Fragrance Reviews by djolney

This review is for the EdP formulation.

Coco Mademoiselle opens with a lovely burst of citrus, and it is the orange in particular that captures my attention. To my nose, it is a slightly bitter orange, and I think I perceive it this way because the orange and grapefruit fit together so beautifully. The orange lasts well into the heart of the fragrance, and adds to the airy, optimistic tone of the composition.

The citrus opening is very quickly joined by the heart notes, and the two parts join together rather than one fading out and one fading in. The litchi gives CM a lovely grown up fruity feel, and provides something for the slightly bitter orange to connect with. The rose and jasmine are not the typical Chanel variety: the rose gains substance from connecting with the fruit, and the jasmine is greener and moister than in many other Chanel fragrances. The heart of CM is simultaneously fruity, floral, and green, and it is my favourite Chanel heart.

The dry down is a predominantly patchouli affair, with enough vetiver to add to the patchouli’s earthy, sweet feel. The combination of the patchouli and vetiver keeps the vanilla in a supporting role, which gives CM extra depth and substance. The musk is very feminine and just a little bit sexy.

Coco Mademoiselle is a fragrance for optimistic women who see the glass as being half full. If you see the glass as being half empty, then sniff elsewhere. CM is a confident fragrance for confident women of all ages.

This review is for the EdT formulation.

What an intriguing journey: from film noir black trench coat and fedora to black silk pyjamas.

Encre Noire undergoes the most striking transformation of any fragrance I have worn so far. It opens with a smoky and nutty vetiver that is most definitely tough and gritty. This film noir scent lasts for about ten minutes before the cypress wood arrives and changes the tone of the fragrance. The cypress wood brings a cool crispness to the fragrance, which balances nicely with the warm vetiver.

For the next couple of hours Encre Noire swings back and forth between warmth and coolness, and this movement keeps me sniffing my wrist. It’s almost like the tough guy in a film noir movie is agonising over a decision, and we get to smell him weighing up the situation.

Like all good things, this movement comes to an end. When the dry down arrives it is a surprise: the coolness from the cypress wood fades away; the vetiver becomes greener and softer; and soft woods and musk arrive. Encre Noire goes from brooding film noir to romantic black silk pyjamas in less than 20 minutes. The dry down is tender and elegant, and has a romantic, animalic air about it.

Longevity is good and sillage is low.

I didn’t expect Encre Noire to be as complex or interesting as it is. It is simultaneously an excellent vetiver fragrance and a yard stick by which the heights of the perfumer’s art can be measured. I am sure that I will always have a bottle on hand.

Guerlain’s Vetiver might have been the vetiver fragrance of note for the latter part of the 20th century, but Encre Noire is the vetiver fragrance for our time.

And just as an aside: Lalique have to be congratulated for the stylish bottle they designed to hold such good juice. The bottle has clean, substantial lines, and the wooden cap constantly catches my attention.

A lovely green, uplifting fragrance.

First of all, I need to thank Vibert for a rousing review, which convinced me to order Balmain de Balmain unsniffed.

Balmain de Balmain is green from start to finish, and it is one of the nicest green fragrances I have smelled so far.

The galbanum and bergamot give the opening a lush transparency that immediately indicates how lovely an olfactory experience the wearer is in for.

The jasmine in the middle lasts for the length of the fragrance, and ensures that Balmain de Balmain remains perfectly balanced between sweetness and greenness. I think it is this balance that makes Balmain de Balmain one of the ultimate unisex fragrance options.

I mainly get grassy vetiver and moist oak moss in the base, with just a little bit of wood.

At the price Balmain de Balmain sells for, it must be the fragrance bargain of the decade.

On my skin, the opening of London for Men is a port wine soaked cinnamon bun with coconut covered icing. It would be nice to eat, but I’m not sure I want to smell like this without having said bun in my hand.

As time passes the sweetness eases and a little bit of wood arrives. The wood is always in soft focus, because the syrupiness of the port wine permeates everything.

The dry down is the best part of London for Men. The tobacco is close to fresh cut leaf and blends better with the port wine than with any other note in the fragrance.

If you’re up for booze and bakery, then London for Men might be just the thing, but if you are after real quality try Boucheron Jaipur pour Homme instead. Jaipur is richer, deeper, and clearer.

Baie de Genievre is an outstanding fragrance from Creed. As has been made clear by previous reviewers, it smells great.

The juniper berries are crisp and aromatic, and lend Baie de Genievre gravitas without heaviness.

The cinnamon leaves are warm and deep, and I think that there must be other spices behind them. As I detect an animalic note early on in the development of the fragrance, I wonder if there might be a bit of cumin in Baie de Genievre.

The animalic note lasts right to the end of the vetiver, and it isn’t the normal Creed ambergris. It is a sexier and less sweet animalic note than ambergris.

The vetiver in Baie de Genievre takes turns being nutty, earthy, and woody, and is one of my favourite vetivers. Baie de Genievre is worth sampling for anyone who is looking for a lovely vetiver fragrance.

Longevity is very good and sillage is reasonable.

I will always have a bottle of Baie de Genievre on hand.

An excellent fragrance by Jean-Claude Ellena for Cartier: transparent, minimalist, and substantial.

On the basis of the excellent reviews here on basenotes I ordered L’Essence unsniffed. L’Essence is definitely worthy of all of the good reviews it has received.

The first thing that grabbed my attention when I sprayed L’Essence on my wrist was the beautiful almost bitter orange note. This is orange done right: clear, light, and persistent. As the fragrance develops the orange melds with the rosewood to form a central slightly sweet accord, which enhances both notes. The orange gains depth and persistence from the rosewood, while the rosewood gains lightness and brightness from the orange.

The cumin and cardamom add depth and a subtle animalic tone to the slightly sweet accord, and all of the citrus, spice, and sweet notes together add up to a simultaneously substantial and ethereal effect.

Even though woods play such an important part in L’Essence, they never overpower the rest of the notes. The woods are presented as an essence rather than as logs or as sawdust.

The oak moss and vetiver maintain this transparent theme, and give a sense of being of the earth rather than in the earth to the fragrance.

L’Essence is not an attention seeking fragrance, but it is very easy to get lost in the pleasure of charting its progression.

Pretty and sweet; an Armani I actually like!

Idole d’Armani opens with the usual Armani cloud of synthetics and sugar syrup, which does not inspire confidence, but (unlike most other Armani fragrances) it comes back from the brink and arrives at a pretty place.

Once the initial cloud passes I smell juicy Clementine, green jasmine, and a pear (in juice rather than sugar syrup) fruit note. These three notes end up closer to the sweet end of the scale than the green end of the scale, but there is still enough greenness to make this opening enjoyable.

