I bought this a few years back, wore it a few times, thought: 'Ugh, celery!' and sold it.
But something nagged at me about it and so I bought it again last year to have another go at it - and oh dear God, do I love this stuff now? It's just beautiful.
I'm going to stock up because something this good is going to be found by a committee before long and then 'refined for the modern consumer' or something.
Yes, it's a rather crude pine scent, isn't it? Nothing you'd want to smell of, really.
An absolutely glorious monster of a fragrance: bold, austere, intimidating and bewitching.
01st September, 2012 (last edited: 12th September, 2012)
This stuff is beautiful; pure, simple, bright lavender with a gentle, oriental, musky-vanilla base. Sounds simple? Well, it is and it isn't. If you like frags you have to try this.
It may well be that I'll give up worrying about fragrances beyond this stuff. This might just do me. It's that good.
It's a bit daft saying of a fragrance 'Well, it'd be good if the top notes carried on for longer,' because by definition, they're fleeting. With Fat Electrician though I really do want to say this because the top notes - a dazzlingly bright, sharp, vetiver blast - are glorious. But then they disappear and there's not really a whole lot left after they've gone - well, besides a gentle vanilla and a shadow of the opening vetiver hovering pale in the background. Shame.
I hated this at first.
Then I tried it again: it was still disgusting - but it was also interesting.
Now I'm in love: it's a superbly pungent, evil, peppery whip-crack of a frag.
I yearn for frags that you just put on in the morning and they smell good all day long. Not many of 'em actually do this but Ambre Sultan - oh yes! - delivers in spades. It's beautiful too: a superb, deep & delicious moody herbal-amber wonder.
If you put Muscs Koublai Khan through Photoshop - dropping the saturation a fair bit, adding a layer of powdery white at about 30% opacity, pasting in a sharp neroli note at the opening from somewhere - you'd end up with something like Bal à Versailles.
I can see why a lot of people love this, sure: there's a bewitching and reassuring feel to it beyond the opening notes.
It ain't me though, nope, it sure ain't me.
That this sits beside Jicky and Mitsouko is astonishing. I don't know if this has suffered from a reformulation or if tastes themselves have reformulated what's acceptable for the 'modern' palate - but, either way, this is just too much. Too much sweet marzipan and aniseed; too much lurid, migraine-making, *blue* somehow; too much Parma Violet; too much like a plug-in room 'frangrancer'.
It's just a beautiful, simple, dirty-rose/musk frag (and an expensive one too) but the depth here is glorious as is - I'd guess - the quality of the materials used. I have absolutely no idea why so many people get into a filth-fugue about this one: it's deep, dark, peaceful and lovely - there's no pee-pee or poo-poo here, honestly.
01st May, 2011 (last edited: 18th May, 2011)
Thank you, Pierre Bourdon.
I find the level of Calone in this to be compelling and at the same time nauseating so that I can't stop smelling the fragrance and can't also stop the growing feeling of revulsion that is my response to smelling it. I applied some to my wrist in order to try to do a review and could only tolerate it for about fifteen minutes before scrubbing it off again. The thick, waxy, synthetic lemon in the opening notes under the Calone make this virtually identical to a host of cleaning products.
A huge & beautiful space - cathedral-like - but warm and sexy.
Breathing itself becomes a peaceful pleasure.
I tried the current version and gave it a thumbs down. I tried the 'silver-label-wraps-round-the-bottle' pre-reformulation juice and, yes, it's vastly better: still strong but subtly powerful rather than monolithic and tedious.
01st April, 2011 (last edited: 31st July, 2011)