb away before being replaced by others. When the mango dies, there is a brief period of time where there are no other notes present, except the pepper; then, the heart kicks in. There was no sacrificing or settling here; everything works together as one, as a single scent, rather than each note having it's strengths and weaknesses. If you were to let mother nature handle all of these ingredients, and put them into their respective places without overpowering or competing with each other, you'd be safe to bet that Double Black would be the result. It works because it has to. The magic is the simplicity that lies within the complexity; each note should be struggling for a dominant position, but it doesn't. How many times have you smelled a cologne and picked out the notes? Try smelling this gently; don't inhale, just calmly and very slowly absorb the aroma in your nose, and you will find that everything is a single entity.

I'm stunned by this fragrance. In fact, I like this so much, that come next paycheck, I'm buying myself a bottle. I tend to stick to the 1.7fl oz so I can deplete them quite quickly and move onto another fragrance, but I think I've found a keeper. I'm buying a big[ger] bottle.

Cinnamon, rose, and leather do not mix well. HOT Always is proof that, sometimes, you can take wonderfully fragrant ingredients, and compile them to smell like urine. The cinnamon is a bit on the bitter side, the roses seem young and immature, and the leather is too potent and strong -- it's similar to the smell of a brand-new wallet that your baby brother just threw up on. There isn't much else to this scent -- it seems as if B#9 wanted to chase after every competing rose scent and dominate the lot. However, caught up in the confusion, HOT Always falls short of coming close to beating any rose scent -- don't make me compare them to the samples I had. It's that bad.

Actually, I will. Voleur de Roses smashes it in the earthy and raw department, while Black Aoud demolishes it in the rich and woody department; Rose Poivree puts it to shame in clean and floral department, and Domenico Caraceni stomps it in the spiced and sweet department. Seriously, B#9 started out as somewhat of a good fragrance house... but in the long run, they're simply no good, and I think it's time we start to realize that. A 75ml (1.7fl oz) is damn near $130 -- that's Montale territory. Blasphemy. The comparison of B#9 and Montale is impossible, much in the same way that a stock Honda Civic is never going to beat a Formula 1 race-car in a quarter-mile drag race. If you're going to spend anywhere close to that amount for a 75ml bottle, consider your options, because then you won't be stuck with a terrible scent that has a terrible name.

Yet another thing I can't stand about this -- the name. H.O.T. Always? What the hell? I can deal with the names of New York's streets; I find it somewhat creative and original, as far as concepts go, but when garbage like this is put on a label and sold for more digits than the size of its container, something is wrong. There are much better scents with much better names; "Voleur de Roses" is beautiful, "Black Aoud" is invigorating, "Domenico Caraceni" is sexy, and "Rose Poivree" is exquisite... but HOT Always? Not always.

Overall rating: 1/10

You guessed it, Black Aoud is exactly what it sounds like -- oud and roses. The roses, however, are done slightly different... it is not a field of roses; rather, it is a mere three or four of Earth's rarest roses that sit in close proximity to each other, and exhude such a powerful and seductive scent, that it appears to be an entire army of them. The immense power the roses have is breathtaking; as they are present in a forest of oud, which is known to be deep and dark beyond all notes. The roses possess what feels to be a naturally intoxicating scent, which results in a rose that is strong, yet subtle for it's strength, because it was not overdone or forced into a position where it could not otherwise work.

Both Aoud Lime and Black Aoud are stunning, and a mind-boggling take on the oud note. They are unique, daring sharp, bold, unforgiving, and proof that Montale creates some of the most original scents known to mankind. I hate to say this, but these are definitely not a unisex scent. Any woman who wears it better have sideburns and a moustache. In Aoud Lime, the saffron is rich and spicy, blending with the woods so effortlessly; resulting in a sweetly-dark oud -- perfect for lime notes to counter, because it offers a sharp, bitter citrus note that almost resembles our beloved smoky-wood scents, but is different enough so that we instantly recognize it as innovative and original. For how in-your-face this scent is, it's very well-composed and elegant. If there's one scent that will be the "wow"-er of these samples, or one scent that forces compliments out of strangers, Aoud Lime will be it. It is breathtaking and jaw-dropping; I'm speechless by how unique and unbelievably deep this scent is. While Black Aoud is slightly more inclined towards a unisex feel, the roses are definitely not similar to the ones present in most female fragrances, let alone in any other unisex fragrance. Equally stunning, but maybe not noticeable by the uneducated noses of the general public.

