Reviews by Off-Scenter

    Showing 1 to 30 of 1109.
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    Cuir Tabac by David Jourquin

    Whoops! Someone must have slipped while they were dosing the patchouli, because Cuir Tabac smells more of the head shop than of the tobacconist's. I don't smell much leather in here either, so unless my sample is mislabeled, Cuir Tabac is pretty much a straight-up patchouli on a sweet powdery amber foundation: more Patchouli Leaves or Real Patchouly than Tabac Blond revisited.

    Too bad. The patchouli is nice enough, but a leather and tobacco scent would have been much more interesting. (And equally fine patchoulis can be had for much less money.) Potent and lasting, as big hippie patchoulis are wont to be, but too commonplace and dull to justify pursuing.

    9th February, 2012.

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    Theseus by Lorenzo Villoresi

    Several of Lorenzo Villoresi’s fragrances open on cacophonous assemblies of clashing notes that only organize themselves into coherent accords after some time on the skin. Theseus, in contrast, launches directly into a crisp, harmonious, and uplifting accord of bergamot and lemon, then settles quickly upon a straightforward hesperidic fougère formula of citrus, coumarin, and lavender. As citrus fougères go, Theseus hews to the light and simple side, with an imphasis upon the citrus, rather than aromatic herbs, moss, or woody notes. The advantages of this uncomplicated approach include an air of unambiguously sunny good cheer and an unusually clear expression of the fundamental fougère structure. The downside is a certain lack of character that risks flagging interest over long periods of wear.

    Speaking of extended wear, one point regarding Theseus is very much worth mentioning. I shares with a very few hesperidic scents – Monsieur Balmain and CK One come to mind – exceptionally tenacious citrus notes. So if you enjoy citrus scents, but find traditional eaux de Cologne formulae too emphemeral, or if you’re looking for a citrus fougère that’s less complicated, dense, or confrontational than say, Lauder for Men or Tuscany Uomo, Theseus is worth a try. It may be hard to get excited about, but it’s easy to like and easy to wear.

    9th February, 2012.

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    Cuir Fétiche by Maître Parfumeur et Gantier

    If the name “Cuir Fétiche” and Maître Parfumeur et Gantier’s reputation for unapologetically blunt compositions have you anticipating a raunchy, animalic, S&M leather, you’re in for a disappointment. After a crisp, tart citrus top note, Cuir Fétiche is a straight-up smoky birch tar leather scent, with antecedents in Chanel’s Cuir de Russie, Cuiron, Tom Ford’s Tuscan Leather, and the old Tabac Blond, among others. In character it’s less floral than Cuir de Russie, though also - name notwithstanding - less animalic, as it exhibits neither the huge iris nor the conspicuous civet that come with the Chanel. It is also smokier and a bit harsher in texture than either Cuiron or Cuir de Russie. However, if it’s transgressive, biker bar leather that you're after, you’ll do better with Montale’s no-holds-barred Oud Cuir d’Arabie.

    If Cuir Fétiche’s early stages conjure echoes of its worthy predecessors, the drydown is very much a thing unto itself: a soft and civilized blend of sandalwood, a very warm, clean musk, and the merest hint of patchouli. In case you’re wondering, Cuir Fétiche is in no way redundant to the other leather in the Maître Parfumeur et Gantier portfolio, Parfum d’Habit. Where Parfum d’Habit centers on vetiver and patchouli, Cuir Fétiche builds on an accord of birch tar and labdanum, staking out an entirely different approach to “leather” in olfactory terms. While it doesn’t deliver on the naughty promise of its name, Cuir Fétiche is a solid, appealing, high quality leather scent, and I’m comfortable recommending it to anyone seeking a versatile, unisex leather.

    9th February, 2012.

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    Un Bois de Sépia by Serge Lutens Les Salons du Palais Royal Shiseido

    The violet (leaf and blossom) and wood top notes put me briefly in mind of a sweetened and superannuated Grey Flannel, though minus the fresh citrus accent of dihydromyrcenol. If you’re thinking violet + wood + Serge Lutens = Bois de Violette Mark II, you’d be wrong. For better or worse, Un Bois de Sépia has little of its sibling’s weight, depth, or opacity. Nor, I fear, does it have much character. In fact, I’d go as far as to call Un Bois de Sépia the mildest and most reticent fragrance I’ve encountered in the Serge Lutens “Bois” series. By the (admittedly flamboyant) standards of this house, Un Bois de Sépia smells downright bland.