As the ginger and saffron arrive the sweetness is toned down by the spice, and Idole d’Armani starts to smell very nice.

The ginger and saffron help to give the rose more than one dimension, as well as adding warmth to the heart of the fragrance.

The sweet, green, slightly spicy combination of the top and heart notes lasts right into the dry down, and the patchouli and vetiver continue the sweet but not too sweet theme of the fragrance. I’m not sure if the patchouli is earthy in its own right, or if the earthiness comes from the vetiver, but either way it is a very nice base that lasts for hours. A slight chocolate note fades in and out of the patchouli, which fits together nicely with the remains of the pear.

Idole d’Armani is a feel good fragrance that I am happy to recommend.

Acier Aluminium is an interesting fragrance, and I wish I had ordered more than a 1 millilitre decant.

I often find it easy to write what notes I can smell in a fragrance, but with Acier Aluminium I can’t put my finger on specific notes. Rather than writing what I can smell, I only feel able to jot down my impressions, which feel like a representation (or resemblance) rather than any sort of clear guide.

Acier Aluminium opens with a metallic note that lasts for about thirty seconds on my skin. As this note fades out it is replaced by a sharp, intense aromatic accord, which reminds me of the opening accord in Caron’s Third Man less the lavender. This accord lasts for a few minutes and then begins to break down into three notes: bay, cinnamon, and olibanum. The bay and cinnamon remind me of the opening of Tauer’s Une Rose Chypree, and the olibanum is similar to the ball of resin in Montale’s Louban.

Just as I am wondering if this is really what I am smelling, a fruit note swells up and swallows these three notes. The cinnamon gives the fruit some warmth, and the olibanum gives the fruit a sharper focused base. After a few more minutes of fruit a peppery carnation note arrives, which along with the remains of the bay, keeps the fruit interesting. This combination lasts for about two hours on my skin, and is really nice to sniff.

The dry down begins with something like amber and vanilla, which draw the fruit toward a deeper and darker pitch. An animalic note stops the sweetness from becoming too sweet, and the olibanum settles as a resinous note at the very bottom of the base.

Acier Aluminium is all over within six hours on my skin, but oh what an interesting journey it is.

A gentleman in the latter part of his life sits confidently in the lobby of a fine hotel. His suit and tie are elegant and his shirt is crisp. His posture is proud, despite the passing of the years, and his eyes are piercing. The attractive young women who pass by acknowledge his gaze good-naturedly, recognising that this man would have swept them off of their feet in his day. He is waiting for his grandson, who, as ever, is late.

Into the lobby walks a strikingly masculine young man with proud posture and piercing eyes, like the old man.

“Kouros, my boy,” the old man growls, “late again?”

“Sorry Grand Father,” the young man smiles, “I was lost in something captivating.”

“No matter my boy,” the old man chuckles, “there will be plenty of time for that after we catch up.”

The two men embrace, and then walk to the dining room lost in their bond of blood and time.


Creed Orange Spice is the progenitor of YSL’s Kouros. This is not to say that it is an old man’s fragrance, but, rather, that Orange Spice is the past from which Kouros emerged.

Orange Spice is softer and smoother than Kouros, but no less elegant or striking.

The orange, clove, and animalic note are in similar balance to Kouros, but somewhat less intense than Kouros.

If you enjoy Kouros you will enjoy Orange Spice, and if Kouros is a bit too much for you Orange Spice will be perfect.

This review is for the EdT formulation. I have not managed to find the EdP in Australia, but I’m aiming to get it eventually.

Jaipur pour Homme is a captivating oriental. It is simultaneously elegant, spicy, sophisticated, and comforting.

For those of you who appreciate the vanilla in Givenchy Pi, JpH is a whole lot more sophisticated and less linear. JpH is as elegant as Chanel pour Monsieur, but without the over-the-top sweetness. It is as sophisticated as Opium pour Homme, but without the punch from the unbalanced spiciness. JpH is as soft and comforting as Dior Homme, but never becomes as cloying as Dior Homme tends to become.

For the first six hours on my skin JpH EdT has reasonable sillage, and after this turns into a skin scent. I can still just smell it twelve hours after application. It is so beautiful that I want it to stay stronger and last longer than it does.

Like Boucheron pour Homme, JpH initially felt a bit too refined for daily wear for me, but I very quickly got over this. Wearing something so refined and captivating every day (no matter whether in a suit and tie, or in shorts and a T-shirt) is, in my opinion, a very good thing to do.

JpH opens with a combination of heliotrope and citrus. The heliotrope is moist, lush, and slightly herbaceous, and the citrus is smooth and sparkling. This combination is quickly followed by cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, and vanilla, which persist throughout the day. The spices are beautifully blended, and mesh elegantly with the heliotrope. As the day goes on the vanilla becomes more and more apparent, and the spices stop it from becoming linear or uninteresting. As JpH reaches the final phase of its dry down a combination of amber, sandalwood, and soft incense emerges, lending the fragrance a subtle resinous tone.

I gotta get me the EdP, just in case it is even more beautiful than the EdT.

* Months Later *

I now have the EdP formulation of Jaipur pour Homme.

It is even bigger, better, and bolder than the EdT, and the longevity is fantastic.

The spice notes seem to be clearer and deeper in the EdP formulation, which makes the development and dry down of the fragrance even more enjoyable. The heliotrope seems shorter lived because of the extra spice, but this isn’t a problem.

There are significantly more wood resins in the base of the EdP, which balance beautifully with the vanilla and spices. The resinous base adds some additional masculinity to the fragrance.

The EdT of Jaipur pour Homme is lovely, but it is definitely worth finding the EdP for all of the extras that it embodies!

Le Dix is an elegant and charming fragrance.

I haven’t had the opportunity to sample a vintage version, but am perfectly happy to smell the current EdT formulation—which I would describe as being in soft focus.

I smell violets, aldehydes, green jasmine, iris, and what I think might be orange blossom. Le Dix settles down quickly and produces moderate sillage for around five hours. I don’t smell anything specific in the base (before it fades away) beyond some powderiness from the iris.

It has some similarities to Chanel’s No. 5, but is, to its credit, more interesting and less formal than No. 5.

As a huge violet fan (I regularly wear Green Irish Tweed and have a soft spot for Montale’s Louban) smelling Le Dix makes me smile. I would recommend Le Dix to any woman who likes violets and elegant fragrances.

Salvador Dali pour Homme is the first fragrance I have ever tried that has made me recoil in discomfort, and made me want to immediately scrub it off. Within a few seconds of application a hot animalic note smothered and overwhelmed me. The feeling was something like claustrophobia (as if I was trapped within this smell), and I had to will myself to calm down and not head straight for the bathroom.