Aoud Lime is exactly what it sounds like -- oud and lime. A single lime is present in a forest of dark aoud; there is no citrus here, there is no fresh and soft breeze; rather, there is moist and dark air, billowing softly through the dense trees, which sunlight has trouble penetrating. Whistling with newfound piny notes of earthy patchouli and dark cedar, it picks up saffron, which clings to budding rose hips, and choke under the dominant presence of the oud. As the dark and sinister breeze continues, it hits a single slice of lime skin, and is instantly contaminated with the bitter presence of exoticism, and we arrive at our destination: one of the boldest and daring scents ever created.

You see, had the lime not been present, this fragrance would have been utterly despicable. It would have taken it's place as the worst niche fragrance ever concocted; the aoud is so thick, and the woods so strong, that it would not have a place in suburban society. Only Special Forces would be allowed to wear this -- and that would be to cover their tracks during deep-jungle covert-operation missions, away from the prying noses of guard dogs. The iris, too, plays a crucial role in bridging the lime and the woods; which, had the lime not been present, would have destroyed the scent and literally split it into two. Such dark and rich scents can not possess herbal hearts unless the key note of the scent is so polar to the base, that it needs to be controlled. (Our Iris blushes out the tangyness of the lime and offers a safe transition into the oud, where it blends the two together)

Both Aoud Lime and Black Aoud are stunning, and a mind-boggling take on the oud note. They are unique, daring sharp, bold, unforgiving, and proof that Montale creates some of the most original scents known to mankind. I hate to say this, but these are definitely not a unisex scent. Any woman who wears it better have sideburns and a moustache. In Aoud Lime, the saffron is rich and spicy, blending with the woods so effortlessly; resulting in a sweetly-dark oud -- perfect for lime notes to counter, because it offers a sharp, bitter citrus note that almost resembles our beloved smoky-wood scents, but is different enough so that we instantly recognize it as innovative and original. For how in-your-face this scent is, it's very well-composed and elegant. If there's one scent that will be the "wow"-er of these samples, or one scent that forces compliments out of strangers, Aoud Lime will be it. It is breathtaking and jaw-dropping; I'm speechless by how unique and unbelievably deep this scent is. While Black Aoud is slightly more inclined towards a unisex feel, the roses are definitely not similar to the ones present in most female fragrances, let alone in any other unisex fragrance. Equally stunning, but maybe not noticeable by the uneducated noses of the general public.

An elegant composure of stunningly rich and aromatic Damascus flowers; it takes over one hundred pounds of flowers to make a 90mL bottle -- and it's very apparent. The luxurious scent that exudes and wafts so elegantly and effortlessly holds a divine composure; there is such class that radiates from the scent, that is is unmistakably a byproduct of the genius' over at TDC. Each waft is a subtle burst of hundreds of roses that bloom in your nostrils and glide through your mind; impacting all of your senses. Rose Poivree is calming on the body, and soothing on the soul. It is not a scent you "like" or "dislike"; rather, due to it's unusual substance, it is a scent you appreciate, or simply do not understand. The soft pink petals are instantly recognizable as purely translated from nature to bottled substance; there is feeling and tone in these petals, almost as if the essence of life has is present, and the vibrancy and richness of exquisite flowers that were once in gardens, is somehow captured. This differs from all other rose scents I have sampled in the sense that there was no factoring in how to increase longevity, or produce more sillage, or how to increase the feel of the roses -- simply, it is Damascus roses in a bottle. Those of us who sniff like bloodhounds at our wrists and statistically analyze ingredients, percentage of concentration, chemicals involved, longevity, sillage, and so on, will miss the point of Rose Poivree.

Dark clouds form overhead as the fluttering spring breeze suddenly turns cold, while cracks of thunder shake the ground and trespass on the tranquility of the day. As tears of helplessness from the sky soak the green earth, the wind picks up, and the primordial lust for savagery is unleashed on a prime target: a rose garden. Black winds howl, scathing the ground; ripping and tearing roots with glee; unphased by the violence as hips are torn, soil is churned, and buds are scattered. The ruthless wind agonizes and torments the hips; tossing them around effortlessly and piercing them on broken stems, while melancholy rain soaks the fertile soil and thunder cracks, striking the ground like the fist of an angry God. An eruption of soil; a cascading of shrapnel that was once life-inducing, crushes the stems and ignores the begging of the roots, which gasp for virility and for life, as they are woefully churned over. Dirt-stained roots comfort broken stems, who weep for the tattered and cleaved hips; laying as blood-stained corpses of a genocide, as raindrop after raindrop crushes the precious anthers and filaments, and rubs away the memories of a once-perfect life. Unsatisfied, the merciless thunder lashes out at a nearby plum tree, snapping off the fruits with ease; singing its skin, exposing raw flesh and sweet nectar to the to tattered remains of the roses. Drenching the hips, stems, and roots; the sweet plum finds home in the dirt, among the souls of its once-living brothers and sisters. Hour after hour, the assault rages and the battery is incessant; until, finally, anger ebbs away -- the storm leaves, and laying in the groves of death, is the beautifully grim Voleur de Roses.