    The cedar underpinnings common to the “Bois” tribe are apparent in Un Bois de Sépia, but the aggressive spices, conspicuous dried fruit notes, and traces of smoky incense that lend its kin their fetching exoticism are conspicuously absent. All I sense in their place are a dab of coumarin and a milky-textured sweetened wood accord that approximates sandalwood. If the intent was to compose a woody perfume that could offend nobody, then Un Bois de Sépia might rank as a success. On the other hand, it could come in a box labeled “Generic Woody Oriental” and none would be the wiser. In the Serge Lutens line, this kind of anonymity is both anomalous and disappointing.

    8th February, 2012. (Last Edited: 9th February, 2012.)

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    Parfums des Beaux Arts Prince by Dawn Spencer Hurwitz

    Prince is the kind of serious, complex woody oriental composition that mainstream masculine perfumery has abandoned since the days of JHL, Punjab, and Maxims pour Homme. If not for independent niche perfumers like Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, who would dare compose ambitious, dramatic masculine scents like this?

    Hurwitz launches Prince on an no-holds-barred accord of spices and aromatics, including plenty of clove and cinnamon, anise, lavender, and artemisia. The spices persist as a piercing, medicinal oudh note, dark rose, sandalwood, sweet resins, and opoponax well up to establish a dense, layered oriental arrangement, further augmented by tobacco and leather. As these elements coalesce Prince actually echoes the legendary and lamented Patou pour Homme (albeit distantly), both in its gravity and in its content. I believe the resemblance lies largely in the juxtaposition of cloves, rose, tobacco, leather, and balsams, though Prince substitutes oudh for the Patou’s enormous labdanum note.

    Prince doesn’t sustain quite such depth or richness in its drydown, which smells like a less characterful balsamic blend than the impressive list of base notes would suggest. I smell little evidence of the castoreum, civet, ambergris, or cocoa beans.

    7th February, 2012.

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    Le Mimosa by


    Le Mimosa is the kind of scent Annick Goutal has always done especially well: a transparent, crisp, green citrus floral. It takes its place in a long line that includes Folavril, Le Chèvrefeuille and Eau du Ciel, among others. The Goutal treatment works especially well with mimosa. Perfumers often portray the mimosa blossom as innocent and airy, but with their vanilla-almond heliotropin component, mimosa reconstructions can take on flat, prissy character. Tart citrus and brisk herbaceous accents (à la Eau du Sud) lend Le Mimosa a saucy edge that averts the danger of saccharine primness. If you enjoy simple, cheerful green florals, this scent is fit to stand beside Parfums de Nicolaï’s Mimosaïque and L’Artisan Parfumeur’s Mimosa pour Moi as one of the finer olfactory renderings of the mimosa flower. Neither complex nor terribly lasting, but refreshing and enjoyable.

    1st February, 2012.

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    UR for Men by Usher

    Notes: “Sea breeze,” nutmeg, basil, bay, artemisia, guaiac wood, Cashmeran, sandalwood.

    The artificial fruit top note belongs in a deodorant stick or a cheap shampoo, not a personal fragrance. Waiting for UR to reveal any further depth or character is either a test of patience or an exercise in futility. If the former, I’ve failed.

    All that emerge to accompany the nameless fake fruit are a pale laundry detergent musk, an abrasive – if mercifully mild – woody amber, and a whiff of aquatic aromachemicals. (Must be the “sea breeze.”) UR’s contents combine to faithfully imitate the olfactory experience of washing your hair with the complimentary shampoo at a Motel 6. Superfluous – except perhaps as a last-minute contender for the title of “Worst Thing I’ve Smelled in 1011.”

    24th December, 2011. (Last Edited: 25th December, 2011.)

