Green Irish Tweed (Creed)

Having spent a considerable amount of time exploring the fragrance blogosphere, I realized that people don't want to review Green Irish Tweed. What gives? Is there a general fatigue on the topic from all the chatter about it on basenotes? So much so that everyone thinks that reviewing the scent would be beneath them? It's funny when people like The Candy Perfume Boy and the Perfume Magpie and Abigail on I Smell Therefore I Am tell their readers that they're "not a huge fan of Creed," as if it would be embarrassing for them to admit that it's the best fucking fragrance house of their lifetime, and that they look like pathetic followers that can't think for themselves.

I suppose when the rhetoric surrounding the house of Creed boils into inane absurdity and devolves into name-calling, few feel like risking their necks. I certainly wouldn't, if that kind of atmosphere existed in the fragcom. We should all respect each other's opinions, but sadly that's not the world we live in. (This is ironic humor for anyone pointing to what I just wrote in the first paragraph.) There are some scary egomaniacs roaming around out there. Well, color me brave, because here's a review of the fragrance that put Creed on the world stage in the days when Jean-Christophe Hérault was but a gleam in IFF's eye. That's right Aventus bros, your mother's milk is the second megahit Creed ever had. The second one. I'm sick and tired of hearing about how Aventus put Creed on the map. It didn't; GIT did, and it did it back when people actually used maps, the kind that unfolded and obscured your windshield as you drove into a tree. So suck it, losers.

Okay, maybe that one was a bridge too far. I'll dial it back. I like the scent. I'm not in love with it, but I find the refreshing violet leaf and sandalwood with a twist of lemon and ambergris to be just what the doctor ordered on those rainy autumn days. I also smell distinct violet and iris notes pushing through the scent's heart of mossy woods and spices. GIT reminds me of Grey Flannel in that it is both dry and purplish-green. If the newer scent were a chypre, I might feel twinges of love for it, but as it stands (the ultimate fresh fougère), I like it and find it very wearable. 

Dihydromyrcenol is the engine of GIT, the chem that lends it its semi-sweet and semi-green (more purple, but whatever) freshness. Its integration into the formula is what makes the fragrance a bit of a mystery, and even a little confusing. Many seem to mistake GIT for an aquatic, and immediately associate its svelte freshness with notes of water. It isn't thoroughly "green" because the dihydromyrcenol blends with the florals and creamy sandalwood to create a kinda-sorta synthetic chill at the perfume's core. 

The result is Bourdon's emphasis on the smooth, slightly metallic, iris-like component of violet leaf's scent profile, and how a bit of lemon verbena, powdery-sweet iris, and the luminescence of fine ambergris tinctures could result in the perfect fougère. Unlike many Creed skeptics, as I call them, I believe Olivier had a heavy hand in GIT's formulation and production, and that Pierre Bourdon wasn't the only one wearing a lab coat. However, Mr. Bourdon surely helped Creed develop the formula (Erwin Creed has admitted this), and may have advised as to which version of GIT was worthy of release to the public. Green Irish Tweed is a modern fougère, appropriate for any time or place, and what it lacks in sex appeal, it makes up for in elegance.