Luna Rossa Ocean Le Parfum (Prada)

The Luna Rossa Ocean line is intriguing, particularly because the concepts behind these fragrances are often misunderstood—sometimes wildly so. To put it simply, people expect these to be bog-standard aquatics because "Ocean" is in their name. There's also a forest-for-the-trees element, where folks mistakenly think that the artistry of perfume rests solely in note pyramids, while altogether missing that disparate notes like saffron and oak can be tied together to create a pastiche of something cool and salty, like the sea. While I won’t delve into those broader misconceptions here, Ocean Le Parfum serves as a prime example of how a fragrance can reveal people's “olfactory conditioning.” This so-called “Red Moon” fragrance is an aquatic—a profoundly good one—but much of the general public overlooks this because it doesn’t conform to aquatic tropes.

Many perceive it as a spicy-woody amber scent, full of cinnamon, saffron, and modern oriental flourishes. And yes, those elements are present, especially saffron, which is prominent. But the real magic is not in each note, but in how they all coalesce: they merge into a sparkly synthetic ambergris. The mystery perfumer combined materials like Amber XTreme (IFF) and Safranal (Givaudan), forming a silvery mineralic amber accord that creates its own little glittering in the nose, so to speak. The result captures the essence of summer beach air, cushioned with a warm freshness that’s far removed from the lavender and fruity notes typical of designer aquatics. This isn’t the romanticized scent of seawater or “blue” accords dominated by Calone and Melonal. Instead, it’s the sensory experience of being in and around the ocean. There's hot pepper for animalism, and a woody-amber sand. The concept is “Ocean,” but the execution captures how your body feels and responds to it, rather than directly mimicking marine notes, and that is what you pay for here. This fragrance is from the Ocean Rain school of aquatics, not Acqua di Giò.

It's also an exceptionally thoughtful birthday gift from two members of my family, and I cherish it even more because of that. With designer lines now priced alongside niche competitors, acquiring 100 ml of Luna Rossa Ocean Le Parfum would’ve been out of reach without their generosity. For me, this fragrance still leans “aquatic” in spirit, despite what others may say. And to those who insist it’s merely a spicy oriental, the YouTubers who write it off as not meeting their expectations because it isn't a member of the blue-bottle brigade, I say, just enjoy it. This is a truly unique creation. If you’ve never traveled or experienced the ocean, this scent will transport you there. Don’t let the red packaging mislead you—this is a 21st century ambergris dream.

Face à Face pour Femme (Façonnable)

I've often wondered what a feminine counterpart to Geoffrey Beene's Grey Flannel might smell like. The closest match in my admittedly modest collection is Silences by Jacomo. Grey Flannel is a dry citrus chypre, with a bittersweet violet note at its core. This violet is surrounded by a hazy bouquet of indistinct florals, where only lilac and orris stand out clearly. Over time, these blossoms take on a greener, more powdery character, ultimately giving way to a base of oakmoss and woods that is as dry and bitter as everything that came before. Silences mirrors this structure but allows its florals to shine more distinctly through its orris haze, offering a subtly warmer, rosy undertone. Yet, even with this warmth, it remains strikingly cool and aloof compared to the approachable feminine fragrances of its era. Neither fragrance conveys lighthearted cheer. 

Designer brand Façonnable launched Face à Face pour Femme and Face à Face pour Homme in 1996. While never particularly expensive, they were a step above bargain-bin pricing at the time. Slightly pricier than offerings from Jacomo or Beene, some of the cost likely went toward packaging—Façonnable favored embossed tins over standard cardboard boxes. Setting aside the presentation, the fragrances themselves are solidly middle-tier: competent and occasionally engaging but neither groundbreaking nor especially memorable, with materials falling a notch or two below those of Chanel or Dior. Face à Face pour Femme bears a surprising resemblance to Grey Flannel, reimagined with subtle adjustments for a more feminine appeal. Unlike the Beene classic, it omits citrus entirely, opening instead with coriander, which lingers through the top and early heart notes. This gives way to a crisp yet dry-green medley of rose, muguet, and jasmine. The green notes are stemmy, grassy, bitter, and powdery, while the floral tones remain dry, faintly sweet, slightly bitter, and heavily powdery. There’s little warmth or cheer here—this is a fragrance with a reserved, almost austere demeanor.

The sweeter, slightly brighter floral tones in Face à Face pour Femme evoke comparisons to both Grey Flannel and Silences. This is undeniably a "fresh" fragrance, but it’s a 1990s kind of fresh, so if you’re under 35, consider this fair warning. Don’t expect airy peonies, aquatic accents, or the sugary burst of green apple and white musk typical of more modern compositions. Instead, Face à Face pour Femme tempers its floral character with a smooth greenness reminiscent of tea, much like vintage Grey Flannel. Around the three-hour mark, its vaguely floral, slightly dry, and chalky personality—likely due to inexpensive galbanum notes—settles into a powdery green accord. Here, grasses, oakmoss, and a recurring green tea nuance intertwine subtly. I enjoy this fragrance, but its particular style feels like a hall of mirrors, inviting nostalgia lovers to lose themselves in endless panels of Moss-in-Snow jade. It’s a 29-year-old scent that feels like fragrances twice its age. Still, it's a charming throwback, and good fun.