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    Cédrat by Parfums de Nicolaï

    The following applies "Cédrat Intense," which may or may not differ in content from the original (and discontinued?) Cédrat:

    Cédrat Intense’s top note is more lemon than citron (cédrat); specifically, it's the sort of sweet, candied lemon you’d encounter in lemon curd or a citrus crème brulée. A dry, pungent woody-aromatic accord enters by way of a corrective, with hints of rosemary, sage and thyme that quickly direct the citrus away from the dessert tray and toward the brisk, salty-tart grapefruit aura of Aqua Allegoria Pamplelune or Citrus Paradisi.

    This scent's heart is more emphatically floral than either of those grapefruit compositions, however, and once its crisp green floral accord emerges in full, Cédrat Intense does indeed approximate the unique, flowery complexity of citron peel. Perhaps I’ve been sniffing fragrances for too long, but I’m fascinated by the way the components of the citron illusion emerge and fall into place in sequence – enough so that I’m tempted to apply Cédrat Intense from time to time just to smell it happen again.

    The drydown arrives quickly, as expected in any predominantly citrus scent, but it’s very pleasing in its arrangement of warm, rounded wood notes and gently musk. I’d comfortably recommend this scent to citron fans, alongside Guerlain’s more buoyant, though ephemeral, Eau de Fleurs de Cédrat.

    23rd December, 2011.

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    Juniper Sling by Penhaligon's

    The London dry gin idea – juniper berries and citrus rind – appeals to me in its brisk simplicity, but my high hopes for Lubin’s re-released classic, Gin Fizz, collapsed when its juniper and citrus accord turned out to be tantalizingly ephemeral. I’m sad to report that Penhaligon’s new entry in the gin-and-tonic style suffers the same liability: I get five minutes of astringent juniper berry and citrus refreshment, then nothing but a very pale, clean, soapy musk skin scent.

    The only juniper berry scent I recall having any lasting power is Creed’s Baie de Genièvre, but the Creed is a much darker, heavier composition than Gin Fizz or Juniper Sling, enduring on the skin by substituting a spicy vetiver base note for the effervescent citrus accord that lends the Lubin and Penhaligon’s their short-lived buoyancy.

    I’m still waiting for my perfect Tanqueray No. 10 cologne…

    22nd December, 2011.

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    Poivre by Caron

    I understand that Poivre was once a peppery carnation, but given that carnation is most often approximated by a blend of rose and clove, and that eugenol (the principal “clove” compound,) is now highly regulated, the current Poivre Parfum is basically a woody rose doused in black pepper. Unfortunately, the soapy rose at Poivre Parfum’s core rates among the most vile and impoverished I’ve encountered.

    Indeed, in light of Caron’s own incense-laden, peppered rose masterpiece, Parfum Sacré, Poivre’s existence is inexplicable. Is it retained merely to demonstrate the brilliance of Parfum Sacré? Or is it offered as an alternative for those who admire the woody rose-and-pepper idea, but want something much less good than Parfum Sacré? Beats me.

    The drydown, by the way, is simply putrid. Do yourself a favor, and avoid it.

    21st December, 2011.

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    Premier Figuier Extrême by L'Artisan Parfumeur

    Not so much “extreme” when compared to the original Primier Figuier as sweeter and tangier, Premier Figuier Extrême aligns more closely with the fig-as-fruit style of Heeley’s Figuier and Parfumerie Générale’s Jardins de Kérylos than with Giacobetti’s woody, sappy Philosykos. In fact, I’d rate Premier Figuier Extrême as the most unambiguously crisp, fruity, and floral of Giacobetti’s fig triplets. That makes it by default my favorite of the three, for as much as I admire Philosykos, there’s something overly emphatic about its milky texture that sits uncomfortably on my skin.

    19th December, 2011.

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    Batucada by L'Artisan Parfumeur

    Brazil’s recent emergence on the world economic and diplomatic stage probably makes a raft of Ipanema and Amazon-inspired fragrances inevitable. Batucada’s mint and lime juice top notes have me rolling my eyes in anticipation of another insipid and expendable tropical rum cocktail, along the lines of Guerlain Homme or Tommy Bahama’s “Set Sail” series. Where the Guerlain and the Tommys settle into grating “fresh” woody amber and citrus-based accords, though, Batucada leans into a suntan lotion charade of coconut, white flowers, and sandalwood that has parallels in Creed’s Virgin Island Water and Bond No. 9’s Fire Island.

