Let's start with the better news: Arpège arrived yesterday at La Baie in Laval (see Véronique BTW, an absolute angel and gorgeous woman to boot).
If you fancy manly and edgy fragrances - some off the Richter scale - this one if for you. Arpege delivers a hot and unadulterated slather of bitter orange herb complemented by a full humidor of wet tobacco. This is Dreamer meets M7, with a liberal shot of Tommy Bahama, just because. Unlike its recent sister issue, Dior Homme (all fluff and circumstance), Arpège takes the epitome of what manly-man fragrances have aspired to be over the years, and actually succeeds in bottling it.
I can't say it's entirely up my alley (I prefer the girly-girl Dior as someone said), but for those of you who want clout and fragrance sillage as long as the Great Wall, be my guest. It's raspy in its delivery, like a shot of Jack Daniels. It only smooths out in the last few hours (say the last 12) and gets a bit creamy, but ever so slightly. Neroli and tobacco have been paired together but sugar-coated to make them digestable. Arpège, not so.
All in all, a distinct change of pace from the sweet smoothies of this vintage year.
Now for the less good news. Starwalker arrived today and was presented to me with glee and exuberance, and so ill-prepared was I for the fall.
A wishy-washy melange of dry herb and again tobacco, the base is borrowed from other Montblanc fragrances. No height, no depth, no lasting power, no excitement, no sweetness, just an arid backdrop painted on a canvas of extreme mediocrity. Here we are, several hours later, and I barely detect Starwalker's basenotes where Arpège still singes my armhairs from five hours ago.
Starwalker is truly a dull venture into perfumery and a sheer waste of olfactory privilege.
If you fancy manly and edgy fragrances - some off the Richter scale - this one if for you. Arpege delivers a hot and unadulterated slather of bitter orange herb complemented by a full humidor of wet tobacco. This is Dreamer meets M7, with a liberal shot of Tommy Bahama, just because. Unlike its recent sister issue, Dior Homme (all fluff and circumstance), Arpège takes the epitome of what manly-man fragrances have aspired to be over the years, and actually succeeds in bottling it.
I can't say it's entirely up my alley (I prefer the girly-girl Dior as someone said), but for those of you who want clout and fragrance sillage as long as the Great Wall, be my guest. It's raspy in its delivery, like a shot of Jack Daniels. It only smooths out in the last few hours (say the last 12) and gets a bit creamy, but ever so slightly. Neroli and tobacco have been paired together but sugar-coated to make them digestable. Arpège, not so.
All in all, a distinct change of pace from the sweet smoothies of this vintage year.
Now for the less good news. Starwalker arrived today and was presented to me with glee and exuberance, and so ill-prepared was I for the fall.
A wishy-washy melange of dry herb and again tobacco, the base is borrowed from other Montblanc fragrances. No height, no depth, no lasting power, no excitement, no sweetness, just an arid backdrop painted on a canvas of extreme mediocrity. Here we are, several hours later, and I barely detect Starwalker's basenotes where Arpège still singes my armhairs from five hours ago.
Starwalker is truly a dull venture into perfumery and a sheer waste of olfactory privilege.