I don’t know what the hot animalic note is, but I can try to describe it. Other reviewers have suggested that it is a lot of castoreum, and it may well be, but it is the heat that gets me and that I want to try to describe. Imagine the smell of a pan on a hot stove with nothing in it starting to glow red; now add the smell of air above hot tarmac on a sweltering day; and now add the smell of the blast of heat that comes out of an old tin shed when you open the door on a stiflingly hot day. The hot note is pervasive, and warps the animalic note far away from any civet, musk, or castoreum note I have smelled up until now.

Within a minute of application, and after calming myself down, I began to smell some other things. The basil and sage come across as a kind of dewy greenness, which provides a strangely captivating counterpoint to the hot animalic note. The contrast between the hot animalic note and the dewy greenness is interesting and somehow calming.

The arrival of the jasmine and lily of the valley add sweetness and depth to the dewy greenness, and at this point SDpH becomes wearable for me. Don’t smell your wrist directly at this point, or the hot animalic note will overwhelm everything else that is present to be smelled.

As the woods arrive, SDpH begins to lose its dewy greenness, which is a bad thing. The hot animalic note turns all of the woods dry and almost acrid, and it is only the sweetness from the amber and/or vanilla that gives SDpH any life in its dry down. The leather that comes through in the dry down is not just old and dry: it somehow smells like decay.

Salvador Dali pour Homme is a confronting and challenging fragrance. The opening is a shock, the middle is interesting, and the dry down is off putting. I have left it on for three testings, and I am pretty sure that there will not be a forth.

I feel I have no choice but to begin by writing something redundant:

Royal Delight is a delight.

This is how a floral, leathery, woodsy fragrance should smell.

The mandarin, rose, and jasmine in the opening are soft and pretty, and the first half hour could well make guys worry that Royal Delight is going to turn out to be too feminine for them to wear. Have no fear fellows: it doesn’t take long for the fragrance to turn unisex/masculine.

As Royal Delight settles down, the jasmine takes on a greener tone, something like violet leaves fade in, and the woods and leather begin to make their presence felt.

The leather is excellent: it is the sort of leather that you (or your horse) is allowed to sweat on, but it is not raw or rough. The leather is something like a saddle or riding boots that have been used and well maintained. I much prefer this leather to the high fashion leather in Chanel’s Cuir de Russie or the overstuffed leather chair in Serge Lutens’ Cuir Mauresque.

The woods in Royal Delight are smooth and in balance with the leather. The sandalwood smells dry and aged, and just a bit smoky. The amber is rich and does not drown the leather (like happens with Cuir Mauresque).

As the vanilla begins to make its presence felt, Royal Delight achieves a remarkable balance between leather, woods, and sweetness that lasts for the rest of the day. The base neither becomes powdery, nor collapses into an indistinct accord.

Royal Delight has remarkable longevity and excellent sillage. Two sprays should be enough for the entire day, unless your skin eats/destroys fragrance. I can’t imagine ever applying more than three sprays. If you start with Royal Delight be prepared to be disappointed by the longevity and sillage of many other Creeds.

I’m now going to delight in royal delight and see what my favourite horse thinks of it on me.

Green Irish Tweed is refined, calm, and confident. It is a feel good fragrance that is striking because of its understated elegance: it never even hints at becoming overt.

The lemon and verbena are quite bright for a few minutes, but very quickly become smooth and sparkling as a result of the iris and violet leaves. The violet leaves are what make me smile every time I wear GIT.

The sandalwood is dry and smoky, without ever becoming dusty or musty, and provides a great anchor for the violet leaves and iris.

The combination of iris, sandalwood, and ambergris makes for a warm and rich dry down, which sadly doesn’t last as long as I wish it would.

GIT produces reasonable sillage on me for about three hours, and then becomes a skin scent for around another three hours.

Stuck in the middle between Black Aoud and Wild Aoud.

I regularly wear Black Aoud and Wild Aoud, and, as a consequence, Aoud Flowers strikes me as a neither here nor there fragrance. It neither has the aromatic burst and smoky dry down of Wild Aoud, nor the rich, barbaric opulence of Black Aoud.

The bergamot and geranium add a brightness to Aoud Flowers that does not gel with the rose and aoud heart. In Wild Aoud there is Artemisia to go along with the bergamot and geranium, and the extra note makes all the difference. While Aoud Flowers is pointlessly bright, Wild Aoud is aromatic and strident.

The teak and gaiac add a dry woodiness to the base of Aoud Flowers, which the musk never entirely integrates with. The base lacks the moist earth feel of black Aoud’s patchouli laden dry down, and lacks the smokiness and roundness that Wild Aoud gets from tobacco and amber.

Aoud Flowers is a fragrance in permanent tension: the pieces just don’t come together. It’s got all of the right Montale constituents, but I can’t give it better than a neutral rating.

Living in the driest state in Australia I am used to the desert. The desert here is a huge open space that somehow crushes in on one, squeezing the moisture and energy out of every living thing that is not tough enough and ready for its onslaught.

LDDM represents a different kind of desert: a desert in which one is enveloped by smells and sensations that caress rather than crush.

From its opening to its end LDDM is captivating rather than confronting, and calming rather than exhausting.

The spices are dry without being desiccated; the petitgrain adds a wonderful twist; the incense is soft and slightly smoky (like in Incense Rose); and the cedar and amber are dry and slightly honeyed.

When I wear LDDM I find myself entranced by the place it conjures in my mind, and this is reflected in a calm satisfaction as I go about my day.

Sophistication in a bottle.

I had read the reviews of BpH before ordering my bottle of EDP, and couldn’t imagine how the initial blast of lemon could be so out of control.

For the first half hour the blast of lemon was completely out of control.

And then a wonderful thing happened: the lemon toned down, and the rich complexity of the rest of the fragrance stepped up.

What I am left with is the softest and most refined fragrance I have ever smelled.

For me, at least, BpH is too elegant for daily wear, but I’m glad I have it here to wear for future formal occasions.

* Several Months Later *

I am now addicted to the lemon/verbena and wear BpH whenever I feel like it.

BpH is surprisingly good for hot summer days here in Australia.

This is a gorgeous fragrance.

I normally wear Chanel Antaeus, so Antidote is a kind of culture shock for me. I’m used to wearing a fragrance that is rooted in the earth, but Antidote is engaged in a slow burn to overcome gravity and retain its vantage point above the ground.

The accords between individual ingredients are so well managed that I can never smell less than three things at a time. The top notes are more like a citrus orchard than citrus fruit, and they merge seamlessly into a luscious night time garden of middle notes. The base notes are there to sustain the relationship between Antidote and the ground, and the ripples of smell act like thrust to keep Antidote aloft.