    Now that these beach-themed olfactory cues have been debsed far beyond sunscreen and into the realm of air-freshener, hand soap, and cheap shampoo, it’s hard for me to greet them with any pleasure in an “upscale” niche perfume. Batucada does itself no extra favor by spiking its piña colada mix with a banal and harsh aquatic aromachemical straight out of the Axe portfolio. As an entry in the Brazilian-themed niche fragrance sweepstakes, I’m afraid Batucada is firmly trounced by Maître Parfumeur et Gantier’s gracefully playful Bahiana. All in all, this is a disappointing and unnecessary release.

    18th December, 2011. (Last Edited: 22nd December, 2011.)

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    Yuzu Man by Caron

    Yuzu Man’s sweet citrus and basil opening recalls Annick Goutal’s Eau du Sud, and while the notes are less full and natural, they’re still refreshingly pleasant. Unfortunately, with a few minutes’ wear the basil retreats, and the citrus reveals a shrill and unpleasantly chemical powdered Kool Aid or hard candy aspect that grates on the nose. The intent may be “modern” and “refreshing,” but the effect is irritating, and far more in keeping with liquid hand soap than a fine fragrance.

    The underpinnings for the citrus are a dry, thin wood accord and a touch of clean musk, neither of which do anything to elevate the wearing experience. It pains me to say it, but Yuzu Man emphatically terminates the remarkable winning streak that had run unbroken through Caron’s masculine releases, all the way from Pour un Homme in 1934 to L’Anarchiste in 2000. I suppose nothing lasts forever…

    18th December, 2011.

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    Montana Parfum de Peau by Montana

    Parfum de Peau’s assertive aldehydic rose top notes smell “perfumey,” but the rose is rounded enough that they fall a few yards short of crass. As its elements consolidate, Parfum de Peau takes shape as a powerful, opulent rose chypre, a genre that also counts Beautiful, Knowing, and Paris among its members.

    Parfum de Peau shares with this clan its dense rose, patchouli, and mossy-woody base notes, but where the others cling tenaciously to their gargantuan rose accords, the Montana turns more resinous and animalic with wear. What begins as an aldehydic floral pupates as a rose chypre, to emerge in the end as an ambery leather chypre.

    The wearing experience that results is at once more stimulating and less potentially tiresome than its more steadfastly consistent sisters. It helps too that Parfum de Peau, while tenacious, is marginally less loud than many of the other grand 1980s rose scents. It’s good and it’s cheap. What more could you ask for?

    17th December, 2011.

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    Jeux de Peau by Serge Lutens Les Salons du Palais Royal Shiseido

    Serge Lutens has done gourmand before; most obviously in the guise of Five O-Clock au Gingembre, Louve, and Rahät Loukoum. Jeux de Peau extends the line further in that direction. Yet where those earlier scents were either spicy or syrupy-sweet in their approximations of food, Jeux de Peau approaches comestibles from a more savory angle. It’s still dessert, mind you, but it’s more almond brioche than fruitcake or baklava.

    A warm, yeasty, fresh baked goods accord greets the nose almost immediately, soon followed by sweetening touches of heliotrope and immortelle. Dry sandalwood balances the sweetness with a vaguely nutty influence, while a dab of the apricot familiar from Lutens’s earlier Daim Blond adds a welcome piquancy to the central arrangement. Jeux de Peau stands out as one of the few scents I know (along with Jubilation XXV and Etat Libre d’Orange’s Like This,) that successfully incorporate immortelle without drowning themselves in its dense, viscous tide.

    While Jeux de Peau is extremely soft in olfactory texture, it projects well from the skin and plays out in a linear manner for several hours’ wear. The dusty cedar and mild, powdery amber drydown smells disappointingly hollow once it arrives, but at least it’s not oppressively sweet or heavy. Despite the faintly risqué name (which translates as “skin games”), wearing Jeux de Peau is a pleasant and comforting experience. Yet I feel the scent betrays its name in that, for all its cuddly texture and comforting associations, it wears awkwardly on my skin. The impression is hard to convey, but after every wearing I’m left thinking I’d like Jeux de Peau better in a room spray or a candle than on me.

