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Turpentine, a ripe cigar, saddle leather and wild scrub on farout mesa – it’s hard not to reach for clichés of rugged cowpoke virility. (Personally, give me the silk-shirted damask rose variety any day – but that’s just taste.) The impression is confirmed by a musky crotch odour that develops over time, but somehow maddeningly sexy rather than outright rank. Maybe it’s the pristine frankincense that rings clear as a struck chime right through the evolution of this fragrance. One for those daring days...
02 August, 2012