* Several Months Later *

Too many notes; too little progression/direction; too short lived.

Rating changed from thumbs up to neutral.

L’Anarchiste reminds me of the famous 19th century Russian Anarchist Mikhail Bakunin. Bakunin was both physically and intellectually striking, loved the good life, and was almost always busy trying to transform the world. Like Bakunin, L’Anarchiste is striking, brings the good life to mind, and never relaxes entirely.

L’Anarchiste opens with a heady mix of orange blossom, mandarin, and cedar leaves. The combination is a little bit boozy, a little bit sharp, a little bit fresh, sort of enthusiastic, and for me, at least, addictive. I thought that this accord would collapse into soft and round citrus, but it doesn’t. The cedar leaves keep this accord alive for up to ten hours on my skin, and the accord is constantly ducking and weaving to show how alive and interesting it can continue to be.

Beneath the citrus and cedar leaves an accord of elegant sandalwood and cedar wood begins to develop, culminating in a bond between the cedar leaves and cedar wood. This conjunction holds the top and middle together for the entire day, and provides a platform on which the top accord can strut its stuff.

At the base of L’Anarchiste is a combination of vetiver and musk. The vetiver is earthy without being dirty, and the musk is soft and round enough to not overwhelm the top or middle.

Unlike Third Man, L’Anarchiste is not a study in urbane sophistication. It is more forthright and practical than its stable mate, but no less pleasing or interesting.

* Months Later *

The thrill is gone.

The endless orange and mentholated cedar leaves now bore me.

I haven’t had any interest in wearing this since I purchased YSL’s Kouros.

I’ll take hyper masculine citrus, clove, and civet over odd and linear L’Anarchiste every time.

L’Anarchiste is still a well made and unusual fragrance, but be careful to think about whether you really feel like wearing it frequently before you buy the big flacon.

Rating changed from thumbs up to neutral.

Another misnamed fragrance: Trouble is a rich oriental that represents warm and comfortable femininity.

It opens with a pretty combination of heliotrope and white flowers on top of a fruit note I can’t identify. It is a very feminine fragrance that is somehow soft and vibrant at the same time.

Like so many Boucherons, Trouble rests on a warm, rich, and complex vanilla base. In this case the vanilla is infused with cedar, musk, and a bit of spice.

Longevity and sillage are very good.

There are similarities to YSL’s Cinema, but I find Trouble to be more engaging and less syrupy than Cinema.

Zino represents the height of elegance, masculinity, and romance, but (on me) it is tragically short lived.

The opening is fantastic. In Zino bergamot, sage, lavender, and rosewood make for a memorable combination. The opening is more intense than the opening of Montale’s Wild Aoud (which achieves a similar aromatic/green burst), is more elegant than Caron’s Third man (in which the lavender becomes harsh), and more refined than Chanel’s Egoiste (in which Polge tames his ingredients rather than letting them burst into life—as they do in Zino).

I never thought I would be so excited to wear a lily of the valley note, but Zino has given me a new appreciation for what can be done with this flower. The lily of the valley rests on rose, jasmine, and geranium, and the overall effect is a glorious floral heart.

The base is a soft woods and amber affair with just a little bit of musk and tobacco.

There is most certainly an interesting note that one might refer to as “romantic.” In short, something in the background of Zino smells like sex. My guess is that it is either a combination of saltiness from the rosewood, sweetness from the flowers, dirtiness from the patchouli, and a hint of something fiery from the geranium, or there is a very refined animalic musk lurking somewhere amongst the florals. Whatever it is, it is very attractive.

And now for the bad news: (on me) this fragrance has mediocre sillage and terrible longevity. It is completely gone within three hours. Oh how I wish there was an EdP version of this stuff.

I doff my hat to any of you who are lucky enough to be able to wear/smell this on yourself for several hours. It is a fantastic fragrance, and I wish it projected and lasted on my skin.

A marvellous masculine fragrance.

The opening is a combination of gritty lemon, sparkling bergamot, clove, civet, and the beginnings of the rose and honey. It is absolutely marvellous!

As Kouros settles down to its heart the rose becomes more obvious, the greenness of the jasmine arrives, and a smooth, light incense starts to weave its way through the fragrance. I can smell something slightly soapy at this point, and I wonder if there isn’t some vetiver in here. The clove and incense spice and warm the honey and rose at the heart of Kouros, and this combination is addictive.

As Kouros reaches its dry down vanilla tempers the honey (stopping it from becoming too animalic) and oak moss lends the incense a woody, earthy base. The incense and vanilla together smell like a creamy sandalwood that could be too sweet if not for the remains of the civet.

There is more civet in Kouros than in Givenchy Gentleman, but it is more effectively integrated into the whole of the fragrance. If the civet bothers you when you sniff your wrist directly, then don’t sniff your wrist directly: smell the side of your wrist you haven’t sprayed and you will get the effect of Kouros in its entirety. The civet is critical to the whole, and is in perfect balance if appreciated from a distance.

If you like Caron Yatagan, then Kouros might provide you with an alternative on the days when you want something a bit sweeter and more animalic.

If you like Chanel Antaeus, then you might like to try Kouros as an even more sophisticated and masculine fragrance.

If the star anise and synthetic note in Azzaro pour Homme are beginning to bother you, then Kouros might provide you with an equally masculine alternative.

First of all, let’s get the fact that Louban isn’t big, bold, or dark out of the way. If you want big, bold, or dark buy Black Aoud—which I love to wear. Black Aoud is for those individuals who enjoy wearing a fragrance that screams overt sensuality and sexuality. Louban, on the other hand, is for those individuals who prefer a more restrained sensory experience. Louban, to my nose, is no less a fragrance than Montale’s earlier creations: it has just been created for a different and/or growing clientele.

The rose in Louban is not Montale’s typical vivid red rose that still stands out in the half light of sunset. Instead, Louban possesses soft pink and yellow roses that have been nurtured by the sun and retain a warm disposition. In conjunction with the violet leaves these roses are warm, soft, and substantial, and not at all dark.

The medicinal kick from the aoud is more annoying in Louban than in many other Montales, because it takes the focus away from the roses and violet leaves for about twenty minutes. Try not to get too frustrated during this period of time, because the roses and violet leaves make a fantastic comeback on top of the olibanum and aoud.

The olibanum plays an unusual role in Louban. It is an unlit stick of incense: sweet, smooth, slightly resinous, and slightly woody. It draws the aoud and sandalwood up toward the sun kissed roses, resulting in a soft and warm base.

As the dry down continues the musk emerges in perfect harmony with the wood and aoud, and it stops the remains of the roses and violet leaves from becoming too sweet or linear.

