Fragrance Reviews by maccus

After the dischordant, violent entrance - the astringent bluster and bravado of the clove - we find Harry Highpants in sensible shoes.
Begins with a bang but ends with a whimper. Perhaps the clove serves to anaesthetize the nose to the pedestrian nature of this composition.

Lemon takes cousin, Bergamot to his first dance where he's hoping to meet Lily of the Valley. Sandalwood is expected to arrive with Amber but probably much later meanwhile Tobacco is burning up the dance floor and Lemon is smitten. It's all Lemon and Tobacco with only a few glimpses of Bergamot chatting awkwardly with Lily of the Valley. Everyone is surprised by how energetic Lemon turns out to be but Tobacco is starting to notice Lily of the Valley and Amber. Soon, all three are dancing together with Bergamot standing by holding the drinks when Sandalwood arrives in short pants with his hair neatly combed by his Nana. Neroli siddles up to Bergamot who's given up on Lily. Lemon is at the punch bowl. Amber slaps Tobacco for flirting with Lily but it's actually Lemon's scent that still lingers on Tobacco's collar. Tobacco reminds Sandalwood that he has to be home early or he's grounded but Sandalwood cannot find his scarf. Everyone searches for it and, sure enough, someone has used it to tie up Bergamot and Lily of the Valley. Amber looks guilty but blames Tobacco because she's still annoyed about Lemon. As the night fades, everyone starts whispering and saying unkind things about Sandalwood despite which they all walk home together carrying Tobacco and Lemon who are under the weather.

My first fragrance. The fragrance that taught me all about over use. The fragrance that earned me the nickname Le Pew. A fragrance I still over use occasionally as a kind of primal therapy without pain because I love being transported to other times and places. As a fragrance, I expect Brut informed parfumiers that vast change had come in the business of men's perfumery - that a vast market existed requiring various responses in promotion and in the construction of the fragrances. Specifically, more masculine names and packaging were required to broaden the commercial viability of men's lines. Similarly, woodier base notes and tobacco, heavy orientals and spices needed to augment the experimentation of women buying for their men who had never worn fragrance before. The sweet and unctuous tones in Brut somehow made the patchouli and sandalwood, the leather and civet of '70's creations seem reasonable and timely; perhaps, even, essential in the evolution of fragrance composition. Brut was the irresistible idea whose time had come. Now, burdened by its enormous success, it has become the greatest of all fragrance clichés. But climb into that wardrobe when next you're in a nostalgic mood and over use it, all over, again, all over again. You will be transported to another time and place; and you will moth proof your wardrobe. Weeks after the event, as you wear something from the wardrobe, a waft - rather familiar and warm and as welcome as an old love - will swirl about you and you will smile.

Deft certainly, self-assurance and bravado underpin this wonderful fragrance which forgoes sophistication and nuance in its powerful embrace. Somehow, it seems to suit darker complexions, smokers and long hot summers notwithstanding that I'm blond, don't smoke and it's winter where I am. Quorum can warm a room, or clear it, and I don't mind at all sometimes.

"He Wood" is a pleasantly amusing name. It is a pleasant enough fragrance well suited to crowded carriages or offices or groups of people needing moth proofing. The wonderful packaging is assuring; one can be stylish and safe - that is, own a really interesting looking bottle of toilet water without creating the unsettling illusion of bravado, élan or masculine confidence. Sometimes, beige is enough along with clean underwear, a well pressed cuff and a home packed lunch box. Essentially, a pleasantly banal scent that proves that cedar can be the king of beige.

Too rarely one discovers a fragrance of such haunting quality and genius. Whilst this was something of a rediscovery, the impact was no less welcome. Van Cleef & Arpels pour Homme is a masterful creation which embues one with the kind of carefree dissocation that one reserves for moments of private satisfaction. It's like a warmly remembered and still amusing in-joke that one need not - nor can - share with anyone else... and the mood lingers beautifully. This is a superb composition.

Exquisite bottle - perhaps, misshapen by the intense dischordance in the fragrance it contains. It opens to a crescendo of green fig and the initial conflict begins as the fig competes with the grapefruit creating an astringent note which seems to serve as the conduit to all the accents that rise and fall, smear and clash until it all seems to exhaust itself and implode in the strangely dischordant and crippled way of some synthetic blends. I suspect it might suit naturally acrid bodies where the astringency might serve a purpose to freshen and tone natural smell. In tandem with other gourmand fragrances the problematic notes can be warmed and muffled and the effect can be quite charming. My rating reflects its potential to metamorphose and be better than it is as a singular fragrance when used with a partner like Extraordinary by Avon, or Casran by Chopard.

