It's 2024, and that means Creed's Aventus was released fourteen years ago.
Man, I feel old.
I never did jump on the Aventus bandwagon. Why, you ask? I have my reasons. I was there, okay kids? I was there. I was there when Creed released Aventus in 2010. I was there for the cluster-fuck initial response from literally every dude on Basenotes and Badger & Blade. I witnessed thread after thread of guys kvetching that it smelled more like a designer fragrance than a luxury redux; this was an original Creed that most guys felt belonged on the counter at Macy's.
Then a predictable thing happened: guys started calling it a "panty-dropper." A handful of testosterone-laden and grossly immature young men had successful sexual encounters wearing Aventus, and ascribed magical powers to Jean-Christophe Hérault's one-off fruity/smoky fougère. But the problem with Creed's Aventus isn't its popularity with obnoxious jocks, many of whom are not financially well-off, but are merely misguided into spending $300+ for 100 ml of fragrance. The problem with Aventus is Aventus.
To understand what I mean, let's back up a tick and look at another famous Creed, Pierre Bourdon's Green Irish Tweed (1985). For many years, I wore GIT exclusively when I wore Creed. I chose it over Aventus every time, and it wasn't a difficult choice. To me, GIT is more than an original perfume -- it is a great perfume, the obvious work of a master, simply because its original (pre-2010) formula was sublimely beautiful from start to finish, with the smoothest, richest sandalwood I've ever smelled in a masculine.
Aventus, on the other hand, has always seemed a bit overrated to me. It struck me as being insanely popular in the industry, among insiders and those in the know, not solely because of its quality, but because Erwin Creed and JC Hérault had stumbled upon an olfactory concept that had never been done before. In all the decades of fruity-woody masculines, nobody had ever thought to combine pineapple, a spritz of sour citrus, red apple, rose, birch, patchouli, and musk in this particular configuration. There is also evidence that Creed wasn't entirely sold on it; the house released Spice and Wood in the Royal Exclusives line the same year, which clearly mods Aventus with the apple, birch, and spices pushed forward. GIT was released with confidence, while Aventus felt tentative.
And how did early iterations of Aventus smell? I will never forget its ashy redolence, a piquant pineapple and apple accord laced together with bitter bergamot and something very sour in the periphery, perhaps lime and/or a hint of calamondin. This quickly dried down to a sparkly midsection of ethereal fruits, resembling a misty blend of the top notes, combined with a very arid and surprisingly prominent rose on the brink of withering. This stage lasted only an hour before being overtaken by an intense burst of birch and oakmoss, which gave the entire third act a one-dimensional feel, lacking in dynamism or depth -- especially disappointing after such a buoyant start.
What never ceases to amaze me about Aventus is how often people get its description wrong. Few mention the prominent red apple note, instead obsessing over the pineapple, which I barely detected in any batch. To my nose, the pineapple adds an extra dimension of sweetness and juiciness to the apple, creating a novel fruitiness unlike anything you'll find at the greengrocer. There's also a clever little lavender hidden in the top, followed by a bone-dry whiff of very well disguised coumarin in the heart. And why is Aventus described as smoky? I understand the comparison, but I could never shake the impression of dirty paper money -- the unmistakable smell of federal currency ink -- whenever I wore it. The birch and moss are too smooth to be likened to smog. They almost resemble the scent of magazine or glossy catalog paper, which is likely why so many people subliminally associated Aventus with department stores in 2010.
Put simply, Aventus smelled -- using past tense since I haven't tried new batches -- very good: sleek, erudite, and as serious as John Lennon with Yoko Ono. However, it never smelled truly great. It was a modern, quasi-designer blend crafted with superlative materials by a talented young nose, with art direction from an indifferent and exceptionally fortunate Erwin. Despite what Gabe Oppenheim wrote about it in his book, I find it hard to believe that Olivier didn't have a hand in the formula, as it has a somewhat unsubtle and clumsy base -- traits that are characteristic of his work. Aventus is, by my account, a fairly monotone drydown that lasts for ages, often fading in and out of the wearer's perception.
Which brings me to Armaf's Club de Nuit Intense Man Limited Edition Parfum, 2024 batch. This stuff is bizarre in that the packaging cost alone must account for the majority of the price—$70 for 105 ml. With all the elaborate presentation, $60 of that is entirely box and bottle design. The fragrance? Ninety-six percent identical to old-school Aventus from 2010 to 2012. It has the red apple. It has the pineapple. It even has a few drops of blackcurrant. Where it diverges is in the citrus, with an intense lime note that was present in Aventus but never as prominent as in the first ten minutes of this Armaf scent. For about ten seconds, there's a bit of a metallic twang, but it doesn’t last long enough to be concerning. There’s a touch of muted rose and patchouli, some elegant birch and musk, and it’s definitely a fruity batch of the old Redford juice. The quality of materials is high—almost Creed level in the heart and base, which I wasn’t expecting. This is excellent stuff.
Why did I finally jump on the Aventus bandwagon now? What Aventus needed and deserved was a hefty dose of humble pie. For less than $100, I can wear CdNIM Special Edition Parfum, and after the first few minutes of slightly substandard top notes, enjoy a fragrance so close to Creed that spending Creed money seems utterly pointless. The ambroxan in Sterling’s formulation is blended into the woods so beautifully that, in a blind test, I’d likely identify it as Creed. I’ve always associated this scent profile with autumn, and I suspect that’s when I’ll fully appreciate it, but I plan on wearing it a bit more this summer to see how it performs. Easily the best of the Club de Nuit line, it makes me wonder why anyone bothers with the original anymore. Who still buys that stuff? It’s all right here. Get it while you can—Armaf will probably discontinue it.