Louban stays close to the skin, and longevity is around eight hours on me.

I hope Louban influences a large number of new people to try Montale’s fragrances.

Le Maroc Pour Elle is beautiful: it is lush, soft, sophisticated, and has just a little bit of smoulder.

The soft rose and lush jasmine come across as fresh and inviting throughout the life of the fragrance (sillage is good, and longevity is very good). The florals are dewy and alive, and I never tire of smelling them.

The petitgrain and lavender give the florals an edge that stops them from falling into the too sweet category—in much the same way that the basil enhances the complexity of the florals in Boucheron EDP. I can’t smell where the petitgrain ends and the mandarin starts, and can only describe the combination as a very engaging almost bitter orange.

The woods and patchouli provide an anchor for the florals without ever overpowering them, and every now and then a slight hint of chocolate peaks out to give the woods a subtle twist. This base is simultaneously ultra feminine and substantial.

Le Maroc Pour Elle is as beautiful as Andy Tauer’s Incense Rose, and is as sublime as its stable mate is paradoxical.

Sadly, on me, this is wet earth sprinkled with pepper and just a hint of rotting tree bark.

Andy Tauer is very talented, so I think this is strictly a case of body chemistry.

If you can’t wear this one, give Montale Red Vetiver a go.

Lush, fiery, and intriguing.

The rose in Incense Rose is intriguing: it isn’t where one thinks it should be, and keeps appearing in different guises. The rose combines with the Clementine to provide a lush and slightly sharp tone at the beginning: combines with the wood and resins to create a deep substantial tone; and combines with the patchouli towards the end to create an earthy and wet tone. The rose is everywhere and nowhere, and is a bunch of different roses rather than one singular rose. Waiting to see where and how the rose will next appear is such a pleasure.

Incense Rose manages to be lush and fiery at the same time. I have never experienced an opening with such a balanced combination of lush fruit and flowers and spicy wood and resins. The balance between light and dark speaks of Andy Tauer’s immense talent.

The incense is bright: a combination of pale smoke and glowing embers. It never becomes dark or acrid. This lends the fragrance an aromatic tone something like Caron Yatagan, but without the starkness or aridness that make Yatagan too much for some people. The ambergris takes Incense Rose from the aromatic to the animalic, which provides the final incarnation for the rose: a fleshy rose.

I’m not sure that Incense Rose will replace Montale Black Aoud as the rose fragrance I reach for first, but I do think that I will end up buying a bottle when I finish my decant.

This is odd stuff.

The opening is strange and sickly. It is as if the aoud and saffron have brought the worst out in each other. I like to wear aoud, and I like saffron and aoud together when Montale does it, but something is sickly rather than medicinal here.

The incense is neither the intense kind found in a fragrance like Tauer Incense Rose, nor the soft unlit kind like in Montale Louban: it is hollow and becomes lost under the wood.

The dry down is so soft that there is nothing to speak of.

Nice aspects, but they don’t add up to anything much.

The citrus opening is big and brash, but it doesn’t really go anywhere. It is neither gritty like the opening of Givenchy Gentleman, nor suave like the opening of Boucheron pour Homme, and, unlike these two fragrances, the citrus in ApH doesn’t herald anything majestic or memorable to come.

The heart of clove and sandalwood that emerges is pretty, but it is soft and doesn’t last.

The oak moss gives the base an almost masculine feel, but it is so tame that the masculinity seems to have been robbed away.

The sillage and longevity are not what they ought to be.

A vetiver I can wear.

I am one of the unfortunate people on whom Guerlain Vetiver turns into bug spray. Red Vetiver is the first fragrance I have found that lets me have moist and earthy vetiver along with a smile.

I can’t smell the grapefruit in Red Vetiver. Instead, I smell a combination of wetness, sweetness, and bitterness that reminds me of green capsicum. In conjunction with the wet and earthy vetiver this makes for a lush smell.

The pepper adds an enjoyable dose of heat to Red Vetiver, and the contrast between the heat and wetness stops the fragrance from becoming too linear.

The dry down of Red Vetiver brings cedar and patchouli into play. The cedar has an extra note to it, which reminds me of oak moss, and the patchouli turns slightly chocolaty (like in Patchouli Leaves). The patchouli plus the remains of the pepper reminds me of a chilli truffle.

Red Vetiver has the shortest life on my skin of any Montale I have tried so far: after six hours it becomes a skin scent without obvious projection.

Red Vetiver is not a great Montale, but it is a nice vetiver.

This review is for the EdP formulation.

Sexy, sophisticated, and elegant.

Boucheron opens with a lovely combination of lemon, bergamot, orange flowers, and basil. The basil gives the opening a herbaceous air, which takes the sharp edge off of all of the citrus. Consequently, one gets to experience the full complexity of the bergamot and lemon. The combination of basil and orange flowers is captivating, and I like this expression of orange flowers even more than the petals in Caron Nocturnes.

As the heart of the fragrance makes its presence felt, a perfectly balanced combination of iris and geranium weaves its way from the highest note to the lowest note, drawing everything together. The iris is sweet without being cloying, and the geranium lends the fragrance a sexy smoulder. The tuberose smells like an entire garden of flowers, and blends seamlessly with the geranium, iris, and citrus.

The base of Boucheron begins with a creamy sandalwood, which could easily become too sweet if not for the oak moss and civet that accompany it. The oak moss gives the sandalwood depth and earthiness, and the civet turns the base sexy.

As Boucheron reaches its dry down, vanilla is added to the base. Like in Boucheron Jaipur pour Homme, this is a spicy and complex vanilla, and adds to the sexy base.

It could be said that Boucheron is an old fashioned fragrance, and this is fine with me. In this case old fashioned means sexy, sophisticated, and elegant, and all I’ve got to say is bring on the past.

As a guy who frequently wears Boucheron pour Homme and Boucheron Jaipur pour Homme, I’m not sure I could get away with wearing Boucheron, but I’m oh so happy that it is out there for women to wear.

For any fans of Chanel No. 19 EdP out there, I think Boucheron is one that you should definitely check out.

Beautiful, but devoid of life.

No. 88 is one of the few fragrances that has frustrated me to the point of not being sure whether I should write a review. Reviews are always subjective things, but in the case of No. 88 the frustration it elicits from me makes me wonder if I have some sort of bias against it.

No. 88 opens with a lovely combination of bergamot and geranium: the bergamot is round and full, and the geranium is lush and fiery. At this stage the fragrance is full of life and possibility.

As the heart of No. 88 opens up the rose and other flowers temper the fiery geranium, and begin what I hoped would be a transition into lush flowers.