    13rd December, 2011.

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    Acteur by Azzaro

    Acteur’s sharp citrus and vehemently aromatic top notes are not the sort of thing you smell much any more. In fact, by the time of its launch in 1989, Acteur was part of a dying breed. With Tsar, Tiffany for Men, and Montana Parfum d’Homme, Acteur was among the last in a line of bold, craggy masculines that spanned the two decades after Yatagan, Aramis, and the original Azzaro pour Homme. The future already belonged to “fresh” fragrances like Cool Water, Eternity for Men, and New West, and to the saccharine-sweet orientals presaged by Joop! Homme. Too bad, if you ask me.

    Like Ténéré before it, Acteur is a dry, green, aromatic take on rose and leather, spiked with the sort of animalic notes that fell rapidly from fashion in the early 1990s. Whereas Ténéré depended on a honey note so ripe as to smell urinous for its animal warmth, Acteur leans on musks and what smells suspiciously like sage. After its crackling opening, Acteur slips into a brisk, yet dry arrangement of pungent spices, woods and floral notes, with rose, carnation, cedar, clove, and mace vying for pride of place. Extended wear reveals a warm, yet never saccharine foundation of leather and pleasantly bitter resins, with none of the powdery sweetness of commonplace amber compounds.

    While no wallflower, Acteur does not have the overwhelming mass associated with the masculine “powerhouses” of the 1980s. Indeed, while bold, it’s far too poised to read as brash or crass. Projection and lasting power are admirable, with the drydown still detectable at up to six or eight hours’ wear. A fine scent, in my estimation, and well worth seeking out.

    13rd December, 2011.

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    Rumba by Balenciaga

    Notes: mirabelle plum, peach, orange blossom, raspberry, magnolia, tuberose, orchid, gardenia, jasmine, carnation, heliotrope, honey, lily of the valley, amber, oakmoss, vanilla, sandalwood, cedarwood, tonka bean, musk, styrax.

    Michael Edwards classifies Rumba as a crisp fruity dry woods (leather) fragrance, but I smell a creamy, lactonic, peachy floral chypre with stylistic affinities to Calyx, Yvresse, and the current incarnation of Baghari. Rumba opens on a high-impact candied bergamot top note, which in fact persists well into the development. Smooth peach lactone and bouquet of sweet white flowers, among which I detect ylang-ylang, jasmine, and a dab of tuberose, soon join the lingering citrus. A hint of coconut in the fruity floral accord lends the composition an understated tropical exoticism.

    The plush drydown of sweet amber, vanilla, and musk is naggingly familiar, and it’s only after much head-scratching that it comes to me: in both style and olfactory texture, Rumba resembles Kenzo’s Ça Sent Beau, released in very same year. Coincidence? Zeitgeist? Either way, the two scents’ pyramids have plenty in common: bergamot, orange blossom, tuberose, plum, peach, oakmoss, amber, and musk. While the two converge most obviously in their juxtaposition of fruit and powdery clean musk, a conspicuous patchouli base note leaves Rumba feeling darker, heavier, and somehow more conventional than the relatively buoyant Kenzo.

    When viewed in historical perspective, Rumba’s fruit, vanilla, and patchouli prefigure the gaudy berries and patchouli of Mugler’s Angel, which would arrive just a few years later. While by no means the olfactory hurricane that is Angel, Rumba is still strong stuff, with ample projection and several hours’ worth of lasting power. Do I love it? No. Is it worthwhile? Yes, in its somewhat brash manner. But Ça Sent Beau is more nuanced and more interesting, and Baghari has more depth to it, so I’d reach for either of those two before Rumba.

    13rd December, 2011.

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    Love in Black by Creed

    I'd like to describe Love in Black in detail, but there's no detail to describe. This is simply a crushingly potent, chemical, woody violet and iris accord, lent extra destructive power by an overdose of the most fiercely abrasive aldehydes imaginable. I have trouble sharing a room with this scent, much less wearing it.

