Floris is one of those oddball brands that are nearly impossible to purchase, not for scarcity, but for value. Here in Connecticut there aren't any brick and mortar stores with a Floris counter. Can't sample 'em. This makes Floris a blind buy by default (unless you pay Luckyscent), which brings me to price: eighty for a 1.7 oz, and over a hundred (well over) for a 3.4 oz. Their reputation is stale, with little in the way of accolades or press beyond fond memories of older guys championing No. 89 in the days when brands like Czech & Speake and Maître Parfumeur et Gantier were all the rage.
For the hefty dollar it commands, I expected JF, one of their aged masculines, to smell a few leagues better than its competition. I chose a 1.7 oz bottle because it's a familiar brief aimed at stealing a slice of Cool Water's pie. I also had the edge of a gift card from Neiman Marcus, and forked over a small fraction of the price for my bottle - the only way I'd ever buy one. I've been wanting to write about a Floris frag for ten years, making this post past-due. So what's my opinion of JF? I'll keep it simple: it's overpriced and nothing special. Hold out for a gift card to buy it, or else just forget it. It's a disappointment.
Ingredient quality? Designer, albeit high-end designer. Strength? Average. Longevity? Decent. Compositional prowess? Eh. Here's the shocking truth about JF: it smells like vintage Aspen (1998 Aspen) for about five minutes, then shuffles sleepily into vintage Cool Water (1993 Cool Water) in the twenty-five minute drydown. If you're familiar with the aforementioned, you know exactly how JF smells, which is to say it's fine, but it's nothing new and interesting. Only vintage Davidoff fanatics could love it. Still, I appreciate the novelty of hearing "Rule, Britannia!" every time I depress the atomizer.