Sadly, the flowers are not lush. There is one of each kind of flower. They have been cut and placed in a very expensive vase. They have no connection to the plant on which they grew, the earth in which the plant stood, or the sun and sky above. They are elegant flowers providing no more than a hint of life in a room that is too elegant and understated.

From fiery and lush to too elegant and understated in less than ten minutes is very frustrating.

And then the base arrives. Cold vetiver, sweet sandalwood, and a recently soaped saddle. Elegant and understated once more, and devoid of life.

How can so many beautiful things smell so constrained and restrained?

No. 88 is for those individuals who like their sensuality and sexuality under glass. If you are passionate about life stay away from No. 88.

And for the comparisons between Black Aoud and No. 88 … I don’t even know where to begin. Black Aoud is rippling sensuality and sexuality. Black Aoud is a lush, moist rose still connected to the earth and the sky. No. 88 is a corpse.

Une Rose Chypree is gorgeous, and very difficult to describe.

There is so much going on that it is hard to capture, and yet the sum total of the olfactory experience is a serene study in elegance.

The only way I can think of to effectively describe Une Rose Chypree is to imagine a bunch of roses surrounded by other things that impact on them. The roses are always at centre stage, but each rose has taken on some of the characteristics of whatever nestles alongside it outside of the bunch of roses.

The first rose one encounters has cinnamon and bay nestled beside it, and it is a spicy rose. This smell is addictive.

After this comes a lush, juicy rose that has been in contact with the Clementine and the rest of the citrus. I would like to bite this rose to see how moist it is.

Following this is a smouldering rose, which is both hot and green from coming into contact with the geranium.

These three roses make up the top of the fragrance, but none of them disappear as the fragrance develops.

These first three roses have a sort of translucence about them, which makes it easy for them to mingle and meld in endless permutations.

Below these roses are far deeper and darker roses: there is an earthy rose that has been in contact with the patchouli and oak moss, a leathery rose that comes and goes, and a heartbreakingly beautiful honeyed rose that has absorbed lots of vanilla along with a little bit of everything else.

The translucent roses play together with the deeper and darker roses in perfect harmony, and the way they relate to each other changes with temperature and time.

You have to try this one!

Where is the tobacco? All I smell is ash.

An ashtray full of the remains of cheap cigars smoked down to the last quarter inch, a splash of cheap rum to keep the ash pungent, and a vanilla candy floating (and then dissolving) in the mess.

What a disappointment.

I enjoy wearing Rive Gauche pour Homme Intense even more than I enjoy wearing normal RGpH.

The barbershop accord in the intense version seems to be smoother and more subtle than in the normal version, and I am more aware of the star anise. The barbershop accord doesn’t seem to come and go as many times during the day with the intense version, and the cloves seem to settle down on to the base rather than trying to hang on to the top.

The extra patchouli gives the base greater depth and longevity, and gives the fragrance a moist earth feel—almost as if there is some oak moss in there. The vetiver and gaiac wood are enveloped by the patchouli in the intense version, and this seems to make the fragrance even more inviting and comforting.

It’s worth the effort to find the Intense version.

I really don’t understand why this fragrance is called Black Aoud. It is neither dark, stark, nor brooding. For me, at least, Black Aoud is a beautiful rose fragrance built on gentle musk and deep wood.

The fragrance begins with a medicinal kick from the aoud, which is to be expected. It takes about half an hour for the rose to stand tall, and for the aoud to calm down. This period of transition is both interesting and enjoyable.

The rose is soft and strong at the same time. It is almost as if the rose has taken on the strength and depth of the wood and musk, but not sacrificed any of its elegance in the process. It is a glorious moist rose that is most definitely unisex.

The little bit of mandarin adds some sparkle to the top of the fragrance, and the patchouli helps to create a sense that the rose has roots that go down into the earth.

By the three hour mark the rose and aoud are in perfect harmony. The rose is still lush and the aoud is kind of like the ultimate sandalwood. Black Aoud goes on like this for up to twelve hours on my skin.

I’m not sure that I can (or would want to) wear a rose fragrance every day, but this is the fragrance I am going to reach for on the days when I want a beautiful rose.

The first thing I smelled when I sprayed Patchouli Leaves on my arm was oak. And not just a little bit of oak, but, instead, freshly worked oak that has been burnished by the hot edge of a tool. My only other experience of smelling oak in relation to patchouli is in Caron Yatagan, which is a sort of inky oak that is in keeping with the aromatic nature of the fragrance, whereas the oak in Patchouli Leaves disappears as the sweet base develops.

For the first half hour there is also a metallic note that is neither interesting nor unpleasant. I can’t work out where it comes from or where it goes.

The patchouli is deep, earthy, and moist, and is a pleasure to wear.

As the amber and vanilla come into play the base becomes progressively sweeter until the patchouli takes on an edible spiced chocolate note. I didn’t expect the patchouli to become chocolatey, but I have to say that I quite like it.

Longevity is very good, and sillage is moderate.

Masculine, almost sophisticated, but too sweet on my skin.

I was very much looking forward to trying M7, and the first few minutes were interesting, but not as enjoyable as I had hoped. The Agarwood burst off of my skin with a slightly medicinal smell, which I was expecting, but not much else happened. The sparkling citrus disappeared very quickly, and the rosemary couldn’t sustain itself on top of the Agarwood. All I was left with within a few minutes was a warm woody fragrance. I can’t smell the vetiver at all on my skin—neither in a soapy nor earthy guise.

As M7 begins to dry down the musk and amber come into play, and they combine very nicely with the Agarwood. Unfortunately, as the dry down continues I get a pervasive sweet note that upsets the sophistication and masculine character of the fragrance. This sweet note reminds me of sarsparilla, and I assume it must be the amber and mandrake root doing strange things on my skin. This sweet note just won’t go away, and gnaws away at the wood and musk until I get frustrated and want to wash the fragrance off.

M7 is a love hate fragrance for me: I love the idea of it, but I hate what the pervasive sweet note does to it.

The first thing that struck me about Cuir Mauresque when I sprayed it on my wrist was how it shares a similar opening combination with Givenchy Gentleman. Both fragrances open with a combination of citrus, cinnamon, leather and spice, but how they are presented is very different: GG is initially sharp and rough and takes time to settle down, whereas CM goes on smooth and round and stays this way. GG is overtly masculine compared to CM, and I prefer GG’s blast to CM’s comfort.

The leather in CM makes me think of an overstuffed burgundy armchair in an elegant wood panelled club. The leather is tinged with aloe and clove, and it is the sort of leather that one expects to sit on, but not to sweat on. To put the leather in CM in perspective, it is somewhere between the floral high fashion leather of Chanel Cuir de Russie and the weather beaten whip in Caron Yatagan. It came from an animal, but it is no longer animalic.