    That a scent as crude and unpleasant as Love in Black should be linear and last forever is a horrible irony. When, after several hours, the violet accord descends from excruciating to merely distracting, it reveals an equally piercing fruity rose base note, which in hindsight I realize had been adding an extra layer of subliminal torture all along. People who hate perfume cite scents like Love in Black as evidence of all that's wrong with wearing personal fragrance in public.

    Mommy, make it go away!

    22nd September, 2011.

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    Acqua di Parma Colonia Essenza by Acqua di Parma

    Navigating the Acqua di Parma line is a challenge. The original Colonia (Cologne) is a straightforward, enjoyable eau de Cologne, distinguished by a big green jasmine note and a healthy dose of Mediterranean herbs. Then come at least three flankers: Colonia Intensa, Colonia Assoluta, and Colonia Essenza. All sound like higher-concentration bottlings of the basic Colonia, but each is in fact an alteration or thematic variant on the traditional citrus eau de Cologne.

    Colonia Intensa attempts to wring more staying power from the original formula by adding lots of cedar and a soapy musk, both of which smell as if they strayed in from some other, altogether different, fragrance. Colonia Assoluta, which retools the whole structure from the bottom up, works much better, and ultimately strides in the direction of herbaceous citrus chypres like Cristalle, Chanel pour Monsieur, Iskander, and Vie de Chateau. Colonia Essenza hews more closely to the original eau de Cologne style, but takes a different tack toward depth and tenacity than Intensa.

    Rather than cedar and soap, Colonia Essenza adds a delicious orange note and plenty of incisive petitgrain to the top notes, while bolstering the drydown with an accord of plush, creamy musk and clean patchouli. The result is at once bolder, more substantial, and more enduring than a conventional eau de Cologne, yet retains the cheerful insouciance that makes this ancient fragrance style so perennially appealing. Very, very nice.

    22nd September, 2011.

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    Acqua di Parma Colonia Intensa by Acqua di Parma

    Colonia Intensa extends the herb and jasmine-seasoned eau de Cologne formula of Acqua di Parma Colonia via a very generous dose of dry cedar. Unfortunately, the cedar note smells tacked on, rather than integral, and hence does nothing to improve upon the basic eau de Cologne structure. The cedar stands in near isolation in the drydown, supported only by a soapy clean musk. The result isn’t interesting enough to hold my attention.

    If you crave an Acqua di Parma variant that offers more depth, complexity, and tenacity than the plain Colonia, I advise passing on Colonia Intensa in favor of the charming Colonia Assoluta, which fleshes out the eau de Cologne idea in a more organic and convincing manner.

    20th September, 2011.

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    Armani Attitude by Giorgio Armani

    From time to time I come across a fragrance so entirely devoid of character and interest that I can hardly bring myself to write about it. Armani Attitude is one of those.

    Attitude’s pineapple-citrus top note is pleasant enough, if not terribly memorable. What follows is a banal, faceless stew of coumarin, amber, and dense, grating artificial “wood” flavor. There’s no real evolution beyond this point, and the glum woody drydown smells like it crashed somewhere along the dusty, pothole-riddled road that runs between Burberry London, Lolita Lempicka au Masculin, and Guerlain Homme. I’ll grant that the competition is fierce, but this is a strong contender for the title of “Worst Fragrance in the Armani Line.”

    The should have called it “Platitude.”

    19th September, 2011.

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    Poupée by Rochas

    Notes: orange blossom, pineapple, gardenia, green jasmine, hazelnut, tuberose, sandalwood, benzoin, amber, balms.

    Just for the record, “poupée” translates as “doll,” and not the state of a soiled diaper. A different name for the English-speaking market might have been advisable. It’s been done for much less: French Lover/Bois d’Orage comes to mind. On the other hand, while the name may damn it to failure in the US market, it’s otherwise perfect. Poupée is pretty, but lifeless; an attempt at cute that arrives instead at trite.

    The bottle says “Doll,” and the contents are pastel pink, so it should come as no surprise that Poupée is a lactonic/aldehydic fruity floral. After a plainly artificial opening of milky peach and bubblegum, Poupée lets go with a soapy, aldehyde-drenched muguet and hyacinth accord that’s simply too harsh and chemical to please my nose.