Chameleon (Zoologist)

This one is kind of neat. It opens with sweet, tropical fruity-floral notes that smell like some sort of cheap skin lotion, then a waxy coconut oil dribbles in and freshens it up in a strange but satisfying way. There's a bit of sea salt, a bouquet of white and yellow florals (sort of a Frankenjasmine hybrid with ylang and frangipani involved), and a massive dose of silky-smooth Cashmeran to cover it in clean fuzz. I also like the holographic rainbow trim on the bottle's label, and for once the concentration of a Zoologist is adequately proportioned to lend the wear experience a pleasant and balanced feel.

The perfume industry has a term for the pigeonholing of a scent as fine fragrance: "skin note," which everyone understands to mean the human element that smells compatible with natural human skin and pheromones, and in Chameleon there is an intentional skin note that smells a little oily and salty, like fresh sweat but on a soap-scrubbed epidermis. There's also a Safranal note that lends a spicy-metallic edge to the sweetness and prevents it from being too overbearing. It's almost like they were going for an exotic suntan lotion here, or a spa oil that a masseuse would rub into your muscles on an island getaway somewhere in the Pacific. Things get a touch drier and smokier in the base when the patchouli takes over, about five hours in, but it doesn't dramatically alter the bright trajectory of the scent. This stuff is all casual fun.

Oddly I don't get much mango from Chameleon, despite all the copy claiming it's in there, nor do I have any bearing on other clear fruits in Daniel Pescio's fragrance. But make no mistake -- this is a sweet 'n sour tropical vacation sort of scent, one of those oddball "fresh" frags from the middle of the 1990s that came in a segmented bottle with blue-green juice and weirdly-shaped cap, before the 2000s wave of new perfumery tech liberated the market from gummy and overly sweet zombie brand fare. I'm not sold on Zoologist fragrances, but Chameleon is interesting, wearable, and, well, smells good. 

Maritime Journey (Tommy Bahama)

The original Maritime from 2016 is Tommy Bahama’s answer to Abercrombie’s Fierce, while Journey (2019) serves as their take on Polo Ultra Blue. In fact, I suspect it may be an unused mod for the Ralph Lauren scent that Tommy Bahama repurposed to meet their brief. Had it been crafted on a Ralph Lauren budget, it might have achieved a closer likeness, but Tommy Bahama has always occupied the lower shelf in the fragrance aisle. As a result, Maritime Journey comes across as a bit rough around the edges, scratchier and cheaper (it makes me sneeze), yet serviceable at just ten dollars an ounce.

Unlike Ultra Blue, Maritime Journey features a prominent green apple note and lacks the herbal undertone. Otherwise, it’s a fruitier spin on the familiar sea salt and woods accord that has dominated aquatics since the early 1990s. Here, the Calone molecule is restrained, adding a faint blush of peachy warmth to a grey-blue profile. While it teeters close to the realm of shower gel freshness, it maintains just enough balance between sweetness and saltiness to feel adequately refined. It’s light, non-offensive, and versatile, a competent choice for men seeking value in their cologne. However, with so many similar options already on the market, Ultra Blue remains the superior pick for but a few more dollars. Maritime Journey’s only standout feature is its pronounced saltiness, which borders on excessive, even for an aquatic enthusiast like me, but otherwise, it’s not worth going out of your way for a bottle.

Interestingly, this stuff also evokes shades of the original Cool Water (1988). Its sharp Granny Smith apple note has the same tart, low-pH quality, and when paired with sea spray and faint floral-cedar nuances, it carries a hint of that late-80s vibe. The synthetic saltiness nudges it into the 21st century, but you’d be better off spending your $23 on Cool Water. For a softer, less saline alternative, Nautica Voyage would suffice. Fragrances like this are akin to grey-blue paint chips on a Benjamin Moore sample page: pleasant enough, but somewhat boring and ultimately forgettable.

Rhinoceros (Zoologist)

Gentleman’s Club fragrances ruled the 1980s, but Cool Water toppled their dominance, and Acqua di Gio sealed their fate. By the late 1990s, few dared to replicate the style, leaving woody tobaccos and patchoulis to linger as relics of a bygone era. As the new millennium began, these notes found refuge in the niche perfumery world, and eventually led to Prin Lomros’s 2020 reissue of Rhinoceros.

The more I wear Zoologist fragrances, the more their mission crystallizes: resurrect the classic, complex masculines of the past and transform them into animal-themed haute parfumerie at $100 an ounce. If you’re a devotee of vintage greats like the original Davidoff (1984), Bogart’s Furyo (1988), or Vermeil for Men (1995), Rhinoceros will feel like liquid Xanadu. Lomros has packed the composition with leather, incense, chocolatey patchouli, cypriol, oakmoss, and oud, with each note discernible yet blended into a saturnine olfactory sienna. To Western noses, it reads unmistakably “masculine.”

I used to wear fragrances like this daily, and truthfully, they are wonderful. It’s hard to fault the seamless accords of whiskey, rum, Connecticut shade, and oak. Even the slightly skanky oud is palatable. Yet, as much as I admire its artistry, Rhinoceros feels like a time capsule. Imagining it worn in 2025, when the world and its men have moved on, is a stretch. I applaud Zoologist for boldly releasing something so unapologetically “1987,” but I caution any young buck against believing this will captivate today’s woman. Times have changed, even as the memory of this style endures.