As the hours pass the amber in the base of CM grows stronger and sweeter, until the leather is floating in amber. At this point CM becomes boring for me, because this sweetness overpowers the leather and musk.

I enjoy Cuir Mauresque while the leather lasts, but want it gone long before the amber fades away.

Oh, so beautiful.

The orange blossom is soft; the aldehydes are voluptuous; the tuberose and ylang-ylang are striking without being overpowering; the sandalwood is subtle; the vetiver is perfect: neither being soapy or dirty; the rose is deep and a little bit spicy; and the musk is both feminine and slightly animalic.

Nocturnes is both luxurious and sparkling, and is a pleasure to smell throughout the day.

I agree that Nocturnes is a sweetheart rather than a femme fatale, and this is fine with me.

Another masterpiece from Caron.

In South Australia there is an area known as the Flinders Ranges. Most of this area is dry and beautiful, and what makes it memorable is that its beauty is matched by its starkness. Most plants that grow in the Flinders Ranges look like they have worked hard to stay alive and grow, and give the impression that they are going to hang onto life with grim determination.

Like the Flinders Ranges, Yatagan is beautiful and stark.

There is only a little bit of sweetness in Yatagan, and it makes me think of how sweet overcoming the odds can be.

The combination of worm wood, Artemisia, and petit grain is captivating, and gets even better once the pine needles and vetiver come into play.

The base of Yatagan is a combination of leather, patchouli, and wood. The patchouli is kind of inky and oaky, and I have never smelled anything like it before. This is the only leather scent that truly reminds me of old used leather, and what I picture is an old whip hanging in a tree, both of them weathered by heat and drought.

Yatagan is probably not for everyone, but is worth a try for anyone who is familiar with the link between starkness and beauty.

Azzaro pour Homme is a classic masculine fragrance.

I am a huge fan of anise, and really enjoy the interplay between the top notes of petit grain, lemon, and anise in ApH. The top notes sparkle, and there is a lovely balance between sweet, bitter, green, and citrus.

In the middle I particularly notice the vetiver, basil, and oak moss, and they seem to take turns coming to the fore as the day goes on.

On my skin the base settles down to a masculine musk infused with patchouli and sandalwood. The patchouli and sandalwood seem to stop the musk from becoming too animalic, and the consequence of this is a set of base notes that suit everything from jeans and a T-shirt to a suit and tie.

To my nose ApH is a balanced and rounded 70s powerhouse that is both interesting and enjoyable today.

It tends to stay close to my skin, and lasts around eight hours.

For guys who like Givenchy Gentleman and/or Chanel Antaeus, ApH is definitely worth a try. To my mind ApH is more sophisticated than Gentleman and better balanced than Antaeus.

When I first saw the name Visit I was perplexed as to why any company would call a fragrance Visit, but twenty minutes after spraying it on my wrist it made perfect sense.

Visit is a warm and friendly fragrance that draws one closer. The idea of visiting with Visit and the person wearing it feels relaxing and enjoyable.

The combination of cardamom, nutmeg, and pepper that first wafts up is a bit intense and unusual, but it quickly settles down onto the heart of cedar, gaiacwood, and incense. The spices add warmth to the woods, and the combination smells inviting. On my skin the top and middle balance nicely, and I don’t get too much nutmeg, a cedar log, or a temple full of incense.

As the fragrance dries down amber and musk start to seep into the woods giving Visit a sweet earthy smell. The fragrance lasts for up to eight hours on my skin.

When I feel like wearing an aromatic fragrance I tend to wear Caron Yatagan, so Visit is a bit tame for me, but I would never mind wearing or encountering Visit. For a guy who is just starting to explore fragrances without ubiquitous citrus or marine notes Visit would be a good place to start.

Supposedly described by Chanel as: “a very improper perfume for nicely brought-up young ladies,” I was expecting something interesting from the current EdT formulation of Cuir de Russie. I would have to say that Chanel’s supposed description has little to do with the current EdT. To my nose it is a floral with some leather that shows Polge’s hand.

The leather is neither a saddle just removed from a horse after a hard ride, nor a leather jacket exposed to tobacco smoke, sweat, and beer in a dark bar. Instead, it is a piece of high fashion leather gracing the form of a Russian oligarch’s daughter or mistress on a shopping trip to Paris.

Cuir de Russie EdT opens with a far too subtle combination of citrus that is quickly overwhelmed by ylang-ylang, iris, and jasmine. Within half an hour the heart of jasmine and rose takes over, followed by a base of squeaky clean high fashion leather, a tinge of vetiver, and very soft cedar and amber.

It is a beautiful floral with some leather, but Russian leather it is not.

Barbershop clean, and earthy in the nicest possible way.

RGpH opens with an invigorating, comforting, and smile creating barbershop accord. This accord lasts for about half an hour on me and comes and goes for the rest of the day.

The middle and base of RGpH consist of a beautiful balance between sweet and earthy notes. The sweet notes stop the fragrance from ever becoming too dark and dirty, and the earthy notes help to keep the sweet notes singing an enjoyable harmony.

RGpH consistently lasts 10 hours on my skin, and I never stop enjoying its development and recapitulation.

RGpH is a confident, enthusiastic, and engaging smell that seems to bring people closer—encouraging them to chat with the wearer. It’s great for days when one needs to make a good impression on new people.

I have been trying to write a review of The Third Man on and off for six weeks. No matter what I write it doesn’t seem complete enough to represent my appreciation of this fragrance.

The Third Man is a beautiful fragrance. It is both the height of urbane sophistication and an encapsulation of the physical pleasure of being alive. In the top, middle, and base there is a living, breathing balance between elegance and earthiness. For every soft, round, and voluptuous ingredient there is a corresponding intense and/or earthy ingredient to facilitate balance and action within the fragrance. The Third Man grows and changes throughout the day, and there is always some new accord to experience.

Every man with an interest in fragrance should experience The Third Man.

YSL Jazz is neither sophisticated enough to remind one of the most intricate jazz melodies and harmonies, nor dirty enough to capture the intense emotions of great jazz performers.

YSL Jazz is impeccably made, but is too reserved and restrained to warrant more than passing attention. The bergamot and lavender are pretty, but do not sparkle; the heart is balanced, but is not intriguing; and the base does nothing to drive the fragrance onto greater heights or depths.

If you want the intense emotions and intricate melodies and harmonies of great jazz seek out Caron Third Man: it is everything that YSL Jazz does not manage to be

To my nose, at least, there is a very significant difference between the EDT and EDP versions of Chanel No. 19.

The EDT version has a strange green heart that I cannot bring myself to like, and as time passes it takes on the character of Cristalle (which I do not like at all).

