Fragrance Reviews by hermeneus

They aren’t kidding about the tea. There’s a persistent scent of vanilla tea, black and heavy and with the sweetness of some very floral honey, but it transforms as the moments pass, and I seem to catch the pricking fumes of menthol and eucalyptus about fifteen minutes in, giving it a somewhat medicinal touch. Then it mellows into a honey-coated warmth that settles deep in your skin, perhaps a touch of citrus breaking through the sweetness.

A comfy perfume, joyously romantic, and very unisex – actually, as the name intimates, it’s like made for two lovers sharing an evening by the fire in winter or a blanket on a lawn on a mild summer’s night. But hardly for casual or office wear; like most of Giacobetti’s creations, it’s a mood piece to enjoy in private or in intimacy. And a delicious one at that. All you need are some scones with lemon curd.

Wanna take a walk on the wild side? Walk on this. This is fumingly fresh tarmac through the rainforests of Borneo. It’s volcanic activity on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. It’s the sulphur from Hell rising to Heaven by way of your nostrils.

This is one wild beast of a fragrance – untamed vetiver, possibly the most feral thing I’ve smelled. As vetivers go, I think it best compares to those of Annick Goutal, Floris and MPG, but in the end clawing them to shreds. The initial impact, as it seems to crash on the skin, is of scorched wood followed by a lingering note of smoke. There’s also a tangy saltiness to the top notes, almost like sal-ammoniac, which I find equally odd and appealing, but it mellows into more herbal and vegetal registers, the celery carrying some of the sting after about an hour.

All in all, this isn’t the earthy variety of vetiver, not green and rootsy, but a darker, muskier, more animalic version of raw natural power that is very envigorating to savour as a work of art but almost certainly too provocative for casual wear. Probably not even for polite society, as it hurls you beyond any semblance of civilization, and it takes as much personality to wear as it gives.

As for longevity, I can sense it for 11+ hrs; it even seems to pick up speed after about five hours as some of the lighter touches of herbs and citrus are beaten to a bloody pulp by those muscular woods and fumes. Unrefined in the very best sense.

For a fragrance so heavy on the flowers, it’s surprisingly un-floral if you take women’s perfumes of the same family as a standard. You cannot mistake this for such a one; it’s unequovically a man’s scent. This dandy isn’t even confused about his sexual orientation. He’s just come from the Turkish baths, where he’s been frolicking with the proprietor’s daughter, and as he leaves the barber’s shop he casts a lascivious glance at the newly-wed countess across the street. But his mind quickly wanders to other promises of the heart of the British Empire, and as he swings his priapic walking-stick and heads home to change for the evening, the sunset takes on the smell of roses and the moon rises into clouds of jasmin and lavender.

What really makes this scent so fascinating is that it turns an English meadow into an exotic jungle, each soft flower having the shade of soil, sweat and danger. It’s as musky as it is floral, as daring and provocative as it is stylish and classic, as animalic as it is gentlemanly, but above all it is natural and naturally classy. A social lion indeed!

A for effort. The freshness is amazing, as is the naturality – one of the most authentic renditions of fruit I’ve come across, especially considering that the scent is entirely fabricated. This isn’t some shy, milky little whisp of figs on a temperate breeze (like for example that other fig by Giacobetti, AP’s Premier Figuier, which I honestly prefer); it’s like taking a big bite off of a fat fig-leaf and feeling the sap sting your tongue. This fig is green, fresh, raw and crisp, a bit more on the masculine side, perhaps. But while I can appreciate it as a work of art, I just don’t like it all that much as a fragrance to wear. It’s best suited to analyze and admire – and you have to be quick about it too, because it’s gone within two hours.

Where does this scent go? It's so pure (read: light, fleeting, ephemereal, what have you) that it hovers on your skin like a butterfly – and then just dies. There's about half an hour of incredibly fresh scents, like mineral water and barely ripe juniper berries dancing on the topmost surface of citrus, but you certainly do need to refreshen that gin-like freshness. All in all, the very essence of joyful, uncomplicated cool. And fickle immaturity, sad to say.

Initially plays like a woman's perfume – too heavy on the sweet vanilla to really suit me. As it dries down it settles into a rather old-fashioned type of dandyish, gentlemanly scent, which seems to fit the romanticized ideal of the name: a warm gentry scent for formal-but-not-too-much-so occasions, if you ever go on a fox-hunt with your fellow 60-year-olds. For everyday use, I'd say a comfortable scent to put on to feel mellow and classy in a rather vulgar way, but be prepared to smell like you've stepped out of the baker's shop with pastry in your pocket.