Soothing plums guide frankincense and patchouli into a field of tangy pomegranate and blushing raspberries; who chime in with their own tartness and special zing. With exquisite depth, the pomegranate unravels to feature a myriad of scents; each reminiscent of something great. Dark cherry and cinnamon with dried leaves and sweet scarlet roses and a dash of honey-sweetness are just two of the multitude of creations that this wonderful fragrance can induce visions of. The pomegranate notes become apparent as fighters; as the scent settles on your skin and dries down, the pomegranate still lives and remains the top note. However, that doesn't mean that it dominates the scent and disallows a proper development; rather, the pomegranate allows a generous amount of woods to bleed through, while whoring the bitter notes. There is not much sweetness here, even with the influence of frankincense and raspberries. Rather than sweetening the scent as a whole, they serve to bite out the severe bitterness that such a strong pomegranate carries. Even with the presence of patchouli, containing this particular note of pomegranate is hard, but very well done -- the result is something that's shy of being bitter, but not bland. The fact that pomegranate is showcased here could have resulted in the scent being very linear and bland, but the design and structure of this scent is so well-done and rugged, that there is no room to think that it is merely pomegranate.

The drydown is, by far, the most unbelievable of any fragrance I have ever smelled. In fact, I wore this scent four different times in one day just to relive that experience. The pomegranate dies out, and patchouli, frankincense, and a touch of raspberry are left to work wonders on your nose. I almost sense some transparent rose notes; that may just be the earthy patchouli feeding the raspberry and playing even more tricks on my nose though. Regardless of what it is, the beauty of this lies in the fact that it can be so much to your nose... no two drydowns will be the same. I understand, though, that Pomegranate Noir is not everyone's cup of t-- err, bottle of fragrance, so therefore I will leave you with a metaphor: Pomegranate Noir is the ugliest girl in the world, with the most beautiful personality. You pick your poison. No scent is perfect, and few are daring and bold as this one is. A manly composition of pomegranate and sweet fruits is done justice by Jo Malone.

Overall rating: 10/10: Yet another high-quality composition we see here; the originality and the amount of effort put into this fragrance is superior to damn near every scent I have smelled.

A ripe and fresh burst of mango greets your nose as a lovely, tangy accord of grapefruit accentuates the top notes of Un Jardin sur le Nil as one of the most prominent fruity openings. The fruits settle into a wonderfully fizzy accord as a heart of incense carries the sweetness into a lightly-wafted note of sycamore. Once faded, the fruits are replaced by a sweet and extremely green note of lotus, which sits quite nicely with the incense. There is no synthetic-marine, or ozonic, airy accord which makes it feel like you are wearing copious amounts of air freshener... instead, the primary focus is on the green and fruity notes, which sit on a spiced base of sweet incense and nearly transparent woods. An extremely well choice of sycamore is our woody note here, which plants the fragrance solidly on your skin and prevents it from fading away. Incense-stamped and mango-sweetened, the sycamore is soft yet solid. The fragrance would not be so well-lived without this particular choice.

I firmly believe the sole purpose of this scent was to produce a story that could be told in the air; everything is experienced in fresh wafts. There are no mango or grapefruit trees; the woods sit comfortably on the outskirts of the river, and the lotus and incense are remnants of distant lands that the air has swooped by. There is always that extremely light feel to the scent, but it remains powerful in the nose. Somehow, the "fresh air" note that was included does not cut into the scent, or reduce the longevity, sillage, or overall tone of the scent; rather, it blankets the fragrance, and allows a soft and gentle stream of notes to flow through. Stunning in both its execution and in its raw beauty, I find that Un Jardin sur le Nil really is a garden on the nile; one that whispers of potent and succulent greens, mixed with dreamy, richly spiced incense, and a soft breath of sycamore... a whisper that flirts with your nose, and begs your senses to come and experience the reality.