    An admixture of tuberose strives to add some glamour, but only ends up smelling precious in this preadolescent context. The tuberose outlasts the sour hyacinth and lily-of-the-valley, and holds sway until Poupée enters its blandly sweet amber drydown. By the time I’ve worn Poupée for a few hours, it occurs to me that Rochas already has a tuberose and amber masterpiece in the much more refined and sophisticated Byzance. Hence, Poupée is not only disappointing, but superfluous.

    19th September, 2011.

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    Cefiro by Floris

    Cefiro introduces itself with a rounded, realistic lime zest and herbal top note that’s a pleasure to smell. From there it develops along a hybrid woody/eau de Cologne pattern explored successfully by scents like Eau de Rochas, Eau du Sud, Iskander, and Monsieur Balmain. Cefiro evolves by way of a very light neroli note, a perky herbaceous accord that suggests tarragon and basil, and a mélange of soft woods to hold the whole thing together. About an hour in, I catch a peculiar, artificial-seeming fruity note that suggests hard candy, but it’s not strident enough to offend.

    I can’t say that there’s much more to Cefiro, but this kind of fragrance doesn’t aim at complexity – just at the somewhat more than ephemeral pleasures of an extended eau de Cologne. That said, it’s only fair to mention that a scent like Eau de Rochas or Monsieur Balmain accomplishes this aim as well, or better, at a mere fraction of the price.

    19th September, 2011.

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    Intuition for Men by Estée Lauder

    Intuition belongs to the same clan of innocuously limp woody oriental masculines as Burberry’s Brit, Chanel's Allure Homme, and Armani’s (Black) Code. Amazingly, its blandness leaves even those soporific porridges smelling positively provocative.

    After a vague and feeble lemon top note that fails to conceal the opening burst of alcohol, Intuition settles into drab accord of amber, coumarin, and vanilla, distinguished (if I may abuse the term,) only by a consummate lack of character. A dash of nutmeg that’s no doubt intended to add grit to the otherwise flabby consistency is far too irresolute to make an impact.

    As you may already have intuited (yuck yuck), the fragrance is neither potent nor persistent. Not that it matters; Intuition makes so little impression that I don’t even miss it once it’s gone. While a fragrance as insipid as this could offend nobody, I can’t imagine actually liking it. If you’re after a woody oriental, I suggest you ignore Intuition and spend your money on something you’ll remember after twenty minutes. Héritage, Jaïpur Homme, or L’Instant pour Homme would all do just fine.

    18th September, 2011.

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    Grey Vetiver by Tom Ford

    “Grey Vetiver” is an apt name for a scent that plays up the dry, dusty-woody aspect of vetiver root. The name also suits the composition’s simplicity and sense of formal reserve.

    A dry, tart citrus top note lasts only moments beforethe central accord of dry, yet earthy vetiver, cedar, and nutmeg takes hold. A deftly applied and understated pepper (pimento) note contributes a vegetal kick without overwhelming the rest of the arrangement. As vetiver scents go, Grey Vetiver is in neither the rude, rooty style of Route du Vétiver and Etro Vetiver, nor the rich, round buttery style of Givenchy Vetyver. It is more closely allied to clean, dry vetivers like Sycomore or Encre Noire. However, Grey Vetiver lacks both Sycomore’s smoky incense and Encre Noire’s avant-garde bitter twang. In its relatively austere accord of cedar and vetiver, Grey Vetiver also has ties to Vétiver Extraordinaire, but with none of the Malle scent’s craggy, abrasive quality. Ford’s vetiver may be dry, but it’s also suave and smooth.

    Given the tenacity of its principal ingredients, it should come as no surprise that Grey Vetiver is largely linear in its development. Over the course of hours it slowly jettisons even its simple embellishments to leave vetiver, cedar, and a relatively mild woody amber as its drydown. There are other vetivers out there with more depth and flair, but if you want something dry, clean, and civilized, without the provocative edge of Encre Noire or the smoky mystery of Sycomore, then Grey Vetiver is well worth trying.

    17th September, 2011.