No. 19 EDP is a completely different fragrance.

It opens with a beautiful accord of bergamot and some sort of artemisia. This accord is one of the most beautiful things I have ever smelled, and it reminds me of the bergamot and tarragon accord in Givenchy Gentleman after it has calmed down.

The heart of No. 19 EDP shows Jacques Polge’s hand. Gone is the strange green heart of the EDT, instead replaced by Polge’s signature heart of rose and jasmine. This heart sings a glorious song all day, and combines with the bergamot and artemisia top to make this fragrance a masterpiece.

The base of No. 19 EDP is a combination of soft round woods and leather that never overwhelms or replaces the middle or top. It gives the fragrance great depth without being heavy.

No. 19 EDP is simultaneously vibrant, warm, and deep, and is a beautiful expression of the adage that the whole is more than the sum of its parts.

Powdery, candied iris that decays into bubble-gum.

If you want a fragrance like this, then check out the far superior version: Flower Bomb by Viktor and Rolf.

When smelling many fragrances it is easy to visualize the ingredients that contribute to the scent, but Silver Black inspires more than an image of what is in the bottle: between the black shadows stretching down from a mountain and the silver shimmer of sunlight on a sea are a patchwork of orchards, gardens, groves, and wilderness, and Silver Black is the scent of this living vista. It is a fragrance that captures the essence of a place, and I wonder if this place might have been where Loris Azzaro spent his formative years.

Silver Black opens with sweet green apples, bergamot, and lemon, and the sweetness and citrus quickly find a happy medium. In the middle caraway and coriander combine to create an interesting and enjoyable heart, which makes me want to smell caraway in more fragrances. Silver Black rests on a base of cedar and musk that effectively supports both the middle and top notes without overwhelming their character.

Green apples, caraway, and cedar does not sound like the most interesting combination around which to build a fragrance, but I commend the perfumer for creating such a substantial, engaging, and soothing fragrance.

Many years ago I bought a beautiful hand crafted acoustic guitar made from Brazilian Rosewood. As time has passed the sound has got even better and the wonderful smell has dissipated. Even today when I take it out of its case I can still conjure up the wonderful sweet, salty, dark, and smooth smell of freshly worked Brazilian Rosewood.

When I sprayed Egoiste on my wrist I was immediately transported back to the moment when I first smelled my guitar. The rosewood in Egoiste is beautiful, and in conjunction with sandalwood and vanilla forms the elegant and long lasting heart of the fragrance.

Egoiste begins with a sparkling accord of mandarin and rosewood that settles down onto a heart of slightly spicy rose. As it begins to dry down a perfect harmony of vanilla and sandalwood emerges to support the rosewood and rose. The sandalwood is silky, and the vanilla smells very natural. Within an hour cinnamon weaves its way between the rosewood, sandalwood, and vanilla, and this combination lasts all day on my skin.

The combination of wood on the top and at the bottom gives Egoiste a unique character that is not going to appeal to everyone, but few people could fail to appreciate its perfect harmony.

Like my guitar, Egoiste will be sticking around.

Soapy dirt with a splash of bug spray: try before you buy.

On the basis of the excellent reviews here on basenotes I ordered a bottle of Vetiver without first having tried it. When the bottle arrived I pulled off the cap excitedly and sprayed. After thirty seconds of citrus it settled down to soapy dirt with a splash of bug spray. My first thought was that there must be something wrong with my bottle, so I went and found a sample locally, but the outcome was the same. On my skin this fragrance goes horribly wrong and there is no development or dry down to speak of.

On my skin Gentleman begins with a blast of bergamot, which was almost enough to put me off. It is harsh, lasts for about twenty minutes, and completely overwhelms everything but the tarragon. Don’t leave the house until this calms down, or you will assault anyone you have to sit beside.

Once the bergamot dissipates, an accord of tarragon, cinnamon, and patchouli comes to the fore, and from this point onwards Gentleman behaves like a gentleman. This accord is warm and engaging, and there is nothing about this Gentleman to frighten the ladies or small children.

Within an hour Gentleman develops a calm and comfortable accord of sweet amber, honey, fine leather, and old timber, and this lasts for between eight and ten hours on me. In its latter stages Gentleman has an air of timelessness about it: when you smell this good you really don’t have to concern yourself with what happens next. If you feel as if you are in the wrong time and place, then Gentleman might be the right fragrance to show you that time and place are a cultural studies and marketing illusion.

I don’t understand why anyone says that this fragrance is dated. The Gentleman I remember my Dad’s generation wearing in the 70s was a beast that could cut through cigarette smoke and sweat on nylon shirts. Gentleman was one of the things that gave the 70s some style. Today, Gentleman is largely a mild mannered masculine fragrance that stands as one of the bastions against metrosexual marine creature scents.

Enjoy being a Gentleman who can wear Gentleman no matter what the time or place.

Are you sure of your footing?

If I remember the Antaeus story correctly, he gained his strength from the earth, and Hercules was only able to defeat him once he realized that he would have to break Antaeus’s contact with the earth.

Antaeus, the fragrance, is rooted in the earth, and is deep, dark, and unshakable. It goes on strong and stays that way for the entire day. Because it is from Chanel, Antaeus is as refined as an 80s power scent can be. It has probably been toned down, but still has more depth than the majority of men’s fragrances out there today.

Antaeus is for the man who is sure of his footing and mind.

So close, and yet so far.

On my skin Tabarome began as a haze of elegant cognac and tobacco, and I wondered where the notes that were supposed to be there had gone.

Within five minutes the haze gave way to a lovely accord of ginger, green tea, and tobacco, and I began to smile broadly. Ultra masculine and refined is the only way I can describe this accord.

And then half an hour later the beautiful accord faded away leaving me with nothing but the smell of a well groomed drunk old man.

I have repeated this experiment with the same outcome each time. If the beautiful accord lasted on me I would wear this fragrance forever, but this is not to be.

This is definitely one that you need to try before you buy.

Pleasant, but unfinished.

Like the computers chugging away to provide more numbers after the decimal point for Pi, Pi the fragrance is on an equally futile mission.

Pi opens with a sparkling combination of indistinct floral and herbaceous notes above a heart of vanilla, and only a woody resin at the base stops the vanilla from seeping everywhere.

The vanilla is pleasant, but it never entirely harmonizes with the notes above or below it. It trucks on into the night endlessly restating its vanillainess, hoping that one doesn’t mind that the top and base notes are left in limbo.

When I want to smell like vanilla (and I do some days) Pi is the fragrance I reach for. Its lack of resolution stops being bothersome once one realizes that it is what it is, and that it is better than many vanillic scents.