A rose scent with a dirty little secret, Domenico Caraceni 1913 blushes arrogant spices with mellow roses, and forms perhaps one of the most intriguing out of this batch, next to Lime Aoud. 1913 isn't quite as dirty and gritty as Voleur de Roses; nor is it as clean and fragile as Rose Poivree, it's somewhere in the middle. The similarities it has are very minor and superficial; 1913 stands out as its own bold and crafty scent.

Right from the get-go, 1913 is set up to be a magnificent fragrance. The top notes are petitgrain and geranium, followed by a heart of bigarade, rose, and a little tobacco, falling on a base of frankincense and cypress. Just looking at those notes, we see an unusually exotic combination. And the scent just keeps getting more exotic! The initial spray is a deeply rich, aromatic mixture of petitgrain and geranium, which lasts for about three minutes, then something strange happens... a heart of rose springs up and begins to smoothen out the scent. This is the first peculiar thing; as top notes generally take ~ 15-20 minutes to vanish. In 1913, however, the rose springs out, but does not replace any of the top notes. It first blends in quite nicely, then begins to dominate the scent, as the top notes start to fade and are replaced by the heart of bigarade and tobacco. Surprisingly, the tobacco is very light and hardly noticeable next to the spiced accord of bigarade; perhaps to allow the sweeter base of frankincense and cypress to bleed through the transparency (tobacco is used as a "final" base note in most scents, because it tends to last longer than any other note, and it stays dominant the moment it's introduced) and shift the scent once again. As the heart dries down, a wonderfully potent, sugared note of frankincense yawns to life, and is anchored to woodsiness by cypress. Both notes accentuate the rose, and favor the progression of change... no longer is our rose so bold and dominant; rather, it has matured, and accepts the replacement of its life. Cypress begins to ebb away at it, as frankincense adds a grand finale of spicy-sweetness, and the roses die. Even after their death, though, there is a very subtle, smoothly aromatic sense of rose essence when the frankincense relaxes a little, and the cypress isn't so potent.

One of the most flawless and effortless executions of a rose-guided scent, 1913 is my favorite [rose] scent; it's not safe and tranquil like Rose Poivree is, yet it's not raw and dirty like Voleur de Roses... but it's not quite the middle grounds, either. It's hard to describe this scent, due to it's peculiar construction and the way each note is played out, but the sheer intelligence and thought behind this, coupled with the unusual ingredients used, makes this yet another sure-buy, and a wallet-breaker at that...

An unbelievably smooth and fantastically neutral opening, thank you very much rice powder, paves the way for delicate and precious Orris notes to calm and sooth the nose. In Roman times, Orris was used in pharmaceutical environments to calm and relax the senses... and my oh my, that quality is ever so present in Equistrius. A soft, blushing note of violet caresses the rice powder, adding a hint of floral sweetness, while a beautiful note of ambrette butter soaks though and envelopes the scent, adding a divinely soothing quality. A soft, creamy chocolate anchors the light sweetness and adds an unusual texture, while Orris is allowed to work the mind in its heavenly ways. As lavender withers, and rice powders fades, the chocolaty-butter / Orris combination is accentuated, and further intensified by both sandalwood and vetiver, which serve to transform the scent into a woodsy-oriented juice, until the very end of the scent.

Absolutely every ingredient is picked with a single goal in mind: to transform the scent, as a whole, from ordinary, into something of epic proportions. It seems as if any other ingredient would have negatively impacted the scent, or any tiny change or alteration in quantity would've resulted in something else. Once the strong Orris note blends quite well with the ambrette butter, the real magic occurs. There is such a different feeling to it, because the way it flirts with lavender as opposed to how it toys with the sandalwood and vetiver, is a very dramatic shift. It wouldn't seem like one, since they're mellow notes, but it's the unfathomable impact that the Orris has on the scent.

This is absolutely indescribable, for once I'm flabbergasted and speechless. I can't think of the proper words, but a million thoughts are going through my head at once. I'm inspired by its glory, and everything I ever thought I knew about fragrances has changed. This is easily the most unique thing I have ever smelled in my entire existence. If God's divine armpit produced sweat, Equistrius would be the liquid that flowed from His glands.

Not a bad kiddy scent, good for junior-high boys who want an uninteresting, safe scent. Straight sugar with no development or contrasting notes to give it depth; chicks like it because they could wear it too.