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    Higher by Christian Dior

    I have certain expectations of the house that launched Diorella, Diorissimo, Eau Sauvage, Fahrenheit, and Dune. Higher meets none of them. The only way I can explain badness as profound as this coming from Dior is as a cynical attempt to cash in on the “fresh,” aquatic, masculine sports fragrance trend with the absolute minimum of effort or expenditure.

    Never mind the scent pyramid. I smell only three ingredients in Higher: Calone (fruity aquatic), an abrasive woody amber, and a clean musk that smells just like laundry detergent (only not as good).

    Just nasty.

    15th September, 2011.

    rating

    L'Eau Bleue d'Issey Eau Fraîche by Issey Miyake

    As a flanker to a scent I’ve never cared for to begin with, L’Eau Bleue Eau Fraîche didn't raise my hope; especially given the “Eau Fraîche” label, which to me translates as either “extra-crude/chemical” or “diluted.” The top notes do nothing to alter my expectations, unadulterated essence of isopropyl alcohol that they are.

    Imagine my delight, then, when the scent’s core turns out to be a comparatively natural-smelling, soft citrus and herbaceous-woody arrangement, with only a dab of the expected aquatic aromachemicals and a pleasantly understated dried culinary herb (oregano? sage?) note. Yet while L’Eau Bleue Eau Fraîche is altogether more pleasant and interesting than it might have been, I have to concur with previous statements regarding longevity and strength: both are limited. The drydown leans on cedar and clean musk, but the aquatic note is also more exposed and conspicuous, to detrimental effect.

    Altogether a pleasant surprise, but a few steps short of firing my enthusiasm.

    11th September, 2011. (Last Edited: 12nd September, 2011.)

    rating

    Burberry Body by Burberry

    Burberry Body is a peachy, lactonic, fruity floral; sweet, mild, absolutely linear, and guaranteed to offend nobody. In its consummate blandness it reminds me of those off-white paint colors used when staging homes, with the aim of removing any trace of individuality from the décor. I challenge anyone to remember what it smells like a day after wearing it.

    Unnecessary, as is everything else I’ve smelled from this house to date.

    11th September, 2011.

    rating

    Star USA by John Varvatos

    A very nice gingered citron peel top note quickly gives way to a coniferous green woody accord, sweetened by an attempt at osmanthus that smells more like melon-aquatic shampoo than any rendering of Osmanthus fragrans. The soapy, woody amber base notes are enhanced by an admixture of vetiver, which leaves the drydown smelling less impoverished than is usual among today’s “fresh” spicy/woody masculines. Still, I can’t help thinking that the notes listed in the pyramid should smell much more interesting than the stuff in the bottle.

    Kudos for the first five minutes, but the rest is an unimaginative letdown: merely innocuous, not awful, but with plenty of better fragrances out there, why not aim higher?

    6th September, 2011.

    rating

    Karma by Lush

    Listed notes: orange, patchouli, lemongrass, cinnamon, lavender, pine, elemi (frankincense), geranium.

    Karma is a straightforward, conventional, spiced amber oriental scent, descended from Shalimar by way of Ambre Sultan, Musc Ravageur, and Opium. A candied orange rind top note rapidly gives way to a classic oriental arrangement of cinnamon, vanillic amber, and patchouli. The only relief from these sweet spices and resins is a very light dab of frankincense, but don’t expect the austere exoticism you’d find in Bertrand Duchaufour’s Dzongkha or Jubilation XXV; the incense is too bashful for that. Karma also eschews the jasmine and orange blossom common to so many oriental scents. In this respect it parallels Musc Ravageur, but Karma reveals no trace of that scent’s animalic musk base note.

    Karma is plenty potent and hangs around for hours, though given the tenacity of its materials, it evolves very little, if at all, over its lifespan. If this rich, sweet, dense perfumery style appeals to you, you will like Karma. Without the suggestive overtones of Musc Ravageur, the smoky and floral dimensions of Shalimar, or the depth of say, Eau Lente, Karma feels a little bit “generic oriental” on me. On the other hand, it’s pleasant, it smells well-made, and at $15 US for a small perfume spray, it’s a bargain to boot.

    4th September, 2011. (Last Edited: 5th September, 2011.)

    Showing 1 to 30 of 1109.

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