The progression might well evoke the mystery of kissing a magical creature. In the dry down, there is the ambivalence that informs the recollection of a heightened moment in which one cannot be sure whether something remarkable occurred; something that might have been imagined. There is much to savour in this fragrance including the poetry of its marketing. At least, to the extent that the name is apt. It opens wonderfully, progressing to an enveloping and intoxicating miasma which suddenly reveals itself. It's as if it responds to bodily warmth requiring nothing less to enliven the fragrance. At this point, it is utterly distracting and compelling. I imagine this is the moment of that magical kiss and the beauty of that moment is marvellous. I don't care which came first - the name or the design. For my part, I will come, again, to this magical potion because I find it intriguing.

Discretion or delirium resides in one's own hands and is dependent entirely upon one's approach to this superb fragrance. It has the power to overwhelm. Used discretely, it is a warm enveloping fragrance of ethereal proportion, but, though dangerously tempting for those smitten by M7's elegant Oriental charms, over use will cause swooning. M7 is appropriately romantic and sensual. I have to curb my desire to keep re-applying it because it has remarkable longevity; the real issue is a kind of intoxication or addiction. I adore it.

The initial burst of chocolate is almost startling reminding me of a 'Jaffa' a chocolate coated mandarin confectionary eaten at cinemas in Australia. For this outrageous opening, alone, 'Extraordinary' is worth trying. The dry down is quite delightful. The chocolate gourmand tones are subdued by the warm vanilla and musk amply assisted by the patchouli and sandalwood as the sillage remains fresh and warm but never cloying. Although intended for females, I wear it for fun. It is a surprisingly effective counterpoint fragrance for Salvatore Ferragamo pour Homme.

A fragrance I like no closer to my nose than my feet. After showering, apply to well dried feet before putting on socks. Drakkar Noir is a footwear fragrance offering wonderful longevity that suits an active life style involving hiking, strenuous exercise or landscaping but I wouldn't use it otherwise because I find it prosaic.

A pleasant beginning and a surprisingly demure and elegant development which is mellow, velvet like, warm and comforting like a leather chair in an exclusive club that improves with age.

A beautifully well rounded and elegant fragrance which begins with a sensual flourish, burns brightly and then mellows. It is a glimpse of something wonderful but all too short lived.

As romantic as the last twist of tissue paper round a bunch of violets. A wonderful fragrance both demure and assured exuding the confidence that never expresses itself boisterously or boorishly. This is a fragrance for a stylish and sophisticated romantic.

Jean Patou 1000 approaches perfection. It alludes to something utterly sublime. I find it captivating, alluring, hypnotic and, above all, humbling. In its siren song there is the self-forgetfulness that comes from the realization that somethng truly transcendent can be achieved through mastery or inspiration or sheer genius. It embues one with the aura of elan.

Think of a blind date with someone who is pleasant but not sexy, funny, intriguing or beguiling... and the date passes ever so slowly. Eventually, you try to leave but she asks for a lift. Being a gentleman, you offer to assist and, on the way, she reveals that she is needy and unstable... and you just can't leave anyone in that state of turmoil. What began as a disappointment begins to cloy, degenerating into something very uncomfortable indeed. You know that someone, somewhere will love her, adore her and find her fascinating but you do not. Habit Rouge is a habit I will not form. It's as sexy as my grandmother's best friend and smells just like her. It was a blind date kind of purchase which made me realize again just how wonderfully individual each one's perception of a fragrance can be.

The references to 'old ladies' are quite insulting to old ladies - no one needs to smell like this. Apply sparingly by getting someone to hold the bottle and mist it for you in Bermuda while you hide somewhere in Alaska. I cannot think of a worse fragrance although Joop comes close.

An intriguing beginning in which one imagines lemon drops meeting urinal blocks and then, suddenly, deftly, the fears recede as something quite sophisticated presents itself. It's all too fleeting but something lingers like a half remembered summer moment in the shade of the citrus trees.

Magnificent - a bulldozer of a fragrance unless applied sparingly even then it remains sexy and brazen but never cheap or commonplace. An intoxicating '80's delight for those who appreciate the olefactorial equivalent of huge shoulder padding...

Women adore the smell of babies. Forget that top note of lavender which seems more like a shriek. That's just the olefactorial steamed towel over the face. Just as one begins thinking of 1930's barbers, the dry down begins with a haze of vanilla and a glow of musk. It is a brilliant creation intended to please women without unsettling men.

Lavender is a nervine with a slightly soporific effect perhaps it is this which creates the initially excited, then gladdened, then becalmed effect of this superb fragrance. The consequent mellowing of its dry down is the great success of this creation: it embues one with the calm sense of nothing to prove. Greatness is more than an appealing waft it is an attitude.

This is a freshly pressed white shirt of a scent with last season's collar offering nothing memorable. Try it on your feet before putting on your socks - this is a solid little sneaker treater of a scent.

What bravado at the beginning - brazen - but rather short lived settling into its early retirement with elegant powdery memories, a waft of tea with ginger on its breath and, no doubt, its regrets at being one third part of a creative effort in which the sum is greater than the parts.